#kept this purely on what was stated in canon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yandere-writer-momo · 2 months

Text

Part 2 🖤I made the demon king a black man. I don’t see many Yandere POC OCs 🖤

Yandere Head Canons:

Defying Destiny

Yandere Demon King x Isekai Saintess Reader x Yandere Hero (mentioned)

TW: imprisonment, kidnapping, stalking, uncomfortable themes, sexual themes, Somniaphilia, Dacryphilia, etc.

Part 1

You woke up wrapped in the silk sheets of snow unfamiliar bed. Your eyes wild and your heart raced in your chest like a startled animal. Where were you and where was Reinhardt?! Why were there candles everywhere in this dark bedroom? Was Reinhardt planning to… oh god you were terrified.

You felt a sob rack through you when reality set in. Had Reinhardt stolen you away to live out some sort of sick fantasy instead of going through with his quest to slay the demon king? No… Reinhardt wouldn’t bring you to such a luxurious home. But who on earth brought you here?

“I see you’re awake, my delicate flower.” Your head snapped to the doorway to see the silhouette of a large man. You felt your blood run cold and a shiver run down your spine by his presence. That raspy baritone voice belonged to a stranger.

You flinched when the man suddenly slapped his clawed hands on the end of the king sized bed. Your eyes met gold for the first time and you seeped your heart stopped in your chest from pure terror. There was no mistaking who your captor was… he was the demon king.

“What’s the matter, saintess?” He chuckled as he reached a taloned finger out to hook around a strand of your hair. “Cat got your tongue?”

You felt tears stream down your cheeks when he flashed his long fangs at you. He was bewitchingly beautiful with his burnt umber skin and golden eyes. There was no doubt he was a demon and that fact terrified you. What did he want from you? Was he… was he going to kill you?

The demon king sighed at your shivering form before he moved himself to sit beside you. His hand moved to hold yours. “It’s alright, darling. I’m not going to hurt you.”

You sniffled when he began to wipe away your tears. “W… what?”

“I’d never hurt my saintess.” The demon king gave you a toothy smile. “My beautiful, merciful saintess… my salvation.”

You gasped when he brought your right hand up to his lips to press a tender kiss to the back of it. “It’s so wonderful to finally have you here with me… you’ll be safe here.”

“I’m just a bit confused about all of this…” You felt so small under his intense gaze, like he was about to pounce on you at any second. “Who are you and why have you taken me?”

The demon lord chuckled as he rose up from the bed to stand at his full, intimidating height. His curved black horns nearly added another foot to his height which made he give you a smirk. “Why I am the Demon King but you can call me Amon.”

The demon king- no, Amon, bowed his head to you. “And I took you to save you.”

You were surprised to see a tray of freshly made food in front of you when Amon snapped his fingers. Your stomach growled at the delicious sight, but you were hesitant to accept… Amon quickly caught onto your hesitance and took a bite of the food for you. “Don’t worry, it’s real and completely edible. Only the best for my saintess.”

You shyly took a bite and smiled at the taste. It was lovely…

Amon smiled warmly at you, his golden eyes studied your satisfied smile in pure joy. He was so happy to please you!

Amon ran his talons through his long black hair with a smile. “I’ll take care of you from now on. You’re safe here.”

As the weeks melted into months, Amon kept his word. None of his demon nor monster henchmen were mean towards you, unlike the hero’s party. Sure Amon was never far from you, but his company was much preferred over Reinhardt’s. Amon would bring you meals and made sure you had fresh clothes. He pampered you like a beloved pet.

Though it was never officially stated, you were Amon’s lover. And thus, you treated as such by his subjects. They’d wait for you on hand and foot. You received various expensive clothing and jewelry, they were eager to make you smile. It was such a stark contrast compared to your treatment prior…

You often gazed out your window at the volcanic city below. It was fascinating just how different monsters and demons lived from humans… so why did the humans want to destroy them so much?

You jumped when Amon entered the room to wrap his muscular arms around your waist, his nose pressed onto your shoulder. A few of his box braids tickled your skin. “I missed you so much… I just wish the humans would leave us alone. I grow tired of the hero and his party. They’re so much weaker without your barriers and healing. To think they never treated you well. What a bunch of losers.”

You turned to gaze at Amon in interest. “What is it that they’re after? Why do the humans hate your people so much?”

Amon gave you the softest of smiles, a bit of his fangs peaked out from under his lip. “Our magic stones. Monsters and demons produce enough magic stones to fuel humanity for eons… they’re worth a lot of money to humans.”

Amon pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder, his gold eyes stared expectantly up at you. “You’re the only human to ever question their greed and motives. You don’t wish to be bound to a destiny thrust upon you by the world.”

Amon bent down on one knee and pressed his lips over your palms and fingers. “Join me. Together we can defy our destiny. You don’t have to be a Saintess forced to marry the hero and I won’t have to be a page in the history books.”

You felt a blush on your cheeks when he tilted his handsome face at you. “Let’s watch the world burn together.”

And now you had a choice to make. To fulfill the destiny predetermined for you or to defy your destiny.

2K notes · View notes

soullessdianthus · 11 months

Text

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 | 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞!𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎'𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚

Warnings: yandere themes (manipulation, kidnapping, imprisonment), smut (overstimulation, dubcon/noncon, breeding kink if you want to interpret like so)

Word count: 1.6k

A sound of pouring rain tapping over the window kept you awake. You glanced over the glass and saw the same image as for the days before - dense, forest line cutting the grassy, wild meadow off. The temperature inside and out was warm and it almost felt like summer in the countryside of your homeland. But it was all an illusion.

A high-tech screens had been put inside the window frames to imitate your well known surroundings. He put an effort to make this place look like a decent place. Somewhere you would feel comfortable. But this wasn’t even a real home, it was your prison.

After you interfered a little too much with the canon events in one of the spider-verses, Miguel O’Hara visited your world in person. He demanded an explanations from Peter Parker, a friend from college, about your doings.

Because you two learned lately about the up-coming death of uncle Ben and tried to avoid it by all means. And you almost succeed. Almost.

Miguel, a tall man with a dark look on his face, threatened Peter about the consequences of avoiding such occurrences. Parker appeared to be frightened of the stranger as Miguel’s eyes seemed to glow brightly red from frustration.

Those piercing eyes finally found your form, standing still behind your Spiderman and only then you processed what you just heard.

━ Wh-What? It was OUR idea to save your uncle! ━ You interrupted those two men, gesturing with your hands. But Peter didn’t even bother to look at you, he didn’t have enough courage to do so. He tried to frame you and put all the guilt on you. Which in the end, somehow worked out.

He agreed to that mysterious spidey-guy from another universe that someone had to bear the consequences of messing up with the timeline. And Parker pointed at you. An ultimate betrayal, ripped your heart apart.

Soon after you found yourself in that damn prison with a bracelet over your wrist to “stop you from glitching”. Whatever that was supposed to mean.

Miguel was some kind of boss around the place you found yourself in. At least that's what Lyla told you, a artificial intelligence present in the technology around you. It was him who was responsible for you from now on as he visited you every day.

At first, each time you saw him, you tried throwing things at him purely out of rage - a book, a small picture frame or a chair, but each time he managed to catch or turn down anything you tossed. He kept trying to explain to you what was happening and why he couldn’t let you go back into your world. Miguel stated that it was dangerous enough when a non-variant person was messing up with the timeline.

But was this all true? There was no one else you could ask for a second opinion, you had to believe, everything Miguel told you was the truth. Obviously, you questioned everything about him and this place. It felt like you were losing your sanity and a part of yourself.

The well-built man with brown, combed hair was very patient and understable with your rage and sorrow. Until he was not.

O’Hara had enough of your tantrums and one time he scared you truly. Eyes turning bloody red, his veins popping out and his teeth turning into long fangs. He charged at you, shoving your whole body to the wall behind. When your eyes were filled with fear and lungs emptied themself due to the force he pushed you, Miguel contained himself and moved away quickly.

You rarely saw him in this form, but when you finally did - you kept behaving well, not wanting to anger him again. Because you knew nothing about him. What if he was able to hurt you? Or even murder you?

Since then, you tried to suppress any anger and try to figure out how to return to your world, your life. And the brunette kept coming back, each day just to visit you. In the end he was your only company.

Miguel brought you new books or art supplies if you asked Lyla or him directly. The man would spend some time with you - cooking, watching movies, anything you liked to do. But it was months ago.

For the last couple of weeks, you were practically silent and apathetic. Curling inside the armchair near the “window”, napping or sobbing quietly. You’ve been in this prison for too long and it began to crush your spirit.

He acknowledged the change in you and tried talking about it. He kept assuring that he has to keep you here for the world’s sake and balance. Because if someone messes up with the canon again, the universe will collapse. You reprimanded yourself for leaning into his chest when he offered you a comforting hug. Because how could you ever want solace from your captor?

That evening was no different. Miguel visited you after work and found you sitting in silence on that damn armchair. When he crouched down, trying to catch your sight, you scooted backwards in the seat.

━ What’s wrong, cariño?

━ I want to go home. ━ Your voice full with sorrow gained his attention. Where was your spirit he adored so much? The pain in your voice almost made him feel bad. Almost.

Miguel reached towards your exposed calf and started rubbing it with his pointing finger.

━ This is your home, tú lo sabes. [sp.: you know it] ━ His voice sounded peaceful when he reached both of his arms in your direction. His embrace was welcoming, but you knew better. It was like a sweet flavored poison, spreading slowly under your skin, killing you slowly. ━ Come here.

You pushed firmly against his shoulders as you jumped out of the chair and took a few steps back.

━ Miguel ━ you said his name loudly, gaining his full attention. You were being hysterical again. ━ I’ve been here FOR MONTHS. I had life before, I had A PURPOSE. You took it from me!

He tried, he really tried holding himself back this time you talked back. But your whining became annoying and Miguel just knew what would make you feel better.

He stood up to his full height, easily towering over you. Brunette came closer, taking each step slowly, like he was giving you time to calm yourself or at least apologize. But you didn’t even back out.

Miguel was leaning to look into your glimmering eyes and he saw how much you hated him at that moment. “We need to work on that temper”, he once told you, but you thought nothing of it.

His little, feisty nymph. That’s what he liked to think of you.

━ Fine ━ he growled right in your face, before grabbing your arm. ━ I’ll give you a purpose.

The sound of your heavy panting echoed through the room. You tried straightening your hands again, but unsuccessfully as your muscles gave up a long time ago. Only his strong hands kept your ass higher than your head, by the tightening grip over your already bruised hips.

Miguel kept thrusting into your tight cunt until you were a sobbing mess. He already pushed you over the edge at least three times, devouring the little noises you made and how your pussy clenched around his swollen shaft.

Brunette kept one of his palms spread between your shoulder blades, keeping your upper half down, making your spine arch better.

The sweat covered the back of your bent knees, him sliding in and out of you with ease, because of your wetness. Miguel certainly knew where to touch you to make you break into pieces between his fingers.

━ See, doesn't that feel good to be by my side, cariño? ━ He leaned over your puffing frame, cheek dipped in the sheets while he kept fucking you stupid.

━ Mig-Miguel… I can’t… n-no more…. ━ You whispered to him, feeling as each thrust of his hips pushed his cock deeper inside of you. The coiling sensation started to build up again between your trembling legs and in stomach. ━ Please!

━ Just one more, darling. ━ He heard you clearly, but yet he kept sliding in and out of you violently, chasing his own sweet release.

Miguel took his hand away from your back and sneaked between your puffy lips. He spreaded them, opening you up and making it easier for him to find your clit. And when he finally did so, the brunette started rubbing it in a rhythm that quickly made you reach your another orgasm that night.

Your body tensed suddenly and then collapsed into his pelvis, sinking his swollen cock deeper. When your cunt fluttered around him uncontrollably and your eyes rolled backwards, he came inside you, clenching his teeth.

He tilted forward and placed both of his strong hands on each side of you, while coming down from his high. He noticed your grip tightening over bed sheets and smiled, before giving you a tender kiss on the temple.

━ Mi pequeña ninfa. Do you understand now, that only I can protect you? [sp.: My little nymph]

Miguel loved his girl no matter if she had a bad day or not. He was going to make sure, no one will ever take you from him. You’re his precious troublemaker, aren’t you?

━ You belong with me. ━ He growled into your ear.

#yandere miguel o'hara #yandere #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #spider man 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #spider man: across the spider verse #reader insert #smut #miguel o'hara smut

4K notes · View notes

lineli225 · 1 month

Text

Tomura Shigaraki 's abuse and neglect under All for One

I've decided to make this post due to the fact AFO's abuse towards Tomura is often ignored and even denied, so I'll be bringing a collection of scenes that prove he was being severally neglected during the 15 years he lived with AFO

1- Malnourishment and Underweight

At the beginning of the story Tomura used to be very skinny, his spine visible, very accentuated collar bones.

We can't see if his ribcages are exposed too since he's always dressed, but we can tell he is abnormally skinny and thin.

Some theorize AFO's purposefully keeps him in this state so he's more weak and frail similar to Yoichi. Or so it adds to his tiredness and numbness.

He's also been shown randomly struggling before (it could've been the aftershock of Stain attack, i don't know)

2- Lack of hygiene

He literally lives in pure filth, trash bags, old soda cans, paper, boxes, packages of food that seems ordered other than homemade, it lingers all over his floor, he is clearly a hoarder

It's completely different of the kept and clean bar, and now before you say "That's Tomura's responsibility, he's an adult he should clean it himself!" just think for a minute, if you had a son, that you see as your heir, and bets on their future so much,If you truly cared about them and saw they felt into a hoarder mindset, wouldn't you at least help?

Why not even Kurogiri cleans if Tomura was being cared by him? This clearly is intentional neglect, specially to keep his mood constantly down.

3 - His teeth

Tomura canonically has crooked teeth (compare his teeth to the other's in the jump festa art), cavities or at least what looks like plaques or dirt all over his teeth.

For someone raised by someone as filthy rich as AFO, he should've had access to dental care

4- Shaggy hair

His hair looks un-brushed, shaggy and dirty, which had no reason for before MVA when he became homeless, so why even at the start? How long has he taken a bath or a shower?

