#-of a far less privileged person than she is
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During the 2008 recession, my aunt lost her job. Her, her partner, and my three cousins moved across the country to stay with us while they got back on their feet. My house turned from a family of four to a family of nine overnight, complete with three dogs and five cats between us.
It took a few years for them to get a place of their own, but after a few rentals and apartments, they now own a split level ranch in a town nearby. I’ve lost track of how many coworkers and friends have stayed with them when they were in a tight spot. A mother and son getting out of an abusive relationship, a divorcee trying to stay local for his kids while they work out a custody agreement, you name it. My aunt and uncle knew first hand what that kindness meant, and always find space for someone who needed it, the way my parents had for them.
That same aunt and uncle visited me in [redacted] city last year. They are prolific drinkers, so we spent most of the day bar hopping. As we wandered the city, any time we passed a homeless person, my uncle would pull out a fresh cigarette and ask them if they had a light. Regardless of if they had a lighter on hand or not, he offered them a few bucks in exchange, which he explained to me after was because he felt it would be easier for them to accept in exchange for a service, no matter how small.
I work for a company that produces a lot of fabric waste. Every few weeks, I bring two big black trash bags full of discarded material over to a woman who works down the hall. She distributes them to local churches, quilting clubs, and teachers who can use them for crafts. She’s currently in the process of working with our building to set up a recycling program for the smaller pieces of fabric that are harder to find use for.
One of my best friends gives monthly donations to four or five local organizations. She’s fortunate enough to have a tech job that gives her a good salary, and she knows that a recurring donation is more valuable to a non-profit because they can rely on that money month after month, and can plan ways to stretch that dollar for maximum impact. One of those organizations is a native plant trust, and once she’s out of her apartment complex and in a home with a yard, she has plans to convert it into a haven of local flora.
My partner works for a company that is working to help regulate crypto and hold the current bad actors in the space accountable for their actions. We unfortunately live in a time where technology develops far too fast for bureaucracy to keep up with, but just because people use a technology for ill gain doesn’t mean the technology itself is bad. The blockchain is something that she finds fascinating and powerful, and she is using her degree and her expertise to turn it into a tool for good.
I knew someone who always had a bag of treats in their purse, on the odd chance they came across a stray cat or dog, they had something to offer them.
I follow artists who post about every local election they know of, because they know their platform gives them more reach than the average person, and that they can leverage that platform to encourage people to vote in elections that get less attention, but in many ways have more impact on the direction our country is going to go.
All of this to say, there’s more than one way to do good in the world. Social media leads us to believe that the loudest, the most vocal, the most prolific poster is the most virtuous, but they are only a piece of the puzzle. (And if virtue for virtues sake is your end goal, you’ve already lost, but that’s a different post). Community is built of people leveraging their privileges to help those without them. We need people doing all of those things and more, because no individual can or should do all of it. You would be stretched too thin, your efforts valiant, but less effective in your ambition.
None of this is to encourage inaction. Identify your unique strengths, skills, and privileges, and put them to use. Determine what causes are important to you, and commit to doing what you can to help them. Collective action is how change is made, but don’t forget that we need diversity in actions taken.
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Mine All Mine
Michael doesn't have a lot of friends, nor does he want them. Now he thinks he might have found his perfect match, and he has no intentions of letting her slip away
Main Masterlist
Michael Gavey x unnamed female character
Warnings: 18+, smut, Michael Gavey being a little shit (affectionately), possessive behaviour (yk the drill here)
Words: 7k
A/n: This ended up leaning into more of a cuter side, I definitely wanna do something creepier with him at some point! Also available to read on AO3.
He gets to the room early, before the tutor has even arrived. It’s his first tutorial of the year and his first ever at Oxford. He stands straight with his head up and his hands unmoving, a picture of neutrality. He has his problem sheet in his satchel and runs through the questions in his head, not because he needs to, not because he doubts himself, but simply because he can.
He doesn’t even like maths all that much, but he’s always been good at it. He had considered doing something a little less straightforward, physics or economics, but then what would be the point in getting into Oxford to be anything less than perfect?
He knows his tutor’s name from his schedule, Stephen Breyer. He arrives only a few minutes later and they go inside. The tutorial room is small, with three of the four walls covered in bookshelves. In the centre of the room there is a table, an armchair on one side and a small sofa on the other.
Michael takes the seat closest to the door. It puts him in a slightly more direct line of sight with Stephen. It also means his tutorial partner will inevitably have to climb over his legs to sit down and the thought amuses him.
“How are you finding it so far?” Stephen asks, unpacking a thermos flask and a notebook from his bag.
“It?” Michael repeats.
Stephen pauses and looks at him, slightly bewildered. “Well, the course, the college, Oxford. All of it.”
“Right,” Michael says. He takes his time taking out a pencil and his problem sheet before placing them on the table. He sits back against the sofa and rubs his lips together in thought.
He supposes it’s been exactly as he had expected. Lectures have been fairly straightforward, Lincoln college looks the same as it had in the prospectus, and so far, most of the people seem insufferable. So many of them have no sense of urgency, no drive to truly succeed because to them, Oxford is a rite of passage rather than an earned privilege. He’s met maybe one person he’d consider worthy of his time, and even then, Oliver Quick is only a literature student. He might as well get a degree in overthinking.
Stephen is looking at him like he is still expecting an answer. Michael stares back. He’s never been one to bother with smalltalk.
“Alright then,” Stephen says, then nods to the empty place on the sofa. “Do you know if–”
The door opens and a girl walks in, closing it gently behind her. “Sorry I’m late,” she says, eyes flickering around the room and settling on the space beside Michael.
He’s seen her before, in lectures, in the dining hall, walking around the college with her little group of friends. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were all Cheltenham girls by the way they talk and dress in the stupid outfits rich girls wear to make themselves seem like normal people.
He watches her as she walks towards him, the awkward little smile she gives him before she steps over his legs.
“Sorry,” she says again, falling onto the sofa. Michael almost winces at the sudden jolt of movement and the faint scent of a sweet perfume drifting from his left. “Had some trouble finding the room.”
“You’re right on time,” Stephen says, “we haven’t started yet.”
She’s better at the smalltalk than he is. She has a constant smile on her face and a bright look in her eyes, already having plenty of humorous anecdotes to share, despite the fact it’s only their second week.
As they go through the questions on the sheet, comparing calculations and answers, Michael is horrified to find that he’s a little nervous. His throat feels dry and he can feel his heart pulsing in his chest. It’s her fault, he thinks. Everything about her is distracting, the sound of her voice, the satisfied little hum she makes when she realises she’s got another question right. Her black tights, the way her skirt rides up her thigh when she crosses her legs.
He wants to think she’s vapid, a pretty face dressed up in black boots and a denim jacket, but to his dismay, all of their answers are the same, down to every detail in their calculations.
That is until they reach the last question. It’s terribly complex and he had almost struggled with it. Almost.
He steals a quick glance at her sheet and notices their answers are different. Because she’s missed a step, he realises. He feels a smile creeping across his lips.
He proudly goes through his working out, delighted at the surprised look on her face as she goes over her own sheet.
“I got something different,” she says with a shrug.
Stephen invites her to talk through her answer. Her voice is quieter and softer than it was before, but not as defeated as he’d like.
“She has you beat there, Mr Gavey,” Stephen says.
It’s like being punched in the gut. “What?”
“Overextend yourself a little,” he explains, drawing a line through the last few calculations on his paper. “Make sure to read what the question asks of you.”
His blood is boiling and his fists are clenched. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been wrong. A dangerous impulse in the back of his mind wants to scream his throat raw and tear his paper to pieces.
Then he feels a warmth settle over his knuckles. She’s placed her hand over his.
“It’s a compliment, really,” she says to him.
He looks up at her, only more infuriated by the gentle expression on her face. But he knows better than to let anger get the better of him. It will only leave him feeling ashamed. So he forces a smile and nods. “Thank you.”
She smiles too, sweet and reassuring.
He can’t bear the humiliation. Once they’re dismissed he packs up quickly, practically storming out of the room before she even has a chance to stand up.
He spends the rest of the day in his dorm, looking over the same problem and pulling at his hair, because now his mistake seems glaringly obvious. How could he be so useless? So careless as to not even read the fucking question properly?
His room is on the second floor, overlooking the quad. There are always people around, walking between classes, sitting on the grass, their voices and the smell of cigarette smoke rising and drifting in through his window. He hates it. He hates the noise, the distraction.
But as he goes to close the open window he spots her. It’s only for a moment. She’s walking towards the library with her hands in the pocket of her jacket and her backpack slung over one shoulder. She’s not with any of her preppy friends, in fact she looks rather solemn.
He feels a slight twinge of guilt in his gut. Perhaps he had been a little unfair to her in their tutorial.
He keeps noticing her, especially at meal times and during lectures. Whenever he enters a room he finds himself searching for her, and if he cannot find her, he waits for her to appear. He plays guessing games with himself, waiting to see what outfit she’ll wear, the pretty mini skirt or a pair of faded blue baggy jeans. If she’ll be with her friends or if she’ll be alone.
He never approaches her. He waits for her to look at him, and once they’ve made eye contact she’ll smile at him.
He likes watching her, and comes to the conclusion that she is charming and polite, but not overbearing, and that’s what's so intriguing about her. She knows how to talk to people, even the most insufferable of their peers, but she’s not nearly entitled enough to truly be one of them.
It’s a Friday evening the next time they actually speak. The library tends to be quieter at this time and he has a textbook to look over before his next lecture. Only, when he goes to find the book, he discovers the last copy has been checked out a matter of minutes ago. Fucking typical.
He goes to stalk out of the library, debating whether or not he can be bothered to ask Oliver if he wants to grab a drink in The King’s Arms, when he sees her.
She’s alone, with her chin in her palm, writing in a notebook as she looks at the textbook open in front of her. He’s willing to bet that’s exactly the book he needs.
He approaches her slowly, waiting for her to look up and notice him, but she seems utterly absorbed in what she’s doing. Only when he puts a hand on the back of her chair and leans over her shoulder does she react to him.
He sees her jump when he gets too close. “Jesus Christ!” she hisses, clutching her hand over her chest.
“Sorry,” he mutters, still hovering over her. “Did I frighten you?”
She hums a laugh but composes herself quite quickly. She turns her head to look at him. “I’m guessing you want the book?” she says, her breath fluttering over his cheek.
He straightens his back so he can look down at her. “Will you have it for long? Only I think I’ll get through the reading quite quickly.”
“Oh yes of course, you’re a genius, right?” she says with a grin.
Irritation scratches under the surface of his skin, hot and restless. That’s how he usually introduces himself, but it’s the truth.
“We could just share,” she says, gesturing to the empty seat beside her, “that is, unless you don’t think I’ll be able to keep up.”
There’s something exciting about the way she holds his gaze, the hint of a smile on her lips.
She offers to go back a page so he can catch up and admittedly, he skims through, only writing down a few notes before he tells her to move on. He can find the book again if he really needs to.
He has to lean over his left arm rather significantly to read the book properly. She notices this, and pushing it closer to him, shuffling her chair over to follow. They’re close enough that he can smell her perfume again.
“None of your little friends around then?” he asks quietly, so as not to disturb the other students.
“What?”
“That group of girls,” he says, “I’ve seen you sitting with them in the dining hall.”
She brings her chin back to her palm but doesn’t look up from her notes. “They live on my floor. I don’t need to spend every waking moment with them.”
“Touchy subject?” he asks, perhaps a little too hopefully.
His heart leaps in triumph when she looks up at him. “No. I’m just not sure I’d count them as friends, necessarily.”
“Why not?” he asks.
“Not my kind of people,” she says.
“Why not?”
She frowns briefly. He thinks she might scold him for being so direct, for asking so many questions, for being too intrusive. But she doesn’t.
The textbook is forgotten. She tells him about the village where she grew up, a sad little place by the sounds of it. She spent most of her schooling surrounded by the same twenty or so kids.
“For a long time, I knew there was something people didn’t like about me,” she says. “I didn’t understand why. I was never rude or cruel, I just kept my head down and did my work. The other girls told me I was a freak, the boys used to tease me, pull my hair, tear pages out of my books. Mum said people hated me because I was clever. Dad said I should stop complaining. So I did.”
He can’t help but draw a comparison to himself. He can feel it when he meets someone new, the inherent distrust, the sense that there is something inherently unlikeable about him. In a way he likes that people are unnerved by him because at least it’s something he can control. He has never been one for friends or common ground, a consequence of being the smartest person in every room.
He watches her intently as she tells him about a private school a few miles outside of her village, a proper posh place, Victorian buildings and sprawling estates. For her, it was her one chance of escape, and while her parents worked hard to make ends meet, the only way she was going to get in was with a scholarship. So she worked for it, got all A*s in her GCSEs, started at the posh school, and from there, set her sights on Oxford.
“You’re rather deceptive,” he says.
She smiles at him. “It’s not like I lied. Were you expecting a daddy’s money brat?”
“There’s enough of them about,” he says.
She huffs a laugh and rolls her eyes. “Fucking tell me about it.”
