#He and Flint better make up

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: The Stranger.

Moon Knight, Issue #15: Ruling the World from His Basement. 

Look at how beautiful that cover is! 

This is an interesting one. A weird villain, political and racial issues, and some deep Moon Knight issues with trust, identity, and betrayal. 

So the comic opens with a Japanese Envoy being shot in the arm. There is narration here, but it isn’t the usual sort. It makes it clear that 1. These are Japanese "jerks" and we aren't supposed to really like them. 2. This is not the first assassination attempt. 3. The fleeing figure that shot him has a very familiar silhouette. A moon shaped sort. 

Cut to Central Park, we see Moon Knight chilling in a tree. 

"Man do I feel aweful. Too much stress, too many hours riding around in Lockley's stinking cab, not enough sleep or food... All combining to send the sledgehammers crashing on my skull." 

Moon Knight once again asserts that he is not Lockley, Steven, or Grant. And he's feeling stretched thin. They aren't taking care of the body. 

At this point, they don't have their jobs. There is no real gate keeper, care taker, protector... There is only fighting and Marc who holds all the trauma and self destructs at the drop of a hat. 

So here he is, called to meet in the park at night by Detective Flint and someone new. 

Sargent Gwenn is with Flint. He tells Moon Knight about the assassination attempt on the Japanese trade minister. 

They mention that "after Lennon, Reagan, and the Pope, you can understand why we weren't thrilled." 

Yeah, the 80s weren't great for people with power. 

Turns out, the meeting is a trap! They're there to arrest Moon Knight for the assassination attempt! 

"Did my homework. Learned you once worked freelance. Took on jobs for hire. An odd little group called The Committee was one of your clients. Anybody can turn bad. Especially someone who was semi-sour in the past." -Flint. 

This takes us back to Werewolf by night. Moon Knight was hired by The Committee to track down Jack Russell. 

Which shows that Moon Knight himself used to work for hire. Much like Marc Spector. 

One has to wonder about that. Perhaps it was when they first came back from the desert and the death experience. Marc only knowing one way of life and trying to do better than mercenary work but not knowing how. Moon Knight blending? Still unsure of his own individuality? 

Anyways, the cops surround Moon Knight and Flint walks away. 

Moon Knight feels betrayed by Flint. "You're making a mistake, Flint! And you're going to regret it!" 

He easily fights off the cops. They don't have the training he does. 

They open fire on him and he easily avoids the bullets. Perhaps instincts from their time on the battlefield. 

"I mean it Flint...You're wrong! Dead wrong! And I'll be hanged if I'm going to pay for your mistake!" 

Moon Knight is not in a good mood. Probably could have handled things better, but at this point he is feeling persecuted and attacked. The body already is feeling terrible and now it's in danger. 

He runs off only to see the cops put a woman in danger when they shoot down a tree that starts to fall towards her. 

He saves life and still manages to get away. 

The police remark on the fact that Moon Knight just saved an Indian woman. Flint asks Sargent Gwenn "Are you sure it was Moon Knight you saw at the airport? Absolutely certain?" 

He comments that it doesn't make sense, but he's been around a while and "anybody can turn bad." 

Moon Knight makes it to Jake's parked cab and quickly changes back to Jake. 

The headache continues, but Lockley heads out to try to figure out why he's being accused of something he didn't do. 

He heads to Gena's diner. He apparently gave her phone number as the one Flint can use to reach him. 

While he's talking to Gena and Crawley, you see a Japanese family in the background complaining about the service. They eventually leave after being ignored. 

An interesting thing to include. Especially with the Japanese dignitary in town. 

And while it is written and displayed to show them being a bit rowdy and demanding of service, it also clearly shows Gena only interacting with Jake and Crawley. 

While talking about the incident at the airport, Jake complains about his headache getting worse. 

Gena asks him when the last time he ate was, as it's after 9pm. 

"Nine! I forgot about Grant's charity shindig at the mansion!" 

He runs out without eating. 

Back at the mansion, we find an extremely upset Marlene. It's after ten. 

"Tell her ta hold her horses just a little longer till I can change ta stuffed shirt Steven Grant." He mutters at Samules as he parks his cab. 

When Marlene comes at him for his tardiness. 

"Please, Marlene. I've got an excruciating headache and I'm in no mood!" 

"Trouble, Steven?" 

"Only as Moon Knight. Grant, Lockley, and Spector are just fine, thank you." 

"I'm sorry, Steven. I shouldn't be so selfish. I know the pressures you're under. Trying to be four different people... But you're not really having trouble again, are you-Psychological trouble?" 

"No, Marlene, I'm not. You helped me out of THAT dark hole...And I'm still standing on firm ground." 

Ohhhhh he's a liar.

Liar liar, Steven! Denial is a strong one here. 

Marlene takes a cheap shot and it hits home here: 

"I know YOU'RE alright, Steven... It's just Marc Spector I worry about...And sometimes Jake Lockley... Even Moon Knight... I know it's stilly, but I sometimes think you won't be able to keep them all under control. That they'll do something to spoil what we've made of you." 

OOOHHHH snap. With as much infighting as they already do, that was a call to arms and Steven heard it. 

Moon Knight was already complaining about Lockley's cab, lack of sleep, and lack of food. Lockley was resentful of fancy pants Steven. And now she's gone and put the fear of Marc ruining things into the mix. 

I'mma say it: Marlene is a complicated character to like in early Moon Knight. 

You are supposed to like her. She's self sufficient. She can handle herself. She can fight. She puts up with all the Moon Knight stuff. She rescues them on more than one occasion. She's compassionate and often comforts them and seems to help stabilize and ground them. 

But she is also pretty toxic a lot of the time. 

She plays favorites, makes them question who they are and what the others are up to. She even often makes them question their own mental health. 

Steven joins his party and greets his guests. He puts on a show of the socialite but: 

"Privately, behind the social mask, he is still haunted by Marlene's words." 

The next day, we see a man at the toy shop purchasing doll clothes. He says they are for his friends. Many many little friends. 

I'll say it, he's a white man and it's clear he's in the upper class part of town. He smiles and greets all the fellow white people around him. 

As he walks, we have narration. 

"In this section of the city, you can't notice it. You'd almost think the problem didn't exist. Indeed, it's almost like it used to be... 

But as he nears his home, it becomes more and more apparent, the grim reality facing him and every other god fearing American." 

We see pictures of a smiling black man, a black woman, an asian man.

"Yes. Here the problem is all too obvious. The fragmentation and disintegration of American society. It's gotten so an honest working man can't even live where he belongs. He's forced now to live among the very filth which is causing the problem." 

He enters his home and goes to the basement where he has control of his environment and rules his own world. 

It goes on to mention that here, he isn't alone. His friends give him ideas much like the TV and bible do. 

He pulls out the doll outfits he bought, little army outfits. 

"Time to face the problem, my friends, and I have some gifts which should help us. We all know what the problem is, don't we? Foreigners. Foreign Devils. Slowly but surely extinguishing the light of America." 

He rants about the "invasion of America". About the dilution of American blood and the fragmentation of the economy. 

He talks about the underselling of American made goods with cheap and inferior products, forcing American businesses out of the market, lost jobs, crime waves, drugs...

He then talks about a hierarchy of ethnicity. How "blacks have been here so long they're almost American". He talks about how because of the Asians taking all the work, the Blacks have to turn to crime. 

He dresses the rats as soldiers. 

He then talks about Moon Knight. Moon Knight saving the life of the Indian woman, in particular.

"He's been stained, blemished. He's evil. I hate him. They're wrong, of course, but they tell me it's called Xenophobia. A fear of strangers... Of any one different..." 

He claims he will kill them all. 

Side note: This is still relevant. I remember growing up in the 90s there was a huge "Made in America" movement. It comes back every few years. Encouraged to purchase American made only to support our economy as if there aren't other problems with big business vs. local small business. 

I also remember the increased news and feelings that were pushed on us about the foreigners taking all the jobs. 

This is still happening. There are still too many people that feel and teach this. 1980s is still relevant today. 

Anyways: Back at Grant Mansion.... 

Moon Knight is suited up and ready to go. But Marlene and Frenchie tell him not to go. The police are still after him! 

But Moon Knight has learned that the Japanese minister is supposed to go do something big soon and the threat on his life is still there. 

"The three of us have worked hard to make Moon Knight worthy of respect. What do I do with my respect if I don't even try to stop that assassination?" 

Marlene and Frenchie have nothing to say. They hate it, but they let him go. 

But as he flies away on the chopper: 

"His primary goal, of course, is to prevent a death- But even as the chopper lifts him from the roof, he feels the nag of a secondary goal as well... To prove that last night's headache was just that- and not the residue of a memory blackout. God help him if he has to fight himself." 

OH FUUUUUUU---

Memory blackout headache? Fighting himself? 

Things are not fine at all in Moon Knight land. The fact that he is aware of time loss and headaches being a symptom is just… This is fucking amazing. DID was not classified properly at this time, much less well researched or discussed. And the fact that Moon Knight is aware of it means that this is a problem the system has encountered before. 

As much as the system is in denial and covert, it’s just one more little special little nod to the fact that Marc Spector has been dealing with this for a lot longer than since he was killed and brought back. 

Here, we arrive at City Hall where the Japanese minister is about to give a speech. 

The Mayor talks about the important of maintaining relations with Japan. About how we accept imports into New York and send exports to Japan. 

He talks about friction with 'some Japanese Imports..." 

Again, I'll say it. 1980s. There was a lot of asian racism taking place that lasted well into the 90s. Along with the 'red scare' and cold war, we were not on friendly terms with China. Vietnam had just ended. Korean war was glossed over and forgotten. 

