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ellecdc · 2 months

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HIII, I wanted to know if I could request a poly marauders x festy slytherin reader.Something of how they started or whatever you have inspiration for.I would love another part of that, if you feel up to it. Hope you are taking care of yourself <3

feisty/slytherin reader x poly!marauders is actually my favourite thing to write (followed closely by any ship with whimsical reader) so I was more than happy to whip this up for you! Thanks for requesting! 🫶

poly!marauders x feisty, fem, Slytherin!reader

CW: werewolf prejudice, making fun of possible birth defects due to Pureblood's being terribly inbred, swearing

Remus felt that generally, he was a very understanding person. And not just in a compassionate way, but also in a sense that he just understands a lot of things.

He understands Sirius’ need to defy his family whilst simultaneously looking after his brother as if his life depended on it.

He understands James’ need to make sure everyone around him feels as loved as humanly possible, even if it’s at his own expense.

He understands that Gryffindor’s hate Slytherin’s, but he also understands that not all Slytherin’s are horrible, prejudiced racists.

He understands everyone makes fun of Hufflepuffs for being soft and emotional, but he also understands that Hufflepuffs can be some of the most heartless, ruthless friends you can have.

What Remus has had a hard time understanding, however, was his boyfriends’ sudden interest in you.

Remus could admit that you were quite attractive, but you were also sort of…terrifying?

“What have you boys done?” Lily murmured in quiet horror (quiet awe if you asked James).

“We pranked Slytherin!” Sirius said jovially, as if Lily had somehow missed that key piece of information.

“I can see that, Sirius.” She said like one might speak to a small child who was quite dumb. “But on portrait day?”

Sirius smiled smugly as he watched Slytherin’s enter the Great Hall for their school portraits. As they passed through the door, they were unknowingly walking under a charmed mistletoe (which was very difficult to find this time of year, thanks James very much) which turned their green and silver robes and ties to a beautiful red and gold.

The best part is some students still hadn’t noticed yet, and another amazing part was that those who had noticed couldn’t figure out how to turn it back.

“Mr. Black, Mr. Potter, Mr. Pettigrew, and Mr. Lupin. I suppose the four of you have no idea who may be behind this prank?” Professor McGonagall challenged as she looked down her nose at them sitting at the Gryffindor table.

Sirius smirked as he responded “Why, not a clue Minnie. But I’ll keep my eye out and let you know if I see any mischief makers.”

McGonagall let out a long suffering sigh as she took five points from Gryffindor for improper address of a professor.

“You rotten dugbogs.” Remus heard you screech before he saw you. He had the good sense to cringe as you stormed up to their table whilst Sirius and James grinned enthusiastically.

“Why hello Y/N, my beautiful angel.” James greeted as Sirius let out a sultry “Don’t you just look smashing in red.” Accompanied by a wink.

“I don’t know what you sods have done, and quite frankly, I don’t care about the rest of them; but you will fix this.” You spat angrily gesturing to your faux Gryffindor uniform.

“But that would be such a crime, dollface.” Sirius lamented.

“You can’t expect us to mess with perfection.” James added.

You shot your hand out and grabbed James’ collar, pulling his face to yours until your noses were nearly touching.

“I swear to Salazar himself, Potter, if you do not change my robes back, I will cut your dick off and charm it to your forehead so you walk around looking like a limp-dick unicorn. Change. It. Back.”

Your voice was low and threatening, and Peter actually gulped as he hid behind Remus. But looking at James’ face pressed up to yours, you would have thought you had just serenaded him with the greatest love song known to man.

“You have such beautiful eyes.” He murmured in awe. Remus was certain he could see steam forming behind said beautiful eyes, but before it could shoot out of your ears, Sirius came to your rescue.

“Very right, Prongs. She does have beautiful eyes. Unfortunately, I believe her usual green does compliment them better than the red.” Sirius said lasciviously as he cast the counter charm to return your robes to their rightful colour.

You looked down at your form before looking back at the boys skeptically. You seemed only then to realize you were still holding onto James’ collar like a vice and dropped it. Remus almost chuckled at the look of loss that crossed James’ face.

“Right.” You said and cleared your throat, backing away from them as if you weren't fully trusting what just happened. “Thank you.”

Sirius’ head actually reared back in surprise at your thanks and James beamed.

“Anytime angel, truly.”

James’ pet name seemed to snap you out of whatever trance you’d been in as you narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t call me that.”

“Terribly sorry, my love.” He relented.

You groaned in exasperation and carried on towards the Slytherin table.

“Isn’t she lovely?” James whispered in awe, eyes still glued to your form as you bodily shoved Evan Rosier out of what Remus could only assume you had dubbed as your seat at the Slytherin table and sat down.

“Try bloody terrifying.” Peter shivered in horror as he finally extricated himself from behind Remus.

“Oi! Don’t talk about our future missus that way, Wormy.” Sirius squawked and swatted at the poor sod with his copy of the Daily Prophet.

“Is he wrong, though?” Remus asked as he let out his own breath of relief.

“Don ‘t worry moons,” James murmured into Remus’ cheek as he pressed his nose into the werewolf’s hair line. “She’ll win you over soon.”

Remus wasn’t so sure.

You were the only Slytherin photographed in proper uniform that day.

A few weeks later found Remus sitting horrifyingly uncomfortable in Defense Against the Dark Arts as they moved on to the unit featuring Werewolves.

James sat on his right, and though the shaking of his knee under the table gave away his nerves, he spent the entire class rubbing soothing circles along the back of Remus’ hand with his thumb.

Sirius, sitting on Remus’ left, was incredibly stiff and clearly poised to fight if given the chance which did nothing to ease Remus’ discomfort. It also didn’t help that they shared this period with the 6th and 7th year Slytherin’s.

He just wanted this day to be over.

“Why are we even talking about this?” Mulciber sneered, interrupting the professor as they discussed elements of the Wolfsbane potion.

“What is your question, Mr. Mulciber?” The professor drawled out in a bored tone.

“Why bother discussing werewolves? The lot of them should be culled anyway; euthanize them on site for all I care.” He spat, earning snickers from Avery, Goyle, and Snape.

Sirius sucked in a breath in preparation of a verbal (and possibly physical, should he be so lucky) spar when Remus dug his nails into Sirius’ thigh. “Please, Pads.” He begged quietly; voice taught with emotions.

Sirius let out a pained sigh and leaned back further into his chair.

“Funny, Mulciber.” A bored tone commented, “I was just thinking the same about you and your lot.”

Remus, James, and Sirius all turned to see the majority of the eyes in the room already on you, though you never bothered lifting your head from your textbook.

“Care to repeat that, L/N?” Mulciber sneered, sitting up in his chair as if ready to lunge at you if necessary.

You lifted your bored gaze from your book and stared at him head on. “Do I need to repeat myself, Mulciber? Mummy and daddy kept it too close in the family tree, huh?” You murmured in faux sympathy. “I was just thinking, most of the Sacred Twenty-Eight ought to be culled. That would save the wizarding world a whole lot of trouble.”

“How dare you compare me to some filthy half-breed. My family is royalty compared to those disgusting creatures.” Avery shouted.

“The only one acting like a disgusting creature here is the likes of you tossers.” You shouted back.

“Alright.” The professor tried (not very hard, albeit) to quell the quickly spiralling discussion.

“I could hardly look at myself in a mirror if I’d been tainted with a curse like lycanthropy.” Snape sneered, pointedly facing the Marauders across the room. Sirius burned with shame and protectiveness, being the reason Snape knew Remus’ secret and the overwhelming need to defend his lover. Remus took that moment to dig his nails into Sirius' thigh again, pinning him to his seat.

“Are you sure, Snape? Are you sure you wouldn’t rather live a life with lycanthropy than have to look at that mug of yours in the mirror every day.” You drawled.

“You insolent little bitch.”

“Hey!” James finally shouted from across the room, far more stern than Remus can ever remember seeing the boy. But you carried on, completely undeterred.

“I’d bet ten thousand galleons that not one werewolf ever asked to be a werewolf, yet you wake up each and every morning actively choosing to be the ugliest, most hateful, vile, disgusting beasts known to mankind. That is what is despicable. That is what should be euthanized on site.” Your voice grew louder and louder with each word until you were standing behind your desk and punctuating each word with a slam of your fist against the table in front of you.

“Alright, that’s enough.” The professor finally called; tone booming across the lecture hall intoning no nonsense.

“Mr. Mulciber, Mr. Snape, and Miss. L/N. Detention with me this evening.”

The Slytherin boys all scoffed and cursed under their breath whilst you offered a bored shrug of your shoulders, returning to your textbook as though this was just a run of the mill day for you.

The boys had been absolutely right; you just won over the affections of one Remus John Lupin.

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mayfieldss · 5 months

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Oblivious - Hazel Callahan

summary; Hazel is head over heels for you (literally) , but she doesn't think you feel the same.

AN: that's the gay shit I love.

It burned. Hazel could feel it, the sharp sting in her gut as she watched you across the classroom laughing at something Josie had said. It burned particularly now, because Hazel had come to the realization that she thought you were perfect. Hazel thought that despite your flaws, and all the things you didn't like about yourself, you were perfect for her.

She loved the way you would smile at her when you caught her staring, the way you would wave. She loved the way you would pull on your earlobe when having a conversation, as if it helped you think of your next sentence.

You weren't straight—you'd hinted that to Hazel enough times for her to finally catch your drift—but still Hazel didn't think you could like her in any way other than platonic. She was clumsy and terrible with social cues, and she had a large expanse of button up shirts that looked as though she'd stolen them from her uncle in his forties. But the way you smiled at her, and complimented her mid-life-crisis themed fashion sense, the more Hazel fell for you. That's where the clumsiness came in.

Hazel swore every time she saw you, her legs would give out. Her ankles would twist at unnatural angles, her hand would lose its grip on whatever she was holding. She would fall, stumble or drop something, no matter how many times she tried to stay upright. And each time, you would reach out to help her. That could have been because helping was a natural response in such a situation, but Hazel interpreted it differently. It was just another thing to add to her list.

You were perfect for her.

But she wasn't perfect for you.

"I was just wondering if you wanted to sit together? like in class?" Hazel doesn't know what she's saying, but she's just stopped you in the hallway, Josie by your side. Whether it was jealousy or general Hazel interest, she didn't know, but somehow she was talking and couldn't quite stop. "Because we haven't ever sat together before, and I thought maybe you'd want to. Sit with me, I mean."

You're smiling at her, mouth slightly agape, and Hazel's heart starts its routine of bouncing along the walls of her ribcage. "You don't have to, obviously but—"

"I'd love to sit with you Hazel." You put a stop to her rambling with the answer, and for a moment Hazel doesn't know what to do. She's grinning like an idiot, eyes locked to yours, just long enough to make it weird.

"See you in class, Hazel." you go to move past her, Josie still beside you, and Hazel allows herself an awkward wave.

"Okay, yeah, see you." she's nodding profusely and continues to wave even when your back is turned. She can't stop. You're like a dream she always wants to have. Tomorrow in class, she'll see you again, hopefully sitting closer this time, and maybe she'll never have to wake up.

"Heyyyyy" Hazel hates the way she greets you, the way she says one simple word. She hates the strange flip of her stomach when you sit down beside her. She hates the way her chair squeaks when she discreetly tries to inch closer. The one thing Hazel doesn't hate, is you.

"Hey," you reply, all warm smiles and gentle eyes. You look happy to see her, at least from what Hazel can interpret, which must be a good sign.

"How are you?" Your shoulder brushes Hazel's as she asks, and her whole body seems to rewire itself around the touch. You don't react to the sensation at all, but turn to look at her. Hazel can feel her face shifting colors, cheeks flushed pink as if she's just run a marathon.

"I'm okay, I bumped into Jeff earlier though. He's makes my skin crawl, I swear." you fake a shiver for dramatic effect, "How about you?"

Hazel responds too fast, unblinking and in a panic. "Oh yeah, I swear too."

All you do is laugh, a soft sound that relieves the tension hidden within Hazel's shoulders. "I know you swear Hazel, I've heard you. I meant how are you?" You place one hand on top of Hazel's on the desk, a sweet gesture. A kind one. You're not judging her, or making fun. Not like everyone else.

"Oh, yeah I'm good." Hazel's eyes drift to your hand atop her own. She's trying to memorize the feeling without making it obvious. "I'm really good, totally great."

"That's good." You're still looking at her, but you pull your hand away when you notice Hazel's lack of eye contact. Instead, you go to grab your books, pulling them out one by one from your bag. Hazel has never wanted to be a history textbook more in her life.

"Did you want me to beat him up?" the words come out before Hazel can stop them, your movements pausing as you register the sentence.

"What?" there's a confused chuckle within the word as you turn back to Hazel, frown deepening.

"Jeff, You said he was bothering you. Did you want me to beat him up?" Hazel is serious, or at least she thinks she is when she says it. She would most definitely fight someone for you. You just had to say the word.

As Hazel watches, a grin begins to creep onto your face again. She likes the look on you, and tries to mimic the expression in return, though she doubts she looks as ethereal. "You're funny, you know that?"

Hazel wants to say something in response, she has the words on her lips "You're pretty, you know that?" but she doesn't get to say them. Before she can, she's interrupted, the teacher more than irritated with the continuing conversation. He shushes the both of you, a finger to his lips, before going back to writing on the blackboard. Hazel thinks of saying something anyway, but when she turns back your way, you're already hard at work, nose in your books.

Hazel will try again tomorrow, and maybe she'll get it right when she does.

The first thing Hazel sees are the tears. The gentle swell of water in your eyes, and the lines it traces as it falls down your cheeks. She's never seen you cry, and honestly it makes her far sadder than it should for someone who is just supposed to be your friendly acquaintance. But seeing you in this different light, one that reflects off your tearstained cheeks, doesn't make her love you less.

In seconds, she's jogging your way, jumping in front of you as she calls your name. You almost bump into her as you come to a sudden stop, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

"Are you okay? Why are you crying?" Hazel doesn't know if she should reach out to touch you or not, and watches as you sink the ground in the courtyard. It's almost empty save for the two of you, everyone else on their way to class. Hazel follows suit, and crouches down into a spiderman like position.