They start to make a habit of studying together, at first it’s by coincidence, and then she gives him her number so they can organise themselves more effectively. They meet at the library every Friday to share a textbook or go over problem sheets, in preparation for their lectures. They even start to meet before their tutorials together, to compare answers and make sure neither of them are left out. Sometimes they go for coffee after their classes, and branch off to chat about things that aren’t maths.
He tells her about the grammar school he went to, that most of the boys there were rugby playing morons. He tells her about his family, his mum, his dad, the family cat that’s been around longer than he has. He tells her about his summer, running numbers for his uncle’s accountancy firm.
She tells him about the posh school, that starting at a boarding school was like being thrown into a different universe. Sure, she had been the odd one out and got the odd “povo” comment, but it was the first place where she had felt like she didn’t have to be ashamed of her own intelligence. She learnt how to fit in, to the point where he can’t tell if she actually likes her preppy friends or if she just puts up with them for the sake of it.
He starts to wonder if he could consider her a friend. He likes that she’s smart and sharp, the slight air of competition when they compare notes or go through a problem together. He likes challenging her, making her second guess herself, watching the way she squirms and tries to hide that she’s flustered. Just once, he thinks it would be fun to one-up her, but of course, she never slips up, and she never makes a mistake.
On Halloween she mentions a party at Magdalene College being hosted by one of her old school friends. Of course he’s sceptical. Hanging around a bunch of stuck up posh kids, who no doubt will all be in slutty costumes and getting off on each other’s egos, isn’t exactly his idea of fun. Although, part of him is intrigued to see her in a different setting.
So he agrees to meet her outside her dorm at 10pm exactly. He doesn’t bother with fancy dress, opting for jeans and a black jumper so that he can just fade into the background.
She appears with some of her preppy friends. They’re all in pastel dresses of differing colours, matching wings strung on their backs, glitter on their cheeks, a little pack of fairies. She’s in white mini dress that floats around her thighs as she moves, more like an angel.
She introduces him enthusiastically to the girls, already giddy from their pre-drinks, pink gin and rosé. None of them seem that interested by his presence and he grunts in response.
She links her arm through his as they walk over the cobbles, through the maze of ancient buildings to the dorm where the party is being held. She talks about everything and nothing. She tells him who’s going to be there, who’s been uninvited but might show up just to stir shit, how many girls are going to be there and that they’re all going to be trying to get into Felix Catton’s Calvin Kleins.
“Are you going to get with anyone?” she asks.
He makes a sound of disgust.
“Come on, Michael, live a little!”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think– I don’t know–”
She puts her hands on his shoulders and turns him to face her. “Have you kissed anyone before?”
He swallows thickly. It’s not something he’s ever been ashamed of before, now it feels like a weight crushing down on his chest. “No,” he says, simply, determined to remain indifferent.
“Get with someone tonight!” she says excitedly, “just for the fun of it, we’ll find you someone good.”
He hates the idea, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell her. Perhaps it seems like fun to her, but to him it seems like an impossibility, and he thinks he’d rather have the consistency of being unwanted.
The party itself is loud and sparsely lit by neon lights. He starts off on bottles of beer to ease himself into it, but seeing everyone else is doing pills and white lines, he thinks he might need something stronger to get through the night, especially when she keeps getting distracted. The angel is quite the social butterfly and insists on saying hello to everyone, even the people she’s never met.
He finds himself in a common room and reaches for a bottle of whisky and a cup when he spots her. She’s leaning against a wall, wings discarded on the floor beside her. A tall boy, wearing nothing but jeans, a pair of feathery costume wings and a horrible Carpe Diem tattoo on his forearm, has his hands on her waist. She’s smiling and giggling into his neck every time he goes in to kiss her. Of all the girls Felix could go after.
His skin feels tight. He fears if he keeps having to watch this little display he’ll retch his guts up, and yet he’s utterly hypnotised by it, the way she had her arms around his shoulders, the way her fingertips trace the base of his neck. And fuck, he’s never seen her look so beautiful.
He ends up downing the rest of the whisky straight from the bottle and most of the night becomes a blur after that. At some point he thinks he starts trying to talk to one of her pastel fairy friends. He doesn’t catch her name, and he wouldn’t care to remember it anyway. She plays with his glasses, tries them on and giggles hysterically. He thinks she must be completely off her face, considering the look of utter disgust she had given him at the start of the night.
Somewhere in the noise of the party she throws her arms around his neck and they sway clumsily to the overwhelming bass of the music. He thinks he feels her lips graze his cheek, his jaw, his neck, but where he can help it, he keeps his eyes on his angel. Felix has one of her legs around his waist and his hands halfway up her skirt.
Fuck this.
He pushes the nameless girl off him and storms over to put an end to the scene before him. He grips Felix by his shoulders to pull him off her, grabs her by the arm and drags her out of the dorm. He doesn’t look back to see if Felix protests, he’ll probably find some other throat to stick his tongue down.
She tries to shout over the music. “Where are we–”
“I’m tired,” he snaps, bringing his face in close to hers. He gets closer than he means to, pressing his nose and his forehead against hers. He’s breathing fiercely, he realises, desperate to contain the full extent of his anger, his jealousy. “I want to leave.”
She stares back at him with parted lips, and nods.
He feels better the moment they’re outside, away from the disorientation of the party. He takes deep breaths of the night air, cold and sharp in his lungs. He snatches off his glasses, runs his hands over his face and his hair to find himself drenched in sweat.
His angel tucks herself in against him, under his arm, huddling her arms around herself and shivering.
“Do you want my jumper?” he says. His voice and the words on his tongue feel strange. His limbs feel weightless as he pulls it off and helps her into it.
“Hmm, thank you,” she says dreamily, clinging onto his arm as they stumble back to Lincoln College. He burns where she touches him, her fingertips digging into his skin. He loves it, and hates that her hands were on someone else before him.
“You were getting rather cozy with Miranda,” she says.
“Who?”
“Lilac fairy costume,” she says, playfully hitting his arm. “Did you kiss her?”
His heart sinks. He presses his lips together but she doesn’t seem to pick up on his annoyance. “No,” he says with a tight jaw.
“Oh no,” she says, looking up at him with a comically sad pout.
“It’s not important,” he says.
“It’s your first kiss! Or should have been your first kiss. It’s important. Did you at least have a good time before you got tired?”
“No,” he says, “your friends are all imbeciles.”
They walk the rest of the way back to her dorm in silence. He makes sure she has her keys, holds her face between his hands and tells her to drink a whole glass of water before she falls asleep.
She leans into his touch with a sleepy smile. “Yes, yes, I will,” she whines.
The sound stirs a wanting in his stomach. Suddenly his heart is beating faster than it ever has before.
“And call me if you need anything–”
“Would you want to kiss me?” she asks.
His eyes flicker down to her lips. His hands are still cupping her cheeks. “What?”
Her eyes are wide and alert. “I just mean, I could be your first kiss, if you wanted to.” She places her hands on his wrists, tracing her fingertips over his skin, along his forearms. It’s such a simple touch, and yet he can feel it driving him slowly insane.
He imagines her hands running over the rest of his body, down his chest, his stomach, teasing over the growing hardness in his jeans.
“You’re drunk,” he whispers, terrified of how desperate his voice might sound.
She rises onto her toes, inching her face closer to his, drawing her nose over his cheek. “So?” she says, lips brushing over his skin, “I promise it’ll feel good.”
Their lips find each other in a simple movement. It’s easier than he thought it would be, following the movements of her mouth, letting his hands fall from her face and rest on her waist. He can feel her breathing, the little hums she makes as she kisses him and runs her hands through his hair.
He decides, in that moment, that she is perfect. She is bright and beautiful, passionate and kind, soft and sharp, everything he wants for himself, the only person he has ever felt a need for. That need burns through his bloodstream, goes straight to his head and makes his mind hazy. It tightens in his gut and only makes that wanting feeling in his chest feel emptier. His heart races, his trembling hands graze over the thin, silky material of her dress.
His glasses come askew. He feels her smile against his lips and it feels good. Really fucking good.
His hands clench into a firmer grip on her waist. He needs to keep her close, to touch her, feel her, know she wants this as much as he does.
Only she’s slipping away.
Her hands come away from his neck and the cold night air stings his skin in her absence. She pulls her head away, not abruptly, but that’s the pain of it. He leans forward to chase her lips but he has no choice but to let her go in the end.
She looks up at him with a vague smile. “See? It’s nice, isn’t it?”
Nice in the moment. Pure torture that he’ll have to spend the rest of the night clinging onto the memory, only able to imagine how good it felt.
After that night he cannot escape the thought of her, when he’s in his lectures, when he’s in the library, when he’s walking between classes, when he’s in the dining hall. If he’s with her he cannot help but notice every little detail about her, her clothes, her hands, the colour of her nail polish, every micro expression, every word, every laugh, every sigh.
And when he’s alone, he can’t help but picture her in that white dress, the sound of her voice, the feel of her lips. He can’t help but imagine what it would be like to run his hands over every inch of her skin and make her a breathless, whining mess. When he’s in his dorm, it’s inevitable that his hand will end up dipping into his boxers, stroking himself until he spills over his knuckles with a grunt or a whisper of her name.
He’s never known himself to be so distracted.
Worst of all is the rage that comes with the wanting. He hates walking into the lecture hall to see her chatting to someone else, seeing her with her preppy friends around the college or drinking with that old school friend in the King’s Arms. None of them deserve her. None of them. Does she even realise it? How long before she loses herself, before she decides she doesn’t need him?
He knows he’s not a sentimental person. He doesn’t have a lot of friends nor does he want them. People have come in and out of his life, but this girl is different. He feels a draw to her, a hunger that he can’t satiate with his own imagination. She is everything he wants for himself, and he has no intentions of letting her slip away.
As Michaelmas terms comes to an end, the colleges and libraries are covered with garlands and wreaths. Despite the lingering worry in the back of his mind, Michael is rather happy with his collection of outcasts, though poor Oliver Quick seems rather unhappy at being a designated Norman-No Mates.
He finds it easier to get her attention as the term and the workload progresses. They’ve had tutorials and summative assignments, and she’s finally starting to struggle.
And then there was the incident about the scholarship. One of the preppy friends let slip that she wasn’t paying for her tuition fees or her accommodation, likely done out of jealousy after she’d gotten close to Felix at the Halloween party. He was there for her with a perfectly good shoulder to cry on when half the girls in her dorm started teasing her for it.
He tells her that she doesn’t have time to get distracted with parties or friends who won’t help her succeed.
He’s sitting at a table in the library, ready for one of their Friday evening study dates. She’s late but soon hurries in, pulling off the thick red scarf she has wrapped around her neck and shrugging off her denim jacket.
He has the textbook open at the right page and places a Crunchie in front of her when she sits down.
“Did you know there was a college Christmas party tonight?” Michael asks as she takes down her notes. “We’re NFI, apparently. Not fucking invited.” He’d checked his pigeonhole, and Oliver’s for good measure.
In the corner of his eye, he sees her look up from her notebook.
“As if we’d actually want to hang out with those vapid cunts,” he says, laughing to himself. He turns his head to check if she’s laughing too.
She doesn’t look very amused. “Actually, I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me,” she says.
He pauses, hovering his pencil over his worksheet. “You got an invitation?” he says quietly.
“Yeah,” she says, “I was chatting with some of the literature guys the other day, you know Farleigh Start–”
“What the fuck were you talking to him for?” He asks in a voice like ice.
She stares at him with wide, almost accusing eyes. “What, am I not allowed to talk to anyone besides you?”
“They’re not worth your time so stop acting like a fucking bootlicker” he hisses. “They’re all self-obsessed and cruel, and I don’t know why you’re so desperate for their approval.”
“Desperate,” she echoes.
The silence of the library is screaming at him. He has an awful feeling in his stomach, like he’s done something wrong, like he’s pushed a little too far.
It’s Halloween all over again. He can feel her slipping away, and he can’t reach out for her, can’t hold onto her and make her stay where he wants her. He curls his fists as he feels his body start to tremble.
“I guess I won’t waste any more of your precious time then,” she says sharply as she starts to pack up her things.
“No,” Michael utters. He reaches his hand up as if to stop her but she stands up, out of his reach. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
She throws on her jacket, wraps her scarf around her neck and turns around, glaring down at him with sad, glassy eyes. “I need to get ready,” she says. “Enjoy the rest of your night.” Then she sweeps out of the hall with a cold rush of air and a slam of the doors.
Michael groans and lets his head fall into his hands. How had he managed to fuck up that badly?
He can’t think about the problems on the sheet in front of him, or think about the reading from the textbook. All he can picture is her in some skimpy dress, letting some sick trust fund baby put his hands all over her. It makes him want to tear his hair out.
He stays there until the evening has turned to night, until any other stragglers have left the library, to attend this stupid Christmas party or to make their own fun.
He can’t understand why she keeps trying to befriend the people who would abandon her the moment they got bored of her, the very same people who shamed her for her scholarship.
He’d never leave her, never let her feel anything less than worshipped.
When he finally packs up his bag he finds himself walking to her dorm. A few girls are leaving as he arrives at the building and he easily slips in while they’re busy chatting. He knows which floor she’s on, and then all he has to do is find her name on one of the doors… and there it is, under the number 205. Perfect.
He glances up and down the hall. It’s deathly quiet. He wonders how many students have already cleared out of their rooms, how many will be at this party, at the pub with their friends.
