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#again that is very different than society coming in and telling you what it thinks you 'should' do about yourself

feminismisstillahatemovement · 2 days

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i think you dont quite understand what real feminism strives to do. i think you might be a little confused by the name. real feminists understand that men are harmed by patriarchal expectations, we care for the toxicity men are forced to perform to fit in, we mourn the men who think the only way out is suicide.

we advocate for conversations about subjects taboo between men: testicular cancer, prostate problems, breast cancer. however women cant just forgive and forget the systematic violence that is inflicted on us every day. you cant blame them for being wary. but real feminists do care for you.

i think you dont quite understand what real feminism strives to do

I don't think you've considered how the definition of "real" feminism you have accepted came about, or taken the time to objectively ask why and how it deviates so wildly from all real world feminist activism in practice.

i think you might be a little confused by the name.

I think you might be a little confused about reality.

real feminists understand that men are harmed by patriarchal expectations

Patriarchy, at least in the sense you are using the word, is a feminist construct, and I'm not a feminist, so I don't accept the ideological framework from which you are starting out. Only people indoctrinated by feminism believe that all societies and civilizations around the world are part of a secret worldwide conspiracy set up to benefit all men through the exploitation and oppression of all women. Any person with a working brain and pair of eyes can look around their own life and realize this is not the case, and that there is no historical evidence of any kind of any point in history in which men suddenly "woke up" from the imaginary Matriarchy, like Ken in the Barbie movie, and decided to come together to wage war upon the female of the species.

"Men", as a class are not oppressing or brutalizing "women" as a class, and in fact such behaviour is very rare in any woman's day to day interactions in the western world, so to actually claim that western society, which feminists call a "patriarchy", should best be defined and categorized in this way is delusional and completely at odds with real life.

we care for the toxicity men are forced to perform to fit in

"Toxic Masculinity" is yet another uniquely feminist invention, and a particularly mean-spirited one, in that, as with the concept of "patriarchy", it simply blames "men" for everything bad that happens to any man, and so the only "help" or "care" it offers is to tell men it's collectively all "their" fault. Masculinity is not toxic, any more than femininity is toxic: both are simply names for recognizable traits seen in both sexes across all societies and periods of history.

we mourn the men who think the only way out is suicide.

I've never seen a feminist mourn for men who commit suicide. But I've literally seen hundreds and hundreds of feminists gleefully celebrate any and all men suffering and dying. There are thousands of examples of this on this very website, and, without exception, all of them are carried out exclusively by people identifying as feminist.

This itself should be enough to make you question your starting assumptions about the movement, because other people don't do that: it is only the teachings of feminist propaganda that makes people behave that way. So once again, the claims you are making here run entirely contrary to actual, empirical reality.

we advocate for conversations about subjects taboo between men: testicular cancer, prostate problems, breast cancer.

Feminists do literally nothing to actively help men in any real-world way at all, other than, as stated above, informing them that whatever is happening to them is collectively their own fault, and attempting to emasculate them by making them view and talk about themselves as women, because feminists refuse to accept that many sex differences in behaviour are the result of millions of years of evolution, rather than being "societal constructs". Because of this flaw in their worldview, even the most well-meaning of them are incapable of seeing men as anything but faulty women.

Here's an idea for you: men are around 80% of all suicides: if feminists really did care about this, and were "mourning" every man planning to take his life, they would simply offer to listen to men in need and help out in any way they can, with warmth and love and understanding, and without any ideological framing and indoctrination and victim blaming. Men are 80% of the homeless: If feminists really did care about men, they would organize at head office to go around feeding those men or taking them home and giving them a bath and a bed.

But feminists have never done this and will never do this. Because "feminist" is the word the world has for people who have been rendered incapable of caring for men.

women cant just forgive and forget the systematic violence that is inflicted on us every day.

You mean "systemic", but even so, there is no systemic OR systematic violence being "inflicted" on women every day in any western nation, and it's hysterical nonsense to claim such a thing. Women have more legal rights, privileges and special protections than men in every first world country, so once again the claims you are making here are actually the inverse of any objective appraisal of the facts.

real feminists do care for you.

Real feminists - the ones who teach gender studies classes, write feminist textbooks, organize feminist marches and slutwalks and are active in any meaningful way in the movement - don't care for me at all: they have, instead, been taught to hate and blame me for every real and imagined inconvenience they come across in their lives, even though they may have never met me or spoken to me. This is precisely the same way that the Nazis viewed and spoke about the Jews, and that is why I say feminism is a hate movement.

#nothing so annoying as being lectured on sex by a virgin

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feyascorner · 3 months

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Sure, Astarion has his reasons for being the way he is, but he wasn't a good man before Cazador either.

He was a corrupt magistrate of high society, who had an insatiable thirst for power and immortality. He got it in the end, but at a cost he never expected to pay.

So imagine if he and Tav met centuries before the events of the game? Tav being one of the “commoners” he looks down upon, scrunching his nose in disgust at the library when your fingers brush against one another as you try to reach for the same book. He yanks his hand away so abruptly that it makes you blink.

“Ah, sorry, did you want it?” you hold out the book in his direction, but he’s already scowling. You’re by no means filthy, but he thinks you might as well be with how your clothes would fetch less than a few dozen gold pieces at the local market. And rather than having your hair neatly arranged like other ladies of high society, yours is messily tied back with a string, in a manner he'd consider disheveled.

“I did,” he mutters in return. “You can keep the damn thing, dear. I no longer have any need for it.”

You don’t know where this snarkiness is coming from, so all you can do is watch as he strides away, lips sealed in a confident yet mildly annoyed frown. He swears he won't return to this library again if those are the kinds of guests they allow in these days.

So imagine his surprise when he meets you at the nautiloid crash site. Well, he doesn't recognize you at first. You don't either. Who would? You've only said one sentence to one another. But when you see him reading at his tent, you mention favorite books of your own even though he never actually asked. Within them, is the very title of the book he let you have—which happens to be some obscure book basically nobody else reads.

He remembers you, because his encounter with you was just a day before he’d been ambushed and turned into what he is. And it’s an underestimate to say he's reimagined that very day at least a few hundred times in his head.

The same can't be said for you. You remain oblivious.

But he's different now. He stitches the rips on his own shirt at least a dozen times a month, making sure the seams blend flawlessly and the cloth makes him look as flattering as he possibly can. In the past, he would've made the expensive personal tailors do the work, but 200 years as a slave can enact more than a few lifestyle changes to an elf.

However, similar to then, he notices you're still struggling in your own ability to sew.

“Like this, darling,” he says again. “Through the loop, here.”

As you marvel innocently at his handiwork, he smiles. He's not sure how you can derive such joy from a simple needle with a thread, but he doesn't complain about the way you fawn over him rather than anyone else. He thinks about his first reaction to you, much to his avoidance. He misjudged you at the time. Terribly. And while he’ll come around to telling you eventually, he’d rather find little ways to make up for it for now.

And if he has to use a needle on the rips of your pants to do so, so be it. Besides, he thinks he likes sewing—especially when it’s for you.

#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #bg3 #fluff #astarion x oc #astarion x you

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alpaca-clouds · 6 months

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Schrödinger's Disability

"Stop using your autism/adhd as an excuse!" I cannot tell you how often I got to hear that. Because here is the thing: Most people do not perceive either of those two diagnosises as "real". Even if they know they are real. Even medical professionals do not quite... understand it. Even those working with neurodivergent people.

Of course, if someone is the kinda autistic person who has also some sort of mental impairment, people perceive it as a disability - but if it does not come along with that kinda stuff, a lot of people treat it, as if we make an active choice to do or not to do something.

I told this story yesterday: When I was a kid, the following thing would always happen. When we would have art class, some of my pencils would drop from the table. Most likely because of dyspraxia. Now, when that happened I was simply not able to stop what I was doing. Because my brain cannot handle "stopping one thing to do another thing even for just a moment" very well. And it could handle it even worse when I was a kid. But also, I do not have object permanence. So, if an object does not exist within my field of vision, I just... forget about it. So, I often would just forget to pick the pencil back up. And teachers would be: "Oh, this boy is too lazy to pick up his own things." Which was not at all what was happening.

Another thing that happened to me too often is a very typical autism thing: Someone tells me something. But they do not tell me this in plain words, but rather imply it. So... I very much just not understood it. So, for example, I got told on a Discord Server by one user: "I have muted this channel." Which I understood as: "They muted this channel (maybe because it is very active)". What they said was, though: "I do not wanna see this channel, stop tagging me in this."

And mind you, this happens at work and university, too. A good example is the good old question of: "When are you done with this?" Which I usually understand as: "When are you done with this?" But what they mean to say is: "Hurry up, I need this now."

Last semester I had this happen at university even. Basically I misunderstood the final assignment, because it was not spelled out. Thankfully the professor was less of an asshole about it, than most people. I explained it to him, he understood, still got a good grade. But that tends to be more the exception than the rule.

As I said, this is a thing that even medical professionals do not really get. Even therapists do again and again fail to just communicate with autistic people clearly. They do not think about us usually being unable to understand implied meanings. We only understand the literal meaning for a lot of stuff.

And again: This is especially harsh with people like me, who superficially seem to function well in society. Heck, I have been told by professionals that I could not have ADHD or autism, because I archived a master's degree at university. Because they cannot comprehend that both ADHD and autism are a spectrum. It is not something you "either have, or have not" but it is a wide spectrum of symptoms that are differently strong in different people.

In Germany this also shows harshly when it comes to disability benefits. Because autism on its own rarely ever qualifies for disability benefits at all. Mental disabilities that might be linked to autism do. But autism on its own? No. Same goes with ADHD. And this... is kinda silly, right? Because we have studies upon studies that people with autism and ADHD often cannot work fulltime - at least not permanently. And we also know that generally neurodivergent people are more likely to be fired for a plenthora of reasons. So, yeah, we should kinda be treated like disabled, right?

And the worst part? In the parts where you get legally discriminated because of disabilities? Yeah, we still get that. We cannot immigrate into all other contries. Like, I cannot immigrate into New Zealand, for example, even though I would like too, because New Zealand discriminates against people with autism when it comes to immigration.

So... yeah. No, this sucks.

Nobody would tell a blind person overlooking a visual sign: "Stop using your blindness as an excuse". But with autistic people? It is the norm.

#autism #adhd #audhd #actually audhd #disability #disability rights #neurodiversity #neurodivergent

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weirdmarioenemies · 7 months

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Is King Bob-omb a robot?

Is he? Huh?

Recently I have been thinking about the nature of King Bob-omb, because I think it is more interesting than one may think upon first consideration! Yes, he is a big living bomb. But what does this mean for him? Let's discuss!

Bob-ombs

Bob-ombs! They are bombs. Even a dog could look at a Bob-omb and tell you "Rhat's a ralking romb! Hreeheehee!" What do we know about Bob-ombs? Well, they are very clearly artificially created entities. I mean, they're bombs. They're powered by wind-up keys! And they're mass-produced in factories. These are artificial, mechanical creatures. Automatons! The ones in Sunshine are very overtly robotic, and even if those ones are Bowser Junior creations, it may reflect how he views the real ones.

There is a history of sentient, talking Bob-ombs and Bob-omb society, so these are clearly rather advanced automatons. All the more reason for me to confidently declare them to be robots! It's weird to make a living bomb capable of thought and emotion, but as established by Origami King, the ones working for Bowser are intent on making their single blast really make a difference. So I guess making them sapient is ultimately helpful for Evil purposes, if unethical.

King Bob-omb

Now let's consider the King! That guy loves to be considered. He is NOT mass-produced. He does not have a wind-up key. He does not even have a fuse! And of course, he has arms. No Bob-ombs have arms...

...but Chuckyas do! Big, Bob-omb-like, with arms for throwing Marios. King Bob-omb seems like he could be a stronger, more refined model of Chuckya! Chuckyas are absolutely robotic, so this does make a good case for the King being such, as well!

Could a robot have such a magnificent mustache, though? Yes, a robot could. Even standard Bob-ombs are capable of having mustaches, as are creatures made of ice, and also this is a silly cartoon world. So yes, I think a robot could have a mustache.

Mecha King Bob-omb

Now HERE's the thing that got me thinking of this in the first place! Mecha King Bob-omb, from Mario + Rabbids: Sparks of Hope. This is a robotic version of King Bob-omb... hm. This IS obviously a robotic replica based on him, and there's no reason a robot based on another robot couldn't exist, but that WOULD make the "Mecha" title pretty weird! Is the original king mechanical or what? I guess the "Mecha" could also be referring to this version being a pilotable mecha, unlike the real version, which is a Guy. This brings up questions, and answers none!

The Big Dud

Finally, the last possibility of King Bob-omb's origins. If you are aware of the Super Mario 64 Iceberg, you are aware of the Big Dud theory! After Big Bob-omb (as he is known in 64) is defeated, an additional metal ball will be rolling around at the base of the mountain, and a Bob-omb Buddy will declare that the Big Bob-omb is nothing but a big dud now. This has led some to believe that the additional cannonball might be Big Bob-omb himself, made inanimate upon his defeat!

