#I COULD NOT LET THIS GO BY UNSHARED

[targaryenluvs]

Can you make a fic with a dark coriolanus x reader

Post Lucy running away where he stays a peace keeper for some time and he helped reader avoid being picked for the games and he abuses his power as peace keeper against reader whom he helped and holds it over her head (she has no family but her friends are like family) and he does all types of fucked up stuff to her sexually and he fetishizes her for being a woc (reader is a woman of color) and he fetishizes her skin or something and he keeps saying all creepy stuff and he then marries her (after convincing her no one would want her after him) and parades her around and shows off to capitol ppl who also fetishize her and she becomes basically his property with a creepy nickname and you pick the ending

BROWN JEWEL

pairing: dark!coriolanus snow x fem!poc!reader

summary: he was a lifeline and you’d grabbed on in hopes to avoid the reaping, but you were coriolanus’ obsession and he was not going to let you go.

warnings: obsession, abuse of power, nc touching, threats, forced marriage, fetishisation of skin color?? non-con (p in v), public sex, pregnancy, forced marriage, jealousy of infants? kisses, kinda stockholm/reader gives in

wordcount: 3.1k

a/n: audibly gasped reading this rq (i did change it around a bit since some of it i was unsure of how to write and if i felt comfy doing it) i went off track for sure

this was your last year for being involved with the reaping.

just tomorrow then you'd be in the clear for the rest of your life.

you had friends who relied on you, and their families which were practically your own. you’d been raised with them after your parents passed and you owed them your life. you were an amazing hunter and your game kept them going. you were skilled with hunting, medicine, literate because of your best friends mother. you helped them all in so many ways and you knew they needed you.

through your older years, you began to realise you weren’t exactly the same as your friends. their light skin and light eyes in contrast to your darker tones were always a reminder of your unshared bloodline. yet they never treated you any differently.

you had to live for them.

so it was how you ended up in the tree line by the peacekeepers barracks. hoping to bribe one into pulling your name from the bowl before it was placed infront of the justice building. what you didn’t expect was for a soldier to find you first.

“what’re you doing here?” he spoke from behind you as you stumbled to get up. “i... i wanted to talk to someone, to try and uhm, get them to do something for me.” he exuded confidence with his chin in the air and his grip on his gun. he obviously thought he was better than you. “what do you want me to do for you?” you sighed, “i was hoping, to get my name taken out of the reaping bowl.” he tilted his head, a smirk on his face and you wanted to peel your skin off with the way he was looking at you.

“come closer.” and you did, stepping into the moonlight. he found you to be gorgeous, glowing. “i’ll do it.” your eyes widened as you smiled, “thank you!” and he took a step closer to you, “but what will i get in return?”

and that’s when you should’ve run for the hills.

at the reaping ceremony, he coincidentally placed himself right next to your row. his stares were harsh on your back. your hands were sweating and you couldn’t think straight until that name was called, and it wasn’t yours.

“we’re safe.” your friend whispered into your ear as you smiled at her, “yeah, we are.” but for some reason you weren’t convinced. the peacekeeper was on you like a shadow ever since the day before. on the walk home he was following you and you knew it, but if you confronted him you had no clue what he’d do to you. so you felt it best to keep your head down, and get home. you didn’t expect for him to barge his way in.

“what’re you doing?” your voice was shaky and you could feel the perspiration on you, for someone reason this man made your body go haywire and you wanted to leave. “why? can’t i come see the pretty girl i saved?” your head was facing downwards as you began to mumble, “my names only in eight times, my odds were low anyways. a lot of people took tessera.” you heard him click his tongue, tutting and shaking his head in disagreement, “seven.”

he was right infront of you now, and as he bent down to whisper in your ear, you froze up, “i don’t do things for free y/n. when i want something from you, and i do, i will come to collect.” he held your face in his hand as you asked, “what’s your name?” he smiled, “coriolanus, but you can call me corio.” and he held you to it.

every time you saw him he’d be unbelievably smug.

even your friends noticed, “he keeps staring at you, that peacekeeper.” you were having a night out, your senses flooded with music and laughter. but not too far away was coriolanus, downing his beer. you shifted around before slyly looking his way. “it’s probably nothing. you know how these peacekeepers are. i think i’m going to head home.” you kissed her cheek before making your way out and to your home.

you were only a few minutes away when you took notice of the shadow behind you, lurking. “y/n.” you stopped in your tracks and turned his way. “corio.” he grinned at the nickname you used. his expression should've warned you, his words rung through your mind.

an intoxicated man was a dangerous one.

"when i want something from you, and i do, i will come to collect."

corio held you against the shabby wall as his hands held you in place. your pants swamped at your ankles as he rutted into you harshly. “stay quiet for me yeah?” your hands shoved at his chest but it seemed to be pointless.

“please, please corio not here.” coriolanus couldn’t bring himself to listen to you, and he sure as hell didn’t care if someone saw. what were they going to do? you were his, you needed to realise that. the quicker you did the easier it would be for you. your cries and protests went in one ear and out the other, “shh, i’ve got you. don’t worry.” he cooed, ignoring your pleas.

you felt humiliated, treated like trash. taken in an alleyway like a whore, as coriolanus continued on. your legs felt like jelly and your weight rested on the wall behind. his hands came up to lower your shirt, your breasts spilling out. “fuck, you’re made for me. all mine.” he groaned as he felt your walls tighten around his cock.

“come for me baby. come on.” you didn’t want to, you wanted to run away from him but your breath was laboured as your head lolled back. but even with that he wasn’t done with you. he wanted more. he wanted all of you and he wouldn’t stop until he’d had enough. you weren’t sure if he’d ever get his fill.

your cheeks burned as you walked back to your home, cum-stained panties and shame filling you to the brim. acquaintances walked past, you smiled and waved with fake kindness. your feet dragged along, your legs shaky and hands trembling. you wanted to drag the walk out as long as possible.

coriolanus could tell, but he couldn’t do anything yet. so he grit his teeth and walked with determination.

he’d punish you later.

and it was all you knew. almost every night corio crawled into your home, took you all over the house till dawn. and in return you were able to provide your family with everything they could want.

dana has a cold?

the medicine was at the front door hours later.

peter hurt himself at the mines?

a first aid kit was ready to be picked up by noon.

not a single person around you was hungry, sick or uncared for. all thanks to coriolanus. your friends were able to infer where all your resources came from, but you’d never asked for their aid.

you just wanted to help them, in any way you could.

what you didn’t anticipate was coriolanus in your home, tossing your nicest clothes into a suitcase. the jewellery he’d bought, shoes etc. “what’s going on? why are you packing my things?” he didn’t respond, he just kept packing, moving around the room and throwing in things he deemed important.

“we’re leaving, back to the capitol. you’re coming with me, now help me pack.” you grabbed his wrist in a moment of anger, forgetting your place. “let. go. now.” he demanded as you retracted your hand, “i’m sorry. but, you need to talk to me. i’m not going to the capitol corio, this is my home.” you should’ve known he was going to hate your words.

he grabbed your wrists, fingers digging in as you cried out in pain. “you are coming with me, otherwise i am more than happy to hurt you. all the supplies for your friends? gone. you know i won’t hesitate to hurt them. so if you want them to be taken care of, you’ll listen to me. now pack your things and shut up.” he spit out as you pulled away from him.

you didn’t even get to say goodbye.

the capitol scared you to no extent. the prying eyes, the excessive, almost wasteful, wealth and resources. you felt uncomfortable in your own skin. the people of panem viewed you to be a rare phenomenon. as if darker skin was unattainable. it was nothing like district 12, and you knew you’d never fully fit in. but corio wouldn’t let that be.

coriolanus thrived under dr gaul. overtime he’d been provided with an apartment and inheritance courtesy of the plinths and he was happy to indulge his sweet girl with whatever she could wish for.

the most expensive silks, finest jewels. you felt like a little porcelain doll, with multiple faces. you were bound to crack.

by the time coriolanus snow rose to be the president of panem, all the fight in your body was a distant memory, a shell of your former self. "you have everything you could ever wish for," according to your husband, "but you still think of them." his words were filled with disdain but held an ounce of truth.

your heart yearned for home. for peters terrible cooking. for dana’s flower crowns. nights out with your friends singing your heart out before sneaking out to the lake a certain covey had let slip on. a simple life.

but it all felt to be out of your grasp, far in the back of your mind.

presidential campaigns, parties, shopping, and super rich kids with nothing but fake friends. it was all your new normal. the residents of panem tolerated you for being the first lady of panem, admired you for your looks, and despised you for your background.

you’d never felt more alone.

you found solace in your children. ciron, your baby boy. only five years old but undeniably bright. he was ahead of most children his age in studies, able to remember so much in such a small mind. he was the spitting image of coriolanus. the old coriolanus. curly blonde hair, striking blue eyes. but his kindness, his care for others? that was all his mother. he was the perfect mix, and a huge mommy’s boy. the second he learned something knew he rambled on about it, only to you. he loved to play with your hair, curling it around his fingers.

“now we match mommy!” he smiled as you picked him up, resting him on your hip. “now i’m almost as pretty as you baby.” you teased as you attacked him with kisses on his face. he squirmed in your arms, small hands coming to cover his face. the noise seemed to wake caroline, her squeals and cries echoing through the home.

“shh, we have to be quiet okay?” ciron nodded as the two of you made your way to her nursery. it was caroline’s first birthday today, and coriolanus had spared no expense on your account. the celebration was to be held at your home, filled with people who couldn’t care less. but you just wanted to give her what you never had. a party at the presidents house was rare, and a lot of the hadn’t seen you in a while.

caroline was all you. darker skin than ciron, olive like. brown eyes and dark hair.

during your pregnancy with ciron, coriolanus showed you off to the people. you were regularly seen out and about, at parties, shopping, walking etc. coriolanus took any opportunity to parade you about to the people of panem. something out of their reach but so sweet, so beautiful. you despised it, being seen as nothing more than his property.

“she’s a fine girl you have coriolanus.” grandma’am spoke as she pinched your cheeks, “just have to take the district out of her.” as if you were an animal to be dissected.

“are there any more of her type?” the man joked as coriolanus’s hand tightened on your waist.

you’d always loved yourself, your hair, your skin color, your body. but it all seemed to be under coriolanus’s ownership the second you’d allowed him to take you to the captiol. no one cared about you. no one bothered to help. they just admired and touched when they could.

so you’d plead with him, begging him to let you rest for the remainder of your pregnancy. he surprisingly agreed, letting you confine yourself to your shared room.

and with cirons birth, you felt hope. his wide eyes, consuming all he could with his sight, his tiny fingers wrapping around your finger. your heart swelled with joy at his face, your saving grace.

coriolanus wanted to pry him from your fingers. for the next few weeks your attention was purely on the boy and coriolanus began to feel neglected. he was already traumatised from his own mothers passing, his sister taking her life. with the announcement of your own pregnancy the thoughts poured in.

would the baby take you too?

would he be forced to listen to your screams?

would he have to raise the baby he despised?

he hadn’t even met your child yet and he'd already made his mind up. the baby was no good, an heir was needed of course but at the cost of his wife? would he pay the price?

your screams of agony and pain clawed at his throat. he felt sick, bile rising as he forced it down. coriolanus would not be seen as weak. but he couldn’t help himself, your hands clutched onto his as a lifeline. your pleas for aid, and coriolanus could do nothing. helpless.

the finest doctors in panem, machinery and medicine yet it all seemed useless.

to you it was worth it, the second you held him in your arms. all the pain in the world if it meant you’d have him as the outcome. one of the nurses placed a pair of scissors in his hands, urging him to cut the cord as coriolanus masked his disgust.

snip!

tigris cooed over the baby as lethargy hung over you like a cloud. “isn’t he the sweetest coriolanus?” all he managed was a nod, his focus on you.

his strong wife, who’d given way to new life. your eyes were fluttering close as you murmured, “ciron.” the doctors and nurses gleefully agreed, “what a fine name!” the head doctor announced as he held him in his arms, a nurse taking him away to be cleaned.

and after all that, you were pregnant once more. another child for the happy family but another nuisance in his eyes between yourself and him.

all you ever cared about was the kids.

“has caroline eaten?”

“is ciron awake?”

“is his teacher here yet?”

“coriolanus, i think we need to take ciron shopping again. he’s growing so quickly!” he knew he should’ve been happy. but all he wanted was for you to be his again. you were always too tired for him, already asleep with ciron by your side, taking his place.

or you were breastfeeding caroline, meaning that he was sure he wasn’t going to get to feel you up that night. too sore, too tired, not in the mood. he couldn’t catch a break.

-

you’d decided to have caroline and ciron match. baby blue, how sweet!

it’d only been about an hour in and you’d had enough. these people never really moved on. the same comments about how special you were, how lucky you were. compliments stuffed down your throat you were sure you’d gag.

you grounded yourself with caroline, clutching onto her as coriolanus made the rounds. “anna!” you shouted out to one of your servers. “yes, mrs snow?” you refrained from rolling your eyes at the last name, “bring the cake out, now please.” she wasn’t sure, “mr snow said-” you smiled at her, “caroline’s getting fussy, better if we blow the candles out now so i can feed her and get her to bed.” she scurried away to get everything in order as coriolanus found you.

