#you don't need to prove anything to anyone

[fireya-x]

they say don't open old wounds

AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

The mask hides more than just a face; it hides a shared past, a love lost, a ghost you thought long buried.

[3,7k words]

cw: angst, smut, piv sex

they say don't open old wounds

but this is still brand new

and I've got nothing left to lose besides you

and I've already lost you once

what more could you do?

they say don't open old wounds

but I want to

PVRIS - old wounds

It had been months since you joined the 141, months of missions that pushed you to the edge, missions that forged an unexpected bond with your team. A sense of mutual respect and care for each other, a blend of professionalism and camaraderie that softened the harsh realities of the work you did. Soap was always ready with a joke, Gaz offered tactical insights and support, Price kept a watchful eye on your well-being — but Ghost… Ghost remained an enigma. Shrouded in mystery. He rarely spoke more than a grunt or a clipped command, the complete opposite to the warmth of the others.

He was the same hidden figure, strict and cold, like he had been a few years ago when you had the honour of being trained by him and Captain Price. He was a puzzle you couldn’t solve, a cipher you hadn't even intended to attempt to crack, yet the easy familiarity with which the others interacted with him, offering their vulnerabilities to someone who resembled Death himself without a second thought, left you constantly bewildered. You needed to know more. How could they trust someone implicitly who was hidden behind a mask, someone whose past remained a blank slate?

He could be anyone, a traitor in their midst, and no one would know. You shook your head, catching yourself staring yet again, your gaze tracing the lines of the thick skull sewn to his balaclava, desperately trying to find a flicker of the man beneath.

Missions blurred into weeks, then months, and the uneasy feeling just didn’t let go. You had an eye of him always, your gut telling you to, but you found something different than you were hoping for.

It began with small, almost imperceptible observations that chipped away at the carefully constructed wall of Ghost’s persona. Subtle movements, like the precise, almost ritualistic way he adjusted his gloves like he had always done; a subtle tilt of his head as he listened, mirroring his thoughtful pose from years ago. The way he favoured the knife in the strap on his left, like he had always shown off his favourite weapon to you, shown you how to use it to defend yourself if you ever had to grab it from him. The subtle shift in his breathing when under stress, something he tried to conceal but you recognized it with an unnerving familiarity.

You’d catch yourself staring, again and again, searching for something, anything, beneath that mask to prove your mind wrong — or right.

You scoffed at yourself, pushing the thoughts away. Wishful thinking. Ridiculous. Simon was gone. He is and always will be.

It was your mind playing tricks on you, you reasoned, grasping for closure. You were back in the field, surrounded by danger, by ghosts of your past. Of course, you’d see him in every shadow, hear his voice in every whisper of the wind. Your heart, starved for the his presence, filled the void with illusions.

But you couldn’t help it. The mask. A blank canvas that taunted you, allowed your mind to paint his face onto it a million times over, feeding your impossible, unrealistic hopes with the absurdity of ever seeing him again.

Then, a mission had gone sideways. A sudden ambush, a chaotic scramble for cover. Shots were exchanged, but the target was hit, the job done. But in the chaos, you’d gotten separated from the team, wandering some endless fields, unsuccessfully trying to contact anyone through the deafening static of your radio.

Suddenly, you saw him — Ghost, slumped against the rough-hewn timbers of an abandoned barn, a gash bleeding freely on his forearm beneath the torn fabric of his jacket.

Adrenaline surging, you raced towards him, your medic instincts taking over. 

Inside the barn, the air was thick with the scent of dust and hay. Ghost leaned against the bales and exhaled loudly, avoiding looking at you.

You carefully set down your rifle in the hay. “We have to wait here and hope we can contact the others. Comms are down.”

No response.

“Let me look at the wound, Lieutenant.” Not a question, but a command, softened by the implicit understanding that he couldn’t afford to ignore the wound, not now, not while still being out in the field.

You knelt beside him, your hands already moving to assess the damage. “Fuck,” he swore, the word muffled by the mask. You assumed it was the pain, but later you would understand the true reason behind the swearing.

“I'm sorry,” you murmured, your focus narrowing to the task at hand. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.” You pressed an alcohol-soaked cotton against the wound, retrieved form your medkit, your touch surprisingly steady despite the frantic beating of your heart. Even through the layers of his tactical gear, you could feel the heat radiating from his skin. Something about the feel of him, the solid weight of his body against yours as you leaned in to examine the wound, sparked a disconcerting sense of déjà vu. Stop it, you berated yourself. This is not the time.

All those times he'd been around you, he’d kept his distance, interactions brief, clipped, professional. But now, trapped with you in the suffocating silence of the barn, with nowhere to run, no excuses to offer, no escape from your touch, his carefully constructed walls seemed to crumble, inch by agonizing inch. With your hands on him, gentle and caring as they had been countless times before —

You heard the thud of his helmet hitting the ground, followed by the soft rustle of fabric as he shifted, loosening your hold on his arm. “You need to hold still, sir.”

And then you heard it. Your name. Not your call sign, not the impersonal formality of military protocol, but your name. Whispered with the same cadence like it had been in your dreams, and you were sure fatigue had finally driven you beyond sanity. 

Your blood ran cold. No. It couldn't be. He’s gone. It was impossible. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to wake up from this nightmare. He is not here.

But when you turned, you froze. You looked at a ghost. Not the Ghost, but that ghost from your past that had haunted your every single waking moment, your dreams, your nightmares. It had been stalking you, mocking you, reminding you of a love lost and irrevocably buried. The ghost with its dirty blond hair and scarred face and hazel brown eyes.

Simon.

The man who had stolen your heart, then shattered it with his sudden, unexplained disappearance. 

A strangled sob tore through you, the sound raw with disbelief, with years of suppressed grief.

A torrent of emotions washed over you – shock, denial, a resurgence of a love you thought long buried, a burning anger at his deception, at the years of silence, of unanswered questions. “Why?” you choked out, the word laced with accusation. “Why, Simon? All this time… we were here. Together. You knew.”

He winced, his gaze dropping to his injured arm, unable to meet the intensity of your gaze.  “I… I couldn't risk it,” he murmured, the words a strained whisper. “Risk you.” 

A wave of nausea washed over you. He knew. All those stolen glances, the way you always gravitated towards him—he'd known. The realization struck you, and fury warred with the irrational surge of joy. Alive. But he chose this. Chose to hide, to let you grieve.

“The things I've done…” His voice cracked, the weight of his secrets heavy in the air. “…The things I had to do…” He met your gaze, bracing himself for the storm of your anger. “I couldn't risk you getting hurt.” A weak excuse, a pathetic justification, but the only truth he could offer. 

Shame burned in his gaze, and for a terrifying moment, he thought he’d lost you, before you even had the chance to find each other again. The anger, the hurt, the unanswered questions — he saw it all swirling within you.

“Hurt?” The word was hollow, edged with bitterness. “You left me to rot in hell for seven years, wondering if you were even alive, and you talk about hurt? You were here, Simon. You even trained me!” He flinched at the pain in your voice, a pain he inflicted. Something he deserved, not you.

You felt a flash of anger towards Price, who had kept this from you, knowing how much Simon’s disappearance wrecked you. But you also knew that Price, above all else, was loyal to his men. 

“I know what you're thinking,” he whispered. “I asked them to keep it from you. I asked them not to say my name around you… I thought… it would be easier.” He knew now how wrong he'd been. How could he not know? How selfish and misguided this attempt at keeping you safe had been. He was supposed to protect you, not hurt you. “If you’re angry, be angry at me.” He was the only one to blame. It was never up to his comrades to take this weight off his shoulders. 

Then suddenly, he closed the distance between you, and his hand, trembling, cupped your cheek. A jolt, a spark, in the desolate wasteland of his guilt. Your skin, soft and warm beneath his fingertips. A reminder of everything he’d lost. Everything he risked losing again by revealing himself.

No. Your mind screamed in protest, wanting to pull away from the unwelcome tenderness. Don't you dare forgive him. But the words remained unspoken. His thumb gently stroked your skin, a familiar caress, and a sob escaped your lips. This is wrong. He hurt you. But the voice of reason was a faint whisper against the roaring tide of longing. Your hands trembled, wanting to push him away, to distance yourself, anything but this aching tenderness. But at the same time, you wanted nothing more to feel him.

“I don’t want to be angry,” your hand found its place above his on your cheek. “Just… tell me why, Simon? Why?”

He didn't answer. He couldn't. Instead, his lips found yours, a kiss that was both a question and an answer, a desperate, hungry reconnection of two souls separated by time and circumstance. 

