#is this what it's like to live without being remembered

[harrysfolklore]

matchmaker - op81

summary: oscar finds a puppy wandering around the streets of monaco that leads him to meet his lucky charm

folkie radio: AN OSCAR FIC FINALLY OMG!!!! i have to say thank you to @cambrayficsrecs for sending this idea !! i LOVED IT and i hope you like this

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, yourbff and 209 others

yourinstagram meet the newest monaco resident: arlo 🤍 swipe to see the goodest boy helping me settle in my new home 🐾

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yourbff HE'S PERFECT!! miss you already but so happy for you 😭

username1 the cutest addition to monaco!!

username2 remember when you said you'd never get a dog? 😂

alexandrasaintmleux my new favorite neighbor!!! can't wait for our puppy playdates 🤍

↳ yourinstagram arlo and leo are going to be bffs 🥹🥹

username3 told you moving to monaco was the best decision

username4 i'm visiting asap just to meet this angel

yourbff2 can't believe my best friend lives in monaco now

username5 you're living the dream with the goodest boy!

username6 look at that face!! when can i visit?

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texts between alex and yn

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liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 583,827 others

oscarpiastri Enjoyed being a temporary dog dad today 🐾 glad this good boy made it back home safe! might have to get one of my own now...

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username1 MY HEARTTT

username2 OSCAR YOU CAN’T DO THIS

maxverstappen1 Don't let lando see this

↳ landonorris too late. getting a dog.

mclaren Best teammate and dog sitter 🧡

username3 OSCAR WITH A PUPPY THIS IS NOT A DRILL

username4 the wholesome content we needed today

alexandrasaintmleux arlo already misses his rescuer! thanks again oscar 🤍

username5 get this man a dog asap

username6 the way he took care of a stranger's dog 🥺

username7 okay but imagine oscar with his own puppy

username8 JUST GET A DOG

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yourinstagram has added to their stories

replies:

yourbff ARLO OMG 🥺🥺 what happened to him?

↳ yourinstagram sneaky little minx disappeared from the balcony.. he’s safe tho

username1 omg poor you! good thing you found him

username2 is this knight in shinning armor who saved arlo cute?

↳ yourinstagram STOP 😭

username3 i need to visit so i can meet arlo

alexandrasaintmleux I could give you his insta… or his number 👀

↳ yourinstagram STOP IT ALEX

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texts between alex and yn

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liked by alexandrasaintmleux, oscarpiastri and 28,724 others

yourinstagram turns out the nice guy who found arlo last week also happens to be pretty good at driving cars 🏎️ congrats on p2! @/oscarpiastri

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username1 GIRL WHAT IS YOUR LIFE RN

username2 you move to monaco and suddenly you're in f1 garages???

alexandrasaintmleux told you you'd love f1 🤍

↳ yourinstagram love you !

username3 OMG OSCAR

username4 SHES THE OWNER OF THE DOG

username5 this plot twist though 👀

mclaren 🧡

username6 the way this all started because arlo escaped

charles_leclerc I won you know? 🤔

↳ yourinstagram congrats charles !

username7 YOUR LIFE IS A MOVIE

username8 the best meet cute ever??

oscarpiastri Couldn't have done it without my good luck charm 🐾

↳ yourinstagram arlo says you’re welcome!

username9 IS THIS THE OWNER??

username10 the cutest storyline of the season

username11 THE WAY HE COMMENTED

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oscarpiastri sent you a direct message

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liked by username1, username2 and 14,826 others

f1gossip Oscar Piastri spotted having coffee with the owner of the now-famous beagle puppy in Monaco this morning 👀

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username1 THE WAY THIS STORY KEEPS GETTING BETTER

username2 from rescuing her dog to coffee dates we love this journey

username3 this is better than drive to survive

username4 THEY’RE SO CLOSE HELLO

username5 this is the cutest thing ever help

username6 the fact that the dog is there too 😭

username7 someone check on lando he's losing his bachelor buddy

username8 the good luck charm strikes again

username9 living a wattpad story fr

username10 HE LOOKS SO HAPPY

liked by oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux and 47,935 others

yourinstagram turns out there's more to monaco than just fancy cars 🤍

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username1 THE WAY YOU MOVED TO MONACO AND IMMEDIATELY LIVING A ROMCOM

username2 OSCAR?????

username3 arlo the ultimate wingman

username4 this storyline keeps getting better

username5 OMFG WHAT IS THIS I NEED THE CONTEXT

alexandrasaintmleux told you he was cute 😌

↳ username1 OMFG ALEX

↳ username2 i love her

↳ charles_leclerc 😂😂😂

username6 need full story time asap

username7 the way this all started because she lost her dog 😭

username8 living for this plot development

oscarpiastri arlo approved ✅

↳ username1 OSCAR STOPPPPP

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yourinstagram has added to their stories

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texts between oscar and yn

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liked by yourinstagram, landonorris and 986,033

oscarpiastri Great weekend with the team 🧡 Ready to head back home to Monaco though... missing my favorite good luck charm 🐾"

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username1 OSCCCC

username2 is he talking about the dog? 😭

landonorris which one? 👀

↳ oscarpiastri 🤫

↳ username1 HELLO???

↳ username3 DECODE THIS

alexandrasaintmleux someone's eager to get back 😌

↳ charles_leclerc Your matchmaking services working well

↳ username1 LET ME INNNN

georgerussell63 The power of puppy love

username3 WE ALL KNOW WHICH GOOD LUCK CHARM

username4 the way he said "home" to monaco 🥺

username5 did anyone else catch him waving to someone on facetime after the race??

username6 some of this comments saying “the dog” his name is ARLO and he’s an icon

username7 i’m going to call it right now oscar is dating the dog owner

username8 OSC 😩

yourinstagram 🤍

liked by username1, username2 and 8,739 others

f1gossipinsider Straight from Barcelona to dinner in Monaco... Oscar Piastri spotted at Le Grill with a certain someone 👀

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username1 THE WAY HE DIDN'T EVEN GO HOME FIRST

username2 man flew straight from barcelona to take her to dinner i'm crying

username3 not me zooming in to confirm it's her

username4 THATS DEFINITELY YN AND ARLO UNDER THE TABLE

username5 fastest post-race exit we've ever seen

username6 Le Grill?? Man's not playing around

username7 our favorite story continues...

username8 this man SPRINTED from the circuit

username9 the commitment >>>

username10 our boy's got his priorities straight

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texts between oscar and yn

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liked by lilymhe, oscarpiastri and 45,099 others

yourinstagram turns out watching someone drive in circles for 2 hours isn't so bad after all 🏎️ proud of you @/oscarpiastri 🧡

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username1 OMGGGG

username2 look at little arloooo

francisca.cgomes So lovely meeting you! Welcome to the family ❤️

yourbff we have soooo much catching up to do

carmenmmundt You're a natural! Can't wait for Hungary

alexandrasaintmleux look who's becoming an f1 expert

↳ charles_leclerc Stop taking credit for this

↳ alexandrasaintmleux never 😌

↳ username1 HELLO??

username3 the WAGs adopting her immediately >>

username4 ARE THEY DATING??

username5 oh what a plot twist

username6 THIS IS GIVING ME LIFE

username7 so the key go getting an f1 driver to date you is getting a dog i see

username8 ARLO IS SO CUTE

oscarpiastri Best good luck charms ever 🤍

↳ username1 OSCAR STOP

↳ username2 i simply cannot do this

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texts between alex and yn

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oscarpiastri has added to their stories

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liked by carlossainz55, yourinstagram and 1,099,832 others

oscarpiastri First Grand Prix Win. Incredible 🧡 Thank you to the two lucky charms who changed everything

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username1 IM CRYING

username2 HELLO TWO LUCKY CHARMS ??

landonorris GET IN THERE MATE!! Proud of you 🧡

alex_albon THATS MY BOY

username3 IS HE TALKING ABOUT ARLO AND YN??

username4 im actually sobbing

username5 man won his first race and chose to be THIS cute about it

username6 SOMEONE SAID HE KEPT SHOWING HER THE TROPHY

georgerussell63 CONGRATS OSCO 🙌🙌

username7 from monaco meet cute to whatever this is im crying

username8 THIS IS ADORABLE OSCAR HELLO

username9 not to be parasocial but he's so in love

username10 THE WAY ARLO WAS THERE FOR HIS WIN

yourinstagram we're incredibly proud of you 🤍

liked by username1, username2 and 10,877 others

f1gossip From first F1 win to celebration dinner - Oscar Piastri living his best life in Budapest tonight! Sources say he couldn't stop smiling and kept calling her "my girlfriend" to everyone 👀

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username1 OH MY LORD

username2 is this oscar "i don't like pda" piastri??

username3 I CANNOT BELIEVE MY EYES

username4 the way this all started bc she lost her dog...

username5 I NEED THIS TO HAPPEN TO ME

username6 this is how we find out oscar is not single anymore

username7 EVERYBODY SAY THANK YOU ARLO

username8 lord i've seen what you've done for others

username9 the best meet cute in history

username10 THAT SHOULD BE ME

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, oscarpiastri and 60,826 others

yourinstagram home sweet home with my favorite race winner (and his trophy that he definitely didn't make me pack extra carefully) 🏆✨ still pinching myself about this weekend 🧡

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username1 CRYING

username2 the way we all watched this love story unfold

username3 most precious f1 couple no debate

landonorris Mans giving away his caps now?? love's changed him

lilymhe cutest neighbors ever! dinner tomorrow? 🤍

↳ yourinstagram count on it!

username4 LOOK AT ARLOOO I CANT

username5 i can’t believe oscar has a gf now

francisca.cgomes you two are goals honestly

mclaren Our lucky charm is back home! 🧡

username6 remember when she didn't know what DRS was 😭

username7 she's literally living the dream

username8 how to go from dog mom to f1 wag: a novel

alexandrasaintmleux my biggest masterpiece 🥹

↳ charles_leclerc STOP TAKING CREDIT

↳ alexandrasaintmleux NEVER

↳ yourinstagram arlo was the real matchmaker

username9 HOW DO I GET THIS LIFE

username10 they’re so in love i can’t

oscarpiastri My two favorite things in monaco ❤️

↳ yourinstagram three* don't forget the trophy

↳ oscarpiastri Trophy’s just a bonus 😘

liked by yourinstagram, landonorris and 1,549,022 others

oscarpiastri To the best wingman and matchmaker in F1 - thanks for running away that day in Monaco. Changed my whole life 🐾❤️ (YN says I need to stop spoiling him but look at that face)

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username1 IM FULL PN SOBBING NOW

username2 ARLOOOOO🥹🥹🥹

alex_albon most successful matchmaker in monaco

mclaren Our honorary team member 🧡

username3 i love one fairytale love story

alexandrasaintmleux YOU’RE ALL WELCOME

↳ username1 alex 😭😭

↳ charles_leclerc you're still not getting credit for this

↳ oscarpiastri It was all Arlo

username4 HE CALLED HIM HIS WINGMAN 😭

username5 from runaway dog to f1 power couple

username6 netflix writing this down rn

username7 cupid who? we only know arlo

nicolepiastri ❤️

username8 most iconic f1 meet cute ever

username9 the real mvp of the season

username10 OSCAR DOG DAD

yourinstagram our matchmaker 🤍

[azrielbrainrot]

Take Me Back To Eden

Pairing: Shadow King!Azriel x F!Reader

Kinktober 2024: Throne Sex

Description: You've dreamt of the day Azriel would come back home for so long that you find yourself at a loss now that it actually happened. Luckily, it all falls into place as soon as your eyes meet his.

Warnings: Smut, vaginal sex, throne sex, some fingering, some dirty talk, you know the usual

Word Count: 4,2k

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Notes: This was originally supposed to be a rhys story but there will be plenty more opportunities to write about throne sex with him. Also this ended up actually having some plot and extremely fluffy. Hope you enjoy!

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

The halls of this castle are intimately familiar to you, having walked them a thousand times over when your closest friend lived here with his family and a thousand more working here as a maid, keeping an eye on the palace and its new residents while Azriel and his allies found a way to take back his power and his rightful seat on the throne.

You've worked tirelessly for this moment, dreamed of it more times than you could ever count, but now that the walls were painted in the traitors' blood and his intoxicating scent permeates the halls once again, you found yourself at a loss, slowly making your way to the throne room to meet him, one foot in front of the other, letting your body guide you as your mind wandered.

Azriel has been by your side for as long as you can remember, even before you truly knew what him being the heir to the Shadow Throne truly meant. Your father was exceptional at his job, landing him not only the position of Head Healer of the kingdom but also the King's private healer. This meant he spent a lot of his time at the palace, becoming an important figure in the court.

Azriel's father was cruel, manipulative and nothing short of terrifying. As much as you resented your father, you could understand why he was too scared to go against his wishes, always following every order without question, even when that included bringing you to the palace to be the heir's friend whether you liked to or not.

When your father first told you of the King's decision to let you and Azriel be friends since you were about the same age and he thought you'd be a good influence on him, you had been scared out of your wits, crying your eyes out and begging him not to take you with him, all in vain of course. You had never met Azriel before and so you expected him to be just as heartless as his father and older brothers, no one you ever wanted to spend any time with let alone befriend.

The stories circulating the kingdom weren't kind to him either - people talked of the bastard's son with poorly concealed disdain, about how he had lived locked in a tower, barely taken care of for most of his life until against all odds the shadow's chose him as successor instead of his full noble-blooded brother's; everyone seemed to think he wasn't worthy of the throne since he was the son of a maid and barely educated, completely neglected since birth, but alas the shadows had made their decision, and no one, not even the King, could go against their wishes.

Azriel was a shadow of the male he is now when you met him, too shy and traumatized to even look you in the eye or speak a word to you, sticking to the corners of the room, hiding himself as best as he could in the midst of his shadows. You were only nine when you met him, a year younger than him, and even then you couldn't imagine all the pain he had gone through, vowing to help him and stay by his side as you watched him cower away from the light, dressed in expensive clothing as if that would hide all the pain and suffering he had been subjected to.

Actually befriending him was harder than you initially thought. You spent countless days simply trying to get him to speak a word to you, almost wearing yourself out as you talked and talked, about anything and everything, trying to find something that would catch his attention and get him used to your presence. Gradually he started opening up more, answering your questions with a nod or shake of his head, and then a word or two, until bit by bit you started having full conversations, his voice rising in volume with time as well. His other lessons helped make him more confident in himself too as he found his place in the world.

