#if she finds it difficult to care or simply failed to see things it's not on anyone to force her to care or see

[charlie-lec-stories]

A lovely mess // CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Original Female Character

Summary: Four times Charles overreacted to becoming a father and one he actually failed to react. Or Charles being a mess through the best and most scary adventure of his life.

Warnings: None, this is pure wholesomeness.

Author’s Note: This one was inspired by some stories my own dad and uncle told me about the times they had their first children. Yes, some of those stories are based on things my father did when him and my mom were expecting me hahahaha. Rate: PG

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Every man reacts differently to pregnancy, but the most common response is just simply becoming a mess of a human being. And because of that, Charles, for once in his life, could be considerer an average man. He had been exceptional his whole life: excellent student at school, talented in arts, languages and sports, remarkable people skills and loved by everyone. People assumed that he was going to be an exceptional father too, and he knew he was committed to the role since day one, but none of that made the experience less scary. The monegasque had always want kids, he had always pictured himself growing old with a woman he loved and raising a bunch of little humans. When he knocked up his girlfriend he was definitely not planning on becoming a father so soon in his life, but he was happy nonetheless. His history with his girlfriend was kind of complicated too, her family didn't like him much, or more precisely the fact that Charles' job made her travel around the globe, away from her family all the time. He knew that he loved her more than he had ever loved anyone in his life, he knew that every time he pictured himself in the future, that future was shared with her, but it would be a lie if he'd say that the pregnancy didn't complicate things. His in-laws weren't too happy when they found out and Charles' mother was kind of worried about the whole situation. But Charles and his girl loved that little "accident" more than life itself and they actually never cared too much about anyone else's opinions. He convinced his girlfriend to move in with him and she also agreed on keep traveling with him until she ultimately had to stay home for the baby's safety.

"Is six weeks really that bad, Amour? I mean, maybe you're jet lagged or something". Charles nervously wondered from sitting at the bottom of the bed, his girl anxiously pacing around the room.

"That's not how periods work, Charlie". She was trying to stay calm and not bark at him, but that was a difficult task.

"Then let's buy a test and find out". He got up and started walking to the door when she grabbed his arm.

"Wait! You can't just go to a pharmacy and buy a test!". She looked at him like he was insane.

"Why not?". If there was someone humble enough to always forget he's rich and famous, that was Charles.

"Because you're Charles fucking Leclerc, that's why!". She let go of his arm and ran her hand down her face, exasperated. "The press is going to have a field day if you do that".

"Shit, you're right". He sighed and his shoulders sunk. He could see her shaking, scared and stressed and all he wanted to do was give her answers so she could get some peace of mind. "I'm sorry, Amour, I just don't know what to do".

"Let's call Lorenzo, maybe Charlotte can buy it for us".

He watched her take care of everything: call his brother, open the door for him and Charlotte, explain the situation, decide over test brands with his sister in law, drink loads of water, all while he sat on the couch, his mind running faster than he had ever drove his Ferrari. How could she think so clearly even with how scared she was? What would he do if the test was positive? What if she didn't want to keep the baby? Why was he feeling so sad with the mere idea of the test turning up negative? Was he really ready to be a father? There were so many questions and so little answers. He could hear Charlotte walk out the door and his girlfriend go their room, he clearly felt his older brother sit by his side on the couch, but he just couldn't move. Lorenzo said something Charles never caught, too drown inside his own head.

"I really want this baby, Enzo". Was all he let out and his brother just squeezed his shoulder.

Charlotte came back pretty fast, a paper bag with at least five different tests for his girl to do. The older woman explained the younger which ones were more effective so they could compare the results later. The possible future mother lock herself into the bathroom while the other three waited outside. Charles felt like he waited for an eternity before she came out with the five little white sticks. She placed them over a napkin on the coffee table and Lorenzo set the timer. Now, they had to wait again. She was sitting on the same couch he was before, looking at everything but the tests in front of her, so he sat down and took her hand in his, hoping for the contact to be enough to ease her thoughts. He wasn't exactly the epitome of calmness and the sweat that covered his hand made it hard to grip at. She looked at him and smiled, she knew that he was going to be there for them, no matter what, but she was still scared of what he would think, she still needed to know if he really wanted this. Still, she refrained from asking and simply rested her head on his shoulder, searching for comfort on his scent. She had her eyes closed when she suddenly flew to the other side of the couch while Charles' loud yelp filled her ears.

"What the fuck was that?". She looked around, trying to find what could have startled him so much to trow her like that, but all she could see was Charles clumsily trying to grab one of the tests while his feet barely kept him up. She had never seen him so uncoordinated in the two years they had been together. His fingers had a mind of their own and his legs were trembling.

"Two lines, this one has two lines". Charles, who had been quiet and petrified for the past hour, was mumbling like a madman as he showed his brother one of the tests. In the background, the alarm set by Lorenzo started ringing and they all looked down at the coffee table, searching for the lines of truth. Charles grabbed the the tests smiling wide as he showed them to the others. "THEY ALL HAVE TWO LINES". He was hyperventilating, his whole body shaking and Lorenzo couldn't help but let out his loudest laugh as he watched his younger brother loose the little bits of sanity he had. "CAN YOU SEE IT, BABY?!". He shoved the sticks into his girlfriend's face. "It's a baby! We made a baby! Putain de merde! I'm going to be a Papa!".

"Yes, Charlie! I see it!". She said sharing his enthusiasm. But then she saw him go pale really fast. He walked backwards a few steps and Lorenzo caught him from behind before he could fall butt first on the ground.

"Okay, I think you need to process this rollercoaster of emotions while sitting on the couch, Cha". The older Leclerc helped his bother to sit down next to the now confirmed future mama. There, Charles took her hand and smiled, a high-like expression covering his eyes. He may be scared, but he had never been happier.

If Charles' reaction to the pregnancy was that chaotic, it was a sure thing that the following nine months would be as well. Before the first trimester was up, he had already brought another house to move to, where the baby could have their own room and a playroom. He brought every piece of Ferrari merchandizing he could find on the internet, he didn't even care if it was original or not. Was it pretty? Yes. Was it Ferrari? Yes. Then he was buying it. His girlfriend even went to the extent of taking away his cards and threatened with getting rid of wifi to make him stop. He didn't, took her extension in the middle of the night and kept binge-shopping for his baby at 4 am. He brought furniture for the bedroom and the playroom, and then he found his biggest rival till the day. A rival he wanted to beat more than Max Verstappen: a crib. She wasn't even showing and he was already putting a crib together, or let's rephrase it, fighting with the crib and losing pathetically.

"Cela n'a aucun sens". (This makes no sense). He complained while he tried to attach what was supposed to be 'Part B' to 'Part 3.1'. Why there was a part 3.1, he didn't know and was too stress out to try and figure it out. He growled, he literally growled when the whole crib came crushing down in front of him. "Je déteste cette merde". (I hate this shit).

"Charlie? What's wrong? I heard a loud noise". He looked at the mother of his child and all he could feel was embarrassment. "Are you alright?".

"Yes. I'm fine". He answered from the floor, looking at his lap. He wanted to cry, but he also didn't want to upset her.

"Hey, you know you can tell me anything, right?". She sat next to him on the floor and searched for his eyes, but he kept looking away from her. "What is it, Charles?".

"I-". He tried to start talking, but he was cut off by his own sob. She quickly made him turn towards her, looking for injuries, but he seemed to be physically fine. She saw the tears running down his face and did the best she could to wipe the away. Moving to sit on his lap, she threw her arms around his neck and pressed herself flat against him, trying to get as close as she could. He cried on her shoulder, soaking her his hoodie and crushing her with his arms around her waist. They stayed like that for a while, until Charles stopped crying. She scratched his head to calm him down and after some time, he did. In a painfully soft whisper, he admitted his fear to her. "I'm going to be a terrible Papa".

"Don't say that. We both know that's not true". Shushing him, she pulled away and grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her. "Is this about the crib?".

"I've been fighting this crib for four days. Our baby is going to sleep on the floor and it's all my fault". She laughed and for a moment, she regretted it, seeing the hurt in his eyes. She calmed down and pecked his lips.

"Charlie, our baby has barely formed their ears yet, you have more than enough time to figure this out". He didn't look convinced at all.

"But what if I don't?". She smiled at him.

"I know you will. Do you want to know why?". He nodded and she ran her fingers through his hair to move it away from his face, so they could look into each others eyes and make him believe her. "Because you already are the best Papa in the world, Charles".

He won against the crib just in time to catch up with the worst part of the cravings period. They were into the fourth month of pregnancy and the little bump was proudly starting to show. Charles couldn't keep his hands away from it. He was constantly touching the bump, kissing the bump, talking to the bump, even scolding the bump whenever he saw some discomfort tinting his girlfriend's face. In the paddock he practically forced her to go everywhere with him and on interviews he answered every question while looking at her. He insisted on people staying at least ten centimeters away from her and he even took upon himself the task of preparing every meal she ate, just to make sure that it was safe and she didn't get food poisoned. He checked places' and foods' temperatures, chairs' and couches' safety, if her shoes were properly tied (at least 20 times a day), the only thing missing was him wrapping her on bobble wrapping. He safety proofed the every hotel room they stayed in so she wouldn't 'accidentally hit the bump against unknown furniture in the dark'. At some point, she had to put a stop to the madness, specially when Charles' newly-daddy paranoia messed with her cravings.

"Amour, what are you eating?". He asked when he caught her hiding with Lando and Max behind the Red Bull garage, a massive greasy half eaten hot dog on her hands. Lando was opening a mayonnaise sachet with his teeth and Max was feeding her french fries with his bare hands, all three of them sitting on the floor. It wasn't exactly the most sanitary situation, but the fuzzy feeling she felt inside her chest thanks to that hot dog made it all worth it. Charles could swear he had an aneurysm just by the sight of it all. "Where did you get that?".

"Uhm...". Her and Lando looked at Max, waiting for him to answer, since he was the one who brought it.

"Well... It's from a professional, I can assure you that, Charles". The monegasque frowned and Max swallowed, scared, just to find out his mouth was completely dry. He wasn't an easily scared guy, but something about Charles' over-protective-dad mood just terrified him.

"And where's the professional's place? Can you show me?". Max, still sitting on the floor, looked at everything but Charles.

"Oh, you see-".

"It's from the stand outside of the paddock". Lando blurted out, followed by him covering his mouth with both his hands and the three of them heard Charles growl.

"Max did you just feed my pregnant girlfriend a hot dog from a dirty street-stand? YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW IF THE PERSON WASHES THEIR HANDS-"

"They definitely don't, I mean, they don't have where to".

"Lando, you're not helping me, mate". Max advised, not moving his eyes from the fuming Charles above him. Then the pregnant girl decided to intervene.

"Charlie, babe, it's okay. I asked him to buy it for me". Charles then looked at her, his gaze softening a little, but still angry.

"Amour, you know that's not good for you". He walked to her and hooked his arms under hers to help her off the floor.

"But the baby wanted it". Max still followed Charles, afraid of what the future father could do to him for messing with his unborn baby's diet. Lando stayed very still, hoping to make himself invisible. "I was just craving this so bad! And you never let me have this type of food. The baby is fine, I promise".

"Don't do that face, it's not fair". He complained when she gave him her best puppy eyes. She didn't stop, and he finally dropped the attitude. "Okay, maybe we can make some room for a hot dog once in a while. But you have to keep eating healthy, we don't want the little Tifosi to come out malnourished".

"Yay!". She squealed and hugged him tight, the hot dog almost falling from her hand. Charles hugged her back and then directed his gaze towards the other two drivers.

"And you two". Max and Lando looked at him wide-eyed. "This better be the last time you pull off something like this. Did I make myself clear?".

"Yes, sir". Both said at the same time and got up from the floor.

"Okay, go on. And think about what you did". They nodded their heads, Max handing the girl the fries and then walking away with Lando.

"I like you daddy-voice". Charles shrugged at her comment.

"Amour, don't call it that or I won't be able to use it without laughing".

Charles' paranoia got better. He calmed down a little, but then the fear of being a bad father came back. Around the seventh month, already knowing they were having a boy, Charles found himself with insomniac. At the beginning of the pregnancy he was scared of not knowing what to do to take care of a baby's basic needs: bottle feed, change diapers, help him to sleep, and things like that. But as the date of the delivery got closer, Charles' fears shifted to the more existential type. What if he was unable to guide his son through life? What if he failed on teaching him good values and a strong sense of ethics? What if he ended up raising a spoiled kid, arrogant and narcissistic? What if he couldn't make his boy happy? What if his kid hated him? Those questions kept him up at night, turning over and over on the bed, and cold sweat covering his body. He would walk to the baby's room and look at the painting his girlfriend did on the walls, the name 'Jules' written on lilac on a clear sky, over the race track so carefully crafted. What if his son didn't want to race cars? What if he was forcing him to do so when he wasn't even born? Sitting on the rocking chair, he would look out the window, the yachts at the bay clearly visible from there. What if his son didn't like Monaco? What if his son would rather adopt his mother's nationality and culture over his? The dark sky adorned with shinny little dots would look back at him without answers.

"Charlie? Why are you up, love?". He heard his girl's sleepy voice call out to him from the doorway. He smiled at her, his eyes glossy as he fought the tears that wanted to escape.

"Just thinking, Amour. Don't worry". He gave her his best smile, but she could read his real feelings underneath it. "Go back to bed, I'll join you in a minute".

"I think we love each other enough to cut the bullshit, babe". She walked further into the room and stopped in front of him, her big belly at his face's height, and he couldn't help but reach forward and kiss it. "What is it?"

"It's... it's just a lot and it's late. Don't worry, really-"

"Charles, I'm not sleeping until I'm convinced that you're alright". He sighed, and pulled her to his lap. The weight was a little bit more than what he was used to, but he loved that, it made it impossible for him to overlook the fact that his baby was there, with them. He made her rest her back against his chest and rocked he chair, hugging her tight against him and resting his chin over her shoulder. They both looked out of the window and she patiently waited for him to tell her what was going on inside his mind.

"I'm scared. I feel this huge responsibility over Jules". She smiled, loving whenever they talked about their baby using the name they choose for him. "I just want to be a good Papa, but I'm so scared of messing up, of making the wrong choices, of using the wrong words, of leading him in the wrong direction. What if I don't raise him right? If I'm not a good role model?"

"Well, you're not alone in this, Charlie, I'm with you till the end of the line. Like Bucky and Steve. I know that we'll be alright. I just know it". She sounded so sure of herself. He wished he could be that sure about everything.

"How do you do it? How do you manage to always be so sure and composed?". She laughed and he felt the baby kick under his palm, he always kicked when she laughed.

"I've been the least composed person and you know it, Charlie! I break down crying at least five times a day. You've seen that! You're the one who comforts me every time". He laughed softly, that was true, those had been some pretty crazy seven months. A true rollercoaster of emotions. And they still had two more months to go. "I know that we'll be alright because we're already asking ourselves these questions. Because we care about Jules so much that we truly take time to think things through. We are going to be alright because we love our baby and we both know we will always do the best we can for him. We won't let the bad choices from our parents be repeated and we'll make sure to copy the best from them to give to Jules. That's why I'm so sure". She turned to look at him for a moment. "I trust you to be the dad of my baby because I know how great of a human being you are, Charles".

"I love you". He said, feeling a lot better. He kissed her tenderly, and then another kick was felt under his hand. "Thanks for being here for me, Amour".

"Always, just as you had always been for me". She nuzzled her nose against his. Another kick and they both laughed. "Let's go back to bed, Papa".

The two months passed by in a blink. Charles asked Ferrari to give him a leave of absence for the first two races of the season. He wanted to be world champion, but he would rather be there when his son was born. Ferrari let him take his time, but Jules decided to be born at eight and a half months. It seemed like he couldn't wait to meet his parents, because everything happened so fast that Charles had barely had any time to react. They were having lunch at his mother's house, and he was having the best time. His girl looked amazing, all radiant and happy, her belly covered by a cute but comfortable dress, his sisters in law both touching the belly and fighting for godmother duties. Lorenzo and Charlotte were definitely the chosen ones, but they hadn't tell anyone yet, after all both Lorenzo and Charlotte were there for them when they needed them. His mother was showing him little clothes that she had crocheted for Jules and his brothers discussing which one was going to be the 'responsible uncle' and who the 'funcle'. Arthur was definitely unable to be the responsible one, so he was already chosen to be the 'funcle'. Every conversation was cut short when the faint voice of the future mama rang through the air.

"Charlie". Her shaken voice called out, and he turned around to see what she needed. There was a wet patch under her and she was grabbing her belly, a painful expression on her face. "I think my water broke".

"The baby is coming!". Arthur shouted excitedly, but Charles' brain just stopped functioning. He saw everyone running around to grab things, Charlotte and Carla helping his girl out of the house and towards his car, Lorenzo grabbing the baby bag the carried around just in case since the beginning of the last trimester, Arthur pushing him outside and his mother speaking, but he just couldn't move. H was petrified. He felt like his blood pressure had dropped in a second and if it wasn't for Arthur behind him, he would have certainly fallen to the ground. His mother took his car keys out of his pocket and then they pushed him on the back seat, next to his girlfriend. Her hand crushing his brought him back from his outer-body state and he was able to react, turning to face her and running his other hand down her arm, doing his best to sooth her.

"It's okay, mon amour. Breath, breath with me". He instructed her and he started to exaggerate his breathing so she could copy her. She did and that calmed her down enough to count the seconds between one contraction and the next. "That's it, Amour, you're doing so good". He praised her and she smiled a little, her happy expression cut short by another waive of pain. She screamed and cried, sweat covering her forehead and running down her face, mixing with her tears. It was probably the most messy she had ever looked, but he had never seen her as beautiful as in that moment. "I love you so much". He whispered it, but by the squeeze she gave to his hand, he knew for sure she was saying it back. "We're almost there, hung on a little longer".

