#the same way I'm normal about all of this

[starsinthesky5]

in you are in love

can we get a reader meets joes parents for the first time

that's my whole world || joe burrow x reader

description: ask sums it up! a flashback blurb to meeting joe's parents for the first time

a/n: she met his parents in febuary (7 months since the day they started dating). they knew there was a girl in the picture, and he had told them about her on numerous occasions. but they didn't meet until the time was right :)

word count: 3.4k

series: you are in love

warnings: none

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she was a complete mess. like she genuinely had never been so nervous for something in her life.

joe had been trying to reassure her all week that everything would be okay, but she couldn't help the nerves from twisting in her stomach at the mention of...the dinner. she wanted to believe him, but the voice inside her head told her a different story.

it was a constant tug of war in her mind between the side of her that thought this would be a complete disaster, whispering things like "i'm too much for them," or even, "they're going to hate me and everything i bring with me...all the attention, prying eyes, the drama. they seem so nice and normal, so calm. i can't do this...why did i think i could do this?".

and the side that was bringing ice to the searing anxiety in her chest, whispering, "joe loves you. he chooses you. they will too,".

but god, it was just so hard to believe that when she knew exactly how not normal her life was. she wasn't just any girl meeting her boyfriend's parents for the first time. she was her. the woman whose entire existence and being was scrutinized by the world, whose biggest fails and fatal flaws were aired out like dirty laundry. she brought even more flashing cameras, headlines, rumors, and attention to joe's life, even more than he was already dealing with. that couldn't be appealing to the parents of any child, especially since they knew how much joe had already struggled to balance privacy since he came into the league.

and the burrows? they were so normal. warm, kind, small-town folks who lived a quiet life outside of the football world that engrossed every single one of their weekends since joe could walk. they were the embodiment of home, at least from everything joe had told her--from his mom’s famous snicker salads to his dad’s lengthy football spiels, always delivered from his signature reclining rocking chair whenever joe visited. it was an established routine that joe valued, because it was one of the few constants in his life. no matter how much his world changed--draft nights, contract extensions, playoff games, becoming the designated heartthrob of the NFL--the burrow household remained the same. his parents still sat on the porch in the evenings, still had their favorite local diner they went to every sunday morning for brunch, still called him joey like he was six years old running around in the backyard.

this was one aspect of his life that never changed...that couldn't change.

athens.

his family.

his home.

until she came into the picture.

he made space for her, not only in his heart, not only in his closet, but in his home. physically and metaphorically. he had never done that for a girl before, but he did for her. and that meant something.

even though she knew all that, she still had never felt this much self-doubt in months, but don't get it twisted, this wasn't caused by a person this time (previously, her self-doubt was often implanted within her from those around her). this time, she was just getting in her head, going over every possible scenario where she could embarrass herself or rub them the wrong way.

and joe did everything he could to calm her nerves, to ease her into his family by first introducing her to his brothers and wives (who absolutely adored her). but she was the biggest overthinker he knew, so he knew that it wouldn't be that easy to bring her back from the ledge.

"baby, my parents are going to love you. like immediately. just like i did," he laughed, rubbing his hand along her thigh in an attempt to calm her frayed nerves.

she stayed silent as she watched them pull up to his childhood home. the anxiety boiling under her skin, threatened to explode once she saw the first glimpse of their picture-perfect porch, the porch where joe said his mom and dad would spend hours watching him practice his little peewee throws with his older brothers when he was a kid.

his mom and dad.

his mom...and dad.

his mom.

oh right, this wasn't just meeting his parents. it was meeting robin burrow. joe's mom, his biggest supporter, the woman he adored more than anything in the world. the woman who moved mountains to make sure joe could get to where he needed to be. she had heard firsthand how much respect and love he had for her, how he spoke about her with so much admiration. she knew how close they were, how much her opinion mattered to him.

and that is precisely why this dinner felt like the most important test of her life.

it was honestly funny how nervous she was. i mean, she had met some of the most famous individuals on the planet, sold out stadiums and arenas, but somehow, this felt bigger than all of that. more intimate.

--

the second they stepped inside, everything shifted. the warm scent of home-cooked food lingered in the air, a mix of sweet and savory, and the cozy lighting cast a golden hue over the living room. numerous framed photos decorated the walls--baby joe photos, football related snapshots, family moments frozen in time. you know, the usual.

she had seen a glimpse of his childhood through his stories, but standing here, in the house that built him, made it all so real.

robin was the first to greet them, moving right past her baby boy to first hug the woman who had stolen his precious heart. "finally! we've heard so much about you, sweetheart," she squealed.

her breath hitched while she almost broke a sweat, her smile however, remaining as steady as her feet. (thank years and years of practice for the paparazzi for that). "all good things, i hope," she beamed.

robin chuckled, "oh, only the best," while giving her a warm squeeze. "it's about time we got to meet the woman that got joey to learn the difference between dark and light wash denim,".

jimmy snorted, shaking his head. "and got him to wear something other than sweats in public,".

she laughed at the silly jabs at joe, glancing up at him, whose face was already contorted in playful annoyance. "okay, we’re already starting with this?" he muttered, rolling his eyes.

robin gently let go of her before turning to face her son, "you know we love you joe, but she got you to give up the gray jeans and the sweats? screw being the best thing that happened to you," she smiled, then faced her again, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, "she's the best thing to happen to us,".

she couldn't even process what was happening because it felt so...easy. easier than she had thought. off the bat, the banter and vibe that had been established for years in the burrow household was engraved into her system. and it literally had only been 5 minutes.

his mom was so...comforting? she just had this vibe about her that immediately calmed her nerves, no matter how loud the voice inside her head was. and you know what's funny? only one person could do that for her.

joe.

now she knows where he got that from ;)

jimmy, joe’s dad, was just as comforting, shaking her hand with a firm grip and an easy grin. "you must have some real patience if you’re dating my son,".

joe groaned, rolling his eyes. "thanks, dad,".

she laughed, already feeling the warmth of their family dynamic, the way they teased but loved fiercely. it was easy. effortless.

and then, suddenly, she wasn’t her. she wasn’t the woman who graced magazine covers, wasn’t the person whose lyrics echoed through sold-out stadiums, wasn’t the figure people screamed for in arenas. she was just joe’s girl, standing in the warmth of his childhood home, being welcomed into his family like she had always been there.

she couldn't even remember why she was so worried in the first place? it's not like they would come out with pitchforks and a lighter incase she said the wrong thing. this was joe's family. the ones who made the person she was so madly in love with, who he was.

--

his parents could see how infatuated he was with her right off the bat. they could tell she was special to him from the way he spoke about her, but actually seeing it was a different story.

joe barely let go of her the entire night too. at dinner, his arm rested along the back of her chair, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns against her shoulder. every so often, he leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek, murmuring something soft in her ear that made her heart flutter and a giggle to come to her lips. he knew she was nervous, so he made sure to do anything and everything he could to remind her it was okay...and he was right here.

the conversation flowed easily--stories from joe’s childhood, football talk, the occasional embarrassing story from robin that made joe groan.

"mom, seriously?" he complained after she detailed an elaborate story about him dressing up as batman for nearly three years straight as a kid.

jimmy chuckled, shaking his head. "he’d even wear the cape to bed. wouldn’t go anywhere without it,".

she turned to joe, wide-eyed with happiness. "oh, this is gold,".

robin smirked, taking a sip of her drink. "oh, honey, i have plenty more where that came from,".

joe sighed dramatically, slumping against his chair. "i walked right into this,".

she reached under the table, giving his knee a reassuring squeeze. "it’s okay, babe. i still think you’re cool,".

his eyes narrowed playfully as his hand joined hers, fingers entwining under the table. then he have her three squeezes. "i don’t believe you. i just lost so much cred with that,".

joe was even clingier after dinner, practically attached to her as they settled onto the couch. his fingers still laced with hers, thumb brushing softly over her knuckles. every so often, he’d press a lingering kiss to her hair, like he couldn’t help himself.

oh, and then there was that moment--one she’d remember forever--when his parents started playing home videos of joe’s childhood. everyone was huddled around the TV, the warm glow flickering across their faces while joe, ever the gentleman, was finishing up the dishes.

her eyes were glued to the screen, completely transfixed, as if she were watching the most important film of her life. baby joe babbled at the camera, a toy football clutched in his tiny hands, making incoherent little sounds through a drool-covered grin. his dinosaur shirt was stained with whatever snack he’d been munching on, and his chubby cheeks were impossibly round. she felt something deep in her chest tighten at the sight--it was him, the boy who would grow up to become the man she loved.

she was so caught up in the moment, she didn’t even notice when joe snuck up behind her, his arms wrapping securely around her waist. he rested his chin on her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin, watching the screen from her perspective. for him, it was surreal--seeing these memories through her eyes, seeing her watch him at his most innocent, his most unguarded.

soft kisses pressed along her jaw, slow and affectionate, but she didn’t take her eyes off the screen. instead, she shifted one hand up, her fingers trailing over his jaw, nails scratching lightly in that way she knew he loved--a silent i feel you, i love you, i know you’re here.

his parents, however, fully noticed.

they turned to face joe and her, completely in awe of how touchy-feely he was being with her.

jimmy chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "well, would you look at that," he mused, nudging robin with his elbow. "our boy's turned into a big ol’ sap,".

robin grinned, her eyes twinkling as she took in the sight of her son clinging to his girlfriend like she was the only thing grounding him to earth. "i don’t think i’ve ever seen him like this," she said, her voice laced with warmth.

joe groaned against her shoulder but didn’t make a move to pull away. instead, he tightened his hold on her waist, pressing another soft kiss beneath her ear. "you guys act like i don’t have ears," he muttered, lips brushing against her skin.

she giggled, finally tearing her gaze away from the screen to look at him. "they’re just observing, baby,".

jimmy laughed. "oh, so baby is what we’re calling him now?".

joe shot his dad a deadpan look, but it was hard to look intimidating when he was literally nuzzling into her neck like some love-sick puppy. "you’re both insufferable,".

she laughed, turning her head just enough to kiss the corner of his mouth. "you’re kinda proving their point, joey,".

robin sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. "oh, it’s just so nice to see him like this. all affectionate and soft. i mean, he’s always been sweet, but this? this is new,".

she wasn't wrong. everyone knew how joe was opposed to PDA and being so soft in front of other people. but with her, he didn't give two fucks. and that was beautiful.

"this is disgusting," joe grumbled, though it was completely contradicted by the way he was practically melting into her touch.

"oh, hush," robin scolded, waving a hand at him. "you love it,".

he didn’t argue. he just held her a little closer, completely unbothered by his parents' teasing, because deep down, he knew they were right.

and his parents shot each other knowing glances all throughout the night, their hearts overflowing with happiness and gratitude.

later in the evening, while joe was off showing jimmy something on his phone, robin gently touched her arm, "come help me with refills?".

she followed her into the kitchen, her nerves creeping back in like the first time she stepped on stage, the weight of the spotlight reaching down on her and the unsure hint of adrenaline in her chest. it was also like trying out a new song live for the first time, unsure how the crowd would react, only this time, the crowd was one very important person--joe's mom. but robin didn’t jump into anything serious right away. instead, she moved around the space like she had a hundred times before, topping off drinks, grabbing extra napkins. then, finally, she turned, leaning against the counter with an easy smile.

"i just want to tell you how happy i am that joe has you,".

she blinked, caught off guard. "oh."

robin’s smile softened. "he’s always been focused, always had big dreams that revolved around football. but there’s something different about him with you. i see it in the way he looks at you, the way he talks about you," she reached out, squeezing her hand. "you make him so happy, sweetheart. you make him dream of a future beyond football, and for that, we're forever grateful,".

her chest tightened--not with nerves, but something warmer, something deeper. she swallowed hard. "i love him a lot," she admitted, voice softer than before.

robin nodded, as if she already knew. "and he loves you. that’s all a mom could ever hope for. we were so worried he'd get so caught up in football, miss out on the other aspects of his life like love, a family," she said, reaching out to grab the 'j' initial necklace which sat around her neck. "but then you came around,".

she exhaled a small laugh, shaking her head. "i was really nervous to meet you,".

robin raised an eyebrow. "why? because of who i am? honey, you’re the famous one,".

she shrugged, chewing on her bottom lip. "because of how much joe loves you. how much he looks up to you. i didn’t want to mess this up, you know?".

robin’s expression melted into something even softer, her thumb running over the surface of the pendant. "the only way you could ever mess this up is by not being yourself. but from what i can tell, and mother's intuition is never wrong, you’re perfect for him,".

before she could stop herself, she wrapped robin in a hug, this one even more meaningful than the one at the door. and then, the damn of emotion flew open. "thank you. thank so much you for making him who he is. i don't know what i would do without joe,".

robin's arms tightened around her in response, holding her as if she was already family. "oh, sweetheart, you don't have to thank me for that. joe’s always had a big heart, and he’s always known what he wants--he just needed someone like you to bring out the best in him," her voice cracked slightly, emotion clear in her tone. "he's been so much more himself since you came into his life,". she pulled away slightly, but her hands stayed on her shoulders, a steady presence. "you complete him, and we all see it. no matter who you are, what your life is like, screw the cameras and the attention. you're you. and we all know that. he knows that." robin added, her voice dense with emotion.

one thing echoed deep within her throughout the night--her career was never brought up. her fame, her music, the whirlwind of headlines that followed her everywhere she went. not a single mention. not even a passing comment.

because here, she wasn’t a superstar.

she was just a girl in love, spending time with the people who loved him first.

robin’s lips curled into a smirk, mischief twinkling in her eyes. "but just so you know, if you ever need to gang up on him, i’m always available,".

she blinked, surprised at first, but then a laugh bubbled up from her chest, light and effortless. she wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater, warmth spreading through her like the glow of the kitchen light above them. "i might take you up on that," she admitted, voice laced with something softer--something that felt like relief.

robin squeezed her hand one last time, a silent reassurance, before stepping back to grab their drinks. and just like that, the last bit of nerves melted away, dissolving into the love that filled the room.

joe found her a few minutes later, his presence known before he even touched her. the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering warmth from the oven, and then, suddenly, his arms were around her, strong and steady. he pulled her into his chest, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her cheek. "what were you two talking about?{ he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with curiosity.

robin grinned, her gaze flicking between them, and then she smirked. "just how much we love you, joey,".

joe hummed, nuzzling into the crook of her neck like he belonged there. "you better not have been scaring her off, mom,".

robin gasped, placing a hand over her chest in mock offense. "me? never!".

she giggled, leaning further into joe’s embrace, feeling the way his hands instinctively tightened around her waist, as if he needed to anchor himself to her. he had been like this all night--touching her in soft, subtle ways, like he couldn’t quite believe she was here, with him, in the house he grew up in, surrounded by the people who had shaped him.

and then she realized that there was absolutely nothing to be so nervous about, now that she thought about it.

you know why?

because joe chose her. and they saw that. he chose her for a reason. and they knew that. he loved her, and that was everything they had ever wanted for him.

she felt it in the way robin had hugged her like she was already family, in the way jimmy had teased joe about being whipped, in the way they had welcomed her into their home without hesitation, without expectation--just love.

because at the end of the day, it wasn’t about who she was to the world. it wasn’t about the bright lights or the sold-out shows, the cameras flashing or the headlines screaming her name.

it was just about this.

the warmth of joe’s arms around her. robin’s knowing smile. jimmy’s easy laughter. the quiet hum of the house that had built the man she loved.

"it's you and me, that's my whole world,".

joe’s whole world was under this roof.

and somehow, she had become a part of it.

--the end--

[holyguardian]

Being draped by that extra layer of warmth was an immediate comfort that Aerith relaxed into. She gently pulled the thick wool closer — it was obvious she wasn't wearing an 'appropriate' dress for a Princess. But with the added layer, she looked barely any different to the female servants, or even some of the soldiers themselves when they weren't dressed for a battle, wearing more simple layers.

There was something she liked about not standing out. It was how normal must have felt like, she imagined.

Though Somnus didn't leave it at just that. He took up her hands, kissed her knuckles sweetly, and led her so gently to the balcony. Her smile was growing with each new step, especially when he twirled her close.

His hold was almost becoming familiar. Though it was still tinged by new-excitement, a feeling she selfishly hoped would never fade. "A-hah. The Princess will have to remember this is about relaxing and fun..." No, she wasn't that nervous. Queen's Blood just brought out something more competitive and passionate in her...

A feeling that almost compared to her husband's confidence. The way Somnus simply stepped up onto the balcony railing and leapt... he had no idea, how she wished she could have done that too. He sent them soaring over the wall and smoothly landed outside the barracks. She could have sworn he must have taken that path before, given how smoothly he guided them.

Blinking, Aerith found herself stepping a little closer to his side, one hand in his and the other touching at his arm.

She had been in the barracks before. Though that had been more official, in a way. Her father had taken her, in daylight hours of course, when there had been notice of her visiting... of course, that had been in the name of Queen's Blood too. It felt strange to visit so quietly in the dark of night now for the very same thing.

