#it has a name but i can’t think of it for the life of me

[cassandraclare]

Kit to Ty

Election day: misery, stress, hair-pulling, at least for Americans (and a lot of other people around the world affected by our politics!) So I thought I'd post a distraction; I hope it helps and doesn't annoy!

A while ago I posted the beginning of a letter from Kit to Ty, created for a Kickstarter backer. Here's the full text:

A letter from Kit to Ty, never sent.

Ty, Ty, Ty.

Your name looks strange written out like that. Like an abbreviation. But Tiberius would be so formal. I never think of you that way. Or, I suppose I should say, I never thought of you that way. Tenses matter in these situations, I guess.

It’s late, past midnight, and I’m sitting on the windowsill in my bedroom at Cirenworth. Jem and Tessa gave me one of the best rooms. Of course they did. It has a view out over the gardens. Sometimes I see the ghost of a dog there, a golden retriever I’m pretty sure, running in and out of the flowerbeds. He seems like a pretty happy ghost. I think about how much you like animals and how much they love you, because of course they do. But it’s too late; this dog passed away a long time ago. You probably couldn’t even see him. It’s too late for a lot of things, now.  

I’m still mad at you, and I don’t feel good about that. Maybe if I could forget, I could forgive. But I can’t forget that night you brought Livvy back. I’ll suddenly remember even when I’m thinking about something else. I’ll be in the middle of helping Tessa in the garden and suddenly I’ll turn around and I’m back in Idris. 

I remember I told you I loved you. I remember I told you I would help you, but not if you raised Livvy from the dead. Not if you did necromancy. But you wanted that more than you wanted me.

And I understand that. I’m not angry about that. Here’s what I’m angry about: when you brought Livvy back, you changed yourself. You made yourself a different person than the one I loved. I don’t know the person you are now. You took yourself away from me. I can’t forgive that. And you made me someone who has to keep a secret I never wanted to keep. I was raised by someone who had so many awful secrets, and when I started my life as a Shadowhunter I wanted to do it openly, and honestly. But now I’m just someone else with secrets I can never tell. Just like my dad.

It makes me angry, so angry. I want to yell at you. I wish you were here so I could yell at you.

Kit

[hello-sweetheart]

You know that trope where Person A thinks Person B is just being nice but they’re actually flirting. What about the opposite? Person A misreading their behavior and being the only one falling impossibly in love.

Clumsy in Love Part 2

It’s hard to listen to Eddie talk about this guy the same way Steve wished he did about him. Eddie, already so full of life and words, doesn’t seem to need to take a breather between his praises.

“Can’t believe this guy is actually into me, did you see him? Oh my god!” He groans and smacks his palms against the steering wheel, literally bouncing in his seat.

The van swerves a bit to the left.

“He’s just my type, too. Those eyes, prettiest eyes that have ever graced human existence, and they were looking at me. Me! Wow! The darkest green— I don’t think there’s any precious stone that can compare actually.”

He beams at him and Steve’s traitorous heart still flutters like a wounded bird helplessly flapping its broken wing. Eddie is smiling so hard his cheeks must hurt, eyes crinkled at the corners and teeth on full display.

Steve will close his eyes at night and replay these words, pretending that this excitement and instant adoration is about him. That Eddie’s love-struck smile is for him.

“And, to top it off, he’s a geek. A fucking nerd. He actually knows DnD! What are the chances, Stevie? I’m no religious man, but an angel must have heard mine desperate pleas.”

His name is Adiel, Eddie’s perfect guy.

Steve spends that night feeling the need to cry, the hurt is right there at the base of his throat refusing to spill.

Steve kind of wishes he did, maybe letting everything out would leave him feeling empty instead impossibly full of heartache.

Adiel is blond, a dirty blonde that means he must’ve had light locks as a kid. Face slim and cheek bones prominent, but his features are soften by button nose. Maybe Eddie is right, he looks like the angels depicted in stained church windows, but whereas angels are depicted in white, Adiel wore exclusively black.

He wasn’t decorated in rings and chains like Ed, only a few silver piercings in his ears and a couple on his lips. But it was evident they had much in common, even just by looks. More than Steve could ever say about him and Eddie.

Over the next couple of weeks they share their music, intrinsically understanding what it means to one another.

Getting it.

Getting it the way that Steve never could, even with hours of Eddie breaking it down for him. Maybe Steve never understood, but he loved those moments shared between them. Wonders if Adiel cherishes those moments too. If he takes it for granted.

They share everything with each other and Steve hears every little detail gushed between sickly sweet sighs. He’s trying to be a good friend, to listen and share Eddie’s happiness, but something inside him grows bitter. Angry. He hates feeling this way.

“I met his friends already, they’re a really cool bunch. I really think you guys would get along. They know all the best spots for people like us. There’s a whole world out there, Stevie—“

Stevie. His breath stutters.

“Of people like us with places for us. We could take Robin and Vicky and be surrounded by people that won’t, that won’t think we’re… wrong. And who knows,” he nudges Steve’s side with a suggestive smile, “maybe you’ll meet the one there, huh Stevie?”

“Stop. Just, just stop!”

Steve doesn’t mean to yell. He just can’t take it anymore. Everything that has been building up inside him has reached a point where he just can’t. He pushes Eddie away from him who looks startled. Offended and bothered and confused.

“I don’t want to meet his friends, or least of all him. I don’t get it, okay! I thought—“

What did he think? That one day he would confess to Eddie or vice versa? That they’d kiss and go on double dates with Robin and Vicky? That he would fall asleep each night in love and loved? It seemed plausible at some point. That’s what hurts the most.

“Hey, Stevie—“

“Don’t call me that! You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

“What? Your name? You don’t want me to call you by your name?”

A bitter laugh, “yeah. My name from your mouth.”

“I, You’re not making any sense!”

Steve knows. He knows. But Stevie, Big boy, Ozzy… even his own name, can’t bear to hear them. Not from him. Can’t bare the way his heart squeezes.

Eddie’s looking at Steve with furrowed brows and down turned lips, standing still. Has Eddie ever been still before in his life?

Once. When he was still and pale and red. His chest gone quiet for the most terrifying seconds of Steve’s life.

Steve looks at him, his eyes burn. Steve’s breath from his own chest brought Eddie back to them. Eddie’s lungs still carry his desperation. His ribs healed but the cracks must still be there from the palm of his hands. He’s tasted Eddie’s blood before from his mouth—

He’s kissing him. Steve, dumb stupid in-love Steve, has his lips on Eddie’s once more, but this time they’re warm and full of life and his ringed hands are on him and,

They’re pushing him. Away.

“Eddie,” his sight is blurry, eyes hot, and breath stuttered. “I, it hurts. You with him. I can’t—I just can’t.

And Eddie looks, terrified, dark eyes searching Steve’s face. For what, he does not know. Sincerity, maybe. Truth. Maybe looking to see if he’s really shattered inside.

“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t…I don’t…”

And Steve?

Steve smiles. It’s watery and his lips quiver.

“I know.” And that’s the problem, isn’t it. It’s always the problem. “I know, Eddie. I’m sorry. It’s, it’s okay.”

Eddie leaves Steve there in the living room.

There’s still two cans of Coke half full on the coffee table but only one person left in the room.

Part one < 💛 > Part 3

Tagged: @bananahoneycomb @margaglitterdeath

[yutarot]

RIDE OR DIE: l.jn smau

012: stay wc: 1k

it has been 1 hour and 19 minutes since you sat, awe-stricken at the tv screen. it’s been 1 hour and 19 minutes since you picked up the panic call from mark. it’s been 1 hour and 19 minutes since you repeatedly asked him what you should do.

it’s been 1 hour and 19 minutes since jeno’s life fell limp at your feet.

someone had leaked jeno’s identity. and it wasn’t you.

which meant, by process of elimination, it must have been chenle.

but it doesn’t matter. because that immediately means the fault is yours.

he trusted you, you betrayed him.

and now the entire world knows his name.

mark was speaking down the phone trying to reassure you, “yn, don’t worry okay, you couldn’t have known chenle would go and do that.”

“i guess… but i still told him.”

even with mark reassuring you, the guilt you feel piles up in your stomach.

and it only intensifies when you put mark on speaker to check your notifications.

99+ messages.

it’s winter.

you skim your eyes past the notifications, the words “traitor”, “can’t believe you didn’t tell me”, “my man???” all jumping out at you. you haven’t just broken jeno’s heart tonight, but winters too. and you can’t even imagine how haechan must be feeling, his friend of a decade suddenly actually being his biggest idol.

and it’s all because of you.

“yn? you there?” mark calls out.

“yeah.. i just, i gotta go do something real quick..”

“what? yn? where are you going? what are-“

“sorry mark.” you say as you press the red hang up button.

switching the tv off and walking to your apartment hallway, you step into your shoes, grab your car keys and head towards the door, with only one destination in mind.

you need to see jeno.

you open the door, one fluid yet guilt driven motion. but much to your surprise, you don’t make it much further.

because your doorway is blocked.

your doorway is blocked by none other than jeno lee.

and his expression is unreadable.

“jeno..” you say, barely even a whisper.

“i have nowhere else to go.” he says, the seriousness in his voice overwhelming you.

you’re confused, “what about jaemin? haechan? even renjun?”

he shakes his head, “jaemins not answering his phone, haechan’s probably in shock and renjun…. renjun hates samo so… he hates me now too...”

“oh..”

the guilt resurfaces.

you try to make sense of everything. “im guessing your father kicked you out..”

he nods.

“and now you want to stay here?”

his features are still, seeming almost resentful. “just for one night.”

you can’t say no. as much as you wish you could, watching this man who’s life you’d just completely and utterly destroyed stand, helplessly at your doorstep, you can’t turn him down. not after tonight’s prior events.

so you let him in.

he walks through your hallway. “i hope im not stopping any of your plans.” he says, referring to the sight of you with your shoes on and keys in hand.

you turn your back to him in order to hang your keys back on their hook.

“no.. i, uh, was actually on my way to see-“

“chenle?” jeno cuts you off, finishing your sentence.

“what? no”

you turn to face him. and when you do, the sight infront of you lets the guilt finally overflow.

jeno’s stood beside your couch, a grey sports hoodie in hand, the words on the back reading ‘zhong.’

“he was just about to come here, wasn’t he? you were going to pick him up.”

jeno is livid. and you’re not entirely sure why chenles hoodie had angered him so much.

so you do the stupid mistake of asking.

