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liveontelevision · 3 months

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The Truth | Slow-burn Lucifer x Reader

Ok, i'm high, and it's late, so im posting this here without an ending just to let some people see this. Im wondering if anyone would be interested in a multi part series with this premise? It'll have its romance and fluff and smut, but i feel like theres alot to disect from this.

Unedited.

Heaven has been, and will continue to be, difficult with this redemption project. It took years for them to set up any sort of communication system with Charlie to even tell her when Sinners were redeemed. And even then, the best they could offer was a large counter hanging across the marquee outside the hotel. It simply said Redeemed Souls scribbled across the top and essientally would *ding!* every time a soul would ascend. There was no warning. Residents would simply disappear; all their belongings were left behind, and it happened while asleep or when demons died. Instead of resurrecting like all wayward sinners do, they would simply.. not. It would get gruesome at times, seeing a demon die and simply not get back up.

Still, the numbers grew. After the hotel was proven to work, sinners were essientally packing the rooms. And when more demons were redeemed, Charlie would take notes on their progess and apply it to future excersises. It was finally a thriving business! Charlie did it.

You had heard of the hotel's success a few months after the counter was installed and would occasionally walk by to see the number go up. It felt like you were trying to convince yourself to just go in, but something, maybe doubt, would always stop you. Your life was similar to an average sinner (drugs, sex, alcohol), but even those who have done worse were going to Heaven.

What was stopping you?

For once, the streets actually looked barren. Of course, it still had enough flow for regular business. Not everyone was buying into the redemption thing, but it definitely couldn't compare to the bustling streets you were used to. This made you uneasy. Friends and local business owners, you became aquintances with disappeared suddenly. It was deathly quiet. Discomfort aside, how could you possibly be upset about sinners becoming sparce?

You gave in. Almost all your hellbound friends were gone. If they could do it, so could you. Maybe that was another reason sinners attended the hotel; sheer loneliness.

You packed up the little belongings you had and approached the hotel after avoiding it for the past few months. The number was in the thousands at this point. Why did that make you so uneasy? Pushing those feelings aside, you entered the hotel and were met with dozens of friendly faces. The lobby had become a giant bustling hub with a bar, and there were some classroom type areas down a hall, you assumed for activities. Lively jazz music was playing softly throughout the area, echoeing against the ivory walls adorning red banners. It seemed like some kind of conference was being held here, but this was just how the hotel looked at its peak.

You were quickly ushered to a front desk, an imp checking you in and handing you a folder filled with paperwork and pamphlets.

After being shown to your room on one of the higher floors, assuming the rooms below were all filled, you were met with the sweet aroma of freshly baked apples. It seemed to come directly from your room, but peeking inside, you noticed there was no sign of even a personal kitchen. Before you could even ask, the imp who led you to your room ran through their scripted introduction.

"Your room number is 5 and is located on the 67th floor if you missed it. If you get lost, just make sure you head as far as you can go down the corridor to the left. It's closer to Lucifer's office than Alastor's studio, so keep that in mind as well. The room was personalized to your liking the moment you checked in, so all you need to do is unpack your belongings."

The imp droaned on, clearly exhuasted from saying these directions to every sinner that comes through.

"Any questions -"

"Well, I-"

"Can be answered in the lobby."

Your quizzative appearance drooped to an irrated one. You barely processed anything they said as you stepped into the room, feeling such a nostalgic warmth. The apple scent from before had dulled to a more comfortable level, and the room was filled to the brim with an aesethic that you would dream of having when you were alive. Suns and moons decorated the walls through hanging pieces, tapestries, and beaded artwork. The lights were always dimmed, and your bed was plush with an absurd amount of decorative pillows. Your desk doubled as a vanity with adjustable lights just in case, and your bathroom was large. Already stocked with your favorite soaps, oils, and washes, you suddenly had the urge to take a bath. You decided against it, just taking in the heavenly room. Maybe that was a part of the whole process, pure comfort.

You had so many questions about the redemption process. After plopping down at your smooth wood desk, you began to look through the thick pile of paperwork that you'd been holding this whole time. Inside, it held your room key, 67th Floor, Room #5. You pocketed that in the meantime, flipping through a pamphlet provided. "Wayward sinners, welcome! Explore the history of Hell and the redemption process! Keep in touch with demonic friends as you ascend! Be Better!" The bright text made your eyes squint, quickly scanning it before setting that aside. It's something you've seen on the streets before, nothing new. You finally look at some of the paperwork. There were rules, like no weapons or drugs, avoiding flings, etc. Then there were policies.. your room was searched on occasion with consent. If you were found to be a frequent drug user, you had a daily limit for drinks at the bar. Those made you cringe. It's a bit controlling, but for a greater cause, I guess.

Then, you reached the bolded text Redemption.

It had almost no details about what Heaven was actually like, but there were rules. Lots of rules. These papers were almost glowing, and it looked like they were written in golden ink. These must have been provided by Heaven. They warned that "the divine light will choose you when it finds you worthy" and "you won't need any belongings in Heaven" and a specific section that made you shiver.

"Heaven is a place for winners. Once you've joined the angels, all memories from Hell will become void. Memories from Hell could bring distraught and discomfort to previously residing angels."

Who would want this? What have you gotten yourself into?

•••••

There were mandatory meetings you would begrudgingly go to. There were other demons in a similar state and others who were running to attend every activity possible. They must not have read the paperwork, too frantic to be saved. Or were they okay with it? You shake your head, honestly trying to forget those readings any chance you get. A lot of the New Resident meetings were basically warnings that this is a place of rehabilitation. You'll be put through scenarios similar to A.A. or interventions. You'll have control over your privacy, but "we at the hotel are determined to get you to heaven!" So, they'll occasionally do random check ins and such.

After one of your beginner trust exercises, you roamed the halls, peaking in occasionally to see what others were doing. There were activities like yoga, crafts, therapy sessions, it was.. great..

You'd see the founders around. They were speakers at larger conferences, Charlie, Vaggie, and Alastor were far too busy to attend every exercise with this number of residents. There were optional lecture areas, one of them being The History of Hazbin Hotel. After attending from pure curiousity and boredom, you got a good understanding of who all the founders were and their role in the system. There was a nice section on the first 2 souls accepted to heaven. Sir Pentious, previously a murderous death machine inventor and operator, and Angel Dust, previously a drug addicted, porn star.

They wrote it to make them seem worse than they were when they first arrived, probably to make redemption seem more achievable. It made you cringe. You listened on, hearing about Charlie's uprising and her childhood. And her father.

You read the same storybook that Charlie would use to ease her nerves in the past. Lucifer, who was banished to hell, forced to see the wicked and evil outcome of free will. Lucifer, who lost the will the dream. Why would this man want to send his people to such a horrid place? Thinking back on it, you did notice that he wasn't really involved in any activities or was even seen around the hotel. Even Charlie, you'd cross on rare occasions in the halls. She had truly become a beautiful and powerful demon, you'd think, reminiscing on the choatic news broadcast she was on that you watched years ago.

You developed a sort of dissonance for Lucifer. Sure, he was the most powerful being in Hell and physically rebuilt this hotel and its success, but he didn't make sense. It seemed like he hated heaven. How could he not? He was banished from his home by his own brothers, just for loving and dreaming. And he wants to send people right to their door? It just baffled you. Very slowly, it became an obsession. What was his deal? You learned about his life through meetings and lectures, pamphlets, and even material from the infinite library they provided. Your desk was quick to become a mess of books and notepads you'd use. You rarely left your room, making sure to avoid any activities that involved "making friends." That sounded so stupid to you. You'll make friends with demons, then assend just to forget them? You couldn't have been the only demon questioning this whole situation, so why were sinners even here? You spiraled. This whole operation was beginning to make your head spin.

•••

Time went on, and while your mental state was improving, it still didn't break your hyperfixation on where this hotel could've gone wrong. It used to be small and friendly, some sinners would stay, some would give up, and some ascended without them even knowing. But now, it was a bonified operation. Something had to happen in the meantime to change its course so drastically. And you wanted to find out.

On average, sinners were in the hotel anywhere from 6 months to 2 years. A year has passed since you arrived, and while you kicked any addictioms you had, you weren't one to participate in many activities. This obsession drove you mad, clouding any thoughts of redemption you might've had. You had even been appointed a therapist for one on one sessions, which you would go to begrudgingly. You'd spin tails about your life and make it seem like a nostalgic bliss that you wanted to return to, buttering it up for this stranger in front of you. That gave them enough of a distraction to keep them from questioning your research. After this painfully long year, seeing hundreds come and go, you realized you had to go to the top. It seemed like the King of Hell may be the only one who might understand you. In a desperate attempt to get any comfort in your overthinking, you'd talk to other sinners about your thoughts, but they rarely gave you the time of day, like you were a babbling maniac. Because you were a babbling maniac.

But Lucifer? He has to understand. There has to be a reason he's not openly participating in the hotel. But he's here, right down your hall even. It was never as easy as walking up to his office and just questioning him, no matter how often you tried. It was either locked, or you could hear voices from inside. When the door was open, the office was spotless, and no one was inside. This was around meal times, breakfast most often and late into the night. Sometimes, you go inside to snoop and hope that maybe he'd walk in on you and you'd be forced into a conversation before he'd eventually kicked you out. That never happened.

It was a late night for you. There was a gala going on in the lobby, celebrating the 10th reunion of the hotel's renovation or something like that. Of course you didn't go, you were too busy hunched over the paperwork sprawled across your bed. It was a compilation of policies from the papers you got on your first day, random notebook pages and scribbles, and some photos collected from a variety of magazines. You'd essentially given up trying to look presentable. Your hair always tied sloppily out of your face and mainly wearing oversized sweatshirts and shorts that would disappear under the flow of your sweaters. You paced across your room. Every time you stopped to look at your work, you'd become riled up and continued to walk in circles.

"None of it makes sense! What the actual Fuck is wrong with Hell??" You spoke out loud, stopping in your tracks to look at your weakened state in the mirror on your vanity. Suddenly, tears began to run down your cheeks before you could even feel yourself choke up.

"What's wrong with me..?"

You looked back down to your bed and let out a growl, swiping all the papers off your bed in a frenzy. Random papers floated around you, frustration collecting in your body as a headache. You rubbed your temples with a sigh before taking a walk outside the room. You went to a vending machine that was provided on each floor, that had essientally anything you could want as a midnight snack. Along with some other necessities, you used some cash to get painkillers and a bag of gummy candy. Sauntering back to your room, you noticed a trail of your research peaking out your open door. You must've left it open in a hurry. You followed those papers that definitely weren't there before, to see a figure standing in front of your bed, some of the papers in hand. Your stomach dropped, just the sight of someone seeing your vulnerability made you flush.

"H-Hey! I left my door open, but that doesn't mean you can.. just -" your voice trailed off, catching red glowing eyes in your dimly lit room. It was fucking Lucifer. He blinked, his demon red eyes returning to a soft yellow. You had no idea how to react to this sudden encounter, scanning anything in the room to change the subject.

"Your Highness! Right, uh.. Good evening.. sir..? Erm.. How can I help you..?" You attempted to talk to him like you hadnt been secretly wanting this for months. After you managed to finally make eye contact with him, you noticed it; he was crying. Both of you squint at the sudden brightness hitting you, as you turn on your overhead light.

