#yes yes we would call this a toxic trait | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dwindlinghaze · 10 months

Note

helloo can i request a fic for introvert!reader with extrovert!remus lupin whos head over heels for her <3

yes u can darlin <3 🫧🫧 i sort of wrote this into a whole new story but i hope you like this one ☁️🌸🩷🤍

everytime

(remus lupin x reader)

contents : fem reader, toxic friendships, kissing, fluff !! not proofread

　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

the door slammed open, revealing three young witches with their hands full of shopping bags. you knew they were going to hogsmeade together, but a part of you wished they had invited you.

they're your roomates and friends.

you couldn't go as far as calling them your true friends because they don't involve you much in their group activities.

they go on picnics together, shopping for pretty dresses in hogsmeade, having brunch dates, going to the movies.

a part of you wished you're there, being together with them and just fitting in. but the other part of you were thankful as for they're not inviting you because you would feel left out anyways.

it was better to be left out, and only you know it, rather than being left out with other people knowing.

maybe it wasn't their fault. elina is pretty, smart, bright and outgoing. adrienne is cheerful, energetic, and sociable. cassie is ambitious, intelligent, and talkative. you laughed bitterly to yourself, realising that they all have similar traits- all really easy to talk to and would always have an on going conversation.

you couldn't even hold a conversation for more than four minutes. it feels like your fault now.

you sit alone the morning after. you usually sit with your 'friends' for breakfast, but you were hurt from yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. it was tiring, you needed break.

which caught the attention of a young gryffindor boy, sitting at the opposite end of the table.

remus lupin always thought you're the most beautiful person he ever saw. you two never talked, there's no reason to.

only his longing stares are the closest thing to interaction.

he thought you're beautiful. not the kind of beauty in magazines or billboards, but the kind of beauty that spreads through a field of mystical flowers. a kind that shines golden in daylight and a night fairy at late.

he saw the way you chew on your breakfast gloomily. he wondered why. you weren't spotted with your usual friends. you were just there. alone.

you would think of yourself as pathetic, but remus doesn't. he would never. he saw an angel-like soul that nobody's good enough to know. nobody's smart enough to notice.

he frowned when he saw you wiping away a tear before you got up, exiting the packed hall.

"frowning moony is not a safe moony," james said, quirking his eyebrows up.

"it's y/n, isn't it?" sirius questioned. the handsome man noticed how remus has been distracted from reality lately. he noticed how remus basically looks at you with heart eyes everytime.

"she looks sad today," remus noted, feeling an overwhelming sense of worry flooding him. it was funny to think about actually, you two never spoke a word to each other yet remus is worrying as if you're his.

"talk to her," james urged. "it's been- what was it? years of pining, you should make a move first because we all know she won't."

"i can't- y'know, my condition," remus huffed.

"she won't mind."

"how'd you know?"

"because- she is her...?" sirius said. "give it a try moony, if she doesn't love you with your condition then she doesn't deserve you, but if she does, it's worth it."

"right..."

that evening you sat down staring at an open window, catching your breath. you had been crying. you don't know why you're being so sensitive lately especially since your friends are always like this. why are you taking it so personal now?

you let the wind hit your face, drying your tears up with the cold breeze.

remus was on his nightly patrol around the castle. he's a prefect. that's how he heard a sniffle down the hall, his vision met with the most enchanting sight.

he walked slowly towards you, not wanting to scare. "hey... you alright?"

you turned around abruptly, wiping away the tears on your eyelashes. "i'm sorry for being out late."

"i'm not going to report you to professor mcgonagal, are you alright?" he asked once more.

"yeah, i'll be heading back to my dorm now," you collected yourself. the quiet footsteps didn't go unheard by you. remus was following you to the dorms.

"don't want filch to get you, i'll walk you there," he smiled a generous smile.

then silence fell between the two of you, only for remus to break it. "i know we're not friends but you can talk to me about it if you want, you can trust me," remus took hold of your upper arm, caressing it gently.

"thanks," was the only reply. you cringed at how short it sounded and he probably thinks you're rude and cold which is the opposite of who you are. your words aren't the best representation of yourself.

remus knew you were an introvert, hiding away from crowded rooms whenever you can. you never go to the parties his friends held. he knew you prefer reading to revelling.

he understands, he was once just like you. but with the help and support of his friends, he feels more comfortable in expressing himself now.

"will i see you tomorrow?" remus asked once you were inside the gryffindor common room.

"yeah, thank you- for not turning me in," you sent him an awkward smile.

the next day, you weren't in a better state either. you found out that cassie was talking horrible things about you with some slytherins. you weren't surprised. it was just your nature to constantly be disrespected by them.

remus saw you again that very day. your eyes were watery and your fingers were shaking.

he quickly ran up to you, his heart breaking into a million pieces. how dare someone did this to you?

"honey, you okay?" remus said, looking at you with the fondest eyes.

you almost cried again, hearing how someone actually asked you if you were okay. you shook your head in response.

"talk to me, we're friends," remus said softly. in reality, you two aren't technically friends. you only met face to face twice.

"we're friends?" you asked, feeling unsure.

"we are. from now on. now tell me who did this to you?"

"oh remus i can't," you shook your head.

"okay... but you can talk to me about anything okay? it doesn't have to be important. that's what friends are for," he smiled.

and oh when you smiled back, was like heaven to him. you looked like an ethereal angel with that divine smile and that archangelic face. he might as well fall in love right then and there.

the sparkles in your eyes that hold such loneliness and hope is what he calls beauty. the way you smiles even when you're sad just to assure him that you will be okay is heart warming. to him you weren't just beautiful for something as temporary as your face. you're beauty hides beneath that broken heart of yours, that delicate soul you have.

you opened up after a while, you feel you can trust remus. he is a calm and caring person. the way he asks 'how are you' every morning since. he wrapped his arm around your shoulder because he doesn't want to lose you in the sea of students. he cuts your breakfast so you can eat them easier. he reads to you softly when you cried again because of your friends.

he didn't know how much this has helped you to be okay again. how much you adored him for everything he does, even the questionable ones. you didn't care.

"rem, want to talk to you," you spoke, breaking his gaze from his book.

"i'm all ears, darling," he replied.

"you wanna know why i keep on crying?," you sniffed, ready to open up for the first time. "it's because- cause cassie, elina, and adrienne. they keep saying bad things about me- that you probably heard already. i used to always think we're friends, maybe not the kind like- you and me. but just friends... i guess. they keep leaving me out. it's like they don't even want me there." you were wiping tears away now, feeling unsure of yourself.

you never spoke of your feelings like this. never to anyone. how can remus made it so easy for you to be transparent to him?

"oh angel, they don't deserve you. they're too full of themselves to see how worthy you are. i think- i think you're the perfect just how you are. forget about them yeah? we will start a new beginning. you can come and sit with me from now on. no need to care about them. i will never make you sad, promise."

he pulled you to his chest, embracing you in a warm hug.

he made a promise to himself that every week, he will give you gifts and such to remind you how important you are. how much he loves and cares about you.

he couldn't let you waste your tears for your past friendship. remus treats you like a princess. he wants to make you smile. seeing you happy is what matters most because a dream girl should live in a dreamworld. and he made it a mission to make a perfect world for you.

he remembered you saying how those girls never invited you to picnics so here he is, inviting you to join the picnic he has set just for you and him.

"oh rem, this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done!" you sighed, sitting yourself down on the carpet.

"it's nothing! you deserve it," he smiled proudly, pouring you and himself a cup of chamomile tea. your favourite.

there's something sparkling in your wrist. the shine of it glimmering under the perfect weather. you were wearing a bracelet remus gave to you a few days ago. a pretty silver chain with a moon and angel wings intertwined together.

when he first saw the jewelery on the display, it immediately reminded him of you so he just had to buy two of them. a matching bracelet.

god, nobody has ever even given you a friendship bracelet before.

he saw you, picking up the fresh strawberries with your delicate hands. 'what a dreamy girl' he thought 'and to have an angel like her to call my own'

he wanted to kiss you right there. everything was perfect at the moment. the soft honey rays of the sunshine warms the air surrounding the two of you, there's no reason for remus to scoot over closer to your figure. but he did anyways.

"i like a girl, no i actually love her," he started.

your heart sank, you thought maybe-just maybe remus is the one. he pulled you right out of misery in the best way.

remus saw your crestfallen expression, though he continued, "she makes my heart jump. she's the girl i've been in love with for a long time, i wanna go wherever she goes."

you forced a smile at him, munching on your strawberry that suddenly turned sour.

"she gets sad often, but that doesn't stop her from taking care of the people around her, and herself. she's smart and wise. she inspires me actually. everytime we say goodnight, i go to bed and sleep happily. dreaming of happy thoughts because when she's around, there's no negativity."

"i love her- y/n," he said, hinting at the way he emphasised your name.

"can i know who she is?" you asked shyly.

"can you guess?"

"i don't know..."

"well, i see her everytime," remus said, a smile playing on his lips.

"you see a lot of people everyday," you replied.

"i said everytime not everyday," he chuckled.

"that's not possible!"

"it is actually. i could never get tired of her. anyone is crazy if they do," he shook his head. "okay.. she smells like the most cosiest bakery in town."

"i don't think i know anyone that smells like a bakery."

"of course you don't, darling," remus said, cupping your cheeks. "'cause it's you. i'm in love with you,"

"wha- me?" you knitted your brows. he caressed them away.

"yes you, it's obvious actually. i thought you knew," remus chucked. "i don't have matching bracelets with anyone else, i never go on picnics, i never crochet someone a sweater before, i could go on but i want to hear what you have to say."

"i love you too, it's inevitable," you said, rubbing your cheeks further on his palms.

"can i kiss you?" he asked. he always considered himself a gentleman and he will be the most gentlemanly when it comes to you.

you responded with a soft nod, then he pressed his lips against yours. slowly but surely, he felt you melting in the kiss and god does that feel way more magical than the daydreams he had about this. his tongue manoeuvred its way inside your mouth, meeting yours in a soft touch that sent shivers down your spine. he loves the way you taste, licking the remnants of strawberry juice in your mouth.

he placed his hand on the back of your head while the other wrapped itself around waist, making you impossibly closer to him.

you didn't know how long that lasted but when you pulled away, the both of your cheeks were bright red and the smiles couldn't be wiped away.

#remus lupin x reader #character x you #x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin x reader fluff

2K notes · View notes

charmandabear · 2 months

Text

Office Hours - Chapter Six

Summary:

Astarion surprises you with a night at the theatre that doesn't go quite according to your plan.

Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4.7k Tags/Warnings: rough/angry sex, hair pulling, emotional manipulation, dubcon, bad BDSM practices, angst, daddy kink, reminiscent of Ascended!Astarion, discussions of domestic abuse (in Taming of the Shrew)

Hi. Hello. My sweets. My darlings. This is it. The chapter where you absolutely must mind the tags. Just know that I won't take you anywhere that we won't be able to come back from. Know that I, too, am an absolute baby when it comes to intense subject matter in fics. But I want you to take care of yourselves and your hearts. As always, shoot me a message if you'd like more specifics.

Photo credits: Zaria for Green Pussy Suit Astarion and Nephi Garcia for the incredible dress.

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

“In the library? Babes, are you insane?” Shadowheart's voice reaches a pitch you’re fairly sure only dogs can hear. You curl your knees into your chest and cover your face in your hands, feeling the exact appropriate amount of shame.

“I know, I know. All logic goes out the fucking window around him. All I can think is ‘mm, good dick makes brain go brr.’” You let out a frustrated sigh into your hands.

“Do you want to get fired?” She pulls your hand from your face so you can't hide from her pointed stare.

“Oh trust me, I ran about forty different scenarios of that happening through my head on the drive home.”

“Did you, now? And in how many of these did he also get fired?” Shadowheart presses, knowing how your anxiety can get out of hand.

“Like, two,” you groan and drop your head back onto the couch cushions. “I don't know what comes over me. I feel like I can't tell him no.”

“Wait, wait.” Shadowheart grips your knee, suddenly worried. “You can't tell him no as in it feels too good to stop? Or as in it doesn't feel safe to say no?”

“Nine hells, no, the first one!” you respond, horrified. She squints at you and you squirm under her gaze until you’re finally more truthful, both with her and yourself. “Well, I mean, mostly. Like it's not like that. But like also not not like that, you know?”

“I can assure you I do not,” she says in a flat voice, not interested in joking around. You sigh dramatically, trying to find the right words to describe how you feel.

