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haeryna · 10 days

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the sadness we shared is my clarity ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ↪ fushiguro megumi x reader

summary: it's spring when fushiguro megumi finds you. it's summer when he realizes he loves you. but as the days shorten, and time runs out, megumi realizes you're slipping away.

tw: angst, as per usual. mentions of gore, and sexual tension but nothing explicit or nsfw. you and megumi are both idiots. half of this was churned out in a day so please give the author grace. not proofread. arrangedmarriage!au and friends to enemies to lovers. megumi is Mean. mutual pining, so much that i want to throw up. mmm yummy clan politics

notes: banner by the lovely @/cafekitsune! title taken from txt's deja vu. had this fic rotting in my head and in my drive. dedicated to riko, for being one of the first mooties i ever had. love you @riaki !!

also i'm sorry everyone for vanishing off the face of the earth pls accept this fic as an apology :'))

part one/??

It’s summer, and the air in Kawasaki is miserably hot and oppressive. Tacky skin clings to thick cloth, and Megumi grimaces at the feeling. Gojo had finally decided to send all the first years together on a mission to deal with a group of Grade 3 spirits, deeming his pupils “worthy to finally make their debut!” To celebrate, Nobara had corralled everyone to a small cafe, located near the train station. “Cmon, this place has air conditioning, and Ijichi won’t be here for at least another hour,” she insists, fingers wrapped around the curve of your wrist. Begrudgingly, Megumi follows along, heavy with the knowledge that where you go, he'll follow.

He can’t help but sneak glances over, as you and Nobara fawn over the icy desserts and drinks the cafe has to offer. The soft swoop of your neck is revealed as you lean in closer to peer at the deserts hidden behind the glass. A bead of sweat trickles down into the hollow of your collarbone, and Megumi swallows hard, forcing himself to look away. The flush on his cheeks is from the summer heat, he tells himself. He can’t quite bring himself to believe it.

“Fushiguro!” you call out, and he forces himself to look at you. “What is it?”

“Aren’t you going to get a drink?”

Megumi hesitates, before grumbling an affirmative. As the other three move to secure a table, he turns to face the cashier. She seems younger than him by a few years, makeup done even in the hot weather with mascaraed eyelashes batting at him innocently. She misses the proffered bills, running her hand along his, before apologizing a bit breathily. “It’s fine,” Megumi sighs. His thoughts wander as the cashier chatters away mindlessly. You were favoring your right side. Were you injured? Had one of the curses somehow reached you before he could stop them? Your technique had seemed to wane towards the end of the fight. Were you overexerted? Did he have to speak to Gojo about how hard he’d been training you?

He pulls himself from his thoughts just in time to notice the cashier leaning over the counter, watching him curiously. “Would you like a receipt, sir?”

“No,” is his curt reply, shoving all of his traitorous thoughts of you deep down inside of himself. The cashier pouts. “If you fill out a survey, you can get five dollars off on your purchase!”

Megumi can feel himself grimacing. Nobara would kick his ass if he didn’t at least take it and offer it to her. “Fine then.” As he turns back to the table, he scowls at the too-bright smile on Yuuji’s face. “What’s that look for?”

“Fushiguro, she was totally hitting on you!”

He swats away the eager high five. “Did the curses fuck with your brain or something?”

“No, seriously, look at the receipt she gave you!”

Megumi can feel the heat of your gaze as he unravels the receipt. Under the printed text of “FIVE DOLLARS OFF AFTER SURVEY COMPLETION!” was a line of neatly printed numbers. Scowling, he shoves the offending piece of paper in your direction. “Here. Take it.”

“I don’t want your leftovers,” you shoot back, eyes blazing, and his traitorous heart wrenches. “It’s not for the number, idiot. Weren’t you and Kugisaki just complaining about spending that much money on drinks? Take the survey and stop whining.”

He lets himself fall back in the familiar rhythm of bickering with Nobara as she swats at him. He’ll do anything to avoid the way your offended gaze turns thoughtful, how you seem to study his face as he forces himself to continue the lie he’s let himself live. You cannot be his, Megumi thinks desperately, even after the four of you depart the cafe, and after you toss the crumpled up wad of paper into the trash can. Even as you fall asleep in the backseat of the car, head perched onto his shoulder, he fights down the growing panic and nausea. He would rather break his own heart in the process than let you suffer from his affections.

Cursed, he thinks. There’s a reason his mother passed, his father killed, and his sister stolen away. He’s as cursed as the shadows that seep from his domain with their tendrils that wrap and curl over every inch of light. Megumi has already accepted that the feelings that grow by the day can never be revealed. You, with your sunshine laugh, whose tender hands would always reach for him after a mission. Fushiguro, you’d say, kindly. You’re hurt again. Let me grab the first aid kit. You, with your hands that are soft and gentle, as much as Megumi’s hands are calloused and stained.

I love you, he finally admits, as he carries you from the car back to your room. Yuuji had an ankle injury, and Nobara couldn’t handle hauling your weight up the stairs leading back to Jujutsu Tech. At least, that’s what he tells himself, as he shifts your weight in his arms, feeling the way you subconsciously pressed yourself closer to him. I love you. Your eyelashes flutter in your sleep, brow crinkling ever so slightly. Gently, Megumi smoothes it over with his thumb. I love you.

Fushiguro Megumi was by no means a religious man. He’d known that there was no god in the battlefields of a sorcerer, no mercy in the torturous death that only curses could offer. And yet, as he lowers you down to the comfort of your mattress, he finds himself praying. I’ll do anything, he thinks, as he watches you in the depths of your slumber. I’ll give up my body, my soul, my life. Just please let her live. Please let her be happy.

Please give her someone that could take better care of her than I ever could.

Fushiguro Megumi found you in the first rainfall of spring.

You hadn't noticed him, quietly watching the droplets fall on the sakura trees planted near the perimeter of Jujutsu Tech. The edges of your kimono were stained with mud, with a chunk of your haori ripped out on the left side. Megumi frowned. Silk, he noted, and gold. You’re dressed too well to be here, but too oblivious to be a threat. Just to be sure, he let his fingers curl around the handle of one of his tonfas before he spoke.

“Who are you?”

Startled, you turned to face him, and his scowl deepened. You were pretty, even with your eyes rounded in shock, and the undignified noise that had escaped you when you realized you weren’t alone. When you told him your name, voice hesitant, Megumi couldn't help but hate the way his heart reacted as you spoke.

“I’m looking for Gojo Satoru,” you finished, teeth sinking into the plush of your bottom lip as you waited for his response. Megumi swallowed hard.

“A lot of people do.” He kept his tone steady, forced himself not to let the heat in his chest rise to his face. “What’s a Kamo doing here, looking for him?”

Megumi had heard of you, of course. Gojo had raised him with at least a basic understanding of the three Big Families, and their prominent figures from both the past and present. The half-sister to Noritoshi Kamo, you had been held behind while your elders sent him away to the sister school in Kyoto. Women, Gojo had said, tone playful but eyes cold, are seen as nothing more than breeding stock and political pawns. They’ll probably keep her there until she’s married off.

Something seems to settle inside you, and Megumi can’t help but watch, ensnared in the web you weave. Your hands smooth over the creases in your kimono as you exhaled, shoulders rounding back. Even covered in grime you radiated elegance, though you were betrayed by the still-skittish look in your eyes. “I’m here to make a deal with him.”

A few days after the four of you had returned from your assignment in Kawasaki, you realized that Megumi was behaving rather oddly.

At first, he seemed moody. Tired, you assumed. With promotions coming up, Gojo-sensei had been training the four of you even more rigorously than usual. Your mornings were filled with research, analyzing the few texts that Jujutsu Tech had recovered on cursed techniques that were even remotely similar to your own. The evenings were spent sparring, with thick dust kicked up under the lukewarm breeze, and the faint howls of Megumi’s shikigami in the distance.

Sighing, you squat down, calling softly into the woods until one of his Divine Dogs trot out, tongue lolling out happily. You can’t help the wistful smile that tugs at your lips as you run your fingers through soft, black fur. They’d taken a liking to you, after you started carrying a few dog treats in your gear to give to them. Megumi had always complained that you spoiled them, babied them too much. You couldn’t help it. You loved his shikigami dearly.

What did that say about you? The thought makes you lightheaded for a moment. The heat, you think, a bit desperate. It was all the heat.

“You’re late.”

You tilt your head backwards, startling at how close he’d gotten to you. He’s dressed for the summer heat, ditching his uniform for something more practical. Linen pants brush by you as he reaches your side, and your heart seems to convulse when you realize you can see the slight ripple of muscle under the fabric of his shirt. Heat flares in your cheeks and you look away. Stormy eyes study you, a flicker of something predatory passing through them before he turns to his shikigami.

“And you. Stop running off like that.”

The Divine Dog whines, and you crinkle your nose, turning back to meet his gaze. “I was calling for it because I couldn’t find you. You weren’t where we normally spar.”

“Gojo wanted us to use the other fields.”

“Fine, fine.” Petulant, you reach for his wrist, hoisting yourself up off the ground. Before you can even speak, he’s tearing it from your grasp as though you’ve burnt him. “Hurry up. We’re losing light.”

You follow after him quietly, ignoring the sting in your hand from the phantom contact. He’s probably overwhelmed with the work we’ve been doing, you remind yourself, yet you can’t help the slight feeling of dread that runs up your spine. His dog noses at your palm, whining softly, as thought it can sense your distress. Its owner however seems none the wiser.

“Why did you want to spar today? Didn’t Gojo-sensei say we could take today off?”

“The next mission is the one that the higher-ups are sending us on to see if we should be recommended for a higher grade. That means it’s going to be more dangerous than usual.”

The trees clear to reveal a clearing, grass matted down from hours of sparring. “I hate when you’re right.”

Megumi spares you a sharp glance but says nothing else. “Warm up quickly. I want to be back before it gets dark.”

You stretch out under the waning light, letting your technique run through your body for a few moments. Cheating, Yuuji would insist, but you would be lying if you said you weren’t eager for a fight. The upcoming mission loomed over you, anxiety building as you thought about the uncertainties of it all. You hadn’t trusted the higher-ups from the beginning, and you especially didn’t trust them in any circumstance where Itadori Yuuji’s life was at risk. You exhale, feeling the familiar buzz of your cursed energy flow as you move. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Sparring with Megumi feels like a dance, more than anything else. He was your partner long before Yuuji and Nobara had even transferred to Tokyo, and your body has been trained to move as seamlessly with him as possible. Every step forward he takes you step back, and with each swing of the staff, your katana rises up to meet up. You lose yourself in it for a moment, watching the way his jaw clenches in concentration, eyebrows furrowed as you narrowly avoid a pointed elbow. A sharp jab of your blade, and Megumi is suddenly right in front of you. The air leaves your lungs in his presence taking in the scent of his laundry detergent and the slightest tinge of the soap he uses. He takes advantage of your distraction to disarm you, flipping you neatly into a hold.

“Yield,” he says, pressing his knee down into your stomach a little more firmly. You try your best to ignore the sight of him kneeled between your legs as you try to kick out from under him. His eyes darken at the sight of you, pinned and struggling to free yourself.

“Yield,” he says, once more, and you do, letting your body rest against the ground as you stare up at him. There’s a bead of sweat trickling down his temple, the veins of his slender hands raised as he holds his staff. You let your hand curl against the wood of it, feeling the pressure of it resting on your throat.