Not to mention that most Americans can't tell anyone apart. Today, the tensions have subsided, but there is still a lot of Asian racism present in America. 

Moon Knight arrives at the scene. He...He does his thing... 

Frenchie: How will you approach zee scene?" 

MK: Only way I know how.

With Style. That's how. 

He lurks on the roof tops and waits. 

And he sees a man dressed as a giant rat with a gun running towards the stand. 

He dives down, but the police spot him. 

The rat calls himself "Xenos". (Little on the head there). 

The bodyguards manage to protect the Minister until Moon Knight tackles the rat. 

The rat makes a run for it and dives into an open sewer! 

But the police are closer and head in before Moon Knight can add a count to his sewer man tally. (I was so disappointed). 

The police lose him in the sewer. But now the police at least know he isn't Moon Knight. 

Later at Grant Mansion, he's watching the news and has a sudden realization. 

"Not disappeared... But blended in." 

The rat is pissed and decides Moon Knight is the problem and must first be eliminated before he can go after the foreigners again. 

But here we see Moon Knight heading to a house. 

"Getting this address wasn't easy. Steven Grant had to tug pretty hard on more than a few strings..." 

It's a cop's house! 

He slips inside easily. He starts to look for signs that this is the cop he's after. 

He browses the book shelves, noting that he seems like a bit of a "Right-Wing nut". 

Then he finds a scrapbook. 

Yeah... The "Holocaust propaganda". This...This is a big deal. This is dangerous. This is even more of a problem today than it was in 1980s and that's depressing. I won't go on about this, because that would be quite extensive and long.... But just know that including this in a Moon Knight comic was pretty important. 

(also history lesson! "The House of Rothschild". A 1934 American film. 

It's about a Jewish banker with five sons and how they went on to become a powerful bank. It's based off the real Rothschild. It discusses using financial backing in times of war to make money and eventually become the richest, most powerful people/bank in the world. (a very very basic summary) 

It was supposed to be an attack on Nazism and anti-semitism while Hitler was coming to power. It was made by non-Jewish people and cast with non-Jewish people. The Jewish Anti-Defamation League had major concerns about the film. 

It won a lot of awards and some Jewish leagues and papers endorsed it. 

However, a scene from the movie was used in German antisemitic propaganda and it seemed to encourage fears and resentment of Jewish people holding all the money and belief that this was the reason Germany lost WWI and fell into depression. 

So... That's interesting! ) 

Moench had a lot to say with his Moon Knight comics. 

He wrote for other comics, of course, but I feel like he only really said things like this and included things like this in his Moon Knight run. 

Anyways, Needless to say, Moon Knight is not thrilled. 

He finds a hidden room with a makeup table for his disguises. 

"A makeup mirror. It fits...But what scares me the most about this guy is the similarity between us. We both play roles adopting different guises to--" 

He doesn't get to finish his potentially destructive thought as he's immediately hit in the head by a jar of goo. 

He realizes that it's rat food he's been covered in, and the rats are hungry! 

Two things I want to say about this page. 

There he is face down on the floor again. 

He spends the next few panels rolling on the floor. 

There is no way that the rat guy can know that Moon Knight is Jewish. But what he says to him is heavily coded. Things Marc probably heard a lot growing up when bullied by antisemites. It’s a little too close for home. 

Moon Knight has a little freakout here. He rolls around, flinging rats everywhere and yelling "Get off me!" 

He's been under a lot of stress lately. 

Now he's trapped in the house of someone that idolizes Hitler and tells him that he deserves to die while under threat of being eaten by rats. 

This is not going to do wonders for his mental health and stress. Not to mention past trauma. 

He calls up Frenchie to give chase to the rat guy. 

He rips off the rat mask and finds someone he doesn't know. He is unsettled at first until he realizes that he's wearing makeup and a fake beard. 

(Considering Jake wears a fake mustache I'm not sure why he's so surprised)

And the rat Xenos man is Sargent Gwenn! 

They fall into a hardware store and Gwenn gets the upper hand! But then he steps on a rat trap and Moon Knight manages to punch him out. 

He drags Gwenn out to the police and finds Flint. 

"I'm sorry. Gwenn was a good man. But like I said. Anyone can turn bad. Even a cop. There are stresses. Frustrations." 

"Yeah. I know all about it. Now if you'll excuse me, Flint... I think I feel another headache coming on." 

He returns back to the mansion and you see him talking to Marlene and Frenchie, still in his Moon Knight outfit with the mask off. 

"--Not that I ever actually BELIEVED I was the assassin, but...Well, like a certain cop has said...Any Mind can go bad, and maybe, in a way, I did do it... We seem to be living in a nightmare these days. Maybe in a way, we all did it." 

Frenchie: A sobering thought, Marc.

Marlene: Yes, but at least you have the strength and sense to admit something like that, Steven. Maybe if we keep at it, keep trying, we'll all wake up someday soon..." 

Here the comic ends. 

So let’s look at this issue. 

Go back to the asian family sitting at the diner asking for service and eventually leaving because they are ignored. 

The Indian woman that was put in danger by the police. 

The use of Holocaust denial. 

The rich white neighborhood that fades to the poor crime ridden and predominantly black neighborhood. 

The hero of our story is the son of Jewish Immigrants that fled genocide. On the surface, he is a white man and fits into Xenos' little fairy tale. 

All while the story of tolerance, racism, antisemitism, classism, and genocide is taking place….Moon Knight is struggling with his mental identity and overall health. 

The topic of taking care of the body and communication between the four of them is not resolved, but we get to see him talking about his fear that he has a new unknown alter that is hurting people. 

It’s the current day trope of “There’s an evil alter” that has done so much harm to the DID community. But in this case, it’s Moon Knight that is afraid. He has reason to doubt himself and with his fear of Marc and what Marc can do and does to himself, perhaps he was even afraid that it was Marc causing harm. 

A lot of people are afraid of the mentally ill (DID, bipolar, Schizophrenics, and PTSD in particular) and their reason is that they are afraid the afflicted person is going to hurt them. 

Many times, when surrounded by this ideology and considering the time period where it wasn’t uncommon for someone to be deemed hysterical and locked up for failure to blend into society… A lot of people internalize and start to believe things about themselves. 

Told over and over again that something is wrong with him, that his sanity is fragile, and that he is being watched like a hawk for any slip up of not knowing who he is, Moon Knight starts to doubt himself. 

Xenophobia was the topic of this issue and that means “Fear of Strangers”. 

Moon Knight’s fear was fear that the stranger was himself. 

This issue wanted to show that anyone and everyone is capable of racism. Just because you are not white does not mean you cannot be racist. Just because you fall into a persecuted person category doesn’t mean that you can’t prosecute someone else. 

We can all do better. The first step is recognizing it and trying. 

[patrice-bergerons]

I'm just emotional about Lieutenant McGraw, the son of a carpenter's mate, who must have possessed the same cunning, the same ability to play men to his own ends we see from Flint to have risen in the ranks in the Navy, who has seen hardship and sees the world as a practical, hard place; Lietuenant McGraw with this darkness inside of him, being attracted to Thomas's light. Putting himself in the line of fire for Thomas when he himself harboured significant doubt about his plan to issue pirates with pardons.

People can say what they like about you, but you are a good man. More people should say that—and someone should be willing to defend it.

Getting to know Thomas—it must have felt like flying on a dreary winter's day, when the plane finally rises above the last of the grey clouds and you are met with sunshine and it is so brilliant it is almost blinding. Getting to know Thomas must have perhaps felt like there was some salvation for him in that light too. A place where he could do better—be better. A home.

[sesamestreep]

“requiem for methuselah” crazy ass episode for many reasons. Kirk is being fully insane, like I don’t actually think, even controlling for how quickly and easily and readily he seems to fall in love with anybody at the slightest encouragement, that he’d go that bonkers for that android woman he just met while everyone on the ship was this close to dying, but that’s neither here nor there, because in the background you’ve got an equally but much more subtly insane episode for Spock, who extremely uncharacteristically admits to experiencing an emotion (or nearly experiencing, whatever) and that emotion is ENVY of all things. And then spends the rest of the episode warning Kirk away from this new love interest (something that doesn’t usually happen, even when Kirk has very inadvisable love interests) and is, in the end, the person who accurately identifies that Rayna’s competing love for Kirk and Flint is ultimately what overwhelms and destroys her with the most killer line in maybe history???

And then to wrap it up we get an equally uncharacteristic sort of denouement scene (TOS loooves to cut an episode off right after the actual climax, leaving little time for falling action or character reflection, or to stick a sitcom-y button on the end where the gang all smiles and laughs at their misadventures and everything resets to zero, which is not a criticism, it’s just the style of that era of tv, honestly) where Kirk is literally miserable over Rayna’s death (again, kind of unusual for a lot of his love interests, he tends to be able to move on pretty quickly) and Spock goes to see him and he falls asleep right in front of Spock (also odd) and then when Bones comes in to give the final word on Flint, Spock waves him off from waking the Captain (tender) and Bones gives him that awful speech about how it’s sadder that Spock can’t even imagine the love Kirk felt for this random android woman than it is that Kirk lost her in the first place (debatable but also rude) and how his great tragedy is that he can’t love at all like they can and how all he wishes is that Kirk could forget about all of this and move on. AND THEN, to have Bones leave and Spock go over to Kirk and very gently, tenderly, reluctantly touch him and put his hand to his forehead and tell him to forget and HAVE THAT BE THE END OF THE EPISODE??? What am I supposed to do with that??