He almost carried her out of the car and into the hospital the second Arthur parked the car. Then, they found out that she was ready to deliver in that second. Jules didn't want them to keep him waiting, she was brought to the delivery room and Charles was given surgical gown so he could join her. Inside, the whole process was quick, in 30 minutes, Jules was crying on the doctors arms and Charles could feel his heart skip a beat. Wrapped on towel and with the small hat they had for him on, Jules was passed on to his mother, who took him instantly while she cried her eyes out. Charles, still on delay with reality, was trying to process the information. That was his baby, he was finally there, he could finally touch him. The doctor walked to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, Charles couldn't stop looking at his girl and little Jules. He heard a softly "go ahead, meet your boy", and that was enough for him to place a shaking and gentle hand on Jules' head. He ran his thumb over the soft little cheek and the tears started to fall. He felt his girl's hand wipe away his tears and heard her laugh softly. She just found funny that after overreacting about every little thing for the past eight months, Charles was barely able to react that day. He was a mess in that moment, but he was the perfect mess in her eyes. The most extraordinary mess. He finally smiled and reached down to kiss her head, then he looked at Jules.

"I am your Papa, Jules. I love you. I'm so happy to finally meet you".

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I hope you guys liked this one!

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x reader

[gatitties]

Shanks( crew or just Shanks), Mihawk and Whitebeard's (crew) with a YN who have ADHD/ASD, and who therefore avoid going out on the ship for fear of causing problems and who feel excluded because of the problems

─Red Hair Pirates, Mihawk & Whitebeard Pirates x adhd/asd!reader

─Summary: You think all you're doing is causing trouble, but they just don't care, they will always be there for you

─Warnings: none

─ You began to lock yourself inside the ship after in one of your spontaneous hyperactivity attacks you almost made everyone burn.

─ Also, sometimes it's difficult for you to communicate with other people, although Yassop can help you with this because it's usually with him that you go out to buy supplies, you feel that you are simply useless for needing someone to help you have a minimum of communication with other people.

─ So you thought you wouldn't cause trouble if you just stood aside, not doing tasks related to going out or shopping, not rushing into battle as carelessly as you'd like.

─ Shanks immediately noticed your absence, because you always made his day when he heard you babble everything that caught your attention in the daily newspaper, it was a routine that you followed religiously.

─ He thought that you had simply gotten sick at first, it wouldn't be the first time that you forget that some islands have a drastic change in temperature, your mind only worries about snowflakes at first and then it's too late.

─ But Benn had seen you hanging around the deck while they had some small battles, you usually liked to participate, even though your mind wandered sometimes, his pistol always stopped the guys who tried to take advantage of your distraction.

─ Lucky Roux also noticed that you didn't go to the card competitions that you used to like, and he immediately told his captain, they all seemed to notice how you were getting further and further away from them and preferred to spend time alone.

─ Shanks took care to nip all those negative thoughts in the bud, they weren't bothered by your little peculiarities or 'uncommon' habits, what's more, they thought they made you unique in a certain way, and they admitted that even they need help from other people sometimes, so you shouldn't fight your impulses alone, they are there for you.

─ It's very easy to notice how you distance from him because there are practically three of you in the big castle after Zoro left.

─ Normally he would find you organizing everything that bothers you next to Perona, your mind just calms down when you see the shelves organized in a certain way.

─ Or every weekend you and she get manicures without fail, a little habit you can't stop doing.

─ He also usually sees you running through the immense corridors or even finding you lost because you forgot where you were going in the first place and those corridors are like a maze.

─ The fact is that one day you began to think that your attitude was somewhat irritating to him, you interpreted his silent personality with that and your mind always takes the most negative path of things.

─ You used to like traveling with him, but you cut that habit so fast that he was even more surprised, you loved going out exploring or having fights with other pirates.

─ When he asked you about why you lied about changing some habits in your unwavering routine, this man didn't believe a single word and his single look made you so self-conscious that you ended up letting go of everything you thought.

─ You earned a heavy sigh from him and a few pats on the head, he clarified that you were not irritating, neither your habits nor your impulses bothered him at all.

─ At first you didn't believe him, he had to drag you out of the castle by force so that you could accompany him to the nearest island to do the shopping, luckily your mind just managed to wander long enough in the market to let the whole thing slide.

─ Although he had to get you out of the castle more so that you ended up forgetting the thoughts that you were a bother to him.

─ You thought that everyone ignored you or did not take you into account because sometimes you had caused problems on some islands.

─ Fault for distracting and starting a fight with the wrong people, fault for not being able to express yourself well on some occasions, you thought that all you were doing was putting others in unnecessary trouble.

─ Even though everyone seemed to not care what made you think they were simply ignoring you, it made you feel even worse that they were the ones who got you out of all the trouble you accidentally got into.

─ You decided that the best thing would be to lock yourself in your room or not come back down from the ship at all so you wouldn't cause problems.

─ The thing is that Izo noticed your state as soon as he saw that you skipped some of your daily 'rituals' that were something obligatory to do in your day to day, Thatch also noticed how you stopped wanting to go shopping with him, normally you liked it browse the small shops with him.

─ Ace, who was the one who accompanied you in your moments of hyperactivity with your silly ideas, he also noticed how you resisted the urge to jump into an adventure without knowing what fate would bring you.

─ Marco was also surprised that you didn't go to his office to order his medical equipment in that exact way to please your mind, you always knew when something was moved one more millimeter to the right or left.

─ Everyone talked to Whitebeard about your behavior, they panicked when they thought you wanted to leave the crew, but the captain calmed everyone down saying that he would talk to you about it.

─ You simply couldn't hide how you felt about the situation to your father figure so you let your concerns about whether or not you were annoying come to light, earning you a laugh from Whitebeard.

─ He put you on his lap and explained that their lack of interest in your problems was because they weren't even problems for them, and your habits weren't irritating at all, you're part of the family and they would defend you to the death if necessary.

#op #one piece #one piece x reader #headcannons #sfw #reader #reader insert #whitebeard crew #whitebeard pirates x reader #dracule mihawk #shanks #red head pirates #request #reader is not specified so... #fem reader #male reader #gnreader

[riseofamoonycake]

Moony! 🌙 Can I request a scenario where Shiva, Rudra, Indra, Bishamonten, and Anubis are dads? Sorry if that sounds random I just wanna see fluff with these guys acting fatherly ☺️

That made my heart jump! Yeeessss!

Being Dad ~ RoR edition

Shiva

The joyful dad. There is no shortage of fun with him: he plays with his children whenever he can, carries them around on his shoulders, keeps them happy, always has them in his arms, cuddles them and sometimes behaves worse than them, taking scolding from his partner instead of his own child (and by complaining too, he also earns the punishment).

His children grow up with bright memories of their childhood, perhaps a little spoiled in terms of gifts, but happy, peaceful and very, very loved. They are absolutely daddy's boys and girls.

Sometimes Shiva lacks a bit of firmness, because he finds difficult to impose himself on his children when they make big eyes at him; but for serious things, or if his creature has made a mistake, he becomes severe and nothing escapes him, even if his punishments and reproaches are never cruel. Secretly, then, he becomes gloomy and silent because he is sorry to see his children sad, even if it is necessary for them to understand the mistake through some restriction.

Surely a good papa *^*

Rudra

The responsible and mature father who follows his children without pressuring them. He always has a smile for them, they are his weakness and he doesn't hide it, but he still manages to remain firm and be severe when necessary. He loves to spend as much time outdoors as possible with the children, letting them play and almost always voluntarily subjecting himself to their adorable torments, and dispenses more actions than words.

He loves taking his children into nature, exploring what they don't yet know, teaching them the world step by step; therefore they learn every secret of the sea, of the mountains, of the forces of the Earth, respecting them deeply. Probably, in adulthood they know several languages ​​​​perfectly.

However, the favorite time of the children is the night, when Rudra brings everyone under a cloak of stars and tells a story: one to smile, one to dream, one to grow. She always does it, even when his children grow up, and then they tell him stories in turn.

An indelible figure, bringer of joy and memories of light.

Indra

The carefree father. He cares a lot about his children and watches over them, but it is usually the partner who intervenes when they don't behave in the best way, because he only takes action if and when they commit something really serious.

Secretly, Indra would like to be with them more: play with them more, listen to them more, simply experience more moments with them, beyond his own role and duties; everyone knows it, including his children, who enjoy cuddling him and jumping into his arms every time they see him and can cover him with teasing and kisses.

He probably has a little more control with his sons, while he leaves ample space for his daughters, especially those who have taken on his character and who stand up to him; he needs a queen to keep him in line, and no matter how much he complains, he can only obey.

He wants to be tough, but instead he melts like snow in the sun in front of his family.

Bishamonten

The silent, severe and apparently inflexible father, but with infinite love. Not one for big speeches, Bisha is more of a god of action and shows his affection with gestures, but he is always there for his children, both to encourage and to protect and listen.

He loves very much when his children come to him for help or simply confide in him about something, and he never fails to give direction; behind his stern expression there is great consideration and a lot of dedication to his family, so much so he could do everything for his children.

When he has to punish them for something wrong they have done, Bishamonten does it, but with justice and without being merciless: his children must grow up responsible, not terrified. Sometimes he gives too many rules, but he does it for a good purpose and, in the end, with patience you can compromise. But a minimum of discipline is never lacking.

Sometimes he fears that he is not enough and so he goes to his partner for reassurance, because yes, even the great God of Fortune at War needs it, and there is nothing wrong with that. And regardless, Bishamonten is much better than he thinks.

Don't try to bother, make fun of or mistreat his kids. DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT.

Anubis

The dad who, actually, is the real baby. Anubis is always with his kids, he doesn't let go of them for a second, cries and screams if he doesn't see them, becomes a beast if he notices someone or something that he considers a danger to his family.

This god is not capable of being severe with them, not even if he tries: at the first tear he becomes sad himself and gives up, accepts punishments in their place, he would be capable of arguing with his children's friends to protect them, and sometimes his own kids have to tell him to step back and be less awkward. Does Anubis listen to them? No, not about this. Nothing and no one comes before his children, and even when they make mistakes, he always looks for a way to defend them.

The partner has to make a considerable effort to keep this grown child under control, and at the same time it is not that easy to resist his tears; you need patience, nights of reassurance and long chats, and the commitment of the whole family. He is a father who gives a lot of validation, and who cannot help but grow together with his children, and be there for them, no matter how or why.

An adorable dad!

#record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #ror #snv #ror shiva #snv rudra #snv shiva #record of ragnarok shiva #shuumatsu no valkyrie rudra #ror indra #snv indra #record of ragnarok indra #record of ragnarok anubis #ror anubis #snv anubis #bishamonten shuumatsu no valkyrie #ror bishamonten #snv bishamonten #record of ragnarok rudra

[princess-sof-time]

hello can give aquamarine hoshino and adrien agreste and sasuke Uchiha crush with fem reader headcanons please 🙏

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ──────

🄰🅀🅄🄰 🄷🄾🅂🄷🄸🄽🄾

• Aquamarine Hoshino, at first, is immediately drawn to the reader's calm and collected demeanor. In the midst of stressful situations, he admires her ability to handle them with grace, finding her composure and poise truly captivating.

• As their friendship gradually blossoms, Aquamarine becomes more aware of his growing feelings for the reader. He finds himself irresistibly drawn to her intelligence and unique perspective on the world. The way she sees things differently from others sparks his curiosity and fuels his desire to know her more deeply.

• One aspect that deeply inspires Aquamarine is the reader's unwavering passion for her hobbies and ambitions. He admires her dedication and commitment, often seeking her advice and support when he faces challenges in his own career. The reader becomes his muse, motivating him to push his boundaries and strive for greater success.

• Despite his usually reserved nature, Aquamarine surprises both himself and the reader as he becomes increasingly protective of her. He finds himself worrying about her well-being and frequently goes out of his way to ensure she is safe and cared for. He takes it upon himself to be her guardian, a silent protector watching over her from the shadows.

• But it is the reader's smile that truly becomes Aquamarine's weakness. He finds himself captivated by the genuine joy and happiness radiating from her whenever she smiles. Her happiness becomes his priority, and he would willingly go to great lengths, even stepping out of his comfort zone, to see that beautiful smile grace her lips. Aquamarine's heart swells with warmth and fulfillment whenever he successfully brings a smile to her face.

🄰🄳🅁🄸🄴🄽 🄰🄶🅁🄴🅂🅃🄴

• From the moment Adrien Agreste sets eyes on the reader, he is immediately captivated by her kindness and genuine nature. Her ability to see the best in people, even in the face of adversity, leaves a profound impact on him. Adrien finds himself drawn to her compassionate heart, as she inspires him to be a better person and reminds him of the importance of empathy and understanding.

• What truly mesmerizes Adrien is the reader's wit and sense of humor. They engage in playful banter that never fails to bring a smile to his face. He cherishes the moments when they share laughter, as their connection deepens through their shared sense of humor. Around the reader, Adrien feels a sense of ease and comfort, able to let his guard down and simply enjoy their light-hearted exchanges.

• The reader's independent and confident personality leaves Adrien both fascinated and in awe. He admires her courage and self-assurance, qualities he wishes he could possess in equal measure. Her unwavering belief in herself inspires him to embrace his own strengths and push past his limitations. Adrien finds himself drawn to her radiant confidence, longing to learn from her example and grow into a person who is just as assured in his own abilities.

• As Chat Noir, Adrien discovers a deeper admiration for the reader's bravery and resilience. He witnesses firsthand her ability to handle difficult situations with grace and determination. The reader's unwavering strength inspires him to face his own challenges head-on, and he often seeks her out for advice and support. Adrien sees in her a kindred spirit, someone who understands the weight of responsibility and the sacrifices that come with being a hero.

• Above all, Adrien cherishes the moments of vulnerability that the reader shares with him. He feels honored and privileged to be someone she trusts with her deepest thoughts and fears. He listens attentively, offering comfort and understanding, knowing that their connection is built on trust. The reader's well-being becomes his top priority, and he will go to great lengths to protect her from any harm that may come her way.

• As Adrien's feelings for the reader grow, his actions and reactions revolve around her. He becomes more attentive, always seeking opportunities to spend time with her and learn more about her. Adrien's presence brightens whenever he's around the reader, his smile becoming more genuine and his laughter more frequent.

• While Adrien may feel a sense of nervousness and uncertainty when it comes to expressing his true feelings, he becomes more and more comfortable sharing his thoughts and emotions with the reader. Their bond deepens as they navigate the complexities of their connection together, with Adrien cherishing every moment they spend together.

• Adrien envisions a future where he can support and uplift the reader, celebrating their shared dreams and accomplishments. He dreams of a love that is built on friendship, trust, and unwavering devotion. Adrien wants to be there for the reader, to protect her and make her feel cherished, always striving to be the hero she deserves.

🅂🄰🅂🅄🄺🄴 🅄🄲🄷🄸🄷🄰

• Sasuke Uchiha is initially intrigued by the reader's determination and strong will, but as they spend more time together, he finds himself feeling something deeper for her. What started as admiration for her relentless pursuit of her goals slowly transforms into a crush that Sasuke can't ignore.

• The reader's unwavering support and belief in Sasuke's redemption touch him deeply. Her faith in him becomes a constant source of motivation, and he finds himself wanting to prove himself to her. Sasuke's crush on the reader fuels his desire to become a better person not just for himself but also for her. He wants to be worthy of her trust and admiration.

• As Sasuke's feelings grow, he becomes acutely aware of the reader's presence in his life. He finds solace and comfort in her company, and her support becomes an anchor in his tumultuous journey. When they are together, Sasuke feels a sense of calm that he can't explain, and he cherishes every moment shared with her.

• Sasuke is drawn to the reader's intelligence and perceptiveness. He values her insights and often seeks her opinion on important matters. Her unique perspective challenges his own thinking, and he admires her ability to see beyond the surface. Sasuke finds himself captivated by the deep conversations they share, and her presence sparks a desire within him to continue growing intellectually alongside her.

• The reader's unwavering loyalty and devotion only strengthen Sasuke's crush. He deeply appreciates her commitment to him and the bond they share. Sasuke starts questioning his past choices even more, striving to make amends not just for his own sake but also to deserve the loyalty and devotion that the reader shows him. He wants to become a better person for her and prove that he is worthy of her love and admiration.

• Despite his stoic exterior, Sasuke finds himself wanting to make the reader happy. He becomes fiercely protective of her, going to great lengths to ensure her safety and well-being. His actions are driven by an intense desire to keep her out of harm's way, as he can't bear the thought of anything happening to her. Sasuke's stoicism softens when he's with the reader, and he often finds himself unintentionally showing small gestures of affection, wanting to make her smile and feel cherished.

• In this evolving connection between Sasuke and the reader, his crush is a quiet fire burning within him. He may struggle with expressing his feelings openly due to his complex emotions and past traumas, but his actions and devotion speak volumes. Sasuke's journey with the reader would involve navigating the intricacies of their relationship, overcoming personal obstacles, and ultimately finding a love that is built on mutual understanding, trust, and growth.

• As Sasuke's crush on the reader deepens, he would gradually find the courage to express his feelings, albeit in his own reserved and subtle way. He would strive to be the person she can lean on, the one who supports her dreams and protects her, while also hoping to find solace and redemption in her love.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ──────

#oshi no ko x reader #naruto x reader #miraculous x reader #aqua hoshino x reader #adrien agreste x reader #sasuke x reader #headcanons #fem reader

[tartagilicious]

i love the fact that dottore just somehow was able to successfully treat collei's eleazar, and it's always just made me think 😭😭 who in his life had it to the point where he mastered caring for a disease with no cure? insane lore for a mad scientist archetype!! also hello (: this isn't the end of my hiatus, but i'm trying to play genshin more again now that i have the time so dottore brainrot is back!!!! c.w: blood

all the ways to kill the one you love (1.6k)

When you fall to your knees in the dark hall, you can only pray that the person in front of you knows that it wasn’t of your own volition. The only thing to blame is your own negligence for getting you into this situation – perhaps you’d be in better shape if you had been more prepared for your Eleazar to break out. 

Because from the moment you set foot into the frigid country’s very own Zapolyarny Palace, it has been in your absolute best interest to stay under the radar. Coming from the Akademiya, you know well that you are not particularly popular with any of its inhabitants.

