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thedarkestrivernymph · 2 months ago

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Soft Yandere! Clan Leader x Wife!Reader

warnings: self-hatred, insecure! reader, nudity, only brief mentions of nsfw themes

genre: fluff, comfort

You felt hot, flashing pain trickle down your throat to settle in the depth of your chest—lungs aching from the strain, face nearly purple as you held a bated breath, eyes squeezed shut, trying your best to avoid his gaze.

“I am sorry—” your voice was all but a meek squeak. “—I know this wasn't what you were expecting.” nimble fingers curled and tugged at your robes, keeping them positioned in front of you bare state—as you couldn't help but bow your head in utter shame, feeling the weight of your imperfections bear down on you.

The man hovering above your kneeling form remained silent, opting for assessing and scrutinizing you with the sharp whiplash of his gaze alone.

“I know—you're unhappy about this—my family will repay the trinkets your clan gifted us so graciously. Just please don't act rash and revoke the marriage—” you couldn't even finish uttering the words wobbling from your quivering lips before a sob ripped free from your throat and you just had to bury your face into the silkiness of your robes.

There was a sigh, then a long pause as you wailed, bashfully, scrambling to try and hide as much of your figure as possible, feeling slimy and dirty, hideous even, to have thrown yourself at the head of one of the biggest clan’s like a loose woman—as if you held your legs open for just anybody.

“Calm your nerves.” his voice was gruff, tinged with exasperation, as the rough pads of his fingers brushed over your forehead to trace your hairline and find a rhythmic pattern petting your crown. “I will do no such thing, my bride, can't you even look at me?” he was kind, much too kind towards something as filthy as you were.

“I cannot—” you rasped between laboured breaths and high-pitched mewls muffled by your bloated bottom lip; bitten raw.

“You're upset. Why are you so saddened? What has caused you anguish? You're my wife—you do not need to lower your gaze in shame.” he whispered tentatively and before you knew it, he had peeled away the annoying piece of fabric obscuring your adorable sniffling face from him. “Do not cry. Our families expect of us to lay together—but if you fear it this much, we can wait. I can wait, my wife, why won't you calm?” chiffon, something akin to a gentle breeze caressing you—that’s what his voice was like, lulling you into a daze; sweet candy to lure you out of your hiding.

So, finally, scraping together all the courage you had, you raised your gaze to meet his, immediately regretting it, as the gentleness in his, so misdirected at something as ugly as you were, made you burst out into another fit of hysterics. “No, no, no. You're—you’re just too nice. Throwing myself at you like a whore—you deserve better. A refined lady. That's what you need and our clans expect—but I am no such thing. I—I am hideous, please, stop looking at me with such kindness. I apologise, husband, I am ruining the first night and I can't just stop and—”

“Breathe” you felt your cheek press into a chest and finally the furrow between your brows eased as you let something almost primal escape you, breaking down all too horribly until your head throbbed in an ache and your nose was stuffy and runny—and while you unleashed your inner demons, he was petting you, cooing at you, reminding you to stay grounded.

“My wife—” he chirped once it was over and you exhausted your capacity to cry any further, sinking into the soft covers of your martial bed like a heavy sack of sand, “I am blessed to be yours.” you felt him interlace his thick fingers with yours, brushing over the back of your hand subtly yet affectionately, as the moon filtered through the curtains to lay strips of silver across you both.

“Can you even imagine how much I yearned for this very moment? To claim that you're mine, not just in spirit—with our two clans permanently intertwined? Since the day you passed by me at the market all my waking moments have been filled with longing for you. So how could you ever call the woman I love all these distasteful names?” he chased away all the bad thoughts as your numbed body laid against his, arms so powerful you were sure they could've squeezed you to death if he was lying, but it didn't seem so—not him, not the most perfect man you knew, the one you were certain deserved better than you.

“You're silent, my wife.” he paused. “It seems your husband lacks the ability to truly convince you of his feelings.” he pressed a kiss to your crown, sighing softly while scooping you closer to his warmth. "Do not fret. We have our entire lives left. If you cannot trust me yet, then I will teach you how—I will convince you of my earnest feelings, even if it takes a lifetime. Because—” he pressed a kiss to your forehead this time, staring down at your bare form beneath the covers, cuddled up in his arms, with tears smeared across your cheeks so beautifully. “ask and I would even bring down the moon for you.”

#soft yandere #yandere story #male yandere x reader #male x reader #yandere #yandere stories #yandere x reader #yandere x you #original character #original characters #cw: nudity #fluff #comfort #insecure reader

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urbabyalli · 2 months ago

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“Cockroach”

ʚ pairing: mingyu x fem!reader

ʚ genre: crack, fluff

ʚ warnings: mentions of a cockroach and michael myers

ʚ summary: turns out your boyfriend mingyu, is afraid of tiny insects.

ʚ a/n: pictures below are from pinterest!

you were busy catching up on the latest episode of your favorite tv show when all of a sudden you heard a shriek coming from your bedroom. when you rush to stand up to investigate, your boyfriend, mingyu sprints through the door of your shared bedroom. the 6’2 man rushes to your side hiding behind you as if he was being chased by michael myers.

“y/n help me please please help me,” mingyu rambles. concerned, you ask mingyu what’s wrong.

“there’s a big- no a MASSIVE cockroach in there,” he tells you.

you chuckle, “mingyu there is no way you, a six foot tall man is afraid of a small bug.”

gyu looks at you like you’re crazy before pushing you into the room that apparently holds the most massive cockroach ever according to your boyfriend. you look around for the insect struggling to find it.

“where babe?” you look at him. he points to a corner in your room. you step closer to inspect, and spot roach about the size of a carrot slice. it was hideous you must admit, but it sure wasn’t something to be frightened of.

“oh my god gyu it’s not even that big” you say, “go get me one of those red solo cups and a piece of paper,” you order. he stares at the roach for another second before rushing out of the room to get your supplies.

the man comes running back into the room with your requested cup and paper. the insect had actually moved to another spot in the room which just so happened to be right next to where mingyu had just stepped in.

“babe, um don’t panic- but uh the thing is near your foot,” you awkwardly told him. he looks down and lets out an ear piercing scream. you were definitely not aware your man could let out a sound so loud.

he runs to jump on top of the bed screaming, “GET IT PLEASE, GET IT PLEASE!” you laugh before carefully taking the items out of his hands.

mingyu watches you intently as you capture the bug inside the red cup. you then slide the piece of paper under the cup. after successfully catching the cockroach, you casually walk outside and let it out.

“see gyu? it wasn’t that bad” you tell him.

“no, oh no it was that bad” he hops off the bed and embraces you in one of his big bear hugs. “thank you for saving my life baby.”

you lift you head to look at gyu and send him an ‘are you serious’ look. you playfully roll your eyes and say, “you’re so welcome.”

#seventeen #seventeen imagines #mingyu imagines #mingyu x reader #mingyu x y/n #kim mingyu #mingyu kim #mingyu

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lilac-witch · 11 months ago

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Aesthete - Azriel x reader

masterlist

Summary: Azriel hates his hands, Y/n loves them. Meaning: "one having or affecting sensitivity to the beautiful, especially art" Word Count: 389 Warnings: None

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"I love your hands."

Azriel's eyes moved from the book in his hands to the female sitting across from him. She wasn't looking at him, her eyes focused solely on her own book.

Moments passed, and Azriel remained silent, unable to find the correct words to say. It was as though the air had been ripped from his lungs.

Y/n lifted her head to find him staring at her, his hazel eyes wide with shock and mouth slightly ajar.

"What's that look for?" Y/n asked with a grin, slowly shutting the book in her hands.

Azriel's jaw bobbed, but no words left his mouth.

"Cat got your tongue Az?"

"You said you loved my hands..."

Azriel felt as though he was a toddler, repeating the words he heard others saying. But the concept that this female could even stand to look at his hands, let alone love them, had him feeling at odds with himself.

He watched as Y/n tilted her head to the side, nose scrunched in confusion.