"I'm okay," You try for a smile, but it falls short, taking a slice of Hazel's heart with it as it hits the floor. "I've just had a rough day."

"Is there anything I can do? I can run and get you those little cookies you like from the store just down the road if you want." Hazel is swaying a little in her odd position, as if she could blow over with a gust of wind, and you look just a little calmer somehow. You shake your head no, and this time a smile comes easier, though it's not as bright as usual.

"Thanks Hazel, but it's okay, really."

You don't look as distressed as before but Hazel still wants to go and buy you expensive cookies to mend the possible hole in your heart. Even whilst sniffling away your sadness, she can't take her eyes off of you, but somehow she still doesn't see it coming.

It took Hazel more than a moment to register what was happening when you shuffled toward her, and her brain began to short circuit more than usual when your lips got a lot closer to hers than they had ever been before. She fell over of course, forward rolling headfirst thanks to her awkward position and extreme panic, avoiding the kiss in a way never seen before.

Instantly, you jolt back, red flush consuming your neck and cheeks at an alarming rate. "I am so sorry Hazel, I thought there was something—I thought there was like a thing... I don't know what I thought." You stand abruptly, stumbling backward as Hazel makes her own way to her feet. She's got dust on her jeans as she rises, and an audacious smile snaking its way onto her expression.

"Did you just try to kiss me?"

Hazel watches as you shift on your feet, looking near tears again after all that had happened. "I'm sorry," you say again, a hand coming up to cover your mouth in shame, muffling your next words. "I thought you liked me too, I don't know what came over me."

There's a loud ringing in Hazel's ears from then on, a buzzing that blocks out everything except for you as her brain processes it all, working to take step after step in your direction. She reaches up, when close enough, and pulls your hand away from your lips, holding it in her own.

"Can I kiss you?" Her voice is quiet, but her smile is more than present as she waits for your response. A response she's been wanting for months, to a question she'd always been too afraid to ask.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @heliads @candywh0r3 @caplanreadss @hiya-itsamber @s00buwu

BOTTOMS TAGLIST: empty

AN: not my best work but it's gay enough

reblogs are appreciated!

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woodland-gremlin · 1 month

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Lemons? Pt. 2 (Adoption AU)

Here's the first part:

Dick took another deep breath while leaning against the cool metal that made up most of the watchtower. As much as he appreciates puns and how much easier it will be to track down these kids' villain relatives with a last name he still feels a bit weak in the knees with these revelations being thrown out one after another. They talk about it so casually and that makes him sick to his stomach. Potential villain grandparents, their terrifying weapons that disregard ethics, and apparently weapons that make the one they mentioned seem tame in their eyes. All of that speaks of those kids going through something they shouldn’t have had to.

“Is that how Dad got his terrible naming sense?” the first voice asked, dragging Dick out of his depressing thoughts.

“Huh,” Ellie huffed out, “Never thought of that.”

“Tt. It is likely that it is a biological disposition if you consider the naming sense of those that share his species alongside the Fenton genes. Now cease this needless drivel and assist me with returning home.”

The more words that come out of these kids' mouths, the more Dick just wants to disregard any stealth and poke his head through the door’s opening so he can bundle them up in a bunch of blankets. Maybe ask a few questions about their dad and ask them how they would feel about being adopted by a billionaire. He is sure Bruce wouldn’t mind, even if they, or even just their dad, weren’t fully human from what they have said.

“Alright Dami,” said the first voice with the sound of something being shuffled in the background. “Though-” before they could continue the sound of something tearing cut them off.

“Wulf!” one of the kids cried with joy.

Before Dick could begin to panic and do something about a wolf of all things somehow getting into the watchtower the kids began to speak again.

“Wulf, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Dami said softly as if he was looking at a cute puppy.

“Yeah, and you have perfect timing too!” The first voice cheered.

“Just don’t tell Dad, okay?” Ellie asked.

A gruff voice replied in a language Dick has neither understood nor ever heard before.

“Oh come on,” Ellie groused, “It’s no big deal. No one even saw us.”

The new person just replied in the same strange language.

“All right, all right.” Dick could practically hear Elle roll her eyes while she continued to grumble, something about causing a prison riot and breaking out?!?

The sound of feet shuffling and zipping was all he heard before it became silent.

After a minute of silence Dick peeked into the meeting room which he previously heard the kids in only to find it devoid of anyone. A lemon lying on the floor being the only evidence that he didn’t hallucinate the whole thing.

Note: Dick later checks out the security footage of where the kids were only for the footage to be full of static for the whole encounter.

#danny phantom #dcu #dcxdp #dp + dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton #ghost king danny #danny adopts damian #danny fenton adopts damian #danni phantom #billy batson #ellie phantom #danny fenton adopts billy #danny adopts billy #danny fenton adopts ellie #Danielle “Danni” phantom is called ellie #adoption au

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llamagoddessofficial · 9 months

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Have you ever done an au where the boys are farmers? :]

I did once before, but hey. Nothing wrong with more farm. And as a certified country bumpkin who has lived/worked on many a farm in her life, I feel I'm uniquely qualified for this au ;)

It makes sense that all three boys would work on the same self-sustaning farm. 'Cousins' taking care of the same land, and everything. Maybe Mc is the cute girl who lives nearby and finds herself taking up odd jobs for them every now and then, for some spare cash...?

Sans: ... Mc bumps into him a lot, whether she's helping out on the farm or just passing by their fields on her way to somewhere else. He's always friendly, always greets her- always smiling up at her from under his goofy straw hat and telling terrible farm-related jokes so he can grin at her laughter. She can usually spot him napping in a field somewhere; when she asks what he's doing he always says he's 'working'.

To be fair to him, what he's 'working' on is always complete to perfection. All the hay around him has been baled despite no machines in sight, all the vegetables have been pulled and packed into their boxes, all the dirt has been tilled in perfect straight lines. She's got no clue how he does it.

If she's ever working with him (say, they're packing fruit together) he's always trying to encourage her to flunk it and nap with him. He knows all the best resting spots in a mile radius... and when she does crack and nap with him, it's the best rest she's had in a long time.

Red: He's a fieldhand who doubles as a pretty decent handyman. It's not unusual to catch him moving around in oil-stained dungarees with a toolbox tucked under one arm and a cigarette between his teeth, repairing any machinery that needs a loving touch. Other farms occasionally hire him out to repair whatever busted old thing they're not ready to let go of yet, and he's picked up a reputation for being able to repair anything.

... That's not the only thing he's picked up a reputation for, though. Red's got a good relationship with most of the other farms... mostly because he's banged a decent percentage of all the nearby fieldhands. He's famously good with his hands, after all.

Mc likes him, he's charming and somehow manages to smell good despite always being covered in motor oil. He likes to show off to her by helping her with her chores and lifting heavy shit with his big arms... she's flattered by his obvious interest in her. But she's also aware of his reputation, and isn't super keen to get cuddly just yet.

Skull: He mostly handles animals. He's got that quiet, strong demeanour that they like. He doesn't talk to people, or go out much, he's a bit of an urban legend in the area. He's much more comfortable around animals than people; animals don't judge him for how he looks, or expect him to talk, or care that he smells like hide all the time.

Mega crush on Mc from the first moment he sees her, which only exacerbates his usual anxieties around people and makes him super shy. Even though she makes him nervous, he really likes when she drops by the barns to help him with the animals. She's the only one who regularly visits. Silently feeding the chickens while he listens to her talk is one of his favourite activities in the whole world.

While Red's showing off is intentional, Skull tends to show off completely accidentally. He often lifts up stupidly heavy things without thinking; effortlessly slinging several bags of feed onto his shoulders, despite each bag individually being so heavy she couldn't even push one across the floor. He doesn't understand why her face flushes so much when he lifts big bales. Maybe she's been out in the sun too long?

#llamagines #farm au #skull's ideal date would be him sitting silently while u tell him which animals you like

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comradekatara · 3 months

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i don’t go into it explicitly in my essay so i may as well cite my armamentarium of examples here. please note that some of these examples will be pretty uncharitable towards zuko, but i figure that zuko’s actions receive enough (overly) charitable interpretations that he can stand to be criticized harshly from time to time.

when he said to aang “nice try avatar, but these little girls won’t save you,” he was being overtly infantilizing and dismissive to extremely capable girls his age in a way that emphasized their gender to diminish their capabilities. this is quite overtly misogynistic.

the way he treats katara in “the waterbending scroll” is pretty fucked up. i know that a lot of people find the way he seductively circles katara after tying her to a tree, threatening, and bribing her to be hot and even romantic, but in this scene, he is explicitly imitating ozai (we see him employ this same tactic of circling ominously with zuko in “the awakening”) to scare katara into submission. this is not only sexist in the sense that he is attempting sensuality to threaten a young girl (only a few years younger than him, but still, not great), but also just creepy and horrifying and bad in general.

“well aren’t you a big girl now?” is what he says to katara once she can finally hold her own against him in a fight. katara is only a few years younger than him, but he treats her like an incapable child, and uses that patronizing infantilisation to taunt her like he did with the kyoshi warriors. (and in fact, he continues to do so in book 3, but more on that later.)

zuko shouts “girls are crazy!” after azula manipulates him into falling into the fountain. i think this example is pretty negligible all things considered, seeing as a couple of girls did just deviously orchestrate a plot to humiliate him for kicks, but it’s at least equivalent to sokka saying “leave it to a girl to screw things up” to katara in terms of making unfair generalizations about an entire gender in the quest to insult your annoying little sister. but pretty much every sibling says something like this as a kid, so it’s pretty innocuous to me in the scheme of things.

on his date with jin, zuko remarks “you have quite an appetite for a girl.” this is obviously sexist, but it also makes me sad for what it reflects about the eating habits of every single woman he grew up around (compounded by the fact that they’re nobility and thus must adhere to strict gender roles as informed by class). i wonder if seeing jin eat was the first time he ever saw a girl actually enjoy her food.

zuko’s treatment of mai throughout all of book 3 is highly misogynistic. he expects her to coddle, comfort, and support him unconditionally while he never once considers her feelings, desires, or thoughts. i don’t even think zuko knows that mai is a human being (with a rich inner world of her own). at the beach, he behaves in a way that is controlling, jealous, volatile, and borderline abusive. he insults her, calling her dull and unfeeling; he polices the people she talks to; he feels entitled to her unconditional affection even when he treats her terribly. even when he gives her the conch shell, he asks “what? don’t girls like stuff like this?” which is incredibly patronizing and presumptuous. he demands that she act as his perfect mommygirlfriend, takes out all his frustrations and inner turmoil on her, is entirely thoughtless and inconsiderate when it comes to considering her feelings beyond giving her the most shallow, superficial gifts (and for a prince, giving someone cheap desserts and/or beach trash is not exactly a grand romantic gesture), and can’t even bring himself to break up with her face to face. mai does an incredible job of supporting zuko as best she can despite being incredibly unhappy herself and frustrated by his behavior, and somehow she is still framed by the fandom as being a bad girlfriend to zuko, when in fact the reverse is true.

zuko is also incredibly patronizing, dismissive, and downright cruel to ty lee. he basically calls her shallow, stupid, oblivious, and myopic, when of course this only betrays his own obtuse inability to read others, as ty lee is quite possibly the most perceptive, intuitive, socially clever, skilled, and brilliant character in the show. like many other characters in the show, including azula, zuko falls for ty lee’s bubbly ditz persona, and assumes that her hyperfeminine affect signifies her shallowness and stupidity. this undervaluing of femininity is of course not unique to zuko, and even the most feminist women are prone to make assumptions about people who present themselves in the way ty lee does (even katara says that ty lee doesn’t seem like a threat), which is of course also why ty lee deliberately presents herself in this way. she knows that she will be underestimated, which is all the more imperative to achieving her primary goal: survival. however, just because ty lee encourages this perception of her doesn’t mean that zuko is let off the hook for falling for it, or for being cruel to her.

while i don’t fault zuko for this as much as i do his treatment of mai, katara, or ty lee, his lack of generosity towards azula is a problem. obviously there are extenuating factors informing why he views azula as a rival. their fractured relationship is a tragic product of ozai’s abuse, and neither zuko nor azula is entirely at fault for how they view and treat the other. but zuko never makes any attempt to understand his sister or why she behaves the way she does, and never shows her the affection or concern azula shows him (in rare but nonetheless important moments), even after she has clearly undergone a nervous breakdown before their final agni kai. i know that zuko would view azula with hostility and suspicion no matter what, and a lot of it is of course deserved, but i cannot help but wonder whether his misogyny serves to reinforce his assumption of her that she is a manipulative, hysterical, dishonest harpy whose sole purpose in life is to make him miserable. lol

zuko constantly dismisses suki throughout “the boiling rock.” when sokka first points her out, zuko frowns at the notion that sokka is suddenly going to give a girl the attention he has, up until this point, been the only one receiving. of course suki does monopolize sokka’s attention, suddenly making zuko the third wheel where he was formerly a partner, but it’s hardly suki’s fault for being sokka’s girlfriend. he only barely apologizes for burning down suki’s village (which is probably the worst thing he ever did in the entire show, btw), and basically ignores her existence throughout the rest of the episode. in “the southern raiders” he refuses to read the room and barges into sokka’s tent despite sokka and suki clearly having a romantic evening planned. suki is perfectly nice and friendly to zuko despite having absolutely no reason to forgive the guy who burned down her village, but zuko is nonetheless dismissive of her as if she isn’t even there. which is rude, but also, kind of funny, so take this one with a grain of salt because it honestly makes me laugh??

ultimately, the way zuko treats katara, not only in book 1, but up until they become friends at the end of “the southern raiders,” is genuinely egregious. despite having that incredibly meaningful moment in the catacombs together, zuko doesn’t register it as significant in the way katara does, and cannot comprehend why katara would feel particularly, personally betrayed by him compared to the rest of the group. at the beginning of the episode, zuko pushes suki out of the way from falling rocks (dismissively) and then jumps directly onto katara and rolls her away from the rocks (patronizingly) as if she is some kind of baby whose legs don’t work. when katara is rightfully pissed off that a guy she hates has pressed himself directly on top of her and won’t get off, he scoffs and says “I’ll take that as a thank you” as if she is simply a truculent, ungrateful child. he later completely invalidates katara’s feelings, following her after she leaves the group, and yells at her for her audacity (because she is still not best friends with the guy who betrayed her trust and facilitated the near murder of her best friend), and barely seems to understand the source of her rage, assuming that she is displacing her anger towards her mother’s killer onto him instead of simply acknowledging the ways in which he has tangibly harmed her. he interrupts sokka during one of the only truly happy moments in his entire miserable life to ask him to rehash the most tragic, horrific day in his whole horrifically tragic life, and in this moment he reveals that he somehow does not even know katara’s name. until sokka refers to katara by name, zuko only refers to her as “your sister” (and at no point refers to her by name throughout the show until later in this scene), dismissing katara while simultaneously begging for her approval, which he admits he doesn’t even know why he craves, as if he doesn’t even respect her as a person but simply wants her approval because her totally valid anger towards him is just a pesky irritant he wants removed. he then imposes his own desire for revenge onto katara, not even realizing that his passionate fury is a product of his own personal feelings being displaced onto katara’s parallel situation (both their mothers were killed in their place as a sacrifice), and simply assumes that katara would benefit from going on a dangerous revenge quest with him. it is only once zuko realizes the sheer extent of katara’s power and empathizes intimately with her complex feelings of rage, grief, and guilt regarding her own mother that zuko comes to respect katara deeply, and from then on out their friendship is one of mutual respect, understanding, and a deep, prevailing love. but until the antepenultimate episode of the entire show (assuming that the four parter finale counts as just one episode), zuko constantly infantilizes, patronizes, dismisses, belittles, ignores, and trivializes katara.

