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marril96 · 3 days ago

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La Petite Mort

Chapter 2: Distress

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: The incident has left you reeling. Can what was broken be made whole again?

Warnings: 18+, dark subject matter. Read at your own risk.

Editor: @cabinetofquriosities

Previous chapter.

You laid there, bare, shivering, for what felt like hours.

Agatha's attempt on your life had left you weak.

Her abandonment broke you into pieces. Destroyed every remnant of your will to live.

How could she leave you when you needed her the most? How could she ignore your pleas, your screams, your tears?

How could she turn her head and walk away?

She was scared, the rational part of you reasoned. She'd almost taken the life of the first person she'd allowed herself to love after the death of her son. It was the death that she knew was coming, but couldn't prevent.

Your death, she had almost caused.

That would break the hardest of hearts, let alone one as fragile as hers.

It had certainly broken yours.

It wasn't almost killing you that you resented her for. You knew she couldn't control it. Once she got blasted with magic, what followed was out of her hands.

What wasn't out of her hands, though, was what had happened after the accident.

She had chosen to reject your touch, to abandon you.

She was scared, of course she was, but so were you.

You were the one who'd had a portion of her magic stolen.

You were the one who'd almost died.

All you wanted was a hug. Nothing more, nothing less. She didn't have to utter a single word. All she had to do was hold you. The simplest of tasks, one she'd done many times throughout your centuries together. A wordless declaration that she was there, that she had your back no matter what.

Apparently, she didn't have your back at all.

Maybe she was that cold-hearted, selfish bitch the rumors talked about.

That's not fair, the rational part of you said. However, you paid that part no mind. Agatha had hurt you. She had demolished you on a level you didn't think was possible. You were allowed a moment of ill thought about her.

Even if it was a lie.

Wiping your wet eyes with your forearm, you sat up on the bed. The motion made you queasy, as if you hadn't eaten in days, and you had to press your palms to the mattress to keep yourself upright.

So much for being okay.

At least you weren't dead, you told yourself. This could've ended much worse.

The fact that it didn't was purely an accident.

No one had been able to stop Agatha before. Not even you when the two of you would practice on the witches she was draining. Once she started feeding, she was entranced and dead to the world. As if, for those few moments, she would stop existing. In her place stood a cruel, insatiable double.

It used to turn you on.

Now, the mere memory of her in that state sent your heart into overdrive, and not the fun kind.

It wasn't fun. It wasn't sexy. It was fucking terrifying.

She was fucking terrifying.

You pushed yourself to your feet, willing your weakened body to stay up, to not topple over. Your knees were jelly, quivering under you. Your muscles were weak as if you hadn't walked in weeks. As if a single step would send you face-first to the ground.

This is fine, you told yourself. You were fine. You were the first person in history to survive Agatha's insatiable power. Everything else was a walk in the park.

Throwing on a robe you'd discarded earlier, you took a deep breath and stepped forward. You could do this. It was just walking. A regular, everyday activity. So what if you were missing a bit of your life force? Agatha hadn't taken it all; she hadn't even taken half.

You were alive and you could fucking walk.

One foot in front of the other, you kept reminding yourself on your way to the door. The furniture made for great support. As long as there was something to hold on to, you would remain on your feet.

The hallway was dark. A chill crept up your body and you pulled the robe closed. Carefully, one hand on the wall, you pushed forwards.

How undignified this was. You were a powerful witch. Yet here you were, barely able to keep yourself on your feet.

Agatha would mock you if she saw you.

Let her try, you thought bitterly. She was the one who did this to you.

She was the one who'd left you on your own.

The betrayal stung like a slap to the face.

You would have preferred to have been slapped. At least it would heal relatively fast.

There was no healing this. It would remain an open, bleeding wound for the rest of your life. Whatever the future held for you and Agatha, what she did to you — or rather, what she didn't do — would lurk in the background like an ugly tattoo that couldn't be removed. A permanent stain on your relationship.

With a careful step, you started descending the stairway. This was going to be tricky, but you decided to throw all doubts to the wind. It had to be done. No one was going to do it for you and you couldn't rely on your girlfriend to help you down.

Even if you were to shout for her, you doubted she would come. That was what you'd been doing for the better part of the past hour and she didn't seem to care. If she did, she did a hell of a job at pretending not to.

You were on your own.

You gripped the railing with everything you had, which wasn't much. Your hands were no stronger than your legs. If anything, shaky as they were, they were even more likely to buckle under pressure.

Still, through gritted teeth, you pushed downwards. Step by step. Stair by stair.

You could do this. You weren't helpless. You still had your magic, even if you were too weak to use it. You had your will, strong as ever, and determination never deterred.

If you wanted to go down the stairs and make yourself a cup of coffee, you would fucking do it.

Just as the thought entered your head, your left knee gave way. You tumbled downwards, face first, smacking directly into the corner of the stairway. Your body rolled like a sack of potatoes, smashing against each stair on its way down. The hardwood felt like bricks against your skin, hitting, slamming, breaking; destroying you bit by bit until your body hurt almost as much as your soul. Almost for no amount of physical pain could ever match what you were feeling inside. It couldn't even get close.

You didn't have it in you to scream, your yelps frozen in your throat, locked up like a secret. What good would they do, anyway? It wasn't like there was anyone who cared.

The one person who was supposed to give a damn couldn't be bothered. She was preoccupied by her own inner turmoil, her own distress at what had transpired; at what she had done to you.

Agatha had always put herself first. You just never thought it would ever come at the expense of your wellbeing.

Lesson fucking learned.

The pain in your head was instantaneous, dull and throbbing. It was as if you'd been whacked by a hammer. Something warm and watery slid down the side of your face, to the corner of your mouth; the flavor of pennies, rusty, metallic, gave it away as blood.

"Fuck," you muttered, too weak to yell it aloud. You were too weak to do anything but lie there with your limbs useless and body aching.

At least you were alive.

Again.

It was barely a comfort, but it was something.

Though, given your track record, it would be completely on brand to survive the infamous witch killer's attempt on your life only to die by something as mundane as a fall down the stairs. Throughout the entirety of your life, luck was barely on your side. In fact, it seemed keen on playing practical jokes that only a sadist would find funny.

A thudding of steps made your eyes shoot up. The sudden movement sent a shockwave through your wounded neck and you hissed like a wild animal, cornered and frightened. Fucking hell.

"Y/N," Agatha said. Her eyes were wide, face etched with concern. She stood frozen in place, watching you, observing you. Taking in the pathetic sight of you on the ground, a useless, broken doll. "What happened?"

You hated how comforting your name sounded, coming from her mouth.

"What do you think?" you said venomously, like a snake biting into its prey; aiming to kill.

For a long, long moment, she just stared, as if uncertain of her next move. You felt like an animal in a zoo, lying there for her entertainment and amusement. As if it wasn't enough that she'd abandoned you, she wouldn't even offer assistance. She seemed to prefer to watch; to observe your trembling form as it slowly withered away with each breath you took. Her own personal snuff film.

Did she find you off-putting? Did seeing you so close to death — pale, cold, and so utterly broken — make her see you with different eyes? Did she think of you as nothing more than just another witch in a long line of many she'd drained; as susceptible to her power and as vulnerable as a mortal?

Taking in a deep gulp of air, Agatha padded closer, her bare feet soft on the hardwood floor. She stood over you, her mouth pressed into a tight line, features smoothened into an expression you couldn't read. Her walls were up, you realized. She hid behind a protective shield whenever the pain was too much to bear. She didn't want anyone else to witness her struggle. It was a mask not even the most observant of people could ever look behind without her permission.

Usually, you would get her to drop it through gentle coaxing.

But not today. Not now.

Agatha knelt by your side, her movements slow and calculated. It was as if she was still debating whether or not she wanted to be near you.

A pang of pain shot through you, squeezing at your heart. She'd been injured countless times over the course of your relationship. Many people had raised hands and weapons at her; be it witches, hunters, or just regular humans who'd had enough of her shit. The list of people who wanted her dead — who wanted to hurt her — was endless. Not once had you hesitated before running to her side. Not once had the possibility of leaving her crossed your mind.

Even when she'd deserved it, when the people who'd harmed her had valid reason to get back at her, you'd had her back. You'd shielded her with your body, taken swings and punches meant for her. You had once gotten stabbed by a knife that was thrown from a distance, aimed directly at her head, all so she wouldn't have to. If she was on the ground, bleeding and broken, your heart would have burst if she would have had to take any more.

You'd fought for her.

You'd killed for her.

You'd bled for her.

And now, when you needed her more than you ever had in your long life, she was the one having doubts.

Reluctantly, as if fighting the urge to run for the hills, Agatha cupped your left cheek. You hated how comforting you found the gesture and how safe the barest of her touches made you feel. She still held tremendous power over you, and you, the lovesick fool, allowed it.

The truth was, even after how she'd treated you, you couldn't hate her.

You doubted you ever could.

You'd given her your heart and it was hers to do as she pleased with. If she chose to tear it apart and stomp all over its remains, she was well within her rights to do so.

"You're bleeding," she said, unable to hide the concern from her voice. Her thumb brushed your forehead, right beside the wound. The touch was gentle, careful not to cause you further pain.

A bitter part of you found it ironic.

"Wow, really? I didn't notice," you said a tad more venomously than you'd intended.

She was a big girl. She could handle it.

After all, she was the one who'd started this war.

Agatha swallowed back the hurt. She allowed her features to soften in a quiet surrender and a show of peace.

"Come here, honey."

Contrary to what every instinct in you shouted, against your better judgment, you did.

You allowed her to hoist you up and get you to your feet. Allowed her to wrap an arm around you and lead you to the couch. The entirety of your body weight pressed against her as your legs were still too weak, too wobbly to take on the task by themselves. You allowed her to pat your back as you sat down as if you were a child and you weren't still pissed at her.

"Why the fuck would you go down the stairs in your condition?" she asked with a bit more bite than was appropriate considering the circumstances.

Rage swelled in your chest. She didn't get to speak to you like that. She didn't get to put the blame on you. "Was I supposed to wait for you?"

Agatha flinched as if struck, your words like a knife straight to the heart.

"For all I knew," you said, twisting the blade, digging it deeper, "you weren't even home."

Two could play this game.

She looked away, face awash in shame and guilt that was eating her alive.

Good, you thought. She should feel guilty.

Just to be petty, you grabbed her mug from the coffee table and took a large sip. The coffee was still warm, searing through your insides on its way down to your stomach in the most pleasant of ways. The sensation grounded you and made you feel present.

Agatha usually glared when you touched her coffee, but this time she had no reaction. Instead, she picked up a rag and ran it under warm water. Then, sitting back down beside you, she started dabbing and rubbing at your face.

The blood came away with ease, staining the pale fabric pink. Agatha was gentle, tender, and careful not to press on the cut on your forehead. She was careful not to make it bleed again.

This was the Agatha you needed an hour ago. This soft, sweet creature, so at odds with what everyone was saying about her. So kind. So loving.

Why did she leave you like that? Why didn't she come back?

Your coarse voice broke the silence that settled between the two of you.

"Do you know why I said it?"

"What?"

"That I love you."

For a moment you were back there, on the bed, your magic draining out of you, your lungs burning as if they were on fire. There was pain, destructive and wicked, ravaging every single inch of your being.

A shake of your head brought you back to the safety of reality.

When Agatha said nothing, you continued, "I didn't want you to spend the rest of your life hating yourself for killing me. One of us had to love you." A dark chuckle escaped your mouth, a mask of your own, "If I'd known it would stop you, it would've been the first thing I said."

Tears welled in Agatha's eyes. One escaped, burning its way down her flushed cheek.

You resisted the urge to wipe it away.

"I never wanted to do that to you," she said in a voice too small and too low for her usual grand self.

"I know that."

You were still angry at her, still seething, but you couldn't deny her this tiny piece of assurance. It wouldn't be fair to blame her for something she had no control over. She didn't choose her power. She didn't choose for it to have a mind of its own when it fed. All she could do was be careful and work around it.

If anything, you were the one who'd fucked up. You were the one who'd forgotten to play it safe.

You had all the choices, whereas Agatha had none.

"It's not your fault," you said.

She looked at you, dumbfounded, surprised. She was unable to comprehend how you could let her off the hook so easily. "Isn't it?"

It would be so easy to scream at her and tell her that her mother was right. That she was a monster who couldn't be trusted, who was destined to hurt everything and anything in its path. As angry as you were, as much as you wanted to hurt her back for how she'd treated you, you couldn't bring yourself to do it. It wouldn't be fair.

You were mad, but you weren't cruel. Not to her. Never to her.

"I blasted you," you reminded her. "I should've been more careful."

Agatha swallowed. "If I could control it—"

"But you can't," you cut in, "I can. So it's on me."

She shook her head and said, "You didn't do anything wrong. It was an accident."

Yes. It was. One you swore would never happen again.

You knew better now.

"Exactly," you said, looking her in the eyes to drive the point home. To make it loud and clear. "It was an accident."

Which meant neither one of you was at fault.

Neither one of you should bear the blame.

Even if you both stubbornly insisted on it.

"Why did you leave me?"

The words were out of your mouth before you could think them through, followed instantly by a stream of tears you didn't even try to stop. You needed to know. You needed to hear it from her.

Agatha's mouth pressed into a thin, tight line. Her eyes fell to her lap, to the blood-stained rag clutched in her hands.

"I've been there for you through everything. The one time I needed you, you ran for the hills."

Each word was glazed in venom, the sort that aimed to ravage and kill. The pain of the rejection was fresh and searing. Your hand, the one she'd slapped away, stung with your skin prickling as if burned.

She said nothing, did nothing but sit there as uncomfortable silence befell the two of you. The tension in the air was so thick, it could be cut with a knife.

Like always in emotionally charged situations like this, Agatha shut down. When she was with other people, she tended to change the subject or go on the offensive. She would spew out the vilest things she could think of to send them running and hurt them as she hurt. She masked her own pain by causing theirs.

With you, she just remained silent and avoided your gaze.

If she ignored it, it would go away.

Not this time.

You weren't going to let her get away with it.

She had hurt you first. She didn't get to act as if it hadn't happened.

Just as you were about to unleash a tirade, Agatha spoke up. "I couldn't bear to touch you after… after what I did to you."

She finally raised her eyes to meet yours, baring her soul to you. She was lowering her walls down so you could see the pain that hid behind them. She showed you the complete and utter anguish that she was terrified to expose to so many throughout her extended life.

Your heart broke all over again, this time for her. You knew how difficult it was for her to open up and show vulnerability. To admit fault. People tended to weaponize her mistakes and turn them against her.

You'd never done — would never do — anything of the sort. All you wanted was for her to talk to you. You wanted to hear her side of the story.

"I'm not blaming you for it," you pointed out.

"I'm blaming myself," she said. "How can I not? I almost killed you."

"We already agreed it was an accident."

"Yeah, because that's how these things work," she said with her tone dripping with sarcasm and mockery that made you roll your eyes, "We said it, and that magically makes everything sunshine and rainbows. You're all healed and I'm not a monster."

"You're not a monster." It shot out automatically, like you were on autopilot. No hesitation and no holding back.

She could sell this tall tale — this blatant lie — to someone who didn't know her to the depths of her soul. She was no angel, far from it, but in no way was she a monster.