“I yield,” you say, and in that moment you know that you have. Fushiguro Megumi has stolen your heart from the day you met him. I’d give you everything, you realize, as Megumi helps you to your feet. There are 35 trillion blood cells in the human body, and every single one of them runs for you. You let your fingers intertwine with his for the briefest moment before forcing yourself to pull away. I would do anything to have you. My greatest sin and my holiest salvation wrapped into a single body.

“That was a good fight,” he tells you, taking your silence for sulking. Maybe I wanted to lose. Maybe I did want to fall for you. Would that be such a sin?

“Thanks,” is your stilted answer, the setting sun sealing your fate. You’re in love with Fushiguro Megumi. And you don’t quite know what to do about it.

The mission is simple enough, until it isn’t. An abandoned hospital, Ijitchi had said in the car ride over. Residual curses had been spotted clinging to the interior, feeding off of an unknown source within. Intel had suggested that it was a Grade 2 spirit at most. You watch as Nobara takes a bit too much pleasure in nailing the swarms of weak curses that had greeted you at the entrance, Yuuji laughing at how easily his fists send them to a rather unpleasant demise. Yet, you can’t shake the feeling of unease that settles over you. This is too easy for a promotion mission. What were they hiding?

Then Megumi opens the doors to what would’ve been the emergency room, and all hell breaks loose.

Bloodstains, bright red, catch your eye first. They’re splattered all over the room, on the floor, curtains, and on the hospital sheets yellowed with age. You see the bones next. Human; skulls, ribcages, femurs, all picked clean and white enough to shine under the fluorescent lighting. The light flickers. A tumorous mass sits in the center of the room, a conglomeration of hair, teeth, and eyes that blink slowly at you. Your spine stiffens, and immediately, you pull Megumi towards you as a ropelike strand of hair tightens around the spot where he was standing.

Those fuckers. A Semi-Grade 1?

“Megumi,” is all you can make out. In the hallway, you can hear something more menacing, something equally as terrible as what sits in the room inside with you. You can hear Nobara’s cry of pain as a nauseating crack rips through the air. They won’t survive without him. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes widen in understanding a fraction too late as you gather all your energy and shove him back out into the corridor as the curse flings a file cabinet at you. It crashes into the door, and you can hear Megumi calling your name with something that sounds like desperation. The hinges rattle as he throws his weight against it, but the cabinet holds firm. When you turn to face the curse in front of you, the look in its eyes is amused as you draw your blade. A cavernous maw opens, splitting it down the center as misshapen lumps of flesh spill out. Smaller curses, remnants of the innocents it had lured and devoured. A sudden chill goes through your body.

This isn’t a Semi-Grade. This is a full-fledged Grade 1.

There’s something vicious in the way you move, tearing through cursed spirits as though they’re paper. Ichor stains the ground around you, as red as the blood you channel through your veins. Dimly, you think you’re screaming. It was a set up, you think desperately. Of course the higher-ups would try to kill Itadori Yuuji at any cost. They didn’t give a fuck about you, or Nobara, or Megumi. Fury fills the cavern of your chest as you lunge for the hulking Grade 1, as it grotesquely pushes out the corpse of one of its victims into something far more sinister. You rip it to shreds without a second thought.

The sound of steel on flesh makes the hair of your arms rise as you finally manage to cut a nasty gash into the misshapen curse in front of you. It howls in pain, tendrils reaching for your body as you leap away. Instead, the tendrils open the serrated wound a bit further, opening a new pocket for its children to crawl out of. That was the first blow you’d been able to land; ten minutes have passed since you trapped yourself inside a room with it. Will you make it out alive? You shake the thought away angrily.

Gritting your teeth, you increase your blood flow, shooting it down to your legs and the fibers of your muscles. Your blade shines as it cuts down curses, the Grade 1 merely watching with a demeanor that you can only describe as bored. It’s toying with you, you realize, but what pricks your heart isn’t fear, but resignation. Your foot catches on the rubble for only a moment, and the Grade 1 moves, slamming you into the wall with enough force for you to feel your ribs shatter. Blood fills your mouth and you choke, lungs heaving. Punctured, your technique tells you, a liter gone. The air tastes like iron and salt, and you realize with a start that you’re dying.

You feel oddly calm as the world spins, watching as the ropes of hair approach your prone body. The last thing you see is the door shattering open, and the look in Megumi’s eyes as he sees you. There’s terror in his normally stoic expression, his arm outstretched towards you as Nue dives for you. Nobara and Yuuji are moving, but all you can see is him. His hands are bloodied at the fingertips, as though he’d been clawing at the door with his own hands to pry it open, his lips moving soundlessly. There’s a dull ringing in your ears, the toll of death that signals your end. His hand cups your face, and you allow yourself to lean into it for a moment, reveling in the touch. I could die like this, is your final thought as you succumb to your injuries. I’m happy that you’re holding me, Megumi.

The world around you feels muted, when you finally awaken. Your vision is blurred as you peel your eyelids back, and you wince at the sensation. How long have you been out for? Slowly, the blurred tinges of light start to focus. A lamp, dimly lit to your right on the nightstand next to a pitcher of water and an empty cup. A punctured lung, a liter gone. Your hand drifts to the bandages that wrap your chest, carefully letting your cursed technique scan your body. A few lacerations, but for the most part you were fine. Crisp sheets rustle as you sit up, examining your surroundings. The hospital in the infirmary. Somehow, they managed to bring you back.

Megumi’s eyes, so desperate and lost as his hand reached for you.

You try not to think about it, as you carefully test your body. Your limbs ache, but that’s to be expected. Your hair has been neatly pulled away from your face; Nobara’s work, no doubt. Her screams from behind the door, the dread in your chest when you realized they might not survive without Megumi. You watch your fingers shake as you reach for the water, letting it soothe away the pain in your throat. Did she even make it? Did they live?

The door opens, startling you from your thoughts. Megumi stands in the doorway, hand pushing through his hair. You take a moment to examine him, noting the dark circles under his pale skin, and how his long hair seemed mussed. His eyes scan the room, passing over you before focusing on you with startling clarity.

“You’re awake.”

Hesitantly, you nod, as he drops into the seat beside you. “Did…did they…”

He cuts you off before you can even finish your sentence. “Kugisaki and Itadori are fine.”

You stare down at your hands, letting the silence wash over you. Yet, you’re dimly aware of how suffocating it feels, how your shoulders were unable to relax even with the knowledge that your friends were alive and safe. Megumi continues to watch you, but before you can say something, anything, his voice fills the air, terse and clipped.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

Startled, your eyes meet his. “What?”

“Did you think I was too weak? That I couldn’t handle it just because you’ve been a Grade 2 longer than I have?” The eyes that normally watched you with a hint of affectionate exasperation were cold, and hard. “You behaved recklessly. Did you even think about how it impacted the rest of us? Because of you, Kugisaki broke her leg, and Itadori almost had his arm cleaved off. You did all of that just for the rest of us to find you half dead in a puddle of your own bones and blood.”

“Stop it,” you whisper, but Megumi’s voice only twists into something far more cruel. “You thought you were being so brave, sacrificing yourself, only to realize that you weren’t that special. You couldn’t even take down that Grade 1 alone. Kugisaki had to save you, even as she was practically screaming from the pain.”

“Megumi,” you whisper, and he pauses, clearly unused to his name falling from your lips. “Why are you so angry at me?” Your voice breaks ever so slightly and you bite your lip hard enough to taste blood, ashamed at the wetness in your eyes. “Where is this coming from? I don’t understa-”

He slams his palm against the wooden surface of your bedside table, rattling the drawers. “Are you really that stupid to ask what you did wrong? You fucked up. I thought you were different, but in reality, you’re no better than the rest of your clan, are you? You’re just another filthy Kamo.”

Your hands shake as you twist them into the off-white infirmary sheets. “What are you talking about?”

Megumi laughs, but it’s jaded, sharp. “Congratulations. You’re being promoted to a Semi-Grade 1, all because of your little stunt that landed the rest of us into hospital beds. Even though we all had to help you finish it off, they’re only choosing you. I wonder why.”

“Megumi.” Your voice rises, as your heart finally shatters. “I did it because I thought you would die, you know that. I don’t give a fuck about the politics of the higher ups, or my clan, or even my grade. I just wanted to protect you all. You know that.”

He rises from the chair next to your side, expression indifferent to the tears that are rolling down your cheeks. “As if I’d believe you.”

“Megumi,” you call out, desperately, as he walks away. “Megumi!”

He doesn’t look back, and you’re left alone in the dark with only the moon to bear company as you sob. I don’t understand, you think, deliriously. Can’t you see that I love you? Can’t you see I’d rather die than watch you break in front of me?

Megumi barely makes it to the lawn before he retches into the bushes. Bile rises in his throat and he squeezes his eyes shut as he replays the moment over and over and over again. For five days, he’d held vigil at your bed. For five days, he realized that your love for him would get you killed. For five days, he’d wrapped his heart in iron, knowing that what he was about to do would break the both of you. I would’ve only gotten you killed, he thinks, numbly. It’s what landed you here in the first place.

Yet, Megumi can’t stop recalling the exact moment the relief in your eyes had turned into betrayal, how your lips had trembled and your hands shook. Your voice, desperate and pleading, calling his name as he forced his legs to walk away from you. How he can hear your sobs faintly trailing from the windows above, matching the tears that are trailing down his cheeks.

You’ll hate him forever, he thinks, dazed, as he forces himself onto his feet. You’ll hate him forever, and by god it’ll be the most painful thing he’s ever experienced, but as long as you’re alive he can bear it. As long as he never has to see you there again, laying in a heap of your own blood, eyes dazed and unseeing, he will carry the sins that it takes to keep you alive and away from him.

I love you. I love you, and I’m sorry that someone like me ever fell for someone like you. I love you so much that the thought of being without me tears me to shreds. I love how you take care of my shikigami like they're your own. I love how every touch you give me heals something that I didn't know I was missing. I love you, and I need you to live more than I need air to breathe.

I love you, and even though I don't think you'll ever forgive me, I'll always follow wherever you go.

#haerinwrites #megumi x reader #megumi x you #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jjk x reader angst #i would like to apologize in advance #that is all </3

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imagineityourself · 5 months

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So, as you may already know, Russian Supreme court has banned 'international LGBT movement' as an 'extremist organisation'. I rarely post something, but let me share some news and tell you how the situation feels to me, a bisexual 22yo living in Russia.

Now, according to law, you will face up to 12 years of imprisonment if you somehow show that you're gay or support gay rights - even if you're wearing a 6-colour rainbow pin on your T-shirt. Even if you're holding hands.

Yesterday a TV channel in Saint's Petersburg was fined for showing a music video for a song by Sergey Lazarev (you may remember him as a Eurovision participant in 2016 and 2019) where two girls are showing affection. In the official statement, the vid was described as containing 'fragments showing interacting hands (caressing each other) belonging to two different people of the same sex, i.e. potentially perceived as a tactile, sensual interaction of individuals broadcasting their homosexual preferences'.

Here's the link to what is considered containing extremism in Russia btw.

youtube

I have a girlfriend, we've been together for 2 years now. We used to hold hands when outside sometimes - not in super public places, but you know, quiet spots in a park where you are unlikely to meet anyone. Physical touch is one of my main love languages, and having my gf touch my shoulder to reassure me or take my hand to show affection means so much to me. My heart actually skips a beat when she does that.