“sweetheart. you can’t hide the birthday girl at her party.” you chuckled, “i know, i know. she’s getting tired, we’re going to have to get the candles out early. cirons already sleepy too, he worked really hard today. i’m so proud of him.” you beamed as coriolanus took a sip from his glass, “oh did he?” he sneered. you were about to reply but the cake being carried out took your attention. “look sweetie! it’s your cake!” caroline lifted her head from your shoulder as you pointed at it.

“come on corio.” he downed his drink before following along. maybe if he was nice you’d fuck him tonight.

the four of you were a picture perfect family, cameras shuttered as everyone sang for caroline. she rested on your side as ciron stood in front of coriolanus, his hands resting on his sons shoulders. a smile plastered on his face. “happy birthday to you!” you bent down with caroline to blow the candles out as everyone cheered.

for once, you felt happy.

you sat infront of caroline’s crib, rocking it side to side. it was around 12 now, the party packed up, ciron in bed sleeping soundly, and coriolanus in his study. it’d been a while since you and coriolanus had been together. your pregnancy with caroline was risky according to doctors and you were told to take it easy. it’d been at least two months since his last time with you, and god he needed release.

once you figured she was asleep you made your way to corios study. “corio? you busy?” you peaked your head through the door to find corio writing away. “come in.” you closed the door behind you as he rolled back in his seat, patting his lap as you plopped down.

“you want something?” you rested your head in the crook of neck, roses infiltrating your senses. “m’ tired, wanna sleep with you.” coriolanus was taken aback for once, in his eyes you’d deprived him of your presence for so long and here you were wanting for him. coriolanus would have to settle for now. he caressed your cheek, “alright, come on.” his arm lifted your legs and you interlaced your fingers behind his neck.

over your time with coriolanus you’d learned to like things about him, since there was no point in you hating him anymore. his voice in the night, whispering to you. his soft hands washing your hair. when he was relaxed, the two of you would bask in eachothers presence, reading silently. baths together, his hands raking through your hair, trailing over your body with care. and as the two of you slept together, in a tight embrace, coriolanus felt at ease.

his brown jewel, all to himself.

#hunger games x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #yandere coriolanus snow

[bewarethewolfarmy]

A Celebration For Two

(This is so self-indulgent buuuuuut it's my birthday and I reserve that right.

This is my first character x reader fic; hopefully it will at least tolerable. Comments are welcome of course

Update: Now with a sequel Things Better Unshared)

Erik had witnessed a number of celebrations for the date of others birth and never quite cared much for or about them, though it was hard to be certain whether this stemmed from his general disinterest in most people or a deep seated jealousy that they both knew and could celebrate their birthdays. It could easily be a mixture of both knowing him. But he had never before felt this sort of outright irritation and frustration seeing others gather for an, admittedly small, celebration.

It had to be for you though that such emotions could be pulled out. Not since Christine had simply watching someone interact with others elicit such jealousy from him but as he saw the other actors and dancers move about, wishing you a happy birthday, handing you small gifts and flowers and cards and smiling at you, he felt himself twitch with impatience, thinking of how he wished he could just rush down from the rafters to grab you, steal you away into the darkness and keep you all to himself. He had to hold back a growl as he saw one man, one of the many extras, no name, no talent, no use but who had the incredible audacity to actually smile at you, actually touch your hand and damnit if you didn't smile back, even if it was the light professional one that you knew to wear on stage. Not your real one, not that one that could light up a room and made his heart shudder just to think of, so warm, so kind, so his. But still you deigned to give a smile to this cretin who didn't know his left foot from his right and couldn't sing for anything; all of your smiles should be Erik's, he reasoned, he could play melodies that you had told him could bring the stars from the sky and make a soul float beyond heaven itself, and you always seemed happy to smile for him whenever you were alone. Even if it wasn't the smile he loved most from you, every smile should be for him, he hated to see you give one to any singular other person; upon the stage when it was directed at none was acceptable because then it could just be his still, but this wasn't.

He didn't blame you of course though, never you. The man handed you something, some small bouquet of flowers and you deigned to thank him, causing Erik to snort. A pitiful gift, certainly not worth one of your smiles, even a lesser one. His would outshine it entirely he was certain and after realizing you were on the move again he quickly followed from his hiding space within the rafters; he knew where you would be going, of course he knew and of course it would be there. He would need to move fast to get there first.

You somehow managed to sneak away from prying eyes and entered the side room, hidden away from all others, the only privacy easy for you to find. Christine had had a dressing room but you did not as you were still just one of the chorus, though not for lack of wish on Erik's part to make you more. Still having heard the stories of before, of what had happened and how it happened, you managed to convince him that trying to push you onto center stage was not a good idea, not to repeat the mistakes of the past but simply let things be; he agreed only as long as he got to hear you sing for him, as long as he still got to teach you even if you would usually gently admonish him when he got too intense about it. Something in that made him strangely happy, to be treated with both care and sternness by you; you were not afraid of him so much as you kept a cautious attitude towards his moods and would usually try gentle redirection before sometimes having to tell him off more sternly.

As you entered and closed the door you quickly felt your wrist be grabbed by the strangely strong grip of Erik. For a skeleton of a man who lived and thrived in shadows he was strong and such a touch always made you shiver even just a bit; to see it always made Erik smile and it was no different this time. You nearly dropped the flowers, a small defeat in his mind but one he was willing to let slide for now, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. “Erik...”

“Come,” he said and realized his tone came out equal parts desperate and short; he chewed his ruined lip and seeing this you placed your other hand over his with that smile, that beautiful warm smile, the one that made his heart flutter.

“Lead the way Erik.” Oh how much it pleased him when you said that name. He choose it himself, you knew that in the same way you knew so much more about him; in the darkness of the night, when you'd come to his lair and simply sit with him, he'd tell you stories to fascinate and amaze you, and with rapt attention you'd listen. And eventually those stories had turned to his life almost without him noticing and he had nearly broken down into tears once he did. But you, kind soul as you were to him, you had let him tell you in his own time and told him it wouldn't change a thing. He was still the fascinating and wondrous phantom in the walls, the protector of the opera, the man whose voice and music could bring tears to the eyes of the stoniest of hearts, and forever would he be to you that and so much more. And so he'd told you the truth, of what he had done to Christine, of what he had been, of the blood on his hands and the darkness in his past and heart, and you had listened and you listened and you listened some more. He knew he loved you when you had cried for him in the end and told him you were sorry for the things he had suffered, the pain and the anguish, and that you understood at least a little now of what made him the way he was. He knew but it had already been too late by the time he had started the tales.

Down, down, down into the darkness and the depths of the operahouse and before either of you knew it you were within familiar surroundings, that house of his rebuilt from the disaster before. Candlelight lit the sitting room and you took in a deep breath of the scent of roses and paper; sheets of music all around was scattered and you felt the urge to twirl in the room as you did every time he brought you here.

“Close your eyes.” He tried to hide all the emotions he was feelings, tamper them down and focus on now. You obeyed, the amount of trust you having in your dear phantom filling him with utter ecstasy every time and he had to resist the urge to giggle. He did not resist the urge to take the flowers from you and discard them none so gently elsewhere, they were unnecessary and unsuitable to someone like you; you deserved a crown of roses, of the most beautiful flowers and still they would not compare to the beauty of your soul he was certain.

Quickly he moved and tried to bring together all he had done. He had never done this before, not for his only friends the Daroga and Madame Giry and her daughter Meg, nor for the Shah he had once served or the sultana he had tried once to impress. Not even for Christine he had realized at some point, though not for lack of care or wanting to; he had simply not been ready to, too scared and uncertain, too weak to pull together to make such a spectacle. But you wouldn't dismiss his efforts surely, you wouldn't turn to another man despite it or make him think it was too much; rather he almost felt it was too little as he completed his preparations and with shaking voice told you to open your eyes again, wringing talented fingers together and once more chewing his lip as he watched you, waiting, hoping.

You opened your eyes and gasped. A hundred of your favorite flowers, arranged perfectly and making you wonder how he found so many to begin with. Beside them was a dress, beautifully tailored in silk and lace and you knew without trying it on that it would fit you without a doubt.

“I choose the color because I was certain it would match your eyes,” he said with all the confidence of a child, his eyes wide as he stared at you, “And I thought this sort of design would accentuate your body all the more, t-tastefully of course my dear songbird.”

“Oh Erik,” you said hands to your mouth.

“I-I also wrote you a song,” he said finding his nerve failing him and his fingers tapped air and each other, a nervous twitch that showed at times, “If I may I would like to-”

He found his words cut off by you moving to throw your arms around his neck and kiss him. It always startled him when you did, though it pleased him to no end nevertheless; the first time you'd willingly kissed him he'd nearly collapsed into tears, begging to know how he deserved such a thing. He still teared up every time it happened and now was no exception, allowing you to wipe away a tear from his eye, gently brushing your fingers over the deformed side of his face as you smiled.

“Sweet man, however could I ever thank you for such a beautiful gift?” His heart swelled and thumped in his chest, “You know I would love to hear you play, I always love it when you play for me but I wish I had a way to repay you for such wonderful things.”

“You repay me every day with your smile and your love, my songbird,” he said and leaned his face into your hand, appreciated and savored the warmth of your touch, of your love, even while wondering how he still deserved it, “You give me so much and this is but a small repayment on my part for all you do for me.”

“Still such hard work on your part, it makes my own gift seem so small.” Erik felt confused but you pulled away, leaving him then also feeling saddened by the lack of contact between you. He whined, just a little one, but the usual smile you would give when he did so did not come. You were far too focused on reaching into the small bag you usually kept at your side, in which he knew you often kept all sorts of things as necessary throughout the day.

Tonight you pulled out what seemed to be a long crimson knitted scarf. No not knitted, crocheted, and he recognized it as something he had seen you work on some nights as he had composed at his organ or rested his head in your lap in need of being close to you. The image of you working on it with your nimble fingers, the softness of your voice as you had hummed absentedly, it had been so terribly domestic it left him in awe every time. Now you held it out to him and he could see that initials had been knitted in: ED. Erik Destler, the name he had chosen for himself, the name he had claimed as his and that he loved to hear you say in that melodious voice of yours. His name. It had his name.

“A gift for Erik, on his songbird's birthday?” He could not help but slip into third person, his emotions starting to surge within him again.

You smiled and placed it gently around his neck. “You don't know what yours is and I thought, it would be nicer to share with you than simply have you celebrate me when I can't rightfully do the same for you.”

You pulled one end around his neck and he convinced himself that he was wrapped in your scent because you had made it. Surely that was true and even if not, this had still been touched by you, made by you, had to have a little bit of your soul embedded in it. And better yet you made it for him, for Erik, and you wanted to celebrate him, you wanted to share your birthday, your special day, with him!

He immediately started to tear up again and his lip quivered in that sad way it did. “You would share your birthday with Erik, you would want to do that for him? You made him a scarf, just for him, because you...you care...”

“Oh Erik, of course I care,” you said and leaned up to kiss his cheeks; there were far too many tears to wipe or kiss away, but you couldn't help but think how adorable your phantom was when he was like this.

You knew how to make the dam of emotions break and you knew exactly what to make him completely break down for you. “I know you likely have never heard this but I just wanted to say: I'm glad you were born, I'm glad you lived this long so we could meet but most of all that you came into this world so I could love you. Happy birthday Erik.”

And oh how that dam broke but to you there was no better gift than to know you had made the phantom, no, the man you loved so dearly so happy in kind. He was taller and stronger than you but you held him as he cried and thanked you for something so simple as a scarf and some words, nowhere near as grand as what he had made for you for your birthday. But you supposed this would have to be enough; you'd just need to plan better and more for next year.

“Happy birthday songbird, Erik is happy you were born as well, Erik is so very thankful that you were born and able to be here and with him and love him even despite his mistakes and his flaws and his deformities.” His words were delivered quickly and frantically but you knew they carried every bit of his truth.

And that, in your mind, was the best gift of all: knowing you were loved and could be here to love such an adorable and emotional man.

#poto #phantom of the opera #erik destler x reader #fanfiction #erik x reader #phantom x reader #phantom of the opera x reader #birthday fic

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

It All Comes To Light

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: uhhh general angst- Hydra trauma & forced terminated pregnancy

Genre: angst & fluff

Summary: When Steve learns another detail of your traumas from Hydra you end up telling Bucky one of your most well-kept secrets

***

Your eyes snap up at the slap of a manila folder on your desk where you're sketching. Steve is leaning against the wall by your door with his arms folded.

"What's with the folder?" You ask him with a confused frown.

"I knew you were taken by Hydra but you didn't tell me about this. Why not?" He asks. You let out a sigh as you flip it open. Nothing could have prepared you for what you were going to read in that folder. You went through a lot when Hydra kidnapped you and it's not a time you like to remember.

"H-how did you get this?" You ask him.

"Why didn't you tell me about it?"

"Steven,howdid you find this information? I'm serious."

"My last recon mission." He tells you.

"You had a recon mission at a Hydra base?"

"Well I wasn't sure if that's what it was but we found a bunch of their files there. This included. Tony was sorting them and when he saw your name he figured you'd feel more comfortable with me reading it."

"I would feel more comfortable reading it my damn self." You huff.

"I know but Tony thought that less biased eyes would be better in case there's some information we need."

"So now that you haven't found anything useful you figured you'd confront me about unshared trauma?"

"I haven't talked to Tony about the folder. And I won't. I just- we talked about what happened during your time at Hydra why, why didn't you tell me aboutthis?"

