#but no matter what I try nothing what I have done or drawn doesn't feel it's good

[inkly-heart]

.

#Thank you for all the messages<33 #and I apologize for making some of you worried #My thoughts been rolling in negative side again #especially when it's about art #I've been feeling a lot that my art isn't good enough and that I haven't worked enough #and it is worrying me because doing art is my job and I don't want to fail #but no matter what I try nothing what I have done or drawn doesn't feel it's good #That's why I feel that I failed everyone who supports me #but I'm trying my best to fix this

[stolitzsings]

This is a sort of response to a post I've seen floating around, drawing parallels between the chains in Blitz’s trip that bind him to Stolas and the chains that bind Husk, Angel, and Fizz to Alastor, Valentino, and Mammon respectively. I'm not commenting on that post directly bc I avoid Discourse (tm) at all costs for the sake of my health, and I don’t want to get drawn into an unproductive argument that will mess with my anxiety for a week. I'm not trying to start a fight, just get my thoughts out on why I feel that comparison is inaccurate, and hopefully provide some helpful context and nuance.

So! Let's start with a few disclaimers! First of all, I'm not going to debate the moral purity of any of these characters. I just don't think it's an interesting or valuable critique. On a related note, I am not trying to excuse any of their behavior. I'm happy to admit that my favorite characters in this show have hurt people and are sometimes total assholes. Stolas treated Blitz very poorly at the beginning of their relationship, frequently pushed or even ignored boundaries, and was just kind of a dick about things. My objection to a direct comparison between Stolas and the other characters mentioned above isn't because I think Stolas hasn't done anything wrong; I just think that saying they're similar without further clarification or commentary ignores the nuance of the situation.

Read on below the cut, it's gonna be another long one folks!

Let's start by examining the "agreements" forged by Val, Mammon, and Alastor. I think it's important to note that, in their cases, the person they got to sign their contract could have been anyone. Husk and Angel could have been any sinners, Fizz could have been any imp. They aren't interested in them as people; they were only using them to gain more power for themselves. The only thing that matters to them is, "What can you do for me?" Angel and Fizz quite clearly become cogs in the machine of Val and Mammon's businesses, and Alastor only thinks of Husk as a tool to be leveraged in specific situations to further his own mysterious goals. Each of them has demonstrated to their subjugates that they own them, body and soul. They have signed legally and spiritually binding contracts that essentially surrender their autonomy to a more powerful demon.

Stolas and Blitz’s agreement is... not that. In the most literal sense, they don’t appear to have made any sort of binding deal. They just made a verbal agreement, which I sincerely doubt has anywhere near the force of a signed soul contract. Additionally, Stolas did not ask for and does not seem to want that sort of total control over Blitz. He very clearly does not view this as any sort of power exchange (which may actually be part of the issue, since it leaves him blind to Blitz’s discomfort with their class difference), he sees it as "favors for favors." While this agreement is inherently unbalanced due to Stolas's status, it's worth noting that they’re both putting something on the line here. The other three risk practically nothing (if the person bound to them fails they can always get a new one), but Stolas IS taking on a real risk by letting Blitz access the living world illegally using his book. Again, that doesn't make his actions right, and probably helped him to justify them, but it does set their relationship apart from the others.

In my opinion, some of Stolas's greatest flaws are his thoughtlessness and his ability to justify his own actions to himself. This manifests in the fact that he clearly doesn't see the ways in which their relationship is hurting Blitz. He convinced himself that this was just an equal exchange, and a continuation of the dynamic Blitz established in their first encounter as adults: "I fuck you, and you give me the book". As he becomes more aware of his feelings for Blitz, though (stay tuned for a deeper analysis of this progression later), he also begins to realize that Blitz isn't happy with this relationship. And this, as @masonshmason pointed out, is the central fact that separates Stolas and Blitz from the other relationships. Stolas did not realize- or chose to ignore- how he was hurting Blitz. Once he came to terms with it, though, he understood that he had to make things right. He specifically says this in "Just Look My Way"; "I will try to make amends/ For making you means to an end". None of the others could say this, because in their case, that was the POINT. Angel, Fizz, and Husk were ALWAYS a means to an end, intentionally trapped for that purpose.

We also need to talk about the CONTEXT of the scenes in which the chain imagery appears. For both Angel and Husk, the chain is at least semi-literal, a physical (and perhaps supernatural) manifestation of the way their souls are bound to an overlord. In "Two Minutes Notice," Fizz purposely CHOOSES to represent his relationship to Mammon as chains around his wrists. However, Blitz's scene is part of a drug trip after being forcibly dosed with hallucinogens. It does not exist in any literal sense, nor is it a representation of Blitz’s conscious, literal thoughts. What it DOES do is showcase Blitz’s deepest fears and his greatest flaws through symbolism and metaphor. Blitz is not literally afraid of being forced to wear a clown costume; he is afraid he'll never escape his past traumas or Fizz's shadow. THIS is the context in which Blitz sees himself being chained by Stolas: a bad trip all about his fear of intimacy and vulnerability.

Stolas appears in this trip as someone elevated high above him, something he's climbing towards, reaching for, even though it means being chained to him. It's directly preceded by his ex girlfriend and his former best friend berating him for how he pushes people away even though he hates being alone. Then Stolas directly asks him, "Are you afraid to love people, Blitzy?" Furthermore, the WAY in which he is framed is alluring, slightly hazy, golden and tempting. It couldn’t be further from the ugly, slime-covered past he's fleeing. It's a new start, a chance for something better that seems too good to be true. This trip is all about Blitz’s inability to be vulnerable with another person. The chain around his neck is a representation of the fact that, by getting closer to Stolas, he's giving Stolas the power to hurt him emotionally.

And man, there's a part of him that wants to give Stolas that power. At this critical moment, he's not baring his teeth in defiance or anger. He's blushing, just slightly, and he looks... nervous. Blitz's instinct, when things get too real, is to cut and run. Hurt them before they can hurt you. Abandon them before they have the chance to leave you. It’s how he tanked his relationship with Verosika. This is a manifestation of what might happen if he stays. This is the sort of trouble he can't fight his way out of.

This is the emotional climax of the scene. There are so many ways they could have gone with this if they wanted to represent Blitz being chained and trapped by his agreement with Stolas. If that was the fear--if that was the POINT--they could have had the chains wrap around him until he couldn't move, or glow white hot and burn into his skin, or a million other more direct metaphors. But the chains aren't the thing that hurts him. It's the feathers: the thing that's left behind after Stolas abandons him, sing-songing "you're going to die alone" right alongside two other people who he loved and who now want nothing to do with him.

Finally, let's look at Blitz’s reaction to this scene. It's a moment of revelation for him, in which he realizes he's pushing everyone away and starts to make an effort to change. It's why he's a bit more open with Moxxie in the next scene. The trip sequence ALSO inspires him to get closer to Stolas, indicating that the trip didn’t make him realize "I'm trapped and I need to get out of this" in the same way Fizz did. Rather, he realizes that he doesn't want Stolas to leave him like everyone else, and he wants to start feeling out what it would be like to deepen the connection between them. As I've mentioned in other posts, their kiss at the end of "truth seekers" represents a level of intimacy that we haven't seen before; it's teasing, affectionate, shows Blitz’s interest in making Stolas happy, and takes place in front of M&M, who have repeatedly teased him about their relationship before.

In summary, while the image of chains may have been invoked in all four of these relationships, they don’t necessarily mean the same thing across the board. Blitz and Stolas's relationship differs substantially from the others in its dynamic, and the context of their scene also sets it apart. It's important to look into the details and the nuance of their relationship to interpret what's going on under layers of trauma and unreliable narration.

#stolas #blitzø #stolitz #helluva boss #helluva boss spoilers #helluva boss meta #hazbin hotel

[blackopals-world]

For my Art

Jamil Viper x fem Dancer!Yuu

Venting from a former ballerina

The ballet was everything.

It is is your life.

Your reason to move.

To dance.

It will take your blood, your sweat, and your tears.

This is not a metaphor.

Yuu engraved these words in her heart from the moment her instructor said them to her at the age of 8. She had started later then her peers and had to catch up.

They had already started graduating to pionte shoes.

Those beautiful shoes.

Silk, pastel pink, the one thing that would make their fairytale ballerina dreams come true.

Now they were her's.

Now it was real.

She would be the next Primadonna. The star.

But heavy will be the head to wear that crown. The beautiful feathered headpiece.

She had to train harder.

She had to dance till her arms and legs bruised turning purple and red. That's what makeup is for.

She danced while her feet bled and ached. Her teacher told her it would make her stronger.

She would stand before the other girls and be weighed and measured. Her every imperfection was pointed out.

Because a ballerina was perfect.

Graceful

Delicate

Effortless

Gorgeous

Perfect

And she wanted to be perfect. Needed it.

She would do what it took. To achieve that dream. Break herself if needed. It was all for she sake of dancing on that stage.

Another grueling practice ended as a guest arrived at the studio.

"Hey, Jamil. You're here early." She said wiping the sweat off very brow with a hand towel from her bag.

"I was hoping to see you practice since basketball practice ended early." Jamil said taking a drink from his water bottle.

Yuu smiled as she bent to take off her slippers, wincing due to her sore feet.

Jamil's eyes were drawn to the scene, his eyes widened.

Unmistakable red marks stained the shoes as Yuu sucked in a breath and dig into their bag for her first aid kit.

"You're hurt!" He exclaimed bending down to examine the wound. "What happened?".

"What do you mean?" she said tilting her head to the side. "It's normal."

"Nothing about this is normal. Your bleeding! Especially not from dancing. You need to take a break" Jamil said taking the bandages to wrap the wound.

Just a quickly he was shoved back as Yuu took the bandages back.

"I can do it myself." She said coldly "I've done this for years. Honestly, what do you know?"

"Enough to know that you're hurt and that's all I need to know," Jamil said strained.

"Butt out!"She yelled before stealing herself "Look I'm not mad at you but you don't get to tell me what I should do. You're not my father and you're not my boyfriend."

Jamil tried to respond feeling his cheeks burn but was stopped.

"You don't know what ballet even is. What it takes. Blood, sweat, and tears. I can't afford to waste time. It's a cut-throat world, Jamil. My form must be perfect!" Yuu said adamant.

"Why are you so set on this!" He yelled trying to find sense in this argument.

"BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE MUCH TIME LEFT!" Yuu screamed at the top of her lungs.

And just like that it was said. She fell silent her chest heaving, tears in her eyes, and her lips twisted in a frown.

"I...don't have time." She said again quieter. Sadder.

"Time for what." Jamil lowered his voice too.

"Ballet isn't forever. Girls don't last for long. You're prime is only a few years, and then the roles dry up. You're body changes as you get older. They don't want that. You're body doesn't last either." Yuu said sadly.

Ballet is a bloody industry and you must do what you must to survive.

It starts so innocent and pure. Little pink tutus and leotards to eating disorders and chronic pain.

But little girls still dream of the stage.

"So you'll break yourself to do it? Don't you care about yourself." Jamil asked taking her hand.

Yuu sighed and looked away. She couldn't look him in the eye.

"I don't know..." She said finally.

Yuu had never felt good enough. She never saw herself as worth much.

"It's okay, I'll show you that your more then you think. You matter to me. Even if you don't see your worth, I do." Jamil said hold her hand to his chest.

#dancer!yuu #twst jamil #jamil viper x reader #twisted wonderland jamil #jamil x reader #jamil viper #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland yuu

[happy74827]

Loosing Control

[Gideon Graves x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Your love is a thing of magic. It's strong and apparently real and Gideon doesn't quite know how to deal with it.

WC: 2489

Category: Slight Lime/Spice {Gideon’s POV}

I’m actually surprised that so many people love my Gideon fics. The AMOUNT of anons I’ve suddenly started to receive this past week just because of this man is astronomical and I’m totally here for it!! (Also this gif got me feeling all types of things 🫣)

『••✎••』

Gideon Graves was at a loss for words. He didn't know what he had expected from this meeting, but it certainly wasn't this. He wasn't exactly in a position to be calling anyone out on the carpet, so to speak, but it had been at least an hour since you had burst into the office—pounding on the door, demanding to be let in—and Gideon had done nothing to stop you. Instead, he sat on his sofa, staring at you in silence. He'd already known you would be upset. He didn't need you to tell him that.

"Look," he said.

Gideon Graves was a genius. He knew that. His ability to multitask and think fast on his feet had gotten him far in his career and had garnered him numerous accolades and awards, from the Pulitzer to the Nobel Prize. And yet he hadn't expected you.

He wasn't sure what he had expected. You had been his assistant for nearly five years now. Gideon had made it clear from the beginning that he was not interested in anything more than a professional relationship between the two of you, but that didn't mean he hadn't thought about it. There was just something about you. The way your mouth moved when you were speaking. The way you stood so close to him in the mornings that he could smell the soap on your skin and the coffee on your breath.