Yesterday, we were taking a stroll in a park. She took my hand, and after a few seconds with a corner of my eye I noticed a man passing by watching us with a weird look. And my heart skipped a beat for another reason.

'He's gonna report to the police!!!' - it screamed. 'We're fucked!!!' - it screamed even louder. I let go my girlfriend's hand. We looked at each other, having the same thought.

It was scary.

We decided never to hold hands when outside again.

We are planning to move in this January. And it is so scary that people might notice. That there might be a neighbour that would rat you out. That you might forget changing pronouns from 'her' to 'he' while mentioning your partner - and spend years in jail.

Yesterday, there were raids of special police units on LGBTQ+ night clubs (that are not saying openly what they actually are ofc) under the pretense of 'illegal drug sale'. People were not let out without taking a photo of their passports.

Two of my queer friends were supposed to go there and ended up not going only because one of them didn't feel well. He was so lucky not to feel well.

Some might say that we should know better than to hold hands in parks and go to undercover gay clubs knowing we're living in Russia - that we could live without this provocation. That is not entirely false.

But the thing is, even two years ago, when I started dating my girlfriend and before the war in Ukraine, no one seemed to really care. I can't speak for the entire LGBTQ+ community, but I'd say if we were living quietly our undercover gay life, we were more ignored than actually oppressed. Even when the 'LGBT propaganda law' was passed, at least you could get away with a fine for showing a rainbow. Now you don't. We won't hold hands or go to gay parties, you win.

And that's scary.

I would love to know how to fight, but I'm just so tired.

#russia #lgbt #lgbt rights #gay rights #gay #bisexual #Youtube #lgbtqia

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random-thot-generator · 2 months

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Better Not to Know

KYLE GAZ GARRICK x FEM READER

Summary: A chance encounter with a handsome stranger in a night club leaves you longing for more.

Warnings/Tags: Explicit language, explicit sexual content, unprotected P in V - fr tho wrap it up ya filthy animals, random hook-up sex, breeding kink?- hmm... yeah, fem breeding kink, a moody touch of angst, some pining, my usual brand of smut, only half-assed proofread- embrace the imperfections, no use of Y/N

(Notes: Just another smut purge with pretty boy Gaz, along with some angst added in for @tiredmetalenthusiast . I didn't forget, I just get easily distracted. Hope you like!)

banners & dividers by: @saradika-graphics

Chaotic, strobing lights and throbbing, hypnotic bass. Dim shadows writhing en masse on the dance floor, a dense forest of waving arms and swaying bodies. There is heat and sweat and sex layered thick in the oppressive air with just a hint of danger to heighten alcohol-dulled senses.

The danger you're seeking lurks at a corner cocktail table on the outskirts of the dance floor. He's somehow managed to sprawl with natural grace over the unwieldy, tall chair, lounging like a king on a throne. One heel is hooked on a rung, the other resting on the floor, his body one long, continuous masculine line that pulls the eye up to a face that's both wicked and angelic. His smile is pure sin, his dark eyes appreciative and knowing.

Oh, yes...

This is what you came here for tonight. To hell with the drinks and dancing and your girls' night out. This is what you really need. This man, this demigod currently eye-fucking you from across the room. A coy smile curls your painted lips as the two of you lock eyes.

Ten minutes later, you're pressed up against the graffitied partition of a bathroom stall, legs wrapped around his surging hips, whimpering as he snaps and grinds them with brutal precision. Your fingers glide over dark skin sheened with sweat, hungry mouth seeking the hot cavern of his as he spears you to the wall with a particularly hard thrust. The rhythmic clink of his belt catches your ear, a lewd accompaniment to your gasping breaths and the constant slap-slap of flesh on flesh. It debaucherous and filthy and you can't get enough.

He stares into your eyes when he tells you to touch yourself, pinning you with a smoldering look that has your cunt clenching in response. Nostrils flare and teeth grit, his strokes growing sharper, deeper, more unhinged with each passing second. He's fucking you with feral abandon, a wild light flashing in his eyes as he nears his release. He's growling, gnashing his teeth, mouth hovering at your neck as he fights the primal urge to bite, to mark, to claim.

"This is mine. My pussy," he snarls at your ear, and holy fuck! That possessive, dark tone in his voice sends your mind reeling, turning you into a desperate, needy, grasping thing. Speaking coherently at this point is out of the question, but you nod your confirmation with dazed enthusiasm. Hell yes, this is his pussy. He can claim it and any bloody thing else he wants, just so long as he doesn't stop fucking you.

"Come for me," he demands in a low, guttural voice, and you do. God help you, you do, like a bitch coming to heel. "Fuck, that's it, pet. Just like that. Bloody fuck—"

The rest of his words catch in his throat, and with one last violent thrust he stills, his entire body tensing, muscles trembling with the strain as his fingers clamp onto your ass and drive you down onto his cock, holding you in place as he empties himself inside you. His cock pulses hard enough to make you moan at the feel of it, your eyes rolling back in your head. You know it's bad form to not use a condom, dead stupid of you both, to be honest, yet you can't deny the truth.

You wanted him this way, raw and real and messy. It's insane, pure unadulterated nonsense, but you relish the feel of his cum inside you. You'll regret this decision come morning when you're slinking into the chemist's shop for a Plan B pill before popping into the clinic to get tested. Right now, though, it's all you can do not to purr in decadent satisfaction.

His kisses are errant, artless things landing haphazardly across your collarbone, your earlobe, your cheek. His lips then cover yours, his tongue unfurling in your mouth to slide over yours in a sensual, intimate coupling, and something inside you blooms warm then spreads out to all your extremities. His nose bumps yours in the sweetest way, and you're enamored with him, just like that.

The bathroom door opens, noise flooding into the quiet space between you. Two drunk girls dawdle at the sink, comparing notes on the blokes they've chatted up, deciding which ones they'll be taking home later. His brown eyes sparkle with barely contained mirth, lips quivering as he holds in his laughter. He's so bloody beautiful. You drop your head to his shoulder, unable to look at him any longer without saying something stupid like, "Come home with me."

You bite your tongue and wait.

The sink runs, the hand dryer blasts, and then the two birds are walking out, leaving the lingering scent of cheap body spray and pink hand soap in the close, heated air. The tap drips, his belt buckle jingles, and the spell is broken. He sighs, placing a chaste peck on your lips, his hands giving your hips a gentle squeeze.

Time's up.

Legs sliding down his muscled flanks, you lock your shaking knees to support you, inner thighs quivering. His cum is a tangible reminder of his claim on your body, as much as the smell of his cologne and sweat on your skin, as much as that poignant, sharp ache in your battered cervix. He fucked you hard and he fucked you well and he made certain that you'd remember him for days to come. What more could you ask of a man like him?

"Ya alright, pet?" he murmurs, his voice so deep and smooth and warm that it raises the fine hairs all over your body. The man is sex personified, a carnal feast that's left you sated but still craving more. You've never been with anyone like him, and it scares you a bit, the effect that he has on you. You were right about him; he's dangerous.

You hum in the affirmative and smile, suddenly feeling shy and awkward. You lower your lashes to hide your confusion, too flustered to speak. You can only imagine what sort of goofy, cock-dumb expression you're wearing. His sigh of satisfaction gusts over your face, the backs of his long fingers brushing over your cheekbone. "So lovely," he mutters, like an inner thought spoken aloud.

Silly cow that you are, his words make your heart flutter.

"I'm fine. More than fine," you finally answer.

You chance a glimpse up into deep brown eyes with striations of amber and copper that catch the dim light. Your gaze drinks him in, flickering over his long, curling lashes and wing-like raven brows. You're melting at the sight of the most sensuous mouth you've ever seen on a man, not to mention a smile so brilliant, it turns you inside out and dumps your heart on the floor. It's only the scar beneath his left eye that detracts from his ethereal, masculine beauty, that proves that he is, in fact, a mere mortal.

"Perfection," you whisper, skimming your thumb over the scar. Your meaning goes for both the man and the sex, but he can take it however he likes.

He fumbles at the latch and opens the stall door, keeping a hand at your lower back as you toddle out on coltish legs. You drift to the mirror to see what the damage is, oddly proud about the mess he's made of you. You swipe the mascara from beneath your eyes and dab away the smear of lipstick at the corner of your mouth. Your hair's a bit of a tangle, but who's going to notice or care at this late stage of the evening?

A tremulous smile appears on your face when he steps in behind you, large hands curling 'round your hips as he presses his full length against your back. His warmth seeps through the thin material of your dress, his mouth hot and wet as it skates up the column of your throat. "You were bloody amazing, love," he breathes at your ear, chuckling, pleased, when you shiver. He gives your bum a light smack that turns into a protracted, possessive squeeze. "Love your arse," he mumbles to himself, then gives his head a shake, stepping away. "I'll, uh, see ya around, yeah?"

"Sure," you husk out, knowing it's all a lie. These soft words and kind glances are nothing more than routine hook-up etiquette— always try to part ways on friendly terms. You know this role by heart, have played out this scenario so many times that you can recite all the inane pleasantries in your sleep.

Only this time, you wish the words were true.

His eyes meet yours in the mirror, his weight shifting between his feet, then he winks and stuns you with another one of those mega-watt smiles. Stepping to the door, he takes hold of the handle but then pauses, his eyes drifting over you one last time. He seems on the verge of saying something, but his beautiful mouth presses into a thin line, the corners turned down. He takes in a long, slow breath then heaves it out with a wistful sigh. "Take care, love."

"You, too."

You offer up a brave smile and hold up a hand in farewell, though a pang of disappointment rings hollow inside your chest as you watch him step through the door and disappear. The racket from the club pours into the room like dirty flood water, and the sudden urge to go after him has you shuffling your feet. Then, with a pneumatic hiss of the closing door, the obnoxious noise is muffled again to a dull and distant roar, and your reason returns.

How pathetic would you have looked, chasing after him like some clingy, lovesick girl. Your fingers tighten on the edge of the sink as you peer into the mirror at your reflection. You're surprised by your forlorn expression and realize you feel a little sad now that he's gone.

Once you return to your seat, you ignore the chatter of your drunk friends, instead panning your eyes over the crowd. You're hoping to spot his familiar silhouette among the anonymous bodies but can't find him, again. He must have left, his mission for the night now complete, you think with a touch of bitterness. No point in sticking around, right?

You fancy that you could pretend he was just a drunken fever dream, nothing more than a figment of your inebriated imagination, if not for the dull ache that still resides deep in your core. Oh, he was real, alright, as real as his cum in your panties and the sore throb of your bruised cunt. You know in your heart of hearts that it will take weeks, maybe even months for his memory to fade. The thought is depressing.

"Think I'm gonna call it a night, ladies," you tell the bleary-eyed trio seated around the table.

Your friends fuss and protest, trying their best to coax you into one more drink or at least another dance, but they're too drunk to really see the state of you. If they were just a little bit sober, it would be more than obvious why you're so set on leaving; you're completely fucked out, decimated, ruined. You hug each of them good night and promise to text the group chat when you arrive home.

Cold air smacks you in the face when you step out of the club. You inhale a sharp, icy breath, fog condensing in front of your eyes as you release it. You can feel the chill wind seeping through the seams of your coat, feel how it settles deep into the marrow of your bones. You suddenly feel achy and tired and near desperate for the warm safety of your own bed.