And then THIS gets me thinking about Power Stars. They do weird things to Mario creatures! I think it is likely King Bob-omb could have been created BECAUSE of the Power Star he holds. Maybe he was an ordinary Bob-omb enhanced into a new, regal form by the Star, or maybe he even was an ordinary inanimate metal ball, chosen to be extra resilient compared to his subjects! You know, in 64, he doesn't even explode like a Bob-omb. Is he a FRAUD? (No, he explodes in other games)

Final thoughts

So, after all this analysis, is King Bob-omb a robot or what? I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. No one knows. This guy is weird! He can fly with no effort if thrown off the mountain. When killed, he congratulates Mario for killing him and invites him to do it again sometime. If I HAD to come to a conclusion... I would say he is technically robotic, but that's not something the designers/developers actually ever have or had in mind, and is just a result of being a Bob-omb.

I don't mind that there is no concrete answer! I was not expecting there to be! This is Super Mario we're talking about. They're not going to expect us to analyze evidence about characters and come to conclusions. But it is so much fun to do! That's why we do it! Call this guy a robot if you want! Or affirm that he is not if you don't! I don't really care as long as you are nice!

#king bob-omb #bob-omb #chuckya #super mario 64 #mecha king bob-omb #mario + rabbids sparks of hope #analysis #mario #mod chikako #long post

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specialagentartemis · 1 year

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Something always fascinating to me is the "character who thinks they're in a different genre" phenomenon. The theme of the story you are telling determines what the right and wrong actions to take are; but the characters, reacting in-universe to the situation, don't know what story they're in, and the exact same responses can be what saves you or damns you depending on what kind of story the author is telling and what the story's message is about what life is like.

In Wolf 359, Warren Kepler approaches the mysterious and powerful aliens with threats; he kills their liaison and tries to position himself as a powerful opponent. However, he's shown to be wrong and making things worse: his preemptive aggression is unwarranted and unhelpful and bites him in the ass. The aliens want to communicate and understand humanity and share our music. It's Doug Eiffel, the pacifistic (and kind of scaredy-cat) communications officer who loves to talk and share pop culture, who talks to them and understands that the aliens are scary not because they want to kill us but because they don't understand the concepts of individuals and death. Talking to them, communicating with them, understanding where they're coming from and and bringing them to understand a human point of view, is what succeeds. Openness rather than suspicion, trust rather than aggression. Kepler thinks he's a dramatic space marine protecting the Earth from the alien threat by showing them humans are tough and can take them, but that's not the kind of story this is.

Conversely, in Janus Descending, Chel is in awe of the strange and beautiful alien world around her. She wants to touch it, understand it, get up close to it. When she sees a crystal alien dog, she wants to befriend it, despite Peter's warning. But when she gets close to it, extending her arm in greeting, it attacks her and drags her down into the cave to try to eat her. This sets the inevitable tragedy in motion. Suspicion is warranted; trust will get you killed. Because this is a sci-fi horror, with a major running thematic reading about how racism and sexism will destroy your brain and your society, and how the people who think they're too smart to be prejudiced don't see their own prejudice and will end up ruining the lives of the people they still don't fully see as equals, this kind of trust that Chel shows this strange alien is tragic. However it is also a horror story where there are very real hibernating space snakes ready to wake up and eat the fresh meat that has landed on their planet, and by being too trusting Chel has accidentally introduced herself to one.

Kepler, suspicious and ready to shoot any alien he doesn't understand, would likely have survived Janus Descending; Chel, with her enthusiasm for learning about and meeting aliens, would have been a wonderful and helpful member of the Wolf 359 crew.

In a similar manner, in Alien, Ellen Ripley yells to the rest of her crew not to bring the attacked crewmember with the alien on his face back on the ship and into the medical bay, you don't know what contamination that thing might have; she's ignored. She tells them not to let the crewmember out of quarantine even though he seems fine; she's ignored again. Ripley is the one person protesting this isn't safe, we don't know what's going on, and she is consistently ignored, until an alien bursts out of her crewmate's chest and then eats everyone and Ripley is proven to be right and also the only survivor. (And it turns out that the science officer consistently overriding her protests was an android sent by the company that contracted them, and said android was given orders to bring the alien back so the company could study it and do weapons development with it, try not to let the crew find out about it, and kill them if he had to in order to do so!)

Ripley's paranoia and mistrust of the situation was correct, because Alien is a space horror and the theme is in space no one can hear you scream (also corporations consider you expendable).

Conversely, in All Systems Red, we have a damaged and almost-combat-overridden Murderbot being brought back into the PreservationAux hab medical bay after being attacked by other SecUnits. Gurathin becomes the one person protesting this isn't safe, we don't know what's going on, he doesn't want to let Murderbot out because it's hacked and probably sabotaging them for the company contracted their security and sent it with them. Gurathin thinks he is the Ellen Ripley here! He is trying to warn his teammates not to make a dangerous mistake that will get everyone killed!

However, All Systems Red is a very different story than Alien, and Murderbot is neither a traitor on behalf of the company to sabotage them and steal alien remnants for weapons development, nor a threat to the humans - it's a friend, it's a good person, and it wants to help them against both companies willing to screw them over. Trusting it and helping it is the right thing to do and is what saves their lives. Gurathin is proven to be wrong.

If everyone on the Nostromo crew had listened to Ellen Ripley, they would still be alive (except Kane. RIP Kane), because this is a horror story about being isolated and hunted and going up against this horrifying thing that wants to kill and eat you and just keeps getting stronger. If everyone on the PreservationAux team listened to Gurathin, they would all be dead, because this is a story about friendship and teamwork and trust and overcoming trauma and accepting the personhood of someone very different from you.

Same responses. Different context. And so very different moral conclusions.

Warren Kepler was about how the brash violent over-confident approach to things you don't understand is wrong, and that openness and developing that understanding between people is what's important; Chel was about the tragedy of trust destroying a Black woman who wanted so much to believe in a world that could be kind and beautiful. Ripley was about a woman whose expertise and safety warnings were ignored and brushed aside and everyone who did so died because of it; Gurathin was about how even justified fear shouldn't mean you make someone else a scapegoat and mistrust them because they seem scary.

Sometimes you're in the wrong genre because you need to be, because the author is trying to show how not to react to the situation they set up in order to build the mood and the theme they're trying to convey.

#Wolf 359 #Janus Descending #Alien #The Murderbot Diaries #Murderbot #meta #my meta #it's about what the author is saying about the nature of the world and how to respond to it

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beanghostprincess · 1 month

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TW // Suicidal behavior/tendencies

The ASL brothers deal with suicidal tendencies constantly in different ways and I find it so interesting how little the three of them value their lives for completely different reasons.

Ace is obvious from the very beginning. He has been constantly told that he shouldn't have existed. That he should die. That he is not worthy of living. His whole identity was a secret from the rest of the world because if they knew, they would want him dead. But he knows already that people want him dead, so, whatever. He can't take love from others. And it is not he is actively trying to kill himself but he doesn't value his life at all. At least not until he meets Sabo and Luffy. And he still doesn't value his life much, but he realizes there are people who want him alive. And it is hard for him to believe it, but they do. Ace's journey is a tragedy because he keeps asking himself if he should be alive, constantly fighting against it because he genuinely thinks he shouldn't have existed, and then dying in the arms of his little brother and thanking him for loving him. And he dies because he is too proud and stubborn and it was just obvious that his recklessness would end up killing him somehow. It was not a conscious action but-- Ace knew he was dying that day. Which is extremely sad because he realized he wanted to live seconds before he was killed.

Sabo is just too focused on saving the world. He puts the greater good before him constantly because he quite literally has never known any better. He joined the revs with no memories and no purpose and only hatred for the ones with power. He was raised with love and friends there but-- There is only so much you can do in a place where they teach kids specific ideals and what they should do. And Sabo is happy there and more than glad to be of service, but he doesn't value his life at all. He constantly puts himself in danger, ever since he was a kid, to fight for others. And not even others as 'specific people' but just society and his ideals as a whole. Like he would rather die and kill if that spreads the revolution around. He genuinely doesn't care about dying if he is able to help the cause. I mean-- I think it does change when he meets Luffy again (he is canonically still reckless af okay this is self-indulgent) and realizes he can't let his brother lose him again. But still, he keeps on not valuing his life at all and acting without thinking things through.

Luffy is quite obvious, isn't it? It's not that he doesn't value his life, but he values his life around others. He is a person whose core need is to be with people. He was left alone at a very young age. Dragon left him with Garp and Garp, aside from being an awful role model, wasn't even there much and left the kid alone. The only role model he had was Shanks and he was going away constantly too. Uta basically disappeared from his life out of the blue without explanation. So when he finds Sabo and Ace it is normal that he gets heavily attached to them right away. When he is kidnapped and tortured he doesn't say a word about their treasure because he doesn't want to get in between their dream which-- Is another story. He values people's dreams even above his own life too. But there is also this layer of "If I break the promise of not telling people they will not want me" and it is just-- Pretty fucking sad. Like. Luffy's need to be around people and not lose the ones he loves comes from abandonment issues. Plain and crystal clear. He puts his life in danger constantly to not lose people and when he is alone he doesn't see any reason to keep going. He always finds something, of course, but being alone for him is quite obviously worse than death and he has had those types of thoughts/tendencies before. That is why I love the Baron Omatsuri movie so damn much. It is basically this whole thing.

Ace and Sabo are pretty similar when it comes to not valuing their lives and acting recklessly, but Ace is more on the 'I should not be alive' side of suicidal thoughts and Sabo is more on the 'I don't care if I die' side of self-destructive tendencies. While Luffy is on the 'There is no point in living if I am alone' side of abandonment issues.

I don't mean to go anywhere with this, btw. I just find it interesting how the three of them value their lives so little and end up forming a little family together. They found comfort and love in each other and I think their damaging tendencies keep existing because they are not together anymore. Like. Genuinely. In a Modern AU where the three of them are together their mental health would be so much better because of being next to each other. Ace would struggle with his self-worth but would be constantly reminded every day that he is loved, Sabo would overwork himself but they'd keep him from it being actually damaging, and Luffy would just not be alone at all.

#i could make a proper analysis? yes. but i don't want to so you have this mess #i think they deserve to live and be happy but the three of them are too mentally ill #they make me ill #i am too tired and i need to sleep but i love them so much it's insane #one piece #monkey d. luffy #revolutionary sabo #portgas d. ace #asl brothers

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wholoveseggs · 16 days

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Huhu, me again :) As I am re-reading your stories while stuck at home with the flu, I was thinking of another possible story: Reader is Rebecca's friend and a high-end prostitute. She has seen and experienced some rough things and is not trusting around men at all. Elijah is in love with her, but she will only accept him as a client (just sex for money, no kissing, no tenderness). He does everything in his power to change her mind.

Thanks, ❤️. Hope you have a lovely weekend!

Safe

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

In a world where trust is hard to come by, you've learned to keep your guard up, especially around men. But when Elijah enters your life, he's determined to break through your defenses, venturing into a realm of passion, pain, and the search for something real.

♡♡ Thanks for the request @originals23 I always adore your requests! Hope you are feeling better ♡♡

8.2k words - Warnings: smut, oral sex, white knight Elijah, lots of fluff and affection, Rebekah being badass...

PLEASE NOTE: this has descriptions of sexual assault, trauma & violence... don't read if these things trigger you ♡♡♡

Elijah considered himself a man of experience. He had seen and done everything in his many centuries. He was no stranger to the ways of the world, to the ways of power, to the ways of pleasure.

He watched society evolve and change in many ways, but some things always stayed the same, even after one thousand years.

Elijah knew what he was to women, the way they would fawn over him, the way they would throw themselves at him. It had never bothered him, he used this privilege to disarm potential threats, to protect those he loves.

Never in his long years had he considered paying for sex, he was not the kind of man that needed to pay for a woman's affections. He was a gentleman, he treated women with respect, courted them, loved them.

But then, there was you.

He would meet you in hotels, only the most luxurious, expensive, exclusive ones, where no questions were asked, and privacy was guaranteed.

You were always punctual and dressed to the nines, always with the most stunning outfits, the finest dresses, the highest heels. Your hair was always perfectly styled, your makeup expertly done.

You were far more put together than he could ever be. It made him want to believe that it was all just for him, but he knew better than that. You looked expensive because you were expensive.

The first time was a complete whim, a moment of weakness. He met you through his sister, at an event she was hosting. He tried to get you in his bed the old fashioned way, with his charm, and it almost worked. He was not used to rejection. But, he got the impression that it was not personal, for you it was just business.

So, he took a chance and hired you for the night. You were not expecting it, he could tell, but you quickly hid it behind a mask of professionalism.

The sex was... Immaculate. He would be a fool to say anything else. In his many centuries of living, he had experienced his fair share of pleasures. He was an excellent lover, he knew it, he prided himself in being one, but you were the first woman he had been with, where he felt like the student.

He would never forget the image of you on your knees before him, with your red lips wrapped around his cock, the sight would stay burned into his retinas for eternity.

You were the perfect companion, always the right thing to say, the right thing to do. You would only give, and never take, leaving him wanting more.

After your first meeting, he became a regular, every Friday at 8pm at the Roosevelt Hotel.