"... that was kind of you, to not use your friend against us in our kingdoms debates." she lightly teased, looking to him with a smile and a tip of her head. "I'll try to help you look." It was the best she could promise. She would probably get in the way a little, asking if this or that person was his friend, like some puzzle game.

There wasn't a deep silence as they entered. This wasn't an announced visit, and the soldiers weren't ones to turn and look at every soul that walked on in, maybe a few glanced, and fewer still nudged nearby others with widened eyes. But overall everything remained bustling with activity.

New introductions had been forged into new friendships already. For all the preparations for war, there was still room enough for a welcomed good night.

There were a few familiar faces to Aerith too. She didn't make a move to draw any attention to herself, but she did give a coy wave with her fingers wiggling when she spied Barret who looked ready to holler for her. Thankfully he chose his beauty sleep over chasing a damned Princess down.

It wasn't long before Aerith caught a glimpse of someone who kind of matched the description. She looked from the man, to Somnus, and to the man again who saw them both. He stood up with a wide, warm grin, and his arms opened in welcome. This had to be him.

"Look at what the chocobo dragged in. I'm sorry, I'm good with faces not with names. I feel like I have seen you before, Prince Someone?" Leander teased at his friend relentlessly, it had been a long time since they last spoke like this. He turned to Aerith, regarding her like any other person. "His mother tried to raise him well but he's stubborn. It's a pleasure to meet you, definitely-not-Princess-Aerith."

His mischief was mirrored by her. Another thing he so much enjoyed about Aerith. Expectations on them were high. And if she were more strict, more aligned with that prim and proper image of a Princess… he would be the same. They both had been raised in the public eye and learning the courts# very narrow rules by heart. And yet… to have her so simply join in this game of disobedience with him… it was still such a relief.

He had ended up with the perfect wife after all.

Proof of that was the growing grin on his face. She challenged him subtly. And he joined right away, stepping around her and pulling two of the thicker woollen cloths from the cupboard. One he slung around his own shoulders, while the other he laid over Aerith’s, all while stepping around her in a circle.

It was cold after all. At least in his perception. These lands would test him, he knew it.

His hand grasped hers, leaving a kiss on her knuckles as he bowed and started to pull her with him, towards this oh-so-fabled balcony.

“What a coincidence.”, he mused, “That really would be such a mystery if that happened. If the princess would have a relaxed and fun evening among those she will rule one day.”

It was like a small dance, twirling her close to him again. She knew this by now. This was not their first leap. And yet it was all the same fun once more. His warping causing the cold air turn into winds that whipped at their hair and clothes.

Launching over the wall… it was a new impression to Somnus, too. He never had been here. His eyes quickly darting over the grounds, looking for a good spot to target and warp to, as gravity slowly pulled them down again. One of the barracks. The plain wall. His sword lodged there, and they landed there a second later – Somnus slowly uncurling his arm and letting Aerith down to the ground gently.

Most barracks were still bright with flickering torches and fires. There was talking and laughter, some even had some singing and clapping going on, as smells of different drinks and food still lingered in the air. The Lucian soldiers obviously were greeted generously by the farmland soldiers. They got along mostly, as it seemed.

Smiling, Somnus offered his hand to Aerith. He knew this must be new to her. To him it was an ordinary occurrence. He had spent many evenings with his soldiers. To her, this was probably a first in breaking the bars of her gilded cage.

“Come… we will have to search a bit. But as I know my friend, he would opt for one of the barracks against the wall. He loves the little chaos of these evenings going on here, but he also values a good sleep and quiet at night. Black short hair, tan skin, warm brown eyes and a smile that could win over other kingdoms in debates.”

[dinoandguitar]

"..Coffee?"

Idol!KwonSoonyoung x Staff!Reader

The first time Hoshi saw her, he nearly ran into a wall. It wasn’t dramatic like a slow-motion movie moment, but it sure felt like one.

She was standing near the practice room, listening intently to one of the senior staff members. Her clipboard was tucked under one arm, her head tilted slightly as she nodded along. Then she smiled, small but bright, like it came naturally to her.

Hoshi, mid-step, completely lost focus. One second, he was walking out of the practice room, and the next... BAM!

He smacked right into the doorframe.

"Hyung!" Dino yelped, catching his arm before he could stumble too hard. "Are you okay?" Hoshi barely heard him. His ears were ringing, and not just from the impact. He glanced up quickly, praying that she hadn’t seen..

She had.

Her eyebrows furrowed in concern, her lips parting like she was about to ask if he was alright. Hoshi panicked. He spun on his heel and speed-walked back inside, slamming the door behind him.

Dino blinked at the now-closed door before turning to the staff members. "Uh… he's fine... I think.."

♡

Over the next few days, Hoshi became painfully aware of her presence. She wasn’t around all the time, but when she was, he turned into a full-on puppy-eager, flustered, and ridiculously obvious about his crush.

"Hyung, you're staring again," Joshua said, nudging him as they sat on the practice room floor.

"I'm not!" Hoshi hissed, even though he absolutely was.

She was across the room, checking something on her clipboard while chatting with another staff member. She looked so calm and professional, and here he was, sweating over her mere existence.

Jeonghan smirked. "You're wagging your tail."

Hoshi shot him a glare. "I do not have a tail."

"You might as well with how excited you get whenever she's near."

Hoshi groaned, dropping his head onto his knees. This was ridiculous. He was Kwon Soonyoung, SEVENTEEN’s performance leader, the energetic one, the confident one. Why was he turning into a shy mess every time she was in the same room?

♡

His crush only got worse when he actually interacted with her. One day, she was passing out water bottles after a long practice session. Hoshi was mid-conversation with Mingyu when she walked up, holding one out to him with a soft smile.

"Here, you looked like you needed this," she said.

Hoshi forgot how to speak.

He stared at the bottle. Then at her. Then back at the bottle.

"Hyung, take it," Mingyu muttered.

Hoshi finally snapped out of it, grabbing the bottle way too quickly. "Thank you!" he blurted out, his voice a little too enthusiastic. She laughed—a soft, amused sound that made his heart go haywire. "No problem," she said before moving on.

Hoshi turned to Mingyu, gripping his arm. "Mingyu-yah. Did you hear that? She laughed at something I said!"

Mingyu looked unimpressed. "She laughed because you were weird."

"Doesn't matter," Hoshi whispered, clutching the water bottle to his chest. "She laughed."

Mingyu sighed. "You're hopeless."

♡

The teasing only got worse when the other members caught on. One evening, Hoshi was lingering near the break room, psyching himself up to talk to her. "Be cool," he told himself under his breath. "Just go in, say hi, and act normal—"

The moment he stepped inside, she turned and smiled. "Oh, hey Hoshi!"

He froze.

His brain blanked.

"Uh-hi! Coffee!" he blurted out. "I mean...you’re drinking coffee. Nice. That’s… great."

She blinked. Then, to his horror, she giggled."Yeah," she said, looking amused. "Do you want some?"

"No!" Hoshi yelped, then immediately regretted it. "I mean, no, I just-I was gonna- um…"

She tilted her head, waiting. Hoshi took a deep breath. Okay, just say it.

"I was wondering if...maybe...you’d like to get coffee with me? Not like this coffee but like outside coffee. With me. Together. If you want."

A long pause.

Then, she smiled. "Are you asking me out?"

Hoshi swallowed. "Yes?"

She laughed, soft and genuine. "I’d love to."

Hoshi blinked. "Wait, really?"

"Really."

He barely managed to hold back a victorious cheer. Instead, he gave a very enthusiastic nod, his grin stretching from ear to ear. "Cool! Great! Uh, I’ll text you!" he said, practically vibrating with excitement.

As she walked away, Hoshi turned the corner and immediately collapsed against the wall. His heart was racing. His hands were shaking. His entire body felt like it was on fire.

And as he entered the practice room, he knew he was in for some good teasing by his members. And as embarrassing it will be, Hoshi didn’t even care. Because he had a date with her.

And that was all that mattered.

[keisgirl]

x kenma, mentions of death and blood cancer

the first time kenma notices something is off, you wave it off as exhaustion.

"you're overthinking it, ken," you say, your voice light, breezy, untouched by worry. "i'm just tired. work has been crazy."

he watches you closely, golden eyes flickering with something unreadable. he doesn’t push further, not yet. instead, he nods, lets your excuse settle between you both like an unspoken agreement, and lets it slide.

the second time, it’s harder to ignore.

you flinch when he brushes his fingers against yours, something you never do. kenma stiffens. "what’s wrong?" he asks, pulling back immediately.

"nothing." you force a smile, but it’s weak, fragile. "my body's just been a little sore lately. probably from all the commuting."

it’s plausible. it’s reasonable. but it’s not true.

he doesn’t say that out loud, just studies you with a sharp gaze. your complexion is paler than usual, your skin almost translucent under the artificial glow of his monitor. when had you lost so much weight? when had the light in your eyes started to dim?

something heavy settles in his chest, an unease he doesn’t quite know how to name.

you should have known kenma would catch on eventually.

for months, you’ve been careful. careful to smile. careful to act normal. careful to tuck away your pain into the corners of your mind where no one—not even him—can reach.

but no matter how careful you are, kenma has always been able to read you. he’s always been perceptive, always attuned to even the smallest shifts in your behavior. and now, he’s watching you like he knows you’re hiding something.

"are you sure you’re okay?" he asks one evening when you curl into his side, your body unusually cold against his.

you want to tell him. you really do.

but you’re selfish. and weak. and terrified.

you don’t want him to look at you like you’re dying.

so, you just nod against his shoulder and say, "of course."

and kenma, for all his doubts, chooses to believe you.

you break up with him three months later.

"i just think… we’re not the same people anymore," you say, hating yourself for every word. "it’s better if we go our separate ways."

kenma stares at you, his face unreadable. his fingers tighten around the controller in his lap. "why?"

"we’ve grown apart."

"bullshit."

your breath catches. kenma rarely curses, rarely reacts so strongly. but now, he’s looking at you with something like betrayal, something like hurt. "you’re lying."

"ken.."

"tell me the real reason."

you swallow hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. "this is the real reason. i don’t love you anymore."

his expression shatters. just for a second, before he schools it into indifference. "fine. if that’s what you want."

you nod, ignoring the way your heart clenches so painfully it feels like you’re breaking into pieces. "goodbye, kenma."

and then you leave, because if you stay, you’ll break down and tell him the truth—that you’re dying, that you never wanted to leave him, that you love him more than anything, but you can’t make him watch you fade away.

he finds out months later.

when kuroo calls him in the middle of a stream, voice quiet, hesitant.

"kenma," he says, "did you know?"

"know what?"

"about her. about the leukemia."

kenma’s heart stops.

"what?" he breathes, voice barely audible.

"she’s in the hospital. late stage. she…she didn’t tell you, did she?"

his vision blurs. his hands shake. the pieces fall into place, and he realises

she didn’t leave because she stopped loving him.

she left because she didn’t want him to see her die.

he doesn’t think. he just moves.

and when he reaches the hospital, when he sees you lying there, too pale, too fragile, his entire world collapses.

"why didn’t you tell me?" his voice cracks as he grips your hand, as he searches your tired eyes for answers.

you smile, soft, sad. "because i didn’t want you to remember me like this."

kenma exhales shakily. "idiot," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against your hand. "i would’ve stayed. i would’ve never left."

"i know." you squeeze his fingers. "that’s why i had to go first."

he lets out a quiet, broken laugh. "you’re so unfair."

"i’m sorry."

he shakes his head, jaw clenched, eyes burning with unshed tears. "i love you. i still love you."

you close your eyes, exhaling softly. "i love you too, ken."

and as he holds onto you, as he listens to the faint beeping of the monitors, he silently prays for more time.

but he knows it’s already running out.

kenma never leaves your side after that night.

he stays until your last breath.

when the monitor flatlines, he doesn’t move. doesn’t speak. just holds onto your hand like if he grips it hard enough, he can stop you from slipping away entirely.

but you do.

and for the first time in his life, kenma doesn’t know how to keep going.

he buries himself in work, in gaming, in anything that keeps his mind from the unbearable silence. but no matter what he does, it never fills the space you left behind.

kuroo finds him one evening, staring blankly at his screen, fingers unmoving on his keyboard.

"kenma."

he doesn’t respond.

kuroo sighs, sitting beside him. "she wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself."

kenma clenches his jaw. "she left."

"she loved you."

kenma exhales sharply, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "i know.”

silence stretches between them.

"it hurts," kenma finally whispers.

"i know."

he doesn’t know if it will ever stop hurting.

but for now, he sits in the quiet, mourning the love he lost, the future he never got, and the girl who left too soon.

[inawickedlittletown]

Decided to rewatch S8 and I made it to 8x06.

Ugh. This episode.

This is the first time I'm rewatching it since it aired and I couldn't make myself rewatch it before, but I'm watching it now and gah the writing.

Under a cut because this got long...

I'm not even too bothered by the anniversary dinner. The woman approaching them is whatever in the long run...Buck is awkward but it's very Buck to be like that so that doesn't bother me. Tommy's reaction to it also not a problem. Buck acting like he doesn't know his boyfriend is gay? Writers WTF. This is the type of conversation that would be normal a few dates in not 6 months in. It's actually very reminiscent of stuff from their first date.

It's the way they didn't know how to bring up Abby and so gave us this convoluted way to bring it about and it's very clear to me on a rewatch that they're trying to make sure the casual heterosexual audience understands things. Like they want to reestablish that we know for sure that Tommy is gay and Buck is still attracted to women but also lets not use the word bisexual. And oh the shock value of it because take out the Abby of it all and the break up still works the same way...they did the Abby thing just for the hell of it.

It's bad writing.

The next thing that makes me cringe is Buck's scene with Maddie and Josh. In the past we've seen Maddie listen to Buck and maybe poke fun at him a little but always in a kind way and then she gives him advice.

Maddie in this scene is acting so strange (actually Maddie this whole episode is not acting quite herself). I know some people have an issue with Josh's speech about Glee but tbh I don't think it's that bad and I didn't the first time I watched it. I think he has good motives in saying it. My issue is with Maddie.

Her joke about Abby turning men gay, the way she explains to Josh that Buck slept with Tommy's fiance changing the facts entirely just to mess with Buck, the way that she just very clearly thinks Buck is being dramatic and ridiculous. She just doesn't take Buck seriously at all and when Buck calls her out on it she turns it around on him because as she says she doesn't think there's a problem. But it's not about if there is a problem with them having both dated Abby, it's how Buck feels about it that he needs advice on.

Josh for all that I do think he is helpful, he also does not know Tommy and shouldn't speak to what Tommy experienced. Buck voices his concerns that he thought he knew who Tommy was but now he's finding out that Tommy lied and hurt Abby and it's thrown him because he's having to meld those two versions of Tommy.

Buck doesn't think that Tommy will do the same to him and Tommy doesn't. He doesn't lie to Buck or string him along. He's actually very honest with him and that honesty contributes to the break up. Yet another way in which we see that Tommy has changed from who he used to be.

The thing is that Josh doesn't know Tommy and admits as much but he gives Buck some broad thing about glee and what the world was like before it and after but he's basing it on his own experiences and the queer experience is not a shared trauma...and he puts in Buck's mind that he can't judge Tommy and also that he should thank him. Buck clearly internalizes this. He also I think it suddenly forced to think about what he wants from a future with Tommy and he jumps at wanting to live with him.

Now onto the actual break up.

The whole scene is actually good. They're cute together and silly and flirty and even after the Abby thing is revealed to Tommy nothing has fallen apart. It's all kinda good and their conversation is actually great. When Buck says he admires him, Tommy seems to like that...or at least he takes it how Buck intends it.

This is where it falls apart. And considering I refused to watch this again until now I didn't really think about it like this until now.

Yes I think Tommy had his eyes opened a little bit with everything Buck said...but Tommy also could have ended the conversation at the point where Buck tells him he admires him and they could have gone to the movies and just continued their date night. Why? Because Tommy already sorta knows this and it's what's he's expected from it...he already knows this is Buck's first relationship with a man and that as such Buck must feel some gratitude for what Tommy has given him and he's clearly in his mind already decided that it will end eventually because as he tells Buck first is not last (Tommy, who hurt you?).

But then Buck asks Tommy to move in. And Tommy can't.

It's one thing for him to date the baby bi guy...for him to get feelings for him that maybe go deep but that are manageable. He can handle that...but moving in together? For Buck to dangle that to him and offer him a future when Tommy doesn't expect that Buck will be able to deliver it? That's where Tommy just can't because he knows it will hurt when they break up...but if they live together and form deeper attachments and routines and they become intrinsically a part of each other's lives in a home they share then that's not heartbreak he's prepared to face. It's heartbreak he knows he won't survive.

I actually don't see the break up as bad writing. Everything else surrounding it absolutely is, but that scene is heartbreaking because they both want the same exact thing but Buck couldn't reassure Tommy that he really did want for them to be together...he didn't even tell him he loved him...and Tommy needs more from Buck to be secure in thinking that in this instance first could also be the last.