He knew you’d push him away, he expected it, he deserved it. But he needed this, this moment of contact, the fleeting taste of a past he had thought was lost forever. He had been dreaming of this moment for too long, torturing himself with imagined reunions, each encounter an agonizing exercise in self-control. Every time you were near, he’d shackled himself mentally, fighting the overwhelming urge to reach for you, to touch you, to scream at you that he is alive and yours, and to beg for your forgiveness.

Your lips on his were like watering a withered flower that his heart had turned into, dry and shrivelled, unable to let love close if it wasn’t yours. He’d sworn never to love again when he left, believing it was that easy, believing it was the only way to protect you.

He had hoped that each mission and kill helped to bury his heart and his emotions until there was nothing left but death. Bury the part of himself that yearned for you, that ached for your touch, and leave only the Ghost behind.

But then you were there. On his team. You stood before him, more beautiful than he remembered, your long hair braided back, your uniform hugging your curves, a vision that made his breath catch in his throat. He could have died then and there, content to simply exist in the same space as you, to breathe the same air.

And with your return, so was he, whether he wanted to or not. He was powerless against you. Simon Riley, the man who loved you, resurfaced from beneath the mask, shattering the carefully constructed illusion he'd built around himself. 

The moment he dreaded haunted his work now, and he considered running, again. Leave the team, like a dog with its tail between its legs, give up and run from his past.

But Price had promised him that he wouldn’t tell you, if he stayed. He had almost begged him not to run again, knowing his past and his pain, and somewhere, he knew Price was right. He needed them. And he realized he needed you.

From then, he cherished every moment with you together, and it pained him to be so harsh to you. But he had to be, afraid the mask would slip, literally. Conversations cut short, orders barked, the subtle flinch in your eyes when his voice cut through the air — each interaction was a battle, a constant war against the overwhelming urge to reach out, to soothe the hurt he knew he was inflicting, to pull you close and beg you to forgive him.

And now, with your hands on him, so gentle and caring, the dam had finally broken. He couldn’t bear it any longer, this agonizing distance from you.

And your lips, so sweet and so soft, like no time had passed at all, they were his salvation, his damnation, his only hope of redemption.

A sigh left your body, distorted from the sobs, and he pressed your face closer to him. He never wanted to let go anymore. Never again.

He still expected you to push him away, to be angry, to unleash your wrath upon him for abandoning you — but you didn’t. Your hands touched every single inch of skin that was exposed, and he didn’t stop you.

He was ashamed of the relief that flooded through him, ashamed of the way his body responded to your touch, ashamed that he dared to enjoy this moment, a moment that should never have existed, a moment born of his lies and his carefully constructed deceptions. Then your hands cupped his length through his jeans, and an unexpected groan escaped his lips. 

He should stop you. You should be furious. You shouldn’t be rewarding him for the years of silence, for the agonizing absence that had left a gaping wound in your life. But the moment your hand touched him through the fabric, every carefully constructed defense crumbled to dust. He was lost.

“Show me you’re real, Si,” you whispered against his jaw, your lips leaving a hot, wet trail along his stubble, your hips pressing against his thighs, the friction igniting a fire in his blood. “Show me… I need… I need to know this is real.”

How could he deny you? How could he deny himself this one moment of reckless abandon, this one chance to reclaim a piece of the past he had so carelessly thrown away?

“Are you sure?” 

He felt the zip of his jeans slide down, heard the quiet clink of his discarded weapons against the hay. He felt you nudging his thighs open, a sense of anticipation coursing through his blood like pure, electric adrenaline.

“I don’t know.” You whispered, looking up at him. Your sight was blurry from the tears, but you saw real concern in his eyes. Mixed with confusion. He had expected you to react differently, you were sure of that. 

If this was just a fever dream, a hallucination conjured by a mind desperate for solace, then so be it. You would savor every moment, every touch, every stolen kiss, before the inevitable awakening, before the cruel return to reality.

You kissed him again, your hand now firmly stroking him, the familiar texture of his skin, the throb of his arousal beneath your palm, sending a wave of heat through you. His hands found their way beneath your uniform, slowly pushing your pants down as far as your position allowed, and the catch in your breath when his touch found your centre was his undoing. The small, shuddering breath that passed through your body, an unconscious reaction to his finger as it played against your sweet spot. And he felt the blood rush to his cock, hardening it, causing it to ache with a need he hadn't felt in years.

You crawled closer onto his thighs and slowly eased yourself onto his waiting length, and that puzzle that was Ghost, the unsolvable mystery, finally clicked into place, a puzzle piece finding its perfect fit, making you both whole.

The world around you ceased to exist. It was just you and him and nothing else. The wound and blood were long forgotten. If there were enemies outside, you didn’t care. You could die right then and there, if it meant you were in your lovers arms for all eternity and beyond.

The stretch of his cock inside your sensetive walls was pure bliss, and you sighed into his neck. “There hasn’t been anyone else. Just you. Always you.” You whispered in confession, and you earned a groan in return.

“I swore to never love again,” he murmured against your hair, as he began to move inside you, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. “And then,” a hard thrust, a gasp escaping your lips, “you were right there again. Fuck.”

Your hands gripped his shoulders, fingers digging into the worn fabric of his uniform as he moved within you. The rhythm was both familiar and achingly new, years of longing poured into every thrust. The feel of him, solid and real, chased away the ghosts of the past, the years of wondering, of imagining, of hoping. This was real. He was here.

You sobbed, a mixture of relief and the lingering sting of betrayal, and he responded with a guttural groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His breath, hot and ragged against your skin, mingled with incoherent apologies whispered against your ear.

“Si…” you breathed, his name a prayer, a plea, a reaffirmation of a love that had endured despite the years of silence and pain.

His hands tightened on your hips, guiding your rhythm to match his, the friction building and building. It wasn't just the physical pleasure, though it was like a white-hot fire spreading through you; it was the reconnection, the desperate need to erase the years of separation, to meld back into the person you were before he disappeared. 

“I missed you,” he groaned. “So fucking much.”

“Me too,” you whispered back, the tears you thought you'd cried out returning.

The world narrowed, shrinking down to the feel of his clothed body against yours, the heat of his breath, the relentless rhythm that was driving you both toward the edge. 

There was no pretense, no holding back. Just the raw need to be close, to reconnect, to find solace in each other's arms after so long apart, even with the limitations imposed by the circumstances.

You arched into him, the friction of clothing against skin a delicious torment, and a wave of pleasure ripped through you. His grip tightened, and his name tore from your throat as wave after wave of sensation crashed over you, shattered you, dragging you under.

He followed close behind, his release a shuddering groan against your ear, his length pulsing inside you. For a long moment, you just held each other, hearts pounding, breaths ragged, the silence broken only by the occasional shuddering sigh. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t poetic. It was messy, desperate, and utterly perfect.

Even as the aftershocks subsided, you kept your eyes closed, clinging to the warmth of his embrace, afraid to break the spell, terrified that opening them would erase him again, that this precious moment would dissolve into the cruel, cold reality of his absence. You felt a kiss on your forehead, a tender gesture that sent a pang of fear through you. Was he going to leave again? 

But he didn't move.

“I’m so sorry, love” he whispered, his voice ragged, breath warm against your skin. “Please… look at me.”

You opened your eyes, your gaze locking with his. Scarred skin, hazel eyes filled with remorse, but also with an unmistakable love.

He was still there.

He hadn’t disappeared.

He didn’t walk away.

“I promise,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, “I won't ever leave you again.”

You clung to his words, your heart swelling with a cautious hope. “Will you tell me what happened?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening, but his eyes held yours. Watching you these past months, your strength, your resilience in the face of unimaginable danger, revealed a simple truth that would strip him of any excuses not to tell you. You were stronger than he’d given you credit for, stronger than even he had believed. You deserved the truth, no matter how dark, no matter how painful. And he would give it to you. He swore it to himself.

 “I will.”

“Bravo Six… in the blind… you… copy?” The radio crackled, a jarring intrusion into the fragile intimacy of the moment. He reached for it immediately. 

“Bravo Six, this is Ghost. We're in the blind. What's your status?” 

His voice, when he responded to Price, was still tinged with the softness you’d heard only moments before, a subtle reassurance that despite the return of the impersonal detachment, despite the mask he wore for the world, for his team, he was still there, somewhere beneath the surface.

“When we go back,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the static of the radio, laced with a vulnerability you hadn’t intended to reveal, “…when Ghost comes back,” you corrected yourself, the words catching in your throat, “will I still have… Simon?” 

He paused, his hand hovering over the radio, his gaze locking with yours. “You, always,” he said, without any hesitation. “And I promise,” he added, his voice softening, the warmth of him breaking through, “I'll help you understand… Ghost.”

