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cherie-doll · 1 day ago

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I said "do you think you'll kill for me one day?"

(Yes, of course I will, my darling)

― yandere!cod men x reader ― ε price, ghost, soap, gaz, roach, makarov, alejandro, rudy, phillip graves, keegan, könig, horangi, nikto з suggestive?

꒰ ͜ ‿ ͜ ♡ ͜ ‿ ͜ ꒱

ଘ You're no plaything for Price. He doesn't just like you, he adores you. Cups your pretty face in his hands; delicately. His rugged and rough hands become gentle as soon as he comes into contact with your skin, treating it as if it were finely-grained porcelain. He treats you the exact opposite of how he treats anyone else. Whilst he leaves everyone else covered from head to toe in blood for coming near you, you're covered from head to toe in the most expensive items you wish for. But, he doesn't want you to forget that his money doesn't represent his love for you, it does not begin to cover not even half of what it should. He'll be sure to remind you not to be spoiled rotten. He's fond of you and while he's interested in you, you should listen and obey to what he advices you. He is more experienced after all.

ଘ Compare what Simon's scars and bruises are to your unscathed body. Let his hands roam over your body, taking in all he works for. Let them wander and familiarize with what he's toying with. His breath on your skin as it quickens, losing his train of thoughts as he fondles you. He's convinced you're meant only for him. No one else should touch you this way, no one could do it like he does. And please return it! Cradle his head in your lap, so the sizzling subsides and he feels alive. Let him know he's the best, the one. Let him lean in and capture those soft, plump lips in a passionate kiss. Don't pull away, don't deny him his heaven. And don't you dare let anyone else trail your body with their eyes like he does. Why, he'll feel as if they're already doing what their mind desires. He's screwed up in his mind but he'll move heaven and earth for those thighs to wrap around his waist at night spilling the warmth between them. Make him feel warm and welcome, give him the world he burns everyone else for. He sacrifices others at the feet of your altar.

ଘ Johnny's smug smile can fade rather quickly with one sensual move from you, watch him get lost as his breath is winded and his body is overtaken with an all-consuming fire of passion. Oh, he can't even fathom the idea of anyone before or after him experiencing such things. He'll be paralyzed the moment you sit on his lap and putting your hand to his chest, let it trail over his heart which at the moment beats wildly. It's a sensation he experiences when plunging a knife deep within someone else's chest, he reckons the feeling is almost the same. He thinks his victims rather lucky they die this way. How many other people can experience that fleeting, overwhelming feeling?

ଘ Kyle's hand kisses are done with such reverent trembling and respect that he'll have your skin tingling with warm sensations as if the late evening sun was seeping into your skin. Let his and your body blend together like the watercolors on an artist's canvas does. Bask in his affection like you'll sunbathe on the beach. Take in all the good he brings you, accept every touch of his that starts with a secure embrace and ends with the colliding of your bodies. The cold with which he lashes out for others has no place with the gentleness he entreats you with. Keep your eyes on his, locked in his steady gaze immerses himself in fantasies. He feels dizzy as if his world was spinning, losing himself in the sensations. And after the elation, let him shower you in praises, caresses and gifts. Let him buy you two rings for each finger, how many could you want to show off having a caring partner when you slide his card at the register? Make your hands look pretty whilst his are leaving a trail of crimson blood after him.

ଘ Roach couldn't ever hurt anyone else, he didn't know what he was capable of until the importance of you came all too clear. You're something that shouldn't belong to anyone else in the world. It's a quick descent down the spiral of violent devotion. His soft gaze usually filled with admiration and sentiment for you hardens, his pupils dilating as fear takes over. He's only acting on behalf of all his anguish, you haven't the heart to condemn him. He's shown you what your heart is worth, couldn't you give him some sort of heaven? He will do very well at whatever it is you ask of him, just wait while he shows you. There isn't anyone else like him he says over and over as if a prayer or spell he could make come true.

ଘ Makarov does not care whether he deserves you or not. Unlike the others who will commit unspeakable acts out of guilt and use their "pure" intentions to purify their actions, Makarov is selfish and relentless in what he wants. He does not flinch at your attempts of control, it's lost the moment he takes you in. He's determined to taste everything you have to offer, whether it's willingly or not. But he does like things to be served on a platter for him, he also has no problem taking it himself. Let the hand on the back of your neck guide you in the direction you are to walk, be docile and you'll surely receive tenderness. He can never deny that he loves the way your lashes flutter as you look through them up at him as he pats your head for being so good. Overtime you might notice small details showing his exterior cracking and revealing the soft, white underbelly of affection. He feels as if his chest caves in from your actions, the subtle red at the tip of his ears. Keep pulling at his neck collar, he'll like that fake sense of control you have.

ଘ You wouldn't ever catch a glimpse of Alejandro's manipulative strategies until he finds someone threatening. Is it wrong you're not seeing enough of other people? His biggest fear is you falling for someone else, the danger of you getting too close to someone is palpable for him. The intimacy you two share is from the harvest he's worked so hard for. He's been slaving away for so long to just let someone else lay a hand on you. He kneads you into what he desires, anything to feel the beating heart in your chest which pumps only for him. He'll keep polishing you until he gets down to the bare essence of you, which he can only dream to capture. The rhythm he wants to feel rushing through his veins, circling throughout his body.

ଘ Rudy's tenderness blinds you as he takes you to what you can only describe to be paradise. With the shining of luxury, all new and just for you he says. He'll press a million sweet kisses on your face before dropping that a most bothersome person will no longer be graced by your presence ever again. To him it's like a quiet act of love, to you, it's unimaginable. Don't worry your head will all the details, isn't it better to have no worries? He's all smooth indulgence telling you to keep looking at the adorned future he has ahead for you, telling you not to pay attention to the blood that stains the walls of the hallways you walk. He would lay out a new, fancy red carpet over the corpses for you to step over and continue in this fabricated dream.

ଘ Phillip knows exactly how to get the best out of you. Can you blame a man for knowing how to get what he wants from you? Let him tease and tug for he knows what every maneuver of his does. The hands that massage your skin don't get dirty, he'll always have others ready and willing to carry out whatever order he gives. It's what he's accustomed to and how he intends to keep it. But the droplets of blood that splatter do not miss his skin. The stain is still there, still under the skin of the thumb he pushes inside of you, feeling around for that bliss. Let his protectiveness clothe your body, he's already blurring the lines between obsessiveness and possessiveness.

ଘ Keegan's eyes will have you coming to a stumbling halt. Asking for something only you know how to give so good. Those erratic eyes that are unpredictable as they are deep, representing the deep dive you have to be holding your breath for. Are you ready to indulge? Because the impact will have you gasping for air, and when you try to take one you'll only swallow a mouthful of carnal desire. He ignites such a heat it's scalding to the touch, you don't know what's happening it's like you lose control. It happens so fast that when it's all over you'll let his lips, from which hot breaths slip through, kiss all over your sweat glistened body. His eyes might be softer and hold it for a while until he's back to the merciless, cold gaze which freezes everyone's else blood, feeling it lump within their veins.

ଘ Let König go on his fast rampages. They're over quick anyways. And afterwards, when he comes back, cradle his head between your thighs his tongue tangling as he stutters out promises to buy you what you wish if only you let him lap at your sweetness until his thoughts are left to reckless abandonment. Let him get what he can't get anywhere else. Call him handsome as your bury your fingers into his hair, your fingertips trailing his jaw and down his neck to where his adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard. Place kisses on his cheek until he turns his head in one swift motion and captures your lips in a desperate kiss. He wants it all, wants all of you all at once it makes him messy, shaky and weak. But he just wants someone to hold him, rubbing his ears and whispering words of affirmation in his ear.

ଘ Horangi could care less what other's want from him. You're in his viewpoint and he's determined to apply as much pressure as possible to make you bend. The reason he justifies himself with is the lullaby he's lulled to sleep with. Everyone else wants something from him, why shouldn't you? Everyone else is just in the way, he says over and over again, trying to make you focus on his lips instead of the bodies on the floor. With what he's done, he expects a standing ovation from you, nothing but complete adoration and servitude. He's a man who chases after impulses, who knows how long until this candle runs out. For now, ignore the brusque hand and acknowledge the underlying intents. He'll keep this lecherous momentum going until you're feeling faint from the mere touch of his hand.

ଘ Resignation is a trait Nikto works hard to work out of you. Surely, you ought to trust him after all he's done for you. In his mind, he's dedicated such gentle caring to you, you should be grateful. Don't be afraid to take directly out of his hand, he prefers you lose that skepticism. And when you do start to gentle, oh he can never get enough of it. His fingers grazing and gliding over your body at any and every chance he can get. Let him delve deeper into you, it's only natural for him to want to know you better. Every quiver of yours, he feels through the epidermis of his skin. He just knows you that well. His jerking movements shouldn't startle you by now. Maybe if you were more open, you would be telling him what you want. Give him some sort of sign before that spark ignites an unyielding fire. Because to him, that trembling is a sign of a smoldering fierceness waiting to break through.

:¨ ·.· ¨: `· . ꔫ

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hitomisuzuya · 15 hours ago

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Secret admirer+neighbour reader that allows Scara to stay over in her room whenever shit gets rowdy at his home for whatever reason. She leaves letters of encouragement in his locker and snacks and stuff. He found it stupid at first but gave up 'reluctantly'.

But like, pls, he knows it's her. The way she looks at him, hopefully, every time he scowls a certain way, he gets a more expensive snack (within the budget of a little middle-class lady, of course), and he starts liking her a bit too...

And anyway, they get into a cute little confrontation when she cares about him a little too much, with a bit too much honesty with the cutest outfit and he's turned on and- you get the idea.

Please, praise kink. Praise my hubby🥺🥺 maybe a bit of degrading from him.

scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. porn with some plot. fluff. degradation. praise for scara. cunnilingus. for narrative purposes, college has lockers for people who live off campus.

i grinned when i read this ask. legit scaramouche would fall in love kicking and screaming reluctantly about it the whole time🤣 this is a little long.

if scaramouche had it his way, he would've chosen to live on campus at the dorms. but no, being so close to the college made his bitch mother suggest he might be more comfortable just living at home. incidentally, it was over just that issue that you meant scaramouche officially for the first time.

you swore he slammed the door loud enough to rattle to every window of his house. and yours. naturally, it startled you, being out on the porch looking at the orange and purple painted clouds of the sunset. you'd seen him around campus before, but social anxiety often came into play. and he sort of treated you like a nuisance when you tried to talk to him.

"you okay?" you asked, giving him a soft look of concern.

"huh? do you need something?" scaramouche snapped, glaring at you in a way that would've made anyone instantly fuck off.

anyone wasn't you, though. "no, it just sounds like you were fighting with someone," you replied, his glare making your cheeks flush.

"yeah, bitch mother," it was like he didn't want to dedicate the extra few seconds of time to string together a longer sentence to mention her in.

"you can come hang out with me in my room for awhile until things cool down. no one is home right now but me," you said shyly, playing with your hair in an annoying way he absolutely couldn't miss.

"uh, sure. yeah whatever, gimme a few minutes," scaramouche grumbled, turning to go back inside the house. back inside to tell his mother to fuck off one more time. he was automatically suspicious. why were you offering? what did you stand to gain from it?

he thought about these questions while he unplugged (ripped the cords out of the outlet) his xbox, and slammed the door again. threw the door to your house open, and sort of stomped up the stairs. he promptly hooked his xbox up to your tv like he was automatically entitled to it.

but you didn't mind. scaramouche always made you feel weak in the knees. you even got him to tell you what he wanted for dinner so you could make it for him.

this became almost something of a daily occurrence. an occurrence that scaramouche was startled to find how comfortable he was becoming with.

you sure are a strange one. you even sat and watched him play video games late into the night, monopolizing your tv and not really giving a shit if there was something you wanted to watch. you never said a thing if there was. dvrs exist, after all. you would cheer him on and praise him when he was playing good. you looked stuff up on your phone to help him if he got stuck on a part somewhere.

you would remind him about tests tomorrow. he told you whatever and ended up not studying. he didn't really need to honestly. thing is, though, you started leaving notes of encouragement tucked into his folders or notebooks. or left them in his locker with some sort of disgusting sweet treat. "for you to enjoy now or later. it's up to you. good luck today."

he thought it was incredibly stupid. what could you possibly gain from this nonsense? "i don't like sweets," he said, tossing a baggie of oreos on your desk. "disgusting. absolutely no thanks."

your posture stiffened a little, like you'd just been caught red handed doing something secretive. in a way, you had been. "wh-what are you talking about?" you stammered shyly, "who left you those?" you paused for a moment, twisting lock of hair around your index finger. "incidentally, what would you want for something like that?"

scaramouche almost snorted. god, you are so transparent. he knew it was you, but you are still trying to play it off like it wasn't, fidgeting nervously with your fingers. it was disgustingly adorable so he let you carry on with it in his own way. stop it.

"salted rice balls with sea weed in the middle. i like those, not the toxic waste that is chocolate. or rather horse shit," he replied, rolling his eyes.

sure enough, a few days later, salted white rice balls with seaweed in the middle appeared in his locker the next morning. "please, eat these. sorry about before. you try so hard and deserve a good treat."

fuck, fuck, fuck!

he was starting to tuck your notes into his pockets to keep with him throughout the day. some of the snacks you make him looked expensive. and you were the type to buy the ingredients and hand make them yourself. you had to have been getting up super early in the morning to make them or staying up late the night before.

and every time he called you out on it, you shyly played it off. even joking with him about him having a secret admirer, though he swore you looked a little sad at the thought of someone else liking him like you weren't talking about yourself.

even worse, scaramouche started looking at you and thinking; shit, she looks really cute today. those are thigh highs she's wearing cup her thighs perfectly. it makes me wanna..

he'd had enough when he started jacking himself off after he left your house for the night. thinking of you, the innocent girl next door who doted on him and gave him attention. who is way too sweet for her own good. with this stupid crush on him that you refused to say anything about.

how dare you make him fall in love.

you started wearing thigh highs when he mentioned casually he likes them, tempting him with a garter belt. a garter that his eyes strained to casually get a peek at if the pleats of your skirt bounced in just the right way.

he caught you on your way out the door to go the convenience/grocery store that stayed open all night, a list of ingredients and a recipe in your hand to read on the way.

