#'so he could fix the shitty writing' i WILL say that there's a reason one lasted 15 years while the other lasted one
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i didn't know they were still in denial
#yesss treat him like your cardboard cutout mascot <3#'/they/ got eric kripke to gaslight him' as if he himself didn't specifically seek out email him about it himself#this is borderline scrubbing all his agency from him i feel like#'so he could fix the shitty writing' i WILL say that there's a reason one lasted 15 years while the other lasted one#+ the spinoff had nothing to do with the finale 😭#'no one hates the spn finale like jensen does' the jensen you're talking about doesn't exist#ludere
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teachers pet
ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader
cw: 18+content, dub-con, pussy spanking, spanking, degradation, milddd brat taming, teacher x student relationships (age gap, but reader is in college), p in v, pull-out method, cum eating
a/n: i have been really struggling to write recently, so i hope you guys still like this :3 i um... hate it sorry it's not that good... writer's block is so shitty rn. feedback is appreciated !!
word count: 1.3k words
Leon finds you infuriating at the best of times. Sitting at the front of the lecture hall, giggling as you look at your phone. You never pay attention to his lectures - he doesn't understand why you even bother to show up.
You're not even subtle about ignoring him. The least you could do is try and hide in the back like the rest of his students who don't give a fuck.
To make matters worse, your grades are actually decent. Nothing to write home about, but you always turn his assignments in on time, and you've never failed to get a passing mark. If you failed, at least you'd flunk out of his class, and he wouldn't have to put up with your shit anymore.
It's like you want to get a rise out of him.
He's sick of it. He's sick of you. He retired and took on teaching college kids in the hopes he'd finally have some time to relax, but you seemed to enjoy making his life a living hell. He'd had enough of it. As you're packing up once he dismisses the class, he makes his way to your desk, his footsteps echoing across the lecture hall.
“Not you, miss. I need to have a word with you. Please come to my desk once you're packed up.” He tells you, tapping two fingers against your desk as he leans in to speak before he's returning to sit at the desk at the front of the hall.
You let out an exaggerated groan at his words, shoving your laptop into your backpack before begrudgingly making your way over to him. Your bag is slung over one shoulder, hanging precariously off to the side.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
“That's right.” He says with a slight nod of his head, gesturing for you to take the seat across from him. He leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other as he waits for you to sit.
“I'm going to be honest. You've gained my attention, however it's been for all the wrong reasons. You're smart enough. I'm sure if you applied yourself to this course, you'd get top marks. Is there something I can do to help? Is it a motivation issue? Something at home?”
“Well, if I'm being honest, sir. I thought when I chose this elective, it'd be more interesting. Your lectures are, like… seriously boring.” You say with a smirk that makes it clear you're just trying to frustrate him further.
“I'm seriously getting sick of your attitude.” He bites out, leaning forward against his desk. His eyes are narrowed and locked onto your own. “You can drop an elective. It will have no effect on your main course of study. Why are you still here?”
“It's fun to annoy you, sir.” Is your response, a shit-eating grin spreading across your face.
That's it. Leon is a patient man. He'd tried his best to help you. To figure out what the issue was so he could fix it. But you? Everything about you made him want to rip his hair out.
“Stand up.” He hisses, the feet of his chair screeching against the hardwood floor as he pushes it back suddenly before standing, stalking his way to your side of the desk. You don't stand, crossing your arms as you lean back in the chair.
“I said, stand up!” He repeats, gripping you by the arm and tugging you to your feet. He presses down harshly on your shoulders, forcing you to bend over his desk. “You want to act like an unruly child? Fine. I'll treat you like one.”
“You can not be serious.” You grit out, moving to straighten back up before your chest is forced against the surface of the desk once more with a strong hand pushing down on your back, right between your shoulder blades. “Jesus. I always knew you were a fucking freak.”
“This could all have been avoided if you weren't such a brat.” He hisses, raising your skirt to expose the curve of your ass. You hear him snort, bunching up the fabric of your panties and yanking them upwards harshly, making the fabric bunch up between your lips in a wedgie. It draws a whine from your lips, your brows furrowing as you drop your cheek against his desk.
“Fucking slut. Is that why you're acting up in my class, hmm? You want attention? Prancing around in those tiny skirts, skimpy panties like these underneath ‘em?” He lets go of your panties, sliding them down your thighs before smacking his flattened fingers repeatedly against your pussy until it runs hot, dripping all over his skin.
“Fuck… fuck off.” You say through gritted teeth, your mouth twitching downwards as he continues to spank your pussy. You bite down on your tongue, trying to prevent any noises from spilling past your lips.
He pinches your clit harshly between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a little yank. He grins at the sound of your whimper and the way you jerk away from him, letting out a low chuckle. “What was that, sweetheart?”
You hear the sound of a belt buckle and the shuffling of fabric, which is enough to send a shiver running down your spine. You swallow the lump in your throat, suddenly feeling your confidence drain from you. When you speak, your voice is almost a whisper. “Mr. Kennedy…”
“Oh? You finally learning to keep that mouth shut?” He grunts, running his tip teasingly up and down between your folds, letting his cock catch on your hole just to see you jump. “Trying to pretend you're not a filthy slut, but your cunt is crying for me...”
He presses forward with a low groan, burying himself to the hilt inside of you. His cock throbs as your walls tighten around him, his fingers digging painfully into the fat of your hips as he starts to fuck into you, his pelvis pummelling against your ass with every shift of his hips.
“Greedy.” He scolds, smacking your ass harshly, and once more just to hear the way you whimper when his hand connects with your flesh. “She's sucking me right in. Know this is what you've been wanting… shoulda asked, sweetheart. Pretty sluts like you always get what they want.”
“Perfect pussy… squeezing me so tight.” He groans, thrusting deeper into your cunt, pulling you back onto his cock and angling his hips so he's bumping against your sweet spot every time he bottoms out. He fucks you with deep, hard strokes, letting you feel the drag of every inch of his thick cock inside of you.
“Ah, that's right. Just need to fuck the brattiness out of you, hmm? Goooood fucking girl. Gonna… gonna make me cum.” He says through gritted teeth, slipping a hand down to circle a thumb around your clit. You babble helplessly as he touches you, nothing but ‘please’s and ‘sir's spilling past your lips. He almost cums inside of you when he feels your clenching around him as your orgasm hits, but he's not too pussydrunk to release how stupid it'd be to get his student knocked up, so he pulls out quickly and coats your ass in his cum.
“You gonna be a good girl for me now?” He asks, dropping to his knees behind you, his tongue darting out to lick his cum off of you. The sensation has you shivering, but you nod weakly at his question. He pulls your panties up, straightening out your skirt before patting your butt and going to sit at his desk once more, as if nothing's happened. “Good. That's good.”
“Come see me after class tomorrow, babe. Gotta make sure the lesson really sinks in.”
#leon s kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy#leon s kennedy smut#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy#leon kennedy x you#leon s kennedy x you#resident evil x you#resident evil x reader#resident evil smut
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Hi! I love your work! I saw that you had requests open, so could I request something with Hotch and the reader having to share a room for a case? I'm a sucker for awkward moments and pining so could this be like pre-relationship? And maybe the reader has to ask for a shirt or sweatpants because their own pajamas aren't very appropriate.
Thank you! ❤️ (feel free to ignore it if you don't want to write it)
Thank you for the request!
Word count: Just slightly over 2k.
A/N: MDNI! not super anything but I would feel better lol. Also the ending is me chickening out, but I don't rule out a part 2 either.
“Overbooked?” You ask the concierge in disbelief.
“I’m afraid so, it means that, unfortunately the hot-” He starts with an apologetic twist of his mouth, but you put a hand up to cut him off, already feeling a migraine beginning to form.
“I know what it means” You say exasperated. In the short run from the car to the hotel the storm had soaked your clothes making them stick to you uncomfortably, the heat of the lobby doing absolutely nothing to fight back the chill seeping into your bones.
Your soaking wet duffel bag hangs heavy on your shoulder forming a small ring of water on the red carpet. The people in line behind you huffing in impatience not helping matters at all.
A drop of water running from the back of your neck through your spine made you shiver uncomfortably.
The combined feeling of discomfort and exhaustion is making your patience run thin, and the realization that you had no place to sleep tonight was about to bring you to tears in front of the obnoxious family of four right behind you.
“Don’t you guys have like another hotel or something nearby?” You ask, already knowing the answer by the look of pity the concierge shots you.
“ma’am I’m sorry but -”
Before you can cut him off once more you feel a warm palm softly touch your arm, and Hotch appears right by you. Your shoulders drop in relief knowing he’ll fix it. The thought feels silly, It’s not as if Hotch can build you another room but for some reason you’re sure that he’ll find a work around.
“Is there an issue here?” He asks, his stature and still pristine, and somehow dry, suit more imposing than the drenched racoon look you ended up with.
“As I was telling her there was a mix up with the reservations and, unfortunately, we don’t have an available room for her” The concierge - Paul - says probably feeling just as relieved as you are to be talking to Hotch.
“Not here” Paul keeps going before Hotch can ask “nor in any of our other nearby branches. It’s the National Taxidermists Association Convention” He adds with an awkward smile.
“Did you hear that? I may not have a room but the dead and stuffed deer certainly does” You add unhelpfully.
“I understand” Hotch says before turning back to you and softly guiding you towards the side “It’s alright, we’ll just rearrange the rooms”
“It’s eleven PM, besides Pen said everyone got their own room tonight so it’s not like anyone will have the space” You say petulantly before looking back at him, already apologetic for snapping.