“Like. Okay. Am I fully consenting to everything we do? Yes. 100%. Oh gods, yes.” Your cheeks tinge pink even thinking about it. “But like… am I going against my best judgment? Do I feel like I should say no? Does part of me kinda wish I would say no? Like… maybe?”

“Tav, that's not okay. You need to talk to him about this.” Shadowheart’s voice is soft with genuine worry. Which is ridiculous, because she’s focusing on the wrong thing.

“No, see, that's the thing. It's not actually a him issue, it's a me issue. Like there's something wrong with me, I see his most toxic traits and suddenly I'm like a horny teenager!” Your voice increases in pitch as you grow more hysterical. “How am I supposed to call him out on it when the only words that will come out of my mouth are ‘yes daddy, more please’?”

“Is there anything redeemable about him at all? Besides being good in bed?” She leans back, taking a sip of her wine and fixing you with an incredulous look.

“I mean… yeah. He’s witty, and bantering back and forth with him is fun. He’s incredibly smart, as loath as I am to admit it, and I like hearing his ideas on things, especially his interpretation of Shakespeare’s text.” You don't even notice the smile growing on your face, but Shadowheart does. “And he’s got this unexpectedly soft side. Like he seems cold and aloof on the outside, but he cares, deeply. About his students, about his cat, about-”

“About you?” she interjects, and your smile falters.

“I don't know, Shade,” you say quietly, almost ashamed to look her in the eye. “I think so. I hope so. But it's not like we've been seeing each other for that long, he’s under no obligation to feel anything.” You practically swallow the last sentence, a truth you're reticent to voice.

“And you?” she asks softly.

“Man, I don't fucking know. I just want to keep getting laid and not catch feelings, is that so much to ask?” you whine. She laughs, but you can tell that she's only humoring you.

“For you? Probably.”

***

It's been several days and your busy schedules have kept you and Astarion apart for most of it. Save the occasional tension-filled passing in the hall, you've barely interacted at all. You're almost beginning to believe that your whirlwind affair has come to an end when you find a mystery package at your apartment door.

It's made out to you with no discernable return address. You bring the box into your apartment while examining it, trying to ascertain its origin. It doesn't even really look like it was sent through the mail, it looks like it was dropped off.

You take out your phone and call down to the front desk. It rings a few times, then a somber voice answers.

“What dost thou require?” His voice is deep and crackled, like some ancient eternal being.

“Hi Withers, it's Tav in 3C. Do you know anything about this package that was left at my door?”

“I have inspected it, and determined it safe for you to open. It was brought by someone claiming to be a friend.”

“Can you tell me anything about this someone?”

“No.”

And the line goes dead. You laugh and shake your head. If Withers says it's safe, then it probably is. You’d trust that wrinkly old man with your life, honestly. You cut open the tape sealing the box shut and lift off the top.

Inside is something wrapped in tissue paper with a note stuck to it in Astarion's immaculate handwriting.

Tomorrow evening The Rosewood Seven o’clock Wear nothing underneath

You let out a small involuntary moan when you read the last three words. You carefully unwrap the tissue paper to find a fabric that looks like it's made of starlight. You pull out the midnight black dress and go slightly breathless when you get a good look at it.

It’s a backless dress with a sweetheart neckline and intricate gold embellishments that almost make it look like armor. It has a lavish gold neck piece attached by several gold chains that drip over the skin. The skirt is made of a weightless black fabric that shimmers with gold as you move it in the light. It almost appears to be cut into two panels with dual hip-high slits.

With a dress cut like this, you wouldn't be able to wear undergarments even if you wanted to.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you think about what he might have in store for you. You're not even sure what's running at the Rosewood right now, but it could be complete trash and you wouldn't even care. You probably won't even be able to pay attention, too distracted by Astarion sitting next to you for two hours.

You feel a pulsing between your legs at the thought. You think of his hand sliding up your knee while you struggle to keep a straight face. Or him reaching an arm around you, gently sliding his fingers into your hair before giving it a sharp tug.

Another moan works its way out of your throat and you follow it up with an annoyed groan. You can really get swept up at the most inconvenient times. It’s not like you don’t have any work you need to do or anything. You roll your eyes as you stalk off to draw a bath.

***

Waiting in the lobby of the theater, you’re feeling surprisingly nervous. The dress, though beautiful, is not particularly comfortable. With all of its various chains and pieces, you needed Shadowheart’s help just to put it on. It helps that she’s also incredibly talented when it comes to hair and makeup, so in truth you feel positively glamorous.

When you see Astarion, however, everything goes silent. You’re certain that he’s posing for you the way he’s stopped to adjust his cuff. The cut of the suit he’s wearing is exceptionally flattering and you imagine running your hands all over the emerald velvet. His crisp white button down is almost sheer and you desperately want to pull him into you by that forest green silk tie.

But you can’t tear your eyes away from his face. This is the first time you've seen him wear makeup, and the simple smokey eyeliner look makes his red irises pop. He’s decided to forgo his glasses, presumably opting for contacts instead to show off the makeup. He’s also swapped out his standard silver hoops for little daggers with a red rhinestone glimmering at the hilt.

He looks up at you the moment you lay eyes on him, or more specifically, the moment your heart starts to beat out of your chest. He flashes you a devastating smile before striding up to you and pulling you into a deep kiss. You can’t even be bothered to care that the other patrons are probably staring as he slides his hand onto your bare lower back, his cool touch sending a shiver up your spine.

He pulls away from you just enough to breathlessly ask, “Are you ready to sit down?”

“Huh?” You’re distracted, too busy plotting a mental path to the bathrooms to fuck him. He lets out a winded chuckle.

“The play. House is open, would you care to find our seats?” His palm is still pressed against your back and you can barely form coherent thoughts. You still don’t even know what play you’re here to see. You just want—no, need—to be near him.

“Um, yeah,” you respond, still trying to get your bearings and remind yourself how to be a person. You let him lead you into the theater, and only once you're in your seats do you realize that neither of you grabbed a program. You pull out your phone to see if you can look it up, but service in the Rosewood is notoriously bad. Instead you just need to sit still next to Astarion, who looks like a dream and smells even better.

He glances at you as your heart quickens again and his lips curl into a smile. He slips his hand behind your neck and lightly runs his finger along the seam between the golden collar of the dress and your flesh, sending goosebumps down your arms. He leans toward you until his lips are almost brushing your ear.

“You look absolutely ravishing, my dear,” he whispers, his breath tickling your earlobe. You turn your face toward him on instinct, your chest heaving as you try to steady your breathing. Your lips hover inches apart, anticipating the kiss, when suddenly a throng of noisy actors come barreling down the aisles. You snap away from Astarion as the cacophony of their shrieks of laughter, calls across the audience to one another, and drunken banter fill the house.

One of them clambors onto the stage and shouts, “For God’s sake, a pot of small ale!” He’s dressed in rags and appears by far to be the drunkest of them all. Three servingmen swarm him with various shouts of, “Will’t please your honor?” He shoves them all away and proudly takes up space center stage.

“I am Christophero Sly! Call not me ‘Honor’ nor ‘Lordship,’” he bellows as the rest of the players make their way onto the stage.

Christopher Sly… you’re wracking your brain to remember which play he serves as a framing device for. Most productions cut this scene because it’s long and completely irrelevant. You just can’t for the life of you remember which play he appears in.

The scene continues with their drunken antics and slapstick comedy as the players address Sly as “my noble lord,” making him believe he’s a king that they’re about to perform for. Eventually they carry Sly out on a makeshift palanquin as the “play within the play” begins. Two handsome young men in preppy clothes enter, holding a book and wearing glasses that aren’t too dissimilar from Astarion’s round metal ones. The one without the glasses speaks first.

“Tranio, since for the great desire I had to see fair Padua…”

Tranio? Isn’t he one of the characters in Taming of the Shrew?

He knows you don’t like this play.

Well, if it’s all that’s playing at the Rosewood right now…

But if that’s the case why not just, like, see a movie?

You shift uncomfortably in your dress and cast your gaze towards Astarion. He smiles, taking your fingers and placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles before turning back to the stage. He keeps your hand in his, absentmindedly stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

You can feel your heart pounding in your ears and you find yourself wondering what’s running through his head. Just when you think you have him figured out, he does something to surprise you. And honestly, not always in a good way.

Maybe it won’t be so bad. You know the creative team at the Rosewood wouldn’t pick this show if they weren’t going to try to do something with it.

But even still… is this text even redeemable?

You sit through the entirety of the show cringing as the audience around you laughs at flagrant displays of domestic abuse. The actors, several of whom you’ve worked with before, are trying their hardest to make the lines playful, but some things just can’t be recovered. Between the forced starvation, physical intimidation, and gaslighting, you wonder why companies even bother performing this play anymore. No matter how witty the writing is, it’s just too out of date to be a good season choice.

When the time comes for Kate’s final monologue, you watch in pain as the actress tries to wink-wink-nudge-nudge her way through lines like “place your hands below your husband’s foot.” She’s young, and you wonder if this is one of her first professional gigs. You get a little sad knowing that she’s probably just desperate to do anything, even if it’s trash.

Maybe you’re being a little harsh. All of the individual elements of the show—the acting, set, costumes, direction, lighting—were quite good. You just can’t get over how irredeemable this text is. Worth teaching, yes, and maybe even taking Act II out of context just for the fun banter and clever wordplay. But professional theatre companies should really just retire this one.

In the Lyft back to your apartment, you decide to get Astarion’s take on the matter.

“Do you think it’s possible to redeem a text like Taming in a modern age?”

He pauses for a moment, continuing to look away from you and out the window.

“I do, yes,” he finally answers. “I think it takes a skilled hand, but it can be successful when done well.”

You sit on his response, chewing it over. You decide to take a different route.

“I guess a better question is do you think it’s worth trying to? Like, what are we getting out of it anymore?”

“Is entertainment not enough?” he says with a laugh. You wrinkle your nose at him.

“Sure, if you’re a basic ass bitch. But I want my art to mean something. And I can’t think of what this play can possibly mean if it’s not ‘shrill women are annoying and should learn their place.’” You cross and uncross your legs, trying to keep yourself decent.

“Last I checked, you enjoy being put in your place,” he says in a low hum and your pussy betrays you with a clench.

“Shut up,” you grumble, and you’re grateful that the dark car hides your reddening cheeks. “It’s different.”

“Is it, though? Ultimately it is a text about two dysfunctional people finding comfort in one another.” His sincerity catches you off guard, and almost makes you angry that he’s been taken in by the propaganda.

“That’s only a valid interpretation if you ignore half of what happens in the play. They’re not equally dysfunctional, Kate literally gets beaten into submission and pretends to be happy about it. Petruchio is exactly the same from the start to the finish, he has no fucking character arc.” Your hands start to shake as you try to keep your cool. You’ve had this conversation far too many times with men who think they can interpret out the sexism by simply glossing over Kate’s abuse.

The Lyft stops in front of your building and you thank the driver as you get out. Astarion follows you, and you’re not even sure if you want him to accompany you upstairs. But you remain silent as you walk past Withers and into the elevator.

“You’re overreacting,” Astarion says once the elevator doors close. “People are drawn to this play for a reason. The text is excellent, and no one truly thinks of Petruchio as an abuser.”

“Are you joking?” Your voice gets shrill and the similarity to Kate isn’t lost on you. “The whole thing normalizes his abuse. The fact that people don’t think of him as an abuser is the problem.”

“It’s a slapstick comedy,” he snaps, his voice growing stern. “Are you going to tell me that we need to cancel the Three Stooges because it promotes violence?”

“Don’t be fucking condescending,” you spit. “It’s not the same and you know it.”

“How is it not the same? Suddenly because it’s a woman in the role it no longer counts? Are you implying that women should be barred from certain types of performance because of their gender?” He walks past you into your apartment and you throw your keys and bag on the counter, not even bothering to see where they land.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying, now you’re just twisting my words,” you grumble, more frustrated than ever by your inability to match his eloquence.

“So use your own words,” he sneers, whirling around to face you. “How is it not the same?”

“It’s because- well, I- It’s different, just- argh!” Your head is clouded by your attraction to him, which has annoyingly only grown over the past few minutes of shouting. You’re suddenly reminded of the smug arrogant bastard that you first met. He lets out a jeering laugh.

“See? You can’t even defend your own point.”

