#i'm sorry i know the fic is sad and this is not but

[keikikait]

ʙᴀʙʏ ʙʟᴜᴇ (ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!f!reader, (not au, both are early to mid 20s)

word count: 4.8k

summary: you're just one of his many conquests, so why does he need you?

warnings: ANGST, friends with benefits, mild yearning/pining, rafe cannot handle his emotions, ward mention, slight jealous!reader, not proofread

a note: idk if i ate. i'm sorry that it's a little short. :( also, my stalker!rafe fic needs SERIOUS work, so i decided to upload this instead. i am very unhappy with it.

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

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Sometimes you think you aren’t meant to be loved. 

It’s almost comical, the way you just sit there and take it. The way you let him walk all over you, taking bites out of you just to toss you aside for later. He cut off slices of you when he needed, never taking the full thing. Always little samples, just to keep you hooked. He would chew you up and spit you out, and you would always come crawling back.

You watch as Rafe dresses himself, eyes landing on his ass as he pulls up his boxers. He always dresses so quickly, not even handing you a towel as he paces around your room, gathering his things. At first, you thought he just didn’t like your apartment. You were a Pogue, after all, even though you were lucky enough to move to a nicer area of The Cut. You spent a lot of time redecorating, trying to make it a little bit nicer. A little bit cleaner. Anything to get him to stay.

Your apartment was small. Cozy. Quaint. 

It reeks of you. And that’s why Rafe won’t stay.

Rafe turns around, catching your eye. He can’t help the small smile that stretches across his lips as he pulls his jeans on. “Admiring the view?”

“For as long as I can.” You say.

Your response surprises him, and his eyes widen just slightly. He stares for a moment, unsure of how to respond. He clears his throat, breaking eye contact. “You’re too sweet for your own good.” He mutters, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling his socks on.

“I wish you would stay.” You mumble, aching to reach out and touch him. But you don’t.

“I know you do,” Rafe sighs, tying his shoes on. “But I can’t, sweetheart. You know that.”

“I do.” Your voice is soft.

“So why do you keep asking me to stay?” It comes out angrier than he intended. But maybe you needed that.

“I…” You swallow hard. “I don’t know.”

“My answers always no. Why do you keep askin’?” Rafe stands, grabbing his wallet and keys off of the bedside table. “Shit’s starting to piss me off.”

“I’m sorry.” You say, sitting up, holding the duvet to your chest. You feel like you’re always telling him that. 

“Quit being sorry. Just stop fucking asking it,” He turns to face you. “Jesus. It’s not that hard.”

You don’t know what to say. You nod, looking down.

Rafe sighs, running a hand through his hair. He can’t deny, he loves when you look like that. Sad. Vulnerable. It drives him wild. His gaze lands on your neck, bruised and marked by his teeth. Possession looks good on you, He often thinks. 

But that was it. He could only take so much of your submission. He couldn’t take you asking him to stay, too.

“I won’t ask again.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, still avoiding his gaze.

His jaw tightens and he stares at you. He wants to take you and claim you. To show you were his, and only his. But he didn’t want to keep you. Why would he? “Good.” Rafe walks around the bed and stands in front of you. He reaches out, grabbing your chin and forcing it up. “And look at me when I’m talking to you.”

You nod, looking up at him, mascara still smeared on your under eyes. 

Rafe studies your face. God, you always looked so beautiful like this. Broken and upset. The sight had him wanting to take and claim you all over again. But the look of submission in your eyes makes him want to push you even more. “You look pretty like this.” He murmurs, pushing your neck to the side and looking at the hickeys on your neck. “It suits you.”

“Thank you.” You say, although you don’t like it. You didn’t like this version of you, the pathetic girl who would do anything and everything for one iota of his attention; but it got him into your arms, so that’s really all that matters.

“I wonder why that is? Why you look so pretty when you’re crying?” His fingers lightly trace over your collarbone, sending a shiver down your spine. He knows that it doesn’t matter whether you like it or not. You were addicted to him, craving his attention more than you craved anything else. You’d take whatever he gave you. That was the only thing Rafe loved about you.

“Because my lips get all pouty, and my eyes get all red?” You guess, resisting the urge to lean into his palm.

Rafe almost laughs at your answer. It was cute. “Hmm,” He runs his thumb over your bottom lip, gently brushing them. “Yeah, probably.” His eyes meet yours, staring at your face. You were so easy to break. So easy to control. You’d let him do whatever he wanted, no fight or protest. Just endless submission. It was addicting.

You’re getting restless. “Have any plans today?”

Rafe’s hand falls from your face, and his jaw tightens. You always did this. You always try to make small talk, try to create some type of emotional connection between you, even though you knew deep down that he didn't give a shit about you or about your day. “Yeah. I do.” He picks his jacket up from the bed. “Have to go visit my dad's lawyer. Then I’m meeting some friends.”

“That sounds fun,” You say, although meeting with Ward’s lawyer must have something to do with life insurance. “Uh, being with your friends later, I mean.”

“Yeah.” He mutters, shrugging his jacket on. He grabs his keys from the bedside table and glances at you. It’s hard, watching you try to connect to him. He knows that you want more than this. You want to be his girlfriend. You want the world to know you’re his. 

But that couldn’t happen. And you knew that.

“Are you, um…” You shift on the bed, the duvet falling just a little bit. “Are you gonna come back over tonight?”

Rafe glances at you, eyes falling to the duvet. God, he loved how you were always trying to keep him around. He loved watching you try and fail to keep his attention. He lets out a deep breath, running a hand over his buzzed head. “Do you want me to?” He already knows your answer.

“Only if you want to,” You say, trying to not come across as even clingier than you already are. “You know my door’s always open for you.”

He sighs and rolls his eyes. You were always so predictable. So needy. So willing. He starts to wonder when he'll get sick of it. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” He grunts, picking his phone up off of the bedside table and shoving it in his pocket. “I don’t know yet. Might be with Sofia tonight.”

Your soft smile drops, just for a second, and you hope Rafe doesn’t notice.

Sofia.

Sofia?

Who the hell is Sofia?

You knew everyone he hung out with. Every girl. You had tabs on all of them, shamefully. You didn’t know who the hell Sofia was. Had you missed someone? How had she managed to slip through the cracks?

Under the covers, you dig your nails into your thigh. You had to act casual, as normal as you could be. You were always treading thin ice with him, and you couldn’t risk losing him over this. Your smile returns and you give him a nod. “Cool. Just text me.”

Rafe watches as your smile falters for a moment. He knows it. He knows that you’re jealous. There was no way that you weren't. It didn’t take much to make you jealous. He could make one passing comment about a girl, and you’d spend the rest of the day worrying, wondering who she was. That's why he brought up Sofia, and why he always mentions his other girls to you. Something about the idea of you laying in bed, terrified and anxious to lose him, really excited him.

He smirks as you quickly regain composure, knowing that he got to you. “Yeah. I’ll text you.” He says, turning to leave.

“Drive safe.” You say.

He stops as he stands in the doorway. Something about you telling him to drive safe always made him… feel guilty. It was that damn softness you always had and used against him. He glances at you over his shoulder, swallowing whatever sentiment he was feeling. “Sure thing, sweetheart.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ��──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You hate Sofia.

After a bit of sleuthing, logged into one of your many burner accounts, you finally find her. She’s a Pogue, like you, and for some reason you find that it stings more. She’s gorgeous, absolutely beautiful, the sweetest girl around, and you fucking hate her.

