#its his way of saying 'you can be so much better also plz drop out before I send my murder squad to your school's summer camp'

[darkworkcourier]

Could you write Ghost x fem!reader where she finds him attractive but is too shy to actually tell him but also can't hide the way she's feeling, so Ghost notices her interest and eventually they end up in bed (*cough* you know what I mean)? Also Ghost being gentle and protective towards her, plz

Ps. I love your writing!

Word Count: 8314

i’m incapable of short prompt fills, apparently! o, but i am filled with grief!

anywho, reader’s codename is ‘ladybird’ (hc that soap gave it to her because she’s lucky) but is otherwise nameless.

contains masturbation, oral sex, lots of feelings, wee bit of slow burn, ghost being like weirdly emotional and soft, and soap’s gratuitous and unfortunate use of emojis. 💀/🐞4ever

---

The first time it really hits you, you're in a helicopter about two miles above the ground—honestly a terrible place to face your feelings. It's a velvet-dark night, strategically chosen for the new moon, the countryside below nearly invisible. You're almost in a doze, caught up in the Chinook's blades' low, thunderous pulse and the sporadic rocking as it hits little glades of turbulence. Your eyes lose focus on some of the running lights, until they turn hazy, and its only when the man across from you moves his boot do you snap back to attention.

Ghost. Right. You learned his name a few weeks ago during your orientation, but he was deployed on a recon mission only a day later. Price summoned him back for this mission, but aside from a few gruff comments at the all-hands meeting, you haven't heard him say much.

For a moment, you think he might have dozed off, too. He’s leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. And that’s fair, you think; Soap told you he didn’t think Ghost ever slept.

You silently study him, the way his head rocks a little with the turbulence, how much taller he is than everyone else in his row, the peculiar illusion that the eye sockets of his mask are empty—

And suddenly they aren’t.

He’s looking back at you, dark eyes regarding you passively, even though the mask makes every look significantly more intimidating. For moment that goes on way too long, you don’t look away, your gazes locked. Your heart takes the tracheal elevator to your throat, beating loud enough to drown out the Chinook’s roar.

You look away first, and you swear you hear him snort.

The rest of the journey to the drop-off zone, you deliberately don’t look at him; but when you close your eyes, there he is.

All you can think is ohhhh, shit.

---

Military crushes aren’t abnormal. Put enough people at the peak of physical excellence in a room, throw around some form-fitting uniforms, and mix in a few adrenaline rushes—it’s a goddamn potent mixture. You’ve had your share of mess hall dreamy-eyed gazing sessions, and a few ‘I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go’ moments in gyms and fitness centers. That’s fine; that’s normal.

What you start feeling for Ghost isn’t that.

Nevermind that he’s rarely out of tactical dress, and if he is, he usually defaults to a hoodie or something that doesn’t exactly entice the imagination. And he’s never out of some variation of his mask, so you can’t think woah, pal, do you cut glass with that jawline because as far as you can tell, he doesn’t have one. No mooning over cheekbones, admiring the curve of lips. He has nice eyes, but ever since the night in the Chinook, you haven’t been able to meet them for more than a second before your heart does that terrible little samba again.

Per your mental checklist, aside from being tall and muscular, he doesn’t check all your normal boxes. By all those counts, Gaz or Soap are way better fits. Hell, Soap likes to hang around in his silkies like they’re pajamas, showing off plenty to keep your fantasy fodder trough filled. And you’ve caught Gaz doing push-ups in the lounge, his tight shirt doing wonders for his shoulders.

But it’s Ghost who makes you feel like a hormonal teenager. It’s Ghost that gets you antsy and fidgety when he enters a room. And it’s Ghost that you think about during your rare alone time in the shower, when your hands start drifting south and the tile walls are your only support.

You’ve got it bad for him, and you have no idea what to do about it.

---

You’re doing recon in Berlin when Soap notices.

The mission details are simple: a drug lord known as Keiler using a night club as a go-between for his suppliers and dealers—all further complicated by the fact that he has plenty of friends in the arms trade, and by Laswell’s reports, he’s very generous to those friends. The club is a front, a money laundering wonderland. Through your observation, drugs and alcohol are doled out in equal volume, all to the backdrop of skull-splitting bass and sharp scalpels of strobe lights.

The biggest obstacle is that Keiler likes to use a private room overlooking the club as his perch, and your intelligence says that at any given time, he has a small army defending him. Getting to him requires an incredible degree of finesse. Naturally, Ghost is the one to do it.

You, Soap, and Gaz are scattered around the main floor of the club. Gaz is out on the dance floor, Soap’s taken up a spot near the bar, and you’re in the lounge. It’s the first time you’ve done something like this (and in an outfit with so little fabric), and you’re really not used to being ogled and pawed by a bunch of drunk, drugged, or horny Berliners.

Soap must see your discomfort from his position, as you hear a dry, amused, “Feelin’ a little tense, Ladybird?”

You swallow hard and chase it with a sip of your drink, which definitely needs to be watered down. “I’m fine,” you say.

“You look like you just drank petrol.”

“You’re the one who ordered it for me.”

Gaz cuts in with a weary, “Do we have eyes on Ghost, yet? I’m starting to get tired of people grabbing my—”

“I’m here,” Ghost’s voice scrapes over the comms, causing you to sit up straight and look around. You catch sight of Soap who has his hand curled in front of his mouth, clearly snickering like a heathen.

“Think you scared the shit out of Ladybird, LT,” he says.

He’s lucky he’s on the other side of the room, otherwise you’d pretend to be extremely clumsy and find an excuse to spill your drink on his (very, very tight) shirt. You mouth ‘shut up’ at him, and he reaches up with his pointer finger to draw an invisible halo over his head.

Ghost ignores him. “I’m near the east stairwell, headed to second deck. Got one guard at the far end. Gaz, you seein’ anything I should know about?”

A pause, then, “Negative, Ghost. I’ve got what you’ve got.”

“Copy. Going to second deck now.”

Out of habit, your eyes go to the east stairwell, peering through the haze pierced with multicolored lights to see a single dark shape ascending. He disappears behind a catwalk, then reappears to the right, mingling with the crowd near the second floor bar. Once he’s there, he seems to fade into the throng of people, most in dark clothing, some in masks. Just like that, he’s invisible.

It’s hard to focus on looking calm and happy to be there, but you keep sipping your drink, watching the dancers and feeling the bassline of yet another techno song thrumming in your chest. You’re glad you’re not out on the dance floor, or being called to give come-hither glances to bouncers and guards.

Then, “Coming back down to first deck,” Ghost says, clearly agitated. “Too many guards and too many people. We need another way up.”

Soap grins. “Violence isn’t the answer, LT?”

“Negative. Start looking for another route.”

On cue, you stand up and cross the room to the bar, sliding in beside Soap. He’s fishing for another couple Euro from his wallet, pushing it across to the bartender with two fingers. The bartender gives him a brief nod and refills his glass, while Soap turns his attention to you.

“Any bright ideas?”

You frown and adjust the straps on your top again. It’s a stupid piece of clothing, always feeling like it’s going to fall off. “Only the emergency stairs by the front doors, but I can’t imagine Keiler leaves those undefended.”

Soap looks thoughtful and scratches at his stubble. “Yeah, but probably no civilians, either. And if the door’s alarmed, Ghost can take care of that.”

As if summoned, you feel Ghost appear before you see him, a huge presence over your shoulder that makes you jump. “Jesus!” you hiss.

And Soap, the traitor, laughs to the point of wheezing as Ghost takes up the bar stool on his other side. “I think you’re giving our Ladybird here a complex,” Soap says through his laughter.

Ghost rolls his eyes. From this angle, you can see Ghost in more than just the dim light you’ve been working with most of the night. He’s not dressed too far outside his usual fashion wheelhouse—heavy boots, black trousers, and a loose black hoodie. His hood’s pulled up over a black beanie and a skull-painted gaiter, and he’s foregone his usual thick coating of greasepaint for black-ringed eyes (is that eyeliner?) and a streak of smoke-colored paint that just manages to obscure the color of his brows. The downside (for you, at least) is that the combo manages to draw his eyes into sharper contrast, making them that much more intense.

Suddenly, your heart’s doing the thing again.

Ghost doesn’t seem to notice any change in you, but you think Soap’s actually looking for it. He watches you, brows lifted, mouth curled like a flirtation of a smirk. Briefly, he glances between you and Ghost, and then the smirk appears in full force, enlightenment dawning.

Before he can insinuate a thing, you’re shoving your half-empty glass across the bar top with a too-high, “Bitte.” The bartender only gives you a brief, unamused look before taking your glass and remaking whatever godforsaken cocktail Soap ordered.

It’s not a good distraction, and the damage is already done. Soap knows, damnit. His smile is too easygoing, but he turns to Ghost and starts talking about the emergency stairwell, which is a relief. Ghost looks over his shoulder toward the stairwell in question, and as he does, Soap looks at you and makes the gesture of zipping his own mouth shut, throwing away the proverbial key with a wink.

As he does, Gaz pipes back up with, “Ghost, you copy?”

“Yeah, Gaz?”

“You, uh, know anything about a big guy with a tattoo of a boar on the back of his head?”

Ghost looks toward the dance floor, brows furrowing. “Yeah, that’d be Bauer, Keiler’s right hand man.”

“Great. Glad you know him, because he’s here.”

Shit. He wasn’t supposed to be. If Bauer’s here, then either Keiler’s doing something more than his usual partying upstairs, or Keiler knows someone’s here looking for him. Either way, the mission just got significantly harder, and your night got that much longer.

With a grunt, Ghost pushes off the bar and starts making his way to the emergency stairwell. “I’ll take care of it,” he says. “Keep your eyes open. Out here.”

Once he’s gone, there’s a pause—a very heavy pause. Then, Soap looks at you with an expression that is just a hair too pleased. “Ghost, huh?”

Your face heats up, right as the bartender hands you your drink. You reach for your wallet, only for the bartender to put a hand up and shake his head. “Nein, für das schöne Mädchen,” he says.

For the pretty girl.

“Bet Ghost thinks so, too,” Soap says, and you resolve to definitely spill your free drink on his too-tight pants.

---

Weeks after Keiler’s nice and cozy in a maximum-security prison and the 141 is back at base, you have another miniature existential crisis.

It’s all an accident—just a tempest of bad timing and bad luck. Ever since you came back from Germany, you’ve had a tough time getting a full night’s sleep. It’s easy to blame the natural stress of your work, the long hours, the high-adrenaline action you see more than you ever did before this job. And, well, part of it has to come from Ghost. He’s occupied your thoughts more than ever since the night club.

Your solution is to hit the gym late at night, pushing yourself until you can’t keep your eyes open and no amount of insomnia can overcome it. The first few nights of this effort work fine—you end up in bed around one or two in the morning, and sleep until your alarm goes off. No one bothers you; no one hogs the machines. It’s kind of nice.

However, you don’t account for all the night owls that share the base with you.

You head to the gym late on a Friday night, towel around your neck, water bottle at the ready, podcasts preloaded. If you ever hit the gym during the day, you usually do so in a t-shirt and sweatpants. At night, you’ve started opting for PT shorts and a tank top, happy for the lack of eyes around the room.

Except for tonight.

You open the door into the gym, only to hear the mechanical drone of a treadmill and someone sprinting damn fast on it. For a second, you freeze, hiding behind the corner. Then, slowly, you peer around it, clutching your phone and water bottle close to your chest.

Jesus Christ. It’s Ghost.

Ghost, in a t-shirt. In sweatpants. Running on a treadmill set to the highest incline. Panting.

Ghost, with bare arms, showing a detailed tattoo on his left arm, and prominent veins running over his chiseled muscles. He looks like a fucking Greek statue, and that’s just what you can see.

“Ohhh, my God,” you whisper to yourself, immediately working on an exit strategy that doesn’t involve catching his attention.

Which obviously doesn’t come to pass. It’s something you probably should have learned on the helo ride—Ghost knows when he’s being watched. He turns his head, dark eyes fixing on you immediately. Briefly, he looks back at the treadmill, then down at his watch, and back to the treadmill’s controls. He slows it down, dropping the incline, until he finally steps off and starts walking toward you.

Abort, abort.

You think about fleeing, running back to your room or rolling under a table or hiding behind a counter like he’s a goddamn velociraptor in the kitchen. You do none of those things, because despite your training, you freeze up. No one could blame you, you think. It’s hard to do much else when a six-foot-something skull-faced wall of muscle walks up to you. And you must look stellar, holed up in a corner by the door, your water bottle and phone held up like a shield.

Ghost takes in the sight of you, eyes flicking up, down, up. Heat rises to your face, and down to—to nowhere, because it’s better not to think about it. You suddenly feel too vulnerable in your choice of outfit, naked under his gaze.

“Ladybird,” he says. Your nickname becomes a hot scratch of sound, losing its whimsy in favor of a tone you can’t define. “You need somethin’?”

There’s a patch of sweat by his collar. You stare at it, then at the floor.

“No, I just—  I was, um, just about to leave, and... Yeah, I’m gonna go.”

He’s silent until you finally look up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in what what feels like an eon. He looks amused, but there’s a quirk in his brow like he can’t quite get a good read on you. “You look like you were about to use the gym.”

You look down at your bottle, phone, and towel like you’re just now noticing them. When you bring your attention back to him, you feel like you need to just kick the door open and escape, dignity be damned. “I... was,” you say slowly. Then, you rally yourself, trying to look upbeat and resolved. “Y’know what? You can keep using it. I’ll come back later.”

He shrugs, but you see it. Some secondary expression slinking around in his eyes like it’s working through the perpetually-moving cogs in his head. He gives you another one of those assessing glances, and for a second, you think he’s going to step into your space. His body language looks primed to do so, and you hold your breath in anticipation for it, unsure of what he’s going to do.

Then he takes a step back, and another.

“Suit yourself,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind it, though.”

Before you can process his words, he’s back on the treadmill, tweaking the settings and raising the incline again. The belt starts moving, and he’s back to looking like power personified, a vision in motion.

You have got it so bad.

It’s a hasty retreat to your room, and once the door’s shut behind you, you’re panting like you had run on the treadmill and lifted weights.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you hiss, discarding your things on the table beside your bed, kicking off your running shoes, then laying down and staring at the ceiling. He knows. He has to. Ghost’s whole job depends on him being observant, and he looked at you like he was reading a fucking book. 

You groan and press your palms into your eyes until phosphenes appear, dancing around and shimmering like fireworks behind your eyelids. You’re going to have to leave the 141 out of pure mortification. You’ll have to go into some kind of witness protection, change your name, and move to the other side of the earth. Or if you stay, you’ll have to pretend Ghost doesn’t exist. You’ll hide behind walls, slinking through the building’s HVAC just to avoid him like you’re working on a heist. Maybe you can convince Soap or Gaz to accompany you everywhere so you can hide behind their bulk.

But then, your horrible brain reminds you of what you’ll miss out on. It runs through a greatest hits reel of your crush so far—Ghost’s eyes, his presence stretching long over you like a shadow, his massive frame, his arms. The tattoo, detailed enough to tell from a distance, and then the thought of running your fingers over it, tracing all the fine points and lines. And are those his only tattoos, or are there more?

And his voice. Jesus, you replay the few words you’ve heard him say over and over, savoring each syllable, each quirk of his accent. Even the last thing he said—

I wouldn’t mind it, though.

That makes you open your eyes again, widening them as you take in the pocks and scrapes on the ceiling. He wouldn’t mind what? Having company in the gym? Having you, specifically, as his company? You don’t know what to make of it, or what he meant by it. Honestly, you feel like you don’t know anything right now.

Except that you want him. That’s the only thing you’re sure of. You want to know how his hands feel on you, how they would run over your bare skin, what the callouses on his fingers would feel like on the most delicate and sensitive parts of your body. Your imagination leaps ahead of you, guiding your own hand down into your shorts and under the band of your panties. You tease yourself, just dipping your fingers into the wet heat, trailing them over your clit like a hint to yourself, coaxing your arousal out of your panic.

His hands would feel different. When you rub your index finger over your clit, you imagine his finger instead, pressing gently against you, building up friction slowly, making you ache. You wonder if he’d savor your reactions, watching you get worked up, grinding against his hand to seek any kind of relief.

“Easy, Ladybird,” you imagine him saying, the nickname now a tease. And he’d know your real name, the one hidden away in your file. He’d whisper it into your ear, breath hot on your neck, his whole body eclipsing yours.

Your pace quickens, fingers running urgently between your clit and opening, causing your core to tighten and your breath to come in short gasps and barely-concealed moans. Ghost would tell you to let them out, let the whole damn base hear how aroused he makes you, how badly you’ve wanted him.

You breathe his name into the small space of your room, a whisper in the still air broken only by the low hum of the forced air in the vents. When you finally plunge your fingers in, it takes every bit of self-control not to outright moan and let everyone nearby know what you’re doing. Normally, you can stay quiet when you get yourself off, but you’re damn near frantic with this, whatever it is Ghost has done to you.

His fingers in you, fucking you in long, languid strokes, drawing himself out and pushing back in—all the while, watching your reactions. When you rock your hips to the pace of your hand, you imagine his voice again, “That’s right. Fuck yourself on my hand. Let me see you.”

You’d show him. Hell, you’d soak his hand, and it would remind him that it’s his fault you’re like this.

The wet sounds of your hand on your cunt is lewd and loud. It’s almost too much, enough to make you stop at the apex of your pleasure, to hide yourself under the blankets in shame and pretend that none of this happened.

But the vision of Ghost keeps you going, keeps your fingers moving in and out, crooking them inside and forcing out a gasp as a white-hot shock of pleasure lances up your spine and settles warm in your belly. The pad of your thumb presses against your clit, and you multitask on yourself, building up that friction, bringing yourself to the precipice.

He’d take you there. He might even pull you back from the edge over and over, teasing you with the fall.

“Do you want it? How bad? Show me.”

God, you would. Any way he wanted, you would show him. You’d beg and plead if that’s what got him to finally make you come.

So you whisper, “Please,” into the night, to a man who is never going to be in your bed, never going to touch you like this, never going to see your pleasure through to the end. The Ghost in your imagination has to stay there, behind locked doors and bulkheads, secured and contained for good.

But until then, you chase your orgasm with him, hitting that divine height and going into a freefall. Blood rushes in your ears, muscles twitching, heart racing. Your head comes off the pillow, back arching, toes digging into the mattress, mouth open on a moan that you refuse to let loose. You come way harder than you ever have using your own hand, enough that when you finally lower yourself back onto the bed, you grimace at the feeling of a wet patch on the sheets.

“Fuck,” you say, very emphatically. To yourself, to Ghost, to the whole damn situation.

Groaning, you reach over and grab the towel, wiping your hand and tucking it under your ass before rolling onto your back again and wondering what the hell you’re going to do.

---

You’re going to hide from Ghost, that’s what.

Captain Price gives the team a few days off to rest up for the next mission, and you decide right then and there that you’re going to spend every second off base, as far away from the barracks as you can get. You’ll get a hotel, order a ridiculously expensive amount of room service, and marinate in your feelings for a couple days until it’s all out of your system. Maybe you’ll go to a bar or coffee shop and chat up some nice person who isn’t a tall, broad, terrifying British soldier. And maybe you’ll have a night of incredible passion and twisted sheets, and it’ll be so cathartic that when you come back to base, you’ll be a whole new person.

That plan holds until your phone goes off while you’re packing up.

It’s a text from Soap: ‘wyd?’

‘Going off radar for a couple days. Why?’

He sends a sad emoji, then two beer glasses clinking together, a soccer ball, and then a big red question mark. Apparently, Soap only knows how to speak in hieroglyphs.

You smile, and type back, ‘Sorry, need to go clear my head.’

Skull emoji. Question mark.

‘None of your beeswax,’ you send, followed by the soap emoji.

‘that sucks,’ he types back. There’s a short pause, and then he types again. ‘cause he was looking for u earlier’

Your heart damn near comes to a stop, and you very hesitantly respond, ‘Why?’

‘idk. think he wanted to ask u smth’

Nope. You’re not taking the bait. If Ghost wants to talk to you, he can come right up and—and you can walk off in the opposite direction and act like there’s something incredibly interesting that you need to see right that second.

You type a few variations of ‘Then he can come and talk to me himself,’ but none of them sound particularly nice. Ghost hasn’t done anything wrong, so there’s no reason for you to act like he has. And for that matter, you’re supposed to be hiding from Ghost, not encouraging him to find you. Instead, you send back a clipped, ‘Okay.’

Nothing.

For one hopeful second, you think Soap’s mercifully let the conversation go, allowing you to go in peace to your nice hotel and your overpriced room service food.

Instead, you get the sunglasses emoji, a wink face, and, ‘k i told him to come see u’.

‘WHAT’

The only response is the skull and the little running cloud dash emoji, suggesting that Ghost is making a beeline right to your room. Panic seizes you and you fling your phone on your bed like somehow it’s going to help. It bounces harmlessly, then lands screen up, emojis taunting you.