“I'm sorry, my duffle got ruined because I bought this shitty one instead of my usual so everything's probably soaked, I feel like this shirt is painted on and I'm pretty sure one of the creepy taxidermists was checking me out so I'm honestly not having the greatest night.”
You were all there for a negotiation seminar, which in hindsight made the fact that a dead squirrel got a room before you more humiliating.
Hotch only looks at you patiently “it's alright” he repeated, briefly touching your shoulder “We can just share my room”
Suddenly self conscious, the last thing you wanted was to put him out when all he probably wanted to do was talk to Jack and pass out, alone, in his own room. But he must have read it on your face because before you could make up an excuse he picks up your go bag and adds “It would make me feel better knowing you're near by and not in some motel, especially tonight.”
As if to back him up, thunder suddenly struck, loud and impossible to ignore.
“Okay,” you agree, going for the elevator “but you're not taking the couch”
“Am I that transparent?” He asks as you both wait for the doors to open, along with some of the other guests and their suspiciously big suitcases. You try really hard not think of what's in them.
“Sorry, it's the whole Connecticut WASPy manners thing, you’d probably rather get a creek on your neck sleeping on the floor just because it's more polite” You say with a shrug of your shoulder.
Before he could reply the doors opening, everyone flooding in making you press your back against Hotch, his arm went to your waist to keep you steady after a man not much older than you almost rolled his suitcase over your feet.
The heat of him behind you and his hand on your front made your stomach clench, it took all of your willpower not to lean back, the thought of him pressing up against you makes your eyes close briefly, his chest almost touching your back with every breath.
It feels like hours pass before you can step into the hallway keenly aware of Hotch just a step behind you.
Stepping into the room the first thing you notice is the queen sized bed, the plush hotel comforter drawing you in. You discard your shoes somewhere by the closet, uncaring of where they land.
“You can take the first shower” Hotch says, entering leaving both of your bags by the door “better warm up before you catch a cold” The thought feels entirely caring and entirely Hotch but the suggestion brings a more pressing issue to the front of your mind.
“um” you say, widening your eyes at the realization that you have nothing to wear “everything I have is soaked, like fresh out the washer before the dryer kind of soaked, you don't happen to have a spare set of pj's in there do you?”
He doesn't reply, just goes over to his bag and hands you a small pile of clothing “you go ahead, I'll go down with your clothes and see if laundry service is still open, wouldn't want you showing up tomorrow in a hotel bathrobe” he says with a smile and before you can protest he's off with your duffle bag. Leaving you alone with this uncomfortable feeling in your chest.
Once inside the bathroom you go through the clothing, the first thing you pick up from the pile is a threadbare dark blue GWU sweatshirt, soft in a way only a well loved item can be, and you can't help but take the collar up to your nose and taking in the fresh laundry smell and the remnants of his cologne still lingering in the fabric.
By the time you come out, swimming in his sweatshirt and a pair of too long sweatpants, toweling your hair, Hotch is back sans your bag, laying back in bed on the side closest to the door. Surfing through static after static channel on the TV, his head pillowed on the back of his arm.
“There goes movie night, I guess” you joke walking over to the bed “which side of the bed do you want”
Without getting up he says “this one’s fine”
At that you snort “that's such a guy thing”
“Sorry?”
“The whole sleeping next to the door in case someone comes in”
“You say that now but by the time a guy in a deer mask comes through the door you'll be glad I picked it”
“well how chivalrous of you” You smile at him leaning on the bathroom door.
He smiles back lopsided and a little boyish, his dimples peeking through “It’s those pesky WASP manners rearing their head.”
Hotch looks back at you for a moment from his side of the bed “I hope the shirt is comfortable”
“It’s great, thanks”
He clears his throat “It suits you”
Warmth spreads from the tips of your fingers all the way up your chest where a pleasant weight settles.
You sit criss crossed next him to change the channel to something watchable before your mouth wins over your brain and you say something stupid. As you reach over him, fishing for the remote on the nightstand you miscalculate and your hand slips on the bed sheets, toppling you over on top of him, leaving you nose to nose. Close enough to count his eyelashes.
You quickly sit back up but upon your haste you both move up at the same time, falling back into him as your hands find purchase in his chest. You feel the rise and fall of every breath he takes, the thrum of his heart matching yours. Your eyes lock again as his hands circle your waist to keep from falling from the bed and into the floor.
“Shit” You whisper “I’m so sorry Hotch” But it’s hard to be when you’re encased in his arms, feeling the muscle of his chest underneath your fingertips as his big, calloused hands burn a mark on your back.
“It’s alright” He says in a tone matching your own.
With his help you sit back up and he hands you the remote you were looking for. Tucking an errand strand of hair behind your ear you put on a random channel.
A black and white movie plays on in the background as you look at him, the faint glow from the TV casting moving shadows across his face, suddenly highlighting his strong brow or straight nose.
Your breathing matches his, suddenly the low light of the bedside lamp reminds you of candlelight, a gossamer filter cast over you.
As you’re about to speak, not really knowing what you were actually going to say he breaks the silence first by standing up and heading to the bathroom to shower.
It feels impossible to know Hotch, what he’s thinking or feeling, you want to unspool his thoughts, display them out like a film reel for your viewing pleasure. Know him as intimately as you sometimes feel he knows you.
You’re settled back in bed, still lost in thought, by the time the water cuts off he comes out in plaid blue pants and a white t-shirt smelling like soap fresh laundry. His hair still damp and shirt collar askew like he dressed in a hurry.
Hesitating for a few seconds before peeling back the covers and getting in, his body heat right next to you, a contrast against your cold skill, the cold never having left you. Immediately making you shiver despite the thicker sweatshirt.
Hotch clears his throat again, more out of embarrassment from what he’s about to do, and it’s odd to see him like this. You���re used to seeing him be sure of himself, unflinching in the face of murderers, government officials and incensed police captains alike.
It’s an alien feeling seeing him blush, or hesitate before speaking, it only serves to deepen your fondness for him, it makes you want to lean in and press a kiss against his heated cheek.
He opens his arm in a silent invitation, you curl yourself sideways against him, your cold nose pressing against his neck as his warm hands trail up and down your back in what began an attempt to warm you back up. The lazy movement up and down meant to lull you to sleep, is instead sending shivers down your spine.
“Better?” Hotch asks.
“Much, thank you” You reply, resting your ear against his chest.
You don’t say anything else but let your hand trail up his stomach, feel the muscles softly clench underneath your hand before letting it rest there and look up to see his eyes closed and his lips parted. As if he could feel your gaze on him he opens his eyes still panting.
Hotch looks at you with a questioning gaze, the certainty in yours seeming like the only answer he needs.
His hand is a gentle weight on the back of your neck draws you in until your nose to nose, lips a breath away from touching. His thumb caresses your cheekbone back and forth, clouding your senses until you have tunnel vision, the room fades away and all you can see is him. You nose trails his for a moment as your forehead presses together, your hand coming up to touch his jaw.
“We shouldn’t ” He says, breath fanning against your lips while his eyes close briefly.
“No, we should not” You reply, but neither make a move to part.
“What should we do then?”
“You should tell me goodnight”
“Goodnight, then” He says and his deep voice reverberates under your hand still perched on his chest. You lean down and leave a kiss on the corner of his mouth as his breath stutters.
Before you can pull off of him his hand draws you back in finally kissing you. Time stops existing right then, the kiss is hungry but unhurried, Hotch is patient and tender as he rolls you over resting your head against his forearm.
Your breathing's labored as you part “See now we really should go to sleep” You say breathlessly, chest heaving up and down.
“We absolutely should,” He says teasingly.
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Black Mould
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Synopsis: Jimmy invites you to his apartment one evening for no reason. He's acting strange. (tw mentions of suicide, talk of murder, barely edited. can't think of anything else. MINORS DNI.)
Word count: 1.5k
Notes: Enjoyed writing this! kind of fascinated by the abused white boy psychology. i vividly remember watching a clip of sam hyde (was never a fan FYI, he had one good comedy bit in his early years pre-adultswim and just decided to never be funny ever again) talking about how he wanted to kill his parents while smoking on a curbside and that particular clip will always be jimmy-coded
"I want to kill someone."
You glanced at Jimmy, slouched opposite you on the shitty vegan leather couch. The roll of weed pinched between his fingers burned unevenly, smoke curling between the callouses. It smelled sour, pungent, but he smoked it like it was some handcrafted Cuban cigar.
"I want to kill my mom." His voice rasped, cutting through the stagnant air. His eyes, dull and fixed, locked on you. "And then my dad."
You glanced up sharply from your laptop, instantly torn from the half-written document. "Do you?"
"Yeah." A slow exhale, smoke drifting lazily from his lips. His head tipped back against the couch, exposing the line of his throat. "I think about it sometimes. Killing them. Driving back to that shitty townhouse and strangling them. Bare-handed."
"Ooh. Scary." You closed your laptop with a soft click, the sound too clean for this moment. Leaning back, you met his stare. "And then what? Parricide is deep stuff, Jimmy. You really think you'd settle back into your day-to-day after that?"
His mouth twitched—something between a grin and a grimace. "Mhm. Why? You think I'm a pussy?"
"I'd call it just having a human conscience." You reached out, finger jabbing lightly at his side. "You act tough over the stupidest things. Honestly."
He slapped your hand away without force, like swatting a fly. Then he shifted forward, elbows on his knees, the blunt hanging loosely from his fingers. His eyes glistened, glassy and red, face absent of the usual lines of his permanent scowl. He almost looked peaceful.