"why do you do this nonsense?" scaramouche asked, snatching the slip of paper out of your hand. he couldn't help but smirk. just like he thought, there was a recipe for rice balls with eel in them and miso soup. you were even going to stop by the coffee shop and get his favorite coffee.

...

fucking hell, you are way too sweet for your own good but damn it, he enjoyed soaking up every bit of your attention now. his bitch mother even "accused" him of dating someone a few days ago. the nerve!

"i..i." you stammered shyly in a way that made him want to kiss you. really really badly. you knew you were caught. "was i that obvious?"

scaramouche snorted. "you are so obvious that you could've landed plane without waving your arms. it was actually a little pathetic," he sighed seeing your reaction. why did you do that? why did your cheeks flush when he flat out insulted you?

and that was how you ended up on your back on his bed, your legs spread and stripped almost entirely of your clothes as he crawled between your legs. "these stay on," he insisted, hooking his finger under the top of your thigh high, letting it snap back on your thigh. he'd angrily kissed you all the way up to his room, pawing at your clothes and swallowing your moans into his mouth.

you always took care of him in your room. and now he was taking care of you properly in his room. it was a chore to fight his pride, anyways. and he didn't want to fight it anymore.

having his hands holding your thighs apart while he licked slow, hungry stripes up and down your pussy was much more preferable. "desperation is good color on you, slut," he groaned, teasingly kitten licking your clit before sweeping it down to swirl around your hole. youclenched on the tip of his tongue like he imagined that you would.

"i..i can't help it," you moan shakily, squirming as you grind on his mouth, "i'm sorry. i'm so in love you with it hurts. i just..just," you are cut off when scaramouche latched his lips around your clit, letting out a gasp of pleasure. your clit tingled and throbbed as he sucked, prodding and swirling his tongue in a way that made a dizzying warmth spread through your core. "i wanted your attention."

you sound so fucking cute it made his cock ache almost painfully. did you have any idea how unbearable you made it all the fucking time? "i saw right through your pathetic attempts to woe me. praise me more, slut. it's making me hard," he groaned, drunk on the taste on your pussy soaking his tongue.

he held your pussy against his mouth as you grinded on his tongue, your fingers finding his hair and pushing his mouth down. "you are perfect, scara!" you cry out, your clit throbbing twice as hard underneath his tongue. "your tongue feels so good! you are all i ever think about!"

he could edge himself on your words praise, soaking up every word. "go on. keep going while i tongue fuck you," he moaned, focusing his tongue on your clit again.

his tongue working your pussy over like a starved animal was making you start to babble nonsense. "your so smart, and handsome and strong. your fingers are beautiful, so beautiful i want to suck on them. don't stop, please. please," you have the cutest sounding whimpers when the jolts of pleasure rocketing through you were too much for you to process.

your precious babbling spurred scaramouche's tongue on, one hand reluctantly leaving your thigh to palm and rub his cock outside his jeans. you deserve to cum hard on his tongue for sounding so sweet.

you twitch and spasm in bliss, tugging urgently on his hair. your hips bucked up to rub and grind on his mouth. you writhed on the bed, relaxing into his possessive squeeze on your thighs. it wasn't long before you couldn't keep it together anymore. or at least as together as you thought you had it. you'd broken on his tongue a long time ago.

you whimper weakly behind your shameless moans, your thighs shaking as your orgasm washed over you. it was so strong it nearly even made your fingers fall limp in his hair. his tongue lovingly fucked you through your orgasm until you were panting and shaking on the cusps of overstimulation. he lapped at your release.

"i think i found the only sweet i will enjoy," satisfied, he sat up and wiped his mouth. you are practically passed out on his bed, exhausted and overloaded. neither of you were making it to your evening classes. he planned to spend that time further devouring you once he let you sleep a little.

#genshin impact #genshin smut #fem!reader #genshin imagines #scaramouche #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you

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aquaticmercy · 21 hours ago

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Not a request but just some thoughts! I don’t know how to explain it but:

Bucky: girl dad through and through

Steve: Boy dad (I love him so much but i genuinely feel if he had a daughter he would raise her like a son because he don’t know what he’s doing)

Sam: Both boy and girl dad, but the boy always turns into a carbon copy of him while simultaneously being a mama’s boy

omg thank you anon for these thoughts!

Enjoys these Dad! Bucky, Steve, and Sam blurbs!

Bucky Barnes

Bucky Barnes would make the best girl dad. And he’s the best girl dad precisely because everything he’s been through. Because all of the violence and trauma. It’s why he’s so gentle with his daughter, why he’s extra careful around his little girl.

He spent years being nothing but a weapon, and now that he has the life he shares with you and your daughter, he is so scared of hurting either of you that he treats you both like you’re made of glass.

He still has that 1940s mindset buried in there, though. Not because he’s a jerk— he knows better than that— but because it’s just there because it was drilled into him from a very young age.

He catches himself sometimes thinking her daughter should be all dainty and protected and doted on 24/7, and he reminds himself that she has to learn how to be on her own someday.

Still, he treats his daughter like he’s her bodyguard, the way he does with you. He still opens doors for you, stands just a bit too close on the sidewalk. He’s got this invisible shield around both of you. He doesn’t even mean to; it’s just there instinctively.

So now imagine his face when his little girl starts ditching dolls and princesses for more traditionally masculine things.

Bucky is very supportive, although he has to manually override some of his 40s brain.

She loves the drums, and he’s all for it. He gets her lessons. He sits next to her during practice to catch all the sticks she drops trying to do complicated tricks. He high fives her whenever she does a sick beat.

She’s also all about football (soccer). He notices it when she’s cheering for the women’s national team during the World Cup like her life depends on it.

Bucky immediately starts looking at tryouts and academies. When she has a game, he’s out there on the sidelines, grinning whenever she does anything even remotely good, screaming encouragements when she loses the ball, and celebrating with her when she scores a goal.

But god, it’s hard for him to watch her take a tumble, all elbows and skinned knees. She hits the ground here and there and he winces every time, heart in his throat. He’s so adorably worried until she gets back up and gives her daddy a big thumbs up.

And yet when she goes in for a not-so-great tackle, he’s the loudest one cheering on the field (and the first one complaining when the ref gives her a yellow card).

But then. Then she decides she wants to try Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. She says she wants to be tough, like him.

This is where Bucky might draw the line. “There’s no way,” he tells you. Not his little girl, rolling around on some mat with kids twice her size, learning to choke people out.

It makes him think of all the things he’s done, the things he was forced to learn, the violence he was engineered to deliver, and he can’t bear the thought of her going anywhere near that world.

He wants to shield her from it, to keep her protected, untouched by any of that.

You, of course, see right through him. You sit him down one night and tell him, gently but firmly, that she’s her own person.

That she’s got his strength. And if she wants to do this, it’s because she wants to be more like him. Because she looks up to him. Because she thinks her daddy is the best person in the world.

It takes a while, but he comes around. But not only because his little girl wants to be like him, but also because he sees so much of you in her.

You both have the same spark, the same drive, the same way of nudging him to grow. To challenge his thoughts and beliefs.

He watches his daughter march into her first Jiu-Jitsu class with this fierce little smile, the kind he remembers seeing on his own face back in the day.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s terrified. But he’s proud, too. Because she's challenging him to be better, braver, just by being herself.

And every time he watches her spar, he finds himself cheering—softly, at first. Soon, he’s the loudest parent in the room. His little girl, fighting her own battles, just like her dad.

Steve Rogers

Steve Rogers would be a fantastic boy dad.

He’d never admit it, but part of him always fantasised having that kind of relationship with his own dad—playing catch and putting on barbecue, doing all those white picket fence father-son things. But his dad died when he was young, and even if he hadn’t, Steve would be too small, too sickly, to keep up.

Now, with a son of his own, he absolutely craves bonding with the kid. And of course he’d love him no matter what, but there's just enough super-soldier serum running through his son’s veins to let him be strong and athletic.

And for a while, everything’s perfect. Steve takes his boy to baseball games, teaches him to throw a curveball, and they spend endless afternoons in the yard sprinting (Steve slows down a bit) and throwing frisbees. During the summer, you could hear them both laughing and talking from sunrise to sunset. It’s everything he dreamed about.

But as his kid grows, Steve starts to feel a distance.

His son’s childhood is just... different.

He’s popular at school and his biggest worries seem to revolve around sports day, acing his tests, and keeping up with all the clubs and extra classes he’s signed up for. His son doesn’t have to fight his way through the day just to be heard or seen. People listen to him. He’s the kid everyone wants to be around. His friends look up to him.

Steve can’t help but remember how different his own childhood was—every day a fight just to prove himself, to survive in a world that didn’t give a weak kid like him any breaks.

He remembers those long, lonely days where he’d sit at the edge of the playground, watching the other boys run across the field, laughing and tackling each other in games he could never join. Sometimes, he’d be nursing a bruised rib or hiding a scraped knee, feeling a bit isolated. He remembers how desperately he’d wanted to be a part of it—to have a world that embraced him instead of challenging him at every turn.

Now, watching his son grow up so different from that—so at ease in his own skin—fills him with happiness. Still, Steve feels a strange tug in his heart.

Steve can’t help but feel like he’s on the outside looking in, wondering if he can truly understand this world his son is growing up in. He’s scared that him and his son wouldn’t have anything in common anymore.

One evening, after the kid’s asleep, Steve finds himself talking to you for hours about his anxieties.

He tells you how strange it feels, how he doesn't know if he can relate to the person your son is becoming. He can’t shake the feeling that, in some way, his boy’s growing into a world Steve himself never got to experience. A world he cannot help him with.

But you’re there, holding his hand, reminding him that love doesn’t need to look like a mirror.

A few days later, Steve goes to pick up his kid from school, and what he sees, he will never forget.

His son was on the playground, standing tall, facing down some older kid who’d been picking on another student— a little boy in a wheelchair.

Steve’s son was defending someone who couldn’t defend themselves, just like Steve would’ve done back in the day— just like he always does.

When they get home, Steve’s got tears in his eyes as he hugs his son, barely able to say how proud he is. He runs upstairs to tell you what your son did.

After that moment, all his worries vanish. Steve’s son might not have his struggles, but he's got his heart.

And that’s all you ever really wanted.

Sam Wilson

Sam Wilson as a dad? He’s wonderful.

You’ve never seen someone so comfortable just rolling with whatever his kids throw at him.

His little girl has him wrapped around her finger.

When she drags him into one of her imaginary plays, he dives right in without hesitation.

The two of them have this whole routine now: she’ll declare herself the “Queen of Cupcakes,” and before you know it, Sam’s transformed into her nemesis, “The Grumpy Troll.”

He’s got a whole stash of masks and scarves just for these characters. He looks ridiculous in a pink tutu and tiara, but he’d never miss the chance to be part of her little kingdom.

But his daughter is not only about tea parties— She’s only eight, but she’s strong-willed and headstrong. She insists on trying things herself first, even if she has to wrestle with it.

One time Sam reached over to help her open a jar, and she looked up with the most serious little frown, shook her head, and said, “Daddy, I got it.” And she did, after two minutes of huffing and puffing.

Another time, Sam finds his daughter in the kitchen, a stool dragged up to the counter, sleeves rolled up, determinedly making her own peanut butter sandwich. She’s got peanut butter smeared from cheek to elbow, but she’s concentrating hard, tongue poking out a little as she spreads it just right. When Sam offers to help, she shakes her head without even looking up, determined to get it done.

Then there’s his six year old little boy, who’s gentler, in that way that Sam is. He’s kind-hearted and hilarious in a way that catches you both by surprise.

After every mission, his son’s the one who toddles over and asks, “Daddy, are you okay?” like he’s got this radar for how people are feeling. He reminds Sam of himself, especially when he worked at the VA.

Sam even found him in the backyard last week, carefully placing a bowl of water and crumbs of bread on the grass. He said “The little bird with the hurt wing might come back, and I don’t want him to be thirsty.”

Another time, he offered his favourite blanket to his sister when she had a cold, even though he always sleeps with it himself. He just tucked it around her shoulders, giving her a quick hug before running off.

And just like his dad, your son is very clingy— very attached to you. If he sees you’re tired, he’ll nestle up on the couch next to you. And when you’re out of the house, he’ll carry your sweater around, or ask a hundred times when you’re coming back.

On the first day of school, your son’s practically clinging to your leg, not quite ready to let go. His eyes are all big, and you could feel how nervous he is without you there.

Sam crouched down and starts giving him one go his famous pep talks. Before he could finish, his big sister steps in.

She promises him they’d sit together on the bus and during snack and lunch time, and that she’ll teach him how to be “brave like Daddy.”

Your son squeezes your hand one last time, then lets go, holding onto his sister’s instead as they both walk on the school bus.

“Did you see that?” Sam whispers, his voice full of pride.

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. You lean back into him, watching your kids grow up in front of your eyes.

-end

#bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #sam wilson x reader #bucky barnes #steve rogers #sam wilson #bucky barnes imagine #steve rogers imagine #sam wilson imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #sam wilson fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #steve rogers fluff #sam Wilson fluff #captain america x reader

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thisgirlnamedblusy · 3 days ago

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Heey! I hope you're doing well! I would like to request a story about gp Donna having a daughter with a maid who abandoned her when the child was born. Donna raises her daughter alone and homeschool her for most of the part until her daughter tells her that she wants music lessons so Donna asks the duke a piano. The duke being all noisy gets the tea about Donna's daughter wanting music lessons and suggests Donna to hire reader as her teacher, an excellent pianist with good reputation. Both Donna and her daughter (like mother, like daughter) fall in love with reader with Donna's daughter wanting reader to become her other mom (and unlike Donna, her daughter is not that shy and is always complementing reader and dropping hints to her that Donna is very much single).