He would reveal the darkness, the secrets, the pain that had driven him to become the masked soldier. He would trust you with the broken pieces of himself, the fragments he’d kept hidden for so long. He owed you that much, if not more. 

He’d give you every little piece of him he could offer.

[andreaheartscats]

Hello! Love the blog! May I make a request? A sally face request (I miss the fandom so much)

Just wanna request Sal fisher x fem reader her visiting him in prison and comforting him, like giving him a hug, petting his hair, giving him kisses on his face. Poor man looks so broken during the trial.

omg hii !!! thank you sooo much and i loveee this idea !! :) i hope i don't disappoint !

Sal x Fem!reader comfort!

spoliers(?)

->not proofread, kinda short?

Sal was currently in his cell, anxiously waiting for his upcoming tiral. He wasn't proud of what he had done but he didn't have much of a choice anyway.. Just as he was getting lost in his thoughts the door to his cell opend. Sal jumped up slightly from the sudden sound of the door and his head turned to the officer standing there looking angry per usual.

"You've got a visitor, Fisher."

Words he never thought he would hear. Somone came to visit him? That was a shocker for sure.

The angry officer put handcuffs on Sals wrist and lead him to the talking room where his visitor was waiting for him patiently. As Sal entered the room his eyes slightly widened under his mask at the sight of you, still smiling at him like he didn't do anything wrong. As Sal took a seat infront of you, the officer left the room giving the two of you some privacy like you requested.. Although he couldn't really give you too much of privacy, i mean after all this is a prison.

"Long time no see, Sal."

You spoke gently to him, you missed his blue hair and those eyes that now look so sad and tired under the prosthetic mask he is wearing.

"Yeah..i didn't expect anyone to visit me."

Your heart hurt at his words.

"I think you're innocent, Sal."

As you said those words, you put your hand over his and gently brush against it. You knew he was innocent, you just had to prove it somehow.

"Well..seems like you're the only one that thinks that"

You let out a deep sigh as you tighten the grip on his hand.

"Sal, trust me. I'll get you out of this mess."

You swore you could see the tears swell up in his eyes, but he quickly looked away. You tooka quick glance at the clock on the wall that was ticking rather loudly.

"We don't have much time left to talk."

Sal cleared his throat as the two of you got up. You didn't waste a second and quickly pulled him into your embrace. You could feel his warmth and his heart-beat. You knew he needed this hug but so did you.

"I'll come and visit you again as soon as i can."

You mumble into the hug as Sal tightness his arms around you and hums as a replay.

The door opens abruptly and the two of you let go of eachother.

"Alright, visit time is up."

The police officer said as he got a hold of Sal and lead him out of the room. You and Sal shared your last glances as he left and the feeling of emptiness came rushing back to you without him being here.

It is time to prove that Sal is, indeed innocent.

[plantcrazy]

Secrets That Shouldn't Be Found - Hōkū, 1997

Wilford IV, the Toppat Clan leader, took a drag of his cigar, puffing out smoke with a sigh.

Hōkū did his best to not shift his weight, or fidget. As unpleasant as holding his nerves in felt, nothing would compare to the disappointment he'd feel letting his mentor or clan's leader see it.

They'd been stood out here in the freezing November air nearly 5 minutes. They'd been back from their mission and disastrous discovery less than 15 minutes, all the while nether elite had said a word to him beyond;

"Balcony, 10 minutes. And Morrningstar?" Wilford's eyes darkened, "I don't care if you've got some 'rare 1 in a whatever ability' the Clan needs. Breathe a word of the mission to anyone, and it'll be your last breath. Clear?"

Wilford glanced to his Right Hand, Harry Copperbottom.

"In an ideal world, had we known what they were carrying, we wouldn't have brought you along," Wilford explained, "But this isn't an ideal world. You're not an elite, nor do you have the clearance for the shit we just found, so consider this your chance to prove yourself trustworthy."

"We have a rough idea of the cover story we'll be using, so once we have it solidified in the morning, we expect you to stick to it." Harry added, his eyes... distant. He looked past Hōkū to the horizon, where the sun had since just set.

"Questions?"

Hōkū snapped his attention back to his leader.

He had plenty of questions, but right now, only one mattered.

"What are you going to do about their project?" He asked. "Taking their 'weapon' isn't going to stop them. All this will do is delay their progress, that's providing their aren't more of them!"

"They're the Chaos Containment Centre, Morningstar. There isn't anything we can do about 'em." Wilford said.

Hōkū screwed his face up. He can't be serious! He's the leader of the Toppat Clan! He can do ANYTHING!

Wilford picked up on his frustration, but in return only let his weariness show. "I know what you're thinking, but this is the reality of being an elite: We don't have the power to fix every problem we find. We just do what we can to limit its impact on our Clan. Our job is to ensure its survival and keep people happy.

We ain't vigilantes, Morningstar: we're criminals. Remeber that."

"Speaking of survival..." Harry announced, "From here on forth you'll be doubling your training session, both with & without your abilities. We won't know for a while if their CCTV was transmitting a live feed beyond the container ship, but if that turns out to be the case, all 3 of us will have a rather large target on our backs."

Wilford nodded, "No doubt they'll want them back, if they realised it didn't go down with the ship."

Hōkū nodded, "Okay, but what about-"

"I'll be taking care of it personally, do not worry." Harry reassured. "Now, go get some rest. I'll meet you in my office in the morning to discus the details of our story further."

[SPEEDPAINT ⬇️]

[laurellynnleake]

Alt text courtesy of Sharyn Blum on twitter: [On a black background is a grid of pale aqua mini-canvasses surrounding a simple portrait of a white girl with brown hair with the eyes and mouth obscured by blurry bars. The mini-canvasses each feature all caps handwritten text in black paint, and read as follows:

You have to try harder. Are you sure you weren't just protecting your emotions? Your symptoms sound a bit dramatic. Everyone's heart rate goes up when they stand up. Are you sure it isn't just anxiety. So was she vaccinated before she was in a wheelchair? Everyone has pain. Focus less on it. She's just pretending. We're not buying this. Have you tried mindfulness? You are feeling so bad because of the covid vaccine. You should be going for daily 20 minute walks. We don't know how to help you so we are going to discharge you. You must be better. I see you with your friends on social media. You have to be more positive. You're an f-ing disgrace. Obviously a sock puppet. There is no reason why you should have a chest pain when you try and stand up. You would feel better if you didn't spend all day in bed. Be more positive. You need to be more positive. It's causing you to be ill. What sports team are you on, sweetie? I'll refer you to psychology. You just need to get up and walk. You should try exercising more. You're just being lazy. Have you tried yoga? Oh, you're wearing a mask. I don't think they do very much. I had covid in January 2020 and was fine after. You are too young to be having all these problems. You are looking really well. I don't know how reliable that doctor is. (Said about leading expert working with WHO.) Be positive. It will make you feel better. You know, one can imagine not being able to walk, and then one actually can't. I know someone who had that, and they are fine now, so it can't be that bad. Cancel all specialty appts. This is all caused by her anxiety, and you are making her worse. Well you shouldn't be having those symptoms. This year has really sucked for you. Well, we are assuming. (After a clinical diagnosis from expert.) Kids don't get long covid. Just wait until you are older, and then you will understand real pain. So how exactly did covid put you in a wheelchair? You are making yourself sick with all this medication. The quicker you get back to normal, the quicker you will get better. Give it time. What might he have to gain from being like this? It could be a lot worse. You look healthy. Man up. So-called long covid. You need to do more to build up your strength. Covid made me very lazy, too. You could just be a bit tired. All teens are. I can't understand why you're not better. You aren't exercising enough. You need to get out of the house and go for walks every day. Long covid doesn't affect young people and never for this long. You need to prove you are in pain. It's just hormones. Sure, you can't taste anything. Just eat it anyway. Your blood test results are normal. You will be fine. You'll feel better after a walk. Are you sure they aren't pretending for attention? It's okay. I am tired, too. It must be subconscious. Does she only do the things she wants now, is that it? He's faking it. Is there anyone with "long covid" who didn't take the covid injection? It is all in your head. But you did it yesterday, so you can do it today. I'd love to skip school all the time like you do. You are young and healthy. You'll be fine. You're getting some help with other specialists, so I don't think I need to help you anymore. You have to get up and walk, otherwise we will transfer you to another hospital where you will stay until you do walk. Long covid only lasts a year, and people only get it from serious infections. Sometimes kids project their feelings into symptoms. Lots of people have it worse. She must be stealing food and hiding it. (Re weight gain likely caused by propanolol that dr prescribed.)]