[dootznbootz]

Odypen definitely and equivalently adore each other BUT I weirdly can't see them as the type to actually say "I Love you".

They still definitely vocalize their love for each other but it's more so in "My Joy", and "Extraordinary Woman", "Strange Woman/Man", etc. And very cheesy lines (both say some cheesy shit in the Odyssey, and he definitely does in the Iliad as well. "Joy like a drowning sailor seeing land" bit???)

I could see "I adore you" but even then, that's probably during very specific moments but the actual "I love you"??? I just typed it just now for fic shit and... It weirdly just didn't feel right and I don't know why. 😅

Idk maybe it's kind of because I see them as over the top in ways, they love wordplay and riddles and I think they'd almost think "...That's not good enough >:( " about it??? I don't know???😂

[unopenablebox]

i read 1632 last week, which is a classic of a very specific kind of genre fiction in that it is a goofy spec fic book in which an entire west virginia mining town in 2000 gets, if you will, isekai'd to a state in central germany in the middle of the thirty years' war. due to the west virginians' horror at the war-induced suffering of local villagers and also the fact that they got transported with their coal mine and power plant still attached, they eventually gain independence from the holy roman empire and form an independent democratic pan-religious state as part of a swedish-controlled lutheran alliance in central europe.

i read this because i unfortunately kind of enjoy that kind of thing and i figured the politics would be hauntingly bad and i'd deal with that when i came to it. but in fact i also ended up kind of charmed, because the book establishes the "core american values" motivating our heroes as 1. union membership in the united mine workers of america 2. love of the bill of rights and 3. intense hatred of antisemitism

and you know. those sure aren't core american values but they are unfortunately quite fun to read

[urcadelima]

can’t stop thinking about silver’s final speech to madi describing flint’s unmaking as a description of himself as he returned to madi after thinking she had died. Whatever.

[sameteeth]

whyyy does everyone love thomas so much. in a lot of fics theres a flint moment where hes like "omg thomas would have loved madi :)" WOULD HE??? or would he think of her as a particularly well spoken, well read servant. thomas's plan was explicitly meant to establish a british colony on nassau to continue effective imperialization of the americas, and the systematic theft of land and extermination of people. flint supported this as james. flint Happens to side with the maroons - but had they not held flint's life in his hands and forced him to acknowledge them, he would have continued his barrage on the english without considering the slave communities. in his escape from charlestown flint breaks the lock on a cage full of enslaved people - they are meant as a distraction, because flint does not care to actually ensure their freedom. they are bodies between him and a gun, and at that point that's all they matter to him

[mssorceressupreme]

Wanna Be Yours | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: helping a younger student resulted in you and the first-year walking into a prank not meant for you, and as you do so, you catch Fred's attention. the next day he tries to apologise with another prank and it backfires, but this only resulted in him falling even harder for you, he just knew wanted to be yours.

Warnings/tags: hufflepuff!reader (well it suits anyone really :D), love at first sight, he fell first and HARD, fred needs you so bad, pranks gone wrong, teasing, fluffy and cute, fred's a simp a/n: inspired by "Wanna be Yours by Arctic Monkeys"

———

The courtyard was alive with the soft hum of spring—branches swaying in the breeze, birds chirping from the castle walls, and a few students milling about on the cobblestones. Fred crouched behind a large stone pillar, his mischievous grin matching the one plastered across his twin’s face.

Huddled in a corner, the four of them—Fred, George, Lee and Oliver, were planning a revenge prank on Marcus Flint and Draco Malfoy for their obnoxious antics during the Quidditch match earlier.

“Are you sure about this?” Oliver Wood asked, trying to sound stern but failing as he bit back a chuckle.

Malfoy had spent most of the game taunting Harry, and Flint’s borderline dirty play had cost Gryffindor two near-goals. That didn’t sit well with Fred and George, so what better way to get back at them than with a prank.

“Hundred percent.” Fred said, smirking as he held up a pouch of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. “Alright, we rig this near the tree. As soon as they walk by, poof! Total chaos. Then, George, you release the Dungbombs—”

“Already got ‘em primed,” George said, patting his pocket with a devilish grin.

“Don't forget the slime and feathers!” Lee added, holding up a jar of fluorescent green goop in one hand, and a bag of feathers in the other.

Oliver, who had reluctantly joined but couldn’t resist some payback, frowned. “Let’s make sure they’re the only ones who get caught in this mess though, yeah?”

“Relax Wood,” Fred said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s a foolproof plan. Nothing can go wrong.”

“Trust us,” George said, “We’ve calculated everything.”

“Right,” Lee affirmed, “It's simple charm, a bit of instant darkness powder, and—bam! Feathers, slime, and a nice little puff of stink powder for good measure.”

George cackled, clapping his twin on the back. “Beautiful. They’ll be too busy cleaning slime and plucking feathers off their robes to bother us for weeks.”

“That's what they deserve for acting like twits during the match.” Lee chimed in. "S'pose they do deserve it." Oliver chuckled, his reluctance turning into enthusiasm.

The trap was simple but effective: a hidden tripwire enchanted to release darkness powder, then a rain of slime and feathers from above, followed by the dungbombs. All they had to do now was wait for their targets. "Now, they're supposed to walk pass here any moment..." Fred told the others, as the four of them watched eagerly.

Fred’s eyes glinted as he nodded toward the enchanted tripwire stretched across the cobblestones, ready to unleash chaos on Flint and Malfoy the moment they stepped on it.

Everything was perfect. Until it wasn't.

From behind a stone archway, you appeared with a small Ravenclaw first-year in tow.

It wasn’t Malfoy or Flint who walked into the courtyard first.

It was you.

You were laughing softly, your eyes crinkling with warmth as you guided a nervous-looking first-year Ravenclaw girl who clutched her books tightly to their chest. The poor kid had taken a wrong turn, and you volunteered to show her the way to the library.

In your arms, you helped carry some of her load, making it easier for the first-year.

“Don’t worry,” you were saying, your voice kind and steady. “The library isn’t far. Just through the next hall and up the staircase."

Fred’s eyes locked onto you, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down. He didn’t hear anything else. It was like the world had narrowed to just you—the way your hair caught the sunlight, the easy grace in your step, and the way your smile seemed to light up the entire courtyard.

How had he not noticed you before?

“Is Fred broken?” George whispered to Lee.

“Looks like it. Never seen him go this quiet before,” Lee replied, smirking.

Oliver elbowed Fred, snapping him out of his trance. “Mate, you’re staring.”

“Shut up,” Fred muttered, his eyes never leaving you.

"Who is she?..." He continued, holding true to Oliver's statement.

“Who?” Lee asked, following his gaze. He snorted when he saw you. “Her? Oh no. Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, Fred.”

Fred didn’t respond. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you but he was quickly snapped out of his trance as you approached the tree.

Oh shit. "Not the tree, don't walk past the tree..." He muttered to himself, hoping you would somehow magically hear him.

It was no use. Disaster struck.

You were met with instant darkness, coughing slightly as the powder released a thick fog around you and the first year.

Before you could grasp the full situation, a torrent of green slime and feathers rained down from above, coating you and the first-year from head to toe. The Dungbombs exploded seconds later, filling the courtyard with an awful stench.

The first-year yelped, clutching her books as the slime dripped down her robes. You froze for a moment, stunned, before shaking your head with a soft laugh.

Fred winced, guilt twisting in his chest.

“Oops,” George muttered, though he didn’t sound all that sorry.

Lee burst out laughing, "Merlin, did we just traumatise a first year?!"

“Poor kid,” Oliver said, though his lips twitched with suppressed laughter.

Fred, however, barely heard them. He was too busy watching you. Instead of panicking or getting angry, you crouched down immediately, brushing feathers off the first-year’s face.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you said gently, your voice soothing. “It’s just a bit of slime and feathers. Another tip, beware of silly pranks, it's all part and parcel of the Hogwarts culture." You comfort the kid, trying to lighten the situation by laughing softly, "Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

The first-year nodded, her lower lip trembling, and you smiled, guiding her toward a nearby fountain.

Fred couldn’t stop staring. He didn't know who you were, but he did know this, he wanted to be yours.

You were covered in slime and feathers, an absolute mess, yet you still looked radiant.

There was something about the way you put the first-year first, your patience and kindness shining through, that made his heart thud in the best way.

You helped her cleaned as much as you could off her robes, murmuring reassurances the entire time before chanting, "Scourgify!", instantly her robes were as good as new.

Only after she was cleaned up did you finally turn your attention to yourself. With the help of the cleaning spell, the feathers were out of your hair and the slime off your sleeves in no time.

“Merlin! Fred, you’ve got it bad,” Lee said, smirking.

“Oh, leave him,” George teased. “He’s clearly in love.” Fred’s ears turned pink, but he didn’t care. For once, he was speechless.

“How come I’ve never noticed her before?” The red head murmured, more to himself than anyone else. He was certain he would’ve remembered someone like you. “Maybe because you’re too busy pranking people,” Oliver said dryly. "Who is she?" Fred asked, ignoring Oliver's remark. "Seen her around a couple of times, especially in the library, she's in Ron's year." Oliver hummed, watching as you conversed with the first-year.

“That explains it,” George quipped. “She’s too smart to bother with Fred’s idiocy.”

Fred scowled, but his gaze remained fixed on you. There was something magnetic about the way you carried yourself, and he felt like everyone had disappeared, you were the only one in sight, to him.

He knew he had to make this right. He needed an excuse to approach you. Right! An apology. And of course, he had to impress you.