A glance up and down the sidewalk reveals the lack of waiting taxis, so you pull out your phone and order an Uber, cursing the wait. Huddling deeper inside your coat, your let your thoughts drift back to that brief but memorable encounter in the loo. For once, you regret not getting a bloke's number, and now you can't help but wonder if that's why he paused before leaving. Had he wanted you to ask him for it?

Unfortunately, you'll probably never know.

It's probably for the best, you tell yourself. A handsome bloke like him would undoubtedly complicate your life. He's the type of man that makes a sane, independent woman want to bake cakes and make babies. He is dangerous. You knew it when you first saw him, and now he's proven it to you. Already the 'what-ifs' are rattling about inside your tired brain. It's a good thing he left when he did, otherwise...

Yeah, you're definitely better off not knowing.

Your phone chimes, notifying you that your Uber has arrived, a faded red hatchback pulling up to the curb seconds later. You check the driver's ID then climb into the backseat, sinking back into the cushions as the car pulls back into the light flow of traffic. It irritates you that you still feel that little inkling of sadness. It's such a haunted, lonely feeling.

Damn, you think, staring blindly out of the window. I wish I'd asked for his name.

part 2

#kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #cod gaz x reader #gaz x reader #gaz smut #cod gaz smut #cod smut #cod mw2 #cod mw3

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ironstrange1991 · 5 months

Text

Starting Over

Paring: Tony!Stark x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

Synopsis: Tony Stark is the best friend you can have when you're struggling with depression.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and medications, depression, social isolation, suicidal thoughts (in the fic they appear in some ironic and deprecatives thoughts).

A/N: I'm not going to pretend I wasn't writing about myself in this fic, you're all too smart not to realize that. It's been difficult days, weeks, months and writing this fic has helped me in a way. There is a lot of angst but also some fluff moments. Hope you guys like it.

You were stuck. In life, in love, at work. The whole world seemed to be spinning, running, happening and you were just there, standing, motionless looking through the window, stuck in gravity.

You were depressed. Not just sad or down, but really depressed. After fighting depression for years, taking every type of antidepressant there was and not being able to get out of that state, you simply stopped trying. Depression was part of your personality now and you wore it almost like a battle trophy, a victory flag that you brandished as if to say: I survive.

Surviving became the thing you were best at. A true prodigy when the subject was to endure. You withstood the strong winds of life, endured through each wave of catastrophe, and remained. Even if inside you were falling apart.

To fall apart. What a funny way to say it. To actually fall apart it was necessary that, in principle, you had risen up at some point. That somehow, even if just for a little while, you had managed to let go of that sad and pitiful state, but that wasn't what happened. You never made it out. Once you got close, but the doors closed before you got through them. The sun set before you could finally reach it just like in that Marilyn Manson song. The same song that played on repeat now through your tv speakers as you sat on your couch in your small apartment on a Friday night after getting home from work. Your cat, Sebastian, sleeping lazily next to you on the couch, completely oblivious to your problems. You liked watching him sleep, he calmed you just by existing and you envied his innocence.

God, you hated Fridays. To be honest, there wasn't a day you liked when in fact you hated being alive. But Fridays were oppressive. They were like a reminder that the world was a living, breathing thing where things happened and you were on the outside, never a part of it.

On Fridays you would hear the conversations of your coworkers talking about the parties they were going to, the dates with their crushes, the family dinners, the happy hours with friends. You once heard a colleague saying that weekends are made for enjoying your family and you wondered if you would feel better if you had a family to run to.

All these fruitless and cursed inquiries would arrive on Fridays like an unwanted visitor and weigh on your chest as soon you close the door behind you and contemplate the emptiness of your apartment. Of your life.

I should get another cat. You would think every Friday night and ended up on the couch, like now, with a bottle of wine, a clonazepam pill, and the vain hope that one day maybe things could change or that one day you just wouldn't wake up on the next Saturday morning. The second option would always bring a sadistic smile to your lips.

Flirting with death again, Y/n. Why do you always end up on this couch flirting with death?!

You were distracted by your own thoughts, immersed so deep in them that the very air around you seemed thick and unbreathable when you heard the sound of the doorbell. You froze for a moment scared by the intrusion. The sound, which you weren't at all used to, sent a shiver down your spine.

There was only one person in the world who had access to your apartment, one person in the world who you trusted enough to give your address, your phone number, your friendship. And this person unfortunately had a too busy life to spend time with you. Even if he tried very hard.

However, contrary to everything you knew to be true, when you opened the door, he was the one standing there, dressed in jeans and a hoodie with the hood pulled to hide the majority of his face and a pair of sunglasses, although it was night. Tony Stark.

"What...?" You started to say, but were interrupted.

"Are you going to let me in or am I going to have to stand here and risk being recognized by one of your weird neighbors?"

You opened the door for him to enter and closed it behind you, still amazed that he was there in the first place.

You and Tony met at one of his science fairs. You worked for a technology company and he offered you a scholarship because he was enchanted by one of your creations. The rest was history. Well, in fact the rest was the only real friendship you had or have in your life, not counting the financial help that ensured you continued paying your rent when the company you worked for went bankrupt and you were fired.

"I've sent you at least ten messages all day. And I've tried calling you a thousand times." He ranted looking at you as if looking for something. "I thought you’ve died or worse."

"What could be worse than dying?" You asked, your voice sounding as monotonous as your life.

He raised an eyebrow but didn't respond, returning to where he had left off.

"What I'm trying to say is that I was worried about you. The last time we spoke you didn't seem well and that was two weeks ago."

You sighed, sitting down and he pushed Sebastian to the side so he could sit next to you. The old cat seemed to glare at him before getting off the couch and starting to lick the exact spot where Tony touched him.

"I'm fine. I'm sorry about the messages, I didn't know what to reply and I didn't see the calls because the cell phone is on do not disturb mode."

Tony sighed. "What's going on? Aren't the medicines working? Is there a problem at work?"

You shrugged. "Same as always. And I'm not taking medication, you'd know that if you read my latest messages, which you haven't done in the last week."

He didn't seem satisfied with your answer. "Why the hell did you stop the meds, Y/n? You just said they were helping!"

You shrugged. "For the first few weeks. Then they stopped working like all the others. Plus, they don't let me cry. It's a strange feeling."

Tony ran a hand over his face. "Isn't this a good thing?"

"Not really. They don't take the sadness away, Tony, they just don't let me cry it away."

He stared at the TV sighing. "I'm sorry I didn't respond to your messages. I was away. I just got back."

You nodded. "Out of the country?"

"Out of the planet." He said with a shrug "Alien threat, long story. The short version is that I was there leading a team and we won. The earth is saved again. I saved your life again, I'll send you the bill later."

You smirked "As far as it's up to me, you don't need to bother anymore."

Tony made a face, analyzing you closely, but didn't say anything.

"Why are you here, Tony? Really. Don't tell me you were just passing by because you have no reason to come to this side of town."

He sighed. "I'm worried about you. I dreamed about you last night. It was bad, really bad. It made me think..."

You frowned, waiting for him to continue, but instead he pulled you into a tight hug like he was afraid of losing you. You were surprised at first, but then you hugged him back and that feeling, the human touch, was enough to make you start crying.

"It’s okay." Tony whispered in your ear. "You can cry. I'm here, now."

And you cried. In a way you hadn't cried in a long time. All the feelings pent up inside your chest seemed to overflow and you felt relief, almost as if you had carried something heavy in your arms for a long time and could finally let go.

When the torrent of tears finally stopped you pulled away hugging your knees and feeling a little embarrassed, but Tony somehow always knew how to deal with every situation in such a natural way. Sometimes you would catch yourself looking at him and thinking how you could be so lucky to have him as a friend. Good things didn't usually happen to you, but Tony was an exception.

"Can we turn this thing off or at least find something decent to listen to?" He said while searching for the remote.

"Anything but your old man bands." You responded finding the strength somewhere to tease him. He rolled his eyes, finally finding the remote and turning off the TV.

He made himself comfortable on the couch and leaned his face in his hand, staring at you and simply said it. "I want you to come live with me."

And before you could show any reaction, he continued explaining himself.

You shook your head in disbelief. "Tony, you're not responsible for me. We're friends, that's all."

"I have more rooms available in that tower than I have people living in them. Besides, it would make things a lot easier for me. It's hard to keep an eye on you when you live on the other side of town."

He seemed to completely disagree. "It's what I do. I care about the people I love. Please, just... consider it." He ran his hands over his face again. "This is my way of saying I care about you, Y/n."

You sighed heavily. The idea of no longer needing to pay rent was tempting, but on the other hand, what would you do in that place? You would feel like a fish out of water.

"I don't know, Tony. I'm not your superpowered friends, I have nothing to do there."

He stood up looking around and heading towards the cubicle that was your kitchen, somehow completely ignoring your answer. "Have you had dinner?" He asked rummaging through your fridge and grimacing. "Y/n there's no food in here. It doesn't even look like there's a human being living in this place."

You shrugged. "There's enough."

He opened the freezer, rummaging through the packages of frozen food. "For God's sake, is this what you're feeding on?"

You sighed, slightly irritated by the intrusion. "Tony, fresh food is expensive."

He closed the refrigerator, took out his cell phone and typed quickly. "Well, I guess we'll go for pizza tonight. Do you like Pepperoni?"

You weren't hungry, but you nodded anyway, knowing there was no point in arguing with him. Tony might be the smartest person you knew, but he was as stubborn as a mule.

He sat back down next to you. "If you need money just tell me."

You rolled your lips. The idea of asking Tony for money was always in the back of your head, but since you got your job you stopped accepting his help and didn’t want to give in to the temptation again. "I don't want to overstep the boundaries of our friendship. Besides, that would put me again in an uncomfortable position, Tony..."

"Then come work for me. Okay, sorted. I need someone with your skills..."

You rolled your eyes "Do you need someone to create software for you?"

He smirked, "Okay, you got me. But, we can think of something."

You sighed, the corners of your mouth turning up in a smile. Tony was so sweet, you could see an herculean effort from him to make you feel better and it was definitely the most amazing thing anyone had ever done for you.

"I would like to quit my job. It’s a shit job." You admitted staring at your hands. "… and I hate that place. I hate those people."

"Is there any person in the world that you don't hate?" He teased.

You smirked, "You're not so bad."

He grabbed your hand and pulled you closer to him. You snuggled feeling the pleasant warmth of his body and laid your head on his shoulder.

"In fact, I think you're the only person in the world I don't hate."

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders. "I'll take that as a compliment."

You smiled to yourself. “Yeah, as you should.”

He looked at his cell phone's display for a moment and then informed. "Pizza in 20 minutes." He grabbed the TV remote and turned it on again, this time looking for something to watch. He went through the streaming catalogs – from which he was paying for - and ended up deciding on a random horror movie.

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes watching the opening scenes of The Nun. The silence, however, was not the uncomfortable kind, the kind that you need to fill with anything because the situation starts to get messy and strange. In fact, there was a certain comfort in being next to Tony, the intimacy that existed between you was something comforting and even cuddling with him on the couch, your head lying lazily on his shoulder, your arms wrapped around his waist, his arm resting affectionately on your shoulders, you felt completely at ease and carefree because you knew it was completely platonic. Tony had Pepper and you had simply given up on having a man in your life. Romantically speaking.

"How are things at home?" You asked, breaking the silence. "With Pepper and Morgan."

"Very good. Pepper has been taking care of the company and so she's been traveling a lot, but we're doing great. Morgan is doing really well in school. I think I've done well in life."

You smiled, genuinely happy for him. "Does she know you're here?"