"Come on, Y/N. It's time to face the facts. I mean, look at me. Look at what my power does to people."

You did. You hadn't taken your eyes off her since the two of you had gotten together.

Your opinion remained the same as it had been the very first time you saw her drain someone dry. Your feelings for her never faltered. Not even once.

"Is that your opinion," you said, taking a breath and wishing you had a shot of something hard for courage before continuing, "or your mother's?"

Agatha froze, her face draining of all color. Her mother, dead long before the two of you had met, was persona non grata in your relationship. From the moment Agatha was born, that woman had made sure she didn't experience an ounce of affection. She'd berated her, put her down, and beaten her. She hated Agatha when, as the one who had given her life, she should have been the one to love her the most.

Agatha had broken that cycle with her own son. She had loved him the way that she should have been loved, but not even that was enough to heal the oozing and gaping wound on her soul. The unloved and abused little girl inside her could never be made whole. She could ever heal the damage that had been inflicted on her. She would carry it for the rest of her life.

"She lied, sweetheart. You know that,” you whispered.

Bringing up Evanora crossed a line you rarely dared to cross, but it needed to be done. You needed Agatha to finally let go of her toxic influence.

"She was a miserable bitch who just wanted to hurt you,” you continued, “In fact, it's probably thanks to her that you can't control your power."

If the old hag had taken the time to mentor her daughter and guide her instead of calling her evil to her face, maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe Agatha would have learned to rein in her magic.

"She stole your childhood," you said, heart twisting with anguish and sympathy for the woman you loved. With love, despite the anger that still had its hold on you. "Don't let her steal the rest of your life."

Agatha turned her head as tears flooded her eyes. She knew that you were right. All the resentment she had for herself, all the hatred, was because of her mother. When she talked down to herself, the words that came out of her mouth were the words she'd grown up listening to.

She may have been born with power that was unlike that of the other witches, but it was her mother that had molded her into the killer that she had become. It was her mother who had tried to make her into a monster. It was her mother that had whispered into her ear to leave you when you'd needed her the most.

You expected Agatha to flee and refuse to engage in the conversation any further since these were the sorts of things that she'd made clear more than once were off limits.

Instead, she reached for your hand and squeezed it like you'd been wanting her to from the very beginning. Your anger instantly dissolved like a pill in sparkling water. Warmth flooded your veins, comforting and safe. It was as if everything was suddenly right in the world again. As if you hadn't nearly died and then been abandoned.

"You're right," she said with eyes fixed on your linked hands, "I'm not a monster. I'm just… me."

You loved her as she was. If anything, that was what had made you fall for her in the first place. Her confidence. Her drive. The way she took what she wanted, no questions asked. The way she lived her life free of anyone's rules. The way she was herself unapologetically. Somehow both an open book and a nicely-wrapped surprise.

Her.

Just her.

Her wet, pained eyes met yours. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you. I just… I was scared. I thought you wouldn't want anything to do with me after what happened."

"If that were true, I wouldn't have called for you, would I?"

There were very few things — if any at all — that you could never forgive her for. An accident, even one that almost resulted in the loss of your life, wasn't one of them.

You loved her too much for far too long to allow for one mishap to destroy your relationship.

"Agatha, there's nothing that would ever cause me to not want you around. Nothing."

That was why her rejection hurt so much. You wanted her there. You needed her more than anything in the world and she'd just coldly walked out. She'd slapped your hand away as if it were filthy and you meant nothing.

As if you weren't worth staying for.

Agatha nodded, taking in your words. She grit her teeth to stop the blooming sobs from overwhelming her.

“What can I do to make this right?"

You smiled, all resolve dropping. It was dangerous, this power she had over you. One look into her puppy eyes and you would do anything for her. She didn't need to cast any spells or incantations. She didn't need to weave her purple between her fingers. All she had to do was look at you and your defenses were down. You were hers to do with what she pleased.

"Just be here," you said.

It still hurt, what she'd done, but it was in the past. You could move past it. She regretted it and she wanted to make up for it. It wouldn't change what happened or erase the pain of that moment, but it could be forgiven. It already was forgiven.

"And don't do it again,” you said.

"I promise you," she said with the same intensity as when she cast the most demanding of spells, "I will never leave you again."

Then you were in her arms and she was holding you so tightly it hurt, but you didn't say a word. Instead, you allowed yourself to get lost in it, lost in her, so warm and safe against you.

The vibrations of her heart so close to yours soothed you. For a moment you hoped it would last forever. You no longer felt weak, drained, or cold. You were just you: a woman and a witch. You were embraced by the love of your life. Cherished. Cared for. Loved.

That was what you wanted from the start.

Agatha.

You did not want her power, as great as it was. You did not want some over the top apology or a grand gesture that was supposed to buy your forgiveness.

Just her.

She delivered perfectly.

Just like that, you knew that you would be okay. Your wounds would heal. Your magic would recharge. Your life force would replenish.

Agatha would make it so.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @alsoknownasmel @swan-queen-is-magic @tardisesandtitans @ahintofchaos @fruityhahn @midnight-lestrange @lift-heavy-be-gay @katieswain123

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #marvel #mcu #fanfic #fanfiction #my fics #edit

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um-soybean · 1 day ago

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Do Your Arms Belong to Me?

Boothill x Reader

Summary: At what point should you move on? How many times must he disappear on a mission before you realize you can’t have him?

Warning: slightly angsty, reciprocated but forbidden love, Boothill is maybe a bit of a dick and reader is maybe a daydreamer, Boothill is likely OOC as well, mentioned of being “trapped” but it’s more metaphorical and mental, lmk if I missed one cause idk

Now Playing:

Touch - Cigarettes After Sex

Cry - Cigarettes After Sex

There’s nothing worse than knowing you’re wanted, but still feeling the opposite.

Clearly his eyes scream the want for you. Causing you to trip all over yourself just to fall into that same trap.

When he shows up at that abandoned workshop, a grin on his face as he gestures for you to sit.

The sharp teeth you know you want nothing but for him to take a bite out of you.

His human-looking face you want to tear apart through the blurred sight of your crying eyes.

But you stay. Every. Damn. Time. You sit and stay, gazing up at him like he came back from his mission of hanging the stars.

You lead him to your house. Knowing he could find his own way blindfolded. You let him settle on your couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

And, you blurt stupid stories to him while a movie plays. About the old ladies you see all the time; gossiping about everyone, including you. Complaining that your “boyfriend” is never around. Always on long trips. Scolding you for not having a good man around.

You never have the heart to argue or tell them otherwise. The heart to them that you’ve never been with Boothill officially. The heart to tell them that you dream of him every night and yet have done nothing but brush lips with his.

That more than anything you wish he would stay. Stay for you. That you wished you didn’t have to turn around and find him gone. No note, no gift, not even his metallic scent.

You even mention one of their grandsons. The one you went on a date with the last time Boothill left you. Angry and hurt you went out the guy. And even worse. You liked him. He made you feel good.

Made you laugh through tears, just like Boothill. Dorked around with you, made the worst jokes, even had things in common. Most would say you just, clicked.

Made you talk in that gut-wrenchingly soft voice, the one you save for when you end up in bed with none other than Boothill. All during the first date.

Making you feel like shit for comparing him. But wanting nothing but Boothill.

And he told you, Boothill told you that he couldn’t have you. That you couldn’t have him.

And yet you end up the same way. Clinging to him as your breath entangles with his. Lips much too close to each other to still be considered friends.

Desperately hoping for another outcome.

One that never comes.

Because the morning after, your heart wakes with a hangover and one side of your bed clearly untouched for hours.

You sit up, curse yourself for being stupid. Maybe let some tears slip as you slip under the covers like a small child.

And maybe a month or two later you glance at the light in the workshop. Maybe your hand settles on the handle instead of forcing yourself home.

Maybe, just possibly, hating yourself for dragging your pathetic heart through the same trap. Through the same cycle. Entering to find his sharp grin and an empty seat just for you.

Note: I literally rewrote this FIVE times. I’m just gonna have to deal and accept it’s not my best piece😔 (certainly not my worst) if you are one of the 10 people that saw the OG welcome to the remake/repost!

#honkai boothill #hsr boothil #boothill #boothill x reader #hsr x reader #hsr #hsr boothill #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai sr #honkai x reader #honkai posting

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hooffuloftootsierolls · 3 days ago

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Spoilers from leaks for S2(no pictures, just me rambling)

First of all, it's funny in the saddest way to see people depicting Abel and Adam having a healthy relationship with one another and Abel mourning his father. You guys are gonna shatter when S2 releases. Second of all,

I keep thinking about Abel's behavior towards his dad's passing.

In the S2 leaks, Abel only mentions his dad a handful of times, and it's never quite.. with grief. Still, interestingly enough, I feel like he's acting almost like he's trying to be angry or sad about his father's death.

He refers to his dad as "dearly departed", mentions that he's partial on continuing the Exterminations because even though he dislikes confrontation, "they did sorta kinda kill [his] dad a little bit, so... maybe?" and also he tries to retrieve one of Adam's guitars from Adam's quarters to "remember him by" before a grief-crazed Lute screams at him to get out and tries to hit him with the guitar. But this is all said in a normal, unaffected tone, not the kind of way you'd expect someone to talk about their late father.

Overall pretty apathetic behavior, right?

But what intrigues me is the fact that Abel doesn't even necessarily need to act sad.

Lute says it herself, nobody else cares about Adam being dead. This could just be Lute's view, but she doesn't seem wrong(which I am SO pissed about). Emily seems happy as a lark, Sera is moping about the Exterminations, everyone else seems more worried about the Exterminations being kept from them/the possibility of an uprising, and only think of Adam as an example of an angel dying at the claws of a demon, not an actual mourned loss.

Ok, so nobody cares, and I doubt anybody would call out Adam's secondborn son for not caring either. After all, wouldn't that just reinforce a reasoning for their apathy? If his son doesn't care, Adam must have been a real monster undeserving of any grief. After all, according to Lute, Adam didn't even like Abel. So why is Abel still trying to act like he cares instead of just admitting he doesn't feel sad about his dad's death?

I'm going to reference a line from one of my favorite pieces of literature; "And he remembered thinking then that if she died, he was certain he wouldn't cry. For it would be the dying of an unknown, a street face, a newspaper image, and it was suddenly so very wrong that he had begun to cry, not at death but at the thought of not crying at death"(Fahrenheit 451, PDF page 44). (Wow imagine referencing a philosophical classic in a Hazbin Hotel ramble-) To sum this quote up, the main character feels less horrified at the possible death of his wife, and more horrified at how screwed up it is that he wouldn't feel grief.

I think Abel has a similar situation. He's struggling with trying to grieve, trying to convince others that he's grieving, because he feels guilty about his lack of emotions. But still, why? What reason would he have to feel guilty if Adam didn't like him?

This is where things are less speculation and more just me trying to desperately find ways to project onto characters. The chances of this being nitpicky and semantic are through the roof, but Lute's wording of "Adam didn't even fucking like you" suggests Adam never liked him, but she still didn't use the word never. Also she said Adam didn't like him, which isn't the same as dislike, it's just a lack of like. I know this is hyperspecific and far-fetched but work with me here. What if Adam and Abel had a healthy relationship at some point, but they grew apart somehow?

Let's talk about Abel's time alive. Now let's be honest here, Viv is probably gonna find a way to make Adam seem like a horrible asshole father. Obviously he wouldn't be the best dad, but he was literally the first human father. In existence. He had absolutely no frame of reference for how to care for children, him and Eve were just winging it while already struggling to survive by themselves. Please for the love of God, I hope Vivzie doesn't try to paint him as a horrible father. I want to imagine he had a good relationship with his children. Abel might have known Adam as a loving father once, and that would explain why he would feel guilty for not feeling grief. So what about them growing apart?

Well think about how Abel died-- he got his skull fucking bashed in with a rock by his older brother. That had to be traumatizing. With Adam not seeing his son until Adam passed-- maybe even longer, if it's still true that Adam is the first human soul, because maybe Abel ended up manifesting in Heaven later which is a whole nother theory-- and also Abel traumatized by his gruesome death and possibly repressing a lot of memories from life, I wouldn't be surprised if the two were just... disconnected when they saw each other again. Adam didn't like Abel. He had at one point, but now they were distant and felt like strangers with each other.

Still, throughout it all, Abel still knew Adam was his dad and he felt they had been close at some point, so when Adam died this part may or may not be me writing my own feelings surrounding my grief of my late father he felt kind of horrified with himself, that his years of disconnection with his father actually led to him feeling apathetic about his passing. He struggled to bring out any emotion or feeling of grief even if he tried to play the part and act like he was mourning, but all the same also didn't want to reflect on his relationship with his father because he didn't want to feel the anguish of losing his dad.

But let's be realistic here, we're talking about Hazbin Hotel, a show that is desperately trying to make a commentary on things it knows nothing about. More likely, Adam is a shitty father, he never liked Abel, him and Abel never had a good connection, and their relationship was so distant that Abel genuinely couldn't care less about his dead dad and is just trying to act like he does for some unknown reason.

But fuck Vivziepop I'm gonna sit over here in my corner and make these characters more complex by projecting my own experiences and emotions onto them bada boom

#yet another instance of “me looking too deeply into a vivziepop character even though they're all shallow”#i doubt vivziepop has any concept of how complicated grief can be #listening to how to save a life while writing this now i am actually kind of getting sad #“he got his skull fucking bashed in with a rock by his older brother” don't say cain is relatable don't say cain is relatable don't say cai #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fandom #abel #hazbin hotel abel #abel hazbin hotel #hazbin abel #abel hazbin #adam #adam my beloved #hazbin hotel adam #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin adam #adam hazbin #ramblingovertootsierolls

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allthedamnlove · 3 days ago

Text

AQUAMARINE: RAFE CAMERON X SOFIA FANFICTION: CHAPTER 3, PART 1

Previous Chapter

Face claim for a new OC, Victoria Ramirez: Sofia Carson

WORDCOUNT: 7.5K

Radio for the chapter:

Sofia's POV:

“Well, to wear blue or not to wear blue ‘tis the question, what do you think?”

Merrp Merrp

“Oh my God, Sofia, are you still talking to the cat?”

I heard my cousin Victoria Ramirez's voice boom through Facetime. She appeared on camera with a bowl of cut-up fruit on her hands, and I could feel her amusement radiating from miles away.

“Shut up, Vic. Mishmish is a good and fair judge of character and also has an impeccable fashion sense, aren’t you, my niñita?” I concurred as I threw a sideways look at my tabby ginger cat, Mishmish, with her irresistible chubby face and snow-white neck adorning a cute blue ribbon, positioned suavely in her loaf position on her cat bed as she peered at me with observant eyes. I found this cutie when I visited here for summer vacations four years ago and she was just a lone kitten, probably left astray by her mom, shivering on our family’s porch. My sisters and I felt so bad for her and thought we would send her to the adoption center the next day after we bathed the poor kitten.

That didn’t happen at all. And now I am a mom to the most adorable, chatty cat ever.