I think we learn so much about Tommy in this episode and I wish we had been able to dive in deeper.

This episode still hurts. Tommy's face when he says "Buck" hurts. The way Buck is left behind hurts.

The writing is a mixed bag of bad with some alright moments. It also leaves so much open. I remember that night being optimistic because it is so clearly a storyline left open to be continued. Some interviews turned that optimism right around but without that there is no real reason for any of us to think that this is finished.

Do I think it was a bad idea to break them up? Absolutely. Do I think there are other forms of tension for them to explore? Yes. Do I think they will manage to give this story and Buck and Tommy a happier ending? I have no idea, but I hope so.

Buck himself calls his relationship with Tommy the most transformative since Abby. He misses Tommy so much he spends the next couple of episodes baking and wanting to reach out. We also know that Tommy wants to reach back out too. These are indications that it isn't over and I just hope that they stick to being a little cliche and following the romcom trope right through to the end where they get back together.

I guess that's where I am going into 8b. Hopeful, but not holding my breath and well aware that fanfic exists and so much of the scenarios we want for our blorbos will only ever be possible there. Oh, and I'll be shipping Buck with Tommy because that is definitely not changing no matter what the show does.

[racoon-master]

Ok, I've got a rant. (All things aside though, this was an amazing video, dip and pip always deliver <3)

I didn't find out about this video till I saw @dnpstardust post though! I can't believe this didn't get recommended to me the day it was posted on YouTube, I was checking basically every day for all of January. I had a lot going on at the start of the year and for some reason I thought D&P text each other was normally posted on the gaming channel, so that's what I was checking every day. I'm very much still subscribed to AmazingPhil though, I so I couldn't believe I found out about this video through tumblr 3 days after it was posted! YouTube was recommending me D&P compilation videos, but not this?! Come on!!

Has anyone else noticed a trend of YouTube not recommending Phil's videos? Cause this isn't the first time I've noticed. I didn't joint the phandom till 2023 so there is still some content I haven't seen yet. I've been watching a combination of old and new videos from the gaming channel and for both of them individually. I subscribed to both Dan and Phil's channels at the same time, and yet Dan's videos get recommended to me way more often. Which is bizarre to me, especially considering their different upload schedules (i.e. Phil having more consistent uploads). More then once I have found myself intentionally seeking out Phil's content, but Dan's videos are constantly in my recommended section. Why would it recommend a video from Dan from like 10 years ago when Phil uploaded one a couple months ago?

I know it's got to do with the algorithm and all that (which can be unpredictable at best), but from what I know Phil has done a bit more to keep on top of that with his consistency/lack of hiatus (no shade to Dan what so ever). I know there is a difference in subscribers between the two of them (which I think is silly, but that's a whole other topic lol), and I wonder if this has anything to do with it.

Even though I subscribed to both their channels at the same time, YouTube tends to only recommend Phil's videos if Dan is in them. What's up with that? :(

This happened (to a lesser extent because I knew to check both channels) when "So what now Dan and Phil??" was posted on AmazingPhil. Every time a new gaming video gets posted it's at the top of my recommended, but I have to seek out Phil's videos (context, I have notifications on for both AmazingPhil and D&P Games, but I don't have the YouTube app).

Has anyone else noticed this trend? I haven't been a part of the phandom for as long as some of y'all so I'm curious to see what you guys think.

Just here to remind every one of this btw!

[serxa]

THE PRINCE HAS TO LEARN THE HARD WAY—PART 3—THIRTEEN

PART 1 PART 2

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: It's Telemachus' last day with Y/n. Yet he absolutely failed making his time with her worth.

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Telemachus

Sorry if this took SOOO long to post, Wattpad has been bugging recently, and yes, I write in wattpad but post it here. Thank you for all the support:)

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐀 𝐅𝐄𝐖 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 Telemachus had been working for Y/n's family business. When Y/n's father started to notice that he was finally getting good at pottery, even learning the clay animals thanks to Y/n, he decided he'll let him work for one more day until he sends him off.

But Telemachus doesn't know that today was his last day of work. He happily walked towards the market, with his bag of scrolls and parchment that had all of the sales he had made the past few weeks he has been working for Y/n's family business.

When he met up with Y/n, oh God's how he thought she was absolutely drop dead gorgeous. But Y/n doesn't know anything about Telemachus' feelings. Hell, not even Telemachus knows for himself. He denies it, saying she's just a work colleague... She's a lot oblivious than she really is. "Morning, Tel." Y/n waved at him while he walked over.

He felt a weight on his shoulder suddenly disappear and waved back. "Morning Y/n." He smiled softly and they started walking to the shop to open up. Telemachus choice to work early and to get off the same time Y/n does too, which did make Penelope and Y/n's parents cock an eyebrow at him, but they just agreed.

"Could you open the shutters for me?" Y/n sighed, stretching a bit. She's different from the normal girls here in Ithica. Almost every woman is wearing chitons and doesn't help in shops, yet, Y/n is an amazing person with pottery and sculpting, working at her parents shop, and wearing a tunic and their long sleeve uniforms.

"Yeah, of course." Telemachus murmured before opening the draped and shutters. They started unpacking the stuff, putting them back onto the shelves, tracking what's the hottest deals, counting how many left are in stock and if they need to sculpt. "I'm so.. Tired." Y/n murmured, yawning as she stretched back once again.

"What time did you sleep?" Telemachus asked as he carefully unpacked the glass swan he was holding. "A bit late than usual.." She answered as she rubbed her eyes with the back of her palm. Telemachus smiled softly at the look of her sleepy state. "Need, I don't know, coffee? After unpacking we could get a cup and go back here.." Telemachus offered as he put the storage box away. Y/n thought about the offer and smiled, nodding. "Yeah, sure.." She agreed, as she started to help unpack.

As the two did their own business, Y/n's father appeared and started to have a bit of small talk with them, before he looked over at Telemachus. "Boy, it's your last day, me and your mother agreed on it. We saw that you have been a good help here in the shop, and I think you've paid much more than enough for your debt here." He smiled at Telemachus.

When Telemachus heard her father's statement, he suddenly felt a weight of his shoulders add, his shoulder sagging a bit. When he was finally getting attached to the shop, loving pottery, enjoying waking up early, and being her, oh especially being with her. He glanced over at Y/n who was also staring at him. "O-Oh, uh.." He turned his eyes back to Y/n's father. "Yeah, thank you for letting me know." Telemachus forced a smile.

Once Y/n's father left, ne continued to unpack. "Is there anymore boxes?" He asked Y/n, who was starting to open the drums of clay. "Uhh.." She turned her head to see nothing but empty storage boxes. "None, so.. About that coffee." She smiled at Telemachus, that practically made him weak to the knees and toes.

"Oh, still want to grab a cup?" He smiled, and she immediately nodded, taking her small pouch of money. As they walked through the market, since the coffee grounds and coffee shops were at the very end, Telemachus noticed how weary Y/n was today.

She was limply walking as she counted her money. "Everything alright?" Telemachus asked, putting his hands in his pocket as they walked with a small distance between them. "Yeah, just tired.." She murmured, which Telemachus still didn't believe, but didn't want to push her too much.

He started to lean closer as they continued walking, and Y/n catched on. She hooked her arm around his and rested her head on his shoulder, which made Telemachus feel a sort of giddy inside him, but he quickly shoved it away. 'This is just to help her..' He reminded himself as they reach the small coffee and tea shop.

Y/n took her arm away from Telemachus' and ordered two cups of coffee for them. As they waited Telemachus was whistling, a new skill he actually learned a day ago. "Didn't know you could whistle." Y/n suddenly commented, which made him stop and smile sheepishly. "Yeaaah just.. Learned a new trick."

"New trick? Are you a dog? It's skill." Y/n corrected him. Telemachus was used to Y/n correcting him like this, but there are times where they both act dumb which they ask her parents for help then. "Right, skill." Telemachus nodded and they got their cup of coffee.

They sat on the small tables outside of the standee and started to drink their coffee. "I love their coffee, it a different flavor." Y/n admired the cup of coffee while she kicked her legs from under the table. "It has a zest to it." Telemachus stated as he blew the coffee to cool it down. "I know! That's why I love it." Y/n said happily, her charismatic and energetic side showing again.

"There's that energy." Telemachus raised his eyebrows, smiling at Y/n as he watched Y/n get her energy back. "Well, a good cup of coffee is what a simple person like me needs to get the day started." She said proudly. "Woah woah, too many syllables." Telemachus teased as he raised his hands playfully, making Y/n scoff and chuckle. "I'm sorry that your teeny tiny brain can't comprehend more than 16 syllables in one statement." She retorted with a teasing smirk.

Telemachus sipped his coffee and rolled his eyes playfully. "Hey, I can comprehend! I can comprehend good." He laughed and Y/n couldn't help but laugh also. Once they finishes their cup of coffee, and started walking back to the shop, they saw the other standee's and shops start to open also, restocking, opening shutters, all of that.

When they were back in the shop, up and running, Telemachus was practicing how to mold clay animals as Y/n read a book, both of them waiting for rush hour, where all of the sales pile in. Y/n looked up at Telemachus, watching as his eyebrows knit together as he carefully sculpted the play, wearing their uniforms and his hair tousled. He kept a serious expression, really all his attention on the sculpting clay in his hands, carefully holding it, not squeezing it or anything, just carefully holding it so it would turn out good.

Y/n turned her attention back to her book, shaking her head a bit as to remind herself about what she was reading. After a while, the customers started to pile in, and the two worked diligently with their tasks. Meanwhile, in Telemachus' head, was just one thing. Today was his last day of work. He won't be able to see Y/n unless he goes to the market, but he doesn't want to be obvious also!

He served one customer and once they left, he started to turn a plan in his head, the years turning with a crinking sound with each turn, trying to form a plan on how to spend time with her. It's already twelve in the afternoon, Y/n's parents giving the two food and as they ate, Telemachus was trying to find a reason to continue working here. It's hardest to explain to his mother, Penelope, especially that he doesn't want his mother to know or at least expect he likes someone now.

Does he even like her? He was in a spiral, not even getting his own feelings, how is Y/n able going to comprehend them? He sighed before taking a big bite of food before looking up at Y/n, who was starting to talk about her book. Telemachus smiled softly, humming after every statement, indicating that she was listening to her yapping. "But the author only made this book! It's annoying, only this? Their writing is ethereal!" She rambled, making Telemachus chuckle softly as he watched her grumble over the book.

"Maybe I could read it also once your done.." He murmured. "I mean, sure, you can. Only if I'm done." She smiled and Telemachus nodded in agreement. "Deal?" He raised his hand for a hand shake, which she gladly took. Telemachus couldn't help but think about how soft her hands were, like you just put ten pounds of lotion on their hands, and how warm her hands were.

Y/n on the other hand, couldn't help but think how soft his hand were also. And how bigger they were compared to hers. His hand was skinny and lean also, just like him, but his fingers were long and could easily clasp around her entire hand. Once they pulled away and continued eating, Telemachus could feel his cheeks burn a bit, indicating he was blushing. He quickly got rid of it before Y/n could notice his blush.

"The delas set, you're reading the book after I do and you're going to talk to me all about it!" She giggled, making Telemachus smile, knowing that Y/n also wants to continue talking to him even though he wouldn't be working there anymore. "Mhm." He took another spoonful of food, bringing it up to his mouth and ate it, watching as Y/n did that same. The two were finally starting to warm up to eachother..

Once the clock ticked three in the afternoon, Telemachus knew it was time for his out from work. He hadn't formulated a decent plan that wouldn't get him into too much trouble, so he just decided to let go and stop working, his contract was off and he wasn't sure if they we're even finding a new employee. And gosh, how shy he was to go back here everyday just to spend time with Y/n, its a stupid thing, really. He's just making it look like he likes her...

As he took the boxes from the storage room to unpack all of the vases and animals, he looked over at Y/n. "So how's your last day? Feeling happy that you're finally out of this hell hole?" She smirked as she leaned on the table, watching as he unpacked, placing the work of arts in the boxes for future sellings.

"Actually, I might miss it." He shrugged. "I know I don't get paid, nor I haven't even stayed here for more than 2 months, but I gotten used to how we do stuff around here. And our morning coffees. Lunches with you.. Free time with you. Y'know?" He chuckled awkwardly after realizing that he was rambling about you, wishing you don't catch on and think that he likes you, cause even he wasn't sure if he did. "Huh, really?" She said, propping herself on her palms, her tone dripping with tease.

"Hey, don't tease me now." He chuckled, making her grin. "I apologize, Prince of Ithica." She said softly, knowing she would have to start using that title once again. "Pssh, hearing that from you is a new thing." He chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. "What? It's true though." She giggled as Telemachus put the boxes back in the storage room.

"But hearing it form you is new.." He hummed, taking his bag, knowing that this might be their last conversation before he hides himself in his room, too scared to even look at her, knowing his feelings would just drive him into the biggest spiral mess he has ever been in before. Simply just by looking at her, makes him think that he likes you. But he also knows that he doesn't. But knowing that he likes you, also makes him remember he doesn't like you. It's really confusing, for him also.

He just wanted to nestle inside of his room and never look at her ever again. How is he going to ever explain this to her is he decided to confess? Does he need to get his shit and thoughts straight? He doesn't want to hurt her with false hope.. Suddenly, a snap made him shake his head, coming back to reality. "Huh?" He blinked, as he saw a confused Y/n in front of him, still leaning on the table she was leaning to earlier.

"You going home now?" She asked, tapping the table as she had a soft frown on her face. "Oh.. Uh-.. Yeah, I do. I-I am, sorry." He turned pink as he stumbled on his words. Y/n smiled softly and nodded. "Alright, so.. Let's go and close." She said softly taking the keys and her bag. As they closed the shutters and put back the drapes, Y/n suddenly felt a sense of longing. She didn't want to see Telemachus leave yet. Everything was so confusing.

"Uh.. I'll see you... Whenever I see you?" Telemachus said awkwardly, making Y/n's shoulders sag a bit as she realized that Telemachus wasn't planning on seeing her tomorrow. "Ah.. Uh, yeah.. Yeah, see you whenever I see you." She repeated, forcing a soft smile he normally gives him. Telemachus nodded and looked around before his eyes travelled back to you. "Bye.." He murmured.

"Bye."

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

After a few days after Telemachus' last day, it was all so boring, no one to hang out with any more, and no more reason to wake up early again.

"It's been a while since you and Y/n have talked. You aren't going out of the house much again." Penelope said as Telemachus was hanging out in his parents room, as Penelope weaved a shroud. Telemachus suddenly froze at the mention of her name.

Y/n, the girl who was messing with his head. He never knew what love felt like. Is it supposed to make your her at ache or make you confused? Is it supposed to be annoyingly stubborn and never leave your head? How he feels about Y/n, gosh he just admits it, he likes her. He likes Y/n. How he misses his mornings, noons and nights with her, how the two talk about their interests and later on find out that you two both like that one topic. He loves how her eyes lights up when she see's him walking towards the market, how she leans on a nearby wall, table or chair as she watches Telemachus work...

How... Pretty she is.

Telemachus cleared his throat and started. "... I just... I just w. Have something in my head about Y/n." He started off, making Penelope curious. "That is..?" She waited as she continued weaving. "... I may or may not be developing big feelings for her, like big big, like big that I want to he with her. As a.. Partner.." He rambled. Making Penelope raise her eyebrows. Seeing Telemachus in love is not normal, he had always been busy protecting his mother from the suitors, being by her side as they longed for Odysseus to get home, so seeing him Inlove, is a crazy scenario.

"It's just.. She's so diligent. So hard working, she could serve up to 10 customers at once and could do pottery and sculpting. Gosh, in a span of short weeks, she managed to teach me how to do pottery... And how pretty she is, her eyes soften when she looks at me, her smile is so perfect with every crease and dimple forming on her cheeks and chin, even the side of her eyes creases when she smiled, her nose scrunching up when she's focused,she's like a rabbit, I swear, she's adorable." He rambled to his mother, covering his face as he groaned in his hands.

Penelope chuckled softly and hummed, looking at his now, lovesick son. "... You know... You could take the risk to be with her.. See if she likes you back." Penelope reassured her son as she counted the strings and skeins of yarn for her shroud. "I just.. I need time. I can turn my face towards her just yet, I need to let my feelings straight. Thanks mother." He sighed, standing up. "It's a good idea for making sure first." She hummed. When she saw Telemachus stand up, she cleared her throat. "Bye now, Telemachus." She smiled softly and he just waved goodbye. "Bye mother."

Fun fact, I wrote the last paragraph half asleep, so I apologize if it sounds nonsense

[angelltheninth]

HELLOOOO GOOD MORNNNNNN (even if its prolly not morning there) huge fan, love your hoyo posts LOVE UR WRITING IN GENERAL!!!!!!!! feel free to ignore if ur not taking any reqs rn but i wanted to know your take on the batboys having a meet-cute with their s/o!!! hope u have a good day btw 🫶

I'm so glad you enjoy my writing. Really makes my day.