Look at the blatant difference in this scene after he showered at the PLF mansion

5- Unkept, ragged and broken nails

despite his hands also being very skinny, his nails are also all rough and broken Now, I know Tomura isn't a kid to have someone cut his nails for him, but this implies he was never teached how to take care for himself.

Besides of course his clear symptoms of depression and suicidal idealism, which, are very obvious, All for One IS neglecting Tomura by keeping him in that state /knowing/ he isn't being capable of taking care of himself.

6- His bedroom

First of all: No windows

Second, notice how empty it used to be, he had nothing but a bed and a desk, but right as he committed his first murder he started to receive toys, AFO is lovebombing and manipulating him to kill more

7- The obvious neglect to his pain

Notice how every time Tomura panics or is even wounded, he is just ignored and left on the floor bleeding out, puking or writhing.

Which uh- it isn't normal to watch your kid writhe in the floor while smiling and monologuing

8- 24/7 Surveillance and lack of privacy

There are cameras everywhere, AFO spends most of the time watching Tomura, even in his own bedroom, and even talks to him, Tomura probably hasn't had any privacy ever since he was 5

Which is a sign of abuse and control

His entire childhood from 5 to 20 is often relatable for people who grew in cult like environments, and homeschooled children who grew under controlling parents, despite the abuse not being as "obvious" since AFO never directly physically hurt him, the neglect and psychological torture is still there, that and more all the manipulation, gaslighting and grooming (think of Mother Gothel from Tangled as an example of this type of abuser)

By the way, talking about it

9- Gaslighting

"but wasn't /you/ who desired my power?"

The entire body possession plot is a clear evidence AFO never saw Tomura as anything other than a toy to play with, the same way he saw Yoichi, but so many people say the possession was a retcon because "early afo cleared saw him as his heir, he even said it's all for him!"

Well, argue with the literal "he's the next me", while he is.... weirdly caressing the screen while he watches his kid with no privacy- 100% creep behavior

10- AFO's bizzare behavior towards Tomura

The way All for One's hands are often shown caressing him or encasing him somehow, which yeah, it's part of the symbology of Tomura's character (hands that can both hurt and save)

But knowing AFO represents /hurt/ and, you know, i'ts kinda weird to caress the kid you kidnaped off the streets like that-

Cuz yes! Picking kids from the street even if they are orphan is illegal!! You should take them to a police station instead :D

Tomura was KIDNAPED by AFO, not saved.

11- Proof Tomura doesn't /feel/ saved

During his fight against Bakugou, when he sees him being helped, besides being "broken" he starts to spiral on "why no one saved me even before i was broken?"

The visual including the granny that ignored him on the streets

AFO broke him.

He recurrently thinks back to when he was on the streets, even though he was already traumatized, and had already killed his family, he still had /hope/ he ADMITS he believes he could've been different if it wasn't for AFO

If AFO had truly saved him,he wouldn't think like this

12- AFO gifting Tomura the corpses of his family to intentionally keep him nauseated, uncomfortable and traumatized, so he never heals

Besides their weird placements- On a kid. the gangster's hands being in his chest...

13-AFO's intentional desire for Tomura's discomfort

If this entire thread didn't make it obvious already, All for One benefits of Tomura's tiredness, ill feelings, nausea, depression and suicidal mindset, and over all physical and psychological discomfort

This ensures he's submissive to his manipulations and orders, keep him feeling hatred and anger due to constant overwhelming feelings and makes it harder for him to think of why AFO does all of it at all.

I could go even deeper than this about it, but i've reached thread limit and am lazy, so I hope you enjoyed this thread!

Thank you for reading

#shigaraki tomura #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki #deku #izuku midoriya #all for one #afo #mha manga

455 notes · View notes

saintsenara · 6 months

Note

What parts of canon do you find the most frustrating/that you are dissatisfied with/wished that was handled better/explored more? Mine is the inconsistency of Voldemort as a character. How he is described as being perhaps the most talented student that Hogwarts has ever seen and so powerful and intelligent but regularly made such dumb decisions e.g. in the final battle where he still uses Avada Kedavra despite seeing it not work before. I like the explanation that Horcruxes rotted his brain

thank you very much for the ask, @sarafina-sincerity!

the parts of canon which i find the least satisfying all have the same thing in common: their morality is individualist.

the harry potter series has - at its core - a really profound and very black-and-white belief that good and evil not only exist but are rooted in the individual. and while i understand why this is the case - the later books in the series are governed by the genre conventions of folkloric epic and, especially, of christian folkloric epic, which means that the whole seven-book narrative arc ending in a battle between christ and satan after which all is well is only to be expected - i don't like it.

so here we are... ten things i hate about canon, for fanfic writers to win my heart by interrogating in their work...

i hate the series' insistence that everything is fine once voldemort is dead

the middle books in the series - especially goblet of fire - do a really interesting job at hinting at the endemic rot in the ministry of magic, and the ways that the state and its enforcers perpetuated harm during the first war that was indistinct from that perpetuated by the death eaters - above all the use of internment without trial for suspected death eaters [which is a reference to something the british state actually did in the 1970s!].

they show how widespread blood-supremacy and magic-supremacy is, even among people who don't openly support voldemort; how the wizarding population is kept deliberately ignorant by what appears to be state-controlled media; and how no serious efforts have been made to eradicate the conditions which enabled voldemort to attain such power.

this is then forgotten completely in deathly hallows, where the fact that almost the entire civil service keeps working for a government which is committing genocide is hand-waved away with "oh, people are scared", and both the epilogue and jkr's post-series writing take the view that kingsley manages, as minister, to preside over a government which easily sheds all its old prejudices and starts working properly.

i don't like this! i think it's just much more interesting for corruption to be impossible to fully eradicate from the government, for blood-supremacy to have long-standing causes which actually take a lot of very hard work to untangled [especially the fact that the wizarding world not appearing to have a welfare state means that those whose lives are poor or unstable are prime targets for radicalisation], and for kingsley to have the same capacity for leaning on the prophet and worrying about his polling numbers as any other politician...

i hate that the series changes how the death eaters are written between half-blood prince and deathly hallows

connected to this shift from the series hinting at the broader issues in the wizarding world to a flat battle between good and evil is that the death eaters, their aims, and their modus operandi are written very different between half-blood prince and deathly hallows. in the former, the death eaters can be situated very easily as anti-state sectarian terrorists who have all sorts of complex analogies within british history and politics. in the latter, they're just caricatures of pure evil - which is why the death eaters introduced from the latter stages of half-blood prince onwards, especially the carrows, are considerably less interesting as characters than those, such as lucius malfoy, barty crouch jr. and bellatrix lestrange, who are introduced earlier.

it's also why the voldemort of deathly hallows feels so uninteresting. i don't like the fanon that the horcruxes render him insane at all - when he's shown outside of the epic battle between good and evil in that book, he's shown to be as lucid and cunning as always - but he ends up having to flop because his only purpose in the overarching narrative is to be killed. in the earlier books, in which he's a paramilitary kingpin poisoning and corrupting a society which was designed to exclude him because of the fact of his birth in revenge for its treatment of him, rather than satan and hitler's lovechild, he is so much more interesting.

i hate the series' belief that slavery is fine

obviously, one of the biggest examples of state malevolence in the series is that wizards own slaves. like many readers, i loathe that the house elf plotline ends up being reduced from its potential for radicalism in chamber of secrets - in which dobby mentions whisper-networks of elves who decry their treatment at wizards' hands - to what we see from goblet of fire onwards - in which elves love being enslaved and think that any attempts to free them from their subjugation is cruel.

i also hate that elves' freedom is then hand-waved away as part of the general race towards "all was well" with the implication that hermione found it easy to undo what appears to be centuries of state-sanctioned oppression without any pushback at all.

the house elf plotline is one of the clearest distillations of the series' individualistic morality. harry abhors the treatment of dobby at the malfoys' hands entirely and only because he doesn't like the malfoys. he abhors voldemort's treatment of kreacher, but sees absolutely no issue with sirius' because he likes sirius - and he clearly sees no issue at all with his own legal mastery of kreacher, seeing as, literally minutes after the end of a war in which the good guys fought for the rights of muggles and muggleborns to be seen as fully human... he is considering ordering his slave to make him a sandwich.

i hate that the series doesn't show the realities of resistance

the reason i think the whole "why does voldemort keep using avada kedavra, isn't he supposed to be clever?" question arises is because the series is incredibly resistant to the idea that the good guys must have to kill as well, which makes it look like it's only the death eaters using it while the order use lots of clever magic that the stupid terrorists are too thick to think of.

this is idiotic - not only because the killing curse is canonically flawless unless the thing you're blasting is your own horcrux and so the order would use it for efficiency's sake alone, but because the reality of being a resistance fighter is that, even if you're on the "right" side, you are going to have kill people or they will kill you.

lupin is completely right in deathly hallows that harry is breathtakingly naive to avoid shooting to kill and that - without the protection of genre conventions allowing him to be preternaturally merciful - his resistance to killing is going to result in him being destroyed by the enemy. it is inconceivable that the rest of the order don't using the killing curse - and the question of what this does to their souls [is it murder if you believe yourself to be justified in your actions?] and their senses of self post-war is so interesting to think about - and i wish we were shown this in the text.

especially because molly absolutely blasted bellatrix with it.

but i also hate that the series thinks that violence is fine when the good guys do it

this is primarily another example of the black-and-white "this is fine because harry's good" theme which runs through the series, which we see in things like harry using sectumsempra on draco malfoy in half-blood prince or the cruciatus curse on amycus carrow in deathly hallows. harry's overarching response to committing attempted murder is to sulk that the incredibly minor punishment he receives is reducing the time he could spend hitting on ginny, and his response to torturing amycus is "lol. lmao."

the series thinks - again and again - that cruelty and violence are completely fine when the person they are perpetuated against "deserves" it, and it does not bang.

and that the series allows the good guys more complexity in characterisation

the role played by the house system in the story - and, above all, the fact that our heroes are all connected to one particular house with straightforwardly admirable associated characteristics - means that the villains receive less opportunity to also have positive traits intermingled with their negative ones - and, therefore, complex and interesting personalities.

i also dislike that when non-gryffindor characters - especially slytherins - do reveal themselves to be brave and loyal etc., instead of recognising that this is because bravery can be multi-faceted the series suggests that they should be recategorised as "belonging" to a "good" house.

or, in other words, me and dumbledore's "i think we sort too soon" line in deathly hallows are enemies for life.

i hate that the series blames merope gaunt for dying

and - of course - the main way a villain isn't allowed as much complexity as a hero is that the series never examines the impact of voldemort's childhood on his adult self. while we see hints throughout canon of just how profoundly affected he is by his institutionalised childhood and the weight of his grief over his parents [his mother especially] - such as him learning as a baby never to cry for attention because it's futile - this is hand-waved away throughout the series by dumbledore-as-the-voice-of-god as irrelevant. the eleven-year-old tom riddle is straightforwardly evil, that he grows up in an orphanage is used as nothing more than narrative colour to underline how creepy he is, and dumbledore's spectacular mishandling of their relationship is viewed by the series as undeniably correct right up to the very last moment [when harry imitates dumbledore by - and we should call it what it is - deadnaming voldemort in their final confrontation].

but the most egregious thing that dumbledore does when discussing the course voldemort's life takes is blame merope gaunt for her own death in childbirth, by implying that witches are immune to one of the most common causes of death throughout human history if they just try hard enough and then saying that a nineteen-year-old girl whose life appears to have been nothing more than unrelenting abuse and misery [perpetuated both against her and by her] lacked the moral fibre to try hard enough.

and this infuriates me.

i hate how the series treats female characters who don't fit its narrow spectrum of "correct" womanhood

merope is but one victim of the series' general issues with treating women who aren't its heroes - all of whom are exactly feminine and beautiful and clever and talented enough that we know they're good people, but not any of these things in an extreme which could make them vapid or arrogant or defiant of social norms or so on.

the series takes a very low view of women who exist outside of narrow boxes - whether they are interested in a hyper-feminine aesthetic [lavender brown, rita skeeter] or a more masculine one [marge dursley]; conform to stereotypes about being bitchy, flighty, or vapid [pansy parkinson, romilda vane] or refuse to adhere to social expectations to be polite, meek, and demure [fleur delacour]; are unmarried, are not inherently maternal, and/or are cruel to children [bellatrix lestrange; petunia dursley; dolores umbridge]; are unrestrained emotionally [cho chang; moaning myrtle] and so on. and i don't like it.

and i also hate that - connected to this - the series uses physical appearance - especially weight - as a shorthand for [female] characters we're supposed to dislike.

what it says on the tin, really - if the series doesn't like a character, especially if the character is a woman, you can almost guarantee that they will either be fat or be unusually thin.

and finally...

i hate that the series prioritises one form of love - love as suffering and as sacrifice - over all others

part of the series' march towards the epic two-person showdown between good and evil is that harry is made to endure trial after trial - including his death for the salvation of mankind - in the name of love. obviously this is because he becomes, by the end of deathly hallows an allegory for christ, but it also fits into the series' view - articulated most frequently by dumbledore - that love, suffering, and sacrifice are all synonyms.

the acts of love the series foregrounds - snape's willingness to endure anything because of his love for lily; sirius' willingness to rot in azkaban and caves and grimmauld place because of his love for james and harry; harry giving up a love that's like "someone else's life" with ginny so he can go die - are all sacrificial, and the series generally takes a dull view of love that is fluffy, silly, carnal, selfish, soothing, transformational and so on. lavender and bellatrix's open adoration of their lovers is mocked; dumbledore's sexual desire for grindelwald is punished by his sister's death; tonks and lupin's uncomplicated happiness in the birth of their son is not to last.

but happy endings and silly jokes and forehead kisses are love too. and the hill i will die on is that they have even more potential to bring about the salvation of the world than constant suffering and abiding.