Rafe had a roster. A rotation, the same few girls on repeat until he got bored, where he would swap a few out for fresh meat. You don’t know how you managed to stay on the roster for this long, but you weren’t complaining. Maybe Rafe thought you had another guy out there, filling your cunt and your bed when he was gone, but you didn’t. You’re too busy being Rafe’s to fall for somebody new.

You used to not care about the other girls. The more and more he mentioned them, though, you got curious. You started looking them up on Instagram, stalking their profile through burners and analysing every post. Every story. None of the girls ever looked like you. None of the girls were like you at all. Why did he like them, and why did he like you?

You wonder if he treats the other girls as poorly, or if in some twisted way, you’re special. You could handle being the only girl that Rafe treated like shit if that meant you stood out to him in some way. You wonder if he fills their necks with hickies, too, if he grips their hips too hard and leaves bruises, if he spanks them until his handprints form welts on your ass cheeks.

You hoped to God you were special.

You tried to distract yourself, running errands and tidying your apartment, but you kept thinking about him. About his stupid baby blue eyes, and his stupid pretty face, and his stupid hands and the way they felt around your neck. You didn’t want to be in love with Rafe fucking Cameron, but you feared you were already in too deep, and soon you would drown, falling below the surface, hand outstretched, hoping just this once that he would pull you up.

You sit on your bed, in the dark and the silence, staring at your phone, waiting for it to light up. Waiting for him to text you, to need you.

The hours pass. Midnight. One and two. Three. Before four o'clock rolls around, you still have nothing. You know that you should just give up and go to bed. He probably passed out at his friends’ place, too drunk and too tired to text you, but you keep telling yourself that he's just busy. That he's gonna wake up any moment now and shoot you a text. 

You're praying that something happens, that something keeps you up and keeps you waiting for those messages that you know he most likely won't send. You want him to finally fucking want you in the way that you want him. You didn’t like feeling this way, it wasn’t fun to constantly torture yourself, but is it not fun to feel many other ways? If it wasn’t Rafe, it would just be someone else. Another man, someone else’s son, reminding you that no matter how hard you try, you just aren’t meant to be loved.

Why don’t you do it for him? Why aren’t you enough to get him to stay?

You tap the screen, and it lights up. No new notifications.

“Shit.” You mumble, your hand retreating to your side.

You sigh and lay back, staring at the ceiling. Of course, he isn’t going to text you. Why would he? Why would he do that to you, when he never had before? This is exactly what you expected. This is exactly what he loves. Making you doubt, getting you jealous. It gets him off. It’s a game for him. You were his prey, and he was your predator. 

As you lay, staring at your ceiling, you hear three, quick knocks on your door.

At first, you think you’ve imagined them. You sit up, your feet sliding into your slippers as you pad into the living room. You stand there in silence, in the dark, only listening to your own breathing. You’re about to turn around when there’s another knock, this time loud and pounding against your door.

You cross the rest of the room, undoing the locks and opening the door.

Standing on your doorstep, of course, was Rafe, hands in his pockets as he stares you down. He seems… tired. He had dark circles under his eyes, probably from staying out late. He glances at you from behind those tired eyes, his gaze falling over your body. He’s taking note of the oversized t shirt you’re wearing, and how your hair is dishevelled and messier than it was before. He could tell you had been lying down. “Can I come in?”

Something's off, you can tell. He’s acting different, even though it’s just subtly. You watch him as he chews on his lip, an anxious habit he didn’t think you noticed. “What’s wrong?”

Rafe’s expression falters for a split second, before he quickly regains his composure. He was fine. Nothing was wrong. Except for the fact that you asked him that. He looks over you. “Nothing,” He responds, his voice harsh and biting. “I just wanted to see you. That’s all.”

You don’t believe him. He normally carries himself with intense confidence and gravitas, so much so it constantly inks into your lungs and chokes you, but this was different. He felt different. “Right.”

He swallows hard, shifting on his feet. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like the way you were looking at him. Concerned, like you cared. He glances away from you, sighing. “Can I come in?” He repeats his question, eyes flicking between you and your living room.

You nod, stepping aside and holding the door opening, flicking a light switch. One of your lamps turns on, casting a warm, soft glow over your living room.

Rafe strides into your apartment, immediately heading for your couch. Everything in your place was so damn cozy; the warm light, the soft couch, your scent lingering on every single inch of every single surface. He collapses back onto the couch, arms spread out and legs splayed. He runs a hand over his face, swallowing hard.

You sit next to him, and for a while, you two sit in a comfortable silence. You look over at him, pushing some hair behind your ears. Your voice is soft when you finally speak. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Rafe closes his eyes, sighing as you speak. He didn’t want to tell you about Ward. Not when you were like this, so gentle and caring. He was exhausted, to say the least. He was dealing with so much, all at once, and he didn't know what to do. Finally, he looks at you. In this lighting, with your hair messy and your eyes concerned, you looked even more like the sweet girl he always wished you were. Sweet and caring and loving. “Today was my dad's funeral.”

Your shoulders droop, and your eyes soften. You had no idea. He had only mentioned visiting his father’s lawyer to you yesterday morning. “Shit, I’m sorry, Rafe. I’m so sorry.”

Rafe almost groans. He loved you when you were soft, when you were sweet. He loved it more than he cared to admit, but right now he hated it. He hated it when you were this caring. It made him doubt everything. He glances at you, a lump in his throat. He hated when you looked at him that way. Because he knew that no matter what he did, you would always have that warmth in your eyes when you looked at him. You would always forgive him, no matter what he did.

Part of him wishes his dad could’ve met you.

You reach out and put your hand on his shoulder, trying not to overstep. Rafe stares down at your hand, so small in comparison to his shoulder. Something about it makes his chest tighten. It seems intimate, and he feels… safe. Safe with you. Which is a feeling he hasn't felt in God knows how long. 

His hand slowly lifts, his rough fingers wrapping around your wrist. He brings your hand to his face, cupping his cheek. Your thumb brushes over his cheek gently, back and forth.

God, the feeling of you touching him, comforting him, was too much. Your touch was too gentle and warm, and he hated that he wanted it. He hated the way his chest ached at the sight of your soft, kind expression. He had so many reasons he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be letting you touch him like this, and yet there was something inside of him, a small voice in the back of his mind, constantly begging him to please let you take care of him. “Can I ask you something?”

“‘Course.” You say softly. 

Rafe glances at you, eyes flicking between your hand and your face. God, he hated this. Your touch on his face, the tenderness in your voice, the look in your eyes. It was driving him absolutely insane. His eyes close, as if he was debating if he actually wanted to ask you this. “Am I poison? Am I poison in the water?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing.

He opens his eyes again, hand still holding yours to his cheek. He holds your gaze, eyes softening. He hated how vulnerable he was, and yet there was a small piece of him, buried deep inside, that needed it. He could tell you anything right now, and you wouldn't judge him. You would just listen. Care. “Do I… poison everything I touch? Am I the poison that kills everything?”

“No, of course not,” You move closer to him on the couch. “Why would you ask that?”

God, he could smell you, your perfume a subtle, sweet scent that was driving him crazy. He closes his eyes as you move closer, and his jaw tightens. This was insane; he wasn't weak, he wasn't vulnerable, he did not need you. But then again, the hand on yours on his face had yet to move. “Because,” his voice drops to a whisper. “I know that I'm a sick, twisted bastard. I know that I make others sick. I hurt everyone I care about.”

“Rafe, I will admit you aren’t exactly the nicest guy,” You swallow roughly, unsure of what to even say. “But you still have people that care about you. Your friends, your sisters. They know the real Rafe, the guy underneath all the aggression.”