It had become his routine, you would arrive dressed in something different each time, more breathtaking than the last. And each Friday, you would repeat the same motions; meet him at the bar, have a drink, make small talk, before inevitably returning to his hotel room.

You never looked him in the eyes when you rode him, head thrown back in ecstasy, legs trembling and breasts bouncing, the very vision of sin.

You were all fire and passion, never letting your heart get involved, as was your work's rule. Always just fucking, no kissing, no affection, never sharing anything that had the smallest ounce of intimacy.

There was only once where he would have thought he saw an ounce of vulnerability in your eyes.

On that particular Friday, Elijah had arranged for the room to have flowers and champagne and a wonderful spread for dinner. When you arrived, he greeted you the same way he always did, taking you in his arms, feeling the weight of you pressed against him. When he released you from the embrace, he turned to lead you to the couch, but found your cheeks tinged with pink and tears running down your face.

That was new.

You composed yourself almost immediately, a smile returning to your beautiful face. The moment passed. You apologized, saying the roses were so lovely, you felt a bit sentimental for a moment.

He wanted to call it out, but he was not a fool; you were crying because you were moved. He wondered if anyone had treated you with sincerity before. But he held his tongue, only responding that he was glad you liked them.

You drew him in like a moth to a flame. Your beauty, your intelligence, your wit, it all appealed to him, but there was something else, something he couldn't put his finger on.

He wasn't sure what it was, why you affected him so. Perhaps it was the mystery, the fact that he could never really get close to you, not like he wanted.

You were the perfect escort, always attentive, always beautiful, always ready to please. But you were also distant, aloof. You didn't want any affection from him, or to speak of romance, of love.

Your emotional unavailability felt like a mirror, reflecting his own loneliness, his own fear of intimacy.

He wondered how somebody so young, with so little years behind them, could harbor such pain behind their eyes.

Perhaps that is what drew him to you, the possibility that you could understand him, the darkness that lived inside him, the burden of immortality, the isolation that came with it.

He wanted to know you, not just the performance you put on for him, but what lies underneath the façade.

But you didn't allow him to. You kept him at arm's length, never letting him get too close.

He tried to be respectful, he tried not to push you, but he found himself wanting more, wanting things he shouldn't.

You were a good girl, you gave him what he paid for, nothing more. But he wanted more, he wanted you. He wanted to take you out on a date, to spoil you, to make you feel loved, to show you the world.

But he knew that would never happen. You were a professional, and he was just another client. Still, he couldn't help but wonder, couldn't help but hope.

He would keep coming back, and maybe one day, you would let him in. Maybe one day, he would finally get to show you the truth of his feelings.

Maybe one day, you would fall in love with him, too.

You were on another date with a new client, you always met them in public first, making sure they were who they claimed to be before you headed to the hotel.

You were always cautious, using protection, staying safe, trusting your instincts.

You tried your best not to judge your clients, you didn't know why they sought you out instead of dating. For some, it was simply convenience, for others, it was something more sinister. You worked hard to keep the latter far away from you.

This client was a bit shy, he wouldn't meet your gaze or answer any of your questions. It was like pulling teeth. But he didn't have that "off" vibe. Maybe he was just uncomfortable around women and that's why he sought you out.

He seemed to loosen up after a few drinks, his smile becoming more confident, his laugh deepening. His hands would occasionally drift toward your thigh as he leaned in close to talk.

"I rented the penthouse for tonight, it comes with a hot tub," he said awkwardly.

"Oh, that's nice," you tried to sound interested, taking a fake sip of your drink. You never drank or consumed anything while working. You had a fear of being drugged, you prioritized staying alert when with new clients.

"Would you care to see it?" his tone was low and raspy, and his gaze darkened with arousal.

"Of course," you smirked, taking his hand as he led you out of the bar.

Your phone buzzed, it was a text from Rebekah; she always made sure to check in when you were meeting new clients. You smiled, knowing she was looking out for you. The two of you had an emergency plan, if you ever felt unsafe, all you had to do was text her the word 'trouble' and she would come running, and wouldn't hesitate to defend you.

This was another reason you loved being friends with Rebekah, despite the vampire thing, her overprotectiveness of the people she cared for, she was so fierce. It felt good to have someone watch your back in a business such as this. That hasn't always been the case for you.

You texted her your hotel and room number as usual, trying not to let your mind wander to her brother. It was unprofessional to be thinking about him while you were with another client, but you couldn't help it.

It had been nearly three months since you began your arrangement with Elijah, and yet he was always the one that occupied your thoughts, plaguing your dreams, controlling your waking thoughts, your fantasies.

Never had a client affected you in such a way. Sure, you had attractive and charming men seeking your company, ones that smelled nice and tipped well. But Elijah was something else entirely. He made you feel things you didn't want to feel, you had rules, boundaries, reasons to keep a safe distance. Yet with every encounter, you were drawn deeper and deeper.

You pushed the image of him out of your mind, focusing on your present client. In the elevator, his hands were all over you, pawing at you like a horny teen. Clearly, he was very excited about what was going to happen when you got to the penthouse.

"Baby, slow down, we've got all night," you reminded him, hoping he would calm down.

He ignored you and leaned in to kiss you, he was new, so you politely pushed on his chest and let him know what your rules were.

"Hold on baby, there are rules, remember?" you said, pushing his hands away.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I thought that was just a scam, you know, a way to drive up the price," he said, his hand going to his pocket, pulling out his wallet. "How much extra are we talking?"

You could see his wallet was thick with cash and you felt sick, but you played it cool. "Those are my boundaries, honey. No kissing, protection mandatory, no touching unless I say so. That's just how I do business," you said, flashing him a bright smile.

He looked disappointed, but he didn't push. "Fine," he said, putting his wallet away.

You reached the top floor and he led you to the penthouse suite, opening the door and stepping aside. "After you," he said, his voice filled with barely contained desire.

The suite was luxurious, but not the best you've seen. There was a hot tub in the corner and a huge king sized bed. The bathroom was stocked with expensive toiletries and there was a large TV.

"Take your clothes off," he demanded, taking a seat on the bed.

He was far more assertive now that you were alone with him, more controlling. This wasn't too bad, you could work with that. He was older, his hair was a dirty blonde, starting to recede, he was kind of handsome if you squinted.

You began to strip, revealing your black lace lingerie. Your red dress fell to the floor in a puddle of fabric and you heard him growl with excitement.

He eyed you hungrily, licking his lips. "How many hours did I pay for again?" he asked, his voice dripping with lust.

"Five, and I've already started the clock," you said, giving him a coy smile.

"Good," he said, pulling out his wallet and tossing it on the bed. "Come here."

You walked over, stopping in front of him. He reached up, grabbing your breast roughly. "You have great tits," he said, squeezing.

You smiled at him, pretending to enjoy it. You knew he was paying for this, for the fantasy. You pride yourself on your performance, making sure your clients are happy, but you could already tell this was going to be a long couple of hours.

He seemed impatient, rough and demanding. Not exactly your favorite, but this was part of the job. Besides, you had been through worse.

"Are you ready for me?" he asked, his fingers digging into your flesh.

"Yes, sir," you replied, playing the part.

He grabbed your face roughly, making you look into his eyes, then everything became strange, fuzzy, distorted.

Your body felt numb, like you were floating, the room was spinning, and you had the strange sensation of being both in your body and outside it.

You were riding him, you didn't remember how you got there, or when he took his clothes off, but there he was, his cock filling you.

He was groaning and moaning beneath you, his hands gripping your hips tightly. Your neck hurt, your breasts hurt, your thighs hurt, you looked down to see deep bite marks all over you, blood running down your skin.

You blinked, and suddenly you were on your back, the bedspread covered in blood, your blood. You looked up at the man above you, his mouth twisted into a cruel smirk, his eyes completely black.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Not enjoying yourself?" he sneered, his hand going to your throat. He squeezed, cutting off your air supply.

You gasped, struggling to breathe. Your lungs burned, your eyes filled with tears.

"What did you do to me?" You said, your voice sounding like it was coming from far away. He couldn't have drugged you, you didn't consume anything with him, you were always so careful.

He bit into your neck, his fangs sinking into your skin, holding you down with incredible strength. Cold fear ran through your veins, he was like Rebekah, like Elijah, he was a vampire.

You struggled, trying to fight him off, but you couldn't move, his strength was overwhelming. You felt him drinking your blood, his teeth tearing through your skin.

He pulled back, rolling off of you, lying beside you. "Don't worry, sweetheart, it'll only hurt for a minute," he said, his voice full of malicious glee. "Go wash up for round two," he demanded.

You sat up, trying to gather yourself. You needed to get out of there, and fast. You were bleeding heavily, and the world was still spinning.

He got off the bed and headed to the kitchenette, the sounds of glasses clinking and liquid pouring into a glass filled the air. He must've been getting a drink.

You were lightheaded from the blood loss, your legs shaky. You searched for your purse on the floor, the room looked different, distorted, and you couldn't find the damn thing anywhere. You were losing precious seconds looking for it, your adrenaline keeping the panic at bay.

You caught sight of it, it was beside the night table. You snatched it up and grabbed your phone, typing out the word 'trouble' to send it to Rebekah, hoping the word was enough for her to get the message.

You felt his hands on you again, a hard tug against your hair.

"Back on the bed like a good little whore," he hissed, throwing you on the bed. "I wasn't done with you."

He flipped you onto your stomach, hiking one leg up and exposing you to him. The edges of your vision grew dark, and you could hear your heartbeat growing slower, weaker. You tried to scream, but no sound came out.

You were going to die. He was going to kill you, and no one would know. Rebekah wouldn't come. You would be gone, and no one would ever find you.

Then, as your vision faded to black, all you could think of was how this was the end, how you didn't want to die this way. You had fought so hard to escape this fate, to be someone; something better than this, and yet, here you were, being raped and killed by a monster.

In the darkness you heard a bang, the cracking of wood. Someone was yelling, there was a struggle.

Then, a hand on your face, warm, soft. You heard a familiar voice, a voice that made your heart skip a beat.

"Elijah," you whispered, barely audible.

"I'm here, I'm here," he said, his voice full of panic.

You felt him press his wrist to your lips, his own blood filling your mouth. "Drink," he said softly, and you obeyed.

His blood sent a wave of heat through your body, the pain receding. You drank deeply, the world growing clearer.

You opened your eyes, his worried face above yours. He immediately pulled off his suit jacket and wrapped it around your naked form, scooping you up and cradling you in his arms.

You clung to him, feeling the last vestiges of the monster's compulsion fade. You could see Rebekah standing over the man, whose spine was in her hand, her eyes dark with rage.

You were suddenly aware of the gravity of the situation, and tears began to stream down your face. You sobbed, the trauma, the horror of what had almost happened hitting you full force. You thought you had escaped this life, that it was all in your past, but it was there, fresh and ugly, rearing its head like a hydra, reminding you it would always be a part of you.

Elijah held you tightly, whispering soothing words as Rebekah inspected the body. He was solid, strong, his arms encircling you, holding you together.

"Who is he? One of Marcel's?" Elijah asked, his voice low and angry.

"He better not be," she said, taking a picture of the vampire's face and sending it to someone.

She stood up, wiping her hands on her pants, the blood from the dead vampire staining the fabric. "I'll take care of it," she said, her voice hard and cold. "Get her home," she said, gesturing to you.

Elijah nodded, carrying you out of the room. You clung to him, trying not to fall apart, not to let the pain overwhelm you. He helped you get dressed, you felt like you were outside of your body, watching the events unfold from somewhere above, somewhere safe.

It was the same place you went before. When you were younger, when you were forced into this life, it was a coping mechanism, a way to protect yourself from the horror of it all. It was a way to survive, and it was serving you now, letting you function as your body went through the motions.

You found yourself in Elijah's car, his smell surrounding you. You buried your face in his suit jacket, inhaling his scent, letting it ground you.

He was quiet, his face grim, his jaw clenched. He drove quickly, his hands gripping the steering wheel. You expected a lecture about your lifestyle, perhaps a few well-meaning but patronizing comments about how you should change, should find a new line of work.

But he said nothing. He didn't judge, didn't make you feel small, or dirty. He simply drove, his presence a balm on your battered soul.

You arrived at your building, standing at your doorway, trying to find your keys. Your hands were shaking, and he gently took them from you, unlocking the door.

You stepped inside, feeling a sense of relief. You were safe now, he had saved you, and you were home. You turned to see him still waiting in the doorway, his eyes full of concern.

"You don't have to invite me in," he said softly. "I'll wait out here until I know you're safe."

Your heart melted a little, his kindness catching you off guard. He was a gentleman, and his chivalry touched something deep inside you.

You could feel yourself being pulled toward him, and it took all of your resolve to pull back, to remind yourself of the lines, the rules, and boundaries.

"It's okay, you can come in," you said.

He nodded, stepping into the apartment, closing the door behind him. He stood there awkwardly, it was breaking all the rules, being at your home, and he was unsure of the boundaries.

He could see you, the real you, in every facet of your home. From the paintings to the books, the carefully curated pieces of your life. It felt so personal, to be standing in this space, and he could see the pain and vulnerability, the fight in you. The beautiful complexity. It was so... human, to see your life displayed so honestly, no veneer, no illusion, no façade.

