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starfinss · 5 months

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omg what if there is a scene where either the reader or zuko share their thoughts with either sokka or toph (prob sokka tbh) about their feelings for the other person and they go "they probably don't like me anyways" type of shit and right when toph/sokka is about to outright say it cause they sicka nd tired of these fuckers being so dense katara freezes their mouth and go "oops, i meant to freeze that ...ur... WASP that flew by! my bad!"

something like that idk i feel that would happen also feel free to change who and where

YES KATARA WOULD TOTALLY DO THAT. That’s so funny. Absolutely something I might use.

#starry speaks #not a fanfic #anon asks #my asks #black sun anon #friendly fire #I’m so sleepy #avatar the last airbender #avatar zuko #avatar #atla zuko #atla #zuko #zuko x reader #prince zuko

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peachesofteal · 6 months

Text

Black Sun

Simon Riley masterlist

Simon Riley/female reader 5.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Dark and twisty. Explicit sex, dubious consent, forced breeding/pregnancy kink, praise kink, size difference, creampie. Simon is insane about you. Panty sniffing/stealing. Obsessive behavior. Possessive Simon Riley. Alcohol. Reader is prescribed/taking muscle relaxers. Toxic but I think it's sweet. Angst, comfort, emotional hurt/comfort. Tags are for your health, not mine. Simon never wanted a divorce.

Simon does not consider himself a common criminal.

A war criminal, perhaps. The things he’s done for the 141 would put him behind bar in over fifty countries, and on death row in at least eight. The things he’s seen alone make him eligible for life in a padded room, and that’s if you don’t count the things that have happened to him.

But he’s never stooped to petty crime like this before. Before this mess. Before you asked for a divorce, insisted he move out, demanded time apart.

There’s a first time for everything, he thinks. First time for a lot of things, actually. The first time he actively tried to avoid the divorce paperwork, first time he let his obsession take him this far, first time he indulged in his darkest fantasies, things he wouldn’t even dare whisper about to Price-

The door welcomes him like it always does, squeak gone from the hinges, greased out by his hands in the middle of the night last week, swinging wide so he can silently step across the threshold… into his house. Into yours.

Riley whines in greeting, lowering himself into a play bow, and Simon kneels to pet him, rubbing his between the ears and under the chin just how he likes, before instructing him back to his bed, to keep watch. He’d maul another man who tried to step foot in here, per his training, but his dad- his dad is okay. His dad is allowed.

It’s not that he’s too far gone to recognize the complete dismantlement of your boundaries, it’s that he doesn’t care. The chilling fear of losing you has seeped deep into his bones, fostering the growth of a plan that he knows is not rational, or right.

He knows what he is doing is wrong, but he cannot stop himself.

You are his. His wife. His life, his person, his reason for it all. You’re the sun and the moon and the stars and everything that makes this miserable fucking existence worth living.

He’ll do anything to keep you.

Anything.

So, it doesn’t feel wrong when he stands in the bedroom at the foot of his bed, watching you sleep, twisted up in the blankets, favoring your one side like your shoulder must have been bothering you before you fell asleep. It concerns him, worries him, this lack of improvement regarding your pain, and he wonders if maybe you should be in physical therapy.

It doesn’t feel wrong, when he traces the curve of your ass, perked up in the sheets, as if you’re waiting for him to strip your ratty little sleep shorts down to your knees and shove his cock to your cervix. He wonders if you’d even wake up if he rubbed his nose across the seam of your cunt. You’ve always been a heavy sleeper, through thunder or commotion, you’d stay sweet with your lashes flush against your cheeks, mouth slightly open in a soft snore.

He leans over you in bed, stroking the back of your head with his hand before pressing a featherlight kiss to your temple, something he knows won’t stir you, not with you how deep you’re dreaming, and certainly not with the muscle relaxer in your system.

He is a stealth operator, after all. It’s not like he hasn’t been watching, observing your new routines, the changes to your schedules and habits that have appeared over these last few months. The muscle relaxers, for example, that were prescribed for the strain in your neck and shoulder, that you’ve been taking once an evening for a week and a half, around six thirty. They’re extended release, usually able to keep you mostly pain free through the night, and he’s grateful to your doctor for insisting upon them. For more reasons than one.

He gives you another light kiss before pulling the sheet up around your shoulders, tucking you in how you like. You get cold in the middle of the night, icicle toes usually wandering across the mattress to seek the space between his thighs for warmth, shocking him into a gasp that would elicit a string of sleepy giggles from your mouth. He makes sure you’re comfortable, before slinking onto the second part of his routine.

The bathroom.

Every night, he holds his breath as the medicine cabinet pops open. He hates the anticipation, the fear of what he could discover, dreads the idea of having to start the clock over or worse, swap them for placebo. You never disappoint him though, and he catalogues the perfectly color-coded rows of birth control pills that haven’t been touched in over a month, not since his last op with wicked desire hearting his belly. What a good girl you are.

Before, he would have told you the opposite. He did, tell you the opposite. He told you were good, so good, for taking your pills, for making sure that you were safe for him, that there wouldn’t be any accidents. Guilt would eat at him each time the two of you had the argument, the ‘discussion’, about having a baby, and you would cry with misery staining your cheeks.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.” He tried to tell you, dozens of times, that he didn’t think he’d be good at it, that he wouldn’t like being gone so much, leaving you at home all the time with a baby.

“I love you, Simon. I want to have a baby, with you. My husband. Is that so wrong?” You would cry, and he could feel the weight of his choice breaking you apart, the pressure cracking beneath his skull.

“You… you don’t understand. I- I can’t.”

It’s not why you asked for a divorce, but it certainly played a part.

Something catches his eye when he turns to leave, a wayward item of clothing hanging haphazardly outside of the hamper.

Your underwear.

He plucks the scrap of blue lace and cotton from the edge and balls it into his fist, bringing it to his nose with a deep inhale. It’s sick, the way he needs you, the way the smell of your dirty panties, the honeyed ambrosia of your musk, makes his mouth water like a juvenile. Before he can change his mind, he shoves them in his pocket. He doesn’t usually take things, too aware of potentially tipping you off, but this; this is something he needs.