"Why wouldn't I love your hands?"

"They're hideous. They aren't soft like yours, and the scars..."

"I love your hands, Azriel, because they represent your strength. They represent the male who survived hate and anguish, and overcame all the challenges thrown his way."

Azriel felt water line his eyes, the tears threatening to fall down his cheeks as his mate continued.

"I love your hands because they bring me joy. Your hands hold the flowers you bring me whenever you return home from a mission. It's your hands that wipe away my tears when I'm sad. It's your hands that mine seek underneath the table during family dinners."

Azriel could only attempt to not gape at his mate, at the comforting words that left her perfect mouth.

"I love your hands because there isn't a part of you that I don't love," she finished, pushing herself up from her chair.

Azriel tracked her movements around the table, shifting his sitting position to accommodate her weight as she sat in his lap.

Her hands took his in her own, thumbs rubbing gently over his scars before she lifted his hands to her mouth, placing soft kisses upon the skin.

Her eyes met his, blazing with love and admiration, and in that moment, Azriel had never loved her more.

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Hi everyone! I hope you enjoyed this post. It's the first of many to come. Please feel free to send me requests and post comments :) Also, please bear with me. I'm a full-time student so there may be times where posting isn't so consistent. But anyway, until next time ;)

#azriel #acotar #shadowsinger x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger

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getonite · 9 months ago

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YOU KNOW I LOOK TOO GOOD TO NOT BE HIDEOUS!

( synop. the voice inside of dazai's head swallows him whole ) contains. 1.8k+ wc — gn!reader ; dazai angst, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers ( hinted ), dazai gets a hug, alcoholism, drunk!dazai, pre-ada but post-pm, mention of vomit, dazai has a panic attack + cries, implied sh scars. ( the author is back on their torturing dazai bit ; this song literally belongs to him, okay. kinda pt2 to my prev dazai fic. )

"Dazai . . . "

"Dazai."

"OSAMU!"

Dazai twitches, awakened by the familiar sound of a yelling voice. "Huh?" his voice slurs as he sits up slowly, his body clearly in pain. You sniff, groaning the thick smell of alcohol stuck in his clothes. "Don't yell, hangover . . . " he grumbles. "Or maybe I'm still drunk."

"Get up," you say firmly, looking down at his slumped body resting against the wall.

He must've been downing drinks last night, though, at least not to the point where he couldn't figure his way home. Though, it seems he couldn't get into the house as his keys are resting in his hand and he's sitting onto the concrete next to the door.

"Huh? Wha—What, I'm getting- huh?"

You sigh and loop your arm underneath his, carefully pulling him inside of the house. You carefully grab the keys and set them on the rack near the door. Dazai let's out a drunken giggle as you pat him down, making sure that everything he left with is still with him.

"You are so fucking irresponsible," you hiss, tugging Oda's coat off of his lanky body. After forcing him to sit down, you walk to the kitchen to get him a much needed glass of water.

"Oh, coooome on," he hiccups, "You love me though.

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips, "Your lucky no one found you black out drunk like that and stole your shit. Or worse, killed you." You emphasize your woods, setting the cup ( you don't trust him with a glass ) of water in front of him. "Or have you forgotten, you just left the Port Mafia?"

Dazai sucks his teeth, rolling his eyes at your statement.

After months of hiding, you'd think he'd get it. Maybe that he'd follow suit of you. Stay low, stay quiet, and say lawful. Apparently not. He can't even stay clean.

There's a thought of wanting to punch him, maybe it'll knock some sense into him you think. Taking a deep breath, you bend down, slipping off his shoes and putting them next to the door. "Drink your water, please," you grunt," I'll run you a bath."

"Mhm~!" Dazai sings. He's been mumbling and humming tunes, kicking his feet as you attempt to clean him up.

After a couple of minutes, you walk down the hallway toward him, "Alright, c'mon!" Dazai giggles, hurriedly getting up from his seat. Though you see the scene happen in slow motion. As if he had low iron ( which he probably does ), the blood rushed down towards his feet and he immediately stumbles, hanging onto the table as he tries to gain his bearings.

"Osam—" you pause when you see his puffed cheeks. You sigh and dash for the small trashcan in the bathroom and hold it below his mouth. And a second later, you hear the gross sound of vomit.

You rub his back, waiting for him to finish before you even attempt to bring him to the bathroom. You almost gag as you bring him carefully to the bathroom and strip his clothes, unraveling his bandages as well.

A wave of both guilt and disappointment passes through you as you see him flop into the filled bathtub. He's thin. New scars have appeared a top the old and ( incorrectly ) healed ones. He's too pale, his hair is back to the state it was when he first appeared, and he reeks of the bar. Even after your efforts, it seems as if you can't get him out of this slump. "Osamu . . . "

Dazai lifts his head, silently responding to your voice. All of the mumbling, sound effects, and humming are stopped as you carefully clean his skin.

"What is going on with you?" There's a deep frown on your face as you inspect his forearm. "No matter how much I try, you only clean yourself up when I make you."

"I work, you sit in a bar, come home and plop yourself on the couch without a fucking word," you hiss. Dazai flinches, though your not sure if it's your voice, or your movements. Regardless, a sense of guilt floods you and you take a deep breath.

"What is it?" You pause and look at him, "I know you're still recovering from Oda, I understand grief. But you refuse to talk about it and then drown yourself in alcohol, no matter what I do."

There's attempt to keep your voice calm and level, though he can hear it. The underlying emotions of annoyance, worry, and disbelief.

His eyes are downcast, focused on the water covering his lower half. They're dazed, pupils dilating as they stay focused on the one spot. "Osamu?" You frown, eyes flickering to study his face. Your face falls when you hear the quiet sound of his breathing.

His chest shakes as he breathing increases, his jaw shaking in an attempt to say words.

"Oh . . . Osamu," you mumble as tears swell in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks and onto the arms resting in his lap. His arm flinches at the sting of the salty tear to the cuts on them.

You carefully get into the bathtub fully clothed behind him. He feels the warmth of your skin touch his as you carefully grab onto him, holding him close with pressure on his chest from your arms. "You're alright, I promise. It's okay," you whisper. His trembling hands touch your arms.

The silent tears continue to fall, the sound of the drops hitting the water, and his ragged breathing fill the air.

"Hey," you whisper, "Can you do something for me? The bathroom is kind of bland, but can you point out 5 things you see?" Dazai gulps, your voice sounding distant despite how you're hugged to him. Nevertheless, his eyes dart around the room, he attempts to find something to grab onto to.

His jaw ticks, "The- The shampoo," he croaks. You nod with a small smile growing on your face, "Good. It's okay, try to breathe," your hand rests against his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat. "Tell me some more . . . "

Dazai sniffs, chest stuttering rapidly, "Your— s-s- sweatpants." His grip tightens on your arm as more tears slide down his face. "That's it, can you give me another one?"

"The," he gulps, "Clock."

"Come on, you got it. Can you give me another one?"

His lips tremble, teeth clacking together in an uncomfortable pace. He sucks in a breath, vision fuzzy as he focuses on your voice. "Uhh, the toilet," he whimpers, glossy tears clouding his view before they spill. You nod, "Good job, one more."

Dazai squeezes his eyes shut before blinking, to search for something else. "Soap, the soap."

You help him attempt to breathe, "Good. Now breath, just feel the way my chest is moving."

For the next few minutes, you talk him through the 5-4-3-2-1 method until he's relaxed in your hold. The water has gone cold, and the uncomfortable feeling of wet clothes cling to your skin. "How about . . . " you start, "I clean you up, then we judge what to do hm? You just— you need a good bath and some food."

Dazai nods silently. He's not entirely in the room. His eyes are unfocused as he feels your careful hands gliding along his skin, though everything feels muffled to him, the room beginning to blur once more before your hand slightly pulls him from his disassociate state.