"Just give me a minute," he said.

You blinked at him. "What?"

Gideon stood up and paced the room, adjusting his glasses and running his hands through his hair.

"There are so many things I want to say, but they all seem like the wrong things," he said. "I've never really been good with words."

You pressed your hand to your lips, shaking your head. "No, no, I get it. It's my fault. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here like this."

"You're not making this any easier for me, you know."

"No, I—I know." You drew your hand away, and your face flushed. You sat on the edge of the sofa, pulling your knees to your chest. "You don't have to make excuses for me or anything. I know I just barged in here."

"You always do that," Gideon said. He leaned his hip against the edge of his desk, resting his weight on his elbow. "You've been my assistant for five years now and you never knock."

You smiled. "You told me not to. You said I was always allowed to come into your office without knocking."

Gideon shrugged. He had been trying to get you out of his hair, to be completely honest. You had been such a nuisance—so nosy and needy and persistent—and yet he found himself drawn to you. He never meant for things to go this far. He was a lot of things, but unprofessional was not one of them.

He wasn't sure why you had come here. What you had possibly thought you were going to accomplish. Gideon Graves did not feel. Not in the way other people did. He could love, sure, but it wasn't in the traditional way. He could want and need and desire. But he wasn't capable of love. He hadn't loved his mother. He hadn't loved his father, though he had always been fond of the man.

Gideon had not loved you. Not at first. In fact, you had been an irritation, a nuisance. And yet, as time went on and you had learned to read him better, to anticipate his needs and desires, your presence became comforting. He liked being with you. He enjoyed listening to your voice, the way you laughed and smiled, and how you always looked so pleased with yourself, no matter how small the task you had completed.

"You have to understand," he said, "I'm not..."

Gideon searched your eyes. You were beautiful, he realized. You were soft and warm and kind, and he had never really thought of you as anything more than an assistant, but there was something about you now, something that made you look different. He couldn't quite explain it.

You were staring at him, your gaze fixed on his face.

Gideon cleared his throat. "You need to know what you're getting yourself into before we go any further."

Your brows drew together. "What do you mean?"

"I'm a broken man," he said, holding his hand in front of his face. He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends. "I can't promise you anything; I'm not... I’m not good at this sort of thing. You have to know that."

You tilted your head to one side, studying his face. He could see the worry in your expression. Gideon had seen that look before so many times. His father had given him that same look when Gideon had first told him he wanted to go to college. His mother had given him that same look when he had decided to move to Toronto alone. Even his own reflection in the mirror had looked at him with that same worried expression when Ramona had left him.

You looked at him as though you were afraid of him, but you didn't speak. You just looked at him, waiting.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he said, "and I can't promise that this will end up working out. It never has before, and it probably won't this time, either."

"Is this about Ramona?" you asked, your voice soft. "Is that what this is about?"

"No," Gideon said quickly. "That's in the past. That was... I was young and foolish."

"You weren't young," you said with a laugh. "I was literally there when you made the whole league thing. Then you got your ass—no offense—kicked by Pilgrim and that girl with the beautiful scarf.”

Gideon had never talked to anyone about that moment. He didn't talk about his failures, at least not when they were that severe. Even he had to admit that getting his ass kicked had been a bit of an embarrassing moment for him.

"Yeah, let’s not talk about that,"

You laughed again. "You know what this sounds like to me? It sounds like you're trying to talk me out of being with you."

"Well..." Gideon frowned, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I guess that's true."

Your expression softened. "That's because you think it's not going to work out, isn't it? Better not to try than fail, right?"

Gideon didn't speak.

You moved across the room, crossing the floor until you were standing in front of him. You placed your hands on his chest, sliding them up the sides of his neck and cradling his face in your hands. You were looking at him, searching his eyes.

"I know it's hard for you to trust people," you said, "but I've been by your side for five years, and you don’t need to use a chip for assurance that this will work."

“Wait a minute, hold on—”

You leaned into him, kissing his lips. You smiled against his mouth, giggling softly. You were kissing him. You were kissing him. You were actually kissing him, and Gideon didn't know what to do about it.

You pulled away and kissed him again, harder this time. You moved against him, pushing him back so that he fell against the edge of his desk. His heart was pounding in his chest. You had your hands on his shoulders now, pushing his coat from his body.

For once, Gideon didn’t have control, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. He liked being in charge. It was what he was used to. He knew what he was doing and how to get things done. Yet, here he was, watching his jacket drop to the floor, feeling your hands on his body.

“Do you still think you need that chip of yours?” you asked, pressing your lips to his ear.

Gideon sighed, tilting his head back as you kissed his neck and his jaw. You were undoing his tie now, letting it drop to the floor.

“Listen, I had a perfectly good reason for that chip. Ramona, she was...I had a lot going on with her, and it just made sense at the time, but then—shit—I didn't mean—I didn't—this is—it's really complicated, okay?”

You were kissing him as he spoke. You kissed the corner of his mouth. You kissed his neck and collarbone. Gideon had to remind himself to breathe. He had to remind himself how to move. How to think. How to do anything.

"You really are all over the place," you murmured.

Gideon glanced at you, panting due to the lack of oxygen in his system. His eyes were full of you, the shape of your face, the sound of your voice. The curve of your nose. Your smile. Your lips.

You had your hands on his shoulders, that same soft, pleading look in your eyes. You looked at him as though you wanted something, and it was hard for him to deny you, but it wasn't that simple. It never was.

"I can't promise you anything," he said.

You nodded. "I know."

"I'm not the easiest person to be around. I don't even know how I'm supposed to...to..." He swallowed. "I just don't know how to do this."

You stepped away from him, taking your hands from his shoulders. You seemed to know the right thing to say. You always knew the right thing to say. "Don't worry about that right now."

Gideon turned from you. He needed to get a hold of himself. He couldn't be weak like this. He needed to be in control. He needed to focus.

"I need to get back to work," he said, rubbing his eyes with his hand. "We've been away for too long."

You stared at him for a moment. You seemed to be waiting for him to change his mind, but he didn't. He knew he needed to focus. He needed to do what he had always done. He needed to bury himself in work until it was all that consumed him, and there was nothing else to do but sleep and breathe.

"Okay," you said. “Okay, Gideon.”

He didn't look at you as you turned to go. You hadn't even given him a chance to ask you to stay. He couldn't look at you right now, so he didn't turn around as he heard you open the door, close it behind you, and leave.

You hadn't left him mentally, though. Not yet. He could still smell your perfume in the air. He could still see the shape of your body in the chair in front of his desk. He could hear the way you sighed, the way your voice had been soft when you had said his name.

Gideon needed to get back to work, but all he could think about was you. He didn't even know how he had managed to convince himself that it was a good idea to push you away. He did the opposite with Ramona, forcing her into his life until she was a part of him.

So why was it when you had actually wanted him, he had pushed you away?

It had never happened with anyone else, not like this.

Gideon reached up to his neck, touching the skin where your lips had been. It had only been a kiss, a simple touch, but he couldn't remember the last time someone had made him feel like this. You were so soft and kind and... beautiful.

He reached down for his fallen coat that you had tossed to the ground. He lifted it, carrying it to the back of the sofa. He picked up his tie, too, and placed it into the pocket of the jacket, folding it neatly.

There was so much he didn't understand about himself. There was so much he didn't know and would likely never know, but he knew how he felt about you. He could admit that to himself, at least, even if he couldn't admit it to you. Not yet.

“Idiot… Idiot.” Gideon groaned, burying his face in his hands. He sat down on the edge of the couch, falling onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling, his mind drifting back to you.

When Scott Pilgrim had won that battle against him, Gideon was left to wake up and realize that there was a whole world out there that he had no control over. It was a frightening thing for him to come to terms with, but there it was. The world was going on with or without him, and he couldn't change that.

You were there for him, though. You had always been there for him. You had been so soft and kind and gentle. His ego was completely shattered when Scott brought him to his knees, but you had been there for him, comforting him as he recovered emotionally.

And yet, that wasn't all you had done for him. You have helped him in so many ways since you started working with him. You were the perfect assistant—attentive, thorough, and never a bother. He could ask you to fetch anything for him, and you always had.

You also knew when he wanted to be left alone and respected his boundaries. He had to be very careful around people. If you use the wrong words or the wrong tone of voice, everything could fall apart. And it had—it was—with Ramona.

Ramona. It still hurt to think about her, but he could admit that what he felt for you was far different than what he had ever felt for Ramona. What he had felt for Ramona had been a sort of hyperfocus. That was what he told himself anyway. She made him feel things that no one else ever had, but it had never been real. And Gideon knew the difference. Ramona wasn’t love; it was obsession.

You were love. You made him feel so... so human. He didn't want to get into the nitty-gritty details of that, but you made him feel alive. You made him feel real.

Gideon sat up and crossed the room. When he was stressed, or upset, or upset because he was stressed, he found himself pacing. It was one of the few that helped him focus. As he paced, he glanced at the door, staring at the knob as he imagined you coming back through it.

That’s it, he thought. He needed to do something. He needed to go after you to make things right. Make sure that you knew he was serious. Make sure that you know what was at stake here.

Gideon wasn't good with words, but he knew that he would figure out a way. Figuring out ways to fix things had never been a problem for him.

He was the smartest man in the world. How hard could it be?

God, I need to learn how to write actual endings instead of leaving everything open 😭😭

Conclusions are the bane of my existence istg

#gideon graves #gideon graves x reader #gideon graves x female!reader #gideon graves/reader #gideon graves x yn #scott pilgrim vs the world #scott pilgrim x reader #scott pilgrim x female!reader #gideon graves headcannons #x reader #reader #fanfic #fanfiction #scott pilgrim edit #scott pilgrim takes off #scott pilgrim fanfiction #scott pilgrim fanart #gordon goose #gordon goose x female!reader #gordon goose x reader #jason schwartzman #jason schwartzman x reader #spot spiderverse #spot spiderman #spvtw post #spvtw #spto #spvstw #spvtw fanfiction #lucky flickerman

[magniloquent-raven]

I am once again plagued with thoughts that aren't 100% coherent so imma just ramble for a bit, pls gather 'round for some stuff about Billy and body image issues cuz I'm in my feels rn.

Billy spends a lot of time staring at Nancy.

Enough that Tommy's noticed and he starts ribbing him about it. "That's one thing of Steve's you might want to stay away from," bitter and pointed. Enough that Jonathan Byers gives him the stink eye whenever he's within glaring distance. Enough that a handful of the more desperate chicks still high off the fumes of his New Kid smell have started dressing like fucking librarians in hopes of catching his eye.

He doesn't give a shit about any of it, if anything the rumour mill is helping him out for once. Less work involved in keeping up appearances if everyone just assumes he isn't sleeping around because he's too busy sniffing Wheeler's granny panties.

As long as no one guesses the real reason, it's fine. It's fucking peachy. It's one silver lining in this shitstorm of a situation.

He's so tired of his eyes inevitably being drawn to her barely-there tits and tiny waist. Every time he's bored at lunch, his gaze wanders. When he's in the library pretending to study, there she fucking is, even smaller when she's hunched over a pile of cue cards.

The longer he looks at her the more sure he is that Steve will never really want him.

Steve's slept with plenty of girls. A variety of girls. He probably couldn't afford to be too picky in this shitty little town. But he's only fallen in love once. One time. The only time it mattered what he was sticking his dick in was when it was in Nancy Wheeler.

And Billy...will never be her. Not even close.

He'll only ever be a warm mouth and a convenient hand, he'll never matter.

She's flat, and thin. Willowy, narrow-shouldered. Petite. Inches shorter than him and nearly half as broad. Thin fingers and delicate wrists. She fit comfortably under Steve's arm, she could nestle safely into his side.

And it was all so fucking easy for her. She never had to try.

She never had to piss off her dad so she'd be forced to skip meals. She never did laps around her neighbourhood until she was lightheaded and doubled over, dry-heaving in someone's hedge. She was never forced to sign up for baseball as a child, poked and prodded and guilted into it because a couple shirts were starting to get tight across the stomach, and being a momma's boy was bad enough, being a fat, lazy piece of shit too was unacceptable.

He used to think he'd done well, maintaining the physique he has. He's worked hard for it. Scraping together his savings for a weight set and keeping careful track of his calorie intake and never skipping a single fucking day of exercise, hangovers and broken bones be damned. And it's fucking useful, truth be told. More than keeping away the echo of old insults bouncing around in his head, it's made flirting that much easier.

But the more he looks at Nancy Wheeler, the more he hates the things he can't change. It gets into his head. Digs in deep, leaving scars on its way down.