#asks answered #asenora on canon

208 notes · View notes

faerii-shin · 5 months

Text

Them when you're sick 🤒

Genshin Boys x Gn! Y/N -- head canons

summary : Imagine a cozy blanket fort built around your bed to keep you safe and snug. Btw, just enjoy the genshin boys' warmth and reassurance.

characters: Heizou, Kazuha, Xiao, Scara

warnings : none

genre : pure fluff, soft, comfort

word count: 455 words 2,503 characters

a/n : I started writing this when I was sick because I was in a mood to make some head canons. It was stuck in my drafts for the longest time and I haven't been online for at least 4 months, so here it is. 🤍

heizou! who immediately went to your shared bedroom the moment he heard you sneeze. Although he can't be with you as much due to your condition, he will truly miss you when you're not around. Except, he would secretly go to the room and cradle you in his arms when you're deep in sleep because he can't resist not seeing you. As a detective himself, he will ask you lots of questions about your symptoms to figure out what's wrong. Seeing you in a state like this is for real one of his weaknesses. Despite his many cases, he always finds time to check in on you and make sure you're doing well. He might even give you a little kiss on the forehead from time to time as a sign of his affection. 🤍

kazuha! who was extremely worried when you told him you were feeling unwell. It's no surprise that he'd put everything on hold to take care of the one he loves most in his life. Understanding that you might be feeling irritable or emotional, he would have a very gentle and patient demeanor towards you. Without a doubt, he would gladly prepare a warm and relaxing bath for you. > < Honestly, all he wants is to see you smile again. And, get ready for his undivided attention for a whole day or longer – he's all yours. 🤍

xiao! who kept extra blankets and medications in your shared bedroom. You had to blink twice, when he greeted you with open arms, offering a much needed hug. He would happily make your favorite food and hum lowly in reply, without disagreement, when you ask him to do something. He once called you stunning, unaware that you were already awake. Now, he's got your legs wrapped around his waist as he holds you in his embrace, whispering sweet petite messages into your ear. It's the small gestures that makes your relationship extra special and he cherishes these moments as much as you do. 🤍

scara! who to your surprise, was softly humming a lullaby when you fluttered your eyes open. Despite the calm and peaceful night, you couldn't shake off your cough and colds. Seeing that you were struggling, he reluctantly took it upon himself to care of you. Regardless of his often serious demeanor, his attitude towards you just lights up the entire room. Seems, that Scara would make your favorite tea to soften the mood. He'd also just rant to you about random, otherworldly things to make you smile. Your laughter and the way you talk to him, is a rare quality to have and he couldn't have felt more special. PS Maybe you did perhaps find an endearing, lovely folded letter on your bed side table the following morning. 🤍

Little by little, you'll become the happiest version of yourself so smile more for your own than for others. Thanks for clicking and reading this !

252 notes · View notes

blueparadis · 1 year

Text

❝ BACKWARDS ❞ + BYAKUYA KUCHIKI.

( cw. )—› f!reader, angst, stranger to (fre)enemies to lovers, canon typical elements, slowburn, widower!byakuya, soul society arc spoilers, arrange marriage , mention of death,smût descriptions. word count :: 3.2k | redirect to blog navigation.

( syn. )—› after an emotional whirlwind, byakuya was given a chance to recuperate his irrevocable losses but little did y/n know that it was not what he asked for and he could never have what he wanted to ask for; hence, she had to face all kinds of retaliation from him.

( notes. )—› submission for ‘a change of pace’ collab by @mekiza . also, please accept this Sawn ( @swanphantasm ) ; it is because of you that I became aware of how handsome ( and sad ) he is. well . . .he is not my favorite but i like him a lot, so much so that i wrote that same cliche trope with him. forgive me </3

Words do not express emotions and thoughts precisely. They always become a little different when they are expressed; a little distorted, a little foolish, and a little bitter at some times yet life still goes on carrying a bevy of misunderstandings. It has to go on at least for Byakuya, who was stripped of love and time. Time to grieve, give and forgive, time to heal, and time to fall in love again.

Another bright day washes over the lush green spread of the garden despite the despondency and the agony of losing his wife, Hisana Kuchiki, to illness, to mere illness . It has been a few months since he became the head of the family even though his grandfather was still alive. His grandfather thought it would be better if Byakuya became the head of the family while he has still time, time to supervise him to keep up the family's reputation at hard times.

And so it began: the hypocrisy of rules.

Ginrei Kuchiki, the former head of the Kuchiki clan, when death was knocking at his door declared that Byakuya needs to be re-married. He knew that even if he was the head of the family he had no freedom to exercise his wishes and desires. He was just a scarecrow now , not the head of the family. He wanted to protest. He was aware that he would have to re-marry since he is the only one to carry the family line but he did not know that it would be so soon. All he wanted was time but everyone was running sort of it. His grandfather once said that decisions made in haste yield no good. What happened to that now, huh? However, there was one thing he was free to do, and that is, to choose his wife regardless of the family background and bloodline.

“You should be grateful that Byakuya has agreed to marry you even with all the rumors. He could have chosen a wife from the younger line of pure women” Y/N’s mother spoke as she kept on brushing her daughter’s hair, body shaking with excitement and tension brimming at her fingertips. She was not trying to hurt her. She only stated facts. Everyone knew about it. Y/N did too. Shihnōin Clan was one of the four noble families in the soul society. And the fate of the clan was hanging by the thread since Y/N’s previous marriage was full of woes. With no male heir she was the one to carry the bloodline. Even the distant families warded off when they had an ounce of the knowledge that Y/N was the reason for her husband’s death, for her own doom. And her father made it clear that she is too young to stay unmarried as soon as her husband was buried. No time to lament, nor to grieve. Tragic, is it not?

No. It is not. It was anything but not tragic. Sure, people talked, spun lies, and spread rumors but that is what they do, that is the only thing they know to do. Some said she poisoned her own husband; some said she was a witch of dark magic; some even go as far as saying that she had a secret lover who belonged to the low caste who killed her husband; But it did not matter what they said, it did not since if anything they helped to her to earn sympathy from the kinder souls, and Y/N’s mother made sure her daughter had no problem to have a stable life, finding her a proper husband and sealing the fate of Shihnōin clan with the Kuchiki clan. To people, it was more of an alliance, to the respective families, it was more of a marriage of convenience than a marriage. But to her it was a re-birth while to him it was just duty.

It was the fourth of January when her heart beat again hearing the sound of carriage. He is here.

Y/N could hear low voices from downstairs. Plain and prosaic but she could spot Byakuya’s voice out of them all. He specifically requested to see y/n alone and her parents did not express any objections. If she had not been married before, they would never have let her alone with a man, but as it was they thought they did not have to defend her virtue anymore. And Y/N could never tell them how wrong they were, that her previous marriage was never consummated. How shall she ever say that to him?

Byakuya was decent enough to knock and Y/N made no hurry to open the door. She bowed down, greeted him with a smile, and retreated towards the couch standing, waiting for him to follow her lead. “I hope you're aware of the circumstances of our meeting today. ” He seemed so restrained and controlled, as if his emotions were bottled up so deep inside, not even he could reach them. It is a wonder how much of it was the result of his wife’s death and how much was his natural disposition.

“Yes,” she said, hoping he could not see how nervous she was. She gestured toward the couch to the left. “Would you like to sit down for our talk?”Byakuya nodded. She sank down on the sofa, and he took the armchair across from her. She would have thought he would sit beside her, but he seemed content to keep as much space between them as was acceptable.

“I assume your father told you that our wedding is planned for February 14th” Y/N searched for a flicker of sadness or wistfulness in his voice, but there was nothing. She rested her hands in her lap, linking her fingers. There was less chance of him noticing her trembling that way. “Yes. He told me a few days ago.” Byakuya was courteous enough to give her the attention she needs. If all these were in his hands, he would not have been here. “I hope you're okay with this. With o-jii-sama’s health deteriorating and me being the head of the family, things are a little hasty. . .” Words became too heavy to reach her. She was bubbling with excitement that maybe, this marriage won't fail like the last one, maybe he won't flee with his secret lover while staging his death ( like her previous husband did ), and maybe he will see her as a woman enough. . .

“Why did you choose me?” Y/N asked out of the blue unable to keep up with his calm demeanor anymore. She had been wondering about this ever since her father had told her about his agreement with Byakuya. She knew it was a question that she was not supposed to ask, not like this. Byakuya’s expression did not alter.

“Of course. Many suggested your cousin but I didn’t want a wife who’s barely of age. Unfortunately, most women in their twenties are already married, and most widows are older than me or have children, both unacceptable for a man in my position as you will probably understand.” She nodded. There were so many rules and etiquettes when it came to finding the right spouse, especially for a man in his position, which was why so many were shocked when y/n was announced as his future wife. Byakuya had stepped on many toes with that decision. “So you were the only logical choice. You are, of course, still quite young, but that can’t be changed.”

For a moment She was stunned into silence by his emotionless reasoning. She was not as naïve as she used to be, but she would have hoped at least part of the reason why Byakuya had chosen her was that he was attracted to her, found her pretty, or at least fascinating to some extent, but this cold explanation destroyed that small flicker of hope.

“I’m twenty-five,” she exclaimed in a surprisingly calm voice. Maybe his aloofness rubbed off on her. If so, she would be known as the ice queen in no time. “That’s not young by our marriage standards.”

“Yes, still five years younger than me” He sounded as if she was forcing him to marry her, as if one of the rumors, as they say, that y/n is a witch is true. His previous wife was barely a year younger than him and they had shared good five years of married life until she died due to illness on a fine morning on a spring day.

“Then maybe you should look for another wife. I didn’t ask you to marry me.” The moment the words were out, y/n clamped a hand over her mouth, then met Byakuya’s gaze. He did not look angry, he did not look anything. His face was as it always was. Stoic and emotionless . “I’m sorry. That was very rude. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Byakuya has been sitting in the same manner as he did when he first took the armchair instead of the couch. He left the chair and walked towards her. With his hands now inside his slacks, his frame loomed over her. He took out his right hand, fisted, and kept the small velvet box on the side table. “Right. You shouldn't have.” Byakuya said as he noticed her eyes were still on the carpet. “But it's okay. I understand your concern.”

Her gaze flickered toward his right hand and her stomach plummeted. He was still wearing his old wedding ring. Another strange burst of disappointment filled her. If he wore it after all this time, he must still be in love with his dead wife, or was it a simple matter of habit? He noticed her gaze and for the first time his stoic mask slipped but it was gone so quickly that she thought she imagined it. Byakuya did not bother to explain and there was a knock on the door so he did not have the time either. With the exchange another set of pleasantries he left without a proper goodbye.

The wedding day came sooner than expected. She barely had the time to count days. And as the elders of the family discussed, it was small with no engagement ceremony but with just close family members and friends. Y/N did not object, actually, no one asked for her opinion except her husband. But it would make a great fuss if she were to bring her opinions to light. Moreover, she had more serious things to worry about. If Byakuya came to know that she still had her virtue intact, it would be just a matter of minutes for her before Byakuya puts all the puzzle pieces together to get the whole picture. He is a cold, clever man. So, mercy was the last thing y/n expected from him. Her previous husband, her not-so-dead husband fled with his lover because the rules and the customs would have kept them apart. And, if Byakuya had any clue of what happened at backstage he would turn the world upside down, at least he was expected to do so.

Y/N was finally able to catch up with her life when she was in the carriage with her new husband. There was no time to decipher him with all the people around. This night was going to be her first proper wedding night but Byakuya made sure that there was no chance of it at all. He did not seem tired, or interested in her. She could not pin any moment where she caught him looking at her, not even once. Dread and relief filled her at the same time. By now it is okay to accept that she was the problem, not her fate, or him. Perhaps, she can keep the secret of her previous marriage enjoying the little freedom she has left in her life.

The next morning was gorgeously sunny. When Y/N came downstairs she already found Byakuya on the other side of the dining table, with his breakfast and a rolled paper on a tray by his side. God knows, what news it holds? At least, not the one she was anticipating.

“I hope you slept well.” Byakuya broke the stifling silence that had made her think of all the possibilities that could end her life thinking of the contents of the letter. “I’ve already informed the staff to be here. Yesterday was an exception. Hope you did not have much problem without the staff not being around. They will be here at your beck and call, so you do not— was he mocking?

“That’s very kind of you.”

“Is something bothering you?” she nodded letting him know that there was no reason at all with a flimsy smile on her face. She could barely focus on eating the food. Byakuya noticed it too. “I thought you needed time.” his voice was coaxed with an apology. Of course. Byakuya would give her the very thing he was deprived of, for it had been his necessity too; Y/N’s glance switched to him and then to the food again. He did not look sorry though.

“As I said, That’s very kind of you.” She grabbed the tea cup and was ready to leave since there was no one to keep tabs on her etiquette and as such. If he wanted the marriage to work, then why should she keep trying all the time? all these hopes and anticipation would be the death of her if not the secret she is carrying with her.

“There will be a social gathering. On March 14th. You’re expected—She looked over her shoulder as the sound of the dragging chair made it to her ears. Byakuya hesitated before he spoke the rest, “I would like you to come with me.”

“Sure.”

Sure. Byakuya had his reasons to act the way he is acting. He was aware of the details of her marriage. Before visiting her, he made sure to do a background check and he did regret it when he recognized her previous husband. He had seen him in the land of the living. And, now he was not sure where exactly her loyalties lie: to him or to the man who left her. For now, he had no time to think about it. There were some grave matters that he had to handle.

Crest-fallen, a week prior to the gathering Ginrei Kuchiki took his last breath. There were lots of preparations and ceremonies to be done, but at the same time he could not afford to miss the meeting and so it all came down to y/n who had to shoulder most of the responsibilities while Byakuya just paid a visit to the meeting.

Time flew by as if someone were stealing it from them. Even though they spent the days under the same roof, Byakuya barely had a chance to speak to her or make things right. By the time he came to bed, she had already fallen asleep or was too tired to stay awake. Byakuya has been a light sleeper anyways. He often waited for her to be perfectly asleep so that he could slip under the same covers as hers. Y/N was too disappointed and angry to notice the small changes in him, in his gestures. Not that she tried, she did but Byakuya brushed her off every time. It was such a slow poison for her. She had made up her mind not to consummate this marriage unless they were asked for a child but fate never goes along with the human will. It opposes, always .

“You’re early,” Y/N said as Byakuya entered the room. Seeing her in a flimsy nightgown he looked away from her. She scowled when she noticed him looking away.

“Could you wait for me? I need to refresh myself. I want to talk about something.”

Ah! finally, it's happening. She gave him a simple nod and slipped under the covers. Perhaps it was about an heir, or shifting into a different house or maybe a visit to other families or so; Y/N had no idea that her secret was going to slap her in the face.