It unsettled you. And Jimmy being quiet never meant anything good.
"Jimmy," you tried again, voice sharpening before you could stop it. "Have you slept?"
He didn’t answer. Just brought the blunt back to his mouth, lips curling around it. Ignoring you.
You sighed, softer this time, and your fingers reached out—grazing his shoulder, gentle. A small nudge to turn him toward you. "Jim—"
The world snapped sideways.
Your back hit the couch with a hard, bruising thud, the cushions squealing beneath you. Jimmy loomed above, shadow cutting across his face, smoke still curling from the corner of his mouth. His hand was planted next to your head, steady, but his eyes—those were trembling.
"Don't touch me."
It wasn't a shout. It was low, coiled. Like a wire pulled too tight. Admittedly, childish.
You let the silence stretch, feeling it dig in. Then, slow and deliberate, you scoffed. "I'll do as I please."
His jaw clenched. You saw it. Felt the heat radiating off him. But he didn’t move. Didn't lean closer, didn't pull back.
You stared him down.
Because you knew this wasn’t about you. Not really. You knew Jimmy, knew how he spiraled—lashing out, testing limits. Trying to scrape the inside of his own skull for something that might feel real.
So you stayed still. And so did he.
Smoke thinned between you, curling in slow, suffocating ribbons.
Finally, Jimmy let out a slow breath, shoulders slumping the tiniest bit. The fight draining, not gone, but dulled.
He sat back down, the couch groaning beneath him. The blunt, half-forgotten, drooped between his fingers.
You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.
"Curly's right to worry about you, you know." You couldn't be bothered to lighten the topic. "He won't say it—and he probably doesn't even consciously realize it—but you're always one impulse away from doing something batshit crazy."
Again, he ignores you. Though you could've sworn under the dim lights of the living room lamp, his bottom lip twitched.
Cutting yourself off before you could continue on your usual rants about his poor behavior, his appalling attitude, the fucking things he does, you exhale slowly. "Curly can keep babying you. You've had a hard life, right? Good things don't come easy to you. That's what he tells me," you rub your jaw, teeth throbbing from the grit they were in moments ago. "And you don't believe in God. You don't believe in consequences. You don't believe in anything. So I'll make it clear—
"I will kill you if you start pulling shit again."
He laughs, harsh, before falling into a fit of coughs.
"You think I'm joking?"
"No, I just don't think you've got the balls."
"Okay. You can think that. But I've made it clear." You stare at him, while he keeps his chin raised and his fingers tight around the waning roll. "I always have a pistol on me. And I always know what you're up to."
"I really don't give a shit about your threats."
His voice is almost a mutter, too quiet to even bother sounding threatening. His eyes soon trail to the floor, tracing some stain that’s been there for God knows how long. You can tell he’s not thinking about it—just trying to focus on anything but whatever is going on behind his eyes.
"I don’t need saving, alright?" He continues a few seconds later. "Not from you. Not from anyone."
"Funny," you murmur, letting your gaze linger on him. "You say that, but you sure as hell seem like you need someone to clean up after you."
He takes another hit, slow, deliberate, and you watch the smoke snake up toward the ceiling, like it’s just one more thing drifting away from him. But he's still here. As are you.
"Yeah? And what are you gonna do? Be the one to fix me?" He says it with a twisted smile, but it’s not real. You know that. "Please."
"Fix you?" You repeat it back to him, no humor in your voice. "You think you're broken? Maybe you're just fucked up, Jim. There’s a difference."
His eyes finally meet yours, sharp, searching. Like he’s trying to read something in you, like he's expecting you to fold. But you don’t. You’re not Curly.
"How long do you think you can keep doing this?" You ask, letting the words land heavy between you. "You want to tear everything down, including yourself. But at the end of it, what’s left? Nothing. Just you. Stuck with all the shit you will never outrun."
He doesn’t answer. Just exhales, the smoke hanging thick in the air. You don’t expect him to. You know the drill.
"You really think you can handle it all on your own?" Your voice is quieter now, barely more than a murmur. "You think you're the only one who's ever been through anything? You even know what you're doing to yourself, Jim? You’re not invincible. You’re just...existing. Waiting for everything to fall apart."
He tenses, just a little, like a muscle twitching in his jaw. The blunt’s burning down, but he’s barely noticing it. His focus is somewhere far away.
"I know exactly what I’m doing," he mutters, voice thick with something you can’t quite place. "I’m not the problem. You are."
You stare at him, half expecting him to turn the tension into something real, to throw the punch he’s been holding back. But he doesn’t. Instead, you hear a soft, frustrated breath escape him. Damn, he must be really tired.
"Me?" You laugh, no amusement in it. "You think I’m the one who’s fucked up? You’ve been doing this for how long, Jim? Dirtying everything that has the… the misfortune of being near you. And you think I’m the problem?"
He doesn’t say anything for a while. Maybe he’s trying to figure out how to answer, or maybe he's just tired of it. You don't care. You let the silence fill the space between you. It’s the kind of quiet that feels like it could swallow you both.
"I’m not the one trying to fix you," you say, voice finally softening just a bit. "I just want you to stop pretending like this is all some fucking game. You can’t keep acting like everything doesn’t matter, and you can’t keep pretending you’re not going to burn out and die along the way. Prematurely. Suicide, if I had to guess."
For a moment, there’s just the dull sound of him dragging the blunt to his lips again, slow, like he's stalling. As if he was even engaging with you to begin with.
But you’ve said it now. You’re not backing off.
“Is this what you really want?”
His eyes flick to yours for a second, but he looks away again, like he’s afraid of whatever’s written there. Whatever truth he knows you can see.
"That doesn’t matter," he finally says, voice lower this time, less certain. "You won’t let me."
You lean back, letting the words hang there in the air. You don’t need to say anything else. It’s all there already.
Shifting your legs, you look to the ceiling, the galaxy of dots on the popcorn ceiling staring back at you. "I’m not trying to save you, Jim. I’m just trying to stop you from dragging me down with you."
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. You both know it’s not about the threats anymore. It’s not about the words or the fights or even the silence. It’s about the fact that you both know too much. Too much about each other. And that’s what really fucking hurts.
A million problems with no solutions.
#faith.txt#sorry if hes ooc im still getting used to writing him n curly#jimmy mouthwashing x reader#mouthwashing x reader#jimmy zare x reader#jimmy x reader
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Shitty day
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(Hazbin Vox x Fashionista!Male reader)
No warnings maybe some foul language.
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To say Vox was annoyed was an understatement. Val was bitching about something again and Velvette was on phone calls the whole day yelling in every. single. one of them. And when the clients she was yelling too still didn't budge she went to whine to Vox.
All in all Vox had a headache the whole fucking day that even a reboot couldn't fix. He knew what he needed. He needed you.
You were one of the most valuable people at Velvette's fashion boutique second in command after her. And since you made a shit ton of money for the whole company Vox noticed you. Oh, he noticed you every time he visited Velvette he saw you delicately dancing in between shelves of fabric needles is your mouth needle pillow on your wrist and a thimble on your finger.
You moved so magnificently among the many unfinished pieces you started, he couldn't help but watch. It was like water flowing between rocks but you sometimes stopped here and there to make an adjustment on a dress or suit.
Velvette of course noticed this, she notices everything.
"Jesus fuck, just go talk to 'im he is gay if thats what you're wondering of course he is he works in fashion. Or what do I care just move your ogling elsewhere."
And that he did.
He flirted with you, and to his surprise you flirted back. Not because he didn't think he had a chance he knew he was a handsome fellow but most people seeing him cower in fear. You didn't.
He liked you. He liked you a lot.
This was about 4 months ago.
Now its a habit that he visits you almost every day after work. Since then, you have gotten your private office so you guys had privacy.
You're usually still working on a piece or two when he walks in back hunched smile gone and he falls face first into your couch.
Today was the same he was even massaging his temples.
You noticed that today was a particularly hard day for him so you left to get some coffee.
When you returned he was still in the same position. You chuckled to yourself quietly. You loved the relationship you two had. Now, you weren't exactly a couple (yet) but you were the one he trusted with opening up. You were his safe place, and even if his day was good you were the first one he would tell the good news, or if his day was not good nor bad just an average day he still came to you to calmly watch you work while you guys talked.
You lifted his screen up sat down on the couch and put it on your thighs. You two were very comfortable with each other this was nothing. He turned around so he could look up at you.
"I made you coffee" you lifted the mug while smiling at him. He smiled slightly. Fuck, he loved you so much.
"Please be my boyfriend."
Vox blurted out without sitting up. He was just laying in your lap looking up at you hopefully.
You chuckled quietly and instead of answering him just bent down to kiss him. Vox eagerly returned the favor.
"I'd love to be your boyfriend" you answered after you two parted. Vox sighed with contempt as you intervened your fingers with his. Even though it was a shitty day, and there will come shitty days, you'll be here with him. Those days don't even seem so shitty anymore.
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I know its short but its sweet so I kinda love it.
I need to write much more for Vox cuz honestly I fucking love him but for some reason ideas usually hit me for Alastor😭
Also I'm a true believer that under that big-shot TV persona he is a broken little boy and actually really sweet so😎
ANYWAYS
I hope you enjoyed your reading, ladies gentleman and others, good afternoon good evening and good night🧡🦖
#male reader#hazbin x you#hazbin x reader#hazbin hotel x male reader#male y/n#gay fanfiction#hazbin vox#hazbin hotel vox#vox x reader
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POMEFIORE WHEN THEY NOTICE THAT THEIR S/O HAS SHITTY FRIENDS
Vil Schoenheit.