“why are you so angry about that?”

his eyes narrow on you, thousands of thoughts running through his head. “you leaked it, didn’t you? to get back at me ending the deal?”

you can’t believe your ears. your mind nearly freezes as the words leave his mouth. he really thinks you did it? that you’re the one who told everyone?

“what?” you ask him for an explanation, any sort of reasoning to his point. it makes no sense, if hes angry at you for exposing his identity, why would he have come to your apartment to stay the night?

“i came over, for a little bit of consolation. but this just… this is enough..” he says, words trailing off in a mix of both anger and annoyance.

“it wasn’t me.” you say, “jeno i promise, it wasn’t me.”

his eyes find yours amidst his cruel state of mind and the air around you stills for a fraction of a moment. a feeling of almost giving up surrounding his features.

he sighs. “i know.”

what?

you open your mouth to ask him to elaborate, but he beats you to it, running a hand through his hair. “im gonna g-“

your instincts overcome you as you suddenly speak up. “stay.”

“what?” his brows furrow.

“stay. you have nowhere else to go. so stay.”

his eyes look at you like you’re speaking another whole language.

and you basically are. you have absolutely no idea what’s going on in jeno’s head at present, and you would bet all your money that he has no idea what’s going on in yours.

but what you both know, is that someone has leaked jeno’s secret.

you’re sure, with all your heart that it was chenle, and you know that jeno undoubtedly probably thinks the same.

so that’s why you let him stay.

no longer through remorse, but now through acceptance— an acceptance of not really knowing the truth, yet, living with it anyway.

“oh and jeno?”

“hm?”

“congrats on your win.”

he smiles, but it looks almost painful.

you wish you could take it all away.

that’s the best you could do.

for you, for samo and for him.

and so you both get some rest, jeno crashing on your couch as you take your bed. you’re painfully aware of the fact that you need a good nights sleep tonight.

because tomorrow, you’ll confront chenle.

previous : mlist : next

notes; ik u guys r gonna be soooo confused by this chapter but this scene is gonna be so important in the future u have no idea 😆😆 this may be the biggest yutarot mystery yet im so excited☺️ all will make sense eventually 🙏 may even be worth going back to read this chapter at the end because WOWIE this hurts me so bad

taglist — open! @jenohyun @jirsungs @do-you-remember-summer-127 @ddolbyong @stqrgr7 @thatsatricky1 @sunghoonsgfreal @nattan127 @ssweetreveries @flamingi @lesuneczka @chenlesfavorite @peterm4rker @snoopyjimin @akunoeyebrows @junviadinho @slayhaechan @f6llsun @multifandomania @cookiehaos @catecita @mrsjohnnysuh @luv4jeno @hyuckies18 @dreamiestay @tangerinelovelees @jjaegyeom @https-yeonjun @nanaxwi @yukisroom97 @nosungluv @mrkleelvr @neocrashed @jaedgemental @apolloxxivmin @kyubing @catdonut657 @dudekiss3r @juyeonshour @hamjwis @antifrggile @mmjhh1998 @ldh0000 @thegracerammy @jenocity23 @honeynanamin @bluedbliss @lampcults @yyangj3lly

[perfectlyoongi]

SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who has all your limits written on his phone. from the first day Jungkook met you, only your existence occupied his mind. since that day, Jungkook realized that you weren’t as ordinary as everyone else, there was something different about you, something magical that made him curious and anxious. Jungkook wanted to know you. Jungkook wanted to be the only one able to know you. and the first step was to know all your limits. whether it's something simple to memorize or something he has to look before acting, all your limits were organized on Jungkook’s phone. if you asked him, Jungkook would say he just wanted to treat you with the respect you deserved, but you knew something else shone in Jungkook’s eyes when he answered you in that smiling way – you thought that was quite adorable. “if i do something that you are not comfortable with and forgot to say, please let me know right away. i don’t want you to create false comfort just to please me. be honest with me, that’s the only thing i ask of you.”

SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who makes sure your happiness always comes first. at the beginning of your relationship, he took every precaution to please you: Jungkook always asked if he could touch you, if he could cover your entire skin with his print and leave his mark on your body; Jungkook always asked if you needed something, anything he could offer to brighten your day or improve your life; Jungkook always asked before acting to show you that your relationship was something much deeper. “in your message you said you needed a minute to calm down, obviously i was worried. do you need anything? i’m getting in the car now. if you want me to buy something for you, send me a text and i’ll be at your house before dark.”

SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who always takes you on a trip on the weekends. life was complicated, especially when everyone expects something from you, so it was more than natural for you to be completely exhausted when the weekend arrived. as such, and always thinking about you, Jungkook had a getaway ready for you when friday came to an end. he would always appear on your doorstep with a small and simple bouquet of flowers that wouldn’t need you attention for the next days. without telling you where you were going, just suggesting suitable clothes, Jungkook led you by the hand to his car and took you for two days of pure relaxation and tranquility. for two days, Jungkook would make sure that all that was on your mind was his name. “i suggest you get a warmer coat this time. and also a beanie. i bought you a new outfit for dinner tomorrow, you don’t have to worry about that.”

SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who understands when you can’t meet with him, but he expects compensation. each one had their own life beyond that relationship, that was more than obvious; as such, whenever a commitment came up, or you simply weren’t up to the task of satisfying Jungkook’s company, he wouldn’t contact you for the rest of the day. it wasn’t because he was mad at you or because he didn’t like being turned down – no. Jungkook just didn’t say anything so as not to disturb your peace. something you always admired about your relationship with Jungkook was the respect he always showed you – there were no tantrums or crying or sarcasm. just simple respect. every time you said no to him, Jungkook would just move away a little and wait for you to say you were going to his house to return his respect. “i didn’t have a good day. and i know you’re working late today, so... as soon as possible, yea? i need you when you’re ready.”

SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who likes it when you paint your lips and leave marks of your kisses on his body. lying on the bed, hugging the pillow you used to sleep on, Jungkook stared at you for endless eternities. at that moment, when reality returned to greet you and all the secrets were hidden among the clothes that were scattered on the floor, Jungkook was admiring your beauty in silence. always smiling, always with his eyes shining, Jungkook kept seeing the way you used your lipstick carefully as he waited for you to get back into bed with him. the nights were eternal when Jungkook spent them with you. under the light of the stars, only illuminated by the dreams of poets, you and Jungkook shared an instant that stretched into infinity. and this story was told by you. carefully. one kiss at a time. one smile at a time. one promise at a time. there, in those moments, when you offered him a fragment of your essence that would remain marked for the rest of the night, Jungkook truly believed that paradise existed – and it was just a kiss away.

SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who teases you all night long. Jungkook’s hands had no control when you were close to him – even when other eyes fell on you. Jungkook liked to show you off, especially at parties. you were divine, composed of the brightest stardust in this universe. you were fascinating, your existence originating in the celestial gardens of our cosmos. you were everything, but most of all, you were Jungkook’s. and no one could steal that. as such, you were already used to feeling Jungkook’s soft hand running around your back, resting gently on the bottom of your hips. you were already used to receiving those small, quick kisses that Jungkook gave you near your ear, gently brushing your neck. you were already used to Jungkook making you sit on his lap, holding you by the waist, leaning against his chest. you were already used to this possessive side of Jungkook. and you didn’t mind one bit. “don’t think i didn’t see the way you spoke to that guy, all happy and all. one more drink and we’re going home. there’s something we need to get straight.”

SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who does everything to be seen with you. although Jungkook was the one who spoiled in your relationship, he was the one who felt the luckiest. meeting you was like winning the lottery – Jungkook’s life changed drastically overnight. suddenly, like someone exchanging two words, Jungkook had someone to share his lonely days with. suddenly, like someone forming a smile, Jungkook had someone who listened to him and validated all his feelings. suddenly, like someone falls in love, Jungkook had a purpose in this monotonous life. it was just you. you were the one who deserved Jungkook’s attention and all his secrets. you were the one who deserved Jungkook’s seductive words and all his looks. you were the one who deserved Jungkook completely, without fear or pretense. you and only you. it was obvious that he wanted to shout to the whole world that it was you who made him discover the true meaning of the word ‘life’. “i know that my actions are not the most delicate. but i want you to know that everything i show you about me only exists because of you. and that’s the side i want to show everyone. i want to show how you turned me into a living being.”

[hiddenreamers]

Telegraph Road 1977 & 2024 - Lando Norris

SUMMARY: For Lando, the words "first love" just make him think of his childhood neighbour. Then, his heart breaks a little when he remembers she's somewhere in San Francisco. How surprised he is when it turns out you're much closer - in an apartment across the hall. Lando couldn't be more grateful for the strange mysteries that led you to this doorway.

WC: 983

Everybody has those moments when they are suddenly reminded of someone they knew long ago. Old classmates, kids from summer camp, playground friends – people who once were part of your daily life but now you think about them maybe once a year if not less often. Those silent questions of “I wonder what happened to them?” come and go just as quickly, like a golden brown leaf carried by the wild, autumn wind.

Lando is something of an exception to that rule. The thoughts of his old neighbour never quite leave him, as though his autumn is more of a perpetuity than a season. Despite the passage of time, that curious quirk of his stuck. However, the why has changed. While still a child, he’d ponder the memories of you simply out of longing. It is only natural when one’s closest companion is gone one day. Then, as his young heart began revolving around crushes, dates and girlfriends, Lando suffered an epiphany. Finally, he understands! It was as if on some random Tuesday lightning had struck him – it was love he felt for you, not just friendship. And what a tale of one’s first love it told! “We were inseparable, soulmates, if you will, when one day she moved away and I never heard from her again.” Truly, a drama worth a thousand novels.

Little does he know, that those strange mysteries that separate lovers, sometimes lead them to each other’s doorways…

Lando is closing his front door, when the sound of paws tapping the floor grabs his attention. Without much thought, he looks down the corridor.

The tapping belongs to a rather happy-looking Scottish setter. He recognizes the breed only because he’s spent his childhood running around a small British town with you and two of those dogs. Despite the lingering memories of the past, Lando doesn’t mind the pet any longer, again focusing on his own things. Then, a strangely familiar voice distracts him again:

“Come on, Axel! We’ll have plenty of time to make friends later.”

Almost giving himself whiplash, Lando looks for the source of the sound. Could it be…?

You’re a little surprised when you hear someone calling out your name in a questioning manner. As far as you know, none of your friends live in Monaco. So how come someone here knows you? Fixing your grip on the box labelled Kitchen, you take a look around the corridor.

