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temis-de-leon · 21 hours ago

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Shy gn!reader who has never dated anyone before the Demon Brothers

Characters: Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus and Beelzebub (x reader, separately)

Main Masterlist

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Dateables version

Requested by: Romance Anon

A/N: I know I said requests will be posted from July on, but I literally remembered this one two days ago and I think it got requested last year, so...

Mammon

Since the very first moment he saw you, there has been no one else in his mind, including those he’s already dated or fooled around with. Why would he look at anyone else when you’re right beside him? Why would he think about previous heartbreaks when you make him feel so light-hearted?

Okay, sure, he’s most of a ‘casual, noncommittal fling’ type of guy, and perhaps calling his failed relationships ‘heartbreaks’ is an exaggeration, but some of them did hurt at the time, you know?

There weren’t many souls that loved him despite his gambling addiction and his kleptomaniac tendencies, and, while he understood why they eventually broke things up with him, it always left a sour taste in his mouth.

So, not only you are the first one to insist on seeing the best he can be, but he also seems to be unable to succumb to the temptations of greed when you’re around.

He doesn’t yearn for more because you’re already more than enough, and for the very same reason, he doesn’t think about what he used to have and lost.

Surprisingly, Mammon isn’t especially insecure about your relationship history, even when he doesn’t know nothing about it. After all, if you don’t reminiscence or wonder about anyone, then why should he be worried?

Competing with his own brothers and that nasty human sorcerer for your attention is enough of a headache.

There isn’t any particular reason that pushes you to tell him about your lack of experience other than you wanting him to know you better.

He’s playing a new game (more like constantly dying) while you’re sitting right next to him eating some takeout food, and the words blurt out of your mouth before you can even register them, like is just another fun fact about your favourite animal.

At first, Mammon frowns when he hears you, because how could anyone not have shown interest in you before, and then smiles with the usual superiority he carries like a shield.

“Well, who cares who you did or didn’t date? You’re with the Great Mammon now, right? And there’s no one better!”

He sounds arrogant and cocky when he says it, but there’s a hint of truth in his words.

Now that you’re with him, does anything else really matter?

Plus, there’s something sweet in knowing that he is your first in every sense of the word.

Leviathan

Telling him about your lack of previous partners is actually an act of mercy towards his sense of self-worth and the insecurities born out of your feelings for him and the relationship you’ve created together.

It is obvious, even to an outsider, that Levi isn’t used to real life romance and fully believes is not made for it either.

He states himself as a shut-in who finds comfort and sensibility in 2D animation and carefully programmed intelligence and social interaction. The media he consumes is based on the buyer’s preferences, so his views on the world beyond his bedroom door are drastically black and white. That is, although he appreciates the morals of friendship and heroism, he’s quick to categorize strangers based on pure actions; like contemptuously calling you a normie when he met you even though he really didn’t know you at all.

Of course, there is a need of escapism in what he does.

He doesn’t feel like enough compared to most of his brothers or others around him (he still can’t believe he shares interests with Diavolo, who willingly wants to spend time with him), so he traps himself in his comfort zone, dresses up and role-plays, and creates passwords to keep those who don’t respect his passions away.

Taking that into consideration, Levi still doesn’t completely understand how he managed to end up with someone so admirable as you.

Your relationship isn’t based on romance or lust, so, despite being in love with you, your friendship is what he values the most. You are kind to him, patient and attentive, and you never make fun of what he likes even if it isn’t a particular interest of yours. He looks up to your bravery, and how you’re willing to try new things.

He really, really can’t comprehend why you chose to be with him, so the moment you share the fact that he’s your first partner, you rock his entire world.

You mean to tell him that you could’ve had anyone in the three realms, yet he’s the one that ended up dating you? Is that it??

His eyes start to sparkle and he smiles like the world finally makes sense to him.

He finally believes he deserves good things.

Satan

Before he met you, Satan didn’t really understand how far love could go; how limitless it could become if paired with the right person. He acted, more than you could ever imagine, as an obvious “matter of fact” type of guy: what it was, was, and it always had a reason to be.

Still, his intellect and charisma made him easy to like and love, and he had connections with all sorts of people, so he got to have a partner every now and then. Normally, they were established, formal relationships, but he didn’t reject casual ones if the occasion took place.

Most of the reasons for his breakups were normal: lost feelings, different directions, disagreements…; but there were others that… honestly? Took him by surprise.

And not in the good way.

The reason some of his ex-partners used to leave him that infuriated him the most was that he didn’t love them enough, or at all; and no matter how much he insisted on his feelings for them, they didn’t believe him.

The root of their conclusions?

Satan loved cats more than he loved them.

He cooed at them, made entire photoshoots, and spent copious amounts of money for the sake of feeding and playing; his cheeks reddened in uncontained excitement whenever he saw even the smallest hints of pointy ears and a long, sinuous tail; and whoever looked at his eyes each time a cat was involved could swear that he had stars in his pupils.

But could anyone blame him?

They were cats.

Besides, the love he felt for his feline companions was not comparable to what he felt for his partners, and, if they felt threatened by it, then perhaps it was never meant to be.

Once you started dating, though, Satan couldn’t help but wonder if you went through the same struggles in your own relationships as he did in his. Being accused of not giving enough while actively trying to do what you thought was best.

Even worse, would you end up having the same insecurities?

He figures the best course of action is sharing his worries, instead of letting them build up to something that could damage what you have, and it is then when he learns that he is your first partner ever.

He’s surprised, obviously, but also glad and excited. Of course, unlike his idiotic brother, Satan doesn’t find comfort in being “your first”, but now you have the possibility of exploring your relationship together.

You make him feel hope about all the love he can give you.

Asmodeus

Although perhaps not the best at relationships, he’s certainly the most experienced. Thankfully, you knew what you were getting into when you starting dating him.

His powers are born from lust, a feeling he represents with his whole being, so his behaviour nurtures from it as well and he nourishes in its abundance. The search for pleasure is, for him, as natural as breathing air or drinking water, and the result is involving himself with all types of people.

From angels to demons, including humans (and perhaps some more), Asmo has flirted and spent more than time with anyone who has shown an active interest in him and revered him as the precious jewel he is. He is a beautiful demon who deserves to be looked at and finds satisfaction in being perceived as extraordinary.

However, don’t think everything he values in a relationship is physical.

While, yes, sex plays a big part in his life, that’s not what pleasure is all about.

There’s a deep satisfaction that comes from sharing your time and thoughts with a special someone; the feeling of complicity of vulnerability that only few people can provide.

Contrary to popular belief, Asmo has been in love before. Either monogamous or polygamous, relationships aren’t unknown to him, and he has enjoyed every single one of them.

Sadly, though, for one reason or another, all of those met a mournful end.

If he had to bet on a reason, he would blame it all on his ex-partners’ insecurities.

There are downsides to being superior to all around him, after all.

And then he meets you.

Being immune to his charming powers was what made him truly notice your presence as worthy to be appreciated, and not just as a body to be cut open and ravaged, but it was the way you loved him what truly cemented the emotional pleasure he felt around you.

You don’t need to tell him about the lack of previous partners because he already knew from the beginning.

He could see that your shyness wasn’t just an adorable trait that defined you, but also a result of ignorance and inexperience.

Honestly? He thinks is incredibly cute, but nothing to be ashamed of. And why aren’t you more excited? You got the best teacher possible!

Beelzebub

Most students at RAD think he’s simply uninterested in relationships because he’s never been known to have one. Sure, various students have gloated about sharing a bed with him every now and then, but who is going to ask him to make sure those stories are true? Or any of his brothers, for that matter?

Out of all Avatars, he’s probably one of the most unapproachables and one of the easiest to fall victim to.

His sheer size and his monotone voice are enough to put people in their place, but what actually discourages others to talk to him is the moment they hear his empty stomach or see his drooling mouth. His gaze seems lost and hazy, and, the more they look at him, the less safe they feel.

Of course, those are extreme situations, and none have happened in a long time, but some things are difficult to forget.

Although Beel has had sporadic relationships, none of them have been serious or sentimental enough to be taken seriously or remembered fondly. Instead, his focus has been set on his family, his (literal) personal growth through eating and exercising, and, lately, you.

It wasn’t until you came into the picture that others outside of the family and their group of close friends finally saw him in love, blushing out of nowhere and smiling like life made sense whenever you entered the room. His bottomless stomach grew quieter.

He never gave any particular thought to the possible ex-partners you could’ve had.

You are with him, now, aren’t you? He’ll treat you right and he’ll love you more than anyone has ever done before. That’s what’s most important.

He only learns about being your first boyfriend when you’re both walking home after fangol practice, holding hands. For some reason he can’t truly understand, maybe pure curiosity, he asks you if any of your previous partners was an athlete like him, and that’s when you tell him.

Beel raises his eyebrows for just a second before shrugging, and that’s the only response he gives.

It really doesn’t matter to him, besides being a reminder that he has to make things a tad bit better just for you.

He doesn’t plan on being the current boyfriend that set the standards too high, but still; you deserve the very best.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom @mia4gotcookiez @tinyweebsstuff

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drylite · 2 days ago

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Hi!! If you’re still taking drabble requests could i request some sort of caretaker Gale post-war? Futile devices is one of my favorite stories and Gale seemed so in character with his purposeful aloofness in interactions with Bucky (although we were privy to his desperation) and I’m so curious if his approach would change once they’re officially together? Thank you!!

:’) thank you sm for liking it, and for thinking of them!

Bucky found it hard to peel his eyes open, so for a long time he didn’t. There was someone in the room with him, he was pretty sure—was pretty sure it was Gale, but was fresh off dreams where it was always Gale, and so he couldn’t be certain this wasn’t just one more thing he wanted so bad he dreamed it up.

When he finally did open his eyes, he found Gale was cleaner than in his dreams, and better fed, and older, too. Bucky wasn’t sure he had the delicacy of imagination for the fine lines around Gale’s eyes and mouth, or the low-slung daylight through his hair. His vague frown of concentration Bucky knew by heart, however.

Gale looked up from his book when Bucky croaked out a noise. He pressed a sweating glass of water into Bucky’s hand, then helped him haul himself up just enough to sip from it. It ran down Bucky’s chin and he didn’t have the energy to care.

He drank what he could then lay back, feeling unduly winded. “You sitting up at my bedside?” he managed.

In lieu of an answer, Gale produced a thermometer. Bucky opened his mouth dutifully. Some commands he just took on instinct.

“You’re sick,” Gale said.

Bucky waited for the mercury to climb and settle before he spoke. “Yeah, I caught onto that.”

“Well, it’s only the third time we’ve had this conversation,” Gale said, eyeing the red line critically.

Bucky blinked at the gently spinning ceiling while Gale removed the thermometer. His eyelids felt like sandpaper. “I don’t remember that.”

The exhaustion in the set of Gale’s shoulders and the bags under his eyes suggested there was maybe a lot Bucky didn’t remember.

Bucky drew in a rattling breath that choked off into a coughing fit. It was a minute or so before he managed to ask, “Is it bad?”

“I can’t say it’s good.” Gale ran a hand down his tired face. “But your fever broke. Odds are good you’re gonna be okay.”

“‘Course I am.” Bucky’s confidence didn’t project as far as it should’ve, what with the gravel lining his throat and the muck in his lungs.

Gale was up and moving and didn’t answer. Bucky heard the tap run in the adjoining washroom. He came back with a cloth in hand, and wiped at Bucky’s face with it. Tender as it was, Gale was straight-faced through it. All the cracks of his feelings sealed up tight. Bucky knew then that it had been bad, all of what he couldn’t quite remember.

Gale unbuttoned the collar of Bucky’s sleep shirt to wipe down his neck. He was tacky with dried sweat, and over-hot. The wet cloth felt almost as good as Gale’s careful attention to the task.

“What got me?” Bucky asked.

Gale’s mouth went flat. His brow pinched faintly. It made him look older than his 40-odd years.

“Don’t tell me,” Bucky rasped, disbelieving.