Azriel told you about his mother and how much he missed her; about the treatment he endured in that cold tower and how sometimes he still wished he was there instead of next to his father; how his older brother's retaliated for not being chosen by burning his hands when he was only a child who didn't even know what it meant, how his hands still ached at the smell of fire and just the sight of the marred skin sent a stabbing pain through his heart, keeping them concealed with leather gloves most of the time. It was only years later when he let you see them and hold them in your own, the same night he told you he had been sneaking outside the palace, making other friends and traveling his kingdom as far as his wings allowed him, taking you with him for the first time.

The days you spent sneaking away with him and the new friends you made were some of the best of your life, the only ones where you had truly felt free, but sadly they wouldn't last. Shortly after Azriel came of age, his oldest brother killed his father and seized the throne, chasing Azriel and every sympathizer out of the palace and forcing him to go into hiding. You've barely seen him since then, only managing a few secret meetings over the years while he prepared to take back his crown.

Your father had been among the casualties and your family's sudden fall from grace landed you a job cleaning the palace where that hateful usurper now lived. Unwilling to resign yourself to serving the male who almost killed the only person you've ever loved, you started working as a spy, sending out encrypted letters about the movements within the palace and any important information you could get your hands on to hopefully help Azriel as much as you could.

Of course when he found out you were putting yourself in danger like that, he flew over to your house despite the search parties still raking through every corner of the kingdom. It had been the last time you spent more than a few hours with him and most of those had been spent fighting, but the memory brought a smile to your lips all the same. Even though you were screaming until your voices became hoarse, it was clear that it all stemmed from your love for each other and how worried both of you were at just the thought of the other being in danger. Azriel had also left your house with a chaste kiss to your lips, a line you had never crossed before, and a whispered promise of surviving and coming back for you, for his throne.

Taking the last turn to the throne room, you find yourself in the present, every other thought escaping your mind when you hear his voice muffled behind the door, heart swelling in your chest instantly. You only caught a glimpse of him when he first stormed the palace grounds earlier that night, unable to linger and watch as you needed to fulfill your role and help every innocent bystander escape through the back doors.

Judging by the blood and the few corpses still scattered throughout the halls, you missed a hard-won battle, but the lack of urgency in the sentry sent by Azriel to get you told you there weren't any severe injuries to worry about, among your friends at least. As excited as you had been for tonight, the thought that Azriel could get hurt kept you up for days.

The smell of smoke still lingered in the air and you found yourself twisting your hands together, wondering if the smell still brought him the same awful memories, wondering if you still knew him after all this time, if it would all be the same.

Raising a shaky hand to open the door, you find five pairs of eyes falling on you as soon as the room is revealed to you, hands reaching for their swords before noticing it was you and not any lingering soldiers, still on high alert from the fight. Their reaction makes you pause, startled momentarily before taking another step into the room when their serious faces turn into smiles.

It had been a long time since you've seen the neighboring kingdom's prince, - King, you correct yourself, - his general and his cousin. You've met them when you used to sneak out with Azriel, spent countless nights together causing harmless trouble as youths do. They had been with Azriel when you couldn't, helping him get to this point from the front lines while you stayed behind in the palace. Amren also stood by their side, the centuries old mage looked as unnerving and unruffled as ever, perhaps the best kind of ally Azriel could ask for.

Speaking of, your eyes quickly dart around the room, finding those beautiful hazel eyes at last, heart stalling in your chest when you find them already expecting yours. Azriel was sitting on the throne, on his throne, clad in black leathers as his shadows lazed around his body. His shoulders had gotten broader and his powerful wings were sitting up high behind him, unbelievably large, the blood of his enemies still staining his armor - the perfect image of a King.

A smile falls over his stupidly handsome face when his eyes meet yours, standing up to greet you immediately. This sets you in motion, your steps speeding up as your body carries you to him, barely acknowledging the rest of your friends as they excused themselves with knowing smiles, closing the door behind themselves just as you walked up the last steps to the throne, throwing your arms around Azriel's neck, a gleeful chuckle escaping him, catching you in his arms effortlessly, wings wrapping themselves around you as well.

It was almost overwhelming being able to hold him in your arms after so long, feeling his warmth against your body, his scent assaulting your senses as you breathe him in, vowing to never let him leave you behind ever again. You're unsure how much time passes before he pulls away, gently prying your face from his neck so he can study your teary-eyed expression intently, one arm still wrapped around your waist as he takes you in.

Gods, you almost forgot how downright mesmerizing he was. From this close you could count his eyelashes and every green speck in his hazel eyes, if you moved just a breath closer, your nose would bump against his, another one and his lips would fall on yours. His hand craddled your cheek, his bare hand you noted, the rough, familiar texture sending a shiver down your spine as his fingers caressed your skin softly.

“We did it,” you breathe out, watching the smile on his face grow even wider, a breathtaking sight. He leans down, kissing your other cheek and murmuring the same words back at you against your skin, relief clinging to every word.

His body was still somewhat tense against yours, wings tightening behind him every so often as his breath came out in puffs, his lips peppering small kisses from your cheek up to your forehead and then down to your jaw, trying to reach every bit of skin while you tried to check him for injuries or any other sign of discomfort, remembering he had just come back from battle.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

Azriel simply shakes his head against you in lieu of an answer, tucking himself deeper into the crook of your neck, breathing your scent in again, his hold on your body tightening as well.

“Is it too much to bear?”

When his brother took over he didn't only steal his father's shadows but also Azriel's. It had been strange to see him without those wisps of darkness clinging to his form, unnerving even, and you know that becoming accustomed to not having them by his side was the hardest trial for him to overcome. But now that his brother was dead and he finally sat on his throne, his shadows had returned to him at last, and the ones who were once his father's followed them.

“Could be worse,” he says, a shudder betraying his attempt at a leveled tone. “They like the scent of blood.”

A tremble runs through your treacherous body, the low timber of his voice as he spoke against your skin, lips brushing you with every word making it hard to keep your mind working properly. He hums at your body's reaction, tongue peaking out to lick over your pulse point, feeling your heart racing faster and faster under him.

“Azriel-”

“They like yours even more. Always did.”

The confession hangs in the air as he continues to lap up at your skin, his teeth coming out to play and mark you ever so softly, teasing your supple skin. It looked like he was barely restraining himself, trying his best to hold onto sanity while you trembled in his arms.

You knew having this many shadows suddenly singing to him had to be extremely overwhelming after so long stuck in silence, the power that came with them and now also rumbled under his skin even more so. He needed an outlet, and you both knew the blood he already spilled wasn't nearly enough.

“Let me help you.”

The groan that escaped him echoed around the room, pulling away from your neck with a harsh bite and finding your lips before you could even react, finally unleashing himself at your proposal. His shadows followed his lead as always, falling over your body as he did, twisting and turning as they roamed over you. A frenzy overtook you as well, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer to you, needing to feel him under your skin, so deep he wouldn't be able to escape ever again.

The lights deemed even further around you, until only the moonlight filtered through his shadows, making it hard to see when you managed to pull away and take a breath, your eyes blinking as you tried to watch him in the dark. He had no such problem of course, unashamedly studying your face as you recovered, biting your bottom lip and licking at the drool gathered in the corners of your mouth, moaning at the way your scent deeped with arousal and mingled with his own.

The lines had always been blurred at best between the two of you, fear the only thing keeping them intact in the first place, but now you didn't have to worry for his or your safety anymore, about what his or your parents would think or do if they found a weakness in the other, now you could finally give in to each other without worries.

It had always been a poorly concealed secret how much you wanted each other anyway, and now that nothing was stopping you and he was finally in your arms, you could barely keep this craving down. You could only imagine what it felt like for him with the addition of the new untamed power running through his veins and the pesky shadows whispering in his ear.

Azriel starts walking backwards until he reaches his throne, bringing you along with him for the entire way as he catches your lips between his once again, sending your mind stumbling along with your feet. When he sits down, your body naturally follows to straddle his thighs, and you pull away with a gasp, his hard cock pressing where you need him most.

The maid's uniform you still wore was thrown over your head in a flurry of movements, revealing your unmarked and unobstructed body to his hungry gaze. Unable to stop himself, Azriel leaned closer, sucking a nipple into his mouth as his hands moved all over your body, caressing and grabbing every bit of skin and flesh he could, leaving you tugging at his leathers so you too could rid him of the bothersome clothes blocking your view, as good as you always thought he looked in them.

It's only with a whine of his name and a particularly harsh tug at his black, messy curls that he pulls himself away from you and helps you take the top part of his leathers off. You had been right about his shoulders getting broader, his entire body looked more muscular too. Of course the heir to the throne had been training since he was a child and Azriel had always been a large male, but after having to literally fight to survive, he was left with cleaner muscles, and quite a few scars you had never seen before scattered over his torso, making a mental note to ask him about them later.

He barely gave you any time to fully take him in, moving to unbutton his pants without pause, settling for pushing them down only enough to uncover his throbbing cock, your attention quickly falling on it. Your hand wraps itself around him in curiosity, a delicious shudder running through him as you tighten your hold around his cock, stroking him up and down slowly, reveling in every harsh breath and the pool of desire growing in his eyes.

“I need more, angel.”

Nodding, you agree with him. “Me too.” You needed all of him, needed him to fill you up until he was the only thing you could smell, taste and feel.

He rips your underwear off unceremoniously, inserting two of his fingers inside you as slowly as his frenzied state of mind allows you to, your own body ignoring the slight pang of pain at the sudden intrusion as your hips start rolling into his hand feverishly. You were beyond soaked, the sounds his fingers elicited as he fucked them into you downright sinful as they echoed around the room along with soft moans and gasps of his name.

Azriel seemed transfixed on the way your cunt swallowed his fingers greedily, the hazel in his eyes barely visible around his blown out pupils. Gods, if you didn't stop him you think you would end up cumming entirely too fast which is why as much as it pained you to, you grabbed onto his wrist and stopped his movements, breathing out a rushed “Need you now,” when he looked up at you in question.

You used your grip on his cock to guide him to your entrance, lifting yourself up on your knees as his hands fell over your hips, helping you along, shivering when the head pressed against your cunt. Pressing down on him with a whimper, you let your weight drag you down his length slowly, throwing your head back with a loud moan at the stretch, walls fluttering wildly around him as they struggled to accommodate the delicious intrusion until he finally bottoms out, your body shaking uncontrollably on top of him.

Your lips find his yet again, getting lost in his taste as you start moving against him, his hands grabbing onto your hips hard enough to bruise as he grinds you down on him, breathy whines and moans swallowed in a passionate kiss, only pulling away when you start speeding up, moving up and down his length as his hips start meeting your thrusts, your hands holding onto the arms of the throne for better leverage, the way he was stretching you out and hitting every earth shattering angle threatening to make you lose yourself.

There was no doubt in your mind that anyone that walked by this hall could hear you, but you truly couldn't bring yourself to care about them, or that the walls were still covered in blood, or anything else for that matter. You had waited too long for this, to kiss him like this, to hold him like this, to feel him like this.

“You have no idea how many times I've dreamed of this,” he manages between pants, eyes darting around as he tries to take the maddening sight before him fully, only receiving a feverish moan in response from you, unforgivingly close to the edge as you were.

Hazel eyes darted around your body as he tried to take the maddening sight before him fully, taking note of the way you struggled to keep your eyes on him, mouth agape as the sweetest whines and gasps escaped unattended; the way your body moved with each roll of your hips, breasts bouncing as you did; and how perfectly you fit together, his cock disappearing inside you with every thrust.

His hands move down to your thighs, lifting your hips on his own now, your body simply following his lead, letting him take control as you moan out his name unabashedly. For a moment Azriel thinks his shadows, the crown and even the throne he was sitting on meant nothing if he didn't have you by his side, if he couldn't feel you like this again.

“Are you close, my love?”

One of your hands falls to hold onto his, needing to ground yourself, needing to feel him on every inch of your skin, needing to know this was real. Struggling to even breathe as he repeatedly hits every pleasure spot inside you, leaving you on the brink of madness.

“So close, Az.”

“Let go for me. Show me how sweet reality can be,” he murmurs breathlessly, obviously dangerously close himself. “Need you to give me everything, need to feel you falling apart on my cock.”

And fall apart you did, a gasp escaping your lips as an overwhelming amount of pleasure takes you under, drowning you completely under the waves as the world stands still, your body falling forward and shaking against him. Azriel keeps fucking into you, taking this new position as an opportunity to thrust into you even harder, chasing his own orgasm at the same time he prolongs yours.

You reach a hand out to caress the talon of his wing at the last minute, reminded of how sensitive they were, being immediately rewarded with a delicious whine of your name as he lets go, fucking his cum deep inside you with jerky motions until you were both spent, chests rising and falling against each other as you caught your breaths, meeting halfway in a kiss, his shadows covering your bodies once again.

Pulling away proves to be a monumental task, his lips chasing yours every time you try, having to push against his chest as you straighten your spine, trying to ignore his half hard cock still tucked inside you as he leans back against his throne, letting out a chuckle when he tries to pull you back to him and you send him a poor attempt at a glare, the smile plastered on your face and the fucked out look in your eyes making it less than believable.

“Do you feel better now?”

“I feel perfect,” he sighs dreamily, gazing up at you adoringly as his thumbs draw circles over your heated skin.

“So…” You trail off, not quite knowing what to say in this situation. After dreaming of not only having him back but also making him yours so many times, you couldn't find the right words now that it actually happened. “You're back.”

“I'm back, my love,” he confirms, cupping your cheek once again and rising up to leave a chaste kiss on your lips, the new pet name sending goosebumps traveling across your skin, your heart so full it felt like it would explode out of your ribcage.

“I had a speech ready, you know?”

“A speech?”

“I had every intention of talking to you before this happened, but words won't ever be enough to describe how much I love you.”

His words paired with the look in his eyes were making you beyond giddy, wrapping your arms around his neck as he kissed you once more, drunk on your taste, unable to ever get enough.

“Say it again.”

Azriel lets out a delighted chuckle, pulling away so he can watch your face, taking you in before indulging you as he stares deep into your eyes.

“I love you. I've loved you for as long as I can remember,” he starts, voice soft as he did, “If I hadn't met you I wouldn't have been able to survive my father's cruelty, and if I didn't know you were waiting for me here, I wouldn't have been able to find the strength to come back and take back the throne. I owe you my life.” Tears gather in both of your eyes as he leans his forehead on yours, continuing, “The years I spent away from you were the hardest I've had to endure, and now that I finally have you back by my side, I won't ever let go. I don't want to spend even another second away from you.”

