#and that sole act condemned her

[termitesisagrandslam]

all these old movies just like... constantly spouting shit about women and how they are manipulative teases and nags and weak but also hold so much power over men. and the scenes they'll use to demonstrate this is like... a woman sweet talking her husband bc he's angry and wants to murder her. like never is there any acknowledgment that a woman may use her "feminine wiles" or w/e bc she has no other power and is at the mercy of the men around her. no instead it's like "wow u can never trust women, sure makes me want to rape and murder them (which im able to do w relative impunity). clearly us men are under their thumb"

#it's just really exhausting #movies and tv are STILL misogynist ofc nowadays but god i cant imagine growing up surrounded only by movies #i cant imagine growing up w media that was constantly portraying women like that #to that degree #watched one silent film where the woman was 'modern' and social but NOT villainous or having an affair #AND she kept using her brain about stuff #and i was like 'wow this is so different' and guess what it was made by a woman #literally like her acting like a human person was super notable #watching 8 1/2 last night like im sorry it's beautiful and well made #but im so done w cheating middle aged men characters who are simultaneously #fucking and also fucking over and condemning the 20 yr women in their life #whose sole purpose in the film is to be young and gorgeous and to motivate or depress or inspire the guy #literally at this point would rather watch a movie with an all male cast w no mentions of women bc then at least i could pretend #but nope these filmmakers are fucking obsessed w women and obsessed w lead characters who treat them like shit #and so many of them are in film bc they want to do something new #and it's like ok how about something new u can is not be a misogynist?? bc that would be against the grain actually #misogyny #rape mention

[sporadicbeans82]

Playing Games || Misa Rodríguez

Request: “Misa.; 'Aww, is something wrong?'; Make it spicy plz.”

Warnings: Smutty, swearing, grinding, enemies to lovers with a bit of queer pining to top it all off (hehe, top... which the Reader is not, get it?)

Word count: 4.2k words

A/N: So sorry, I accidentally deleted the request! I loved writing this and got a little carried away. I hope that this is alright! Please feel free to send anymore requests as I've got no idea what to write next, preferably little prompts so that I can get back into writing :)

The pressure and frustration was mounting with every second that ticked by. You’d been forced to practice penalties and had been doing so for the last half hour. With each penalty that went by, you yearned to cry out to the world that you quit football and were going to become an accountant. 

The majority of your balls sank into the net as they were supposed to. However, the only shots you could pay attention to were the ones that sailed just wide of the goalposts, or clanged against metal in a way that had you cringing. Even worse, when the goalkeeper who you despised would save them, getting up from the save to gloat with a smirk that you wanted oh-so-badly to smack off of her incredibly attractive, self-righteous face. 

“Oh are you fucking kidding me?!” You couldn’t help but cry out as the Real Madrid Keeper dove to the correct side, both hands outstretched to block the ball. You sighed, arms falling down at your sides as Misa stood back up, smirking at you.

You fucking hated that smirk. So much. The other girl made even the simple act of rolling the ball back towards you to kick again look cocky.

Usually, you would have been able to keep your comments to yourself. However, the specific events that had led up to you practicing more penalty kicks than you could have counted had already aggravated you. You’d been the only one to miss your penalty in your last match, causing your team to lose. 

You’d been devastated, and so had your teammates. Of course, everyone knew that the game was won as a team, but that didn’t make it any easier when you were the final decision maker. It had all fallen onto you, and when the pressure had mounted, you had failed. You’d since been condemned to practicing penalties until you could make a certain amount without having them all blocked by Misa. 

You’d been at it for what felt like hours, kicking the ball again and again at the net. The cursed goalkeeper herself was having one hell of a time blocking your shots at one moment and teasing you in the next. It was hot and your nerves felt like they were melting beneath your skin. 

You were pissed off, but managed to muffle your words so that you didn’t shout your insults into the skies for all to hear.

Instead, you murmured to yourself, hoping the way you grumbled wouldn’t be heard by the rest of your teammates, the majority of whom did not speak the language well enough to translate your quiet, quick complaints. 

It would have worked, had you not had a certain Australian right behind you. 

“What was that, Stripes?” You heard Hailey Raso say, and froze before you turned around slowly. 

You knew Raso wasn’t keen on keeping your secret, the glimmer in her eye one of utter fuckery as she smiled a little bit. “Would you like to share with the group? Secrets, secrets are no fun…” 

Raso chastised, speaking louder than normal and catching the attention of the particular goalkeeper who you’d just called some choice names beneath your breath. Misa cocked her head to the side, and you tried arduously not to blush at the sudden attention on you.

“Why did we stop?” Misa called out to the two of you, her gaze solely on you despite addressing both you and Raso. She was stepping closer, almost pushing the point where she was too close for comfort. 

Not that you were uncomfortable, but it was hard to remain professional when the girl who’d been a pain in your ass for the month that you’d been in Madrid was standing so close and looking, admittedly… very attractive. You hated to admit it, but even at her most frustrating you couldn’t decide whether you wanted to slap Misa or kiss her. 

In your distraction, you didn’t notice that your teammates were waiting for you to speak. Raso smirked again, watching as you stared dazedly at Misa, quite obviously zoned out. Misa cocked her head to the side again, mouth curving a little bit as she observed you.

The entirety of the Real Madrid team could see the tension between you and Misa, although they weren’t quite sure what it was…

Your first match with the team, several months ago, had been the first time you’d argued with Misa. Your team had won, but it had been very close with a team that you should have blown out of the water. You shouldn’t have been tied with one point each going into three minutes of injury time. You should have been up by four goals, and one of those goals should have been your own. 

You hadn’t been able to score, despite your many attempts at goal. Your failure to complete what you’d been brought on the team to do had made you frustrated. 

After the game, in the locker room, Misa had made some comment about how you should have scored at least once. It was stupid, and meant as a joke. The team had won, and that was all that mattered. Perhaps, you would have laughed it off, if the game hadn’t been so close and it hadn’t been your first one with the team. Your expectations had been high of yourself, and your failure to meet them had you feeling incredibly angry. 

The comment had been poorly timed, brought up in the heat of the moment. Misa was like that, sometimes rough around the edges– blunt and funny. She thought that you would laugh off the joke, but you hadn’t. Misa hadn’t expected you to take it quite as you had. 

You’d pushed her in the chest with both hands, speaking loudly and strongly– almost so fast that she lost the meaning to your angry sentences. She did, however, manage to catch one sentence in particular– “Me?! Me– I should have scored? Maybe you should have fucking saved a ball, yeah?”

You’d been tugged away by another recent transfer in Hayley Raso, while Misa had been comforted by Olga Carmona. Your teammates had hoped that that would be the end of your issues with each other, but it had only been the beginning. 

Since that day, you and Misa had quick, fiery arguments at least once or twice a day. Once in a while, it would turn to full-blown shouting matches, although the two of you never physically pushed the other again. 

It wasn’t professional, and you were fully aware of that. In fact, you were pretty sure you were due for a dressing down sometime soon for your behaviors, but you couldn’t just… not argue with Misa. When she said something, you had to oppose it– Misa would go left, and you would go right. Misa could say that the day was cold, and you’d argue that it was warm (and it was! You were from The United States, for fuck’s sake. Spain had nothing on the temperatures there!)

You two had been at odds with each other for so long that a regular relationship felt… unattainable, now. Besides, Misa was… very gorgeous when she was angry. Her cheeks would get red, and her face would pout while her muscles flexed, her entire body put into the words she would shout at you. 

Maybe you argued with her because it was the only way you knew to get her attention, but that's besides the point. 

You were brought back to the present as Raso spoke for you, seemingly egging you on with her accented words, “Oh, Stripes just had a few… choice words for you, Misa.” 

Stripes. Your nickname, usually one that drove you crazy, as it came from the fact that you were the only American on the team. It wasn’t even that creative, but the name was, admittedly, growing on you. Besides, there were worse things to be called, namely some of the things that came from Misa’s mouth. 

Raso seemed to trail off, and you finally managed to break away from the goalkeeper’s intense gaze to glare at the Australian. Raso just grinned, but your gaze was broken once again as someone reached out and placed a firm hand on your shoulder. 

Misa had noticed how angry you’d been getting throughout the training session. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that she was much of the reason for your frustration, having been antagonizing you for the better part of the penalties you’d been taking. Your lips were puckered into a frown and your eyes were narrowed at the Spanish goalkeeper. Unable to contain herself, Misa gave you a wolfish grin.

“Aww, is something wrong?” She knew full well that something was the matter. Her accented voice lilting over the words in a way that she knew  would piss you off. “Qué dijiste? What did you say? Secrets… are not fun.” 

Misa couldn’t help it, prodding at you further as you practically melted under the feeling of her hand on your shoulder. You didn’t know why the contact had set you off, and perhaps it was because you wanted to let off the steam that you’d been holding onto ever since your last match.

You slapped Misa's hand harshly, admittedly probably a little harder than you’d actually intended as the noise seemed to echo in your ears. Misa hissed, taking her hand off of you immediately and stepping back, calling you a choice name of her own.

“¿Por que? What is your problem conmigo?” Misa assaulted you with a battering of broken English, and you were able to fill in the blanks quite well with your own spatter of broken Spanish. Honestly, your arguments may have been even more effective than the lessons you had to take three times a week with a trained specialist. 

“Contigo? My problem? No. La pregunta es ‘what the fuck is your problem conmigo’, Misa. I don’t remember ever having done anything to you, and yet all you can do is shout and grunt and be rude all the damn time. It’s a wonder anybody on this team likes you when all you do is complain about our performances 24/7!” 

You were mocking her, now, stepping forward into the girl’s personal space until you were nearly chest to chest. Despite having to look up at the woman, you weren’t intimidated. You’d always been somewhat of a spitfire, acquiring a number of yellow cards on the field for dissent. You weren’t afraid to make your opinions known, and to be loud about them, as it was how you were raised. 

Misa didn’t back up from your challenge. Instead, she seemed to step into it, glaring down at you as she barked at you in rapid fire Spanish. You only understood the swear words, as they were the ones that you’d been taught by a very cheeky Linda Caicedo only a day after you’d met her. 

The good thing about knowing these swear words, however, was that you could throw them right back at the Spanish goalkeeper. 

Soon enough, the two of you were shouting at each other even more. As always, most of Misa’s words were lost somewhere in translation. It didn’t matter, though. Her tone and the way at which she gestured her arms up and down, the exasperated and harsh expression on her face conveying so much more than words ever could.

You told yourself, at least, that you didn’t care. You didn’t notice the way that her brown eyes narrowed. You pretended like you weren’t watching her hands struggling to free themselves of her keeper’s gloves as she continued to shout at you, pressing ever closer to the point where your chests were brushing. 

You pretended like the heat rising to your face was out of anger, not out of… something else. 

You raised your hands to shove her away, but she didn’t bat an eye, once again stepping into the physical challenge. She barely stumbled, pressing back at you.

“Cuál es tu problema?! Joder-” You knew this one, and shoved at her again. You knew that this entire thing was incredibly immature, that your teammates were observing possibly the most ferocious and childish fight that the two of you had had since you’d signed for the team. 

But you couldn’t bring it upon yourself to care. You were pissed off beyond comprehension, the long standing feud between you and the goalkeeper seemingly having pushed you far past your normal amount of anger. On top of that, you were hot and sweaty from being forced to kick penalties because you’d failed and you’d failed so badly that it had cost your team the match. 

Misa was screaming at you, and you could hear someone blowing their whistle, and you presumed it was a coach or someone on the training staff. However, before someone could wrap their arms around your upper arms and tug you away from the argument, you were spinning around.

Incredibly overwhelmed, you sprinted away from the scene with a cry of frustration. Before anybody could stop you, you were making your way towards the locker rooms, almost beyond the point of needing a break. 

You were gone before Misa could finish her next sentence. The keeper hesitated, taking a look around, before she made a move to run after you.

“Misa- espera.” She heard one of her teammates say, their voice whispering past her ear. However, she was suddenly hellbent on continuing this conversation with you. 

Sure, she was angry, but there was something more than that. She’d seen the exhaustion in your shoulders, and the way that you’d pushed at her in all the ways that you’d learned in the last few months on the team to get a reaction out of Misa. She noticed, and she wanted to know what you wanted from her. 

She didn’t know where it had all gone wrong. Well, that wasn’t true. She did, and she specifically remembered her comment that had set you off. She hadn’t meant anything bad, had simply been trying to cheer you up in a way that would cheer her up. Only, you’d reacted… badly, and the two of you had seemed to be at odds ever since.

She’d long given up any hope she had of being friends with you, or anything more that she’d hoped for when she’d first set eyes on you. She remembered the day that you’d walked into practice, somewhat meek beneath the eyes of all of your new teammates. 

You hadn’t spoken a lick of Spanish, save for some of the swear words which Linda had apparently taught you the second that she could. She’d fallen in love with the passion you’d shown the moment you’d stepped onto the pitch, determined to win in every aspect of your game.

It was a passion akin to her own, and you had rekindled the flames within Misa that she’d thought she’d lost long ago. She’d suddenly felt rejuvenated, like her team at Real Madrid had a sincere chance of winning something for once. You could knock goals past the goalkeeper faster than they could knock goals past Misa, and all Misa needed to do was block those goals. 

She knew she was in love, but she also knew that she’d given up the right to love you the second that she’d made you upset after that first game. 

Misa couldn’t allow herself to watch you walk away from her now, though. She had to make sure that you were okay, at the very least, or to apologize. Despite having given up hope, she still felt like… she stood a chance of being acquaintances with you, if nothing else. 

Misa opened the door to the locker room, but was unable to catch a glimpse of your familiar figure anywhere. She peeked into the showers, and found that you weren’t there, either. 

That is, until she heard something fall. She turned, and saw you standing by the sinks. You were hidden in the shadows, and Misa had been so distracted with finding you that she’d… missed you.

You were glaring daggers at you, so much so that Misa feared that she’d be dead if looks could kill. 

“What… are you doing here?” Your voice was equally as hostile as your gaze, and Misa almost flinched with the intensity of your tone. 

“Yo?” Misa asked, and you nodded. You made a gesture with both hands for her to continue to explain, as if her very presence was a pain in your ass. Which it was. 

“Yes, you. Que… fuck!” Misa made a move towards you, as if to try to calm you down.

You were obviously frustrated– with Misa and your inability to communicate in the same language. You pushed your arm out, though, catching the palm of your hand on Misa’s firm stomach. “Sí. What. The fuck. Are you doing. Here?”

You found it hard to speak, the words spewing out between clenched teeth. It was difficult to concentrate with the girls’ abdominal muscles pressing against the skin of your hand, and your mind wandered. Only briefly, you pondered how it would feel without her jersey to cover the soft skin there. 

Misa frowned, shaking her head, “Necesitamos hablar. We need to talk.”

You tilted your head, as if to ask her to continue, and Misa began.

“No… I don’t know where I went wrong. I never meant to offend you, I was- I tried to cheer you up.” For a second, you paused. It took a moment for you to catch up with her words, realizing that she was apologizing for what she’d said after the first match.

Having always been feisty and unapologetic, especially on the field. It was something which had originally drawn you to her, before you’d even arrived in Madrid. You hadn’t even known that Misa had the ability to apologize. 

However, the way in which Misa was looking at you, and the way that she was speaking more English than you’d ever heard her try to let you know that she was being sincere. 

A tide of emotions seemed to flood your chest. The metaphorical butterflies which everyone back at home had always seemed to talk about were fluttering away in your stomach. You swore you felt your heartbeat throbbing in your ears, so loud that you thought Misa could hear it. 

These feelings… the ones that seemed to only be reserved for the Spanish goalkeeper in front of you. You’d tried so, so hard to ignore how you’d felt in favor of holding a grudge. Never before had you thought that you’d regret that decision, but as the girl took a deep breath and her stomach pressed against your palm.