Though, that isn’t your concern. You’re here to determine if the Fatui have been able to locate the missing Dendro archon as a vessel of Irminsul; a child of Sumeru and vision holder in the Akademiya. Effectively, you don’t intend to make any lasting friends, so to say. You’re unsure of the Akademiya’s plans with the information you find, but whatever you glean from your time here will be insignificant once out of your hands.

It was easy to convince the Grand Sage that your place amongst the heretics in Snezhnaya would be with their soldiers, despite the fact that your student-life had been plagued by your condition. Because the simple truth is that they didn't care about the technicalities, as long as you’re able to relay the info they require, they could care less if you died with it. 

Your time in the Fatui itself has been anxiety-inducingly bleak, though, and certainly nothing like what you expected. Low ranking soldiers are treated as employees, almost, sent from place to place in order to protect property and officials. But nothing has ever made you rethink your decision to accept a mission as much as this. 

The hydro vision you keep tucked away in your uniform should be helping to push down the pain – it has always helped. But be it the cold weather or something else entirely, your incorrigible disease seems to be flaring up more than usual. Even if you were blessed with a portion of Celestia's magic, you have been reminded from a young age that power is dangerous; and it cannot fix everything. 

However, your vision has never failed you so noticeably until now. 

The awful warmth in the back of your throat is a stark contrast to the cool tile beneath your hands. Your bunkmate is somewhere behind you, you think – she had been the one to find you, after all, clinging to a wall with a hideous mixture of blood and mucus pooling at your chin. 

You call out to her, voice weak as you attempt to stand. No response. The unknown doctor you had been led to is still silent so far, possibly making no move simply to see what you will try to do in your state. You can feel his eyes on you as you croak, 

“Has she gone?”

Something in the quiet air sparks as your voice breaks the silence. You look up begrudgingly, curious to see who you’re at the feet of even as your skin tingles painfully. You’re disappointed to find that the man’s face is obstructed by a mask that is vaguely owl-like, leaving nothing but the very corners of his lips visible. 

You don’t recognise him in the slightest, and yet, he frowns. 

Then, in his expensive slacks and in a way that surely creases his boots, the doctor kneels down to your level. Your heartbeat quickens intermittently as your eyes track his slow movements. You can’t help but be shocked by the sudden display of attention when he had clearly been resigned to only watching you before.

It’s difficult to look right at him when there are no eyes to find, so you can only look at the ground as the doctor studies you. 

You want to speak badly, to ask him to help you, but the words catch regrettably in your throat. Brows tightening, you throw a shaky hand over your mouth as a cough forces its way up. And too quickly, the blood that had pooled at the back of your throat empties into your mouth without warning, the taste instinctually pulling a whimper from you. 

A brief chuckle sounds from above you.

All you can register from that point on is a gloved hand slipping under your chin, tipping your head upwards. You attempt to shake your head in protest. Yet, all the Doctor does is wipe the blood that pebbles from your lips with a careful thumb. 

“How pitiful” The Doctor finally speaks, his rough voice thoughtful. “I’d thought you better than this.”

Your brows wrinkle in confusion as his thumb lingers near your mouth. He provides no explanation to his mysterious remark, though, merely turning your chin from side to side in an effort to look at your face in its entirety. Your chest burns with each movement.

Too helpless to do anything but stare at him, an old image slowly begins unfolding before you – though his face is covered, canine teeth are visible as he teases you. You’re almost certain that if he took off his mask, you’d be staring into the crimson eyes of someone you’d never forget.

Without thinking, you grasp at his wrist. The painful buzz solidifies between you without the barrier of a glove, but you don’t back down. 

“Zandik?” You whisper, brows creasing in concern. “How…?”

The Zandik you know is dead. This much is clear, no matter the way you look at it. But until now, you’d thought the former was undisputable. 

“You disappeared. I thought you were gone, but now you're with them?” You whisper harshly, sadness leaching into your voice.

After a few quiet moments, he drops your chin with a deep hum and pulls himself away from you. 

You crumble in on yourself and cough excess blood into your hand almost instantly, though he does nothing to help you this time. When you’ve caught your breath, he says, 

“You’ve always been one for flattery. I have never been any better than them.”

That’s not true. It’s not. You want to yell it at him, to insist until this awful cold facade of his ceases and you’re able to see the same person you’d gone to the Akademiya with. The same person who, despite having been hardened by the people that had outcased him, still flinched when insulted. The only one who would touch your hands that were inured with violet scales, and who valued your ability to forgive those who have hurt you. 

He was a person whose interest in things stemmed from his want to improve. Who’s status as an outcast came from his inability to compromise when it came to his life’s work, his desire to evolve. You found solace not in his frigid company,  but in the way your condition garnered the most intimate of his attention.

With the very same material that was enough to consider him a danger to Sumeru, he had successfully fought off the more gruesome symptoms of your Eleazar. With you, he was understood; needed. But with him, you finally felt whole. Both were things neither of you were ready to give up.

“Flattery.” Your voice is broken as you stare at the ground, body propped up by nothing but your weak forearms. “It’s so like you to insist anything good about you is false.”

A small frown is visible around the corners of his pointed mask. 

“What brings you to Snezhnaya, ___?”

“...I’m dying, Zandik.” You say quietly. He’s the first person you’ve admitted it to, even before yourself. In your student years, you’d been hopeful, confident, that your hydro vision would be enough to sustain you through a normal life. The very archon it stands for vies for equality on all fronts, between good and evil as well as sickness and health. 

But now, you know it isn’t enough. You’re old enough to look past the thin veil that has been protecting your fragile mind all these years and see the truth – that you were never meant for a long life. 

“What a headache.” He sighs it out placidly. You can’t find it in yourself to meet his eye as he kneels before you once again, every ounce of love he had once felt for you gone, yet somehow seeping from the cracks of his resolve all the same.  

You fully prepare yourself for the inevitable result of being told to leave, to seek refuge with a real doctor and not test fate in his hands. But, he doesn’t. Instead, a gloved hand reaches for your shoulder, pushing you up your knees. Your muscles sting with over-exertion as the cloud of hair leaves your face.

“How long have you been aware?”

Your back aches as you wipe the blood from your lips.

“A couple weeks.” You answer quietly, your words like a ghost in the frigid winter air. 

Dottore doesn’t answer immediately, a frown etched into his face permanently. Your breath catches as he reaches into his pristine white jacket. Gingerly, he wipes the blood from your lips with the steady hands of a surgeon. The action is not necessarily cold, but it is not full of the same warmth you remember either.

His voice is guttural when he says, “You’re foolish for coming here.” for coming to me. 

You want to laugh, to half-heartedly agree with him. You aren’t sure that you would have let your bunkmate bring you here if you knew that this was the fate you were going to meet. Of all the people in the world, Dottore is the only person who would be able to call you on your bluffs – on all of the reasons you’re here, and every reason the Akademiya has to value you. 

You could become nothing very quickly, as soon as he wishes. 

But, there's something inside you that wrestles with the fear -- something soft and carefully hidden that refuses to leave this revelation, this reunion, behind.

And so, you force out a soft, “I know.”

You both know his harsh words don’t hold any real meaning. After all, the fearsome Harbinger is equal to you in this moment, on his knees just as you are. And if nothing else, it gives you hope that things are not as lost as they seem.

tartagilicious 2023

#genshin impact #dottore #dottore x reader #genshin impact x reader #fatui x reader #fatui #genshin impact fandom #genshin fanfic #genshin impact fluff #genshin dottore #dottore genshin #il dottore

[iibonniee]

Self Care

Pairing: Lee Minhyuk x Reader

Genre: Smut

Warnings: unprotected sex, fingering, oral (fem receiving),

Rating: R

Word Count: 5.5k

Summary: After almost what feels like weeks of non-stop studying and taking finals, Y/N finally decides to invest in what everyone calls "self-care”. Little did she know her dearest best friend would show her his idea of self care.

Masterlist

The only thing that sat heavily on her mind was self-care. After weeks of almost back-to-back studying for finals, she knew she’d probably fail from procrastination alone; her body felt great, melting into her pleasantly soft couch. She knew she would need to get up if she wanted to do something of that nature called self-care. Still, the sofa had been calling her name after she blew it off one too many times in favor of her office chair and a dim light that hardly helped her focus on the text from the books.

After the finals, she enjoyed some time with friends, laughing about “how easy that final was.” She, of course, lied straight through her teeth to fit in with her laughing and slightly intoxicated friends. That final was absolute hell, and if she could, she’d totally find the professor’s house and tell them they should quit their jobs simply because what the fuck? Never mind the fact that she blew off all her friends in favor of studying.

Her lips pursed, remembering how her dearest friend Minhyuk had messaged her just hours ago. Instead of responding, she simply swiped the notification away for the fifth time that day. What could she say? Those finals tore through her, and now the simple fact of being around any single person deeply disturbed her. But thinking about practically blowing the man off, even with a schedule more packed than her, made her feel slightly terrible.

Her predicament was this: she was sitting – laying – very comfortably while her phone was peacefully resting on the coffee table just inches from her. She could, in theory, simply reach out for the phone and message him back. Surely, he would only lay into her a bit because “Best friends don’t leave each other on delivered for more than an hour. You know I break the rules just to message you back.”

Scratch that; he totally would lay into her.

The puff she let out was more than audible, and she swore the creaking in her bones was just as loud. Studying with work should be considered a sport. Her phone was cool to the touch, and as she had guessed, the male in question had sent her just about 5 messages for almost every single hour that had passed.

Reading his messages over, she couldn’t help but laugh loudly, thinking about the main vocalist tripping. At how she knew he’d tear the duo a new one just for bringing it up almost every couple minutes, thinking it was the funniest thing to date. The guilt was starting to eat at her for simply ignoring him.

09:16 a.m.: Y/N: wish me luck on my final 🤞 professor choi said it would be difficult as hell (not his exact words, but he was basically saying just that), so if i don’t ace this, blame my procrastination

09:17 a.m.: Minhyuk:  i can just picture your face now, sweating and pulling that super weird and questionable face you do whenever you’re thinking too hard 😂

10:46 a.m.: Minhyuk: i purposely waited more than an hour. how did you do?

11:28 a.m.:  Minhyuk: did you procrastinate so hard you died?

12.33 p.m.: Minhyuk: kihyun tripped down the stairs. me and hyungwon thought it was hilarious. imagine you messaged me back, and you could be laughing about it instead of me and him. you should be jealous of hyungwon

2:40 p.m. Minhyuk: earth to y/n?? i’m missing you! this is important

5:32 p.m. Minhyuk: i can’t believe procrastination took my best friend like this

The time was just shy of 8. She knew if he checked, he’d see she had read his messages and begin to think of a well-worded 5 paragraph essay as to why what she did was absolutely fucking rude. Deciding that rather than dealing with the bullet, she would try to avoid it.

7:56 p.m.: Y/N: don’t hate me…

7:56 p.m.: Y/N: i may have gotten dragged out with some friends from class to get “celebratory drinks”. believe me, i was going to message you back 🤗

She watched the message go from “delivered” to read in seconds. Her heart felt like a drum against her ribcage. Her eyes were glued to the screen like fresh glue. Like a child ready for her parents scolding, she waited with bated breath for his reply. The silence that stretched on was suffocating, the seconds ticking by like hours in her mind. She mentally composed a hundred excuses, each more dramatic and apologetic than the last, the nails of her free hand digging into the palm as she braced herself for the inevitable.

7:58 p.m.:  Minhyuk: dragged out, huh? guess those drinks were more important than letting me know you’re alive

The words stung like salt on an open wound, a sharp contrast to his usual playful banter. She could practically hear his voice in the text, tinged with annoyance that didn’t quite mask the concern behind it. She cursed at her screen, mentally chastising herself for her thoughtlessness.

7:58 p.m.:  Y/N: i’m so sorry minhyuk, today was a mess and i lost track of time. i didn’t mean to worry you or be rude

Her fingers hesitated over the send button before she finally pressed it, releasing a sigh that did nothing to ease the tension from her shoulders. She dared not to look away from the conversation, the panic turning her stomach into knots.

The dots appeared and disappeared, a sure sign he was typing, re-typing, his response proving he too was unsure of what to say. The wait was agonizing, her anticipation painted with shades of regret and anxiety. It was the kind of suspense that could only come from caring too much about someone’s opinion, about someone’s feelings.

8:00 p.m.:  Minhyuk: you’re lucky i care enough not to stay mad at you. don’t do this again y/n, it’s not just me, okay? we all worry.

Reading his response, a mixture of relief and guilt washed over her. Relief that he hadn’t completely unleashed his frustration on her, and guilt that she had caused him to worry in the first place. The knots in her stomach began to loosen, albeit slowly, as a crescent of gratitude rose amid the chaos of her emotions. 

8:00 p.m.:  Minhyuk: how did you do on the test? 

8:01 p.m.: Y/N: i think i passed? if i don’t pass, i’m going to my professor’s house and bitching him out. but since it’s all done now, i’ve been thinking about giving myself some self-care

8:02 p.m.: Minhyuk: like all those stupid videos you see?

Her thumbs hovered over the phone’s keyboard, the blue light casting ghostly shadows on her fingers. She drew in a breath as if about to dive underwater, aware that admitting her struggles to Minhyuk felt akin to exposing a vulnerability she often kept veiled.

8:03 p.m.:  Y/N: yeah, something like that. finals really did a number on me. my shoulders are up to my ears in tension. could really use one of those self-care days.

She sent the message out into the void between them, a digital confession that carried more weight than the characters it was comprised of. Her phone was a lifeline, a barrier, and a bridge all at once. Her screen flickered with the indication that he was replying, and she felt her pulse escalate, the anticipation tantamount to the moments before a storm broke.

The typing indicator blinked. Then.. stopped. She couldn’t help the frown that crept onto her lips. Were her problems too trivial? Too human for the idol facade he often wore?

But then, almost teasingly, the typing resumed. Her heart danced to the rhythm of his unseen keystrokes, a delicate waltz of hope and anxiety.

8:05 p.m.:  Minhyuk: i could come over? offer you some... exclusive minhyuk-brand self-care tips.

The message was light-hearted, a classic Minhyuk approach to her distress – humor laced with the promise of comfort. She couldn’t help the small smile that broke through, even as a blush warmed her cheeks.

8:06 p.m.:  Y/N: oh? and what kind of self-care tips are those?

The faintest feeling of daring bubbled inside her. To flirt with the boundaries of their rapport seemed reckless, yet the adrenaline of it was intoxicating. Minhyuk’s reply didn’t come instantly this time, and the silence stretched just enough to fan the flames of her curiosity.

8:09 p.m.:  Minhyuk: i could make you cum. i heard that’s a great way of relaxing and relieving tension.

The heat spread across her face way too fast for her liking. She knew Minhyuk. The man was often brutal when speaking honestly. Still, behind that brutal honesty, he was often gentle, a softness that he reserved for the quieter moments between them. It was that duality that had always drawn her to him, that fine line he walked between audacity and tenderness.

Y/N stared at the screen, the words blurring as her heart hammered. Was he serious? There was no way to gauge the sincerity of his tone through text. Still, a part of her, perhaps secretly hoping for a bit more than friendly banter, conjured up a thrilling image of him following through. In front of her, eating her out to relieve her stress. She swore he had talked about it before. Something about how Hoseok helped someone out and not in a work-friendly manner. Had he meant the same way?

She was about to type a response, her fingertips shaky with a mix of nerves and anticipation, when a new message popped up.

8:12 p.m.:  Minhyuk: unless... you’re already thinking about it?

The playful tease was evident even through the digital text, and she stiffened, caught utterly off guard. Yes, she was thinking about it, but the fact that he could call her out so accurately sent a jolt through her. Her pulse raced, the mixture of embarrassment and excitement causing a delicious tension within her. She found herself at a crossroads of confusion and desire. Trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation, she decided to play along, if only to see where this would go.

8:12 p.m.:  Y/N: idk, is that what you recommend to all your friends when they’re stressed? 

Her response was nonchalant, an attempt to mirror his teasing while her mind whirred with the possibilities. She waited, breath held, for his answer, utterly unaware of how this conversation might change everything.

8:12 p.m.:  Minhyuk: no, just you. 

She could hear his voice in that message — low, teasing, and devastatingly focused — as if he were beside her. The notion sent a tremble through her body. Her phone seemed to burn her fingertips, a virtual representation of the invisible thread tugging them closer with each message sent.

8:13 p.m.:  Y/N: and what if i were thinking about it? what then?

Her heart was pounding a staccato rhythm against her ribs. Each beat seemed to echo his name. She was playing with fire, and a part of her didn’t want to stop — couldn’t stop — even if she tried.

A pause lingered, almost too long, before his following message arrived, and it had her breath hitching in anticipation.

8:15 p.m.:  Minhyuk: then i’d say we’re thinking about the same thing. i could be over in 10.

Her breath caught in a sharp inhale, a swirl of heat and butterflies erupting in her stomach. She’d known Minhyuk was bold, but this was uncharted territory. Each message was a step further into the unknown, and she wasn’t sure if her racing heart wanted him to slow down or to bridge the distance even faster.

8:16 p.m.:  Y/N: you wouldn’t dare.

It was a challenge, the kind of throwdown she’d seen in the charged space between two people in movies, the type that always led to someone’s back pressed against a wall, breaths mingling, gazes locked. She was playing her part in their little game, the script being written in real-time.

8:17 p.m.:  Minhyuk: try me.

And he added a winking emoji for good measure. A bold, ridiculous little symbol that shouldn’t have the power to increase her heart rate, but it did. It really did.

8:18 p.m.:  Y/N: …

She was lost for words; the ellipsis was all she could manage as a flurry of thoughts bombarded her, each of them an image of possibility. Her body was alight with unsaid promises, every nerve ending buzzing as if the warmth of his tease had a tangible touch. The air felt charged around her, heavy with the electric potential of ‘what if.’ Was she ready for the ‘what if’ to become reality? The next few moments would tell.

8:18 p.m.:  Minhyuk: say the word, and i’m there. i could have you cumming so hard you forget about that final. with my fingers, mouth, and cock. 

