#it's just so Pointless and stupid heaven help me

[tardis--dreams]

Mmmmmmmmmmhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

[bayjaruchel]

Whammy Kiss Me (Whammy Hug)

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Pairing: Clapton Davis/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Maybe Seven Minutes in Heaven isn't a pointless party game, after all. (3.9k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

－－－

It's not until the closet door shuts that you realize the gravity of your current situation. 

You've been at the party for at least a couple of hours; you've grown used to the general noise. The slight haziness of the air. You're not quite hammered yet, but you've got one or two drinks in your system. Just enough that you can enjoy the feeling without worrying about the hangover tomorrow. Judging by the way that a couple of people had been giggling and swaying, not everyone who was sitting around the circle shared your sense of self-conservation. 

Although it hadn't been the brightest outside— it was dim, but also somewhat illuminated at the same time with the neon lighting— the single lightbulb hanging above your heads doesn't do much against the darkness. 

Yeah. Heads, plural. 

Luckily, there's only one person in the cramped space besides yourself. 

Unluckily, that person is one Clapton Davis. 

It's not that you don't like him. Actually, you feel the exact opposite towards him, but that's not the point. It's just that— you know, you could spend seven minutes just sitting in silence, doing absolutely nothing— but you're suddenly hyper-aware of the way your knees are brushing. The way there's something in the air. Maybe you're just imagining it, but there's something … restless. Something like—  

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted when he speaks. 

"So," he says, casually. As if you're not within necking distance in a cramped space. "You enjoying the party?" There's that same easy grin on his face. He's completely at ease, apparently. You're not sure if that's because of his ever-present (and sometimes misguided) confidence, or because he's used to stupid little party games like this. It's probably a combination of both. 

"Yeah." You find yourself replying, almost on autopilot. "The punch isn't as bad as I thought it would be." 

Clapton honest-to-god giggles at that. "It's still pretty shitty, though."

"I wouldn't say shitty."  

"Awful, then." He raises his eyebrows. "Let's just say that it's an … acquired taste." 

You can't help but smile. "Fair." He's right— you're pretty sure that the only people who actually enjoy it are the people who regularly attend these parties. Said people usually just come to get drunk, anyway, and the punch works wonders. Magically malicious.  

"It's either that or cheap beer," he muses. "Or wine busted from mommy and daddy's fridge in the basement." 

"Expensive wine?" 

"Could be." Clapton shrugs, pulling his knees closer to his chest. You try in vain not to focus on his arms as he wraps them around his legs. Was it really necessary to wear the tank top? "Maybe," he says. "But I doubt that anyone here would wanna drink it." 

You unconsciously mirror his posture. "Why's that?" 

He snorts. "Too classy." 

It sort of makes sense. You can't really see Josh from Calculus sipping a glass of pinot noir, much less enjoying it. Maybe one has to start from the bottom of the hypothetical alcohol pyramid and work their way up. The bottom, meaning Bud Light. Or Coors Light. All of the Lights. 

"Cheap beer it is, then." 

Clapton's grin is back. 

"Unfortunately." 

You're starting to relax, even if you can still feel your heart pounding whenever his eyes meet yours. Even if your eyes are lingering. When he reaches up to idly run his fingers through his hair, you can't stop yourself from wondering: is it as soft as it looks? 

"How much time d'you think we have left?" He asks, just as you're attempting to reel yourself back in. 

"Uh," you start. Nice. "I don't know— maybe, like, four minutes or so?" Spending a couple of minutes talking about drinks wasn't exactly the plan, but you're not exactly complaining. It's still better than awkward silence. You wonder— again— about how many times he's done this before. How long does it usually take before people give in? 

The muffled music from outside has been reduced to just the thumping of the bass, and the rhythm matches your pulse. 

"Four minutes," he echoes. 

You can't hold his gaze, glancing down at your knees instead. 

"Yeah." 

You can tell when Clapton adjusts himself where he's sitting, but you have a feeling that he hasn't looked away. Not yet. 

"What do you wanna do now?" He asks, innocently. "Four minutes is a long time." 

When you look up, you're proven right. The faint glow of the light doesn't hide anything. It just makes everything feel vaguely dreamlike. And, okay. This is pretty cliche. But you've watched too many movies, seen too many shows—  you know what that look is. That look doesn't mean that he wants to play rock-paper-scissors for the remainder of your time left. 

"I don't know," you manage. "What do you want to do?" 

His eyes dip briefly before flicking back up. 

"I was asking you," he teases softly. "We've already had a pointless conversation." He mimes checking a box midair with his pointer finger. "Check. And we've already sat in silence for a couple of seconds." He repeats the motion on another imaginary box. "Check." 

"Oh, ouch. Talking about alcohol is pointless?" You're a little amused. "So, what's left on the list?" 

Clapton raises his eyebrows again. 

There's a shift in the air. 

"C'mon, don't tell me that you actually don't know." His tone's dropped to little more than a whisper, but due to your closeness, you can hear him loud and clear. Your brief bit of confidence wanes— your face warms, and you pause. Sure, you're well aware of what he's implying— but you're not sure if he's just joking around or not. When has Clapton Davis ever been serious, besides that one time he competed in a skateboarding competition in the sixth grade?  

The lighthearted lilt in his voice is almost gone, though. 

"I know what you're trying to say," you finally reply, matching his volume. And you do want to kiss him. You really, really do. 

"Okay," he murmurs in return. "Well, that's good." He dares to smile, though you know you're weak to it. 

"I don't have to ask you out loud, right?" 

He definitely already knows the answer to that question. 

"Yeah, you don't." 

You've tuned out the outside world, muffled as it already was. The music and noise fade to a quiet hum. You can hear the quiet buzz of the lightbulb— the barely audible clattering as your back moves against the uncomfortable storage shelves— the sound of his sneakers scuffing against the hardwood floor— 

"But if I did ask," he says, uncharacteristically hesitant, "you'd say yes?"  

Your heartbeat thrums in your throat. 

The seconds tick by— you know you can't wait. It's been at least a minute and a half— 

"Just do it," you breathe.   

And he does. 

The first thing you register is how soft his lips are. Then, his hands— cupping your face— your own hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, tugging him closer. His hair is as soft as it looks. There's no slow build-up because there's no time for that. All you can think about is him— the little sounds he lets out as you kiss, the way he can't wait when you part, his breath briefly coming in soft pants before he leans in to capture your lips again. He tastes vaguely like beer, and maybe that would have bothered you if it were any other guy— but with him, you don't really care at all. His nose presses a little awkwardly against yours a couple of times, but he makes up for it with how eager he is. You know he's not a bad kisser; he's just impatient. 

You lose yourself for a little while. It feels like forever. You wrap your arms around his neck, reluctantly dropping your grip on his hair. His hands start to stray, one anchoring itself behind your neck and the other traveling lower. And lower— 

There's a loud series of knocks at the door. 

Clapton's slower to react, and you're the one to pull back first. When you do, he leans forward to chase your lips—  but stops upon noticing your expression. In direct comparison to you, he just looks giddy. Almost dazed. His hair's a little disheveled from earlier, and he hasn't let go of you yet. 

"Huh," he says, before the door is yanked open. 

You're immediately greeted by exactly what you had expected. Whistles. Catcalls. General hooting. Some "called it!"s and "you owe me five bucks, man!"s. 

Clapton just grins, reveling in it all. Because of course he would. But, before you can get too embarrassed, he's getting to his feet, pulling you along with him as you both exit the closet— exiting what had previously been your own little world. Instead of just rejoining the circle, like part of you expects him to do, he pauses to lean over to you and whisper: 

"Wanna go upstairs?" 

You blink at him. He's still smiling— he almost looks star-struck. You feel that familiar swoop in your stomach. Maybe it's a stupid decision that you'll regret later, but—

"Okay," you agree. 

The whistling doesn't stop as he grabs your wrist, making a beeline for the stairs. The son of a bitch takes them two at a time, and you do your best to keep up. Upstairs, it's quieter than it is on the ground floor, since there are fewer people up here; still, though, you can hear the music echoing through the hallway. A girl's laughter rings out, followed by a string of giggles. 

It's not very hard to find an empty bedroom. You gingerly shut the door behind you, taking a moment to look around. There are one or two posters here and there, and a few photos placed on the dresser. Other than that, it's kind of bare-bones. A guest room, maybe? You sure hope so. While you're distracted, Clapton leisurely sits down on the bed, bouncing a couple of times. 

"Cozy," he remarks, and you turn to look at him. 

"You think?" 

He grins. "Sure do." 

You sit next to him on the mattress. It's not bad. For a moment, he just looks at you. Taking you in. 

But he doesn't hesitate much longer, and leans in. Automatically, you angle your head just so. Unlike before, he kisses you in small pecks at first. One of his hands finds your cheek. However, as the minutes draw by, your kisses grow longer. More languid. He hums into your mouth, and you move closer. Closer, until your thighs are brushing his, and you're nearly off-balance, but it's still not close enough. 

He draws back. This close to him, you can pick out his freckles. His eyelashes are long, framing half-lidded eyes. His lips are still parted. 

"Should I lay back?" He asks, hushed. "Or do you wanna—" 

"Go ahead," you interrupt.  

Clapton flops backward onto the pillows, wiggling around to make himself more comfortable. When you think he's got himself in a good position, you crawl over him. The way he looks up at you— it makes you a little lightheaded, but in the best way possible. His hands find your waist. You can do little but settle against him, pressing your lips to his for the nth time. 

Enthusiastically, he responds, and it's not long before your kisses grow messier. Needier. His hands wander, moving down to rest on your hips, and then lower— you let out a gasp when he squeezes your ass, and he uses the opportunity to pull you harder against him. You're no stranger to how strong his arms are, but, yeah, being on top of him like this is an entirely new experience. He's soft and firm in equal measures, his chest sturdy where it's pressed against yours. His hands are warm when he moves them under your shirt, up your back, making you shiver.  

Bracing your hands on his torso, you sit up. For a second, he's confused, but that quickly fades away as you reach down to pull up your shirt. 

"Holy shit," he murmurs. He scrambles to discard his tank top too, yanking it over his head. You were right— he's toned, but there's still a fair bit of softness there. Of course his chest doesn't have any hair, but at least he kept the trail. You lay back on top of him, the feeling of his skin against yours like this causing you to shudder again. Clapton's hands start to explore once more— square palms, strong fingers. It must be a little bit of an uncomfortable stretch for him, but his thumbs find your nipples, tracing soft circles. 

You briefly enjoy the sensation. Then, your breath stutters when he gently urges you forward and then leans up so he can take them into his mouth. It must be self-indulgent for him, too, because he spends more time than necessary— sucking, flicking his tongue— but it's not like you're complaining.  

When he finally stops, he presses a kiss to the middle of your chest before laying back on the pillows. You move back down, and can't resist the urge to kiss him in return. His jaw— his cheek, which makes him smile. He's already started hooking his fingers in your waistband, and your mild surprise must show on your face, because he abruptly stops. 

"Sorry," he grimaces, "am I going too fast? I - Is that too much?" 

Hastily, you shake your head. "Oh, no. Not at all. It's fine. Just— it just caught me off-guard."  

"Okay." The worry vanishes in an instant. "Okay, I'm gonna." 

You let him slide down your bottoms, and then take them off the rest of the way yourself. His shorts quickly join the rest of the clothing on the floor. Now, you're more or less sitting in his lap— he props himself up on the headboard, his breath heavy as you shift on top of him. With only a few layers between you, you're aware of the shape of him through his boxers.  

You grind your hips with purpose, and he swears under his breath. When you do it again, he muffles himself by kissing you. The friction— you know it's not going to be enough— makes you more desperate, and it must be having the same effect on him, judging by the way he's slightly squirming underneath you. He's not quite thrusting up against you, but it's obvious that if he were in a better position, he would be. When your cunt brushes against him, catching at that angle, he moans openly into your mouth. You draw back only for air. If you could, you'd keep kissing him forever. 

"You gonna let me— mmh — fuck you?" He pants, "ohmygod, 'cause if you don't, you— you are one sick bastard—"  

You smile, although you want him just as badly as he wants you. You're doing a slightly better job at keeping yourself composed, after all. "I don't know," you murmur, "isn't this nice?" 

Clapton bites his lip when you grind down harder this time. "I — well," his hands scramble on your waist, your hips, "it is pretty nice, but, like — I just wanna take the logical— shitfuck — next step, right?" He's looking up at you with wide eyes, "and you are gonna let me, right?" 

"Right," you repeat, your breath catching when you roll your hips at just the right angle, "I am gonna let you, don't worry." 

He's flushed a pretty pink, pupils blown wide, obscuring hazel eyes; you drink him in. "Thought so," he grins. Before you can ask, he's already answering. "And, uh. There's a condom in the pocket of my shorts, if you're worried about that." 

You're in mild disbelief, abruptly halting your movements. 

"In your—?" 

Clapton looks a little bashful, though he's still grinning. "Could you just get it?"  

You're already awkwardly dismounting his lap. "Sure, sure." True to his word, there's a condom in the left pocket of his shorts, and you fish it out without a problem. You glance back at him for a moment, and he doesn't even try and pretend that he wasn't staring. Oh, well. A little clumsily, you get back onto the bed, and move to straddle him again— but he gently stops you. 

"Hey," he says, "can we switch places?" 

You don't need much time to consider it. "Alright." 

Now, he's hovering between your legs, and you're the one lying back. His gaze lingers, but he can't wait for much longer. You lift your hips, and he slides your last remaining piece of fabric off. 

"Fuck," he breathes, just before he gets to work. With the pad of one of his fingers, he collects the wetness that had been gathering, then smoothly slides the digit into your cunt. Swiftly, he adds another, the sensation odd at first, but you know you'll quickly get used to it. When he begins to lightly trace your clit, it only makes it easier for you to loosen up— both figuratively and literally. And he's still adding another. Maybe three fingers aren't strictly necessary, but he crooks them, finding the spot that makes an almost embarrassing noise tumble from your lips. 