If you’d have been any less worked up from the penalties you’d had to take, and the argument you’d had with Misa. If you hadn’t been harboring conflicting feelings for months for the girl who stood pressed oh-so-deliciously against your hand. Maybe, you wouldn’t have even considered what you wanted to do. Instead, your hand ran up her stomach, wrapping itself into the front of her jersey and tugging her towards you.

You remembered the way Misa hadn’t even moved when you’d shoved her earlier, but now she shuffled forward willingly, pressing against you. You were sandwiched between her and the wall, and while you’d hated her being in your space earlier… Now? You had to stand on your tiptoes, your other hand going to cup at the nape of her neck as your lips hovered just inches away from the goalkeepers. You hesitated, still unsure if Misa really wanted to kiss you, disbelieving that the hatred she’d felt towards you could go away in just a few moments. 

However, Misa held no such hesitations. 

Her lips were gentle against yours and your eyes fluttered closed. The kiss was soft in all the right ways, impossibly so when you contrasted it with Misa’s normally rough exterior. 

A relieved sigh fell from your lips and into her mouth as you finally felt her against you. You moved against each other, your head tilting to the side as her lips caught your top lip between her own.

Her lips were soft… almost pillowy against your own. The press of her lips against yours was sensual in ways that you’d only ever dreamed of. Your heart was racing, excited and aroused and still, admittedly, a little frustrated. Only, this time you were frustrated with yourself for not doing this sooner. 

The feeling of your back pushed harshly against the wall behind you, tiles cold through the fabric which covered your torso. However, Misa’s warm body against your front sent chills down your spine. 

Your hand which had once been wrapped in the material of the girl’s jersey wandered, slowly drifting beneath the hem of her shirt in the way which you’d wondered about earlier.

You traced the muscular lines of her abdomen with your fingers, and you felt Misa push against you harder. You heard her gasp as your lips parted momentarily, the sound music to your ears as a curse fell past her lips as well. The girl was out of breath, pressing even further against you.

One of her legs slid between your own, separating your legs with one of her strong thighs and you gasped at the sudden contact there.

Misa took that moment to take control of the kiss even further, one of her hands settling against the wall which you were pressed against. The other hand wandered just as yours did, playing with the hem of your shirt until you took your hand out from her shirt, trying to take her hand in your own to encourage her to just touch you. 

You would have let her do anything to you right then and there, sensing that Misa may do just that with the way her hands fell down to your hips. They were strong against you, large hands encouraging you to grind against the flexed leg which stood firm between your thighs. 

You allowed a moan to fall between your parted lips, one which was swallowed by Misa as she continued to kiss you. She was incredibly intoxicating in ways which you were convinced couldn’t be described by words– English or Spanish. Or Catalan, for that matter. 

You allowed another moan to tumble from your lips, this one higher pitched and almost… desperately winy. You were prepared to take off your shirt, your fingers curling beneath the fabric and beginning to pull upwards.

Although the two of you froze as you heard the telltale sign of your teammates coming. You heard cleats clashing harshly against concrete, coming ever closer to you and Misa in the locker room. 

“Fuck!” You cursed, the word echoed by Misa as the both of you frantically separated. Misa quickly pushed your shirt back down to its original position as you rushed to do the same to her. You quickly tugged her ponytail from her head, realizing that you’d mussed up her hair to an irreversible extent before you were shoving her towards one of the shower stalls. 

“You stink!” You joked, and Misa smirked at you, trying to tug you with her, “Ah! Ah no, no. I don’t think so. We’ll be caught!” 

You were whispering now, and Misa seemed to think better of her needs as she frowned at you. You simply raised an eyebrow at her, and Misa sighed as she shook her head.

“Vale, pero… we are not done. Tonight, are you free?” You nodded, unable to contain your smile. “My house will be… empty.” 

“No it won’t.” You promised, and you watched Misa struggle to figure out what you were saying before she, too, started grinning like a fool. Then, before your teammates had the chance to walk in on the two of you actually interacting with each other, you shut the curtain closed and spun away.

Hayley and a few others were there, and Hayley grinned at you. 

“Did you two kiss and make up?” Hayley joked, and you choked. Her brows furrowed, now, and you laughed a little bit to cover up the fact that you hadn’t realized that she’d been joking.

“No, she just went to shower.” You excused Misa, and something in Raso’s eyes told you that she knew that something was up. However, she didn’t push you as you walked past her, grabbing your own things to shower as you realized training was over.

Faintly, you registered that the others were talking, and they could have been talking to you. However, you couldn’t bring it upon yourself to actually listen, too consumed with the thoughts of tonight and all of the possibilities that it held.

#misa rodriguez x reader #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagines #woso one shot #harper writes

[writeyouin]

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Fem-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Learning To Get Along

A/N – So, a user on A03 suggested the snake servants’ new names. It was a stroke of genius on their behalf, and I can only thank them for it.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

MALE VERSION HERE

GN VERSION HERE

Tag-List: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @sseleniaa @randomgurl2326  @22carolina08 @astrxwitch @yu-87 @clover-1767 @lil-bexie @thesimpybitch

Do you think you can manage that? Lucifer’s words hung in the air, creating an icy barrier between you.

So, Lucifer thought himself too good for low-life Sinners such as yourself. That wasn’t fair. Sinners might be in Hell for a reason, but sometimes such reasons were just fucking stupid. Heaven ought to base their entry requirements on a person’s character or strength of heart, not just their actions. You had met plenty of Sinners who were in Hell because of the most trivial shit.

There were those who liked to sleep around, but if sex positivity was a problem, then how did Heaven explain Angels like Adam, whom Charlie had told you about in excruciating detail. Lust shouldn’t have ever been considered a Sin, as long as all participants in any such carnal act were above age and consenting.

Then, there were a few murderers you knew. Granted, murder made the lines blurry, but some Sinners killed in self-defence, or only targeted others such as themselves, protecting the innocent in a very gruesome Dexter-like fashion. Were they really to be condemned? And who the fuck gave a damn about Sloth. So, some people were just bone idle, who gave a shit? Heaven apparently.

And now, the ruler of Hell was condemning those around him as well. He was supposed to care for his people, good or bad. Not to mention those who were solely created for or born in Hell, such as Imps, Hell-Hounds, or the Deadly Sins themselves; they hadn’t committed any crimes to get sent here originally – it was their home.

Your eyebrows furrowed, creating an annoyed crease along your forehead.

“No,” You told Lucifer, who stared at you incredulously.

No? Didn’t you understand the situation? He was Lucifer. King of Hell. He could destroy you with no effort spared, leaving no trace that you ever existed, and you were telling him no? He wasn’t an unreasonable guy, but how could you possibly think that being around him was a good idea? Did you respect Charlie more than you feared him? Granted, he didn’t go out much so few knew how powerful he was, but no other Sinner would dare deny him his wishes.

You saw the look he was giving you and decided to explain yourself.

“Look, I’m only here ‘cos Charlie thought it was a good idea, and if you genuinely hate me, I’ll go and you’ll never have to see me again, but you’re not even trying right now. You haven’t spoken to me. You don’t know anything about me, and frankly, I think Charlie’s right, you do need someone to talk to.”

“I don’t-” Lucifer started.

“You don’t even know why I’m down here,” You interrupted angrily, though you refrained from raising your voice. “And you don’t want to know, right? ‘Cos all of us filthy Sinners must be the same. Ooh, we squandered your gift of Free Will and now we deserve to suffer for eternity, do we? Grow up!”

Lucifer stared at you in astonishment, and you sighed, apparently not finished in your tirade, “I’m going to my room tonight, but tomorrow, I expect that you’ll at least try to tolerate me. Who knows? We might even find some common ground. We both love Charlie, don’t we?”

Lucifer didn’t know what to say to that. He certainly loved his daughter, more than anything else in the universe, but you? He still suspected that you had some kind of ulterior motive… everyone in Hell did. Yet, you had a point. He would do this for her, even if it meant he had to tolerate you.

Who were you, really?

He looked at you closely for the first time, trying to pick out some detail of who you might have been. It was even more disturbing than he previously thought. Before, he only saw a human. Now, he examined your clothes. There was little to say about the style, but your apparel was reminiscent of a Holy Animal. With the ruffled cuffs of your jacket, the way the back peaked to create the image of feathers, and the yellow ribbon that lined the white material, you looked like a dove.

Yet… Despite living in the Hazbin Hotel, Charlie had insisted that you didn’t seek redemption. Why go through the farce of dressing like an Angel then… unless? No, you couldn’t be. No Angel would dare stray from Heaven unless they were ordered to.

Lucifer held back a glower, trying to keep his emotions in check so you wouldn’t sense his thoughts. There was a possibility, though small that you had been sent by the likes of Adam to spy on Lucifer and his kin, ensuring that none of Charlie’s patrons ever found a way to the Pearly Gates.

Well, it wouldn’t take long to uncover your ruse. Lucifer had ways of telling an Angel from a Demon, and once you were asleep, he would know.

“Yeah,” Lucifer said evenly. “I love my Charlie.”

“So, you’ll try then.”

Lucifer nodded his head in consent.

“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”

The sentiment went unreturned as your King returned to his chambers, biding his time until you slept.

When you returned to your room, you got ready for bed. The day had been long and unusual. Honestly, you didn’t feel that you had a place in the manor, and you longed for your room in the Hotel, even if it was smaller, had a large stain on the carpet (which Nifty had named Vivienne) and an unruly infestation of roaches.

In the short time you had spent there, it had become home.

You would miss the arguing inhabitants, the energetic wake-up call from Charlie, the feeling of safety that Vaggie instilled, and the sound of Alastor’s morning and evening radio broadcasts. Yet, you hoped you might find something equally valuable in return if only Lucifer would open himself up to the possibility that you didn’t want anything from him.

After glancing out of your window, which had a balcony you could step out to if you so wished, you took in the whole of the Magne District which was the heart of Pentagram City. If you strained your eyes, you could just see the flashing neon of the Hazbin Hotel, and if you turned your gaze up… There was Heaven, out of reach yet always in sight, taunting most Sinners, yet emboldening a brave few who dared to wonder What If? What if they could change and gain admittance to a better life?

You sighed and dared not ponder further when you needed to get some sleep.

Throwing yourself on the plush bed, you got comfortable, arranging yourself how you liked, then leaning over to your bedside table, you blew out the cherry candle you had previously lit.

You rested your head atop the satin pillows, then frowned, feeling a lump beneath it. You reached under and pulled out a rubber duck, painted to look like a Hellhound-Duck hybrid. Assuming it was one of Charlie’s childhood toys, you placed it carefully atop the table; it would keep you company on your first night in a strange new place.

Lucifer waited till the late twilight hours before leaving his workshop. He transformed himself into a snake, slithering silently through the Hallways, ensuring that you wouldn’t hear him coming.

Before being cast out of Heaven, detecting an Angel would have been a simple task. He would just know, the way he now knew how to read a Demon. Yet, with you giving off little sign of Demonic energy, he now had to test if you were of Angelic origin. There were two ways he could do so. The first was by spilling your blood. Those who were born in or sent to Heaven had golden ichor instead of the oozing red or black goop of Hell-spawn and Sinners.

However, not wishing to alert you to his presence, Lucifer decided to opt for the other method.

Once he was inside your room and certain that you were in a deep slumber, he reverted to his original form, standing over you, his pupils turning to slits at the thought of a traitor in his house. If you were what he thought you to be, he would kill you immediately.

He pulled a small yellow twenty-sided stone from his pocket and baring his fangs in anger, he pressed it lightly against your skin.

Nothing happened.

Lucifer’s expression changed from one of deep-seated loathing to confusion. You weren’t from Heaven. If you were, the stone would have glowed a brilliant shade of Gold. Instead, it remained its original dull yellow.

Very well.

He would keep his word and… Tolerate you.

He left your room as quietly as he had entered it. Tomorrow, things would be different.

Lucifer didn’t sleep that night; the idea of change was terrifying.

The next morning, when Lucifer finally resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to face you eventually, he headed downstairs, assuming that was where you were.

“JUST TRY IT!” He heard you yell. “TRY! OPEN YOUR MOUTH, DAMN IT!”

“Uh…” Was all he could think to say as he entered the kitchen and found you clinging to one of the snake cleaners he had created the previous night, in a rodeo-like fashion. The creature was trying to buck you off, with a somewhat derpy expression, probably stupidly assuming it was a game; Lucifer hadn’t bothered to instil them with much intelligence since he didn’t need them for anything more than cleaning.

“ARGH!” You grunted as you were dislodged from its back.

“What- What is this?” Lucifer asked, confused.

“Oh shit!” You cursed, embarrassed to have been caught in a less-than-dignified position. You attempted to regain a little composure by standing up, then held up a handful of wadded-up pancake.

“Do they eat?” You demanded, referring to the reptilian cleaners, “’Cos they’ve been in a picture frame their whole lives, and they must be hungry by now.”

Of all the stupid things you could have done, Lucifer couldn’t help but crack a smile, though he had the decency to hide his laugh behind a clenched fist and pass it off as a cough.

“They don’t need to.”

“Okay, but can they?”

“If they wanted to, I suppose so.”  

You glared at the mushed-up pancake, “I fucking knew it. Spick, Span, eat your fucking breakfast!”

“I’m sorry, who now?” Lucifer asked.

“Well, they clean, don’t they? Spick and Span seem to fit unless you have something better to name them.”

Lucifer chuckled, a half-short-lived chuckle, but one all the same. You were more chaotic than he expected.

“Fine, if you want them to eat, you’ve got to cook in style.”

He waved his hands energetically, his outfit transforming from his usual suit to one befitting a flashy Michelin Chef. He was comfortable in the role of an entertainer as he made a dazzling display of cooking up eggs. With the flash-bang of indoor fireworks, the island counter gained a conveyor belt to transport several dishes, all perfectly presentable and giving off a delectable aroma of herbs and spices.

Eggs-benedict, frittatas, and shakshuka shot by you, closely followed by a hungry Span, though his twin was busy writhing on the conveyer belt, trying to get to his feather duster, yet doomed to chase it since he didn’t think to travel in the opposite direction so it would meet him in the middle.

The sight was memorable to say the least, even when Spick knocked the food onto the floor and his brother was left stupidly sucking on the corner of the countertop where his seemingly new favourite dish had splattered.

You couldn’t help laughing.

“See?” You struggled to get the words out, “I knew they’d like food. I’m just a shite cook.”

Lucifer gazed at his dishes proudly, even though they were no longer fit for either of your consumption.

“Hah,” You said, feeling somewhat awkward now that the moment had passed and Lucifer’s gaze was upon you, trying to figure you out. “I’ll uh, clean this up.”

“No need, leave it to Flim and Flam,” Lucifer said nonchalantly.

“You know that’s not their names.”

“Whatever. So… we’ve met, there was breakfast with a show. We done for today?”

The smile fell from your face as you realised that all of this was just another of Lucifer’s acts. Granted, he might have actually had fun with it, but it was all just in the name of claiming he had tried to be around you, and just wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“I don’t know. I was going to go into the City if you wanted to come.”

“I can’t. I have… plans.”

Lucifer’s mood soured as he thought about visiting Heaven’s embassy to set up the meeting for Charlie. He hated everything about that building. The décor was just a cruel reminder of everything Heaven had banished him from. Moreover, while the Angels had to respect his power, they didn’t respect him; their cruel words and thinly veiled insults always cut him the deepest. Not to mention how bitter he was that the balance of power was uneven. Sure, Heaven had an embassy in Hell, but there was no such building in Heaven where Demons could work to arrange meetings between Angels and him.

It would always be Lucifer going to their building, on their terms, usually at their behest.