He can hear music on the other side of the door, a voice singing softly to a song he doesn’t know.
He brings his knuckles up and taps four times against the wood.
She seems happy when she opens the door, but her face falls when she realises it’s him.
He buries his hands in his pockets, keeps his chin down as he looks up at her. “I need to talk to you,” he says.
She sighs and purses her lips, but steps aside enough for him to come into her room.
It’s not as neat as he imagined, but it’s cosy. There are photos and posters all over the walls, clothes strewn everywhere, an opened makeup bag on the floor by the mirror, pieces of paper and used mugs on the desk. His eyes are drawn to her bed, to the colourful comforter tossed carelessly over the duvet and the pile of mismatched pillows. It smells like her perfume, and something else that is distinctly her.
A red dress hangs on the front of her wardrobe, her outfit for the party, he guesses. For now she’s dressed in her favourite pair of baggy jeans and a tank top, her hair slightly damp and her skin dewy.
She sits on the edge of her bed with her legs crossed. She doesn’t prompt him, but he knows what she wants to hear.
He stands in front of her, his knees almost touching the bed. He tries not to look at the cut of her tank top, the way it clings to her torso and teases the swell of her breasts.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “You were right, I was being unfair.”
She looks up at him, furrowing her brows and catching her lip between her teeth, like she always does when she’s thinking. It makes his stomach drop.
“You can be cruel too, you know that?” she says, “and so full of yourself, but you hold it against everyone else you meet.”
“But I’d never lie to you,” he says, “and I’ve never pretended to be someone I’m not.”
She keeps frowning. “Neither have I.”
He hums a laugh. He can’t help but reach for her, taking her chin between his fingers. She doesn’t flinch away, doesn’t question it when he gently strokes his index finger over her cheek. “Silly girl,” he says, “you care too much about what people think of you. You’re smarter than that, but you’re happy to hide it.”
Her breath hitches as tilts her head further back and lets his thumb drag over her lower lip.
“Michael,” she utters, pressing her palms against his chest, but not enough to push him away. Her hands grip at the collar of his jumper and she nudges her nose against his.
He doesn’t know where the sudden recklessness comes from. Perhaps it’s in the way she said his name, the way her eyes are gazing up at him, but every part of him feels hollow.
He leans in closer. “Why bother? Why do you want to dumb yourself down when I could just fuck you stupid?”
She leans in to kiss him and he indulges her, letting his hand settle against her cheek as they clash together in a mess of lips and tongues. It’s more frantic than the night of the Halloween party, wetter, clumsier.
She comes up onto her knees, snaking one of her hands down to the hem of his jumper.
“Have you fucked a girl before, Gavey?” she says between their kisses. He can feel her smiling.
“No,” he says, practically tearing his jumper and his shirt off, “but I’ve thought about it a lot.”
“Anyone in particular?” she says, palming over the bulge in his jeans.
“Who do you fucking think?”
His hands are on the buttons of her jeans, ripping them open, dragging them down her legs before she’s on her knees again. He slips his hand between her legs, against her clothed centre and she ruts against him like a bitch in heat.
With his other hand he grabs at her waist, impatiently pulling her tank top over her head to reveal a lacy black bra underneath. He can’t stop himself, planting firm, desperate kisses over the flesh of her chest as he undoes the clasp.
He tosses her bra aside and takes one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and circling his tongue over the sensitive bud. He loves how she whines for him, how she runs her fingers through his hair and pulls when it feels good.
And then her phone rings.
She sighs in frustration before she shoves Michael away and crawls over to the table by her bed.
Michael groans at the loss, wanting nothing more than to grab her and pull her back across the bed. “Who is it?” he asks, adjusting his glasses.
“Could be Farleigh, or one of the girls, I said I’d meet them before the party–”
That’s all he needs to hear. In an instant he’s on top of her, pinning her wrist to the mattress so she can’t reach her phone, legs on either side of her body as he presses her down.
She writhes underneath him, unintentionally grinding her rear into his crotch. She tries to turn her head over her shoulder, but it’s hard when she’s caged in underneath him. “Michael! What the fuck are you–”
“When are you going to get it into that pretty little head that you don’t need them?” he says, letting his lips brush against the shell of her ear. He feels her shudder, feels her heartbeat racing against his chest.
“I know I don’t need them,” she says.
“Hmm,” he says, leaning back to undo his jeans enough to free his hard and eager cock. I’m not convinced.”
He takes his time pulling her panties down her legs, kneads at her thighs and her ass, pulls her hips up and parts her legs so he can get a look at her slick, glistening cunt. He’s almost fascinated by it, drawing his thumb through her folds, noticing how she reacts to his touch, the sounds she makes, the way she fists the bedsheets when he gets close to her clit, but just enough to keep her on edge.
“I could be so good to you,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to her shoulder, “so fucking good, so why do you act like you don’t need me?”
“I do,” she breathes, interrupting herself with a light moan when he presses firmly against her clit. “I do need you.”
“There you go, you’re starting to get it,” he coos, circling over her most sensitive spot with the pads of his fingers. He may not have the practice but he has the knowledge, and he needs this to feel good for her.
She responds beautifully, sighing and rocking her hips against him, and she just melts when he presses the tip of his cock against her entrance.
He has to push harder than he expects, pausing when she gives a little yelp of what sounds like pain, but she assures him she’s fine.
He grabs her hip for leverage, hissing through his teeth as he pushes in deeper. She’s so tight, so wet, so warm.
“You can move,” she says, letting her head fall against her arm. “Please, I need it.”
He starts slowly, focuses on the drag of his cock through her, the way she stretches around him, but he can’t hold back for long. Once he finds a rhythm he gets a little more reckless, snapping his hips against her rear, keeping his harsh grasp on her flesh as he fucks her into the mattress.
Her moans are heavenly and obscene. She’s given up struggling but she’s trying to look at him, trying to touch him but she can’t. She calls his name and it sounds so pathetic but so endearing.
He chuckles lowly to himself. “Silly little slut, didn’t know what she was missing, did she?”
“No,” she whines. He can feel her clenching around him and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to last. “Fuck, Michael, it feels so good…”
He pulls out of her, only to turn her back and slam back in. Suddenly she’s all over him, running her hands down his torso, wrapping her arms around his neck. She has her face buried into the crook of his neck, grazing her lips, tongue and teeth over his skin.
It feels good to have her close, but he’s still not entirely satisfied.
He pulls away to hold her down again, one hand on her throat, the other on her stomach. “Mine.” he huffs as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. “All mine. Fucking say it.”
She places her hands over his, urging him to hold her tighter, press harder. “Yours,” she utters, “all yours.”
“Good fucking girl,” he groans, and feels her respond to his voice, cunt fluttering, back arching, another whine sounding in her throat— maybe she likes that. “My clever little girl.”
He feels her come undone around him, back arching as he lets out a breathless moan, practically squeezing him to his own release.
He pulls out and with a few strokes of his hand, paints her belly and her thighs with his spend.
She’s trembling, smiling, reaching out to touch him again, grabbing at his wrists and pulling herself up. She guides him to lay back in the bed and straddles him, tracing her finger over his lips, his jaw, along his nose to push his glasses up for him. He can hardly see through them, the lenses fogged up and smeared with sweat.
“That was fun, wasn’t it?” she says.
“Yeah,” he breathes, pawing at her hips, watching his cum as it drips down her body. He can feel a sense of pride swelling in his chest, the arousal in his gut starting to tighten again.
He gasps when she drags her wet cunt over his already hardening cock. “You.. want to go again?”
She tilts her head, looking down at him with that familiar excited look in her eyes as her mouth spreads into an eager grin. “You’re adorable,” she says, tracing her fingertips over his chest, down the lines of his abs, to the trail of thin hair on his navel.
She leans down, reaching between them to take his cock in her hand, moving with agonisingly slow strokes. When he tries to protest she silences him with little more than a peck on his lips, before she trails down to his throat. “I stand by what I said, Gavey, and you’re not leaving this bed until we’ve taken that ego of yours down a notch.”
Tags (comment to be added)
General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria
#michael gavey#saltburn#saltburn fanfiction#michael gavey fanfiction#michael gavey fanfic#michael gavey x reader#michael gavey x oc#michael gavey x ofc#ewan mitchell#michael gavey smut#my fics
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RW Headcanon: "Pebbsie Privilege"
Here’s a headcanon I’ve had in the works for a while, and now I finally want to share it! It's shorter than some of my others, but I hope you'll still find it amusing!
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So firstly (and I plan to expand on this more later) I headcanon Five Pebbles is someone who cares a lot about his appearance, though not in a prissy or snooty sense and more in a “likes being the smartest and most sophisticated one in the room” sense. That means, more so than the average person, he generally doesn’t like being teased, ignored, belittled, condescended to, or otherwise disrespected, and very understandably so if you ask me! But it also means there exists a very special ability when it comes to interacting with Five Pebbles that almost no characters have.
It’s no more than the ability of someone to refer to Five Pebbles as “Pebbsie” while he’s in earshot without getting death-glares from him. Looks to the Moon, who first started using it, affectionately calls this ability “Pebbsie privilege”, and she ends up being one of the only characters who has it (besides Innocence, who in my portrayals eventually gets it too). Though even so, Pebbles originally got rather flustered when she called him that alone, much less in front of others, considering it's definitely a very cutesy nickname. In fact, poor Pebbles really didn’t like being called “Pebbsie” because one of his least favorite ways of being treated is like a child (which includes being thought of as "cute" in any way). This unfortunately happens to him a lot though since he’s part of the newest iterator generation and tends to have lots of uncommon ideas rarely taken seriously by the older models, and this treatment only amplified as he grew more stubborn and arrogant.
To elaborate on the origin, Moon developed the nickname pretty much on an impulse — quite a rare thing for her to act on actually — of wanting to hearken more to her role as “Big Sis Moon” and show love to her little brother. Soon after she started using it though Pebbles would pull her into private chats and urge her to drop it to save his dignity. Not wanting to hurt her brother in any way, it didn’t take long before she apologized and stopped using it, and basically got her "Pebbsie privilege" revoked. In the current time she secretly still likes calling him that in her mind, but knowing how much he dislikes it she always feels pretty guilty afterwards, despite them being no more than thoughts at that point. While not a major issue in-and-of itself, this situation was actually a small step in worsening a long-time fear Moon has, though that’s a headcanon for another day…
On a (marginally) more positive note however, after Moon’s collapse and the worsening of Five Pebbles’s rot, along with him generally reminiscing about the things he used to have (as part of yet more character headcanons I’ll elaborate on some other time), he actually began to grow fond of the nickname more and more. Yet he also couldn’t also shake the growing heartache the memories brang, as he came to see it as a reminder of his sister’s never-ending love for him and the better times he now regretted taking for granted and trying so hard to escape. While I headcanon he handles it differently in Downpour’s canon, in the worm-off-the-string AU story I’ve got so far, Moon slowly regaining her “Pebbsie privilege” and Pebbles appreciating it and no longer taking it so seriously (though he still forbids its usage in public) could serve as a small, yet sweet indicator of character growth for both of them.
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Aaaand another RW headcanon done! I wanna mention, though, now that I’ve got more of an idea for the aforementioned AU I really want to start posting more of my headcanons for the Local Group, since the character interactions, histories, and ultimate character growth is perhaps one of the most important elements of that story so far. I’ve spent at least a couple weeks creating almost 40 pages worth of character notes, and while this particular one started out as just a little side-headcanon, I ended up tying it into all of that. Hopefully I can start sharing the main parts of these headcanons soon!
#art#artwork#sketch#drawing#digital#digital art#fanart#rain world#headcanons#rw headcanons#iterator#rw iterator#five pebbles#FP#rw fp#looks to the moon#LttM#rw lttm#quetzalli draws#quetzalli headcanons
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Devil's Advocate II
pairing: hazbin hotel x fem. reader
summery - after you died, you didn't really find it surprising to end up in hell. though, what you did find quiet amusing was that your life down here sucked just a bit less than the one before.
word count: 1.5k
contains: cursing, strong language, sinner reader, violence, religious themes (obviously), sexual themes, demon horniness
part I
"So...ya and that pretty lady over there seemed to be pretty tight, if ya know what I mean." Angel Dust asked curiously, ready to hear some tea. He grinned as he tilted his head to the side flirtatiously. "She some ex of yours, or somethin' like that?"
Husker just looked at him with his usual grim look while he was cleaning a few glasses. Then his gaze briefly wandered away to your figure, who was forced to deal with the Radio Demon and the Princess of Hell. Yeah, you haven't really been successful in getting out of this hotel yet.
"None of your business." He said with his monotone voice and let Angel hang his head in disappointment. "...I'm far too sober for this shit."
A groan could be heard. "Oh, come on, ya grumpy cat! Don't leave me high and dry, I know there's some good story to be heard!"
Before Husker could leave him hanging one more time, a red demon manifested next to them, much to their surprise. "I would also like to hear this good story, if you wouldn't mind sharing it with us, my good friend!" Alastor expressed his interest and looked menacingly at the barkeeper for a few seconds to make it clear that he did not have the privilege of turning his request down.