You spread your thighs wider. You could definitely cum like this if you let him continue for a while. Glancing up at his face— oh, he definitely would if you wanted him to. He's torn between looking at how his fingers disappear into you and your face. How you're reacting to his touch. It's a little flattering. But as much as part of you wants to see what he's willing to do — 

"I'm — " You feel yourself tense, and you barely stifle an involuntary moan when he thumbs your nub again. "I'm ready. You can —" 

He doesn't even wait until you finish the sentence. He's already pulling out his fingers, tugging off his boxers. Your eyes are immediately drawn downward. Again, you're not surprised that he's shaved. Length-wise, he's probably around average, but girth-wise he's nice and thick. There's a bead of precum at the tip— if he wasn't already tearing open the condom with his teeth in a move that he's probably practiced before, you would've offered to blow him or something. Maybe some other time. 

Your idle thoughts dissipate when he lines himself up and, with an amount of care that nearly belies his previous neediness, presses in. You both moan in unison— he sounds infinitely more strained. He takes a moment to catch his breath, but— 

He starts moving. Little thrusts, at first. Then, pulling out more, pushing back in. His mouth falls open, and you can't resist throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him down. He groans, and you take it in, taking it with his increasing pace. It's good— his thumb finds your sensitive apex again, and that makes you jolt, but you know he's trying to give you a smooth progression between slow and fast. That's not what you want, though. Especially not now. Inches from his lips, you mutter: 

"Don't hold back." 

And that's all it takes. You can vaguely hear the bed creaking when he snaps his hips up to meet yours, roughly fucking into you with almost reckless abandon. Your kisses are sloppy, uncoordinated. But you wouldn't prefer it any other way. You know he probably wouldn't be making those noises if he didn't know they were muffled against you. Some are high-pitched— ragged gasps, moans, and at least one whimper. You also know you don't sound much different. He can't reach down to rub your throbbing clit anymore, due to how he's positioned, but the way that he's angled is more than satisfying in that regard. 

You lose track of time, only aware of his hips colliding against yours— his lips, his hands — the way he's starting to babble. "Fuck, you look so pretty like this," he confesses in a rush, "god, your eyes. I could just — I could just look at you like this forever. If you could see yourself — nnh — you would know." A sharp intake of breath, a few kisses, and then, "Ohfuck. Shit. You're gonna ruin this forever for me. I can't — " 

His rhythm is starting to falter. You can feel the heat pooling low in your gut, the tension that comes before the inevitable release. You tighten around him. His hands braced near your shoulders tremble, and you can see his biceps flexing with the effort of holding himself up like this. 

"Please," Clapton chokes out, and he doesn't specify as to what he wants, but you have a pretty good idea. "I'm gonna— " 

"Do it," you manage, despite your own climbing pitch, "c'mon, give it to me—"    

"Fuck— "  You feel him pulse. For a split second, you wonder how it would feel if he didn't have on the condom—  but your thoughts are quickly overtaken, as you're not too far behind. You twitch, spasming around his cock as your mouth falls open. The tension peaks, the heat spikes— 

He fucks you, gently, as you float back down, riding out your orgasm. Your eyelids flutter shut, and your breath slows, but your pulse is still a fast-paced staccato. 

He gingerly lays on top of you, catching his breath. It's hot against your throat. The world ceases spinning, and you let out a long sigh. 

He mimics it, and you glance down at him. 

You're reluctant to say it, but seriously, this is someone else's house. Guest room or not. 

"We should get cleaned up or something." 

He blinks once, lazily. Seemingly, he's content to lay on your chest. Of course, he's the type to get sleepy after sex. But at least he makes an effort to respond. "Ugh," he says. And then: "Jus' gimme a minute or something." 

You give him a look, and he surrenders. "Okay, fine." 

He slips out with a wet noise, and you only miss the fullness for a moment. Getting off the mattress, he throws out the condom, then accepts the wad of tissues you hand him. It's not the best, but it'll have to do for now. You manage to get most of the evidence of your arousal off before pulling back on your clothes. There's a mirror, thankfully, so you go to try and make yourself look less … fucked. Not that it would really matter. There are definitely people in worse states. 

Clapton stands next to you, but doesn't even try to fix his hair. On him, it looks fashionably disheveled, anyway. 

It's silent, before he interjects: 

"Is this … gonna be just a one-time thing?" 

The strange apprehensiveness is back, and you chance a glance at him. He's not meeting your eyes, but you're sure he's looking at you in the mirror's reflection. 

"I don't know," is all you can think to say, "do you want it to be?" A beat. "We could totally go back to being just sort of friends, if that's what you want." 

Clapton visibly swallows. "I … " 

You wait, patiently. He takes another few seconds. 

"I liked that," he mutters, "a lot. And I— I meant all that stuff. About you." 

He's still not meeting your eyes. It makes you pause. 

"I liked it too," you reply, softly.

The look he gives you next says it all. You know he's not big on old-school romance. He's not big on flowery words— his English grades can certainly attest to that. He's more of an action-oriented guy. Even if you don't get a verbal confession just yet— and you know you will, just not now— you suddenly understand what he's trying to convey. So, you pull yourself together and throw caution to the wind. 

"You wanna get out of here?" 

He beams. 

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

The year charlie stops being goth. Vaggie almost drops her cause, she looks really cute in that suit, and now she's kinda bubbly and sweet and omg

well now look what you did

Charlie: "Okay, new year, new me, same old pick up line. It's.... TRUST FALL TIIIIIME!" (yeets self) "WHEEE!!"

Vaggie: (swooping as usual) "Charlie!?"

Charlie: "Huggles!"

Vaggie: "What- you-"

Charlie: "You said my naaaaamee~"

Vaggie: "I- I almost didn't who'd climbed the clocktower this year- You, seem different?"

Charlie: "Yep! It's the suit!"

Vaggie: "That's, that's not what I-"

Charlie: "I started wearing them after last extermination!"

Vaggie: "-why-?"

Charlie: "Because I like it. Do YOU like it?"

Vaggie: "I’m, more wondering about the rest of you. You’re, smiling.”

Charlie: “I’ve smiled before!”

Vaggie: “But you’re happy smiling?”

Charlie: “Of course I am! I’m happy to see you.”

Vaggie: “….”

Charlie: (giggles) "Are you blushing under your mask?"

Vaggie: "No!"

Charlie: "Caaaaan I steal your mask for a second and check~?"

Vaggie: "No."

Charlie: "Aw. But I've MISSED you."

Vaggie: "... princess… how many times have you fallen off of the tower today."

Charlie: (twining arms around vaggie and kicking up her heels) "Only this once, don't worry."

Vaggie: "I wasn't-"

Charlie: "I only jump when I know you'll be there to catch me!"

Vaggie: "No you don't. That first year you didn't even know I existed, and you still threw yourself off the roof. Pointlessly."

Charlie: "To be fair it would've been pretty pointy if I'd landed on the spiked railing ten floors down..."

Vaggie: "And you would've gotten back up from that with only bruises, miss Morningstar, it would have made a mess and hurt a little and that's it. Pointless."

Charlie: "I know~"

Vaggie: "It’s a waste of my time AND yours.”

Charlie: “I don’t think so? You could never be a waste of my t-”

Vaggie: “It is a waste! These stupid stunts are just you publicly protesting the extermination by trying to catch the eye of someone up in heaven!"

Charlie: "And I did, didn't I?"

Vaggie: "No you didn't and you never will-"

Charlie: "I caught you."

Vaggie: "..."

Charlie: "…everything you just said? I finally realized it last year. Took a while but, it finally clicked and, it kinda changed everything for me. You know?"

Vaggie: "No." (lands on clocktower) "I should go."

Charlie: (playing with vaggie's mask) "Why'd you catch me that first year, scary lady exorcist?"

Vaggie: "That's not my name."

Charlie: "You knew who I was. The fall wouldn't kill me."

Vaggie: "Do you want me to drop you."

Charlie: "Why did you care?"

Vaggie: "I don't care- I just didn't let you fall."

Charlie: "Why?"

Vaggie: "What do you mean why? I'm an exorcist, an angel not a demon. I'm here to punish the souls of sinners, not to- not to BE like them."

Charlie: "But you haven't been punishing them for years."

Vaggie: "Yes I have. By keeping you out of the way of my sisters-"

Charlie: "I looked you up in the registers of heaven since last time. They're public records, did you know? Anyone in hell can check how many sinners an angel's killed. It's a warning I guess, and you... You're one of the best killers the exorcists have, aren't you?"

Vaggie: "How could you look me up. You don't have my name and THOSE are most certainly NOT listed in hell."

Charlie: "The "winner's streak" tally board has a mug shot of each of you on it, along with your kill count. Finding you wasn't hard. Every exorcist's mask looks a little bit different and I've doodled yours often enough."

Vaggie: "You what?"

Charlie: "ARE you one of the best exorcists?"

Vaggie: "Yes. I average five hundred per cleansing. Clearly hunting down sinful souls isn't a problem for me."

Charlie: "Right. And how many sinners do you think I save every year?"

Vaggie: "I don't know."

Charlie: "If it was enough to matter, or even just ONE, do you think I would have stopped doing it long enough to have climbed heaven's tower in the first place?"

Vaggie: "What does that matter."

Charlie: "You aren't helping anyone kill sinners when you keep an eye on me like this."

Vaggie: "I would be out there with my sisters right now if it wasn't for you."

Charlie: "But you're not."

Vaggie: "And who's fault is that?"

Charlie: "Yours."

Vaggie: "Your highness, this is stupid-"

Charlie: "You don't like killing people, do you?"

Vaggie: "Like it? No. Who could… But sinners have earned it."

Charlie: "I don't think so. I don't you did either."

Vaggie: "Don't group me with them. I'm nothing like them and not suffering down here in hell."

Charlie: "You're in hell right now though."

Vaggie: "For ONE day and only out of duty, to protect heaven. Your dashing new bowtie is tied on too tight, princess, it's constructing the blood flow to your head."

Charlie: "No other angels ever come here, only exorcists."

Vaggie: "Of course no one else comes here why would anyone-"

Charlie: "So what did you do to land yourself the job murdering souls for all eternity?"

Vaggie: ".... I chose duty."

Charlie: "That's what I thought, but." (whispering) "You've been ignoring that duty and your spear the whole time we've been talking..."

Vaggie: (sighs) "What does any of that have do to with you putting on suit and bowtie, princess?"

Charlie: "A lot." (smiling) "You like talking with me. You like me."

Vaggie: "The new suit factors in here somewhere I'm sure."

Charlie: "It makes me feel more me!"

Vaggie: "Congratulations."

Charlie: "Like it?"

Vaggie: "There is no way that one well-fitted suit made you turn this happy."

Charlie: "Ohhhh, well-fitted huh?"

Vaggie: "I can see that much. Everyone can see that much."

Charlie: "But I don’t care and aren’t asking them! Do you like what I did with my hair too? Look, I can smooth it back now all suave- Aw don't look away! You really are blushing under there!"

Vaggie: "You're infuriating."

Charlie: (laughs) "Well! That's says more about YOU and YOUR taste in women than it does about me!"

Vaggie: "My taste in w- My WHAT?"

Charlie: "I think you're very tasty too, bi the way~"

Vaggie: "I- I'm setting you down now."

Charlie: "Emphasis on the BI!"

Vaggie: "Please stop clinging to me, princess, you've always been head and shoulders taller than me, this looks ridiculous-"

Charlie: "Ridiculous? I think we're cuuuuuuuute."

Vaggie: "My lieutenant won't think so if she sees me like this!"

Charlie: "Um, uh- If by lieutenant you mean that one extra angry exorcist with the fancy officer's sword who was glaring at us a while ago-"

Vaggie: "SHE WAS WHAT!?"

Charlie: "Thennnnn I think you're about fifteen minutes of demon princess cuddling to late to worry about it!"

Vaggie: "Shit!"

Charlie: "Don't worry about it! At least we have each other." (snuggles)

Vaggie: "No." (lets go)

Charlie: (still dangling off of her) "...did I mention I've got good upper body and core strength too? I mean, I don't USE it much, but-"

Vaggie: (SIGHS) (crosses arms hugging spear) (sits down)

Charlie: "-OH I'm in your lap now that's- Wow!!!"

Vaggie: "I’m not talking with you."

Charlie: "That's okay! You're more the cool and quiet type, I can talk for both of us!"

Vaggie: "Please. Don't."

Charlie: "If you meant that then you wouldn't have kept on catching and listening to me, year after year, even when I was being all goth and emo and snarky about it!"

Vaggie: "I was not listening."

Charlie: "What's the names of my goat childhood buddies slash demon plushies slash part time bodyguards?"

Vaggie: "You mean Razzle and Dazzle..?"

Charlie: "And their fav food??"

Vaggie: "Doughnuts."

Charlie: "HEH. You call THAT not listening?"

Vaggie: "Ugh."

Charlie: "Now let's see- You have a VERY nice lap but, can we move spear a liiiittle bit? It makes it kinda hard to cuddle-"

Vaggie: "No."

Charlie: "Skill issue, gotcha. I'll figure something out!"

Vaggie: (groans) (does absolutely nothing else to stop the cuddling)

[lou-0111]

I Won’t Say (I’m in Love)

y/n doesnt believe in love, taylor, their best friend (who knows their view on love) tries to convince that luke would be a great boyfriend for them: bit of a long one today - 3.4k words

Love is stupid, ok? It’s pointless and there is absolutely no need for it. And no, It’s not just because I've had bad experiences, it’s the whole thing. Girls changing themselves for the boy they like. Boys being mean to people to get girls attention, the whole thing is just stupid.

If there's a prize for rotten judgement I guess I've already won that

I feel like I’ve made a series of poor decisions in my life, each one heavier than the last. This pattern of regret and self-reproach feels like it’s consuming me from within. It's become almost second nature to make mistakes because I've fallen into the habit of making them, and each misstep adds to the weight of my past errors.