For a moment, you think you’re just seeing things. But you’ve stared at that face for so long, you could recognize him in the darkest, most inexplicable fever dream; the face that you’ve associated with home for your whole life.

“Oh my God, Lando Norris!” you exclaim between chuckles. “I can’t believe it!”

His cheeks redden a little. “You remember me?” The question has a distinct tone of surprise.

“Of course I do! You were my best friend,” you say. “Well, the only friend for a few years,” you add, your voice noticeably quieter than before.

“What are you doing here? I thought your family moved to San Francisco.”

It is only then that Lando truly sees who you’ve become throughout all those years away. Perhaps you are more beautiful than he could imagine but you’re also much sadder. There’s a wistful look in your eye, a tell-tale sign of maturity that is only born out of tears. He can only wonder what pains have brought you back to him.

“At first, it was San Francisco, then New York, Chicago, L.A… I never fit in anywhere. They’re all very lonely cities, you know?” Just for a second, your eyes become glossy. His heart feels a painful sting that only gets worse as you force a wide smile on your face. You’ve had practice in faking happiness, haven’t you? “But enough about me, it’s not that interesting,” you say in a casual tone. “Congratulations on your driving career. Seriously, you’re amazing. Would it be creepy if I admitted now that I’ve watched every single one of your races?”

“Not as creepy as admitting I’ve stalked your social media and never followed you because I thought you don’t remember me.”

“Are you dead serious right now?” Lando’s sheepish smile earns a loud laugh from you. “You should have tried anyway!”

“Funny that you’re the one to say that,” he retorts. “Why didn’t you message me if you’re such a big fan?”

Flustered, you look away for a moment. “Honestly, I thought it would be weird,” you confess. “I was sure you’d forgotten all about me and pulling this ‘we were childhood friends’ schtick now that you’re famous would be so embarrassing. You’re this top-of-the-top racing driver and I’m, well, me.” A bitter chuckle comes after your words but the faux amusement isn’t enough to fool Lando.

“You’re staying for long in Monaco?” His question is accompanied by a light gesture towards the box in your arms.

“As long as they don’t fire me, I guess.” That strange, sad laughter again. “Listen, you look like you have somewhere to be and I’ve already taken up too much of your time. You could come by in the evening, catch up if you want?” Your tone rises, revealing uncertainty about whether the invitation is welcome.

But to him, the answer is obvious. “I’d love that.”

You give him one last smile, then disappear behind the door to your apartment.

In some sense, he has you back. Not the girl he remembers, no. Something innate seems to be gone from your soul but Lando lacks the words to name the change. The sights, the loves, the pains – whatever it was that took your life on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, it sprouted melancholy in the very marrows of your bones.

“What happened to you?” he whispers to himself.

The only answer that comes is muffled footsteps and the shuffling of cardboard boxes.

Check out other fics in the Ampersand Themed Works

[castiwls]

juno .ᐟ

Paring; dean x reader

Prompt; 'one of me is cute but two tho’

Requested; @mochminnie

Notes;

Masterlist | short n sweet

Children had never really been on your or Dean's radar. Sure when you were younger the idea of a picket fence had sounded nice but now as an adult and knowing the life you currently lived, you’d both come to an unspoken agreement that it was not the time for kids.

Well, that was until you ended up in the possession of a shifter baby.

“C’mon, sweetheart you’re not seriously considering it.” Dean laughed climbing into bed beside you. He pulled you into his side with a quiet sigh.

The last few days had been nothing short of insane. He thought he’d seen it all and then suddenly Sam’s back and now he has an extended family he wasn’t sure if he trusted or not.

The only person acting like god damn normal was you. Well, you were until you’d announced that you wanted a baby.

He wasn’t ready for a baby! He was pretty sure he’d also just proved it if the way you’d reacted when he’d given the shifter whiskey was anything.

“Think about it.” You hummed, your tone dreamy almost as the image of him holding the baby flashed through your head again.

“I am.” He responded gruffly as his eyes slipped shut. “I’m thinking and I’m telling you no.”

You huffed looking up to him with a slight pout. Dean cracked an eye open, grinning at your expression. “Don’t pull that face at me. No babies end off.”

He squeezed your body closer to his as you continued to frown. “Can’t we just talk about it? I saw you with that baby Dean, you didn’t look too annoyed then.”

He hummed looking at the ceiling for a moment. Maybe the baby had been slightly cute.

“Though if we do have a kid we are not naming it Bobby-John.” You scoffed. Dean shot you an offended look as he moved back ever so slightly to see your face better.

“Hey! What’s wrong with my naming abilities!”

“You can get middle naming duties.”

“Hey, if we’re doing this it’s my child too sweetheart and I’m not letting you name it somthin stupid like…like Sally.”

“Sally? Seriously?” You shook your head, amusement flashing in your eyes as you saw the playful glint in his own.

Dean nodded. “So we’re at an agreement. No Sally.”

“No Sally.” You nodded.

Dean’s hand rubbed over your shoulder slowly as you sat up, shifting to sit across his lap. He smiled as you came face to face, his other hand brushing a piece of your hair back.

“Think about it. A little baby who’s the spit of me or you? How cute would that be!” Your voice was soft now, the same one you used to convince him to let you pick the dinner place whenever you were bored of his constant fast food.

“Think about it? For me?”

He huffed but fell quiet. A mini-you did sound a lot more appealing than another version of him. The world didn’t need two Dean Winchesters running around.

“I dunno sweetheart, two of you sounds kinda like a nightmare.” You gasped hitting his chest.

“Shut up, a mini version of me would be so cute.”

“Mhm.”

“Dean!”

“I’m joking.” He laughed. “I’m joking. I think it would be adorable.”

You nodded happily before falling quiet. “Does that mean you’re willing to try?” You said after a moment, peaking up through your lashes.

“Jesus-“ he huffed before taking a breath. God damn it you’d made the idea so appealing.

“It better be a damn girl.” He grumbled before flipping you both over. You gasped as your back hit the mattress before a slow smirk grew on your lips.

“If not we can always try again.”

[diremoone]

yakuza! ryomen sukuna | hcs.

overdone trope with this man but here we go again lmao. i’m just writing little drabbles that pop up in my head atp to keep the inspiration going sobs… i need a gallon of coffee

🖤 Yakuza! Sukuna, who’s been involved in yakuza bullshit since his last year of middle school, has a soft spot for you. Most people who went to school with you (who are also apart of his gang) two know that, and they know that unless they want to end up like the Zen’in named Naoya, they won’t fuck with you. You’re untouchable, and the second anyone starts rumors about you (everyone knows they were lies regardless because of your character), they’re moving schools within 48 hours.

Fuck ‘em.

🖤 Yakuza! Sukuna keeps you far away from his gang bullshit as he gets deeper into the darkness and you pull yourself farther away, into the light where he wants you to be. But he knows that even his little sunshine is capable of being mean like him, but it’s tucked away for those that warrant your wrath.

He thinks fondly back to the time you knocked out a couple girls cold with a volleyball for picking on Miwa.

🖤 Yakuza! Sukuna who swears his hands aren’t stained red whenever they’re holding your hands. Whenever he’s with you, he feels nothing like how his gang makes him feel—he feels normal, like that part of him doesn’t exist. And inside the walls of your home, it doesn’t. To you, in those shared moments, he’s just the nice boy you helped get through middle and high school and grew feelings for.

🖤 Yakuza! Sukuna who buys you pretty things with money that isn’t gotten by bloodshed… as much as possible anyway. You aren’t ignorant to where the money comes from, but you’ve done your best to make your wishes clear. And Sukuna abides by them as much as possible.

🖤 Yakuza! Sukuna who has his younger cousin Choso posted as your personal bodyguard whenever you go out, even when it’s just to do some simple grocery shopping. He isn’t taking any chances, this you’ve been made aware of and have accepted. And you’re fine with it, too, considering you grew up with Choso.

But what you don’t know is that there’s already been multiple attempts on your life and your safety. Sukuna isn’t having it.

🖤 Yakuza! Sukuna who gets fed up when you’re on your third date within four months. What pisses him off is that he can’t tell if you’re enjoying the asshole’s time and company or not. But when he sees the man press a kiss to the back of your hand at the end of the date, jealousy rears its head.

The next night, he’s at your front door, dressed in leather and with a spare bike helmet under his left arm.

You answer in a hoodie and black sweatpants, confused and dazed until he says softly, “C’mon, sweetheart. Lemme show you how a man gives a woman a good time.”

Your confusion turns to amusement. “Was wondering when you were going to take me out. It’s about time.”

Sukuna grins and holds out his arm. “C’mon then.”

🖤 Yakuza Husband! Sukuna who ends up putting the ring on your finger two months after that date. You end up signing the papers long before the actual ceremony happens. And to Choso, Yuuji; and all the others that have witnessed your relationship from its first greeting to the ring on your finger, they can only sigh in relief because it’s about fucking time.

… Oh, shit.

Kids.

a/n: the rain and thunder while writing this was a big help lol. it’s been raining for two days now hehe

[nightwolf-525]

Aged up GlassHeart AU

Red grew up confined to Wonderland. The ‘Horrible excuse of a man’ (as her mother liked to call him) King Beast had manipulated a young fairy into sealing Wonderland away because he wasn’t man enough to handle Bridget (Red’s mother) refusing to kneel before him.

Of course, this was all her mother’s perspective but Red was inclined to believe her given her mother rarely ever lied, at least to her.

Red is 23 years old when a letter comes from Auradon from a King Ben, likely the Beast’s son, saying that he would like to host an ambassador from Wonderland for a few days as the first step to forming an alliance with Wonderland.

The Queen of Hearts decides to send Red, her heir as the ambassador for a number of reasons. 1) No one in Auradon knows who the girl is and will therefore not treat her as royalty. 2) Red is the most skilled soldier in the Queens army and should have no trouble defending herself and returning home should this invitation be a trap. 3) For a similar reason to the first. Red will not be treated as royalty and will therefore not be expected to act like royalty. Bridget sends Red as a gift to Red herself. A few days to learn Auradon and experience something new without the responsibilities of a royal heir.

Red goes happily. She is greeted warmly and treated well, though the princess can tell the Auradonians were not excepting someone so young. Nevermind that, if they try to manipulate or underestimate her due to her age she will know what kind of people they are.