“Your lungs scarred over from the last time,” Gale said. “We were told if you caught pneumonia again, it’d be worse.”

“But it’s not.” Bucky found it in himself to catch Gale’s wrist. “Hey, it’s not. We got medicine, and doctors, and if you called one they’d come. I’m okay.”

Gale’s brow didn’t smooth out as he considered. “Why’re you telling me this? You’re the one who looks like roadkill.”

Bucky grinned up at Gale. His incredulity worked like a balm. “Them’s kissing words,” he said in his barely-there voice.

“Believe me, they’re not.” But a smile threatened Gale’s mouth anyhow.

“Now that you know I’m the pinnacle of health, will get in this bed with me for a bit?”

“You’re the pinnacle of something, alright,” Gale said, but arranged himself carefully at Bucky’s side, like he were fragile somehow.

Gale’s warmth and solidity were distinct from the hot, sickly remains of Bucky’s fever. Bucky didn’t have the energy to curl up around him as he wanted to; but everything else in him already reached for Gale as a matter of habit, and met with ease and assurance.

Gale pushed the sweaty curls off Bucky’s forehead, and Bucky felt suddenly downstream of himself, halfway back to sleep already. He meant to ask something else, about how Gale had been sleeping, and eating, and had he seen the sun this week.

“Good that you’re here,” was what Bucky managed. He sought half-blind for Gale’s palm atop the covers and folded his own hand into it. “Thanks. I don’t know if I said it, the other time.”

“Twenty years ago, you mean?” Gale said. “I don’t remember if you did. I don’t need it anyway.”

“I do,” Bucky heard himself mumble, and caught a glimpse of Gale’s face, stricken and fond in his bleary vision, before ceding again to dreams.

#clegan #mota #my writing

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texanpanda · 2 days ago

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Bob Reynolds x gn!reader

This is the first thing I've written in a very long time and probably the first story I've ever posted. Not sure how to format but I'll figure it out. I cried on my floor listening to the Let Down cover by Mack Lorén and then this idea popped into my head and wouldn't let me rest so here ya go.

I think I've kept the description and interactions with the reader pretty neutral even though I was picturing my oc Stella the entire time. Let me know if you like it and I might try to be creative again lol.

It had been over an hour since Bob saw you disappear into your bedroom. You had come out in an oversized sweatshirt and gotten a cold bottle of water from the fridge. When he offered a quiet "Hey-" you had hummed quietly in response then continued down the hall.

His leg bounced as he sat in his usual reading spot, occasionally glancing down the hall to your room. You had been acting distant that day and it sent his mind into overdrive. He wasn't sure if you were mad at him or if maybe something else was bothering you but he felt an overwhelming need to fix it.

He tried to go back to reading his book but couldn't get past the first sentence on the page before needing to lift his head to look down the hall again. His gut was telling him that something was wrong. He wanted to brush it off as his usual anxiety but couldn't because what if something really was wrong with you? What if you were hurt and hid it from him? What if you were mad at him for not helping with the dishes or for leaving the coffee creamer out yesterday? Did he even do that or was he making up reasons for you to be upset with him?

Snapping his book shut, he stood and made his way down the hall. There was nothing wrong with checking in, right? You always told him that he could come talk to you about anything. And that you wouldn't be mad if he asked a dumb question. Even if it sounded rude or inappropriate, there was always a way to move forward with the conversation.

You were helping him figure out how to communicate better. Not just with you but with everyone else in the tower and beyond. You had been in therapy for several years and had done your own research on the coping skills you had learned so you were the go-to person when anyone in the tower was struggling. But who do you go to? Who checks in with you when you are struggling?

Bob wanted to be that person. Not just to help you, because he definitely cared about you and wanted to make sure you were okay but also to be useful. He wanted to help in any way that he could so that him being here meant something. So that he meant something. To you.

When he reached your door he hesitated. He could faintly hear music playing from behind the door. Tilting his weight from side to side he contemplating actually knocking on your door or trying to go back to reading. What if you just wanted some alone time and him checking in was actually ruining your day? He shouldn't be trying to take up your time with his stupid need to help. He'll just make it-

His thoughts were cut off when he heard a sniffle sound. Had he heard correctly? Were you okay? He leaned his head closer to the door, the scolded himself mentally for trying to eavesdrop. But got distracted when he heard the sound of you blowing your nose and something almost like a whimper.

All doubts forgotten he knocked and called out your name. The sniffling stopped and he knocked again. The music went quiet and he faintly heard you call out "come in" . When he opened the door he was met with a sight that made his stomach drop and his head spin.

You were curled up on the floor hugging a pillow. Tears were streaming down your face as you blew your nose again then tossed the tissue into your nearby trash can. You looked like you had been full sobbing the entire hour he hadn't seen you and his chest clenched at the very idea of you suffering alone.

"Oh my God- ar- are you okay? What happened? What's wrong?" He stumbled into the room and knelt next to you, hands uselessly hovering in the air as if to grab you and check for injuries. He couldn't see anything immediate but that didn't mean there wasn't something hidden.

You let out a snort of laughter then sniffled again. "I'm fine, Bob." You replied so casually like your eyes weren't red and your breathing wasn't stuttering.

"You don't look fine." He fired back, no longer worried about upsetting you. "You look- what happened? Why- why are you crying? On the floor?" His hands flexed mid air as if instinctively wanting to hold you but not knowing if that would be welcome right now.

You blinked up at him then reached for the water bottle sitting beside you. "Oh, it's floor time." As if that would answer any questions he could possibly have about your current state.

"Floor time? What's floor time?" He'd never heard of floor time and was a little afraid to find out if it left you in tears.

"Oh yeah. It's a coping thing my old roomate and I used to do." Even with some context he was still confused. You had taken a small sip of water and then let out a deep sigh. When you looked up at him again you could see the confusion clearly on his face. "Lying on the floor and listening to sad music is a good way to cry." You explained simply.

"Uh, yeah. I can see that. But-" He couldn't quite wrap his head around you seemingly happy to have a full meltdown on the floor, like it was normal. "I don't get why?" His hands dropped to his knees as he looked you over again.

You nodded as if his confusion made perfect sense to you. "It's not for everyone. But with our line of work, I don't always have time to express my emotions in a healthy way, y'know?" You waved your hand in the air in a dismissive gesture. "We're constantly on the move with missions stuff and it gets pretty overwhelming, so I decided to pick a time to cry before my body decided for me." You cracked a smile at your joke and he felt his lips twitch in an attempt to match it.

He nodded in understanding. There were times when the others got loud or someone made a comment that had him holding back tears. He never really thought about how often he felt overwhelmed with everything. Most of the time he tries to push it aside or hold it back.

"Yeah, so I like to set aside time every couple of weeks to just, have a good cry." You gesture to you self and your little set-up on the floor. That's when he realized that everything around you had been placed deliberately. The water bottle for hydration, the pillow for comfort, even the tissue box and mini trash can were all within easy access.

He'd never heard of purposely setting yourself up to have "a good cry" as you called it but he could see the benefits if letting all your feelings out.

"So you...you're not hurt?" You smiled at his concern and shook your head.

"No, I'm not hurt. And I was pretty much done when you knocked anyway." He nodded along, feeling embarrassed that he had freaked out about something you considered so normal. You watched him sit there staring at the bottle in your hands like it held the answers to the universe.

"Would you like to have some floor time too? I've got a good Playlist." His eyes trailed up to your face where you held a calm smile. His gaze dropped back down and he shrugged a shoulder.

"I don't think I'd be very good at it." His voice was quiet, still embarrassed and now wondering if he should have just stayed in his reading corner. Your hand reached out to brush his arm gently.

"There's no being good or bad at it. There's just letting yourself feel." You squeezed his arm slightly and he leaned into the touch. "It can be hard to do and there's no pressure to do anything but lying on the floor and listening to sad music helps me personally so if you want to try it you totally can."

Now that he was sitting on the floor with you, in your bedroom, there was a part of him that wanted to take any excuse to stay with you. Even if that meant crying in front of you.

He chewed on his bottom lip in contemplation. You sat beside him, body relaxed with your thumb gently rubbing his sweater.

"What do I do?" He finally asked. Your responding grin was bright enough to make his heard stutter.

"Alright first things first, make sure you have comfy clothes." He looked down at his usual ensemble of sweater, and sweatpants. "Check. Next get something for hydration. If you're gonna cry you gotta replenish that water. I've still got some in mine if you like." You'd managed to drink about half the bottle and handed it to him. He took it without question and held it like a life line.

"Check." He said softy.

"Next we lay down and get comfy on the floor. C'mere." You gestured to the emtpy space next you and lay down on your back. He followed your instructions and lay down on his back beside you.

It was then that he noticed you had tiny glow in the dark stars on your ceiling. His eyes traced over the imaginary constellations as you shifted and brushed your shoulder against his.

"Alright, final step is play some deep emotional music and then let yourself feel whatever you feel." You reach up to grab your phone and press play. Instantly the room is filled with a soft piano song that he doesn't recognize. "Don't forget to breath."

You both lay on the floor quietly breathing and letting the notes from the song wash over you. Bob let's out a deep breath and feels his body start to relax into the carpet. He isn't really sure what he's supposed to be feeling but he knows he's feeling something.

You reach over again and brush your fingers against his. He wiggles his fingers back until they are hooked with yours. Not quite holding hands, but connected in a way that feels comforting. Something in his shoulders let go and a tension he didn't know he felt finally releases.

The song changes to the ballad cover of a rock song. As you lay there next to eachother he thinks about everything that's ever happened in his life. His parents, his addiction, the vault. None of it really makes him cry but it feels good to think about everything without a voice in his head bringing it up first.

A sniffle pulls his attention back to you. He glances to the side to see slow tears seeping out of your eyes. Your face isn't scrunched but relaxed as the tears slide down the side of your face into your hair. You slowly reach up to wipe one when it gets to close to your ear.

Bob watches you for a second before turning his eyes back to the stars on the ceiling. He lays there for another minute, listening to the vocals of the ballad and waiting...

But nothing happens.

His body is more relaxed but no tears come. He wants to cry. He has so many reasons to cry but it just- isn't happening. His body isn't in the moment and he doesn't feel the need to cry. He let's out a frustrated huff.

"I don't think I'm doing it right." He speaks finally, annoyed at himself that he can't do something as simple as cry. You sniffed again then turned to face him.

"You're not doing anything wrong, Bob." You told him and gave his fingers a slight squeeze. "If you don't need to cry right now then don't worry about it. We can just sit here and listen to music." He turns to look at you again and you offer him a teary smile. He feels a pull in his chest at the sight, but nods and searches the ceiling for constellations again.

"We can just...sit here." He repeats like the concept of simply existing was entirely new to him. Your fingers curl into his his again and together you simply...exist.

The next half hour is spent mostly in silence as your tears dry up and you both enjoy the peaceful atmosphere in the room. Bob didn't shed any tears but let his body relax for the first time in a long time and that was kind of the whole point wasn't it?

@may-daye here's the full one-shot for you

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #thunderbolts #robert “bob” reynolds #x reader #gn!reader #bob thunderbolts #bob reynolds x gn!reader #pretty proud if myself for actually writing something #i dont remember how tags work #is it still just the first five that matter?#mythings #panda posts #sad sunshine husband #Spotify

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archivewriter1ont · 8 hours ago

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Thoughts on Echo as a Senator

I’ve seen a ton of people saying the Fives would be the perfect representative of the clones in an AU where Order 66 was forestalled and the clones were able to obtain rights and a Senate seat, etc… but I actually think he’s the wrong Domino twin to assume this role. I think the perfect, most willing and capable person to represent the clones would be Echo.

Note: I’m still working my way through certain seasons of TCW, so bear with me on this… I might update this post later based on new observations. (I’m stopping the analysis at the end of the TCW Bad Batch arc because the only way I see Echo actually becoming a senator is if Order 66 was stopped by the clones and the Jedi.)