Fuck you, Larry. This is all your fault. "...we go back a long way." He reluctantly shared the information. "She was obsessed with money back then too, so I saw her in the same casino as me sometimes. Though, she died a long time before me, so I've only really known her since I went to hell." He summarized as briefly as possible.
Angel Dust raised an eyebrow. "That's it?" He asked, a little disappointed, even though he hadn't expected the man in front of him to be a good storyteller. "How did she die?"
Cat eyes looked a little nervously at the two people in front of him, while he didn't make a sound. How unfortunate, Alastor thought to himself, and his sharp teeth showed as he understood the situation. "Looks like Husker isn't allowed to tell us this information. That's very interesting! Very interested indeed..." He laughed, and his creepy gaze shifted briefly to your figure. "Seems like we need to find out directly from the source."
The once Overlord looked over at Angel Dust with slight concern and saw how the spiders' eyes were also glancing towards your form. It wasn't that he didn't trust you, but demons as reckless as him fell into your trap like flies to a web. Besides, it wasn't like he was on your best side right now. "I'd be careful." He said to the crowd even though he didn't give a rat's ass about Alastor. "She's not known for making packs with demons left and right for nothing, and I can assure you there's not the slightest chance of escaping from her contracts once you're in it." He said and added. "That's the price for holding up her end of the deal without any sneaky tricks, I suppose."
Well, that sounded unusual. After all, it was normal that one Demon after another stabbed the other in the back, there was no such thing as trusting the other person's word. But maybe that was why you were so popular. "Calm down, I'm not gonna sell my soul to her." Angel laughed. I couldn't even if I wanted to.
Husker placed another clean glass on the counter. "It doesn't have to be your soul. She'll find something she wants from you, and she's good with her mouth, so you'll give it to her. They all do in the end." He said and reached for a bottle of whiskey, ignoring the two incredulous looks he received. He took a sip and was initially confused as to what was going on with the two until he realized what he had said and choked on his drink. "Words! I meant to say words, damn it." He corrected himself.
Alastor didn't blink for a few seconds, and Angel, on the other side, just laughed amusedly. Maybe he wasn't so wrong with his first guess, after all. "Of course ya were."
"Well, thank you for your kind hospitality, but I'm afraid that I'll be taking my leave now." You spoke to the two girls. As much as Charlie regretted it, she couldn't convince you to spend a few nights at the Hazbin Hotel. Apart from the fact that she would have had a new guest, it might have enhanced the hotel's reputation if someone as renowned as you had visited. Though, unfortunately that didn't work out.
I've messed up again. Charlie tried not to look too depressed, even though she really was an open book. "Oh, all right. Thanks for listening to me."
You smiled while rubbing her shoulder. "Of course, darling." You replied, but that didn't really seem to cheer her up. You couldn't help but be a little gentler with her, she had a good heart for a hell born. "Let's make a deal." You suggested to her as an idea popped into your head.
Right after the sentence came out of your mouth, Vaggie narrowed her eyes and stepped protectively in front of her girlfriend. "Charlie doesn't make deals with demons like you." She said protectively, and you leaned closer to her at what she said. Your pupils narrowed to slits and two more eyes opened menacingly on your face. "What do you mean with demons like me, little lady, hm?" You asked her as the light in the room began to flicker, and you saw her continue to stand her ground, even though you could smell the slight fear emanating from her.
You pulled back again and returned to your normal self. "I'm just kidding, I know I'm a greedy bitch." You laughed out and saw how Vaggies eye twitch in irritation while Charlie laughed along a little uncomfortably. "Well, even though I wouldn't mind making an official deal with the little princess, I was thinking more of a friendly kind of deal." You suggested. "I'll put in a good word if the subject of your hotel comes up with anyone I know, and in return, I'd just like to ask you for a teeny tiny favor."
That didn't sound so bad. It would be good for their image if someone like you would spread a few good things about the hotel. Before Charlie could agree, Vaggie straddled back in. "And what does this favor involve?"
You conjured up a collar with a bell and an old Poloroid camera with a snap of your fingers. "Make Husk wear this and take lots of photos of it. Preferably of the process too, 'cause I'm working on some thank you cards for my company." You say and put the two things in her hands. You then remembered something. "Oh! And give this to him too." You added and handed Charlie a piece of paper. "That bastard owes me sixty thousand dollars 'cause of that Berry guy, or whatever his name was."
You were about to turn around and walk to the door when you met two red eyes right in front of you. "Leaving us so soon, what a shame." Said the Radio Demon with a smile as you took a step back so that you were no longer face to face. "Your presence turned out to be quite entertaining, I too had secretly hoped that you would give our great hotel a chance." He announced, pointing his funny stick at you.
You pushed it aside with your finger. "Well, thank you, Blossom, but I'm afraid my presence is in demand at other places." You pronounced not very regretfully.
He raised an eyebrow and would find your nicknames more amusing if he'd understood the reference. "And where would that be?"
You looked neutral. "I actually have a massage appointment at six. See you then." You said goodbye and went away with a poof after you clapped with your hands.
A few seconds of silence passed after you disappeared, and Vaggie looked at the objects in her hands again, a little questioningly. "So, what's the best way to go about this?" She asked Charlie, who was already looking thoughtfully at the bar. "Let's ask him first. Maybe he's in a good mood."
Vaggie looked at the man in question and saw him drinking a large bottle of alcohol before throwing it in the back to get his hands on another one. "Sweetie, do you know Husk?"
#hazbin charlie#hazbin angel dust#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x you#hazbin hotel x y/n#hazbin hotel imagine#hazbin hotel fanfiction#vivziepop#alastor the radio demon#alastor#alastor x reader#fanfic#hazbin imagine#x reader#x you#x female y/n#x female reader
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ok. Oneshot/headcanons for Xianyun, Natasha and Bronya having a nfws makeout session with their S/o
(Genshin Impact/H:SR) Xianyun, Natasha, Seele, and Bronya makeout HC's
NSF-W IMPLICATIONS UNDER THE CUT!
Well, that didn't take very long to be requested.
Xianyun's fingers fidget as she struggles to meet her the gaze of her mortal S/O.
She knew what kissing was to some kind of extent. Though it was mostly familial love, nothing like this.
(Xianyun) "...Nervous? Dispel such notions! One is just...curious on how a mortal shows such love. You will...show me how to do so, yes?"
Her body freezes up when her S/O presses against her lips, unsure of what exactly to do.
Xianyun lets them take the lead as her hands are guided by S/O's, wrapping around their waist.
She can't help but tremble under the attention, feeling their tongue brush across her lips.
S/O's hands gently lower her mouth to let their tongue in, her own awkwardly prodding them.
Pulling back, Xianyun notices the small string of saliva connecting to their lips.
(Xianyun) "One could...get used to this feeling. The afternoon is still young, would you...care to show me more?"
Without another word, S/O took Xianyun back into her mouth, this time allowing herself to melt into their kiss, trying to mimic their actions.
Xianyun had no care for worldly desires other than the bonds of her loved ones, food, and...well, maybe adding whatever this feeling was to the list wasn't a bad idea...
Xianyun is awkward at making out at first, but slowly starts to get more intense after she gets used to the feeling.
She pushes more of her body onto her S/O, letting her chest squish up against them as her arms grip them into a hold they aren't getting out of.
After closing up the clinic, Natasha needed to destress.
She gently grabbed S/O's shoulder and pushed them onto their shared bed.
Natasha's breath grew heavy as her mouth collided into S/O's, deeply kissing them.
Pulling back, she began panting as she smiled at them, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.
(Natasha) "Sorry...You don't mind, do you?"
Feeling a hand slide across her waist, she smiled as both her hands cupped S/O's face.
With their silent approval, she began kissing them more fervently, letting the full weight of her body drop onto S/O.
Natasha let a moan escape as her body began to both relax and heat up at the same time.
(Natasha) "I love you..."
After restating her declaration of love, her tongue begins greedily devouring them as her arms lift them up easily.
Right now, there was nothing more she could ask for than to share an intimate moment like this with the person she loved.
...Well, that and perhaps a comfier bed for them to do it in. But beggars can't be choosers.
Natasha is gentle but firm, deliberately being slow so they can drag the moment out as they both get a taste of each other.
But there's also a hint of neediness, considering how stressed out she can get on the job, and all of her tension is getting released the moment her S/O is making physical contact.
Seele pins S/O's hands against the wall, before unashamedly kissing them with a force that made S/O tremble.
Pulling back just as forcefully, the two of them take a deep breath.
(Seele) "...S-Sorry, needed to get that out of my system."
Her hands let go for a moment, being far more gentle.
(Seele) "Do...you want to continue?"
After hearing S/O say yes, she grabs their forearms and pins them above their head again, but this time with less force as she closes her eyes.
Seele pushes her full body into S/O, her kiss growing more intense by the second.
Both their lungs are burning for air, but she only pulls away for a second each time before plunging back in.
In the safety of their home, she could have S/O all to herself, and she was going to enjoy that privilege.
Her kissing always begins feeling primal, and somehow gets even stronger as the seconds pass.
Seele is nearly grinding against them as her body is taking full control, the only thought going through her mind is the loving pleasure for both her and S/O.
Bronya softly moans as she feels S/O kiss her neck, then trailing up to underneath her jaw.
One of her hands brush down their head, closing her eyes to feel every last kiss.
(Bronya) "S/O...H-Hang on."
She reluctantly pushes them off for a brief moment before locking the door behind her, and laying down on the bed with S/O above them.
Bronya's chest heaves up and down quickly as S/O nips at her shoulders, feeling a soft bite every few inches.
Her breath hitches when they gently suck on her neck, before finally taking her by the lips.
With eyes half-lidded, her hands grab their face as she pulls them away to speak.
(Bronya) "I...want you to feel good as well."
She takes them back into a kiss before her hands start reaching underneath their shirt.
Bronya's kisses start off gentle, but grow more lustful as she feels S/O on her body.
Any sense of trying to remain professional melts away as she lets her lover take the lead, and depending on the day, will take control herself.
#nsft#genshin impact x reader#honkai star rail x reader#xianyun x reader#natasha hsr x reader#seele hsr x reader#bronya hsr x reader#xianyun genshin#natasha honkai star rail#seele honkai star rail#bronya honkai star rail#honkai star rail headcanons#genshin impact imagines#genshin impact headcanons#honkai star rail imagines
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To elaborate on this post specifically with regards to Worlds Beyond Number, well, Suvi says it all, really:
They love being on my tab, they love having fun, they love being protected by me, but they never listen to me and they don't care.
Because here is the thing. Suvi is of the Citadel, which is part of the Empire. We do not have a full understanding of the geopolitical system but as a rule an empire is participating in conquest; sometimes two empires both exist and attack each other and so the exact scenario gets very gray and complicated but I think we do all agree the Empire is not great.
Suvi is of the Citadel. She holds a position of great privilege within the Citadel. This is in part because her parents were, as far as we know, betrayed and murdered by an enemy of the Citadel (having themselves been, again, based on what we know, reformers and rule-breakers as well as extremely capable spies) and she was adopted by one of their closest friends, who became the Sword of the Citadel.
She is not the Citadel. She is a 20-year old who was primarily raised within it, with all of the above complications of her parents. She is not single-handedly responsible for every action the citadel takes. She is not personally trying to stop Ame or Eursulon, only saying that there will be consequences if they leave. Consequences that she has experienced after Ame ran into the kudzu and Eursulon went after Naram and they all attempted to break Ame's curse; consequences she knows will become more and more dire if she continues to disobey Steel, particularly a direct order; consequences that already resulted in Ame being in a coma for a month. (The court-martial, I will say, is entirely on Suvi; the rest is not).
And in all of those situations: Ame and Eursulon were, as Suvi says, happy to have Suvi's purse pay for room and board, and her wizard's staff open doors, and to be put up and fed at the Chantry, and take the skyships, and train at the Citadel and have a marvelous time there. It's been several days and they could have left sooner, and they didn't. It's very "no ethical consumption under capitalism, which means that I can do whatever I want" rather than like, attempting to make slightly less harmful choices from Ame and Eursulon. Their choices aren't coming from a principled stance against the Citadel and Empire; they are coming from a "well, thanks for all the fun and the safe place to stay and the resources for research but you told me not to do something I wanted to do and I won't wait an hour to try and see if we can come to a solution that works for everyone."
For that matter, they're making these choices in part because of what a wizard of the citadel is saying to them; and yet Suvi's presence was said by that very wizard to be crucial to Ame's survival, and they're still not waiting.
[stepping outside of all of the above and the below: I think all the actions being taken, as a listener, are fucking great because this is D&D and conflict is fun and also all of these characters are like, the equivalent of 20 years old and level 2; this is not me saying Suvi is right and Ame and Eursulon are wrong. Rather, Suvi is no less right or wrong than the others, and she is extremely justified in feeling hurt and angry and that her friends are willing to take and not give.]
Something I've found in a lot of sf stories but especially actual play is a pretty strong and frankly, weird bias within the fandom of exactly this nature, as the linked post said. Someone affiliated with an empire or a power is somehow, as an individual, responsible for every harmful action that power commits. They're brainwashed. They're evil. They don't get it. They just need to come around to the right mentality. And that right mentality is, of course, that of the good rural person with nature magic. They are a leader within their small community and hold an immense amount of power over them - and perhaps beyond - but don't worry, they use it correctly. They're wise and they're right about everything.