“Plans? So, you’re setting up Charlie’s meeting today?” You guessed astutely. “You know, I’m walking that way too.”

Lucifer guessed at your game. You probably hadn’t been going in that direction at all, but this was all in the name of ‘trying’. One way or another, he would have to learn to get along with you.

“Fine. Let’s go,” He said, flicking his hand back blasély, even though he found the idea of walking the streets of Hell daunting.

It would be better if he could teleport there, but at least, by the end of the day, you would have something positive to report back to Charlie.

#fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #reader #female reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel x reader #charlie morningstar #lucifer magne #lucifer magne x reader #hazbin hotel #hellaverse #sinless sinners #part 3 #chapter 3 #learning to get along

[lightningidle]

A thought about Gerard’s scene in Episode 18, which is: Elody watches the conversation between Gerard and Rapunzel.

                                                    ——————

Princess Elody is a tactical motherfucker, so even when these cool young women approach her and say all the right things, things that make sense, she doesn’t fully buy in. Not at face value.

When they talk about princes, it’s somehow both completely flippant and with caustic derision — like these young men were props meant to move the plot along, sole owners of agency in stories that weren’t even titled after them. (Elody wonders about their treatment of the princes as the fairies’ deux es machina, wonders about how easy it is to “kill a lot of princes” as Snow White explains. And by their own logic, how likely is it, really, that the princes are cardboard cutouts if Cinderella is so sure her stepmother, not even royalty, has her own book?)

There’s evidence to the contrary of this in her story specifically, which she has no trouble recounting. There’s no way her prince was meant to pacify her into an idyllic life, because he’s a layabout! He’s unreliable! And sure, he’s charming and fun, yes, he tried to pull her away from the war table, but that wasn’t because of any scheming to get her to stay in line, it was just because he wanted attention. He’s frivolous, he’s not a monster, she says. She’s so passionate in her defense of Gerard’s personhood that she almost misses the shared look of the princesses, the glint in Rapunzel’s eye.

Let us show you, Rapunzel says, what a monster looks like.

The scrying ritual is completed quickly and without fuss. Rapunzel stares into a mirror that ripples like water, and then, on the other side, there he is. More froglike than he’s ever been.

“You’re a prince, friends are probably pretty expendable, right? How many friends have you really had, other than Elody?”

Now hold on, Elody wants to say, that’s goading him. That’s not fair. Cinderella puts a firm hand on her shoulder and shakes her head no, to stay quiet, to wait it out. Elody bites her tongue and waits for Gerard to prove one of them right.

“Your friends seem to really value you as a person. I’m sure it’s a comfort to know that they’re not just sort of putting up with you because you’ll tag along and swing your sword, prove a little bit useful.”

Gerard has snowball fights with his friends. He has friends? He has a dedicated workout buddy? She’s not sure he’s ever been dedicated to anything, except for gossip... or her. Now that she thinks about it, he has always been unquestionably devoted to her, hasn’t he?

“I have seen some titanic feats of strength from my companions the Beast, Cinderella, Snow White. Truly impressive acts of heroism.

I do not think I have seen any of my sisters strain more greatly than the Princess Elody to find something kind to say about you.”

Elody does open her mouth to speak this time, which turns out to be a huge mistake when a writhing mass of knotted hair wraps around the lower half of her face. Not to constrict, only to silence. A pit forms in her stomach at the thought that Rapunzel might not be lying, that in trying to defend Gerard she only condemned the worst of him.

“Yes... I don’t... I don’t doubt that.”

Her heart breaks for the second time.

“But I haven't seen the Princess Elody in a while, and I think it's telling that I'm seeing you in this lake and not her or any of the other princesses. I think you’re... manipulating people, or not telling them the full truth.”

Her eyes dart to the other princesses. Snow White’s expression remains unchanged, though Cinderella’s darkens slightly. When Rapunzel speaks again, it does not escape Elody’s notice that she doesn’t acknowledge what Gerard pointed out; she deflects. Elody is getting angrier, now, tugging at the hair around her jaw, hardly even hearing the next bit until a third voice speaks up, says the Princess Elody cares for you deeply.

“Not quite the same thing.”

“It's not, but seeing as the last thing she saw of me was me running away after I had already done that, I’m grateful that she still cares for me at all.”

The hair gathering around her tenses. Elody was brought here to see that, when Gerard thought nobody else could hear, he would prove himself to be just an agent of the fairies, or an empty vessel, or a selfish monster. What she’s seeing is none of those things. But she’s also not seeing the man she knew as her husband: he’s grown and changed, almost become someone else entirely. She wants to call out to Gerard. She wants to get to know him all over again.

“Gerard,” Rapunzel hisses, “what do you think the odds are that it got into Elody's head that the virtuous thing to do was to fall in love with a cold and slimy frog, and that every kindness she has paid you in your life has been a testament to her charity, rather than anything about you that would bring her joy?”

Elody freezes.

“I don't know that I can answer that.”

“It doesn’t seem very fair to Elody that you can’t.” 

“... I agree.”

The image in the mirror of the man who will never be a man again ripples and vanishes. Elody’s hands have fallen away from the hair around her face, which is convenient, as she finds herself suddenly holding a book. The hair recedes, and she doesn’t register what it is Rapunzel is saying to try and placate her, because the book in her hands is a slim volume, bound in her favorite shade of green and embossed in golden ink.

On the front is the title — The Princess Elody.

#neverafter #Dimension 20 #dimension 20 neverafter #gerelody #princess elody #gerard of greenleigh #d20 elody #elody of greenleigh #gerard and elody #d20 neverafter #my art #I GUESS #this is honestly just me trying to cope with that last episode #GERELODY NATION HOW WE FEELING

[alagaesia-headcanons]

I love that Nasuada's major flaw is the same as one of Galbatorix's greatest flaws, and that it gets worse and more ingrained throughout the series. And it's so compelling because it's incredibly in character for her and there's every reason for the circumstances to perpetuate and exacerbate it, but that doesn't make her flaw any less egregious. The scene where Galbatorix compares the two of them is so fascinating because his intention is very manipulative and malicious, yet the statement itself isn't entirely untrue.

Because Nasuada treats people like tools. She considers a person's utility more important than anything else, including their personhood.

And it's such an engrossing flaw because of course Nasuada treats people like tools! She is proud and powerful and stubborn and noble and utterly committed to achieving what she has set out to do, by whatever means necessary. She will use whatever she has at her disposal to reach her goal, and that includes using the people around her. Of course, this doesn't make Nasuada inherently immoral; she cares deeply about justice and protecting her people. But her views on the individuals around her are impersonal and self serving.

And the goal she's trying to achieve is to win the war. Nasuada would never be pushed out of her ways by the circumstances because they work, the way she treats people accomplishes exactly what she intends. By its nature, the bloody act of war rewards using people like tools. It demands that, even; to a certain extent, it's an ugly necessity in war, but the thing is that Nasuada doesn't see it that way. She never struggles with or grieves over the need to consider people's individuality as secondary to their function. It comes naturally to her, and it lasts through the end of the books, when the war is already over.

Because I think the most flagrant example of this is at the very end, when Birgit intercepts Roran as he's leaving, presumably intending to kill him, and Nasuada says, "He has proved himself a fine and valuable warrior on more than one occasion, and I would be most displeased to lose him." It's such a wonderful, pointed line that perfectly sums up this aspect of her character. Because what a disgusting thing to say. Especially for the queen of all Alagaesia, perfectly positioned and empowered to stop this confrontation and declare it unjust if she cared to. But her words make no attempt at all to defend Roran as a person, only his value to her.

The way she uses others I find most evident in her treatment of Roran, Murtagh, and Elva. The way she tells Eragon that she thinks of giving Katrina a dowry as a "purchase" of Roran's goodwill and loyalty. In Uru'baen, only at great length, she makes the conscious choice to ignore Murtagh's past and only judge who he is in the present, but disregards any care for what that might say about him as a person, solely focused on if he could be useful as an ally. And when Eragon offers to revert Elva's curse, the one that condemned an infant to feel every piece of pain and suffering surrounding her, Nasuada is so fixated on Elva's utility and value to Nasuada's goals that she goes so far as to ask Eragon to fake his effort to cure her. She sees people as tools to such an extent that she can't recognize that relieving an innocent baby of unimaginable, cursed agony should come before her own priorities.

#guys i LOVE her #its SUCH a good character flaw im obsessed with it #eragon #inheritance cycle #nasuada #roran #elva #murtagh #pretending nasuada is entirely good natured is so boring i swear #she is passionate and heartfelt #but she is also Fucked Up sometimes #seriously tho those moments i mentioned always hit me like 'wow babe wtf is wrong with you???' #her nuance *chefs kiss* #she has the range #(also tbh. big reason why i think she and murtagh wouldnt work out together. this would cause A Lot of pain. too much.)

[knightsickness]

Girl, Alicent literally married her son to her underage daughter so they could produce 100% Valyrian children with silver hair, what the fuck are you talking about, lmao ? “My son will take the crown of his namesake, the Conqueror, and carry Blackfyre, his sword. Let the people remember the ancient strength of House Targaryen.”

The only people she murdered are her children and grandchildren and that’s solely because she’s completely incompetent. But I do love her for accidentally ending her own bloodline, the only goof thing she ever did.

why am i being sent tiktok-grade alicent hate arguments

1 i assume we’re talking about show alicent bc you quoted her and yes that quote would indicate she wants aegon to be like aegon i as a propaganda thing. however that quote is from ep9 eighteen years after the name choice was made + my point was only that its interesting viserys had a dead brother aegon. saying that influenced the choice of name seems reasonable esp considering his birth between eps 2 and 3 is YEARS before alicent even starts scheming towards the throne she’s still loyal to rhaenyra. i even indicated in the post otto would be extremely pleased w the choice for power reasons im not pretending there was no hightower influence over viz. alicent’s power over viserys is also significantly less than it becomes on his deathbed bc shes his teenage second wife he feels intensely guilty about taking and he’s still mostly in his own power

2 the underage daughter point is very charged considering thats both westerosi and targaryen normal even if its gross to a modern audience. ned betrothed his UNDERAGE daughter to joffrey? rhaenyra tried to betrothe her UNDERAGE son to UNDERAGE helaena? i’ve made a post abt this before alicent is literally also an underage bride the cycles etc. acting as if alicent is some freak outlier in the targaryen blood purity dynasty for the brother and sister husband and wife king and queen is weird theyre a nasty family

3 why are you both morally condemning her for her children’s marriages and implying she should have personally murdered more people and was an incompetent loser for not doing that where are your lines here. you could say exactly the same thing abt rhaenyra she never killed anyone with her own hand and all the strong boys died horribly but that would be an insane thing to say and a stupid read of the dance. also whoo gaf would i be a greenie blogger if i cared if they were evil losers

4 🫵 bloodline weirdo ! bloodline weirdo ! i hate this shit ‘daemon’s daughters infiltrated otto’s bloodline 🤭’ who cares !

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #hotd #house of the dragon #alicent hightower

[artiststarme]

Save Me From My Self (Esteem)

Based on a prompt from @nburkhardt. I hope it meets your expectations! Hope you guys like it and please leave your thoughts in the comments!

~*~*~*~

Eddie wasn’t used to people liking him or having positive relationships in general, really. From an early age, he learned that people would never truly like him for him. What was there to like? He wasn’t anything special and as much as he acted like he was, everyone always seemed to be able to see the broken boy behind the mask. Everyone hated him as soon as they laid their eyes on him and Eddie just couldn’t figure out why. 

Day one of being alive earned him the hatred of his mother. He was born premature after a painful labor and as soon as he was placed in his mother’s arms, all she saw were medical bills. She could see the debt and misfortune that this bundle of angst would bring her and she was already over it after a mere minute of holding him. 

She stuck around for a few years sneering and glaring at him from an emotional distance that felt infinite but a physical distance of just a few feet. And as soon as she walked into the trailer one day to find Eddie trying on her makeup and wearing her only black dress, she was done. She packed her things and left that very night with only a single sentence left to his dad in her wake, ‘you can deal with him now’.

Life became harder without his mom around. Even though her presence only brought sneers and hissed insults, she was still his mom. She’d acted as a barrier between Eddie and his dad. As soon as she’d left, everything became so much more miserable. His dad would hit him and push him around. He shaved his hair so short that his scalp bled. And worst of all, he would take Eddie on runs of the criminal variety to show him the ropes. He wanted to pass on his ‘legacy’, as if you could call grand theft auto and armed robberies a legacy. 

Eddie lived with his dad for two years before he was arrested and then Eddie was shipped off to live with an uncle he hadn’t seen in years. And poor Wayne. It took a long time for him to be able to make Eddie comfortable enough to talk, let alone function as a normal human being. Eddie was a scared boy, neglected and abused by the people that should’ve loved him, and condemned by the people that could’ve helped him. But after months of soft voices, patience, and panic attacks, Eddie came around enough to whisper stilted thoughts about DnD and fantasy that goes right over Wayne’s head. Still, Wayne would nod and ask just enough questions for Eddie to understand that he cared. That he would be the first person in his life not to hurt him. 

Everyone in Hawkins hated him. The adults of the town would turn their noses up at his skinned knees and bare head. He never even had a chance to prove himself in their scathing eyes. The kids would push him against the walls at school and poke fun at his living in a trailer. They would laugh at his worn down clothes and the shoes that always had a hole in the sole. They never gave him a chance to be himself.

Eddie had to change quickly to survive. He constructed a whole facade to act as armor to protect himself from all of the hate he received daily. He fully embraced their jaunts and sneers, he took their hisses of ‘Freak’ like it was a nickname of endearment. Eddie Munson became their worst nightmare just like they’d all expected him to. He couldn’t distinguish himself from his facade anymore, the edges having become too blurred over the years. 

When he decided to form Hellfire, he didn’t really expect anyone to join. Who would willingly associate with the Freak of Hawkins High? But Wayne had been prodding him to make some friends outside of the stray cats at the Trailer Park and who was Eddie to refuse? He never could’ve imagined Gareth, Grant, and Jeff joining or inviting him to join their metal band too. It seemed too good to be true and Eddie waited for the other shoe to drop for months. When it didn’t though, he realized that he’d unknowingly made some lifelong friends.

His self-esteem didn’t improve during the week he was on the run from the cops for a series of murders he didn’t commit, hunting a bad guy from an alternate dimension who seems dead set on ruining his life in particular. This group of people took him in like they’d known him for years and Eddie couldn’t wrap his head around it. They were protecting him, making plans to confuse the cops and clear his name, including him in inside jokes like he was their friend, he didn’t understand. With everyone new in his life, he doesn't know what to do.

Afterwards when they defeat Vecna and he almost dies, Steve “The Hair” Harrington sits by the side of his hospital bed and brings him metal cassettes from his room in the trailer that wasn’t entirely destroyed. He asks him on a date two weeks after he’s released from the hospital and of course Eddie says yes, albeit confusedly and waiting for him to deliver a punchline. But he never does. He woos him with fancy picnics and movie nights, he kisses him under the stars with a joint between their fingers, and he cuddles him deep into the night when their nightmares keep them awake.

Eddie comes to the conclusion that there must be something wrong with him. Why else would Steve be interested in him if not for all of the head trauma? And something was probably wrong with Uncle Wayne, Dustin, the rest of the Party, and his bandmates. The whole town hates him, as they should, so for the Party not to, they must be disturbed mentally. 

However, when Eddie mentions that to Uncle Wayne, Dustin, and Steve at one of their movie nights, Wayne smacks him on the backside of his head. 

“Ow, what the hell!”

“Boy, I know you ain’t stupid but that’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard,” Uncle Wayne gripes at him.

Steve just looks heartbroken. “You think something is wrong with us for loving you?”