"I'm going to take a shower, make yourself at home," you said, gesturing towards the living room.

He nodded, moving towards the couch, taking a seat.

You disappeared into the bathroom, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

He was angry, furious. Marcel better have answers as to why some random vampire was in the quarter attacking people, because if he didn't, there would be hell to pay.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his rage. He could hear the water running, and he tried not to think about you, what you just went through, what could have happened.

It all happened so fast, one moment he's in the compound, the next he's following Rebekah into a hotel room, watching her rip the spine from that vile beast.

Seeing you there, pale and lifeless, made him snap. He felt something shift inside him, his mind clouded by anger. In the years he lived, Elijah prided himself on being a rational man. He didn't lose control often, or ever, really, but at that moment, seeing you there, he was lost.

Rebekah killed him too quickly, he deserved a more painful death. He would have drawn it out, tortured him slowly, watching the light go out in his eyes. He hated vampires like that. Abusing humans in that way, playing with one's food was so very undignified.

He was so lost in thought, he didn't notice you walking out of the bathroom, wearing a large t-shirt that went past your knees.

You felt a bit more like yourself, the shower having washed away some of the pain and horror. You still felt shaken, and a little dazed, but you were starting to come back to yourself.

"I'm sorry, I think your jacket is ruined," you said, sitting down next to him.

He smiled sadly, glancing at the bloodied garment in his hands. "It's just a suit jacket. I can get another one," he replied.

A silence fell over you, a little uncomfortable, full of the emotions the night had stirred up. You felt raw, vulnerable. Like he could see right through you. Like everything was different, had changed, somehow. You weren't sure why. Maybe it was because he saved you.

You watched as he seemed to have a mental war with himself, his mind far away. You wondered what was going on in that ancient mind of his, what demons he was wrestling with, or what judgments he was passing.

Finally he looked at you, his expression soft, understanding. "I'm sorry about what happened. To you," he said gently.

The sincerity of his words took you by surprise, and tears sprang into your eyes. You blinked them back, not wanting to fall apart.

"It's my own fault, I'm used to this sort of thing," you replied, waving it off. "I knew better."

"You are used to this," he said, his tone careful. "You shouldn't be used to this," he explained.

Your eyes snapped to him, searching for the meaning behind his words.

"No one should ever have to endure that. No one," he said firmly.

He didn't say you should leave the business, act like some sort of savior, telling you what you should and shouldn't do. He didn't take it upon himself to make a proclamation about your lifestyle. Instead he met the facts with pure empathy and honesty.

It felt... genuine. It was a first. And somehow, coming from him, it meant something more. His kindness was a floodgate that allowed emotions, memories and old pain to come rushing forward.

"I ran away from home when I was just fourteen, my mom's boyfriend was... He would beat me, touch me," you said, tears stinging your eyes.

You hadn't talked about this in a long time, you had spent years trying to forget it ever happened, burying it under layers of denial, and in that moment, it all came flooding back.

"I met a woman on the street that offered me shelter for a night, and it snowballed into her making me turn tricks to repay her," you explained, looking anywhere but at his face.

It felt good to talk about it, to get the weight off of your chest. You had kept it all bottled up for so long, and the night had triggered those old memories, so it seemed right to finally share your story. His presence was warm, safe, comforting, and something told you, you could be vulnerable with him, and not be judged for it.

"When the women offered to take me in, it seemed like a blessing. Like she was saving me, offering to feed and clothe me," you sighed, shaking your head, lost in the memories of your youth.

"But she wasn't saving me, she was buying me. Buying my misery, my pain. My innocence, my body, my trust. And then, one day, I was beaten bloody, the guy she sold me to for the night refused to give her a cent and she put her cigarette out on my neck." You looked down at your lap, remembering the smell of your flesh burning, the pain radiating through your skin.

"I wasn't useful to her any longer, so she dumped me like a bag of trash." You spat the words out, trying to stay objective. Distant. You felt his eyes on you.

"And what did you do?" He asked, his voice so low and gentle. So inviting.

"I slept in a dumpster, stole clothes off of someone's line, begged on the corner, just to get by, to eat. A lady took pity on me and gave me enough money for a bus ticket," you continued, wiping a single tear away.

"The first bus I saw took me to New Orleans, and I've been here ever since," you concluded, a cold sense of finality settling over you. You didn't realize how heavy the memory had weighed on you, it had sat in the back of your mind, never giving you a moment of peace, haunting you.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to unload on you like that," you said, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

"Never apologize for what's happened to you, or how you've reacted to it," he replied. "I know this won't be much help, but you're a survivor. And you did what you had to, and still managed to end up here."

The simplicity of the statement hit you deeply. He understood. He understood what you went through, where you were coming from. He reached out and wiped away another one of your tears. You leaned into his touch, craving the comfort of his warmth.

You didn't understand how, or why, but somehow he had made it into your fortress, your walled off heart. A place no man had reached, touched or explored. Yet there he was. His thumb still swiped gently across your cheek, his dark eyes staring into your own.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth. He was firm and solid, his shoulder the perfect spot to nestle in. This gesture, the simple embrace was overwhelming and your emotions spilling over. You cried, really cried, for the first time in many years. Not just tears streaming from your eyes, or silent drops, you sobbed. Your body racking with each painful outburst, a river of tears flowing over his crisp dress shirt. He held you the entire time, rubbing his hand in small circles across your back, whispering words of comfort, and strength.

Somehow, the mere knowledge of him understanding you, listening to you, opened the dam, releasing all of the pain you had repressed and carried around like an overloaded suitcase.

You cried until you exhausted yourself, and he picked you up, effortlessly and set you in his lap, your arms around his neck, your body folded into his. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat, soothing, grounding. You could stay like that forever, cocooned in his strength, feeling truly safe for the first time.

You let your eyes droop, knowing that nothing could hurt you while he was there, and you succumbed to sleep, his hand combing gently through your hair, humming a soft melody murmured in a long forgotten tongue.

You woke up with a start, the morning sun streaming in through the window. You were alone, Elijah's suit jacket draped over you.

You frowned, wondering if perhaps it all had been a dream. If the monster, if the comfort of a stranger had never happened, just a horrible, awful, vivid nightmare. You glanced down and saw the dry bloodstains covering the jacket and realized it hadn't been.

Elijah wasn't a stranger. Not anymore. Something had changed between you, in a matter of hours. He saw all of your exposed, bloody, emotional, broken places, and you showed him a tiny piece of your soul, told him of your past.

You could smell his cologne, his smell lingering in the air, a faint scent left on the jacket. You took a deep breath and slipped the garment back on, smiling sadly.

You were a sucker for a nice suit.

The other smell in the air was coffee and you followed the scent into the kitchen. Rebekah was there, sitting at the table, two cups in front of her.

"Hope you like it strong," she said as you entered, gesturing to a cup of coffee in front of her.

You grabbed it, taking a sip, appreciating the kick of flavor.

"Sleep well?" she asked, glancing at you over the cup of her own.

"Honestly? It's the best night sleep I've had in ages," you admitted, taking a seat, pulling his jacket a little tighter, it felt comforting to have it on, like a security blanket.

She laughed, studying you carefully, her eyes settling on the jacket.

You wondered if she knew, if she was able to tell you had developed a very powerful crush on her brother.

Rebekah didn't know that Elijah was one of your clients, and it felt like a big secret to keep. She never judged you for your job, but she certainly judged those who sought your services.

You felt guilty for not telling her, but it was all so complicated. Your feelings for him were evolving, and you weren't quite sure what they were, or what they meant. She was your only friend and you wanted to confide in her, but you didn't know how.

"Beks, I... I have to tell you something," you said, feeling a bit nervous.

"What is it?" She asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Eli- Elijah has been my client since you introduced me to him," you blurted out.

She sat there, shocked, not saying anything for a moment.

"Elijah. Like my brother... Elijah? The one who was with us last night, and spent the night here? That Elijah?" She said, the look of shock on her face almost comical.

"Yes, that Elijah," you said, a blush creeping across your cheeks.

"My noble brother, who is too honorable and dignified to wear the same tie twice... Has been paying you for sex?" she said slowly, seeming to process the information, before a smirk formed on her lips. "What a delicious twist. I always thought Klaus was the manwhore brother," she added with a cackle.

You blinked, your jaw hanging open, before laughing. The tension easing, knowing she didn't hate you.

You took a deep drink of your coffee, relaxing, laughing. "I'll have you know Elijah is a great client. He's an excellent tipper, not an unkind word to say, and no requests are too kinky or strange," you said with a smile.

Rebekah raised her mug towards you in a cheers motion, clearly amused, but her expression fell a bit when she took you in a little more. "You like him," she stated, her blue eyes studying your face.

"He's my client," you answered defensively.

"Yes, I am aware of the rules you play by, but you like him." She repeated her observation, this time more sure of herself.

"Yeah," you sighed. "Maybe it's wrong to, you know, develop feelings for a client. But something's different, I don't know how to explain it," you finished.

"Well, this explains why he insisted on coming with me to save you last night. And why he's gone all avenging angel this morning. I've never seen him so protective over someone who isn't family," she said, grinning from ear to ear.

Avenging angel? It must have shown on your face because Rebekah launched into the tale of her brother's crusade this morning.

Apparently, he decided to eliminate everyone who associated with your attacker. Including the vampire who sired him and several others. He was methodical, brutal and utterly relentless in his vengeance. Tying them up and letting them burn in the rising sun.

"That's..." You couldn't find the words. It was insane, and it was for you. He was doing this because of you, and it made your heart swell with emotion.

"You're important to him," Rebekah said, her voice soft. "He doesn't do murder sprees for just anyone."

You sat there, processing the information, your mind a whirlwind. You weren't sure what to think, or how to feel, the fluttering in your stomach now a hurricane.

You had never been important to anyone, not like this. Men had always seen you as an object, a means to an end, but never someone who cared about your safety and well-being.

You loved him, even though it broke all your rules, all the careful walls you had built around yourself. He somehow managed to slip past your defenses, stealing his way into your heart and planting seeds for a future.

It had been a few weeks since the attack, and you were finally starting to feel normal again. You went back to work, seeing your regular clients.

Rebekah had personally vetted and compelled every single one, and you felt safe and protected. None of them could possibly harm you, not with her looking over you.

The only thing that hadn't returned to normal was your regular once-a-week meetings with Elijah. He never called, or showed up, and it ate away at you.

Were you different to him now? After he learned about your past? Maybe he saw you as damaged goods, no longer a fantasy he could indulge in.

You weren't going to reach out, not after what had happened. He had been so kind and compassionate, but you weren't certain if it had really been genuine, or the situation making him act that way.

It hurt. As much as you tried to push it aside, and pretend it wasn't important to you, it was. Not just the money, but his presence, his kind eyes, the gentle way he cared for you. You missed him, and it broke your heart.

You needed something familiar, something safe. You had worn his jacket to bed every night since the attack, it was comforting, it made you feel safe. But not having him, being uncertain of what was going on, it was frustrating, and painful.

So, when you opened the door and saw him standing there, you were surprised. He had a bag of groceries in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other, an apologetic look on his face.

"Hi," he said, a shy smile on his face. "I'm sorry, for being away for so long."

You opened the door wider, gesturing for him to come inside. He walked past you, a nervous energy radiating off of him.

"It's okay, I figured you found another girl to play with," you replied off-handedly, a small part of you hoping to get a reaction.

He placed the bag on the table and spun around. "I assure you, no other woman holds a candle to your charms."

You laughed, liking his response, so typically him.

"I bought some groceries, and some wine," he said, gesturing to the bag and the bouquet. "Is there anything you would like me to make you for dinner?"

You smiled at him, his thoughtfulness making you blush. "Anything would be fine," you said, watching as he moved around your small kitchen. "You didn't have to do all this," you added, still a little taken aback by his gesture.

"I want to," he said, his brown eyes meeting yours. "I have some things I'd like to say, and I think a nice dinner might help."

You nodded, a nervous energy filling the room. He poured some wine, handing you a glass. You hesitated for a moment, fear creeping in, a million thoughts of how this could go wrong flooding your mind.

He noticed the hesitation and gently took your hand, giving it a kiss.

"If you don't want to drink, that is okay," he whispered, his voice full of understanding.

"No, it's okay," you said, smiling shyly.

You sat at the island, watching him as he worked. He was so at ease, so confident. He chopped and stirred, and the aroma of delicious food filled the air. You never experienced this sort of thing growing up, the peaceful domesticity. It was strange, sitting there with Elijah, it felt so foreign, yet so normal. So perfect. He moved about the kitchen with a practiced ease, humming softly.

You sipped the wine, the sweet taste filling your mouth. You couldn't remember the last time you had drunk a whole glass, let alone several.

After a while, he put the food on the plates, and handed one to you. It smelled delicious, and looked even better. You took a bite, the flavors exploding in your mouth.

"Wow, this is incredible," you exclaimed, taking another bite.

He chuckled, sitting down next to you on the counter, it was so casual, so relaxed, almost intimate.

"How did you learn how to cook?" You asked, curious.

"I've lived for a thousand years, I think it would be pretty embarrassing if I didn't know how to make a proper meal," he replied, his voice laced with amusement.

"I always forget just how old you are," you said, smirking.