The Ravenclaw girl finally gave a small laugh as you finished off explaining the pranking culture at Hogwarts. “Thank you, I-..I think I know my way to the library from here now.” she said softly before hurrying off. ___

The next day, Fred had a plan. A proper one.

Breakfast in the Great Hall hummed with the usual morning chaos: the clink of cutlery, the murmur of conversation, and the occasional bursts of laughter from each houses' table.

Fred stood at the entrance, trying to look nonchalant but failing miserably. In his hands, he clutched a bouquet of enchanted flowers—slime-free this time—that were charmed to sing a cheerful apology tune when presented.

He wiped his palm against his robes for what felt like the hundredth time. “This is foolproof,” Fred muttered under his breath.

“You say that every time,” George pointed out, his tone dripping with amusement. He nudged Lee, who was barely containing his laughter. “What do you reckon? Will he get through two words before tripping over himself?”

“Five Galleons says he’ll combust,” Lee said, grinning.

“Will you two shut it?” Fred snapped, though the tips of his ears turned red. “This is serious.”

“Serious,” George repeated, mocking Fred’s tone. “You’re holding a singing bouquet, mate. Nothing about this screams ‘serious.’”

“Just watch,” Fred said, his voice low but determined.

That’s when you walked in, and Fred’s stomach flipped.

You were laughing as you entered, your head tilted toward one of your friends. That laugh—light, carefree, and far too distracting—was etched into Fred’s memory, playing on a loop since the previous day.

The sunlight streaming through the tall windows hit you at just the right angle, illuminating your smile. You were radiant.

Fred’s heart thumped in his chest as he stepped forward, the bouquet held out like a peace offering. “Hey!” he called, catching your attention.

You turned to him, eyes widening slightly in surprise. “Yes?” you said, the corners of your mouth quirking up into a curious smile. What did he want from you?

Fred grinned, his confidence teetering on the edge of unraveling. “Listen, about yesterday—”

But before he could finish, the bouquet let out a sudden pop. A puff of pink smoke erupted, followed by an earsplittingly off-key version of “I’m Sorry About The Slime” that echoed through the Great Hall.

Fred barely had time to react before the bouquet detonated in a second burst, showering him in glitter and knocking him flat on his back.

The Hall erupted into laughter.

Fred groaned, staring at the enchanted ceiling, which now looked even farther away than usual. He could hear George’s loud, obnoxious cackling somewhere to his left.

“Five Galleons,” Lee said smugly.

Fred grimaced, but before he could even begin to think about recovering, a familiar voice broke through the laughter.

“Guess I’m not the only casualty this time.”

Fred turned his head, blinking in disbelief. You had flopped down beside him, lying flat on your back on the floor as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Glitter sparkled in your hair, and your grin was wide and unapologetic.

“What are you doing?” Fred asked, his voice caught somewhere between bewilderment and awe.

“Making sure you’re not the only one who looks ridiculous,” you replied, shrugging as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s only fair.”

Fred let out a breathless laugh, his embarrassment momentarily forgotten. “You’re mental.” But he loved it.

“Takes one to know one,” you shot back, glancing at him with a teasing smile.

From across the Hall, George shouted, “Right on, Romeooo!!” His voice was exaggerated and dramatic, and Fred could practically feel the heat rising in his face.

“Oi shut it, George!” Fred yelled, though his tone lacked bite.

You laughed again, and Fred swore his heart might actually burst. “You’ve got quite the fan club,” you said, gesturing toward the group of students, particularly, Fred's 'boys', who were now openly watching the scene unfold and chortling.

“They’re a bunch of idiots,” Fred muttered, though his lips twitched into a reluctant smile.

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. “You know,” you said thoughtfully, “for someone who’s usually so good at pranks, this was a spectacular disaster.”

Fred groaned, running a hand through his now glitter-covered hair. “Tell me about it.”

“But,” you added, your voice softening, “I appreciate the effort and the apology.”

Fred looked at you, his heart stuttering. “You do?”

“Yeah.” You leaned closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “And between you and me, I think you pull off the glitter look better than anyone else here.”

Fred laughed, the sound loud and genuine, and for a moment, the rest of the hall faded away. “I reckon you pull it off better than I do.”

“Why thank you, it's actually my dream to be covered in glitter. Shining as bright as a quidditch trophy is the goal." You joked, but Fred smiled warmly.

You do shine bright, he thought.

As you stood up, you reached out a hand to help him up. Fred took it without hesitation, warmth spreading through him at the simple gesture.

“Come on, glitter boy,” you said, your tone teasing but fond. “Let’s get you sitting somewhere before you injure yourself again.”

Fred let you lead him to a bench at the side of the hall, his hand still tingling from where yours had been.

As you both sat down, he turned to face you, his usual confidence returning in a slow, steady wave, “I’m Fred, by the way."

You laughed, tucking a strand of glitter-dusted hair behind your ear. “I know. You and George are kind of hard to miss.”

Fred’s grin widened, his chest fluttering at the sound of your laugh. “Yeah? Well, you’re kind of hard to forget...uh?" As if on cue, you told him your name. "Y/N." You smiled. "Y/N..." He repeated back, how fitting, a pretty name for a pretty girl.

Your eyes softened, and for a moment, you studied Fred's features. He did the same, glancing at your lips occasionally.

You'd always seen him from afar, to you he was just a prankster, a jokester, busy with his schemes, you'd never thought you'd actually come face to face with him.

But now that you did, you saw him in a different light, almost.

“If this is how you usually apologise,” you said, your voice light again, “I’m scared to see what happens when you’re not sorry.”

Fred chuckled, shaking his head. “Stick around, and I’ll show you.”

You leaned back slightly, your smile lingering. “I just might.”

And in that moment, Fred knew—he didn’t just want to impress you. He wanted you, all of you, your wit, your laughter, your sparkling eyes.

He just wanted to be yours.

[hemlock-dreams]

Not me absolutely frothing at the mouth about this AU. Can we get an info dump on the Lore? It's making me want to abandon my current Spideypool WIP for this. Absolutely terminal brainrot for this boy

BEHOLD: MASSIVE LORE DUMP!

Peter B. Parker is a young troublemaker who has a problem with authority. He also has a knack for picking tech apart and putting it back together, which puts him on the radar for a small-time gang that needs someone to act as their alarm system breaker for a big score.

Unfortunately, said score had bad intel and what was supposed to be a simple robbery turns out to be manslaughter when the resulting fire that was supposed to cover up their tracks ends up killing two guards.

Peter is tried as an adult with the rest of the gang and sentenced to Rykers for 5 years.

Check out the full page HERE.

At Rykers, Peter meets Marko Flint, who takes Peter under his wing. and teaches him how to survive and thrive when wearing the orange.

Life goes on for 5 years. He learns the trade, gets some tats, learns how to make some great shivs, and becomes a better criminal all around. Yay prison!

Peter gets out at 21, and reunites with Uncle Ben and Aunt May. He does his best to clean up his act, but normal life is hard for someone who spent their formative years in prison.

(He also makes questionable hair and fashion choices. What can I say, he's catching up!)

He goes from job to job, trying to pay back his aunt and uncle for all their support but is completely unequipped for the 'real world.' After a few months working/getting fired from soul-crushing menial jobs (HS dropout!), he agrees to take 'one last job' with Marko that is 'guaranteed to set them up for life'.

*cough*

This robbery goes off without a hitch! No one is hurt and they make off after hitting a heavily armored Oscorp Transport with a ton of documents/tech that they aim to sell to the highest bidder.

The biggest mystery is that one glowing vial of untested, experimental serum they found...

Unfortunately, Oscorp doesn't take robbery lightly. Marko finds out through contacts that the serum (whatever it is) is too hot to sell on the market, so he instructs Peter to get rid of it so it can't be traced back to them.

Peter, a rational 22-year-old ex-con, 'gets rid of it' by mixing the serum into ink and tattooing it onto his wrist, triggering the start of his mutations.

It takes a bit, but Peter get's all the regular spiderman benefits (webs are organic), plus one more. The serum was created from the venom of the Portia Spider, a hunting/jumping spider known to be uniquely intelligent among arachnids.

Alongside the speed/strength/spideysense, Peter also grows some fangs that secrete a powerful venom.

The venom speeds up the body's processes, working almost like an insane performance booster and enhancing an injected person's strength, speed, and senses for a few hours.

Unfortunately, repeated doses also eventually induce shock, paralysis, and, later, death.

He gives a few samples of it to Marko as an exit fee.

Uncle Ben was suspicious of how Peter suddenly got so much money, but took him on good faith. But, while he was watching the news that covered the Oscorp robbery, connected the dots and had a blowout fight with Peter that ended with him having a cardiac event.

Unfortunately, he did not survive.

Aunt May and Peter were estranged over this for several years.

This event crushes Peter, sobering him up immediately. He goes back and gets his HS diploma, and works on night courses in college.

However, he spends much of his days wandering, angry at himself and what he did. He beats up a mugger one day and realizes that he could be using his powers to back up the faith Ben had in him.

Spiderman is born!

Eventually, he and Aunt May reunite, and their relationship is slowly healing.

A few years later, Peter is on the up. He and Aunt May are close again! He's got a bachelor's in computer science, has a (semi) steady job, and is well-liked as Spiderman by the populace at large. His rogue's gallery is roguing- etc.

Unfortunately, a variant of his venom (developed by Kingpin) hits the streets as a drug. It's favored by both criminals for its performance-enhancing strength, as well as civilians, for the time-slowing sensation/high it gives them.

His girlfriend, Mary Jane, who has been sober for a few years, relapses. Peter, knowing that he can't stop her from getting it on her own, reveals his identity and becomes her main source.