— It takes some time from him to realise it. Not because he is stupid or anything, but he is always so busy, spending time solely with you, and you always say good things about them, so;
— But as soon as he spots you with them on some school event, he starts to understand something is really wrong. Why would they say all these sarcastic remarks? Especially, if you seem to be uncomfortable? He is furious;
— At first, he will have a talk with you. He just needs to make sure that you understand how toxic they are, and that they are really-really wrong. If you don't see that, or for some reason agree with them, he is sad and disappointed in himself for not noticing it earlier;
— ”Ah, my sweet potato, how could you think so bad of yourself? Just look at yourself in the mirror for a minute! Look at how charming you are. How I love every part of you...”
— Starts praising you more often! He is quite reserved on the public, but he clearly tries to do something good for you. Might pull out a complements on your ear quietly, when you see each other in school;
— ”Oh, who is this pretty lady is?” ”Ah, I am sorry that I bumped in you, darling. I just couldn't tear my eyes from you...”
— Once again, as Vil is busy and aloof, he will not call your fake friends out personally. But he will make sure that some measures were taken. And that they know that their single word against you will cost them so much. Especially, if they are from Pomefiore;
— Live, laugh, Vil Schoenheit.
Rook Hunt.
— Oh, of course he knows that. Rook spends half of time hunting down objects of his interest, but most of the time his eyes glued to you. Even if you don't realise;
— He hears everything. And he sees everything, too. There is no way to fool this man;
— He is immediately furious. But Rook's rage is different from most of the people; his rage is quiet, cold, and slightly... Delirious. But no one can hurt you, physically or emotionally, and he makes sure that others will know that;
— Firstly, though, Rook needs to make sure that you are not affected by their attitude. Whatever they are shitty for—making toxic remarks about your appearance, leaving you out constantly, or something else—Rook will make everything better;
— This man is literally kissing the ground you are walking on. No insecurity under his roof! No-no. If you ask him, he surely can become your servant, even. But you don't, so he continues to adore you in his own ways;
— But that I mean writing poetry about you and declaring it publicly, so everyone would now how loved you are. Gifting you small—or not really—tokens every day. Writing little notes of what it reminded about you. Ah, he can even spoil you with food and sweets! Anything you want, really;
— And regarding your friends... He will take care of it personally. In his own ways. Which can be extreme, but don't worry! They are alive, just frightened! But at least they apologised, right?..
— ”Don't worry, ma belle catastrophe. I will always keep you safe!”
Epel Felmier.
— He is quite observant, and you spent a lot of time together, so, of course, he notices that something is really wrong;
— He can't believe his eyes, though, when he realises how your friends threat you. For him, you are the most supportive and kind person in the world, and perfectly charming. He can't understand how anyone could ignore you, let alone brush you off constantly;
— Epel fully concentrates on fixing your mental state. He knows how bad it feels, to be dawned by insecurities. And he is not a perfect speaker, but he tries really hard to explain you how he sees your situation, how bad are your friends are;
— He is aware that he is not that impressive and scary as others, which means he can't scare off your fake friends. But Epel is smarter and more cunning;
— He uses what he has to make your friends pay for what they had done to you, uwu!
— He either will make sure that Rook or Vil will do something about that—he might dislike his house and housewardens, but, hey, they are useful—or ask to help his other friends. I mean, just pulling in this Jack would be already enough, but if anything, he has these two idiots from Heartslabyul to do something with it. You will not even notice! He is with you all the time, after all;
— ”Please, never forget that you are not alone anymore, and never will be! I am here for you.”
#twisted wonderland#twst wonderland#vil schoenheit x reader#vil x reader#vil schoenheit#rook x reader#rook hunt x reader#rook hunt#epel felmier#epel x reader#epel felmier x reader#pomefiore
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I think the reason I connect to Jaune of all characters is because I can relate to the feeling of inadequacy. Ofcourse the character isn't perfect and I get why people just don't like him but I can't agree. Ofcourse that's just a shitty opinion and of course obviously my opinions are garbage. Any way my glazing aside-
Ok I know normally this is a really small (even compared to the shitposts) Rwby shipping post buuut-
A chat
Setting: jaune is currently helping Weiss move into her temporary apartment.
Jaune: hey Weiss?
Weiss turned to look at jaune as she hummed. She held a box in her hands before setting it down a stack of boxes.
Weiss: hmm?
Jaune: if you were sent back in time and put in our beacon, would you still.. you know dislike me during that time?
Weiss: well depends, would it just be me or would all of us be sent back?
Jaune: just you.
Weiss: hmm.. well id certainly still be annoyed with you. But I wouldnt be.. as harsh as my younger self. I would tell you to stop flirting and just try being friendly with me and then see how that goes.
Jaune: huh.. alright then. anything else outside of me?
Weiss: well this ones obvious, tell pyrrha to ask you out. Atleast then I wouldn't be annoyed. And apologize to Blake profusely for a lot of the things I said.. and ofcourse make sure to check in on ruby.
The room went quiet as jaune simply nodded.
Jaune: so-
Weiss: jaune, since you did ask that I think It's only fair that I ask you a question.
Jaune: huh, that seems fair. Fire away.
Weiss turned around fully to face him.
Weiss: if you went back in time.. what would you do?
Jaune: let's see, I would try harder in my classes, I'd have enough with Cardin's bullshit a lot earlier.. and I'd be honest with my team and you guys.. outside of that I'd stop flirting with you.. I got a lot of things I wish I could fix.
Weiss: but obviously.. what's happened, has happened.
Jaune: no going back.
Weiss: speaking of no going back, since we've finished up for today I say we go visit Ruby.
Jaune: alright then, you sure I should come with? It's.. been awhile since me and her actually talked.
Weiss: I think it do you both good.
Jaune just simply nodded as he amd Weiss soon walked out the front door but not before-
Jaune: hey Weiss.. thanks for putting up with me
Weiss: your welcome.. and your not that annoying anymore. Besides, outside of that, your a good friend.
END
When I check to see the reblogs I better see "WE ARE SO BACK" (kidding obviously I'm not that good at writing fics)
..you mothafuckers-
#rwby#jaune arc#rwby shitpost#jaune x weiss#white knight#whiteknight#rwby whiteknight#rwby white knight#weiss schnee#jaune arc x weiss schnee#weiss x jaune#TOO MANY FUCKING TAGS.
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Finally talking about the dream I had about Dan and Phil before tour started (I am aware it sounds insane which is why I haven't told this for months):
In fan photos from the European leg of the tour, Dan's knuckles were constantly bloody. He never mentioned it or anything, but it was long enough that it wasn't just a one-off thing. The phandom decided this was the one time for not speculating and having boundaries, and remarkably said nothing. The vibe was very much "eh, his hands got fucked up and we're focused on the tour content." The mainstream news, though, was OBSESSED. Like, CNN was regularly running stories asking why Dan's hands were always bloody, trying to get the inside info on these touring youtubers.
I was a reporter at the time, and I was assigned to follow Dan and Phil and figure out what was up. Which at first was sort of fine, then I felt really shitty about it because I was basically spying on them and getting weird paparazzi shots. And it was clear that my job required me to be spying on them and basically harassing them. The media (including me) were so invasive that they had to cancel the tour bus in america, and decided to do the entire tour by boat (how they were going to reach cities that didn't have a coast or river idk). But on the phyacht, no one could follow them the way they could with a bus.
Except for me, because I snuck onto the fucking boat.
Then I see Dan, crawling up the stairs from the inside of the boat to the deck on his hands and knees, knuckles down on the metal stairs. He does this every single time and refuses to walk up the stairs normally, and clearly this is why his hands are always bloody. Great news for my job, except it's the worst answer to know because Dan doing this constantly and not telling anyone means he's either having a mental break or it's a really weird kink, neither of which I want to be publicly reported on.
Of course, it's not that big of a boat and Dan and Phil find out I've stowed away on it and they're fucking pissed, which is understandable. I try from then on to leave them the fuck alone, I keep my distance on the boat now that I have an answer. (They also can't kick me off the boat, because of some obscure journalism law?)
So I keep following them into every venue, and they look like they want to murder me 24/7, meanwhile I'm scoping out the back of the theaters to check for other photographers because I don't want someone else to find out and write something worse than whatever I'll inevitably have to report. One time I see there's a room full of people they don't know about and I try to whisper at them to go the other way, but they don't listen and do it anyway. And I'm just there like ugh, please just listen to me, I swear I'm trying to help you.
And I'm stalling and stalling trying to give them time to fix it or say something and not have to leak this info, because clearly they don't want this to be public and it's going to be mega-viral the moment I say something.
Anyway, the dream sort of faded out there but for whatever fucking reason this is what my subconscious generated.
#i have strange dreams a lot but this is the only one ive had about dnp#like why was i having anxiety dreams on their behalf#dan and phil#dnp#phan
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have u seen/played mouthwashing? thoughts?
I'll be honest I have the tag blocked.
I don't hate the game or nothing, I'm sure it's great, but I look a lot like Curly pre-crash (blue-eyed, blond, with the exact same haircut except Mine's a little longer at the back cuz mullet, hell my fringe even parts the same way) and I'm also a burn victim so I'm sure you can understand my discomfort.
That said it's not really Mouthwashing itself that makes me uncomfortable but rather the fandom around it. From people giving a fucking human being dog buttons and thinking it's funny like he isn't dehumanised enough in the game (and the ableism by Jimmy kinda being a focal point of one of many reasons Jimmy sucks), to people saying Curly DESERVED to be disabled in the crash like disability is a fucking punishment of some kind that people must have earnt, to people saying Anya should keep the baby...