One afternoon after a lesson Donna listens to reader sing while she plays the piano and is mesmerized by her beautiful voice. Perhaps reader is singing a classical piece like Ave Maria by Schubert and that sort of reminds her of her family before the black gods faith and all that (I suppose it would make sense not to sing about other gods except for the black ones? So that's why gets more enamored with reader, for bringing her back those memories). Anywaysss, Donna with a little help from her daughter confesses to reader, who of course has fallen in love with Donna and her offspring.

welll, I hope that wasn't too much of a request 😅

Have a good day!

Yesss!!! I have to say I loved that request, thank you :D! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :)))))

Rebuilding a broken life

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, a bit of angst, Donna being Donna and a single mother, that's curious :D, G!P Donna (implied), Donna's POV

Word count: 8,709

Summary: I only have my daughter...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open, I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

Sometimes I try to live in the past, to remember what those times were like, when life was much easier. I would have given anything to go back to that moment, to reject Mother Miranda's offer to make me her daughter, a Lord.

But being named Lord, obtaining the divine grace of the Black Gods didn’t illuminate my path, rather, it darkened it. I always lived isolated. I was never interested in people. They were evil, they laughed at me, at my appearance, at my scar. I could consider my transition from villager to Lord a success, since those mocking laughs turned into cries and screams of terror, but, apart from that, nothing else changed.

At least nothing that had to do with my condition as a lonely and isolated woman. The reason for the mockery and for my behavior mutated in an unpleasant way; turning me into something like a deformed monster, as much as Miranda denied it.

The Gods' whim was just a moment of fun, and with me... they went too far. Not only did my eye disappear, not only did they turn me into an unpleasant being. They also played with my body.

I didn't care too much, I got used to it soon, but I didn't know how to get used to loneliness. My solitary life only ended partially. Angie, my doll since I was a child, came to life thanks to my efforts, to my desperation to hear another voice other than those in my head.

It might seem like a positive change, in part it was, but it wasn't what I was looking for by giving myself over to the black claws of the village. Getting out of that spiral of madness and loneliness was my true goal, but things never turn out the way you expect. Neither the new parts of my body, nor my powers, nor my appearance made it change. Madness continued to eat away my brain, the madness that came from an illness that had stalked my family for years.

If you put it all together, a deformed face, a different body, terrifying powers, madness and absolute loneliness, you get a legend, a character from a scary story, you get me: the last Lord, the doll maker, Donna Beneviento.

I stopped aging. I stopped being a baseless legend to become a woman to be feared, respected or even revered. My new siblings seemed to enjoy that change, to exercise power over the rest of the villagers, to inflict terror on them.

I was never interested in that kind of power, the power to get what I wanted when I wanted and the power to never be questioned. I had become so accustomed to my solitude that it became my refuge, a refuge for all eternity.

One day, after my sister Alcina convinced me, I decided to try out what it would be like to live with someone, to hear other different voices in the mansion, and I accepted one of her maids. She was a beautiful girl. Her name was Helga.

It could have been because of the lack of habit, because of my heart's longing to not feel alone, the reasons really didn't matter. It didn't take long for me to fall in love with her. I had never believed in love, I never had the chance to experience what my books talked about. I was eager to do it, to love, to be loved.

Looking back on the past, I now think that maybe I should have thought things better, understand that love is something that happens between two people, and not just for one of them.

Helga accepted my feelings and let herself be loved by a monster like me. In her eyes I could see the lie, the deception. I could see a false smile when she heard me say: I love you. I didn't give it any importance, she had to love me.

Of course I let myself be carried away by my clumsy feelings, by my erratic heart. I took that girl. I made her mine when I wanted, when I needed. I thought everything would change from that moment on, and I was right.

I wasn’t careful when I claimed her body as mine, and there were consequences. After a few months with the illusion of living a romance, it happened, I got her pregnant. I never thought about having a family, about starting one.

I had to get used to the idea of having a baby with someone who, deep down, I knew didn’t love me, but seeing my child grow in her womb mesmerized me too much. After a few months, that child came into the world, a beautiful girl, Maria Beneviento.

I came to think that I couldn’t be happier. I had a beautiful girl, a young maid at my side, everything was perfect, but, again, it was just an illusion. I remember the blizzard of that night, that terrible night.

“Shh, ti prego non piangere, tesoro…” I whispered while cradling the newborn, who wouldn't stop crying. “Oh, hai fame, vero?” I said, getting up to look for Helga, who, she told me, needed to rest.

I couldn't blame her. It had only been a week since the girl was born and she was exhausted.

I walked through the house with the girl in my arms. Poor thing, she was crying inconsolably. I looked for Helga in her room, the one she never wanted to leave. I will never be able to get over what I found.

The room was empty, there was no one there. I looked for her, but she was gone. In the baby's crib there was a note, a damn note that I burned in the fire, and whose words still burn in my heart.

I can't stand it anymore.

Everything I did, I did because I was afraid, because you scared me.

I can't stand having given my life to a monster like you, having a baby who will soon become a monster too.

I can't stay with you. I can't look my daughter in the face, a daughter I never wanted.

I never loved you, and I never will.

I'm leaving, Donna, I'm leaving forever. I wish I could have taken that innocent baby with me, but you terrify me, I know what you'll do to me.

I screamed, I cried, I hit everything within my reach. I couldn't believe those words and at the same time it seemed like I had read them somewhere else, perhaps in her sad and complacent gaze.

Without thinking twice, furious, with my daughter in my arms, I went out to look for her. It was a dark night and the snow didn't stop falling. I called out to her, I threatened her, but it was too late.

On the snowy ground there were footprints, her footprints. Desperate, I followed them, followed them until... they disappeared, they disappeared at the edge of a cliff.

Surely that stupid girl didn't know how dangerous my land was, how dangerous it was to go out at night in the middle of a blizzard.

She would never come back, she abandoned me forever, she abandoned us.

I might have thought that I had the consolation of still having my daughter, that my baby hadn't fallen into the void with her mother, but I didn't see it that way. My soul was broken in two, my heart was crushed mercilessly. That girl left me alone with my daughter, that girl never loved me.

I don't know what I would have done if I didn't have my daughter in my arms, I don't know what the consequences would have been. I spent days complaining, even though I barely had time. I was left alone, my daughter too. Helga abandoned me, but Maria was still with me. She was a newborn baby, she needed me.

Pain, suffering... at first that was what I felt when I had to take care of my daughter alone. I never knew how to do it well. I was overwhelmed several times, desperate. Then I realized what I had to do, my responsibility. I had to take care of my little girl; it didn't matter if I had to do it by myself. I had no other option.

Luckily, I managed to get used to the situation, and move on.

The years went by and my little Maria grew up, perhaps faster than I would have liked. She was a girl... well, a bit strange girl. Physically she was exactly like me, but... her personality was not similar at all.

Maria was intelligent, extremely intelligent. She was a happy, funny, outgoing and obedient child. I like to think that I was a good mother to her, although that wasn't the case.

From a very young age she had to put up with my madness. Dealing with a sick mother like me, without having anyone else (apart from Angie, of course), must have been hard for her, but she never showed it.

Eight years after that fateful night, my daughter and I lived peacefully. She knew me and understood me, and I loved her madly.

I knocked on the girl's bedroom door slowly, as it was a reasonable hour to sleep.

“Come in,” my daughter said, in a sweet voice, as always.

“Maria, it's time to sleep,” I said softly.

The girl, lying in bed, looked at me over the book she was reading with Angie, and made a gesture of silence. I couldn't help but smile and obeyed her request, slowly approaching and sitting on the mattress.

“Cinque minuti,” she whispered in an intriguing voice, turning a page. “Mamma, they've killed Dumbledore…”

“Oh,” I sighed with a tender smile, watching Maria devour the book.

“I told you Snape was a traitor from the start! I told you!” Angie shrieked, pointing at the book with her wooden hand.

“Angie, don't shout,” I told the doll, who relaxed her attitude.

“It's true, you were right, Angie,” Maria said, nodding to the doll, who laughed in satisfaction.

The little girl closed the book with a sigh of suspense and left it on the table, passing a hand over her forehead.

“Wow... it was interesting,” she said, letting me get a little closer and cover her with the sheets. “I can't wait to see what happens,” she said rubbing her hands.

“Mm,” I murmured with my eyebrow raised, arranging my daughter's hair, a gesture she liked less and less.

“Mamma…” she protested amused. “I'm not a child anymore.”

“Aren’t you? So, what are you?” I asked with the same mocking tone.

“Mm…” she murmured thoughtfully, looking at the ceiling. “An impending pre-teenager.”

I laughed, shaking my head at my daughter's bold responses. I definitely don't know where she got that audacity from. It couldn't be from me… maybe from Angie?

“Excuse me, my impending teenager,” I joked, making sure the girl was well protected from the cold.

“Um, mamma…” Maria murmured nervously, attracting my attention, when I was about to leave. “Can I talk to you?”

“Va bene,” I answered frowning and sitting back down. “What's wrong, tesoro?”

“I was just wondering…” she said, without looking at me directly, thoughtful. “Mamma… Who was my mother?”

The smile immediately faded from my face and memories appeared to haunt my wounded mind. I had to make a great effort to control my nerves. I didn't want to lose my mind in front of my daughter, not again.

“Maria, what's that question about?” I said nervously, with a cold tone.

“Well…” Maria said, sitting on the bed while scratching the back of her neck. “I have a good memory. I remember I asked you when I was… I think I was 4 years old. You told me I was too young to know.”

“Mm, certo,” I said blinking erratically.

“But I'm not so young anymore,” my daughter said, with an expectant look. “Per favore, mamma, tell me what she was like,”

I sighed, undecided, but motivated by her bright eyes, identical to mine.

“W-Well… y-you…” I stammered, trying hard not to let my voice get stuck, something complicated. “Your mother was… her name was Helga and… she was my maid.”

The girl nodded curiously, barely blinking.

“She was very beautiful,” I whispered, remembering that treacherous look.

“What happened to her?” she asked impatiently.

“Um… she left, she abandoned us shortly after you were born,” I said, knowing there was no point in lying to her. That girl was devilishly smart, she would find out sooner or later.

“She left you alone with a baby? Wow, she wasn't a good person then,” the girl whispered. “Do you think I'll ever get to meet her?”

“No, I'm afraid… she's gone,” I murmured, shaking my head and holding back a tear.

“Oh, well… thanks for telling me,” Maria said with an indifferent voice, opening the drawer of her nightstand and taking out a paper and a pen. “Yes, it’s progressing…”

“Mm?” I murmured curiously, trying to see what was on that sheet of paper, on which Maria seemed to cross something out. “Cos’è questo, Maria?” I asked, tilting my head to try to make out something.

“Questo?” she said, showing me the paper. I nodded slowly, studying those phrases that were written on it. “Oh, it’s nothing… just a wish list.”

“A wish list?” I asked curious and amused, trying to bury the memory of her mother, so her words wouldn’t penetrate my mind, and destroy it again.

“Well, I'm already 8,” she explained with that knowing tone I adored. “Soon I'll reach adolescence and lose my mind, you know, hormones…” she said with a passive voice and an amused gesture. “Before that happens and my head starts to think about stupid boys, I would like to do some things.”

“Mm, you're cautious,” I commented, surprised, as always, by her intelligence. “Can I take a look?” I asked, extending a hand towards the paper, paper that Maria handed me, nodding and shrugging.

Yes, it was a list, the wish list of an eight-year-old girl. Some things were crossed out, the most recent was:

Meet my mother

I sighed somewhat sadly knowing that she would never do it, but I continued reading, hoping to distract myself enough with the girl thoughts and ambitions.

“Maria…” I whispered, looking at the girl with a frown and pointing at one of the phrases. “To have a sibling?” I asked with a trembling voice.

“Yes,” my girl nodded, with an innocent smile. “I think it would be really cool to have one,” she said without caring about the impossibility that it entailed. “Don't be offended, Angie.”

“More minions? I like how it sounds,” the doll said, with an amused gesture.

“I'm afraid that wish is impossible, tesoro,” I said with a low voice, with a sad look.

I could never, ever fall in love again, not after what happened the first time I did.

“No, it's not impossible,” Maria protested, leaning towards me and reading her phrases. “Look, mamma, if this one here comes true, it would be possible.”

I looked at where her finger was pointing, and I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry in despair.

Mamma stops being alone

I read it several times, glancing at the girl and hiding the trembling in my hands.

“Maria…” I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Y-You should think of another wish.”

“No, they are my wishes, you can't influence them,” the girl said, crossing her arms. “You just have to read them, not judge them.”

“Va bene, you're right,” I said, briefly pinching her cheek, something that made her laugh embarrassedly. “Mm, learn to play the piano?” I asked, reading more of her wishes. “Do you want to learn to play the piano?”

“Oh, yes, do you remember the day we went to see Aunt Alcina at the castle?” she asked, coming closer, she seemed excited.

“Yes, of course I remember,” I answered, looking at my daughter curiously. “You mean the maid who played you a birthday song, right?”

“Well…” the girl sighed, rolling her eyes. “The song was childish and squeaky, but the sound of that piano… it was beautiful, so I decided to learn… but… we don't have a piano,” she said in a much lower voice, looking away, as she always did when she wanted to ask me for something.

“Actually we have one in the basement,” I said. “You could learn on it.”

“Mamma, that's not exactly a piano,” my daughter said in an innocent tone, biting her lip. “I want a real one, a piano as cool as the one in the castle.”

“You want a piano,” I murmured, arching my eyebrow. “Do you want me to buy a piano, Maria? Is that what you're trying to ask me?”

“Well… I wouldn't say no if you do,” she said amused, with her eyes wide open. “I know my birthday has passed and…”

“Cut the crap,” I said amused, shaking my head. “Well… I guess it’s something much more feasible than some of your wishes.”

“Does that mean you’ll do it? Will you buy me a piano?” the girl asked, standing up on the bed, excited again.

I looked at her tenderly and thought for a moment. I could never deny my little girl anything, I never would.

“If you behave,” I said amused, pointing at her with my finger before she jumped into my arms.

“Great! Grazie di cuore, mamma, you’re the best, the best!” Maria yelled enthusiastically, wrapping her arms around me and giving me a tender hug that I always appreciated, that told me I would never be alone, I would always have my daughter.