At least, this way, he can control the dosage.

Marko (who sold Peter's venom to Kingpin) manages to fire off his only two brain cells and realizes that Spiderman IS Peter Parker.

Then he outs him to the world because Spiderman made it personal.

Peter's life catches on fire. The entire world is after him. His loved ones have to go into hiding because there's no shortage of criminals and psychopaths who want to get their hands on MJ and Aunt May to get to Spiderman.

Peter ceases to exist. It's not safe anymore. He spends days (weeks? months?) in the suit. Eventually, on the run and burnt out, he pleads his case to Dr. Strange in desperation. (Ala No Way Home)

"Everyone deserves a clean start."

Dr. Strange agrees, but the spell can't work with Peter still existing as part of the equation. So it fires him off into a reality where Peter B. Parker, and by extension Spiderman, never existed.

So how's an ex-con/ex-superhero (for now) supposed to carve a space in a world that never knew him? By finding somewhere that doesn't ask any questions.

And it just so happens, that St. Margaret's School for Wayward Children has a reputation for both being a bar of questionable repute and looking the other way.

Might as well start there.

~~~~~~~~~

Thank you so much for this lovely, lovely ask! I hope this massive lore dump wasn't overkill, but I'm having a lot of fun with this world and wanted to share.

And I offer this lore dump ONLY on the condition that you do not drop whatever you're working on. There is always space for more spideypool in the world, don't deprive us!!!

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Miguel w/an Innocent S/O

Warnings: Protective Miguel, Slight Yandere Miguel (if you squint), Implications of Smut, Fluff, More Fluff, Spooning, Mentions/Implications of injuries, Insecurity, No Pronouns used for Reader Except 'You'.

Him being fiercely protective of you 24/7.

If someone even so much as looks at you wrong, he stares them down until they either break down and start apologising, or their heart gives out.

You’re the only person he shows any affection to. You’re also the only person allowed to touch him. Period.

He’s so touch starved; please hold him and tell him he’s your big guy :-(

Goes FERAL when you rake your fingers through his hair; his eyes roll into his skull and he can’t help but moan a little, even if the context isn’t sexual.

Don’t bring it up or he’ll punish you for it later 👀.

He finds your innocence both endearing and worrying.

On one hand, you believe in the good of everyone, which, considering how insecure Miguel can be, is what initially drew him to you; your ability to empathise and sympathise with others, to not judge them.

However, he knows people would take advantage of your kind and giving nature.

One time, he found out that one of the Spiders – a Victorian England era ‘gentleman superhero’ – had tossed you a used coffee cup and told you to dispose of it on his behalf. When you tried to say something, to tell him you were busy and had better things to do, he just dismissed you.

Of course, Miguel had seen this. He has eyes on you every second of the day.

You never saw that Spiderman again. Nor did anyone else. All that seemed to remain of him was his suit thrown haphazardly into the storage room, where a great big tear edged with blood was ripped into the chestpiece, the hero’s signature top hat abandoned and crumpled beneath it.

He also broke another Spider-Person’s arm when they tried to steal one of the fairy cakes you’d lovingly baked for him; poured your heart and soul into.

Miguel also growls at people he thinks are looking at you strangely. Full-on bares his fangs like a rabid dog and watches them cower.

He purposely grows his fangs out and lets you play with them.

He’s careful to make sure you don’t get hurt, though, guiding your hands away from the pointed tips.

His guilty pleasure is when you kiss his fangs and tell him he’s “The coolest, most handsome man in the world!”

“Just the world?” He says, smiling, raising an eyebrow. His heart melts in his chest as your smile widens, eclipsing your eyes into crescents.

“In ALL the worlds!” You say, throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him, laughing. He brings his arms, thick and muscular, around your waist and pulls you into him, pressing ticklish kisses into your neck, revelling in your laughter.

Intimacy-wise, Miguel is horrified at the prospect of hurting you.

He’s ever so careful, as if handling glass, holding back his strength.

It’s worth it, though. The strain.

Especially when he hears you mewl and try to hide your face in his chest.

“Oh no, Sweetheart,” he says, tangling a hand in your hair and pulling your head back. His pointed fangs flint as he gives a smile. “I want to watch you like this.”

Loves your gentle kisses – they give him life.

Nothing can get him down when you’re around; especially when you’re sitting in his lap.

Though, issues have arisen as a result of your oblivion to…compromising positions.

More often than not, Miguel’s had to bite his lip and tongue when you shift in his lap, catching him, making his heart start and his breath shutter, electric anticipation jolting through him.

He takes you aside in the bathroom to deal with the issue you’ve unknowingly caused, but you don’t complain. Not that you can with your mouth full.

He looks at you with eyes which have seen the deaths of countless individuals, yet when he finds yours, he sees love and light spanning infinite universes within them. And they give him hope that there is more to life than loss and grief; more to him than his failures.

He revels in the feeling of you hiding behind him whenever you’re scared.

Sometimes he takes you to areas of the facility where he knows you’ll be easily frightened – for example, where captive villains are held – so he can feel your hands tightening around his arm or gripping the back of his suit. It makes him feel useful, like he can take on the world.

And he gets off on being the only person who can truly protect you. But he’d never tell you that, of course.

Loves demonstrating his strength around you. He can pick you up single-handedly and carry you anywhere without so much as thinking of breaking a sweat.

He prefers to be the big spoon, curling around you like a shield and protecting you from the outside world, his warm, broad chest to your back.

Tells you how much he loves you through hushed post-intimacy whispers and soft touches. Shows it through acts of service and the insurmountable adoration that fills his eyes whenever you’re around.

He can’t imagine being with anybody else. He can’t even remember the last time he felt anything save for contempt before you showed up.

And he’ll do whatever it takes to protect you. No cost is too great for the love of his life <3.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[zairaalbereo]

“Please don’t do this.”

So after binging the whole four seasons of Black Sails last month, I’m now on a more leisurely rewatch… or so I thought.

But god everything hits so much worse or better or harder knowing about Flint’s past and motivation now. And then this scene came up, and I’m just… fuuuuuck. Crying, screaming, throwing up. I’m not okay. This is devastating. (Did I mention I cope with art?)

On my first watch, Flint killing Gates truly shocked me. He would really kill his friend just because he wouldn’t go along with his plans? To not have to give up on the Urca? Sure, Gates is going against his command. It’s mutiny, but Gates seems to be trying, and he sounds so bloody reasonable. And more importantly, he’s been a loyal friend up until now. A fatherly friend (I want to throw up). And even now he’s… trying to protect Flint, right? (Fuck. Seriously. Feeling ill.)

But yeah, I was shocked. And as he whispered broken apologies to the friend he just murdered, I wondered… could I forgive him for this?

And now…omg now it’s like watching a completely different train wreck happening, and it all makes perfect, tragic, horrible sense. The way the whole scene mirrors James McGraw’s futile attempt to convince Hennessy of their Hail Mary plan to save Nassau. Every step. The urgency when things have already gone sideways, but James refuses to give up, because it can still work. People just have to listen. Let him explain. Have a little faith. Back then he trusted Hennessy, and now he still trusts Gates. He trusts them to understand, asking them to believe in him. He doesn’t see it coming. (How does he not see it coming this time?)

And then the moment the floor is ripped out from under him. And it’s all there, on Flint’s face, in the moment when Gates says “They know.” It’s not the mutiny. It’s the betrayal. The way Flint’s face falls, and for a moment he looks just like James McGraw in Hennessy’s office. The same devastation and disbelief when he asks “You told them?” And of course for him it is the same betrayal. It is the same fight, to prove Thomas right. To stand against those who took him and everything else away from James.

And Gates, that poor bastard, doesn’t even understand what sin he is committing. He doesn’t even see it as mutiny. He sees it as doing the right thing, containing a madman. (Omggg…) And then there is Flint, reliving the worst moments of his life. And that point it doesn’t feel like it’s about the Urca anymore. It’s an emotional massacre, to which Gates seems completely oblivious. When Flint asks if he will see him get hanged, only to be promised an opportunity to flee for him and ‘Mrs Barlow’, Gates thinks he is doing him a kindness. Like Hennessy probably thought he was doing him a kindness, saving him from the gallows. It’s all right. Flint just has to leave, vanish and never be heard of again. He should be grateful. And the way Flint’s eyes close briefly in disbelief that this is happening. Again. The way he pleads with Gates, just like he pleaded with Hennessy. So unlike Flint. But once more he is told that his actions are unforgivable. Simply too much. He’s not just rejected, but he is abandoned. He is cast out for who he is and his supposed sins. A monster that can’t be allowed to exist amongst the rest of them.

The whole scene is executed so brilliantly, the way he fluctuates between James’ almost innocent appeals to be understood and Flint’s anger at being denied. But he keeps trying until the last moment. And then, when he acts, it’s not a calculated move. It’s pure desperation, the only purpose to do something, to stop what is happening. Because James McGraw didn’t. But where James McGraw hesitated, where he maybe still hoped, still didn’t comprehend, and where he still thought he had something to lose… Flint doesn’t. And yet we can see it break him. We can see how it breaks another part of his soul. 

(And of course it will happen again. Screaming. Crying. Throwing up.)

[jinwoosbabyboo]

𝙸 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚂𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛 𝙸 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝙷𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝙸𝚝

The lads men and their nuerospicy adhd/add reader A/N: Your mental health matters and don't sacrifice it for anyone. These are a few things I deal with. Everyone's experience with adhd/add is different. [Requested by: luxis-journal]