Red finds King Ben to be kind, if not a little boring. His wife, and Queen, on the other hand intrigues Red though she does not receive a chance to truly interact with the woman. In the evenings/nights Red is gifted a guide. A bright excitable young woman who is about Red’s age. She introduces herself as Dizzy and happily shows Red around the Kingdom. It was her third and last night there when Red finally asks Dizzy about the night life. Dizzy smiles and takes her to a club. Red is unfamiliar with the name, but she understands the concept well enough, they have something similar in Wonderland. She thanks Dizzy and ventures into the crowded club.

She’s been there an hour when she lays eyes on the most stunning and beautiful woman she has ever seen. The woman has curly blue hair and her skin…oh her skin…it’s far darker than any Red has seen in Wonderland but still lighter than a few people she has seen since being in Auradon and Red finds herself enthralled with the way the lights of the club dance off the woman’s bare shoulders. Red has never been one to deny herself something she so clearly wants so she approach’s and offers to buy the woman a drink. The minute the bluehaired woman looks at her Red knows this isn’t going to be a one and done thing for her.

“Chloe.” The woman introduces herself.

Red smiles, “Red. I didn’t realize this Kingdom had woman as beautiful as you. I would have visited a lot sooner.”

Chloe laughs at her and Red finds herself wanting to hear that sound again and again and again. They talk for hours and Red can’t get enough of the beautiful woman, but it’s getting late and she knows she should leave. She regretfully informs Chloe of such and then offers her hand.

“You could join me?” She asks hopefully.

Chloe hesitates, but eventually smiles and takes Red’s hand. The night that follows is the best Red has ever had. She’s no stranger to the female body. She knows how to manipulate a woman’s pleasure to her advantage, but this feels different. Feels real. As she pulls one last wave of pleasure from Chloe’s body and watches as the woman sinks into her bed completely sated and exhausted Red decides that she won’t let this be a one time thing. But that’s a conversation for the morning. Red curls herself around Chloe and falls asleep easier than she has in years.

Red wakes up to an empty bed. No Chloe. No note. Not even a last name. Nothing she can use to find the woman again. She’s left alone with thinking but the memories of the night they shared and feeling of her heart shattering.

Dun dun dun!

Any thoughts?

[funhouse-mirror-barbie]

Okay. I gotta talk about it.

Warning for major spoilers for season 2 of Hazbin Hotel and discussion of leaks—I will NOT be posting any links to the leaks or posting pics/screenshots from them here. Just going to be talking about a particular character.

Okay, last chance if you don’t want to know anything about the spoilers/leaks!!!

Im serious!!! Last warning!!!!!

Lute is now unironically the most compelling character in the entire fucking show and I am not kidding.

Whoever wrote the little bit of her character that’s been leaked did a really good job. She is incredibly interesting to me now because we get to see her when her entire way of life and ideology is challenged.

Lute is a very flawed and cruel person, but she has always been extremely sure of herself and that she is unambiguously CORRECT in her way of life. And now she’s being faced with the fact that she and everything she lived for is WRONG and they just CANT accept it. So much so that it appears that she’s now hallucinating Adam to cope.

Lute cannot accept redemption is possible and her viewpoint is SO black and white that it’s likely going to end up killing her or at the very least will drive her to madness. She would rather burn the whole world than accept change. There’s a tragic element as well that comes with every character that lives in the extremes—she fully believes she’s in the right. So much so that she can’t understand why EVERYONE else in Heaven seems to be horrified by the exterminations. She thinks she is doing the best thing for everyone, and is now resisting the reality that is front of her.

What would be really amazing, and what I’m hoping for is that Adam really did fall and became a “Demon” in Hell. Because then she would have to deal with the person she looks up to and admires the MOST becoming what she’s sworn to annihilate. I don’t know if she could handle that.

The question of whether or not she could reconcile Adam, someone she saw as being heavenly and perfect, could fall and become what she hates the most, a demon, is really interesting. She’d be forced again to question her ideals and beliefs about what is right and wrong. That is the sort of deep character exploration I had been hoping to see from season 1 of Hazbin and didn’t really get.

This small glimpse into her character reminds me of other characters that are so lawful or black and white that they can’t accept change or realities that conflict with their worldviews. Rorschach from Watchmen and Javert from Les Miserables come to mind.

It would be really cool to show her in direct contrast to V (not calling her that sexist ass name at least I can pretend “Lute” is named after the fucking instrument) and have Lute be the foil to V’s continuing character arc from season 1.

Please please please don’t let this characters complexity be reduced to “evil bad villain is bad and evil” for the rest of the story please please please. (Gotta say tho, given Hazbin and Helluva’a track record with writing women villains….and tbh just. Women in general. I am going to be VERY VERY cautiously optimistic)

(Also I don’t care if her song is cringe I think it fucking SLAPS)

[actuallysaiyan]

The RainIII(All Might/Toshinori Yagi x Fem!Hero!Reader)

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, daddy kink, size kink, Toshinori in his All Might form, Reader is given a hero name(feel free to ignore if you don't want to imagine yourself as this hero), Reader is All Might's former mentee, established relationship, vaginal fingering, quickies, semi-public sex

word count: 1.8k

pairings: All Might/Toshinori Yagi x Fem!Hero!Reader

summary: you see him at an award ceremony and you both try your best to keep your feelings under wraps. you and him have a very risky quickie.

a/n: Read part one and part two to understand the plot!

dividers: @adornedwithlight

taglist:  @thissaintjessi.  @cherryblossombankai , @thestarsystemsworld, @pixelcafe-network

The way he looks at you, you swear you’re about to combust. He rarely gives you this kind of look when you’re in public. Especially not while he’s out accepting an award. You look at him with a similar look. It’s the kind of look that says, “I’m going to fuck your brains out when we get home." The only issue is that the public doesn’t know that you two are together yet.

He’s so graceful with everything too. You’ve long admired this man for ages. He was your mentor; he helped you become the hero you are today. How many of these people know of his sacrifices to keep them safe? Do they know about his injury that has left him incapable of keeping his form for very long?

Or are your eyes the only ones who get to see the beautiful Toshinori Yagi in the way he’s meant to be looked at?

“I couldn’t have gotten this far without my supporters, fans, and of course, my wonderful colleagues! I am your Symbol of Peace, but please trust me when I say that a hero is nothing without his fellow heroes.”

The crowd erupts in cheers. You smile as you look at him from your spot on the side of the stage. Your hero costume feels heavy on your body. Toshinori seems to be really enjoying seeing you in it. It’s been a while since he’s seen you up close in your hero costume. And he just keeps giving you that look, in such a sly way too.

He answers a few questions, and your heart races in your chest when he’s asked about his love life. He doesn’t dare look at you this time. You had both decided to wait to make this official in the public eye. He just laughs heartily as always.

“There may be someone in my life who I’ve always admired, but I can’t give any more details than that.”

The crowd begins speculating. You love the way they eat up every single word he says. You watch as a few other heroes step up to the podium to answer some questions as well. As per usual, you do not miss the way Endeavor glares at your lover. 

Trying to sneak off backstage, you’re stopped by Mt. Lady. She smirks at you, clearly wanting to share some juicy gossip with you. You follow her towards the small sitting area rustled up for heroes who weren’t going to be interviewed during this award ceremony.

“Did you hear that?! All Might has a lover!” She says, her eyes wide.

You laugh, “I sure did. I wonder though... someone he’s admired for a long time...”

She begins talking your ear off, trying to think of the right person that fits the bill. You wish you could tell her the truth, but you promised you wouldn’t say anything to any of your colleagues. It would be something you both do together as a couple.

“I mean, I think he had something with Sir Nighteye.” This makes you laugh.

“Oh definitely,” you nod your head. “Those two were as thick as thieves. They were probably in a secret relationship.”

This was something you had been thinking about lately. Who were the people that Toshinori had dated before you? You weren’t jealous. In fact, you were more than curious. You tried to pry the information out of your lover, but you never had a good chance to do so.

“A secret relationship? That sounds like All Might.” Yu chatted with you. She seemed to be even more interested in the subject than you previously thought.

“Of course. It’s totally him. That man keeps everything private.”

Then she turns to look at you, and she notices the way you’re smirking. "Hey, he did give you quite the look during his speech.”

Your heart drops, and you try to laugh it off. She smirks, but her attention is thankfully taken off of you when Shinji Nishiya walks into the backstage area. You knew those two had a decently close relationship when Mt. Lady ruined Kamui Woods debut as a hero.

“Hey Shinji! Do you think All Might is in a secret relationship? We think he was together with Sir Nighteye…”

The two of them gossip while you watch the line of pro heroes coming to the backstage area. You’re waiting for him, of course. He’d probably be one of the last ones to enter the backstage area. You try not to make it obvious that you are indeed waiting for All Might considering you think Mt. Lady might think you two are seeing each other.

He enters the area, giving you a ‘blink-and-you’ll-miss-it’ type of look. You try to busy yourself with talking to the other pro heroes, but you desperately want to go home with the man of the hour. This is when you catch the angry look of Enji Todoroki, and you’re so quick to avert your gaze.

The rain begins to fall on the tent you’re all sitting in. It was supposed to be an award ceremony and a glorified mingling session for the pro heroes, but with the rain coming down, people were starting to want to head to dryer places to be able to mingle. You try to keep an eye on your lover while still trying to maintain a comfortable distance.

“Say,” Yu leans in to talk to you once more. “Want to come to the restaurant with a few of us?”

You shrug, “Yeah! Sounds like fun. Wanna give me some time to get into something more suited for the restaurant?”

“Sure thing! Let’s meet outside of the restaurant in an hour.”

You agree on the time and place, then you’re making your way out of the tent. After a few minutes, you feel someone following you. When you peek behind yourself and see your lover, your heart begins racing. He winks at you and nods. You know better than to immediately go to him while the press is still around.

This ends up with the two of you finding shelter in a makeshift tent nearby for the camera and electrical equipment. You’re both a little damp from the rainfall. It only made things between you both even hotter.

Toshinori looks at you like he wants to devour you. He knows he’ll have more time to take you later, but right now he needs something quick. The man growls as he picks you up and begins kissing you hungrily. His tongue penetrates your mouth, wrestling and tangling with yours.

You hold onto him, loving the way the spandex of his suit was clinging to his muscles right now. The rain had only done you favors, really. Toshinori smirks when he pulls away from the kiss.

“We gotta make this quick,” you whine. “I have to be at the restaurant in different attire in less than an hour.”