Also as a more-or-less recovering alcoholic (I'm managing ok) who's been desperate enough to drink hand sanitiser for a fix, uh... The whole "drink the mouthwash" thing strikes a bit too close to home. My ability to be tolerant of that aspect varies by the day though. The only shit I can't tolerate is the fandom and how it treats these characters. And yeah I know characters aren't real bla bla bla but I'm not talking about people writing fic or something I'm taking about how the fandom's behaviour is indicative of how they view rape victims and disabled people and people with substance abuse disorders and other marginalised people. You get it.
Oh and also the rampant infantilisation of Daisuke in the fandom like East Asian men aren't infantilised enough.
Or people showing Anya, a fucking nurse, hugging/touching a patient with third degree burn wounds. But that's more the doctor in me bitching about infection and how she's a nurse and would know better.
I think I could bitch for hours about shitty takes I've seen on my dash and all of my bitching pertains only to the fandom and not even the actual game. We're reaching levels of "dislike by association". Which I really try not to do because I think the game can speak for itself but if I see one more untagged Mouthwashing shit take on my dash I'm gonna start putting people in blenders and drinking it.
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I don’t blame Mary for needing Arthur’s help. We all need help sometimes and Mary was uniquely helpless. She had nowhere else to turn, especially as a woman of her time, but it still feels manipulative in the way she goes about it.
Mary clearly did love Arthur. She's even shown crying at his grave in the end credits. But, loving someone doesn't automatically mean you can't be shitty to that person or use them, and Mary did certainly take advantage of the fact that she knew Arthur loved her back and she got him involved in her family drama and made him fix things for her. Sure, you can argue that back in those days a widow didn't have many options if the the men in her life (brother, dad, etc) were losers, but getting in touch with an old boyfriend to ask him for help like she did is kind of selfish no matter how much she needed said help. One can cut her some slack due to the circumstances and by assuming that maybe she did on some level want to see if they could get back together but ultimately gave up because she realized Arthur would never quit the gang, but I don't think it's fair to say she was innocent and didn't purposefully use Arthur knowing that he would probably find it impossible to tell her to get lost. And it also did feel a bit… Sad, to have Arthur tell her that he wanted to run away but that he needed to get some things in order first, and while I do understand how Mary might have realized that he had other priorities, it still felt a bit silly to tell him to run away then take it back when he can’t do so immediately. Once again, I don’t blame her for that. Plus, the only reason he could help her with her family drama is the same reason why they can't be together from both their p.o.v.'s: Arthur is an outlaw who is no stranger to violence. I like Mary as a character because of the role she plays in the story and I don't think it's as simple as "bad woman used my precious Arthur" like so many people like to argue, but I also don't think it's fair to say Mary wasn't using Arthur on some level at that point in their lives. If your ex from many years ago calls you to ask for help because she has no one else and that help requires you to do stuff that is the exact reason why your relationship ended back in the day, the exact thing your ex would talk down about, I'd say you might have some complex feelings about the situation and you'd be justified in telling her you don't want to get involved. The game allows you to opt to say no to her request for help, after all.
Now, if you want to define "use" as manipulating someone for your benefit by letting them think you actually care for them when you don't give a crap about them, then sure, I agree that Mary didn't use Arthur. Her actions in today's lens could be looked at as "using" him. But Mary, like most women of that time, were mostly forced to rely on men to simply live in society (someone like Sadie is an exception, as she became an outlaw and thus, lived outside of society.) Mary couldn't just get a job, buy her own property, etc. She truly wanted Arthur but needed someone who wasn't an outlaw, constantly under threat of being jailed or killed. I think looking at it through the lens of 1890s society portrays her actions towards Arthur more out of desperation and desire, and less out of manipulation and/or malice.
But then again, she absolutely did use Arthur. Not in the way Dutch did by getting him to go rob a train or something. But in a way that served her own interests. Saving her little brother from a cult, etc. Just because she wasn't manipulating him into doing illegal things doesn't mean she wasn't using him. In my opinion Mary isn't any more at fault than Arthur is, and vice versa. Sometimes, just loving someone isn't enough. But I don’t agree with the fact that they’re star crossed lovers, nor do I personally think that the writers were trying to ONLY write them as that. It seems that there’s more to it, of another story of someone he loves treating him selfishly, and him trying to give love back. So the writers probably know exactly what they’re doing. Doesn’t mean I don’t think he loves her or vice versa; I just wish we could see that energy go into someone else once it plays out. Well. Someone other than Dutch.
I love this so much because it points out just how complex their relationship is. Mary and Arthur, I don’t think, were ever designed to be these perfect star-crossed lovers. Mary is a woman of high society; she was most likely taught only how to be a mother, wife, and homemaker and has no experience with anything outside of that. She needed help, and I understand entirely asking for it with Jamie. I don’t think at any point was Mary asking for help with malicious intent. I do believe, however, that intentions matter less than the outcome, which did turn into “Oh, I can’t be a part of your rough life, but you’re the only person who can help me because of your rough life.” Which is hypocritical. The running away together thing included.
Their relationship is so full of this push and pull that you can look at it from so many lenses, and really none of them are wrong. But I do truly believe that in some capacity, she did know what she was doing and did use Arthur’s nature against him. She knew he would help her, knew he would at least show up, and while I can’t blame her for asking or using this, I can also say, it’s not my favorite thing for a person to do. Arthur does tend to fall into relationships that are based on someone guiding him for their own bidding, and we can assume that’s because that’s the love he was raised with. Neither of them are at fault; they simply aren’t as compatible as people make them out to be. I don’t think they ever could’ve worked, and not just because of Mary but because of Arthur too. He can’t fight this nature, he has to wrestle with the idea of doing good, of going straight. He’s got a temper and we see it even towards Mary, they’re so complex and when people try and simplify their relationship it drives me crazy.
The love is absolutely there, but the unconditional love is not, and for good reason. I also think they were made to contrast John and Abigail which I might talk about more later!
Love this, love the discussion on their relationship so so much, it’s so interesting to look at! Thank you! :)
#rdr2#red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan#rdr2 community#rdr2 fandom#red dead fandom#red dead redemption community#red dead redemption arthur#rdr2 arthur
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hi your short story is giving me absolute brainworms it’s DAMN good. I don’t have anything of real note to add so I’ll just ask: is there anything you really want to say about the story but haven’t yet (like trivia or whatnot)?
(938 Seconds Per Second)
Probably that I'd very nearly abandoned it!
The idea started from an article I was reading about time dilation - the gist of it being "okay but what's to stop you from accelerating infinitely? Up to and past the speed of light?" and the conclusion was kind of "you sort of can... from YOUR frame, from YOUR perception of time, potentially. but from a resting frame, you will appear to only ever approach the speed of light." So even if you could perceive yourself traveling 100 light years in a month... to every resting body, 100 years have passed.
So I was like cool! Fucked up potential! I really liked the concept of "you can notice your mistake after 5 minutes and already be 100 years too late to fix it."
I toyed with a few ideas and ended up gravitating towards "what if one shipmate intentionally leaves another shipmate behind... and by the time this is discovered days later, the left-behind shipmate is long dead." I also settled on "what if your shipmate sucked so bad that he causes you to snap and leave him behind"
So I started writing with that as the core idea. Main character Mendoza has the Worst Coworker in the World Universe, and he snaps and leaves Carson behind on a planet.
...But then I was a little lost. I was struggling with the substance. The "what makes this interesting" and the "what ties this all together." Sure I could just write Carson being an ass for 3,000 words and then... Mendoza leaves him behind the end?
I was even struggling with the first draft because part of me was like "what's even enjoyable about reading about a completely insufferable person...?" Even Mendoza himself is no peach. Maybe the whole concept was just unpalatable. I kinda just... ditched it where it was.
Then I came back to it this weekend and decided to kind of rethink it, fresh. And the absolute biggest difference between the early stumbling draft and what I ended up with was Sampson. He actually solved so much. (He existed in the early draft, but not importantly.) He introduced the character stakes and the tying thread to the story I was missing.
Now it wasn't just Carson annoying Mendoza. Once Sampson's tome enters the story, the stakes change. Mendoza is now in the middle of Carson actively destroying the thing Sampson is even alive for. Mendoza is now in a position of actively needing to make choices--he could intervene and try to save Sampson's tome. He could tattle. He could do anything--but he doesn't. Because "not letting Carson win" is the single most important thing. Mendoza doesn't need to be any kind of hero. He chooses not to be.
And now the reader is captive to this conflict, privy to everything Mendoza knows, and does not act on, as Sampson unravels in the background.
And now we have a thread that leads to Carson and Mendoza ending up on-planet together. Carson isn't out there for shits and giggles, he's out there because the plot point about Sampson's tome led to this. Now Carson knows about the cargo, and now he's offering Mendoza the chance to not just be passive witness, but be accomplice to Sampson's destruction.
And it's enticing. It's unimaginable wealth, and it's getting off the shitty ship, and it's never seeing Carson again. Mendoza has the chance to stick to his every-man-for-himself ideals and go along with Carson. And it's interesting to explore Carson's reasoning for why they deserve this! They're the ones who sacrificed 300 years for this journey! Don't they deserve this over some fucker who wasn't even born when this mission started?
