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moondirti · 24 days

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due to popular demand, a follow up to this featuring: 18+ content, gaz, ballerina!reader, internet stalking, men being gross, another a thinly veiled character study

Kyle is a good man.

Granted, his metric is not attuned to common standards for morality anymore, nor has it been that way since basic. He's sure that if he were to pick any sheltered samaritan off the street to read out his laundry list of transgressions, they'd balk at the fact that their taxes go to keeping him fed. They'd rather their image of the army stay unsullied and ideal. They'd rather keep him at arms length with a thank you for your service and not confront the blood caked beneath his fingernails.

But he can no longer be held to their degree. No longer exists within these spaces. No. Kyle – or Gaz, if one were to go off of what he's called most often nowadays – is a doorstop. A pestle. Something inconspicuous, obscure, that serves the sole function of making life easier for everyone but itself. And he assumes this role with a handful of others who have nothing else to live for, exiled to crowd the back of Foxhounds and kill at a moment's notice. Foul men. Friends.

If someone were to line up every operative on a special forces unit, or better yet collect the likes of the 141 and asses each for their moral standing, Gaz can rest knowing he'd come out on top. He's not yet as far gone as they are; can enjoy a night out or a pretty bird writhing underneath him without wanting to choke her out. Only devoted to his captain, or the others, to the extent that their professional relationship calls for (no matter how much it itches at him to watch Ghost take care of Soap, or to reject Price when he offers him a drink).

Sure, he laughs at their jokes. Might pitch in when they're swapping stories of their filthiest catch, Soap rattling on about the lass who'd stuffed her tongue up his arse, or encourage them to shoot on sight if they spot a potential threat, civilian or otherwise. Yet the difference is this: when he goes home, he can stuff that all away.

Knows not to let it infest the boundaries of the real world. Off deployment, his comrades play pretend at the noncombatant lifestyle, but the guise is ill-fitting. They're too big for their skin. They stretch and tear at the conventions holding them in place, like feral dogs made to heel. Kyle doesn't have to be tamed. He's still functional, familiar with the expectations held of him. Can submit to integrity more easily than most.

Kyle is a good man.

And that's what he tells himself as he returns home, train car completely void of anyone but himself. He's good for having given you up. He's good for not have followed you home. There'd been a brief lapse of judgement, but he's good for doing something about it before things passed the point of no return.

You've lived this far without his protection, he reasons. Yet it doesn't change the unreachable itch, closed away in a supposedly locked box. Gaz. Or, his captain's voice, cigar-smoked and advisory.

But why should you continue like that.

It's hard to fall asleep that night.

He's sick with worry wondering if you ever got home, bile broiling and distending up his throat at the thought of having abandoned you. It's pure concern that compels him to find your socials, really. Kyle is only searching for an update, or recent post, indicating that you're alive.

With nothing to go off of but a face, he searches for dance studios in both Acton Town, your area, and the Kensington, the area where you'd boarded the tube from. He makes a shortlist of the most reputable ones (your attire seemed to imply that you were a seasoned ballerina) and cross-checks them as hosts of upcoming recitals. Two renditions of Swan Lake and a production of Giselle turn up, each with their very own cast lists. Thus begins a tireless search of every name credited.

His heart almost leaps out of his nose when you eventually load into view, then plummets at how easy you'd been to find.

Your vulnerability only sets Kyle's conviction in stone. Bloody good thing he's got your best interests in mind.

Locked twitter, a LinkedIn, and a public Instagram page which sends his blood pressure skyrocketing after checking your follower count. Popular. And of course he can see why. Over a hundred posts chronicling bright smiles and flattering outfits. You mainly use the account to promote your practice, though; feed full of skimpy little outfits, leotards and exposed sternums and impossible poses.

Stop it. He's here for something specific.

Kyle sips in a deep breath, scrolls back to the top of your page, clicks on your most recent post. A casual video of your leg raised on a barre while your friend counts how high above your previous record you're able to stretch. Your skin is sweat-slicked. Your mouth is thrown open in a half-laugh, half-pant. He almost forgets why he clicked on it in the first place, before the timestamp catches his eye.

30 minutes ago.

So, you'd gotten home.

He can go to bed now.

Exit your account. Swipe up on Instagram to clear it from his running apps. If he's extra disciplined, he'd block you. Rob himself of the temptation to tug himself over the photo of you in the splits.

Kyle is a good man because he knows his limits.

(But Kyle now also knows the address of your studio. That, even if he blocks you, it'll take up space in his chest. A ticking-time bomb. A knowledge that'll haunt him whenever he's on the District, Circle, or Piccadilly lines, and the train announces Gloucester Road. A force, a stone in his throat, that'll grow so large it'll force him to stand up and disembark, to walk until he's standing right outside and wait on you to wrap up rehearsal.)

It occurs to him that the point of no return has long since passed.

inclusivity note: i felt the need to say that, while reader is a dancer, her profession is not meant to imply anything about her body type. flexibility and agility are not limited to thin builds, and while the ballet industry can be very toxic, i've seen my fair share of spaces where all figures are embraced and success is determined only by ability!

#ooo i love him a little delusional actually #kyle 'gaz' garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle 'gaz' garrick #gaz #kyle garrick #gaz garrick #cod #call of duty #x reader #x afab reader #tw stalking

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perlelune · 3 months

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no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | x.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Disbelief shimmers in William’s green gaze.

“You’re joking…” He cradles your face, searching your eyes. They are steadily filling with tears. He releases you, retreating as his face distorts with shock. “You’re…not?” He runs his fingers through his brown locks. “God, I’m such an idiot.” He unleashes a humorless laugh. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

Your stomach sinks.

“This entire time. I waited for you. I trusted you. And you just…What? A-Are you with him now?” The betrayal quivering in his tone shatters your heart to pieces.

You lower your head and mumble, “It’s complicated…”

“No it’s not. It’s actually quite simple. Do you love him or do you love me? Do you want to marry me or do you want to marry him?”

William’s anger and frustration coat the air, his voice growing louder with every word. You tremble. Your fiancé’s never yelled at you like this before. You’ve argued, of course, like every couple does. But never like this. And never has he looked at you like that. Like you’re a stranger. You wish the earth would open up and swallow you.

“I…”

“Answer me!”

You jolt and step back, the heel of your shoe hitting the bottom of the stairs.

Your father appears in the corner of your vision. An exhale of surprise leaves you. He wedges himself between you and William.

“Do not dare raise your voice at my daughter, young man,” Strabo thunders. You gape at his back. It’s the first time you’ve heard your dad use such a furious tone of voice.

William lifts his hands defensively.

“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to understand-”

“I think it’s best if you go. Now,” your father urges, pointing at the door.

Your fiancé’s shoulders sag. He tosses you one last, heavy look, his jaw clenching.

“Yeah, maybe it’s for the best,” he belatedly grits out.

The second William slams the door shut, you’re in your father’s arms. The fat tears rolling down your cheeks drench his shirt.

“Dad…”

“It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay.”

He rubs soothing circles on your back as you bury your head in his chest. You sniffle as a sob spills from your throat.

You doubt anything will ever be okay.

The rest of the day is spent in your room weeping underneath your blankets. It’s a wonder there’s any water left in your body, the ceaseless flow of tears soaking your pillows and sheets. Ma and Dad keep visiting your room, bringing you food and trying their best to lighten your spirits.

But nothing can keep you from drowning in your sorrows. William was the best thing that ever happened to you. You remember when you first met him at the University. The two of you were paired for a project and ended up hitting it off while working together. You didn’t even expect him to ask you out. It was no secret half the girls in your cohort harbored a crush on him. And with his boyish charm and outgoing personality, a contrast to your more withdrawn, lonely nature, you never imagined he’d seek your company past the project.

But he did, constantly finding lame excuses to talk to you like asking for your notes on a class or lying about needing a pen for a quizz. One thing led to another and, after a few months of courting, he got on one knee and asked for your hand.

Then Janus died. Your world collapsed. Colors dimmed around you. Everything stopped making sense. Still…William did. Whenever you were around him, you could pretend away your grief, laugh away your pain.

Your heart wasn’t so broken.

And now…you don’t think it’ll ever be put back together.

For days on end, you don’t leave your bed. The sun rises; it sets. Yet the same pains shackle you to your bedroom. Quicksands of guilt and sorrow suffocate you.

…Until you’re swept by a sickness one day.

It happens a little under a week after your return. You rush to your bathroom and pitch forward, dry heaving the near vacant contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl. You then huddle on the floor, hugging your stomach as pain pulses through your midriff. Your brows collide in confusion. Hardly a bite of anything has crossed past your lips these days, as you only chewed on a few glum bites of the meals Ma brought to your room. Yet you are nauseous, cramps twisting your insides.

You bolt upward, racing to the toilet bowl again as another surge of queasiness takes you. Following that, you crash into a heap on the floor. Shuddering, you wipe the back of your mouth.

You crawl onto the floor, all the way to your bed.

Every day after this one, you awake sick and cranky, the same ache and nausea plaguing you. You also begin to experience faint headaches. It becomes dire enough for your parents to summon a doctor. However many times, he checks you out, he finds nothing amiss or wrong with you. Throughout the checkup, concern is etched on your parents’ faces. You’re forced to promise them that you’re alright and that, to prove it, you’ll show up for family dinner as you did before. Your father pats your cheek, visibly relieved, but the concern on your mother’s face doesn’t relent. She keeps scrutinizing you with a strange look on her face, one you’re not sure what to make of.