The audacity of his words sent a jolt through her, a storm of heat and shivers cascading down her spine. She read his message once, twice, thrice, each word emblazoning itself into her mind, conjuring images more vivid than any fantasy she’d dared to entertain.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, a dozen responses racing her mind. She knew Minhyuk, his sweet smirks, and the playful glint in his eye. But this was a new dance, where he was both the lead and the tempo, and she was swept up in the rhythm.

8:19 p.m.:  Y/N: you talk a big game. what makes you think i’d want that?

It was a deflection, a coy invitation for him to prove his point, and part of her thrilled at the boldness of her own words. All around her, the room hummed with the tension of a prelude to something momentous.

Minhyuk replied quickly, stoking the embers that danced beneath her skin.

8:19 p.m.:  Minhyuk: because i know you. because i’ve seen that look in your eyes that screams yes even when your lips are biting back the words. i’ve known you for years, y/n. i know what makes you tick. i just don’t say anything.

Her heart was soaring and plummeting all at once, caught between nerves and an exhilarating sense of inevitability. Minhyuk was as deft with his textual innuendos as he was with every other facet of their relationship — constantly pushing, always knowing just how far to go.

8:20 p.m.:  Y/N: if i say the word... do you promise to keep yours?

She was still questioning, still testing the waters, but the thrum of excitement in her blood was yielding to the magnetic pull of his promise. There was a potent sense of surrender threading through her words, a submission to the torrential desire she could no longer deny.

8:21 p.m.:  Minhyuk: i keep my promises. always. especially to you.

That was all it took. She sat, heart racing, a cacophony of longing ringing loud in the quiet of her room, and she realized she wanted the reality far more than the fantasy.

8:22 p.m.:  Y/N: come over.

Sent. 

The word lingered on the screen, heavy with implication and as momentous as crossing a threshold. As the message —come over — fades from the screen, Minhyuk feels a surge of exhilaration pulse through his veins. His heart drummed a rapid beat, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. There’s a smirk tugging at his lips, one of anticipation and victory mixed with a raw desire he’s only ever shown to her. 

8:23 p.m.:  Minhyuk: i’ll be there in 10. get ready for me.

Sent. 

The words, simple yet laden with his intent, dart through the digital space — a promise swiftly turning into a plan of action. He grabs his keys, phone, and composure — though the last seems fragile, like a thin veneer over the tumultuous wave of want coursing through him.

Meanwhile, her palms press into the plush fabric of the couch, her breaths coming out in short, deliberate gusts. Her eyes dart to the door and then to the phone. A carousel of feelings spins within her: excitement, trepidation, desire, doubt. One moment, she feels a giddy joy bubble up from her stomach; the next, nail-biting anxiety clenches at her throat.

She gets up, paces, and sits back down. The room feels smaller, as if the walls are inching closer with each second that ticks by. Cracks of light from the fading evening stretch across the floor, painting elongated shadows that mimic her tangled emotions.

8:25 p.m.:  Y/N: okay, i’ll be waiting.

A part of her wonders at her own audacity. How easy it was to type those words, yet how profound the impact. It’s a seismic shift, an invisible line crossed, the soft click of a door unlocking — whatever it may be, their relationship won’t be the same after tonight.

She lights a candle, the flicker of the flame casting a warm glow in the living room. It’s a vain attempt at nonchalance as if to say, ‘I do this all the time,’ when, in fact, her heart’s racing like it’s her first-ever date. Her mind plays and replays the possible scenarios, each as vivid and nerve-wracking as the last. Then, she blows it out. Her mind going a mile a minute. This was probably just going to be a quick fuck session. Nothing more.

And then, as the minute hand inches obligingly towards the half-hour mark, every nerve in her body seems to stand on edge, her senses heightened to the rapid-fire staccato of her heartbeat. It is equally the most terrifying and exciting countdown.

Three heavy and loud knocks greet her once-silent apartment. The knocks seem to reverberate throughout her apartment, a thunderous declaration that shatters the quiet anticipation. She freezes, every muscle coiled with an energy akin to the electric charge of a brewing storm. The moment she’s been swinging between dread and desire is now palpable, as imminent as the next breath.

Time seems to stretch these seconds to minutes as she gathers the courage to pad across the hardwood floor. She feels every fiber in the woven rug underfoot, every whisper of the evening air that sneaks through the cracks of her haven. With each step, her heart is both a traitor and an ally, pounding against her chest in nervous fervor.

Her hand hesitates briefly at the door handle, a transitional talisman that stands between what was and what could be. The cool metal sears her skin, starkly contrasting the warmth flooding her veins. She’s vulnerable, exposed, and yet the thrill of it sets her alight — a moth to flame, a siren to the sea.

Swallowing the tightly bunched nerves in her throat, she flings the door open with a quiet determination. It’s her choice, her call to make.

And there he is — Minhyuk — looking every bit the tempest she feels inside. His eyes are hooded, heavy with a desire that mirrors her own, and his lips part slightly, as if every breath he takes is borrowed, meant for this moment alone. His hair is a charming disarray, a testament to the fingers that have raked through it in impatience, want, or both.

His gaze latches onto hers immediately, an invisible yet unbreakable link snapping taut between them. He wastes no time and no words. As if pulled by an irresistible force, he steps into her apartment, closing the space that had stretched unfathomable just seconds ago. With a surety that only Minhyuk possesses, he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her close.

Everything in her screams to melt into him, into the kiss they’ve both implicitly promised each other through screens and silent longings. Her lips part in an intake of breath, a silent invitation.

He meets her halfway, and the kiss is a collision of every unsaid confession, every smoldering glance, every midnight thought. It consumes her, a fire that she’s stoked with every heart race, every blush, every time she dared to look at him and see more than just her best friend.

He nudges her towards the couch, his fingers gripping her hip as she sinks down onto its cushions. Her eyes lock onto his, desire smoldering beneath her gaze. He moves in closer, tracing the curve of her neck with his lips as he inches lower, his hand sliding up her thigh. She gasps as his fingers brush against her damp underwear, her body arching into his touch. His lips find hers, their kiss deepening as his hand works its way inside her panties, stroking her already swollen core. 

“Fuck,” he whispers against her mouth, “you’re wet.”

She moans softly, unable to tear her eyes away from his as he slowly pulls down her panties and tosses them aside. He kneels between her legs, running his tongue along the length of her slit before plunging it deep inside her tight heat. She bucks against him, crying out in pleasure as he thrusts his tongue in and out of her hungrily. His fingers find their way back to her clit, circling it expertly as he sucks harder on her folds. 

She’s never felt anything like this before; he knows exactly how to drive her wild with need. And how he looks at her — like she’s something precious yet completely surrendered — makes her heart race and throb between her legs. 

“Soon, you’ll be forgetting all about that final while I make you cum over and over again. How do you want to cum the first time? With my mouth or fingers?”

The sound of his voice sends chills down her spine. She can feel his hot breath on her pussy, his tongue dancing over her sensitive nub. Her eyes roll back in pleasure as she responds, “Fingers, please.”

With a smirk, he removes his fingers from her dripping pussy and starts massaging her clit, using his thumb to apply pressure and flick it gently. She squirms and whimpers, desperate for release.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, a voice full of taunting innocence.

“No! Please don’t stop,” she pleads, her eyes squeezed shut.

Satisfied, he continues his assault on her clit until she’s writhing in ecstasy, begging him to finger her. He smiles wickedly, knowing he has complete control over her.

“Please finger me. I need it so bad,” she begs, her voice hoarse with need.

He chuckles darkly and leans in close to whisper in her ear. “Of course, princess. Whatever you want.”

With that, he slides two fingers inside her tight pussy, curling them up to hit her G-spot just right. She cries out in pleasure, her body shaking as he pumps his fingers in and out of her. He adds a third finger, stretching her wider and hitting deeper. She moans louder, her hips bucking wildly against his hand.

“Are you gonna cum for me?” he teases, his voice low and gravelly.

She nods frantically, unable to speak through the waves of pleasure washing over her. He grins and increases the pace of his fingers, rubbing her clit with his thumb. She cries out again, her entire body tightening as she reaches the brink of orgasm.

“Cum for me, baby girl,” he growls, his voice filled with possessiveness.

She gives in, surrendering to the overwhelming sensations coursing through her body. She comes hard, screaming his name as her entire body shakes and trembles. He keeps pumping his fingers, letting her ride her orgasm out.

She gives in, surrendering to the overwhelming sensations coursing through her body. She comes hard, screaming his name as her entire body shakes and trembles. He keeps pumping his fingers, letting her ride her orgasm out. Her breathing was heavy as she tried to catch her breath. He allowed it only for a moment, letting out a gasp as his mouth replaced his fingers.

“I told you I’m going to make you cum with my mouth. I need to taste you.”

Her body quivered and shook as his tongue danced along her clit. Her hands tangled themselves in his hair, holding him closer. His tongue was relentless. He sucked hard, licking faster, flicking her clit harder and harder. She could feel herself getting closer and closer to another orgasm. His fingers slid inside her once more, and he began to pump them in and out of her, his tongue still working overtime on her clit. The sensation was too much. She screamed out his name and came hard once again.

With a savage growl, he buried his face between her trembling thighs, his tongue lashing out at her swollen clit with unrestrained hunger, wanting to get another orgasm from her. She gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair as he devoured her pussy like a starving man. His tongue danced and flicked, tracing wet circles around her sensitive bud before sucking it hard into his mouth. 

“Fuck, yes,” she moaned, grinding her hips against his face. “Don’t stop, don’t ever stop.” 

He growled again, the vibrations sending shockwaves through her body as he doubled down on his assault. His fingers slid inside her, pumping in and out with an almost brutal intensity. She could feel herself tightening around him, her orgasm building like wildfire. 

“You like that, baby?” he rasped, his voice thick with lust. “You like it when I fuck you like this?” 

“God, yes,” she whimpered, her fingers digging into his scalp. “More, give me more.” 

He chuckled darkly, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers pumping harder. She could feel her legs shaking, her body trembling with the effort of holding on. And then, with a final flick of his tongue, she shattered. 

“Oh, fuck!” she screamed, her back arching off the couch as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. He didn’t stop, didn’t let up, his tongue and fingers working her through her orgasm until she was boneless and spent.

“Is that so?” he replied, his voice husky with desire, his brow raised in surprise, a smirk pulling at his lips.

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his. “I want you to take me,” she said, her voice low and seductive. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

Without another word, he rose from the couch and pulled her towards him. Their lips crashed together in a feverish kiss as he guided her towards the bedroom. They stumbled through the door, their hands frantically tugging at each other’s clothes until they were both naked and pressed against the bed.

He pushed her onto the soft mattress, his body covering hers as he claimed her lips once more. She moaned into his mouth as he trailed kisses down her neck, his hands roaming over her body with possessive hunger.

“You asked for it,” he said, his voice barely audible. He growled, his hands gripping her hips as he positioned himself at her entrance. 

And then he was inside her, filling her completely. She gasped, her nails digging into his back as he began to move. He fucked her hard and fast, his hips slamming into hers with bruising force. She could feel every inch of him, his cock hitting her in just the right spot. 

“Harder,” she begged, her voice breathless. “Fuck me harder. I want you to keep your promise to me.”

He growled, his fingers tightening on her hips as he complied. She could feel herself building again, her orgasm coiling in her belly like a spring. And then, with one final thrust, he sent her over the edge. 

“Oh, God!” she screamed, her body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. He followed her over, his own orgasm tearing through him like a storm. 

When it was over, they lay tangled in each other’s arms, their bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction. “Fuck. That was good.”

“I aim to please,” he said, his voice smug. He then chuckled, his hand stroking her hair. 

“You’re insufferable,” she said, but her tone was affectionate. Rolling her eyes, a soft chuckle left her lips as she turned to look at him. At that moment, they felt like lovers. Not two best friends who had probably just broken so many rules and fucked. That was perhaps the first rule as best friends. Not fuck. “Min, can I ask you something?”

Silence filled the room—a loaded, thickening quiet pressed against their skin even as they basked in the afterglow of their indiscretion. The sheets clung to their intertwined limbs, a shroud of evidence to the line they had just obliterated.

“Yeah, anything,” he responded, still close enough that his breath danced across her skin.

Her voice, when it next came, was a poignant mix of vulnerability and resolve. “Minhyuk, what does this mean for us? We’ve just tangled everything up, and I can’t... I can’t just pretend we can go back to how things were.”

He felt the weight of her question settle over his chest, heavier than her hand had been moments before. Averting his gaze, he reached for levity in a situation that felt dangerously close to shifting their worlds. “Before we get into that, have you considered what you’re doing this summer? Maybe a trip somewhere could clear our heads.”

The light swat to his chest was a rebuke, her expression earnest and searching. “Seriously, Minhyuk. We can’t just ignore this.”

“You’re right,” he conceded, his voice touched by a seriousness mirrored her own. He sighed, feeling the tension in the air wraps around them tight. “We can’t. So here’s the truth — I don’t have all the answers. But I know that whatever we’ve done or will do, I don’t want to lose you, not as my friend, not as... this. Whatever this is.”

She let the silence fill the room for a beat. Unsure of their next actions. She just fucked her best friend. Her best friend of 5 years. The man who comforted her during her heartbreaks, made her laugh when she was at her lowest, the man who knew her family so well. And she loved it. 

Hell, she loved him.

“We could be friends with benefits.” Throwing the idea out there was just as risky as him leaving her apartment and blocking her number once he realized that this was fucked and should’ve never happened. But she was greedy - far too greedy for her to admit. She would rather pass away than see Minhyuk with someone. And she’s been around him for a long time to see how well he can treat someone he loves. She wants that. “Or not. We can just act like this didn’t happen.”

Her heart was a thunderous echo against her ribs as she waited for his reaction. The words hung there, suspended, a proposal that felt like the edge of a precipice. Fear twisted inside her; images of him pulling away, of a frayed friendship, flashed in her mind.

Minhyuk was silent. His eyes, dark pools of thought, fixed on her face as if trying to read the story written in her expectant gaze. Time crawled, a slow tick in an otherwise frozen room.

And then, finally, he exhaled. “Okay.”

Her breath hitched. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, the corner of his lips tilting into a half-smile of bemused acceptance. “We can try it. Friends with benefits.”

She nearly choked on her relief. But her heart was still a galloping stallion; this was uncharted territory.

“But if we’re doing this,” Minhyuk continued, suddenly practical in the midst of their emotional tempest, “we need rules. We must be on the same page about everything to protect... this.” He gestured between them, the fragile, precious thing that was their friendship.

Her mind raced, and yet, she was hit by the sudden gravity of their decision. “Rules,” she echoed, the word bringing a semblance of safety amidst the chaos of their desire. “Rules. Okay.”

“We respect each other, always,” he started, the serious hue returning to his voice. “And if one of us starts feeling more, we talk about it—no ghosting, no pretending. Nobody can know. This is between us. Someone might complicate things. Lastly, if either of us finds someone…” He paused, his eyes searching her room before landing on her again. Clearing his throat, he continues, “We stop this. We go back to being just best friends.”

She nodded, feeling the weight of their pact settle in. “And we end things if it’s too much.”

They both knew the stakes, the gamble, but in that moment, cloaked in the night’s embrace, it seemed possible to preserve their bond while exploring these new, thrilling dynamics.

“Deal,” she whispered, a pact sealed with a mixture of anxiety and exhilaration.

The new agreement hummed between them, electric and alive. They were venturing into a maelstrom, two friends teetering on the cusp of something more, grasping at rules in a game where the heart was the ultimate prize.

“Deal.”

#kvanity #ksmutsociety #monsta x imagines #monsta x x reader #monsta x fluff #minhyuk x reader #minhyuk imagines #minhyuk imagine #monsta x smut #minhyuk smut

[vicvinegarandhughhoney]

Dennis and POTS

This is a headcanon you can pry from my cold, dead hands. I'm obsessed with it right now and here's why:

It embodies all that Dennis worries about, whether he's aware of that or not. It's a lack of control, a sign of some sort of 'physical imperfection' that he can't do anything about, a lifelong condition thrown onto his vitruvian back when he least expects it. He has to be reliant on others to a certain extent- to trust Mac to catch him if he faints, for Dee to carry something salty in her pocket for him when he runs out and needs a boost. It isn't something he can simply will away or deny.

If he's going to pass out, he's going to pass out. And yeah, it might even happen multiple times a day.

So what's the timeline?

Well, he probably gets diagnosed in his late teens. After all, it's hard to ignore a teenage boy passing out that often, even if Dennis tries to conceal it for a while (which he definitely does. After gym, Mac often finds him sitting in one of the bathroom stalls, his head between his legs, trying and failing to stay awake). Barbara doesn't care when he's diagnosed. She thinks he'll grow out of it, because her perfect boy would never be subjected to a lifelong condition. Frank cares perhaps even less. It's up to Mac, Dee, and Charlie to keep anything bad from happening to him.

When Dennis goes to Penn, things get pretty difficult. His frat bros aren't exactly the most helpful during flare-ups. They don't lower him to the ground when he passes out, they let him fall and then draw dicks on his face while he's unconscious. When he wakes up, groggy and confused and nauseous, there's nobody there to reassure him that he's okay. It's why he spends a lot of his time at Dee's dorm. The dorm parent there rolls her eyes whenever she sees Dennis ascending the stairs to get to his sister's room, but Dennis shoots her a glare and carries on anyway. Being with his sister means having somebody there who will look after him, even if she pretends to protest about it.

By the time they buy Paddy's, Dennis' flare-ups are growing more frequent. He doesn't know whether it's the stress of everything, the drinking, or what, but he often finds himself having to stop what he's doing to lay down in the back office. They keep a mini fridge in there filled with bottled water, ice packs, and snacks. It's mysteriously replenished every time Dennis clears it out during an episode.

With time, managing things gets easier. The gang knows more about what they can do to help things, and Dennis starts being able to identify what things are going to trigger him, and when he's about to have a pretty bad flare up.

Still, whenever his head starts to swim and the sweat prickles on the back of his neck, his heart races not only from the POTS but from fear. That bit- the loss of control, the eyes rolling back in his head, the all-consuming darkness- that doesn't get easier.

It probably never will.