"Because Steven it was traumatic! I don't like to think about it. Everything about that time was awful but this? This was another level of cruelty to me. I love you but you can't expect me to share every detail of my time there. Has Bucky? He has nightmares still, does he tell you what happens in them? Do you expect him to? That is your best friend and Iknowhe doesn't recount his horrors in specificity. He doesn't share them all with me and that's a trauma we have in common. Why would I have told you about this?"

"Wait does Bucky know?" Steve asks.

"Absolutely not. Why would I tell him?" You shake your head.

"Why not? I think this concerns him."

"Not really. At the time I was forbidden from telling him. I mean they hardly even let me see him after that happened. Even if I could tell him it's not like they'd let him remember and it's been so long. We're different people now and we're in a good place. Both individually and together. I don't- I don't think there's any reason to tell him about any of it. I went through it, it almost broke me, and eventually, I healed. It took a long time but it happened before y'all found me. I don't think that's a wound I need to reopen just to share it with Bucky. He wasn't with me, he couldn't be and I think making him aware of that would hurt him more than he needs." You shrug.

"Y/n- I'm sorry you went through that and that you had to do it alone." Steve sighs.

"It's fine Stevie it's over. But- you haveto keep it to yourself. If you've gotta give the file back to Tony do it but Bucky doesn't need to know any of that. Can you respect my decision?" You stand up and hand the folder back to Steve.

"Of course, and I'll make sure Tony knows as well."

"Thank you." You mutter.

"I just- I have one last question."

"Ask away."

"I don't understand why they never told Bucky or why they forbid you from telling him. Even after it happened."

"It made me a distraction to Bucky. They made sure I- I wasn't a problem anymore it's why he barely remembers me from that time." You mutter.

"A distraction? To Bucky?" Steve frowns.

"Look I-" you stop yourself when you realize Bucky is walking into your room and Steve practically freezes when he turns around to look at you.

"What's this about you being a distraction?" Bucky frowns.

"Steve and I were just- talking about-"

"You being a distraction I heard. Have I ever made you feel like a distraction?" Bucky asks.

"No. Not you. It was- he had a question about something Hydra related."

"I'm confused why would Hydra have anything to do with you being a 'distraction'?"

"I wasalwaysa distraction for their precious Winter Soldier. It's why you don't remember much about our time together. They made sure to take care of any possibility of that." You muse.

"Y/n." Steve looks at you with a conflicted expression.

"You're being evasive on purpose aren't you?" Bucky's eyes dart between you and Steve.

"Tell him y/n." Steve sighs.

"Steve!" You glare at him.

"He deserves to know."

"You agreed to respect my decision."

"Yeah but now he's asking about it just- tell him."

"Hi yeah I'm still in the room." Bucky crosses his arms. "Y/n, what is he talking about?" He asks you and you sigh.

"I was pregnant and I never told you because Hydra made sure there was nothing to tell." You don't look at either of them as you talk.

"You were pregnant?" Bucky whispers.

"Yeah."

"And Steve, you told him?"

"Steve found outtoday because of a file found during a  mission and asked me about it. I told him not to tell you because it was a long time ago and it's not something I like to rehash. The distraction thing is- about why you never knew."

"It was my kid?" Bucky's brows knit together when he asks.

"Of course it was. They separated us because of it. You couldn't know and they couldn't let it happen again. It's part of why your memories of me are so vague."

"When you say they made sure there was nothing to tell-"

"They terminated the pregnancy." You say.

"Y/n-" Bucky breathes out your name with sadness in his eyes.

"It was for the best in the end." You shrug.

"For the best? They took our child away from you and you think that was for the best?" Bucky is incredulous.

"Did you forget how they treated us? Kept us in cages? You were there Bucky. How could a child be expected to endure that? Be realistic here we would not have had that child even if I gave birth to them. I'd have the kid and the moment they can walk those monsters would take them. He'd learn to shoot before he could count to one hundred. And as soon as they think he's old enough they'd start testing and there are only two ways that would've gone. The child turns out like you, or like me. So they keep them; a miracle, the Winter Solider can be genetically replicated through reproduction. Now, on top of all the other horrible shit they did to us, we're turned into breeding cows because the successful genetic mutation of one child means they'd now start trying to find what parts of your DNA and what parts mine make the best fucking super baby. They'd probably move the kid too, who at this point has spent so many years in this lab without us that they don't even know their parents. Or they move us, either way, we never see them or each other again. And the alternative; the kid's not like either of us. They have no use for a regular kid, so they throw them to the fucking wolves we still never see that child again. You and I both know we could not protect a child in that environment so yeah, I think it's for the best that they did not force me to bring a child into a world where neither of their parents could protect them." Your voice is loud by the end of your rant. It's a story you've walked through a hundred times before. Having Hydra end your pregnancy was hard, but you know it would be much harder to have a baby in that place knowing what it's like to be there.

"Y/n-" Bucky's voice is soft.

"Maybe it's cold to rationalize it this way but it's the only way I survived all the hell they put me through and I willnotfeel bad about it."

"You shouldn't feel bad." He tells you. "You're right, I mean- you usually are. I guess I just, you've had all the time in the world to think about it. I'm only just processing all of this information right now. I didn't even know I could have kids." He frowns.

"Neither did I. They caught it so quick, before I even knew it was happening." You shake your head. Bucky wraps his arms around you in a tight hug that has tears stinging your eyes.

"I'm sorry you've been carrying this alone." Bucky says.

"Y/n- I'm really sorry for forcing you to go back down that road. You have our support. Always. I shouldn't have asked. It's- not my business." Steve mutters.

"It's fine Steve, you're my friend. It's not unreasonable that you'd ask about it." You sigh.

"No one likes reliving their trauma, but nothing that happened to you there will ever make anyone here love you less. Okay?" Bucky looks at you.

"I know."

Sometimes it's hard to deal with, what happened to you there was beyond imaginable but it's part of your story. You can't erase it even if you lock it away in the recesses of your mind and while you'll never say you're okay with that trauma, you know without it you wouldn't be where you are now. It was the worst time of your life but you came out the other side to something better than you ever thought you'd get.

***

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst

[ineffablydelighted]

[How exploring the Ineffable Husbands' dynamic in Good Omens can help us figure out what the show/book is all about, Part 1/?]

Also called: This human has, apparently, too much time on her hands and will be trying to Effable the Ineffable for [...] hours.

Ah, Hello! 👋

I'm ineffably delighted to meet you all! 😇

Let's cut to the chase and bear with me as we try together to analyze further the subject of the day:

Aziraphale is in love with Crowley and I am pretty sure he is aware of that fact BUT 

[yes, there is a "but", do not erase me from the Book of Life just yet, let me explain first, homie 🥺] 

I do not believe he can comprehend WHY he is just yet, and what that would mean for him in terms of... well... EVERYTHING he ever stood for.

It will also be the perfect roots to answer the biggest question yet :

What is Good Omens all about, exactly?

[Yeah, it's a tough one. When I say "bear with me", I really insist on the fact that it will be LONG. I will try my best to make it fun to read and to allow some "natural breaks" but know that I would appreciate your unshared attention if you're willing to give it to me. 😇]

Although, would you have the chance to ask him about it (probably looking at a cup of tea as we would all do in Earthy fashion), Aziraphale would have somewhat of an answer to give you, probably in the range of:

"Because, deep down, Crowley is the nicest being I've ever known."

Is it false? No, Crowley IS nice. Swaggeringly nice, occasionally unhinged, but still. Nice.

And that is somewhat the core of the... "problem" for our soon-to-be Supreme Archangel [Yep, the pain is still fresh, thanks for asking, you're welcome for reminding you 😭👍] because, as much as Crowley learned nuances due to past experiences (Falling being, most likely, the most traumatic one,) Aziraphale remains bound to think in absolutes. And everything relates to THIS perfect meme right there:

[Whoever you are, person/entity who has done that, you have forever my utmost gratitude and respect]

I'm far from bringing anything new to the table here, but to Aziraphale, Crowley should NOT have fallen in the first place. Because of how nice he is. Crowley IS an angel, to him. In fact, I'll go even further by stating that, to Aziraphale,

Crowley is more of an Angel than ANY Angel in the "Main Office."

Let's present our other contestants, shall we?

When he ruled, Gabriel was an absolute a** and had an ego the size of, idk, at least A DOZEN GALAXIES. He made Aziraphale feel like... well... poop most of the time they interacted.

That is why, in S2 when Gabriel/Jim tells him "I love you", Aziraphale, even being and considering himself a "creature of love", happens to be utterly unable to either reciprocate or take the compliment. At this moment, later enhanced when he reminds himself of the Job case, he realizes he is able to feel, if not hatred, NOT love NOR admiration for somebody he should somewhat consider a role model.

That is very important for Aziraphale's present and future character development, especially considering Gabriel/Jim's own fate, so please keep that in mind.

Michael? Oh God, Same if not worse: too condescending and ambitious in the wrong way to inspire anything nice to anybody.

Sandalphon just does what they are told but can totally throw a punch if necessary.

Uriel is mostly cold, occasionally cruel, and can also be physically threatening.

[I love the actress, though. Gloria Obianyo deserves a Ph.D. in Resting Bitch Facing for her performance in Good Omens alone and I'm here for it.]

S2 Saraqael seems to be more layered but has also been hurtful to Aziraphale (especially when she ironized that he couldn't possibly be the 25-Lazarii-magnitude-miracle caster).

Overall, S1 Aziraphale refers to the "Main Office" Angels as "BAD ANGELS!" after their hostile encounter. We could see from his face he would have wanted to use harsher words but couldn't get past his forgiving, decent nature.

Before we talk any furfur-ther [Am I proud of this so-called pun? A-BSOLUTELEH 😎🤭], let's add a really important stone/layer to our favorite Angel's thinking: to him, it is simple maths:

GOOD = RIGHT, BAD = WRONG

And let's save it for later, shall we?

[Killgrave dear is just here to remind you you can take a break anytime to drink a glass of Talisker if you'd like, or, more so, if HE'd like. Also because that character is THE best David Tennant role on television - 10th Doctor being the worthy third, I let you guess which character is our second now - and I might have wanted to use this gif just to be able to say that, who knows? *whispers* Mysssteryyyy...]

Anyway.

To a being like Aziraphale, who mostly thinks in dichotomy, being an Angel requires one main requirement: being GOOD.

[Buy a farrrrrm and be good! Not just "pretendy" good but. properly. GOOD! - NO, I couldn't find the gif and YES, I'm mad about it, but since I'm also unable to make one myself, I'll just shut it.]

That is why he refers to the Main Office Archangels as simply being BAD.

At that moment, they had been mean to him, threatening, and, by doing so, they became somewhat active in Hell's Armageddon project. Making them "bad" angels, but, more so:

Bad at BEING Angels.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, is, at heart, the penultimate goody-two-shoes: he does feel bad about himself whenever he does something bad/wrong such as lying (it has started to change, and I'll nuance that statement another time, but you get the grip).

He is constantly scared he might fall whenever he somewhat defies God's will or the idea he built in his head of what an Angel should be(have).

But have you paid attention to how his "Angelmates" NEVER seem to CARE about their own displays of, let's say "unconventional characteristics" for what should be the highest "Representatives of the sole concept of Good"?

Have you ever seen Gabriel or Michael being self-conscious about their narcissism and condescending tendencies? Uriel about their coldness? Saraqael about their sarcastic nature? Any of them about their use of violence? Of course not! They seem to be perfectly fine with it!

They own their characteristics, good AND bad.

Aziraphale does not.

Aziraphale is... soft. Even if he, at times, expresses regrets to be just that, he also applies it to his Angelic nature.

You know who else is soft?

Crowley.

Crowley is soft because he cannot kill children and takes it upon himself to LITERALLY DEFY BOTH GOD AND SATAN'S WILL TO SAVE SAID CHILDREN, including two annoying ones [especially the one who DARED to hit on Aziraphale but that is a topic for another day]

[MASSIVE Bildad the Shuhite fangirl here, consider yourselves warned.]

Crowley is soft because he cannot even kill GOATS.

Defying both God's and Satan's will to save kids? Yeah, eventually, okay.

Defying God's and Satan's will to save goats? Man, that's so effingly. more. powerful.

[Oh, look! A bird flying, normal thingy, nothing to see here, buh-bye!]

Crowley is soft because he proposes/"tempts" Aziraphale to "eat a spot of lunch", especially whenever his Angel experiences stress.

We have barely seen him eat, which might indicate he does not have such a strong taste for it personally. He only goes to the Ritz to enjoy Aziraphale's company and to watch him happily eat scrumptious, comforting foods.

[Okay, also because it morphed into a proper kink at some point but that is NOT today's subject, so stop trying to make me deviate from it! 😣]

Oh, and, before you bring that up, no, the alcohol motive is not relevant since he can, in all probability have a glass of Talisker in ANY sort of pub/restaurant in London.

[As a proper peated whisky lover who happens to be French, let me tell you this is NOT the case in my country and I'm super duper jealous of you, lads.]

Crowley is soft because he takes care of both Gabriel and Aziraphale's bookshop, even if it is clear he loathes the first and expressingly said he would not be a bookseller "even at gunpoint."

