#i just love the way they are so brutally distanced from the other | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spacelazarwolf · 5 months

Text

apparently a bunch of ppl on social media are trying to call for a boycott of rick riordan because of this statement in a blog post:

Becky and I are just back from a busy weekend with events at the Boston Book Festival and New York Comic-Con.

Before I get into that, however, some words to acknowledge the ongoing horrors in Israel and Gaza. As many of you may know, I am no longer on social media. My accounts post only updates on my books and related projects. I do not read posts, reply to posts, or share my thoughts about world events on those forums. That doesn’t mean I don’t have strong feelings and reactions. It means I am offline as completely as possible, except for the occasional blog post like this one.

I will say this: Over the last eighteen years, I have received many fan letters from young readers, both Israeli and Palestinian, who often told me that my books helped them escape the fear, grief and anxiety they were dealing with at the time. Some had lost family members to violence. Some were writing while in the distance they could hear explosions, gunfire, and the launching of rockets. They used my books as a way to escape into another world, where the monsters were fictional, and where demigods usually saved the day. While I am always glad that my books can help young readers find joy during difficult times, my heart breaks every time I hear about the things they have to deal with. I am grief-stricken by the horrific events now unfolding, especially because I know that they are part of a long historic pattern that has been robbing too many children of their childhood and perpetuating hatred for far too long.

I am also quite aware that when anyone, myself included, tries to speak about this issue, the reader is waiting to pounce, thinking, “Yes, but whose side are you on?” That is exactly the wrong question. If there are two sides to this issue, those sides are not Palestinian/Israeli or Muslim/Jewish. The two sides are humanitarian and dehumanizing. Dehumanizing has a long evil history. It is appealing and easy to buy into, because humans are tribal animals. We are hardwired to think in terms of ‘us’ versus ‘them.’ We are the real humans, the good guys, the ones with God on our side. Those other people are evil monsters who don’t deserve empathy. Hate mongers have thrived on dehumanizing for as long as there have been humans. It provides them with a purpose, a way to rally support, power, and scapegoats. It is easy to point to atrocities committed by our enemies, while justifying or minimizing the atrocities committed by ourselves or our allies.

Humanitarianism is a much harder sell. It requires us to empathize, to see other groups of people as equally deserving of dignity and quality of life. It requires not always putting ourselves and our needs first. But in the long run, humanitarianism is our only hope. If violence could end violence, if we could put an end to “those other people” once and for all, human history would read very differently than it does.

So yes, I am appalled by the Hamas attacks on Israeli civilians. I am appalled by the suffering of Palestinian civilians in Gaza. Both things can be true. Both things must be true. My thoughts are with all the people who have died, who have lost loved ones, who have had their worlds and their lives shattered, especially the children. More death and violence will not break this cycle, which has been going on for generations. There is no military solution. Even since I first wrote the post, only twenty-four hours ago, the Israeli government’s brutal retaliation against the entire population of Gaza has reached genocidal proportions. This is not only an atrocity. It is folly. Answering misery with misery only creates more fertile ground for extremism, dehumanizing the “other side,” letting hate mongers thrive, stay in power, and reduce us all to our most monstrous impulses. The only real solution is treating each other like equally worthy human beings, and negotiating a peace that allows all parties a chance to live in security and dignity, with hopes for a future that does not include bombs and rockets and gunfire. This means security and support for Israel, yes. It also means a secure Palestine which is allowed to get the international aid and recognition it needs to build a viable state.

Do I think that will happen? Unfortunately, no. Humans are simply too selfish, too ready to blame “the other” for all their problems, too ready to dehumanize, though I also believe, perhaps paradoxically, that most people just want to live their lives in peace and have a chance for their children to have a brighter future. The problem is when we don’t allow other people to have those same hopes and dreams — when it becomes a false choice of us versus them.

What can I do? I will continue to write books that I hope will give young readers some joy. I will resist the urge to demonize entire groups of people. I will call for less violence, not more violence. And when asked whose side I am on, I will tell you I am on the side of humanitarianism.

So with that said, I return to the world of books . . .

honestly, if you have a problem with this statement, it’s probably because he’s talking about you. this is exactly what legitimate activists (as in not just random westerners who share social media posts but on-the-ground activists who are doing real work) have been saying for decades. and i think all this really speaks to just how disconnected a lot of westerners who claim to be pro palestinian are from those activists.

if you can’t read a statement that says “i am on the side of humanitarianism and less violence” without immediately jumping to cancel them, you are the problem being discussed in the above statement.

#ip

3K notes · View notes

gay-dorito-dust · 2 months

Text

How they’d react to you not kissing/hugging him before leaving for a mission…

Dick acts as though you told him his ass isn’t that fat in his spandex suit-

He’s insulted.

You always, always remember to kiss his cheek before he leaves. His ‘good luck, be safe and kick ass’ cheek kiss!

It’s your thing as a couple! Do you want to see him cry because he fucking will! He’ll do it!

Dick will pout, huff and whine loud as possible in hopes that you’d realise your error and rectify it tenfold. He won’t tell you what’s wrong. No, he wants and expects you to figure it out for yourself, which doesn’t get him anywhere when you’re looking at him confused and lost as to what he was whining about; Literally.

His mood will be down for the entirety of the day and you’ll no doubt have texts from his teammates and family members asking what was wrong with Dick to look so down.

You’re just as confused as them seeing as how Dick didn’t disclose his innermost thoughts and feelings to you despite being his partner, so you were at a loss on how to help them with something even you weren’t privy to knowing…it’s probably one of your biggest issues as a couple but that’s for another time.

Dick will do that pathetic thing where he looks back at you expectantly the closer he gets towards the door, even going so far as to walk extremely slow when he was within reaching distance of the door handle as to buy you enough time to notice before he genuinely had to leave.

When you don’t however, Dick acts like a kicked puppy for the rest of the day and will proceed to exaggerate to anyone with ears about how his lover was restricting him of his affection.

On the other hand, If you do manage to remember to give him a good luck kiss, planting an extra one on his other cheek for extra, extra luck. Dick will have a permanent smile on his face that will not go the fuck away, even when he’s beating someone’s ass, the smile remains glued on his face as though with gorilla glue.

Seeing Dick brutally beat someone’s ass with a smile was horrifying for anyone to witness but it’s okay bc he’s happy that you remembered to kiss him good luck.

Jason will immediately call you out on your bullshit.

And by that I mean cross his arms over his chest and stare at you saying. ‘Well?’

And you’re like: ‘well what?’

And he’s like: ‘where’s my good luck kiss that you owe me? Roy is waiting on me and here I am waiting on my kiss, so give me my kiss chipmunk.’

Jason doesn’t piss about and gets to the meat of the issue at hand. He wants his good luck kisses and he wants them now and he will not leave the apartment until he gets them.

You’d raise a brow at his not so subtle neediness for your affection and decided to tease him. ‘I thought you didn’t need my good luck kisses remember? You’re a big boy who can fight with or without my good luck kisses.’

Jason groans, not expecting you to pull that out. ‘I said that one time. One time and I was being a dick back then too because all you wanted to do was show me that you cared about me and didn’t want me to get hurt.’

You smiled and got up from the couch and walked over to him, resting your hands on his biceps. ‘So now that you admit that you were a dick and the way that you acted was wrong…’ you trailed off as you pressed a kiss to his lips once, twice, three times because you loved to kiss Jason whenever possible and will try to plant as many kisses as you could.

‘Thanks chipmunk.’ Jason murmurs against your lips, feeling everything has gone back to being right again. ‘Now I better be off or Roy will tease me for lingering too long-‘

‘Too late.’ Roy said from the doorway and Jason closed his eyes and silently curse while you smiled and waved at Roy. ‘Hi Roy!’ You said. ‘Hi y/n, mind letting Jason come out to play?’ Roy joked. You played along by making a thoughtful face as Jason mutters under his breath; ‘are you being serious right now?’

You snapped your fingers. ‘As long as you make sure Jason doesn’t get into trouble then yes, he may go out and play.’

‘I hate you both.’ Jason groaned as he walked past you and playfully shoved Roy aside to leave the apartment. Roy then cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted after him. ‘Are you sure you don’t want your goodbye kisses?’ You and Roy laugh together upon hearing Jason cursing him out from a distance.

Damian acts indifferent about it.

He doesn’t need a good luck hug, hell! he doesn’t need luck at all!

He’s skilled enough to win any fight without relying on something silly as Luck. Luck was just probability under a different name and definition. (A/n: Don’t quote me on that.)

So when you forget to give him a hug before a mission, Damian doesn’t think anything of it but it will linger in his mind unnecessarily much to his annoyance.

Why was he so hung up on not getting something a silly as a hug? Or was he instead more upset over the fact that you, his closest friend/partner, completely forgot about it as though it wasn’t anything worth remembering.

Either way he was conflicted and didn’t know how to go about saying any of this to you without getting frustrated over his apparent loss for words. He was a man of action more then anything so when he finally catches up to you, he will stride towards you and stop just a couple of inches and silently stare at you with his resting bitch face.

‘Damian?’ You asked. ‘Are you okay?’

Damian doesn’t say anything because he couldn’t think of anything to say in that moment and instead stays silent as to save himself from further embarrassment.

‘Damian?’ You asked again, getting worried over his unusual silence. ‘I can’t help you if you don’t tell me-‘ before you could finish your sentence, Damian had lunged towards you and brought you into a very tight hug. You smile softly and gladly hugged Damian back, not saying a single word other then;

‘You don’t need me to say it but I’ll reaffirm it anyway, you’ll do great out there Dami. I know you will.’

3K notes · View notes

howtodrawyourdragon · 2 months

Text

I can never think too much about Httyd 1 Astrid before I get too emotional.

At 15, this girl was so bitter and harsh and kept everyone at a distance and hard on everyone, including herself, and she didn't allow any emotions of hers to shine through beyond anger and its varying shades. I mean, how could she?

She grew up around blood and death, destined to inherit the same war her parents and grandparents did, stuck in an endless cycle of violence no one truly knew how it got started in the first place other than the very plausible reason that their enemy was simply cruel, unreasonable and would never stop coming. Not until one side finally eradicated the other, never knowing that the annihilation of one side would without a doubt automatically mean the destruction of the other before the unknown third party in this war, the Red Death, inevitably moved on to rinse and repeat elsewhere.

Astrid had no prospects for the future and she knew it. She would live out her life as a warrior, fight and get injured until the day she would inevitably die, probably in battle. Except maybe she would get to see her parents die a brutal death before she goes. Maybe even her future husband. Maybe even her future kids. That is, if she even got that far in life.

So no wonder she just stood by and watched with a vaguely sad look as Hiccup was bullied. No wonder her best pieces of advice were "he's never where he should be" and "pick which side you're on." No wonder she got pissed as hell at Hiccup when she fought to get just the littlest bit of an edge in a cruel and unjust world only to have it stolen right out from under her by the chief's son, who basically breezed his way through dragon training thanks to Toothless. No wonder she was ready to tell on Hiccup's ass when she found out he was making friends with the enemy, the same one who would come at night and steal their food and destroy their homes, leaving them to starve exposed to the elements.

And no wonder, when Hiccup shows her that a bleak future of endless cruelty isn't the only option for her anymore, she blooms open like the most beautiful goddamn flower in the entire north. She loves Snoggletog, experimenting with cooking, pranks, big romantic gestures. She gets truly in touch with her emotions and finds it important to build up the guy who literally gave her a future.

Astrid makes me so emotional, guys...

#httyd movies #httyd #how to train your dragon #astrid hofferson

669 notes · View notes

earthtooz · 11 months

Text

x : AVOIDANCE :*+ﾟ

in which: falling for blade was not on your agenda, so naturally you decide to distance yourself. however, the last thing you'd predicted was blade being upset with the sudden space.

warnings: 2.3k wc, FLUFF, ooc!blade probably bc i'm still trying to figure it out, kafka meddles with the two of you, gn!stellaron hunter!reader who has a past lol, NOT PROOFREAD, idiots in love bc i love that trope, bad writing

a/n: thank you to the anon who gave me this idea :D much appreciated, i had a lot of fun with this one when my angstier fics were draining me af. i hope you enjoy, apologies if it's a little low quality, but it's my child <3

when you first joined the team of stellaron hunters, you didn’t expect to get much out of it, especially since the team looked so cold, calculating, mischievous, and unforgiving, greeting you with vicious smiles and muddy eyes. preemptively, you assumed the most you would receive is acquaintanceship.

however, time has proven you wrong, because on the contrary, you have found comfort, friendship, and stability in the form of this mismatched group.

you never expected to find love either.

but you did, and it might be the worst decision your heart has ever made.

