#not that that has passed me by mind you. it's just that the true depth of it probably won't kick in until the weekend or so

[protobrieile]

they don't tell you how incredible it feels to watch someone else overcome their old fear-induced limitations at personal growth school

[mercurianchild]

hey love! what does a Plutonian chart look like? i'm not sure if I have one. how would that affect me?

Strong influence of Pluto…

What a strong Plutonian influence of Pluto in the chart could look like:

Pluto in the 1st, 4th, 7th and 10th house

Pluto aspecting inner planets (Mercury, Venus and Mars)

Pluto strongly aspecting the moon and ascendant, especially tight orbs

TW: mentions of s*x and death!!

Being Pluto dominant or having a strong influence of Pluto means that transformations, ego deaths, feelings of death and rebirth will accompany you for a life time. From my experience, this will be especially harsh in the childhood, youth and maybe in your early adult years. As time passes and as you get older, you might develop self care habits and safety mechanisms to protect yourself and your inner peace. Practising self love, meditation and mindfulness could be important to these individuals, as they could underestimate their beauty and their outstanding personality.

I’ve also seen that most traumatic events happen in the childhood, youth or early adulthood. But that’s just my observation.

Feelings of being deeply misunderstood rise while you are young and this feeling might follow you for years. Constantly searching for someone to understand your complex mind and depth of emotions. These people could benefit from searching for a valve to turn pain, bad experiences and any form of built up emotion into art. Be it writing, drawing, making music…

A reoccurring theme for Plutonians is sexuality. There may be blockages in regards of the own sexuality or experiencing it, but once they overcome this, they literally start to bloom in that area. This could turn into being hungry for power in general (or simply being turned on by overpowering the partner) or in being lascivious. They can be pretty much extreme and freaky in bed, actually. Being intimate never gets boring with them.

I know, this is what you read everywhere, but plutonic people are deeply magnetic and will catch your eye with their intense aura. Even if they are not seen as traditionally beautiful, these natives exude attractiveness and charisma. You just can’t ignore them and they will even stand out in a crowd. BUT! A lot of them don’t have the sex appeal like (for example) Megan Fox has. A lot of them have such an innocence to their appearance, but if you take a closer look you’ll see that they’re like fallen angels.

From my experience, plutonic people will have a deep connection to spirituality or the occult and a profound interest in psychology (for good and bad). They usually get into these things after really hard times in their life. They will attract jealousy and hate like flies, unfortunately and this could take a toll in their self esteem. Even strangers tend to be very competitive and mean to them in some way, because most people simply feel challenged by their presence.

Dear plutonic people,

you ALL are wonderful and you deserve so much more. I feel for every single one of you and I hope you will find true happiness and self acceptance. You’ve been through so much and you deserve the world for all that. I’m sending you all the love you might need right now or later! 🩶

[moonsaver]

Thinking back to a post you once made about Aeon Sunday… Imagine being someone who knew Sunday in the past before his ascension, only to then receive the gaze of Aeon Sunday later in life

Oh my god. I love this. This is simultaneously creepy AND oddly romantic.

Theres a lot of possibilities for this – was reader sunday's crush? A suitor? Maybe just someone he shared small talk with and actually liked it more than usual? Ooohohoho

Im not sure if its yan or not, so i just kinda.. kept it variable(?)

This ones a bit longer because i desperatley need to wordvomti . Thanks.

Achieving an aeon's gaze is strange, your discipline, morals, ideals, lifestyle, something has to deeply resonate with their followed path. Let us assume Sunday is something similar to a "dreamlike" aeon [maybe it's mentioned in his boss form description, all i remember is the embryo of Philosophy ;;]

But again, it's not exactly stated how you'd be able to achieve an aeon's gaze; i still have no idea how acheron did it [IX is literally a black hole??], because i cant for the life of me read through those huge blocks of texts in the dialogue.

So lets say Sunday's able to pull his own strings and maybe even force you on that path. He's an aeon – who's stopping him?

Its the middle of the night, you're awake in bed, tossing and turning. It feels like something in your chest is pulling, a weird sensation you've been trying to put off. Your eyes are burning from the lack of sleep, but your mind seems restless. You try to calm yourself down and think about one thing and then another, one by one, until you remember Sunday. You wonder what was going through his mind, his in-between words in that one conversation, what he could have meant..

And like that, you fall asleep. Your bones sink into the bed, your weight relaxes into the pliant surface.

And then you awake. But somewhere else. It's not your bedroom – not the familiar ceiling, nor the corner of your room with piled clothes or a messy table. It's the cosmos, littered with stars. It's strange. You almost don't notice until you try to move – you're floating in space.

You turn, and he's there. That recognizable golden halo, stretching out into the dark expanse like the inside of a star plunging into the depths, golden eyes that peer down at you; with recognition, understanding, almost sympathy, and something you can't quite place. Your ribs ache and your lungs burn when you're reminded to breathe – this is the man you were thinking about before you slept.

You wake up, panting, shooting up in bed. The familiar space of your room greets you this time. The night is young outside your window ‐ not much time seems to have passed in that brilliant moment.

You were ready to chalk it up to a dream, like the ones where you feel like you're falling and wake up with a racing heart. But then you look down, and see a strange symbol on your body, something akin to an eye.

It seems you've earned his blessing to follow his path.

And even more? It seems like you're the first person to actually follow this path.

It's strange and isolating in a way. You can awaken from the sweetdream paradise your beloved Aeon seems to have put penacony under. You gain this strange, superflous, iridescent ghost of a halo, and you realise you can use it to communicate.

You can communicate with Sunday.

But a part of you finds it pointless. you can't understand what he's saying anymore; Aeons' existence transcends language. You can only hear whispers of people speaking to you, as though it's from the corner of a room, somewhere in the distance, with one barely audible male voice standing out in the whispering; it might be sunday's real voice, but you're not sure. At least, to some degree, you've managed to make out a few words.

Some words give you information. You can monitor the true handiwork of your aeon this way. Every person's dream — sweet, deep slumbers, exquisitely woven by deft fingers, all in 7 days. You figured this when you phased out of the dream, looking down at your own sleeping body and freaking out, when Sunday communicated with you for the first time, instantly calming you down. Dream. Woven. 7 days. Those words were evident in the cacophony of whispers.

Some words carry warnings. Or rather, they're not exactly words.

When your curious hands boldly trace the surface of a particularly fragile dream, you hear breathing. In close proximity, too, as if its right behind your ear. Sometimes, if you try to wake someone, you feel the breathing; warm, and languidly flowing down the back of your collar. You've chosen to not find out what happens when you don't listen.

Sometimes, when you decide to simply phase out of the dream to take a look at your own body in reality – you talk to Sunday. You tell him what you think, who you met in the dreamscape, what he can do to make it better [since.. well, you can't exactly do much to awaken anyone or oppose an aeon]. You assume he doesn't hear you, since you don't get your whispery response, but after you catch a few glimpses of your suggestions in the dreamscape, you realise he's just a good listener.

Perhaps, even if you may be the only follower of this path for now.. it may not be as isolating as you think.

[prythianpages]

Too Good To Be True | Lucien x Reader

...you're just too good to be true...can't take my eyes off of you...

summary: in which your newest muse catches you red handed.

word count: 1,600

a/n: I do struggle writing Lucien but I had seen this tiktok and wanted to write a meet-cute over it and when I saw this fanart above made by IG user kri_stasss_, I took this as a sign lol. I also listened to the song can't take my eyes off of you like 100x while writing this.

With a sigh, you lean back into your seat, allowing your eyes a break. You had been sitting at the corner of the bustling cafe for over an hour, choosing to surround yourself with Velaris’s warmth and the smell of coffee in the hopes to finally draw something.  But your sketchbook is spread open on the table with a half-finished drawing.

You look at the view before you, the Sidra River shimmering like pure sapphire under the sun’s gaze. The leaves of surrounding trees rustling gently in the soft spring breeze and flowers vibrant hues adorn the riverwalk. It’s a beautiful sight–one that many stop and admire. Yet, it is not enough to fuel the inspiration you so desperately need.

The flowing water and distant laughter of children blend into a soothing symphony as you absentmindedly twirl your pencil between your fingers, thoughts drifting. Send me a muse, you plead to the Cauldron, yearning to feel that thrill again.That spark that ignites your passion of drawing. The very one that moves your hand effortlessly across the paper.

The sound of iron against pavement startles you, pulling you from your thoughts. You blink your eyes back into focus and instinctively, they land on the source of the noise. The table diagonal from you, that had been vacant for the past hour, now has an occupant. An occupant who is blocking your view of the Sidra River, the very one that is half drawn across your sketchbook.

But you can’t bring yourself to complain.

Not when there is a man of striking beauty seated there. 

His mere presence commands your attention, his red hair catching the sunlight and gleaming like fire. You feel your breath catch in your throat as your eyes trace the elegant lines of his face. Brutal scars mar the left side of his face–from his brow all the way down to his jaw. 

Despite this, the male is devastatingly handsome. Ethereal. 

Too good to be true, you think, finding yourself captivated by his eyes. His right eye, whole and russet-colored, holds a depth that draws you in. But his left eye…His left eye is a mechanical marvel, golden and intricate, and gleaming with an otherworldly light.  

And suddenly, you’re overwhelmed with an urge to touch him. To reassure yourself that he is real and not just a figment of your imagination. Gods, with a face and built body like his, he’d be heaven to touch…

A rush of excitement floods your veins and you feel a familiar thrill coursing through you. Your hands are turning the pages of your sketchbook until a blank page sits before you. And before you know it, you’re pouring your awe and fascination into each stroke of your pencil. Your eyes flicker up and down as you commit the details to mind, heart pounding every time with the fear of being caught. 

Though you're cautious about it, you’re too lost in his eyes to catch the way the male’s lips curve slightly upwards.

**

Lucien takes the last sip of his coffee, admiring the sight before him. The sun is beginning to set, painting the sky in twilight hues and dancing across the Sidra River. Along the riverwalk, Fae stroll leisurely. Couples walk hand in hand, children skipping along the cobblestone path, pausing to catch the fireflies that are now visible in the dimming light.

Velaris was proving to be more beautiful with each passing day—a sight he’d never expected from a place like the Night Court. All his life, he had only come to know the Court of Nightmares. A place that truly lived up to his name. And though there were children laughing and running freely, he couldn’t help but still be wary of the City of Starlight. It was still part of the Night Court, after all.

His eyes scan along the riverwalk, golden eye making a soft sound as it moves, in search of something. Or rather, someone. Just as a frown is about to settle on his face, he finds what he was searching for. The reason why he was at this cafe…despite the fact that the best espresso in town was at a little coffee shop in the Rainbow of Velaris.

You.

You are sitting at a bench, knees drawn up and a sketchbook nestled onto your lap. As the sun continues to make its descent, the street lamp near you croaks to life. It bathes you in its soft glow and he is able to appreciate the slight furrow of your brow, the slight way your lips purse in concentration. He wants to know what you're drawing.

Ever since he caught you staring at him at this very cafe, he had an inkling as to what may be hidden within those pages of your sketchbook. He had meant to approach you about it but you had been so into your sketch, he found the sight endearing and feared disrupting you. 

So he had left you to it and showed up to the cafe the next day at the same time in the hopes of seeing you again and he did. That time, your gazes had met and though it had been brief, it felt everlasting. He remembers the way your cheeks tinted with blush before you turned your head away, flustered at being caught. If only you had seen the way he had smiled softly to himself afterwards.

It’s been days since that incident. Though he didn’t find you in that same spot the day after, he came to the conclusion that this was your favorite area to frequent in Velaris. It slowly became his too, his eyes always finding you amongst the busy riverwalk. 

Lucien had never been the shy type–at least, not when it came to pursuing people he was interested in. He had just been waiting for the right time–for the right moment to talk to you. And as you closed your sketchbook with a light exhale, his heart fluttered as he realized what better time than now.

**

Calling it a night, you close your sketchbook with a soft sigh. The sun had been replaced by the moon and the street lamp’s light was too dim for your liking to continue you drawing. You feared messing up what you had meticulously spent hours on. As you rise from the bench and turn to make your way back home, you bump into a smaller frame than yours, the sketchbook in your hold falling from your grasp.

“Sorry, miss!” A lively voice chirps and when you look toward the source, the small child is already far away from you. Kids, you muse to yourself as you turn back around.

Your breath catches in your throat. Standing right in front of you is the male who has become your muse.

But he’s not looking at you.

No, he’s looking at the sketchbook on the ground. Your heart skips a beat, heat rising to your face. The sketchbook had opened to the pages you've been working on—the ones with multiple sketches of his eyes.

You’re frozen in horror, watching as he studies your work. None of you say anything for a moment. It’s when his gaze lifts to yours that you spring into action. “Oh,” you gasp, beginning to bend your knees to gather your belongings. You're absolutely mortified, praying to the Cauldron he can’t hear how fast your heart is racing.

“I’m so sorry.”

Before your hand can reach for your sketchbook, another hand beats you to it.

“Don’t be,” he says, his voice deep and enchanting, causing your hand to freeze in midair. There seems to be a magnetic pull in his words, a sincerity that makes your heart flutter. Is there anything about this male that is not attractive?

“I’ve never seen the beauty of my eyes until now.”

The words are spilling from your mouth before you can stop them. “You’re joking, right?”

He’s knelt before you, his hand hovering over your book. But instead of picking it up for you, he grasps for your hand instead. It’s warm and calloused yet feels so good against yours. Like heaven. His eyes finally meet yours, holding you captive. He slowly brings your hand to his lips, and you don’t think you’re breathing as he presses his lips against your skin.

“No,” he grins as he rises to his full height, using his free hand to grab your sketchbook before bringing you with him. “I’m Lucien.”

It takes you a moment to realize he is waiting for you to speak, his presence overwhelming but exhilarating.

“I’m—” you clear your throat to steady your voice. “I’m y/n.”

“y/n,” Lucien repeats with a smile, finally handing you over your sketchbook.

You take it, immediately clutching the book tightly to your chest and avert your gaze, casting it downwards. “I promise I’m not a creep. I was drawing the Sidra–well, attempting to, anyway. But then you came along, blocking my view and something came over me. You see, I’ve been struggling with artist block and your eyes–your eyes are so pretty”--and under your breath, you mutter–” All of you is, if I’m going to be honest…”–Lucien’s smile widens at that–”and I finally felt inspired–oh gods, I’m rambling. I should just shut my mouth.”

Lucien’s russet eye twinkles with amusement. “I inspired you?”

“Yes,” you answer quietly and bashfully.

“Then perhaps,” he says, his voice low and intimate. “I should let you inspire me as well.”

Slowly, you lift your head back up, meeting his eyes once more. A wave of relief surges through you as you find nothing but sincerity and shared interest in his gentle gaze. You find yourself mirroring his smile, and something warm blossoms in Lucien’s chest—the start of something beautiful.