“Okay, okay, tesoro,” I said, overwhelmed by her affectionate kisses, gently patting her back. “But you’ll have to be consistent and learn to play wonderfully, mm?”

“Certo, I have to read more books,” my daughter said, moving away and letting herself fall on the bed, with a hand on her chin, thoughtful. “Now go, I have to think,” she said with a concentrated expression. “Where could we put it, Angie?”

“Well, you better go to sleep,” I said, laughing tenderly, giving her a kiss on the forehead and looking at the doll coldly, telling Angie with my eyes not to bother Maria and let her rest, something almost impossible.

“Mamma,” Maria called me, before I went out the door. “Ti voglio bene”

“Anch’io, tesoro… Anch’io…” I whispered, closing the door slowly.

Maria was not a capricious child, even though I always did whatever she wants to see her happy. I will always be surprised by her ability to educate practically by herself, taking advantage of my absences, my crises, to fill her mind with knowledge.

Sometimes I regretted having had a maid, but I changed my mind when I saw my little girl. She was the most important thing to me, and that would always be the case.

If Maria wanted a piano, she would have a piano, without a doubt.

The next day I took advantage of the Duke's weekly visit to make the request. I still find it hard to believe how different Maria is, how little she resembles my withdrawn and shy personality…

“Hello, Duke,” Maria said, waving her hand politely with a mocking smile.

I was standing next to her, with my face covered with the veil and the Angie doll in my arms. No matter how well that horrible man treated my little girl, I never trusted him.

“Miss Beneviento, you look well,” the merchant murmured, handing me the things I needed for the week. “Lady Beneviento…”

“Hi, fatty,” Angie said, moving in my arms. “How are you?”

“Great,” he replied, counting the coins I threw at him in an unpleasant manner. “What do you say, Miss? Did you manage to solve last week's riddle?” he asked, looking at my daughter with a sinister smile.

“Of course,” the girl answered, with a smug smile. “The answer is the Sun,” she said, lifting her chin. “Although… there was something wrong with the riddle. Yes, normally the sun rises and sets, but… did you know that there are certain areas of the world where it doesn't rise or set for several months?”

“Oh, I guess I forgot that detail,” the man said, laughing amused at the girl's words. “You got it right again…”

“As always,” Maria said, making a gesture to play it down.

“Come on, we want to see that chocolate bar,” Angie demanded, climbing into Maria's arms while I watched in silence.

“Here you go, Miss…” the Duke sighed amusedly tossing a sweet to the girl, one that she caught gracefully. “I hope I don't make it so easy for you next time.”

“Grazie,” the kid said, kindly. “Mamma, tell him, tell him,” she said, tugging at my dress, somewhat impatiently.

I looked at her and gestured for Angie to come closer.

“That's it, Duke, we want a piano,” I said, speaking through the doll.

“A piano?” the man asked, taking out a small notebook.

“Yes, yes, a piano,” Maria said, jumping on the ground. “I'm going to learn to play it.”

“Oh, that's wonderful, Miss, music is the voice of the soul,” the Duke said, writing something down. “Is an upright piano okay?”

I looked at my daughter, who did the same, nodding.

“Yes, okay,” she said, smiling with satisfaction.

“For your sake, fatso, fatso, I hope you don't fool us,” Angie said, climbing up the carriage and looking at the merchant in a menacing manner. “A nice piano for Maria, is that clear?”

“Like water, Miss Angie,” he said, amused, gesturing for the doll to move away. “Tell me, how do you plan to learn?”

“Well... By myself, I guess, Donna doesn’t know to play it,” my daughter said, making me look at her embarrassed. “Don't be offended, mamma.”

“I see,” the Duke said, looking at me with a mocking smile. “It turns out that I know someone. There is a girl in the village who is an excellent pianist, perhaps, Lady Beneviento, it would be good for your daughter if she gave the little Miss some lessons.”

“A piano teacher?” Maria asked, while I pondered the offer. “That would be great, mamma, say yes, say yes…”

“I don't know, tesoro… I don't like people coming to the house,” I murmured, putting myself at the height of the girl, who made a sad gesture.

“Please…” my daughter begged, putting her hands together.

“Please, please…” Angie said, imitating her gesture.

“Ugh,” I sighed, looking at the Duke, who was impatiently waiting for my answer.

“Well? I promise you won't regret it, my lady,” the merchant said, studying my movements. “I'm convinced that she will get along very well with your offspring.”

“Oh, I…” I muttered, gesturing to Angie, giving up. “Okay,” the doll said, speaking in my voice.

After a few days, the piano arrived at the mansion and, with the unpleasant help of some lycans, I managed to find a suitable place for it. Maria was very excited, but I, not so much. The idea of a gossipy villager entering my house… talking to my little girl… I didn't like it, but just seeing Maria's shining eyes, I got used to it.

“Here she is!” the girl shrieked, running towards the door, which someone had knocked on. It was that disgusting teacher, no doubt. “Vai, mamma!”

“I'm coming,” I said in a whisper, putting on my veil and approaching the door, opening it slowly.

I was expecting to find an old woman, a petulant old woman who was no longer in her prime, but I was petrified. Behind the door, there was a rather young woman, smiling and… beautiful, terribly beautiful.

“H-Hello,” the young woman said, waking me from a reverie. I wasn’t expecting someone like that. “It’s an honor to meet you, Lady Beneviento.”

“Are you the teacher?” Angie asked, speaking for me, uncomfortably studying the girl, who seemed scared by her presence. I don’t blame her.

“Yes, my name is (Y/N),” she said, extending her hand towards me, a hand that I briefly looked at, but didn’t shake, making her withdraw it awkwardly. “Um… well… so you want to learn to play the piano, right?”

“No,” I said with my hoarse voice, while my daughter came out from behind me, looking with the same surprise as me at that girl. “Not me.”

“Hello,” Maria said, with an elegant gesture. “I'm Maria Beneviento, and I'm your new student,” she said with an amused smile, shaking her hand, something I couldn't do.

“Oh, wow, I didn't know that... that it was you,” the young woman said, looking at me and then at the girl, making a small, friendly bow “I thought I was going to teach you, Lady Beneviento.”

“No, my mother doesn't have a clue about music, she only knows how to make dolls,” the girl said, amused, causing me to give her a gentle slap on the shoulder as a reprimand. “Oh, but she makes them very well, I promise.”

“Your mother? You mean...? Are you her daughter?” the pianist asked, looking at me with a frown and a bewildered expression.

“Yes, of course,” the little girl said, guiding the visitor through the house. “Don't you see how much we look alike?” she asked, pointing to the portrait on the stairs.

“Oh, um… is that you?” (Y/N) asked, looking at me and pointing at the portrait. I didn't move, nor did I say a single word, obviously. “W-Wow, your really look alike, you're like two peas in a pod.”

“Isn't that right?” Maria laughed, taking the stranger's hand and leading her into the living room. “This way, (Y/N)”

“I-It's funny. I didn’t know you had a daughter, my lady,” the young woman said, walking towards the piano next to my little girl, looking at me out of the corner of her eye, distrustful.

“Mm,” I murmured, not giving importance to her comment, approaching Maria. “Tesoro, I'm going to the workshop, Angie will stay with you, if something happens…”

“Mamma… non preocuparti,” Maria said, sitting on the stool in front of the piano, next to that unknown girl.

“Va bene,” I whispered, giving one last look to the young woman, who did the same quickly. I could see the fear in her eyes.

Reluctant, but with no other choice, I left them alone.

It must have been an entertaining afternoon, since Angie didn't warn me of any danger, but she did when that girl was about to leave.

“Grazie, (Y/N), see you tomorrow,” Maria said, waving her hand goodbye, while I, suspicious, walked with the young woman to the door.

“Your daughter is very talented, my lady,” (Y/N) commented, before leaving through the door.

“Mm,” I murmured in an impatient tone, wishing she would leave at once.

“Well, she has to practice, but I think she can be a great pianist if she puts her mind to it,” the young woman said, with no intention of leaving. “It's unbelievable that she's just eight years old, she's very intelligent.”

“I know that already,” I whispered impatiently, handing her a bag of coins.

“Oh, um, thanks,” she said, putting them in her purse. “I was surprised that you had a daughter… well, in the village we never…”

“I know,” I cut her words off abruptly, with a tired sigh. “No one has to know about my life.”

“Yes, well, I understand,” she said, scratching the back of her neck. “Forgive my indiscretion, I know it's none of my business but… What about her father?”

The Angie doll, who was listening next to me, began to laugh outrageously, drawing our attention.

“Stupid,” Angie said, pointing at the girl with her finger and pretending to laugh loudly. “You're so stupid… Donna is Maria's mother, get it? She's her mother, she impregnated a maid and…”

“Angie…” I hissed nervously.

“What?” the pianist asked, looking at me and speaking in a small voice when she realized her mistake.

I, nervous and embarrassed, clenched my fists tightly on both sides of my hips.

“Oh, shit, I mean… I understand, oh, I… w-well, I had heard rumors but they seemed… I mean, it's okay, well, there's a huge woman, a fish man… it's not that I find it strange or anything like that, I mean…” she said nervously, not knowing where to run.

I crossed my arms furiously, wanting to make her live the worst of her nightmares, but then I thought of Maria and I restrained myself.

“Shut up,” I demanded with a firm tone. “I advise you to stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong,” I threatened walking a step towards her, making the girl back off.

“I'm sorry. It's just that…” she said, visibly nervous, refusing to look at my face.

“Does my Donna's penis disgust you, silly?” Angie said, making me burn with rage.

“Angie! Taci, taci, taci!” I screamed furiously, kicking the floor. The piano played in the background, Maria was oblivious to the conversation, fortunately.

“What? Oh, no, no, not at all… I have no problem with that,” the pianist said, putting her hands in a position of surrender. “B-besides, I'm just your daughter's piano teacher, I have no intention of snooping in your… business. I was just… I was just curious.”

“Curiosity…” I began in a dark tone, making it clear to that stupid village girl what her place was.

“Killed the cat, I know,” she finished, with a nervous smile. “I just want to say that, well, that… your daughter is great.”

“Mm,” I growled, looking away and closing the door in her face. “Cazzo, Angie…”

The doll, realizing that she had given too much information, ran off towards Maria, who was playing the keys, surely putting into practice what she had learned.

“Look, mamma, I know the scale,” the girl said, gesturing for me to come closer as she softly played the piano.

“Meraviglioso, Maria,” I sighed, relaxing with the soft sound of the instrument.

“So… what do you think?” my daughter murmured, looking at the floor. “About (Y/N).”

“(Y/N)?” I asked annoyed, sighing as I took off my veil. “She's just some ordinary village girl.”

“No, not at all. She's great, she's super smart, and she plays really well, and she's also really beautiful, don't you think, mamma?” Maria said, following me through the mansion.

“Mm, maybe she is,” I commented distractedly. She was right, that girl was very beautiful… but a nuisance too. “Your lessons, Maria, don't forget them,” I said in a motherly tone, pointing to her study books.

The visits from that unpleasant girl continued. Maria learned a lot from (Y/N), although I didn't like to admit it. Little by little I got used to the presence of that nosy villager, maybe too much, since, from time to time, I came up from the workshop to see how she taught my daughter.

They seemed to get along really well, and every day her beauty was much more evident to me, but I didn't give it any importance, she was still an idiot.

“That's it, you learn very quickly Maria,” (Y/N) said as I approached slowly. “It's noticeable that you practice a lot.”

“Of course I do, so I don't forget,” the little girl said, swinging her legs on the stool.

“Um, Maria… I'd like to ask you something,” the teacher whispered, looking around, probably afraid that I would appear.

That made me back off and hide in the shadows. I wanted to hear what that stupid girl was saying about me, I was sure she would say something about me.

“Va bene,” my daughter said, distracted, touching the keys.

“Hey, your mother…” the young woman murmured, attracting my attention even more. “Your mother is a bit scary, isn't she?”

“Mamma Donna?” Maria asked and shook her head. “Not at all, are you scared of my mamma?”

“Um, well,” the girl said, with a nervous smile. “She's a Lord and… well, in the village everyone fears her.”

“Bah, nonsense,” my daughter said, gesturing with her hand. “That's because they don't know her. Donna is nice.”

“Really? Does she take good care of you?” she asked in a more confident tone, something that made me burn with rage.

How could that stupid woman question my way of taking care of my daughter?

“Oh, yes, she is very intelligent, she teaches me many things,” Maria said, making me sigh with relief.

“Um… what about your other mother? Don't you miss her?” (Y/N) asked, making me want to end her existence.

“Not really,” the girl said, lowering her head. “I never got to know her. Mamma Donna told me that she was her maid and that she… abandoned us.”

“Chiudi il becco…” I muttered in a whisper. “Maledizione…”

“Gods, that’s… horrible,” the young woman said, changing her expression.

“Well, it's the past. Donna took care of me and raised me by herself, and I assure you that it must not be easy to do that, and even more so with a daughter like me,” Maria said amused. “I don't usually give her any trouble, but… she has to put up with me.”

“Mm, I see,” (Y/N) said, tenderly stroking Maria's hair. “I see that I was wrong about her, I'm sorry for doubting your mother.”

“It doesn't matter,” Maria said, putting on a strange expression. “People say horrible things about her, but I know they're lies. My mamma is mentally ill, but that doesn't mean she's not a good person, she really is.”

“Yes, I see,” the pianist said, looking back, without seeing me. “If you say so, I believe you…”

“Forgive her if she was abrupt with you,” my daughter said, apologizing for my aggressive attitude. “She's just very lonely. I'm convinced that her character will improve when she meets someone.”

“Mm, maybe, but being alone isn't that bad, you know? I am too,” the young woman said.

“Oh, really?” the little girl asked. “That's interesting…” she murmured, with a tone that forced me to intervene. “Wouldn't you like to meet someone?”

“Well, I…”

“Ahem,” I cleared my throat, walking nervously towards them. (Y/N) looked at me briefly, immediately lowering her head. “It's time, isn't it?”

“Mm, sì, mamma,” Maria said, getting off the stool.

The young pianist stood up with a friendly gesture.