“y/n, there you are. kafka and i are thinking about going out to lunch. want to join?” silver wolf’s voice interrupts your train of thought, disrupting your peace in your private spot amongst the gardens.

“oh, hi silver wolf,” you murmur, shutting your book after shoving in a bookmark. “who else is going?”

“kafka asked blade and he agreed.”

the genius hacker doesn’t notice the way you tense upon hearing a certain swordman’s name. instead, you play it cool by opening up your book again, scanning the pages in hopes of ignoring the racing of your heart.

“i think i’ll pass on this one. thank you though,” you mutter.

“really?” the silver-haired asks, popping her gum before shrugging. “whatever you say. i’m off!”

“bye!”

hearing her footsteps fade, you slump in your seat, your memories with blade hauntingly eminent in your mind. you don’t recall when you fell for him, or why exactly, all you have in your recollection is a series of moments that you look back fondly upon with a full heart, love slowly seeping in to you and causing your affections to grow to the size that they reside at now.

when you had realised, the love had already grown too big to deflate, and dejection struck moments after; a big bang of butterflies in your stomach that all disintegrated straight after.

how brutal- perhaps this was an indication that blade was rubbing off on you too much, and you need to cleanse yourself of his influence.

love, although fickle, was not something that you avidly rejected. despite having lived like a hunted deer, your experiences have been fleeting, building your delicate heart for a life of meeting, falling, then leaving when you least wanted to, needing to run before an arrow pierced you- and certainly not cupid’s one.

but with blade, everything is different. there is no arrow to run from, not in the life that elio has foreseen for you. for the first time in your life, you can stop running away and try fall into the arms of love with little remorse.

it's just ironic that you fall into the arms of a man who should not be touched.

“y/n’s not coming with us today,” silver wolf reports after meeting up with the other two stellaron hunters.

“oh?” kafka hums, “usually y/n’s always willing to hangout, why’s that?”

“busy or something, i don’t know, i didn’t care to ask.”

the slight scrunch of displeasure in blade’s expression passes by the keen eyes of both kafka and silver wolf. if either of them had noticed then perhaps it would have been a topic of interest, but for the time being, the pair move on (faster than the third member), your unusual absence dismissed in favour of where to get food.

as the days turn into nights and elio issues more missions and mumbles more futures, blade feels as though he sees you less and less.

it’s not intuition more than it is you purposefully ignoring and evading blade in your everyday, though.

“good morning,” kafka’s voice greets when she walks in to the cafeteria, where you were eating breakfast alone. setting down your phone, you regard her with a mouth full of bread. “gross. at least swallow first.”

“screw off,” you murmur. “how did you sleep?”

“fine fine, i woke up in the wrong position though and my neck is killing me, but what about you? seems like you’ve been up a while.”

“i’ve been up since asscrack of dawn.”

the purple-haired regards you with amusement. “why’s that?”

“body clock or whatever,” you lie, staring down at your glass of water.

“i see,” kafka hums half-heartedly, as if seeing right through you. “well, i’m going to get some coffee, i’ll be right back.”

“mk.”

you’re left on your own for only a few minutes, waiting patiently in silence for kafka to return. the morning is cool and pleasant, and the smell of rain is still heavy in the air as the morning dew lightens the atmosphere. the weather will surely get hotter as the day matures, but for now, you enjoy the gentle caress of sunlight on your back.

or rather- you were enjoying the gentle caress of the sun, but the methodicalness of it all is ruined when you spot a certain figure with dark, long hair beside kafka.

suddenly the last thing you know is peace and calm, and the abrupt, painful scraping of your chair against the floor symbolises that.

“going somewhere?” kafka asks.

picking up your scraps, you avoid blade’s gaze. “yeah! i- uh, realised that i have some documents to drop off for elio by twelve or whatever.”

“won't you stay to keep us company for breakfast,” the purple-haired tempts, “it feels like it’s been so long since we’ve spent some proper time together.”

“has it?” you laugh nervously and kafka easily picks up the pitchiness of your tone. “i’ll make it up soon, i promise, i’ve just been overflowed with things to do.”

“alright. you be off then. don’t work too hard.”

“i won’t. my head is remaining tight on my shoulders, don’t you worry!” you reassure before scrambling away, feeling like your legs could not be any slower as you retreat away from blade’s scrutinising gaze. when you round the corner, you sigh a breath of relief.

it’s laughable and simultaneously admirable how dedicated you are about dodging every interaction possible, but for the record, you think you’re doing quite well. not that space was doing many favours for your heart, but persistence is key.

whoever believed that distance makes the heart grow fonder just clearly didn’t try enough, because yours feels like it’s about to hammer out of your chest with how fast it is racing, and the sensation is equivalent to something like pain rather than fondness.

“i’m worried,” blade mutters, gaze lingering on where you’d just disappeared. “and why does y/n talk like i’m not right here?”

“aww, are you upset?” coos kafka, taking a seat. the swordsman mimics her.

“why wouldn’t i be? it feels like y/n has been ignoring me as of late.”

kafka hums thoughtfully, swirling her coffee cup around.

“do you know anything about that?”

“nup. nothing at all,” she answers, feigning ignorance to the many suspicions that are bubbling around in her mind. the last thing kafka is, is blind, your unusual behaviour has not bypassed her perceptive eye at all, but she believes she has uncovered the reasoning as to why; said reasoning being a certain swordsman.

the revelation is definitely interesting, and she might just be able to give the push you both need.

“y’know what, bladie? if it concerns you that much, i’d say you go check up on y/n later,” kafka suggests.

“why not you?”

“i’ll be busy, but i think some support in dire times is just what y/n needs.”

“okay. fine.”

when blade gathers the courage to check up on you, like kafka recommended, the time is nearing 5pm. the sun is beginning to cool, the animals are retreating into their nests, and the big, bad, intimidating stellaron hunter is roaming around the archives, where you’re situated to work, hoping to locate you.

it takes a few laps around to finally find your placement because you’re fast asleep, only identifiable to blade by the jacket you hung on the back of your chair.

the sight of you hunched over your desk over a multitude of forms and papers causes a wave of concern (however much he can feel) to wash over blade, and suddenly, he does something completely foreign to him: dote over someone.

gently lifting your jacket to cover your shoulders, he stills when you shift a little, your eyebrows furrowing in your sleep. deciding to leave you alone, all blade spares is one lasting look at your vulnerability before leaving.

he wonders what it is that could be making you so frustrated.

(if only he knew).

a few days later, kafka confronts you about the suspicions that’s been creeping to the forefront of her mind.

“did you do something to piss a certain bladie off?”

kafka’s saccharine voice is laced with mischief as she leans towards you, chin resting on the palm of her hand. she certainly does not miss the way you tense up at the mention of the swordsman’s name and her smirk widens when you shuffle away, subconsciously turning away, as if avoiding the subject.

“i can’t think of why i would have,” you murmur, crossing your arms. “why?”

“oh, nothing, he’s just been complaining and crying a lot recently.”

“he does that all the time.”

“so he does,” your fellow stellaron hunter hums. “except he’s mentioning your name a lot more nowadays.”

you freeze. “what?”

“hm? did i say something peculiar?”

inhaling a deep breath, you steady yourself. you know what kafka wants out of you and you’re not going to give it to her despite how innocent and pretty she spins the web to look. after all these years together, you hope to have learnt a thing or two about how to avoid her snare.

“what is blade saying about me?” you quiz.

she blinks at you. “why so curious if you haven’t done anything?”

“can i not ask about something that involves my name? besides, he’s my friend, i want to know what he’s saying,” you lean against the back of the couch, trying to calm the involuntary shake in your legs. you despise that the slightest mention of blade can cause a bottomless pit to form in your stomach and it’s not because of how intimidating or threatening he is.

no, it’s because you’ve fallen for him, hook, line, and centre.

and blade would have to die before you ever tell him.

“mostly just grumbles about wondering where you are,” kafka expands, waving her hands about to match her words. “he asked silver wolf and i if you’ve been talking to us and when we said ‘yes’, he looked pissed! when i asked why he was being a sourpuss, he just stormed off.”

“so temperamental, that man,” she sighs. then, she looks back at you with those half-lidded eyes that have always gotten her what she wants, and in this case, they’re answers. “so tell me, y/n, what did you do to our bladie to have him all riled up like this?”

“nothing. absolutely nothing.”

“are you sure?”

“positive.”

“positive?”

you avoid her curious gaze. “positive.”

“maybe i phrased the question wrong. has bladie done something to you instead?”

panic settles within you. “no,” you lie through your teeth. “he hasn’t.”

“so if i asked you why you left breakfast so abruptly that day, you wouldn’t say that it’s because of him?”

“i had work to do, kafka, you know how busy my job gets.”

“i know, i know,” she persists, “then why weren’t you in a hurry before blade arrived that morning?”

you don’t know how to refute that, letting silence speak volumes instead.

“and why did you skip out on lunch with silver wolf and i? was it because we also invited a certain someone?”

“okay! fine, you’ve got me. what do you want to know?” you explode, tossing your phone on the couch in frustration.

“so it is about blade?” questions your coworker.

“yeah. it is.”

“what about him? did he do something to hurt you? you know he’s accidentally mean sometimes-”

“it’s not that, he’s nothing but a sweetheart.”

“so what’s the problem?”

“that is the problem! he’s just… he’s him.”

“is that bad?”

“for my heart, yes.”

“oh my- so you like him?”

you exhale exasperatedly, “don’t act like you haven’t already figured that out, kafka.”

the cheshire smile she then flashes sends shivers down your spine. for whatever reason, an oppressive feeling grows in your gut, resembling something like a warning.

“you’re right, i knew,” she flaunts. then, her gaze cuts to look behind you. “but i don’t think blade did.”

your heart lurches out of your chest with enough force to pull you off the couch and you stumble around to see that, lo and behold, blade was indeed standing in the hallway. the expression he wears tells you enough; he heard you, he knows.

kafka somehow sneaks her way out of the room, leaving you alone to deal with the face of rejection. it’s daunting being in the same space as him after so long, you almost forgot about the intimidating pressure that blade naturally exudes and projects in every space he enters.

“hi,” you start, looking away.

he stalks over to you, footsteps soundless before stopping a feet in front of you. instead of saying something, the swordsman merely gazes down at you whilst you keep your eyes glued to the side.

“can you reject me already? the silence is kinda killing me,” you snap after a few seconds, crossing your arms protectively.

instead of obeying to your request, blade does something completely unexpected; he very gently lifts your chin with his hand, and red eyes bore right into yours. is it odd to feel seen in your demise? because blade is looking- no, surveying you with such immense focus and clarity that your heart stills, frozen in position because it wants him to see the most picturesque part of you.

(he sees it, but he wants to know more of you. the pretty, the ugly, the likeable, and the unwanted.)

“would you like to go on a date?” he asks.

#this was awful </3 #blade x reader #blade hsr x reader #ren x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x gn!reader #blade x gn!reader #blade fluff #blade x reader fluff

2K notes · View notes

aphroditesmoon · 4 months

Note

Hiiii! Love your clarisse oneshots ^^. Could you possibly do one where Fem!reader is the daughter of Hades and has a hellhound as a pet that absolutely adores clarisse? Reader also has a similar personality to clarisse, loves to fight and has a big pride but only lets her guard down around Clarisse.(also possibly has her own electric weapon of your choice)Thank you!!

creatures of the night

clarisse la rue x fem!hades'cabin!reader

warnings: none

a/n: sorry this is so short, hope u like it<3

wc; 1.1k

You would never consider your relationship with your father as better than anyone else's relationship with their own parent in camp.

But when you had been claimed by Hades as well as being gifted a long black javelin with gold wrapped around the sharp edge on the same night you arrived at camp Half Blood, it seemed well established to everyone else and including yourself, that your father acknowledges your existence proudly.