You pull him from the tub, drying him off, cleaning his arms and legs, wrapping his wounds in bandages, and cutting his hair again. ( Making sure he brushes his teeth )

No matter how many times he attempts to tune in on your voice, he can't do it. Nor can he focus on anything. His hands don't feel like his hands. The table doesn't feel like it's familiar texture. The room doesn't smell right. He doesn't sink into the seat correctly. And the chopsticks send tingles through his hand. None of it feels real.

He feels your warm hand touching the back of his neck. "Breathe," you whisper, "Touch it again. Hold it and breathe, it'll feel right."

His world is fuzzy, except the static quiets when you touch him. He slowly eats, the entire time with you keeping a warm hand on him.

Dazai starts to wake up as you carry him to the bed, pulling him into your embrace. There's silence throughout the room, not a sound unleashed to part the quiet atmosphere. Well, until you speak. "Osamu . . . " you whisper, fingers dancing in his head of curls as you carefully think of what to say. "I love you."

The man's eyes widen at your soft words. "No matter which way you choose to interpret that. I do."

"Which is why I have this urge to take care of you. It's what drives to clean up your empty bottles and canned food. And it drives to wonder what can I do to help you?"

Dazai gulps, his fingers entangled in the fabric of your new shirt.

"Your two years of hiding are almost over," you whisper, "Im selfish, you've known that since we were kids. So please, just promise me something. I don't need your thoughts, your feelings, nothing. Just two words."

"Hm?" Dazai looks up at you, having a feeling as to what you'll say.

"I'll sound cringe," you roll your eyes with a faint smile on your face, "but—promise me you'll tell me when you feel like your falling again. Doesn't matter how much I have to do it, I'll pick you back up. Cut your hair, change your bandages, whatever. I just—I hate seeing you like that. You just have to tell me."

Dazai remains silent, simply laying against you.

"I sorry," he whispers. You sigh, "Don't say sorry, just promise. I said I'd protect you when we were little, I mean that, even if you are older than me ( by a year ). I just need you to promise."

"I promise," he whispers.

You smile and mess with the small hairs on the back of his neck. "Good."

A faint smile appears on Dazai's face, one you can't see of course. "Well, first order of buisness," you speak. Dazai frowns, looking up at you.

"You're banned from all bars."

"Hey!" Dazai shrieks, shooting up to look down at you.

"You throw up on me, I'll kill you," you say firmly.

"Thought you were supposed to protect me," Dazai frowns, with a teasing verse.

"I can knock some sense into you."

"Asshole."

"Mhm," you hum, pulling him back on top of you, making sure he's comfortable beneath the sheets. "Also . . . " He mumbles.

"You love me?"

A couple of months later, you walk with Dazai to the four-story building of your workplace. Before the man can even open his mouth as you walk through the door, "Do not flirt with her."

Dazai whines as you drag him upstairs and to a door that reads 'Armed Detective Agency.'

A hum leaves your lips as you walk in, lugging Dazai along by his collar. Your eyes drift to a grey-haired man in traditional Japanese clothing, a green haori draped over his kimono.

You throw Dazai forward, walking to the side of him.

"President, this is the one I was talking about."

the ending was kind of ass. i think i lost the concept a bit lol. i hope you appreciate this a little. reblogs r appreciated!!

#( mission ) — o. dazai #bsd x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #bsd fluff #bsd angst #dazai x reader #dazai x gn reader #dazai fluff #dazai angst #anime x reader #bsd dazai #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader

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starryylies · 1 year ago

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Simon with reader who’s insecure about her acne

‘ve been insecure about mine lately so :(

Insecure! Reader, lots of self deprecation, angst If you squint, lots of comfort, Simon is the best :)

Me looking at girls with Me getting angry cuz Clear skin: (っ◞‸◟c). it’s not fair: -`д´-

“S not fair ‘S not fair ‘S not fair!!! I’m so tired why do I have to break out again, ‘ve been good and ‘m even taking the meds it’s not fairrrrrr.”

You were yelling at yourself while looking in the bathroom mirror. Having acne was such a pain in the ass.

Every girl around you was gorgeous with perfect skin and even the girls with acne looked so beautiful compared to you but no you didn’t, in your eyes you looked hideous..

you were so tired of the self-deprecation, you just wanted it to stop but your mind took control and you jus’ couldn’t help but let that faucet open leading to your eyes pooling with tears as they dropped down with the weight of your insecurity.

You were already drowning deep inside your own thoughts that you didn’t hear the bathroom door open with your boyfriend Simon riley stepping in with a look of worry and urgency on his face.

Looking at you crying ripped his heart to shreds, he quickly made his way closer to you.

“Love please talk to me what’s happened?”

he is in a panicked state trying to figure out what made you so upset, he cant bear to see you in such a sad state.

“Baby stop crying please”, he pulls you closer wrapping you in his big burly arms as his body heat transfers to you giving you a sense of comfort that nobody can provide better than him.

“Ssi m I ugly? ‘Cuz I feel so icky and gross I hate it I hate it I hate my skin. I fucking hate it I wanna rip it off ‘m feeling so fucking shitty”, you cry out in arms.

Simon is taken aback by your statement, does he not make you feel like the most beautiful woman alive? Why’d you think you’re ugly? Youre the most attractive woman he’s laid eyes on.

Simon wraps you closer now using his left hand to tilt your chin up gently so he can have a good look at you.

“Si don’t!”

You protest trying to stop him from looking at your face, you feel so ashamed and conscious by letting him see you in such a vulnerable and sorry state

plus you don’t want him to see the reddish bumps protruding out on your skin.

“m not letting you hide your beautiful face from me love he mutters.”

“How could ya even think that. Youre the most beautiful fuckin’ woman alive in this entire fuckin planet, How could you think of ‘nythin less than that for yourself.”

“But my damn acne, it’s so gross, how d’you still like me.. ‘m not pretty”

Simon gives out a scoff in disbelief, “ya think acne will make me find you any less beautiful? Is that what ya think of me? Love your acne doesn’t matter.”

“No woman compares to you love how can you fuckin’ say that, you’re the most stunnin’ girl I know love he says in a hushed tone with his right hand rubbing your back.”

“Fuckin’ hell I get it all the time too and you still like me all the same ‘ight?”

You sniffle out, “ofcourse si but it’s different-“

Simon cuts you off, “No it’s not, you’re just thinkin’ a lot with that pretty lil’ head of yours love.”

“Love, stop thinkin’ so much, ‘m not finding ya any less beautiful just because of some stupid pimples” he gruffs out.

“Thank you si, thank you for sayin that”, you whisper out.

“I love you si” you mutter under your breath clinging closer to him, resting your head on his chest.

Simon pulls your head closer to his chest,

“nytime and love ya more sweetheart.”

＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊

(Ps: And sorry if this fic came out bad it’s my first time writing a whole thing, I’m sorry and it was rushed since I wrote it while crying.)

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wondersinwaynemanor · 11 months ago

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they really think Damian and Lian were just in Damian's room to color and draw and play with Titus whenever they visit the Manor, but no. i mean sure, yes, at first it was like that.

not until Lian said, "Daddy, JayJay, Dami is helping me to be cool." and then she tried to kick the air, and she extended her arm as if to punch the air.

Roy and Jason exchanged looks.

at the Manor the next weekend, Jason pulls Damian outside his own room and leave Lian to color on the bed.

Damian, crosses his arms: You better not be wasting my time, Todd and Harper. What is this about?

Roy: Damian, what have you been teaching Lian?

Damian:

Jason: Don't give us that look, Brat. It doesn't work on me.

Damian, rolls his eyes: Tt. Nothing too complicated. Plus, she's meant to be trained to protect herself. When will you begin with the basics? When she's in the face of danger? I thought you imbeciles were knowledgeable.

Roy: We will be there to protect her. And we will choose when and how.

Jason: And in case you forgot, Brat, she's still six.

Damian, unimpressed: Oh, please. I was slowly introduced to weapons at her age. And look how skilled I came to be.

Jason, snorts: You mean skilled at being a brat?