“You too, huh?” He laughs softly.

It takes very little for him to undo your hero costume, stripping it off your body. You were well aware that anyone could catch you two, but you didn’t care. Even if this was how you two would show the world you were together, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was feeling him fill you up.

“I need to prepare you,” he grunts in your ear. He sucks on two of his fingers, then he eagerly uses them to stretch open your little hole.

Your breathing became uneven, and you had to lean on him because you absolutely didn’t trust your legs right now. Toshi takes little time to begin fucking you with his thick fingers. You were pretty used to him being in his true form, so for you to feel this stretch was quite a nice change of pace as well.

“Poor little girl,” he smirks as he watches you rely on him to keep you upright. “You’ve been missing daddy’s cock.”

You can’t even argue with this. He’s been quite busy lately, so it’s been a while since either of you could have some alone time. You missed the way he stimulated you, and you definitely were missing the sex and intimacy.

Toshi pumps his fingers deeper and harder in your pussy until you’re dripping all over his hand. He pulls it from you, making you whine at the loss of contact. It’s quickly replaced with a muffled moan as he spears you onto his length. You barely realized when he undressed himself.

“Gotta be quiet, baby.” He moans in your ear as he begins to pick up his pace. “We don’t wanna be caught like this.”

You lean against him, nuzzling against his muscular chest and biting down whenever the pleasure gets too good. He’s hitting spots deep inside of you that have you seeing stars. Toshinori laughs softly at the way you’re just a moaning mess now. 

“Look at you,” he coos. “Already this fucked out on daddy’s cock, huh? What a good girl.”

You nod eagerly, biting down on his chest once more when he slams you down on him. He continues to fuck you like this, making the pleasure bubble deep inside of you. The knot in your tummy was about to unravel, especially if he was going to continue slamming right up against that sweet spot. You try to tell him you're close, but you can barely get the words out.

"T-Toshi,” you whine. “C-cumming.”

He laughs once more, loving the way he can just reduce you to this fucked out little lover. It boosts his ego when he knows he’s the one that can make you feel this way. You, this up-and-coming hero who’s got her career ahead of her and him, this washed out beloved older hero... it’s just the match made in heaven.

Your walls begin pulsating around him as you bite down hard on his pec. You’re going to leave a mark, that was for sure. When you manage to catch your breath after such an intense orgasm, you rest your head on his chest and look up at him with all the love in your eyes.

“Oh fuck,” he grunts. “When you look at me like that, princess, you make it hard for me to last much longer.”

You don’t stop giving him that lovesick look. Toshinori grits his teeth as he begins to pump you full of his thick seed. Slowly, he lowers you down on your shaky legs after he manages to come down from his high. He helps you back into your hero costume, smirking when he thinks about how his seed is going to be dripping from your abused cunt.

Then, with a long and passionate kiss, Toshinori guides you out of the tent. He winks at you before you two part ways.

“See you at the restaurant, Powerhouse.”

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

©actuallysaiyan 2024– do not repost on other platforms, copy, translate or edit my works!

[bunnysrph]

—  𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

"I’ve tried to hide it, but my heart betrays me every time you’re near—I’m completely, hopelessly in love with you."

"I want to be the reason you look at your phone and smile."

"Loving you is like breathing… and I’ve been holding my breath for so long, I can’t do it any longer."

"Every time I look at you, I realise I don’t want to spend another moment of my life without you."

"I don’t know how or when it happened, but you’ve completely stolen my heart."

"I used to wonder if love was real… and then you came along and made it the only thing I believe in."

"Every part of me aches to tell you how much I love you, even if it’s terrifying."

"Loving you is both the easiest and hardest thing I’ve ever done."

"I keep pretending I’m fine, but the truth is I’m in love with you, and it scares me."

"I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I had to say it—I’m in love with you."

"The truth is, every part of me belongs to you."

"I tried to deny it, tried to push it away, but I can’t—I’m hopelessly in love with you."

"You’re my first thought every morning and my last before I sleep."

"I think about you more than I’d like to admit. I think… maybe I’m in love with you."

"There’s a quiet peace in my heart every time I think of you, and it feels like love."

"I never expected to feel this way, but here I am, confessing that I’m in love with you."

"My heart races, my hands shake, and all I want to say is ‘I love you’."

"You’re the reason I believe in love, and I don’t know how to keep that to myself any longer."

"All I know is that life feels brighter, warmer, and more alive whenever I’m with you. I think I’m in love with you."

"I’ve tried to act normal, but the truth is, you’ve captured my heart."

"I think I’ve fallen in love with you, and every day I fall a little more."

"Loving you feels as natural as breathing, and it’s taken me far too long to say it."

"You’re my heart’s greatest wish, and it’s time you knew—I’m in love with you."

"I feel a warmth in my heart every time you’re near… it’s love, isn’t it?"

"I don’t know how to say it gently, so here it is: I love you. I think I always have."

"If I don’t tell you this now, I’m afraid I never will—I’m in love with you."

"There’s no one else I think about like this, no one else I feel so deeply for. It has to be love."

"I don’t need you to say it back; I just needed you to know... I’m in love with you."

"Every moment we’re together feels like magic, and that magic is love, isn’t it?"

"I’d rather risk everything and tell you the truth—I’m in love with you."

"I was fine on my own, but now that I’ve met you, I can’t imagine a life without you."

"I’d move mountains if it meant I could tell you every day how much I love you."

"Loving you feels like the most honest thing I’ve ever done."

"The truth is, my heart has belonged to you from the very first moment we met."

"I can’t promise that I won’t be afraid, but I can promise that I love you."

"Every day without you feels like a day wasted. I’m in love with you, and I want the world to know."

"If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that I love you with everything I am."

"You’ve woven yourself into my heart, and there’s no turning back—I love you."

"Loving you is like coming home to a place I never knew I missed until I met you."

"It feels like my whole life has been leading up to this moment—to tell you that I love you."

"I’m scared, I’m nervous, but more than anything, I’m in love with you."

"I didn’t know it was possible to feel so deeply until you walked into my life."

"I could search the world and never find someone who makes me feel like you do. I love you."

"I never believed in fate until I realised how perfectly you fit into my life."

"I could wait forever to say it, but I don’t want to anymore—I love you."

"Loving you feels like the answer to a question I didn’t even know I had."

"I love you, (name)."

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Hi, big fan of your work in the whump community :3

Do you have any prompts/thoughts for one of my favorite phrases: "I thought you were dead" ?

thank you so much!!

dialogue prompts in responses to ❝I thought you were dead.❞

❝I’m not dead, babe. I just ghosted you.❞

❝cheating death is what I do for a living.❞

❝that was weeks ago/months ago. people change.❞

❝not dead. I am Death.❞

❝and it sucked. being on the verge of death. would not recommend.❞

❝that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I literally cannot die.❞

❝no, but you will be if you don’t start running.❞

❝a bullet to the heart can’t kill me. you, out of all people, should have known my heart has already been blackened and dried up a very long time ago.❞

❝surprise, bitch. I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.❞ (the classic one, I couldn’t not add this.)

❝of course, you did. after all, it was you who tried to kill me.❞

❝darling, you’re going to have to try harder than that.❞

❝this is gonna sound crazy, but I am dead, and apparently I’m assigned to be your guardian angel now.❞

❝you know I’m not actually real, right?❞

❝no, you left me to die. I was just a survivor.❞

❝yeah, yeah, I heard that before.❞

❝I am.❞

❝did you really have so little faith in me?❞

❝me too! another thing we have in common.❞

❝I did, but it turned out death didn’t want me.❞

❝who’s going to look after you if I’m dead?❞

❝I’ll always come back to you.❞

❝dead? it was just a cut on a finger. stop being so dramatic.❞

❝sorry to disappoint.❞

❝boo.❞

❝you’ve made sure of that, haven’t you?❞

❝I’m stubborn just like that.❞

❝is it because I disappeared from your life for 20 years?❞

❝why? what happened? why would you think that?❞

❝oh, I am. and so are you. welcome to the land of the dead.❞

❝I’m a ghost, and I need your help.❞

❝I don’t have much time. you have to find my murderer.❞

❝I am. you’re just hallucinating.❞

❝if I am dead and you’re talking to me, doesn’t it mean you’re dead, too?❞

❝I’m not Dead. I’m (insert character’s name).❞

❝I did. I just crawled out of hell.❞

❝hell was boring anyway. so here I am.❞

❝you can’t get rid of me that easily.❞

❝nothing could kill me. not even death.❞

❝you know I’d never leave you.❞

❝God says it’s not my time.❞

❝well, this is awkward.❞

❝oh, I am. I’m here to take you with me.❞

❝did you cry?❞

❝did you mourn?❞

❝oh please, I was gone for less than an hour.❞

❝there’s been a misunderstanding. It wasn’t me who died.❞

❝I understand why you’d think that.❞

❝I can explain.❞

❝I am, and you will be just as dead as I am if you don’t turn around right now.❞

❝you’re not gonna believe what I saw on the other side.❞

❝why? you already replaced me?❞

❝I was hoping so too.❞

❝I really need to stop dying. let me tell you that shit is not fun.❞

❝I’m sorry if my survival is so inconvenient for you.❞

❝I have always been dead.❞

❝I died a long time ago, actually.❞

❝what are you going to do about that? try and kill me again? because it certainly didn’t work the first 6 times. but hey! maybe seventh time’s a charm!❞

❝I fooled you, didn’t I?❞

❝I’m not going anywhere.❞

❝I’m sorry. do I know you?❞

❝it’s a long story.❞

[emmg]

Hello love Can I ask for Raphael x reader where Raph actually shows love, buuut in his own twisted way? One of my fam members had autism and he never ever said those three words, but showed it in acts of service and paying attention to what you say/do aaand i was thinking about Raphael who tries to show how much he loves her(or them) but well he's not very good at this. Tav reading book- he will read it too, because he cares...just to tell her how much it sucks. She's bleeding after a fight? Throws her into his healing pool and tell her how stupid she is for the whole time he's with her and how she wastes his time, but won't leave her alone, because what if this dumb mortal drowns herself? A guy said something to her and she felt like sh*t or he touched her to make her uncomfortable? He would give her a very fancy box with big bow and smiles innocently at her ; 'Come on little mouse..open it' just for her to see somebodys hand or head 'oh..this? its this creep from yesterday' Tav wears something cheap? oh boy he would tell her everythink he thinks about this rag. She thinks he wants her to wear only expensive things, because how she looks=his reputation but the truth is he thinks she deserves only the most lavish things in her life and he wont allow her to live below HIS standards And his fav way of showing love is giving her mortal who hurt her in any way already beaten so they wont demage his precious possesion, but conscious enough so she can enjoy torturing them (for sure he does it for his own amusement more than hers)

What a fun prompt! Although, to be fair, I can't exactly make it totally healthy because Raphael isn't an emotionally healthy person to be in a relationship with so this is still a little bit dark, though definitely not awful haha.