He nodded, but you pushed a little harder.

"What does she think about me?"

"She knows what I tell her. She doesn't care about our friendship, if that's what you're asking."

You nodded, getting distracted by a particularly scary scene in the movie.

"She agreed to you coming and living with us." He said proudly.

You looked at him in surprise. "Seriously?"

"She also warned me that I should offer you a job if I expected you to accept the offer. Pepper knows people, she deals with them better than I do."

You smirked to yourself. "She's an incredible woman. I don't know what she saw in you." You teased tickling his ribs and eliciting giggles from him. You loved the sound of Tony's laughter. It would do you more good than all the anti-depressant pills you've ever taken in your life.

It took about 30 minutes for your pizza to arrive. Obviously, it was you who greeted the pizza guy at the door. Tony was terrified of any of your neighbors finding out he was coming to your house, not only because it could be fodder for the gossip tabloids, but also because it would ruin your privacy.

You put the pizza box on the coffee table and got two cans of soda from the fridge and threw yourself back on the couch.

Sebastian, who had settled into the small loveseat, was now staring at the two of you jealously.

You were surprised by how much you enjoyed your slice of pizza. It was the first thing you were eating that day, but you were sure that what made everything feel so special was the company. Any food, no matter how tasty it was, seemed tasteless in your mouth when you ate it alone sitting on that couch using TV to pretend a non-existent company.

"I could use an assistant." Tony said finishing his soda and looking at you waiting for an answer.

You took the last bite from your piece and chewed slowly thinking about what to say. Deep down you wanted to say yes, but rationally you wondered if you weren't crossing a line.

"You'll have your own room, which is bigger than this entire apartment. You'll have a good salary, meet new people, and spend more time with me. Something tells me that would do you good."

You smiled "I wouldn't know where to start. I don't know your work, Tony and I've never worked as a secretary."

"Assistant." He corrected.

"What if I screw up? What if I disappoint you?"

Tony touched your face "The only way you can disappoint me is by not trying. I want what's best for you and we both know that's not continuing to live in this place alone."

Immediately you glanced at Sebastian sleeping peacefully in the loveseat. "Can I take him with me? You know I'm not going anywhere without him."

Tony pretended to think about it. "You know he hates me, right?"

"He doesn't hate you. He's just jealous of me." You corrected him.

Tony smirked "You can take him, but he will have to stay in your room the whole time. It's not safe for him to be loose in the tower."

“Is it safe for me? I mean, with your weird friends there?”

Tony nodded “I’ll be there to protect you from them, don’t worry.”

Tony pulled you into his arms and you finished watching the movie like that, feeling safe in his arms and with a sense that somehow everything would be okay.

You sighed finally surrendering.

"Then the answer is yes."

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing ;)

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david-talks-sw · 1 year

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Okay so I watched Inside Man on Netflix. It's interesting. More importantly, it's a masterclass in crafting likeable characters and how the POV we follow in a scene affects the way we see a character. Also, this somehow relates to the Star Wars Prequels, I promise! 😆

The moral of the series is that "everyone is a murderer, all it takes is a good reason and a bad day." The main characters are:

A vicar who - through a huge misunderstanding - has now locked his son's tutor in his basement and doesn't know how to get out of this situation, played by David Tennant.

A convicted murderer and ex-criminal psychology professor who solves crimes from his cell, as he waits for his execution, played by Stanley Tucci.

So a man who locked a woman in his cellar and a guy who murdered his wife. In any other movie, these guys are the villains. Yet, both of these characters are extremely likeable!

This is achieved through how relatably they behave in their relationships (kind, humble, humorous)...

... and through the emotion and/or charisma brought by the actors playing them (it's THE DOCTOR/CROWLEY and Stanley Friggin' Tucci)... but also through the amount of screen time they get.

We're with them for most of the show. There's other characters (the journalist, the trapped tutor and the vicar's wife) and subplots, of course, but they're our two anchors.

So when I'm watching David Tennant lock his son's tutor in his cellar and consider if he should free her - only to see him and his wife make things worse - I'm not thinking "you monster" like I do when I see Buffalo Bill in Silence of the Lambs for example.

No, I'm thinking "goddammit vicar you're making things worse, it'll come back to haunt you, there's still a chance to turn back, please!" I'm rooting for him to make the right choice because I'm seeing him struggle and despair and hesitate throughout many scenes.

When I'm watching Stanley Tucci guiltily say he deserves death, after being so darn charming, humble and in clear possession of a moral compass, my instinct as a viewer isn't to go "he's right".

It's to go "aaaw, no it's fine, everyone makes mistakes."

And these characters remain likeable and/or relatable for a huge chunk of time... until, every once in a while, the show reminds you that, "remember, these guys are criminals."

"One of them's killed his wife then decapitated her, and the other one is contemplating murder, so they did/are doing evil stuff, they're the villains and you shouldn't grow fond of them."

Then it goes back to making you empathize with them again.

It's quite the emotional roller-coaster, very intriguing yet frustrating, which I have to guess is exactly what the show is going for.

But the point is: the amount of time we spend with these characters is partially what elicits this emotional reaction out of us.

If we consider the tutor's character:

For all intents and purposes, we should feel sorry for her, or full-on fucking love her. Objectively-speaking, she's:

smart but obviously scared,

we establish early on that she has a brave heart and stands up for oppressed women,

she thinks she's trapped by a pedophile or a man defending a pedophile, figures he'll inevitably try to murder her, yet manages to stay resourceful, determined and cool-headed despite it all.

She's an absolute superhero.

But that's not how the narrative frames her.

She's framed as an antagonistic force, in the vicar's subplot.

She may be the one tied up in a basement, but she's in control and the vicar is not. She's almost framed as being in a position of power (when she's really not), which leads the audience to view Tenant's vicar as an underdog.

When the vicar is trying to look for alternatives to end this situation so that he doesn't have to kill her, she's unhelpful,

and even starts pitting the vicar and his wife against each other.

Again, in-universe, she's scared shitless and in "fight-or-flight" mode. She's putting up a front because she's just trying to get outta this alive. She's the victim, here, not the vicar who captured her.

But as a viewer, you don't feel that, despite objectively knowing that. Why and how?

Because we barely see this character, compared to Tenant's vicar. So we have more time to grow to feel for him. There's "why".

Also 90% of what we do see of the tutor is her being aggressive, manipulative, sometimes downright merciless and we're seeing her from the POV of the vicar or the vicar's wife. There's "how".

Result: the viewer feels sorry for the captor and frustrated towards the captive.

This isn't a rational reaction, it's an emotional one (the goal of any visual artform being to get an emotional reaction out of the viewer).

Which means the series and Stephen Moffat effectively did their job.

How does this relate to the Prequels?

Well, a lot of people see the Jedi in a negative light in the Prequels, and Anakin in a more sympathetic one.

Even though the Prequels are about how a good man becomes bad, and even though the Jedi embody one of the major Star Wars themes (selflesness) as opposed to Anakin who clearly displays the anti-theme (selfish)... a majority of fans feels more for the latter than the former. Why?

Because the Prequels unintentionally do what Inside Man does purposefully. You react to Anakin like you react to the vicar. You react to the Jedi like you react to the tutor.

Simply put: Anakin has more screen time than the Jedi. And we don't just see him more, we see him struggle, we see him about what he knows to be morally right vs what he really wants, we see him be overtaken by his own fear...

... and just by contrast, that makes him more relatable than the Jedi, who have already overcome their character arcs and mostly all learned to keep their flaws in check.

The narrative doesn't intend to frame them as antagonistic. We do see them talk about how worried they are, we do see them emote.

And if you think about it, it's easy to see why:

their entire way of life is going to crap,

their values are being corrupted as they're forced to fight and die, alongside their clone brothers, in a war they wanted no part of,

they sense that the Force is close to the breaking point and that the galaxy's inhabitants are suffering on the daily.

But, for example, when Mace or Ki-Adi Mundi are shown expressing concern in the Prequels... as worried as they are, in-universe... out-of-universe, their measured reactions doesn't emotionally impact a viewer as much as Anakin's intense ones do.

So a big chunk of the audience will sympathize more with him than them. But like the tutor in Inside Man, the Jedi are objectively the victims and Anakin is objectively an unstable space-nazi who betrayed and destroyed them.

Just because we're not shown these characters be worried beyond just monotonously saying "I'm worried" doesn't mean they're not actually worried as Anakin is in Revenge of the Sith (if not more).

However we don't see it.

Because these three films aren't about the Jedi Order, they're about the Republic and about Anakin and about how each of these two beautiful things were corrupted (by Palpatine and by themselves) into becoming the very thing they stood against.

The Jedi aren't a factor in either of those two themes set up by George Lucas.

They became a factor when fans - who despite not liking the Prequels, still admirably chose to engage with the material - made the Jedi be more important to the narrative of the Prequels by re-framing these films as "The Failure of the Jedi".

Now, should Lucas have recognized that most fans wouldn't give two shits about why a Republic falls or the "matinee serial" format, and would've rather he focused on the Jedi, and developed them accordingly? Probably.

But good luck telling an indie filmmaker with a bunch of money how to tell the story he wants to tell.

Could Lucas have done more with the Prequels to highlight the fact that the Jedi are the underdogs of the story, not Anakin's oppressors? Yes.

But, firstly, he probably didn't think that was a point that needed explaining. And secondly, as he explained at Cannes, in 2002, feature films are a very limiting format to tell a story, especially one of the Prequels' scale. If it doesn't directly contribute to the story you're telling... it's gotta go.

A limited show would've been better to cover every aspect of the Prequels more in detail and avoid confusing the audience re: who they should be rooting for.

Which is why it's interesting, to me, that Stephen Moffat used his limited show to INTENTIONALLY confuse the audience! 😃

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singingcicadas · 2 months

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I find it super ironic that Cyclonus has this highly romanticized, propagandic view of the Decepticons, because like:

This is him 🔽

And this is also him 🔽

Dude you yourself was a member of the ruling elite of the old order. Even if what you said about the Decepticons were all true, you're a big part of why people needed to be emancipated in the first place.

He was part of Nova Prime's inner cadre during a time when bigotry and oppression was even more predominant. Nova. who's literally the founder of functionism, which flourished and peaked under the so-called Golden Age of his rule. And Galvatron's... Galvatron, I don't even want to talk about him everyone knows what he's like. But Cyclonus was somehow fine with being yes-man to both?

The way he spoke about the Decepticons, it sounded as if he's this super dedicated sjw filled with righteous passion about stuff like liberation and revolution and emancipation and 'the people', when in truth it's shown that he'd never cared about any of those things before that point.

Nova Prime's ideology was literally this:

And Cyclonus didn't have a problem with it during his entire life before the Ark, compared to more decent people like Dai Atlas and Omega Supreme who eventually clashed with their group and got kicked off the Ark b/c they couldn't stand Nova and co.'s lack of a bottom line and misuse of the word freedom.

As a matter of fact Cyclonus still believed in Nova Prime after he became Nemesis - not that he was much of a better person as Nova. Where's his sense of justice against corruption? Nova got turned into a literal demon, surely it's hard to get more corrupted than that. But his only complaint wasn't about what Nova/Nemesis was trying to do, it's about the process being too much of a damn ordeal.

He's super excited over the anticipation of murder and has no scruples whatsoever about killing non-combatants. The same thing happened again at Kimia.