Still, even as you hug Ma and Dad, dread creeps inside you. Something else could still be wrong with you. The kind of thing there isn’t a quick fix-it for. The kind of thing you’d have to deal with for the rest of your life.

But you don’t let your mind wander there. Not yet.

As you end the day with yet another bout of vomiting and stabbing cramps, your mother rushes upstairs. She sinks to her knees at your side and strokes your hair.

“Are you alright? I heard you.” She frowns as she takes in your shuddering frame. “Perhaps we should call the doctor again so he can do more tests…”

You bristle. More tests would mean exploring other possible causes for your affliction. You can’t risk that. Not with Ma and Dad involved.

“It’s nothing, Ma,” you dismiss with haste. You put a hand on her arm. “Could we go to the apothecary this evening?” Her puzzled look draws a nervous chuckle from you. Twisting your hands, you chime falsely, “I bet it’s just a nasty stomach bug.”

Her frown deepens. “A bug? But you haven’t eaten very much lately.”

You shrug.

“It can still happen.” You slip on a mask of cheerfulness. “I’m sure I’ll be right as rain again with some ginger and camomile, Ma.”

“If you say so,” she says, returning your smile.

You’re a bit unsettled as you find yourself outside. The brightness of the sun sears your eyelids. You squint at the blue sky. You wobble down the stairs as your mother holds your arm. You’ve grown so accustomed to keeping yourself cloistered inside, either by your own will or the will of…others. Strolling along the cobblestoned path while the winter breeze caresses your face has a strange tickle running through you.

An awkward silence hangs between you and your mother once you’re in the back of a taxi.

Your fingers twiddle in your lap as you keep your eyes low. Who knows what Ma could discern in your gaze. You never managed to conceal much from her ever since you were a little girl. She was always freakishly aware of every blunder, bad grade and secret.

Her motherly instinct is infallible.

“Dad and I haven’t seen much of you these days,” she suddenly notes, causing your head to whip up. “I know you’re sad about William but…” She hesitates, gauging you before stating, “I think it’s a good thing.”

“Ma…”

“He was never right for you,” she insists, her inflection stern. “You’re a Plinth. You should aim higher.”

“Mother!” you hiss.

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but it needed to be said.” She reaches out to drape her hand over yours. “You’re hurting right now but it’ll all be for the best in the end. You have a bright future ahead of you. That young man, nice as he is, was just holding you back.”

Mouth agape, you stare at your mother. While you know that she and Dad have never cradled William near their heart and weren’t too thrilled with your decision to marry him, you never expected her to be so callous about your engagement ending. In her mouth, it nearly sounds like a business deal gone wrong. But she knew William, talked to him many times, saw you with him. She has to understand how much losing him means to you. How can she be so cold and dismissive about it? You quell the budding sobs in your throat.

The quickness of the drive to the shop is a small mercy you bask in. After your mother spoke, the air in the car grew heavier, every lungful becoming torturous.

You hastily climb outside the car once it comes to a stop in front of the apothecary.

Windchimes sing above the door as you enter, your mother at your heel.

You linger by every shelf, pretending to be lost between all the labels.

“We could call the clerk to help…”

“No, it’s okay,” you cut her off. You giggle and shrug. “I like taking my time. Actually, you know what?” You grab a vial and shake it, pretending to study the label. You wave your hand at your mother. “I’m gonna stay behind and gather some more herbs. You should go. I’ll be fine on my own.”

Befuddlement knits her brow. “I could stay…”

“I won’t be long,” you snap, your lips curving in a wide, painful grin. You squeeze her arm, your tone softening. “I promise. Just wait for me in the car, Ma. Then we could stop by a café and have a bite. How does that sound?”

She yields with a nod. “That sounds lovely.”

Relief fills you when she walks away.

The second she’s out the door, you’re racing to the front desk.

“I need a pregnancy test, please,” you blurt out, your voice barely above a breath as you keep stealing wary glances behind you.

The mere utterance of the request has your insides coiling in horror. For a while, you were in staunch denial of that being a possibility. But you mulled it over, long and hard. It made you realize that, besides the sickness you’ve experienced lately, you also can’t remember the last time you had your monthly bleeding. You’ve never been late before. Not even once. And while things are a little fuzzy in your head…you’re pretty sure over two months isn’t a good sign.

The clerk blinks at you, seemingly taken aback. Still, she silently moves her head in agreement and dives through a door leading to what you assume to be the back of the shop.

The wait is agony. You count every second, praying your mother won’t show up out of the blue and start questioning what you’re up to.

When the clerk returns, you free a deep breath.

She places a small, clear vial inside your palm. You give her an inquiring look.

“You must…relieve yourself and transfer it in this vial,” she explains. “If it turns blue, well congratulations are in order.” Her smile dies as she notices your tight expression. “Or perhaps…not?”

“Thank you very much,” you say, carefully squeezing the vial and shoving it at the very bottom of your bag.

For good form, you ask for some medicinal herbs, some for stomach pains and others for sleeplessness. Just in case your mother inquires about your purchases. One can never be too careful.

When you’re back inside the car, your mother beams at you.

“Did you find what you were looking for, sweetie?”

“Y-Yes, I did, mother,” you stammer, clearing your throat and letting your gaze roam outside the window.

You’re thankful she cannot hear the cacophony of your pounding heart.

You spend the rest of the evening with your mother, drinking tea and eating cake while she babbles about trivial topics. You try your best to listen, giving vague, half-hearted replies.

But your mind is already far away, a million thoughts bumping inside your head.

The entire evening, you’re restless, eager to go home and get answers to your questions.

It requires every morsel of self-control within you not to make a beeline upstairs once the two of you are back home. You give a swift apology and tell your mother the day’s exhausted you and you need a quick nap. She reminds you that dinner is in less than two hours and you need to dress up. You don’t argue, all too happy to finally be on your own.

Once the door to your bedroom is closed, you slump against it, all the tension in your body draining all at once. You take a minute to breathe, leaning your head against the wood.

You retrieve the vial inside your bag. Your hands quake. Your heart drums.

Hesitation slithers through you. What if you just tossed it out the window, forgot about all this?

No. This isn’t something you can cower or hide from. You have to face this.

Your entire life could change in an instant. And it might be about more than just your life.

Shaking from head to toe, you proceed inside the bathroom. You pee in a glass and pour a small amount in the vial.

Insides painfully tight, you chew on your lip as you wait.

Stay clear, stay clear, you pray in silence, as if the water could hear your plea and change the course of your fate by some fantastical twist.

After a few minutes, blue starts bleeding inside the water. It doesn’t stop until all of it has morphed into the horrifying color, bubbles rising to the surface.

The air in your lungs falters. The vial crashes to the floor, scattering into tiny shards as you collapse on the floor of your bathroom.

You gape at the blue puddle on the floor. Maybe it’s a mistake. Tests aren’t always foolproof. They’re wrong sometimes. Perhaps yours was defective.

For a while, you loiter in your denial, conjuring a plethora of reasons why this isn’t happening.

Then you slowly blink. You realize the puddle hasn’t moved. The shards are still on the floor. The blue isn’t gone.

An audible exhale bursts from your chest.

Despite your desire to pretend otherwise, you can’t escape the truth. The ghastly, awful truth. There are no more ifs and buts, no ‘perhaps’, no ‘maybe’…Just the reality that will make itself known to all much sooner than you’d like.

You’re going to be a mother. You’re carrying Coriolanus Snow’s child. The urge to puke, cry and scream all at once surges through you.

“Sweetie, dinner’s ready.”

Your mother’s abrupt call from downstairs has your heart miss a beat.

“I’m not hungry, mom,” you reply automatically, tamping down the quiver in your voice.

“You promised,” she yells.

Right. You did. Perhaps it was foolish of you. How can you carry on with dinner and smile at your parents as if everything’s normal? As if your whole life didn’t take a gigantic turn…the biggest one there could ever be.

You collect yourself. You rub your sweaty palms on your skirt and pick a random dress from your wardrobe. You’re a little shocked to find the closet half-empty, gut wrenching as you remember a good chunk of your clothes are still at the Snows’ apartment.

Emptying your thoughts, you get dressed, your fingers slipping as you fumble with the buttons of your dress.

Get it together.

You slap your cheeks and will yourself to act normal. You’ll figure out the next steps later. Right now, you need to make it through dinner.

The facsimile of a smile nudges your lips upward as you drag your feet downstairs.

However all shallow semblance of happiness evaporates from your face when you take in who’s standing at the bottom of the stairs by your parents.

His smooth lilt ripples through the room.

“Hey, princess.”

Your stomach drops to your feet. Victory sways in his cobalt orbs as he savors your reaction.

He looks the exact same as the last time you saw him, simply more put together in his crisp red suit and white shirt, his blonde locks slicked back from his face.

Every cell in your body is screeching at you to run from him. As far as you can. For as long as you can. And never look back.

Your fingers clutch the stairs’ handrail.

Your appalled gaze turns to your parents. They are entirely too calm for your liking. In fact, they appear more wary of you than him.

“What’s going on? W-Why is he here?”

Your father takes careful steps towards you.