ETA: ah crap I missed the part about x reader. So sorry about that. In my defence, I truly cannot write from second person point of view. I’m very, very sorry anon. I’ve tried before and it feels awkward to me and everything comes out… bad.

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Sometimes she feels hollowed out, as if something essential has been scooped clean from within her. She’s not sure why she stays—or even if she’s staying at all. Maybe he’s holding her here, maybe she has no choice, maybe she lost that freedom long ago. Because you don’t walk away when Raphael is speaking; you don’t walk away when he’s watching you. And his eyes are always on her, always, always, always following.

That gaze—it leaves her feeling half trapped, half sanctified, as though caught in some dreadful, holy spell. He doesn’t look at others this way, she knows that, but that knowledge only tightens the hold, winds the snare around her. It’s nothing, she tells herself—this attention, his careful watch—yet it feels like everything, a binding without words, a noose drawing tighter, a claw sinking deeper. Time twists strangely when he’s near, spiraling into something she can’t name, and she can’t help but wonder: will his interest wane, fade away to nothing? Or will it sharpen, tighten, until it consumes her, leaving her breathless, until there’s no space left at all? 

If it does—if he closes around her entirely, if his grip becomes her world, pressing in until there’s no air, no light, only him—what will she be then?

And she’s not even sure if he cares. He holds her there, yes, but it feels like watching a game; his own personal mousetrap, an exquisite little experiment to see how far she'll reach for the cheese. She wonders if he’s simply taking what he can, drawing her deeper until he tires of her, only to discard her when he does, laughing at her fascination with him. She can almost see it—him spitting in her face, turning her out with a sneer, then pulling her back in just as quickly. He'd fuck her, taunt her, pull her close only to watch her shatter, then laugh, invite her back with a gift, something golden, expensive, dripping with indulgent mockery. 

But then there are the other things he does, things that somehow feel worse—things that make the walls seem as though they’re closing in, or maybe as if he’s drawing her into some embrace she can’t escape from. She’s not sure which would be more terrifying. 

Sometimes, when they’re in Avernus together, she finds the portals dead, the way back to her world—a world of soft light and mortal trivialities, the Gate and its grime—suddenly blocked, cut off. And it's always the same dance. She demands an answer, asks why she can’t pass through, why she’s stuck here in this burning place with him, unable to flee back to the familiar. And he only waves her off, barely looking up, irritation flickering in his gaze. He says he hasn’t the time to bother with “simple magic,” that she can wait. 

But he knows, he knows damn it, that she can barely summon a spark, let alone force open a gateway on her own. He knows she’s trapped, helpless as a moth in a bottle, wings beating frantically against glass she can’t see. And he watches her, almost bored, as she paces, her panic ripening, sinking roots in her chest. Because he knows she won’t leave, can’t leave, and he’ll let her struggle just long enough to make her feel it—the helplessness, the claustrophobia, the bitter thrill of his control, closing around her, almost gentle, almost loving.

And then, only then, he flicks his fingers, and the portals blaze open, bright and mocking, as if they’d never gone dead at all. 

She's interrupting him, Raphael says, a nuisance he has no time for. Important matters, contracts to seal, souls to collect—real work to do, and here she is, lingering in his shadow, hovering as if she belongs, asking him to breathe life into a stupid portal. He snaps at her to leave, to stop her pestering, to get out of his sight. And so she does, shrinking back, biting her lip, retreating into her quiet corner.

But then, later—always, somehow, later—he comes to her, waking her from half-sleep as he climbs over her, pressing down with a heat that seems to burn straight through her skin. He murmurs his need, his lust, his rough, clumsy want, lips grazing her ear with words that are half-whispered, half-demanded. And she lets him, wraps her arms around his back, holds him, breathes through the rush of his hands, the awkward rhythm of his taking. 

She feels the weight of him, the feverish heat, and she sighs into it, into him, because in the Hells, everything is unbearably hot. His skin burns against hers, more furnace than flesh, and though she knows he’s hasty, heedless, that she’s just an outlet, a brief relief, she takes it. She lets herself be consumed by it, that pressing heat because here, with him, it’s as close to comfort as she’ll ever get.  

But sometimes there are moments that make her think he might care, moments she savors, drinks in slowly, wondering if they're real or merely the product of his boredom. She can never quite tell, but she doesn’t mind; she lingers on these glimmers of gentleness, holds them in her memory far longer than she should. 

Like when she’s soaking in his absurdly large bath, reclining in the steaming water with her arms folded along the edge, her head resting on cool stone, hair spilling loose behind her. She’s doing nothing at all, simply breathing in the warmth, letting the steam curl around her. And then he appears, slipping into the room, extending those long legs of his, rolling up his sleeves as he settles by her side. He doesn’t join her in the water; instead, he simply sits, a book resting in his hands, the very one she finished days ago. 

She watches, amused, as he leafs through it, the prominent wrinkle between his brows deepening with each page he turns. His expression is one of studied distaste, the kind that would be comical on anyone else. But on him, it’s strangely captivating. 

“Unhinged drivel,” Raphael mutters finally, his tone ripe with disdain. 

“Hm,” she echoes, half-lidded, watching him through the steam. 

“Why do you read this?” he questions. “I have half a mind to burn it. The sheer embarrassment of sharing the same air with it—I hardly want it in my library.” 

She smiles, faintly, eyes closing as she stretches a little deeper into the warmth. “I’m done with it,” she replies, lazily. “Do what you wish.” 

He taps two fingers against the spine. “The Duke is an absolute cretin, I must say.” 

“Oh?” she murmurs, her voice barely a breath above the water’s surface. 

“Utterly insipid,” he continues. "Such posturing, such shallow arrogance. I wouldn’t offer him a contract if he were the last soul on the proverbial platter.” 

She laughs then, quietly, letting the sound ripple through the steam. She knows Raphael is just indulging in his own particular brand of superiority, delighting in the verbal dissection, and maybe he doesn’t care for her company at all. But still, he stays, perched beside her, weaving disdainful monologues that settle like warm coals in her chest. And for a moment—just a moment—she lets herself pretend that he’s here for her. 

He continues, eyes fixed on the offending book as if it’s a particularly irksome insect. “The Duke’s speech in chapter five...” he says. “So very witless, wouldn't you say? Who professes undying love with such clumsy metaphors? And in the garden, no less, like a character in a tragic farce. ‘You are my sun and moon,’” he scoffs, his voice rising to a mock-romantic lilt. “‘My stars, my breath, my—’” 

He pauses, catching her wide-eyed, incredulous look. A faint smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, and there’s a glimmer of something—mischief?—in his gaze. “Oh, little mouse, don’t look at me like that. Surely you didn’t think I’d stoop to reading this… for enjoyment?”

She raises an eyebrow, half-laughing, half incredulous. “You read it?”

“Of course I read it,” he replies, with all the haughtiness of a scholar who’s just suffered through a poorly constructed essay. “I couldn’t very well leave such intellectual refuse lying about in my library without inspecting it first.” 

“Just inspecting it? Raphael, you just quoted chapter five.” 

He waves his hand dismissively. “A tragic misfortune. I assure you, it was purely incidental. I only skimmed enough to confirm my suspicions about its total lack of merit.” 

“Right,” she says, rolling her eyes, watching as he flips another page with painstaking precision. “Is that why you’re carrying it around?” 

He raises an eyebrow, looking at her over the book with that familiar, aristocratic arch of his brow. “Little mouse,” he drawls, his tone both affectionate and condescending, “you really must learn what jests are. I can’t go about explaining them every time, you know.” 

The novel is set aside.

His hand slips below the water, and she knows, he’s done talking, at least about her books. His fingers graze her skin, tracing erratic patterns. She feels his hand leave her only to hear the soft rustle of fabric, and then he’s there, sliding into the water, slipping behind her. 

His arms wrap around her even as he pushes her against the cool stone of the bath’s edge. She feels his impatience in the way his hands move—roaming, relentless, almost rough, his fingers pressing into her skin, biting, digging between the ribs, as if he can’t bear to be gentle.  

One hand cups her shoulder, anchoring her as his other hand travels down her side. It moves in a slow sweep, now a caress, almost reverent, then shifting, tracing a path with no pattern, simply moving, as if he’s learning her contours anew. His grip tightens, loosens, a rhythm that speaks of need and very little restraint. 

He dips his head, face buried in her hair, and she feels the weight of his breath, the moist heat of it on the exhale. There’s a hunger in his closeness, an intensity that borders on obsession. He’s quiet now, all the long-winded, self-important monologues silenced, his usual need to fill the space with words abandoned. 

She feels him pressing against her back, the hard, insistent weight of him, the subtle rock of his hips, and she sighs, her body folding further against the edge of the bath, yielding to him. The warmth in her chest spills out, dissipating into something intangible, and once again, she wonders: Was this all just a performance for her, or something he needs for himself? Was that little, half-sweet conversation meant to soften her, make her more pliant? Or, against all logic, did he truly want to speak to her, to share in that strange, fleeting intimacy? 

She wonders if he cares, even a little, if those sarcastic, needlessly elaborate jests of his are meant to coax a smile from her, to make her laugh. Or is it all calculated, a ploy to keep her engaged, to ensure that when he fucks her, she meets him with something more than passive resignation? She feels his fingers tighten on her waist, his breath hitch, and for a moment, just a moment, she allows herself to believe there’s something deeper beneath his touch, something that holds her in place as much as his arms do. 

There are other moments too, moments that sink into her like a sickness, twisting her stomach, filling her with a dread so deep it almost makes her want to flee, to scrub herself clean, to be rid of him. And yet, those same moments leave her feeling strangely exhilarated, a little unhinged, as though some part of her is thrilled by the horror of it all. 