"Hopefully you can zoom in to my daughter's piece 'Rona Lisa' from her recent exhibition #IAmStillHere with @LongCovidKids. These are all things she and her peers have had said to them by doctors, family, friends, classmates..." -baldypidge on twitter

Just some of the worst of the quotes:

"Just wait until you are older and then you will understand real pain"

"Are you sure you aren't just projecting your emotions?"

"Soooo, how exactly did covid put you in a wheelchair?"

"You would feel better if you didn't spend all day in bed"

"She's just pretending, we're not buying this"

"You need to prove you are in pain"

[honeybeebaaz]

As a romance favored aromantic, I haven't had a "too aromantic for this shit" moment in a long time. But girlies trying to label every Jam normal-between-friends interaction as inherently romantic is causing me headache. I am indeed too aromantic for this shit!

[silusvesuius]

n*loth not being able to bag anyone over the (human term) age of 25-30 at most is the only logical and real conclusion to me because it can be just explained away as him wanting to prove and control everything and anyone (Cus he's a man!) but being stuck in that demographic because his unbearable and vile personality is a force that nobody can look past once they've outgrown the possible fear and idolization period of anyone but also n*loth in particular.

[thecrimsonjaguar]

i think when it comes to the F+C finale it's important to see where the writers were coming from. And it's easy to do that, the lesson/moral they gave simon is fairly clear: Simon needs to appreciate his life because Betty sacrificed so much to get him here. alright, cool, that's good on paper.

I do Also think that the execution was poor.

up until this point, the crown has represented/could be viewed as many things. Alzheimer's, substance abuse, and anything else people have called it. In this series, a newer interpretation has arose: Suicide. And I'm certain the writers were aware of this. Depression and suicidal ideation are such strong themes in this series that they can't NOT be purposeful.

So their attempt at teaching Simon to appreciate Betty's sacrifice can ALSO be read as: Simon, the suicidal, on the verge of a relapse-man, gets put into a body of a child, (and that is very powerful imagery that does not help, actually) and is told nearly expressly that he fucked up in his relationship with the love of his life. He is told he should have sacrificed more for betty. And he says to himself: "Maybe i wouldn't have even found the crown". Basically it's simon pinning the blame on himself for his 1000 year curse on his mistakes with Betty. Which of course can be read as Simon's self loathing but the show does nothing to refute his statement, which i also have issue with. Simon putting on the crown was stated to be a Mistake. it was an accident. No matter what, the crown cursing him Was Not His Fault. Ever. It's not Betty's fault, it's not Simon's, it. was. a. Mistake.

regardless on if they should or should not have introduced these new flaws into simon's character, having simon learn his mistakes like This feels. icky. to me.

[phoenixcatch7]

Cap marvel headcanons I Will integrate into a fic one day but also have Zero basis in canon to my knowledge (this ended up being LONG):

The living lightning is an ancient force akin to the speed force, and the 'true' guardian of magic, being possibly the first 'magical creature' ever created.

The rock of eternity only recently became based on earth, in the past several thousand years, with the planet's deities acting as mountains in the rain cycle - funnels to safely channel the magic back into the Champion. It's a fully symbiotic relationship that benefits the planet and its people immensely.

This means previously the rock has been based on alien planets. Previous champions are ancient aliens, many from species that no longer exist, either because the species died out or evolved into something unrecognisable.

The champion of magic may have inspired the oua (?), the creators and high council of the green lanterns. Ooh maybe an oua was selected as champion, which is how they learned of it!

The living lightning, when not in a mortal vessel, rests in the heart of the Rock in a large brazier, with a smoke lid of white edged with gold in a familiar pattern. It is tradition, or perhaps instinct, for a Champion to light the brazier whenever they visit the Rock. It will be lit for as long as the visit lasts, and be extinguished the next time they come.

Should it choose to take form, the living lightning resembles a washed out combination of each of its previous Champions. Its form is solid and clear, strong and made for battle, but distinctly uncanny. It doesn't leave its brazier, nor speak.

The 'ideal form' of a hero varies all the time, doesn't it? Especially if you're a kid still growing and learning about yourself and the world. Headcanon cap ever so subtly changes features sometimes. Gradually. Height and build changes sometimes. One of the league members has noticed but they really can't prove it to themselves and it's driving them crazy. Billy has no idea.

On that topic, the 'ideal form' also includes the clothes, right? The red costume? If Billy transforms with the intent of doing something outside his normal hero things (ie, attending a celebration), the outfit has every reason and ability to change to reflect that! Everyone expecting cap to show up in his normal gear and ready to throw a formal suit at him to wiggle on over his costume and he shows up in a red and gold set with a little one shoulder cape like 'yeah I have no idea either'.

Cap marvel Is An Adult. Billy isn't, but cap is in every single way that someone could count. This is probably canon but in some fics I think the jl forgets lol. It's still the same soul, just, with an adult filter instead of a kid one. However that filter manifests.

Not sure this is canon too, but the idea of the mind/soul/whatever of cap manifesting as this great impossible mass. A storm, or a tiger, or a barrier of lightning. This giant, untouchable, dormant mass of power and implied Danger™. Again, Billy has no idea. J'onn is eying warily from a very safe distance.

His wiki practically waxes poetic about his abilities and skills in strategy, mathematics, nigh precognition from ability to spot and manipulate patterns. Captain marvel is unbeatable at chess. Batman has lost to him. Billy cannot do fractions and it drives him up the WALL.

The champion, and ONLY the champion, can share his powers. If shazam wants a second champion he has to give a new set wholesale or convince the champion to share. Similarly, those patroned by the champion cannot transform unless the champion is also transformed. Because otherwise that would be too easy for Billy lol.

Every time Billy asks, tawky gives a different canon origin story. Billy has no idea which is true.

Billy's parents died accidentally freeing Adam on their expedition. Probably crushed by rubble :(. The wizard is the only one who knows and really isn't inclined to share, and Adam either hasn't connected the dots or never really noticed they were there.

Cap and Billy love each other, regardless of whatever version their whole thing is. They're the only reason the other remembers self care and that kind of self love, even if he's not sure he deserves it, makes a world of difference with how they portray themselves to the world.

Cap doesn't need to breathe to speak but he never remembers that and has repeatedly choked in water and space. Superman empathises but tries not to find it funny after the third time it happens.

Billy has showed the wizard memes.

The wizard internally refers to Billy as the 'sassy, lost child'. He has a pointy hat like any good wizard but refuses to wear one since Billy keeps asking him to, pretty please.

Cap once won an arm wrestle with superman by pretending to lick his hand. He didn't. Billy would have.

Cap marvel CANONICALLY bites but after the first time he regulates his jaw strength. Thankfully it was Black Adam so no one lost a hand. He had him in a headlock so who's fault was it really.

Ebenezer doesn't have a strong opinion on cap marvel either way. Billy thinks that's almost worse.

The living lightning isn't lightning. It was around before lightning. It is living, however. It is that 'living' that forms the main consciousness of the Champion form, in this case Marvel. Its not sentient or sapient itself, that's the vessel, but it is the building blocks of it.

In dc (again no idea if this has any basis in canon) magic is the fifth state of matter, above plasma. Yes this interferes incredibly with quantum physics and theoretical science. No the magic users don't know how it works either. No they will not help you they have their own research (into the exact same thing) to do.

If the Rock is obliterated cap marvel will die (along with pretty much everything else but irrelevant). However, if he manages to save the brazier, he will continue on. Magic as a whole deal won't be very happy and aeons of magical knowledge and history and artifacts will be lost, but cap will live and can rebuild from the ashes. The brazier is Heavy but enough super strength can move it if you don't mind bringing a chunk of floor. And the rock is so weakened it's literally falling apart but those are the right circumstances anyway so.

[stereax]

saw you post 'listen before you go', thought you'd enjoy this:

oh...

[reflect-force]

my dashboard is being filled with those posts that go like "reblog if you support (insert minority here)" (or other things along those lines) and then try to guilt trip people into reblogging by claiming that they are a Bad Person if they don't

why is this clout chasing garbage on my dash

[goldentigerfestival]

god i just. the sheer fucking hurt in his voice. feeling so used. so untrusted. had a bounty on his head that wasn't even his fault and he still won't be told him the truth and estelle, too, still hides things from him after he helped her and they'd been traveling together. not only that, but the empire is too busy having its own internal issues to pay attention to its own suffering people.

i hate seeing him so upset, that's my baby boy.

more feelings in the tags

[comicaurora]

I've been reading some stuff on punitive justice, and it made something click for me that I've observed a lot online but haven't been able to put into words before.