“Stevie, you’ve had a lot of concussions…”

“Well I haven’t!” Dustin yelled. “We love you because you’re you, Eddie. The people that hate you have something wrong with them, not us!”

Eddie just blinked at him. That thought hadn’t come to mind. Maybe there was something wrong with the people that hated him and not with the few that loved him, huh.

Steve saw him thinking and reached out to hold his hand. “You getting it yet? I love you no matter what, whether I have brain trauma or not.”

Eddie nodded, “Yeah? So I can stop waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

“Yeah and I’ll prove it to you for the rest of our lives. I’ve got both shoes firmly on the ground, Eds. You never have to worry about shoes dropping with me,” Steve whispered. 

“Did you just fucking propose to him by talking about shoes?!” Dustin asked, flabbergasted.

“Huh, I guess I did.”

“I love you, Big Boy. I'd marry you in a heartbeat,” Eddie said, pulling Steve into a bruising kiss.

“Glad y’all settled this but go smooch each other somewhere else. I’m trying to watch Gremlins in peace, thanks.”

“Love you too, Uncle Wayne!” Eddie told him, borderline maniacally.

“Love you too kid, now go defile your boyfriend away from me.”

“Wayne!” Steve gasped, scandalized.

“I agree,” Dustin added.

“Dustin!” 

Eddie just laughed as he pulled Steve down the hall to his bedroom. Hey, he wasn’t going to look at a gift horse’s teeth.

He still had a long way to go when it came to recognizing his own self-worth. But with Steve, Dustin, and Uncle Wayne in his corner, it was sure to be much easier than it ever had been before.

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#They all have ways of dealing with Eddie's poor self-esteem #Wayne gently smacks him and tells him to treat himself better #Steve kisses him and usually calls off work to spend the day with him #Dustin calls him stupid and gets Steve #Steve proposes again later when gay marriage is legal and its a much better proposal than this original offhand one #stranger things #steddie #fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #wayne munson

[morbidology]

5-year-oldKathy Tongay, along with her 6-year-old brother, Russell "Bubba" Tongay, became widely known as the "Aquatots" due to their remarkable swimming and diving performances across the globe.

Their father, Russell Tongay, had an intense fixation on molding his children into exceptional swimmers, initiating their training at a young age. They were immersed in water, starting from six months old, and by the time Kathy was just 10 months old, she could already swim 20 feet. At 17 months, both siblings were swimming a quarter of a mile daily.

Russell's ambitious streak reached a peak in 1950 when he staged an audacious event where he followed Kathy, then 2 years old, and Bubba, 5 years old, in a boat as they swam up the Mississippi River.

With the success of this feat, Russell saw a business opportunity and began promoting his children as an entertainment act under the name "Aquatots." However, his promotion tactics were questionable and often abusive. He boasted that his children subsisted solely on baby food, and during one performance, he tied Bubba's hands and feet before forcing him to leap off a diving board.

In 1951, they embarked on a tour of Europe, but their act was met with condemnation, with both the British and French governments banning Russell from coercing his children to perform in the English Channel. This led to their return to the United States.

Tragically, in May 1953, 5-year-old Kathy was pushed to attempt a challenging one-and-a-half layout dive from a 33-foot diving board. When she failed the dive, she belly-flopped into the water, injuring her back. Despite Kathy's pleas to go home, Russell ignored her and took her to a nearby swimming pool. Witnesses recalled Kathy appearing severely bruised and unwell, but Russell proceeded to feed her baby food and forced her into the water.

In tears, Kathy cried: "Please, daddy, don't make me swim anymore." Shortly afterward, she suffered convulsions and tragically passed away. An autopsy later revealed that she died due to a ruptured intestine, internal bleeding, and infection, possibly stemming from the fall from the diving board.

Russell Tongay was subsequently convicted of manslaughter and received a ten-year prison sentence. He was released in March 1961 on account of good behavior.

#true crime

[tyrantisterror]

Twitter (or “X”, I guess) is currently losing its mind over a media analysis video that implies King Kong might have some racially charged (or even racist) themes. Thoughts?

I actually talked about this recently here: https://tyrantisterror.tumblr.com/post/730214779314176000/kaiju-twitter-is-currently-in-a-tizzy-because

But I also think King Kong (1933) has a somewhat undeserved sterling reputation in general. Even critics who have otherwise been quick to be hypercritical and dismissive of monster movies talk about King Kong as if it's a "perfect" movie, because historically King Kong has always been considered a classic. And, like, historically speaking, yes, King Kong will always be an important and groundbreaking film. It's a landmark moment in special effects.

But if you take the special effects out of it... you're not really left with much to rave about. The acting in King Kong ranges from passable to outright bad (and racist when you consider the islanders and Charlie the inexplicable Chinese Stereotype cook who exists for... comic relief? I guess?), the characters themselves are thin, the dialogue can be very good but also outright atrocious, and the camerawork (again, outside of special effects) is nothing to rave about. King Kong has a reputation for perfection that's solely hinged on cool special effects and a shitload of nostalgia. It does not have the depth to its storytelling of, say, Godzilla (1954), which had to claw and fight over decades to be reappraised by critics for its many virtues. All King Kong has is groundbreaking special effects.

And those special effects are really good, don't get me wrong. You feel for that monkey before the movie ends, and the wonder and terror of Skull Island's ecosystem of monsters is rightfully iconic. But if you dig past that - and you have to if you want to analyze the movie, because most of it is surface level stuff - you're not left with much to analyze, and what there is to analyze are a bunch of racist tropes that were old and timeworn by the time King Kong was made, and much more so now. Evil black savages who want to sacrifice a white woman because of her enchanting Aryan beauty, a giant ape who's horny for said white woman because of said enchanting Aryan beauty, heroic white men risking everything as they plunder an evil, backwards island of degenerate relics from the past that were best left forgotten, Charlie the Chinese Cook who is exactly as grating a racial stereotype of Chinese people as you'd expect from the 1930's - yeah, all of these tropes have racist roots, and whether or not the racism was intended by the creators doesn't really matter, because they certainly did nothing to try and mitigate it or divorce the tropes from those racist roots. It's a racist movie, an undeniably racist movie, which isn't something that should surprise people because it's from the 19fucking30's.

And that doesn't mean we have to condemn King Kong, and that watching it makes you a problematic Nazi MAGA chud, or that we're not allowed to praise what's good about it (i.e. the special effects). It just means that, maybe, after 90 years of completely untempered praise from all corners of the film world, maybe it's time to admit that King Kong, while still a classic, is not a perfect movie. That it has some flaws. And maybe we can start by admitting the really obvious flaw of it being a movie from the 1930's that reflects the 1930's attitudes about race which were, you know, not great, and then from there we could maybe talk about how it reflects 1930's attitudes about gender (also not great), and then to how the acting in it is mostly bad, and then to how the scriptwriting is... let's say uneven, and then maybe admit that really we just like the monster bits and the rest is kind of forgettable at best, and that Godzilla is a far superior movie in all respects.

But I think what's likely to happen is people will viciously defend the movie without thinking about it critically for a moment, because nuance and honest self reflection is for chumps.

[sapphic-agent]

"Stop using Yangchen for your shitty argument."

So, I was browsing the anti Aang tag around a week ago I think and I came upon a post that displayed frustration for people who condemn Aang not wanting to kill Ozai. I'm not 100% sure that this was targeted at my post specifically, but as I did use Yangchen, I do want to clarify how I interpret her words as well as the other past lives' advice and Aang's reaction.

(Here's my first post if you haven't read it: https://www.tumblr.com/sapphic-agent/745211292168732672/lets-talk-about-how-book-3-ruined-aang?source=share)

This person's main argument centered around how the previous Avatars never actually told Aang to kill Ozai. That their words were for him to interpret. And I actually agree. One of my central arguments was that this was a choice Aang had to make.

The thing is though, Aang himself absolutely interpreted their messages as him having to kill Ozai. That's why he gets so frustrated ("I knew I shouldn't have asked Kyoshi") and keeps cycling through them until he gets the answer he wants. Let's go through exactly what they all said to him.

Roku: If I had been more decisive and acted sooner, I could have stopped Sozin and stopped the war before it started. I offer you this wisdom, Aang, you must be decisive.

Roku tells Aang to be decisive. Which means he's urging Aang to make a decision. And this is perfectly in-line with what I said previously. He has to be able to make a choice between his morals/beliefs and his responsibility as the Avatar, as Roku failed to choose between his attachment to Sozin and his responsibility as the Avatar. That's what Roku's saying and that's exactly how Aang understands it.

Kyoshi: Personally, I don't really see the difference, but I assure you, I would have done whatever it took to stop Chin. I offer you this wisdom, Aang, only justice will bring peace.

Kyoshi's advice actually makes it less about Aang and more about Ozai. He needs to face justice so that the world can know peace. She, like Roku, does not say kill Ozai, she says bring him to justice. Aang's later actions are actually very much in-line with that. He does bring Ozai to justice through his own means. But again, that's not how Aang interpreted her advice. He takes it to mean do what she did, which is why he's salty about it after she disappears.

Kuruk: If I had been more attentive and more active, I could've saved her. Aang, you must actively shape your own destiny and the destiny of the world.

Again, Kuruk's words imply murder even less than Kyoshi's. He tells Aang to be active, to embrace his responsibility to the world and its fate as the Avatar. This is something Aang has struggled with since the beginning of the show so it makes sense that Kuruk would say this. But again, Aang takes it as something he doesn't want to hear. He either thinks that Kuruk is implying that he has to kill Ozai or that he thinks Kuruk is saying to be more active as the Avatar (if it's the latter, that makes Aang look worse because it's advice he's still unhappy with).

(I'd also like to add that Aang isn't looking for alternatives from his past lives. Or at least, he isn't just looking for alternatives. He's looking for one of them to validate him not wanting to kill Ozai and offer advice based on that. Which is why he says, "Maybe an Air Nomad Avatar will understand where I'm coming from." So them not giving him alternatives is not why he's upset)

Yangchen: Many great and wise Air Nomads have detached themselves and achieved spiritual enlightenment, but the Avatar can never do it. Because your sole duty is to the world. Here is my wisdom for you. Selfless duty calls you to sacrifice your own spiritual needs, and do whatever it takes to protect the world.

Out of everyone, Yangchen is probably the closest one to telling Aang he has to kill Ozai. She directly tells him that he has to sacrifice his spiritual needs, which heavily implies that she means go against what the monks taught him and end Ozai for the sake of the world. And that's absolutely how Aang understands it. He even says out loud, "I guess I don't have a choice, Momo. I have to kill the Fire Lord."

So yes, I 100% agree that their advice was up to Aang's interpretation. But what this person- and Aang stans in general- seemed to miss is that Aang himself interpreted their advice as him having to kill Ozai.

Now, does he have to follow their advice? Absolutely not. In Yangchen's words from the Kyoshi novels, "You could spend a thousand years talking to us and you still wouldn't know how best to guide the world." Their advice is just that, advice. Their words aren't law and shouldn't be regarded as such (especially not Roku's, he's consistently given terrible advice/direction).

Hell, in my original post I said I didn't think he had to kill Ozai. Just that he should have had to make the choice between his beliefs and responsibility and face the consequences of that choice. The only reason I brought up the past Avatars at all is because I was pointing out that he refused to accept answers (not just from them, but also from the Gaang) he didn't want to hear. And when he finally did accept it, he was immediately spared from having to make the choice by the Lion Turtle

#aang critical #anti aang #tagging just in case #it's even less anti aang than the first one #avatar yangchen #avatar kuruk #avatar kyoshi #avatar roku

[fancifulplaguerat]

I have further spare Aglaya thoughts. Cannot stop thinking about how whenever Aglaya mentions her hatred towards Nina it's predicated on Nina's cruelty/disregard for others contrasted against Aglaya's lines like “To this day, I've been paying for my kind-heartedness,” “It's a pity that everyone sees an enemy in me. Such is the bias against inquisitors. I only wish to do good; not specific, targeted good, like that Clara, but overarching good,” “I am a humanitarian. My duty is to save people, not kill them. I only condemn a few to death for the sake of the many.” That “I've been paying for my kind-heartedness” and “It's a pity that everyone sees an enemy in me” just make my heart hurt for her because I do sincerely believe her. Yes she is cruel towards Clara and deceives Daniil but I've said it before I will say it again: 1) I love Daniil so very much but *everyone* warned him not to trust her and 2) nearly every Patho character is an opportunist and/or trying to act after being dealt and incredibly shitty hand, which often results in deception and cruelty towards others. Aglaya is no different in my mind.

Also a particular detail in her dialogue which caught my eye is when she remarks that, “For a moment, I thought [Block] was driven by the same feeling that I am: a great man, when unexpectedly betrayed by the people he loves, will often seek to fill the whole universe with his blind spite. Yes, the feeling is indeed familiar...” I wonder what this refers to. My first thought is presumably Nina, but I can't quite imagine Aglaya feeling betrayed by her? It seems like they were too opposed? Like. I have no idea if I can articulate this well, but: Nina and Aglaya seem so alike yet fundamentally different that I just imagine tension would be endemic in their relationship. Also the way Aglaya characterizes her in the quote “Nina was the embodiment of absolute evil. The charming, intoxicating, beautiful evil, the evil that can drive you mad. The graceful and elegant evil that is fast to capture anyone in its web—even those who stand up to evil till the very last.” She calls Nina evil constantly. It is the lifeblood of her motivation—to destroy what her sister created. But that betrayal lines makes me think about what sort of uncomfortable love one can only have towards a family member that they fucking hate, like Aglaya does indeed think Nina is evil but also she is her (little?) sister and presumably grew up with her and I doubt Aglaya could see her as just wholly evil. That entire mess. Just compels me, particularly in how it adds another aspect to Nina.

I often think about how Nina is this object of terror and adoration more than a character in Patho Classic. Even sometimes, in my opinion, more an embodiment of utopia as Simon is for creation. Everyone close to her or who merely knew her as Mistress absolutely reveres her, perhaps even more after her death (which I think is the point, but, I digress). So to me, Aglaya and Maria have the most interesting dynamics with Nina because only through them does Nina feel more "real" to me, insofar as a character can. The dichotomy between Aglaya and Nina nicely contrasts this to me. Yes other characters allude to Nina being terrifying and so forth, but Aglaya's declarations that Nina is evil aren't accompanied by any reverence or respect or adoration that often does other characters' discussions of her. And it's yes Maria idolizes her, but as a child idealizes their parent. That is entirely separate from other characters who appear closest to Nina in Patho Classic: Victor, Andrey, and Peter, all of whom presumably had some sort of romantic attachment to her (if to various degrees and requitedness). Maria looks up to her, and in her words, “shall become her, [...] shall overcome her...” Maria interests me in that vein, that she aims to surpass her mother, and thus her idealization is necessarily different than others' who solely worship her.

I did not intend to write that much but this is what thinking about the Kaina-Lilich women does to a motherfucker. Apparently.

#what in god's name did IPL put in the kai n family that makes me feel like I got thrown in a blender for sport #patho.txt #pathologic #aglaya lilich #maria kaina #nina kaina

[cdyssey]

Yellowjackets 2.06 Reactions:

TW: Cannibalism; Traumatic Birth Experiences

Coach Ben teaching Health Ed class!! This man has suffered through so much.

TAIVAN WITH THEIR DESKS SHOVED TOGETHER!! Lolololol, at Misty being the only one who is paying attention and Ben clearly not caring that no one is paying attention.

“Poppies, Jeff. Jackie likes poppies.” She says this to get people to stop whispering about them, but God, I love the intimacy of this line too—the way that Shauna knows Jackie’s favorite flower.

THIS BLUR SONG. WOW, WOW, WOW.

Lmao at Misty emptying all her pockets.

Lottie’s shocked expression when she clocks that it’s Misty for the first time. The almost immediate steeliness, the barely controlled rage. The height difference between Simone and Christina is so fucking funny. Misty is a tiny little bean.