“Simon, can we please just… can we please just meet up and at least look at these papers?” It’s early for you to be up, on a Saturday, and he frowns at the screen in contemplation. Before, you’d never be up this early. Before, you would have insisted he stay under the covers with you, would have draped your body over his eagerly to convince him, sweetening him to your side with barely a whisper.

“How many weekends do we even get, anyway? This is your first one home in weeks. Stay in bed with me.” And he would, because of course he would. Because there was no place he’d rather be in those moments, curled up in bed, his nose in your hair, watching the rise and fall of your chest just to be sure it was all real, that it wasn’t some cruel dream that would disappear as soon as he woke up.

“You’ve been home for two weeks and haven’t even looked at them.” He grits his teeth, pressing the hard edge of his phone into his cheek. He can’t be divorced if there’s no signature. But you sound exasperated, stressed, and he’s eager to fix it for you, easily agreeing without too much badgering.

“Alright, sweetheart. Alright. I’ll meet you.”

He cannot believe his luck.

You’re nervous. Your hands flitter about, constantly touching the table, the silverware, your sore shoulder, the manilla envelope before finding the stem of your wine glass and tilting it to your lips, swallowing the alcohol over and over without any kind of hesitation. You must not have taken the muscle relaxer. He's well versed in navigating your emotions, calming you into a relaxed state with a few words or a reassuring touch, and he wants to reach out and take your hand in his, soothe you, tell you that everything is alright but… it would serve no purpose for him tonight. Sorry, sweet girl. He sits at the little two top across from you with his arms crossed, watching his lack of interest in the conversation break you down, little by little, until you’re ordering another glass of wine, and then a third, all while he nurses the same glass of bourbon. The alcohol distracts you, strays you from your course, and you eventually stop trying to try talk about that bloody manilla envelope, leaning to one side a little more than the other in your chair. When you order a shot after dinner is over, he doesn’t protest, just watches your tongue follow the seam of the citrus wedge, dabbing along the spongy white fibers before your teeth dig into the flesh of it, lime juice squirting across your tongue.

He loves you drunk. Loves you sober, loves you tired, or grumpy, or smiling. He loves you anyway he can get you, but sometimes, when you’re like this, your smile sweet like sticky toffee, buzzing and humming, it helps him get away from himself, helps him stay present and lost inside you, swept up in you. It makes him think about the honeymoon, your feet buried in the sand, tucked away in secluded cove, no one around for miles. He fucked you on the beach, fucked you in the ocean, fucked you in someone else’s cabana that day, and you giggled the whole time. Pearly pitched music that wrapped in him the strongest feeling of bliss, skin that tasted like brine and sun, your hand in his on the walk back the hotel, peeking under your wide brim hat every few minutes to press his lips to yours.

“Wan’ one?” He shakes his head, but pulls your hand into his, feeling the warmth of your skin. When you don’t pull away, his blood heats, churning through his veins like fire. “Figured.” You sigh, and then flash him a mischievous, coy grin. Cheeky girl. Think you’re so clever. “Want to get out of here?” You croon, and he smiles indulgently behind the mask. “Lead the way.”

You’re giggly, excited when he bends you over the table, the kitchen table where you used to eat together, breakfast for dinner when he’d come home, waffles and bacon at one in the morning.

You don’t protest when he slides your skirt down your hips and over your ass, thumbs spreading you wide to reveal your glistening cunt, twitching and desperate.

“My poor girl, has it been so long?” He coos, relishing in the way you moan with your lips on the wood. He knows it has, knows you haven’t been with anyone since the last time he fucked you, months and months ago, on the night you asked for the divorce. “Shhh. I’m here now, I’m gonna take care of it.”

“You have to pull out.” You slur, breath hot, fogging against the finish of the table. “Promise.” He grunts something under his breath, nonsense, but you can’t tell the difference, and when he slides inside your scorching cunt, you howl, breath hitching with the stretch.

Bleedin’ Christ. You’re so tight, so wet, soaked enough that it sticks to the curls around the base of his cock. How could he ever give this up?

“That’s it.” He kisses your shoulder, pressing his chest to your back with his weight, pinning you in place, his hands clamping down around your wrists like shackles. “Squeeze me tight, good girl. Show me-“ Show me how you’re going to hold my come in your tight little pussy once I fill you- comes to mind, but he bites his tongue instead, not willing to tip you off too soon.

To have and to hold. In sickness and in health. For better or worse.

I promise to love and cherish you.

Till death does us part.

Till death.

“Simooon.” You sing, hips start to push back with him, fucking yourself onto his cock, chasing him, chasing your pleasure, mouth half open with the little pants and whines that are music to his ears. He keeps you pinned, flat against the table, fingers between your legs, stroking your clit, shoving you closer to your orgasm, delightfully pleased by the way your pussy pulses around him.

“Come on.” He urges, big hand between you and the table, pressing against your lower belly, still tapping away at your clit, indulging in the trembling of your legs.

“Fuck- fuck, Si.” You cry, clenching down around him with your orgasm, voice breaking.

“There it is… what a good girl.” He hisses, keeping his pace, pushing deeper and deeper until he’s notching himself nearly inside your womb. It’s overwhelming for you, he knows, but he doesn’t stop swirling his fingers around your clit, zapping electric pulses through body.

“Nngh Si. Too- ooh it’s- it’s too much.” You wail, a tear on your cheek, and he nods, nosing above your ear.

“I know. You’re doing so good for me, so perfect.” It’s whispered with a groan, hands stroking your hip, keeping your steady, in place. “Just need a little more, just- just a little, I’m gonna-“

“What-” You ask, more with it now that you recognize the edge he’s riding, the roughness in his voice clueing you in to where he is, but he sends you back into orbit, pressing your clit and working you in circles. “Oh, oh.” Your hips rock, and he moves with the momentum, fucking into you faster, grunting the truth as he speeds towards the cliff, desperate to drive the car over the edge, eager to change the course of his life, your life, his marriage.