Thick, wet tears fell from his incredibly tired eyes. He looked like a mess. He wore what would've been an incredibly formal and modern tuxedo get up, but was soiled by his stature. His blazer had fallen off his shoulders, revealing a half tucked, wrinkled, black dress shirt that clashed with his porcelain skin. His shirt was unbottoned a good deal, and the tie loosely dangled undone. His face was worse. His eyes were incredibly heavy, those tears still trailing from his eyes to the bottom of his chin. The golden locks that looked so quaffed on magazine covers were a mess as well, strands falling loosely across his eye line. You noticed a soft pink across his entire face and a slight sway to his stance. Once you approached him a little closer, the smell of alcohol immediately hit you. This angel was plastered.

You look at the papers in his hand. One held a very aggressively scribbled picture of his face from a magazine, and the other held an antonized page from the handbook you received on day one. Just from those papers alone, you could understand your motivations. The redemption policy was scrutinized and scribbled over with phrases, "What does this have to do with redemption?" "What happens to your memories?" "Who's really running things?"

On the picture of Lucifer, a large red phrase across the front;

"How could he let this happen?"

You wince, immediately recognizing what information he's taken in.

"You're right.. Fuck, you're right. How did i let things get this far? What would Charlie think if she- Damn it!" He was muttering under his breath, not understanding his intentions.

"I'm sorry, it's such a mess in here, i wasnt expecting guests." You stop yourself, using defensive sarcasm probably wasnt the best move here. "Uh.. you can- um.. here.. " you fumble around your things and finally clear off your desk chair, beckoning the king to sit. He stumbles, his bottom hitting the seat with a thud as it begins to roll back from the force. You let out a nervous chuckle, beginning to neatly pile up the papers on your bed until you had a place to sit, facing him from the edge of your bed." I'm.. sorry, that you saw all this.. it's just crazy.. shit.. I'll get rid of it." You apologized like a kid who got caught stealing. Lucifer slowly blinked his eyes before wiping his tears with the cuff of his shirt, sniffling quietly.

You quickly reached past him to take a nearby tissue box and plop it in his lap. You sat silently, his ragging breath and sniffles filling the quietness of the room. He collected himself enough to process what you had said. "Oh! No, nono need to. Not any of my business what you do in.. your own.. room.." he looked around and cleared his throat before realizing the irony in his words. "I apologize, i shouldnt be in a random sinners room at this hour. I'll be on my way." He spoke as clearly as he could, being drunk and sobbing only moments ago. He stumbled to stand as he attempts to dust off his already askewed suit. He turns his back to you, beginning to leave.

"No! Shit- I - excuse me.. Mr.. Lucifer.. Sir..." You quickly stand and reach your arm out in his direction. He turns on his heels, acting as regal as he could, considering the situation. "This.. mess... this is.. all I've been thinking about since i came here... this hotel..? Is a fucking prison! How can heaven be so stubborn that they have to bring their rules and policies down to Hell? I dont understand how you could -" Your voice became increasingly aggressive as you realize you were about to scold him for your theories. You begin to shrink into yourself, believing this powerful being would kill you on the spot for such disobedience.

Lucifer was looking at you, dumbfound, at the intense passion you were imitting from your words. He realized how much you were cowering in his presence, and the feeling was extra reminiscent of his time in heaven. People above him, glaring upon his dreams with disgust and him not having anything to say. He shook his head and placed a hand on your shoulder. He did his best to send a smile your way, but he wasn't sure how that worked out in his state. "You're right. This hotel has become a god damn nightmare. I wish i could say more, but it's been a looong night." He drawls out his words before using the hand on your shoulder to keep his balance. You took his arm and hesitantly wrapped it around your shoulder, attempting to brace him up as you walk towards his office. It wasnt that far, just right down the hall, it shouldnt be an issue as long as no one sees you." Mmy name is Lucifer- oh, oh! This here, this is my room." He eargly pokes his finger at his obviously labeled door. "Okay Lucifer, think you'll be okay from here?" You try to talk with confidence, while you process that the king of hell is using you to stay on his feet. He nods and opens the door, stepping in with a sigh of relief. He spins around on his feet to face you from the doorframe.

"Be here tomorrow. At lunch. I'll tell you everything." His voice was stern and clear, and you couldn't tell if that was from the alcohol or not. He sways away and grins his toothy grin, saying, "Good night!" He shuts the door before you have a chance to respond. Could that have been drunken babbling? If it wasn't.. what does he know?

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #lucifer hazbin #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer magne #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel smut #eventual smut

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ellaa-writes · 8 months

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Good Dög

authors note: Part 2, part 1 here. In the same Universe as The Beast Within series. Can't wait to expanded the world more. But anyways, enjoy! :) (wow did not notice i reached 200 followers!)

summary: His favourite words include; down boy, good dog, heel, fetch and his most favourite, get 'em. Well trained, and listens good. Loyal through and through. Always striving to be the absolute best. Ready to attack at all times, always on guard. Loves discipline, either giving or receiving. Working for a criminal mastermind, lurking in the shadows. You both trying not to be seen or noticed but after one unlucky night, all you both can see are the ghosts. He invades your life, if you both like it or not.

tags: Alternative Universe. A/b/o dynamics. Female reader. Lots of trauma in this one. Mentions of a dead body. Mentions of weapons, self defense. Reader has a panic attack. Simon saves the day once again. Slightly stalking Simon. not proof read

Two weeks passed since that fateful night at the corner store. Your days were filled with nightmares, and those eyes and that voice were always there to save you. Too pull you back into the light, always waking up with your heart pounding.

The police realeased your belonging back to you, you didn't bother telling anyone. If you did they would just urge you to seek out help, to talk to someone. But you can't afford that right now, you were already overworking yourself trying to save up enough money to move out of this hell hole.

Two weeks and not a word from him, Simon. You laid awake most mornings and nights, wondering what he was doing and if he thought about you to.

You felt silly for thinking that, sure Beta and Alpha relationships were common. Hell your parents were in a Beta/Alpha relationship. But you always felt unworthy, never meeting someone that sparked your interest as much as that Alpha did.

You had a few days off, only because the law required it. But if it was up to your employer you would have been working today.

You decided to get out of your apartment, to go for a walk, to try and not thinking about the cold steel on your throat and that evil smile. Anytime it crept into your mind you would wipe it away. Shove it back down with all the other shit you refused to face.

It was a beautiful day in the city, lucky for you it was a weekend. People littered the streets, groups walking together and chatting. The restaurants had their patios open, only if you had friends you thought. You'd be out there, drinking your fancy drink, eating your fancy food and smiling and laughing. Reminiscing about the good ol' days, but you had none of that. Instead you watched from a far, wishing that one day you'd wake up in a new body, new life.

But that never got you far. You've always been a keep your head down and don't stay for long type of gal. Having been alone in this world for longer than you remember not being.

You lost your mother young, and your dad left all together. Not wanting to raise a child by himself, being a single widowed father. Instead he forgot about you and met someone else. Started a new family, one where you weren't in the picture.

Living in foster care after foster care, until your turned of age and was pushed out into this unforgiving world.

You found yourself staring at the people, laughing and enjoying their time. You were staring for too long, sometimes lost in your own world. Taking your eyes off the people out on the patio, you began casing things out.

Since the accident, you've been on edge more. Keeping a small pocket knife on you at all time, and a can of bear mace. As regular mace wouldn't take down a drugged up Alpha.

As you were looking around you noticed something, or someone. The eyes that haunted your dreams, staring at you from across the street. The same eyes and voice from the corner store.

It couldn't be, you must be imagining it. That feeling of uneasiness creeping up from spine, your brain telling you to run. So you did, you spun around and decided this was a bad idea. Leaving your apartment was stupid. Mentally beating yourself up as you sped walked down the block. Trying to get as much distance between you and those eyes.

They didn't scare you, not intentionally. But you were seeing things, they weren't real. Taking a short cut through the back alley, not wanting to waste anymore time. You were too much in your own head, speeding down the desolate alley, not noticing the fast approaching footsteps behind you.

All you felt was the hands grabbing your arm, and in an instant you were spun around. Your bear mace in hand ready to spray at the intruder. But before you could it was knocked out of your hand. Flying into the brick wall beside you.

And there he was, Simon. It was real, you did see him. "You could kill someone like that." you snapped at him. Picking up your now busted can of bear spray. Hoping you can get another one soon. "Plan on using that on anyone?" he asked. His voice just as husky as the first time you heard it. Your heart skipped a beat, holding in the breath you just took, your core getting tingly.

"Well not anymore." you huffed, shoving the broken can into your bag. "Had anymore run ins?" he asked, noticing the small knife next to the can. "No." you were shuffling on your feet. Not wanting to be here anymore. "Just precaution." you explained.

You hated the way he was looking at you, his head tilted. He was judging you, noticing things about you that even you didn't.

The tenseness in your body, the way you were constantly looking around you, how you held your bag tight to your body. Your quick movements and that look in your eyes. The one he knew so well, the same look he'd have often.

You looked like a lost doe, eyes frantic and legs wobbly. He pitied you, knowing the inner battle raging on inside of you. One that he wish he could take away.

"How have ya been holdn' up?" he asked. Stupid question he thought. He knew from just looking at you, that if a big gust of wind were to come you'd crumble like a dry leaf in autumn.

"I uhhh-" you didn't know what to say. Do you lie to him now? "I'm getting by." you replied. Knowing that didn't fully answer his question.

You were running, not psychically but mentally. Your movements becoming more frantic, your eyes wide with fear, the lost doe cornered and trying to find a way out.

Simon knew this, as he felt it often. He did the only thing he could think of, and he wasn't sure if it was even going to work. He purred, he never purred before. Not even sure if he was doing the damn thing right, but it was pure Alpha instinct. A female in stress can sore the nose, the smell permeating far. Letting everyone know, it was old basic biology, things have evolved since then.

The purr was deep and low, sounding like a bike engine off in the distance. As he slowly stepped closer to you, making sure his shoulder were laxed and his scent enclosing around you like a bubble.

You didn't know what was happening, you felt the tightness in your chest. You began struggling to breath, wanting to dive into the garbage bin and hide. To scream, cry, kick and bite. All these emotions coursing through your body, you hands shaking. Trying to grip onto your arms, hugging yourself tight. Rubbing you neck against your shoulder. Trying anything to make this feeling go away.

Simon wrapped you in his arms, pushing your head into his chest. That's when you finally heard it, the low purring coming from it. It soothed you, making you feel like a pup being cradled by its father.

He held you tight to his chest, enclosing both of you in a bubble of his scent. Blocking out all other noise and smells. His juvenile attempt at consoling you were working, you began sucking in even and deep breaths. The tightness in your chest and back relaxing, you unwrapped your arms from yourself and wrapped them around Simon.

If you were anyone else and this was any other moment he'd he ripping your limbs off. But it was you.

The nights he'd spend wide awake, thinking about you. Everytime he closed his eyes he'd see your dead lifeless body, your dead soulless eyes staring back up at him. He couldn't sleep the first time, he had to make sure you were alright. Sneaking into a vacant apartment across the street, just to make sure she was alright, he told himself.

But it was nightly, then daily. Ignoring his own work to watch night and day. Making sure nothing could or would happen to you. He didn't know what got into himself, why he had these strong feelings towards you. What made you so special.

What made you different from the rest, you haunted him night and night out. And you were alive, so why does he keep seeing your dead body everywhere he turns.

His boss noticed he'd been quiter than normal, which is saying a lot for him. A conversation he had while sitting in his bosses office one night. He use to hate the man, seeing him as enemy number one. Making it his dying mission to take him down, to take him out.

But when shit hit the fan, and Simon was sent to prison. His years of decidated and hard work went down the drain, along with his life. He was a walking reminder, the people he considered close some even close enough to be family, all cut him off. Discarding him like he was yesterday's trash.