He thinks Steve might've noticed.

He knows Steve has heard the stupid rumours about Wheeler, and probably chalked it up to Billy being an asshole, as usual. But it's harder to explain away his sudden tendency to go extremely still whenever Steve puts his hands anywhere on his torso. A palm pressed to his chest, slipped under his shirt, or fingertips digging into his back, or a casual fucking pat on the shoulder—whatever it is, he can't help freezing up, if only for a second, a sick feeling twisting his stomach, cold and shameful and clawing at his lungs.

And then, eventually, they argue.

It's over nothing. And everything. Billy can't explain what his fucking damage is, and Steve can't stop needling in the wrong places. They scream at each other until their throats are raw and Billy leaves when his knuckles start to itch.

He cries all the way home and doesn't eat for four days. Not on purpose. Not consciously. He's just. Fucking. Busy. He's busy. He's always gotta drive Max somewhere or dodge Neil's thinly veiled threats or lock himself in his room when bile starts to bubble up in the back of his throat and his head pounds and he doesn't think about why he's snapping at everyone constantly, he just pounds back a couple beers and goes to sleep. And then it's four days later, and he's flying off the handle at Neil, too sluggish and lightheaded to see the hit coming, and...

Steve comes to see him at the hospital. He hasn't told anyone anything but they've got him hooked up to a banana bag and the nurses keep making sad eyes at him when they come to check his stitches.

He hates it, sitting around doing nothing, being closely monitored every fucking second, it make his skin crawl, and he hates it even more when Steve's standing in the doorway looking at him.

Not for the first time, he's overwhelmed wondering what exactly Steve sees.

He's a fucking mess right now. Greasy hair tangled at the back, bruises peeking out from under the collar of his gross papery hospital gown, one eye swollen shut and a dark tangle of thread holding his eyebrow together. It feels stupid to get stressed about all the shit that usually bothers him when there's so many other things to worry about, but he still finds himself shifting in place, hunching his shoulders, hiding his hands in the crooks of his elbows.

It's sort of a disaster. Worse than last time they saw each other. Billy's not in the mood for Steve's apologies and Steve's at a loss for what else to say.

They don't see each other again for months. Steve graduates. Billy avoids anywhere he thinks Steve might be, and lies awake at night haunted by stolen touches.

He catches a glimpse of Steve through the red haze of storm clouds and cold lightning, tears blurring his vision, the Mind Flayer wearing him like a suit. Their cars collide, and everything whites out for a second.

He's in the hospital again when they finally talk. Billy rolls his eyes at "We've gotta stop meeting like this," and tries not to think about last time he was here. Steve seems more than willing to ignore it. Move forward. Guess demonic possession puts some things into a different perspective.

When Billy's released from the hospital he's seventeen pounds heavier than he was a few months ago. Every time the nurses did their check-ups and put him on the scale they'd pat his elbow, smiling encouragingly, telling him how good he was doing while he watched his stomach get softer, his biceps get less defined, watched himself disappear beneath a layer of fat.

The first thing he does when he gets home is throw up.

He doesn't make it happen. It just happens. And he blames it on the meds they have him on. It's a plausible enough reason, and it means he doesn't have to interrogate the tiny spark of satisfaction he got from losing his lunch.

His second day back home Neil asks him when he's going to start exercising again. His expression is pinched. Cold. His eyes are ice chips freezing Billy's skin wherever they touch, lingering on the softness under his chin, and where the hem of his sleeve pinches his skin.

He pushes his dinner away and grits out an answer from between clenched teeth.

He doesn't need the reminder that he's gotten weak while he was trapped in a hospital bed, but Neil gives it to him anyways. Tells him all about everything he should do to get things back to normal. Push past the pain. Work harder. He tunes it out after a while, and watches grease congeal on his meatloaf.

Eddie Munson is the first person to bring up the things Billy's never known how to talk about.

They started hanging out after Billy's most recent brush with death. Billy's not sure exactly how the got here, from buying the occasional painkiller and letting the guy wax poetic about his dumb band, to spending weekends getting high together at the trailer park. But as weird things in his life go, it's barely worth questioning.

This particular conversation starts with Chrissy Cunningham.

Specifically, Eddie's massive boner for her.

Billy's been noticing it for a while. He hasn't been letting it bother him.

He hasn't.

Maybe he likes the way Eddie smiles at him when they pass a joint back and forth, lazily stretched out and wearing three less layers than usual, and maybe he thinks about closing the distance between them when Eddie offers to shotgun, but it doesn't fucking matter. Just like it doesn't matter that Steve hasn't touched him since before the Mind Flayer and things are fucking weird now that they're on speaking terms again. None of it matters, he's just a fucking idiot.

Because Steve and his new best friend Robin are attached at the hip lately and everyone can see where that's going, and Eddie won't stop talking about tiny, pretty, perfect fucking Chrissy and her stupid ponytail.

And Billy...Billy gets winded walking up the porch steps at his house now. And he pulled a muscle in his back trying to lift half the weight he used to press. And last week he burned three pairs of jeans in the backyard because he kept grabbing them out of his laundry pile, not realizing they don't fit anymore until he was struggling to pull them up past his knees.

He's lost the one thing people used to actually like about him. Never the people he wanted, he was never enough for that, but it was something. Now he's just...

Now he's just listening to a guy he likes talk about some goddamn cheerleader like she personally hung the moon just for him.

And he's drunk. They're both drunk. Eddie in a soppy, embarrassing way, with a sparkle in his eye and a flush on his cheeks, an arm across the back of the couch, outstretched far enough that the tips of his fingers almost brush Billy's shoulder.

He wants to move closer. Thinks about shuffling into Eddie's space, curling into the warmth at his side. But it twists in his guts, sours, sickens—he couldn't, he can't. And he hates himself for wanting to.

"What do you see in her?" spills out of his mouth, bitter on his tongue and sharpened by anger he has no right to feel.

She's pretty. He expects it. She's pretty, she's perfect. She's a fucking angel even though her and Eddie only know each other because she buys drugs off of him. But she can do no wrong because she looks like a little china doll with sad eyes and everyone would be devastated if a single hair on her tiny delicate head was harmed.

Eddie only looks thrown off for a second. A moment. But he shrugs it off, leans his head back against the couch cushions and grins at the ceiling. "She likes my music."

Since fucking when.

"So, what, it's just an ego stroking thing then."

"Nah, man. I mean. Like. She's got this whole good-girl thing going on, but you should see her when I pull out my guitar, it's fuckin'...magic. When she lets herself just. Live." He wiggles his fingers in the air, arms spread, then drops them back down.

Billy's heart clenches, squeezes. It hurts and he doesn't know why. "Bullshit."

"Nah, nah. Seriously. The guy she's dating is a fucking asshole. And her mom..." he trails off, and rubs his eye. "She's just got all this pressure to be perfect, act a certain way, look a certain way, be a certain way, and I hate seeing what it does to her, man. I hate it. No one should have to deal with all that. So. I dunno. I like helping her cut loose. Sorta, find herself, I guess." He cracks a crooked smile, casting a glance in Billy's direction.

And his smile drops.

"Billy?" He sits up, cautious, eyebrows up and his eyes wide.

Billy turns away, shocked into motion, wiping at his face with his sleeve. "I'm fine. Fuck off."

He didn't notice he was crying until Eddie looked at him like he'd seen a ghost.

"Yeah, obviously."

"Fuck you."

Eddie doesn't get much more out of him that night. But he starts watching Billy like a hawk after that. Checking in on him at random. Calling if they haven't seen each other in a few days. It should be irritating as fuck, and he acts like it is, but he still basks in the attention.

Doesn't hurt that it seems to annoy Steve to no end.

Especially doesn't hurt when, in a fit of apparent jealousy, Steve shoves Billy into a wall and kisses him like his life depends on it.

The hurt comes when Steve starts to unbutton Billy's shirt and Billy reflexively shoves him away, when he wants to keep going but wants it to stop and can't tell Steve either of those things because he doesn't have the words.

So he gets angry. At Steve, for pushing it, crossing lines he can't even see. But mostly at himself, because it might be easier than standing there heartbroken but he knows it's the worst thing he could do.

And at Steve, again, when the he doesn't respond the way he should. Doesn't punish Billy for doing the wrong thing, reacting wrong, being wrong. He doesn't withdraw and save himself, he tries to understand, tries to talk it out, like this is something Billy can just say out loud and it'll all be fixed.

He doesn't explain. Not that day. But he lets Steve hold him while he cries, ugly gasping sobs into the front of Steve's shirt, curled up in his lap, collapsed on the floor and tangled together. Because despite everything he's told himself, he does fit comfortably in Steve's arms.

💜tag list ppl💜 @spreckle @growup-thatbeautiful @prettyboy-like-you @suddenlyinlove

#stranger things #billy hargrove #harringrove #mungrove #a raven's writing desk #tw disordered eating #tw body issues #body image issues

[wintervalewritersecond]

witchy woman - rowan laslow

requested: yes! requests: open! hii can u make a rowan x witch fem!reader fic about him feelings inscure being her bf because the reader is a popular girl in nevermore. thanks before head!

A/N: i dont know a lot about witchcraft, so please let me know if i got anything wrong! i love rowan though, so i wanted to write it still :) thank you for requesting and i hope you like it &lt;3

wordcount: 2,905 warnings: incorrect witch information, rowan doesn't go insane, insecure rowan </3, she/her pronouns, mean character, might be ooc, cursewords

When Rowan overhears some conversations and gossip, he gets insecure about your intentions.

You had said goodbye to Rowan, heading into the woods to clear your head and collect some small plants and other greens to use in your spell bottles. Sure, you could have gone to Jericho to try and find what you needed, but finding it in the woods was more fulfilling. You believed that being in the open air not only helps you to find yourself but also the ingredients that you need.

Rowan decided to stay in the Quad, working on some of his homework while waiting for you to return. It is still early, and some classes are still going as small groups of students walk through the Quad, sitting down to enjoy lunch or also do breakfast.

None of them sit with Rowan though.

Rowan has always been the outcast of outcasts. He didn't really excel in anything. Fencing wasn't his strongest suit, and though he did get good grades for other classes, but it wasn't like Bianca at Botany. No one really hung out with them, especially because they think he is going insane.

Word had spread about his mother that attended Nevermore years ago. Telekinesis had driven her insane as she destroyed her own dorm, luckily being stopped before she could do any more damage. But the word had already reached the others.

"Rowan!" You cheer, running up to the table he is sitting at.

He looks up from his laptop, a smile on his face.

You are unlike the others. Though you are extremely popular amongst the students and teachers, you never treated him any differently. Not in a bad way, that is. You had been paired up with him once for a project, and ever since then you never left his side. No matter how many times he insisted that it might have been better for you and your reputation if you just distanced yourself from him.

"You will not believe what I just found," you open your tote bag, pulling out a small fabric package.

In it are different flowers and other herbs, most of them unfamiliar to him. He has seen some of them before, but the names are hard to remember.

Even if he does not understand anything, he is still happy to see what you find. You can talk to him about any kind of spell or potion you made, and he will listen with all his attention. He would drop anything for you, just like you would do for him.

"Now I only need to buy some small bottles, candles, rosemary," you nod. "What are you working on, Rowan?"

"Nothing big," he awkwardly laughs. "Just some homework."

You smile at him, watching him as your head rests on your palms. He is so mesmerizing to you. The way his glasses slide off of his nose, the freckle underneath his eye, his face when he looks focused. You could go on for hours.

"I might join you," you pull the journal out of your bag, "I don't have too much homework left, but I will stay here. We can maybe even get some drinks at the Weathervane afterward?"

The journal is one of your prized possessions. It is filled with spells you have done or want to do, some important ingredients for spell jars, and sigils that have been drawn.

After making homework in the Quad, the two of you decide to just get some dinner before just hanging out in Rowan's dorm. He would often allow you to mix up all sorts of potions or try out new spells as he would watch or read.

Two hours had passed of the two of you just messing around, taking some small breaks in between to drink, eat, or kiss. A knock on the door before Xavier comes into the room, dressed in his workout clothing.

"Hey Rowan, hey Y/N."

You greet him back before closing your journal, placing everything in your bag before standing up.

"Hey, Xavier," you smile as you turn to Rowan. "I will see you tomorrow?"

Rowan nods with a big smile on his head, pushing his glasses back on his nose. You look at him for a second before taking hold of his cheek, pressing a soft kiss on his lips.

"Good night, Rowan."

"Good night, my love."

-

Rowan is so head over heels for you. Even if you have been dating for close to a year, he often still can't believe that you are his girlfriend. He tends to get a little bit insecure, especially during the beginning of your relationship. He would think that you weren't serious when you said you liked him, or when you thought he was attractive. He had been told otherwise his entire life.