In the Clone Cadets episode when Echo and Fives go to Shaak Ti to ask for a transfer, Fives doesn’t say very much because Echo is the one taking the lead. Echo is the one advocating for himself and his brother. As much as he doesn’t want his squad to fail as a whole, he definitely doesn’t want Fives to get stuck on Kamino as a ‘defect’ and he doesn’t want to, either. He’s willing to go above their trainers’ heads and speak directly to the Jedi (who the clone may or may not be very fond of at the point depending on what they’ve been taught on Kamino, because there’s no way Shaak could have personally interacted with every single trooper) in charge, demonstrating a resolve and sense of justice that required him to do something regardless of how effective his request might be.

In Rookies, Echo isn’t the first to speak to Cody and Rex when they arrive after the attack, but he is the one who tried to share helpful information that would have kept his brothers safe and displayed sorrow for Cutup when they didn’t listen. (The sergeant also looked to Echo first for information after the attack and didn’t really have anything to say to him while chastising the others at the beginning, so that’s something, too.) He speaks up to answer Rex’s questions, and though he still shows concern later on when they retake the base because he doesn’t want to lose any more of his squad, he’s the first to present the liquid tibanna as a way to even the odds (a plan that while a bit crazy, was formulated quickly and logically and ultimately succeeded).

In On the Wings of Keeradaks, not only does Echo push himself to the brink as soon as he’s out of that stasis chamber in order to help his siblings, most of whom he has never met, escape the Techno Union, he turns the results of how his captors butchered his body into their escape plan by hacking the systems and plotting their way out. There are so many more things in this episode that I could include in this list, but the main one that comes to mind is how Echo reacts when Rex points at him and says look what they did to my brother. He doesn’t cower back, ashamed to let his scars and trauma be seen – he steps forward. At this point he has been starved and enslaved, saddled with eternal medical, physical, and spiritual trauma, and yet instead of sitting down to process his own pain this man walks forward on legs that are a representation of how he was mutilated and hurt, baring a chest that’s scarred and caving in from the torment he’s endured, to present himself as a warning of what will happen to others if action isn’t taken, as a prophet of what evil exists hidden beyond the sheen of compliance most people don’t want to peek past.

Can I say anything about Unfinished Business that isn’t abundantly clear? Echo pushed himself to the limit again, trying to prove his loyalty but also doing his best to protect Rex and, unbeknownst to him, his newfound squad. He almost fries himself in Tambor’s ship and then leaves everything he’s ever known, the only close brother he has left, to help where he can (plus he gets four new brothers out of the deal but still, that’s a major sacrifice).

Basically, I love Echo to death and think HE is actually the one who would do best in representing the clones in the Senate, because he is...

Selfless

Loyal

Determine

A Leader.

This wasn’t supposed to be so long but oh well.

#arc trooper echo #echo and fives #fives and echo #clone trooper echo #echo #the bad batch #the clone wars #character analysis #sort of #aw1.rambles #aw1.thoughts #I just really love Echo ok?

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mmy-meow · 2 days ago

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Time to wake up Princess

Cross posted from ao3

My first requested fic 🎉 request for Yandere Haku

Minors do not interact

Haku watched you from the shadow of the trees. You were always busy, always surrounded by other ghouls, always smiling at them.

His fingernails dug into the palms of his hands as he clenched his fists. You were looking up at Lucas with such bright eyed sincerity it made Hakus blood boil.

He knew he was being contradictory, he’d warned you about himself, not to trust him, not to rely on him to much, but then the dark angry jealousy clouded his heart any time he saw you rely on someone else.

He didn’t know for sure which version of himself was the real one at this point. Was he laid back, slacker, flirt Haku who loved to tease you? Reliable vice captain Haku who covered Subaru’s work and was trusted enough by the school to carry their keys? Or sadistic, possessive Haku who wanted to slit that ghouls throat for smiling at you that way. Who wanted to steal you away and lock you up for smiling back.

If only you knew the strings he pulled for you, what a role he played in you being allowed your freedom. The headmaster listened to Haku, trusted his judgement. What if he decided to tell the headmaster you could no longer be trusted?

He could have you locked away in Ultio like Lyca was, where no one else could see you, no one else could touch you. You’d be his and his alone. No more seeing Sho’s fingers brush against yours when he handed you your food. No more seeing you sitting between Lyca and Subaru at lunch, both of them too close to you, their knees brushing against yours. No more having to spy on the Mortkranken ghouls making sure their hands on you remained professional. Did they realize how lucky they were to have that access to you? Haku would fucking murder for the chance to trail his fingers along your bare skin, to slide a hand up your shirt the way they got to with the stethoscope.

Yeah he could keep you in Ultio, you’d be so lonely, so excited to see him when he came to visit you. You’d be so desperate to be touched by him in your seclusion. That bright eyed smile you were giving Lucas right now? Would be ten times as bright and tinged with relief when you saw Haku coming to visit you. You’d embrace him through the bars, cling to him, do anything for him to keep him from leaving you there alone.

He imagined you, eyes puffy from the tears of relief trailing down your cheeks. Feet planted apart, inviting him to take you. You’d cling to him so desperately as he fucked you through the bars, begging him to stay, pleading “I’ll be good, just please don’t leave me.”

He imagined himself thrusting into you. What sounds would you make? Did you prefer to scream? Did you whimper and whine? Maybe beg? God damn he hoped you liked to beg.

Haku bit down on his lip harder bringing himself back to his senses. His eyes trailed over you, completely oblivious to his presence, absolutely unaware of what you were doing to him right now. He palmed himself through his pants. He was hidden… maybe… no, no, not here, responsible Haku chided him that that would be too risky. Besides, he had to do something about that other ghoul…

“Thank you again for your help!” You smile up at Luca. “I was really stuck on that worksheet but the way you explain things…”

“Boo!”

You shriek when you feel hands grab your shoulders from behind, the unexpected breath tickling your ear.

You and Luca both spin around, Luca’s hand reflexively reaching for his artifact chain before seeing who was standing behind you.

You pressed your hand to your chest as if it could calm your fluttering heart.

“Haku you scared me!” You scold.

He flashes you a mischievous grin, his eyes warm as he looks at you “Sorry! I just couldn’t resist teasing you a little.”

“Kusanagi senpai.” Luca nodded to him respectfully, dropping his hand away from his keychain.

Haku’s eyes darted to Luca’s, something harder, darker seemed to flit through his gaze, but it was so brief you feel you must have imagined it.

“Lucas.” Haku smiled and returned his nod. “Sorry did I interrupt something?” His voice turned nervously apologetic.

“Not at all!” Lucas held his hands up placatingly.

“We were just leaving the library.” You explain. “Lucas was helping me finish up some of my homework.”

“If it’s not to much trouble, I was actually hoping you might be able to help me with something Miss Inspector.” He looked at Luca apologetically as he stepped closer to you. He almost seemed to be angling himself between you and Luca.

“Oh don’t let me hold you up!�� Luca bowed to the both of you. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow!”

“Bye Luca see you tomorrow!” You bid him a warm farewell.

Haku’s mouth tightened briefly at the exchange, but then softened to a smile. Pressing his hand to the small of your back he turned you down the path toward Hotarubi.

“Sorry it must be such a pain for you always having to drop everything for mission work.” Haku rubbed the back of his neck self consciously.

“Don’t apologize!” You say, “I’m always happy to help you guys out!”

Haku watched you studiously scanning the rows of antique jewelry. Luckily Subaru had been able to cover Haku’s fib about needing you for a mission, picking something out of his pile of paperwork to send you both out on. It was a simple enough mission, Haku had already identified which piece of jewelry was cursed, he was just enjoying watching you bend over the cases to much to let you know there was no more need for you to search.

You were so wrapped up in your own little world, carefully examining the things around you but somehow blissfully unaware of how Haku’s predatory gaze followed your every move.

You stepped away from the case you were examining and began to weave your way through the stacks of junk in the tiny shop. Haku silently padded after you unnoticed, tracking you like a hunter through the crowded space.

He’d decided Ultio wouldn’t do. The school and the institute would know you were there, would still have the power to move you, take you away from him. Having you bound up in his room would be better. Bright red ropes contrasting against your skin chaining you to his bed where you’d be safe and sound and just for him.

You stopped to examine some medallions hanging on the back wall. Unable to help himself, he stealthily moved behind you, you left yourself so open, so vulnerable.

He slammed his hand against the wall right next to your head. With a gasp and a yelp, you spun around to face him, he was standing so close you couldn’t help brushing up against him as you turned. You looked up at him startled, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He couldn’t help imagining the way the red strands of his earrings would brush against those flushed cheeks when he’d move on top of you, pinning you beneath him…

You held your breath, staring up at him intently, his heart racing at the fact that you hadn’t shied away from him.

“H…Haku.” You stuttered his name, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Everything ok back here? Did something fall?”

Haku pulled away as the elderly shop owner turned the corner towards them, leaving you leaning flustered against the wall.

“Oh we’re fine.” Haku smiled walking away from you without a second glance. “There was however a necklace up front that I think we’d be interested in.”

Haku found himself standing in the middle of your room. He’d hoped to spend more time with you once you both got back from the mission but on your return to campus you’d been called away by Romeo to help with something or another. Another asshole vying for your attention.

He hadn’t meant to break into your room it had just sort of happened. If it was this easy for him to get in any ghoul could get in here. He’d be doing you a favor by stealing you away.

He did a slow circle of the room, examining your space, your belongings, imagining you, the ways you’d act when no one else was watching. He sat on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing the indent of your pillow. He opened your bedside drawer next, inside was a vibrator, and… his heart froze when his eyes fell on the handful of condoms. Were you sleeping with someone? It didn’t have to mean you were sleeping with someone, they could be for just in case… right? He couldn’t stop the overwhelming feeling of jealousy squeezing his chest.

Then he heard the sound of a door click and it was replaced with panic. You were home. Haku quickly shut the drawer, dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed as your footsteps trotted up the stairs. Turning his head he could just see your bare feet padding around the room, your bra pulled off and unceremoniously tossed in a corner the minute you entered.

You dropped down onto your bed with a heavy sigh, the two of you just lay there for a long quiet moment. Haku holding his breath, you sighing in frustration.

There was a shuffling noise above him, then suddenly your shorts were tossed to the floor, followed by your underwear.

Haku felt his face growing hot as he imagined you naked on the bed above him.

“Mmmm”

His ears perked up, had that been…?

“Ahhhh”

Haku’s dick hit full mast as the unmistakable sound of a moan graced his ears.

Slowly, carefully he reached down and grabbed his cock through his pants, giving it a squeeze. He was so painfully hard, but he dared not make any movements that could make a sound.

“Ah yes.”

Fuuuuucccckkkk. He squeezed again, wanting desperately to undo his belt and jerk himself off to your sweet noises. Maybe if you discovered him you’d invite him up to help you finish. The rational part of his brain discarded that idea and kept him still.

Who were you picturing up there with you as you pleasured yourself? The man the condoms were for?

Haku could only guess. Whatever man’s name passed your lips was going to find a venomous snake in his bed tonight. One that caused a slow painful death.

“Ah, hah fuck”

He pictured himself on top of you, you looking up at him desperate to take him deeper.

“Yes, yes”

The way your nails would dig into his back as he railed you. Your legs wrapped tight around his waist.

He groped and squeezed his dick hoping the lewd wet noises of your greedy cunt sucking your fingers in would cover any rustling of fabric noises he made.

Your panting was growing harder and faster, the blood rushed in Haku’s ears, his cock throbbing painfully as he listened to you moan and pant and squirm.

“Haku!”

For a moment he was seized by sheer panic, thinking he’d been caught. How had you noticed him?

“Mmm yes! Haku!”

The rational responsible part of Haku almost broke but still managed to hold himself still. It was him, you were fantasizing about him as you fucked yourself.

Haku bit down on his hand, forcing himself to stay still and quiet as you climaxed screaming his name on the bed above him.