He lets out a long, shaky breath. God, he hated this. He hated being vulnerable. He hated opening up to you, and seeing that look of concern in your eyes. He wants to run, to close you out, leave and forget this ever happened. He wants to go back to treating you like one of his conquests, instead of feeling like he wanted you to hold him. But for some reason, his mouth wasn't listening to his brain. “But what about you?”

“Of course, I care about you,” You say. “I thought that would at least be obvious.”

He had a thousand different replies on the tip of his tongue, but instead his mouth just opened and closed, words dying when they left his lips. Everything in his mind was screaming at him to get up and leave, but there was a deeper part of him, a small piece of himself that he kept buried inside, deep in the back of his mind, that kept whispering, telling him to sit. It was the part that kept his hand on your wrist. He swallows hard, looking away. “I wish my dad was still here.”

“I know,” You say softly. “I’m sorry.”

He felt his eyes begin to sting, something that only added to his frustration. Frustration at himself, for being pathetic enough to cry. Frustration at you, for making him weak enough to cry. Frustration at Ward, for leaving him and his sisters behind. He suddenly hated everything. He hated you. He hated himself. He hated Ward for leaving him with feelings, making him weak. “I don't even know why I came here,” He mutters through gritted teeth. “I just... I wish I could've been good enough for him. I tried to be good.”

“You don’t know how Ward truly felt about you, Rafe.” You say, stroking his cheekbone again.

He hated the way you were comforting him, hated the way you were so gentle with him. He was always on the defensive, on the attack, so when someone was soft with him... Well, the way his chest ached was proof that it was something he wasn't used to. He swallows hard, closing his eyes. “But I do. His actions spoke louder than his damn words ever did,” He chuckles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It's so stupid, you know, I... I used to pray I’d be like him, do everything that he did. And sometimes I still do.”

“That’s not stupid.” You say.

He lets his hand fall from your wrist, shaking his head. He hated talking about this, he hated admitting how much Ward’s death has messed him up. He didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to open up to anybody. The words leaving his lips, however, were not his own. “I hate that I don’t know if he was proud of me... I hate that I’ll never know if I did right by him.”

You remove your hand when he goes to cover his face. You watch him for a few moments, unsure of what to do, when you notice his shoulders shake. 

Is he crying?

Your eyes widen when you hear a sob rip through him, shoulders shaking up and down. “Hey, hey, Rafe, it’s okay. Don’t cry.”

He hated crying, absolutely hated it, but there he was, shoulders trembling, tears streaming down his cheeks. He couldn’t stop, no matter how hard he tried. “I’m not even- I…” His voice breaks, chest rattling. He lets out a long, shaky breath, shaking his head as he wipes away the tears from his cheeks. He couldn’t even look at you. He hated feeling so weak. Hated that you were seeing this side of him.

“It’s okay,” You put your arm around him, trying to hug him. “It’s okay--”

Rafe suddenly stands, pushing you back. “No. Don’t… don’t fucking pretend like you care.” He wipes his tears with the back of his hand, ashamed that he let Ward affect him this much. He was supposed to be strong. Powerful. Not weak.

“I’m not pretending.” You say, standing up.

His jaw tightens, his expression hardening into a sharp glare. God, he was tired of you, of your sweet words, of your gentle smiles. It was messing with his head, playing with his feelings. “Yeah, right.” He mutters, shaking his head. “You don’t care, don’t bullshit me.”

“Of course I care about you, Rafe,” You say, taking a step closer to him. “I… I lov--”

“No!” He suddenly snaps at you. He didn't want to hear that. He couldn't. “Don’t… don’t you dare,” You stare at him, confusion on your pretty little face, and it’s driving him fucking crazy. “Don’t. Don’t tell me. Keep that shit to yourself.”

You don’t know what to say, and you don’t want to upset him even more. You just nod, taking a step back.

He wanted to hit something. He wanted to break something. He hated the sight of that look on your face. The confusion, the worry, the disappointment. He didn’t understand. Why did you care? He didn’t deserve it, not one bit. What the hell did you think you’d get out of loving someone like him? That he’d love you back? That he’d change for you?

The silence is deafening. You want to say something, you just don’t know what. You take a shaky breath. “I’m here for you, Rafe. You know that. In any way you need me.”

“Why?” He asks suddenly, eyes meeting yours. “Why are you still here for me? Why do you care about me so goddamn much? Why can’t you just give up on me, like everyone else has?”

“Do I look like everyone else?” You ask.

Oh, but that was the problem. You were different. You were the only person in that damn town who was as sweet as you were patient. Who cared so god-damn much about someone so undeserving of that love. “Don’t you think I know that?” He asks, voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t you think it pisses me off that you are the way you are?”

“I just want you to be happy, Rafe, and if I can make you happy, I want to.” You say.

Why did you have to be so goddamn sweet? It was driving him mad, the way you stood there, so willing and eager to do whatever it took to help him. He let out a long, shaky breath, staring down at you. “It was different when you were just some girl I was hooking up with.” He says, shaking his head.

“I’m still that girl,” You insist. “Nothing has to change. We can go back to normal. Forget this ever happened.”

His eyes narrow as you speak. He hated that you said that, hated how willing you were to forget the fact that he cried in front of you, and yet he hated himself for the fact that he almost wanted to agree. “Really?” He asks, his voice sharp. “You’d just… forget this? Go back to letting me use you, like nothing happened?”

“If that’s what you want.” You say.

He hated the idea of that. The idea of going back to using you. Of treating you like trash when he knew that you cared so damn much. 

Part of him liked hurting you, like watching you fall apart at his hands. But it was the other side of him that hated how good it felt at first, hated the pit of shame in his chest that grew each time you begged him to stay, or cried while he left, or looked at him like he meant the world to you.

Part of him knew you deserved better.

Rafe sighs, looking away. “Fine. We forget about this.”

“Okay.” You say, nodding.

The fact that you didn't say anything, that you didn't fight back, made his chest ache. God, he hated this. He wanted to yell at you. Wanted to push you down, pin you to the couch, and make you cry out his name. He wanted you to ask him to stay, fight him to prove to him that you cared. He hated how your willingness to forget it all made him want to wrap his arms around you. He couldn't stay. He would do something risky, something that he would regret in the morning. He sniffles, wiping his eyes again. “I'm gonna go.”

You swallow thickly. “If you’re sure. My door is always open.”

“Yeah,” He replies, his voice hoarse. He hated that your gentleness, your sweetness, still managed to get to him. He steps closer to you. He wanted to touch you again. To feel your warm, soft skin against his palm. But he knew better. He knew that if he touched you, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. “Thanks for being there.” He mumbles, his voice cracking.

“Of course.” You smile softly.

He hates how your smile makes his chest ache, hates the tug it gives his heart. He hated how he cared about you, hated how he was so weak that he allowed himself to open up to you. And God, he hated how he was thinking about kissing your pretty, pouty lips. “I'll be back tomorrow night. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Rafe nods, licking his lips. He rocks back and forth on his feet before reaching out and cupping the back of your head, pressing his lips to your forehead. Enough to keep you hooked. “See you later, sweetheart.”

Your entire body is buzzing. “Drive safe.”

You’re still standing in the same spot when he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

And you will wait for the next time he wants you.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

blagh

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[pretty-little-mind33]

I just wanted to ask if you could make headcanons about being in a relationship with Pietro (I don't remember if I already asked for that, and I'm sorry if I did, I'm not rushing you 😭😭), and another one with Sergai? It doesn't matter if it takes a while, I totally understand, and thank you for all your fics, I love them 💖💖💖

~ i hope you like this, darling 🫶 been on a tiny bit of a writers block so this headcanon list was a good thing to write! ~

• with Pietro, friends to lovers is the only way!