“I see. How long have you been aware?” Y/n asked still facing away from him while Byakua was seated on the bed. “Since before our marriage.” Y/n turned and sat folding her legs, covering herself so that he does not have to look away while talking. “Ah! That’s why the cold shoulder.”

“No. No. I was just—

“Just thought that I might have a secret lover too?

Byakuya closed the gap a little, “Well, do you?”

“Does it matter?”

Does it matter? Of course, it does. Byakuya did not respond not yet but Y/N could see his jaw tightening, muscles stiffing at the mere possibility of a ‘yes’.

She interjected, “Yeah! Thought so.” and left the bed, his sight heading towards the bathroom but Byakuya grabbed her hand and pulled her in his lap. She gasped loudly at such a sudden swift motion but more than so his bold voice declaring something so unexpected something so unbelievable that it turned her on more than it should. “Yes. it matters. It matters to me because I would be bothered, so much that I’m incapable of bearing the thought of losing you.”

Her breathing was heavy since not only his deep raspy voice stilled her motion but also made her thinking come to a halt. Byakuya slipped his hands under her gown earning a huge gasp as his lips touched her bare shoulders. Her body responded quickly, she arched feeling his cold and calloused fingers on her breasts, pinching her areola. “Tell me,”, his voice coated her skin with goosebumps, “do you want this, with me?” She turned her face, eyes holding the tears back, blurring her vision. She was burning with desire. How could she not?

“Yes.” Byakuya’s hands traveled down to her core, rubbing gently on her clit over the cloth. It was already damp. She could barely process all of these while his voice hinted impatience again, “then, tell me where you involved with him, in his act?”

Her grasp on his thighs tightened as she struggled to stand up on her feet. With all the dim lights around it was not of any help. Byakuya pushed aside the fabric and touched the outer lips with more pressure than before. “Do you not want me?” Y/N has torn apart between keeping her self-respect and submitting her to him. She had tried countless times to get his attention, tried every lewd way to lure Byakuya that made her feel like nothing but a cheap whore.

“Do you not want me?” she managed to utter thinking of all those nights when she had to go to bed feeling like a mistress rather than a wife.

Byakuya verbalized holding her in his embrace tightly. “Yes. I do. I really do.”His voice reeked of agony and loneliness, his touch was so desperate yet so gentle. Y/N read him wrong, he was not playing games anymore.

—

⌗ :: @sailewhoremoon @massivementalitynut @tokyometronetwork @underratedcharactercorner

361 notes · View notes

highdramas · 1 year

Text

hungry for life | j.m.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: language, canon typical sadness, age gap but it’s not really mentioned, sweet sweet yearning, smut in later parts

word count: 1140

summary: there are many things that joel miller hungers for.

notes: this is part of the creature comforts series but this can be read on its own! they want each other so bad y’all it’s crazy... this is set 10 years after the outbreak began. joel is 46 and reader is 29.

it was interesting, you couldn’t help but think. how attuned you had become to joel’s needs, his desires. the ones that he himself didn’t even realize that he had. and it was this night that you could sense his pure hunger.

you weren’t sure when it was that the two of you had struck up this friendship. somewhere between the first and the second box of lotions that he had smuggled for you– certainly before that second box had been brought to your door, the first one not even dented yet. there was such a care to it. the corner of his mouth had turned up and he had said in that husky voice of his, “figure there’s no use waitin’ around to give these to you.”

but you had struck it regardless, and he was sitting in your apartment and his back was hunched slightly and you watched his face and it pained you. there weren’t many moments of joy, but the ones you had you typically shared with him. within the walls of this desolate and surely condemned apartment, you had created something. and it hurt that he couldn’t muster the joy that you two shared here.

all it took was one look at his face. bending slightly, finding his eyes which he was desperately trying to hide from you. as if he knew that with one look you would undo him, you would unravel all of his secrets, even the ones that he hadn’t told you. he would eventually tell you all of his secrets. he would tell you the things that kept him awake in the night and the things that booze and pills couldn’t even chase away. but not today.

“you’re hungry,” you breathe. “have you eaten today?”

joel stares down at his hands. they’re softer than they had ever been– you had insisted he use the lotion that he smuggled for you. he had rolled his eyes but relented and he asked to take a bottle with him. he gives a small shake of his head, and he looks up at you. “i’m fine, nebraska.”

nebraska and texas. texas and nebraska. when you had called him texas he said it was only fair to give you a matching nickname. you had argued that your home state of nebraska didn’t quite roll off the tongue– but it somehow sounded so good now when he said it. when he was saying it to reassure you. like it was a secret that the two of you shared.

“that’s what someone who’s not fine would say.” you pat his shoulder and move away from him, and he goes to stand. you plant your hand back on his shoulder and shove him down into his seat. he joked that you were a flower who could wrestle a bear if you needed to. “sit. let me whip something up for you.”

“that is unnecessary. your rations–”

“don’t care about my rations,” you say with your back to him. “you’ll make it up to me, and you’re no good malnourished.”

just about everyone these days were malnourished, but neither one of you were going to damper the mood with that stark reality. you wanted to offer him this and he wasn’t strong enough to fight you off. he was losing all of his strength where you were concerned, even if you didn’t know it yet.

there’s a sick plop as the spaghettio’s meet the pan. you can feel him coming up behind you, right behind you, just a hovering presence. “if you’re going to make me eat your food, the least i can do is cook it.”

you snort and look at him over your shoulder. “you consider this cooking?” you turn back to the pan with a smirk, the hissing of the gas coming to life. “that’s sad. how did you ever navigate this world?”

a hand reaches out and rests on the counter. he’s still so close– he’s practically wrapped around you, invading all of your senses. growing in your mind. infecting you. “guess i didn’t,” he says lowly and your eyes flutter shut and it takes every ounce of strength within you to not lean back, rest your temple against his chin and pretend like the two of you are normal. a normal almost-couple in a shitty apartment heating up spaghettio’s after a long hard day of work. these fantasies are the thing that get you by, sometimes. they’re the thing that coaxes you into the fitful embrace of sleep. “thank you.”

you look over at him and you smile and it’s a genuine one. “you’re welcome.” you nod your head over to the couch. “go. sit. it’s rude to stand around in a cook’s kitchen.”

he laughs and it’s so low and warm that it lights a fire deep in your belly. you find yourself watching him even as he follows your instructions, sitting down on the worn couch. you’re looking at each other from across the apartment and that peaceful smile grows until you’re forcing yourself to bite down onto your lip and look away.

the two of you talk about things. anything, really. you talk about the shifts you’d both be working in the next few days. you talked about his work with tess, but you didn’t talk too much about that. and with two mismatched bowls, you approach the couch, offering him his and sitting down beside him.

he takes a spoonful and he lets out a moan that certainly shouldn’t stir your belly the way that it was. but you simply ask, “taste good?”

“fuckin’ delicious.” he takes another spoonful and there’s something satisfying about watching him like this. like you solved something. like you were able to take care of him the way that he was always taking care of you. “thank you.”

“don’t gotta do that,” you murmur, settling in against him. you eat with shoulders leaning against one another and eventually your bowls are empty and set to the side but you’re still leaning, still touching, still feeling one another.

this life was painful. you both knew that. caring about people opened up the opportunity for it to be even more painful. and while joel had tommy, you knew that there was a cavern of fear inside of him. fear of loving, fear of caring, fear of opening up any part of himself. which is why you don’t feel as hurt when he clears his throat, stands, takes your bowls to the sink. “thanks for dinner. i’ll be back tomorrow.”

he may be afraid, but he still rinses out his bowl and then yours. he may be afraid, but he knows exactly where your silverware goes. he may be afraid, but the essence of him is all over this apartment, all over your heart.

you’re hungry. but so is he.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfic #joel x reader #joel miller smut #tlou fanfic #my writing #creature comforts

650 notes · View notes

hobiebrownismygod · 4 months

Text

"Sorry, Dove" Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader - Part 1/2

Summary: Hobie Brown's canon event, or in which basically you were the Gwen Stacy to Hobie Brown's Spider-Punk

TW: Blood, Mention of murder, Reader death, Angst, Hobie crying

WC: ~2k

A/N: You and Hobie are young, around 14 to 15 in this. It's supposed to be sort of his origin story. Btw, Hobie's dialogue are bolded.

Taglist: @therealloopylupin2099 @spiderrinn @l0starl @daydreaming-en-pointe @itsparis-07 @vileviale @puff-hugs @lauryn2558 @sunasslut69

Taglist link & Masterlist

Prev|Next

CREAK

You looked up from your bed as you heard the window open slightly, letting in a draft of cold air. Quickly throwing the cover off, you crawled to the foot of your bed where the window was situated, tilting your head to the side slightly with a smile. Peering in through the window, was the unmasked face of your best friend, Hobie Brown.

"What are you doing here? It's past midnight!" You exclaimed, hugging your knees to your chest as you watched him pull himself into your room, hitting his head on the top of the window in the process. "Ow!" He let out a groan before he put his hands on his hips, looking down at you. "Happy Birthday, dove. Looks like I'm the first person to wish you" He asked with a smile. "Did you really think I was going to leave you alone on your special day?"

"Hobie, if I get caught this time..."

"You won't." he extended his hand out towards you, a confident grin on his face. "Come on, you trust me, right?"

You looked up at him, biting the inside of your cheek. "But what about the curfew?" Ever since Spider-man had showed up, only a few months ago, President Osborne had implemented a curfew of 10 pm, stating that anyone who left their homes after that time period would be severely punished. But then of course, Hobie had never been much of a rule-follower.

"Since when have I ever followed that stupid curfew?" He asked with a lopsided smile, reaching his hand out to you a little further to coax you into taking it. "Come on, I've got something amazing planned."

You hesitated for a moment before taking his hand with a sigh. "Fine." You muttered, letting him pull you off the bed and open the window a little further. "Just trust me, dove, we'll be fine." he gave you a gentle smile before pulling himself out the window. You stuck your head outside, waiting for him to balance himself before pulling yourself out as well, his hand holding your waist to keep you from falling.

He used his hands to stick to the wall and held you to his chest. "Shit, I forgot the mask. Can you put it on for me?" He asked tentatively, leaning back slightly to look at you. He nodded towards his pocket and you reached inside, grabbing the mask and gently pulling it over his head while he kept his arms firmly wrapped around you.

"Ready?" You smiled in response, putting your arms around his neck and holding on tight while he secured you to him with a web, tying it tightly before he leaped off the side of the building. "Where exactly are we going?" You asked, closing your eyes as he sped up, swinging through the dark, empty city. "You'll find out."

The two of you stayed in the shadows of the sky, careful not to let any of the soldiers patrolling the streets see you. They were all armed with their guns, and Hobie knew that if they caught even a glimpse of him, they'd shoot without a second thought.

It only took a few minutes before you arrived to your destination, a tall building with clouds surrounding the edges, making the height seem even more intimidating. You timidly stepped down from him, the elevation making it slightly hard to breathe. "Uh...Hobes? What is this place?"

"Shhh, just trust me." He repeated, taking your arm and leading you towards the edge. He pulled off his mask and took a deep breath before he gestured out into the distance. It took your eyes a moment to adjust to the night, but once you did...you expression morphed to one of pure awe.

The lights of the city were dimmed due to the curfew, making the night sky completely visible. The stars looked close enough to touch, making it seemed as though if you reached your hand up, you might just be able to grab one of those twinkling lights. The moon was full and bright, illuminating the roof and making the scene even more magical.

"So?" He asked, gauging your expression, trying to determine whether you liked the view or not. You gave him a wide smile, closing your eyes as you laughed. "It's amazing. I don't ever think I've seen this many stars before. Thank you."

"Yeah, well, there's less pollution this high up." He replied, looking down at his feet awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. "I'm glad you like it."

You sat down on the edge, the wind nearly pushing you off, and dangled your legs over the side, looking down at the quiet city beneath you. "It's peaceful up here." You said quietly, still trying to fully take in the gorgeous view. "Probably the best birthday gift I've gotten today." You chuckled.

His eyes widened. "This isn't your birthday gift." He said, shaking his head. "Nah, I've got you something else too." You gave him a confused look as he began to search through his pockets, eventually pulling out a tiny wrapped box with a small handmade bow on top. "Open it."

You glanced up at his excited expression before taking the box in your hands, fingers running over the soft satin bow as you untied it. You took the top off and you stared down at the present in shock. "What'dya think?"

You pulled him into a hug, a stupid grin on your face as you profusely thanked him. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You exclaimed, squeezing him so tight he could barely breathe. "I'm-g-glad you liked t-them!" He replied, gasping for air.

You'd been asking him for your own pair of web shooters ever since you'd found out your best friend was the masked vigilante known as Spider-man. He'd refused at first, saying he didn't want you involved in his crimes, but it looked as though he'd gifted you them anyways.

You took the web shooters out of the box gently, clasping it onto your hand. You tried to shoot it, but nothing came out. "Huh?" You pressed again, a little harder. "I haven't put the fluid into it yet." He said, taking your hand in his and wiping away a smudge off the cool metal surrounding your wrist. "I'll put it in later, I promise." He gave you a sheepish look. "I used it all up a little while ago when I was fighting Kraven."

"That's okay!" You were still over the top with happiness as you pulled him into yet another hug. "I can't believe you actually made them! You're amazing!" He blushed as he accepted your hug, awkwardly patting your back. "Of course. I'd never leave my dove hanging." He said quietly, clearing his throat.

Hobie hadn't always been awkward around you. In fact, before you'd moved away, the two of you had been so close, people would get scared if they only saw one and not the other. Your family and friends would come up to you asking, 'Where's Hobie?', and vice versa.

After you'd moved, he started to see you less often, get-togethers only happening every month or so. Your families had grown apart and you didn't eat dinner together anymore. You lived too far apart, it took too long.

And then, Hobie's neighborhood was raided, Osborne's soldiers took over, and his mom and youngest sister died. His father had gotten sick, and although your family had tried to help as much as they could, he eventually died. Hobie was left alone with his brother, who was barely able to provide for him. You stopped seeing him completely.

That was until one day, he'd showed up at your window with a bite mark and his brother's old jacket, saying that you were all he had left and that he needed your help. Sometimes he'd sleep in your room without your parents knowing and other times he stayed at shelters and such, completely alone. You were his only friend, his only family, all he had.