The man across from him in the office, sitting on the stiff leather chair. The man that went by König, he was the only one that was their for him. When he was realeased from prison, he was their at the gate. Leaning up against a black sports car. Simon thought he was dead, everyone at least still thinks he is.

He gave Simon an offer, a too good to be true offer. Turning it down, vowing to never cross that line. To go over to the other side. But after finding out that no one gave a shit, that him going to prison didn't change anything. Him taking the fall and paying the price. Just to have them all act like he never existed. So he didn't.

Death by fire, he found it fitting. He felt like his whole existence was flawed, the moment his mother became knocked up with him. A bastard growing in her belly. She left him like the rest did.

But what made you so special, it was a question that he didn't know if he'd ever get an answer to.

For two whole weeks he couldn't shake you. Lying too himself that he wasn't stalking you, that when you were gone for work, that he wasn't breaking into your place. To make sure the windows were sealed and the smoker detector wasn't low on batteries. He even fixed the buzzing from your fridge, something you did notice but chalked it up to old appliances.

If he knew any better he'd say he was infatuated with you.

With you still wrapped in his arms he brought you back to your apartment. Using your key to unlock your door, carrying you into your bedroom. Setting you down and wrapping you up. "I'll be back." he told you. Leaving for only a moment, coming back with a bag of hot food.

It was late in the night when he finally left. You were tucked into bed, everything locked and secured. He didn't like the idea of leaving you alone, but he'd be right cross the street. Having rented out the space after squatting in it for a few days. Paying for two rents wasn't ideal, but in his mind it was only tempory.

You guys talked for hours, you telling him about your past in foster care. How you saved up everything you could to move here and get this place. Only for you to now do the same so you could get out.

You told him about your dream to live out on the country side, to live a small village. To have a farm, yellow house and maybe a few pups running around. But how that dream seemed to slip away faster and faster everyday.

As he settled into postion, on the weathered chair at the window. Watching people flow in and out of the street below. His mind asked the same question it always did when he found himself in this spot. Why you? What was so special about you. But now he also thought about how he wanted to give you, your dream.

The yellow house, the farm to look after and of course the one thing he never would have wanted or thought of wanting....pups.

#cod mw2 #cod mwii #Simon ghost riley #Simon riley #Cod ghost #Ghost mw2 #Ghost mwii #ghost x female reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x female reader #a/b/o dynamics #Alpha Simon riley #Tagging #König #Cause he was mentioned lol

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girlkisser13 · 6 days

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aphrodite cabin headcanons

a/n: i know that the cabins are in order based on where each olympian sits on the olympian council but i find it funny that aphrodite is #10. get it? because she's a 10. i'll stop. 😔

children of aphrodite

• they’re the most diverse cabin at camp.

• they’re kind of like a cult.

• mean girls quotes. all day. everyday.

• they have loads of spare clothes that they lend out to new campers that arrive with nothing.

• they actually wear the least amount of makeup out of all the campers because they have the gift of natural beauty.

• they help kids work out their sexualities and make sure they’re confident and okay with them.

• they are physically incapable of misgendering people.

• trans aphrodite kids can change their appearance at will.

• they know the basics of every romance language.

• they do couples counseling.

• camp matchmakers.

• they’re the camp hairdressers and they also run a secret piercing parlor.

• sucker for romance movies.

• they have the most creative ways of swearing (“you impractical second hand prada bag").

• aphrodite gives them charmed bags that can hold ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING.

• they’re particularly fond of sweet foods. like they need a little sweet treat after every meal.

• they keep a running list of the best make out and date spots at camp.

• they’re always that person that has a tampon or pad if you need one.

• they’re the type of person that will chop off their hair if it doesn’t match their outfit.

• the cabin hosts regular beauty and self-care nights, where campers can relax and pamper themselves with facials, manicures, and other treatments.

• they are huge advocates of self love and self care. they do everything in their power to teach every single camper to love themselves.

cabin interior

• the inside is very warm and welcoming.

• there are so many pictures, posters, mirrors, and shelves that you can barely see the paint.

• lowkey feels like you’re walking into a bath & body works.

• their cabin is filled with scented candles.

• pop music constantly plays in the background and everything in there is expensive as hell.

• their beds are tailored to each camper’s exact taste. so it’s a bizarre mix of furniture from a fluffy bed with 16 pillows to a bed that looks like it belongs in a prison.

• aphrodite charmed it so that it is bigger on the inside.

• there is a walk-in, expanding, closet where you put old clothes you don't want anymore and other siblings can come and get some new clothes if they need them (other campers are welcome whenever invited. It happens more often than it should)

cabin exterior

• instead of being a life size barbie dreamhouse like it’s described in the books, its very subtle, and natural, and soft.

• the outside is pink, but such a pale pink that it looks white unless the right light is hitting it.

• there is natural ivy growing on each wall and onto the roof. It wraps around shutters and the frames of the doors.

• it almost looks like a small manor and like it should have been built on some far off hill that is surrounded by flower fields for miles.

cabin traditions

• at the beginning of every summer, everyone (if they feel comfortable) gets in front of the rest of the cabin and gives names, pronouns, and sexuality.

• there is an item from every sibling that has lived in the cabin somewhere on the walls. all of the pictures, posters, things on the shelves are placed there by a past sibling.

• there's a hook where, if your jewelry breaks in the cabin, you tie it off and hang it there. there is a necklace made of leather with a hundred year old stone heart on the hook.

#percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #pjo #hoo #pjo hoo toa #pjo fandom #hoo fandom #pjo series #hoo series #pjo tv show #pjo disney+#pjo cabins #aphrodite #aphrodite cabin #cabin 10 #children of aphrodite

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cerastes · 1 year

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I love Kazemaru, man, she’s so funny conceptually.

Kazemaru is a former Higashi ninja, now Rhodes Island Operator, and she specializes in espionage and intelligence work, but is also a capable combatant. Nothing out of the ordinary so far, and her reason for joining Rhodes Island? “A clash between her own views and the new head's business goals”. Here’s where a little elaboration is necessary:

Kazemaru is a ninja, with all that entails: Espionage, assassination, sabotage, bodyguarding, you name it, Kazemaru did it, she did it with pride, she did it with professionalism. When serving her old lord, Kazemaru was right at home, having been trained since she was a child by her ninja parents to be one of the lord’s ninja. Now, here’s where you may think “Oh, but the constant ninja business, the espionage, the assassinations, the harrowing life of the underworld... It got to her, and she moved to a place where she could use her skills to help people instead, Rhodes Island, like some of the other repentant assassins, right?”

Nope! She fucking loved being a ninja! She REALLY REALLY liked that lifestyle!

Head covered in mud, tailing a target for days on end, sabotaging an enemy organization, making them lose everything... It was her life. Kazemaru truthfully thrived in this environment. For instance, when she just started at Rhodes Island, she’d beeline for the conference room to regurgitate mountains of information for Kal’tsit and others.

But what Kazemaru didn’t consider was the power of the children of Rhodes Island:

By chance, they found out that Kazemaru has the power to make origami constructs move (which is how she makes her clones) and they thought it was the dopest shit ever, so they were like “PLEASE TEACH US” and battle-hardened ninja veteran Kazemaru was like “oh damn I can’t just leave them hanging, that would complicate the workplace situation maybe, that’s SUB-OPTIMAL, I will just act friendly a bit and then move on”, except OOPS she ends up really loving these children so now she legitimately is smiling and having fun with them.

So then... Why DID she come to Rhodes Island in the first place?

Well, her old lord passed away, presumably due to old age and illness, and then the young lord succeeded him. Kazemaru was ready to ninja her heart out for her lord’s successor, ready to give it her ALL. Instead, the young lord, well, went legit and turned the underworld organization into a legitimate business. He hit Kazemaru with the You Are Now An OL Beam.

And she hated every last second of it.

Day in and day out, office work, meetings, cordialities, idle smiles, plastic hearts. Her skills dulled to the point where a flower pot fell from a window and landed square on her head. So Kazemaru stood there, owned in front of the girls, bits of the pot and soil and some of her blood all trickling down from her head, and she said “ENOUGH”. She went to her young lord and said “hey this fucking sucks dude I HATE being an OL. RELEASE me.”

Because Kazemaru is that kind of person.

And she got her freedom.

And she couldn’t be happier to be back where one mistake can be the end of it all. Because Kazemaru simply is that kind of person.

And you couldn’t possibly tell at first glance! She is legitimately a very nice, sweet, stylish girl! But the moment there is some semblance of peace, of stability in her life, it gnaws at her. Is she becoming dull? Is that thrilling danger truly gone? Is this right? And the answer is always, no, this isn’t right. The stillness of peace can’t sate her. The clashing of bone and sinew, the embrace of the shadows, and thrill of espionage... That’s what Kazemaru lives for. Hell, she even offers Doctor to gather intel for them almost for funsies:

It’s just delightfully ironic that the person whose job is to be secretive and a shadow is so immensely open, so transparent, so easy to understand, she doesn’t even particularly keep it a secret.

“Yeah, the new lord tore up the oaths and made us sign regular contracts instead, then gave us office work. I hated every single second of it.”

The only real question is... Why Rhodes Island? We actually don’t know. Her Module elaborates just a bit further into this turn of events: When her young lord eventually approved of her release, he specifically told her “alright, sure, you can go, BUT you should consider Rhodes Island.”

It might be that this young lord is a business partner/ally of Rhodes Island to some capacity and we might learn more of him and the company when we eventually cover Higashi.

So Kazemaru is really, really good at her job, really enjoys living in the jaws of danger, and when her young lord, possibly with good intentions, thrusts her and her colleagues into a peaceful life where they don’t need to risk their lives in dangerous missions anymore, she hates it so much she can’t bear it anymore, because some people simply are born to be steeped in danger and shadows, and you can’t take that away from them. And it doesn’t stop them from being very nice, sweet people! But when all is said and done, where Kazemaru belongs is in the shadow, mere inches away from a mistake that could end her life, at the border of life and death.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Kazemaru and Mlynar should have a conversation in which they complain about HATING being OLs. 4 uninterrupted cutscenes in which they just shit talk office work nonstop, in a Rhodes Island hallway, making it REALLY awkward for a bunch of characters that just wanna go to the other side of the hallway.

#arknights #kazemaru

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foone · 5 months

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I don't have a story to for them yet, but I wanted to write this down so I don't forget: my One Hundred and One Magical Pistols setting has an animal called Cyclic Cats.

They externally look much like earth/regular cats (which also exist in this setting), except their fur always has red/orange patterns in it, though sometimes they're mostly black and you can only tell them apart from regular cats by the redness of their toebeans.

They have the same diet and attitude to humans as regular cats, but their life cycle is very different: they're not born live, they hatch from eggs. These eggs are usually hatched within their parents' old skin.

See, Cyclic Cats molt. They shed their old skin when they reproduce. The original cat lays a sort of caterpillar cacoon and the shed skin will be attached to it. After a few days, the cacoon breaks and a kitten (looking much like a kitten of a regular cat, but not a newborn: they're about the size of a newly weaned kitten) will hatch from it, but this isn't the offspring of the cat: it's the same cat, just reverted to kitten form. If the cat laid fertilized eggs, they'll hatch from the body of the shed skin. They'll appear similar to their parent, but smaller and more like a newborn regular-cat kitten.

