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huicitawrites · 11 months

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The Hunt

Yandere! Miguel O' Hara x Fem! Spider! Reader

T/W: yandere (slow-burn(?)), dark fic, violence, assault, spoilers for across the spiderverse.

Status: rewritten.

Next Chapter

Word Count: 2,4k

"Y/N! Get. Back. Here. NOW", swinging away from an infuriated Miguel O'Hara wasn't something you had planned or ever thought would occur, never entertained the thought of it. At least not until now, as you desperately attempted to get away from him and somehow escape him- for your dimension-travel watch (as wild as the concept of it sounded) had been snatched by the same man that was madly hunting you down.

How did it even all come to this? Let's rewind, back to the beginning.

Part I

After being bitten by a radioactive spider in a school trip to Alchemax at the young age of 15, you obtained enhanced spider-like abilities: a sixth sense for perceiving danger, incredible reflexes, amazing parkour skills, extraordinary strentgh and flexibility.

And for the past ten years, you have been New York's one and only Spider-Woman.

Learning to use your powers was a whole trip on itself. They awakened rather clumsily -nothing a leap of faith could not fix- as you began to grasp the ropes of being a masked hero in your teenage years [it's safe to say that your teenage years were truly a heck of a rollercoaster].

Handling a double-life was not easy, that is something you have learned with your ten years experience. You saved a bunch of people and thus many lives, you won many times and saved the city countless more. Yet you also earned a bunch of dangerous criminals and villains tailing behind your back that would want to kill you without hesitation and harm you in any way possible.

In spite of the times you were beaten down, left made a mess in the ground, or at the brink of death- you would always get back up because you were Spider-Woman.

Sometimes, getting back up was hard.

The weight of the sake of the city was on your shoulders. And sometimes, that weight crushed you. When you lost your parents it was devastating, because not only had you failed as a hero, but as a daughter.

[Your dad perished in an attempt to save you from an attack of one of many enemies- the Green Goblin . You two happened to be on a ‘father and daughter’ outing in a nice dinner when the Green Goblin tried to draw out Spider-Woman from her hiding place in Brooklyn (unbeknownst of your true identity and much to your own misery and guilt.) After battling the Green Goblin and imprisoning him, you rose with your dead father in your arms, and an huge crack in your heart that would leave a deep scar.

Months later, your mother's followed suit. That day was chaotic, panic filled the streets of New York as The Rhino, a veteran soldier with super human strentgh and a high-techno advanced armor resembling a rhinoceros, laid waste to the city. You were evacuating all civilians nearby, swinging across and into buildings, picking up and scooping anyone you could encounter and putting them out of danger.

It happened as you held falling debris with your arms. You picked up wailing in between the many cries of people, and your spider-sense guided your eyes up from the ground.

A child, no older than five, was crying. He was glued to the floor, too overwhelmed by the calamity surrounding him. A wall from a building was falling on him and your heart beat raced. You still had people below you that were crawling out and the child was a or two block away. Your thoughts raced in your head, you had to save everyone, down to the last live.

"Come on, come on, come on" you muttered in between gritted teeth as you gathered power and lifted the debris into the air. With the help of your web shooter, you pulled all the remaining civilians out and casted aside the courtesy of double-checking as you swinged toward the child.

You could see how the wall fell over him, and you reached out your arm with your forearm out desperately, attempted to pull him out with your web but the wall was already about to touch his head and-

She pushed the child out of the danger, motherly instincts impulsing her feet at the cost of her own life. The child was pushed onto you and you brought him flush against you with your web, arms encasing him as you witnessed the wall collapse on her.

In shock and disbelief, you gently lowered the child to the ground and ran to the fallen wall. Once again in despair, you clawed through the debris and searched for your mother’s body.

You found her bruised and crushed, her face deformed. You brushed the dust off it. Her pained groan was faint, and you begged her right there and then not to leave you. Not to leave you alone, again.

“Is the kid al…?”

“Yes! Don’t, don’t talk. Help, help is coming. You have to stay, you have to.” But her eyes were already fading, and her limbs growing weak. Your disguised hand snatched up hers and you cried,

“Mom!”

She recognized your voice, the one she cherished the most. Her fading eyes gathered all the warmth they could muster and she reached out a quivering hand to your cheek. Her fingers slid into your mask, and she felt your tear stained skin.

“Ah my baby…[Y/n]…I’m so proud... Your father would be so proud... keep it up”. Her last words were voiced with strain, but you would always remember them.]

They became the fuel for your mission, and no matter how many times you were beaten to the ground and wounded to no end, you stood back up. You would save everyone else, no more deaths, you swore upon your parents' last moments.

Now in your adult life, you found yourself in a stable life besides the implications your side hustle not-so-side -hustle brought. You had an adequate job as a writer for small titles in a decent newspaper, and you had a department you shared with your childhood best friend, Peter Parker [who eventually became your tech-desk guy. Hiding your true identity from your best friend and roommate would have never lasted long anyway. You remember clearly the day you climbed into the living's window, beat up, bruised and tired, when the lights suddenly turned on and a Peter with crossed arms and an eyebrow raised was waiting for you like a parent whose child was past curfew. You were without your mask on. Nonetheless, after stuttering uncontrollably and failing to explain and just simply breaking down in front of him. Without saying any words, he took out the first aid kit and reassured you with a smile. You were so grateful to him.]

So now here you were, crouching on the top of The Clock Tower, the moonlight casting its light on your back and darkening your silhouette. Earlier in the day you dealt with some thugs and minor crimes, but since the sun fell nothing happened. That was odd, NYC was never quite, least of all times at night.

But your spider-sense was running, not rampant, but definetely there like annoying itch on the nape. Something had to be off, you knew it.

"Um, I'm not picking up anything, (Y/n). Maybe you should be calling it a night, you've been doing good work so far. You did lower the crime rate, after all."

"You sure Pete? There's this feeling in my gut and-"

"Your 'spidey- thingy' ?".

"Spider-sense, spidey-thingy sounds dumb" you answered with a small groan, rolling your eyes although he could not see the.

He chuckled, "Yeah, yeah, whatever," he turned serious " but I'm not getting anything from anywhere. From police radios and stations to our own hidden cameras"

"Nothing? Sure?"

"I mean everything is awfully quiet now that I think about it... All I can pick up is glitching, let's see... let me do my thing and-" you could hear frantic typing through the comms of your suit within the mask, you could even picture Peter hunching and fixing his eyeglasses.

What he said left you pondering. Glitching? It couldn't be a coincidence that all the radio signals he could pick up were glitching.

"Aha! Here it is, your spidey-thingy was right." this time, you chuckled as if saying 'see?'. He continued, "-this should be a very hidden signal from the special forces team. Seems classified, man they should really put a little more money into whatever software they use to protect their privacy" and he pushed on one final 'enter', the glitching and static got louder almost startling you to which your friend apologized softly, but it evened out.

"Report the situation, Lieutenant Stacy"

"Requesting back-up right now, suspect is armed with advanced equipment, we are at the Port, South East, many of my men and women have been wounded and- oh, shit, shit" The man's words died down with the sound of something big crashing and breaking.

Well, that's your cue. You stood up on your toes and balanced you body weight forward, diving to the ground. With your limbs extended, you stretched your forearm and extended your wrist, web shooting out from the slick web shooter Peter designed.

Swinging from building to building under the night sky, you jumped across billboards and slid past tight spaces as you were heading to the location of the conflict, and the closer you swinged, the wilder your spider sense got.

When you arrived at the port, you saw a SWAT truck that was flipped over, it had a huge dent in the form of a what seemed to be a claw mark, and the windows had been broken. There were a few members on the floor, and you noticed there were two trying to lift the heavy vehicle.

"Let me help," you announced your presence and they whipped their heads. Their faces were glistening with sweat and dirt, and you could notice their equipment was damaged. You crouched and lifted the truck, there was one member there below, and his leg was twisted the other way, but he was breathing- well, panting.

Without further a do, the soldiers went and dragged out their friend. A soldier's face lit up, though they seemed hesitant [after all, your line of work was kind of controversial among the government and its forces] but they were thankful. "Thank you, Spider-Woman", their voice was genuine and you smiled below the mask.

"Your welcome, leave it to me" winking at them through your lense, you nodded and propelled yourself to the ceiling of the warehouse. You noticed a roof canopy at the center, lucky you, and brought the palm of your hand to it. Utilizing your sticky finger pads, you carefully removed a pane of glass and entered the building without making a sound.

"Be careful, please" Peter voiced with worry.

You hanged the web from it's strongest point at the peak, and slowly lowered yourself down until your hand gently brushed the cold floor . You got off the web and crawled in direction of the tingling of the spider-sense. You found some warehouse crates, pressed your back onto them, slowly leaning your head out to take a peak.

A man stood there, a middle aged man by the looks of him. He had a round pair of black sunglasses on and a large leather coat on, but the most outstanding feature was apparently behind him. Four metal tentacle-like arms sprouting from his back, with threatening looking claws. That had to be the thing that put such a dent in a SWAT vehicle, the advanced equipment you heard of in the interception.

He was ranting about something, speaking to himself. "The power of the sun at the palm of my hand, only to be ruined by that fucking-"

‘What is this man even talking about…’

His words died down in your ears as it took a few seconds for your spider-sense to peak, and you scrunched your face features. Your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes squinted, cheeks squeezing up and causing the lenses of the mask to stretch and flatten.

"(Y/n)? Found anything yet?" Peter inquired.

"This man... I think I know him... but also not..." At this point, your spider-sense was rampant. Your gaze still confused as you tried to decipher him. Your spider sense was alerting you of this oddly familiar feeling. It was someone you had dealt with before, but also someone new. Simply off-putting.

Then the realization fell on you, his tentacle-like arms.

"Is that Doc Ock!?" Without getting a hold of your reaction, you accidentally raised your voice and revealed your location. Your spider-sense tingled again, this time, sensing imminent danger as you backflipped and dodged the incoming attack. The crate you were hiding behind of was broken into splinters.

"Come on out, Spider-Man!" he shouted, his voice in pure anger.

Spider-Man? As long as you remember, you never referred to your disguised self as Spider-Man...

"It's Spider-Woman, mind you" You revealed yourself off the shadows, and the light basked in your costume, revealing its signature colors and design. "Do I know you by chance?" you tited your head, inquisitive in your tone as you were trying to figure things out.

The man's expression fell, and his rage was replaced by annoyance.

"Is this some kind of sick joke, Spider-Man? Have you forgotten the name of the man whose work of life you ruined, Otto Octavius." His tongue rolled of his name with spite and you widened your eyes.

"Doc Ock? But, you are different. You are totally human". Last time you checked, Doc Ock was a mad scientist that turned himself half-octopus by bioengineering his genetics in the name of some sort of sick evolution idea. He had tried to turn the city into mutants like himself for 'the sake of humanity's future' and you managed to stop his plans. Furthermore, he had been sent to a high-security prison for villains, where an anti-serum is being developed to turn him back and halt his aggression.

"Are you pulling my leg Spider-Man?" He said with disbelief, and he began to appear more and more angry by the second. He muttered something below his breath, and you swore you saw one of his tentacles turn toward his face as if it were sentient and listening...

"I've told you it's Spider-Woman." You huffed out, chest puffing out. You had a bad feeling about this...

The man's hand ran down his own face and he groaned, visibly tired. "Well, whatever, but you do appear to be an ally of Peter Parker's, your costume and your name leave little room for further speculation". The mention of your friend raised up your guard, how did he know Pete? Any doubts and hesitation erased themselves of your mind, for your friend could be in lethal danger.

"Oh? What's the matter, 'Spider-Woman'," he sneered.

"Picked right on the web, hmm?" He edged on, a dangerous smirk dancing on his face and two claws raising up in the air, ready to pounce.

There was not much to it, as you jumped sideways to dodge whatever that clawed-tentacle-armor was. You found yourself right back at the gig, fighting a villain as the one and only Spider-Woman.

Or so you thought.

A/n: Hi! So when I first saw this fictional man I KNEW I had to write about him, originally, it was going to be a long one shot, but I decided to break it into parts. I expect this story to be up to 3 parts or 4 as most. Anyhow, I hope you come to like it!, and sorry for the long- ass intro, I really wanted to dwelve deeper into reader as a spider person. Next is the real thing. I have seen some people have asked me to tag them, so don’t be shy to ask too!

#yandere #yandere x reader #self insert #yandere blog #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #miguel o hara x reader #yandere miguel #yandere miguel o'hara #miguel o' hara x reader #across the spiderverse #yandere across the spiderverse #female reader #yandere spiderman 2099 #yandere spiderman #spiderman 2099 x reader

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moonclade · 10 months

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Hello! I was wondering if I could request a Percy Jackson x (gn) reader x Annabeth Chase, basically Percabeth x reader, where reader is an absolute insomniac and hardly goes to sleep at night? Maybe Percabeth trying to keep reader company/going on a night adventure/doing something until they all collapse on a couch and fall asleep or just reader staying until Percabeth falls asleep and trying to get away but getting pulled into bed by them too? Hope it's not too complicated, thank you!

note ー i don't know if you want them to be in a poly relationship, so i will make being in a relationship or not up to the reader! i also was trying something new with this writing style so this may sound different.

not proofread || lowercase intended

1.9k words

you were a zombie, wallowing in your own serene melancholy.

wandering every night around your cabin, your soft footsteps mixing in with the sighs and snores of your half-sisters and brothers.

you envied the way they were able to dream so peacefully, their bodies enveloped and cozy in their rumpled sheets.

yours were different, devouring you whole and seeming like a cobra the way the blanket would slither around you and leave you uncomfortable and unable to spend more than a few minutes lying in bed. a cage in the form of white linen.

eventually, you'd start sweating, the droplets running down your back and head, soaking your shirt and leaving you in desperation to put yourself to sleep.

this then led to you pacing back and forth, attempting to tire yourself out enough to slump over and finally meet the sweet embrace of sleep. it was a clockwork cycle.

the gods seem to be taking pleasure in your struggle, because your silent pleas kept going unanswered. you cursed them out internally, especially your parent.

a sharp knock at the window piqued your interest. two figures were there, illuminated from behind by the moon, causing their features to be unnoticeable.

you walked over in apprehension, before noticing annabeth's telltale ponytail and calming down.

percy points towards the door, locked after the ares cabin managed to sneak in and give everyone a "surprise". it took you days to get the terrible marker drawings off your face.

you hurriedly rush outside, not wanting to be alone in your misery anymore.