Being one of the people in the small list of forbidden children, had created a fearsome reputation around your presence, and honestly speaking, you enjoy the privileges that come with it.

Although it was hard making friends considering your less friendly personality, some campers stuck by your side anyways. Those who bore you enormous respects and had been intrigued by your mysterious air instead of intimidated.

One of them being the infamous child of Ares, Clarisse La Rue.

Beautiful, strong and hot headed, Clarisse La Rue.

The two of you are often compared as the two sides of the same coin. Your personalities differ from eachother in many ways, but when it came to your goals and aims, you both are usually on the same team.

It's safe to say that you are less hostile than Clarisse. You prefer to keep to yourself whilst she prefered to assert dominance onto the other campers. And yet you are the more feared than her.

Clarisse is commonly brutal and unrelenting, but you usually saved up the worst of your tricks for when necessity calls for it. For now, intimidation worked well enough.

What's funny enough, is how Clarisse herself had a certain trepidation when she first befriended you. She learned soon that you were just another demigod girl just like she was, glory aside.

One of the instances where she felt that she had truly seen you as you are, all the facade dropped down, was when you first introduced her to your hound, Cerberus.

Your father had gifted him to you for your 15th birthday. It was one of yoir proudest moments in life. Demigods are almost never cared for that much by their parents, and so to have your coming of age be recognised by your father was a huge thing.

"Is that not the same name as Hades' own three headed hound?" She asked, staring at it for afar from the corner of your bed.

"I know, that's why I named him that." You explained to her as you're sat criss-crossed on the floor, scratching the beasts' chin.

Cerberus, once he deemed Clarisse as not a threat, rolled down on the ground on his stomach.

"Look at him, such a good boy." You were distracted by your new pet all day, ignoring your poor girlfriend who had come over to your cabin to spend time with you. "He's almost as tall as you." Clarisse spoke sarcastically, picking you on your height.

"That's not a fair observation. Most things are almost as tall as me." You responded, still not looking up.

"Are you just gonna keep standing there staring at me?" You asked her finally, realising just how weird the distance between you two were.

Clarisse was hesitant, frowning at your pet like he was some sort of threat. "I...think I'm good here." She muttered loud enough for your ears. "Oh, come on."

Clarisse shook her head as you complained about her irrationality. "Look at him, he's friendly." And he was, Cerberus had warmed up to you quickly and have not shown a single tendency for violence against your girlfriend.

"Come and say hello to him, Clarisse." You called out to her again.

You hear her sigh from the other side of the room. After a few more minutes pass, her footsteps grow louder as she moves nearer to you.

Clarisse squats down to meet Cerberus and flinched as he lifts his head up to sniff her. You reached for her hand, trying to get him to smell it. She pulls her hand back at first, but after a few more pulls, Clarisse relents and lets the hound give her knuckles a lick. "That tickles." She mumbled under her breath.

"He likes you, see." She gives a resigned look, like she's just going along with what you're saying. "No, I'm serious, look at how nice he's acting." You nudged your head towards Cerberus' head, encouraging her to give him a pet

Clarisse braves herself to give him a few strokes on his ears and found that he particularly likes that notion. "I guess he's not that bad." She admitted at last, pulling out a smile from you. "I told you."

"So what is he then? Some sort of guard dog?" She inquires. The gods would gift their children with tools that can be used, never something useless, like a domesticated pet. And from the looks of it, Cerberus is definitely not meant to be a some cute little friend.

"I don't know." You answered honestly.

"It's not like my dad does a lot of talking to me, but he gave me something from the underworld, something that's set as a reminder of him and his place above. I'd like to view it as some sort of stepping stone. Like I'm one step closer to him because of Cerberus."

It's not surprising that your end goal is to follow on your father's footsteps, no one really knows what the real secret to make their godly parent to care about them is.

It is often assumed that glory was the key, and yet, the best fighters in camp a

re usually the ones who resent their parents the most. You often prayed and hoped that you wouldn't ever have to cross that threshold.

"I'm sure he sees it that way too." Clarisse offered kindly. She knew all too well how much it meant to be noticed by their absent fathers, even if so slightly.

She slso knew deep down that even if your father refused to notice the lengths you would be willing to go for him, she did. And she would break the world in two for you if your father wouldn't. And you would do the same for her.

Clarisse leans her back against the lower frame of the bed, a small smile on her face as she watches you scratch the hound's chin whilst kissing the spot in between his eyes.

It is truly rare to catch sight of either daughters of Ares or Hades' being as gentle and playful as this, and Clarisse is grateful that these kind of intimacies are reserved for small private moments.

That same night, as she sleeps with her arms around your waist, Cerberus laying down by the foot of the bed, Clarisse realises that she would do anything for the bond between the two of you to prevail.

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #pjo series #pjo #pjo x reader #pjo tv show #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #dior goodjohn

906 notes · View notes

amandacanwrite · 3 months

Text

Halsin Headcanons For When He's In Love With You/Tav (Ungendered)

I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED TOO SOON

Generously Requested by @cryingoverpixelsetc I can't tell you how much it means to me when people actually WANT to hear about my bg3 brainrot because this game has been my escape lately and also, just a nice little break from the freelance work I have to cram to get done.

(PS if you like these, I am also a writer of my own original stories and I have some WIP's you may like.)

Quick CW|| Some graphic depictions of violence, particularly puncture wounds and viscera, intentions of heavy violence also referenced. In Battle

He trusts you, perhaps more than anyone else, to handle yourself. He doesn't hover, but he always has an eye on you as you tear into the fray.

He always seems so gentle to you that you sometimes worry about your own brutality in a fight. Especially when it leaves you covered in blood.

Because of this, you tend to keep your distance after a fight, too frightened to look into his pretty hazel eyes and see any measure of hesitance or disgust with you. Not that you've gotten used to it, you cant bear the thought of him not calling you 'my heart.'

This is only a fear for you until you got pinned down with a particularly nasty bhaalan cultist. Astarion had already been taken down in the surprise attack, then you were toppled by one of the many in the ambush.

The scream you let out as they sadistically drove their daggers through the palms of your hands was shocking even to you. You felt like a moth pinned to a board--it was too painful to try to break yourself free, even as the assailant wielded his next blade like he was about to field dress an elk.

You'd never felt fear like that.

But it didn't last long. A great cave bear launched through the air and into your attacker, wasting no time before ripping into the soft flesh of his throat and tore it out.

The smell of fear on you was strong, he knew you couldn't fight like that, so he simply stood guard over you, tearing to shreds anyone who got close from what small parts of it you can remember through the utter fear.

It was the after math of that fight when you knew you could never let him go.

He cups your face in his large, warm hands.

"Look at me, dear heart. Look upon me and remember that you're alive. There is no more threat. There is no one to hurt you. I would never let someone take you away from me before nature deigns it so."

The blades, you wept, the blades would hurt to remove.

"They will, but only for a moment, my love. Just a moment of pain before I heal you myself and carry you back to camp."

It's Astarion who removes the blades from your palms and frees you; he has the steadiest hands. But Halsin wastes no time in cradling you close to him, holding both of your hands in his own as he quietly whispers the healing word. You watch as your flesh and tendons weave themselves together. Then he envelops you and comforts you as you cry. Just cry.

How lucky it is that he is so at peace with every expression of you. He takes you as you are at all moments; whether you're bloodthirsty, joyful, or terrified. He basks in it all.

At Camp

Always touching you. Always. To him this isn't a public display of affection. It's not awkward. He loves you, why should he not touch you at every moment he can?

Sometimes it's a small thing, a broad hand on the small of your back as you discuss travel plans with Wyll. A little touch to remind you that he is there, like a tether to safety.

Other times your bodies are a tangle of comfort. Like he's looked for every way he can weave his body with yours. His fingers in your hair, your arm over his shoulder, your leg betwixt his, his wide chest lifting and falling with his sleepy breaths. This is often how you wake in the mornings with him.

Perhaps your favorite, though, is the nights by the fire. He doesn't even ask most days, just places himself behind you and offers himself as your seating arrangements for the night. His arms up behind him as he reclines against a rock or a felled tree, you sitting on his lap or between his lazily bent legs. His husky laughter tickles against your ear, the little hairs on the back of your neck. His rough voice rumbled against you as he regales the camp with yet another story of his youth.

He's a bit of a night owl. You fall asleep long before him most days.

He's also a bit disheartened by how difficult it is to find clothes that fit him in your travels together. Karlach as generously offered to share her clothes with him of course, but...something about her taste doesn't really seem to quite suit him.

(A disappointment to you, considering how nice those legs looked in infernal leather.)

He's the one who does much of the hunting for the party, along with Astarion. Halsin's a shockingly gifted fisher, though most of the fish he brings back to camp have bites in the flesh.

It was unnerving to gale at first, but he learned to live with it when he once brought back a salmon the size of a deep gnome.

When You're Alone

Rarely fully clothed. Not shocking, of course and certainly not something you would ever complain about. He usually just takes his tunic off, he says it feels restrained by it. He feels like he can breathe a bit better when his chest is bare.

No pun intended, of course.

Funny thing though, you always feel its much harder to breathe when he's shirtless.

There are no chaste kisses with this large elf. He seems to not have the restraint.

"I love the taste of you, my heart. It's the finest ambrosia. How blessed I am to have free reign to sate my appetites with you."

He likes to braid your hair and you're not sure why you're surprised at how good he is at it. Braids are a common hairstyle for elves, after all, and the man is a few centuries old. It soon becomes your favorite part of any day.

"I love how long your hair is getting, love. These times with you, my focus lost in your tresses...they have become some of my most treasured memories."

He compliments you often and freely.

One day you tell him about how you worry that you're too brutal to be with him, that you're concerned you'll scare him off one day for good.

"My heart, I spend more than half of my life in the form of a cavebear. I know I have told you how I received this scar. I may treasure the thriving, living of nature but that is only one side of the coin. Nature can be as brutal as it can be miraculous. In you, I see the beauty of brutality. I do not fear it, I admire it."

In Intimate Moments

Potential NSFW below, proceed with caution.

TW|| Mentions of consensual rough housing before...well, you know.

He is...proportionately sized...if you like.

(You do. You like very much.)

You sometimes have to remind him to get his pleasure with you. He is so pleased to be with you in this way that he forgets to indulge himself, even when it would be a moment of shared pleasure.

He loves every iteration of making love with you. He loves to take you fresh after a battle, covered in blood, to remember what it is to live and be alive.

He loves to take advantage of the vulnerability of a bath in the rivers and lakes of Faerun. Seems to particularly enjoy the sounds that come out of you as he thrusts up and into you, the sounds of your bodies muted by the water so he can hear every whimper and hitch of your breath.

He loves to hunt you. More than once you've stolen away into the forests and he gives you a head start. It's some of the most thrilling experiences you've had being intimate with someone.

This is no simple game of hide and seek, it is a true pursuit.

He always finds you quickly and he is fast, but you are faster. It's always a struggle for him to catch you. When he finally does succeed in his quest, you are so lost in the thrill and challenge of the pursuit that it becomes a struggle.

This part he always wins though. Sometimes because your desire for his body takes over your desire for besting him.

Sometimes you are still fighting when he gathers both of your wrists in a single one of his hands and carefully locks your legs beneath his.

He is careful though. He would never do anything without your express consent, without your enjoyment. He may be lost in the moment but he is old enough and wise enough to keep his head.

"Do you still want this, my love? Does your body still burn with need? Or has the pursuit run away with you?"

When you tell him you want this; you want him. That brief tarry into gentleness vanishes. He smiles sharply and turns you over, taking you as an animal in the wild might. Rough and unrelenting.

His hands dig into your thighs, your hips. His fingers tangle and pull your hair.

But when all is said and done, the kisses are soft and sweet. Peppered over your shoulders, down the path of your spine.

He collects you in his arms and soothes you.

"Have you pain anywhere? Is there anything I can get for you my love? You have been so generous with your body this night, it is only right that I take care of you for the remainder of it."

He likes to discuss your intimacy at length. He wants to know what you liked, what you didn't like, what he should change. At first you didn't like to critique, but he pressed you about it once he started to notice changes in your demeanor or reactions in the act. It's gotten much easier for you to discuss these things with him over time.