“I love you too,” you breathe, your heart so full it felt like you couldn't contain all your love for him inside.

Azriel kisses you again, tears now streaming down your faces as you cling to each other. He was right, words could never be enough to describe this moment, let alone the love you shared, but you were willing to whisper them as many times as you could until there was no breath left in your lungs.

[kettlefire]

A Panic in Time (DP x DC)

This is all thanks to the awesome @tkiesai for basically being the foundation of this idea! This is probably going to be long, and probably won't delve that deep into my ideas about this idea. Largely so it's not insanely long. But here I go!

°•°•°•°

Bruce's head felt like it had been shoved through a straw and spit out on the other side. The throbbing was annoying, but it wasn't anything the man couldn't handle.

His mind was muddled, memories of what happened prior to him awaking was blurry and unsure. Bruce knew it wasn't something good.

He vaguely remembered a league meeting, a threat, something looming. It wasn't world ending, or at least that's what Bruce remembered. It should have been something they could handle.

But now, here was Bruce. Waking up in the grass of some random park. He was dressed in casual attire, something he'd wear in public as Bruce. Although last he remembered he was in the Batsuit.

The sun felt too bright in the sky. The sound of families filled the air and children's laughter. No one seemed to blink twice at Bruce as he pulled himself together.

It took a moment to steel himself, to gain composer again. It took a few sweet lines, and a charming smile for a nice mother to slide him a few painkillers. The lies rolling off his tongue like second nature.

To his luck there was a newspaper at the top of the trashcan. He was in some town called Amity Park, and the year... the year was the problem.

It was 1996. Whatever had happened had sent Bruce back in time. There was a few suspects Bruce can think were the cause of this. But something in his gut kept drawing his train of thought to the Flash.

It seemed like each time the League had any time related problems, Barry was in the center of it. Which also leaves Bruce with the question if he was the only one sent back in time.

God, he could only imagine the nightmare if the others were sent back in time. Yes, they can be professional. They understand the risk of changing things in the past.

But Bruce also understands that his team can be less than... intelligent at times.

Despite that, Bruce needed to find a way to get back to Gotham. He might not know for sure where everyone was right now, but he knew Alfred was the safest bet.

A plan laid out in Bruce's mind, a list of people he knew wouldn't be a risk to approach. He just needed to find a way to get to them. He had barely made it to the gates of the park before a shrill cry pierced the air.

There was just one loud outcry, before it quieted down. Bruce glance around the space, spotting a young boy curled on the ground. Tears streamed down the boy's chubby cheeks.

And no one even moved to the boy's aid. Not a single mother spared more than one glance in the kid's directions. No parents came rushing over to the boy's side.

Bruce almost walked away, he really did. This wasn't his time, anything he does can cause immense damage to the timeline. But when Bruce caught sight of blood bubbling from a scrape on the boy's knee, Bruce couldn't ignore him.

Maybe it's just the father in him, but Bruce barely even notices when he's crossing the small distance. His mind zeroing in on a hurt child that needed help. Kneeling before the small boy with a gentle smile, and pulling his handkerchief free from his pocket.

"You're alright there, buddy. It looks like you took a bit of a tumble there." Bruce slipped into the same tone he used to use when his kids were young. Gentle and understanding, as he pressed the handkerchief to the small scrape.

The boy sniffled, tears slipping from his eyes. Bruce was more focused on the way the kid was looking at him. Like he couldn't fathom someone coming to his aid.

That look had Bruce's heart breaking slightly. He's seen a similar look before. The few times he's come to the aid of a hurt child that wasn't used to getting help.

Something no child should ever feel or experience.

"Where's your parents, kiddo?" Bruce asked after a moment of silence from the boy. He had waited until the kid's breathing settled down when the boy's chest stopped pumping so quickly.

Except his question only seemed to bring a new wave of tears to the boy's eyes. The small child just seemed to curl into himself further, ducking his gaze away from Bruce.

And as much as Bruce didn't want it to be true, it was clear the kid didn't have the support he needed. It might not as be as far as some of Bruce's kids have had in the past.

But it was clearly not good.

"That's okay, it's alright. What's your name?" Bruce tried again. The boy's silence was leaving an uncomfortable pit in Bruce's stomach.

"D-Danny..." The boy spoke out his name between sniffles, and Bruce felt a wave of relief hearing the boy speak.

In hindsight, Bruce can see how strange the scene might look. A slightly disheveled man comforting a lone young boy in a park. It wasn't exactly perfect.

But with the lack of reactions from the parents around, Bruce had a feeling the town had an idea who this boy was. The whole situation just didn't feel that right for him.

It took a few more comments before Bruce managed to get the boy to crack a smile. A laugh had felt like breaking a massive wall.

Before long, Bruce had Danny actually like any other boy he's known. Carefree and happy, just like a child should be.

"You didn't tell me your name, mister." Danny had suddenly cut down the relaxed moment they were in. A pout laced the boy's lips as he looked up at Bruce, almost accusatory.

"I'm Bruce. Bruce Wayne." Bruce responded without missing a beat. He knew this might cause problems in the future. He wasn't supposed to be here.

But when his gut is telling him something, he can't just ignore it. He checked his pockets, finding no business cards anywhere. So, Bruce fell back in plan B.

"No matter how long it's been from now, you can come to me for help. Just look for Bruce Wayne in Gotham City, and when you find me... just say Fairbanks sent you."

Bruce wasn't sure if he'll ever see Danny again when he goes back to his own time. Wasn't even sure if this was the same universe as his own. But he couldn't walk away without at least offering the boy help in some way.

When Danny's eyes filled up with tears again, Bruce thought he said something wrong at first. That was until the boy was suddenly clinging to his shoulders in a tight embrace, muttering 'thank you' over and over again.

Bruce felt himself almost close to tears just from that alone. His heart was aching for the small boy. Even if Bruce couldn't help Danny anymore than this, he was hoping the boy would have a better life.

One where he wasn't clinging to a stranger for comfort that family should be providing him.

THWAMP

It didn't hurt, but it did cut their hug short as Bruce suddenly pulled away. Turning his head to see a young girl wielding a wiffle bat, and another young boy standing behind her.

Her purple eyes glared at Bruce like he had done the worst thing in the world. Her grip on the bat was threatening and ready to swing again. Her knuckles white from the tight grip alone.

Maybe leaving this time era might not be as easy as Bruce thought as the young girl probbed him with angry and scolding questions. Not that Bruce could blame her.

He just hoped this hiccup didn't get back to the league. They'd have a field day hearing about how Batman got scolded by a child with a wiffle bat.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Danny wasn't sure if this was the best idea. It's been years since he met Bruce Wayne. So many years. Danny had just been a kid, not even ten, when Bruce had introduced himself.

When he had an adult, actually check in on him. Yet, it was a memory Danny couldn't forget. Maybe it was just the kindness that Bruce radiated.

Or maybe it was when Sam came to his "rescue" near the end. Regardless, it was cemented in his mind. A core memory that Danny cared with him through the years.

Now, here he was, roughly seven years later. Standing in front of a manor that put even Sam's place to shame.

It took a lot of courage for Danny to knock. Barely a second later, an old man answered the door, an accent Danny was certain Bruce hadn't had.

A stuttered explaination of being here to see Bruce Wayne, that the man knew him, barely left Danny's mouth before the old man ushered him inside.

The man, Alfred, told Danny to wait by the door before vanishing further into the manor. It took a lot for Danny to not just vanish.

Being half ghost nowadays had its quirks, Danny could just vanish, and no one but Alfred would know. But he couldn't.

It had taken a lot for Danny to make the journey to Gotham City. He hadn't even thought to look up a current picture of Bruce either. Which was probably a big mistake on his end.

Danny didn't even know if Bruce was offering this kind of help. But Danny didn't have many allies to turn to. He needed help.

Not just for himself but for his family. For Amity Park. He couldn't be afforded the ability to run away. Not now.

Danny felt all the air leave his lungs when Bruce entered the area. The man didn't look a day older than what Danny remembered. Bruce looked a bit more put together, not like he had just jumped out of a moving car, but it was Bruce.

"Uhm... I don't know if you remember me. But my name's Danny... we met when I was a kid." Danny started trying to explain himself before Bruce could speak. He recognized that confused look anywhere, and Danny didn't have the guts to go through with this if Bruce asked any questions.

"You told me if I ever needed help, to come find you. Bruce Wayne in Gotham City... you, uh, told me to tell you Fairbanks sent me?"

That came out more like a question than Danny would have liked. But it did ease his nerves a bit as he watched Bruce's slightly confused expression turn to alarm and surprise.

Danny wasn't sure what this would do. If Bruce could truly help him. But he was out of options. Just seeing Bruce recognize something he said was enough to calm the teen's anxiety slightly.

"I'm sorry, Danny... I don't remember you. But I believe you and I want to help you. Come inside, have a seat, and tell me what's going on."

That response was enough to have Danny's eyes fill with tears. His chest filling with a sense of hope he hadn't felt in weeks now.

Maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

Home.

Jinx x reader

Summary: set between Act 1 and 2 of Arcane season 2. You find a moment of calm at home with Jinx, Isha, and a stray dog you've found along the way.

Warnings: spoilers for Arcane season 1, tooth-rotting fluff (I hope) not proofread

No use of Y/N, no pronouns used for reader, no gender specific terms etc...

A/N: WHOO first piece of writing by Lev on this blog yippee!! I sincerely hope you all enjoy this lolsies. Please interact! I'm taking requests teehee

You don’t remember the last time you felt this at peace. 

It is like a buzzing, filling your chest, lifting you practically off your feet as you make my way home. 

This feeling is manufactured- it is not coming from the outside. It comes from deep inside your chest, thrumming happily, snuggled between your lungs, right below your heart. There are reasons for this warmth, this light- well, one reason. Her name is Jinx. 

When you say you’re going home, all you really think of is her. Yes, her lair is home- it is warm, and cozy, and as safe as a hot air balloon suspended above what seems to be an infinite void can be- but without her, it would be nothing. 

She is the light that fills your chest, with her bright smile and ridiculously long blue hair and perfect pink eyes. She is the weight on your lungs, making it hard to breathe when you think of her. She’s all the cheesy, corny shit the romance authors you hated so as a child wrote. Only instead of being a character, only words on a worn out page, she’s real, and she’s only a two minute walk away from where you are now. 

You have a satchel slung over your shoulder, the Dog (you don’t know when it became your dog; it just appeared by your side one day, and hasn’t left since) trotting along beside you. Its fur is matted. You reach down and scratch between its ears as you near the Last Drop, smiling to yourself. Never had you thought you would be living this life- on your way home, supplies for Jinx in your bag, the Dog padding alongside you- it is so domestic, so soft, so clean (despite the grime of the Fissures, the thickness of the air, the moaning of the people crowding the sides of the streets). This life is so unlike anything you remember your parents having. 

You take the quick route into Jinx’s lair, the dog following happily, its pink tongue lolling. You should name it, you think as you step onto one of the propellers. 

After Silco had died, you had expected the place to fall into disrepair; you had thought the lights would stop twinkling, and the tinny music would stop playing, and the workstations would gather dust until finally the propellers snapped and fell, taking Jinx with them. And yes, that had started to happen. But then, Jinx had met the kid. Isha, you had called her. All of you, huddled around an old, matted baby names book one of you had found at a scrapyard, pointing out names to each other. Isha, the kid had pointed at, a huge, toothy grin splitting her round face. One who protects. You had closed the book then, knowing that it was perfect. Jinx had smiled at you over the newly baptized Isha’s head, and you had smiled right back, squeezing her hand in yours. You had tossed the book down, into the void below. 

Now, your home was transformed. Jinx’s creepy dolls were gone, replaced with different colourful toys and gadgets picked out or made by Isha. The walls were covered in crayon drawings of all kinds of things- dragons, flowers, the three of you in fields of green and blue and pink and orange. There was a tent set up in the corner, full of Isha’s belongings. It was where you all slept, huddled together like a litter of cats. You love the place. 

At first, you think they’re both out. You call out, and when no answer comes, you venture further in, dropping your bag by Jinx’s workbench. The Dog sniffs around, its tail wagging as it comes closer and closer to an odd lump covered in blankets. You grin to yourself, putting a hand on your hip, tapping your chin with the knuckles of the other. “Hmm,” you muse to yourself, purposefully ignoring the giggle coming from the blankets, “wowie, I wonder where Isha and Jinx could possibly be.” You go in the opposite direction, checking under the workbench, scratching your head. The Dog watches, its eyes saying Can’t you see them? They’re right here! You wink at it, and it sits, tilting its head. “They must have gone out,” you declare loudly as the giggles intensify. “Guess I have this whole place to myself! Finally, I am rid of those stinky-“ 

As you are talking, you approach the mess of blankets. Before you are able to finish that last sentence, a small orange and blue bundle barrels into your legs, almost knocking you flat on your back. Isha launches herself into your arms, grinning her toothy grin as you spin her around. 

“Oh my goodness!” You cry, “where were you hiding? You really are a master sleuth!” Jinx, still have tangled in the blankets, barks a laugh. You hug Isha to your chest and raise an eyebrow at her, mouthing you couldn’t hide anywhere better? She flips you off, but she is smiling. 

She stands and joins you and Isha, her hand finding the small of your back, the other going to Isha’s shoulder. 

“I have a surprise,” you whisper to the child, “but don’t tell Jinx, mmkay?” 

Jinx tilts her head, still smiling. Isha nods solemnly. 

“I found waffles,” you breathe, looking at Jinx out of the corner of your eye. Isha gasps and puts her hands over her mouth. Through trial and error, you and Jinx had discovered that the little one seemed to live for waffles. You now went out of your way, as the only one with your face not plastered all over the place, to find the sweet treat. 

“Gee, I wonder what the surprise could be,” Jinx says, playing along. She follows as you carry Isha to your bag. You set the kid down, the Dog nuzzling into her hand. You rifle around for a moment, and finally pull out the waffles. Jinx lets out a loud gasp, and Isha turns to her, delighted, pleased with herself that she was able to keep this secret. 

“Waffles?” Jinx cries. Isha claps her hands together, startling the Dog. 

You all sit together in the tent, sharing the waffles off the same plate. Isha (who thinks she’s being slick) keeps sneaking pieces of her food to the Dog, who delightedly licks it off her hand. She giggles every time, earning an affectionate look from you and Jinx. 