And he can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, the Night Court isn’t so bad after all.

a/n: okay, that's enough Lucien for now. Can't keep letting him distract me because I need to focus back on the other Vanserra *cough* Eris *cough*

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen

[yanderemommabean]

My dearest butterfly, 

I usually pride myself on having a way with words, never having my tongue tied, never having to stutter or stumble, and yet, with you, I find it hard to even breathe let alone speak. Ever since the day you stepped into my clinic, stepped into my life, I’ve found myself in a fog, never able to say what I feel, to speak with confidence, like without you I'm some sort of shell of myself. 

As a doctor, I assumed I was ill, sick, perhaps coming down with something that would pass with rest and time. However, I found out the truth- I was sick of course, but nothing that would be cured with needles and antibiotics. 

My dear butterfly, I have come to find out, my ailment is love sickness. As cutesy as that sounds, what I mean to say is- I'm utterly obsessed with you, and cannot rest or feel alive until I see you in my sight, or feel you by my side. 

The fact I am blessed enough to touch you, to examine every area, intimate or not, to be trusted with your darkest medical secrets-It fuels me more than any other patient has. With you, curing you and your health just has more meaning to me, has more depth and humanity. You have that way about you, making me feel deeper than any human ever has, reaching my core and burrowing deep within the walls of my heart. 

This letter is nothing but a love filled ramble, but one I simply had to write. I can no longer hide how I feel, how I crave. I don't expect you to know what to do with all of this information right away, so, I’ll give you a few good rules to go by while everything sets in and has time to process. 

This is all true. I adore you, deeper than anyone could ever adore you, and more intense than any past lover could ever dream 

I refuse to let you try and deny me. You can be coy, you can be shy, you can even need time and space, but you wont be with anyone else but me in the romantic sense. I’ll take whatever precautions I need to ensure this rule is followed. 

I mean you absolutely no harm, however, as mentioned above, I’ll do what I must. Just sit back and take in what you need, but know, I’m utterly sick for you darling, there’s no way you can turn me away, be your attempts silly or desperate. 

I’ll be sure to send this letter over the weekend to give you more time, but, if by chance the postal service messes up, a few days letting your mind wander at your work wouldn’t be awful either. 

I’ll see you soon, my love. We’ll discuss this more in person, where my words are sharper than the pen I used, and my voice will convey just how serious I am about all of this. 

All yours, only yours, 

-Doctor Lee.

(-Mommabean, hope you liked!)

[yan-lorkai]

hello i come in peace 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

(and the tiniest bit of 'giggling and kicking feet like a little girl with a crush' syndrome)

i love your yandere stuff mwah mwah mwah

can i please ask for yandere!jade and clingy, affectionate, and bubbly reader who loves him very very much, and glosses over/doesn't even notice his yandere tendencies. please and thank you! it's okay if you don't pick up the request though, it's all at your discretion. headcanons or fic is good! thank you!

- caldereta anon

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ a/n: thank you, darling <33. Hope you enjoy this too!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ tagging: @kiraiyugen

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Jade’s obsession only intensifies with a reader who’s naturally affectionate, bubbly, and endlessly doting. To him, your boundless love is proof that you were meant to be his — no persuasion necessary, as you’re already so wrapped around his finger without realizing it.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ From the beginning, he’s amused and intrigued by how you overlook or seem completely unfazed by his possessive tendencies. While others might be unsettled by his intensity, you barely notice it, only seeing his actions as expressions of care and affection. It’s as though you’re blind to the shadows that flicker beneath his polite smile, the controlled tension in his watchful gaze whenever you’re around anyone else. You just lean in close and wrap your arms around him without a second thought, laughing and chatting away, never suspecting the depths of his attachment. And he'll do anything to keep you just like this.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Jade, on the other hand, finds himself feeding off your affection, encouraging it subtly. He orchestrates situations to ensure you need him, subtly influencing your world until he’s become indispensable. Need a ride? There’s Jade. Feel down? He’s already there, ready to comfort you with a knowing look and gentle hand on your shoulder. And every laugh, every moment you lean into him or cling to his arm only deepens his fixation.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ In his mind, there’s no need for drastic measures because he already has you under his spell — your bubbly innocence blinds you to his true nature, and he couldn’t be more thrilled about it. He often gently teases you, a sly smile tugging at his lips as he asks questions that seem innocent but carry deeper meaning.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ “You’d never leave me, would you?” he’d say, as if it were a passing thought. "Not even in a thousand years!" It was your sweet response, only reassuring him further. In a way, your affection and innocence are the only things that temper his darker urges; he’d do anything to protect your joyful spirit, to preserve the way you look at him without fear.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ But if anyone else tries to steal your attention, his patience wanes. You might not notice the flicker of anger in his gaze, the way his smile turns cold, but he’s always there to guide you back to him, dismissing any threats to his hold over you before you even become aware of them. And he'll make you kiss his hands, without having you knowing how much blood he has on them.

[ittsybittsybunny]

ATLA Live Action Series Review:

The Good

Aesthetically this show felt right. Sure sometimes the outfits didn't quite feel lived in, but I always felt like I was watching a fantasy world with decent effects and interesting design. Also, I really enjoyed the sets!

Bending: Yes some of the fights feel very quick, but the bending looks cool. It is certainly better than 10 benders lifting one big rock. I can honestly say the opening bending fight scene gave me so much hope for this show.

Kyoshi Warriors: I loved seeing them in live action, and I thought Suki's performance was great!

Omashu: I think the mashup of the mechanist made sense since that is an important character overall and I would hate to see him cut. However, both Jet & the secret tunnels felt sloppily thrown in.

Northern Water Tribe: I really loved the way it looked, and appreciated the two episodes we spent here. I think Yue gained more agency in this interpretation, and why shouldn't the moon spirit be a waterbender. Also, episode seven felt the most in tune with the original show's spirit.

Zuko: I think he was one of the most fleshed-out and best parts of the show! Dallas Liu really captured Zuko's spirit, and the scene between him and Aang in episode 6 was wonderful!

Soundtrack: Hearing the original soundtrack bits is always great, and when I first heard the ending music I was so excited.

Is the show perfect, no - but I wouldn't mind a season 2.

The Bad

Pacing: Turning 20 episodes into 8 was bound to lead to some cuts...but oftentimes times things felt too quick or disjointed. I think there were editing problems contributing to this for sure, but sometimes things skipped around too much without a clear purpose as to why. Also, why bring in plots from later seasons when you barely have enough time already?

Writing: This show definitely suffered from exposition dumping, though it did get better as time went on. I think the biggest example of this is actually opening in the past rather than the present. We do not get to learn along with Aang that the world has changed, instead, we get to learn that 100 years have passed....which doesn't hold the same tension or worldbuilding.

Clunky Dialogue: Along with exposition, clunky dialogue is another example of bad writing. I think sometimes I felt like the acting was kind of meh in the beginning, but then over time I began to realize it had far more to do with the lines characters were trying to deliver. The actors themselves are not bad, just cursed with awkward writing and lines that feel out of touch with the setting they're in.

Main Trio: I don't entirely know that I believe Katara, Sokka, and Aang are friends as opposed to 3 people stuck together to save the world. Aang feels a little too somber for a young kid running away from his responsibilities, Sokka is protective, but not exactly the heart of the team, and Katara is sort of just there until the last two episodes. Where is her struggle, her desire to learn so strong she steals from pirates? Also, while Gordon Cormier did a great job, Aang does zero waterbending on his own, is overly serious, and tells Katara not to fight. Where is his desperation to protect his friends? It feels like they all lost emotional depth.

Tension: Bringing Ozai, Azula, and Zhao out in the beginning immediately causes us to lose the realization there is an even bigger bad. Part of why Ozai is so terrifying is he is a primarily silent villain until the third season when we finally see the face of the "big bad evil guy" behind it all. Yes, they add to Zuko's backstory, but again, they are revealing the villains too early. Azula is the antagonist of season 2 and one of my favorite characters, so I hope they do more with her in the future. Finally, Zhao is supposed to be an example of the uncontrollable nature of fire unrestrained, instead, he comes off as vaguely threatening with the supposed true power being Azula.

Characterization: While all characters are bound to lose something in a shorter show, it still felt like certain characters were more mutilated than others. I am sure there are 100 different opinions on who, but I think the biggest victim was Katara.

Katara: Katara manages to go from a complete novice to a bending master in what feels like a matter of days. The journey feels short, and that makes the results feel largely unearned. Katara is one of the strongest personalities in the show, determined, kind, and fiery. In many ways, she is the unpredictability of water - equally dangerous as it is necessary to live. She is the child of a war who lost her mother, forced to grow up too soon, and even raised her older brother. Yes, Katara often gets stereotyped as the mom friend, but overall she feels underutilized in this show. We really don't see enough of her journey until the very end.

Iroh: Iroh was always comedic but most importantly wise. Even when Zuko is trying to give himself advice, he mimics Iroh. Instead, he seems to be used more as comedic relief without the underlying experience. He just doesn't feel right. Also, he kills Zhao instead of Zhao getting himself killed - which is less about Iroh and more about the writing than anything.

Ozai is weirdly a little too nice. Yes, he burned Zuko and pits his kids against each other, but he feels toned down in a show claiming to be more mature than the original cartoon.

Azula is perhaps more realistically worried about losing her status as the golden child, but she is also missing the cruelty she and her father share. I understand worrying about making your character cartoonishly evil, but the Fire Nation is currently a deeply nationalistic empire trying to control the world. Where is the deep-seated belief that they are better than other people, not just trying to bring balance to the world? There is a line between creating complexity and toning down the very real evil inherent in this plan.

Roku: I can only say what the fuck was that. He was barely there, and not the serious master to Aang's youthful exuberance.

The Ugly

Show, Don't Tell: The show's single biggest issue seems to be speeding through story parts by simply stating things. Instead of allowing the audience to discover, trusting that we are smart enough to understand, let's just blatantly say things like Zuko is the only reason the 41st division is alive to their faces. Even though in the context of the story Ozai literally already said that.... it's the division, the division for Zuko, Zuko's division.

Thematic Misunderstandings: I think this show makes several minor changes with major implications, such as airbenders actively fighting the firebenders, when airbenders are known for their pacifist nature and the lie of an Airbender fighting force is actively propaganda. Similarly, Aang very quickly accepts his role as the avatar and doesn't even run away in the beginning. Without this conflict between his desire to be a carefree child and the fact that the world needs him - the show loses a key aspect of Aang's character. Also, the obsession with downplaying the avatar state as something dangerous feels like a disservice to the tradition, connection, and strength of the avatar, which can be permanently destroyed as the trade-off for that kind of power. It's dangerous for the balance of the entire world, not just because it's powerful!

The Agni Kai: Zuko's fight against his father is one of the defining moments of Ozai's cruelty, not just because he is willing to fight his child, but because Zuko tried to do everything right. Zuko shows deference to his father, apologizes, and most importantly refuses to fight! The determination not to upset his father and still be grievously injured and banished is a hugely important theme for the fire nation and Zuko's life as a whole. He tries to do everything he is supposed to and only regains his father's acceptance after he "kills" Aang. Zuko's struggle between moral vs. social right and wrong in contrast to his family is hugely important to his character.

-----

TLDR: ATLA was a fantastical animated television show that was never afraid to show character development and flaws. When you turn 20 episodes into 8, you are bound to lose something. You hollowed out the middle, leaving the shell of important moments and events without ever wondering if all the times in between formed the true spirit of the show.

Rating: 6.5/10 It's perfectly fine and worth a watch. Not a disaster, but certainly falls flat of the original.

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

I’m not sure if this is where requests go, but can you do a platonic!yandere! Charles Xavier and Magneto with child reader? Maybe she’s around 13-14. She’s a decently strong mutant who can control shadows and has similar powers as Raven from DC? I don’t see a lot of platonic Charles and magneto. Maybe some headcanons and small snippets? Idk. Thank you!

THE SONG OF THE RAVEN.

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Charles Xavier x Raven! Fem!reader x Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr. (Platonic Fic)

¿Request? Yes!

This is a Headcanon!

warnings ⸺ mdni! Dark themes, violence/death, blood, insolation, invasion of privacy, scars, delusion, Angst, ��OOC Xavier and Magneto? Idk, fights, Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Gaslight, Mental Illness, Corruption, Isolation, Paranoia, Manipulation.

sinopsis ⸺ A young girl caught between two worlds: the war of a man obsessed with a cause and another who has a completely opposing vision. She desperately seeks to escape the fate that both are trying to impose on her. Amidst silent dinners and celebrations she never wanted, a solitary raven watches her from the shadows, a symbol of the freedom that always seems just out of reach.

A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish — I didn’t know if you wanted me to do it together or separately. Just send me a message and I’ll make another one for you.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... met you in a disturbing and violent way, a storm of chaos surrounding you as you remained expressionless on the threshold of his door. The contrast between your cold determination and the horror of the blood covering you fascinated him immediately. He felt in you an internal storm as powerful as the one raging outside, a repressed power that he needed to comprehend and, more importantly, contain. The way the red gem on your forehead gleamed with darkness only intensified his desire to guide you, to be the only one capable of unleashing your true potential... to control you.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... perceives the fear in the hearts of those around you. He knows that the students and the other X-Men watch you cautiously, whispering about the dark energy that emanates from you, the shadow that always seems to follow you. But for him, that darkness is what makes you so fascinating, so special. While others retreat, Xavier moves closer. He uses his powers to silence those murmurs before they affect you, convinced that no one else, except him, can see the beauty in what you truly are. Every time his thoughts touch your mind, he feels your confusion, your internal struggle with the dark power within you. And that only reinforces his desire to keep you close, to have you trust only him.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... insists on training you personally. He does not trust that anyone else understands the depth of your abilities as he does. His training sessions are intense, his mind enveloping yours as he guides you through the darkest corners of your powers. He assures you that only he can help you control it, to master it, and with each passing day, you feel more bound to his presence. You feel him, always in your mind, always near, watching you even when you think you are alone. Sometimes you wonder if he is protecting you or if he is caging something within you that he only wants to possess. But you dismiss those thoughts because, after all, he was the only one who took you in despite everything.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... obsessively cares for your well-being, to the point of seeing you as a daughter who needs to be watched at all times. He provides you with an isolated room, away from the other students, a place where you can be "safe," although you feel it is more like a prison disguised as protection. Every time you leave your room, his eyes seem to follow you, and his words are always filled with care: “It’s for your own good. I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed by the weight of your power.” But in his voice, there is always something more, a need to keep you safe... safe only for him.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... knows he cannot allow the world to harm you, and in his twisted mind, that justifies any invasion, any manipulation. He follows you in dreams, watches over you through his powers even while you sleep, ensuring that no nightmare, no vestige of Trigon or your own darkness reaches you. Sometimes you feel his presence within your mind, a forced calm that leaves you uneasy, but when you try to confront him, he simply smiles at you kindly and says, "I just want you to be at peace, Y/N. I won’t let anything hurt you."