These hatchlings are blind like regular cats, but don't feed of their parent, at least not directly. Cyclic Cats aren't mammals, there's no milk. Instead the parent will chew up food and give it to their hatchlings, much like how baby birds are fed. This'll usually included the parents old skin, as they'll eat it to avoid wasting the food.

Anyway, slightly weird reproductive strategy aside, Cyclic Cats are much like regular cats in terms of ownership. They enjoy living around humans (especially because we feed them) and have long been a part of many human activities: they're a quintessential part of any brewery, bakery, or farm, as they help keep mice away from the grain and hops. They don't get along with regular cats, with both sides being territorial, but it rarely causes direct violence: both types of cats tend to avoid each other's territory, presumably through smell.

If keep alone or they've been fixed, they'll molt every couple years, while fertile Cyclic Cats will usually molt & lay eggs once a year, usually in the early winter. Their litters are usually only 1-2 eggs, though egg caches as large as 5 have been reported.

Their lifespans are longer than regular cats: 20-30 years for wild/outdoor cyclic cats, 30-40 for domesticated indoor cyclic cats.

Their distribution is slightly different: although both types of cats are domesticated and live with humans (even outdoor "wild" cats being descendants of domesticated cats), Cyclic Cats are more common in cities and largish towns, while regular cats are more common in farms and small villages. It's not known why this is.

In general conversation (in Unity, the most common human language) both cyclic cats and regular cats are just called "cats". When it's necessary to distinguish which type of cat they are, the two species are called "milk cats" and "cyclic cats". In the religious language of Old Tower, there's no singular word for both types: milk cats are written feles, while cyclic cats are murikeps.

Oh yeah, one final thing: cyclic cat gender is complicated. Traditionally they were considered a single-gendered species but it's now believed they have either two or three genders. It's basically impossible to tell their gender externally, as they don't have external genitalia. They reproduce sexually (through cloacal kissing like many birds) and any of the genders can be the "mother". Usually when two cyclic cats mate only one will become pregnant, but double pregnancies are not that rare. All two or three genders can mate with the other genders.

As for what the genders are, it's tricky. One theory is that it's male and female: males stick to "home" areas, defend it from other animals, and raise the young. Females travel farther and tend to bring food back, while males catch "vermin" animals entering the home.

The other theory states that "male" and "female" are meaningless labels for cyclic cats (especially given that both can lay eggs) and there's actually three genders: parents, soldiers, and hunters. Parents are more likely to lay eggs, and always stick to the home. Soldiers stay closer to the home, but will wander a bit to catch vermin and fight other animals getting too close to home. Hunters travel farther from home, primarily to catch food, and will avoid other large animals rather than fight them.

There is also a less accepted theory that this isn't a gender thing at all, and it's more based on ages: hunters tend to be younger "teenage" cyclic cats, then parents are mature adults, with soldiers being the elderly cats.

They've got some compelling evidence in terms of their observations on cyclic cat ages and their lifestyles, but it's hard to tell the ages of cyclic cats (they turn back into kittens every year or three!) so we only have their word that they tagged then properly and are correct about the ages. More research is ongoing, as always.

#One hundred and one magical pistols

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neonovember · 2 years

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Just like Business

Steve rogers mafia!au

summary: with the fate of the underworld on your shoulders, your attempt to keep a low profile fails and instead, you make a deal with the king of Brooklyn himself.

warnings: violence, regular smugular mob talk, mentions of domestic violence

a/n: sorry it took so long for chapter 3 to come out, school has been up my ass lately and I lost half my draft. (I’ve also changed Diore’s name to Clementine because I'm playing twd)

The taste of stale wood catches on your tongue as you nervously chew on the end of your pencil, the Diner is slow today, and you've found yourself in the corner of the kitchen, tenuous forms spread out in front of you. The slowed trickle of patrons coming through the familiar jingle of the doors gave you enough time to fill those papers out before the seats do.

Knees to your chest, you ponder over what to write on the clearly dotted line named “Next Of Kin”. You watch as a man dribbles coffee down his white shirt, failing to catch the drops with a damp napkin as your mind remains a blank deserted canvas. Truth be told you didn’t have anyone you could call in an emergency, it was a bitter pill to swallow, even more so than the pencil between your teeth.

Clem was spending her allotted days off with her niece, mentioning how her erratic sister had dropped her off last night. You understood complicated families more than anything, it was what you lived and breathed for the better part of your adult life, but it meant the hours at work would drag on even further. Clementine was able to keep your mind off of everything, your escape, your husband, that man, that goddamn number. Your entire life was a scattered map of holes and ink spills, and it seems to follow you even on this side of Brooklyn, where eyes were always trained on your own shoes and you learned to keep to yourself.

Any other day you would have called in sick, without Clementine to help push the metaphorical hand to tick past your 9-hour shift. But you couldn’t bare the thought of remaining in that 3-foot room isolated and just waiting to be attacked. Your mental state was as fragile as ever, and you felt even the slightest scare would send you spiralling.

The target on your back grew bigger and bigger each day that went by with the threat of that man’s promise looming over your head. The crumpled napkin remained on your bedside table since that night, and you made no move to initiate the call. His patience was wearing thin, this you knew, but you didn’t have the guts, even now, to face the reality of what you had done.

Leaving the line blank you quickly fill the rest of the form, trying to tear your mind from thinking too hard at the prospect of having no one to rely on. All that was on your mind at the moment was the prospect of a dry winter, with a heater that worked and walls that weren't covered in mould. You hope the council would take your concerns seriously now that you had gained some stability, even as small as it was.

The jingle of the doors finally dragged you from your crouched position, collecting your papers you quickly shoved them under the counter before brushing away any creases on your apron.

The figure had seated themselves towards the end of the diner booths, away from any clear windows where they could be easily seen. Grabbing a menu you made your way past the many vacant booths before finally reaching their table.

It was a man, fairly built, with dark black hair moused from the light shower outside, he wore a deep maroon coat eerily similar to the man from earlier that week. He had deep grey eyes which would have been overshadowed by the curls of his hair falling in front of his eyes if they weren't so intense. His features were distinctly masculine, outlined by a sharp jaw that was littered with stubble, and his arms were outstretched across the booth's couches.

Transfixed by his features you had almost forgotten the menu between your fingers which was scarily close to slipping, he cleared his throat expectantly and you quickly placed the menu on the table.

“You got a staring problem or somthin?” The deep Brooklyn accent drew out as he enanuctaited his words, a smirk breaking through his stoic features but not quite reaching his eyes.

You swallowed thickly, looking down and attempting to avoid his grey orbs which seemed to remain at your face, he had a look like he was dissecting you, cutting you apart and looking into your soul.

“No-, No of course not, sorry. Uh, what would you like?” You choked out quickly, and you gripped your apron as he took notice of your apprehension. he could smell your fear, you could feel it.

He chuckles audibly, the sound sort of muffled behind it’s falsity. A relaxed expresiones seemed to ease the calculating look on his face just moments ago, as if he’s come to a conclusion.

“Your ma never taught you some manners?” He continues, this time however, his eyes are trained on the menu items, seeming to peruse through them thoroughly.

Your mother.

The thought of her and any expectant of motherly duties made you audibly laugh, causing the man to look up, eyebrows quirking at the chuckle leaving your mouth.

You cough quickly, attempting to hide your sudden outburst. It was just, there were a lot of words you could call that person, but a mother? That certainly wasn’t one of them.

You’d soon see hell freeze over before she’s ever act like a mother towards you, whilst your friends and classmates were taught how to braid their hair, or tie their shoes, or ride a bike, your mother, she, was out in the alleyways and prisms of her addiction.

You’d need a pick axe to get through the stone face she morphed into each time she walked through your childhood home. She wasn’t absent, always somewhere, she was just expression less. Like you’d drawn her with a broke crayon and coloured her outside the lines.

Shaking yourself from your past, the man’s eyes are fixed on you, confusion swirling through those grey orbs, before his lips lifted in a small smile.

Why did he look almost apologetic? You already had one strange man after you, did this god want to grant you with another?

“Coffee, black”. Said the man, folding the menu closed that was opened on desserts of the day.

You nodded, taking the menu from his grasp, before turning back towards the kitchen, the squeak of your trainers against the linemen floor.

Funny, he looked through the entire menu only to order a plain coffee, black at that. You’d hardly seen that order in a while, the iced latte-frappe-mocha obsession had taken over even the tiny diners like this one.

Another thing that’s seemed to change this week.

Making you way back to the kitchen, you quickly begin making his coffee. You weren’t particularly specialised at the art of making coffees, however his order seemed fairly straightforward.

Plus without Clem on today the diner was even more short staffed, and completing multiple jobs was expected.

Mind miles away, you almost spill the coffee grounds as you tamp them into the portafilter, attempting to replicate the steps you’ve seen Clementine do a thousand times.

Setting the espresso machine to brew, your able to shift your eyes towards the man in the corner, who’s now pulled out a silver phone and seemed to be in a heated conversation.

You knew that it was wrong to eavesdrop but god your brain would explode if you kept at this repeative mundanity of watching cars splash water violently against the diners windows.

You catch a couple words being exchanged, as the man roughly pushes his strands back into the low bun sitting low on his head.

“Steve, cmon, ya sure it’s her?,

“She don’t look like it that’s for sure”

“Robinson waiting on a package so I can’t stay long-, okay yeah, yeah I hear you, ya big head, don’t need to yell damn.” Mumbled the man exasperated.

He muffled his words into the cellphone as if he could tell you were eavesdropping and you quickly look away when you see him shift in his seat.

The espresso beeped as you pull the shot from under the machine, pouring it into a mug as you add 2 heaped teaspoons of sugar.

Stirring slowly you chance a glance from under hooded eyes, and expecting his broad shoulder and back towards you, instead his turned his shoulder, eyes staring directly toward you.

Taken back you shift your eyes back to the mug, fingers gripping the teaspoon tight as a attempt to pretend that he hasn’t unnerved

It seems to fail as the next time you look up his grinning, phone still pressed to his ear as he nods along with whatever they’re saying.

You question whether to bring it to him, the coffee, and just ask one of your other co workers, but you’ve already gone this far. Waitressing practically came with the packaged deal of sleazy men who couldn’t take a hint, it was depressing but you’ve gotten used to people disregarding your boundaries. You wouldn’t let some creepy yet incredibly attractive man scare you away from doing your job.

Appearing at the booth in almost an instant you place the ceramic mug infront of him. Murmuring his coffee, and not letting a second past before you attempt to escape, shoes squeaking at your hurry.

“Excuse me, Mrs” The man’s Brooklyn draw calls you however, the politeness falling from his red lips before he can help it. You freeze under the formality, fingernails digging into your palms.

Mrs? Mrs. You almost forgot that you were still a married women, it was something you kept hidden for a reason, the encrusted ring was hopefully rotting at the bottom of the hudsen.

And that was it, here, in Brooklyn, no one, no one knew you were with someone much less married, and yet this random man, who wasn’t quite a stranger knew. Hell he called you Mrs loud enough for the entire diner to hear.

To say you were shitting yourself was an understatement.

“Would you prefer ma’am, I hardly know these days” Chuckled the man unfazed by your trepidation, this was a sick game to him.

“How about you sit down and have a chat with me? Just 5 minutes of your time, all I’m asking” The man sing songs, acting as if he were pleading with you, however you noticed the demand laced under his tone. You understood a demand when you heard it.

Your back is still towards him, and your eyes shift to the diner door to the right, and, just as quickly the man reminds you of his loyalty.

“Look doll, I don’t wanna have to go to more extreme measures to find you again, so just sit down here with me before we both do something we regret” The man really pleads this time, he seems exhausted, like he really did look under every hole in New York.