No man is worth the aggravation

No guy at Camp Half-Blood is worth going through that emotional turmoil again. It’s simply easier to avoid falling in love altogether. The past is full of lessons learned—the kind where you thought you'd finally moved on, only to find yourself trapped in the same old cycles. The gods had their trials, and there's no need for us to repeat their mistakes.

That's ancient history, been there, done that

This happened to the gods in the past, it shouldn't be repeating with us again

Who d'you think you're kiddin'? He's the earth and heaven to you

“Y/N, you have to listen to me on this.” My best friend, Taylor starts, “Luke would be the perfect boyfriend for you. First, he’s genuinely kind-hearted. It’s not just something he puts on for show—he’s consistently thoughtful and considerate in everything he does. You’ve seen it yourself, right? How he interacts with everyone around him, always making sure people are okay and that they’re feeling included.

And let’s talk about his skills—he’s an exceptional swordsman. His dedication and proficiency with a sword are impressive.

But it’s not just about physical skills. Luke is amazing with the younger campers. He’s got this natural ability to connect with them, to mentor them, and to make them feel important. He treats them with such patience and respect. You know how much that matters, seeing someone who doesn’t just see the younger kids as a burden but genuinely enjoys helping them grow.

So, don’t let your past experiences cloud your judgement about him. Luke isn’t just another face in the crowd; he’s someone who genuinely fits what you need in your life. It’s worth considering that maybe, just maybe, he could be the one who changes your perspective on love.”

Everyday, every damn day, Taylor goes on about how me and Luke would be great together. But I don’t see it. Love is stupid, Taylor is stupid for thinking I like him.

Try to keep it hidden Honey, we can see right through you (Oh, no) Girl, you can't conceal it We know how you're feelin', who you're thinkin' of

We were walking back from training one day when again, she started the whole luke chat. “Y/N, I need to be real with you here. It’s becoming impossible to ignore how you keep watching Luke. You spend hours just observing him as he trains. It's not just casual glances; you’re practically mesmerised by how he moves with such skill and focus. Every time he picks up his sword, there’s this look in your eyes that I can’t ignore.”

Excuse me? He’s the best swordsman at camp, obviously I'm going to watch him, to get pointers on how to get better, nothing else. 

“And it’s not just during training. When Luke interacts with the younger campers, your attention is entirely on him. You’ve seen how he takes the time to teach them, to encourage them, and how he genuinely connects with them on their level. You watch him as he patiently helps them learn and grow, and there’s this soft, almost admiring look on your face. It’s clear that you’re moved by how he treats them with such kindness and care.” “I just think it’s sweet how he takes his time teaching them, nothing more, I'd be the same way if anyone else did what he does.”

“I know you’re trying to play it cool and act like it doesn’t matter, but let’s be honest—your feelings are showing. It’s like you’re trying to hide behind this façade that love isn’t worth it or that you’re not interested, but it’s obvious to everyone around us. We all see how your face lights up when he’s around, how you hang onto his every word and action.”

“Woah, you need to slow down, someone might hear you, my face doesn't ‘light up’ ok Tay? I’m a listener, sorry if i listen when people talk to me, I don’t like luke, never have, never will.”

Stop denying it. We can see right through you. It’s not just about admiring him from a distance; it’s about the way you light up when you talk about him or when he’s in the room. Your actions are screaming that you have feelings for him, even if you’re trying to convince yourself otherwise. It’s ok if you like him, if you’re in love, it’ll be good to put your heart out again.”

Where my heart can get hurt again. I mumble walking away. I do not like Luke.

You swoon, you sigh Why deny it? Uh-oh It's too cliché (Ah-ah-ah-ah) I won't say I'm in love

Being in love feels like a foolish, unnecessary risk to me. It’s as if admitting that I’m in love would be an act of surrender, a sign of weakness. I keep telling myself that I don’t need a man to complete my life or make me happy. My independence has always been my strength, and the idea of falling for someone seems like it would undermine that strength.

I’ve managed perfectly well on my own, navigating life without relying on anyone else to validate my worth or fill a void. I’ve built my own stability and happiness through my own efforts, and I’m proud of that. The thought of opening myself up to love feels like an invitation to vulnerability and potential heartbreak, and I’m not ready to risk that.

Admitting that I’m in love would mean acknowledging that I need someone, and that’s something I’m determined to avoid. I don’t want to be in a position where my happiness depends on another person’s actions or feelings. I’ve seen how love can complicate things, how it can lead to disappointment and pain. It’s easier to stay detached and focus on myself rather than deal with the unpredictability of a romantic relationship.

I keep convincing myself that I’m better off without the emotional upheaval that love often brings. I’m self-sufficient and capable, and I don’t need anyone else to complete me or make me feel whole. Embracing love feels like it would disrupt the balance I’ve carefully created in my life. So, I put up a wall and tell myself that I’m not in love and that I don’t need a man to be content. It’s a way of protecting myself from the potential pain that comes with opening my heart.

I thought my heart had learned its lesson It feels so good when you start out (Ah) My head is screaming, "Get a grip, girl" "Unless you're dyin' to cry your heart out" 

I won’t put myself through that again. I’ve been burned too many times by love to let it happen once more. Each time I’ve opened my heart in the past, I’ve ended up disappointed and hurt. The cycle seems to repeat itself with every relationship I’ve been in: the initial charm and allure give way to a painful reality that shatters the illusion.

Every guy I've been with starts off presenting the best version of themselves—perfectly polished, attentive, and seemingly sincere. They act like they’re everything I’ve ever wanted, showing me a side that makes me believe in the possibility of a true connection. But as time goes on, it’s like a switch flips, and suddenly, they’re no longer the person I thought they were. The transformation happens so swiftly and so completely that it feels like a betrayal. One day, everything seems perfect, and the next, I’m left grappling with someone who’s changed overnight.

It’s as though these men wear masks, carefully crafted to win me over, only to discard them once they’ve achieved their goal. The facade falls away, revealing a reality that’s often disappointing and disheartening. I’ve come to expect that this pattern will repeat itself because it always has. Each time, my trust and hope are eroded, and it becomes harder to believe that someone can truly be genuine.

I’ve reached a point where my heart simply can’t handle any more of this emotional turbulence. The pain of investing my emotions into someone who ends up disappointing me is too much to bear. The cycle of hope and heartbreak has left me exhausted and wary. I’m trying to shield myself from further damage, to protect my heart from the predictable cycle of rising expectations followed by crushing disillusionment. The idea of putting myself through that kind of emotional rollercoaster again feels unbearable. So, I shut down, convinced that avoiding love is the best way to preserve my peace and prevent further pain.

You keep on denying Who you are and how you're feeling Baby, we're not buying Hon, we saw you hit the ceiling (Oh, no) Face it like a grown-up When ya gonna own up That you got, got, got it bad?

"Y/N, It’s becoming impossible for anyone who knows you to ignore the signs. Your reactions when he’s near, the way you talk about him—it all points to something deeper than just friendship or admiration. You might be trying to downplay it or act like it’s not a big deal, but everyone can see it. We all notice how you light up when he’s mentioned or how you subtly seek out opportunities to be around him.

"Well why don't you go out with him? Since you notice every small detail about him."

You’re not fooling anyone with your attempts to mask your feelings. The way you talk about him, how your mood shifts when he’s mentioned—these are all clear indicators that your feelings for Luke run deeper than you’re willing to admit. It’s written all over your face and in your actions. It’s not just a small crush or a fleeting interest; it’s something more significant, something you’re clearly struggling to acknowledge.

So why keep pretending? It’s okay to have feelings for someone, especially someone like Luke. The sooner you accept and embrace your feelings, the easier it will be to figure out what to do next. Hiding behind this facade of indifference only makes it harder for you to deal with the truth." "Taylor, I cannot keep having this convosation with you, it's getting on my nerves, please just drop it." I'm never falling in love, with anyone.

(Shoo, shoo-doo, doo-doo) No chance, no way I won't say it, no, no Give up, give in Check the grin, you're in love This scene won't play I won't say I'm in love You're doin' flips (Ooh-ooh) Read our lips, you're in love

The idea of opening myself up to another relationship feels like an invitation to endure more pain. The thought of investing my emotions again, only to face the inevitable disappointment, is almost too overwhelming to consider. My heart has reached its limit; it feels battered and fragile from past letdowns. The fear of another heartbreak is paralysing, making it hard to even entertain the idea of risking my emotional well-being once more.

I want to protect myself from the cycle of hope and disillusionment that has characterised my past experiences with love. The emotional toll has been significant, and I’m desperately trying to shield myself from further damage. The prospect of enduring another emotional upheaval is daunting, and my heart simply can’t handle the strain of another potential letdown. "Y/N, I know you don't like talking about it, but I csn't help it. Why csn't you see it? We’ve all see how you blush every single time you talk about Luke. It’s not just a subtle thing—your cheeks practically light up, and there’s this undeniable warmth in your voice. It’s impossible to ignore the way your eyes sparkle when his name comes up or how your entire demeanour shifts to something more animated and bright.

And let’s not forget how you watch him during mealtimes. It’s like you’re drawn to him in a way that’s hard to miss. You’re always glancing over at him, whether he’s chatting with the others, helping out with the food, or just enjoying a moment with his friends. You might think you’re being discreet, but it’s so obvious to everyone around. The way you steal glances and the way your gaze lingers just a little too long—these aren’t things you can easily brush off.

Trying to deny your feelings for Luke doesn’t change the reality of the situation. Your reactions and behaviour make it clear to all of us what you’re trying to ignore. We see through the act of nonchalance you’re putting on. It’s not just a case of mild interest; it’s something deeper. We can tell that you’re emotionally invested, even if you’re not ready to admit it to yourself.

It’s time to face the truth about your emotions. The more you try to suppress or deny them, the more obvious it becomes to everyone around you. There’s no need to hide or pretend anymore."

Taylor says before walking off.

I keep convincing myself that nothing will come of this, and that denying my feelings will make it all go away. I’m certain that nothing will happen between us, and so I refuse to acknowledge my true emotions.

Despite my best efforts to conceal my feelings, it's becoming increasingly difficult to ignore them. I try to pretend otherwise, but my actions and reactions betray me. Deep down, I think I’m in love, but I can’t bring myself to say it.

You're way off base (Shoo-doo, shoo-doo) I won't say it (She won't say it, no) Get off my case (Sha-da, sha-da) I won't say it (Ooh-ooh-ooh)

I’m adamant about not admitting my feelings. It’s a protective mechanism to avoid vulnerability and potential heartache. I want to be left alone to keep my emotions private.

Girl, go be proud It's okay, you're in love

Admitting my feelings would mean exposing myself to the possibility of heartache, and I’m not ready to take that risk. The emotional turmoil that follows when feelings aren’t reciprocated, or when they lead to disappointment, is something I’m determined to avoid. I’ve learned from past experiences that letting my guard down can lead to deep, sometimes overwhelming pain. By keeping my feelings to myself, I maintain a sense of control and safety, shielding my heart from potential harm.

I want to be left alone to keep my emotions private because it feels like the only way to maintain my emotional stability. Sharing my feelings would mean inviting scrutiny and potentially having to navigate the complexities of another person’s reactions and responses. It’s easier to keep everything internal, to process my emotions in solitude where I can control the narrative and avoid the unpredictability of others' reactions.

This private handling of my emotions is a means of self-preservation. It’s my way of creating a barrier between myself and the risk of emotional pain. The prospect of vulnerability, of exposing my inner thoughts and feelings, is daunting and unsettling. So, I prefer to keep my emotions hidden, managing them in the confines of my own mind where I can protect myself from the uncertainty and potential hurt that comes with opening up to others.

However, Taylor did not agree with my choices.

"Listen, Y/N, it’s really important for you to understand something: it’s completely okay to embrace your feelings. Love, as complicated and intimidating as it can be, is not something to be ashamed of or to hide from.

You deserve to be happy. If you have feelings for Luke, acknowledging them doesn’t make you weak or foolish—it makes you human.

There’s no shame in being vulnerable; it’s a sign of strength and courage. It’s a step towards allowing yourself to experience love and all the happiness that can come with it.

Hiding from your feelings or pretending they don’t exist only prolongs the emotional struggle and prevents you from fully engaging with the positive aspects of life."

"Yeah, whatever Tay, I'll see you later."

She raises her eyes at me, noticing I don't tell her to shut up about the topic.

At least, out loud I won't say I'm in love

It feels ridiculous to admit that I might be in love. I’ve convinced myself that I don’t need a man to be happy and that I’m fine on my own. Declaring my feelings feels like an invitation to heartbreak, something I’ve vowed to avoid.

I do have feelings for Luke. I’ve come to realise that I am in love with him, but I can't bring myself to openly acknowledge it. I’ll keep these emotions to myself, hidden away where I can manage them privately.

Who knows, maybe one day I'll tell him?

Doubt it.

[chuunai]

hello !! idk if you’ll see this but for the 100 followers celebration, may i please request pm! chuuya + (17) wondering if they deserve you or not + (6) “just look at you, then look at me” ?? maybe it’s like he gets doubts and worries, especially when he sees reader getting interactions with others and considering his job and what it means for the reader? but… um, could it end with fluff, please? also, could it be a fanfic, pretty please? i do apologize if this is way too specific !!

once again, congratulations on 100 followers, you totally deserve it, your writing is absolute heaven !! have a nice day/night/afternoon !!

I love specific people and things no worries and thank you I adore your fanfics too!

✧˚ · . right by you - chuya nakahara

he doesn’t deserve you. not when you’re so good.

summary ⋆ ★ comfort, fluff, unrequited love (supposedly), SFW → minor (barely any) angst with happy ending.

Chuuya Nakahara didn’t deserve you.

Nor the air you breathed, or the space you shared with him at the Port Mafia. He didn’t deserve any of that.