You were sitting next to him in class, your left hand on the table as Rowan scribbled some random shapes on it. He would often feel a bit nervous, and the drawing distracts him. Plus, it gives the two of you a reason to hold hands.

"Oh, Rowan," you suddenly remember. "I have to show a new kid around."

Not that you were looking forward to it too much. Normally, Enid would be the one to introduce everyone, but as she had classes longer than you today, you have been tasked with showing the new Nevermore student around. You were popular among the rest of the students, so Principal Weems found you the obvious choice.

"That's okay," Rowan smiles, still focused on the small scribbles on your hand. "I can wait for you in the Quad when you're done?"

"That would actually be perfect!"

The bell rings, a signal for you to go to the Principals office, and a signal for Rowan that his day has ended. A quick kiss on his cheek and a 'goodbye'.

Classes have ended for him, but that did not mean that he didn't have any plans. He asked Xavier to let him use his bike to go to Jericho so he could pick you up some small gifts. The boy would often buy you small presents; you could say it is his love language.

Though he wouldn't admit it, he keeps a list on his phone with all the things you ever said you liked, wanted, or needed. He would carefully pick some items to buy you, even if you insisted that he didn't need to spend any money on you. But he wanted to.

"Where is the rosemary?" He mumbles, a shopping basket in his hand which is already filled with different items.

Snacks and drinks, but also some objects that he has seen you use for spell jars. Cinnamon, matches, bay leaves, and a bouquet of roses. A smile is on his face just thinking about giving you everything.

Finally, the rosemary has been located. After paying for everything at the register, he puts it in his backpack before leaving for Uriah's Heap. It was the only place in Jericho that sold... strange items. He only needed some incense and thin candles, but it was the perfect place for it.

Once back at Nevermore, he packaged each and every little thing, making sure to put a little note in it as well. He always felt too nervous or scared to say things out loud, and a note was a perfect way for him to express how he was feeling. You never blamed him for it though, you love him exactly for how he is. He is deeply grateful for it; you have never pushed him out of his comfort zone, and instead helped guide him to what he wanted himself.

-

"And this is the Quad!" You smile.

"Wow," George laughs. "And everyone is some type of outcast?"

You nod, leading him around the Quad to walk past the different tables.

"There's werewolves, vampires, sirens," you count on your fingers. "We also have gorgons, faceless people, telekinesis, visions, spells. You name it, and Nevermore probably has it!"

The tall boy nods, leaning against one of the pillars as he looks down at you with a smile.

"And you?"

"Oh," you didn't expect him to ask that. "I do witchcraft. Spells, crystals, candles. All that stuff."

George hums, it's different than his power. He doesn't fully control it just yet, but from what he knows, he can control water. He had told you at the beginning of the tour, but never thought to ask you about what you did.

"Does everyone usually stay grouped together? Based on skills, I mean."

"Sometimes," you admit. "Bianca Barcley is one of the most popular girls. She is a Siren and most of her friends are as well. A few exceptions, including me and Yoko. Mostly, people stick together. There are some smaller groups with different powers, but it's not like the Normie schools. No nerds versus popular people."

He lets out a laugh.

"Good to know. I was actually popular at my old school," he grins. "Where do you fall? Popular, or not so much?"

He surely knows how to ask awkward questions.

"At Normie school? Not that much. But here it's a bit more to the popular side, I guess," you shrug. "I just try to get along with everyone. That's it."

George pushes himself off of the pillar, looking around the Quad again. Something about him feels off. It almost seems like he is looking around for prey. Someone to pick on.

"So, a popular girl then?"

Then, his eyes fall on one person in particular.

"I thought you said there were no nerds here at Nevermore," he snickers, sneakily pointing to something across of the Quad.

You frown, looking at where he was pointing. Through one of the gates walks Rowan, a goofy yet nervous smile on his face as he holds a small basket in his hands.

"Who layers a checkered button-up underneath a zip-up hoodie?"

If looks could kill, then George would have now been dead and buried. He should really watch what he is saying.

"And the glasses- He knows contacts exist, right?"

Rowan gets closer and closer, slowly picking up more from the one-sided conversation.

"George-"

"I know you are more of a popular kid here, but I didn't think Nevermore would stoop this low. I have seen the website, and I thought they only let special people in."

"George, I swear-"

Your tone gets a bit more aggressive every time you have to say his name. Rowan thickly swallows, looking from you to the taller guy. George, as you called him, might be right.

"I don't think studying for eight hours a day is a superpower. Makes you more of a freak-"

"Stop it, George. I'm serious."

Rowan is standing too close to you already, if he turned around now, it would only make him seem weirder. He taps your shoulder softly as your murderous gaze changes into a soft, loving one when you see him up close.

"Rowan!"

With an awkward smile he holds out the package to you, his hands shaking as he tries to avoid George's gaze.

"I uh- Is this a bad time? I have something-"

George suddenly stands behind you, hovering over you as he looks at Rowan, a smirk on his face. He is only a few centimeters taller than him, yet Rowan feels intimidated. It's not like he talked shit about the poor guy earlier.

"I don't think you should talk to her, man," he raises an eyebrow. "You don't seem like the type for a popular girl-"

Your face morphs back into a hateful one as you aggressively throw your elbow back into George's chest. He stumbles back, clutching his chest as he looks up at you with a shocked look on his face.

"What the fuck?!"

You grab his collar, pulling him down to you as you glare at him, your eyes almost on fire. The tables close to you look at you in shock. They have never seen you this aggressive.

"You better watch out," you grit your teeth. "Say one more word about Rowan, and I will make sure you leave here with more broken bones and curses than you can count."

The second you let go of his shirt, he stumbles to the ground. You turn back to Rowan, who is staring at the ground, now shaking more than before.

"Hey, are you okay?" you whisper, stepping closer to him before placing your hands on his upper arms. "Rowan, come on. Let's go."

The two of you walk away to your dorm, leaving behind a confused George and a surprised Quad. Xavier lets out a laugh as he walks past the guy on the floor.

"That was a bad move, man."

-

"I will make sure he has a horrible time at Nevermore," you groan, rummaging through your drawers to find ingredients for a new spell jar. "I am serious, Rowan, if he says one more word about you I will actually kill him."

You turn around to face your boyfriend, but he hasn't moved an inch. He still sits on the edge of your bed, staring at his hands as the small package is placed next to him. Your shoulders slump as you immediately place everything you were holding onto your desk, sitting down next to Rowan.

It is silent for a second before the boy finally speaks up.

"Do you think he was right?"

You turn your head to face him, your eyebrows creased. His voice was shaking and his eyes are full of tears.

"Maybe he is," Rowan whispers to himself. "I-I... What if I am not really your type? George could be- He is taller and more popular-"

"Hey," you look at him, your heart sinking into your stomach. "Rowan, that is not true at all."

He slowly looks up at you, his lip trembling as he blinks to try to keep the tears at bay. What if George was right?

"You are the most loving, the most caring, the most beautiful, and the most perfect person I have ever met," you smile. "You are the only one that I ever want to spend my life with. I don't want anyone like that asshole."

You press a kiss on his forehead before wiping away some of his stray tears.

"I want a boy with telekinesis who just so happens to look extremely good. Especially with glasses."

A small laugh escapes his lips as he nods.

"Okay," he whispers, nodding before looking at you. "I love you."

You pull him close, pressing a soft kiss on his neck before running your hands up and down his back.

"I love you too, Rowan."

He slowly untangles himself from your grip before placing the small package on your lap. The insecurity had gotten to him, totally forgetting that he was going to give you the gift.

"I uh- I got it for you," he sniffles, though a smile is on his face. "I knew you wouldn't have any time to go to Jericho this week, so..."

Your eyes grow big as you slowly unpack the items.

"What?" You exclaim excitedly, gasping as you look up at your boyfriend. "Rowan, I can't believe this!"

You jump up with the small basket in your hands. Everything you were planning to get, was now in your hands. Small bottles, candles, incense, even roses! You retrieve the small note which sits at the bottom. Rowan would often write you notes or letters, and you kept each and every one of them. Some of them were stuck in your journal, others were placed on the whiteboard in your room, and there were even some you kept in your wallet.

"I have the best boyfriend ever!"

-

After trying out some new spells, you had finally fallen asleep. The incense had to wait for later; you knew Rowan was quite sensitive to it. You didn't want to risk anything happening to him.

It was time for breakfast, which means that most of the Nevermore students collect in the Quad. A knock on the door catches your attention and as you open it, you are faced with a smiling Rowan. He would pick you up from your dorm so you could get breakfast together in the mornings.

"Good morning," you give him a kiss before fixing his tie.

"Good morning," he replies before taking your hand.

After a long talk yesterday, he finally felt a bit more relieved. You assured him that he had no reason to be insecure, but that you did understand him. You aren't going to laugh at him for being insecure, not at all.

Rowan and you sat down with Xavier and you couldn't help but let out a laugh. Next to the fountain sat George, all on his own.

"So much for being a popular kid, huh," you giggle as Rowan looks over.

"Watch this," he whispers back, quickly moving his hand.

The movement makes George fly off of the bench and into the water. Your hand flies to your mouth as you try to hide your laughing, letting your head fall onto Rowan's shoulder, hearing George scream in the background.

And though Rowan does sometimes feel insecure, he does have something he can hold onto. Your hands, your words, your reassurance. You are his as he is yours. Besides, if anyone else ever talked bad about him, you were quick to react. Be it by a spell, or by your fist.

#rowan laslow #rowan laslow x reader #rowan laslow imagine #rowan laslow oneshot #wednesday imagine #wednesday oneshot

[thestrangestthing89]

I really don't like how terms meant for adult relationships keep getting applied to children. It happens a lot with the Mike/Will/El dynamic. I think it's often being done by really young parts of the fandom trying to sound more mature or trying to legitimize the Mike/El relationship. But it's really problematic and overlooks a lot of what's going on here. Some of it is obviously absurd - like calling Will a home wrecker. This term is for married couples and they are fresh out of middle school. Mike and El don't have a home to wreck. But some of it just simplifies the issue at hand - like saying Mike and Will are emotionally cheating. This implies there is an affair happening and they are young teens so it just sounds silly. Affairs are for adults. Not to mention that Mike and El's relationship is not deep. It's a silly middle school relationship that basically only qualifies as a relationship because they say that's what it is. They don't have the dynamics of a romantic relationship. No one is cheating here. Mike and Will are two scared kids who have heard their whole lives that being gay is bad and wrong. We know Will at least got bullied his whole life for this, both at school and by his father. It's likely Mike was too, but if he wasn't he still heard Will getting abused for this through their whole childhood. They've been taught their feelings are wrong. So they are pretending not to have them or trying very hard to ignore them. Mike and El are only together because they both think they are supposed to and they are trying to be normal. They want to fit in with the other kids. This doesn't mean they don't care about each other but there is a big difference between that and having a serious relationship. Mike and Will have known each other since childhood and have always had an emotional bond and close relationship. It didn't just start suddenly when El came into the picture. It's just how their relationship is. So Mike isn't suddenly emotionally cheating on El. He's acting the same way he's always acted with Will. Nothing about their dynamic has changed. There are a lot of implications when terms like this are used but my main problem is the one that says El's feelings are the only one's that matter. As if Mike and Will are horrible people for having feelings when El exists. They aren't and Mike isn't using her any more than she's using him. They both want to feel normal and use this relationship to accomplish that. There is this outcry of "what about El" whenever people bring up Byler and it's not ok. El's feelings are important but they aren't the only ones that are and no one is required to suffer to make her happy. She also doesn't love Mike or want to be in a relationship with him so it doesn't even matter. But Mike and Will are allowed to have feelings for each other even when Mike and El are together. There is this idea that they can't because it will somehow ruin the "purity" of Mike and Will's dynamic and this is so, so problematic. There aren't always clear lines drawn when one relationship ends and another starts. It in no way means that peoples feelings in the second relationship are less legitimate. No relationship is perfect and expecting them to be is unfair and unrealistic. It doesn't make their relationship less serious because Mike was in another one first (I would argue he was with Will first anyway just because he's known him longer).

A label doesn't need to be attached to this dynamic at all. They can just be confused and scared kids who are figuring out how to navigate their feelings. That's all it is. There is no need to judge them for not navigating this perfectly. No one ever does.

#byler #anti mileven #gay mike wheeler #mike wheeler #will byers #mike x will #el hopper

[call-me-a-simp]

Heal My Wounds

Not Your Fault (part 19)

Rhea Ripley x Reader / Damian Priest x Reader

Tw: physical and sexual abuse, toxic relationship, selfharm, eating disorder

Summary: You are in a toxic relationship with an abusive man but manage to run away. A tall, black haired woman picks you up from the streets just in time so your ex doesn't get you. But who is she and why does she seem so familiar to you? As you get to know each other you start to notice weird feelings you never had before whenever she's around.