Time Blocking

I have to be there by 5:30pm, but I need to shower and do my makeup so I need at least 2 or 3 hours for that, but I should give myself time so im not rushing because I hate being rushed and I know I'm gonna want to eat before I go so I should make time for that and picking out an outfit will take some time so I need to start getting ready at like 11am you know incase there’s traffic and im not rushing

Zayne doesn’t question it and just gets ready in 30 minutes while you still run around getting dressed Rafayel rushes you just to piss you off and immediately regret it when you tell him to leave without you because you’re not going anymore Xavier when you tell him the rundown of your getting ready time he’s confused until he wakes up an hour before you need to leave and you’re still getting ready Sylus happily just watches you get dressed while he’s still in bed

ADD/ADHD Pause

That moment when you need to turn the lights off, but you need to grab your car keys off the kitchen counter, but your jacket is still in your room so you can’t turn the room light off just yet and you need to grab your travel mug from the fridge so now you’re just stutter stepping in one spot trying to do everything at once

Zayne tells you to grab your drink while he grabs everything else Rafayel puts his hands on your shoulders and directs into your room to grab your jacket and then asks what else needs to be done Xavier quietly grabs everything for you Sylus grabs your chin, tilting it up to look at him and simply says “One thing at a time sweetie”

Nightly/Tired Zoomies

Hysterically laughing at anything and thinking of everything funny that’s ever made you laugh right before bed or when you get tired. Crackhead energy.

Zayne sweetly smiles while you tire yourself out and cuddles you when you lay down and pass out in his arms Rafayel is cackling with you and not just laughing, but also adding onto the jokes you both end up laughing until you’re in tears Xavier he’s already knocked out while you’re still up laughing at videos on your phone Sylus teases you the entire time which only makes you laugh more then makes you lay down because he knows you’re just sleepy

Non-verbal and/or Overstimulated

Those moments when you just don’t feel like talking and everything is pissing you off especially unnecessary noises

Zayne leaves you be and just sends you texts to check on you. Turns on your favorite show when he’s about to eat so you don’t yell at him for making too much noise Rafayel still wants your attention so he just lays on you hoping it would make you feel better. it works for a while until the sound of his breathing starts irritating you “Why are you breathing so loud?” “Im sorry for being alive??” Xavier leaves you alone and just leaves you little snacks in case you get hungry he knows you’ll come talk to him when you’re ready Sylus simply texts you when you don’t feel like speaking sends the twins in to see how irritable you are because if you get snappy with them he knows you’ll bite his head off

Vocal Stimming

A new random sentence or song snippet every week from “FLINT LOCKWOOD” to “Say its fine (fiiiinneee) happens all the time” to just random noises when the silence is silencing too much

Zayne just looks at you and goes on about his day Rafayel gets them stuck in his head now he’s randomly saying it too Xavier questions it “Where did that come from?” Sylus just lets you do your thing chuckles from time to time because he finds it cute

[augustinewrites]

cw: it’s just angst & jjk manga spoilers

satoru wakes with a start.

his breaths come a little faster than his body can process, his heart is pounding in his chest, and his head feels like someone’s stuck a hot poker in it. 

it takes him what feels like a few minutes to settle down again, clutching the bedsheets in a tightly wound fist. 

once things seemed to have returned to a normal level, he tries to remember what’d startled him. was it a dream? a memory? had he simply jerked himself awake whilst on the precipice of sleep, like you claimed he did—

his mind seems to be clearing up, because his next instinct is to sit up and make sure you’re okay.

you’re fine, sound asleep on your side of the bed. 

satoru relaxes, albeit only slightly. he’s not sure why he’d been struck with such sudden panic. there’s just this…feeling. he might even go as far as to call it an overwhelming sense of dread, if he were dramatic.

there’s something. it’s hiding in the back of his brain, somewhere even his six eyes can’t find or comprehend. 

he leans back against the headboard, reaching up to run his hands through then lightly grip the strands of his hair. outside, the sun’s barely peeking over the horizon, but whatever had startled him had left him wide awake. 

“the kids are gonna be up soon,” you mumble, pulling him out of the mess of his mind. “better sleep while you have time.” 

time. the word flashes like a flint strike in his mind, but the sparks don’t quite catch yet.

so he lays next to you, wrapping an arm around you to pull you into his chest. he feels a bit better, with you in his arms. 

“what’s wrong?” you mumble, voice thick with sleep. 

“nothing,” he lies.

you hum, but he knows that you know him too well. you always know when he’s lying. 

you twist in his arms so the two of you are face to face, the tip of your nose brushing his. 

your sleepy gaze finds his, sending him a small smile. “hi.”

he doesn’t reply because he finds he’s too busy memorizing the details or your face; the flecks of colour in your eyes, the slope of your nose. it’s as if it’s the first time he’s seeing it.

or maybe the last.

the thought comes out of nowhere and scares him so badly that he tries to pull away.

“hey,” you murmur, cradling his face in your hands. he catches your wrist intending to pull you away, but instead he clings to you like a lifeline. you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. “you’re okay.”

he wants to believe you, he really does. but anxiety is beginning to gnaw on the edge of his sanity.

“something’s wrong,” he admits quietly. “i don’t— i don’t know—”

“you worry too much,” you sigh, your thumb smoothing over his cheek. 

“i just want us all to be safe,” he tells you. 

“i know,” you hum again, smiling a little sadly. “i just wish you wouldn’t let it come at your expense.”

there are a lot of things he wants to say in this moment. he wants to ask why you’re worried, because you know he’s the strongest. that he would rip the heavens apart for you. he wants to tell you that he has a plan, and that he knows it’ll work. 

(a plan for what? he thinks briefly. he can’t remember.)

but most of all…he wants to tell you that he loves you and the life you’ve built together. too much to leave it all behind. 

but all that comes out is,

“i’d rather it be me than any of you.” 

“don’t say that,” you frown. “we need you. i need you.”

there’s an awful ache settled deep in his chest, carving into the place where his heart sits.

“well, it’s a good thing i’m not planning to go anywhere anytime soon.” lie. “i love you.”

truth.

he rests his forehead against yours, tangling his fingers with yours. 

the memories hit him like a gut punch. 

handmade mochi. the flick of a lighter. a beach in okinawa. megumi and tsumiki laughing. you in your wedding dress, telling him you love him. 

a crowded station. the beginning of the end. 

his eyelids are suddenly heavy. there’s not enough time, he panics. that can’t be it—

“i’ll be here when you wake up,” you promise, and even though you sound like you’re a million miles away, he can hear the sadness in your voice. “you can rest now.”

satoru closes his eyes.

[alleyesony0u]

evbo wakes up in pvp civilization remembering only three things — his name, his age, and his birthday. he knows it’s some… vague date. he tries to keep track of his days in his home. he is turning fifteen in a few months, after all. wouldn’t want to miss the big one five.

he tries to keep track of the days in his cell too. markings scraped on the walls that tell him time has passed. too much time. one day he wakes up with a horrible feeling of dread deep in his gut. like a black hole. when he goes to mark the day on the wall, it takes him a moment to register the fact that it’s his birthday. congrats kid. you’re fifteen now. do you like chocolate or vanilla? buttercream or fondant? a year from now you can get that car you wanted. for now, how about that exciting new video game or a pair of new kicks?

happy birthday, kid. they’re opening up the door now with shiny blades and prayers. or shiny blades and looks of cruel glee. do you really think they care? do you think when your blood stains the crevices of all the tiny markings on your wall they look at it and think, happy birthday kid, you’re fifteen?

happy birthday, kid. you’re still waking up with a gasp and a new scar, morphing into all the old ones on your skin. that pillow is comfortable, maybe you lay there for a while and dream. not the best present in the world but it’s better than nothing, no?

happy birthday, kid. the guard coming to collect you is the better one, even with all his sneers and insults. he leads you to the red gate and wishes you luck and when you turn to look at him and say “it’s my birthday today. i’m fifteen.” his mask will slip and he will look upon the wobbly kneed calf in horror as the stone door grinds shut behind you.

happy birthday, kid. you’ve died again and the guard coming to collect you is the worse one. he shoves you forward and his patience is tick tick ticking. you could tell him it’s your birthday today, but that wouldn’t change much. birthdays don’t divert destinies.

happy birthday, kid. you’re sitting in your own gore but you’ve managed to snatch a flint and steel at one of your respawns and a twig from one of the trees you pass by on your way down. you light the twig with the flame and it is warm. and it is light. and your cell is so very cold and dark. you close your eyes and make a wish. or two. or three. i want to save tabi. i want to go home. i don’t want to die.

you blow out your makeshift candle and the cell is cold and dark again. not for long though, because the door opens again and your blood spatters on the walls and floors. again. happy birthday, kid. you’re fifteen. remember what you were born for.

and as the day dwindles to its close, a man adorning a golden crown, dressed in yellow opens the door. he says, “fifteen, huh?”

and you ask, “you know my birthday?”

and he says, “of course i do. it’s just practical.”

[superficialdomina]

Down Under - Part 4

Word count: 2.9k

Part 2 Warnings: 18+; minors DNI. SMUT! Smutty smut! Masturbating (F). Orgasms (F). Thigh riding. Effects of sex-infection (and the inherent dub-con). If you want to avoid any of this, stop reading when we go to bed 😅

Part 3

Series masterlist

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Part 4

There wasn’t much to do, since you didn’t have much in the way of gear. You gathered a pile of firewood, then pulled large armfuls of bracken out of the bush to fashion a makeshift bed. It would hardly be comfortable, but it might be an improvement on the hard ground. While Loki arranged wood and stones into a campfire shape, you began collecting handfuls of dry leaf and twig.