“I wish I could aww at you but I am just sad that you have no social life and that all you do is bartend and yap to your cat which by the way, doesn't even understand what you’re saying”

“Well, you can stop feeling sorry for me ‘cuz I-” I shot back as I twirled around, clutching my possible outfit for the party by its coat hanger, “-am going to a Kook party. With a special invite”

“Uh huh, now I am invested.” she came closer to the camera, keeping her food on the table, “whose party is it, anyway?”

“Rafe Cameron invited me to go to his party, Vic. Yesterday night. After I embarrassed myself in front of him by going to a prohibited beach”

“OH! Now why didn’t you tell me that crucial piece of info before, missy? Wait. Hold up, you went swimming in a prohibited area, Where? How? What happened? Oh my God, did you die? Am I talking to Sofia's haunted soul?”

“Yup I did, and before you start bombarding me with questions again, I’ll just say what happened: basically I was sick of working. Again as usual. And then I wanted to do something out of the blue, something fun and spontaneous. And so I saw the beach and no one was there which I should have thought that through and then I just went in, mind you, I literally stripped my clothes off and was about to dive and then I felt two hands literally pulling me and then I went autopilot mode and then I screamed and guess who it was who grabbed me…” I threw my hands in the air as I recollected that painful memory, “Rafe. fucking. Cameron.”

God, that was in my top ten moments of Sofia Ramirez being an absolute dumb dumb.” I might not have died from the water, but I sure did when I turned around and saw him.

Funnily enough, I was thinking about the flirty-not-flirty conversation we had in the bar a week ago. That night when I lay in bed, sleep didn’t even befriend me as I stared at the night light all night, thinking about the teasing smiles he threw at me and my heart shaking as I quipped back at him, the pink light emanating fresh bits and pieces of memories as I mindlessly stared it for hours. For the town’s certified cokehead, he was charming to the T.

And god I would be lying if I said I didn’t find him attractive.

When he asked me if I could come to his party after seeing me in my most unattractive set of underwear that had been used for a year, my mind just went circuit. I just said “Yes” I knew that I had met him only twice, that too, never had a proper conversation but this flicker of attraction and child-like curiosity about this guarded man is gnawing me alive. And the way our eyes can’t stop talking to each other in a language I couldn’t even understand, it’s like whenever we both look into each other, my brain just stops its blood flow and the immaterial part of my muscled heart, and my eyes just race to find his eyes and just, stare at him.

I should probably choose a dress for this damn party.

Victoria’s voice cut through my reverie, “Ok, so now you’re going to his party, and then what…you just gonna stand there and wave at him…or…” she arched her eyebrows as she said,” You’re actually doing something there…or…someone there, huh?”

I picked up my phone from my table and I narrowed my eyes at her, her jet-black straight hair reflecting light on her screen “Ok, first of all, shut up. And two, I’m going there because he asked me to, okay, and yeah, I’ll probably stare at the wall and drink some wine or probably some beer and say hi to him. I am not going to “do” anyone, so can it!”

“Be real for a second. How long has it been since you actually got your back blown out?” I opened my mouth to make her stop but she continued, “Wait, never. So why don’t you actually get sum by a guy who presumably has fucked half of the Kook’s female population, I mean, he may have some STD but you can still ask him if he’s clean-”

“BYEE, VICKY. REMIND ME TO NEVER CALL YOU.”

“SUA VADIA. And DON’T FORGET, WRAP IT BEFORE YOU-”

The call got disconnected with a soft PLOP.

I threw the damned phone, my outfit, and then myself on my bed, the bedspring squeaking as my body hit the lavender comforter.

I cupped my hands on my face as I groaned as quietly as I could. I hate that she’s right. I hate that my thieving mind wanted to make out with a guy I just met.

Am I ovulating or is this how it really feels to have a crush on a guy on the daily?

In my twenty years of living and breathing oxygen, it is a joy and a slight humiliation that I have not had a proper sexual experience. I know I am way too young to even utter that sentence and I have all my life to experience “bodily pleasures” but the one time I made out with a guy was not “pleasurable” at all. It turns out that when you’re both eighteen, virgins, and have known each other for three years and then try “explore” each other, it becomes really awkward at some point when the other person can’t do a proper handjob and then you’re unsatisfied. Still, you can’t also tell that person cause you don’t wanna shame him.

Then the worst part comes.

You can’t even look him in the eyes the next day without turning beet red or wanting to sprint away from him yet you are stuck with him since he was your dance partner. Yeah, that technically means I am still a virgin.

However, a dark cloud passed over my memory as I thought about the implications of baring my body and soul if I give myself to a person. Murky thoughts. No, not thoughts but memories.

"Sofía, tienes un pecho perfecto… Para bailar, por supuesto" (Sofia, you have a perfect chest. For dancing, of course)

"Sofía, te ves muy gorda. No puedo creer que realmente te hayan dado permiso para estar aquí" (Sofia, you look so fat. Can't believe you actually got permission to be here)

"Veamos de cerca el cuerpo perfecto que mi papá nos dijo que tienes" (Let's look at the perfect body that my dad told us you have up close)

“SOFIAAA, I NEED HELP!”

I shot up as I saw Isabella, my youngest sister standing in front of my room, her walkman in one hand and her teddy bear, Beans in the other. The pink plastic tic-tac clips with charms shimmered as the light hit her hair; an adorable pout situated on her face that mirrored my features. Out of my twin sisters, Isabella “Ines” Ramirez has been endowed with my features: her oval face, chestnut brown eyes, and wavy black hair that curls around winter; my ma always says that she even smiles like me, eyes crinkling, dimples and all. She tumbled towards me and accompanied me on the bed, crashing beside me, sitting cross-legged amidst the mountain of all the clothes that I own.

“Sof, I need you to change this song, it keeps replaying. I wanna listen to Night Changes, not Kiss You.”

I take full responsibility for introducing Isabella to the best boyband ever, (yes, it is my subjective opinion but also it's a fact, get over it) when she was seven. It’s been three years yet she loves that band to death. Her side of the twins’ room, like any other fangirl, is filled to the brim with 1D merchandise; from her school bag, and pencil pouch to the spoon that she uses for cereal, she has been obsessed with those boys and I, for one, am ecstatic since I can sing along to One Direction in the car when I pick her up from school when Alejandra side-eyes both of us.

Both Isabella and Alejandra are ten now so my ma and pa are very stringent on using mobile phones or even any electronic devices. Isabella and Ajendra have second-hand walkmans that they can listen to music with headphones for 2 hours, (they can blast music on speakerphone anytime but my ma fears that they may get deaf by twenty-five if they excessively use headphones). Other than that, they can use a common laptop for one hour for “entertainment” purposes and only and only if they finish homework. Theo is sixteen now and so shamelessly uses the excuse “Pa, my homework is in the laptop, so just get me a new one” Well, he got a laptop but again, a secondhand one. We haven’t got the funds to buy him a new one but Theo was happy with what he got.

Isabella is not as tech-savvy as Alejandra and Alejandra has probably run to the neighbor’s house to do quilling with Brianna, her best friend. Alejandra is the “people’s princess” and befriends people in seconds; she is an extrovert to the core and spends her time folding colored papers into cranes and other crafty shapes, quilling, and being a Girl Scout. Meanwhile, Isabella is not as boisterous as my other sister; sure she is also pretty friendly and has a tight friend circle of five (I don’t even have that many people to call as “friends”) but sometimes she just likes to blast One Direction and Taylor Swift on full sound, dote on my parents, Theo and mainly me; and read books. But obviously, Alejandra is her favorite person in the world; after all, she is her twin. However, being #2 in her favorite list (I love it when she bashfully smiles and says “I love you all” when we joke about who’s her favorite) means she just likes to barge into my room when she’s bored or is confused about her walkman not working. Or sometimes she just comes into my room with the most random questions, expecting an answer from me when I am deadbeat from work.

“Sofi, where do fish go when they die in the sea?”

“Sofi, I wanna go to the big place in my geography book where there’s so much snow and bears that look white” (she’s talking about the Arctic and the polar bear by the way)

“Sof, why do people call taco, “taco?” (this question haunted me for nights cause same)

But I love to sit and answer her questions as much as I can since I know that time runs as fast as light does and I may regret not spending time with my siblings when they’re scrolling through TikTok ten years later and go non-verbal when I ask them, “How’s life?”.

The kook kids that I see at the restaurant in the country club make me feel scared for the sake of humanity, let me tell you. Unavailable parents combined with unfettered access to all the riches in the world, I feel so bad for those kids who try to fill the void their parents create but then they get rude with the waiters, and then I immediately lose my shred of empathy for them.

“Oh, Isa. Gimme your walkman. You probably might have clicked the replay button. Lemme disable it.”

Her hands tenderly gave me her device, the edges of the walkman smudged, losing its nude pink color. The harsh white light of the screen hurt my eyes for a second as I changed the settings in her Walkman, her chin resting gingerly on my shoulder. As I fidgeted to give her device back, she took a once over to my another possible outfit for the party; a spaghetti strap baby blue slip dress, flowery lace patterns stitched at the hem; the scooped up neckline accentuating my decolletage.

“Sofi, where are you all dressed up and going?”

I am going to a guy’s party to probably drink myself to the point of no return or flirting back at him while he just ends up hooking up with some other hot Kook.

“Oh, just to see a friend”

“Well, I hope you have fun, Sofia. I never see you going out that much since you came home from Mexico” her innocent voice airing out the pathetic state of my social life

Gosh, that’s a low blow and, that’s coming from a kid.

I knew her comment was innocent so I had to be the bigger person and say, “I will, thank you, Isa. By the way, stop clicking that button if you wanna listen to the whole playlist” It’s not she’s never been given a phone at all but the big sister part of me can’t help it.

Still, she listened and shook her head vehemently, “THANK YOU SOFI, YOU THE BEST” she screamed as ran back to her room.

Kids.

My attention went back to the task at hand as I helplessly stared at the gargantuan pile of dresses, hoping that an impeccable, show-stopping outfit would just magically appear out of thin air.

Should I just call Rafe and tell him that I am not coming to the party because I have periods…which I don’t.

I can just dip out of this very rare occasion of me socializing with people and I can spend my weekend like any other, munching on Takis as I watch YouTube compilations of ballerina dancers or a movie on an illegal website and, pester my ma as she cooks dinner at night and then I crash out on the bed, pensively contemplating about what could have been, should have been.

Or maybe I could face the music, stop feeling sorry for myself, and, go see Rafe at his party and try being a normal twenty-year-old girl, chat up a pretty boy, try to get sloshed, and maybe dip my toes in his pristine pool that he totally has. And maybe, maybe he’ll keep his word and be my tour guide and show me this “spot” that he was raving about.

Most importantly I am slightly enamored by his overall demeanor, the air of casual indifference seeping with his mysterious, almost quizzical lore surrounding him rendered me curious. The two times we met, the aquamarine-eyed boy’s ridiculous charm and, smiles and sugary words made me dissolve my barely-existing conscience.

Screw it, I am going to see what’s all the hype about a Kook party.

And the fact that I even thought of telling practically a stranger that I have periods…I gotta get better at being a socially functional human.

So with all the strength I had, I bundled all the clothes lying on my bed and crammed them into the unkempt wooden cupboard which already looked like it survived a hurricane with all of my underwear mixed with my work uniform with my other old clothes. As I closed it with my back facing the cupboard, my eyes caught the makeup box half opened on my vanity, the various shades of blushes, lip stains, and the half-finished concealer tube taunting my mind.

I walked over to the mirror, my eyes catching every blemish and dull spot on my face. There’s a new minute red spot on the apple of my cheeks and the crease underneath my eye is more prominent.

Ugh, why do my eyes always linger on the faults and why do I always wanna cover up the imperfections with caked-up makeup till the point that my tears wash away all the hard brushing I do over my face every day when I go to work?

I wish I would have said I didn’t let my insecurities win over my heart but my fingers grabbed the cherry red lip stain and, slathered it along my chapped lips and then fluffed the excess on my cheeks, hoping that the blush would cover my blemishes.

Ok, now I look…presentable. I twirled myself in front of the mirror, giving a final look at my ensemble, hoping that I wouldn’t change my outfit again. I took my brush combed the unkempt baby hairs and left my room, hastily climbing down the stairs, hoping that I wouldn’t regret the decision to say yes to Rafe Cameron’s party tomorrow.

That’s when I remembered. I forgot my phone and my purse.

Yikes. We are off to a good start.

************

A few hours ago, I promised myself that I absolutely wouldn’t change my dress, right?

That was a lie. I changed my mind and wore another dress.

As I took a peek of myself in the car mirror, I thought to myself for the millionth time, “How the hell did I end up here?”

My blue dress was replaced by a breezy coral red dress reaching up to the flesh of my thighs, the fabric littered with pink, orange, and yellow floral prints all over it. My red colored bra was playing peek-a-boo underneath the outfit, making my insides feel pretty sheepish. My makeup and hair were completely frazzled now, stray hairs having a party over my forehead and the lip stain lost its magic, leaving me with a very light pinkish-red hue on my lips. My blush was completely smudged off with a bare face and my mind spinning in excitement and anxiety,

As I parked my car over the spacious parking space adjacent to the lush gardens with trimmed grass and perfectly cut trees, I hoped that I didn’t look like my jaw was on the floor as I gawked at this mansion of a “house”

Goddamn, this guy’s place looks massive.

Tannyhill, in all its glory, stood tall and huge. With a capacious balcony and mint green paint radiating sunlight, the mansion screamed wealth and old money. I grabbed my purse tight as I leisurely walked into Rafe’s supposed “home,” hoping that I bump into him. I was in awe as I went in, the interior baffling me more. High ceilings, a chandelier with twinkling glass beads twinkling in the sun, a grand staircase with thick white marble railings in the middle, and a large wooden table in the center of the room with a large fireplace at one corner, the furnished shelf above it housing a plethora of photo frames.

The house was packed too, unknown faces crowding my view as they walked into the house with beers or solo red cups on their faces, bikini-clad bodies shimmying their hips and bobbing their head to Young Thug rapping on the enormous JBL speakers situated at one of the corners of the massive room.

I drudged around the crowd, too situate myself near the fireplace where the photos were there. Before I walked over to silently snoop at them, I felt a towering presence behind me.

“See something you like, Miss Sofia?”

I turned around at lightning speed, his baritone tone made me spin and there he was, the man of the hour, Rafe Cameron walking down the stairs, hands in his cornflower blue trousers and beige polo shirt, gold-lined aviators hiding those cheeky eyes and that smug smirk gracing his berry lips.

“Oh, I was just looking around, I didn’t mean to snoop.”

“Nah, you’re fine. I’m actually surprised that you showed up” he stood in front of me, his looming energy enveloping my vicinity.

“Well, I’m not the one for turning down polite offers. And I wanna see for myself how you party, so…” I wanted to thank him for inviting him but I stopped myself short. If we are going to play this back-and-forth game of flirty comments, he better start the serve.

“Now that you are here, lemme show you how we actually do things in Outer Banks. Follow me,” he beckoned me to join him as his long legs led me upstairs, my feet trying to catch up with his speed. The first floor looked more grand if that even makes sense. The walls were adorned with hand-painted lush flora, green leaves, and blue hydrangeas, and another smaller chandelier hanging in the middle of the room that led to the balcony on one side and four other rooms on the other.