You're sitting in the back of the car between Damian and Rhea. Finn is driving and Dom is scrolling through his phone looking for music.

The two next to you both have a hand on either of your thighs, you kind of enjoy that they're all so protective of you but something is off.

Why is Damian acting so strange lately? We've seen each other quite often due to matches or just hanging out with the gang... Is there a chance he might have feeling for me? Nah, he can't, he knows I'm with Demi.

You're in your thoughts again as Finn decides to break the silence. "Hey y/n, Rhea, the night is still pretty young we could watch some movies or so at your's"

"Ye sounds good.." Rhea looks out of the window and doesn't seem like she even listened.

"Rhea?" you carefully ask. She hums but doesn't look at you. "What is it?" you whisper and lean a little forward in hopes to catch a look at her.

She shakes her head and huffs, "nothing" she breathes out. You decide to not bother her anymore are she clearly didn't want to talk about it now.

"Guys I think we should meet another time. I could really use some alone time after what happened" you say and Finn nods. Damian's grip on your thigh tightens just a little, but enough for you to notice.

Why does he do that? What's his problem with leaving me alone? I'm safe with Rhea, he should know that.

You put your hand over his and look him in the eyes. "It's okay Damian, I'm safe now" you calm him down with a reassuring smile. He slightly smiles back and nods.

"I know, It's just that, if anything happens I'm gonna blame myself for not protecting you good enough"

He really does have feelings. Or am i just confused and that' s how good friends act?

You decide not to ask him about it, at least not now. Finn stops in front of your shared apartment and you and Rhea get out.

Damian grabs your wrist and holds you back for a moment. "Call me if you need anything" he says with a serious expression.

You smile and nod and follow Rhea to the door. The boys wait until the door shuts close behind you before continuing do drive to their homes.

Rhea doesn't look back, she just let's her bag and jacket fall onto the floor and makes her way to the bedroom. You sigh, pick up her stuff and hang it up.

As you enter your bedroom you see her lying on the bed, facing away from you, her legs are drawn to her chest. You walk up to her and lay down behind her.

"Hey baby" you whisper and put an arm around her waist spooning her. "It wasn't your fault, you know that" you add and kiss her neck.

"But I could have avoided it if I would have just kept my promise and protected you" she mutters. "But you decided to have fun and that's okay, I could have looked after myself and stayed closer to the boys" you try to soothe her.

"So it's your fault now or what?" she snaps at you. You back off, slightly shocked at her sudden anger at you. "I- sorry babe I didn't mean it" she sighs and turns to lay on her back.

She holds her arms open for you to snuggle up to her and holds you close. You hear her heart beating in her chest, it's always calming you down no matter what.

"There are many ifs you know. Whatever you do, there will always be an if. You couldn't have changed the situation, he would've done it anyway, simply because he knows me and already liked me back in the days with my ex" you explain to her and she hums.

You straighten up a bit and rest on your elbow. You look in her eyes and can't help but smile. She cups your cheek and pulls you down into a kiss. "I love you" she whispers against your lips.

"I love you too, but you really gotta stop blaming yourself all the time" you chuckle, making her pout a little.

"What about I grab us something to eat and you pick a movie hm?" "Okay" she smiles and kisses you again. "But I can't promise we're going to have time to watch the movie" she smirks.

"God you needy little whore" you lovingly tease her. "What?!" she acts shocked. "You know how long I've waited" she pouts. "Yeah, soooo long" you mock her and get up to get the food. You hear her chuckle a little as you make your way to the kitchen.

---------------------------------------------------

Part 19 :)

I might not be able to post on Tuesday so don't be mad. I will try to pre-write a part until then though

Taglist:@babybatlover @legit9thlunaticwarrior @thatonepansexual2000

#demi bennett #rhea ripley #rhea ripley x reader #wrestling #wwe x reader #ex boyfriend #fear #damian priest #dominik mysterio #finn balor #damian priest x reader #not your fault #protective #gxg imagine #gxg fluff #gxg scenarios #gxglesbianlgbt #gxg #girls kissing

[forestdeath1]

According to you Sirius was Walburga's favourite son and they had quite a lovable normal mother son relationship before all the rebel drama.

And in the books he kept Buckbeak in his mother's bedroom and spend hours locked inside that room.

But it is canon he later in life hated her.

What do you think was going through his mind all those times? Was he hating it? Or was he trying to find atleast one good memory with her? Or he didn't even care?

(Also I like to think Sirius looked uncannily similar to his mother. So much so that if he was a woman anybody could have sold him as Walburga herself.)

He wasn't trying to FIND good memories with her. He was trying to FORGET the good memories with her. Poor Sirius argued with Kreacher as if he was arguing with his mother, they were so heavily dependent on each other in their toxicity. Terribly complex and unhealthy relationships.

I think Sirius always deep down couldn't fully understand whether leaving his family was the right thing to do, and whether staying would have changed anything. He hates Grimmauld Place 12 not just because it was a bad place for him; he hates it because it's a living reminder of everything lost - his family, his childhood, his brother, father, and mother, the Blacks. He doesn't want to regret it, so he prefers to think only ill of them. He constantly convinces himself of how much he hates them. But Sirius himself approaches the tapestry and starts conversations about them all. He's always drawn there.

Yes, he will never forgive their blood purism and fanaticism. He ran away to be with James, with Dumbledore, to stand against everything his family had done for centuries, but deep down he knew he left his family, and it was an unhealing wound he tried to mend by trying to be even more useful in the fight against evil, trying to be needed and valuable, constantly reminding himself of who the Blacks really were and what Sirius was fighting against and why he ran away.

Sirius was also so attached to James because James replaced everything for him - literally his entire family. But James couldn't fully heal his wound; he was with Lily. Sirius was always lonely. Without roots, without clan, without a past. A blank slate, on which nothing appeared except for an endless and very deep feeling of loneliness and attempts to become important, valuable, and needed to someone. The only one who somewhat filled this void for him was James. Then Harry.

But Sirius always felt he wasn't worthy enough of all these good people because he was a Black, and the Blacks were one of the reasons why all these good people were dying. He wanted to draw a line between himself and the Blacks, to distance himself as much as possible from them, to not feel all that guilt and shame. This is very similar to feelings towards one's homeland, if your country starts an aggressive war or becomes a dictatorship (this is very well described in the diaries of Germans who fled during fascism or defectors from the USSR). You love your country, but you hate it and want to dissociate from it as much as possible, want to forget that you are of that nation, but that country, that homeland - it's forever in you, in your soul, in your blood, and you'll never get rid of it. This country raised you, it's where you belonged, and in a new one - you're forever a stranger. And no matter how much you're ashamed of it, hate it, your heart will always beat harder when your country is mentioned somewhere.

Don't get me wrong, the feeling of unworthiness wasn't his evident trait, it's very much a deep-seated belief that activated in the toughest situations. The way Sirius sheepishly offers Harry to live with him... it breaks my heart every time.

Sirius is one of the strongest and most tragic figures in the entire series, with one of the most complex fates and characters. Few in the entire series can compare with him in strength of character (there are only three characters who are as strong a character as he is). Fanon Sirius doesn't carry a drop of the tragedy and complexity of character that canon Sirius does. Canon Sirius has so much depth, pain, passion, love, loneliness, that I still discover something new about him every time I reread the books.

As for him resembling Walburga in terms of appearance - I don't know. I always imagined him as a male version of Bella. But perhaps he really does resemble Walburga.

#sirius black #sirius black meta #the noble and most ancient house of black

[emeritusemeritus]

Hello!! Could you write an angsty Fred x reader scenario, based on Melanie Martinez's song "Pacify Her"? Basically reader it's completely in love with him, but Fred doesn't realize it since he's in a relationship with Angelina Johnson (who does know about reader feelings, and bothers her on purpose). If you don't like the idea, ignore me hehe 😊❤

Hi Anon! Okay I have to admit, this one threw me for a loop but my gosh I actually love how this turned out. Hope I did your request justice! 🖤

Pacify her.

Warnings: Reader is delulu. Mentions of infidelity, unrequited love, slightly deceptive and devious behaviour from reader. Sorry Angelina. Unreliable narrator, plotting.

Word count: 1.3k

Someone told me stay away from things that aren't yours. But was he yours, if he wanted me so bad?

Loving Fred Weasley was as easy as breathing. He was funny, charming and unbelievably handsome, the kind of person people are naturally drawn to. He'd drew you in like he had so many others before you, becoming best friends so naturally that it felt like two magnets pulling together, unable to pull apart even if you wanted to. He was easy to like and even easier to love, a change that shifted so subtly that you'd never been able to put your finger on the moment that you'd started seeing him differently. But that's all we was and all he would ever be, your friend. You longed for more, longed to have him see you as you saw him, to have him feel what you felt and to stop the cruel and twisted emotions that came with unrequited love.

But then one day he did; he opened up, felt that pull to another person, wanted all the things you'd hoped for with him for so long only it wasn't for you, it was for Angelina.

She was beautiful, smart and incredibly talented on and off the quidditch pitch. Looking back now it was obvious why Fred liked her, blatantly so, on paper she was a natural fit for him, yet you would never find peace about it nor be happy for them as long as you tried. He was yours first.

He had always been completely oblivious to your affections, only further proving that he only saw you as a friend and nothing more, no matter how hard you tried to make him see; a fact that killed you deep down inside. To make matters worse, you and Angelina did not get along, at all. Once upon a time you might have been considered friends, but that was long in the past. You were the only girl in the inner friendship group, his best friend, natural competition for all potential girlfriend just by your standing in his inner circle. You were the one that the girls didn't trust, they didn't like your friendship with him; probably because you were so clearly in love with him.

For the sake of Fred's happiness, you'd tried to push down your feelings, to be at least cordial with Angelina even if it tore you up inside but the universe wouldn't allow you to fall with dignity, instead it seemed intent on smiting you wherever it could. You’d become almost numb to love now, numb to the pain and distraction it caused, pushed it down until it lay dormant inside you. One day it would escape from the prison inside you, the day that Fred Weasley told you he loved you.

Angelina knew how you felt about Fred, it was obvious from the looks she gave you, the roll of her eyes when Fred laughed at your jokes, the way she'd always try and physically put herself between you and Fred, being overly touchy and smothering whenever you were near, only to give you a smug little smile that he never seemed to notice. The way she whined constantly when she didn’t get her way, like an overgrown toddler that didn’t know how to communicate. It was childish, stupid and getting on your nerves.

I can't stand her whining

Where's her binky now?

Watching them on the quidditch pitch was like enduring purgatory with no hope of paradise on the other side. Her hands all over him and the secret whispers that made his cheeks heat up redder than his hair, it was all for you. Purposefully done just to hurt you, to punish you for having feelings for her boyfriend. But he was yours first.

Pacify her

She's getting on my nerves

Her whining only got stronger once he’d made plans with you to visit the kitchens after hours, something you often did to kill the hours on a boring evening. She whined and clung to him with a pout whilst he tried to reason with her, a pointless effort you thought. Why was he with her? Why joy did he get from her companionship? Did he actually have feelings for her or was he just stuck? Unaware that he could have had you, a much better fit for him, someone that could love him for exactly who he was, in exactly the right ways.

You don't love her

Stop lying with those words

The cracks started appearing only a few months into their relationship, your eagle eyes missing nothing. Her whining and near constant pout had been incessant, all because Fred and George had invited you to the Burrow over the summer holidays, an annual tradition that had been established years ago. You’d goof around down by the lake, fire off fireworks on the warm summer nights, perhaps steal a beer or two from Arthur’s stash and eat the best food you’d ever eaten for the whole week curtesy of Molly. Of course she was unhappy about that, trying to persuade him to cancel, to change his plans and go to meet her mum and dad. When he didn’t fall in line immediately, she became pretty unbearable to be around, if she wasn’t already before. Fred started looking tired, worn down, his restrictive relationship becoming a burden.

And loving her seems tiring

So boy, just love me.

Summer came around quickly and your visit to the Burrow was well underway, surrounded by the family you loved, the boy you loved. You had hardly stopped laughing since the moment you arrived, immediately met with warmth and love. The hug Fred gave you lingered for a while, his warmth, the sweet scent of him and the softness of him lingering all around you for what seemed hours.

Until the letters started coming.

George had sighed, silently protesting the unceasing flow of letters sometimes multiple times a day. Errol was exhausted, completely depleted after two days of flying back and forth, usually with less than soft landings. Fred hadn’t said anything outright as he’d sat and replied to her but you could tell he was getting frustrated, his usually playful demeanour beginning to wane.