He finally grew enough of a conscience to break off from Galvatron in the end but notice his wording. It's not 'you forced me to hurt people', it's 'you forced me to hurt Cybertron'. He even said Cybertron twice for emphasis.

It's not mind control, he just thinks like that. The guy's obsessed with Cybertron - with what Cybertron once was. The Cybertron he lived in. Nova Prime's Cybertron. The Golden Age. He's shown to repeatedly lament over it in his internal monologues.

It's all about the loss of his 'perfect world.' The infrastructure. the scenery. the Tetrahexian real estate lmao. How about let's feel some sadness for the billions of Cybertronians who once lived on it? When did he ever spare a thought for all the people who died?

The Decepticons worked so hard to destroy this. It's a gilded carcass rotting from the inside. It eats people alive. The rot was already there in his own time. He was complacent in putting it there. But he only had eyes for the beauty and nolstalgia.

In the first panel he lauded the Decepticons for wanting radical change. Well he himself seemed to be dead set against change judging by the way he kept wanting things to go back the way they were 8 million years ago.

Back in the Golden Age he would not have looked twice at a bot like Tailgate. He was part of the people who didn't give a shit about the disappearance of one waste disposal bot. He still wouldn't have given a shit if circumstances hadn't forced them together over and over again.

Looks to me he's enarmored with the grandness of the concepts of liberation and revolution and emancipation for 'the people' in the Decepticons' (theoretical) ideology. The concepts of fighting against corruption and bringing down the old order. Just like how he bought into the concepts of Nova's 'spreading freedom to the galaxy' and the glittering prosperity of the 'Golden Age.' Does he know that the Decepticon ideology is a twisted lie built on terror and massacres and genocide and despotism? Does he know that Nova's idea of spreading freedom and enlightenment is galactical conquest and his beloved Golden Age is built upon a foundation of misery and suffering and systematic subjugation? Of course he knows he's not stupid. He's nose-deep in it, it's virtually impossible not to. But he's able to willfully ignore those ugly truths as well as his role in them by only engaging in shallow romanticism through rose-coloured lens and refusing to delve deeper.

It's either that or imperalist mindset and the endorsement of violence and casual murder resonates hard.

#on one hand Cyclonus would have made the perfect decepticon #he's got the hypocrisy down really well #moral standards align too #but he wouldn't be able to stand them after a while. and they wouldn't be able to stand him #their views about the past are fundamentally different. like class different #let's not forget the fanatic religion. the decepticons hate religion. being religious is enough to get the DJD sicced on you #and taking religion to the extremes is what legitimized functionism in the first place #he's someone who's REALLY good at ignoring thing he doesn't like and brainwashing himself into thinking they don't exist #idw transformers #transformers #mtmte #maccadam #Cyclonus

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nervoustragedyluminary · 3 months

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Idk why calling transmasc people "cunts" & "bitches" in an insulting way is so normalised by fellow transmascs and trans guys in the Anti-Transmasculinity and transandrophobia tags.... like you realise you're just doing toxic masculinity and transphobia right?

Trans women never asked you to do this and it's pretty transmisogynistic and chauvinistic to claim you're doing it on their behalf or to fight for their liberation when it's actually the same self centred bullshit that predatory cishet men do when they go "I'm a feminist and all men are trash (but not mee I'm one of the good ones)"

the tone of many of these kinds of posts is very "I'm not like those other guys I'm one of the cool guys who is better than all the whiny boys who are behaving like girls (Derogatory) for talking about Anti-Transmasculinity and I'm gonna prove how feminist I am by calling them cunts and bitches and telling them they aren't real men because IMO 'real men' (white pericishet abled men) don't face gender based oppression or talk about facing it"

it's just very thinly veiled truscum "you're a transtrender for talking about Anti-Transmasculinity " BS trying to hide behind "I'm defending trans women & fighting transmisogyny by calling out these whiny bitchcunt tboys who won't man up and suffer in silence for the good of trans women like I do" when you're not even centring trans women in this kind of "advocacy";

you're just doing the classic thing of making it all about your own insecurities with masculinity and attacking other trans people for not being 'stoic' enough about transphobia and violence they face & claiming that trans women benefit from our erasure and silence .

Like you realise most trans women don't see you hurting trans dudes, misgendering them or mocking trans survivors of DV & SA and go "woo yeah this helps me fight transmisogyny & SA and DV against trans women please tell another guy that he deserves to be SA'd or detransitioned for being whiny"

and it's pretty telling of your unexamined transmisogynistic assumptions about how this behaviour must somehow benefit trans women that your first go to for "how can I be an ally to trans women? " is apparently to seek out trans guys and tell them they deserve sexual or domestic violence while calling them bitches and cunts and misgendering them to try to threaten them into silence on issues that effect them

... Just yuck behaviour like how to say you agree with terf rhetoric about trans women being pro DV and SA MRAs without saying it.

Seriously if you want to advocate for trans women and trans fems (and trans neuts) try to actually listen to them and stop trying to use them and their struggle for liberation (which is inextricably entwined with our own) as an excuse to play out this tired self obsessed "I'm more of a real man than you" dominance paradigm BS

And also maybe while you're at it listen to some of your fellow trans men and transmascs talking about their own issues and don't be so quick to assume without cause that they're blaming trans women for Anti-Transmasculinity existing in the first place or that they think trans women as a group are oppressing them.

Like there's a HUGE difference between talking about societal violence from cis people, lateral in community violence and anti transmasculinity and going into terf GC & radfem BS that claims that trans women are "using mAlE pRiVeLeGe to rule the trans community and oppress the poor TIFs" & listening to the good faith discussions and understanding what people actually mean when they talk about Anti-Transmasculinity and transandrophobia actuall helps you to quickly identify and discard BS terf rhetoric that tries to pretend to be pro transmasc rather than just writing off anyone speaking on these issues as "you're just a detransitioner (Derogatory) in waiting you're not a real trans man because real men don't have or talk about problems"

#transmisogyny #Anti transmasculinity #Transandrophobia #Rape culture #Toxic masculinity #chauvinistic saviour complex

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dreamerinthemoonlight · 1 month

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Secrets in the Rain

Summary: Under the boughs of the great tree at Windrise, you and Kaeya share secrets

Word Count: 1201

CW/TW: Mentioned/referenced Sexual assault, hurt/comfort, use of “lady love” as a term of endearment

Kaeya x Fem!reader

A/N: It took a couple years and a lot of editing, but I think this is pretty good. It used to be one of my least favorite fics, but now I think it's worth its salt.

In the Land of the Winds, sheltered by a tree that has seen the passage of ages, you and Kaeya sit side by side.

The silence that hangs between you is broken only by rumbles of thunder and the constant drum of the downpour on the grass around the great oak.

The longer it lingers, the more oppressive the quiet becomes.

When you had come out here, hoping to find guidance from Mondstadt’s greatest hero, you hadn’t asked your boyfriend of several years to follow. It's not like you mind his company, but the turmoil inside you urges you to send him away.

He shouldn't be here. He'll hate you. Don't let him see just how broken you are.

For a moment you’re reminded of one of Amber’s favorite stories, the one where the birds couldn’t fly until they gathered the courage and took the plunge. Looking at Kaeya, who seems to be waiting for you to speak, you realize that in this situation, you’re going to have to be that little, flightless bird. That somehow, you have to ignore the terrified voice, and take the plunge.

So you speak. “Why did you follow me, Kaeya?”

“Am I not supposed to be concerned about my --”

A crack of thunder obscures the end of this sentence, but you’ve heard his favorite term of endearment enough to fill in the blank.

Most days, the charming “lady love” falling from his lips warms you, even if all you do is blush and roll your eyes.

Today, however, isn’t one of those days. Today you sigh, closing in you yourself as one hand wraps around the opposing arm.

A drop of rain splashes on your neck, but you pay no mind.

“Don’t call me that, Kaeya. Not right now.”

“Talk to me, Y/n. What are you thinking? You're not supposed to sit under trees in a storm.”

While you bite your lip, unable to answer, Kaeya narrows his eye at you.

He knows you have your secrets. He sees it in the haunted look that you get sometimes, in the nightmares he knows you have but have never let him soothe. For as long as you’ve been together, he’s been waiting. He knows as well as any that when you're ready to speak, you will.

Another crack of lightning sends a pang of loss and frustration through his heart, reminding him of another, similarly miserable day and the vision he received. His vision, Secrets.

Mondstadt is the City of Freedom, not the City of Trade. Contracts are not its value and Rex Lapis not its god, but perhaps one of its precepts could be a solution. A fair trade, one thing for another. A secret for a secret.

All he knows is that if you're going to be hurting, putting yourself in danger to find comfort in solitude, he at least wants to know why.

Kaeya moves closer, not touching you--knowing that at times like this that you don't like touch--but bringing himself close enough that the storm can't swallow his confession.

“I’m from Khaenri’ah.”

The words are soft, but they’re enough to have you staring at him eyes wide and lips parted.

“Kaeya?”

He takes your question as a prompt to continue. “I was abandoned here, left to be a spy for Khaenri’ah, Though… I’m not sure where my loyalties are anymore.

“The Knights, the Winery--even Diluc as much as I hate to admit it--- and most especially my beautiful lady love. But I was raised for this mission, raised to fight against Mondstadt. I try not to think of what would happen if I were forced to choose between the two.”

Kaeya’s heart hammers in his chest, waiting for your response.

You rest your hand over his. “Is that why you and Diluc fought?”

“It was poor timing on my part. He still hasn’t forgiven me.”

“Neither of you are anything less than mule headed. It’s frustrating, but endearing. I'm happy you told me. ”

You hesitate, biting your lip.

As Kaeya had anticipated, knowing his secrets makes it harder for you to bury yours.

It certainly silences the voice inside. After all, how can he run after sharing a secret like his.

"I guess this means I can't withhold my secret from you anymore. I just don’t know how to say it. I almost can't speak of it, and often, I physically can't."

Kaeya remains silent, letting you take your time.

You sigh, roughly, glaring at the ground. “I’ve spent a lot of time trying to think of a way to say something. To tell you. I trust you more than I trust anyone but…”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Exactly.”

Kaeya doesn’t push, his single, star-pupiled eye giving you quiet encouragement. “You don’t have to tell me, y/n. I might have shared with you, hoping you would tell me what you've been thinking, but if you’re not ready to talk, you're not ready to talk. I won't force you.”

You shake your head. “I want to. You trusted me. I want to return that trust.”

Kaeya shifts your hands so that instead of laying one on top of another, your fingers are laced together. “Take your time.”

You inhale, closing your eyes and steeling your resolve. When you open them your gaze falls to your intertwined fingers.

“Do you know why I won't sleep with you?”

“I’ve made a couple guesses.”

Guesses based on your reactions to certain jokes, to bawdy talk at the Angel’s Share, to your reactions any time he tries to initiate anything more than a heated make out session.

The conclusions he makes are enough to have anger pooling in his gut. But he never pushed, trusting that the truth would come out in due time.

“I should have figured you would. You’re so perspective it’s scary.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I--” You avert your eyes as your throat constricts, trying to stop the words before they can be aired. You force them out anyway. “I had my innocence stolen. A long time ago. It took me a long time to realize what happened, but now that I have? It hurts, Kaeya. It hurts so bad and I don’t know how to fix it. And--And I’ve been scared.”

“Scared?”

Tears slip down your face, mixing with the rain that now soaks you both.

“Scared that you’ll leave me because of it. Scared that you’ll learn what my nightmares hold and leave me because of it, because I’ll never be fully whole.”