Yandere Charles Xavier who... sees in you more than a student. You are his creation, his project, his daughter in a sense deeper than anyone else could understand. He has shaped you, protected you from yourself and the world, and in his mind, only he has the right to be so close to your essence. Sometimes he talks to you about a future where no one else can hurt you, where he will be everything you need. And in those moments, you see in his eyes a glimmer of something disturbing, a need that goes beyond the mentor that everyone sees.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... has made the entire mansion a refuge for you, although it really feels more like a prison from which you cannot escape. The mental bond he has established with you is so strong that even if you wanted to leave, you would feel an invisible resistance. Charles has intertwined his mind with yours in such a way that it is impossible for you to imagine a world without him, and that dependence is exactly what he has desired all along. Because in his vision, absolute control over you is not something to be feared, but a demonstration of his love and care.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... knows that the dark power dwelling within you could destroy the world if not contained, and yet, he increasingly feels tempted to unleash it, to see you in your purest, most chaotic form. But he would only do it if that means he will be the only one capable of guiding you, of touching that part of you that no one else should know. The thought of losing you or your power at the hands of another is unbearable, and that leads him to make increasingly extreme decisions, justifying his actions as if they were for your own good. For Xavier, you are more than a powerful mutant. You are the center of his world, the living manifestation of everything he fears and everything he desires.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... begins to see with you the same dark and melancholic series that seem to attract you, those that reflect your own internal struggle. The hours you spend together in the mansion's living room are an attempt to understand you more deeply, and although the plots are often laden with fatalism and sadness, Charles watches them carefully, always studying your reactions. “I wonder if you see anything of yourself in these characters,” he comments one night, as a gloomy episode unfolds on the screen. He says it in a casual tone, but his interest is deeper, always trying to unravel the corners of your mind. You allow yourself a slight smile, a reflection of the dark sarcasm that sometimes dominates you. Charles remains silent, but his mind works frantically. He cannot help but feel fascinated, even more connected to you, by that dark side you share through the screen, knowing that only he can help you confront it… and control it.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... tensed the first time you spoke of Trigon. You mentioned him with a chilling calm, explaining how your destiny, according to your mother, was marked by his shadow. “He is my father,” you said one day in one of your mental sessions, while you were both immersed in that peaceful void that Xavier created for you. “And he is also my curse.” The words resonated in his mind with a weight he could not ignore. Charles felt a dull anger in the depths of his being, a resentment he did not expect toward an entity he had never known. Trigon. That malignant presence that had tried to claim you before he found you. "You are not a curse, my child" he replied, his voice firmer than usual, trying to maintain his composure while feeling something dark stir within him. “You are not your father, nor the destiny imposed on you. You are much more than they will ever understand.”

Yandere Charles Xavier who... felt something dangerous when you mentioned your mother and your dimension, Azarath. It was a calm conversation at first, you talking about her with a mix of nostalgia and sadness, a mother who had tried to protect you, but also one who had allowed Trigon to leave his mark on you. Charles listened in silence, but with each word you spoke about her, he felt a growing resentment. She had brought you into this world of darkness, a girl who did not deserve to be subjected to that cursed fate, and no matter how hard she tried to protect you, she was the one who deliberately delivered you and put you at the mercy of Trigon. "She didn't really understand you, Y/N," Charles said one day, his voice laden with careful control, fearing to say something that would upset you, but with a latent fury that only you could perceive if you looked closely. “Not like I do. Not like those who truly want what is best for you.”

Yandere Charles Xavier who... organized a small celebration on your fourteenth birthday, a day that should have been joyful, but he knew meant something very different for you. He watched your empty expression, your indifference toward the candles, the few gifts the students dared to give you. You discreetly stepped away from the celebration, seeking solitude. Charles followed you, his chair moving silently to the corner where you had taken refuge, away from the bustle. “I’m not celebrating this day, Charles,” you said, your voice laden with a coldness he could not ignore. “My birth was a curse. This day, in the future, will be the downfall of all humans in this dimension.” His eyes watched you with a mix of compassion and pain. The feeling of helplessness briefly overwhelmed him, but it was replaced with a fierce determination. “No, Y/N. It was not a curse,” he replied, moving closer. “Your birth is the arrival of a messiah to the earth, and nothing that happens will change my mind. You are free to be whoever you want to be, and I will help you see that. I… will always be here to remind you.” His warm, paternal hand touched yours, trying to make those words penetrate the darkest corner of your mind. “You are my daughter, and no destiny imposed by a foolish demon can change that. So let’s celebrate.”

Yandere Charles Xavier who... felt a mix of pride and relief as he saw how, year after year, you remained true to the X-Men, but more importantly, true to him. While the other students grew, forming deep friendships and even romances, you remained distant, always the solitary shadow doing what was necessary but not truly connecting with others. Charles noticed this, and although he pretended to worry about your loneliness, deep in his heart, he felt satisfied. He knew you had remained intact, far from the influences that could have pulled you away from his control. In his mind, that distance was proof of his success, of how he had shaped you to depend only on him.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... as he aged, felt pride every time he looked at you and saw that you remained his daughter, his creation. You were no longer the teenager who arrived at the mansion covered in blood and viscera, but you still did not allow anyone to affect you deeply. “You have grown so much,” he told you one afternoon, his voice soft but laden with a possessive love that had always been present. “Not just as an X-Men, but as a person. You have given me more than I could ever imagine. And I thank you… for staying by my side.” His eyes, now older, more tired, shone with pride that bordered on obsession. He knew you had overcome your demons, but he also knew it was because of him. And as long as he could keep you close, away from any other influence, he would be happy.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... found you in a dark alley after an uncontrollable explosion of power had left devastation around you. Your emotions had exploded after your arrival from Azarath, and Erik, seeing you surrounded by shadows, immediately felt a connection. “You are a mutant,” he affirmed, recognizing the immense power within you. But as he saw you more closely, his motivations began to mix. At first, he saw you as a tool for his cause, but the fragility of your emotions awakened in him a deep concern.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... took you under his protection with an obsessive intensity. Although he trained you hard, his desire for control was evident, convinced that only he could help you channel your power. “You are stronger than you think,” he would tell you in moments of greatest despair, but what he truly longed for was to mold you into someone who shared his struggle. For him, your potential was unlimited, but also a source of fear.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... obsessed over seeing you in the white suit you had brought from Azarath, interpreting it as a symbol of your purity. However, there was a dark desire within him: to see you covered in red, a color that for him represented fury, destiny, and his cause. Although his exterior seemed serene, in his mind, Erik struggled against the growing need to possess you, to protect you not only from others but from yourself.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... felt trapped between the desire to see you become a warrior and his paternal instinct that pushed him to protect you. Your demonic lineage generated both fear and admiration in him, and every time you showed signs of rejecting the path he had laid out for you, his frustration grew. “You can’t escape what you are,” he would tell you, although he knew those words hurt you deeply. What he didn’t understand was that your internal struggle went far beyond the war between mutants and humans.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... tried to isolate you from others, especially from those who showed you any kindness, like Charles. “They don’t understand you, kid” he warns you, trying to sow doubt in your mind. But deep down, Erik feared that others could offer you the balance that he, in his obsession, denied you.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... wakes in the middle of the night to hear your frightened whispers. He knew you had nightmares, but he could not stand to see you in such a state of vulnerability. Not knowing how to comfort you without seeming weak, he stayed by your side, watching your tormented expressions. In the end, he would gently wake you, murmuring, “Nothing will happen to you while I’m here.” However, his need for control grew every time he saw you affected. He couldn’t bear the thought that something, not even in your dreams, could hurt you.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... is surprised the first time he finds you watching a romantic series. “Why are you wasting your time with that?” he asks you, disdainful at first. However, over time, he begins to tolerate it only because he sees you more relaxed. He doesn’t admit it, but he secretly watches you, intrigued by how you can find peace in something so far removed from his reality. Although he despises those stories, he starts to buy them for you in an attempt to keep you entertained and close to him.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... begins to get angry when he notices that you are becoming friends with Pietro Maximoff. He is deeply bothered by the closeness you develop with his son, as he fears that his influence will pull you away from him. “Pietro is unstable,” he warns you, trying to sow doubt in your mind. But you can’t help feeling freer with Pietro, who understands your desire to escape better. Every time Erik sees Pietro make you laugh or when he talks to you about the freedom he feels when he runs, Erik becomes increasingly jealous, wishing to control every aspect of your life.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... becomes furious every time you escape. Even though you try to do it discreetly, he always notices and takes it as a personal betrayal. “Where do you think you can go without me?” he asks you when he finds you, his voice filled with a mix of disappointment and possessiveness. Erik justifies himself by telling you that he only wants to protect you from the dangers of the outside world, but the truth is he cannot stand the thought of losing control over you. Every time you return, he locks you further in his world, believing he will keep you safe.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... listens carefully when you talk to him about Azarath and your father, although his expression hardens at the mention of Trigon. “Your father has no power here,” he assures you, as if his words could ward off the danger he represents. However, he cannot help but compare himself to Trigon in his mind. His desire to protect you intertwines with a dark satisfaction: he is the one who has pulled you from that world. Still, his disdain for the demonic seeps into his words, sometimes making you feel that Erik does not understand the depth of your internal conflict.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... at first gets annoyed when you refer to him as your mentor instead of your father. For Erik, the relationships of power and control are clear, and your resistance to see him in a paternal role confuses him. “I care for you as if you were my own daughter,” he says, trying to soften his tone, although what he really wants is for you to feel more dependent on him. However, little by little, he realizes that being your mentor also gives him a position of influence, shaping you in his way. And although he does not admit it, sometimes he would prefer that you did not see him as a father, as his feelings toward you become increasingly complex.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... becomes irritated when he sees you seek comfort in other mutants or in your memories of Azarath when you feel alone. For him, those connections are a threat, as he fears that any bond outside his influence will lead you to distance yourself from him. “They don’t understand what you can become,” he tells you, convinced that he is the only one who can help you reach your true potential. But every time he sees you embrace your past or connect with others, the need to isolate you intensifies.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... sometimes struggles with the desire to let you go and allow you to be independent, but that thought consumes him with jealousy. Every time you show glimpses of autonomy, his possessiveness increases. Although he respects your strength, his need to protect and control puts you in a constant cycle of tension. “You will always need my guidance,” he assures you, convinced that his presence in your life is indispensable. However, he does not realize that, despite his obsession with keeping you close, you see him only as a teacher, not as the omnipresent figure he aspires to be.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... at first saw you as a key piece in his fight for mutant supremacy. He trained you hard, wanting you to be his perfect weapon against humans. But over time, something changed. He no longer cared if you fought in his war; he wanted you to be his daughter. Now, instead of training you in combat, he teaches you to control your powers in ways that, according to him, will only make you stronger, but without putting you in danger. “You don’t need to risk yourself for a cause that no longer makes sense to you,” he tells you, ignoring your own desires to fight or make your own decisions. He only cares about keeping you close, protected, and under his control. He is no longer interested in the war; his only obsession is to keep you in his life, away from any conflict that could take you away from him.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... has become addicted to the moments when he can feign paternal normality with you, like the dinners he organizes almost every night. He knows that his presence makes you uncomfortable, especially when he watches you with an intensity that makes you nervous, but for him, it is a ritual that reinforces the connection he believes he has with you. Every time you try to avoid those moments, he insists: “It’s important that we have dinner together, as a family.” Although his attempts to create a family atmosphere feel forced, you stay because you feel you have no other option. Every dinner is laden with awkward silences and glances that make you feel like you are under a microscope.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... is terrified to witness, for the first time, how Trigon attempts to possess you. It was an unexpected and terrifying moment, one that left him powerless in the face of a force he could not control with his magnetism. He watched you struggle against the influence of your demonic father, and for the first time in a long time, Erik felt a fear he had not felt since childhood: the fear of losing you, but in a much darker way than he had ever anticipated. When you managed to resist the possession, Erik took you by the shoulders, his eyes filled with a mix of panic and fury: “I won’t let that monster take you. Never.” Since then, he has redoubled his efforts to keep you close and under control, looking for any way to prevent Trigon from attempting something similar again, even if that means isolating you even more from the outside world.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... has never understood why you are reluctant to celebrate your birthday. For him, celebrations are important because they reinforce the idea of family and unity. But you have always avoided Erik marking that date, and each year you try to spend the day in silence or distracted by anything else. Despite your resistance, Erik always finds a way to get you a gift or prepare something special, even though he knows it makes you uncomfortable. “No matter what you think, this day is important,” he insists, ignoring your wishes. For him, celebrating your birthday is not just a symbolic gesture; it is an affirmation that you belong to him and that, even if you reject it, you cannot escape his influence or control.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who...feels increasingly obsessed with the idea of having a perfect family. Although at first he saw you as an ally in his war, now he sees you more as his daughter and less as a warrior. Every time you mention the possibility of fighting for mutants or exploring the outside world, he cuts you off with cold determination: “Your place is here with me. You no longer need to prove anything to anyone.” This only increases your frustration, but Erik seems more than willing to do anything to prevent you from exposing yourself to danger, even if it means cutting all your external connections.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... watches every movement of Y/N as she trains with her powers, controlling shadows with impressive skill, his eyes burning with a mix of pride and possession. Every time she makes progress in her control of her powers, he feels his own purpose renewed: to protect her from a world that does not understand her. He feels jealous of the attention she gives to Charles, but at the same time, he knows he needs her to see him as a paternal figure as well.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... takes her to therapy sessions to help her cope with her nightmares, creating a warm and welcoming environment. His approach is more understanding and emotional, and although he feels threatened by Erik's intensity, he strives to be the father that Y/N needs, even if it means yielding in some aspects to Erik's demands.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... cannot stand to see Y/N go on a mission with Charles or the other mutants. Although he knows it is part of her training, his protective instinct kicks in, and his scheming mind seeks ways to dissuade her. When he finds her talking to Charles about the mission, his voice hardens. “It’s not safe for you to go out; you could lose control and hurt yourself,” he warns her, his tone filled with concern and jealousy.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... tries to calm the situation, reminding Erik that Y/N needs to have experiences and learn to defend herself. “You can’t always protect her, Erik. She needs to learn to face the world.” His tone is firm, but in his eyes, there is a spark of challenge. The rivalry between them intensifies, but both know that their ultimate goal is the same: to protect their little Raven who is so lost in life.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... feels helpless when Y/N expresses her desire not to celebrate her birthday, a day that is painful for her to remember due to her own traumas. However, upon seeing how Charles plans a small celebration, his anger erupts. “Why are we celebrating a day that represents her vulnerability?” he yells, even though inside he is torn by the idea that he cannot be the only one to make her happy.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... realizes the importance of this day for Reader and refuses to yield to Erik's doubts. “She deserves to enjoy her life, Erik. You can’t keep her in a bubble.” Although both fight for Reader's attention and affection, the celebration becomes a point of unity, combining their efforts for the well-being of the young girl.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... feels a pang of jealousy and frustration when Charles invites Y/n to the mansion to spend time with family and have dinner with the other X-Men. “Why are you bringing her here? She should be training, not sharing laughs with them,” he reproaches, his voice tense as he watches Y/n smile and interact with the others. Erik cannot help but feel excluded, fearing that by spending time with Charles and the X-Men, Y/n will drift away from him and his teachings.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... tries to see the best in the situation, explaining to Erik that Y/n needs moments of normalcy and connection with others. “Erik, you can’t protect her from everything. It’s essential for her to learn to interact with her family and friends,” he says, trying to remain calm. However, he realizes that Charles's words only ignite Erik's anger further, who believes those moments are a dangerous distraction.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... feels even more upset when he learns that Charles is fostering a relationship between Reader and Pietro. “She doesn’t need a boyfriend, especially not that boy who will only hinder her development,” he tells him in a grave voice, raising an eyebrow at the complicity between the two. His scheming mind fills with jealousy, convinced that Pietro, with his carefree nature, could negatively influence his daughter, diverting her from the seriousness he believes her life should have.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... tries to calm Erik, reminding him that the bond between Y/n and Pietro could be beneficial for her development. “She needs friends her age, Erik. Who better than your son? You can’t be the only one in her life,” he insists, although the tension between them feels palpable. In reality, he does this to torment Erik and make Y/N want him more.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... feels irritated when he sees Y/n wearing battle clothes that he hasn’t chosen. He hated that she dressed in that dark attire. “Why are you dressing like that? You need to be ready for battle, not for a parade,” he tells her, frowning as he sees that Charles allows Y/n to wear whatever she wants. When she appears uncomfortable with her choice, Erik feels frustrated by the lack of control he has over his surroundings. “I don’t want you to feel vulnerable,” he says with concern, but his way of expressing it is possessive and almost demanding.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... intervenes, defending Y/n right to choose her own clothes. “She should feel comfortable and secure, Erik. Strength doesn’t just come from appearance, but from the confidence she has in herself,” he argues, trying to show him that possessiveness is not the answer. However, Erik feels overwhelmed by the desire to protect her, thinking that clothing should be an extension of that protection, not realizing that his approach may be making Y/n feel trapped.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... one night, upon seeing Y/N wake up startled from her nightmares, cannot help but feel a pang of pain. “I won’t allow them to trap you like they did me,” he murmurs, gently taking her hand. However, his possessive nature surfaces, and a flash of fear crosses his face at the thought that she might distance herself.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... encourages her to talk about her fears, using his telepathic abilities to connect with her in those mental landscapes. “You are not alone, my girl. We are here for you,” he tells her, his voice soft and reassuring. Their emotional connection strengthens in those moments of vulnerability, and although Erik struggles with his own instincts, he realizes that together they can offer her the protection she needs.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... joins Charles to defend Y/N from an external threat, forcing a collaboration that seemed impossible before. Both are aware that, although their methods differ, their love for her transcends any rivalry. “If we lose her, there will be no victory,” Erik says, his voice deep as he watches Charles nod, understanding him.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... is also compelled to recognize the value of Erik's strength. “We need to join our forces if we want to protect her from the darkness that lurks,” he agrees, looking at Erik with a mix of respect and challenge. Together, they form a formidable front, balancing Erik's brute strength with Charles's cunning and knowledge, becoming two protective fathers seeking the best for Y/n.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr and Yandere! Charles Xavier who... finally find an understanding in their struggle to protect Y/n. The rivalry that once separated them becomes a bond that unites them, each complementing the other as they face the adversities of the outside world, with the Raven of freedom always present in their hearts.