"what are you guys doing here?" you hissed, eyes darting around to make sure no one was outside as well to notice the three of you.

percy and annabeth exchanged a glance.

"well, we're worried about you," annabeth fiddled with the garnet coral on her necklace. not in a nervous way, but on instinct.

"worried about what?" you chuckled nervously. it felt like you were in an intervention session, the way they kept communicating silently.

"you haven't been sleeping in days." percy holds a finger up when you attempt to argue. "we can tell."

your head dropped, not bothering to dispute his claim. it was quite obvious, with the way you weren't able to keep up in training as well as you used to, your movements lethargic and reaction time slow enough that a snail could probably manage to slay you down.

in fact, even chiron came up to you asking what the problem was. you brushed him off, saying it was just you not being able to sleep at night and downplaying the whole situation. he tried pressing on, but you had cut him off by saying you had an arts and crafts class to help the apollo campers teach, bolting away from the scene. you slightly regret it, knowing that he most likely had a solution.

you would've thought that at least annabeth would've abstained from the idea of sneaking out to your cabin, but here she was. a sheepish shrug was all you earned when you raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"we care for you," annabeth reasoned. "we came to check up on you, it has to be boring in there all night."

you nodded, letting out a sigh. "thanks for coming, but what are we even going to do? it's not like we can stand here all night."

the duo swapped looks once again as if they didn't think that far ahead, which was surprising on annabeth's part.

"it was kind of a spur of the moment decision, y'know." percy began, until his eyes lit up. you didn't like what that implied.

"the lake!" he dragged the two of you by the wrists before you could begin to form a thought about the myriad of things that could possibly go wrong. you shook off any apprehension, and followed as best you could.

he was literally the sea embodied, and she was wisdom defined. you didn't know why they bothered with you in the first place, but you loved them. maybe the gods really were on your side.

a smile grew on your face as the three of you rushed side-by-side through the veil of darkness. at the pace you went at, canoe lake soon came into view.

the moon was lucent, reflecting off the still surface of the pitch-black water. you decided to stay on the boardwalk, not trusting your arms not to give out as soon as you hit the water. of course, percy was always there to help out, but you didn't want to bother taking that risk. plus, you didn't want to get back into your bed soaking and smelling of wet grass.

the son of poseidon was having the most fun, splashing around, sporadically throwing buckets of water your way. whenever he did, you would grumble and slip your hand into the water, retaliating. not that it did much, considering he was already in the lake.

annabeth stayed near you, casually watching percy act like a kid and sometimes poking fun at him with you. after a bit, she strayed away to play mermaids with him.

the sight of them diving underwater and resurfacing, every time with giggles following them. you pouted in jealousy, wanting to play mermaids as well.

in a split second, without ruminating over it any longer, the icy liquid encircling you and nipping at you as you manage to break the surface of the water. the once tranquil water was now choppy and loud, the current the only thing you could hear.

you felt as free as the river that led into the lake. unstoppable and unyielding. all your doubts had been washed away with the water, and the drowsiness that had been a heavy weight on your shoulders had been lifted, even if it were for those few moments.

percy and annabeth swam over to you, not wanting you to waste the last bit of energy you had left.

"weren't you just complaining about how you didn't want to get wet?" percy lifted an eyebrow in question.

"nothing will ever make me pass a game of mermaids," you toothily beamed.

or so you thought.

after nearly ten minutes of splashing and cackling in the water, you were worn out and the excitement had drained out of you. the two demigods noticed, due to the fact you began to make your way slowly back to shore alone. you didn't want to ruin their fun with your problems, so you had left unannounced.

percy quickly came over to help, annabeth trailing behind. wrapping a toned arm around you, he managed to singlehandedly get you back on solid ground. once you made it, you immediately laid down, staring up at the duo.

"you know, we could always play mermaids some other time. you didn't have to come in the lake," annabeth sighed, her cloudy eyes shining in concern and brows furrowing.

even when she was drenched, she managed to look effortlessly beautiful. aphrodite surely blessed her.

"you're staring," percy teased once he noticed your watchful gaze on her as she wrung water out of her hair and clothes.

your face heated in embarrassment, and you averted your eyes to the forest in the distance as if something interesting was going to appear. "i spaced out."

he gave a lopsided grin in knowing. "whatever you say."

a cold breeze caressed your skin, sending shivers up your spine. this didn't go overlooked, as annabeth acted and offered you a spare gray jacket she had brought along.

"it's your jacket, you're going to be cold," you refused her offering.

"i won't." she went against your wishes and draped the jacket over you. "we'll just go inside for a bit, and i'll warm up."

you grunted, but still kept the jacket on, slipping your arms through the sleeves. it was warm and smelled like lemons, a welcome change from percy's bitter seawater smell.

as the three of you made your way back to the cabins, you opted to stare at the glimmering stars in the sky. you'd stared at the bright dots every time you couldn't sleep, memorizing each constellation as a way to make the time pass faster. you hoped that eventually, you wouldn't have to study the sky for hours on end.

"you gonna keep walking?" percy called out to you, and you realized you had walked right past annabeth and percy. dashing back towards them, you realized that they were waiting right in front of percy's cabin.

"well, i guess i'll get going then," you awkwardly pointed behind you, believing that this was the end of the night.

"no, no. you're coming inside," annabeth gestured at the open door.

once again you were in a dilemma of what to do, but again decided that the punishment was not going to be worse than the reward. besides, all you were going to do when you got back to the cabin is mope around until the sun peaks over the horizon.

walking in, a briny scent slaps your face. you didn't hate the smell, but rather found it comforting every time you walk in.

"you can lay down, you looked really tired a while ago," he nodded towards his bed. not objecting, you throw your heavy and exhausted self onto the mattress.

"why is your bed more comfy than mine?" you grumble into the pillow.

"maybe i just deserve it more," percy replied, earning him a middle finger from you. he chuckled.

it went silent for a bit, the two no doubt doing their secret language made up of different stares and hand movements. you didn't bother turning around to check, until a weight pressed down on the bed on either side. you flip yourself over, and see percy and annabeth climbing into bed with you.

"wha- there's not enough space for all of us." you muttered. no one paid mind to your statement, and still sandwiched you in the middle.

"oh really?" percy smugly said, happy to prove you wrong. you simply rolled your eyes.

somehow they had managed to fit on the small bed, and that's when you decided that you should be going back to your own bed. you sat up, and began to slide the sheets off your body, before percy stopped you.

"where are you going?" his arm caged your torso down to the bed, and you fell back in instantaneous acceptance that you were not escaping. you were close enough to hear his heartbeat, the steady cadence keeping you relaxed.

"everyone's going to wonder where i went." you pointed out. usually everyone woke up to you sitting up in bed with the most restless but also, ironically, drained expression on.

"we can deal with that tomorrow," annabeth began playing with your strands of hair, ruffling them. she remembered that you loved the feeling of fingers running through your hair, and that it reminded you of you parent.

"fine." that was the last word spoken that night.

you listened as annabeth's breaths turned slow and shallow, soon followed by percy. her hands went limp in your hair, a little crown around your forehead.

normally, the heat of being in between two people as well as a blanket would drive you mad, throwing you out of the bed and looking back up to the endless canvas of night. but this was different. hedged right between the two people you love right after a night of doing something other than feeling pity for yourself changed the game.

slowly your eyes shut, their warm embrace slowly lulling you to the blissful reward of peaceful dreams.

#[🌙clade]#guess who hates this lmfao 😝#percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #pjo #hoo #hoo x reader #annabeth chase #annabeth pjo #annabeth chase x reader #annabeth x reader #percabeth #percabeth x reader #x reader #booklr #percy jackson and the olympians #percy pjo #demigods

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derangedanomaly · 15 days

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Guyyss, y'all have no idea how happy I actually am to know that y'all like my AU of Nightmare having a clone. I haven't felt this hyper in forever! I also REALLY enjoy doing anything about my favorite boy Chaos, so I decided to write some interesting Facts about my AU!

Enjoy lmao

Masterlist

CHAOS FACTS

His design differences between Nightmare:

I don't know if anyone's noticed, but I draw Nightmares tentacles purposely more flowy and droopy than Chaos'.

Chaos almost always has his tentacles lowered down, because he doesn't want to accidentally hurt anyone, but the only time he always has them up, is when he's near Nightmare, to look bigger and assert dominance.

Chaos' tentacles sometimes makes him look like he has horns.

While Nightmare feeds off of negative feelings, Chaos feeds off of Nightmares misery. SPECIFICALLY Nightmares. And whenever he does feed off of his misery, a purple smoke surrounds him.

When Diana accidentally copied Nightmares code, she wanted to use the delete button. She was afraid of what two Nightmares could do to the multiverse. But her worries flew out the window when she saw how friendly Chaos is, apart from Nightmare.

You could almost say that Chaos could be a better villain than Nightmare, because Chaos is willing to actually do anything just to earn someone's trust. And he could take advantage of that too, but thanks to Diana's code, he won't do that.

Chaos is practically the only worst punishment that Nightmare could receive, because the only one that can get on Nightmares nerves, is himself.

Chaos doesn't have a passive form, because he's only the copy of Nightmares code. Meaning he probably doesn't even know who Passive is.

The only reason he wants to ruin Nightmares reputation so much, is solely because he gets a kick out of it. It's also strangely written in his code- Diana thought it would be funny and entertaining to see two Nightmares fighting each other.

Nightmare could engage in a pretty violent battle with Chaos if he truly got pissed off- but he doesn't do that, only because Chaos is practically him. Chaos is pretty much on the same level of power as Nightmare. Which probably makes him the only appropriate opponent to Nightmare.

Killer often call NM and Chaos "twins". This earns an amused chuckle from Chaos and an angry Nightmare.

Chaos is partly supposed to represent how fanon Nightmare sometimes acts, apart from the canon one.

Chaos doesn't have a soul, since he technically doesn't exist, his whole body is made off of copies of Nightmares code, this doesn't include his soul.

The only people who know about Diana's existence are Ink, Error and Chaos. Diana doesn't feel the need to show herself to anyone often, so she just doesn't do it.

Ink and Diana are actually pretty good friends, though Diana denies any sort of friendship between the two.

Diana, Ink and Error, are like the three horseman of creation. Error is the destruction, Ink is the creation, and Diana is the rebirth. (Since Diana can copy anyone's code, she can technically bring out the dead. But this of course also has consequences.)

Diana's belt has eyes that follow whoever she's talking to.

Diana is supposed to represent a higher intelligent form. That's why she wears more 'angelic-like' clothes.

Chaos views Diana like his mother.

I'm sorry If these facts don't interest you! I just fell in love with my own Au 😭

#undertale #undertale fandom #sans undertale #nightmare sans #chaos sans #undertale au #undertale diana #ink sans #undertale oc #error sans #killer sans

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mrs-snape5984 · 2 months

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„You look beautiful undone…and my heart's connected.“

„We learn the most when we least expect it. We learn the most when we break in two. (…) It's the cracks that let the light shine through…“ („Beautiful Undone” by Laura Doggett)

“Her hands were brushing a strand of his silky hair out of his face and in this exact moment, Julia’s whole existence got just one purpose: She would always protect this way too skinny, raven-haired boy with his adorably crooked nose and those beautiful - and yet so sad - obsidian eyes!”

This is a tiny snippet from one of my stories, which I’m only writing in order to cope with my own pain. I guess, I won’t ever be bold enough to share them publicly and my friend @vulnus-sanare has the duty to burn my laptop as soon as I’ll be gone one day (even though she threatened me to share my dirty work with the people in our beloved Snapedom).

But this little snippet fits perfectly with the amazing artwork, which my friend, the extremely gifted @snake-queen7 drew for me.

I’ve always had a soft spot for Severus in his younger years. All I’d wanted was to keep this boy safe from harm, making him feel loved and cared for…because this is exactly, what he deserved!

In my stories, Jules is Sevy’s friend, his lover, his protector, his guardian angel, his saviour, his powerful goddess of revenge. And to be honest, you don’t have to be a psychologist to understand, where this is coming from. Julia’s strength and her determination to make the world a better place for her beloved Severus are rooted in my own feelings of helplessness and despair.

My reality with ME/CFS couldn’t be more different from my stories. I feel trapped. Trapped in my own diseased and disabled body…trapped in my room….trapped in my darkness…trapped in a life, in which I don’t feel appreciated anymore.

I’m feeling more and more like a useless piece of furniture, which someone has hidden in a dark chamber. Still good enough to keep it, even though it’s not in plain sight…or at least not bad enough to waste it eventually.

Where’s my light? Where’s my saviour? Where’s my way out of this hell? I guess, it’s just like Severus has said: “Well, it may have escaped your notice,but life isn’t fair!” (“Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix”)

I’ve always loved Severus for his resilience, his stubborn determination and strength. Since 21 years, he’s not only my comfort character and the love of my life…he’s my role model, my inspiration to keep on going…to keep on living.

So, I’m clinging to him and to all the things, I’m using in order to cope with my misery: I’m a loving mother of three wonderful children. I have a handful amazing friends with a deep understanding of my grief and despair, but who also appreciate my dry humour and my sarcasm. I’m still capable of pouring out my feelings onto paper, creating something beautiful in my stories. And I’m full of gratitude for the artists of Snapedom, who are helping me to bring my creative ideas to life with their art.