And then it reaches one pivotal moment--Carson's gleeful declaration that Sampson will totally kill himself once he discovers what they've stolen. Because now there are consequences to this action. If Mendoza follows through with this, it's with the knowledge that he's gotten Sampson killed. (And maybe he shouldn't care. Maybe it doesn't matter. As he's asserted this whole time.)
Mendoza doesn't do it. He pulls up the ladder after Carson.
He doesn't let Carson win.
And then the ending... the ending where Sampson very much was witness to Mendoza following Carson out of the ship. If Sampson were every-man-for-himself, he could just comply and tell Major Kensington what he saw. Mendoza knew Carson was outside the ship. Mendoza came back. Carson didn't. The ship took off. Sampson knows this all.
But, Sampson has an idea of what, may, have happened. He knows he accidentally revealed too much to Carson. He knows Carson stole the tome which contains information about the cargo. Sampson, maybe, knows what decision Mendoza made.
So Sampson lies to Kensington. Sampson will swear on his life he never saw Mendoza that evening. No one will ever know.
And just!!! It was delightful to find the piece that ties the WHOLE story through. It's not just "your coworker sucks and you booted him to live out 40 years on a planet for your next 2 weeks". It's character-driven now. It's about choices and consequences and the fucked up implications that the time-dilation travel throws in.
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HEARME OUT 🌼
ive been seeing fics about bad boy x good girl
and i've been seeing novels about hockey players x nerd
YOU ALREADY KNOW WHO I HAVE IN MIND HAHAH ♪(´ε`*)
he has shitty grades despite being an athletic star so reader tutors him
ITS REALLY SPECIFIC BUT OH YM GO smth abt the bad boy x good girl dynamic does SOMETHING to me ( ≧ᗜ≦)
oH MY GOD ,,, YES PLEASE. LOWKEY WANNA MAKE THIS A SERIES LIKE THE COLLEGE MIGGY ONE HEHEHHEHEHEHEHHE
soccer captain!bad boy!miguel o'hara x nerdy!fem!reader (part 1...?)
the clock mounted on the library wall behind you endlessly ticked all monotonously and rhythmically, ticking you off even more as you tapped your foot against the floorboards impatiently. you knew he was going to have practice after school for an hour and a half, his coach confirmed it with you when you asked–but where the hell was he? you sighed as you shut the book whose contents you were studying closed and began to fix your things and leave–that was, until a loud slam was heard from across the library, which the librarian gave a disgruntled 'shush' for, and the boy of the hour (and the past few) was finally here.
he was all sweaty, his dark, curly locks sweeping over his forehead as he walked over to you and pulled a chair up; slumping into it with a thump, angering the library's patrons and the librarian themselves. you frowned and crinkled your eyebrows at the lack of manners this boy had, and his lack of tact for you taking precious hours out of your day was annoying you beyond belief. "you're late." you reminded him as you folded your arms over your chest. miguel merely chuckled and sat back in his chair. "so what? i'm here now, aren't i?" you grumbled at his cocky response and shook your head gently.
you opened up the book you were reviewing earlier, and before you could even begin to speak, the minute you looked over at miguel, he was napping. with a huff and a look of frustration, you shut the book closed again and leaned over across the table—smacking the top of his head with the book. he mumbled in pain and furrowed his eyebrows at you, looking pissed. "what was that for?" he asked you in a grumble. you opened the book again and reread a few passages. "to wake your lazy ass up." you answered nonchalantly, without even looking up at him. miguel folded his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow at you. "just so you know, i'm carrying the whole school's soccer team by myself—i'm far from lazy." "in soccer, you might not be, but in terms of... academics..." you trailed off, purposefully making miguel knit his eyebrows together again and making him grumble and lean back into his chair. "just don't act like you're any better than me, which you aren't, dork." he mumbled to you as you took a pen and began writing down some notes. "i'm doing no such thing, you himbo of a jock." you replied to him with a little quip.
though as you were writing, miguel's bigger hand wrapped itself around your wrist, prompting you to look up from the book and papers you were holding and up at his hazel brown eyes. they looked soft, maybe a little... bright, even? wait, why were you even noticing these things, you hardly ever spoke to him—the main reason you were even in the same space as this usually loud, crass, crude jock was because he was in a rough position with his grades. his coach suggested you tutor him after school to keep his act together, or else he'd be off the team entirely; what you weren't expecting was him touching you randomly, this wasn't in the agreement. "what?" "thanks... for doing this for me." he muttered to you, looking into your eyes all sweetly; but you weren't falling for it, you knew he had a reputation for making other people swoon for him effortlessly with his words, if he wanted something else from you, he should just say it directly now. "it's not for you, it's extra credit, which i'll be needing eventually." you correct him as you pull away. miguel chuckled at your response. "extra credit? you already tire the teachers too much with all your babbling in class and being bossy in group projects." "success doesn't come easily, o'hara." "oh, trust me... i know." he said with a light smirk as he stared up at you as he propped his chin up on his folded arms on the table.
you whacked his head with the papers this time, and he grumbled again in frustration at how unfunny this whole shtick was becoming to him. the librarian shushed you two as a second warning, and you leaned in close to him to teach him the lessons he missed wasn't listening to because he was busy napping in class in a hushed voice; though you worried he was focusing on... other things while you were teaching him. what kinds of things? oh, you'll see for yourself eventually.
tags !! @miguelswifey04 @hearts4gabri @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel o'hara fluff#miguel o'hara fanfiction#spiderman 2099#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099 fanfiction#atsv#atsv miguel#atsv x reader#atsv x y/n#atsv fluff#atsv fanfiction#spiderverse#across the spiderverse#spiderman across the spiderverse#spiderman across the spiderverse x reader#spiderman across the spiderverse fluff#spiderman across the spiderverse fanfiction
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Ko-fi thank-you sentences for pile o’ rats, who gave me dealer's choice for the WIP I wanted to write for; Knockout gets knocked up.
“Do you want them?” Superman asks just as gently as before, not taking his hand away. Superboy wants to cry, he thinks. No, he definitely wants to cry.
“Yeah,” he croaks. “I–even if they're not mine, I just . . . someone's gonna put them in a lab and hurt them, I know they are, I know it, and I–and I just can't let that–let that . . .”
“Alright,” Superman says, and squeezes his shoulder. Superboy chokes again, and it comes out more a sob than anything else.
“I don’t know what to do,” he manages, and feels absolutely helpless.
“That’s alright,” Superman says, low and soothing. “You don’t have to know what to do yet. I can help you figure out your options, and we’ll go from there. Okay?”
“We’ll”, Kon registers, and immediately bursts into tears.
“Sorry!” he sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I fucked up so bad–!”
“You made a mistake,” Superman says, simple and merciful and squeezing his shoulder again. “You didn’t do anything to hurt anyone else. You didn’t do anything wrong or cruel or on purpose. And it’s not anything we can’t fix.”
“I don’t know how,” Superboy chokes, turning his head away and desperately trying to rub the stupid tears off his face and pull himself back together, because why is he being this stupid and this isn’t Superman’s problem, and he’s–and he’s so stupid! Why is he always so stupid?! And he doesn’t want to look stupid in front of Superman, much less this weak and pathetic.
Even if it’s true.
But if this kid gets stuck in a lab, whether they’re his or not . . . well, he’s the reason Knockout’s in prison right now. He’s the one who took her down.
Fuck, she was pregnant when he took her down. He hit her! While she was pregnant! He hit her really hard! And like, yeah, she was trying to murder him and stuff, but–just, shit, what’s wrong with him?!
This kid is so fucked. There’s no way this kid isn’t fucked. They’re gonna grow up in a lab and if they ever hear anything about him and Knockout, it’s gonna be about how fucking fucked up they were, and–and–
He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t even know how this could get fixed, no matter what Superman says.
He’s never . . . he’s never doubted anything Superman told him before, but . . . but the situation is just so fucked, and he doesn’t even have options. How could he? Just–how? Ever? He’s not a legal adult, he’s not even really a legal person; they’re not gonna let him have the baby. Even if they say they’ll let him, they’ll find an excuse to keep them later, or a reason he can’t have them, or–or something.
His place definitely isn’t babyproofed, if nothing else. He doesn’t even know how to babyproof a place, he’s just vaguely aware that that’s a thing that people do when they have a kid. Like, normal, responsible people who the government isn’t going to take said kid from.
Who’s he kidding? He doesn’t even have the kid to have them get “taken” from him. Knockout’s in custody and he’s just a stupid fucking not even legal idiot who hit her while she was pregnant.
“We’ll figure that out, kid,” Superman says kindly, and Superboy folds his arms and tries not to start crying harder. It’s less that he’s folded his arms, though, and more that he’s . . . hugging himself, probably. But he really doesn’t want it to look like he’s doing that in front of Superman.
“What, the government’s gonna let me keep a baby in my shitty beat-up old place with zero security that everybody knows is my home address?” he asks bitterly, digging his fingers into his arms. “They won’t let me do that. They’ll say it’s not safe. Fuck, it’s not safe!”
“It’s not, no,” Superman agrees. “But there’s still options, alright? Why don’t you just . . . come with me, for right now. Have you eaten yet?”
“Um–I don’t think so,” Superboy says, trying to remember. He honestly . . . yeah, no. “No, uh–the call woke me up, and then I just waited for visiting hours and then I–then I just came here, so . . . no.”
“Alright,” Superman says. “Then we’ll get lunch, and then we’ll talk about your options while we eat. Okay?”