The look in your eyes is so lost, so scared, a polar opposite to the vibrant aura that surrounds you everywhere you go--his heart breaks for you.

Kaeya draws you into his arms, mindful of any negative reaction to his touch.

It’s gratifying when you melt into his embrace.

“I would never leave you over this. You’re my wonderful Y/n, my lady love. I’m here for you. Always.”

His words break through the last of your barriers and a harsh sob tears itself from your throat.

Kaeya whispers soft words of love and comfort as tears join the rainwater soaking his chest,

Under the boughs of Vanessa’s tree, two secret keepers find honesty and the first step to healing.

Somewhere out there, the Anemo Archon smiles.

#I think Kaeya would be super sensitive and receptive in this situation #I mean not much gets past this man #I love him so much #kaeya alberich #kaeya x reader #kaeya x fem!reader #kaeya fic #kaeya writing #kaeya hurt comfort #hurt/comfort #tw: sa mention #genshin impact #genshin fic #genshin writing

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natalievoncatte · 7 months

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There had been a time when Kara was almost relieved when she lost her powers to a solar flare. The silence was like a lover's kiss to her ear, the peace like the embrace warm maternal arms. It was almost like being home. When her powers were active, the sounds and sights and sensations were always there, just around a corner made of concentration, beyond a door made of discipline. Kara could never tune out the cacophony. She could only tame it, bend it to her will.

Now the world around her had shrunk, it seemed, to a span of twenty or thirty feet, occupied by her sister, Samantha Arias, and a bedraggled, harried Lena Luthor. Kara could barely tear her eyes from Lena. Her best friend looked like she'd been through something terrible, bloodshot eyes wide, the tracks of tears still fresh on her face. One hand was stuffed firmly in her pocket, clutched firmly around what was probably a gun.

Alex, by contrast, had her sidearm out, held in the low ready position, scanning the mists around them with seeking eyes. Kara turned slowly, feeling as boxed in by her lack of superhuman sight as she was by the oppressive silence of this place.

"Where the hell are we?" said Alex.

Sam cleared her throat. "We're not going to find that out standing here."

Alex looked at her. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

She gave that little roll of her neck, the way she did when she knew that they were in trouble, and smoothly holstered her gun under her jacket.

"My car is gone, somehow, so we're going to have to walk. Which way?"

They were standing in the middle of a road, maybe twenty feet wide and paved with smooth cobbles, slowly being swallowed by the mud beneath them. The road was lined on both sides by dense forest, mostly pines with a few bare deciduous trees clawing their way up between the dull gay-green branches. Between the trunks was a deep and dense thicket, with thorns as long as the smallest of Kara's fingers. They weren't going that way.

Lena tilted her head, pointing with her chin the way she sometimes did.

"That way. I think I see lights."

Kara stepped up beside her, peering into the mist with her natural Kryptonian eyesight. Her vision was more acute than that of a human, just as her skeleton was denser and had more bones and her muscles had different attachment points and denser fibers, all of which made her about fifty percent heavier than she looked. She still had strength. She could still protect Lena, and the others.

There was a little flutter in her chest. There always was.

"Lena," Kara said, turning to her.

"Not now. Let's get home, then we'll talk," Lena said, a tremor beneath the professional chill in her voice.

"I'll go first," said Kara.

"I'm the one with the gun," said Alex. "Kara, maybe I should take point."

Kara shot her a sharp look and started forward. Lena hesitated for a brief moment, then took up position just behind Kara's left shoulder, so close that Kara thought she could feel the other woman's presence.

As she walked, Kara chewed her lip, fighting the urge to look back and try to strike up conversation again. It ended up a kind of walking fidget, with Kara worrying at her palms with her thumbs.

She's mad. She must be furious. I should have told her. Why didn't I tell her?

"Did you hear that?" said Sam.

They all stopped. Alex turned.

"Hear what?"

"I thought I heard... laughing," said Sam.

"I didn't," said Kara, "but then again, I don't have my powers."

That wasn't true. She had this maddening sense that it was all there, just out of her reach somehow. She scanned the mist again, feeling her frustration mount.

"I hear voices up ahead," said Lena. "Look."

There were lights ahead, swaying gently as in a breeze. Kara squared herself up and led them all ahead, chin down, ready for a fight. She had to make sure they were all okay.

The lights grew brighter. As they grew nearer, they began to flicker more clearly. Candles, or gas lamps. Shapes resolved in the mist, first the vague impression of vertical members and timbers, but as they grew nearer, Kara saw they were trellises and there were lamps strung between the uprights, swaying gently over rows of long picnic tables, each covered in an elegant silk cloth that must have cost a fortune. On the tables, a feast was laid out, half-eaten meals still on fine porcelain. Tall wine glasses stood still with their contents remaining, some half drained, the odd one here and there stained by the blush of wine or lipstick.

"Where is everybody?" said Alex. "I don't like this."

A larger shape formed in the mist as they walked between the tables. Kara glanced back and froze.

"That wasn't there before."

"What?" Alex started.

They all turned. There was a wall behind them, a high stone barrier topped with foot long wrought iron spikes, a tall barred gate in the center. Kara took a moment to work out the worked iron letters cresting the arched gate, as she was seeing them backwards: DURST MANOR.

#supercorp #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #karlena #supergirl fanfic #ficlet #crossover #crossover au #crossover fanfiction #my fanfic #curst of strahd x supercorp #welcome to barovia #it's spooky season #this will end well #supercorp vs spooky ghosts

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jokingmisfit · 11 months

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Yandere Rick Sanchez ABC's

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Rick acts relatively normal with affection until he gets drunk, then he is all over you and very persistent. You're also screwed if you're around him when toxic Rick comes around. He tries to keep everything to a minimum, but everyone can tell he's in love with you. Rick will flirt and do practically anything for you thats how he shows his love aside from the hand somehow always touching you.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Rick has little to no regard for life. The only people safe from getting killed in his attempt to get you are yours family and his.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

He may be condescending, but it's all in an attempt to convince you that you need him.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

All the time. Rick doesn't feel he needs your permission for anything except sex, of course. You have no idea the amount of gadgets he has hidden in/around you.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Rick isn't the type to just drop to his knees and tell his "sob story". He doesn't get too emotional unless you really push him to be or if he's super super drunk.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

He's soo annoyed and kinda hurt. He just wants to protect you.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Rick isn't like Prime. He doesn't see your life as a game and he doesn't see you as a toy; he wants you safe not being a bitch.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

You'll never know, because he erases that memory. Or y'know he traumatized you cause you left him.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Rick doesn't care much about the future; he has more pressing matters in the present. The only thing he thinks of is making sure you're safe no matter the situation.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He kills them. Rick isn't afraid to admit he can be a bit dramatic, but human/alien life means so little to him and you mean so much. If you encouraged it then he's gonna be so pissed, and you won't be seen for days 😉.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

The same as always. He acts normal, but he has you stuck to his side while he's whispering inside jokes and flirting.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

The man is a flirt! Rick WILL make it obvious. He gives you things, flirts, insults you less than the others, drags you from conversations, and will straight up say he likes you.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Not really, but he is much softer and kinder to you than anyone else. If it wasn't for his own god complex he'd worship you. Rick will still act like a hard ass but he'll call you cringy cute nicknames, hold your hands/you, make silly jokes/puns, and smother you in love.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Mostly Rick just fucks with you emotionally. He'll make you feel bad for just existing. If you're both horny however he is absolutely into bondage and spanking.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Mostly just your freedom and some memories. You're restricted to the home unless he's with you.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He'll let you take your time adjusting to your new life, but if it's just everyday bullshit he's patient as he is with everyone else. Rick may love you, but that doesn't mean you can be a little shit all the time.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Leave or escape and Rick will hunt your ass down till he "brings you home". If you die then he'll do one or more of four things, find and destroy what killed you, clone you, bring you back to life, and/or move on slowly and unhealthily.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Rick feels guilty even though he pretends not to. He'd consider letting you go if you let him baby safety proof you and your place. Then again it'll take a ton of begging.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Losing his Diane and Beth play a huge part in these feelings. His isolation while grieving and travelling also plays a big part.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

It really upsets him. At first he'll try to play it off or comfort you, but if he can't calm you he'll just get super drunk to numb the pain.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

I think most yanderes have a limit to their abilities; the scariest part about Rick is he can do almost anything, and he will use this against you.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

His need for adventure. Rick can't go too long without one. If you're smart enough to jump through the many, many loops he sets up to keep you there then your best bet is to do it while he's out adventuring.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

No, absolutely not; at least not physically. Mentally, however, Rick will scar you for life.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He doesn't worship you, actually, he expects to be worshiped. Rick does adore though. The man thinks you're borderline perfect; if there was a god it made you for him. He's definitely nicer to you than others, he'll give you weird trinkets and gadgets, and practically do anything you ask while complaining all for the goal of winning your favor and cause he's a simp.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Surprisingly, Rick is patient while pining. He understands he's not the most desirable or friendly man. I'd say he can go for a year or so before he gets impatient, however if your life is threatened you are being taken home with him indefinitely.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

I wouldn't necessarily say "break", but if you make him desperate enough he will 100% use mind control.

#rick and morty #c-137 rick x reader #rick sanchez x reader #rick x reader #yandere rick sanchez

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cyberpunkboytoy · 6 months

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"Impossible Girls" - a Reverse 1999 Ficlet

Pairing: Schneider/Vertin

Tags: Character study, implied sexual content, basically canon compliant, angst, wordcount: 1k, chapter 2 ending spoilers

Summary:

Vertin would survive. And Schneider would engrave her name into Vertin with her tongue, carve a place for herself in the Timekeeper's memory.

At some points Vertin reached out to try to touch her back, but each time Schneider pushed the woman's hands aside. Schneider was not someone Vertin could have…or at least, not someone she could keep.

6 Hours

After the battle Vertin laid on the muddy, churned up ground and talked to herself as the beginnings of the storm fell around them. An umbrella wouldn't stop the cold from soaking into her jacket and staining it dark with dirt and blood, but that didn't stop Schneider from walking over and holding one above both their heads.

"My lord, you're actually lying here defenseless…"

Giggling lightly, she knelt down in the wet grass and ignored the shiver that went through her bare knees. Vertin seemed numb to it, and somehow Schneider thought it wasn't because of the extra layers she was wearing. Instead it seemed the looming annihilation of this history was bearing down on her, as oppressive and heavy as the rain.

It wouldn't do to have their fearless leader looking so thoroughly defeated. Putting on a playful smile, Schneider looked down at Vertin and forced some levity into her voice. "I have been fighting for your cause for some time now…my lord was not planning to never repay me, right? No, surely I deserve a reward…"

She leaned down then, tilting the umbrella slightly to hide the two of them from sight, and watched as Vertin finally seemed to break from her lethargy. "Schneider?"

Smile growing minutely, Schneider continued to slowly lower her head. She moved until the heat from their lips echoed off each other, tantalizingly close to a kiss, when—

"Schneider, what are you doing? Don't suddenly get so close to her!"

She felt more than heard Vertin's sudden intake of breath, the moment shattering around them. The Timekeeper murmured Sonetto's name with both alarm and disappointment, not quite able to fix her tone in time, and as she sat up to address her second in command Schneider obediently pulled away, the air between them abruptly becoming cold with absence.