He simply loves discussing the potential of a family with you. Sometimes enough to be ready for a second round. But that second round is much gentler and more loving than the first. Like he's dreaming of a future with you.

#writing community #writers on tumblr #writing #bg3 headcanons #halsin headcanons #halsin x tav headcanons #Halsin x reader #my writing #romantasy #writeblr #authors #historical fantasy #halsin x tav #halsin smut #baldurs gate halsin #bg3 x tav #bg3 halsin

750 notes · View notes

dualitue · 2 months

Text

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐑 𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 !

★ mentions of manipulation + obsession and abusive relationship + semi-public sex + jealousy + thirst for academic validation (so real)

★ this one is especially for my lovely girlies who constantly dream about getting fucked brutally and also be the top of their class. i deserve to be number one or turn into dust, nothing in between that.

It's not a game of survival after all, you try to remind yourself all the time. It's just some classes, nothing that sleepless nights of studying cannot solve. However thanks to your stubborn professor who despises handing out higher grades, (the ones that you strongly believe that you deserve) you always find yourself back to square one. Studying, studying, studying and never getting the highest mark. At first, you felt like you haven't been studying hard enough—but after failing his class twice, you decided to take the same class from a different professor.

Professor Zayne.

What a dreamy guy, you'd hear from the other girls at the halls—whispering to each other excitedly. And you truly get the hype, really. He's tall, handsome, and there's this enchanting thing surrounding him that nails you to ground every time you run into him. His voice never fails to shake you to your core, and every time you feel struck by his charms, you need a breath of fresh air to get back into your right mind.

As if he senses that mental distance that you try to put, Professor Zayne always finds a way to draw you closer, pulling you back into that whirlwind of mixed emotions. Your mouth goes dry as his fingertips slightly brush over your tense shoulders during quizzes, or the way he stares into your eyes to peek into the depths of your soul even though he's talking to someone else.

Even though you don't want to admit, there's only a little you can do about this strange magnetic force between you and your beloved professor. Under that distant and emotionless face lies a soft man who makes you feel worthy of all that you've missed out on up until now, and you've been proved with such examples of that countless times.

That's when it became a survival game; when he offered you to be his assistant. Of course, nothing serious—you haven't graduated after all, so all you're assigned with are some small stuff that are probably irrelevant and carry no importance.

Yet, the way the corner of his lips curl into the slightest bit of a smile gets your heart beating faster whenever you successfully complete a task.

"Like the good girl you are," he says, an underlying tone of amusement can be sensed in his voice as he speaks. And you always, desperately, leave claw marks on every praise and compliment he gives you.

Over the course of the time you two have spent together, Zayne has taught you one thing; to be greedy. From unable to voice your wants in a natural way, you've become someone who can demand what they want. However, this dynamic has a little secret to it; if Zayne is the one giving you the praise you want, even though both of you know that you deserve it more than anyone, he makes you work for it.

It has started with your vent about your previous professor being an asshole about grading papers; he'd listen to you intently as you let your heart all out and get his study desk all messy. Broken sobs between your hatred filled words; you do deserve better and you do know that, so why should it be hard to enjoy the satisfaction of your well deserved success?

With his big, soft hand and warm palm Zayne would cup your red and burning cheek—his thumb gently rubbing your cheekbone; supporting you with a comfort that you've never known before. It didn't take long for you to get used to it; and Zayne never stopped making you ask for more.

"Yeah, sweet girl, get comfy there," he says; and it's almost impossible to be comfortable under his desk, you feel your knees getting bruised and your shoulders aching as your fingers hurriedly unzip his pants and free his hardened cock from his clothes. But, what else can you do to earn that addicting kiss, lingering on your lips even after days... or the way he makes you lie down on his cramped desk. Some folders hurt your back and your legs tremble as his fingers bury themselves deep in your cunt; slick sounds filling his room as he lands a slap to your pussy every time you get slightly loud.

What he loves most is when you let him fuck you before his classes. He hurriedly strips you off your clothes, his skilled fingers exploring your squirming body as if time is abundant. He sometimes cages your body between his firm chest and the cold wall as he sloppily fucks you from behind, or he gets you on his lap to feel your cunt squeeze around his twitching cunt when you take all of it...

The line, if there's any, between who knows what gets blurry with each interaction. Is this just a simple thing, or are you two using each other? It's not like he's not paying attention to you after these small interactions; he checks your essays the moment you send them, helping you with any questions you have or any assignment related stuff. What he definitely doesn't enjoy is that the way you help others in your class when they ask nicely.

On days that he sees other students around you, asking you stuff about his class, he simply uses you like a fuckdoll. Abusing your sensitive cunt, pulling back just as you're about to cum around his cock and spilling on your panties to remind you that you're not the one who can help, but the one who needs help.

And slowly but surely he manages to engrave that to your brain after, after a whole semester, you're almost dependent on him. No assignment feels good enough to be submitted before he approves, no studying session is efficient enough if he doesn't have you on his lap, grinding against his hard cock. No day is a good day if he hasn't kissed you until you feel dizzy. And no boys or your toys are able to fill you up the way he does. Some nights you find yourself in your bed, trembling fingers buried deep in your cunt, trying to touch the spots he easily touches. But it ends the same; you, in his room the next morning, begging him to make you cum because it's driving you insane.

And the praises, and the compliments and all of that don't feel enough, too. No claw marks on anything anymore, just this insatiable desire in you to seek a shelter in his loving arms.

#🩰.ela writes #lnd zayne #lnds zayne #lnds x reader #lnds imagine #love and deep space x you #love and deep space x reader #love and deepspace #love and deep space imagine #love and deep space zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #lads zayne #zayne x you #l&ds smut #l&ds x reader #l&ds zayne

500 notes · View notes

fluentmoviequoter · 4 months

Text

Wintery

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!vigilante!reader

Summary: Gotham winters are brutal, but your best friend Jason Todd and work friend Red Hood know how to combat the cold. Unfortunately, you're falling in love with both of them.

Warnings: reader and Jason don't know the other is a vigilante, fluff, brotherly teasing, kissing, more fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: I have no idea where this idea came from but it wouldn't leave me alone, so I had to write it. I hope it's okay and feel free to let me know what you think!🤍

Masterlist | DC/Jason Todd Masterlist | Request Info

Picture from Pinterest

Gotham winters are cold, windy, and relentless. There are few places to find refuge from the harsh bite of the chilling wind and fewer remedies to the wind-burned skin and seemingly permanent chapped lips.

Jason Todd, however, is a Gotham boy, born and raised, so he knows the importance of staying moisturized and protected in the winter. So, it's no surprise that he keeps lip balm in his pocket all winter.

No, it isn’t intimidating to see Red Hood putting Chapstick on, but having cracked lips is far more frightening. He finds quiet alleys, tipping his helmet up to combat dry lips before returning to his vigilante duties. Nightwing has only caught him once, and Jason is intent on never experiencing that level of brotherly torture (teasing) again.

✯✯✯✯✯

Since joining the small group of vigilantes, Red Hood has captured and kept your attention. Never saying more than a few words to you, he always seems nearby and eager to help you out of trouble, but you can’t get past that point.

Nightwing and Robin occasionally tell you their ideas to get him to open up to you, convinced there’s something between you, but you brush it off and admire the man in red from a distance.

The night wind is blowing hard enough you’re comfortable standing on such a high roof. You tuck yourself behind anything stationary, including Red Hood.

Under the hood, Jason smiles to himself. He knows why you’re standing close to him, your concern for the wind mixing with an irrational idea that he will allow anything to happen to you. But, if you want to use him to block the wind from your pretty face, he’s happy to stay perfectly still. However, his gaze keeps dropping to your lips.

Jason watches you; he has been since you first stumbled upon them in a less than satisfactory suit. You were bleeding from a run-in with several muggers but smiling through your pain because you managed to make someone feel safe in Gotham; a rare feat unless you’re Batman. Instantly drawn to you, Red Hood has let himself get close enough to consider you a friend but not close enough to talk to you or worry incessantly about where you are through the day.

You say something, and Jason shakes his head to escape his memories of you, focusing on you and your dry-lipped smile. The winds are blowing up the building and into your face even as he blocks the worst of it, and your rosy cheeks amplify Jason’s growing concern. He wants to offer his jacket to you, even his chapstick – an unwelcome idea of kissing you to share it enters his mind, but he shoves it away. Or tries to; the imagined feeling of your lips on his is hard to shake.

After your question goes unanswered the second time, you wonder if Red Hood fell asleep under the helmet. He jerks sideways when you slide your hand into his pocket. His grip falls away from the holster on his thigh when he realizes it’s just you. (Though he’d never think 'just you' about anything.) You pull your hand out of the worn leather jacket, a small white tube in your grasp. Keeping your eyes on the small eye slits of the mask, you uncap the balm and put it directly on your lips.

“Thanks,” you say, smiling as you place it back in his pocket before turning away.

Anyone else, and he’d throw it away, unwilling to share such a personal item, but since he just thought about sharing it in a much different way, he doesn’t mind the idea of you doing it again. He’ll have to remember which pocket he put it in and leave it there for you, he decides.

✯✯✯✯✯

“It’s freezing,” you groan, rubbing your arms as you walk inside the warm apartment. “Why can’t we move to Metropolis?”

Jason laughs at you, his best friend. Since he developed what Dick refuses to call anything but “a crush” on his vigilante partner, he’s wondered what this thing with you is. You are his friend, of course, but there is something more there. Jason has never been good with feelings, and he’s in a strange spot between two women who affect him, similar yet completely different in how he responds.

“Because we can’t afford it,” Jason hums, welcoming you onto the couch beside him.

You slide your cold feet under his sweatpants-clad legs, sighing when he lays his arm over your shoulders.

“We who, Mr. Trust Fund Wayne?” you tease, leaning your head against his upper arm. “Thanks for inviting me over, though, even if I did get frostbite on the way.”

Jason chuckles, stopping short when he remembers something someone else said after fighting Mr. Freeze during a riot at Arkham. Shaking his head, he determines that he has a type.

“I’m stealing this,” you interrupt his reading, pulling a hoodie from the back of his couch.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, watching you pull it over your head. You feel warmer beside him after a few minutes, and when you dig a small tub of lip balm out of your pocket, Jason wonders if he should move to Metropolis.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Where did it go?” Jason says to himself, barely audible through the voice modifier of the mask.

“Whatcha looking for?” you ask, dropping to the fire escape beside Red Hood. He doesn’t answer, but when you realize all his attention is focused on one pocket, you know. “Really? I need it again, too,” you lament.

Red Hood sighs, turning toward you. Your lips still look fine, with no sign of chapping in sight. Deciding he needs it more than you do, Jason seizes the opportunity.

Pushing his helmet up, he grabs your face between his warm, gloved hands. Pulling you against him, Jason presses his lips to yours, moving with you as the moisturizing gloss spreads across his lips.

“Better?” he asks, smirking before his face is hidden behind his helmet again.

Your face is still in his hands as you nod. “Nightwing took it,” you whisper.

Jason rolls his eyes and leans forward, whispering, “Who needs it when I have you?”

“You do,” you reply, dumbfounded and breathless from the kiss you’ve admittedly been daydreaming about. “I got mine from you.”

Red Hood laughs, and it warms you from the inside out. You think for a moment you’ve heard that laugh before, but then the idea disappears.

✯✯✯✯✯

The next day, you beat Jason back to his apartment after leaving the manor. Letting yourself in, you walk to his bookshelf to see if he’s gotten any new books. A leather jacket is lying on the floor beside the shelf, and when you pick it up, something falls out of the pocket.

“Hey,” Jason greets, closing the door behind him.

Turning, you hold the chapstick up, looking at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

“Yeah?”

He comes to your side, his brows pinched.

“Are you-“

You drop everything in your hands before grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him down to you. As you kiss him, everything clicks into place.

Falling in love with Jason and Red Hood simultaneously wasn’t some cruel trick of fate or a mistake… you’d been with the same guy all along.

Pulling back, Jason takes a moment before opening his eyes. He blinks at you several times, trying to speak and failing.

“Really?” you ask, tilting your head. “I see that made a much bigger impact on me than it did on you.”