#pots dennis #dennis reynolds has pots #i will be writing way more Dennis pots fics but for now have this #iasip #its always sunny in philadelphia #dennis reynolds

[just-some-guy-joust]

Just Some Guy OC Tourney - Side B: Round 2

Rules:

do NOT be mean to anyone or any characters in these polls. you MUST clarify if you are joking/teasing or you will be blocked. if you are someone who entered an oc into this and you are mean to other contestants you will be disqualified

do NOT claim a character doesn't deserve to be here. yes including your own. be nice

if you are posting propaganda you have to @ tag us, including if your propaganda is in the reblogs. it is difficult to tell when something is or isn't propaganda. anything not tagging us will likely be missed

please don't hesitate to let me know if i messed something up!

have fun, hype each other up <3 thank you

Professor Morelle Da Capo | She/her | @kira-moonrabbit

CW: The source, Lobotomy Corporation, has a large list of content warnings. This character by herself though is fine

Robotwoman who is famous for being dedicated. She works 24/7. Her hobbies include "logging everyone's opinions about her" and "standing still thinking about bicycles"

~

Lilly | She/her | @pocket-ghostie

CW: Child death

Lilly is a ghost who has found other ghosts and is hanging out <3 Almost all of the plot is happening around her. Thats actually a major plot point in the story, things are happening to the people she cares about... but nothing is really happening to her. She is simply hanging out and doesn't know what to do about the plot, but it keeps going without her doing anything. I don't have much to say about her, I only have things to say about the people around her.

Promos: Toyhouse link: https://toyhou.se/21226516.lilly

~

Full images and descriptions under the cut!

Professor is a machine who was built to replace employees! Well, a prototype that failed that they put to work. Her robotic-ness serves not to reduce her Just-Some-Guyness, but rather to amplify it. She logs everything that happens to her. She loves to partake in tasks and objectives. However this does not mean she is an emotionless beep-boop, but instead she has the personality of a tired but kind old lady. The kind who has an endless supply of caramels in a bowl somewhere. However she has no idea how to form her own preferences. She's factory default in everything. Plain as water. She sees the hells of being in lobcorp as normal and natural. One time she went to another branch and was absolutely delighted by a "hang in there, baby!" poster as though it was the cutest thing she's ever seen.

Minor spoilers for the story <3 Lilly finds out that her brother accidentally murdered her and she freaks out bc that's wild. But then she forgives him and everything is fine. She finds out that her dad has turned into a monster and she does nothing about it but avoids him. Her mom starts trying to control her, and she just waits for her friends to help her because she knows they will. She is so so tired of The Plot and doesn't know what to do about it. So she just... doesn't deal with it. She is hanging out, she is simply a lovely litty girl who is going through the horrors <3 Her friends don't even know that much about her, except for her family. She doesn't even know that much about herself. She knows she likes flowers, and having fun... but she doesn't quite know what fun is to her. She kinda gets left behind by the plot in a sense, even though shes the main character. (But I still love her very very much, she is my baby and no one can hurt her <3)

#tournament poll #oc tournament #ocs #some guy joust #professor morello da capo #lilly

[decreare]

Baby Mama White Knight (CH1)

“I got Fat!”

The former heiress of the Schnee Dust Company whined, daring to look back at the scale that cursed her with the knowledge of added pounds.

She sorrowfully pinched at her stomach, what was once trim and Firm from years of ballet and fighting creatures made from nightmares. Now it had a small layer of baby fat that barely filled half of Weiss’s long thin fingers when pinched.  

She forced herself in front of a mirror, wanting to get to the bottom of this as she turned to her side, not liking what she was seeing. Sure she noticed she had gone up a couple cup sizes ever since she gave birth to the twins, and didn’t seem to stop growing (not helped she gave birth to TRIPLETS soon after). Now they nearly rivaled Yang’s ridiculously sized Udders, just a few cups behind as she hefted them up in their lacy ice-blue bra. Her ass was ridiculously padded as well, in a constant fight with her hips and making pants all the more difficult to find. With fear, she gave it a light Smack, watching it give off a light jiggle as she grabbed each blushing cheek.

“Gods is this what my mother felt like when she had us?”

She muttered out loud to herself. Ever since she was young she was drilled with the proper etiquette of high society. How to eat, how to dress, how to speak. The most important thing she spent her young life on was keeping a trim figure, everyone else had to put in the same grueling hours or get surgery, or try and fail to ignore it as others snickered behind their back. Weiss didn’t know if she could confront Atlas’s upper class like this, wearing comfortable stained clothes and armed with her five children holding on to her in fear at judging eyes. Thank the gods Atlas fell right? She tried to comfort herself.

“I’ve become a Cow!”

Weiss let out a pained sob that filled the house, yet no tears came out of her eyes as she looked out from a nearby window. Her Children were outside with not much care for things like Ineffectual dinner parties and maintaining the prestige of her Family Name. Her three rambunctious daughters played a game only they could understand with sticks and paper hats, getting their more “commoner” clothes dirty with no one to reprimand them as their older brother and sister observed them while sparring. She felt her heart fluttering at the memory of them asking to take up fencing as she had. Scared but excited that it was their choice because they admired her, not because they had to take up a hobby for it was a “good showing” for the family.

She didn’t hear the door open as she wallowed in added pounds and memories both good and bad. Her blonde partner sensed she needed comfort from his garden. He slowly made his way up into the upstairs bedroom, not knowing what to make of her state as knew he had to comfort her. So he wrapped his arms around her, his unshaven chin resting on her snow-white hair. Being pulled into her husband’s lap as he sat down on their bed.

“What’s wrong?”

She felt Jaune rock her from side to side. Letting out undignified squeaks after her husband snuck up to hug her from behind. She wanted to kiss him as she stroked his fuzzy cheek while looking in the mirror again. They looked so PERFECT! Like a loving couple, even though Jaune was in dirt-streaked overalls and graying blonde hair due to their adventures adding so much weight to his mind and Weiss was in (now that she thought about it) tight lingerie after wrangling her kids throughout the entire morning and getting her clothes dirty with food and love. What she wore enough was a simple luxury despite the fact she could afford so much more, finding such fancy things quickly lost their value when faced against children, and they were simply Priceless compared to the farce that was her life before Beacon.

They were loved, they were happy, and if they ever felt overwhelmed they had the combined teams of RWBY and JNPR and the suffocatingly loving Arc clan to come and help. Their children were happy and loved by their friends and family. Everything was as perfect as life can be despite the constant messiness. Jaune was loved, Weiss was loved, and they loved each other despite the pains and troubles they carried, practically opposite in origin. She felt herself smile while in Jaune’s arms. She looked back at herself with pride.

And started to cry.

Jaune could only sputter as his wife broke out in tears, becoming more confused as Weiss started to laugh.

“I feel like a cow Jaune, and I’m Happy!”

Jaune became even more confused at his wife’s statement, not even sure why her gaining some weight would be a bad thing.

“I-is gaining some baby weight a good or bad t-thing?”

She whipped away the tears from her face, her face hurting from laughing but still she was content.

“Well, my knight, what do you think of your Princess gaining a few pounds, looking more like a common whore than a proper lady~”

Jaune felt like he was experiencing whiplash as Weiss rubbed her fattened behind on his Denim-covered crotch. He couldn't lie he enjoyed the sight of a plumper Weiss in his arms while she only wore blue lingerie that strained to stay on her frame more than before.  

“Y-you are beautiful as the day you let me take your hand in marriage. N-now you carry the body of a mother with the same grace as b-before, I c-couldn’t be more in l-love. You have given everything I could have ever w-wanted with your presence!”

He fumbled, confused by Weiss's mood swings, but his words were as true as he could make. Plus he thought she looked a bit better than before. More like a Mother, proof she had given birth to his children.

“Oh Jaune you charmer!”

His genuine compliments earn him a kiss as Weiss lowers his head, her dainty hands grasping at the straps of his overalls to undo them. She was picked up in the middle of their embrace, squealing into her kiss as she flipped into laying in their bed. The springs creaked as Jaune made her lie down, not caring that the rough weight shifting made the mattress worryingly squeak. Trapping her within his arms for now.

“Tell me what’s going on Weiss”

Her arousal felt betrayed as she huffed, knowing where this will lead to.

“Fine. I’ve been doing some reflecting. Who I am, who I should be, who I am with you, with our kids, and I kinda panicked? I really wasn’t expecting this, least of all getting Fat”

“And is that a bad thing-”

She pressed a finger against his lips.

“Did you ever expect being a Huntsman would be this hard?”

That froze the both of them, making them still for minutes as they didn’t separate.

Slowly, she was lifted up alongside Jaune, wrapping an arm around her waist as they made their way to the window, their children still playing outside.

They stood there, watching them play with pride, their fears dissipating.

“I don’t regret-”

“I don’t regret-”

“...”

“...”

“And This is why we are married my tall, blonde, scraggly knight, what would you do without me~”

“Probably still lost following Ruby around”

She could only gasp at the truth of the statement, not even entertaining the idea of looking at his smirking face as they refocused their gaze on their kids. Weiss tried to ignore her heart racing as Jaune’s rough fingers slightly dug into her love handle.

Despite it all, she was Happy, just a momentary lapse of despair in her life.

#rwby #rwby whiteknight #Weiss has a panic attack from weight gain #5 kids #Jaune the therapy dog #how do i tag this

[velidewrites]

When the High Lord of Spring's bargain with Amarantha fails, Rhysand escapes the Deceiver's prison and runs to the Mortal Lands.

Intent on killing a faerie out of the hatred in her heart, Feyre spends the night hunting in the wintry woods. She doesn't expect to find a man there - the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.

Pairing: Feyre x Rhysand

Word Count: 3071

Notes: Based on this prompt from @ablogofbipanic: "Going home isn't an option anymore."

Read on AO3

The sky was a veil of shadows, thick and heavy over the forest. They cast a darkness more somber than usual—it seemed that even the stars had hidden away in its presence, their shimmering glow nowhere in sight. From down here, Feyre couldn’t even see the moon, its silvery light dimmed by the snow-capped trees towering high overground.

It made the hunt much more difficult.

She must have been roaming the ice-clad paths for hours now, her back sore from slipping too many times to count. She’d always made a point to return to the cottage before nightfall—she’d heard too many stories of those who lost themselves to the darkness to risk overstaying her welcome. But winter had finally arrived to the mortal lands, tightening its frigid grip around Feyre’s village and the hollow stomachs of everyone who had the displeasure of inhabiting it. And so, when the orange-and-lilac palette of the dusk shifted into a murky grey, and Feyre’s hunting bag remained as empty as it had been earlier in the afternoon, she was left with no choice but to stay.

It wasn’t her first time spending the night in the forest, though if she were honest, her experience gave her little comfort. She’d been thirteen when she got lost in the labyrinth of snow and ice, when the dark had woven her into its thread and refused to let go. Feyre remembered little of it.

She did remember the Wall, though.

Somehow, she’d found her way there, despite it being buried so deep in the woods that some of the villagers had begun to call it a myth. Yet there it stood, a fortress of hardened wind, glistening with the faintest of lights as it shielded her from the horrors that laid ahead. Feyre had been a fool then—or perhaps simply a child—so she’d approached it, her steps wobbly with exhaustion and fear but curious to catch a glance of the magic she knew hid somewhere out there.

Its tangy scent had hit her first—almost metallic, like the iron they’d told her to wear as a protective charm. It made sense, for a thing so cruel and unyielding to leave a bitter taste on her tongue. She wasn’t sure why she’d expected any better.

She’d been about to leave, too repulsed by what she’d found, when she saw it.

Something she would never forget until the very day she died.

A pair of emerald eyes, staring right back at her.

It should have been impossible to make out their colour in the darkest hours of the night, with the magic separating them—and yet they glinted clear as the jewels she remembered seeing in her mother’s vanity, in the house she thought she’d never thought she’d have to say goodbye too. Those eyes reminded her of the rolling green hills that sprawled on the horizon over the village, their lush scent carried by the springtime breeze.

Those eyes belonged to a beast.

It had been years, but Feyre still remembered its claws as they dug into the ground—as though trying to carve a passage through the ground. A passage that would get it to her—one that would let this creature bury its sharp teeth in her neck, let it pierce her body on its serpentine horns, let it feel her blood sink into its golden fur and stain it with her death.

Feyre had never run faster.

She didn’t remember much of what happened after—she’d left her bow behind and hadn’t heard the end of it from Nesta for days. She never made that same mistake again, careful to mark her trail until the forest’s treacherous layout was well molded into her head. Until tonight, of course.

Tonight, she got lost again.

She’d thought she saw a rabbit—a pathetic excuse of a dinner, but a dinner nonetheless—and followed it without thinking, without the time to mark the bark of one of the trees with the blood she’d kept from her last hunt. The little animal escaped before she managed to make it her prey, leaving her empty-handed and in the middle of a clearing she’d never seen before.

Feyre could only hope the Wall was far away. She’d been hearing whispers about cracks in the impenetrable shield—cracks large enough to tempt the uninvited to slip through. Two weeks ago, Clare Beddor had gone into the forest to pick up some berries—her family just as starved by winter and hopeless and Feyre’s own—only to never return. No one had searched for her body, and not because hope had left them, too— but because they all knew there was no body left to be found.

The Children of the Blessed, naturally, had explained it as a miracle—a blessing, even, that the creatures beyond the Wall had deemed one of them worthy enough to join their kingdom. They talked of infinite riches and passionate lovers, awaiting Clare on the other side, seemingly under the impression that the faerie would worship her—the same way the Children worshipped them.

They were even bigger fools than Feyre.

Clare was dead, and she died in broad daylight. Those monsters didn’t care about consequences, about retribution, for there was none—for they could kill them as they pleased now, with the Wall no longer intact.

At times, Feyre wished she could kill a faerie. Not for a meal, not for hunting practice as she did with the squirrels—but for the pure satisfaction of it. Perhaps, if she somehow got out of this mess, she would one day get to do it. The bow she’d replaced her lost one with wasn’t nearly as springy as the original, but she reckoned one ash arrow would be enough to do the job. She’d been saving one for such an occasion—had bought it on her fifteenth birthday, when she’d gathered enough gold marks to make such purchase. She’d begun saving the money the day after she saw the beast.

As if on instinct, her hand reached out to the quiver strapped to her back, making sure the arrow was, in fact, still there. Still ready to make the kill if necessary. Her shoulders nearly sagged with relief as her fingers brushed the rough, prickly wings of the weapon.

Something rustled in the distance, and within seconds, the ash arrow no longer rested in her quiver—it laid on the bowstring, aimed at the bushes ahead.

Her body eased into her stance despite her thundering heart, and Feyre had never been more grateful for the steadiness of her hands even in the shivery cold. She wasn’t alone anymore, she had never been more certain of anything in her life—and she was pretty sure it was not the rabbit.

Was it the beast, returning for her after all those years? Would it pin her to the ground, ready to lay claim to her as punishment for daring to look upon its terrifying face, for witnessing its magic? Would it kill her now, or take it to its lands, fertilise them with her blood like they did with Clare Beddor?

It hit her, then—she was never coming back.

The hand on her bow trembled.

And then, the leaves rustled again.

Whatever emerged from between them, it was cloaked in shadows, as thick and swirling as the night, but Feyre knew this darkness did not come from the sky—it came from this, this nebula of grim, arcane magic.

It came…from him.

He came into view when the darkness slithered back, revealing his figure inch by inch until it pooled at his feet, a pet waiting for the instructions from his master. They curled over the soft piles of snow, cracking the thin sheet of ice beneath it, as though the darkness didn’t enjoy the wintry cold, either.

Perhaps, Feyre thought, it was the one thing they had in common.

For reasons she couldn’t quite discern, the stranger stepped forward then—a half step, really, but close enough for their gazes to meet at last.

Feyre held her breath.

The darkness was indeed a man—the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

It must have been a trick—a trick, because even though he himself looked immaculate, the shadows at his feet were tainted by that same, metallic tinge that made her lips twist in distaste. It was possible that whoever this creature was, it had veiled itself in this form thinking it would please her—thinking it would make her lower her bow, maybe even fall to her knees.

Feyre would not be a fool again.

“Who are you,” she said, a demand more than a question.

The man’s eyes glimmered as she spoke, and Feyre noticed that, in the darkest of nights, their deep blue shone almost violet.

“Help me,” he rasped.

And then, he collapsed.

It surprised her enough that a gasp tore free from her throat, her grip on her bow lighter. Was he…dead?

Blood—crimson, just like her own—splattered on the snow, the darkness skidding back at the impact of his body hitting the ground. She had never seen a man so large—tall and strong, like the warriors from the legends the village elders often spoke of. War-hardened—from a different time.

He did not move—didn’t even twitch as he laid there on the ground—and Feyre started to think that maybe, this was not really a trick. That maybe, just maybe, that was a real man dying right in front her. That she was simply standing there, watching and letting it happen.

Her bow dropped to the snow, and Feyre lunged.

She was at his side in an instant, his face turned in the other direction and preventing her from assessing the damage. A broken nose, likely. A splintered lip, perhaps. What had battered him so immensely?

Gods, he really was not moving at all. Was it truly too late?

Slowly, Feyre placed her hand on his shoulder, clad in a fine, black jacket lined with a silver thread. Whoever he was, he must have come from wealth Feyre hadn’t even known in the old days, when she was only a child, unaware of the forest and the dangers within.

This man didn’t seem dangerous, though. Aside from the darkness, of course—but the night-like magic that had previously seemed to cling to every inch of his golden-brown skin was now resting a feet away, as though content to observe her efforts.

Feyre swiped her thumb over the velvety fabric, and the man stirred.

“You’re not dead,” she breathed.

A low, stifled groan escaped him, and he turned his face to her, the black waves of his hair shifting with the movement and revealing a long, arched ear.

Feyre yanked her hand away.

“You’re High Fae,” she said, the sound no more than a whisper on her lips.

“I—” he hissed, those violet eyes squeezing shut at whatever pain the word had caused him, “I won’t hurt you.”

Feyre looked at him, so bloodied and pathetic on the ground, and considered. Faeries couldn’t lie. Was he injured enough that the thought of killing her had not even crossed his mind?

With another, deep groan, the man’s fingers dug into the ground as he attempted to pull himself up.