“Sweetheart, maybe we should sit, have a discussion as a family…”

You scoff, shying away from his outstretched hand.

“But he’s not…He’s not part of our family. Or did you forget, Dad?”

Your father’s shoulders fall, a great weariness settling upon his features. In that moment, he looks every bit of his years, all the built-up grief and exhaustion displayed on his face.

“Yes, but, in the current circumstances-”

“What circumstances?” you interrupt.

“Stop it,” Ma snaps. She sighs, approaching you. You stiffen. “We’re not stupid.” She lifts her hand to cup your cheek, her voice mellowing. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you, sweetie?”

Your eyes bulge, shock striking you mute.

Coriolanus uses that moment to join your mother’s side. He places a soothing hand on her shoulder.

Your heart threatens to leap outside your chest when his eyes lock with yours.

“Your father’s right, princess. How about you come down so we can talk about this…” He flashes you a wicked smile. “As a family.”

#dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games #tbosas fanfiction #dark!coriolanus snow x reader

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likealittleheartbeat · 6 months

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talk to me about the theme of emotional isolation for zuko and aang

It's the main reason I'm obsessed with the show tbh.

Can we overstate Aang's isolation within the show. He's not only a survivor--a sole survivor--of a genocide, he's also knocked out of time and history. These are the facts of his physical isolation. But his emotional isolation is such a different beast. It began before any deaths did. He is set apart by the monks and by the whole world as a savior. Shortly after his status as the avatar is made known, his peers exclude him, his power too great. His humanity is denied because he's too divine. Only Gyatso seems to still regard him for who he is rather than his gifts. Of course, that's why the council decides Aang needs to be further separated from worldly relations like that, and vote to send him off. For Aang, it's the last straw. He can't bear further exile from others. To regain some sense of control, he tries to run away from the heavy burden and those who have put it on him. At least this time, he's the one choosing his loneliness. It has become so clear that no one can understand his feelings about the Avatar State.

This is the emotional state he enters the series with, icon rather than human. He starts off concealing his revered identity in an attempt to indulge in simple pleasures, penguin sledding, coy fish riding, etc. But the shame is secretly right there at the surface. He's lovable but mercurial. Friendly and animated with everyone when he first meets them but in a way that's fleeting. The knowledge that he will have to leave the village, in an episodic fashion, having helped the members of the town, even having sacrificed himself for their well-being, is an understood fact of the plot and his life. At most he sheds some of his grief by putting it into words with Katara's encouragement. But despite the whole world fighting through their own grief from the fire nation and Katara's sole-survival of her own culture's genocide, they each have people in their families and cultures who, however bitterly, hold them and hold the broken memories together with one another. No one is as physically isolated as Aang, but, more importantly for his character development, no one is as isolated by their significance to the world.

No one, except Zuko. Zuko, the banished prince. Isn't that what Aang as the Avatar is in many ways: a spiritual prince, an heir by birth to power and legacy, who has been banished from his inheritance. Only, Aang's inheritance would be peace. Zuko's would be the Fire Nation, but because of his humanity, Zuko, like Aang, is without a nation. This is one reason Zuko and Aang are such incredible narrative foils. Aang is rejected from humanity's compassion because of his divine status while Zuko is rejected from divine rule because of his human compassion and failures to demonstrate perfection. (If you're interested in this dynamic in media, Fruits Basket has fantastic explorations of these themes with Kyo vs. Yuki and Tohru vs. Akito.)

How early did Zuko start to notice the disappointment he brought to his father and grandfather? As early as we can see, Zuko seems alone. The episode with that phrase in the title reflects back on his childhood, which, noticeably, lacks the friends Azula manages to keep. He mimics and mocks her cruelty, as well, in an attempt to impress his mother. His insecurity seems already set, a sense that no one can understand. While Aang recognizes that everyone thinks he's too good to belong, Zuko lives in an environment in which he's not good enough to belong.

The reactions to their rejections correspond, too. Zuko's reaction of antagonistic pursuit of anyone and everyone--like Aang's reaction to run away (literally and sometimes emotionally with a smile or joke)--helps keep others in a framework of enemies so he can control his exile rather than the other way around. Yet these behaviors put them in dynamic relation to one another--Zuko is drawn to the endless pursuit of the strangely kind Aang, whose instinct is to behold others while remaining untouchable, while Aang becomes clearly intrigued by the person who refuses to treat him like an untouchable hero, the person who refuses to give up on the possibility that the Avatar can be flawed and fail, no matter how many times he slips away proving his divine destiny.

It's obvious that Zuko is supposed to hate Aang, as the Avatar. "The Headband" illustrates how education in the Fire Nation portrays him if the fact that Zuko's only possibility for regaining his title under his father is bringing the Avatar back isn't enough evidence for you. But Aang ought to hate Zuko just as much, if not more. Instead, they are drawn toward one another with an remarkable intensity, established within the first half of the first season, "The Storm" x "Blue Spirit" combo punch! In fact, the blue spirit episode really reveals what they can mean to each other. Not only in Aang's question at the end that invites Zuko back into the past with him, but in the way that Zuko is made to be the divine entity for a brief period while Aang is helpless in the fort. Then, that question at the end: "Do you think we could have been friends?" Isn't that the opposite of the isolation they feel. In the woods, without a nation or an allegiance, Aang, remembering the people and time that he was forced to leave asks Zuko, who has just betrayed the people who banished him, in another version of life where they were both simple people rather heirs of vast power, if they could have formed a kind of union that would have dissolved the loneliness that consumes both of them. But it's momentary and they have to return to the world that defines them as the Avatar and the Banished Fire Prince.

This becomes one of the cores of the show, as echoed in the finale, where Zuko and Aang consummate their friendship, but by then, through traveling the winding road toward one another and aiming to take on a part of what the other person represents, they have found a balance that refused the binaries of divinity and fallibility that had previously separated and defined their lives, binaries that exiled them from connecting with others, binaries that built towers to isolate them from the world. The victims and survivors of genocide, the subjects of colonial violence, nor the sufferers of abuse need be pure to claim their pain, nor must the people who want and work towards justice be saints to do that work. Harder for many audience members to absorb, despite their love for Zuko who's arc is meant to emphasize the point, there is a spark of divinity in everyone, from the most unloved to the most violent and tyrannical. This second fact must exist alongside the first, or else the premise won't hold. How you choose to act and engage with that spark of divinity is a human choice we each make on our own, but that does not deny it's existence. The divine ideals must be allowed to fall apart into comedy and tragedy, while the mundane, the profane, and the cruels horrors of life must be allowed to be seen as something that hold the possibility to become beautiful and part of a grander design. The Avatar must be allowed to be Aang and Zuko must be allowed to be the Firelord so that we can have Avatar Aang (the last title of the series) and Firelord Zuko (the most celebrated character arc of the series). They need one another to assuage the fear, isolation, and dread that black-and-white perfectionist thinking boxes us into.

#zukaang #platonic otps #platonic love #yin & yang #buddhism #atla meta #meta #aang #zuko #aanglove

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hawnks · 6 months

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Alpha!Nanami/Omega!reader

Word count: ~2,800

warnings: a/b/o typical sexism, abuse of authority (from side character), mention of leg injury

……………………………………………………….

He brings the storm with him.

You learn him in whispers, along with a bevy of myth and rumor. He drifted here from the East. His clothing has been mended at least a dozen times, but his shoes are sturdy, expertly crafted. He makes no noise when he walks — hardly any noise at all. Rōnin, not samurai. And you can’t trust a man with no honor.

He killed his old master, I heard.

No, he was exiled.

Maybe he killed his master because he was exiled.

“He’ll be gone tomorrow once the rain lets up,” the innkeeper says, cutting off all further speculation. “Now, mind your work, not the guests.”

Beside you, someone grouses, “He chose a funny season to wander, if he’s afraid of the weather.”

…

The rain does not let up.

It puts everyone in a sour mood. The streets turn viscous and tacky, the air brutally cool. You draw the short straw, sent to fetch the days meat in the early morning, a long trek to the fishmonger that leaves you drenched down to your underwear.

It takes twice as long as usual — you lose your sandal a few times in the muck — and when you arrive the stand is vacant. The old man had come down with pneumonia.

Frustrated, you take the long way home. They can wait for the bad news, and you’re so soaked a few extra minutes won’t make any difference. You catch the eye of a few of the daimyō’s men, leering at you from beneath awnings, snickering as you walk by.

“Wanna hear a joke about wet omegas?” one of them calls to you.

You grit your teeth and keep walking.

You deliver the news about the fish to the innkeeper at the door to her room, so you can dart out again before she has a chance to say anything. God forbid she sends you out on another errand.

Soaking, furious, you change into your uniform, and begin your shift at the tavern.

The work is tedious, but decently lucrative. You like to talk to travelers, learn what’s happening beyond the boundaries of your town. It’s hard to put into words what you get out of this, hoarding information like you’re starved for it. Maybe the sheer notion that there is someplace else. That this town and its people are not the only things in the world.

The comfort of knowing away is still possible.

You expect to ask the rōnin the same, starry eyed questions, regardless of how the other server is avoiding him. It might even be enough to salvage this shitty morning.

But you don’t get a chance to ask him where he’s from, what he’s seen. You open your mouth to say something, and choke on air thick with the scent of wisteria.

He meets your gaze.