“What are you doing, Agent?”

“Um… Just getting some kindling? I think I have a flint in my pack…”

Loki gave a low chuckle. He mimed the two-handed motion of pulling back a slingshot, and aimed it at the teepee-shaped pile. As he released the invisible draw, a small fireball materialised; it flew through the air and crashed into the logs, which generously burst into flames.

“Satisfactory, yes?”

More than that, you thought lustily. Your mouth twitched as you stared after him, skin warmed by more than just the fire. That shouldn’t have been so arousing. Right?

Twilight was fully settled by now, the sun well-and-truly below the tree line. Urgent tasks complete, the two of you seated yourselves on one side of the campfire, watching the dancing yellow-and-orange that licked up into the darkening sky.

“Are you hungry?” Loki asked.

Starving, you realised. “I already ate everything I was carrying.”

“Mmm,” he said, feigning consternation. With another graceful flourish of sparks, he produced a small loaf of dark, dense bread, and some hard cheese. You immediately began to salivate.

“Loki, you’re brilliant!”

His mouth curled, then he cleared his throat. “It is nothing. If we were better equipped,” he continued, as he hacked off chunks of bread and cheese with his dagger, “I would make us some lefse. But it is only truly delicious when fresh off the griddle.”

“Lefse. That’s – that’s bread, right?” you asked through a mouthful of the delicious, chewy rye.

“Tch. Is it bread.” He closed his eyes in fond memory. “If it is mere bread, it is the most soulful, delicate bread you have ever tasted; indeed, its grace and tenderness is tempered only by its humility.”

You stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. “That was very poetic, Loki.”

Loki opened his eyes to scowl at you, but his irises twinkled provocatively. “What can I say? I miss my homeland, and I am a romantic at heart.” He paused, light echoing off the semicircle of exposed skin at his neckline. “That is your second compliment to me in as many minutes.”

“I guess so.”

“Be careful, Agent – I might start to believe I am winning you over.” He chewed and swallowed another bite of cheese, and you were distracted, imagining his pretty mouth latched filthily to your nipple. “I have a small confession,” he said, settling down to gaze again at the fire. “I have visited your continent once before.”

You sat up. “What? When?”

He chuckled again. “A few hundred years ago, before the Europeans came. My mother insisted that I needed a vacation. I was interested in your wildlife… So I spent a few moons exploring it.”

“Where? Here?”

“The plains, mostly.” He smiled into the distance as he remembered. “The Wiradjuri people welcomed me to their Country; shared with me their dance and music. It was the season of ‘fat fish’; I recall we ate very well.”

You briefly hid your face in your hands. “So when I was spouting all that shit about the southern stars…”

“As I said – I am familiar.”

 “And you’ve never said anything to me?”

“I don’t believe we have ever conversed at length.”

You paused. It was true; in the time you’d known him, you’d never gone out of your way to speak to him. He was someone important, you’d always told yourself, and you were no-one. But it’s more than that, you thought, a little ashamed. You’d found him arrogant, and cold, and standoffish. Now, you thought of the way he had led you safely through each squeeze in that tunnel; he’d seen the fear on your face, and hadn’t hesitated to find a way to make it as tolerable for you as possible. And just now - I would make us some lefse…

“I… No, I suppose not.” You felt you owed him something honest in return. Or maybe it just seemed like a moment for truth-telling. “I – I didn’t want to come back. Home, I mean.”

“Oh?”

“I just… I guess I didn’t want to face some things I thought I’d left behind for good.”

His eyes narrowed knowingly. “I see. An old lover, perhaps?”

“Worse,” you made a face, “family. Family… differences.”

“Ah. I can relate.” He swallowed his last piece of cheese, then brushed his hands together to clear way the crumbs. “What was the nature of disagreement?”

 “My Dad and I… We never got along.” You paused. That was the euphemism you always used – ‘we didn’t get along’. You let go of a deep breath. “He – he hated me, I think. Hated all women, maybe. But he especially hated that I wanted more from life than his shitty fishing village. That I went to university, wanted a career. That it wasn’t my life’s ambition to just… sit around fetching his beer and cleaning up after him.”

His face was almost impassive; only a hint of sadness in his eyes betrayed his pity.

Your eyes were stinging. “The last Christmas I went home, he was on at me, worse than usual. Ungrateful, failure, ruining my life, blah blah. My mum made, like, a token effort to pacify him, but I think she resented me, too. And I just realised – I’d had enough of him. Fuck him. And I - I left. And I didn’t really think I’d ever come back.”

“And now?” he asked quietly. “How does it feel to be home?”

“Complicated,” you said, reluctant. When he waited for more, you added, “I’d forgotten how much it’s a… a part of me.”

You caught his eye, then quickly looked away. It was all too alluring; the firelight, the secrets shared. The carved lines of his Adonis belt above those Goddamned moleskins, which were revealed each time he raised his arms…

You had wanted to ask him if he would repeat his trick from a few nights ago; to cast his illusion and open the sky for you again. But it felt too vulnerable. Too intimate, now that he knew what it meant to you. Too tempting.

So instead, you stood, brushing the grass from your pants. “Thank you for the meal, Loki. And for… listening. I’m going to get some sleep.”

“Good night, Agent.”

“Night.”

The scene was vague, as though watched through a dense fog. Your skin was hot with desire. There were hands… mouth… And him. Nothing more or less than shadows and touch, but you knew he was there. Loki, his name appeared on your lips. Loki. And then, crystal clear, a vision of his perfect, pale ass sinking beneath the surface of the water…

“Ngguuuh,” you groaned, waking just as you were about to cross the precipice into an inevitable wet dream. You quickly slipped a hand into your underwear, chasing release. A few circles of your swollen clit were enough to push you over the edge; with a muffled cry, you came hard into your hand.

You lay back, breathing as heavily as if you’d just run to the summit. A twinge of shame rattled you. Loki. You should’ve nipped those lusty thoughts of him in the bud. The imaginary Cosmo headline flashed through your mind: ‘So you had a sex dream about a teammate?’

The thought made you chuckle out loud, then quickly clamp your free hand over your mouth. Oh God, I hope he didn’t hear… Anything. You listened carefully for a few moments, but Loki didn’t stir; relieved, you rolled over to let sleep reclaim you.

But it didn’t. Squirming a little, you noticed the ache still tugging at your sex. Am I still up for it? That was surprising. Usually in the case of such a dream, one quick orgasm was enough to put you straight back to sleep. Sometimes you didn’t even wake up for them.

You slid your hand back down into your underwear, legs falling open as though in invitation to yourself. You moved more slowly this time. Your fingers traced the sensitive skin at the crease of your thigh, drawing random patterns that tickled and warmed and excited. They crept inward, fingertips running over the moistened lips, collecting slippery arousal and carrying it up to ghost over your clit once more. Again, repeating the circling pattern: thigh, dip, slick, clit. Each time a little deeper, a little firmer, a little more.

The warm night carried the scent of your arousal to your nostrils, and you brought your free hand up under your shirt to palm your breast. Your nipple hardened at the faintest graze; you spread your fingers, catching the stiff, peaked skin between them. You gasped softly at the instant pleasure, electricity zipping from this newly activated erogenous zone straight to your parted thighs. Your two hands worked in symphony, strumming your nipple and clit in perfect time, and your hips circled and bucked of their own accord.

The dull ache became an urgent summons, and you moved your hand from your breast to sink your fingers into your own needy cunt. So wet, you thought hotly, the realisation spurring you on. You spread and curled your fingers; felt them fill you, seeking that soft, precious place of pleasure within. You began to pump them, slowly at first, then faster, in perfect, filthy rhythm. Your dominant hand still rubbed at your clit; still dipped inside you again and again to bring up hot, liquid pleasure, allowing your fingers to glide and slip, faster and harder, over that swollen little bud. You were slick and sticky with your own generous arousal.

“Ngguuuuuuuaah,” you moaned aloud. So close. Your eyes were closed, mouth open and panting as your hips jerked up into your hand. You were beyond caring if Loki heard you, if anyone heard you. “Just a little… more…”

And as though the thought of his name had summoned him, Loki’s long, lean body appeared in your imagination once again. Loki wading out into the pool, his dark hair fanned out across the water. Loki’s pretty, pale face in your hands, your legs around him under the surface, the invitation clear in his mischievous, twinkling eyes. Loki, beneath you, sinking into you as you sat astride him, riding his infamous cock, which twitched as he unloaded into you –

“Fff-uh… oh, ffuhhck-k,” you gasped at last, your body seizing up and trembling as you pushed yourself into a strong, extended climax. Ten, twenty, thirty seconds, wave after powerful wave pulsed through you, abs and teeth and toes clenched in pleasure. Until finally, spent, your hands fell heavily away, flopping boneless to the ground, and you could shakily draw breath again.

And in that moment of post-orgasm clarity, you remembered. The crash of breaking glass. Spattered aerosols of ugly, pink fluid. A rush of stale air as the mask slipped from your mouth. Is that what’s happening to me?

The sheen of sweat was still fresh on your skin when you felt the soft pulse of desire again - and you knew for certain what was going on.

Fuck, you thought. Fuck. I have to tell Banner his antifungals don’t work.

You were floating on your back in the plunge pool, your naked skin lit by a sliver of late-risen moon and soothed by the cool water. You concentrated hard on each breath: inhale, 2, 3, 4… exhale, 2, 3, 4...

Your body felt as though it were humming; an ebb and flow of desire that sang in your blood. You’d lost count of the number of times you’d rubbed and fingered yourself to orgasm; each climax brought temporary relief, but every time the thrumming need returned, stronger than before. Maybe if you could put it off as long as possible… But you knew there was no resisting it forever.

You heard the splash Loki made as he waded in to you, but you didn’t raise your head. It was only once he reached you that you opened your eyes to see his beautiful face, etched with concern. The water reached his waist; the milky skin of his bare, muscular torso glowed faintly in the moonlight.