It’s late night, perhaps early morning when you both sit on the floor in his and George’s room, the light of a little lantern illuminating the space between you as George lies fast asleep in his bed, oblivious to your little gathering. You’re wearing Fred’s sweater, the early morning chill creeping in through the small, unavoidable gap in the window. You’d like to say that you hadn’t been prepared for it, forgetting your sweater, appearing to forget about the tiny but impactful crack but in reality your sweater lay unneeded at the bottom of your bag.

Fred sighs, resting his forehead on his bent knee as you sit crowded together between the beds, his shoulders resting on George’s bed frame.

Your eyes flick up to him, worried about the heavy sigh until your eyes follow his gaze, looking at the building stack of unopened letters that sat on their shared desk, all from today.

You don't love her

“Tell me,” you say gently, giving him the option to finally be truthful with you. He looks up at you for a moment, holding strong until you see his resolve break, shoulders dropping.

“It’s just not easy, not like it should be… not like it would be with you.”

“Then be with me.”

Time stops as you stare at each other, the words finally spoken out loud after so many years. Cards finally laid out on the table.

The last letter he sends Angelina is a definitive end to their correspondence and to their relationship.

Tired, blue boy walks my way

Holding a girl's hand

That basic bitch leaves finally

Now I can take her man

#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #harry potter #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley masterlist #requests #anon answered #pacify her

[utilitycaster]

You nailed why I'm having trouble with Laudna. Another moment for me is her shortness with Orym when pleading to FCG, some of it potentially explained by Marisha in 4SD: how fucked up the lack of intervention + nod were, Laudna's feelings on it all, potential conflict down the road, etc. But when you see the episode itself, Marisha is pretty clear Laudna isn't really aware of her friends at all, that nothing was going to stop her from killing Bor'Dor. 1/2

I usually don't mind inconsistencies at all, because as people we are never realistically consistent 100% of the time, we aren't always in character, so to speak. But some of this feels inconsistent with what has actually happened and is happening, with the text itself, so it feels so jarring. Anyway, I understand if you don't want to post this, just happy you can put to words what I have trouble articulating myself. 2/2

----

Hi anon, thanks! Yeah...I don't actually mind Laudna having conflicting feelings about Bor'Dor, but she doesn't know Orym's underlying motivations (I don't actually find the lack of intervention to be remotely fucked up. Nod kind of is, but I think that's the other thing. We're just guessing at who she's lashing out at, if anyone in particular.)

I think. if I may, the reason all this discussion of Laudna's weaknesses as a character is coming up now is because it was always an issue, but between how much stronger her concept seemed during the Team Issylra arc, the return of Delilah (always a weak point) and the fact that the story itself has hit its stride and a number of other characters have sharpened their focus while she's in many ways taken a step back, conceptually.

I think as others have pointed out, it's 65 episodes in and Marisha's answer in 4SD to any questions about the character concept is still "nightmare about creepy girl." Like, that's fine as a starting point, but what is Laudna trying to achieve? What are you exploring with this? What is she going to do about Delilah now? Will we get any sustained payoff of her grappling with the fact that not everything is fine, or will proximity to Imogen continue to act like a rapid dose of sedative?

What did she do in 30 years, because all we have is "made Pate", "got kicked out of a bunch of villages but also this hasn't been consistently backed up by people's responses to her during the campaign so it feels off", "and got to Marquet" (NO understanding of how she got here, which is pretty egregious). Again, the comparisons that keep being drawn in a matter intended to bolster her relationship with Imogen constantly keep detracting from it - Fjord and Jester had known each other for a few weeks or so prior to the campaign and it felt like it, as did Caleb and Veth's several-month friendship, as does even FCG and Ashton's vague cohabitation of convenience. There is simply no sense of knowing each other for two years. I talked about players who are masterful with negative space recently, and this is the opposite - the missing pieces do not suggest a shape we cannot fully discern. They just fall unused onto the floor.

Even the mechanical build feels mostly designed around a directionless aesthetic. Like, genuinely, why is her base level warlock if she showed signs of magical talent prior to Delilah possessing her? It's not even particularly mechanically superior for her to have done this! Warlock/Sorcerer isn't a strong multiclass anyway, and leaning into sorcerer in a party with a different sorcerer whose engaging with that thematically far more, and not really doing any other work into her opposition of Delilah makes it worse. When you add in that Pate is both one of the more recognizable aspects of the character but Marisha at one point said she had no original intentions of taking that third level in warlock (the one that granted him existence), it all becomes more baffling. And to be clear, characters can take unexpected turns; but there wasn't work done within the story that indicated a level of warlock would make sense (and in fact it would have made more sense to have fought it harder!) There's such a passivity to her warlock side - it's not even an open embrace of darker power, despite what she's said, it's just losing control, which to be honest destroys everything interesting about it, while simultaneously making the stakes of her breaking that pact low. Like, oh, you lose 3 levels and you still have 7 levels of sorcerer? Why haven't you done it then. You were level 7 like a month ago. You'll get better.

I know this all sounds harsh but I think the most recent episode just showed that, pun unintended, there is a hollowness to the characterization and when significant changes to the status quo or thorny philosophical conversations occur, there isn't a solid enough foundation to support the improvisation. There's no sign of intentionality beyond the initial "be spooky." Like, why bring in Whitestone and never consistently explore what it was like living under the Briarwood occupation as a commoner, or what it means to have Delilah in your head? Every piece of the arc feels like it's dropped and picked up when convenient and stops existing when it's not. Like...I don't dislike Laudna, and she has good scenes with characters other than Imogen, and there have been characters I have disliked either for a stretch of episodes early on, or for their entire run, but it just feels like an unprecedented lack of thought into how this character will actually exist and do things for a full campaign. I can't dislike her for her personality or ideology because there's not enough of it to dislike.

#answered #Anonymous #cr discourse

[robotlesbianjavert]

10 fav things about spinner + 10 fav things about shigaraki

this is like asking me to describe my favourite things about the gentle warmth of the sun on my skin on a cloudless day at a beautiful lake that is good and fun to swim in. how can i put words to how perfect something like that is.

TOP TEN THINGS ABOUT SPINNER.

gay little hench fella. most important character trait always.

the bravado and bluster he gets introduced with being a cover for his deep-seated insecurities and internal struggles...

...his claims of high-minded idealism and lofty goals when his true wants are so simple (HOMOSEXUAL LOVE) (and to matter in some way i guess.) (mostly love. though.)

i know he is an annoying backseat gamer. i have said this before but it's so charming to me.

how surprisingly well his character development elevates the Themes & Motifs around how important human connections are for the ostracized. and he doesn't have to be annoying about it.

the charming little touches of characterization. him shrieking GRAND THEFT AUTO as a battle cry in 160, when he has to move his headband tail out of his eyes when trying to deliver a speech to toga. they make him feel so that much more real.

he's so poetic. he should be a writer. that warped, crumbling horizon...i'd never seen anything prettier GOD i know he was writing angsty poetry.

as someone who usually prefers secondary/side character to the mains, he is like. such a great example of a side character done right. he's like commentary on the nature of being a side character (monoma is another example of this in the manga), of the interplay between dehumanization/discrimination (Shoji Arc DNI) and crime, of connection with others and how they inspire us pushing us, etc etc etc. lots of the fun themes.

he is so sincere. so crazy sincere, once you have his love, he is so sincere. and so determined. he has the soul of the troubled outsider type of shonen hero who has to become stronger through the strength of his bonds. but also the energy of that shonen hero's love interest. all trapped in the body of a secondary character. he is so amazing.

when his face is drawn so small and cute and squishy like you can eat it :3

TOP TEN THINGS ABOUT SHIGARAKI

the reason i read bnha in the first place was because i stumbled upon the leaks of chapter 222 with the tortured flashes of shigaraki's past when i was discourse diving for fun. and then looking at that chapter in full, the way that shigaraki delivered what he remembered of his backstory, the Insane Tragedy of it all. well how could i not love him.

when he wants to murder highschool students. who wouldn't!

i love his physicality, the way his body language is portrayed - like he's generally pretty loose and slumped (especially early on), but he's also very purposeful? it's something that i think horikoshi generally excels with in art, but shigaraki just takes the cake.

for that matter his whole character design is perfection. early on with all the hands was such a unique and creepy look that tied in beautifully to his backstory and also Themes & Motifs. and even when he loses most of the hands, his face is so <3 with all the eyebags and scratches and wrinkles. he's also the character whose appearance has changed the most, in a way that goes hand in hand with his character development.

when he gets pissed off when he first starts trying to recruit people so he goes to the mall. to angst publicly. he wore a hoodie <3

he's a character that's really easy to reduce down to his victimhood and trauma - and lots of people sure do that! - and his victimhood and trauma are essential parts of his character, but even with the dumbass possession arc shigaraki never loses sight of who he is and what he wants, even beyond AFO's influence. it's also really easy to make him Just a villain, a straightforward villain who cares for nothing and no one. but he does care about things, he cares about the league! he does it all.

much like spinner and in fact more than spinner, he has The Most shonen hero energy despite being thee villain. and he's so cool about it. he even gets a love interest.

petty misanthropic bitch but as soon as you know you're place he's chill. this is how shigaraki/resdestro is real.

chapter 379. everything about it but also how he called nagant a flip-flopping screw up. i'm ignoring how he said the same about my friend gentle criminal.

his smile :)

i feel like both these lists do not do enough to really encapsulate why i love them. but one must try.

#bnha bloggin

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

If you're looking for some indie novels to get you into the Halloween mood, let me recommend the works of my friend Ren Montgomery. She's self-published over on Amazon, and I want to get the word out for her three books.

Horror

Haunt is a period piece set in the late 1970s. It tells the story of the Stewarts, a dysfunctional family who are looking for a fresh start in a brand new housing development, but the trauma they bring with them feeds into something sinister within the house itself. Pete is an abusive alcoholic, Mae is a lapsing fundamentalist at her wits' end, and their three young girls Kelly, Robin, and Lori are just trying to get through the new school year without slitting each others' throats.

Ren explores what it means to have faith when your views don't line up with what your Church dictates, and when those in power don't have your best interest at heart. Haunt is about the ties that bind a struggling family together, for better, or more often for worse, and the pain they face while trying to break the cycle of abuse. The presence which darkens the doorstep of the Stewarts' new haunt heightens their worst impulses and brings each and every one of them to their personal breaking point.

Haunt is both terrifying and gripping, and the 70s setting permeates every aspect of the plot; it doesn't feel like a modern story with a nostalgic 1970s coat of paint over it, it feels like something straight out of the dingy, smoke-filled, no-seatbelts-or-airbags era, an oft forgotten aspect of the decade that so many authors struggle to capture on page.

Contemporary fantasy

Monsters Are We is a story about burning bridges, both accidentally and on purpose. With some relationships, when the passion is gone, you can cut your losses and go your separate ways, but Penelope Draven doesn't have that option. Her old life with Leo the soul-sucking cheater needs to come to an end so her new life can begin.

She's danced this dance before, but this time around is going to be much more difficult for two very important reasons. First, she finally has something that makes her hesitate before throwing it all away, something she wants desperately to take with her when she goes; her teenage daughter, Clementine. Second, Leo knows what she is, what she's done, and what she's capable of, and he's not going to let either of them go so easily.

Ren explores the relationship between a mother and daughter from two very different generations, but who are more like one another than either realize. Monsters Are We is about figuring out who you are and choosing who you want to be. It's about being allowed to make irreparable mistakes so you can learn from them. The Draven girls find themselves on a road trip to hell and back which puts their lives and the lives of their closest friends into Leo's crosshairs. When they find themselves down on their luck, Penelope knows how to make her own, but it comes with a price.

Psychological thriller

Drawn to You is the story of the one that got away and one woman's twisted machinations to try and get it back. Ruby Deardon never got over her college crush, Sean Chaplin. They could have had something beautiful, Ruby tells herself, if only they had had anything at all. The timing was never right, the dominoes never fell the way she needed them to, so she lost her chance at her fairy tale happy ending.

Well, after nearly a decade of pining from a distance she decides to take matters into her own hands and insert herself back into Sean's life so they can finally have the life she's always wanted. He wants it too, she's sure of it, he just doesn't know it yet.

But just as she's about to zero in on Sean, she learns that Jeremy is zeroing in on her. She's was his one that got away, and while most women would be wary of his level of obsession, Ruby sees him as nothing but an obstacle standing between her and the future she's set her mind on. Jeremy is an unexpected dog in Ruby's game of cat and mouse, but cats have claws, and he has no idea what she's willing to do to make sure the mouse gets got.

#horror #contemporary fantasy #psychological thriller #novels #books #book recommendations #indie books #self publishing #halloween #halloween season #halloween books #halloween novels

[tagedeszorns]

How’s the Chirurgeon and its brood doing? I notice nobody ever asks about them.