His sardonic cruelty sets something off in you and you angrily grab the lapel of his green suit. Your intentions are a complete mystery even to you, because as soon as you’re within inches of one another, instincts take over. You crush his lips into yours and pull him backwards until you thump against the door behind you. He paws hungrily at the dress, sliding his hand under the slit and around to grab your bare ass. You gasp into his touch, feeling equally frustrated and aroused that he even controlled what you wore tonight.

Your fingers make their way into his hair and you pull hard, breaking the kiss and leaving his mouth open, panting. His eyes are sparkling with a fire that you haven’t seen yet and a low growl manifests in your throat. He smirks and buries his teeth into your shoulder, something he usually asks bespoke permission for. You cry out in response, twisting your hands tighter into his silvery locks.

He unlatches from your shoulder and pushes his knee past the front of your skirt and up onto your bare cunt. You grind wantonly against the velvet as he kisses you with bloody lips. He grabs hold of the delicate chains of the dress and yanks, detaching them from the collar and making the entire bodice crumple and pool around your waist. Your nipples immediately harden at the sudden exposure to cold air and he pinches one sharply between his fingers. Your hips roll into his leg as you groan, fully ruining his pants. He continues to bite around your neck and shoulders, placing little puncture wounds in his path, marking you as his.

You grab onto his tie and push him away so you can shimmy out of the rest of the dress. You’re now down to just the gold collar of the dress and your heels, a look you wish you could hate but don’t. You pull him across your living area and toward your bedroom, shoving him down onto the edge of the bed.

“Thou hast hit it, come, sit on me,” he says, quoting Petruchio with a sinister grin. Kate’s retort falls out of your mouth reflexively.

“Asses are made to bear, and so are you,” you hiss as you straddle his hips, wrapping his tie around your hand until you’ve gripped it up to the knot. Your other hand violently unbuckles his belt, yanking it through the loops with a snap.

“Women are made to bear, and so are you,” he says with a caustic laugh, digging his nails into your ass cheeks. You tug sharply on his tie, bringing his lips close to yours.

“No such jade as you, if me you mean,” you snarl and silence him with an angry kiss. You don’t want to encourage his idiotic behavior, but you’d be lying to yourself if you said this wasn’t a fantasy you’ve had before. You fumble with the buttons of his suit jacket, trying to get him undressed as quickly as possible. You’re not sure if you feel more vulnerable or more powerful being undressed while he’s still fully clothed, but either way you want him naked, now. You get about three buttons into his shirt before you grow impatient, ripping it the rest of the way open and sending buttons flying.

Good. Let him need to repair his clothes for once.

You push him flat onto his back and descend onto his chest, alternating kisses, licks, and bites. Your dull human teeth don’t have nearly the same effect as his fangs, but it just means you get to bite twice as hard in order to leave a mark. He writhes beneath your touch, and you feel a twisted satisfaction at the quiet little grunts and gasps you’re finally pulling from him. He’s rarely this vocal during sex, and it’s only serving to spur you on more.

His groans build until you capture his nipple in your teeth and bite down, causing him to shout and buck his hips up into you. In a flash he flips you around onto your back and he bears down on you, eyes dangerous.

“Little love, do you think you’re in control?” he asks in a low growl, his hand gripped around your jaw. You sneer and slide your leg against the strained bulge in his pants. He hisses and your smile widens.

“Right now? Yes,” you coo, continuing to press your calf against his velvet-covered cock. You grab the tie still hanging around his neck and pull him close.

“If you want it back, fucking take it.”

If I put my hands around your wrists, would you fight them?

He kisses you roughly, catching your bottom lip in his teeth biting hard enough to puncture the skin. He pulls back slightly, a drop of your blood running down his chin and a snide grin. He makes like he’s about to kiss you again but shoves your face away before your lips make contact.

This is the worst you’ve ever seen him—the most arrogant, the most condescending, borderline cruel even. And you have never been more turned on.

If I put my fingers in your mouth, would you bite them?

“Is that all you’ve got?” you taunt, licking the blood from your lips. “Go ahead, choke me, daddy.”

The feminist in you is horrified, but the little gremlin controlling your libido is having the time of its life. It squeals with delight when his hand closes around your throat, just barely constricting your breathing.

“You insolent little brat,” he breathes into your ear, pulling up on your jaw. “I will absolutely ruin you.”

And there will be no tenderness, no tenderness.

“Do it, coward,” you spit, and he lets go just long enough to finish undressing from the waist down. He grabs your still heeled ankle and presses your leg up by your shoulder, stretching you wide enough to take him without any prep. You gasp as he fills you, the stinging pain outweighed by the gratification of finally feeling him inside you.

The only thing that I ask, love me mercilessly.

He sets a punishing rhythm, one knee on the bed and the other foot still firmly planted on the floor. He bottoms out with each long thrust and you grab hold of his hair to brace yourself. He winces with the pain but doesn’t slow down, and your moans grow high and loud as he continues to furiously pound into you.

“Gods, fuck, Astarion,” you keen, your desire coiling in your belly and threatening to explode. “Keep going, daddy, fuck me please.” He grunts with the effort and your dirty talk seems to be having an effect as his pace falters. You jerk your hips up into him, chasing your orgasm, until finally it barrels through you like a runaway train. You pull on his hair as you come and that sets off his, his pulsing cock pressing against the clenching walls of your cunt.

He stays deep inside you as the aftershocks reverberate through both of you, until the only sound remaining is your heavy panting. He drops his forehead to touch yours, a pleasantly tender moment after some of the roughest sex you can recall having. He starts to giggle and you follow suit, suddenly giddy. He pulls out of you with a squelch and walks to the bathroom to get a towel to clean up the mess you’ve left behind. He wipes you down gently, a surprising bit of aftercare you’re not accustomed to with him. He plants a tender kiss on your lips and you feel dizzy with affection for him.

You settle up against the headboard of your bed, his arm around you and both of you looking at your phones in a companionable silence. After a moment, he lets out a small chuckle.

“What?” you ask, turning your head towards him quizzically.

“I’m just shocked that worked, is all,” he laughs, shaking his head. Your confusion grows and you furrow your brow.

“What worked?” you laugh with him, but something doesn’t feel right.

“The whole night, taking you to see Taming, getting into just enough of a fight to result in,” he vaguely waves his hand, gesturing to the edge of the bed, “all of that.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean?” You pull away from him and your stomach drops. Surely he can’t be suggesting what you think he’s suggesting.

“You get riled up so easily, I thought this might be fun.” He still doesn’t seem to have picked up on your heart pounding in your ears, which is frankly unusual for him.

“Are you saying… Wait, are you saying that you planned that fight? So, what, we’d have angry sex?”

“Of course, you don’t think I actually believe anything that I said, do you? Taming of the Shrew might be well-written, but it’s a rubbish play to produce.” He finally turns to you and sees that you’ve gone white as a sheet. “Oh, darling, don’t take it like that, you’re positively adorable when you’re angry, I couldn’t resist.” He tries putting his hand to your cheek but you flinch away like he’s burned you.

“Get out,” you say in a low voice, unable to even look at him.

“What?” He’s still laughing. He doesn’t get it. “My sweet, didn’t you-”

“GET. OUT.” Your voice has a venom in it that even shocks you. He stares at you in horror until you shoot him an icy glare. “Now.”

Without a word he stands and quickly puts his clothes back on. You stay in your bed, naked and curled under a sheet, until you hear the front door of your apartment slam. With shaking hands, you call Shadowheart.

“Moonmaiden’s delight, did you enjoy yourself? It certainly sounded like you did.” The sound of Shadowheart’s bubbly laugh usually makes you smile, but right now it seeps into your skin like poison.

“Shade, please come over,” you whimper, and the second the words leave your mouth, the tears begin to fall. You don’t hear her hang up, but you do hear a muffled, “I’m going to fucking kill him!” through the wall. You pull your knees further into your chest and sob.

218 notes · View notes

supersoakerfullofblood · 2 months

Text

Why You Shouldn't Care About Theme (as a writer)

"Theme" is another word like "worldbuilding" and "plot hole" that writers put way too much stock into without clear definition. It's often thought to be one of the most important things in your story, one of the defining traits of creative writing, but it can be hard to pin down, and some pervasive definitions are actively harmful to the writing process. Let's talk about that.

A common misconception about theme is that it's the story's "message." Under this definition, a theme of The Great Gatsby would be that generation wealth is a hollow substitute for genuine human enrichment, love, etc. A theme of Hamlet would be to not kill yourself. But this idea of a book's message misses the point of why we read at all. Reading is a relationship between the author and the reader; to interpret text, the author puts their experiences in writing, and you bring your experiences to its reading. In other words, you as the reader create meaning from a story. You give the story its messages. The author's only purpose is to transcribe their worldview and experiences, and the best authors can sway the empathy of the reader towards those experiences. Anything greater than this, any book that moralizes, preaches, dictates, is gaudy, emotional propaganda. Imagine a novel where throughout the book, the author is telling you about the toxic environmental effects of unwalkable cities. While true, narrative fiction is a realm of characters and story, not essays. Readers pull meaning from a novel because they think and feel about a character's struggle and relate it to their own. So a message about The Great Gatsby is that generation wealth is hollow because we as readers live in an age of unprecedented wealth disparity; a message about Hamlet is to not kill yourself because we as readers have felt pretty down in the dumps sometimes and have maybe thought about suicide. But our experiences could be different: if we're generationally wealthy, we might read Gatsby as a celebration; if we have an awful stepfather, we might read Hamlet first as a story of revenge than of introspection. Strong authors make you sympathize with the experiences they've gone through--Fitzgerald himself was a wealthy, popular man and saw firsthand the effects of wealth, and Shakespeare probably felt rough around the emotional edges at times--but ultimately, deciding a text's "messages" is up to the reader.

So if we can't control the messages of our writing, what is theme? I like to think of it as "whatever a text is about," and that about word carries some ambiguity. Is Gatsby about money? Yes, but there's more to that. You can think right now about a plot element your WIP is about, but as authors, we want to find that greater depth. That's what we call theme.

Common writing advice tells you to plot out your theme, that greater depth, before drafting the novel. Figure out that Gatsby is a story about generational wealth being a hollow substitute for romance before anything else. But when you think about it, this is crazy advice. Themes like this can only come from our characters and how they interact with the world, and how our characters act is always going to stray in some way away from our plans for them. Writing that deeper theme, then, is impossible to plan (unless you're the most extreme plotter and have found success like that, then keep doing what you're doing. But you reading this almost certainly are not in that camp, let's be honest). So how do we get there?

Before you start drafting, think about the surface-level "abouts." Don't go deep yet. Just think about what's pressing on your mind. If you want to take a very slight moralistic bent here, do so, but be sure not to go into specifics (that's for the characters to do). For my first novel, I wanted to write about friendship responsibilities, family responsibilities, and friendship; for my second novel, church camp, romance, and evangelical culture; for my current novel, the role of story in culture, honor, familial trauma, and cultural perceptions of gender. Some of these took on moral detail--evangelical culture is bad--but most didn't. As you're writing, your characters will discover that deeper meaning. Again, your characters have to and will by nature of being part of the narrative. Your readers interact with the story, not with you.

In my first novel, I came to the thematic conclusion that too many responsibilities degrade individual identity, but too few leave someone empty; in the second novel, I concluded that evangelical culture places restrictive boxes on what romance looks like, and on how to interact with and resolve traumatic events. But I didn't come up with these--my characters did, and I learned from them in the exact same way any reader would. Similarly, a reader might interact with my characters and come to completely different conclusions. This is normal, okay, and encouraged.

You may also find other themes popping up as you write. In my second novel, popularity and social capital became a huge cog in the machine. Let these fresh themes surprise you, and run with them.

Ultimately, you can't control what your readers take away from your story. Your goal as a writer is to create characters so rich and deep and intimate (not in the romantic sense, unless you're into that) that the reader can bring their experiences to the text and find meaning. We cannot worry about this before starting a writing project, because we can't control it, and thinking too much about it will muddy the waters of what actually matters, what we can affect. And when you start to sense those deeper meanings emerging in your story, run with them, flesh them out, and embody them in the struggles of characters.

#writeblr #writing #writing advice #writing questions #fanfic #creative writing #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writer #bookblr #booklr #reading

284 notes · View notes

folkvangr-seidr · 3 months

Text

Runaway

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x fem!reader

Summary: you end up in a city you hate but maybe the company makes it worth the while.

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: none?

a/n: this is my first time writting for Jenna and english is not my first language so keep that in mind <3

It was 4am and you were stranded at the airport. your flight was delayed due to a raging storm and you decided to stay the night instead of booking a room. you were used to airports by now anyway.