We both crossed the threshold, now with a solo cup in my right hand as he turned towards me and said, “Now if you kindly follow Miss Sofia, the VIP Section.” he pointed towards the huge balcony overlooking the sea, two big brown sofas encircling a round table and multiple white chairs littering the area. It was so spacious that it could fit a party of thirty on that singular floor.

“Oh yeah.”

“Yeah, only very very very special people are allowed in here, as you can see,” he said as he put his hands on my shoulder and in turn, made my legs and arms into jelly.

He just casually put his hands on my shoulder and I just want to faint.

I could have just let my hands go limp but no, instinctually my arms went up to his clothed, chiseled shoulder blades, and smirked at his shameless flirting.

“Uh huh…” I shot back a teasing smile as I looked up at him.

He led me to the wooden railing; the view in front of me taking my breath away again. A horde of partygoers were just swaying to Drake booming on another speaker on the veranda down below with the DJ throwing random signs at the crowd, and a spotless beach situated just a few meters in front of the colonial mansion. Rafe caging me on one arm, pointed his other hand holding a solo red cup like me, toward the line of trees, its leaves crowning like it was the entrance of a fairyland, azure waters, frothy white waves jumping from a faraway distance. The golden ring, with some indescribable engraving, glimmered as he showed me around his place.

I was nearly smushed to his chest as he said, “As you can see, there’s the water,” I, too, looked around towards the directions he pointed as he continued, “Then there’s the beach. The next neighbor lives like a mile away from mine, it’s that private.”

Then his eyes went to the ongoing raucous at the party and he howled at the party under the balcony. He looked like he was having the time of his life, with everyone hollering at him, calling his name, and high-fiving him before we even reached upstairs minutes ago. Rafe Cameron seemed he was holding the world in his hands and I was witnessing it.

“Hey, that’s no Jim Beam Bullshit, alright. That’s Pappy Van Winkle, that’s like a day’s salary bro. AND IF YOU HAVEN’T GOT A DRINK IN YOUR HAND, GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE”

I can’t help but openly laugh at his caveman-esque antics. Rafe was buzzed from alcohol and a flush to his cheeks. His hands were off of me now, leaving a gaping space that I never thought I felt before and then he took off his sunglasses and threw another smirk at me as he took off his sunglasses and slinked them on the collar of his polo.

I couldn’t help but say, “So, this is the VIP life, huh?”

His smile was soft as he said, “Yeah”

“Cool.”

We just looked at each other

“You wanna see some more?” he suggested. He’s all in for being my gracious host today, isn’t he? I didn’t wanna leave him and his infectious company so I was completely fine with him taking anywhere with me.

“Yeah, I’m down.”

His hands found purchase on my body once again as he said, “GREAT NEWS! THAT’S GREAT NEWS. Lemme show you the grand tour.” As we both started leaving the crowded room, a flash of blue nylon appeared on our side, stopping us.

“Don’t go runnin’” a buzz-cut man with harsh brown eyes and blue sneakers mentioned towards Rafe. He abruptly stopped for a minute and let go of me, now gently placing his hands on my shoulders.

“Hey, give me five minutes, I’ll come see you soon.”

I didn’t want to seem like a clingy pest but I was slightly down that our plans were cut off.

Stop it, Sofia. It’s only five minutes. Calm down, geez.

I played it safe and just said, “Okay.”

Both men now wore taut expressions as I walked out of the place, but then I heard the other guy screaming, “COUNTRY CLUB!!!”

Feeling explorative, my feet carried me downstairs to the veranda, planning to scout around the party as well as the mansion. They were playing Playboy Carti now, and everyone was slurring their words as the partygoers were all absolutely sloshed or probably coked up or high and it was only 6:30 pm.

Dazed and confused, I saw a girl eating Cool Ranch Doritos in the middle of the dancefloor, bobbing her head as the bass hit her eardrums.

Now that’s something I can vibe with.

If I am stuck in a party where I don’t know anyone but the host, might as well have some fun alone I guess. Fun, meaning finding the pantry or snack stash.

This is going to be a long day.

**********

I’m on my second pack of family-sized Red Hot Cheetos. And still on my first can of some random root beer.

And, I think most of the people here are mentally floating in some other dimension while I am observing them like some scientist but with toxic red dust on my chin.

It’s 8 pm.

Why am I still here, you may ask? Well, it was not like I was completely alone for an hour and a half, Rafe checked in on me every twenty minutes while I was sitting cross-legged on his kitchen counter. He actually came back ten minutes after I left him on the balcony

“Look who found the secret snack drawer.”

I indeed raided it just two minutes after going downstairs.

“Oh, is it ok? I don’t drink that much, not when I am alone at a party and don’t know anyone.”

“Yeah, go for it. Hey, I wanna apologize if I don’t stay with you at the party. I really want to but I-” he got cut off by another random person coming up at him and bumping chests with him, “HEYY RAFEE, MAN YOU’RE BACK!”

His attention diverted to the person in front of him but, his eyes stayed with me, apologetic as he got dragged again by that bleached blonde head who was accompanied by a throng of men who nearly trampled and took him away somewhere else.

That was an hour ago. He did try his best to come up to me once in a while but in a minute, he got approached by someone and he would bare his teeth for a minute and then switch up to greet them and then get yanked by his Kook friends. However, his vision was always on me even when he was knee-deep in another conversation, both of us playing a silent game of who would peel off their gaze first and, both of us were not backing down. We were both like two ends of a rubber band stretching out incessantly, anticipating when the band would snap, the tension creeping up over Rafe and me.

I was actually planning to leave fifteen minutes ago but, then Rafe came up to me, trudging through the horde of people across the room, panting and all, eyes glossier than ever, and rushed over his words, “Hey, I am so sorry that I didn’t spend enough time with you when I literally invited you. Just give me…fifteen minutes. I promise I’ll come back and really show the place around and, be with you.”

He looked so desperate that I couldn’t help but say, “Ok, I’ll wait. But it’s ok. I’ll leave if you are busy, clearly, you seem like the life of the party. And I don’t wanna impose…”

“No! Please, I…I’ll be back. Just stand here and look pretty like you have been doing for the past hour.”

Now, I’m here, hoping that he keeps his word or otherwise, I’m leaving in five minutes.

I sipped on my root beer; my feet dangling on the counter. If I am leaving without having fun, I’m at least taking this pack of root beer for funsies.

But as per his words, I saw Rafe stroll in my direction with a whiskey glass in his hand; all his attention centered on me. Once again, I felt bashful under his piercing gaze.

“Finally,” he breathed out, “now…where were we?” he downed his drink in one long gulp.

“I don’t know, it’s your rave, Mister Cameron”

“Well then, I promised you to show you around, right? Before that, let’s have a toast, shall we? Since it’s a party and all,” he maneuvered around the tight space; and took a tequila bottle and two shot glasses from the top shelf above the counter without even trying, his height towering over my relatively shot frame. His biceps bulged as he held the bottle poured two shots into the glasses and offered it to me while sporting a small smile.

My mind is spinning in circles over his tall frame. And I haven’t even gotten drunk yet.

He was near me now, his hands inviting me to get off the counter and I took it, the ground underneath me withering for the third time today as he held his hands in mine. His hands felt comfortably warm in contrast to my ice-cold ones.

“Bottoms up, Miss Sofia"

I was heavily invested in his game now, his risque charm pulling me in at a dangerous speed.

“Bottoms up, Rafe” We both clinked our glasses, downing our drinks in one go at the same time.

Game on, I guess.

************

I lost count of how many shots of neat tequila I had, how many lime wedges my teeth bit into, or even the consecutive gulps of gin I guzzled. All I can comprehend is the calloused fingers digging into my hips as my body is glued against Rafe Cameron who, indeed gave an extensive tour of the house but my conscience was all up in the air. He took me to every room of the mansion and gave a one-line description of each room but I was invested in his booming voice, the way his eyes glimmered underneath the soft lights (which were hurting my eye now, cuz I am so close to getting pissed as hell) and the way he never let go of my hands. All I did was nod vigorously and throw in some flyaway comments like, “That’s nice,” and “Hmm…interesting.”

We were on the dance floor now, the DJ blasting “Often” by the Weekend, and, both of us stood at arm's length, our inebriated bodies slowly staggering to the beat. The sober me would have been appalled of me throwing my head back and staggering from side to side but here I am, dancing my heart out with Rafe watching me over like a hawk. His eyes were piercing as he stood with a red solo cup, looking at me like he was ready to pounce on me. And I was enthralled by the attention he was showering on me.

Fuck, for the first time in my life, my twisted heart is carnally desiring something.

At one point, the minuscule distance between us was reduced to nothing, as he tugged my tipsy self to his chest, his arms seizing my waist and we both started to sway to the sultry beat drops, basically grinding on each other. My arms crept up to his nape, my head discovering my latest favorite place to rest; his chiseled, clothed chest. Air became precious when I could hear our breaths blend in, our chests heaving in insurmountable tension.

His voice shook me to my core as he deliberately whispered in my ear, “Do you wanna go swimming in the pool?”

No, I want to keep feeling your skin on mine but I was too stunned to say no to his out-of-the-blue proposition.

“Yeah, ok,” I murmured like no one was present when the party was going on in full swing

I thought I would wobble my way to the pool outside but Rafe Cameron had other plans.

Effortlessly, he picked me up by my waist and placed me in my his arms.

Not just anyway.

Bridal style.

I was being carried by Rafe Cameron bridal style.

If I didn’t faint then, I was going to fall into an unshakable stupor now.

My heart weighed as a cloud; his hold on my body was light as a feather. My body softly thudded with each step he took toward the glimmering swimming pool and with it, my adrenaline slowly spiked. My back could feel the chlorine emanating from the water as Rafe neared the pool, his face reflecting the scintillated shine; cerulean blue eyes turning aquamarine in the warm July night. He let me down gently near the steel steps directed towards the pool; the cold tiled floor causing shivers in my feet.

With no time to waste, he peeled off his polo shirt leaving me no imagination of his sculpted chest; abs chiseled and, a prominent V-line trailing over his limbs.

Holy smokes.

“Like what you see, Miss Sofia”

“I’ll let you know later, Cameron,” I shot back as I bared off my excuse of a dress, leaving me with my red bikini. Rafe who witnessed me taking off my clothes in the most unsexy fashion shamelessly stared at me, wandering eyes trying to capture every part of my body.

“Now do you like what you see, Rafe?”

“Very much”

Fuck, he ain’t slick.

“So what now?”

“Now,” he took a once over at the pool and started to run towards it, body curling into a cannonball as he went airborne and hit the water with a big SPLASH, “we swim. I thought that was obvious, Miss Sofia. I wanted to show you the beach but hey, we both are way too tired to walk till there and swim so why not bring the beach experience, here?”

I just shook my head from side to side, drunkenly giggling and went near the stairs to go into the pool, Rafe also swimming along with me. As I climbed down into the chill waters, Rafe rushed towards me, grabbed my hands, and pulled me into his side for the second time tonight. His body felt warm against the cold swimming pool. My arms found home in his nape again, my nimble fingers softly grasping on the matted buzzcut. A tingly sensation flared up on the inside of my thighs and my heart.

Space was a foreign concept between us as we both clung to each other, Rafe holding me by the flesh of my thighs and hoisting me up to his level. I was putty in his hands, both of our bodies floating in some random flow like two leaves gliding in a river.

“So, how was the premium Rafe Cameron experience?”

“It was satisfying, to say the least. But I wish the host was more sober…”

“Heyy…”

“Kidding, kidding. No, but really, thank you, Rafe. This is the most fun I have ever had in a very very long time.”

I have never seen him smile that shyly, eyes downcast as he said, “Well, I’m glad to tell you that the fun has just started, Miss Sofia…” he let go of me as he had a sinister look in his eye.

“What are you scheming…Rafe…”

“Oh…nothing,” his lips turned into an upward chuckle as he started to push the water in my direction with all his might and splashed it in my direction, the buoyancy of the water making me lose my balance; and I slipped into the water.

“AHHH! RAFE, YOU SNEAK!”

“HAHA,” his cackle cut through the combined hum of the party as well as the silent night. I staggered for a moment and held my breath for a moment inside the pool.

If he wants to play with me, might as well give him a run for his money.

He caught on to my disappearance and panic slightly flooded his features. I felt the water sloshing as Rafe looked around, silently called me, “Sof, you ok? Hey, Sof. SOFIAAA…”

Poor guy must have thought I drowned or something. Well, I might if I keep staying like this for a few more seconds,

I rose out of the water, my bangs completely drenched and my face splotched red as I took deep breaths and tackled him, the water swishing in ripples as I latched onto his body.

“BOO!”

“JESUS SOF, My God, I thought you drowned or something.”

Worry was etched onto his face now, regret filling into those eyes that I can’t stop thinking about for no reason at all. I felt bad now and immediately cradled his head, “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you properly, ok. I just wanted to get back at you for splashing water at me. I’m ok, Rafe.”

“Well, don’t do it again, ok”

Fuck, I ruined the mood. Sometimes, I wonder if there’s another nameless entity in my brain forging the most horrible decisions ever.

I snaked my arms around him, hoping that my hug would at least emulate my regret. He didn’t hesitate to hug me back, his arms imprisoning me in a sweet deadlock. We stayed in that position for a few minutes, nothing but silence speaking our thoughts out into the ether. As much as I loved being intertwined with the blonde who had been afflicting my dreams, I started to shrivel from the freezing cold pool water and let out a small ACHOO.

He was the one who pulled away, noting my incessant shivering and pruning body, “Come on, we should leave. Shit, you’re trembling.”

We both waggled our way back to the edge of the pool and got up the stairs, aware that Rafe ogled at my drenched body as I left the pool. The bikini lost its opaqueness, the translucent flimsy red material sticking on my body like second skin. He got out of the pool after me, head dripping with water but held a burning fire in his eyes. Rafe wasted no time and began rushing me inside the mansion through the backdoor; I was worried that I would be exposing my body to a bunch of drunk teenagers. However, Rafe quelled my rising insecurities when he snatched his polo shirt and draped it on me when we reached the threshold, quietly putting my hands on the sleeve holes of his shirt. My skin burned whenever he touched, making me shiver in heat.

“I have some towels in my room, dry yourself off,” he muttered as he took me in the direction of the staircase, bypassing the party which was slowly dwindling down, the DJ playing a very random song in some unknown language and only a few people littering the living space, slowly sipping on alcohol, the stench of weed and cigarette infiltrating my nostrils.

We entered a peacock-blue room up the stairs, a massive bed with a long mahogany bedframe occupying the space front and center, lustrous teal blue sheets covering the pristine crisp white bed springs. The sofa and chairs was cluttered with clothes and other stuff and a tall sliding door situated right infront of the bed hidden by coffee-colored curtains with a bathroom attached to its left.

As he shut the door, leaving only the two of us in the confined space; breathing itself became a chore, my lungs caving in and heart thrumming with anticipation and pure desire. I was standing near his wooden drawer as he went in to the bathroom to get two towels. The stretch of the rubber band felt excruciatingly painful; the tension melting my soul every second. My thoughts started to jumble into one mess that craved for his touch on me, my mind wanting him to cross the distance and end my arduous yearning for a kiss from his lips or even, a graze from his hands. His stormy eyes and alluring body rounded on me as he ambled towards me, his walk having a sure purpose; two cotton towels on his hand. His presence cornered me, my back hitting the drawer. I can sense his body heat radiating off of him, the mix of his perfume and natural musk making me heady with want.