“Take it.” He spits, wide palm spread across your shoulder. Everything in him tightens, fire spreading through his veins, pressure rising in his body like a fucking tea kettle, about to scream out a whistle. He’s going to breed you, fuck you deep with his come and put a baby inside you, give you what you want, what you’ve always said you wanted, the thing that made you cry in the middle of the night when he refused.

Well, he’s going to give it to you now.

“Fuck- here it comes.” You rock again, half lost to the world, eyes glazed over in pleasure, spasming around his cock with your second orgasm. He slams into you, burying deep and you keen, fingers gripping the edge of the table, his hips flush with yours like a lock.

And he’ll throw away the key.

You blame yourself for the first time.

You blame your nerves. Your lack of self-control. You drank too much, trying to fight the anxiety that was threatening to spill from your mouth by way of your tongue.

And well, didn’t he just look too fucking good, sitting across from you at dinner. Eyes on your lips. Hand dwarfing the rocks glass. Shoulders broader than a door frame. He put on mass since you saw him last, and you spent half the meal trying not to think about stripping his shirt off so you could inspect for new wounds, new scars, new stretch marks.

And didn’t he feel so fucking good too, bending you over the kitchen table, sliding into you from behind with almost no prep, hint of pain making you see stars, just the way you like it. Fucking you like the man you married, like the man you fell in love with. Calling you his good girl and making you come all over his cock like a champ.

You blame him for the second time.

You could blame yourself, for inviting him over- but your intention was clear. Sign the papers. Discuss the house. Be done with it all and close this chapter. Move on with your life, with both your lives.

But he showed up on the wrong day, at the wrong time, with a bottle of your favorite wine, the malbec. The one from your first anniversary, with a large pizza, thin crust with extra cheese (your favorite) and an order of garlic knots.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d eaten or not, figured I’d pick something up, just in case.” He shrugged, and just like that, you were bereft of words, staring at him with nothing coming to mind. Didn’t you say tomorrow? You stood in the door, blinking, Riley whining behind you, already eager to see his dad. “Sweetheart? You feelin’ okay?” His hand was on your arm, warm, thumb rubbing a circle on the inside of your elbow, and even that small amount of contact, that little trickle of concern, sent you into a spiral, muscle relaxer already working its way through your system, slowing your response time, making your brain a little fuzzy. His eyes shimmered in the porchlight, and you nodded, robotically, feet still stuck in the doorway, until he was prompting you to let him inside. “Can I come in then, get this signing business done?”

You ate pizza and drank a glass of wine (frowned upon considering your medication, but one glass couldn’t kill you, right?) out of regular glassware (a sin, if anyone asked your poor mother) as the manilla envelope sat on the coffee table and practically watched the two of you, oozing with judgement.

You’re supposed to be divorcing. Not cozying up on the god damn couch. Weren’t you the one who told him to find a new place to live? Weren’t you the one who said the two of you wanted different things in life, from it? Weren’t you the one did this, pushed him away, shoved him out the door, told him it was all too little, too late?

But when his fingertips drifted to the top of your spine and then over, like he knew exactly where you were tender, you couldn’t stop yourself from melting into his touch, more and more until he had your back against his chest, strong grip on your shoulder, working your taut muscles with expertise.

His fingers dig deep, groan slipping between your teeth, breathy and low, enough that he’s immediately releasing you.

“Did I hurt you?”

“N-no.” You shake your head, which only makes you dizzy. Probably shouldn’t have had that glass of wine. “Feels good.” He chuckles, and tucks you closer, head tipping back into his chest, eyes half closed. “Tweaked something in m’shoulder a few weeks ago.” For some reason, you feel the need to explain it, to tell him. “Went for a slide tackle, ended up halfway under the girl. And she was a lot bigger than me.”

“You still playin’ in that women’s league?”

“Every Sunday.”

You were so relaxed, so pliable, that you didn’t utter a single protest when he leaned you back on the couch like a doll, pulling your leggings down and off your ankles, sliding your panties away to bury his face in your pussy. You didn’t want to protest, or stop, or get up off the couch, even though, somewhere, in the back of your logical mind, you knew what you were doing was stupid. You knew, that doing this once was mistake, but doing it twice was just downright foolish. It’s just sex though. He can still just sign the papers and go. Who hasn’t had a little runaround with their soon to be ex-husband before the final nail is hammered in the coffin? You’ve never been a saint, after all.

“Lift your hips.” He taps your side, and you do, letting him slide a throw pillow under them, plumping it under your ass for good measure. “Good girl.” You beam, woozily, and he chuckles, face cracking into something that’s flooded with light, something happy, the face of the man who used to be your husband, used to love you, want a future with you, not just endless rotations around the world with the 141 and a sometimes wife that he sometimes saw.

“You have to pull out.” There’s backbone to your words, but it’s brittle, and easily breakable. “You didn’t listen last time, and ‘m still mad about it.”

“I’m sorry, sweet girl.” His lips press against your thigh, and then your knee, trailing up to where he’s got your ankle in his hips. “You just feel like fuckin’ heaven.” You huff. “I will this time, promise.” He rubs your thigh, zinging your skin with a small slap, your yelp teetering off into a moan when he presses knuckle deep into your sopping wet cunt.

“This doesn’t change anything.” You don’t know why you say it, why you’re so compelled to draw the line in the sand in this moment, when you could have said it any time before hand. Or, even better, had him sign the papers like you originally planned.

“I know.” He shifts you, pulling his occupied fingers free to rearrange your legs, folding your knees back against your chest, the position combined with the pillow under your hips practically tilting you all the way back, the angle enough to make you a little dizzy. Your hand shoots forward to latch onto his forearm for balance, little whimper sneaking away from you, making his brow crease in concern. “I’ve got you.” He whispers against your cheek, lips ghosting over yours, plucking a sweet kiss from your mouth before there’s heat grazing your opening. He keeps a hand on your knee until he’s pushing inside, thrusting in one fell swoop all the way until he can’t go any further, punching your cervix with the head of his cock, swearing behind a tight jaw. It’s a lot of stretch at this angle, deeper, sharper, and you squirm, adjusting to the pressure of him splitting you open.