Except they're not. They are frequently either idealistic to the point of ignoring the realities of the situation, or very limited in their viewpoint, or do not realize the immense privilege of being in their position as both a person in nigh absolute benevolent power within a small domain and also the only person with that power. Those wise, provincial, nature-based characters rarely understand that to exist within a complex and yes, extremely flawed and even ill-intentioned system like the Citadel is to be, even as a person with privilege within that hierarchy, a cog.
Suvi cannot just leave. She exists within a vast system and she is not stupid or brainwashed for acknowledging the realities of it. I think that yes, a very possible path forward for her is one in which she grows to question the Citadel's practices. I also think that to treat her as the embodiment of this entire empire, or to expect that her only way to be a good person is via a sudden about-face at the cost of everything she has, when she is a level 2 apprentic, is not just overly simplistic but flat-out incorrect. And I think that to assume Ame is objectively correct for not waiting a very brief amount of time for Steel (when, in fact, one could argue she should have left immediately upon being contacted; she had been absent from her duties for months already) is similarly oversimplifying to the point where one's conclusions are no longer useful.
Recall that witches' familiars are said to embody the traits within them that, to be an effective steward of their position, they often must set aside. Ame has been letting hers lead her.
#ngl this fandom mentality sets off some admittedly hair-trigger Yikes tendencies tingling re adulation of the good rural people.#anyway. this post is also secretly about every cr campaign and also a little about midst and also a little bit the wheel of time#worlds beyond number#wbn spoilers#wbn
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Bitches I need some advice.
I'm fat, okay? I'm not ashamed about it. It just... Is. I'm fat.
Being fat is also fucking me up. It's causing me sleep problems, it's fucking my joints, I can't walk as far as I used to, I haven't run in years.
I want to lose weight. Not for anyone else. For me. I want to be fit again.
I'm surrounded by people telling me I'm "not fat" and need to "love myself like I am". I'm 210lb and 5'3". Ya girl is fat. And I'm okay with that it's not a bad word. I love myself. But I also love the things I used to be able to do when I was fitter. It's just really fucking hard.
I've got zero support left and right. And I don't know what to do. I know this isn't your area of expertise, but you're such great internet mamas that maybe you can help.
My darling child, we are SO humbled that you came to us with this. And while this isn't an area of our OFFICIAL expertise... weight and athleticism is something that I, Piggy, personally think a lot about! So let me see if I can offer some support to you, my beloved fat child.
By way of background: I have never been fat. Heavier than I want currently, but not fat. So I don't completely understand what you're going through. I have always been an athlete of one sort or the other. But more than that, I have always had the privilege of being relatively skinny without trying. At peak fitness I was running and rock climbing and doing all the stretchy and weight-trainy stuff. I was 5'5" and 130 lbs of jacked Bitch.
I am also a proud Italian American woman, which means that after 30 genetics decreed that I start putting on weight and rounding out and coming into my full Zia-ness. I'm currently 155 lbs. and running/climbing/stretching/jumping about/weight training is getting harder and harder. And that's frustrating to me.
Fat is not a bad word, merely a descriptor. So I'mma use it just as you have! I'm proud that you are prioritizing your health and ability to do what you love over losing weight for the sake of just being smaller. Because let's be clear: weight and health do not necessarily go hand in hand. If your goal is to improve your sleep quality, energy levels, and joint pain, then you should focus on activities that will work directly on those issues. Maybe that'll lead to weight loss--maybe not!
A lot of the medical establishment is cruel to fat people, so I'd be cautious about approaching this with your doctor. But you SHOULD get medical guidance before embarking on any kind of physical change. If your doctor says "Well, just lose weight through diet and exercise!" then you might want to look for a new doctor. If they instead offer practical solutions for incremental improvement, then great.
One of my favorite athletes is The Mirnavator. She's a fat marathon runner and offers a lot of information on how to start walking more and running as a fat person. I think she'll be a good role model for you as she focuses a lot on energy and joint health.
Also, you should check out Aubrey Gordon's blog Your Fat Friend and her podcast with Michael Hobbes, Maintenance Phase. She's also got some great books out! She's a fat expert on weight loss and diet culture. And her insights into healthy nutrition and body image are amazing. Her data-based approach will help you avoid the extreme dieting and weight loss trends that can hurt your health. Plus she's funny as fuck.
Lastly I will just say that mental health is tied to physical health. You're bummed about not doing the things you use to be able to do... and that probably makes it a lot harder to change! Acknowledge any depression or anxiety you feel about being fat and give yourself compassion. Start small and do what feels good.
Now here are two VERY old articles I wrote when I knew less about fatness. I think they still have a little bit to offer, though:
Why You Probably Don't Need That Gym Membership
Run With Me if You Want to Save: How Exercising Will Save You Money
Any fat members of Bitch Nation who want to weigh in? Uh... pun not intended.
#tw: weight loss#tw: fat#tw: dieting#just adding trigger warnings because I know any discussion of fatness and weight loss can be really triggering to some folks#be well my darlings
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serenity haze
Jenna Ortega x Reader
Summary: You notice the changes in Jenna in the lines that you draw; the sketches of her in your sketchbook have more lines to them, creases in her eyebrows, and shadows below her eyes. Your heart clenches painfully whenever you look at a finished piece you did of her.
Requested by anon
A/N: First time writing for her so don't crucify me pls. I still feel a tad bit weird writing about real people, but I see my Jenna as a character in a story, that's all. Hope you can enjoy this one, let me know your thoughts. Requests are always open, though be aware that I go where my inspiration takes me, and be mindful of my guidelines.
Masterlist
You were naturally observant, it was a habit that came with a hobby.
You liked to draw things, and to be able to draw them, you had to observe.
Because you're observant, you tend to notice patterns, details, and moments that might go unnoticed by most.
Lately, you found yourself drawing one thing in particular — or better, one person.
Jenna Ortega captivated you, anyone who met her would probably say the same. She is captivating after all. Yet you know your feelings are different, because you see a side of her that few people do.
You had been offered a role in the new Wednesday show, it was a smaller one, but a privilege nonetheless. And this role gave you the opportunity to meet Jenna.
After the first month of working together, it was already known on set that; where you went, Jenna wasn't too far behind.
You'd catch yourself searching for her in the crowds most days, her favorite coffee order in hand. She'd greet you with a warm smile that never failed and a hug that lasted a little too long. Jenna was sunshine if sunshine could be a person, she was the most genuine girl you knew; beautiful inside and out.
It was inevitable that she became your muse.
Unbeknownst to you — and maybe even to herself — Jenna felt drawn to you too. You were quietness, you were calmness, you were the steadiness she craved in her hectic life.
Jenna had no obligations with you, no expectations to meet; she could be herself, on good or bad days, and you'd still be there. She didn't know how much she needed something like that until she finally got it.
In some ways, it felt like you were her breath of fresh air whenever she needed one. Which seems to be happening quite often nowadays.
Whilst everyone was running around on set, cameras on every corner of the room, and people talking incessantly in their intercoms, Jenna was speaking with Tim about an upcoming scene in the show. She leaned back on what was one of the booths in the Weathervane cafe, crossing her arms over her chest and nodding along to his words.
He spoke about the dance, and Jenna confirmed she had almost all the choreography done already. Except she didn't.
What she had, were sleepless nights weighing down on her shoulders.
She tried to take a deep breath to calm her nerves, but it didn't do much. Her gaze skimmed over the room against her own volition, finding you sitting in a corner of the set — on the floor no less — sketchbook in hands.
Jenna felt the overwhelming urge to escape to your world.
Dark lines steadily appeared on the paper along with the drag of your pencil. You bit into your lower lip, a habit of concentration, and glanced up at Jenna; only to notice her eyes already on you.
The heat that came to your cheeks was instant and you gave her a sheepish smile. She caught you red-handed. Hopefully, she wouldn't bring it up.
Because, how could you resist? When Jenna is standing there against the sun, golden rays highlighting all her features for you; from the curve of her lips, to the tip of her nose, to the shape of her eyebrows. Flawless.
You couldn't resist taking out your book and drawing a quick sketch of her. Sometimes for you, watching people from afar was much better than seeing them up close, you could capture their essence fully, notice each little quirk or mannerism.
Take Jenna for example; her thumbs brush the fabric of her Nevermore uniform as she speaks with Tim, she's nodding eagerly to everything he says, not able to stay still on her feet. She's a little nervous, a little anxious. You could tell from the other side of the room.
It's no secret that filming this series is taking a toll on Jenna — your pencil traces the outline of her jaw on your sketchbook before you move to her eyes, and around them, you see yourself being forced to add just a tad more shadow; it's been happening for a while — you see her exhaustion in the lines that you draw.
The rough image of her stared back at you from your sketchbook, and part of you wanted to take her hand and go away for a day or two.
There's a sudden presence beside you that makes you flinch back to reality. Jenna sat down on the floor with you; she rests her head back against the wall, a lazy smile tugging at her lips.
She brought her knees closer to her chest, making herself look smaller than she already is. Turning to look at you, all she asked was; "what are you drawing?"
There's always a silent understanding between you both. You bumped her shoulder with yours, "that's confidential information."
And she actually pouts, lower lip jutted out and big doe eyes pleading at you; "even for me?"
"Especially for you," you mumbled, not sure if she heard or not.
Jenna doesn't inquire further, forever reciprocating the serenity you bring to her life. She slumped closer to you, allowing her head to fall on your shoulder, blindly trusting you to hold her weight if so needed.
You placed your sketchbook aside, focusing solemnly on her. Your cast and crew mates are still walking around, no one spares a glance at the two actresses who sit on the floor of Jericho's cafe; it feels like your own little bubble of peace for a precious minute.
"Were you and Tim discussing a new scene?" You asked eventually, gently leaning your head on top of hers.
Jenna hummed, "it's a dance that will happen at the school party, I'm creating Wednesday's choreography."
"That's exciting, do you have anything already?"
"Not really. I've got two weeks."
The turmoil of emotions was so evident in Jenna's tight voice that you almost pulled away so you could look her in the eyes and tell her… you're not sure what you'd say, but something to ease it.
Yet you held back, choosing instead to take her hand and whisper 'you got this' against her hair.
———
Things only got worse after your little moment.
Jenna has been on autopilot. You doubt she's sleeping, or resting at all. She's always the first one to arrive on set and the last one to leave.
The sketches of her in your sketchbook have more lines to them, creases in her eyebrows, and shadows below her eyes. Your heart clenches painfully whenever you look at a finished piece you did of her.
It was a Saturday night, you sat on the roof of your trailer, enjoying the starry sky above you, the cold breeze around you. With the flashlight of your cellphone on, you turned the pages of your sketchbook, reminiscing the drawings of last week; until a rather loud noise caught your attention.
You looked around you with a confused frown. The set's parking lot was empty, with only a few street lamps on, and no one in sight.
This could be a cliche horror movie scene. You could feel a chill running down your back; but then you caught sight of Jenna's trailer, the lights were on.
Checking your phone, you realized you had been sitting outside for longer than you thought. 1:37 AM.
Not giving yourself much room to chicken out, you hopped down from your trailer, stuffed your sketchbook in your pants pocket, and walked up to her door.
You hesitated, awkwardly hovering outside Jenna's trailer in the dead of night. Your stomach was twisting and turning unpleasantly. Coming from inside, you could hear the faint melody of 'Goo Goo Muck' playing.
Your worry got the best of you. Taking a deep breath, you raised your fist to the door, and knocked.
The music stopped abruptly, and you heard shuffling from inside her trailer. And then nothing, the silence stretched for a few good seconds, before her door finally swung open.
Jenna stood in front of you and got your heart shattering a little. She was a bit of a mess; hair up in a disheveled bun, only in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants yet you could see her forehead glistening with sweat, her lips quivered softly with each breath she took, and you could tell her eyes were red-rimmed if you looked closely.
"Hi Jenna," you started with a timid smile, "uh- I'm sorry to bother, it's just, I was out and I saw your lights on and just wanted to ask if everything's okay."
Jenna gulped down the lump in her throat, fidgeting with the sleeves of her hoodie; "yeah it's fine, I'm fine." She tried mimicking your smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Okay," you whispered sympathetically, seeing right through the lie.
"Um-" Jenna cleared her throat, but it sounded more like a soft sob. She avoided meeting your eyes then. "Would you- would you like to come in?"
It was a plea more than anything else. You didn't hesitate in saying yes.
You closed the door behind you and glanced around her trailer; she had her laptop on her bed, YouTube page opened to The Cramps' song; there was a stress ball rolling around on the floor, you figured that's where the loud noise from earlier came.
"I'm working on the dance," Jenna turned to you, threading her fingers through her fringe, restless.
"And how is it going?" You asked, though you had a feeling you knew the answer.
"I can't come up with anything," Jenna shrugged, chuckling humourlessly as her eyes welled up with tears.
Your heart was trying to escape your chest — Jenna's eyes were shining under the orange lights of the trailer, hands trembling as she tried to hold herself together — you took a step closer to her; "Jenna, I think you just need to let your mind rest for a while, have you-"
"I can't," she cut you off urgently, "the scene is one week away. One week. And I have nothing," tears started to roll down her cheeks, but you don't think she realized it.