“zuko has no frame of reference for sexism” his uncle literally sexually harassed (and possibly even assaulted depending on how you define it) a female employee on the job (june in “bato of the water tribe,” if you’re wondering). yes zuko is rightfully appalled by that, but mostly because his uncle is displaying desire for a far younger, hotter woman, and zuko finds all displays of iroh’s desire disgusting. to say he’s in no way familiar with patriarchal logic and the mistreatment of women in society is just plain absurd, when not only do we see him mistreat women, but we also witness him witness other men mistreat women—in particular, a man whom he admires and strives to emulate in all aspects of his life.

and finally, while this point is fairly obvious, the question “how is zuko sexist?” is just patently ridiculous for the simple fact that he was raised in an extremely patriarchal society and internalized rigid roles and hierarchies of class, race, and gender. so like, even if we didn’t have manifold examples of him behaving misogynistically in various ways across the show, he’d nonetheless be sexist because of course he is. like, real talk, what do you guys think sexism even is if not being informed by patriarchy and its assumptions? answer quickly

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negrowhat · 4 months

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BL Superlatives of 2023

Instead of doing a roundup (which I still might do) I just decided to do my own Best of 2023 for the handful of BLs I watched this year.

Series I Finished for the Couple- A Boss and A Babe. The plot had way too much going on and a lot of the pieces didn't flow well and a lot of things really pissed me off. Also the only side characters I liked were Porsche and Jack. But I LOVED Boss Daddy Gun and his Cher Bear. They filled me with joy and warm fuzzies and I loved how dependent they were on each other. Gun got was able to let his guard down and Cher found someone he could be vulnerable with.

Love Scene the Made Me HOLLER- Love in Translation. YangPhumjai fucking nasty across their freshly opened convenience store. They fucked in front of the security cameras and with the way they were slamming each other into the shelves I'm surprised more merchandise wasn't all over the floor. 10/10 love scene. Also I adore YangPhumjai.

Messiest Plot-Moonlight Chicken. Between the cheating, crying, screaming, and fighting I was thoroughly entertained. They had my emotions all over the place. I loved the series in it's entirety. (No I haven't watched OF or that would've won lol)

Dilf of the Year- Jeng from Step By Step. Everything about that man screamed 'Daddy'. He was sweet but stern. A very gentle Dom. He ran multiple businesses. He wore dad jeans on his off days. He had a beautiful smile and a BANGING body. And all he wanted to do was cook and take care of Pat...maybe teach him a few thangs. Sigh yeaaaa He was Pat's daddy idc.

Most Likely to Get Jumped- Saengtai from La Pluie. Don't you dare lie and say you didn't want to fight him at SOME point in this series. Tai was just very selfish and did not know how to apologize. He blamed everyone else for everything and he acted like a spoiled brat through most of the series. And I for one wanted to beat him up a couple of times. He's so cute tho.

Best Dressed-Chen Yi x Ai Di from Kiseki: Dear to Me. One favored collars, sweaters, and bright colors and the other had more of a biker-streetwear-combat style and somehow they ended up matching 79% of the time. They looked good together. The stylists popped off.

Most Goodest Boy- Woo Seung Hyun from the New Employee. Just a sweet 28 yr old man eager to work and be his very best. His bubbly personality is easy to love and I just want to squish his face, kiss his forehead, and hug him for hours. I see why Jong Chan fell in love immediately.

Most Sad Boy-Seo Jae Won from The Eighth Sense. He shut himself off to the people around him and allowed terrible people into his life because he didn't care enough to show them who he was in real life, he covered everything with a mask and acted the way people would expect so they wouldn't seem him crumbling inside. He blamed himself for his brother's passing and also for Ji Hyun's accident. He felt like he deserved every bad thing that happened to him and every bad person in his life. Ji Hyun brought light into his life after being shrouded in darkness for so long.

Hottest Couple-KingUea from Bed Friend. The love scenes always delivered. That kitty play scene?????? There was consent everywhere which was also sexy. King was such a green flag and they were hot together. Uea wasn't afraid to be sexy and King was a bonafide bisexual himbo who refused to be shy about sex and all it entails. They were grown and sexy type of hot.

Hottest Scene-The oil rubbing scene from I Feel You Linger in the Air. Not explicit, but extremely sensual. You can feel the desire and tension in that rub down Jom gave Yai. And then Jom going into his room to rub himself down and relive the moment that just passed??? HOT AF. Personally, I think IFYLITA was the most sensual series I watched all year. The series focused a lot on intimacy and physical touch.

Most Potential-Step By Step. This series had all the makings of a perfect plot but then everything just sort of got away from them. The office part of the office romance sort of stepped on the romance part. There was too much business involved and it made the conflict between the two mains unnecessary and annoying. Also they completely neglected the side couple and made their storyline almost non-existent. The eps were long af and yet the time wasn't placed in the right parts of the storylines and some scenes felt like a waste...even some eps. It was a bummer because I liked all the characters and first leg of the series. JengPat are top notch and I wanted more from JaabJane.

Fave Side Dish-YiwaMarine from Wedding Plan. Ooops slipped some girls in! Gawd I LOVED THEM! Yiwa was such a sweet talker! She was def a smooth operator. That line about her liking being short so she could kiss Marine better????? SWOON! I could totally see why Marine could never stay mad at her and was always blushing. They were just the perfect pair of girlfriends turned wives and I'm sad we didn't get invited to their wedding.

#bl best of 2023 #best of 2023 #sorry i didn't watch a lot of gmm series this year #a boss and a babe #i feel you linger in the air #step by step #step by step the series #la pluie #moonlight chicken #wedding plan #wedding plan the series #bed friend #bed friend the series #the eighth sense #the new employee #kiseki: dear to me

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gloomwitchwrites · 3 months

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Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), mutual masturbation, cowgirl position, PTSD episode, suggestive themes, canon-typical swearing, canon-typical violence

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Part Eight of Ink & Needle

Simon's pleasure turns to worry. Amelia wants to know Simon's intentions with you. Soap makes an unexpected call.

Chapter Seven // Chapter Nine

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Happiness is subjective.

What makes someone happy? Is it the amount of money they have? Is it the first sip of freshly made tea? Is it the sound of summer rain or the smooth pages of a freshly bought book?

It could be all of those things. And it could be none of them.

Simon knows what makes him happy.

Cracking open a fresh bottle of ink for the first time. The sharpening of the end of a charcoal stick to use in his sketchbook. Johnny’s terrible fucking jokes that Simon pretends to hate but silently loves. And…you.

Simon has you. You are his, and no one can take that away from him. It’s warm under the sheets. Perfect. And that’s because you’re here, with him, just as you’re supposed to be.

Which is strange since Simon hasn’t seen you in three days. And somehow, you’re snuggled up next to him, snoozing beneath the covers. He doesn’t recall you coming over last night, but maybe he had one too many drinks. Maybe it slipped his mind and he was half-awake when you finally arrived back into his arms.

Simon shifts, the bedding moving around him as he turns his face to the left, inhaling deeply. The familiar scent of you seeps into his nostrils, flooding his lungs and senses with peaceful contentment.

This is home. This is where he should be, and where you ought to stay.

Simon sighs heavily, a smile forming on his lips as you respond to him, snuggling into his side. To make room, Simon lifts the arm nearest you, stretching the ache out before slipping it between you and the bed. He drapes it over your shoulders, pulling you even closer to him. Your answer is to rest your leg over his, and for your hand to fall softly against his bare chest. Simon immediately grabs it, bringing your knuckles up to his lips.

He kisses each bone gently before returning your palm to its previous position. You hum softly, the sound pleasing, blood rushing to his groin with his need for you.

This is all Simon wants. This is all he needs. You are in his bed. You are his woman.

Finally. Fucking finally.

Happiness. Simon requires nothing else.

Your fingers draw slow circles over his chest. They trace his tattoos there, following the lines and dips in a lazy, unhurried fashion that lull Simon back into the state between wakefulness and sleep. Simon’s eyelids flutter, then close, reveling in your touch.

Soothed and pliant, your hand travels lower to his stomach. There it pauses to draw little circles, moving back up to his chest and then down again, moving lower to his pelvis, to his—

Simon groans as your hand wraps around the base of his cock. “What are you up to, love?”

Your reply is a muffled giggle, and to stroke him once, twice, three times. Simon’s fingers dig into your skin, pushing for an answer with a possessive grip to your waist. You turn your face into him, lips finding his flesh, brushing against skin as you continue to work him with your hand.

Simon’s eyelids open slightly, and he watches you through his pale lashes. There is a soft, mischievous smile on your lips and your hair is a tousled mess that he wants to run his fingers through. You’re so beautiful like this. And all fucking his.

“I’m pleasing my man,” you murmur, thumb brushing over the head.

There might be sheets covering up the sight of you palming him, but Simon doesn’t need to see to understand your touch. While you’re not working quickly, there is purpose to each stroke, and it’s becoming harder and harder for Simon to ignore the growing pleasure in the base of his spine.

My man is what you said. Simon belongs to you as much as you belong to him. A deep, primal part of Simon flares with pride. He needs to claim you, to fucking ruin you until all you know is his name.

Simon shifts his arm from across your shoulders to over your hips. His hand slides across the curve of your ass, dips between your slightly spread legs to tease the entrance of your pussy with the tip of his fingers. Your little inhale is sweet. Sugar-laced. And Simon lets it rot his teeth.

He fingers slide upward, circle your clit in little circles until your strokes faulter and your hips buck against him. Simon adjusts his hand position so he can fuck you with his fingers as he toys with your clit.

Together. The two of you are together. Your hand continues to palm him, pulling blooms of cum from the slit. While you’re pleasing him, Simon is more attuned to your body surrendering to him, allowing his fingers inside, stretching and prepping that pussy for his cock.

Simon is going to take you. And he is going to fucking enjoy it.

Your body shivers, and you bite down on your bottom lip, stifling the little moan that threatens to leave your mouth. That small sound is delicious even though he’d rather hear you scream for him.

The muscles in Simon’s arms and legs are coiled tight, ready to push you onto your back and spread you wide. He’s going to make a goddamn mess of you.

But it is not Simon that makes the first move. It is not Simon that takes the initiative.

You sit up completely, swinging one leg over his waist to straddle him. You settle yourself in his lap, his cock resting against the inside of your thigh with silent impatience. Instinct has Simon reaching for your hips and thighs, intent on gripping and massaging the skin there.

Yet he does not have the chance.

You are lifting your legs up, bending the knees, resting your feet flat on the bed. Confused at first, Simon’s hands fall away, hovering near your shins. But that confusion quickly disappears when you open for him fully, revealing yourself entirely to his gaze.

Simon licks his lips wanting to taste every bit of your pussy. That stickiness needs to be on his lips and chin. His mouth deserves to worship you, and for you to receive such prayer. You open like a blooming flower, your head tilted slightly to the side as you watch him.

Your gaze is all primal need and wanton lust. It fuels his own desire, charges it to a blistering height. With one hand on your knee, Simon reaches between your spread thighs. You whimper as his fingers run over your slickness. It collects and drips off the tips of Simon’s fingers. Greedily, Simon brings his drenched fingers to his lips, sucking them clean one by one.

“Gonna give me what I want?” murmurs Simon, resting his freshly cleaned fingers on his chest.

“Asking me to sit on your face?” you tease, flexing your hips slightly.

Simon grins. “Breakfast in bed? You’re too sweet to me.” His hand on your knee slides up, grips the thigh, pulls.

You tumble into his arms and Simon snakes his arms around your waist to keep you from escaping. Laughing, you lightly beat on his chest. But you are caught, unable to break free from Simon’s ironclad strength. You submit to him, and Simon flares with pride. Everything he needs is right here.

With your forearms on his chest, you lean forward and present your mouth. Simon eagerly takes your lips, not caring that both of you need to brush your teeth. You smile against his mouth and then draw back a bit. You look just as you did before while curled up next to him, all gentle mischievousness.

With palms flat against his chest, you push back into a seated position. You reach down between your bodies and wrap your fingers around his cock, flexing your hips upward. With just the slightest shift of your hips, the head of Simon’s cock presses to your entrance.