When someone does something wrong, that's bad, and the damage it does needs to be repaired while the person needs to try to do better in future to minimize repeating harm. We learn it in preschool - say sorry, don't do it again. If they keep at it, remove them from the situation where they can do the harm until they prove they're responsible enough to go back in.

So if it turns out someone DIDN'T do anything wrong, that should be a relief! There's no damage to fix, no internal errors to correct. Less work for everybody, literally no harm done. False alarm, all good.

The thing I've observed is, lots of people want them to have done something wrong. There's almost disappointment when it turns out there's no harm done. And I think that's because of this general undercurrent of punitive justice as morally righteous and desirable: someone does something wrong, you get to punish them. Turns out they're innocent? That's disappointing. Find another reason you get to punish them, or find another bad person you get to punish. But at the core of it is that desire to punish someone. Someone you can hurt in a way that makes you a better person for hurting them.

This particular brand of almost cannibalistic pseudo-justice is super common in tumblr, one of the most ostensibly liberal spaces on the internet; I see more borderline savagery in online discourse here than in the actually toxic parts of the internet that are just openly cruel for cruelty's sake. It's always thrown me for a loop, and has frankly also hurt me, because on the rare occasions I get personally dogpiled, it only actually stings when it makes me worry that I've legitimately hurt someone. If I did something wrong, or more realistically when I inevitably do something wrong, that would make it good and right for people to give me shit about it every day until I'm dead.

The thing that clicked for me most recently was this bit in Ijeoma Oluo's Be A Revolution:

Punitive justice is specifically, uniquely appealing to people who have suffered injustices. Of course it's the Tumblr zeitgeist. Everyone here is a marginalized person failed by at least one system. Punishing someone for perceived injustice is how someone the system has deemed worthless proves their value in blood, even if the person being punished hasn't harmed you directly - even if they haven't harmed anyone. "Righteous" anger isn't about the target in these cases, it's about the inflicter. This is how much my pain is worth.

And that kind of violent validation is so alluring and so very dangerous. It seeks an outlet, wearing the justification of justice. Who's in reach? Who's an acceptable target this week? What's a good reason to use?

Is there anything they could do that would make me stop?

[dollfacefantasy]

can't get started ♡

older bf!logan howlett x fem!reader

logan can't get it up one night and is humiliated. but that just means he'll have to prove he can still satisfy you.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, daddy kink, age gap (reader in 20s)

a/n: the part in dpw where he said he's got whiskey dick with the claws turned me on too much tbh

This had never happened to Logan before.

That wasn't a lie he was telling you to make himself look less pathetic. It wasn't an affirmation he repeated in his own head to feel like he was still hot shit. It was the truth. One he would swear to on anything.

He'd never had a problem getting it up before.

Not with you, not with anyone. He thought the healing factor made him immune to whiskey dick or any kind of down-there dysfunction. But apparently not. Because the two of you finally had some time alone after being amidst the chaos of the mansion all day and his body was stalling.

The second he had the bedroom door shut, you were dragging him over to the bed and climbing into his lap. You were doing everything like usual. Your lips pressed against his, and then moved to his jawline and down his neck. Your hands glided across the firm muscles of his chest. Your hips rolled down against his lap, beckoning the appendage between his legs to reciprocate your desire.

But it just wouldn't. He tried to make it because it wasn't a matter of not wanting you. He wanted you bad. 

He grabs your chin and brings your lips back up to his mouth so he can communicate his passion wordlessly. He digs his fingers into your hips, feeling the beginnings of where your flesh swells into your ass. He envisions how you'd been prancing around the whole day, cute tits pushing against the fabric of your t-shirt and calling out for him to grab.

You're so soft and warm. The little mewls that leave your lips sound like calls of angels up above. It doesn't matter though. His cock had clocked out for the night.

"God damnit," he grumbles before brushing you off his lap and bringing his fist down against the mattress. He sighs and his head hangs.

He can already sense the look on your face. Worry, hesitation, and affection swirling into one humiliating look. He feels your hand find his shoulder, the touch tender and accepting.

"It's ok, Logan. We don't have to," you say. Your tone is so soft and gentle, and it just drives him fucking nuts.

"But you want to," he says and looks over at you. The look in your eyes kills him. He knows you don't mean it, but it looks so patronizing. As if he's an old dog about to be taken out back and old yeller'd.

"Yeah but I don't want you to force yourself. We can just cuddle," you offer, sweet as can be.

"It's not forcing, I want to do this. I want you so bad," he says and cups your cheek. He pulls you back onto his lap and nuzzles your neck. "Been thinking about this all day."

You let out a little sigh as he lays some kisses on the column of your throat, and that gives him a spark of hope. Maybe he can do this. Maybe he doesn't have to be put out to pasture just yet. The two of you make out and grind and feel each other up some more. But eventually your tits are all but in his face and his dick still doesn't have a pulse.

He huffs and pulls back. 'Fuck, I'm sorry, sweetheart," he says.

You watch him, the gleam in your eyes as adoring as ever. It was the same look you gave him when you'd have to explain a basic function of a cell phone to him.

"It's ok. You don't have to be embarrassed," you reassure and lean in to peck his cheek.

He groans and gently brushes you off. "Don't. I don't need you coddling me."

"I'm just saying. I understand," you say with conviction, hands splaying on your chest to physically convey your empathy, "It happens to lots of guys when they get older. You don't have to be ashamed of it with me."

And in that moment, he wishes he didn't have his mutation so he could just die on the spot from being utterly mortified. He'd actually have preferred if you laughed in his face and called him an old man. A sad, old, perverted fuck who decided to date some half his age even though he couldn't keep up with her appetite. If you'd told him you were gonna find someone who could satisfy you, it probably would've stung less than being talked to like a patient who doesn't know their cancer is terminal.

There was no chance in hell, you'd ever do any of that though. As much as he hated that fact right now, it was part of why he loved you.

All he does is mumble a thank you and kiss the corner of your mouth. He doesn't just cuddle you after though. He gets you off on his thigh. You were still going to cum even if he couldn't. When you're done, he holds you close and rubs your back till you're sleeping curled up to his side.

His night isn't very restful though. It's haunted with the prospect of future incidents like this, of your perception of him changing. The look in your eyes changing from admiration to pity.

He can't live with that. The next day for the two of you is super busy, but he makes sure there's a spot at the end of it for him to secure his redemption.

This time around it's him carting you away from the others once the sun is down, mouth on the curve of your neck before you even reach the bedroom. His hands grope your waist and paw at your tits. You stumble into the door, bumping it loud enough that you'd be worried about someone hearing you if they weren't all downstairs.

"Logan..." you giggle. You push your ass back against him and glance at him out of your peripheral.

"Not what you're gonna be calling me before the night is done, sweet thing," he grunts and boosts you up.

Your legs press into his sides to support yourself as he opens the door. He takes the two of you inside and kicks it shut behind him before heading to the bed and tossing you on the mattress.

You look up at him with a coy smile, arms propping you up and one of your legs extended to entice him.

"You know... you don't have to prove anything to me, right?" you say.

"Oh, I don't?" he asks and grabs your ankle, pulling you to the edge of the bed so your hips meet, "You're too easy to please, babydoll."

Another laugh bubbles through your lips. Your legs drop to lock around his waist. "I'm just saying. It's like totally normal, and I don't want you to get all grumpy about it."

"Oh, I get grumpy, do I?" he asks as he leans over you. His large body envelopes yours on the mattress. He ducks down further to swallow your words up with kisses.

You hum into the exchange but pull back a little to finish your thought.

"Mhm, you do. And I just don't want you to feel that way cause I knew when we got together what I was getting into," you say.

Your confidence is so cute. You talk with absolute certainty, like you understand all there is to be understood about him. Like you'd known him forever and he hadn't been doing things like this for decades longer than you walked this earth.

His mouth crashes against yours again, his body weighing down on you and crushing you into the mattress. 

"You did, hm? You knew what you were getting into? You got with me thinking I wouldn't be able to give it to you how you need all the time?" he mutters against your skin.

"I didn't mean it like-"

"Didn't mean it like that? How'd you mean it then, sweetheart?"

"I dunno..."

"Doesn't sound like you knew what you were getting into to me," he breathes.

That little sentence that you'd said in an attempt to comfort him unlocked something between the two of you. He felt his cock waking up and pressing against his zipper, eager to get out and slide home. It's hard to register your clothes being pulled off when he's got his tongue in your mouth and his fingers playing with your clit. In no time at all, he's got the both of you bare and his cock nestled between your thighs.

Like he already knew, the issue last night had never been about lack of desire. And he intended to prove that to you, fuck you so good it wiped your memory of any placating word that fell from your lips.