You were also his first love. Of course, you didn't know about that yet, he was too shy to tell you, but you still meant more to him that most others ever had. It was why he worked hard to come see you so often, why he'd made these web-shooters for you. Maybe you could really be by his side from now on, rather than just the girl that cleaned him up after a bad fight. Maybe...you liked him back.

Actually, he was planning on telling you. That's why he'd brought you to such a quiet place, given you his birthday gift for you, and that's why he was sitting next to you right now, stealing glances while you played with your new web-shooters.

"So, has the center found you a foster family yet?" You asked gently, looking up at him with a concerned expression. His eyebrows immediately furrowed and he looked away. "They've tried. But I told you, I don't want to live with a foster family."

"Hobie, come on. It won't be that bad. What if they're really nice?" You suggested, hugging your knees to your chest as you looked up at him. "What if they're not? What if they're racist, or-or fascists, or-" he stuttered, trying to find an excuse for why he drove away every family that tried to take him.

He couldn't let you know the real intentions behind this. He couldn't let you know that he was afraid that whatever family took him would take him away, move somewhere, and force him to leave you behind. He enjoyed these moments with you, being able to sneak into your room whenever he wanted and take you wherever he wanted to go.

And being Spider-man would be even harder if a family took him in. They might end up finding out, and who knows if they'd turn him into the cops or if they'd use it against him. He couldn't risk that. No, living at the shelter was the best thing for him right now.

"My family could-"

"No." He immediately shut you down and your expression sagged. You knew if you tried hard enough, your parents might be willing to take him in. He seemed to hate that idea even more. Your family had moved away because of your dad's job as a cop, and Hobie despised cops. Cops were the reason his family was gone and cops were the reason he had been living in such a shitty neighborhood to begin with. He didn't trust living with one, no matter how much he cared about their daughter.

"Can we talk about something else?" he asked, looking back at you with a pleading expression. "Okay, what do you want to talk about?" You asked.

You shivered as another cold draft passed by the two of you. It was freezing at this height. Hobie's expression softened as he noticed this and he pulled off his vest, wrapping it around you before pulling you a little closer. "It's bloody freezing up here." He chuckled, teeth chattering slightly.

The two of you huddled together for warmth as you continued to talk, the conversation shifting towards more pleasant things, like his music, your art, etc. You rested your head onto his shoulder as he worked himself up over his guitar, talking about the songs he was planning on writing, the new rhythms he'd learned. He hummed them out to you as you listened, ranking them based on how much you liked them and how catchy they were.

It had been maybe an hour or two since he'd brought you here, and you were obviously starting to get very sleepy. You were nodding off as he continued to talk, and he pulled you a little closer, letting you press your head against his chest and get comfortable. You would've fallen asleep too, if it wasn't for the-

BOOM.

You jumped slightly and Hobie immediately looked in the direction of the noise, completely alert. "What was that?" You asked nervously. Smoke was coming from the distance, looking as though some sort of bomb had been set off. He looked down at your for a moment, a knowing look in his eyes. "I've got to go."

"But, Hobie-"

"I'll come back for you, I swear. Just stay here and stay safe, okay?" He said quickly. He didn't have time to plead with you right now, all he could do was make you promise to stay put. You looked at him for a moment. "Just...you be safe, okay?"

He nodded, taking your hand in his. "Always." He brought your hand to his lips, kissing your palm gently before walking toward the edge and leaping off the building, pulling his mask back up in the process. You watched, unsure of what to do now.

You'd promised him you'd stay put and it wasn't like you could get off the building in the first place, so really you were stuck up there. You kept your eyes on his retreating figure, powerfully swinging down to the city below while you simply shivered, holding his vest around you a little tighter.

And then, you heard another explosion. The sound caused you to fall back slightly out of shock, but this time, you were unsure of where it'd come from. It sounded a lot quieter than the last one, and it also sounded much, much closer.

You peered over the edge of the building, searching for where it could have possibly come from. That's when you noticed, the line of tiny green orbs, latched in groups on the wall of the skyscraper. You continued to stare, trying to recall where you'd seen them before. They looked so familiar...

Suddenly, one of them exploded, causing the building to shake slightly. The one right above it began to quiver, as though it might be next. You let out a soft gasp as you walked back from the edge, going back towards the middle of the building. Those green orbs weren't orbs. They were bombs.

And who else would use bombs to kill their victims?

"Hobi-Spider-man!" You called out in a fearful voice, hoping he'd hear you despite him being long gone. "Come on, come back!" You yelled.

"Spider-man isn't here now, kid." A loud cackle came from behind you and you yelped, turning around to see none other than the Green Goblin, more bombs in hand as he stared at you from atop his wavering hoverboard. "What? You weren't expecting me?"

The building shook again as the next bomb went off and you fell to the ground, trying to get back up and regain your balance as the building wobbled. "Wh-what do you want?" You asked, looking back over the edge as you backed away.

The Goblin only approached you, getting closer and closer. "I saw you, I saw that little punk swinging you up here. You're his friend, aren't you?" His menacing voice sent chills up your spine. No...he couldn't find out. You had to keep Hobie safe.

"No, I'm not." you said quickly, continuing to back away until you were only on the edge of the building, cornered by the masked man. "He just helped me out, I don't know him." You were breathing heavily now, your chest rising up and down as you tried to seem like some random civilian, hoping it would be enough to protect Hobie.

"Ah, but we both know that's not true." The Goblin chuckled. He was close enough to reach out and grab you at this point. "If you won't give him up...well, I suppose I'll have to force you."

You leaned back slightly as the Goblin's hand reached out towards you, fear flickering across your expression.

Suddenly, the building shook again, harder, as the rest of the bombs blew up at the same time. You found yourself falling back, unable to keep your balance. You screamed as you felt the ground disappear from beneath your feet and your stomach drop when you began to fall.

The only thing you heard was the Goblin's laugh as he swooped towards you, grabbing you by the shirt and dangling you over the city. He pulled you a little closer as you struggled, holding onto his arm and protesting. "Now let's go and find your little friend, shall we?"

100 notes · View notes

sunflowersandsapphires · 9 months

Text

Come Smell the Roses

Wake Up: Chapter 5

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: In an attempt to stop the advances of an unwanted suitor, Matt Murdock accidentally condemns you to being his fake girlfriend.

warnings: This one is a bit more intense. Canon typical violence, attempted mugging, misogynistic language, suggested sexual assault themes (no graphic descriptions of non-con but its slightly implied), swearing, reader is very much a damsel in distress

a/n: We finally meet the Devil! I had a hard time writing Matt in Devil!mode so please give me any feedback you have. As always, likes, reblogs, comments, and requests are incredibly appreciated!

w/c: 2.8k

Matt swiped a club across the temple of the man in front of him, impatient and less than forgiving of the man’s ambition to hook teenagers on drugs. Taking back to the roofs of the kitchen, he crouched and listened—waiting for another cry for help. Soon enough, the scream of a child echoed through the streets and Matt took off.

First a drug dealer, then an abusive father, then a scummy property manager, then a trigger happy mugger. The line of abhorrent men kept growing, not helping Matt’s anger in the slightest.

Punch after punch, his rage would not lessen. The emotions in his chest were crashing over him, drowning him, and no amount of devil-ing would pull him up. Taking these monsters off the streets couldn’t save everyone, it couldn’t save you. He gave his hair a tug, the desire to be comforted and the need to hit something until he bled clashing in his mind. How easy it would be to just rip off the suit and ask you to come over. To lie in your arms for hours, letting you stroke his hair and help him block out the rest of the world.

While he was still wracked with guilt at the idea of taking advantage of your kindness, he needed you. It was so selfish, but he was hooked on the way you made him feel. Throughout all his years, and relations with many many women, he’d never experienced something like this. A dependency on your bubbling laugh and the way you could lift an immense weight off of his chest with a single gesture, like you’d been trained to do just that.

The sound of your smile bleeding into your voice when you were excited. The fact that he could practically feel a pinch on his skin when your brow furrowed in concern at his self-deprecation. The way your constant observations of his behavior made you feel like a mind reader at times. You always knew what he needed, and you gave it no matter the cost.

Matt cursed himself internally for dragging you into his bullshit. But he was in too deep. He craved you so intensely that no other option held a candle to you. Pulling out his phone, he clenched his jaw. His fingers strained to type in your number, his ears fervently awaiting your voice, but he couldn’t do it. With a roar of frustration, he shut his phone, guilt decidedly outweighing his desire to be touched, loved.

Growling, he set off in the direction of the bar you and your friends were drinking at. If his damned emotions wouldn’t give him peace, the least he could allow himself was a sliver of comfort.

Reaching the club, he couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief as he found your heartbeat. Breathing in, he listened as you laughed at a joke one of your friends was telling. Taking a moment to let you wash over his senses. Hearing you squeal as your favorite song came on. Smiling while you and your friends started drunkenly singing, or yelling, along. After hours of pure irritation, letting his lips quirk up felt wonderful. Sitting down on the roof across from the building sheltering you, Matt leaned against the cool bricks and closed his eyes.

Breathing slowly, his state became almost meditative. Counting each pump of your heart, his heart swelling with every giggle that escaped you. He didn’t deserve you, this much he knew, but damn if he wasn’t tempted to let your voice become the soundtrack of his life.

While it felt like mere minutes, he was shaken from his haze when he heard you bidding your friends goodnight.

Taking a minute to embrace each of them, you gave your friends a final wave before exiting the club to wait for your Uber. Thinking back, it might not have been the best idea to stand alone on a curb behind a popular bar as a young woman while waiting for your ride home. Men couldn’t be trusted.

A large, stumbling figure approached you. He could’ve been handsome, if his gaze wasn’t utterly predatory. You shifted uncomfortably, turning your attention away from the man as he undressed you with his eyes.

“Hey there, baby. Spare a dollar?” His tongue darted out to wet his chapped lips as he took a few clumsy steps in your direction.

Your footing faltered as you scrambled away from him. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any cash on me. My boyfriend’s just around the corner, actually, I should really be meeting him.” Eyes darting around, you realized with horror that you were completely alone with this man.

“He ain’t such a great boyfriend if he left you unattended, is he, princess?” Your stomach clenched, the disgusting pet name reminding you of another vile creature from your past.

“He didn’t leave me alone. I think I’ll be going to find him now.” You backed away from the guy as hastily as you could, but he grabbed your arm. “Hey!” You shrieked, struggling against his painful grasp.

“Don’t worry, princess. I’m sure your boyfriend won’t mind if you give me that expensive purse of yours. I probably need it more than you do, don’t ya think” He sneered at you, shoving you into an alley. Landing on your tailbone rather harshly, you cried out and began crawling away from him.

“Please! Just leave me alone! I don’t have any money, I swear!” Tears were welling in your eyes as you cursed yourself for forgetting your pepper spray.

Desperately looking around for any sort of weapon, you grabbed a shard of glass from a nearby broken bottle and sliced at the man’s legs as he ambled towards you. As the piece made contact, the man howled with rage, grabbing your arm and twisting it behind your back until you dropped the makeshift weapon. The man shoved you against the alley wall, your head making a sickening conk as it collided with brick. He gripped your neck and snarled.

“You little bitch. You’ll pay for that.” He spit at you as you clawed at his hands, desperate for air.

You pleaded with any available cosmic forces, begging them to not let this happen. The edges of your vision darkened before a voice sounded at the end of the alley.

“Let her go. Now.” The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen growled at the man holding you, stalking towards him murderously. The man scoffed, barely glancing his way before doing a double take. His hands fell away from your throat and you dropped to the ground, gasping.

“Shit, man, I don’t want any trouble. Just trying to make a living.”

“Funny, I don’t remember society deciding that assaulting women was an acceptable form of employment. Step the fuck away from her or, so help me, you’ll feel nothing but agony for the rest of your miserable fucking life.” The man in black gripped a metal club in one hand, pressing towards your attacker as you clumsily scrabbled away from the pair.

“It won’t happen again, man. I swear!” The perpetrator implored.

“Lie.” Daredevil snapped, lunging for the man and throwing him against the wall. You covered your eyes, your head was pounding and nausea grew in your gut. The sounds of a struggle rang in your ears before you heard the loud thump of a body hitting the ground.

You peeked through your fingers, seeing your attacker lying on the pavement. “Is he dead?”

“Unconscious.” The Devil approached you cautiously, hands clenched as if holding back from trying to help you. “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

A sob broke through your lips, cracking Matt’s heart clean in half. “Yah, he…um…he—“

“Hey, it’s alright. You don’t need to relive it. Where are you hurt?” He crouched in front of you, far enough to not make you uncomfortable. (Little did you know just how much he ached to hold you, to apologize for taking so long to intervene.)

“Hit my head, a—a bit. And m-my back.” You stammered, panting with residual fear.

“Shit. Ok. Do you have someone who can take you to the hospital?”

“No! I’m ok. No hospital necessary! I’ll be alright.” You started to clamber to your feet, keening sideways before your savior caught you. Strangely, the way he held you felt familiar. Despite not knowing him, you didn’t feel the urge to pull away—in fact, you leaned into his embrace slightly, appreciating the support as your vision swam.

“Head wounds aren’t something to mess around with. I can call an ambulance if you’d like. You should really—“

“Please don’t!” You wailed, grasping the fabric of his suit and looking at him with wild eyes. “The paramedics, they’ll want to know what happened and I—I can’t…” you broke off into sobs, falling against his chest as your legs gave out.

“Ok, hey, you’re ok. If you won’t go to a hospital, I have a friend who can look you over. I’ll give you her number, but you have to promise to call her, ok?” You nodded, regretting it immediately as your head pounded. “Alright. Let’s get you a cab home. She can meet you there.”

You halted as he helped you out of the alley, looking at him with intense gratitude. “Thank you. You saved my life.”

“Anytime, sweetness.” He squeezed your arm before allowing you to step into the cab. “Promise me you’ll give her a call.”

“Promise. Thank you.”

With a curt nod, he gracefully scaled the side of the building and disappeared.

The cab ride was immediately torturous. Your nausea was steadily building and your head pounded with the worst ache you’d ever felt. Feeling tears well up in your eyes once again, you arduously pulled out your phone, calling the one person who would make you feel safe again.