She spoke before she could re-think just how much she was about to risk. “Wait.” He looked at her again, his stare glazed by pain. “You’re hurt. Let me—let me help you,” she offered, lacing her arm under his.

Surprisingly, he was warm. She didn’t expect the contact to feel so…normal. Truthfully, Feyre wasn’t entirely sure what she was expecting.

He was heavy, too, as though the weight he was carrying was not that of his body, but the entire world. She had never seen someone yield to another so easily—he hadn’t even flinched when she touched him. Feyre began wondering if the torment she saw in his eyes was not really pain, but resignation.

“What happened to you?” She didn’t realise she said the words out loud.

Now on his knees and little over eye-level with Feyre, he finally loosed a breath. “That bad?” he asked.

Feyre blinked. “Are you seriously asking me that right now?” She gestured to the blood dripping down his nose, his sharp jaw, flooding the countless cuts over his neck. “You look like you’d just lost a battle.”

A shadow passed over that beautiful face. “You have no idea how right you are,” he said quietly.

At that, she had no idea what to say.

“They will heal in a moment,” he continued, waving a hand to his injuries as though they were nothing. “It is taking longer than usual, though. I apologise you have to witness this.”

“I don’t have to witness anything,” Feyre countered, suddenly very aware she’d left her bow in the snow a few feet behind. “I could leave you here right now.”

He surveyed her for a moment, his gaze sweeping over her face before landing on her eyes again. “Indeed you could.”

And yet, Feyre remained in place.

“Why are you…” she started, unsure what to even ask. Why are you injured? Why are you apologising?

Why are you here?

“It’s not my injuries that cause me pain,” he explained, as if she’d somehow shouted her thoughts at him, “but my magic. Winnowing over the Wall is no easy task—even for me.”

Feyre’s brows knitted. “Winnowing?”

“Forgive me.” He cleared his throat. “I…travelled over here. Using my magic. What’s left of it, anyway.”

“I don’t understand.”

He shook his head, and Feyre noticed the crooked bump of his broken nose had miraculously managed to straighten, the drying blood the only proof of the now nonexistent injury.

“I wouldn’t expect you to. It’s my fault, I…” he sighed deeply. “I didn’t expect to see anyone in the woods at this hour.”

Feyre dared to ask, “Did you slip through the cracks in the Wall?”

His jaw clenched slightly. “I escaped.”

Escaped? High Fae were supposed to be the powerful ones—the mighty faerie lords, overseeing the creatures roaming the lands above the Wall. Who—what—was powerful enough to have battered him to such extent?

“You don’t want to know,” he said bitterly.

Feyre’s eyes widened. “You—” a cold chill shot down her spine at the realisation. “Get out of my head.”

The man sat now, his eyes closing as his hand reached to rub his temple. “I’m sorry—it’s not intentional,” he promised. “Your thoughts are so clear it feels like you’re throwing them right at me.”

Feyre swallowed hard. “You can do that?”

He nodded.

“Who are you?”

“I am High Fae.”

“No,” Feyre pressed. “Your name.”

His brows furrowed. “What does it matter to you?”

What did it matter? As far as Feyre was concerned, they were on her side of the wall, and this man’s magic was depleted enough that she was fairly certain he would not try to harm her. As soon as she’d made sure he lived through the rest of the night, strong enough to go back where he came from, she would be on her way. If, of course, she could find her way back.

His name was inconsequential. But, for some reason, hidden in a place so deep inside of her she hadn’t realised it existed before, Feyre wanted to know.

“Just…tell me.” Not a demand—not anymore.

Something changed in his eyes—a small shimmer, as though that fog of pain and hopelessness began to lift at her request.

“Rhysand,” he said, something hoarse creeping into his tone. “You…you can call me Rhys.”

“Rhys,” she mused, trying out the name on her tongue. She’d never heard it before, and she found she quite liked the way it sounded. “My name is Feyre.”

He hummed. “Feyre.”

She shivered, and this time, it had nothing to do with her fear.

“Thank you,” Rhys spoke again. He cleared his throat before he added, “For saving me.”

Feyre almost snorted. “I did nothing but lift you off the ground.”

“If it wasn’t for you, I’m not sure I would’ve pulled myself up again.”

A cold pit formed in her stomach at that, as if her own body dreaded the idea. “What…” she started again, fumbling through her response. “What happened? Across the Wall?”

Darkness swept over his face again, his tension rolling off of him in waves. “We’ve been deceived. All of us, every last one…” he ran a shaky hand through his hair. “There was a bargain, and I thought…” he continued, more to himself now than her, “I thought we’d be saved—I thought someone would come, but no one ever did. Forty-nine years…” Rhys whispered, his face wrenched in ache.

Quiet fell, his straining breath the only sound filling the midnight air. Feyre hesitated—what could she say when she understood so little?

But she told him, “You’re free now, though, aren’t you?” She tried to offer an encouraging smile. “You can go back home.”

His throat bobbed. “I’m afraid going home isn’t an option anymore.”

Feyre shuddered a breath.

They were both alone, it seemed.

“I…” she started. “I’m sorry.”

His laugh was a pained sound. “Don’t be. This—all of it—is my fault.”

Feyre considered. “You said you escaped, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

“Well,” she said. “I don’t think you’d have survived if you were truly to blame.”

Rhysand stilled.

“I think that maybe, you have a role to play. That you’re here—that you’re still alive—to fulfil it.”

For a moment, there was only silence.

He looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time—as if she hadn’t just pulled him from his knees, hadn’t seen the true darkness within him and chosen to stay.

And he kept on looking, words seemingly beyond him, his violet gaze fixed on her and taking her all in.

So Feyre asked, “Are you able to get us out of here?”

Rhys blinked slowly. “What do you mean?”

“My cottage,” Feyre explained. “Is your magic able to take us there?”

He mulled over her words for a moment before nodding. “If you describe it to me, I’ll find a way.”

“Good.” Feyre rose to her feet and reached out a hand. “Let’s go home.”

#just a drabble this fine evening #feysand au #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #feysand #pro feysand #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #feyre acotar #rhysand #rhysand acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #my writing

[xjulixred45x]

ThanZag is the Catradora done right

okay, first of all, I haven't been part of the Shera fandom in a while, but I've watched the series several times, other than that I feel like this is something worth pointing out because it could have been the perfect way to have developed the WORST couple of the entire series.

I'm in my phase with Hades from Supergiant, and while I was watching my tenth gameplay, I realized something watching the Interactions of Thanatos and Zagreus, and that is that these two have some similar characteristics to Catradora.

think about it.

1- both were raised by the same maternal figure.

2- They had a relationship of rivalry/friendship since they were children (in Catradora's case "rivalry/friendship")

3-the main drama in the relationship begins when one of the two wants to leave home (although in Catradora's case, there were already GOOD REASONS for wanting to leave before the series).

4-the other member of the relationship has to prevent or try to prevent the other from achieving their goal (although the only thing Thanatos does is try to prevent people from giving supplies to Zagreus, nothing more. He doesn't even fight with him as such. Catra tried to kill Adora several times)

5- this member in specific has mommy issues and a "tsundere" attitude (in Catra's case, she is rather abusive. Than is such a Tsundere that it is difficult for him to express what he feels😅).

6- the protagonist is smarter than they give them credit for, they are considered royalty, they use swords, etc (seriously, what is the need to say that Adora is stupid? Didn't you see the show?)

These are the """"similarities"" that I could find with my sister. but as you can see, there is a BIG difference in execution, and I am going to go into more detail with each one.

1- Zagreus has his own parents, and although he spent his entire life thinking that Nyx was his mother, his dynamic with Thanatos was never of siblings and he always referred to him as a childhood friend. It wasn't until the Events of the game (when he wants to find his biological mother, Persephone) that you can have the option to fall in love with and romance Thanatos(and You can just select to do a friendly route).

Aside from it being implied in the game that while Zagreus gets along with Nyx's children, he did not grow up with them. and that Nyx raised him more like a Nanny, or that she left her children aside to take care of him. I mean, they didn't grow up as part of the same family. Nyx was not a mother figure to all of her children.

Not only did Catra and Adora never refer to themselves as childhood friends, but they had a TOO close relationship with the SAME mother figure, even if they were adopted, they are still sisters having GROWN UP TOGETHER.

and it's worse when you see in the OFFICIAL ART that they refer to Catra as ADORA'S SISTER.

2- The friendship and rivalry of Thanatos and Zagreus was nothing more than a friendly and healthy competition for mutual fun, apart from the fact that whether they win or lose, they congratulate and RECOGNIZE each other's qualities. They are not merely hostile simply because they are competing. Even when Zagreus fails an escape attempt or beats him, Thanatos isn't really mean or insults him.

Catra and Adora on the other hand are the complete opposite, Catra always ALWAYS finds a moment to tell Adora that "she's an idiot", the first thing she tells her is that "she looks ridiculous", that "she's crazy", she puts her down and she constantly makes fun of her to make herself feel better.

3-Zagrues wants to leave the Underworld because he discovers that his mother could be on the surface, apart from the fact that his relationship with his father is quite bad because of this since Hades does not want him to leave, treating him badly and taking out his frustrations on him. and although Zagreus throughout the game understands the consequences and all the good things he leaves behind for wanting to go after his mother, no one (besides Hades) expects him to change his mind.

Adora decides to leave the Horde because she realizes the horrible damage they do to Etheria, also leaving her toxic adoptive mother and Catra (her even more toxic sister/"friend"), but is constantly called selfish by Catra for leaving and "leaving her" BUT in turn, she herself does not want to go with Adora.

They both essentially want to leave their toxic environment, it's just that one has a circle of support and Adora has, unfortunately, Catra, who hopes that Adora will remain miserable in the cycle of abuse that SHE created.

4- Thanatos has direct orders to try to prevent Zagreus from leaving the Underworld, however the "fights" with him are usually short-lived, apart from giving Zagreus things like life and coins if he kills more monsters than him or they tie. Thanatos makes no REAL effort to stop Zagreus. He's just bitter that he left without saying goodbye. that's all. children's fights. that after a while they pass and return to their normal dynamics. healthy.

Catra is on the opposite side of Adora in a war, however she shows no problem being especially sadistic and enjoys hurting Adora when they fight. She WANTS to hurt her. She WANTS to beat her and prevent her from archiving her goal no matter how much it makes her miserable. she does not care.

5- We don't have much idea of what the relationship between Nyx and Thanatos was like, but Nyx seems to have played the role of mother mostly to Zagreus over her own children (either by will or by orders from Hades) and it could also be that Thanks to this little guidance, Thanatos does not know how to adequately express how he feels about Zagreus or his departure. but still respects his decision.

Catra grew up with an abusive mother who pushed her aside to favor Adora, generating this "love"-hate dynamic towards her and causing her to only show "interest" or attention towards her by lowering her to her level, either by insults, violence, manipulation, etc. More than a Tsundere, she is a sociopath.

6- Zagreus is a very good fighter, who knows how to take advantage of the blessings that his relatives have and that in the story of the game he manages to leave the Underworld several times to reunite with his mother (having to fight with his father MANY times) and even helps to fix the family dynamics between his family and Olympus (because more than a toxic family, they count more as a dysfunctional family. but not without repair).

Nobody denies these merits to Zagreus. much less Thanatos or Megaera (another romantic interest to which I may dedicate another post because I love her).

Adora is literally SHERA, the legendary warrior, she has commanded several attacks against the Horde, she commanded the rebellion at some point, she is a great warrior even without Shera, she guided rescue missions, she saved the Horde Prime universe, etc.

and yet Catra continues to consider her an idiot just like the fandom....

As you can see, the similarities these ships share are no bigger than their writing gaps, and it's SAD to think we could have had something like ThanZag in Shera, because they are proof that it COULD work, but the creator's fetishes They got in the way.

all this without talking about the ROMANTIZATION that the Catradora has! It's repulsive how people (and especially the creators) can really see this pair as something romantic!

THEY ARE SISTERS.. THEY ARE ENEMIES..GROSS

ahggg I already went too far writing. This was supposed to be shorter but I expanded, I hope you like the product of my suffering. and ThanZag forever.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

#anti catradora #anti catra stans #anti catra #srsly tho #comparing thanzag with catradora felt like comparing the homecooked meal of my mom with dog shit #thanzag #hades game #hades supergiant #supergiant hades #hades spoilers #hades zagreus #hades thanatos #hades thanzag #anti c//a #hades megaera #hades the game #hades #she ra #she ra and the princesses of power #she ra adora #tw abusive family #tw abusive relationship #tw catradora? #tw c//a #spop critical #spop criticism #spop salt #spop discourse #hades 1 #hades 2

[wlfhrdlover]

YOUR BROTHER IS HERE.

protective!Ajax Petropolus x sibling!reader (platonic)

protective!Wednesday Addams x Petropolus!reader (platonic)

summary: you were having a bad time with your significant other, your day could be considered the worst of your week, but Ajax was there for you.

WARNINGS! brief mention of abusive relationship, mentions of violence, anxiety attacks, Ajax being a protective and good big brother and author's lazy horrible writing where he doesn't know what he is doing and is tired because had a long day so, I'm sorry in advance.

First, for some reason you couldn't find your phone, making you lose track of time and getting late to your class.

Then, someone purposely made you trip and you threw your project papers in Thornhill's face, even after she made sure that it was okay, you could feel the guilty and panic creeping up more and more.

Then, someone purposely made you trip and you threw your project papers in Thornhill's face, even after she made sure that it was okay, you could feel the guilty and panic creeping up more and more.

In lunch, you were hoping to see your brother or at least his friends that were yours too, but they were held back for some type of assignment so you had to eat in the bathroom again.

Ajax was the only reason that you could keep going, he was older than you for two years, but he understood you more than any person around your age. Ajax was your one and only, he was your everything.

Your mothers would always admire how Ajax cared and loved you, always making sure that you were okay and if something happened he would be by your side in a blink.

Ajax swore in the day you were born, that he would protect you from everyone and everything, the moment he held you, he saw in your smile that he needed to do it, he needed to be the best big brother the world have ever seen.

And he never failed it.

You also loved his friends, Ajax befriended people easily, you in the other hand, not so much. You always struggled to fit in, nothing seemed enough to make people like you and if they ever talked to you, was to get Ajax's number or one of his friends number.

But you didn't really cared about it, you had them and they were enough for you. Damn, even Wednesday took care of you in her own ways, besides, you were the only person who didn't felt creeped out by her manners and sometimes would help or talk to her about something extremely dark.

Ajax hated how Wednesday could easily get you hurt, that's why he always put Enid or even Thing to track you two so you wouldn't have a single scratch on your body, he cared about you way too much to let it happen, but truth is, he knew that you had a difficult time making friends so he was happy to know that you found comfort and friendship on his friends, even if they were older than you.

At least, Ajax knew that he could trust them to look after you and he knew that they would never hurt you, well, maybe Wednesday, but he doubted it. Enid rambled about how cute she thought that Wednesday chased a student who dared to laugh about one of your favorite shirts and said rude things about it, the goth saw how your eyes got glossy and your lips trembled.

Let's just say that people never heard of this student ever again.

Ajax's girlfriend, Enid, she adored you with her heart and you adored her too, she was like a big sister for you, always giving you advices and helping you with clothes, hair, everything.

Enid was wonderful there was no other way to describe it, she was simply one of your bestest friends, she loved to give you crochet plushies or accessories, that you would wear everywhere. You couldn't ask for someone better than her.

Back to your day, it just kept getting worse.

After your last class you were quick to go and meet your significant other, one that Ajax didn't shared good comments about.

You always meet them in the quad to talk about the day and spend some time together but today everything just crumbled in many ways possible.

You rambled about how your day was bad and how tired you were, but your significant other couldn't care less.

— You're so fucking annoying Y/N, don't you know when to shut up? I really don't give a fuck about your day- they scoffed and turned to you, your mouth shut in a blink- I'm just saying that maybe that's the reason people don't like to talk to you, you're so annoying!- they kept going.

That talk plagued your mind, minute by minute your significant other just kept talking about how the problem was you, saying that they loved you and that's why they were telling you this.

You believed it.

— Maybe that's why Ajax didn't talked to you today, he got tired too- they said and that was the last straw.

The trigger for your current state.

You were sobbing in the bathroom of your dorm, heart beating fast, your brain didn't stopped, it looked like a full train of unstoppable thoughts, you tried to breath but second by second it just seemed harder.

You felt like drowning, your lungs ached for air, a thing that you couldn't get.

Your vision were getting blurry and everything seemed to close around you.

Until you heard Ajax's voice.

— N/N? It's me sweetheart, can I hug you?- he asked so softly, Ajax sucked when the topic were comforting people or helping them, but if it was you, he knew everything.

He always knew how to help you, how to calm you down, how to pull you away from your thoughts and he always knew how to be there for you.

You nodded and he gently pulled you to his side but not completely, he sat down and slowly started to pull you closer and closer until you felt comfortable enough to lay on his shoulder.

— It's okay, I'm here- he said and caressed your head, your just poured every tear you had in your body on his shoulder- Just follow my breath N/N, I'm right here- he whispered and you heard his breath, calm, like always.

With time you calmed down, but still tugged on his shirt for your life, he didn't minded it, he only held you, afraid of you breaking down again.

— Do you want to talk sweetheart?- he asked.

— I just had the worst day of my life Jaxy- you whimpered.

You started to tel him about what happened and he only listened to you, comforting you and making sure that you knew that he was there for you.

— Oh sweetheart, no, never, I could never think that you're annoying or even get tired of you, you're my little sibling, my favorite and only one, I could listen to you for hours, days or months and never get tired of you, which happens every day- he smiled and kissed your forehead- Because I love you and I'll always be here for you, I'm so sorry that I couldn't spend time with you today, we had some things to do but I promise that it will never be about you, because you're my favorite person and I could never ditch you- he tickled your sides.

You giggled and he smiled brightly seeing your smile.

— You're the best brother I could ever ask for- you said and he smiled more- Jax, do you think I should break up with them?- you whispered and Ajax quickly nodded.

— Yes because if they ever said something like that to you again, I'll make sure to put Wednesday in their track- he said and you chuckled nodding.

— Thanks for making it better Jax- you muttered and he hugged tightly.