“F-fuu-ck.” Your eyes roll back in your head, off somewhere, somewhere not this planet, not this plane of existence where he’s practically in your belly, slick noises bouncing off the walls of your living room, his knees against the pillow, back sloped for enough leverage that he’s practically fucking downwards into you, bent forward with his chest against yours, torso locking you in place, arms around your head like crown. Or a cage. “Si- fuck. It- it hurts.” you babble, gasping into his neck, teeth dangerously close to his shoulder.

“I know, doin’ so good. Almost there.” You start to melt around him, gentled into it, the patting and cooing and kissing sweetening you soft by the passing second. “Easy love, open up for me.” He pants into your mouth, tongue licking in behind your teeth, invading your senses, your very existence, and it’s so much, too much, but you can’t stop. You let yourself get swept away, mind slipping deeper and deeper every time he thumbs your clit, rubbing a circle around the swollen bud, tapping across it just how you like. “Relax, sweetheart, that’s it.” He keeps bringing you closer and closer to coming, playing your body like only a husband could, plucking the strings that make the sweetest melodies, chords vibrating together until you’re clenching down on his cock, spine curling forward, everything inside of you exploding with a blinding, fiery orgasm that has you crying his name, body shaking underneath him with aftershocks. “You’ve been such a good girl for me.” He murmurs into your sweat-soaked temple, cock sliding out just to push all the way deep again, hips grinding against your ass in a circle. “Haven’t you, sweet girl?” You nod, because yes, of course. You’re always good.

“Yeeah.” You squeak, vowels heavy, eyes heavy, head heavy, everything too thick underneath the weight of your orgasm, his cock lodged inside you, the muscle relaxer mixed with the Malbec, the chagrined manilla envelope sitting on the table, a mere two feet from your prone body.

“I know. I know you have.” The muscles in his arm flex, tendons in his neck becoming more defined, and his movements stutter, fucking you in a frantic, desperate way, wild with some sort of chaotic need. “I’m gonna give you a gift for it. For being so good.”

“You- you-“ You mean to say you what? What do you mean? What are you talking about? But you can’t get any of it out, only able to watch him through half shuttered eyes, admiring the slope of his jaw, the white of the scar on his chin, the drip of sweat in his clavicle.

“I love you.” A big hand holds your hip upwards, steady, pinning you to the pillow, pace turning hungry, unrelenting, his forehead pressed to yours as he bottoms out, trying to fuck you as deep as possible, to consume you, to drown in you, shoving you further and further up the couch. It’s erratic, and insane, and so- so Simon, that the tears dripping down your cheeks feel normal, everything feels right in your hazy, fucked out brain. “I love you.” He tells you again, and his jaw clicks in your ear. “I love- fuck, fuck, I’m coming.”

You should have protested. You should have reminded him of his promise. Should have said no, remember, you did this last time. We talked about this. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Couldn’t even get your mouth to work right, too spun out on him, on yourself, on floating on a cloud, high above your life, like choices didn’t have consequences. You were blissed out on your own bad decisions, sleepy in the cocoon of an alternate universe with your hips tilted on a pillow, where your husband was still your husband, and not some absent ghost.

You didn’t even protest when he gathered you together in his arms and carried you upstairs. Didn’t mind that he got one of your make up wipes from the bathroom and cleaned your face, tucked you in, and kissed you goodnight.

You didn’t mind any of it, until you woke up the next morning and faced that manilla envelope.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because in a weeks’, two weeks’ time, he’d be somewhere on the other side of the planet, or hemisphere, or country, somewhere classified, doing god knows what. He’d be gone, and you’d be here, just like always. Just like old times. The sex didn’t matter. It meant nothing. You hardly remembered most it, just clips here and there, the taste of his mouth, the feeling of being so full of him. It didn’t matter, and you repeated those three words in the mirror, four, five times in the morning, intentionally not looking at the gleam of your rings, the wedding band and engagement ring, a fated pair… all alone.

Besides, you could always mail the paperwork. Address it to John. He’d make sure it gets taken care of.

You cringed when you thought about the note you’d have to enclose, the awful acknowledgement of your ineptitude- “Hi John, sorry, but could you have Simon sign these when you get a chance?”

And then, everything changed.

“LT!” Soap shouts over the din of the common room, jerking his head towards the office at the end of the hall. “Price needs ye.”

Price is standing behind his desk, arms across his chest when Simon pushes the door open. His lips quirk, head shaking with a sigh. “You have a phone call.” He motions to the landline, one of the only phones in this entire building, currently off the hook, open line waiting in the air. A phone call? “I’ll give you some privacy.”

When the door shuts, and he’s alone with the phone in his hand, he takes a deep breath, and puts it to his ear. “Hello?” His thumb strokes the silicone wedding band on his ring finger, rubbing it in a circle as he waits for a response. This number is for family members and emergencies, real serious shit, and he’s not-

“Simon?” It’s you. It’s your voice on the other end of the line, wet with tears. His heart stops in his chest, lungs frozen in place, anxiety curling in the pit of his stomach. Your crying always puts him on edge, and it’s worse, with him here, and you alone, everything hanging on the precipice. “Simon? Are you there?”

“I’m here. What’s wrong?” He closes his eyes. Say it. Please. Fucking hell. Please.

“I- I need, I have to tell you something.” You’re still crying, hiccupping with distress, and he wishes desperately that he was there with you, holding you, telling you everything going to be okay to your face, instead of over the phone.

“What is it sweetheart?” He tries to encourage, relaxing back into the chair when you take a deep breath. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I’m pregnant.” His palm covers the receiver immediately, just in case, and he thumps the top of Price’s desk with his fist, stupid grin stretching his face wide.