Quickly, you start shoving the rest of your clothes and toiletries in your bag without a care as to where everything goes, eager to book it out of there as fast as your legs can take you. Once your bag is zipped up and thrown over your shoulder, you think you might be in the clear. Mission nearly accomplished.

Nearly.

Two solid knocks on your door almost make you hit the ceiling. You hold still, using that Jurassic Park wisdom again: if you don’t move, he can’t see you.

That applies to fictional dinosaurs, not trained killers, and certainly not Ghost. He knocks again, then follows it up with, “Ladybird, it’s me.”

Yeah, you know. That’s the problem.

Briefly, you consider going out the window, shimmying out and potentially getting caught on a base security camera for someone to laugh at later. That doesn’t make the problem go away, though.

You can just tell him you’re in a hurry, that your ride is at the gate right now and you don’t want to keep them waiting. Whatever conversation he wants to have, it’ll have to wait until you get back. It’s a good response. Solid. Foolproof.

And it dissolves the second you open the door.

He’s there, not vanished in the disappearing act you were hoping for, and all that want flares up again the moment you see him. He’s in casual dress like what he wore to the club—boots, jeans, t-shirt, hoodie, balaclava. His posture’s more relaxed, one hand in his hoodie pocket, the other hanging at his side. You meet his eyes, and your regret mixes with desire welling up inside you.

It’s that intense gaze from the helo, the brief but incendiary look from Berlin, the thoughtful gaze from the gym. You’re drawn up in it immediately, and this time, there’s no possibility of looking away. Ghost has you locked in.

He takes in the sight of you, dressed in your civvies, backpack on your shoulders, and raises his brows. “Going somewhere?”

Your mouth is cotton-dry, and you’re proud of yourself for putting a little syntax together. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m headed out.”

Right now, you should say. I’m going out right this second and I cannot be stopped. Do not engage.

But you don’t say that. You leave the words as they are, hanging between the two of you. In that moment, you’re two opposing fronts of contradictions—you want him to go, stay, talk, stay silent, touch you, leave you alone.

Ghost seems to sense this, that you’re not making any move to either speak to him or push him away. He doesn’t get into your space, staying right where he is while looking at you with his head slightly tilted. “Can I come in a sec?”

No. “Yes.” Please.

You take a step back, allowing him to walk into your room. His presence seems to fill it, like there’s too much of him and too little space to contain it. He closes the door behind himself, then finds a spot against the wall (the rare section that isn’t covered by posters or mementos) and leans against it. Still, still giving you your space.

You’re all nerves, waiting for him to speak, yet feeling like you should say something—to get all your feelings out in the open, exposed and waiting for him to pick over and do with what he will. But your anxiety and silence wins out, and instead you fidget, trying to find a point in the room to fix your gaze. Ghost takes all your attention though, holding it in a firm, invisible grip that can’t be broken no matter what you do. You get now, more than ever, why people are so scared of him when they end up at the wrong end of his skill set—he immobilizes them, rendering them completely unable to do a damn thing.

He watches you for an agonizingly long moment, then sighs. “Look, I didn’t want to bother you if you were busy, but Soap said you were around,” he says. Ghost doesn’t trail off or leave a space in his words for you to fill in the blanks. It’s a good thing—no place for you to misinterpret him—but it suddenly leaves you terrified at the possibility of what he’s going to say.

“Just for a little bit,” you hear yourself say, voice subdued and small.

He nods. “Then I’ll just get it out now before you go. More or less a question.”

Fuck. You feel a strange, uncomfortably cold sensation curl up tight and tense in your stomach. The feeling of standing at the edge of a long drop, knowing you have no choice but to let go.

His eyes are locked on yours, unrelenting, pinning. And then he says, “Do you have feelings for me?”

Right. No way to misinterpret.

You suck in a breath—a gasp, jerking at the question even though you knew it was coming.

You could lie. It’d be easy to do, just a few movements of tongue, jaw, and lips. No, I don’t. Three easy words. You could say you appreciate him as a teammate, as a professional, as someone you can trust in tough situations. He has your back; you have his. Anything beyond that is too much, to far outside of the commanding officer-subordinate hierarchy.

But you can’t lie to him. He’ll know. He’s trained in looking for tells, for the slightest quirk to denote that you’re holding back the truth. That, and you don’t want to lie to him.

Instead, quietly, you say, “Yes,” and inwardly brace for impact. Any kind of dressing-down from your C.O. and reminder of responsibilities and duties; or on a personal level, that Ghost doesn’t do relationships. You’re tensed up, waiting for its inevitable blow and all the shrapnel that’s definitely going to land right in your heart.

“Oh,” he says.

Oh.

Just one syllable, said deceptively, uncharacteristically soft. It belies so many things—possibilities, dangers. This man is fucking complicated.

And then he takes a step toward you. Just one. Just enough to close the gap that many inches. You don’t back up, but you’re too afraid to walk to him, unsure of what’s coming next.

He’s looking down at you, gaze passive, calm, and strangely open. You’ve learned new and interesting ways to read his eyes since you fell for him, but this one has an unknown definition, a kinesic oddity that you can’t translate.

And for a moment, you let yourself hope.

Then, he says your name. Not Ladybird. Not your rank. Your name. The sound of it is a rush in your ears, in your whole head, through every artery, vein, and capillary. He takes another step, slower than the first, drawing in closer before he says, “Do you want this?”

You nod. There’s nothing else you can do. You take a step toward him, looking up into his eyes and trying to read everything there. “Do you?” you ask. You’re still waiting for the rejection, as though Ghost is the type of person to lure you in only to shut you down.

Rejection doesn’t come. Instead, he steps forward to close the gap, one of his hands finding your waist.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

Holy shit.

You stare at him in surprise, and the look on your face must be ridiculously easy to read. His other hand goes up under your chin, tilting your face toward him. The touch of his fingers is exactly like you imagined, the callouses on his thumb brushing over the soft skin underneath your jaw, causing you to shiver.

Ghost leans in close to your left side, skull’s grin close to your ear, and whispers, “Thought you hated me. Every time I looked at you, you’d look away.”

A near-hysterical laugh bubbles up in your throat, and comes out as a compressed, breathless giggle. All that time, you were so hopelessly in love with him, you couldn’t look at him without feeling like your heart was about to give out; and he interpreted that as dislike.

“God, no,” you say. “Total opposite.”

He laughs in your ear, and the sound chases out the remainder of that cold tension, replacing it with a newfound heat that feels good. “Wish I’d known sooner,” he says, and one of his hands goes up to push a strap of your backpack off your shoulder.

You ease out of it, dropping it to the floor, before reaching out and tentatively touching his waist in return. Through the fabric of his hoodie, you can feel how solid he is underneath, and you run your hand along his side in silent wonder.

Ghost moves back suddenly, and you only have a second to question why before the light goes out, leaving you in muted darkness permeated only by the bare sliver of sunlight filtering through your curtain. One hand finds your waist again, pulling you close, walking you toward your bed.

All you can think is no fucking way over and over, even as the back of your legs hit the side of the bed, and Ghost is lowering you down. Your back touches the mattress, head on the pillow, and Ghost is over the top of you, his hands bracketing your head. He looks down at you, mostly in shadow, only the bright white of the skull motif visible in the darkness. Then, his eyes flicker to his left, and he abruptly snorts.

You furrow your brow. “What?”

Wordlessly, his hand moves to the right of your head, and he picks up your phone.

Your phone which is still on, showing the emoji-heavy conversation with Soap. Ghost flips the phone to show you the last text he sent.

Skull emoji, kiss, black heart, red heart, ladybug, eggplant, peach, confetti ball, birthday cake.

“What the fuck, Soap?” you say under your breath, grabbing the phone from Ghost. You quickly turn it off and shove it onto your bedside table, groaning in embarrassment.

Ghost shakes his head, and unlike Soap, he doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he brings the situation right back on the rails with one hand going up under your shirt. Then, he says, “Close your eyes a second.”

You do, without question. You hear a faint rustle of fabric, and then his lips press against yours.

You gasp against his mouth, and that thrill you felt at hearing your name seems to rush back through you twofold at the thought that he took his mask off for you. He kisses you firmly, a guarantee that this is what he wants. You reach up with one hand, combing your fingers through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp and drawing out a quiet groan. He smells like standard-issue soap and laundry detergent, and the faint spice of cologne only just clinging to his skin. The feeling of kissing him is dizzying, entrancing, and the sound of it just hammers home that this is happening to you, in your room, with him.

He pulls back just a little, kissing a trail from the corner of your mouth down to your chin, then your jaw, and up to your ear. The sensation makes you shiver again, arching up into him involuntarily. You hear and feel an amused huff of breath, before he says, “What do you want?”

Good god, what don’t you want?

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Anything. Whatever you want.”

He nods against your neck, then tilts his head up to press a kiss to your temple. “Tell me if it’s too much, or if there’s something you don’t like. Communicate.”

You grin, mostly at the sotto voce version of his command voice. “Yes, sir.”

He huffs a laugh and continues kissing down your neck, down to the hemline of your shirt. Undressing comes as an easy next step, shoes off first (and they were on the bed, ugh), and then Ghost pulls your shirt up; you lift yourself enough to help him pull it over your head. In the darkness, he does the same, and you watch his silhouette remove his hoodie, then pull his shirt over his head and drop it off the side of the bed. You can’t see his face, but the faint beam of sunlight touches his hair and brings out a hint of pale gold. It feels like a secret shared between you, adding to that warmth building up inside.

He leans back down, kissing down your sternum to the upper hem of your sports bra. He starts to go lower, and you decide then that you’d like to take at least a little initiative.

“Wait,” you whisper. “Come back up here.”

He does, like he’s accustomed to obeying your orders rather than the other way around. You reach up and touch his chest, eager to feel this part of him, the one he typically buries under layers of clothing and gear. He sighs at your touch, head dropping down to rest on the pillow beside you.

He’s firm and toned with well-honed muscle earned through endless missions and exercise. At the same time, the skin of his chest is surprisingly soft—even the scattered network of scars and keloids that mark his body. You feel old and new wounds, some still raised as they heal, some concave with age. They’re long, short, thick, thin, orderly, and jagged. Starbursts of bullet wounds, hard lines of cuts, spatters of shrapnel, textured lines of old stitches. His whole torso tells a long, tragic story from cover to cover, chest to back.

But he leans into this read of him, letting you feel every scar, every painful moment. His breathing is steady in your ear, giving way to the occasional sigh as your fingers trail over his skin.

In turn, he touches you. You don’t have even a fraction of his scars, but you have a few he can note. You know when he touches them, by the way his touch lingers, learning each one. It feels reverential, or communal—the two of you engaging in a silent trust exercise. He doesn’t ask about them, and neither do you. All of that is for another time.

Ghost presses a kiss to your shoulder, then pushes up until he’s over top of you again. His free hand goes down to the waistline of your jeans, finger tracing teasingly over the zipper. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” you say, breathless. As if you’d say anything else.

He undoes the button, then the zipper, slowly pulling your jeans to your hips, then removing them entirely. He sits up on the edge of the bed for a moment, removing his boots, then his jeans. You lay there, watching him move, feeling your arousal start to grow and burn like a low flame.

When he touches you again, you silently agree that you wish you’d said or done something sooner. It’s bliss. He’s gentle with you, mindful even, in a way you’ve never experienced or anticipated from someone like him. He helps you out of your bra, letting you pull it all the way off before his hands palm your breasts in slow, deliberate movements. It’s an extension of his exploratory touches, learning your body inch by inch.

Your breathing quickens, and Ghost looks up at you in what you guess is concern. “Doing alright?” he asks.

Your face grows hot, and you nod, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “I’m fine,” you reply. “I just don’t know what to do.”

It’s not like you haven’t had sex before, but sex with him feels completely different, like it doesn’t belong in the same category. You’ve never wanted someone this badly, or had someone respond to you like this. It’s almost overwhelming, but Ghost reaches up and combs some of your hair away from your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Lie back a bit,” he instructs. “And tell me if you need me to stop.”

You do as he says, leaning up against the pillows as he moves down your body, leaving a trail of kisses down your torso to your hips. He’s a shadow moving over you, long and languid, and every touch just adds to the mounting heat. When his fingers touch the hem of your underwear, you shiver in anticipation, then arch your hips to give him a little leverage in removing them. In one motion, you’re exposed to him, even in the dark. Yet after touching him, and him touching you, you don’t feel as vulnerable. If anything, this feels safe. This feels right.

His hands go to your hips, then run slowly along the outer sides of your thighs. You think he might fulfill that fantasy from earlier, fingering you until you’re a mess, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure with his skilled hands.

Which is why it surprises the hell out of you when he goes lower, until his head is between your thighs, sunlight leaving gold stripes along his back.

“Ghost,” you gasp.

He looks up at you, and now more than ever, you wish you could see his face. You only see the faint shine of his eyes, but at that moment, it’s enough.

Then he spreads you, and licks a stripe from your opening to your clit.

If you were entertaining any thoughts before, any fantasies carefully curated in those rare hours of alone time, they flee in that single movement. Even the Ghost of your imagination never did this, tasting and savoring you in long, slow laps that make your whole brain short out like a blown fuse. The sound is goddamn obscene, especially as he leans in close and starts to lap at your clit. It’s a shock of sound in the silence, louder than even your own noises when you got yourself off.

Your right hand finds his head, fingers running through his hair as he licks you. He alternates between short laps and long strokes, tongue circling around your clit, teasing you, making you shudder and moan. It’s frustrating and fucking heavenly, the sensation of ebb and flow, receding and rushing waves of heat building up then flowing back.

Right when you think you can’t take the teasing anymore, he switches tactics. The teasing abruptly ends, and Ghost gets relentless.

You moan way too loud when he sucks at your clit, tongue swirling around it, the sound of his mouth on you loud as a gunshot. You swear they have to hear it down the hallway, or anywhere on base. At this point, though, you really don’t care who hears you, because they don’t have Ghost between their legs, getting them off in ways no deity ever intended.

Then his fingers join his mouth, index tracing circles around your entrance, dipping in slowly, tauntingly.

“Fuck.” The word is sharp in the air, as you arch at the sensation.

It’s too much; it’s not enough.

He tilts his head up a little, but when he speaks, you feel his warm breath ghost over your sex. “Let me hear you,” he says, words drawn straight out of your fantasies. Every door containing that imaginary version of Ghost is unlocked, every bulkhead breached—that Ghost and this one are one in the same.

And when he pushes that first finger into you, you follow his order to the letter.

It comes out as a broken wail, cut off when he starts thrusting and licking you in alternate strokes. His pace quickens, merciless, sharp eyes watching you from the shadows as your head rolls back on the pillow, chest heaving to catch a single solid breath. Your hands drop to your sides, fisting the sheets just to have something to hang onto, any kind of anchor as Ghost guides you through a tempest.

You moan his name, last consonant catching on a sob of pleasure when he starts to add a second finger. Only then does he pause, and the absence of his mouth is stark. 

Then he says your name, temporarily drawing you out of the cumulonimbus of arousal you’re flying through, briefly bringing you back to earth.

You look down at him, the silhouette of his head, small locks of hair sticking up from where your fingers combed through. You see him tilt his head to rest his cheek against your inner thigh, and his voice rolls out like a dull roar of thunder in your ears. “It’s Simon,” he says. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Somehow, hearing his real name in the midst of all this is almost too much. Like the last little vestige of a play on stage falling away and revealing the inner workings of the backstage, all the ropes and pullies holding the show together. He’s more exposed now, more raw, more human.

You reach down, trembling hand brushing over his cheek, over stubble and scar tissue, and the soft skin of a very real face.

“Simon,” you whisper. It sounds like a confession.

He doesn’t reply, but you feel him smile against your hand, briefly turning his head to press a kiss against your palm. Then he’s lowering himself down again, coaxing you out of the eye of the storm and back into the maelstrom. Two fingers thrust and curl, filling you, leaving you empty, touching places that send bolts of pleasure through you.

Your pulse becomes the thunder of the helo’s blades, your body trembling with midair turbulence. Simon fucks you on his fingers, tongue lathing over your clit, mouth fucking worshiping you. He takes you to that precipice, the long fall, the drop through cloud cover to a faintly-marked point on the earth.

The step off the edge feels like perfect, natural progression.

Your orgasm sweeps through you from toe to tip, a roll of white-out pleasure shaking you, wringing a cry out of your mouth that makes Simon fuck you harder. His fingers don’t let up, working you through the tidal wave, taking you to shore on the other side.

You’re boneless at the end, slumping back on the pillow and panting, shivering, taking stock of your limbs and extremities as they each come back online after the outage. You only vaguely register the feeling of Simon moving on the bed, coming up to lay beside you.

He murmurs your name, then kisses you, and you can smell and taste yourself on him. Your hand goes up to run along his jawline, one rogue thought telling you, yeah, you can cut glass with it.

How everything gets so gentle afterwards is beyond you. Simon’s hand is on your face, thumb brushing the soft skin under your right eye. You can feel his erection against your leg, and somewhere in the back of your mind—still tingling with pleasure, shimmering bright and brilliant—you know how you’re going to take initiative.

You break the kiss just for a moment, delighting in the soft sigh of protest you hear and feel against your cheek. Then you lean in close, pitching your voice low like his, hoping it has the same effect on him.

“Hope you don’t have any plans this weekend,” you say, brushing your hand over his shoulder.

You feel him smile against your skin, and he shakes his head.

“Thought you were heading out,” he says.

“Only if you’re going with me.”

One arm goes around your waist, pulling you close as he nuzzles against your neck. “We have some time, though, right?” his voice slides over you, suggestion clear and presented like a gift.

God, yeah you do.

---

Somewhere in between rounds, your phone goes off on your bedside stand.

Once.

Twice.

You don’t hear it, and the short buzz is drowned out by moans and the soft slap of skin on skin. When Simon makes a move like he’s going to check on it, you hook him back in place with your leg around his waist, pulling him in close, then kissing him silent. He falls into it, all too happy to oblige.

So you miss the skull and ladybug emojis, then the volume symbol.

[girlboypersonthingy]

omg i love your blog sm!! it’s been a while since ive been in the fandom and i didn’t think anyone wrote for vld anymore, ahhhh but i love the way you write!! you’re so so talented!! how do you think a love triangle sitch with keith and lance would play out? i love the both but UGHHHH THE DRAMA I LOVE IT😩😩

Oh my god thank you so much! I’m so flattered asfdafh 🥰🥹 I know the fandom is dead to most but not to all. I’m still here and voltron will always live on in my heart ❤️‍🔥 BRO THIS PROMPT??? PLZ ITS SO GOOD AAHHH ENJOY!

❤️Love Triangle💙

Okay first of all, these two would try to win you over IN COMPLETELY OPPOSITE WAYS.

Lance is, of course, over the top and very romantic and kind of cliche but so considerate and thoughtful and sweet.

Keith will be more nonchalant and mysterious, trying to use his skills and talents to impress you. He’s the type to slowly win you over by being very genuine and honest.

It started when Lance threw a pick up line your way and not only was the line terrible…but you actually laughed at it. It brought some pink to your cheeks as well. They both noticed that.

Lance was very smug about the fact that he made you giggle and blush.

Keith was a little annoyed at first, thinking Lance was just being his usual obnoxious self. So Keith just kept trying to make moves on you in his own way.

One day, Lance walked into the training room to see you and Keith sitting beside each other on the floor, breathing heavily as if you’d just decided to take a break. He couldn’t really hear what Keith was saying but you looked very focused, very into the conversation and you two were sitting just a little bit too close for his liking.

Lance didn’t like the eyes you were making at the red paladin

But Keith sure did. He was so excited to be sitting so close to you.

Then it’s like the spider man meme of them pointing at each other like 😧👉🏻 👈🏻😮

“Wait! You like (Y/N)? No no no, you can’t! I like (Y/N)!”

“Well I liked them first!”

“No! No! Dibs!”

“Really? Dibs?” *eye roll*

For the next week, they’re both acting like goofballs around you.

It’s kind of hilarious and very entertaining for you because…you notice that they start adopting each other’s ways of flirting and dropping hints. They do a little swap.

It’s like they think the other person has a better chance with you so they try to switch it up and copy each other. Lance thinks Keith’s ‘mysterious bad boy’ persona is something you’re into. Keith thinks you find happiness in all the silly, goofy things Lance does. So they both try to switch it up in hopes of making you fall for them. Does that make sense?

Imagine Keith trying to use a pick up line on you and failing miserably. He’s probably sweating through his shirt and his mouth is dry bc he’s so close to you, he can smell your shampoo. He’d end up stuttering and then getting really pissed at himself for looking dumb in front of you. May go back to his room and pout if he felt things didn’t go well.

Now imagine Lance trying to be all soft spoken and mysterious, trying to act cool. Lance trying not to talk too much is the equivalent of him holding his breath. It’s only a matter of time before he breaks character and says some dumb, cheesy shit that has you rolling your eyes. He awkwardly shuffles away to his room and also pouts bc he feels like he’s just loud and annoying.

The boys got into a yelling match about it once. The pot just boiled over and all you could do was watch.

That was their very shitty, joint confession of their feelings for you- them screaming about who likes you more, who liked you first, who you’re more compatible with, ect ect blah blah blah

All right in front of you

And all the while, the whole team is so confused

Cue Allura and Hunk stepping in between them because both their faces are turning red from anger and jealousy.