A/N ── I don’t know much about Magneto (surprisingly), so I did what I could with him. Still, I wasn’t satisfied with his part, and that’s what worries me the most, but I think with a look at the comics, the movies, and watching a few videos, I’ll learn more about him.

I separated them because I think in Xavier’s case, Y/N would feel more drawn to his affection and appreciation, which is why she would remain loyal to him without wavering, which is different in Magneto’s case.

Raven is a character I really like, in several adaptations, except for two that I don’t like much mainly because of how they were written.

Feel free to ask me anything if you want. Just go to my profile and message me; I always read your ideas and requests.

Take a Bath!

[barblaz-arts]

Stephanie Beatrice had played my 3 favorite characters (Rosa Mirabel and Vaggie) and since I watched Encanto and B99 I have my head canon that Vaggie have both Rosa and Mirabel personalities.

Any way, I just want to know what is your head canon or theory about her? ( specifically about Lute calling her weak and why the other exorcist hate her)

Since she is your girl, I would love to read your essay about her.(I’m joking you don’t have to write that much I just like to read your post)

Thank you

"My girl"... Am I just "that one artist who's the biggest Vaggie stan" to you guys? (I won't mind it!)

Oh man! I do have some ideas! A lot of my headcanons were already kinda sorta mentioned in my fic/art tho, so sorry if you're not getting a lot of new info

- I have this headcanon that Vaggie's always been "softer" than the other Exorcists, which is what I assume Lute meant when she said she "always knew [Vaggie] was weak". I know it probably has more to do with how little time each episode has, but what if Lute was so ready, already behind Vaggie when she let that kid go, because she knew this wasn't the first time Vaggie spared a sinner? Maybe that was just the first time Lute actually caught her. Maybe she's always had her suspicions, when Vaggie's kill count would lower every year, and she'd sometimes find Vaggie saying a sinner got away somehow despite cornering that demon moments ago.

- although she's gotten used enough to her lack of depth perception when it comes to her hand eye coordination, especially when fighting, i like to think her reading ability could never truly go back to the way it used to be, so she has trouble reading/ writing/texting (if you notice, i always showed instances of this in my fic ;> )But because she's the hotel manager she still has to deal with them because of paperwork and shit, so she has prescription glasses that help. I'd wanted to include a scene in the First Guest where Vaggie almost cries after seeing Charlie thru the glasses for the first time, because she didn't think Charlie could be any more beautiful, but i scrapped the idea because I couldn't expand the concept enough to an actual scene that could be relevant to the overall fic. I probably should have just mentioned it in a paragraph or something, but by the time i remembered id already posted the chapter I intended to add it in. Maybe I'll use it for another fic.

- she prefers femme clothing so she doesn't really have a reason to do this, but she learned how to do all kinds of ties so that she could do Charlie's whenever

- she grew her hair to compensate for her lost wings

- she wasn't exactly a great cook before she Fell, but she was pretty capable when she lived alone in Heaven. Cooking for Charlie tho gave her the motivation to get better and actually enjoy it

- an angel trait that she could never truly abandon is being a stickler for rules. She's very strict on everyone and herself with these things, within reason. So even when she and Charlie started dating, she insisted that they can't sleep together until they've had their third date. When they're on the clock, they have to be professional and avoid flirtatious advances in front of staff and guests. Charlie didn't mind because she prefers privacy too.

- Vaggie's physical appearance slightly changed gradually the longer she stayed in hell. As an angel, her sclera was paler, her incisors duller, and her skin grayer. But as time passed, her sclera got more and more peach/pink, fangs sharper, and skin more purple toned

- i still like to think that Vaggie's old backstory back when only the pilot was out (having died in 2014 in her early twenties who worked as a sex worker in El Salvador) was still true. Maybe it's just because I've liked Chaggie since pilot, and I've grown really attached to that backstory. I also just really don't want Vaggie to be Heavenborn for some reason. Among the cast she just seems the most grounded to reality to me, so having her revealed to have never been human and born "divine" just doesn't seem right to me. I also just think it'd be cute and funny if it turns out she's chronologically the youngest in the hotel even tho she's basically everyone's strict not-mom.

- idgaf what Adam says, I wanna think that "Vaggie" is short for "Evangeline". I used to have these 2 coworkers in their late 50's to 60's who had Evangeline as their government name, but one of them goes by "Vanj" and the other "Vajee". Being older Filipino women who aren't really too fluent in English, they never thought there was anything wrong with that when they grew up with their nicknames. I like to think that the case was the same if Vaggie used to be human. I'm not sure how common English is in El Salvador, but I'm willing to bet it's possible she could have been given that nickname as a kid by an older family member who didn't know a lot of English. Also Evangeline makes more sense to have been the name of an angel cmon now...

[littlefireball]

ꜱʜ|ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍᴄᴀᴛᴄʜᴇʀ (ᴍ/ᴀ)

Write about a dream assassin who is tasked with fighting a nightmare that disturb people's sleep. (ref)

a/n: find it on pinterest and an idea just pops up in my mind

ᴇxᴏʀᴄɪꜱᴛ (ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ᴀꜱꜱᴀꜱꜱɪɴ) ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴋ*ʟʟᴇᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴇx ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ (ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ)|ᴏʀᴀʟ|ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ|ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ|ᴏᴠᴇʀꜱᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ|ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ ʙʀᴇᴀꜱᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.8ᴋ

Summary: As an exorcist, your mission was clear: eliminate the demon. Yet, destiny had other plans. You found yourself captivated by him. Even after vanquishing his true essence, his spirit lingered within you, refusing to be forgotten. The only way to find peace was to confront him once more. But could you summon the strength to do it? Or would you surrender to the pull of your heart and let yourself love him all over again? 

"Here you are, nightmare." A deep voice shattered the silence as Seonghwa turned to confront you, a gun aimed directly at him. Ever since that tragic moment when you took the life of your beloved, believing him to be a demon rather than a mere mortal, a haunting darkness has consumed you. It was only natural that you would return here, driven by the desire to finish what you started─killed the demon.

"Ah, what a pleasant surprise, darling." He approached you, arms wide open, his demeanor relaxed as if your threat was nothing more than a playful jest. After all, in his world, he could control everything. 

"What can I do for you?"

"Easy. Stop making a nightmare and go back where you belong."

"My bad. Here I am. The dream is my true home."

"Absolutely not." You tightened your grip on the weapon, advancing toward him. "Hell is."

Seonghwa's smile never faltered, even as you closed the distance between you, the barrel of the gun now inches from his chest. It felt like your weapon was a mere toy in his eyes.

"You see, my dear, you misunderstand. I am not a mere nightmare conjured from the depths of someone's subconscious. I am the guardian of dreams, both sweet and terrifying."

Your finger trembled slightly on the trigger, but you refused to let your guard down. "Guardian? You bring nothing but fear and despair. I've seen the havoc you've wreaked on countless minds."

"Ah, but fear and despair are but facets of the human experience. They shape us, mold us, and make us stronger. Without them, we would be nothing more than hollow shells, devoid of emotion and understanding. I am merely a messenger, a catalyst for growth."

You shook your head, disbelieving. "No, you're just a monster hiding behind the veil of dreams. You feed on people's fears, twisting and manipulating them to your own ends."

Seonghwa's expression softened, and he took a step closer, the gun's muzzle pressing against his chest with each breath. "And what of your own fears, my dear? Do you not fear losing someone you love?I am but a reflection of those fears, a projection of your own mind."

You felt a surge of anger and frustration wash over you. "Don't try to play mind games with me. I know what you are, and I won't let you hurt anyone else."

"Hurt? I have never harmed anyone willingly. It is the fear within them that brings harm, not I. I am but a mirror, reflecting back their deepest terrors. If they can confront those fears, they will find strength within themselves."

Your resolve wavered for a moment, but you pushed it aside. "Enough of your lies. I won't fall for your manipulation. Go back to hell!" 

Without a second thought, you pulled the trigger; yet, he stood still despite the bullet passing through his body. The bullet hole in his chest closed seamlessly, leaving no trace of the violence you had just unleashed. 

"What?" 

"That's what you fear, honey." He cupped your face, gazing at your pitiful eyes. "You can't kill someone you love." Seonghwa's touch was gentle, yet it felt like a prison, trapping you in a reality that was both yours and not. The gun slipped from your fingers, clattering to the ground.

"I don't like you!Just get off me!" You shuttered, trying to deny the emotion that was bubbling up inside you. Yet, despite your words, your heart remained unable to hide the truth from him.

"Are you sure?" His voice was soft, almost soothing. "Or is it that you're afraid to admit it?"

Your heart raced as you struggled to find the word to refute him. "He was true, no. He merely glanced into the depths of your heart, then skillfully manipulated your subconscious to mold himself into the figure of your beloved." You thought. 

"Oh dear, dear." He muttered under his breath. "You know you love me." 

"No, you're evil and I hate you." 

"No.Y/N." He inched forward, his gaze piercing. "You're just afraid to admit who I truly am. You can't bear the thought that your beloved is a demon." 

"Please…no…" You shook your head, desperate to reject reality, yearning to escape the dream, but it held you captive. You shut your eyes tightly, and the only image that surfaced was that of your lost lover, the one you had taken from this world with your own hands. He smiled and waved, a siren luring you from the depths, beckoning you to surrender to this intoxicating embrace of longing.

"Love?" As you opened your eyes, you were greeted by the sight of Seonghwa standing in front of you,in the home you two shared, appearing entirely human. Gone were the devil horns, wings, and tail; everything felt just as normal as it had the day before you discovered his true nature. 

"Are you alright?" he asked gently, brushing away your tears. "What's wrong?"

Memories from the past flicker in your mind once again. He was a demon, having conjured a dreadful creation to dominate the dreams of others, disrupting their slumber and even devouring their souls. You were an exorcist, adept at eradicating the evil that tormented humanity. Yet, fate had a twist in store─you found yourselves falling in love during an encounter. Although you succeeded in destroying his true form, his spirit continued to reside within your heart, an unforgettable presence. 

"I had a terrible dream. I saw you turn into a devil."

"Don't be silly, girl." He laughed softly, wrapping you in a warm embrace. "How could I ever be a demon?" He rested his chin on your head, planting a tender kiss there. You nestled against him, your arms encircling his waist, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Could it all be a figment of your imagination? Perhaps he was merely an illusion, not a demon at all.

"I am afraid." 

"Shh, everything's fine." 

"Can you kiss me, hwa?" You murmured, your voice barely a whisper. "Please..." 

A sly grin danced across Seonghwa's face, aware that you had succumbed to him. With a gentle caress of your cheek, he drew you in for a kiss, slow and tender. Tears welled in your eyes, a painful reminder of the past. Those haunting memories clung to you like specters, dragging you into an abyss of regret, where you might never resurface.

You really missed him.

His kisses, warm and lingering, traveled down your jawline and neck, igniting a thrilling, tingling sensation that made your heart race.

"Be mine, Y/N." In an instant, he cradled your face in his hands and drew you into a fervent kiss. He intensified the kiss, his tongue probing for access with a touch of fierceness, a wordless assertion of possession. A wave of breathlessness washed over you instantly.

His hands crept to your back, slipping beneath your clothing to caress your skin, drawing a soft whimper of embarrassment from you. Your body ignited from the kiss, your thoughts dissolving as the world around you swirled in a dizzying dance. Yet, none of it mattered; you surrendered completely, allowing him to guide the moment. 