“Um . . . okay,” Superboy says, swallowing uncomfortably. He scrubs the last of the tears away, still feeling stupid and embarrassed. Superman squeezes his shoulder one last time, then drops his hand away. Superboy misses it immediately, even though he doesn’t even deserve the–the comfort or whatever, right now. He fucked up. Really bad. He doesn’t deserve comforted, and especially not by Superman.
But he can’t bring himself to turn it down, either.
“Okay,” Superman says, giving him a faint, regretful little smile. Superboy feels even more embarrassed. He’s bothering Superman with this, like he thinks he has the fucking right to, but . . . but he didn’t know where else to go, or who else to talk to, or . . .
He just didn’t know where else to go.
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RUNNING UP THAT HILL !
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Lucy Gray Baird x fem!reader
Summary: On the faithful day of Reaping Ceremony, you finally became aware of what you've been lacking in your life. Lucy Gray Baird's love. Your one and only childhood friend. You were ready to throw yourself in front of starved wolves for her sake, and you decided to prove it.
Warnings: ANGST / swearing
Word Count: 2.2k
A/n: me trying to write something happy, result:
"and if I only could
i'd make a deal with God
and I'd get Him to swap our places"
- running up that hill by kate bush.
Streets of District 12 was filthy as ever as Y/n and Lucy Gray dragged their feet to The Hub. Tomorrow was the day Reaping was going to happen. Neither of the girls felt any excitement over fourth of july, just like rest of whole twelve districts that were about sacrifice their children to Capitol's psychopathy.
“Lucy Gray, you're unusually quite today.” Y/n spoke as she fixed the fruit basket pressed against her side. They were planning to ask Hub if they would let Covey do one last show before reaping, and then make their way to flea market. Maybe they could exchange a piece of clothing for a few strawberries Y/n farmed.
Lucy Gray's face lit up with a smile, Y/n could never differentiate if these smiles were true or not.
“I was thinking of this night's show. I have a song I wish to sing.” That thought made other girl smile. She always loved the infamous Songbird’s voice and songs.
She ate one of the strawberries from the brown basket. “Oh well, I will wait for your song with all ears. However, how do you plan to sing it? You haven't teach us anything about its melody.” Lucy Gray chuckled at her friend's worried tone.
“No worries, love. I've wrote it over one of our songs’ melody. I think tonight's lyrics fit to it better anyway.”
“I… if you say so.”
She could never disobey or say something against her songbird’s statements. And finally Hub became visible from the distance. Old walls were ready to crumble on its residents but all two girls saw was a roof to gain a few coins.
Lucy Gray held the door open for her since she was clinging into the basket, making sure no strawberries fell out. She nodded her head to her to thank her. Inside was stinking as usual. Smell of mold, poverty and cheap gin. It wasn't like Y/n lived in a clean or new home. However she could never prevent the nausea from rising in her throat every time they entered this place.
Disease and death traveled through the whole Panem without knowing any borders, she didn't have a reason to act wary against The Hub.
Besides the disgusting smell, the place was almost empty. Most of the audience were peacekeepers and they seemed nowhere to be found at this time of day. They were on ‘duty’. More like haunting the poor folk of 12. Y/n thought of it.
Conversations were always made by Lucy Gray, no one could resist the sweet way of the words spilling from her lips. “Hi! How have you been, Ben?” She spring on her heels while talking, her alluring personality ready to charm its flies.
Bartender's tense shoulders relaxed when her image entered his vision. “Hi, Lucy Gray. I assume you are here to ask if Covey can perform tonight.” Lucy Gray nodded slowly, she jumped to sit on a chair, her legs swung around since they couldn't reach to sub board of the wooden chair.
“Always a smart one. Yes, I was going to ask if we can perform one last time before Reaping.” Ben sighed while rubbing the dirty cloth to an old striated glass. “I guess you can do it, tomorrow ain’ the brightest day for us after all.” She added a hint of sorrow to her smile.
“But we must make the most of the lifes we have, mustn't we?” He nodded to approve her statement. “As much as we can in this shitty district.”
After some chit-chat talk, they left Hub with the guarantee of a few coins to throw in their pockets that night. Y/n watched Lucy Gray's happy expression, the way she spinned around herself, her colorful dress’ long skirt flying around. She loved to admire anything Songbird did.
Flea market wasn't too crowded either. Mourn of unknown loses was already hunting people of District 12. Two or three stalls of clothing seemed to be present. A woman from last week was absent. Poor lady, perhaps she died because God knows what kind of disease or she fell in hands of a peacekeeper.
Y/n intertwined her fingers with Lucy Gray's, moving as close as possible was safer in a place like this. To be honest, staying together was the best choice in all places of 12.
A man with a women's clothing stall caught her eyes. His face was tired and sick, probably had the flu. “Look, maybe we can exchange these strawberries with a pair of shoes. Maude Ivory was sad about Peacekeepers tearing her sandals.” Lucy Gray nodded and followed her lead.
Y/n harshly put the basket in front of the man, leaving a tough first impression was important if they wanted to have a fair exchange.
“Ah, famous doves of Covey. What do you have for me?” She could smell of starvation from his breath even at this distance. All she needed to do was to push him a bit.
“A basket of fresh, clean strawberries.” She arched her eyebrow in a daring manner. “Do you really think a basket of fruit can buy clothes?” Man raised his chin. He was stubborn, but could never be as much as Y/n.
“Okay, listen the deal old man. You give us these shoes.” She pointed to an old, worn pair of shoes. “And I leave all of these tasty things at your stall. ‘kay? And if you don't, I can go to another stall.” He looked at the basket then at her face. His mouth was salivating for a taste of anything, and giving away the shoes seemed to be a good option.
“Take the shoes.”
Y/n took a deep breath as relief filled her veins. She emptied the whole basket to an old bag man owned and placed the shoes inside it. Exchange was fair, he wasn't going to die from starvation and Maude Ivory was going to get a pair of wearable shoes.
“Don’t you think you've been hard on him?” Lucy Gray mumbled while her index finger lovingly caressed the fabric of the shoe. They would fit the little girl just fine. “Being nice doesn't grant us any living in District 12.” Y/n shrugged and dismissed her question.
All members of Covey were exhausted from last night’ performance, which led them to hardly wake up for Reaping. Their house was already hot from weather outside, shattering walls were making it worse by letting the fresh sunlight in.
Y/n, as always, was first to wake up. Even on an effing day like this. A few more hours of sleep wasn't even a choice given the fact Peacekeepers would drag them out to watch Reaping or, to be reaped.
She groaned with ache coursing through her bones, makeshift bed cracked under her weight. Slipping her shoes to her feet, she looked around to check other Covey members. None seemed to have a peaceful slumber, Lucy Gray was sweating, Maude Ivory was panting heavily, Barb Azure's eyebrows were furrowed. The expected disaster made everyone uneasy inside.
She took off her pajamas, her hands extending to the shirt and skirt she wore yesterday. “Why don't you wear something colorful, love?” Her head practically snapped to the direction the voice came from. Lucy Gray's eyes were closed, yet a subtle smile sat on her sweaty features.
“Good morning.” Y/n murmured as she stood up from her bed. She considered her options. The most fancy thing she owned outside of a few stage clothes was a faded purple dress with flower-covered frills on its skirts. Her hand hesitated when it reached the folded fabric. She got this at the insistence of Lucy Gray and Barb Azure for three coins in the flea market last year. For special days.
What could be more special than the day she would be presumably sent to death in her life?
Accompanied by an ache in her heart for dirting the dress with memories of such a melancholic day, she pulled it over her head, messing up her already disheveled hair more. Stained mirror was reflecting a seventeen year old girl's ruined beauty, face worn by living difficulties.
Two lean arms sneaked around her waist, securing her against the girl behind her. Lucy Gray pressed her chin to her shoulder, observing their imagines from mirror. “You're beautiful.” She whispered, as if possibility of anyone else stealing her compliment to Y/n scared her.
“So are you.” She whispered back, unconsciously closing her eyes and leaning to her touch. Silence was comforting, almost like an inaudible lullaby singing to two awake girls’ ears. “I have a dreadful feeling about this day inside me, something is gnawing at me.” Lucy Gray chuckled and tucked a strand of hair behind the ear of the girl in front of her.
“Now don't make such a long face, be positive. Death isn't an end, remember?” At her light words, Y/n turned around with her arms still wrapped around her waist. She cupped her face, looking at her beautiful brown eyes. Maybe they could swallow her, so she would never leave her.
“No, Lu. You don't get it. Something bad is about to happen. I feel it, you know I always feel it.” Lucy Gray's eyes widened at her hurried sentences. The worst case in a Reaping day would be reaped as their district's tribute. Everyday was a survival struggle in District 12, but being thrown to arena? Now that would be a different story.
With their fingers locked to each other, Y/n dragged her after herself to the little place where they grew strawberries to exchange or sell. “I know that you have no will to trust anyone after Billy Taupe, but just… just hear me out.” Brunette furrowed her eyebrows, she wasn't stupid, guessing where the conversation was about to go wasn't hard. But did it matter at this point?
“I am listening, Y/n.”
“What are you two doing there?” Maude Ivory's childish voice interrupted her before she can speak. And that killed her last piece of courage to confess her feelings for Lucy Gray.
“Nothing, honey. We were just chatting.” She quickly smiled and turned her attention to little girl, she was wearing the pair of shoes they got for her yesterday. “Are they comfortable?” Little girl stared down at her shoes. “Yeap. They're so easy to wear! Thank you.”
Her lips pulled themselves into a forced smile. The girl was as naive as a child in districts could be. Perhaps it was because rest of the Covey sought their best to raise their youngest as pure as possible.