And that’s exactly, what you have done for me with this delightful piece of art, @snake-queen7! Thank you for giving me some comfort and peace for my troubled heart and soul by drawing Sevy and Jules again. You are wonderful and I appreciate not only your outstanding art, but also your kindness and compassion. Thank you for everything! 🥹

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

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robthegoodfellow · 6 months

Text

I Just Wanna Cheer

Crying, Creampie, Virginity Kink for Days 21/22/23 of @harringrovekinktober additional incidental use of sex toys, praise kink, orgasm denial, dom/sub dynamic, role playing, you know the drill—now with emerging feminization kink

(roommates in love, kink experimentation, billy gets boinked, nsfw)

Handy Links to Previous Chapters: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7 (kill me)

It was his own fault for trying to cancel on Robin again—having assumed, now that she knew about his and Billy’s fledgling thing, that she’d be more understanding of his needs.

But no.

Eyeroll audible over the phone, Robin had offered a different option. Just bring your boy toy along if it’s that much of a burden to leave his side. There was a loaded pause during which Steve scrambled to recall whether he’d told her that particular part of their fledgling thing, then she continued, blithe and cavalier. That is, if you can stand to keep your hands off each other’s dicks for a couple hours. Speaking over Steve’s choked bluster: It’ll be a struggle, I know. But I believe in you. Stay strong.

So he’d called Billy up after, risking Madam Manager’s ire for lingering too long on his lunch break, and caught him right before he left for class. Billy had gone quiet, digesting Steve’s rushed explanation—drinks at the Taproom around eight; you, me, and Robin—and then cleared his throat. Like, us all hanging out as friends? he asked. Or…? And Steve froze, wrongfooted. What—uh, whatever you want, he said, clumsy. She knows. I mean, not everything—just that we’re… uhm. Sorry? he added, wincing, and Billy mercifully jumped in, put him out of his misery. It’s fine. I’ve been talking to Heather about us. I needed someone to… He trailed off, and Steve breathed a sigh, grinning with relief as he nodded. Yeah. Me, too.

Billy had already showered and eaten when Steve got home—tilted his cheek for a drive-by kiss as Steve passed him huddled in the corner of the couch, psych notes open on his lap. Hadn’t moved even after Steve had finished stuffing his face, washing up. What should I wear? Steve called as he emerged from the bathroom, towel around his waist, and Billy glanced over—locked on Steve’s hand, the fisted terrycloth at his hip. Understandably, it took Steve a moment to absorb Billy’s reply: I was gonna ask you the same question.

And Billy—never asked Steve for fashion advice. Which meant he had something else in mind.

They were late meeting Robin.

“You live literally down the road,” she exclaimed when they arrived at the Taproom, flushed from power walking and also other things. Steve’s buttons were misaligned on his shirt, and Billy’s hair gave off the distinct impression of having just rolled out of bed. Distinct and—accurate.

“Couldn’t find my wallet,” Steve lied, gentle arm at Billy’s waist to guide him into a chair.

Billy sat. Carefully.

“Well, I hope it turned up,” Robin said, unconvinced and unimpressed. “Because first round’s on you.”

“Long Islands for everyone?” He stooped, arms looped around Billy from behind, and—lightly pressed on his abdomen, encouraging him to lean against the chairback, relax from his prim perch. “Okay?” he basked, when his boy swallowed a whimper, red flooding his cheeks. Billy nodded, and Steve kissed his neck, the skin feverish under his lips. “Good.”

They explained away Billy’s spacey distraction easily enough—big psych test on Monday—but by the second round, with Billy shifting every minute, rocking in his seat ever so slightly, his eyes glassy, lips parted, Robin was growing concerned.

“You sure you feel alright?” she checked, then squinted. “Or feeling too alright?”

Steve cut in, scooched his chair alongside Billy’s, their legs flush under the table.

“He hasn’t been sleeping well,” he said, drawing Billy to slump against him, corralling with the comforting palm on his shoulder. “You need to go home, babe?”

Billy huffed, hearing the subtle taunt. You give up? Give in?

“M’good,” he insisted, wagging his head. Unseeing, unblinking, he fumbled for his glass. Tossed back the rest, ice cascading toward his mouth. He slouched into Steve’s touch, crunching cold loud between his molars. Hidden, insinuated a hand around Steve’s thigh and underneath—cinching him close. If he traced upward not too far, he’d bump the bulge straining Steve’s zipper. One glance at Billy’s lap revealed he was in even worse shape: a patch of wet seeping through pale blue denim. “Robin’s turn to buy.”

Lucky for them, Robin caught the eye of the Gina Gershon type behind the bar—got her number, the promise of a good time after her shift—and around the fifth or sixth round, Robin went to fetch tequila shots and never came back.

Sloppy steps to the exit, clinging to each other’s waists, and the muggy summer night welcomed them to the sidewalk, chatter and cheesy pop muffled beyond the door.

They cut a crooked path toward the apartment, breathy silence broken by the odd chuckle or hum, speech smothered by the pulsing weight of expectation that had settled all around.

They were going home, and Steve was gonna fuck him. Shove inside, push to the root and hammer his hips until he spilled, until the swollen hole oozed white, until he—

Billy was whining in short throaty bursts by the time they reached the stairwell, stumbling now and then, relying on Steve to half-haul him up the last flight. Please he mumbled, the moment their door clicked, and Steve wasn’t sure where the surge of macho muscle came from, but next thing he knew he’d hefted a clinging koala into his arms, gripping just below the ass, striding to his bedroom, wet lips mouthing Steve’s neck with every step.

Part of him wanted to throw Billy down, watch him bounce on the mattress, but he didn’t—or he would, but not now, not when his good boy had been squirming for so long, desperate to wring some relief from the toy wedged snug. No, he lowered him gentle onto his back, lovely legs hugging Steve’s hips, dangling off the bed—Billy’s hips lifting the moment fingers fumbled at his button, tugged at his zip.

The lube was within reach, right where they’d left it, when they’d overindulged before rushing out the door, Steve slicking up the small plug and working it in, pulling a new pair of pale pink panties up long, bronzed legs, then selecting a pair of jeans, a tank cut so low around the neck, hanging loose about the ribs, that it barely covered his nipples.

Steve had taken it upon himself to carefully tuck the front of the tank into the waist of his jeans, the way Billy liked, and now took it upon himself to untuck, pushing the tank up as he yanked the jeans down, fingers hooked in a back pocket.

He left the jeans balled below Billy’s knees, allowing them to part wide and meanwhile keep his ankles tied. Bending low, Steve ran his nose along the obscene jut of cock beneath sticky satin, breathed heat through the fabric—pressed his face into Billy’s crotch when he writhed, moaning.

“Here’s what I want,” Steve said, peering up—a strange vantage point: the heaving hills and valleys of Billy’s abs, his pecs, the underside of a tilted chin, the shifting rise of biceps, arms flung above his head. “I want to pull down the back of your panties. Check my good boy is ready for me.”

“Ready,” Billy panted, hardly more than a wheeze. “M’ready, ready. Please.”

“Haven’t gone past the middle plug,” Steve told him, all regret—as though breaking it to him gently, and Billy sobbed. “But,” he went on, shushing, sneaking to fondle the base of the plug through silky smooth pink, cup the shivering curves of his ass. “You promise to tell me if you want to stop, and I’ll fuck you now. Fill you up. And if it’ll make my good boy happy, we’ll plug him up after. No leaking.” Billy was begging under his breath, babbling yes, please—please, yes. “Promise?” Steve prompted, reaching for the lube as he sat up, propped against the edge of the mattress.

Billy promised, tears already eeking down his temples, wetting his hair. Steve watched them drip as he slicked his fingers—used his dry hand to inch the panties down, the front drawn taut as the back pulled, clearing the rise of Billy’s ass to sit bunched below.

He didn’t tease his boy too much: traced up to stroke the stiff heat straining satin, brush the twitching length with his thumb, then drifted back down to caress the protruding flat of glass. One mild tug, and it slipped free on a gasp. He let it thunk on the carpet at his feet.

The hole that kissed blind fingertips was still fluttering from the sudden loss—seemed to suck him in, inflamed greed, taking two easy, then three. Billy’s face was twisted, eyes closed, his lashes wet, hips grinding into the touch as though searching, feeling his way in the dark. A whine puffed past slack lips, desperate—almost forlorn.

“Okay,” Steve breathed. Withdrew, grappling clumsy for the lube, slicking his cock where it bobbed by the bedspread, trailing drool. “Okay, baby.”

His forearm hooked shaking thighs, dragged Billy closer, ass almost hanging off the bed. Steve gripped himself mid-shaft, thumbing the crown, and nudged forward, catching on the rim that still seemed too small, impossibly small.

Billy sighed, set one hand on Steve’s forearm, the cross bar holding him steady—coasted down the arm to link their hands, and Steve bowed his head, suddenly swamped. Just—overwhelmed.

He pushed, steady pressure, and it was like with the plug, where resistance caved to a gobbling grip. Pushed and the slicked crown was swallowed up by clenching heat. Paused to breathe, a returning squeeze to their linked hands, then sank further—this stuttering plow that deepened with the duet of stuttering breaths.

Steve was lost in it, so consumed by the sensory influx—the salty musk of sweat and precome, the lungs bellowing in his ears, the thundering throb of his pulse where they were joined, where they were holding on, nerves alight, a smolder about to catch and roar—so consumed that when he bottomed out, flush with Billy’s ass, he kept going, rocking into him, lifting, Billy’s knees curling toward his chest, where the flimsy tank still lay, askew.

“Good?” Steve asked, throaty, and Billy’s eyes rolled in his head as he laughed, weak, lips barely hitched. Slowing, Steve circled the rim that clutched him, as though measuring—assessing. Feathered his touch from thin skin smooth and slick to the peach fuzz of Billy’s ass check, tickling, and grunted as the convulsive clench. “Fast or slow?”

His boy didn’t answer with words—maybe couldn’t—just a bobblehead, like Fast? Yes. Slow? Yes. Yes. Yes. So Steve gave him both, grinding into him torturous slow, adjusting until he nailed the spot that made Billy squirm and mewl, then let loose. Jackhammered, and when Billy's blushing wet cockhead peeked from the pink frilly waistband, smearing his abs, Steve smirked, mindless except for one driving thought: I want to feel him come on my cock.

Reaching down, unsteady, Steve tucked him back out of sight. Stroked him lightly as he said it: “Cream your panties for me, Billy.”

And god, Steve loved to watch him lose it beneath him, give in, crack open, but to feel it from inside...

Milking me, he thought, jaw slack, launched into sweet blue nothing. Fucking milking me.

Barely caught himself from faceplanting with an arm made of noodle, panting fit to die. The sweet blue nothing blinked at him—so pretty, heavy-lidded.

All Steve could do for the moment was blink back.

You knew you had it good when waking life was indistinguishable from a wet dream. The hazy cloud of ecstasy that lured Steve from sleep in the wee hours of the morning resolved into recent memory as he squinted, absorbing the smells of Billy embedded in the sheets—registering the absence of Billy’s sounds. His warmth. Steve pawed at his eyes, unsure whether the emerging snapshots, burning to the touch, were real or fantasy.

…Billy, after Steve had emptied into him, placidly rolling onto his stomach, presenting his ass for inspection upon request—humming long and low at the probing touch where he was swollen, pucker red and shining. A more insistent prod, and a pearl of white bloomed.

Distantly, he heard water running in the pipes. Billy—in the bathroom?

Middle of the bed, Steve had murmured. Lay on your tummy. And Billy army-crawled to obey, his ankles shackled by the mess of denim. Steve opted to leave them for the time being.

Billy had dropped flat with a whooshing sigh, head fenced by sprawling arms, legs akimbo, and Steve crawled to lie alongside, propped on an elbow. For a while, he just studied that face—the rosy cheeks, the pink lips gently curled in blissed satisfaction, eyelashes dark and clumped from tears.

Need anything? Steve asked, quietly mesmerized, brushing back a lock of tawny hair. Or want? One blue eye had cracked open, bleary, exhausted. And yet—his hips twitched, bare ass still exposed, satin shoved low. He wanted Steve to keep his promise: no leaking.

Steve’s bedroom door creaked open, and moments later the mattress dipped under a heavy form, blankets shifting as Billy settled.

“You okay?” Steve asked, voice scratchy. Half-awake, he rolled, slinging his arm around Billy’s back.

Billy yawned an incoherent confirmation. “Took care of business.”

Steve traced to the base of his spine, absently curious, and ran a finger down his crack. No plug. “All clean?”

“Mhmm.” Arching, Billy pressed into his touch, then resettled with a tired chuckle. “So you can mess me up again.”

Steve snorted—gripped an asscheek, meaning to claim a squeeze before he withdrew. But then… he forgot to do that last part. Drifted off still fondling Billy’s butt.

To make up for the delayed festivities due to socializing the night before, they’d resolved to shack up all of Saturday. A few hours of drinks sets us back, what—three or four orgasms? Steve estimated, and Billy had scoffed, let out a loud Hah! For you, maybe. At which Steve had swooped in, herding him against the wall to nip at his throat. I’m sorry—was that a complaint? Shivering, tilting his chin for more, Billy clung to his ribs. No. No complaints.

Which is why Steve was a little put out to realize he’d slept until nine—that Billy had let him, moreover, because the rest of the bed was cold and empty.

And then the buttery cinnamon sugar hit him upside the head, beckoned him upright, nose in the air. Heard the telltale clinks and thunks of Billy puttering at the stove, and couldn’t help but smile.

Smiled while he pulled on some sweatpants, a worn tee. Smiled as he brushed his teeth, took a piss. Washed his hands. Smiled as he wandered to the kitchen, itching to wrap his good boy up tight, kiss his neck, his cheeks—

The smile didn’t slip, but it… froze solid, along with the rest of him, at the vision that greeted him: Billy halted in front of the fridge, limned in morning sunlight.

Billy with his hair piled atop his head in a messy bun, wearing one of those close-fitting crop tops that he knew drove Steve crazy. His gaze dropped to the rumpled tube socks, trailed up the bronzed curves of his calves, his thighs—to the green pleated hem. Of the skirt.

The cheerleading skirt. The cheerleading skirt that Billy was wearing, in the kitchen. That he had worn while baking cinnamon buns. And making coffee.