Still, as Schneider got up and turned to walk away, she carried a residual warmth inside her. When they had been suspended in that moment together, Vertin had looked…willing. Tense, but anticipating. Eager.

A plan began to form in the back of her mind, yearning and desperate.

4 Hours

"You're the last one to tell me your wish. Although you won't go…I still want to hear it."

Schneider looked past the Timekeeper for a moment, mind faraway. The beat of silence she took before replying was heavy, as if waterlogged from the coming storm. "You want to hear my wish, my lord? Then my wish is…"

She stopped mid-sentence, suddenly changing her mind. The plan from before nagged at her, more selfish and yet easier to say than the words she'd almost uttered. These, she could speak with a smile.

It didn't quite reach her eyes, but it lifted the corners of her lips all the same. "My wish…is that you would let me give you an unforgettable night."

She took that moment to come closer, the distance between them shrinking with every step, and watched Vertin's throat work around a swallow. It made Schneider's expression finally soften, her smile turning fruit-sweet.

Stopping a whisper's breath apart, she gingerly reached up to touch the top of Vertin's clothed shoulder. "Tell me…would you like to see what else my trigger finger can do?"

2 Hours

When they finally kissed it was with Schneider's hand pawing between Vertin's legs, both of them flush with excitement and heat.

Her free hand was tucked away in the long curtain of Vertin's hair, its usual side bun let down to instead flow over her shoulders. It was still the color of Schneider's favorite feather, one kept in a collection she had back home—she was suddenly reminded of an angel's wings, in that moment.

She had not believed in God in a long time, but a few hours ago she had prayed. Now she was on her knees again, and this somehow felt more sacred—Vertin more holy, loving her more virtuous than begging for life.

Schneider felt her heart beat on the wrong side of her chest. She had never been a beloved daughter of God, made with care and intention, and besides she had dirtied her hands with so much sin. She would not be forgiven. There would be no miracle to save her from the storm.

But Vertin would survive. And Schneider would engrave her name into Vertin with her tongue, carve a place for herself in the Timekeeper's memory.

So she bowed her head as though in prayer, kissed up her lord's thighs with devotion, worship. At some points Vertin reached out to try to touch her back, but each time Schneider pushed the woman's hands aside; there was no use trying to forge a mutual connection. It was too late for that.

Schneider was not someone Vertin could have…or at least, not someone she could keep. Their parting was inevitable. She would not hurt her lord more than this; she would not tease her with the promise of a girl she could not get.

5 Minutes

Before the banquet inside the suitcase, Schneider had swept her gaze over the wall of pictures Vertin had collected from forgotten eras.

There were all kinds of people there: boys and girls, young and old, and all sorts that refused to fit in any kind of binary. Artificial and organic matter, human and arcanist…Vertin told her the stories of them all as they'd waited for Sotheby to finish setting the table, and it had felt a bit like a preview of what was to come. Like Schneider was being allowed to see what Vertin might look after this was all over, when she eventually told the story of a girl in a red feather dress.

Selfishly, though, she hoped it might look different. That Schneider would not just be remembered, but stand out as a special existence in Vertin's heart.

"Hold me."

Vertin did as she asked, and Schneider gave her last confession. Gazing up into the Timekeeper's eyes, the rain of the storm outside the suitcase was replaced by the unbelieving tears forming there. They rolled down Vertin's cheeks and fell down onto Schneider's face, and—and that was baptism enough.

She was ready to die in the arms of her lord. Not lucky enough, but lucky all the same.

#what if I took the ''get impossible girls'' quote and made it sad?#reverse 1999 #reverse: 1999 #reverse1999 #Schneider #Vertin #someone make a ship name so I can tag it #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #now with ao3 link #I am down bad for that doomed yuri fr #verneider

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sunspira · 4 months

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the number one most interesting analysis anyone ever made about the legend of korra is that the benders in republic city were clearly an oppressed and exploited population. NOT the non-benders. and therefore the equalists are nothing more than essentially a nazi party or kkk or other hate group that likes to masquerade itself as the victims to a scapegoat minority that is somehow a danger to normal people in order to oppress and eradicate them.

the most compelling evidence that benders actually represent and function as marginalized people is that they occupy characteristic marginalized roles in society. organized crime, factory laborers, pro-sports, music and film entertainment. (ESPECIALLY the more physically taxing high impact sports such as boxing and football!! the fighting ring nature of pro-bending absolutely reflects this. this is no golf tournament). with those roles that offer any hope of upward mobility being limited to only a few and as inherently exploited by producers as it is. or otherwise abject poverty in city slums.

non benders such as Mr. Sato own large successful corporations. benders do labor for him. benders do cheap manual labor for low pay in the early 20th century steampunk metaphor city and live in slums. while the ruling class non-bender turned out to be a raging bigot funding the equalist "movement"

so when korra yells at the equalist cunt doing a little infowars rant in the park and tells him to "shut up" and "im not oppressing you!! you're oppressing yourself" and everyone got mad at her for on tumblr being a bigot you were all wrong she was out there tearing down the zionist missing person propoganda posters before i even knew what the IDF stood for she was the fucking legend forever

AND she said acab !!!

#i almost forgot #there may be something to be said about lieutenant beifong being a bender tho #and how marginalized people are also often funnled into military and law enforcement and become oppressors but also treated as expendable #like the vietnam war draft was mostly people who could not afford to go to college disproportionately that was the black community ... :|#book 1 korra was really really good sorry #korra #this by the way is absolutely why hollywood is so 'jewish' MARGINALIZED PEOPLE ARE FORCED TO PERFORM AND ENTERTAIN #hollywood and also broadway i should say cause it counts for film and theater media

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hadeantaiga · 1 year

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So, everyone loves Leslie Feinberg, for obvious reasons. Hir book, Stone Butch Blues, is a classic. Lesbians, butches, and transmasc folks have seen themselves in this book for decades.

Currently, queer folks are desperately fighting against compartmentalization of queer identities, fighting against the slicing and dicing of queerness into perfect little boxes, fighting against the exclusion of certain identities that some people want to declare as "not oppressed" (such as aro/ace), or "not a sexuality and therefore don't belong with the LGB" (for trans folks).

Oh and of course, the cherry on top is the regression of "queer" back into a slur.

At this point, when discussing queerness and transness, plenty of queer people have said "Hey you need to read some Leslie Feinberg and then you'll understand how all of our identities and communities are intertwined".

It has now gotten to the point that transphobic lesbians and transmasc-hating trans women have decided "actually, nevermind, we've decided she was somehow transphobic towards trans women and also a gross freak and maybe even a rapist and we've disowned her, don't tell us to read her anymore".

Like, way to lose your own history because you're so bigoted.

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armed-with-a-waffle-iron · 5 months

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You do realize that river to the sea is about ethnic cleansing right? Maybe not a good thing to be standing by. Can't rightfully claim a genocide if the people purporting are trying to stop the people who have explicitly said they want every one of them dead world wide

🇵🇸From the River to the Sea! Palestine will be FREE!🇵🇸

Some genocide sympathiser needs a history lesson. I'm mostly a comic blogger.....but I'm also a history student so here it is.

The phrase "From the river to the sea" was born as a Zionist phrase indicating where the supposed "Israeli state" was to be, which we can also see echoed in Israeli political statements welcoming the colonisation of Palestinian land, such as that of the Likud Party in 1977: “between the Sea and the Jordan there will only be Israeli sovereignty”. (Kelley, 2019)

In the middle of the 1960s, the Palestinian Liberation Organisation (PLO) took the phrase back in a call for de-colonisation; the 1964 and 1968 charters of the Palestine National Council (PNC) demanded “the recovery of the usurped homeland in its entirety” and the recovery of rights to the indegenous population, including right to self-determination. This has ZERO to do with antisemitism; the PNC did not want to remove Jews from a Palestinian nation, just the settler-colonists. The 1964 Charter states that "Jews who are of Palestinian origin shall be considered Palestinians if they are willing to live peacefully and loyally in Palestine” and the rhetoric would become more inclusive following the 1967 war, when the PLO merged with Arab National Movement and the Palestine Liberation Front to form the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP); which espoused Third World-oriented nationalism and Marxist-Leninism. The PFLP call for a single, secular, democratic, and possibly socialist Palestinian state in which all peoples enjoy citizenship, embracing ALL Jews as citizens. “If we are fighting a Jewish state of a racial kind, which had driven the Arabs out of their lands, it is not so as to replace it with an Arab state which would in turn drive out the Jews. . . . We are ready to look at anything with all our negotiating partners once our right to live in our homeland is recognized,” said one Fatah leader. “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” was therefore a call for a single, democratic, secular state to replace the genocide committing ethno-religious state of so-called "Israel". (Kelley, 2019)

Kelley, R.D. (2019) ‘From the river to the sea to every mountain top: Solidarity as Worldmaking’, Journal of Palestine Studies, 48(4), pp. 69–91. doi:10.1525/jps.2019.48.4.69.

So, NOT antisemitic. The media, right wing and "Western" states's fear mongering and criminalisation of the phrase is an attempt to stifle anti-imperialist, anti-colonial voices, and somehow justify so-called "Israel"'s slaughter, cleansing and oppression of Palestinians by dehumanising them.

Next off, if you're so concerned about antisemitism, oppression and the safety of Jewish people, I think you're better off organising in person with anti-fascists around you who oppose literal white supremacists and nazis whenever they pull a hateful stunt instead of playing victim online to people showing solidarity for Palestine.

Moreover. So-called "Israel" is committing a genocide. This state is built on the back of mass ethnic cleansing of Palestinians from their homelands and the state never stopped. Zionism is by definition a fascist project that seeks to create an ethnostate on stolen land through the oppression and genocide of its indigenous population; the Palestinian people. It's an imperialist and settler colonial project that is backed by fellow settler colonial states such as the US and former colonial powers such as the UK. There is nothing that can justify settler colonialism, apartheid and ethnic cleansing. NOTHING. Not by the British Empire, not by Apartheid South Africa, not by Nazi Germany, and not by so-called "Israel" and its imperialist allies.

The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine 1948 by Ilan Pappe

No Muslim, Jew, Christian or Agnostic on that land is free until they're allowed to live as equals under a single, secular nation, and the Palestinians people are allowed to return to their homeland. No one in the world is free until we are ALL free!

Anon, where do you stand when, as of now, around 19,000 Palestinians have been murdered since Oct 7 by the so-called "Israeli" regime, backed by some of the most powerful nations in the world? When the Palestinian people have suffered 75 years of forced displacement, and state-back massacre, terror and discrimination. What the fuck did children in Gaza do to deserve being born into this hell on Earth? I'd hope you choose to stand on the right side of history but frankly it doesn't matter; in our thousands and in our millions, in our millions and in our billions— all of us who march and chant and organise and act and stand in solidarity with the oppressed— we are ALL Palestinians and we will see a free Palestine in our fucking lifetime.

Free the people, free the land! Justice is our demand!

Free the people, free them all! Occupation has to fall!

Free the people, free the land! No peace on stolen land!

Free the people, free them all! Break the chains and let them fall!

Free, free Palestine! Stop- the genocide! End- apartheid! De-DECOLONISE!

🇵🇸From the Sea to the River! Palestine will live forever!🇵🇸

#back up! back up! we want freedom! freedom! all these zionist colonisers we don't need 'em need 'em!#back up! back up! we want freedom! freedom! all these genocide deniers we don't need 'em need 'em!#from the river to the sea #palestine will be free #free palestine #🇵🇸

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