Pairing: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne x Reader

Tags: fluff, meet-cute, flirting, difference of opinion, banter, dancing, pets

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: I thought it would be funny to give them something more normal rather than the regula superhero things.

DICK GRAYSON

You meet him at the local dog shelter. Both of you want to adopt the same dog and neither of you want to back off. Dick is pretty well built and argues that he would take the dog out on walks a lot more than you, but on the other hand you live in a bigger house with a backyard so the dog wouldn't need to be cooped up in an apartment while Dick does, whatever he does for a living. When you hear he already has one dog you tell him then it's only fair that you get this one. The only way to settle this is to let the dog choose. And the dog chose you, much to your apparent rival's disappointment. Well since you both have a dog now, perhaps luck will have it and you'll meet at the park. He looks like a fun dog dad.

JASON TODD

Jason was someone you saw a few times at the bar that you both frequent. You never approached him before, despite really wanting to, so he approached you first. He called you out on staring at him like some pervert, and if you claim you're not then you should have no problem dancing with him. One dance isn't gonna kill you, or maybe you're a horrible dancer and you're hiding it. Well he might be an asshole, but you're the one who's been eyeing him ever since he stepped into the bar. So he gets to tease you for tonight. All he wants actually, since it's so fun to watch you blush. In exchange for being your dance and drinking buddy for the night, how about you repay him with a date.

TIM DRAKE

Tim and you go to the same classes at college so you see each other pretty often, or whenever he shows up actually. You never talked much, outside of when you needed to, you just knew of each other, more than knowing each other. In fact the first time you first talked to each other, for a long period of time, was in the library when you were both looking for the same book. Since you both had project deadlines and he was too busy at night, for some reason, you agreed to work on your projects in the afternoons. As it turns out he's a pretty nice guy, not at all the rich loner you thought he'd be. Not only that but he is very helpful when it came to your own project. So helpful in fact that you had to ask him on a date to thank him.

DAMIAN WAYNE

He really likes books and proving that he has better taste and understanding than anyone else. So of course you get into a debate with him over the book you read for this months book club. Damian is loud and has plenty of opinions, you and everyone else will hear them out regardless if you want to or not. This your first time seeing him at your book club so he has to be new and already making enemies. Of course you knew who he was, his last name was a dead giveaway, but just because his dad is one of the richest men in Gotham doesn't mean he gets to be rude. A fight almost breaks out between you two but he has a smirk on his face the whole time, a rather cute smirk. Part of you hopes that he'll show up to the next meeting.

[thaleleah]

𝓛𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓝𝓾𝓷, 𝓡𝓾𝓷!

Pairing: Dark!Vampire!Coriolanus x Fem!Nun!Reader

Warnings: ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Dark!Coriolanus, Vampire!Coriolanus, Evil!Coriolanus, Nun!Reader, Virgin!Reader, P in V, Oral (male receiving), Throat Fucking, Creampie, Slight Breath Play, Slight Bondage, Predator/Prey Kink, Fear Kink (?), Blood, Biting, Branding (he carves his initials into her skin), Burning (she burns him with a cross), Dirty Talk, Humiliation/Name Calling (ex: whore, slut, cocksleeve), Corruption Kink, Murder, Death/Dead bodies on screen, Talk about bodily injuries/gore (ex: throat ripped out, breaking bones, scratching hard enough to bleed, burning skin, carving initials into skin), A lot of praying, Author probs going to hell cause this is her second fic about a nun being fucked/noncon-ed

Word Count: 10.9K

A/N: Inspired by this ask because it asked me my thoughts on Vampire!Coryo and clearly i have many.

A/N 2: Coryo might be a little OOC cause I'm not used to writing him yet and this is a different setting than TBOSAS soooo you've been warned lol. I tried tho!

Summary: Something evil has taken over the halls of the convent. Your Sisters are dying, their screams ringing in your ears as they cry and plead, begging God for mercy that He can't provide. One by one they're killed by the devil with sharp teeth and an even sharper tongue. He's coming for you next and you have nowhere to hide when he comes for your soul.

At first you think you’re dreaming it - the screaming, the cries, the pleas for mercy.

They cut through the fog of sleep, a sharp knife piercing through the veil of dreams that were too mundane to be of importance for your brain to remember. Or maybe you weren’t dreaming at all, enjoying the stillness that comes with the night and the only other moment of true peace that can be found to just be one with God and His glory outside of active prayer. 

Panic rips through you, your body tensing and jerking awake in the same way that you jerk awake from a dream where you fall from a great height. Tossing the blanket off, you scramble off the bed, the old wood creaking under the abrupt shift in weight as your bare feet find the floor. The screaming is relentless, the sound laced with unfounded terror and you stare at the door of your room in horror, looking at it but not really seeing it as much as trying to see through it as if you could see what was causing such a reaction from here. 

The screams sound like they’re far, loud enough to carry through the convent but far enough that you can guess they’re coming from the other set of dormitories all the way across the building. You’re frozen in your spot, eyes wide as you hear the screams rip through the usual quiet of the convent. It's well into the night and the Grand Silence had begun to be observed since its marker of evening prayer. It’s a time for quiet - personal reflection, rest, and prayer until its conclusion at sunrise beginning with morning prayer. Sound hasn’t been uttered in these halls during this time in all the years you have been positioned here, and certainly not this kind of sound - the terrified screams, the desperate cries.

Something horrible is happening here. Your Sisters are in trouble.

A scream almost rips from your own throat when your door swings open, but the familiar sight of Sister Agnes keeps the sound at bay. Her face is ashen, fear striking her normally good-spirited features as she quickly closes the door shut behind her. 

“Sister,” You speak, voice low and shaky. “What’s happening?”

“A devil is here,” She says, frantically. “A demon. Here to kill and torture and corrupt us all to Hell.”

“What?!”

“Sister, please!” She rushes to the chair housing your habit and yanks it off the backrest, pressing it into your chest. “Please, hurry! We must leave!”

You fumble with your habit, jerking it over your undertunic and doing your best to fit your veil on your head as you slip your bare feet into your shoes. A devil here in the house of the Lord? How is this possible? The land here is holy, consecrated under God’s divine power and kept active by His devote servants that serve here. No evil power should be able to enter. And yet, the screams you are hearing are proof that it is possible - that evil has indeed entered this sacred place and is tainting the very place you’ve felt God’s presence the most. 

The only place you’ve ever felt truly safe. 

Sister Agnes opens the door when you scramble to her side. It’s dark in the hallway, only the dim emergency lights along the walls allow you any sort of visibility in the otherwise black of the hall. Whatever it is must have cut the power before beginning its attack. Her hand reaches out to clasp yours and you allow it gratefully, squeezing her fingers with yours to keep her close as if she could be ripped away from you at any second. 

“Where is it?” You whisper. It’s in the opposite wing, you know that. Sister Anges’s room is on the other side of the convent as yours. She would have had to run across the building to come warn you of the breach. 

“Sister Agatha has fallen,” She whispers back and you suck in a deep breath of sorrow. “He came so quietly, made no sound. The front door is still locked shut, all the windows intact, I don’t know how–” She cuts herself off and continues to drag you down the hallway. Her voice is thick with tears. “He came for me next, lunged at me. Sister Theresa saved my life. She’s gone too, God bless her soul.”

You heard the screams and still, the news of your Sister’s gruesome deaths shocks you to your core. Sister Theresa was your mentor here during your first year at the convent, and Sister Agatha had only freshly said her vows. They’re gone - lives ripped away from them in a matter of minutes by a devil with no soul.  

Sister Agnes leads you through the halls towards the main entryway. You peek into rooms as you pass them, eyes frantic and head on a swivel for any movement that’s not friendly. Sister Ruth and Sister Sophia’s doors are already open as you and Sister Agnes scramble down the hall. You hope that means that they’ve already gotten out and gotten to safety. There are periods of silence where the screams are cut to a halt, a result of their owner being mercilessly ripped from this world before their time. You feel hopeless as you run through the convent towards the exit. It feels like abandoning God and the beautiful place that He’s guided His followers to build. It feels wrong that there’s nothing you can do to stop it. It feels like failure. 

The entry area has a little more light, emergency lights flickering slightly but still on as you take in the scene in front of you. There’s blood on the floor, the stream of it flowing and making its way into the grout between the tiles, following the line of it as it copies the pattern. There’s blood, but no body - although the smearing line leading to the kitchen just off the entryway is story enough to know what happened. One of your Sisters was dragged away just feet from the door.

The door itself is still closed. Locked. You wonder if anyone has actually made it out yet. 

Sister Agnes freezes at the sight of the blood like you do, her hand tightening even more around yours as she lets out a sobbing gasp. 

“Lord, have mercy,” She whimpers. 

“Come on,” You say, pulling her. “Hurry,”

You take a step, urging you both towards the door, and then you’re being shoved forward instead. Sister Agnes’s body flies forward, her hand still locked onto yours dragging your body with her as she’s tackled to the floor. You fall to your knees next to her, directly next to the Vampire straddling her hips, his hand spanning the entire length of her face as he pushes her head back against the bloody tile. Your scream matches Sister Agnes’s as he tears into her throat. Her screams of terror pierce your heart just as deeply as his teeth pierce her flesh. You can’t see his face as he digs it into the crook of her neck, but you can see hers - can see the panic in her eyes as they flick around but never actually catching on anything, can see how her mouth opens and closes with a mixture of terrible screams until those screams turn raspy and then silent altogether as he drains her. 

Her hand is still on yours like a vice grip and you’re sorry, so so sorry, but it's too late for her. Sister Agnes is still here, still in the world of the living, still moving and silently screaming but you know she’s as good as dead. You’re going to die too if you don’t do something. Tears race down your cheeks as you try to pull your hand from hers, your vision blurring the more you panic when you can’t free yourself. 

The monster reaches out, not bothering to stop drinking as his hand wraps around Sister Agnes’s wrist. Bile rises in your throat when you hear the sickening crunch of her bones splintering under the increasing pressure of his hold. They shatter like glass, the cracking sounds embedding themselves in your memory, but her shattered wrist forces her hand to loosen around your own and with another desperate tug you’re able to free yourself from her dying grasp. 

You scramble up onto your feet and watch as the last remains of consciousness drain from Sister Agnes’s eyes. She was your best friend. 

The Vampire is directly between you and the door. You can’t do it. If you try to make a break for the exit, he would catch you for sure before you even made it past the door frame. And even if you were to make it outside, it’s still dark out, the sun still hours from being overhead in any way that could possibly keep you safe from an undead demon of darkness. You make a split decision and turn to run the opposite way instead, deeper into the convent. 

This time you do scream when you run into another body. Sister Sophia, pale face made even more pale by the lack of blood in her body, lays discarded on the ground at the beginning of the hallway. Her veil is pulled halfway off her head and her blonde hair is stained with blood. She hasn’t just been drained - her entire throat has been ripped out. 

“Sister y/n!” A voice hisses and your attention is called to just further down the hall where Sister Ruth crouches beside another body, her hand resting gently on their forehead. You run towards her, chancing a glance behind you to make sure the Vampire isn’t stalking his way down the hall yet and you see that the second body is Sister Runa. Perhaps he was more gentle with her, she looks like she’s just sleeping except for the red stained white collar at her throat.

“We have to go,” She says, pulling her hand from Sister Runa’s forehead. She grabs your arm, pulling you down the hallway. She doesn’t need to pull you, you’re already running as fast as your legs can carry you, and yet somehow she’s still pulling you - urging you to run faster, hustle harder. Your life is at stake, y/n. Run! “We can lock ourselves in the Chapel! Pray to God and beg Him for–”

Sister Ruth doesn’t catch the flash of movement on her right, the dark silhouette of the man crouched on the shoulders of the statue of the Virgin Mary. He leans out into the fluorescent lights of the hall, blond curly hair and equally as curled grin already matted in red to show the evil he’s already done. You don’t have time to think about how he got there, how impossible it is that he’s in front of you right now when he should be coming from behind you. He’s quick as lightning as he jumps from his perch on the statue and grabs Sister Ruth, pulling her towards him so her back is pressed against his front and he’s trapped her arms against her own chest. The flash of fangs is all you see before he buries them in her neck. She screams when he bites her. Her eyes squeeze shut as she wails, but your eyes never leave her. You can’t look away, can’t think, can’t move.

He’s drinking from her but he’s looking at you, inhuman blue eyes swirling into black like ink as they bore into you like a predator watching his next prey. He growls against her neck, a possessive and cruel sound that almost sounds more like a laugh than anything else, and the sound of it makes a fresh sob bubble in your throat. 

“Sister y/n,” Sister Ruth rasps, and your eyes snap away from his and back to hers. Her eyes are hooded now, body quickly losing color from blood loss and her voice, once beautiful and rich, by far the best singer at the convent, sounds like sandpaper. “Run,”

You don’t hesitate. For her sake, and for yours, you do.

Your Sisters are all dead. 

Sister Theresa.

Sister Agnes.

Your shoes smack against the white and gold tile of the floor, the colors interwoven together beautifully to look like marble. Most days you like to admire it on your walk to the Chapel for morning prayer, a beautiful detail created with the utmost love in honor of God and the place He can call His house. 

It’s not morning yet, and the beautiful marble of the tile is splattered in bright red.

Sister Agatha.

Sister Runa. 

The smack of your shoes against the tile is louder still as you run faster, the echo of your sob drowning out the thick clacks of your heel as the sound bounces off the arched walls of the hallway. 

Sister Sophia.

Sister Ruth. 

You want to help her, find some way to save her. 

You can’t even save yourself. 

A devil has taken over a House of the Lord, an evil spirit in his undead body roaming the world in the cover night with sharp teeth and wicked eyes that gleam in the darkness right before he pounces and sinks his teeth into his prey. You’ve heard of Vampires before - Mother Superior had drilled their existence into your head no matter how impossible it seemed that they could be real. 

“If God is real, child, what makes you think demons are not as well,” 

Children of God reduced to prey by ones who were also once held in His holy cradle, now desecrating His love by trading their souls to the Devil in exchange for immortality. Forced to take another’s life just to sustain their own and relishing in that need anyway, finding joy and satisfaction in the hunt and the torment they cause once they’ve caught you. 

You need to move, need to get to the Chapel. It’s the only place you have a chance at being safe.

You keep running, sprinting for the Chapel. Seeing the tall ornate door frame to the Chapel feels like the first moment you saw it all over again. Four years ago when you first took your vows, seeing the intricate carvings in the wood of the frame felt like a blessing being bestowed on you. It was the entrance to a place that was holy, filled and overwhelmed with God’s presence, a sanctuary and place of eternal safety for you for the rest of your days. 

Now it's the only hope of sanctuary you have. You try not to think of the irony that the rest of your days have come this soon. 

An agonized sob wretches from your chest when you see her. Mother Superior - your mentor, your confidant, the woman who took you under her wing when you were lost in this world and had nothing, the woman who taught you how to be someone worthy of the title Sister. You love your Sisters, the people who you consider family in both the spiritual and the physical. Sister Agnes - your best friend. But seeing Mother Superior’s mangled body feels like the stab of a knife directly to your heart. 

She’s slumped against the thick wood of the doorway, white coif ripped and stained a brutal red. Her head is tilted to the side, exposed neck muddled with the matching red on her coif and adorned with twin puncture wounds. The punctures are still bleeding, but Mother Superior is no longer alive to notice. 

“I’m so sorry,” You cry. You kneel down beside her and bless yourself with the sign of the cross on her behalf. “May God be with you and keep you safe in your journey to Him,”

You can’t delay anymore. Sister Ruth has told you what to do and Mother Superior would have told you the same. You cross the threshold into the Chapel and close the doors behind you. They’re large and heavy and hard to push shut, but the adrenaline coursing through your body is very helpful in making a usually two person task doable for just one. 

“So do not fear, for I am with you,” You recite as you push the doors. “Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you,” You grunt as you pull the thick board down from the side, it thuds into place, hefty and sturdy as it locks the two doors together. You wonder if it was built to protect in a time like this. “And help you; I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.”

Deep breath. Just breathe. 

Breathe and pray and hope for mercy.

You turn around intent on going to kneel in front of the altar but a flash of green tossed along the edge of a pew catches your attention. Horror floods your body once again as you recognize it for what it is - Father Gregory’s stole. And you can see it from here, the smattering of blood along the edge and you know that Father Gregory, the poor devout priest who was only meant to be here for one single day, acting as the active voice of God to hear the burdens of you and your fellow Sisters and free you from your sins, has also succumbed to the devil stalking these hallowed halls. 

You rush down the aisle and throw yourself in front of the altar, knees pressing into the hard tile as you clasp your hands together. 

Prayer is all that can help you now.

Your words of praise are muddled with desperate pleas for mercy. The stained glass along the walls of the Chapel are usually beaming bright and beautiful with light, but the dark of night doesn’t reflect the color and only the dim emergency lights of the dying Chapel overheads is all you have to keep you from seeing demon shadows of movement where there is none. 