Steve had completely flatlined, but all it took was a puff of sound—a nervous muffled squeak of a thing—and his attention swung to Billy’s face. To Billy’s bottom lip, drawn between his teeth. To Billy’s big blue eyes, slanted brows. Hopeful, but—uncertain.

“What—?” Steve tried, shaking his head, and at least tacked a grin to his bafflement. “How…?”

“Borrowed it,” Billy said, fidgeting. Cautious smile. “From Heather.”

Bless Heather for all eternity. Forever and ever. Amen.

“You look—” He couldn’t seem to move, but that was fine. Billy was coming to him—a certain slink to his stride. Steve rallied. “You look—so good. So, so, so—”

Billy set his hands on Steve’s waist, toying with the thin cotton. “I was thinking we could play… like we did that time with the spies? Only…”

His good, good, genius boy.

“Only… jock and cheerleader?” Steve finished, and Billy ducked, bashful—except not his usual bashful, but extra bashful, like he was putting on a show, like he was… a blushing, bashful, virginal little—

Billy leaned up. Kissed the corner of his mouth, soft and sweet. Instinctive, Steve palmed the back of his head, fingers buried in blond, and pulled him flush.

“You wanna be my good girl today?” he whispered, lips brushing Billy’s cheek—pressed a kiss there when Billy nodded. “Whatcha wearing under that skirt, babe?”

Billy giggled—quiet and flirty. “Breakfast first.”

Steve nipped his ear. “And then a snack?”

“Down, boy,” Billy scolded, swatting his arm. He turned and walked away—the sway deliberate, as confirmed by the cheeky wink thrown over his shoulder.

Now with next chapter: He Loves Me, Loves Me, Loves Me

#roommates in love #harringrove #harringrovekinktober2k23 #billy hargrove #soft dom steve harrington #good boy billy hargrove #this fic is driving me slowly insane #more insane #just been wandering around vaguely randy for weeks #WEEKS #but HEY they ass fucked woohooo

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bellaxgiornata · 11 months

Text

Falling For the Devil [Part seventy-nine: "The Hell Day"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: You stay home from work because you're having a terrible day on your period.

Matt stops by for a surprise visit and offers you comfort in more ways than one.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut (like...a lot of it later in the series), language, some violence

Word Count: 2.9k

a/n: This is a little hurt/comfort fic while Reader is on her worst day of her period. And there's some Sweet Matty comforting Reader and some moving in discussions! Our next installment is titled "The Revisitation of Moving In" that I'll hopefully be sharing later this week! You can find the entire list of installments for this series on tumblr here.

Tag List: @stilldreaming666 @mattkinsella @ninacoette @murdocksclient @madscamp02 @1988-fiend @lina-mar @pinkratts @schneeflocky (I apologize if I missed someone or if any of these tags didn't work! Some of you might have search settings turned off on your account so I can't actually tag you!)

Curled up on your couch absently watching the food channel, your arms were wrapped around your abdomen as you groaned in misery. Your whole body ached, especially your lower back, and you'd been feeling nauseous since early this morning when you'd woken up. You'd had a headache for the past five hours that just wouldn't go away no matter how much water you drank or ibuprofen you took.

You were on day two of your period–also known as Hell Day. Since it was Friday and you'd felt like death, having woken up long before your alarm had gone off and been unable to fall back asleep because your cramps were just that painful, you'd called off work. Last night had been one of those rare nights that Matt hadn't stopped by as Daredevil because he'd stayed home working on a case, so you'd thankfully not had to wake up to him witnessing how miserable you were.

While you'd avoided Matt over that first period week you'd gotten months ago, right after the two of you had gotten together, you hadn't continued that trend for most of the periods that followed after. Though admittedly you had often managed to find a way to avoid him one way or another on Period Hell Day for months now, so he'd yet to encounter you on the absolute worst day of your period. Which you'd been grateful for, because generally you were more of an emotional mess than usual, and that's exactly how you'd felt today, as if you were one random, small thing away from crying. Again .

A knock at your apartment door drew your eye towards it, a deep frown settling onto your face. There could only be one person who would be here knocking on your door at almost seven on a Friday night. You closed your eyes, rolling over and burying your face in the pillow you'd been lying on. Another groan left you yet again.

"I don’t feel good tonight, Matt," you grumbled into the pillow. “Leave me to my misery.”

"You and I both know that I'm not going to do that," Matt's distinctive voice came from the other side of the door. “Let me in, sweetheart.”

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” you protested, face still buried in the pillow.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m blind,” he quipped back, amusement clear in his tone.

“ Matt ,” you whined.

You heard the clear rumble of his chuckle outside of your door, the sound of it drawing your face from its hiding place. It had been yesterday afternoon since you last saw him for lunch and you certainly had missed him–despite how pathetic it was to admit because it had barely been over twenty-four hours.

"I brought mint ice cream?" Matt called hopefully through the door. “And it’s uh, probably going to melt on me if you leave me out here.”

“Why didn’t you lead with that?” you called back.

You pushed yourself upright on the couch with a grimace, your cramps somehow feeling worse now that you weren’t curled in the fetal position.

“Because I sort of thought my girlfriend would be happy for some company and comfort tonight?” he responded. "Didn't expect that I'd need to bribe her to answer the door."

Eyes narrowing, you rose to your feet, shuffling your way to your apartment door. Your right hand was pressed to your bloated abdomen like it was going to keep your insides from somehow falling out of you while you walked. Quickly unlocking your door with your left hand, you swung it open to reveal Matt’s handsome and smiling face. He held up the container of mint ice cream he had in fact brought over in one of his hands.

“What the hell does that mean?” you asked him suspiciously, eyes still narrowed as you ignored the ice cream. “Why would you think I want company and comfort tonight?”

Matt’s smile immediately fell, his dark brows drawing together, a crease forming between them. His head slowly shifted to the side as he pursed his lips. There was a long moment that he stood in your doorway looking confused as he remained silent.

“Because you’re…on your period?” he eventually answered carefully. “And I know you usually don’t feel well?”

“How do you know I’m on my period?” you questioned him.

Matt’s head tilted further to the side, his dark brows almost entirely disappearing behind the red lenses of his glasses now. “This…this feels like a trick question,” he said slowly. “I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to answer that.”

You shook your head quickly, hugging both arms over your stomach as if that would somehow block Matt’s heightened senses from picking up on anything from your body. “No, ew, definitely don’t answer that ,” you agreed. “I meant I haven’t seen you today, how would you know?”

“I saw you yesterday, sweetheart,” he pointed out.

“But I hadn’t told you I was on it because I just had–” you stopped, eyes going wide when Matt’s expression turned sheepish. “Oh my God , you could still tell ?” When he opened his mouth you immediately shook your head again, throwing a hand up from your stomach to stop him. “No, please do not actually answer that.”

“It’s not a big deal, sweetheart,” he said gently.

“Says you !” you shot back.

“So you’re just going to leave me to let this mint ice cream melt all over my hands in your hall then?” he asked.

“Obviously not,” you said, stepping aside.

Matt took a slow, careful step into your apartment, almost as if he was wary that you really didn’t want him here. Your shoulders sagged at the sight, shutting the door after him.

“Sorry, I’m a hormonal mess,” you apologized. “I feel horrible and I wasn’t expecting you to stop by tonight and now I’m just overthinking your senses. Again .”

You accepted the ice cream from Matt, turning and bringing it to the kitchen to keep in your freezer for now. Behind you, you heard Matt slipping out of his shoes.

“You know you really don’t need to do that,” he told you. “Overthinking my senses about things.”

“Sort of hard not to do,” you mumbled. “Overthinking is sort of my thing.”

You made your way back towards the living room where Matt was pulling his dark glasses from his face. His eyes were tracking your movement as he leaned over to set the glasses onto your coffee table, the smile growing on his lips as you made your way towards him.

“If you’re ever actually going to move in with me,” he said, “you’re kind of going to have your period around me, sweetheart. And you know it doesn’t bother me. I’ve told you that a hundred times now.”

Sighing dramatically, you once again hugged your arms across your bloated stomach as you came to a stop in front of him. “Try getting my overthinking mind to believe you,” you replied.

He chuckled lightly, his hands reaching out and landing on your shoulders. He gave them an affectionate squeeze that drew a small smile onto your face.

“I have been trying that for awhile now,” he pointed out. “Clearly it’s not an easy feat to accomplish.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “because all I can think about are the gross things you’re picking up on when I’m like this. And I’m…” you trailed off, lips clamping together before you could admit what was on your mind.

Matt’s face shifted to something serious instantly, clearly sensing your hesitation. His eyes were scanning around your face curiously. “You’re what?” he prompted.

Chewing your lip, you gazed down at your coffee table. Could you really verbalize something so gross and ridiculous to Matt? The last thing you felt like doing right now was discussing your period with the man you wanted to still find you attractive when you weren’t bleeding in a few more days.

“Hey,” he said, his tone softer as he gripped your shoulders a little tighter, “you can tell me anything. What’s bothering you?”

“It’s just…if I move in with you, you’re right,” you admitted quietly. “I’ll be having my period around you. Like all the time.”

“Yes,” Matt agreed. “I am aware that it's a monthly occurrence. And I don’t have a problem with that.”

“But like…” you continued, your eyes locked on your coffee table because you could not look at him, “that means I’ll, you know, be…disposing of period-related things. At your place. All the time."

Matt let out an amused snort that quickly drew your eyes to his face. He bit his bottom lip, shaking his head quickly.

“Sorry, sorry, I really don’t mean to laugh,” he said immediately. “I’m not–not trying to make light of your feelings, but sweetheart, it’s just blood. I bring enough blood home on a near nightly basis. I don’t care. It doesn't bother me. And for the record, it would be our place."

“But you have the nose of a bloodhound–”

“Better, actually,” he cut in.

“Matt!” you shrieked, to which he only chuckled again. “That’s not helping!”

"You're right, I'm sorry," he said, the grin still on his face. "Just trying to lighten the mood."

You shifted awkwardly on your feet before him, other anxious thoughts about living with Matt crossing your mind. As if sensing that, his hands slid down your shoulders, making their way down your arms until they wrapped around your own hands.

"Hey, let's sit," he suggested gently.

Matt led you back towards your couch, the pair of you settling down onto the cushions beside each other. He kept his hold on your hands, that serious expression back on his face as he gazed at you.

"What's on your mind, sweetheart?" he asked. "Tell me."

"I just–just worry about all the things you're going to pick up on if I move in with you," you confessed. "Things I'm not aware of because of your heightened senses."

Matt murmured your name, the sound drawing your eyes up to his face. Nervously you chewed your lip, Matt's thumbs rubbing lightly over the backs of your hands.

"You've spent so much time with me already, sweetheart," he pointed out. "Staying the night at my place or me staying here. And I'm still here not grossed out by you." One corner of his lips curled upwards as he added, "And I lived with Fog during college for years . Share an office with him almost every day of the week now. You're not going to gross me out or whatever you're afraid of."

"Well Foggy isn't hoping you're still attracted to him at the end of the day," you blurted.

Matt's mouth twisted into a bigger grin in response. "Well that would mean I'd have to be attracted to Fog at the beginning of the day," he teased.

You sighed deeply, not wanting his jokes right now. Quickly picking up on that, Matt sent you an apologetic smile.

"I'm serious, Matt," you admitted awkwardly. "If we live together, you'll be around me all the time. Every bad day I have and every morning of my gross morning breath. And every period where I'm super gross, like right now. And every time–"

"Hey," Matt cut you off firmly, squeezing your hands. "I want every moment with you, sweetheart. All of it. The good and the bad. I want you with me. And you are not super gross right now," he stated sharply. "You never are. Nothing is going to make me love you or want you any less."

You couldn't help the sting of tears that pricked at your eyes or the way your lips had begun to tremble as Matt's words hit you hard. His brows drew together on his forehead as he noticed your body’s reaction.

"Sweetheart?" he asked, his eyes softening as they focused near your own. "Why're you crying?"

Tears had already quickly begun falling down your cheeks in hot, wet steaks. You sniffled loudly, fighting to keep your voice as even as you could when you spoke.

"Because I'm hormonal as fuck, Matt," you sobbed. "And you're so fucking charming and sweet. And I love you." You slipped a hand out of his hold as you gestured behind you towards your kitchen. "And you brought me my favorite ice cream on my worst damn day of the month!"

His brows knitted further together, the crease between them deepening on his face. The corner of his mouth twitched downwards. "Those are all–all good things though," he pointed out carefully.

"I know!" you agreed, your voice cracking.

His head tilted to the side as he studied you for a moment. "So you're…happy?" he clarified.

"Yes!" you exclaimed. "I'm incredibly hormonal and you're being really great and it's making me cry! But I also cried watching House Hunters earlier, too."

He laughed lightly, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you. One of his large hands began soothingly running up and down your back as you buried your face into his dress shirt. You quickly soaked the material with your tears as your arms wrapped around him in return, balling the material in your fists. That familiar scent of him surrounded you and you buried your nose further into his shirt. A moment later you felt him pressing a kiss into your hair.

"I love you, Matty," you said into his chest.

"I love you, too, sweetheart,” he murmured. “How about I get changed and I come cuddle you on the couch?" he offered. "I can give you a back massage if you lay on me. I can hear how sore your back is."

"You've had a long week yourself," you replied, sniffling again. "Both in and out of the office. I'm not going to ask you to do that."

"Well you're not," he pointed out. "I'm offering. Here, let me up."

Reluctantly you released your hold of him, Matt rising up from the couch. He shot you a smile, murmuring he'd be right back back before you watched him disappear down your hall to your bedroom.

With a sigh you settled back onto your couch, your eyes focusing back on the food channel. It was a few minutes before Matt returned no longer in his work attire. Instead he padded down your hallway barefoot in a pair of gray sweatpants with a tee-shirt in one hand.

"Shirt or no shirt?" he asked, stopping before you on the other side of the coffee table.