Jenna started walking from one side to another of the small cramped space of her trailer, "I can't think of anything that would fit Wednesday, and we're shooting this scene next week. I told Tim I could handle it and yet I have nothing, what am I gonna tell him? That we're gonna have to postpone shooting because I can't come up with a fucking choreography?"
By the end of her rant, Jenna was panting heavily, borderline hyperventilating. Her tears came nonstop as sobs shook her body. She was hugging herself, chasing some type of comfort that wasn't there.
Your worry finally escaped you and you closed the distance between you both. You took her face in your hands, cupping her cheeks as your thumbs gingerly brushed away the wetness there; "Jen, look at me," you spoke softly, not missing the way her hands came to desperately grasp at your shirt, "breathe with me okay? Can you do that?"
A fresh batch of tears hit your thumbs and you felt your chest crack open; yet Jenna nodded, all reddish nose and glistening eyes.
You took a deep breath in, held it for a second, and then exhaled, watching closely for the way that she'd copy the motion. You did it a couple of times until her breathing was finally somewhat even.
"There you are," you mumbled, regarding her with a bittersweet smile when her eyes found yours, "you're okay," you promised, brushing away a few wisps of hair that clung to her skin.
A sob escaped Jenna's lips as soon as she heard the words, letting her forehead lean into yours in a silent request.
You gladly complied, raising your lips to place a kiss between her brows before guiding her head to rest on your shoulder. You embraced her body flush with yours, arms sliding around her back until you felt the curve of her spine. The thudding of her heart mingling with yours.
You could feel the gentle trembling of her body from time to time. It only made you hold her tighter.
Jenna had a death grip on you, your shirt bunched up on her fists as if you'd disappear if she let go. She buried her head on your shoulder, seeking a safe place, "I'm so tired," she spoke against you, words muffled.
"I know," you kissed her temple, "I know."
You're not sure if you held Jenna for five minutes or one hour, but you stood there for as long as she needed. And when she was ready to pull away, bright and puffy eyes timidly looking at you with nothing but gratitude, you didn't say anything; all you did was turn off her laptop and put it away for the night, dimming the lights on her trailer to give her body a much-needed break.
Then, you sat down beside her on her bed. There was a reasonable distance between you that she was quick to close, sitting shoulder to shoulder with you.
"Be honest with me now, have you been sleeping this past week, at all?" You raised a brow at her.
Jenna pursed her lips, in some ways resembling a child who'd been caught stealing from the cookie jar, "that obvious?" She asked, ducking her head to hide behind her fringe.
"Very," you smirked, "for me at least."
That got her looking up at you with tender curiosity, she was looking more like herself already.
With your heart in your mouth, you fished for your sketchbook in your pocket. You handed it to her without daring to breathe.
Jenna flipped through the pages as if they'd crumble between her fingers; carefully, reverently. You could hear the way her breath caught when she found herself between the sketches, once, twice, and then again and again. Different versions of her by your eyes; talking, thinking, walking, smiling, laughing, sometimes even scowling.
And Jenna has never seen herself look so beautiful, so enchanting. Is this how you see her?
Her vision got blurred again but she gulped it back this time, "it's so beautiful," was all she could whisper, smile tugging at her lips as her fingers traced one of the lines that formed her.
"You are," was your answer, in the same quiet tone, afraid to break the spell holding this moment.
Jenna's eyes turned up to you at last, big and vulnerable, almost completely black because of her pupils. She leaned in just a tad, your noses shy of brushing each other — gravity, magnetism, fate; whatever it might be, trying to push you together.
You ran your tongue over your bottom lip in a motion that she followed, "tomorrow, I'll help you with your dance," you took hold of her free hand, intertwining your fingers, "and it's gonna turn out amazing."
Jenna giggled, and you wanted to bottle up the sound and keep it forever.
"Tonight," you copied her smile, "we'll rest, okay?"
Bringing your hand up to her lips, Jenna planted a kiss on your knuckles, "okay."
⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ
Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3
Jenna’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @thenextdawn @alexkolax @aahdiieb @mindingmybidness12 @melthedwarf
#jenna ortega x reader#jenna ortega imagine#jenna ortega x fem!reader#jenna ortega#wednesday#wednesday addams x reader#jenna ortega x you#imagine#fanfic#fluff#angst#jenna ortega fanfic#jenna x reader#my story
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Hi!! Can I request crushing and relationship headcanons for Junkerqueen with a fem s/o? Like how would she realize she likes them? thank you! :)
Junker Queen x Female Reader Relationship Headcanons
A/N: It's been a while y'all - boy am I glad to be back. Literally right after I posted my note about all of the stuff I'm working on, I got slammed with the biggest assessment I've had in my course so far (17 documents total once I'd finally finished it) and caught scarlet fever of all thing so it's taken a good while for me to finally feel well enough and have spare time to write - but here we are!
I'm so excited to write for my favourite built queen - this gif alone is makin me feel things. I'm going to format all of these the same way from now on with SFW and NSFW headcanons from now on. Ofc there will be warning for the NSFW section :)
I hope you enjoy anon despite the wait!
-Nat
SFW Headcanons
Odessa is the kind of gal that isn't really impressed by appearances.
Sure, she has her preferences and finds certain things attractive, but that isn't what piques her interest.
For Dez, it's all about personality, especially if you're the kind of person who is merciful and gentle with others.
This doesn't mean you have to be a doormat, in fact if you stand up for yourself (physically or verbally) when you feel as if you are being treated unfairly or others are being treated unfairly, that's possibly the hottest thing you could ever do in her eyes.
It's just something about the Peter Pan types that really captivates her. Not just in stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, but in being self aware of your strengths and using them to do right by those who are not in the same position of privilege.
This is how she figures out that her little crush on you was not just a little crush anymore.
She overheard you and another agent talking about life before the crisis, and found out that you used to do volunteer work every weekend delivering essentials to the homeless in your city and how much you missed your community outreach.
That and she watched you sock a guy in the face after he attempted to grope your friend at a bar.
It's healing for her and her inner child and she finds herself looking up to you as a role model - she's aware she's no angel and has done many questionable things to survive out there in the wasteland.
However she hopes that now as a part of Overwatch, she can be better and similarly to you, that she can use her position to help others less fortunate.
Dez is fine with casual or short term relationships and has had plenty in her time, she doesn't necessarily need to know someone to be attracted to them - but when she built that emotional connection with you, that's when she knew she was in for the long run.
The best part about dating Dez is that she isn't embarrassed easily - she's very open from the beginning which means conversation flows naturally with her. The downside of this is that for the first few months of being together, getting to sleep was nearly impossible, three am deep conversations just hit different.
This also means if you ever need anything, she is more than happy to accommodate.
Sick? She keeps note of the medication you need and when you need to take it so she can make sure you take it (and bring you water in your comfort water bottle to boot). That time of the month? If somehow the stash of your preferred products are out, she knows what you use - she will get you more without you even needing to ask (she will however check if you crave anything in particular on the way out).
Expect to be doing the same for her when she gets sick - she becomes the biggest needy baby when she's not feeling well.
She's stuck in bed? Yep. So are you.
Not even by choice either, she cages you with her arms and well that's that. There's no fighting this goliath of a woman.
Loves her cuddles - all positions.
Her favourite is being the little spoon though. It's not often that she gets to feel protected and cocooned (can you really blame her).
Loves PDA - particularly keeping an arm around your waist or you attached to her arm at all times, though she's known to do a casual steamy kiss in public when she's feeling particularly jealous.
If you're not one for PDA, she respects that boundary... However she will pout at you with those big red puppy dog eyes.
Absolutely hopeless at cooking and baking though not for lack of trying. Wakes you up regularly cursing about burning her toast.
Of course it's not all sunshine and rainbows.
Speaking of waking you up, Dez has nightmares somewhat regularly.
She's always so thankful to have you there to vent to if she needs it and cuddle with until she's calm enough to fall back asleep.
NSFW CONTENT WARNING
NSFW Headcanons (18+)
Sex to Odessa is powerplay, a safe space to be strong and vulnerable all in one.
Hard dom top - that control means everything to her.
This woman loves a good scrap (duh), if you choose to be a bratty sub, she eats that shit up.
Go ahead, try and buck her off of you, she's not even using half her strength. She can hold you down much harder.
Expect to be begging for mercy.
The two of you develop a safe word very early on in your relationship, Odessa would never forgive herself if she pushed you past your limit.
Definitely has and regularly uses an appropriately sized strap (ouch).
Dez has her kinks. Sex between the two of you is rarely vanilla unless other feelings are involved. She's entuned to what you need and your emotions, she knows when you need the gentler and less complicated sex or when you honestly just need someone to hold you.
That being said, she has a reasonably high sex drive. She can manage on her own if you can't or don't feel like it, but say the words and honestly she's ready when you are.
Though she really would prefer you called her Dez, Odessa, babe - really anything other than her title outside of the bedroom, call her your queen between the sheets - she'll go berserk.
Dabbles in pain play, something of an every now and then addition to the bedroom, it's not something she needs and the both of you really have to be in the mood for the more intensive side of sex. She does however love to see you take Gracie's hilt in every hole.
Unless you'd consider overstimulation a form of pain play. There is nothing she loves more than watching you struggle and beg with tears leaking from your eyes, completely at her mercy.
Light bondage when she doesn't feel like physically restraining you herself.
Claims your face as her throne whenever the mood strikes.
Speaking of claiming, your neck, collarbone and tits are never safe from her demanding mouth.
There aren't really many kinks that Dez would feel uncomfortable with, she would try pretty much anything before she knocks it.
Definite no though - I feel like she'd laugh at ironically calling her 'mommy'/'mummy', especially if you have a different accent, but considering her complicated family past, it just hits a little too close to home to take it seriously especially during sex.
Obviously amazing at foreplay, she knows what she likes which makes it so much easier from the start (not to mention her cheekily buying vibrating piercings just to mess with you) but honestly the best part is that she's enjoying herself just as much as you.
It's all give and take with Dez, you give as much as you get.
#overwatch#overwatch headcanon#overwatch x reader#overwatch imagines#Junker Queen#Junker Queen x Reader#Junker Queen x reader smut#smut#overwatch x reader smut
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I thought of maybe a fic where the reader is Annabelle and Dutch's daughter, and Arthur ends up falling in love with her and they have to keep their relationship a secret from Dutch
The Passion Of Lovers
(Arthur Morgan x Dutch’s Daughter!Reader)
Warnings: uhh slightly suggestive
Your father often told you, “The passion of lovers is for death.”. It was a tired statement. One you had heard a thousand times, and one that marked the beginning of another autocratically superfluous lecture as to why you were supposed to stay away from men, and not date anyone he did not approve of (Not that he ever approved of anyone to begin with). As the daughter of Dutch Van Der Linde, you were raised to have nothing but the highest of expectations. You were spoiled rotten, a gesture that he hoped would show not only his love for you, but also served as a distraction for the lifestyle that you lived. You supposed living in a tent in the woods wasn’t the most illustrious thing in the world. There were certainly more girls your age out there privileged enough to live a life far more cushioned than your own, but you considered yourself fortunate enough.
And of course, the money you did get was nice. Not only that, your father made sure that you, and every member of the gang, knew that you were a top priority, and your needs came first. They were there to protect you at all costs. It was as close as one could get to being treated like royalty in a gang of outlaws on the run.
Especially after your mother had passed. Oh, how your father increased in overbearingness. You were never allowed to be out on your own. He would insist on accompanying you on every single errand you went off to do. And if he wasn’t available to accompany you, he would send you off with his most trusted men.
One of them being Arthur Morgan.
As grown as you were, and as much as you believed you could take care of yourself, you did quite like his company. Having a burling and intimidating man standing by your side certainly slowed the frenetic pace at which idiot men would hit on you during your daily errands. Some who were still bold enough got told off as he moved you behind him, the more unfortunately confident ones being decked square in the face. It was always quite amusing seeing Dutch fuss over his beloved daughter once she got back from town, a clearly disheveled and bruised Arthur standing next to her, indicating something had happened.
You’d briefly explain how Arthur had protected you from an extremely assertive man, and you’d be pampered and coddled even more by Dutch. Arthur got his praise of course, eventually becoming your primary caretaker when Dutch wasn’t around. At some point, he had more so begun assuming the job, jumping up whenever you said you were heading into town rather than waiting for Dutch’s appointment. You’d approach Arthur privately, and only after Arthur had agreed to accompany you, you would inform your father of your departure.
“The passion of lovers is for death.” you’d repeat in your head. But you did not care. While you were more or less required to give Dutch a full report of what you had done while you were out, down to what roads you went down and what items you glanced at, you did omit some details.
You certainly weren’t about to recount to your father the details of you and Arthur’s haste, open mouth kisses. Your hushed exchanges of “I love you”. The way you held onto Arthur’s arm while in town, leaning on his bulking figure. You certainly would not tell him that, never.