He gingerly gave me the towel, my hands sizzling with current as my hands lightly grazed his. We both looked into each other, square in the eye as we started to dry our bodies by ourselves. I threw the towel on my hair, feeling the dampness of my chlorinated hair transfer onto the soft towel and slowly rung my hair on the towelletel; my vision cut off by the piece of cotton blocking my eyes. When I felt sure that my hair was more-or-less semi dry, I took off the towel from my head and found Rafe heavily breathing down on me, his angled nose nearly plunging into my hair.

It felt like life rolled in slow motion as he threw the cloth away from my hands, and put his hands on the door behind me. Rafe’s voice purred in my ear as he said, “You look so pretty, Sofia. Fuck, I can’t stop looking at you all night,” he breathed into my hair as he spoke, “You even smell good, you know how hard it was for me to focus on other shit when all I think about was you in those little white bra and panties with the bow. It’s all I have been thinking about since yesterday with kissing you senseless, and fuck, I can’t even erase the memory of you in your uniform. ”

I looked upto him and saw that his eyes were feasting on my picked on lips, my breasts with his digits digging into the flesh of my hips. I was stupefied too; I couldn’t stop memorising every detail of him; the curve of his Adam’s apple, the defined planes of his face, the sharp ears, the matted blonde strands of his buzzcut, the small freckle under his left eye and those eyes.

Those cereaulean blue eyes glimmering like sapphire; I knew from that moment that they wouldn’t stop haunting me till I am dragged down to my casket.

I couldn’t even slip out a coherent sentence to his confession but my heart was on fire, but all I could muster was, “Rafe?”

“Hmm,” his voiced with laced with pain as he spoke to me.

I knew that this was the moment that my life was going to change forever.

I felt possessed as I said, “Can you kiss me, please, Rafe? I want to stop playing this game.”

The rubber band snapped and recoiled.

“Thought you would never ask, Miss Sofia”

Inches of space got reduced to nothing as he crashed his lips onto mine; his mouth lapping mine up with urgent fervor almost as he was worshipping me by pressing his lips on mine with undulated passion. The kiss felt earth shattering, the earth beneath me felt like it was going to break into pieces and take me away and Rafe’s lips and wandering hands were the only thing keeping me sane and tethered to reality. His lips swallowed my mouth, pouring all his fervor onto me, and my lips couldn’t get enough; chasing his lips like we’re both running from a disaster. The world went utterly still with only the sounds of our kiss, hands cradling each other hips and heads and mouths nearly gnawing each other with such intensity and devotion.

I never thought kissing someone would feel heavenly. Well, I wish I told that girl I was about to get my world rocked by Rafe Cameron.

Forever.

AN:

My brain and my fingers after typing this chapter:

FINALLY DUN DUN DUN! THEY KISSED. YK WHAT IT MEANS FOR NEXT CHAPTER, your girl is going to try writing mid ass smut...Pls dont stone me to death for this chapter, the next one and the futures ones too.

THE AMOUNT OF LOVE YOU GUYS GIVE ME IS AMAZINGGG. KISSES TO EACH SINGLE ONE OF YOU. MWAHHH. Any comments or likes or reblogs are absolutely appreciated.

The next update...I genuinely don't know when it's happening but I am always thinking about this story so hopefully within this month.

Hope you guys have a good new yearr...BYEEEE

Taglist:

@lostsyren @araybiaaa @cherubfille @didddii589 @popou61 @rafecameronsfavourite @rafesofiapalomo @me-ig1 @beautyinsteadofashes

#obx fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron #sofia obx #rafe x sofia #drew starkey #fiona palomo #Spotify

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flameleads · 3 days ago

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At his request, Maes brought him back up to stand. Roy couldn’t shake his smile as his gaze lingered on hazel eyes. Was it silly he wanted to laugh? To sing? To run through the streets of Central while holding this man’s hand? One kiss, and he felt like the world was his for the taking.

He was alive. Breathing. In love.

He knew he said they needed to talk, but God did he want to skip that conversation for a minute or two. Maybe five. An hour? They had years of kissing to catch up on. No, they didn’t have to cram it all into one night, but if Maes wanted to cram his tongue into his mouth, Roy wouldn’t mind. Caressing his cheek like this made the thought all the more tempting—and Maes let him.

Later. There would be kissing later.

“I’d still like you to state the obvious,” he replied with a smirk. Obvious attraction, right? Or, was he missing something?

Six words, and he felt himself plummeting into the sea.

Saltwater was quick to adorn his cheeks as it left his eyes. It filled his lungs, and his breath hitched. The frigidity of it all made him shiver. He didn’t move, unsure if he could—oh, but he wanted to wrap his arms around himself to keep this fragile body together. Had he not put himself back together with fire not too long ago? He was supposed to be stronger, not this—this—whatever this broken mess of a man was.

Maes Hughes loved him. He was in love with him for as long as they knew one another. Therein lay the tragedy.

He realized this after he married Gracia. He had no idea his friend stood before him that day with his heart in pieces, smiling to hide the fractures. No idea that it broke for the first time on the day he chose never to tell the cadet who stole his quiche that he loved him. No idea how many times he had to repair it when he heard stories of his best friend’s family. No idea what sort of sounds emitted from his throat when he learned the only one he ever loved no longer walked this Earth.

The days he bowed in front of his grave like Achilles, clutching Baby’s breath and gardenias and hoping no one knew what they meant. The nights he woke up screaming, sobbing, or at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey as he tried to drown in something other than salt water. Maes knew none of that.

Alas, Roy remembered. Even as Maes put their foreheads together, saying and asking things he always longed to hear, he couldn’t bring himself to smile. Instead, his entire body quaked, including the clenched fist at his side. The dam broke as the tears poured out of closed eyes. His head tilted downwards, bowing before the grave of the love he thought he lost. Wails escaped his mouth before he could think to stop them and ask why they occurred. Why was he crying at a good thing? He didn’t understand.

Words couldn’t come out. Nothing but wails did, ones he needed to silence. Planting his face in Maes’ shoulder solved that problem, both hands now clinging to fabric as if it was the only piece of wood in the middle of the sea, but it gave them both new ones. He didn’t answer any of what Maes said, particularly his question. He went from smiling to an ocean of tears with no explanation, which had to be confusing. He was loud, probably hurting this man’s poor ears. He couldn’t talk, a problem that simply didn’t occur before because he was Roy Mustang of all people.

How could he tell Maes that he wanted him more than anything in the world? Forget the Presidency. If he didn’t have the one man who believed in him first, what was even the goddamn point?

Time moved, yet it didn’t feel like it did in the moment they shared together. Maes felt his heart beat ringing in his ears as he pulled away slowly. Hazel eyes staring back down at onyx ones. Noticing the tears that were on Roy’s cheeks, realizing that it was tears of joy, not sadness.

Everything was different now. They could no longer go back to what they were after realizing each other’s feelings. Maes knew that he didn’t want to go back to being just friends anymore, not after that kiss.

He couldn’t help the smile that adorned his feature when he felt Roy’s hand move to caress his cheek, leaning into it. He knew the feelings were returned and now they were going to talk about them. He hears how long Roys been wanting to do that and the feeling was definitely mutual on Maes end.

“Me too…” He’s been wanting to kiss those soft lips for so long. All the way back when they were in the academy together when Maes was single. He just didn’t understand why and thought it had been a fleeting thought.

Hearing the other plead to pull him back up, Maes did so slowly as he kept the smile on his face. He didn’t let go of his hand though. They stood up together as he looked back down at him, wanting to know what this meant for the both of them. “We can talk about it. It’s obvious what I was trying to tell you, right?” He’s not afraid to say it out loud now knowing the feelings were mutual.

“Roy, I’m in love with you.”

The words came out so easily, he couldn’t keep them to himself any longer, not after he felt the feelings in that kiss they both felt. It was like he could finally be honest about what he felt now.

“I’ve been in love with you for as long as we’ve known each other. I just didn’t realize the fact till after I got married.” He admits squeezing his hand. “When I realized it too late I had to… bury those feelings because I had a family. I should have seen the signs sooner because I kept thinking of you in ways not many friends are supposed to think about their close friends when we were in the academy.” He sighed, his head leaning against Roy’s forehead, smiling.

“You make me so happy, you make me feel safe, you make me feel whole. Even after I had found out about Gracia seeing another person, you were there to pick up the pieces of me and I felt, I felt better, I healed quicker than I thought I would.” He admits cupping Roy’s cheek this time caressing it.

“I want to be with you, Roy Mustang. I want to be yours, that is if you wish to be mine?”

#hughesxmaes #ic; so light me up | roy mustang #verse; eventually you'll see my ascendancy | pre pd #arc; just stay alive. that would be enough #thread: dancing on the edge of something new #death tw #death mention tw #alcohol tw #drinking tw #long post tw

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daughters-of-liberty · 1 year ago

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I just saw someone's art and...oh, how I am dying to be mean.

#''Abstract art'' my ass #I honestly don't know how people can be proud of a streaky mess #It looks like they clawed half the paint off the canvas 😬#What happened to art conveying a message?#What does this message say?#If this piece could talk it would scream.#The person who made it is either inwardly disturbed or so mellow and at peace that they have no thoughts in their head beyond pretty colors #Ugh I'm so fuckin mean #I'm sorry but it's a no from me.

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skrunksthatwunk · 6 months ago

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actually i'm still thinking about the moral orel finale.

he has a cross on his wall. do you know how much i think about that bc it's a lot.

a lot of stories ((auto)biographical or fictional) centering escape from abusive/fundamentalist christianity result in the lead characters leaving behind christianity entirely. and that makes complete sense! people often grow disillusioned with the associated systems and beliefs, and when it was something used to hurt them or something so inseparable from their abuse that they can't engage with it without hurting, it makes total sense that they would disengage entirely. and sometimes they just figure out that they don't really believe in god/a christian god/etc. a healthy deconstruction process can sometimes look like becoming an atheist or converting to another religion. it's all case by case. (note: i'm sure this happens with other religions as well, i'm just most familiar with christian versions of this phenomenon).

but in orel's case, his faith was one of the few things that actually brought him comfort and joy. he loved god, y'know? genuinely. and he felt loved by god and supported by him when he had no one else. and the abuses he faced were in how the people in his life twisted religion to control others, to run away from themselves, to shield them from others, etc. and often, orel's conflicts with how they acted out christianity come as a direct result of his purer understanding of god/jesus/whatever ("aren't we supposed to be like this/do that?" met with an adult's excuse for their own behavior or the fastest way they could think of to get orel to leave them alone (i.e. orel saying i thought we weren't supposed to lie? and clay saying uhhh it doesn't count if you're lying to yourself)). the little guy played catch with god instead of his dad, like.. his faith was real, and his love was real. and i think it's a good choice to have orel maintain something that was so important to him and such a grounding, comforting force in the midst of. All That Stuff Moralton Was Up To/Put Him Through. being all about jesus was not the problem, in orel's case.

and i know i'm mostly assuming that orel ended up in a healthier, less rigid version of christianity, but i feel like that's something that was hinted at a lot through the series, that that's the direction he'd go. when he meditates during the prayer bee and accepts stephanie's different way to communicate, incorporating elements of buddhism into his faith; when he has his I AM A CHURCH breakdown (removing himself from the institution and realizing he can be like,, the center of his own faith? taking a more individualistic approach? but Truly Going Through It at the same time), his acceptance (...sometimes) of those who are different from him and condemned by the adults of moralton (stephanie (lesbian icon stephanie my beloved), christina (who's like. just a slightly different form of fundie protestant from him), dr chosenberg (the jewish doctor from otherton in holy visage)). his track record on this isn't perfect, but it gets better as orel starts maturing and picking up on what an absolute shitfest moralton is. it's all ways of questioning the things he's been taught, and it makes sense that it would lead to a bigger questioning as he puts those pieces together more. anyway i think part of his growth is weeding out all the lost commandments of his upbringing and focusing on what faith means to him, and what he thinks it should mean. how he wants to see the world and how he wants to treat people and what he thinks is okay and right, and looking to religion for guidance in that, not as like. a way to justify hurting those he's afraid or resentful of, as his role models did.

he's coming to his own conclusions rather than obediently, unquestioningly taking in what others say. but he's still listening to pick out the parts that make sense to him. (edit/note: and it's his compassion and his faith that are the primary motivations for this questioning and revisal process, both of individual cases and, eventually, the final boss that is christianity.) it makes perfect sense as the conclusion to his character arc and it fits the overall approach of the show far better. it's good is what i'm saying.

and i think it's important to show that kind of ending, because that's a pretty common and equally valid result of deconstruction. and i think it cements the show's treatment of christianity as something that's often (and maybe even easily) exploited, but not something inherently bad. something that can be very positive, even. guys he even has a dog he's not afraid of loving anymore. he's not afraid of loving anyone more than jesus and i don't think it's because he loves this dog less than bartholomew (though he was probably far more desperate for healthy affection and companionship when he was younger). i think it's because he figures god would want him to love that dog. he's choosing to believe that god would want him to love and to be happy and to be kind. he's not afraid of loving in the wrong way do you know how cool that is he's taking back control he's taking back something he loves from his abusers im so normal

#i had a really big fundie snark phase a year or two ago so that's part of like. this. but im still not used to actually talking about #religious stuff so if it reads kinda awkwardly uhh forgive me orz idk #maybe it sounds dumb but i like that the message isn't 'religion is evil'. it easily could have been. but i think the show's points about #how fundie wasp culture in particular treats christianity and itself and others would be less poignant if they were like. and jesus sucks #btw >:] like. this feels more nuanced to me. i guess there's probably a way to maintain that nuance with an ultimately anti-christian #piece of media but i think it'd be like. wayy harder and it's difficult for me to imagine that bc i think a lot of it would bleed out into #the tone. + why focus on only These christians when They're All also bad? so you'd get jokes about them in general #and i think that's kinda less funny than orel and doughy screaming and running from catholics lsdkjfldksj #i think the specificity makes it more unique and compelling as comedy and as commentary. but that's just me #like moralton represents a very particular kind of christian community (namely a middle class fundie wasp nest)#you're not gonna be able to get in the weeds as much if you're laughing at/criticizing all christians. but they accomplish it so thoroughly #and WELL in morel and i think that's because it chose a smaller target it can get to dissect more intimately. anyway #moral orel #orel puppington #(OH also when i say wasp here i mean WASP the acronym. as in white anglo-saxon protestsant. in case the term's new to anyone <3)#maybe it's also relevant to say that i'm kindaaaaaaaa loosely vaguely nonspecifically christian. so there's my bias revealed #i was never raised like orel but i like to think i get some of what's going on in there y'know. in that big autistic head of his #but it's not like i can't handle anti-christian/anti-religious media/takes. i'm a big boy and also i v much get why it's out there yknow #christianity in specific has a lot of blood on its hands from its own members and from outsiders and people have a right to hate it for tha #but religion in all its forms can be positive and i appreciate the nuance. like i've said around 20 times. yeah :) <3 #(<- fighting for my life to explain things even though my one job is to be the explainer)

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pixlmonkeys · 2 months ago

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I say this with the deepest sense of hatred imaginable, fuck this article

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whoblewboobear · 5 months ago

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I don’t curse around my parents ever but Is2g talking to my mom always has me heated enough to wanna start.