• he has trouble with his feelings. he has trouble understanding them because he becomes overwhelmed and so in the beginning, it's difficult.

• plus, he has trauma so loving someone else is hard for him— he doesn't like the possibility of loosing you like he lost his parents.

• so being your friend, becoming your best friend, is the first step!

• his love language is physical touch and quality time! He always has to be touching you in some way (his hand in yours, playing with your hair…) and he loves planning days out around the city with you!

• Pietro is very loving and he's also funny. he adores making you laugh and he'd do anything in his power to make you laugh when you're sad or crying or hurt (to distract you from the pain).

• once he's your boyfriend, the quality time becomes more domestic. he tries less—and not in a bad way. he's comfortable just laying around, reading or watching a show, and it's as good as planning a whole day like he used to (he would get himself worked up, the poor boy).

• when he does take you on dates, he goes all out now! He knows all your favorite things because he is observant so he'll take you to your favorite restaurant unprompted!

• Pietro's favorite way to spoil you is by doing things for you! He's very in tune with your emotions once he'd finally dating you!

• he never forgets an anniversary or a birthday, although you're worried he does because he's always spacey and all over the place 🥺 but he keeps a calendar specifically for your events, nothing else lmao.

• you and Wanda being friends is VERY important.

• he adores you and teaches you how to say things in Sokovian! he always teaches you about his culture and his traditions. it would take a while for him to open up, but once he does he doesn't hold back.

• he trusts you easily and he isn't jealous. he hates when other men flirt with you, but he is never jealous because he knows you are his and his alone!

• he is very protective over you though! like no one hurts his girl. ever.

* * *

warnings: mentions of sex

• i think the courting before the relationship would be involuntary stalker-ish 😭

• like he's obsessed with you. he can smell you everywhere! maybe he met you when he was visiting his brother in London and he hasn't stopped thinking about you and only you.

• for the first few months you don't even meet him and yet he's just there—watching. making sure you're safe.

• he never does anything weird or breach your privacy in ways that would make you hate him, he's just like your guardian angel 😏

• when he does talk to you, you're instantly intrigued. he's rugged and handsome and unlike any man you've ever met. you like him.

• your relationship starts with sex. you bring him to your apartment and have intense, weirdly passionate for someone you just met, sex.

• when you wake up, he's gone. but eventually he comes back with a pastry from a nearby shop and your relationship starts.

• Sergei is good at reading you and knowing what you're feeling without you needing to speak or ask him. he just knows.

• he visits London more than necessary to spend time with you, letting you be the second person on his phone 🥺

• he waits to tell you what he does for work. he doesn't want to scare you or make you feel unsafe.

• you are safe. you always are with him.

• once you know and you accept him for who he is, Sergei is wrapped around your pinky until you let him go. he would do anything for you.

• he has trust issues so whenever he starts an argument, it's because he was feeling a little insecure and didn't know how to bring up his feelings. his father never let him.

• he's never violent with you but he does yell in the beginning. which scares you, so he quickly learns to leave for a walk to calm down instead.

• you promise him that you aren't leaving him. he loves words of affirmation. he needs them because he hasn't heard many of them from his father.

• he's very gentle with you normally, touching you as if you are something to be worshiped. which he does. he worships you.

• his love language is gift giving. whenever he is away, he will always brings you back a present from his home in the woods. and it's always thoughtful.

• he will teach you some words in Russian and call you pet names in Russian.

• eventually, he asks you to move in with him. you're unsure because living in the woods is scary and you are afraid you'll miss your friends and family.

• Sergei doesn't force you. he tells you you don't have to decide immediately but he really wishes you will. but he's not forceful. he gives you time and he waits.

• when you decide you want to live with him eventually. and you don't regret it. Sergei is very devoted to you (he is very protective over you, duh). he also brings you back to London wherever you want, no hesitation.

[kirain]

Your headcanon that Emmrich's right arm is always gloved because he has scars from when he tried to pull his parents out of a collapsed burning building is now OFFICIAL canon as far as I'm concerned. Can we please get a fic of Emmrich being self conscious about the scars? 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

Oh wow, thank you! 🥺 Here you go, anon!

The fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with an ominous orange glow that seemed to taunt Emmrich. Vae sat opposite of him, her hands resting in her lap as she waited. Though usually cheery and confident, Emmrich trembled ever so slightly, his head bowed as though the weight of the moment pressed heavily on his shoulders.

"All right," he whispered.

Vae reached out, her touch light as she took his gloved hand in hers. "I'll go slow," she said softly.

Despite her promise, Emmrich's breath hitched, his back tensing. As she began to slip off the ornate rings and bracelets that adorned his fingers and wrists with a gentle tug, his eyes squinted shut, his brow furrowed and twitching. When the last piece of jewelry fell into her palm, he flinched, and Vae paused, worry overtaking her curiosity.

Quickly, her hand moved to cup his cheek. "It's all right," she soothed, her thumb brushing against his skin. "You're all right."

His breathing steadied just enough for her to continue. Carefully, she removed the heavy bracer next, the worn leather scraping against the golden rim as it slid free.

"You're doing great," Vae praised as she set it down on the night stand. "We're almost there."

But when she reached for his glove, Emmrich suddenly pulled his arm away. "I'm sorry," he wheezed. "I can't."

Vae froze, her heart twisting at the anguish in his voice. His expression was one of shame, his face turning away from her. After a moment, she reached out again and guided him back.

"Emmrich," she said, her tone laden with compassion. "Look at me. Please." He hesitated, but opened his eyes to meet hers, the vulnerability in his gaze almost too much for her to bear. "I won't push you," she vowed. "But you need to know—nothing about you could ever disgust me."

He sighed deeply, shivering under the weight of his self-doubt. "The scars... they're unseemly," he warned, gripping his wrist so hard it caused Vae to wince. "It's already a miracle you want to be with an old codger like me. My body is—"

"Stop," Vae pressed, forcing a playful smirk. "You're in better shape than I am."

A weak chuckle escaped him, though it carried a deluge of sadness. For her, he was trying to push through, masking the pain beneath, but she realised the truth.

He wasn't ready.

"All right," she said, rising to her feet. "Let's get some dinner, then."

"Vae?"

"Sweetheart, I said I'm not going to push you. I never wanted to make you uncomfortable, but you clearly are." She gestured to the door without a hint of malice or disappointment. "I can wait, however long it takes. For tonight, let's forget this and have a nice—"

Before she took a step, Emmrich's hand shot out, grasping her wrist with surprising persistence. "Wait," he begged, his voice cracking.

She turned back, startled to find him glaring up at her with wide, pleading eyes.

"I'm sorry," he stammered, releasing his grip. "I do want to do this. It's just... I'm frightened it will change the way you see me."

Vae's expression softened, and she knelt before him, placing a tender hand on his knee. "Emmrich, do you really think so little of me?"

He froze, guilt flickering across his face. "What? No, of course not! I only meant—!"

His jaw clenched, the contradiction hitting him like a bolt of divine judgement. Vae was young, but she was a woman, and she had chosen to be with him—for better or worse. To assume she would leave him over his past, over some marred skin, was indeed an insult to her character.

But it wasn't true. He trusted her. However difficult, however loudly the voice in his head screamed that she'd recoil at the sight, he trusted her, and he wanted to prove it—even though he knew she'd never demand it. Slowly, he took a breath and offered his arm, the motion hesitant but resolute.

Vae gasped, staring up at him. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he whispered. "I'm sure."

"All right, then. Stop me, if it's too much for you."