Chuuya had always considered himself an okay person. He killed people, but it was for the sake of Yokohama’s safety—subsequently, your safety. In the eyes of others, he’s a piece of shit through and through (that, he doesn’t deny). But in your eyes, he’s just a guy trying to do what’s best for his subordinates and city. In your eyes, he’s just Chuuya.

It’s a bit odd, honestly.

Having feelings for his subordinate.

It fucked with his mind too.

The Port Mafia was no place for love. Look at Higuchi pining over Akutagawa like a lovesick high schooler—that’s clearly going nowhere. So it’s not like he’d have a chance with you, anyway. Not when you’re so good, too. So, so much better than he ever could be.

Someone like you—who regularly brought cookies to the Mafia’s HQ to ‘boost morale’—didn’t deserve a fake human like him. One who was a vessel of a god. The fake Chuuya Nakahara. No matter how much evidence said he was the real one, he couldn’t believe it. Just look at him, then at you. No, you’re the real human.

And he’s a fucked up mess that also happens to be a murderer.

Great boyfriend material.

In the middle of his self-deprecation, a knock hit his door. Probably Tachihara, that smug bastard. Not like he was doing anything, anyways. Taking one last look at the ceiling of his office, Chuuya called out.

“Yeah yeah, door’s open. Come in.”

Instead of that redhead, it was you.

Shit.

He was sure your shift was over. It was what, eight at night now? You got off right around now, so you had no reason to see him. Yet his cheeks flushed up anyway as a pointless attempt at faking a cough was done to hide the obvious reddening. Mentally cursing himself for for being so childlike with his feelings, he sat up in his chair, pretending to write on a document.

“Need something?”

He’d do it. Just ask. Wait—that’s pathetic.

“No, but the others and I are going out to drink. You wanna come?”

Chuuya perked up immediately, already imagining the taste of red wine sliding down his throat and warming up his body. He loved drinking. Helped to get his mind off his problems—namely, you. His fingers drummed on the wood of his desk, a small hum drifting from his lips as he thought of the potential consequences.

He could get drunk and act stupid in front of you. Or accidentally harass you. Or end up blabbering his head off about Dazai again. Or-

Snapping out of his daze when he saw you awkwardly standing there waiting for his response, he shrugged.

Fuck it. It’d be fine.

“Sure. Usual bar?”

You nodded, fiddling with the hem of your sleeves. You always did that when you were nervous. A small wave of worry washed over him. Did he make you nervous? Shitshitshit. What’d he do?

Standing up, he quickly organized some papers—recent missions and current objectives—into piles on his desk, palms slightly sweaty from the fact that you were watching him. Chuuya didn’t like how he always was a wreck around you. It wasn’t gonna make him good in your eyes, is what he thought. Lord, he wished he knew what would make you like—no, love—him back.

“Let’s go now then, yeah? We can get a head start on the others. Don’t want Tachihara to brag his ass off about being first again.”

He offered a small attempt at a smile, cheeks rosy and all. It was nothing compared to when you smiled, though. Like an angel. His angel. Holy fuck. He’s really gotta stop daydreaming about you when you were in the damn room with him.

Leading the way, he carefully kept to your side throughout the long hallways of the Port Mafia’s HQ, occasionally stopping to discuss a quick matter or two with one of his assistants. When someone bumped into you, he hesitantly placed a hand on your back to keep you steady and remind the other grunts that you were under his protection.

Although that still didn’t stop the dreamy stares at you.

Or the jealousy that Chuuya felt after. He knew that he wasn’t good enough for you, and he respected that. But these guys didn’t. No, they thought they somehow had a chance with you—a living, breathing angel—and that irked him. Shouldn’t they be grateful for just getting to see you? He was, anyway. He’d take all that he could get.

Including this short walk.

Lasting for only three minutes or so, soon you two were out in the chilly night air of the parking lot. You shivered a bit, cheeks and nose turning red and numb from the coldness. Chuuya couldn’t help himself as he nudged you closer to his side to be a bit more warm. Kouyou always said he was a human oven, after all. Walking to his car—nothing too fancy, yet not quite cheap—, like a true gentleman, he opened the door for you to sit in the front passenger seat next to him.

He always drove you to the bars. You always drove him back.

A fair deal, in his opinion.

Starting up the engine, Chuuya sneaked a glance at your profile. Nose tinted with red, cheeks puffy from the cold and eyes staring back at him. Wait. Huh? His face went red. Again. Now the both of you were flushed, and not from the cold.

“Want my coat? You uh, seem pretty cold.”

Please don’t say no, please don’t say no, please don’t-

“Yeah. Please.”

Chuuya shrugged off his black coat, carefully laying it on top of you like a cozy blanket. His hands brushed against your arms as he snugly placed it on you. You looked good under it.

“We’ll warm up with the alcohol later. I know you don’t like whiskey, but a shot should warm you up.”

You made a face, sticking out your tongue and giggling slightly while he started up the car, slowly backing out of his parking spot.

“That’s shit’s nasty, Chuuya-kun. Just like your wine.”

If Chuuya had one complaint about you, it’s that you didn’t like red wine.

“It’s an acquired taste, you brat. If you’d try it out more often, you’d like it.”

His heart warmed up at the sight of your smile, making sure to keep up the banter between you two as he drove to the nearby bar. His fingers twitched, aching to hold yours. To warm you up, too. He didn’t want his coat hugging you. Chuuya wanted to hug you. Was that too creepy? Hopefully not.

Traffic was a shitshow. Both of you agreed that more and more idiots were on the road lately, cursing at the car in-front of you. Thankfully, it didn’t last too long. Ten minutes later and he was pulling into the familiar parking lot of the same bar you two had been going to for a while with the others. A nice small corner bar, retro and one that didn’t mind their eccentricity.

Chuuya didn’t take back his coat from you as you wore it inside.

Ushering you into their usual corner booth, he ordered you two a small drink to start—just a vodka soda. Nothing too much. Although it got him slightly buzzed, a warm feeling calming him down a bit as he sipped. It felt nice. Just the two of you. No rowdy Tachihara. No Higuchi simping over Akutagawa or Gin staring at everyone.

Just you two.

“So uh, when are the others getting here?”

How much time did he have with you alone is what he really meant.

“Oh- let me check real quick. Sorry.”

Chuuya watched as you reached into your purse, grabbing your phone and probably texting Higuchi. A small frown came upon your lips after a minute. Nuh-uh. He’d kill whatever made you frown.

“Eh? Why’re you frowning? We’re drinking, cheer up a bit.”

You looked back at him sheepishly, scooting a bit closer to him.

“Well, apparently Akutagawa got sick so now Gin is taking care of him and Higuchi is worrying so she doesn’t want to come and Tachihara suddenly got busy out of nowhere.”

Yes! Yes yes yes! Just him and you now.

“Sucks. But the two of us are here, right?”

Chuuya was currently praying to God that you’d stay.

“Guess so. Should we order stronger drinks, then? I don’t wanna be sober.”

He now believed in God.

And so you drank. Him with his signature red wine, and you with your preferred drink of choice. Chuuya obviously got drunk first, with the redhead showing signs of intoxication while he got clingy with you. You were equally drunk, and didn’t care that much. So he clung into your arm like a baby while you braided his hair poorly.

“God, your hair is so pretty, Chuuya.”

Ooohh. You called his hair pretty.

“Is the rest of me not pretty?”

He pouted, tugging at your sleeve and resting his head on your shoulder.

“Huh? I didn’t say that. You’re really pretty. Super pretty.”

Wow. He’s super pretty now.

“Well, I think you’re pretty too.”

His face flushed, suddenly realizing what he said as he buried his face in your shoulder, squeezing your arm for reassurance. Why did he say that? Why did he say that!? Stupid alcohol. It made him talk so dumb like this. He didn’t talk like this when the others were around to keep him in check. Shit. Maybe he should’ve have drunk so much.

“You do?”

You looked down at him, fingers momentarily stopping their crafting of his braid.

“Mhm.”

A small shy mumble was all he managed to utter.

“You’re so cute! This is why I like you, y’know.”

His head snapped up immediately. No way in fucking hell were you gonna leave him on a bombshell like that.

“You like me?”

For the second time today, Chuuya was praying to God that you liked him romantically.

“Yep.”

Not helpful.

“But…like a friend? Or uh- romantically.”

Well. He said it. Fuck him. No way you’d like him back.

“Uh.”

Some silence from you.

“I’m not saying.”

Oh yes, yes you fucking were gonna say.

“C’mon, tell me. Pleaseeee?”

Puppy eyed Chuuya. He used this to get out of trouble with Kouyou. Surely, it’d work on you?

“Fine. You’re a bitch, but jesus, I like you romantically.”

Chuuya Nakahara was sure he was at Heaven now. No way you—his angel—just confessed to him. Albeit drunk. But still a confession. One of his hands slowly crept onto yours, lacing your fingers together. He was in bliss, basking in your warmth and ignoring the other rowdy patrons of the bar. You just confessed to him. You like him back.

You like him back.

When he finally got back to his senses and opened his mouth to say that he liked—no, loved—you too, his ears picked up on a small snore from you. Did you seriously fall asleep? You had done it before during previous get togethers, but now? A small smile crept onto his face. Whatever. It didn’t matter. He’d tell you tomorrow.

He’d confess back, take you on a date and prove his worth to you.

Because maybe Chuuya Nakahara could learn how to love like you.

Just maybe.

taglist: @twst-om-lover, @sinfulthoughtsposts

[urrockstar-xe]

baby blanket - j.m x fem!reader

posted may 10th, 2023 10:07 am

this is completely based on my actual real life baby blankets, enjoy. also it looks like they're looking directly at me in this gif and that scares me. - xx

masterlist

wordcount: 0.6k

s/o to pals for helping with the song choice :))

You felt the end of your bed dip as JJ flopped down onto it, immediately going to grab the small baby pink blanket away from you. You smiled, watching him mindlessly run the silky ends through his fingers over and over while he argued over something pointless with Kie. 

John B cut the arguing short when he noticed the blanket on JJ’s chest. “What is that?” 

Before you could answer his question, Sarah did it for you, “it’s one of her baby blankets,” her knowledge of this didn’t come as a surprise to any of you as she had spent a lot of time in your room over the last year. “No way that’s your baby blanket,” Pope said, standing from his spot at your desk and nearly snatching it away from jj, “Hey!” Pope ignored jj, examining the 16+ year old blanket. 

“Mine is in shreds, how the hell does yours look like this?” you shrugged in response, pulling another baby blanket off of one of your pillows, it looked the exact same as the pink one, just white. 

“What the fuck there's two?” Jj sat up as if he had just found out he got accepted into fucking Hogwarts. You laughed. “You never noticed it on my pillow? The one you are always sleeping on?” 

Jj took it from you, “well that would explain why it's so much softer than the other pillows.” 

“Oh she has two so you cheated the system!” Kie said in a teasing tone, a smile sitting on her lips. 

“Nuh-uh! I will not sit for these false allegations!” you stood up from your bed taking the pink blanket away from Pope, “My favorite was always the pink one, I honestly didn’t even know I had the white one ‘til I was like 9.” 

“How is it still in perfect condition then huh?” John B smirked at you, a sign of him simply giving you shit. “Guess I'm just like, better than all of you.” you shrugged, earning a laugh from the girls and scoffs and “pft”s from the boys. “And it’s not in perfect condition, the edges are a little frayed, but genuinely I have no idea how it’s still in such good condition,” 

Cleo smiled before speaking, “The baby blanket gods must love you,” 

You laughed sitting back down in your spot, allowing jj to use your lap as his very own pillow, still holding onto the white baby blanket. 

“I never had a baby blanket,” he said, 

“Really?” Sarah asked, astonished at this noise, even jb had one at some point.

It didn’t shock you that JJ never had one, knowing who raised him. “You can have that one,” your words shocked him, his reaction earning laughs and giggles from every one of your friends. “Really? You mean that?” his eyes were wide and his mouth was just slightly agape. 

“Course, j. I’d offer my pink one but that one’s kinda my favorite,” you smiled, watching as he settled back into place and just admired the small blanket. 

“It also says ‘thank heaven for little girls’ on it and it’d be a little weird for you to own something that says that” Pope pointed out, making his way back to your desk chair. 

“It’s a little weird for anyone to own something that says that,” John B responded, causing an incredibly stupid argument to break out between your friend group, but all you could focus on was how soft jj got at such a small thing, how he was already playing with the ends the way he did your fingers whenever you’d hold hands. 

JJ looked up at you once more, “You’re really lettin’ me keep this, baby?” you just nodded in response, playing with his hair. JJ smiled, looking back at the blanket.

“Thank you,”

[scekrex]

Sinner Adam X Pastry Chef, Seraphim Male Reader.

Ok so Adam after the events of season one becomes a sinner.

But his boyfriend who sneaks out of heaven to find him and he does just that. And thankfully he did find him before he did something stupid.

Like going to the hotel he just attacked for protection from everyone who wants him dead. Who's inhabitants also want him dead.

But Reader knows he can't bring Adam up to heaven cause that goes against the rules. So he does the next best thing!

He opens a bakery in hell! Which doubles as a house. Don't question it, it's heavenly magic bullshit.

So now Him and Adam run a bakery with the help of Lute and a couple of exorcists who drop by from time to time.

Ohhhh I fucking love that, them just owning a little bakery in hell that's heaven themed and gives the vibes and is all beautiful. Also reader throwing away everything just to be with Adam? Me. I'd do that.

I'll meet you in hell

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, mentions & symptoms of depression

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

“We have to send our people down there and look for him,” you explained, hoping the other angels in the court would agree. Panic has flooded your eyes and your body language was a little too over the top because of that. Adam was down there, the projection of hell's current state had shown it, the first man was wandering through hell's streets, he was badly injured and had no shelter.