#ough the way I’ll be happy to never speak to her the minute I move out #I wanna call my sister about it but she’s out and I hate reminding her of how shitty our mom is #like she knows she lived it she still does by trying to have a relationship with her #I fully would love to never have a relationship with my mother ever she’s an abusive piece of shit and a thief and a manipulator like 🖕🖕🖕#it’s so :/ bc I tried for YEARS to have a relationship with her and this was the year I’ve stopped trying #girlie said I make her life miserable bc I was pissed at her for stealing and pawning my camera #like I- holy shit she’s so fucking rotten #every time I catch myself starting to open up to her again (today) she just talks over me or cuts me off #it’s so :/ especially when I’m talking about my health and how fucking drained I feel all the time or mental health wise like she couldn’t #careless if I lived or died fr #I went to the ER and her ass asked me to buy her something from the vending machine and then left the minute she could like fuck you fr #now see this is why I have to project my mommy issues onto a fictional man bc if I don’t I’ll scream irl #personal

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readymades2002 · 3 months ago

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hate.hate. hate. there is no way out. there is no fucking way out

#keep going i need to talk to someone but i have no one and i cannot express it without sounding fucking insane #alone for so long it traps you in it and warps you and makes it worse trying to change #you can no longer speak in a way that others understand and it is so fucking lonely #screaming and screaming for help that will never come filtered out as white noise easily too feels stupid even trying like anyone cared #in the first place as if there is enough substance that they could childish delusion like everything else ive ever done or been #ashamed of all of it. all this fucking time and for what. self centered spineless unworthy WEAK piece of flotsam #if i disappeared tomorrow nothing would change at all even the despair of that is childish. individualistic. misanthropic. tar pit #miserable. all of it. why the fuck am i still here. i dont want to be here. how can this continue. why am i so fucking weak

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gojosprettyprincess · 4 months ago

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STUCK IN THE WASHING MACHINE TROPE WITH STEPBROTHER BAKUGOU!!!

cw - SMUT, Stepcest, dubcon in the beginning, Creampie, dumbification, anal play, he's aged up to 19, dirty talk, heavy degradation and Bakugou is really really mean cause he's Bakugou duh, slight daddy kink, some bad grammar bc it's not proofread. MINORS DNI!!!!

Word count - 2350

A/n - I have no idea how someone can possibly get stuck in a washing machine but just pretend you can😔🙏

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"Katsuki Katsuki! Holy fuck are you deaf or something?! I'm stuck!" you yelled at the top of your lungs as you tried your very best to wiggle yourself out from the washing machine opening. You can't even remember how you got yourself into this fucking mess, you were just trying to look and see if there were any more clothing pieces left behind because you've been noticing a few of your panties have gone missing the past few days and it kept getting worse and worse to the point where you barely have any left to wear, you assumed it's because you accidentally kept leaving them in the washing machine and now somehow your fucking stuck.

Heavy substantial footsteps were heard loudly outside the room before the wooden door went flying open, causing the doorknob to hit against the wall, causing a loud bang!, "The fuck do you want, can't you see I'm tryna fucking play?" the annoyed blond growled at you.

"Shut up and get me the fuck out" You yelled annoyed, while kicking your legs back to get his attention.

"Woah some mess you got yourself into, sweetheart" he smirks slyly while analyzing the situation, staring down at your pretty ass poking out of the washing machine, barely even covered by those tight slutty shorts you always wore around the house that never failed to make his cock rock hard.

"Oh please, just shut up and get me out already", you kicked your feet back hoping that he was behind you so it would hit him. "I don't think that's how you speak to someone you're trying to get help from, princess".

You rolled your eyes at the annoying pet names he always calls you every fucking time but you've grown used to it by now but the constant teasing was so fucking annoying. "Listen are you going to help me or not?".

"That depends princess, are you gonna beg me to or not?" you wanted to punch him in the face so fucking badly, imagining the shit-eating grin he definitely has plastered on his face right now. "Your so fucking annoying! No way go to hell!" you yelled.

"Oh yeah? Is that so"

He chuckled as he bent down behind you, eyes fixated on the way the thin material hugged your ass cheeks so tightly and delicious, you're so vulnerable in this position, he could keep you there and pound your slutty little holes for hours and hours if he wants to—which is probably what he's gonna do anyways.

He pressed the pad of his thumb against your damped crotch, rubbing it slowly back and forth as he watched the way your body jolted unexpectedly.

"Wha-what are you doing! You sick fuck??" you screamed as you tried to wiggle your ass away from his hold. "Oh, come on princess, let's have some fun yeah? You might even like it" he teases before tugging down your tiny shorts, just to be greeted with your glistening dripping cunt. A string of your slick connects to the crotch of the shorts before snapping away as he pulls it down to your knee. He groaned as his eyes took in the delicious sight in front of him, "No panties? And your fucking dripping, you probably planned this out and did this purposely just so I can come and see you like this, dirty fucking slut" he lands a harsh slap on your right ass cheek as you closed your eyes in embarrassment when you realized you're basically fucking exposed to him.

"Go to fucking hell you perv" You snapped back at him, "Oh yeah? I'm the perv?, I'm not the one fucking soaked and dripping onto the floor sweetheart". He laughs mockingly.

His dick was painfully hard and eager, straining to be released from his sweatpants, what can a man do? It's not his fault his dumb little stepsister always runs around the house with those tight little booty shorts, ass almost fully exposed, basically begging to be pounded and now he has his chance so why not take it?

He pulls his sweatpants and underwear down, thick perfectly curved dick slaps against his abdomen as pre cum oozes out of the angry red tip, he grips his fist around it before pumping himself a few times while circling your clit with his thumb, "Pretty little cunt you got here princess, been hiding this from me this whole time?"

"S-stop it Katsuki, this is wrong! You're my stepbrother, we can't do this!" you whined, it's so fucking wrong and fucked up and you sure as hell knew that, you just can't help but feel your needy cunt throbbing and yearning for more, it's only natural right?

Before you could even process anything else you felt his angry tip lining up at your entrance, his thick cock head bullying and prying it's way into your weeping tight hole before he shoves it all the way in unexpectedly, knocking the wind out of you as you hissed at the sudden pain.

"Hahh fuckk- Katsuki slow down!" you moaned as he starts thrusting his hard cock in and out of you like it was his mission to bruise and mark up your silky walls with his tip, strong hands gripping onto your waist as he stretches out your poor cunt with his fat girth, splitting that pretty little cunny in half as it drips all over him. "Holy fuckk you're so fucking tight hah- shitt" he hisses as your pussy clenches around him snugly, tightest cunt he ever fucked for sure.

He started pounding you harder, gripping the oversized T-shirt you wore as he rammed himself in the tight warm space between your thighs.

"Stupid little slut, is this what you need to shut that annoying little mouth of yours, my dick pounding this little pussy?" he took a mental note to give you exactly what you wanted when you're acting up and being a little bitchy brat to him. "Sh-ut up katsu-" shit you couldn't even form proper words to even say his fucking name, "You're the fucking worse fuh-ckk" you moaned out of pleasure. You can't even lie his cock was the best you've ever had and it's only been minutes since he started fucking you so that surely says a lot, his tip was grazing against the right spots in your hole, it's like his dick knew all the parts in cunt that would make your eyes roll to the back of your head and he was stretching your stuffy cunt with his cock soo good, it turnt you into a moaning mess.

"Oh yeah I know my cock is good you little slut, Gonna fuck you so stupid with it, you won't ever think about another guy's dick other than your stepbrother's" he smirks as he lands a hard slap on your ripped ass, watching the way the thick flesh jiggles against him, bouncing back against his pelvis as he drills himself so fucking deep inside of you. You're his little glory hole, he can stuff you full and deep of his seed and use your tight pussy for hours and fuck you so dumb that you can't even think for the rest of the week if he wants to.

He circles his thumb over your neglected butthole, the puckered hole fluttering against the pad of his thumb as he notices the way your moans got sweeter and louder at the gesture. He won't be surprised if you're a slut for anal he snooped through your room a shit ton of times looking for your dirty cum-stained panties he uses to jerk off to, to know that you have several jeweled anal plugs hidden away in your drawer.

"Mmm want me to put it in baby?" he teases, adoring the way the pink ring flutters on his thumb, soo eager and hungry to be stuffed and played with, "Ye-yes pleasee!" you hiccupped, purposely winking your hole for him desperately as a form of inviting him. "Heh, how cute" he mumbled before gathering your slick from your clit to rub it on the tiny rim before slowly sinking it in little by little. He groaned as he felt your cunt throbbing around his cock as your hungry asshole swallows his thumb into the hilt.

Heavy balls slapping against your clit as your eyes roll back to the back of your head as if you were possessed or something- or maybe you were, possessed by his fucking cock hitting your favorite spots in your hole that had you seeing stars. His cock was so fucking good, mushroom tip kissing your cervix with every single one of his mean thrusts. "Fuck wish I could play with those pretty tits" he groans, head falling back as he moans, your cunt felt like fucking heaven, so warm and tight just for him.

"Kat-Katsuki m' so close" you moaned as you felt the familiar feeling in your stomach building up, "Yeah? That fast? My cock is that good huh?".

You let out a porn star-worthy moan when you felt his thick thumb sliding in and out of your tight bullied walls, matching the rough brutal pace of the pounding he was giving your poor pussy. He lifts up one of his legs and plants his feet flat on the floor so he can drill deeper into your cunt, "Fuckk yes daddy- don't stop fuck! Please don't stop" you cried out as you felt yourself approaching your release.

He chuckled mockingly, "Daddy huh? You're such a fucking dirty whore ya know that?" he slapped your ass so fucking hard that his handprint was definitely branded on your ass cheek, "Didn't know my dear little stepsis was such a cock-hungry slut, what'd ya think mom would say if she found out her innocent daughter was milking her stepbrother's cock and calling him daddy hm? Always knew you were a whore" he smirks as you whimpered and dripped to his mean words.

He pulled his thumb out of your butthole slowly and then groaned when he saw the delicious little gape he created. He brought his thumb up to his mouth before sucking it, gathering spit onto the finger then circling it around the gaped hole.

"Fuckk would you look at that, she's all prepped and ready for my cock, maybe after I'm done stuffing your cunt, I'll fill this one up too, bet you'll fucking like that", you felt his cock throbbing like crazy in your pussy as he imagined stuffing both of holes with his bitter cum and having you all plugged up n pretty with his seed deep in your asshole and the only thing keeping it in is the princess plug you have hidden away in your drawer- buried deep inside your ass.

You almost screamed when you felt him stabbing his cock into your cunt even harder, strong hands gripping your waist tightly to keep you still as he rams his hips against yours. The friction of his heavy balls slapping your clit made it feel even better as your cunt clenches around his cock, threatening to milk his balls into your pussy. You're not surprised that Bakugou was this good at fucking, after all, he was really fucking sexy and built, of course he had a lot of experience. You cried out when you felt his fingers rubbing harsh harsh circles on your clit, "Come on slut, need ya to cum on my cock, don't make me repeat myself" he grunts, head falling back when he feels your cunny squeezing around his cock soo much fucking tighter. You closed your eyes as you felt your orgasm approaching. His thrust was so fucking brutal, it's like he has some fucking personal problem and is taking it out on your poor cunt.

Before you could process anything else, you were gushing all over his pretty cock, warm liquid squirting all over his abs and pelvis and he continues pounding you through it, he lets out a slurpy moan while laughing, "Fuckk yeah that's it baby that's it, Gooddd girl" he thrusts got sloppier and sloppier when he felt his balls tightening. He didn't expect you to fucking squirt and make a mess all over him so it drove him fucking crazy.

You felt his cock twisting against your tight walls, assuming he was about to cum. Fuck, you felt so lifeless. The only thing holding you up was Katsuki's strong grip on your waist and the washing machine because you can't even think right now, your mind fully fucking clouded with his cock bullying your poor insides, splitting your sweet cunny apart. Fuck he's so mean, you shivered when you felt his fingers digging deep into your waist.

"Fuck m'gonna cum, gonna stuff this slutty cunt so full of my seed, it'll come right out your mouth bitch" he hisses before emptying his balls in your pussy, thick ropes of cum filling up your cumdump of a hole as you cried out when you felt his angry tip pushing the cum further and further into your cunny, making sure to stuff you full and not let any of it leak out or you'd have to lick it up.

He chuckles darkly when he hears you're out of breath whimpers. "Is this what you needed? A good little filling to shut that pretty mouth of yours? Because if it's dick you need to function properly you know where to find me baby" he chuckles, slowly pulling out his still-hard cock, being sooo careful that none of the cum drips out. He lines his tip up at the entrance of your butthole, smearing the cum onto the hole as it winks at him.

"Ready for the other filling?"

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nightingale-prompts · 2 months ago

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Lay Me to Rest- DCxDP Prompt

Warning: Blood and gore

There has been a series of murders across the country. Each death was varied and self-inflicted. At first, they all seemed like suicide but each had a strange range of symptoms before death.

Sudden paranoia, incoherent mumbling, screaming or yelling, going in and out of their homes sporadically, random fixations, and finally self-harm.

The victims were teachers, parents, businessmen, truckers, and even a crime novelist. All unrelated and in different states.

Each victim didn't seem to have a connection until an investigation discovered that each one had been an active serial killer. The body counts ranged from as little as 5 to as much as 23. The killer was named the Serial Serial Killer which wasn't creative but it was catchy. Some called them the Angel of Vengeance but most thought it was cringy and overdramatic. Many people didn't want them to be caught but others hotly debated letting a killer dispense justice when their crusade could easily turn into them killing people for innocuous things.

The police were still questioning whether this killer even existed. One thing was clear, there was a trail and it led straight to Gotham. A goldmine for them. Naturally, Batman had gotten a hold on the case and began an investigation.

The biggest question was how the killer found their victims and how they knew that they were killers.

The answer was obvious. They didn't need to figure it out. They just needed to wait. Why just in the effort to investigate when a serial killer tries to convince you to leave with them? So bars are the obvious place. But that's shaky at best since there is a period of torment that takes place that allows the victims to return home. The killer doesn't care if the victims could call the police, perhaps because they know their victim won't.

Bruce started to build a profile. He saw a pattern here. Each of the victims had a preference for their victims as well. They targeted young people, mainly boys. Odds are the Serial Serial Killer matched that description or age range. So bars weren't the hunting ground. So parks were more likely to go unnoticed and boys tended to hang out there longer after dark.

The killer was more than likely a victim himself so he may have a few scars but probably not noticeable enough that his would-be assailants would be turned off. There is no ignoring the predatory nature of the victims. Each killed children for gratification in some form. It's not that the boy is attractive but he probably has traits that the victims found attractive in children. So babyfaced, short, native, and polite.

There was much else Bruce could get. There was nothing concrete and he still didn't understand the method that was used. So far this was guesswork.

It wasn't until a few weeks later while he tracking another killer that he found his answer.