You are are still fixated on the diner door, the paint chipping from its sides, and a dirty brown appearing at the foot of it from the rain coming through the sewers and onto the footpaths. You gulp down the crawling bile rising from your stomach before slowly turning around, each step causing a small breathe to escape from your chest.

You slide into the booth just as the man reaches for his cup, sipping it slowly as he eyes to intensely.

“Atta girl, now was that so hard?” He finally replies, grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

Your hands, you don’t know what to do with them, they’ve begun to dig painfully into your palm and you quickly shove them under the table when they begin to shake.

The man watches them carefully, his brows furrowing in confusion as if he didn’t expect you to be so goddamn meek and weak.

God. You’re so fucking weak it’s pitiful

“Look, I’m not going to keep you long, alright? I personally don’t like dragging out a girl like this but orders are orders ya know?” The man rambles, not waiting for you to answer him before he continues.

His eyes shift back and forth, down the diner aisles and across the vacant seats, he leans in, and from a distance it looks as if you two are both lovers on a night out. Huddled against each other from the harsh downpour outside and warmed the the love in the air and the longing in your eyes. The soft glow of the ceiling above casting a eerie romantic feel similar to days before.

“He knows your avoiding him, and in all honesty, this is the longest his gone before going out himself and getting what he wants” The man replies, dark greys watching your slumped posture against the booth coaches.

You’d hoped he’d just given up, the hours going by as you waited for your doors to come slamming down but it never did. It was stupid, you knew this, you didn’t get lucky in this world, but a small part of you had hoped so hard that he just saw you for what you always were; ordinary. Mundane and colloquial, the blurry face in a crowd, the person you always forgot and the name you never quite remembered.

You chest cave in at the truth of the reality you were forced into, you didn’t even care at this point, as your exhausted body rested against the booth, fingers rubbing your tired eyelids.

“What does he even want with me? I don’t know who you are, but you look like your smart enough to know how utterly useless I would be to whatever plan hes drawn up”. You reply

“I don’t even know anything about..about..that world!” you gulp as he looks towards you expectantly. You don’t even know what to call it, the underworld? The mafia? Criminal organisations? Which one would least likely get you killed?

“He kept me out of pretty much all of it, okay? He never let me enter even parts of the house to keep me ignorant and obedient. Couldn’t let the wife know about the 17 year old boy I tossed into the sewers right? Isn’t that what you men do?” You reply heated, spitting the accusation in disgust.

Your words don’t faze the man, and it’s then down you consider what he must’ve already heard and seen a hundred times, this was normal to them, this was life to them, this was making a black coffee to them.

“His not gonna hurt you, if that’s what your scared o-“ The man says, and you cut him off quickly

“Oh trust me, getting hurt is the least of my worries, I’ve gotten a lot of practice” You laugh morbidly, as he looks at you strangely, his eyes peek at the healing bruises on your arm and you tough your sweater down self consciously.

“I don’t doubt it, Matthews is ruthless, and I’ve got to hand it to you, your a real fucking smart one for being able to escape him of all people. But let’s me realistic here, you and i both know what this world is like, sure you’ve made it out, but how long do you really thing you’ll be able to be ahead, to keep up with this on the run shit?” The man reasons, adding more sugar packets to his coffee, before stirring it slowly.

You remain silent as you take in his reasoning, he’s not wrong, soon or later you’d burn out and do something stupid and get caught. You were born in the suburbs for fucks sake, you weren’t some Russian spy.

“All I’m saying is that Matthews is pretty fucking powerful, the type of power where he can get your friends and boss here to offer you up to him on a silver plate. There’s no loyalty when you’re living pay check my pay check, or when you’ve got to put food on the table. The only loyalty then is one written in blood, or bank checks” The man says, winking at the last part.

“We can help, keep him off your scent for a while, until you can get out of here at least” the man says gesturing around the diner and the City itself.

That was the ultimate plan though wasn’t it? To get out of America? Maybe move to a tropical climate where your skin met the warm sun instead of bloody fists. Something was keeping you here, and you spent years trying to understand what.

“By protection you mean surveillance that goes over every single human boundary ever created” You grumbled hands now crossed against your chest.

The man nods honestly,

“More or less, at least then you’ll get some sleep” The man replies, pointing out the bags hanging under your eyes.

“Well how am I supposed to do that when I’ve got him watching me every single minute of the day” You snap, before your eyes widen in shock. You didn’t meant to get angry, least of all at the man who probably has a pistol between in his waistband.

You wait for the man to scream, to feel his rough fingers around your throat, or the bruising force of his fists. It never comes, instead he laughs, fucking laughs.

It’s authentic, the way the baritone sounds leaves his chest ceremoniously, a hand gripping his chest and his curls fall in front of his face at his movements.

It’s beautiful and from the moment it leaves his mouth you love it. But he laughs, the most innocent thing in the entire world and you flinch. You fucking flinch.

You already know he notices it as he stops his chuckles, hands coming to press against his brows, and running down his scalp to brush his strands back.

“He’s coming, later on, to pick you up and take you back to your apartment, don’t fight me on it or else it’s my ass on the line” The man finalises, before reaching out with an expectant hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you..?” He says expectantly

You mumble your name tiredly and you grip his hand, shaking it.

“Bucky” The man’s nods, before getting up from the booth.

“Your got to be something to have Steve acting like this, and for your sake, youd better hope it’s fucking spectacular” The man says, before shelving over a couple dollar bills.

“Keep the change” The man calls before exiting through the diner doors, engulfed by the darkness cloud of fog and rain, the cool city air escaping into the warm diner behind him.

You look down at the coffee mug sitting like warm across from you, still filled to the brim and left un drunken, the only indication of his presence.

You sigh as you get up from your seated the position, the booth warm from your time spent talking. You look towards the clock, signalling you’ve spent well over 30 minutes with the man, and you turn to expect your manager tumbling down the isles to find you and demand answers to your absence.

But instead, her head is down, the deep auburn braids peeking from under the counter. Weird, she’s never not taken up the chance to berate your very presence, and instead she’a jotting down inventory records.

You don’t want to believe it but you know it’s connected to the man that was just here moments ago, or more specifically the man from earlier this week.

Collecting the bills left on the table, you place them into the cash register, before going to clear away his plates. This was going to be a long night.

You try not to notice the headlights shining through the blinds of the diner windows, or even the roar of an engine pulling up onto the front of the restaurant as you jot down the last of the young man’s order.

You were just about to close when a group of drunken but good natured college boys walked, or more like stumbled in.

You weren’t mad in any way, at least it gave your mind something to occupy itself with instead of conversation between you and Bucky from earlier.

Yelling the orders at Daniel, his brown hair bobbing to his stereo, your met with his thumbs up popping out of the bustling kitchen. You giggle to yourself at his antics, if you had to rely on one thing of normalcy in your life it was Daniel.

The familiar jingle of the diner door has you bristling, the note of between your hands crinkle as your hands grip them anxiously. You don’t know why your scared, it isn’t like you hadn’t been warned.

The man loud steps seem to purposeful against the floor of the crumbling diner, he’s incredibly out of place against the old fashioned terriselss and red and white booths. Even the drunken crows notices him, eyes surveying his expensive coat and shiny boots, before quickly looking away as the catch glimpses of his rings and blond tussles.

You pretend to occupy yourself with refilling straw and napkin dispensers, wiping down the tables that were already shining and keeping your head and most importantly your eyes, away from the tall brooding man.

You catch the front of his dress shoes pointed towards your crouched frame over the diner table. He clears his throat loudly when he notices you make no move to acknowledge his present.

“You’re a tough girl to catch aren’t you?” Is the first thing the man says in that deep gruff voice of his. His words seem sweetened like he’s said them behind a smile.

“No, not at all, I’m just..busy” You reply, leaning over further to wipe the cloth against the sides of the booth.

Steve hums, hands stuffed into his suit pants as he watches you carefully

“You sure? From where I’m at it seems like you’re..avoiding me” Steve says

“Well it’s kind of hard to get the courage to phone up a likley criminal mastermind that probably has connections to my husband and who would undoubtedly deliver me to him if given the right number.” You reply hastily.

Steve moves quickly to catch your hands, stopping your movements as he turns you towards his towering figure looming over you.

“I wouldn’t do that, I wouldn’t ever hurt you, you have to trust me” Steve says, a strange look you can’t place takes over his features, the frost behind his blues melt a little and his jaw relaxes before it leaves just as quickly. A hardened expression resting on his face again, and Steve drops your hands, where they rest folded at your stomach.

“How can I?, I’m sorry but I don’t even know you, and if I let another man take me, I’ll, I won’t ever forgive myself” You bristle.

Steve looks far off, blue orbs darkening at your candor as he watches the lights of cars flash against the frosted windows.

“Just let me help you, I’m sure Bucky told you why I’m here, and I’ve gone to lengths I can’t even mention to even speak to you” Steve says

“Why? I’m not special, I just don’t understand why someone like you would do with the likes of me” You reply exasperated, flinching as a David calls the order out.

“I have my reasons, reasons I can’t say right now but can only be explained if you let me take you home” Steve murmurs, you noticed a concerned look take over his features for a second, before the seriousness of this “deal” remains.

“And only if I accept your help” You say, you knew this world through and through, everything had a “but” and a catch. This wouldn’t be any different, would it?

Steve nods honestly, and you turn to throw the dirty wash cloth into the basin behind the counter.

“ I ain’t got long doll, let’s get going” Steve replies impatiently, you understood from your conversation with Bucky earlier that Steve was a man that always got what he wanted. There was little room for negotiation with the blond but you would be damned to make Daniel walk the plate he’d just slaved over to the crowd of huddled 21 year olds.

“Let me finish this order will you? If I’m getting into an unmarked vehicle to lead to my possible death, atleast let me get some good tips” You reply, and for the first time, Steve looks anywhere but you, noticing the huddle of hungry and slightly sober boys.

“Okay, okay” Steve replies acting defeated, as he sits on a barstool across from the counter. Eyes watching your mundane movements of service and food handling, and yet no saying a single word.

You juggle multiple plates, brushing off Steve’s attempts to help and successfully deliver them to the patrons, who gleefully thank you loudly. Slurring praises of Jesus, and Hallelujah, as they shovel waffles and fried chicken into their mouths.

Drunk college boys, either your best or worst nightmare.

Steve doesn’t let you clear their plates as he stands expectantly, you catch his eyes blaring into your manager from the corner of your peripheral. His face hardens into something like stone, and it’s as if his exchanged something without saying a word.

Your manager nods, walking back into the office, your bag is waiting for you on the counter and you reach for it before Steve is grabbing it instead. A hand coming up to silence your protests.

You follow his foot steps without a word, eyes looking back at your manager who’s staring right at you, a grim look on a face that screams pity. Like watching a lamb being carried to the slaughter, or more like willingly walking in.

You don’t know what Steve has told her, or not told her, but it seems he has more power than you first realised, your boss never let you off early, sure she’s let you take a day off but leaving early? Never. You’d had to be bent of and heaving before she’s pay you for half the shift.

It scares you, you don’t quite know what your walking into following this man, the the truth of its danger follows you like a shadow, every step pressed into the floor by blood and crime is a step you fall into.

You’re staining yourself with whatever it is he is knee deep in, even if you don’t want to believe it.

Steve opens the diner doors gently, letting you pass his chest, as he flips the open side the opposite side. A sleek black car comes into view on the sidewalk, it’s branded with a logo you don’t recognise but you understand it’s expensive, the kind of car where they give you shampgane when you buy it.