Your job required you to travel a lot. You were a firefighter and you also worked as a volunteer with the IFRA (International Fire and Rescue Association) so yes, you spent a lot of time wandering around airports.

You were training some mexican units and the weather was horribly hot, so as soon as the job was finished you found yourself desperate to find a way back home. You knew there would be no direct flights from Mexico to Iceland in fucking November so you settled for a connecting flight via New York.

That's how you ended up slouched over a small table questioning every decision you ever made.

You knew the weather in Iceland, you weren't born there but it was the place you proudly called home. So you knew this storm could either be over in a few hours or block all the flights for at least a week. You didn't like that thought though.

You looked around and saw a large group of people walking towards some free seats near you so you made the smart decision of getting up and gathering your small suitcase and the book you were reading. You were not in the mood for chatting with strangers and you felt the need to move your legs anyway so you plugged your headphones in and started walking with no direction in mind. You found a much quieter and less crowded corner and you unconsciously sped up in hopes to get there before someone could spot the couple of empty chairs under some burnt lights. You were lost in your thoughts and inmersed in the music until someone bumped into your side, throwing you off balance and making you drop your book. You turned around to see a small figure crouching over and picking up your book.

"I'm sorry" it was a beautiful voice.

She looked at you and smiled and you just froze.

"Sylvia Plath, huh?" she smiled and your eyes became fixated in the small dimples on her cheeks.

You just nodded, somehow keeping a sense of calmness in your words when you spoke.

"Would say it's my toxic trait but I like to think it's more like my biggest flex."

She laughed and you found yourself unable to look away from her.

"I'm Jenna" she simply said, extending her hand.

"I know" you answered meeting her hand in a soft handshake. "I'm Y/N."

She just smiled, not breaking eye contact.

"It's a beautiful name" she said, disentangling your hands. "Now, Y/N, please tell me we can share that secluded corner for awhile?" she sounded a little desperate despite the playful tone and the lingering smile.

You motioned for her to go ahead and she took a couple steps forward before looking back at you.

"You coming?" her smile made you feel warm inside.

You followed her and sat in one of the chairs, ready to pull your phone out and go back to your playlist.

"There you go" Jenna said handing you the book. "Did you get here too soon too?"

You frowned at her shaking your head.

"My flight was delayed" you answered. "When's yours supposed to take off?"

"In a couple of hours" she said tiredly.

You couldn't help but laugh, earning a fierce glare from Jenna. "She looks cute" you thought.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" you said, still laughing a little.

"No, you're not" she retorted with a smile. "So… Where are you flying, Y/N?" She asked curious.

"Iceland" you said with a happy sigh. " But seems like the weather doesn't like my plans."

"Sure" she snorted. "Iceland seems like an amazing destination, though. Business or pleasure?"

"Neither" you said "well, for pleasure I guess."

She looked at you with a weird look, like she was trying to decipher some kind of mystery.

You cleared your throat and tried to explain.

"I live there. Well, at least when I'm not working or on a mission. I usually go visit whenever I have a few days off."

"A mission?" she said, as if it was the only thing she heard.

"Yeah, well" you touched the back of your neck, unsure. "I'm a firefighter so sometimes we volunteer to go on training or rescue missions."

"Really?" she said, her eyes shinning with a strange glimmer in them.

You nodded, not knowing what to say.

"And you live in Iceland? Whoah" she gestured with her hands while mouting the word "mindblowing".

You had to laugh at that.

"Yeah, but I spend most of the year working on England or traveling, you know" you explained.

She nodded at that.

"Seems like your full of surprises, Y/N" she smiled at you.

You checked the time on your phone only to be met with a notification saying "CANCELLED FLIGHT 18-705".

"Fuck" you cursed under your breath. "They cancelled my flight."

Jenna looked at you serious but didn't say anything until she saw you getting up from the chair.

"Where are you going?" she asked scrunching her face.

"It's almost 6am, I'm getting you to your boarding gate and then I'm calling a friend to see if I can crash at her place" you explained with a smile.

Without saying anything she got up aswell and checked her phone for the info she needed then she started walking toward the gate without much thought.

Until some guy grabbed her arm and started screaming about how he got so lucky to run into THE Jenna Ortega. Her face was showing clear signs of discomfort and… pain? Was the guy hurting her? You inmediately stepped toward them and took his wrist in your hand and with just enough force you made him let go of her.

He wasn't happy, the looks he was giving you made it clear but he wouldn't try anything by the slight fear in his eyes.

"Maybe you should try asking first next time" you said coldly before leading Jenna away from him.

She was quiet and wouldn't look at you and you wondered if she was maybe angry because of what you did?

"I'm sorry, I was out of place but he seemed like a bit too much" you started, smiling tentatively. "I'm really so…"

"Don't be" she cut you off, still not looking at you. "He took me by surprise" she admitted. "Thank you" she continued lifting her face to look at you with some sense of… fondness?

She seemed genuinely grateful and you couldn't shake the feeling that accompained the thought of this kind of situation happening to her everyday.

"It was nothing" you said shrugging it off.

You continued walking toward her boarding gate in a comfortable silence.

"This is me" she said with a nervous smile.

"Be safe" you said. "Have a nice flight, Jenna."

You turned to leave but her voice made you stop.

"Wait" you turned again, now facing her. "Thank you, Y/N."

You smiled at her starting to walk backwards as people you assumed wanted to board the very same plane started filling the space and when you could no longer see her you turned fully determined to find the exit and then call Gio to ask for a ride and a couch to crash on.

Meanwhile, Jenna got seated on the plane when a thought came into her mind.

She forgot to ask for your phone number!!

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x female reader #tara carpenter x female reader #wednesday addams x fem!reader #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x y/n

291 notes · View notes

mauesartetc · 11 months

Note

Have you seen vivzi's tweet regarding the mille situation?

Oh yeah. Though to be clear, it's not just one tweet; it's a motherfuckin' thread (with screenshots below for posterity).

I won't go over this whole thing point by point, but one aspect that jumps out at me is how Viv deflects responsibility from herself onto the viewers. If your audience doesn't fully "understand" your characters, that's a problem. It's your job as a writer to make them understand, and do it in the story you're telling, not on social media. Can't help but see shades of how gobsmacked Fennah was that his audience didn't get how one of his characters represented toxic relationships, despite that character amounting to a harmless, childlike pet.

While Viv's response doesn't demean the audience like Fennah's, it does come off as a tad arrogant, as if Millie being perceived as flat is the viewers' fault, not hers.

The second thing that stood out is the list of Millie's qualities: "She is resourceful, she has strong family ties and memories, she has sibling rivalry, she's excitable and hyper focused." Only three of those are actual personality traits, and I can't even remember her being "hyper focused" at any time. To me, that would suggest working long hours on some kind of project, too engrossed to notice hunger, thirst, or how much time had passed. I guess you could make the argument that she worked tirelessly to become the skilled fighter she is, but we never see that in the show. I'm not even sure how "strong" those family ties are considering Millie didn't even hug her mom when she saw her. Basically, this smacks of telling rather than showing, trying to convince us this is the case rather than letting us see for ourselves.

[Edit 6/10/23 Forgot to mention this tidbit: "we are literally on 3", meaning the third episode. Girl, no. You were literally on ten episodes total, and eleven/twelve (depending on whether or not the pilot counts) with the release of Western Energy. That's way too long to go without properly developing one of the main characters.]

Also, "we found more storylines that influenced Blitz"? You mean you created more storylines with him as the focus. You chose to follow those paths in Season 1. It didn't just happen to you. "Whoops! Tripped over this random plot! Guess I have to use it in an episode!" Obviously Blitzo is the main character so it makes sense that he'd have the most plots centered around him, but it's extremely telling that y'all gave absolutely none of the focus to Millie.

Let's look at the seven episodes of Season 1. Blitzo could be the focus of three, Moxxie could get one, Millie could get one, Loona could get one, and Stolas could get one, and you could save extra story ideas for Season 2. There ya go. Yes, seven episodes is a pretty short season with not much wiggle room to fit all the juiciest stories in, but there's definitely space to tease what's coming. Imply that there's more to these characters and this world than meets the eye. Make the audience hungry for more. This is a fan-funded Youtube series, after all; it's not like any networks or streaming services are threatening to pull the plug if the metrics aren't up to snuff.

Finally, the "this is a male-led show" excuse for female characters being underdeveloped is so weak, especially for an adult show that prides itself on social progressivism. You've got a handful of queer main characters and a trans side character, but fleshing out the women was a step too far-? Y'all are all about spotlighting LGBT stories, but anything resembling feminism that goes deeper than '90s-style "hey, this chick can fight!" girl power? Whoa, that's a bit too much, buddy.

Call me crazy, but shouldn't viewers get the impression that all of a story's principal characters have inner lives, regardless of gender? What is Millie like when she's alone, isolated from her relationships? What does she think about? How does she entertain herself without anyone to brawl with, or anything to hack into with an axe? The show hasn't given us any hints.

Honestly, if you're not good at writing female characters, you're allowed to say that. Yes, it's embarrassing to admit when you're a woman yourself, but if you grew up in a culture that promotes internalized misogyny and prioritizes masculine wants over feminine needs (which many of us did, let's be real), it's understandable. That shit's hard to unlearn. What might make it easier when it comes to characters, though, is what I like to call the Ellen Ripley method.

Challenge, Viv: Write a nuanced male character. Give him strengths and flaws, likes and dislikes, quirks and hobbies, strained relationships and happy ones.

Now make him female.

It really is that simple.

We'll have to wait and see how much that defense regarding Hazbin Hotel truly reflects reality, though if I were a gambler, I'd bet Alastor and Angel Dust will dominate the story and leave Charlie and Vaggie on the sidelines.

#vivziepop critical #helluva boss #helluva millie #helluva critical #writing #ask #blacklilly27 #female characters #representation

195 notes · View notes

dekusleftsock · 5 months

Text

Hey, weird comparison might be a stretch

Okay angy-grrr (yes I’m name dropping you and I’m not sorry <3333) I think made a comment a while ago about how this whole thing between Afo and Yoichi felt incestual, and I’d be inclined to agree.

However, however however however, I do have a few bits of commentary on that sentiment. Specifically in relationships to this scene specifically.

And, alright, no this is not some bs like “pro incest” or whatever, you can talk about topics that are taboo and not necessarily agree with them. I understand that I’m a shipper but I’m inclined to follow my nose where it leads, and my nose says here. So.

We’ve established a lot that the kanji horikoshi used when Izuku says “Give him back!” Is very possessive. Like an ownership over an item.

Okay, because Izuku and afo share one very weird trait—possessiveness. And for literally a month I’ve written and rewritten a post about how I just can’t get behind the idea of Katsuki paralleling afo, because it just doesn’t fucking make sense.

What is it telling us? That Katsuki has become a better person? We already KNEW THAT. The Kudou parallel says something, it says that Katsuki rises ABOVE the fate of the OFA predecessor because he and Izuku accepted their hearts.

Not only that but what is it exactly that we’re paralleling? Afo is defined by ownership (an Izuku trait), an unreliable narrator (also an Izuku trait)—in my opinion, horikoshi isn’t that simply Willy Nilly about parallels. It’s not about shipping to me rn, I’m literally comparing him to Izuku and how Izuku obsesses over Katsuki, IT JUST DOESNT MAKE SENSE.

Besides, wouldn’t this parallel be made significantly earlier, when Katsuki was still acting like an asshole? The kudou parallel was made literally from the start of his introduction, just because he looked so much like him. We didn’t know why this was the case, theories were thrown, and we’re only being told NOW why this parallel exists. But it was built, very carefully, and served a purpose.

And, to add onto this parallel of at the very least afo and Izuku, the portal is very similar to the floating hand.

Especially with the reminder that Katsuki was taken away by dabis hand on his neck (hands always have symbolism in this series after all, it always has a purpose)

If someone, anyone really, could show me some genuine evidence of afo and Katsuki parallels that isn’t just “Katsuki was selfish about Izuku when they were younger” then by all means

But to me, along with the fact that Katsuki called himself IZUKUS NICKNAME, right before a chapter where afo talks about NAMING YOICHI, ummmmmmmm… I gotta say. Things ain’t looking so great in that evidence department. I guess you could argue that Katsuki did the same thing with deku, but deku hasn’t even been said these past few chapters and Kacchan has so????? Idk.

Anyway, this weird overly attached, incestual, codependent relationship is really fascinating to me. I’m not so inclined to say that Izuku and afo are the same since they very obviously aren’t, izuku is just toxic in his silly goofy ways, but I think it’s an interesting thing to point out.