Everyone just looks at Shiro like 👀

Shiro, the dad of the group: 🙄😤 “fine…”

Shiro sits them both down for a long chat and by the end of it, the boys have come to terms with the fact that they both like you and not only is it your choice who you’d want to be with, but there’s a lot of other things to be worried about rn. They shouldn’t, and they won’t, pressure you.

Buuttttt…they do keep up some of the same things they like to do with you.

Keith still trains with you often (and he really enjoys helping you with your stance/posture bc he gets to be touchy✨)

Lance still invites you into his room to play video games (and he always seems out of breath when you sit so close to him, your arm touching his)

They try their best to control their temper around you and they try not to be around when you’re with the other person. They don’t need to see you being all close and personal with someone who isn’t them. :,(

The boys just continue to be their normal selves with you. They figure you should get to know them, the real them, before you make any decisions.

Yes, they both like you.

Yes. They’re both very competitive and very jealous.

But they respect each other and they respect you.

And we are in the middle of an intergalactic war right now, this is not a real priority.

They’ll give you some time and a pace to think about it.

Now comment on this post and tell me who you’d choose 😈 I love them both so so much but Lance is my soulmate for sure

[minotaurs-my-beloved]

Hey girl so this is my first time asking for a "fanfic?" Abt a DOMwerewolfxf human? Not a certain one or anything just like a scenario Abt a FWB werewolf x fem reader where they were both at a club (on accident) and he (werewolf) saw that she(reader) was talking/flirting with another werewolf and he got jealous and confronted her about it and she brushed it off and like 2 hours later she hears her door knocking and he "tricks her" Into thinking that hes not mad Abt it but once they like start making out and she starts getting desperate he starts saying things like "who fucks you better" and shit like that and gets rlly possessive❤️ thanks girl ! Also plz don't use "daddy kink" I hate it!!(Not kink shaming)

Dw, I don't usually add any kinks unless directly asked just in case<3

You had been wanting more with Conan since before this friends with benefits situation even started, but considering it's been months of this and he won't even let you kiss him, you've long since abandoned that dream.

In the beginning it was fine, he was paying attention to you, and it felt so fucking good. But now, it just hurts every time you're finished and you realize he isn't yours. Your friends can see it's hurting you, so they decide to take you out for a girls night to get your mind off things. Getting you all dressed up and taking you to the bar.

And it works! You let loose, not drinkin to much, you don't want to wake up with a terrible headache tomorrow, but enough to feel more confident. One of your friends nudges you with their shoulder and tilts her head in the direction of a big man, clearly another werewolf with that height, staring at you from across the room. You blush and look away, but the girls refuse to let you give up this chance, trying to urge you to go over.

Then, you see Conan and your heart drops into your stomach, but, its also serves as the also nail in the coffin and you start walking over to the other wolf. Childishly wanting Conan to see you, wanting him to know you're not desperate for him. The wolf grins at you, showing off his big sharp canines, talking to you with a low sultry voice, a slight growl in the back of his throat. He looks you up and down, complimenting your dress and you keen. It feels so good for someone to look at you like this, so obviously, you start flirting back.

At first you feel a pang of betrayal, but quickly shove that away. I mean, why shouldn't you flirt with him? It's not like Conan and you are together or anything. Just as he puts his hands around your waist, you're ripped from your thoughts by the sound of a familiar voice saying your name.

You snap your head in the direction of Conan as he glowers at the both of you. "Is that your boyfriend?" The wolf asks, you frown and shake your head, "No, sorry about him." He nods slowly, "Mhm, it kinda seems like you two have somethin goin on. I don't want to be in the middle of that, sorry love." He smiles gently at you and walks away. You stand there for a minute before spinning on your heel and storming over to Conan, seething in rage.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You push his chest, which does a total of nothing. He's literally 7 feet tall. Don't know what you expected there. Anyways, he looks down at you, jaw clenched, "Didn't like the way he was looking at you."

That stuns you with the sheer fucking stupidity.

You don't even waste the energy and stalk off, ignoring his calls of your name. Your friends completely understand when you order the uber to leave. Fists clenched, jaw set, face in a permanent tired glare as you stare out the window, the scenario playing itself in your head over and over while you cuss him out in your mind.

Making it back home, unlocking your apartment, you don't even bother to take off your makeup, falling onto your bed, too angry to cry. Two hours or so later, you've fully calmed down, just accepting it for what it is, deciding next time you see Conan you'll break it off.

All that resolve quickly disappears the minute you hear a knock and his rough voice coming from the door. You take a breath before walking over, slowly opening it, and looking up at him, "What."

His ears lie back against his head and he looks at the floor, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that, I was just jealous, but that's not fair to you."

You furrow your eyebrows at his words, "Why would you be jealous? We're not in a relationship?"

He looks to the side, refusing to meet your eyes, "What if I don't want that? What if I want more than just sex? I want you, please?" He mumbles the last part, slowly raising his head to meet your eyes.

"Fuck, I want you too, so damn bad." His tail wags rapidly at your words, banging against the doorframe, "Let me make it up to you then, yeah?"

You move your body to let him in and he quickly pushes you against the wall, making out with you, for the first time. You yelp in surprise, closing your eyes and kissing him back, feeling his teeth nip at your lip while he whines quietly into your mouth. Picking you up like you weigh nothing, carrying you to the bed and laying you down on it, stripping you and himself.

Driving his fat cock deep inside your cunt, starting slow but soon ramming into you. Growling and groaning with each thrust, "Yeah, take it. Fucking take it bitch, I fuck you down so much better than he could ever. Don't i?" You babble out some incoherent response and he just grins and fucks you harder, "You're mine, you know that right? Mine. Nod your head for me, love, that's right babygirl, you needed this."

[moonlightdancer26]

Hello There.

this is kinda weird and meta and i cannot tell if it’s written coherently so plz just hear me out

so yk how J*R admitted that, when she was writing OOTP at the same time as the first movie was being made, she made a lot of the changes/revelations we see for severus’ character bc she liked alan rickman’s portrayal so much? her only valid opinion

prior to that it is much easier to see the relationship between james/the marauders and severus as ‘slytherin vs gryffindor antagonistic’

(the prank (PoA) is imo played off more as ‘sirius was in the wrong by organising it, james did better by following severus and getting him out of there’ without input from OOTP)

anyway, this is all to say that pre-OOTP james and post-OOTP james feel like very different characters, bc one is very much good-guy-in-the-making and the other is the worst of the worst, and i think it can be brought back to J*R’s inability to write interesting slyth vs gryff rivalries without resorting to bullying and harassment from one party (the way she writes slytherins makes me want to smash my head against walls)

what do you think? bc this is coming from a kinda biased marauders stan, pro-james perspective, even though i dont hate young!sev in the slightest

i feel like a lot of my issues with this whole thing can be summed up by The TERF Bitch Can’t Write, And Now We Suffer Because Of It

I’ve heard of that claim before, and iirc I’ve seen a source of her saying that a long time ago, but could you tell where cause I’d love to confirm this? 😭 She had already had Snape’s arc planned out because during the earlier films Alan wanted to quit his role because playing Evil Greasy Potions Master might get him type-casted (since he’s played villains before) and he didn’t want that, so Rowling decided to tell him about the grandiose reveal in DH, which is what made him stay.

what do you think? bc this is coming from a kinda biased marauders stan, pro-james perspective, even though i dont hate young!sev in the slightest

I actually think that was the point. In the earlier books we’re led to believe that Snape had no good reason for hating Harry’s dad and only resented James (and Harry) because he was a popular, loved Gryffindor and a talented Quidditch player. It was a bit of a red herring, and in PoA when Sirius and Remus are introduced we’re told about the prank and since Harry already hates Snape, obviously loves his father, and wants to know more info about his parents because he now knows two people who were the closest of friends with them, he assumes Sirius is right and evil Sneep Snoop is wrong and was just being petty as per usual. So for the first five books the readers are like “yo James is the perfect awesome guy and Snape is the jealous bad one,” which is increased when we remember James is a Gryffindor and Severus was a Slytherin, we sort of get the same image as Harry and Draco. It’s an extremely black-and-white image, the dawning realisation that it might not be just a simple rivalry/jealously-issue is what makes SWM in the 5th book so jaw-dropping to all of us, because we actually realise that it wasn’t the whole story. “Snape was right all along” is a super scary realisation for Harry, especially since it makes him completely rethink the image of his father that’s been painted for him by basically everyone around him, everyone except the one character Harry despises most of all.

This isn’t to say JKR doesn’t make shit decisions in writing, I 100000% get what you’re saying, but I think this was deliberately written that way so it can to be a big build-up to the plot twist. (Doesn’t make it very well-written, but it was still her intention ig.) and tbh the fact that we have so many unanswered questions/concerns about the plot holes/arcs/writing/etc and have to fill it in with the most plausible assumptions really goes to show how overrated JKR’s writing is and how her series has been enriched mostly by its fandom.

Also dw you’ve gotten your point across very well, I always get concerned with my writing because I’m worried it just sounds like a pile of unorganised bullshit 💀

[themarvelhorse]

EftD Chapter 11 – The Devil in Canterlot High Part 2

Part 1 over here!

Sunset sat up straighter. “What the hell??? That’s so cool! That’s what you do in here all day? And you get paid?”

Woah! Sunset seeing the potential for a future career and place in life?! Gonna take psychology as a way to better understand magic but find herself enjoying it even without the sorcery?

“Huh.” A light smile started on her face like the flickering of kindling by a log.

Back to the comfy forest cabin imagery!

Rubbing her neck, Sunset could feel the sweat building back there. The metaphorical logs caught flame and caused a forest fire in her cheeks. She tittered. “We… we really don’t need to get into all that.”

OH NOT SO COMFY. IT WAS A TRAP!

I also like how everything really is so cold in the literal sense, but she feels the warmth in the nonphysical through this sort of language.

“Oh, good question: Empathy! I feel empathy for people when I empathize with them.” She sat back, raised her hands behind her head and the only thing that would have made her more comfortable is if she had a table or stool in front of her to kick her feet up onto. “Got all you need? Fantastic, let’s change my friends back.”

Omg, Sunset plz, you can’t explain a thing using the same word that’s in it. I swear every time I look up a word on the internet its like “Empathizing means to empathize with someone.” And then I have to search empathize and it’s like  “To empathize means to feel empathy for someone”. Like, thanks you fuckin giant privacy invader ad bot for being the most sophisticated and simultaneously useless thing imaginable.

Also I like how Solstice is testing the waters. Still trying to get her to open up, but has to start where Sunset is comfortable. He needs to find what’s not the jet fuel that gets thrown into the fireplace and keeps it comfy.

He dropped his animal-eyes to the floor, then back up at her, chin lifted

And so, with the spotlight now back on Solstice’s other side, so are the fauna adjectives. Is this Tartarus cell meant to keep Sunset locked in? Or to keep her safe from a certain beast? Perhaps it’s both. Not wanting to reveal parts of themselves for fear of being locked way, or having that which they themselves locked away, be suddenly freed.

“But you do have a demon form,” she said, voice low and rumbling. “You black out. Do you black out often?” … “Would you?”

Damn, this conversation is intense. Hardly anything is being said out loud, but so much is being said that way. Never answering with the yes or no, because that wouldn’t give him a fair chance to prove himself. But it doesn’t matter. How long can you live with what you’re doing without someone calling you out on it? Even when you think you recognized the problem and took steps to mitigate it… only to find out it wasn’t enough, and you hurt someone because of it…

Clawing motions and goat-like eyes. Truly every sort of manifestation of terrible creature, straight out of both hell and Tartarus.

“Individual counselling works for the individual,” he told her. “I want you to feel comfortable here and if you’d be more comfortable asking me some questions first, I say let’s have at it!” He pumped an arm heartily.

Okay, I HATE how you’re making me like him more and more with this. Because it makes what comes next SO CRUEL.

(It’s a temporary, good kind of hate ;))

“My magic is strongest when it’s based in fear,” he said, thumbing his coffee mug. “I’m a coward. Always afraid of this, that, or the other. And whenever I’m most afraid, he appears. He feeds on it. Perhaps not just my own fear, either. I’m not conscious when he is, so I don’t know the full extent of what he can do; but if he feeds on my fear to manifest, I have to imagine he’ll want more. I think… I think that’s why he attacks people in showy, impractical fashions. Snowstorms are just his way of throwing a fit. He considers himself quite the lead. Climactic battlefronts are his stage. Never give him one.”

As a recovering coward myself, I’d say him seeing fear as cowardice is not the whole truth, whether he knows it or not. Yes, he was likely afraid of his father, but I’m sure he’s also afraid of people hurting, because of him or because of their own issues. Does that make him a coward? I wouldn’t say so. I’d say he simply cares. When you’re worried about someone, and their well-being makes you anxious and afraid for them, what is that? It’s just love. Nothing you can do about that. And the issues with his father, what would that fear be based on? Of not being accepted for being into theatre? Of being unloved? So much so that you don’t want anyone else to feel that way, but can’t help but be afraid that they do.

Sunset laughed, pointing at him. “But, see? You care about people! You believe in them! You even believe in me.”

Nice to know that Sunset sees that he’s genuinely good too.

Even despite his eyes billowing smoke, his warm smile made her feel like they were sitting across from each other around a campfire. “I know precisely how you feel. I bought Bridleway tickets for two for the first time in years. I come to this school, and it’s overflowing with people like me.” He laughed, “It’s almost enough to make me think I’m as good as you say, if I might belong in a place like this.

AH! Back to the woodsy feeling again?

Waiting for that campfire smoke to just block all visibility and choke out all the feelings ;;;;

Here he’s feeling loved at last. Someplace where he feels that maybe he can truly keep Sombra down because of those emotions that aren’t about fear. Until he has to grapple with another issue not considered – the fatigue. And then both Sunset and Solstice go on to say the other one is good and they themselves are the bad one. AN ETERNAL BATTLE OF "no u".

Solstice nodded as he took an off-white, sealed envelope from the side table by his chair. He smiled at it. “You’ve cultivated quite the community.” He placed the envelope aside on his L-shaped desk to deal with later and returned to his seat.

Maybe it’s a letter of recommendation for Sunset to pursue something in the future? Rainbow Dash was recently headhunted by NR, so maybe he thinks she’d do very well there. And its close to home! Or one for Sunset to pursue teacher’s college so she can come right back to Canterlot High and inherit the throne from this Celestia. “See a need, fill a need…”. If she stays it’d only end up making sense to have a school for magic related things. City Hall’s already on board!

“It’s hard to know where the line is, though. It’s not even just my past or my transformation into a she-demon anymore. Magic itself is getting dangerous. People get hurt. I can’t keep running away from that anymore, I have to face it head on because I’m not the only one it’s affecting. All the magic and every disaster it causes in this dimension comes from me.”

Solstice Shiver sat across from her, staring for a moment with his devil-eyes. “My… goodness do you ever sound like me. Er, it should also be noted that magical events did occur before you arrived at Canterlot High. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you didn’t create the portal between our worlds. I’ve also heard from other students about some rogue sirens that came to this world before you? And artefacts, like⁠—” He checked his notes. “—A Memorial Stone? Sorry, Memory Stone.” “Okay, maybe not all of it,” she allowed, rubbing her wrist. “But most of it started impacting people’s lives when I came through that mirror in the statue. You’re an exception, not the rule. Uh,” Sunset Shimmer found herself saying, “no offence.”

I... well... I GUESS? Solstice hasn't really had much chance to verify anything until everything started happening at this school. But hey, it was still always there. And now this minority group gets a chance to feel a little less alone, and more validated.

Also, not liking the way this “devil-eyes” adjective was not animal-like but now outright straight from hell.

I wonder if the preceding paragraph had anything to do with it… with mentions of her actually sounding like him, his fears manifested, her thinking of this as facing it head on while he remains cowardly… is this the feeling of fear that Sombra is currently using which prompts the comparison to a devil’s eyes?

…”There’s a strange chaos in what it does to human beings—but I didn’t need anyone here to tell me that.”

A very strange Chaos. What else could facilitate connection between worlds like this than the very Spirit of Chaos? What else would find such a ridiculous joy in a fucked up little statue like that one in front of City Hall? Yes I’m still on that. I know I’ll never know the truth but still!

A pink flooded to the surface of his cheeks. “... O-oh. Oh that makes sense,” Solstice mumbled and cleared his throat. His eyes returned to their standard green, magic evaporating. “Sorry, I... hadn’t heard exactly what the other Celestia was like. Good for her. Royalty,” he said, sounded winded.

More positive emotions dialing back the fear! Hell yeah Solstice! It’s like the peasant running into royalty dressed in common clothes and them simply falling for each other based on who they genuinely are. Good shit.

“Protégé to a princess, goodness. You somehow find ways to be more and more impressive the more I learn about you. What was that like?” he asked, his eyes reigniting. Just as unnerving as last time. She glared at his therapising, so he waved a hand. “Remember: this is purely in the interest of helping your friends. There are methods buried in my madness somewhere.”

Oh hell naw! Fuckin Sombra getting all opportunistic when he hears what potential Sunset has as a target now?

Solstice looked up from taking notes. “So the day you got your cutie mark, that made you who you are?”

“Exactly!” she said, like a teacher proud of their student. “I got mine early, too.” … “What I know is I was little. Maybe I didn’t have anyone there to tell me it was going to be okay. There must’ve been a director or a caretaker during the nights, right? But even if there was, I guess I had to be pretty frightened. One night, I don’t remember why, but that night I panicked. I wasn’t about to go gentle into that good night. My magic must’ve reacted to that, but that night it did it in a big way, and the only way I’ve ever been able to describe what I did was that I kept the sun up with me a little longer.” … …And for context, most ponies could never dream of raising or lowering the sun the way Princess Celestia does every day. That’s alicorn level magic. Regular old unicorns can’t do that.” … Sunset’s hands shook in her lap, itself quaking thanks to her legs, and there was nothing she could do to hide it. “I-I’ve never been able to explain that much power. I used to try to tell myself it was because I was special, but I could never do it again. Maybe I stole magic from Princess Celestia. Maybe I’m that awful. If I did, I didn’t mean to—I mean, it was my fault, I chose to do it, but not like that. I just wanted the sun to stay up longer! I didn’t think I’d almost kill myself! I should’ve known not to, but when the Princess came to visit Her Majesty’s Home for Foundling Fillies, I got the stupid idea in my head that she should stay longer so somehow I just… I made her!”

;~;

She just wanted a mom ;;; Or you know, any adult that could help her feel safe.

Really though, maybe she didn’t move the Sun, maybe she just moved Celestia’s heart enough, calling out to her with a connection that made Celestia stop moving the sun. Which would also be strong magic and shocking to all. Maybe Celestia realized Sunset had this loving connection with her that she hadn’t felt from anyone else before. Because magic is emotion-based, that’d be an extremely powerful magic, especially if, as this chapter goes on to talk about, they were supposed to Face NMM together.

There’s some other elements I want to tie together here: the way dream is italicized for emphasis. It’s done in a way that, yes, expresses that word about just how powerful it was, but it’s also being spoken about in the context of the caretaker there at night being around, but distant. Not doing their job. It feels vaguely connected to Princess Luna, who is currently on involuntary vacation at the Hotel Super Nightlight – ‘see a need, fill a need.’ Since there’s a need for someone to make the nights feel less scary, then who could fill that need? Not only that, but Sunset’s connection to Celestia and the subsequent getting of her cutie mark, happens in a way that emphasizes a need among youth for someone like Celestia to be there for them since Celestia can't. We even later see in the show, that Princess Luna is the one most often showing up for the kids. Celestia just wasn’t able to do that, not as much as she wanted to, and not in the way they deserved. So, when she felt that connection, need, and desire from Sunset for someone to be there for kids, especially those without parents or with shitty parents (like Solstice in this world), Celestia saw Sunset being able to fill that role, that need. That’s how they were intended to rule together.

And that’s why I think this text about Sunset saying ‘“Exactly!” like a teacher proud of their student’, is foreshadowing. Well not just foreshadowing, but it allows us to recognize what gives Sunset energy and passion. This is all from Sunset’s perspective, so how much can we trust as Marvel’s foreshadowing vs. how Sunset’s senses are interpreting things in that situation? How does narration even work when there's so many ways to do it?

We also see it in the way she’s mentoring Twilight to become the next leader of the Rainbooms after her. It’s grounded in this belief that she won’t be around to help them, which is essentially what a teacher and a parent are both supposed to do.

So, there’s this nexus of Sunset being an orphan, connecting to this student counselor with a bad parent, and connecting with Celestia. Celestia is a leader in both worlds, but why a leader of a high school in this one? Because she’s also a teacher. A teacher who knows how to also be the pseudo-parent that some kids and teens need.

Her eyes flashed, alert. She could feel her heart thrashing in her chest, warning her to run and run now. “What? How could any of that possibly be what we have in common?��

Oh gods. It’s the trap set out long ago. A lure set, the truth – the bait.

…he said, walking the length of the rug which meant dissecting the yin-yang design of it in half.