And, by "taking care of", know that I MEAN IT: he kept an eye on Jim, didn't wake him up when he heard him snore, answered any question he had, no matter how seemingly stupid they were [Even if Crowley, of all beings, cannot be anything but a raging "There is no stupid question, only stupid answers" representative] and offered him hot cocoa. As for the Booksho-P[uhhhhh *exhales in asthma*], he attempted to repair Jim's messy ordering twice and meticulously rearranged the place after ✨the Ball✨

[What do you mean, "he also Killgraved him into jumping out of the window?" HE ALSO STOPPED HIM FROM DOING SO, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. #NotBiasedInTheSlghtestIndividual]

Crowley is soft because he shares his Bentley with Aziraphale. Which is a VERY. BIG. DEAL. considering it was, at the time, HIS LAST ONE AND ONLY PRIZED POSSESSION.

[Should I mention that the Bentley FALLS IN LOVE with Aziraphale or is debating on whether or not that falls into the Oedipian complex territory off-topic? Yes, I'll see myself out.]

Crowley is soft because he rescues Aziraphale on countless occasions, even though, 99% of the time, that is pretty much unnecessary.

For real, guys: if Aziraphale had been discorporated in the course of his 6000+ years on Earth at any other given moment BUT on the eve of THE WAR with a capital "W", nobody in Heaven would have flinched.

[I do have a theory, though: maybe being re-incorporated takes quite a long time, which would have meant too many years apart from each other, hence the growing Damsel in Distress kink in Aziraphale, idk THAT IS NOT TODAY's SUBJECT, OKAY?!]

Also, Crowley is soft because "doing that makes him so happy".

Do you know who is supposedly "so happy" to save living things, aka GOD'S CREATIONS? Angels.

Crowley is soft because he rescues Aziraphale even when it is ACTUALLY ENDANGERING for both of them

He risked: his life, his pretty comfortable position "he carved out for himself", both his Earthy and Infernal homes sort of speak, AND EVEN HIS CAR to save his Angel's bottom/help him out in the direst situations (like stopping time to stop SATAN HIMSELF.)

[Also his past/present/future existence altogether, but the Bentley is more important, as I'm sure we'll all agree.]

[That is a Class A Protective/Helpful Husband, right there.]

Crowley is soft because he encourages Aziraphale to follow his passion for ✨prestidigitation✨

Even though he is pretty... amateurish at it. Not only does he encourage him, but he also HELPS him when he accepts to be his dashing assistant on stage.

[Yes, he does tell S1 Aziraphale to stop doing magic because he "has no idea how demeaning that is" but I'm pretty sure it was BECAUSE of S2 1941's events. Also, #WeStan1941Crowley here.]

Crowley is soft because he works pretty hard to make two humans he barely knows fall in love.

Yes, he also does it to cover his and Aziraphale's 25-Lazarii-magnitude-miracle lie BUT don't tell me his amazed expression when he thought he was about to witness Nina and Maggie actually falling for each other was not the purest, sincerest of all.

Finally, even if I could come up with more examples,

Crowley is soft because he saved Aziraphale's books JUST because he KNEW and CARED that Aziraphale CARED about said books.

That also, in Michael Sheen's very own opinion [as stated by Neil Gaiman in S1 GO DVD commentary], shared by many fans, and myself very much included, marks the moment

Aziraphale falls in love with Crowley.

[I DARE you to tell me THIS is NOT THE LOOK OF LOVE PERSONIFIED, go on, fight meh.]

So. WHY did it happen at that moment in particular? Well, because, first of all:

As a proper Jane Austen fan, Aziraphale is a slow burner.

Also, to him, an actual Angel, love is everywhere, so differentiating one love from another might be more difficult for somebody who can feel it whether or not it is even their own.

BUT [have you started getting used to my "but"s yet or should I harass you some more?] Let's go back in time to see how every previous encounter (that we know of) led to that pinnacle, shall we?

[Oh and, YES, this sort of essay will be long, and NO, I had no idea how much it would be when I started writing it, and still haven't, tbh 🤷‍♀️]

During part 2, we will also dive a little bit deeper into what Good Omens is all about.

[Yeah... I figured we would all need a break at this point.]

More on that later, then!

Hope I kept your interest at a reasonable peak. See you soon, Angels ❤

Need help to find the rest of this analysis? I've got you covered! Follow me, Angel 😇

Previous - Beginning (you're here) - Next

#Ineffable Husbands #Good Omens analysis #Good Omens #Good Omens S2 #Aziraphale in love #Good Omens theory #Aziraphale #Crowley #Aziracrow #Effable the Ineffable #Philosophy #Good Omens is a philosophical essay disguised as comedic/satyric/romantic Fiction and I am here to prove it #A maniac woke up one morning and decided to overanalyze everything about her current favorite thing #even though that will not help her control her hyperfixation in the slightest #also too many hashtags but you know I have issues already

[dulcesiabits]

A lot of my lucas writings feel unshareable just because he's Like That, so I have to carefully curate the things I do choose to post. Anyways, have some snippets! Mild spoilers included, haha.

ii. la cuisine

“You’re bad at this.”

It’s the first thing you’ve said to him all morning, and the sound of your voice sends a pleasurable tremor down his spine. 

Lucas smiles down at the clumpy potatoes in his hands, already reduced to mush from the force of his chopping. It’s difficult to gauge how much of his strength is needed for such delicate tasks. Vegetables turn to pulp. Cakes come out uneven and blackened. His soups turn marshy. He’s gone through several cutting boards just this week alone, often cleaving straight through the wood when he’s not careful. The most he knows how to do is to cut up fruits for you in lopsided shapes, skin still clinging to their flesh. 

You never complain about his sorry attempts at food. You push around the mush he offers you sullenly, averting your gaze from his expectant face. Like a shy cat, you never eat when he’s watching, and you always leave leftovers.

It makes sense; he’s never wielded a kitchen knife before, preferring to buy food at the marche to supplement his nutrition. He could easily do that for you, too. It’s an unforgivable vanity on his part, but Lucas wants to cook for you. He wants you to eat the food he’s made, and to feed you by his own hand. He’s the only one who can take care of you in such a way.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas says to you.

“I don’t know why you’re apologizing,” you mutter.

Your voice is unearthly beautiful. If there was a way to bottle up the sound, he would carry it with him forever. What more could he do to coax you to talk to him? In his excitement, he squeezes the potatoes, and they explode outwards in a shower of mush.

“Oh my,” he says, sighing, shaking his hands. “I’m sorry, my angel. Dinner will take a while longer.”

“... Let me make something.”

“Hm?” Lucas turns, and you’re staring at the floor, bangs covering your eyes. 

“Let me make something,” you repeat. “For dinner.”

“All right,” he says, carefully setting down his knife. You stand slowly, rolling your shoulders, taking careful steps towards the kitchen. You wrinkle your nose at his uneven cubes of meat and half-peeled vegetables, the upturned spice jars.

“What were you making?” you ask.

“Hm? Well, I was just going to cut and fry them up all at once,” he says cheerfully.

“Without a recipe?”

Lucas tilts his head. “Recipe?”

You sigh. “Just… sit down. I’ll make soup for us, or something.”

You snatch the knife from the counter, and pick up a carrot that he had set down while he had mangled the potatoes. With the flat of the blade, you begin scraping away uneven bits of skin that he had missed in his initial attempt. You work deftly, slicing your way through the vegetables, and copping the meat into more even-sided cubes. It’s like magic. Lucas stands at your back, watching the swift movement of your hands, the surety of how you step around his kitchen. 

“Where’s the pot?” you ask.

Lucas swiftly opens a bottom cabinet to pick up a metal pot, placing it on the stove. “Is this good enough?”

You spare a glance, then nod. “Yeah. Can you fill it with water about half way? Turn it on to medium heat, too.”

Lucas flicks on the stove, the flames springing to life, as he meticulously fills the pot with cold water from the sink. When he’s finished, he moves back to your side, where you’re measuring spices with a spoon. Rosemary, thyme, onion powder, garlic powder, salt, pepper… 

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Watching you,” he replies. 

“Why?”

“Because I like seeing how you manage the kitchen,” he says simply, “You’re lovely when you do so.”

You duck your head, hands stilling as you hold up the pepper shaker. “Fine. But don’t stand too close. I can’t focus.”

He backs up a step, and you continue your work. You dump the ingredients into the soup, stirring in spices all the while. In half an hour, the pot is bubbling merrily, and you’re stirring the contents.

For a second, Lucas lets his mind drift. What would it be like to come home to you like this? Would you ever be so comfortable to just relax with him in such a manner? Here you are, cooking in his kitchen. It’s the sort of normalcy he’s never even thought about achieving for himself before. To have you here at all, let alone be able to eat your food, is a blessing. 

You ladle a small bit of soup, bringing it to your mouth to sip. You wrinkle your nose, and then shake a bit more salt into the mixture.

He steps closer, hovering over your shoulder. “May I try some?” he whispers into your ear.

You start, spoon shaking in your hand. Cute. “What?”

“I’d like to try some as well,” he says. 

You stir more vigorously than you need to. “Sure. I guess. Just grab a spoon and–”

“But there’s a spoon right there,” he says innocently.

“Well… I…”

“Is it too much trouble?” he says again. He’s so close that he can feel the warmth of your body, a different sort of heat from the stove in front of you. He can see the swell of your throat, the curve of your cheek, and the flyaway strands of hair that he longs to tuck behind your ear. If he blew a puff of air into your ear, would you forgive him for such childish pranks?

You scoop up a bit of soup, and turn, holding a hand under the spoon as you offer it to him. “Fine. Just take a small sip. It’s hot.”

He leans forward, braid swinging, and sips. There’s a subtle flavor to it, but it’s warm and delicious and it’s your food, so there’s nothing but sincerity in his voice when he says, “It tastes wonderful.”

You abruptly turn around, splashing the spoon back into the pot. “Good. Go sit down. I’m almost done.”

“I want to stay here with you.”

“If you want.” There’s still a trace of wariness in your voice, but the hostility you usually spit at him is gone. When the two of you sit down for dinner later, he feels the heat of your skittish gaze lingering on the crown of his head, but never once looks up to acknowledge it. After all, you would look away if he did, and he wants the moment to last. 

The attention of an angel! That’s something you earn, not something you deserve.

iii. la nuit

It is the selfish part of him that pulls you close to him on nights like this. When the blood has been washed off and the hearts collected, all he wants to do is sink into your embrace. His arm around your waist, your body tucked into the shelter of his body, curving around you. You’re warm, warmer than anything he’s touched before. It’s like holding the sun in his grasp. You always curl in on yourself, fists clenched tightly. 

But there’s nowhere for you to run except into his arms. He’s made sure of that.

You never resist, but you never hold him back when he nuzzles his head on top of yours, pulling you closer to him. Closer, and closer still. Is there a way to pull you into his skin? So you’ll walk alongside him, and never leave? To have you with him forever?

You’re an angel. You’re an angel, and he’s a sinner. His pathetic life, for what little of it is left, is yours. To judge him. To save him. He could tear his own heart and offer it gladly to you, if only to hold you like this for a while longer.

#liya drabbles #virche evermore: error salvation #virche evermore #lucas proust #lucas stans unite!!!!! #when i think about lucas and ordinary domesticity. things he's been denied. well. it does things. to me

[exalted-dawn-drabbles]

Helloooo I come with a double whammy of "[Suddenly feels around the bed to search for the other’s hand / body when they’re sleeping] [Extends a hand when they see the other was searching for it while they’re sleeping]" for Solas x Alora

;w; I am so emo about this I hope you enjoy the mundane angst Solas has to struggle for the sin of loving someone. for @dadrunkwriting

Rated G: Slice of Life, Solas-typical angst, ~650 words

To Be Enough | Exalted_Dawn

When Solas felt the gentle nudge against his thigh, he simply brushed it off as happenstance. He disregarded the touch, shifting so that Alora could rest without interruption. Since returning from the Western Approach, it was becoming an increasing struggle for her to sleep fully through to dawn. Sleepless nights predated dismal mornings, her typically aurelian smile growing dimmer with the increasingly darkened circles that rimmed her eyes. It was because of this that he often found himself now losing sleep, just to ensure that she slept first. 

Tonight had been no different. He sat awake now, book in hand, with a constant mind on his wards. Simple spells to keep her from wandering too deeply into the Fade. Anything to buy her a few more hours of peace. 

Perhaps that was why, when her hand tapped his leg again, Solas was awake enough to let it capture his attention. Alora’s brows were furrowed with tension, a faint frown marring her shadowed features. The expression twisted her scarlet vallaslin and hid freckles between the creases near her clenched eyes. Solas scowled at that. Was she having another nightmare, even with the aid of his wards?

He bent over her to brush a strengthening spell across her forehead, but before he could even touch his fingers to her skin, a half-formed murmur floated up from below. 

“...olas?”

Her hand brushed upwards, creating a wake of folded fabric in the blankets following her touch. Though they could hardly be considered anything more than twitches, her fingers began to flex and unfurl, first once but then repeatedly. Almost as if she were… 

His eyes flicked down to his own splayed hand beneath him, a mere span of inches from her own. Something bitter twisted in his chest as the realization struck him. A knife blow from which a deep sorrow blossomed. He continued to watch for a moment as Alora groped for him in her sleep, and suddenly his being here felt inexplicably cruel. For weeks now, he had been forced to lie to himself– to create empty reasons to excuse his continued presence by her side. But ironically enough, wrapped in night’s thickest shrouds, his deceptions could not be more clear to him. He should not be sharing a room with her. A bed. This was more than what was required to keep himself close to her. 

…More than what was required, but less than what he wished for. 