“And I won’t call the IRS about what I assume is your routine tax evasion.” AKQKWNWKSN

Lottie gets a visible headache and asks Misty to stay a while; she possibly had a vision?

“She is the one who decided to act out by dating a cop.” SO FOUL, SHAUNA SNSNDNWNWJDNS.

“It honestly would’ve been better if you just had sex with him.” FOUL FOUL FOUL.

Baby girl is so fucked up!!! Callie and Jeff’s horrified expressions when they hear this shows us that they’re registering this, how off kilter Shauna is.

The girls desperately scrambling to figure out what they should do to help Shauna, and it’s moments like these when you remember that they’re children, and it’s awful.

Tai being right at Shauna’s head, holding her shoulders, wiping off her head, encouraging her. They make me so fucking tender.

Misty has entirely shut down.

“WILDERNESS, I HOPE SHAUNA DOESN’T DIE.” MARI WOQKOQJEWJWJRJNWJEJWNWNENWJS. YOU KEEP DIGGING YOURSELF INTO THAT PIT, GIRL. I LOVE YOU.

Tai holding Shauna’s face reassuring her over and over again that she’s not going to die.

Nat being a fail girl at rifle practice.

“I’m poison. I ruin people.” God, my heart aches for her. She genuinely believes this.

“I killed my best friend… the only person that I loved.” FUCK. 😭

Natalie and Lisa’s relationship is so, so good. The vulnerability between them, the care.

“… we did so much fucked up shit out there. And yeah, maybe it was to survive. Maybe. But I don’t think we deserved to.” GOD GOD GOD. Two things haunt me about this particular line. That second maybe—we’ve known from the start that they did things out there that weren’t solely about survival. Pit Girl. Her ritualistic consumption. But also the fact that this is the condemnation that Nat hangs on them all. None of them should have made it out of the woods alive, and maybe, just maybe, that would have been penance for what they had done.

Tai looks like a peak lesbian in Van’s clothes. <3

Van reminding Tai of her FAMILY, and Tai is just like, lmao, fuck them. It’s you and me, baby.

She is so awful. <33

“You’re married, Taissa. There’s no us anymore.” God.

Tai sees all the overdue bills in the trash can; Van is struggling.

Misty is utterly broken about Kristen. It’s easy for us to say she’s the “well-adjusted” one between all the adults because she’s been able to compartmentalize so well; she’s out there girlbossing and murdering!! But she’s just as fucked up, just as traumatized, even if she invited so much of that trauma on herself: breaking the transmission box, telling Kristen, inadvertently killing that innocent girl.

Nat appealing to Ben, the adult, Ben, the health ed teacher, for guidance, BUT HE IS A FAILURE TOO. “I just pressed play on a video.” AMQKQKKEWKKDOWKSSK

“Women have been having babies for millions of years.” 😭 Nat, I fucking love you. These girls care for each other so fucking much.

GETTING COMFORT FROM HER POCKET MOUSE. AKILAH, I LOVE YOU AMQMQDNJWNS.

Not the cult performing blood offerings in the corner. My God QNKQKQMWNRKWKWMWMWKWJREK.

POV: Ur having a baby in the woods and all the goth kids are being weird about it.

God, Lottie needs to fucking get a new psychiatrist. This lady is the worst.

Simone is such a fucking good actor.

“We did… terrible things in Its name. And I thought when we were rescued, that we left It there, but now I realize… we brought it back with us.” The subtitles are really lending an emphasis to It now. God, I need a side-by-side of all the ladies talking about the terrible things they did in the forest: Shauna talking to Callie, Natalie and Lisa, and now Lottie and the psychiatrist. The horror on all of their faces when they admit this truth aloud; for all of them, it’s almost too much to bear.

“I mean, if you’re done crying, I could tell you some stories.” QKQKKWOWJEJDJ

Ben, ur such a failure. Ily.

The antlers behind Ben in the flashback…

THE PLACENTA FUCKING COMING FIRST. AND THE VIDEO. AND TAI REMEMBERING IT’S SUPPOSED TO COME AFTERWARDS. I’M FUCKED UP.

Crystal and Misty were gonna sing a song at Shauna’s labor. Lmfao.

“You can save our baby.” LOTTIE WTF

“You’re so close to being on the other side.” The double entendre is absolutely there. Shauna is so fucking close to death.

Taissa crying because she cares so much for Shauna and she already knows, from that placenta coming first, this fucking isn’t going to end well.

“Aren’t you probably the last person who should be giving me legal advice right now?” AQQKEMFMEMS, drag her ass, Callie. (Callie and Shauna both wearing that forest green because they are so alike.)

I fucking hate Matt the Cop. Smug fucking bastard!!

Tai fucking with Van about the sorting. 😭 I love them so much.

“No, Tai. You came here for help with your life. If I need help with mine, I’ll let you know.” TELL HER, VAN. One thing I’ve really enjoyed about both Taissa storylines is that they’ve consistently portrayed her as someone who can be judgmental and hypocritical. It’s such a good character flaw for her.

Tai’s entire tone changing when she hears that it’s Lottie.

“It’s a bunch of granola losers, but the food is great, and the BO factor is surprisingly low.” QKQKFNWKOWKEQPJEN

All of these children are crying, and I’m so fucking upset. I care about all of them so goddamn much. Nat and Tai and Misty being right there for her means so much for me. That’s my core four.

Shauna is dying right in front of them.

THE SUBTITLES SAY MISTY, BUT THAT WAS JACKIE FUCKING TAYLOR’S VOICE.

The entire scene is lit differently. The baby is too big and healthy. The placenta came first. The crying is repetitive. This is a goddamn dream.

“… but no, I’d rather keep the past in the past.” / “Van, you run a video store. […] You practically live in the past.” POT CALLING THE KETTLE BLACK, MA’AM. YOU WERE RECENTLY CAUGHT SACRIFICING YOUR DOG IN THE BASEMENT!! YOU CHASED AFTER YOUR EX AND GAVE HER A BOOBY PEN!!!!!!

Taissa is so judgy, lmfao. Never change, girl failure.

“Don’t fuckin’ judge me because I know you’re too evolved for online dating.” GET HER!! Lauren has inhabited Van so well. Like, sometimes I can hear Liv in her delivery of lines.

“But don’t flatter yourself. It’s not because of you.” Vanlottietai triangle in the wilderness when

Natalie, ma’am, I know you have, like, seven different infections from wearing those pants for so long. SEVEN.

Lisa giving Natalie the Fourteenth Gilly, so she’s responsible for something other than herself. 😭 Sobs.

If anything fucking happens to Lisa, I will lose my shit. I love her so much.

Shauna not being able to feed the baby. I’m so fucked up. The other girls can see that starvation awaits.

JEFF PLAYING “FUCK THE POLICE” WITH THE WINDOW DOWN OUTSIDE THE POLICE STATION. I LOVE THIS MAN. HE IS THE FUNNIEST FUCKING HIMBO. ALQWKQODJKWKW

QKQOOWWKMWKDNSNS, JEFF SAYING IT TAKES A WHILE FOR SHAUNA TO GO TO THE BATHROOM. THE LOOKS TAI AND VAN GIVE EACH OTHER. WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS MAN

He is such a weirdo.

Misty talking about Nat with such love and affection. Girlfriends. <33

“We’re all like this. Aren’t we?” Nat looking at Misty for the first time with sympathy in her eyes. She fundamentally sees that Misty is fucked up too.

I’m fucking crying at this baby starving.

“Your kid doesn’t like you too much, does she?” RIGHT ON THE HEELS OF THAT LAST SCENE. THAT’S SHAUNA’S GREATEST FEAR, HER CONTINUALLY BLEEDING WOUND.

Melanie Lynskey is so fucking pretty.

“You really did a number on her.” God, God, God, God. Shauna and Callie really eff me up. They were doomed from the start, from the moment that Shauna nearly died from having that first baby in the woods.

“And you do not have to be like your mom.” It’s too late, Kevyn. She already is.

“I never even wanted to be a mom. In fact… I did not sta… start out a bad person, but in case you haven’t noticed, life doesn’t tend to turn out the way you think it will. You have a kid that you… you don’t want… to save a marriage that you got into out of… guilt and-and shame. And, and you just… you can’t really let yourself love either of them. But, of course, you do. You-you love them despite yourself. You’re just incredibly bad at it.” I HAVE LITERAL TEARS RUNNING DOWN MY FACE. MELANIE GODDAMN LYNSKEY.

This isn’t Shauna lying. We know that Shauna is a piss poor fucking liar. This is the truth from the bottom of her goddamn heart. She didn’t want Callie. She had her to save a marriage that she only got into because she felt so guilty—about the woods, about Jackie, about what she and Jeff and all the girls did to her. But she loves them. She loves her husband. She loves her daughter. And she knows that she hasn’t done them their due. And this has also been a truth from the beginning. Shauna absolutely loathes herself. She self-destructs partially as a punishment that she thinks fits her endless crime.

The music shifts when she does start lying. What came before it was sincere.

“But leave my kid out of it.” SHE LOVES CALLIE.

I fucking hate this cop!!!

CALLIE SINGLE-HANDEDLY SAVING THIS ENTIRE INVESTIGATION WOQKQKWOQOKWIDJDJEJEJEJEJEJEIEKEMDJD. I FUCKING LOVE HER.

“Especially when they ask me to describe his weird ass balls.” WKQKWOQOOWIWJEJDIEJENWKIRIRIFKDKWKDIDIFIEIWKDJDJWJKSJE.

NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO HATE CALLIE SADECKI.

Lottie feeding the baby. ☠️

JEFF SPITTING HIS DRINK OUT EVERYWHERE DJWJDNDN.

Shauna’s voice break when she says “Yes” about the gun. She’s unraveling and unraveling.

“I am really worried about you. You are, like, out of control, Shauna.” / “Yeah, you think?!” And she actually cries in front of Jeff.

Jeff’s like, “Go, honey. Have a well-deserved mental health vacation with your wilderness cannibal girlfriends. 🥰” He didn’t say that, but I’m paraphrasing.

Callie and Shauna had a plan all along. :/ But Shauna screwed it up. Both of the Sadecki parents trying to reassure their daughter.

NAT TRYING TO, UM, SPARE THE FISH FROM THE COLD CRUELTIES OF THIS WORLD. GOD????

“It’s all a goddamn prison anyway.”

GOOD. THE FOURTEENTH GILLY LIVES.

I’m no fish expert, but um, is that bowl just a wee bit too small?

Shauna talking so tenderly to this baby. This episode is not going to fucking end well.

Shauna saying that she wants the moment for herself, and that’s such a core part of her ethos. This (dream) baby is hers and hers alone, someone she doesn’t have to share, someone that no one can try to control, even though they might try.

LMAO, AT SHAUNA GETTING THERE SO FAST. SHE MUST HAVE BEEN SPEEDING.

Nat has finally changed out of those goddamn leather pants!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Shauna and Nat hug. Oh, God, yeah, yeah, yeah. Natalie was there for Shauna during one of her darkest times, and now they’re both in ruts again. There’s so much solemnity in the gesture, so much pain.

Taimisty joy hug. 😭

VANLOTTIE HOMOEROTIC CRY STARING!!!

THE FUCKING SYMBOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The tea was drugged. 😭 Shauna calling out for Tai and Van.

FUCKING EATING IT. I KNOW IT’S A DREAM. I KNOW. I KNOW, BUT GOD

AND THEN SHE FUCKING WAKES UP, AND THEY’RE ALL CRYING.

“We thought we lost you.” Tai holding her face. I’m fucking unwell.

I CAN’T FUCKING DO THIS. I CAN’T

SOPHIE FUCKING NÉLISSE.

“Don’t you hear him crying? Why can’t you hear him cry?”

Taissa holding Shauna and that dead baby, blood on her hands.

“Why can’t you hear him?”

This is the most upsetting goddamn television I’ve ever fucking seen in my life.

“The infants lungs will fill with air, signaled by a cry.” And at the end, it’s this line from the video documentary that comes back to haunt us all.

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets spoilers #s: yellowjackets #maggie blogs #long post #I'm so so sick

[birthdaycakeplate]

Its Megatron Baby Hours for this sleepy binch.

This was written solely to make Megatron the hopelessly embarrassed one for once. Even though Optimus is still baby, he’s not nearly as baby baby as Megatron is baby. You know?

Prepare for cringe fluff that got way out of hand.

ALSO I’m pretty sure all my carefully placed italicized words are gone, and I can’t even look right now or else it’ll kill me.

Warnings in tags✨

——————————-

He knew he had a choice to make, and soon. Either leave this with someone trustworthy enough to deliver it to the little Prime and wash his hands of it entirely, or...

Give it to him himself- as he had intended to before realization came crashing into him with a thousand tonnes, that I’m doing so, Optimus might interpret it for exactly what it was: A gift.

Megatron stared accusingly at only visible sliver of the blasted thing tucked away in his massive servo, balled into a steady fist.

Nearly crushing it several times now.

It was with that embarrassing lack of self control in which the decision was made for him. Also partly in thanks to his sizably unholy ego.

Megatron was many things, but certainly no coward. If he had chosen this gift with the intention of seeing the Prime take it from his own servos then he better not second guess himself. That’d be half admitting that Starscream was right about her assessment of his leadership.

Megatron needed to hear more of that in the middle of a staff meeting after his gift’s impromptu discovery exactly never again. The smug look on Strika’s face… Urgh.

If Optimus didn’t go around shuttering his optics up at him every time he spoke in low, measured rumbles about the glorious feats of millennias past, or turn a pretty color when Megatron had to reach over him to grab something, he’d be a lot more worried about Optimus rejecting such a blatant attempt. But clearly -thank Primus- the smaller mech was enchanted in such a way when it came to him, and that was all the convincing Megatron needed in order to pursue it.

More than enough.

But his worry was in whether Optimus might find the gift itself acceptable, rather than whether he though Megatron’s advancing on him in such a flirtatious manner appropriate.

Megatron couldn’t help glancing at the thing again, his uncertainty mounting.

Optimus seemed to like to challenge himself, and this gift was a challenge of sorts. But was it too juvenile for being purposely made a rather easy accomplishment?

Optimus was easy to agitate, though -not in part to Megatron’s constant teasing- and perhaps presenting him a ‘challenge’ of this kind would be as demeaning as Ultra Magnus thinking it a ‘challenge’ for the young Prime to follow directions.

It wasn’t that Optimus couldn’t, obviously- it was simply that he possessed a brain module and some extraordinary self-sense.

Megatron’s spark began to beat faster. He did so prize the other’s ability to recognize absolute slag when he saw it. Including his own. Even more than that, he was enamored with Optimus’ strength of spark to act on it, unafraid to condemn himself for the greater good.

Like fleeing with the Allspark all that time ago.

It didn’t matter what sort of enemies that had earned him on the way- his high commander included.

Megatron couldn’t help but smile, terrifying the hapless minicons he passed on the decking, just trying to move out of the way of him marching on dazedly.

For a mech so tame and accepting, Optimus was wild at spark in the most surprising ways. If he’d never forsaken his commander’s direct orders, Megatron would have never met the thoughtful mech, or have been forced to endure the chaos only a youthful, headstrong prime could have caused him for the entirety of their stay on that dirtball planet.

The irony in his wistful urge to return to that time, to a place horrid and foreign, trapped together in the most unaccommodating circumstances.

Megatron heard another creak and quickly loosened his grip on the hapless gift being squeezed in his massive palm.

Remembering Earth had become something bittersweet. Megatron knew their chance encounter had been anything but ideal. The time they spent in each other’s unfortunate company consisted of even greater atrocities than trying to tear each other apart on a crashing ship had.