Take the merchant, for instance. A two-penny swindler, trying to pass off cheap fabric as something exquisite. She spots his scam instantly—anyone with half a brain would—but he’s audacious, leaning in, voice low and greasy as he sells his lie. She calls him out, unimpressed, and he snaps, calling her a cunt. She flips him off without a second thought and moves on, thinking nothing more of it. She’s heard worse, so much worse, and just because she looks the part of a noblewoman at Raphael’s insistence doesn’t mean she’s forgotten the dirt and sweat of her own past. She knows the cheap tricks—how cloth is dyed in back alleys, stained with whatever can be found, how insect paste and a dash of alchemical solution turn cotton into “silk” for gullible morons. She’s done it all herself, seen the worst of it, and this pathetic attempt to cheat her hardly scratches the surface. 

She forgets the encounter entirely—until the next day. Raphael barely glances up from his writing, absorbed in the ink-stained pages of yet another infernal contract, when he pushes a small, ornate box across the table toward her. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even acknowledge it beyond a faint, almost bored gesture. She blinks, glancing from the box to him, and then back, curious but wary, wondering if this is another one of his games. 

She takes it, hesitates, then lifts the lid. 

Inside, nestled against dark velvet, is a finger. Blue, bloated, stiff with the grip of death. Her stomach turns, nausea creeping up her throat as she stares at it, bile rising as the realization settles—this isn’t just some random, expensive trinket. It’s a message, as clear and cold as the dead flesh before her. 

“Oh,” she whispers, voice strangled, unable to look away from the pale digit lying in the box, rigor mortis locking it in a ghastly curl. Her hands are trembling, fingers itching to drop the box, to shove it away, to wipe away the memory of this grotesque gift. 

She looks up at him, horrified, and finds his gaze resting on her, idle, yet somehow amused. 

She stares some more, her mind spinning as she tries to process what she’s holding, what this grotesque little gift is meant to convey. A part of her wants to retch, to bolt from the room, while another, unhinged part of her feels an inexplicable pull, an urge to draw closer to him, to be entangled in whatever madness constantly hangs off his sleeve. 

But she doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, she lets out a half-laugh, shaky and weak. “That’s… not what usually comes in jewelry boxes.” 

Raphael arches a brow. “I’ve given you plenty of jewelry, little mouse. Rings, bracelets, earrings—a whole collection of baubles you hardly deign to wear. Lavaliers, circlets, gems so fine even the simpering nobles of Waterdeep would weep for them. And yet, here you sit, determined to remain a rube.” He tsks, rolling his eyes with theatrical annoyance. “Mayhaps, I thought, just mayhaps, you might appreciate something different to suit that plebeian palate of yours.”

“Whose is it?” she asks, though she already knows. She feels the answer in the pit of her stomach, in the memory of yesterday’s insults and her dismissive walk away. 

He only shrugs, dipping his quill in ink. “I’m told he was a merchant.” He pauses, as if to savor the uncertainty flickering across her face. “Or was it a dockhand? Perhaps a barkeep. Truly, who can keep track of such insignificant lives?” 

She watches, spellbound in a way she can’t quite understand, as he sprinkles pounce over the wet ink, the tiny white particles catching the dim light. He lifts the paper, blowing the pounce off with a sharp exhale that sends the fine dust scattering into the air, drifting toward her. She coughs, swatting it away, a moment of reflexive frustration breaking through her discomfort. 

“So many names,” Raphael murmurs, almost to himself. “So many lives, so many inconsequential little people. It’s hard to keep them all straight, isn’t it?” 

She stares at him, a blend of revulsion and fascination churning within her. His words hang in the air, so careless, so detached, as if snuffing out a life meant nothing more to him than discarding an old, forgotten knickknack. And yet, he looks at her now, watching, as if expecting her reaction, waiting to see if she’ll recoil or lean closer. 

She leans closer, letting the moment pull her in, and he gives a satisfied little hum, returning to his writing with an air of contentment, as if the world is exactly as it should be. She watches the steady flow of his hand, the way his quill glides across the page in elegant, looping strokes, his cursive rising and falling. Her mind, however, catches on another thought, one that wraps around her and refuses to let go. 

He cares, she thinks, or at least he acts as though he does. This is how he responds to insults aimed at her, as if her offense is his to avenge. But another thought lingers, darker and heavier. He knows—that’s what unsettles her. If he knows, that means he saw, or had someone watch on his behalf, and that means she’s never truly alone, even when he isn’t there. She wonders how far that gaze extends, if he’s tracking her every step, every word, if he’s marked her movements like pinpoints on a map, an invisible tether she’s unknowingly bound herself to. 

Her hand drifts to her throat, almost absently, fingers brushing the skin there as if she might feel some hidden collar, a leash she’s been wearing all along without realizing it. But of course, there’s nothing—just bare skin and the faint, lingering warmth of her own touch. Still, the thought unsettles her, sends a flutter of anxiety mixed with something else, something uncomfortably close to… warmth. A warmth that spreads through her chest, that holds her in place despite the quiet urge in her feet to stand, to move, to walk as far as she can. 

But she doesn’t. Instead, she stays there, leaning close, just watching him as he writes, utterly absorbed in whatever Infernal text he’s crafting. And as she watches, that warmth in her chest grows, mingling with her apprehension, a mix of dread and fascination that knots itself around her, binding her there as securely as any leash he might conjure. 

Another day, another reckoning. 

She’s a mess of bruises, skin mottled and darkened so thoroughly she resembles a patchwork quilt rather than a woman. There had been a brawl, Astarion may or may not have thrown punches he couldn’t back, and they both may or may not have drunk too much. Korrilla may or may not have been at the Caress at the same time, her wicked laughter mingling with the chaos, and now her nose is a crimson fountain, dripping ceaselessly. Even the potion Korrilla forced down her throat did nothing to blunt the ache, the slight sneer on Korrilla’s face as she half-carried her back to the House of Hope making it clear she didn’t particularly want to be back tonight. 

When she stumbles in, Haarlep just laughs, calling her a “bloody, battered fool” and waving her off in disgust when she starts peeling off her clothes. With a muttered “Ew,” he disappears as she limps toward the restoration pool, her one salvation tonight. She knows it’s usually reserved for soothing injuries from far more… pleasurable encounters, but she hardly cares as she sinks into it, wincing as the water starts working its magic, stitching up minor cuts and scrapes as she closes her eyes and lets her head fall back. 

She drifts, the water lapping around her, letting the throbbing recede—until a sharp yank at her scalp rips her back to the present, her head wrenched above the water. She chokes, sputtering out bloody droplets as her eyes snap open, and she finds herself staring at Raphael’s livid face, exasperation etched in every line. His hand is tangled in her hair, and her scalp stings from his tight grip. He glances down at his dripping sleeves, soaked from pulling her up, and curses. 

“What a stupid way to die,” he hisses. “Drowning in my boudoir because you’re too idiotic to stay awake.” His fingers tighten in her hair, and there’s no mercy in his eyes. “Take a deep breath now.” 

She barely has a second to react before he shoves her head under the water, his hand pressing down with unrelenting force. Her body jerks, and she inhales raggedly before he drags her up again, just long enough for her to gasp for air and catch his sharp, appraising look before he shoves her down once more, holding her under like a misbehaving dog in need of punishment. Water floods her nose, stinging as she chokes, her hands scrabbling for purchase against the pool’s edge. 

Up again, another cursory glance, and then he plunges her under once more, his grip firm, a rhythm of punishment and cleansing, as though he’s scrubbing the night’s sins from her with each forced dunk. She claws at his wrist, nails scraping against his skin, and he finally releases her, leaving her gasping and hacking as she collapses against the pool’s edge, water pouring from her lungs in a desperate, wheezing cough. 

She realizes then, as she shudders and coughs, that the blood is gone; her nose, once a mess of numb throbbing, now feels raw but whole. She clutches the pool’s edge, head bowed, catching her breath as the water stills around her. Raphael just stands there, dripping, sleeves ruined, as he observes her. 

“Well,” he mutters, flicking water from his fingers with a faint sneer, “at least you’re less of a mess now.” 

He hauls her from the water, pulling her sodden form from the boudoir and away from the rumpled heap of her clothes. His eyes drift over them—the plain tunic, the uninspired trousers, the scuffed leather boots—with a look of disdain so pointed it almost makes her wince. 

“An offense to beauty itself,” he murmurs, almost to himself, though the words slap her just the same. “These… things.” His lip curls. “They will burn. They’re an affront to my eyes, and my patience is wearing thin.” 

His gaze slides back to her face, catching on her bruised nose, and he tilts her head with the care one might give a very expensive artifact. His fingers are unhurried, methodical, as he surveys her battered skin. “I don’t keep unsightly things, you know,” he says. “I like my things beautiful. It’s why I collect them—why I keep them close.” 

Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, his tone shifts to something almost conversational, a careless elegance in his words that sets her nerves alight. “Tell me, little mouse,” he begins, fingers tapping idly on his thigh, “shall I lock the door?” 

She feels a shiver run through her, her voice faltering. “Which… one?” 

He tilts his head in mock contemplation. “Why not all of them?” 

“Raphael…” she starts, but she isn’t even sure what she wants to say, or if there’s anything to be said at all. 

Unhurriedly, he begins to strip off his clothes, each gesture carried out with an almost ritualistic elegance. He slips out of his doublet, casting it aside with a look of mild annoyance. “Your doing,” he sighs, smoothing an imaginary crease before discarding it. “This fabric—fine enough to silence even the heavens—ruined by your negligence. It cost more than you could dream, more than most would spend in a lifetime.” 

She watches, stuck somewhere between disbelief and fascination, unsure if he’s preparing to fuck her or simply indulging in the strange meticulousness of his undressing. Each cufflink is unfastened with almost absurd care, each tie released with the same flawless precision she knows so well. The clothes fold neatly under his hands, smoothed and arranged as if they were sacred relics, and though part of her wants to laugh at the absurdity, she knows better than to test his patience now. 

Raphael pauses, shirt open just enough to reveal the line of his throat, his collarbone stark against tan skin. His eyes pin hers and his voice takes on a melodic, almost regretful tone. “Perhaps if I lock you in,” he murmurs, “you might refrain from throwing yourself into every pit of squalor in the Gate, seeking out any hand willing to smash that face of yours.” 

“No one seeks that, Raphael,” she says, her voice sounding distant. “It just… happens.” 

He snaps his fingers with a sharp, final click. “Yes, yes,” he echoes, almost as if humoring a child. “And doors just… lock themselves.” 