Ever selfishly, he dropped his hand instead to brush his knuckles along the curve of her cheek. A touch’s kiss. 

She deserved better. 

Alora groaned quietly again, chasing his touch as he drew it away, even in her sleep. He saw the stirrings of wakefulness beneath her eyelids, how the slight flutter of lashes became sharper and more pronounced. Almost unthinkingly, he dropped his hand over hers, squeezing it just so. As firmly as one might dare hold to a dream, for all its fragility.

She deserved better– someone who would hold her hand in theirs without the intent of release. One day, the empty space in this bed would be filled once more, and when she reached out for touch, they would not hesitate to take her hand. It would be one day soon, he imagined. She would find someone better than him. 

But for now, her hand need not go upheld. Her bed, unshared. It was a kindness, he told himself. It was also a lie. But as her turned towards her, pulling Alora gently into his arms, he decided it was one he could live with. So he settled, tucking her head beneath his chin where she fit so perfectly. He was not without his flaws, nor his sins. And if this was to be another, then so be it. She deserved better, but perhaps for now… tonight, he could be enough.

#dadwc #dragon age fanfiction #solavellan #alora lavellan #solas #dragon age #solas x lavellan

[alwayschasingrainbows]

With all the amazing conversation about "Emily's happy ending" going on, there is one question I keep asking myself: Would Emily ever go back to writing if she married Dean Priest? And, however crazy it may sound, however unpopular this opinion is, I came to the conclusion that she would... in a time.

Now, I know that Dean is extremely possesive. He won Emily by a lie, he crushed her dreams, he laughted at her ambitions. He hated her writing, because it took her away from him. He wanted to possess her wholly, body and soul, he wanted her to belong to him whole-heartedly. I also know that Emily was deeply hurt, crushed, that her hopes and dreams were in shatters. I know that she kept telling herself she was going to be satisfied with being only Dean's wife and that her writing was no longer important. I know that she didn't believed in herself and her talent at this point of her life.

The problem is - she wouldn't be happy, or satisfied, or fulfilled, or whole. She had to write, just as she had to breathe. She got engaged to Dean during the most vulnerable period of her life, when she was hardly herself; weakened after her long illness, afraid of the future, ashamed of her past. But the need to write was still alive, deep inside her soul, unactive yet, but not dead.

In canon, it was Dean telling her the truth about A Seller of The Dreams, that allowed Emily to write again. But I think it was only a trigger. It is equally possible that, in a time, something else would make her want to write. It could be anything: Teddy's painting The Smiling Girl, a letter from someone who read her stories, Aunt Elizabeth's sickness, a loss of someone she cared about, reading one of her old poems, anything. I believe that Emily would feel the need to write herself out. Montgomery once said that only lonely people wrote journals, but there are many kind of loneliness - a loneliness of unshared thoughts, for example. So, I feel that once Emily encountered something she couldn't deal with or talk over with with Dean, she would turn back to her writing.

Also... it isn't impossible that Dean would have told Emily the truth about her first book later, during their marriage. Now... I know, it is not exactly in his character, but please, hear me out. Of course, we see Dean being jealous - of Emily's writing, of her friends. But, for many years, he showed Emily his support, he read her stories and poems. The scene in Emily Climbs, when he gets angry at Emily for wanting to see Teddy, shows his character - he doesn't want to let her go, but doesn't stop her.

Also, the moment Dean decided he hated A Seller of The Dreams shows that however he is guilty of Priests' jealousy, he usually tries to fight it: "The one black drop in his veins—that Priest jealousy of being first—suddenly made its poison felt." (Emily's Quest). It is in Dean's nature to be jealous, indeed, but he isn't possessed by it 24/7. He is capable of tenderness, and he isn't an evil person. He decided to tell Emily the truth about A Seller of The Dreams after she broke their engagement, even though he could walk away, knowing that Emily wouldn't be able to escape his grasp. But he chose not to. Why? In my opinion - because he regretted what he had done and felt ashamed. He wouldn't be able to go on, if he hadn't told the truth.

Montgomery's scholars interpreted Dean's wanting to buy Emily a writing desk as "limiting her writing to a small space", but in my opinion, it was something else. It was Dean's way of dealing with his regrets over killing a vital part of Emily. It was his way of trying to fix something he destroyed, even if he wasn't ready to say it plainly, yet.

I know it probably sounds as if I am trying to defend Dean and whitewash his character. I am not. He is not the supportive partner Teddy would (hopefully) be. Dean would have trouble accepting Emily's devotion to anything that wasn't him. That being said, I think that Dean, at this point, was lying to himself that this Emily was going to be enough. One of the reasons he wanted to marry Emily was her fierce spirit and vitality:

"What a child!” he muttered. “I’ll never forget her eyes as she lay there on the edge of death—the dauntless little soul—and I’ve never seen a creature who seemed so full of sheer joy in existence." (Emily of New Moon).

Emily who couldn't write was crushed - destroyed - a shadow of herself. She found it difficult to dream, or to be truly happy. Dean Priest, looking at her with the eyes of adoring man, might not have realized this change yet.

But once they were married, his regrets and fears would probably creep in, slowly, gradually. The realization that he killed the part of Emily would come in a time - years, possibly - but I think he wouldn't be able to stand this thought.

He'd spill his secret - he'd tell Emily the truth. Perhaps she wouldn't be able to forgive him - perhaps he'd lose her forever, but he would tell her (even on his deathbed, I think).

I know it is a very unpopular opinion, but I honestly think Emily Starr would sonehow find the strength to write again, even if she married Dean Priest.

#emily of new moon #lm montgomery #dean priest #emily byrd starr #alternative ending

[earthtokatewrites]

Untitled.

Written: May 2015

In the quiet folds of night, your shadow lingers,

a silhouette of silence in the hollows of my room.

I reach out—fingers trembling in the half-light,

to trace the contours of your despair,

so dense, a fog I cannot pierce,

though I press and plead.

Words—frail and fleeting—

slip through the cracks,

my voice, a desperate echo in the chasm between us.

"Let me in," I whisper against the storm of your solitude,

a plea wrapped in the breath of my own brokenness.

But you stand,

a fortress with closed gates,

a sentinel of your own sorrow, unyielding.

The days stretch, elastic and endless,

threading through the eye of our growing distance.

I carry the weight of unspoken words,

heavy like rain-soaked branches,

too laden to lift.

We are two statues in a garden of regrets,

weathered by what was unshared, unsaid.

Now, under the vast,

indifferent sweep of stars,

I nurse the tender ache of could-have-beens.

We could have danced in the rain of our fears.

We could have shared the umbrella of our dreams.

But the music faded,

leaving us on the fringes,

each step back a silent beat

in a withdrawn melody.

I roam the quiet streets of memory,

haunted, every corner echoing

a laughter lost to time.

Would that I could rewrite the stanzas of our story,

to ink your darkness with the light of understanding,

to hold you in the quiet throe of night's embrace.

But time, relentless,

writes us forward, apart—

And I, a bearer of unmet hopes,

of extended hands that grasped only air,

mourn the map of our journey,

untraveled.

Letting go is a quiet surrender,

a letting of leaves to the wind,

a turning homeward.

Yet, love, know this—

my heart, once open,

still holds a room for you,

dimly lit and waiting.

#spilled ink #creative writers #writers on tumblr #creative writer #writer #writers #poem #poems #poetry #spilled thoughts #emotions #thoughts #words #musings #catharsis #memories #life #love

[wwinterwitch]

for the 1k celebration: “Who did that to you?” with reader saying it to Robin Buckley? ❤

Thanks for the request, I hope you like what I had in mind <3

prompt used: "who did that to you?" pairing: robin buckley x fem!reader word count: 1,064 warnings/what to expect: mentions of injuries, fluff, reader doesn't know about the upside down so robin has to lie, unshared feelings

a reblog and/or comment on my posts really help me out as a content creator so thank you in advance if you take the time to do either!

1k celebration | masterlist | AO3  

It was the day after the tragic accident that happened at Starcourt Mall, the entire building burning and some people losing their lives because of it. As soon as you heard what happened, you barely got any sleep. All you could think about was Robin.

You tried calling her house but apparently no one was home, which made you even more anxious and worried. It was late at night, she couldn't possibly be at the Mall at that hour, right? Maybe her and her parents are out, maybe they decided to check the scene and see if they can help somehow. The fact that she's not answering doesn't mean she is in danger, right?

Your questions were never answered, which made you get up early that morning and have a quick breakfast before getting in your car and driving to Robin's house.

Her mom greeted you, always very happy to see you before going inside the house to get Robin. You were shocked when you first spotted your friend, noticing her bruised cheek and her swollen lip.

She looked at you, her expression a way of silently saying something like "I have no idea how I'm going to explain this one". You saw Robin awkwardly smiling when she was standing by the door with you, debating whether she should immediately start talking or let you say something first.

But before she could come up with something to say, she watched as you walked closer to her, one of your hands moving up to her face to gently hold her, looking back at her with worry.

"Who did that to you?" you asked shortly after, still holding her face, your eyes focuses on her injuries.

Despite the situation she was in, Robin felt that funny butterflies in her stomach she told Steve about last night, the ones that she only gets whenever she's with you. The only person she's known that has ever made her feel this way.

She shouldn't find your worry so heart-melting, but she does. She can't help but focus on the fact that you didn't hear from her in a couple of hours and rushed to her house to check on her, holding her face like this and asking who could ever hurt her like that.

How could she not focus on that when she's so hopelessly in love with you? Holding onto every little thread with the hope that those gestures indicate you might feel the same way as she has felt for as long as she can remember. Ever since you two met when you were little kids, a part of her always knew. There was no doubt in her mind she liked you. Not like a friend likes another friend. It was more like what the other girls experienced when kissing a boy for the first time. But Robin didn't want to kiss a boy, she wanted to kiss you.

So yeah, she can't help but feel like this when reactions like this are the closest she'll ever get to living in her fantasy where you love her just as much as she loves you.

"It's...nothing, really. It doesn't even hurt!" she quickly replies, touching the bruise on the side of her face and trying her best to act like that wasn't painful. "See?"

"It doesn't look like nothing, Robin. Did someone from school do this?"

"No, no! No one from school." She knew that if she confirmed it was someone from school, you'd most likely confront whoever did it, no matter who it was. You've always been protective like that, especially after Robin confided in you she likes girls. You know a lot of people in town would probably have a problem with that, but you would never let anyone hate on Robin for just being who she is. That's not right.

"It's silly, really...I had an accident at work yesterday," she started, creating the lie as she went, hoping the outcome would be believable enough. "Yeah, me and Steve were doing inventory and I was standing on this ladder, and I told Steve to hold it because I could fall, and he didn't so I fell."

"You...fell?"

"Uh...yeah. I fell."

"And you landed with your face?"

"Oh, no. That's because a box fell over me," she explained. "Yeah, this whole side of my face was swollen. I was in the hospital yesterday, my mom fought the entire medical staff so they could allow me to spend the night there in case I had a concussion or something."

"That sounds a lot like your mom," you commented with a smile.

"Yeah, she's crazy. That's where I got it from," Robin attempted to joke. "But really, I'm fine. I mean, I was fine...I'm...well, I guess I'm much better now that you're here."

Your smile grew after her comment, finally putting your hand away from her face after realizing you've been holding her for too long, not wanting to be weird or anything. You didn't know that as soon as you moved away, Robin missed your touch.

"I'm glad to know you're okay. When I heard about the fire at Starcourt I tried calling but no one was answering. I don't know, I guess I just thought something more serious could've happened."

"I'm sorry," she quickly said. It felt like something appropriate to say after lying to you about what really happened. She wouldn't want you to get involved in whatever is going on. Last thing Robin wants is putting you in danger by telling you about all the crazy stuff she's witnessed.

"Not your fault," you reassured her, standing there for a few seconds without knowing what else to add. In that moment, you felt the urge to hug her, your body practically pleading you to do it, wanting to hold her close as a confirmation that she was fine.

And after debating it for a few seconds, you moved closer away and wrapped your arms around her neck, pulling her close. She was taken aback by your actions at first, but a tiny smile quickly appeared on her lips as she hugged you back.

The two of you were hugging in complete silence until you said, "Not to be mean, but picturing the way you must've fallen is the funniest thing ever."

You heard her laugh, her grip instinctively tightening as she rested her head on your shoulder. "You're allowed to laugh."

"Thanks, because I'm never letting this go."

"I knew you would say that," she replies, the smile on her face never fading.

#robin buckley #robin buckley x fem!reader #robin buckley fic #robin buckley x reader #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic

[thefinalthresh0ld]

Hellsing ramble about Seras and Alucard

Every time I go to write my andercard fic I get distracted by the utter insanity of Seras and Alucard's relationship, what it must be like. He MADE her. They're the same. The vampire telepathy thing just makes me wonder how deep it goes. The hundreds of years of history a human could never have the time to hear, let alone understand, centuries of feelings and thoughts and experiences that are completely unshareable, and there's only one other living thing on the face of the Earth that could begin to fathom what you've gone through. I imagine it's like how you can't tickle yourself--everything Seras does is, to Alucard, experienced as an extension of his own senses. When she moves, it feels as natural as if he'd done it himself. Seras is like his second chance. If a person is the sum of their experiences, then Alucard, who's seen and done it all, has a "Seras" somewhere inside of him. In her, physically, he can examine that part of him, the young, idealistic part, see it from the outside, come to terms with it, and give her the guidance he wishes he'd had. The type of isolation an immortal being experiences and the subsequent depth of a relationship between two immortal beings is completely incomprehensible. We don't have the words or frame of reference to describe it. I don't even really know what I mean by all of this other than that Seras must have been the relief of a lifetime (or five). With Anderson's death Alucard lost what hope he had of dying in a way he was okay with, but maybe with Seras he can find fulfillment in (un)living, helping her to surpass him, not to make the mistakes he did.