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy name,

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done,

On earth as it is in Heaven,”

You jump, a sobbing gasp mingling with the rushed words of your praying as a loud bang of a body being thrown into the thick doors echoes loudly through the Chapel. 

“Little nun, little nun, let me in,” 

“Give us this day our daily bread,” Another bang tears through the Chapel and your body jumps again with the sound, but your praying doesn’t stop. 

“Forgive us our tresspasses,” BANG. 

“As we forgive those who trespass against us,” BANG.

“And lead us not,” BANG. “Into temptation,” BANG.

You can hear the wood splintering as he throws his body against the doors, and you can’t keep from shaking, tears pricking at your eyes and racing down your cheeks as they slide over the curve of your jaw.

“But deliver us from evil,”

BANG. 

“Deliver us from evil,”

“I smell you, little nun!”

BANG. 

“Lord, please deliver me from this evil!” You sob. 

And it’s at that moment that the doors break open. 

The sound of the doors giving way under his force feels like a gunshot straight to your heart. He’s inside - demonic monster, killer - breaking down the final form of defense you have as if it was nothing under the inhuman power of his undead body. You can’t turn around, forcing yourself to stay facing forward as you sob out line after line of prayer, your panicked praise and pleas for mercy echoing through the high arches of the Chapel. 

A loud whistle rips through the Chapel as if someone is pretending to be impressed and even though you can’t hear his footsteps, his shoes making no sound on the floor as he walks with the ease and stealth of a predator, you know he’s getting closer - can feel the way the air shifts around you as he nears. Your brain is screaming at you to turn around, to try to run and protect yourself at any cost, but you can’t bring yourself to turn and watch as your ruin approaches you. 

“Well, well, look at what we have here,” He coos. “The lone survivor.”

He sounds like he’s all the way across the Chapel and somehow speaking directly in your ear all at once, his voice carrying through the holy place like his is the only voice it should ever amplify instead of the Lord’s words, and for a horrifying moment you wonder if that means this place is no longer holy. 

“Our final tribute,” Closer and closer, steps silent as he stalks nearer but you can hear how his nails, sharp pointed and lethal, designed for cruelty, tear against the wood of the sides of the pews as he passes by, dealing destruction in his wake. You jump when he’s suddenly upon you, crouching behind you and his hand slaps against your forehead, forcing your head back as he growls in your ear. “God’s last whore.”

“Our Father,” You whimper, tears blurring your vision as you crane your neck back against his hand, and all you can do from this position is look at the large statue of Jesus pinned on the cross displayed high on the wall across from you. “Who art in Heaven.”

“Do you really think there’s a Heaven?” His voice is low in your ear, soft and smooth, deceptively charming despite the chilling undercurrent and the way it sends shivers down your spine. “Is that where you think all your fellow nuns went? Do you think they’re happy up there? With your God, safe and sound and free of fear, pain? Do you think they’re waiting for you now? With open arms and waiting for you to join them in - what is it? Everlasting peace? A paradise, right?”

He nuzzles his face against the side of your head and you can feel the sharp grin against your temple. Your heart is pounding in your chest, the erratic thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump so intense that you can feel it in your throat, and you accidentally skip a few lines in your prayer. You stutter to correct, your words twisting over themselves as you struggle to find your place, and although his laugh is just a quiet chuckle pressed against the panicked sweat of your temple, it rings through your ears like the cruel, evil sound it is. 

“Guess what,” He whispers, cold lips brushing against your cheek. “They’re not. They’re in Hell getting fucked by demons for the rest of eternity. And they love it.”

A sob rips from your throat, terrible terrible images of your Sisters being forced on their backs or on their knees by soulless demons invading your mind, their screams of terror from earlier tonight echoing in your brain like a relentless loop. That can’t be true - it can’t be. God protects the souls of His children. He wouldn’t allow His faithful daughters to be subjected to such a fate. Sister Agnes, Sister Ruth - they have to be okay. They’re safe with Him. They have to be. 

But still, you pray anyway, finding the will despite your distress to change your prayer just for a moment to one specifically asking for His guidance for the recently departed. It’s short, just a few lines - eternal rest for the wandering souls, perpetual light shining upon them so that they don’t get lost or fall in darkness. Mercy and peace, a relief from pain and fear. 

Amen. 

He lets go of your forehead, shoving the back of your head roughly so you jerk forward. You catch yourself with one hand, breathing heavily as your ears strain to listen for him shifting behind you. You know he’s still there, can feel his looming presence even though he’s not touching you anymore, but he’s as silent as a ghost. You kneel up again, back straight as you look forward towards the cross on the altar. For a moment, nothing happens - the stillness is almost more nerve wracking than the actual monster somewhere around you. 

You gasp when your veil is flicked over your shoulder and the back of your habit and undertunic is ripped open from the nape of your neck all the way to the small of your back. The sound of tearing cloth echoes through the Chapel, reverberating off the walls and amplifying in your ears the same way the singing voices of your Sisters once did. Your back and the curve of your left shoulder are left vulnerably exposed as he pulls the material a little to the side. His sharp nails drag down the length of your back, goosebumps raising on your skin. They’re as light as they can be as they scratch down, the sharp pointed tips like daggers grazing over your flesh as you whimper out the beginnings of another Our Father. Your hands lace together in front of you, the long chain of the cross necklace looped around your neck twisting through your fingers as you cling to the cross in your hands. Then they’re back at your shoulder, digging in harder now as the tips of his nails cut into your skin. You scream as he rakes his nails down your back, pain stinging from the open wounds in the shape of claw marks and you pitch forward, only just barely staying upright on your knees as you squeeze your hands together tighter in front of you. 

You know you’re bleeding, can feel the tickling as the blood trails from the burning scratch lines on your back and you squeeze your eyes shut when you feel his tongue against your shoulder blade, licking up the dripping red. 

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done,” You recite through gritted teeth. “On earth as it is in Heaven,”

He hums, sharp teeth nipping your skin as he licks over the stinging cuts. 

“You know,” He says, voice gravelly. “Out of everyone I’ve drank from tonight, your blood is the sweetest.” His hands curl around the tops of your arms, pressing in and holding you still as he nudges his face into the exposed crook of your neck. 

You try to keep praying, the familiar words should be burned in your memory, able to be recited without a single thought, but you’re not even sure if you’re saying actual words now. Everything just sounds like gibberish, words garbled and twisted with panic and you know that your time here on earth has come to an end. The tips of his canines scrape against the delicate skin of your neck, teasing your death as you hold your breath waiting for him to bite down and end your night of torment. 

“Let’s see if it’s better straight from the source,” 

His teeth slice into you, piercing where your neck meets your shoulder. Your scream cuts off your maybe prayer, your eyes widening but unseeing as your hands abandon their humble position to claw at his own as he pins you still by your arms. It’s painful, so painful you feel like you're burning up from the inside, your blood turning into fire in your own veins as he drinks it from your body like his own personal wine. And then something changes, a blanket of coldness wrapping around your body as you wheeze out a worthless plea that you know he hears but chooses to ignore. The fire in your veins calms into a warming hearth, contrasting with the cold of the rest of your body in a way that feels almost trance-like. There’s a pressure building in your belly, a heat that has nothing to do with the blood being drained from your veins and everything to do with something you hadn’t felt even years before you took your vows. 

No, no, no, you silently plead, but you can’t ignore the realization of what he’s forcing you to feel when the dull throbbing starts up between your thighs. 

His hands leave your arms, wrapping around your body as he pulls you closer to him. One of them gropes the curve of your breast, squeezing it in his palm, and he growls against your throat when your hands automatically shoot up to try to yank his away. His fingers curl around the neckline of your habit and he yanks it down roughly until the ripped top of your uniform sits around your waist. The Chapel had always felt warm before, filled with God’s presence and the certainty of safety, but now its cold, chilling air warring with the already contrasting temperatures of your body as it brushes over your bare chest. Your nipples harden, chest heaving as your vision blurs, dark spots stealing any clearness of sight as the devil behind you continues to drink from your reluctant body. The cross of your necklace hangs low against your sternum, the silver chain traveling between your breasts. The sleeves of your habit are still halfway up your arms, the neckline wrapping around your elbows and partially pinning your arms to your sides. 

He doesn’t even have to hold you still anymore. You can’t muster up enough strength to try to push him away. 

The throbbing between your legs only intensifies the longer he drinks and you can feel the wetness pooling in your underwear, damning and horrible even though it's making your body feel so so good. Your head spins, dizzy and euphoric, and you’re trying to pray - trying so hard to remember the words you’re supposed to say - but all that leaves your mouth is a weak moan when he finally decides to pull his teeth from your neck. 

You collapse on your hands, your arms barely strong enough to hold you up as you gasp for air. The bite mark on your neck is sore, the throbbing focal point of what he’s done to you matching the pulsing between your legs. His feet do make sound this time as he walks around your crumpled body, the heel of his dark leather dress shoes purposefully clanking against the floor as he steps in front of you. You peek up, eyes still a little blurred and unfocused as they travel up his nicely pressed pant legs, somehow only slightly wrinkled despite all the chaos he’s caused tonight. You freeze when you get to the bulge, bumping the material out as it starts to swell under the fabric. The sight of it makes the panic once again come to the forefront of your mind and you frantically try to scramble back, away from the man, devil, creature in front of you but he grips your jaw in a tight grasp, keeping you still and on your knees at his feet. 

His hold on your face is painful, strong fingers digging into the hinges of your jaw and forcing your lips to pucker slightly under the pressure. His sharp nails cut into your cheeks as he pries your face upwards, and then finally - you see him. 

You had seen him briefly before he attacked Sister Ruth, but how he actually looked hadn’t registered into your terrified brain. He’s a monster, a killer - spawn of the Devil - you expect him to be grotesque, as horrible on the outside as his soul is on the inside. The things he’s done, the lives he’s stolen, how he tortured and murdered your Sisters in their own safe haven - a House of the Lord no less - he should be as demonic looking as his actions. You expect a mouthful of sinister teeth, pointed with multiple rows meant to pierce and rip and drain their victims. You expect red eyes the exact same color as the blood he’s stolen from unwilling veins. He should look evil, skin grey and dead to match the lack of life in his own body, but the man in front of you is none of those things. 

He’s beautiful, devastatingly handsome like you believe Lucifer was when he was cast from Heaven. His blond hair is unruly, part of it still slicked back in what looked like a professional and put together style meant to tame the wild curls that are pushing through the gelled barrier. Some of those curls spring up on his head, falling along his forehead and reaching towards his eyes - eyes that are inhumanly blue, the iris swirling like living color as the black of his pupils bleed into the cerulean ring. His mouth is red, painted fresh with your blood, and his chin down to his neck is stained with that of your Sister’s, some of the remnants of splattered carnage soaked into the collar of his button down shirt. 

Your voice fails you, trapped in your throat as he grins. His prominent fangs bite into his lower lip mimicking the way his nails dig into your cheeks. Your lips form the words despite the lack of sound, starting the prayer again in the only way you can. He watches as your mouth struggles to form the shapes despite the pressure on your jaw, the thick lashes framing his inhuman eyes lowering as his features shift into a look of feigned pity. 

“I don’t think He’s listening to you. Your God,” He pouts. “Seems He’s abandoned you.”

It’s not true. It’s not true. It’s not true. It’s not true. The words echo like a mantra in your mind. God wouldn’t abandon you. He’s here, His presence is all around you. He’s protecting you, protecting your soul in a way He can’t protect your physical body. He’s with you now, ready to help shoulder the burden and trauma that the Devil is forcing in your path. The words of your prayer push forth, desperation giving a voice to your paralyzed vocal cords, and you know He’s here - He is, He is, He is…

…but you can’t feel Him. All you can feel around you is the unsettling, overwhelming, panic stricken presence of him. 

“But I’m here,” He purrs. His fingers slide across your cheeks as he moves to grip your chin instead, his thumb caressing your moving lips. “You should pray to me instead. Go on, little nun. Pray to the great Coriolanus Snow. Beg me to show you mercy.”

Fresh tears race down your cheeks when he shoves his thumb inside your mouth, the pad of it pressing down on your tongue and muffling your prayer. You fight back a sob and keep it going anyway despite the intrusion in your mouth. But when you look back into his eyes, your own eyes wet and glossy and red rimmed with eyelashes clumping together, all you see in those orbs of swirling blue and black is evil unbridled lust. 

Your heart stops when his free hand goes to the waistband of his pants. He undoes the button, shimmying his hips as he pushes them down his thighs just enough to free the thick bulge inside them. Your eyes drop down, locking onto the sight in front of you as he pulls himself free. He’s hard in his palm, thick girth filling his hand as it juts out at you, the pink tip of it already starting to glisten with wetness at the top in the dim lighting of the Chapel. He has no blood in his undead body, none other than what he’s stolen from you and your Sisters tonight. You wonder if that’s what’s helping to fill his cock right now. 

He pulls his thumb from your mouth and his hand leaves your face for one brief moment of relief before it latches itself to the top of your head. With a sharp tug, he yanks your veil from your head, a few strands of hair falling victim to the pull as they tear from your scalp. You screech, veil fluttering uselessly to the Chapel floor, but the screech and any hope you have at determinately continuing your prayer is cut off when he fists your unbound hair around his fingers and shoves his stolen blood filled cock in your mouth. 

Your hands automatically fly up to push against his thighs, desperately trying to push him away, but his hold is unrelenting as he pushes his hips further against your face. Frantic cries burst from your vocal cords, the hefty weight of his cock on your tongue is hot and overwhelming as it presses against the back of your throat, the threat of what he could do if he just pushed a little further is clear without him even having to say a word. 

“Don’t bite,” He teases, cruel laugh bouncing off the Chapel walls. “That’s my job.”

He drags your mouth along his length, pulling you almost all the way off until just the tip remains nestled against the flat of your tongue before sliding you back down, inch by inch invading your mouth and filling it up until you feel like you can’t breathe. Your nails dig into his legs, your own thighs spreading apart subconsciously in an effort to steady yourself as he drags you back and forth along this cock. The pulsing in your most intimate areas doesn’t stop as he degrades your mouth, embarrassment and shame flooding your body as he uses you to further desecrate this holy place in even worse ways than he already has. 

The taste of him clouds your brain, the wetness of your own saliva mixing with the salty taste spilling from his swollen tip and your body tenses as you gag around him, core spasming as more shame soaks into your already drenched underwear. Your heart pounds, blood rushing in your ears so much it starts to sound like you’re underwater, and you know he can hear the adrenaline rushed track of your heart the same way you can hear its song in your ears. You wonder what he’s more focused on right now as he takes your mouth, eyes closed and head tipping back towards the ceiling: how your mouth feels wrapped around him, or how the blood he has yet to steal from you sounds still rushing through your veins. 

The cool metal of your necklace draws your attention to the cross resting against your sternum. It suddenly feels heavy and cold against your flushed chest and you know that this is it - this is God reminding you of His presence with you. This is Him showing you that He has not left you all alone with a monster. Blindly, you reach for the pendant, feeling the reassuring press of the protruding arms of the cross bite into your palm as you squeeze your fist around it. Without another thought, you press it to his thigh. 

The reaction is immediate - heat swells under your hand, the metal of the cross burning like an iron as it fries through the neatly pressed material of his pants. It doesn’t burn you, the heat radiating against your palm is nothing more than a pleasant warmth against your hand. But it burns into Coriolanus’s skin, the holy figurine scorching his thigh and branding his pale skin with the bright red righteous mark of your Lord. He grunts out in pain, teeth grinding together as his head falls forward again, those inhuman eyes locked on you as you still choke around him. 

You expect him to be angry, to push you away and end your torment, even if it comes at the cost of your life. But your heart sinks when you see the twisted grin pull at his red mouth. 

“Trying to leave your mark on me, Sister?” He asks. To your absolute horror, he makes no move to smack the cross away, letting it scorch and smoke against his burning skin. “You can mark me up however you want. I’ll mark you right back. Try harder.”

You whimper as he fists both his hands in your hair, one on either side to keep you completely still. He rocks into your mouth, using you as his own personal toy instead of forcing you to move on him, and any regard he might have had for you before is gone - burnt away and up in smoke like the skin on his upper thigh. He shows no mercy as he pounds his hips against your face, making you take him deeper and deeper into your mouth until you’re gagging in earnest, choking and sputtering wet horrible sounds as thick strands of saliva drip from your mouth and his cock as he urges himself past the point that he had previously decided was good enough until he’s sheathed in your throat as far as he can get himself. 

“Look at you,” He laughs. “This isn’t your first time taking a cock down your throat, is it? You’ve done this before, I can tell. What a little professional you are.”

You want to shout no! No it's not true! Humiliation tearing your heart apart as he laughs in your face. It’s not true, it's not true. You’ve never taken a man in your mouth before. You’ve never had anyone before in any capacity. You’ve stayed pure your entire life, untouched by man and the temptations of the Devil. But the devil in front of you mocks you, violating you in the most intimate way he can, turning your own body against you as the part between your legs begs for attention that it's never truly wanted before he forced you to feel it, even as your brain screams at you to fight back all you can. 