OH GODS! IT’S THE REFERENCE IN THE PIC FROM EARLIER TOO.

The realization hit like a grenade lodged under the couch cushions she sat on. She shot out of her seat, exploding forth.

That’s one way to get your enemy out from behind cover and out into the open, a helpless target.  

“Oh my⁠—oh my Celestia! You’re right! Timber and I don’t deal with our feelings!” Somewhere deep in the depths of school, on the whiteboard with the circle of stylized heads meant to represent herself and her friends magical powers, Sunset could almost see the word labelling the line connecting her to Timber Spruce: Repression. Or maybe, better yet: Emotional Escape.

Love and hate it. Love it because it all makes sense! Hate it because, how didn’t I see it sooner?! I guess the same way Sunset didn't see it sooner.

Sunset’s legs felt unsteady underneath her. She grabbed her arms as the cold seeped through her jacket. The thermometer on the wall sunk to inverted heights. “I… I-I don’t know, I⁠—”

The prey, frozen in fear.

Her breath swirled visible in front of her.

The art! When they were sitting across from each other! The swap is continuing!

Solstice Shiver froze.

She grabbed the opening of her jacket, pulling it together. “They shouldn’t have to go through that. No one should have to—they deserve so much better. They all deserve better.”

The jailer now jailed, and the hunter to become the hunted. Both immobilized by the very same cold they defied at the start of the chapter.

She muffled herself. Eyes raised toward the stars that couldn’t aid in her escape. She blinked, eyes stinging and her skin with it in the cold. She roughly wiped her eyes before grabbing her arms and letting her eyes drop to the floor. “I’ll change everything back to normal and destroy the portal. And then I’m never coming back. I’m sorry if this is goodbye. It was nice knowing you, while it lasted.”

Sobs

The clock froze solid on the wall.

And the day time stood still.

“... Who do you think you’re talking to right now?”

Time stopped pretty much for me too when I read that.

“How do you know?” he asked. “How would anyone know? I’m everything you fear you are. Is there any difference between us? There’s hardly an us about it, it’s all me. It’s always been me.” He gripped the sides of the armchair. “You need to run. I don’t think he likes your plan to take all the magic with you.”

Oh no….

Mug in hand, she came over to him and offered a mug of piping hot coffee. He took it in his hands, and drank as if from the River Styx or the River Lethe. While he did, Sunset staggered back, taking a seat on the purple couch.

And after such a break from the feeling of being in Tartarus, it’s back again. The Greek mythology references are very real for Sunset, but Hell is something less so. Maybe it's something more human. She can fight every one of those 'mythical' monsters, but there's much more fear in what you aren't sure about. The unknown. The darkness, that darkness that Sunset feared as a filly. What lurked there? What lurks now? You know devils and demons exist, you were one. What does that mean about Hell, and everything else you don't know about in the human world? Along with human economics and geography...

Also, I didn’t know this! “The River Lethe - the souls of the dead had to drink from it, which made them forget all they had done and suffered when they were alive.” Or like the River Styx, to renew his oath to protect the students.

Pretty fitting!

So maybe the Greek references are something more within Sunset's control, but Hell isn't.

And of course, its at this moment that Solstice’s fears are realized and his own heart breaks. After connecting so well to someone and genuinely feeling like he helped them only to hear this? This realization that it wasn’t enough? He couldn’t stop her from leaving or save her from herself? He was so confident that it was working, all that progress, even making her happy by figuring it all out. He was confident he'd never put the students in harm’s way because he had faith in them, students like Sunset, to be able to get better. But how do you deal with someone who is just so determined to continue believing this one damaging thing, despite the progress? Despite the evidence to the contrary of what they thought about themselves? He of all people would have been best suited to stop that, and in the end it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter in the end, but it still mattered that the love was there.

A panting started and Sunset didn’t realize it was her own. Tears streaked. Her vision dappled with darkness and sparks. Maybe she was dying already. Maybe she’d never make it to the mirror at all. Maybe she’d die here. No destiny, no reason she wouldn’t. An empty future. No guarantee. Sunset Shimmer knew she would die purposelessly at Canterlot High. I’m dying... I’m dying…

This part just kinda fucks me up too. She feels like death is here for her. She feels like all the magical catastrophes happen because she exists. And now she feels like she’s about to stop existing and for no reason, to no one’s benefit. And then she goes back to thinking about the portal, the one final purpose she does have, the one final thing she wants to live for before she would have to stop existing in her friends’ lives. She was so worried about becoming the villain again, that she forgot the other thing that happens to heroes.

“Hushhhh,” he told her. “You’re in no condition. You’ve failed. But it’s alright. I’m always here to listen and I’ve heard everything I need to know.” She could hear the smile rise in his voice. “I’ll make certain everyone sees who you really are.”

Gonna choke on the sulfur I taste on my lips / Seeing stars in the dark here beneath an eclipse / Hard to wait for an answer when my belief slips / There’s something else here LISTENING~

She heard her own voice cackle in delight. “Well, well. Theory proven. The doctor was right.” He laughed maniacally at his own joke. “Fear does attract fear. A shame it’s consuming you, otherwise, I might invite you to join.”

My mind is scouring secrets  / Not any soul will tell / Sometimes to face the demons / You have to walk through hell~

Bringing it full circle, there’s been a lot of stories about people going to hell for their loved ones. Of course Orpheus, but also Dante. And now Sunset. Facing down the different versions of the lord of this place, be it Hades or Hell. The place where you go to face your demons, where demons reside. Where you find the King of demons. And then suddenly, it’s a Pandora's box you unleash. One where hope is also released into the world, along with all the horrors. In this case, it’s the hope that Sunset can finally change everyone back. But the horrors!

Sunset’s a lot like Luna, we saw that comparison in the comics. And that might have been another reason why Celestia took in her in. Leaving Sunset there in the orphanage to feel abandoned again? John Milton told us why that’s been a bad thing in Paradise Lost. Orpheus letting Eurydice feel abandoned in Hades. And Sunset was about to let her friends feel abandoned in the human realm. She wasn’t saved from becoming the villain though. And of course, its not like a certain fallen angel isn’t depicted as the same way either, jealous of the new kid who comes along.

And of course- course, it would help if any of those who did feel abandoned had someone else to fall back on, i.e. “another teacher who shared similar feelings of abandonment but was also turned good”.

All that to say, it feels like everything in this chapter fits so well together. And just to finish it off…

“Where Sunset Shimmer belongs, of course. Ruining everything for those she loves most, causing fear and mass panic wherever she goes.” King Sombra popped the collar of his leather jacket. “It seems I have a coronation to attend.”

Shadows swallowed her vision as a demonic Sunset Shimmer left into the halls of Canterlot High.

I can't climb jacob's ladder / Keep on landing on the ground / But hell has an elevator / So just send my body down Down, down, down

...Down the halls of Canterlot High.

Also some end notes!

I like all the little instances of irritation that Solstice encounters in this chapter – at least explicitly. I don’t think any of the others would have added onto this anger that ultimately allows Sombra to take over.

Sunset refuses to zip up her jacket.

Sunset prefers tea, which is not what most students preferred. This allows Solstice to feel comfortable venting about how coffee is getting ruined because he knows he wouldn’t bother Sunset with that.

Sunset’s comment about how therapy is for dumb babies.

Still, these aren’t problems for Solstice because he’s not some controlling snob. It’s because he’s afraid for the students’ well-being. And again, when he finds out its not enough to stop Sunset from blaming herself, it breaks him.

Upon review of all the Greek myth connections, I decided to do a little digging.

So first we have the idea that the psyche is separated from the corpse and transported to the Underworld. Literally have the separation of mind from body in this particular Chapter. And to not just anyone, but to someone who wants to escape Hades itself. Its own prison. It’s a place of darkness and lacks sunlight. This office is also where Twilight, Timber, and Flash all went before she did, and where Celestia, even if its not Sunset’s Celestia, went into first. So we have Orpheus style Sunset going in to get her loved ones back by making a deal and only sticking to that deal. Except that, when her attitude towards Solstice changes by the end, Sunset does a figurative 180, and Orpheus does the literal 180. And they both also end up paying for it. I also see a sort of Persephone/Celestia thing going on, where Solstice’s emotions are tied to the weather changes, and the winter is alleviated by Celestia’s presence.

This whole chapter also lets us see how Sunset shares so many traits with Solstice. She’s the perfect vessel for Sombra to have controlled.

And of course, it all very much vibes with Sympathy for the Devil. How he was always there, being a man of wealth and taste – coffee and wine; the puzzle of understanding Sombra – fear, but what are we afraid of, if not what we don’t understand? The yin-yang-ness of it all –

Just as every cop is a criminal / And all the sinners saints / As heads is tails

And of course, Solstice trying to keep control of Sombra, the restraint, the prison.

Just call me, Lucifer / 'Cause I'm in need of some restraint

Sunset walked into Hell to face its master, and all the things she fears along with it for her friends… and in so doing she left the door wide open for him to leave.

:C

[redrobin-detective]

For the writing prompt: it's Izuku's 16th birthday and he receives a gift from his dad through the mail. Preferably in a dad for one situation, with Izuku none the wiser. Good luck. :)

I got another one out! Wasn’t planning on it but it sort of happened, I kind of like it. FYI, no prompts tomorrow as I’ll be working.

“Izuku, you’ve got one last present to open,” Mom says with a wide smile she’s doing her best to hide as she holds something behind her back. Izuku sets down his game controller and gives her his full attention. “I know you got all of your gifts earlier but this one is kind of special so I wanted to save it.” She beams, pulling the present from behind her back and depositing it in his hands.

It’s very plainly wrapped, simple brown paper with no ribbons or frills, the edges crisply held together with tape. Izuku opens the small white card taped to the front. His eyebrows disappear into his hairline when he sees who it’s from.

“Is this real?” He asks. Mom isn’t one to lie, especially about things like this but it’s almost too incredible to believe though, to be fair, this time last year it was unimaginable to think All Might would be giving him a PS Vista. Her head bobs eagerly. 

“It just came in this morning and it’s your father’s handwriting alright,” the smile fades into something a little softer. “I know things with him are kind of strange and Hisashi hasn’t been around much but he loves you very much Izuku. You two would get along so well, you’re so alike.” She reaches over to ruffle his hair, “you definitely didn’t get these curls from me. I’ll let you open your present in peace but come out soon, there’s plenty of cake left.”

Izuku hums as his mother leaves, quietly shutting the door behind her. He eyes the package critically to try and glean any information about the mysterious father he doesn’t remember. The wrap job is exacting and perfect, did Dad do it? Or did he get it professionally wrapped at a store? He weighs the present in his hand, it’s actually quite heavy. It feels like a book of some sort, not quite but close to that of a dictionary. While Izuku loves to read, he hasn’t had much time lately with school and training. Satisfied with his initial analysis, he opens the card again written in crisp, loopy script.

Izuku, 

Congratulations on 16 years. It is my greatest regret that I have missed so much of your life but know that your mother keeps me updated and I am very proud of what you have accomplished. It’s no easy feat getting into Yuuei’s Heroics Department though the strategy and skill you demonstrated clearly makes you worthy. I do wonder if Yuuei, if the heroes, deserve someone as brilliant and motivated as you are. A young man like you has the world at your finger tips and you choose to put your talent into perpetuating the same system of discrimination that hurt you most of your life. It is, of course, your decision but I encourage you to think critically about the choices you make. You never know when they will come back to haunt you.

Take care, Your Father

Izuku blinks and brings the letter closer to read again. His first contact with his father in years and it’s an underhanded jab at heroes? He’d been worried for a second his dad’s package was an attempt to make amends now that Izuku had a quirk and was semi-famous but it seems Midoriya Hisashi had no love lost for the heroes. Mom said he’d worked in the media, maybe that had something to do with his grim letter. Shrugging, Izuku gently unwrapped his gift, which was indeed a book, and hums thoughtfully. 

Injustice and Oppression in the Rising Hero System: A Complete History

The author’s name is something in English but the text is written in Japanese, he flips through the book. It’s dense, while there are some pictures sprinkled throughout, it looks more like a textbook and it appears a good quarter of the text is citations. He reads the back cover, furrowing his eyebrows, trying to make sense of the present and the man behind it. 

Dad has to know he loves heroes so why is he sending a book like this now, when Izuku’s enrolled in a hero high school? Is he expecting him to drop out or something? The forest training camp is in a few days, it’s not like he’s going to stay home or anything. Still, his father is reaching out to him (even if it is kind of weird all around) and Izuku is always willing to respond. Besides, as much as he looks up to All Might and the other pros, the more time he spends in their world the more he sees wrong with the system. Stain may have been a murderer and a hypocrite but he wasn’t wrong when he said society was rotten. Maybe reading this will help Izuku get a better idea of how it came to be like that.

He sets aside his new game console from All Might and settles in to read. 

[lostinthewiind]

Hi!!! I just wanted to say that I freaking love your cherry X Joe X Reader poly series! And its actually got me into the anime!!! I was actually wondering if you want to, write one where the female! Reader is being stalked and harassed by a co-worker at her job and she didn't want to tell Joe and cherry because she doesn't want them to worry about her too much because they already have so much on their plates. But one day, the two of them decide to pick up the her up to surprise her, flowers and everything. And they see the co-worker harassing their lover and it's up to you to determine how they would react? Can also plz make were the three of them are engaged?

Polyamorous Relationship w/ Joe & Cherry: Your Problems, My Problems, Our Problems

A/N: first of all, I'm so honoured to hear that I got you into anime :) Secondly, I can already feel that this request is going to be fun to write! I'll make sure to add an engagement fic to the series soon as well because I've been meaning to anyway. So happy that so many people seem to really like this series as much as I do.

Rating: PG13

Warnings: stalking, predatory behaviour, slightly angsty, profanity, someone who does NOT drink their 'respect women' juice

"Awh, come on, Sweetheart." Your coworker slipped into the elevator with you at the last second despite your desperate attempt to escape him at the end of the day. "Just one drink and then I'll never ask again."

You clenched your fist by your side on the opposite side of him so he wouldn't see. Mustering all of your strength, you forced a fake smile. "Sorry, I can't tonight. I've got plans with my boyfriend."

You had been dropping these not-so-subtle hints that you absolutely were not interested for months on end by now, but your coworker was either completely blinded by his persistence or was willingly ignoring them in favour of achieving his goal.

At first, when you had transferred to his floor at the company building, he had come across as nothing more than a kind mentor offering to show you the ropes. But then, bit by bit, he got pushier. 'Get to know your coworkers' dinners soon turned to just the two of you alone at a bar, which quickly turned into a situation that you found uncomfortable and ever since then, you had turned down all of his advances.

In the beginning, you had tried to make your excuses believable and turn him down nicely since he was above you in the company, but as the weeks passed and he still didn't seem to get the message, your responses got shorter and less believable. Now he was asking you out pretty much every day, multiple times a day. Sometimes he would even follow you to your car to make sure you were going home just like you said you were.

You weren't sure when it had happened, exactly, but things had gone from annoying to anxiety-inducing seemingly overnight and you had no idea what to do about it.

"You always mention this 'boyfriend' of yours," he used air quotes to make it clear that he didn't believe you, "but I've never seen him. Sure you aren't lying just to get me to go away?"

You chuckled nervously, hoping to come up with a quick answer to satisfy him for the night so that he wouldn't feel the need to tail you to your car. "No, of course not. He just has a busy work schedule as well. You know how it is."

He eyed you sternly, his gaze almost piercing. "Hmm," he hummed, contemplating. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then. Goodnight."

As soon as the elevator doors slid open on the main floor of the building, he gave a wave and exited before you and headed for the front doors. Slowly, you followed him out, and as soon as you saw him disappear into the darkness of the night, you exhaled shakily and took a moment to regain your composure.

You honestly didn't know how you managed to seem so calm and collected around him on the daily considering your heart always pounded ruthlessly against your rib cage whenever you saw him.

Once you were fully composed again, you made your way to your car as fast as possible and drove back home, knowing that seeing Joe and Cherry would immediately make you feel better; not that they knew their presence was something you relied on at the end of the day because you refused to tell them.

At first, you kept it to yourself because it seemed harmless and you didn't want them to overreact and blow up at nothing, but then, as it got worse, it just seemed like the time to tell them had passed. And the last thing you wanted to do was worry them when they both already had exhausting work lives as well.

You simply didn't want to be a burden. You were sure they dealt with annoying coworkers as well and they didn't feel the need to bother you with those stupid little problems, so you wouldn't either.

Walking through the front door of your shared apartment, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders at the sight of Cherry at his desk and Joe sitting on the couch with the television playing some show on low volume. 

“I’m home,” you announced with a weary, but genuine, smile on your face. Before either of your boyfriends could utter a response, you had kicked off your shoes, made your way over to the couch, and curled up next to Joe with your face buried in his neck. His hair was wet, indicating he had just gotten out of the shower, and the smell of his shampoo and body wash calmed you instantly.

“Hey.” Joe wrapped an arm around you as he shared a quizzical look with Cherry. Usually, you would get changed, shower, and eat something before even thinking about relaxing for the night. “Everything okay?”

Realizing that you had basically announced that everything was not, in fact, okay with your unusual actions, you froze for a second. You contemplated just coming clean about everything right then and there, but before you could make a decision, the words “I’m fine” were spilling from your mouth.

“Just a long and exhausting day at work,” you followed up your lie with some details, not they they were technically false as it had been a long and exhausting day . . . just not for the reasons they thought. “I’ve been thinking about coming home to you two ever since my alarm went off this morning. Just one of those days.”

The sweet smiles that dawned Joe’s and Cherry’s faces proved that they believed you. “You hungry?” Joe pressed a kiss to your temple. “I brought home some leftovers from work again.”

Your eyes lit up and Joe chuckled. “Really?” You found yourself forgetting about your troubles in the blink of an eye. 

“Really really.” Joe nodded. “I can heat some up for you if you want to shower and get changed.”

Pulling a dramatically emotional face, you faked a sniffle. “You’re the best, you know that?” You planted a big kiss to his lips before heading for the bedroom and stopping in the doorway. “You’re the best too, Kaoru,” you added for good measure so your other boyfriend didn’t feel left out before vanishing into the bedroom. 

You heard Cherry scoff amusingly in the background, but by then you were in too good of a mood to throw something snarky back at him and were determined to enjoy the moment because you knew that this good feeling would disappear as soon as you started work again in the morning. 

But for now, you could enjoy the comforts of your home and the two people you loved most in the world.

                                              ━━━━━━━━

As you finished your work for the day and got ready to head home, overjoyed that it was the last night you would have to work overtime for a while, you were surprised that you had managed to get through the day with little interaction or pestering from your coworker.

You didn’t want to jinx yourself or anything, but for a brief moment the thought that he had finally given up crossed your mind. Out of the corner of your eye, you scanned the office for him but he was nowhere to be seen. Sighing in relief, you gathered your things and made a bee-line for the elevator.

For once, you had managed to get through an entire day without being cornered and asked out for the millionth time. 

As the elevator doors opened and you stepped out into the lobby, you spotted two familiar faces waiting for you at the front doors and you felt your heart swell with excitement. You had expected both your boyfriends to be busy tonight with work, the same as you were, so seeing them both standing there, waiting for you with flowers in hand, was a welcomed surprised.

Thinking that today was actually a good day for once, you rose your hand to wave with a grin on your face, a feeling of freedom and joy spreading through you  . . . that was until you felt a hand clasp down on your shoulder. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Immediately, your good mood had vanished.

Slowly, you lowered your hand—your smile fading in the process—and turned around to face your coworker. 

“Thought you could get away without me noticing?” His grin was wide and toothy, like a predator showing off its fangs to prove how powerful it was. He didn’t pay any mind to Joe or Cherry, which meant that he either didn’t know they were there for you or didn’t care. 

“I’m actually in a bit of a hurry.” You gestured over to your boyfriends, hoping that the realization that your significant other was real would finally be enough to scare him off. “I’ve got plans.”

He glanced Joe and Cherry’s way briefly, but it did nothing to deter him. “Oh, so you do actually have a boyfriend. Which one is he?”

You swallowed hard. Usually, explaining the whole polyamory thing was too time-consuming so you told people you had a boyfriend and left it at that. “It’s, well . . . um . . .”

Before you were forced to answer, Joe and Cherry had noticed your discomfort from across the lobby and started making their way over. The look in Joe’s eyes gave away that he was none too pleased that your male coworker still had his hand on your shoulder. 

“This must be one of your coworkers,” Cherry was the first to speak, extending his hand politely to your coworker. “Nice to meet you.”

Your coworker used his free hand to shake Cherry’s while Joe just grunted in disapproval. In a desperate attempt to escape the situation without causing a scene, you tried to shift closer to Joe but were stopped by your coworker’s hand clamping down harder on your shoulder. 

“We’re the boyfriends.” Joe’s grip tightened around the bouquet of flowers he was holding as he reached out, wrapped an arm around your waist, and pulled you away from your coworker and toward him. 

“Boyfriends? As in plural?” Your coworker tilted his head at you quizzically. “You never told me you had two boyfriends.”