Your lips parted in surprise as your eyes raked over his bare torso, every defined inch of him on clear display in your living room. Matt grinned devilishly at you, tossing his shirt onto the coffee table before he made his way back to you.

"That answered my question," he said, amused.

He sat down on the couch, drawing his feet up as he maneuvered behind you. And then he opened his arms to you, waving you over with a smile.

"Come here, sweetie," he whispered. "Let me help you feel better."

You gradually climbed up on top of him, nestling your head just below his chin as your legs rested between his on your couch. While your right hand slid up to grasp his shoulder, your left hand landed along his chest beside your face, fingers absently running along his bare, warm skin that felt amazing against your bloated abdomen. Matt’s own hands settled onto your lower back, his palms beginning to press in the exact right spot against your aching muscles. It was only a matter of seconds before your eyes were closing and you were sighing in relief and contentment.

“You’re really, really good at that,” you whispered, relaxing into him beneath you.

“Sort of easy when I can hear your body that well,” he replied gently.

“And that made it weird,” you pointed out.

Beneath you, Matt let out a rumbling laugh that had you bouncing along him with the movement, which in turn had you giggling. Burying your face into his chest as you laughed, you felt his hands pause their movement to hold you tight to him, his nose nuzzling into your hair as his warm chuckle filled your ears. When both your laughter subsided, Matt placed a kiss into your hair before his hands resumed their movement on your back. You gradually eased back into him beneath you, your eyelids dropping.

“You know,” Matt began, his tone catching your attention instantly, “I hear orgasms help relieve cramps.”

Your eyes instantly grew wide, your jaw dropping in response to what he’d just suggested. There was a rumble of laughter beneath you again as you raised your head from his chest, staring down at him in shock.

“Matthew!” you shrieked.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his smile growing wider. “Oh that one warranted my full name, did it?” he teased.

Heat crept its way up your cheeks as you buried your face back into his chest. “Oh my God ,” you groaned, voice muffled.

“I’m just letting you know that I am more than happy to help,” he told you, amusement in his voice. “Just so you know for the future.”

“I am officially embarrassed and uncomfortable,” you mumbled, still hiding your heated face against him.

“I strongly believe that one day you’ll take me up on that,” he mused, his hands still working the muscles of your aching lower back.

“Doubt it,” you disagreed.

He chuckled yet again, his hands managing to relax you back down from the topic of conversation. Slowly you shifted until your cheek was once again resting along his chest.

“Mmm,” Matt hummed out. “Guess we’ll see who’s right eventually.”

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x fem reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock series #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fanfic #daredevil x female reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock #fftd

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this-acuteneurosis · 8 days

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One thing I will never understand is your other readers obsession with people finding out Leia is from the future and/or related to Padmé/Anakin. As far as I'm conerned, the entire story could progress with that secret never coming out and I would be perfectly happy. Enough of my rambling. Keep up the good work! Angst Gremlin Leia lives rent free in my mind...

I've thought about this a lot as questions about the reveal have come and gone at various points in the story. I'm getting a fewer of them these days, but at this point, I think I understand the impulse. My guess is the motive is generally one of two things, one more conscious than the other.

Firstly, I think people are just excited by the idea of the emotions and the drama. Even a vague reveal gives an opportunity for people to be heartbroken on Leia's behalf, patting her on the back or hugging her and consoling her. A specific reveal of things like who she's related to, how and when people died: there's just so much juicy drama in there, so many agonizing feelings to enjoy. And as a writer who pretty good an dragging out the angst in general, I think people get excited with the idea that I would really dip into the pit of misery, that I would draw deeply from that well of agony and make all the characters chug that bitter water. I can see the appeal of this kind of emotionality, but I've also obviously managed to find plenty of misery to slosh around without going that far. Still, I can understand the craving.

Partly because I think the first matter flows into part two, which is catharsis. Some of that is just emotional. Yes, everyone wants the agony of Anakin (let's be real, it's mostly Anakin) realizing the depths of darkness that Leia experienced with Vader. But there's also the payoff on the other side of that. The closeness that could come on the other side. And I think it's assumed that's what would happen because that's sort of the nature of Leia's arc that I've set up. The story begins not with politics, but with Leia's grief. It's not just a background motif. It's a persistent theme, and a character arc that is deeply important to the story. If Don't Look Back ends without clearly showing Leia moving past some stage of her grief, into a happier future, I'll basically have failed as an author. Since Leia's relationship with Anakin is so fraught because of her history with Vader, and since her grief means she aggressively keeps secrets to maintain control, it's pretty reasonable that there are people that assume a plot resolution of this arc will include her revealing the truth to someone. Maybe even many someones. It would be one pretty tangible way to show that growth.

All of their speculation aside, I've got a much better idea at this point of how much Leia is eventually going to reveal, to whom, and when. She may yet surprise me, but I'm much more settled in the beats of the arc of her grief specifically. And I've known pretty much since the beginning how this story was going to end. So everyone will just have to wait and see where we land.

#Don't Look Back #people are so kind #writing #trauma

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walnutcookie · 3 months

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sir i humbly request rambles about misfortune and more cappuccino hcs

perhaps some body horror doodles as well if you feel comfortable

i adore this au please spill your guts to me and i will feed on the titbits i find

also may i make fanart of this misfortune au thing (sorry not sure what to call it)

misfortune moment PART THREE!!!! ramble under cut :]

part one here

part two here

rbs ok!

misfortune knows exactly how to inflict the most amount of misery in someone.

heres the thing. if it just kept beating its host while theyre down, the host would eventually grow a tolerance to the pain and simply become numb. that means that it cant get any more misery out of its host and it would have to find another one.

So! it allows the host some joy. In cappuccinos case, it primarily involves his vacations :]c before she actually knows what causes all of the bad things in his life she just knew that Everything was always bad and miserable unless she was relaxing. while she was working, things would constantly injure her, nothing would stay organized, and bad things just kept happening one after another, but on vacation everything seemed to be just fine!! Great even! shes just able to surf or relax or nap and just ENJOY things instead of being hit by falling lights and bookshelves. even though every car shes ever been in has crashed hes always been safe on planes. of course its not all sunshine and rainbows because she can hardly even enjoy the break when he cant stop thinking about how AWFUL its going to be to go back to work

BUT!! the point is that her days off are like the ONLY times that he finds peace. Which is partially why hes so eager to catch another break!!! misfortune lets her have these lovely days but also uses it as an opportunity to make bad things happen during/right before her breaks so that theyre cancelled or cut short and shes filled with disappointment<3

this is also why it let langue into cappuccinos life ! of course it could EASILY just kill them but cappuccino was already getting a little too miserable and was far too adjusted to all of the bad luck in his life already so langue was the perfect solution to that problem. And also created misery all on their own like the longing cappuccino feels before they actually get together. And now that cappuccino has langue in her life and theyre someone who makes her so happy misfortune is able to cause harm to them/mess with cappuccino's plans of meeting them and just cause more distress :]c

of course that plan backfired when langue managed to weaken it and make cappuccino's life decent enough to the point it was forced to leave OOPS!!!!

but yeah ,,, i dont know i just love messing with this thang. too much misfortune is bad because then the host will adapt so it has to be a little lenient so the person doesnt feel completely and utterly hopeless >:] and in the event that the host does become useless to it then it simply posesses them to commit crimes and just cause misery to other people than the host before exiting the body and leaving it to bleed out and die

OKAY WHOOPEEE thats all i have to talk about right now i hope this is at least somewhat cohesive im kindof tired right now . BUT WOO RAVEN TIME!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS ASK IT WAS SO SO FUN TO DRAW ANS ANSWER /GEN AGHH hope you enjoy the drawings as much as i enjoyed making them X] ill likely put them in a seperate post since im really proud of the first one and i kind of want it to be in a post of its own agahsbfkhf

ALSO IVE ALREADY ANSWERED THIS BUT YESS ABSOLUTELY !!! I WOJLD ABSPLUTELY LOVE TO SEE FANART AUAGHHFF <333 YOU ARE SO SWEET !!!

if anyone has any further questions/comments feel free to shoot me an ask ! X]

#cappuccino cookie #cookie run #cookie run au #my art #🎉 rambles #tw blood #tw body horror #blood #body horror

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dropthedemiurge · 4 months

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Last Twilight Episode 10 Reaction

I wasn't even going to write my own posts of LT but this episode just delivered punch after punch! I couldn't help but comment, so–

I love to see Jimmy and Mark using their dramatic acting microexpressions attacks on my heart, i'm bleeding but I'm fascinated. Sea has grown a lot and acts so believable, I want to praise him. But damn, maybe it's because I actually remember Jimmy and Mark since Bad Buddy, the contrast is huge here. Jimmy also does that thing with the jaw that makes him look more manly and mature, none of the young and mischeivous Wai, in Vice Versa he also didn't reach this level of complexity, I think we all should bow to P'Aof & team for leading him.

I know I should be talking about Day who isn't crying while his family is devastated (he knew and was prepared and felt comfortable as long as he had Mork, they were not prepared) but I am biased... The way Night didn't even dare to touch Day when he wanted to comfort him at doctor office Т_Т And how later, at the dinner table he looked with such disbelief, and hesitantly started teasing Day as sibling again when Day reached out Т_т And how for months he felt he deserved to be silent, torn apart and uncomfortable, yelled at and judged for not taking care of his brother properly.

Noo, my heart!

But also Day and Mork, of course, the way Day bravely said "The last thing I saw in my life was his face", and Mork said "I'm sorry" and I can understand the mom going "you crossed over all lines with ny son, get out of my house", and it's probably huge red HR violation but Jimmy's big teary eyes aaaaah how could she not fold? I saw some comments on tumblr about the show not calling out her being abusive and everything, but I strongly disagree and I think it all makes sense. The strong single mom, the asian family, the unwanted oppression and self-misery that finally cracked during Christmas dinner – I could probably write my view on this in another post but who cares.

Dhskajvs I love how Porjai and Night are "patpraning" Mork and Day, like they are setting up plans to look like accidents just for two undestined lovebirds to be able to sneak out on a date from the parent who shouldn't know about it, very PatPran behavior xD Only friends are the one making it work xD

That's the face of a man giggling because he just declared himself a father and a future husband on his own (oh their mom is going to have a heart attack but who cares). "That's my child" - look at the sky, this night is so freaking green~ I'd say the real winner of that marathon was Night, Day maybe got a medal and a boyfriend but Night got a girl and a kid! xD His confidence is hot, but also I wouldn't hesitate a second as well if I saw Porjai available to be loved, I mean look at her! What a treasure.

I can't believe I was so on board and rooting for a hetero couple in a BL since the very first second but they are still going too damn strong. I love them. I shall draw a fanart.

Omg, pop-up books shout-out in a BL! First time seeing this. Okay, Day and Mork are freaking cute, I usually lose interest when characters start dating but they are so damn adorable and in their happy bubble here! Smiling and goofy Jimmy is all I need in this economy.

Master Aon is slaying on a dance floor, this actor is honestly stealing the show and I love it for him... I like how he shows being advanced and comfortable as visually impaired person in relationship with a girl that can see, the calling out and gestures and the comfort.

P'Aof and his damn heartwarming community scenes, first with MLC and now here, I knew what I walked in and still wasn't prepared for all the EmOtiOns<3

Promoting Oishii as one of the color paints is very creative but all it makes me think of is a VERY relatable situation with actual artists who put tea cup and water for paint on the same table... Yeah xD

Also, sniff kisses are so cute, fight me, westerns.

Lmao, Day even drew Jimmy's poor 5 o'clock shade above the lips fvsjakjahk I wonder which one of the staffs drew it, or was it actually Sea? No matter what, I bet this person had a lot of fun anyway :D

Okay, THERE ARE MORE SCENES THAT MAKE ME ALMOST CRY Poor Night, he was so unloved and judged in this family for a year, I will actually fight everyone to give him his own special beef stew.

He was going to distance himself out of guilt as a self punishment and feelings of 'the hero is here, the villain should vanish' supported by both people closest to him, but Day insisted he's a family and he should stay, reminding their mother of it… Oh no. So many feelings.

Again, it deserves another post. Where I talk about how Night feels like such a man, a protective adult who changed and is able and actively wants to take care of dear people, but who looks and feels like a small punished kid in his own family house. Day too, btw, but he hasn't found as much confidence as he struggles with blindness as well.

But I loved that family having fun scene. I loved it so much. That family trying out cake eating blindly was so nice, oozing of happiness. The curse of misery deserves to be broken, and the kids are the one breaking it, as usual. Mother should remember what's really important - her and her kids happiness, not control that's led by fear. But it's not easy. This is why this scene is so important, and filled with happy and relieved tears. Tbh I didn't feel like P'Aof glossed over the mother-son conflict, it's just that the narration feels... I don't wanna say more asian, it might be different from the sort of justice/revenge what some of the people wanted to see. I understand it and it hits home.

Oh I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING, P'AOF!

Something tells me in a very loud way that this operation won't go well, look at Sea's face! The scene just screams "I still can't see anything". It would be such a P'Aof type of teaser as well, give hope and then trick into the opposite. I can't imagine him actually getting his vision cured. I'll fight myself if that's what actually happens in the next episode. It's a great way to show that you should just keep enooying life instead of regretting the cure.

#last twilight #last twilight the series #last twilight meta #morkday #night #last twilight night #porjainight #dropthemeta #last twilight reaction #tbh this whole post is just mork and night squealing #but yeah this one was such a good episode

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magewolf-the-artist · 1 month

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Domestic K-9: The Worst Pokemon Evolutions Ever

Oh boy, time to explore the ramifications of trauma and how it impacts people!

(Note: I do NOT have trauma or PTSD, although I've done a fuck ton of research on the subject for a different story and am applying the things I learned here. If anybody with any kind of trauma or PTSD spots any inaccuracies, please please PLEASE feel free to let me know. I wish to portray these issues with as much care and respect as possible)

So here I've display the three, I guess, stages of these fuckers. Life, the immediate response to, y'know, everything, and how they're holding up now. Except for Rosemary because I'm kind of an asshole to my blorbos. But obviously with Charles and Susan, they are not in any way "fixed" or even "healed" from their trauma, they moreso stabilized and got used to it. And now let's finally get into it!