He won’t look away.

Your wet hair drips on his table.

You can’t feel your fingertips.

Shoving yourself away from the table so hard it rattles against the floor, you excuse yourself in a mumbled tumult. You recruit the other server to take over your tables for the rest of the morning. You must look as awful as you feel, because she doesn’t even question it as you retreat back to your room, throw yourself under the quilt. Close your eyes and pray for your heart to settle.

The one thing the gossip didn’t prepare you for — an alpha.

…

Another day of storms. Another morning you draw the short straw.

Another day you limp home through the mud, empty handed.

The soldiers don’t leer today. Instead, the daimyō is waiting for you. It feels like he’s always waiting for you, that he could swoop in any moment, as quick and ruthless as a hawk.

He’s said he could follow your scent straight to you, no matter where you’re hiding. Sometimes you believe it.

He’s leaning against a wall under an awning, but you know the casual stance is deceptive. He can be fast when he wants to be.

He calls your name, an inferred order to come.

You pretend you didn’t hear, keep walking.

He’s standing straight now arms at his side. Ready. Your insides feel leaden. It takes all your willpower to keep moving forward. To disregard an alpha is one, painful thing. To disregard the daimyō is simple insanity.

Water blurs your vision. You can’t tell from the corner of your eye what expression he’s making. Sometimes he finds your insolence humorous.

Sometimes not.

Just a dozen feet further and you’ll be at the bend in the road.

“You should greet me,” he says. Quiet, but you’re so hyper-vigilant, there’s no way you could miss it.

“Good morning, My Lord,” you whisper to your feet.

He doesn’t step out into the rain, but his voice follows you around the corner. Teasing, condescending. “That’s a good omega.”

He could kill you for your bad manners. A servant, ignoring their lord. No one would question it, no one would dispute it.

But then — he would be killing the only omega in the whole town.

As much as he resents your disobedience, he would resent the loss of you even more. An alpha must have an omega, he told you. That is his right.

Chin tucked and scurrying, you don’t realize you’re on a collision course until you’ve already run into the man. The impact sends you tumbling to the ground.

Through the buffer of the downpour, it takes you a minute to recognize him. His scent.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says. “I apologize.”

He bends to offer you a hand up. You just stare at his outstretched palm. Silent. Reeling.

You wait for him to give an order. Demand you take his hand, or that you come to stand on your feeble legs all on your own. It’s simply an alphas nature to wield their power like a cudgel, to bend everything and everyone to their will.

And now you have two of them to deal with.

Another moment of stillness. Your breath steams. Your pulse drowns out all other sounds.

He kneels.

Like this, on the same level, you can see the color of his eyes. So perfectly brown they’re almost black.

“Are you alright?” he says.

His voice is staid and calm. Not demanding. Not cruel. It — confuses you. You don’t understand what he wants from you.

You rise to your knees, shoving him with all your strength. He doesn’t budge. He remains solid and upright beneath your hands. You can feel the muscle, the innate strength. He’s warm, beneath the wet clothes. So incredibly warm.

You wonder if he could soothe your chill. You wonder if the touch of his bare skin would burn.

With a gasp, you tear away, appalled and mystified by your own reaction.

He stays kneeling as you rise and step away. He stays as you rush home, the scent of wisteria heavy in your lungs.

…

The innkeeper is displeased with your performance, of late. She gives you a stern warning that you shouldn’t let your “licentious nature” interfere with work.

“I don’t know why I agreed to take an omega on,” she sighs. “Not like you’ll be around for much longer, anyway.”

You wince. “Am I fired?”

The old woman laughs. “No, no. Not yet, anyway.” She waves at you, a full body gesture. A reference to the omega in you. “You’ll be wed to His Lordship soon, anyway. You won’t have to worry about the toil of work anymore.”

You excuse yourself shortly after.

…

The days are a monotony. Even the fear is so commonplace you lose track of it. The daimyō grows impatient with you. He calls to you from the shelter of the awning, each time a little bolder, a little less demure about his intentions.

“You know, I have a bad habit of breaking my things when I get bored of them,” he tells you. “I wonder what other tricks you have to keep me entertained.”

You hang your clothes to dry every evening, and the drip becomes a steady cadence, like the ticking of a clock.

This is your life.

The rain.

…

The decree is issued that afternoon. Marriage.

You’re to report to the royal estate before sundown, along with everything you own. You will not be coming back.

You pack your bag; you take the road out of town. With the city at your back, you’ll have to pass through the outskirt woods. Then across the river, a dangerous gambit when the water is this high, but that just means you won’t be followed.

You can’t imagine the consequences if they catch you.

The path grows looser the further you go, the mud deep, silt as slick as ice. Arduous and exhausting. And dangerous, too.

You don’t realize your footing is off until it’s too late. You slip, land badly. You cry out before you can stop yourself.

You struggle to your knees, get one of your legs beneath you. A shock of pain has you tumbling down again.

You can’t stand. You can’t run.

Just moments after you fall, a shadow overtakes you. And a man, looming, familiar, crouches before you.

“I heard your voice,” he says. “Can you walk?”

You shake your head, timid, overwhelmed.

“Pardon me,” he says, before hefting you up into his arms.

The ease he does it with is startling. An alpha’s superior strength.

He brings you to a small hunting cabin. Clearly abandoned, but decent enough. It’s dry, and a small fire is going in the hearth.

There’s no furniture except for a rudimentary pallet, which he sets you down on.

“May I?” he asks, hands hovering above your stockinged leg.

He takes your silence as answer enough, unrolling the material gradually, trying not to disturb your injury. He inspects it briefly, pressing carefully. You wince, he stops.

He reaches for his bag, retrieving a small tin. “Your ankle is sprained,” he tells you. “You should return to town in the morning.”

“I need to leave,” you return absently. “I have to get past the bridge.”

He frowns.

“The bridge has collapsed. The river is impassable.” He had tried to leave that morning, only to face the same dilemma. He considers you leg. “Besides, you won’t make it very far.”

The reality of your situation dawns on you, a slow tide of dread.

You missed your chance. You’ve lost your only opportunity at freedom.

You yank out of his grasp, dragging yourself across the floor, to the corner on the far side of the cabin.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you—“

“No. No.” You gnash your teeth at him, feeling wild with fear, unable to see past the dark curtain of it. “I have to go. I can’t be trapped in here with you.”

He raises a hand, a placating gesture, but all you see is motion, canting toward you. An alpha. A threat.

You grab whatever is closest. You throw it at him.

The stick doesn’t even hit him, but that doesn’t stop you. You throw everything within reach.

He just waits for you to give up, but soon enough he realizes how stubborn you can be.

“Enough,” he says. His voice fills the shack, not loud, but indomitable. The undeniable command of an alpha. “I’m not going to hurt you. I would appreciate if you would offer me the same courtesy.”

You drop the stone you were going to hurl at him, suddenly incapable of aggression. You feel — groggy, but less terrified now. Very nearly calm.

His pheromones, you realize.

The notion that he’s using them on you should incense you, but you can’t muster it. You close your eyes, exhausted.

Eventually, after long minutes of tepid silence, he murmurs, “I was here first, you are aware of that, right?” His tone is almost — sullen.

And for some reason, that very human show of petulance is enough to thaw you.

You laugh.

You can’t stop. You laugh so hard it’s hardly laughter anymore. It’s so intense it makes your ribs hurt, brings tears to your eyes.

It feels like the first time you’ve been able to think clearly in weeks.

When you finally calm to a few soft hiccups, you lay down and throw your arms out. Passive.

“Alright, swordsman,” you say, “Fix me.”

He’s slow to approach you, cautious of another rock coming at him. But you remain still.

His touch is gentle, so soft it’s like he’s barely handling you at all. He retrieves the tin of salve you kicked out of his hand, and begins to apply it. It’s cool, slightly astringent. Beneath that, the scent of wisteria.

His fingers are just as warm as the rest of him.

It’s over before you can get used to the sensation of him touching you. He pulls away, returns the tin to his bag. “That will help with the swelling. You should still avoid putting weight on it until it heals.”

“Thank you,” you force yourself to say.

You think you hear him chuckle.

…

Night blooms, full and dark.

Despite your anxiousness, the waiting has grown tedious. Unbearably so.

“Is there anything in that bag to alleviate boredom?”

He glances at you for a moment. Hesitating.

Finally he reaches inside, pulls out a small binding. He passes it to you.

A book of poems. You recognize the shape of the sentences, some of the words. You wonder what use a swordsman has for literature, but the swordsman is full of surprises evidently.

Th pages are worn, the edges soft from thumbing.

“I can’t read,” you say. You look at him. Expectantly.

You hold the book out. He takes it, slowly, gingerly.

He reads.

He’s not much of a performer, although you didn’t expect him to be. It’s clear he’s not used to reading aloud, but he knows these passages well. He’s tone is even, with little inflection. The words come out perfectly paced.

They’re love poems. Not flowery or decadent, but earnest, gentle.

It seems at odds with what you know of him, what you’ve assumed from his status, both as a rōnin and an alpha. You’re not sure what to make of him anymore, how to reconcile the image you built of him in your head and everything you’ve witnessed here.

His swords are leaned against the wall beside him, sure proof of a history of violence.

The question comes, unbidden. “Have you ever killed someone?”