It almost feels like a “fuck you” to people who have been saying Katsuki and Izuku act like brothers for years. Maybe like Horikoshi is saying, “well I guess if they’re brothers they’re incestual too :)”

And that’s gotta be the biggest power move I’ve ever seen. “Oh you wanna read this relationship in that light? How about I show you what that light would look like if it were true :)” AND LIKE. WOW.

I know anime is not new to incest, but I don’t think this is the “random incest for funsies” type of incest, I think this is the incest built off of actually talking about the taboo. The weird. The not so great things we’ve done as humanity, but that exist anyway. Because mha WANTS to talk about the taboo, things we find morally wrong and therefore don’t belong in our stories, but that just makes them all the more incomprehensible were it to be happen in the real world. Art is made to talk about the stories we wish remained unfinished.

#bkdk #midoriya izuku #mha deku #bkdk brainrot #bakudeku #bakugou katsuki #bnha deku #mha analysis #deku midoriya

102 notes · View notes

ellena-asg · 1 year

Text

I know that this scene in 2x01 is called romantic or sexy. And it is romantic and sexy, agree. Danny without a tie. Steve liking it. Yeah.

But sometimes when I watch it I can't stop thinking about the previous episode, about Danny choosing Steve, Danny not leaving with Rachel, Danny being like "Don't feel sorry about it, Steve. It's ok. It's ok, babe".

When I watch it I think about Danny's life now with Steve and his old life with Rachel (and Hollander family in general).

And I don't see "just a tie/no tie".

To me the tie and Danny not wearing it here... It's a symbol.

By "to me" I mean someone who finds Danny damn relatable. Anxiety, depression, other issues. Some of character traits. And a past that was like a hell.

I know that many of you like and defend Rachel and the idea of her co-parenting with Danny. And I respect that. I just think differently. And huh, I'm that salty cause I know such people like Rachel and her mother. I had my own Hollanders, in my own family, in my circle of friends. Destructive, toxic, manipulative, entitled, narcissistic people who will never change, will never stop hurt you. Who will ruin your life, all what you love, your passions, your heart, your mind. Believe me, when you're anxious and sensitive inside and you have to live (you think that you have to) with such destructive people... It sucks. (No matter if you chose these people or not). You're not anxious anymore, you're mega anxious. And many times you hate/blame yourself. All what Rachel and her mother have done to Danny (and Gracie) before and after divorce - it was a hell. To me it was a hell. A hell he never deserved.

So yes, in my eyes Danny was a victim in that cursed marriage (I swear, I'll make separate stuff about it one day). In my eyes after divorce Rachel tried to make him her marionette. After divorce she ruined him even more. And he let her again - for Gracie (all Danny's pain was for Gracie and geez, that poor girl deserves to know this).

This marriage was like a tie. A tie-noose tightening around Danny's neck. Danny couldn't breathe (well, literally too - anxiety can give you such a panic attacks). He was like a bird in a cage.

But he met Steve. He liked him. He loved him. For the first time in his life he felt genuine romantic love. And such a strong friendship. For the first time in his life he felt safe. He saw himself in Steve's eyes. He saw that they're two poor birds who still could fly - together. Danny can escape. He can leave his old life. He can escape AND have Gracie. (He wants Steve too).

All is possible, you should fight, do what you want - that's what Danny sees when he looks at Steve. What he sees in Steve's eyes in the last episode of season 1. That's what deep down Danny feels in his own heart. And to think that Danny calls Steve crazy. This, this new "crazy" life, full of dangerous cases, bombs, grenades, Steve's "goofy" actions, sharks, adventures... Maybe it's funny but this life, it's a life where Danny is safe, calm and happy. It's a life where he can heal. (Where he sees himself and Grace). Whereas his old life: easy, cosy, quiet, lovely and so normal... was calm and normal only on surface. His old life was a battlefield.

His old life was like Danny's outfit - elegant, pretty on surface but not always comfortable. And now, Danny has no tie. In this scene above he laughs. He touches his neck and makes a face like "Hanged man no more". Something is over. He's really happy. Still worried about Gracie, about Steve, yes - but not about Rachel anymore. He doesn't regret. He doesn't cry over Rachel and "lost chance". Nah. Leaving Steve - that would be a lost chance. His real chance is Steve.

He's free. He's a free bird. A free bird looking now at his lovebird. Saying "it will be okay".

Soon Danny wears more and more comfortable clothes. We can see it in many episodes. Jeans, t-shirts, shorts. Danny breathes. Danny is Hawaiian now. Steve's. He's like a kid trying to have fun again. Of course sometimes Danny still wears his ties and pretty shirts. Yeah. But he's with Steve. And when he's with him all is always comfortable. All is Danny-ish. All is good. There's no abuse. No lies. No using you as a tool. No using your passion (job) against you. No playing with your free will. No "you're not good enough", no "prove that you're worthy" and no "you're the bad one", "it's your fault", "bad, bad, bad Danny".

There is love.

And when I see Danny wearing a tie when he's with Stevie - then I see a nice tie, I see Danny being glamorous for Steve. THEN I see just a tie. No noose anymore.

@chaosrising451 Babe, sorry for tagging you (I hope you're feeling better) but I remember our talk about Steve suffering from abuse so I thought that maybe you would be interested in Danny's case too.

#h50 #McDanno #danny williams #steve mcgarrett #rachel edwards #h50 meta

240 notes · View notes

brf-rumortrackinganon · 2 months

Note

"I didn’t say that the firm needs to look like Britain. I said the firm needs to look like the people, which also includes the 15 Commonwealth realms. The statistics look a little different when you incorporate the realms. Not a whole lot different, but different enough that it warrants some consideration. "

Different anon but I disagree.

1. Those realms chose the RF (and can still change their minds) knowing they were white so I don't understand the need to look like anyone.

2. I am a second generation immigrant. I grew up in a majorly white country with a white head of state and I don't understand this sudden need to have a HoS who looks like me. What I want is someone who understand me and acts on it and if you talk to many immigrants they can cite you many politicians from many backgrounds, not only those who looks like them, who did that.

3. Royalty is supposed to represent an ideal to atteign, in personality and lifestyle. Those things have no "race".

I don't know if I'm making myself clear but, I grew up knowing that racism was the ideology that there are other races than human race. And that those "races" could be ranked and are always inferior to "THE human race" (which in a racist mind means the white people). And I learned that fighting racism is realising that there is only one race: human race, whatever the form it has. I grew up thinking that anyone's skin color shouldn't be a prejudice and that only their personality matter. To give an example, what drew me to the RF all these years was the glamour, yes, but also the very public things they were living. Catherine's strength and resilience, her apparent silent determination are traits that my mother has and that I respect so much. Some of the things she is living today as well and I relate so much to her work with early childhood. William's speeches, his causes, his way to takle them, his strength. Same for the other working royals. (Ik it's mostly perceived, we don't know them) But they don't look like me.

I just don't understand why RFs in particular (because they are a white family and so can only add family members through marriage or adoption, which imo makes the discussion extremely toxic) should have this discussion on them. And I don't understand why it's a discussion on a broader space. The country where my parents were born is deeply, deeply corrupted. But we have politicians who look like us, we have a head of state who looks like us. I talked to many black american who thought Obama would change things but were left disappointed. But he looked like them.

I think we should wish for people who understand us (whatever the us is) or at least are willing to understand us because we are human and can be disappointed and not understood by people of all skin colors. I think that the obsession over "races" (from people who "defend" and people who attack) is why the racism keep going on.

So I don't think this angle of "race" discussion is helpful in any way. The proof I have is the Tuvalu controversy. Or the "optics" controversy. Omid and others like him use these pictures to stir the pot. They pretend to fight against racism but are racist in their very argumentation. Those people fought for independance and the right to make their own choices but because in Omid's and other's minds a white person is inherently superior, it is humiliating for the Tuvalu or Jamaican to be seen in those position with a white person but not with a non-white, and if we see white people being like this with royals, it's not important.

Fighting racism is admitting that the only reason the royals are "superior" is their position. Which mean that whoever chose to respect that postion in their prefered way shouldn't be called nor treated as a slave because of their skin color. And in the same way only their personality, their willingness to understand, should matter. Not their skin color.

Sorry for the long rant, I hope you'll understand my mumbles.

I'm really glad you shared this - your perspective is important.

You make a few really good points that I hadn't considered before, so I will be giving those some serious thought.

26 notes · View notes

andypantsx3 · 3 months

Note

Ok Andy this had been on my mind for a while now and I really want to hear your thoughts on this!

So we all know that Shouto is pure husband material, the kinda guy you'd be proud to introduce to your parents! But yk all those years of abuse and trauma (our poor bby ;-;) would definitely take a big toll on anyone, right?! So I was reminiscing about the earlier episodes where he is all closed off and cold to everyone, and that really got me thinking... what would dating Shouto REALLY be like.

How much of his behavior in a relationship really be affected by his past? Obviously nobody is perfect and even though our princess man comes close what do you think his shortcomings are as a person/partner? What do you think his toxic traits would be? What could be some of his bad habits? How would he react during an argument? I used to hc that he would be really calm and passive but then I remembered this scene

Ofc us being his partner would change things, but he DOES lash out at times. The police officer hadn't yelled at them, he was just explaining what they did was wrong according to the law (which could be unfair but thats his job) and he straight up called him a slur 💀 (well yk in this society where so many ppl have animal related quirks it probably is a slur? Idk tho). He was sorry later but still. I was so shocked when I internalized the fact that Shouto does infact have quite a temper, even when he's not rude/ aggressive about it. It doesn't make him bad or anything because 9/10 times it's well warranted and I am just a pussy who doesn't handle other's anger well but yk...

WHO WOULD EXPECT A TEMPER FROM THIS LIL FACE?!

I am really wanna take his character and study him under a microscope and I am really interested to see your pov on this. Also don't feel inclined to agree with anything I said if you dont, I asked you precisely cuz I wanted a different way of looking at him from mine.

Btw none of this is to paint him as a bad person or partner because of a few shortcomings or his trauma. We all know he's too precious for that and that would be hypocritical of me especially since I have many of my habits and unhealthy ways of dealing with stuff that I dislike, but I also feel like he has so much angst potential in issues that aren't necessarily rooted in his family but moreso his own personality. Healing is often a "one step forward and three step back journey" and while I hate to watch him struggle, his perseverance gives me a lot of strength. Also obviously people change over the course of time and character development and all that, but we see even after the MASSIVE amounts of character development Bakugo has he still retains a lot of his previous qualities and obviously still struggles with a few things. I wonder if it's similar for Shouto. I wonder what he struggles with 🤔 (idk why I am scared but I don't want ppl to take these dumb sleepy thoughts of mine the wrong way yk lol)

I support my mans rights, his wrongs and everything in between :>

(p.s. I am so sleepy rn I don't even know if any of this is coherent cuz the points are flying all over the place but I hope you get a gist of what I am trying to ask. I love myself some sweet angst when it comes to all my blorbos but when I think of Shouto nothing obvious comes to mind. Also whenever I write even an ask or question like this my respect for writers keeps increasing tenfold! How do you guys write fics at like 4 am and it's still a masterpiece and I can barely string my thoughts together... )

Yes!!! I have so many thoughts about this, particularly as someone who also has daddy issues and a hot temper but actively works to be better as well lol.

I do think for the most part we've really seen Shouto move past who he was in those earlier episodes. That is not to say he still doesn't have those feelings, but he arguably manages them in a more regulated way. He has the temper but now he also has the tools and the perspective to better articulate himself.

I think generally Shouto would work hard to be calm and patient during an argument, but as with any human being, mistakes will be made and tempers will spike. I think during particularly bad arguments he'd get more closed off, like in those earlier episodes, would try to go off by himself so that he doesn't explode with that white-hot rage.

I do think, thankfully, that Shouto's ability to show empathy and compassion even in the middle of what we know are the most emotionally trying times of his life (the fights with Dabi), bodes well for his future ability to communicate and regulate himself on the whole. I do not see him as the kind of man who would yell or break things; I see him as the kind of man who now does everything in his power not to be like that.

And also with a face like that, would we not just let him win any argument anyway?? LOL

#ask andie

21 notes · View notes

ncityavenue · 1 year

Note

OMG i jut thought of this idea ans i knew it would he perfect for you! you could do a headcannon on how 127 would be in physical or verbal fights

OMG BITCH— wait I'm sorry I just got excited BUT YES!!!