Perhaps Dutch had never foreseen his plan backfiring in such a way. His intentions had been to keep men away from you, but your very own personal bodyguard who was supposed to scare those same men away, ended up pining after you. Arthur had been the one who fell first. Prior to your arrangements, he had found you quite beautiful. But like any man who got in the proximity of Dutch’s daughter, he was strictly prohibited from getting too friendly with you. Though any time allotted for the two of you to be alone proved to be more than enough to get to know you. Being alone with you actually helped Arthur realize just how little he knew you before, despite the fact you were in the gang for as long as he was. To be honest, besides your beauty, he found your overindulgence in money to be quite baffling, especially considering the position the rest of the gang was in. His initial reaction was to find you snobbish, but while it was true you were spoiled rotten, you had your rebellious side, which he came to love.
Your biggest gesture of rebellion had been dating Arthur. Dutch had hoped his money and gifts could keep your young female mind away from boys for long enough, but this ended up backfiring as well. You were left with no unsatisfied desires except one, and that was relationships. And your fulfillment in every other aspect only seemed to highlight the severity of your only predicament. Just weeks after you and Arthur had begun your hidden love affair, you had begun to realize just how much of you was left untapped emotionally. He introduced you to a world of experiences you would’ve otherwise never been able to experience with Dutch’s knowledge of your personal life.
While the arrangement itself was risky, the two of you never did indulge in risky behavior around camp. As painstaking as it was watching Arthur sleep alone on his cot, no one there to soothe and aide his loneliness, it was all worth it in the end. This meant no overt friendliness besides the allowed amount by your father. No secret kisses, no lascivious brushing of the limb, no leering gazes that would catch the attention of anyone. Nothing at all. You did not even let the girls in one your secret.
Hushed gossip sessions would become, in a way, amusing for you. Their compassionate admissions of sympathy for you in being disallowed to date were met with “That’s just how it is”. Before dating Arthur you might’ve agreed with them, wallowing in your own self pity at how your feminine urges were left unfulfilled. You might’ve snickered along with them over a boy you found cute. But now, whenever they did bring up a possible bachelor to you, you dismissed them with a wave of your hand, clicking your tongue in disapproval before saying “He’s not my type.”. There was some truth in it, you doubted the son of the general store owner could keep you satisfied the same way Arthur did. Dating a regular man would be more akin to torture than it would be pleasureable.
The girls often insisted your father had gotten to you; how his discourse over relationships and dating and the passion of lovers was so deeply ingrained in your brain, that even you had begun to believe it and take it to heart. You could argue that the only thing your father had ingrained in you were impossibly high standards, that and the ability to sneak around and lie with competence so incredibly exceptional it seemed to be a genetic inheritance that ran through your blood.
Arthur’s companionship seemed to be the last puzzle piece to the bigger picture. You often thought of eloping altogether, but you knew you could not escape your father forever. His embraces and osculations were enough to sate your desires until the next time you were alone with him. Going on last minute dates and copulating in the middle of the woods made the prolonged and agonizing wait seem not so bad.
Perhaps the passion of lovers had been the death for some. Namely your mother. But Arthur was more than capable of protecting you from such a fate. The passion of lovers was for life.
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The Passion Of Lovers - Bauhaus 🦇
#red dead redemption 2#red dead fandom#red dead redemption 2 x reader#red dead redemption community#van der linde gang x reader#writing#red dead fanfiction#arthur morgan#arthur morgan x reader#arthur morgan x reader fluff#secret relationship#Dutch's Daughter Reader
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What does yandere father sephiroth do when reader finds out the truth about her origins?
It really depends on the "truth" we're talking about here. Sephiroth more or less orchestrated a perfect plan to ensure that Daughter Darling remains within his grasp. Though his fatal flaw is his arrogance. He'd be far too content with his plan, which will certainly lead him to underestimate her at one point. Musings here.
There's two ways of how this can go, but I will only summarize a few points of Sephiroth's "truth" route as I don't want to give away too much of this AU's plot so soon.
Content Warning: Yandere Father Sephiroth. Unsettling family dynamics. Rebirth Spoilers.
Sephiroth's "truth": In this route, he doesn't mind mixing bits of the actual truth with his vision. Firstly, he allows his sweet girl "run" away again, this time to a universe of Gaia where his plans seemingly weren't enacted yet. She'll meet his nemesis Cloud and his party, and tell them all about her father's plan to merge this universe with the others for the "reunion" of worlds. Then, his whispers will allow themselves to be dispelled by her, so she can easily gain their trust. (Daughter Darling always thought that she could counter them) And he'd use this version of Cloud to stay close to her personally... After all, he is his faithful puppet.
This would only be the stepping stone of making her see his truth. He'd take over Cloud much more often, making him become more possessive of her, him more deadly and cold towards his enemies. Sephiroth would use him as an example of how ugly humanity is. How she should stay away from them... How they would taint her purity... And then the fights against the JENOVA variants would hit far too close to home, as Daughter Darling already has a fear of JENOVA itself and tentacles.
So, at the final fight with the last JENOVA variant, Sephiroth whisks Daughter Darling away from everyone else, just in time for the big revelation. With her in his arms, he how much he missed his sweet girl, while his fingers traced patterns on her cheek. She'll resist him, of course, but he'd smirk and remind her he's the very reason for her individuality, the reason she isn't a puppet like Cloud. He was the one to give her that privilege. She, his precious daughter, is a valuable piece of his dear mother. From her cheek to her chest, he slid his hand down, unzipping her trenchcoat and uncovering the unsettling pink glow coming from her bare skin. Her protomateria.
The JENOVA monster that they had been battling turned out to be her. She was none other than a unique, rogue and feral part of JENOVA, with a will of its own. But it still possessed an insatiable thirst for destruction and chaos. Nothing could stop it until Sephiroth discovered the protomateria from this specific world that reverted it to a tame human form. Sephiroth still couldn't control her directly... Still, he took pity on her and besides; she interested him greatly. So, out of the goodness of his heart, he raised her as his own daughter. His sweet, obedient girl who will rule the worlds at his side. He is her savior. Her protector. Her everything... She reminded him of so much himself. He had to do the right thing after all.
So now she understood. All what he did was to protect her from the cruel worlds that would reject her. That saw her as a monster that needed to be destroyed.
Her childish rebellions would finally come to an end as he wiped away her broken tears, his velvety voice whispering his words of eternal love and support.
What parts are true, you think?
#sephiroth#final fantasy 7#ff7 sephiroth#ff7#crisis cutie#sephiroth x reader#yandere father sephiroth#tw: yandere#yandere x reader
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Total Drama Psycho Noah AU, when Noah became Chris' Assistant, both Chris and Chef eventually learn how INSANE Noah truly is and how great Noah is at hiding it... As a lowkey psycho himself, Chris thinks that it's awesome... Noah would sometimes give Chris deadly ideas for the show! 😈
See, Chris himself literally states that he's fond of Scary Girl/Lauren in the reboot because she's so unhinged. Given that he's a bit (read: a lot) of a sadistic sociopath (/pos), it's pretty much a given that he'd have a weird sort of appreciation for characters who can keep up with his more dangerous tendencies; just look at how many cameos Izzy makes in seasons she's not even supposed to be a part of!
And how many times Izzy manages to re-enter the competitions she's already been voted out from!
He's definitely got a bias towards the more psychotically-inclined characters.
So of course he'd think that psycho!Noah is awesome.
He'd be fully aware of just how insane Noah is, and how eerily good he is at masking such, just by proxy of being the show's host.
Remember, Noah spends the majority of his confessional time straight up mocking and taunting the audience with what he could potentially do, given his skillsets and lack of integrity, and his and Izzy's scheming is hidden from the contestants but the two of them are diligent enough to ensure that the cameras can pick up on their crazed ramblings and plots- it's good content, after all. So pretty much everyone on the production team knows that Noah's missing a few screws, and is very much so an 'accident' waiting to happen.
Not that he'd ever intentionally hurt anyone. It's still Noah, after all, and he's far more inclined towards psychological warfare than anything physical. Noah's got more self-control than his confessionals would let on, but he finds a twisted sense of amusement in threatening the viewers with his 'instability' and portraying himself as a wolf in sheep's clothing. In the same vein, he's not entirely morally bereft, or particularly violent (certain incidents non-withstanding), but his commitment/indulgence in the whole 'unhinged psychopath' display often overrides his better judgement. It's just so fun to let loose and go wild, sometimes.
(He's far more susceptible to violence when it's 'justifiable'. Duncan's a bully and a thug, and he's the one to physically accost Noah first, so he gets bitten. The Ripper is supposedly a murderer, trying to manhandle and kidnap Noah, so he gets his hand privileges revoked by means of two broken forearms. The whole 'painting the knife red' talk was a bluff on Noah's part, he was playing it up for the camera knowing that Owen would intervene- something to keep the audience on their toes, and something to add validity to his confessional threats.)
Maybe that's the reason they (Chris and Chef) take him on as a personal assistant in the first place? Given that p!Noah spends the majority of him time during Island secretly plotting and scheming with Izzy to cause as much chaos as possible, or intentionally being as unnerving towards the audience in his confessionals for his own amusement, whilst ensuring that the other competitors were none-the-wiser to his true nature (save for Duncan, eventually, in the TDDDDI special), he's the perfect candidate for someone who can keep up with Chris' wilder ideas whilst also maintaining a level of professionalism needed for showbusiness.
Because he can mask his less palatable tendencies, and he can do so proficiently and consistently enough to keep the people he's essentially trapped with fooled for ~8 weeks. That's an impressive, telling display of just how cunning and capable p!Noah is.
Though I imagine a lot of his assistantship would be Chris full-on enabling the real Noah, by tasking him with challenge preparation and encouraging him to make the challenges more deadly ambitious. It's like enrichment for the both of them; Chris gets to watch chaos unfold under his guidance, and Noah gets to actively cause chaos without having to consider the social/tactical drawbacks.
It also has the added bonus of giving both Noah and Chris an outlet for their manic energy that's relatively harmless, as opposed to letting Noah stew under his mask of indifference until he really does snap and inadvertently or intentionally hurt someone.
Note my use of the word 'ambitious' there, because that's pretty much the main defining difference between canon Noah and p!Noah (despite the obvious). p!Noah has goals and ambitions, something regular Noah lacks entirely, and these goals are to wreak as much havoc as he can undetected.
Luckily, that motivation coincide with Chris' goal of hosting an exciting show. He wants to broadcast drama, tension, and thrills to the viewing world- what's more thrilling than the perpetual threat of a crazy person finally snapping and ditching the façade? Letting said crazy person run wild with ideas that impact the whole show!
Not too wild, though.
Meanwhile, I imagine that Chef is the one to play peacekeeper between this dynamic duo and the rest of the production team, since he pretty much acts as a pseudo-caretaker/minder for Chris in canon anyway. The 'Voice of Reason', if you will, and someone hardy enough to actually confront the two should they take things too far.
#uh. to summarise. chris and noah enable each other's sociopathic tendancies as a weird found family bonding activity#chef and chris are noah's bad influence uncles (chef's a slightly better influence) and noah is their bastard nephew who they spoil rotten#also trying to convey the fact that just because someone's crazy it doesn't make them a complete monster#it's still noah. just noah who likes to Go Apeshit sometimes. and sometimes he's too committed to the bit 🙊#he doesn't want to actually harm people (for the most part) he's just Feeling A Little Silly#total drama#td noah#chris mclean#psycho!noah au#silly ideas#replies
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Not to be gay on main but do you perhaps have any spare LockJaw headcanons that you wouldn't mind sharing with us? 👉👈 Can be SFW or NSFW, I'm not picky.. I just wouldn't mind taking a bite outta that feisty lil jawbreaker 👀 LMAO
[Here ya go! Sfw for now, but there's always the future-]
LockJaw is a very head strong jawbreaker. Aside from literally being able to crack a person's skull open with her own - she takes little shit from anyone including her darling... But she is far more lenient with them. Once upon a time she was a slightly kinder and patient person, but after losing part of her face she is less accepting to strangers. At her heart, LockJaw is fiercely loyal to those she deems worthy of her faith and to harm them is to bruise her - and you really don't want to do that.
LockJaw is far more caring of those around her than she lets off. Her cold nature and initial hesitance to touch/interact with her darling is because she's afraid of her own strength. She has more control than she realizes, but there's always that what-if. As her bond with Darling grows, Lock will wrap her hands in the softest materials she can get her hands on. When they lay in bed together, LockJaw will put a marshmallow pillow beneath her shirt to support them better. She softens her voice and rarely yells if they are the sensitive type, and is considerate enough to tells them to look away before she spills fresh blood.
LockJaw is extremely touch starved, but tries not to let that side of her show. She also treats her darling like they're made of glass. Does all the heavy lifting, grabs everything from higher shelves, demands to know why they need a knife before she gives it to them when they're just trying to make dinner- even carries them on her shoulder if they complain of the tiniest aches or pains. If her darling desires their own free will or to go for a walk without her glaring everyone down, all they really have to do is hold her hand for a while or give her a smooch on the cheek. This also stops her from punching a hole through someone's face and calms her down like a flame to a fire when enraged.
Scary Dog Privileges - LockJaw is the type to hover in the background whenever her darling is out and about or talking to someone. One wrong move and she will remove her darling from the situation. Even something as small as using a tone she's not fond of will get someone thrown across the room. Did I mention she's a big motherfucker? I'm still playing around with her height, but she's well over six feet and has the muscle/strength to back up her warnings to folks who refuse to listen to her.