People were gathering in front of the stage one by one. Between age 12-18, kids were separated to groups. Covey made their way to their groups. As always, Reaping day was hot and everyone was sweating under cruel sun and stress.
First to go was female tribute. For male tribute, she wasn't worried at all. Clerk Clementine was old enough to be excluded from Reaping.
But what about us?
“Lucy Gray Baird!”
She could swear her heart missed a beat, maybe a few beats, when she heard the name. Out of instinct her eyes found Lucy Gray. It looked like she was ready to put on a show one last time.
Lucy Gray began to walk towards the stage.
“I volunteer!”
A desperate voice erupted from between waiting kids. Y/n threw herself in front of Lucy Gray, eyes filled with terror and tears. “I volunteer as tribute!” Brunette extended to hold her hand with shock. “Love, what the hell are you doing?” Girl in front of her turned to look at her with guilt.
Before any word being shared, a peacekeeper caught Y/n's arm, dragging the girl to stage. Lucy Gray tried to run, only to be thrown to ground by another peacekeeper. Even while walking to death, they couldn't take their eyes from each other.
“No, no, no. I am chosen. You chose me! Give her back!” Maude Ivory wrapped her arms around her as Barb Azure pressed her head to her chest so she couldn't see Y/n.
She stepped on the stage in front of pitying eyes. After all, what kind of moron would throw herself into a lion's den for whatever reason?
Mayor looked at her with grand disgust, as if girl interrupted something she wasn’t supposed to. “District 12's female tribute, Y/n L/n.”
She didn't even bother to listen who was chosen as male tribute. Whoever it was, he was going to walk to death with twenty two other tributes.
Whole time she watched the rest of the Covey. They all looked disheveled with one of them being sent to Games.
She didn't even get to confess to her, kiss her, embrace her one last time. Like all District 12 kids before her, she was going to turn into a drop of blood to write Capitol's pages of history. She remembered the hide and seek game the played when they were children.
“You can't catch me, Lucy Gray!”
She kept her head high, this wasn't a display of pitiful love. That was a worthy sacrifice to keep her darling alive. Everything was worth it to Lucy Gray.
“You can't catch me anymore, Lucy Gray.”
She whispered, knowing Lucy Gray won't ever hear her again.
©2024 earthpleasures do not repost, copy, translate, modify
#lucy gray baird#lucy gray x reader#lucy gray my beloved#lucy gray baird x reader#hgg#hunger games#tbosas#angst#hunger games x reader
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babe pls write anything for taehyun and my life will be yours 💞😠
[get your shit together]. kang taehyun has always been gifted with the sharpness to notice things first. thanks to this, he’s always been the one to swoop in at the last minute to save your group from trouble.
for example, in fourth grade, when you guys were fooling around in soobin’s living room a little too close to his mom’s favorite vase, taehyun noticed the old ceramic wobble before it could smash into the ground, right before his mom’s footsteps welcomed themselves in. another instance was during study hall in middle school, when you and beomgyu were playing connect four behind a stack of books, taehyun managed to kick your chairs from behind as a warning before your teacher could notice you two and send you to detention.
taehyun has always been pretty sharp. nothing goes under the radar. not even how kai lights up ever so subtly whenever you give him special attention. not even the shift in beomgyu’s gaze when you comforted him after his last breakup. not even how soobin keeps and keeps and keeps trying to flake out on hang-outs whenever you’re around. not even yeonjun’s half-assed attempts to stay in touch ever since he left for university.
“hey, get your fucking shit together.”
none of these things had gone unnoticed. he doesn’t understand why the other four are failing to notice things.
“do you think avoiding her is doing more good than harm? quit being selfish and think about just how much you’re hurting her by staying away and keeping your distance.”
because, really—
“why are you acting as if moving out of the neighborhood is such a big deal? so what if you’re in college now. soobin’s gonna follow you there next year anyway. you’re already far away as is and you’re making it even harder for us to reach you.”
it doesn’t take an untrained eye—
“can’t you see that unloading all your feelings for her is making her uncomfortable? burdensome? i get that you like her, but quit being caught up in your own emotions to the point where you’re failing to consider everyone else’s.”
nor does it take quick wits and sensibilities—
“seriously, what exactly do you want? you say one thing and do another. you swore to move on and get over it, but you’re still expecting things, you’re still latching onto the hope that something more could happen.”
to notice just how shitty you feel about all of this.
“i feel like things have gotten awfully tangled lately,” you sigh. it’s the middle of the night, and you called taehyun over for a quick stroll around the neighborhood. obviously, that’s not the only reason why you called for his presence. “i miss the old days where we can all just hang out with no issues.”
when you look at taehyun with a somber smile, he feels something heavy press into his ribcage from the inside. it suffocates the life out of him. it clogs his throat, constricts his breathing. he gives your hand a squeeze as tight as how his lungs are feeling.
“don’t worry.”
once again, kang taehyun has to be the one to swoop in so that no one gets in trouble. so that no one gets uncomfortable. so that no one ruins the god damned ten years of friendship you guys have built just because of feelings they can’t keep under wraps.
“i’ll fix it.”
but in order to do that—
your smile brightens. his chest feels tighter.
—he needs to get his shit together.
“thank you.”
he can’t let himself fall for you too.
send me a kpop boy (txt/enha/zb1/bnd/dream) to toss into reverse harem hell! [yeonjun] [beomgyu]
#mayhaps one of my favorites from the lot!!!!!!!#i got a truckload of names in my inbox rn but id really appreciate hearing people's thoughts on these little blurbs 👍👍👍👍#anyway.....taehyun u poor soul god bless you.#blurb games#kang taehyun x reader#taehyun x reader#txt x reader#txt scenarios
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Wardens: Cops By Another Name
So, in writing my Dresden fanfic I've once again stumbled upon another interesting quandary in the Dresdenverse and that's just how remarkably pro-cop the series is. Not in like, its representation of the Chicago PD which someone tried to point out to me was not "copaganda" because there were "good cops AND bad cops" Okay. Let's talk about Wardens then. So, Wardens unequivocally are the police of the wizard world at least for human mages. They answer to the authority of the White Council and the Head Warden, they're allowed to use lethal force in order to enforce those laws, and members are generally pulled from the populace policed (e.g. other wizards). With maybe the exception of Morgan, they're all generally portrayed the same was as the CPD are. They're also about as easy to corrupt and abuse their power as normal police, are given extrajudicial power to murder pretty much whoever they want if given a good enough "reason", and are able to carry out that act using a means of force unavailable to the rest of the population they police. Warden Donald Morgan IN THE FIRST BOOK, deliberately tries to misinterpret the Laws of Magic in order to kill Harry, who Morgan sees as a dangerous liability to leave lying around. So he just like. Tries to lie to Harry about how the Law works. Either that or he just doesn't understand the Laws of Magic. Kinda fucked up don't you think? Isn't it even more fucked up that if Harry didn't know about the Laws of Magic, Morgan could've just killed him right there in that Chicago park and the series would've just ended? Like. There's not really a criminal justice system it seems in the White Council aside from the Doom of Damacles, a laughably terrible system, that puts people who want to help reform people instead of kill them in harm's way. The only other trial we see is when a poor kid is laughably fucked up from using mind control magic and we just had to kill the fifteen-year old don't you see??
Like, sure, the Doom of Damacles is obviously a terrible shitty system that you could say is a reflection of how old and backwards the White Council is but so little of the Wardens or even the Laws of Magic are shown in the same light. Like, Morgan, is our "quintessential" bad cop, but like NOTHING BAD HAPPENS TO HIM FOR ABUSING HIS POWER! If anything in the end he's given a heroic death despite the fact that he was a terrible Warden who most definitely killed innocent people. He almost killed Harry!
Not only could he have killed him, he could've killed him easily. All Wardens, after all, are given anti-magic swords, purpose-built to negate the magic of 'renegade' mages and warlocks that they're trying to murder bring to justice. Nobody else is given these. Only Wardens, using a method that only ONE WARDEN knows how to use.
All based on, not the letter of the law, but on Morgan's interpretation of it. Just like cops do. They don't have to actually understand the law. Just try to stomp on anyone they perceive as dangerous. I wonder how it would've gone if Harry wasn't a tall White guy. You think Morgan a guy raised in a different CENTURY doesn't have weird internalized views about people different than him? Y'know. LIKE HARRY?
Plus, like... what would've even happened if he did!? Who would investigate Morgan? Other Wardens?! You think a community as insular as The White Council would actually bother with doing something when a Law of Magic hasn't been broken? Do you think they're going to believe a warlock or Lawbreaker over a wizard and Warden of the White Council? After all, breaking the Law(s of Magic) is one of the most fundamentally evil things you can do. So in order to fix that, we need to use summary execution via military police, no matter if they're a child or an adult.
After all: KILLING SOMEONE WITH AN ANTI-MAGIC SWORD DOESN'T COUNT AS KILLING SOMEONE WITH MAGIC. SO THAT MAKES IT OKAY, DOESN'T IT? (And as an aside, uh, what do you mean killing someone with an anti-magic sword, doesn't count as killing them with magic.
Like, I understand that a certain level of semantic bullshit can be argued with a lot of things in any Fantasy setting but like... What? You're telling me a sword forged with magical properties does not count as killing people with magic, even if its magical properties are used to kill them? Like. If I stab someone with a flaming sword and they burn to death, does that count?)
#the dresden files#dresden files#thinking way too hard once again#but honestly i think this shows what the series thinks about police a lot better than#the chicago pd#in jim butcher's universe#cynpost
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