Btw I hope I did this right bc I always go on a tangent in headcanons and I need to apologize in advance for that. Also a bit of suggestiveness!

────────────────────────

How 127 would be in arguments

TAEIL

He would be fair, like you get in a argument with him Taeil would be probably one of the most mature one. BUT, if you really have him fucked all the way up he's not gonna hear you out no matter what you say. He would be cursing you out in korean and his basic english😭😭, I could see him asking johnny how to say bitch in English and then call you it you're just like '🧍🏾‍♀️what did I just witness'. Specifically I think he would always end up arguing with tall people, johnny being an example. Then I feel like he would forget why he's mad a day after.

JOHNNY

He would try to use his height as intimidation, he wouldn't stop until he's right in some way, he wouldn't take the initiative that MAYBEEEE he is wrong in a argument. But since he's a sucker for cuteness he would be like "awww you're so cute when your mad" and that gives you more of a reason to be upset😭 toxic johnny? I don't knowwwww. I think he would probably do make up sex afterwards bc he can't stand you being mad at him for too long so, let him make it up to you🙈.

TAEYONG

He wouldn't want to argue like at all, that's the last thing he would want to do. He thinks arguing makes the situation even worse than it should be so he rather talk it out and be civil adults. He's another mature one, I feel like if he gets mad he starts tearing up a bit bc he doesn't like getting angry or pissed off. Protect him fr fr🙏🏽🙏🏽

YUTA

He gives the silent treatment. he doesn't yell,argue,or bring the situation up he's just silent. He rather just fuck the apology out of you, so angry sex is his go to. You swear he's not mad at you until you feel his intense glare burning holes into you while he's on the farther side on the couch, you could be like "babe are you ok? Need something?" He just shakes his head and goes back to watching the tv. But he does minimal hints tho, you could try and hug him he doesn't reject it all he does is not wrap his arms around you or he gives you those fake little hugs you give to someone you don't like. Then you know something is wrong. He doesn't reject your affection he just doesn't give too much of it back when he's annoyed at you.

DOYOUNG

I think we've all seen doyoung bicker with alot of the members and I personally think he's more of a whiner than a arguer, he wouldn't want to get you upset during the argument he would probably try to hold your hand to calm you down. He doesn't like arguing with you it's very different between you and his members, he's kind of like Taeyong and maybe a small toxic or red flag trait of his would be him trying to take you out or buy you something trying to take your mind off of it.

JAEHYUN

Oh he doesn't argue, he just sighs. He's basically like "you wanna talk it out, can we wanna fuck it out?". I guess you can say he's just too tired to raise his voice but honestly if he's at that limit, his voice is very loud and a little intimidating since he has a husky voice. But don't be scared, he too pussy🤫.

JUNGWOO

HE'S A MANIPULATOR IDC WHAT ANY OF YALL SAY. nah cause remember that video when it was him,doyoung,sungchan,taro,hendery,and kun they were doing the confrontational thing and had boxing gloves on? And how taro and jungwoo were up against each other and he was like "Look at you— look at me." THAT'S A MANIPULATION TACTIC. He would definitely be like "oh come on baby that's not me, I would never do that." Or "our relationship is better than this, you know me I would never🥺🥺" and if you're like "oh hell nah." He will be like "so you don't love me no more?" LIKE WHO SAID THAT–?? Sorry I just had flashbacks. ANYWAYS YEAH CUTE LIL JUNGWOO WOULD BE A MANIPULATOR.

MARK

Ok he wouldn't take it seriously at first like he would be laughing and then he would be like "oh shit they actually mad" his face would be like :o, and then start apologizing profusely to the point he almost gets on his knees you're just like "...wtf? Mark get yo ass up!" Trying not to stress him yall end up going out and talking it out, then he makes it up to you later...;) or if you not in that mood he will be sleeping on the couch crying

HAECHAN

He don't care who you are, he's not backing down. He's so much bark, like he would threaten to leave the house and take his stuff and you're like "do it then." With tears forming in your eyes,, And he's like "..oh.. baby I'm sorry I didn't mean that it was just in the heat of the moment-" then he basically becomes mark 2.0 just more brattyness and 100% aegyo. "I'll be so good that I will let you beat me in my games ok I won't pile the laundry on the bedroom chair" he claims.

────────────────────────

#nct #nct 127 #nct scenarios #nct imagines #mark lee #jung jaehyun #haechan #johnny suh #nakamoto yuta #lee taeyong #moon taeil #kim doyoung #kim jungwoo #nct drabbles #nct headcanons #anon request

281 notes · View notes

virtue-and-beneviolence · 2 years

Text

would you lie for me?

Sano Manjiro is a little more than a gang president and more than a little unhinged and it takes you a while to see it.

tw: gaslighting, manipulation, there is not a single healthy relationship in here, vague smutty bit, relatively graphic depictions of violence, lots of blood, yandere behavior from mikey?, poorly timed make outs bc mikey is a fucking freak (affectionate), character death (if they’re named, they die) (abt 3.5k idk that triggers me /j)

Part of @sugusshi and @rxmera's blood point road collab so it doesn't stay sweet for long lol hope its cool im posting it now ssksk (Music for the vibes)

Sano Manjiro had beautiful eyes. Big, bright, honest, clear eyes. When he looked at you, you felt seen, you felt safe, you felt known and loved. He had eyes that could build you up with a glance. The kind of eyes that could speak on their own. His irises were soft with promises of the world, that everything would be okay, that you were enough. And you believed it.

Mikey’s voice was powerful. It was soft and caring like the brush of a hand to an aching cheek, it was bright like the sunniest day, yet authoritative when needed. With his voice he could beseech even the most stubborn agent into action. He could convince anyone to see his side and feel his emotions. Those who heard his honeyed voice, would without question follow him through the desert to the ends of the earth in hopes to find the peace he had.

Yes, he was perfect on the surface.

Mikey loved his friends, his followers. He could use his charisma to generate endless moral when things were tough. His reputation for helping solve personal turmoil precedes him. It was this trait that brought the two of you closer together in the beginning.

Mikey knew you had it in you to be the person he saw in you. The sweet, fun-loving, strong-willed woman was inside of you. You just needed some help chiseling away at long ignored problems and help identifying and excising toxic people in your life. But you trusted him because being with him was the highest high. Besides, he was never wrong and had yet to fail to draw the idyllic nature in any of those in his circle before. No matter the starting material he could shape anyone to their best self.

He believed in correction as much as he believed in kind words and encouragement. There were tried and true methods he used to correct behavior in his gang. Some public, like the venting sessions where everyone was free to share their complaints about a member’s behavior. These sessions were passionate events meant to strengthen the bond between all participants by allowing fully unfiltered opinions.

The first time you participated you’d never forget. It had never seemed so intense from the outside but being in the hotseat was a different story. One by one others shared your worst faults, picked at the scabs of lifelong insecurities, called out transgressions you made in moments of weakness. You wanted to fight back, to argue, to defend yourself. Angry and accusatory voices blurred into generic din that rattled you to your core. It was sensory overload. Your brain was fuzzy and when you opened your mouth to speak, or scream, you had yet to decide, a hand came down on your shoulder.

Manjiro lifted his other hand to pause the crowd. He leaned down and spoke softly in your ear, “Y/n, they love you. You need to hear this. We grow through the pain.”

Your voice died in your throat.

“Besides,” His voice went gravelly, “Can you really say they’re wrong?”

A strangled sound tumbled out of your mouth and tears flowed freely from your eyes. How could you have been so defensive. Without hearing it all, how could you ever grow past the resentment and bitterness that gripped you? By hearing and accepting your faults you could be free. You were everything they said about you and more.

Mikey ceremoniously knelt in front of you, took your face in his hands, and kissed away your tears. “I will build you back up. Stronger than before. You have my word.”

Mikey took a particular interest in you after that. Leapfrogging through the ranks made your heart skip a beat. He saw something special in you, he wanted to help you. He wanted you, and you dedicated yourself to proving him that he was right to have chosen you. You threw yourself into his causes, attended every event, offered to do anything Mikey asked. You wholly devoted yourself to the man with all the answers.

You weren’t supposed to be there. Mikey had sent you to take care of his bike’s service. It should have taken the whole afternoon. The shop was 45 minutes by train and he’s scheduled pickup during rush hour.

You should have been paying for the repairs right now, you should have been several hours out, but instead, you got a call mid commute cancelling the pickup (“found another issue, accept our apologies”). So, you switched train lines at the next stop and headed back early. The lights were out in the palatial house the upper echelon shared, when usually it’d be bustling at this hour. Huh. There must have been a Correction called. Before you could join, you’d need to drop off Mikey’s card, lest you fall back on your forgetful streak and risk earning his disappointment.

You quietly strode down the long hall to Mikey’s quarters, feeling a heaviness in your footsteps. On instinct, your body hesitated as you drew nearer.

Shuffling.

Maybe someone was on cleaning duty and had forgotten to do so at the regular time.

A…gasp? A ragged breath?

Was Mikey ill? Shouldn’t he be in the infirmary?

A thud. The crack of a slap. Incoherent babbles that you could swear felt like pleas.

Your pace quickened.

“Haahiki,” a voice begged, “Ahiki, uhlease nuh! Uease,, uease nuh, aht!”

“You know it hurts me to do this, Haruchiyo, but you need to learn,” Mikey’s unmistakable tone threatened, “when to stop talking back.”

Panicked noises left Sanzu as the shuffling increased. You were in the doorway when the wet staccato pops of tearing skin, the cracking pop of a jaw being dislocated, and the gargled scream hit your senses all at once. In horror, you looked on. Mikey’s right thumb was depressing Sanzu’s tongue, gripping his lower jaw with bruising strength. His left hand had already left the kneeling man’s mouth in favor of gripping his pink hair. Sanzu gurgled on blood, some of which spilled down his shirt, mouth open and tongue twitching in pain under his king’s thumb, unable to close his now lopsided jaw. Involuntary tears of pain diluted the thick red gushing from messily torn skin.

“Why did you make me hurt you?”

“M-Mikey what is happening," you spoke with caution, words metered, uncharacteristically calm in the face of such violence.

Mikey's attention snapped to you and as he let go of Haruchiyo, the kneeling man fell to his hands, congealing blood spilling heavily in half formed clots on the carpet from where it had been pooling in his mouth and throat. Mikey whispered your name and looked down at what he had done with a rehearsed look of renewed horror, "I didn't want to do this I never wanted to hurt anyone," Mikey's voice shook with raw emotion. "Y/n you know I-I'd never hurt anyone right?" He took half a step towards you, reaching out with shaky hands that you ducked from at first.

"Mikey what...why would you..."

"No!" Mikey snapped and roared the word. You jumped. "You won’t leave. You can’t leave me. You’re mine." Mikey’s voice was thick with grit and a ghost of panic but left no room for argument or question. His word was absolute. You opened your mouth to speak but he didn’t give you a chance, "You belong here, belong to our cause, to me…with me.” His words softened, seeing you hesitate in your recoil. He took advantage of you being frozen in place and grabbed your face, bloody thumbs aligned with your jaw and gently brushing your cheeks leaving messy streaks from the bulbous semisolid blood on the pads of his thumbs. "I need you. I need you to fix me. You’re the only one that can. You’ll do it won’t you? You’ll be my salvation.” It wasn’t a question.

A tacky, bloodied thumb swiped your lip reverently. Mikey peeled away his thumb and stared at the smeared print of his finger left behind on your now ajar lower lip. You buckle under oppressive eyes. Your head is full of cotton and your chest is bubbling with complicated emotions that rise and fall like goo in a lava lamp. You’re too aware of Haru retching. Too aware of the drying blood fusing Mikey’s fingers to your jaw. Of the sharp metallic odor turning your stomach. Of your breath, growing labored, your heartbeat in your ears, the sting of your nails digging deep crescents into your palms, the white-hot burn of tears threatening to fall, of…of something soft and warm and wet against the taut crimson smear on your lip. The taste of copper on your tongue. Warm lips slotted around your own. Warmth radiating from a hand on your lower back. Hot breath against freed lips.

“I-“ your head was swimming, mind flickering on and off it seemed from the overwhelming stimulation.

“You’ll fix this with me. You’ll stay. I know you will.”

Your body answered before you mind could catch up. “A-anything for you Mikey. Anything you ask.” He rubbed soothing circles on your lower back. The warmth he radiated eased your mind. He was comfort itself. The last holding splint holding you together; the pin in your grenade. “Whatever you need, consider it done.” He smiled with his whole face. “Just please, help Haruchiyo.”