He pauses, glances at you. He searches your face for something, the fear that should accompany those words. But your expression is blank.

Silence, fraught with the tense memory of how you ended up here. What were you running from? Why? He must understand, to some extent. No one reaches desperation without pretext.

“Yes,” he says, simply.

“If I asked you to kill someone,” you murmur. “If I paid you…”

The implication feels enormous within the tight confines of the cabin.

“I don’t believe that’s what you want.”

“What do I want?”

“To not be put in a position where you have to make that kind of decision.”

That makes something in your chest feel tight, on the verge of snapping. Another thing you can’t wrap your head around. Another emotion you can’t name. Uncomfortable, but not frightening. Not like before.

You feel displaced, unmoored.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“I’m not being nice,” he says. “You need help. I’m in a position to provide it.”

And that seems wrong to you. Just because someone has the means doesn’t mean they’ll offer them, certainly not freely. Especially not when someone is a such a burden.

“I’ve never met an alpha who’s kind to an omega just for the sake of it,” you say despite his denial.

He mulls that over for a moment, head cocked as he decides how to respond.

“I didn’t know you were an omega until tonight,” he says, quietly. “I had my suspicions, but…”

“Were my bountiful charms not enough to tip you off?” You snort at his blank expression, too polite to disrespect you with an answer. “Why now?”

“Your scent. It’s…subtle. Easy to miss, especially under these circumstances.”

“What do I smell like?”

He smiles, for the first time since you met him. It softens his severe features, makes him look younger. Less world-weary. “You smell like rain.”

He continues reading as the sky continues to churn, until you can hardly keep your eyes open, just barely holding on to the soft thread of words.

“Sleep,” he says gently. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Despite yourself, you believe him.

#nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #HAPPY FOUR AM #here’s this <3 #I knowwwww there’s like a thousand typos in here I just know it #I wanted to finish this tonight I felt compelled to #also I’m so sorry if u actually know stuff about history I am just making stuff up as I go <3 #JSJSJDJDJDJD #anyway……#one of the stranger aus I’ve written #cw: a/b/o #tw: a/b/o

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miranyx1337 · 3 months

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Alastor x Reader

,,FEATHER ’’

Tags: fluff (for now ) enemies to lovers, kissing, being protective, cuddles, sleeping problems, flirting, possesive reader is an angel, fem reader

so enjoy this angel y/n x Alastor fanfiction.

The portal was just about to shout when I decided to pull my wrist away from my mother's gentle hand. The rush of my wings echoed through the abyss as I plummeted into the darkness. I closed my eyes. The desperate scream of my name immediately faded into nothingness as I came to hell just after lucifer daughter.

Dizziness enveloped me as I opened my eyes to a realm of strangers, their curious, disgusted, and unsettlingly smiling gazes fixed upon me. Only two faces seemed familiar, and a sinking realization of the dire situation I was in gripped my soul.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Alastor anticipated the return of two birds from heaven. Little did he expect that they would bring an unexpected guest. The thought of joking about a change in hotel profession crossed his mind. But the gravity of the moment silenced any trivial remarks.

As the clear blue eyes peered at him above shiny white hair, a sensation of swallowing saliva overcame him.

A true guest from heaven," he mused, his emotions were a complex blend of deep admiration and an unspoken desire to shatter this celestial beauty. The finest trophy he could ever possess.

He extended his hand towards the luminous figure

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Y/N POV

I ignored a demonic hand reaching out to me. With one swift movement of my wings, I found myself at the other end of the room. As I stood on my feet and the momentary adrenaline faded, sharp pain get through me. I landed on my knees, slightly dazed.

"My wing is broken."

Since childhood, I couldn't help but admire my six wings, always well-groomed and shining, my trademark. Now, the upper ones drooped, broken in half. Snowy-white feathers, wincing in pain as more of them fell off.

I won't lick my wounds quickly, which means I won't return home anytime soon.

The exiled daughter ran up to me, and I leaned on her shoulder. She and the white-haired one were probably the only ones I could trust.

"Listen, I don't know if they will come for me, but you need to know something."

I directed my gaze at the nearby onlookers, demons staring at me as if I were a freak, and creature of sin. Red, smiling eyes pierced through me, and I couldn't look away. The demon looked at his outstretched hand, then withdrew it behind him, seemingly surprised. Smiling nonchalantly, he spoke, "Don't worry. You can trust everyone in this room."

"No. Please, let's go to another room." I looked desperately at her, squeezing the forearm with my pale hands.

"Alright, then," she nodded, gripping my arm tighter. "And you guys, prepare a bandage, something to drink, and... call my father."

As soon as the door closed behind us, I began searching the room when I felt clawed fingers on my shoulders, instantly turning me around.

"Can you trust me, please?"

"Fine."

"Okay, FIRST, why did you do that? Did they make you spy?"

"Listen, Charlie," I said, now I'm the one holding her shoulders. "You're right. There is an evidence that souls can be redeemed."

Disbelief was painted at her angelic-demonic face. She analysed my words and sincerity. "Adam. He wasn't originally in heaven. I don't know how he got a pass, but I have undeniable evidence that he originally ended up here."

Suddenly, everything made sense, and the girl connected the dots. Still, with wide eyes, she stared at me.

"So, that's why," she stuttered.

"Yes, it would be a disaster if it turned out the first redeemed soul didn't deserve it. He'll try to hide the truth in every way, even if it means bringing hell down …. and killing me.

Tears welled up in my eyes. How did I get involved in this? I should never have ended up here, let alone conspiring against heaven. I was no longer safe there.

Tiny arms with the smell of sulfur and angelic musk embraced me. Exhausted, I let tears flow down my cheeks. It's a shame I didn't notice the nosy egg tucked under the bed and the radio demon standing right behind the door holding a sinful kiss on a small shiny feather

#alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #fanfic #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel x you #alastor radio demon #alastor imagine

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hyperfixatedbastard · 2 months

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Hi i hope you doing well. I have a resquest... more like a headcanon. What if Adam was a dad ? What his behaviour will be ? Does he be a good or a bad father ?

I understand if you don't do it. I don't want to force you for something you don't want to.

Dadam (Dad!Adam) Headcanons

we bringing out the daddy issues on this one boys

WARNINGS: none

A/N: I haven't done a headcanon type of post yet, but they're easier to write than regular one shots and I'm too tired for that shit. The request didn't specify what kind of Reader (spouse or child), so I just went with general headcanons that don't specify the Reader at all. Insert yourself as you wish!

Also, thank you all for your patience! It's been very busy for me lately and I've been too exhausted to write much, so expect a lot more of these kinds of posts (the formatting is easier and I don't have to write a bunch of dialogue lol).

Dividers

As the father of humanity, Adam had...a lot of kids. The guy lived for 800+ years just populating the earth. That's a LOT of kids. We all know how the first two turned out. That is, not fuckin' well. To be honest, I don't think Adam valued his children. It was just kinda... a thing he had to do. (When Abel died and Cain got exiled, he fr just went and had another kid to replace them.) But I am in deep, deep denial and this is for my enjoyment as someone with severe daddy issues. So fuck all that.

At first, Adam is 100% the guy that freaks the fuck out when he finds out he knocked someone up. That man is SWEATING. He's actually pretty chill if it's someone he's in an established long-term relationship with, though. He still freaks the fuck out, but to a significantly lesser degree and with a much smaller chance of up and leaving. Once he's over the initial shock, he's shocked to find that he's kind of excited. Back when he was alive, having kids was just normal because it was such a common occurrence.

This man knows every little detail about pregnancy and infants. With the amount of kids he's had? He has seen it ALL. Sure, all his information is thousands of years old, but knowledge learned through experience is super valuable when it comes to this shit! He doesn't know what the fuck a uterus is, but he knows exactly how to make his partner the most comfortable, how to deal with cravings, etc. If his partner has a problem, he's got a solution. It might be a fuckin' weird one, but it works! He'll probably grumble and complain, but he doesn't actually mean it. Bitching is just his thing, y'know? But... pregnancy hormones + Adam's douchebag-ness = feelings getting hurt. If his partner starts crying because of some shit joke or complaint he made? He's scrambling so fast. "Shit, babe, fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, fuckfuckfuck, don't cry—"

Once the baby is born, he definitely surprises literally everyone but his partner by actually doing helpful shit. Changing diapers? Easy fuckin' peasy (he does watch a tutorial online because he doesn't know how tf modern diapers work but he's a fast learner) Feeding? No problemo. Getting up in the middle of the night to do both of those things? His sleep schedule's already fucked, this shit ain't new.

When it comes to parenting and raising the kid, though... that's definitely where Adam struggles. He'd struggle with bonding. A lot. Adam mostly talks about things that you really shouldn't say around children, much less bond over. I think he'd be better at just letting the kid ramble while he's just sitting there, fully engrossed in whatever bullshit his child is saying. He's not just passively listening with little 'uh-huh's and nods, this man is active in the discussion. Have you ever heard a small child speak? They say the most random shit ever, and Adam would love it. It's peak entertainment to him. Even if it's just incoherent babbling, he'll have full-on conversations with this baby.

He'd definitely have some shared interests as the kid gets older. I think Adam's favorite shows/movies are a mix of action movies and shit like Power Rangers. He's not ashamed of it either—'fuck you, the Power Rangers are fuckin' cool.' This also goes for video games. I know that man is a toxic COD gamer boy and you can't prove me wrong. Basically, the only thing that keeps him from becoming one of those husbands that locks himself away in a man cave to play video games is the fact that he can game with his kid.