Once you have finished the waffles, you push the plate away and lie down. Soon, Isha curls into a ball in the space between your knees and your stomach, settling her head on your legs. Jinx dims the lights, then joins you; the two of you become a protective cocoon around the now snoring Isha. The Dog squishes itself in between you and Isha, resting its head on the kid’s side and looking up at you adoringly. You brush a strand of hair from Jinx’s face and smile. She smiles right back. She’s been smiling so much recently. 

“This is perfect,” you whisper to her once you’re sure Isha is fast asleep. 

She smiles, but doesn’t answer. One of her hands rests on your waist, and her fingers trace soothing patterns there. 

“I thought,” she begins, then stops, frowning. Her other fingers tighten around your hand. “I thought that, with Silco gone, there was nothing left for me.” Her words hurt you; it stings somewhere deep in your stomach to hear that she is in any kind of pain. 

“But then… I met the kid,” she continues. “And then I found you.” 

You feel an overwhelming wave of affection for the girl lying in front of you then. A girl you had once known what feels like a very long time ago; a girl who had once had blue eyes and the same wide, toothy smile as Isha. A girl who had been part of your distant past, who was now back in your life. She was right; despite having known each other your whole lives, you have really only just found each other. 

“And- and I realised that maybe, maybe Silco wasn’t all I needed. Maybe…” she trails off, but she has said enough. You shuffle forwards (careful not to disturb Isha or the dog) so that your forehead is only centimetres from hers. She meets you halfway, pressing her forehead to yours; your noses brush, and you smile, reaching up to cup her face. 

“I love you, Blue,” you whisper. A name, who she has always been to you. Blue. Blue like the sky, like the sea. Blue like the warm, the fluttering bird nestled in your chest. 

For a moment, you think she is going to cry. But she only pulls you closer, and whispers the same words back to you, your name uttered like a prayer. 

You close your eyes and smile, and her breathing slows. 

As you fall asleep, you think: 

You have never felt this at peace before. 

[miioouu]

Ghost's New Neighbour pt2

I wasn’t planning on making a second part of this, but since you all like it and asked for it, here we go, i guess. Tw: Smut, Oral (male receiving), no gender used for reader (but a little feminine?), mean Ghost (sorry, i tried many times to write a sweet simon fic but i just can’t!!) Wc: 842 

“Come over later, 8:30 pm sharp, I don't appreciate tardiness” His words ring in your ears, distracting you from your tasks. How are you supposed to focus on putting your plates away when you can still feel the ghost of his lips against your skin? 

You know it’s a bad idea; first of all, he’s your neighbour, it’ll be awkward later on, you’ll definitely regret it, and what if the word comes out; do you really want to be known as the building’s resident slut? Second of all, he’s a stranger, you don’t know anything about him. Even the doorbell doesn’t have his name on it, paper white without even an initial or anything to give you a clue about this mysterious man. You’ll regret it, you definitely will. 

So why are you smoothing down your clothes? Rechecking your lipstick for the nth time? Why are your fingers hovering above this damn ringer, throwing all morals away?

It’s 8:30 sharp when the ding echoes in his rather empty apartment; he chuckles, part of him certain that you’d come over, the other held hope that you’d be a little wiser than this, a little more modest than this; but you weren’t, of course not, else you wouldn’t have let you touch him like he did in the elevator, wouldn’t have shivered when his words tickled your ear, wouldn’t have gotten wet at the feather-like brushing of his cock against your ass. No dignity, he thinks as he lazily makes his way over to open the door for you, internally laughing at the sight of you making yourself all pretty for him, what a nice shade of lipstick. 

He liked it so much, that pinkish tone that made you look a little more glowy, a little more flushed, not that you needed that enhanced. He liked it so much on your lips, and even more when it left a mark around his shaft. Honestly you don’t remember how you got here; one moment you were shuffling in his doorway, struggling to greet him without stuttering, the next you were in the middle of his living room, on your knees, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth languidly. His hands find your hair, guiding you back and forth around his length, setting a slow pace at first, wanting to relish in the feeling of your warm mouth, the tightness of your throat constricting as you gag whenever he pushes a little too deep. 

But Simon was never a patient man, sure he learned how to dismiss his frustration on the field, learned how to manipulate himself into being more forbearing, but he will not use those tricks now, not when he has bright, glossy eyes looking at him, begging him to use their mouth. Who was he to deny them anyway? He thought about warning you, but where’s the fun in that, right? In a swift motion, he pulls you closer until your nose nuzzles against his pelvic, his pubes tickling you but you don’t have time to adjust because he’s already pistoning his cock in and out your warm cave. He lets out a groan, his head falls back as he feels your nails dig in his thighs, holding onto him like a lifeline, creating bloody crescents on his skin, just some other scars to add to his collection. 

The once always empty, always eerily silent apartment, now feels suffocating, loud with groans and hisses from the tall man, mixed with your gagging echoing through the room. “Slut” that whispered word is what broke the chaotic symphony. Your pride is telling you to pull away, glare at him and defend your honor, but you can’t do that; not with his hands clutching at your hair and keeping you in place as he fucks your mouth, not when your thighs are pressing together, imagining, knowing, just how soaked the pretty panties you were wearing became.  

You can feel him getting closer to the edge with the way his thrusts became messier and more erratic, with the way his grip on your hair keeps tightening and getting loose over and over again, with the way his eyes are fluttering, cheeks are getting redder and his chest is heaving, letting out mumbled curses under his breath. “Fuck…come on make me cum, pretty girl” The demand alone made your thighs clench, a whimper escaped you, vibrating around him and sending goosebumps all over his body “Fuckin’ slut” he groans, accent heavy, as he finally stills, reaching deep as he releases ropes of hot, sticky liquid, painting your throat white. 

You’d think this was only the beginning, the way his hand loosens around your hair, massaging your scalp where he was pulling too hard, making you melt and whimper, heart skipping a beat at his gentleness, only to be broken the moment he pushes you back, adjusting his sweatpants properly before turning away. “Tomorrow at the same time, don’t be late. Now leave my house, it’s not the place for a desperate whore like you.”

Tag List: @blkmtllvr @curtaindiver4000 @moozinomoto

[sweemmy]

Darkness had never been a problem for Vi. She had grown up in it, embraced it as both a refuge and an ally in a world that gave her no quarter. But now, the darkness within her is different. It suffocates, ravenous—a beast that feeds on her deepest thoughts, on her obsession with you.

You are a glimmer in her shadowed world. At first, you seemed to bring a fragile light to her broken life. But that light didn’t heal her; it didn’t soothe. It was a spark that ignited everything she had left intact within herself. Vi knows this isn’t love in its purest form—love shouldn’t hurt like this. It shouldn’t burn through every fiber of her being. But what else can she call it when her entire existence revolves around you?

Sometimes, when she’s alone, her mind drifts back to the past. She sees herself as the girl she used to be—a girl with hope, with unyielding morals, with a sense of justice that brought meaning to her chaos. Those images feel so distant now, as though they belong to someone else. But they weren’t always this blurred. Vi remembers how she clung to that version of herself, struggling to reconcile her principles with the choices she made for you. Until one day, she stopped trying.

“Look at what I’ve become,” she thinks bitterly, staring at her hands, hardened by fights and scarred by the things she’s done in your name. Her knuckles, always marked, tell stories of the lines she’s crossed, of the faces she’s struck simply for coming too close to you.

The first time she stepped over the line, it was almost accidental—a punch thrown harder than it needed to be, a moment she couldn’t take back. But the effect was instant: a surge of power mixed with a dizzying rush that left her trembling. After that, it became easier, darker. Each decision pulled her further away from the Vi who once vowed to protect Zaun, the Vi who believed in something greater than herself.

But it’s not the actions that haunt her the most. It’s the constant thought, the unrelenting mantra she cannot silence: “I would let the world burn for you.” It plays in her mind like both a prayer and a curse. Because she would. Because she is. Every choice, every sacrifice, every boundary she’s destroyed has been for you, and she knows she’s losing herself in the process.

The darkness isn’t just in her mind—it follows her like a living shadow. The nights are the worst. When silence fills the room, the endless hum of her thoughts becomes unbearable. Every shadow on the wall seems to mock her helplessness, her lack of control. She dreams of a world without you, where she might find freedom again, but those dreams are fleeting and bitter. Because even in her fantasies, your absence feels like an abyss she cannot escape.

She watches you from a distance, trying to understand how someone like you can hold so much power over her. Sometimes, your words confuse her. “You don’t have to do this,” you say, but the smile on your lips betrays the truth. You enjoy being the center of her universe, though you’d never admit it. And Vi, caught in the web of her own obsession, can no longer tell if what she feels for you is love or self-destruction masquerading as something else.

Vi fights it sometimes. In rare moments of clarity, she tries to reason with herself, to remember who she was before you. But even those memories are fading, because everything that came before now feels insignificant. She wonders if her obsession began as love or if it was always this destructive force wearing the mask of something pure. But it doesn’t matter anymore. She doesn’t know how to let you go, how to tear you from her chest without bleeding out completely.

Every time she looks at you, she feels that toxic mix of devotion and despair. You are her salvation and her damnation, the anchor keeping her afloat and the chain dragging her down. And Vi, so proud, so stubborn, doesn’t know how to ask for help, how to admit that she’s losing this battle within herself. That her love for you isn’t saving her—it’s destroying her.

In her mind, the scenes replay: the faces of those who fell beneath her fists, the chances she missed to do what was right, the Vi she might have been if she’d never met you. But those images fade quickly, consumed by the fire burning in her chest. “It doesn’t matter,” she tells herself, “as long as you’re with me.”

When she closes her eyes, she sees it all burning: Zaun, Piltover, the entire world consumed in flames. And at the heart of that inferno, there you are—untouched, existing solely for her. The smell of smoke, the searing heat, the ash choking her lungs… all of it vanishes when her gaze lands on you. She knows there’s no turning back. Her love for you is her undoing, and though it hurts, though it scorches her to the core, she wouldn’t change it.

Sometimes, she imagines a different ending—one where she lets you go, where she finds redemption, where she becomes more than the chaos she’s created for you. But those fantasies are fleeting. Because at the end of the day, the truth is she doesn’t want to let you go. She can’t.

This love has turned her into someone she barely recognizes. But if that’s the price of having you, she will pay it without hesitation.

[askshivanulegacy]

Yeah, seriously.

The thing that I've never understood is how no one on either side who talks about America seems capable of understanding what America IS.

The people who glorify it don't understand it. The people who whine and cry and hate on it don't understand it.

America is an idea. It's the idea of a place where you can live without persecution. It's the idea of America that we should be working toward. That's literally why we exist.

And like every other country ever on the planet, it has a bloody and violent past. And the past has great and inspiring stories on every side. And every figure on every side was a real human being with flaws and contradictions. They were good and they were bad, and they had complex reasons for doing things. History is all of it. History is fascinating. It's great stories! It's Remember the Alamo and all the great things the founding fathers did. And it's also that they fought for the wrong thing, and they owned slaves and never freed them.

You all love flawed characters and tragic stories and watching trainwrecks happen in your media. We all just watched terrible person, murderer, and war criminal Jinx in Arcane and people cheered for her. It was a great story! And also she was a selfish little bastard who murdered people for no reason and other characters rightfully wanted her dead. Well, that's what history is.

We all have the capacity to enjoy stories - and history as stories - and also to analyze the flaws and context and situations behind them. You can find the Alamo an inspiring moment in time because any life and death struggle can be. And you can also criticize it. Both can be true because people are capable of holding opposing concepts in their minds at the same time.

History isn't either/or, it's all of the above is true. And it's water under the bridge.

I think if more people understood that, they'd be able to celebrate historic moments without taking things personally when people decide they don't want to repeat that moment. And they'd also be able to recognize that you can't condemn for history either - it's over and now you take what you have and move it forward.

What I struggle with, as a public historian and a US American leftist, is how right wing US Americans can say they love history and call themselves “history buffs,” but get so righteously indignant when it is suggested that we can learn from history, and that it is normal and healthy to discuss the flaws and dark sides of various historical figures.

It’s like a wall which I, speaking as a public historian, wish I knew how to dismantle. Like when someone’s all REMEMBER THE ALAMO, I think the natural response is something along the lines of “certainly, but it’s important remember that one of the things the revolutionaries were fighting for was the freedom to continue their enslavement of other human beings.”

For me, that’s not a political statement. It’s a commitment to view historical events and figures for what they were in all their good and their bad and their complexity. But you say that to someone with right wing US American politics, and it’s like you spat on their mother and pooped on the flag.

I do make political posts here as an angry, frustrated progressive citizen of the USA who is also a historian. But right now, I’m posting as a historian, who happens to be a left wing US American. I don’t want to talk shit, I want to figure out how to fix it.

But then, knowing what I do of MAGA Americans, I don’t think there is a fixing it? Unambiguously valorizing the American past in order to maintain the illusion that this country was at some point Great is kind of their whole Thing.

Idk. Just some stray thoughts.

[creamflix]

cw: reader death (multiple lives) but no explicit detail, my take on choso being a "curse"

choso had lived countless lifetimes, yet each felt like the same endless thread, woven with anguish and stitched with your face. the curse of memory clung to him like a shadow, unrelenting, never allowing him to forget. you were his constant, the cruel anchor to his torment, and each meeting was a bittersweet agony.

he remembered the glint of lantern light catching in your eyes, the sound of your voice weaving tales that charmed the village children.

always, he was the nameless, brave warrior in your stories, an unsung hero battling the darkness. choso had sat in the corner of the shrine one evening, his heart tight as he listened to your laughter.

“the warrior was so brave,” you said, your voice soft yet filled with admiration, “but he was lonely, wasn’t he? perhaps he needed someone to fight for.”

your words cut deeper than any blade. how could he tell you that it was you he fought for in every story? how could he explain that your imagined warrior was more real than you knew?

when the first frost of winter came, you fell ill. no offering to the gods, no prayer whispered under his breath could save you. he stayed in the shrine long after, staring at the empty space where you used to kneel, his fists clenched in helpless rage.

a lifetime later, he found you behind the heavy silk curtains of a grand throne room, a princess wrapped in gold and duty.

yet, it was your laughter, still as bright and free as ever, that made him weak. you would sneak out with him, skirt hitched just high enough to avoid the dew-laden grass, your hand clutching his as if the world didn’t matter.

“do you think i could run away?” you whispered once, your voice trembling with the weight of your station. “live out there? with you?”