Simon’s hands immediately dart out to grab hold of those hips. In moments, you’re sinking down on him, parting, opening up and welcoming him inside. You’re tight and wet and goddamn perfect as more of him disappears.

The muscles in Simon’s jaw clench, and his left hand leaves your hip to run through his hair. To—

Run through his hair? His…hair.

No mask. No balaclava. You’ve never seen him without it. You haven’t—

“Fuck,” Simons groans loudly as you push down on his chest to flex your hips up and back down on him. You lift, roll, go back down. Again. Again. And again, until you’ve taken every fucking inch of him.

Forget the fucking mask. He’ll deal with it later. Right now, you’re his priority.

Your hands on his chest slide upward and stop at the base of Simon’s throat. You’re not choking him, just pressing on his collarbone, using Simon as an anchor while you fuck yourself on his cock.

Even if you were choking him, Simon could give a shit. Break his goddamn collarbone. Choke him out. He’d love to see you try. You wouldn’t have the strength to do it, but watching you like this above him, riding him and using him for your pleasure is its own sick fantasy.

Simon could get used to this. If this is how you want to start the day, he’ll take it.

“Say my name,” growls Simon, his fingers digging into your flesh. “Say it.”

His dick is glossy, disappearing and reappearing with every bounce and roll of your hips. There is no condom, and that too his strange, like the missing balaclava and the fact that you are in his bed this morning.

Your head falls back, exposing your neck. “Ghost,” you moan, and Simon freezes.

Ghost. Ghost.

You called him Ghost at Riot Room. You called him Ghost when his cock was buried deep inside you. You called him Ghost when your orgasm sent you shaking in his lap, squeezing him until his own end came.

But you don’t call him Ghost now. You call him Simon. He told you to call him that now, and you have ever since.

Your nails dig into his skin. Cutting. Stinging.

“Ghost,” you whimper. This time, there is pain in the way you say his name.

Something is wrong.

Your nails drag away from his throat and to his chest, leaving behind jagged lines of red. Heat flares, but he’s not focused on it. Simon keeps one hand on your hip and pushes himself up to a more seated position. He longer cares or is interested in you fucking yourself on him.

He says your name, one hand reaching for you. There is no pleasure on your face. No joy. There are tears and your eyes are wide open, bloodshot.

The one hand he has touching you sinks into your skin, the flesh melting underneath it like sludge. Simon blinks, not understanding. Why are you melting? Why are you fucking melting?

Simon says your name again, sitting up completely, his arm going to your back to support your rapidly dissolving weight. Because that is what happens. Like ice cream in the sun, your skin disintegrates, and Simon cannot hold on to you.

You slip through his fingers.

“No,” whispers Simon. Then, louder, “No!”

Simon continues to call out to you, almost screaming, his voice laced with agony. It drips from him, but you are unresponsive. Sinking, sinking into murk.

It is growing dark and Simon shoves himself forward in an attempt to salvage the last remaining vestiges of you.

But you are not there. He does not cradle you in his arms. Simon cradles a sniper rifle. All black and shiny. Polished.

There is no bedroom and no warm bed. It is cold, and his breath becomes steam in the air. Simon knows this place. It’s Chicago. And in Chicago, Simon kneeled on the top of a building with this very weapon in hand. At the end of the barrel, in Simon’s sight, is where Hassan and Johnny should be.

But the building is blocked, obscured by a massive figure crouching on the ledge like a stone gargoyle. Simon stares at a skull face. A reaper. Grinning.

It’s teeth and bone face are white and shiny, but between those pearly incisors are flecks of red. Dried blood.

Death grins at Simon.

Mocks him.

The reaper reaches out with one boney hand, gripping the end of the barrel. It opens its mouth, flashing its teeth, then bites down on the firing end. It gnaws on the metal. Chewing, chewing like its teeth are steel.

Johnny is across the street being tossed around by Hassan.

This reaper needs to fucking move. Simon needs to take the shot.

You can’t save Johnny.

But Simon did. He knows he did. This is the past. It’s already happened.

You can’t save him. You can’t save Gaz. You can’t save Price.

Bloody salvia drips around the reaper’s teeth, running down the length of the barrel.

You can’t save them. Just like you couldn’t save your brother. Just like you couldn’t save your mother.

Simon’s finger tightens on the trigger.

“Lt. The window,” crackles Johnny’s voice over the comm channel.

The reaper chomp chomp chomps. Grins.

“The window!”

Dead brother. Dead mother. Dead friends.

Simon pulls back on the trigger.

The shot is an explosion. The back of the reaper’s head blows outward only to become a raging inferno. Flames lick upward, so high it seems impossible. Everything around Simon burns. His back and arms ache, throb, the old wounds opening up to remember just how he got them.

Before the towering inferno is a dark figure. It’s just a man’s back at first. An outline. A silhouette. But he turns, keeps turning, and Simon sees the figure for who it is.

It’s him. It’s fucking him.

The handle of Simon’s favorite knife sticks out of the man’s chest. The man grins, and blood stains his teeth. He wobbles, stumbles, moving closer to the precipice.

This man does not deserve a name. Simon will not speak it, not even silently.

Time pauses in suspense as the man falls backward into the flames. Simon’s back and arms are screaming their own song of sorrow as the nerves in his skin singe. This is the moment. This is the hour. This memory is a brand. A tattoo.

A fucking swamp.

Simon smells charred skin, but he’s not sure if it’s his own or his fallen enemy. The flames rage, widen. Over the crackling of the fire, he hears a gunshot. Then another. Then, another. The sound warps, lengthens, and the flames become smooth like Simon is seeing them through a fogged mirror.

The shot comes again but it’s—it’s not that.

The sound repeats and Simon frowns.

It’s…a dog?

Simon blinks. The flames recede as if suctioned through a small hole. Simon blinks again.

He is staring at a wall. A familiar wall. It’s Simon’s bedroom. He’s in his flat above the tattoo parlor. He is in his bedroom. He is in his bed.

Simon tells himself this. Repeats it.

His cheeks sting and his eyes ache.

A sweeping wave of anxiety rushes up Simon’s back and into his chest, tightening his throat. The sound that escapes Simon is cracked, a choked sob. He leans his elbows on his knees and places his hands over his face.

Breathing. Hyperventilating. Wanting to scream. Needing to rage.

Bravo’s wet nose presses against the underside of Simon’s bicep. Simon does not respond. He does not react. Bravo whines, and forces his way in, sliding his large head under Simon’s arm to rest against his chest.

These episodes are always the worst, the ones that creep up when Simon least expects it. But that isn’t the only thing bothering him. Simon hasn’t relived the moment his entire career ended for almost a year. That memory doesn’t—shouldn’t—bother him anymore. Yet, something triggered it.

He doesn’t want to admit it to himself. He doesn’t want to entertain the idea of why. It’s no coincidence that it started with you and ended with him. That man is dead. Fucking gone. And yet Simon thought he saw him on Monday morning. Just loitering across the street from where you and Simon were enjoying breakfast.

At the time, Simon dismissed it, believing his mind was playing some cruel joke.

Simon’s fingers drag over his scalp and then down his face. Sighing, he finally gives in, falls back against the bed.

Bravo snuggles in close and Simon drapes his arm over the dog’s back. “I’m ace, Bravo. Give me a minute.”

Simon blocks out everything, focusing on steadying his breathing. He doesn’t move again until his hands stop shaking.

Groaning, Simon sits up again, and Bravo leaps off the bed, heading for the open bedroom door. While he aches as he always does, some of the usual pain is numb, like his body is more concerned about his psyche than his physical ailments.

Pushing through the soreness, Simon starts his morning as he always does, moving through his routine as a way to steady his mind. It works…enough. Some of that lingering anxiousness burrows down into his bones. He’ll likely be on edge all fucking day.

It’s Thursday, and Simon hasn’t seen you since Monday morning.

He’s been busy, but he also doesn’t have your damn phone number. If he were still SAS, he’d have your number before you’ve even given it to him. Simon is trying to be better than that. Some things are just habit like when he broke into Riot Room the next morning after you ran from him. Simon was ready to hunt you down and drag you to his bed.

While a piece of him would fucking bark at the opportunity to chase you down, Simon knows better. He needs to do all of this differently. He needs to be careful. To not scare you away or be too overbearing.

In the kitchen, Simon frowns down at his dining table. It’s covered in torn out pages from his sketchbook. After work, he stays up late creating design after design, not particularly liking any of them. He wants them to be perfect for you, but none of them stand out to him, and your approval is the only thing he’s after.

Turning his back on them, Simon glances at his phone, checking the time. It’s still plenty early before he needs to officially open the shop. There is still time for him to go see you.

Simon taps his knuckles against the wood before making a decision.

Fuck it. He’s going.

“Bravo! Get your leash!” calls Simon over his shoulder. Bravo’s nails clack gently against the floor as he retrieves his leash, bringing it to Simon moments later.

The autumn air is cool but not overly so, and the walk to Amelia’s is brief. Amelia is a nice woman, and since going to the pub every Sunday for almost two years, he’s grown to trust her. He’s fixed a few things for her around her house in exchange for vegetables from her garden.

When Simon strides up to Amelia’s front door, he intends to knock, but pauses just before doing so.

It’s early. What the fuck is he doing? Why would you want to see him at this hour?

Bravo whines softly and places a paw against Simon’s thigh. The German Shepard tips his head to the side in question.

“Fucking hell. Fine.” Simon pounds on the door, dropping his hand into his pocket as he waits for an answer.

There is silence, and it only stretches, the seconds ticking by.

Frowning, Simon knocks again. After waiting a full minute, worry slithers into the pit of his stomach.

Why is no one answering the damn door?

Not questioning his next actions, Simon tries the handle. It turns easily, giving way to him.

The door is unlocked.

The door is unlocked and no one is answering.

Simon stares into the silent house. His body and mind slide into that military training, transitioning into Ghost fluidly. He sinks down to one knee and unlatches the leash from Bravo’s collar. Bravo senses this change, his own training kicking in.

In a near silent whisper, Simon gives Bravo your name, tells him to find you, and Bravo does just that. His nose goes to the ground immediately, sniffing everything, moving in erratic patterns until finally backtracking to the stairs.

Simon nods, and Bravo ascends with Simon on his heels.

At a shut bedroom door, Bravo sits, staring at Simon. There is a tingling in the tips of Simon’s fingers and a thudding beat in his chest. Slowly, Simon rests his gloved hand on the doorknob. Turning it silently, he opens the door, anticipation coiling like a snake ready to strike.

The first thing Simon notices is how much this space smells like you. The scent of you rushes into his lungs, and the memory of the dream flares, threatening to pull at his resolve. The next thing he notices is the made bed and how there is no one in the room.

On quiet feet, Simon enters, his boots leaving impressions in the carpet.

No signs of a struggle. Nothing tipped over or seemingly out of place. There is not a thing in this room that should have him worrying like he is. This is ridiculous. Absurd.

It was just a dream. Just an episode. She is fine.

Simon walks around the side of the bed. Draped over the back of a chair is the sweater you wore on Monday. Delicately, Simon slips his hand underneath the fabric and lifts it off the chair, bringing the sweater closer to him.

He gives in to indulgence, pressing the soft fabric against the bottom half of his balaclava. He inhales deeply, shudders, everything in him roaring to life, wanting to seek you out yet equally angry that it’s a garment and not the real thing.

This has your scent on it, unlike the torn piece of clothing he still keeps in his dresser drawer. But Simon isn’t going to take your sweater. He doesn’t need to because you’re already here, back in his life, and wanting him. Knowing that is enough, but it doesn’t explain why the front door is unlocked and that no one answered when he knocked.

Simon returns the sweater to its original spot and starts to turn back toward the door. A muffled pounding sound draws his attention to the nearby window. Frowning, Simon walks up to it, looking out into the backyard.

There, kneeling next to a raised flowerbed, is Amelia.

“Fucking hell,” mutters Simon.

He storms out of the room, taking the narrow stairs two at a time, Bravo racing after him. Simon passes through the sitting room and kitchen toward the backdoor. He’s not quiet about his arrival.

The door nearly flies off its hinges as Simon bursts through it. He stands on the top step of the stairs, hands on his hips as Amelia glances up from her work.

“Simon,” she says, a little surprised yet with a pleasantness to her tone that says she’s happy to see him.

“Your front door is unlocked,” he growls.

Amelia waves him off like it’s not a big deal. “Forgot to lock up after the girls left. It’s only been a few minutes.”

A few minutes. Simon missed you by a few bloody minutes?

Simon bites back all the questions he wants to ask. He wants to know where you are and for how long. He needs specifics.

“An unlocked door invites danger,” says Simon through clenched teeth.

“Oh, I’m sure it does,” replies Amelia, placing one hand on the edge of the raised garden bed. She pushes herself up to her feet before Simon can get to her and assist. “You know all about danger. Don’t you?”

Amelia knows about Simon’s time in the military but she doesn’t know specifics. Simon knows plenty about her though. Not because he looked up information but because of all the times at Dancing Faun when she’d talk his ear off. Amelia married rich, popped out a bunch of kids, and then divorced rich.

Simon crosses his arms over his chest. “I came to see—”

“I know who you came to see,” interrupts Amelia. “She’s not here at the moment. Left just this morning with Evie. Off to Cambridge for a few days.” Amelia brushes past Simon as she removes her garden gloves. “Come inside and have some tea while you’re here.”

Bravo sits patiently at the top of the stairs, tail wagging. Amelia pats the German Shepard’s head politely before heading inside. Bravo doesn’t even wait for Simon. He follows Amelia into the house.

Grumbling, Simon heads up the stairs and into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. He locks it in case Amelia forgets.

Amelia fills the kettle with water and places it on the stove, turning on the heat. Simon doesn’t sit down. He stands awkwardly next to the table.

She notices and nods at a chair. “Sit.” Simon doesn’t. She arches a single eyebrow, and something in Simon obeys without question. Maybe it’s the motherly stare of disapproval, but he complies.