"Does it bother you?" He asked, his voice hesitant.

"No," you said, smiling reassuringly.

You finished eating, the two of you chatting about mundane things, no talk of work or pasts, just simple conversation. It was refreshing, being able to just be, no pressure or expectations.

After you were done, he took your plate and started washing the dishes. You couldn't help but laugh, and he turned around, a look of confusion on his face.

"What's so funny?" He asked, drying his hands.

"You just... cooking, cleaning," you said, trying to compose yourself. "I've never seen anything like it,"

"Is that a bad thing?" He asked, his voice tinged with concern.

"No," you said, grinning, "it's actually really nice,"

"Good," he said, chuckling, then he splashed some soap bubbles at you.

You gasped and glared at him, wiping the suds off your top.

"Oh, you did not just do that," you said, a wicked smile on your lips.

You grabbed the sponge and squirted him, laughing as the soap hit his face. He shook his head, a playful glint in his eyes.

"That's how you want to play it, hmm?" He asked, a mischievous smirk on his lips.

He grabbed the faucet and turned it on, spraying you with water. You squealed and tried to dodge, but he was too fast, your feet slipping on the now wet kitchen floor. You went sliding, and Elijah caught you in his arms, laughing.

Your heart was racing, and you were sure he could hear it, beating furiously in your chest. His warm arms were wrapped around you, and your face was inches from his. He was so close, so solid, so real. The world around you disappeared, all that mattered was him. You wanted to give in, to let yourself feel, but fear crept in.

The past flashed through your mind, the memories, the pain, the shame. You pulled away, your heart aching.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your eyes full of tears.

He took a step back, his face full of understanding.

"It's okay," he said softly, his hand reaching out and stroking your cheek.

"What did you want to talk to me about? Why are you really here?" You asked, afraid of the answer.

"I..." He paused, his eyes searching yours. "I am no longer in need of your services,"

Your heart sank, your body suddenly feeling cold. It was the answer you were expecting, but it still hurt. After what he saw in that penthouse, after all of his concern and comfort, he was done with you. Your fears were coming true.

You nodded, forcing a weak smile.

"I just..." he trailed off, his eyes still searching yours, his hand still on your cheek. "I love you, and I've been using you," he said, his eyes full of sadness. "That's why I stopped coming, it was... too much. It felt like I was taking advantage of you."

You stared at him, shock washing over you. It felt like the world had stopped moving. Love? A word you never thought would apply to you, yet here was a man, looking at you with such tenderness, such compassion, such pure undiluted love. It wasn't something you could process, love wasn't a feeling you felt worthy of, it wasn't something you believed you deserved.

"Elijah..." You whispered, your voice barely audible. "You don't love me, you love the escort, the persona,"

"No, I love you, all of you," he said, his eyes locked on yours. "The good, the bad, the messy, all of it. That's why I can't use you anymore, because I want to love you, not just fuck you,"

You stood there, your emotions warring within you. Part of you was overjoyed, the other part was terrified.

You had never been loved before, and the thought of it was both exhilarating and terrifying. But you couldn't deny the pull between the two of you, the chemistry that was always there.

And it wasn't just physical, there was something deeper, something more. Something that was worth taking a chance on.

You reached out, your hand touching his face. You could feel his breath on your skin, his warmth radiating through you. Your heart was beating so fast, your hands trembling, but you pulled him closer, your lips ghosting across his.

He inhaled sharply, his eyes searching yours, his hand gently touching your face. You closed your eyes, his scent filling your nose. You didn't care that he was your client, that you swore this would never happen, or any of the reasons you always believed it would be better to stay distant.

He was the first one to move, kissing you softly, you could feel the love, the passion, the desire. His hands tangled in your hair, the kiss growing deeper, more intense.

You clung to him, your body pressed against his, the world around you fading away. It was perfect, the moment you had been waiting for. The first time you felt like someone actually wanted you, and it was better than anything you had ever imagined.

His hand slid down your body, his fingers brushing against your skin. You could feel the heat rising within you, the need for him growing stronger. He picked you up, his lips never leaving yours, and carried you into the bedroom.

He laid you on the bed, his body hovering over you. He kissed you again, his tongue exploring your mouth, his hands caressing your skin.

You moaned, your body arching into him. You wanted him, all of him. You tugged at his shirt, pulling it off. He helped you, then pulled your top over your head.

He trailed kisses down your neck, to your chest, his tongue flicking over your nipples. You let out a soft moan, your hands tangled in his hair.

He continued his exploration, his lips trailing lower, down your stomach, and stopped at the waistband of your skirt. He hooked his thumbs under it, and slowly pulled it down, his mouth kissing your hips.

He kneeled between your legs, kissing the soft skin of your thighs, waiting for your permission to break the rules.

This wasn't work, or something you were forced to do. This was something new, something special.

You spread your legs further, your arousal glistening in the dim light. He moved up your body, kissing your neck as he peeled off his remaining clothes. You reached up, tracing his jaw, and then cupping his face. He looked up at you, his eyes full of love, lust, and worry.

You nodded your head, giving him the permission he needed. His hands gripped your panties, slowly sliding them down. Your heart pounded in your chest, anticipation building.

He kissed your clit, his tongue exploring the sensitive spot. You let out a soft moan, your body shaking.

He took his time, wanting to taste you, wanting to give you pleasure. You deserved to feel good, to forget the pain, if even just for a moment.

He kept teasing you, his tongue circling your clit, then dancing around it. You were aching for him, the tension inside you building.

You gripped the sheets, your body writhing beneath him. You felt the pressure release, a wave of pleasure washing over you.

You floated on a cloud of bliss, your body tingling with aftershocks. He kissed his way back up to you, his lips finding yours.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled, cupping his face, pulling him close and kissing him. You had heard that from countless men over the years, but this was the first time you believed it, believed him.

You felt the length of him rubbing against your thigh. You reached down, stroking him, letting him know how much you wanted him.

He was so close, the scent of him filling your senses. He pressed himself against you, his erection teasing you, the ache between your thighs growing.

He wanted to make love to you, to show you what it meant to be with someone who cared about you, who loved you.

He slowly parted your legs, his gaze locked on yours, waiting for the final bit of permission.

You couldn't form the words, so instead you nodded, a shy smile on your lips. He understood, and slowly pushed into you.

You closed your eyes, the feeling of him filling you, stretching you, overwhelming you. It had been so long since anyone touched you like this, and he was doing it so perfectly.

But sudden fear coursed through you, everything replaying in your mind. All the men who had used you, forced you, made you perform. The vampire who dragged you back into your trauma, took away your control.

Elijah could see the distance in your eyes, the disconnect, and he pulled away, slightly, a concerned look on his face.

"It's okay," he said, his voice soft, "we can stop if you want to,"

You blinked, the memory fading, the realization setting in. Elijah wasn't like those men, he was different, caring, gentle. He made you feel safe in a way that no one else ever had.

You smiled at him, your heart swelling with love and affection. You reached up and cupped his face, gently pulling him towards you, your lips meeting his.

You poured your heart into the kiss, your emotions overwhelming you. He rolled the both of you on your sides, his arms wrapping around you. You clung to him, his name a whisper on your lips.

You felt a tingling building, but this wasn't pleasure, it was something else. A sense of euphoria washed over you, and for a brief moment, your whole being was at peace. You felt safe, loved, treasured. Your heart was whole, the pain and darkness gone, replaced by pure happiness and bliss.

You broke the kiss, your eyes wide as you looked at him, your heart pounding. You had never felt anything like it, never thought it was possible. You had experienced great pleasure, had orgasms that left you breathless, but this was something different, something deeper, something beyond description.

You blinked, reality settling in, your thoughts a tangled mess. You had broken your rules, given yourself to him completely, allowed him to touch the most broken and vulnerable part of you.

Your heart.

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

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#elijah mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #vampire diaries #tvdu #elijah mikaelson smut #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikealson imagine #elijah mikealson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikealson x reader #tvd #the vampire diaries x you #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diares imagine #the vampire diaries imagine #the originals imagine

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slttygeto · 8 months

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MY PUNISHMENT, AN ETERNITY WITHOUT YOU--GETO. S

synopsis: you were never there for suguru, and he isn't scared of saying it to you.

c.w: gn! reader, angst, hurt/no comfort, reader is a terrible friend, insinuations on suguru and reader possibly liking each other, suguru feels terribly left out, confronation, there is a dialogue here from an old movie so that's where the inspiration came from!

word count: 1,1k

note: very quick drabble before I head to bed. sorry for choosing violence so late at night.

Everything happens for a reason. What a lame way to comfort yourself through the horrifying realization that you’ve been betrayed by one of the closest people to your heart. You stand in front of Yaga and Satoru with a broken heart and a body that is so cold you could be mistaken for a corpse and you breathe in—you try to inhale through what you’ve been told.

“Suguru killed those people, he also killed his parents and—“

Enough. You’ve heard more than enough for today. You squeeze your eyes shut and your hands find your face, covering it whole. You’re not sure what the gesture is supposed to do, you believe that you simply did not want to see the people that have delivered those news for you and it’s a little unfair to them. But then again, if they hadn’t known how poorly you’d handle it, why’d they look so apologetic when they asked you to wait for them outside of the classroom? They knew how you’d feel and they still went through with it.

You don’t realize that a week had passed since the incident with Suguru until you’re receiving a text Shoko and Satoru telling you about his whereabouts, and you don’t think you’ve ever ran so fast in your life just to see a person—to see him, for what felt like it was going to be the last time in a while.

Suguru stands in front of a flower shop owned by an elderly couple and his face seems to be empty of any emotion as he stares at the many flowers displayed by the old woman tending to her plants. Yet his eyes seem to be fixated on a specific flower—a bouquet of pink Cyclamens that looked as though it was freshly picked and put together, placed neatly on the tiny green table outside of the shop. His hand reaches down towards it and traces the pink wrapping paper with the same fingers that once held your chin as he tended to your wounds after missions.

“Suguru,” you sound out of breath, your hands are trembling and you feel as though you’re about to faint very soon. “What are you doing?” A part of you hopes that Suguru comes up with a good answer, something that justifies what he’s done, what he is about to do now that he has the entire Jujutsu society turning against him. You want answers, you want to be comforted by this abrupt and sudden decision of his. But when he stands there silently, doesn’t even bother to look up from the bouquet he seemingly bought prior to your arrival, your heart sinks. So, you ask again.

“Sugu-“ your throat closes up and you can’t muster up the courage to pronounce his name properly. “Answer me.”

“What do you think I’m doing, hm?” the nonchalance in his voice feels like a dozen of needles poking through your skin, each one injecting you with a different poison and only Suguru’s warmth can heal you.

“You lied to me, you deceived me.” You say quietly and when you hear his chuckle—the first sign of emotion in very long, your heart sinks to your stomach. Why does he find this amusing? It shouldn’t be funny, you were seriously suffering and he was being so… different.

“I’ve deceived you?” he finally looks up and it’s so difficult not to run away and hide when he was eyeing you so dangerously, daring you to repeat what you have just said.

“You’ve deceived me,” he continues and approaches you with the bouquet in hand.

“I am tired of trying to listen to you—“

“You have never listened, you never tried to listen,” he presses on every word and his looming figure towers over you with so much ease. You cower under his gaze, try to stutter a few words out and the confusion evident on your face irks Suguru even more.

“I did try to listen! What are you-“

“Then where were you when I needed you?” he tilts his head to the side, and the action is mocking as he lets out a pensive hum. “On missions… with Satoru… out with Shoko smoking—that’s right, I stopped being fun to hang out with, didn’t I?”

“You stopped needing me because I stopped being useful.” He spits it out like venom and your blood runs cold. You try to blink the tears coating your lashes and back away from him.

“That is not true,” the whimper that escapes your lips is pathetic, but it does nothing to the tall man standing in front of you.

“Then where were you when I needed you?” he asks again, and he knows that you don’t have an answer—or it was simply clear that Suguru wasn’t worth the additional baggage on your shoulders. You never wanted to be there for him as simple as that. Your friendship with him was only fun when he was the sweet, soft and flirty Suguru. Hanging out with him was only fun because he paid for the food and pushed you on the swing, it stopped being fun when his thoughts got darker and it was harder for him to smile when you apologized for the umpteenth time because you forgot to check on him.

Suguru simply had enough.

“You gave me your heart, you know?” The taller male suddenly speaks up after a minute of awkward and painful silence and your head shoots up. “You’d like me to hand it back whole, but I won’t.” He takes a step closer and strangely, you don’t flinch nor move away.

“You live a long life, an eternity without me. You will look at the faces of passersby hoping for something that will bring me back to you, you will find stargazing on the rooftop and summer nights strangely empty—your heart will long for something, anything that would make calling out for my name worth it and would somehow bring me back.” Suguru is seemingly calm through it all, like the sight of the fat tears cascading your cheeks doesn’t move him and for the first time ever—it truly doesn’t reach his heart, and doesn’t try to pull at its strings.

“Your heart will always ache for me, and your mind will give you the doubtful consolation that this—“ he points at the both of you, referring to you confronting him. “Was the brave thing to do.”

And through gritted teeth, you manage to find your voice again.

“You dare talk about bravery?”