“Your daughter has been great, as always, my lady,” the young woman said, not daring to look at me. “It's a pleasure to teach her.”

“You don't have to be that formal. You can call her Donna, vero, mamma? Maria said, with a slightly strange voice.

“I guess,” I said reluctantly, making the girl laugh nervously.

“W-Well, Donna then,” (Y/N) whispered, with a shy laugh.

“Mamma, do you know that (Y/N) is also alone? What a coincidence, huh?” the girl asked, comically tugging at my dress, putting the stupid villager in a tight spot.

“Maria,” I said in a dark voice. I didn't know why, but that comment made me blush.

“Don't worry, Donna, your daughter is adorable, she just says what she thinks,” the young woman said, picking up the scores.

“Ma, mamma, are you going to let her go?” Maria insisted, making me very nervous. “You should be nice and invite her to tea. She’s been coming here for almost a month.”

“Maria…” I hissed nervously, while (Y/N) laughed again, shaking her head. “Stop annoying her, I’m sure she’ll have better things to do.”

“T-Truth be told,” the pianist said, arching her eyebrows. “I could use some tea, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Ugh, okay,” I muttered, threatening with my daughter my gaze making her fled with Angie.

That was the beginning of a strange routine. After piano lessons, (Y/N) started to stay with us for a while, having tea, helping Maria with her homework…

Over time, I couldn't say that that stupid girl started to catch my attention, but I did stop thinking that she was... well, stupid. She was a kind, funny girl, who made Maria and Angie laugh, and she was kind to me, kinder than anyone ever was, no one, not even Helga.

I couldn't help but notice a certain conspiracy in my little girl's words and actions, hinting several times at how lonely her poor mother was when I wasn't around, or telling me directly that (Y/N) was single too.

I couldn't blame her for wanting to have what she never had, for wanting another mother, but... it was simply impossible, it would never be possible, although deep down, that pianist girl caught my attention more than I would like to admit.

“Well, I better go, thank you very much for the tea, Donna,” (Y/N) said, after an afternoon of games with Angie and the girl, something of which I was only a spectator. “See you tomorrow, huh, girls?” she said amused, high-fiving Maria and Angie.

“Hey, but it's really late,” my daughter commented, looking out the window. “Hey, (Y/N), why don't you stay for dinner?”

“Oh, for dinner?” the young woman asked blinking and looking for an answer in me. “W-well, I…”

“Don't listen to her,” I said quickly, putting a warning hand on Maria's shoulder.

“Mamma,” the little girl protested, breaking away from my grip while (Y/N) smiled, picking up her coat. “I'm trying to help you.”

“Who asked you for help, brat? Basta,” I hissed sternly but nervously.

“Well… it's true that it's late,” (Y/N) said, oblivious to my reprimands, looking at me shyly. “Maybe it's not a bad idea.”

“Of course it’s not,” Maria said, freeing from my reprimand and taking the young pianist by the hand. “Come, sit down, did you know that la mia mamma cooks like an angel? You'll see.”

“Maria!” I growled, clenching my fists. “What are you...?”

“Show her that what I say is true, vai, Donna,” my daughter said, pushing me by the legs.

I had no choice but to obey, going down to the kitchen to prepare that improvised dinner.

“Mm, where's Maria?” I asked dryly, leaving the food on the table, a table that was only occupied by (Y/N), who looked at me amused, shrugging.

“She told me that she wasn’t hungry and she wanted to leave us alone, you know, so that we could talk about adult stuff.”

“Oh, questa bambina…” I lamented, understanding her intentions.

“I think she's set us up, hasn't she?” the young woman joked, while I, exhausted, served her some wine.

“I'm sorry, I don't know what she was thinking,” I said, apologizing for Maria's behavior. Oh, yes, that girl would get a deserved scolding.

“It doesn't matter, it might be good to get to know each other a bit better,” (Y/N) commented. “Um…” she said, frowning as she saw how, clumsily, I handled my black veil to eat. “Um… Donna, that's not necessary. You don't need it, you can trust me.”

“You'll get scared,” I said nervously, paralyzed.

“No, I won't,” she said, with a lower voice, somewhat trembling.

It was absurd to continue with that nonsense, the best thing would be to scare that stupid girl away so she never came back and stopped… constantly sneaking into my thoughts. With a slow gesture I took off my veil, refusing to see her expression.

“Mm, wow…” the young woman sighed, with a smile that I couldn't interpret. “It's true, you two are exactly the same.”

“Don't pretend. You know I'm horrible,” I said, gripping the fork tightly.

“No, you're not… Let's see… what have you prepared for me?” the girl said, ignoring my hisses and taking a look at the dinner. “Everything looks great.”

“Pici all'amatriciana,” I murmured distrustfully.

“Oh, well, let's check if it's as good as it looks,” she said, rubbing her hands and starting to eat, without erasing that smile from her face.

At first it was a tense, silent dinner, only interrupted by (Y/N)'s praises. Everything seemed wonderful and perfect to her, even… even my face. Little by little, I suppose thanks to the wine, the conversation began to flow naturally. It seemed unlikely, but that girl and I had a lot in common and we even… we even laughed, laughed a lot.

I realized why Maria was so obsessed with her. She was a wonderful girl, kind, funny… and terribly beautiful too.

“I had a great time,” the young woman said with a tender smile as I walked with her to the door. “Really.”

“Yes, um… me too, (Y/N),” I said in a low voice, with a strange blush on my cheeks.

“You know what? I think I now understand your daughter’s insistence on me getting to know you,” she commented distractedly, looking at the floor, turning her ankle on it. “You are a very special woman, Donna.”

“Yes, special is the word,” I said suspiciously, crossing my arms.

The girl laughed, shaking her head and putting a hand on my arm.

“No, what I mean is that… well, I don't regret having gotten to know you,” she whispered in a low voice, leaving behind her words, an awkward moment of silence.

“M-Me neither,” I stammered unintentionally, smiling genuinely.

“See you,” the girl said, removing her hand from my arm with a tender smile, suddenly stepping back. “Oh, bye girls,” she said, waving her hand and looking upstairs, where Angie and Maria were discreetly spying.

“Ciao!” they said in unison when I closed the door, sighing and glancing sideways at my daughter and the doll.

“Cazzo…” I hissed, quickly climbing the stairs while those two mischievous girls fled to their room. “Hey, you two!”

“Oh, mamma, I was going to sleep,” Maria said, putting on her pajamas in a hurry.

“No, young lady, what were you thinking?” I asked, annoyed by the trick, with my hands on my hips. “Who taught you to conspire like that?”

“Um…” the girl murmured, looking unintentionally at Angie, who hid under the sheets. “I only did it for you, mamma, so that you are not alone anymore.”

“Oh, cavolo…” I lamented, with a hand on my forehead. “Maria, tesoro, you don't have to decide those things for me, do you hear me? They are adults’ matters.”

“I know but… I think you two get along wonderfully,” the girl said with an almost pleading voice. “And you two are alone…”

“Maria…”

“Besides, dinner was a complete success, you even took off your veil,” she said with an amused smile, climbing into bed while I reluctantly tucked her in. “Although you have to improve your conversation, you're very clumsy, mamma.”

“That I’m…?” I asked, feigning offense. “Well, it doesn't matter.”

“Don't you like (Y/N)? Not even a little?” Maria asked in a sleepy voice, rubbing her eyes.

“Um, I… W-Well I… yes, I like her,” I admitted embarrassed, with a sob. “But tesoro, that's not…”

“She likes you, she speaks very well of you,” she sighed, exhausted, closing her eyes. “Mamma.”

“Mm?”

“If I could go back in time and choose… I would like (Y/N) to be my other mother…” she said in a sleepy whisper, without really being aware she had said it.

I sighed, moved by her words and approached to kiss her on the forehead, thoughtful.

“Mm, I'm not surprised that you want it, tesoro... (Y/N) is... wonderful.”

Admitting that I had feelings for (Y/N) took me longer than I thought, but I couldn't help it. Without wanting to, knowing that there would never be another chance to feel love, to believe in it, I did it, I fell in love with her, madly.

Dinners were common, laughter, too. Sometimes we were alone and sometimes Angie and Maria accompanied us, making the laughter increase more and more. I began to wish for those visits, to get sad when that girl left. There was tension between us, I could notice it, I could notice her bright gaze in mine, silent pauses in which neither of us knew what to say.

Too much pressure and I was too much of a coward.

“You have to do it, mamma,” my little girl told me, while I waited for (Y/N) to arrive, walking around the living room and shaking my head.

“I can't do it…” I sighed, rejecting her proposition again.

“If you don't tell (Y/N) how you feel about her, she'll never know, imagine if she meets someone,” the girl said walking exactly like me.

“It's not that easy, Maria, you'll realize when you're older,” I said in a dark, nervous voice.

“I don't want to lose the opportunity to have another mom just because you're a coward!” the girl protested, nervous, impatient.

I turned around abruptly, gritting my teeth and crouching down next to my daughter, grabbing her by the collar of her dress.

“You think I don't know!? Huh?” I screamed furiously while my daughter, scared, covered herself with her hands.

“Mamma,” she said trembling, making me react.

“Gods… tesoro, I'm sorry,” I said, placing her dress and caressing her cheek.

Maria nodded slowly, comforting my nerves with a tender hug.

“I don't know how to do it, I don't know how to tell her that… that I love her,” I murmured, with the girl's warm hands in mine, controlling my madness.

“Calm down, mamma, I'll think of something,” she said, giving me a kiss on the cheek and going to the door, since (Y/N) had already arrived.

The smiles danced between us again. I had long since gotten used to staying in the living room while (Y/N) taught Maria, to watch her fingers caress the keys, to see her beautiful and tender face, the incredibly sweet way she treated my baby…

“Well, very well, mate,” (Y/N )said when Maria showed her what she had learned. “I think we can move on to something more complicated.”

“Yeah, hey, (Y/N),” Maria said, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. “I thought… I've never heard you play… you know, a whole song. I'm sure my mamma would really like to hear you.”

“Would her?” the young woman asked, looking at me with blushing cheeks.

I looked at her and nodded slowly, tilting my head.

“Mm, okay, well… let me see…” the girl said, searching through her folder of music. “Let's see… Oh, what do you think of this one? It has your name on it,” (Y/N) said, handing a sheet to my daughter, who looked at it carefully.

“Oh, yeah, this one is perfect,” Maria said with wide eyes, looking at me over the paper with a knowing smile.

“Ahem, well…” (Y/N) coughed as Maria stood up to sit next to me.

“Di niente,” my daughter whispered with a discreet clearing of the throat, making me frown.

“Cosa?” I asked, silenced by a nudge.

“Shh… ascolta, mamma.”

The music started to play, and I recognized it immediately.

“Ave Maria…” (Y/N) began to sing, letting me discover her beautiful voice, the most beautiful I had ever heard. “Gratia plena… Ave, ave Dominus…”

My mind immediately transported itself to several decades ago, before Mother Miranda, before the Black Gods, when I was just a girl, a tormented girl. Yes, I remembered those times when villagers were allowed to profess the faith they chose as long as they lived with the dark deities.

They were difficult times, but nothing compared to my current life.

I remember my family singing that song at Christmas, on special occasions. My mother, my father, my little sister, my grandparents… all of us together, like a vision of what once was and never came back.

I couldn't help but let a tear run down my face as I remembered, as I imagined what would have become of me if Miranda had never been so ambitious, if my life hadn't changed, if my body hadn't changed and Maria had never been born.

No, Maria wasn't a mistake, she was the best thing that ever happened to me, my little laughing baby who wondered where her mother was, what had happened to her.

I regret many things, my little Maria, but not having you as a daughter.

I remembered those sleepless nights with inconsolable cries, I remember losing my nerves, my mind, and I remembered… I remembered how I rocked my little Maria, how I sang to her to make her fall asleep in my arms, how I sang that song to her, that Ave Maria, by Schubert…

Damn clever girl, she knew it, she knew that the melody, those words in Latin would touch my soul. I'm proud of you, tesoro.

Slowly, unable to move voluntarily, I got up from the couch while (Y/N) played and sang, approaching her, sitting next to her on the stool. She looked at me, still singing, but smiling.

I looked at the keys, bringing my hand closer to them and looking for a sign to continue. The young woman nodded, with a tender smile.

“Nunc et in hora mortis…” we sang at the same time while playing the keys. It had been a long time since I had done it. “Et in hora mortis nostrae… Ave… Maria…”

“Great!” Maria said, clapping enthusiastically along with Angie.

I paid no attention to her, my eye were fixed on (Y/N)'s and hers on mine.

“Wow, Maria told me you didn't know how to play it,” she whispered after a tense moment, without moving from my uncomfortable proximity.

“W-Well, I don't know as much as you… I'm quite rusty,” I said with a honeyed, but nervous voice.

“Angie, let's go,” Maria said, looking at me and winking, taking the doll's hand that was protesting in a childish way.

“I-I used to sing this to Maria as a lullaby,” I said, daring to break that silence. “It brings back memories to me.”

“It must have been very difficult to raise a girl on your own, right?” (Y/N) commented, playing nervously with her hands.

“Yes, it was but… it was worth it,” I said with a smile, looking at the corner where Maria ran off to.

“Yes, of course, she's an amazing girl, Donna,” the young woman said, looking away.

“Yes, I… (Y/N) I…” I stammered, with a cold sweat running down my forehead, hitting the keys unintentionally. “I'm sorry, I… I want to tell you that… when you're here I… I feel, I feel like smiling again, and seeing you leave… It makes me sad.”

The girl laughed embarrassed, lowering her gaze but letting me continue and gain enough courage to extend my trembling hand to hers, which she let me do, interlacing our fingers.

“I would understand if you said no but… I don't know, (Y/N), maybe… maybe you'd like… not to leave again.”

“Mamma! Don't tell her that! It's creepy!” Maria, who was, of course, spying, shrieked.

“Oddio… go to your room!” I shrieked nervously without taking my hand off (Y/N)'s.

“Donna,” the pianist said, putting a hand on my cheek, turning my face towards hers. “Do you want me to stay? With you?”