His. You were his. You wanted to be his. His brain was a haze of possessive lust and longing as he waited, listening to your breathing even out into the steady rhythm of sleep.

Slowly, quietly, carefully, Haku crawled out from under your bed. He stood frozen, gazing down at your sleeping form wearing just a t shirt that barely reached your hips.

He should leave. Responsible Haku pleaded with him to leave. Flirty Haku, dark possessive Haku, and his rigid throbbing cock demanded he stay. He watched the rise and fall of your chest, hands moving to his belt. He didn’t fully know what his plan was as he removed his clothes, he only knew how badly he needed you. He carefully lowered himself onto the bed, on all fours caging you beneath him. You furrowed your brow in your sleep as his weeping cock dripped onto your stomach. Haku had never been this desperately, painfully horny in his life. You and only you could fix this. He could just imagine how slick you’ll be after your orgasm. Wet and ready to welcome him into you. Haku straddles your waist, with one hand he pins your wrists above your head, the other covering your mouth. Leaning forward, voice low and sultry he whispers in your ear “Time to wake up princess.”

#tokyo debunker #tkdb #yandere #haku kusanagi #Yandere Haku

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whytheylosttheirminds · 5 hours ago

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june gloom part 2: is this gonna end ever? - r.c.

rafe cameron x pogue!reader

note: originially posted on my old blog in September! there are only two parts and will be no happy endings so only read if you're prepared for true angst!!

cw: hurt no comfort, smut, 18+ minors do not interact!

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Crickets chirped a chorus around you as you laid back on the flannel blanket, the grass beneath making a soft pillow for your head. Your lips wrapped around the blunt, lungs expanding to welcome the smoke. You hummed in pleasure as the high-end strain went down way smoother than any of the trash you would usually get on The Cut.

“God, this is good shit,” you said with a lazy smile.

“Only the best for you,” Rafe smirked, leaning over on the blanket to pull the joint from your lips so he could join in your revelry.

He took a long drag and let it go in a smoke ring that rose above you and disappeared into the starry sky. You tried and failed to stifle your laugh.

“What’s funny?” He asked, eyes glazed over with his high.

“Nothing,” you chuckled. “Just…what frat house did you learn that in?”

“Shut up,” he teased back, making you laugh harder.

“No, I’m sure the sorority girls found that very sexy,” you continued.

“They did actually, thank you,” he joked. “You would’ve too.”

“Yeah right, I’d make a great Phi Beta Whateverthefuck,” you huffed sarcastically.

“Did you go to college?” He asked.

You’d known Rafe for about three months, spending nearly every night together since you first met at that club. You had talked about just about everything under the sun except yourselves, you were caught off-guard by this excavation into your history.

“Um, no,” you answered, taking the blunt back from him.

“Why not?”

You shrugged, taking another hit, “didn’t wanna.”

“Do you regret it?” He continued.

You sat up and pulled your knees to your chest, looking down at him with a frown.

“What?” He questioned.

“Why the sudden interest?” You said, harsher and less playful than you’d intended to.

Rafe sat up next to you, pulling his knees towards himself to mirror you. His eyes were intense on your face as he mumbled, “you don’t want me to get to know you?”

Truthfully, you wanted that and so much more, but you couldn’t tell him that. You knew this was just a way for him to pass the time until he could get you in bed again, and maybe you were okay with that. You decided you’d entertain the line of questioning, just this once, not knowing then that this was just the first of many deep, meaningful conversations you’d share with him.

You took a deep breath and said, “what do you want to know?”

He looked up at the stars as he considered the answer to that question. You took the opportunity to admire the way the moonlight reflected off of the sharp angle of his jaw.

He decided on “what’s your biggest dream?”

You bit your lip and looked down at your bare feet, digging them into the blanket, not used to this kind of conversation and yet feeling curiously comfortable opening up to him.

“I want to go to India,” you answered honestly. “I read a book when I was a kid about a little girl who grew up in India and I’ve wanted to go ever since.”

Rafe nodded in approval, “that’s a good one. You should go.”

“Yeah, as soon as I win the lottery, it’ll be my first stop,” you joked bitterly.

“Or I could just take you,” he shrugged.

You smiled at him, incredulous.

“What?” He asked, genuinely unsure of the meaning behind the look you were giving him. You realized he might actually be serious, even though you knew it would never really happen.

“Nothing. That’s sweet,” you smiled. “But I want to get there on my own. I wanna earn it.”

“I can respect that,” he conceded.

“Anytime you wanna lend me that private jet, though, just hit me up,” you teased.

Rafe chuckled, eyebrows raised, “oh I see…you’re using me.”

“I thought that was obvious,” you smiled coyly.

“Uh-huh,” Rafe said, playfully shoving your shoulders so you fell back onto the blanket.

You giggled as he climbed over you, caging you in between his arms as he held himself up, looking down at you, tucked perfectly beneath him.

“I think I’m okay with that.”

He leaned down and kissed you, his tongue sweeping over your bottom lip tenderly, lowering himself down until you were chest to chest…

“Are you listening to me?”

Your friend waved her hand in front of your face, trying to get your attention.

“Sorry, what?” You were pulled from your thoughts.

“I said they want us there at four this friday,” she showed you an email on her phone.

“Oh,” you blinked, coming back to the moment. “Where is it?”

“Some mansion on Figure 8. It’s a wedding, but they're doing like a whole weekend thing, so it’s Friday through Sunday. Last time I worked one of these I made over five hundred.”

When she first told you about the catering gig this weekend, you turned her down. You’d been carefully avoiding the north part of the island for the last six months, and a whole weekend would be a high-risk endeavor. However, you didn’t have to check your bank account to know you were near broke, and Figure 8 was where the real money was made. You agreed and ironed your white button down and black slacks, your go-to outfit for catering gigs.

As you pulled up to the address your friend had sent you, you cursed under your breath. The estate was huge, the old house immaculately kept and towering proudly under a crystal blue sky. You turned down the radio as your beat up car sputtered its way up the long, grand drive.

“We’re definitely not on the south side anymore,” you joked to yourself.

You pulled around back to the service entrance as directed by your friend’s text and tracked her down in the crowd of other blue collar workers. Everyone was moving quickly, arranging the massive party space according to the wishes of some unseen bride and groom.

You were put to work right away, polishing silverware and arranging it as instructed by the very specific, color-coded diagram you had been given. Tonight was only the rehearsal dinner, and there were two-hundred names on the guestlist. You chatted with your friend as you did various other chores, speculating about who could possibly be the owner of this massive property.

“Maybe it’s a crime lord,” your friend joked. “Like some mafia type shit.”

“Maybe it’s a celebrity,” you guessed.

You didn’t have to wonder for long.

“Hey! A little help here!” A delivery driver called to you as he struggled to lift something large and rectangular out of his truck, the mystery item protected with a large, black sheet.

You ran over to give him a hand, and he directed you to a big easel he had set out, “picture of the happy couple,” he explained. You called your friend over, informing her you were about to have all your questions answered.

Once you had set the canvas down, you asked the delivery driver if you could remove the sheet. “I don’t give a fuck, my job’s done,” he said, hopping back in his truck and driving off. You and your friend giggled as you did a little countdown and drumroll routine. You pulled the sheet away and her mouth fell open

“Of fucking course,” she immediately took out her phone to take a picture.

You stepped back to look at the giant, blown up portrait. Every muscle in your body tensed and the blood drained from your face, you grabbed the back of a nearby chair for support.

There on the oversized canvas, smiling that perfect, crooked, arrogant, beautiful smile, was Rafe Cameron.

He had his arm around the woman you recognized to be the one he’d left you for, calling off your whirlwind love affair in pursuit of something more optically appealing to his family. He’d found it; they were gorgeous together.

Six months had passed since you’d last seen him. The first few months were the hardest you’d ever faced. At first, you went out almost every night, needing to stay shitfaced to keep your mind from wandering to him or your fingers from dialing his number. Eventually, you had to delete him from your phone, not trusting yourself in those late night moments when you missed him so much you thought you might die. No amount of booze or weed could make you forget the feeling of his hands on your body, the sound of his voice, the look in his eyes when he fucked you that last time. Your friends started getting worried. You blacked out so often, you couldn’t keep a job. After three or four months of your reckless behavior, they called a sort of intervention and convinced you to calm down.

You decided if you were going to be alone, you’d make yourself good company.

You stopped drinking, and even gave up cigarettes. It took several false starts, but the patch got you through it. You picked up good habits, too, starting your mornings with yoga and meditation. You were planning to go back to school, tired of career-hopping through dead-end minimum wage jobs. You stopped eating take out so much, started grocery shopping and saving every spare cent you had for a travel fund. You even cut and dyed your hair, finding freedom in the ability to change whenever you wanted, in the fluidity of answering to no one but yourself. You were still untamed, but for the first time in your life, you felt a semblance of control. You decided you’d build a beautiful life even if you had to scratch and claw your way to it. And you’d do it all by yourself.

Slowly, and with the most effort you’d given anything ever, you were finally starting to get over Rafe Cameron.

Or so you thought. Now, standing in his backyard, decorating for his wedding, you felt like you were right back where you were that night in June, lying naked on your bed while he walked out of your life forever.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” A high-pitched, angry voice startled you, pulling your eyes away from the picture.

You whipped your head around to see her, even more stunning than she was in pictures, her wide Disney-princess eyes shooting daggers at you. Your first and most irrational thought was that she somehow knew who you were. The delusion of that concept was quickly made apparent.

“The picture was supposed to stay covered until tonight,” she barked at you and your friend, who looked at you with wide-eyed panic. “Aren’t you the fucking caterers? Why are you even out here?”

“S-sorry,” you stammered out, your mind reeling as it tried to connect to your reality. You picked up the sheet off the ground. “We’ll cover it back up.”

“No, don’t touch it! Where’s your manager?” She demanded, her hands on her hips. “They need to know about this. What are your names?”

Your friend looked at you with wide eyes, you knew she needed this job even more desperately than you did. Plus, she’d stuck her neck out to get you hired and now she’d lose the money and her credibility.

“It was me,” you blurted out. “Not her. Don’t worry, you don’t need to get anyone fired, I’ll just leave.”

It wasn’t a big sacrifice, considering you were already thinking if you stayed another minute you might have a full blown panic attack. At least if you threw yourself under the bus and got fired, your friend would have no reason to question why you ran from the property crying.

“Fine, whatever,” she dismissed your act of loyalty with a wave of her manicured hand while your friend looked at you with grateful eyes. “What’s your name then?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you handed her the sheet, which she snatched from your hands irritably. “I’ll just go.”

You tried to keep your composure as you walked back toward the house, praying you’d remember your way back to your car. Your heart was pounding, your anxiety and shock threatening to bubble over, you could feel tears springing up and your hands shaking.

You rounded one of the many corners of the massive house, finally out of her line of vision, and broke into a sprint. You passed through another courtyard, where more preparations were underway. There were far too many eyes on you. If you remembered correctly, there was only one more turn before the part of the property you were parked on.

Dirt crunching under your feet, you slid around the corner and straight into something hard and large. You let out a sharp “ouch” as your face burned with the force of the collision. To your horror, you realized you’d run into a person. You kept your eyes low, looking at the man’s feet as you held a hand over your face, wondering for a moment if you’d broken your nose. Then, a familiar scent flooded your senses, and you felt a large hand rest on your shoulder.

“Woah, I’m sorry, are you okay?” Rafe’s voice asked, clearly unaware of who he was talking to, you looked so different than you did six months ago.

You raised your wide eyes to look at him, hand still cradling your throbbing nose. You took him in through rapidly blinking lashes, begging yourself not to cry. His face shifted slowly from concern for a stranger to recognition of someone all too familiar.

He pulled his hand from you in shock, his mouth opening and closing and opening again, trying to form words that just weren’t coming. You knew you needed to get out of there before they did.

“I’m fine,” you said firmly, hoping he understood you were talking about more than just your injured face.