“What else do we have to talk about, hm?”

—in case anyone needed to know, “Cyclamen flowers can also represent love, affection, and admiration. They are sometimes used to display affection and romantic feelings towards someone.”

do with that whatever you want.

2023 ; all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

#moon's works #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #geto x reader #geto angst #jjk angst #geto x you #getou suguru x reader #jujutsu geto #jujutsu kaisen geto #jjk getou #suguru geto #geto x y/n #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

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i-am-trying-my-best-okay · 2 months

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Season Three Bridgerton Predictions (Mostly Just Stuff I Want To Happen)

With Charithra Chandran not coming back in season three, they're going to excuse Edwina's absence by saying she married the prince and is living with him in Prussia.

We get flashbacks of Colin and Penelope as kids, where they were closer, but then we see them get distant because of ✨️society✨️ sending them on different paths.

Francesca, Gregory, and Hyacinth start having a few relevant and independent character moments and actions other than just being 'the younger ones' and have a greater impact on the story.

So. Much. Jealousy. From. Colin. And he doesn't even know it. He sees all their lessons paying off, and he gets jealous, but then he has no idea what he's even feeling. He'll act so passive aggressive with a potential suitor and Penelope's will be like, "What's wrong with you; we had a plan?" And he's like, "I don't know??" "Well stop." "I can't????" He'll land to the conclusion that he just think these men aren't good enough for Penelope for so long. It'll come up in a big argument and she's all like, "Well whose good enough for me? Someone like you?" And then he's like "Yes! Oh." And Penelope is so annoyed because NOW this guy likes her? Just as she was trying to move on? But the thing is she still likes him, so things progress.

Eloise and Penelope avoid each other like the plague, but when Eloise finds out Penelope and Colin are kind of having a thing, and she flips out. She doesn't want Colin to get hurt, so she tells Penelope to steer clear from Colin or she'll tell everyone she's Lady Whistledown. So she does and Colin is very confused and hurt. Then Penelope and Eloise go through some sort of shenanigan and end up having a deep conversation, making up and are once again friends. But then Colin accidently does find out Penelope is Lady Whistledown and is hurt, and Eloise becomes Penelope's #1 defender.

Kate's pregnant, and has the baby within the season. Anthony is freaking out about this; about being a dad, about the baby being okay, about Kate being okay, and how difficult the birthing process will be (trauma from Hyacinth being born). Meanwhile, while Kate is worried about the baby, she's more so focused on what responsibilities she now has as a Viscountess.

They don't reveal the Whistledown secret, at least not to the general public. I think the Bridgerton's will find out, as well as the Featherington's; so when Portia finds out, she sees Penelope in a completely different light, and they have a bonding moment. Maybe in lieu of a big reveal like in the book, at the end of the season the Queen finds out, and instead of exposing her, now she and Penelope sort of work together, aligning their agendas. This elevates the importance of Penelope's work, low key spying for the Queen and reporting on things to manipulate general society. BUT I think Eloise is leaning more to the politically radical side of things, and Penelope's work is now sort of leaning in the opposite direction of that. Despite this, they still find a way to be close friends, despite their very different agendas.

Colin does a big gesture on how he's proud of being with Penelope, that he'll flaunt it in public for all to know.

#bridgerton #polin #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #eloise bridgerton #edwina sharma #francesca bridgerton #gregory bridgerton #hyacinth bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma

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aroceu · 10 months

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i've been rewatching the good place with a friend lately so i've been thinking about it a lot and i just keep thinking

about how eleanor says so much that she's not a bad person, she's just a "medium" person. she didn't kill anyone, she didn't technically abuse anyone, she was selfish but not "horrible," she was human.

except when we see eleanor pre-death, we see something different. no, she didn't murder anyone. but she was pretty horrible. she was really good at lying to elderly people to sell them fake drugs. she abused her friend's dog. she lied to her coworkers to get out of driving for them at the bar. she felt so threatened by people feeling like they were better than her that when she saw concrete proof that a coffee shop manager was misogynistic and sexually assaulted someone, she enthusiastically supported the cafe to be contrary to her boyfriend.

she is very obviously a horrible person. even in season 2, michael calls her a manipulative demon; that's not something you get called if you're just a "medium" person. what we're told, and what her reasoning is a lie. but she doesn't know it. it's a lie to the viewers.

she also stands in stark contrast with jason—who has broken the law multiple times, has gotten arrested multiple times, likes celebrities and hobbies that have a terrible reputation (not just for being "trash" but for being actively hateful), and even if he might not have killed someone, there's probably something in his repertoire that comes close. but at the same time, it's very, very obvious to see that he's a good-hearted person, who wants to do more good than harm. compared to eleanor, whose bad actions are much smaller in comparison, but her bad personality makes her less likable, and much worse. yes, of course it's about environment—but it's also about how goodness might be more accurately judged by intent than by action.

i saw someone say that it was unrealistic that eleanor didn't call chidi a racial slur when she was a white woman from arizona. sentimentally, i agree with the realism argument. but at the same time, i think it would've been out of place. eleanor would know that saying a slur is on a different level of wrong. a lot of the bad things she did were indirect; it was a lot about what she did when no one was looking. but she didn't want to see herself as a horrible person, so she wouldn't have wanted anyone to see either. as long as they didn't get too close for her.

eleanor being a "medium" person is a lie. of course she belongs in the bad place. she's initially presented as a "medium person" because the story wants us to be on her side, wants us to believe that she's as human as us, until the season one flashbacks start to tell a different story. then it makes us squint and go, no, eleanor really is a terrible person. but the show is aware of this too!

and yet, the thesis of the show is that bad people can always get better. that no one is beyond rehabilitation; that society fucks us up but it's still the choices that we make that mean the most about who we are in the end. we get to see the growth of eleanor's good person journey through the entirety of season one, so that even as we realize she was a shitty person on earth, we're still rooting for her by the end of it. season one is the show's entire thesis; seasons two through four are just proving it to us. and eleanor proves herself to us over and over again, so that even as we know how terrible she was, and how terrible she's capable of being, we still know and believe that she belongs in the good place at the end.

#eleanor is just. a really good protagonist!!!! ugh #also i just love the good place and i kept thinking about this #the good place #tgp #eleanor shellstrop #i guess #i will not often write meta about white women but mike schur really went hard with this one #an aroceu original

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maraudersmyloves · 2 months

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NSWF ABC's JAMES POTTER A-K

smut 18 + If there's one missing i either didn't have an idea for it or didn't feel comfortable writing it

Aftercare

He loves loves loves Aftercare. He loves carrying you into the shower when your body is nothing more than mush. He gently cleans your body and hair with all the right shampoos and conditioners because the first time you told him what to use and he just rememberd. All that while trying not to move you to much from your very comfortable position which is usually your arms around his shoulders, your head on his chest and either leaning agains him or with your legs around his waist. He always does your hair first cause he doesn't have to move you for that. Then when the conditioner is doing it's thing he peels you off getting some complains but just humming and cooing sweetly at them "I know, love. I've just got to get you clean and comfortable real quick, okay?"

Body Part

I already wrote something about this here

SUCH A THIGH GUY like what?? Just loves having his hand on your thigh it's such a little and casual way for him to say "im here and i love you". When you're in a short dress and he can just see your thighs but your in public so he can't just leave kisses all over them because 'That's not appropriate' but in his mind people who think that have never been truly in love but sadly even he must succumb to some rules of society and has to refrain from having you sit on his face right that second. So instead he just sits you on his lap and puts both his hands on the flesh, squeezing a bit too tight to be casual but loose enough to not get weird looks

Cum

If we're being totally real this man has a breeding kink. He will stop you from continuing to suck his dick because he wants to cum inside of you. He'll cum into you and then test how long you can keep it inside and if it's still there the next time he's horny and wants to fuck you (which usually isn't to far away because the thought of you filled up with his cum makes him horny) he'll eat it out of you until there's nothing left. The fact that he can taste himself and you in one is just too goddamn hot. He loves the way you look with cum all over your body too tho so he just puts his cum somewhere different every round till there's nothing left untouched. There's still some on the corner of your mouth, some over your stomach, some leaking out of your ass, some out of your pussy and some in between your breasts

Experience

He had some hookups but there's definitely stuff where your the first one he does it with.

Favorite Position

Definitely missionary. Vanilla I know but he just wants to see your face screw up in pleasure while he thrusts into you. He probably tells you to keep your eyes on him and keep eye contact and it makes it so much more hot and intimate. Especially when you want to let your head fall back in pleasure and he gently grabs your chin and speaks to you in the softest tone. "Eyes on me, okay sweetheart? If you look away I'll stop, got that baby?"

Goofy

Come on it's James Potter. If he isn't joking and teasing during sex who is? While he loves intimate sex or as he calls it 'love making' where he just praises you and gazes at you lovingly. He also loves giggly sex so much. He loves to be his silly self in every part of life and sex is no exception. Kissing that isn't really kissing because you're both smiling and laughing a little too much? SIGN. HIM. UP.

Hair

JAMES POTTER HAS A HAPPY TRAIL YOUR HONOR

Jack off

He sees no need for it when he's got you. Even a simple Hand Job is a lot better when you're doing it for him. He loves seeing your hands around his dick and why would he do it himself and deprive himself of that beautiful view?

Kink

Praise. He loves praising you and loves getting praise. Yes, please tell him what a good job he's doing and how good he feels he will gladly return the favour. Loves it when you're all out of breath and just chanting praises for him. It motivates him to do even better for you.

Breeding. As Mentioned before he loves the thought of having children with you and as soon as your up for it he starts trying to get you pregnant.

Part 2?

#fluff #headcanon #marauders #writing #fanfic #harry potter #marauders era #smut abc #smut #james potter imagine #james potter au #james potter headcanon #james potter fanfiction #james potter fluff #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter x y/n #james potter x you

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bethanydelleman · 2 months

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I saw a post you reblogged at some point about Fanny being stuck in a time loop and it got me thinking: if the main men (both protagonists and antagonists) of the different Austen novels time travelled back to the day they first met their love interest/the start of the novel - whichever is latest so wentworth, knightley, and Edmund Bertram would travel to the day the main events of their novels start - who do you think would end up changing the least of the events and the most (intentionally or not)?

Because I feel like Knightley would change the least and Henry Tilney and the three S&S gents would come next. But like Wentworth would immediately throw the entire novel off track and like Darcy and Henry Crawford would come in close second trying to change their truly awful first impressions

(Also I just want to add that I really love your Austen takes and discussions 😊)

Thank you!

This is a fascinating idea. Here are my thoughts:

Wentworth just marches into Uppercross Cottage and proposes again. Doesn't even wait to be properly introduced to the family. He's getting Anne back NOW. (She says yes, of course)

I can imagine Darcy having a tiny little crisis as he decides if he really wants to be married to Elizabeth, maybe he could just not accompany Bingley to Netherfield and his life could go the way he planned... nah, he can't resist. Off to Netherfield he goes and he lets Bingley introduce him to Elizabeth at the assembly ball. Things progress unimpeded and by Christmas there is a double wedding and Wickham's character is known throughout Hertfordshire. He skips town and Lydia is packed off to Pemberley to benefit from some better society. (Side note: Mrs. Bennet would push Mr. Collins on Mary if she had any inclination that Darcy liked Elizabeth).

If Bingley knew everything, he'd never leave Jane. He'd return from London and marry her, no matter what Darcy or his sisters said. (I wrote that once actually)

Does Wickham count as a main? Because I don't want him having the ability to predict the future. Yikes on bikes!

Henry Crawford is very interesting, because does he actually understand where he went wrong? I'm not sure he does. Can he resist a flirtation with two very pretty sisters? That would be a fun fan fiction to write. Because if he went for Fanny right off the bat and she knew nothing else about him... he'd probably succeed with her, secret Edmund love or not. And she certainly wouldn't have a leg to stand on in refusing his proposal.

Does Edmund come back in the same timeline as Henry? That would be so agnsty! If not, he'd probably be doing whatever he could to keep Maria and Henry apart, but he's shockingly ineffective in canon, so would he even be able to change anything?

Henry Tilney would probably just try to prevent Catherine being sent home alone. He could easily come back early.

Mr. Knightley's best move would be to tell Robert Martin to propose in person. I doubt Harriet could have resisted. Then he could just sit back and watch everything else play out.

Honestly, I don't know if Frank Churchill would change a thing, other than making sure his final letter was posted to Jane. He enjoyed the subterfuge.

Poor Edward Ferrars has to travel back while engaged to Lucy? I feel like he wouldn't even want to relive the novel, there is nothing he can do anyway.

Colonel Brandon would probably change a lot. He could immediately save Eliza and challenge Willoughby. He might even spare Marianne from a lot of pain.

Reginald de Courcy (Lady Susan) would likely act as well and save Frederica earlier than in the novel.