And once they get into school, he just gets really invested in the drama. Elementary school drama is such bullshit, and it'd be the best reality TV he's ever seen. "Oh, don't tell me—it's that bitch Cindy. The fuck did that little shit do this time?" He'd be gasping like it's a damn soap opera. 'Oh no she didn't!' kinda vibe.

He'd talk so much shit around his kid about the parents of their classmates, the teachers, anyone. Then the kid would repeat it and Adam would get sat down in the office with his kid like: "Your child said, and I quote, 'My dad says your mom's a bitch.'" "What? She fuckin' is." And yeah, he's not wrong - some of those parents are fucking nightmares.

If his kid got in trouble for fighting, his reaction would depend on the situation. If it was unprovoked and/or a part of bullying, he'd originally laugh it off but would be freaking the fuck out internally. He's probably a little traumatized by what happened with Cain and Abel. But if the fighting was an act of defense (whether of themselves or someone else) he would be the proudest dad ever. Fist-bumps his kid in the office in full view of the principal.

You cannot trust this man to give his kid the sex talk. It just will not go well. Like, if his kid needs advice when they're older (basically anything beyond 'where do babies come from') then he's your guy, but it's still gonna be awkward and uncomfortable. He'd probably have Lute handle most of those issues just so he doesn't have to know about his kid's sex life but can still trust that they have a responsible(?) adult if they have questions.

In terms of where Adam is lacking as a parent, there's a few areas in particular to focus on.

Emotional availability? Not his strong suit. At all. He can't deal with his own feelings, let alone his kid's. Most of the emotional support will be coming from his partner. That doesn't mean he doesn't try. But he can't show it with words all that well. He'll show emotional support in other ways—quality time, gifts, and acts of service for the most part. Like going out for ice cream, watching a movie, etc.

He's not good with discipline. To him, everything's no big deal. If his kid hasn't killed their sibling, that's good enough for him! Generally, his partner will choose when/how to discipline (with Adam's input ofc), but Adam's job is to just enforce it/not overrule it. He's 100% the type to be sneaky about it tho. If his kid is grounded, he'll go out with them to give them a break from being stuck in the house, y'know, stuff like that. Because of this, his kid forms a closer, different kind of bond than with Adam's partner. It's more friendly, I guess is the word? Like, his kid won't go to him for actual helpful advice, but if they fuck up somehow or are in a bad situation that they kinda got themselves into (drinking, car accident, etc.), then Adam is the parent they call.

I think Adam's peak parenting era would be when his kid is a late teen/young adult. 'Cause then he can actually be himself, for the most part. His personality is not very kid-friendly, so once his kid isn't really much of a kid anymore—he is so fucking excited. His relationship with his kid would be a lot more unconventional as they grow older. Like, he's really close with his kid once they're an adult. (totally not basing this off my relationship with my mom) His advice would be shit, but he'd give it if his kid needed it!

Definitely the type to text his kid more often than most parents. Mostly because he texts more like them and has the same sense of humor. Lots of shitty memes.

Also!! I think Adam would definitely make time for his partner. Date nights are a must. His kid better get comfortable with sleepovers at friends' houses or getting babysat by Emily 'cause he ain't letting parenthood fuck up his sex life.

I think that's all I got. Not sure how to end this so uh... shoutout to all you bitches with daddy issues lmao

Taglist: @little-miss-chaoss @fakeguysarehot @3sire-777

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel adam x reader #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel oneshots #hazbin hotel headcanons #headcanons #adam headcanons #hazbin headcanons #adam x reader

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acourtofthought · 3 months

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An Elucien book could possibly have -

A post in collaboration with @crazy-ache @zenkindoflove @goghwilde @starsreminisce

Lucien telling Elain stories about her father

Vassa telling Elain stories about her father

Elain becoming an owl shifter

Elucien performing in the Great Rite.

The LoA falling in love with Elain after never having had a daughter and Elain falling in love with her, finally having a maternal figure who sees the strength she possesses

Elain and Lucien outsmarting Koschei with their intelligence.

Elain and Lucien being able to open up to one another about their first loves that were then lost and the depression they experienced as a result

Band of Exiles sass

Helion's excitement over Elain being a conversationalist just like him

A smutty scene with Elucien against a tree

A smutty scene with Elucien in a field of flowers

A smutty scene where Lucien shows Elain just how good he really is with that mouth when he's using it for something other than talking

Elain helping Lucien through his guilt, helping him see that he is not to blame for Jesminda's death.

Lucien being able to stop Beron from harming Elain after not being able to do the same for Jesminda.

Lucien looking over to see Elain wearing the pearl earrings he gifted her.

Lucien looking over to see Elain wearing only the pearl earrings he gifted her.

Lucien looking over to see Elain wearing only the pearl earrings he gifted her and his jacket.

Elain curing the illness plaguing the Pegasus foals

Elain breaking Vassa's curse

Lucien demonstrating exactly why Azriel would not in fact defeat him with little effort

Elain admitting to Lucien that she was angry with how perfect his first Solstice gift to her was when she was trying to fight the pull she had to him

Elain telling Lucien that she was angry at herself for feeling disloyal to Graysen when she first met his eye and found him the most handsome thing she had ever seen.

Lucien being delighted to find that after the many months of Elain keeping herself at a distance by not talking, she has the ability to put him in his place with her verbal sparring.

Elain and Lucien playing practical jokes on Jurian

Elain restoring the people of Springs faith in it's leadership, whoever that maybe be.

Elain creating life like Isabela Madrigal, Te Fiti, or Cthona

Lucien coming into his own High Lord power and becoming a force to be reckoned with.

Elain telling Graysen he never deserved her.

Lucien and Eris resolving their past / brother bonding.

Lucien and Eris defeating Beron and finally avenging their mother and Jesminda.

Elain hugging Eris which might be the first hug he's been given in a very long time

Elain and Lucien feeding treats to the Pegasus

Elain and Lucien feeding treats to the smoke-hounds

Elain and Lucien riding on a horse together

Elain and Lucien riding on a Pegasus

Lucien's first hug with his mother in centuries

Elain and Lucien visiting Helion's libraries to do research

Lucien surprising Elain with a visit to the tulip fields in the continent. When she turns to him in delight and surprise she'll ask him how he knew. Lucien will tell her that her father told him, that he wanted to take her one day but since he no longer could, Lucien wanted to fulfill both of their dreams.

The reader once again getting a glimpse into Elain's mind but this time, the buds are in full bloom after accepting her mating bond.

Lucien having learned of human customs and getting down on one knee to propose to Elain.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #lucien and elain #pro elain archeron #elain and lucien #sarah j mass #acotar mates #elucien headcanon

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retellingthehobbit · 10 months

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First chapter / Previous / Next

Webtoon/A03 /Instagram/Tumblr Sideblog

Chapter 13 of my comic adaptation of the Hobbit, "the Necromancer!" I put the title page at the end this time for Reasons, though I might change it back to the beginning later. Below the readmore are my "translator's notes' on why I made certain changes to the source material (ex why Thror is here instead of Thrain), if you're interested:

Gandalf’s art style is inspired by the work of Lotte Reiniger. I chose this for a variety of reasons: because it really captures the aesthetic of a 'classic fairy tale battle of light and dark,' because the smoky backgrounds remind me of the way Gandalf often does magic with smoke/fire, and because it's entirely monochromatic/'grey.' The only other note I have on this chapter is that, as I mentioned before, I’ve altered the timeline so that Thror is the ringbearer dwarf captured by the Necromancer (not Thrain.) The “in universe” explanation for the change is that Tolkien and I are both translating the Red Book of Westmarch & other ancient texts, but came to different conclusions. The history of the dwarves is especially different because Bilbo wasn’t as interested in political machinations, there was misinformation spread by the Elf-King of Mirkwood, and even the Council of the Wise may have spread misinformation to conceal the fate of the dwarven Ring of Power. There are two “out of universe” reasons I changed it: The first is that I wanted to explore a timeline where Thror vanished before the mountain fell, Thrain died during the fall of the Lonely Mountain, and Thorin became king while leading his people into exile. The second was to draw another link between Smaug and the Necromancer. Thror vanishes with the Ring….and it’s only then, after Erebor lost what strength the Ring gave them, that Smaug invades. The only question is, “why did Thror bring the map and key with him to Mirkwood in this version?” My joke answer is that it’s not relevant to Bilbo’s journey. My real answer is that none of the characters will ever know. Maybe they were so precious he always kept them on his person; maybe he was planning to strike some secret deal with the Elf-King; maybe the Necromancer used his influence over Thror’s Ring of Power to manipulate him into bringing him the map and key, for sinister reasons of his own. (It’s probably the last one.)

#the hobbit #lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #middle earth #the hobbit comic #retelling the hobbits #chapters #chapter 13 #the necromancer #webcomic #art

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ettelenethelien · 5 months

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1st age Beleriand dashboard Simulator

🌫️ mithrim-noldo following

Yeah, Thingol kind of flew off the handle with banning Quenya and all that, but why on Arda are people now justifying the Kinslaying in response?? have some nuance and also, that's just plain horrible.