With the utmost care, Vae began to unbutton the long glove, her fingers working indulgently until the fabric slipped free. What lay beneath made her heart ache: a web of burn scars stretched across the top of Emmrich's hand, climbing up and around his forearm. The angry, uneven texture spoke of unimaginable pain and resilience.

"Darling..."

There were so many things she wanted to say, but as the image of an innocent boy crying out for help flashed in her mind, all she could do was stare; not with disgust, but with sorrow for the suffering he had endured.

But Emmrich misunderstood her silence, and his incessant need to fill the quiet overwhelmed him. "It got pinned under debris," he explained, his voice shaking. "Burning rubble, when I tried to clear the wreckage for my parents. I know it's hideous. I have full mobility, but the epidermis never healed quite—"

Before he could finish, Vae leaned in and pressed her lips to the top of his discoloured knuckles. The simple act silenced him, his words catching in his throat.

When she pulled back, she hugged his arm to her chest, holding it like a precious artefact. "I love you, Emmrich," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Scars and all. They're a part of you, and they make you even more beautiful in my eyes."

He whimpered, then pulled her into a tight embrace, his scarred hand cradling her head. Though his reaction was unexpected, Vae smiled and leaned into his chest, her arms wrapping around him like a vice.

"Thank you," he sobbed, his scorched fingers quivering in her hair. "Thank you, my darling."

"You silly man," she moaned, her own eyes welling with tears. "You have nothing to thank me for."

In that moment, the pain Emmrich always seemed to feel disappeared, the weight lifted. His whole life, he'd seen those gruesome marks as a reminder of his failure, but Vae saw something else entirely.

A symbol of his devotion and bravery.

[suugarbabe]

mattheo riddle x reader

yap turned fic @musingsofahufflepuff <3

angsty, possibly another part will be added to it, who knows really.

Paired giggling across the common room had your eyes rolling for the umpteenth time. "Could they not do that somewhere else?" you tried to hide the venom in your voice, but Enzo could see right through it. "Careful, babes. Your green monster is showing its bits," he swats your hand away with a giggle as you go to hit him.

"I am not jealous," You crossed your arms with a scowl on your face. Enzo trapped his bottom lip between his teeth to hide his smile, "Yeah? Enlighten me then, what's so irritating about Mattheo and his new girlfriend."

You stared at Mattheo and the bimbo practically hanging on him. Didn't she have her own side of the couch she could occupy? you thought. You sat up straighter on the sofa, trying your best to configure a look that appeared more concerning than irritated. "He's just different when he's around her. Like someone I don't know."

Enzo's attention was peaked now, turning towards you to give you his full attention, "Oh pray tell, darling. Do give me more." You mirrored his position, trying to keep your voice as even as possible. "It's almost like he's regressing mentally around her. Its...frustrating. When he's messing around with us he's goofy. He banters, makes jokes with us that are actually funny. With us he talks about things he actually likes, he even appears brighter overall."

"And with Katherine?" Enzo raised his eyes as you mimicked a gagging sound, "Enz, please. Not her name." He couldn't stifle his laugh this time, "So sorry. Ahem...and with her?"

You smiled at his correction, "With her it's like his brain is turned off and she's replaced it with sludge." Enzo's laugh was boisterous, earning the looks of everyone in the common room, including Mattheo and his new dumb doll.

Mattheo was staring right at you, his head tilting in curiosity before Katherine grabbed hold of his chin to face her again with a sickening grin. You shoved Enzo successfully this time, him toppling over and catching himself on the armrest of the sofa, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. S'not my fault you're funny, babes."

You rolled your eyes, "Did you see how she just redirected his attention like..like.." Enzo nodded slowly, "Like his...girlfriend?" You threw your hands up in the air as you slid slightly down the sofa, "Don't say it likes it's so permanent."

"Like what's so permanent?" In the midst of your complaining discussion, Mattheo and his new shadow had made their way over to the both of you with her interrupting your conversation. "Oh, funny you should ask, we were just talking about y- fucking merlin, that hurt!" your elbow dug itself harshly into Enzo's ribs before he could say anything to incriminating.

You put on a sacchariferous smile, "Oh nothing you have to worry that empty head of yours about, sweetheart." Katherine tilted her head like a confused dog; Mattheo's eyes turned dark, "Why are you being such cunt?"

Immediately you were on your feet, "A cunt? I'm being a cunt? Fucking Salazar's sake, Matty, she's really turned you in to a right git, huh." Mattheo scoffed, "I'm a git? Oh that's rich, babes. Truly."

Katherine pulled on Mattheo's sleeve, "C'mon 'Teo, just leave it." You couldn't contain your laughter, "Teo?! Merlin, your little Gryffindor's really sunk her claws in deep and it's only been a few weeks." Mattheo took a step toward you, causing Enzo to step in-between, "Please, do we really have to do this right now?"

A hand on Mattheo's chest, her hand, pushed him back as she turned to look at you, "Jealously is a really ugly look for you, you know." You wen't to push around Enzo, him wrapping an arm around your middle to stop you from moving towards them, "Hey, you're no oil painting yourself!"

Enzo gave you a slight push back down onto the sofa, holding his hand out in front of you until Mattheo and his girlfriend disappeared towards the common rooms. Once they were out of sight he turned to you, hands outstretched at his sides. "Ehm, you gonna tell me what the bloody hell that was?"

You huffed with a pout, "She started it." Enzo crossed his arms not unlike a stern older brother despite him being younger than you, "She did not start anything. Let's reflect, yes? What was it you said to her? Something about not worrying her empty head?"

You glanced up to meet his eyes shyly, "S'not my fault she's daft." Enzo snorted, "Daft or not, Mattheo seemed pissed." You groaned, turning to lay fully on the sofa and draping an arm over your eyes. "Do me a favor, will you Enz?"

A sigh was your only indication that he heard you so you continued, "Can you get my bedding from the dorm and bring it out here to me?" Enzo's brows knitted together, "You're going to sleep out here?" You nodded, "I know they went back there and I don't know which dorm they chose. I'd really rather not walk in on them. I will one hundred percent either say more mean things to her or possibly.."

"Punch the fuck out of Mattheo?" you could hear the smile in Enzo's voice as he finished your sentence. You peaked an eye out from under your arm and Enzo could see it glossing over. "Oh, babes.."

You covered your face once more, Enzo leaning down to place a kiss to the top of your head before you heard him walk towards the dorms. Once you heard the hall door close, you let the first tear fall.

[penumbra-mayhem]

Beautiful

David/Angel fic (t4t)

————————————

Angel groaned in frustration. It was useless, she wasn’t going to get it right. She slammed her hand down onto the bathroom counter, her bangles clinking in agreement.

Maybe it was sign. Maybe she shouldn't go. She aggressively wiped at her forehead, then groaned again as she could feel tears prick her eyes, threatening to ruin the makeup she’d spent so long perfecting.

"Angel?" David called from the living room, "Are you okay?"

She took a breath and brightened her tone, "Yep, I'm fine, just finishing up!" That tone was not bright. It was abysmally sad. And pathetic. And David could tell.

A moment later, he was marching into their bathroom. He looked dashing, decked in an all-black velvet suit, salt-and-pepper hair perfectly styled, wedding band gleaming on his finger.

The sight of him just made Angel more self-conscious. She fixed a smile on her face; he saw through it immediately.

"Beautiful, what's wrong?" he asked.

The pet name brought a flood of tears to her eyes. "Shit," Angel muttered as she threw her head back, willing the tears to stay put and not run down her cheeks.

"Angel?" David moved towards her, placing his hands on her waist.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Angel stammered, hanging her head once she got the tears under control, "Ugh, this is so stupid."

"What is?"

"Nothing,” she said, waving a hand dismissively.