Anyone who has arrived on this side of the Eye of Terror has a history of fratricide. No one, no, not a single one here whose hands are not red with the blood of those who trusted him. Before Isstvan. Before the other Isstvan. Before Nikaea. No matter.

The difference is that some have put this time of betrayed brotherhood behind them - or are constantly trying to do so with stubborn energy - while others have embraced the fact that betrayal will always give birth to more betrayal and made it a principle.

The one as illusory as the other. No one changes the past. Everyone here carries with them what they have done.

How you deal with it … well, that's individual, of course.

Oleander has realised that it is not enough for him to distance himself with caustic sarcasm and work with energetic mania towards a golden future that will certainly never come true. On the contrary. As much as Fabius' strange idealism in this regard fascinates him, he needs the dark thrill that the hunt for his own blood gives him.

Of course, these are all just petty exercises. It's about feeling something. Which, after all these centuries and with Slaanesh's fingers burning in the black remnants of his soul, isn't easy.

And what would be more arousing than killing the one who is his teacher? His role model. His cold mentor.

No. That would be incredibly reckless.

Nevertheless. He is hungry for it.

He can't give in to it.

At least not directly.

But he can play pretend. With something almost as good as the Chief Apothecary himself. That which has spent centuries becoming one with the Pater Mutatis. Which harbours his cunning and his cruelty. And which, like its creator, knows absolutely no scruples.

Oleander grins, shows his pointed teeth and feels alive. In the midst of the deepest darkness beneath Urum, where the ghostly remains of the long-dead Aeldari scream and whisper in the corners of his vision. Amidst the ruins with their creatures without names, who have made their home in decay. Mutants, refuse, remnants.

And the hunters.

The silver hunters. Nothing but limbs and cold. Splinters of one of the most complex brains in the galaxy, brought to life by … yes, what?

The Emperor's Children Apothecary is waiting. Lurks. Not far from here is one of the chambers where the strange non-living creatures have made their home. From where they make their raids and which they guard well.

Striking there is like attacking Fabius himself. Although the Chief Apothecary almost certainly doesn't even know about this place and is only peripherally interested in it.

But for Oleander, that's what he needs.

A soft metallic clatter in the darkness. A handspan-sized version of the chirurgeon shimmies along the ceiling, disappearing into a crack between the stones. Further ahead, a larger, much more complex version of the non-living creature claws at what may once have been a cybernetic arm. Prey? Nesting material? Oleander is interested.

But he's actually on the hunt. He has his swords drawn. Waiting.

Another metallic noise behind him. He grins. They were hunting him, just like he was hunting them. Oh yes, they're clever. Why wouldn't they be? Their creator has given them so much.

"Hello, my little ones!"

#warhammer #emperor's children #warhammer 40k #The Consortium #Oleander Koh #I need more Oleander content #I love him but give him not enough attention #Also wrong blog to ask #have to repost to the consortium

[sparklyfaerie]

Zelink Week - Day 2: Forbidden

Since Ao3 is still down, I'm posting my submissions here until such a time as I can get it on the archive. @zelinkcommunity

Title: False Worship Summary: Really, what had her father expected? They are neither of them paragons of virtue, no matter how hard they try to give that impression. It had been inevitable that they’d be drawn to each other.

Words: 4,163 Rating: Explicit Pairing: Zelink (Breath of the Wild, pre-calamity) Extract:

They shouldn't be doing this—especially not here, not in a sacred spring of the old gods. But Zelda just doesn't care. The gods have ignored her all her life, despite her endless supplications. Despite all the soothsayers remaining convinced that she is the sacred princess of legend, destined to seal Calamity Ganon away. Why should she care about desecrating their holy sites? Maybe, this way, she might finally gain their attention—even if only to strike her down for blasphemy. It will be a pity to take Link with her, but she's already going to get him killed because she can't awaken her stupid powers anyway.

Ao3 Tags under the Read More

Ao3 Link Now Here! Tags: Pre-Calamity, Talking Link, Zelda needs a hug, Smut, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Zelda hates Hylia a lot, and her father a little, minor in-universe blasphemy, First time, Unsafe sex

False Worship

If her father had known what assigning Link as her personal knight would lead to, Zelda is a hundred percent certain that he would not have gone through with it.

At first, she'd hated being left alone with him out in the wilderness. He'd been silent and watchful, barely speaking a word unless spoken to—and even then, keeping his answers as concise and neutral as possible. He'd made her feel judged and found wanting—at least until she'd come to understand him.

Now, she's rather glad that her father trusts him. It means there's no one around to witness them push aside their boundaries and cross into forbidden territory.

The waters of the Spring of Power splash and ripple as she drags him into it, mouth hot on his. His hands immediately slide down her body to cup her rear, the heat of them scalding her through her wet prayer gown.

He turns them on the spot and backs her toward the stairs, lifting her onto the lip of the stone next to them. His lips find her throat as her fingers bury themselves in his hair, tugging his tie out and tightening against his scalp. Her head dips back at the slightest suggestion of teeth—not enough to bruise, but there will be red marks for at least a few minutes when he's done with her.

"There is nothing wrong with you." He breathes into her ear as her free arm wraps around his shoulders. "Nothing."

She tugs him to stand between her parted thighs, his hands leaving burning trails as they push sodden fabric up, up, up. Her breath hitches as he tugs her earlobe between his teeth.

Of course there's something wrong with her. She's letting her knight have his way with her in a sacred spring, for goodness' sake.

…or is she having her way with him? She's not sure. She's relatively certain that he would never put his hands on her without her reaching for him first, at the very least. And he would certainly never desecrate such a holy place of his own volition.

Maybe it's just her, after all. He certainly doesn't seem to have lost Hylia's favour for defiling Her descendant. At least, not yet.

His lips seek hers, and then his tongue is in her mouth. She sighs through her nose, pressing herself against him and feeling the warmth of his frame bleed through their drenched clothing. Her fingers are cold when she sneaks them up under his tunic, but he doesn't so much as flinch as her thumbs brush against the bones of his pelvis.

She feels bad that she uses him like this, to soothe the ache that repeated failure has settled between her ribs. But still, she exults in the feeling of warm fingers tightening into the flesh of her thighs before he curses, fumbling with her uncooperative smallclothes.

She rakes her fingernails over his abdomen when his hand slips beneath sodden fabric, tearing her lips from his to bury her face in his shoulder. His fingers burn as they slip between her folds, fumbling, seeking.

They've only done this a small handful of times, and neither are particularly experienced. Zelda has never lain with a man before, and she's fairly certain that he's never had a woman, either. He'd once confessed to her that he felt pressured to live up to an unrealistic ideal of courage and virtue, to have a pristine reputation and never set a toe out of line. That means there can be no string of jilted lovers left in his wake.

Really, what had her father expected, throwing two repressed young people into each other's company, out of view of prying eyes? They are neither of them paragons of virtue, no matter how hard they try to give that impression to the world. It had been inevitable that they'd be drawn to each other, that lines would be crossed.

Link may be as inexperienced as she, but he's a quick study. He finds her clit after a few moments of searching, cursing through gritted teeth as he sets to pressing his fingers against her. She makes a broken noise into the fabric of his tunic as her thighs clench around his hips, pelvis jolting at the sensation.

"Too much?" He asks breathily.

"A little." She admits.

His touch eases up into something far more manageable—and altogether more glorious. She sighs into the crook of his neck, lips pressed against the throb of his pulse. His skin tastes of sweat and spring water, his heartbeat strong and rapid under her lips. "How's that?"

She tightens her arms around his shoulders, panting into his ear. She makes an approving sound from deep within her throat, humming as he sets into a rhythm that makes her blood run hot.

They shouldn't be doing this—especially not here, not in a sacred spring of the old gods. But Zelda just doesn't care. The gods have ignored her all her life, despite her endless supplications. Despite all the soothsayers remaining convinced that she is the sacred princess of legend, destined to seal Calamity Ganon away. Why should she care about desecrating their holy sites?

Maybe, this way, she might finally gain their attention—even if only to strike her down for blasphemy. It will be a pity to take Link with her, but she's already going to get him killed because she can't awaken her stupid powers anyway.

It's inevitable, she thinks absently as he removes his fingers and lifts her rear from the cold stone. Knowing what he wants, she struggles with sodden, clinging fabric, letting him lower her legs back to stand in the water so he can help divest her of her prayer gown. It drops with a wet thwap into the water beside her, immediately borne away by the current and over the small waterfall that feeds the bottom half of the spring.

She's overheating, even though she's completely bare from the waist up. She scrabbles with her smallclothes, shimmying them down her hips to complete her nakedness.

He hikes her back up onto the stone and kisses her again—hot, wet, and wanton. The stone is smooth from thousands of years of weathering under her buttocks, chill to the touch. But then, Zelda is already cold, heated skin erupting into gooseflesh as she reclines. Water seeps from her hair, pooling around her as she lowers her back to the ground, lifting and parting her legs to make room for him to lean over her.

Link's lips near scald her when he begins trailing kisses down her body. He worries a red mark into the space underneath her breast, before trailing down, over her stomach to between her thighs. He kneels, as if in prayer—as if he's before an altar, though the real one is behind him. As if there's anything about Zelda worth worshipping.

She can almost feel the judgement in eyes of the statue of Hylia, gazing placidly down at them from across the water, as Her holy champion prepares to put his mouth on Her descendant.

It makes her burn all over.

He presses wet kisses from her knee up her thigh, teeth and tongue gentle on her skin. Careful, ever careful not to leave evidence behind. She wishes he could mark her properly, that he could suck bruises into her skin, to leave his mark on soft flesh—but a princess has no privacy. Someone will see.

Her father would be furious. Even if Zelda denied that it was Link who had touched her, even if anyone believed her, he would still be dismissed for taking his eyes off her long enough for her to take a lover.

It had taken her a long time to accept that Link's post had been earned. As the Chosen Hero, the only thing he'd have to do would be to help her seal the looming darkness. He doesn't have to be her protector. Any old knight can be a royal bodyguard; he had earned the job with his bravery and skill.

He doesn't have to be her friend, either; he'd wormed his way into her affections with his kindness and compassion, by making her feel listened to and cared about and seen.

She doesn't want to take his accomplishments away from him. So she bites her tongue and doesn't beg him to leave evidence behind.

Her eyes stare up, unseeing, at the night sky as his lips finally close around her clit, tongue flicking gently. Her shaking hand reaches down and cards through his hair as she sighs, eyes slipping closed to block out the moon and the stars above.

The warmth of him is solid and real, something she can reach out and physically touch. His presence has gone from a thorn stuck in her side, reminding her of her failures, to a warm comfort that soothes the ache of disappointment every time her prayers go unanswered.

One of her feet slips to dangle in the sacred waters. Link hefts it up over his shoulder without breaking away from her. His fingers dig into her hips as he pulls her closer, bare skin scraping against stone.

She whimpers when two fingers slide into her, flexing and searching for the spot he'd discovered last time—the spot that had made her squirm and shake and cry out.

It's good—he's so good. He gives and gives and gives and gives, and never asks for anything in return. He'd nearly had an aneurysm the first time she'd gotten on her knees for him, in the woods on the way home from the Spring of Courage, trying to assure her that she didn't have to, that he was okay, that he didn't need her to do that for him.

She wonders if he'll let her do it again.

Maybe, she thinks foggily as he finds what he's looking for and she cries out, she's been worshiping at the wrong altar all along. She'd certainly felt a kind of power with her lips wrapped around him, his hand gentle in her hair as he'd steadied himself against a tree with a soft groan. It had been wicked, and sinful, and not even the tiniest bit holy, but it had been something.

Her hips jump against his face as he sucks, massaging her from the inside. The hand in his hair tangles and pulls, her free one scrabbling against stone without finding purchase. He twists his fingers, and her eyes fly wide, back arching off slick stone as her mouth opens in a silent scream.

Stars spin above her as moonlight ripples on the water around him. When she collapses onto her back and lifts her head to look down at her knight, she finds him haloed in reflected light.

His eyes are on her. She shivers as their gazes lock, something dark and feral hidden behind blown out pupils drinking her in.

Her head drops back against the ground, whimpers breaking free as her thighs start to twitch and her hips begin to grind against his face. It won't be long, now. Link is incredibly skilled in all that he does—it only makes sense that that extends into bed sports, too.

For once, she doesn't envy him his proficiency. Not with her being the beneficiary of this particular skill.

She comes with a cry rending the night air.

He withdraws his hand and lips as she comes down, spent and twitching and boneless. The chill is beginning to seep in; her teeth start to chatter as she pushes herself into a sitting position. Link is bent over in the spring, using the sodden hem of his tunic to wipe off his lips and chin with sacred water.