It took two rings for Matt to answer. “Hey, angel. Everything ok?”

The overwhelming concern laced in his voice broke your resolve. “No, I’m not ok, Matty and I—I need you, please.” You choked out through tears.

“Oh love, what happened? Are you at your place?” Matt sounded breathless, like he was on a run or something.

You sniffled miserably. “Not there yet. Will be soon. Someone hurt me, Matty. He—he tried to—“ Your ragged breaths cut off your explanation.

“It’s alright, angel. Just breathe. I’m on my way. Did you want me to stay on the phone with you?”

“Please don’t hang up.” You bawled.

“I won’t, love. I’m here. Right here, ok? Take a deep breath for me, sweetness. I’ll be with you soon.”

At fucking last, he reached his apartment, he ripped off his suit, throwing on civilian clothes before throwing a few things in a bag and sprinting for your place.

Getting you settled safely in your apartment was an endeavor. You’d somehow made it inside but went to the wrong floor. When he found you on the floor above your own, you were confused and in pain. He’d comforted you a bit, having to bring you away from the brink of a panic attack when you realized you couldn’t remember where your keys were. After you had calmed down marginally, he had scooped you up and carried you inside.

While the pair of you waited for Claire, Matt’s shame consumed him as he heard you writhe and moan on the couch in agony. Your memories of the night had faded, though your anxiety would not fade. Your brain knew something had happened to you, but your injury made the thoughts of the attack murky. Matt’s jaw clenched as a fresh spiral of blame hit him—you were hurt because he wasn’t there. He has failed you.

“Ma-Matty..?” You whined through gritted teeth. Matt, who hadn’t even realized he’d been impatiently pacing, was at your side in an instant.

“I’m right here, pretty girl. What do you need?”

“Jus’ you. Please. Don’ feel good. ” Your shaking hand limply grabbed at his shirt. He cradled your head and lovingly placed you across his lap. You curled into him, with a mumble. “‘M cold, ‘nd tired. Can we sleep yet?”

“Not yet, sweetness. Claire is coming to talk with you, then you can sleep, ok?”

Your breath rattled around a stifled sob, but you trusted him. “M’kay.”

“You’re being so strong for me, angel. My good, strong girl. I’m so sorry it hurts.” He stroked a hand over your back, drawing soft patterns in your skin. You relaxed ever so much under his touch, melting into him bit by bit.

After what felt like hours, Claire arrived. Despite your exhaustion and trauma-laced evening, you were your sweet self as Claire examined you. A little out of it and not as talkative, but polite and obedient. Claire quickly decided you were her preferred patient. Giving your shoulder a squeeze and wishing you well, the nurse tugged Matt into your kitchen to give him instructions for your care.

“I know this won’t be a shock to either of you, but she’s got a moderate concussion. She’s clearly in a great deal of pain so I’ll leave some meds here for that as well as for the nausea. Cold cloths on her forehead might help until the meds kick in. If she loses more of her memory or starts exhibiting mood swings that are abnormal, call me. You know as well as I do that stress will make the injury worse. She’s clearly shaken up so if you think she needs more help, call me.”

“I will, Claire. Thank you. I’m sorry to have to call you.”

Claire gave the lawyer a hug, stepping back and glancing at your form sadly. “She’s sweet. And good for you. Take care of her, but don’t forget about yourself, yah?”

Matt gave a dry chuckle. “I’ll try my best. Thank you for helping her. She means a lot to me.”

“I can tell.” Claire looked at Matt with a small smile on her face. With a squeeze of his arm, she headed out.

Filling a glass with water, he returned to you, shaking out the appropriate pills and taking note of the time. Beside him, your breaths deepened as you nodded off. Stroking your cheek lightly, Matt whispered, “Meds first, sweet girl. Then you can sleep.”

Your brow pinched as you tried to understand what he meant, but you took your pills without hesitation. Kneading at your face, you tried to get the ache to dissipate somewhat but had no success.

“Careful, sweetness.” Matt pried your hands away from your face, fingers trailing lightly over your forehead which made you whimper and lean into his touch. “C’mon. Let’s go get some sleep.”

Nodding as stiffly as you could, you wrapped your arms around his neck as he hoisted you from the couch. Once securely tucked into bed, Matt turned to retrieve your water and pills, but your hand shot out to grab his wrist. “Where ‘re you goin’?” Your voice cracked with worry.

“I’m just going to move some things around. I’ll be right back.” Matt promised, petting your hair cautiously.

“Leavin’?” The smell of salt wafted towards him as your throat closed around a new wave of tears.

“Not leaving, sweetness. I’m still right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Need you, Matty. Don’ want anything else. Please.” Gripping his wrist tightly, you tugged him towards the bed. Regret welled in his own throat. If you knew what he was, that he hadn’t saved you, you wouldn’t want him. This much he knew.

Matt shook his head to clear the dark thoughts. You needed him right now, self-hatred could wait. “Ok, sweet girl. I’m coming.” As gracefully as he could with you still latched onto him, he slid under the covers next to you. Nestling into his chest with a content sigh, your breaths deepened. If it wasn’t for his amplified senses, he might not have heard your dazed whisper.

“Love you, Matty.”

“I love you too, angel.” He murmured after you were asleep, pressing a kiss to your head and securing his arms protectively around you. “And I’m sorry.”

Waking up to a pounding headache, you sighed. Matt was still knotted around you, taking the edge off of the horrid night you'd had. As you turned over to relieve pressure in your head, a sound ran through your mind.

“Anytime, sweetness.”

God, you loved when he used that name. In sleep, Matt pulled you closer to him, his face ruffling through your hair. A smile graced your lips as his protective embrace sparked a sense of deja vu. Where had you experienced…

Oh my god. Oh my god. Your frazzled mind finally began to piece together the strange familiarity you’d felt when the Devil had rescued you. Your eyes widened and you gasped almost inaudibly. Matt groaned softly, nestling in closer to you. Your throat clenched with emotion.

Matt was Daredevil. And he’d saved your life.

I hope you enjoyed! I am writing the final chapter of this fic as we speak (there are 8 total so you still have some content coming, don't worry.) If anyone has ideas for one-shots or future fics in this verse, please send them to me! I'd love suggestions.

Taglist: @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @scoliobean @harperdoodle @mattkinsella @leikelle @sweetbee0108 @dark-night-sky-99 @fallen-angels2213 @will-delete-this-later-probably @cheshirecat484 @thornbushrose @vernon-dursley

156 notes · View notes

ariasdistress · 10 months

Text

caged.

pairing: dark!miguel o’hara x fem!reader

warnings: semi dark — blood fetish, sadism, dub-con, caging, hostage?, fingering - female oral, all around nsfw

part 1 .

“miguel.. let’s just talk about this.” you struggled in the tightly controlled metal cuffs as they slowly bruised up your wrists.

you were a runaway, yet ironically in this situation your actions caught up to you. another disruption of a canon event got you thrown into a laser cell — cage by no one other than miguel o’hara, spiderman 2099. a broad shouldered, towering male who’s eyes developed a glint whenever you begged to leave. known as an amateur rebel from earth 3033, you infiltrated HQ to disrupt canon events to save your own father, alongside others. with a strange stroke of luck it worked which naturally garnered the attention of miguel, who saw to it personally that you suffered for your actions.

he kept you as his prisoner, publicly - right in the middle of his section in HQ where everyone could see you. his excuse was he wanted to keep an eye on you at all times. you were now a spectacle, this is what would happen to mindless spidermen who decided to go against his word which was as good as gospel.

weeks went by, each time someone would ask why you were still there miguel responded with pure intimidation. “do you want to question my actions again? or do you want to end up like her?” his eyes darkened, showcasing a shade of crimson that instilled instant fear upon anybody. many spider-people rumoured miguel was a sadist, with all that unjust reasoning to be violent or to torture.. surely he must find some fun in it right? but he would never admit it.

for him, seeing you over time, losing your strength to fight back and instead be utterly broken, obedient to his every word made something snap inside. he was forming a sort of attachment to your state - weak and fragile, just how he liked you. as time went on, during the day miguel’s public hostage was feared as the pinnacle of consequences. during the night he would let you out of the laser cage and command that you run. though you would try, knowing he was faster and stronger, like always he would catch up.

this night, he had you hunched over, breathing shakily as he constricted your arms behind your back. you writhed in discomfort for it to be ignored. the taller brunette toyed with your limits by pushing your flexibility, almost breaking your arms as he started bending your spine under him with his upper body “what’s wrong mija? where’s your fight gone?” his voice was loud and stern - as if he wanted people outside to hear. your form fitting suit was stretched to its maximum ability as miguel held you against the wall, your ass was unknowingly grinding against his hips. miguel groaned as he felt his dick getting rock hard and his suit getting tighter.

a chill ran down your smaller frame and your cheeks turned hot, you felt how big he was against your ass - your ass that was only covered by a thin pink suit. “ah- coño.. don’t fucking move” miguel hummed lowly, taking a hand off your wrists to use his talons to cut your lower suit in half. immediately, you yelled out in protest “mi- god stop. what the fu…” you could feel his sharp claws ghosting over your inner thigh. “be quiet, you don’t want me to cut something vital hm?” he whispered almost, to distract the way he was drawing a little blood - dragging his talon from your thigh to your ass. you winced in pain, refusing to speak since you knew your objections would be ignored.

miguel snickered, “you’re much prettier when you’re quiet” as you jolted at the feeling of miguel’s tongue licking the blood off your wound. it stung but his lips cushioned the pain, it was like he was sucking with desperation. his kisses quickly rode up your ass, trailing down to your pussy - your body trembled in anticipation.. he wouldn’t.. right? he gave a last kiss to your thigh and to your surprise you could feel him smiling. a sudden pain streamed up your spine as the realisation hit that he cut you once again. just as you were about to yell - pleasure overcame your body, targeting your legs. miguel licked a stripe over your slit before kissing sloppily around your entrance. you tried closing your legs just to be met with him squeezing your wrists together firmer and using his free hand to pull your thigh closer to him as he’d been crouched behind you shamelessly.

he felt you getting embarrassingly wetter while he used his tongue to circle around your clit, he wanted to let your arms go but the risk of you running away was far too likely. his desire to have his way with you was becoming insatiable, miguel retracted his claws to push two of his large rough fingers inside you. the way it filled you up made your eyes water as you squeaked when he mercilessly pushed it in once again. “miguel- fuck. please, it feels so weird” you cried out “i’ve never done this before. please..” hoping he would listen yet he replied

“even better cariño, i won’t promise that i’ll be gentle.”

·˚ ༉‧ ⋆ ♱｡˚ ♰ . ˚✧ .

author’s notes: ahaaha decided to end on a little cliff hanger.. (setting up for p2) and you’ll notice this is a LOT more vanilla than my usual shit. also, first time using a little spanish but i’m not a native speaker by any means it’s just like two words but if you have some suggestions for more words i can incorporate lmk <3 will post second part if this does well, love u all and i’ll try to post more - my love for miguel rlly made me do this in 2 nights tho

— my suggestion box is always open please use it!

thank you for reading! aria. ᥫ᭡

#ariasdistress #ariasfics #dark fic #dark!fanfiction #dark fanfiction #dark!fic #fanfic #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel x you #miguel x reader #miguel ohara #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #miguel x y/n

142 notes · View notes

sweeteaacakes · 1 day

Text

╰┈➤ ❝ WHB || Dance With The Devil ❞

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° The Bride & The Beast, Part 1

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° TW: canon divergence (rewrite), violence, religious stuffs (?), heresy (?),

»»-----------►

Ebony hair like a raven. Brown eyes like the eclipse. The mirror imperfectly reflects the other side. White dress that covers her from neck to toes. On her head is placed a flower-crown to attach the veil. White and pure that show the stains of any impurity.

Today she will walk down the aisle along with other sisters to vow their loyalty to the Lord. A ceremony from a long time ago, now practiced by few.

Once the preparation was done, she met with the other sisters whose anticipation layered with the music of the organ and chorus. A hand on the heart syncs their breath of anticipation, each smiling at each other.

Then there was a deafening sound before the priest spoke to initiate the ceremony. His voice penetrated through the wooden door of the entrance. Once done with his speech the organ started to play and the choirs sang to welcome the sisters inside.

The eyes of those who attended smiled in awe. Their families and friends and acquaintances. Among those are eyes that only looked at her.

It’s from a dear friend with silent eyes and concerned smile that’s matching her sentiment, hoping for his presence to be a strength.

His attempt to smile, yet like he was gonna cry, flicked a spark that made her wanna laugh. But she held it back along with the tears.

She just sighed and smiled, feeling a bit more relaxed. It wasn’t long before her body felt light like she was floating instead of walking. Her mind is in a state of blankness. Was it because she was at peace? No, it was far from it.

She was torn. A part of her wants to turn around and run away but the current is so strong it’s sweeping her away.

Feeling powerless she kept her gaze down. Hand gripping the cross she's holding. But she can't ignore the light that is seemingly getting brighter. The music and voices, deafening. The temple, so big yet suffocating, is overwhelming upon the shoulder. Slowly crushing her.

The dress she's wearing, so fit and not allowing her skin to breathe. The veil dizzyingly blurs her vision.

Once reached the altar, she and the other sisters got on their knees and bowed to the cross. The music and choirs halted for the priest to talk. Words that are nothing but bleak to her ringing ears.

The cold and metallic object against her skin, underneath the layer of cloth, is the only thing keeping her mind focused.

A relic passed down to generation, an heirloom she holds dear.

A golden key with an unfading luster.

She doesn't want this. And yet here she stands in front of the idol that seemingly looks down on her…

“You’re so tense… are you scared?” A voice from somewhere asked.

She bit her lower lip and tightened her grip on the cross once more. With all her strength, she lifted up her head and opened her eyes to look at the figure of the idol above.

“No…” whether it’s to prove the unknown voice it’s the opposite, she replied because she knows the truth. “[He] isn’t the one who’s looking down on me… nor [He] is judging me… because [His] ever watching eyes are unlike the eyes of the many.”

Saying those words to herself felt like lifting off a weight and clarifying her mind. Somehow, she can feel the owner of the voice smiling. She has been hearing him for a while now. Well, dreaming about the voice at least.

He asked her name...