“don’t,” he muttered, his jaw tightening. “don’t say things like that.”

but in his mind, he dreamed.

he dreamed of fields without boundaries, of nights without watchful eyes. it was an illusion that shattered when a marriage was arranged for you. he stood among the onlookers at your wedding, hidden behind a pillar, his heart burning as you smiled at another man.

your laughter was different this time — huskier, laced with the clinking of shot glasses and the hum of an out-of-tune piano. in the dim haze of the saloon, you played for a crowd that never seemed to appreciate your talent. but choso lingered, always. he would drop coins into the glass jar on your piano and request the same song every time.

“you like this one?” you’d ask, leaning closer with a teasing grin. “i’d think a man like you would want something faster.”

“it’s perfect,” he said, his gaze steady on yours. “play it for me again.”

you didn’t live long in that life either. a stray bullet during a brawl cut your song short. choso held your hand as you bled out, your voice fading like the final note of a melody. “don’t… let me go,” you had whispered.

but he did. again.

bright lights, neon signs, and synth music — this life was so different, yet you were still you. your smile was framed by pink lipstick and bubblegum, your hair teased high with streaks of color. choso sat in the corner booth every day, ordering the same milkshake just to see you glide over on those ridiculous skates.

“strawberry again?” you teased one day, spinning effortlessly to set the glass in front of him. “you know, for a guy like you, i’d expect something a little darker.”

he almost smiled. almost. “it’s not about the drink.”

“oh?” you leaned closer, resting your chin on your hand. “what’s it about, then?”

you. but the word stayed caught in his throat.

instead, he watched as you laughed, skating off to the next customer, always just out of reach.

now, in this life, he saw you again. modern clothes, a phone in your hand, but the same soul burning behind your eyes. you didn’t recognize him, of course.

you never did.

but he felt his chest tighten as he stood in the shadow of a crowded street, watching you smile at someone else.

“you’re cruel,” he whispered, his voice heavy with despair. “how many times do i have to lose you?”

your laughter floated through the air, untainted by the burdens of memory. you didn’t know the weight you carried for him, how many times he had watched you fade, how many times he had buried his heart.

for a moment, he let himself step closer, close enough to feel the warmth of your presence. when you turned, your gaze swept over him without recognition, and he felt his chest shatter.

“do i know you?” you asked, your head tilted in polite curiosity.

he swallowed hard. “no,” he said finally, forcing himself to step back.

“but i know you.”

this concept was inspired by my immortal lover sukuna post, which is a lot more soft than this one, if you wanna read that. thanks for reading 'till here <3 produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[joelswritingmistress]

Neighbors with Benefits: Chapter 14 (Joel x reader)

Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 2000

Your mother was busy getting all the side dishes ready for the picnic while your dad packed coolers of beer, soda and water outside and prepped the grill.

“I'll bring these out,” you offered, repeating what felt like a thousand times, “What else do you need?”

You knew your mother had a thousand things to say, and maybe a hundred questions after that. Still, she remained cordial and attempted to seem normal on the surface. You knew by her tightly wound mannerisms that she wasn't even close to portraying that - at least not to you. She might've fooled a coliseum full of people with her mask, but not you.

When everything was set up and less than an hour remained until guests began to arrive, you tried to excuse yourself.

“Okay, I’m going to shower.” You scampered toward the stairs but your mother called you back.

Fuck. You had almost gotten up the stairs, but without stalling made your way back to where your mom stood in the kitchen.

“Do you need any more help?” You tried to butter her up a bit by offering your aid and pressing on a smile, but your mother wasn't having it.

“You need to consider what you're doing, (Y/N),” she warned, “I'm saying it for your own good.”

“Okay,” you halfheartedly agreed.

“I mean it,” your mother went on. “I honestly don't know what other advice to give you. He’s a man. He's married.”

“He's not with Cecille,” you insisted, “Do you really think I'd get involved with a married man? I mean, I guess legally he is but they haven't lived together for awhile and they're getting a legal divorce.”

“You're twenty-three.”

“And I'm able to date who I want to date,” you said without trying to sound confrontational. “Mom, I know on the surface this looks bad. But I'm going to feel this out and see where it goes. If I get my heart broken, it's on me. I have feelings for Joel and he has feelings for me. I’ll deal with the consequences, whatever they might be.”

She stared at you for a long moment before saying quietly. “Okay.” Her white flag was waving and, if nothing else, she was done fighting you on it - for the moment.

A temporary victory. You knew this meant your mother wasn't going to tell your father; not yet. And so you silently thanked her with a closed-mouth smile and took the stairs to take a shower.

***

The picnic had dragged. You checked your phone again and again and again. Joel, you guessed, was refraining from being the one to initiate conversation. You couldn't blame him, and you hoped that was all it was - him being cautious.

What if it's over? You wondered. What if that's it? What if all this scared him off?

Your anxiety got the best of you and you wandered around the side of your house to text him. Your thumbs danced on the screen as you asked how his day was going, if he got in touch with Tommy and if later was still good to meet up.

You chewed on your thumbnail and rounded back into the picnic. It was much to your relief that Cecille hadn't shown up. As the hours ticked by you grew more hopeful that she wouldn't swing by. Still, seeing her car in the driveway next door made your insides twist with a concoction of feelings.

Ding! Your phone sounded off and your head was pulled down like a magnet toward the screen.

Text me a time, Joel texted back to you, remember how to get to the fishing spot?

You typed back without hesitation: Yes. I'll let you know when I'm done here.

All you wanted was to be back with. You wanted to take in his body language, hear his words. You wanted to know that despite what had happened that morning, that everything was alright.

You glanced around the backyard at the scene you would have typically enjoyed. There was a four on four volleyball game going on, two people were playing cornhole, others were talking and laughing around the tables you'd helped your parents set up. Regardless of the smiles, the music, the laughter and the sun shining down on everyone, your smiles were forced and fake.

By the time the last of the guests were waving goodbye, you couldn't wait any longer.

Seven o'clock? You typed to Joel, while helping your parents clean up.

You folded a table in half and began lugging it toward the open bay of the garage. When your phone pinged, you set the table down on the driveway so you could check it.

I'm addicted, you acknowledged. Fuck.

Being head over heels for someone was more than you bargained for. You truly felt addicted to Joel Miller.

I'll be waiting, Joel wrote back.

His words out more pep in your step, and you hurried to lug in the cornhole boards and a second table. Inside, you helped your mother wrap up some of the leftovers and wipe down the countertops before finally hurrying to retrieve your keys and a backpack you prepared.

“Are you going to be home tonight?” Your mother asked. She held your gaze and you shook your head.

“I don't think so “ you told her honestly, “But I'll let you know for sure.” She added, “Is that alright?”

“Like you said, you're twenty-three.” She shrugged. “You can do whatever you want.” Your mother turned toward the sink. “Be careful. And text me.”

“I love you.”

She turned and met your gaze. Despite her outward, quiet concern for the situation she said honestly. “I love you, too.”

On a completely opposite and oblivious note, your father high-fived you by the front door as he entered after putting some things in the garage.

“See ya later, kiddo!”

You smiled to yourself, relieved by his nonchalant demeanor. “See ya later, Dad. Love ya.”

“I love you, too.”

You were out the door a few seconds later, speeding off into the night to meet Joel at your secret location. You needed to see him in the worst way. Despite his agreement to meet, there was doubt that plagued the back of your mind.

What if, what if, what if…

Your foot hit the gas a little harder as you drove from back road to back road until the park came into view. You had to really think to remember a few of the last bends in the road but soon you recognized the wooded area that led down to the lake.

Where is he? Where is he?

Relief filled your core when you saw Joel’s truck in a small clearing. Your stomach filled with butterflies as you pulled up beside him. Joel turned from where he sat in the driver’s seat and he flung his door open almost immediately.

Oh, no, you thought. He has something to say.

Joel looked like a man on a mission. You prepared yourself for the worst. You prepared yourself for the heartache. The other shoe was about to drop. All of a sudden you were scared to get out of the car. Joel's face was too serious. If you just sat there then you wouldn't have to hear his let down.

Stop! You scolded yourself.

You popped open your door and let yourself as Joel rounded the front of your car.

Fuck, he looks good.

Joel was all you thought all about all day - not that that was anything new. He stared at you down with jeans a snug fitting white t-shirt. It hugged his rugged upper in all the right places and your former anxious thoughts were replaced far different ones.

“Hi,” you said to him, folding your hands in front of you.

Joel didn't immediately say anything. He appeared as if he was studying you. You were sure he was far better at it than you were.

He walked the rest of the way to you and you went to speak again.

“Joel, I-” You were cut off when he grabbed your face and kissed you firmly on the lips. You kissed him back, letting your guard down completely in his embrace. Almost immediately it grew heated. Your hands began to wander. He began to snake your shirt up over your head and before you knew it you were nearly naked in the bed of his truck with his body blanketing yours.

“Joel,” you finally choked out, “I want you.”

“I love you,” he voiced in a gruff whisper against your lips before devouring them once more.

“I love you,” you whimpered back. One of your legs hooked around his naked waist and Joel groaned into your mouth.

Everything about the moment was feral and raw and right. Being apart all day amidst the uncertainty and the angst made you needy for one another. As bad as you wanted Joel, you wondered if he wanted you more. It felt impossible, but the way he approached you that evening without even saying a word left you breathless.

Darkness had fully taken over the world when the two of you finished. Even long after your lovemaking was through, your lips touched, your hands explored one another and Joel kissed along your collarbone, neck and shoulders.

Being out in nature completely nude and basking in the afterglow of perhaps the most tender, emotional sex you had ever had was an experience you wouldn't soon forget.

“I was afraid you were going to break things off with me,” you said quietly, kissing Joel’s neck as he closed his eyes beside you.

“I could never do that.”

“Never?” You let your teeth graze his neck as you continued to kiss him there.

“Mmm..” Joel moaned out loud, “Never.”

Laying face-to-face you linked your arm up under his and rested your palm on his shoulder blade. You pulled him close and kissed him. There was no getting enough of Joel. You slipped your tongue past his lips and he eagerly reciprocated. As you made out you felt him harden again against your upper thigh.

“I want you again,” you practically begged, pulling him closer. “Please.” Your hand drifted down to his lower back and Joel rolled his body back on top of yours with your encouragement.

His kiss was smoldering. You pawed your arms around him and tangled a hand in his thick, dark hair. When Joel’s lips parted from yours he kissed down your neck to the tops of your breasts before separating himself from you.

“No,” you begged, pulling him back with a smile as your teeth caught your bottom lip.

Joel satisfied you with a sloppy, closed-mouth kiss. “I'm just reaching inside for some blankets,” he explained, whispering against your lips. Joel pried open the back window on his truck and grabbed a small stack of blankets from the back seat.

You adjusted so he could place a few down on the truck bed and then laid back down flat and pulled him back to you.

Your bodies connected immediately as his lips crashed back against yours. When your lips finally parted to take a breath, you gasped out the words, “Don't leave me.”

Why was this such a problem for you? Even Joel, himself, saying he would never leave wasn't convincing enough. You were too deep into it emotionally and it was making you a wreck inside.

Joel, patient as ever, brought his lips to your ear. “You're mine.” His teeth latched onto your ear lobe and he swirled his tongue around the area. “All mine.”

Your head dropped back in pleasure and you dug your fingers into his back.

New kink unlocked.

@mellymbee @pedropascal111 @axshadows @mybritishstyle @untamedheart81 @amyispxnk @goodvibesonly421 @cosmic006533-blog @ashleyfilm @maybetomorrowgirl @rebeccawinters @cuteanimalmama @vickie5446 @writlingerz @drewharrisonwriter @churchofjoemiller

[revelboo]

Ignore me-Not Transformers, I just like the angry boi and a friend reminded me of the Transformers/Overwatch crossover and that he was paired with Megs for it. Love his design and the Omnics in general, but so, so incredibly awful at this game. Also, title’s not a Motion City Soundtrack song

Anti-Gravity

Ramattra x Reader

• Heart racing, you run headlong down the street. Hearing the explosions and trying to guess how many streets over they are. You don’t even know where you’re going, just following the people in front of you. When they reach the intersection and start screaming and scattering, you’re shoved down by the panicked people ahead of you. Falling at the feet of an Omnic taller than any you’ve ever seen, seeing its head tip, ribbons on its head sliding against its shoulders. Unable to move as Nullifiers storm the street in a violent tide around him. And his arm lifts, a staff in his hands as you hear the scream of jets overhead.

• They scatter like insects before him and his followers, screaming in fear. Knows they think he’s a monster for what he’s doing, even though they’re the ones that drove him to this. He never wanted any of this, trying again and again for peace only to see his people cut down. Because to them, the Omnics are expendable. Things that can be used and thrown away, not living beings. But not anymore. Never again ignored, because he will be seen and heard.

• That head turns and you catch the faint glow of optics under that mask as the biggest Omnic sees you on the ground, time seeming to slow as his head turns away dismissing you, those ribbon like strands on his head stirring in the breeze as the jets turn. They wouldn’t dare attack, they have to know there’s civilians down here with those monsters. You want to believe that so bad, but when the first missile is launched, you’re frozen but not surprised. Not really. Null Sector makes the news all the time, its leader thwarting attacks repeatedly. Always slipping away before he can be brought down.

• Growling, his arm lifts and a barrier shield flickers to life as the first missile hits. They’re really desperate enough to not care about collateral damage like the human sprawled at his feet or the ones still running just to try and end him. His Nullifiers turning and returning fire as another missile hits a building overlooking the street. Seeing the damage, seeing the building lean over them all. Any cost to stop him, then. Because now they see him. Fear him. Swapping to nemesis form, he bends, dragging the human out of his way and slamming his fists down. Again. Street buckling under the force, aware of the building coming down as he falls and the human screaming as they go with him. Rending pain. And the building crashes down, entombing him in darkness. But they’d seen him.

• Something wet drips in your face, and everything hurts as you come to by degrees. Wherever you are is cold, dark, and wet. Shafts of light spearing down from above, dust dancing in the golden glow. Pain slices through you when you try to move, trying to remember details. The building came down on you, so how had you survived? You remember the tall Omnic getting bigger, looking at you and raising his fists. Falling. You’re below the street? Gingerly sitting up, you try to figure out how badly you’re hurt. And there, a flicker in the dark. That Omnic, the one you’d seen on the news. Ramattra, Null Sector’s leader. He’s right there, unmoving. One of his legs pinned under debris, an arm torn completely off. Much worse off than you are, though shifting sends a jagged lance of pain through your ankle. There’s a broken rebar near you and you reach for it without thinking, the metal bitingly cold against your palm. As cold as the realization that you could end this. Drive this twisted spike of metal through his head and the fear disappears. Optics flickering behind the broken mask, its head turns to stare at you. And snared by those awful optics, you drag yourself to your feet.