— I'm your brother, I'll always try to make everything better for you Y/N- he said.

Ajax waved at you as Enid and Yoko dragged you to gossip about the whole school, while he looked at the other side of the quad, marching to your now, ex.

— Come here, little shit- he pulled them by their jacket and they widened their eyes.

Ajax pushed them inside of an empty classroom without cameras, he smiled sarcastically.

— WAIT, I'M SORRY! I DIDN'T MEANT ANYTHING!- they panicked and Ajax nodded.

— Oh yeah, you definitely didn't because you will take it all back and shove it deep inside of your throat before I do it for you right?- he patted the person's back harshly- A little bird told me that you always did that, always tried to blame Y/N by something they clearly don't have control about- Ajax muttered and looked deep into their eyes.

— DUDE I'M SORRY!- they cried.

— Oh no, you will be sorry- Ajax chuckled darkly- Because listen to me okay? Listen really close, if you ever in your life, think about hurting my sibling again, just remember that you'll not only be messing with me, oh no, I'll be the least of your problems because Y/N has a really good friend called Wednesday and let's be honest- he smirked and they both turned to the window, Wednesday watching them with a dark aura- What I'll do to you if you pull a shit like that again, will never reach the things she will do- Ajax chuckled and the person in front of him paled.

They almost matched to the white wall behind them, shaking in their feet.

— Do you understand?- Ajax asked- Remember, you mess with my sibling and I'll fuck you up- he smiled and patted the person's back again.

— Y-y-yeah- they stuttered.

Ajax hummed satisfied and walked away to try to find his sibling again.

Leaving a shaking person in a empty classroom.

#Spotify #ajax petropolus #ajax petropolus x reader #ajax petropolus fluff #fluff #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #sibling!reader #georgie farmer #georgie farmer fluff #georgie farmer x reader

[hb-writes]

Bloody Rotten

**imagine that cigarette in the gif is a piece of toast.

Summary: It’s 1925ish (???) in the Little Lady Blinderverse. Clara’s feeling bloody rotten, but thankfully her brother arrives home just in time to look after her. 

Request (from Dancerlittle over on ao3): If you’re taking requests, I’d love to see Clara sick and Tommy taking care of her (not sure if you’ve written this yet!) - I decided to use this request with the parental prompt 31: "When was the last time you ate something?”

Characters: Tommy Shelby and Clara Shelby w/ a bit of Frances.

Content Warnings: Clara’s got a flu/ stomach bug so there’s pretty open talk about not eating, not sleeping, vomiting, and feeling bloody rotten.  

Here’s the AO3 link if you prefer to read over there. Tell me what y'all think! Reviews and comments are always appreciated. 😌❤️

Peaky Blinders (Little Lady Blinder) Masterlist

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—

Frances took her boss's cap and briefcase as the pair of them stood in the foyer, enduring the chilliness left by the brief opening and closing of the front door.

"There's a pile of correspondence on your desk, Mr. Shelby."

He was several hours late in arriving, but the maid didn’t pass comment, and if she passed judgment, Tommy didn’t pick up on it—a rather pleasant and rare thing, if Tommy thought about it—to be welcomed home without complaint and admonishment.

"And the new chef started on Tuesday," Frances added, ignoring the icy bite that clung to the fabric of her uniform.

"Yeah?” Tommy asked. “How is he? No burnt toast, I hope."

"No, sir.” Frances gave a small smile. “No burnt toast, though he hasn't had much of an opportunity to cook for anyone but the staff since arriving."

Tommy waited for her to expand upon her statement, not offering commentary or prompting, simply willing her to continue. Frances knew her employer well-enough and quickly obliged.

"Charles is coming back to himself, but your sister is now poorly," Frances offered, failing to hide the concern that crept into her voice. "She's not kept anything down for three days, Mr. Shelby. She refused to even try for lunch and dinner today."

Tommy shrugged out of his coat, allowing Frances to take that as well as his gaze traveled up the staircase where his sister likely was. He had expected to find his sister there waiting for him, ready to give him an earful for his lateness, for missing Friday night dinner with her and Charles. Clara was prone to that sort of thing, which was why he was surprised to find Frances had waited up to greet him instead.

Tommy supposed he hadn’t missed much of a dinner after all though. It was better that he’d stayed in London attending to business.

“She’s asleep now?” Tommy asked.

“I don’t think so, sir, but she is in her room,” Frances answered. “She has spent most of her time there. She tried going to school and the shop, but I insisted she stay home and rest." Frances frowned. "She says she can't sleep, sir. And she won't eat, but Chef made up a tray for her anyway. I was just about to take it up.”

Frances nodded towards the tray balancing on the sideboard, a small assortment of mild foods, tea, and water set out.

Tommy nodded. "I'll take it up," he said. "Thank you, Frances.”

He collected the tray and moved to the stairs, part of him wondering how the woman had managed to garner even a smidgen of his sister’s compliance in such a state. Clara could be a notoriously difficult patient—she always had been, something which had only grown worse with age—and even he had trouble getting her to listen to reason sometimes.

Tommy could see from the stairs that the door to Clara's bedroom was pulled tightly shut. He didn't bother knocking before he eased it open to find his sister curled under the covers, her sniffling audible from the threshold.

"I'm not hungry, Frances," she said, her tone both sharp and pitiful in the same measure. "Just leave it," she ordered, giving her assumed visitor no room for discussion on the subject.

Tommy nearly snorted at Clara’s outright sullenness towards the maid she’d grown a certain affection toward since Mary’s departure. Frances had alluded that Clara hadn’t been easy, but if this was how his sister had been acting the last few days—not that he'd be surprised if that was the case—Tommy thought Frances deserved more than his thanks. She'd been gracious with him just now—she usually was—but after dealing with two sick, cantankerous children, Tommy figured he was owing the woman a few extra days off, perhaps, or some extra pay.

"Not hungry and you haven't eaten in three days?" Tommy prompted.

Clara slowly lifted her head from her pillow to look at him, a jolt of shock running through her at hearing her brother’s voice.

Up until then, Clara hadn’t been quite sure what day was what—things had sort of muddled together, especially once she started refusing meals, but Tommy’s presence reminded her that it must be Friday and judging by the quiet of the house, it was late. And if it was late, he’d broken a promise because he’d missed dinner.

Clara scowled after the shock of her brother’s sudden presence passed. She couldn't maintain it for more than a few seconds though, thoroughly tired by the little effort extended to lift her head. She settled her head back against the pillow, wiping at the half-dried tears on her cheeks as she hiked the blankets over her shoulder.

"Leave me alone."

Tommy walked across the room, settling the tray on her bedside table and ignoring her orders as he watched her. "Has the doctor been to see you?"

Clara didn't answer and something in her silence told Tommy that the possibility of calling in the doctor had been Frances's bargaining chip in gaining the girl's compliance. If Clara didn't consent to stay home and rest, Frances would call the doctor in. He couldn’t imagine Clara had liked that ultimatum very much. He imagined she had put up a fight, but Frances had persevered.

And it seemed that the tactic had worked—it had at least gotten Clara to stay in bed. Tommy had a feeling it was all for naught though if she wasn't getting any better. He couldn’t imagine this was what his sister looked like on the road to recovery. He couldn’t imagine this was better. She looked terrible and if there wasn’t improvement soon, they’d have to call the doctor whether she complied with her at-home care or not.

“You’re not sleeping and you’re not eating,” Tommy said. “We’ll need to—”

"When was the last time you ate something?” she mumbled, a bit of fire dancing in her tired tone though she didn’t lift her head from the pillow.

Tommy snorted. Her snark was comforting, reassuring that things weren’t too far gone to be taken care of with a little push. "It’s not me I’m worried about, Clara.”

Those words brought Clara to the crest of her emotions, the wave of it swelling within her because though she’d been resistant to Frances’s display of concern, her brother admitting it allowed Clara to admit that she was worried, too. There was part of her wondering if she was ever going to start feeling better, if she’d ever be able to get back to the business of eating and sleeping and carrying on, or if she’d be confined to this bed, sore and tired and cranky til the end of her days.

It was starting to feel that way. Clara was starving, more hungry than she’d been in her entire life. The pains in her stomach came and went now, sometimes overshadowed by the soreness of her body on account of all the heaving she’d done, but there was a constant emptiness in her she couldn’t escape, a constant lack of energy and will. But even if she was hungry—and terribly thirsty, to boot—Clara was far too afraid to try again. She hadn’t successfully kept anything down for days and she didn’t know she could handle that particular exertion. Not now.

“Clara, you need to—”

"Tommy, I can't,” she interrupted, already knowing what he intended to say. Frances had said it over and over. Miss, you need to eat. Miss, you need to sleep.  

Clara knew and somehow she couldn’t. Or maybe she simply wouldn’t. She hadn't tried anything except a few sips of water for the past day, at least. Her body had been hurt and achy from the cold, and then once all the heaving started, she just couldn't take it anymore. Clara didn’t know what would happen if she tried.

"You've got to keep something down," Tommy said. "And you need some rest."

“Leave me alone, then,” Clara’s voice seemed so small as it reached her brother’s ears. The bite had gone though she issued the same demands.

Clara curled up in the blankets, pulling them over her head as Tommy lowered himself to sit on the edge of her mattress.

"Clara."

"I don’t feel good."

"I know you don't," Tommy said, reaching out to rest his hand on her over the covers. "Come here, Clara. Come on. Sit up."

Clara didn't move from her spot and Tommy decided on waiting out her stubbornness. This routine was familiar to him. She’d relent sooner or later. He figured she was just trying to outlast him. She was just being grumpy because she was tired and hungry and sick and—

Tommy thought all that, but then he heard Clara’s sniffling sound once again as her breathing picked up, the lump under the blankets beginning to shake.

"I don't want to be sick anymore, Tommy," she whined, her voice breaking on a sob. “I feel rotten.”

Tommy didn't waste his breath trying to convince his sister to comply with his request, that she let him in and allow herself to be comforted and cared for. He didn't wait, didn’t even give Clara the option of ignoring him. Tommy pulled her up and shifted her into his arms, taking care as he rested her against him with her robe and blankets still wrapped around her.

"It hurts," Clara mumbled as she leaned into him.

A bit of crisp night air still clung to Tommy’s shirt even though he'd removed his jacket and Clara relished it, allowing the fabric to chill her fevered skin as he held her.  

"I know, my girl. I know," Tommy said, soothing her as his hand rubbed circles on her back. "You feel bloody rotten, but it's alright. You're alright."

Clara wanted to believe that everything would be alright. She wanted to be comforted by Tommy’s words, but Clara didn't truly know that she was alright. Or that she ever would be again.

Sure, her nephew had recovered from his bout of sickness in less than a week, but it hadn't been like this for him. His symptoms had been mild comparatively. Charles had had an appetite all the way through. He'd had no trouble keeping food down. He’d had no trouble sleeping.

Charles had been sick, but he hadn't been sick sick.

And the little boy certainly hadn’t had whatever illness Clara had earned for herself now.

But then again, Charles had willingly submitted to being cared for. He'd reveled in extra bedtime stories and endless servings of warm, brothy soup allowed to be consumed in his bed. He'd loved being doted on and snuggled up with his stuffed animals and his auntie.

Frances had warned Clara to keep away from her nephew's barking cough while he recovered. Clara hadn't listened to a single piece of Frances's advice.

Of course, she hadn't.

Then, once she’d started feeling feverish and sore in the throat, Frances had suggested Clara rest. She'd told her to take the day, to stay in bed.

Naturally, Clara hadn't listened to that advice either. She'd gone in to school and then to the office before coming back to Arrow House that night nearly dead on her feet.

And even then, Clara had only been enticed to go to her bed because Frances had gotten strategic in her negotiations, offering to hold off on calls to family members and doctors only on the condition that Clara stay in bed and try to rest.

Clara had been in bed ever since, but only by virtue of the fact that she’d needed bedrest. The damage was already done. She'd already pushed too hard and for too long. An illness that could've passed her over in a few days had taken root well within her and she’d been too tired, sore, and weak to do anything except stay in bed.

Tommy saw proof of that fact as Clara continued to cling to him, her breaths slowing as she settled. Half under the covers, he spotted the pile of his sister’s books—school texts and office ledgers and papers from the office—all of it a bit of evidence that even now, even with her feeling as rotten as she seemed to, Clara still wasn't taking care of herself.

And Frances's negotiations hadn't worked, not entirely. Tommy recognized they were past negotiations now. They were at a turning point in her illness and the handling of it. She wasn't eating or drinking. She wasn't sleeping. Tommy could feel the heat radiating off of his sister through the layers of fabric, Clara's body warm with a dangerous fever that reminded him of instances of childhood illnesses he'd rather forget. If she didn't make a turn soon, she'd be in trouble.

“Alright, Clara,” he said, as if with just two words he was putting an end to his sister’s suffering. “Frances sent up a tray. You need to eat and then it’s time for bed.”

Clara shook her head against him, settling herself more firmly in Tommy’s hold, somehow endeavoring to make herself dead weight, unmovable.

“I’ll have to call Dr. Osborne then, eh?” he said. “Can’t imagine he’ll be happy to be making a house call at two in the morning because a girl’s too stubborn to do as she’s told.”

Clara whined in protest, but she didn’t fight Tommy when he loosened his hold. Either Clara didn’t have it in her to fight anymore or some part of her knew her brother was right. She needed to eat if she was going to get better. Some part of Clara even wanted Tommy to force her hand. Clara knew she hadn’t the courage or the will to do it for herself.

“Alright.” Tommy shifted away from his sister. He guided her back on the bed, sitting up against the pillows. “Now, you have your choices. Eat your dinner and rest or I’ll—”

“Tommy, please,” Clara said. “I’m not being stubborn, I’m just…I’m…”

Scared. The word rattled around painfully in Clara’s brain. She was scared. Part of her knew it was silly. Part of her knew she could pull through and be on the mend soon enough, but it would probably take her eating something…and drinking something, too.

Clara didn’t know if she could manage another bout of heaving over the basin. It already felt like every muscle in her body was strained, sore, and exhausted. The mere thought of going through that again rattled her nerves, scared her nearly as much as the notion of never getting better.

Tommy waited for Clara to come to the word. He waited for her to say it even though some part of him already knew.

Clara started again when Tommy showed no signs of letting her out of finishing her thought. “Tommy, what if…” She closed her eyes, wincing as she swallowed the painful lump in her sore throat. “What if I get sick again?”

“I’m right here, Clara.”

A wave of something new rushed over Clara then. Tommy had meant the words to be a comfort. In a way, they were—whatever happened, at the end of the day, Tommy would be there with her. All that was a comfort, but Clara felt suddenly embarrassed at her brother’s declaration, too. She very suddenly wanted him out and away from her room, from her sickness.

Clara had already broken down in a pitiful bout of tears. She’d already shamelessly sought the comfort of her brother’s arms like a child. Neither of those things had troubled her, but with the idea of her brother being there while she was sick…the idea of Tommy being present as she spilled the limited contents of her stomach brought a fresh heat into her already flushed cheeks.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Tommy said, seeming to read his sister’s mind without her having to say a word. “I’m sure it won’t be the last either.” Tommy didn’t bother to clarify if he was talking about him being there for her or her being sick in front of him. It didn’t seem to matter. His words were likely true on both accounts.

Clara shook her head, instantly regretting the movement as it rattled her brain. She pressed her palms to the sides of her head, willing the pain to ease as she mumbled. “Maybe just leave it, Tommy. I promise I’ll try—”

“No.” Tommy snorted, shaking his head. “No empty promises, eh? Those were your own words just this week. You demanded I be home to have dinner and now you’re trying to get out of it,” he said, his speech grand and inflated as if he was making some grand business proposition and not talking to his sick little sister. “No, Miss Shelby. I won’t be going anywhere until you have some dinner.

“Start with this.” Tommy took a mug from the tray and held it out for Clara. “Go on.”  

Clara took a deep breath. The sharp pain in her head was starting to dull. She had thought about trying to talk Tommy out of it once again. She thought she could try from a different angle, perhaps, but then she thought better of it. Clara could recognize her brother’s resolve on the matter for what it was—adamant and unwavering.

Tommy had backed her into a corner. He was forcing her hand. And just as Tommy had seen the futility of fighting her on making a promise to be home for Friday dinner, Clara saw the futility in continuing to put up a fight and she took the mug of broth into her hand, savoring the radiating warmth that transferred to her fingers. Clara took a single sip of the liquid before pulling the mug from her lips.

“There,” Clara said, trying to hand the mug back to her brother.

Tommy refused to take the mug. “Have a little more.”

Clara lowered the mug, allowing it to rest on top of the blankets in her lap. “But you’re not having anything.”

“I’m not the one—”

“It’s not having dinner unless we’re both eating,” Clara argued.

Tommy shook his head, but sensed his sister’s sudden show of resolve, just as sturdy as his own had been.

“One sip and you’re already feeling better, eh?” Tommy chided as he took a triangle of toast from the tray. “Go on, then. We’ll eat, the both of us.”

“But you’re still not—”

Tommy took a bite of the toast, munching as he nodded his head toward the mug cradled in Clara’s lap. “There, I’ve eaten. Your turn.”

Clara slowly pulled the mug towards her lips. “Perhaps you should have some more—”

“Enough about my dinner,” Tommy warned.

“But—”

“You’re stalling, Clara.”

“I’m not,” Clara answered, though she was, at least a bit, and both of them knew as much.

“What is it you’re doing, then?” he asked.

“Having dinner with my brother?” she ventured, the corner of her mouth quirking just a bit. “He promised.”

Tommy shook his head at her. Whether it was the broth or Tommy’s company or something else entirely, his sister was clearly feeling a bit better if she was making comments like that. He retrieved the remaining bit of toast from the tray, holding it out as he pointed it at her.

“You’re spoiled bloody rotten, you know that, eh?”

Clara didn’t answer him, but Tommy didn’t mind. He wasn’t really expecting a response, and anyways, she was too busy holding the mug to her lips as she slowly sipped her dinner.