#question response #this was very fun!#thank you #austen heroes #jane austen #pride and prejudice #mansfield park #northanger abbey #sense and sensibility #emma #persuasion #lady susan

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aoxizu · 1 month

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i have another 2.1 character dynamic post in the recesses of my brain but i need to get this out first

star rail's 2.1 update main plotline leans a lot more into existentialism and absurdism than i thought it would which is a really nice surprise

like i thought before 2.0 that at most it was just going to be some "oh no capitalism bad ipc bad cults also bad" thing but honestly what we got is so much more interesting. the spoilers start now

also massive disclaimer i am not a philosophist and actually i really don't like philosophy because it makes my brain hurt and i would much rather just look at logical nice things like math and plants so. if i get anything wrong please correct me

acheron's past and how she became an emanator of nihility reminds me somewhat of the absurdist theme of how people always look for meaning when there isn't any, until they finally realize that the universe is meaningless

and the entire path of nihility basically is a road towards that realization that people tread on, and the difference between the real world and star rail is that in the real world here we have people who will see that and then go write a book about a guy not crying at his mother's funeral, whereas in star rail it seems that just accepting that the universe is meaningless turns you into a pathstrider or even emanator of the nihility (not sure if i remember the details, correct me if i'm wrong)

and then aventurine's whole motivation is trying to understand why the universe is so cruel to him, and to find meaning when you have everything except freedom, both of which are absurdist themes

the leap of faith argument often attributed to søren kierkegaard claims that even though there is no rational logic for believing in god, you should do it anyway because the alternatives are madness, suicide, and ignorance. this was one solution to the problem of confronting the universe's meaninglessness: choosing to believe in a higher being regardless

later world wars i and ii both contributed heavily to the rise of absurdism as people returned from the war, having seen so many others die around them, and then just going back to a normal society with none of what they as individual soldiers had contributed seemingly doing anything. and then it happened again, but on a much greater scale with even more deaths. both wars and the destruction they brought led many people to start questioning why a supposedly moral god could allow this suffering, and this is where camus comes in and says that actually religion and nationalism both aren't good solutions, and instead we should just accept meaninglessness and keep living despite the absurdity

and i think dr ratio's scroll thing kind of relates to that

he tells aventurine to open it when he's about to die, or when he's completely out of answers for the question of how to confront absurdity

and dr ratio's answer for aventurine is to just tell him to keep living, good luck

which is. yeah

it's the argument that there are more answers to nihilism than just 1) going insane, 2) pretending like it doesn't exist, and 3) dying

it's the bold claim that despite everything, you can still choose to live

sure nothing makes sense but that does not detract from your life. it doesn't need to make sense at all

and with the understanding that things do not need to fit our human definition of meaning, we can continue on knowing our true place in the universe

and with that aventurine walks into the very big black hole like look at that thing you cannot tell me there is no symbolism there

let's go back to acheron.

in the part where you get a snippet of acheron's conversation with some guy just before this cutscene, the other party states that "[IX] leave[s] woven strands of fate for humans to walk, and together THEY weave a great shadow...And this shadow silently envelops them."

which to me sounds like a statement on how people across time and space have again and again come to the same question, what is the meaning of life?

and acheron's whole color thing seems to mean that she is one of the few who, after walking so far on the path of nihility, somehow have not died yet, be it from madness or something else

like it seems implied that many many more have seen the meaninglessness of the universe and have not reacted as well as acheron has

ok i have more to say about the elation and how it in turn relates to the nihility but that will have to come later but there is. a lot of interesting things there to explore

once again disclaimer: I Am Not A Philosophist And Do Not Know What The Correct Definitions Of These Words I'm Throwing Around Are. thank you for coming to my ted talk that was more of a longwinded ramble

#hsr #honkai star rail #2.1 spoilers #hsr aventurine #dr ratio #(briefly but i think i might have more to say about him later once my brain gets working)#acheron #hsr analysis #i should make a tag for that because this is probably not the last time i'm going on a wild tangent about star rail #but bad #bad hsr analysis #someone save me and take me back to the luofu i don't want to be doing english homework while playing a supposedly relaxing upbeat game #or whatever it was that shaoji promised in the 2.0 livestream #i just want to go back and see dan heng and jing yuan and qingque and bailu and you get the point #get me out of this dreamscape.

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dyns33 · 9 months

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The Big Cat

It was difficult but I wrote for Miguel O Hara ! Took me weeks, and I’ll try again, but I don”t know why, it’s super hard to write about him.

It was mainly to laugh and annoy him that Y/N was saying that Miguel was more like a cat than a spider.

It was also somewhat true.

Between his fangs, claws, heels, and demeanor, the leader of the Spider Society often looked like a big cat. Grumpy, territorial, asocial.

When he wasn't out in the field shutting down an anomaly, he stayed in his office, growling when someone came uninvited, and even when they were invited.

It was hard to be close to him, but many of them tried. Some managed it, a bit, like Jess and Peter. Y/N too according to them, although she wasn't always sure.

She remained hopeful, telling herself that if she really bothered him, he would have sent her back to her dimension a long time ago.

Even when she stood against him during the Miles affair, she was the only one not to be sent back to her universe. He didn't change his mind, but he listened to her, mumbling and sighing, because she didn't understand anything, but he didn't yell at her, he didn't threaten her, and she wasn't thrown into a portal.

But maybe he hadn't done it yet because he wasn't cruel. Y/N had no one in her dimension. People didn't like her, they saw her as a criminal, she had no friends, her crush (whom she hadn't even held hands once) had died falling from a roof.

The spider society was the best thing that had happened to her, and without her being able to explain why, she really wanted to be close to Miguel, the big cat.

Y/N wondered if it was irony when it was she who was turned into a cat by an anomaly. She had barely had time to teleport to HQ and now she was meowing desperately through the halls, trying to find someone who could help her.

Of course, it had to be the big cat.

It was always difficult to know what Miguel was thinking. He spoke little, and his face didn't often show emotion, except when he was angry. Very angry.

Regarding the animals, it was also difficult to know what he thought of them. There were Animal Spiders, but it wasn't the same. He treated Ham, Spider-cat and T-rex with respect, talking to them as if they were human.

Real animals were different.

"Hola." he said calmly, with his monotonous tone, approaching her. "Are you lost, little thing ?"

"Meow !" was the only answer Y/N could give him.

"Don't be afraid, amor. How did you get in here? Someone took you ? Well, whatever. You must be thirsty. Come with me."

Y/N had already seen Miguel with Peter's baby, and some children during missions. She knew he could be sweet. But he had never been like this with her, so it was a surprise to find herself in his arms.

He carried her to his office, where he offered her some water, before putting her on his lap and stroking her head. Dreamy. Y/N couldn't help purring. Eyes closed, enjoying the feeling, she didn't see him smile. Miguel never smiled.

"Lyla." he said pressing down on his computer. "Find out whose cat this is and how it got into HQ."

"I'm waiting."

"... Please."

"Right away, boss !"

As his virtual assistant disappeared to complete her task, Miguel continued to pat her head while concentrating on the screens of his many computers.

Most of them showed universes where certain anomalies had been reported, and which he watched very carefully. Others from the universes of spiders who had caused problems, like Miles, or who needed to rest, like Jess. There were images of a variant of Miguel with a little girl. And there was a screen with Y/N.

She stared at it, suddenly stopping purring, surprised to see herself here and not understanding why.

Like the big cat that he was, Miguel took note, looking down at her.

"What ? Do you want something, amor ?"

"Meow !"

“Hmm. Oh, her ? A nuisance, don't worry."

"You mean your tu pequeño favorito, tu dulce sueño, tu..."

"Lyla !" Miguel growled, waving his hand to blur the apparition, which made her laugh even more. "Shut up."

"Okay, I won't say anything about your secret. And I couldn't find anything on the cat, the cameras had a weird reception problem, and then we can see it hanging around the halls."

"It's not normal, find the reason for this concern. And... I don't want any comment, but I thought that Y/N had to take care of an anomaly. It's been several hours, she doesn't didn't send in her report. Did she come back ?"

"I think so ? Her watch beeped in this dimension. I'm inquiring, boss ! Don't panic, I'm sure your querida isn't far."

"Callate, idiota !"

Sometimes Peter B. annoyed everyone by saying that his daughter had magical powers and that holding her in your arms made it possible not to get upset.

Y/N could now tell that her cat version had managed to contain Miguel, who was flushed with rage, visibly ready to destroy everything around him and yell at Lyla, but just breathed very hard, gently holding her against him.

"I'm sorry, amor... It's fine." he reassured her by patting her neck. "It's just... I'm tired."

There were some things Lyla had said that had troubled Y/N, but the tall spiderman's sad look caught her full attention. She had never seen him like this.

There had been the story of the dimension he had destroyed. Moments when he stared into space. The huge Morales disaster, when some wondered if the spider society still had a reason to exist if their leader made so many mistakes.

Luckily, the majority had come to Miguel's defense, because as spiders they had all made mistakes, lots of mistakes, always thinking they were making the right decision and wanting to do good. Y/N was one of those.

Their support had seemed to please Miguel, even if he had hesitated to give up his place and go into exile. Since then, he had made efforts, he had been more careful.

Even if he continued to behave like an aggressive and grumpy feline with the younger ones who hurt themselves a little too much, and with Y/N who loved to tease him, and who also hurt herself a bit, sometimes.

"Meow." she said, rubbing her nose against Miguel's face, which brought up a sad smile.

"Thank you, mi amor. that's nice. I thought after Morales... But there are always anomalies. Always worlds to save. And always... Why can't she pay attention ? It's although she protects the little ones, like she protected Miles. She was right, I should have listened to her, but I couldn't risk destroying the entire multiverse for one man if she was wrong."

"I know, you already told me." tried to say Y/N. "Except that you were wrong, you never really said it, because you're too proud."

"Exactly. I knew you would understand. I didn't want to hurt the kid, or anyone. It was a shock when I saw his dad get up and everything was fine. So I thought I could... We could... But no, it's still too risky. And I don't think she'll want to. But she could at least take care of her own safety ! Mierda ! I've already lost... Everyone I love die. I don't want this to happen to her. I'm tired, amor. So tired."

Since he hadn't said her name, Y/N wondered if he was still talking about her, because she found it hard to believe that Miguel O'Hara, big lonely cat, was talking about love, and especially the love he felt for her.

If she teased him so often and wanted to be close to him, it wasn't because she was sociable. It was for another reason that seemed ridiculous and stupid. Until now.

Without realizing it, she had started to purr again, clinging to his neck. That seemed to help him a bit, as Miguel stopped shaking, caressing her and muttering a few words in Spanish.

It worked, until Lyla came back.

"Uh... Boss ?"

"What ?" Miguel muttered, keeping his face in Y/N's fur.

"Uh... No one knows where Y/N is."

"... What ?"

"Her watch beeped here, but we can't track it. No trace of her, no one saw her. The anomaly she was supposed to capture was attached, but not brought back."

"No. No no no !"

This time the cat was forgotten, placed on the desk for Miguel to get up quickly and run around the building, not knowing that the person he was looking for had been on his lap for almost an hour. And Y/N had no way to make it clear to him, not having her powers to follow him, and Spidercat not being there to do the translation.

She wandered all the same in the corridors of the Spider society, crossing several spiders which caressed her all the head before continuing to seek her.

At the end of the day, they all gathered in the cafeteria, Miguel in the middle, mumbling, shaking, rubbing his eyes trying to stay calm.

"... No one found her ?"

"No." replied Peter B., touching his shoulder. "Gwen, Miles, Hobbie and Pav went to town. Jess and Ben looked into other dimensions. I searched the whole building with the others."

"... But her watch is there. The anomaly was captured and unconscious. If she... Where is she ? Peter, where is she ?!"

"Calm down, Miggie. Y/N is gifted, smart and strong. I'm sure she's fine."

"What if she's not fine ?!" Miguel shouted, baring his fangs. "If she's hurt, or worse ?! I shouldn't have sent her on a mission alone ! I should have..."

"Do you want to hold Mayday ? It would be nice if you held Mayday."

"I don't want to hold your baby, estúpido, I want to find Y/N ! Where's Y/N ?!"

"Meow."

All the spiders then looked at Y/N, who had sat by Miguel's feet and was staring at him, purring. At first they thought it was cute. Then they wondered how a cat had entered the building.

And then, Miguel the first, they understood.

"... Y/N ?"

Normally, Miguel would have been reassured, while completely panicked by realizing that he had said a lot of things to Y/N in passing that she was a cat, and he would have gone and locked himself in his office asking Jess to find a solution, unable to face the situation.

It was a surprise for Y/N to find herself back in his arms, the big cat hugging her tenderly, caressing her neck and holding back what looked like sobs.

"Amor, I believed... I believed... Never do that again."

Throughout all the examinations and searches for a solution, he held her against his chest, growling when someone tried to take her from him.

It didn't take long for Lyla to figure out how the anomaly had transformed Y/N, and how to return her to her normal form. It was then that Miguel went to hide in his office, refusing to see anyone. Especially Y/N.

The big shy cat was sulking again in his corner.

Luckily, thanks to Hobbie, Y/N knew how to get in without being spotted. Very useful for pranking and annoying the boss. Very useful also to force him to have a discussion about his feelings.

"Hi Mig !"

"… What do you want ? Give me your report on your last mission ?" he asked without turning around.

"Oh, that. Yes, why not ? So, I found the anomaly, I caught it, but they turned me into a cat, I ended up in the spider society where a big sulky cat took good care me, because he has a soft heart under his muscles, and he loves me very much."