Damian: You're a whole nuisance, Todd.

Lian, interrupts their conversation, running to where they are outside the room and shows the drawing she made to the three of them: Look, Daddy, JayJay and Dami, I drew myself as Robin.

Dick, who just pops out of nowhere behind them: Aww. As the first Robin, I say you would look so badass, Pumpkin.

Roy, whispers: Dick, don't encourage her.

Jason starts to push Dick, but that just gives Dick the chance to grab his arm and pull him for a bear hug. Jason wiggles his way out of it.

Roy, smiles and touches one of Lian's pigtails: What a beautiful drawing, Princess.

Jason, smiles softly at her: Good job, Princess.

Lian beams at them before going back inside the room.

Damian: At least she didn't draw herself as the Red Hood with that hideous helmet. She's even smarter than you, Todd.

Jason: Oh, you little sh-

Jason starts to charge for his little brother, but thankfully, Roy and Dick hold him back. Damian gives a light smirk, which reminds them of Bruce's, and follows Lian back inside the room.

Later that day

Jason: I hate to agree to the demon brat, but he's right. We have to teach her some basics at least.

Roy: Let's take one step at a time, kay, Jaybird? She just learned additions and subtractions.

Jason: When the time is right, of course. But for now-

Roy: - we will make sure that your brother doesn't teach anything too-

Jason: - demonic or bratty. I'll make sure of it.

Roy just rolls his eyes fondly at his boyfriend.

#everyone calm until damian and lian teams up #please jason and roy finishing each other's sentences #batfamily incorrect quotes #incorrect batfamily quotes #dc incorrect quotes #incorrect dc quotes #incorrect dc #batfamily headcanons #jayroy headcanons #jayroy #dad jason todd #jason todd #roy harper #damian wayne #dick grayson #lian harper #dc universe

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sunshine-for-serotonin · 2 years ago

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Forcing musical Erik to watch himself in the mirror as you touch him telling him how pretty he is how much you love him

I feel like the flames of hell are burning my face every time I read this-/pos

Should be noted that Erik uses an absolute abomination of mashup of what perspective he refers to himself in. (Changes from Erik to I, and from me to he, Etc.) Becomes especially noticeable the more he gets fucked out.

In truth, there wasn’t much that Erik could do to set you off, and even then he did his best to avoid performing acts that he thought would even slightly upset you, too obsessed with keeping his place as your good boy to try and perform any underhanded tactics that would earn him punishment. Sure, often occasionally you had to persuade Erik with kisses and soft touches to not kill anyone who glanced your way, (anytime he succeeded lost him all contact with you for a week which was enough for him to never kill unless he deemed it absolutely necessary,) but other than the occasional murder, Erik never truly upset you! Well, actually, there was one thing that never failed to shake you that Erik was quite guilty of, and that was that Erik seemed to constantly say horrendous things about himself, specifically his appearance.

Now, you would be the first to admit that Erik’s face was not unblemished, but you had made it clear to Erik many times how you thought he was handsome in his own right, how no matter what he would always belong to you and be your babydoll. You had also warned Erik two days ago that the next time he said such negative things about himself that you would take matters into your own hands, not necessarily that you would punish him, but you would be giving him a ‘correctional lesson’.

Of course, Erik had only managed to make it to this evening without making scorching comments in regards to his face.

———————————————————————————

Currently Erik was sobbing on top off you into your neck, his white half mask and wig having been knocked off his being as he burrowed himself into the crook of your shoulder.

“Maman, Erik doesn’t deserve your love! This lowly beast and his hideousness doesn’t deserve you! But I need you! You are all Erik needs, my angel, my beautiful, perfect, (Y/N)! And-and yet, I don’t deserve you! My horrid face taints your flawless being! But please, don’t leave your poor beast! Stay with me, maman, please!”

You weren’t really sure what had got Erik to this point, pleading with you as though you planned to leave him that very moment and never return. Thinking back to earlier, the only clue that something was off was before you made your presence known to Erik, he had been positively slamming his organ keys with a fury very few could ever feel. And yet still, as soon as he realized you were there he threw himself at your feet, bawling like a sinner trying to repent before their god. Of course his sudden movement had startled you, throwing you off balance and making you fall to the floor a few feet away from Erik. The disfigured man hadn’t even bothered to pick himself up to carry himself the rest of the way to you, instead opting to drag himself along the cold floor until he could curl up in your embrace and bury his face in your neck, blubbering about how good you were and how hideous he was, how he didn’t deserve you, which brings you to where you are now.

“Now what’s all this about, babydoll?”

Your hands instinctively went to cradle what of Erik’s head you could reach and trace lovingly over his spine, resulting in Erik wailing more and miserably sniffling.

“(Y/N), I love you! I love you so much it hurts! But you are an angel compared to this loathsome carcass of a man! A man who’s face is so twisted, his own mother couldn’t bear to look at or to love him! But Erik can’t let his (Y/N) go! He needs her! He needs her with him and for her to love him eternally! Please, love me, please! I will do anything!”

“Oh, Erik. I do love you! I love you more than anything I have ever loved before! I won’t leave you, you can trust that, and I most certainly will not stop loving you, babydoll.”

With Erik still clinging onto you like a lifeline, you somehow managed to sit up and prop yourself against a wall, Erik immediately scrambling to reposition himself into your lap. Instead of hiding his face away from you once more, Erik shakily grasped your hands with his own and brought them up to cup both of his cheeks, his tears slowly beginning to dry as your thumbs gently brush under his eyes, careful when pressing into the right side of his face.

As though noticing your cautiousness, Erik pressed your hands firmer against himself, craving any deep-pressure touch he could get from you. Slowly, gently, Erik lowered his forehead to yours and allowed himself to relax into your figure, his eyes fluttering shut as his breathing slowly started to even out.

“I love you, (Y/N)! Please, don’t ever leave me!”

It always amazed you how Erik could put such a strong plea infused with emotion into such a small whisper, without any of its tone being lost to you.

“I won’t leave you, babydoll, I promise. I love you too much to even consider it.”

That seemed to be all the go ahead Erik needed to start smothering you with kisses. They were soft and slow at first, Erik seemingly just relishing in the feeling of your lips against his, keeping you two connected for as long as he could before you both needed to breathe and pushing harder on your hands that still cupped his face to try and feel more of you. Erik seemingly could only take the soft kisses for so long before he needed more, pressing his swollen lips to yours with near bruising force, the kisses slowly becoming heated and fast paced.

Still making sure your hands were touching him, Erik removed your palms from his face and dragged them down his neck, over his chest, making sure your fingertips grazed over his ribs as he shuddered with pleasure before stopping at his hips and gently gripping your fingers so they clamped down on his body firmly, removing his digits from yours and wrapping his arms around your neck to bring himself closer to you.

Shifting himself so that his whole front was pressed snug against you, Erik parted his mouth and swiped his tongue against your lips. The instant you parted your own lips, Erik’s tongue went back into his mouth to try to coax yours into following, mentally pleading you to use the wet muscle to completely tangle with his own. The minute you complied with his silent begging, you were met with a moan so needy you almost thought Erik had cum. Tightening his arms around you, Erik let out breathy whines and worked his lips against yours with such a fevered passion you would have thought Erik was trying to merge your two beings into one. You gently pulled yourself away from him when you felt his erection rub against your stomach, chuckling as Erik let out a whimper and tried to reconnect your lips with his once more, only halting as one of your hands came up to cup his cheek again. Nudging his head into your palm like some sort of needy pet, Erik managed to get your thumb into his mouth as he peered down at you with half lidded eyes, already beginning to suck on the digit and still letting out small moans.

“Someone’s awfully eager. But…I did say that the next time my darling Erik talked so negatively about himself, I would have to give him a…little lesson.”

Taking your hand away from Erik’s face made him let out distressed whines, following after your hand until he physically couldn’t and trying to keep your thumb in his mouth for as long as possible.