#i dont have a problem with people who ship them but like all of this to say i think theyre almost too close #too similar #obviously their personalities are different but i imagine with age seras mellows and her and alucard are just two old souls slowly merging #hellsing

[asirensrage]

Cursed - Hanma Shuji Oneshot

Title: Cursed Rating: Explicit Fandom: Tokyo Revengers Pairing: Hanma Shuji x Kanae (undescribed oc) Warnings: Sex. Threats (well the threat of setting someone on fire). Swearing. Drinking. Smoking. Slight choking. Slight possessiveness? Word count: 5942 Summary: Kanae hates clubs but a chance meeting on the patio might change her mind...or at least make up for the disaster the night is turning into.

Notes: Unbeta'd. Originally I had planned for this to be Ran, but Hanma took over as I was writing it. I was inspired to finish the club scene I started writing by the anons who complained about writing "sex with cartoon people". Nothing like spite to inspire smut lol. I wasn't planning on naming the character but things got confusing with other unnamed characters hahaha. Also, I've never written Hanma before (except in a long fic I'm working on that's unshared). Regardless, I hope you like it.

She hates clubs. 

They’re packed with too many people, the drinks are overpriced and someone is always touching you. It’s never anyone you want either, it's always the creepiest men who seem to emerge from the cracks in the walls to infest the dance floor. And yet…Kanae’s here.

She wishes she was in bed. It’s 10:30 at night and they manage to get in without waiting too long because they had been put on a guest list by a friend of a friend. Apparently, her cousin is the DJ for the night. Kanae didn't entirely believe her, but she doesn’t have to wait in line for hours so she isn't complaining. Especially when she is dressed in an outfit she didn't even get to choose. She bit her tongue and kept her remarks to herself though. It is Kira’s friend’s birthday and Kira picked out the skirt and top Kanae’s in. That didn't mean she could stop herself from fidgeting and trying to ensure her ass isn't showing every time she moves.

"A couple hours," she mutters as she follows the group to the bar. "Just a couple hours and I can go home." Someone hot and far too sweaty leans into her. She grimaces and shoves them away, picking up her pace and wiping off the remains of their perspiration. Gross.

"What do you want to drink?" Kira shouts at her when she finally gets the bartender's attention.

"Vodka tonic!" It's an easy drink and one that no one will really notice when she switches it for water later. Kanae won't have to deal with them realizing she’s not drinking as much. It's not ideal but she prefers someone keep their wits about them and make sure they all get home safely.

She sips at it when it's handed to her, passing over some money as she takes it. It's probably not enough based on the vibe of the place but Kira doesn't say anything. If she needs to pay more, they’ll deal with it another day. Now isn't the time, especially when they can barely hear each other over the thump of the bass.

Once everyone has their drinks, she’s shuffled to the dance floor. She’s not close to the others and finds herself on the outskirts of the group as they dance. Whatever. It’s fine. She closes her eyes and loses herself in the music. The bass vibrates through the air and she practically feels it replace her heartbeat. Regardless of who she’s here with, at least she can dance. 

She enjoys it, smiling at the others and letting herself relax to the music…until someone’s hand touches her waist. It’s not uncommon, especially in a place like this when she lets herself relax, but it’s not welcome. She turns to get a look at the person touching her, removing their hand and shaking her head. She thinks she can hear someone laughing behind her, but she ignores it, making sure the man doesn’t touch her again. He tries, but after she pushes him back, he retreats. 

She turns back to the group she’s with. A couple of them have disappeared, including Kira, and she’s left with strangers she recognizes from the group. They smile, but they mostly focus on dancing with each other, shifting subtly to exclude her. She’s not sure if they mean it or not, she doesn’t know them well enough to judge, but she takes the hint anyway. She leaves, heading for the bathroom, or at least outside to get some air. Whichever she finds first. She keeps an eye out for Kira but the mesh of bodies pressing together mixed with the strobe lighting makes it near impossible to make anyone out at this level. 

The bouncer at the door tells her if she leaves, she has to wait in line again, but that there’s an outside patio back the way she came. She considers leaving, but she should at least find Kira and make another appearance. At least while Kira’s still sober enough to remember her being there. 

“Thanks,” she tells the bouncer and heads back inside. 

She just needs a minute. 

A minute to herself before she dives back in trying to find her friend again and being faced with the girls they came with. It’s nothing against Kira, but the group has turned out to be a bunch of bitches. 

Kanae managed to find them again by sheer luck, shoving her way to them back on the dance floor. Kira hugged her tightly before swaying with her, trying to get her to dance. She stumbled, still unused to the heels she was forced in with the additional weight and force of Kira, and bumped into one of the birthday girl’s friends. Kanae apologized for it and the girl smiled back and waved her off. Not even a minute passed before the same girl bumped back into her, this time spilling part of her drink on her. Luckily it missed most of her outfit, splashing mainly on her shoes, but the smile on her face was clearly fake and her friend next to her laughed. 

Kanae took a deep breath, trying to stay calm before she left for the bathroom to clean herself up. It didn’t take too long. One of the strangers in the line offered her a couple of napkins from her purse and told her there was seating on the same patio the bouncer told her about. It’s a sad state if the strangers in line at the bathroom were nicer than the people she came with. She gave the girl a smile and thanked her for the napkins before making her way outside. 

Which is where she is now. 

She’s not exactly hiding, even if she’s sitting on one of the benches alone and fairly certain that none of the others know where she is. Her phone is silent so it’s not like anyone is looking for her yet. She ignores the few others on the patio, taking the time to carefully wipe off any of the remaining liquid from her feet and shoes while trying to make sure she’s not accidentally flashing someone.

“What a bitch,” she mutters. 

“The shoe?” 

Kanae looks up at the voice. One of the people who had been here when she walked in is standing before her. He seems incredibly tall but she’s sitting and bent over so she’s not inclined to fully believe her eyes. He is handsome, even if he’s smoking and looking a little overdressed in a suit. Who wears a suit to a club?

“Yes,” she says, completely deadpan. “You know how it is, put on a cursed shoe and have to deal with it trying to bleed on you.” 

He grins, not at all put off by her attitude. A small breeze blows, cooling the sweat that’s still on her skin and wafting over the smoke of his cigarette and the scent of his cologne. It’s a strange mix but not a bad one. “Did you know it was cursed before you wore it?”

She stares at him, unsure if he’s completely serious or actually willing to play along with her. “You know what?” she says, slipping her heel back on and putting her foot down. “I didn’t. You see, the first one I put on was fine, but the second? Cursed.”

“Did you buy them from a witch?”

“They were a gift actually. Should have been the first warning sign.”

He laughs at that before crouching down so that he’s at her eye level. His hair is a mix of blond and black, styled to the side. “So what really happened? It’s too clean to actually be blood.”

“It’s still early,” she mutters, thinking of the girl who purposefully spilt her drink. 

“It is,” he agrees. 

Kanae meets his eyes which seem to shine in the low light. There’s something dangerous about him. She can’t place it, but there’s a warning sign blaring in the back of her mind telling her she should tell him she’s not interested. It might be the tattoos she can make out now that he’s closer or the long earring that hangs off of one ear. She bites at her lip, considering if she wants to answer him. She shouldn’t, but in the last five minutes he’s been more interesting than the rest of the night put together, and honestly, she’d rather have this excuse than have to go back inside. Maybe she should just go home. 

“Well?” he asks again, taking a drag of his cigarette. 

“Someone spilt a drink,” she admits. 

“On purpose?” 

“Depends.”

He’s trying not to smile, but he raises his eyebrows waiting for her to elaborate. “On?”

“Whether I believe her apology or smile.” She sighs and closes her eyes for a moment, feeling the way the bass vibrates through the floor. She opens them when she feels the man in front of her move. He stands back up on his feet before sitting down next to her. His thigh presses into hers as he turns to face her. “Was it your drink?”

“No. Hers.”

“Was she jealous?”

“Of what? My two left feet?”

“Thought you were cursed.”

“I am. Unfamiliar heels, an outfit I didn’t choose and a birthday for a friend who’s not even mine? Sounds like a curse to me.” 

“Hmm,” he leans a little closer as he flicks his cigarette away. “Want me to break it?”

“And how are you going to do that? A kiss?”

He grins. “Do you want one? Or do you want revenge?”

“Revenge?” She blinks, suddenly far more interested. “How would I get revenge?” 

“With me.” He stands and offers one of his hands. “Come.” 

“Well, when you ask so nicely, how can I resist?” she drawls, taking the time to fix her shoes out of spite. She looks up at him. “You haven’t even introduced yourself.” 

“Neither have you.”

She presses her lips together, weighing her options, but the desire to find out what type of revenge he meant wins. She takes his hand. 

“Good,” he nods. He easily lifts her to her feet, nearly sending her stumbling forward into him. His arm wraps around her waist, steadying her. He is definitely taller than her, even in her heels. “Careful.”

“Maybe you should be more gentle.”

“Not my style,” he tells her. He moves, keeping a hand on the small of her back as he guides her back inside. He laughs as he watches her nose scrunch up at the wall of noise that greets them as he opens the door. 

“I have to find them!” Kanae yells, trying to get him to hear her. He motions for her to follow him, leading her up a slightly hidden set of stairs that were blocked by a guard. The guard lets them pass, nodding to the man guiding her. She frowns but follows.

At the top of the stairs is what can be considered a VIP area. It’s large and open but somehow slightly quieter, the music dimmed by the glass that sections them off from the main club. She wonders how she didn’t see it when she was looking around as they first arrived. There are others in the area and they seem to perk up as she’s walked in. 

“What do you want to drink,” he asks, leaning down so his lips are by her ear.

“Vodka tonic,” she says, already planning on not drinking it. 

“Go find your friends,” he motions to the window. He leaves her, greeting others and heading to an area she assumes is where they get their drinks. 

She ignores it, walking towards the window. The people look smaller and it’s almost impossible to catch sight of her friends except for the way the dress the birthday girl wore manages to sparkle in the light. They don’t even seem to notice that she’s gone. Figures. She should have left Kira to attend by herself. 

A hand touches her waist and she turns to see the man standing there, offering her the drink. It looks and smells like a vodka tonic, but she’s not that stupid. She pretends to take a sip.

“Thanks.”

He looks like he knows but he doesn’t press. “Find them?”

“There,” she points out the birthday girl. “See the sparkly dress? Just to the left of the bar and about five people away from it? She’s the birthday girl. There are maybe five of them plus Kira.”

“Kira?”

“My friend. She’s the one who asked me to come. She’s the blond next to the birthday girl.”

“Who dumped the drink on you?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know her name. She had short hair, like to her chin?” she motions to it. “Blue dress.” 

He nods before motioning to someone. She turns to look but her attention is redirected to the man beside her as he reaches out to touch her chin and turn her back to him. “Eyes on me.”

“Or what? Another curse?”

He grins at that. “You ever consider your luck? First a curse and now me?”

“Why? Are you the villain?”

“Not to you.” 

Her eyebrows rise at that turn of phrase. “Still don’t know your name.” 

He leans down, mouth pressing against the corner of hers, a mockery of a kiss. “Shuji. Hanma Shuji. You’ll want to remember it.”

“Oh?”

“Tell me yours.”

She gives it, watching the way his lips move as he repeats it back. She kind of wants to make him say it over again. His eyes seem darker in this light, but she’s not sure if it’s the room or the promises that fill it. 

“Oi!” Their attention is pulled from each other by the voice that calls out. “You gonna introduce us?” One of the others in the room is standing, looking toward them. He’s not as tall as Hanma but his grin is just as sharp.

“No,” Hanma says. “But she has friends.”

“I don’t know if I’d call them friends,” she mutters more to herself than anything. 

His grip on her waist tightens as she hears familiar voices chattering and getting louder. That was fast. He turns her towards the entrance and she follows, letting herself sink in further against him as the group she came here with is escorted in. 

“There’s the bitch,” he murmurs in her ear as they all arrive. She snorts and instantly covers her mouth, trying not to laugh. The other girls look around impressed but Kira manages to see her first and breaks away to come towards her. 

“Hey! I was looking for you!”

Kanae raises her eyebrows. “You were?”

“Yeah, they said you went to the bathroom.” Kira nods back to the others who are giggling and trying to look like they belong. “Looks like you got off track.”

She grins at that because Kira, for all her obliviousness when it comes to her friend groups, is still a good friend and one of the few people who gives her the same snark back. “Just a bit. I went out to the patio and ended up meeting Hanma. He brought me here.” She nods at the man next to her who still hasn’t let go. 

“Couldn’t let her hide and leave, now could I?”

Kira looks at him, slightly suspicious. “Leave?”

“Yes,” he says. “Said a friend dropped a drink on her. Ruined her night.”

“I didn’t say that!” 

He yanks her into him, causing her to stumble. “No? Wasn’t that why I found you wiping off your heels?”

“Stop causing problems,” she says, scowling at him.

He leans down and grins. “I haven’t even started yet.” 