“I never-” you started, but you were quickly cut off.

“I’m a little surprised you’re real,” your coworker said, somehow seemingly completely unfazed. “I was seriously beginning to believe she was making you up to avoid going out with me.”

You shook your head and chuckled nervously, something you found yourself doing around him a lot in order to keep the mood light. “I would never lie to you. It’s just busy schedules is all, like I said yesterday.”

“Going out with you?” Cherry cocked a brow and crossed his arms over his chest. “The woman tells you she has a boyfriend and you still insist on asking her out?”

Your coworker just laughed. “Well we used to go out all the time when she first switched departments. I thought she was just playing hard to get but I guess not.”

Both Joe and Cherry turned to you, glimmers of confusion in their eyes. “You used to go out?” Joe asked, concerned that they had just found out you had been cheating on them. 

“No!” you blurted out. “Well, I mean, yes, but it was as a group of coworkers. Never just the two of us.”

“Never?” your coworker repeated. “What about those times at the bar? Did you seriously forget? That hurts my feelings, you know.”

You felt your cheeks flush red and your heart begin to pound. Suddenly, you had been backed into a corner by your past self’s naive kindness. “I didn’t know it was going to be just the two of us until I showed up,” you stated quietly. “You lied to me to get me to go.”

“Is that true?” Joe placed a finger under your chin and lifted your head to get you to look him in the eyes. You could tell he wasn’t accusing you of anything, only looking for answers.

You nodded, finally feeling brave enough to tell the truth with your boyfriends by your side. “Once I realized he was after something more, I started turning down his propositions. Then he started asking me every day . . . then he started following me to my car,” you whispered the last part, worried about what might happen if your coworker heard you say that part. “Can we please leave now?”

Noticing that your hands were shaking and your bottom lip was quivering, Joe instantly knew that you were telling the truth; no one would ever be so terrified to tell a lie like this. “Yes, of course, we can leave now.” He held you closer. “Whatever you want.”

“So you’re gonna lie and make me look like the bad guy here?” your coworker huffed, truly playing the victim card to the fullest. “I’m the asshole because I wanted to buy you a few drinks and get to know you better?”

“No, you’re the asshole for continuing to pursue her when she clearly told you no,” Cherry snapped, now just as angry as Joe was, maybe even more. “She’s kind and, because of that, probably turned you down nicely—too nicely—and you took advantage of that . . . you fucking prick.”

Your eyes widened with disbelief. Usually, Cherry was the one to remain calm in stressful or aggravating situations, but apparently not this time. You rarely heard him curse or snap, let alone at someone he met for the first time five minutes ago. 

Reaching out, you grabbed hold of Cherry’s hand and squeezed lightly to catch his attention. “I really think we should leave now,” you told him. 

Drawing in a deep breath and collecting himself, Cherry agreed. “Yes, you’re right, we should. We have dinner plans and it would be a waste to miss them on account of this asshole.”

“Fine, have it your way.” Your coworker finally seemed to give in, but not without hurling a few insults your way first, of course. “I shouldn’t have wasted my time on someone like you anyway. What, two boyfriends is perfectly fine but three is crossing a line? Give me a fucking break. Slut.”

You saw the rage bubbling up in both Joe and Cherry, but before they had the chance to do anything about it, your coworker had turned his nose up at the three of you, pushed his way past, and exited the building. 

As soon as he was completely out of sight, they both turned to you and you felt the tears begin to well in your eyes; not necessarily because you were sad or angry, but because you were so relieved that the truth had finally come out and your coworker had finally been dealt with. 

“I’m so sorry,” you spoke through gentle sobs, trying to calm down all the while. “I should have told you two about him when it all first started but I just didn’t want to burden you two with an issue that seemed so . . . so stupid.”

“Stupid?” Joe pulled you in for an almost bone-crushing hug. “You said he was following you to your car. That’s not stupid. You must have been so scared.”

“You should have told us,” Cherry agreed. “Now that I know you were dealing with that all by yourself for months, it makes me feel like a bad boyfriend. I should have picked up on the signs, like when you came home completely drained last night. I wish we could have helped you sooner.”

Wiping away your tears, you drew in a deep breath. “Thank you for coming tonight and for telling him off. I just hope he doesn’t pull anything at work tomorrow . . . he is technically my superior.”

“If he tries anything, and I mean anything, you tell us right away. Okay?” Joe insisted. “From now on, no more secrets because you want to protect us or don’t want to burden us. Your problems are our problems.”

You nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank us. It’s our job to keep you safe and be there for you.” Cherry kissed your cheek softly. “Now, I’m starving so let’s go eat, yeah?”

Suddenly, you remembered just how hungry you were. “Yes, dinner sounds lovely.”

“Speaking of lovely, these are for you.” Joe handed you the bouquet of flowers—now with slightly smushed stems from his previous anger—that he had brought. 

“They are beautiful.” You took them happily and gave them a smell, the floral scent bringing your nerves down a little. “You two seriously are the best, you know that?”

“We know.”

[waynedunlaptheorgandonor]

watched s11ep1

i will provide you with a quick review before i disappear back into the ether of twd avoidance

lots of spoilers under the cut. also i wrote way too much and i worked all night and haven’t slept so i didn’t bother to reread literally any of it, so it might be completely nonsensical, tho if you don’t expect that from me by this point idk whose blog you’ve been reading

enjoy:

hokay, first off, i’ll start by saying that i enjoyed it more than i expected to. i’ve been avoiding any sort of discussion about stuff, but my google algorithm is so fucked at this point that i still get recommended articles and stuff every now and then, so i was already pretty aware of what i was walking into, and was expecting it to be eh, but actually i prob enjoyed it more than i enjoyed the finale

(don’t get too excited tho, the finale was rly boring lmfao)

anyway

episode starts off with a tense scouting mission

it takes .005 seconds into the episode for caryl to exchange a look of longing, establishing that they are still having weird conflict and are both too fucking stubborn to do anything about it even tho they hate it desperately

i imagine that will continue for a while

rosita, kelly, carol, maggie, what’s her face with the bad hair, and lydia (i think that’s everyone?) lower down to some army bunker or something, where a bunch of walkers are taking a snooze, and the girls are very respectful of walker naptime, and do their best not to wake them up

obviously they eventually wake up, but i’ll get to that in a sec

as they’re tiptoeing through the walker tulips, there’s this split second where carol spots a machine gun, and looks at maggie with a face like, “can i plzzzz, i am mad horny for that machine gun,” but maggie tells her no. (i 110% expected her to defy orders and accidentally wake up all the walkers, but she actually behaved herself for once. well. mostly)

never fear, tho, after the girl gang collects a bunch of MREs they go back to wait for the dudes waiting up top to pull them up, and bc men ruin everything, one of the ropes break, and daryl catches it before it falls, but then a slow motion drop of blood falls on a walker’s face, and just like that, walker naptime is over, and carol uses her bow and arrow for two seconds before she is like “fuck this” and whips out the machine gun

yes, she is super hot using it

yes, daryl watches her do it

anyway, all the other girls get rescued, and carol is about to be pulled up, but bc she is a #girlboss, she first makes a beeline for one more crate full of MREs. daryl covers her while she gets the loot, and when she gets back up top they have another charged moment as carol hands him back his knife

just fuck already, jfc

titles!

cut to alexandria where everything is still not smilestimes

BUT, we do get to see uncle daryl run and hug rj and judith (and dog), and FUCKING HERSHEL JR, LIGHT OF MY LIFE is also there

istg, they could not have casted a better child, i a d o r e him

oh, and some friends of maggie’s show up too, idk

cut to a staff meeting where everyone is like, whomp whomp, we’re all gonna starve to death unless we figure out something quick

cue maggie going, “oh, i know where food is, but it requires me to tell you my tragic backstory, in case anyone didn’t watch my bottle episode”

she tells her dramatic backstory about all her friends getting slaughtered by the reapers for no apparent reason, and then she’s like “anyway, let’s go back there!”

no one thinks it’s a great idea, but a group of people decide to go anyway, including daryl and gabriel. rosita is super pissed that gabriel is going, and carol doesn’t go, probably partly bc it’s a shitty fucking idea, and also bc they have to keep caryl apart bc otherwise they’ll fix their problems ahead of schedule and they won’t be able to drag out the needless angst

daryl looks kind of annoyed that carol doesn’t volunteer to go 

bitch, i thought you wanted her to stop putting herself in the line of fire! make up your damn mind!

moving on

cut to a thunderstorm, where, if you look closely, you’ll notice daryl is wearing the STUPIDEST hat i’ve ever seen. just get an umbrella, jfc

for some reason negan is with them, bc ig he knows his way around washington dc, and no one in six years has bothered to figure out how to get around the city and/or get a map, and he is like “hey guys, maybe we shouldn’t try to walk in this fucking hurricane,” and everyone is like “FUCK YOU NEGAN, YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF US!!!” 

this will be a common occurrence 

but eventually daryl is even like “actually, it’s rly unpleasant out here, and my hat is mad stupid, can we go inside plz?”

so they go inside an old metro station, which is actually a rly cool cinematic choice. i rly like the idea, and they executed it rly well

speaking of executions

there are some fucking RULL CREEPY walkers. idk why they bothered me so badly, but they were what they at first assumed were corpses wrapped up in tarps, but turns out none of them had been properly put down, so they go through killing these rotted bodies that had supposedly been there since The Fall, and it’s very gross and cool

this entire time, btw, negan is like “hey, i know i’m a shitty person, but i have some rational arguments about why we shouldn’t be doing this right now,” and everyone is like, “FUCK YOU NEGAN, YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF US!!!” and he’s just like “god fucking damnit”

(i forgot to mention that at one point, when they’re headed into the metro station, negan is trying to warn ppl of the potential danger, and everyone is ignoring him, and he tries to talk to daryl, and daryl is like “fuck you, you think we’re BUDDIES?” and negan is like “oh, ok, so you’re gonna be like that too? fanfreakingtastic” and it’s very funny)

anyway. a fat monster zombie escapes its tarp at one point, and tries to eat some npc, and negan saves him, again is like “hey, anyone else realize that this is a FUCKING BAD PLAN?”, and everyone is like “we don’t care, you’re still shitty and we’re not listening to you, and you don’t actually care about random npc i would literally not be able to pick out in a lineup bc his face is so generic, you’re not the boss of us!!!”

it’s at this point that negan finally is like, “why am i even here? bc i know how to get around washington dc? do none of you have a map?” and i was like, “right?! that’s what i said!” 

it’s then revealed that maggie only brought negan along to murder him under the guise of “oops, he got hurt in the line of duty, it wasn’t my fault,” and daryl has this look on his face that says, “i seriously need to stop hanging out with lethal women bent on revenge bc it’s gonna give me high blood pressure,” and maggie has a badass moment where she points a gun she has for some reason at negan and is like “i have like, one shred of human compassion left inside of me, and if you keep pushing me i will fucking kill you without a second thought, so shut the hell up”

(in her defense, negan had just dropped glenn’s name to purposely antagonize her, which was rude as hell)

(for the record, i’m completely on maggie’s side here, but negan still is right that trapping themselves in a metro station is a bad call)

anyway, moving away from that briefly

i think this jump cut happens sooner, i don’t actually remember, but whatever who cares, point is, we get to the part of the show that actually matters, and that’s anything involving my love, juanita “princess” sanchez

and also eugene, yumiko, and ezekiel

they are being asked increasingly invasive questions by commonwealth ppl, some of which i wish they actually would of answered (what do they use to wipe their asses with?? surely toilet paper has long since become extinct)

zeke, who is so much more tolerable as a character now that he’s not larping as a king, has this incredibly weird and sort of sexually charged moment with a dude in an orange stormtrooper costume, where he’s like, “i bet you were an asshole cop back before The Fall, you stupid fascist, #fuckthepolice, mb literally? idk, this moment has a lot of pent up aggression that could easily translate to hate sex, it might just be the intense eye contact, but w/e, let’s just move along,” and then he has a coughing fit to remind the audience that he’s currently dying of cancer, and orange stormtrooper is like “lolz, loser, drink some water you dumb piece of shit”

cut to the wholesome foursome sitting at a picnic table in a guarded courtyard eating gruel, and yumkio, who finally has a personality, and princess are like “hey, this place fucking sucks, can we leave?” and zeke is like, “yeah, i met this orange stormtrooper who i think might be dtf and/or murder, so we should probably bounce”

but eugene is like, “but i want some hot stephanie ass, and also some bullshit excuse about how mb commonewealth will save alexandria” which, they left before things went super downhill, right? idr. it was after hilltop fell, but they don’t know alexandria got fucked either, if i recall? w/e, not important

two seconds after he says this, they talk to some people who are like “we’ve been here for four months, or maybe it’s been nine, i don’t actually remember, i’ve stopped processing the passage of time,” and the wholesome foursome takes this as a bad sign, tho that’s just the life i’ve lived as a night worker during a pandemic, so i was like #mood

but then they watch some guy get dragged away screaming to get “reprocessed” and eugene is like “ok, nvm, let’s bounce”

(my theory on what “reprocessing” is, is that they’re stuck in a room and have to watch hours and hours of customer service training videos on vhs from the 90s)

i definitely got my jump cut scenes mixed up bc i think the negan accusing maggie of a murder plot thing happened in between this scene and then the next commonwealth scene, but w/e, i’ll just finish what happens in the commonwealth arch

the wholesome foursome are trying to hatch a plan to escape, except princess, my love, is distracted watching some stormtroopers flirt, and the other three are like “wtf, dude, how can you even tell any of them apart?” and princess then tells them every stormtroopers backstory bc she is brilliant and pays rly close attention to shit, and the other three are like, “this is useful information, thank you for being an insane person”

their plan involves yumiko and eugene dressing up as stormtroopers and leading princess and zeke out of the place, which works fine actually, except on their way out they come across the Depressing Wall of Probably Mostly Dead Missing Loved Ones

they’re about to leave, when princess is like, “wait, yumiko, you’re on here, that’s weird huh?”

sure enough, yumiko  is on the wall, with a note from ig her sister 

the scene ends with yumiko going, “guys...i can’t leave...i have tragic backstory to unveil”

tragic backstory to be continued ig

back in murder metro town, npc and some other npc have stolen all the supplies, there’s a train blocking the track, and a horde of walkers are coming towards them, so things are not going fantastic

they horde is too big to take down, so they start to climb on top of the train car to get away

but dog runs away!

and daryl, being every pet owner ever, is like “gotta go get my dog, guys, try not to get killed while i’m gone, c u soon!” and he ducks under the train and disappears

#priorities

the episode ends with maggie climbing up the train car but getting grabbed by a walker and dangling off the edge, and negan is there and they have a lion king moment where maggie is like, “scar! help me!” and negan is like “long live the king, bitch” and walks away into the shadows, leaving maggie to a potential death

which, while i know isn’t actually going to happen, would be a really fucking funny move on the writers’ part

like, “look, lauren’s back! and now she’s dead, bet you didn’t expect that!”

anyway

my assumption is negan will actually end up helping her up or something, continuing his ambiguous morality bullshit that actually isn’t ambiguous bc he BEAT GLENN TO DEATH WITH A FUCKING BAT WRAPPED IN BARBED WIRE IN FRONT OF HIS PREGNANT WIFE

the maggie/negan arch is kind of dumb, but whatevs, i’ll tolerate it, as long as my boy glenn gets justice in the end

anyway, cue credits!

final assessment: good episode. i’m much more interested in commonwealth than the reapers, tho i am hoping that daryl’s personality-less ex turns out to be a monster killing machine with no conscience, that’ll be fun. princess is a gift from god. hershel jr needs his own tv show. needs more carol (and caryl)

the end! going back into my walking dead free chamber! see you next episode!

-diz

[gotxanyxramen]

Thank you for comfort fanfic i love youuuu💖and if it isnt much to ask i would like to get chuuya and akutagawas reactions but if its too mucj dazai is enough💖 im okay just having a hard time ⚠️TW⚠️ bc im just recovering from my d!pr!ssion amd other mental illnesses but i will be okay i just meeded some comfort and thank you for writing it ily💖

Okay baby just gave you dazai just Incase I took to long, so then at least you had one to read while I worked on others. Here you are dumpling. 😊

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

⚠️TW⚠️ mentions of self harm, mental abuse, and depression. PLZ TELL ME IF THERE IS MORE!

Comforting a sad s/o

Chuuya-

Hes a busy man.

But that doesn't mean he didn't noticed.

Of course he noticed

Your eyes looked heavy, you nose was a lil red

He was wondering if you were sick

But if you were sick you most likely wouldn't be smiling

So he just assumed you were upset about something and you'd get over it eventually

But as time went on, he realized that wasn't the case

You started wearing long sleeves in the middle of summer.

That concerned him.

"are you sure you should be wearing such warm clothes, it's a little hot out there do you think?"

"oh no I'm okay, I just get a little cold sometimes."

So he left it at that.

He started to notice that when you both were hanging out, getting something to eat out together and it was time to go home, there was a brief look of fear on your face.

He asked again.

"are you okay? Did something scare you?"

"huh? No, I'm ok heh." You said through a forced smile.

To him that was a little to forced

He took another look at you

Your hair was unkept and greasy, you looked tired.

"I'll be going then, before it gets dark, see you later!" You faked another smile.

"yeah.... See you later..." He said, hesitant

So you went off on your own

He realized he still had you to-go box.

He was trying to catch up to you, but you were already home

He loves you, so, what's there not to love about a cute moment where he's at your window just to say hey. Like in the movies.

As he approached your window he saw something red running down your arm just before you covered it up.

Then he heard yelling. Your house mates were in your room yelling at you

For no good reason.

He heard something about a car crash, and your brother passing.

As soon as he processed everything, he went into full panic mode

He burst thru your window

Took you out side

and packed some stuff of yours

"I'm not letting you stay there. So your coming to my place okay."

He said softly.

He held your hand the whole drive back to his place, occasionally giving it a kiss. Just to remind you he's there for you.

You both arrived to his place

He helped you clean yourself up

He cooked your favorite food and made sure you drank something

He took care of your wounds

And he made sure you got rest

He held you the whole night

Partly just for you to feel a bit better

And partly to remind himself that your okay, and in his arms

He's never going to let anything like that happen to you again

He doesn't want to lose you

He loves you, it would drag him so far down if something happened to you.

He's going to help you, protect you

Anything you want you'll have

He lets you know that you can get through it because your strong

You'll never be alone with chuuya, he loves you too much.

Aku-

Hes also really busy

That and he's not all that good with emotions

But he's known you long enough to know something isn't right.

Your hair is messy, and your eyes are a little droopy.

He didn't say anything tho

But overtime you start wearing long sleeves in the hot seasons

He does to, but that cuz if his ability

He pays attention to when you smile

He knows the difference between your genuine ones fake ones.

Now he's concerned.

Like really concerned.

He's trying to figure out what's wrong

He drops hints for you to tell him, but I seems your not taking those hints.

He goes to his sister see if she knows anything

She doesn't.

Running out of options he goes to your house

On the way, he thinks about how you'd seemed to be a little bit afraid when you had to go home

Once he get there, he doesn't want to deal with your house mates, he just wants to see you

So he goes to the window

There he sees you, crimson liquid dripping down your arm, you quickly pulling down your sleeve

Your house mates walk in and start yelling at you

Car crash? Brother passing?

He's pissed now.

He breaks the window

Restraining himself from hurting your house mates for your sake

He packs some things, grabs your hand squeezing a little to comfort you, and takes you home

When you get back to his place,he hugs you so tight

He makes sure your taken care of

Makes sure your wounds are okay, makes sure you eat and drink.

Then he helps you clean up

He'll take you to bed and just hold you.

He doesn't want you to feel alone

He lets you cry into his chest, whispering how strong and beautiful your are

How you'll get through the pain

How he'll be there for you, as long as you need

How you'll never have to worry about your house mates again and that your safe.

And most importantly, how much he loves and cares for you.

Hope you enjoyed it dumpling! Hope it mad you feel better!

[lunaekalenda]

heyy congrats on 500! 👄💰🥲 or 💖 (i can’t choose but maybe a mix of both?) with eren plz:)

obv! thank you so much for participating and i hope you like it! <3

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

enemies to lovers + mafia au + romantic tragicomedia feat. Eren Jaeger

introduced original characters, mentions of blood.

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Eren Jaeger. The actual and young head of the Jaeger family. He wasn’t an easy prey, his family was one of the most important ones in this city. He moves a huge amount of money every day, heir of all the things his parents made on the past.

Unlucky him they have hired you. 

You’re the secret weapon of the Müller family. The child they trained since little to seduce and play with other’s minds to know all of them. You only need to get closer to him and discover all the Jaeger secrets. With which families are they allied. How many money do they count. How many of them are now.

If they hired an Ackerman to kill the clan that contracted you.