He shuddered to think he’d once used the object of his most ardent affections as a shield.

His thunderous scowl at the memory caused another stir of desperate mechs trying to dodge his path as he continued down the flight deck.

Thankfully -to spare anymore civilians in all this wayward self-reflection- there was Optimus. Completely immersed in his work, overseeing a new hanger designed to accommodate frames many times his size. Gigantic bots like Blackout, clipping his wings on his entry and exit thought the shuttle docks had been the Prime’s inspiration to push for its construction. And he’d stayed, after arguing and eventually winning his proposition, thanks to deeply invested ex-Decepticon flight frames at his back raving with him, to supervise his little project.

Megatron felt his chest swell with an overbearing heat at the thought of such conviction for the welfare of his own mechs, coupled with the sight of the little bot hard at work. This compassionate little thing...

Megatron’s spark swelled.

Just then, Optimus’ finial twitched, and his attention was drawn like a magnet over to where Megatron was stood making good use of the new sizable room with his shoulder proudly squared. Seeing for himself his efforts so rewarded finally brought a little smile to the mech’s face.

“Megatron?” His voice rang out over the constant drilling and clatter around him. That voice so familiar and welcoming, Megatron didn’t even have to strain to hear it. Having committed his soft little coos while whispering to one another under the stars of the observation deck to memory, his processor instantly filled in the gaps.

Megatron’s recent absence from the smaller mech while he’d spent cyber-weeks off planet side had admittedly made it easier to. There hadn’t been a klik while he was gone that he hadn’t replayed a vivid memory file of his dearly missed, little Prime.

Optimus -refusing to abandon his tireless work- beckoned him over with a wave of his hand. His finials held high on his helm.

Smitten, Megatron helplessly obeyed.

“I thought you were on leave at the moment?” Optimus asked when the war machine was close enough to hear. Just a few short feet away.

The stupid smile that spread Megatron’s own lips fell, realizing he’d been caught somewhat.

“I... needed to make a stop…”

There was a tense moment of silence, as the implications sank in, but thankfully it did. Megatron hadn’t wanted to explain it himself, embarrassed enough he’d turned an entire warship around.

“For...me?” Optimus murmured, hazarding a guess. Megatron shifted uncomfortably.

Then the Prime’s optics did that demure little thing they often did where they lowered self-consciously to stare at the floor, causing the larger mech to feel eerily similar to being stuck in a tailspin while in his altmode.

Megatron sparing more time out of his busy cycle to have ‘runins’ with him weren’t much of a surprise anymore, surely. But Optimus was a humble bot -an enormous turn on for a mecha having dug himself up from out of the pit with his own two servos and carried an entire revolution on his back with him.

Which Optimus would know a thing or two about that himself.

When a curious looking Prowl sauntered by the pair just out of his peripheral, looking over with those keen optics of his, Megatron chose that moment to move things along and hopefully excuse himself sooner from his own impending embarrassment.

He reset his vocalizer, then pulled the thing he’d been sent here -by his previously fearless ego- to deliver out from behind him.

At the sight, Optimus’ engine startled.

“What’s this for?” He asked, blinking down at one massive paw. Seeing it instantly gave him some vague idea of what it was, having tried his servo at deciphering a similar mechanism before in his travels to fight off deep space boredom. He hadn’t really applied himself then, deciding reading was more worthwhile, but suddenly, looking over this object now resting in Megatron’s extended servo, it seemed imperative he accept the shiny thing with the utmost enthusiasm.

Optics going wide and glittery, a smile slowly spreading his astonishingly pretty mouth, hanging open in surprise.

Like it was anything so spectacular than it was just a measly three dimensional puzzle.

Never mind what it was made of- Megatron thought it would be unfitting to tell him the value of its material until after he’d crafted the beautiful thing, which would likely only take an hour.

For now, handing it over with a bit more force than Megatron had meant to in his eagerness to escape would do.

“No particular reason.” He finally answered when the gift was secured in Optimus’ tight, clutching servos.

He tried his hardest not to let his confidence over inflate so, when Optimus grinned up at him with the puzzle of crystal clusters looking much bigger and heavier in his hands, held close and careful to his chest.

Gift received and appreciated.

Megatron’s work here was done.

“Enjoy that little Prime.” He shrugged, trying pathetically hard to ignore the thump of his spark at the endearing sight of a happily surprised Optimus.

“It’s the only thing of me I have to keep you company with while I return to my work.”

A very sad excuse of a thing, too. The Prime deserved riches and recognition, as any consort of a lord high protector of the lands should… Future consort.

Optimus felt otherwise.

“Thank you, Megatron. Thank you... I... I only wish there was time for me to give you a piece of me in return.”

Megatron blinked.

That was as blatant a reciprocation -and an explicit one- as Megatron had ever gotten from him before.

He struggled not to entertain any implications -not wishing to speculate on behalf of the delicate little civil frame in his company- for all of 2 nano kliks before he looked again and saw the hooded optics and lazy smirk on the other’s faceplate, condemning his innocent efforts entirely.

Megatron’s engines roared to life over the drum of construction work.

“Yes, right- We’ll- We will have to make sure we… plan accordingly for- for… that in the future. Won’t we?” Was he talking fast? He felt like he was talking fast.

Why was his temper gauge popping up?

“Be safe on your flight.” Optimus replied coyly, clearly feeling similarly swept up in all the thick, unexplored emotions of this incredibly raw encounter.

“Flying is second nature.” Megatron said dumbly, belatedly realizing he was missing the point.

“You be careful working yourself into stasis.” He deflected.

“Thankless, arduous work is my second nature. Well- mostly thankless.” Optimus held up the jagged mess of crystals in his hand. Probably already setting a challenge for himself for how quickly he could decipher it.

Megatron excused himself with a bow of his helm before he could ruin their perfect moment by asking for a kiss farewell.

———————————

“The last time jou ordered a sensible retreat vas when, Lord Megatron? Jou our too certain of jour own abilities.”

“I’m certain of the power of my mechs, Strika. I know that they can push through, that is all.”

“If they succeed with even half the injuries they sustained in the first strike, there is the matter of the Sepertines’ waiting with a third wave of missiles on the other side.”

“That is of no consequence, Shockwave.”

“They’re quite familiar with our biology, now. These missiles are loaded with infectious rust.”

“That is of consequence...” Megatron backtracked, finally losing some traction in the midst of his genius strategizing between all his officers’ complaining. Then he smirked.

“But they’re not strong enough to weather an onslaught from Blackout.”

“Zhey are vaiting for a clear path through.” Strika added, the mech in question under her direct command.

Megatron paused a moment to consider the brooding seeker in the corner of the war room, still pouting from their earlier… disagreement.

“You’ve been too quiet.” Megatron scowled.

“Nothing to say about Blackout leading the air strike?”

Starscream sneered.

“Other than he lacks half the intelligence of the average idiot Decepticon? Nothing.”

“You don’t want the position?” Megatron pushed. He thought he caught an optic roll from Strika out of the corner of his eye.

Starscream shrugged.

“I don’t envy him for being sent head first into that mess.”

“We sent scouts.” Megatron assured.

“Before the Sepertines exposed their artillery was capable of chemical warfare. Who knows what’s waiting for us? And besides, Blackout is too slow for this ‘position’- if you can even call it that.”

“There hasn’t been an opportunity to break through their shielding and send a tunneler.” Shockwave felt the need to say in defense of his master.

Strika had rather watch him struggle, though, as she had said many times before that he deserved it for keeping Starscream in their ranks.

“It doesn’t matter.” Megatron insisted, confident in his abilities, as much as he was any other mech in his military that wasn’t blasted Starscream.

“He may be slower, but far sturdier than your flimsy, tinfoil wings-“

“What the frag is tinfoil?!” Starscream screeched.

“Blackout will go, and he will prepare the field prior to our own heavy artillery coming through. And be commended for it.”

Starscream looked disgusted that Megatron would insinuate it was a feat worth praising, Blackout playing frontline pawn. He was damn hard to kill, made exclusively to cleanse the battle field in every unnerving sense of the word. But the point was that he would be serving as nothing more than fresh fodder.

Starscream would never.

“If it worries you so,” Megatron began slowly, aware Starscream only ever worried about where she could find her next opportunity to stab him.

“Lugnut can go assist him.”

Shockwave began to furiously type something into his wrist monitor then. Calculating, doubting.

“And Lugnut can offer any functional support?”

“Jealous? At a time like this?” Megatron glowered over the little holograph of Shockwave’s increasingly convoluted catalogue of percentages. Curious about existence of the ‘Visits to Cybertron’ one.

“You’re aware of his ability to eviscerate life for miles, aren’t you?”

“You’re aware he’ll be too slow to doge the missiles, aren’t you?” Starscream whisper-hissed. Megatron ignored her.

“He’ll make short work of them in the time it’ll take them to recover from Blackout’s first strike.”

“I stay well informed of our troops, my Liege.” Shockwave amended. Strika rolled her optics again.

“Only, you see, the Sepertines will have a counterstrike ready from the oceanfront. With an abundance of water, and their bodies adapted over eons to their wet environment, they have the advantage. Who do you have in mind for a naval assault?” If anyone.

They didn’t exactly thrive under thousands of tonnes of water hindering their every movement. Nor did their weapons.

Before he could blunder his way through that, Megatron’s commlink crackled to life. He checked the caller, expecting to find that it was Straxus on his last leg and suffering deliciously, then suddenly went rigid.

“I... have to take this.” He told the room.

Starscream didn’t even bother to make a stir of things. Throwing her arms up and leaving them all with a huff.

Among the curious optics, Megatron caught Strika giving him a look, and for once in his lifecycle, it had him feeling rather sheepish. Struggling to make his suddenly dry intake form the necessary words.

“Excuse me a moment.” He finally managed, as her optical ridge hiked ever higher, and turned away.

He cleared his throat tubing and put on his best air of confidence.

“Optimus-“

“Megatron, I love it! It’s so beautiful, I love it! No one has ever given me a flower before! It’s, its- I can’t even say!”

Megatron felt a pressure rise in his tanks, filling up his abdomen.

“Oh... yes...”

Optimus had called to gush at him.

He meekly tried to return his enthusiasm.

“I... Right then…”

“My first flower! Never thought I’d be excited about one of those.” Being infinitely less romantic than Megatron.

“And this one I can keep forever! It’s perfect- I- I just... Thank you!”

“Right... it’s... it’s yours forever.” Megatron said absently, bringing a palm up to cover his optics and squeeze. Feeling oddly exposed all at once.

“You...like it then?”

“Yes, he likes it, jou idiot!” Strika hissed from somewhere over his shoulder, having immediately become invested.

“Vhy else vould he be calling to tell jou so!”

Megatron was still uncharacteristically surprised to hear that Optimus might want the thing for that long. For forever.

The shock of it had him working his glossa before he had even fully processed it,

“I was hoping to gift you something that might represent my... connection... with you.”

Of all the things to say, he definitely shouldn’t have chosen that, because a simple puzzle sculpture -made of Earth’s precious rhodium, the insipid planet the civil bot so loved- was only as good as its value on said planet for its parts in pieces. The rest of its worth was purely sentiment.

He owed Sumdac exactly one favor for acquiring the stuff... but if Optimus thought a pretty, shiny flower was a flattering enough sentiment to gush at him for, and in a tone Megatron had never heard him use before -even in his sweetest dreams- then damn the mortification of having to ask him for it. It was beyond worth it, and he’d already reaped the reward for his efforts.

Optimus sounded happy, and Megatron couldn’t help feeling the effects of that- trying to ignore his erratic sparkbeat.

“I wish you weren’t shipped off on some excursion of the masses.” Optimus said then, tone suddenly playful.

Megatron felt another stupid, loopy smile grace his lip plates at that.

“Oh?” He murmured, helm dipped and hip cocked.

“Yeah...” Optimus… Optimus purred.

Megatron swallowed.

“I’d like to… thank you… But you’re all the way over there.”

“O-Oh?”

“Idiot!” Strika snarled.

“Tell him jou vill have him just as soon and swiftly as jour victory! Civil bots love grand gestures!”

“Tell him you will accept his appreciation with more of your own.” Shockwave whispered at her side. Unfortunately invested in his lord’s blossoming love life, too, now that’d he’d bared witnessed to his master appearing so happily flustered.

The first time he’d ever seen such a look on him before.

Megatron wished he had more control of his spark to focus on dealing with that, than he did with Optimus’ lovely full lips speaking such sweet promises directly into his processor.

“I’ll- I’ll have to stop by again soon.” Megatron answered, ignoring them both.

Strika took a moment to process this.

“Jou had us halt our attack to stop by and hinder him vith jour pitiful attempts?” She growled low and dangerous.

“And jou didn’t even get behind his panel-“

“It was necessary!” Megatron hissed back.

Shockwave pulled up that holograph on his wrist monitor again.

“The law of probability. We make a frivolous trip back to Cybertron every 3 deca-cycles to meet Lord Megatron’s quota. Scientifically speaking, it’s bound to happen the next time.”

Strika chose to ignore most of that.

“….Which quota is zhat now?”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Megatron sneered at the pair, finally having the sense to leave the room with his scarlet faceplates.

“You sound busy,” Optimus murmured, and there was a strange clattering sound on the other end as Optimus shifted himself straighter, embarrassed to have complicated things. Ever the sweetspark.

“I’ll let you go-“

“No, no! You have my full attention now.”

“I don’t want to impose.” Optimus said shyly. Likely turning a pretty color on the other side of the line. Megatron should be more disappointed with himself for mirroring it.

“Please do.” He purred, fighting his desire to hide his face into something soft.

“Talking to you is a much better use of my time, after all.... I’m glad you called.”

Megatron worried his lower lip, considering the cons of expanding on that thought and revealing himself as a mech so uncertain and unconvinced of his own courting abilities to the very bot he’d been steadily pledging his devotion to. The bot he was supposed to remain a steadfast, unshakable beacon of strength for- not one that was so terribly flustered over a little easy flirting.

But this was Optimus. This was the compassionate, genuine mech he’d come to find was always more pleasantly surprised by Megatron’s company when it was the honest sort.

He could afford to be vulnerable for a moment, just for him- though he had to take a page out of Optimus’ own book and remind himself that he was no coward for doing so. Despite what Decepticon rhetoric would say.

Optimus had been right as always when he’d said that being vulnerable took a kind of strength that was depthless and determined.

“I’m glad you like your gift.” Megatron continued after a moment. Ready to be vulnerable.

“I… wasn’t sure how it would be received.”

“Are you kidding?! I haven’t been given much of anything before. Energon goodies and extra fuel, maybe... This was so, uh... s-sweet.”

Megatron felt his chest swell again, this time with pride in his ability to provide for his potential mate. And pride, too, for his courageous mate’s willingness to be vulnerable with him.

Though, maybe it wasn’t so much a matter of him being a ‘potential’ mate anymore.

“I’ve been thinking,” Optimus began, as if magically reading his processor. Rather attuned to the larger mech these days.

“I-I’m not sure how you’d feel about this... You’re a very busy, um... leader... and I’m just a maintenance bot-“

“You are more precious than Primus has seen fit to tell you.” Megatron said seriously, smile slipping. As if Optimus would be able to see it and Megatron’s deep offense at his mate being disrespected from over the line.... ‘Potentinal’ mate...

Optimus snorted. Quite familiar with Megatron’s protectiveness of him in regards to his -apparently suffering- self esteem, and continued on. Thinking all of it a wasted effort.

“Well, to be clear, you said you wanted to give me something that reminds me of our connection.”

Optimus agreeing to use the word ‘connection’ added another layer to their conversation. Making it feel much less like passive flirting and that is was now more imperative than ever that Megatron answer each every question he had with the utmost seriousness.