You don’t know why but you don’t see Steve as a man who would willingly drink champagne, the image of him holding a flute has you fighting back giggles, no, he was most defiantly the time to like bourbon or some other old fashioned liquor.

Opening the passenger door, you take a moment to look back at the diner, the low warm lights giving it a sense of home that you never found at your apartment. The crowd of boys are now singing unabashedly, stale and oily fries left on messy plates.

You hated it but it was the best thing that ever happened to you..since, well, since forever. It was gruelling and tough and not half the amount of work it took but it was yours wasn’t it? It was something you earned and kept only for you, that pay check was written in your name, not your mothers, not your husbands, yours.

Atleast you got a taste of what freedom would be like, a small glimmer of what you could’ve been if happened, hadn’t.

The inside of Steve’s car is even more opulent than its exterior, blue lighting outlining the inside of the car, and tinted windows hiding you from view.

“As much as you think you useless and naive to the word, the truth is, you're the closest thing to Richedson in his life, not his right-hand man, not his best friend, not me, you. Hell, practically half the underworld didn't even know he was married for the better part of 2 years”. Steve murmurs, one hand on the steering wheel whilst the other lay rested on his thigh.

“He was embarrassed by me” You shrugged, it was the truth, even Steve knew it.

“No, I don't think so, I think he was scared that you would get hurt” Steve replies, eyes remaining on the gravel road as he followed the route to your apartment like the back of his head. It should scare you, but it doesn't, and that, that scares you.

“He couldn't care less of me, much less try and protect me from the world he married me into. Besides, whatever cruelty he tried to shield me from, he already exposed me to it himself” You reply hastily, turning your body so that you faced the door, eyes boring into the concrete sky scrapes flashing mirages against the tinted windows.

As if sensing your apprehension, Steves recognises to drop it and instead tries to tell you the reasons from earlier.

“The throne your husband sits on grants him a lot of power, enough to have half of New York at their knees. And with him as unstable as he is, it would lead to more people getting hurt, and most importantly this realm, this life, ripped open for the world to see” Steve says

“He's always been unstable, you of all people should know that” You reply, scoffing. The cracks in your husband's mind enable him to get to where he was today, it enabled him to look past the shackles of morality that kept so many from reaching their full potential as he would say.

“Not like this, no not the way he's behaving now, there's traditions and sacrifices you have to make to survive in this life, that I understand, but the cracks that have always been in him are starting to show, they're starting to crumble the things me and so man other people have built. He's going off the rails, and this time I don't think even you can reel him in” Steve reasons, turning into your apartment car pack with the palm of his hand in one swift turn.

You bristle as that, your husband has always been off, you'd noticed it the first time and you'd accepted it the last, but at least he was always predictable with the lengths he would go to for more power, more authority, more money.

“You're saying the killings could get worse? The blood? The death? You're saying he could get worse?” You say exasperated, your eyebrows furrow as you wait for Steve to reply. You didn't think he could get worse.

Running a hand down his face, Steve roughly pulls his strands back behind his ears before choosing his words carefully.

“I can't say much that won't get you killed, but he's spiralling, and he’s going to take us all down with him unless we do something unless you do something”. Steve says, pushing the hand break up as he turns to you.

You shut your eyes, squeezing them as you slump against the leather seats. Your mind wrestled as it took in all of this, even now, you would never escape your husband? Wouldn't you? Did the fate of the underworld really rest on your shoulders? You want to say no, to jump out of the car and run back to the safety of your apartment but you can't stop the flashes of the 17-year-old boy whose screams still haunted you all these years later. He would've been 21 now, likely to have walked into your diner with those boys from earlier, and most importantly alive, not buried in a shallow grave.

“Okay,” You mutter quietly, so quietly that if Steve didn't have those golden ears of his he would've missed it.

“Okay? You sure?” Steves asks again to make sure he's heard you correctly.

“Okay. Okay ill tell you what I know in exchange for protection. This is what it is right? Purely transactional?” You reply, expectantly.

Steve nods following your words, bringing his palm up to shake your own. It's surprisingly soft, his fingers, like the death and cruelty of his actions, haven't yet spoiled them.

“Just like a business” Steve mutters sparing a glance at you, the same strange expression from before, you both hold onto the grasp longer than a handshake should be. And you find yourself dropping it suddenly, before rubbing your hands against your thigh.

You reach behind the seats, grab your bag and reach for the car door, before Steve’s rough warning stops you, the deep don’t bounce off the car roof and jostles you in your sleep. You know he cants help it, but you catch glimpses of the mafia king just in that one word. You understand what he's able to to, what he's done to get here and most importantly what he’d do if you don't agree.

Steve walks around the car, before opening the door for you, you look down self-consciously.

“You know you don't have to do all that, open doors and stuff,” You say, following his steps to your apartment door.

You had never been the recipient of chivalry. You didn't get to experience the soft, innocent love everyone else did in high school, skipping straight into marriage with a mafia boss. It was pathetic now that you think about it, but you'd never been romanced, much less felt what love could be.

“I know,” Steve says, hands shoved into his pockets, but you don't let him finish speaking before you continue your heated ramble.

“I mean it, I'm not some prissy princess who needs to have her hand held every minute,” You say, searching for your keys at the bottom of your bag, before struggling to open your door.

The lock always seemed to jam wherever you tried to enter your apartment, to the point where you had to shoulder your way into your hallway to get in.

Steve reaches for the keys between your fingers, pushing it into the lock and opening the door with ease. His fingers didn't even seem to strain as slammed the door against your wall.

Looking up through hooded eyes, you catch his blues darken as he looks down, your face chest centimetres away from his chest,

“I know, trust me doll, I know” He whispers to you, and you have to pull your eyes away before moving past him, plopping your belongings onto your velvet couch.

Steve leans against the door frame, his tall length seems almost comical compared to the height of your living space, you were sure he'd have to duck to even enter.

You don't want him to enter, do you?

“Just get some sleep, ill swing by later to iron out the formalities” Steve replies, watching you carefully.

Stepping out of your high heels, you snort, calling loudly with your back to him

“Just like business!” You say with your back to him, untying your apron covered in oil and spills.

Steve smiles, amusement lighting up his features as he nods, leaning against the door

“Just like business” He mutters, before shutting the door, and making his way down the crumbling concrete steps.

He steps into the sleek black vehicle that looks out of place against the beat-up Toyota Camry that’s never left, and the busted bike with stolen tires.

You don't notice, but Steve only pulls out when he's sure you've done exactly what he's said, your figure behind pulled curtains scurrying around your room, causing a small smile to pull at his lips.

And he doesn't notice, or at least you think he doesn't, as you peer through yellow curtains, watching his car recede into the distance, the winter moon was now high in the sky, casting a light for his route as the engine of his car roared against the asphalt roads.

This was it, you'd just made a deal with the devil, and you were already elbows deep. You wonder which one would've killed you faster? Being on the run, or being tied up in his twisted games, falling into the depth of Steve Rogers before it swallowed you whole.

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thepenultimateword · 1 year

Note

...Arranged Marriage for (Civilian Identities of) Villain and (heroic) Sidekick?

Disclaimer: I definitely know that arranged marriages are often happy and healthy and completely normal for many people. When Sidekick refers to their arranged marriage with Villain as not a "regular" marriage, it has to do with their own outlook of their situation, and not my personal views on the subject.

Sidekick noticed the bruise right away. A perfect shoeprint on their new spouse's cheek, suspiciously alike to the one Hero struck under Villain's left eye earlier that night.

Everything Sidekick had suspected and ignored over the last month came crashing down like a tidal wave, pressing down heavily on their shoulders, crushing the breath right out of them.

"What happened?" they managed through constricting lungs.

"Nothing." Spouse tugged their chin-length hair in front of their face as they slid off their shoes and workbag. "Is there dinner?"

"You have a shoe print on your face," Sidekick said, unsure why they were pressing for an answer they really didn't want. "That's not nothing!"

Spouse shot them a mildly annoyed glance before swiping past them and poking around the contents of their fridge themself. "If you want the truth, I'm being bullied at work."

Bullcrap.

But what was Sidekick supposed to say? Prove it? I know you're lying? I know who are you?

Anything they said could immediately be turned against them, and the last thing they needed in this already tense arrangement was for Spouse--Villain--to uncover their secret identity.

"Are you ok?" they said instead, surprised that it slipped out so easily. Even with a small semblance of worry. It was worry for themself of course, for a future where they shared living quarters with a villain who recognized them as an enemy. Needing to watch their back every second of the day, keeping one eye open while they slept.

It shocked them when Villain's face softened.

"Hurts a little." They closed the fridge door, hunger forgotten, and ambled a little closer.

Sidekick fumbled internally for the correct response. What would they do if this was a regular marriage? One where they hadn't each weighed the benefits to their families against their personal feelings. One where Spouse wasn't Villain, and Sidekick didn't know.

Sidekick ghosted the edges of the bruise with the back of one knuckle. "It's a nasty one. Do you need me to beat anyone up?"

Villain's eyes sparked amusement. "I'd like that. But I wouldn't like you getting into trouble for me."

"Since when do you care about that?" Sidekick said, a little harsher than intended.

Villain cocked their head.

Shut up, Sidekick!

"Is this about me exposing your late-night comings and goings to your parents during our engagement?"

Actually, in the wake of other problems, Sidekick had forgotten all about that incident, for as infuriating and stifling as it had been at the time. They had been unable to help Hero on their patrols for over a month. But Villain had given them an out, so they shouldn't squander it.

"I wasn't allowed outside past 10 until the day we were married. What did it even benefit you?"

Villain stepped a fraction closer. "At the time I was upset with our situation. My family's money for your's reputation seemed an unbalanced, unworthy trade for my life. I took it out on you. And that was wrong." Their fingers crept along Sidekick's wrists, holding them light and gentle in front of them. "Forgive me?"

Sidekick slid out of their grip and took a cautionary step out of the range of soft, green-eyed charm.

"You haven't given me many opportunities for forgiveness. We barely even see each other."

"Not all my fault is it?"

Sidekick's stomach lurched. They thought they'd been sneaky about their absences from home; if they weren't waiting for times when Villain was out of the house or asleep, they at least always had a genuine errand to complete with it to excuse them.

"I have... Zumba," Sidekick said and immediately cringed. Zumba? All the time? Even at midnight?

"Whatever it is you have...or I have, I think we should make some changes."

Sidekick raised a brow. "Changes?"

"Dinner, every night, and at least one date a week."

Sidekick stared, mouth agape. They hadn’t been married long, but this was the first indication they’d given Sidekick of wanting to try for any sort of amicableness.

“Why?” They knew it sounded strange, it was stranger continuing as they were, but they couldn’t shake the suspicion growing in their gut.

“Because like it or not, we are married. And I want to love my spouse. And…from what I know of you…that doesn’t seem an impossible feat.”

Sidekick had to resist the urge to counter. This was the best thing. Hiding their identity in a comfortable relationship was probably easier than in a tense one. That was how Sidekick discovered Villain after all, the constant questioning, distrust, and watching giving way to another all to familiar persona.

“That seems…reasonable,” they said.

Villain smiled. “Why don’t we pick a day for date nights? A day where we don’t make other plans.” They’re smile grew. “I’ll try to schedule around your Zumba.”

They definitely didn’t believe that lie.

Wait. This was an opportunity. If Villain was out with them, they weren’t causing arm to the city. Sidekick was still helping Hero, just…less conventionally.

“Fridays?”