[legally-allowed-to-slime]

okay i think it’s time to talk about the “are we mean?” line from gem (28:16 her pov) which no one else seems to care about and it’s driving me crazy

so. if you watch the actual clip she changes her sentence from “are we th—” to “are we mean”. she also says it with the exact same inflection that cleo used. this gives me the hunch that she had cleo’s line in double life on her head since gem is pretty aware of fandom things and that’s an iconic line. at the same time though, this is a stretch so we’re gonna go ahead with the assumption that those two lines were just coincidentally similar.

at first glance it might seem like cleo’s double life line (“are we the mean girls?”) and gem’s line (“are we mean?”) are entirely similar and about similar circumstances, but if you look a little closer the similarities fall apart

in cleo’s case, they say it after the box boys had died and they were looting their stuff. pearl shows up and confronts them but the pair just laugh and say it was pearl’s fault ren and bigb died anyway. pearl doesn’t really push it either. then they steal more stuff and leave, before cleo says The line. so with this context, it’s pretty obvious what cleo’s asking is a rhetorical question. what happened immediately before would make them, objectively, the “mean girls” (both stealing and ignoring pearl’s concerns). scott is aware, which is why he immediately responds “yes”, with a smile in his voice. because to them, they might be petty villains, but because it’s funny and they’re self-aware, then they can’t be truly villainous, like dl!pearl. it’s a shared bit between the two of them that they’re being catty high school girls, and scott’s response establishes the fact that they really don’t care. they are two partners in crime, giggling after robbing the bank. top 10 i-can’t-remember-their-ship-name moment

gem on the other hand. hers comes after a long episode of telling everyone who passes by to hate impulse and pearl (soup group divorce 💔). moments later ren kills impulse, and gem thinks that it might be because of her. then she tells joel that “we’re winning by just telling other people who to kill”. but the dynamic between scott + cleo and gem + joel are very different. while scott and cleo are equally up to no good, gem is manipulating the social dynamics of the server while joel is off being angry. the difference between joel and gem is like the difference between joel and scott. so when gem asks “are we mean?”, it’s not like cleo asking scott, knowing they can have a good laugh over it. she’s testing the limits, seeing if what she’s doing can tip over into being mean. and joel, not being scott, automatically says “no, we’re not mean. he shouldn’t have been mean to us.” (insane parallels over gem and cleo saying the same thing but joel and scott having exact opposite answers btw) joel functions in a more straightforward manner: if you’re mean to me, then i can be as mean as i like to you. however, he hasn’t been here to witness gem’s social plays. it’s not like scott and cleo where they were both there to commit the crime together. it’s gem standing there with the blood on her knife and asking joel if she’s guilty. and joel, being both loyal and headstrong, denies it.

after joel says that, gem agrees with, “that’s true, he shouldn’t have been mean to us.” she pauses, turns, and then says “you’re right”. joel, who doesn’t concern himself with such mental gymnastics, has already moved onto bigger things, like a parkour course. but in the meantime gem has used her ally’s careless, uninformed response as proof to convince herself that she can’t be being mean, and that what she’s doing to impulse (and pearl) is warranted. while scott and cleo openly acknowledge their wrongdoing (and in doing so dismiss it), gem pushes it down, trying to persuade herself that she’s the good guy. because she can’t be bad, right? the bad guys are on the other side.

and this inner turmoil is obvious. she does concede before that impulse probably doesn’t deserve her slandering, in the same way that scott concedes he can be “mean”, but brushing it off because it’s so insignificant it doesn’t reflect on their actual character. because in the same way as scott, gem is chasing some objective standard of morality, and doing everything on the good side, and if she does something on the bad side then that something is now a good thing, because she’s a good person.

isn’t it crazy how i wrote this much about one line

[holylulusworld]

Every breath you take (18)

Summary: There is a shadow following you. He doesn’t know what he got himself into.

Pairing: Stalker!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: a man out of time, secret admirer trope, “crazy” reader, fluff, mentions of masturbation with a plushie, jealous Bucky

A/N: You all made me do it! Here’s the series to this random idea: Stalker Bucky & Crazy Reader

Catch up here: Every breath you take (17)

Every Breath You Take Masterlist

Bucky is fuming. Not only did you break his rules to not touch yourself; no, you did it in front of one of the hidden cameras, smiling into the camera while riding one of your plushies. A big bear you named Bucky Bear.

“Bucky bear makes me feel so good,” you whimper on the footage as you rub yourself against the plushie. “Always so good. If only the real Bucky was here to watch us doing naughty things.”

“DOLL!” Bucky calls for you, but you remain in the bedroom. You giggle because he calls you a naughty doll. “I told you not to touch yourself!”

“You told me many things! As long as you treat me like a dangerous criminal you must lock away, I’ll ride fluffy Bucky Bear, not you.”

Bucky laughs. He believed you’re a shy and sweet girl, when in reality you’re a naughty devil in disguise. Bucky shakes his head when your moans on the footage get louder.

“She’s a naughty girl, Alpine,” he says to himself. His cat is occupied elsewhere. The white furball is currently curled in your side to get some cuddles. Bucky looks around the room, huffing, as his cat is nowhere to be seen. “Alpine, punk. Don’t get all cozy with her. She deserves punishment.”

“So do you,” you reply, and snuggle into the pillow. “Alpine is such a good companion. At least they didn’t leave me all alone, with only cat food and water.”

Bucky sighs deeply. He should be in charge and correct your behavior, but he doesn’t have it in him to punish you for breaking his rules. You’re not wrong.

Bucky doesn’t trust you yet, afraid you’ll leave him. Sooner than later, everyone left him. Even his best friend. Steve Rogers. He promised Bucky till the end of the line but left to live his life with some girl he met during the war.

Sometimes Bucky believes Steve left because he realized his old friend was long gone. Maybe Steve knew that his friend was broken beyond repair and ran for the hills.

He shakes his head. No. Steve deserved his happy ending. Even if that means leaving his best friend behind, this world has a new Captain America now.

It’s time for Bucky to find his own life and happy ending. He stops the footage and decides to fix what he messed up.

“Doll, I’m sorry,” he kicks off his shoes and takes off his pants to join you on the bed. He snuggles close to you and runs his hand over your head. “I know you came with me willingly. I’m just so scared that you’ll leave me too.”

“No,” you hastily reply, and you move closer to hide your face in Bucky’s chest. He wraps his arms around you to hold you tightly. “I gave up my whole life to be with you, Bucky. I left my job, home, and freedom behind to come here. I didn’t know what awaited me when I got with you, but I knew, I’ll be safe.”

“I’ll always keep you safe, Y/N,” Bucky murmurs. He nuzzles your hair and sighs as you relax in his embrace. “I thought about what you said too. You’re right. I can’t keep you here like a caged bird.”

“We must be careful,” you murmur and kiss his chest. “My colleague reported me missing. If anyone sees me... they could call the cops. I don’t want them to take me away.”

“You’re right again.” Bucky nods. “What should we do now? I didn’t think so far. I only wanted to grab you and bring you here.”

You giggle. “Bucky, you’re an awful kidnapper.”

“I did a great job,” he grumbles. “You’re here, with me. That’s all that matters to me, Y/N. Consequences be damned.”

“What if I email my former boss, telling them I quit? Maybe I can pretend that I’m in Paris or having a sunbath on an exotic island. What do you think?”

“Photoshop,” Bucky hums. “A great invention if you need to fake being elsewhere. We can create some photos and send them to your colleague or boss. You just upped and left to have an extended vacation.”

“That sounds good to me,” you whisper his name while running your hand over his chest. “I’ll send an email, telling my boss I quit. At the same time, I’ll post fake pictures of my extended vacation on social media.”

“Do you think this will work out? I mean, maybe you should stay hidden.” Bucky wonders if it’s a good idea to post fake pictures on social media. He spent so many years hidden in the shadows that stepping into the light seems to be dangerous to the former assassin.

You snuggle into his chest, ignoring his questions. “I don’t know. Let’s get some sleep for now. We can think about a plan tomorrow. Only if you don’t lock the kitchen cabinets again.”

“I unlocked them, doll,” Bucky assures you once again. “This will never happen. This is your home now, not a prison. I want you to feel welcome and happy.”

“With you around, I’m happy,” you whisper his name and close your eyes. “All I wanted since I first saw you was to be with you.”

Tags in reblog.

[artist-issues]

and another thing.

if every character that has a unique characterization in their thought process, or fictional perspective, MUST BE “autistic” or “neurodivergent-coded,” that character is no longer relatable to people who don’t self-diagnose, or identify with, or are not diagnosed with, autism or anything on the neurodivergent spectrum.

I mean honestly I see you guys out here telling me that Mulan is neurodivergent, that ROZ from the Wild Robot is neurodivergent and gee, so is Brightbill, that Hiccup is neurodivergent and Ariel is autistic.

Ariel. The “girl next door” princess.

The whole point of characters, especially main characters, especially main characters in children’s media, is to be believable and relatable, on some level. If they’re all ‘special brain-different,’ they’re only relatable to people who accept that label or are given that diagnosis.

AND. It does a huge disservice to the storytelling techniques.

A story is supposed to get under the mental guard of a person. You’re supposed to take your hands off the “thought” wheel and your feet off the “emotion” pedals, and let the story drive your brain and heart to a new place. Or an old place you haven’t been in a while, or were forgetting.

One of the best ways to do that is to create a character that, on the surface, seems special and unrelatable. Like a girl living in the Imperial Dynasty of China, or a literal non-human robot. You can’t, on the surface, relate to them as easily, so you naturally start to think, “what would it be like to be seeing the world through these new eyes?” And then you’ve given up the wheel and pedals of your mind to the movie. You find yourself relating to concepts like motherhood and protectiveness, which the robot character is experiencing, but you’re looking at those concepts through new eyes.

That is why the character is a robot. Not so that she can be an allegory for your “special-undefined-perspective-on-life which is sometimes called neurodivergence.” She’s not a robot for that reason. She’s a robot because a robot character flips the “what would it be like to learn everything over again?” switch in your brain, and then the story can show you it’s focus, (like motherhood and kindness in The Wild Robot) after the switch is flipped.

and it’s flipped for everybody, (“neurodivergent” and “neurotypical”) not just people who identify as the vague term “neurodivergent,” or have been diagnosed as autistic. Stop fitting everything into vague-enough-to-be-claimed, but named-enough-to-be-a-special-identity boxes. You’re ruining the universal, unifying value of it all.