Dr.Kinder a Biologist by day and a killer who experiments on his victims at night had picked up a promising new lab rat a week ago. He had intended to slowly dissect the boy. He had gotten so used to the screams he stopped using anesthetics besides he wanted to see how the fear response caused the organs to shift.

To his surprise the boy didn't fight, in fact he seemed to jump to the table and say he didn't need restraints. Disturbing. But he was restrained anyways.

As the doctor cut him open the boy didn't react, only humming to himself as he watched the doctor.

"What are you hoping to find?" He asked. "I'm getting bored and this bearly hurts."

The boy annoyingly never stopped talking and never missed a chance to ruin the moment. There were never any screams or cries but incessant talking.

Dr.Kinder found the boy disturbing so he simply took an axe and chopped the boy into pieces. Not once did he make a sound. The doctor thought it was over but the next day the boy was back. He sat on the autopsy table kicking his feet in nothing but his bare skin.

"What the hell are you?" The doctor gasped in horror.

"I'm bored. Play with me again." The boy purred.

Bile crawled up his throat as the doctor restained this...thing again.

This time the boy spoke differently.

"You cut me up last time. Did you do that to the last boy. After you...you know." A sick grin spread across his cheeks.

The doctor cut open his neck this time and let him bleed out.

Everyday he came back and every day the doctor killed him until the time between his death got shorter and shorter. The days began to blur and he had no idea how long he had been doing this. But that thing kept talkimg to him.

Dr.Kinder stared down at his desk at the papers trying to think of anything but-

"I wonder what people would think about what you've done. You're a disgusting and depraved man doctor. Look at what you've done to me." The sing-song voice of that demon called out.

He could feel those blood-soaked arms wrapped around his neck.

He flinch as he pushed the thing away.

"Oh, are you going to beat me or stab me this time? Ooo, or are you going to put me through the woodchipper again?" The demon asked as the doctor wrapped his hands around his throat.

He just kept squeezing until the boy went limp. It never ends. The blood never goes away. It covered every surface of the room. Dripping, conjugating, and spreading into every corner. Whenever he turned his head he could see body parts spread across the room in the pools of blood he could they the faces of the others that he had killed. Each face wretched in agony.

"You hold on better than the others. I've been eaten, torched, and disemboweled before but after coming back a few times they usually end it after a few words. But every time they don't feel guilt. They just don't want to face consequences." The boy said. "Do you even remember my name? The one I told you when you picked me up on the side of the road or was I just another body to use and discard? I used the name of your first victim. I hoped you'd notice."

The doctor knew he couldn't kill the boy but he could end himself. He had tried it once but just like the kid he came back without a scratch.

"Not yet. This is your life now. Come on, let's taste death together. Again and again and again and again and-" he repeated over and over.

This was hell. This was his hell.

But it came to an end eventually. Dr.Kinder put an end to himself in a gruesome display.

Batman had only caught the tail end as he faced a young boy standing an a pool of blood.

****

"Yeah, that thing is like a worse version of a revenant. Doesn't really have a name yet to describe it. It's undead for sure. You kill it and it just comes back." Constantine said "Why did you bring it here?"

After a long bath and some new clothes, the kid looked normal as played on a phone given to him.

"Look, I didn't know what else to do." Bruce explained.

"You leave it alone!" Constantine said exasperated "Look they are harmless to anything they don't bear a grudge towards. Think of it as a force of nature." Constantine said.

"I just want to know how to stop him." Bruce said.

"Well you can't kill it but you can't bring him back entirely. You can just soothe it 'till it stops targeting its victims. It must have died pretty gruesomely to go to these lengths. You need to find where it died and lay it to rest. Properly." Constantine sighed knowing that appeasing this soul would be more than just difficult.

"Danny, come on. Let's go." Bruced said putting a hand on the boy's head as Danny stood up to leave.

"Okay. Bye!" Danny waved to Constantine.

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #dp x dc prompt #danny fenton #bruce wayne #john constantine

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cruel-seduction · 1 month ago

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Theodore Nott Headcanons

Warning: This piece contains themes of possessiveness, obsessive behavior, and dark romance undertones. Theodore’s devotion might be overwhelming, intense, and not suited for everyone’s taste. Reader discretion is advised.

(+ Requests are open so if you wanna request something, go ahead)

mdni 18+

Theodore Nott

6’4 | He’s taller than Mattheo, and yes, he lords it over him (quietly, of course, because Theo is above petty behavior… unless it’s funny).

Lean, but don’t be fooled—this man is cut. He’s that deadly kind of fit where you don’t notice at first because he’s always wearing loose sweaters and looking like a poetry major. But the second the sleeves roll up? Oh. My. God. Veins for DAYS, hands strong enough to snap a wand in half (or your will to argue).

He doesn’t work out. Like, ever. He’s just naturally like this. Probably from lugging around all those dark magic books and the emotional weight of his trauma (we love a man with issues!).

(He could choke you with one hand while quoting Dante and your ghost would thank him. RESPECTFULLY!)

Has that sleepy, “don’t bother me, I’m too cool for this” kind of vibe. Until he’s pissed, and suddenly it’s quiet rage central. A single glare from him could silence an entire Great Hall—and probably has.

His abs? Unfair. They’re there, but in the casual, effortless way that makes you want to cry because why do they look that good without trying? If you’re lucky enough to see him shirtless (bless your soul), you’ll be rethinking your life decisions.

Quidditch player energy without ever actually playing. His thing? Sitting in the stands, sipping black coffee, and judging everyone while looking hot.

"YOU WANNA KNOW IF I’D FOLLOW THEODORE INTO A CURSED FOREST AT MIDNIGHT JUST BECAUSE HE SAID SO??? THE ANSWER IS YES. I’D GO, NO QUESTIONS ASKED."

You think he’s calm and controlled until you see him in a duel, and suddenly he’s throwing hexes like he’s possessed. It’s giving “do-not-poke-the-bear” energy, and it’s hot.

His smirk? Criminal. It’s the kind of smirk that makes you forget how to breathe for a second and then hate yourself because he definitely knows the effect it has on people.

“Mia cara,” he says, and you’re done for. No wand needed. He just obliterated your whole existence.

Theodore Nott | Personality

He’s quiet, but it’s that kind of quiet. The "I could verbally destroy you with a single sentence but choose not to because I have better things to do" kind of quiet.

(WE LOVE A MAN WITH RESTRAINED CHAOS!!! IT’S SO SEXY!!!)

His reputation is split down the middle. People either think he’s the chillest guy in Slytherin or they’re low-key terrified of him. There is no in-between. He doesn’t go out of his way to make people uncomfortable, but if you catch his bad side? RIP to you, my friend.

Very composed most of the time, but don’t mistake that for softness. Theo doesn’t raise his voice; he raises his eyebrow. And somehow, that’s worse.

"You really thought that was a good idea? Cute."

Stone-cold when it comes to confrontations. No yelling, no theatrics—just a quiet menace that makes you wish he’d scream at you instead because this is SO MUCH WORSE.

However, if it’s for his friends? Oh, baby, the gloves come off. Someone messes with Mattheo? He’s done. Someone insults you? They’re not showing up to class tomorrow. He’s terrifyingly efficient when it comes to protecting the people he loves.

Doesn’t talk a lot in fights, but his insults are cutting when they come out. And he does it with a smirk that makes you want to both slap him and kiss him.

"What’s the matter? Spellbook too heavy for you? Or is it just that your brain isn’t working?"

Unlike Mattheo, he doesn’t get in trouble for starting fights. Oh no, Theo’s the one who talks his way out of detention, leaving the professors wondering how they ended up apologizing to him.

Let’s be real, Theo has layers. He’s the kind of guy who looks calm and put together on the outside, but his mind? A mess. Overthinks everything, but you’ll never know it because he’s mastered the art of hiding his emotions. (He’s good at this, but it’s also probably why he sleeps like four hours a night.)

Moody, but in a subtle way. You’ll notice when he’s upset because he’ll get even quieter, or start tapping his fingers on the table. He’s not the type to vent about it—he’ll just say “it’s nothing” while his jaw clenches so hard you swear you hear it crack.

Theo loves order. He’s a perfectionist and gets mildly stressed when things don’t go according to plan. He doesn’t lose his temper, though—he just sighs dramatically and mutters something in Italian like "Per l’amor del cielo..."

(BILINGUAL KINGS ARE UNFAIR. WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE CAN INSULT ME IN TWO LANGUAGES?)

A total academic weapon. Not because he tries super hard, but because he’s just naturally brilliant and does the bare minimum to get top marks. He can explain a spell you’ve been struggling with for days in five seconds flat, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Always looks like he’s in control, but put him in social situations? Total disaster. Theo’s not awkward, but he doesn’t do small talk. Half the time, he just nods politely and hopes whoever’s talking gets the hint.

Has the driest sense of humor. He’ll drop a sarcastic one-liner so deadpan you’re not even sure if he’s joking.

"I think your essay was… bold. Choosing to write it in such a confusing way must’ve been a creative choice."

Drinks coffee like it’s water. Black coffee, of course. None of that sugary stuff, though he secretly loves when you make him try your sweet drink.

Doesn’t like parties but goes because the group makes him. He’s the guy sitting on the couch, watching everyone else make fools of themselves while holding a drink he hasn’t touched. (He’s your ride home because you know he’s always sober enough to apparate responsibly.)

Theodore Nott | Boyfriend

Ah, Theodore Nott, the walking paradox of calculated charm and quiet vulnerability. Having him as your boyfriend is like playing chess against a master—except the stakes are your heart, and he already has you in checkmate before you even realize the game started.

Manipulation, Thy Name is Theo:Theodore isn’t one to beg for your love; oh no, he’s too smooth for that. Instead, he’ll make sure you think choosing him was your idea all along.

He’ll subtly nudge you into needing him.

He anticipates your desires before you even say them aloud:

"Thirsty? I grabbed your favorite drink. Tired? Don’t worry, I already finished that essay you were stressing about."

He’s not loud about his possessiveness, but it’s there. You don’t realize it at first, but suddenly, every other guy who tries to get too close to you is either giving you a wide berth or “just happened” to fail their next exam. Coincidence? With Theo, nothing is a coincidence.

(We love a man who’s low-key terrifying but only in a protective way!)

How He Realized He Was in Love:Theo didn’t believe in love. Love was messy, uncontrollable, and entirely too risky for someone who thrived on precision and control. But then you came along, and everything changed.

It was slow at first. He didn’t notice it happening until one day, you smiled at him across the library, and he felt his carefully constructed walls crack.

And then it hit him.

“Merlin, I’m in love with her.”

Of course, Theo didn’t panic outwardly. No, he spent the next week internally spiraling.

"What does this mean?"

"What if she doesn’t feel the same way?"

"How do I tell her without sounding like an idiot?"

Eventually, he decided that subtlety was overrated. One evening, while you were sitting in his dorm, flipping through one of his books, he just said it.

"I love you."

You froze, unsure if you heard him correctly. He didn’t look away, his intense gaze pinning you in place.

"You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know."

Affection, Theo Style:Theo isn’t flashy or over-the-top, but he’s deeply romantic in his own way.

Words of Praise: He’s a master of compliments that don’t feel like compliments until you think about them later.

"You’re too brilliant for this school, you know that?""How do you manage to look stunning even when you’re furious with me?""You’re the only person who’s ever managed to make me lose focus, mia cara."

Subtle Acts of Service: He’s always doing things for you without making a big deal out of it. Your favorite quill broke? There’s a new one on your desk the next day. You’re stressed about a test? He’ll quiz you until you feel confident (and then reward you with a kiss for every right answer).

The Praise Kink Is Real, Babe:Theo doesn’t just praise you to make you feel good. He needs you to know how much he adores you. Whether it’s your intelligence, your kindness, or just the way you look in his sweater, he’s always quick to remind you of your worth.

"You’re too good for me, you know that?" he murmurs against your ear, his hand resting on your hip. "But don’t think for a second I’ll ever let you go."

(Is it hot in here or is it just Theo?)

The Possessiveness Comes Out in Subtle Ways:

At parties, his hand is always resting somewhere on you—your lower back, your shoulder, your thigh. A quiet signal to everyone else: She’s mine.

If someone flirts with you, he doesn’t cause a scene. Instead, he’ll step in with that dangerously calm demeanor, his words laced with thinly veiled threats.

"I believe you’re in my seat." Translation: Touch her again, and you’ll regret it.

Theodore, the Unexpected Softie:For someone so composed, Theo is surprisingly soft when it’s just the two of you.

He loves curling up with you on the couch, one arm draped over your shoulders while he reads aloud from a book he thinks you’d enjoy.

Sleeps with one hand always touching you—your waist, your hand, your hair. It’s the only time he truly relaxes.

Occasionally whispers “I don’t deserve you” when he thinks you’re asleep.

Having Theo as a boyfriend is a rollercoaster of intensity and tenderness. He’s the type to protect you from the world while also making you feel like you’re the center of his universe. And honestly? We’d ride that roller coaster over and over again.

Theodore Nott | Obsessive Devotion

If Mattheo is chaos in bed, Theodore is calculated destruction. Theo doesn’t rush—no, he takes his time. He knows every move, every word, every touch is designed to drive you absolutely insane.

The Slow Burn King:Theo isn’t just about getting you off; he’s about making you beg. He’s not the type to drag you into the nearest broom closet and go at it like a madman. No, Theo prefers to let the tension build—catching your eye across the library with a smirk, his hand brushing yours during dinner, leaning in close to whisper something sinful in your ear when no one else is looking.

"You’re squirming, mia cara. Tell me, what’s on your mind?"

Possessive but Polished:He loves control—holding you still with a firm grip while his mouth works wonders between your thighs. Theo thrives on the sound of your moans and whimpers, each one a confirmation that you belong to him.

But don’t get it twisted: his possessiveness is refined. He’s not shouting it from the rooftops; instead, he’s branding it into your skin with every kiss, every bite, every low growl of, “Mine.”

(We love a man who can ruin our lives with just one look.)

Praise You Like a Goddess:Theo is the king of praise. He’s not subtle about how much he worships you, and he makes sure you know it.

"You’re so perfect, amore mio. I could stay like this forever, just watching you fall apart for me."

He’ll kiss every inch of your skin like it’s holy ground. He’ll tell you how beautiful you are when you’re flushed, trembling, and completely at his mercy.

And if you praise him back? Game over. Tell him he’s a good boy, and suddenly you’ve unlocked the most obedient, eager-to-please version of Theo. He’ll do anything to hear you say it again.

Control with a Dash of Chaos:Theo’s not loud, but his intensity is deafening. He thrives on being in control, but sometimes he loves to break his own rules. If you push him just enough—maybe tease him in public or drag him into a forbidden situation—he’ll snap in the most delicious way.

"You think you can play games with me? Let me show you how this ends, bella."

Experimentation, but Make It Sophisticated:Theo isn’t one to dive into wild kinks without purpose, but he’s creative when it comes to trying new things.

Silk ties? Check.

Blindfolds? Of course.

Whispering Latin endearments in your ear while he has you completely at his mercy? A standard Tuesday night.

And don’t get me started on the way he uses his fingers—this man could write symphonies with how skillfully he plays your body like an instrument.