She spies the Goddess statue over his shoulder, her eyes narrowing in contempt against imagined condemnation. As if she's wilfully sullying Link with her imperfections when he has every opportunity to say 'no'.

"I'll get your dress, Princess." Link offers into the silence, voice strained but utterly unwilling to ask anything of her.

Zelda's hand snatches out, wrapping around his wrist. Wide, dilated eyes find hers.

She loves to see him unmade, the image of Hyrule's perfect hero mussed and blurred. He looks wild; wet up to his chest, hair loose and unkempt, flush high in his cheeks and eyes dark with want. He looks perfectly mortal and human and attainable.

She doesn't know what he sees when he looks at her. She's sure she can't look like more than a pathetically naked girl with reckless fury in her eyes. Not directed at him—never at him, not anymore—but against a world and a Goddess that asks so much of her that she just cannot do.

"Come here." She tugs his wrist.

He steps back between her thighs.

Undoing his belt is easy enough; metal doesn't become harder to handle when wet. The ties on his trousers give her a little more trouble, but she gets them undone enough to draw him out and into her hands.

She seriously considers spinning him around and sinking to her knees before him in a different kind of prayer than the kinds she's spent all day fruitlessly offering. But she spots the statue again, and something wild and self-destructive takes hold in her chest.

"Come here." She says again, scooting forward until she's just hanging over the edge of the stone.

He seems to read her intent. "Princess—we can't—"

"Why not?" She challenges, breathing into his ear, trailing butterfly kisses down his jaw to the corner of his lips. "Because I'm a princess? I don't care about that."

He says nothing in response. She hears him swallow thickly.

She draws back to meet his gaze, eyebrows raised. Without saying a word, she begins to stroke him, touch feather soft. She knows the skin of her hands is silky and soft, maintained by a rigorous skincare routine imposed upon her by her maids. Logically, it must feel different from the times he's taken himself in hand, with all his calluses.

"We don't have to if you don't want to." She tells him as he screws his eyes shut and leans his palms on the ground on either side of her hips. He doesn't answer right away. She tightens her fist around him a little, delighting in the soft grunt he lets out, frame jolting against hers.

"I want to." He groans, his forehead coming to rest against her shoulder. "But I shouldn't."

"If you want to, you should." She kisses the tip of his ear. "I want to." She teases a little, taking it between her teeth and biting gently.

His answering chuckle is hot against her collarbone. "As my Princess commands."

He never calls her by name, she thinks with displeasure. She's given up trying to tell him to.

His hands are rough and callused on her hips as he drags her forward, almost completely off her purchase; she's forced to leverage herself against him, breasts crushed to his chest as he reaches down to hold himself. The fabric of his tunic rubs against her nipples, sending shocks of sensation whizzing through her.

Her arms wrap around his frame as he presses inside her. One hand fists in the sodden fabric of his tunic, the other in his wild hair as she stretches around his intrusion—a delicious burn that she feels creeping all the way along her spine and punching the breath from her lungs.

The statue watches on as they breach this final barrier—a line they've never crossed before in all their fumbling exploration. This is something so far beyond forbidden that it crosses over into taboo. Even if she'd ordered him at knifepoint to take her, Link could be executed for his.

The thought makes her nearly combust. His entire frame shudders as her legs wrap around his waist, ankles locking over his clothed buttocks.

"Are you alright?" His face is buried in her neck, nose bumping against her pulse. "It doesn't hurt?"

"You feel wonderful." She breathes, tightening her limbs around him.

For once, she feels wild and free and alive.

Zelda's mother had told her a legend of the Goddess when she'd been a little girl. It was said, her mother told her, that the Goddess had loved Her chosen hero so much that She had chosen to submit Herself to the cycle of reincarnation when he'd been cursed by a great evil, so that She would be there to support him when he was inevitably reborn. The hero was Her true love, destined to find and love Her in every life.

Zelda certainly doesn't feel like Hylia reborn—but Link is, without question, Her beloved hero. And, right now, in this moment, he isn't Hylia's. He's hers. Zelda's. She holds him inside her body and within the circle of her arms, the heat of him seeping into her from the inside out.

His movements are jerky and unpractised, and probably not helped by the tight hold she keeps on him. Water sloshes around his thighs and he grunts against her throat. His hands cradle her hips, moving her with him in an instinctive rhythm that she can't even begin to understand.

She closes her eyes against the sight of the Goddess watching on in disapproval. She embraces her rumoured, supposed impiety. If her virtue isn't good enough to gain the Goddess's favour, then it's useless to her. Better to give it to someone who already finds her worthy.

"Touch me." She breathes into his ear, panting in time with his movements.

A hand leaves her hip to slide between their bodies and fumble at slippery flesh. She forgets, briefly, who and where they are—she forgets about her failure and the disapproval of her father, about the whispers among the court and the condemnation of the Goddess, about her power and the ruin it will bring if she doesn't awaken it. All she knows is the man buried between her thighs; his grip on her hip, the feel of him in her arms, his breath skating across heated flesh.

She's still sensitive from her previous orgasm, fluttering around him as he jerks into her. That sensation, combined with his fingers, fills her to the brim and causes her skin to overheat.

He curses into her throat. "Princess—Princess I have to—" She feels him try to withdraw. She makes a noise of disapproval, pressing closer to him and tightening her legs around his hips. "Princess—I can't finish inside—"

Just the thought of it curls her toes. She comes again with a cry at his words, a distant part of her brain noting that mental stimulation seems just as effective as physical.

"Shit—shit—!" Link shudders in her arms, and she feels him grind against her, hand snatching back to her hip and pulling her roughly against him. There's a spasm and unfurling warmth spilling inside her. Her legs had locked around him in orgasm—she'd unintentionally prevented him from pulling out.

She should be worried about that, but she's strangely calm about the whole thing as they collapse against the stones in a heap of damp, panting cloth and flesh. Her fingers run absently through his hair as he presses his forehead into her breasts.

He tenses after a moment. "I'm sorry." He scrambles off of her, eyes wide and panicked. "I shouldn't have—"

"It's alright." She pushes herself to sit with shaky arms. Her nerves are still fluttering as she regains her breath.

"But—"

She shakes her head. She already feels cold without him. "There are medicines that can… flush out anything that takes root. Purah won't ask questions if I tell her I need one." She feels hollow as she says the words.

He relaxes, running his hands over his face.

The feeling grips her, sudden and unbidden, that she wishes she wouldn't need such an elixir. That, if she found herself carrying his child, they could elope like regular people and raise their baby far away from disapproving eyes.

Tears prick at her eyes as her mind follows that path—to a future where Calamity Ganon never comes, where she can keep him forever and won't get him killed with her ineptitude. She buries her face in her hands and curses the Goddess for taunting her by placing him within her reach, but surrounding them with circumstances that prevents her from holding him properly.

"Princess? Are you—did I hurt you?!" Link's voice is aghast. When she lifts her head, cheeks wet with tears, his expression is pained. It's the most expressive she's ever seen him—because he thinks he's done something to hurt her. As if he's ever truly done anything to hurt her. She can only laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"No." She shakes her head, looking down at the bare skin of her lap. She can feel his spend beginning to leak out of her, pooling on the stone and running into the sacred waters. "No, I'm fine. I just—I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm sorry."

His hands come up to her shoulders, thumbs moving soothingly against her skin. His face ducks into her line of sight, eyes soft and kind. "Is there something I can do?"

You could run away with me, she thinks wistfully.

Instead of saying that, she gives him a watery smile. "Could you get my gown, please? I… need to clean up." She fights the urge to press her thighs together against the slightly uncomfortable trickling sensation.

"Of course." He doesn't kiss her again, like she wishes he would. Instead, he gives her shoulders a slight squeeze before letting go, wading toward the small waterfall and splashing down into the lower portion of the spring.

Zelda lowers herself back into the water. They've already defiled the spring by—she winces—fucking in it. She can't imagine cleaning away the evidence in its waters will damn her any more than she already has been.

It's terribly cold now that all is said and done. Still, she doesn't regret it. Now, even if they do succeed, even if her father decides to marry her off to some foreign prince or haughty noble, she can always remember that the first man she'd had had been one that she'd loved. Not a lot of women can say the same, especially women of rank.

She's not naïve enough to believe that she can ever keep Link in any meaningful way. Even if he loves her with the same all-consuming passion that she does him, her father would never permit it. Chosen by the Goddess or not, Link is a commoner. At best, if they somehow succeed, he'll be granted some kind of noble rank and shuffled off to a country estate to marry some nobleman's daughter, and Zelda will make the marriage that best secures Hyrule's political future.

And if they die, which is far more likely? Then at least she will have this experience to hold close to her heart for the rest of her short life.

As clean as she can make herself with only water and her own fingers, she wades, naked, out to stand in front of the altar with the statue. She pauses there for a moment, staring up at the Goddess's impassive face.

She offers no prayers, no supplications. She simply stares in defiance of the Goddess' judgement, daring Her to finally break Her silence to condemn her for her impiety.

Silence. There is only the rush of the water around her.

Sneering, Zelda slaps the surface of the spring, sending a wave of droplets spraying across the stone.

"Curse you." She mutters, glaring up at the statue.

It stares back placidly. Silently. Unflinchingly.

In this moment, Zelda has never hated anything more than the Goddess who turns a deaf ear to Her own descendant.

"Princess?" Link's voice calls over the spring. When she turns to him, he's holding a towel over his arm. "We should dry off. You'll get sick."

Her heart twists in her chest as she stares at him. Gods, but she wants to keep him. She wants to be able to hold him in her arms forever and tell him that she loves him, without having to worry about kings or countries or ancient evils.

But she is the Princess of Hyrule. Such a thing will never be within her grasp.

She wades toward him, taking his hand when he offers it to help her up the slippery steps. Gingerly, he wraps the towel around her shoulders. "I'll build up the fire again." He murmurs.

She nods silently. Then, he turns his back, and she says nothing as she watches him go.

"Curse you." She mutters under her breath again. Whether she's cursing Hylia, herself, her father, Ganon, or even Link… she doesn't know.

#zelink #zelink week 2023 #Day 2: Forbidden #my fanfiction

[just-a-little-cellist]

Omigod I just found you and I absolutely love with how you write Sam🥹🙏🏻🙏🏻❤️. Could you possibly do a reader who's usually very bubbly and hyper around people, but when she's alone with Sam she gets shy and flustered quite a bit. Maybe Sam gets more confident and his ego boots up? Idk😭 maybe both sfw and nsfw headcannons? It's okay if you don't want to! Love your writing!

(ah thank you so much! I'm so happy that you like my writing, and I'm even happier that people are actually requesting content for Sam! he doesn't get the attention he deserves)

(Sam x gender neutral!reader, some nsfw content - hope you enjoy!)

He is first drawn to you because of how sweet and friendly you seem, and it's a little disheartening to see how quiet you are when it's just the two of you.

Sam is a bit of an overthinker, so at first when he realizes that you act different around him he figures he must've done something wrong or you just don't enjoy spending time with him that much, which he is upset by but he tries to give you space.

It's only when the other hobbits catch on to your behavior and start teasing him (eventually Frodo has to sit him down and tell him) that he starts actively trying to talk to you again.

While before he was reading too much negatively into all your actions. he starts to see your true feelings hidden behind every exchange. The shy look down when he smiles at you, the blush on your cheeks when he talks to you, the stutter in your voice when you reply - it's an ego boost to say the least.

He makes way more of an effort to spend time with just you, while he secretly builds up the courage to ask you out. This doesn't take as much time as he thought it would since, as it turns out, having so much attention on him really helped his confidence.

Your behavior around him gives Sam more of a quiet confidence. He won't become incredibly cocky and he certainly won't make fun of you for being shy (he might make a brief teasing comment when he asks you out but nothing more). It's a feeling he keeps to himself, but the one change you might notice is that he's a lot more certain of his actions and he stops second-guessing himself.

(NSFW)

If you're naturally more submissive (assuming you probably are if you act like that around people you like lmao) then Sam will lean slightly more dominant to compensate.

(I've made a previous post about dom!Sam go check it out)

He will absolutely take advantage of how shy you are and, no matter how flustered you are, he will not touch you until you tell him in detail what you want him to do to you.

Regardless of any of this though, he will spoil you in bed. He is a giver and that will never change.

You have him completely wrapped around your little finger - if you giggle shyly and tuck your hair behind your ear he is somehow already hard and he doesn't understand how.

(god forbid you ever take advantage of this)

#lotr #sam lotr #lotr smut #lotr x reader #lotr x you #lotr x y/n #samwise gamgee #sam gamgee #sam x reader #samwise x reader #samwise gamgee x reader #samwise the brave #sam x you #sam x y/n #samwise x you #sam gamgee smut #samwise gamgee imagine