The cross falls back in its place between your breasts as your hands fly up to claw at his own, your fingers trying to pry his grip from your hair as he thrusts faster, harder, deeper into your mouth and throat. He laughs as you struggle, crying and whimpering and gagging around his cock as he calls you every name that you know you’re not, but can’t defend yourself against. 

Whore. Slut. God’s prostitute. Jezebel. 

The air hurts as it reaches your lungs when he finally lets go of you. You cough and sputter, greedily gulping in heaving breaths of oxygen as tears and drool slide down your heated face. Your hands press against the floor as you gasp, desperately grasping at the tile as you fight to breathe. Coriolanus lets you, leisurely walking around you as though he has all the time in the world. It feels as though hours have passed since you’ve been trapped in this living nightmare, but outside beyond the beautiful stained glass windows, there’s still only darkness.

Brutal fingers grip the back of your neck, the tips digging into the sore puncture marks on the side of your throat. The ruthless press of his fingers at your bite mark sends a horrible pang of unwanted pleasure straight into the pit of your stomach, and you know it should hurt, should burn and make you scream from the pain of it all - and it does hurt, but it shouldn’t hurt like this. 

His mouth is at your ear again as he growls, “You want to pray to your God? Go on then. Bend down and pray,”

He shoves you down, his grip on the back of your neck keeping your upper body pinned as your cheek digs into the cold flooring. Any air that you were able to take in suddenly feels like it's stuck in your lungs when his free hand slides up the curve of your backside. He drags the bottom of your tunic with it, trailing it up and up and up until it sits bunched around your waist alongside the ripped neckline of your habit. You feel as vulnerable as you’ve ever felt - exposed and on display for eyes that should never be able to see these parts of you. Your hands grip against the tile on either side of your head, but even as he removes his hand from the back of your neck, you don’t dare try to push yourself up again. 

“Pray for forgiveness, Sister,” He says. His fingers find the modest coverage of your underwear and rips them clean in half with a quick flick of his wrist, tearing a hole for himself directly in the center of them and leaving the shredded remains of your modesty to hang uselessly on either side of your exposed center. “Pray for forgiveness because you’re sinning right now. It’s here, evidence of your fall from grace coating the pretty petals of your dirty, dirty cunt. You’re sinning, little nun. Sinning,”

A gasp rips from your throat as his hand lands on your backside, the sharp sting emphasizing his words that act like a dagger to your heart. 

You’re sinning. You’re a sinner. 

“Sinning,” He says again, landing another smack to your unprotected buttcheek. Fat tears flow from your blurry eyes.

Instead of being close to God, you’re drifting from Him. Being dragged, kicking and screaming further and further from your place at His side and instead of hating every second of it, recoiling in horror and finding nothing but pain and disgust from the touch of the monster behind you, your stomach clenches in twisted anticipation. 

“Sinner,” He grunts and this time you scream, loud and tearful as his hand lands cruelly on your bare pussy. 

You instinctively clench around nothing, traitorous clit pulsing against the rough treatment. Your head lifts from the ground just enough for you to shake it in denial, voice raspy and thick with tears as you struggle to begin your prayer anew. From behind you, Coriolanus laughs as he listens to your stuttered prayer, landing another sharp smack against your pussy just to make you cry out and lose your place. You can’t focus, nerves fried and body wound up so tight you feel like you’re about to explode out of your skin. The beginning of the prayer is the only thing you can remember, repeating the first phrase over and over and over again and hoping against hope that it's enough for God to hear you because you can’t for the life of you remember what the rest is. 

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy name,”

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy name,”

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy name,”

Your body stays frozen as Coriolanus lifts your hips higher into the air, and you don’t fight back when he kicks your legs farther apart so he can fit himself between them. Your praying gets louder, the only lines that you can remember coming out as a hurried sob when you feel the head of his cock slide against your slit. 

“What’s wrong, Sister? Have you forgotten the words?” He asks and a part of you wonders if instead of him being a devil, if maybe he’s actually the Devil. He drags the tip of his cock through your slick folds, sliding it from your hole all the way to your clit, rubbing it roughly against the swollen nub and back again. Your entire body trembles when he lines himself up, blunt tip teasing your entrance and you’re shaking so much you worry you might fly apart. “I said pray.”

Your mouth falls open when he pushes forward, no sound making its way from your vocal cords even though every other part of you is screaming. The head of his cock splits you open, your wet pussy taking him in and stretching around his thick length and it hurts, it hurts so much, but it's what’s under the pain that hurts more. The striking fullness of him as he fills you up, pushing his cock deeper and deeper inside you as he presses bruises in the shapes of his fingers into your hips. The way his cock completely fills you, leaving no space inside you for anything else and bullying its way even further still, making room for itself where you can’t imagine there could possibly be anymore. It’s horrible, the way your body yields to what he’s doing, taking him in and craving more even as the pleasure blossomed pain burns in your core. It must be something demonic, some sort of paranormal and evil power that’s blanketing you in this unwanted feeling. The monster behind you is forcing himself on you, dragging you into darkness with him with each drag of his cock against your slick walls, and is making you like it. 

You feel him in your stomach as he starts to thrust into you, deep and slow presses in and out as his hands squeeze your hips. 

“So tight around me,” He grunts, cock throbbing inside you as your hands try to find purchase against the ground. “Who knew that God’s precious angel would make the perfect little cocksleeve.”

You cry out when he arches over you, pushing your cheek back into the floor as he holds your head down with a splayed palm against the side of your face. His other hand grips possessively at your waist as he growls and grunts on top of you, moans of sordid pleasure filling the Chapel as you gasp and whimper underneath him. You’re not praying anymore, can’t get anything out more than a punched out, breathless, ‘Lord, have mercy, please have mercy, please have mercy’ with every rough thrust of his hips.

“You think someone like you deserves mercy?” Coriolanus sneers. “You’re no one. Left behind. Forgotten. And where is He now that you’re calling for Him? The one you devoted your entire life to.” His cruel words are punctuated with each snap of his hips and you whine in agony, eyes squeezing shut as the knot in your belly tightens. “Go ahead. Call to Him. Beg for Him to show you mercy.”

“Please!” You cry. 

You can feel your orgasm barreling towards you and you try to hold back, wanting to tell your body that no, you can’t. You can’t! You can't! You can’t let yourself feel like this no matter what this monster does to you. But your body doesn’t listen, Coriolanus doesn’t give it a chance. Your clit is needy between your thighs, begging to be touched as your pussy weeps around him, fluttering around his thick shaft as he drives into you without mercy. Shame floods your cheeks as wet squelching sounds become prominent in the dark symphony of sinful noises bouncing around the Chapel walls. 

“He’s not here. He left you,”

“No,” You beg. Not true, not true, not true. 

“But don’t worry, I’ll take you. Maybe He left you for me as a present, hm? You’re the fucking whore that your God left for me to ruin,”

You can’t say anything when he drags you up by your hair, pulling you back against his chest. His thrusting doesn’t stop even as the hand in your hair moves to wrap tightly around your neck, fingers pressing firmly into the sides of your throat just enough to make you fight to breathe under the pressure. His other hand wraps around your chest to palm at your breast, your nipple trapped between the cage of his fingers as he squeezes at your chest. 

“No no no no no no,” Your voice is desperate, breathless against the restrictive hold around your throat, and your eyes roll back into your head as the coil in your stomach tightens beyond control, your orgasm washing over you in waves of relentless, dark, and unfairly wonderful bliss. 

Coriolanus laughs as you shake in his arms, his sharp teeth poking into the lobe of your ear as he presses his grin into the side of your head. 

“Wow, look at you, cumming all over my cock without me even having to touch your pretty little doorbell. You really must be God’s favorite whore,”

He’s still hard when he pulls out of you, leaving you to crumple on the Chapel floor to deal with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Through your exhausted and used state, you still find the will to send a quick prayer of thanks up to God for allowing this devil to be done with you before he could release inside you. You know he’s going to kill you now that he’s gotten his fill, will grab you and drain you dry until there’s no life left inside you. But at least you hope that you’ll get to go to Heaven, be with God and the rest of your Sisters because he had to be lying about them being dragged to Hell. God wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t. 

If this is truly the end of your time here on Earth, then at least you were spared the humiliation of Coriolanus finishing inside you. 

He doesn’t immediately grab at you again though, doesn’t drag your head to the side so he can sink his teeth into your vulnerable neck and finish what he started earlier tonight. Instead he leaves your side, walking down the center aisle towards the door. Your eyes follow him, your vision only partially blocked from the way your hands cover your face in an attempt to try to hold yourself together. He stops halfway down the aisle, plucking something off from one of the pews, and the flash of green fabric reminds you that its Father Gregory’s stole discarded over the edge of the seat. You watch as he tucks the stole into his pants pocket before he turns back towards you, and you hide your face completely when you realize he hasn’t even bothered to tuck himself back into his pants yet. 

The hands covering your eyes allow him to sneak up on you and you don’t hear him as he takes a place in front of you again. His hand flicks out, quick as lightning, and grabs onto your necklace. Immediately, the pendant burns his skin, the smoke and smell of scorching flesh emanating from his hand, but he doesn’t care - just clutches it in his fist as he uses it to pull you forward.

“Crawl,” He demands. “Crawl or I’ll rip it off.”

You don’t hesitate, feeling the pull of the delicate chain around your neck threatening to snap against his tug. This is the last thing you have, the last form of protection God can offer you as your last moments on Earth come to an end. You can’t lose it. Your limbs are still wobbly as you scramble up the few steps towards the altar, your knee slipping on the fabric of your habit and almost making you fall enough to break the chain all on your own as you frantically try to follow his pulling. 

Standing in front of the altar of the Lord is the last place a monster like Coriolanus Snow deserves to be, but he towers over you like he belongs there, angelic blond curls falling into eyes of swirling blue and black as they glare down at you.

You sob when he rips the cross from your neck anyway, the sharp break of the chain snapping against the back of your neck as he tosses the holy pendant far away from you. 

“Now look at what you’ve done to me,” He says, showing you his burnt hand. His thigh is still damaged too, the matching marks of the cross torched into his skin. “You hurt me. Maimed me. Even after I was so merciful to you.”

He buries his uninjured hand in your hair, dragging your head close to his injured one so your mouth is a breath away from the red, scarred skin. 

“Kiss it better,”

Your breathing is shaky, evidence of your orgasm coating your inner thighs as you kneel in front of him. He allows you to hesitate for just a moment, but doesn’t release your hair from his grasp until your lips touch the marred skin of his palm. When he releases your hair, you feel untethered - accidentally swaying away from his hand without his firm hold to keep you there. Without thinking, you grab his wrist with both of your hands to help hold you steady, replacing your lips at his palm without him having to tell you to. 

“Good girl,” He coos. He tugs your right hand away from where it's clutching his arm and pulls it through the remains of your sleeve from where it's still partially pinned at your side so that he can raise it up high in the air, the paper thin skin of your wrist held near his own mouth. “Use that holy power of yours to make me all better.”

You whine when his teeth slide into your wrist, eyes sliding shut as the cloud of euphoric dizziness once again invades your brain. You feel outside your body as he drinks from you, kneeling before him and pressing soft kisses against the damaged skin of his hand, face just inches away from the still erect cock that's glistening with the evidence of your downfall. He suckles at your wrist and it takes you much longer than it should to realize that the skin under your lips doesn’t feel as disfigured as it did just moments before. 

And then, through hazy eyes, you see that it's no longer burned. Under your lips is just smooth pale skin of an uninjured palm, perfectly unharmed as if nothing had ever happened. Your eyes dart to his thigh and watch, shocked, as the damaged flesh repairs itself, torn and scorched remains webbing together and forming new skin until there's no trace of red left behind.

As soon as he’s healed, he pulls his mouth from your wrist and drags his tongue across his lips to catch any stray drops of blood. “Thanks for healing me up, little nun,” 

He hauls you up by your arm and grabs your jaw, ignoring your gasp as he presses his bloody mouth against yours, pushing his tongue between your lips just to make you taste yourself. A pleasurable heat swirls in your belly at the kiss even as cold goosebumps explode out on your skin, the horrible contrast between disgust and want twisting your thoughts into a jumbled mess. You don’t kiss him back, brain screaming at you to be strong and remember who you are even though the taste of his tongue mixed with the metallic sweet of your blood on his lips make some part of you yearn to return his touch. 

You let out a disgruntled cry when he pulls his mouth from yours and flips you around, his arm sweeping out to send the half used candles and stands clattering off the surface of the altar and shoving your body over the edge so you’re bent over it and no no no no no, he can’t! You’re not supposed to be on it like this, desecrating a place so holy and sacred. Darkening a place of such light like the Chapel is horrible enough, but defiling God’s altar - the place where bread and wine are consecrated into the living body and blood of Christ Himself - it’s unthinkable.

You immediately try to push yourself back up, but Coriolanus crowds you against the altar, grabbing both of your wrists and quickly tying them together with Father Gregory’s stolen stole so they’re bound in front of you. He drags them up close to your chest and loops the middle of the stole around your neck, keeping the free end in his hand as he hums.

“Why did you stop praying, Sister?” He asks as he lifts the back of your habit. He keeps a tight hold on the stole, pulling it taut so it constricts around your throat enough to keep you still as his other hand runs long, cruel fingers through the wetness between your folds. “You wanted to pray so much earlier.”

You’re face to face with the cross statue that he’s allowed to be left standing and even though this one has no likeness of Jesus pinned on it like the one overseeing the Chapel, it still feels like it's passing its judgement on you… and it’s finding you lacking. The combined sensation of the stole around your throat and the way Coriolanus replaces his fingers with his hard cock, sliding it through your wet folds and nudging it back at your entrance, makes your eyes roll up to the ceiling. 

Taking him a second time isn’t any easier and even though you're so wet, slicker more than ever now that you’ve had an orgasm, you still feel like you’re being stretched to your limits as he pushes back inside you. Your pussy clenches around him as he grips your waist and your hands twitch in their bindings, wanting desperately to be able to reach out and clutch the altar, reach behind you and hold onto him, or push him away - whatever you need to do to give yourself some relief as he drills you into the side of God’s holy table. But you can’t free them, can’t do anything more than take it as he uses your body and keeps you down with your hands tied and the stole wrapped around your neck like a leash. 

“Tell Him how you feel, little nun,” He growls. “Tell Him how my cock feels stretching your tight warm pussy. How it fills you up so much you can feel it in your stomach. Tell Him how I hit those spots inside you that make you go blind with so much pleasure.”

“Ah ah ah,” You moan as he pounds into you, the sound of slapping skin ringing in your ears mixed in with his sinful grunts. 

“Pray to Him,” He demands. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he pulls the stole tighter around your throat. “Pray to Him and tell Him that this is the closest you’ve ever felt to Him, the closest you’ve ever felt to Heaven, but really it’s me who’s doing this to you. It’s me who’s making you feel so good. Fucking you. Corrupting you, Ruining you. Come on, Sister. Tell Him how good I’m making you feel.”

“Please,” You try to beg and your plea comes out raspy against the pressure on your throat. 

The knot in your belly is tightening again, clit pulsing and still untouched as you feel Coriolanus throb inside you. The new dizziness in your head comes not from the Vampire’s bite but from the lack of oxygen to your brain. Dark spots poke at the sides of your vision but it doesn’t matter because you can’t see anyway, your eyes unfocused and dazed under the pleasure swirling in your core. 

You don’t even register when he yanks the stole from around your throat, freeing the unprotected column to his deadly teeth as he drags your head to the side and pierces them into the side of your neck. His hand leaves your waist, dragging tingling fire in its wake as he slides his hand across your stomach and down further until it creeps into the ripped remaining shreds of your underwear. You scream when his fingers touch your clit, sliding through the wetness and using your own shame to glide mind breaking circles around the swollen neglected nub. 

“M-mercy,” You whimper. “P-please, mercy!”

He doesn’t speak, mouth too preoccupied with taking all that he can steal from you as he continues to feast on your neck, but you hear a voice anyway - one that seems to boom throughout the Chapel as much as it does in your head.

You don’t deserve mercy.

Your orgasm hits you ruthlessly, brutal waves of ecstasy racing through your body as you shake and cum around your Vampire’s cock, squeezing and clenching around his thrusting length, eyes rolling back into your head as you scream. His fingers don’t stop their movement on your clit, his mouth never stops drinking from you, and in the back of your mind you register that he’s cumming inside you - thick and hot pulses of release coating your insides and damning your soul to Hell. 

Sparkling black and white flecks coat your vision, the darkness overpowering the bright all too quickly, and before you’re even finished cumming the entire room fades into darkness. 

When you wake up, there’s light shining in through the multicolored stained glass windows and the beauty that is the Chapel looks like it's almost as it should be again. 