Peaky Blinders (Little Lady Blinder) Masterlist

Peaky Blinders (Non-Shelby!Sister) Masterlist

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinder fanfic #shelby!sister #shelby sister #tommy shelby #tommy shelby fanfic #frances #clara shelby #raise a glass to llb

[agentrouka-blog]

I always thought Melisandre would be at least partially wrong about her vision beyond it being Sansa rather than Arya. The marriage part in particular; while Sansa is (set to be) betrothed to Harry Hardyng, she has no reason to flee the wedding, and assuming he dies, Littlefinger making his move so soon?

I think it may be correlation instead of causation (Littlefinger is preparing a wedding to either Harry, Robin or himself, while Sansa is leaving independently after learning about 'Arya' to the one person she knows for sure would help her rescue her sister, that being Jon - and Melisandre assumed it was the reason for her departure), the error compounded by Melisandre's knowledge of 'Arya' and her own interpretation.

Certainly she will not be even half right. A conflict is being set up and Melisandre will most likely end up near Dany (making her a one-off POV just to kill her in half a book seems odd) but GRRM has been careful to make a point about her fanaticism and free, mistake-riddled interpretation while leaving a true-enough core to serve as foreshadowing device.

Your post about Melisandre's use to manipulate Jon into trusting her was incredibly on point, but we also shouldn't forget her "daggers in the dark" vision. She is invested in Jon's survival for the reasons you laid out, but she can see what's about to happen, and it runs counter to her goals. So she needs to persuade him to trust her ASAP, to make him listen to her warnings, except it fails. The mutiny takes place, like she warned.

Which means Jon post-resurrection would take Melisandre's visions more seriously - and that can't be in this story, so she'll immediately be wrong about something that drove Jon for the second half of the book. Sansa, not Arya. Not a marriage, maybe not even fleeing (though I do think the Mountain Clan attack theory has merit). Either Melisandre's messed with him and maliciously lied to gain his trust (as far as Jon'll be concerned) or she is much too unreliable to make decisions on basis of her visions.

All of that will probably be revealed before Shireen burns and totally ruins any goodwill Jon would have for her, which in turn means he cannot possibly be Azor Ahai in Melisandre's eyes [I don't think Jon is AA, but Melisandre's clearly considering him subconsciously due to Jon obviously having SOME role to play while she's also clinging to her Stannis interpretation] - and in the meantime, dragon rumors reach Melisandre's ears...

Hi there!

Given all the uncertainties about the exact timing of the Northern plotlines coming up, I find it difficult to make concrete predictions about what will happen when.

But I do suspect that Melisandre will not go on as she has been up until now, especially not the same way as she did in the show.

For one, her plotline has been intensely intertwined with Stannis and how own choices relating to the prophecy and the power Melisandre was willing to invest on his behalf, as well as the things he was willing to let her do for his own gain. It's basically led to a destructive religious fanaticism that is bound to take on a life of its own very soon.

I don't necessarily think that GRRM intends to keep around Melisandre as an essentially unchanged character and simply aim her at a different target this time. The horror that is Shireen's murder - something GRRM has been building up to all this time since their introduction - is bound to have consequences for everyone involved, not just Stannis.

And she isn't needed to connect Dany to the story and prophecy of Azor Ahai. There's a basis for that in Essos already:

Haldon nodded. "Benerro has sent forth the word from Volantis. Her coming is the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy. From smoke and salt was she born to make the world anew. She is Azor Ahai returned … and her triumph over darkness will bring a summer that will never end … death itself will bend its knee, and all those who die fighting in her cause shall be reborn …" (ADWD, Tyrion VI)

Where Mel hailed from, others already wait in the wings.

Plus, the other angle on the prophecy:

 "No one ever looked for a girl," he said. It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought . . . the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King's Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it." Just talking of her seemed to make him stronger. "I must go to her. I must. Would that I was even ten years younger." (AFFC, Samwell IV)

...and...

He was not a man to be refused. Sam hesitated a moment, then told his tale again as Marywn, Alleras, and the other novice listened. "Maester Aemon believed that Daenerys Targaryen was the fulfillment of a prophecy . . . her, not Stannis, nor Prince Rhaegar, nor the princeling whose head was dashed against the wall." "Born amidst salt and smoke, beneath a bleeding star. I know the prophecy." Marwyn turned his head and spat a gob of red phlegm onto the floor.  (AFFC, Samwell V)

Melisandre's role in Westeros was, I think, intended to introduce the prophecy and see its destructive potential and the subversion through to the bitter end with Stannis. This provides important context for when this prophecy is brought up with other people, specifically Dany but potentially also Jon. But that doesn't have to and likely won't be happening through Melisandre.

If she walks away from the murder of Shireen essentially unchanged, GRRM would severely undercut his own message about the prophecy.

"An ant who hears the words of a king may not comprehend what he is saying," Melisandre said, "and all men are ants before the fiery face of god. If sometimes I have mistaken a warning for a prophecy or a prophecy for a warning, the fault lies in the reader, not the book.  (ASOS, Davos V)

GRRM chose to focus much of his energy in Melisandre's single POV chapter on showing how a) wrong she is about a lot of things, and b) how much she is trying to compensate for a deeply traumatic past. Melony, lot seven. Much like Daenerys, she is avoiding a confrontation with the past, with her own choices and her immense pain, and focusing on what she believes she has achieved and will achieve. She ignores her own mistakes to a fault. If I look back I am lost. But look back she must in order for her character to have a cohesive arc.

Melisandre is likely to finish her story before ever encountering Dany, and it is likely to involve a harsh reckoning with her own path and failings and false certainties.

If GRRM has all of Team Stannis collapse in the wake of the prophecy, instead of sending Mel on as a straight continuation, he challenges the reader much more openly into questioning the worth and purpose of the prophecy entirely. The issue isn't Mel, its agent, it is the prophecy and how people react to it.

If Dany encounters the prophecy with Melisandre, the blame could be placed on Mel for leading her astray like she did Stannis.

If Dany encounters the prophecy independently, we will be watching a mirror to Stannis unfold, and it will open up a clearer invitation to compare the patterns of how this exact prophecy has influenced different people throughout the centuries of Targaryen rule all in the same destructive way.

It's a warning that is mistaken for a promise, and in this way, it became self-fulfilling.

#melisandre #prophecy #azor ahai #asoiaf speculation

[redwayfarers]

AFFRONT

Fandom: FFXIV Ship: Nika/Artoirel Characters: Nika Perseis (WoL), Artoirel de Fortemps, Lucretia Fiore, Mina Fiore Rating: Gen Word count: 1696 Spoilers: minor StB spoilers. part 2 - read on ao3 divider by @saradika

He’d been warned, of course, how difficult this would be. Nika is far from an easy man to get along with on the best of days, let alone in what appears to be the worst state he’s found himself in as of recent history, mentally and physically. He’d been warned, yet he’d insisted, because he couldn’t simply watch as they organised the transport to Ishgard and not offer to help. He couldn’t watch as they carted Nika, fragile and unconscious, away to the hands of Ishgardian chirurgeons, and away from his vigilant eye. 

So he bartered. He told his father it was securing Eorzea’s future if he stayed in Ishgard, by Nika’s side, overseeing his recovery. Maybe he even expected pride in his father's eye for the foresight. He found agreement, but little else. 

Artoirel knows it’s not becoming of him anymore. He knows, yet finds it necessary to justify his actions to his father. Securing Eorzea’s future seems to matter more than the heart of one’s son almost breaking at his lover almost dying. His father has even taken upon himself to bring Nika’s mothers from Limsa, as an additional pair of eyes. 

It’s taken Artoirel a moment to realise how much of a mercy this is. He doesn’t dare interpret it as a sign of care, not quite yet, but he’s grateful nevertheless. Said mothers did warn him about the difficulty of his choice, but he did see the relief in their eyes, knowing that their son has someone steadfast by his side.

He wonders if his own father would share the same relief. For Haurchefant, certainly. For Emmanellain, perhaps. But for Artoirel? The fact he has to wonder at all speaks much more than any answer could. 

But he has bigger things to worry about, such as the hurt in his chest at Nika’s shame-fueled anger that had nowhere to go but to Artoirel. He knows it’s not personal, he even understands the impulse, and yet, his eyes prickle with tears he can’t shed. Relief comes when Nika’s mother rushes in, looks between them and just signals for Artoirel to go. 

Ordinarily, he would’ve been insulted. As it stands, he takes the direction and leaves, though he stops to watch Nika stifle a scream in his mother’s neck. Artoirel hardly remembers what his mother’s hugs felt like. He cannot seem to recall a recent one from his father, either. 

If his insides were a battlefield, they would signal a lost battle. 

Artoirel turns away and walks briskly to his office. He contains any sniffling, and his eyes burn with the effort of holding back tears, but the few gazes he does notice linger. It makes shame burn bright - he’s their lord now - so he picks up the pace and closes the door loudly behind him. Only then does he crumple, halfway across the room to his desk, and the stain of tears follows him as he sits and hides his face in his palms. 

And he cries. He cries, and cries, and cries, cries even as his pride begs him to stop and reason demands he does. It all hits him like bricks, one at the time: Nika’s harsh words, barely audible through tears, that sickening feeling of emptiness and resentment when he thinks of his father, the sight of Nika crying in his mother’s arms and the absence of his own. He feels his hands shake and realizes he’s shaking from head to toe, and cries even harder, because he’s failing his duty. 

Halone save him, he’s failing his duty. He’s responsible for Nika now, and he should be there, in that fucking room, take the yelling with grace, and he should be grateful he’s alive at all to scream at him, not run away–

The door slides open and Artoirel’s blood runs cold. 

“I came to– oh, you’re crying,” a female voice says and he raises his eyes. She sounds genuinely empathetic, which makes him dig his nails into his palms. 

“Madam, I apologize you had to–” he starts, but he hates how his shaken voice sounds. The woman huffs. “If you could just wait for a moment–” 

“That kind of crying isn’t about to disappear in a moment,” she says quietly and Artoirel slumps in his chair. “It’s all good, though. Crying’s normal. Didn’t know you Ishgardians are so uppity about it.” 

He wipes his eyes and looks at her. She’s tall enough to be a Highlander, and her hair is dark and short. She’s dressed in an oversized, woolen coat, and in the dim light of the room, her eyes appear to be two smothering pools of darkness. He suddenly recalls where he knows her from. It’s one of Nika’s mothers. 

“Madam Perseis, I do not.. I do not ordinarily cry before guests,” he says by way of apology. 

“Ain’t a Perseis. Nor a madam.” Great. Now he feels incompetent, ashamed and stupid. “Name’s Lucretia Fiore. I hope my own son’s mentioned me once or twice.” 

“Once or twice,” Artoirel cautiously replies and sniffles. “Shamefully little. He’s never mentioned that your surname is Fiore.” 

Lucretia sighs. “Gods know how little he told you about anything else, then.” 

“I still don’t know what happened to his father, if it’s any consolation, and we have been courting for months now, and have been friends for longer.” 

Lucretia stares. “When he’s less likely to bite my head off, I will have a word with him about it.” She walks over and  uncrosses her hands from her chest. “You’re a lord or something, yeah? Is it okay if I skip the titles and just call you what your name is?” 

“A count,” he corrects and throws his head back against the chair. Not that he’s worthy of the title in this state, anyway. “But please, do not refer to me as such. It’s hardly earned.” 

“That’s how aristocracy works, I think.” 

“It is not a just system, necessarily. Artoirel is enough.” He shrugs. “It is my name.”  

“Good.” Lucretia points towards a nearby seat and he nods. “Just came to say sorry on Nika’s behalf and that he’ll come around. It’s not your fault he almost got himself killed. You didn’t deserve the anger he poured on you earlier.” 

“I am responsible for him now,” Artoirel replies. “For the time being, I should say. For his care. I have seen people.. Do unjust things in their rage, and there should be someone there to listen to that rage.” He pauses. “Not a.. superior. A caretaker.” 

“Very noble of you,” Lucretia says. “But what happens when caretakers get overwhelmed? Taking care of people is hard. Taking care of Nika is even harder. Give yourself a breather when you need it.” 

He simply sucks air in and massages his hands. His head feels full of lead, a heavy pull that drags down to his chest. There is no ‘breather’ when you are responsible. There is no ‘breather’ when you have a duty, towards one’s country, one’s family, and one’s lover. A part of him notes that Nika’s failed in honoring the one he has towards his family. 

But when has Nika ever cared for such things? He disapproves, of course, but Nika’s offense feels lesser than his own. In fact, he might as well have not had a single bad thought in his entire life. It’s a lie, of course. But Artoirel has no strength to grapple with moral qualms right now. 

“He will come around,” Lucretia repeats. “He’s like his mother, says shit he doesn’t mean, does shit he doesn’t mean. He also has her tendency of running away, but something tells me he won’t run away from this one. I won’t let him.” 

“He does resemble her,” Artoirel whispers. The image of them, side by side, comes into sharp focus; the same dark skin, black hair, the same full lips, the same prominent nose. Nika looks so alike to his mother that there is no question that they share blood. But she lacks the scar, and her eyes are the same brown and warm, whereas his are mismatched and sharp. 

There was no sharpness when he crumpled in her arms, though, only anguish. Artoirel recalls his own mother and wonders if his features keep anything from hers anymore or he’s entirely Edmont’s son. He’d been told that he had his mother’s face as a child. But since then he’s grown, and the fullness of his cheeks has been replaced by sharpness. 

But round though it may have been, his mother’s face could still be as cold as his father’s. Cold enough to whisper in his ear that he should reject Haurchefant, cold enough to convince him of it. Cold enough to leave an emptiness when she died. She was only ever truly happy when she played music. 

But both she and Haurchefant are dead. Her hatred does not matter anymore. Artoirel blinks tears away. Lucretia is watching him, gentle, and it makes him want to cry even more. 

“Do you need a hug?” she asks, and her voice is low and akin to a soft wave. She places a tentative hand on his arm. Artoirel doesn’t recall his parents’ hugs. 

His pride rebels, naturally. But this whole situation is ridiculous enough as is and his head feels as if it’s about to burst from the pressure of recent events. He thinks of Nika in the other room, his sharp words play in Artoirel’s head in a loop, but he cannot find it in him to be angry. He thinks of his father calling Aymeric his son, without a word in Artoirel’s direction, but he cannot find it in him to be angry about this, either. 

All he can do is endure and hope it goes away, like any duty-bound son of Ishgard would. 

“I do, actually,” he says at last, and Lucretia shuffles until she wraps her arms around him, and Artoirel melts against her and this time, he doesn’t bother to hide his tears. 

Because all he can do is endure, and maybe, enduring does not have to mean being strong at all times. 

What an odd notion. He’ll take it anyway. 

#ffxiv #inspo birb has come to town #nero plays ffxiv #nika perseis #artoirel de fortemps #nika x artoirel #wolartoirel #wol x artoirel #ffxiv writing #ffxiv fic #ffxiv wol #stormblood spoilers #house keeping done: please look at my little art study #do note that half of the relationships here are my hcs and interpretations #i find him so fascinating though. and squenix isn't feeding me #so i make my own lore #this is too niche-y i'd say but hey it's out

[rakatan]

the thing about comparing anakin and elzar is…we’re doing it wrong. their minor parallels don’t serve to highlight their similarities but rather they serve to emphasize their significant differences.

upon reading that elzar has yet to reach masterhood naturally our minds will gravitate toward anakin. it gives us the readers something to base elzar against while we watch his character unfold. elzar’s continued knighthood is surprising due to this innate comparison. he’s not too young, he’s not inexperienced, he’s not troubled, he’s not being manipulated into the council by the chancellor…elzar is simply not the easiest to work with. that’s all. his sporadic explorations without explanations lead his fellows to find him difficult and to the council, that reason is enough. while anakin’s masterhood being delayed is understandable, reasonable, and not unfair, elzar’s is. the difference here emphasizes that even within the jedi, those who do not fit into perfected molds are often inherently punished for doing so.

he thought it was unfair. he didn’t care about other jedi’s paths through the force—why should they concern themselves with his? he just wanted to follow his road where it led.

their reactions to this delayed masterhood also differ. this mistreatment irritates elzar since none of his innovations put others in harm's way, but his willingness to fail outshines the incredible knowledge he contributes to the order. and although he might disagree with the council’s decision he will still abide by them and listen to their judgment. it again emphasizes that elzar is older and has a level of emotional maturity that anakin was never allowed to reach.

when we learn that elzar and avar had a romantic relationship in the past our minds also jump to the forbidden relationship between a jedi and republic senator. especially considering one of elzar and avar’s first scenes elzar suggests retirement on the same island anakin and padme got married on. elzar’s differences from anakin are highlighted again when we watch him let go of avar in the epilogue of light of the jedi. elzar loves avar and he always will, but his attachment to her at this moment was not consuming him completely. avar reaches out to hold his hand and he reminds her that “we are jedi,” she invites him to dance and he declines until later, elzar describes his emotions with intensity but elzar also lets go. their relationship was never dangerous and the emotional intimacy they do maintain is enough for him.

avar was a friend. a fellow jedi master. they’d agreed long ago that’s all they would ever be. and it was enough. truly, it was.

the most common comparison i see drawn between these two is the usage of the dark side. understandably so, elzar is one of the only jedi in the high republic to tap into the dark side but the reason why he does differentiates him from anakin and even his closest peers. elzar doesn’t use the dark side to take lives, he doesn’t use the dark side to appease his own selfish desires, elzar uses the dark side to save a group of jedi. in his typical fashion elzar finds solutions and at his lowest point, in the middle of a battlefield, elzar sees that he can use his emotions to save lives. the build-up to this moment was written incredibly well, it combines elzar’s innovative mind, overly compassionate heart, and the emotional anguish that has been plaguing him for months. in contrast to other jedi and anakin, elzar has pure intentions even though his actions may not result in the best of outcomes.

"we have a jedi who does flirt to the dark side and realizes what road he's going down, where instead of embracing it, goes to a friend and says, "i need help." we didn't want elzar to be anakin 2.0." - cavan scott

the generalizations between these two often do their characters a disservice by ignoring their defining differences. differences that are intentionally being highlighted to further the contrast of each era and the contrast of the two as individuals.

#elzar mann #the high republic #eye of darkness #eye of darkness spoilers #i mostly talk about elzar here because anakin has been talked about extensively