Mikey’s glossy eyes hardened almost imperceptibly. He nodded and you took a glance at the man, eyes red from strain and pain without relief, cried to dehydration, to dryness. You’d never forget the split skin of his mouth that cracked his face into a smile.

That face, that last look of pained eyes blown wide on a torn face. How sorely you wished it was the last time you saw it.

He’d left that night. For medical attention, Mikey announced to the group. There’d been an accident, you see, and Haru would be gone for a while to recover. You nodded along solemnly as the dutiful only witness.

It had been an accident. A misunderstanding. A slip of judgement. You saw that now. Mikey would never do something so vile, but Haru made him lose control. If something could shift the inner peace that Mikey enjoyed, then surely that behavior was in dire need of rectification but any means necessary. Besides the event had crushed Mikey as further proof that he’d never wanted to hurt his friend.

Over the past two weeks, Mikey had hardly eaten, rarely showed face at events, spoke without his show stopping charisma, he’d paled, and his eyes were red and swollen much of the time. The guilt was killing him. You did you best to provide him with the love and care he needed to get through this tragedy.

You stayed with him nearly all hours of the day. Much of it was spent cooing to the man outwardly distraught over the accident. Reminding him he wasn’t his actions, that what was done was done, that a moment of weakness didn’t define him forever. He was still the Mikey everyone looked up to and loved. You fed him, warmed his bed, sang him to sleep every time nightmares woke him. When he was scared to face the others, scared of what he’d do to them, you offered your body to him as a sign of trust.

He treated you gingerly at first, as if terrified of breaking you. He dragged his fingertips along your exposed skin with feather light touches that made you shiver involuntarily. Caging your body under his, he breathed warnings into the crook of you neck between pressing kisses along your throat.

“Manjiro, I know you. You won’t hurt me. And besides,” you tugged his face out from where he hid to look at you. “I’m yours, aren’t I? Do with me what you want to. Whatever you need.” His red tinged eyes stared back while yours flitted over his face, smiling soothingly as you carded fingers through his hair to keep it out of his face as you pulled him down to your waiting lips.

Warm lips kissed down your body, careful to give the peak of each breast a moment’s attention. Strong hands snaked under your hips to hold your legs open as Mikey got comfortable between your thighs. He took in the view for a heartbeat and before you could open your mouth to vocalize complaints of shyness under his gaze, he began his sultry feast. You couldn’t be sure how long it lasted, you lost count of the times he’d brought you to climax on his fingers and tongue before he made his way back your face to make you taste yourself on his lips. Gasps and whimpers were stifled by your lover’s mouth as he pressed his length into you finally.

Mikey was soft and sweet, more sensual than you could have expected. The praises and encouragement poured from his lips felt so sincere, so genuine. The raw emotion of the moment struck you just right and tears bubbled in your eyes. Babbled confessions of love and devotion left you like prayers. Mikey kissed your tears away. The kiss you stole from him then was cut short as the peak of your pleasure washed over you with a breathy gasp of his name. He rode out your orgasm and reassuringly pressed his forehead to yours with promises that he was there, he had you, you were his. Shakily, you grabbed his cheeks and watched him come undone above you with your name on his tongue. You tucked his face in your neck, panting with him for a moment.

“Mikey, please stay. Please stay with me.”

“I will. Till the end.”

The thing about endings is that you rarely see them coming, and when you notice it, the pieces have already settled where they’ve fallen.

You were happy. You were happy in your life with Mikey. You had all you needed when you were in his arms, acting as his penance. Days were smooth, routine, and comfortable when you saw a new light slowly blink to life in his eyes since the accident a month ago. His eyes had a new depth, with no beginning or end. When you stared into them, you felt the gravity pull you in. You could blind yourself in the light of those eyes and you’d never be happier. He’d found himself through his pain and suffering.

Sure, a few people had lost sight of his vision and left, but that was of little consequence to Mikey. Differences in understanding weren’t failures after all. He’d done for them all he could to bring them to perfection. Besides, he had the rest of his followers to support him.

He was different than before. More flexible, somehow. The change filled your heart with appreciation and pride. He told you all the time how this was your doing. Your gift of understanding. Your support.

You healed him, he’d say.

Things were so comfortable you didn’t question it when he started to take walks at night. He knew how to stay safe, he assured you. He had arms if there were to be an emergency. Besides, he only walked along the heavily wooed property the gang controlled tightly. It was a hike no one knew better than Manjiro. He was cautious, he promised, there was no reason to worry for his safety. If it brought him this much serenity when he struggled to sleep, who were you to stop him?

The beginning of the end was signaled by the metallic scraping of metal along the wood of Mikey’s beside table, the soft hiss of air sucked through Mikey’s teeth at the cool sensation of metal on skin and a quiet snap of elastic. The soft click of your bedroom door and a hushed but clear voice stirred you from your half sleep as you listened to the man asking if it was really okay to make a private walk with Mikey, if you were okay, if he’d made Mikey disturb you. Manjiro hushed his companion, Kazutora, you realized.

You’d always been a light sleeper and now your interest had been piqued. Mikey never mentioned that his walks weren’t alone. Jealousy mixed with a general sense of unease swirled like muddy water leaving a bitter taste in your mouth that you swallowed. Casting the blankets aside, your feet found your slippers and you started after them.

Kazutora had a particularly difficult time with some of the changes. He’d expressed the most concern of the group for Mikey. He’d taken you aside subtly last week to ask if you’d noticed any changes in Mikey’s behavior. Only for the better, you assured him.

You tailed them all the way to the shrine and then further downstream. Where the crunch of feet on freshly fallen leaves and the babbling of the river obscured the conversation. You saw them speak. They seemed calm, tranquil, a stark contrast to the fear gnawing at your psyche as you suppress connections your mind makes unbidden. You’d heard nothing from Haru. The others never announced their departures. It was as if they’d…left…in the middle of the—

The sounds of struggle pulled you from your thoughts. Manjiro had incapacitated Kazutora, locked his dominant arm out of use and gripping the taller man’s tresses to keep him steady. They were faced away from you and the copper scent in the air made you gag and choke on memories of Haru’s blood on your tongue that you weren’t ready to taste again.

Mikey let Kazutora buckle to his knees and lowered him down gently. Red hands plunged the knife through the left side of the gurgling man’s back. As Manjiro looked on from above, admiring his handiwork, he drove the knife to the hilt with a swift stomp.

You throat was constricted with need for air but your body forgot how to breathe. Instead, you heaved a sob and watched Manjiro’s head snap in your direction.

“Mikey,” you inhaled his name through an uneven breath as he stood above you, face neutral, eyes a void. “Mikey you s-said you didn’t want t-to hurt people…”

“Angel,” He kneeled in front of you. His voice was distant and dreamlike, quiet under the ringing in your ears. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“Mikey is he…”

“Shh,” He cooed, and scooped your trembling body up against his, stepping mostly over the body of his friend, but the crack of a bone under Mikey’s foot made you jump and cling tighter to the perpetrator for fear of being closer to the lifeless body. He carried you for what felt like ten minutes, all the while cooing sweet nothings, promises, and praises in your ear for being such a strong girl.

The stench of death in summer caught you by surprise. Even when you realized where he was taking you, you never could have dreamed death would overpower your senses like it did. He sat you down in front of the sallow, decomposing body of Haru. His jaw unhinged on the right side as it was when you last saw him, but now that cheek had been picked away, back to his ear and you were met with the inside of his mouth and swollen partial tongue.

“You lied to me.”

“And you lied for me.” He was on his knees behind you, mouth nipping at your neck.

“W-why?” Your body was unbelievably tense but you were unsettled far past tears by now. “Why did you hurt them?”

“I don’t hurt people, y/n, I bring the little piggies that can’t learn our lessons in this life to their next.” He pulled your chin up and began to suck a hickey over your jugular. “You’ll help me repent, won’t you?”

You swallowed and shook your head jerkily, at first before committing to denying him. You tried to pull away but he was faster. The snap of elastic was lost on you as he grabbed a painful fist full of your hair and yanked you head back to press the warm metal of Mikey’s pistol to your throat. “Y/n, I love you. I tried to get you to understand. You need this. We grow through the pain.”

Your scream his name was cut short as the bullet stole your voice in favor of grotesque grumbling as your hands flew to stop the blood uselessly. Mikey stepped around to face you and hold your face still, “Oh baby, you’re crying for me?” He put his forehead to yours. Your lungs were heavy with blood. “Thank you, my angel. I need some sympathy after shooting my love, you know?” He caught your gasping lips in a final kiss before raising the gun to his own temple.

Ye maybe i'll forego most of the tags but like yall knew this existed so here it is finished? but also pls talk to me about this one pls im begging this time for ppl to share thoughts @adviswhore @hanmasslvt @softbajis @rae-ryuuguji-sano @sano-obsessed @girl-by-the-lake

Masterlist

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers mikey x reader #tw: manipulation #tw: violence #tw: gaslighting #tw: toxic relationships #um #sano manjiro #idk what taags mikey ppl use #whatever i'll fix it later i guess #bloodpointroadcollab #mikey x reader #yandere mikey x reader #yandere tokyo revengers #mikey sano #pls yandere folks find this bc #so few ppl like the darker shit sksksks #craving validation sksks

409 notes · View notes

possibly-in-wonderland · 6 months

Text

Boromir and his chaotic hobbit wife

(and some incorrect quotes ft her in general, maybe one day she'll have a name...but for now we refer to her as hobbitess)

~~~~

Boromir: *wakes up to find flowers woven in his hair*

~~~~

Boromir: .. .----. -- / … --- .-. .-. -.-- (translation: I'M SORRY) Hobbitess: What's that? Boromir: Remorse code. Hobbitess: I'm even angrier now.

~~~~

Boromir: Fight me! Hobbitess, standing behind him and holding a knife: *mouths* Do not.

~~~~

Boromir: Everyone has a toxic trait. Except Hobbitess, they’re perfect. Hobbitess: Wrong! My toxic trait is how badly I want to domesticate a warg.

~~~~

Boromir: You have Crayons? Hobbitess: Yes, I have— Boromir: You're— how old are you? Hobbitess: YES I AM AN ADULT AND I HAVE CRAYONS, I HAVE A BOX OF EMERGENCY CRAYONS IN THE CABINET UNDER THE SINK BECAUSE EVERYBODY NEEDS CRAYONS SOMETIMES, OKAY? EVERYBODY NEEDS CRAYONS.

~~~~

Hobbitess: Hey, what’s the name of the guy who lives down the hall? Boromir: His cats' names are Walter and Rose. Hobbitess: That's not what I asked. Boromir: That is all the information I have.

~~~~

Boromir: Okay, I’m going to get the wedding cake. Hobbitess: Perfect, while you do that I’ll check on the ring bear. Boromir: ... Boromir: You mean ring bearER, right? Hobbitess: ... Boromir: Look me in the eyes and tell me you are not going to bring a dangerous wild animal to our wedding.

~~~~

Hobbitess: Oh, fiddlesticks! That really ruffles my feathers! Boromir: Please, just say fuck.

~~~~

Hobbitess: You know what? Let’s give it a go. What’s the worst that could happen? Boromir: Humiliation, embarrassment, fire, explosions, collisions, tears, nudity and death.

~~~~

Hobbitess: Here’s a fun Christmas idea. We hang mistletoe, but instead of kissing, you have to FIGHT whoever else is under it. Boromir: Hobbitess no. Gimli: Mistlefoe. Boromir: Please stop encouraging her.

~~~~

Aragorn: We need a distraction. Boromir: Is anyone here good at jumping up and down and making weird noises? Hobbitess, whispering: My time has come

~~~~

Hobbitess, Pippin, and Merry are sitting on a bench Gandalf: Why do you guys look so sad? Hobbitess: Sit down with us so we can tell you. *Gandalf sits down* Pippin: The bench is freshly painted.

~~~~

Gandalf: I currently have 7 empty notebooks and I have no clue what to put in them. Suggestions? Pippin: Put spaghetti in it. Gandalf: I'm currently taking suggestions from literally anyone but you. Merry: Put spaghetti in it. Gandalf: I'm currently taking suggestions from anyone but you two. Hobbitess: Put spaghetti in it. Gandalf: I'm no longer taking suggestions.

~~~~

Hobbitess: *Screams* Pippin: *Screams louder to establish dominance* Aragorn: Should we do something? Merry: No, I want to see who wins.

~~~~

Hobbitess: Sometimes I drink milk straight out of the container. Pippin: The cow??? Hobbitess: What? Merry: Pippin, W H Y?