Stamina for Days:Don’t let his cool demeanor fool you—Theo can and will go for hours. He has the patience to draw out every moment until you’re gasping and begging for release, and then he’ll do it all over again.

"Oh no, dolcezza. We’re not finished yet. Not until I’ve had my fill of you."

Switch Theo = UNLOCKED:Normally, Theo’s the one in control, but when you take charge? When you straddle his hips, grip his jaw, and order him to behave? He’s putty in your hands.

"Tell me what you want, bella. Anything—it’s yours."

And the best part? He loves it. Watching you take what you want from him, hearing you praise him as he falls apart under your touch—it’s enough to drive him to the brink every single time.

In Private, He’s All Yours:While Theo keeps his emotions tightly guarded in public, behind closed doors, he’s all in. He loves to hold you afterward, running his fingers through your hair and whispering sweet nothings as you both come down from the high.

"You’re everything, you know that? My whole world."

Having Theodore Nott as a lover is like being the muse of a masterpiece—every touch, every word, every moment is designed to make you feel like the most desired person on the planet. And honestly? We’re not complaining

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

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silkentine · 7 months ago

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All I could think while drawing Nami was, “Wouldn’t you like to know, weatherboy?” And, of course, with Robin I was thinking, “save a horse… 🥵”

Design Notes and other opining below the cut:

For Nami, I wanted to go for a mix of cocky Jersey mafia newbie and surfer boy. I like to think that some of the horrendous outfit choices that Sanji makes (especially in the movies) were actually picked out by Nami. She’s the shopper!!! But yeah, the vibrant swim trunks and graphic tees just scream Nami. I also wanted to put him in a wetsuit/rash guard because I think that’s a sexy look so sue me if you hate it. You cannot argue with me that Nami doesn’t wear swimsuits as clothes.

He’s toned but not as muscular as Robin or Luffy (for example) because he isn’t a front-line fighter, I want him to maintain the same kind of role that Nami has in the animanga. He’s the best navigator in the world!! I couldn’t decide if I wanted to change the violent tendencies that Nami has, but ultimately I think he’d still give the more deserving members of the crew a healthy wallop (although I might portray it more cartoonishly). Boy Piece!Nami still grew up under Arlong’s authority so he spent a lot of his childhood walking on eggshells to protect his village and his brother, Nojiko, so I think he never really got to learn “you’re not supposed to hit people just because they frustrate you” lesson. I gave him a shark-tooth necklace because surely Arlong had a few loose teeth to spare once Luffy took her down. Victory spoils LOL

If he can get the girls to stop wrestling and sit down quietly for a while, he likes to host card games (with betting, of course) or watch the clouds while sipping whatever fruity cocktail Sanji whips up. I believe that Canon!Nami is a total lesbian, and I can’t possibly envision a Nami who doesn’t like women so Boy Piece!Nami is bi. I am, of course, a Namivivi truther and Vivi is also a man in this AU. I don’t hate Sanami within this dynamic though… lots to think about.

Okay!!! All-shipper mindset aside, let’s talk Robin. I gave him long hair because 1) it’s hot and 2) I think it makes him look like Dragon. Yeahhh, I subscribe to the Luffy and Robin are half-siblings theory because I think it’s funny and makes some sense. Crocodile is 100% Luffy’s Mom in this AU and I think Robin knows it LOL

For his outfits, I wanted to lean a bit more Indiana Jones where I could; he’s still primarily cowboy inspired though. For the main look, I went with the Skypeia color palette hehe, I think Robin looks good in yellow. I did some flower-petal shaped color blocking on his chaps because I think it’s cute and subtle. I really love that the powers of the Hana-Hana-no-mi are like… unexpected for a “flower flower” fruit and I think Robin would be more aware that juxtaposition as a guy. You might also be wondering about the gloves and I initially just had it for his cowboy look but I decided to put them on all the outfits up until the events of Enies Lobby. Canon!Robin has a really difficult childhood and I think it’s exacerbated by the fact that she’s a girl on her own. If Robin was a boy, he’d probably have an easier time living on his own but would be a lot less emotionally open. All of these elements combine to make him want that physical barrier between his real hands and the world. Once he can trust that the Strawhats will always be there for him, he’s more willing to be more physically open.

I also think it’d be cute if he was much more of a coffee drinker :3c I see Canon!Robin as a connoisseur who likes a well-brewed espresso but Boy Piece!Robin needs a cup of joe (no matter its quality) every chance he can get. So I drew him with his special #1 ARCHAEOLOGIST mug.

It would make me so happy if you left your thoughts in the tags or replies!! Even if you hate everything about them, I just really like engagement hahaha. I’m thinking girl Usopp is next despite the poll results because she’s on my mind rn (don’t hold me to this, LOL I’m fickle). I’m making these for fun so I just wanna make designs in the order that interests me the most. Check out the tag “girl piece” on my blog to see all the genderbends I have so far. And happy pride!!!

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bohemianblasphemy · 2 months ago

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MGG prompt. 🥺 Reid’s favorite holiday is Halloween and he’s disappointed when his plans fall through for the evening so you invite him to hand out candy at your house, and once he arrives he’s very into your Halloween costume, and you end up not passing out any candy. 😉😉

I love me some Spencer Reid 🥺✨ spooky smut coming your way!!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Contains: Unprotected sex, Spencer fucking you in your costume, Reader receiving oral, fishnet ripping… fun stuff!

“What do you mean you’re not doing Halloween this year?” You were shocked, leaning over Spencer’s desk as he was sitting in his chair.

“My plans fell through… so it’s just sit in my apartment and watch some horror movies that night.” Spencer shrugged, but you could see the disappointment behind his expression. He LOVED Halloween- come October and it was the only thing he’d talk about. You hated seeing him sad, especially during his favourite time of the year.

“Hey, I have an idea.” You said, the cogs in your head turning.

“Come over to mine… we can dress up and hand out candy, watch some scary movies. I don’t want you to be alone…” you said softly, hoping that he would take you up on your offer.

Spencer’s eyes had a spark of excitement from your offer- not only because of Halloween but also because he could spend time with you.

“Y-yeah! I’d like that a lot…” he gave you that goofy smile he always gave when he was excited, making your heart flutter at the sight.

“Great! I’ll um… text you the address, you gotta wear a costume though… or you’re not being let in.” You teased, making him fidget in his seat.

“Oh I will be, don’t you worry.”

- - -

The few days to Halloween rolled by as Spencer and yourself had finalised your plans for that night.

You stood at your bathroom mirror, applying the final touches to your makeup - the pink and blue eyeshadow blended to perfection, bringing your elvira costume together with the tall wig and long black dress that showed off your curves perfectly.

The timing was impeccable as you heard the doorbell buzzing, your favourite boy genius had arrived on time. You eagerly made your way towards the door, opening it to see Spencer… in normal clothing.

“Spencer I told you to dress up!” You said to him, a bit of disappointment in your voice. “What do you mean? I am dressed up…” Spencer smoothed over his shirt.

“I’m an existentialist.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you couldn’t help but laugh. He was such a dork, but you couldn’t help but admire him for it.

“Besides, it looks like you’re the star of our Halloween night…” Spencer smiled softly, his eyes running over you as he admired your costume.

The soft blush on your cheeks was undeniable, smiling sweetly at him. “Thanks Spence… come in.” You pulled the door open wider, watching him walk inside and take in the surroundings of your home.

He saw the giant bowl of candy, meant for any trick or treaters who were to pass by the house but couldn’t help but take a piece for himself.

“Got a lot to choose from…” he smiled as he unwrapped the piece of candy, putting it in his mouth and chewing slowly.

Smiling at him, you nodded. “Whoever comes to the door is gonna have a hard time choosing…”

There was undoubtedly tension between you both, you had no problems speaking when you were at work together but now? The air was just full of unspoken feelings and longing…

“Uhm… i have some movies that we can watch, if you’re wanting to watch something…” you turned around, trying to break the silence that surrounded you both.

“I have Halloween, The Lost Boys, Scream, The Thing- take your pick.” You handed him the DVDS that you had in your hand, he takes them and momentarily grazes his fingers on yours, making the flush on your cheeks burn brighter as you watch him go through the selection of movies.

“The Lost Boys first?” He grinned, seeing the smile on your face.

“My favourite… yes let’s do it.”

The doorbell rang, hearing a muffled “trick or treat!” From behind the wood.

“I’ll get the door… you pop the movie in yeah?” You looked to him as you grabbed the candy bowl.

“Yeah of course.” He looked as you turned around, admiring the way that you looked in your costume as you answered the door to the trick or treaters.

In that time you took handing out candy and closed the door, Spencer had taken a seat on your couch ready to watch the movie, waiting for you to come sit beside him.

Upon your return, Spencer smiled up at you as you sat down. Ready to watch as he pressed play.

The movie plays, the title card with the aerial shot of the carnival in Santa Carla is in view and you focus on the screen- Spencer, trying to get avert his eyes to the screen was looking at you, he couldn’t get over how you looked in that outfit…

He felt bad for not watching the movie, but he enjoyed watching you. He could see the excitement in your eyes as the vampires on their bikes driving off through the sandy dunes and smiled softly at your reactions.

You could feel his eyes on you, knowing that he wasn’t paying attention- but you couldn’t help but love that he was watching you instead of the movie.

You turned to face him, A dash of confidence building up inside you.

“Spence?” You whispered, locking eye contact with him.

Spencer’s eyes went wide and he swallowed hard.

“I-I um…” he stuttered, not being able to look you in the eye. His nervousness settling in as he looked toward his lap.

Using your index finger you pulled his chin up, making him look at you.

“Do you like what you see Spence?” You whisper, your sweet tone sending a shiver down his spine.

Of course he did, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you in your costume.

“Yes…” he whispered, watching you move closer toward him. The gap between you both was agonisingly thin, his pupils blown with desire for you.

Leaning in further, you could feel his shallow, shaky breaths on your lips- feeling his needy desire for you buzzing off of him.

“Do you want this? Do you want me?” You said quietly, smiling at the hitch in his throat.

“Yes… god yes.” He whined, there was nothing in that moment that he wanted more than to have you… to take you.

Taking that opportunity, you moved forward and captured his lips with yours, tasting the lingering candy on his tongue.

Spencer couldn’t help the soft moan that came from within him as you kissed, his slender fingers coming up to your cheek but pausing within an inch of you.

“Can I touch you?” He asked, watching as you nodded. He pulled you into him, his other arm snaking around you and holding you closer as he kissed you once more.

Your hands reached his chest, slowly unbutton his shirt and splaying it open to reveal his torso.

“Pretty boy…” you praised him as you pulled away from his kiss; watching his chest rise and fall shakily at your touch as your fingers ghosted along his warm skin toward the button of his pants, a tent evidently filled the space in front of his zipper.

“W-wait-“ he panted, gently taking your wrist. Leaning forward he encapsulated your lips again. “I-I need to taste you, please.” Spencer’s voice was yearning.

“Hmm…” you replied, a smirk appearing on your lips. “I think that can be arranged.” Spencer watched as you stood up, extending your hand to him.

Taking your hand, he followed you down the hallway to your room. Closing the door behind you Spencer took your waist, walking you backwards to the edge of the bed and lay you down- splayed out for him as your split of your black dress bared your fishnet clad legs.

Spencer looked down at you, in awe of how beautiful he thought you looked in your outfit as he sat down on his knees by the edge of the bed.

His long fingers traced along your thighs, feeling the flimsy material of the tights. He took his bottom lip between his teeth, hands tracing further up your legs to your pelvis.

With a shaky breath, he traced lightly along the front of you- your body quivering for more.

“Can I?” He whispered, looking up at you for permission. After seeing you nod, he didn’t hesitate to dig his fingers in the tights, ripping them open to reveal what lay beneath them making you gasp.

“Spence those were my good ones…” you giggled softly. “I’ll buy you another- fuck I’ll buy you 10 pairs… they look so good.” He praised you, moving closer to where you wanted him most.

So beautiful.” Spencer was in awe as he played with the elastic of your underwear and pulling it to the side, admiring your glistening cunt.

Placing a few kisses to your thighs, he traces his lips up to your pussy- flattening his tongue against you before bringing the tip of it to your clit, swirling around the sensitive nub.

The taste of you was going to be the death of him, moaning at how good it felt- something he could never get enough of.

“Spence….” You breathed out, your hands reaching for his brown hair and pulling at them- eliciting a sudden moan from him as he continued his assault with his tongue.

Your noises filled the room, each going an octave higher as he you reached your peak, the grip on his hair getting tighter as you came hard on his lips and tongue.

Spencer looked up at you, his lips wet with your desire and his eyes filled with want.

Your eyes followed him as he stood up. Starting to fiddle with the button of his pants and letting them fall to the ground at his feet, leaving him in his briefs.

All you could do was stare- your eyes raking over his form, seeing the tent that had formed under his briefs.

He watched your eyes and smirked slightly as he toyed with the elastic, hooking his thumbs under the material and pulling them down setting himself free.

Him standing bare before you was a sight for sore eyes. “God Spencer…” you whispered, admiring him as you went to take off your costume- but he objected.

“Leave it on… please.” He pleaded. “I wanna take you like this…” he said shyly as he took a step over to you and crawled on top the sheets, hovering over you.

He looked over you, seeing you eye him from below in awe- the yearning to feel you overwhelming as he positioned himself at your entrance, teasing you with his tip.

“C-can I?” He whispered, his face coming down a few inches from you as you nodded enthusiastically. “Yes Spencer, please…”

Slowly and steadily, he started to move himself inside you- a gasp falling from his lips he moved his hips, listening and watching as your mouth fell open; the most heavenly sound that has ever hit his ears falling from your lips- calling his name and your fingers digging into his shoulders.

His thrusts became faster, more desperate. The eagerness to please you, to feel you- to make you cum the only goal on his mind.

“I-is this good? Please tell me it feels good-“ he was panting, desperate to hear you praise him. “Sp-Spence you feel so good- so good f’me…” you couldn’t help the shuddering words that came out, ecstasy building up in your core.

A small whimper rolled out of Spencer at your praise, whining as he continued rolling his hips into yours. The pressure of his orgasm was building up inside him quickly.

“I-I’m not gonna last.” He whispered, another whine following his words.

“Let go Spencer, please…”

Spencer’s thrusts became more erratic as he watched you fall over the edge- calling out his name as you came hard around him, clenching yourself around his cock.

His breathing became jagged as he felt himself twitch inside you, his orgasm hitting him like a tidal wave as his cum coated your walls.

“God you’re- you’re so beautiful, so perfect…” he watched as you glanced up at him with half lidded eyes and parted lips that had messy red lipstick all over them, basking in the after glow. His hair stuck to his temples, making you giggle as you unstuck it from his head. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted that, wanted you…” you smiled, touching his cheek gently as though he was made of glass.

Spencer leaned into your touch, his pupils blown with admiration. “Me too…”

There was a silence between you both, before he piped up once more.

“Definitely the best Halloween I’ve had.” He smiled at his own sentence, making you giggle as he lay down beside you- giving soft touches as he held you close- content with being there in that moment with you.

#Spencer Reid #criminal minds #Spencer Reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #Spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds smut #matthew gray gubler #mgg #matthew gray gubler smut

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