Villain pondered that moment, probably thinking about how much they enjoyed ruining Fridays for everyone else with their chaotic schemes.

“Works for me.”

Sidekick nodded brusquely. “I'll get the first aid kit."

“You’re patching me up?” Villain said, sounding amused and thrilled for some reason.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“No reason. Thank you.”

The genuineness in their voice caught Sidekick off guard. They had to shake themself back into motion. “You’re welcome. Um…there’s some left over spaghetti in a bag on the bottom shelf if you want to warm it up. If you’re still hungry that is.”

With that, Sidekick retreated, trying hard not to think about how they were sharing food with a criminal, and how they didn’t completely mind it.

#writing snippet #hero x villain #sidekick x villain #hero x villain community #arranged marriage #heroes and villains community #villain definitely knows #but they probably don’t know sidekick knows #they each are just playing dumb

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cosmicjoke · 1 year

Text

It really kind of upsets me when people act like or suggest that it would have been better for Levi to die at the end of AoT, or push the notion that he must now be living a life of total isolation and loneliness and depression because he’s “alone”. Where do they even get this stuff from? We see Levi surrounded by Gabi, Falco and Onyankapon at the end, and they clearly care about him enough to help him in his day to day life, and I think it’s safe to assume that they’ve become regular people in his life. These people that say Levi would have been better off dead act like it would somehow be impossible for him to find happiness, or find new friends and family after the war. They act like there’s no hope for him, and I just don’t get that at all. It’s almost like they want Levi to be unhappy. Saying Levi looks “depressed” in the last panel of him. How? How does he looked depressed? It’s like they never paid any attention to Levi’s facial expressions throughout the series. He ALWAYS looks like that. A stoic expression is the norm for him. It isn’t indicative of him being sad or unhappy. After everything Levi lost and sacrificed and gave for the dreams of others, and after how hard he fought for the lives of others, you would think people would be happy that Levi at last has a chance to maybe live a little for himself. But instead they keep pushing this stupid notion that he would’ve been better off dead. Makes me think these people never understood Levi at all. Levi, after all, is the character in AoT who most represents the value in life and living. It makes sense to me that he would survive and get the chance to experience real peace for the first time in his life.

#Levi Ackerman

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fleouriarts · 2 months

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posting ocs on this account for the first time in forever... and making NEW ocs for the first time in forever too. please welcome my new funny animals

heights on the pic are measured from top of the skull (so not including hair or ears)

more info about everyone below the cut

JAMIE NAM: banded linsang. 19. he/him tboy. animation student. he is a nervous wreck and kind of a cringe failboy but by god he's trying his best

SANTIAGO FLORES: sheep. 20. he/him cis dude. fine arts student. absolute sweetheart with a huge family who's been dating jamie for only a few months before the inciting incident of the story (detailed below)

JOHNNY DEAN CLANTON: red appaloosa horse. 21. she/her cis butch. worked on her family's chicken/various other birds farm for a year after high school, then decided to just be a "free spirit" living out of her van and doing odd manual labor jobs for people. she's also an absolute player (with a thing for small carnivores in particular)

NULL: blue point siamese cat. 20. they/them agender. chemistry student and pawblix (furry version of publix) cashier. they are actually friends with people, but they're also great at lying and generally pretending to get along with people they hate. needs a smoke break

ARGYLE LANCASTER: lion. 21. he/him cis dude. engineering student who burnt out and decided to go into fashion design instead. chill and agreeable to a fault, he will go with whoever else's flow even if it ends up hurting him (or someone else)

the general gist of this story is that everyone here except for santiago knew each other in high school. jamie is best friends with johnny, johnny is briefly dating null, and null is friends with argyle. jamie gets introduced to null through johnny, then gets introduced to argyle through null. jamie is immediately smitten and has a crush on argyle for months

at the end of jamie's junior year/argyle's senior year, jamie finally asks argyle out. argyle says yes, but he's really not that into jamie, he just wants to see what will happen (... and also feels bad for him). over the course of the summer it becomes clear to argyle that this relationship cannot last but he keeps putting off on breaking up with jamie. finally, the day before argyle moves across the country to go to college, he admits to jamie that he was kinda dating him out of pity and breaks up with him. jamie, understandably, loses his fucking mind, blocks argyle on everything after he leaves, and proceeds to have the worst senior year of all time

flash forward a few years. jamie is now a sophomore in college in an animation program. he's got a new beautiful sheep boyfriend named santiago. null, who was only really an acquaintance before, goes to the same college as them and they become better friends. johnny isn't always in town but they still hang out on the regular. jamie is still mad at argyle, because why wouldn't he be, but there's enough good in his life that he doesn't have to focus on his one bad high school relationship

... until argyle, dropping out of his ruthless engineering program, decides to transfer back home. to jamie and co's college. now BOTH of them have to deal with feelings that have built over the past three years as seeing each other becomes almost unavoidable. jamie has to grapple with the fact that he can't be mad at argyle forever, and argyle is forced to actually deal with the fact that he hurt someone like that instead of just hoping they've gotten over it

... ok wow i did not expect to type that much. i scripted a comic of jamie seeing argyle for the first time in three years in a frenzy a few weeks ago, and i've been telling myself that i HAVE to do a longer comic (and by longer i mean like. more than 3 pages) with my ocs this year, so hopefully i'll start working on that soon. i'm also gonna make a separate Lore Post about my furryverse because there's some silly stuff i've come up with for it. anyway ENJOY

#my art #2024 #finished #my ocs #furry #dorian furryverse #jamie #santiago #johnny #null #argyle #jamie and co #i needed some normal furry ocs because im really really really tired of drawing humans rn for some reason #and my two other settings are like. lore heavy fantasy. i need some guys who are just dudes #fun fact argyle is named after the brakence song of the same name. he is not an asshole in the same way as brakence in that song #but its still 'song from the perspective of some dude whos bad at relationships'

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fxckn-sxck-fr · 2 months

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ARE YOU KIDDING?? PLATONIC YANDERE BATTINSON HEADCANNONS PULEASE 💕 💕

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐂 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒…

!!! GN reader, stalking, breaking and entering, hidden cameras, kidnapping, I feel really bad for Alfred…

Sorry if this is egregiously long and disorderly, I just have a lot of ideas with this one.

There’s a possibility the two of you barely know each other. Maybe you’re a worker at Wayne Enteprises, or just a stranger on the street who did a kind gesture to him once. He’s the type to get a friend-crush — where he wants to be your friend, but he’s too shy to actually talk to you — so naturally the next logical step is to follow you around all day to figure out where you live. This would honestly be the longest Bruce Wayne has ever been out in public during the daytime, granted in his Chevy Corvette.

(Alfred would probably start to get worried, seeing as Bruce always tries to return to the mansion as quickly as possible.)

I don’t think it would surprise anyone to know this man is a heavy stalker. He knows virtually everything about you, from your social security number to how often you brush your teeth. His journal even has a diagram of every freckle and blemish he knows about on your body, just in case he needs to identify your remains some day (he has a very grim outlook on the fate of everyone who enters his life). I’d like to imagine him having a separate journal for you, just to keep tabs on how you’re doing.

Hidden cameras around your house are a must. With his nightly obligations as The Batman, he unfortunately can’t stop by your window to make sure you’re safe as often as he’d want to, so he finds himself remotely checking in on you more than being there in person. If it makes you feel any better, he has the same exact set-up in Alfred’s room. It just makes him feel more at ease to have quick visual access to two of the most important people to him in his life.

Naturally, in order to install these cameras, he’d have to break into your house when you’re not there. This would turn into something he does on the regular, possibly even while you sleep. I at first felt like he may take a few keepsakes from your house as he does this, but I think it’s more likely he’d leave things behind for you instead. Maybe a generous amount of cash, new appliances to replace broken ones, refills of food you were running low on… who knew that The Batman was like the tooth fairy?

God, I have so many ideas, but a lot of them actually focus on Alfred. Bruce is the type to kidnap his new “friend” very early on, driving by his fear and anxiety of something happening to you. He’d obviously see nothing wrong with this; I mean, the guy stalks you and breaks into your hours, why the hell would this be out of the question? So, that got me thinking… how would Alfred react to this?

I wish I had a clear answer… but, again, I have so many ideas, and it’s hard to put fully flesh them out in a clear and concise way. But I’ll try to give you the bare bones, and possibly clarify should there be a follow-up ask.

Idea 1.) Bruce actually tells Alfred he kidnapped you. Well, maybe he’d say something more on the lines of, “I had to save them, I had no other choice,” but Alfred’s a smart man who easily reads between the lines. Hell, maybe Alfred’s had his suspicions for the longest time, walking in on Bruce watching your security feed or discovering his separate journal about you, but the butler tried to rationalize this, as he didn’t want to believe his young master was up to… whatever this weird shit was.

(I can actually see him confronting Bruce about his behaviors a couple of times, and even considering bringing this up to a professional, but that’s beside the point.)

Anyways, back to Bruce holding your unconscious form in his arms. He’d ask Alfred if a room could be prepared for you, his tone eerily casual considering the situation, and the poor butler has to put on his best calm act and convince Bruce to take you back home. While I don’t see him getting through to Bruce, there’s a small chance that he does, and you wake up in your own bed the next morning blissfully ignorant to your own almost-successful kidnapping (all thanks to the butler).

(Now I’m thinking about Bruce holding you up to Alfred like, “can we keep them??” And Alfred has to be like, “no, Master Bruce. Put them back where you got them from.”)

From here on, Alfred decides to try and herd Bruce’s strange obsession with you on his own, too scared to get professional help involved. There’s no way in hell he’s getting his young master taken away from him; not after he vowed to keep him safe to the late Thomas and Martha Wayne. And besides, Alfred did manage to convince Bruce to take you home in the end, so surely that means there’s still hope, right? He hasn’t failed his responsibility just yet…

Of course, as I said before, I don’t see Alfred getting through to Bruce in the end. It’s hard to say what Alfred would even do at this point. Maybe he threatens to call the authorities, which would hurt Bruce enough to feel the need to run away. This would start a huge manhunt for “the runaway billionaire” who “snapped under all the stress” (Alfred made sure to neglect telling police about him also being a kidnapper, instead framing it as though Bruce was going through some sort of mental breakdown).

Don’t even get me started on how confusing this would be for you, LMAO. Imagine going to sleep one night, only to wake up in some sort of abandoned apartment complex with Bruce Wayne of all people. That sounds like a fun story to write, not gonna lie.

Idea 2.) Bruce doesn’t say anything to Alfred and instead keeps you in one of the spare bedrooms. It doesn’t take long for the butler to stumble upon you, narrowly missing the lamp you swing at him as you make your escape. Since you aren’t familiar with the mansion’s layout, however, you find yourself aimlessly running through the halls, and eventually into the chest of a confused Bruce Wayne, who just came out of the Batcave. As Bruce practically drags you back to your room, he runs into a disheveled Alfred, who obviously wants an explanation.

“This is my friend,” Bruce simply answers, a hint of fondness in his gruff voice. “I had to save them, so I brought them back here.”

Now, as I said previously, Alfred probably has had his suspicions for the longest time. So seeing you trying desperately to weasel out of Bruce’s grip mad him realize what his young master had really done. Like with the first idea, Alfred will try to calmly explain why this was wrong, making eye contact with your pleading gaze. But I think this conversation would go south quicker, since Bruce is much less willing to give you up now that you’re settled in. I can see him starting to tear up cuz yandere Battison is lowkey a manchild, I don’t make the rules, begging Alfred to let you stay.