✨ btw-this-is-hopeless following

hope it's fine to copy your tags, mithrim, because they're great:

#I mean I know this is probably because they've taken part in the kinslaying themselves #but #can't you just admit you did wrong and move on? #in so far as it is possible because of course forgetting would be disrespectful and unwise #because the consequences are with us still #but it should be way more comfortable than being on your defences all the time #always ready to rationalize or deny #with a conscience you cannot silence

✴️ eightpointedstar83

I am tired of typing this out again and again but Alqualondë could have been averted had the teleri been less self-centred and readier to cooperate. Thingol is just another example of this attitude. But of course, please deny that the third clan is what it is and pin the blame on the people who saved everyone's skins.

We have done nothing wrong and yet our own people are turning on us. One day you will rue this.

Long live the house of Fëanor!

💝 heart-in-a-box

This is just the sort of behaviour OP was talking about.🤦‍♀️

🌫️ mithrim-noldo following

Admittedly, this seems to be a fanatical Fëanorian and more committed than the average apologist of his/her own actions - but yes.

#current events #thingol's quenya ban #my post

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🧝🏼‍♂️maglorfeanorion following

finished another canto of the noldolante today

🌖 hunters-moon

you have a tumblr account??!

🧝🏼‍♂️ maglorfeanorion following

do I know you?

🌖 hunters-moon

yes :)

🧝🏼‍♂️ maglorfeanorion following

wait - yeah, I do...

which of the twins are you?

🌖 hunters-moon

how did you know😮???

👨🏻‍🦰red-haired-twin

he looked through your blog, nitwit :)

🧝🏼‍♂️maglorfeanorion following

I guess I shouldn't be surprised to find you two out of all possible people on here...

so - which is which?

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🌸 a-flower-in-the-snow following

himring winters are horrible and I hate my parents for bringing me to middle-earth

#rant #children of exilse #i meant #children of exiles #coe

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🏞️ the-wide-earth-unexplored following

Y'all weren't joking when y'all said the Sirion is impressive...

(more photos under cut)

#photography #nature photography #nature #sirion #falls of sirion

213 notes

🖼️ wonder-the-earth

is it still a secret city when everyone is talking about it?

👰🏼‍♀️ celebrin following

that's a good question

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👤 incessant-leaves following

It makes me sick to see all those positive nostalgic posts about the Mereth Aderthad. How pretty the pools of Ivrin were or weren't doesn't change the fact that THE NOLDOR WERE HIDING THE TRUTH ABOUT THE KINSLAYING THE WHOLE TIME. Yeah "everyone was kind" back then. You were feasting together with people whose cousins you had killed and have the audacity to complain they don't like you as much anymore. I don't care if you're a Sinda or a Noldo who "didn't take part in it" - if you say anything positive about it I'm blocking you.

#mereth aderthad #the truth about ivrin

159, 307 notes

💎 lord-maedhros-is-the-true-king

Things they don't want you to know about Fëanaro:

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🏹 huntingprincess following

with all due respect, gondolin is the most boring place in the world.

🌼 golden-flower

it's not. but you're entitled to your opinion.

🌌 daughterofdoriath following

if only all debates on here were as civil...

👤 incessant-leaves

OP is a kinslayer apologist. Didn't you check that out before you started praising them?

🌌 daughterofdoriath following

*throws hands up*

I was admiring that one exchange.

(and this was actually more about @golden-flower's response than about OP)

*sighs*

#this site...

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image used for Sirion: link

#I'll try making part two with men in the picture #but I'm posting this for now #unreality #in universe texts #Tolkien #the Silmarillion #Silmarillion #Beleriand #beleriand politics #first age #noldor #sindar #gondolin

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inez-winchester-cameron · 2 months

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Exile

Rafe Cameron x pogue!reader, JJ Maybank x reader

Summary: Rafe and you have always had a toxic and rocky relationship, so it wasn’t a shock when you two separated. But you two just can’t seem to live without thinking of eachother

Cw: toxic relationships, quickly moving on, fighting, accusations, lots of angst

Note: based on exile by Taylor Swift obviously, fun fact I love Taylor shes so pookie

You stand on the HMS pogue, JJ’s arms wrapped tightly around you from behind. His head resting on your shoulder. You two stare out over the water, just enjoying each other's company. In perfect timing, you spy the Druthers approaching. Your heart stops, knowing that boat better than anyone else. As it passes, you make eye contact with Rafe. JJ is rambling, not making the connection, and not realizing you’re not truly paying attention. You half-heartedly laugh at a little joke he made, mostly to put on a show for Rafe.

Rafe frowns and sips on the glass of alcohol in his hand. He glares daggers at JJ, but when you make eye contact with him, his expression noticeably softens. His eyes fall back on JJ and you know that look anywhere. It’s the look he gives people when he wants to beat the fuck out of you. With time, the boat passes and the Druthers is gone, along with Rafe.

You and Rafe had broken up a week prior to this incident. You and Rafe had been together since freshman year of high school, up until the fall after graduation. You two always walked a very thin line, your relationship filled with many disagreements. But you two understood each other and made a home in each other. He loved you and you loved him, “no superficial bullshit” as Rafe always said. But you had given Rafe more chances than you can count to improve himself and although he was noticeably better around you, it was exhausting and after one particularly bad fight, you cut him off.

“You’re being ridiculous!” You yelled at Rafe, both of you still tipsy after a big party, “We did not do anything!”

“He was eyefucking you!” Rafe argued back, referring to you and JJ talking at the party earlier that night, “You’re just too damn stupid to notice!”

“Oh yeah, tell me how you really feel!”

“You’re a naive little bitch and I don’t know why the fuck I’m even here anymore! You’re probably fucking that Maybank bitch anyway!” Rafe shot back, backing you into a wall. and you froze.

Tears stung your eyes as you made your next move. You didn’t intend to but your hand raises and Rafe received a slap across his smug face.

“Did- did you just hit me?” He said, disbelief apparent in his voice. His eyes darken, obviously more pissed as he processes it.

“Fuck you, Rafe Cameron. I hate you. Don’t talk to me ever again and I mean that.”

“Y/n wait-” But you’re gone.

Your next encounter with Rafe occurs at the Boneyard during a party. You sit, tucked into JJ’s side on a log. You turn to him, kissing his cheek and ask, sweetly, “Do you want another drink, love?”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks babe.”

You smile in return and stand, going to get two more drinks. As you do so, a man takes notice of you. You start to get drinks for you and JJ as he speaks to you.

“Hey pretty lady, what’s your name?” He asks, and you internally sigh.

“Not interested,” you reply.

“Oh come on, you don’t even know-”

“She said she’s not interested.” A gruff voice comes from behind the man. The voice doesn’t belong to your boyfriend though, it belongs to none other than your protector, Rafe Cameron.

No longer than a minute later, the man is on the ground and Rafe is approaching you.

“You gotta be more careful, I-”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” You speak up, getting pissed, remembering your prior fight.

“I was trying to help,” Rafe replies, his eyes darkening, “Don’t be a bitch.”

“I’m not your problem anymore!” You snap, “So who am I offending now?” Emotions run wild throughout the both of you, the intensity of the situation getting to you.

“You stepped out the side door! You didn’t even hear me out! You never gave a warning sign!” Rafe yells, your conversation getting a bit of attention from the people on the beach.

“I gave so many signs! I saw my opportunity to leave and took it, don’t give me metaphorical bullshit!”

You had given many signs, subtly pulling away from Rafe over the years, trusting him less and less.

“I can’t read your mind, I never learned to read your mind!” Rafe yells back, “I love you so much! You know that!”

“We’ve done this so many times, Rafe..” You mutter, your voice tired, “We’ve had this same fight a million times over in different words. I think I’ve seen this film before and I didn’t like the ending.”

“Please..just one more chance. Y/n please..I’m begging you. There is no amount of crying that I can do for you.”

“I love you, but you’re in exile, Rafe. Maybe in the future.” You simply reply and move past him, going to look for JJ.

You gave so many signs.

#obx #outerbanks #rafe cameron #rafe fic #rafe #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron imagine #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #rafe imagine

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rozugold · 1 month

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Ok ramble time

Ok imagine you’re Tubbo. You just got your distant brother figure and your bestie off that damn mountain, though not in the most ideal way (I will make those comics eventuallyyy)

But that’s beside the point. You saved your best friend! You did something right for once! Except sike! your best friend hates you now, and you kind of hate him too (you let him know as much) then you guys stop talking. Which is fine, i mean, it’s not like he was your entire world.

You return to Snowchester! It’s a ghost town, obviously. There’s a memorial of you, decorated with fresh flowers and dusty knick knacks. The flowers are from Ranboo, he’s pretty sweet. He’s also been the one to upkeep your town while you were gone. You hang out with them a lot, they’re the only one who sticks around these days. They’re pretty sweet.

You try to go back to doing the things you did before you died. There’s those nukes you never finished making, so you work on them. And you work on them. And you work on them. And you get nothing done. Your brain feels scattered and far away, it’s impossible to focus. So you give it a break, you can afford to. It’s pretty safe these days with Dream gone, you know because you keep tabs on everyone on the server. There’s some strange things going on here and there but nothing too concerning. You hang out with Ranboo more.