“I… yes…” I said looking down, something I couldn't really do, since her hand prevented me from doing so. “I want you to stay… with me, with us and…”

I couldn't continue speaking, since her lips collided with mine without warning, kissing me deeply, slowly, in a sweet and addictive way.

Without wanting to do so, I pulled away, blinking confused, looking at her sweet smile, her eyes shining as she looked at me.

“I'm in love with you, (Y/N),” I finally confessed, throwing myself back into her slow, wet kisses, into her laughter that bounced off my lips, tickling them.

“You're a wonderful woman, Donna Beneviento,” (Y/N) whispered. “I'm crazy about you… And… well, I wouldn't mind staying with you. Well, I would like that you and Maria… were my family…”

“Really?”

“Really”

“Great!” Maria shrieked, running into (Y/N)'s arms, catching her off guard. “See, mamma? It wasn't that hard.”

“Oh, taci,” I said amused, shaking my head.

“It's the happiest day of my life,” my daughter said, hugging us both. “I love you!”

“Hey, come on, stop bothering,” I said, lowering her to the floor lovingly.

“Certo... I have to talk to Angie... my little sibling is getting closer...”

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #re8 donna #re8 village #oneshot #requests

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tetheredbysin · 17 hours ago

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Oh I'm sorry the link didn't work for you. I agree with your assessment of Nicos support that it's both sweet but also beneficial for Nico himself. It reminded me a bit of Kevins support of Mick a few years back. Well, It's a moot point now anyways.

The interviews are similar, I'll say. Here is basically what he says in the video:

"Obviously last weekend was a really strong case for him, where he showed that if he is confident and on top form, how strong he can be and what he can do. So I was really happy personally for him as well, because I think he has had a tough year, on some occasions and it was a nice fighting back from him, for sure.

I don't know I can't predict the future, I don't make decisions. What I can say is that I've enjoyed working with him now for two years, and we have a very healthy and good relationship. I think we have a lot of mutual respect for each other, and we are just kinda on the same frequency, and it's enjoyable."

Anyway some extra info if you don't already know. Kevin was just in the Viaplay debrief today, where he said that he was only sick Friday, but choose to not participate in the rest if the weekend, because he wanted the team to have the best chance for points and a sprint weekend is too tough to jump into on Saturday. But seeing the conditions and the rain he did regret the decision and apparently a few people from Haas also wrote to him that they would have liked for him to be there and that they needed him, including Nico.

This got long, I'm sorry.

okay first off, no need to apologize, I'm just as bad when it comes to sending long asks haha! love reading them.

the comment nico made about "being on the same frequency" is endlessly interesting to me, because I only ever hear people use that description about people they really, genuinely like. partners, best friends, stuff like that. so it makes me curious how nico sees kevin compared to his previous teammates. (let's be real, the man is smitten)

I hadn't watched the viaplay debrief yet but man that's tough to hear. obviously I applaud kev for thinking of what would be best for the team but it's also really disappointing to hear that he regretted choosing not to race, especially since he would've kinda been in the same boat with everyone since the conditions for quali/the race were so different to the rest of the weekend that everyone was kinda working it out as they went. but then again, there's a part of me that isn't too mad considering how tough the race seemed to be for haas (the car did not like those conditions). tough conditions are always a chance for a huge surprise, but it's also easy to see "could've beens" as the best case scenario and not the worst. at least he was safe. he has also said that while he prefers mixed conditions, he doesn't really love extreme wet, so perhaps it wasn't the biggest loss even though he regretted it.

that being said, now the only thing I can think about is nico texting kevin post-quali and post-race like "why were you not here, I needed my emotional support dane :("

ugh, they kill me.

#i want to catch them in a bottle and never let them go #kevin magnussen #nico hulkenberg #hulknussen #haasbands #haas f1 team #f1 #formula 1

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crescentfool · 1 year ago

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the persona 3 protagonist 25th anniversary nui in food appliances!

#lizzy speaks #persona 3 #minato arisato #makoto yuki #guys friendly reminder that this is what adulthood is about dont listen to anyone who calls you cringe #hence why im putting these in the main tags. i mean they're not incorrect for what the photos are about. lmao #anyway this was a very fun birthday!!! i feel very loved and supported by so many people and i got to do very fun things (like this)...#i think... birthday is like thanksgiving to me. in the gratitude respect.#a reminder of all the lovely people that i have gotten a chance to meet and how i've learned from them #it makes me very happy to have been born... i think every day is a great day to celebrate life's grandeur + brilliance + magnificence #it's just a very poignant and strong feeling that i have that i'm happy to have met so many wonderful people #and while there are some people i've only known for brief periods of time or people who i havent really been good at keeping in contact wit #i do cherish it! im so grateful. so happy that there are people who cheer my silly shenanigans on #while there are ways in which aging makes me go “oh hmm” i think overall i'm happy that i get to keep on living and learning #i have so much fondness for humanity and people... like even if i dont get to talk to ppl directly i just get very emotional yknow #like wow.. you exist.. thats so fucking awesome... i hope you have an awesome day... im glad our paths could cross #if you have read up to this point of my tags.. thank you for reading and being part of my life #i will keep on being the silliest guy ive ever known! cheers to more shenyanigans and self-discovery :3

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pocket-size-cthulhu · 12 days ago

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Behold. A tangible representation of 8+ hours of my life: crochet pumpkins made for my sister

#crochet #pumpkins #fall #i am so tired dude #the big one alone took more than 5 hours #it uses a very labor intensive stitch #and obviously it's quite large #also I got like 1/3 thru it at first and had to undo it bc i made a big mistake #but i didn't factor that into my time calculation #just the one I'm giving her is like 5-6 hours of work easily #while I love doing things for people I love this was a good reminder why i don't work freelance #and why I don't set up an Etsy shop like people keep saying i could #this was a lot of crocheting in not much time and I'm really happy to be done with it #i wanted to do other things during this time but didn't feel like I could. and i got really tired of it #which is a bummer bc i crochet for enjoyment not extra cash or anything #so I'd prefer to enjoy it #I'll have to do a different hobby for a couple months haha #anyway admire my pumpkins!#soon they will be on their way to a good home #and if you're about to ask if you can buy some #the answer is no. sorry #😅 I'm not doing this again until next year at least #id in alt text

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pikkish · 2 months ago

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I'm new to the fandom, just played 2016 and Eternal in quick succession. Eternal's DLC left me really dissatisfied, but I can't really explain why or how. Based on that poll you made, it's clear you've got some Opinions on the writing, so I was hoping you would like to share them? I feel like I need someone to mull over that whole story with. You can message me privately if you wish!!

Hi there! Welcome to the Doom fandom! I hope you enjoy your stay here more than you enjoyed TAG's writing! And you're more than welcome to come yell with me about Doom and its related games any time!

You're more than correct in your assertion that I have some Opinions about modern Doom's writing, in fact, I have quite a few of them. Most of them can be summed up as "the writing is just plain bad," which is probably also the reason you're unsatisfied with it. It's inconsistent, it regularly sacrifices coherence for the sake of something that looks cool for trailer shots, it has a lot of details that very much could be interesting plots but are simply ignored after their first mention, and at least a few more things that I'm forgetting, it's been a little bit since my last playthrough of TAG and these are just the major ones off the top of my head.

Take Hayden, for example. In 2016, he's the classic egotistical, powerful CEO of a major weapons industry, who maybe didn't necessarily intend to get a ton of people killed, but now that he has, he's gonna stick to his guns and insist he's still in the right, this was an unfortunate accident, but what he's doing is necessary, for the good of humanity, can't you see? He's the good guy! He's just trying to make things better! And he's dedicated to this course well enough that he's willing to betray the man who's there to save him, and boot Doomguy back into Hell at the end of 2016.

Then you get to Eternal, and he's inexplicably changed his mind for no good reason? And it's not like he's learned his lesson and has become more humble for it; sure, he got his rear handed to him by demons, and he emphatically states that the creation of Argent Energy is an "unholy union" that "cannot continue," but at the same time, he still acts constantly like he has everything under control and heavily implies that, were he in charge, this situation wouldn't be so bad- as if he weren't in charge when it got this bad. It's like they wanted him to have the exact same attitude (and therefore, ability to deliver dramatic voicelines) as in 2016, but didn't want to commit to him being a villain, so they just went "ok! he doesn't like Argent Energy any more," and went with it, then never felt the need to explain how or why this complete shift in attitude came about. As a result, it feels like Hayden has no clear motive or goals, and falls pretty flat as a character in general.

And then, to take it into TAG, there's the Seraphim, and don't even get me started on how much I hate that that's his name, "seraphim" is the PLURAL form of "seraph," it's like how "Guy" is a real name but then if they decided to name a character "Guys" instead, and it drives me crazy-- whom they go to some lengths to confirm is, in fact, the same person as Hayden, but then, despite the fact that Samur is sick and dying from the moment you revive him, for some reason, Hayden has to turn back into Samur. I suppose there's maybe some indication that Samur and Hayden are actually different people implied by Hayden referring to the Seraphim in the third person through the beginning of the Atlantica level, but there's still never any explanation given for that, whether they are or aren't the same person, or why you need to bring Samur back in Hayden's place.

And then, you beat Samur up, and guess what? He immediately stops being relevant to the plot and is almost completely forgotten. And that's a recurring theme in modern Doom! Olivia Pierce and the Khan Maykr both share the same fate, the moment they're dead, they practically just stop existing. Sure, there's the statue of Olivia in Nekravol, and, like, a single mention of the Khan in one of TAG's codices, if I remember correctly, but personally, to me, both of those feel more like the devs giving you a wink and a nudge and saying "haha hey, remember them?" like it's more of an Easter Egg than them actually having any significance.

And then there's the whole mess that is Davoth. Admittedly, having the Divinity Machine be fueled by his power, and Doomguy being enhanced by that power is thematically appropriate, what with the whole reason Doomguy wins being that he's even angrier than Hell. I also think something like the Divinity Machine and Dooomguy becoming superhuman did have to happen eventually, because how many times can one man singlehandedly beat back the whole of Hell itself before he stops being just some guy? But I don't think it was executed very well.

For one thing, I don't think it was a good move to imply that Doomguy always was some sort of pseudo-god super entity right from the start. Sure, like I said, he did inevitably have to stop being just some guy, but him being just some guy was a good bit of the charm of classic Doom in my opinion. All we knew about him was that he loved his pet rabbit, and was more willing to punch his commanding officer in the face than follow an order to shoot civilians. And yeah, if you take that, and also assume that the story cards are Doomguy's own internal monologue or at least a representation of his attitude, then you can't really say he was ever a blank slate character, but he was still just some guy, and he was relatable for that. And going "well, actually, he was a godling from the very beginning" just doesn't feel very good in my opinion, and feels like a big retcon besides. (And we'll get to more "well, ACTUALLY" stuff in a bit, but first I wanna finish up the tangentially Davoth related stuff first.)

All that aside, if we take it at face value and say sure, Doomguy was always something a little more than human, always destined to become the ultimate warrior, rather than making himself into the Doom Slayer by surviving Hell, then there's still not really any reason for Davoth to have looked exactly like him, beyond going "you-- but EVIL!!" for the drama of it. I think there was maybe one codex entry that says Davoth's whole soul-stealing operation was for the sake of providing his own people with immortality, which is to say, he was fighting to protect his home or something to that effect, so an argument could be made that his looking like Doomguy is an attempt at exploring "this is you, gone too far, this is you if you ever let go of your morals, this is everything you risk becoming," but, again, it's mentioned like... once, in one codex, and never explored or elaborated upon further. If I remember correctly, Davoth himself never even acknowledges this, it's just the codex entry, and he just goes on about how he'll kill Doomguy and destroy everything he ever loved. If they really wanted to make him a sympathetic villain like that, then they should've actually given us the opportunity to feel that sympathy for him. Let me see the people he's trying to protect- is it an idyllic paradise, oblivious to the lengths being gone to to keep them comfortable? A broken, dying people who should have gone extinct long ago, but for this thievery of the lives of others? I know Hell is supposed to be Jekkad, corrupted, and even in theory, that's fine- you could say Davoth's become so ruthless in pursuit of this immortality for his people that he's blinded himself to how it's also destroyed that which he was attempting to save- but you can't really see that. It's still just Hell, not really any sort of remnant of something worth saving.

And speaking of that. Trying to make Davoth a sympathetic villain at all feels like a bad choice to me. Doom is about fighting demons, about carving a bloody war path through the ultimate evil of Hell itself, and about feeling viciously satisfied about doing it. Making it about a desperate man who can't accept that he failed to save what he cared about, and making about killing that man before he does any more damage in attempting to do what he's already failed to do just doesn't feel good the way the rest of Doom does. And beyond that, TAG doesn't even succeed in the emotional gut punch that would come from it, had they managed to make Davoth into an actually sympathetic villain. It's like they're trying to strike a balance between the gratuitously violent and exhiliratingly triumphant feel that Doom is known for, and an emotionally impactful story, and as a result, both end up landing somewhere between mediocre and just plain bad.

I don't have a good segue into this bit except to say it's coming back to the "well, ACTUALLY," thing I mentioned earlier, which is: there are a lot of parts that feel a lot like a six year old kid is just making up the plot on the spot, like, for example, "Doomguy LAUNCHES himself out of a CANNON and he has a MAGIC SWORD and a PET DRAGON that carries him to the MAGIC CRYSTAL in the MIDDLE of the PLANET." Granted, these ones are pretty small and relatively inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, and, yeah, okay, they do look pretty cool. But they don't really... fit? Yeah, it's not like classic Doom didn't have this too, In Doom I alone, Doomguy gets pissed about not getting a reward for beating up the barons, practically just jumps off the side of Deimos, and then finally gets to go home when a secret teleporter just opens beside him after Hell decides he's "too tough" for it. But that all fits in classic Doom, because it's not trying to be a serious, grimdark story. Classic Doom is goofy, and it knows it, and it doesn't try to be anything else. But modern Doom tries so hard to be a very serious, dramatic story and also keep the sillier bits of classic Doom, and- yeah, okay, I already made this point once, but here it is again- it ultimately kinda fails at both as a result.