“No, we won't put our people at risk for a sinner,” Sera spoke highly, her chin tilted upwards so that she had to look down on you. “A sinner?” you asked, horrified by her choice of words - it's not that she wasn't wrong, Adam was walking through hell as a newborn sinner, “He’s still our first man!” But your statement was only met by shaking heads and mumbling that sounded a little too close to disagreement. With pleading eyes you looked up to Sera, Emily by her side. The little seraphim was talking to her sister quietly, so quiet that it was inaudible for you and the other angels in court.

“We have come to the decision,” Sera adjusted her posture as she turned towards you, “We can't risk the well-being of our people and therefore the well-being of heaven for the first man. He is not important enough to take that risk.” The panic that had been filling your eyes was replaced by pain and betrayal. The other seraphims had betrayed you, or at least it felt that way to you. With a lowered head you were about to get up and leave the courtroom, the verdict had been spoken and you had nothing to say that would change their mind. Discussing something like this with them was pointless, you should've known, saved time and went down without their knowledge of your location. You had to go down to hell and protect Adam - it wasn't as if the former angel was not able to stand up for himself - he every much was able to do so, you knew that better than anyone - but he was wounded and had no place to stay at, no one to turn to and the fact that probably every single resident of the pride ring wanted him dead was not helping either.

So you nodded your head towards your brothers and sisters, then turned to Lute - Lute who had been the only one to stay by your side. “We’re done here,” you stated as you watched the lieutenant lower her head as she followed you out of the courtroom. “Sir, excuse my curiosity but I assume you will not stay in your seat and wait, so may I ask what your plan is?” You liked Lute for many reasons, her loyalty for Adam was most definitely one of the highest attributes you admired. “I’ll go down myself and make sure he stays out of trouble as much as possible,” you explained, the lieutenant of your boyfriend remained by your side as you opened a portal to where Adam had last been spotted in hell, she was ready to go down with you. And while you normally wouldn't turn that offer down, this time you had to. Your visit in hell would be permanent - you were not going to leave the brunette to himself. “I’m coming with you, Sir,” the white haired woman said as she walked closer to the portal, yet she stopped when your hand gently came to rest on her shoulder. Your soft eyes met her determined ones and you offered her a warm yet genuine smile, “No Lute. Heaven needs you, I will take care of Adam, you will take care of heaven for me.”

The exorcist did not look very pleased with that decision of yours, still she gave you a nod and took a step back from you and the golden portal, “Very well, Sir.” With a little wave you turned around at her words, now facing the portal that would take you to your boyfriend and just as you were about to step through it, Lute raised her voice again, this time the usually so confident woman’s voice sounded somewhat unsteady, “Y/N?” You turned your head to Lute, then she continued, “Tell Adam I miss him.” And with those words she left. Ah yes, Lute always had trouble showing feelings and admitting them to somebody else than the person they were about surely must have been hard for her.

Hell was different than you had expected it to be, you had never personally been down there, why should you have been after all? Yet a creature as bright spirited as you was easy to spot - mainly due to your appearance. So when you turned around just to be tackled to the ground by a familiar first man, you were quite surprised and in shock at the same time, you had not expected Adam to spot you that quickly and act on it. “I fucking knew you would come to get my holy ass back into heaven,” the brunette mumbled as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. You held onto Adam’s body as you got up from the dirty ground - hell had a nasty vibe that you did not like but you’d have to get used to it. This place would now function as your new home due to Adam being not allowed to cross the pearly gates again. “Well, it’s not that easy love, I spoke to Sera-” Adam eagerly interrupted you, “I’m fucking sure she told you to get me in the first place, didn’t she? Yeah, she sure as fuck did.” Though when you shook your head in disagreement the prideful look in his eyes fell and disbelief replaced it. “What? You’re gonna fucking tell me these bitches want me to rot in this fucked up hellhole?” A simple nod was all you were able to give your boyfriend. Yes, that was exactly what Sera and the others had decided was the best solution for not only heaven but also Adam, but how could this be the best decision for Adam when he had been all alone the entire time and would have continued to stay alone if it weren’t for you disobeying the rules? Gently you cupped his face, a thing the first man had grown used to since that was something you did quite often - he still found it a little strange, it felt so intimate and personal while it appeared to be such a casual way of touching your lover. “The court has decided to not let you back in, Adam,” for Adam, this was the first time hearing your voice after his fall, after he had lost his status and home, after he had been convinced he had lost you as well. And despite your words being bad news, he could not help but find comfort in the sound of your voice. “But I won’t let you suffer here all on your own,” Adam’s eyes shimmered with hope and it felt painful to take that little bit of hope from him too, you knew he was hoping you were to smuggle him back into the heavenly realms - but that was a thing not even you as a seraphim could do.

“I’ll stay by your side,” and despite your thoughts that Adam would be highly disappointed, the hope in his eyes remained. You assumed that spending eternity in hell with his boyfriend sounded better to him than spending eternity in hell all on his own. “Well,” the brunette shrugged as he slowly pulled away from your touch, “That works fucking fine by me.” Not that it actually did though, the former angel would have preferred it if you would have taken his ass back to the pearly gates. But if the others were against it, you would make hell his new home instead, simply by spending all of eternity here with him just because you wanted to do so. He knew that if they hadn't done so already, they would properly ban you from the realm you had called home once forever, just like they had banned him. And he respected that - well, at least he thought he did because in his eyes that not only had the cute touch of ‘I throw my perfect life away to be with my loved one’, to Adam that also sounded incredibly stupid. Or at least he tried to tell himself that your decision was stupid - giving up everything to spend eternity with your loved one? Yeah totally not something he would do. Except that for you, he would throw it all away.

-

Getting used to hell’s atmosphere surely was not something that had ever been on your agenda, the air was stinky, the streets were dirty and the only area that felt clean and somewhat fresh was the area around the bakery you had built. The building was huge, shimmered in heaven’s brightest colors and you even managed to let some grass grow around the building that was not only used as a bakery, but it was also the new home of Adam and you. It had been quite some work - not because it was hard to work angelic magic in hell, no that had been the easy part. But due to this building doubling as a house and a bakery, it had taken some planning to not forget something important.

The bakery was not running very well, most sinners were not interested in heavenly food. The creatures down here looked up at heaven like the angels up there looked down at hell, in disgust and despair, not that you blamed them for doing so, they surely had their reasons to think that way. But you had two or three regulars that would stop by every other day and those people surely made your day, especially with one of them being Charlie Morningstar. Adam was not very happy whenever little miss butterflies and rainbows was visiting, but you and her got along quite well and your boyfriend at least tolerated that. And despite the bakery not earning very much money, the both of you had everything you needed, that was the bright side of not having to pay rent, you assumed.

Lute had convinced Sera to do regular check-ups on you, however she had only told the seraphim as an excuse to visit Adam. Don’t get her wrong, she was also glad to be able and pay you a visit, but her and Adam were closer than you and Lute could ever be and her missing her best friend more than his boyfriend was more than normal, not only in her eyes but also in yours. Sometimes she even talked Sera into taking one or two of the exorcists with her, to Sera she would say she takes them with her for defense reasons, in reality they just missed their former leader - and who could blame them? Lute surely did not.

You were standing behind the counter, the first man leaned against your side, wrapped up in your soft wings, his head on your shoulder as he was almost falling asleep. It was still early and Adam was convinced he would never get used to getting up so early in the morning, to him it felt like it was still the middle of the night. The little bell that rang as the door to the bakery opened made him crack one eye open and as he spotted a familiar face, he lifted his head off your shoulder, he remained wrapped in your wing though, not willing to leave the cozy warmth they provided.

“Danger Tits,” Adam beamed at the white haired woman as she entered the bright and heavenly feeling bakery. The vibe of the building you had created was different from the rest of hell, whenever Lute entered the inviting looking building she felt like you had brought a piece of heaven to hell. And while she still disliked Charlie’s idea of rehabilitation, she did like the fact that you made hell a little nicer - at least for Adam’s sake. That way she knew the first man was able to live a somewhat good afterlife, even with his soul stuck in hell.

[annwe24]

MICHEAL X ANGEL!READER

Summary: Despite your very best effort, Micheal never shows any interest in you.

Artist: https://x.com/kkongchi06

Being a child of the Goddess of Love has its perks. Your beauty has never failed to lead many angels to their demise - being trapped in a one-sided love. You have trapped yourself in a one-sided love too. Many of your sisters’ lovers come and go like course meals, their names have never quite made it past the third time. You wish it were the case for you. Despite having attracted so many angels, no one has quite left such an impression on you. Love is one of commitment and a yet to be understood concept, even its creator struggles to explain her own creation. Thus, that view of yours has obscured your path of love to angels and seraphims alike.

You cannot explain why you're experiencing such feelings right now. Standards or beliefs cannot steer your gaze away from the archangel sitting piously in the court. Despite many failed attempts to approach him, the farthest you can get is an uninterested glance. You just wish his gaze would be bothered to notice yours for once.

I’ve been getting reports about the worrying trends of divorces on Earth. I would like to hear an explanation from their supervisors.

Perhaps this is the only time his gaze would be more charming if it diverted elsewhere but you. Ones of discipline and anticipation. Standing up nervously, you choose your words wisely:

Allow me to answer, sir Micheal. Cupids have been more ploy with their tactics, trying to hide away from our guidance. It doesn't help that some of my sisters felt ill, thus, adding more onto each of our workload. I sincerely hope to receive one more month to reverse the damage done.

You can sense his frustration by the way his eyes bore into you. Insignificance fails to describe the state you're feeling.

Very well then. I expect nothing but hard work and better results. Y/n, I would like to have a word with you in private. Micheal says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

You are accustomed to this kind of treatment. Something goes wrong, Micheal gets mad, you get scolded. It's one of the perks of being the oldest. Such irony of a joke doesn't even feel hilarious anymore, at least for these days.

...

The dreadful echoes of your footsteps make the long corridor even more threatening. If there is something scarier than being fallen, it would definitely be an angry Michael. Your hand shakily reaches for the intricate doorknob, wanting nothing more to get back to take care of your sisters.

Welcome in.

H-hi.

Your eyes desperately look somewhere but him. Even when walking towards the chair, the floor still has your utmost attention. Shifting uncomfortably, you curse at yourself for looking so stupid in front of the Prince of Heaven. A clearing of his throat brings you back into reality.

Let me get straight to the point. I want those pesky cupids of yours to be dealt with in less than 2 weeks.

E-excuse me?

Your anxiety is now shifting to confusion and disbelief. Is this some kind of game? However, his expression is saying otherwise:

You heard me right. I had foreseen the possibility of you not doing exactly to my favor…

His voice becomes distant, so far away. You cannot bring yourself up to even care about this pointless conversation anymore.

That is why I called you to talk in private. I am willing to hear all your reasoning…

This is expected. You think to yourself. Although, it's more of an assurance to calm yourself. You can almost feel the stress of the two weeks ahead. Being put under his scrutiny for countless times, Micheal’s attitude at work (at least to you) never fails to make you feel lost. Exhausted.

Either way, I’m quite convinced that nothing can change…

Why is it always you? Why is it always about your work? Why do you even like him? He’s been nothing but a burden, nothing more nothing less. Yet, you find yourself being a moth flying closer to the false alluring light. You cannot take this anymore. You’ve made up your mind. Either settle this right now or the consequences are going back to bite you later.

May I ask you something, Sir?

Michael stops dead in his rambling. After a moment of consideration and curious eyes staring hauntingly at you, he manages to get back to his smug face:

Yes. Yes, you may.

That short sentence sends some kind of chemical to your brain because you were sure you were dead by now. Taking a deep breath, you look straight at his blue orbs:

What's the point of this?

A moment of silence. Suddenly, the sound of your breathing feels too loud and you are aware of how flimsy your hands are. Then, the atmosphere shifts. Micheal smug smile returns as he leans closer, answering with a disturbingly low voice:

Because it's my responsibility to ensure all of Heaven runs smoothly and in accordance with God's reference.

Ah. Right. A responsible person as always. You wonder if he learned those answers by heart. As if reading your mind, his eyebrows show that of annoyance, hands clasping when asking back at you:

Say, I’m still waiting for your response on the important matter.

That's it. You are going to die today.

You're lying.

Fuck. If you're not demoted right now, you certainly will be. Did you regret it? Absolutely. Did it feel good? Absolutely. Maybe this torture will finally-

Oh, so you've noticed.

What?

You stare at him in disbelief. Eyes as wide as a doe. His grin also grows wider, more sinister.

Sweetheart, I don't fucking care about some heartbroken freaks when people are outright dying.

Suddenly, you come into contact with the wall violently. His hand covered the back of your head, preventing the hit.

For someone supposed to be an angel of Love, you are as dense as a book.

Not a single coherent thought is on your mind right now. If anything, you are battling between fighting back or just giving in to him. Excitement somehow finds its way to you. Maybe being trapped against the wall by Micheal isn't that bad.

There you go again, losing focus on such an important matter. Micheal says with a sigh.

That snaps you back to reality. You have to say something. You feel like it's necessary. You feel like if you don't say anything right now, the regret would be unbearable. But, what can you say?

I-I’m sorry, Sir. Am I missing something?

You are going to die. Micheal hasn't said anything but looked at you. Something about his gaze screams defeat.

Tsk.

Soft. His lips are softer than you thought. It feels better too. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you would get to touch his hands. Yet, his hands are now holding your wrists, tracing circles on your back, your waist, literally every inch of your body are being cared for. It is too much, too surreal. Your hands tangle themselves into his hair and hold onto his shoulder for balance. Next thing you know, your back is arching on the desk.

[doe-eyed-fool]

Fallen {Chapter Six}

Alastor x (fem)Reader

I spent a good while just roaming the streets, looking for a someone to help. I didn't have any extra clothes to donate to any stores, so my next best option was to try and be kind to someone and maybe help them out along the way. So far nothing, anyone I tried to talk to gave me a dirty look or told me to screw off.