He ruts into you hard. The mattress rocks on the bed frame and threatens to slide off. His dick is big and even though it's not a new sensation for you, each time you take it is a stretch. It's even more so when he pushes you up by the back of your knees. You whine as you're folded in half. His thrusts hit your sweet spot every time at this angle.

"Thought you knew what you were getting into?" he teases as he pistons himself in and out.

You mewl and bob your head, though you aren't sure if you're shaking your head or nodding.

"Fuckkkk, Logan. 'm sorry," you pant. Your walls squeeze tight around his shaft as your eyes close up. He made every part of your body contract and feel like it was moments from exploding.

He simply laughs at your apology. "Don't gotta be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm just showing you what happens when I get older."

His balls hang heavy and swing with each motion, clapping against your ass. The heat between your legs is enough to make you squirm. Constant whimpers pour from your lips as he fucks into you without mercy.

"I know," you moan, "You fuck me better than anyone else."

"That's right," he grunts, "Nobody else could fuck you like this. Just me."

"Mhm, just daddy," you slur and cling onto him tighter. Your arms hook around his neck and keep his sweaty skin flush against yours.

"Just daddy," he repeats, his tone smooth like silk despite his raspy voice, "You don't need anyone else. Not when I can take care of you like this."

His tip prods at your cervix, making you yelp and buck. He doesn't stop though, just keeps battering into you, hammering into your warm, wet hole.

"You don't need any little boys thinking they know how to handle you," he breathes and nuzzles your neck, "Your old man can handle you just fine, make you cum whenever you need."

A strangled cry leaves your lips. Your nails dig into his back so hard that it seems like you wanted to draw blood. His words just make you melt for him. Reduce you down to a compliant jumble of flesh for him to mold and play with how he wants.

"Needa cum right now, daddy," you whine.

"I know you do, spoiled girl. You act so understanding, but I know that little pussy is aching to cum around my cock. To get filled up with my cum," he murmurs.

You nod wildly.

He chuckles at your eagerness and snaps against you even harder.

"Hold on tight, baby," he whispers.

His hips ricochet off your ass, clapping against you with intensity that borders on violent. You squeal and hang on as directed. Your whole body rocks with his momentum. Your head bobbles around like it's empty, which it is. Empty of everything but him.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck," you whimper.

"Let it out for me. Let me feel you burst, pretty girl," he grunts as he continues plowing into you.

Your body rolls. Your hips vibrate with the ecstasy release brings you. It crashes over you in one intense wave, like a gallon of liquid euphoria being poured over you. Your eyes flutter, and you bury your face in his neck like he has his in yours.

He fucks you through it. Coos in your ear too. "That's my baby. My sweet girl. Always sound so pretty when you're cumming."

One of your hands flies up to clutch at his thick, dark hair. Keeping him close keeps the words flowing.

"Getting so tight for me, fuck. No one can make me cum like you, honey. Drains me dry every fucking time."

Moments later he spurts into you, unloading thick ropes of his spend inside you. You let out another moan from that sensation alone. He growls and pants against your skin, his hands locking you in place as his hips pummel into your cunt and make sure every last drop has been released.

He lingers on you for a few moments before pulling out. His body feels loose in the afterglow. He stands at the edge of the bed and looks down at himself and then you. He knows he's gonna have to clean you up. Your inner thighs are shimmery with a mix of fluids, and the bush of dark hair at the base of his cock is in the same condition.

"Time to shower, baby?" he asks and pats your leg. You don't respond at first and he smirks. "Or did I tire you out too much?"

You whine something incoherent and shift to turn your face against the blankets. His smug look grows. He crawls over you again and nips at your jaw, rubbing his nose against your cheekbone.

"You know, it's ok, sweetheart. It's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's totally normal for pretty little things like you. I knew that going in."

His tone mimics your soft and understanding one from earlier. You make a little growl and swat at his bicep.

“Shut up, old man.”

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hi! I wanted to say I absolutely adore your art and headcannons! I wanted to ask if you would be interested in making a headcannon for our lovely harbingers where there is someone trying to sabotage their relationship with the reader like for example the person is saying that the reader is cheating or is saying mean things about the harbingers and that they have ,,proof" it is if course a lie. Don't force yourself to do anything you don't want to tho!

(Absolutely genius idea! Sorry to keep you waiting! I’m a slow writer…)

✦ When others try to sabotage your relationship with them

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe

(tw: general mentions of violence and blood. sfw) 

Being intimate with a powerful Fatui Harbinger provides the illusory dream of having riches, power, and status. Some watch you with hushed murmurs as you accompany your beloved with linked arms, looking all elegant beside him. Perhaps some people cannot comprehend how such a ruthless Fatuus can even court someone like you. Others simply cannot comprehend that status and money is not a key factor in your relationship.

✧ To crossfire with Pierro is to go against every single Fatui Harbinger. The Director is known far and wide as a man of cold words and power beyond the seven nations. All valuable intel and actions are reported to him first and foremost, as even the top Harbingers bow before him. You, on the other hand, were not meant to bow before him. The Jester shall never let you lower your head, because it is he who shall stoop to worship you. 

However recently, a certain rumor reached his ears. His spies related to him info that certain Fatui soldiers, some lowly commoners at the bottom of the ranks, are spreading uncouth jabs about you and Pierro. Intel states that these fools think you infiltrated the Fatui and The Director’s inner circle by some intimate provocation and seduction; that you’re in it for the money and status.

Pierro’s gloved hands gripped the papers. Nevertheless, his expression is placid as always. 

Thus, the culprit now sat in Pierro’s office, trembling as the room oozed with murderous silence. The Jester never raised his voice, nor did he question the man who “joked” about you. The fellow kept spitting apologies, begging for mercy. He knew it was futile to lie or waste the Director's patience.

And the Jester? It took everything in his power not to get his gloved hands bloodied. To hear someone accuse you - his most cherished, as a shallow harlot? Consequences shall be faced. Calming his boiling turmoil, Pierro continued to conduct himself professionally:

He made sure the man and his entire generation met their oblivion. 

With the recruitment of his best spies, he ascertained that the culprit’s disappearance was not felt by a single soul, his entire family gone, and all traces of spread rumors eradicated. Above all, it was orchestrated so that you would remain unaware that anyone dared to tarnish your reputation.

You carried on with your life, blissfully unaware and undisturbed. Even now, you came in knocking on his office, asking: “Long day at work, honey? I can bring you some tea or coffee if you want.”

The Jester's smile returned, throwing away some crumbled documents into the trash can - “A tea break would be excellent, my divine.”

If it’s blood that needs to be spilled to protect you and his private affairs, then Pierro won’t think twice. 

✧ For Il Capitano, the way of the blade speaks more for its wielder than words. If you wish to prove your stance, you better be prepared to face the First Fatui Harbinger, as his might will test you in a relentless duel of strength. So what do you think happened when Capitano overheard someone calling you “weak”? That his beloved does not deserve an ounce of his attention, because you are a meek being compared to the Harbinger? 

His hand instantly found its place on the hilt of his claymore. He left no room for negotiation or doubt. He marched straight towards the culprit, unsheathed his weapon, and pointed the sharp point of his blade straight at the person.

“If you are so confident to spit such insolence about them, then you must be equally confident with your strength. Let your blade speak.”

The poor fool tried to defend himself with excuses. But his mocking meant nothing to the Captain’s weapon. Before you know it, there is an ongoing duel initiated by Il Capitano. The witnesses know that whoever is on the receiving end of his wrath has no chance of surviving. Not when a single swing of his weapon causes craters on the ground.

The man was about to collapse, accepting his violent demise. But just as Capitano was about to unleash his final lesson, your voice rang out amongst the crowd.

“Hey! Cease this commotion at once!” - you stepped up, your expression stern as you stood in front of your beloved. In a rare moment of vulnerability, the Captain’s already stoic body language shifted. His claymore was sheathed back to its place.

“My beloved, you shouldn’t have seen this…”

“And yet I did. It would’ve reached my ears anyway. What did I say about temperamental duels, Capitano? Morons are not worth it.” 

“He called you weak. I cannot allow it.”

For a minute, Capitano kept his head hung low in reverence. You stood with your arms on your hips, scolding him. Was it not for your intervention, that person who vocally mocked you would’ve been lying dead now. Instead, you spared the offender, and the man was allowed to flee in humiliation. 

The conflict was eradicated, and Capitano's imposing demeanor showed he didn't regret his actions. Considering how even Capitano bowed to your words, the accuser realized - you are not weak. Because if there was one person who made the First Harbinger go motionless then it was you. 