He seized your wrist with a firm grip, forcing you down onto the floor, and your clothes vanished into thin air. He showered your chest with tender kisses, his tongue gliding over your skin, punctuated by playful nibbles that sent shivers down your spine. His fingers wrapped around your bare thighs, parting them as he descended toward your stomach. His breath pooled against your clit, making you squirm and curl your toes. 

"Fuck…" You let out a small gasp as his flatted tongue licked your clit from the bottom to the top, shocked by the sudden touch of his wet muscle. "So sensitive, huh?" He drew back to your wetness, dropping a kiss before sucking your bud. A choppy moan and words flew away from your tongue, overwhelming pleasure made you lose words. 

You reached down to press your hand to the back of his head, ruffling his hair as your fingers buried in them. You arched your back and your bottom lips started shaking as soon as his tongue found its way to your cunt. Pushing one finger and his tongue to your depth, he slid in and out slowly, making sure you felt every movement. 

"Hwa─!!" Your whole body shook from his quick thrusting; he pushed in two more fingers to rub against your lovely wall, curling them to kiss your spot with different angles; his nose nudging your clit as he ate you out, tapping your bud and leaving a broken kiss on that. 

"Please…I'm so close…" Shutting your eyes tightly,a knot formed in your stomach that needed to be released. "Show me what you get from him, dear. Make a mess on my face, I want to taste you." His dirty words hung in the air, bringing you to the edge. His thrust went faster and faster, and you came on his face with a heavy pant. 

"Goodness, how delicious you are." Licking away the juices on his face, he then divided into your clit again to taste your sweetness. "Seog…" You tried to push away his head and drew back your hip, the overstimulation made you catch your breath; but he grabbed your ankles to pull you back, pushing them aside for better licking. He sucked even harder and licked faster, producing a loud kissing sound and mixed with your messy moaning. "Cum one more for me." He murmured before latching back to suck your juices. He let out a satisfied whimper, each vocalization caused vibrations that drove you insane. You couldn't help but cum again without warning.

"You're doing well, my baby girl." Seonghwa loomed over you, pressing his lips against yours. As you gradually opened your eyes, a chilling sight met you—an ominous creature lurking behind him, ready to devour your soul. A wave of terror washed over you as your eyes darted back to Seonghwa, who wore a sinister grin that sent shivers down your spine. You realized that retreating was no longer an option; you had to act before it was too late. For a fleeting moment, clarity returned, but it slipped away like sand through your fingers as Seonghwa pulled you deeper into his embrace.

"Look at me." He gently cupped your face with one of his hands, another followed to guide his manhood press against your entrance. "Say you love me, honey. I want to hear from you." 

"I love you…hwa…" Smiling, he pushed forward in one go, intertwining his fingers with yours. Your spine curved once more, your head sinking into his neck before it settled back against the ground. His towering figure obscured your view, leaving you unable to see what the creature would unleash in the next heartbeat."Hwa…hwa…" Your begging was ignored as he kept thrusting steadily. He was long enough to reach your deepest, making your legs bent more. 

He drew his hips a little bit and then pushed back in a quick motion, hitting your spot dead on. His pelvis grazed your clit each time he thrusted in. Everything was not rough but enough to bring you enjoyment; you soon forgot the excitement of the creature as he continued to roll his hips into you. 

"You're so good, honey." His hand slipped beneath your back, lifting you effortlessly and placing you on his lap. One of his legs encircled you, inviting you to snuggle into his warm embrace. With a firm grip, both of his hands clasped your hips, drawing you in with an undeniable strength, making your soft flesh hit his hard tip. "I can't get enough from you." 

"Oh my god!" You encircled his shoulder with your arms, squeezing your eyes shut as the unexpected jolt hit you. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, and then he playfully did it again. You let out a soft whine each time his tip shoved into your tightness. Your wall clenched, squeezing his cock hard, making a long throaty moan fly from Seonghwa's mouth. 

"I'll cum if you keep doing this." Seonghwa opened and closed his mouth for breathing, little did he know, he's already sunk in this love making. The spirit of an exorcist radiates a purity that is rare among humans, making it a sought-after prize. But is it truly easy to seize their souls? A direct approach is out of the question, yet what if they chose to offer themselves? It could be a risk worth taking. If he fails, he faces a return to hell, a place he loathes though. 

Then, he crossed paths with you. Your emotional naivety stands out, captivating him. Through his love, tenderness, and affection, you fell in love with him. The ultimate goal is for you to be the one to end his life. Only then will your obsession ensure his soul remains tethered to you. He was right all along. He haunts your thoughts, tormenting you relentlessly, until today, when you finally gave him everything you had.

Throwing your head at the back to give him more access, he buried himself in your chest, peppering it with an open mouth kiss. He bit your nipple slightly, sucking it to leave a red mark on that and tapping it quickly with his tongue tip. You were so perfect, from head to toe. He could just make love with you endlessly; your body was made for him, your moaning was his favourite rhythm in this world. Gosh, maybe he was the one who couldn't forget you. 

"Cum for me again, honey. I need you." "Fuck…fuck…fuck!!" You couldn't hear anything but your high-pitched moan and rough skin slapping sound. Feeling you reach the peak again, your arms and legs lost all strength as soon as the numbness creeped in, finally came the third time before Seonghwa creamed your wall with his hot white seed. 

Gasping for breath, you fell against Seonghwa's chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "You're mine now, forever." He cradled you into his arms, refusing to release you. As your vision sharpened, the creature lurking behind him came into focus. Before you could utter a word, it engulfed you, each fragment of your being transforming into a flicker of light and vanishing into the ether. Initially taken aback, you swiftly steadied yourself. Ha, you indeed couldn't get rid of him. Without any words, without any reaction, you disappeared in the air.

The world faded into a deep abyss once again, a familiar cloak of darkness that wrapped around him. A contented smirk appeared on his lips as he rose, feeling a rush of strength flood his veins.

It's worth it, even if it does consume time. Her soul was simply exquisite." Seonghwa stepped away from the dream, eager to hunt for his next victim. Yet, he was unprepared for the realization that no soul could compare to yours. An aching void settled in his heart, a persistent reminder of something lost. Why was this? Shouldn't he revel in the triumph of devouring an exorcist's essence? Shouldn't pride swell within him? Instead, he was met with an overwhelming sense of sorrow.

Had he fallen for you, too? He would never confess it. Yet, the memories of your shared moments haunted him—your laughter, your warm embrace, the sweetness of your kiss, the softness of your touch…everything.

—--

"What is the flavor of an exorcist's soul? Is it something delightful? Hongjoong sat opposite Seonghwa, savoring a sip of his drink. 

"Disgusting," Seonghwa declared.

"So you just wasted your time. I warned you."

"Not your concern." Seonghwa shut his eyes, wishing to avoid the conversation.

"Oh, I was actually going to suggest an exorcist for you. But maybe it's pointless now."

"Let me see."

"Are you sure? Didn't you just say it's revolting?"

Seonghwa shot him a glare that could freeze fire, prompting a chuckle from Hongjoong as he pulled a photo from his pocket.

"Here she is. I think you'll find her intriguing."

As Seonghwa gazed at the picture, a tremor of emotion coursed through his heart.

"Y/N…?" 

"Well, it depends on you how to deal with her."

Even though Seonghwa was unsure of why you remained, one thing was clear in his mind: he would once more make you his own.

tag list:@angelsaway, @yeosangcutie0615

[reikaryu]

20:41 ♡ mingyu

fluff, idol!au, established relationship

I absolutely LOVE mingyu’s fangs. they’re so perfect oh my gosh.

it’s been a week since you saw your boyfriend face to face. he’s been practising diligently with his group mates for the upcoming comeback, while you were stuck in your studio producing songs for a number of artists.

considering the amount of songs you had to create a baseline for, you haven’t had the time to even think about what mingyu was up to. much less miss his comforting presence and clinginess. but it was not the same for him.

mingyu, despite being entirely focused on improving his dance moves, managed to slip you into the depths of his mind every once in a while. no one has yet to call him out for constantly checking his phone in case you ever texted or called him.

he contemplated surprising you at your apartment but decided against it, since he wasn’t too sure that you were home.

he was fortunate that he didn’t, because you haven’t left your studio since you entered it a week ago. you took two-hour long naps whenever you couldn’t think up anything for the songs and ordered take-out every time you were hungry. basically, no one except for the delivery men have seen you in this past week.

alas completing half of the work you were given, you decided to take a little break and play around with your instruments. but bumzu had noticed that the door to your studio had been closed a little too long and knocked on it before entering. the two of you got into a little argument about your work and personal life and you ended up going home because he threatened to confiscate the keys to your studio for an entire month.

you’re home now. you have just kicked off your shoes and placed them neatly into the cabinet near the entrance. you don’t fail to notice the extra pair that you certainly don’t own. smiling to yourself, you throw your bag on the couch and head into the kitchen.

unsurprisingly, you find mingyu near the stove, undoubtedly cooking up some pasta for the two of you to share.

“gyu,” you exclaim in a soft whisper, happy to see him. “how did you know I was coming home?”

he turns the fire off and pivots on his foot to be met with your body crashing against his. he lets out a laugh, stroking your hair gently.

“I figured you hadn’t left your studio in some time,” he uses a stern tone towards the last few words. you bite back a grin. “I called bumzu hyung to get you out of that suffocating place no matter what.”

“mmh,” you hum, cheek pressed against his chest. “he threatened to confiscate my studio keys. it’s not like he doesn’t lock himself in his own studio sometimes.”

mingyu pushes you away to break the hug as he says, “that’s true.” then, he leads you to the table and sits you down. “I’ll get the food ready. just wait.”

after dinner, you wash up and crash into bed with him. while he snuggles into your side, missing your scent and comforting touch, you continue a book from where you left off a week ago. it really seems like only a day has passed.

it may have been hours or minutes that passed, you don’t know. what you do know, however, is that mingyu is trying his very best not to fall asleep right now. you know what he’s up to and can’t help but feel guilty.

“you can go to sleep, gyu,” you whisper in a sweet tone, marking your book and putting it aside. he hums, but his droopy eyes are still trying to stay open. you chuckle, stroking his hair.

mingyu whines, “I haven’t seen you at all in a week!” he smushes his face into your abdomen as you ruffle his hair as a form of affection. “I miss you.” and he ends with a pout that looks like :c

you want to kiss him right now. smother him in pecks and smooches, but you like this position. it’s comfortable. so you settle with stroking his slightly long hair. “I won’t be going to work tomorrow; bumzu might just lock me out of my studio. I never should have joined universe factory.”

he knows you’re up to something — knows what that something is — and waits in anticipation for you to continue your words. and you know he knows. you try your hardest to hold back a smug grin.

“so that means you’ll get me for a whole day. twenty-four hours seems like a lot, doesn’t it?” you ask mingyu, looking down at him adoringly.

he flashes his famous smile, his fangs (the ones you absolutely fawn over) showing themselves proudly. “I’m gonna sleep now, since I have a whole day to you tomorrow,” he announces cheerfully, hugging you tightly and closing his eyes.

you go back to work the day after tomorrow with mingyu clinging to your side. when bumzu sees you, he smiles and chuckles knowingly.

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mingyu will kiss you if you reblog (.◜◡◝)

[bamdelune]

tears of the condemned .𖥔 ݁ ˖ neuvillette x reader

summary ➜ The Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale rarely ever made errors in its judgement, suitable persecution befalling those on the other side of the law. The Iudex of Fontaine was well-aware and familiar with that fact but the Oratrice's final verdict cause his judgement to go sideways, because it involved you.

warnings/tags/notes ➜ the summary is a warning in itself, angst [i never payed much attention to neuvillette but seeing a few fics about him got me to write this heheuehe + info and events might be canon-divergent because i haven't unlocked fontaine yet but hey, i tried my best 🤓☝️]

Neuvillette truly did not understand why so many people sought out Fontanian hearings, as if watching the accused and the persecution go back and forth was an amusing routine incorporated in their daily lives. To the citizens, it seemed like hearings were an elaborate play that they could watch for entertainment instead of a catalyst to serve righteousness. The Chief Justice certainly did not have a taste for it, especially when the audience was filled with hushed chatter about the case today: your case; surprise, you do not play the part of the persecution but you are the accused.

Murder, both you and Neuvillette found it impossible to believe you could committ such an act but as the Iudex, he must learn not to let this cloud his judgement; Neuvillette must not his doubts pass the verdict instead of rationality.

"The evidence presented by the plaintiff shows us that there is no concrete reason to convict the defendant," His eyes catch your form relax, even by just a bit from his statement. "However, as practice, the final verdict will be determined by the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale." Silence fills the Opera Epiclese as the mechanism moves between the scales.

Neuvillette's skin goes cold when the Oratrice has decided your fate.

Guilty.

Gasps erupt inside the opera and your expression is filled with dumbfoundedness. This was not the first time this happened but he's learned to trust the Oratrice's judgement over his own.

But can he truly put aside his bias if it meant getting you out of this predicament? Can he truly cross the law, the one aspect that founded everything that he has done so far.

Your voice rips out from the silence, riddled with desperation as you plead out to him.

"That's—that's not true at all! Monsieur Neuvillette, there must be some kind of mistake!"

Neuvillette clenches his fists, head straining from the thoughts that ran through his mind. He knew there was a mistake, he knew that the Oratrice can go against his own verdict but he's conflicted. Should he let you off scot-free or send you to the depths of Fortress of Merop—

"The judgement of the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale is the final verdict of the court. We have no choice but to follow through with it. Please take the suspect into custody," his mouth opens before he could even think about anything else. Neuvillette swallows thickly, seeing the defeated look on your face—as if the stale silence of the courthouse gave way to the sounds of your heart shattering into tiny pieces; the heart that he had promised to take care of so sincerely every day and the heart he swore to never toss away.

The Fortress is a place meant for solitude, for the convicted to reflect on their actions but all you could think of was how dark and scary it was in your cell. It was clean for the most part, that you were thankful for but other than that, all sense of time seemed to blur. It was lonely, but being falsely arrested like this by your beloved helped you feel lonelier. You felt empty, almost numb like a hollow glass that threatened to break with a push that was enough to break and Neuvillette crossing your trust like that was the trigger.

Footsteps resound through the corridor outside your place, your head lifts to see him.

"Why are you here?" Neuvillette seems to almost wince at how your voice sounded so... colorless, deprived of the life he's grown to love. You never intended it to come out that way but being in here rarely gave you the privilege of human interactions, "Are you going to set me free, monsieur?"

The Chief Justice opens and closes his mouth, clearly conflicted on what he was going to say next, because what could you say to your (assumingly former) lover whom you just convicted of a murder in front of the public?