I expected cruelty, but it didn't make it less hurtful or unwanted. I sighed and leaned against a near by wall, looking up at the pentagram in the sky.

"This is pointless." I mutter, I cross my arms around my body. How am I suppose to get into heaven, when I can't do any good down here? I close my eyes and lean my head back on the wall. Admittedly...it was a stupid idea to let my guard down like that, as I suddenly felt a sharp poke at my side.

My eyes shot open, and right next to me was a demon holding a switch knife. He was slightly shorter than me, and despite his thin stature, I still felt intimidated by him. Who wouldn't? He was holding a knife against me. 

"Empty your pockets and I might let you go free." His voice was scratchy and slightly high pitched. I froze, unable to do as he said. Even if I wanted to, I didn't have any cash or valuables on me. "I-I don't have any money." I stammer. "Then cough up that fancy necklace!" He demanded, pressing the knife closer to me.

My instinct was to reach up to the necklace and give it to him, but I quickly stopped after remembering what would happen if I did that. "Come on!" He snapped. Once again I stood frozen. The demon, finally fed up with me, raised the knife to stab me. His actions was halted as someone grabbed his wrist.

"Don'cha got nothin' better to do than harass some poor defenseless gal?"

I look up to see Angel Dust holding on tightly to the demon's wrist. The demon looked up at him with irritation and somewhat shock. Angel's frown turned into a sly grin. "Why not pay more attention to me?" His voice dipped into a more sultry tone.

"I can make it worth your while." The demon slowly lowered his guard, his arousal taking over his more rational side. "Really?" He asks with a smirk. Angel smirks as well before speaking.

"No." He then swiftly takes the knife and stabs the demon with it, sending him to the ground.

 I gasped and looked away from the gruesome scene. Angel tossed the knife elsewhere once he was sure the demon wasn't getting back up. "You ain't got no backbone, you know that?" Angel says to me, crossing his arms.

I look back to him, trying my best to ignore, the now corpse, at our feet. "You didn't even try to defend yourself." I furrowed my brows. "He had a knife!" I argue. "And? This dipshit wasn't worth the effort of killing. Just some low level schmuck, more bark than bite. Can't believe you let someone like that intimidate you."

"Well excuse me! When someone pulls a knife out on me, my first instinct isn't exactly to try and fight back!" I spat. I really didn't want to come off as harsh, but I was fed up with just about everything and everyone today.

"Well better grow a pair and learn to. Cause this is your life now. You're gonna run into more muggers and assholes than you think you might." Angel says as he walks past me. I followed after him, he seemed to be the safest to be around right now. Angel sent a questioning look down at me. "What are you doing out here anyway?" He asks.

"Trying to be a good samaritan." I shrug. "But, that's not going well. Everyone I've come across has either told me to...F off, or tried to kill me."

"Well no shit. This is hell, sweetie. No wants anything to do with anyone, unless it involves sex, drugs, money, or anything else that personally benefits themself in some way. Why the fuck are you even trying to do that?" Angel asks me. "Charlie recommended I do it for my recovery plan." I explain, causing him to roll his eyes.

"Her and those recovery plans, I tell ya what..." He huffs in annoyance. I look up at him. "Do you not believe in her cause either?" I asked. Angel's harden expression softens slightly. 

He looks off somewhere. "She doesn't know what she's getting herself into." He mutters. "Doesn't matter how hard we try, we ain't nothing but lowdown sinners. There's no redemption for people like us." I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. I reach to place a hand on his arm, but retracted it and awkwardly fiddle with my fingers as I spoke.

"Well, you can be all that bad. You just saved me after all." Angel glances at me. "Only because Charlie would have bitched if I didn't." He shrugs. "Don't make a big deal out of it."

"But that only means you care about Charlie's feelings. She would have been upset that a new patient was suddenly gone right?" Angel narrows his eyes. "No. I don't want to hear her complaining!" He argues. "Just shut up about it alright?"

A small smile found its way onto my face. "Thank you by the way. For saving me." Angel sighs. "What did I just say?" I giggle and say nothing else. We walked for a few more minutes before Angel's phone dinged, breaking the silence between us. He looked at it and groaned loudly. "Motherfucker." I look up at him confused. "My boss needs me back at the studio." 

Oh. A bit of worry grows in my chest. "Are you going to go?" I ask. "Kind have to." He says as he slick backs his hair, and pushes up his bust. "Looks like I'm working late again. I'll see you around." Angel waves me off as he walks in the other direction. Before he could get too far I called after him. "Be careful!"

I saw him freeze for a second before continuing on his way. I sigh before heading back to the hotel.

Just as I walked inside, I was greeted by Alastor. "Welcome back my dear!" I only waved before walking past him. I could hear his footsteps as he followed me to the couch.

I sat down and rest my head in my hands, blowing a stray strand of hair out of my face with a huff. Alastor was quiet for a moment before speaking.

 "Ah, I remember my first mugging. Quite the brute. But I gave him what for and sent him on his merry way. And by that I mean I tore him limb from limb before eating him whole."

I look up at him with shock. "How did you know?" I asked, choosing to ignore that bit about murdering someone. "I said I would be watching, didn't I? And that was certainly a sight to see, if I do say so myself. Angel was quite the hero, saving you from that lowlife."

"You really were watching. But how?" I ask. "I have my ways." Alastor smirks. "Ok..." I look back down at my lap, a sense of dread began to take over. I know it was only my first try, but, this was hell. It's not like tomorrow would be any easier. "I think I might head up to my room." I say standing from the couch. I began to walk past Alastor, but I stopped in my tracks as he spoke again. "Perhaps you should start even smaller."

I turn to face him. "What do you mean?" I ask. "The princess needs as much help with this hotel as she can get. It wouldn't hurt to ask what she might need done around here." Well. It couldn't be harder than what I was previously doing. I nod my head and began to make my way up to Charlie's office.

[thewritergremlin-rae]

Not Your Place

Pairing: Loki x Mutant!Fem!Reader Characters: Renslayer, Mobius, Classic!Loki, Alligator!Loki Rating: M Words: 1,848 Content: 2nd person, TVA, Post(ish)-Avengers: Infinity War, Suicidal Thoughts, Attempted Suicide (Non-graphic) Summary: In your grief, you saved the Universe from Thanos but, according to the TVA, that was not your role to play. Ao3: HERE

Notes: Obviously leading up to here didn't totally follow MCU - otherwise there would be no time for Reader and Loki to get together but it's not toooo important and might come up later? Haven't decided hahaha

I know being Norse the whole 'Laufeyson' is not really a family name and they don't have one - therefore there would've been no family name for Reader to take and honestly? Loki would probably take hers cos up until Infinity War - I can't imagine he's happy wih Laufeyson OR Odinson but we know the TVA has him down as Laufeyson.

I wanted to use it as the reveal - and also some kind of name was needed for Reader - and it works as an alias.

Aaaaand yet another Loki/Reader one-shot with basically no Loki - I'm so sorry!!!

Banners by cafekitsune

“…charged with sequence violation, 9-45-51. How do you plead?”

Your head spun with thoughts of the battle you’d left behind, the yelling, the fighting, the grief. All the dirt and grim still clung to you, showing the war you had been dragged from, yet your weapons had been taken and logged for evidence, your mutation somehow not working.

You felt numb.

“How do you plead?” The woman's voice echoed, sharp and annoyed, as you looked up to meet her gaze. No compassion, no empathy. Despite not having seen anyone else and you having a feeling you were already considered guilty - this whole court thing was probably very boring.

“Not guilty.” But maybe it would be better if you were. Erased, sent to nothingness or heaven or Valhalla or whatever existed after, if anything.

“Mrs Laufeyson, you killed Thanos.”

Your grip tightened as you remembered reaching inside of him for every molecule of water and holding it, freezing it. Can’t click if your hands are frozen, can’t do anything when all the water in your body is frozen. His water content hadn’t been that much different from a human.

And then you’d torn him apart.

“Yeah, I stopped him from killing half of Earth, half of the universe!” Anger rose up in you as it had done then. As it had when you had seen Thor come to the battlefield with only a raccoon and a tree.

Because grief would’ve gotten you ripped apart by those aliens in Wakanda and when Thor didn’t strike a death blow? You knew deep down he was out for revenge.

And Loki must’ve fallen.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” the woman answered and your mind went back to the cartoon explanation of the Time-Keepers.

“Then what was supposed to happen?! Thanos killed my husband! If he snapped his fingers, he’d half life across your stupid ‘Sacred Timeline,’ but I’m wrong for killing him?”

��Oh, he’ll be stopped, but not by you.” She banged the gavel. “The court finds you guilty of violating the sacred timeline. Your sentence is to be reset. Next case.”

And just like that, they pulled you from the stand. Like your victory meant nothing, your anger and grief pointless in the face of how time was supposed to flow.

That you were supposed to lose Loki.

“Reset? What does that mean?” A guard held you as the other pulled their stick from their belt, it clicking ominously as it lit up.

“Wait, wait-” You nearly missed the man who jogged to the front of the courtroom. “She could help us find the variant-”

“She was married to one, even if the variant looks different. How do you know she won’t fall for this one too?” The conversation floated above your head, but that got your attention immediately.

“You want me to help you… find Loki?”

The old man turned to you with a gentle smile. “A Loki. There’s a variant causing some trouble, so I thought maybe you could help us find them?”

You watched him, like you were thinking about it. The guard relaxed their grip on you, that gave you an opportunity. “Like hell I’d betray Loki-” you snarled, grabbing at the stick and pulling it into you.

Losing him was bad enough, betraying him was completely out of the question.

You didn’t see their faces or the reaction to your suicide. You just hoped that this would be enough of a battle to take you to Valhalla.

Your eyes snapped open to an overcast sky. Wind rustled the dry grass beneath you as you slowly sat up.

This seemed far from the golden halls of Valhalla.

Failed, you’d failed again. You pushed yourself to your feet and surveyed the long abandoned buildings and debris. A dumping ground it looked like. Was this really what came after?

You trudged steadily across the vast fields, moving further away from the rumbling cloud - much to your relief. The last thing you needed was a storm above you.

You’d passed an Avengers Tower at some point, the building dull and power long-gone. You missed it or rather you missed those peaceful days, coming to live with all the Avengers, drawn to Loki and his cooler aura.

You should’ve known he loved the ice as much as you. Your ice mutation, his true heritage as a Frost Giant - maybe that was what had eventually drawn the two of you to one another. There was always something so quiet about the ice rink and it had become your secret place. Snowball fights, skating, certain activities that weren’t entirely designed to happen on ice.

Tears misted your eyes as you kept going, not sure if you would even find another person - human, alien or anything else - in this realm. Just buildings and places that you did or didn’t know from time gone or time to come.

It seemed like there was no day or night here, just endless clouds. A place that time had forgotten, a place outside of time? You wondered if it sat somewhere on Yggdrasil or if one of those Sorcerers, the ones Bruce had met, could come here.

But if it was a different time and not just a different space… A semi-sphere sticking out of the ground caught your attention. Some kind of wheel on it that reminded you of the way bank vault doors always looked in movies.

It probably couldn’t hurt to open it and see what lay beneath - if anything. You grunted and pushed and pulled at the thing until you found the right way to open it. It creaked in protest, moving slowly before you heard a loud clunk and you began to pull.

The door opened, though you couldn’t see much inside, but there was a ladder to take you down. Death being the worst that could happen, you climbed in and made your slow descent.

The darkness didn’t last long before the hodge-podge of interior decorating greeted you.. Not that this place seemed to have any furniture stores handy.

“Hello?” you called, reaching for the next rung.

A rung that didn't exist. Your grip slid and the ice you reached for did little to soften your fall as you landed with a smack on the floor. The world turned blissfully black. Finally.

Your head throbbed and you groaned in disappointment - where was death when you needed it?

“Hold still a moment longer.” A hand cradled where the throbbing pulsed from in your head as another hand told the rest of you to stay in place. The pain lessened and soon vanished. “There we are.”

You opened your eyes to question what had been done, to find out why something in it was familiar. Your eyes met before your gaze flickered up to a familiar yet different head piece. You shook your head. “I - I was climbing down the ladder - where am I?”

The older man snorted. “At the bottom of the ladder, my dear.” Your eyes swept over his clothes, but soon returned to the horns.

“Loki…?” you whispered tentatively before staring at his face. But, as you suspected;

“I don’t think I’m the Loki you seek, hmm?”

You dropped your gaze, that familiar lump forming in your throat again as you shook your head. There was no way your Loki could have become this old and you weren’t sure that this was what he would look like if he was older.

He patted your head gently. “I suppose you’re the same as all of us, caught by the TVA?”

You nodded, telling him your name. “They - said something about a Loki - they were looking for, I didn’t want -” You breathed out a sorry before taking deep breaths and trying to force that emotion down again so you could speak. “I used the stick thing, I thought it was how they would ‘reset’ me. But I’m here, I thought I would die but…”

Loki tipped your chin gently and shook his head. “No, there’s no peaceful death for us here, I’m afraid. Come on.” He pulled you easily to your feet, still holding one hand as he carefully helped you down the steps to some seats. It almost reminded you of a bowling alley as you took a seat on the two person couch.

He moved away and you took in the space around you, the large chair that could’ve belonged to a mall Santa, bowling pins, old arcade machines, boxed wine, a paddling pool and an - “An alligator?!”

“Another Loki,” he calmly told you, handing over a glass of water. The alligator made its way closer and accepted your tentative pat on its head. Your fingers ran over the cool scales and it seemed content not to attack you.

You sipped the water and shook your head in silent disbelief. “Sure, why not Loki as an alligator.” You looked up, finding the older Loki looking back. “Are there other… people, Asgardians, aliens here?”

“There’s a much younger version of myself who is here too. There are other Lokis out there.” He nodded up to the ladder you’d come down. “But many of them can’t work together - just backstabbing each other until someone rises to the top.” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head and sipping from his goblet.

“What happened, if you don’t mind my curiosity?”