But then there's the bigger of these, namely VEGA. You spend the majority of both 2016 and Eternal with him as your main companion, and, as far as I can remember, there's never really anything to indicate that he's anything other than what he's introduced as, a sentient AI, created to help manage the Mars base. And then you get to the end of Eternal, and- after basically making you sacrifice him for a second time- with next to no buildup, go, "well actually, he's the god of the bad guys." And I'd complain about that plot thread also being brought up and then dropped with no further elaboration, except they do elaborate on it, and that's basically all that TAG is about. They spend the whole of TAG 1 telling you how VEGA is the god of Literally Everything, and how he made Davoth, then didn't kill him when he started to get out of hand, and aren't you MAD at him, for making all your problems, for being too merciful with his own creation that he loved, and don't you just wanna DESTROY the thing that would give him power again?

And then you get to TAG 2 and they spend the whole time going "WELL ACTUALLY it's DAVOTH who's god and VEGA STILL couldn't kill him and he's been LYING to you this ENTIRE TIME." It almost feels to me like a bad fandom interpretation to justify not liking a character, except worse because they're actually the ones who made the character and wrote the story, and I'm not entirely sure why they intentionally tried to make VEGA a helpful, likeable character, gave him a backstory that arguably makes him more sympathetic than Davoth, and then went "actually we hate him now and are gonna do everything we can to try to make you hate him too."

There are definitely more things I could bring up, like whatever the whole deal with the wraiths and the World Spear is, and probably a handful of other things I'm forgetting, too, but it's getting late and I gotta get up to go to work tomorrow. At any rate, thanks for stopping by and giving me an excuse to finally yell about these things! Feel free to stop by and chat with me about video games whenever you want, I love getting to hear other people's thoughts on these things just as much as I love getting to give my own.

#doom #pikspeak #bideogaem rambling :)#id say i wonder why i still love these games but i do in fact know the answer to that #and its because they still have excellent gameplay #and because i am hopelessly attracted to characters that are exceptionally powerful and violently angry but still #put everything they are and everything theyre capable of to doing good and protecting people #and- provided they dont make some HORRENDOUSLY bad decision when the dark ages comes out- doom is still the epitome of that character type #though tbh i dont think im too incredibly worried about them screwing up THAT badly #this is still id software after all; one of their biggest three franchises is the series all about beating up fascists #anyway quick reminder that it is ok to criticize things you like and that you can still like a thing while picking out its flaws #ok thats all i think. im going to bed. goodnight!

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deepseawave · 3 months ago

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obsessed w the tags on ur last reblog

Omgg, thank you haha, it was a quality post so I just had to appreciate it in full force 😂❤️

Can‘t believe someone would actually enjoy my yapping :,D

#guys help is it time for a rebranding?? am I just gonna post about f1 now??#I still can’t believe this has all started because bestie and I were watching Ted Lasso (because I’ve been obsessed with that show for a #while now too) and I paused the episode to talk about how I really like the way Jamie interacts with kids (I’m sorry people being good with #and nice to kids is one of my weaknesses I work with kids now and have been invested in treating kids well forever)#so me saying that apparently reminded her of max and she showed me a video of him with p and yeah it was very effective in making me like #him and then we left the episode on pause and she told me a lot about f1 and max specifically cause I was interested now lmao (funny thing #is that she also got roped into it by our other friends I swear it’s speeding lmao #she also compared him to Jamie from Ted lasso (if you know you know) and showed me some heart wrenching Taylor swift edits (i haven’t #emotionally recovered yet) and yeah that’s how I started consuming way too much f1 content on YouTube and got into this whole mess lmao #oh yeah our friends also made me and another friend make a Tier list for all the drivers based on vibes alone (cause I only knew a bit about #max at that time and the other one knew nothing really) which was very funny too #especially looking back at it (we did some of them so dirty lmao 😂)#I’ve also come to the conclusion that tumblr is still one of the least annoying platforms to engage with other people (still)#YouTube is full of hate comments about drivers and stuff it’s so annoying actually #not to mention Twitter but I don’t go there and probably never will 😂#I personally don’t enjoy fics and scenarios and shipping of real people cause it makes me a bit uncomfy (not judging people who do #you do you as long as it doesn’t negatively affect anyone #but yeah I’d much rather just scroll by those here than have to look away from all the mindless hate and which driver is better discussions #everywhere else like I’m not one to engage with stuff like that but it does upset me to some #degree so yeah tumblr making memes and being rather positive about their drivers (most of what I’ve seen here of course there are gonna be #annoying people everywhere) is much more tolerable and a lot more enjoyable for me #whoops this post got away from me again oh dear #I’ve had the idea for a meme stuck in my head for days now: Max verstappen but make it if you don’t love me at my *swearing on team radio #giving spicy replies and attitude to the media maxplaining and complaining going for risky overtakes* you don’t deserve me at my *precious #interactions with p talking about his cats being a goofball with other drivers and especially danny defending other drivers driving #beautifully in the rain* it’s a package deal you can’t just pick and choose and personally I don’t even get why people complain about some #of the other stuff I appreciate someone who’s passionate and honest and genuinely kind where it matters 🤷🏻‍♀️#I think I’ve seen someone else say that but the more people complain about and criticize max the more I feel the need to defend him #god forbid women have hobbies for real (can’t believe I’ve yapped so much I can’t put more tags 💀)#also shoutout to Oscar Piastri and Danny Ric (I was so happy Oscar won even tho McLaren where being very silly in a not so funny way)

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melverie · 6 months ago

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Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh today I've been constantly experiencing the urge to un-private today-in-the-devildom & start writing for it again

#i'm gonna ramble in the tags but #i've been talking with starr (if you're reading this--hi starr!! <3) about the blog today and sharing some of the entries #and it just made me miss it so much #+ the conversation actually made me realize some other reasons why i didn't enjoy the blog in general anymore #like i genuinely love the blog and i genuinely loved writing for it & that conversation reminded me of that #but also there were so many reasons that ultimately pushed me to more or less abandon the blog & then later private it too #so i'm kind of at a loss here #tbh i think i'm mostly just scared to pick the blog up again only for it to end exactly like last time i picked it back up #i've actually always wanted for the blog to be a source of inspiration y'know?#like the things mentioned in the entries are kinda just small ideas right #i was hoping that people would read these & feel inspired to write or draw something of their own based on my entries #that was actually what made me start the blog in the first place. the hope that i could inspire others that way #aaahhhhhh.... maybe it's on me since i could have more openly communicated that idea......#i did get to meet one wonderful person who wrote a few fics based on my entries tho!! (hi ali <3)#but yeah..there's that #also the way engagement just dropped significantly after a while #like i know i was gone for a good while & that a lot of people left the fandom and all that #but still getting maybe one reblog if i'm lucky really feels like a punch to the gut #ESPECIALLY considering that i was close to 900 followers on there #do you guys know that feeling when you proudly show someone you care about something you did only to get a disinterested answer?#yeah...#that's essentially how it feels like to me #and well as you might know the feeling of “why should i keep writing if apparently no one cares” eventually won... haha.....#but aaaahhhhh i'm still clinging onto the hope & what ifs here #that conversation with starr really just made me forget about everything that frustrated me about the blog & left me with this #longing feeling to start again lol #hey if you've made it this far into the tags let me just ask--would you care if i picked the blog back up?#would you also *show* that you care?#i'm actually quite curious (you could almost call me george lol)#anyway maybe we'll see each other on today-in-the-devildom again in the future.. who knows

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sharkneto · 2 years ago

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How long do you think it should take between chapter uploads on Ao3?

As long as the author needs

#if i have a whole long fic written out i like to have something come out ~once a week #people don't have to wait too long between chapters and i get a steady drip of Validation lol #but thats not always the case - life happens. things have to be written and sometimes they dont cooperate #so that week is sometimes two sometimes a month sometimes three #and sometimes its a year or more for people #it's nice when fast chapters happen but fanfic writers are doing this for free and sometimes things just get in the way #pro tip? if youre missing a fic and it hasnt updated in a while and youre craving new content?#comment on it.#not a ''loved this when's the next chapter comin?'' comment #but write something you liked from the chapter - a moment some dialogue the feelings some part made you feel #if an author is struggling to finish something that little reminder that people like it and *why* can be *huge*#as time stretches on and interactions slow to a trickle it's really easy to get disheartened about finishing #''no one is reading it anyway its been so long I'm not good at writing anymore i dont remember what i was doing with this''#so give your favorite authors some specific love and that might just kick things into gear #idc if its been a month or three years - i almost guarantee the author will still get your love even if its been years #and you don't know what their life is like - maybe that comment is just what they need to sit down and finish it up #sharkneto speaks #ask response #ficblogging

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weaselle · 2 months ago

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i want to talk about real life villains

Not someone who mugs you, or kills someone while driving drunk, those are just criminals. I mean VILLAINS.

Not like trump or musk, who are... cartoonishly evil. And not sexy villains, not grandiose villains, not even satisfyingly two dimensional villains it is easy to hate unconditionally. The real villains.

I had a client who was a retired executive for one of the big oil companies, i think it was Shell or Chevron. Had a home just outside of San Francisco that was wall to wall floor to ceiling full of expensive art. Literally. I once accidentally knocked a painting off the wall because it was hanging at knee height at the corner of the stairs, and it had a little brass plaque on it, and i looked up the name of the artist and it was Monet's apprentice and son-in-law, who was apparently also a famous painter. He had an original Andy Warhol, which should have been a prize piece for anyone to showcase -- it was hanging in the bathroom. I swear to god this guy was using a Chihuly (famous glass sculptor) as a fruit bowl. And he was like, "idk my wife was the one who liked art"

I was intrigued by this guy, because in the circles i run this dude is The Enemy. right? Wealthy oil executive? But as my client, he was... like a sweet grandpa. A poor widower, a nice old man, anyone who knew him would have called him a sweetheart. He had a slightly bewildered air, a sort of gentle bumbling nature.

And the fact that he was both of these things, a Sweet Little Old Man and The Enemy, at the same time, seemed important and fascinating to me.

He reminded me of some antagonist from fiction, but i couldn't put my finger on who. And when i did it all made sense.

John Hammond.

probably one of the most realistic bad guys ever written.

If you've only ever seen the movie, this will need some explaining.

Michael Crichton wrote Jurassic Park in 1990, and i read it shortly thereafter. In the movie, the dinosaurs are the antagonists, which imo erases 50% of the point of the story.

book spoilers below.

In the book, John Hammond is the villain but it takes the reader like half the book to figure that out. Just like my client, John is a sweet old man who wants lovely things for people. He's a very sympathetic character. But as the book progresses, you start to see something about him.

He has an idea, and he's sure it's a good one. When someone else dies in pursuit of his dream, he doesn't think anything of it. When other people turn out to care about that, he brings in experts to evaluate the safety of his idea, and when they quickly tell him his idea is dangerous and needs to be put on hold, he ignores his own experts that he himself hired, because they are telling him that he is wrong, and he is sure he is right.

In his mind, he's a visionary, and nobody understands his vision. He is surrounded by naysayers. Several things have proven too difficult to do the best and safest way, so he has cut corners and taken shortcuts so he can keep moving forward with his plans, but he's sure it's fine. He refuses to hear any word of caution, because he believes he is being cautious enough, and he knows best, even though he has no background in any of the sciences or professions involved. He sends his own grandchildren out into a life-threatening situation because he is willfully ignorant of the danger he is creating.

THIS is like the real villains of the world. He doesn't want anyone to die. Far from it, he only wants good things for people! He's a sweet old man who loves his grandchildren. But he has money and power and refuses to hear that what he is doing is dangerous for everyone, even his own family.

I think he's possibly one of the most important villains ever written in popular fiction.

In the book, he is killed by a pack of the smallest, cutest, "least dangerous" dinosaurs, because a big part of why we read fiction is to see the villains face thematic justice. But like a cigarette CEO dying of lung cancer, his death does not stop his creation from spreading out into the world to continue to endanger everyone else.

I think it is really important to see and understand this kind of villainy in fiction, so you can recognize it in real life.

Sweetheart of a grandfather. Wanted the best for everyone. Right up until what was best for everyone inconvenienced the pursuit of his own interests.

And my client was like that too. His wife had died, and his dog was now the love of his life, and she was this little old dog with silky hair in a hair cut that left long wispy bits on her lower legs. Certain plant materials were easily entangled in this hair and impossible to get out without pulling her hair which clearly hurt her. When i suggested he ask his groomer to trim her lower leg hair short to avoid this, he refused, saying he really liked her usual hair cut.

I emphasized that she was in pain after every walk due to the plant debris getting caught in her leg hair, and a simple trim could put an end to her daily painful removal of it, and he just frowned like i'd recommended he take a bath in pig shit and said "But she'll be ugly" and refused to talk about it anymore.

Sweet old man though. Everyone loved him.

#villains #my life

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star-ocean-peahen · 1 year ago

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After watching Cinderella (the original animated movie, which was my favorite as a child), it strikes me how it solves many common problems people have with this fairy tale. Like:

Why did they try to identify the mystery girl using her shoe size? Because the bullheaded king's only clue to her identity was the shoe the Grand Duke picked up off the steps.

Why didn't the prince recognize her by her face? Because his father wouldn't involve him in the process at all, and wasn't the one going around trying to find her.

Why did the prince want to marry a lady he only met that night? Because his father was going to force him to marry someone, and he genuinely liked this woman.

Why did Cinderella want to marry a man she only met that night? Because marriage was her best and most secure way to freedom. Fucked up, but you can't say it's unrealistic for the setting of a fairy tale. She also genuinely liked him.

If they're using the slipper to find her, wouldn't it be more sensible to search for the person with the other slipper? Yes. The King is purposefully nonsensical and the Duke is purposefully terrified enough of him to carry out his orders to the letter. Furthermore, they end up doing that in the end anyway, because the Duke's glass slipper is shattered, and Cinderella brings out the one she has to prove her identity.

Why didn't the stepmother and stepsisters recognize Cinderella at the ball? Because they were dancing too far away, and then left the party to dance in private, which was possible because the King wanted very badly for his son to hit it off with someone and tried to arrange the best conditions for that to happen.