For a moment, you think you can convince yourself that it was all a dream. A horrible nightmare brewed from some unknown fear that you’ve pushed into the back of your mind that you need to come to terms with and unpack with hours of uninterrupted prayer. But the moment is gone all too soon and the state of your half naked body and ripped habit is too much evidence to naively ignore. 

A devil was inside God’s house last night. He killed the rest of your cloister, tormented you and did unspeakable things to your body, made you feel things, and yet… he left you alive?

Why?

You try to sit up, your entire body aching with overuse and exhaustion, the space between your thighs is still damningly wet, but the sharp pain in your abdomen makes you pause. 

Your lower belly hurts the most, a sharp sting raising through the area as you move, and you pull up the bottom of your tunic to try to get a better look at it. You freeze when you see it, horror like you’ve never felt sinking into your bones as your brain tries to catch up with what your eyes are seeing. 

There, on your lower belly, directly above the snapped elastic waistband of your underwear, are the carved and bloody initials C.S.

Taglist: @hidden-poet (please let me know if you would like to be added/removed from my taglist for all works)

[possesseddesiress]

Bass Drop: Body Swap

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue.

All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes.

If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

Bass Drop: Body Swap (English Version) + Extended version

I hated my brother. He was five years older than me, and we were definitely polar opposites in every way. If you ever saw us on the street, I don't think you'd ever think we had any blood ties; and in personality, it was the same.

He was the typical athlete: big, strong, muscular and handsome, he had the girls at his feet and everything went well for him.

And on the other side was me. Thin, small, with geeky tastes and incredibly clumsy. He always used to tease me about my looks, making derogatory comments about how I looked like spaghetti or that without an ounce of muscle I was a girl. I was fed up, but what could I do? No doubt years and years of him teasing me had somehow made me get used to it all. Until the day the glass finally fell over.

— Please, Chris, I want to go to the concert, you know how much I love electronic music!

— I already told you no, shorty - my brother mumbled as he saw what clothes he would wear tomorrow for EDC.

One of the most important music concerts, and the one I wanted to go to with all my might. It was clear that I was a fan of the music, although I was also curious about the whole atmosphere there. The guys used to wear clothes so tight that they left nothing to the imagination, suspenders, bows, harnesses. It looked like a gay pride parade if you saw it up close, and I want to see it.

— You and your friends have an extra ticket! Let me go! Chris, please! - I begged him while he just ignored me.

— And that ticket we're going to sell, pff. How do you think we're going to pay for part of the other tickets? Reselling is good business.

— Then I'll pay you, sell it to me

I said, almost on the verge of despair. My brother stopped what he was doing, only to let out a mocking laugh in my face.

– You're not going, silly - he denied still laughing - not even mom and dad are going to let you go in the first place.

– Yes they will, just give me the ticket!

– No - he said sharply - I'm not going to sell it to you even if you give me extra money, this is only for real men, not wimps like you - he boasted. Widening his chest with mockery.

I could only press my lips together in anger before leaving his room to lock myself in mine. I felt so much annoyance, anger and rage at that moment, but what could I do? He was older and even worse. He would go to the concert.

Defeated, I sat on the bed. For a while I was crestfallen until I felt my cell phone buzz, I picked it up to see the loading screen, as if it had just updated. Once it was back to normal, I couldn't help but notice that there was a new app called "Possess".

I opened it right away, noticing the slightly odd interface and the app's instructions, "Possess whoever you want. Select the data."

There was a section to enter my data and the other person's data. I felt ridiculous, I even thought it was a virus, although curiosity called me to give it a try. I filled in both fields and clicked on the button that said "Own", it stayed loading.

And nothing happened in a minute, I clicked the button again to get the same result over and over again.

Annoyed, I threw my phone across the room, to close my eyes, tired and annoyed at not being able to go to the concert of my dreams.

The next morning, I felt very different. Heavy... yet strangely invigorated, I opened my eyes, confused as I looked around, I was no longer in my room but my brother's room. It smelled of sweat, there were sports posters, cars and so on on the walls, a typical sportsman's room. I stood up confused.

– Chris?... - I mumbled. Noticing my new baritone. I looked down, only to find my brother's big muscles that now seemed to be mine – Oh fuck!

I couldn't help but scream. I began to explore my new body, caressing my pecs and abs, my huge biceps. God, he was huge!

I smiled in satisfaction at my new body, I even felt the outline of my new member, my unhappy brother certainly got the best genes.

I was still lost in that exploration of myself, with my new smell, I think I could spend hours smelling myself... but then I remembered the concert, now I could go and there would be nothing to stop me!

Without waiting a second longer, I started getting dressed up for the festival, I would have liked to wear some revealing and tight fitting clothes on my older brother's body... but there was nothing in his closet that would stick to that fantasy, so I just put on some jogger pants, and a sweatshirt tied at the waist, I looked kind of silly.... But hey.

My brother's body was hot, who cared if he looked ridiculous, you better see the size of these pecs!

I also put on some sunglasses and painted my new body with neon paint. Once I was ready, I took my brother's car to go straight to the festival. I thought it would be hard to learn how to drive, but the moment I touched the steering wheel, it was like an automatic knowing it.

I felt a strange thrill akin to excitement as they scanned my ticket and let me in, the music booming loudly. There were thousands and thousands of people in outlandish costumes, dancing or just chatting.

My heart was pounding. For some reason, I felt small and misfit, even being in such a huge body; it wasn't long before several people started noticing me, and smiling at me.

They were looking at me. They were... Flirting? For some reason, that seemed to be an adrenaline rush to boost my confidence. I stuck out my chest in a self-centered way, moving through the crowd, smiling at the occasional guy who kept overlooking my body. Gosh... it felt so good to be this muscular.

The rest of the evening and day I did nothing but dance, listen to the music and admire my new attributes from time to time. Caressing my pecs, or feeling my arms.

Or my scent, it took all my willpower not to start sniffing and licking my armpits right there. Although, what if I did? Others would surely be attracted to all the acting of this body, after all, I now had the physique of a god.

I also loved to notice how other guys tried to flirt with me, carelessly squeezing my biceps or directly staying inches away from my lips with theirs, one even almost sniffed my armpit under the pretext that it was a joke!

The music was vibrating loudly, every now and then I would raise my arms to make them flex, seemingly dancing. Everything felt great, the attention, the music, the smell!

Believe it or not, so many guys dancing for hours on end really put a stink in the air. But fuck... It didn't bother me, I loved it. I could feel my brother's relief stiffen every time the smell hit my nose. Maybe my brother's body could be straight with him in control, but with me controlling him...

At first I tried to restrain myself and show "respect" to his body, it had already been crossing a boundary to have stolen the festival experience from him and become him. Although that feeling lasted for at least about 10 minutes before I remembered all the hell he was making me live through on a daily basis - 《 Fuck it, what does it matter if I do something that affects him? It's my turn to enjoy 》

I could feel the stares of several guys. Some muscular, others slim or with defined bodies, but they all shared one thing: They were ogling this body.

I smiled egocentrically, raised my arms to flex them, swelling my big, strong biceps. It was like making them drool.

Although in that process, I could smell something... heck. I forgot to put on deodorant. My brother had a very strong, musky, potent scent that immediately made me gasp when I smelled it. I lifted my armpit, and unable to contain myself any longer, I began to sniff and lick it, enjoying the stench of my new body.

This seemed to disgust some of the guys, but others were even more interested by this act. In a matter of mere seconds, I had at least seven guys of all complexions surrounding me, taking a bit of advantage of the darkness in the area to move their hands all over my muscles.

One was on my relief, another took my pecs, another my buttocks, even my arms and abdomen, it was as if no inch of my body was left unattended.

But, hey... This body belongs to a god. And it deserves to be worshipped. So if they want to play, let them play. I don't give a fuck if someone records and they notice my "brother" behaving like this. It's my body now. And if I want him to be addicted to flexing his arms and smelling his own scent, so be it.

I closed my eyes, lost in all that adrenaline until I heard a familiar voice.

–Chris?!?

Shit. I opened my eyes quickly to meet the gaze of Mauricio, one of my brother's best friends, I was about to get nervous. But I preferred to put on an indifferent and cold face.

– Sup, bro? - I lifted my armpits a little more so that my new admirers would continue in despair. Which caused commotion in the guy.

Mauricio was certainly cute, a little dark, strong and huge... and apparently his suit left nothing to the imagination, he didn't even look like one of those typical "straight" suits that were simply a sport shirt. He was wearing a denim suit, tight and flashy. He looked so good...

– What the fuck, dude? You didn't answer your cell phone for hours! And what are you doing!

He clearly looked upset, but I just smiled arrogantly at him.

– Well, I had other plans. Sorry I didn't call, I guess. Don't be so dramatic - I let out a deep laugh.

– Are you on drugs? What's wrong with you? Hey! What with Samantha!?

Ah, so that's the name of the new girl my brother has a crush on, interesting to know now.

– Nah, bro. I'm completely lucid, and I don't know. I think I like men more now - I smiled –And from what I see, maybe you do too.

I lowered my gaze, pointing to the relief forming on his face. The sportsman immediately covered himself up; I was loving the whole performance, although it seemed that my new admirers got bored because little by little they ended up dispersing until there were none left.

I took advantage of that to shorten the distance, immediately approaching to cling to his contour.

– Bro! What the fuck is wrong with you?!?

– I don't know, dude. Maybe I realized that you are very hot - I murmured to finally kiss him with intensity, it was inconclusive until he ended up kissing me again. I felt how he grabbed me by the waist to stick me to him.

– Chris... - he murmured panting. I moved closer to him to lift his armpit and start sniffing it, it smelled even better than my brother's...

– What? - I said still nonchalantly.

All that adrenaline was taking me through the roof, I could feel the outline of my brother's armpit against his underwear and leave it a little damp. I didn't care if it ruined his friendship with Mauricio, if his other friends or his social circle found out. Fuck, if his college found out about all this, even better.

God, it's so cool to be my big brother!

---

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.

I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages.

This will be my new account, I hope you like the stories that are coming soon. See you in the next story... Who knows what body you will occupy this time?

---

[phoenixiaxia]

Shopping Surprise

I'm like, a few months way too late, but I finally wrote a fic for @jinwoosbabyboo open fic night. I'm sorry it took so long, writer's block and IRL responsibilities had me by the neck.

BUT ANYWAYS! Have this.

Sylus x notMC!Reader, gn!reader written in mind, MC is named Em in this fic, implied Zayne x MC in the fic, possibly OOC, fluff, Zayne and reader are friends

Grocery shopping can be stressful on a normal day. But when you’re shopping for ingredients to surprise your boyfriend to a meal you grew up with, it’s downright mind-breaking. Especially since both Linkon and Bloomshore markets don’t have all the ingredients you need. When you vented your frustration to Zayne, he offered to drive you to a market an hour outside the city that should have everything you needed. Which brings you to now, standing over your shopping cart in the produce section.

“Onions… lemongrass… banana shoots… collection of mints and herbs… am I missing anything?”

Zayne places the bag of limes into the shopping cart, glancing over everything in the basket. “Unless you plan on giving him watery broth, I would recommend getting some beef bullion,” He gently intones.

“What, talking from experience, Mr. Ice man?”

Zayne lifts his head, a deadpan look on his face. The only indication of his amusement is a light quirk of his lips as he shakes his head. It’s no secret that Em is not the greatest cook. You still remember her “attempt” to cook live crab, or at least two separate retellings of the event from both Em and Zayne. It’s something you lord over her whenever you can.

Regardless, he is right. You quickly look over the list in your hand before handing it over to him. “Can you head to the butcher counter and get the meats on the list? I’ll head over to the spice aisle and grab stuff for the broth.”

Zyne nods, taking the list from your hand and walking towards the back of the market. At the same time, you push the cart, navigating the crowds towards the spice aisle. You stop in front of a shelf, looking through the bullion choices. Delightfully, they have choices for specific dishes, which makes your life easier. You find the ones for the soup you need, though the boxes are not close to the front. You reach up to try and grab one of the boxes, but a large hand reaches over you, grasping a few boxes and holding them in front of you.

You turn around, jumping slightly when you come face to face with a familiar set of ruby eyes. “Sy! What are you doing here?”

Sylus smirks, his trademark smirk still on his face. “I just happened to be in the area, sweetie. But I should be asking you that question. This is outside your normal territory, kitten.”

You can’t help the pout on your lips as you take the bouillon cubes from him. It’s practically confirmed that the surprise has been spoiled, but you try to at least keep up the illusion of a secret. “Well I needed groceries that I couldn’t get in the city.”

Sylus raises an eyebrow at your reason. “Right. And that’s why you didn’t call me to drive you out here, but your doctor friend.”

As if on cue, Zayne steps up to the cart, placing a few bags of meat into the basket. He makes a point to stand at the front end of the cart, looking between you and Sylus. Lifting the list in his hand, he looks back and forth between the cart and the paper before coming to a decision.

“I assume my assistance is not needed anymore,” He places the list on top of the bags in the cart, ignoring your glare of betrayal. “I do have a few things I want to buy here, so I’ll be taking my leave.”

Without another word, Zayne heads towards the front of the market, ignoring your silent pleas for assistance. Sylus takes the moment to pick up the list from the cart, reading through the contents. A long pause settles between you two as his eyes scan the paper.

The silence finally breaks when he looks back at you. “Is this the soup that you’ve been telling me about?”

You let out a long sigh, finally accepting that you can’t keep this a surprise anymore. “Yes it is. I wanted to make this as a surprise for our next date. But clearly, I can’t even do that without your jealous ass getting his feathers ruffled.”

Sylus raises an eyebrow at that, leaning down to gently poke your forehead. “I don’t get jealous, sweetie.” He still has a smirk on his face as he straightens up, but his eyes are softer as he looks at you. “But I do appreciate you trying to do something nice for me. Next time, just let me know when you want to do something. It’s already hard enough to convince you to use my card.”

You let out a sigh, shaking your head before pushing your cart towards the checkout. You can hear him follow behind you. “Fine. I can’t do surprises around you. I’ll run all my surprise ideas through you for prior approval.”

He chuckles at your sarcasm, resting a hand on your waist as you both wait in line at the cashiers. “I’ll make sure to prioritize your requests before any other business I have to attend to.”

The payment for the groceries goes uneventful, with Sylus paying before you could even pull out your wallet. You make a point to ignore the cashier’s look of bewilderment as you both leave the supermarket. As he loads his car with your groceries, he pauses for a bit before turning to you.

“Make the chiffon cake as well.”

“Excuse me?”

“Luke and Kieran have been asking for your cake at the base. Make the chiffon cake as well.”

Epilogue

[legendofmorons]

Yooooo happy 2 year anniversary!!! As for the fic bingo,

SOULMATE AU WITH LEGEND I AM ON MY HANDS AND KNEES PLEASE 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

I'm so normal about him I promise

Thank you!!!

I'm al SO normal about Legend ;)

(Soul) Marked hearts

Pairing: Legend x reader

Rating: T

Summary: In a world where you have the most important thing your soulmate says to you, printed somewhere on your body... you realize the man you love (and have loved for years) is your soulmate.

Warnings: cursing

Other: If I missed anything, please let me know

-------

You sit by the fire, side by side with your long time friend Legend. Cool summer night breezes lazily pass by as the star shin above you.

The others sleep peacefully as your shift of watch drags on.

"You didn't have to take watch with me." You say to him.

Legend shrugs half heartedly. "You get bored."

"I do." You smile.

He snorts, elbowing you gently.

You just roll tour eyes, leaning against him. It's one of the many privileges you are afforded as someone close to him.

Legend wraps one arm around you, staring out at the stars as everyone else sleeps. He rests his hand on your arm, the metal of his rings cooler than his flesh.

It's easy, being here with him. The way your mind wanders to what a life with him might entail is... nothing new.

You soak up the warmth and ease that radiates off him. This is something reserved for you.

Legend is a sweetheart. Under the jaded attitude, he's still kind. He's earned the right to be jaded. But here? When it's just the two of you?

He is always more open with you like this. He's comfortable enough with you to be softer. Comfort enough to be affectionate.

"Did you ever find your soulmate?" He asks you. "I know you wanted to."

You laugh. "Not yet. I... don't know that I care, either. You know?"

"I do."

"Oh?" You prompt, "Is there someone you want to pursue, bunny boy?"

"That's not my name." Legend huffs. He gives you a playful glare, too.

You smile. "Answer the question."

"Maybe. It's... not important. I don't think I have a chance." Legend pulls you closer.

You lean with it, humming. "Why not?"

"I doubt I'm their soulmate. You know the world we live in." He gives a half shrug.

His tone is bitter, and he sounds genuinely resigned to a fate without whoever it is he is talking about.

You fall silent, searching the fire for answers as if it can reassure you. What are you supposed to say?

You can't let yourself hope he's talking about you.

The urge to reassure him is stringer than any jealousy you have over a man that isn't yours. You love him, you don't want him upset.

"Well... Fuck em." You offer and smile at him, "If they don't feel the same their a total fool."

"Really? That's all you got?" He huffs, raising one brow.