“Non! Maman, I’m sorry! Erik wants to be your good boy! Don’t stop calling me your good boy! Please!”

Apparently the mere thought of losing his title as your good boy was enough to drive Erik to tears once more, his breathing becoming shallow as he looked at you with panicked eyes.

“Don’t worry babydoll, you’re still my good boy. But sometimes good boys need a little guidance, yeah?”

Slowly, Erik nodded his head in agreement. He always had adored it when you guided him! But…what if he messed up? What if you did end up not calling him a good boy? What if he was unable to pleasure you? What if-

Erik’s train of thought was cut off by your lips on his once more, a feeling of bliss overtaking his anxiety. Ending the kiss and pulling away, you spoke in a low tone.

“Alright babydoll, I’m going to give you two minutes to run to your room, strip down, and wait for me on the bed, alright? I’ll join you once the times up.”

Erik couldn’t help but steal another kiss before excitedly scurrying off to his room. Getting up once Erik was out of sight, you gently picked up his discarded mask and wig and laid them on his organ before making your way to the bathroom. Erik may have been too aroused to think about it, but since you were the one laying on the floor, your hands were probably dirty and needed to be cleaned before you touched Erik so intimately. Drying off your hands, you started to make your way to Erik.

The image that greeted you when you opened the door truly was a sight for sore eyes. Erik was sitting against the bed frame and had one of his hands upon his chest, stimulating his nipple, while the other teased the areas around his cock yet never quite actually touched it.

“Maman, maman please! Please!”

Erik was trying to keep his voice down, and with his eyes closed, you were one hundred percent certain that he was completely oblivious to your presence.

“I take it you’re ready then, sugar?”

Erik nearly jumped out of his skin at your voice suddenly echoing around his chambers, before nodding, climbing off of his bed, and stumbling towards you.

“Maman, may-may I undress you? Please? May maman’s good boy help her undress?”

“Of course, babydoll.”

Immediately Erik began to hastily remove all of the fabric from your figure until you were completely bare before him.

“M-may I t-touch you, maman? Please? Please, let me touch you! Please!”

“Yes, Erik, you can touch me.”

Swallowing nervously, Erik began to trace his fingertips all across your body, skimming over your chest, to your stomach, and over your pelvis and thighs. Pulling you into a desperate embrace, Erik placed heated kisses to your lips and began to shyly trail them down the side of your neck. Quickly getting down on his knees, Erik moved to lick at your clit and tried to nudge your legs apart so that he could actually push his tongue inside you, moaning and fluttering his eyes at both your taste and the relief at having a part of you in his mouth. However, this wasn’t about you, this was about Erik. With that thought in mind, you attempted to move away from Erik, but were halted by his hands shooting up to hold your hips in place and prevent you from moving as his tongue worked all the more feverishly inside you.

“B-babydoll, come on now, that-that’s enough of that!”

Moving your hands down to Erik’s head, you gently urged him away from yourself, careful to not press too hard into the textured skin of his right cheek. You could feel Erik press against your hands, letting out distressed whines the more you tried to take yourself away from his mouth and looking up at you with pleading eyes as he strained to keep his tongue within your vagina. After a few seconds of easing his head towards the ceiling with your hands, Erik was forced to remove his mouth from you.

“Mommy, no! Let Erik keep going! Maman, let me keep going, please!”

You could see the tears beginning to well up in Erik’s eyes as he pled with you to let him taste more of you, but you held firm.

“Not right now, babydoll. Now, I want you to be my good boy and go sit on the bed for me. I have to get something ready for our session.”

Erik reluctantly drew himself away from you and did as you asked, his malformed lips trembling as he forced back a plea for you to change your mind.

For all the time you spent exploring Erik’s underground house, you had only ever managed to find one mirror, and even then it had usually been covered with his black cloak or another material of some kind. It sat atop atop a black vanity directly across from the foot of Erik’s bed, and should you stand in front of it, you would be able to see from your mid thigh to the ceiling behind your head. However, if your calculations were correct, when sitting on the bed you should be able to see your entire body (or bodies in this case) reflected back at you.

Erik watched with a mixture of apprehension, confusion, and longing for you as you made your way over to the vanity and pulled back the velvet fabric. Laying the material across the wood, you turned around and walked back to Erik, sitting against the middle of his head frame. Immediately Erik tried to crawl over to you and sit himself in your lap to resume kissing you, but you put a quick stop to that.

“Okay babydoll, I want you to sit between my legs with your back to me and look towards the mirror. Can you do that for me, sugar?”

“B-but mommy, Erik needs kisses!”

“I’ll give you kisses, baby, but you have to listen to me first.”

Letting out small whines, Erik obeyed, slumping against you and lowering himself until his head was at the same level as yours, if not a little lower. Remembering the second half of your command, Erik looked towards the mirror and gasped at the sight before him, finally grasping what you intended it for. With his cheeks positively burning, Erik stared at his reflection and took in his dilated pupils, the way his normally puffy lips were swollen further from yours, the way his cock twitched against his stomach as your hands grazed over his sides, but the sight that really made Erik blush was the image of you sitting behind him, looking into his mirrored eyes and smirking as you ducked down and began to press kisses to his neck.

Of course, you being you, you knew exactly where where Erik’s sweet spot was; about three inches under his right ear (you’ve figured out that any of the skin close to his birth defects was highly sensitive) and about a fingers width back, and Erik absolutely adored it whenever you would nip and suck on the area. Naturally, you immediately went to attack the erogenous zone, listening to Erik’s whiny moans.

“Mommy! Mommy please! Nghh-Please!”

Pulling away, your lips were immediately captured by Erik’s, his head tilted at an angle and his hands gently gripping your thighs that caged his legs. Agonizingly slow, your hands swept over his fevered skin until you softly gripped his shaft and began to deliberately pump him up and down. Moaning into the kiss, Erik felt his eyes roll into the back of his skull as nothing but pure ecstasy began to flow through his veins and cloud his mind. As you separated your lips from Eriks, he began to pant and swiftly tucked his face into the crook of your neck. Noticing your babydoll wasn’t looking at himself, you stopped stroking him.

“M-maman! Maman, no! Don’t stop, don’t stop mommy! Please!”

“If you want mommy to keep touching you, you have to look in the mirror, baby.”

Whimpering, Erik stole a glance at his duplicate, and was rewarded with you beginning to run your hand up and down his shaft once more.

“There’s my pretty babydoll. So beautiful, just for me. You’re being such a good boy, you are my good boy.”

The fact that you could say such things with so much love and affection with everything Erik was ashamed of, everything he had been denied love because of, spread and glaring at the two of you within the reflective surface, completely wrecked him as he began to sob.

“Mommy! Mommy! Erik, aah- I-I-ngh- Erik n-needs-AAghh! I-I-I-haaAGH-M-M-O-MMY!”

“Breathe, babydoll. You’re so pretty, Erik, so handsome. Absolutely gorgeous. I love you, I wouldn’t have anyone else.”

Stroking Erik faster, you watched in the mirror as pretty little tears fell from his eyes down to his cheeks, and it wasn’t long before Erik began to thrust his hips up into your hand, rutting into your grip like a dog in heat. Erik knew he was close, and out of reflex he took his gaze away from the mirror and burrowed his face into the crook of your neck as he felt himself peak-…you-you stopped moving! Erik wailed as he pulsed and throbbed in your grip, he had been so close!

“M-maman, maman! Please, more! Erik needs-I need-I need more! Please! Erik will be so good for you, he promises, maman!”

“Good boys look in the mirror, babydoll. Are you going to look? Or do you want mommy to stop touching you?”

“I-I’ll look mommy! Erik will look! But please, keep touching me, please!”

“Good boy.”

Fisting Erik’s cock, you felt his body go completely limp against you, save for his hips still thrusting into your hand.

“Look at how pretty you look, baby. That’s it, you’re doing so good for me, babydoll.”