"Angel..." David urged.

She huffed and looked anywhere but at him. "I just...I can't get this bindi right and I've tried like three fucking times and I don't want to wear a sticker one cause I hate how they feel on my skin but this shit is being uncooperative!" Angel ranted, shaking the bottle of liquid bindi in her angry fist, "And now I'm starting to think that maybe it's not the bindi that looks wrong and it's just my face!"

David watched as Angel caught her breath, his stare dark and unrelenting. She could hear a restrained growl rumbling in his chest.

"I'm sorry, I know I'm being stupid—"

"Angel," David cut her off, his voice like water rushing over stones, "look at me."

She sighed and raised her eyes to meet David's gaze. He looked at her like an artist looks at their muse—taking note of each detail of her skin, following the flow of her bone structure, noticing where the light hit her nose and cheeks and lips. Had it been anyone else, Angel would have felt studied and scrutinized. But with David, she just felt seen. And when he spoke, it was like being serenaded:

"Now, you know I don't say things flippantly. I mean what I say. So, hear me when I say this. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. —Ah, ah—" David interjected, cutting Angel off as she opened her mouth to argue, "The most beautiful woman. You look radiant. You look luxurious. You're breathtaking—always. With and without your makeup. With and without your bindi. No matter where you are, what you're wearing, what you're doing. You are the most beautiful. You hear me?"

Angel would have done anything to stay held in his gaze. "Yeah, I hear you,” she mumbled, not entirely convinced.

"Good. Now can I give you a kiss, or will that mess with your makeup?"

"No, you can give me a kiss."

David smirked and gingerly pressed a kiss to Angel's glossy lips. "Now give it here," he muttered.

"What?"

"The bottle," David replied, "Give it."

Angel passed him the liquid bindi and watched silently as he unscrewed it and pulled out the applicator.

"Hold still," David murmured, placing a delicate finger under her chin and tilting her head up. He held the applicator with a steady hand and dabbed her forehead with it once, then twice for good measure.

"Does that work?" David asked as he stepped back, putting the applicator back in the bottle.

Angel blinked from her love-induced stupor before turning to face the mirror. The angles of her figure that she had been agonizing over now appeared…softer. The royal blue fabric of her saree flowed over her curves just as she had been intending. Her jhumka earrings framed her jaw, the light reflecting off the gold bells and dancing playfully across her smooth skin. And the maroon bindi, placed precisely where she’d wanted it, brought the entire ensemble together. Angel started to see what David had been talking about. Radiant. Luxurious. Beautiful.

“It’s perfect,” she exhaled, before turning back around to face him, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” David said, giving her another small kiss, “anything for my angel. Now come on, let’s go.”

————————————

thanks for reading! i'm putting my thoughts here cause there are too many for the tags :P

I’ve been feeling like my fics have been a bit too dialogue-heavy, so I wrote this to practice my descriptive writing. (There still ended up being quite a bit of dialogue but oh well.)

I also kinda wanted to explore the struggle of dressing formally as a trans person. I often will have a cool formal outfit in mind for an event, but when I put it on everything looks wrong on my body and I end up not wanting to go to the event at all.

Also please note, I am not South Asian. I tried my best to do research and write accurately/respectfully, but if I wrote anything wrong feel free to correct me and please know it was not done maliciously. <3

tag: @angel-shaw

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[lesbianwyllravengard]

Wyll breaking up with the player character if Ulder dies so Wyll must become the Duke makes me wanna throw up sobbing because he actually thinks that just because his father's first duty being to Baldur's Gate made him a Bad Father that Wyll himself will inevitably be a Bad Lover because surely no one could match love with duty if his father couldn't, unknowing he has more love in one hand than his father had in his entire body. fuck

[queenie-ofthe-void]

A Desperate Fool - Part 7

Part 6

Last time: Eddie learns why everyone quit calling

~~~

He runs a hand through his tangled hair, bringing him back to the present as he looks across at Nancy. She’s leaned into the back of the couch, feet still perched in his lap. Eddie’s almost forgotten what the force of Nancy’s gaze feels like, full of heavy emotions weighing him down. He’s lost so much time with his family, missed so much. Nancy hands him a box of tissues as he dries his eyes on his sleeve.

A look of regret crosses her face. “We can take a break, you know. We don’t have to go over it all right now.”

“No, Nance. I need to hear this. I want to hear this.”

She looks at him for a long moment. Eddie’s not entirely sure what face he’s making, but Nancy must sense his resolve, so she continues with her story.

While living with Nancy, Robin was able to get them both a job working as servers at a cafe around the corner. Between making a decent amount in tips and scheduling his own hours, Steve was able to finish his teaching degree.

“Robin quit her job?” Eddie asks, surprised. “I thought she made good money as a private language tutor.”

Nancy chuckles, like he’s missing out on the joke. “Really? You don’t think Robin wouldn’t quit her job in a heartbeat if it meant getting to work with Steve? Especially when he needed it most.”

He smiles. Yeah, of course she would. Even when Eddie and Steve were at their best, he’s still not sure he could ever love Steve as much as Robin, but fuck if he didn’t try every day to prove otherwise. 

Why did he ever stop trying?

A happier occasion than the last move, the two found a bigger place closer to Steve's new job. By October, Steve had charmed the Principal into hiring Robin to teach Spanish and French. They were doing well– and still are, Nancy adds on with a smile.

Eddie doesn’t deserve to feel proud of Steve, knowing he’s the reason Steve had to put his life on hold, but he smiles regardless. Nancy squeezes his ankle, still propped in her lap, like she can read his thoughts. It’s encouraging to know that after everything, she’s still here with him. He doesn’t deserve her either.

“He loves his job, Eddie. You know he’s always been good with kids.”

“I know,” he says, tipping his head back to keep the tears pooled in his eyes. “Elementary, right?”

Nancy sighs, a small laugh escaping on the exhale, “Kindergarten Phys. Ed., to be exact.”

And god, Eddie can’t help but laugh. He can imagine Steve in his favorite blue track pants, white t-shirt, with a whistle around his neck, teaching the kids how to play parachute and tag. Running around and building obstacle courses with them, consoling them when they stumble. 

The tears fall anyway, but Eddie’s smile is still bright and shiny. He can’t remember the last time he’s laughed, true happiness fizzing like tiny bubbles in his chest.

It’s a little bittersweet to hear Steve's doing well, but that's just the small, selfish part of him wallowing in the fact that he's not the person making him happy. Still, Steve's doing well, and that means everything in the world to Eddie.

~~~

Part 8

Tag List!!!

@sadisticaltarts @5ammi90 @blacklegsanji21 @jaytriesstrangerthings @thewickedkat

@stripey82

[vaguely-concerned]

laughing so hard at seeing several people post semi-concern trolling stuff in the dragon age tag like 'can't believe this fandom has gone from a peaceful group of people with a pure and wholesome love of thedas to a pit of infighting and discord :( sad' and then glancing over at their profiles. yeah you are all of twenty years old aren't you I suppose you have no way of really knowing

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Having one of those days where I wanna delete everything I've ever written and crawl into a hole to hide for forever.

Don't worry, I'm not actually gonna. My brain is just being stupid.

[dootznbootz]

Hiiiiiii I just saw the character ask thing :))))

Can you tell me about your NOTP, random headcanon and unpopular opinion about Helen of Sparta?

Thank you so much!!!

I'll save the one that'll get me crucified last! 👍

Random headcanon: Both Odysseus and Penelope were given a "photographic memory" by Athena. When Athena had "forsaken" Odysseus it was taken away. Makes it nice because a lot of the more fucked up parts of the Odyssey are a bit more "fuzzy" for him. And he hates feeling "so out of sorts". He gets it back though.