Next

[eunimaybe]

contemplating : love, friendships and theories of time

୨୧ ; fate is a strange concept, isn’t it? because park sunghoon was the last person you had expected to see in your philosophy lecture in uni

pairing! philosophymajor!sunghoon x philosophymajor!reader | wc. 0.8k | warnings: wrong philosophy info, prob cringe EN-

🖇️ : philosophy major sunghoon SKDKDKSK. also, to the girly who asked for a uni fic for the science and maths girls, i hope you’re looking forward to my sunoo uni fic ~

you and sunghoon go WAYYYY back

he was your neighbour in that little picturesque town you both lived in, your mum's friend's annoying son who always seemed to be loitering around at your house

you thought your mum adopted him or smth bc why was he at your house more than his own?? — more under cut!!

you used to tease him about being homeless back in the days

but yk you two were best friends

but you and sunghoon kind of just drifted apart in high school after he moved during his freshman year at high school

you see his instagram posts sometimes, pictures of him out with his friends, jawline still jawlining

you sometimes even scroll down to his older posts where you are present in his photos, smiling next to him with a wide braces smile

but you never thought you would cross paths with park sunghoon again

that is, until university.

you walk into your first philosophy lecture and oh look there he is

park sunghoon sitting in one of the corners with his notebook looking like the exact definition of brooding intellectual

what is that guy doing here WHY IS HE HERE?

you two recognise each other instantly but there's this moment of awkwardness

like "oh, do you remember when we used to steal each other's snacks in 5th grade?"

except now he's all grown up, wearing wireframe glasses and quoting descartes during class discussions

you just try to focus on your lecture but you can't really forget about sunghoon being in your philosophy lecture

oh yeah, and he looks x100 hotter than you remember WHAT'S GOING ON

puberty hit him hard

after the lecture, you're about to pack your stuff and leave as soon as you can but he just strides up to you with his obnoxiously long legs

you always hated his stupid long legs you always had to run to catch up

you're certain he walked faster on purpose to leave you behind

ANYWAYS sunghoon just says long time no see in that smooth voice of his.

he's polite, maybe a bit shy, but there's a hint of a smile on his face and it's almost like the years of not seeing each other disappears

you two start hanging out more- grabbing coffee together before 8AM morning lectures designed to kill university students, studying together in the library

your mum is also really happy to hear that you've met sunghoon

you always knew she liked him better than you.

but you guys only get closer on a fateful thursday morning as you’re making your way to your morning lecture

because sunghoon is standing in the courtyard with a baby kitten in his arms whilst panicking

“y/n this cat keeps following me and she doesn’t have a mum.”

ofc you need to take it in SHE’S SO CUTE

you end up skipping lectures and spending the entire day with sunghoon to bring the cat to the vet and buy food

sunghoon wants to name the cat descartes but you veto that immediately

by the day is over, you have a kitten named mochi with sunghoon as a co-parent

now you’re seeing him all the time bc guess who has joint custody over mochi??

ok but spending time with sunghoon isn't as hard as you thought it would be

like yes he moved without a word and practically ghosted you in highschool

but it all feels really natural WHO CHEERED??

but between kitten playdates and philosophy study sessions stuff start feeling kinda different HMMM

which you didn’t think was possible btw sunghoon’s hobby is literally talking about existentialism and calligraphy

yeah and you knew him since he was five

ok but he looks really hot whilst talking about sartre NDJDKDKSKS

who knew you would start feeling all warm inside from sunghoon

not the 14 years old you in the past

but now everytime you touch in any way, you feel yourself flush pink

and you can’t ignore how sunghoon tries to act all nonchalant about it but his ears are turning red

how cute.

“you ever heard about hegel’s theory of love?”

“if you’re about to lecture me, i’m leaving.”

“no- listen, it’s about how love is this push and pull that makes you grow and stuff, and i don’t think i’m just studying it anymore. i think i’m feeling it, with you.”

ok that sounded a lot better in my head please don’t come for me

but yeah

aristotle believed everyone has a purpose they’re meant to fulfill. perhaps you didn’t know it back than, but losing touch with sunghoon and finding him again… it feels like you two were meant to meet again

heeseung jay jake sunoo jungwon ni-ki

✉️ : @icyy-hoon

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎLa Vie En Rose౨ৎ꣑ৎ

[fem reader] contains: age gap relationship, innocent reader pairing: young politician coriolanus snow x fem reader summary: you wear too short of a dress for coryo's liking author's note: thank you @phantomamor for inspiring me darling <3 <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

All your life you'd dreamt of falling in love. Of being whisked away by the man of your dreams in a magical way. Whenever you looked at the illustrations of princesses in your storybooks, you imagined being swept off your feet by a handsome Prince Charming.

There was no royalty in Panem, but Coriolanus Snow was about the closest thing to a prince you could find. He had charmed his way right into your heart, and you wouldn't have it any other way. He was completely enamored of you, his sweetheart, as he called you.

It was exciting for you to be in the public eye, on the arm of a promising up-and-coming politician. The tabloids splashed your picture across their covers, ones with your hand hooked in Coriolanus' elbow, a sweet smile on your face. You weren't used to all this attention, and so you clung to him at all the fancy events he brought you to, which he adored.

Sometimes there were whispers about the two of you, usually about your age difference. It was true that he was ten years your senior, but you couldn't see why that mattered so much. You loved him. And he loved you. He loved you so much that he'd arranged for you to come live in his fancy penthouse so he could have you near, right where he wanted. You had your own pretty bedroom done up exactly how you wanted, a closet full of beautiful things, and his undying affection.

With all the parties you attended by his side, there were all sorts of rules you had to learn that you didn't know about before, things you hadn't even thought of. Coriolanus was always sweet about teaching you, gently reminding you of certain things and making sure you were comfortable among his acquaintances.

You had learned so much in the time you'd spent with him. Which was why when Coriolanus phoned from work to tell you he'd be late and you should go ahead to the party without him, you didn't feel any twinges of anxiety like you would have a year ago. He told you hurriedly that he'd be along eventually, and you happily assured him you'd be just fine.

And you were! You breezed through the party, speaking to everybody you knew and greeting those you didn’t with a smile. You remembered everyone's name and lots of things about them. Coriolanus would be so happy with you. He'd drilled it into your head about making connections for him and you were confident that you'd been able to do it here.

You were speaking with the wife of another senator when you spotted your husband at the edge of the room looking directly at you. Gasping in delight, you excused yourself and hurried over to him, throwing your arms around his neck. "How was work?"

"What is this?" His tone of voice made you stop in your tracks. You looked down at yourself as if you'd forgotten, at your pale pink dress with the low neckline and short-ish skirt. It was pretty- you'd ordered it from a catalogue a month ago and had been dying for an excuse to wear it. Looking at yourself in the mirror before the party, you'd felt pretty. You'd thought he would like it.

In a small voice, you answered. "A dress."

He exhaled through his nose, taking your hand and pulling you into the hallway, shutting the door and muffling the noise of the gathering. "It's shorter than the dresses you usually wear."

"I thought-"

"You can't wear things like this in public," he said sharply, fingers finding your neckline and adjusting it, pulling it up as your lower lip wobbled. His sharp words sent a pang to your chest, and you found yourself fighting back tears. He was usually so gentle with you, conscious of your tender heart and wide-eyed view of the world.

You felt yourself crumble. All this time you'd thought you were doing a good job. "I didn't know," you whispered, eyes watery.

Coriolanus took you by the shoulders, turning you around. You felt his fingers in your hair, undoing the bow you'd so carefully tied when you were getting ready. He smoothed your hair out, tucking it behind your ears from behind. "I trusted you to pick out something nice."

"It was pretty," you tried, but the tears were seeping into your voice.

He came around to face you again, brow furrowed. Tucking your ribbon into his pocket, he cupped your face, brushing away the tear that had slipped out. "I know. I know, sweetheart." Coriolanus leaned in to kiss your forehead. "But I don't want anybody to say anything bad about you. You know how they can be." You nodded tearfully, sniffling and wiping your eyes, a little of your mascara coming off on your fingers.

Coriolanus smoothed your hair again. "I'm sorry. Work was a mess today and I-" he cut himself off. You lowered your gaze and he continued. "I'm sorry. You were trying your best."

You still didn't look at him, wallowing in your own shame. Coriolanus tilted your chin up. "Come on. Let's go back in."

The last thing you wanted to do was go back in and smile as if everything was okay. But you nodded meekly, clinging to his offered arm and letting him lead you through the door and into the party again.

This time you were more conscious of the way people looked at you, the way they lingered at your low neckline, your skirt that didn't quite reach your knees. One man in particular kept his eyes on you longer than you would have liked to know, causing you to dig your pink manicured nails into Coriolanus' elbow. He covered your hand with his, lowering his head to check on you. The second he saw the look on your face, he gave your wrist a pat. "Let's go home, darling."

He lifted your hand, pressing a kiss to your fingers, and you trailed behind him like a dejected kitten. On the car ride home, you were quiet, tucking your legs onto the seat and folding your arms. You couldn't help your tears, letting them fall freely now that you were in private. Your makeup had to be a mess by now, but you hardly cared.

Coriolanus reached over, pulling one of your legs into his lap. He fiddled with the strap of your shoe, undoing it swiftly and sliding it off. You watched him do the same with your other shoe, hooking the straps under his fingers and stretching out his arm to pull you close. He kissed your temple, arm holding your shoes sliding under your knees, the other finding your back. When the car stopped, he hauled you out and carried you upstairs, your face buried in his chest the entire time.

You didn't speak much, embarrassed over your mistake. What would they print about you the next day? Would they say bad things about Coriolanus because of what you'd worn? The thoughts tortured you all through the night and into the morning.

He had fallen asleep next to you, but when you awoke he was gone. Usually before he went to work, he would give you a kiss, maybe whisper something sweet before he departed. You reached for your pink bunny plushie with the ribbon around its neck, holding it tight and trying not to cry again. Sitting up, you tried not to imagine what he might say to you tonight when he came home.

The day was spent trying to distract yourself. You were obsessing over the mistake you'd made, upset that your efforts to please him had produced the opposite effect. Really, you should have known better, just like he said. Coriolanus had big plans for the future, and if you kept making mistakes like this, you could delay them, or worse, ruin everything.

When you finally heard his footsteps in the hallway, you righted your book, pretending as though you'd been reading the whole time. You didn't want him to know how you'd been obsessing over something silly like this.

At the light knock on your slightly open door, you looked up, seeing him standing there with a bunch of pink roses in one hand, a box in the other. You set your book to the side, unfolding your legs and stretching.

He set the roses on your dresser, coming over to press a kiss to your forehead. "How are you, darling?"

"Good," you smiled, squeezing his hand.

Coriolanus knelt in front of you, rubbing your thigh, his bright blue eyes fixed on you. He thumbed the fabric of your dress for a moment. “Sweetheart…I wanted to apologize again about yesterday.” He clasped his hand in yours, kissing your knuckles. “I was upset at you for something that wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have known better,” you murmured, and he shook his head, reaching up to rest his palm on your cheek, touch gentle as a butterfly’s wing.

“I’ve been too harsh on you,” he said quietly. You leaned into his touch, and he stood, lifting you out of the chair so he could sit. Once he was settled, he pulled you sideways into his lap and you folded yourself into him, snuggling into his chest.

“No, I’ve been naive,” you whispered, your fingers hooking on his pocket.

“No.” He shook his head, hand on your head to bring it to rest on his chest. “Darling…I’ve been worried too much about how the public will perceive us. Especially with you being so young.”

“I haven’t been good enough,” you murmured.

Coriolanus shook his head, kissing your hair and stroking your back, adjusting the strap of your dress over your shoulder. ”You believe your youth is a hindrance. But it makes you a treasure.” He took your face in his hand, rubbing your cheek. “I love the way you see the world, sweetheart. I love everything about you.”

You touched his wrist, leaning into his palm. “I love you too. Coryo…” Sitting up in his lap, you reached for his hands and he let you take them to hold, thumb automatically going to the ring on his finger, pressing into the indent of it. “You’ve given me so much that I couldn’t begin to repay-“

“You do every day,” he breathed, squeezing your hands. “Being at my side, choosing to stay. Loving me…I don’t deserve it. But the least I can do is give you what I can. What you deserve.”

Feeling as though you were going to cry again, you buried your face in his chest, and he cradled you close. “I liked the dress.”

“You did?” You peeked up at him, and he smiled fondly, smoothing your hair back.

“I did,” he said, squeezing your side. “Just…not for everyone to see, alright?”

“Alright,” you said, heart fluttering at the way he looked at you.

“I got this for you.” Coriolanus placed the little box he’d brought with the roses into your hand. When you opened it, the pale pink diamond necklace made you gasp.

“Oh, Coryo,” you whispered, hand flying to your lips. He lifted the string of jewels from the box, fastening it around your neck and carefully lifting your hair from the chain. Touching the diamond, you leaned into him, pressing a kiss to his mouth. “It’s beautiful.”

“I want you to have beautiful things,” Coriolanus said softly, kissing you once more.

He was no stranger to a gift. Often, boxes would appear in your closet containing handbags, expensive lingerie, shoes. You usually picked out your own jewelry, but this only proved further that his taste when it came to you was exquisite.

Touching the necklace again, you smiled. “I love it.”

“My angel,” he muttered, holding you closer. The feeling of safety that always encompassed you when he was near was prominent. You were secure in his love, encased in it and protected.

It didn’t matter what anyone said. Cuddled into his arms surrounded by proof of his love, you had everything you needed. Your fairy tale come true.