"Yep." You say, poping the 'p'.

Legend stares at you with unreadable eyes. He looks at you, searching for something but you can't say what.

He looks back to the stars.

You settle back down against him.

Legend rubs your arm with his hand where it rests, arm still around you like a promise.

You don't know what it's a promise of, just that it is.

Minutes pass, silent companionship a steady beat in your heart.

Legend finally asks, "If... I tell you something, you can't laugh at me. Okay?"

"I make no promises." You say immediately. "When people say that they tell me things that make me laugh."

"It's not a joke." Legend says.

His voice is firm, but his frame shakes slightly against you.

You frown, pulling out of his hold and sitting up on your own. You watch his face for any hint of what he wants to say.

"I'm listening." You tell him. "I won't laugh."

"Did you mean what you said, that I should tell them?" Legend asks, voice quiet and shaking.

You offer a nod.

He looks at you with a vulnerability you rarely see on him. He looks sea sick.

"Okay." He says, letting out a breath.

"Take your time." You soothe. "It's okay."

Legend nods weakly. He is looking directly into your eyes.

He takes a deep breath, setting his shoulders before he speaks.

"I don't care if you're my soulmate, I chose you. You're who I want at my side, as my partner, as my spouse if you want to get married." He says, voice firm even as he looks ready to run.

You let out a gasp.

He watches you, hands shaking as he fists them in his lap.

You know those words.

Those are the words that's are printed on one of your shoulder blades.

Legend said-

Oh.

"Fuck, man." You breathe out.

You want to laugh a little. You don't, but the surprise is there.

Legend flinches.

"It's really you, Link." You say in awe, "You're the one."

He blinks, confusion flitting across his face. "What?"

"It's your words on me. It's you!" You smile.

His breath catches. He knows those words. Those are the words printed on his sternum.

You're hugging him quickly, heart beating too fast as you knock your knee against his in the movement.

Legend hugs you back on reflex, sucking in a breath. "We're so stupid."

You laugh softly, setting your forehead on his shoulder. "We're soulmates."

"I'm glad it's you." Legend decides.

You grin, pulling away to look at him again. "How long can we go before the others realize we're together?"

"We're together now?" Legend asks with a smirk.

"Yes." You say, taking his hand in your own. "You're mine forever, bunny boy."

"Only if you're mine too."

"Good." You say, pulling his hand to up and pressing a kiss to it.

"Sap." He acusses. Then he gives you a smirk. "We could probably go for a week or two before they put it together."

You laugh, "Yeah?"

"Absolutely."

You lean against him again, setting your joined hands on your thigh. "This is nice."

He hums, "It is."

"For what it's worth... I chose you too, Link."

He smiles, face red. "Yeah?"

"Forever."

Legend hums once. "Forever sounds... great."

You smile up at him.

He means it, too. He knows he's prickly and he has bad days, but if you'll have him he'll stay with you. Forever.

[gh0stly-mp3]

Hear me out... Lavinho hcs.... Jwudjs just anything lavinho pls I'll take it

Hii! I finally had time to do your suggestion, classes started so I didn't have time for anything. I loveeee Lavinho with all my heart, thank u! I have soo much things in mind

in the brazilian style -> hcs

aka: no jeitinho brazuca de ser

lavinho x gn!reader / lavinho hcs

synopsis: things i imagine lavinho doing as a brazilian in japan + other fun things he'd do in bllk

tags: lavinho hcs, crack/funny, brazilian memes, lavinho having the ultimate brazilian spirit

warnings: words in pt-br (w translation), mature language, don't take anything said personally

a/n: i had so much funny doing this! sending love to all my brazilians out there (i'm from sp, what about ya'll?)

masterlist.

Lavinho would definitely be stared at a lot because he speaks and laughs to loudly, but he seem to don't notice it at all. He'd look at you and go like:

- "Hey, xuxu [cutie]! This city lights are fucking awesome! Those match my hairstyle!"

- "Yeah, they do, but can you be a little quieter, people are staring" - You'd respond

- "Opa [opss], sorry! I forgot that you gringos are too quiet"

He'd get as much souvenirs he could put in his suitcase so he could put all of them in his collection when he got home. He has fridge magnets, keychains, trinkets, etc

He'd complain all the time about the lack of beaches, sun, bars and noise. It pisses him of when he's in Brazil, but he often misses it

Lavinho would also complain about the japanese dress code, where people look at him weirdly for wearing shorts, a t-shirt stuck to the body, chains and rings and a juliet (a type of glasses)

He loves to discover new places in the countries he visits, so he'd beg you to show him the most unusual places in Japan, places where the majority of tourists wouldn't go

He'd go to a bar and start discussing politics with some random people, more specifically, brazilian politics

- "You know, our last election was very fierced, Lula against Bolsonaro. Do you know Bolsonaro?"

- "Uh? Bolsonaro?"

- "Yeah! Say "Foda-se o Bolsonaro [screw/fuck bolsonaro]!"

- "Foda-se Bolsonaro?"

- "YEAH! JUST LIKE THAT!"

Lavinho would talk shit about São Paulo to whoever he could, saying that Rio de Janeiro is way better. And he'd get so angry in the process he'd start speaking in portuguese

- "Lá o céu é cinza, porra! Cinza! Eles não tem praia! Eles são uns fodidos! São Paulo é uma merda! [The sky there is gray! Fucking gray! They don't have beaches! They're arrogant fuckers! São Paulo sucks!]"

Lavinho would occasionally bring up some brazilian thing that no one knows like its the most normal thing ever. Some examples are:

- "Oh, so he's just like Virginia with social midia, got it"

- "This boy Shidou looks like he'd go on Rin just like Datena did to Marçal with that chair. Bam!" - He'd say while immitating Datena

- "Bachira, your friend Isagi looks just like Nazaré Tedesco in that meme"

- "Menó [bro], that goalkeeper looks just like et bilu. That dude is like a folclore creature"

- "You know, I grew up in favela Santa Maria, close to the laje do [slab of] Michael Jackson"

When Barcha starts loosing he yells: "C'mon! Brasileiro não desiste não [brazilians don't give up]!

He constantly mocks the way Ego speaks, doing a poor japanese accent and posing just like him. He'd do the same to Noa, but with a mocking french accent instead

Lavinho would teach each Barcha player how to celebrate their goal in brazilian style, showing them videos of Neymars, Ronaldinhos, Vini Jrs and Gabigol poses

He'd teach his whole team how to sing and dance to his favorite brazilian songs (mostly funk) and would let Bachira wear one of his juliets and take a lot of pics

He wouldn't believe that other countries don't use whatsapp, like, where do you guys even talk? He finds that really weird {i do too}

[pige0ns]

i do think it's interesting how the primary misstep people seem to make when it comes to analyzing severance is seeing the innies and outies as entirely separate characters. when i think the coolest thing about the way the show has gone about doing its doppelganger concept is the way it so thoroughly problematizes any attempt to do that. normally when stories do a doppelganger, that character is either an unambiguously separate character who is only metaphorically the same as the protagonist, or an alter ego who represents a piece of or exaggeration of the protagonist. or a literal twin, or clone, or double. in all cases the story is usually about that which we consider falsely other to ourselves. and maybe the story plays the monstrous otherness straight, or maybe it's about the consequences of seeing parts of yourself as a monstrous other. but regardless of what exactly the story is doing the doppelganger in question is in some sense made literally other, whether physically (frankenstein's creature) or in terms of character (mr. hyde, tyler durden).

whereas in severance the only difference between the innies and outies is their memories. no one's been possessed, or lost their soul. repeatedly, elements of the innies or outies bleed through. and yes of course, philosophically, you can argue about whether--by having different memories--this does make the innies and outies as separate of people as say, clones might be. ie, people who also have different physical existences. and i don't think the show is running away from that discussion or something. clearly, given the whole conversation about "do innies and outies have separate souls" from 2x06, it's a question that's on the table.

but the point i'm trying to make is that for the purposes of metaphor, by making the innies and outies share a body and a selfhood, it immediately and viscerally becomes painfully obvious that severed characters really are otherizing themselves. they are punishing themselves, ignoring themselves, betraying themselves, fighting themselves, dehumanizing themselves, abusing themselves. they are doing that to someone who is a person, because the person is them. the false otherness isn't a surprise, it is deliciously plain, almost pathetic or mundane. and that is a different and interesting kind of horror.

[crazysodomite]

im about to be really petty

the way my mother uses the dishwasher pisses me off so bad. she puts everything in there with no regards to how to actually use the dishwasher. the concept of 'not everything goes into the dishwasher' does not exist to her.

she puts everything into the dishwasher when it would take 5 minutes to wash it by hand. she puts knives into it so they are all dull and have rust spots and the handles are peeling (yum... plastic) she puts Fucking wooden utensils and cutting boards into it so they are splitting at the seams and warping.

she doesn't rinse or scrub off food off of dishes before putting them in so after a full cycle there are bits of food stuck to the Fucking dishes which defeats the purpose of doing dishes. and she either leaves them there for another cycle (which doesn't remove the bits of food) or takes them out so there are dry dishes with food stuck to them with a vice grip.

this genuinely makes me irrationally angry. i had to hide kitchen knives under my bed because she doesn't understand the simple concept of Hand washing knives so they don't rust and dull immediately so I don't have to use them like a fucking saw or bang on the knife with two hands to cut a carrot. this pisses me off so bad. god.

i handwash everything no matter what because the dishwasher pisses me off so bad. there's also no dishes all the time because instead of washing them she puts them into the dishwasher and they stay there dirty until it fills up. instead of spending 10 minutes on washing dishes. i am seething. i can't buy ANYTHING for the kitchen because i know she will ruin it. I decided to treat myself to a Normal Kitchen Knife That Actually Cuts Things Instead Of Me Having To Bang My Fist On The Top Of It To Cut Anything and I'm going to have to hide it in my room instead of just. Having the knife be in the kitchen like a normal fucking person. Because she can't be trusted with washing a knife so it doesn't rust and dull. Or hell don't touch my knives if you're going to ruin them.

All I want to do is to be able to cook in peace. I'm not asking for a lot. I am seething so bad. it's like she doesn't care about anything. when she ruins something it's not a big deal but god forbid i do something. then it's a screaming match for hours. The dishwasher makes my blood boil. See it pisses me off because my mother doesn't actually care about doing things right in life.

For me doing the dishes means washing them properly with no bits of food stuck to it and drying them and putting them neatly in their place. For her it means putting them into the dishwasher immediately even if it's utensils that Absolutely Do Not Belong In A Dishwasher and then taking them out (with bits of food stuck to them) and putting them into whatever drawer they fit in. For the Appearance of a clean kitchen.

I have given up on trying to make the drawers be tidy because if I clean and sort everything she will just ruin it the next day so what's the point. It's funny because she tells me 'sort the kitchen yourself if you want it to be tidy' funny thing is that I did. One time I sorted everything in the kitchen neatly. And she kept shoving shit into drawers with no regard to my tidiness.

Same thing with like, clothes. To her it's 'clean' to just shove the clothes into the closet for the appearance of a clean room instead of sorting or folding them. It's all about appearances. Today she put a clean knife I just sharpened and hand washed into the dishwasher. I got that knife for myself because all the knives in this house are small and dull and really cheap and warped and with chunks broken off of them. I had to hide them under my bed but then I got tired of it and she ruined them. Because hand washing knives is way too hard I guess

[tyrantisterror]

Bringing Up Baddie (Working Title) Character Concepts

Hey, remember a while back when I made those posts about supervillain archetypes, one of which inexplicably became derailed to talk about different doctorates people wanted to see put to use as increasingly terrible supervillain pitches? Well that was for a thing! A thing that I'm currently conceptualizing as "What if we took the premise of the famous screwball comedy Bringing Up Baby, wherein a crazy lady ruins a milquetoast guy's life in the best possible way, and did it with superheroes and stuff?" Well, supervillains, technically.

I was getting that list of archetypes together to try and make some pitches, and I basically took it and got some of the kids at the daycare to pitch power combos and motiffs for me, because who would know better what would make for a fun superhero, right? Anyway, here's some of the working character concepts so far:

Reptillion, with the enhanced powers of a million reptiles!

Just a down-on-their-luck schmuck who got roped into being a test subject for some evil super science while job hunting, Reptillion would be the Cary Grant figure in this tale. The power set was pitched by a child, I swear - for once it wasn't me who decided the protagonist should have a reptile theme! Reptillion is The Big Monstrous Guy archetype, a reluctant monster who will be forced into villainy by circumstance.

Scarlet Sidewinder, the venomous and villainous viperess!

The Kate Hepburn figure in this story was always going to be a Harley Quinn expy of some sort, and when a reptile theme was chosen for the protagonist, it felt only fitting that the deuteragonist would share it. Also, like, snake-themed Harley Quinn knockoff is very much in my wheelhouse. Figuring out her hairstyle has proved to be the biggest challenge - I tried a lot of looks that fit her punk personality, but they kept obscuring the viper eye-horns on her domino mask, which I feel are a more important detail (supervillains shouldn't downplay their motiffs!), so I ended up going with a pair of sidewinder-esque pony tails instead. As both Harley Quinn and Kate Hepburn's character in Bringing Up Baby were before her, Scarlet Sidewinder is The Wildcard archetype.

Scarlet Sidewinder is, of course, the test subject of an earlier version of the Reptillion super serum, one that only focused on snake DNA and didn't give broke shapeshifting powers to her. She initially wants the Reptillion serum for herself as a way to upgrade, but when the protagonist gets injected with it instead, she decides the next best thing is to have a partner in crime with those complementary powers instead.

Konglomerate and Dr. Gibbons, corporate apes!

I decided I want this to be the sort of comic book superhero pastiche that fully embraces how silly the genre can be, and one of the key ways to signal that is to just have, like, a LOT of apes running around. Like how The Umbrella Academy comics just have sapient/civilized chimpanzees make up around 35% of the background characters, and also one of the characters had his severed head grafted onto a space ape (both of these elements were downplayed severely in the TV show for those of you who've never read the comics). Two of the main antagonists would be Dr. Gibbons, a mad scientist who is trying to help humankind evolve into a superior species, and his boss/financier Konglomerate - they'd be The Evil Genius and A Normal Businessman archetypes, respectively, and the ones responsible for mutating both Reptillion AND Scarlet Sidewinder.

Nebulord the cosmic conqueror, Killer Rabbit the pandimensional prankster, and Lugnut Louie the professional killer robot

Just going to throw these three (well, four I suppose, but ignore the Interceptor for now) together since so much of their concept art ended up sharing the same sheets. They're all... not quite allies of Reptillion and Scarlet Sidewinder, but somewhat helpful in their own way as fellow supervillains go. Nebulord is meant to be a big cosmic threat in the vein of Galactus or Darkseid, with the caveat being that in-story we'd mostly see him off-the-clock and dealing with petty day-to-day grievances. I wanted him to feel very Jack Kirby-esque, though I think ultimately it's just a shallow imitation of Kirby's style. He would be the Foreign Tyrant archetype, with a dash of the Planet Eater thrown in.

Killer Rabbit is a Mr. Myztptlk knockoff - I had listed "Killer Rabbit" as the archetype name (i.e. a villain who looks cutesy and nonthreatening but is actually terrifyingly powerful), but my students ran with that and suggested an Alice in Wonderland theme, which I thought was actually a pretty fun theme to play with for such a character. I mean, it's not exactly new ground - there are LOTS of Alice in Wonderland themed supervillains, most of which suck ass (including you Mad Hatter!) - but the whimsical surrealism with a dark undercurrent that Alice in Wonderland embodies DOES fit well with a pan-dimensional imp who uses their godlike powers to fuck with people out of boredom. To keep from retreading the MANY other supervillains who just stole Alice in Wonderland character names, I decided to make Killer Rabbit the name of this character instead of just their archetype.

Lugnut Louie is an old pro, sometimes working as his own boss, but more often than not as a high-ranking henchman. He's the Anything But Retail archetype with a dash of the Big Monstrous Guy, since it's hard for a big ominous murder robot to get jobs that aren't villainy related.

Queen Vespidious, leader of the Hive Mind!

To fill the Mind Taker archetype, I decided to go with the whole "hive mind" bullshit and have a bee/wasp-themed villainess who inducts civillians into her Hive with mind-controlling royal jelly. She also has a loyal second-in-command who'd be a spider-themed villain named Tyrantula - of course, being a spider in a relationship with a wasp, Tyrantula is very much the sub in this relationship.

The Copycat/shapeshifter archetype would be filled by Octomime, a woman with the color changing skills of a cuttlefish and the body-morphing skills of a mimic octopus. Octomime can copy anyone's physical appearance so long as they're roughly human-sized, but her inability to speak means the disguise only works so long as no one notices she's being eerily quiet. She's a deadly supervillain despite that flaw, though, in part because her durable body and deadly tentacles make her a force to be reckoned with even when she's been discovered.

aaaand I've run out of images for this post, so I'll add the more unfinished concepts in a reblog.