Also Athena technically took Penelope under her "wing" like, one month before Odysseus.

Unpopular Helen Opinion: In MY FICS, (It's okay if you don't agree!) She is built like Rose Quartz from Steven Universe. She doesn't have a perfect "hourglass figure". She's got some pudge on her tummy. Girl is TALL (Demigod) and CHUBBY. One of the important components of Helen and Menelaus' relationship is that they are both strong enough to lift each other. Also she's the most beautiful woman in the world and chubby women are hot af lskdjf She also SUCKS at singing. She's good at wrestling and spear work. (Sparta. I also love athletic women. Plenty of chubby women are also athletic af. If you think otherwise, literally look up women's Olympic sports participants.)

Homies, know that my NOTP can be YOUR OTP and that's okay! We can still love each other and be friends! Ignore the rest if you just don't want to see that, but know that while it kind of will be in my fics, it's probably not in the way you want it to be.

Please don't hate me and know I don't hate you or think I'm "correct"!

It's OdyDio.

These are the reasons why so avoid them if you don't want to read that! :'D This is the only time I will ever be on the "Odysseus hate train" because he's such an asshole to Diomedes.

I feel so bad about it. 😭 I'm a freak who likes Odysseus/Menelaus (Big BROTP) I think it's because Odysseus is just... SO MEAN to Diomedes. And when he's not mean, he's just neutral. There is not really any "Diomedes, you're the best guy!". Especially when have Sthenelus and Diomedes saying I love you to each other To ME, they are like co-workers who work GREAT together on the battlefield and on missions, but never do anything outside of that.

When Diomedes asks for help, Odysseus sprints away from battle. When Diomedes compliments him before the night raid, Odysseus literally is like "Dude, you're not the only person who knows I'm good at stealing. Let's go."

Odysseus, that long-suffering, godlike man, replied: “Son of Tydeus, don’t over-praise me, or censure me. You’re speaking to the Argives,                           who know everything about me. Let’s go. Night is passing quickly. Dawn approaches. The stars have shifted forward. Most of the night                   has passed, two thirds of it, with one third left.”

(Ian Johnston, Book 10)

Odysseus is an asshole but he's still so mean to Diomedes! 😭 ESPECIALLY WHEN DIOMEDES IS SO FUCKING NICE TO ODYSSEUS!!! I know that's what probably makes them so compelling to so many lovely folks but I love fluff BECAUSE I'm so tired of toxic relationships irl. I don't...I don't see how I can make OdyDio fluffy 😥 With OdyDio, I feel like I'm watching my bestie (Diomedes) get back with their toxic ex who mistreats them (Odysseus). Diomedes is actually quite polite to the others. Even when Agamemnon scolds him, he tells Sthenelus to think nothing of it. He compliments Odysseus! He listens to the gods when they tell him "Hey stop fighting!" and listens to Athena! Like he's violent and a killing machine but he's respectful! He's a traumatized, respectful, killing machine! He bitches at Paris but everyone has done that! That's something everyone partakes in /j

It bothers me even more because when Odysseus is with Penelope, he's so wonderful and loving? And that the Odyssey, literally Odysseus' story/Epic, doesn't even really mention Diomedes? That goes to show how little Diomedes means to Odysseus.

And since Odysseus runs away from Diomedes when he asks for help, it boggles my mind that books earlier, he goes into a rage when his friend gets killed!

[...]but hit Leucus, a brave companion of Odysseus, in the groin,                                           as he was dragging Simoeisius away. His hands let go. He fell down on the corpse. Enraged at Leucus’ slaughter, Odysseus strode up, through the front ranks, armed in gleaming bronze. Going in close, he took his stand. Looking round, he hurled his glittering spear. As he threw, Trojans moved back, but the spear found a mark. It hit Democoön, Priam’s bastard son, who had come from Abydos, where he bred horses for their speed.                                    Angry for his friend, Odysseus speared him in the temple.

(Ian Johnston, Book 4)

Odysseus, you prick!!! You go on a rampage when your buddy gets killed but sprint away when your STILL ALIVE BUDDY asks you for help?! ASSHOLE

They ARE kind of friends/frenemies during the end of the war but it's a weird thing where Diomedes cares about Odysseus but Odysseus tolerates him. Like he left him to die. I love Odysseus. He's my special little guy but he treats Diomedes, another special little guy, like shit 😞

They also have a fairly large agegap, (Odysseus being one of the older kings while Diomedes is the youngest. If you bring up pederasty, you will be smited.) and have very little in common other than them both being Athena's pets. Odysseus is a fucked up lil warrior trickster who loves his wife and child more than life itself while Diomedes is a young child soldier boy who is incredibly duty bound and war is where he feels most comfortable.

Also just...Most of anything about OdyDio (fanart/fanfic/etc.) it's of them fighting or bickering or betraying each other or being very sexual. Even OdyPenDio STILL feels very "OdyDio... + Penelope in the footnotes". I already plan to write Odysseus (and Penelope) as Aspec CODED and so I...just really don't care for that??? There's barely ANYTHING of them being soft. BECAUSE THEM TWO TOGETHER just aren't soft... I personally don't like couples that are mean to each other 😭 (I'm not even including the whole "betrayal with the Pallidium" because it makes me sad to think about. I don't consider it canon.)

Menelaus though?

I have plans 😌 These two bring me comfort and are a special brotp

[crossbackpoke-check]

tagged by ko @tofumilanesa for wip wednesday! big shout out to writevember for making me feel like i can actually call any of these works in progress… your guide to my emoji code under the cut

wip!

🪻🐈‍⬛ - the doc title is still just. YOWLING but i am like 7/8 of the way done with omega yamo fic and hopefully salem isn’t reading this so i can just drop it over a year later with no warning <3

🫃2️⃣ - DEWEY^2 P2!!!! she is almost done (i am lying) but she is so close i can almost taste it. sorry to my pwp that grew its own feelings baby

😇🤭 (🕒 -> 🕜) - rip i’m not telling you about this one until it’s posted but it IS complete aside from being ao3 formatted and the eight billion edits i inevitably do right before full-sending it

☁️💧 - cloud petey fic, which exists mostly as an embarrassingly large tag on a different blog and is condensing into a narrative about as well as water at 30° N/S. the time loop fic also falls under this description

eternally in progress (short list)

🌑🐕 - tyler borzoituzzi exists… there is an index of scenes/plot points… it plays like a movie in my head…

💯❕- fantastic! ‘verse

👁️👻 - stevie brandon seeing ghosts au, which has eight different (now nine i guess but you haven't seen the mustache adam post yet) plots. sorry

just. rotating like a microwave

🍎 - because they didn’t have a pomegranate emoji, this is what i used for the fic that feels like it should be a 50k connor bedard character study hanif abdurraqib/cathal kelly thesis about legends and mythmaking in sports and eating your young. yes i know pomegranates aren’t actually pomes and apples are but it’s fine

🦈 - the one cat da fuck they doing over there meme but about the sharks just like. in general. more on this at five

tagging @colap1nto, @songsandswords, @whitenikes, @gordiemeow, @acheronist, and anybody else who wants to share!!