Jason still can’t answer, his mind going over each similarity that he should have caught on to, each mirrored movement or similar response. Your kiss, though… your kiss is unmistakable. He believed his lies about the touches and the words, but nothing can compete with your affection.

“Thank you,” Jason whispers, pulling you close again.

“For what?” you ask, brushing your fingers through the white streak in his hair. “It took me way too long to realize.”

“For everything,” he answers before kissing you again.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your first patrol after learning not just Red Hood but everyone’s true identities is interesting. Bringing your own protection against the current blizzard, you're grateful for the foresight after you get separated from Jason.

Waiting near Arkham and shivering in the cold, you don’t hear the crunch of boots on snow until Red Hood grabs your waist and spins you around. Without his helmet, only a domino mask to protect his identity (pointless in the dark storm), he doesn’t wait before pressing his lips to yours, eager to try a new flavor and get more of you. After waiting so long and being tortured by his tragic decision to love two women at once, Jason deserves to show you how much he cares for you twice as often as he wishes. And if you start buying crazy lip balm flavors to mess with him, he’ll love you even more for it.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x you #jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #jason todd

424 notes · View notes

jadeslashes · 1 year

Note

DBD request:

The killers (The Shape, Trapper, the Wraith and your choice 😘) having an unhealthy obsession with the newest survivor (female if you don't mind?)

includes: the trapper, the wraith, the huntress, the ghost face, the doctor, the legion (just frank), the artist, the cenobite, the executioner, the shape & the knight.

warnings: stalking, obsession, unhealthy relationship dynamics, you get the idea. no smut but still mdni.

note: first dbd request, thanks pookie <3 and bc this is my first dbd request, i'm just gonna include all the killers i write for :)

🔩﹒TRAPPER ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

obsession at first sight, evan has absolutely no plans of letting you get away from him, no matter what he has to do

even if it hurts you, he'll lay traps in your path to ensnare you so he can throw you up over his shoulder, have you in his complete control

and once you're in the basement, you know that there's no escape from him whatsoever

all of his traps are laid so there's no chance of rescue, and he faces you hanging from the hook that he's mercilessly thrown you on, glad to have successfully trapped his prey

🔔﹒WRAITH ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

philip finds himself using his guise of invisibility to keep an eye on you far more often than he himself even intends, crossing paths with you when he doesn't even mean to

whenever you're alone, you catch him sweeping by in your periphery, or hear in the distance a bell chiming

he notices your anxiety mounting with every second that he's watching, and in a way he almost feels bad about it

and when he's ready to chase you down, he'll ring his bell, almost in a taunting sort of way as you run from him

but he won't stop until he's got you

🪓﹒HUNTRESS ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

almost always, her first instinct when she sees survivors is to use her strength and speed, her hunting ability, and throw hatchets, anything to down them and bring them under her mercy

but the way she feels about you is almost similar to the way she feels about the children she couldn't bring herself to kill

something throws those instincts to the side when she sees you, she can't place what exactly it is, but she can't ignore it

💀﹒GHOSTFACE ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

he's always meticulously stalked people, gotten to know them without their knowledge down to the very last detail without their knowledge of his presence

but with you, his usual routine of becoming intimately familiar with victims for the purpose of killing them was interrupted, killing you was not necessarily his intent

unnaturally quickly, he knows details about you that few others pick up on, and you constantly question whether you're really alone

🩻﹒DOCTOR ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

considering the fact that he's completely sadistic, being his obsession is harrowing, beginning to end

especially because he doesn't see these feelings toward you as something he should allow to grow, he doesn't see it as any sort of love or anything romantic, which gives him only one conclusion that he needs to reach

he needs you dead, but he's going to drag it out, make it satisfying for himself, and the way to do that is to drive you mad, and make the process as torturous as possible

every scream of yours fuels him to keep going until his brutal torture is finally done, and by that point, he might even find that he'd gotten so caught up in torturing you that the rest of the survivors managed to escape the trial

🕸﹒LEGION ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

frank knew you'd be a chase, something he'd need to go after, but he's more than okay with that

every second of running after you is envigorating, with each stride that gets him closer to you he wants you more and more

both of you know that you can’t outrun him, he’s in a frenzy on your heels, completely running on the impulse that he hadn’t been able to get out of his head since he saw you; he needed to get to you

the chase doesn’t necessarily end with him plunging his knife into you, but he doesn’t mind it if you think that’s the case

in fact, he takes some pride in the fear and control he knows he has over you

🪶﹒ARTIST ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

while usually she uses her birds as a weapon against her prey, for you she'd be using them much more gently

you’d find yourself being harassed by crows throughout the majority of your trial

but it’s only so carmina can keep track of you, she doesn’t use them to cause you harm

⛓﹒CENOBITE ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

they're constantly using their chains to keep you in close proximity

and also just to hear you scream, no tears of yours could ever be a waste of good suffering in their eyes, they love your cries of fear and pain from whatever they're doing to you or when they're chasing you down

escaping their chains is virtually impossible, each second you manage to evade or hide to rest, you know you’re just putting off the inevitable

🔺﹒EXECUTIONER ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

pyramid head is a bringer of pain and suffering, but is also shockingly subtle during the trial

for a while, he’s merely a looming presence as you work towards escaping

but that’s part of the plan, he takes his time to get you tormented by his power

all so that he can get you locked in one of his cages, where you have no choice but to be all his

🔪﹒SHAPE ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

his stalking is relentless, but he takes his time before he makes a real move on you

and when he finally does strike? there's no way you could've ever been ready for it, one minute you were working on a generator, and the next, you're up over his shoulder with no way to escape

and even if you are constantly on guard, aware of his presence, he'll keep you under his mercy by keeping you injured or downed, never too far from you to keep your fellow survivors from saving you

⚔️﹒KNIGHT ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

even though he's the killer in the trial, as a knight, he feels the need to protect you, killing you isn't even something that crosses his mind

and if tarhos himself can't be keeping his eye on you at any time for one reason or another, alejandro, durkos or sander are doing so for him

he's got an uncanny ability to constantly know where you are and what you're doing, and that's because he's always keeping tabs on you, whether on his own or by means of his faithful three

1K notes · View notes

mylittleredgirl · 2 months

Text

i know some of you have been pressing your faces to the glass waiting for me to see this one in particular SO i saw "the nurses" the other night and am still thinking about it!!

i love love love it when characters get pushed to a point where you can almost see their childhood selves pop out, like are they even talking about what's happening right now? or are their 12-year-old hearts just screaming?? i love that margaret's outburst is both irrational (the hostile work environment is coming from inside the house; i was yelling at my tv "baby it's your fault!!!") and so so honest.

[this turned into a bit of a character thesis, so not only is there a readmore, there will also be a reblog soon with the rest of the post because i maxed out the image limit] [edit: part ii now in the reblogs!]

this whole time, margaret has treated her subordinates with a heavy hand because she thinks it's the right and fair thing to do. the rules say this is how it works!

she maintains a high standard of excellence in brutal circumstances, but she's also reactive, moody, and unforgiving. she's often shown on the edge of losing control and authority, she inflames situations by overreacting, and the thing she punishes most egregiously is disrespect (toward frank, toward the army, toward herself). she intentionally underlines the distance between herself and the other nurses at every turn.

from season 3 "there's nothing like a nurse": [all IDs in alt]

really, everything she thinks and does comes from a place of "they're not supposed to like me," but the childish part of her that is completely unable to see her own behavior is confused and hurt because "i'm just doing my job so why don’t they like me???"

it's her job to maintain discipline, but especially here in 4077-land, she doesn't have to lead with the whip. henry was beloved because he was an overly permissive clown, which will never be her speed, but colonel potter has all the same training as she does. he's loved and respected as the Good Regular Army Guy because he leads with discernment and mutual respect.

it's easier for him. he's more experienced, he's respected and supported from above and below, and he has a calm temperament — which isn't nothing.

from season 4 "the interview":

whether she's aware of this as a problem or not, we at home can see how margaret's inability to control her emotional reactivity causes her as much grief as her inability to control other people.

if she were capable of laughing off small slights, hawkeye and trapper wouldn't have used her as a chew toy so much, and henry might have taken her real concerns more seriously if they weren't lost in the noise of daily fits, you know? she rarely started it, so i'm not blaming her for the hostile chaos circus of seasons 1-3, but i am saying she would have had a better time if she knew how to take a few deep breaths.

this description from the script, after the near-brawl in the nurses' tent in act one, is basically her character thesis statement:

and here, when she's reacting fully emotionally, the truth comes out! the reason that she won't be flexible and show compassion to the nurses isn't because of the rules, but because they're mean to her!!

that's obviously a very bad place to lead from. she has enormous institutional power over them, including controlling their freedom of movement, but she feels like all the other girls in school are hanging out together and they hate her. because they are! and they do! the fight in act one boils over when they make fun of her hair, and that sent all of them back to middle school.

and in many ways, that's where margaret's emotional maturity is stuck (which is, i think, why i find her so endearing). she can't see herself. she knows they don't like her, trust her, or want her around, but she doesn't understand how she dug this hole herself, or how to get out of it.

to add insult to jealous injury, one of the nurses (mary jo, who gets between margaret and baker to stop the fight and takes care of the others in different ways) is margaret's age, and the others look to her as their chosen leader and personal support.

and i'm sure margaret had NO IDEA this was the messy truth until she heard it come out of her mouth.

and her emotionally breaking on the "one lousy cup of coffee" in particular…

i wonder, how often does some version of that first tent scene happen? does she deliver their assignments every night? she walks in already defensive, they immediately stop laughing, and then... she either finds a reason to scold them or they ice her out until she leaves. (and they probably start laughing again as soon as she does!)

from her perspective, when she arrived for the dreaded sleepover and they turned out the lights the minute she walked in, it's like they cancelled the nightly coffee klatch just to avoid spending one social minute with her.

i also think the nurses are right when they assumed that she wouldn't have accepted an invitation to hang out with them (and might even have snapped at them for being inappropriate for asking). she doesn't cross that emotional line, even when she should — she didn't know gaynor was spiraling after losing so many patients in a row, and didn't respond compassionately when she learned.

has she ever invited them for coffee or a friendly chat? no.

...... but her circumstances have recently changed.

[reblog with the rest of it is here!]

#margaret houlihan #mash #mashblogging #margaret is a holy hot mess and i love her sooooo much

395 notes · View notes

lvndrdaaze · 17 days

Note

NSFW alphabet B, L and P for Wriothesely? 👀👀

sorry these took so long, i have an exam coming up in a couple of weeks and i had to finish my cases this week so i haven't had much time to write ;;-;; these are all kinda longer than i was expecting tho so i hope that makes up for it <333

(fem!reader, NSFW so no minors!)

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Wriothesley knows he's attractive, and is aware that a lot of people either envy or lust after his physique, though he doesn't like to admit it. He'll brush off compliments with a vague hint of a smile and ignore the way passersby drool over his bulky form from a distance, but he does secretly love the way his arms look around your body. Even when you're simply cuddling, the sight of you nuzzling into his arm and pressing your cheek against the firm muscle makes strange heat blossom in his chest. He appreciates the fact that he's strong enough to pick you up and carry you around, and he'll even get a little flustered if you touch his biceps and ask him to flex for you. Seeing you giggle bashfully over his muscles is far more flattering than the admiring stare of a hundred strangers.

On you, there's no denying that Wriothesley is an ass man. He loves everything about it; when you're lying on your stomach and he can trace the curve of your ass into the dip of your lower back with his palms, when you're getting dressed (or undressed) and he gets to see your lacy underwear clinging to the swell of your cheeks, when you're bent over and he can see the perfect shape of your ass along with your wet cunt with lips parted between your thighs, everything about your ass just drives him wild. He loves fucking you from behind to watch it ripple with every thrust and spank he delivers. Sometimes, when he's eating you out from behind, he'll bite at the pert muscle harshly, feeling his length throb at the sight of his teeth marks imprinted into the skin there.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Wriothesley is a traditional guy for the most part, and generally prefers taking you in a bed. It's more comfortable and gives you plenty of space to sprawl out, and he adores the way you look laying against the sheets. With your hair fanned out in a halo around your head and wide, eager eyes staring up at him whilst he hovers over you teasingly, he thinks you look like an angel, far purer than the life he's known so far.