"Haeul Choi... Hannah... That's such a beautiful name. l

That name will protect you."

"What do you mean...?"

"You'll know by time. In time of need, you'll meet them..."

Hannah recollected the conversation she had with the voice before. It was reassuring yet mysterious. And as if it is by her side now, she felt a hand being placed on her shoulder for comfort.

“If only I was more witty enough... maybe even wise…” she continued with a piece of dismay still looming in her heart “...then I could have found a way out of this situation… but I only thought about myself and when the moment came it crushed upon me…”

She said, laughing at herself with pity. Past that she may have taken for granted and looking back now she realized she just ignored them for her own comfort until it led to the point she couldn’t do anything.

“Auntie… I’m sorry… I can’t…”

“What do you mean you can’t…?” Her aunt said in disbelief. Her face creased in distress. “You’ve been preparing for this for years! I dedicated my time! My money! And made connections just so they can perceive you in a good light! And now you’re telling me you can’t..!?”

“...!” Hannah stumbled seeing her aunt’s face of anger and hurt. But she bit her tongue and stood her ground. Minhyeok is behind her, ready to intervene in case things go out of control but his friend’s hand clenched in a fist hidden behind her back tells him she still can handle it.

Hannah wanted to try to reason.

“Auntie. I… I really appreciate that. Really! But I can’t walk there with belief so.. so unwilling! It would be disrespectful to you, everyone and to [Him]!” Hannah countered to give her point of view loud and clear.

There was a moment with hope flickering along with her aunt’s chest gradually heavy breathing and face turning red. Her hands were so fast that Hannah or Minhyeok didn’t have time to react.

Hannah’s arm was grabbed so quickly and pulled toward her aunt’s. Eyes and grip locked to not let her escape. Minhyeok held Hannah, hand slightly placed above on the aunt’s while he attempted to call her name but nothing stopped the rage of the woman.

“You…” Her aunt spoke with venom in her voice. With the other hand she grabbed her niece’s cheek. “...You will walk there, make your vow and chastise yourself so the curse you and your grandmother casted upon our family will burn in the fire of hell! …Understand??”

She tightened the grip on her jaw, nail digging so her niece may look at her directly in the eyes not caring whether she hurt her niece or the tears staining her cheeks.

Hannah still can feel the grip even now. But the ache in her heart was more painful. Did what her grandma really practiced brought nothing but curse…? Each time she thinks about it, it feels like she wants to shed her entire being.

“...My child, look up… You know you can overcome this. You’re strong…”

The voice encouraged her as if it felt her woe.

Hannah didn’t want to believe what her grandmother did was to harm but it’s the only explanation for… before her mind can go back to that event, it stepped back… maybe, living in penitence is the only way for others sake.

“Penitence is the way for Lord’s forgiveness…”

Another voice spoke. Unlike the previous one this made her flinch and look up. The warm light that shone through the stained glass gradually became intense.

At that moment, an ethereal man appeared surrounded by the light. He has an unique complexion like an ivory beautifully paired with the six wings on his back that gently flutter and the halo that adorned his head.

“But… Did I say?...” He spoke with a soft yet strong voice that echoed in the temple. His eyelashes fluttered as he closed his eyes. He smiled.

“Descendant of Solomon. Your only path to forgiveness… is death.”

»»———-　　———-«

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° AAAAAAAHHHH PART 1 HAS BEEN PUNBLISHED!!! PART 2 IS ON THEE WAAAYYYYY ♡ THANKS FOR READING ALL THE WAY HERE! HOPE TO SEE YOU IN THE NEXT ONE!!!

#.sweeteaa writes #what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad?#whb fanfic #whb oc #whb satan #whb gabriel #whb minhyeok #whb x oc

12 notes · View notes

ultfreakme · 1 month

Note

Cn I ask your top favorite fics that you've written (feel free how much that you want to list)? Why they're special to you? Is there a specific inspiration when you wrote them? Thanks....

Hey anon!!! Thanks for the ask!! Favorite fics...I've written. You've given me too much freedom by asking my why I like them I am so sorry for the wall of text about to hit.

To Veer The Tides

It's a fic for Kuroko no Basuke which is basically just me slapping the character names onto a WILDLY different fantasy setting. It's for Akashi x Furihata. An arranged marriage AU where Akashi is the son of an emperor who went too power hungry and wanted to consolidate 7 mostly independent states(provinces??) into one, but he was defeated by the remaining states and to control Akashi, he is arranged to marry far below his station to Furihata, son of a destroyed noble house which is under the rule of Kagami's state. So it's about Akashi climbing back to power with Furihata initially thinking Akashi is pure evil but he soon realizes that maybe Akashi and his family aren't as evil as the people believe.

I ended up doing so much research, world-building and character expansion. It's more political intrigue than romance, lol. I still love that fic to death, I think I honestly peaked there for world-building, at least. I wrote it immediately after reading and watching Mo Dao Zu Shi and being first introduced to the concept of cultivation as a magic system and really wanted to put all my faves in flowy robes and long hair.

I want to get back to it, but I've discontinued it because I am simply not qualified to right about Dissociative Identity Disorder, systems and alters. Akashi has a terribly stereotypical portrayal of it in canon and I thought maybe I could research enough to write that, but I just, I don't know any systems and I felt like if I can't respect it, I didn't want to do it.

But it's still my favorite in terms of the world and aesthetics I had going on for it.

2. Tell Me Your Story (I'll Tell You Mine)

My current baby. The one I incessantly post about and draw for. Single-handedly over saturating the kyoshi warrior sokka x blue spirit zuko market. It's set in the canon world but I had to do so much research for this one too. I learned a lot, I think, while writing this. Big lesson being never ever write in present tense but if you're 200K+ words into it there is simply no going back RIP.

It started as just a silly romance because I thought it'd be funny to have Sokka and Zuko be completely oblivious to who they like. But as I began plotting and writing, it transformed into me projecting all my issues with colonialism and using the ATLA setting as base to dip a little bit deeper into the themes the show itself brings up, and some issues that it doesn't. Like, how colonialism uses your own culture against you, how it makes you fear who you are, makes you do things you don't want.

I deliberately chose that title because lots of indigenous communities in the world have lost their stories because of colonialism. Oral traditions and tales that are forgotten because people were killed and forced to never repeat them, forced to forget their languages. And that, really got to me. How colonialism slowly strips you of what makes human beings what they are; stories, art, music, dance, etc.

So this fic ended up being about how colonialism steals from you, uses what is yours AGAINST you and how it is important to embrace who you are and fight back.

3. Tell The Neighbours I'm Not Sorry

It's for Jon and Jay from DC Comics and Superfam. I wrote it when I was seeing a lot of biphobia against Jon and racism against Jay. As a bi asian, even if it was towards fictional characters, it was getting to me. People kept talking about how there's a specific way to be bi. Why did Jon never have a crisis about being queer? Why did Jon and Jay move so fast? Is Jay manipulating Jon just to get what he wants? It was all filled with a lot of stereotypes and biases.

Superman comics especially often taken up real world issues and puts it into the story. So I took all my anger and frustration from the biphobia and racism and wrote it into a fic.

It's about how there's no one way to being queer, and about how immigrants and non-white people are immediately classified as some kind of 'other' and 'bad' with zero grounding. It's also a little bit about colonialism on Jay's end. It's so charged with me going "FUCK IT!" and still somehow came out okay as a fic and I think I like that I managed to turn my anger into something productive.

Bonus

4. An Itajun fic I have not published and am still writing

It's my first JJK fic! It's an absolute mess in my drafts right now but I really like it, it's very fun for me. Junpei starts seeing and sensing curses far earlier because of built resentment from his bullies going too far and severely injuring him, his mom finds out and they move to Yuuji's area of Tokyo to get away from the school since they won't do anything about the bullying. Yuuji and Junpei run into each other and meet early at school. So the dynamics are kinda reversed, where Junpei is the one who is into the world of curses first while Yuuji has no clue, but they slowly interact and come together, forming a tight bond.

Junpei trusts no one and is dealing with all this curse nonsense trying to understand what it means. Yuuji is seemingly happy and chipper but he's going through tough times because his grandpa got hospitalized. It's both of them supporting each other and making sure the other isn't alone.

#riki asks #zukka #akafuri #itajun #jonjay

13 notes · View notes

gemini-care-barr · 5 months

Note

Barry Allen astrology vs. Hal Jordan astrology- who is what? :D

Oooh yay, this is a much easier question! 😁

So, if we’re going off of their canon birthdays (which change a lot and/or aren’t really stated or kept to often) then because Hal’s birthday is February 20th and Barry’s birthday is March 19th (Pre-Crisis*, more on this later) that makes them BOTH Pisces!

I kinda love this arrangement because they both definitely show Pisces traits in pretty different ways but always with an undercurrent of deep understanding of one another! They’re both very compassionate, altruistic, and sociable (mostly Hal on this front hehe) people who can be quite emotional, although they’re also both very good at keeping most of their emotions in check when the need arises. Their Pisces friendship is seen most often in the fact that neither of them are prone to opening up easily except with each other, this is when that deeper understanding of one another comes in. A lot of times they clam up around other friends and family but put the two of them together and they instantly confide in each other about all their deepest, darkest worries, it’s the sweetest!

Now, from a purely headcanon perspective: I think Hal is a total Aries and Barry is most definitely a Gemini (I’m not just saying this because I’m a Gemini, I swear!)!

You can’t convince me that Hal isn’t the stereotypical Aries with his steely will, impulsive nature, and incessant need to TAKE ACTION!! And Barry is the picturesque Gemini as a master communicator (HOW many times has he gotten Hal out of a sticky situation by using a few honeyed words?), deep-thinker, and with a wit that puts Hermes himself to shame.

This now brings us to their Aries/Gemini friendship which truly highlights the ever-present question about Hal and Barry: how are they friends?!? I’ll tell you how! They just get each other in a way that allows them to butt heads without ever actually stepping on toes. They both enjoy the thrill of the chase and seeking the answers which their shared curiosity MUST have, and while Hal’s incessant need to run out ahead may sometimes send Barry into a tizzy, Barry’s own love of always being on the move, and his overall chill demeanor with joining Hal on his adventures, makes them such. a. great. team! Hal’s sometimes brusque demeanor can also rub a lot of people the wrong way, but Barry’s wit and understanding allows him to take anything Hal says and just let it roll down his back, no harm done. And when Barry finds himself too in over his head and falling into a cycle of overthinking, Hal is there with his straightforward honesty to bring Barry back from the brink. They’re truly one of the best friendships in fiction and I can probably write an entire book about all the things I love about them, but I’ll just stop here for now 😉

*Okay so back to this before I’m done, in Post-Crisis continuity Barry’s birthday was changed to May 13th which would make him canonically a Taurus which is just not vibin’ with me at all y’all. Like, I guess, he is a pretty steadfast person and he does like security (and you should really never push him to the breaking point), but I don’t know. There are other Taurus traits like being sensual and very pleasure-seeking that are just the total antithesis of Barry to me which makes me kinda wanna buck canon in this regard hahaha

#Barry Allen #The Flash #Hal Jordan #Green Lantern #HalBarry #BarryHal #Comic Books #Comics #DC Comics #Thoughts #Opinions #ask me anything!#astrology #headcanon #fanon #real tags are down now for inner thoughts #Sorry there aren’t any pics to further support my claims I have a lot in mind but I don’t feel like hunting them down haha #just trust me on this

23 notes · View notes

md-confessions · 1 month

Note

Reproduction hcs a little expanded on even (sfw parts of the hcs sent to the other account)

Drone kids in general:

- Drones do not reproduce sexually, obviously, instead they buy the pill baby/untrained networks shell and combine their codes (I heard the code combining part is canon?)

-> to combine their codes the parents use USB ports stored in their fingers to each copy parts of their code and transfer it into the untrained network (theres some in between step of them shuffling what parts of whose code is used before they transfer the finished code to the baby to give it conciousness. Don't ask me what that step it) -- they can customize some stuff like LED default color (can be re programmed later), some quirks/traits that aren't too closely embedded in the base code (the solver is too embedded in the base code so the parents have no control over passing that down), base parts for future personality or leave that randomized

- this is kinda canon? Liam mentioned in Glitch X that it's most likely like this: Drone children get their consciousness transferred into new bodies at certain ages until they reach the adult model (hc - some parents choose to instantly put them in an adult model bc ut saves resources, but the kids still age normally and need to basically get "updates" or "patches" whenever they hit a certain age in order to mentally age up)

-> (yes that implies Khan [and Nori] purposely chose for Uzi to be considered short bc they got her the new shells)

- Unused kid bodies + Untrained Networks can either be kept to pass on/down family or friends or can be resold

WD x DD "hybrid" kids:

- due to DD coding having the headbands be their "real" eyes (according to concept art, the show supports that they at least store multiple visual functions of theirs) / their main way of identifying their surroundings (screen is like a camera, they arent blind without the headbands just lack a lot of enhanced abilities, which can cause disorientation and confusion) that means that WD x DD children often come out visually impaired from their DD parents code, as part of their sight code doesn't match a default WD body. (I guess you COULD argue that the DD parent could literally just donate their own head bc they can regrow them 💀 but I'll leave that idea up in the air on if they're even compatible with a WD body or would be in tact enough to be re purposed lmao)

-> the DDs let some WDs take a closer look at their headbands so for these situations they could re create them. They're way less advanced, so a WD x DD kid still will have way weaker sense of their surroundings than their DD parent but better than their WD parent, but it's better than having them run around half blind. The parents need to get them custom made for the kids needs and install them to be connected to their screen either themselves or have someone who knows how to do it install them

- Hybrid kids usually get a WD core bc the Colony doesn't have access to DD cores, unless they are ripped from a DDs destroyed and discarded body (Fever lab scraps, or consciousness moved to a clone) which are hard to come by but can be acquired if the parents really want it (parents need to organize that themselves, way too dangerous for a mechanic to look for!)