Kanae’s saved from responding when the rest of the group seems to realize she’s there and close with one of the men in the room. The other men haven’t come near yet, sitting together and watching the events of this group of women encroaching on their space. 

“We thought you left,” the birthday girl says as they reach them. 

“No, not yet.”

“I stole her. Sorry,” Hanma says, not sounding apologetic at all. “How are you enjoying the club?”

“It’s wonderful,” the girl who spilt the drink on Kanae says, smiling widely at him. “It’s one of my favourite clubs. My cousin’s DJing tonight.” 

Oh, Kanae thinks. So it was her that got them on the guest list. Of course it was. 

“That right?” Hanma asks, letting go of her to pull out another cigarette. He smirks at the expression on Kanae’s face but it doesn’t stop him from lighting it. “Hold this for me.” He hands her his lighter. 

She frowns but takes it, hand wrapping around the cool metal. 

He looks back at the women she came here with. “You girls want something to drink?” He leaves when they agree and she finds herself quickly surrounded by Kira and her friends. 

“How do you know him?”

“He’s hot! Where did you meet?”

“Do you know who he is?” 

The last question captures her attention. “What?” 

It’s the birthday girl who asked, looking surprisingly serious for the moment. Kira looks just as confused as she is. 

“He’s the–”

“Here you are!” she’s cut off by his return. He motions for a waitress who followed him to hand out shots. “I got shots, hope you don’t mind, to celebrate. It’s your birthday, right?” he motions to the birthday girl. She looks surprised that he knows but nods as she takes it. They’re handed out to everyone and the girls all cheers and wish the girl a happy birthday. 

Kanae uses the moment to set down the vodka tonic she’s not drinking but takes the shot and follows along. It burns the back of her throat and she regrets it as soon as it settles in her stomach. She hands back the shot glass to the waitress, but the woman doesn’t leave once she has them all. Hanma takes the last glass on the tray before motioning her to go. It’s larger than even her vodka tonic. 

His eyes meet hers as he stands behind the group and her mouth drops open as she watches him raise the glass…and pour it on the head of the girl with the DJ cousin. The one who faked accidentally stumbling to spill her drink. 

The girl screeches and turns towards him. “What the fuck? Why did you do that?” Some of the other men are laughing but Hanma has yet to take his eyes off of her.  

“Go ahead,” he nods towards Kanae. “Light her up.”

“What?”

The girl bursts into tears and Kanae’s suddenly very aware of the warning the birthday girl was trying to give her, the same warning she ignored on the patio. The lighter in her hand feels ten times heavier with the expectation of his words. 

She doesn’t look away from him though, cataloguing everything she knows in the back of her mind as she crosses her arms. “Inside?” she asks, slightly incredulously. “That’s a terrible idea. She’d run and catch everything else on fire.”

His gaze burns into her as he moves forward, the group of girls parting as if they can’t get away fast enough. Kanae’s vaguely aware of the way they basically flee the area, and how the other men look towards Hanma but don’t stop them. Only Kira remains, hovering at the stairs, uncertain whether or not to leave her. “That your only concern?” 

“It’s one of them. A spilled drink isn’t enough to warrant setting someone on fire.”

“No?” He sounds a little breathless as he gets close, his chest nearly touching hers. “What is?” 

“I don’t know,” she admits. “Never had the urge before.”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet,” Kanae agrees. 

He leans down as his hand slips to the back of her neck. He tilts her head up to meet him, mouth slanting across hers, as his other arm loops around her waist and pulls her into him. She kisses him back. It’s easy with the way his hands grip her, holding her in place against him. The kiss deepens and she can taste the alcohol and smoke on his tongue.

His hand moves lower. Her breath hitches at the feeling of his fingers brushing the edge of her skirt, sliding under until she grabs his wrist to stop him from going higher. 

“Hmm?” He pulls back just enough to lay warm and wet kisses against her neck. It’s almost enough to distract her but her grip tightens when his hand tries to move again.

“Not here.”

He nips at her throat. “Fine.” His eyes meet hers as he moves back and she lets go when his hand finally moves from under her skirt. He doesn’t stop touching her. Instead, he moves to wrap an arm around her waist, guiding her back towards the stairs. Kira is gone. She barely gets a chance to think about where they went because she’s ushered out a door she definitely didn’t see before. It leads to a back entrance where there’s a car waiting. 

She knows this is a bad idea. Especially after what happened upstairs, but the way his hand stays on her, his body continuing to brush against hers, drives all rational thought out. 

She barely has a moment to settle herself in the backseat before he’s sliding in next to her. The only reason his legs aren’t cramped is because of the way the car is laid out, meant to provide more space in the back. He grabs her before she can find her seatbelt, pulling her with ease onto his lap. 

Her skirt rides up as she straddles him but he doesn’t give her a chance to think about it. Instead, his mouth is on hers again. His hand slides up the back of her shirt, warm against her skin as he presses her closer. 

His other hand tightens around the back of her neck, as though he can control the kiss and keep her there. He kisses her like he’s threatening to devour her, to consume everything that she has while making it worth her while. It’s easy to lose herself in it, to forget the way he wanted her to set someone on fire because they spilled a drink on her. The promise of revenge, of humiliating someone who was purposefully cruel to her, makes the taste of him addicting. How rare is it to have someone who can keep up with her, to help her even if it’s in an unconventional way? The thought of it helps her choose to rock her hips against his, to chase the pleasure that sparks down her spine. 

His grip tightens, thumb on her neck digging into her pulse point. The strength of his hands is enough to make her shiver. His hand on her back moves lower, guiding her to rock against him. She can feel him hardening under her, even in his suit. She moves one of her hands to grip the lapel of his jacket and the other digs into his hair. He groans into her mouth, bucking up against her. She whines in return. It’s not enough. 

The car stops. 

Neither of them notice, not with the way he’s trying to burn himself into her, how she’s trying to press closer to chase herself off of a precipice. It’s only when the driver knocks that they pull apart. 

Kanae tries to catch her breath. He shifts, moving her off of his lap and adjusting himself before checking to see if she’s slightly presentable. She pulls her skirt back down, aware of the way he’s watching her, before nodding. He gets out first, offering her a hand. She takes it, allowing him to pull her up with ease before his hand is back on her. The warmth of it seeps through her clothes to her skin. 

She’s led past more security to an elevator. The doors barely even close before he’s kissing her again. Her back is pushed against the cool marble as he presses himself into her. She feels impossibly small but she’s not threatened. Not even when his teeth nip at her lips before moving across her cheek and down her neck. He sucks and bites at her skin, soothing the burn with his tongue before doing it again. She thinks he’s trying to mark her, not that he needs to. It’s not as though she’s about to forget this night. Still, her hand is back in his hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp. His thigh moves between her legs and he pulls her closer to him until she’s almost perched on his leg. She can’t stop herself from rocking against it, searching for the delicious friction she knows it can provide. 

The elevator door opens. She doesn’t get a chance to move. He lifts her, hand on her thigh and guides her to wrap her legs around his waist. He kisses her again. 

She doesn’t know how they get into his apartment. Lights come on as he walks through, hand on her ass and still carrying her with ease, but her focus is only on the man still kissing her. She breaks it to scrape her teeth against his jaw, enjoying the way he falters slightly. 

“Fuck,” he mutters before finally letting her go. Her body drags against his until her feet are on the floor. His hands are pulling at her shirt, lifting it above her head and throwing it off to the side. Her bra follows just as fast. He cups her breasts, thumbs brushing against her nipples like he’s done it a thousand times before. She bites back the moan, watching as his eyes seem to darken further. 

“On the bed,” he nods towards her. She glances back, taking in the large bed that’s made and how it sits with the headboard pressed up against the wall. It’s neat and organized, completely contrasting the chaos she knows he inhabits. Kanae takes the chance to unzip her skirt, letting it fall and she kicks off her heels before she sits on the edge of the bed. 

Hanma has already tossed his suit jacket on a chair and she finds herself fascinated by the way that he moves. The shirt is unbuttoned, showing the muscles she felt when she was pressed against him. It’s different to see it though. 

He grins as his eyes meet hers, realizing she’s watching him. He kicks off his pants once they’re undone and she finds herself scrambling back on the bed as he stalks forward once naked. His hand, the one tattooed with punishment, grabs her ankle and yanks, pulling her back towards him. 

“Not running from me now, are ya?”

“Where would I go?” she asks softly. He leans forward until she’s lying back on the bed and he’s above her, holding himself up with one arm. 

“Where indeed?” 

The hand on her ankle trails up her leg, callused fingers scraping against soft skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. She keeps her eyes on him, slightly breathless as his fingers reach her inner thigh. The anticipation is killing her. Amusement glints in his eyes because he pulls back, moving his hand to her hip and sliding it up. It feels encompassing and yet not enough.

“Are you going to touch me?” she asks, trying to bite back the way she wants more. 

“I am touching you.” He lowers himself, pressing closer against her. The weight of him is comfortable but not enough. She opens her legs, hooking one around his waist to guide him closer. “Want more, princess?”

“Well if you can’t handle it, I can take care of myself.”

He laughs at that before the hand that was tracing nonsensical patterns against her skin holds her throat and his grip tightens. “Careful what you say to me, princess. Might take you up on that. You want me to take care of you?”

She nods, a strange mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through her. He’s not hurting her, but the point is made. 

“Ask me, baby. Beg.”

“Please,” she sounds breathless, but he’s rocking his hips against hers in a slow torturous motion. “Please, Hanma.”

“Gotta say my name, Princess. Do it right.” 

“Shuji, please.”

“Hmm?” he leans down, nose brushing against her cheek. “Please what? Use your words.”

“Please, Shuji. Fuck me.”

He kisses her hard. Her hands run over his shoulders, holding him close as he presses closer. When they break for air, as she kisses his cheek, his jaw, anything she can reach, he nips at her neck again before shifting and going lower. 

Her breath catches in her throat at the feeling of his mouth encompassing a nipple. He drags his teeth over it before soothing it with his tongue. Her hand grips the back of his head to keep him there. His hand moves between her legs, trying to slip under her underwear before getting frustrated. She feels the way it pulls before hearing the rip and realizing what he’s done. 

“Hey!” her protest is diverted as he sucks hard. It turns into a whine, and the thought of her destroyed underwear is quickly shoved to the back of her mind when his fingers move between her legs. He shifts to give himself more room, pressing forward until he finds her clit. Her head falls back and she loses herself to the sensation of his mouth and hands. 

He presses his fingers into her, curling them, moving and adding another until she’s gripping his hair, her stomach tightens and she finds herself thrown off the edge into an orgasm. It’s the fastest that it’s hit and it leaves her breathless and almost in shock. 

Shuji moves back, taking the time to observe her. “That good?” He asks, grinning at her. She stares at him for a moment, confused at the way he seems to enjoy watching her fall apart. 

“Just a bit,” she breathes. 

“We’re not done.” He moves and pulls her with him until he’s lying on his back and she’s straddling his waist. “Well?” his hands rest on her hips. “Show me what you want.”

He’s almost insufferable but she can’t help but appreciate the way he makes his demands. She leans forward, kissing him gently before pulling back before he can deepen it again. “Condom?” 

He nods towards the nightstand and she tries not to roll her eyes at the fact that he has them stored there. How many other girls has he taken home? She shoves the thought out of her mind. It’s none of her business and it’s not like she’s sticking around to care. 

It takes a bit of maneuvering and she has to tear open the wrapper with her teeth, but she enjoys the way he groans as she rolls the condom on. She readjusts herself before pressing herself onto him. His grip tightens almost painfully and he swears under his breath. She has to remind herself to breathe as she sinks down. It’s a small kindness, she realizes, to let her adjust to him in this position. 

“Fuck,” she mutters. She rocks her hips slowly, revelling in the feeling of being so full, of knowing that he’s breaking because of her. It makes her moan seeing how he’s trying to hold back. She starts to chase the tension that is building back up. It’s too slow. 

He agrees because in moments, his hands are gripping her again, forcing her on her back before his arm is hooked under her leg and he’s pushing in again. His pace is steady but quick, he kisses her, demanding her attention even as her eyes close to the feeling of him. Her orgasm is fast approaching and all she can do is reach for him, trying to hold herself steady. Her nails dig hard into his skin but he doesn’t tell her to stop.

“So fucking good,” he says, leaning forward to push her legs closer to her chest. “Knew you would be.” She bites at his lip for that and he laughs before kissing her. She tastes blood but his pace increases and he moves until his fingers press against her clit. 

His touch is rough but the tension breaks and she tries not to scream, especially as it’s drawn out as he keeps going. His thrusts quicken, chasing his own release. One of his hands finds its way back to her throat. He holds her there, fingers pressing into the sides. Her eyelids flutter, the feeling increasing the remnants of her orgasm until his hand moves to the back of her neck and pulls her up so he can kiss her again. 

He groans into her mouth, hips stuttering against hers as he finally reaches his peak. He pulls back, just enough that his mouth is barely an inch away and they’re breathing each other’s air as they both try to catch their breaths. Her body feels as though it’s been electrified, sparks running under her skin where he still touches her. 

He slowly releases her leg, setting it back down, his hand running over it lightly before he pulls out. She feels the loss of him instantly, half wanting him back and half aware that she is exhausted. It’ll hit all at once. She knows that. 

She tries to force herself to sit up as he gets up and disposes of the condom. She mentally wonders what it would cost to get a taxi back. She has to contact Kira and find out if she made it home safely. 