Erik seemingly didn’t even have the mental power to properly respond, only managing small cries of ‘maman’, ‘mommy’, and ‘please’, with the addition of a few French words you couldn’t quite catch. Speeding up, you could feel his wild pulse as he throbbed into your hand, his precum aiding in making sure you weren’t to rough with him (he probably would enjoy it as long as you were still just as loving and semi-gentle). More moans and whimpers trickled past Erik’s malformed lips as you went back to marking up his neck, still looking up often to make sure he was watching himself properly. Suddenly his noises seemed to become more urgent and high pitched, his hips bucking wildly with no pace as Erik heard himself begging for release.

“MAMAN-ngh-I-I-ahhhh! Mommy I’m cumming!”

“That’s it, babydoll, that’s it. Let it all out.”

Erik watched through tears of pleasure as he painted his stomach and chest white, a guttural cry of ecstasy escaping from somewhere deep within him. Slowly, after a few minutes, Erik’s hips stopped twitching and his breathing calmed.

“You did so good for me Erik, I’m so proud of you babydoll.”

“B-but you did not orgasm, mon ange!”

“I don’t need to! I wanted to focus on you tonight, to show you that I love you and that you shouldn’t say such horrible things about yourself! You are mine, Erik, and I will love you no matter what.”

Shakily rising to his knees and turning around, Erik gripped your hips and pulled you down until your head was resting on his pillows before laying himself on top of you, not caring about the feeling of his sperm being pressed between both of your bodies.

“Erik, come on, we’ve gotta get you cleaned up, or your sheets will get dirty.”

“I will simply wash them tomorrow, Erik needs his (Y/N) too much to care at the moment!”

“Fine, fine, fine. You’re lucky you’re so cute, babydoll.”

Blushing, Erik stole a kiss from your lips before settling back down onto your chest and tucking himself under your chin as you ran your fingers over the top of his head.

“Maman?”

“Yes, sugar?”

“Je t’aime!”

“Je t’aime, babydoll. I love you too.”

“…Maman?”

“Yes, babydoll?”

Erik appeared nervous now, unable to look up at you and tracing lines into your chest with shaking fingers.

“Maman, please let me use my mouth on you! I’ve been so good! I’ve been so good for you!”

With a sigh and a small exasperated smile on your lips, you peered down at Erik.

“You really are relentless, huh?”

“S’il vous plaît, maman!”

“Okay, fine, but you really don’t have-”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence before Erik pressed a thankful, yet needy, kiss to your lips and ducked under the covers before he began to desperately mouth at you, happily moaning and peering up at you from between your legs with lovesick eyes.

“Oh babydoll, whatever will I do with you?”

———————————————————————————

@sloppyzengarden

it’s 12:30 in the morning in my time zone, I’m so tired, but if I didn’t post this I was going to commit war crimes.

#erik destler x reader #erik destler smut #erik destler #yandere erik destler #yandere phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera x reader #phantom of the opera smut

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mckitterick · 4 months ago

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You're not ugly. You just look like you.

full transcript of the post:

I photograph a lot of people. Almost everyone believes they are ugly. Your grandmother. Your child. Your best friend. Most models. Most actors. Maybe even you.

"Oh, don’t take my photo, I’ll break your camera!" laughs the 80-year-old grandfather. When he dies a few months later, his grandkids will treasure this reminder of his "ugly mug."

"Please delete this," says a dear old friend. She looks beautiful. She looks like herself. She’s been captured in a moment in which she is utterly comfortable in her skin. And she hates it.

"Oh God," I said, because I had to get a professional headshot for work. "I have a face like a slapped ham," I told the makeup artist I hired because I’m so hideous that I can’t bear to have photos of me around. The selfie I took of "the best it’s ever going to get" is my husband’s iPhone background.

You will never see yourself with the love that others have for you. That’s what makes a person beautiful, not angles or contours. You will never be objective about your appearance. But fortunately for you, your friends and family are never objective, either: They’re biased to see you through the way they smile when you walk into a room. They want every photo of you they can get their hands on, because each photo is tied to your memory.

You’re the worst judge of your appearance. Trust me. You look fine. The camera loves you. Now take a picture.

source post: X

#photography #portraits #beauty #positivity #you're beautiful #portrait photography #selfies #I will never have enough photos of those I love #my screencaps

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polutrope · 17 days ago

Note

Very happy birthdays to you and Melesta! Wishing you both health and joy and freedom.

Would love a little scene between Finduilas and Turgon, in Valinor, "after." If you feel so moved.

🧡

Turgon and Finduilas, reembodied. Rated G, 1100 words. By @polutrope and @melestasflight. On AO3.

“Sorontië, Numentië, Asartië,” Turgon mutters to himself, looking from street corner to street corner, placing names upon the grid of Tirion. Strange that he, who built a city in its image, now finds the grandeur and pulse of Tirion too much to bear. Perhaps it is only the freshness of his renewed body, but everything is so dazzling here, too clean, and the reflected light off all the marble and painted glass hurts his eyes.

As his gaze travels between stalls, carriages, and ornate facades, they land upon one nearby who had until now escaped his notice for how still they stood amidst the city’s perpetual movement.

“Findaráto?” he says, half to himself, because he knows that hair, that peculiar shade of gold as if a bloom of Laurelin has just burst open. But no, he has seen Finrod since he returned — this figure is slight, delicate, as Finrod was in his youth. Not as he is now, in his second life, a warrior reborn as their people’s crown prince.

The body turns and the face that greets him is both alike to Finrod’s and distinctly not. A deep frown adorns her fair features. “How many more in this city will take me for my uncle?”

“I am sorry, lady,” Turgon says, nodding in greeting — and it is only when he lifts his chin and looks at her that her words fully settle in his mind. “Your… uncle?”

Her frown deepens and she looks as if she is ready to throw yet another accusation at him, but she is interrupted by a jewelry seller thrusting an elaborate hair ornament practically into her face.

“Would the lady Finduilas like to try this piece instead?” The seller is almost shouting in her excitement. “It is our latest, created by Lúletinwë.” When Finduilas does not react, the seller adds, sympathetically: “Tirion’s most famous designer of this century.”

Finduilas — Turgon knows the name. Could it be? Finduilas of Nargothrond, Orodreth’s daughter, Finrod’s most beloved niece? Finduilas now glares at the jewelry seller, the exasperation written upon her face.

Turgon cannot blame her. He looks from her face to the ornament: it is like a malformed octopus made of gems, lined with the most ostentatiously enormous, poorly cut, and ill-matched ruby and emerald crystals Turgon has ever seen.

“Return that hideous clump of rock to the bowels of the earth where it belongs!” Turgon blurts, physically recoiling. He shudders. “Better yet, cast it into the Void.”

The jewelry seller’s eyes widen in shock, her jaw dropping. Turgon winces; his mouth has run away with him, again. He considers apologizing, taking back the offense, when a thunder of laughter sounds at his side. Finduilas is roaring, doubled over, and then she grabs Turgon’s forearm to steady herself.

“Oh, that’s the best insult I have yet heard in this new life,” Finduilas says when she regains control of herself. “You, lord, curse as well as the very uncle you just mistook me for, when he loses his famed calm.” Then she turns to the seller, whose face has now hardened like baked clay: “We shall not be requiring your assistance further, lady. I thank you.”

Finduilas leads him away, sliding her hand into the bend of his elbow. Turgon glances over his shoulder for one last look at the jewel-seller: she still glares after them, and this prompts a laugh to leap from his throat.

“It is good to meet you, Finduilas,” he says. “I did not know you were…” It has not become easy, yet, knowing how to speak of having been dead.

“Yes, I am. Returned to life.” Finduilas smiles gently as she turns to him, her earlier frown replaced by mirth. “The pleasure is all mine and please excuse my impatience; I am yet new to this business of living again. May I know your name, also, oh saviour from the terrors of Tirion’s fashion?”