The Ackermans are also a really well known clan, famous for being silent and skilled assassins. Specially two of them. Levi Ackerman. The man who built again the reputation of his family. Mikasa Ackerman. The girl who protects Eren Jaeger, because the Ackerman clan knows how many benefits they can get just from protecting the young man. Your instructions are easy, but you know the plan isn’t it. Entering the Jaeger mansion is really complicated: there are guards everywhere. Eren rarely goes out of the mansion, so it’s almost impossible to make it like a casual encounter, the typical encounter between two people that ends with a coffee. You have to enter like every single soul that had meet Eren before: trough money, contracts and secrets. It’s the only way to treat directly with him. Negotiations. Dirty treats.

"I have information about the Müllers."

That false information is the key to your reunion with Eren. You're dressed for the occasion, really well-dressed. The man in front of you talks to a brown-haired girl, and she leaves, going to tell the info to a person who you suppose it's Eren. He listens the orders once she comes back and you look around, analyzing. There are big paintings on the walls, most of them from really famous painters. The corridor you're waiting in is decorated with huge glass lamps that make all the little cristal drops shine in all directions. You don't know who those two are. The tallest one, who has an undercut, nods to the other.

"You can pass." he says. "But he will make you a control. Please, take out your jacket and all the things we can easily found and claim as suspicious, such as..."

"I know, I know. Knifes, guns or another harmful things. I’m empty.” You put your bag in the tallest’s hands. He revises it while the other touches your body superficially, trying to find any hint of a weapon. The little stylet you have on your boot its cold against your leg, and it could hurt you with any abrupt movement. The boy with the bag gives it back to you. The other releases you arms. 

“Take the stairs and wait on the corridor of the second plant. Someone will call you to talk with him.” You nod quietly and make your way to the stairs. Quickly, a blonde boy appears, opening the door from Eren’s office.

“Come in. Boss waits for you.”

You enter before the blonde man, who closes the door fast, almost getting your leg with it. The movement made the stylet cut a little wound on your leg. You walk cautiously, trying not to get the stylet too close to your skin. The fact that you’re wearing the stylet without case is simple: Is a punishment. You had orders to kill someone on your last mission and doubted, so now they want the stylet to cut you, trying to make you regret the failed assassination. But you’ve learned, and you have strict orders to kill Eren Jaeger if he knows too much. The light of the room surprises you, the curtains moving quietly because of the wind that enters from the open window behind the desk, where a tall figure is sitting.

Even when you’ve seen Eren Jaeger before, on pictures the Müllers shown you, you never thought he’ll be so imposing. His dark hair is tied on a messy bun on the back part of his head, and he’s wearing a white shirt he has unbuttoned until the middle. His green eyes look tired, a little shadow under them. He takes his gaze far from the documents and tilts his head a little to thank the blonde boy, that does the same and disappears. He invites you to sit, moving his eyes from your body to the chair in front of him. You sit, your bag on your knees. Eren seems young, maybe he’s on his early twenties. His sharp jaw tenses when he sees you eyes looking the documents with curiosity. You got to read the title of some of them: they are hiring contracts with Ackermans and some transactions about enterprises being bought by the Jaegers.

During your training, they taught you how to read upside down, really fast. That’s because once you arrive on someone’s office to get info, the papers will be facing them. A normal person would take their time to read, making obvious they’re trying to get something. You can read them fast.

“If you’re here to try to get some information.” His voice sounds bored, maybe too tired, as if he doesn’t enjoy the fact that his family is one of the most important ones. Maybe he doesn’t like this? “You’re going to go back with empty hands”

It’s not time to feel compassion. You’re hired. You have a work. 

“I’m here to give information to you, not to steal it from you.” You talk. You know how to modulate your voice, try to make him think you’re nervous for being there, as if you fear for your life just for opening your mouth. Eren raises an eyebrow, as if he was inviting you to talk. “The Müllers.” Now, it’s time to make a credible story to make Eren feel curiosity. To make him want to know more. He’ll protect anything that would help him to destroy the Müllers, so he’ll probably protect you once he believes you can get information for him. You can make him hire you. Eren leans back on his chair.

“I’m listening.”

“They lost their protection. A bad made pact or something like that.” you don’t want to be really specific, that would just uncover your lie. “The clan that worked for them left because of a better work offer.” This wasn’t a lie after all. The Müller did lost their protection, but they quickly found another one, keeping that pact in secret for everyone. Eren looks to his fingers on the table, his head resting on his free hand. He nods quietly.

“You know this pacts from inside, don’t you?” his question, made with the same deep and tired voice, caught you by surprise. He sighs. “You entered and looked directly to my desk. This could be an unfortunate coincidence, you entered and felt curiosity about the papers, that’s just an human feeling. A normal person that enters my office looks down at the papers and then leaves them be, they’re upside down for them. You read them, quite fast i could say.” He takes the papers. “How many of them were you able to read?” You stay silent. He smirks. “Also, isn’t your leg hurt?” he asks. It’s impossible he knows you’re carrying a weapon with you. “I saw you had trouble landing that foot correctly when you walked in.” 

“Just a bad landing,” You answer. He nods, slowly. He knows something.

“How much do you gain with this mission?” he asks. His green tired eyes are looking directly to you. 

“Wh-what mission?” you ask, trying to act innocent. A sarcastic laugh leaves his lips.

“Stop fucking acting.” he takes out some papers. “Y/N, do you recognize this paper?” he gives it to you. 

“My contract?” You think for yourself. There it is: your name, surname, a photo, quantity you gain with this and your signature. 

“I should say, if this is permitted, that you’re much prettier now that in that pic.” He says, calmly. His smirk hasn’t disappeared. “I’ll give you a counteroffer.” He says. “I’m tired of playing hide and seek with all those bastards.” He knows too much. He discovered your plans.

You’re fast when you take the stylet out of your boot, your blood dripping from the file, getting up and leaning on the table to stab him. You’re fast moving it to his neck, but he’s faster. His hand gets your wrist, stronger than you think, making you unable to move it, and he takes the stylet out of your immobilized hand. He looks at it, with your wrist caged on his hand. You can’t sit, he’s pulling you to stay in that position - legs half flexed, the elbow against the table, his green eyes really close to yours.- It’s uncomfortable. 

“You took a risk, didn’t you, hm?” he asks. His voice is now lower. He stopped your stab. The price you pay for a bad executed assassination is death. 

They are going to kill you.

If Eren doesn’t kill you first. Tears start to run from your eyes. You don’t wanna cry, and less in front of him, but the thought of the consequences once you get home again scare you so much. Eren hisses. 

“The cute assassin is crying?” he jokes, his free hand getting some tears from your face. He doesn’t let your wrist. “I’ve heard the Müller are a really moral-questionable family, aren’t they?” he says. He knows about the consequences. “Once more, I have a counteroffer for you.” he leaves your wrist. You sit again, the skin where he grabbed you starting to change from red to a painful purple. He looks at it. “Sorry, used too much strength.” He takes out an empty contract formulary. 

You try to calm yourself. Should you accept it? The betray is also punished with death. They’ll kill you in any way. The green-eyed boy in front of you is your only way to scape.

“Only if you protect me from them.” Eren smirks.

“Granted.”

He doesn’t want to know the Müller secrets, he doesn’t have interest in that. His older brother, Zeke Jaeger, was the one that searched problems. Eren just wants to stay quiet and make easy money without getting his hands covered with blood. He doesn’t want to get in trouble with other families. He doesn’t want to kill, he’s tired of that.  He sits and starts to make your contract. You look how his hands write fast your information. 

“Why?” you ask. All the shock of the previous events didn’t let you think straight. He raises an eyebrow.

“Why what? Speak properly, hm?”

“Why aren’t you going to kill me? I tried to kill you. That’s how this works. One life for another.” Eren keeps writing, unbothered. 

“That’s how it works in Müller’s rules.” he says. “I don’t like that dynamics. Send someone to kill another one.” he answers simply. You look at him. He isn’t a bad person. He isn’t the man everybody talked about. That’s a fake Eren, made by rumors. The boy in front of you is just someone making business. Maybe not in the cleanest way, but at least he doesn’t kill. “I don’t like to kill. And less if the other person is just following orders, scared about the consequences.” He looks at you. It seems you started to calm down. 

“How are you going to cover me?”

“Faking your death. You know I don’t like to go out of the mansion, I saw you walking around it from the window this last days.” You are really surprised. He’s smart, so smart. “I need someone to help with my investments. You don’t need to go out of the mansion.” 

He was strangely calm to be negotiating with the enemy. 

“I could take out another knife and kill you, you know?” you say. He smiles.

“If you announced it, then you’re not going to do it.” He keeps writing. You nod quietly. “I need you to sign here.” He offers you the fountain pen. You could harm him with that. Your hand takes the pen in stabbing position. He sees you from the corner of the eye.

“I wouldn’t do that.” he says, calmly. “Remember that is your life the one risking, not mine.” He’s right. You sigh and sign the contract. Eren smiles.

“You should read the contract before signing.” he says, his voice being like a joke melody. 

“Whatever you’ve put there is better than the punishment of the Müller.” you say, throwing the pen back to him. He catches it easily. 

“Fine, then. You won’t get a single coin in the first year working here.” He says. Wait, was that in the contract? “You tried to kill me. I’m kind, but not that much.”

“But-” He gets up and walks towards you. His green eyes are now close to yours, his breath almost mixing with yours. He smells good.

“But?” he asks. One of his strands of hair move with him, touching your face quietly. He’s really attractive, and so near... 

“How am I supposed to eat?” Eren thinks.

“There are a hundred ways to gain extra pays, you know? Helping on the kitchen, reading my letters or preparing my baths.” he says. “Maybe I could be extra kind and let you have a bath with me.” You can hear the joke in his voice.

“I would politely decline it.” You say. He smiles.

“I don’t know. Maybe you’ll end enjoying it.”

“They never taught you to not empathize with the enemy?”

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Casually, it seems like you didn’t learn it either.

“Eren.” you call him quietly. You’ve been here for months now, almost eight. In that time, Eren avoided three different trials of murder from you and you got slightly punished for two of them. You ended accepting your fate and helping him, learning that he can be a soft and warm-hearted boy once he stops acting as a mature mafia head. This world isn’t for him.

“What?” he says, a little laugh following his words. He didn’t knew what to make with you, a problematic captive enemy that attempted to murder him multiple times. And your angelical aspect and sweet voice confused him. He ended understanding you, understanding the pain and the fear you feel since little, since the Müller bought you and obligated to train as a spy. He listened to your story and you listened to his, how everyone wanted him to became a good leader, one that wouldn’t doubt to kill for his own benefice. That made you understand each other, fall in love with the most human part of the other one. 

“Move.” you try to push him a little, but he offers resistance. He tangles one leg around yours. Your head is resting on his pillow. How did you went from wanting to pierce his heart with a stylet to wanting to treasure it? His arm tangles on your waist and pulls you closer.

“No.” he answers. You laugh and let you head meet his neck curve. You sigh. “You know? A lot of people want me dead.”

“So I did.” you laugh, and he does too.

“So you did.” he says. You remain silent. “At least say sorry, y/n” 

“Sorry for trying to kill you, Eren.” you say. He lets out a little laugh.

“That was the fakest sorry i’ve heard in years.” you hit his shoulder softly before pulling the blanket higher on your body, covering you two. “What would you do if they kill me?”

“I couldn’t kill you, so no one is going to do it.” You say. He caresses your hair.

“They could. And I don’t want you to be here. They could kill you as well.” His voice shows concern. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Some months ago...” you start, but he interrupts you.

“Some months ago we were just two persons with different ideologies.” he says. You sigh.

“I don’t care. I will stay here even if they point you with three guns and two knifes. I’ll be here with you, I’ll stay here by your side in any way.”

“Y/N”... he says.

“If they kill you, they’ll kill a part of me.”

[dodo-begone]

monster anon bullshit part 2 out of who knows how many parts!

so (y/n) just told the gang that they're from another world and they wanna go home. now, to be quite honest, (y/n) expected the trio to either laugh in their face (specifically tommy), or look at them like they were crazy. none of those things happen, though.

tubbo looks at them with pity and empathy, murmuring about how hard it must be to be so far from home with no way to get back. ranboo stays silent as he is unable to relate since his home is with tubbo, and tommy has a pensive expression as he processes the information. at one point he mutters something about "that no-good schemer being up to, well, no-good"

eventually, tommy perks up and hits them with that "aye you know what, i actually might have a solution!" he drops the demi-god bomb on them, letting the reader know that he's a demi-god with connections to full-fledged gods that rule over specific domains. the reader's taken aback, although not entirely shocked considering how they ended up in this world to begin with.

he suggests they all start the trekk to the arctic, where his immortal father and immortal father's immortal friend reside. [insert roadtrip montage where i switch to second-person]

eventually, when you all make it to the arctic, techno's pretty peeved about tommy's arrival. "what does that kid think he's doing, phil? he brought his whole damn possee with him, too!"

phil's response is something along the lines of "i thought you liked ranboo?" but he cant finish due to tommy bursting into their domain.

its almost an immediate shift in attitude when they recognize a stranger they've never seen on this plane has entered the fray. the once annoyed but comforting familial atmosphere of bickering friends shifts to a cold, hostile curiosity when phil and techno land their eyes upon you.

the death god, philza, looks surprised to see a face he hasn't recognized before. he's the death god; he knows everyone's destined demise and the day in which he will need to punch their tickets, so to speak. however, when he tries to think of your death date, he comes up blank. if his mind were a filing cabinet, the (y/n) folder would be the only one with no contents.

but philza seems to be doing a lot better than techno. the god's balance seems to be swaying very lightly--in fact, nobody notices except phil. and he also notices the red threatening to overtake the white scleras of techno's eyes.

phil, with the rushed kindness of a host trying to usher a drunk guest from his bar, promptly asks you to wait outside their castle. you comply immediately; you'd rather bare the cold than go against a god you just met.

as you leave, you turn around just in time to see the pink-haired god clutching his head in what looks to be either confusion or agony (or maybe a mixture of both?) before the door shuts and blocks you from seeing anything else.

inside, philza and tommy are trying to catch techno's attention while tubbo and ranboo stand awkwardly to the side. the two mortals don't really know what's happening, so they think it would be best to stay out of the way. philza and tommy, on the other hand, know the best way to get techno out of his own head is to distract him in some way. those pesky voices must be screaming something nasty to him, so they start shouting about pretty much any topic they can think of.

philza finally says something about farming that snaps him back into reality. when tommy asks what the hell that was about, philza knocks him upside the head and techno stays silent. both of the older gods have already figured out what just happened, but neither are about to comment on it.

having gained enough control of himself to allow you back inside, techno tells tubbo to fetch you. you come back inside and, to your surprise, neither of the gods are upset with your presence like you thought they were. you do briefly notice that, when looking at you, the pink-haired god's eyes look almost blood-shot, but you're not about to ask what that is. you're only mortal; it's probably way out of your range of comprehension. you fill them in on your situation and they tell you they're likely to find some sort of solution if given enough time. and, since you have no other options, you tell them they have all the time in the world.

you're about to leave when, surprisingly, the more hostile god offers to let you stay with them for the time being. you're surprised considering techno seemed to have some sort of issue with your presence when you first entered his sight, but maybe that was just a weird god-thing. since you don't want to sleep in one room at an inn with 3 smelly teenage boys anymore, you accept without reservation.

waving goodbye to tommy, tubbo, and ranboo, you watch as they head off to go find someone else to have fun with. they told you they'd be back in a month or so to check in, and you're excited to see them again.

you're so excited, in fact, that you don't really notice the glassy stare in the strangest of the boy's eyes. ranboo glances at you blankly as he and his two friends leave, as if he wasn't all mentally present. and when he turns around, you're none-the-wiser to the war that seems to be brewing right beneath your nose.

yeah im a bit of a yandere lover what about it 👉👈

Honestly Monster? I am too!!! God yanderes are so damn good-

And this!? Omg this is so GOOOD MAN!!! So damn good!! I don’t think I can exactly add onto this because like,,, brain not good enough to add more. Haha uncreative.

PLEASE THERE HAS TO GE READING TIME WITH TECHNO AT SOME POINT, IT JUST HAS TO HAPPEN. End of story. If you two read The Art I’d War together, I think that’d signify a bond between you two. Or,,, you know. He’s more than happy to show you what he knows about his occupation. And then him telling “stories” about other gods??? Plz that has to be an ultimate sign of trust!!! Especially when it is stuff about him.

[geordiewrites]

Hey i just read exile inspired fic and it is soo good. I think you should write one based on the song tolerate it by ts? With harry plz. The drama, fight, tears.. I think you will reflect the emotion so well omg.

Tolerate It | Harry Potter

A/N: Hi lovely! First off, I adored this request so much and I really hope I’ve done it justice. Tolerate It is such a beautiful song and defo one of my favourites off of Evermore to cry to, there’s just so much detail hidden within the lyrics and I adore that. Harry too!! There’s not enough stuff for Harry, so I hope I’ve done well for you! ( Also this is super short, but I’ve been swamped with coursework xox )

Summary: Y/N is in love with The Boy Who Lived, and due to marry him in the Spring with a beautiful April wedding. Friends to lovers to that engaged couple who are just too in love to function, they share the most perfect story. But when Y/N begins to see their relationship for what it is, her entire world is thrown off key...

Warnings: angst and lots of it, loneliness, sadness, swearing.

~

“You’re coming home tonight, right?” Y/N asks, excitement and anticipation heavy in her tone, cherry red nails clicking against the cold metal of the answerphone.

“Of course, I’ll be back soon, love.” Harry Potter, her beloved fiancé, answered back on the other side from his workplace all the way in central London. His office is almost empty, devoid of any homely photos or colleagues: they had all gone home to their families long ago, and yet he stayed behind. He had no work to finish, no cases glaring to be solved. There was nothing to do but leave, but Harry didn’t.

“You’ve said that before.” Y/N pointed out blandly, her forced smile fading slightly. Many times had Harry said he was on his way home, only to send a letter the next morning apologising for suddenly getting swamped with unavoidable paperwork. “Please come home Harry, I’ve even made your favourite for dinner.”

“That sounds good, I promise I’ll be there soon. I’m just leaving the Ministry now.” Harry replied monotonously, not sounding nearly as happy as Y/N wished he would. Perhaps he had just had a bad day at the office, he must have done. But he had just one too many bad days now, and the reality that he might not want to see her was beginning to sink in.

Shaking off that horrible thought, Y/N inhaled a sharp breath and chewed the edge of her top lip. “Alright, if you say so. I’ll see you then.”

“Bye.” Harry said shortly before putting the phone down and staring at his office, desperately trying to find a reason to stay at work. He did love Y/N, he did. Heck, he had even asked her to marry him and kissed the edge of her lips as they set the date. And then postponed it. And then postponed it another year after that, all because of some urgent work that Harry had suddenly come across. He was just so young, forced to grow up so quickly he didn’t even have time for a scrap of a childhood. Maybe that was why he didn’t want to see Y/N, why going home to their apartment often felt like a chore.

Back at their cosy flat in the nicer part of Greenwich, Y/N put the phone down after hearing an abrupt beep on the other end that let her know he had hung up. She sighed before walking over to a tall cabinet that stood to the side of their kitchen, taking out a set of nice china plates her Grandmother had left her and crystal wine glasses. It was the lovely cutlery only used for things like Christmas and obligatory dinner parties her family forced her to hold.

After setting it out on the table, Y/N checked the time and supposed that if Harry really had left as he said, he would be back in just a minute through the wonders of apparation. Carefully so she wouldn’t somehow spill the food in her clumsiness, a quality Harry once said he loved about her, Y/N moved the food from the oven, to plates and then through to their front room where the fancy cutlery was set up. A smile made its way onto her face, a beaming, gorgeous smile of confidence that her and Harry would finally have the night she deserved. One where work or his reluctance to put effort into their relationship, even if she did pretend she knew nothing about this, didn’t get in the way.

Alas however, minutes passed and there was no sign of Harry anywhere. The food grew colder and that wonderful, rare smile of hers faded into an all too comfortable frown, the crease between her eyebrows deepening with not only disappointment, but anger. A growing resentment for Harry’s lack of care or even acknowledgement of their engagement. He didn’t seem to give two hoots that she had made a lovely meal; after all, he had only called it ‘good’. Not fabulous or decadent or even something praiseful. Just good.

They hadn’t said ‘I love you’ before they hung up the phones. Harry had only said one word. Y/N’s mind began to spiral, her breathing growing quicker and sharper as the thought that it might be time to confront Harry about the buildup of letdowns over the course of the last few months. A year even, since he had properly spent time at home. At their home, the one in which he had knelt down on one knee and told her he wanted to grow old with her by his side, failing at muggle card games on the front porch as they watched their grandchildren play.

Not knowing exactly what to do, Y/N retreated to grasping at the doorframe to keep her body from tumbling to the ground. Her mind whirred with the usual possibilities to try and chase away his lateness. Got caught at work, perhaps Ron called. But none of it compared to the looming threat that Harry was scraping any old excuse together in order to stay away. That he was lying, something she never thought she would have to think about him doing. Harry had always been such an honest person, even as a child.

Y/N remembered how nervous he was when he first asked her out during their fifth year at Hogwarts. He had been on this disastrous date with some Ravenclaw she couldn’t quite remember the name of, and come back utterly defeated. Feeling sorry for a friend she had always harboured a crush on, Y/N had stayed up all night convincing him something better was around the corner. It occurred to Harry quite quickly after that that Y/N was that somebody. She liked him, and at the time that was enough to make him think he was in love. To some degree he was, but not nearly as much as Y/N had fallen for him.