This is the route where Alfred might feel it’s better to comply, at least temporarily. You’re a live hostage in this situation, and the stress of that is too much to make a definitive decision in the moment… and it doesn’t help that Bruce was starting to get erratic. So, he hesitantly relents, trying to ignore the hurt look in your eyes as you’re dragged back to your room.

Remember, this is only a temporary solution. Alfred could never live with the idea of Bruce doing this, and I can see him continuing to do his very best to convince his young master to let you go. Perhaps he may have to take matters into his own hands, helping you escape behind Bruce’s back…

Idea 3.) I’m keeping this one short and sweet; what if Alfred is just as much as a hostage as you are? Remember that Bruce cares just as much for his butler as he does for you, so it’s highly likely that he never lets Alfred leave the mansion either…

#❥ CALL INCOMING: DO YOU LIKE SCARY MOVIES?#❥ TW: YANDERE #❥ YANDERE CHARACTER #❥ PLATONIC YANDERE #❥ YANDERE BRUCE WAYNE #❥ YANDERE BATTINSON #❥ YANDERE BRUCE WAYNE X READER #❥ YANDERE BATTINSON X READER #❥ GN READER

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iwillnotdieamonster · 1 month

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"This is a beautiful letter from Fiona Apple explaining to her fans why she must postpone a concert date. I am impressed at the way she was instantly able to make the decision to choose love over her career. Indeed, the world needs more of this.

It's 6pm on Friday, and I'm writing to a few thousand friends I have not met yet. I'm writing to ask them to change our plans and meet a little while later.

Here's the thing.

I have a dog, Janet, and she's been ill for about 2 years now, as a tumor has been idling in her chest, growing ever so slowly. She's almost 14 years old now. I got her when she was 4 months old. I was 21 then — an adult, officially — and she was my kid.

She is a pitbull, and was found in Echo Park, with a rope around her neck, and bites all over her ears and face.

She was the one the dogfighters use to puff up the confidence of the contenders.

She's almost 14 and I've never seen her start a fight, or bite, or even growl, so I can understand why they chose her for that awful role. She's a pacifist.

Janet has been the most consistent relationship of my adult life, and that is just a fact. We've lived in numerous houses, and joined a few makeshift families, but it's always really been just the two of us.

She slept in bed with me, her head on the pillow, and she accepted my hysterical, tearful face into her chest, with her paws around me, every time I was heartbroken, or spirit-broken, or just lost, and as years went by, she let me take the role of her child, as I fell asleep, with her chin resting above my head.

She was under the piano when I wrote songs, barked any time I tried to record anything, and she was in the studio with me, all the time we recorded the last album.

The last time I came back from tour, she was spry as ever, and she's used to me being gone for a few weeks, every 6 or 7 years.

She has Addison's Disease, which makes it more dangerous for her to travel, since she needs regular injections of Cortisol, because she reacts to stress and excitement without the physiological tools which keep most of us from literally panicking to death.

Despite all this, she's effortlessly joyful & playful, and only stopped acting like a puppy about 3 years ago. She is my best friend, and my mother, and my daughter, my benefactor, and she's the one who taught me what love is.

I can't come to South America. Not now. When I got back from the last leg of the US tour, there was a big, big difference.

She doesn't even want to go for walks anymore.

I know that she's not sad about aging or dying. Animals have a survival instinct, but a sense of mortality and vanity, they do not. That's why they are so much more present than people.

But I know she is coming close to the time where she will stop being a dog, and start instead to be part of everything. She'll be in the wind, and in the soil, and the snow, and in me, wherever I go.

I just can't leave her now, please understand. If I go away again, I'm afraid she'll die and I won't have the honor of singing her to sleep, of escorting her out.

Sometimes it takes me 20 minutes just to decide what socks to wear to bed.

But this decision is instant.

These are the choices we make, which define us. I will not be the woman who puts her career ahead of love & friendship.

I am the woman who stays home, baking Tilapia for my dearest, oldest friend. And helps her be comfortable & comforted & safe & important.

Many of us these days, we dread the death of a loved one. It is the ugly truth of Life that keeps us feeling terrified & alone. I wish we could also appreciate the time that lies right beside the end of time. I know that I will feel the most overwhelming knowledge of her, and of her life and of my love for her, in the last moments.

I need to do my damnedest, to be there for that.

Because it will be the most beautiful, the most intense, the most enriching experience of life I've ever known.

When she dies.

So I am staying home, and I am listening to her snore and wheeze, and I am revelling in the swampiest, most awful breath that ever emanated from an angel. And I'm asking for your blessing.

I'll be seeing you.

Love,

Fiona"

Credit goes to the respective owners.

#love #caring #animals #family #loss

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doctorprofessorsong · 2 years

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Destiel fic recs

Well, it looks like the brainrot is permanent and there is no cure. I can't seem to get enough of these dudes. Please enjoy the fruits of my unending obsession with another rec list.

Love Bites by @malmuses (Explicit, 34k)

I don't know why I love a tiny creature Dean, but this fic had my entire heart from the first chapter. Not since OctopusDean said bloop has a Dean been this adorable.

Dean, a vampire in bat form, gets injured by Cas' menace of a cat (affectionate). Cas nurses him back to health and, as Dean heals, he finds himself more and more enamored with his savior.

Cas is delightfully awkward and Dean is entirely smitten and it makes for an adorably soft dynamic. Plus I want to put bat!Dean in my pocket. He’s so cute.

Boyfriend of Thursday by mnwood @deancasheadcanons (Explicit, 40k)

Look all I'm saying is Dean deserved to be a little slutty (affectionate). This one is a romp and a delight. Dean Winchester doesn't do monogamy or commitment. Instead he has a regular hook-up every day of the week.

But when he and his Thursday call it quits, he's looking to fill the open position. It feels like he's in luck when he runs into a hot dude at Chipotle. But Dean discovers that maybe his Boyfriend of Thursday is worth breaking the rules for.

I love an openly bi, confident Dean and this Dean definitely fits the bill. This Dean is really fun and in some ways very vulnerable and he is deeply respectful of his hookups which makes it a great read. This one could have gone the other way, making him shallow and capricious, but despite his rules and his rigid system, Dean deeply cares and that makes it really fun to read.

The side characters are fantastic, plus there is positive representation of polyamory and some really interesting casting that makes this one super entertaining.

Passing Ships by quiettewandering (Mature, 78k)

Something about Dean and Cas going against fate to be with one another has always made me a little feral, so it's no surprise that a fic based on the concept that Cas, a cupid assigned to get Dean together with his soulmate Lisa, fails spectacularly when he falls in love with Dean himself would immediately draw me in.

The Cas in this fic wants so badly to do what's right, but he can't help but care about the humans. He hits all the right notes for me and i had at least ten breakdowns over him. And Dean is also just so enamored and such a disaster and you just wanna smoosh their faces.

I Can See Your Halo by redamber79 @imbiowaresbitch (series, 2 works, Explicit, 9.8k words)

This one is s-p-i-c-y and just a bit sacrilegious in the best way. Um, let's just say the author explores some novel uses for the angel blade and Cas' halo that will live inside my brain rent free for a very long time. Ahem

It also serves as a fairly delightful fix-it with a really fun resolution that will also have a condo in my mind.

It's scorching hot and a really fun read.

In It For The Long Haul by @ltleflrt (Explicit 25k)

This is the fluffiest, softest fic to soothe what ails you. Dean, a long-haul trucker, meets an intriguing waiter at a truck stop and starts reordering his life to find ways to see him again.

This fic is just pure sunshine. Cas keeps choosing meals to make Dean happy. Dean keeps blushing and flirting. The angst is low. It's really just a good time for everyone. A soft story about liminal spaces and finding someone to share your life with.

Racing Stripes by tiamatv (Mature, 37k)

I'm admittedly a sucker for a sci fi AU, but even if I wasn't I would still love this absolute gem of a story. Dean is one of the top racers in the world, finally about to live out his dream of racing in the difficult and high stakes Chicago Race. Unfortunately for him, revisiting Chicago also sets him on a crash course with the love of his life, Cas, who left him years ago for the promise of an education and a future, and even worse, Cas' dad who is dangling the same for Sammy in front of Dean’s nose.

The worldbuilding in this fic is immaculate. An abandoned and rotting Chicago is almost it's own character, and there is a quiet desperation in the story of people who have become beholden to corporations to survive. The action sequences are also gorgeous with the pivotal race being so cinematic I felt like I could see every twist and turn. And don't get me started on the gorgeous weaving of canon into the fic. It was so clever.

But the standout for me is the gentleness in Dean’s characterization. The way he wants so badly to do what's best. The way he longs for Cas. There is just something gorgeous about Racing Stripes Dean that made me want everything good for him.

Listen, I tell you a mystery by bathilda bagshot (wellthengameover) @the-lions-mouth (Teen, 25k)

Thee Dean and Mary parallel dissertation, this character study has everything. Mary trying to conform to cisheteronormative ideals while feeling the pull of hunting and a particular redheaded angel. Teenage and Stanford Era Dean to tear your heart out. Dean and Mary finding something of each other. And a happy ending for Dean and Cas.

It's told in snippets. Vignettes that delve into trauma and hope. They build an absolutely beautiful parallel story, gorgeous for their intersections and the places they diverge.

And there is a gentleness to it all. We see Mary and Dean in various states of distress and desperation. We see the effects of the cupids bow and poverty and loneliness and completely fuckery. But there is never any judgment, just kindness in the way they are written.

This one made me cry real human tears and it's definitely one that will haunt me.

A Judicious Application of Free Will by Annie D (scaramouche) @no-gorms (Explicit, 57k)

This is an older fic, but I swear Annie D has such a good grasp on Dean and Cas (or is possibly psychic) that there are elements that will make you swear it was written post canon. This one is hard to describe because it ends up with some gorgeous narrative twists that I don't want to give away. Suffice to say: Dean meets a handsome recluse, Cas, whose past threatens to engulf them.

It's twisty and ambitious, with so much heart. Canon is woven in to the story in unexpected ways and it's ultimately one of those fics that you don't want to put down.

Need more? Check out my other fic rec lists:

https://doctorprofessorsong.tumblr.com/post/671475610652164096/new-fic-rec-list-and-this-ones-a-banger

https://doctorprofessorsong.tumblr.com/post/660150754066169856/fic-recs-fic-recs-get-your-destiel-fic-recs

https://doctorprofessorsong.tumblr.com/post/657079735678042112/destiel-fic-recs

https://doctorprofessorsong.tumblr.com/post/653669811839270912/destiel-fic-recs

https://doctorprofessorsong.tumblr.com/post/648748102595051520/destiel-fic-recs

https://doctorprofessorsong.tumblr.com/post/649816680365752320/more-destiel-fic-recs-who-needs-sleep-when-you

https://doctorprofessorsong.tumblr.com/post/651158094530887681/more-destiel-fic-recs

https://doctorprofessorsong.tumblr.com/post/687709943505321984/destiel-fic-recs

https://doctorprofessorsong.tumblr.com/post/685445791339462656/destiel-fic-recs

https://doctorprofessorsong.tumblr.com/post/675858601000206336/destiel-fic-recs

Tag list (let me know if you want to be tagged):

@varlysca @naturallyathief @greatbigbugger @fandoms-and-things @cascodedtech @you-cant-spell-subtext-without @deanwasalwaysbi @fellshish @valleydean @raspberry-tooth

#destiel fic rec #destiel fic recs #deancas fic rec #deancas fic recs #fic rec #spn fic rec #destiel #deancas

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