SUSAN WOODINGS: So in life, Susan was generally closed off except for a select few amount of people and, while she could be snippy, she was actually pretty chill despite always looking like she wants to murder everybody in the general vicinity. Basically she looks a lot meaner than she actually is.

In death though, that's a completely different story. For the first year or so she had an EXPLOSIVE temper and would blow up over the smallest things, like a powder keg kept near sparklers. If the facility had a swear jar and money, she probably could've funded college for Sophie, Edd, AND Molly. She said many hurtful and cruel things to people she was close to (mostly Charles) that she now deeply regrets. It's all water under the bridge at this point but it still sometimes keeps her up at night.

As of the current point in the timeline, she's since calmed down quite a bit. She's less likely to snap over small shit unless it's Bon, to which she will gladly be just as bitchy as she was. She does have bad days though and is generally much more easily irritated and snippy.

CHARLES BROOK: In life, Charles is the ultimate dad. Easy going, friendly, very jokey, admittedly kinda naive, loves his kid. In death... well...

When they first got to the facility, he was an absolute wreck. He had resisted giving into Bon up until the point where he was starting to fade and, absolutely terrified of the idea of being Thanos snapped out of existence, reluctantly possessed the Boozoo animatronic. But even still he deeply regretted that choice. As well as that, he was extremely distraught about leaving his daughter and wife behind, on Lily's birthday no less, and that he was never found. He spent the first several weeks consumed by the intense misery and grief and was incoherent at best and delusional at worst. As previously mentioned, he got it into his head at some point that if he could just break down the walls, he could escape and constantly flung himself into the solid concrete walls. It didn't help that Susan wasn't terribly understanding and had little patience for this.

After a few weeks passed though, he began to stabilize and was generally able to recover a semblance of his goofy, friendly personality. That's not to say the trauma hasn't impact that though; he has to constantly distract himself or else he'll have a full on breakdown and desperately tries to change the topic whenever his death or his family is brought up. He and Susan have also since smoothed things over and Charles holds no resentment towards her now.

ROSEMARY WALTEN: Everyone's favorite sad mom!

So in life, Rose was generally kind, caring, humble, creative, and introverted, although she had come out of her shell since her younger years and was perfectly capable of being social.

But in death... hooooo boy, buckle up chucklefucks, 'cause this is gonna get SAD

As previously mentioned, Rosemary is a mess. Constantly crying, completely drawing into herself, rarely speaks to anybody but Rocket, and is unable to bring herself to do anything outside of draw, think, or cry. She's kinda just frozen in time, unable to stabilize like Charles and Susan, which is why she has no stage 3. The closest thing to that I can confidently say she's gotten is pouring herself into her art and caring for Rocket, but even still it's not much.

#the walten files #walten files #susan woodings #charles brook #rosemary walten #twf fanart #twf susan #twf rosemary #twf charles #twf #the walten files fanart #Domestic K-9

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yallemagne · 1 year

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You are right turning Dracula into The Lover is so danm needless!

-"Oh we need vampire/human romance with the vampire's tragic end!" Why make a convoluted romance with Drac and Mina? The book has served you what you seek on a silver platter. All you need to do is fill in the gaps of the epistolary novel to play with. Flesh out Lucy and Arthur and how they got closer. Keep Lucy as she is to make me cry for her doom. Dracula dying makes me go oh no. A rapist serial killer just died. Tragique.

-Want a vampire/human pair where the human chooses to walk with the vampire into eternal twilight? Let Jonathan complete his blasphemous vow. Actually focus on his trauma and how much he feared and hated vampires and how he chose certain death over vampirism, to give to his oath the gravity it deserves.

-Oh and want to also do "the vampire is suffering from being cursed by their God"? Mina is right here. "I was betrayed. Look what your God has done to me" whines 1992 Dracula, motherfucker you started it! Mina didn't! And look what He did to her brow! She who always walked the path of righteousness. She was betrayed. She is the forsaken sinner you want!

Sorry for the essay oh gosh

Literally.

Instead of rushing Lucy's death so they can get to their fake ass romance, adaptations could just,,, make Lucy's death its own story. Draw it out! Have Bloofer Lucy be more lucid and have her beckoning to Arthur be in earnest. And in this case, the trope of the vampire realizing at the last second that murder is wrong and begging their lover to put them out of their misery is less convoluted because Lucy knew that murder was wrong when she was human and Dracula certainly fucking didn't, not if we're going with the stupid Vlad the Impaler route. Lucy had an inherent goodness that was robbed from her in death and Dracula was always a cunt even when they try to rewrite him to be sympathetic.

I'm seconds away from just writing a story where Dracula's death doesn't cleanse Mina of her vampirism and Jonathan goes down with her, I swear. But my artist brain keeps saying I gotta design their vampire selves first aaagh. You can also just have Lucy take a big bite out of Arthur without being hampered by VH. It might be anticlimactic, but hey, I wanna see at least one fanfic where it happens. There's only ever fanart.

Like the whole "God fucked up my life" thing is whatever. Supposedly human Dracula (who is always goddamn Vlad Tepes for no good reason) had a wife who died and decided to make that everyone else's problem. I fucking doubt this ol' thirteenth-century bitch saw his wives as anything more than property. You know who doesn't see their spouse as property? You know who would actually grieve their spouse's death? You want the tragic vampire grieving their dead spouse?? MINA HARKER IS RIGHT THERE. Maybe Jonathan dies and Mina just fucking goes feral because that was the last damn straw and now she's going to murder God.

Your essay is appreciated, I was just vibing.

#queuing this post but be aware that I DID answer it right when I got it bc of course I'm up so late #someone tell me when arthur/lucy gets a proper ship name #please they need one #dracula #dracula daily #arthur holmwood #lucy westenra #arthur x lucy #mina harker #mina murray #jonathan harker #jonathan x mina #jonmina #update #people ask me things

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commenter2 · 3 months

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Lilith vs. Imposter Lilith theory explained + personal thoughts/ideas

For a while now I have been talking a lot about a Hazbin Hotel theory going over the idea that someone is pretending to be Lilith in order to achieve a grand plan. This literature will go over everything I personally think about the theory from what is going on, ideas that such a theory could lead to if it becomes true/true to any degree, and why it would be good for the story of Hazbin Hotel. This will contain spoilers from all over season 1 of Hazbin Hotel so heads up if you haven’t seen it yet. Also long post warning.

The theory started when people pointed out that the image of Lilith on the Lilith Hazbin Hotel trading card looked a lot like the silhouette of Eve from Charlie’s story from the episode “Overture”. Then later in episodes like “Dad Beat Dad” Lilith’s face were hidden in Charlie’s flashback when at this point we already knew what she looked like, adding more to the idea of someone pretending to be her. There also could be another example of this in “The Show Must Go On” but more on that later.

The 2 popular suspects that people have for the Imposter are Eve, Adam’s first wife, and Roo, and old character of Vivzie’s that is confirmed to be appearing much later in the series. For Eve its believed that she is doing this because she wants revenge for all the people that she blames have caused her nothing from misery throughout her entire existence from Lucifer giving her the apple, Adam for being himself, and Heaven for blaming her for releasing evil. Roo is a character believed to be the embodiment of evil (Roo standing for Root of all evil) and/or a kind of cosmic/natural being who wishes to destroy all of existence as it’s the ultimate evil, and thus a way to fulfill her purpose in existence. Whoever it turns out to be, they realized that at one point disguising themselves as Lilith could aid in their plans, likely one way was that this allowed them to obtain knowledge on Hell, Earth, and maybe Heaven if Lucifer and Lilith ever had peace negotiations with Heaven.

Eventually Lilith realized someone was pretending to be her, and the numbers of times such a thing has happen increased over the centuries (maybe even millennia) so Lilith has set out on a mission to stop the imposter from using her name, eventually realizing that if she doesn’t stop the Imposter it could doom everyone, especially her loved ones.

I have an idea for a twist where it could be revealed that Lilith actually invited said Imposter in on a plan of hers to rise against Heaven but after she realized the Imposter had even more deadly plans, Lilith realized she had to stop her.

During her quest Lilith made the ultimate sacrifice and sadly ended her happy marriage and family by divorcing Lucifer as to her this was the best way to protect him, Hell, and more importantly Charlie. I’d also be okay with the idea that Lucifer eventually realized what Lilith was doing, even hoping that one day they could get back together (this could be another reason why he still has his wedding ring) but is still depressed that he can’t be with his wife or aid her, as this would cause the Imposter to realize that Lilith and Lucifer are on to it. The worse thing of all though to Lucifer, is that he has to keep lying to Charlie about what is going on, a “great” way to cause drama between him and Charlie if the writers want to.

Now recently someone brought up the idea that Lucifer knew that Lilith is in Heaven, probably being one of those contacts he said he had up there, hence why he didn’t want Charlie to go up there for a meeting as he didn’t want to risk Charlie seeing her mother and make Lilith’s quest even worse and make Charlie emotionally devastated somehow. Luckily it looked like Lilith changed her mind but more on that later.

This went on until something happened 7 years ago before the events of the pilot and season 1. I’m guessing Lilith and the Imposter had a fight which ended in a draw and both sides going into hiding to recover and think of their next step. While Lilith said goodbye to Charlie one more time, I personally think the Imposter used its time to trick Alastor into serving it, making Alastor think it was serving the real Lilith. The Imposter told Alastor to lay low until the Imposter called for his services, which it eventually did as I think the Imposter sent him to spy on Charlie in hopes of using her and to keep any tabs on Lucifer and the real Lilith if it showed up. A feat like this would definitely show how dangerous the Imposter is if it can trick Alastor of all people.

This brings us to the season 1 finale where we see A Lilith on a beach in Heaven, where Lute brings up a deal and how she demands the Lilith take care of Charlie if she wants to stay in Heaven.

Now while I am slowly starting to believe that the woman there could be the real Lilith, I’m still considering the possibility for it being the Imposter. You can blame the sunglasses covering the eyes as not only do I think it’s similar to what was happening with her face in “Dad Beat Dad”, there have been A LOT of times in fiction where simple sunglasses were used to cover up big reveals.

I’m also a bit confused about if the deal Lute mentions was with her or Adam. I could see a scenario where a Lilith/Imposter used a disguise to make a deal with Adam about getting a place to crash in Heaven who he stupidly accepted, and Lute eventually realized what really happened but couldn’t do anything about it. I personally think it was with Lute though, as I could have seen Lute making a deal with the person where in exchange for letting them hide out there, Lute would gain the power/means to become Adam’s 2nd in command or to kill more demons/sinners.

If it is the Imposter, then she has convinced everyone that she is the real Lilith and is buying her time so she can find the info needed to destroy Heaven. She could also have had another goal of weakening the Exorcist army while there, likely setting up some events that eventually resulted in Adam dying. I could see a scenario where she has tricked Lute into think she is betraying Hell but when Lute realizes what she is really up to it will be too late. There is another idea but more on that later.

If it is the real Lilith, then I see her hiding out in Heaven because along with it be the last place anyone would look for her, it’s the only place the Imposter can’t go naturally, great if the Imposter is Roo. Maybe Lilith didn’t have a choice and was really desperate. Now I have an old work that went over the idea that the higher ups of Heaven knew a threat is coming and Adam was in no way capable of dealing with it, and they had a plan of getting someone better to replace him and lead the army, and I could see Lilith coming to the same conclusion and thus secretly tried to get rid of Adam. Maybe as a surprise she first tried to get rid of him without killing him and told Lucifer to set up Charlie’s appointment as along with how she actually wants to help her daughter maybe because she feels guilty of not being there as much as she wants to be, she hoped Charlie’s idea could make Heaven finally see how incompetent Adam was and get rid of him.

Now that Lute is demanding that Lilith take care of Charlie, Lilith will definitely have a bigger role in season 2, where I think both the real Lilith and the Imposter will try and use her for their own gain, making Lilith a bit of an antagonist but NOT a villain…hopefully.

There is also the chance that the real Lilith might not have a choice in stopping Charlie’s redemption dream as thinking back to the deal with Adam/Lute, we still don’t know what it really was, as maybe it was just Lilith owing one of them a favor? We also just don’t know much about how magical deals in this world actually work, like what happens when a deal is broken? Could it be like in the Percy Jackson spinoff series “Trials of Apollo” where if such a thing is broken, there are terrible/deadly consequences for the person that broke it and those around them?

One reason why I like this theory is that it could lead to some drama as maybe another reason why Lilith doesn’t want to use Charlie is cause she doesn’t want her to get involved or hurt,

But inevitably has to for what she thinks could be the greater good of everyone.

Maybe Lilith has become so obsessed with stopping the threat and save everyone, that she has trouble realizing how much she has been hurting others.

This theory also could lead to some episodes/storylines for the other characters in season 2. One is related to an idea I had about Charlie and Vaggie, as maybe after Vaggie keeps trying to convince Charlie that her mom/”mom” is up to no good, they get into their first proper fight in the season (I don’t count the events in “Hello Rosie” as a fight) which leads to some proper tension between them. Another is an episode where Lute tries to get justice for Adam’s death and execute Niffty as punishment but Heaven tells her that there isn’t a case or finds Charlie, Niffty and the others not guilty. This causes Lute to go insane and vows to destroy Hell and the “traitors” in Heaven, which the Imposter could take advantage of and recruit her as an ally.

Then by the end of the season Charlie and the others figure out what is going on and Charlie convinces her mother that she doesn’t have to do all of this, at least not by herself, and her words turn Lilith into an ally.

One of the aftermaths of such a theory related to the ending of season 2 is that the Imposter gains an advantage but luckily for everyone else her Lilith disguise got magically damaged thus the Imposter is no longer able to use it properly anymore, ending that part of Lilith’s quest.

Another possible result from all of this is that Lucifer and Lilith get back together. Imagine a fun wedding episode where Charlie helps plan her parent’s wedding! That would be awesome and beautiful because honestly this version of Lucifer and Lilith should be together and be happy.