It was almost midnight when the front door to their apartment clicked with the turn of a key, and Y/N, still standing in the same sad place by the door to their living room, finally saw Harry step into their home. It had been hours since they were supposed to eat the food that Y/N had worked to hard to create. There it still sat however, with the plates and crystal glasses and unopened bottle of wine in the same place, completely untouched.

Y/N had a thousand things to say to him. Usually it would begin with her asking him where he had been galavanting off to, but not tonight. Tonight was the final tear in her elastic heart, just enough to finally make it tear into two broken, hollowed out pieces. She stood, silent and just watched as he took off his shoes and put his coat back in it’s place without saying anything. Harry wasn’t even trying anymore, and that hurt more than him being late to begin with.

“Sorry for the delay, something came up.” Harry said, standing a few metres away from her. There was no affectionate kiss to the forehead like when they were fresh out of Hogwarts with teenage dreams and ambitions. No arm comfortably slung around her waist in a protective manner. Y/N missed that especially out of all the things that had faded away. That simple gesture that showed he wanted to hold her above all else, above everyone else who had ever wanted to touch the Chosen One like she did.

“Something.” Y/N repeated, no emotion in her voice. It sounded almost like a recording being played back to him, just with any tone sucked away. “It’s always something, isn’t it?” She continued, not finding quite the right words to encompass the flummox of emotions seeping into her veins. “Work. Ron called. Hermione called. Work. Work again.”

“There really was something.” Harry pathetically added. It was a lie of course, he had spent the hours at his desk alone and staring aimlessly at a fountain pen as it leaked ink onto the black carpet of his office.

“Do you really think I don’t know you at all? Stop lying to me, Harry, just stop it. I’m done with being lied to.” Y/N says, her voice remaining as monotonous as ever as if she’s already grieving something. “I want to know what was so important that you’ve missed the dinner I made. The last thirty dinners, in fact.”

Harry just runs a hand through his messy hair as he tries desperately to think of something to say. But he can’t. There’s nothing to say that would make him any less guilty.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He manages to whisper.

“You’ve said that already.” Y/N points out without missing a single beat. She’s exhausted of pretending that she doesn’t know what Harry’s been doing, drained of all energy to put in effort anymore.

“Just tell me what the problem is and we can fix it.” He begs, but his voice is shaky and the words sound as though he’s reading them from a script.

“Fine. When did you stop being in love with me?” Y/N asks, sadness seeping into her voice. Tears began to form in her eyes but were quickly blinked away; the last thing she wanted was for Harry to see her as weak. She might be pathetic, pitiful, stupid for not realising earlier... but Y/N was not going to be weak. Not now, not ever.

“Why would you think that? Y/N, I could never stop loving you.” Harry said, trying to wrap her into a hug only for Y/N to quickly wriggle out of his cold grasp. His fingers left icy burns where they had briefly touched her arm, and Harry’s face dropped as he realised she didn’t want him anywhere near her.

“But you have, Harry. Otherwise you wouldn’t be coming home at ridiculous times, or avoiding even looking at me like you are now. You don’t love me, you tolerate me because you don’t want to be alone. I feel like I’m begging to be in the footnotes in the story of your life, not a main character anymore.” Y/N explained quietly, neither expecting her to be so frank but once the blunt words were spilling from her lips, not even she could stop them. She watched as Harry’s face crumpled, sadness twisting her gut as she fervently tried not to cry herself.

“Y/N... I don’t know what to say.” Harry trailed off. Y/N used to be so infatuated with him, so desperately in love that she was blind to his flaws, much like his ridiculous fan base. But she had grown up from the teenager with a crush to a young woman with heart and with ambitions, and Harry was no longer apart of what she wanted out of life. She had stopped being a part of his long ago, she just hadn’t realised it then.

“Is this in my head? Tell me I’ve got it wrong somehow, Harry. Because please believe me, I could do it. I could leave.”

“I can’t.” Harry finally said. “I did love you once, Y/N. I’m not even sure what happened to us if I’m being completely honest.”

“That’s the problem: you don’t really even want me to stay. But that’s the thing... you built an entire new wizarding world after you defeated You-Know-Who, and where was I? I’m sorry for being dramatic and shit but I’m taking this dagger out and finally going where I need to be.” Y/N continued, not pausing as not to give him any time to ask her to stay, not that he would. Her mind was made up, and even Harry could see that.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Harry whispered, his voice trailing off as Y/N went to get her coat from a peg just beside their front door.

“It’s alright, really. I know you don’t hate me, but both of us know this isn’t working anymore. I deserve someone who celebrates me and my love, and that isn’t you. I’m not really sure that it ever was.” Y/N said, a sad smile gracing her delicate features. She looked almost relieved. Utterly broken-hearted, but relieved all the same. “I’ll come back for my stuff tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving me?” Harry said. Even though she had told him why, it still came as a shock. Y/N nodded. “I’m so sorry I didn’t treat you how you deserve.”

“I’m sorry about that too.” Y/N replied, both warmly and coldly at the same time. “Goodbye, Harry Potter. All the best.”

“Goodbye.” It was all Harry could fathom to say as she pressed her engagement ring back into his hand, the final recognition of their relationship officially being over. It was a beautiful piece of jewellery, one she at one point she thought she would never take off her finger. There were no more words exchanged about the gesture for none were needed, all had been said already.

One simple word that locked the door on their relationship, the one that Y/N had finally gained the courage to close in the first place. It had taken her so long, so pathetically long, to realise that something wasn’t right. That Harry was meant to love her, that love shouldn’t and can’t survive while being one sided. It shouldn’t have to be tolerated, and Y/N had finally learned that through all those lonely nights of wondering where Harry was, what he was getting up to at work, if he even was there.

But as Y/N’s grandma used to tell her every Christmas, as one door closes, another always opens.

-

A/N: hoped you liked it anon!!!

Nancy xx

[yyxy-seph]

I wanna try to make a writing request, of you say no tho I totally respect it m8.

But what if... Sephiroth has a timid gf who's literally attached to her old (and very raggy) baby blanket? (Despite being a grown woman) and like... she likes to cuddle it when upset? Like that thing is her most treasured earthly possession?

How would he react to finding out something that odd?

...again it's fine if you don't want to take the rq but uh, I uh... could relate to a prompt like this lol.

If u do decide to do it, sfw plz and maybe some fluff?

God bless and have a lovely day!

Hello! Thank you so much for requesting. I hope you’re also having a blessed day. Sorry for taking a bit on this but here it is.

- I don’t think he’d judge you for this at all.

- He might not be used to it at first but just give him a little time.

- When he is used to it, he’ll think that you’re super precious for it and hopes that he gives you the same feeling of comfort and protection.

- He’ll even grab it for you along with some snacks when you’re having a rough day.

- We all know that Seph is a sensitive guy so I think he’ll certainly understand and encourage you to do what feels best for you.

- and here’s an imagine I also made for you!

My Muse

Pre-Nibelheim! Sephiroth & Female! Reader

Description: An imagine in which Sephiroth is in a bad mood and he counteractively takes it out on you. You proceed to your prized possession trying to brush it off until he comes to you, feeling bad and you two have a sweet breakthrough.

—————

It was one of those days.

Sephiroth was on edge, with his phone to his ear, and his boots making the floor creak as he paced around.

The mixed sounds and aura of his anxiety were also putting you on edge. He was on the phone with Lazard, rejecting a mission request for whatever reason. He didn’t really like to keep you in the loop of his SOLDIER duties as he said he never wanted you to worry about his job. Although that’s just him reassuring you that he’ll be fine, You somehow still find it...disappointing. Truthfully, you have a right to know since you two are together.

If his life is put in jeopardy, so could yours be put in harms way. But then again, He’s Sephiroth. Maybe you shouldn’t worry. But he makes it so hard with the constant movement, twitching eyebrows, and-

“I’m not going on the mission. And that’s final!” He finally hung up the phone, having decided the conclusion.

He placed his phone on the table; heaving a sigh so hard, his back fell forcefully, revealing his stress and concern for the situation.

“Sephi, are you okay?” You asked in a warm tone.

He turned around swiftly. “What does my face say, Y/N? The only people I care for are turning their backs and dropping like flies before me. And how do you think that makes me feel?”

“I-I...”

“It’s as if people don’t even take the grain of salt I try to extend with my whole...heart-“

He cut himself off, suddenly gazing my way.

I looked him in his eyes in return.

“Will you leave too?”

“I never said that.” I spoke up.

“What do I look like? Huh, Y/N? Do I look heartless? If so, Is that why people assume I care less about the people I surround myself with? The fame doesn’t concern me, my power doesn’t control me. And why do I still get the short end of the stick?

“Seph, I-“

“You know what? Save it. I don’t even wanna talk to you right now.”

What even just happened? You tried to speak but he cut you off twice. This is his defense mechanism. He tries to shut people out when upset.

While even in the heat of the moment, he instantly regretted talking to you like that. Indeed, he does have a heart. Otherwise, you two wouldn’t be together. His heart is the reason you are together in the first place. You can empathize with his misunderstood and heavy heart. You want to figure him out and give him the love he deserves.

In silent retaliation, you stormed upstairs to your room to tend to your low spirits.

A few moments later, his heart began to ache while his face held a bit of sorrow. He felt so bad for lashing out at you. He sighed to himself once more.

“I have to do better. I love her too much to be acting like this.” His feet lead him upstairs to you, face down in your pillow with your precious blanket in your arms. That blanket was your most prized keepsake. The warmth in each fold seemed to shield you like no one else. It comforted you with Its scented memories and lighthearted aura.

No one seemed to understand your attachment and you don’t really care to explain it. What matters the most is that you know its significance and it’s your comfort.

There were a few occasions like this where after an argument or a hard day of work, you’d come right home to your possession. Sephiroth never really noticed this until the third time he’d caught you with it. And this time would count as the fifth.

He treaded lightly once more in your room, trying to get a feel of your mood.

“Y/N...” He started, “I’m- I’m so sorry. I don’t-“

“I thought you didn’t want to speak to me.” Your muffled voice sounded through the cloth.

“And I understand if you don’t want me to speak to you as well... I’ll give you your space. I’m sorry, my love.” His silver locks surpassed his face, nearly sinking to the floor as his head dropped.

Before he could leave, even with your timid heart, you spoke your mind.

“Why do you always do this, Seph? You cut me off and shut me down when I try to help you. And it never fails...” You say, clutching the blanket a bit tighter.

You continue on, “And you wonder why people think you’re heartless. It’s because when they extend their heart to you, you put it aside and make your SOLDIER duties your main focus. I try my hardest to get your attention and affection because I love you. And I know you love me too because I see it; but what will it take for you to settle down and just make time for those you love?”

Those words made a bigger impact than you initially thought. You said all the right things to get through to him and this day forward he really would take your love-driven advice.

Your relationship is not toxic at all. You both are just trying to understand each other as a new couple. Arguments can be healthy. Without them, there’s no breakthrough. And this was definitely what you two needed.

He lifted the covers up on your bed and got in next to you. You turned around to face him.

Your glistening cheeks appeared, showing that you had been crying. He grazed his thumb over your cheeks, wiping them dry.

“You’re so right. And I’m dead wrong. I want to be better for you, Y/N. I love you so much.”

“I love you too. Please try and communicate with me more. Don’t shut me out.” You added.

“I promise, dear.” He replied with a kiss on your forehead.

Right then, His green, cat-like eyes were staring deeply into yours. You blushed naturally, knowing you could never resist those gems.

He chuckled, already figuring you out. Until,

“Oh.. I keep meaning to ask. What’s with the blanket? I’m seeing a pattern here. I’m just curious.”

You swallowed, preparing to be judged. “I-it’s my source of comfort. I’ve had it since I was a child and... I’ve never seemed to detach myself from it.” You explained shyly.

His eyes trailed down to the intricate details on the cotton piece.

Not knowing what was going through his mind you said, “Sorry, I know it’s weird. Just forget I said anyth-“

“No! No. I understand. It’s your muse. I sort of have something similar.”

Your eyes lit up. “Really? What’s that?!”

He glanced to the side, moving his hair from over his chest and around his shoulder.

“You’ll laugh at me.”

This was honestly the most vulnerable you think you’ve ever saw him. And you liked that he was able reveal this quality of himself to you.

“Now, why would you think that? Just tell me, love.”

“My.....masamune.”

“I knew it!”

He smirked.

“Yeah, I can’t really explain it either but It’s my relief as well. I get this stream of confidence and comfort when holding it. Maybe it’s because I’ve been with it since my childhood as well.”

“We relate quite a bit, don’t we?”

“We do.” He agreed, pulling you closer to his body under the covers.

You two kissed, completely enamoring each other in warmth and love.

“Oh, Sephiroth.” You say.

“Hmm?”

“Call Lazard back. You’re doing that mission. You have to face your one-winged angels.”

He grinned once more at your clever words.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

________

[chateautae]

I for duck's sake need help people.....see, I would be very pleased if anyone of you would just help me out....the thing is, I have been in a relationship for like around 3 years and trust me, he is like the most perfect kinda person I have ever met..but now comes the main issue, he has till now, never ever hinted me about doing anything ( the max. we have went is uk till just a little makeout types, ik spoiling my sex life like this sucks but that's why I am going anonymous and I think some of you might have experienced it ig, don't take me wrong, I mean like uk). The good thing is, we both are understanding and extremely working persons (he works as a employee in a business firm and I am a newbie doctor (kinda just started my practice as a doctor)....and even though I am a doctor and that having sex is like a normal thing because we literally studies everything, I still freak out upon thinking about doing it with him....it's not like I am scared or anything but I just want some uk girl tips upon how to actually do it....reading about it is quite, tbh, okay for me, but then doing it is like, a difficult task....i bet you he knows about everything and that's why he hasn't hinted upon anything but like from the past 1 week, he jas been dropping kinda hints ig.....like I won't go into the details, otherwise I would be hella embarrassed, not that I am not right now, I am literally sitting in the washroom typing this ( don't judge me)....while reading about it, it feels so easy to execute everything but then when doing it in real life is like so much like wierd ig....I mean how do I respond to it.....I am nervous and what not.....as 25yo, I sometimes feel wierd that I can't uk do it......can anyone of you just help me please......like some girl tips.....I searched it on Google too, still I don't have the courage.....amd moreover, my friends circle is so wierd amd plus, I am too shy to ask anyone.....ik asking this in such a way and place is way too inappropriate to be even considered normal....it's not like I am not ready for it, it's just I am quite nervous about how to do it.....tbh, he hasn't forced me even once still remained to be sweet and all but internally we noth know, we might wanna step up.....HELP PLZ.....my mom is way too conservative to even have an open conversation about kisses let alone doing it....

Oh hun, you are completely and tOTALLY allowed to come to this blog for any advice and not feel ashamed. This is an 18+ blog and anyone here would be so glad to help you, something like this is totally normal!! I shall leave my words under the cut, though if anyone else would like to help this lovely anon please do not hesitate to drop off a reply or even something in my inbox! I'll answer right away to help anyone wondering the same thing 💓

Alright hun, first and foremost I am so happy your relationship has been so strong! And I'm glad you're with someone who hasn't pushed you or anything into doing anything sexual yet, I'll tell you from experience that can be extremely daunting and uncomfy so I'm super relieved your man has been sweet!!

In terms of real advice, tbh I'm quite the wrong person to go to. I lost my v-card with my first boyfriend when I was 16, literally we were both inexperienced and even the times we did you know, do the deed it was very clumsy and nobody knew what they were doing, and the second person I've been with was a Kiseok situation (if you read maybe I do, yes Kiseok is based on a real person in my life) so fuck that dude. But maybe my own inexperience can also help you out, here are at least some lady tips I can think of:

1. Make sure you're comfortable. I say comfortable instead of ready because I'm quite the believer in if you wait until the moment you're ready, you'll wait your entire life. So my best advice is to make sure you're comfy with the situation and your partner!!

2. Ensure your partner is someone who cares about you. I know everyone's stories are different, and not everyone has sex with someone they've been with for a long time or even love, one night stands are totally okay and I salute you sister. get that dick!!! But even in situations where you're with a stranger, sex is a very intimate thing, and it would make your experience 1000x better if you can at least tell the person cares about you and your body and your wishes during sex. Everyone deserves to be respected during an intimate act like sex and if you feel you're not being respected, whether it's your body, your wishes, your limits, your choices, do not feel obligated to still go through with this person.

3. You have to be wet. Of course not all sexual encounters happen the same way, and every female gets off on different things or turned on by a variety of actions, but essentially you have to be wet for sex. Most men understand this but a lot also don't, basically you gotta get into that juicy foreplay to get wet my girl. Try making out, maybe if you're sitting down swing a leg over his lap and bam you're straddling him. This position is usually optimal because you gain the opportunity to grind against yo man's crotch and my fucking God, does that shit feel hella nice. It's also highkey ego-boosting feeling how much the guy's getting worked up because literally anytime you grind or move over their crotch it immediately spikes to their dick and you can usually feel them against you. If you're standing, try moving to an area that has a wall and keep grabbing at your man's neck, usually men naturally will indicate you to jump and you'll easily be all up against the wall making out, this gets hella fun too cause being carried like that is so 😩

3.2. Okay cool, we're making out, now it's essentially a game of go with the flow. Men usually take the initiative and begin the escalation of things on their own. Maybe he'll start kissing down your neck, his hands are gonna be somewhere at your waist, maybe inching down to your ass or maybe he's an ass guy and he's already palming at yo cheeks. Regardless, I can confidently say you can sit back and relax, let yourself feel, get into the kissing and grinding and if you love the way he's touching you, make some noise and let him know, don't be afraid to be turned on and goddamn horny, dudes love that shit. You however are also allowed to take the wheel, and guys usually search for the greenlight from girls by sensing their movements and how eager they seem for the go-ahead on anything. If maybe you begin tugging at his clothes, they'll usually think "okay, she's okay with this rn" and so on. This part's sincerely just go with the flow, you don't need to rush and honestly the more foreplay the better for getting your puthy wet. Make sure you're comfy and your partner makes sure you're okay with that they're doing to you.

3.3. Whoop dee doo your man's hands are suddenly going, you know, places. Another case of go with the flow, if you're comfortable with your man wanting to do a lil rubby dubby on your kitty then totally let him, this shit feel's god-like I tell you. Maybe I'm just a sensitive ass whore, who knows but something about feeling a man's hands do what your lady fingers can't just HHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. But essentially from here maybe you wanna reciprocate. Get them pesky pants open and feel your man up. Reach inside those boxers and touch that beast he's hiding inside. Make sure to go nice and slow and your hands aren't rough, men's dick are super sensitive and if you go too hard on at least a dry dick it acc hurts them. Men usually leak pre-cum at their tips so try using some of that to slick up your hand.

3.4. That's handjobbing, now if we're getting into oral, very important things to remember. A) retract your teeth, it's hard and it hurts to do it for a long time but teeth will hurt dudes a lot so suck them in and away from their cocks. B) Hollow your cheeks, men like the tightness of a mouth and that's what really gets them going. C) BREATHE THROUGH YOUR NOSE PLEASE DO NOT JUST STOP BREATHING AND TAKE YOUR TIME OKAY BLOWJOBS ARE ACC VERY FUCKING HARD AND FUCK YOU UP especially for someone like me who has a small mouth, yeah that shit sUCKS but nothing is more beautiful than seeing a man fold under your touch. D) Tease yo man a bit, kitten licks and kisses, dragging your tongue over his slit, maybe a pump and then take him out, slick him up with some saliva maybe, anything you feel like doing go ahead girl, that dick is yours for the time being and I promise he'll love it. E) Deep-throating is really when gets guys going cause they only acc feel shit at their tips, so please deep-throat with caution, and take your time if he's a big one, you can acc really hurt yourself especially if you're constantly deep-throating a really big one. F) Go to town girl, get up and bobbing, go down on him like he can't survive without you, go at your own pace and own it. G) Balls usually go neglected and I promise if you even fondle them or grab at them your man will combust.

3.5. Okay so with actual sex, FIRST OF ALL BE SAFE!!!! USE A FUCKING CONDOM, IF YOU DON'T HAVE ONE THEN DON'T FUCK BUT IF YOU'RE STILL HORNY THEN PLEASE RECIEVE SOME MONEY FROM YO MAN FOR PLAN B!!! IT'S NOT ENTIRELY FOOLPROOF THOUGH PLEASE REMEMBER THAT RISK. You can totally go on birth control too but this has its complications, there are also monthly shots you can take and other contraceptives.

3.6. Okay it's sexy times, this is just gonna have to be a thing for you. Everyone's different and has different comfort levels, maybe you can take someone that’s bigger while some women can't and that's fine. Just make sure when he does go in, you feel okay with it. It will hurt if you’re dry and not wet, like hurt a lOT but if you do feel loads of pain just let your partner know to go slower, and let yourself get used to the feeling of something inside. You can always say stop if it hurts too much, seriously it's normal and that's what I did with my first boyfriend. Hell I fucking kicked my ex off me LMAO and he was so sorry and we just ended everything there, and had actual sex the next time I visited him. From here on I've really got no lady tips, essentially it's up to you what you like and what you'll do, get it on!!!