However, Wriothesley also isn't particularly fussy about where he gets to sink himself into you. He'll press you against a wall when he's desperate and dip his fingers into your wet pussy before lifting your knee and replacing his fingers with his thick cock with a groan of relief. He'll invite himself to join you in the shower, using the soap as an excuse to run his rough palms all over your body until you're keening and pressing yourself against his body underneath the hot water. He'll bend you over the kitchen counter in your home and pull your hair until your back arches into the perfect position for him to pound into your tight hole, nudging his tip against the spongy spot inside you that makes you sing for him. Simply put, to him, any location is good, but the bed is better.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Wriothesley can go for either a rough fuck session or a slower, more passionate lovemaking session, it all depends on his mood.

When he's had a long day with unruly prisoners and excessive paperwork, he likes to release that tension with a harsh fuck that doesn't last long but leaves you spent nonetheless. He bends you over and plunges into you as deep as he can go, using his secure grip on your hips to pull you back against him and bounce your ass against his pelvis whilst his fingers press faint bruises into the plush of your hips. Feeling you clenching around him in time with his brutal thrusts easily clears Wriothesley's mind of whatever had gotten him worked up into that state.

On the other hand, after a romantic date on the surface or even in his office, when his emotions are running high and just the sight of your smile is enough to make his cock twitch, he prefers to take his time and savour your body. These are the times that he spends ages between your legs, using his fingers and tongue in sync to have your cunt dripping onto the bedsheets for him. Then, once he's satisfied that the taste of you will remain on his lips for a while, he'll drape himself over you and rock his hips so carefully, as though he thinks you'll break if he goes any harder. He connects his lips with yours in a passionate kiss and spills his seed into you with a moan that almost sounds like a whine, far more desperate than any sound you've heard him make before, as the emotions of being connected to you like this overwhelm him.

Feel free to request more NSFW/SFW alphabet headcanons! More info in my pinned post ^-^

#wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x reader smut #wriothesley x reader headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader headcanons #genshin impact x reader smut #genshin x reader

175 notes · View notes

mountainsandmayhem · 1 month

Text

Right Person, Wrong Time

Joel Miler x Female Reader

AN: This is for @undercoverpena 's April Showers Challenge. And for once, I did not write smut. I know, who am I? This is not beta'd or really proof read. I'm basically having imposter syndrome over the whole thing soooo...Love you, say it back, bye!

You know that famous saying, “Right Person, Wrong Time”? Well, that was Joel Miller. He had the potential to be the absolute love of your life, but as a single father to a teenage girl and a small business owner, he just didn’t have the time right now. You were about to turn thirty, him thirty six in just a few days time. So, the night before his birthday you made the gut wrenching decision to end things with him.

“What do you mean we should see other people? There’s no other people.” He proclaimed, eyes filling with tears, mirroring yours.

“It’s just not the right time. I want to get married and have a baby, Joel. Do you really want that?” You have to remain strong, it had only been three months, you hadn’t met Sarah or any of his family. Same with your side, he knew about your sisters but no one else was at risk of being hurt by this break up outside of the two of you. This was the right thing to do before you both got in too deep.

Right Person, Wrong Time.

Almost twenty five years later and you still find yourself replaying that conversation. Every September, Joel flashes behind your eyelids - still perfectly clear, almost like it had just happened yesterday. Dark curly hair, patchy scruff, big brown eyes and furrowed brows; one day he’s going to have a permanent crease between them from all his sexy scowling. If you focus hard enough, you can feel his rough and calloused fingers on your skin. You can still hear his deep and silky voice, almost managing to make you feel lighter every time he said your name or called you darlin’ or sweetheart.

“That feel good, Darlin’?”

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go for me.”

The outbreak happened not even 24 hours after you broke up with him. Had he survived? There’s no way you survived and he didn’t. Your suspicions were confirmed the day Tommy Miller showed up.

For the most part you liked to keep to yourself, running the community garden. You’re thankful for the small and safe community, but word gets around. And when you hear that Tommy’s brother has come to town you shrink even further back into the shadows, unsure if you want to see him again. Would it hurt more if he remembered you, or if he had no memory of you and that conversation that has imprinted itself upon you? Joel Miller is your last memory, both happy and sad, before the world fell apart.

Him, and the little girl he showed up with, left before you found the courage to approach him and soon winter took over Jackson, leaving you without the garden. Without the distraction from your thoughts of Joel.

The winter is long and brutal. April finally rolls around, and you trudge out into the rain and head to the dining hall for dinner. The gates open in the distance, but you’re lost in your own thoughts. This is more rain than you have seen in months. The garden is going to love it, you think. Just as you’re about to step up the creaky wooden steps you hear your name. It floats across the commune in a deep, gravelly, and oh so familiar voice.

You stop, tears flooding your lash line and the mud squeaking under your rubber boots as you turn to look at him through glassy eyes. Your lips part and your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. The world around you melts away. All you can see and hear is Joel Miller. He’s aged, grey peppers his temples and facial hair, he has those lines that you knew he would permanently etched between his brows, but those big brown eyes are like they’ve been frozen in time as they dance around your face.

“It’s you,” he says softly, voice shaking in a mix of sadness and relief, as he takes a few steps towards you. “I-I can’t believe it. I’ve, well…” He rakes his fingers through his soaked curls as you stare at him. The rain is coming down in a steady sheet, the ground becoming a muddy mess, and both of your clothes completely soaked through. You haven’t taken a breath in what feels like hours.

It’s you.

“I have thought about you almost every day since the world fell apart,” he continues, his warm voice washing over you like molasses. “When I was at my lowest I would think of that little dimple you get when you smile, or that time wine came out of your nose from when you laughed at that stupid joke I made. I don’t remember the joke, but I remember how happy you looked as the sun set and the orange glow lit your skin. I’d remember the way your face scrunched up when you tried whiskey for the first time. I would remember where all your freckles are, and how soft you were against my lips as I kissed every single one. I’d think of that first time we made love, how I’d never felt that overwhelmed with emotion for another person before, how in that moment I realized that I was truly fucked when it came to you. It was anything you wanted, sweetheart. Even if it meant you wanted to break up. I never should have let you go, darin’. I’m so sorry. I tried to find you before we fled for Boston.”

By the time he’s done talking you’re right in front of him, chest grazing his, close enough that you can feel the heat of him. You have no idea how you got that close to him. You don’t remember moving your feet. Joel Miller, your Joel Miller. Greyer, lines around his eyes, but yours.

As the rain pelts down you waste no time, reaching up around his neck as he lifts you up and into his embrace. Your noses graze as you whisper a quiet ‘I missed you so much’ into his lips.

“I’m never letting you go, baby. Never again.” He says and then you press your lips into his in a searing kiss. It lights your whole body on fire, you feel like you’ve been hit by a defibrillator.

You’re alive again.

====================

Taglist:

@corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @rainstorms-library @smutsmutslut @sullyrocky44 @keylimebeag @pimosworld @casa-boiardi i @pedritoferg @lorilane33 @pansexual-potatoes @baar-ur @jessthebaker @jasminedragoon @koshkaj-blog @pedroswife69 @strawberri-blonde @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @iloveenya @javierpena-inatacvest @blazeflays @akah565 @pinkiec6-rubi @pedroshotwifey @iluvurfather @ashleyfilm @mermaidgirl30 @untamedheart81

#undercoveraprilshowerschallenge #joel miller #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel angst #joel miller angst

191 notes · View notes

cozage · 1 year

Note

Hi it's me again 👀 I absolutely love your writing of my request last time ❤❤❤❤❤ I'd like to send another request to you !!! You can continue writing my last request with other OP characters that you like or you can take this angst request: OP characters react to being forgotten (permanently or not) by their s/o after a brutal battle with the enemies?

A/N: You have once again cursed my ability to sleep. Oh, the ANGST!!! I LIVEEEEEE for it. I only did three characters,but I will DEFINITELY do this again with other characters, so if there was someone in particular you want to see, let me know friend (or anyone else!) :)

Characters: GN! reader x Zoro, Luffy, Law

Cw: angst, blood, fighting, memory loss

Total word count: 2.5k

Forgotten

Zoro

You grip your weapon as he approaches, cautious of the stranger approaching you. You’re in a vulnerable position, sitting back against the rocks you just crashed into, and your ears are ringing.

“You okay?” he calls out, looking at you in a concerned manner. You pull your weapon out and take as much of a defensive stance as you can.

“Stay back!” You scream at him. He looks strong, but with some luck you’ll be able to overpower him.

Zoro pauses for a moment, full of confusion at your sudden hostility. At first he thinks you see something he’s missing, and he scans the vicinity for any kind of trap. He draws his weapon as he approaches you, and you stand to your feet to try and get a better attack point.

“Hey, what are you-Sit down woman!” The moss-haired man screams at you, voice full of irritation.

You stand, leaning against the rocks for support. “What? So it’s easier for you to kill me? Like hell!”

“Why the hell would I kill you?!? Sit DOWN!” He’s closed the distance between you two, and you stab at him. You almost catch him off guard, but he dodges and easily disarms you. “Would you cut it out?! I know you don’t like help, but you need it right now!”

“Get off of me, you brute!” You’re kicking and punching him, but he just throws you over his shoulder and starts carrying you away, ignoring your punches, desperate to find Chopper.

Chopper delivers the news. Memory loss. It’s not complete, you remember the Strawhats, the Sunny, a few crew members. But you’ve forgotten Zoro. Not just the two of you being together, but you’ve forgotten him completely.

Zoro handles suffering silently. He locks himself in the crows nest, training all day. If he had been stronger, faster, this wouldn’t have happened. He blames himself a lot.

He tells everyone not to mention your all's history to you. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and he doesn’t expect you to feel that way about him again. He knew it was a miracle for you to fall in love with him once, he knows he won’t be so lucky a second time.

It's painful for him to even look at you. Everyone has explained to you that he’s a member of the Sunny, so you trust him now. But everytime he sees you, all he can see is the hatred in your eyes on that day in the battlefield. Even when he gets past that, your eyes look at him with no emotion, vacant where they used to be full of love.

You thought he hated you based on his behavior. When you asked Nami about it, she finally caved and told you about your past with Zoro. Everyone hates to see the two of you so distant, and Nami knows he won’t ever make the first move.

You take him up some tangerine water one day while he's working out. You’re not sure why, but you do.

His mouth drops open when he sees your delivery, and he runs to you and grabs you without thinking. “You remember?”

You don’t, and your face tells him. He lets go of you immediately, and his cheeks turn pink. He mutters an apology, turning away from you quickly.

“I’ll remember one day,” you tell him quietly as you exit. “Or we’ll just have to make new memories.”

Luffy

The rescue mission to retrieve you had been a little too easy. Everyone was skeptical, but Luffy was over the moon with joy. The universe just wanted the two of you together. That's why you were here now, back with your family. You were unconscious, but Chopper reported that you should wake up soon.

Nami, Ussop, and Franky had wanted to strap you down as you woke up, just to make sure everyone remained safe, but Luffy refused.

Your eyes fluttered open, and the first thing you saw was Monkey D. Luffy’s stupid grin. Your arm pulled back and sprang forward to punch him, but steel swords blocked your path before you could connect with the pirate’s face.

Luffy pushed Zoro out of the way, not realizing what you had attempted to do. “Hey, Zoro! Don’t hurt her!” You took the opportunity to swing again, this time making contact with the captain’s face.

Ussop and Franky were on you in an instant, vines and cords wrapping around your body to restrain you. “You scum pirate!” You shrieked, eyes wide with rage. “Let me go!”

Chopper sedated you, and ran tests to see what was happening. You were perfectly healthy, besides obvious memory loss/alteration. The crew was happy you were physically okay, at least.

Luffy sat by your side while you slept, combing your hair with his fingers. He whispered all the adventures you went on, hoping they would jog your memory unconsciously. But when you woke up, you tried to attack him again, and this time the crew had to put restraints on you to keep you tied to the bed. Luffy just stood back in horror, watching everyone else take action. He was frozen in disbelief, and he wanted to desperately wake up from this nightmare scenario.

You had to be heavily sedated for several days before you finally stayed calm enough for a conversation. You would talk to anyone but Luffy, who stood in the corner of the room, just staring at the ground. He couldn’t bring himself to leave, but it hurt his heart so much to stay. It was one of the longest times the crew went without seeing him smile.