“Here,” a wet cloth smacks her in the face. 

She grabs it, scowling at the man who stands before her, unashamed in his nakedness. It’s awkward now that it’s over. It always is. “You didn’t have to throw it.”

“You should have caught it.”

She decides not to comment back on that and instead takes the opportunity to clean herself up. She moves to the edge of the bed but before she can start, Shuji kneels before her and takes the cloth. She stares in stunned satisfaction as he carefully wipes up the remnants of their sex. It makes her breath catch with how sensitive she is. He throws it back towards the bathroom and stands. 

“Do you know where my phone is?” 

“Why?”

She tried not to look exasperated. “So I can call a cab and check on my friend.”

He laughs softly before he bends down so his face is in front of hers. “Who said we were done? Get up. I’ll pull off the top sheet and then you’re getting into the bed.”

“I am?”

“That’s right, princess. I told you, I’m not done with you.” He pulls her up and she looks up at him. She’s shorter without her heels and now he seems impossibly tall. He yanks the top layer off of the bed before pulling back the rest and nodding toward her. She turns towards it, looking at the way his bed now seems to suit him before wondering if she really wants to do this. 

A sharp sting on her ass makes her yelp as he smacks it. 

“Get in, Kanae,” he orders. 

She scowls but does. The sheets are softer than anything she has at home. 

He climbs in after her, pulling the sheets back up to cover them. His arm wraps around her and pulls her close. “Rest. You’ll need it.” 

“Yes sir,” she mutters sarcastically, already sinking into her exhaustion. She’s warm and comfortable. Whatever she wakes up to is tomorrow’s problem. Not today’s. 

“Hmm, could get used to that,” he teases.

“Not a chance.”

“We’ll see.” 

oc taglist: @raith-way @arrthurpendragon @veetlegeuse @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse @endless-oc-creations @stanshollaand @wordspin-shares @chrissymunson

#spite smut #ridea acts out of spite #tokyo revengers oc #hanma x oc #hanma shuji x oc #tokyo revengers fic #hanma shuji oneshot

[paradoxcase]

Chapter 28 of Gideon the Ninth

I am disappointed by Mayonnaise Uncle's revelation. The most interesting new piece of information is that the shuttle exploded, but he doesn't have anything actually verifiable about what happened to all the children, he just has ideas about ominous possibilities, which really, I think we already had. But thank you Gideon, for finally sharing what you at least thought happened to all the children, 275 pages after we learned they all died. There still seems to be as yet unshared information about why no other children have been born since Harrow, though, how many more pages are we going to have to wait for that? There are barely more than 100 left in the book

My guess is that Harrow blew the shuttle up specifically so that they couldn't take this news to other Houses, and this wasn't like, a plot to kill Gideon or something like that. But if she just didn't want that news leaving Pluto, she could have just let Ortus and Glaurica stay on the Ninth, there wasn't really any reason to kill them. She could have gotten rid of the shuttle to foil Gideon's escape some other way, I'm sure

I am sort of curious about how the Eighth got ahold of Glauria's body or ghost to necromance this information out of her if she exploded in space

Colum is a better and more independent person than I expected. Good for him.

I note that Mayonnaise Uncle originally promised Gideon that he was going to help her "become more than the lock on your own collar" and then really did no such thing, and had nothing to offer other than "the Ninth House probably killed 200 children but I don't actually have proof". Even if that was provably true, he didn't give Gideon any actual way to separate herself from the Ninth House. I'm honestly not sure what he expected out of this, unless it was just specifically a trap to try to take her key, and based on the fact that Colum at least wasn't aware that he was going to try to do that, I'm really not sure what the point of this meeting was supposed to be

Mayonnaise Uncle seems to think that becoming a Lyctor is itself heretical, which is odd, considering that he seems very religious and we have in this book a bunch of priests who seem very keen on one or more of the candidates becoming Lyctors. I'm guessing that the religion as practiced on the Eighth might be more different from the standard religion than Mayonnaise Uncle believes

What I'm getting from the argument between Mayonnaise Uncle and Colum is that on the Eighth they are doing some weird eugenics program to breed perfectly compatible necromancer/cavalier pairs to optimize the soul siphoning process, which probably explains why Colum is like way older than Mayonnaise Uncle despite being his nephew

I hope Colum doesn't wind up being the person to kill Gideon, because that would be Unsatisfying, and also I'd like to see Colum kick Mayonnaise Uncle to the curb now

Belated note from Chapter 27:

This seems to check out pretty well if the Sixth is Mercury, there are actually spots on Mercury in various craters near the poles that never see daylight, also, apparently Mercury has a day/night cycle that is longer than its year, which must do interesting things to whole idea of seasons, but I don't feel like mathing it all out right now. And Mercury actually has huge variations in temperature, due to not having any atmosphere to retain any heat

I can't decide where on the sliding scale of sci-fi hardness the actual sci-fi in this book falls, because it is definitely harder than the kind of sci-fi where they're like, yeah, we just terraformed all the planets and they're all just like Earth now modulo a bunch of sci-fi generators that modify the atmosphere and temperature and so forth, but at the same time it's softer than the ones that say, we can't actually go faster than the speed of light, so it takes literal generations to get anywhere and we all have to go into cryosleep for hundreds of years. And I feel like introducing somewhat magical terraforming is generally more acceptable at harder levels of sci-fi than introducing FTL travel, if that makes sense

#the locked tomb #gideon the ninth

[hyperfixations-and-hecticness]

MC AND THE DEMON BROS WITH THEIR MAGICAL PETS

Lucifer and Caeruleum

- I know Satan’s pet is the one who’s meant to be catlike but honestly it’s more Caeruleum. He just acts like a cat, especially in how he thinks he’s better than you. Prideful little goblin.

-Caeruleum 100% takes after Luci and tries to boss the other pets around. He only gets away with it cause of how powerful he is. He was raised to be smart and strong and he puts it to good use.

- He’s prideful but will do that cat thing of ‘fine I’ll let you pet me peasant’.

Mammon and Lucky

- Two troublemakers who pretty much only listen to you. What could go wrong? So many things. Y’know how Lucky can sniff out anything valuable? He considers literally anything you own valuable. He’ll be dropping your favourite t-shirt at Mammon’s feet with his tail wagging. Also Lucky is a really good pickpocket but his favourite person to pickpocket is Mammon. He’ll drop Mammon’s rings into your hand and will give you puppy dog eyes until you take them.

- Lucky wants so many cuddles. Mammon also wants so many cuddles. Solution? Cuddle party.

- He only listens to you except for when he feels like agreeing with Mammon. So Mammon is constantly dragging you to his room with the excuse of needing someone Lucky listens to.

Levi and Jerry

- Jerry is like Levi without the crippling social anxiety. If he could talk, he’d be re-enacting the TSL quiz with Levi but about you. They both claim they’re your No1 fan. Literally every brother disagrees.

- Jerry understands what you say and so he’ll pull you to him when he overhears you talking about hanging out with another magical creature. You’re his favourite damnit, nobody else gets you.

- Levi literally says he worships the ground you AND your creature walk on and he’s backing it up with actions. He wants to dress your creature in a Henry cosplay and his in a Second Lord cosplay.

Satan and Fabula

- Fabula refuses to go outside unless he’s snuggled up to Satan or SOMETIMES you. It took him a while to warm up to you but once he did? You have a cute feral cat ready to defend your honour at any given time.

-Fabula also likes it when you turn the pages for him when he’s reading, or even better read together! He doesn’t like to spend time with you alone though, unlike the others. He needs Satan to be there too.

- Satan absolutely loves the feeling of unconditional and unshared love that Fabula gives him and he loves even more having the two people who he feels love him unconditionally with him.

Asmo and Bella

- Bella is the prettiest magical creature in the Devildom. Asmo’s getting her to tag along with you guys to beauty treatments. He also likes hairbrushing trains. Bella knows her way around a hairbrush well enough to brush your magical creature too.

- He wants you to all match outfits, this isn’t an optional thing. You will look cute together, damnit.

- Bella is super affectionate, she’s clinging onto you or Asmo constantly. She also brushes her brothers.

Beelzebub and Pom

- He’s enjoying eating with his two favorite non-demons. Pom’s rambunctious and considers it a great honour to defend you and your creature. All he asks for in return is you hand-feeding him his favourite treats.

- Pom likes to sleep in either you or Beel’s arms.

- Beel’s big brother instincts are activated looking after Pom and he especially adores looking after Pom with you! It makes him all mushy and sappy, it’s so cute.

Belphie and Sleepy

- Two sleepiest mfs in the Devildom. And both of them have an iron grip you aren’t getting out of anytime soon. The both of them will use you as their pillow and stargaze with you.

- Belphie is a fairly lackluster parent, he’s supporting Sleepy from afar. Beel makes sure Sleepy gets fed but you may have to walk him to make sure he doesn’t end up with muscle atrophy.

- Your poor creature is also getting affected by Belphie’s naptime vibes so they’re asleep too and Belphie 100% uses that against you (brat) like ‘MC you wouldn’t ABANDON your creature now, would you?’

AN: I kinda imagine my magical creature to look like Toothless from HTTYD or a tiny chubby dinosaur, idk. Reminder requests are open and comments are appreciated. Also any ideas or requests for my 100 followers event, which is insane to me cause it’s only been three weeks.

#obey me x reader #hyper’s hcs #obey me #om! swd #obey me stuff #mammon fluff #mammon x mc #mammon x y/n #swd mammon #the great mammon #beel obey me #beelzebub headcanons #beelzebub x mc #beelzebub x you #lucifer x gender neutral reader #lucifer x you #levi x you #levi x reader #obey me satan #satan x you #satan x mc #om! asmodeus #asmo x reader #obey me asmo x mc #belphegor x reader #belphegor avatar of sloth #obey me belphegor #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus

[lost-harts]

so after a lot of fighting and going back and forth, on tuesday i had my top surgery

since then a lot has happened, my grandma has passed away and the car on the way back from the hospital after being discharged broke down so i had to scramble through a woods with a newly operated on chest so my results might be not the best

because of that my photos might either not be posted or i may queue some unshared older ones if i can be bothered

i also just got into my preferred uni so i am having a tricky week of ups and extreme downs

also if anyone knows how to sleep with this post surgery binder on please let me know i have only had three hours of sleep since tuesday

i love you mamma, i wish i could have shown you my chest you helped happen ♡

#life update #thoughts from the hart

[motorcity-thoughts]

roblox game idea for mc

become a comm cube. itd be RLLY fun to see i think HEAR ME OUT I SWEAR ITS NOT ANOTHER RDITE GAME

when u start the game, it’ll open with an select screen that’d look similar to the hologram screens that the people open in mc. there’s a 2 choices to play as: mc characters, or yourself.

for customizing urself, u can change the position and size of ur accessories (cuz everyones gonna be a cube head) so it won’t clip thru the corners of ur head. and then you’ll be able to choose the color of ur light (since the comm cubes are holograms and they project light) so it fits ur avatar, then you’ll be able to choose the map u wanna go to.

for mc characters, there be more categories to choose on the side (but you’ll go to the burners select screen first): the burners, the mamas boys, the amazons, the terra dwellers(?), the LARPers, the skylarks, the weekend warriors, kaneco, and misc. idk what category to put the duke in so im putting him in misc cuz he doesn’t rlly have an established “gang” plus i dont even know if his goons would rlly have a comm cube. they mostly facetime anyway xD but i know cyborg dan has one. idk if reds’ old outfit had a comm cube in the first place so idk if i should put him in misc or just not put him at all, but his newer outfit will be put in kaneco ofc.

the map(s) would probably take place around all the cars we’ve seen so far and ppl could just mess around with the controls and go around the car. maybe for mutt, if u opened one of chucks’ screens and went to the right menu, u could flip players off of mutts’ hood just like vendetta lmao xp but there will be a 30 second countdown to prevent spamming and possible lag. OH, and being in the mamas boys car would be mega fun too ^_^ since i noticed there’s buttons similar to what you’d see when listening to music, it’d be fun to see ppl mess around with the random audio whoever’s programming would put.. let’s hope they can find bypassed music too. (NOT INAPPROPRIATE MUSIC I MEAN THE ONES THAT BYPASSED THE COPYRIGHT THING) bored of cars? go in a pod! players will be able to see the organized buildings and other pods in deluxe, but there’s less to control besides maybe looking at kaneco’s selection of outfits on a red screen. (yes this is claires’ pod) I’d let different players spawn in different pods, but it might be hard since the pod will be moving (rlly slowly tho) and some ppl might have a hard time reaching the other ppl they wanna meet.

all players will have the ability to float around (obviously) but probably not clip through the cars even tho the comm cube are technically holograms. then the giant cars would feel useless.. oo and what if the players could also have the ability to zap out just like when the characters in the show hang up on a call, and they could become a ghost… ooooOoOooOoo. and jumpscare someone when they pop back up lol x)

overall, i think this would just be a fun hangout and rp game to have :) the cars would give a nice atmosphere along with everyone just floating around, and the ability to mess with the controls of the cars and with other players would just be so sily!1!1! i’d build this myself but i do not hv the energy or time to actually finish the whole thing and idk how to code!!1! xp but i do NOT want this idea to go unshared so thats why im posting here lolz

#motorcity #disney xd #roblox #ITS FREEE!!! /q #only thought of this bc i literally havent played a single game in 3-4 days and i remembered the only other game i play is roblox 💀