The chair is far too small for his large frame. Simon has to adjust, spreading his legs enough to not feel cramped.

“Why are they in Cambridge?” The question slips out by accident.

Amelia grabs two mugs from a cabinet and shrugs. “If you don’t know, then it isn’t my place to tell you.”

“Amelia—”

“What are your intentions?” Amelia turns around and faces Simon fully.

Simon blinks, completely surprised by her question. “What?” he asks softly.

“I care about Evelyn. And I care about everyone that she cares about. Including the young woman who you’re…entangled with.” Simon understands Amelia’s meaning without her having to spell it out. “I want to know what your intentions are with her.”

Under the table, one of his hands forms a fist.

His intention is to make you his. For you to be his woman. But Simon can’t say that. Amelia is talking about dating. She is talking about marriage and kids and what the future looks like with you.

And in that moment, Simon realizes that he hasn’t thought about any of those things, at least, not in specifics. He’s imagined waking up to you in his bed every morning. He’s thought about what it would be like to have you to come home to at the end of the day.

But for three long years, the only thing Simon has truly thought about, is how to get you back. Now you’re within reach and Simon hasn’t taken a fucking second to even comprehend where or how this will play out.

Has he completely fucked this up? Has he gone about this wrong?

“Your silence is worrying me, Simon.”

Fuck. Was he silent this whole time?

Simon clears his throat. “We’ve only seen each other twice.” It’s a throwaway answer, and Amelia knows it.

She frowns with disappointment. “It’s not my place to tell you why she’s here. That’s for her to tell you when she’s ready.” Amelia sighs. “And I won’t have you mucking her around only to leave her in the mud after you’re done. I won’t have it.”

Tossing you to the side is not an option. Not having you beside him is not an option. Simon will have you. There is no compromise.

The kettle shrieks and, without looking, Amelia grabs the handle and moves it off the stove. “Are we in an understanding, Simon Riley?”

Amelia uses his full name. She only ever calls him Simon.

“We’re clear,” he replies.

Amelia nods. “How do you like your tea?”

“All done.” Simon turns off the gun and sets it down on the metal rolling tray. He takes a wipe to the freshly done tattoo. “Want a photo before I seal it up?” Simon tosses the wipe into the trash can and glances at the man sitting in the chair.

He shakes his head. “I’m good.”

Simon nods and applies the adhesive bandage over the new ink. It’s perfect work, full of color and intricate lines. He rolls back in his chair, removing his gloves and tossing those in the trash as well. The man in the chair, Leo, adjusts in the seat, sitting up.

At the sink, Simon scrubs his hands. Once done, he grabs a few papers about tattoo aftercare while Leo fishes around in his pockets. When Simon presents the packet, Leo hands Simon his credit card.

With the transaction done, Leo exits, and Simon quickly closes up shop, turning the deadbolts and activating the security system. Bravo still snoozes on the couch, completely oblivious to everything happening around him.

Simon grabs the bottle of sanitizer and sprays down the tattoo chair. In his pocket, his phone buzzes. Simon ignores it, continuing to wipe down the chair. The phone cuts off and starts up a few seconds after it ceases.

Again, Simon ignores it.

Again, the phone rings.

“Fucking hell,” mutters Simon, tossing the paper towel into the trash and fishing out his phone.

MacTavish the screen reads. A brief flare of panic rises in Simon’s chest.

He answers the call, bringing the phone up to his ear. “Johnny?”

“LT!” Simon pulls the phone away from his head, grimacing from Soap’s piercingly happy tone.

“Stop fucking shouting,” snaps Simon. He swallows and cracks his neck. “And I’m not a lieutenant anymore.”

On the other end of the line, Soap makes a dismissive noise like he doesn’t quite care. “You get my package?”

“I did.”

“And?”

Simon smirks behind the balaclava. “I use the mug every morning.”

Johnny barks a laugh. “Oh aye, Lt. Bet you do.” There’s a rustling on the other end. “You up for a visit?”

“A visit?” asks Simon hesitantly.

“Yeah. Need your advice on something. Captain and Gaz are coming too.”

Simon returns the spray bottle to its designated spot. “Why are you calling me instead of Price?”

“Because if Price called, you’d say no.”

Simon pauses near his desk, and glances at the screen of his laptop. “Can I ask what kind of visit?”

There’s a pause on the other end. “Best not to say over the phone. And we haven’t seen you in months. Plus, Ma keeps asking if you’re coming for Christmas.”

Simon grins. “Is she coming, too? Bringing the whole family with you, Johnny?”

“Oi. Fuck off,” he laughs. “Expect us on Saturday.”

The three of them visiting him sits heavy in his stomach. They’ve all come individually, and a few times in a pair, but never all three. It’s only happened twice before. The first time was directly after Simon’s forced retirement. The second time was when the tattoo parlor first opened and they came to support him. Since then, Price, Gaz, and Soap have all come by on their own for one reason or another.

But not together.

That same anxiety from earlier in the day rears up yet again. Whatever needs to be talked about, whatever the three of them need to say to him in person and not over the phone, worries Simon. It digs its claws in.

Another thought nags at him as well, and Simon cannot let it go. He’s not with SAS anymore, and if he was, he’d do this himself. Johnny would help him, would do this for him if Simon only asks.

Simon exhales slowly. “Johnny, I need a favor.”

Soap’s response is immediate. “Anything, Lt.”

“You remember that woman I chased after? The one at Riot Room.”

Soap is quiet a long moment before he answers. “Aye. I remember.”

He’s not proud of what he’s about to do, but fuck it. “Can you find out what you can about her?” Simon rattles off all the information he has and Soap remains silent the entire time.

“I’ll find out what I can and get back to you,” he says after Simon stops talking.

No. Simon is not proud of asking this of him, but Simon is desperate. He needs to know everything about you. It’s habit, and while a small part of him tells him it’s wrong, Simon pushes it down, smothering the objection.

“Saturday then.”

“Saturday.”

Chapter Seven

taglist:

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rosedom · 22 days

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for the nsfw alphabet thing, could I get uuhhh...

Kaeya with A, E, I and M? please?

•🪼

"you have summoned KAEYA for the event . . ."

A/N : kaeya >< kaeya ^_^ kaeya （＾∀＾●）ﾉｼ

✦ㅤㅤA = aftercare (what he’s like after sex, what he needs from his partner)

skin-to-skin is an absolute must for kaeya. even if the sex was clothed, he'd need to have your skin against his in the aftermath of it. while he is a sucker for the clothed dom/naked sub dynamic, kaeya needs you to strip down once he's cum and hold him close against you. it's a reminder for his fucked-silly brain that you're there, you're here, and you're not leaving him. the touch, however, is just as much for him as it is for you ! he understands how his partner needs that aftercare, too (aftercare is a two way street, fellas !)

at the end of the day, all kaeya needs is you (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

✦ㅤㅤE = experience (how experienced is he? does he know what he's doing?)

ever since i saw that one person—goodness knows who, i've long forgotten—say that kaeya was all confidence and flirtation until someone reciprocated, in which case he'd become a weak-kneed, blush-y mess, it has been floating around in the back of my mind forever. he's the picture-perfect image of a man so confident and sure in himself only as a façade. when you've finally got him in your bed, he's left unmoored in this new unknown.

his experience, therefore, is rather limited. he knows how to pleasure himself, and he knows what feels good for him—but another person? he has only ideas, only the talk of his drinking buddies to go off of. all he knows is that with you, in such an intimate setting and vulnerable place, he is safe; he is safe to admit that he does not know. not knowing does not equate to a bad lay at all.

✦ㅤㅤI = intimacy (how is he during the moment? the romantic aspect !)

kaeya's romantic flirtations are absolutely not for show; however, they are partially . . . flipped, for a lack of better word. it's not that he's not romantic—always holding you somehow, lips parted on soft moans to whisper about how terribly much he loves you—, but it's that he's silent, in the return of his affection. telling you, "i love you," is as easy as breathing; yet to lay himself before you and dole out your own love, your own love you's—it's mind-boggling.

his eyes—eyes, because he will bare himself wholly—will be looking up at you all doe-like and vulnerable, asking, without words, "really?" and, yeah, really: really really. intimacy is all he truly wants—that, and you, of course.

✦ㅤㅤM = motivation (what turns him on and really gets him going)

mmm this man's biggest turn-on is your possession. he is wholly yours, and he loves the reminder. from resting your open palm against the small of his back to simply threading your fingers into his, so-gently holding the very hands so capable of destruction and harm—he loves it all (and so does his cock. in public or not, the warmth from your hand pressing over him seems to head straight to the ache n' pulse between his thighs).

and, god, don't get him started on a possessive thigh grab . . . sittin' next to him at dinner or whatever, even a meeting, and placin' your palm all broad n' heavy and oh-so warm across the fat of his thigh ! even through his pants, he'd be able to sense all the dips and bumps of your hand, each of your fingers tapping against him almost absentmindedly. you could very well keep your hands to yourself, but the knowledge that you want to be close to him, to remind him that he's yours in even the most mundane . . . mmm. it gets him so, so hard and even downright sticky-wet in his boxers. each time it happens, know that our sweet kaeya's resisting the urge to pull you into a secluded office to really give you a way to make him <3

this one feels shorter than the other ones ,, oh well. remember that i'm writing for my own enjoyment !

#ㅤ✦【 EVENT 】#i love love love kaeya so much <333 #my c5 double-crowned bf #ლ⁠(⁠^⁠o⁠^⁠ლ⁠)#alphabet #sub genshin #genshin smut #sub kaeya #kaeya smut #dom reader

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littledollll · 6 months

Text

Lucifer Morningstar

Lucifer Morningstar x reader

A/n: oof, that title and paring is great, I know. i know that it’s not really possible for this to be biblically accurate and I wasn’t necessarily trying, since the focus is Lucifer’s character, but I racked my brain trying to figure out how to make a hell that was populated before Lucifer even fell. So it might not make a lot of sense, but I hope you enjoy it regardless. In my mind, reader is the only being in hell at that time.

Thanks to @lord6-6fandom and @v3nusxsky who read and reviewed this a bit for me!

warnings: biblical stuff (not really), religious trauma!, slight gore, mentions of a lot of blood, wounds and just general injuries and the care of them, playful banter.

_______________________________

Burning.

Red encapsulated their body, a feeling of fire within and outside of the body. The body, what a fragile thing. How easily hurt, how terribly painful. They wished they didn’t have one. They wished to have freedom, from pain, from all seeing eyes, from all judging minds and all cutting tongues.

Was it truly so horrible? The simple action of questioning their father? Was it deserving of such a punishment?

They wish they could say it was all a blur. A blur would be better. No knowledge, no memory would surely feel a little less painful. But God wasn’t so forgiving, God wasn’t so merciful.

Wings that were once representing grace turned to fire and then char. Leathery, bloody, dark. It was all the opposite of what they used to be… Samael mourned more for their wings than for themselves. They were a great pride. They were perfect, more so than any other angels.

Favorite

What a meaningless word.

Would God not be forgiving to his favorite angel? Though Samael did not want God's forgiveness, they would be bitter over not being given it.

Oh his greatest creation. The most beautiful and wisest of all angels. They didn’t feel all that wise. They didn’t feel all that beautiful.

They felt numb. Not physically, oh how they wished it so, but the pain they were bearing was unexplainable. It was all surrounding. Have they been falling for an eternity? It certainly feels like such.

By the time they hit the depths of hell all feeling was gone. A limp body hitting the freezing floor with a loud, yet hollow sound.

God did not offer them the mercy of losing consciousness either. Of course not.

If they looked anything like they felt, surely they were a moving corpse. Yet they tried. Perhaps it was spite that kept them moving, and somehow (barely) strong. Bloody nails digging into the rough dirt, hitting and scratching against rocks just trying to get somewhere, even if that somewhere wasn’t familiar. Samael was far too prideful to just lay on their back and sink into the ground, although they desperately wanted to.

A pair of black boots entered their view, inches away from their face as whoever it was stepped in front of them. Intentionally this close, they noted.

“You’re new.” Their ears had a constant ring in the background, yet they somehow heard you clearly. “And very hurt...”

Clearly. They thought, but didn’t speak. A feeling told them if they even attempted, it wouldn’t work out either. They recognized the slightest tinge of concern in your tone, which was oddly comforting to hear.

Silence, for only a few moments. They had yet to see your face or really anything other than just your boots. Samael could feel your eyes upon them, studying, observing.

An unfamiliar feeling grew within them. Other than to God himself, Samael had never felt so inferior. They felt incredibly weak, and they could only imagine how it looked from your point of view. Had they become a being to pity now? Some sort of weak, hurt animal in need of pampering?

How the mighty have fallen.

“You are not dead, I know that. So how did you get there?” Again, that concern arised, making them irritated to no end. They were aware your tone should be the least of their worries as fog covers their view, a sick feeling running through their whole body and making their head spin, and their consciousness escaped.

——

They looked grand. To you, anyways. Whoever this was, they looked like a being of grace. Awfully pretty even with torn, bloody and burnt skin. There was a certain glow about them, even in this state. “Pretty as the morning star..”

They had majestic wings that were burned down to the bone and you were reluctant to touch them at all in fear they could stab through you without effort. But you did anyway.

You spoke to them, as if they could hear you. But it helped to ease your mind as you made an effort to clean and bandage them up.

You told them your name, your life story. Anything you could speak of to hopefully offer some sort of comfort, and calm your stress. Talking was nice. You never got to do that. To yourself, yes. But you never had someone to listen, or even look at as you spoke. So even if they weren't truly conscious, it somehow made you feel better.

Bloodied water trickled down your arm as you used a cloth to carefully clean every inch you could. You avoided their wings. They looked more painful than everything else, and you’d much rather help what you can while they remain unconscious than have an awkward stare down.

“I’ve been alone for only God knows how many years... would it be selfish of me to say, I’m glad to see somebody else here?” Calming blue eyes snapped open with a look you could only describe as pure rage. Wrath burned within them all the way down to their soul, you felt it. You also felt familiarity, along with a deep rooted sadness you never wanted to recognize or feel again.