“You’re what?” He feigns shock, confusion. “Did you say… you’re pregnant?”

“Yes.” You blubber.

“I thought you were on the pill, sweet girl. I wouldn’t have-“

“I told you to pull out! And I was b-but I stopped taking it, like two months ago. I forgot and after the first time when you were home, after the restaurant I thought, oh well, I had only been off the pill for a month, less than, after being on it for like fifteen years!” You practically shriek in his ear, a mix of sob and hysteria, trying to suck air into your lungs before continuing. “Getting pregnant after being on it for so long just doesn’t happen. It’s almost impossible! So, I d-didn’t worry about it. And then the second time was only like, two nights after that night and I just thought- I thought everything would be fine! I’m s-s-sorry, I’m so sorry.” You’re babbling, gasping, and he rubs his neck.

“Alright, alright. Hey, hey listen,” you’re still crying, voice cracking over the line and his heart breaks for you, guilt swamping him over you being alone. This was not the plan. He was supposed to be home for this part, to be there for you, if it took. “Sweetheart, breathe. You need to breathe.” You struggle through a few deep breaths, nearly wheezing, and he winces each time. It can't be good for you, or the baby, to be stressed like this. “Good girl, that’s it. Nice an’ slow. Good.”

“I'm sorry. I don’t know what to do, but-” You whisper, like you’re telling a secret, and he closes his eyes, imagining you pacing in the kitchen, hand in your hair, on your hip, anxious. He knows you. Knows you better than he knows himself, anyone. Soap, even. He knows, the reason why you’re saying sorry over and over, isn’t because you’re apologizing for getting pregnant, the two of you did that together. Or rather, he did it.

It’s because of what’s coming next.

“I do know that I… I want this baby, Simon. I know you… you don’t want this. That you’ve never wanted it, and that’s okay. I can do this, alone. We’ll still get divor-“

“Stop.” He doesn’t enjoy cutting you off, but he needs to put an end to this talk, this idea that still seems to have a hold on you. “Look, I’ll… I’ll come home. We can talk and, figure out what we’re going to do, okay? You’re not alone sweet girl. I’ll be there.” You’re silent for a moment, a moment that feels too long.

“Okay. You promise?”

I promise to love and cherish you.

Till death does us part.

Till death.

“I promise.”

#peaches writes #black sun #simon riley #simon riley x reader #🥞 anon #🌵 anon #tw forced pregnancy #tw dark and twisty #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #tw forced breeding #cod x reader #cod mw2 #female reader #simon riley x female reader #Black Sun by Death Cab

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ask-thesparedau · 1 year

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in your spared!macaque au how does macaque feel about the migraine spell? general dislike or somthing else?

hope your days going well :]

“Seldom does he scream like that.”

“I wish there was a better way, but when all you know is violence, it becomes the only thing that can make you understand.”

((I got this question a lot, you guys must really want that angst lol))

((Also new format for answering asks! Taking a break from the main storyline, so that now you can ask Macaque questions directly!))

#it’s an experiment #the the format not the circlet lol #you can separate these from the main stories with the black border!#six eared macaque #jttw #sun wukong #monkey king #ask #overly sarcastic productions #spared!macaque #jttw macaque #jttw monkeyking #anon #side stuff

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grizzly-bear-official · 5 months

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hey ive only been here (tumblr) a few days is it wrong to ask for other kinds of bears even though this is the grizzly account?

of course youre welcome to! you're always welcome to request bears other than brown bears or grizzlies. in fact, here's one of each of them!

#black bears #sun bears #polar bears #moon bears #spectacled bears #pandas #sloth bears #ask #anon #bear barks

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garfieldstim · 1 month

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A black wolf stimboard pls ?

black wolf stimboard for anon

x x x / x x x / x x x

#stim #gifset #*mine #requests #anon #animals #wolves #black wolves #nature #green #white #snow #sun

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jegulus4444 · 1 month

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Favorite jegulus headcannon? Hope you feel better ☺️

Thank you thank you.

I have so so many.

They are soulmates. Made f or each other.

I also read somewhere (but lost the post) that they are variants and it’s so true. Like James would have been like Reg if he grew up on the same shitty situation and viscera.

I love when Regulus falls first but James falls harder.

James only has eyes for Regulus. He is a jealous boyfriend bc he is afraid of loosing Regulus. Because in his eyes Reg is so perfect, everyone wants him and Reg could do so much better.

But Regulus only has eyes for the perfect JamesPotter. Regulus only loves a few things, and amongst them you can find James, Sirius, Pandora, Barty and Evan.

James is the first one to try to get the two friends group to be a huge one.

James ask him for marriage but Regulus was planning to ask first.

They love stargazing together.

They are crazy unhinged abut each other.

They both take care of each mental health.

They are both the most competitive, perfectionists, ambitious overachievers to ever exist.

They both love pranks bc they appreciate people being ingenious.

Regulus loves how kind and brave James is. And how he’ll help everyone and make everyone feel welcome. James is the funniest person Reg has ever met. James is proud of that.

James loves Regulus brain. He loves how smart he is. He loves how he protect his friends and help the hunger students. He also loves how talented he is at everything. Specially quidditch. He loves watching Regulus and his dad cooking a potion, and how kind Regulus is to his parents. He looooves him so so much. He also loves to see right through him through that angry gaze. He knows Regulus heart. He sees him.

Regulus loves looking right through James too. He notice him, when he is hiding behind a smile Regulus knows. He goes and hugs him and makes James talk about said “negative feeling” so he can too manage his emotions. Regulus is there for James when he has panic attacks over not being the perfect son or the perfect quidditch player. He loves watching James play. The determination he has on the field. It’s hot.

Regulus also love James body. Made by the god for sure. His favourite parts? Back, abs, shoulders and arse.

James favourite Regulus body parts? Waist. Waist. Waist. His legs, his abs and his arse. He also love his sharp jaw, his milky colour and his grey and blue eyes. The are perfect.