You sidestepped him and kept running, leaving him standing wide eyed and ashen faced as he watched you get into your car and peel away from his home, and away from him.

₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *

The key rattled against the lock, your hands shaking as you tried to get into your apartment. When you finally got the door opened, you peeled off your clothes quickly, as if they were covered in something radioactive. You pulled on a tank and some sleep shorts, fully ready to get in bed and stay there for days. Everything in you was unraveling. The sight and sound of him undoing the steel backbone you had built for yourself. You climbed under the covers, curled into a ball, and sobbed.

You cried so hard, it knocked you out. Without trying to, your body fell into a hazy, uneasy kind of sleep, haunted by images of Rafe. When you woke, blinking confusedly at the fuzzy outline of the time on your alarm clock, it was dark outside. The clock read 11:03pm. You pulled yourself from your bed with a groan, craving something to comfort you in your post-meltdown emptiness.

As you stood at the sink, filling the kettle for some tea, your mind replayed the events of the day. He’s getting married tomorrow. The rehearsal dinner that you helped set up for was probably over by now. You pictured him saying goodnight to her with a kiss, hanging his tux for the morning, making sure he had the rings ready. You already knew you’d lost him, but the permanence of tomorrow’s events felt like a boot on the neck of the small part of you that still wondered what if.

Your phone rang out loudly on the kitchen table, making you jump, so startled you almost dropped the tea kettle, the water now overflowing. You set the kettle down on the stove and turned on the burner before looking at your phone screen, which read “unknown number.” You hit decline and let it go to voicemail. After a minute, you poured your tea and sat at the table, watching as your phone lit up again with notification of a new voicemail. You unlocked it and pressed play.

You knew the voice immediately, though it was coming out slurred and strained. You clutched the phone to your ear with both hands to hear better.

“Heyyyy baby. It’s me. I’m sorry for calling so many times, blowin’ up your phone and you’re probably out somewhere, looking fuckin’ gorgeous like always. Shit there’s probably guys lined up to take you home. Do you remember when we met? Fuck you looked so hot. I thought if you said no to going home with me I might literally die. But you said yes! You said yes and you took me home and we, fuck…god…it was so good, you’re so good. Not just the sex. I mean, yes your pussy is so perfect, but…shit it’s raining…but you were- you are…jesus Rafe get it together. I can’t remember what I was saying. I’m so drunk, I- ouch, fuck!- I miss you, baby. It's cold out here but I don’t care, I couldn’t be there anymore. I couldn’t listen to them talk about this fucking wedding. Fucking flowers and table settings and shit I don’t care about any of that…just, please…baby…I need-”

Your phone beeped loudly, the voicemail cut off for length. You replayed it, twice. Outside your kitchen window, you could see the rain getting heavy. The low was in the 30s tonight, and it was supposed to keep raining for hours. You couldn’t hear much in the background behind Rafe’s drunken rambling, but you could tell he was outside. You pictured him stumbling into a ditch somewhere. He had hurt himself on the voicemail, did he fall? You couldn’t stand the thought of him alone, out in the cold rain, hurt.

Despite every instinct, you pulled up the number he called from and texted him.

Today 11:14pm

Where are you?

Today 11:16pm

‘Unknown’ shared their location with you.

You grabbed your coat and keys and ran out the door before you had time to second guess yourself. You found him lying on the beach, his clothes soaked through from the rain that was still falling heavily. He’d clearly thrown up, just a few feet from where he was laying now. You ran to his side and quickly checked that he was breathing.

“Jesus, Rafe,” you recoiled at the overwhelming aroma of booze radiating off of him.

His eyes flew open at the sound of your voice.

“Baby?” he groaned.

“We gotta get out of here, Rafe,” you struggled to help him up.

With an enormous amount of effort, you got him into your car. He leaned his head against the cold window as you drove, his breath fogging up the glass with each exhale. You looked over at him every few seconds to make sure he was still conscious.

Once in your apartment, stumbling through the door with his arm over your shoulder, you led him into the bathroom, guiding him to sit on the edge of the tub while you ran the shower, water heating slowly.

You tapped his arms.

“Up,” you instructed. He lifted his arms obediently and looked up at you through half-lidded eyes as you peeled off his wet polo, doing everything you could to avoid staring at his bare torso.

“Think you can do the rest yourself?” You motioned to his lower half.

“No,” he said with a smirk.

“Rafe,” you warned, not playing around.

“I can do the rest myself,” he said with his hands up in defense.

You left him in the bathroom fumbling with his belt. While he showered, you brewed a pot of coffee and poured two steaming mugs, sitting uneasily at the table when he finally emerged from the bathroom. He was in only his boxers and you blushed aggressively, as if you hadn’t seen him naked a hundred times before. He caught the redness in your cheeks as you looked down at your hands, swallowing hard.

“Sorry,” he said earnestly. “My clothes are still wet.”

You pushed back your chair and walked to your bedroom, returning with folded clothes in your hands. He looked suspiciously at the men’s t-shirt and basketball shorts you gave him, cocking his eyebrow at you. You just glared back at him, tilting your head slightly as if to say I dare you to give me shit about where I got them. He didn’t push it, pulling them on wordlessly.

“Coffee?” You offered once he was dressed.

“Please,” he slumped into the chair across from you, sipping the coffee with a sigh.

“Feeling better?” You asked.

“Much better, thanks,” he said. “Never mix rum and redbull.”

You snorted, “I could’ve told you that.”

“Well you weren’t there were you?” The sentence started playfully but ended with a bite.

You sipped your coffee, wondering who would be first to acknowledge the elephant in the room. You sat in silence for a few minutes, both drinking your coffee and letting the air grow thick between you.

Finally, he caved and spoke first, “why’d you leave?”

“Why would I stay?” You responded, voice dripping with spite.

“I- I guess I don’t know.” Now it was Rafe avoiding your eyes.

“Does she know…about me?” You asked timidly.

“No,” he mumbled, before sipping up the last drop of his coffee.

“And where does she think you are right now?”

“My bachelor party.”

“We should get you back there, then.” You stood and collected both mugs, bringing them to the sink.

Rafe scoffed, “you’re kicking me out again?”

“I never kicked you out, Rafe. You left,” you said, clutching the edge of the sink, bracing for an argument.

But he didn’t argue, he just let the silence settle between you for a long moment before finally saying, “I wish I hadn’t. I miss you.”

You turned, expecting to find him still slumped over the table, but he had stood and was now startlingly close. You jolted, squaring your shoulders in defense as he got closer to you.

“Don’t say that,” you pleaded. “I can’t do this with you.”

“Then why’d you come get me?” He asked, his eyelids low as he looked down at you. “Why’d you bring me here?

“Why’d you call me?” You asked back.

“I asked you first,” he said, no playful smile to match his childish words.

“Why does it matter?” You sighed.

“‘Cause it does, it matters to me, please just give me a reason,” his voice grew more desperate as he stepped even closer to you, his looming body caging you against the sink. He searched your face as he waited for you to respond, needing an answer you couldn’t give him.

“Are you gonna marry her?” Your words tightened the tension already growing between you, causing Rafe to close his eyes in frustration.

“I don’t want to talk about her,” he shook his head.

Rafe lifted his hand slowly, placing it on your waist. He squeezed gently at the soft skin of your side. You leaned into his touch for just a second before coming to your senses.

“Are you? Going to marry her?” You repeated stubbornly.

“Yes,” He said, eyes falling from your face to his hand on your side.

“Then you shouldn’t be touching me,” you grabbed Rafe’s hand and lowered it from you. “I won’t be a mistress. I won’t be that dirty pogue who fucks a married guy, I wanna be something better than that.”

You slipped out from between him and the sink, pacing to the other side of the room, but his body turned aggressively to follow you.

“You are. You’re so much better,” his voice cracked with urgency as he rushed to reassure you.

You shook your head in anger, raising your voice as you snapped, “then why are you marrying someone else?”

“Because I have to!” He matched your heated tone, as if he was the one to have something to be mad about.

“We’re going in circles, Rafe! We are in the exact same spot we were six months ago! Except I’m a different person now. It changed me, losing you. I got better, I got healthy, I got sober. I got over you!” You were yelling now, searching for the words to make him understand that he wasn’t the only one who had something to lose.

“Well I didn’t get over you,” he stated simply.

“No, you got engaged,” you pointed out.

“Fuck that, fuck her, you know I don’t love her!” He scoffed. “You saw her today, you know she’s a bitch.”

“That’s really nice, Rafe, you should put that in your vows,” you huffed sarcastically.

“Oh c’mon, she doesn’t love me either,” he rolled his eyes. “She still fucks around, everyone knows it.”

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but it took you by surprise. You searched his face for a sign as to whether it was true or just something he made up to make you sympathize with him. The way his eyes fell to the ground and the apples of his cheeks blushed slightly told you it was true, she cheated on him, and he was ashamed of it. It made you sick, the thought of someone having him so close and caring so little. The only thing worse than the thought of her treating him like that was the thought of him accepting it as if it was what he deserved. You should’ve felt sad for him, but it just made you angrier.

“Then why, Rafe? Why?” You knew you were becoming a broken record but you just could not wrap your head around his choice. “Why are you still with her?” You hated the way it made you sound like you were blaming him for her actions, but you needed to understand.

“Because I’m going to have to end up with someone like her anyway, I may as well just get it over with,” he said with a resigned shake of his head.

“That’s fucked up, Rafe,” you said, even though you knew he already knew it.

“It is what it is,” he shrugged, defeated.

Your eyes caught the clock on your stove. It was almost 1am. Rafe was supposed to be saying his vows in twelve hours, and you knew if he stood here in your apartment for another minute, looking at you so helplessly, you’d crumble for him.

“I think you should go home,” you said, trying and failing to mean it.

“Not yet,” Rafe said, his tone implying there was something more he was waiting for.

And even though you wanted to, you just couldn’t give it to him.

Mustering the last of your pride, you took a deep breath and said, “If you’re waiting for me to ask you not to marry her, we’re both gonna be disappointed. I’ve been doing good, Rafe. I got my life together, and I won’t be responsible for ruining someone else’s. It’s not on me, you have to decide. If you don’t want to marry her, then don’t marry her. But do it for you, because I’ve got me covered.”

Rafe considered your words, standing completely still as they washed over him. He had to choose. He could either ruin his reputation and potentially lose his family to be happy with you or keep the lifestyle he’d grown so accustomed to and be miserable with her. He looked so sad, and you desperately wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but you stayed silent, wanting him to say what he was feeling all on his own for once. You needed a simple answer.

But Rafe Cameron never did anything the simple way.

He didn’t say anything, he just started walking toward you. Once he was close enough to touch you, and your back was against the wall, he reached up to touch your face gently with one finger, silently asking if you were still in pain from your collision earlier. When you didn’t wince or push him away, he leaned down, bringing his lips dangerously close to yours.

“Just one more time, please. Don’t kick me out, be with me one more time,” he whispered against your skin.

You shook your head slowly, whispering back, “I won’t kick you out, but I also won’t let you touch me and then marry her.”

“Fine, I won’t touch you.”

Rafe leaned back, only slightly, pulling his face away so you were level with his chest. He folded his hands behind his back to show you he meant it. You could smell his familiar musk, his chest so close to your face you could hear his heartbeat as you looked up at the pulsing veins in his neck. His hair, still wet from the shower, flopped messily over his forehead. A single drop fell from his bangs and landed on your collarbone. Rafe’s eyes darkened as he tracked the droplet rolling across your exposed skin, down your chest, over the curve of your tits and finally disappearing into your tank top.

Eyes locked to Rafe’s, you lifted your hand slowly, placing it over the spot the water had fallen, sliding your fingers delicately down the drop’s path. When you reached the neckline of your tank top, Rafe’s eyes consuming every movement, you reached up with your other hand and lowered one of the straps of your top slowly. You dragged your hand down further, cupping your breast through your lacy bralette and biting your lip at the pressure.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. He put one hand on the wall next to your head to steady himself, bringing his body impossibly closer while still not touching you. His other hand fell to his side, moving dangerously close to his dick.