The Strawhat crew deduced that the Marines had used some kind of devil fruit power to alter your memory. It seemed love was replaced with hate; the more you loved a person, the more you hated them now. All of your adventures were replaced with Marine ideology. You didn’t want to believe them, but there was a small portion of your mind that could see they were telling the truth.

Luffy is a man of action, and he immediately wants to solve this problem. He’s already trying to get Nami to reroute to the Navy headquarters, ready to smash any person who gets in the way.

The crew talks some sense into him, at least a little bit. They don’t know who did this to you or where that person is now. Time for smashing can come later, but they need information before they go on a blind rampage and someone else ends up getting hurt.

After everyone leaves the room, he’s the only one that remains in the room. His face is darkened, full of pain.

“You really don’t remember us?” He refuses to look at you while he asks the question. His hands are balled into fists, and his body is rigid and tight. “You don’t remember me?”

Oh I know you. I despise you. But you can't bring yourself to tell him what you’re thinking. He looks so broken over your reactions to him, and you know in your gut that he’s important to you. “Tell me the stories.”

And he does. He sits by your bedside and he tells you every story he can think of. He starts with the first time you two met, and he talks for hours. You’re not entirely sure you believe all his stories, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would lie for no reason.

He tells you stories of the Sunny, and the stories of your alls relationship. He talks about the first time he held your hand, when he kissed you, when he realized he loved you. Your cheeks burned whenever those stories came up, refusing to believe you could love a pirate like him. But he talked about it all without shame, he either didn’t notice your embarrassment or didn’t care.

Halfway through his stories, he realized you’re still restrained. He bends over to take them off, continuing his stories as he works. You’re baffled by this decision, especially since he’s in here alone with you, but you hold back your urge to attack him for now.

When he’s done, you rub your wrists and flex them. They’re sore from being strapped down so long. He sees you doing that and takes one of your wrists in his hands to massage it as if it’s second nature.

You pull away from him, and you can see the hurt in his eyes as he mutters an apology and continues his story of your alls adventures. There’s significantly less pep in his voice after you reject him, but he still keeps the story going.

Dinner is called during his story, so he pauses and he invites you to come with him. His stomach growls as you all walk to dinner, and he realizes this has probably been the longest time he’s gone between meals. He was so caught up in talking to you, he forgot to eat.

You go with him to dinner, and the strawhats all eye you, but nobody says anything. They talk over plans and ideas on how to get your memory back. You say nothing, you just listen to them try to plan something.

After dinner he continues telling you their story, finishing at the point where they lost you to the navy.

He keeps finding things to talk about though, his nervous energy spilling out into the room. He doesn’t want you to kick him out, and he doesn’t want to leave you to another Strawhat to watch over. He knows they’ll restrain you, and that’s the last thing he wants for you to go through.

He finally falls asleep in the chair, his head resting on your bed beside you. You know your orders are to execute the Strawhats, and this is the best moment you’ll ever get to take out the captain. But you can’t bring yourself to harm him, and you know deep down, there’s at least some truth in the stories he told you.

Law

Law hated these moments. These moments when he was reminded just how fragile a human body was. How fragile you were.

An explosion had caught you off guard and sent you flying, and you were just outside of his Room perimeter. He had tried to expand it to catch you, but he hadn’t made it in time. And now you were paying for it. He had rushed you back to the ship, and performed a full scan to find a major head injury and internal trauma. The internal trauma was easy enough to fix, but brains were such fickle things.

He hoped -prayed even- that you would wake up. After three days, he sat by your side, waiting for your eyes to open. He longed for that sweet smile to grace your lips again, to see that look in your eyes that always made his stomach knot into a ball of butterflies.

On the fourth day, your eyes flicked open, and he rushed over to meet you. He wanted to be the first thing you saw.

Fear. That's what he saw in your eyes. “Y/N-ya,” he whispered, moving towards you. “You’re safe.”

You scrambled away from him, almost falling off the bed in the process. “Who are you? Where am I?”

“It’s okay.” Law’s voice was steady, but he stopped moving towards you. Amnesia was common amongst patients when they came out of a coma. He had prepared for this possibility, and he knew it was better to stick to the basic facts. “You’re on a ship, you’ve been traveling with us for a while. I’m Trafalgar Law, the ship’s doctor. You had an accident, but you’re safe now.”

“No, no.” You shake your head, confused. “I was just at home, in the North Blue. I don’t know you. I don’t know where I am.”

His heart constricts, and he tries not to let his disappointment and fear show. Over two years of your memory was just…gone? Slight amnesia before an accident was common, but long term like this was not a good sign.

First he asks you to recall what you remember. He lets you ask questions, and he fills you in on how you got to join the Heart Pirates.

You were super opposed to pirates when you first met Law, and that personality has returned. He tries not to be too upset over it, but it feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest.

He doesn’t tell you about your relationship, and he forbids his crew to tell you about it as well. He knows how confusing everything is for you right now, and he knows it would be selfish to add a relationship to the mix.

You request to depart the crew at the next island. You don’t want to be a pirate, and honestly you’re not even sure how you became one in the first place. You can see the pain on his face, and he starts to argue with you, but he stops himself. “Leave if you want to. I’m not going to hold you against your will.” He can’t look you in the eye after that, though.

He still brings you your favorite food, gives you your favorite books to reread while you’re sailing. He doesn’t speak to you much, or even stick around in your space for long, but he brings you something at least once a day. You can't help but note how well the captain knows you.

You mention this to a few crewmates, and note how nice it must be to have a captain who’s so attentive to everyone’s likes and dislikes. They all exchange glances, trying to weigh if they should say something or not.

Finally Penguin speaks up. “Well, he’s not quite as attentive to us as he is to you.” You give him a nervous laugh and ask him to explain. Nobody really speaks up, and you get irritated with all the secrecy.

You storm into Law’s office. “Why do you know so much about me?” Your question takes him by surprise, and you can see he's taken aback by your question.

“I’m a good captain,” he finally stutters out. “Bullshit,” you shoot back. But he insists that's all there is to it, and you know the conversation is over.

You seek out Penguin again, and corner him into telling you what everyone else already knows. You and the captain have a history. And a long, complicated one at that.

You return to your captain’s office, but stop yourself before you barge in. You stand outside his door for a long time, debating on what to do with this new information from Penguin.

You’re about to leave when the door opens, and you find yourself face to face with the man that you apparently love. Both of you stare at each other for a few seconds, saying nothing. You realize it’s the first time you’ve looked him in his eyes since that first day you woke up on the ship. His eyes are a soft amber color, and the light dances across them, making his pupils seem alive, flowing with movement.

Law finally breaks the silence. “Is there something you need?” He hasn’t said your name since that first day, and you miss hearing it for some reason.

“I’d like to stay, if that’s okay. On the crew, I mean.” You didn’t know those words were going to come out of your mouth, but you’re happy they do. Though he tries to hide it, Law’s eyes light up, and you catch a brief smile on his lips.

Internally, Law’s heart soars. He spent so many days sick with worry thinking he was going to lose you, but you’re still the same person you were deep down. He’s holding back tears of relief knowing you aren’t going to leave him. “Of course, Y/N-ya. You are always welcome here.”

You don’t know if your memory will ever come back, but you find yourself hoping it does.

1K notes · View notes

houserautha · 2 months

Text

These Destined Ends

Part 3

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: mentions of killing/death, naked concubines (man and woman), threats via penis manhandling

A/N: I have a vague idea of where I’d like the story to go because I love the fun in discovering different things when writing on a loose plan. This chapter ended up longer than I thought it would be but Feyd is just so damn fun to write😂

You tried not to linger on the implications of your shared quarters.

Angrily you strode after Feyd-Rautha. “What is going to become of my parents?”

“I don’t care.”

You wanted to grab his arm and spin him around, force him to face you. But you were afraid of touching him again, afraid that any little contact would result in an even trade — and you did not want to confront the flicker of attraction you felt when the Harkonnen dragged his lips across your skin. A second reaction would be indicative of something more, and you were determined not to let another scenario arise to find out.

The best you could do was stomp after him. “Well, I do.”

“Nothing will happen.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I just am.”

You mull over this response. Would he tell you differently? You sensed that Feyd-Rautha tended to be brutally honest. Probably because he never had to deal with any consequences in his life. How could he, as na-Baron?

You fail to think of anything else to say and lapse into silence, trusting that he is telling the truth and your parents will be fine. Besides, you comfort yourself, the Emperor would be furious if the Harkonnens just slaughtered one of the other Noble Houses like that. There were laws in place to discourage such atrocities.

Feyd-Rautha continues his unofficial tour, winding through a complicated series of interweaving corridors without speaking. You see several servants along the way, all who keep a cautious distance from you both. You couldn't ignore their curious looks. How strange you felt among them - pale and unblemished like stones smoothed over by a river's constant force. It didn't aid in your comfort.

"Do you not know any of them?" You ask. Feyd-Rautha is anything but a pleasant conversational partner, but at least if you're talking you don't have to listen to your rampant thoughts.

"Who?"

"The servants," you reply, brow furrowing.

He grunts in a noncommittal fashion. "Why would I?"

"Because they work for you." You were on friendly terms with the staff back on Caladan and trying to befriend the Fremen employed to you on Arrakis. The natives were untrusting of you, rightfully so. But you couldn't imagine just ignoring them.

"They're disposable," Feyd-Rautha comments with a wave of his hand. A pair of servants scurry by.

You watch them turn the corner and vanish. "They're afraid of you."

"Hm."

"Am I?"

"Are you what?"

"Disposable."

He casts you a sideways look. "Everyone is disposable once their use has expired. Thus is the way of the Harkonnen."

You contemplate this, frowning. "Even you?"

A dry, brittle laugh erupts from him.

"Are you planning on killing me already, wife? Perhaps you'll adapt just fine here."

That wasn't the compliment he thought it was.

You pointedly ignore him. "Are you telling me that there's not a moment that would make you disposable like the rest of us?"

"There is," he says, seemingly unbothered by the threat of his mortality, unlike you. "My uncle has promised the Baronship to me. If I am an unfit ruler then I would be challenged. Thus is the —"

"— way of the Harkonnen," you finish.

Feyd-Rautha flashes you a smile as sharp as the blade of a dagger. "You are quicker than you look."

"But what of the Noble Houses? The Emperor?"

Feyd-Rautha lifts a shoulder. "House Harkonnen has proved powerful for many, many generations. No one dares challenge us. Nor will they," he adds thoughtfully. He pauses. "Do you fret for our children?"

You inhale sharply, swallowing, and it sticks in your throat. You cough out an unconvincing, "I'm fine!" then set to composing yourself, confident that your sanity would be doubted by anyone who happened by. What a way to be viewed by your subjects. Feyd-Rautha just stares at you in poorly veiled amusement.

"I try not to think of our children," you say after you're sure you're done coughing. Something akin to embarrassment burns you skin.

"Pity," Feyd-Rautha says. "These are our quarters."

Feyd-Rautha's quarters are much more grand than your room on Arrakis. He leads you into an antechamber with a skylight, pouring the strange light from the black sun into the space. There's a sunken level in the floor furnished with dark colored furniture — two love seats and a sofa. A handful of glowglobes float aimlessly by.

Feyd-Rautha crosses the room, forgoing the sunken level, to the other side of the antechamber. You have no choice but to follow.

You don't know what you expected from his — your — room. Perhaps a chamber of torture. But it's not the sleek, elegant display before you, a full sized bed with plush bedding and tasteful curtains covering a bank of floor-length windows. It's impeccably neat.

And, to your abject horror, features three naked figures sprawled out on various surfaces. Two women and one man.

Feyd-Rautha ignores them, even as they slink from their positions to greet him, bodies slender and completely hairless, free of any visible blemishes. You feign an interest in the ceiling. It's not that you're naive to nudity or sexuality, but the sudden exposure to it roots you in your place.

"Do you need an invitation?" Feyd-Rautha asks.

When you force your gaze from the ceiling, you find him settled casually in a chair with a low-slung back, the two women kneeling on either side of him and the man behind. You follow their hands as they wander his body.

"No. No."