Regulus loves James glasses. His brown eyes and the freckles that cover his face. Oh and his shinny smile. As bright as the sun.

Also for me Regulus is gay and trans. (I see him as Timothee Chalamet or Finn Wolfhard)

James is pansexual and obsessed with Regulus Black. (Yeah that’s a sexuality.) ( I see him as Aaron T Johnson or Reiky de Valk)

Okay thanks for the question. It really distracted me from my sickness. Lots of love ❤️

#marauders #james potter #jegulus #regulus black #hp marauders #marauders fandom #wolfstar #starcatcher #sun seeker #dead gay wizards from the 70s #gay regulus black #pansexual james potter #send me asks #send me anons #send asks #send anons #send

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marzipanandminutiae · 10 months

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The danger is over and everyone is safe, you're allowed to grieve the part of your life you lost. They're just "things" but they're things you had because you loved them, made with your own hands because you felt it was worth it to create and bring you joy in its existence. Every piece you lost is a part of a life you put together for yourself. It's a testament to your existence as the unique individual you are. You don't have to apologize for mourning them

Thank you.

I just. I can begin again, and I will. I'm even a relatively quick seamstress, when properly motivated. It feels like such a herculean task, though, especially for things that can't be gotten easily or cheaply again- colorful silks the discount fabric store no longer carries, my stash of antique and specialty reproduction trims, certain buttons or accessories...

I feel like I'm staring up a mountain I have to somehow climb all over again, after reaching a peak and then falling back to the bottom

#ask #anon #just remembered my stash of garment-weight black wool #haven't seen that at the fabric store in ages #and the blood-red silk I'd just made a ball gown out of for my birthday in April #after socking it away for 6 years in expectation of the Perfect Project #I was going to make a day bodice to go with the skirt #the antique black lace motherlode I'd just hit at a flea market the week before the fire #I was planning to put sheer sleeves on my summer tops for better sun protection without sunscreen. fill in some too-low necklines #round and elliptical hoop skirts.wired bustle petticoat. bustle pad. corsets like I mentioned- two different Victorian + Regency stays #it's just. it's all so much. and it's either destroyed or rendered unsalvageable. or lost in the detritus under my old bed #or in a collapsed closet that can't be shifted to free the garments underneath

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the-monkey-ruler · 5 months

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Besides the demon kings mentioned as the sworn brothers of Wukong, and the father of Jade Faced Demon and Hu A'qi who are also mentioned as demon kings(?), what other mentions of demon kings are and which of these do the pilgrims kill?

I’m surprised you are not aware but MOST of not all the demons that the pilgrims fight are demons kings. We see that Wukong visited about 72 Demon Kings at the start and out of the 72, Wukong befriended 6 of them. A personal headcanon of mine is that there can only be 72 demons, no reason really just a good number, but that if a demon wishes to be the 'King' they must defeat the old one and take over. Such as Wukong taking down the Demon King of Havoc who was trying to take his territory and his subjects.

But here is all the Demon king they have fought.

Demon King of Confusion (混世魔王) - killed by Wukong

Bear Mountain Lord (熊山君) - escape

Black Wind King (黑風怪) - befriended with Guanyin

Yellow Wind Demon (黃風怪) - subdued for Lingji

Yellow Robe Demon (黃袍怪) - jailed

Golden Horned King (金角大王) - jailed

Silver Horned King (銀角大王) - jailed

Hu A'qi Great King Fox Number Seven (狐阿七) - killed by Bajie

Lion-Lynx Demon / Azure Lion (獅猁怪/青毛獅子) subdued for Manjusri

Red Boy (紅孩兒) befriended with Gaunyin

Tuolong Black River God (鼉龍) jailed by Crown Prince Mo'ang

King of Spiritual Touch (靈感大王) subdued for Guanyin

Single Horned Rhinoceros King (獨角兕大王) subdued for Laojun

Scorpion Demoness (蠍子精) - killed by Rooster

Princess Iron Fan (鐵扇公主) - released

Bull Demon King (牛魔王) jailed

Wansheng Dragon King (萬聖龍王) - killed by Wukong and Bajie

Yellow Brows Great King (黃眉大王) jailed for Maitreya

Great King Jupiter's Rival (賽太歲) subdued for Guanyin

Hundred-Eyed Demon Lord (百眼魔君) befriended for Pilanpo

Yellow Toothed Elephant (黃牙老象) subdued for Samantabhadra

Golden-Winged Great Peng (金翅大鵬雕) subdued for Buddha

King of the Southern Hill (南山大王) - killed by Bajie

Grand Saint of Nine Spirits (九靈元聖) subdued for Taiyi Jiuku Tainzun

King of Cold Protection (辟寒大王) - killed by celestial

King of Heat Protection (辟暑大王) killed by Bajie

King of Dust Protection (辟塵大王) killed by Bajie

That should be all at them at least that I know are Demon Kings. There could be more but the reason I didn't add these demons to the list is that I didn't see them with an army or many servants if at all. So these are more honorary mentions cause they are still powerful demons that COULD be demon kings.

White Bone demon (白骨精) - killed by Wukong

Nine-Tailed Vixen (九尾狐狸) - killed by Wukong

Nine-Headed Insect (九頭蟲) escaped capture by Erlang

White Deer Spirit (白鹿精) subdued for Old Man of the South Pole

Lady Earth Flow (地涌夫人) subdued for Nezha and King Jing

Killed - 10 Released / Escaped - 3 Jailed / Subdued for Owner - 16 Befriend - 3

I made a list a while ago of all the demons here if you need to check it out but I hope that helps!