[reallife6anoufriev6boy6]

dylric angst fanfic - part two

includes necro, noncon, hints of prey/predator, etc.

notes: rapist murder with a side of library necro suicide please! (yes so what if i used zero hour pictures for the banner…)

edit: ((if my phone corrects my shit one more time im gonna smash it…its SUPPOSED TO BE ZERO HOUR SMH…))

right to the end, just like a friend

i tried to warn you somehow

you had your way, now you must pay

im glad that youre sorry now

the hours had passed by quicker then dylan and eric could comprehend.

dylan had spent the whole night, sobbing into erics shoulder while he sat there and held him. it was the sweetest thing hes ever done for him.

until now.

they were dressed and ready to go. everything they needed to do was done, they were in their spots, and now all they had to do was wait for the bombs to go off in the cafeteria.

dylan stared at the building while everything was starting to hit him. this was really gonna happen, he was really gonna do this.

he was going to do this with his best friend and prove to everyone that they were gods - they decided who lived and who died for their mistakes.

he thinks to himself though that they shouldve gone off at this point.

he looked across the lot to eric, seeing him looking down at his watch and shaking his head. he looks up and then back down, cursing to himself.

he makes a quick move to grab the rest of what needed out of his car and dylan does as well once he sees it.

he had no idea what they were gonna do now - their plan revolved around the bombs, but as long as his friend had some semblance of a plan then he was fine with that.

eric walks his way over across the lot to dylan “cmon, vee, lets just get this over with - that freakin’ crap isnt gonna go off.” he was obviously annoyed, but he was gonna make the most out of this.

dylan nodded “yeah - yeah, alright.” is all he answered with before they both turned to head in.

-

they took care of everyone outside with ease, then dealt with everyone inside. it was going a little smoother then they expected it to, but it still had its faults.

they were split up for awhile too before they finally came back together and recuperated, ready for their next step.

however, dylan hadnt noticed any of the boys they were *really* after. they had taken care of who they wanted to except for them.

if they had stayed home today for whatever reason or had somehow escaped then this was totally ruined.

it made dylan nervous and frustrated - it made eric absolutely pissed.

he wasnt gonna go down without those fuckers going down with them - he promised dylan that it would be the last thing he does.

they walk through one of the hallways, glass cracking beneath their boots and blood making the floor slippery.

“have you seen them yet?” eric asked, looking over to dylan. he wasnt sure exactly what they looked like or who they were - he had a very vague idea, but it was hard to get any information from dylan about it.

the blonde shook his head “no, i havent. theyve gotta be around here somewhere - i thought i saw their cars in the lot.” he had remembered seeing the cars parked outside, but he couldve just been seeing things.

they both could tell how each other were feeling. eric could tell that dylan was on edge and was frustrated that he might not get to see them be taken down before his own death while dylan could tell that eric was pissed they were being pussies and not showing themselves - so much for being tough guys, huh?

“its fine, ill find them. dont worry,” eric reassured him, but paused “i promised you that.” he hesitated to say it and it came out all embarrassed, but it made dylan smile.

“thanks, reb.” he replied as they turned the corner.

the brunette was about to say something else, but as they rounded that corner they were face to face with who they were looking for.

there was four of them there. four muscular white guys who were jocks on the schools sports teams. they looked all tough and proud, but now they were about to be nothing.

they were trying to open one of the exit doors and as if it was some miracle from the god they didnt believe in, the door was jammed. it wouldnt open no matter how hard they tried.

it made eric snicker - natural selection, bitch, is what he thought.

the brunette looks to the other, seeing the blank look on his face and his stiff posture. that alone told him all he needed to know.

he walks right up ahead, checking his gun as he did so to make sure it was loaded.

“hey, assholes!,” he called over to them “turn around, let me get a good look at you!”

they each turn their heads, confused, but the confusion quickly turns to horror as they try harder to open the door.

“cmon, man, you dont gotta shoot us,” one of them speaks up, but he fails to sound manly and his voice shook “we didnt do shit to you!” he spat while his friends tried to tell him to lay off.

erics eyes narrowed, glaring while his finger hovered over the trigger “are you that retarded? didnt do anything?,” he laughed, turning his head to look at dylan who was a little further back “vodka, did these fags do something? or are we just making it up?”

dylan shakes his head as if to say they werent making it up. he swallowed hard.

“yeah? name one fuckin’ thing!” the other answered with quickly. he clearly wasnt too smart to be taunting like this.

dylan doesnt want to name anything. he doesnt want to describe what happened just for these sick fucks. he doesnt want to think about it more then he already has.

he hoped eric understood and he did.

he turned to look back at the other boys “you know what you did.” he hissed, respecting dylans obvious discomfort.

none of the boys say anything for a moment until one of them whispers something to the other.

“oh - oh, yeah! *you* guys!,” he laughed “i didnt do shit to *you*, harris, but maybe to that freak over there!,” he continued laughing as he pointed towards dylan - even his friends who were hesitant before seemed to giggle along with him “it was all just a joke, ya know, we didnt mean anything! way to get overdramatic like a girl!”

he just wouldnt shut up and even his friends joined in, saying snide remarks and insults.

the two of them just stared, listening to all of it. let them run their mouths and ruin this for themselves, they figured.

“youre such a pussy, klebold! making your little boyfriend fight for you? seriously? man up, shoot me like a fuckin’ man!”

that was it for eric. he raised his gun and pressed his finger down on the trigger - all hell broke loose again.

it was a symphony of screaming, bullets, and the click of his gun. it was music to his ears.

dylan on the other hand was in complete shock - like an animal almost. it was surreal to watch the boys who assaulted him be murdered right in front of him, especially by his best friend.

he didnt ever entertain thoughts like this, but, god was it hot.

he couldnt even think of a better way to say it - it was just *hot.*

eric looked so focused, so set on making sure each of them had enough lead put into them to last them their trip to hell. the way his shirt and pants clung to him - the sweat dripping down his forehead and arms - it was all so attractive.

he lets off the last couple of bullets, the hallway turning eerily quiet and peaceful besides the distant shrill of the fire alarm and police outside. they both stare at the mess of blood and bodies.

eric doesnt even realize when dylan finally walks up next to him, abruptly grabbing him by his face with both hands and placing his lips to his.

his eyes widened, completely caught off guard. he wasnt expecting anything like that at all - maybe just some shared words about how good it felt to do that, but not a kiss.

eric knew better, but it gave him a sick sense of power.

he just murdered his best friends rapists for him - it was almost like he owed him now.

he could be the hero and kill those guys, but that doesnt make him any better. he was a teenage boy with an obsession for power.

dylan pulled away less then a second later, clearly embarrassed “sorry, sorry,” it comes out quickly, ready to explain himself “you just - looked really good,” it comes out a little softer then he meant it to. theres a soft layer of blush that eric is just barely able to make out on his face “thank you, eric.”

they werent more then friends. thats what they thought, but there was always something - something between the two of them that extended far past the label of friendship. an underlying need.

even the events from the previous night theyd chalk up to close friendship, but it was more then that.

eric doesnt reply, but instead grabs the front of dylans shirt and pulls him back down, kissing him again.

the blonde is surprised, but he quickly reciprocates.

it was ironic how intimate this seemed considering their situation, but this was their last chance to ever do something like this. no one was here to judge them - it was just them and the end of their world.

they stay there like that without a care and its so oddly sweet, but erics own needs get the best of him.

he lets go of his friends shirt, but instead puts his hands on his hips - his nails dig in just the smallest bit.

however, dylan isnt a fan. it makes him a little uncomfortable - he was more then grateful for what he just did for him, but he wasnt trying to be like *that*.

he pulled away just a moment later, wiping away some of his spit with the back of his gloved hand.

the brunette is less then happy to have him pull away, but he doesnt say anything about it. he knew better - thats what he told himself.

“i think we should go.” the other broke their silence. the end was inevitable and they both knew it. they didnt want to say it outright, but they already knew what needed to be done.

“yeah,” eric answered back “im done with this crap anyway. we gave them what they were asking for - lets go.”

-

its a quiet walk down to the library aside from the occasional comment with laughter and the random firing of their guns.

they had did it - they accomplished the only goal they set out for themselves. they did what they had to do.

now it would be over - all the chaos and terror would come to an end and they would finally be set free from this hell they were born into.

now they were in the library, sitting on the floor together. they ran their plans over hundreds of times, but they never really seemed to go over this part.

they were both checking over their guns, making sure they were set and ready.

“we’re doing it together, right?” eric asked, earning a nod from dylan “yeah. should be easiest that way.”

the discussion of that stops there. there wasnt really much to be said. they were going to die no matter how they did it.

dylan goes to place the end of his gun to the roof of his mouth, but he paused, turning to his friend.

“thank you - you know, for everything,” the other turns his head as he speaks “you were a great friend, reb.” theres something so surreal about the way he says it - they never put any thought into what their last words would be, so for it to be something so genuine was odd.

the brunette smiled “yeah, you too, vee,” its so weird to hear anything nice come out of his mouth, but it happens anyway “guess we’ll see each other in hell, huh?” he laughed and so does the other. they could barely ever take themselves seriously.

“yeah, man. ill see you there.” he replied back through his laughing. it sounded like they were just joking around - like they hadnt just murdered people and were about to finish themselves.

the laughter dies down though, being their final sign to get things moving along.

dylan placed the gun where it needed to be, glancing over to eric as if to let him know he should do it too, which he does.

neither of them make a move - at least until the blonde turns his head away, finger over the trigger. his friend followed his actions, keeping a finger over the trigger as well.

only a moment later did eric hear the bang from the gun, followed by the thud of his friends body falling.

this was where he was supposed to pull the trigger - end whatever suffering he was supposedly going through, but something makes him hesitate.

he knows what hes supposed to do - he knows he shouldn’t look over and should just get this over with, but he cant help it when he pulls the gun away and looks over to dylan.

it was just about as graphic as he wouldve expected. his head was blown open and the blood was already making a mess on the floor - he noticed how some of the splatter even got on his arm.

it was definitely weird to see his friend that way, but he couldn’t seem to piece together any other emotions. it was just *weird.*

he looks away and puts the gun back to where it belongs. he had to get this over with and just be done with it - there was no other way out of it. however, again, something makes him hesitate.

thats until he hears what sounds like gagging and choking.

he moves the gun away again and looks back over, seeing now that dylan was choking on his own blood while his body seemed to twitch and convulse.

it was a bad shot - a terrible shot even. he shouldve aimed better, but eric couldnt look away.

he just stared and watched.

it was wrong - so, so wrong about what he thought of next. he still owed him - he owed him for killing those guys who had hurt him. he didnt want to be on the same level as those guys, but he was far past that now that hes killed their classmates and committed crimes of his own.

he quietly set his gun down on the floor, getting up and sitting right in between his thighs.

was he seriously going to do this? was he really going to be as sick and disgusting as those guys - if not worse? yes, he was.

he swallowed hard, reaching a hand up to unzip his pants and pull them down. hes greeted with pale, scarred skin and thin thighs. it was a little off putting - he wasnt a big fan of the scars, but he carried on anyway.

he knew he had to make this as quick as possible considering there probably wouldnt be a lot of time before the police arrived in the building. of course, he didnt know that it would take them as long as it really did, but he just had to make the assumption.

he quickly pulled down his boxers and barely gives himself a chance to look at him before he was already taking care of his own. he unzipped his pants and pulled his boxers down just enough to take his cock out.

it was kind of disgusting how hard he already was. who knew all this murder and gore would get him so worked up.

eric readjusted their position, fixing the position of dylans legs and body, which was hard to do because of all the involuntary movement.

any thoughts of morality were thrown out the window at this point - there was no time for him to think about how wrong this was. he just had to do it. it was owed to him.

he lines up with the other, forcing himself in with a hiss. it was a tight fit - he wasnt welcomed here and he never would be. the groan it pulled out from dylan only proved that further.

he pulls back out, pushing back in and trying to get a pace started. its slow and rather awkward - he had never had sex with anyone before so he really only knew how to do this because of porn - and even that wasnt a great reference material when dylan didnt have a cunt like the girls he watched.

the brunette tries to make it work though, biting down on his lip as he forced himself in as far as he could go.

he would be lying if he said it didnt feel good. it felt *amazing.* maybe the blonde really did feel that good or maybe the situation made it better. he had no idea and he would never know.

he holds onto his hips for more leverage, trying to build up a better, quicker pace. it works somewhat - his own precum starting to make the slide bearable and easy.

he pulled another noise from the boy on the floor once he started to go faster, listening to his continued gagging and groaning. it was like he was aware, but just not quite.

it didnt matter though, he was gonna finish one way or another.

shame starts to creep its way in, but he has to shove it down. he feels ashamed that hes doing this to his best friend whos about half dead on the floor - not to mention he was another guy. his first time shouldve been with some pretty girl he met, not with a guy he considered his best friend who was bleeding out onto the floor.

at the same time though theres something about that specific fact. something so primal about taking what was his - not having a care about what anyone would think of him for doing this. he was an animal, a predator taking what he needed from his prey - what he was owed and deserved.

the thought of that alone just about sends him over the edge - thrusting in particularly hard with a moan of his own. he does it again, followed by one more until hes finally spilling inside of him.

the twitch of dylans body and the gagging seems to stop as he did so.

he stays inside of him, not bothering to pull out. his whole body felt fuzzy and there was a sort of hazy feeling that hung over him. it was euphoric, really.

he has to pull out though against his own needs, looking over his work. he just about gets another erection when barely any of his cum leaks out.

he has to refrain himself though. he stuffs his own cock back into his boxers, fixing his pants and then turning his attention to his friend. he pulls up his pants and boxers too, fixing them and putting everything back into place.

eric wondered what the reports would say about this. what the autopsy report would say about the cum left inside of his friend and on his own dick - maybe theyd say he had raped him in death which wouldnt be wrong, or maybe theyd think it happened before - that dylan was some kind of faggot who willingly took it up the ass.

either way, it didnt matter.

eric wouldnt be around to see it and neither would dylan.

[rootspiral]

hi, hello!! i absolutely adore your deep dive series into the aaa episodes, and i was wondering if you could/would feel like expanding further into agatha’s guilt towards wanda and all the emotion she shows in the first episode, when she sees wanda’s corpse? the way agnes seems to value human life is especially interesting to me, considering how much agatha has killed (and i understand agnes is a character in what’s supposed to be a very stereotypical detective series, but i remember how you said agnes is in some ways agatha at her most transparent). anyways, i thought i’d try to pick your brain a little more on the subject, because your takes are very interesting to me!

Hi hello to you, thank you for stopping by! And also thank you for your interesting question, consider my brain officially picked. I'm gonna ramble QUITE a bit because I want to talk about Agatha and misogyny first (as requested by @leoleolovesdc ) but hold in there, I'll get to wanda too.

To get to the point directly, I think that Agatha's actions are steeped in internalized misogyny, and I think it's something she inherited from her mother and the salemites. It's actually pretty common for marginalized communities or individuals to turn against their own and replicate the patterns of the oppressor, looking to ease their self-hatred or for outside acceptance or a sense of control. Think for example about super conservative wives voting against their best interests, think about all the homophobia and biphobia and transphobia and acephobia (etcetera etcetera ad infinitum) in the queer community.