✧ Today was a good day for Il Dottore, but you weren't sure why. He was a tad clingy, his steps laced with a sense of giddiness. Giving you extra squeezes while hugging, smothering you with longer kisses on the cheek. Even as you sat idly in his lab, you watched him as he worked on some paperwork with a grin.

Thus you questioned him, lazily strolling around his lab and observing the countless tools or vials. But he waved off his excitement, tapping his pencil over some papers - “Nothing of major importance, but I did have something interesting happen recently.”

You raised an eyebrow, beckoning him to continue.

“An idiot made a pathetic attempt at spreading rumors about us.” - You stopped in your tracks, going still as you held some miscellaneous container with what seemed to be tissue samples. The Harbinger continued: “Some fool spoke behind your back; stating that anyone who is close with a heretical scholar is bound to be equally insane. They thought that if their words didn't reach you, then it's of no consequence.”

Your expression fell somber with each word Dottore spoke. He said it with such profound avidity, that his voice demonstrated threatening intent behind them. So he continued. “But you know me, dear. Nothing goes past me. Vile nicknames are nothing new to me. My work is not for the faint of heart, and those pesky cretins enjoy concealing their fear with profane titles. And they can call me whatever they want. However, I won't allow them to call you names. Not because of my work.”

You averted your gaze sadly onto the samples of veins and organs in vials. You pretended to inspect them, but your sorrow was more prominent. You suspected Dottore already did something, hence his unusual giddiness today. Thus, you inquired in a soft whisper - “So… what did you do?”

“I handled it, naturally.”

“...You did? What happened? To the person who said such things, I mean.”

“What happened? Dear, you're holding them in your hands right now.” - Il Dottore beamed, pointing at the vials of organs you held. 

✧ Today, Scaramouche was eerily silent. You were accompanying him during one of his work expeditions, aiding him with certain formalities regarding his Fatui subordinates. The 6th had soldiers working under him, and although he did not care for their training, he did not tolerate any incompetent weaklings.

Therefore, you decided to lend a hand. You helped conduct a training program for his underlings, making sure all standards were met. It’s not the first time you did so, since The Puppeteer often placed you as the second in command whenever he was absent. And the Fatui soldiers did not conceal their thrill - it’s like you were their favorite substitute teacher who was more cheerful and forgiving than their superior.

Either way, Scaramouche saw that the mission was going smoothly. But soon, lightning would strike. A certain Fatuus, an agent in training, was getting too charmful with you. It was during the usual training assigned by you, and this person was focusing more on his conversation with you than his training:

Telling you how you are a remarkably skilled person. How it’s a marvel to see someone so delightful as you working alongside the Balladeer. How you shouldn’t waste your time with someone as aggravating as Lord Harbinger Scaramouche. He’s even leaning closer towards you.

You smiled uncomfortably, your attempts at polite disagreement did not work with this agent. Yet now you felt the static in the air, and that’s when you realized - Your beloved heard all of it.

On this usual, unassuming morning, Scaramouche walked silently and struck a man with lightning. All eyes turned towards the commotion as you stood behind the Harbinger. His fists were clenched, sparks of electro crackling from them.

He may have been silent the whole day, but don’t mistake his silence for impassivity.

“Next time, know your place,” - he seethed, standing over the person who endeavored to sweet talk you. He permitted his subordinates too much leeway, now they dare charm you with empty flirts. Scaramouche would’ve stomped that man’s head if he wanted, but he wouldn’t create such a grotesque scene in your presence. Instead, he turned away, held your hand, and pulled you away.

He gave you a day off, his mind already conjuring plans to deal with his underlings later. At least he scoffed out an apology. Not for what he did; he does not lament that. Just a small ‘sorry’ for giving you a quick fright. The lightning strike was very loud, after all. 

✧ Pantalone often gets invited to luxurious meetings or extravagant galas. Any party that is attended by the richest man in Teyvat is a guarantee to make high-society elites turn heads. However, considering your prolonged relationship with your darling Pantalone, you know he secretly despises these social gatherings. Therefore, he takes you with him. Dressed in your finest, Pantalone proudly shows you off to the pompous aristocrats.

People would watch enviously, thinking to themselves: The Regrator’s sweetheart, spoiled by his riches. Your attire is as glorious as his expensive suit. His arm is tenderly linked with yours, always offering you his hand like a true gentleman whenever you two walk. Even as he conversed with various business partners, he always had to make sure his hand was around your waist or your hand.

This dotting behavior made certain ladies of Snezhnaya jealous. They could see you were not a noble-born, nor were you used to the attention during such gatherings. You just timidly accompanied him, and Pantalone kept rambling about you and your benign achievements. Childish, really. You’re probably someone who just ran after and clung to the Harbinger until he relented to keep you. Therefore, a group of ladies initiated the conversation: 

“It’s a pleasure to meet a man such as yourself, Lord Harbinger.” and “Why, a man of your status is probably seeking some interesting company. Oh? You are with someone? My, my, I did not notice them.” or “Surely you desire connections worthy of your status, sir.”

Pantalone had mastered the art of courteous smiling, yet even his act was about to crack. He noticed the way these ladies tried to stand too close to him, pretend you were not in the picture, or even passively mock you. Their insolence stenches, and noticing your silent discomfort caused his heart to sting. But he had a plan.

“Why yes, you are right,” - Pantalone smiled with his charming looks “I do value my time, and it’s important to not waste it on shallow conversationalists. Oh, but it’s such a shame that the people in front of us are just that. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Pantalone turned to you, his arms encircling your waist while speaking such backhanded comments with triumphant smiles. The ladies’ smiles fell instantly, and you tried everything to avert your gaze. “Um, Pantalone? Maybe we shouldn’t-”

“Shouldn’t bore ourselves with such lowly individuals? Hmm, I agree. There isn’t much to do here anyway, only the greedy will seek something in this superficial gathering. Oh well, let’s go so I can take you to dance, dear.” - Pantalone concluded in his usual enamoring tone “Ladies, if you would excuse yourself.”

In this world, the 9th of the Fatui Harbinger doesn’t excuse himself - others do. Therefore, he took you away, scoffing and checking up on you with hushed whispers. Pantalone was offended. Why do they assume it was you who desperately sought out the rich Harbinger? Little do they know it was Pantalone who used to run and seek your attention just to be yours. Honestly, they’re discrediting his neediness for you. 

✧ Should anyone meddle with Tartaglia’s personal life, they are picking up a brawl. Someone dares to flirt with you? His fists are ready. Someone said something unwelcoming about you? Anything in the vicinity can be used as a weapon. Someone endangers his relationship? Their life is now in danger.

Of course, you’re the one who consistently yanked him out of these fights. Usually, it’s nothing serious, as when you scold your boyfriend for such reckless behavior it ends with his heartfelt words and apologetic chuckles. He finds solace in embracing you from behind, gently enfolding his arms around your shoulders, reassuring himself that all is well.

However, Tartagia is still a Harbinger. Away from home, he’d personally search for intel on the culprit who dares to offend your relationship. Names, records, locations, anything to keep tabs on those who think they can drag his family into bloodshedding matters. Tracking is of no issue, after all, when he was still a young rookie, training as a Fatui agent was just the first step.

Once he determines the offender, he’ll pay a discreet visit to them. And this time, without you dragging him away from fights, there is no place for mercy or jests.

At night, Childe returned home, cheerful as the sight of you getting ready for bed welcomes him. Yet in the dim lights, you’d gasp and approach him with concern, catching traces of smeared blood on his face or hands.

Ajax would just smile; he didn’t need to explain. Instead, he would quietly approach you from behind and envelop his arms around your shoulders in quiet stillness.

[spyroz]

if anyone needs help identifying things that can become moral scrupulosity OCD obsessions/compulsions, heres a list of some i've experienced:

rereading your posts/texts over and over

checking your notes and/or followers list frequently to "make sure" bad actors aren't interacting with you

checking OP's blog before interacting with posts

compulsively opening a social media tab to look at your notifs and then closing it, over and over

fearing ways that things you say/do (or don't do) could be taken in bad faith. being anxious that your words/actions will be misconstrued as morally wrong, bigoted, rude, or aggressive

feeling guilty or obsessing over whether you should or shouldn't have reblogged a post

feeling like you aren't "allowed" to disengage from online discourse or unfollow people who post it

fearing you're being stalked, talked about, or called out behind your back. fearing you'll never be forgiven and that people might even celebrate your disappearance or death, even though you havent done anything wrong

searching your own name/username to see if anyone is actually talking about you

imagining defenses you would make against nonexistent heinous accusations or arguments against you, to prove that you didnt do it

feeling like you have to roll over and become a doormat when others are cruel to you, because it could cause strife if you do anything other than grovel or apologize

having trouble enforcing your own boundaries out of fear that they are somehow "wrong" or unethical

ending up surrounded by people who have all the "right opinions" but are super mean and unpleasant, and make you feel like you have to walk on eggshells

fearing that just HAVING moral ocd makes you a bad person somehow (for example, i often fear that having moral ocd is somehow pushing a 'stranger danger' or misanthropist agenda, even though i actually have a lot of faith in my fellow humans)

some of these bullet points are not inherently bad on their own, but if you find yourself having this kind of anxiety very often, that's not normal, and it's time to get offline or even seek professional help if it's impacting your life

this list is catered to how online culture influences moral scrupulosity, it is not indicative of how everybody's moral scrupulosity functions, and it is not exhaustive

[theoccultz]

How will your future spouse pursue you ?