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rewritingcanon · 2 months

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heyy

what are your thoughts about prongsfoot? personally I think jily is OTP (SCREW JEGULUS/JEGULILY!!) what do u think

heyyyy!! jily is my number one james ship and it’s the only one i really ship. but tbh i dont dislike prongsfoot, i think its valid even if i dont ship it. my fav trope has always been childhood best friends to lovers so maybe that plays a part. also i can respect it because james and sirius have a very deep relationship in canon, and if characters are canonically close friends then theres very few things i can pick on in a ship of them. both james and lily are dead by the time the series takes place, but even after all those years its really evident how much sirius continues to love james and its really sweet. you can tell sirius really believed james saved him from a much darker and lonelier life, and i believe so too. then there are little sweet things like how they shared a mirror to talk to each other when they were serving different detentions, james wanting to make sirius the secret-keeper and only relenting to giving the title to peter when sirius told him to, all showing slight moments of how deep their bond was. the tragedy aspect of james’ death goes so hard too, not just the part where sirius gets locked up for his murder, but also the part where james only made peter the secret-keeper because of sirius’ plan (and also how sirius distrusted remus). so i think its cute and the shippers dont annoy me so… 🤝

#there are people who call prongsfoot incest but i just ignore them lol #sirius was sixteen when he goes to live with james. like they are GROWN 😭😭#<- i feel like thats the only controversy ive heard with it? tbh im suprised that prongsfoot isnt bigger-#—seeing as the marauders fandom tends to ship everything under the sun as long as its queer 💀#harry potter #hp #prongsfoot #sirius black #james potter #ask #peter pettigrew #anon #marauders #marauders era #jily #me ascending every time i get an ask for an opinion on a certain ship: 🕊️🕊️#I LOVE YAPPING #rewriting

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thoughtfullyrainynightmare · 8 months

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hi!!! could you talk more about thean culture and nobility please

Oh anon I could kiss you! (To the back of your hand in a manner fit for court)

I'm going to assume that you've read Embers, so concepts revolving around the Divine Evaluation Ceremony and the Tree of Binding Fates, are fairly known to you, but I'll still scribble down what I have in my lore file ^^

This is a lot of what I have so far, and I hope you find it interesting! ^^

Divine Evaluation Ceremony:

Once Theans reach the age of 30, they are sent through the portal of The Great Oak tree to a destination to survive for a week before being allowed to return, selected randomly by the Disc of Fates. The element of chance being most prominent, it’s often said that the assigned destination was the Will of Gods, giving one a chance to prove themselves in one way or another. The destinations are ranked into 5 sections depending on the mana levels of that destination, otherworldly and not, often correlating to the difficulty of the Ceremony. If a mayu is sent to a low-ranking destination, it can be interpreted as the gods not believing in the mayu’s capabilities, which should encourage the mayu to prove themselves after the evaluation. However, if the destination is high ranking, it can be either that the gods are expecting greatness from the mayu, or simply wishing for their downfall, in either case, the faith is in the hands of the mayu themselves. Once the portal opens to the evaluation destination, it cannot be opened, and stays sealed until 168 hours have passed. The mayu’s know the destination beforehand, as the results of the Disc of Fates are read in a separate ceremony, thus giving the mayu time to prepare for the upcoming evaluation. As a result of this ceremony, the mayu is considered as a fully fledged mage.

Tree of binding fates (quite simply):

At this tree people, both Theans and non-Theans, can see if The One/s their fate is connected with, is significantly involved in their life. But one can perform the ritual only once, which creates some apprehension when it comes to performing the ritual as those who are in a committed relationship, fear that they are not with their Fated One/s.

Travelling to and from Thea:

As Thea is a geographically secluded nation, flying or sailing there, though possible, is quite taxing because of the long distance from other larger land masses. Thus Theans have constructed various teleportation archways to various locations on other continents and on some smaller islands. These archways are designed to appear discrete, not popping out from the scenery more than necessary. Some may be more hidden, appearing as nothing more than a faint groove chiseled into the side of a mountain, while some may appear to be lone-standing arches worn down by time. But those intended to be used by visitors from Ally Countries are as obvious as being gates that appear to lead nowhere; standing at the ends of roads in the middle of forests. However, these gates need to be opened correctly in all cases. For visitors keys are issued that allow for the doors to be opened, and most often appear as regular skeleton key radiating barely noticeable amounts of mana, but cases where they are pendants are also frequent. For Thean teyus the necessary marker usually is in a bracelet that is supplied to them while venturing outside of Thea. High magic users can open the doors by their own magic by performing an incantation as the information of mana types and flow of each individual is recorded into the magic circuits of the gates by the House of Machina, who refuse to use mana keys and instead have created an ulterior method for creating the necessary spike in the lock by utilizing their knowledge of energy and electricity, and how it interacts with mana flow. This method is, however, yet to become the mainly used method among teyus, since it is not yet energy efficient and recharging has proven to be difficult outside of Thea. As high magic users, also some magical creatures that have gained good reputation in Thea, such as dragons and merfolk, are able to open the pathways with their own magic as well. Though for some it might take a considerable amount of time, those who frequently visit or have done so in the past and become in tune with the energy of the gates, are able to pass nearly as effortlessly as through a mundane wooden door.

Education system:

All Theans are required to have a basic level education, which typically is finished in 9 years between the ages of 7 and 16, but the vast majority continues to receive a higher level education. All schooling is free and there are no private schools, which diminishes some class barriers. Both mayus and teyus are attending the same classes for the most part, learning about sciences and magic, though only mayus are able to take part in practical magic lessons, and teyus’ syllable heavily leans on sciences. It is seen as beneficial to have them attending the same classes, to create a united atmosphere as well as to not create an ideology where sciences and the natural order wouldn’t matter to a mayu, or the opposite to teyu. It is recognized that magic follows some laws of nature, which when applied appropriately, can give a mage an advantage or insight. Additionally, some teyus can pursue a career in magical technology, working together with mayus to create magically enhanced devices. Occasionally people do grumble about having to study a field they aren’t concerned with, but most often those protests dissipate quickly.

Magic:

60% of Theans have no magic what-so-ever, which has caused the society to function around both technology and magic equally.