Y/N smiled then, waiting for a reaction, but nothing. Miguel continued to stare at his screens, showing no sign of annoyance or anger. She then guessed the face he was making. She jumped on the platform, near him.

Contrary to what she had thought, he did not move. He didn't hide his moist eyes, his sad and broken expression. He stood there, waiting for her to laugh at him and tell him that he was stupid, that he had made another mistake, that he had no right to be happy, to have someone, because anyway as soon as he loved someone, that person was hurt.

"And I love that ridiculous big cat a lot too. Lyla has found a cure, I'm me again and hopefully the big cat will come out of his den to come and have a coffee with me at the cafeteria ?"

This time, Miguel turned a little towards her, looking lost.

"... End of the report ? Happy ? We did a great job, it really deserves a coffee."

"Y/N..."

"For real. Great teamwork. We'll have to do this again. Well, not the part where I'm transformed, nor the part where you're scared because you thinl that I'm dead, but the long talk about feelings, the hugs, the purrs. It was mostly me, but I'm pretty sure you were purring too at some point."

"Y/N."

"I understood what you were scared of, and I guess I was scared of the same thing, and that's why you're avoiding me, and I wasn't trying to be more than your friend, but actually..."

"If I say yes to coffee, will you stop talking so much ?"

"No. Maybe. I do talk when I'm drinking, but it's rare, and I'm a bit cold afterwards because my clothes are wet. It's difficult to talk and drink at the same time."

Miguel sighed, frowning at his eyes, as he often did, but Y/N saw that he was hiding a small smile behind his hand.

He agreed to follow her to the cafeteria, where he sat across from her to watch her drink her coffee and listen to her talk over and over. The other spiders were intrigued, because the boss never came to the cafeteria.

Peter B. took a photo, because according to him it was important to have memories of the first date.

"It's not a date." muttered Miguel.

"My heart is bleeding, Mig. Ouch. I thought we had something special."

"It's just a coffee. For our first date, we'll go to the best restaurant in Nueva York, not the tower."

"Aaaaw, Miggie."

"I have pictures of Miguel holding cat Y/N."

Letting Peter take pictures was obviously not a problem for Miguel. But when Miles had finished his sentence, he turned to the young spider, who didn't seem to see the problem.

"What ? That was so cute ! It looked like a cat daddy with his baby cat !"

"I agree. I have pictures too." Lyla said as she appeared near the kid. "A lot."

"... Erase them."

"Send them to me." said almost all the other spiders at the same time.

"Morales."

"It's sent !"

"Miguel, don't start chasing the kid again !" Peter shouted as he followed them down the halls.

Y/N let them, knowing that Miguel wouldn't hurt Miles. He was only furious that evidence of his vulnerable side existed, because like cats, he was proud and stupid. So she finished her coffee waiting for him to come back to shyly ask her when they could go on their real first date.

#across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara imagine

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frenchbreadandeggs · 11 months

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The Other Variant of Her

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Reader

summary: Out of nowhere, Gwen Stacy appeared on your Earth, inviting you to the Spider Society in Nueva York. As you reluctantly took her offer, you were shown the beauty of every spider person around HQ. Meeting the founder of the group, Miguel O’Hara. You never knew him, but it seems that he does.

gn!reader, also a spider person

cw. angst, soon.

After I watched ATSV, saw Miguel, I was like—why not make it more sadder? Also made this while I'm fucking writing a travel log for our project, action paper, and capstone. I SWEAR my obsession on writing fanfictions never ends. Gotta go so I can study for finals and defense this week. This was supposed to be a full fic and not by chapters but oh well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Shit!”

You dodge at a car that was thrown in your way, quickly swinging yourself using your web towards a building to land on. As usual you do your superhero things around Kings, York New, beating up villains and chasing down thieves and criminals. But you sure do that this Doctor Octopus you’re fighting isn’t yours, you felt like it was not the doctor that kept chasing you down.

“Come back here you—!” he somehow glitched, a series of colors switched with his body for a split second before Doc Ock shrieked as the grip of his talons of his mechanical tentacles loosened on the blue brick walls, his body now falling.

Quickly, you shot a web on his chest, shooting another one to hold yourself from sliding towards the end of the building as you tried to pull Doc Ock. When he reached the top of the building, you grabbed him by the collar and dragged him on the concrete floor. Not wanting to risk him to go rampage again and destroy half of the city, you wrapped him up with webs, securing his mechanical tentacles on the wall.

He grunted, still recovering from his unusual glitching. You’re going to ask Doctor Strange about this later.

As you were going to bring Doc Ock to the wizard, a person stood in your way—or more like jumped out of nowhere and blocked your way. They wore a white spider suit with pink and black accents.

“Woah,” startled, you backed up, covering the still recovering Doc Ock, “I didn’t know there’s a comic con today—”

You were stopped by a strange tingling at the back of your head, you have spider senses, but this was different.

“Wha—don’t tell me you’re?”

“Holy—you look so cool!”

“What—”

“I’m Gwen Stacy, you are?” she reached her hand towards you after she took her mask off. Blonde short hair with pink dip-dye, the side of her head was shaved, blue eyes and eyebrow piercing. She seemed harmless even though you are still skeptical, but your guts said she is not a problem—and your gut is always right.

“SpiderSlinger.” you introduced yourself, taking Gwen’s hand and shaking it.

“So,” you started, “This is not a joke alright? Is there any cosplay going on somewhere here?”

She snorted, like what you said made no sense to her.

“No, I’m from another universe—I take care of anomalies like that Doc Ock you have there.” she pointed at your back, you looked back to see Doc Ock glitching.

You were not closed about the multiverse existing as Doctor Strange has already mentioned this to you. Though you did not expect for a person outside your universe to come and visit—let alone take care of a person who is not supposed to be in your world.

You looked at her, tilting your head at the side as you grabbed Doc Ock using your web shooter and slung him on your shoulders, unbothered by his weight. Lifts were helpful for you, “By yourself?”

Not too long you tagged along with Gwen, she has explained to you that she is in an elite group called Spider Society where they keep the multiverse from any threats and prevent it from collapsing. Very ambitious you think, the size of the multiverse was incomparable to your thoughts, knowing it is larger than what some people might think. On your way to HQ Gwen mentioned to you, she received a call from someone who’s named ‘Jessica Drew’. You minded your own business when Gwen started to respond to her watch with hushed words, you might have guessed that they were arguing. Gwen sounded pleading all of a sudden.

“Are you sure I’m allowed to go with you?” you asked her after she ended her call. Gwen nodded at you, her head seems like it is going to fall off her neck if she does not stop.

“Absolutely, I already notified them that you’re coming with me.” she handed you a blue wristband, “Here, to keep you from glitching.”

You took the wristband from her and wore it, “Thanks…?”

You have not experienced the ‘glitching’ she was telling you, so it might’ve been like Doc Ock’s situation earlier. Gwen tapped on her watch before a portal appeared in front of you. Your eyes widened in amazement, multiple neon-orange hexagons stood up from the dark but sparkling void—some looked like singular strands of web stretched across the portal, forming in some kind of path to who Spiderperson knows where.

“You got to do this?” Doc Ock still hanging on your shoulder, you pointed at the portal that was formed by Gwen’s watch.

Gwen laughed, smiling at you, not realizing she was showing her gap teeth, “Yeah, all the time.”

“Sick,” you said, still gaped at the portal, “should I…?” you looked at the Doc Ock on your shoulder then to Gwen.

“Oh, yeah definitely.”

With a lift, you pushed Doc Ock inside the portal, his unconscious body sucked into the portal’s abyss. Gwen then looked at you with a reassuring nod and went into the portal, following Doc Ock. You stared at the portal for a while, the city is fine for now since there were no attacks other than Ock—though you were unsure if this was the right idea.

You bit your lip.

“Fuck it she already announced my arrival, might as well go in now.”

Biting back the hesitation of not going in, you leaped into the portal leaving your worries for your city and jumped into the unknown.

You were thrown on the floor face flat on the smooth pavement, you grunted, muffling ‘I’m fine’ even though you know no one would care less. Surprisingly a hand grabbed your wrist and pulled you up to your feet.

“Thanks,” you said, patting the dust off your spider suit. You looked at the scenery around you.

And holy shit you could not believe your eyes at what you are looking at right now. Buildings were everywhere and each building had a bridge attached and led to another building. There were multiple pillars sticking out and attached on each building. That did not amazed you though, it was the massive fucking spiderpeople lounging at the area you are right now.

Not even a hundred were here. It might be thousands of different spider people and you’re one of them. You stared, still in shock at how much spider people are with you here. Taking a hold of Gwen, you gripped both of her shoulders and shook her.

“This is amazing…” you grinned at her, she mirrored yours.

Suddenly, you felt like you were forgetting someone.

Realization hits you, with high alert you asked Gwen, “Where’s Doc Ock?”

“I took care of him,” she placed a hand on your shoulder, giving you a reassuring look.

“Ok,” you took a relaxed exhale, “Well what you showed me was super amazing—very fucking cool—now I want to join—well if that is fine, it looks like y’all won’t be having understaffing for a long time though.”

“Oh—dang, then you should meet Mi—”

“Ooo who’s the newbie here Gwen?”

A distinct voice captured your attention, looking at your back you saw two spider people walking towards you and Gwen.

Pavitr Prabhakar and Hobie Browe were their names given to you in exchange for your Spider name. They were fun to be with, Hobie and Pavitr's shenanigans immediately started right after they met you. You met other spider people, them greeting you back gave you a tingling feeling inside you—maybe it's the fact that they are cool and decided to notice you.

Not for too long Pav said his goodbyes and went back to his Earth while Hobie tagged along when Gwen is guiding you to this ‘Miguel O’Hara’ person. She told you that he was the founder of Spider Society and may or may not have severe anger issues.

“The guy has FANGS?” you looked at Gwen with disbelief.

“Yup, heard that it paralyzes anyone he bites with it—with venom I suppose—obviously.”

She then turns at you, “Alright, we’ll be entering his office. I just hope he isn’t pissed off.”

“He is alway pissed, what do you mean?” Hobie interjected.

“You guys are scaring me—should I like—give him something so he won’t do…?” you wiggled your fingers, hoping they understand what you mean. Hobie just snorts, Gwen shakes her head and takes a grab of your wrists and pulls you with her.

“No, no need.”

The three of you entered a blue dimmed room. Hobie sat on one of the metal seats, watching the scene slowly unfold in front of him. There was a floating platform just above you and Gwen, both of you stood still. If you squint just a little there are yellow-orange colored monitors, cool, you thought, your world’s technology was below this Nueva York’s tech. There on the platform was a man’s back, broad shoulders and messy hair.

You are a patient person, but the platform was painfully slow.

Finally, the platform reached the floor, he did not turn around or anything but continued working on his devices.

“So this is the spider person you are talking about, Gwen?” he spoke with a husky voice. His attention was still on the screens, dragging his fingers on them as he spoke with Gwen.

“Yeah, they’re from Earth-14215. When I came there, they already took care of the anomaly.”

With a blink he was already in front of you, his body looming over you like a vulture. If you were not intimidated by him, you would admire the structure of his face—everything about him.

His eyes rounded on you, inspecting you like you were prey. There was something bugging you, he felt…something that you could not comprehend.

His intense stare at you made you feel like you needed to remove your mask, so you did. Your hair looked perfectly fine even though you wore a tight mask. Looking at him with a toothy grin, “Hi, nice to meet you.”

At a moment you saw a glimpse of Miguel’s face in shock before turning his back at you. Did you scare him? Or maybe disappoint him? You sure hope not. You watched him walking back to his monitor, he called for someone named Lyla, in which in response a yellow woman appeared in thin air. He spoke to her, though you could not hear them talking.

Not knowing what to do, you turned to Gwen in which she just shrugged—not expecting the lack of emotion from Miguel. You walked towards Hobie and sat next to him, still amazed at him and all of those inconsistent art he has, he did tell you he does not believe in consistency.

You and Hobie started talking to each other, Gwen butting in afterwards. Hobie started talking about the consequence of industrial revolution, him not liking the prime minister—whom you do not know, another consequence about capitalism and it went on and on.

“Hey,” Miguel called, the three of you looking at him at the same time, “No—no the new one.”

You stood up and walked towards him, he tossed you something. You caught it, it looks like a watch of some sorts, similar to Gwen and Hobie and the other spider people have.

“That’s a goober—”

“A gizmo.” Lyla interrupted

“Whatever,” he tries to shoo the AI away from him but Lyla glitches to another place away from him, “that gadget gives you the ability to jump to a different universe. That’s it, I’ll give you instructions for your first mission…Welcome to the club.” he stared at you for a while, a kind of longing feeling from him vibed out you just shrugged it.

“Thanks!...Boss?”

He shook his head, then walked away from you, “Don’t call me that, it’s weird.”

“Huh, alright then. I’ll call you Miguel if that is fine with you.”

He did not respond.

Not bothered by his lack of response, you ran back to Gwen and Hobie, waving the ‘goober’ in your hand. Gwen smiled whilst Hobie greeted you ‘welcome to the spidey club’, it was never really your intention to join but it seems that you got in.

You’ll wait for the first mission Miguel will send you.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #spiderverse #ATSV

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