Instead of succeeding to so do, Megatron sucked a breath in, forgetting to release it, and stood there frozen out in the corridor. Looking every bit as foolish as Starscream often insisted.

“Yes...” He simply mumbled. Fighting valiantly to force his composure to return.

“I wanted s-something, *ahem*, something that you could have forever.”

“Right.” Optimus was definitely smiling on the other end, and Megatron could hear it.

His tank flipped.

“So, ah, would you like to make this... more official? Like… a ‘forever thing’?

“Yes-“ Megatron had to steady himself on shaky pedes after tripping over thin air when he hadn’t even been moving, and reset his vocalizer for a third time that evening. Oh, how he wished he had been the one courageous enough to sweep the other mech off his stabilizers and pose that question.

Shyness was very unbecoming of him.

He was about to correct himself and try again for a more assertive, active role in this precious moment when Optimus spoke again, sounding much more like his old, calmer self now.

“Good- I’m getting started on the Ritus, then.”

Megatron promptly shut his mouth. Having a single nanoklik to wonder when exactly he’d gone through the Intimacy and Disclosure sects preluding the Ritus with him.

He supposed he’d shown his Devotion quite prominently in his mission to eliminate every conceivable threat in the universe to Optimus and their newly rejoined Cybertron (though mostly for Optimus).

But they were still missing some crucial components for its completion.

And then his stalling brain module -lingering on a power saving mode, after all the Energon in his lines had run too hot earlier when he’d allowed himself to get so worked up- switched on again, and his engines roared to life as realization punched its way through the exhausted thing.

Official? Ritus? As in... Conjunxing?

Was he just proposed to-

“You’ll need me to officiate my side of the courtship.” Optimus said then, throwing Megatron’s processor for an inescapable loop.

“Come home to Cybertron. You’ll need my mark- I want to do this right.”

‘Do this right’?

Megatron nearly collapsed from under his boiling core temperature, heating him up into a dizzied mess.

Optimus did nothing in halves, he had come to find.

Oh, Spark…

He knew he surely looked a fool, clutching at his abdomen with a clawed hand. Leaning all his weight against a wall to keep himself upright, trying to make sense of things moving at light speed, and faster still.

“I… I will.” He said simply. It didn’t take an ounce of thought to, his instincts driving him towards what ever direction was necessary for him to acquire his mate’s mark. That was all that mattered.

“Just as soon as I can.” Now would be a good time actually. He’d look and feel better going to war with Optimus’ sharp denta having punctured his throat plate.

“Be safe, please.” That sweet, soft voice had made its return, turning the inside of Megatron’s belly to a pool of liquid heat.

“I will.” He said even less convincingly then. His helm felt stuffy, and his frame felt weak. He wished his mate was there to hold him together.

Though Optimus was far more adept at reducing him to nothing more than a gooey puddle.

“I know you will, honey. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Megatron swallowed thickly. He could do without the ridiculous organic nicknames. Honest, he could.

———

Spelling and grammar errors for day

#transformers animated #tfa megatron #megop #optimus prime #tfa #tfa megop #tfa optimus prime #tfa optimus #MEGATRON IS BABY BOY TONIGHT #adult language I think #adult themes involving romance #blushing #gift giving #love language stuff #suggestive alien marriage ritus #??????

[writeyouin]

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Male-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Learning To Get Along

A/N – So, a user on A03 suggested the snake servants’ new names. It was a stroke of genius on their behalf, and I can only thank them for it.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

FEMALE VERSION HERE

GN VERSION HERE

Do you think you can manage that? Lucifer’s words hung in the air, creating an icy barrier between you.

So, Lucifer thought himself too good for low-life Sinners such as yourself. That wasn’t fair. Sinners might be in Hell for a reason, but sometimes such reasons were just fucking stupid. Heaven ought to base their entry requirements on a person’s character or strength of heart, not just their actions. You had met plenty of Sinners who were in Hell because of the most trivial shit.

There were those who liked to sleep around, but if sex positivity was a problem, then how did Heaven explain Angels like Adam, whom Charlie had told you about in excruciating detail. Lust shouldn’t have ever been considered a Sin, as long as all participants in any such carnal act were above age and consenting.

Then, there were a few murderers you knew. Granted, murder made the lines blurry, but some Sinners killed in self-defence, or only targeted others such as themselves, protecting the innocent in a very gruesome Dexter-like fashion. Were they really to be condemned? And who the fuck gave a damn about Sloth. So, some people were just bone idle, who gave a shit? Heaven apparently.

And now, the ruler of Hell was condemning those around him as well. He was supposed to care for his people, good or bad. Not to mention those who were solely created for or born in Hell, such as Imps, Hell-Hounds, or the Deadly Sins themselves; they hadn’t committed any crimes to get sent here originally – it was their home.

Your eyebrows furrowed, creating an annoyed crease along your forehead.

“No,” You told Lucifer, who stared at you incredulously.

No? Didn’t you understand the situation? He was Lucifer. King of Hell. He could destroy you with no effort spared, leaving no trace that you ever existed, and you were telling him no? He wasn’t an unreasonable guy, but how could you possibly think that being around him was a good idea? Did you respect Charlie more than you feared him? Granted, he didn’t go out much so few knew how powerful he was, but no other Sinner would dare deny him his wishes.

You saw the look he was giving you and decided to explain yourself.

“Look, I’m only here ‘cos Charlie thought it was a good idea, and if you genuinely hate me, I’ll go and you’ll never have to see me again, but you’re not even trying right now. You haven’t spoken to me. You don’t know anything about me, and frankly, I think Charlie’s right, you do need someone to talk to.”

“I don’t-” Lucifer started.

“You don’t even know why I’m down here,” You interrupted angrily, though you refrained from raising your voice. “And you don’t want to know, right? ‘Cos all of us filthy Sinners must be the same. Ooh, we squandered your gift of Free Will and now we deserve to suffer for eternity, do we? Grow up!”

Lucifer stared at you in astonishment, and you sighed, apparently not finished in your tirade, “I’m going to my room tonight, but tomorrow, I expect that you’ll at least try to tolerate me. Who knows? We might even find some common ground. We both love Charlie, don’t we?”

Lucifer didn’t know what to say to that. He certainly loved his daughter, more than anything else in the universe, but you? He still suspected that you had some kind of ulterior motive… everyone in Hell did. Yet, you had a point. He would do this for her, even if it meant he had to tolerate you.

Who were you, really?

He looked at you closely for the first time, trying to pick out some detail of who you might have been. It was even more disturbing than he previously thought. Before, he only saw a human. Now, he examined your clothes. There was little to say about the style, but your apparel was reminiscent of a Holy Animal. With the ruffled cuffs of your jacket, the way the back peaked to create the image of feathers, and the yellow ribbon that lined the white material, you looked like a dove.

Yet… Despite living in the Hazbin Hotel, Charlie had insisted that you didn’t seek redemption. Why go through the farce of dressing like an Angel then… unless? No, you couldn’t be. No Angel would dare stray from Heaven unless they were ordered to.

Lucifer held back a glower, trying to keep his emotions in check so you wouldn’t sense his thoughts. There was a possibility, though small that you had been sent by the likes of Adam to spy on Lucifer and his kin, ensuring that none of Charlie’s patrons ever found a way to the Pearly Gates.

Well, it wouldn’t take long to uncover your ruse. Lucifer had ways of telling an Angel from a Demon, and once you were asleep, he would know.

“Yeah,” Lucifer said evenly. “I love my Charlie.”

“So, you’ll try then.”

Lucifer nodded his head in consent.

“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”

The sentiment went unreturned as your King returned to his chambers, biding his time until you slept.

When you returned to your room, you got ready for bed. The day had been long and unusual. Honestly, you didn’t feel that you had a place in the manor, and you longed for your room in the Hotel, even if it was smaller, had a large stain on the carpet (which Nifty had named Vivienne) and an unruly infestation of roaches.

In the short time you had spent there, it had become home.

You would miss the arguing inhabitants, the energetic wake-up call from Charlie, the feeling of safety that Vaggie instilled, and the sound of Alastor’s morning and evening radio broadcasts. Yet, you hoped you might find something equally valuable in return if only Lucifer would open himself up to the possibility that you didn’t want anything from him.

After glancing out of your window, which had a balcony you could step out to if you so wished, you took in the whole of the Magne District which was the heart of Pentagram City. If you strained your eyes, you could just see the flashing neon of the Hazbin Hotel, and if you turned your gaze up… There was Heaven, out of reach yet always in sight, taunting most Sinners, yet emboldening a brave few who dared to wonder What If? What if they could change and gain admittance to a better life?

You sighed and dared not ponder further when you needed to get some sleep.

Throwing yourself on the plush bed, you got comfortable, arranging yourself how you liked, then leaning over to your bedside table, you blew out the cherry candle you had previously lit.

You rested your head atop the satin pillows, then frowned, feeling a lump beneath it. You reached under and pulled out a rubber duck, painted to look like a Hellhound-Duck hybrid. Assuming it was one of Charlie’s childhood toys, you placed it carefully atop the table; it would keep you company on your first night in a strange new place.

Lucifer waited till the late twilight hours before leaving his workshop. He transformed himself into a snake, slithering silently through the Hallways, ensuring that you wouldn’t hear him coming.

Before being cast out of Heaven, detecting an Angel would have been a simple task. He would just know, the way he now knew how to read a Demon. Yet, with you giving off little sign of Demonic energy, he now had to test if you were of Angelic origin. There were two ways he could do so. The first was by spilling your blood. Those who were born in or sent to Heaven had golden ichor instead of the oozing red or black goop of Hell-spawn and Sinners.

However, not wishing to alert you to his presence, Lucifer decided to opt for the other method.

Once he was inside your room and certain that you were in a deep slumber, he reverted to his original form, standing over you, his pupils turning to slits at the thought of a traitor in his house. If you were what he thought you to be, he would kill you immediately.

He pulled a small yellow twenty-sided stone from his pocket and baring his fangs in anger, he pressed it lightly against your skin.

Nothing happened.

Lucifer’s expression changed from one of deep-seated loathing to confusion. You weren’t from Heaven. If you were, the stone would have glowed a brilliant shade of Gold. Instead, it remained its original dull yellow.

Very well.

He would keep his word and… Tolerate you.

He left your room as quietly as he had entered it. Tomorrow, things would be different.

Lucifer didn’t sleep that night; the idea of change was terrifying.

The next morning, when Lucifer finally resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to face you eventually, he headed downstairs, assuming that was where you were.

“JUST TRY IT!” He heard you yell. “TRY! OPEN YOUR MOUTH, DAMN IT!”

“Uh…” Was all he could think to say as he entered the kitchen and found you clinging to one of the snake cleaners he had created the previous night, in a rodeo-like fashion. The creature was trying to buck you off, with a somewhat derpy expression, probably stupidly assuming it was a game; Lucifer hadn’t bothered to instil them with much intelligence since he didn’t need them for anything more than cleaning.

“ARGH!” You grunted as you were dislodged from its back.

“What- What is this?” Lucifer asked, confused.

“Oh shit!” You cursed, embarrassed to have been caught in a less-than-dignified position. You attempted to regain a little composure by standing up, then held up a handful of wadded-up pancake.

“Do they eat?” You demanded, referring to the reptilian cleaners, “’Cos they’ve been in a picture frame their whole lives, and they must be hungry by now.”

Of all the stupid things you could have done, Lucifer couldn’t help but crack a smile, though he had the decency to hide his laugh behind a clenched fist and pass it off as a cough.

“They don’t need to.”

“Okay, but can they?”

“If they wanted to, I suppose so.”  

You glared at the mushed-up pancake, “I fucking knew it. Spick, Span, eat your fucking breakfast!”

“I’m sorry, who now?” Lucifer asked.

“Well, they clean, don’t they? Spick and Span seem to fit unless you have something better to name them.”

Lucifer chuckled, a half-short-lived chuckle, but one all the same. You were more chaotic than he expected.

“Fine, if you want them to eat, you’ve got to cook in style.”

He waved his hands energetically, his outfit transforming from his usual suit to one befitting a flashy Michelin Chef. He was comfortable in the role of an entertainer as he made a dazzling display of cooking up eggs. With the flash-bang of indoor fireworks, the island counter gained a conveyor belt to transport several dishes, all perfectly presentable and giving off a delectable aroma of herbs and spices.

Eggs-benedict, frittatas, and shakshuka shot by you, closely followed by a hungry Span, though his twin was busy writhing on the conveyer belt, trying to get to his feather duster, yet doomed to chase it since he didn’t think to travel in the opposite direction so it would meet him in the middle.

The sight was memorable to say the least, even when Spick knocked the food onto the floor and his brother was left stupidly sucking on the corner of the countertop where his seemingly new favourite dish had splattered.

You couldn’t help laughing.

“See?” You struggled to get the words out, “I knew they’d like food. I’m just a shite cook.”

Lucifer gazed at his dishes proudly, even though they were no longer fit for either of your consumption.

“Hah,” You said, feeling somewhat awkward now that the moment had passed and Lucifer’s gaze was upon you, trying to figure you out. “I’ll uh, clean this up.”

“No need, leave it to Flim and Flam,” Lucifer said nonchalantly.

“You know that’s not their names.”

“Whatever. So… we’ve met, there was breakfast with a show. We done for today?”

The smile fell from your face as you realised that all of this was just another of Lucifer’s acts. Granted, he might have actually had fun with it, but it was all just in the name of claiming he had tried to be around you, and just wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“I don’t know. I was going to go into the City if you wanted to come.”

“I can’t. I have… plans.”

Lucifer’s mood soured as he thought about visiting Heaven’s embassy to set up the meeting for Charlie. He hated everything about that building. The décor was just a cruel reminder of everything Heaven had banished him from. Moreover, while the Angels had to respect his power, they didn’t respect him; their cruel words and thinly veiled insults always cut him the deepest. Not to mention how bitter he was that the balance of power was uneven. Sure, Heaven had an embassy in Hell, but there was no such building in Heaven where Demons could work to arrange meetings between Angels and him.

It would always be Lucifer going to their building, on their terms, usually at their behest.

“Plans? So, you’re setting up Charlie’s meeting today?” You guessed astutely. “You know, I’m walking that way too.”

Lucifer guessed at your game. You probably hadn’t been going in that direction at all, but this was all in the name of ‘trying’. One way or another, he would have to learn to get along with you.

“Fine. Let’s go,” He said, flicking his hand back blasély, even though he found the idea of walking the streets of Hell daunting.

It would be better if he could teleport there, but at least, by the end of the day, you would have something positive to report back to Charlie.

#fanfiction #reader #reader insert #fanfic #male reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel x reader #charlie morningstar #lucifer magne #lucifer magne x reader #hazbin hotel #hellaverse #sinless sinners #part 3 #chapter 3 #learning to get along

[zeciex]

How do you plan on portraying Alys Rivers? I have to say I’m so annoyed and angered by the misogyny her character has constantly faced in the fandom and I’m so fucking tired of people making her the “he’s my man how dare you try to act like he’s yours” trope and then the OC or Aemond brutally kills her. There are so many comments I’ve seen in fics that have called her a whore, slut, homewrecker, man stealer, etc that it honestly is so depressing 😔

oop I'm likely gonna fall into a few of those tropes, though, I'd like to portray her with more dimension. She's not a whore or a slut, she's a woman trying to survive--and a woman trying to gain some modicum of power.

And that being said, I'm not entirely set on everything I'm about to tell you because it depends on how Alys is portrayed in the show and how, story/character wise she'll fit into the story when we come to that point.

Personally, form the vibe I get from her is that she's a woman who has seen everyone she loves and cares for killed, and who is not essentially a hostage. Her power lays solely in what she's able to bring to Aemond and the war efforts through her witchery-woo magic. And if we go from within the F&B books, it's likely she bewitched Aemond in an effort to survive the ordeal AND gain some power through him. Aemond is besotted with her, and she... well she likely sends him to his death KNOWING that it is what it is. Or, that is my interpretation.