However, though the majority of Theans are non-magic users (teyu), the magic users (mayu) display extraordinary capabilities when it comes to being able to manipulate and store mana. The mayus are able to utilize the mana around them, letting it flow through their body as if it was an extension of themselves, in addition to “storing” it in their bodies just like a non-Thean mage would. This allows the mayus not to be quite as restricted if they are not in a mana rich environment, and due to their innate aptitude to allow mana pass to, and from, their bodies, they are able to replenish their mana rather quickly. Though Teyus have no way of using mana, it's due to the existence of their cantamnar having shrivelled, and thus even if supplied with mana, they wouldn't have the means to use it.

The more a mayu spends time outside of Thea, the better their ability to store mana and utilize it is considered to become. This has led to especially noble families encouraging their children to spend time in the outside world, in addition to learning other customs and practises that might advance Thean society and understanding. But as the ability to allow mana flowing through a mage, to the extent that it’s been displayed in mayus, if a mayu spends a lot of time in one place they’re instructed to use mana blockers. Mana blockers, or mana blocking spells are seals that lock away the mayus full potential, scaling down their skills to that of a local mage. Revealing the existence of these spells or traits without the permission of an official whose security rating is lesser than R1-3 (R standing for "Royalty and Nobility") is considered treason. A mayu with a security rating of R1-0 to R1-3 can grant this knowledge, but should consider the possible implications of Thea.

Magic categories:

Heavenly (Includes Ethreal)

Time

Celestial bodies

Spacial

Mana blocker types:

Classified; usage not recommended

Mana blocking shields; barriers that consume any mana that’s fed into them

Mediocre mana blockers; can restrict outgive of mana, said person can’t direct mana out of them at all

Standard issue mana blocker for visitors; can’t fully restrict the outgive of mana

Trading:

Thea is a self-sustained country and mainly does trade with their Ally Countries of which there are currently 19 instead of the 20 that there can be. (One nation was removed after the incident of 438, when that nation was convicted of violation against the 7th Cardinal Law.) The cap of 20 Allies was reached again since the marriage between Houses Vermillion of Clover and Equinox of Thea

Nobel houses:

There are 8 in total (formerly 9 as two houses joined after a marriage). I haven't worked out a motto or an additional title for everyone, but these I have.

1. Equinox (Head: Lady Celeste Equinox) [Magic associate with heavenly bodies] (The Strong)

Former house: Eclipse (Head: Lord Arcturus Eclipse) Currently part of House Equinox (The Peacemaker)

Lady Solara Equinox (without title)

Lady Selena Equinox (The Observer)

Lady Aurora Equinox

2. Aisenmite (Head: Lord Jord Aisenmite) [Magic associated with earth and minerals]

First born: Lord Silex Aisenmite

3. Machina (Head: Lady Xylenna Machina) [Involved with technology] (Other titles: Lady of Technology[which is passed on from one head to another]; The Scholar)

First born: Lord Valereon Machina

Second born: Lady Reliquira Machina (The Calm)

Third born: Lord Tener Machina

4. Vortex (Head: Lidre Cassini Vortex) [Involved with shielding, support and safety]

First born: Lord Adlai Vortex (The Loyal)

5. Curiosi (Head: Lidre Fulgor Curiosi) [Involved with intel]

(The Shadowless)

First born: Lidre Celer Curiosi

6. Comperte (Head: Lord Aequitas Comperte) [Heavily involved with juridics]

Wife: Alyssa Comperte (The impartial)

Motto: Justice is our shield

First born: Lady Aequa Comperte

7. Bestia (Head: Lady Fera Bestia) [Magic associated with wilderness]

First born: Adlexia Bestia (The Primal Princess)

8. Caedis (Head: Lady Amber Caedis) [A family known for their knowledge of the less than favourable side of humanity]

First born: Elira Caedis

Note: Lidre is a gender neutral title of equal value to Lord and Lady

I'm tempted to give a very unofficial title to Elira with "The broken", but it's not something the other nobles would do to her, because they don't want to ridicule her.

An-nyways....

I do hope that you liked this bit of lore I have ^^!

#anon flamelets #thank you so much for the ask #Embers of sun and flame #black clover fanfiction #black clover oc

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starfinss · 2 months

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I just wanted to state that Friendly Fire is not finished, but the document it is written in is almost 30 pages long, and the word count, as of right now as I type this, is almost 10k.

AND IT IS STILL NOT DONE.

I STILL HAVE THE REST OF CHAPTER TWO AND ALL OF CHAPTER THREE TO WRITE, IF I DON'T END UP MAKING THIS FOUR CHAPTERS LONG DUE TO LENGTH.

This is absolutely just pure silliness with Zuko and reader being massive dorks. I made a playlist. I've spent literal months working on this. I'm thriving.

#black sun anon #friendly fire #starry speaks #not a fanfic #yet #zuko x reader #avatar zuko #atla zuko #prince zuko #i am WORKING on it #avatar #avatar the last airbender #atla #HELP #do not be fooled there will be smut #aged up of course #duh #obviously #this is novella length holy shit

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peachesofteal · 6 months

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Peaches, bestie I was in a middle of a important class when you posted the new fic and thank god the class ended early. Because my attention would've been solely on your writing instead of the actually class😭

But thank you so much for writing this fic. I genuinely enjoy your writing so much and it always betters my mood when I read your stuff ily💋❤️

-🥞

Ahh I would hate to distract you from learning things, but I’m so happy you liked it 🖤

#peaches asks #black sun #🥞 anon

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whysojiminimnida · 2 years

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WSJ did you just see? Did you just see??? JIMIN’S BACK!!! New tattoos ?? Moon phases??? Help I can’t even speak anymore I’m going crazy with Jikook and their tattoos 😱😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 (ngl I’m lowkey waiting to see a sun on Jk hey) (it’s okay I’m perfectly fine haaaaa)

I did I did I’m gonna yell about it all DAY

Not sure what it is but if you scroll to my reblog of the glorious @kanmom51 post down there it appears to be heavier black work. The curve makes it look like a new moon but personally I am not so sure.

Not unlike a nope rope we’ve seen recently.