"No," he replies, like he's still in court. You dryly chuckle at his response. "Have you come to reprimand me then? That must be it right? The lover of the Iudex of Fontaine, condemned to a life behind bars at the hands of her own beloved, thst must sound terrible to you, yes? Does a number to your honorable image to the people," Your tone gradually turned more bitter at each word knowing the fact that he could've saved you, or at the very least kept you anywhere but here until the evidence and verdict lined up in agreement.

"I care less about my own image, mon chéri—"

Another gasp of a laugh falls from your lips, "Don't. Don't you dare call me that if you will spit such lies in the same breath."

"Would you rather me threaten the sanctity of my title as Iudex?" Neuvillete responds right after, his tone stern and almost to a level of a scream. You would've flinched if you weren't so agitated.

"I wish you would," you mutter under your breath. You were so desperate for authentic justice to be served. Knowing the citizens of Fontaine, this incident would leave a stain on your image. No matter where you'll go, you aren't free from the scrutinizing eyes of the people. Your life will never be the same.

Neuvillette scoffs, "Do you hear yourself? Do you know what you are asking of me?" He was angry now. See, when he gets irritated, Neuvillette is never the type to aggressively express such a feeling but rather, he emits a silent aura that just unsettles you to an extent. But you have to stand your ground.

"Such a selfish request for your circumstances."

Now it's your turn to huff an exhale, hurt gnawing at your chest at every word he spoke.

"Selfish? I'm selfish for asking for justice for a horrendous act of violence both you and I know I never committed?"

Your voice almost gave out under the weight of the sting of your chest, nearly cracking as you raise your voice at him, "You know the Oratrice can make mistakes, Neuvillette—"

"The Oratrice's judgement is absolute, it does not make errors," the man interjects. A beat of silence stays.

"You never believed my words, even for a moment, didn't you?"

Neuvillette swallows, eyes somehow on your face but never on your eyes. He's hyper-aware of the fact that he's hurt you more than enough times he promised not to, never. He always promised that he wouldn't be the one to shatter your heart into tiny pieces and crush them under the soles of his feet. He was the one that vowed to stay by your side amidst the intimidating whispers that talk, talk, and talk about how you would murder an innocent citizen in cold blood. And now he knew.

He had gone back on his word.

It doesn't take him a reply before you started again. "You lied to me," you muttered.

"You're correct, I never believed you for one second," Neuvillette responds, voice low. His mouth opens before he could even think about it.

No. He always would. Over anyone and anything else.

He cringes slightly at this. The Iudex of Fontaine behind closed doors was a complex man. He is built of layers upon layers of emotional concealing, it was never a good thing for him to blatantly open up to someone—but of course, that changed because of you.

"You're foolish to think you could've slipped past the Oratrice's verdict,"

You didn't. He knew that, you did nothing wrong.

"The time has come for you to pay your dues." Neuvillette fronts.

Let me get you out of here. Neuvillette pleads

You fall silent by the tail of his words, barely getting enough courage to look him in the eye. Too much, it was all too much.

"Just—just leave, I don't want to see you," you mumble, defeated. Your eyes catch the way salty tears softly drip onto your clenched fists, wiping your face with the back of your hand. If you were alone in a lonely cell, so be it.

You hear his footsteps hesitate for a moment before they clack away, getting softer and farther with each step.

Heavy rain littered the streets of Fontaine that day.

Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, wipe the tears from your face. Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don't cry.

© bamdelune 2023. do not repost, translate, plagiarize any of my works without permission, thank you so much! reblogs, notes, and comments are always appreciated!

[fadyelj]

All Summers End In Beirut

That summer in Beirut was never meant to be a journey inward; it was a time to shed the tension that had been building for years, a silent rage caged behind words, waiting for release. If I hadn’t confined it to words alone, that rage might have carved valleys out of stone. Instead, Beirut had to become the channel, blurring into nights spent chain-smoking in dimly lit pubs, romances that ended at dawn, and goodbyes that lived only on social media — Adieu, my dearest Beirut, though Beirut would know better.

I didn’t come here to romanticize the city or to make sense of my past. Beirut was simply the stage for a deliberate escape, a place to lose myself, not to find myself. Depth? I didn’t want it. Self-discovery? Even less. 

You go to Paris to find yourself, not Beirut.

They say romantics run from reality, but I think the opposite can be true. Sometimes, it’s the realists who are drawn to it, clinging to the poetry of a place like Beirut, knowing full well the inevitable heartbreak. Still, they chase it, how can they live knowing that the greatest art has always been born from the agony of others.

They say romantics run from reality, but I think the opposite can be true. Sometimes, it’s the realists who are drawn to it, clinging to the poetry of a place like Beirut, knowing full well the inevitable heartbreak. Still, they chase it, how can they live knowing that the greatest art has always been born from the agony of others.

Most who know me now might think I loved Lebanon from the very start, that my attachment was unshakeable, rooted in my childhood. And yes, I loved it — loved the version my father painted in late-night stories, those poetic tales he’d spin after slipping me a few bills for my Arabic lessons. My American-born Lebanese mother would look on, quiet but approving, as if to remind me that the language, the culture, was theirs, and that I was the inheritor of this beautiful burden. I memorized Ana esme Fady, w ana mn el Lebnan before anything else, words embedded as deeply in my identity as my own name.

My childhood was grown around Lebanon , a world away, yet vivid, woven from stories passed down like folklore. For years, my father’s tales could hold a magic of their own, sketching a distant land in colors bright and cinematic . But as soon as I began to think critically, that magic wore thin. I dug deeper, searching for something beyond his poetic recollections — and, yes, I found it. I just didn’t like what I saw. The stories, once so full of promise, started to feel threadbare, unable to hold up to the truth I’d uncovered. Resentment crept in. I felt the weight of belonging to a place I’d barely touched, a version of Lebanon that felt faded, passed down like an old newspaper, each retelling dulling its colors.

My father never wanted us to inherit his hate for the ugly parts of Lebanon. But the more I learned, the more I felt its grip on me. My God, as I fell down the rabbit hole of history and politics, the anger took root. I hated it. I hated my people. How could they turn heaven into hell? What gave them the right? I was only a child, but even as an adult, I still can’t find the answers. The unfairness of it all punctured me — the idea of a “home” drilled into my mind, yet always out of reach. Baba’s explanations never quite satisfied me. How could they do what they did? This new idea of Lebanon felt like a burden I hadn’t asked for, a heritage as heavy as it was distant. My anger grew as fierce as my love once was, aimed at my parents for planting this identity inside me, one that felt both too far away to reach and yet too close to escape.

When you’re a child born to the diaspora, there’s a harsh awakening. The stories you once loved take on shadows, and you begin to see yourself as part of a fractured history. A life in the diaspora is unforgiving, forcing you to carry a culture defined by survival and loss, a homeland that calls to you just as it keeps you at arm’s length. And yet, you’re expected to honor it, to love it. But where the hell was it for me all these years?

In those years of resentment, I lost myself in what you might call the most “American” ways possible — masking everything behind a polished exterior, where emotions were kept in check, and vulnerability was a distant concept. I crafted a composed, respectful façade, presenting a calm demeanor to the world while slipping in and out of identities like costumes, each one leaving its mark until the reflection in the mirror became unrecognizable. Certain truths I’ve kept buried, tucked away, left unspoken for the sake of the moshtamaa and a culture that expects us to live in quiet service to its ideals. Those years were a season of cold, each step pulling me further from warmth, further from a true self I could barely reach. Even today, I find myself still living in service to the moshtamaa. If I weren’t, wouldn’t I be writing freely?

But the moshtamaa wins, as it always does, leaving two choices: pretend and save face, or die by its sword. So, I’ve learned to play the game we all know too well, the one practiced behind closed doors. I walk the line between what’s true and what’s accepted, balancing carefully, learning to give just enough to satisfy but not enough to betray what lies beneath.

Today, though, I’m grateful to have found warmth again, in places I least expected, maybe even in Beirut itself. If this story is about anything, it’s about laying the bricks for a return that would come later — a return built on facing myself under a different sun, through eyes altered by time and distance, in a city that doesn’t promise forgiveness but offers, perhaps, the faint hope of reconciliation.

I’ve always considered myself a pessimist — or at least I was. Now, I’m less certain. Do you believe in naseeb? In the idea that everything is maktoub? Most days, I do. When the world throws me down, leaving me to stare at the pieces of something I thought I’d built, it’s almost comforting to believe this was fate, set out by some higher power. It’s a rational way to face my failures, a way to soften the edges of my shortcomings — and my friends, there have been many.

But then, there are other days, those rare days when my focus sharpens or when I’m medicated enough to believe fully in my own power. On those days, I don’t believe in naseeb. In those moments, it’s up to me to seize the world, to mold it, to make it my own. I’ve tasted the highest highs and endured the lowest lows, and somewhere between them, naseeb lingers in the background, watching, almost amused. Funny thing, this naseeb — it’s there when you’re at your worst, a crutch to lean on. But at your best, you realize it’s only ever been a story you’ve told yourself to make sense of things.

That’s why, sometimes, I hated this culture — or is it society pretending to be culture? I haven’t spent hours dissecting the difference. But I still wonder why this culture sometimes feels like a weight. Kindness can be a strength, yet sometimes it feels like a burden, a weakness we carry with pride. We’re so polite, even in revolution, so restrained, so respectful. We humanize everything. As Lebanese, we’re raised to be hospitable, welcoming, open-handed, even to those who come to tear us down.

It’s birthed into our history, in the very fabric of who we are. We’ve been the greatest lovers, poets, philosophers, building legacies out of words, hospitality, and resilience — but at what cost? We’ve shown grace to invaders, generosity to those who left scars, keeping that welcoming face, even as our eyes are gouged out . This hospitality, is it a survival instinct or our own self-inflicted wound?

We offer kindness to those who have broken us, a habit we can’t seem to shake. And that, more than anything, reminds me I’m Lebanese. Not through resilience, but in this weakness, this tendency to submit to fate and rationalize everything through comforts like naseeb. We’ll rationalize until it destroys us, convincing ourselves it’s out of our hands, that we’re powerless in the grand scheme. Maybe that’s the true Lebanese trait: cloaking our wounds in politeness, surrendering to the story we’ve been told is maktoub.

That summer in Lebanon was meant to last just two weeks — enough time to keep my mother from losing her wits and for me to avoid getting too attached. Lebanon was on the brink of a full-blown economic collapse, but somehow it was still the kind of crisis you could strangely enjoy. We Lebanese have a talent for squeezing joy out of hell itself. But the food poisoning was relentless; I swear I had more bouts of it than actual meals. Gas was scarce, leaving me stranded in the Chouf for two weeks alone. The electricity cuts, ones I’d later learn to base my schedule around, were already routine.

In 2021, Lebanon was cheap if you had U.S. dollars. “You could live like a king,” they’d say. A king, perhaps, but in a crumbling kingdom, a decomposing throne on shifting ground. That short, two-week escape stretched into five long months, a summer that took on a life of its own.

What do you do for five months in Lebanon? You put Baba’s folklore to the test. He’d told me he’d lived ahla eyam — the best days of his life — there, so I set out to see if his glory days held up, with my own modern twist, of course. The summer had to commence with the usual formalities: endless relatives streaming in daily (we were foolish to think two weeks would ever be enough), a parade of faces remarking on how much I’d grown, offering life advice I’d never follow, cursing the country I was born in, and reminding me, insistently, that I was Lebanese. Looking back, I wish I could’ve handed them that reminder with the same smug tone they’d given me. They needed to hear it, not me — after all, they weren’t the ones constantly reminded of where they came from. And it showed.

Then, finally, the real summer began: the clubbing, the drinking until I felt out of body, the strange sensuality of Beirut’s nights washing over me. Chain-smoking until my lungs felt scorched, wild kisses with strangers whose names I’d forget, tasting the city on every tongue. By dawn, I’d come home smelling like a chimney, my mother half-wrinkling her nose, half-smiling.My mother, first experienced Lebanon in the aftermath of the civil war, under Syrian occupation. Her homecoming was to a Lebanon in ruins, where she endured nasty, sexual remarks from Syrian soldiers on the streets — a Lebanon that had barely survived yet clung to the hope of reconstruction. For her, the country had weathered war, and through its scars, she could still see its beauty.

I am as doe-eyed as she was, hopeful for Lebanon’s rebirth. Yet, it saddens me to think of her early hopes — built on resilience but weighed down by reality. My mother loved the Lebanon I experienced that summer, perhaps even envied it. Watching me live it seemed to offer her a glimpse of the dream she’d never fully held. But her Lebanon never stood a chance, whether from the war or the expectations placed on her as a Lebanese woman raised in the diaspora.

It’s impossible to put into words how much my mother sacrificed to raise her children as Lebanese. She learned Arabic alongside us, prepared the traditional foods that connected us to our roots, and carried the weight of social expectations with grace, kindness, and love. If my father gave us Lebanon, my mother, in countless ways, taught us what it meant to be Lebanese, especially within the diaspora. For this, she’s rarely received the credit she deserves.

The summer grew lonely fast, and with time on my hands that I barely knew how to use, where better to spend it — or rather, who better to spend it on — than the faces on dating apps? I downloaded them all, swiping through profiles like browsing a gallery. I skipped anyone listing philosophy or psychology as interests — the very subjects I read into alone but had no desire to mix with summer flings. A philosopher would kill my buzz, and a psych enthusiast? Probably too eager to “read” me and fail.

I’ve never bought into zodiac signs, thinking we mold ourselves into those traits if we let them define us. As a Cancer, I’d rather avoid that “complicated” stereotype. And yet, you, my Beiruti lover, slipped through the cracks. There were plenty before you, and to be clear, I am no sex symbol — quite the opposite, really. But I have a certain charm, a mask I wear well, though, it unravels fast when the right string is pulled. I have a bad habit of being too deep for those who don’t care, and maybe too blunt for those who do.

This wasn’t supposed to be a journey of depth, I remind you, but I made an exception. After all, I was the ajnabi, the foreigner with broken Arabic, overly polite, saying please and thank you into every sentence, careful not to get too personal. The one who always leaves.

In a world where everything is instantly accessible, connections too often die before they’ve had the chance to truly live. A few minutes on an app, both revolutionary and tragic, now seem enough to define intimacy. But then again, everyone before you faded into irrelevance; after you, they simply ceased to matter.

You appeared unexpectedly in my swipes. Looking back, it almost disappoints me that it began there, as if it’s an insult to everything that came after. Whatever this was, it broke every boundary of digital connection, beyond anything an algorithm could contain. You shattered every rule, challenged each line I’d carefully drawn to keep people out. I may never write like the legends, but I would later love you with the urgency of those who inspired them.

Have I sold you the groundwork for a coming-of-age love story? God, I hope not. Those stories aren’t written for people like us, and they’re certainly not meant for places like Beirut. I won’t say if we broke that rule, but if we did, it was a story lived in the soul, never meant to be captured for the eyes- certainly not yours.