Your gaze slipped away. “Something happened with Odin and he died. And- and Loki and Thor have a sister? They went to Sakaar and found Bruce but he was Hulk for a long while. And Asgard was destroyed, Ragnarok happened? I only had Bruce to ask and he - wasn’t totally sure. The most important thing was that Thanos was coming.”

“Ah, yes,” Loki murmured in understanding and you fell silent. It all felt too new. “I managed to escape him on that ship. I disguised myself as debris. He didn’t notice and I was able to drift through space until I found somewhere to stay in solitude. As you can see, I spent a long time there, I’ve aged much since then, but I missed everyone. I wondered if Thor missed me, or Sigyn, anyone.” He sighed and sat back in his chair. “As soon as I started to put something into action in regards to leaving? The TVA showed up.”

“I’m sure they did,” you whispered. After all, it had been Thor’s blow, one of revenge not instant death, that had been the nail in the coffin of your hope. “He wanted revenge on Thanos.”

“You came straight from battle?” At your nod, Loki gestured behind you. “It’s not much but you can clean up, I’ll find something for you to sleep on.”

He got to his feet, leaving you alone, and even Alligator Loki slid back into his paddling pool. Perhaps in some sort of effort to give you privacy. You stripped out of the TVA jumpsuit and climbed into the bath, pulling the curtain around you.

You turned on the water and in your first moment of silence, of tentative safeness, you found the ability to mourn the loss of your husband.

Want to be tagged in future parts or future Loki fic? Go here

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for trying to redeem demons?

I, (F Ageless), live in hell and I'm actually lowkey royalty here. I love my subjects and it pains me to see so many demons suffer when I believe I can redeem them through lots of love and therapy at a hotel I recently opened. My dad, (M ageless) is literally the devil and thinks my plan is stupid and is giving me no encouragement at all. I'm scared no one takes me seriously because I'm just another famous nepo baby, and I get that most people think this is either really stupid and pointless and that I'm out of touch. I really want this plan to work but basically the only demon in all of hell that genuinely believes in me is my GF (F 28). Everyone else that is helping is just trying to gain something from me and doesn't see my vision, and it's making me start to think maybe I am out of touch for thinking they can go to heaven at all. The vast majority really hate me or think I'm silly for even attempting this. So, AITA for trying to redeem demons?

[angst-king]

Monster by definition pt 1

(So this is my first OC+ canon story for Hazbin, I hope you like it ^^) (CW description of violence, blood, bodily injury, & mention of starvation) “No! Wait! Don’t leave! Please! I’m stuck! HELP ME!” Screamed the injured angel who was trapped under a rock with her hands bound by holy chains. She watched as the guild of exorcists flew away leaving her bleeding in multiple areas as she struggled to free herself. She continued to yell for their help as the guild returned to heaven. Could they not hear her? Why were Lute and Adam ignoring her cries? Why had the other exorcists done this? Why did she let this happen? No, maybe this was a test? They’d done many capture tests before and if you were left behind it was your fault. She had to get back up there! Gritting her teeth she gathered her strength to break the chains. The chains ripped and dug through her gloves cutting and burning into her skin until enough tension made them snap. Next was the debris she had trapped her wings. Pushing up she forced her body upright and screeched at the pain. Looking down her wings were in shambles hanging on by strings of muscles ready to fall and expose the bones. Maybe if she got a running start it would give her enough to make a crash landing into heaven?

But then horror washed over her face when she tried to flap her wings, searing pain clawed up her back as her wings trembled and tremored in an attempt to move. Panting and shaking, she began to hit herself in the head as she talked to herself.

“Stupid stupid stupid stupid, you fucking failure, get your ass back up there come on!” Standing on unstable legs that looked ready to give out at any second while the adrenaline began to wear off, the exorcist knew she couldn’t stay here. The sinners would be coming out soon to clean up and if they found her they’d likely kill her! Holding onto the wall she stumbled her way around, she didn’t even know where she was or where she was going all she knew was that she had to find a way out of there! There were no stars to guide her, just destruction and smoke as she limped around staying in the shadows.

A few days had gone by since then and to say it was rough was an understatement. Trying to find a place to hide took much longer than expected, a small group of sinners practically chased her around town for hours. With two heavy wings that were one rip away from tearing from her back, multiple stab wounds, and possible broken bones, running wasn’t easy. She hadn’t eaten in several days, even before the extermination her fellow guildmates had starved her. Stealing any food that she didn’t hide away properly. She hardly had the strength to move by now, so trying to get food would have been pointless. Managed to keep herself curled up in an alleyway, not many people had ventured down, and she sat through it all. Currently, the day is dim and dark with rain pouring down.

Just as she was about to let exhaustion take her, footsteps grew closer. Her eyes snapped open and she peered out from her makeshift fort. She couldn’t tell who was approaching her though it's not like she knew anyone down here. She held her breath and did her best to remain as still as possible in hopes this person would just think she was a pile of trash. Her hopes were starting to fade as the figure stood directly in front of her and spoke.

“I know you’re hiding” A soft but dark feminine voice called out, she didn’t respond.

“I know you are an exorcist….but it is alright, I will not hurt you.” Again nothing, then another voice answered.

“Shit, they’re bleeding!” This voice was masculine and sounded surprised and stood next to the feminine voice. She didn’t know what to do, would they hurt her, they were demons after all, demons are nothing but lowly murder-happy monsters.

“Let them come out on their own Lucifer dear, you might scare them if you try to force them out.” Lucifer!? Eyes wide in fear she finally cried out while frantically backing herself into the corner.

“Get away! Get away! Please! Please! Don’t touch me! I’ll kill you!” One pair of feet stood back while the other stood in place. The more she screamed the harder it got, it became strained and gurgly until finally, she started to cough and cough. Weezing and sputtering for air the world became darker than it already was until it was pitch black.

When she woke up it had not been in heaven like she had prayed. It had been in a bedroom she hadn’t recognized, a large bed with a mattress that made her want to close her eyes again and never wake up. The room was a deep red with gold and black accents, it was like she was in a castle. The only castle she’d ever been in was the Archangel’s castle specifically Gabriel and Raphael’s side. And being in their bedrooms was never a good sign but, this bedroom wasn’t one she recognized. Attempting to sit up in bed was exhausting and agonizing though she noticed her body felt much lighter. Then she saw her wings were gone! Her body had been bandaged up and some of her injuries had been healed almost to completion, others not so much. Her wings were her main concern, Who took her wings?! Where was she?

Getting to her feet she staggered slowly out of the bedroom to find out where she was. She didn’t know how long she had been in bed but she was already panting and shivering as the taste of blood was saturating her mouth. This place was huge, each turn led to more and more turns and twists. Her body could hardly carry her anymore, no matter how much she forced it, even resorting to using her hands to pull her legs along. Falling to her knees, she leaned against the wall gasping and hacking

“Oh dear, what are you doing out of bed?” That dark feminine voice called out worriedly, she held out her hand in a clawed-out gesture while telling the woman to back away. This time the feminine voice lowered herself to the exorcist’s view and held up her hands to show she was not a threat. The woman had long thigh-length blond hair and violet eyes, she looked almost human except for the horns on her head. No tail, hooves, claws, or rows of sharp teeth. Was she a human in disguise? Had she been left here too and was just trying to blend in?

“I’m not going to hurt you, dear but you shouldn’t be out of bed, your injuries are still fresh.” The woman was dressed elegantly and even had a crown, no human disguised could own a castle.

“Wh-who are you?” The woman smiled softly and made a deal.

“If you let me take you back to bed so you can rest, I will answer any questions you have to the best of my ability.” She knew there she didn’t have a choice and nodded in agreement. The woman gingerly slipped an arm around the exorcist and carried her to the bedroom she had been placed in. Once she was set down, the woman sat herself on the edge of the bed.

“You asked who I am….I am Lilith, the demon queen of hell.” The exorcist looked at the woman in disbelief and shrunk away. This was the queen of hell?! Even if she looked mostly human, this also meant that Lucifer was her husband!

“Y-you..You’re the queen L-Lilith?” She asked nervously, the exorcists had been told many stories about Lilith and Lucifer, as well as many other demons. Stories about how ruthless these two could be. How they thrived on the misery of others and could devour souls. Why would the king and queen of hell take her in? Were they planning to enslave her? Would they keep her locked away? Lilith had the power of mind control and gathering those around her to complete tasks. Lucifer was sneaky and was known for brainwashing people to join his ‘cause’.

“Wh-what do you want with me?” Lilith giggled softly and crossed one leg over the other as she could sense the hostility and fear.

“Not a thing dear, we just heard complaints from the citizens that ‘there’s a lousy murder angel causing issues’ and so we came to check it out.” Furrowing her brows at the queen she asked what her intentions were.

“Why did you take me in? You could have just let them kill me.” “Well, my husband Lucifer and I are all about redemption and helping those we can.” “R-redemption? Y-you’re demons, why would you want any part of that?” “I know hard to believe right? Believe it or not, Lucifer used to be god’s favorite. It's been his dream for as long as I could remember to redeem sinners, of course, it wouldn’t be done by force. He’d let those who choose to redeem themselves….Pardon my rambling.” Lilith seemed to have such admiration when she spoke about Lucifer, that it confused the exorcist. All of this was contradicting everything they had been told…What if what Lilith was saying was a lie? What if this was a part of the plan? She’d be just as conniving if she’s married to the demon of temptation.

“Any more questions, dear?” “ N-no…” Lilith stood up from her place on the bed and flashed a warm smile, wishing the other a good sleep as she walked out of the room.

She had to get out of there.

The exorcist spent many days in bed contemplating what to do, these people could not be trusted. She had to get back to heaven! Each day left her more and more befuddled. Lilith was much kinder and gentler than she had imagined. Her voice was like silk yet strong, she hadn’t forced her into anything and seemed to only show concern. She hadn’t seen Lucifer quite yet but had been told he was the one to use his healing magic on some of her injuries and get her further help for the ones he couldn’t heal like her wings.

This sort of treatment without anything in return made her worried as to what the catch would be. Were they waiting for the perfect moment to strike? Surely they weren’t just going to let her walk away without paying the price. What use would they make of her anyway? Would they steal her soul? Did she even have a soul? Would they make her work in their castle as their maid? Would they leave her for the wolves? At least she’d be of use to someone. That’s what she was built for anyway. To be of use, primarily for battle or whatever they deemed fit. Here she was once again useless, and now away from the only place she called home.

It didn’t even seem like they wanted her there anymore if they left her for this long. No, no it was her own fault for getting left behind. It was her fault for letting this happen to her. It was her fault she wasn’t good enough for Lute and Adam and even more so that she wasn’t good enough for her creators, Gabriel and Raphael! Maybe this is what she deserved, to rot in hell.

“Dear, are you alright?” Her head whipped around as she looked over at the owner of the voice. There stood Lilith in the doorway holding some supplies in hand with a strange look….was it pity?

“Yes, I’m alright.” She answered while nodding and straightening up her posture. Stepping inside, Lilith put the items in hand aside and approached.

“Your tears and shaking say otherwise.” The exorcist scowled at the comment even if it held no ill intention, she didn’t understand why the demon queen was so invested.

“Why don’t we get you cleaned up, I’m sure sitting in dried blood isn’t pleasant.” She wasn’t wrong, it had been rather uncomfortable to be covered in old bandages and blood. Taking up the woman’s offer, with her help they went into the bathroom where she had seen her bare body for the first time in days. Looking down her legs were still badly bruised, some of the small cuts were scabbing over already. A gash that ran along one side of her abdomen to the other was starting to close, though any sudden movements made the gash reopen and leak. Lilith frowned as she looked at the angel’s back seeing the slots where her wings used to be were still attempting to heal the first deep layers. When she was placed in the bath, the water changed from clear to a dark glimmering red color that held hints of gold. This was strange, Lilith knew angels bled gold, while most sinners and humans bled red. Before she could ask about it the soft sound of sniffling and whimpering came. At first, Lilith thought she was hurting her but then the angel spoke.

“Wh-why am I so useless?” Lilith hesitated to respond and continued to wash the dried blood and leakage.

“I’m a weapon of destruction, built by the arch angels, yet my own creators deemed my creation a failure, and now I’m here.” “Why do you say that?” Inquired Lilith, she didn’t know if it was best to respond but she wanted to help any way she could.

“I couldn’t fulfill simple orders and tasks, nor live up to my creator’s dreams….then there was letting myself get stuck here.” The angel’s voice quivered as she tried to wipe the onslaught of tears that she couldn’t stop.

“Fuck why can’t I stop?!” She growled in frustration, and then Lilith did something neither expected. Pulling the angel close to her, she rubbed soft careful circles into the other’s back while softly encouraging her to cry. Against the angel’s will tears continued to fall, her body shaking as she sobbed.

“That’s it, let it out, it's alright. You’re safe. No one will punish you for crying.” The two stayed like this until Lucifer came to check on them, and by then the angel had passed out from exhaustion.

“You need any help, Lilith?” Lilith shook her head as she pulled the poor person from the bath, dried her off, and dressed her in a robe.

“I can tell she’s been through her own personal hells,” Lilith says as she places the angel in bed. Lucifer nodded while folding his arms over his chest, looking over the body.

“The fact it was done by her own sisters, is proof.” “Yeah and the fact that from what I’ve heard your brothers, Gabriel and Raphael created her.” Lucifer looked at Lilith with surprise and asked for her to elaborate. Walking out of the room to let the angel sleep, she explained what the exorcist had told her even if it wasn’t much this was something. Lucifer huffed at this and grumbled.

“Of course those shit stains would do that, no telling what they’ve subjected her to or what the exorcist group put her through to be so guarded.”

“We don’t even know her name”

[cookie-crumblr]

Toxic Cherries

Part 1~

YANDERE F!READER X OC

His info: 📂🍒

Part: 1 2 3

!!!MINORS DNI!!!

CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, YANDERE, not proof read, child abuse, toxic home environment, self hatred, suicidal ideation, self victim blaming, religious trauma,INCESTUAL SA IMPLICATIONS

!!!MINORS DNI!!!

You sit,

swinging your legs idly atop your bed. Sunlight streams through your window, but it does not reach you.

You feel cold, yet that’s not why your body shivers.

They’re screaming again.

Screaming and you try to force yourself to listen,

you deserve this.

The next day your on the cold wooden floor, the sunlight still won’t reach you. The cold isn’t why your small body shudders.

You are hidden under your bed with the dust bunnies.

You deserve this.

You wake up,

it’s those memories again. Always right below the surface, bubbling up like boils on skin, ready to erupt.

Life looks dull, colors grayed and there’s a throbbing pain in your very soul.

When will it just end.

You’re walking around your snow globe, from work to home, from home to store back to home, day in, day out.

You sit on your bed,

the sunlight won’t reach you.

It’s cold.

Tears fall down your small face. You were forced to read the “holy” book again, and now you know you marry your rapist so that they go to heaven.

And you belong to your abusive father until you’re married to a man anyway.

You are confused.

You are in hell.

You know it.

Do you have to marry your own father then…?

You throw the infernal book across the room in disgust.

Your father walks in and sees the state of his “holy” book.

He drags you out of your room by your hair and throws you outside.

He’s yelling, but you can’t comprehend the words.

The sun is out, but the world around you is black.

you deserve this…

You wake up,

why…?

Why now is your brain forcing you to remember these stupid, pointless things from your past.

Your soul hurts.

This pain is becoming unbearable, and you feel your mind might just snap any second now.

You are afraid.

Inside your little snowglobe, you go to the store like usual. Getting some cheap already made sandwich.

The clerk asks you something, but you are far too deep in your mind to hear it.

You go sit outside under the shade of an old oak tree…

There’s a marathon going on down the streets right now. Maybe you can just watch them.

You like people watching.

As distant as you feel, as if a bottomless chasm sits between you and them.

You enjoy peaking across.

pretending you could be one of them.

There’s a stall nearby, handing out water to the participants.

“Would you like a water”

You jump in your seated position

“Wha-“ the word dies on your tongue as you look up, you choke on your sandwich. “S-sorry!” you manage to get out.

The first colors you’ve seen in months, years maybe...

He’s beautiful.

Your cheeks feel hot.

The sunlight halos around him, and for the first time, you feel it’s warmth on you too.

You reach out to take the bottle, “Wait, aren’t these just for participants?”

“I am a participant,” he smiles radiantly.

“But… Then you won’t have one…” you pull your hand back.

“There’s water every little while, how about we share this one? I only need a few sips.”

He’s still smiling, and you can’t help the red painting your cheeks deepening a shade.

“o-okay” you smile back.

He sits in silence with you for a bit, you both watch the others jog leisurely by.

It’s nice.

This might be the first time you feel content…

Maybe even happy.

He eventually gets back up, and turns to you, “Thanks for sharing that with me! too much cold water hurts my stomach,” He fluffs his hair a little, bashfully.

Your smile widens, “anytime,” you speak almost in a whisper.

“My names Ace! What’s yours?”

“Y/N…”

“Y/N,” he tests the name on his tongue as if savoring it, “I hope ta see ya soon then Y/N,” he waves and runs back to the path.

You still feel warm.

In fact you feel fuzzy, like you’ve been drinking…

It’s such a nice and strong feeling, that you start to cry.

The sun, though you sit in the shade, the sun feels like it’s gently reaching out to you. You look up to the bright blue sky as tears stream down your face.

You have been granted peace.

A divine gift to you, just as your mind was on the brink of complete devastation.

He is your savior.

Your reason for being.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

38 or 46?

Ohhhhh, when I saw this I KNEW I had to do the AU where c!Dream is convinced c!Tommy is a Prime >:3

TW: Religious themes, religious delusions, kidnapping, isolation, mental health issues, references to self harm and self hatred, abuse, restraints, forced sedation, Tommy not always using the best terminology for referring to mental illness as an uneducated teenager (hes trying), and literal idolisation.

With shaking hands, Dream fastened the gilded necklace around Tommy's neck, the bell on it's chain ringing lightly. All Tommy could think is, fuck, that was going to be obnoxious and there was no way he was gonna be allowed to take that off either.

“They say the bells provide great joy to the Primes, you know.” Dream's voice was the sort of soft Tommy wasn't used to- not sickly sweet nor mocking, a genuine, wavering vulnerability to it. “I know you may not remember things before you were trapped in this form, Tommy, but maybe your fellow Primes will hear it, and…”

Tommy had long since learnt it was pointless to argue Dream on this fact, but it still made his skin crawl. He wasn’t something holy, and it was blasphemy to treat a mortal like a creation of the Gods. After all, they’d created the Primes to watch over the world in their absence- in a sense, the Primes were also gods, the sort that inhabited every shrine and meadow and lake. It was no less sacrilegious than outright declaring Tommy a God, yet nothing he said could change Dream's mind.

Something must have snapped in the prison, that’s what Tommy reckoned. When Dream had… y’know, the whole killing and reviving thing, he was normal. Normal for Dream, at least. But after he’d broke out, he’d been convinced that Tommy was one of the Primes, fallen from Heaven and unable to remember their power. And honestly, Tommy couldn’t help but pity that. In Exile, he'd been convinced the Primes talked to him through the logs- he'd saw them peeking up at him, beauty indescribable. Sometimes, he still saw them out of the corner of his eyes. He'd always seen shit, since he wasn’t even really a Big Man, but it had never felt so real.

He still fucking hated Dream, though. Pity didn’t change that.

“Are you feeling okay, Tommy? I really don’t want to hurt you, y’know.”

“Too late for that.” Tommy's speech still came out embarrassingly slurred, even though he'd tried his best to practice under the potion induced haze he was always in. Because, sure, Dream didn’t hit him anymore, but he still kept him locked up as tight as possible. To prevent the mortal world from corrupting him, he said. So he still had the thick, heavy cuffs around his arms and legs, chained to the wall tightly, and he had the stupid fucking IV injecting Prime knew what into his veins, making him all sleepy and shit. “You killed me, remember.”

Dream had a genuinely guilty look on his face, avoiding eye contact with Tommy. He suspected he might actually be tearing up. “I know you may never forgive me for that. Once you’ve regained my power, you may give me any punishment you see fit. I've been ensuring that I’ve been punishing myself in the meantime, to ensure I do not fall into sin.”

“You've been hurting yourself?”

“Of course. I need to go through your pain a thousandfold to repent.”

“No. No no no, no you don’t, don't fuckin' hurt yourself, man. That’s awful. I don’t want you to do that.” He coughed and added on. “As one of your Primes, I mean. That’s an order.”

Dream stared at Tommy with such awe it made him feel worthless. The kind of look of pure adoration and admiration a man would have for their God, a trust Tommy could never live up to. “I still remember the first time I saw you. I- I thought you were just a human- how little did I know- but your kindness, your unending mercy… it’s always been a sign you're not like them. Humans hurt and beat and torture me. Not a single fucking one has ever really cared!” He sounded incensed at that, before taking a deep breath. “But you? You're… you're made of unending love and compassion, Tommy. Not flesh and blood. You can’t be.”

Dream took a deep breath, and smiled. “If- if you think I shouldn’t debase myself through daring to think I could be the arbiter of my own punishment, I’ll oblige, my Prime. You are truly wise.”

“That’s not what I- sure. Okay.” Tommy would have rolled his eyes if he had the energy. “Yeah, if that’s what stops you from hurting yourself, go with it.”

Dream ignored him, like how he ignored anything Tommy said or did that didn’t play into his delusions- and he didn’t fucking say that to be disparaging, he said that because that’s what he and Puffy had been reading about in one of those big old dumb textbooks, to try and figure out what the fuck was wrong with him. He knew how fucking suffocating they were, and he wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy. In fact, he was currently wishing it to stop happening to his worst enemy because at least if he was normal Tommy knew what pain to expect.

Instead, he muttered a prayer under his breath, head bowed, eyes averted yet occasionally glancing at Tommy with the same reverent look when he thought he wasn’t watching, and Tommy felt the same skin crawling sensation as he always did. He wasn’t a fucking Prime, so this was an insult of the highest order to everything he believed in- everything Dream believed in. It was a heresy of the highest order.

Tommy groaned and wished he was dead instead.

[misscrawfords]

I really want to like Citadel because it ticks all my boxes for a glossy, not too serious spy thriller. And it is entertaining enough for me to keep watching. Stanley Tucci is especially awesome. But I am left a bit cold.

It's extremely predictable, like a paint-by-numbers spy thriller. Even the plot twists are predictable. After episode 4 I am hoping desperately that it might go somewhere interesting with Abby and it turns out she's playing a long game for some third party that isn't Citadel or Manticore, but I'm not holding my breath. If she has lost her memory too it feels a bit pointless. If she hasn't and she's just trying to get revenge that feels a bit obvious.

It also makes me miss when seasons were about 20 episodes long because I feel like this could really benefit from being slowed down and drawn out. I feel very little investment in the characters because I haven't had a chance to get to know them. Without investment, the stakes are very low and I don't care about the outcomes of the plot. I want to spend several episodes with Kyle and his family getting to know their dynamic so I actually care about him discovering that his other life will take him away from them and put them in danger, so that I feel some kind of emotion other than "lol predictable" when it turns out Abby has a secret past. I want to build up Citadel as this amazing force for good so that I feel pain and shock at the idea it isn't good. I want to be introduced to Manticore by stealth so they feel truly threatening. I have no investment in these characters so it doesn't matter whether they are good or evil, they're just spy thriller archetypes who deliver snappy one-liners at each other and look hot. Kyle literally discovers he's a spy in a past life he doesn't remember and he's really chilled out and just has all his spy reflexes. Like, where's the drama in that? Who cares?

I'm also baffled as to why the show keeps telling the audience everything. It's a spy thriller! Mystery and suspense should be part of the plot and pleasure of watching! But instead we are immediately introduced to Manticore and their motivations, everyone talks explicitly about everything, spelling out as if the audience is stupid exactly what is going on and who is suspicious of whom. Constant flashbacks mean we have a clear idea of how the past affects the future. It just... doesn't leave the viewer to do any work. You couldn't watch it a second time and think "ohhhh the red flags were all there now I know the truth!"

At this point, I'm actively rooting for Manticore to turn out to be the good guys all along because Cipher seems like such a bunch of arrogant losers. They keep all the nuclear codes in the world in one briefcase. What? Why would they do that? Why would any do that? Is it just me, or is that a TERRIBLE idea? Why are all the operatives we see American? I get that it's an American show and of course the world revolves around America so heaven forbid any of the heroes should genuinely be based elsewhere in the world and be culturally diverse, but if you have a global spy network that is unteathered to any particular nation... why does it read like any old lazy pastiche of a US secret spy ring? So unbelievably boring! What a missed opportunity.

I can't help compare it to Alias and its slowburn of revelations and twists and character investment or Chuck where even though it's light-hearted, you get totally invested in the characters and relationships and the tug between a normal life and spy life. Both of these things are totally missing in Citadel. Which is a shame because it has such a good cast and an intriguing premise.

[thelittledeer]

Twitter makes me want to rip my eyebrows off, but not for the typical reasons. It's not Elon Musk or the activists, though both are an ongoing irritation. The reason I'm ready to yeet it into the void is this,

And this

And this

And can't forget this useless tweet.

Or these beauties

My entire homefeed has become an endless slew of pointless questions with the same pointless energy of "when was the last time you ate a banana?" for no reason other than to drive up engagement to boost themselves in the algorithm. Someone described it as "first date energy" and I'd like to add "first date in highschool" energy.

It's shallow, vapid, and incredibly annoying. These tweets get literal thousands of responses as the poster basks in their sudden boost of visibility in an otherwise indifferent algorithm, but they couldn't care less about the answers.

And to be honest, I was stupid enough to fall for it. Everyone asked stupid questions, I gave heartfelt answers, all I got for divulging personal information was a single stupid like. I wanted actual interaction and connection, they wanted a boost. I was used. It was a game I slowly lost interest in playing. I take surveys as a side gig and I'm not answering these ridiculous questions unless I'm paid to. Peace, suckers.

Aside from the questions Twitter has this undercurrent energy present that's like being accepted into a high school clique, you're there only because you're allowed to be there. So long as you mind the rules, follow the script, and so help you do NOT stand out, you'll survive. If you dare say anything considered unsavory or heaven forbid "problematic" you're the next subject of a witch hunt by the righteous Cancel Crew, who will slaughter you in your bed as they claim to be warriors of justice.

I was a good little follower. I kept my opinions to myself, never responded in any way except positively, never engaged in any kind of drama. I turned into a bland little copy and paste Twitter git who bowed to the outspoken overlords.

I'm tired of keeping quiet, so here are the opinions I kept to myself,

- Good story-telling is more important than bland diversity and representation

- If you have a well-written character, it doesn't matter what race, sexuality or religion they are, people will adore them for being well-written

- The Rings of Power is a terribly written show that is an insult to writers everywhere (and I have waaay more to say about this later)

- Star Wars is a brand used to boost political propaganda not story-telling

- The phrase "strong female character" makes me reel from a story like dog from its vomit

- A writer should be able to tell the story they want to tell without being forced to include "current year" politics for fear of being labelled as an "ist" or a "phobe" they should be allowed to let these things exist naturally within their own world

And just because I'm feeling incredibly petty here are some more delightful questions for dishonorable mention. These are ALL from today, just a few casual scrolls into my homefeed, bask in the glory of the mindless, algorithm-boosting insanity.

Oh THIS is a real popular one and shows up almost every day from various accounts.

Ahh, that felt good. Farewell Twitter, you introduced me to some good people, but I will not miss your incessant whining, the endless questions, or the insatiable popularity game.