The persecution of witches was essentially a war on a kind of womanhood that went again imposed gender norms. Witches (in the marvel universe and in real life) were more often than not women who lived independently, who knew herbs, who didn't marry, who worked as midwives etc. And talking about the salemites specifically and the way they treated Agatha: they did to Agatha what the external world did to them, they replicated a pattern. They targeted the odd one out, the woman in their group who was the most different, and called her evil and essentially tried to burn her at the stake.

We don't know a thing about evanora, but I would BET that a lot of her hatred stems from her own internalized misogyny / agatha being born female, and I honestly wonder if Agatha would have found it harder to love a daughter the same way she does Nicky or Billy, without any of her internalized bias kicking in. Since she was a kid Agatha had been hurt and persecuted by other witches, she's pretty much wired to mistrust and hate them. And it gets even more muddled and complicated because she hates witches but loves witchcraft, she hates women but is sexually and romantically attracted to them. She yearns to belong, but she ends up torturing and killing her own community. She allies with people like that disgusting prick who violated Jen.

Enter Wanda, who is essentially Agatha 2.0: she was born doomed by the narrative or, to say it like evanora, she was born evil. Evanora would have had a FIELD DAY with Wanda. The Scarlet Witch? The destroyer of universes? She would have tried to kill her on the spot. There is A LOT Agatha instinctively hates in Wanda, she's a woman, she's a witch, she's dangerous. Agatha does what the salemites did to her and what men did to witches: she replicates a pattern. She punishes Wanda for being too alone and too different and complicated and scary. And yes Agatha is doing it to get her hands on chaos magic and all that comes with that, but this is all the baggage she brings in.

There's the other side of the coin: Agatha hates women and witches, Agatha loves women and witches, and Agatha hates and loves Wanda. She's been essentially killing and running away for the past two centuries, refusing to dwell on the consequences of her actions, but we know that she is no unfeeling psychopath, that's just a role she plays. We know all her actions weigh on her. With Wanda that sense of guilt is even stronger because Wanda is not a random witch she kills and abandons in the woods, she has to live with her and witness all of Wanda's pain up close, how lonely she is, how scared she is, the grief of losing Pietro and Vision, it's all there to torment Agatha. She cannot be a child about it, she can't close her eyes and cover her ears and go lalala until it's over, she has to take it all in order to get what she wants. And what's worse, Wanda is so similar to her that Agatha can picture exactly what she's feeling down to her bones, that's empathy to the max. And she goes through with her plan and does horrible things to Wanda anyway.

Knowing Agatha like we know her now, I'm convinced that her guilt about Wanda is especially hard to deal with, but Agatha has always refused to deal with any of her inner struggles, so Wanda just goes on the pile together with all the painful and complicated feelings she's pointedly ignoring, and which are not haunting her at all, thank you very much!

Except when she's Agnes, because all the feeling are still there but she doesn't know where they come from. I'd say that more than transparent Agnes is unfiltered, she doesn't know she should censor her struggles like Agatha does. Based on Agnes, we can plainly see what the biggest issues on her Inner Pile of Shit and Sorrow are: grief over Nicky's loss, anger and yearning for Rio, extreme loneliness, and guilt over those she hurt, with a particular emphasis on Wanda.

[malk1ns]

november 23 vs utah hockey club, 6-1 loss

good grief, guys. at least we've got sidney's 600th goal?

previous soulbond installments: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Zhenya rarely looks forward to long breaks in the schedule. He gets out of his routine when he’s not playing consistently, and the first couple shifts back after more than two days without a game always leave him sucking wind on the bench even when he makes sure to keep up with gym work in between. He likes falling into the rhythm of video-practice-gym-nap-game, likes waking up and knowing exactly where his day will take him. Too much off-time and he gets nervous, rattling around in his house alone and pestering all his friends back in Russia with texts and emails as he tries to distract himself.

Now, though, he’s looking forward to putting this game behind them and having three solid evenings free.

He and Sid need to talk. Neither of them will risk a serious conversation that might impact their sleep and mental state the day before a game, but Zhenya can’t tuck what happened last night to the back of his mind and forget it ever happened.

Zhenya flushes at the memory. The way Sid looks when he comes is etched into his brain now, how red he’d gotten, the way he bit his lips and clung to Zhenya’s shoulders as he shook through his release. 

Zhenya wants to see it again, wants to have enough presence of mind next time to be a little more hands-on in making it happen. He’s never really thought about being with a man before, but he’s not blind, he knows what Sid looks like, and the bond made even that barely-competent fumble so good he wants to know what it would feel like when they’re actually trying.

So, they need to talk.

Zhenya barely even notices the double-heartbeat as he gets ready for the game. His wrist aches, and it almost sends him to the trainers until he remembers Sid slipping away to get his worked on a few days ago. He’s got sore knuckles too, from Sid’s fight the night before.

Most prominent, though, is the front-row seat Zhenya’s getting into how Sidney Crosby mentally prepares for games.

It’s not all that different from Zhenya’s own mindset, really. There’s a comforting background murmur of Sid thinking about the Utah defense running parallel to Zhenya’s own mental review of their goalie’s weak spots, and every now and then he can feel Sid dip into what he’s thinking about to highlight something. Zhenya tries doing the same, tentatively prodding at a move from practice the other day that worked particularly well as Sid’s thinking about it, and Sid’s delight gets Zhenya smiling stupidly at nothing as he makes his lunch.

He’d been hesitant to reach out after he somehow managed to rip that goal from Sid last week and hurt him, worried he wouldn’t be able to adjust and his presence in Sid’s mind would cause him nothing but pain. As they’ve gotten closer, though, the bond seems to be adjusting itself, smoothing out and becoming easier to live with. Zhenya’s glad.

The game starts poorly and only goes downhill from there. It’s like he blinks and they’re down 2-0, staring down the barrel of yet another loss in front of their home fans, who deserve so much better than the Penguins have been giving them for the last couple of seasons. Zhenya’s embarrassed, clutching his stick too tight and overthinking every move on the ice. He doesn’t know how to work himself out of this slump, especially when he’s having to get used to yet another line combination, and even Sid pressed to his side on the bench and conciliatory touches don’t help.

Sid’s feeling the pressure too, Zhenya can tell. They’re doing their best to not work each other up, but neither of them are playing to their potential right now. Amplified emotions on a feedback loop can have a negative impact too.

But then Sid scores his 600th goal.

The crowd erupts. The bench empties. Sid practically whites out with joy and relief as they all slam into him, and Zhenya tucks Sid under his arm, beaming down at him as they’re pressed against the boards by their teammates, everyone reaching in to pat at whatever part of Sid they can reach.

For a few minutes, he and Sid float, suspended in a moment of happiness and pride rebounding back and forth.

As they skate to the bench, though, Sid sinks into an oily, astringent guilt, and when Zhenya tries to catch his eye after the multiple standing ovations the crowd gives him, he stares at his skates.

They lose. Badly. Again. Zhenya doesn’t break his stick on his way down the tunnel, but it’s a near thing, and the locker room is silent and stunned as they clear out.

Sid catches Zhenya’s arm before they exit the change room. “Come over?” he says quietly, and Zhenya nods.

He beats Sid home, idling in the driveway until Sid putters into his garage, and lets Sid fuss at him in the kitchen, grabbing snacks and water and Gatorade until they finally settle at Sid’s tiny kitchen table, knees knocking together.

Sid opens his mouth, but Zhenya beats him to it. “You’re upset after goal,” he says, shivering as the acrid feel of shame blows over them both again. “Why? Like, 600, it’s good, for team and for fans, you know?”

Sid presses his lips together. “I shouldn’t feel good for a personal accomplishment when it doesn’t actually help the team win,” he says quietly, picking at the label on his water bottle. “I’ve never…that’s not why we do this, right, it’s not for our own personal numbers. It’s for the team, it’s for winning, and I’m doing fuck-all to help with that, so…” He shrugs. “It feels wrong to be happy when we lose like that.”

Zhenya shakes his head. “You’re just one guy, Sid,” he says, reaching over to cover Sid’s hand with his own. The touch settles them both so abruptly that Zhenya has to blink away spots in his vision, and Sid’s mouth drops in surprise. “Can’t make team win, can’t make fans happy all yourself. But we’re know this is maybe how it’s go, like, it’s a—transition year—” he struggles over the words Dubas had used when he met with them before the season, “and fans still come to see you play, yes? Like, you’re score big goals, do big things, they’re happy to see.”

“They booed us again,” Sid says, so softly that Zhenya can barely hear him. “They…I mean, it’s not enough. I can’t act like it is.”

Zhenya shrugs. “No,” he admits. “Not enough. I’m not play good enough either, like, not just you. And rest of team…” Zhenya purses his lips and forcibly moves off that topic. They’re not here to talk about the shortcomings of the roster they’re doing their best to bring together tonight. “It’s bad season, maybe worst ever for us. But that’s not mean there’s no good things. It’s okay to say, this was big thing that happens, it’s good, we’re happy for it.” He squeezes Sid’s hand.

Sid curls his fingers into Zhenya’s. “You’re right,” he sighs, picking up the granola bar he’d grabbed and frowning at it. “You’re so good at seeing the bigger picture. I should listen to you more instead of getting stuck in my head so much.”

Zhenya can’t resist. “If you’re stuck in head now I just come get you,” he offers, holding his breath, letting it out in a relieved whoosh when Sid laughs. 

“Oh, we’re joking about it now?” Sid demands, but there’s a cool rush of relief from him too, and Zhenya relaxes.

“Sid,” he says, but he doesn’t know how to continue, because the significance of this, of what’s happened to them and brought them to this point, is suddenly overwhelming, and he has to swallow around the lump in his throat.

They’re bonded. Jesus.

Sid blinks rapidly, eyes suspiciously watery. “I know, G,” he says, clearing his throat. “Look, we need to talk about…I mean, last night, obviously, and…” He’s turning red, Zhenya notes with fascination. “I mean, it was…I’ve never…but there’s other stuff too, and…” Sid sighs, laughing a little and shaking his head. “I’m not even making sense. I’m exhausted and you are too, I can feel it. How about…stay the night. We can talk in the morning. We have a day off, we can sleep in and actually talk about all of this.”

“Stay the night with you?” Zhenya dares, heart thumping.

Sid’s heartbeat speeds up to join his. “If you want,” he replies, catching Zhenya’s gaze and holding it. “Yeah, if you want, stay with me. My bed is big enough for two.”

[greml1nb0i]

THE HAZBIN LEAKS SHOW THAT S2 WILL ONLY GET WORSE: Characters

OK so my first gripe,

Emily's song is ear bleedingly annoying. Idk who her VA is but omg, idk if she's tone deaf or if they just have her mouth directly into the mic but my gods woman. STEP BACK you are assaulting my brain with these nonstop high sopranos.

Also the literal shot of Sir P trying to kill himself cuz of how either how annoying Emily is being or the fact he misses his friend, regardless it was a WILD fucking scene to show. Suicide isn't off the table for Viv's jokes, i guess.

Speaking of Sir P, his reason for being in Hell is so fucking stupid.

How tf is being scared of Jack The Ripper a sin?! His sin is just being scared of being murdered if he spoke out.

THAT'S JUST NORMAL HUMAN BEHAVIOR, WHAT?!

I hate to break it to you Viv, but not everyone is going to act like a macho hero when they see a damned murder!! Most people fucking run and hide! Why? CUZ THEY DONT WANNA DIE! They don't want to be targeted if shit goes south.

Also what is the thought process here in making his sin being just "cowardice"?? Viv are you trying to say that people who have most def been in Sir P's shoes, [witnessing a murder] are cowards that deserve to go to hell?? What's the motive here? Am i missing something?? Is being too afraid to be murdered, a sin??

Also apparently he was sent to Heaven for "saving Cherri Bomb"

save her from what?

Last i checked, in the final ep; he just kisses her as she's about to through a bomb and then says "i love you, remember me" only to have one of the most anti climatic "deaths" in the show. She wasnt even being attacked or threatened in anyway. So where tf does the plot point of "i saved her" come in??

Also can we talk about these fuck-ass human designs for Sir P and Alastor??

I don't mind Sir P's as much as i hate Alastor's. Its the fact Viv doesnt know wtf she's doing when she makes these designs.

Sir P just looks like a generic guy. One look at him and you cannot tell what time period he's from, same goes for Alastor. They could easily be frickin neighbors in the early or late 90s but no, they're supposedly from different timelines.

Alastor iirc is from the 1940-50s, and Sir P is from the 1800s, [Jack the rippers final kill was 1863-1888]

Why, Viv, cant you do any research for the time periods YOUR characters come from??

Why do they both look like cartoon barbers; not a radio show host and not a genius inventor?? Like did you even look at the differences in fashion and culture for any of these characters?!

Men fashion from the late 1800s looked like this:

This is [white] Men's fashion in the 1940-1950s:

See Viv, their fashion styles are different and shouldn't look the same at all. Why does every character have pinstripes, if it doesnt even reflect that time period in an authentic way??

And to add a cherry on top, this is what African American men would wear in Alastor's time period:

Do you see the difference in styles Viv?

Black men were not given the same nice everyday casual wear that white men did. They often wore hand-me-downs or had to work their asses off to just afford 1 nice looking suit.

you wanna know why?? Cuz Viv, the Jim Crow laws were still in full affect til the late 60s and early 70s. They were not seen as people, black men and women were still heavily discriminated against and were even still being victims of-

[MAJOR TW FOR RACISIT STUFF]

lynching's. Alastor would feel lucky, he only got mistaken for a deer and shot; he could have, and probably did, go through much much worse in his actually living life.

Tell me you didn't do any research for your characters without telling me you didn't do any research for your characters.

TLDR; So not only is Viv using more gross jokes in her next season, but the character designs have gotten even worse.

Lmk what you want the next topic to be about, if i missed anything you would've liked mentioned here, lmk in comments or asks and i'll reply. I reply to everyone as long as you arent being a jerk.

EDIT:

I've been made away that Alastor didn't in fact live in the 1940s and 50s but the 1930s. i will say most of my points still stand, but here the men's fashion for his time period.

also that makes his radio show even more of an impossible achievement, in the 1930s majority, if not, half of the black men in America were out of work cuz of racism, discrimination and segregation, ya know, cuz the Jim Crow. White people called for African Americans to be fired from any jobs as long as there were whites out of work. Racial violence again became more common, especially in the South.

Tell me again Viv, how tf did Alastor even thrive??