That should be everything I have about the current situation surrounding this theory. In the end I just don’t want Lilith to be a villain, maybe antagonistic at times, but not a pure villain like Adam was as that sounds a bit cliché especially when compared to the pros of having Eve or Roo being seasonal/main villains. I also just want Charlie to have a good relationship with BOTH parents in the end, along with Lucifer and Lilith getting remarried as it was a bummer discovering that they were divorced and hopefully I’m not alone when it comes to these thoughts.

Do you believe that this theory could be true, even if it’s just to a degree? Do you also hope that Lilith won’t be a villain and should have a good relationship with Charlie and Lucifer at the end?

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel spoilers #vivziepop #hazbin hotel lilith #lilith morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel charlie #lucifer x lilith

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ventiswampwater · 1 year

Photo

what have I done (to deserve this)

bo sinclair x afab!reader

rating: explicit

word count: 4k

Bo POV. It’s the day before Valentine’s. Bo goes shopping at a bargain outlet. In true romcom fashion, you’re there too.

Chance encounter meet-cute. Except it’s with the worst man this side of Baton Rouge. Sucks! But you get to make out with him! Hope that’s worth the incoming pain and misery, bestie!

Crossposted on AO3 here.

Very self-indulgent and GOOFY. A heaping dose of humor and general dumbassery. Big warning for Bo being Bo. We’re in his head and he is, as always, so stupid. Reader does not have a car for porn reasons. That’s it. She’s a public transportation whore for roadhead purposes. She’s also kind of annoying. And a bratty bimbo.

The title of this fic comes from the song “What Have I Done to Deserve This” by Pet Shop Boys. It’s just a jazzy lil 80′s track that I could 100% picture playing in a bargain outlet over shitty speakers. Bo’s on his Gen X shit.

I just wanted to write about Bo encountering a chick who immediately wanted to hoover him down. Ambiguous ending with some unsettling implications.

This fic is a birthday gift for @raccoonspooky! 🦝💝👻 MWAH!!! I LUV U!!! HAPPY BDAY!!!! HAPPY BIRF!!! DAY!!!! HERE’S STUPID!!!! 4 U!!!

The bargain outlet stretches out in front of him, large yellow signs hanging from the warehouse ceiling. Sales down every aisle, 25% off on all kitchenware. Music blares out of loudspeakers, spitting out a song that Bo hasn’t heard since high school.

He’s thinking of his mother again.

Packed into the family car, bumping down the road to the department store. Just the two of them. Mama would tell him that it was because he couldn’t be left alone, that he wasn’t trusted like Vincent was—up at the big old house, drawing his pictures and staying out of the way.

Time seemed to drag on days like that, plodding along ungainly as Trudy slowly perused shelves. It always felt like he would be stuck there indefinitely, rotting away in front of the floral baking sets and printed potholders. When people congregated around the racks, Bo would reach up and grab her hand. Surrounded with onlookers, she’d let him hold onto it.

Sometimes they’d pass by the toy aisles, but she never gave them more than a passing glance. These trips weren’t for him, after all. Despite that, he looked forward to them with an odd giddiness.

Bo couldn’t be alone, but Vincent couldn’t get this.

Vincent didn’t get to watch himself reflected in the shining glass of the displays that their mother stopped at, tutting over bottles of perfume. He didn’t get to see the chrome and glossy mirrors, the array of beautiful women with long nails behind the counter tops. It wasn’t for him.

Bo would return home smug, carrying Mama’s bags. He always made sure to catch his brother’s eye.

Look. Pay attention. This is mine, it’s all mine. It isn’t yours.

He got in trouble one day. He couldn’t remember for what. Whatever it was, she got angry, and the trips stopped.

That department store had long since been razed. There weren’t a lot of things that stayed the same. Tradition was lost and paved over, turned into this.

Picking up a basket, he makes his way to the back of the store.

The hardware section is pitiful. It always is.

Tools are strewn everywhere, each one emblazoned with illegible clearance stickers. They never have the shit that he needs here. He sifts through the pile of haphazardly stacked tools, pulling a wrench out. It’s a twelve-inch, decent weight. He wraps his hand around it and knocks it against his palm. It’ll do.

On his way out of the aisle, he snatches up two rolls of duct tape and a pack of braided nylon rope.

There are some things you can never have too much of.

He cuts through the clothing department.

A store display looms overhead, announcing another sale. A woman pouts out of the ad, the heaving curve of her breasts spilling out of black lace. He feels something under his foot. Bending down, he plucks a bra off the ground. There’s a boot print across the front, dirt smeared across the polka dots.

“Good afternoon, shoppers!” A voice crackles over the intercom. “Two-for-one deals comin’ in hot this holiday season—”

Trudy would hate this place, with its messily stacked piles of clothes and the incessant beeping of the registers. That’s part of the reason he’s here.

“Um. Excuse me.”

“Huh?” He blinks, jerking his head up.

“Sorry, I just…” You look at him quizzically, your lips pursed. You’re holding a bra that looks identical to the one in his hands, sans dirt. “Need to get…uh. Behind you.”

“Yeah, of course.” He shuffles to the side. “Go on.”

He flicks through the rack, shoving the ruined bra unceremoniously to the back.

“You buying a bra?”

“Yeah.” He says absently. “For my sister.”

“…You’re buying your sister a bra?”

He turns to look at you. Wrenched away from the padded curve of the bras, he finally has a chance to assess you. Cute.

“Sister-in-law.” He amends.

Your brow scrunches in confusion and you nod slowly, fidgeting with the bra in your hands.

“I’m just messin’ with you.” He smiles.

“Okay.” You huff out a perplexed laugh.

He’s rummaging through the detergent when he sees you again.

“We just keep running into each other.” You remark.

“Seems like it.” Gesturing at the duct tape and utility gloves in his basket, he flashes you a smile. “Gotta get some stuff for work.”

“You a plumber?”

“Uh, no.” He’s unable to hide the flicker of indignation that twitches his lip up into a sneer. “Mechanic.”

Your lips curves into an open-mouthed O and he glances down at your left hand. Finding your ring finger conspicuously bare, he files that away for later. It’s not like he gives a shit, but less collateral is less collateral.

“I run a station not far from here.”

“That’s cool.” You pick up a lint roller. “Well, nice to meet you.”

Bo finds you in the Valentine’s aisle. Or you find him. He can’t really tell.

“Are you followin’ me ‘round here, girl?” He shoots you a bemused smile. “You gonna tell me your name, stalkin’ me like this?”

“Maybe. What’s yours?”

“Bo.”

“You buying that for your sister-in-law too?” You nod towards the box of conversation hearts he’s holding. “Can’t imagine your brother likes that much.”

“Now, that’s where you’re wrong. We share everythin’.”

“Oh yeah?” You grab a box of chocolates off the shelf, placing it in your cart. “Seems messy.”

“She’s a lucky girl.”

“That depends.” You quip. “What’s your brother look like?”

He angles toward you, resting his hand on the shelf.

“We’re twins.”

Your eyebrows raise.

Couple months ago, he had one downstairs that kind of looked like you. Same hair color. He has a lock of it in one of the gas station drawers. Her ID’s in there too, but he doesn’t remember her name. He couldn’t place it at first, but that’s who you remind him of. Another version of you, maybe. You’ve got the prettier mouth, though.

“Surprised this one didn’t sell.” You pluck a card off the wire rack. A goose peers off of the paper, surrounded by hot pink lettering.

VALENTINE, WON’T YOU LET ME GET A GANDER…

You flip the card open. With a sigh, you hold it up so he can read it.

…AT THEM HONKERS.

“That’s a good one.” He nods appreciatively.

The food court is tucked into the corner of the store, a collection of neon signs and scuffed tables. The whole area smells gray, strings of cheap cheese and the lemony reek of industrial cleaner.

As he appraises the menu, he notices you at the drink fountain. When you turn, your eyes go wide.

“This isn’t what it looks like.” You exclaim.

“Huh.” He sighs. “Darlin’, you keep this up and I’ll have to call the cops.”

You open your mouth once, close it.

“You hungry?” He gestures toward the menu.

“You’re not from ‘round here, are ya’?”

“I’m just passing through.”

“Hmm.” He murmurs out his acknowledgment. “You should stick ‘round for a bit. Nothin’ like Mardi Gras in Baton Rouge. Family vacation?”

“No, it’s just me.”

He hides his laugh around a forced cough. Pinching at the bridge of his nose, he clears his throat.

“Sorry. Cigarettes.” He smiles at you. “I’m thinkin’ ‘bout quittin’.”

You chew idly at your slice of pizza, your eyes drifting over his face. He arches a brow.

“You like what ya’ see?”

“I’m not sure.” Your lips twist into a smile. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

You have a lot of damn nerve.

“You do this a lot?” He fixes you with a pointed look.

“What? Go shopping?” There’s something so hopelessly dumb about your expression. You’re blank and brainless, an assortment of curves and painted-on prettiness in front of him.

He imagines paddles whacking the careening Ping Pong ball of your thoughts across your brain. A thought misses the paddle, ricocheting off the side of the board. Game over. Fiddle with some buttons, start over. Another one comes to take its place, bopping uselessly in your skull.

He’s met enough of your type that it shouldn’t surprise him, but somehow it always does. Someone this stupid shouldn’t be allowed to wander too far. And yet, here you are, all by yourself. Just you and your flimsy hold on rational thinking, wandering around his state.

If he hadn’t have met you here, lord knows what trouble you would’ve gotten into. You’d probably have wandered out into the bayou. Blinking all pretty, getting stuck in the muck. Wrenching open a gator’s mouth and stepping into it just because you were curious how many teeth it had.

He’d pay good money to watch that.

“Don’tchu act all shy ‘bout this. You know what I’m askin’.” He tears the straw wrapper into tiny pieces, his gaze trailing down your neck and onto your breasts. “Ya’ make a habit of goin’ ‘round and propositionin’ men in stores?”

You choke out a laugh, your eyes going wide.

“I’m not propositioning you!”

“Whatchu doin’ eatin’ my pizza, then?”

“What am I…doing…” Your eyes twinkle with barely contained glee. You muffle a laugh around another bite of pizza. “…Eating…your pizza?”

“Yeah.” He leans back in the chair. “Ya’ seem pretty happy to be sittin’ right there. Eatin’ my pizza.”

“You’re very cute.” You wipe your mouth off with a napkin, staring pointedly at his hands.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Grabbing a slice of pizza, he takes a bite.

It’s awful. Grimacing, he manages to swallow it down. Glancing down at it in disgust, he lets it fall limply back into the box. It takes him a moment before he remembers to readjust his face into one of tranquility, winking over at you.

“You know what.” You deliberate for a second, your eyes darting to his lips. “I think I am propositioning you.”

“There’s a theater next to my shop.” He smirks. “You wanna catch a movie?”

“I don’t wanna interrupt your work.”

“I got all the time in the world, honey.” He winks. “Truck’s outside.”

“You’re not gonna kill me, are you?” You rest your chin against your palm.

“Not yet.” He shakes his head. “Hardly know ya’ yet. That’d be jumpin’ the gun.”

“Alright. Fuck it.” You grin. “Let’s go.”

Standing in line at the register, he reaches into your cart and snatches out the box of chocolates.

“Hey!” You put your hands on your hips. “What are you…”

“Ya’ think I’m gonna make a girl buy her own chocolate? What I look like to you?”

You move to say something, your eyes glittering.

“If ya’ say plumber—” He gives you with a sharp look, narrowing his eyes. “I’ll tan your hide.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?” You stage-whisper, loading up the belt with items.

“Goddamnit, girl. Let’s get you outta this fuckin’ store.”

Pulling down a side road, he parks the truck.

“Hand me that, would ya’, baby?”

Rustling in the bag, he pulls out the box of chocolates. Ripping the plastic off, he tugs the lid open. He takes a bite of one. Cheap, shitty chocolate. Puts it back in its slot. Picks up another one and takes another bite. Caramel, but it’s still—

“You wanna give me my chocolate back?” You tap on his arm.

“Sorry, darlin’. I bought it. It’s mine.” He smirks at you. “Maybe if ya’ ask all pretty, I’ll give ya’ one.”

Your mouth falls open in shock and you let out a frustrated huff.

“That’s not fair!” You exclaim. “You lied.”

“Lyin’? Nah. Just omittin’ some details, sugar. It’s how we do it down here in Louisi—”

You clamor into his lap, making a grab at the chocolate. Popping one in your mouth, you bug your eyes out at him.

“Bad girl.” He tosses the box onto the dashboard. Reaching up, he grabs your chin, pulling you closer.

You taste like chocolate when he kisses you, his hand slipping down your jaw to tighten around your neck. You hum happily into his mouth, your hands on his shoulders. He can feel your breath under his fingers, the pulsing hammer of your heartbeat against his palm.

You’re always so close to death, to all that red and heat underneath, and you don’t even notice. He could press down a little more, constrict your airflow. Make it hurt. You need that, don’t you? You don’t have any fuckin’ structure. Leave you with your throat burning, your eyes swollen with tears. Make you thank him for that.

“I don’t really do this.” You murmur against his lips.

“Whatchu doin’ right now, then?”

You laugh, a breathless little noise. He reaches back and gathers your hair together at the back of your head. When he tugs your head back, you gasp.

“How bad ya’ want it?”

“I—” Discomfort flashes over your face. “Wait, um. Hold on. This is really awkward, but—”

You readjust yourself in his lap and he drops his hand, watching as you reach under your shirt. Biting down on your bottom lip, the strap of your bra slips down your shoulder. Working it through the sleeves of your shirt, you blow out a huff of relief. Stretching your arms to extricate the loops, you tug it free, tossing it onto the floor of his truck.

You turn back to him with a bashful smile.

“Movin’ fast, girl.”

"The wire's been digging into me all day.” You shake your head, glancing over your shoulder at your discarded bra. “I needed to get a new one, but—I got kinda distracted."

"And whose fault is that?"