Ah fuck, you two find a baby. It’s a piglin, infected but not fully zombified as it has enough thought to run up to you two for help. So you take it back to snowchester and give it potions to stop the infection. Ranboo is worried it won’t work, you tell him it probably won’t. But you reassure him that if it doesn’t, you’ll take it back to the nether to let it “live” out the rest of it’s days. (Do zombies live?) Ranboo spends the night in your attic with the piglin. He’s pretty sweet. Regardless you tell him to not keep his hopes up too high.

Next morning, it worked! You “dub thee Michael!” Ranboo is relieved. There’s a kid living in your house now.

There’s a kid living in his house now. The timeline becomes unclear at this point since I’m still figuring it out. But now that Michael is in the picture Tubbo starts getting worried. He realizes he has no way of protecting him. Maybe the syndicate come visit Snowchester and that shocks him into thinking about the nukes again. And so Tubbo starts throwing himself into projects again. And it starts getting ✨bad ✨

Honestly, It’s been really fun figuring out how Tubbo deteriorates because everything is so internal with him compared to Tommy. It’s obvious with Tommy, you could see him visibly fall apart (think his exile skins, he stops feeding himself, he doesn’t care when he takes damage) But with Tubbo it isn’t so obvious, atleast not right away. Sure his eye bags get darker and he stares off into space for a little too long. But he still looks put together. (Habitable maybe. Or a learned skill.)

Maybe he eventually gets the nukes working but they’re not as successful as he wanted them to be and that guts him. He takes it as another failure. What if he’s just cursed? Is everything he cares about forever doomed to feel like holding water in his hands? What is wrong with him?

I’m gonna share a song and explain this next part using its lyrics because I’m so ILL over it, it’s the most di!tubbo song ever. Throw on …Well, better than the alternative by Will Wood 👍

Tubbo’s feelings towards Michael is complicated… He absolutely loves him to death but he’s really apprehensive about being a dad. He has this fear that he’s going to somehow corrupt Michael and or fail to keep him safe. So he ends up becoming emotionally distant from him and at his worst he gives him up completely to Ranboo.

I think Ranboo and Tubbo get married as a joke at first. But Ranboo continues to love him so unconditionally and honestly and Tubbo catches a crush, which is absolute HELL for him at first sjdhdj. I imagine him being arospec so this crush is a completely new and surprising feeling and he doesn’t know how to handle it. So he doesn’t, and keeps playing it as a joke even as their relationship develops.

Also the repeat of “everybody’s up on everybody’s business” is very fitting for describing the server. There’s things to be developed here I just haven’t yet… I’m just thinking about the possibilities like the egg, the syndicate, las nevadas… hmmm

This song is begging to be made into an animatic because I can imagine Tubbo screaming at Tommy during this part. He was just trying to help the best way he could… yet things still end badly, and everyone ends up hurt… di!clingy oh di!clingy, they’re such a mess. A bitter, angry, grieving mess. Wait ok i wasn’t planning on writing grieving there but then my next thought was “who are they grieving?” EACH OTHER. THEY’RE GRIEVING EACH OTHER. o(-(

Ok that’s it. Phew that was a lot of writing. Here’s some drawings for your time

#distorted illusions #rozu thoughts #I’m so normal about my aus I swear

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mrsstarkey1 · 1 year

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exile - rafe cameron

SUMMARY: six months after the breakup, rafe sees you at a party. based on 'exile' by taylor swift

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

WARNINGS: angsty as a mf, curse words

a/n: check out my most recent rafe fic !

---

I can see you standing, honey

With his arms around your body

Laughin', but the joke's not funny at all

And it took you five whole minutes

To pack us up and leave me with it

Holdin' all this love out here in the hall

I think I've seen this film before

Rafe let out a scoff as his eyes finally landed what he was looking for since he’d set foot on the beach. You.

And him. Whoever the fuck he was.

‘Pathetic excuse for a rebound’ was what Rafe decided to call him in his head. Your distraction from him, it had to be.

The rebound had his arms wrapped tightly around you, whispering something intently in your ear. Rafe watched as you threw your head back with a hearty laugh, turning your head slightly to whisper something back to him. He examined your smile, the way your nose scrunched up and your dimples made themselves known. He couldn't remember the last time he saw that smile up close.

Rafe looked down at the sand, unable to stomach the sight anymore.

I can see you starin', honey

Like he's just your understudy

Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me

Second, third, and hundredth chances

Balancin' on breaking branches

Those eyes add insult to injury

I think I've seen this film before

And I didn't like the ending

You leaned back against your boyfriends chest, staring out into the ocean. “Beautiful night tonight, isn’t it?” you asked, taking in the sight.

You felt him nod, “mhm. Someone seems to think we’re a more interesting view,” he said, subtly gesturing to where you’d seen Rafe sit down about ten minutes ago.

“I saw him,” you said quietly, averting your eyes quicker than you’d directed them toward him. “Just look away,” you told him simply.

You didn’t have to see him to know exactly what was going through Rafe’s head; that this was temporary; that all he had to do was apologize and promise it would all be different; that he could without a doubt take your boyfriend in a fight.

While the latter may be true, the others couldn’t be more wrong. It had been nearly six months since you forced yourself to walk out of Tannyhill for the last time. You made yourself a promise that day. That you'd never go back; you'd never let Rafe's eyes beg you for another chance; you'd never give into that temptation to let him try to fix everything.

You had to break the never-ending cycle before it was you that ended up broken.

All this time

I never learned to read your mind (never learned to read my mind)

I couldn't turn things around (you never turned things around)

'Cause you never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs)

“I’m gonna go get us another drink,” your boyfriend said, breaking you out of your trance. You simply nodded, and he placed a kiss on your cheek before heading toward one of the coolers in the sand.

Before you could help yourself, your eyes trailed over to where Rafe had been sitting; now just an empty chair in the sand. Your eyes narrowed as you scanned the beach for him, ultimately coming up empty.

Just as you let out a sigh of relief, you felt a presence behind you. You turned around, preparing yourself to face who you knew would be there. "Who's the guy?" Rafe wasted no time asking.

He stared down at the sand, moving it around with his feet, awaiting a response. He couldn’t bear to look at you when you talked about him. “His name is Ryan," you said plainly, offering no emotion in your words. You spoke to him as if he was a stranger.

"Come on y/n, what are you doing with this guy?”

“We’re together, Rafe,” you said, watching as his jaw clenched at your words. “And he treats me well,” you added.

Rafe’s eyes shot up to you, “what you-you’re saying I didn’t treat you well? What didn’t I do for you?” he asked, perplexed by the idea that this Ryan guy could be better for you than he was.

You scoffed in disbelief, “oh come on, Rafe. You know how you were when we were together. You never put me first, it was always about what you wanted. Ryan puts me first.”

“How am I supposed to know what you want? I cant read your fucking mind, y/n,” Rafe's voice raised, taking a step toward you. The people around you to started become aware of the heated argument, taking a couple steps away from you.

A scoff escaped your lips, and you shook your head, “that’s the point, Rafe! You don’t know me. I made it so fucking obvious that I was miserable.”

Rafe flinched at your tone, shuffling back in the sand, "miserable?" he repeated back to you softly, clearly wounded by the word. "How was I supposed to know you were so unhappy?” his eyes narrowed in confusion, begging for an explanation.

Looking at him now, you could see that he truly believed that you had no reason to leave him, that it was a shock that you walked out.

You shook your head, letting your arms fall to your sides, “I showed so many signs Rafe,” you spoke quieter now, so incredibly sick of the same fight over and over again. “You always just see what you want to see, I guess. I couldn’t do the same dance with you anymore Rafe, I had to get out.”

Rafe let out a defeated breath, finally staring into your eyes since the day you’d walked out. His arms dropped to his sides, all of his defenses shot down at the undeniable truth in front of him; your eyes held no love for him anymore.

He didn’t see it before. He didn’t let himself see it, but he saw it now, clear as day. You were standing mere feet in front of him, but yet completely out of his reach. He’d lost you.

“You’re just going to give up on us?” he asked weakly, body deflating into practically nothing. His eyes stayed trained on yours, desperately begging for a response that would put some life back in him.

"Rafe," you breathed out, shaking your head slowly. "There is no us anymore."

“Come on, you- you can’t really mean that,” Rafe let out shakily, taking a small step toward you. “Not after everything we’ve been through. What about all those good months we spent together? You were happy then, y/n, I know you were.”

“I was,” you said with a small nod, lips still pressed in a thin line. “But those months were pointless, Rafe, because they didn’t change anything,” you said with a quick shake of your head. “A lot like this conversation,” you added, an exasperated sigh leaving your lips.

Rafe’s eyes moved to your face one last time, the look he saw instantly making him regret ever coming over to talk to you in the first place. Your gaze was cold and distant, almost seeming bored by the conversation. Rafe looked at you as you looked right through him, as if he wasn’t even there. Your eyes fixated on something behind him, expression changing slightly.

Without another word, you walked right past him, bumping his shoulder with yours as if you hadn’t just ripped out his heart and stepped on it.

You left him standing there, forced to watch as you walked away for the last time, taking every piece of his heart with you.

I think i've seen this film before

And I didn't like the ending

taglist: @rafes-bae @willowpains @maybankslover @housekeeperjjswife @addisbooks

REQUESTS OPEN!!

check out my obx masterlist || taylor swift song inspired fics || most recent fic

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