“You better not touch yourself either, or I swear to god I’ll stop,” you warned him.

“Don’t stop,” He brought the drifting hand up to the wall on the other side of your head. “Please, baby.”

Butterflies erupted in your stomach at his voice, raspy and strained with need. With two hands on the hem of your shirt, you pulled it slowly over your head, leaving you in just the see-through undergarment.

“Take that off too,” Rafe tried to sound dominant, but his voice cracked, betraying him.

“You’re not in any position to make demands,” you scolded with a shake of your head. “And you’re not going to see me naked. You have a fianceé for that.”

Rafe was pained by this, his nostrils flailing as he clenched his jaw in frustration. You ignored him and put your hands back on your body, palming both of your tits again before trailing lower over your stomach. Rafe’s tongue darted out of his mouth and licked his lips as he watched the way your stomach flexed with anticipation, hands finally landing on the waistband of your sleep shorts. One hand pulled the elastic back while the other slid beneath it slowly. When your fingers ran over the fabric of your panties, teasing your clothed clit, your head fell back against the wall and your jaw fell slack. Rafe ran one of his hands through his hair as he watched pleasure flood your face, desperate to touch something, anything. The hand still on the wall closed into a fist. You started rubbing circles over your clit through your panties, the fabric already soaked through, wet since the sight of him in his boxers. Your breath hitched when you found the perfect rhythm and you closed your eyes tight, a melodic moan rising from your throat.

“Fuck baby, you’re so fucking sexy,” Rafe growled through gritted teeth.

Your eyes flew open and you pulled your hand from your shorts, suddenly very aware of the lack of space between you and the vulgarity of what you were doing. You slid under his arm and hurried to the other side of the kitchen.

“You should go,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself and shivering at the sudden loss of his warmth.

Rafe stayed still, trying not to spook you. His head dipped low, looking down at his ringing hands.

“I missed you,” he mumbled helplessly.

“You mean you missed fucking me?” You asked spitefully.

One agonizingly slow step at a time, Rafe crossed the room. You turned from him as if to push him away, literally giving him the cold shoulder. But he wasn’t deterred, he just got closer and closer until he was right behind you, close enough for his breath to sweep across your shoulder as he said, “yeah, what if I do? I miss it so much. There’s not a day that passes without me wishing I was here, fucking you so good you scream my name.”

His arrogant words made you so fucking angry, and so fucking wet.

What little resistance you had mustered disappeared. Breathless, you whispered, “what else do you miss?”

“I miss your little moans,” he continued, the corner of his lips raising slightly at the sight of the goosebumps that shot up your arms. “I bet you still cry out for me when you make yourself come, don’t you? I want you to show me.”

“We can’t do this,” you shook your head.

“No, I can’t do this,” he corrected you. “You can do whatever you want.”

No fight left, you took his suggestion, and soon you were laying back on your bed, your shorts thrown on the floor, your hand moving feverishly under your panties. Rafe laid next to you, his body drawn in as close as it could possibly get while keeping his promise not to touch you. You’d made no such promise, the hand you weren’t rubbing over your slick folds gripping his arm for purchase as you moaned at your own touch.

“Talk to me,” you begged.

“Yeah?” He said excitedly, as if he had been waiting for permission.

You nodded desperately, bringing your eyes to his as one of your fingers dropped down to enter yourself.

“You remember the first time we fucked?” He began. “Right here on this bed. I took you from behind. You were so tight around my cock, like you were fucking made for me.”

You added a second finger, driven by his filthy words. His jaw clenched, restraining himself with more effort than he’d ever given anything as he watched you writhe.

“Keep going,” you whined, eyes squeezed shut.

“I had to turn you around, I had to see that pretty face when you came for me for the first time,” he recalled. “God, I bet you wish it was me stretching you out right now, don’t you? You wish it was my cock pounding you into the mattress until you can’t breathe, huh?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, lips pouting, overwhelmed by the memories and your need to feel him.

“Best pussy I’ve ever had,” he groaned, feeling himself twitching in his pants, desperate for his own release but committed to yours. “I need to see you come, baby, one more time. Please come for me?”

You cried out as you clenched around your own fingers, their size so inadequate with him so close, knowing what he could be doing to you. But you meant what you said, you couldn’t let him touch you, not while his bride was sleeping just across town, no idea her groom was in some pogue’s bed, begging her to come for him. Maybe it was sick, but the thought of him being so desperate for you that he was risking everything with her made your thighs clench around your hand, nearing the edge.

“Tell me about the first time you saw me,” you pleaded, the rasp in your voice warning him you were close.

“Holy shit, baby, you were so fucking sexy,” he said, rising up from the bed and propping himself on his arm to hover over you, the proximity throwing you into even more of a frenzy. “Dancing in that club, the way you move, shit, I wanted to lay you down on that dancefloor and fuck you right there. So did every other guy in there. But they didn’t get to, I did. And I’ve never been the same since I first touched you.”

It was all too much, his words, the memory, the sensation of your fingers sliding in and out so easily, the way he was talking making you so wet. Your high crashed into you like a truck, your back arching off the bed, your chest bumping into his as you came with his name on your lips.

“There she is, that’s my girl,” Rafe exhaled as you rode out your high. Eventually, your muscles gave out from the pleasure and you slumped back into the bed.

He watched you in rapture as your chest rose and fell with labored breaths, struggling to recover. Neither of you knew what to do next, the shock of what just happened washing over you. Your body was so exhausted from the chaos of the day and the aftershocks of your orgasm, all you wanted was him, and you were too tired to fight it.

“Rafe?” You whispered into the darkness of your bedroom, the light of the moon the only thing illuminating the small space.

“Yeah?” He whispered back.

“Can you hold me?” Your voice sounded so small, and you hated the vulnerability of your request, but at this moment the only thing you wanted in the world was to feel his arms around you.

“I thought you didn’t want me to touch you?” He teased gently.

“I said I’m getting better, not that I’m perfect,” you smiled, turning your body towards him. “And I want to know what it feels like to fall asleep in your arms. Just once.”

“Is it gonna be an issue?” He asked. You knew what he really meant was, “are you going to regret sleeping with an engaged man?”

The answer was yes, but you didn’t care.

“Just let me be a little selfish,” you said, turning around so your back was against his chest, pulling his arm around you. “I had you first.”

“You still have me,” he whispered against your neck, pulling your body into his.

“Shhh,” you said, lifting your fingers gently to his lips. “Go to sleep, Rafe.”

He smiled and did as he was told.

₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *

The sunlight landing on your face is what woke you from the deepest and sweetest sleep you’d had in six months. Your first instinct was to smile, humming in satisfaction as you stretched your well rested muscles.

Your second instinct was to reach for him.

You shouldn’t be surprised, shouldn’t pull your knees to your chest, shouldn’t be crying alone in your cold bed. Of course he left. He was always going to leave.

Some small, pathetic voice in the back of your mind said, “maybe he just went to break things off with her.”

Even though it made you feel like the most pitiful girl in the world, you checked his location, still available from the night before. He was on Figure 8, the address you had gone to yesterday. He was at his wedding.

He had wanted you to ask him not to marry her. He never would’ve said it, but you could see it on his face. He had too much to lose, too many people depending on him, too much weight on his shoulders. But maybe he would’ve given it all up, if only you’d asked.

You threw your phone across the room in frustration. Maybe you should’ve just asked him to stay with you, maybe you should’ve put your pride aside this one time, maybe this was all your fault.

You were up and out of bed before you had time to talk yourself out of it. You pulled on your catering clothes from the night before. Surely, they wouldn’t let you in the gate if you looked like some wedding crashing pogue, but maybe you could slip in undetected if it seemed like you still worked there.

You don’t even remember driving there, your stomach on fire with nerves and something that might even be excitement, as you raced across the island. The clock in your car read 1:03pm, and you prayed to whatever god was listening that the ceremony had started late.

As you planned, they let you right in the gate when you said you were with the caterer. You didn’t even bother to park at the service entrance, your tires squealing as you came to a stop right in front of the house, leaving the engine running as you ran towards the ceremony site. You could hear music playing in the distance, hoping it was the processional.

But when you turned the corner, you heard a large crowd break into applause. You came to a halt, backing up to hide under the cover of a tree a few yards from the end of the aisle. You watched as Rafe appeared, his beaming bride on his arm. He dipped her low, giving her a kiss as the crowd cheered again, the gold ring on his left hand glinting in the sunlight.

You were too late.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

a/n: sorry.

#queue #rafe cameron #obx #rafe #obx fic #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and y/n

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leeril · 2 days ago

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Infatuated Nerd

Tobias Rogers x Reader

Bitchy reader, weird guy Toby, college au

Banner credit- @cafekitsune

One / Two / Three

~ It had been a week, a whole gruelling week since your date with Toby. Were you aware of said date? Well.. no, not really. But it’s all good, Toby would make it known soon. In the meantime he had kept up with you from a burner account on insta. Too scared to interact on his main, afraid you’d find a flaw that you couldn’t overlook.

~ He was currently in his dorm doing the same thing he had been doing, staring at your insta story. Some literary quote layered over a picture of today’s outfit; a tiny pink skirt, white frilly bra and a mesh light pink cardigan. He was almost certain you were posting such teases for him to see. And would it be so wrong of him to indulge?

~ His hand began to sneak across his torso, faded grey tee rustling as his fingers inched under his waistband. Slow. Tentative. Relishing in his own sudden gentleness. His eyes stayed glued to the screen, tracing over the soft curve of your hip, up the exposed skin of your stomach and landing on your pushed out, doughy tits. He let out a soft breath. Hand quickly pulling back out of his boxers as he shook his head.

~ He couldn’t. He hadn’t. Allowing such a thing while thinking of you was almost forbidden. Teasing himself was enough- for now.

~ He instead turned to look to his drawers, or more specifically what was atop those drawers. A cute Sanrio gift bag, decked out all in pastels and holographic stickers, that he was sure you’d love. Inside a brand new Isabel Marant Mecelia top. Sure it wasn’t as extravagant as the one you were wearing, but he had seen it posted to your story once.

~ This weekend will be his chance to give it to you. It was the long awaited girls trip he had been counting down the days to. He had done a lot in preparation. His hands- though still scarred- no longer were covered in bites and cuts and grazes. He had stopped picking at them. He knew you deserved better. And he was going to be that better.

~ He sighs to himself, locking his phone and letting it drop to his chest, fingers impatiently tapping the cracked back. Staring up at his ceiling, face switching from a scowl to a warm smile repeatedly. It pained him to be away from you, but being away gave him more time to think… about you…

~ With a final exaggerated sigh he jumped up, phone slamming onto the carpeted floor without a care, his feet moving faster than his brain, carrying him to his door, down the hall, out the entrance, straight down the path to your building, and somehow finding him outside your lecture hall.

~ Arms crossed, shoulder twitching, foot tapping. He craned his neck through the small window on the door, eyes scanning the view for less than ten seconds before landing on you. There you were in all your beautiful, ethereal glory. Chin in your hand, hair in loose curls, bubblegum hypnotising him as you chewed and legs swinging beneath your chair, each tiny movement pushing that pretty pink skirt up, panties almost fully on show.

~ Okay- Alright! He may not have fully thought this through, but did he ever when it came to you?

~ He gritted his teeth subconsciously, thanking whatever gods made him wear loose sweats today as he felt the strain in his boxers. How much longer must you torture him? He closed his eyes and let his forehead rest against the door, hand dramatically slamming against it and dragging a path down.

~ It took him a moment to realise what he had done, well.. no, it took him an awkward stumble into the lecture hall as the professor opened the door and cleared his throat, to realise what he had done. And when he did- his eyes automatically panned to you.

~ Your perfect scowl on your face but he could have sworn he saw the twitch in your lip, fighting hard to keep it from turning up, and that was beyond enough for him. Shooting you a dopey grin and a corny finger gun before straightening up and happily turning on his heel, prideful strides all the way back to his dorm.