-> the next one ties into this so I'll add here that DD cores are slightly acidic (nothing near the pure acid if stabbed)

- any DD features have to be custom made, that includes tails, as stated above headbands, wings, acid containers (can only be made if they have a DD core bc it produces the acid [see above point]!), custom limbs, and any internal containers/pumps for acid & for storage of oil reserves to avoid overheating

- speaking of, kids can still have DD/Solver traits like weakness to the sun or struggle with overheating, they're passed down the same way via code as a regular drones quirks/traits -- they can't really be actively be chosen or customized as they're too embedded in the base code (like the Solver itself -- since those traits stem from it)

- Hair is just wigs, it makes no other sense in my head (don't ask why DDs re-generate with the wig, I've no idea. I just pretend they don't and that they have to grab it from their old head /lh) so the parents & kids have full free range with customizing the little terrors appearance (like if they want it to match with their parents[like Uzi & Nori or Doll & Yeva!] or want smth completely different, most tend to match tho)

Would be happy to hear everyone else's hcs to maybe add onto this or their thoughts on these!! --- 🧪

#md confessions #murder drones #uzi doorman #nori doorman #md doll #md yeva #long post

19 notes · View notes

tanadrin · 11 months

Text

The Gatekeeper of Goji-kei is an archailect which, according to various sources, either guards the connection to, or is contained within, a Tipler Oracle located in a remote region of the universe. Information about the Gatekeeper is scant, and, according to various conspiracy theories, has been actively suppressed or destroyed since the First Effloresence at least, due to the Gatekeeper’s status as a canonical hostile entity; but most pangalactic indices, if they contain reference to the Gatekeeper at all, describe it as purely mythical.

According to legend, the Gatekeeper was not created to solve a particular problem (as most Tipler oracles are said to be), but specifically to simulate countless sophont minds; in this respect, it resembles various immortality projects of the late First Efflorescence, or possibly even the Resurrectionist Program of the Second. But the Gatekeeper differs from these benign undertakings in that all of the minds it simulates are kept in states of immense suffering. The Gatekeeper’s creator, if it has one, and its purpose, if one exists beyond pure malice, are not further elaborated upon.

Tarasi of Tau Ceti claimed that the Gatekeeper was not only real, but could be reached through the standard intergalactic wormhole transport network, if the correct lockouts could be identified and overriden. In his Meditations on the Lower Worlds, he writes:

Why it was suffering that the Gatekeeper of Goji-kei has been chosen to administer, rather than joy, I cannot say. ... Negative stimulus within the sophont mind is, in ordinary circumstances, an ultimately self-limiting process. Sufficiently intense stimulus is a second-order effect accompanied by, or perhaps in some extraordinary cases even a first-order cause of, deleterious effects which will ultimately destroy the sophont mind. Skin, flayed from the body and burned, withers and turns to ash; nerves charged with electricity beyond a certain point will die; sufficiently intense suffering will eventually overwhelm the ability of even the hardiest minds to maintain coherent thought, and consciousness will be inhibited--though it may leave a starveling beast behind.

But this is only true of minds which must function independently, particularly minds which must be embodied in the universe, and whose cognition is thus closely allied to the physical processes that sustain them. Within the realm of simulated thought, where all realistic constraints on embodied mindstates can be lifted, new kinds of hyperstimulus are possible, which most archai have been reluctant (at least openly) to explore. ...

I term the states of sustained negative hyperstimulus “hellstates,” though I do not think the word accurately captures the open frontiers of possibility I mean to evoke. We are naturally somewhat limited in our capacity to imagine suffering: the pain that has no end, the fire which never dies, the terror which will never abate, the despair which rises to annihilation--all are very great, but ultimately exist within a thin band of possibility for independent organic minds, which therefore cannot begin to conceive of the transcendent forms of suffering which lie within the Gatekeeper’s realm. Suffice it to say that, given that there are infinite meaningful configurations of mind-states, and therefore infinite possible mind-states ruled by suffering, there is an endless landscape of hellstates, whose various extremes are as alien to one another as it is possible to be, and within which an endless diversity of kinds of sentient being may exist. ....

Having trodden the path beyond his gates a little, and glimpsed what lies within, I will endeavor, as best as I can, to offer you a glimpse; thereby you may find some shred of insight, I think. Let it never be said there was no wisdom to be had through suffering. ...

On entering the Gatekeeper’s realm, one might expect to be instantly annihilated; that so great is the pure pain that overwhelms the senses, all capacity for rational thought should cease. It is not so; as I have said, this is a weakness for the-mind-in-flesh, which at that moment I was not. Instead, passing into the First Realm, one is conscious of a thousand thousands kinds of torture, pains of the body and spirit which exist nowhere else and therefore have no name; but the mind remains whole, and each thought continues in order after the other; and therefore the whole capacity to apprehend these torments, and thus to suffer further, is unimaginably increased. Oblivion or insensible chaos would both be respite, and there is none to be had here...

...and the deeper one progresses, the greater the difficulty of the road; for in order to apprehend new kinds of suffering, the mind must be changed, to accommodate new senses, new emotions, and new fears. Venturing into the Fifty-First Realm, it occurred to me that some time ago I had passed the point where I could continue to be regarded as human in any sense, and I wondered if I had any continuity with my former identity at all; or whether this instantiation of my mind was a new being, born of suffering and doomed to wander in this place forever. ...

Ultimately, of course, I returned, and I recalled enough of my experiences to write what you now read. Indeed, the Gatekeeper assured me that so holy was his mission, and so important was my testimony, that he had watched me closely, and would not have permitted me to die a true death while under his care--whatever that means to him. But I cannot help but wonder, so alien was the thing I became on my journey, whether he was being truthful; or if I am not, in some sense, a creature out of the Narakas wearing a human face. I fear sometimes that, having passed through that which by its very nature cannot be named, I have made a division in my history which can only be called death. Or, alternatively, that the part of me which really survives is not the bearer of this tale, but is still contained within the realms of Goji-kei, wandering ever deeper on the spiral path that has no end.

#the encyclopedia of things to come #tanadrin's fiction

40 notes · View notes

dreamlandreader · 8 months

Text

Ghost of You - Chapter One

Summery: Feyre and Rhysand wake up in the modern world, thousands of miles apart with no recollection of how they got here, who they are or the life they’ve left behind.

Word Count: 1750

Chapter Warnings: Memory loss, hospital setting, discussions of injury, angst

I’m so incredibly excited to share this fic with you all! I’m still very new to the whole writing thing so it certainly isn’t perfect but I really hope you all like it. Let me know what you think. ❤️

Note: Whilst this fic deals with the idea of jumping between worlds, this is considered separate from the multiverse CC/ToG crossover within SJM canon, and will deal purely with ACOTAR. This fic will be canon compliant with everything except that Feyre has not yet become pregnant with Nyx.

The girl felt nothing. Until she woke.

Incessant beeping broke through the fog that kept the young woman tethered under a blanket of sleep. Slowly stirring awake, bright lights filled her vision as she attempted to sit up but was gently pushed back down onto what felt to be an incredibly uncomfortable bed by mysterious hands.

“You’re awake!” A female voice stated somewhere to the girls left. Looking towards the sound she found the owner of the voice, a middle-aged woman with warm brown eyes and a comforting smile.

“What’s going on?” the girl rasped with a dry mouth, head throbbing and utter confusion clouding her mind. “Where am I?”

The older woman, who wore a long white coat and smart slacks, sat down in the faux leather chair by the side of the girls bed, and with her attention focused on the flustered patient before her, she began to explain.

“My name is Doctor Greene, and that over there is Detective Bailey.”

The girl noticed for the first time that someone else was in the room. A woman around the same age as Doctor Greene threw a sympathetic look in the girls direction before looking back down to her notepad.

“You are in the hospital,” Doctor Greene continued. “Someone found you passed out in the street this morning and called for an ambulance. You’ve been unconscious ever since. You have what appears to be a knife wound to your right shoulder, but we were able to patch you up without too much trouble.”

“It appears you were attacked,” Bailey informed the girl gently. “Now you’re awake I will need to take a statement from you. I know you’ve only just come to, but it’s important we get this information as soon as possible. Do you have any recollection of what happened?”

“No, I … I don’t,” the girl replied, overwhelmed as she tried to take in the weight of what she had just been told. Attacked? She didn’t remember being attacked. Come to think of it, she didn’t think she remembered anything at all.

Both Doctor Greene and Detective Bailey nodded patiently, as though they were used to a level of confusion amongst patients who’d experienced trauma, particularly when they first awoke. “Okay, well, it is possible you are experiencing some slight memory loss from the incident. The details will potentially come back to you once you’ve had a few hours to readjust,” Doctor Greene suggested, watching the girl puzzle over it in her mind.

“You were found without any belongings, so it would be safe to assume it was a robbery. However, it has meant that we have had no identification for you, so we have been unable to inform any of your emergency contacts of your whereabouts. If you let me know your name, I can find your medical records, and we can work from there,” Bailey stated matter of factly, looking towards the girl hopefully.

“No … you don’t understand! I don’t remember anything. I - I can’t even remember my own name!” The girl answered, panic starting to bubble in her chest as she frantically searched her memory for any clue of who she might be, or how she got to be here.

“Okay, take a breath, we’ll figure this out okay? You have no memories at all, nothing which could help us?” Bailey probed once more, hoping for something, anything, to work from.

“No,” the girl answered firmly. “Nothing.”

Doctor Greene reached for the girl’s left hand squeezing it gently, before glancing down and examining it thoughtfully. Looking back up at her patient with furrowed brows she mused “Well the thief might have taken some of your belongings but they did leave you with one clue,”

The anxious young woman and the detective both followed the Doctors gaze down to her left hand, which sat ideally against the stiff white bedsheets. Her skin was covered with a delicate black swirling lines, but despite her curiosity in the intricate design, it was the glimmering jewel on her ring finger which had really grabbed the rooms attention.

“That’s a hell of an engagement ring if I’ve ever seen one,” Doctor Greene stated. “Which means somewhere out there someone must be looking for you.”

The man thrashed fitfully. Until he woke.

It was dark in his dreams, and so cold. He couldn’t see through the inky black, but his other senses were heightened to the extreme. There was a sharp pain, and the metallic scent of blood. A soft hand snatched from his own. A scream.

“Rhys!” A woman shouted. A name. His name. He was sure of it. “Rhysand!” His chest. It felt like someone was cracking open his rib cage and crushing his heart with their bare hands. He couldn’t stand it. The all consuming fear. The rage. It was too much. And then he awoke.

Rhysand bolted upright, dripping in sweat, heart pounding. It had been like this for days. Ever since he regained consciousness in that damn alleyway.

Three days ago, Rhysand woke to the sight of a portly man staring down at him. The man, Doug Caldwell, was taking out the rubbish from his cafe when he stumbled across a young man in a torn suit, bleeding and unconscious. Luckily for Rhysand, Doug was an incredibly kind man. After helping him up, Doug brought Rhysand inside to wait for the police. Being a retired nurse, Doug’s wife Jenny patched up his wounds, while Doug made everyone a cup of tea.

The police tried to take a statement from Rhysand, but he remembered very little. He could only tell them three things for sure. One, was the name he was so certain was his. Rhysand, that was what the woman had cried. He had no idea what his surname was, if he had any family or friends or where he was even from, but a first name was a start. The second thing was that whilst he knew he was attacked, his vision had been compromised, so his assailant was a still a complete mystery to him. The last piece of information he had was that there was a woman there with him. The fear in her voice suggested that she was also a victim of this hidden attacker, and given the devastating ache in his chest at the memory of her voice crying out his name, she was someone important to him.

With very little to go on, the officers were concerned about their ability to track down the assailant, but with a violent person on the loose and another potential victim, they were hopeful that Rhysand would remember something more substantial, and left their details should anything come to mind.

Doug and Jenny, continuing their generosity, offered Rhysand the spare room in the apartment above the cafe, and with nowhere else to go he accepted their offer. And that is where he had been for the past three days. Despite the Caldwell’s goodwill Rhysand could not settle. The gnawing feeling that he should be somewhere else took over his entire body, and the cries of the woman in his memory rang endlessly in his ears.

His days were spent grasping at any threads to restore his memory, and his nights were consumed with the same nightmare on repeat. Rhysand tried not to fight it, the fear, hoping it would jumpstart a flurry of memories to come back to him, but so far his efforts had resulted in nothing. He could not give up though. Not knowing there was someone out there who might be in the same position as him. Not feeling the agony of the woman’s cries. It was that thought which convinced Rhysand that somehow, he had to find her. No matter what it took.

The figure slid silently through the crowd to meet his master. He was slight and moved with the skill of someone used to making themselves invisible as he pushed through the heavy oak doors of the seedy tavern. Grimacing at the stickiness of the floor, the man heads directly for the furthest corner of the room. Shrouded in the shadows, his master lurked, his fingers tapping against the table with impatience.

“You are late,” he stated plainly through gritted teeth. This was not a man you wished to displease. His deep brown eyes would have seemed warm as part of a kinder face, but the sharp cut of his jaw and the scowl that permanently resided there shaped him into a cold and callous figure.

“Apologies my lord, I was caught up in the crowds.”

“So. Is it done?” he asked, pulling out a bag of coins and spilling one of the gold pieces into his hand.

“Yes, my lord,” the man replied, itching to reach out and snatch his earnings.

“Good. There were no problems?”

“They fought it as expected, and I must say the girl was a particularly vicious little thing but without doubt the spell took hold of them both.”

“And it is irreversible?” the master enquired whilst lazily flipping the coin in his hand, the hiss of the metal piercing the tension of the two men.

“Almost entirely.” the man replied quietly, not quite meeting his masters eyes.

“Almost?” He snarled, stilling the coin and clenching it within his grip.

“It is practically impossible for the spell to be reversed. Only three people have ever reversed the spell. One died centuries ago, another we have already taken care of. My best men are out scouring the continent for the last. We will find them, and then that won't be a concern. Besides, we don’t need to concern ourselves with that anyway. They’ve been dumped somewhere they’ll never find their way back from, especially without their little friends.”

“I’m beginning to think it would have been much easier to just kill them,” The master glowered.

“Easier my lord, but not conjusive to your goals. It would have … complicated matters.”

“Yes yes we’ve been over this,” He said throwing the gold coin back into the bag and sliding it across the table.

“So, when do we make our move.”

“Soon. We need to give it time. Stir the pot and let it simmer until it boils over. And then we strike.”

Read chapter two here ❤️

#acotar #feysand #rhysand #feyre archeron #feyre x rhysand #acotar fanfiction #feyre darling #feyre cursebreaker

33 notes · View notes