“Oh, yes, I am sorry, I–” Turgon feels the heat in his cheeks, knows that he is making a fool of himself. He feels a child, sometimes, who has to learn the simplest things all over, such as how to place words together… what to call himself. What does he call himself, to this child of Beleriand, reborn in Aman, who never knew him as anything but — what did she know him as? How did Finrod speak to her of him? What did she think of him, the distant King of the Noldor who stayed ensconced in his mountain valley while Nargothrond fell to ruin?

He settles for the name he carried for nigh five centuries. “I am Turgon." Finduilas’ brows arch: in surprise, joy, or fear, Turgon cannot tell, and he hastens to add: “But you may call me uncle, if you wish.”

Finduilas does not seem to share his doubts, the ruin of her fair city so far away that she barely remembers it. “The famed Turgon!” she cries heartily. “My uncle has barely spoken of anything else since your return. At last I meet you!” Then, Finduilas tosses herself into his embrace, arms tightening around his ribs. The top of her hair tickles Turgon’s cheek; she is of Idril’s height, almost to the inch. Turgon holds her against himself. It is the most at home he has felt since returning – strange as that may seem, embracing a kinswoman he never knew in his previous life. But there is something about Finduilas being both new and familiar that sets him at ease.

They pull apart, still smiling, and Turgon says: “If you are still looking for some adornment, I have just remembered a florist where my daughter – long ago – often went to pick out an assortment of exotic flowers brought up from the south. She would arrange them in a wreath herself.” Finduilas’ face brightens at what she hears and Turgon summons the courage to offer his help. “If you would like, I will take you there, for it is not easy to find.”

Passingly, he wonders if the shop is still there at all, but does not speak this thought aloud.

“Lead the way!” Finduilas agrees with a grin more golden than her fair tresses.

Turgon takes her hand, recalling the weight of his young daughter’s hand as he once led her through this crowded marketplace. He guides Finduilas from the bright bustle, towards the secluded, peaceful neighbourhood on the southern slope of Túna where he remembers a quaint little flower shop, down a narrow lane. As they walk in comfortable silence, warmth, as sweet as honeyed tea, fills his chest.

He has made his first friend in this new Tirion.

Birthday Prompts

#finduilas #turgon #polu and melesta's birthday bash #valinor #post-canon

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eruherdiriel · 1 year ago

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Something I've been thinking a lot about lately is how Jon knows what it's like to be burned. With his hand, he doesn't feel it in the moment but that's probably adrenaline more than anything else.

"You do not look well. How is your hand?" "Healing." Jon flexed his bandaged fingers to show him. He had burned himself more badly than he knew throwing the flaming drapes, and his right hand was swathed in silk halfway to the elbow. At the time he'd felt nothing; the agony had come after. His cracked red skin oozed fluid, and fearsome blood blisters rose between his fingers, big as roaches. "The maester says I'll have scars, but otherwise the hand should be as good as it was before." "A scarred hand is nothing. On the Wall, you'll be wearing gloves often as not." It was not the thought of scars that troubled Jon; it was the rest of it. Maester Aemon had given him milk of the poppy, yet even so, the pain had been hideous. At first it had felt as if his hand were still aflame, burning day and night. Only plunging it into basins of snow and shaved ice gave any relief at all. Jon thanked the gods that no one but Ghost saw him writhing on his bed, whimpering from the pain.

-AGOT, Jon VIII

And then there's the scene of his wound getting cauterized. Which, yeah, he's otherwise injured and just escaped the wildlings, experiencing a lot of physical pain and internal turmoil, etc., etc. Still:

Maester Aemon sniffed Jon's wound again. Then he put the bloody cloth back in the basin and said, "Donal, the hot knife, if you please. I shall need you to hold him still." I will not scream, Jon told himself when he saw the blade glowing red hot. But he broke that vow as well. Donal Noye held him down, while Clydas helped guide the maester's hand. Jon did not move, except to pound his fist against the table, again and again and again. The pain was so huge he felt small and weak and helpless inside it, a child whimpering in the dark. Ygritte, he thought, when the stench of burning flesh was in his nose and his own shriek echoing in her ears. Ygritte, I had to. For half a heartbeat the agony started to ebb. But then the iron touched him once again, and he fainted.

-ASOS, Jon VI

This doesn't even touch on how he feels about the R'hollor crew and stories of people intentionally being burned. Whether he's there when King's Landing burns or hears about it, he will be able to empathize with the people of the city. There will be survivors, some with burns like on his hand and some with way worse. There won't be enough milk of the poppy for everyone. There will be men, women, children, soldiers, civilians, and old people burned and screaming in pain. Before KL burns, Jon will have heard about the other places DT has been as well. They're not gonna be pals.

But there will be conflict in his interactions with DT. Jon fiddles with his hands when he's conflicted or distressed:

Jon's breath misted the air. If I lie to him, he'll know. He looked Mance Rayder in the eyes, opened and closed his burned hand. "I wear the cloak you gave me, Your Grace."

-ASOS, Jon II

Lots of examples from AGOT, when his hand is still freshly burned and in more pain:

"Grief and noise," Mormont grumbled. "That's all they're good for, ravens. Why I put up with that pestilential bird … if there was news of Lord Eddard, don't you think I would have sent for you? Bastard or no, you're still his blood. The message concerned Ser Barristan Selmy. It seems he's been removed from the Kingsguard. They gave his place to that black dog Clegane, and now Selmy's wanted for treason. The fools sent some watchmen to seize him, but he slew two of them and escaped." Mormont snorted, leaving no doubt of his view of men who'd send gold cloaks against a knight as renowed as Barristan the Bold. "We have white shadows in the woods and unquiet dead stalking our halls, and a boy sits the Iron Throne," he said in disgust. The raven laughed shrilly. "Boy, boy, boy, boy." Ser Barristan had been the Old Bear's best hope, Jon remembered; if he had fallen, what chance was there that Mormont's letter would be heeded? He curled his hand into a fist. Pain shot through his burned fingers. "What of my sisters?"

-AGOT, Jon VIII

When Jon had been Bran's age, he had dreamed of doing great deeds, as boys always did. The details of his feats changed with every dreaming, but quite often he imagined saving his father's life. Afterward Lord Eddard would declare that Jon had proved himself a true Stark, and place Ice in his hand. Even then he had known it was only a child's folly; no bastard could ever hope to wield a father's sword. Even the memory shamed him. What kind of man stole his own brother's birthright? I have no right to this, he thought, no more than to Ice. He twitched his burned fingers, feeling a throb of pain deep under the skin. "My lord, you honor me, but—"

-AGOT, Jon VIII

Jon raised the hood of his heavy cloak and gave the horse her head. Castle Black was silent and still as he rode out, with Ghost racing at his side. Men watched from the Wall behind him, he knew, but their eyes were turned north, not south. No one would see him go, no one but Sam Tarly, struggling back to his feet in the dust of the old stables. He hoped Sam hadn't hurt himself, falling like that. He was so heavy and so ungainly, it would be just like him to break a wrist or twist his ankle getting out of the way. "I warned him," Jon said aloud. "It was nothing to do with him, anyway." He flexed his burned hand as he rode, opening and closing the scarred fingers. They still pained him, but it felt good to have the wrappings off.

-AGOT, Jon IX

Not until he was well beyond the village did Jon slow again. By then both he and the mare were damp with sweat. He dismounted, shivering, his burned hand aching. A bank of melting snow lay under the trees, bright in the moonlight, water trickling off to form small shallow pools. Jon squatted and brought his hands together, cupping the runoff between his fingers. The snowmelt was icy cold. He drank, and splashed some on his face, until his cheeks tingled. His fingers were throbbing worse than they had in days, and his head was pounding too. I am doing the right thing, he told himself, so why do I feel so bad?

-AGOT, Jon IX

#jon snow #tw burns #idk how to trigger tag this #nor do i know what this is or what i'm doing

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oh-no-another-idea · 14 days ago

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15 questions OC interview [Lewis edition] 🕑

I've been amassing tags here from @mysticstarlightduck, @charlesjosephwrites, @mary-is-writing, @willtheweaver, and @revenantlore -- thanks guys!!!