~ Seeing you was enough, his heart felt full, he knows what he saw. The flicker of amusement in your eyes, the slightly raised brow and curling lip, the perfect view of your cherry thong.

~ He wasn’t sure what tomorrow held, but tonight there was one thing he was sure of. He was going to get that panty shot even if it killed him.

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #ticci toby #tobias erin rogers #tobias rogers #toby rogers #toby rogers x reader #leerilwrites #x reader

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definitionsfading · 1 day ago

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okay so I have some niche family issues I need to talk through about potentially not being invited to my half sister's 150-guest, $60,000 venue wedding, so if anybody has advice feel free to drop it in the chat lmfao because I'm pretty much at a loss

historical context: my mother and father divorced when I was 2 years old, my mom retained full custody of me and my dad had visitation rights every OTHER weekend. my dad remarried when I was about 5 and had two more girls with his second wife, who I was semi frequently around as children. my dad physically separated from his second wife in 2015 and my relationship with her and the girls has been somewhat strained since then because of familial tension and me living with my own mother an hour away from the rest of them. now my half-sister is turning 26 this summer and getting married in March 2026. I have not seen her since 2021, and she lives in a different state from me now. but I do follow her on Instagram and interact with her posts; she does NOT follow me, by her own choice, nor engage with me on social media.

--so: last night.

called my dad to catch up (read: have not spoken to him in about 2 months) and over the course of our frankly underwhelming conversation he reveals that my sister sent out her wedding invitations two weeks ago, and he received his last week. bear in mind, there's only about 40 miles of distance between me and where my father live in the same state. so, when I expressed to him that I did not receive an invitation to this large and extravagant wedding, he acts casually bemused and tells me that perhaps it got lost in the mail. he offers no other solution or explanation for this. when I said that in ALL HONESTY I was 50-50 on whether my sister would even extend an invitation to me because she doesn't even really talk to me, he tells me that I'm 'making up drama' and then the conversation pretty much ends there. I have not even been made aware of this wedding other than an engagement post on Instagram from April of this year, and my dad's sister and my dad himself informing me of the engagement. nobody else has spoken to me about it.

my question for you all is, basically....what would YOU do in this situation? should I sit around and continue to wait for an invitation? should I do nothing at all? should I reach out to somebody and ask to be invited, or express concern that an invitation was lost in the mail? like I literally have no idea what to do. but I feel like a fucking idiot with my hands tied because it also seems clear my sister doesn't give a shit about me and wouldn't really care if I went or not. I mean, I guess therein lies the answer, but why would she invite my dad's extended family members and specifically exclude me? I haven't done anything to hurt her or be cruel, though I have obviously been 'absent' from her adult life. for obvious physical constraints, but also mostly out of my own shame and horror because of my failures as a person, and us having nothing in common other than a father.

my sister isn't even 26 and already makes over $100,000 a year for some added context, lmfao. so I don't know if she thinks I'm a loser or what. I wish I understood what was happening here so I could navigate it better.

#the life and times of being an unwanted loser of a person continue lmfao!!!!!!

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amoaliquis · 2 days ago

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Similarities - Hancock and Solas Edition.

Those who are acquainted with me are aware of my fondness for Hancock. He is, without a doubt, my favorite. My numero uno.

Solas is neck and neck. Thus you KNOW this post is full of all kinds of appreciation. Or lust. I dunno. What's the damned difference?

Now, what could these two men possibly have in common besides being bald? [I KNOW that was your first thought! Don't lie.] /affectionate snort.

1. Both men are/were Rebel Leaders.

Fen'Harel, also known as The Dread Wolf and formerly Solas, was a leader who guided the Elvhen people in opposition to the Evanuris' oppressive rule and the perceived protection that masked their enslavement. Solas adopted the moniker "Dread Wolf" to instill fear in his adversaries, which later became a source of inspiration for his followers.

John Hancock, previously known as John McDonough, was deeply affected by the murder of a fellow drifter in Goodneighbor, an event he was unable to prevent due to the armed henchmen of Vic. The resulting guilt consumed him, leaving him feeling utterly despondent. Following a particularly intense experience with chems, he awoke in the Old State House, finding himself next to the attire of the historical John Hancock. This experience triggered a profound change within him, leading him to break the display case, take the clothes, and begin organizing and training a clandestine revolutionary militia. Ultimately, they successfully ousted the tyrannical Vic and his followers, culminating in Vic's execution from the Old State House balcony.

2. Both men went through major transformations of their being.

Solas, initially a spirit of Wisdom, transformed to inhabit a physical form derived from Titan's blood, also known as Lyrium. Initially content in his spiritual existence, Solas was resistant to the prospect of entering the human realm. Ultimately he was persuaded to do so by an outside force. Upon assuming a corporeal form, he adopted the name Solas, an Elvish term signifying "Pride".

Hancock, a human, underwent a transformative process via an experimental drug, resulting in his becoming a ghoul. This decision, potentially driven by self-imposed penance for his role in the expulsion of ghouls from Diamond City, proved to be a painful experience. However, this transformation facilitated his integration within the community he aimed to safeguard, ultimately proving beneficial.

3. Both men have very strong stances against tyranny.

Hancock : "The world's always gonna have tyrants, but if I get my way, there'll be a lot less."

Solas : "Death to all tyrants!"

4. Both men have long life spans or can be seen as "immortal".

Hancock is a ghoul and became one around the age of fourty when he took an experimental chem. As a ghoul, his lifespan is greatly extended due to radiation exposure, making him essentially immortal. He will not die of old age or disease, however he can still be killed by violence or accidents, and prolonged exposure to high levels of radiation can cause him to become feral, losing his cognitive abilities.

Solas is an ancient elf with "effective" immortality. Like Hancock, he does not age, but can be killed or harmed.

5. Both men were thrust into leadership roles neither wanted as a byproduct of taking a stand against something they found morally reprehensible.

Solas became Fen'Harel or The Dread Wolf, leader of the Rebellion.

Hancock became the undisputed Mayor of Goodneighbor, leader and figurehead for an entire settlement. "Of the people, FOR the people."[Here the two men vastly differ in their leadership ideals and approaches, but that is a post for another day.]

6. Both men are proponents of freedom be it from oppression or freedom of personal choice.

Solas illustrates this point on more than one occasion in Inquisition and Trespasser. His interactions with Iron Bull on the Qun and Dorian in regards to Tevinter slaves paint his stance beautifully.

* Solas: <to Iron Bull when discussing Iron Bull being Ben-Hassrath> "No. Even the lowliest peasant may find freedom in the safety of her thoughts. You take even that."

* Solas: "Surely, even you see, Iron Bull, that freedom is preferable to mindless obedience to the Qun."

* Solas: "It doesn't matter if they are happy, it matters that they may choose!"

* Solas: "I take no joy in what I must do. Until that day comes, I would see those recovering from the Breach free of the Qun. Because I am not a monster."

Hancock is the mayor of a settlement founded on personal freedoms, devoid of bigotry and social class.

* Hancock : "Everyone should get to live life on their own terms. That's what Goodneighbor's all about. Served us well so far."

* Hancock : "Plenty of folks wanna make life hard for people just tryin' to survive. I'm not willing to stand for that kinda shit."

7. Both men plead their cases to people/beings in positions of power only for their wisdom and empathy to fall on deaf ears.

Solas appealed to all of the Evanuris at some point, some more than once, both in person and through letters. Nothing moved them from their course; his advisement was ignored and mocked.

Hancock Tried to appeal to his elder brother on behalf of the ghoul population in Diamond City. Guy McDonough, having run his mayoral campaign on an anti-ghoul platform, showed no signs of remorse over the violence his stance incited and in fact gloated to Hancock when he pleaded for the ghouls' safety after Guy's inauguration speech.

8. Both men adopted personas that were far removed from their core personalities.

John McDonough became John Hancock. As a human, John McDonough was good-looking and the younger brother of a bully who became mayor of Diamond City. That version of himself Hancock saw as "weak." He had failed to help the ghouls, had failed to stop Vic's henchmen as they murdered a fellow drifter right in front of him. He was helpless, unworthy, and insecure with low self-esteem and insurmountable guilt. He had to be buried. Thus John Hancock, the secret rebellion leader, was born. While McDonough was timid, Hancock was courageous and stood up for freedom from oppression. He championed equality and would fight and kill to do what had to be done in order to protect the people. Hancock is fearless, cocky, charming, and a bit of a playboy, but always "of the people, for the people"—everything McDonough was not.

Solas became Fen'Harel/The Dread Wolf. Solas's persona was not one he adopted willingly nor chose for himself, unlike Hancock. This mask was thrust upon him in good faith simply in hopes that it would provoke fear in those they were rebelling against while also offering hope and inspiration to those they fought for. Solas himself simply "wanted to give wisdom not orders." Fen'Harel, by contrast, led, ordered, made calculated decisions, and worked well within the confines of half-truths in order to further the goal of freedom from oppression.

Both men are more than their personas. Solas still houses Solas, the quiet man who loves to debate and share wisdom while learning himself. Hancock still houses John McDonough, the man who cares deeply, is insecure, unsure at times and empathetic.

9. Both men are clever and adept at manipulation. [Neither are above using it.]

When you first meet Hancock the man stabs a guy who is trying to extort money out of you right in front of your face, only to turn around and manipulate you into handling some business for him a bit later.

Solas is at least subtle about his manipulation in Inquisiton. Always with half-truths. Never outright lies.

Calling Hancock out on this manipulation gets you a charming chuckle, a self-deprecating joke of commiseration about fools in costumes, and an honest apology. This is followed by a moment of self-reflection, worried he's becoming a tyrant himself. Noting that it's time for him to go on a walkabout, you can offer for him to join you. He doesn't hesitate. His philosophy while you travel: "Someone needs helpin', we help 'em. Someone needs hurtin', we hurt 'em. It's not hard." He either becomes a steadfast friend and ally or a loyal, desperately in-love partner.

Calling Solas out in Trespasser, depending on how you have treated him, can elicit a heartfelt apology before he either "saves your life" or "prolongs it" by magically amputating the hand that is slowly killing you. He tells you that he would treasure another opportunity to be proven wrong or if you romanced him reaffirms his feelings for you. In the following years he leaves clues for the Inquisitor to help stop him, and in the end the Inquisitor either becomes a friend he respects or his "true love".

DEPENDING ON THE STORY...

10. Neither man feels truly worthy of the one who loves them.

Solas can flatout state that Lavellan deserves better after the break-up if she questions him, and while this is a direct acknowledgement, Solas's feelings of unworthiness tend to showcase themselves more often through implication and subtlety of action.

Hancock on the other hand is more direct, as is in line with his character.

Hancock : "You don't want to wake up to this mug every morning. Never wish that on anyone I cared for."

And when reassured you do in fact love him and enter into a relationship, upon waking up in bed he can say,

"You sure you want to be stuck with this ugly mug?"

11. Both men can fall in love with the person they initially manipulated.

Their love interest proves themselves to be the rare person who fully accepts all of the aspects of who they are and takes the time to see beyond the larger-than-life personas they tend to hide behind. Never taking advantage of or using them, simply loving them.

Would these two get along? Fuck no.

Let's be real, Solas would find Hancock's brash nature grating and offensive. Hancock would see Solas as a pretentious cunt who is unnecessarily verbose and condescending.

They would give one another headaches.

[To further explore the hilarity that would ensue, I am currently writing an AU where all of the guys meet (Solas, Hancock, Charon, and Garrus) along with their partners. It's fun.]