You concentrated harder on breathing.

“Agent? What’s wrong?”

Inhale. “I think I’ve… been infected.”

Loki was calm. “Have you alerted the others?”

“Yes.” Exhale. “I called and called until I woke them. I had to tell them that the antifungals don’t work. They – they found a sample. They’ve got an idea for a treatment.” You steeled yourself for what you had to say next; it was made all the harder by the proximity of his long, lean body.  “Loki, you should go. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, but I don’t think you’re safe here… with me.”

He chuckled shortly. “I believe I can fend you off, mortal.”

“I’m serious, Loki. It’s taking all my concentration now to not grab you and… and…” Even in your current state of arousal, you had to pull that thought back. You tried again. “We don’t know how it spreads. What if I infect you?”

“Our good Doctor believes I am immune.”

“Yeah, but he thought those pills would work.”

“Agent, I am not leaving you,” he said with finality. “You heard the outcome for the people of the village; lives lost through malnourishment. Not to mention your obvious inability in this state to defend yourself from enemy attack.” He softened. “If I must force you to drink in order to remain hydrated, I will; but I will not leave you alone here.”

You took another deep, shaky breath. “I… OK. Thank you, Loki. I’ll – I’ll try to keep it together.” I hope, you added silently.

 “Are you in pain?”

“No… it doesn’t hurt.” The thrumming in your sex rose another notch, screaming for attention; each sentence was more difficult than the last. “Just this… urge. Like this deep hunger, or - something. And then I – come – and there’s relief for a bit, but… Then it starts building again… And it’s so… strong… Nngaah.” You gave in to it, hands moving of their own accord, the need to touch yourself overpowering. But the movement disrupted your star-float, and you found yourself thrashing wildly in the water instead.

“Shhh, it’s OK. I’ve got you.” Loki’s hands were on your bare skin, pulling you towards him in the dark water, stilling you against his broad chest. He was wet and slippery, but firm; your fingers pressed into his shoulders hard in desperation. You were almost sobbing with need.

You felt his knee pry your legs apart below the water. With his hands on your waist, he skilfully manoeuvred you, setting you down on his thigh. You felt the wet satin of his boxers against your naked skin, the thin fabric doing nothing to disguise the solid ridge of femur that now slotted between your legs.

“Is that better?”

You couldn’t make words. Stop it! you screamed silently at yourself. He’s the fucking Prince of Asgard! But the temptation was too great; you could only gasp with relief as the hard muscle met your bare pussy, involuntarily squeezing his thigh between yours. His strong hands held your hips steady, keeping you frozen in place, until you whimpered pathetically.

“Loki… I’m sorry…”

He softened his grip, his shoulders flexing gently, guiding you as you rolled your hips to move against him. The friction, the pressure; it was better in that moment than any touch you could have given yourself. You ground down against him, greedily rubbing your clit across the length of his endless thigh. More, please more. Even in the water of the pool, you could feel the slick arousal that you were trailing over him.

The world around you faded. Your eyes were closed now, the better to concentrate on the bliss of his hard quadriceps muscle against your desperate cunt. Faster. Harder. You moaned aloud when his hand, no longer needed at your hip, moved to roughly palm your breast. You arched your back, pressing into his hand as he caught your air-hardened nipple between the soft pads of his fingers. He pinched and tweaked, sending little bolts of pleasure to your sex, where he continued to meet each of your rolling thrusts against his rock-hard thigh.

You could feel your next climax building like a rising tide; slow, steady, relentless. You whimpered again.

“Please… More…”

And with a surge of arousal, you felt his lips close around your nipple. You opened your eyes to watch as his tongue generously swirled and strummed. His own eyes were closed, his dark eyelashes fanned against his pale skin, his cheeks hollowed as he sucked hard, drawing you further into his mouth, as though he would never have enough. It was utterly beautiful.

The thrum in your sex rose to a deafening crescendo. Wild, messy, you ground down hard against the mass of his thigh; he pressed back against you, thick and taut and powerful, his pretty mouth still coaxing sparks of pleasure from your nipple. You threw back your head as you came, crying out into the night.

Then you collapsed into his arms.

Part 5

Tags in comments xx

[whackk-kermitt]

Oh I got a good one, How the God of War characters would react to reader kissing them for the first time eather on the cheek or the lips or both. Please definitely add Atreus. Please

Smooches

Warnings: Cuties being cute.

Genre: Headcanons

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Kratos

It was a total shock to Kratos when he felt your lips against his temple.

You would never guess he was dumbfounded and awestruck by the sudden affection.

He didn't respond with words or even look at you, just kept on with his task.

He wracked his brain trying to think of what the kiss had been for.

What made you think to do it?

All he had done before was take the flint and start the fire you were having trouble starting.

After all, he needed that fire going so he could cook the fresh game.

He didn't quite understand until Mimir, the smartest man alive, told him after you'd excused yourself from the room.

“You've been married before, brother! How do you not realize that women relish being taken care of?”

So you kissed him because he helped you?

That's it?!

That's ridiculous.

He totally started helping you out more often though.

Not because he yearned for you to kiss I'm more often.

No.

Definitely not.

He only wanted to show you how to do the things you should know how to do already.

Smooches were just a bonus.

Atreus

He'd liked you for so long that by the time you'd kissed him it was like a damn breaking open and river water finally resuming the course it was meant to flow.

Even if it was just a sweet peck on the cheek while sitting beside each other at the campfire.

A peck that lasted a second.

But to him, it felt like everything was finally the way things should be.

He smiled and shuddered and tried to find words or the courage you had to reciprocate.

He stumbled under himself for a few long moments hating how stupid he must have looked.

He was afraid his awkward response ruined the mood.

He almost had the heart to blame you, you did this to him after all.

But that embarrassment only lasted a little bit before he was reassured this a longer kiss on the other cheek.

He settled for comfortable silence enjoying the moment.

Not before kissing your hands of course.

Such a gentleman.

Mimir

He really enjoyed the moments you stole him away and walked with him, sat with him, talked for hours about nothing and everything.

You'd find a log, or field and lay him in you lap, laugh and talk sweet to him.

It was one of these moments, were you stopped him mid story, lifted him up close and kissed him sweetly on the lips.

He was saddened at first, insecurities about being just a head filled him.

He cares for you, absolutely, there was no doubt he'd be happy to spend the rest of his days with you.

But he felt you deserved better than an old man with not body to hold you with.

You didn't seaem to mind, and since he didn't really have the guts (metaphorically and literally) to voice these concerns you just kept coming back for more smooches.

“You deserve better, love.” He finally spoke. “A man who could hold you.”

He didn't believe you when you said none of that matters to you.

He argued his point for a few minutes.

“Well, you have no legs to run away from me. So your fate is sealed, my love.”

He almost laughed until you kissed him again.

Indeed it was.

Sindri

The first kiss between you wasn't necessarily a real kiss.

But it made his heart swell up more than anything he'd felt, ever.

It was a long-fought battle, some nearly died.

He'd not been there with you Kratos and the rest.

But when they all returned without you, and told him of the struggle he was a second from demanding where you were.

He was scared.

Only for you to walk in, wound wrapped up, armor rinsed of blood and grub.

You'd taken time outside to clean yourself before entering his home.

The relief of seeing you alive and well was enough to make him smile so purely.

Then, as you approached, scars of near death in your eyes, you smiles back and blew him a kiss.

It made him stubble over his feet as he met you halfway, a gesture he'd never thought of anyone doing for him.

He considered for a moment kissing you for real, but his stomach twisted and he settled for returning the hand gesture.

He revealed it the way it wiped the pain in your eyes and made them glow with beautiful life again.

It wasn't anything extravagant or overly romantic, but it was something sweet and simple.

Perfect for both of you.

Heimdal

All he'd done was throw an insult in the direction of some hag who was too invasive of yours and his business for his liking.

You were for the few people he tolerated and it irritated him that someone would sully your name out of petty spite.

The next thing he knew, you were on him. 

He was more surprised he didn't see it coming.

He had no time to even process what you were thinking before you laid one him.

Then he realized you didn't even think about what you were doing until you were doing it.

Kissing the life out of him.

He enjoyed the fact your instinctual reaction to him “defending your honor” was to rob the air from his lungs.

It was such a little thing that got suck a big reaction.

He didn't mind at all, even after you pulled away and apologized.

He just smirked and pulled you back in.

Baldur

He’d been angry, throwing things, breaking furniture, seething, and cursing his mother’s name.

Another dead end, false lead, trying to find someway to break his curse.

You just stood there watching sorrowfully until he called enough to know he would hurt you if you approached.

You’d been by his side since the start, trying to help.

Watching him go mad.

When he did calm, and sat, panting and gritting his teeth, you took a seat beside him.

He could not feel the way you hand gently touched his shoulder.

He could not feel, the hand you placed over his chest and stroked to try and smooth him.

That made him angry all over again.

He wanted to feel your touch more than anything.

He never had the chance of being close to you like this before his curse.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched you lean in and place a soft kiss on his jawline.

His anger slipped into despair, as he wished more than anything to feel the warmth of your embrace.

The softness of your skin.

The taste of your lips.

At least he could still feel you in his heart, but it wasn't enough.

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