So from the vibe I get from the books, I imagine I'll use her more as a woman fighting to gain power in a world of chaos, who will use whatever means she has to come out ontop. It doesn't mean that I won't also have moments of genuine feelings between her and Daenera, after all, there's much Daenera could learn from her.

But it all comes down to Alys wanting to survive and carve out a piece in this world for herself. And if that means she'll girlboss, gaslight, gatekeep her way through it, she will.

I imagine I will fall into the trap of the every tropes you condemn (which is fair, to be honest) but I want to give her more dimension in those tropes.

By the time Aemond and Daenera are both at Harrenhal, I imagine their relationship is under serious strain, and Daenera is not entirely stable and just generally exhausted. And in her weakened state, there's opportunity for Alys to manipulate and exploit her.

One thing that I can say is that she'll likely have a bloody end--again it's not set in stone, but so far that is how I imagine her end to be like. And likely at the hands on one of the two.

I am sorry if that disappoints you! But let's see how she is in the show, and then I can start making more defined plans. (And I'll likely read a lot of people's takes on her character once we see her, because I like hearing how different people see her)

#a vow of blood #asked and answered #alys rivers

[ddarker-dreams]

Wither. Yan Kaeya x F Reader [COMM]

Warnings: Underlying yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, depictions of trauma and anxiety.  Word count: 3k. 

Third installment of Transfixed and Equinox. 

If there’s anyone who understands the nuance of loss, it’s Kaeya Alberich.

Not many had the privilege of knowing this about him, but those who did might find themselves subjected to some wry humor when enough alcohol flowed through his system. To most, his remarks might come off as cryptic, more befitting of a bard’s tale than their idea of the whimsical Cavalry Captain. A sobered up Kaeya the following morning could barely blame them for not taking him seriously. Lost and condemned homelands, being abandoned by one patriarch for another, duels fought over soil where blood had recently flowed alongside secrets better kept behind closed lips.

It adds and adds and adds.

One needn’t be an architect to understand this basic principle: continue stacking weight atop an unsteady foundation, and you run the risk of it toppling over altogether.

This is the point Kaeya finds himself at.

The precipice of total collapse.

Jean, the Acting Grand Master, had gone so far as to personally beseech Kaeya to take time off. In her own words, it wasn’t an order from a superior, but concern from a friend. Kaeya had been all but shut up in his office for the rise and fall of multiple moons, his sole lifeline to the outside world Noelle scuttering meals in timely intervals. Jean entered without knocking, since those who tried that method were promptly sent off.

“This isn’t healthy,” she told him. There were maps of Mondstadt strewn about the floor, his curtains pulled taut to refuse the entry of sunlight, and the wax of candles burning for far too long at their lowest point. “I know I might not have the right to speak on this, but taking the time to rest is an important part of working too. We can’t operate without it.”

“For ages, you dealt with complaints that I wasn't working hard enough. It isn’t until the pendulum swings in the other direction that you bother getting involved.”

Jean took the criticism like water off a duck’s back. “Because, unlike some, I see how diligent you work even when the lesser trained eye cannot. This new extreme won’t get you anywhere worth being. You trust me, don’t you? Then you must know I’m taking this seriously. What I commit myself to, I get done.”

He smiled at that. “The same could be said for me.”

“For better or for worse,” she agreed with a sigh. “The lead we’re following is solid. Oh, don’t look at me like that — I’m sure your sources already informed you what I planned to announce in tomorrow morning’s debriefing. We have multiple confirmed sightings from reputable witnesses that the Abyss is making encampments near Wolvendom. Why not rest up for the night so you’re at your best?”

“I thought it was awfully convenient how the door to your office was left open when one of my favorite guards just so happened to be stationed,” he still had yet to look up from the map on his desk. When Jean tracked the movements of Kaeya’s eye, she saw his attention was nowhere else but the aforementioned Wolvendom. He didn’t mind that she all but called him out for taking advantage and orchestrating an information leak, if anything, he’d been counting on it. Her compassion would be what let him get away with it.

A certain brother of his was in a similarly difficult position, he turned a blind eye to some of Kaeya’s more questionable behavior. He’d gladly use this short window to operate in the ways that’d serve him best. 

“We’re worried about you, Kaeya.”

He found it wise that she chose not to press the negative issue in favor of redirecting his attention. Clever, clever. Was that what it was like to be on the receiving end of his own ploys? He can’t say it’s very enjoyable. Nonetheless, he played the game set before him.

“And who exactly is ‘we’, might I ask?”

It wasn’t that he didn’t already know, far from it. He just wanted it spoken aloud; given form so tangible he could almost reach out and touch it. There is satisfaction to be found in sublime suffering. For if he was robbed of that, he mused, he’d be left unable to feel anything at all. Now that wouldn’t do.

Jean contemplated the merits of giving Kaeya what he wanted or what he needed. In the end, he reigned victorious, as she went with the former.

“[First]. You can act strong around her all you like, but she knows better. She sees past it and chooses not to say anything… in your presence, at least. Barbara tells me she’s more concerned with your condition than her own. That should be telling enough.”

At long last, Kaeya looked up from his map and pushed aside his seemingly endless schemes. The Dandelion Knight did not see a man who had lost his ambition, but one that clung to its thorns, no matter how much it made him bleed. He took pride in the pinpricks for it proved he would never let go.

A mutual, knowing glance was exchanged while words were withheld. It was understood then that no combination of clever lexicon or perfect intonation would move him. Perhaps Jean already knew she’d be unsuccessful in her endeavors, yet felt moved to try anyway, as it was better to try and fail than to recognize doing nothing would net the same results. Kaeya respected and adhered to that very notion himself.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Jean announced, her lips pulled into a firm line. He knew that expression well — unsatisfied, with a hint of regret. It’s the countenance that greeted him whenever he happened upon his reflection.

She paused just before her hand could twist the doorknob. “That glaze lily on your desk… if you tend to it too much, as you have been, it’ll be smothered by your efforts and wilt.”

Whether or not Jean spoke with the glaze lily in mind was debatable. But right at that point, Kaeya was in no mood to engage in discourse and preferred to leave it at that. There wasn’t anything she could tell him that he didn’t know himself.

“I’ll take note of your apparent botany expertise, Acting Grand Master.”

She hesitated, but in the end, left without another word.

-

Come morning, neither Jean nor Kaeya acknowledge the chasm formed by last night’s dialogue. They keep matters professional. Jean, for the sake of maintaining appearances, and Kaeya, because his attention could not be divided up any further. He’s certain that Crepus Ragnvindr himself could resurrect in front of his very eyes and he’d pay the miracle no mind.

As he fights, cutting through otherworldly forces that sought to do his beloved irreversible harm, it is your image and voice that guides his blade.

Kaeya, what would I do without you?

He remembers thinking it was a silly question at the time. For in his mind, he decided he’d always have you; and you, him. There was no other option. He’d entertain nothing else.

It’s like you always know what to say to make me feel better.

He had to. For if he didn’t, what use would you have for a depraved man such as himself?

This is a Windblume I give to you — a testament of my budding love.

What rotten soil he provided it with to grow. Whether it be arrogance or willful ignorance, he thought you could flourish, so long as he preemptively pulled out any weeds that might disturb you. Letters from your home that might encourage you to move back. Well-meaning friends who wondered why your schedule could never work to accommodate them, but always him. Job offers with enticing benefits yet hours too long for his liking. He dirtied his hands in every way imaginable and still, reality saw fit to remain a far cry from his fantasies.

Crimson drips from his silver blade, the tears from the weeping sky above washing it away.

The inclement weather had almost been enough for Jean to delay the attack. It was by his insistence that they carried through with their original plan, save for a few adjustments. Kaeya had prepared multiple strategies in anticipation of anything going wrong. This proved to be useful, for the Knights were successful in their endeavors. Some newer recruits were hurt but far from knocking on death’s door.

However, if it had served his designs, he wouldn’t have hesitated to send them all to an early grave. How fortunate they were that he found the sacrifice to be unnecessary today.

The few Abyss Mages that they rid the world of hardly quenched his thirst for revenge. How could it, when he’s personally had to witness the repercussions of what they did to you? The tears, the spurts of all-consuming anxiety, the nightmares he’d spend hours each night soothing you from? Recovery from a near-death experience was far from linear. For every good day, there seemed to be two bad ones lurking around the corner, waiting to grab you with their impish hands and drag you into the shadows.

Kaeya barely comprehends the fervent calls of his title in the distance. He’s diligent in scrutinizing the various details of the camp, everything from how long the firewood was burning to footprints entrenching themselves in his memory. Stooping over, he examines the mixture of soil where the Abyss Mages once stood, certain that it’ll clue him into discovering more.

“Captain… Kaeya,” a voice he recognizes as belonging to Swan huffs.

The Knight receives a hum in acknowledgment for his troubles.

This soil’s coloration and density is common in Cape Oath, he thinks. I’ll have patrols in the area increased. Perhaps twist it to sound more urgent than it actually is to ensure the higher-ups treat it with immediate attention…

“Um, sir,” Swan tries again to secure his attention. “I know you’re busy, but, [First] had an accident and I was sent to retrieve you—”

Kaeya is towering over him immediately. “What happened?”

His tone is sharp enough to rival the sword he so expertly wielded minutes earlier.

“Well, from what I can understand, [First]’s suffered loss of coordination following the attack on Mondstadt. She apparently fell at an awkward angle and injured her head. Barbara is treating her now, and while it isn’t fatal, she still thought it’d be best to have you alongside her due to how disoriented she is.”

Kaeya taps his foot repeatedly on the muddy ground. “When exactly did this occur?”

“T-Thirty or so minutes after you left, sir.”

“Then why am I hearing about this now, when that was six hours ago?”

“I was advised against interrupting such an important operation, a-and, well, with the weather—”

“The weather. You’re going to blame the weather,” Kaeya deadpans. There were some choice words and actions permeating the back of his mind, but this wasn’t the time or place to act on them. Not with so many witnesses. Swan’s complexion is pallid enough that any passerby might think he had seen a ghost. Such a specter might have been preferable to Kaeya’s chilled wrath.

Kaeya moves past the shuddering man without wasting another breath.

Nothing else matters to him as the scenery blends into an indiscernible blur. He runs as fast as his legs can carry him, ignoring the ache of his muscles and dull throbs of his head. The stormy clouds overhead make it difficult for him to navigate the winding paths and rocky roads, but he journeys onward, branches snapping beneath his feet. His thoughts are dominated by you, owned by you heart and soul. He would ensure that you’d never be without him. This solemn promise that he made to himself could never be broken.

Eventually, he stands before the familiar cobble bridge and gates of Mondstadt. Some people greet him, yet he barely registers their existence, finding them akin to a speck of dust. It wasn’t long ago that he ran this exact route with a similar sense of urgency — when the news came that you had woken up following your attack. At that time, he didn’t know what to expect and desperately wished that he did. He cannot say the same this go-round. He almost doesn’t want to know what awaits him past the doors of the Favonius Cathedral.

“[First]’s just in there,” Barbara tells him, having anticipated his arrival long in advance. Her voice is soft and steeped with sickeningly sweet empathy. “Be sure to keep your voice low, she’s fighting a nasty migraine. I’m sure she wants to see you regardless, though.”

Kaeya wonders if he’ll be able to form any words whatsoever from how out of breath he is. Regardless, he knows how seriously Barbara takes your health; he nods so that she’ll let him in.

You lay inside the small, infirmary-style room, resting on a white cot. He tries — and fails — not to wake you, the telltale squeaking from his wet boots giving him away in an instant. Your eyelashes flutter open, hazy eyes filling with mirth at the sight of your beloved. The smile you give him is nowhere near as forced as his own. There’s no suffering more visceral than seeing the only person you care for in pain. You may try and hide it, but he knows you too well. Your shallow breaths and occasional wince tell him everything your lips won’t.

“You’re absolutely drenched,” you point out, half-joking. Then, your compassion peaks through, like sunshine parting clouds on an overcast day. “I know they have some spare clothes here. It might not be as flashy as your normal garb, but it should do the trick.”

Kaeya kneels by your bedside. He helps himself to your hand, raising it and pressing his lips against the skin in silent reverence. “That desperate to see me get changed, huh? How risqué.”

Banter has always come naturally between you two. After you initially woke from the Abyss’ attack, you told him that while you understand his reasoning, he shouldn’t treat you any differently than how he used to. An impossible task — nonetheless, he agreed so you wouldn’t give him a hard time about it.

Your nose crinkles and you laugh. “You wish. This is—”

A paroxysm overcomes you. You cough and sputter, while Kaeya is helpless to do nothing but watch and look for a remedy to your ailment that doesn’t exist. Fortunately, the attack doesn’t last long, but it serves to further exacerbate your headache. He feels you squeeze down on his hand while you try and regain control over your rebellious body. A few minutes pass in silence until you’re well enough to speak again.

“I’m sorry I made you come all this way,” you mutter. He frowns, quickly deciding that he doesn’t like how you sound when dejected. “It sounds like whatever you were doing today was important. I didn’t… I didn’t ruin anything, did I?”

“What? Of course not,” he dispels the falsehood with a hammering heart. His voice lacks the usual bravado he’s known for. “The last thing I want is for you to feel bad. If I didn’t want to be here, trust me, we wouldn’t be talking right now. You know I’m great at weaseling out of stuff I don’t want to do, don’t you?”

He’s unsure who he’s truly introducing this levity for you, or himself.

Your lips quirk up but you lack the energy to give him a full smile. “Well, that isn’t wrong per se…”

“See? You know me so well,” the parts he wants you to know, at least. He places another kiss on top of your hand. “Now, here’s what I want you to do. I want you to remember that you put up with a person like me. Ah, there’s a good expression, I can tell you’re giving it plenty of thought. Good, good. Okay, back to our little mental exercise. How many people do you think could do that, hm? Not many, I can tell you that much.”

Kaeya squeezes your hand softly. “And then there’s you…”

“Beautiful.”

He kisses your inner wrist.

“Resilient.”

Then your shoulder.

“Precious.”

Finally, your forehead. “Utterly lovable, you. So look me in the eye and tell me you don’t think this arrangement is fair. Because maybe it isn’t — just not for the reason you believe. I’m the one making out like a bandit here, not the other way around. I get the honor of saying you’re mine. Got it?”

When you stare at him the way you are now, he remembers just why he adores you so, to the point he’d let himself go mad.

“You still want me to be yours then, despite all the trouble I cause?”

“Trouble,” he repeats the word, almost incredulous. “You’re the furthest thing from it. Perish the thought.”

If you’re trouble, then he can’t fathom what label could be applied to him.

This ardent promise of his appears to settle down your concerns for now. He knows fog as thick as the kind plaguing you can’t be remedied with a few, sweet words, but he hopes he can stave it off for the time being. You settle down back into the bed upon his prompting. He’ll need a towel to dry off where he got you damp in his fit of passion. If you’re bothered by it, you don’t complain, not that he’d ever expect you to.

There are few sounds, save for your soft breathing and occasional footsteps outside the room.

“Kaeya?” You speak up, tentative.

“Hm?”

“Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried,” he promises. “Rest up. And try to dream about me a lot too while you’re at it.”

Another laugh. Kaeya swears that a divine-led chorus could scarcely compare to the delight birthed in his chest upon hearing the sound.

His current life with you might not be exactly what he envisioned — but there’s nothing he’s better at than improvising. What matters the most is that he can call you his without you disagreeing. If you knew everything he’d done to earn the right to say that, he’d doubt you’d accept it with the same ease that you do now.

#kaeya x reader #yandere kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich x reader #yandere kaeya alberich x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #my stuff #commissions