Why didn't Cinderella save herself? Because in real life, abuse victims should not have to shoulder that responsibility, and usually can't. In real life, you need and deserve an external support system. Asking for help, in this kind of situation, is very important. She is saved by others because she is loved. Because she is not alone. Because she has friends who love her, and want her to be happy and safe and free. Because in real life, people who want to help someone who is suffering are like the mice. We can't pull out miracle solutions, but we can provide companionship and if we're in the right place at the right time, we can help the person find a better life.

Why didn't the fairy godmother save Cinderella from her abusive household, or try to help her sooner? Because she's magic, and magic can't solve your problems. Quote: "Like all dreams, well, I'm afraid it can't last forever." This (and Cinderella's dream of going to the ball) is a metaphor for pleasurable things in bad circumstances. An ice cream won't get rid of your depression, but it will provide you with momentary happiness to bolster you, as well as the reminder that happiness in general is still possible for you. Cinderella doesn't want to go to the ball so she can get away from her stepmother and stepsisters, or so she can meet someone to marry and leave with. She wants to go to the ball to remind herself that she can still have things she wants. That her desires matter. This is important because the movie does a very good job of illustrating Lady Tremaine's subtle abuse tactics, all of which invisibly press the message that Cinderella doesn't matter. While going to the ball and fulfilling her dreams may not be a victory in the material sense, it is still a victory against Lady Tremaine's efforts.

Why is Cinderella's choice to be kind and obedient framed as a good thing, when you are not obligated to be kind to your abuser? This one walks a very fine line, but I think the movie still makes it make sense. Lady Tremaine never acknowledges her cruelty. She always frames her punishments of Cinderella as Cinderella's fault. Cinderella is interrupting, Cinderella is shirking her duties, Cinderella is playing vicious practical jokes. Cinderella is still a member of the family, of course she can go to the ball, provided she meet these impossible conditions. Lady Tremaine's tactics are designed to make Cinderella feel like she must always be in the wrong and her stepmother must always be in the right. If Cinderella calls her stepmother out on her cruelty, or attempts to fight back, Lady Tremaine can frame that as Cinderella being ungrateful, cruel, broken, evil, etc. If Cinderella responds to her stepmother's cruelty defiantly (in the way she's justified to), she's not taking control out of Lady Tremaine's hands. Disobedience can be spun back into her stepmother's control. She wants Cinderella to be angry and sad and show how much she's hurting. So since Cinderella is adapting to her situation, she chooses to be kind. Not only because she naturally wants to be and it's part of her personality, but because it is a form of defiance in its own way, and it allows her to keep a reminder of her agency and value. Her choice to be kind is her chance to keep her own narrative alive: she is not obeying because her stepmother wants her to and she has to do what her stepmother does, but because she wants to. It's a small distinction, but one that makes all the difference in terms of keeping her hope and identity. (Fuck, I wrote a whole paragraph about how this doesn't mean you can't be angry at people who hurt you or that you need to be kind to deserve help, and then deleted it by accident. Uh. Try again.) Expressing anger and pain is an important part of regaining autonomy and healing. Although it is commendable to be kind while you are suffering, it is NOT required for you to get help or be worthy of help. If Cinderella's recovery was explored beyond "happily ever after" she would need to let herself be angry and sad to heal. Cinderella is not only kind because it comes naturally to her, but because it's her defense against the abuse she's suffering. Everyone's story and experiences are different, and one does not invalidate the other.

Bonus round for answers that aren't part of the movie:

Why didn't Cinderella run away? Where would she go? Genuinely, in hundreds-of-years-ago France, where would she go if she snuck out of the window with a change of clothes? With her step-family, she's miserable and abused, but she's fed, clothed, and in no danger of dying or being taken advantage of by anyone other than her stepmother and stepsisters. Even if she escapes and manages to find financial security, her stepmother might be able to find her and get her back.

Why didn't Cinderella burn the house down with them inside it/slit their throats in the night/poison their food/etc.? Because that's a revenge fantasy, and this story is a fantasy about being saved. There's nothing wrong with making Cinderella into a revenge fantasy. That's perfectly fine, as long as you acknowledge that the other type of fantasy is also a valid interpretation. (I mean, the original fairy tale features the stepsisters getting their feet mutilated and all three of them getting their eyes pecked out, so go for it.)

Why isn't Cinderella more proactive in general? Because she's a child who has been abused for the back half of her life, who has had to be focused on survival because. you know. she's an abused kid.

How did she dance in glass slippers? Gotta agree with you there man, that's weird.

#cinderella #cinderella (1950)#fairy tales

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irndad · 2 months ago

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i wish i knew you wanted me - s.r.

a/n: okay this ended up being so so long forgive me!!! i hope you like<3 summary: based loosely on 'bad habit'. spencer got asked out by reader 5 years ago, when he was recovering from his dilaudid addiction, and turned her down. now, he's in love with her, and pining for her. also, jealous!spencer. she fell first, he fell harder. wc: ~2k

She’s very pretty. It’s distracting. Right now, she’s staring intently at his hands, and he feels hot under her gaze. It’s been a while since he’s done this, the little rocket trick, but she’s visiting the office, and Garcia had mentioned he’s a magician.

“That’s incredible!” She exclaims, a giggle in her laugh, and he feels the swoop of his stomach, the butterflies of it all, “You got them so high up!”

“It’s just physics,” he laughs, meeting her warm gaze. Her smile is one for the ages.

She’s here dropping off a file. They’ve known eachother a really long time, actually. She was an expert witness for them, once, years ago. She spoke with ease, both on the stand and in person. Equal measure kind and measured, and Spencer had adored her on first glance. They’d met when he was just getting clean from Dilaudid, and Spencer’s been in love with her since not long after than first meeting. That’s pretty much the only thing about her he wishes he could take back.

He still has a hard time thinking about it, the fact that he met her when he was barely himself. Still, she’d been kind, listened to him talk and let the others tell her that he was…going through something. It was on his two month sobriety date (which she’d had no way of knowing) that she’d asked him out.

Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he replays the memory in his head. How she works just south of their office, and how they’d meet at the café nearest, and chat for an hour before calling a cab home.

On the other side of the veil, he can picture that night, years ago now. How she’d looked with the snow kissing her nose, dotting the edges of her faux-fur hood. She’d stuck out her tongue to catch a snowflake, and he’d almost combusted and the adorability of it.

“You look nice,” she’d said, although at the time he’s pretty sure he looked gaunt. He’d only recently started to gain the weight back- but still, her praise felt like stardust.

“You look nicer,” he’d said back, gently bumping her shoulder as a fond gesture. Her little grin is well-worth how awkward they both look on the street.

“Listen,” she had said, stuffing her hands into her pockets, the size of the coat causing her hands to disapear from sight entirely, “I asked JJ and Morgan, and they said you’re not seeing anyone.”

“Oh, yeah. They love reminding me of that. Not everyone can be like Morgan and have dated half the western hemsiphere.”

He felt embarrassed, her watching him. It’s nice, but sometimes feels like staring into the sun.

Her chuckle was nervous, not fully reaching her eyes.

“You okay?

“Yeah,” she swallowed again, before speaking, “I was wondering, um, if you might want to grab a drink with me?”

“Sure,” he’d replied back, amenably. He couldn’t tell why she looked so nervous, “I can’t really do hard liquor, though. Maybe we can invite the team.”

“No, Spence, I was wondering if you and I could go on a um, a date.”

And he’s frozen. Because this might be the second time he’d ever been asked out, and second, this might be his dream girl. She’s gorgeous and kind and she’s in front of him, asking him out.

“I um,” his mouth was dry. He’d be a bad boyfriend. He was a recovering drug addict who already was bad at talking to people, and she lit up a room whenever she walked in. She finds him easy to be with, easy to care for and he’s bound to fuck it up. He couldn’t imagine giving that up because he was too greedy to take what he got. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

He almost took it back with incredible speed, with that flash of disapointment on her lovely face, and the knowledge that it’s because she wanted him, before she quickly regained her speech.

“That’s totally alright! We’ll just be good friends, yeah?”

In the here and now, they are friends. Best of, really. And he made the right choice. He’d lashed out at Emily a month later in a withdrawl, and he knows that he’d have done the same to her, and now, she’s still in his life.

The drawbacks of course, to being her friend, means she has dates. Boyfriends, as well, and he’s been a…friend, through it all. Good friend. She’s never suspeced him of anything more, of course, after he’d categorically rejected it.

(Even though this rejection plays in his head all the fucking time, like a torturous groundhog day.)

She’s beautiful today, a blue blouse with a scarf lazily around her neck, and the way she’s leaning over his desk to see the trick before she drops off her analysis.

“Alright, Spence,” she says, her rose perfume wafting in the air prior to her hopping off the corner, “Did you need anything else? Today is my half-day, and Harry wanted to take me to Art Insititute.”

Harry, is the boy on rotation at the moment. Spencer has no impulse control and a super-computer expert best friend, so Spencer knows that Harry is 6’0 on his Driver’s License, and is a Financial Analyst. Spencer knows from her own mouth that this will be the third date, and that he’s a little boring but she’s attracted to the fact that he was direct and wanted to go out again.

Low bar, but one Spencer couldn’t even clear. He doesn’t say any of that, though.

“That sounds fun,” he says, instead of saying that he’d love to walk her through the inscriptions on each art piece, love to kiss her in front of something thats’ beauty does not come close to her’s. “Are you thinking it might run long, or are we still doing the bookstore and TV at mine after?”

He’s been looking forward to this all week. He bought special marshmallows for her cocoa. He also htes to imagine her date running long.

“Nah,” she smiles, “besides, he’s just some guy. You’re Spencer.”

Morgan doesn’t say anything when he looks down at his. paperwork, and scribbles instead of thinking, the best he can.

________________________________

Don’t think about the fact she was on a date. Don’t think about how Harry might have got to kiss her. Just don’t bring it up.

“How was the date?”

She shrugged, pulling at the spine of a hardcover novel.

“It was fine. Like I said, he was kind of boring.”

“So why’d you go out with him again?”

“I dunno, Spence, I just… I want a boyfriend, you know? I want someone to want to be with me.”

She is so beautiful. She laughs with her whole chest, and she listens to his stories and chimes in with her own expertise. She has a voice that seems like it’s spun gold thread, and he’d give anything to kiss her.

“I get that,” he says, instead of anything he’s thinking. She’s wearing brown lipstick, transfer proof. He’s in love with her. “There’s got to be guys lining up for a girl like you.”

“That’s a nice thought, Spence. Not the ones I’d like.”

___________________________

This thought haunts his evening, and when he parks and they start the walk-up to his apartment, a confession hammering at his throat, a physical urge. She’s giggling at some long physics joke he’d made, and he’s addicted to the soft bell of her laughter.

His apartment is small and lovely, and he enjoys having her in the small and dark of the night, the sun set over what he wishes were two lovers.

“You are really pretty, you know,” he says, once she’s settled into his chest, a sick satisfaction of knowing Harry got a quick thank you text before she darted over to Spencer’s arms.

“Thanks, Spencer. You’re a good friend.”

“Why do you always say that?”

“That you’re a good friend?”

“I’m not saying you’re pretty because I’m a good friend. I’m saying it because it’s true, and I enjoy saying true things.”

“You don’t…I don’t know why you’re saying that, Spencer. We’re friends and I adore you and I’m here right now, but you don’t need to make it harder on me.”

She looks nervous, and a little disapointed. He wants her to know, that even if he’s missed his shot, she’s not going to be alone. He’s gonna spend the rest of his life hating whoever knew to take the best thing offered to him, but Spencer- he knows he is not going to be the last to love her. He grabs her hand without thinking, her doe eyes peering into his with some emotion he can’t pin down.

“Hey, I’m not trying…to make anything hard for you. I don’t ever want to do that. I just… some day someone’s gonna see you and want to be with you and I’m going to watch it and know it was inevitable.”

The words taste like barbed wire.

Ask me again, he wants to beg, I’m ready now. I’ll do it right.

Is that even true? Is it just that he wants her bad enough he’s willing to risk not doing it right?

“You’re so sweet,” she sobs, and oh, she’s crying. Just a little, but tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “You make it so hard to be your friend. And I know that’s my problem, that you’ve always been straight up with me. I asked you out and you said no, and I know that-“

“I know that I was too late, and freaked out about being with someone like you when I was still so fucked up.” they’re so close to eachother, he can smell her chapstick. His chest aches. “Sweetheart, that had nothing to do with you. It was all me. It’s a train I missed that I’m gonna spend the rest of my life wishing I’d caught.”

He feels uncomfortably bare, even in the oversized sweater that she’d gotten him last Christmas, and that he’d pretended had been from his lover all of that week. But it’s important that she knows.

“What do you mean, ‘too late’?”

Her voice is small, so quiet he barely hears it. She threads her nimble fingers into his slender ones, and his heart is hammering.

“I-I was on Dilaudid, or just barely off, you know- you wouldn’t want to be with someone like me. You asked me out when you didn’t even know that.”

“I know you now. Years worth of knowing.”

“And you haven’t asked me since.”

“Spencer,” her voice is warm, rich like silk and grainy old music, and he wants to drink this image in, her fingers stroking the side of his face like he’s holy. He wonders if he’s dreaming, with how good she feels to be so close to.

Ask me again, he wants to beg. I’m ready, now.

“Spencer Walter Reid,” she says, properly holding his hand, bringing her soft lips to his hand, kissing his knuckle. He feels anointed, blessed by a higher power. “Could I take you out on a date?”

“Yes,” he says, finally. Five years of waiting melts away as he kisses her, warmth and light seeping into existence, a dream brought to tangible life, to touch and reality, “Actually, wait,” he says, and finishes before her face can fall, “Would you be my girlfriend?”

It’s maybe playing his cards too much, but her wide, ear to ear splitting grin is everything he needs to see, everything he might need to see for the rest of his life.

“Took you long enough, boy-genius.”

“All you had to do was ask again!”

If she has a complaint about that, it certainly couldn’t be heard by the many, many kisses that would follow.

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