They were unmoving, and those stunning eyes looked right past you, before darting towards your own. “I’m just trying to help. I will give you space if you’d like me to.” Somehow you managed to keep your voice stable, and calm.

The being looked at you, tilting their head as they too studied you, much like you did them a few moments prior. “My name is-“

“I know who you are.” They cut you off. Leaving you to sit there and battle with your own thoughts as they said nothing else, but stared at you. Exactly what you wanted to avoid.

Their voice sounded rough, but you could tell it wasn’t by nature. Probably a result of whatever torture they suffered before landing in hell. After a moment, they spoke again. “…my wings.”

“I was worried about waking you as I cleaned them.. so I was planning on leaving them for last.” A nod.

Was that it? Just nod and go back to silence and staring? You refused. “Now that you’re awake, I can handle that part, so try to sit up.” They looked at you curiously, but followed your demand wordlessly. It was a bit of a struggle, and hugely embarrassing, but they managed.

“I’m going to start now… try not to move.” Your words went clearly ignored because the second your hand graced their right wing it flickered and spread completely, making you jump back. You would’ve excused the flicker as a flinch, honest mistake. But they were obviously doing this intentionally.

“Hey-!” A deep, shaky sigh left the being before you. Disguising what you supposed was a pained groan, and they rested forward against the couch you had brought them to. “I’m pretty sure those things can kill me. Please, try not to do it again without warning.”

You weren’t entirely sure they cared, but it was worth saying.

You tried again, slowly, gently. Bringing the damp cloth to their leathery wings and trying so carefully to clean off any blood, or what seemed like ash from them. Another flicker, but nothing followed. They were incredibly still, you almost believed they had lost consciousness again if not for the sharp breathing they tried to disguise.

Why did it feel like you were grating their skin? Every soft pass of the gentle cloth felt like knives running down their wings. The feeling ran all through their body, but they wouldn’t let it show.

It was an agonizing process, that was probably only twenty minutes long but felt like a thousand hours. The moment it ended they slumped forward weakly, not really in a relaxed manner, but happy to have a break.

You allowed them a moment to just breathe as you went on, getting rid of the bloody water and discarding the cloth you had used.

“…who are you? I’ve been assuming you’re an angel this whole time, by nothing but context clues I suppose, but you don’t seem-“

“Samael, you know me as.” Samael… yes, that was familiar. An angel, God’s favorite at that. But what were they doing in the ruins of hell, looking like that of all things?

“But I am no longer using that name. It is dead to me, as God is.” And you’re guessing that as much of an answer you’re getting if you ever asked, so you didn’t. You had your own qualms about the God you were sworn to worship. After all, he was the reason for your isolation, he was why you lived alone in this barren land. The land of the dammed.

“What name are you using?” “Lucifer.” They had plenty of time to think about it. It just felt right. They were no longer God's angel, barely even an angel any longer. They needed a new name.. a new beginning, a new goal.

“Alright then, Lucifer. You can turn forward..” and they did. Which was surprising now that you knew who they were.

Once again a curious look crossed their face as they analyzed you. Why weren’t you asking? Why didn’t you care? What was so damn important about cleaning them that you had no regard for the story? Not like they would share it, no. Not now, not until they become something more than some sort of hurt animal.

You sat in front of them once again, with a new, much cleaner, bucket of water and cloth.

“I’m very capable of cleaning myself.” It was tiring, and humiliating, feeling so dependent. Lucifer was sure that if they even attempted their whole body would be taken over by pain once again. Moving didn’t seem like the best option at the moment, yet their pride wouldn’t allow this any longer.

“Yes, I’m sure you are. But if you’d let me, just this once..” you were sure they couldn’t. And perhaps making less demands and more requests would go better with the prideful angel, from now on.

“Allow me to do it selfishly then, it’s awful lonely down here and now you’ve joined me. Call it a welcome.” That certainly made it sound better.. they reluctantly nodded.

“Hell is unfinished. So why are you here?” They asked as they stared down at you like a hawk. Watching your every move, observing where your hands went with every touch. “Unfinished doesn’t mean inaccessible. I’m a gatekeeper.” That made them even more curious. “You’re not an angel.” “I'm not. I'm just a gatekeeper.”

Silence followed after that. Lucifer wasn’t quite sure what to make of you. You seemed kind, caring, and horribly lonely. You also seemed to enjoy ‘taking care’ of them. And you didn’t ask. They liked that a lot. “I suppose you’re okay.”

You hummed and looked up at them. “What does that mean?” “You’re okay company. I’m left to rot here, so I might as well take into account that you’re tolerable to be around.”

“Thank you?” “You’re welcome.” What an odd being. Their pride followed them all the way down here, you’ve noticed.

Soft hands, a warm cloth trailed up their shoulders, not scrubbing as much as just wiping, almost like a smooth caress with the intent of cleaning. They enjoyed that feeling. They’d never say it aloud.

You were concentrating on them, so silence repeated once again. But there were no awkward or harsh stares, nor tension. It was comfortable, it felt safe.

Lucifer looked beautiful like this. Their skin clean of all blood and ash, the gashes and cuts already well on their way to healing perfectly.

A knowing look crossed the angel's face as they looked down at you, once again getting rid of the water and cloth now that you were done.

“I can feel your smugness from here.” “I can hear your thoughts. That gives me the right to be smug.” You looked back at them, a smirk had grown on their lips.

“Look at you already messing up my peace..” you muttered. “I think you like me.” You do. You certainly do. Lucifer is quite charming, and very beautiful, how could you not?

“Well, Lucifer. I might tolerate you too, a little.” That made them genuinely smile, and God was it a stunning sight. A bright smile. Stunning like the morning star. They somehow kept reminding you of just that. It’s been years since you’ve seen it.. Eons probably, you’ve lost track. But you’re certain they look just like it.

“That’s Lucifer Morningstar, to you.”

#the sandman lucifer #sandman lucifer x reader #lucifer sandman #the sandman #lucifer morningstar the sandman #lucifer morningstar (the sandman)#gwendoline christie #the sandman lucifer morningstar x reader #the sandman lucifer morningstar

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leventart-den · 6 months

Text

This should have been Sanji's Angst idea for a few sentences, I swear.

I'm still on episode 229 of One Piece so all my knowledge is only from spoilers and fanfiction and that means I know very little regarding Sanji's story. But the few fanfics I've seen about "Germa Sanji" make my brain work.

I just can't help but think what if Sanji had run away when he was little and met Zeff. So he learned to cook, fight with his feet, and was shaped enough as a person into the Sanji we know. But then, about a year before the canon meeting with Luffy and the others, he was somehow found and kidnapped back to Vinsmoke. He was again experimented, tortured and trained into the perfect soldier. Although his emotions could not be eradicated from him, so he is constantly kept on drugs that suppress emotions and feelings.

So these few years while the Straw Hats sailed the seas on adventures, Sanji did the dirty work of an assassin for Germa and the Vinsmoke. And then one day the target that Sanji was ordered to eliminate turned out to be the Straw Hat pirates. Of course this didn't end well for him and here he is tied up on their ship in the middle of the sea with Zoro as his overseer most of the time (hi ZoSan). He caused them problems in the first days, constantly running away and not having anywhere to escape, which ended in constant fights. Poor Usopp and Chopper all this time felt as if they were in a horror movie with a maniac on a ship who was hunting them. The nights were the most terrible times for them. Poor souls.

Although as the days passed, his escapes and attacks became less frequent. The crew did not understand why and were very suspicious of this. On Sanji's part, the reason was that the drugs with which he was pumped began to fizzle out and without a new dose he began to come to his senses. His emotions and feelings began to return and he began to wonder what he was doing and why, no longer being a weak-willed killing tool for his father. He began to remember Zeff and all the "good things". Although with this came the other side of the coin - a terrible withdrawal from the drugs to which his body had become so accustomed over all these years. The flow of negative feelings along with good ones turned out to be no less difficult. Sanji began to feel as if he was literally going crazy and dying. Although, he thought, maybe this is not so bad after all the terrible deeds that he committed and everything that his blood family and those around him did to him.

The first couple of days were the most difficult because his training and the remnants of drugs in his mind competed with his awakening feelings and it drove him crazy. Those few times between the lulls in which he tried to escape and attack, Sanji was no longer a cold-blooded killer, but rather a driven monster. The crew had already begun to seriously worry about Zoro, who at these moments was left alone with him, only being able to hear all the screams and growls of anger and the sounds of a fight that made the walls crack.

It always ended in blood with Sanji manhandled and pinned to the floor and Zoro with another broken rib but on top, breathing heavily into Sanji's ear another "had enough?" And getting no answer, Zoro always dragged him back to the post, tying him up again. He wishes they had chains because the ropes are starting to run low with this bastard. He's strong, Zoro has to admit.

Although as the days pass, Sanji becomes less aggressive and more exhausted and sick mentally and physically. This stirred a spark of concern among the crew. Because when the constant battles for life and adrenaline began to end, they were finally able to look at the situation soberly. Everything about this guy was strange and abnormal. His eyes now had a very different look than when they first met. Not to mention his general demeanor. He even thanked Nami when she brought him food one day and tried to smile. Although it was very crooked and uncertain, like a shadow. It was as if the muscles of his face had become unaccustomed to this emotion and were trying to remember what it was like to smile. At some point, even Chopper, who was very afraid of him, volunteered to visit and check his condition, under the supervision of Zoro, of course.

Everything goes well in the sense that Sanji behaves relatively calmly, even perhaps overly clinical when answering Chopper's questions after learning that he is a "doctor". As if he was used to answering them. This worries the little reindeer. And not only this. What he learns about the condition of their unwanted guest upsets Chopper to the core. He expected anything but this. Awareness of the true situation turns everything upside down. When he leaves the cabin to meet the others, he does not explain anything (doctor's code not to disclose patient's secrets) but asks them to trust him and follow the instructions.

Over the next hour or so, the place where they are holding Sanji (they finally learn that this is his name) becomes more like a room with a mattress and a blanket laid down. A jug of water and a glass and a plate of sandwiches on a makeshift table from a box. They are hanging a few more lamps to make it brighter. Several books are placed not far from him. The ropes were removed although Zoro was now watching him even more closely.

The swordsman knows what this man is capable of better than any of them, he cannot underestimate the enemy. Although the more he watches him and listens to what he says to others, the more he feels the atmosphere is inexorably changing. He no longer clutches the hilt of his sword at every unexpected movement of the curly-browed man.

The Straw Hat Pirates don't know how or when it happened, but Sanji slowly but surely turned from a threat to someone who needed help in their perception and, a little later, a member of their crew. It’s just that one morning, when Zoro came to his shift, he didn’t find him in the room but with Luffy in the kitchen. He was making breakfast with unstable hands while their captain sat on a stool and silently smiled as he watched.

This was their new beginning.

#sanji #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #zosan #zoro #roronoa zoro #one piece #sanji angst

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qqueenofhades · 8 months

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You know the more I hear about the male loneliness crisis the more confused I get. Why don’t all these articles and videos suggest that men simply befriend other men? Boom. Problem solved. I don’t really see any articles about women being lonely, which makes me believe that women are simply befriending other women and preventing that from being a huge societal problem like male loneliness is, so it seems like a relatively simple solution to focus on fostering male friendships. There’s an odd emphasis on men not finding sexual partners and it being a bigger problem than a lack of friendships or whatever, but if men are lonely wouldn’t it be best for men to start reaching out to each other? I don’t get what a lack of sexual partners has to do with this + why women keep being dragged into this somehow.

That is the inevitable and deeply sad result of rampant modern toxic masculinity, misogyny, and homophobia. The right wing, led by chucklefuck shitheads like Josh Hawley who write terrible books and rail against the "wokeness" of men (aka any man who displays a basic level of care or concern for the well-being of others, and isn't afraid to show emotions) has successfully convinced an entire generation of boys and young men that it's "weak" and "woke" to need help, reach out or be friends or emotionally open with another man (because It Might Secretly Also Be Gay!), or do anything except follow the Fascist Strongman Christian Patriarch model of manhood. In this framework, men can't be lonely, or if they are, they've failed at their task of dominating everyone else around them and inflicting their sexual superiority on a meek and passive wife/all women. According to them, lonely men are just Weak and need to suck it up and quit being a pansy. That's literally what it boils down to.

Even the men who don't directly subscribe to this bullshit are still affected by it, since it shapes the expectations both conscious and subconscious of the people that they meet and interact with in everyday life. It is also a perfect example of how widespread social misogyny and homophobia harms everyone, not just women and queer people. Those are obviously its primary targets, but it's so obsessed with policing and punishing those traits in straight men (especially straight men) that it forces them into these toxic boxes and creates the kind of alienation, sense of thwarted ambition, and ideologically sanctioned supremacy that gives rise to the culture of mass shooters, domestic violence, and other such outbreaks of institutionally toxic masculinity. So yeah. The answer to this, according to the wingnuts, is 100% "men can't be close friends with other men, that might be gay and that is bad, and if they're lonely, it's just because they're Woke and don't know that they're better than women and should control them at all times." Until we uproot that and the rest of the vast tangle of pseudo-fascist logic that is attached to it, we aren't going to get anywhere with solving this.

#anonymous #ask

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henrysglock · 11 months

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Mother is God, In The Eyes of a Child

This has got to be my farthest-fetched theory, and its more of a collection of observations that weave together than an actual theory. However...there's something distinctly weird about all this.

It started here:

Max steps on spider egg sacs in Vecna's mind lair, and the babies spill out.

"If there's a spider, you're never gonna find it 'till it lays eggs and the babies spill out"

Then Vecna killing Patrick while looking distinctly like a spider on a web, a direct comparison to those black widows.

And I talked in the discord chat talking with Em for a while like. They. They wouldn't. Right? And I've been sitting here thinking about the last time I said "they wouldn't...right?" So here we go.

"Of course you have a mother. You couldn't really have been born without one."

But Mama is dead...

just like One doesn't exist.