The dating app was our first encounter, our first in-person meeting the second — both unfolding in a single, impulsive night. It was the only time I allowed myself to be that spontaneous, that open. For once, I let go of who I thought I should be; I just let myself be.

I wish I could reach back, shake that past self, urge them to stay present, to see things as they truly were. Over the past two years, I’ve rewritten this story more times than I’d like to admit, asking myself: What was it about you that’s so hard to release? What keeps me searching for traces of you in others, only to come up emptier than you left me? The answer should enrage me, but instead, it humbles me. I could have cast you as the villain, and in many ways, you were. You shaped so much of who I would become: how I’d love, the person I’d grow into. And yet, here I am, sparing you, as if you were a debt I owed for sins from a forgotten life.

You were never the villain; we were just kids, and all summers start and end in Beirut.

That night replays in my mind like a vinyl on loop, the needle pressing down, cutting through the haze of a post-pandemic fog. I wasn’t nervous, and neither were you. In Beirut, no one knew me yet. Does that sound pretentious? Maybe so, but that probably means you don’t know Beirut. I didn’t — not then, not until a year after that summer. But I learned quickly: in Beirut, everyone knows everyone. It’s a city stitched together by connections, faces you know by name, names you know by rumor. That’s what makes it beautiful and, just as often, unforgiving.

Did we have dinner? I can’t remember. But I remember the abandoned home we tried to climb — somewhere in Gemmayze, or Mar Mikhael, maybe Sodeco. I was hesitant, still too green to embrace the thrill of Lebanese lawlessness. But you, with that maddening confidence, climbed as if you belonged there, as if the city, its people, and even its emptiness were yours to claim. You wore that boldness well, like armor, until, like all armor, it eventually cracked.

We ended up on a bench in Mar Mikhael, talking into the night. I let years of pent-up anger spill out, pouring words over you like gasoline, almost hoping you’d catch fire. Was I that fragile, that quick to unload it all? You, though, you kept your calm, saying so much with so few words, holding back just enough to keep yourself safe. I’d learn to play that game eventually, but never as well as you.

That night, we seemed to live a hundred lives in a few hours, time expanding until it felt like it might never end. But, of course, it did. Something shifted in me as it drew to a close, like a new wire connecting deep in my mind, a change I’ve carried ever since. It ended with a kiss, messy and unapologetic, pressed against the walls of Mar Mikhael under a blue streetlight, your confidence outbidding mine, as if we were two revolutionaries daring the world. A soldier watched us, but we didn’t care.

Beirut was a different time then. The soldier couldn’t even feed his kids, let alone care if two strangers kissed in the street. Beirut today, the soldier beats you just so he can feed his kids — and somehow, you understand.

I’ve written about this too many times, penned it as if it were my will and the country its witness.

I‘ve only given you the beginning, and though the story doesn’t end here, for you, it must. Perhaps I haven’t left you fulfilled; Beirut has that way about it — a love in extremes, a city defined by the unfinished, and inhabited by those merely passing through. That summer felt endless, with stories I’ll never put to paper. I’ve come up with countless reasons why all summers must end in Beirut, but in the end, they’re only theories. You’ve seen my contradictions laid bare. Whitman was allowed his contradictions, so why not me? Am I Whitman? No, not in this life, and not in the next. But I’ll contradict, freely.

In the end, there will always be three sides to this story — yours, mine, and the truth.

What I know to be true is this: you shook me in ways I never expected, and here I am, writing about a time that perhaps should have been left unwritten, simply lived. Maybe it was my American politeness, or my Lebanese hospitality, that softened each retelling, but no matter who you are now, you will always be my Beirut.

The summer of 2021 has never returned, yet it left me with more than I bargained for — lessons about life, about myself, about the person I longed to be and what I must never become.

You offered me revolution but gave me meghli ice cream, and I forgive you.

A year later, I moved to Lebanon, learning to love Beirut as you once taught me to , holding it like a secret, forgiving its sins, and embracing it as if I were your sacrifice to the city. If that’s what I was, then I’ll honor it. Beirut always knows better.

I promised myself not to search for you when I returned, not to wish for you in the eyes of strangers. But when I broke that promise, every face fell short — not because of them, but because of us…

My dear, this city without you is like nurturing a lone flower in one hand while severing its roots with the other.

[gumiluver]

CHERRY POPPIN’! ~ JJK NSFW SCENARIOS

synopsis: he pops your cherry 🍒🖤

cover pic credit: she0yl on pinterest

lovers <3: afab!reader, gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro/zen’in toji, ryomen sukuna

byr/byi: the content in this fic is not suitable for individuals under the age of 18, minors please do not interact

cw: pwp, nsfw, minors DNI, corruption kink, dirty talk, mentions of virginity loss, pet names, squirting (‘kuna), dacryphilia (kento), spitting (toji), finger sucking (‘kuna)

✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧

SATORU 🖤

While most may perceive Satoru to be a slutty little tease—which is inherently true—he would take you with utmost care and sincerity. To him, this is an act of pure, unadulterated love—something he’s experienced once in his life that flew from his grasp too soon. He’s lucky to experience it again, so he makes sure to pay extra attention and time when he has you underneath him.

He savors every inch of your body and shows you just how good sex can feel and how it should feel. He wants you to remember what you saw, what you felt, how you felt—he wants to ensure that you remember this moment in its entirety, forever.

He told himself that he would restrain himself—he has too. He knows better than to lose control and ask for more, but fuck—the way your warm, plush cunt felt around his thick shaft had him begging for round two— how could you deny that sweet face of his?

“shhh, baby I know shhhh—breathe with me now,” he soothes, holding you closely to his chest as you sit on his lap, cock shoved deeply into your untouched womb. You’re panting ridiculously, enough to make gojo worry that you’ll pass out before you even get to experience the fun. You’re gripping onto his shoulders tightly, shoving your face into the crook of his neck to inhale his comforting scent, hoping to ground yourself back to reality. It’s sweet, yet husky—the perfect thing to refocus your poor, scrambled mind.

You knew it was going to be uncomfortable, but you didn’t expect that you would feel so…full—so deep. You know for a fact that your fingers have never reached that deep into your pussy, and while his fingers always sunk deliciously into your core it never felt quite this…filling.

“tell me how you feel princess, need to hear you talk t’ me” he says, gently pushing your body forward to look at you. He cups your cheek and presses his forehead against yours, wanting to keep you close and provide as much comfort to you as possible. He gives you slow, circular thrusts that don’t necessarily have the normal amount of heft that he’d love to give you, but does have that same passion and rigor that he dreamed of—he just couldn’t help himself.

“f-feel you so…d-deep, ‘toru. ‘s-so full—nnghhh!!” you groan, already a cockdrunk mess from the mind-numbing pleasure. It rumbles throughout your body and settles in the depths of your womb, waiting for the perfect moment to send you over the edge, “n-need more ‘toruuu, please!!” you cry, begging for something that you couldn’t quite place, but Satoru reads you loud and clear and gives you exactly what you need, “s’okay baby, I got you,”

He starts up a slow, tender pace that makes his thick cock twitch against your plush walls, perfectly pressing his tip against that snug place that’s so soft and squishy, a place satoru fingers are all too familiar with.

“Aghhh!!” you yelp, feeling your walls spasm against his cock. Your juices dripping down your pussy and onto your plump ass as if it were crying—vying—for his attention. He feels your virgin pussy clench impossibly tighter around him, and he swears he can see the heavens and hear its beings call to him from above—downright delusional from how fucked up your pussy’s got him.

“thaaaat’s it, such a good girl fr’ me—opening up nicely on my cock,” he groans, losing himself in the pleasure your pussy provides him. With every slow thrust he gives you his grunts get louder, eagerness lacing each pant that begged to feel more of you, to have more of you, to claim more of you “goddd this pussy’s suckin’ me dry, princess—gonna let me keep fuckin’ you after we cum together, right?”

SUGURU 🖤

Suguru thinks it’s endearing of you; naive, but endearing. He truly has no idea how you’ve made it this far without having sex, a pretty girl like you must be waiting for her knight in shining armor—too bad you fell for his curse instead.

Now, that’s not to say that he doesn’t treat you like a princess. Of course he’s gentle with you! Always been so carefully observant over your silly little behaviors and expressions. He’s engrained all of your sweet smiles and laughs, so he knows how to read you perfectly—a blessing and a curse.

He can’t help but tease and rile you up, loving how you wiggle and shy away from him. But now, he gets to see you at your most vulnerable, and the cherry on top is getting to be your first out of everyone else. He knows that you’ll be hooked on him once you get a taste, leaving him with the perfect opportunity to consume your deliciously sweet innocence.

“Gonna start movin’ now m’kay? n’ don’t be afraid to moan fr’ me, princess,” he whispers lowly into your neck, lips brushing dangerously close to your skin as he soothes your aching body. You can feel your pussy pulse throughout your core, making you shiver from your head to your feet. After giving a gentle hum and a small nod, suguru begins to move his hips in slow, circular motions. Carefully tilting his pelvis forward, he effectively brushes up against the hood of your clit, stimulating your poor, neglected bud.

And the pleasure that bursts in your core from his subtle movements had you ready to cum in a matter of seconds, “aahh—AAHH~!! Suguruuu~!!” you cry out, surprised at how different this type of pleasure felt. Sure your fingers can get the job done of course, but to have the love of your life stretch you out while he plays with your sensitive bud makes you feel like you’re going insane.

“mmmm, can feel you getting wetter fr’ me, love. Is it cause you like it when I fuck you? Could that be it princess?” he taunts, starting to accelerate his pace yet never fully pulling out. Plus, the way your virgin pussy clenches around his cock—fuckin’ hell—he doesn’t even think he can get out of your pussy.

A certain squeak from you captures his attention, and he can’t help but slowly press his cock deeper into your princess pussy—wanting to sheathe himself deeper into your womb so that you can fucking taste his cock. He knows he’s struck gold once you let out another squeak, but this time it morphs into a pretty little squeal that makes his dick throb inside your tight walls—such a lovely little sound, “oh? right there, huh?”

Embarrassed, you cover your mouth as he continues to ruthlessly circle his hips, forcing his tip to poke and prod perfectly into your sweet spot. He’s pushing your thighs up to wrap around his slutty waist, allowing him deeper access to your dripping pussy, but instead of hearing the glorious sounds of your pretty wails he hears a muffled little scream that he knows would’ve rattled the neighborhood—how disappointing.

“ah ah ah—what do you think your doin’, naughty girl?” he scolds, tsking at your feeble attempts of silencing your salacious whines. The hand that was gripping the back of your thigh travels upward to rip your hand away from your mouth. He’s captured both your hands, easily pinning them above your head, and the pitiful whimper that travels from your lips makes suguru’s cock pulse intensely within your princess walls. You can literally feel the beat of his cock, and fuck does it feel good.

Right before you can look away from his piercing gaze, his other hand shoots up to grip your chin firmly, forcing you to keep your eyes on him. The look he gives you dares you to challenge him, to look away and hide your face, to stifle your shaky and pleasure-filled breaths.

He wants you to let go of your guard and give in to him—to let him have all of you, unconditionally.

He peers into your puppy eyes, letting his thumb glide across your bottom lip before he shoves it in your mouth. You whine around his thumb, and before you can start sucking on it he pulls it out and places his hand back around your neck—not to constrict your airflow but to make sure that your attention is solely on him, “you know what I want, sweetheart—go on, moan for me…better yet, scream for me,”

KENTO 🖤

If there is any man in the world even worthy of glimpsing at your most sacred form, it would be Nanami Kento. He admires and appreciates your mind and body, worships the ground you walk on and the very essence of you. Hell, if you were a powerful deity he would sacrifice bountiful goods to you, dedicate shrines to you, create epics and poems about you. He would be your most dutiful follower.

A diligent man—always been known to take his time and to never rush his work, so when you confide to him that you’ve never had sex before, too scared to give something so delicate to someone who’ll just bust a quick nut and dump you the next day, he knows he’ll be putting in some overtime—not like he really minds.

Kento will make sure that you have the most mind blowing orgasm that you’ll ever experience; an orgasm to put all future orgasm to shame and leave you desperately crawling back to him for more.

“doing so good for me sweetheart, keep holdin’ on to me—just like that love, ” he praises, watching his cock slowly disappear into your tight pussy as you start gripping onto his biceps. He feels the sharp sting of your nails piercing into his flesh, and he can’t help but wish to feel you rake his back red instead.

“ken-kento, mmmm…f-feels different,” you whimper to him, feeling the subtle burn begin to fade away and bloom into something foreign—something exciting. You feel it shake your core and ripple throughout your body, almost as if it were forcing you to work on overdrive. You can’t help it when your pussy constricts around his poor cock that’s just aching to fully sheathe itself inside you.

“ngghh—fuuuckk,” Kento growls deeply—a subtle declaration of his restraint. He’s gripping the headboard above you so tightly that you start to hear the wood splinter under his grasp. His other hand lowers to grasp at your hip, trying to prevent himself from losing control and pistoning his cock straight into your warmth. You can see him clench his jaw while he stills his hips, a shaky breath leaving his plush lips. And you try to be a good girl for him, you really do, but it’s all just so much for your poor virgin pussy to handle.

“hhnngg—kentooo!! s’ too biiiiig—aaaahhhh!!~” you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut as you try and wiggle away, but kento’s quick to recover and pin your sneaky little hips down to the bed. He coos at you, rubbing gentle circles on your hips and leans closer to your neck, wanting to coax you back to him.

After peppering gentle kissing all the way up to your neck, he travels towards the shell of your ear, breath fanning sinfully against your skin making your pussy quiver with anticipation, “sh, sh, sh, baby—focus on my voice, good girl,” he moans, pulling away from you to get a good look at your pretty face.

But once he sees you open your eyes, he feels all his restraint fly right out the window.

“Oh…poor baby,” he says, unmistakably obsessed with how fucked out you look right now, so helpless for your pleasure. He can’t help the way his cock throbs against your walls from seeing your pure, doll-eyes well up with tears of pleasure and pain, “just a few more inches love, you can take it,”

TOJI 🖤

The second he finds out you’re a virgin he’s stuck to you like fucking glue. Thankfully, he’s a patient man, and you’ve seemed to peak his interest for something more than just a quick fuck.

He doesn’t exactly know why he feels the need to be the one to fuck you first, to make you go crazy on his dick and become an obsessed little pup that just wants to feel good. It has him reeling in his mind about all the truly terrible things he’d love to do to you—to slowly corrupt the very innocence of your being and mold you to his perfect little plaything.

He promised himself to take it nice and easy with you first, not wanting to scare you away from what he has in store for you in the future—but whether or not he sticks with that promise is entirely up to you.

“don’t hurt yerself pup, go down nice n’ slow,” he warns, gripping the plush of your hips as he eyes you cautiously. You nod and smile, sweet eyes feigning innocence as you had absolutely no intention of heeding his warning. He’s been prepping you for hours now to help accommodate your pussy to his cock, but at this point you were starting to get needy for something more—something filling.