Where are you supposed to go? If he believes you will worship him like the others than he's sorely mistaken. You walk to the bed, ghosting your fingers over the bedding and confirming its softness. You hate the way that you can feel him watching you, clearly amused by your discomfort; you rally your courage to meet his stare, refusing to acknowledge the naked bodies draped across him.

"Are you quite alright, wife?"

"Fine," you grit out. "I didn't realize we would have company."

"Would you like me to tell them to leave?"

A loaded question, one that you were aware would set the tone for the rest of your life with Feyd-Rautha. A challenge. You control the slight quiver in your voice, "Leave. I wish to be alone with my...husband."

The concubines hesitate, obviously waiting to hear from Feyd-Rautha. He continues to hold your gaze. "Leave."

Uncurling themselves from around him, the women and the man are all white limbs and smooth skin, a multi-limbed creature. Whether or not they are disappointed by this development, they don't reveal, simply sauntering out of the room to wherever they go when they aren't waiting naked for Feyd-Rautha. A feeling of annoyance stirs.

"There's no need to be jealous," Feyd-Rautha says as the door closes.

You bristle. "I'm not."

“Then come here, wife.” Feyd-Rautha spreads his legs, indicating his lap and his powerful thighs. You resent yourself for noticing. “If you dismiss my concubines, then you must come to me now and offer me your warmth instead.”

Another challenge. You wonder briefly if he is playing with you, testing your boundaries, but just as you refused to show weakness in the throne room, you refuse now, crossing the carpeted floor. A surge of bravery — or maybe stupidity — prompts you to wedge your knees on either side of his waist, straddling him, the skirt of your dress hitched up to ensure mobility.

The look on his face is worth the cost of the heat reigniting in the pit of your stomach. You chase it away in pursuit of the heady high you receive from asserting your dominance. He might’ve had the upper hand but you were in control now.

“Warm enough?” You ask him innocently.

“Not quite,” he replies. He’s tipped his head back to examine you, leaving a blazing trail where his gaze goes.

Brazen beyond you imagination, you work the buckle to his pants just enough to slip your hand inside and grab his cock.

That bastard. He was already hard. Not fully erect, you observed with conflicting feelings, but clearly you had your effects on him. Feyd-Rautha showed no shame or guilt about this, however. Like it was expected — normal for women he’s just met to reach into his pants.

And it probably was.

Injured hand screaming in defiance of your actions, you grab the head of his cock and twist, slightly backwards and to the side. You apply pressure, hopefully enough to hurt him, he wouldn’t dare reveal it to you anyway.

“Do not,” you hiss, “embarrass me like that ever again. I will not tolerate looking like a fool.”

Feyd-Rautha’s throat bobs. Except instead of agony he looks totally enthralled. “Or what?” He mocks. “You’ll wrap your pretty hand around my cock?”

“You won’t have a cock for anyone to wrap their hand around.”

“Is that a promise?”

You release him and climb off his lap, figuring it would be more impactful to leave him wanting then lustful. His utter indifference, his arousal, gives you pause to just who you’ve been arranged to marry.

“You disgust me,” you spit out.

Feyd-Rautha’s mouth twitches slightly. Did he really have to find everything funny?

He says, “We’ll see.”

A month passes at Giedi Prime in a disconcerting blur. To your surprise, besides the first afternoon, you hardly ever see Feyd-Rautha. Always busy with important meetings or sparring sessions. Or whatever he did in his spare time. You didn’t ask.

Ever since that day when you’d straddled his lap, you’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. He had said clearly that you were even after the slap but then you’d unexpectedly turned the tables — did he intend on returning the favor?

You informed him that you would sleep on the couch in the antechamber until your wedding, to which he never remarked upon. That first night you lay awake, afraid and absolutely convinced that he would try something. But he never came.

The days passed without event and your anxiety dwindled. Besides, while Feyd-Rautha was busy with na-Baron affairs, you were forced to schlep through a mountain of preparations for the wedding ceremony. You didn’t care, frankly. You chose the first sample of whatever you were offered — tablecloths, menu items, decorations — until one of the servants accompanying you threw down the sample booklet and scowled.

“This will be the most horrendous wedding in the history of the galaxy,” the servant said in exasperation. “And all of them are too afraid of your husband to say anything.”

You had raised a brow, secretly thrilled by this confrontation. At least it broke the monotony of your life here thus far.

“Do you question my taste?”

The servant glared at you. “What taste?”

A moment passed. The other servants stared in horror, undoubtedly convinced that their demise was imminent. Perhaps that was one benefit to being betrothed to the na-Baron. He wielded a certain type of power.

You busted out laughing. In fact, you laughed so hard that tears stream down your face.

“You’re right,” you said, laughter weakening into an uncontrollable giggle. “It will be a horrendous wedding, but that has nothing to do with the decorations. Will you help me?”

The servant’s name is Asha, and in her you found a companion. She chased away the other servants that day and set to work rectifying your wedding decisions, weighing in on current trends on the planet and admonishing you for your Caladan tastes. “Absolutely not,” she deadpanned when you inquired about floral bouquets.

Out of everyone on Giedi Prime — well, really just the Harkonnen fortress, as you weren’t permitted to leave — Asha became your friend. No one else bothered or cared to talk to you, and now that you had bonded over wedding preparations, you spent infinite amounts of time together strolling the halls arm-in-arm and whispering about servant gossip since you had nothing to contribute.

Asha made your miserable new life interesting.

“Are you scared?” She asks you one day, plucking at your eyebrows.

You outright refused to shave them off in order to conform to the hairless style of the Harkonnens, but regrettably agreed to a touch-up. You kept one eye on a nearby mirror just in case she got any ideas.

“Of what?”

Asha yanks at an eyebrow hair, and you cry out in surprise. “Oh, stop, you’re fine — I mean are you scared of Feyd-Rautha?”

“No. Why would I be?” You avert your eyes from her probing stare. Asha, unfortunately, is able to read your expressions better than a trained Bene Gesserit. You learned that this stemmed from the combat trainings that all young children received on this planet.

“Because,” Asha stresses. You frown when she fails to elaborate, and your friend issues a long-suffering sigh. “I’ve heard things about him, you know, in bed.”

“Oh.” You twist your hands in your lap. “What kinds of things?”

Asha grins triumphantly. “I knew you were scared!”

You laugh and shove away her hands as she playfully jabs at your sides. “I’m not scared,” you say, fending her off. “I’m just curious. Aren’t all brides?”

“Just you. We aren’t all Noble daughters with arranged marriages. We fuck —”

“I get it,” you interrupt. “Consider yourself lucky.”

You’re about to prompt her again about the things she’s heard when there’s a light rap of knuckles on the door. Asha shoots to her feet. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes — of course she’s respectful to Feyd-Rautha but not you. But you supposed it was the basis of your only friendship, so you couldn’t exactly complain.

“You’re back,” you say, standing up slowly.

Feyd-Rautha rests, hip and elbow, against the doorframe into the antechamber. He hungrily drinks you in.

“Indeed,” Feyd-Rautha replies. Last you’d heard of him he had left for an offworld obligation without saying goodbye. Something stirs in you at the sight of him after so long.

“I hope your trip was well.”

Feyd-Rautha scans the room before his gaze returns to you. “I would prefer to be here. The Baron seems determined to keep me occupied until the ceremony.”

Did you detect a trace of resentment in his words? And why would the Baron keep him from you? The heir wouldn’t exactly conceive itself; though he would have no way of knowing that you had been sleeping on the couch all this time.

“Retrieve the present I’ve brought back for my wife,” Feyd-Rautha suddenly instructs Asha. She secretly meets your eyes before dashing away.

You fold your arms over your chest. “A present? And I thought you’d forgotten I existed.”

If he picks up on your anger, he doesn’t show it. Feyd-Rautha crosses the room to you, replaces Asha in the chair across from you.

“It’s for tonight. The Baron has requested our attendance for dinner.”

You bristle slightly. “The Baron? Tonight?”

You had been exceedingly lucky to avoid the monstrous head of House since your arrival. But perhaps it was because you ran the other direction at the mention of his name, or the fact that you hadn’t strayed from your quarters.

“Yes. You needed something…acceptable to wear.”

“My clothes aren’t acceptable?”

“Yes,” he answers. “I have no doubt that my uncle has planned something magnificent for tonight. You will need to look the part.”

Your careful, fragile existence on Giedi Prime was crashing at your feet. From wiling away the hours to suddenly being thrust into the explosive political landscape that was House Harkonnen.

But no matter. Jessica had raised you for this very purpose.

“Fine,” you agreed coolly.

Both of you turn as Asha returns from her errand, a garment bag folded over her arm. She goes to deliver it to your closet but Feyd-Rautha halts her in her tracks. “I want her to open it here.”

Part 4

Tags:

@moonsoulk

@heartarianagran

@torchbearerkyle

@unicoreads

@taleah

@mamawiggers1980

#dune #feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #fanfic writing #writers on tumblr #writing #fanfic

350 notes · View notes

writersblg · 8 months

Text

how the cod characters would react to their partner being a true crime junkie

The sun was starting to set when your partner came back from training. They closed the door behind them and made their way to the living room where you were already wrapped up in a blanket. The music suggested you were watching a normal mystery show but the wholesome scenario your partner thought they found themselves in quickly crumbled as the presenter said “after taking off the skin and hanging it to dry she chopped up the body”

Simon

Unfortunately, doesn’t enjoy it as much as you do. For obvious reasons.

He’d give you the nastiest side eye and will just retreat to another room to solve a crossword or something.

Finds these shows incredibly disrespectful and really doesn’t get why you’d watch this.

ALTHOUGH he knows you’ll cuddle up beside him in the night and hide behind his big muscles (I’m deceased) so that’s kinda cute but that only adds to him not knowing why you’d watch true crime in the first place.

Soap

Watches everything with you

Will be mad if you do it on your own even if he’s on a mission

Enjoys the stories of female killers the most (if it’s out of revenge he’d cheer for them)

CONTRA he’d talk all the time about the nitty gritty of murders (basically plays the UNO reverse to Keegan; you’ll be afraid of him)

Gaz

It took a lot of time or convincing to make this happen but he now watches these shows with you.

Rarely talks; “hope they rot in hell” is all you’d get out of him.

Holds you very nicely though and gets up during commercials to get you two snacks <3.

Tells you about the super weird things that happened in his hometown when he was a kid and expects you to be normal about it.

Price

Falls asleep during the first 10 minutes

There’s nothing he hasn’t seen and no matter how brutal these attacks on the shows were he finds them tame

He won’t spoil your watching experience though and lets you lean on him if you’re getting tired

He won’t do true crime marathons with you but might compromise on watching 6h of government conspiracies or something instead

Alex

The most interesting part to him is the reasoning for the killers and silently does psycho analysis’ of them

If he has heard about the case before he’d add some information the presenter hasn’t talked about

You two just vibe

He lays on you and occasionally raises his head at particularly interesting scenes

Very much a true crime enthusiast himself

Also very much no expression on his face as they describe the attacks

Farah

SIDE EYE

Watches with you but the way she judges you for watching this is crazy

Blames it on your culture

Farah: “I can fix them”

Valeria

Sometimes laughs out of nowhere when she’s watching with you 😭 (would honestly destroy my psyche)

Loves to hear when the police messed up so badly they could’ve prevented more deaths but failed to do so

Watches the most gruesome way to attack someone and goes like “Haha I did this once.”

Gives you self defense tips according to the cases

Alejandro

Gets so invested in it

Gives you all the crime statistics if the case happened in Mexico

Randomly dropped that he knew the killer personally more than once

Happily talks about it at work the next day

Rudy

Sometimes curses in Spanish because he gets too worked up over this

Cannot watch unsolved cases; will think about it all night

Looks the cases up on the internet while the show is still on

Just deepens his perspective of there being more bad people than good people in this world

Keegan

He’s actually scared of you if you watch this without any reactions

Reminds me of that one AITA story

Accidentally told his friends he’s scared of you (but with heart eyes)

He’d watch it with you but mostly watches your reaction from a safe distance (the other end of the couch)

If you chop something in the kitchen later he’d gently take the knife from you and do it himself; you think he’s being funny but it’s just self preservation

Will still cuddle with you <3 later that night

640 notes · View notes