[borealopelta]

wip whatever

i'm gonna go ahead and consider myself tagged in @arokel's tagless tag game because i want to talk about My Wips :-) if anyone feels like joining in, please do!!

after posting my latest fic i was kinda like. hmm. i don't have anything to show. which is not true!! i have not one but two geologist!don fics in the wip folder. (now you could ask. hey finch why do you keep writing geologyfic. well a) i have this mental illness called degree in geology and b) it's basically just me trying to conceptualise what being a geologist (or studying geology) must have been like for someone who was doing it before the theory of plate tectonics was even proposed (not to mention accepted). the amount of stuff that was fully unknown to geology in the times these fics are set is limiting as fuck and that's what makes them endlessly fun to tinker with. i've done sooooo much niche research. this is what constitutes fun for me. apologies)

i've already talked about the first one in an ask game, don's horrible geology exam, which i've been slowly piecing together from semi coherent notes app scribblings from the height of my mystery illness, BUT the other is newww so. also i don't have titles picked out because i'm bad at that so the titles are. the file names. yay! snippets under readmore:

geologydonfic is the aforementioned don's exam misery fic

Bobby takes in Don – the line of his bracelet a red imprint on his cheek, bruise-black circles under his red-rimmed eyes, paler than ever, frown lines like deep etchings on his handsome face. It’s clear that he’s not dealing on his own. “Fine,” he says after barely any deliberation, “I can help you study.” He picks up Don’s textbook and flips to a random page. Most of it is taken up by a big, colourful chart, sort of like a repeating rainbow getting more and more washed out, with ray-like lines coming out of one corner. It’s utterly incomprehensible. Bobby puts the book back down on the table. “I can’t help you study.” The corner of Don’s mouth twists into an almost-smile.

argentina is the newer one, set in argentina in 1967. don is there for work, bobby is there for don, it's hot, it's dirty (so far only in the "the drill site is a filthy place in general" way but who knows)

The Jeep that had picked him up at the airport slowly rolled away to join the fleet of identical vehicles, all decorated with the letters YPF – the name of the company in charge of the work, Bob assumed. He barely had time to feel (or look) lost when he noticed Don coming his way. Or at least he guessed it was Don, from the familiar walk and the fact that the man was a good four inches taller than everyone around him. Dressed in grubby work clothes and wearing a hard-hat that cast enough shadow to hide his entire face however, he could have been anyone. Then the smile gave him away. Bob had not been twenty-two and a fool in love in a good while, but that toothpaste-commercial-runaway, all-teeth, bright-as-the-sun smile Don could smile when he really put his mind to it still made him go weak in the knees.

[jankwritten]

JASICO WEEK DAY 3: Angst/Comfort

CW: major character death, grief

Nico runs his brush over the lettering on the face of the headstone, delicate despite the dirt worked into the cracks. He should be harder with it, he knows -  it’s not like he’ll be able to break it. The headstone is too new for that, not worn down with age like the others in the cemetery. The dirt around the grave is so fresh, weeds haven’t even begun to grow over it, not that Nico would let them. He’s gotten good at weeding. Pruning flowers. Anything, to take care of this spot. 

Jason Grace, the headstone reads. Beneath that, his rank, and years of service. The date he died. 

Nico brushes his thumb over the curves which mark Jason as seventeen on his day of death. One of the eldest in the graveyard. 

Back when he first heard, when Nico first felt the impact of Jason’s death like a saw blade through his gut, Nico couldn’t come visit the grave at all. Every reminder of Jason being gone was too much, the weight of loss sitting in him in a way Nico hadn’t felt since he was ten years old. He didn’t know what to do with himself, with his grief, except to cry, and cry, and cry. 

He’s glad to be past that stage. His heart still aches, every day is still hard, but Nico can breathe through it, now. He can clean the gravestone, and talk to Jason even if Jason doesn’t talk back. He can make sure this site is as respected as the man it honors. 

Nico adjusts the flowers Hazel brought last night, a bouquet of blue and purple and white. Jason would think they’re pretty. The smell would make him sneeze. 

His favorite color was yellow, though. Nobody ever brings Jason yellow flowers. Always blue, like his eyes, like the sky, like his father. 

Daffodils. Nico will have to bring him some daffodils tomorrow. And irises, and carnations. Maybe Persephone will help him put together a bouquet. She always had a soft spot for Jason, not that she’d ever admit to liking one of Nico’s friends. Whenever Nico would talk about Jason with her, she would listen with this look on her face, like Nico was saying the most interesting things. It felt good to know someone appreciated Jason in the same way Nico did. 

Maybe not the same way. But as close as someone else could get. 

“It’s been a good day today,” Nico says. He runs the brush over the crown of the stone again, gentle as before. “Things have been slow. Father hasn’t given me as many jobs this week, and there’s finally been a lull in attacks near the borders. Hazel and Frank are introducing a new bill to the senate tomorrow, which…well, I’ll tell you how it goes, then. I don’t want to jinx it for them.” 

A breeze blows through the valley. Nico leans back, tilts his chin up into it. 

He closes his eyes. He can almost imagine the wind in his hair is Jason’s hand, ruffling in a way nobody else has ever been brave enough. Easily affectionate, despite all the ways Nico threatened him, kept him at a distance. Jason was just like that, always eager to be there, to hold, to comfort. 

Gods, Nico wishes he could’ve accepted one more hug. Had one more conversation. 

It’s starting to rain. The temperature drops and the sky darkens and Nico can smell it, the dampness in the air. The first drops splatter across his cheeks and his nose, his lips. He doesn’t flinch. He’s used to sitting out in storms, now. 

“I love you,” he tells the sky. 

In return, the rain pelts harder, quickly turning from a drizzle to an outright downpour, soaking Nico’s hair to the root in seconds. His clothes stick to his skin. 

He still doesn’t move. 

“Don’t cry with me.” It’s silly, to act like the rain is Jason’s doing. Still. It helps Nico cope. Sometimes, if he imagines hard enough, he can still see memories of Jason’s grin, that scar on his lip, the tilt of his nose while the skies opened up around them, a display of power, a force of nature.

Nico never saw Jason cry. He supposes Jason never saw him cry, either. Just another thing they’ll never get to share. Another thing they missed. “You’re going to drown your flowers, at this rate.” 

The deluge does not die down. 

It’s enough to almost make him laugh, the sudden mental image of Jason scowling down at the flowers he doesn’t really like at all, the ones that make him sneeze and itch. Jason Grace, mighty son of Jupiter, champion of Hera, using all of his power to destroy a few flowers that have wronged him. 

Nico didn’t get to know that side of Jason very long, the side of him that was a young boy, the side of him who was a person. But gods, of everything they did get together, that is what he’s happiest to have had. The truth. Not the son of Jupiter, not the champion, not the praetor. Just the boy. 

Nico smiles, even as he cries, leaning back in a graveyard during a near-biblical rain storm. Nico smiles. 

Every day, it gets a little easier to. Every day, he hopes Jason is smiling back, from wherever he is. 

[idliketobeatree]

one of my pet peeves in fics is when crowley is just unnecessarily rude to the customer service. all headcanons aside, where did that come from? he would never inconvenience people already struggling within an exploitative system, and who have to deal with things akin to hell on earth

you think the guy who's argued that poverty is not making you a noble person would be sticking his leg out for the waiter to trip over? the same guy who drank literal poison and risked punishment, so the poor girl didn't kill herself? persuading aziraphale to give her the means to live? or, going by the book, the guy who thinks early morning is an excellent time to drive through the city, because it's quieter and the people who start work this early generally do more meaningful jobs? this guy??

he's a bit straight-forward and scowly, but he has client manners. if anything, he'd leave an amazing tip. wrong order at rush hour and the manager's being awful? let's curse them. heck, let's mess up the google reviews, so the customers feel the need to leave 1 star only and the whole place closes down. then he'd arrange better job offers in the neighboorhood for the remaining staff. crowley's got you. i absolutely refuse to believe otherwise.

[hannie-dul-set]

u guys don't understand how much writing nabi gyu hurts me.