And whoever you are, either you aren't home (which, you're "Terry's daughter" in Terry's home which was decorated for you in hopes that you'd come home 🤨)...or you aren't Terry's daughter.

but wait: Mr. Mom? Perfect!

Mr. Mom...which leads straight to the lab going haywire:

Because of the Mind Flayer, who we know is (most likely) a version of Edward.

And "sleepyhead" is a parent thing...but it's specifically a mom thing, and it comes from the guy who's likely Edward. Why are you, as a man, so distinctly mother?

And so I'm looking at all of his God coding:

And I'm looking at his talk of spiders, particularly black widows, being the gods of our world:

There's also this particular dialogue parallel with Carrie's mother:

As well as Black Widow "God of Our World" 001 and Henry "Sensitive (Gay) Child" Creel, framed this way in back to back shots.

One of them has the rainbow flag and the other's got the black widow spider, makes sense...right? (Sure. Except not really.)

He also has a ton of God coding in his music choices:

Except, when we look at the songs he alone or he and El are overlaid with...Akhnaten is functionally a mezzo-soprano. In the pieces we hear specifically, Akhnaten sings in the same range or higher than Nefertiti.

Which then gets me thinking about the Silent Hill parallels (that Em has talked about here), and specifically this one line of dialogue from Dahlia:

And the fact that every single black widow spider reference regarding Henward/Vecna/001 has been about female black widows, never male ones:

As well as a good portion of his rant being about:

- Being vaguely broken (what's wrong with him is never said) - His kinship with spiders (specifically the female black widows) - Society's oppressive made-up rules - Being forced to pretend (unspecificed as to what, exactly, he's pretending about...all we get is "a silly, terrible play") - Reproduction

Then the fact that Vecna kind of has a thing for showing up as mothers:

And on top of all that...the fact that Vecna somehow lost his dick along the way. Where did it go????????

There's also all the birthing and reproduction imagery that goes along with the UD, most blatantly in the scene where El crawls out of the same hole the Demogorgon came through:

As well as these movies from the ST4 Movie Board:

Ace Ventura Pet Detective: Finkle has a sex change to assume a new identity and seek vengeance.

Let The Right One In: Vampire girl who is really a boy being forced to live as a girl

Sleepaway Camp: Girl named Angela who is actually a boy named Peter being forced by his aunt to live as a girl after his twin sister (the real Angela) was killed in an accident. (Wibble knows more about this one than I do, but I'm staring at Peter Ballard and all of our Angela's parallels to the lab)

Splice: Female Human-Animal hybrid "dies" (is actually in a coma) and undergoes a spontaneous sex change to male and proceeds to go berserk.

Silence of the Lambs: Main villain is a blonde, wavy-haired cross-dressing serial killer.

And then with the parallels to Room (even if it isn't on the ST4 Movie Board):

Plus Will's Alan Turing poster and the castration stuff that goes along with that..and the "Henry" that shows up behind him:

What in the gender is going on here?

#martin brenner. what did you DO.#he wanted more. and soon...you were born.#henry creel #edward creel #henry/vecna/001 #edward/vecna/001 #st theory #stranger things theory #stranger things

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hoodlessmads · 5 months

Text

Dark Heir spoiler thoughts:

Okay some of these are criticisms but please understand I really liked it! I liked it even more than Dark Rise. I’m just an overdramatic person and need to yell sometimes.

These don’t have any particular order, I’m just freestyling -

Reading Captive Prince years ago (and rereading since) before reading Dark Rise made me have an unfair resentment towards James for being basically the same character as Laurent but not as good and that continued here

Will is the second best character Pacat has ever made after Laurent and book 3 might push him ahead

I loved seeing Will use more and more of his evil powers

The best one being where he possesses anyone with a brand and his eyes turn black and he turns into Legion (maybe shoulda turned that off before trying to appeal to Violet…)

Finding out his mom actually was tying him to bedposts and beating him this whole time somehow shocked me because for some silly reason I believed one of the most unreliable third person subjective narrators ever, Will, that she was a nice lady just doing her best. Anyway I love this revelation because it makes such perfect sense, it’s just, “Oh. Of course.”

Violet and Cyprian are both himbos yet Violet is somehow the only character with a single brain cell left at the end of the book

Cyprian drinking from the cup makes no sense after they had a whole discussion in the first book about how drinking from the cup put the Stewards into the Dark King’s plans and made them his thralls and was the entire reason they died, a massacre which Cyprian experienced viscerally, and then he goes and drinks from the cup anyway and oops surprise Will can in fact enthrall him. Cyprian is able to fight it off but that doesn’t change the complete recklessness and out-of-character-ness of it to me.

Violet/Cyrprian is a good ship

Phillip/Visander is hilarious (in a good way)

Will/James is fine but I wish I was more compelled by them than I actually am. For being the main couple, I don’t feel like their relationship has been given the room it needed to develop organically and instead it feels like we’re falling back on physical attraction and a vague shadow of a past relationship in the old world that we didn’t get to see. It’s hard not to compare to Damen/Laurent which by contrast was developed so painstakingly.

Elizabeth is incredible

Visander sucks, actually

The whole Light kind of sucks. The Stewards, the Sun Kingdom, they were all assholes

People with black-and-white morality are truly terrible, aren’t they? And pretty much everyone is like that except for Will, James, and Violet

Sometimes I felt like that fact was really being hammered in on purpose almost as though to make James murdering like 300 people seem less bad (but it didn’t….)

But I don’t dislike James because he murdered 300 people, I actually love villains and I especially am attached to the idea of everyone being redeemable. But what I don’t like is the book telling me I should like James without giving me a good reason or the book downplaying his actions to make him seem more sympathetic. He can have murdered all the Stewards and still be compelling, we don’t need to diminish what he’s done in order for him to be likable

Also everyone in this book except like, Will and maybe Violet and James is an idiot (and I’ll excuse Elizabeth for only being ten). Someone send these characters to Psych 101, they don’t seem to understand the concept of a self-fulfilling prophecy…

Like obviously if you tell someone they’re evil over and over again for their whole lifetime they will become evil

Theory - I don’t think Violet will turn on Will. I think she’s just shell-shocked. She wasn’t really given a chance to take a stance before James Peter Panned him away. Violet knows exactly what it feels like to be told you are evil because of some past thing, and she knows Will better than any of the other characters. And she knows that morality is not black and white (Tom is her brother). She’ll definitely end up in Will’s corner by the end.

Theory - The line of the Lady and the line of the Dark King are the same bloodline and they split off later. Sarcean’s “cataclysmic night together” with the Lady was mentioned not once but twice. Pacat doesn’t waste lines. The child that the Lady had was Sarcean’s, or at least one of them.

Will better figure out how to destroy that collar quick…before they both get even more traumatized. I think that will be one of his main goals in book 3. Or I hope…otherwise it will be hard to develop the genuine romance

I sure hope Will can also figure out how to expel that shadow from Cyprian before he like… dies. Don’t do that to Violet D:

So, I’m not a huge fan of YA in general (outside of YA anime and manga which for some reason hits different). I used to like it a lot, it used to be most of what I read. I grew up reading series like Redwall, Darren Shan, Demonata, Pendragon, and so on. But I’ve grown out of the genre (I’m 27). Not every adult does - one of my best friends who is a year older than me still really enjoys YA. But because I don’t like YA, I think my enjoyment of Dark Rise/Dark Heir is influenced and my criticisms may be unfair.

But I find that with fantasy series like this, I the books really need to be longer. Or there needs to be more of them. I feel like Dark Rise has so many moving pieces, enough characters that there could be a trading card game (and there are literally collectible cards), so many different magical artifacts and magical powers, an entire magical old world beneath the semi-magical 1820s Europe world to develop, and also by the way a whole story that took place 10,000 years ago that has to be told at some point. I find myself feeling like all these different elements are being introduced and moved on from too fast and I wish they were all given more time to breathe. I think that’s part of why the relationship between Will and James feels a bit rushed to me. I don’t know if the short length of the series was Pacat’s choice or an editor’s, though. I don’t feel like Captive Prince had this issue because there were no supernatural elements, the cast was much smaller, and the plot was comparably simple so a lot of it got to be characters just talking to each other, which was great, and the world building was accomplished mainly through these interactions. The plot and world of Dark Rise is much larger in scope but the page count is the same (a little longer maybe).

So wait who is Mrs. Duval

Why did Ettore leave the Stewards anyway? Other than the obvious, which is that they suck

Where was Grace during the whole ending scene? Wasn’t she there but just not saying anything. As this total calamity befalls her only remaining friend group she finally has seen too much and just nopes out and is busy making tea in the corner or maybe popcorn

I do really like Cyprian btw in spite of thinking his moral code is shitty. Gave Violet a chance but sold Will for one corn chip… I see how it is (okay that’s not fair but you know what I mean, he has flaws)

It sounds like I’m in the majority when I say that I still don’t like Devon - I saw that theory about him being the final big bad and I’m so on that train. I think he’d make a good enough final villain. I agree there is something predatory about him and Tom. I don’t necessarily think Pacat wants us to root for them as a couple, though. There were better ways to pull that off if that was the intent.

Not to repeat myself but Phillip was such a pleasant surprise. Like who is this fruit and how did he get here

So next book, I hope (assume) we get to see the rest of the old world story filled in so we can understand where it all went wrong for Sarcean and also the exact nature of his relationship with Anharion because so far it’s been quite vague (intentionally I assume). Like….. you know….. did he agree to put on the collar?

The tricky thing about this series is that once the reader learns that Will is the Dark King, it’s hard to maintain any sort of external tension. Right? It’s hard to feel afraid of the forces of the Dark when the protagonist has total effortless control over them just by virtue of who he is. Will can literally just be like, “No, don’t” and everything’s fine. He did just this at the end of Dark Rise. I find the way Dark Heir seems to end with their “only hope of stopping the Dark army” destroyed to be pretty unconvincing. Why on earth would Sarcean create a destructible object that is the only way of controlling his own army? Of course Will should be able to control them with his will alone. If he can control Shadow Kings and make them die with his words alone, why didn’t he try yelling at the shadow army to stop trying to possess people? This doesn’t make sense to me. And if people become Returners through his magic, shouldn’t he be able to exert some control over their existence the way he does with the branded? Pacat has done a good enough job at getting us to know Sarcean (an extremely good job btw) so as to make the destroyed brand plot point unbelievable. Anyway…

Instead, the tension in Dark Heir is almost entirely internal or realized in character relationships rather than physical threats. The tension is between Will and himself, and between Will and his friends. (There are tensions between other characters but focusing on the main plot here.) The possibility that they might find out and abandon him, and the possibility that he might actually be as nasty of a guy as Sarcean was, the slim chance that he might learn something that makes him go, “You know what, I agree with my past self after all.”

Now that everyone has found out who he is, that particular source of tension has sort of evaporated, so now in book 3 Pacat has to find a way to make Will’s conflict with himself and his friends compelling enough to carry us through 450 pages (I don’t expect this will be difficult). What I see as the problems now are 1) what was Sarcean actually planning and how did he plan on getting Will (himself) to fall in line with them (this was a question in Dark Heir as well but now it’s bigger), 2) how is Will going to destroy his own (Sarcean’s) Dark artifacts so he can free James, and 3) Can he convince anyone to ever love him (oh no ouch).

If I had to rank these books at this stage I’d probably give Rise a 3.7 ish…. and Heir a 4.2. I’m holding out for Dark King to be a 5 or close. (I don’t know what the actual title will be, I’m just guessing lol.) I definitely think Dark Heir is an improvement over Dark Rise since I always thought the most interesting part of the latter by far was everything that happened once Will learns he is the Dark King at the very end.

“Are we going to talk about the magic pseudo-sex scene—“ No and I hope we never will

#dark rise #dark heir #cs pacat #dark heir spoilers #will kempen #will is the beEEeEeSsst #let me know what you think

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sanctaignorantia · 1 month

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I thought again... I imagined that Armand had let Daniel live his human life "in peace" because he wanted to. In the books Armand wanted Sybelle and Benji to have a normal, perfect human life while he looked after them like a guardian angel, so putting that on Daniel didn't seem absurd. But then comes the part about Marius. Things with Sybelle and Benji get terrible because Marius seems to me to be good at fucking things up for Armand and that's what he does. So when I look at the series and the possibility of having Marius there I think about what we could have.

You can say that Daniel is Armand's only son but look at what the show has done with Claudia. In the books Claudia is sort of turned by Louis and Lestat, one drank her to the brink of death and Les finishes the job and that didn't happen in the series. In the books Madeleine is transformed entirely by Louis and in the series it will be Louis and Claudia... So what's to stop Marius turning Daniel but Armand being responsible for the excessive exchange of blood between them (the means by which Marius usually turns people)? With that justification that the creature hates the creator, Armand would be free of such a "curse" and could still hear Daniel's thoughts. And Daniel would still be part of him...

I know it's a change that seems to be very painful, but they've already changed other things in the series that something like this wouldn't shock me. If it's to establish a "healthy" relationship, then ok.

And besides (adding my deepest opinion🚨) as much as I hate the fact that Marius stayed with Daniel to "cure" him, it's still canon in the books and something that will unfortunately be carried over into the series somehow. So keeping Marius as Daniel's creator once the transformation can be a means of "healing" for Daniel would "still make sense".

To explain further, in the books Daniel is already altered as a human and so we thought that the Dark Gift would finally give him what he wanted, but when we find out that his mind is even worse it's painful. So let's assume that Daniel goes mad as a human after meeting Louis and Armand (still according to the books) but the guilt that Armand carries (in the books) for Daniel's madness will be carried over into the series during the period when Daniel was still human. So to cure Daniel (in the series) Armand will have Marius' help and this will end in Daniel's transformation. But if in the series Daniel remains unstable even after his transformation then it will be UNIQUE for Armand to take care of him, which I think should have happened all along in the books because it would help Armand to grow up.