You look at him curiously, as if his question is strange. You lean forward and flick at the brim of his cap, smiling.

"Well, yours, technically."

“Don’t see how that tracks.” He leans back onto the headrest.

“You distracted me.” Your voice goes high-pitched and melodic, a sing-song lilt that makes his hand tighten into a fist at his side.

He exhales, snorting out a laugh.

“You know what?”

“What?” You tilt your head, raising your brows.

“I changed my mind. I’m killin’ ya’.”

You blow a raspberry at him, rolling your eyes.

“Not yet, c’mon.” You whine, dropping kisses down the bridge of his nose. “It’s like you said. We haven’t even gotten to know each other yet!”

“You’re tryin’ my fuckin’ patience, girl.”

“Good.”

You’re a bratty fuckin’ thing. Untrained, not an ounce of discipline in you. You rock your hips against him, wetting your bottom lip. Tart and wild, a stubbornness coasting under your skin. He wonders how long you’ll be able to hold onto all that sass. What he’ll have to do to make sure you lose it. He can’t wait to see you cry—you’ll taste sweeter then, curled up inside yourself.

What kind of fuckin’ coincidence.

“Look at’chu.” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“What’d you say? Take a picture, it’ll last longer?”

“Oh, don’tchu worry, baby. I will.” He grins. “Gotta get you all warmed up first, though.”

Slipping his hand between your legs, he rubs at you through your jeans.

“You’re not fucking me in your truck.” With a giggle, you still his hand, tugging it back onto your hip.

“You gonna try to stop me?”

“Um, yeah.” A shriek of laughter spills out of your mouth and the movement rocks your body against his lap. “Anybody could see us!”

“Ya’ gonna tell me that’s what you’re worried about?” He squints at you, squashing down the glare that threatens to darken his features. Not yet. “After grindin’ on my lap like that?”

“Look, I’ve got a better idea.” Shimmying off his lap and onto the passenger seat, you grin at him. “When’s the movie?”

“The movie?” It takes a moment before the realization hits him. Scrubbing a hand over his mouth, he clears his throat. “Oh, uh—an hour.”

“And how far away is it?”

“Uh, twenty, thirty minutes.”

“Well. I don’t wanna miss it.” You tilt your head, raising a brow. “What if there’s a line?”

“There ain’t gonna be a line.” He says definitively, a wave of exhaustion settling over him.

“You don’t know that.” You laugh. “Anyway. I think…you should drive us there. Now. So we have time.”

He’s barely started the truck back up when he feels your hands at his belt, undoing the loop.

“The fuck you doin’?”

“Trust me.” You unzip his fly, pulling him out of his boxers.

You could be sweet if you wanted. All sugar. It’s easier that way, but you won’t want it easy. You’ll make him fight you for it.

You work your hand over his cock with a sigh of contentment. Your thumb teases over the slit, rubbing precum over the head of his cock. He feels a spike of irritation at you for wasting even an ounce of his spunk on your hands. As if to apologize, you bow your head, running your tongue up the underside of his cock. You’ll have to do better than that. Licking up the sensitive skin of his frenulum, you tease your mouth around him, letting him twitch against your tongue.

“Ya’ gonna suck it or not?” He snaps, keeping his eyes locked on the road. He doesn’t need to look down to know that you’re smiling.

“Don’t be grumpy.” Your voice floats up from his lap. “I’m just taking my time. You’re just so pretty.”

Pretty? Anger rushes through him. Calling him that—thinking you can, thinking that there wouldn’t be any consequences. Who raised you? For all your pathetic staring, you haven’t even seen what’s in front of you.

The lack of respect is sickening, making his balls feel heavy and tight. He needs to be down your throat, if only to shut you up. Give you something else to focus on. Every moment you’re near him, you’re signing yourself away. Doubling back, going over the contract in bubbly cursive.

You’re entirely unaware of how many marks you’re tallying up. Every swirl of your tongue sinks you deeper in debt. He wonders if you’d laugh if you knew just how many apologies you’re setting yourself up for.

With a hum, you take him into your mouth, swallowing your lips around his cock.

“Take it deep. Don’t you stop.”

A noise erupts from your mouth, but it’s garbled around his cock. He can’t tell, but he could have sworn that was a laugh.

He stops the truck abruptly, the movement thrusting him deeper into your mouth. You gag around him, a disgustingly wet noise at the back of your throat. With a wet pop, you pull your mouth off of his cock. The sudden loss of sensation draws a frustrated growl from his lips.

“Be careful.” Your lips are back on him. Mouthing kisses down his length, your nose bumps against his skin. “Don’t crash the car.”

“I’ve been drivin’ this truck for longer than—” You wrap your lips around the head of his cock and the sentence falters in his mouth.

He pictures you standing in the theater lobby. Confusion in your eyes, a slackness to your jaw. It’s odd and you’ll know it, right away. But you won’t do anything about it. You’ll second guess yourself. You think you’re so smart, don’t you? With that sweet little twist of your lips, batting your eyelashes at him, resting your hands on his shoulders. He wonders how long it’ll take for the confusion to lift. The realization settling over you, chilling you to the core.

You’ll look back at him and you’ll know.

A lifetime of mistakes all falling into place, your scream lost under the palm of his hand.

You should be fucked there. That’s how it should go.

He can’t wait. Not for anything, ever. Mama was always saying that. And with the wet clasp of your mouth around his cock, patience isn’t manageable. How could it be? You’ve taken up all of it, trapped it in your smile. He doesn’t have any more to give.

You bob your head up and down, resting your hands on his thigh.

“Good girl.” He mutters. You moan and he clenches his jaw, tightening his hold in your hair. “Just like that, c’mon.”

You raise your head off his cock again and murmur out his name, and his grip on the steering wheel turns his knuckles white.

You better be enjoying saying it. Let it live in that slutty mouth of yours for a while. It’ll be off limits soon.

There’ll be other things to call him. Later. He can see several of them in his head, stacked fifty feet high in neon. He probably won’t even have to tell you which one he wants, you’ll come up with it on your own. It’ll bubble up in your little head and you’ll drool it out helplessly, stuffed full with cock. Makeup smeared down your cheeks, caked under your eyes. He’d like to see you when you’re trying to fold into yourself. When you’re trying desperately to be anything but pretty for him.

He’s ready to take the shiny veneer of this personality off. It’s slipping now, he can feel it.

“Ain’tchu glad you met me?” He grunts out, his breaths coming out shallow.

You’re going to hate him soon enough, and he’ll be able to remind you that you didn’t before. That you can’t fool him into believing you don’t love his cock down your throat, that you don’t want his hands on you—he knows better, and you do too.

You moan your agreement against his cock. Glad, you’re fuckin’ glad. You’d better be.

He bucks up into your mouth when he cums, smacking his hand down on the steering wheel. You’re choking around him, making desperate little huffs through your nose. For your credit, you keep him in your mouth, tightening your lips around the base. He eases his foot off the accelerator, wetting his lips.

The truck slows to a crawl as he pants, leaning into the steering wheel. He shudders when he feels your lips tug off his cock, swirling your tongue around the oversensitive head.

“We there yet?” You cough a bit, carefully tucking him back into his boxers.

“Christ, girl.” He whistles through his teeth, glancing over at you. “Actin’ like I didn’t just fuck ya’ throat.”

“You didn’t fuck me. I fucked you. And no one saw.” Wiping your mouth off with the back of your hand, you giggle.

“Little cocksucker.”

“You loved it.” You chirp smugly, winking at him. It takes everything in his resolve not to grab you by your hair and slam your forehead into the dashboard. He can’t get blood in his truck again. Shit’s unprofessional. And he’s nothing if not a stickler for appearances. There’s a way to do these things, and you’ve forced him to rewrite his script halfway through the scene. He’s almost impressed with your lack of morals.

He can only imagine how wet you must be, soaking through your jeans. With the way you were moaning around his cock, your pussy must be aching for it.

He should lay a fuckin’ towel down. Protect the goddamn seats—he can’t get your blood on the upholstery, and you know that.

Tryin’ to leave your mark some other way, ain’tcha?

“Is this it?” You ask brightly, peering out the window.

“Yup.” He parks, turning to you. “Think you can do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Just gotta check on somethin’ with the truck. You wanna run into the shop and put this on the counter?” He grabs the chocolate box off the dashboard and stuffs it into the plastic bag. “Wouldn’t want it meltin’.”

“Sure.”

You hop out of the truck, looking at him expectantly.

“Go on, pretty thing. I’ll be right behind ya’.”

As you push the door of his shop open, he stuffs your bra in the glove compartment. It’s cute. You won’t be needing it.

#big STUPID!!! big!!! fuckin!!! STUPID!!!#bimbo to bimbo communication in this fic rlly and truly #house of wax #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #slashers x reader #slasher fandom #x reader #my fics

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valeriefauxnom · 17 days

Text

Dev's (C)Leo Biases,

Or,

A Comprehensive History of How Leonidas Became Nearly Everyone's Object of Thirst

So, among the Dragalia Lost team, it was rather well known that they admitted to a strong Cleo bias.

It's pretty easy to see, in anything from Cleo's early spate of alts, like Dragonyule and Summer in quick succession, to the utterly random unique outfits they flaunted in ch.9 that you can just tell they drew for funsies but really liked them and wanted to put them in the game despite it serving no real purpose...

The dev team just really, really loved Cleo and drawing her. But after they apparently used up their Cleo allowance to make Gala Cleo probably the single strongest character in the game at the time, they cooled it down a bit.

However, as much as they were apparently thirsting over Cleo, I would joke that somewhere along the way, some part of the dev team, feeling desperate now that the yearly Cleo Allowance was running dry as they prepared to release Gala Cleo, decided to find a new fixation to quench their addiction.

And since Cleo was off-limits, they turned to the next best thing: crossing out the C in Cleo to find their newest substitute Dev Thirst character.

That's right, we're talking about the one and only Leonidas.

Leonidas had kinda just melded into the background with the rest of the siblings at this point to my observations. Sure, he was a campaign antagonist. People weren't particularly clamoring for him in particular over the other siblings, though. Honestly, I'd wager Emile was more popular at this stage, even in a 'love to hate' sense, just because we'd already seen him so much.

But then, it started. Whether it was art like this being posted on their twitter just a few scant months before G!Cleo's debut...

...They just seemed to have a certain edge in artworks featuring Mr. Curry in a way to make one squint and tilt your head sideways.

For instance:

It's one of those cases where you just kinda get a feeling the artist(s) found x attractive in a way that simultaneously still can give you a moment of self-doubt if that's not just you projecting because there's no blatantly obvious signs, you know? Whether it's something about the posing, or angles, whatever it is, I got this air increasingly whenever they put out any Leonidas art.

Thankfully, they decided to put me out of my misery and just flat out make what's likely the single most suggestive wyrmprint (or honestly art piece in general since Dragalia was thankfully very very very tame) starring none other than, you guessed it, Leonidas.

(Secret Cygames/Nintendo conversation, probably: "As you can see, it's vitally important that we draw this character in a speedo with sparkles around him." Nintendo: "...I'll allow it. This time.")

Even if he puts on some more clothes in the refined version, we're still back to that air I mentioned, as the shot focuses almost entirely on him instead of the wildly popular Chelle or his pet panther (which, yes, seemed to be an actual pet of his):

Even the Ilia-damned funny chibi comics got in on this thirst train as it went on and made quite possibly the raunchiest joke in the entire 400+ comic run featuring Leonidas, even if the exact same joke didn't make the translation overseas, however they tried. You can see a brief breakdown of that in THIS post.

Not content to restrict it to art and comics, Leonidas also dropped this line that is permanently engraved into my mind with just how shocking it was to see anything of this caliber in Dragalia, in his baby brother's story to boot!

At this point, I could no longer deny it: the devs and artists had collectively acquired a new fixation to satiate their once insatiable Cleo appetite in the form of Mr. Currymeister. (Don't worry about Emile there, he's just drowning, he does that all the time in waist-high water)

And this attitude even extends to in-universe, too! People increasingly fawned over the first prince, who very much was filling in the role of 'this prince you know vs. his hotter and more competent elder brother', as virtually represented by my expert skills in Microsoft Paint artistry as such:

Naturally, there was only so much time before the people IRL could succumb to Leonidas Fever (and no, this time we're not talking about all the people who were so devoted to this dude to effectively set themselves into a fatal, firey, steroid-filled death!) at this unrelenting onslaught.

It was hard not to see comments such as these that started pouring in (and yes, all of these were just about Leonidas exclusively):

(I'll attribute the misspelling to being overcome with Leonidas Fever, a grave illness indeed!)

(Another serious symptom: the decline of any self-preservation instinct around Leonidas, who is indeed Very Dangerous and Will Kill You!)

Ahem. You get the picture. Thus concludes the slow, insidious buildup from just another sibling for Euden to probably commit a whoopsie-daisy fratricide in the future to one of the fandom's favorite menaces, all carefully plotted-out by the collective efforts of devs who were the first to succumb to the sickness...Right?

This concludes my professional historical report on this very serious issue that I suspect lingers to this day. The Fever has but been put into remission; it has not faded yet.

Extra:

So a long time ago I commented that some of the royal family seemed to have pointier teeth than normal, which I speculated because they deliberated giving a bit more 'draconic' traits to define dragonblood, and I didn't realize how pervasive this was until I saw Emile's model there. Look at his fang!

...

...How did I forget the weapon skin of Leo's gun is additionally named "Royal Dominator"?

#The royal family truly robbed the bank with their genetics. Magic powers. Sharp-looking as a whole...and they have been for 300 years+!#dragalia lost #dragalia #leonidas #He's strong. He's handsome. He's a fantastic chef. He's had cat ears put on him in a comic.#the People were to put it bluntly Screwed or so I would reckon in my comprehensive study of #'why the heck are you guys thirsting over xyz character NOW?'#...Also a very formal scientific field.#I'm additionally glad in the end that Leo bore the brunt of this #Since at least he's likely 25+. A disappointingly high amount of media can't even manage that!

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