You hastily shift your hips up and watch as his rock hard cock shoots up to harshly brush against your folds, causing you to jump from the sudden pleasure. He chuckles, engrossed over how sensitive your untouched body is—makes him wonder how you’d look underneath him, fucked out from sheer overstimulated and covered in his thick, sticky cum.

And while toji’s all up in his perverted, slutty head, planning out all the debauched ways he can ruin your sweet cunt, he realizes how you’ve been trying to shove and force his huge cock into your tiny, tiny, virgin pussy. He grips your hips tightly, halting all movement so he can properly scold you, “what did I say? ya do that shit again and I promise yer gonna regret not listenin’,”

You shrink under his stern gaze, avoiding his eyes as he eases his grip on you to caress up and down your sides. He knows you just wanna feel good, wanna have that pussy filled to the brim with his cock, but you gotta be patient. You don’t wanna hurt that pretty princess pussy of yours now, do you?

Seems like you didn’t really mind it tho with the way you quickly revert back to your usual impatient self, either too prideful to listen or too confident in your tolerance. You just wouldn’t stop squirming out of his grasp, desperate to grind your bare cunt along his thick shaft. Your slick glosses up toji’s cock, allowing his throbbing tip to nudge against your sensitive bud, eliciting a delicious whine from you that’s got him internally groaning. ‘She’s gonna be the death of me,’ he thinks to himself, letting you rub your little clit onto his tip.

He won’t deny it, he’s groaning like an absolute whore for you now, hypnotized by the way you sway your hips—utterly tantalizing. It’s like your hips are calling out to him, beckoning him to grip and bruise them, yet every time he tries to sneak a touch you’re quick to smack his hand or dodge his grasp. And he, knowing it’s your first time, tries to mask his frustration as best as he can. He’s warned you once—twice—maybe even three times to go slow, to not tempt the beast, and the sheer fact that he’s letting you tease him like this is making him lose. his. fucking. mind.

So fuck it.

He grabs your hips, flipping the both of you over to pin you down into a nasty mating press where he corners and pushes his cock into you, spitting on your pussy and rubbing your clit amidst the chaos of it all. You yelp, the sudden intrusion giving you whiplash, and you can feel your pussy clench and gush from how he’s been tossin’ you around. Toji lets out a deafening moan, unable to hold back just how good your tight little pussy feels around the fat tip of his cock—he can’t fucking wait to fill you up with the rest of his shaft and stuff you full of his cum, “fuuuckkk—such a fuckin’ tease for holdin this pussy back from me. gonna let me have my way with her now huh, pup?”

SUKUNA 🖤

He knew the second you stepped into his life that you were a virgin, but what he didn’t know was how you had never experienced any form of romantic intimacy, ever. A blank canvas for him to mold and tweak however he may so please—you poor soul.

Whenever an opportunity arrives to show you something new about your unexplored body he seizes it. Teaching your pure little mind and heart about the nastiest, most depraved desires that humans can experience ignites a fire in his core that ravages his body. At this state, he really couldn’t control himself even if he wanted to—helpless to his own demonic desires.

But you’re such a good girl for him—so eager to learn and please. Sometimes he wonders if this little game of cat and mouse is just a ruse for you to make him fall under your spell and become enamored with you and only you. It’s pointless tho, considering how he was already obsessed with you before you even knew it.

“s-sukuna…I-I dunno if I can handle somethin’ so…big,” you mumbled, hesitancy written all over your face as you watch him pump his monstrous cock. He snickers, already knowing damn well that he’s not gonna fit inside you—but he’ll make it work.

“oh, you’ll take my cock nicely, I’ll make sure of that, little one,” he says, eager to slip inside your virgin cunt and finally take what he’s yearned so longingly for, to take and breed you as undeniably his.

You shiver and shake, feeling your slick slide down your plump ass as he teases your tight hole with his fat tip. He doesn’t push it in just yet—despite your incessant pleas for more—he just feels too much resistance for his liking; while he is a curse, he’s not a monster.

“Shhh, little one, be good for me,” he warns, stuffing his index finger in your mouth to muffle your whining. He can’t deny how tempting it would be to just thrust his entire cock into you, feel your virgin cunt spasm uncontrollably around the entirety of his length until you squirt and spray all over him—but he doesn’t want the fun to end too soon.

“Can you feel me stretchin’ your tight pussy with my tip? Can you feel her open up fr’ me?” he slurs, absolutely pussy drunk from slowly sinking his thick, fat cock into your warm, plush walls. He can feel your princess pussy start to give in to him, slowly accepting defeat and submitting to his demanding cock. Smirking, he moves the hand that’s fingers are stuffed down your throat to where the two of you are connected, making sure to press and rub your pretty bud that was just begging for attention.

And as it is well known in the laws of physics: “for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction”—he just didn’t expect this to be the reaction.

“Good…such a good girl,” he pants, shocked by just how quick it was for you to cum—let alone squirt—around his cock.

But what he was most shocked about was how he couldn’t control his own impending orgasm—inadvertently painting your walls white upon seeing you squirt. The way your virgin cunt deliciously clamped around the head of his cock made it impossible for him to stave off his orgasm.

Looks like you ended up being too much for the King of Curses to handle.

✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧

a/n: hi hi hi luvssss <3, and happy new year!! I hope 2024 brings y’all so much happiness and joy!! also…I wanna get to know you guys 🥺!! pls don’t feel afraid to send in an ask or message (I don’t bite…hard hehehe)

Likes, comments, follows, reblogs, and any other form of interaction is greatly appreciated <3 #supportcreators

navi <3

[dcnfeng]

𝘿𝙧 𝙍𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤 — "𝙋𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝘽𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙨 𝙎𝙪𝙘𝙘𝙚𝙨𝙨" (𝙊𝙉𝙀𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙏/𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙊𝙊𝘾/𝙁𝙇𝙐𝙁𝙁)

PROLOGUE After passing a difficult course posed by Dr Elara (genius society member #78) in the intelligentsia guild, with a 10% completion rate. A colleague of hers, Dr Ratio has taken presumed interest in your intelligence. Hearing about your continuous pursuits into becoming a genius society member, Dr Ratio befriends you and encourages you to chase after that initial goal by offering you free tutoring lessons. Though brash, all Dr Ratio seeks, is a person who can surpass his intellect and prove themselves to be a true genius society member. Presumed age gap: 6-7 years. Reader is a legal adult (above 20) and is a student in the intelligentsia guild in hopes of finding leads on becoming a genius society member. 

!! DISCLAIMER BEFORE YOU READ !! << DR ELARA IS A MADE UP CHARACTER BELONGING TO ME! >> << MY ONESHOTS WILL ALWAYS REMAIN IN CHARACTER!! >>

@//donfeng_ on tt & @dcnfeng on tumblr <3 Do not use, repost my work without permission!

— 

“Claiming that you possess a high level of intellect as thoroughly proven by your transcripts, yet unable to pass my course, proves nothing but pure nonsense! Must I remind you that numbers on paper do not determine your intelligence as a whole?”  egged your professor, his brash and strict demeanour forcing tears to fall right out of your eyes. Thoughts of uncertainty raced through your mind, the never ending loop of questioning your abilities after a harsh scolding from your professor remained a stagnant process during each private lesson you had with him. He had offered you private tuition in hopes of you becoming a member of the genius society, seeing that you excelled in the teachings of another professor, who’s mannerisms were quite the same as Ratio’s, he had absolute faith in you. “So, do you wish to remain unmoving and weep? Or shall we move on and continue with our pursuits of excellence?” Ratio blew out an exaggerated exhale, returning to your side after pacing back and forth in attempts to ease his distress. Despite his childish endeavour of lashing out on you, all he wanted was for you to achieve success with his help and it angered him greatly to see you give up after he had posed questions that would be of great help to receive recognition from Nous. 

He noticed the look of defeat present on your person which led him to heave out an even heavier sigh. Ratio pulled a chair, sitting down right beside you, leaning a little closer to you with a more gentle expression on his face. Your silence was deafening and it ached him to see you in such a state. “Do tell, what purpose do you serve in becoming a genius society member, dear apprentice?” questioned the doctor, his reddish pink eyes, now less harsh, latched onto yours, eager to get a more in-depth understanding of your desire to join such a harsh environment for renowned geniuses around the cosmos. 

“I just want to .. relish in the fact that I’m ahead of others, maybe even prove people of my past wrong about my capabilities.” you confessed, your voice similar to the soft whispers of the wind on a chilly night. The scholar’s eyes softened, trying to sympathise with the pain of being tossed and discarded like trash by those who you thought you loved. Even if he himself had never experienced such a situation, he yearned to make all his students seek purpose, just, not like this. “You cannot let your past define you no matter the circumstance, do not use it as a means of pursuing intellects that even you yourself are not well endorsed in.” He stated, his words coming off soft yet sharp, a big gleam of disapproval in his gaze. Your heart sank in your chest, the implications of his words being that he wouldn’t give you such lectures if what you said was true.

“Bu–�� “The genius society is a harsh organisation. Only those who possess a fixed mindset with analytical yet intellectual prowess are chosen by Nous. Now, tell me, do you wish to surround yourself in knowledge in every waking moment of your life without halt just to prove those who do not value you, a point? If that is your wish, I have no further objections and will do so to oblige to your request. Though, be aware that I will be unforgiving.” For once, your rationality sets in, leaving your mind an empty canvas as you begin to ponder the significant consequences of your actions that you hadn’t thought about before. Ratio takes notice of the pearly tears brimming on your tear ducts and he immediately takes your hand in his, ignoring the rustled notes that lay below both your hands. “Don’t fret on making a decision, as patience breeds success.” his words ring through your head as you drown yourself in the possible outcomes. Instinctively, you began to weep and sob yet again, feeling as if you’ve lost your purpose. Ratio says nothing, his condescending self melting away at the sight of you so broken and beaten by the jarring facts of reality. He wraps his strong arms around your waist, in a feeble attempt to soothe your heartache. The man sighs yet again, trying to console you with minimal effort, after all, he hadn’t gotten used to the concept of intimacy. Though, he was willing to learn from people who matter most, like you. As your sobs begin to die down, he rubs your back before giving it a few light slaps to snap you back into your senses. You felt incredibly embarrassed for soaking up his black vest, but he shrugged it off as your feelings mattered more. “Done deciding?” He shoots you a gentle smile, giving your head an affectionate rub, aware of the migraine going on after such a hard cry. The usual stoic display he posed was no longer visible and all that was left was a gentle personality of his that contrasted oddly well with his usual bluntness. 

“I don’t know what to do.” you stated weakly, unable to come up with a solution to your current issue. Ratio hummed in response, not giving a direct response as he continued grazing his thumb against the back of your hand, quietly thinking of a way to aid your looming confusion. After a while, he looks back at you, his eyes filled with understanding. “Care for a bath? When one’s head is stuffed with filth, your body is no cleaner. It helps relieve me on days where I am most perplexed. Of course, I will not indulge in any .. inappropriate activities with you, however, I’m here to provide you with ailment whenever you desire.”

You hesitantly accept his offer, in which he nods at, before standing up and letting you gather your notes. He stands by the guild’s classroom door, awaiting for your immediate response to come and join him for a relaxing bath. 

[anianurst]

Dreams Do Come True

Summary: days go by, and Yuji's dreams stop. restless by your absence, Yuji decides to confide in his teacher

A/n: the final part of this mini-series :( im happy that it's received so much love <3 thank youuuuu

Warning(s): mentions of death, puke, mental breakdown, spoilers for jjk season two (episode 17)

It's quiet without you. Not a peaceful quiet but an unsettling one. One that fills your lungs and sits and you struggle to breathe. You hadn't appeared since Yuji was awakened from his last dream with you. Night after night, he goes to bed with bated breaths, hoping you'll appear and he can again relish in your devoted love.

But that doesn't happen. A day goes by, then another, and before he knows it, two weeks pass by with no appearance of you. It's noticeable to everyone that something has been irking Yuji. He smiled a little less and always responded with short answers.

The more noticeable change was the absence of the curse within him. Now that he thinks about it, Yuji doesn't remember Sukuna appearing or talking to him ever since you had appeared in his dreams. The king of curses had been quiet and seemingly lurking in the depths of his soul.

There was one moment that Yuji remembers (more like his body remembers). The moment that you had left with Uraume, he remembered a deep pull from the bottom of his soul. A rough tug that told him he needed to go to you now. The sharp pull then fizzled out as his body turned the opposite way.

"So, what's bothering you, Yuji?" Satoru asks, his bright blue eyes filled with curiosity hidden behind his trademark blindfold. Yuji jolts from the sudden question as he looks up from his phone. An unsure feeling fills his stomach before he sighs and confides in his teacher.

"There's this girl."

"Oh?" There's a teasing tone as Satoru smirks. Yuji's cheeks flare up as he quickly shakes his head.

"It's not how you think it is," he says. "I don't know her." Okay, now Yuji's just talking nonsense, Satoru thinks. "She started showing up in my dreams a while ago, but she hasn't appeared in a like long time."

"Oh?" Satoru says, and it's different this time. He's intrigued by Yuji's confession.

"It's like I know her, but I don't at the same time," Yuji adds. Satoru hums and runs a hand through his snow-like hair. A second passes before he snaps his fingers and makes finger guns at his student.

"You don't know her, but someone else does," Satoru concludes, and Yuji's eyebrows furrow. Why is his teacher always speaking in a metaphorical way? It isn't until Yuji feels something shift on his cheek. A single eye surfaces underneath the teen's left cheek and glares at the white-haired male, warning him not to dig any deeper.

23:14, Dogenzaka, In Front of Shibuya 109

Your lips are parted in awe as you stare at the crater of destruction before you. Even now, in modern times, Sukuna's destruction has always left you breathless, in awe of the beautiful chaos left behind.

A gust of wind comes from behind you, and you turn to look. 'He looks different,' you think, your eyes meeting four ruby-red ones that have always sent warmth through your body.

As he steps towards you, a smirk makes its way to Sukuna's face. A single hand (he has two arms instead of four. a fact that makes you question if you like this change) caresses your face, and you snuggle into the warmth of your lover's hand.

"Be sure to savor this, brat," is all Sukuna mutters as his red eyes give way to brown ones. His hand falls from your cheek, and Yuji's eyes are wide in horror.

He takes in your captivating form, smiling at him and the mass destruction behind you. His hands come up to clutch at his face as shaky breaths leave his lips. Memories of Sukuna's destruction fill his mind, and he falls to his knees.

A groan leaves him as he empties his stomach onto the ground before him. Tears start falling from his eyes as he screams his lungs out. Chants of 'die' and 'only me' fill the air as you continue smiling at him.

His cries die down in volume while you kneel down, your traditional, thin kimono becoming stained with his puke. Your welcoming arms wrap around his shoulders as you pull his figure into yours, your neck becoming damp with his tears.

"Welcome home, my love."

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