~~~~

Hobbitess: Would you stab your best friend in the leg for 10 million gold? Pippin: You stab me, and then when my leg gets better, we buy a big-ass house. Merry: You can stab me too, then we'll have 20 million. Pippin: Good thinking.

~~~~

Hobbitess: So uhhh... my question is: my friend keeps on going into the pantry and grabbing handfuls of fettuccine... uncooked... Sam: I would hope they're not grabbing handfuls of cooked fettuccine! Frodo: In your pantry! Hobbitess: Yeah... and eating them raw, and they keep calling them 'chips'. ... How do I make them stop? Sam: Is your friend here? Hobbitess, motioning to Pippin: Yeah. Sam, to Pippin: You're a monster! Words MEAN things! >:( Merry: Does anybody remember- I haven't been to Olive Garden in many moons- but they DO have a like- fettuccine bottle that you can just- grab em out of and chew- Merry: HOLD ON. WAS THIS A PRANK YOU GUYS PULLED ON ME WHEN WE WENT TO OLIVE GARDEN AS KIDS?! Merry: NO, STOP. EVERYBODY SHUT UP. DO THEY GIVE YOU RAW FETTUCCINE TO CHEW ON IN THE LOBBY OF THE OLIVE GARDEN Everyone else: No. Merry, to Sam and Frodo: YOU FUCKIN BASTARDS Sam: YAAAAAAAAY! Frodo: THE PRESTIGE!

~~~~ Hobbitess: Why isn’t the statue smirking at me? Gandalf: It isn’t smirking at anyone, they’re all just imagining it. Hobbitess: Four of us saw it, Gandalf. How do you explain that? Gandalf: *points at Merry & Pippin* Sleep deprivation. *points at Sam* Paranoia. *points at Frodo* Delusional personality disorder.

~~~~

*The squad right before Hobbitess' & Boromir's wedding* Pippin: Well I have to go, I have a wedding to attend. Merry: Wait... Oh! I have a wedding to attend too! Sam: Oh, I have a wedding to attend as well Frodo: I THINK WE ALL HAVE WEDDINGS TO ATTEND Aragorn, panicked: I THINK I HAVE A WEDDING TO OFFICIATE

~~~~

Frodo, walking into his house: Hello, people who do not live here. Pippin: Hey. Merry: Hi. Sam: Hello. Hobbitess: Hey! Frodo: I gave you the key to my place for emergencies only! Hobbitess: We were out of seed cakes.

~~~~

Frodo: If you bite it and you die, it’s poisonous. If it bites you and you die, it’s venomous. Pippin: What if it bites me and it dies!? Merry: Then you’re poisonous. Jesus Christ, Pippin, learn to listen. Sam: What if it bites itself and I die? Hobbitess: That’s voodoo. Boromir: What if it bites me and someone else dies? Sam: That’s correlation, not causation. Pippin: What if we bite each other, and neither of us die? Hobbitess: That’s kinky. Frodo: Oh my God.

~~~~

Hobbitess: Time for plan G. Pippin: Don’t you mean plan B? Hobbitess: No, we tried plan B a long time ago. I had to skip over plan C due to technical difficulties. Merry: What about plan D? Hobbitess: Plan D was that desperate disguise attempt half an hour ago. Sam: What about plan E? Hobbitess: I’m hoping not to use it. Pippin dies in plan E. Gandalf: I like plan E.

~~~~

Boromir: HELP! I TOLD HOBBITESS I’D COOK DINNER TONIGHT BUT I CAN’T COOK! Aragorn, pouring milk directly into the cereal bag: And you thought I could help?

~~~~

Hobbitess: Boromir and I don’t use pet names. Aragorn: I see. Hey, what do bees make? Hobbitess: Honey? Boromir: Yes, dear? Hobbitess: Aragorn: Don't ever lie to my face again.

~~~~

Hobbitess: What time is it? Pippin: I don’t know; pass me that saxophone and we’ll find out Pippin: *Plays sax loudly and extremely out of tune* Gandalf: WHO THE FUCK IS PLAYING THE SAXOPHONE AT TWO IN THE MORNING Pippin: It’s 2 am

~~~~

Boromir: I really like this whole ‘good guy, bad guy’ thing you guys have going on. Hobbitess: It’s not an act, it’s just that I’m mean and Pippin isn’t

~~~~

Hobbitess: Dandelions symbolize everything I want to be in life Merry: Fluffy and dead with a gust of wind? Hobbitess: Unapologetic. Hard to kill. Feral, filled with sunlight, bright, beautiful in a way that the conventional and controlling hate but cannot ever fully destroy. Stubborn. Happy. Bastardous. Friends with bees. Highly disapproving of lawns. Full of wishes that will be carried far after I die. Pippin: edible

~~~~

Hobbitess: I've already sent good vibes your way… they’re coming. There’s nothing you can do to stop them. Boromir: This is the most threatening way I’ve ever been cheered up.

~~~~

Hobbitess, pointing: May I sit there? Boromir: That's my lap Hobbitess: That doesn't answer my question, Boromir.

~~~~

Boromir: Three words. Say them and I'm yours. Hobbitess: Three words. Boromir:

~~~~

Boromir: Welcome, fellow idiots Hobbitess: Hello, Boromir Boromir: No, no, not you, you're not an idiot Hobbitess: You underestimate me

#lotr #boromir #the fellowship of the ring #merry brandybuck #pippin took #gandalf the grey #frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #original character #srsly what do we name her

20 notes · View notes

lurkinglurkerwholurks · 4 days

Text

My Head Is Stripped

First posted: August 7, 2019

Focuses on: Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent

Favorite bookmark: "things that make me happy"

Tier: Middle-ish

This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

I am a deeply unhappy sick person. I rarely get sick, so when I do finally succumb, I am miserable and I, regrettably, make no effort to keep the misery from spreading. (Germs, yes. Misery, no.)

Clark's rambling, grumbly, petulant opening thoughts are very me.

Clark tightened his grip on his fabric shield and shuffled toward the sound. X-ray vision felt like too much work, so he leaned in and pressed his eye to the peephole. He wiped the moisture from his eye and tried again.

This fic was, if I remember correctly, one of those that was incredibly easy to write because it was less like creating and more like dictating. I sat back and watched them do their thing and just had to find the right ways to describe what was happening—or, in the case of Clark choosing to look through the peephole, explain why what I was seeing happen did actually make sense to be happening.

When the door opened, Bruce Wayne blinked at him. Just once. It was Bruce’s way of showing deliberate surprise, like taking a beat.

It's a very cat mannerism of him and I love it. I think I've used it in other fics, too.

Bruce Wayne didn’t look like he had ever wanted to discorporate in his life. Artfully tousled hair, tastefully expensive clothes without so much as a wrinkle, a good, healthy tan—even his shoes were shiny. Clark wanted to punt him into the sun.

Like I said, he's a crankypants.

Or the way Clark’s gripe came out closer to Dank ew, Wod’s Greadess Dedekdiv, wad gab id away?

I sat on my bed in my room quietly sounding this one out to figure out how to write it phonetically.

“I didn’t think you could get sick.” Bruce made a dismissive gesture down the length of Clark’s body, then turned away.

This specific line came back to BITE ME in a later fic in this series. We have elected to roundly ignore the error.

“Feed a cold, Clark.” “What?” Clark asked, though the word was muffled by the couch curtain. “Feed a cold, starve a fever. It’s a saying.”

I had to google it. I can never remember which goes with which.

Something cold and hard touched his face. Clark jerked and cracked open one eye. A thermometer hovered in front of his face. “Where?” Clark croaked. “I don’t have one.” “It’s mine.” At Clark’s look, Bruce shrugged. “Kids. Someone’s always sick at my house. Besides, I said I thought it was code, not that I was sure.”

Another moment for explanations, knowing Bruce absolutely would insist on taking Clark's temperature but also clocking that Clark would never own one and it felt a bridge too far to be like "oh it's on his belt next to the shark repellent spray."

Cool fingertips ghosted behind Clark’s ear, lingering just long enough to gauge the heat of his skin, then disappeared as Bruce retreated into the kitchen. “You don’t feel warm. Leave it in until it beeps, then tell me what the display says.”

He's such a dad. And no toxic masculinity here folks!!!

In the kitchen, Bruce was silent and Clark could picture Bruce’s long, flat-browed look. Barry called it his Don’t be stupid look.

That's what my friends called my dad's look. And mine. It's an inherited trait.

Also, Bruce mentions the thermometer's blue button which was literally just me describing my thermometer at the time, thank you, Target.

When the thermometer beeped, Clark pulled it out and squinted at the display. “Thirty-six? That doesn’t seem right.” “It’s in Celsius. You don’t have a fever. Good. How did you get sick?”

I thiiiiiink the chat had been having a discussion before about Alfred keeping the Manor stocked and this being his preferred thermometer brand. Or maybe just what Bruce was used to reading.

“You weren’t even there,” Clark whined, returning to the matter of the sickly translator.

No, because it wouldn't have happened if Bruce had been there.

There was a tug on Clark’s quilt, and the bare foot that had fallen off the end of the couch was tucked back in.

Such a daaaaaaaad! I was so delighted mentally picturing Bruce in his true element, sleeves rolled up, puttering from living room to kitchen and back as he got Clark's crap in order.

“Uhhh…” Clark struggled to sit up and keep himself fully wrapped in the quilt. “Head. Hurts. Feels… full? Like, full.” “Use your words, Mr. Reporter.”

Bruce grunted. Use your words… Ha.

I love them.

“I understand the saying is ‘Game recognizes game.’” Bruce gave another shrug. “I have the experience.”

I was dyyyyyyyinggggggg to use that line and the comments section rewarded me for the choice.

“Budge over,” he instructed, nudging Clark to the end of the couch so he could sit and rest the tray on the coffee table. Clark scooted and mentally added the phrase to his running list of words that made Bruce sound like Alfred.

I did make sure to weave that back in again in... N&N, I think? Yeah. In one of the Tim chapters.

“Bruce, I don’t think some salt and heat are going to fix this,” Clark mumbled.

Clark is so ANNOYING to make sick when he's not also robbed of his invulnerability. So many things we do to comfort sick people don't WORK if your skin doesn't respond to heat or cold or pressure!!

Bruce frowned down at the quilt. “Your layers are wrong. Where’s your linen closet?”

Bruce is correct, it is VITAL to get your layers right, or you'll overheat or freeze at just the wrong time and there might be too much PRESSURE and if that happens you'll just want to lay down and die because you're already sick and everything is the worst.

Bruce placed Clark’s head on his thigh just above his knee and said, “I’m going to place some eucalyptus oil under your nose. It’s an irritant to human skin, but it shouldn’t bother you, and the smell will help.”

I genuinely did not know eucalyptus oil was an irritant before writing this fic. My mom used to put it in a diffuser when we were sick, and I liked the smell a lot. Clark would likely not own a diffuser and it would be bulky for Bruce to carry.

A calloused thumb swiped gently at the corners of Clark’s eyes without comment, as if the tears were nothing more than the product of sinuses gone mad.

I just really needed them to be soft together, okay

Bruce’s hands, steady and sure, began to gently press against his face. “Facial massage can relieve sinus pressure,” Bruce explained. Clark doubted that any amount of pressing and massaging could ease pressure in a skull built to withstand an atomic bomb. And maybe it didn’t, but the contact felt good, and when Bruce’s blunted fingers scraped upward and began running through Clark’s hair, he sighed again and let himself relax against Bruce’s soft Italian slacks.

This was me DESPERATELY wanting Bruce to play with Clark's hair because that's all I want when I'm miserable and sick, and justifying making it happen any possible way I could. My dad, when he was trying to get us to sleep, would trace his finger across our brows, down the bridge of our nose, and across our cheekbones in a loop, too, and I wanted to add a little of that.

Clark half-expected a gruff “Goodnight, Clark-boy” from his pa.

My mom tells me this is a reference to The Waltons. It's a TV show.

Instead, Clark was enfolded in the subtle musk of Bruce’s aftershave as lips pressed to his forehead.

I wrote this whole thing so I get a little treat for me.

And in the cruelest of ironies, I posted this and not two weeks afterwards was sick and so so so so so so sad I didn't have a Bruce to take care of me.

#fanfic bts brain dump #superbros #bruce wayne #clark kent #fanfic #batfic #world's finest

10 notes · View notes