General Tips:

4. Be you, and be confident. I know sex can be really daunting especially when you consider men usually tend to be more experienced, and maybe you become afraid you won't measure up or be as good as his previous partners or you’re not good at sex, but baby girl it ain't about that. This dude is going to have sex with you because he wants to have sex with you, and whether that's his dick speaking for him or his heart, it means he will not be thinking about some other  chick he got it on with a year ago, he will be thinking of you and your pretty mouth and what you're doing, focused on touching your body and thinking he loves the way it feels. The more confident you are, the better. You're sexy and pretty and you are desirable babes, let those noises he makes when you touch him drive your confidence, the way he groans a little when you do something, the way he's tugging your body close to yours cause he wants to feel you, it all means he wants you and that's hot, let it boost your lady ego my love. You're allowed to be shy, I totally understand that, and if your partner really cares about you then they'll easily take your hand and guide you through it. Let them know you're a little nervous, and they'll really try to make things more comfy and easier for you because sex is about both parties, not just one.

5. Orgasming is hard, but it's still achievable. Especially in an open, established relationship, really let your man know what turns you on. Let him feel at your cooch while he's penetrating you and I promise that can usually get you orgasming. Other than that, another huge case of doing what you need to do to get yourself off, and always let your partner know. If you’re really searching for an orgasm in a newer relationship or if you’re too shy to say something, then literally just take your man’s hand and place him over your clit and start rubbing with him, he’ll get the hint and start doing it himself. 

6. Communication is key. This is obvious, but even if it's dirty talk, usually it's still a way to communicate and see if you're okay. You can ask to go slower, faster, softer, harder, stop altogether or entirely wreck your goddamn shit. Your partner should listen and if they don't, get the fuck out of there and leave that man, he don't fucking deserve you at all, especially in situations where you ask to stop or to slow down cause maybe something hurts, if he doesn't listen here then no, he don't deserve shit and LEAVE. Don't be afraid to make noise either or say something, dudes usually love hearing you. If you don’t like something please let your partner know, I’m sure they’re wondering if you do and would love to hear you communicating. 

7. Be clean after you're done woo-hoo-ing. Make sure you're tidy and stuff before putting clothes back on, sex can get messy especially if it's your first time you can bleed. Usually if the dude is a sweetheart enough they'll clean you, which is obviously aftercare uwu.

8. Pee after sex, UTI's are not fun. 

9. Your body may also feel weird or go through changes after you have sex for the first time, but that’s normal. Just you body’s response to feeling something foreign inside you. 

10. Ladies, remembering during sex that you have power, IT’S YOUR BODY!!!! Whether it’s because you’re totally domming or because your man is super duper sweet and will not do anything unless you want it, sex is meant to be fun and for both parties’ enjoyment. It’s not a chore nor is it something you HAVE to do to keep your man around or something, let yourself have fun girl, you deserve it. The flow of sex and any activities as such are usually dictated by you and what you want, so remember you don’t have to go through with something if you don’t want to. It shouldn’t matter if a dude really badly wants to get his dick wet, this is your body and you are to decide what happens to it. If a man makes you believe otherwise, FUCK THAT DUDE!!!! HE DON’T DESERVE YOU!!! YOU DESERVE LOVE AND RESPECT AND TO BE CARED FOR AS A HUMAN BEING!!

[personalfandompastastrainer]

THEORY ON THE AVENGERS: THE FIRST ONE

I know this has been said before, but Loki brought the Avengers together on purpose. Here's who, what, when, where, how.

Let's start at the beginning. Loki lets go of the edge of the Bifrost. He falls into the endless void of space, devasted, and knowing that he will never ever be king, or please his father, or measure up to his brother.

Now, there's speculation. We know Thanos finds him, and tortures him. Why would he torture him? Because Loki, for all Thanos knows, is "Asgardian." Asgard keeps some of the most powerful magical items in the galaxy in its vault. Perhaps infinity stones as well. Loki probably knows stuff about them. Loki is confused at first, but probably to distract himself from the pain, he starts putting the pieces together. Thanos is a very large threat. He wants the infinity stones. If Loki ever wanted to rule something, he needed to make sure Thanos could be defeated. So he talks. Loki is a manipulator. A negotiater. Words are his domain of power. And illusions. Thanos is so darn lazy, he won't do anything himself because he feels it's beneath him. So Loki praises him. He convinces him that he's on his side. Then he says, I know where the Tesseract is. I can get it for you, and wield it to destroy the people who are responsible for taking it from you. I just need an army. Also, this plan gets him out of being tortured. It may have taken a long time, but eventually, Thanos must've said yes.

Anyway, Loki does his research. He's familiar with SHIELD, so he must get into their files somehow. He can shapeshift, so it would've been easy. Maybe he sees the file on the Avengers. And he's like "aha. perfect."

Then he steals the Tesseract, and something the female assassin cares about. Now she'll leave her mission and join the chase for him. He'll also steal someone Thor cares about, and the Tesseract. Check.

Natasha will be sent to pick up Banner, bringing in an essential part of his plan. Fury will get the man out of time. Coulson will grab Tony.

Now for phase two; get captured. That part's easy. Barton is an amazing spy and agent, break into the place where the stuff is, and oop, there's god's righteous man and his pals, metal suit laser boy, jet plane flown by female assassin, and also thor, late to the party. Have the two oppose so that they both earn Thor's respect as warriors.

Phase 3; Unleash the Hulk. Tell Romanoff the plan on purpose. You think she's the manipulator? You haven't met Loki. There's no way he dropped that info on accident. He's too clever. He knew Natasha's background. Through probability, she was the only option as his interregator. So he knew she'd understand his hint. She did.

Phase 4; Escape. Of course, it was too late to keep Hulk from happening. So that was their first fight, the one that united them and got past their anger at each other. Also, just before escaping, by stroke of good luck, kill the agent they all cared about. Of course, there's no way for Loki to like, kill him on purpose, but it ended up working to his advantage, and Fury's. The Avengers now have a reason to fight. Together.

Phase 5; Cause utter and complete chaos in the appropriate place; Stark Tower and New York. Cause a war. Also, interesting side note; After being thrashed around by the Hulk, Loki just Lies There. I mean, understandable, and his body must've felt like it was on fire, but surely he would've recovered before the Avengers showed up. Like, he's a GOD. He might've been really hurt, but he would've gotten up faster. Why then, did he lie there? He wanted to be there. Loki didn't want to have to report back to Thanos. He didn't want to continue to be tortured bc he'd failed. He knew if he was caught again, that Thor would insist on taking him back home, to Asgard. The perfect place to cause more mischief and just chill in a jail cell. Much better than torture. Anyway, just a thought.

Phase 6; Getting caught. The Avengers are a team of unlikely heroes. Going back to Asgard. The Tesseract is safe. For now. The End. (For now.)

Also, I should add, an interesting little tidbit. I'm like 90% sure that in Norse Mythology, Loki is not only the God of Mischief. He's also the God of Stories. Food for thought.

(sorry for the long post! I had a LOT to say. Also, disclaimer; there's obviously going to be a few gaps in this theory. There's always gaps. No theory is perfect or set in stone. I just really like this one, so don't roast me in the comments. Feel free to add your own ideas though! Maintain polite conversation or criticism plz, thanks!)

[pfreadsandwrites]

Congrats on gaining 100 followers🎉🎉You deserve all of them and more! 🥳 I'm looking forward to everything you're planning to write in the future❤️ As for the prompts, would you please do #160 with Kakashi? Go wild with it 👁👁 Thank you and I wish the best for your blog❤️

100 follower celebration

Okay, here it is! I want to thank you specifically @madaras-housewife because you have been so amazing and supportive from the first fic I posted here and your encouragement has really helped this blog grow and made me write more. So thank you so much, and I’m sorry this took me forever to get out!! This was a bit of an unusual one so it took me a while to think about, and apologies if it’s not wild enough heh but I tried my best to develop it into something. But thank you for everything and I really hope you enjoy this :) I tried my best to go ‘out there’ and wild with it lol.  Also can I just say this mangacap is perfect for the last part of this one-shot lol. 

warnings/notes: third person, Kakashi pov, female civilian reader (she works at the hospital but plz don’t ask for details beyond that lol), pining Kakashi, kinda fluffy, then kinda sad, then kinda hopeful, marking this as 18+ since there is a paragraph that is brief NSFW mentions, in my mind this takes place between the time skip between part 1 and part 2 but it doesn’t really matter. Told in 4 small vignettes/parts essentially. 2.7k words.

taglist: @allthingskakashi @datblobbyfish @enchantedpendant @madaras-housewife @ibukiirisha @praisingkuroosbedhead @cinam00n @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored

160. “Do you think you could teach me that?”

i.

It’s a simple question.

Of course, it’s also a pointless question, one that Kakashi’s sure she’ll see through, one that he shouldn’t even think about asking.

Of course, he’s in the hospital again. Of course, she’s the one with the misfortune of tending to him again. Of course, he’s mesmerised while her hands dutifully wrap the tourniquet around his arm, like she’s cutting off the blood to his brain.

So, of course, he asks it without thinking.

The self-admonishment starts before the words finish leaving his mouth.

Do you think you could teach me that?

His cheeks heat up as the words catch up with him. They echo again and again, serving only to jeer at him further. What the hell is he thinking, making a request like that? A request that’s so nonsensical, so outlandish, so flimsily shrouding its true intent that she’d be justified in ridiculing him right there.

But it’s done now. Here he is, asking a bizarre favour of a civilian woman already doing him a favour.

Kakashi’d be content if the ground gives away underneath him, snatching him from this damn hospital bed. When he ponders the situation further, and he finds himself contemplating her reaction - no doubt a bewildered, adorable expression would grace her beautiful features (God, how much deeper could he get?) - he almost wants to slap himself. How did he go from the Copy Ninja, Konoha’s best jounin, to an awkward dork so swiftly and smoothly? Not only that, but she hadn’t even said anything yet. Kakashi wanted to die.

Fortunately, she only pauses. Unfortunately, her delicate fingers still against his skin, and the sensation flusters and soothes him simultaneously. But it’s only for a moment, before she diligently returns to the task at hand. Even if she’s surprised, or worse, amused, she knows to conceal it. Taking his question seriously in that earnest way that only she can. It should have eased his mind, but instead there’s only guilt at having perplexed her.

“…You want to learn this? Don’t you have enough on your plate?” She asks, bereft of judgement or ridicule.

He shouldn’t have expected any less, he knows that, and yet he still finds himself on the edge. On that precipice between anxiety and comfort, where he’s always standing around her. He can’t even formulate a response to her simple question. Yes - he probably did have enough to do. And yes, he wouldn’t have got this far without some knowledge of first aid and basic medical ninjutsu - and she probably knew that too.

“I could probably manage. It’s not a problem if you don’t have the time.” As typical as it is for him to answer a question without explaining himself further, he berates himself for it this time. Why had he made this so convoluted? And why does she let him?

“I could probably make time,” she retorts, though her voice remains gentle. “I just didn’t think there’d be anything useful you could learn from me, or that you didn’t already know.”

Nothing useful you could learn from me, or that you didn’t already know.

This time, her words echo in his mind. They’re just as kind and nudging as he thought they would be. But that didn’t mean they were any less ridiculous.

Apparently, there’s nothing he can learn from her. Nothing she can teach him.

Nothing he can learn from the woman who always smiles so brightly and indiscriminately at anyone who graced her that it renders them all equal - turning everyone from the grumpy old curmudgeon to the innocent newborn to cheerful, optimistic entities at her mercy. Nothing he can learn from her inability to use her mysterious power for anything but good, to see the value in everyone, in him, against all better judgement.

Nothing he can learn from her selflessness, and her weird knack for chiding herself for her momentary lapses in kindness, for things others don’t think twice about. Nothing he can learn from her patience and empathy in the most ridiculous situations, and her faltering in it when she draws the attention inwards.

Nothing he could learn from the woman who’s determination to revel in life, even as the opposite surrounded her, surrounded him, surrounded everyone in this cursed village, managed to bring even the heavy weight of death to its knees. Nothing he could learn from the woman who didn’t even seem fazed by it, as she tended to the hospital’s neonates with a giggle and a zest for life that he barely comprehends, much less hopes to emulate.

If - he surprises himself at his optimism, but he owes it to her - he’s incapable of learning nothing from all that, then there isn’t much hope for him at all. And if there’s one thing she inspires, if he can even pick one, it’s hope.

Kakashi eventually stops ruminating. And of course, she lets him. A wry smile forms on his lips. “I wouldn’t say that.”

She glances back at him expectantly. Curiously.

“I think there’s a lot you could teach me, you know.”

She’s already taught him without intending to, he remembers, when she doesn’t press him for an explanation. She only smiles that shy, powerful smile.

But they both know it’s acknowledgement. Of what he’s trying to say, of what he’s asking her in his awkward, haphazard way. Kind as she is, even if she shouldn’t be, she agrees.

***

ii.

And so, ever the one to keep her promise, she sets about teaching him. And Kakashi, ever the one to falter, but never one to abandon, keeps coming back. He’s a quick learner in more ways he thought.

She teaches him that finding something to smile about in the day is easier than it seems.

She teaches him to laugh when he drops by the hospital to see her and a very small patient points at his hair and berates him from escaping from the geriatric ward.

She teaches him allowance for his mistakes, and respite for his suffering.

She teaches him what a fool he’s been for denying himself an embrace all these years.

She teaches him that a kiss might be more eternal, more damning, more fate-consigning that it has any right to be.

She doesn’t have to teach him just how intoxicating, addictive it is to kiss her between the legs. She doesn’t have to teach him just where and how to move his tongue before she’s tugging at that wild silver hair of his. And when he moves in her, when she clutches onto him for dear life, whispering his name in that weak, but lingering whimper, when their breaths mingle together and she manages to exalt everything from him - his love, his strength, his seed - she doesn’t have to teach him that though the price of vulnerability is high, the reward is even higher.

She teaches him, when he dares ask what he sees in a man like her, that there’s an answer to that question that satisfies him.

She teaches him that whilst leaving for a mission used to be easy, it might one day become difficult - even for him, the one who has over a thousand under his belt, the one who only has that many because he wished one would kill him. She teaches him to admit that, too.

And when it does become difficult, just as she taught, he learns that a person waiting back home is much more motivating than a death wish could ever be.

She teaches him to forgive himself, as she begins to accompany him on his graveside visits. She teaches him that there’s a chance - a small chance, Kakashi admits, but a chance nonetheless - that there’s more for his life than living it as a penance to ghosts.

She teaches him that dreaming isn’t just for the young, the idealistic, the good. It’s for the hurt, tired veteran too.

She teaches him that hearing those three words aren’t as terrifying as he’d convinced himself all these years.

He learns, when he finally returns them, that he should have said it back long ago. Because it was all worth it just for that look on her face.

***

iii.

Their time together, dreamlike as it is, is always interrupted.

She’s used to it, calmly nodding in his direction at the summoning bird that’s taken to pecking at her window now too. He nods in kind, and with a quick kiss, he’s off on his next mission. She’s always accepting, always understanding, but the patient stare that bores into his back as he leaps off towards the gravestone (an eternal part of the farewell ritual) belies her anxiety.

Still, Kakashi does make it back. And he does again and again. Sometimes his returns are at the hospital - and that expression of hers, where she doesn’t know whether to chide him for his injury or cry that he’s still in one piece - fills him with equal parts guilt and encouragement.

She still never loses that smile, though. The smile that everyone knows.

He has to leave it behind again.

He makes it back. Without a scratch, for once, but figures he might surprise her at the hospital anyway. Strange. He used to be so good at avoiding this place, and now it’s the first place he comes to of his own accord. It’s just another way he’s lost against her, but he doesn’t begrudge it. Maybe he wants some praise for being more careful, but he won’t admit that outright. Maybe he’s getting worse and worse at waiting for that smile, too.

His optimism is never rewarded. He’s been through enough to remember that, but he’s still foolish enough to forget.

It feels different, today, walking through the corridors that she’s made so inexplicably light, so jovial. She easily leaves her mark without trying, to the awe of shinobi and civilians alike.

So when the atmosphere is dense, experience teaches him to dread it. He asks at the front desk, forgetting his tendency to hide all he can about his personal life. The woman stares up at him with wide eyes, hesitating before regaining her composure.

“(Name) isn’t working at the moment. She’s in room 175.”

She doesn’t say anything else, but it wouldn’t matter if she had. The familiar dread creeps up through his bones.

He’s prepared himself for the worst by the time he’s at her room, but it’s moot when he sees her lying there. She’s lost all her colour, she’s thinner - everything about her that’d remembered these few weeks had become so weak. Her vivacity, her will to endure, had even fooled him. But she was just as fragile as anyone else. Except for him. Why the fuck couldn’t he break, instead of someone else, instead of something that meant anything just this one fucking time?

He sits at her bedside, his calloused fingers touching her dainty ones. She’s only sleeping, at least. Purple and blue spread like constellations over her skin, bandages on her arms and cheeks - the kind of injuries he’d expect on a ninja. Of a ninja too. Thoughts upon thoughts flood his mind - how the hell did this happen? Who did this to her? If she’s not safe in the damn village that he fought to protect, where the hell could she be safe?

And, of course, the curse that he’s done so well to forget he has. Did this happen, somehow, because against all judgement, he had let himself become close to her? It makes sense that he’d only be able to fool himself to a point.

And, of course, as if to shush his self-loathing and anxiety, in that fucking selfless way she always did, that broke his heart even more - her fingers move against his.

She blinks her eyes open slowly and turns her gaze to him. She doesn’t have the energy to smile, but she tries to mimic it in the look in her eyes.

“I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

He clasps her hand tight - and lets go just as quickly when she winces. “What the hell happened, (Name)?”

She softens her gaze. “It’s funny that I’m the one that ended up like this, when you’re the one that went out on a mission.” Her tone is light, but somehow the hum of her voice brings gravity, whether she wants it to or not.

She won’t answer his question. As if she feels guilty that she’s putting him through something, which only hurts all the more. And Kakashi knows that insisting too strongly is too unfair, too cruel when she seems so tired, no matter how much his blood boils.

There was an attack, he figures that much, and he overhears more from a nurse. A drunk jounin who’d come across her on his way home.

It’s dealt with swiftly, with the speed and efficiency Kakashi prides himself on, but it isn’t enough. He can’t forgive himself, even if she does.

She recovers soon enough, but only to a point.

Her smile is gone. The openness she’d inspire in everyone around her, the joy she’d invite - it dwindles down to nothing. It’s all too much, too familiar, a sad story he’s seen up and close too many times.

Any smile she makes now is a facsimile, a ghost of anything she could have offered previously. But her kindness still forces her to attempt it, no matter how much it hurts, when Kakashi looks at her.

As impressive as her will is, it’s only finite. He berates himself as she breaks one night, and sobs into his chest.

But she doesn’t do it again.

She doesn’t seem to do much of anything anymore.

He has another mission.

***

iv.

Kakashi’s at the training grounds again. He’s here a lot these days. When there isn’t a mission, he’s got into the habit of putting his body through the wringer. It’s what he deserves, at the very least. Besides, he has a lot more free time than he used to. As the raindrops mix with his sweat, his lightning style blends just as seamlessly with the sky.

“Do you think you could teach me that?”

The voice is familiar. Gentle, just like it used to be. Shakier than it used to be, but there’s a faint hint of the quiet resolve he used to hear, that he was foolish enough to take for granted.

He pauses. The chakra he’d gathered in his hands dissipates, and he turns around. He’s no amateur, he knew he wasn’t alone. But he could tell his little observer wasn’t there to pose a threat, either. She watches him with her wide eyes, the wide eyes that historically and even now freeze him in place. She was never one to marvel at his ninjutsu before, only acquiescing or being impressed where appropriate, - and that’s not quite what she’s doing now, either.

“Well -,” she holds her right arm with her left. It’s a normal gesture. One that would have endeared him, but only makes his heart sink now. Suddenly it’s difficult to watch her doubt herself. “Not that exactly. I don’t even want to do that even if I could. But anything you can teach me. It doesn’t have to be a lot. I think I’d be fine with a little. It’d be enough to feel better. If you don’t have too much on your plate.”

He’s watching her now, studying that expression in her eyes. Where she’s determined and defiant, even in that modest way. He believes her - she doesn’t want to learn a lot. She doesn’t want to be too much like him. But she’s allowing herself to learn from him. She’s letting herself take, not just give.

“Alright. Tomorrow, then. But let’s get you home first. It’s late, raining…,” his voice trails off, brushing off the rain from his hair sheepishly. “And I could use a break.”

She begins to smile that shy, powerful smile again. It’s sincere, and her ability to infect others with it seems to have returned. “That’s fine by me. I hear you’ve been overdoing it lately."

Kakashi finds himself grinning back.

Do you think you could teach me that?

It’s a simple question.