For your entertainment today, let's poke Lewis and see how long he'll last. In case you missed them, see the previous interviews for Fynn, Antonio, and Paris.

Lewis puts up a fight until they stuff him into the chair, and then he quiets down, glaring hot enough to roast a potato. Antonio claps his hands together and draws out his dratted notebook. Grateful it's not him being interviewed this time, Fynn leans against the wall with Paris and Velia. Are you named after anyone? Lewis sighs. "If I don't answer, will you all go away eventually?" "Won't you please answer?" Antonio wheedles, looking unfortunately convincing with his large brown eyes. "It'll be over faster, that way, and I really do want to hear your answers." "I'm named after my father," Lewis grumbles. "He was Lewis too." When was the last time you cried? "I never cry," Lewis say, which is probably a lie, but Fynn doesn't know enough to contest it, and from the shifting of the others around him, they don't either. Do you have kids? "When and If I do," Lewis says calmly. "They'll hunt you for sport, Antonio West." "Not if they know and love me," Antonio fires back, and Fynn doesn't think he's imagining the slightly flustered look on Lewis's face. Do you use sarcasm? "This is a great question," Lewis says with a hideous smile. What's the first thing you notice about people? "How much they're going to piss me off," Lewis says promptly, shooting a look over his shoulder at Fynn, Paris, and Velia. "Congrats, Fynn and Paris, you two didn't ring any alarm bells when I first met you. Of course, I take that back now." Velia moved over to high five Antonio. What's your eye color? "Look for yourself," Lewis says in his usual bold way. Fynn rolls his eyes as Antonio leans in and both of them lose a moment or two. To his left, Paris bends down to whisper in Velia's ear, and she laughs quietly. "Brown," Antonio announces. Scary or happy endings? "Just endings," Lewis says pointedly. Any special talents? "We get to answer this one for him, right?" Paris speaks up suddenly. "Because he'll announce he's too busy and isn't good at a thing?" He waits while Antonio nods at him, and then says, "Murder." Lewis twists around in his seat incredulously. "Braining that man with the shovel, ah, yes," Antonio says, and scribbles. "Also, facial expressions," Velia says with only a tad of envy. "He's king of conveying emotion without words." The look on Lewis's face could only be described as furious rage. Bearing in mind both of his talents, Fynn decides keeping quiet is the best course of action. Where were you born? Lewis is quiet this time. "Somewhere in the city," he eventually says. "In the last few breaths my mother inhaled." "Calm down, Mr. Theatrics," Velia says. "You're not the only one who's lost a mother." "Yeah," Antonio adds. What are your hobbies? "Restraining from murder," Lewis says, a hint of humor in his voice. About time, Fynn figures. Have you any pets? "What," Lewis explodes, "Kind of ridiculous quiz is this? You know the answer already, you dimwitted idiot!" "Thank goodness the answer is no," Antonio says delicately, writing that down. "You'd just kill it anyways." What sports do you play/have played? Once Lewis calms down, he says, "I played ball in the street as a kid. I wasn't half bad." How tall are you? Paris and Fynn burst out laughing. Even Antonio chuckles a moment. "These questions were asked to everyone," he says quickly, ignoring both Lewis's death glare and Velia's blank and quiet irritation. "And hey, being tall isn't everything." "Easy for you to say," Velia mutters. "I refuse to answer," Lewis says, and then yelps, "Don't you dare get out that measuring tape, Fynn --" After a furious wrestling match, Fynn straightens up and proclaims, "Five foot, five inches." Favorite subject in school? "Once I learned to read, the rest was all redundant," Lewis answers. "I can teach myself anything I need to know in the future. School didn't last long. Dream job? "The job I have now, on this train. With secured worker's rights and fair wages and

Dream job? "The job I have now, on this train. With secured worker's rights and fair wages and sick days." "I knew you were going to work that in somewhere," Antonio complains, writing it down. "That's because it's important," Fynn says staunchly. Lewis smiles at him. "Well, of course it is," Antonio says, clapping his book shut. "It's just the only thing he ever talks about, that's all." "I just spent half an hour talking about every damn thing you wanted me to!" "We're all through," Antonio says, the biggest lie he's ever told, and he's told a lot, Fynn knows. "I hate you all. Dismissed."

😊 I'll tag @sleepy-night-child @drippingmoon @winterandwords @space-writes and anyone else who sees this!! <3

#tag games #15 questions tag #lewis huen #wip: invisible girl

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kittenfangirl20 · 9 months ago

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*it had been a couple years since Adam and Eve were thrown out of Eden for tasting the Forbidden Fruit, they recently had a twin boys together, Cain a boy looked so much like Adam and Abel a boy who looked so much like Eve, the pregnancy was a painful event because Eve claimed that she tricked Adam into taking a bite of the fruit even though he made the choice on his own because he didn’t want to lose someone else he loved because she didn’t want him to be punished, he was woken to the boys crying, he got up because Eve needed her sleep and made his way to where the babies slept and to his shock, Lilith was standing over the small bed Adam made for them, she was still beautiful, but in a twisted way, she now had large red horns coming from her head and large red bat like wings, she wore a crown and a deep purple gown*

Adam: What are you doing here Lilith?

Lilith: In order to be Queen of Hell with my beloved Lucifer, I was cursed to not be able to bear children of my own. Lucifer wants to be a father and I think that these beautiful little babies will be the perfect Princes of Hell. If you love Lucifer like you say, you would be willing to sacrifice them to make him happy.

Adam: Fucking stay away from Cain and Abel!!!!!!!!

Lilith: We definitely have to change their names.

*Adam charged at Lilith and she grabbed him by the wrists, now that she was a demon she had super human strength and Adam screamed while the bones in his wrists were cracking, Lilith held him up by the wrists and slammed him into the ground*

Lilith: Why fight when you can just have more children of your own.

*Lilith started to mercilessly beat him, tears started to fall from Adam’s eyes while he wondered why Lucifer could choose her over him, he hated the fact that he couldn’t protect the wife and children he loved dearly, suddenly the beating stopped and Lilith screamed, even though it hurt to move, he moved himself up a little to see Eve standing over a cowering Lilith, in Eve’s trembling hands was the angelic sword of Michael which he had given to the couple after they had been thrown out of Eden to protect them in case something like this happened, Adam was impressed to see that Eve had snuck up behind Lilith and cut off her wings, since it was angelic steel, the wings would never grow back*

Eve: As my husband said, fucking stay away from Cain and Abel. Also if you lay another hand on the man I love, I will end you and you won’t be able to be reunited with your husband.

Lilith: Fine, I will have a child one way or another. Besides I don’t understand how this hideous creature inspires such loyalty in you, I at least have better taste in men and I am not an imitation of who Adam really wants.

Eve: Lucifer chose you over Adam, I have to question his tastes. I know Adam loves Lucifer and if the world had been fair to Adam, Lucifer would have loved him the same way. But I know that Adam loves me the same way as he loves Lucifer and anyone who is loved by Adam is a very lucky person. I feel sorry for Lucifer when all he has is you when he could have had so much better.

*Lilith just spat at Adam and disappeared, Eve ran to Adam and held him in a way that wouldn’t cause him more pain*

Adam: Eve please know that I love you so much.

*it hurt Adam to speak, but he had to say it*

Eve: Don’t speak, I know how much you love me. Someone please come help Adam, I can’t lose him.

*to the surprise of the couple, one of the Archangels, Raphael, who was a healer came to heal Adam’s wounds, Adam thought that he would have been abandoned by God and the other angels like how Lucifer abandoned him, as he was being healed he wondered if Lucifer told Lilith to steal his babies with Eve because they couldn’t have their own and if Lilith had truly poisoned his first love against him*

#angst #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam #human adam #eve #hazbin hotel eve #adam/eve #mentions adam/lucifer #lilith #lilith morningstar #hurt/comfort #cain #hazbin hotel cain #abel #hazbin hotel abel #baby cain and abel

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