Darling both improves and worsens her behavior. She gains back some of that patience she lost in earlier years and tries to use her words more than her fists, but make them cry and it's lights out. She'll "apologize" if there was a misunderstanding, but by tone alone it's easy to pick up she doesn't mean a word of what she says.
(Hope that's enough for now! I love this hot-headed jawbreaker and can't wait to do more with her and the rest of the cast)
#yandere oc#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere scenarios#female yandere#yandere headcanons#yandere insert#yandere blurb#yandere#perfectly sweet#LockJaw my oc#yandere candy
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I've noticed a lot of recent episodes with Stolas in them have what I've started to call the 'Stolas Clapback'. Basically it's where the episode will give him a sassy comeback line and the show will expect the viewer to think he Really Did A Thing there (and wouldn't you know it, most of it happens in S2!), even though there are easy rebuttals to all of them that the characters then don't make, solely because Stolas must be in the right at all times
Examples off the top of my head:
Stolas asking Blitzo what Moxxie's number is if his memory's so great
Stolas pointing out Striker works for Stella despite hating royalty
Stolas going on and on about how kinky he and Blitzo get in bed to Striker
Stolas asking Striker if he can't afford holy bullets
Stolas claiming to Andrealphus that him committing the dictionary definition of infidelity is somehow not cheating because Stella wasn't actually hurt by it
Stolas claiming to Stella that he tried to make it comfortable for them, wanted a normal life for Via, etc.
[Someone else is talking on Stolas' behalf, but it's pretty obvious character shilling so I'm counting it] Fizzarolli acting like it's obvious Stolas is into Blitzo, and saying Blitzo hates him for just being a prince
etc.
Easy counter points being:
Stolas is saying this to excuse why he doesn't remember spells from his own spellbook he has possessed since childhood. That spellbook is literally his job and part of his royal responsibilities. He should be proficient with that magic, enough to remember some of his own spells, but the writers trying to shortcut why he can't use any of his spells makes him look lazy and a worse royal than he already is. Plus, Blitzo doesn't need to remember Moxxie's number by heart - he probably has it stored in his phone like a normal person. Stolas' negligence is putting Via in more danger here, his phone comeback isn't remotely comparable
There's nothing stopping Striker killing Stella after he gets paid for killing Stolas. Also as far as we can tell Stella has far less political power than Stolas, of course Striker would happily take a job to get paid to assassinate him
Striker pointed out to Blitzo before that having to 'service' Stolas is beneath him. He could have easily pointed out that everything he assumed about Stolas - that he's an exploitative piece of work - is being proven right by Stolas himself. To really twist the knife, he could have told Stolas that he almost talked Blitzo into assassinating him all the way back at the Harvest Moon festival by pointing out Stolas treats him as a plaything
Again, Stolas is exactly the classist rich jerk Striker thought he was.
Andrealphus could easily point out it's still cheating, and if Stolas won't have that then he could point out that he still hurt Via by doing it and he's wrecking the family reputation, which presumably is part of the responsibility of being a Goetia. If he doesn't like it so much, why doesn't he abdicate his power and privilege?
There's no onscreen evidence for this but Stella could have easily mentioned she was forced into an arranged marriage, too, and the situation itself means the environment Via was being raised in was never 'normal'. It's not unreasonable for someone who was forced into a marriage and literally having a child they didn't want to not want to play house, but that Stella had to physically birth Via against her will is never recognized as a traumatic thing that she went through, only Stolas' pain is
Blitzo could have easily mentioned the Full Moon deal and a laundry list of ways Stolas has treated him poorly, but he instead produces a list of offscreen ways in which Stolas is obviously into him and a total sweetheart. Blitzo gives a general statement about the rich fetishizing sleeping with poor imps (which is true of Stolas but he never says anything about him specifically) and doesn't point out that disliking Stolas 'just because he's a prince' is a totally valid stance to have given that imps are a literal underclass and Stolas treats every imp not named Blitzo as beneath notice or as disposable servants.
The one exception I can think of to the Stolas Clapback phenomenon was when Blitzo snapped at him in Ozzie's, but I have little doubt at this point that the Full Moon episode will have Blitzo get angry at Stolas but not for anything that Stolas can't easily defend or dismiss.
He'll probably say something like 'you never gave me any indication you cared about me!' which Stolas will use offscreen examples or the 'date' at Ozzie's to rebut, instead of having Blitzo say 'you used the fact I was getting shot at to pressure me into giving you sex every month to keep my job! you constantly objectify and talk down to me!', points which Stolas can't easily rebut (or he'll say something stupid like 'you seduced me that first time!' and the show will treat that like it's an actual good comeback or something) - in other words, the ep will be framed like the issue is Blitzo's attachment problems rather than acknowledging that any sane person would run the other way from Stolas and his 'affections'
Thank you for compiling this list, Anon, because I never could have; I can never get past Stolas's stupid, smug little "eeexactly~" in Seeing Stars without fearing I'm putting myself at increased risk for a stroke.
I figure I may as well warn you now that unless what I've been hearing changes, there's an absolutely infuriating Stolas Clapback in Full Moon. All I'm gonna say about that.
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"https://www.tumblr.com/tbos-main/738719535451013120/for-the-scene-you-posted-that-is-from-the-other?source=share"
"I don't dislike Rhaenyra, I really don't. But it is BAFFLING to me that her struggles are 'I'm just a princess, I'm not even queen :(((( My life SUCKS :((('
Alicent's fans have the most mediocre opinions about Rhaenyra because they are only capable of victimizing Alicent. Also, during episode 7, when the eye incident occurs, Alicent and Rhaenyra haven't been friends for over 9 years. Alicent's only actions after the time jump are to pick on Rhaenyra and her children. Why should Rhaenyra care about Alicent? Alicent's speech in that episode is pure hypocrisy; she had already let Larys get away with murdering two people and stayed silent because it benefited her. Justice and duty can be forgotten as long as it benefits Alicent.
Alicent is also not the eternal victim that OP believes she is..
People who think Rhaenyra's struggles are "but I wanna be queen :(" really don't have good media comprehension. If we look at everyone else in HOTD the same way op is looking at Rhaenyra, then literally all of their struggles are "but I want that privilege!"
Rhaenys and Corlys want the throne or their blood to be on the throne. Viserys wants to be able to chill in his room with his figurines with no responsibility. Daemon wants to be Hand, the heir, or the prince consort. Alicent wants to chill with privilege and no responsibility at first, then wants her blood to be on the throne. Aegon wants to be prince with no responsibility or consequences. Helaena wants to chill alone with bugs and her kids. Aemond wants to be king.
Literally every person in this show wants to stay privileged but on their terms. That's not actually their issues and struggles, but if we're dumbing down Rhaenyra's story, everyone gets dumbed down too.
Rhaenyra has been demeaned and treated as less than because of her gender her entire life. She was forced into a marriage with a gay man who couldn't give her children while a majority of her worth still lay in her ability to give birth. Viserys never actually went out of his way to support her until his literal last day, he does the bare minimum to protect her or her children in court. She was abused by Alicent for a decade at least until she was driven from the capital. She was usurped, her children murdered, and was murdered by her brother. She is so much more than wanting to be queen, TG stans just hate to see that.
As for Alicent, she only cares about "duty and sacrifice" when it benefits her and/or her family. She clings to the morals of the Seven until it's her faction going against them. She's obsessed with her and Rhaenyra's former friendship until she can use it to try guilting/manipulating Rhaenyra.
In Driftmark, Rhaenyra was right on about Alicent. Alicent has been far from the saint her fans view her as and far from the martyr she thinks she herself is. She has abused Rhaenyra and supported Larys, allowed Aegon's bullying of Aemond and Criston's of the Velaryon boys.
Alicent should be asking herself where duty is and asking her faction where their sacrifice is. Rhaenyra has done her duty, she married who her father told her, she had children to be her heirs and Laenor claimed as his own as well (even though she had a lot of trauma surrounding childbirth). She has served on the small council despite how the men on the council don't respect her and Alicent constantly undermines her. Rhaenyra's only crime is refusing to sacrifice herself to serve the men around her.
Op purposefully twisting the events of the show to support their view that Alicent "always defended Rhaenyra" and "only did what she was told" is so frustrating. That view deliberately ignores that Alicent stopped defending Rhaenyra in episode five, the same episode where she chose to declare war on Rhaenyra. The ten year gap was her acting entirely independently from Otto. It also ignores how Alicent raised her children to hate Rhaenyra and her children, that's not defending Rhaenyra or doing what she's told, since Alicent had the most control over her children's lives.
Alicent isn't a perpetual victim, she's victimized by the patriarchy (show only), but quickly becomes a perpetrator of abuse and a constant supporter of the patriarchy. She sacrifices her own daughter in the name of Aegon's ascension. She hates Rhaenyra for not bending to the men around her and punishes her for it. Alicent benefits from bending to the patriarchy by second half of the season, and doesn't stop until she causes the Dance. She may work for the betterment of the men around her, but she does it of her own freewill after marrying Viserys.
#rhaenyra targaryen#anti alicent hightower#anti team green#anti alicent stans#anti team green stans#anti rhaenyra antis#team black#house of the dragon
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I am eating your writing because it's so good- can i ask for a ToothFairy yandere profile? Thank you if you decide to do this!!
This is super ooc, but that's okay, because i am baller.
And thank you! :3 I have so many requests I need to do lol
Also! Added a few characters to my write for list (changeling :3)
Pairing: Tooth Fairy x GN Reader
TW: Mentions of non-consensual touching, Kidnapping, NSFW, ooc behavior, and Yandere themes.
Credits for template: @/Cinnamonest
♡What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?
Tooth Fairy is very deceiving with how she approaches courting you, she’s able to keep her sparks of jealousy to herself for the most part, preferring to go about charming you as any average person would. It’s difficult to look past her gentle demeanor, she’s skilled at keeping her true intentions hidden from you.
She has a tendency to stalk you, whether the two of you are in a relationship won’t sway her to stop either, she prefers to keep a watchful eye on you. Chances are you won’t ever know of her trips to your bedroom late at night to observe you, her lips only daring to occasional graze, not daring to wake you.
♡How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?
She’ll try her best to hold out on taking, but if all her attempts to sway your heart fail, or she decides allowing you roam free is too much of a risk to your safety she’ll just take you.
♡How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape?
Escaping her is difficult, but it’s far from impossible. She tries her best to keep you under her watch, but she’s a busy woman. While she’s away with her work she makes sure to keep you bound in place, your ankle firmly chained to the bed with little slack.
Tooth Fairy makes sure you receive ample punishment for any escape attempts, dishing out both physical and mental discipline for any escape attempts.
♡How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?
Tooth Fairy is smart, chances are she won’t fall for any attempts to deceive her, she easily sees through your lies.
♡How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?
Tooth Fairy wants a normal domestic life with you, but since she can’t have that she’ll settle for as close as she can get. She’s happy to provide you with any requested items, as long as they aren’t a harm to you, as long as you keep up your good behavior. She is content to provide freedom to an extent, of course you aren’t allowed out of your restraints when she isn’t there to watch you, but otherwise you’ll be allowed to roam free in your shared home. Supervised walks outside are about as far as she’d allow for outdoor activity, most of the time your confined to the space you both share.
♡What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?
Tooth Fairy doesn’t expect much from you, as you aren’t with her of your own will, but she does want basic respect from you. She expects you to clean up any messes you make, though she rarely enforced the rule. Any mean words or physical threats towards her will be met with the silent treatment, although it is less of a punishment and more of her pouting.
Escape attempts are one of the only reasons she’d actually punish you, rather than any physical punishments, she just restricts your privileges and increases her security measures.
♡How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?
She normally doesn’t like to bother with rivals, but if they are a threat to you she won’t hold back on removing them from the equation.
♡How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?
Tooth Fairy is difficult to upset to the point of anger, but if you do manage it’s nothing more than her locking herself away in a room to rant her frustrations on the furniture for a little while.
♡Do they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?
She sees you as an equal to her in some ways, but she can’t help but infantilize you when it comes to your ability to protect yourself.
♡How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?
She desperately wants her love for you to be reciprocated to some extent, she won’t try to force you to have feelings for her, but she will try to gain your affection as best she can.
♡General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?
Tooth Fairy won't verbally announce her want for sex from you, but it’s easy to tell when she’s in the mood by her touchy demeanor. Sometimes it seems like she can’t keep her hands off of you, her hands constantly touching you in some way, whether it be a hand on your hip, shoulder, or the small of your back she’s almost always in contact with you.
She has a decently high sex drive, though she’s happy to stave her cravings off with her own two hands.
♡How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?
She’s not forceful at all, she wants your first time together to be sweet and consensual. Occasionally on nights where she’s observing you in your slumber, she can’t help her hands wandering to places they shouldn’t, of course never further than sensual rubbing and soft groping.
♡What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?
She’s not exactly vanilla, but she won’t attempt to fulfill anything too crazy unless you offer. Somnophilia is one of her main ones, she adores how peaceful you look as you rest and she can’t keep her hands off your lovely body.
♡What body parts of their darling do they like the most?
She doesn’t have a favorite part of your body, she just loves all of you so much.
♡♡
#tw yandere#female yandere#reverse 1999#reverse 1999 x reader#r1999#reverse 1999 tooth fairy#tooth fairy
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