Ok you guys the series is finally here

All of my pacs are queer friendly

Since not everyone wants to get married , you could read for your s/o as well

Pics and dividers not mine , credits to their rightful owners @/saradika

Apologies for any mistakes

Let me know which pile you picked and don't be afraid to express your thoughts (:

Pile l . Pile ll. Pile lll.

🫀 Pile l.

For this series if you have any topic suggestion let me know I'll include it

>>> | Queen of swords , 4of wands , 5 of cups |

This person is gonna be competitive for your attention , they dont fall in love easily and when they do its ride or die , they are your typical bad boy stereotype that you see in the movies , they are someone who knows they are the best in the room this person's self esteem & self concept is amazing, their confidence speak for itself, they are someone who has seen a lot of things in life and their way of getting to you is very simple and straightforward, maybe in the past people weren't as actively pursuing you as you would love them too but this person is not like this , they are on your face they know they want you and they're gonna be sincere & upfront about it , this person is generally very quiet and people have a lot of ridiculous assumptions about them like they're a player etc etc but best believe me they're really not what others think of him , this person is hot asf , you could be a very stubborn person who takes decision carefully about their life and this will stress them out n,ot in a way to deceit anyone but they know they have to prove everyone wrong so that you see them truly for who they are awww:(

Anyways this person is very masculine in nature , they are gonna act as a mentor and a caregiver, you want this ? I got it , you need this ? Its on me ....and you're like wtf i can do that myself but its just their way to make you feel special , this person does not do that for everyone if they are doing 50% for you then they are gonna do 20% for their friends its like they value your connection a lot and they don't want you to feel like you're just like everyone else in their life , this person is gonna defend you in every situation be it with their family or friends they dont give a shit , this person is also very keen on you they notice everything about you , how you care for people what you like to wear so their another hobby will be gift giving they are very thoughtful and they'd love to make you smile . The four of wands with the five of cups rx is very much i don't want to see them sad , i don't want them to doubt our connection, i want to put efforts for them , i want to do SO much that this person never feel less about themselves, i feel like being with this person , one of the best things about them ...that you're gonna like is they are deadly whatever they do its 100% efforts they dont like to tease their partner even in a slightest way because they know words can stick with a person forever so they're very mindful ,people can envy this the most about you guys its like no one can say anything bad abt my partner if you're gonna be passive then i might play this game as well , they could have a scorpio mercury or virgo so whatever they say is gonna hurt the other person because scorpions and virgos are known for their details , they study people very deeply , whatever they say hold meaning.

This person is definately that cold hearted girl/ guy or you are because i'm picking up on this black cat energy from you and cats do not chose their owners instantly neither do they love everyone. I Also picked up on a very rockstar appearance like long hairs , leather jacket, ripped jeans , its so cool , they remind me of early 2000's era

How will they pursue you : competitively , your friends post you every week ?? ...i'm gonna post you everyday its that kind of person lol , the back of the deck I usually take that as an overall energy is ace of pentacle which is a very stable and set energy in its own so whatever they do , they do it to achieve victory , to be recognised, to show you that they are the shit (;

Channelled song :

Thank you for reading!!

🫀Pile ll .

For this series if you have any topic suggestion let me know I'll include it

| 10 of cups , strength, four of swords |

Ok so this is our cool guy /girl lmao

Even though they will be putting in efforts to pursue you , you shouldn't know that they are doing that , i feel like they will be pursuing you from the get go like this person on a random monday evening will just accept i have feelings for this person and i want them , now this person will try to make it seem like its all a coincidence, this could be a leo mercury or gemini they try to entertain people with their words but their words hold honesty which people cant always catch so they will try to make you feel comfortable like you should feel happy in their presence and it will satisfy them and they will replay this in their mind at night like oh this person laughed at my joke they touched me i made them happy and it brings a smile on their face , they might say or do things which will make you laugh take a scenario like OH ...and you're like what happened and this person is like deja vu darling i think we belong together the universe knows and its so cheesy but its also so cute , they like to break this barrier between you guys , this person will be friendly towards you , they will flirt with you , they're also very spontaneous and a little bit tricky they love to play with you , lets say you guys have a dinner plan and you're excited you're dressed up you have already reached the venue but they will purposefully show up late and when you text them they're like WHAT...? We had plans ? but they are just joking they are alrdy at the venue waiting for you to see them , they might even joke with you like oh i have 5 kids to feed ofcourse i'm late & its a very playfully banter , you play along like YOU match their freak ... its ridiculous you wanna be mad at them but you can't but i understand your feelings pile 2 and i validate 🙂‍↔️✋🏽

I really think this person is gonna steal your parents love like 😭✋🏽they are the favourite child now , this person has a tendency to play cool like they dont wanna give in first..... they want you to give in first its kind of a cute ego idk , let's take a scenario they say "love you " and you're like where's my " I LOVE YOU " and they're like yes "I LOVE YOU TOO" so petty 😭 they have this natural ability to piss you off , this is the type of person when someone would ask you guys ..."so who confessed first ??...they're gonna jump in like ofcourse it was them , they were crazy about me like you dont know i had to give in but its not true its the opposite. So as you can already guess their ass ? Dramatic ...but you cant say they are dramatic because they are gonna be MORE dramatic about it .

How will they pursue you ? With fear because i feel like they will mask their desire to make you theirs with humour you could start off as friends or colleagues so they cant be very open about their feelings because they feel like you are not focused on love and you might reject them so it's their little cute tactics to get to your heart yeah but they are gonna be very anxious about it they could even suffer from inferiority complex.

Channelled song:

Thank you for reading!!

🫀Pile lll.

For this series if you have any topic suggestion let me know I'll include it

• 3ofcoins, wheel of fortune rx , seven of swords rx •

This person will absolutely be focused on providing comfort to you whether it be emotional or sexual , they love to do things with you they love to hang out with you , they creatively express themselves, they are someone who's gonna listen to your rants they are gonna embrace every flaw & every good thing about you , you are gonna feel exposed in their presence there's something about this person knowing you more than you know them , they really love to spend time with you , i'm seeing this person pushing you towards better goals like your life is gonna improve being with them ,this person will be very happy for your success, they are gonna put you on pedestal they think you are more lovable than them and you deserve more than them and i can confidently say they'll always love you more than you love them its very sweet but also sad , they have insecurities yet they are here trying to soothe your heart, they are gonna apologise first its like they dont wanna lose you they know how to keep a connection you wouldn't need to worry this is a connection where you can let yourself just be you aint gonna walk on eggshells, they are mature , i feel like this person cannot express themselves through words so they prefer to write to you , take you to places with them , praise you infornt of others , make you something, i feel like this persons love is comforting and sweet , you are their equal and they want you to feel like that.

This person will definately engage more in your life , they are gonna be supportive towards you like a best friend, they will overgive to you , they can even say stuff like ...." as long as i'm here i'm gonna be there for you ".....they will hold your hand while you walk they will listen to your problems, they will embrace your silly nature , take you out , spend time with you " i'm getting this line you came and the other one is like you called " it went viral on tiktok i think its from a movie but yeah the energy is very much sweet

Oh you guys this is so sweet , you guys dont speak the same language? They're gonna learn for you we have that kind of person here , you know when they are in love they get hearty eyes it shows on their face and in their behaviour, those sneaky eye contacts , those blush when you are mentioned, the sincerity in their words ,its all there .

How they're gonna pursue you ? Its very passionate and being Passionate does not mean always having hots for each other and that is exactly how they will make you feel , you feel this wholeness i'm having a hard time describing it...its so divine...you know just so grateful and lucky to have a connection like this in this day n age , Yeah 😭this is sooooooo damnnn cuteee i'm scared of this person's energy its very intense , i mean your partner is into worshipping & if you like this then this is definitely your pile (:

Channelled song:

Thanks for reading!!