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frownyalfred · 3 days ago

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PERFECT PERFECT PERFECT THATS ONE OF MY FAVOURITE THINGS EVER WHEN THAT HAPPENS TOO EARLY AND THE ALPHA JUST HAS TO ACCEPT IT!! EHEHE. OH, GOD, lex with the beginnings of his baby bump just sat on top of dan and absolutely tormenting him with how much fun he's having,,,, clark and bruce in the nest nearby unbothered and happy until poor dan starts actually getting frustrated. cmon guys let lex have his fun!!!! i think there could definitely be some really fun teasing dialogue between the couples here that showcases the fading of boundaries in this relationship and just how comfortable they are interacting while lex and dan are having sex, or even outright stating the way these long drawn out frustration scents are messing with bruce and clark too, and that not being a good idea when bruce is so early postpartum depending on when you have this set. this is so fun i would absolutely die for it. mean taunting playful lex when the thing goes down and dan hands throws his own medicine right back at him and makes the nest smell of pure alpha satisfaction

Yeah! And truly Lex left himself wide open for revenge because if he can keep enjoying himself over and over again….yeah. Trying to keep this somewhat sft! I can’t get thrown in tumblr jail again for posting about 🪢

Also I was 100% imagining superbat having some fun nearby at the same time so it’s really just hilarious contrast between the two couples

#asks #anon #mildly suggestive #a/b/o tw #a/b/o mention #mpreg mention #mpreg tw #myfic #theresurrectionist #a room full of coral #like Lex out of morning sickness era is a demon #a DEMON

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pencilofawesomeness · 5 hours ago

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htryds: Tower Trio Shenanigans

because I'm using @ft-platonicweek as an excuse to post htryds stuff, here's another microshot~ (nevermind that it's 2k. it's just a random scene promise)

For Day 5's Prompt: Poison

Early X784

Jellal sat at the bar and tried not to noticeably grimace every time he became aware of the layer of sticky grime on the surface. Not everywhere, but there was a spot near his arm that he kept hitting by accident. He vaguely wondered if it would help or hinder his goal to ask the barkeep for a wet cloth to clean it.

He decided against it. Instead, he nasally sighed into his drink and nearly finished the last of it, much to his chagrin. One glass and not much progress to show for his presence here—and Jellal really didn’t want to have a second. He didn’t care for the taste but he didn’t mind it either; the potential effects, however… Well. Jellal had, as his therapist would put it, “an understandable discomfort with activities that lower his mental awareness,” so he made it a point never to drink to the point of getting drunk.

If only the Black Rose guild wasn’t so entrenched in this town and equally difficult to find. They scared off easily, as they discovered, and not even Erik had much success in rooting them out. The best lead they got was that travelers who stopped at this tavern had a chance of going missing, and concerned locals blamed the dark guild. But, since they were an awfully careful lot, they decided to be as subtle as possible. Which meant partially splitting up.

Partially. Jellal could rest assured that both Erik and Erza were nearby. Erik initially offered to take point at the bar and be more exposed, since he could drink literally anything, but they all agreed he would catch more if he lurked on the outskirts of the establishment, in order to hear a wider scope. That left him and Erza to act normal inside the tavern, like normal patrons. Either to lure out any of the members or to get any information at all without scaring these poor townsfolk away. They were jumpy enough, and for good reason. The rumors of this guild’s victims were… unpleasant, to understate it.

Erza didn’t mind drinking but she, somehow, was a lightweight. And not a quiet drunk. So she reluctantly agreed to hang out around the billiards table instead, among the more social locals and travelers. Jellal, then, would haunt the bar and glean information from the barkeep himself. At least Jellal’s magic and constitution, for some reason, burned through alcohol like it did caffeine and calories. Theoretically. Acnologia surmised that it was because of the high energy cost, and the way it interacted with his body not entirely unlike a dragon slayer’s. Too bad it didn’t literally give him magic lungs or a magic stomach like them. That might be convenient.

He finished the last of the ale. He didn’t feel too different, which was nice, but he asked for a lighter brew on purpose. If Jellal thought it wouldn’t be suspicious, he would have gone pure seltzer, but the barkeep already lightly scoffed when he specified blond ale over the standard stuff. The most Jellal got out of him was that he made no effort to be friendly and he never used anyone’s name, but some people came up to the bar and he handed them an order without a word. There were regulars here and Jellal kept note of their faces—and who stayed, who left quickly and quietly, who came alone, and who only came in groups. The groups of people were not the ones with memorized orders, and they didn’t hang close to the bar.

Jellal watched a woman with long, dark green hair and pale skin slink into a seat near him, with one empty in-between. She looked down the whole time, and when the barkeep ambled over, he slid her something clear—gin?—and she slid money across the countertop. A local who planned on staying, but only long enough for one drink. She had that general air of nervousness about her that many of the locals had, but she wasn’t altogether unwilling to exist in public. Maybe Jellal should try asking something casual, just to gently check the overall atmosphere.

“Refill?” came the vaguely impatient voice of the barkeep. Jellal looked up to see him gesturing to Jellal’s empty mug with his chin.

Jellal pushed it forward with a nod, and the barkeep took it without another word. It was the easiest way to stay here unbothered long enough to ask what he wanted.

He couldn’t parse much of anything through the generic din of the tavern, not like Erik could, but a burst of Erza’s triumphant laugh cut through the noise. He glanced to the side to see she was playing some guy with a decorative shoulder tattoo at pool and clearly not holding back. She had that group’s attention, and Jellal fought down a fond chuckle. That could either be a good thing or a bad thing, but Jellal settled for good, because nobody looked close to a fight.

The barkeep brought his glass back from the tap. As expected, it was the same thing Jellal had ordered before. Not that it should be surprising. If Mirajane and Chico had taught him anything, it was that all barkeeps and baristas had impeccable memories.

“Thank you,” Jellal offered.

The barkeep rolled his eyes with a huff as he moved on to the next customer.

To his fortune (how pleasantly rare), the lady next to him spoke first. “Traveler?” she guessed.

Jellal nodded. “Yeah, passing through to get back home,” he lied vaguely. “How’d you figure?”

“Aside having never seen you before—and you’re quite the standout—no local ever thanks that grump. I think it gives him hives.”

“Ah, my mistake, then,” Jellal chuckled good-naturedly, but he took careful note of it. “You come here often?”

“Sure. It’s the only damn place to get some decent booze ‘round here.” She knocked back the rest of her drink. “Though I’m sure a traveler such as yourself has seen better.”

He didn’t need to be Erik to hear the unspoken warning. Like most people, she was careful not to say anything blatantly. The walls surely had ears, or at least the locals believed it so. Another thing to take note of. “Probably,” he replied, to answer the question at face value, “although I can’t say I’m a connoisseur in the slightest.”

“Yeah? Well I suppose you look too young to be, unless you’re some fancy capital brat.”

Jellal chuckled with some real amusement. “Oh, definitely not.” He did, however, add this to the mental tally of how many times someone wondered if he had noble blood in him, despite Jellal very emphatically not. He and Mystogan kept score. (Mystogan, a born prince, delighted in losing, although Jellal thought that was a foregone conclusion when Mystogan rarely engaged with the greater public except to be stand-offish, usually on purpose; not many people would ever know that he knew what all twenty variations of silverware was for.)

“Is that so? Shame,” she said without heat, but maybe, arguably, disappointment. Before he could parse what they might mean, the woman knocked back the rest of her drink and pushed it away. The noise caused the barkeep to glance over at the both of them, but he didn’t move yet.

It reminded him that he should probably touch his refill. A few sips in and it shouldn’t be strange for him to ask for water to go with it, right? With everyone so on edge, he didn’t want to do anything to look out of place or suspicious. His identity as an outsider was already obvious, apparently. However, no sooner than he picked up his glass again, a presence over his shoulder interrupted him.

Erik appeared out of nowhere, with that careful flat look on his face that betrayed how pissed he was to anybody who knew him well enough.

“Uh, can I help you?” Jellal asked to keep up the facade of being strangers, while loudly thinking, ‘What happened? What do you need me to do?’ in case Erik had a way to indicate what was going on.

He made no move to answer either question. Instead, Erik reached over and plucked Jellal’s glass straight out of his hand and took a large drink of it, pausing only to swish it around his mouth with a scowl.

He slammed it back on the counter. “Don’t drink that.”

Ah. Well, shit. Okay then. That was… very disconcerting. Of all the ways people have tried to kill him before, nobody had ever attempted to poison him. That he was aware of, at least. “Thanks.”

Erza must have spotted Erik emerging from his hiding and she abandoned her game immediately to stalk over to them, frowning and with her cue stick still in tow. “What happened?” she asked, a little too loudly and obviously for his taste. They still had a narrow window to be subtle with.

“Rohypnol,” Erik growled, dragon-style, deep in his chest.

…That was worse than Jellal imagined. Fantastic. He’ll unpack that later.

Erza looked positively murderous. “Who?” she demanded lowly, almost dragon-like herself. He hoped Erik knew how to de-escalate her, because Jellal knew he didn’t have a chance when he had been in the line of fire. Erza was much too protective.

And Erik was too, so maybe Jellal should have seen this coming.

“The pair in the back left corner,” Erik started, likely knowing full well what was bound to happen next.

No sooner after he responded, Erza hefted the cue stick like a javelin and threw it straight at the aforementioned pair, who looked no different from the other patrons. The cue stick jammed into the wall by one guy’s head, who predictably jerked away with wide eyes. The tavern jolted along with the pair, but there was still a (small) chance at stopping an all out brawl and dismissing the crazy show of prowess as drunken behavior. Maybe. (Jellal was kidding himself, he knew this.)

“Guys,” he pleaded.

“Barkeep actually did it,” Erik continued, ignoring Jellal’s attempt at not making a big deal out of it. “Switch.”

Erza didn’t need to be told twice. In a flash of light, she wrapped herself in armor and leaped over the countertop to swiftly grab the barkeep by the back of the shirt. He cussed loudly as she slammed him face first into the counter.

Now, the brawl was inevitable. At breaking the unspoken rule of not aiming for the barkeep, they gained all of the patrons attention. Some looked ready to come to the barkeep’s aid and some—like the green-haired woman—started to run. Jellal sighed; there had been an attempt.

“This was your idea,” he said, somewhat petulantly, even if Jellal wasn’t really that upset over it. Erik would know what he meant.

“I’m flexible,” Erik quipped back. “The asshole in the purple shirt is mine, by the way.”

Erik jumped into the fray, catching the two Erza had aimed at before they left and slamming his promised quarry against the wall with a flash of dark red magic Jellal knew meant to hurt. Jellal, in turn, did not (for the sake of his sanity) consider what Erik heard to make him this upset. Instead, Jellal simply took comfort in the fact that nothing would come to fruition with both Erik and Erza like this. The only thing Jellal had to worry about now was making sure nobody got caught in the crossfire, and maybe ensuring they had someone to question that wouldn’t be concussed, but he would take what he could get. Regardless, Jellal had no doubt that Erik and Erza would accomplish what they set out to do. Which… he would be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate it. A lot.

A glass flew by Jellal’s head. He dodged it easily and shot a star arrow at a man trying to bludgeon a fleeing younger man with a broken bottle, and then swung it back around to blast a woman trying to approach Erik from behind. In turn, Jellal heard the schling of flying metal and a shout of pain from Jellal’s blindspot.

The chaos of jobs was always made safer by having friends by your side, after all.

#fairy tail #htryds #htryds microshot #ft platonic week 2025 #jellal fernandes #erza scarlet #erik #ft erik #mild tw for nonconsensual drug use #or the attempt thereof #and alcohol and general #jellal: we're totally going to get through this without a bar fight #inevitably: *a bar fight happens*#it's okay i didn't actually bully jellal this time because he has the power of FRIENDSHIP on his side #aka very protective friends #speaking of friends shout out to mine who helped me figure out what jellal would drink #that would not really get him drunk any time soon #jellal is drinking responsibly #that said erik and erza trying to vie for that position of the plan was a lot stronger than jellal's pov allowed for lol #they know he is fine with a little at home but he has those hangups so it's not a super fun time #i had to stop myself from making this a fullblown character study it was so tempting #but the nice part is that when jellal gets stuck in his head he's got friends to watch his back whoo

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