#iwtv amc #Amc armandaniel #armandaniel #armand x daniel #Armand #Daniel Molloy #Devils Minion #interview with the vampire

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notsoattractivearenti · 1 year

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Between Us (Christian Pulisic x Fem!Reader)

Song Inspo: They Don't Know About Us - One Direction

WC: 1.2K

Warnings: curse words, a little angst but mostly fluff

A/N: I miss Christian (I mean, don't we all?) so I decided to write a fluff for him 🥹💕 Hope you all enjoy, and I'd love to hear your thoughts through reply/reblog/ask! 🫶 Special thanks to @ariddletobesolved for proofreading 💖 Feedbacks would be highly appreciated!

–––

“They don’t know how special you are

They don’t know what you’ve done to my heart

They can say anything they want

‘Cause they don’t know us”

–––

Since the moment your relationship with Christian went public, you’ve been receiving a lot of mixed reactions. Some are positives, and some are negatives. Dating a famous professional athlete was never in your book, but somehow you met and fell in love with him despite his job and status. Besides, you can’t really control who you love can you? You didn’t care that he’s famous nor will you ever, because it didn’t matter. What truly matters is the genuine love shared between the two of you.

No, you’re not a celebrity. You weren’t famous at all. You work nowhere near the media or even football. You’re just someone ‘ordinary’. You randomly met him at a bar in London during a night-out with your girlfriends – one went to a college in London, and you happened to be in the city to visit her. You knew who Christian was but you didn’t want to freak him out so you tried to act cool, and before you knew it he asked for your number. From there on, the rest is history.

Days before you two went ‘Instagram official’, you were already so anxious about how people were going to react. You know he has a lot of fans, and they could be pretty ruthless with their comments. They basically could get away with anything, since they could create any persona they wanted and stayed anonymous on the internet, which was and still is terrifying to even think about. You didn’t want to hear people talking shit about your relationship, but at the same time you knew it was sort of inevitable. You two wanted to keep it lowkey, but didn’t want to hide it from the world. After long talks and careful considerations, you both decided to go public.

You couldn’t be grateful for the support people have given you, but negative comments about you and your relationship sometimes would mess with your head.

“What the fuck does he find attractive about her??? cause I don’t see it!! 🤮”

“they’re not gonna last. mark my words”

“yikes... everyone knows Pulisic deserves better”

“😒 how they got together in the first place I’ll never know”

“she’s so basic... lmao puli open ur fucking eyes 🙄”

“another episode of clout-chasing girlie dating a footballer”

“if he does terrible on the pitch now u know why”

You’ve been trying to ignore those awful comments, but since you’re not used to the attention, it was hard not to think about those things they’d said. You knew they’re nothing but strangers on the internet, but you couldn’t stop thinking to yourself: what if everything they said was true? Am I not good enough for Christian? Does this relationship not make sense? Are we not going to last?

Christian has been very protective of you, and he’s told you so many times to just ignore everything. He’s been reassuring you that those internet trolls have no idea what they’re talking about.

“Y/N, love... Stop. Just stop looking at those comments.” He took your phone, locked the screen, and put it away.

“You are perfect for me, Y/N, they just don’t know that. God, you’re fucking amazing! Believe me, if they got to know you, they would take their words back.”

You shrugged and shook your head while looking down, “You’re my boyfriend, of course you’d say that.”

His brows knitted as he let out a sigh, “No, that’s not true! Even if I wasn’t, I’d definitely say what I said. Why can’t you see it?”

“Christian...” You paused, “do you think our relationship is going to last? I mean, I love you...” You were fidgeting your fingers, hesitated a little to continue because you were afraid of how he was going to react.

“But I- I just... I don’t think I’m good enough for you,” you whimpered.

“Excuse me?”

You took a deep breath, still avoiding eye contact, “maybe they were right, Chris. You deserve bet-”

“No,” he cut you off before you even finished what you were saying, “don’t even think about it. I wouldn’t have asked you to be my girlfriend if I didn’t think we’re going to last. There is- hey, look at me,” as he lifted up your chin, your eyes met his beautiful chocolate eyes, “there is no one else that fits me better but you, Y/N. You are my one and only. If anything, you are way out of my league.”

You blushed, trying not to giggle but you couldn’t help it. “Dammit Pulisic, you really have a way with words don’t you?”

He grinned, he was pleased to hear your cute little giggle. “I’m the luckiest fucking guy,” he said before he leaned closer to you, his lips was gently pressed against yours for a moment, then he whispered, “I still couldn’t believe you are mine.”

That man really swept you off your feet. You have never experienced this kind of love before. Every single day with him feels like heaven. When it’s just the two of you, it feels like the world revolves around you – nothing else matters but you and him. He is the only man you’ve ever had late night talks with – well, it’s mostly late night for him because you live in the States and you’re like 5 hours behind him. Hell, you both dropped the L bomb to one another a month into your relationship – your friends thought it was way too fast, but the truth is it wasn’t. You had never been so sure about any man ever, and you just knew Christian is different – special, one-of-a-kind.

Before no one acknowledged you, you felt a lot freer. You didn’t have to worry about how others would perceive you or judge you. Now, people are watching your every move, ready to bring up even the tiniest mistake you made just because you’re dating their favorite footballer. You became very self-conscious, and Christian noticed that. He felt guilty because he thought because of him you had to go through this and he knew you didn’t deserve any of the horrible judgements, but he’s never stopped giving you the reassurance you needed. At one point, he wanted to post something on Instagram to defend you, however you told him not to so he didn’t do it.

“Baby...” as he held your hands, “honestly, I just want the world to know you’re mine. I’m sorry that I’ve caused you any trouble, but I don’t want you to worry ‘cause I’m always here for you. They don’t know shit about us, they really don’t...”

“I know Chris, I know. I just, um... I need time to get used to this, you know? This is the risk I have to take to be with you, and I will eventually find my way around it.”

He smiled and nodded, he understood how you were feeling. “Let’s just keep things between us, yeah? It’s more than enough that they now know we’re together. Who cares, right?”

You laughed a bit, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“I just want you to know... You’re it for me.” He kissed the top of your head, then rested his forehead against yours. “I love you, Y/N. Now and forever.”

Your cheeks turned bright red and the biggest smile appeared on your face. “I love you, Christian.”

–––

“They don’t know about the things we do

They don’t know about the I love you’s

But I bet you if they only knew,

They would just be jealous of us”

–––

taglist: @pulisicsgirl @neverinadream @masonspulisic @swimmingismywholelife @chelseagirl98 @bracedes @lovelynikol16 @thoseboysinblue @lizzypotter14 @mortirolo @masonsrem

#christian pulisic #christian pulisic x fem reader #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic x y/n #christian pulisic imagine #christian pulisic fluff #christian pulisic fanfic #christian pulisic fic

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crepe-of-wrath · 10 months

Text

Sickeningly Sweet Shouta Scarf Saturday

Notes/Warnings: fem Reader; fluffy fluff; takes place in a canon divergent timeline where there was just some nice slice-of-life time after the USJ incident; Mic and Midnight make an appearance

Who had time to eat in the cafeteria?

Your lunch time was far better spent hiding the fact that you were once again staring at Shouta Aizawa, the most beautiful boy in the entire world. He had the most perfect--the most perfect--dark hair. And he was very quiet, which you liked. Loud noises and loud people had made you anxious ever since you could remember. The only thing about quiet little Shouta Aizawa that upset you was that he always looked so tired and sometimes a little sad. You wanted to make him happy.

Your friends thought you were ridiculous. Aizawa was a terrible match for you, they said. Sure, you were both smart and that was a good thing, but Aizawa didn't appear to have much style, whereas you already had big, serious Pros interested in your fashionable and functional accessories and support gear. You were one of the wealthiest and prettiest girls at UA, but you were also a friend to anyone and everyone. He, on the other hand, always went around with his nose in the air, always thinking he was too good to have to deign to associate with the rest of the world. But then he also somehow had those two extremely lame and weird friends, Yamada and Shirakumo, and could you even imagine having to hang out with them all the time (though your friends pointed out that at least Shirakumo was built and Yamada's eyes were pretty)?! Worst of all, Aizawa was so gloomy and didn't seem to have any ambition of his own while you were already always so hard on yourself and wanted to go places. He'd never be able to give you the support you needed! What if he ran your spirits down with one of those barbed little observations of his?

You knew your friends meant well, but they just didn't see. Aizawa was a sensitive, shy and quiet boy who thought carefully before he did and said things. Not everyone needed to be brash and cocksure. And he was very, very handsome, with the prettiest black hair.

One afternoon in your second year you were happily in your own world, working in one of the Support Course studios, when Aizawa materialized in the doorway. When you locked eyes with him, the shock caused you to jam the needle you were sewing with right into one of your fingers, making you yelp, and forcing you to quickly clean up blood, lest you ruin all your work. This was not exactly the impression of competence you hoped to present.

But your metaphorical rain clouds dissipated when Aizawa said, "I'm sorry, you were clearly concentrating. I should have knocked."

(See! your inner voice shouted. He's quiet and polite!)

"It's fine," you said, as you finished putting a power pad on your finger. "Can I help you?"

"I'm having a problem getting the right--I don't even know the word--the right texture? weight? feel? for my binding cloth weapon. Everyone says you're the expert to talk to about this sort of thing."

You two spent the rest of the afternoon testing out different fibers and materials, sharing giggles over what failed, and high-fiving one another when you figured out the right amount of wire to give him just the drape and action he needed.

"Thank you, thank you very much," he said, giving you a little smile. It was the most magnificent and exquisite smile there had ever been, of course.

"I will have it ready for you as soon as I can, Aizawa!"

You pulled multiple all-nighters to make the weapon for Shouta. When it was done, and you were all alone in your studio, you kissed it for luck.

You started in on a second binding cloth not long after giving Aizawa that first one. It only made sense for him to have a second one ready for immediate use when he needed to turn in his weapon for replacement. You finished this one in the dead of night as well, and yes, you gave it a kiss. You would have died if Aizawa ever knew: he would think it was such a silly thing.

After you graduated from UA, your parents and your friends desperately tried to fix you up, and sometimes you almost let your mind wander away from the lovely dark-haired boy who held pride of place in your heart.

And then you would receive a damaged old binding cloth in the mail. You would salvage what you could from the old one, prepare a new one, and give it your secret little kiss for luck before messaging Aizawa to let him know it was ready. He would reply with a time and place for a meeting.

At first, you had assumed these meetings would bring you joy, but they often did the opposite. Aizawa was always so sad. Grief and guilt had turned him into someone who was actually as brusque as your friends has always said he was, although he was still wickedly funny and as polite to you as he was to anyone. Still, you were worried.

So, you brought your concerns to Present Mic and Midnight, who were also clients of yours by now. You didn't feel it was your place to interfere with Aizawa's personal matters directly. You wished you knew him that well, but you didn't.

"I'm concerned about Aizawa Shouta," you said. "I've never--not once--met him to bring him his binding cloths in an office or anything that looks like it could be a home. And I don't think that he is dealing well with Shirakumo Oboro's death."

They considered what you had just said for a moment.

"Wait! Aizawa asks you to bring the scarves to him in person?" said Mic, who looked almost giddy. You felt this was a bit inappropriate, given the seriousness of what you had just told them.

"Of course he does," said Midnight. "Of course he does...I knew it." Apparently something about Aizawa being sad and needing some help was very funny, and you were happy to be on the outside looking in when it came to the joke.

After a few seconds, both of them seemed to realize how improper their reactions were, and they sobered up--at least as much as they could. "Leave it with us," said Kayama. "And thank you for looking out for our sweet little grumpy boy."

You waited for Class 1-A to leave their homeroom--they were all discussing hero names as they streamed out, so you might as well have been invisible to them. After they were gone, you poked your head in, and Aizawa invited you into the room. You acknowledged Aizawa with a bow and produced the familiar box. You hadn't kissed it this time. Apparently the luck of your kisses had run out.

"I'm sorry that this one took so long to produce, but I couldn't salvage anything from its predecessor."

"No need to apologize. It would have been irrational for me to expect you to have a new one prepared right away."

The new scar under his eye looked very painful. (And hot! Don't forget hot! said the wildly inappropriate voice in your head.)

"I'm sorry you got hurt," you said.

"Thanks, but it's part of the job."

You were both holding an end of the scarf box. Had your hands ever been this close? Why had you never noticed how large and strong his hands looked? (Think of how it would feel if he held you! said the unhelpful, inappropriate voice.) The air around you suddenly felt very, very heavy and you knew you had to leave before you embarrassed yourself.

You released the box, backed up a couple of steps and were about to turn around when you met resistance. Two hands, which revealed themselves as belonging to Nemuri and Hizashi, pushed you back toward Aizawa and closed the door to Class 1-A behind them.

Shouta looked like he was considering jumping out of one of the windows.

"I've had to watch this pining silliness for years now! I can't take it anymore!" shouted Mic.

Much more softly--which underscored how deadly serious he was--he added, "One of you better say something now, or I will."

Kayama's voice floated into your ear: "That's a promise, sweet thing."

You and Shouta just stared at each other, like terrified deer transfixed by light.

"Would you like to go to a park?" you blurted out, your nerves causing you to project at unexpectedly high volume. "Maybe sit somewhere nice and quiet? I could do some knitting while you mark your papers?"

Aizawa tried to hide his blush behind the binding cloth he was already wearing. You felt your own face heat up and sweat start to form. If you weren't so frightened of the twin cupids Midnight and Mic, whose hands were still pressed firmly into your back, you would have turned and run.

Fortunately you didn't, because the most beautiful boy you had ever seen or would ever see ignited his Erasure, which his two friends correctly interpreted as a GET OUT gesture and then, when the door was closed and it was quiet and you two were alone, softly said, "Yes, we should go to a park."

Shouta walked up to you with a small, shy, sincere smile that peeked out over his scarf. You decided you'd have to figure how to slip a kiss to the scarf that was still in its box sometime later. He slowly took your fingers one by one until he was finally holding your hand. Then, he led you out of the room.

Maybe you were just being hopeful, but you swore his eyes looked less sad.

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta #bnha aizawa #aizawa fluff #mha fluff

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