#also yes that IS a terrible things reference

[generic-doomsday-villain]

the doctor is in (ppl who think lesbians can like/be men + vice-versa, proship, & endo dni)

[dustyspines]

ghost light

Six years after walking out of his life, Albus Potter reappears on Scorpius Malfoy’s doorstep.

And, on any normal day, it would’ve been fine. Welcomed, perhaps. It had been the only thing Scorpius longed for all those years: reuniting with Albus. Except it isn’t a normal day. There are no more normal days, not anymore.

Atropos, they call it. The meteor. Six months away, traversing a dead-end path all the way to Earth. And if you’d asked Scorpius years ago who he’d want at his side on his last day alive he would’ve said Albus. Now, with a lot more life lived under his belt, he isn’t quite so sure.

But, as it seems, he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. Because Albus is persistent, Scorpius still hasn’t moved on and, when it comes to the two of them, there is no such thing as ancient history. There is only here and now and six months for them to figure out where it all went wrong.

chapter one: esse chapter two: quam chapter three: videri

read on ao3 here ♡

[bisexualdinahlance]

Anyone else find it wild the amount of projection some people put on characters. And I don't mean like personality traits I mean like interests. People HAVE to have their faves to have the same interests in movies and tv and music as them, to the point that then you have grown men sounding like they are teenage girls in a weird way and everyone has literally the exact same taste. And they also can't like something the fic author hates bc then it is an irredeemable flaw or st even if it is canon or it fits the characters personality better. Idk like maybe it's the types of fics I read but it's just super weird sometimes and really takes me out of the story. Especially when like... You didn't need to name drop anything in the first place? It often isn't relèvent at all

[wolves-in-the-world]

I definitely don't know how to do coffee shop AUs, this is great

[subhiscoop]

im gonna be soooo miserable when all of this ends i swear

[ickadori]

hi i’m going feral over the dynamic w uraume, reader, and sukuna. uraume hating reader but they can’t lie and say the way she looks at now BOTH sukuna and uraume as if he were the night sky but they were thd stars in it… still, they say they don’t like her at all! annoying as she is.

even if she’s left alone with them while sukuna is out. and especially if she’s needy and wow sukuna isn’t here to fix it. ugh, uraume HATES her. totally for sure, no lie at all.

sorry it’s just such an AWOOOOBARKBARKHOOWWWLL dynamic </3

[cws] fem reader. brief mention of sukuna treating his workers poorly lmao. poly. this mainly focuses on uraume/reader.

Uraume hates you, sparingly.

There are days where they grow so annoyed by you that they fear they may have to bind their hands to keep from squeezing at your throat. But there are also days where they find their interest mildly piqued by you, and can therefore tolerate you more than usual — today is one of those days.

They stand quite a distance away as they watch you cling onto Sukuna, your face twisted into one of despair as you beg him not to make you leave (ever the drama queen). He pays you no mind, one arm keeping you from falling over yourself while the other three pack your clothes away into a trunk.

“Ryo, I don’t want to go!” Ryo. Tuh. The first time you had uttered that shortening of his name, Uraume had prepared themself to finally see you be disciplined. It was terrible enough that you referred to him as just Sukuna, but to forego that as well and address him by such a casual title?

They had been sure that you’d be sporting a bruised face for a few days, or perhaps cradling a broken limb if the master was feeling particularly slighted, but instead, Lord Sukuna had only regarded you with low, hooded eyes and a ghost of a smile.

“Your wants are of no concern to me.” Sukuna says, and Uraume vividly remembers him asking them just the other day if you ‘wanted’ for anything.

Uraume was woken by a dark presence weighing heavy on their chest, and their eyes quickly open to see Sukuna looming over them, his own eyes narrowed into slits.

“Yes, my Lord?” There’s a slight waver in their voice.

“That woman…does she want for anything?” Uraume glances to the large, open window in their room, the sun still hidden away, and then slowly turns back to the curse.

“I don’t think I understand.”

“The date of her birth is approaching.” Uraume has enough sense not to gape. The King of Curses planning on getting a birthday gift for a human of all things — how absurd! “She claims not to want anything, but you know how women are.”

Uraume blinks at the pensive look that suddenly takes over his face, one hand raising to rub at his chin. After a beat of silence, Sukuna focuses his gaze back on Uraume.

“If you have no use for your tongue, then I’ll gladly take it.”

“Forgive me, Lord Sukuna, I was just recalling what she had mentioned in passing the other day.” He silently urges them to continue. “She frequently reminisces about the fountain in her village and how she wishes she could visit it again - I assume it holds some sort of sentimental value in it.”

Both parties are well aware that the fountain has long since been destroyed; the stone holding it together having been smashed the night Sukuna single-handedly pillaged the small village, and the water, once so crystal clear your face could be reflected in it, had been stained a deep, dark red with the blood of your friends and family.

“Shit.” Sukuna seems a touch distressed, and Uraume balks. It earns them a stinging on their chest, their sleep clothes staining red before their skin quickly heals itself. “Fix your face.”

“Forgive me, Lord Sukuna.”

He ponders for a moment. “I’ll have a fountain erected in the courtyard. I’ll send her away while it’s being built - you’ll accompany her.”

Shit.

Construction was set to start today, hence why you were being driven out of the palace, and Uraume had been tasked with taking you away to a neighboring village until the fountain was completed.

Before, Uraume would have been ashamed of themself for seemingly falling so low in Sukuna’s graces that they had been demoted to a mere pet sitter, but the Lord saw you as so much more. He trusted no one with you, and had killed plenty a servants for so much as letting their gaze linger on you a bit too long, but here he was trusting you, arguably his most prized possession, in their care.

It spoke volumes of how much trust Sukuna put into them, hence Uraume’s agreeable mood.

“You’re sending me off to my death, aren’t you?” You blanche, eyes darting between the two people in your room, and Uraume gives nothing away as they watch you with a neutral expression. “They’re going to cook me, aren’t they?” You let out a harrowing moan, even going so far as to drop your head into your hands, and Sukuna regards you with a painfully patient look.

“You would have done well in the story telling business - you’re highly dramatic.” You go limp, one of Sukuna’s arms quickly snatching you up, and another one comes down to snag ahold of your chin and turn your face up to him, large fingers squishing your cheeks together. “Enough with the theatrics, woman. You’re not being killed just yet.”

“Just yet?”

“The two of you are going on a trip. It’ll be no longer than two weeks.”

“A trip to where? The afterli—!” Sukuna spins you out of his arms, and Uraume acts quickly, their own arms shooting out to steady you. “Ryomen!”

“You may leave, Uraume.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

~

Uraume had been attempting to pacify you ever since the two of you had finally reached your designation: an inn a bit of ways into the countryside.

You had annoyingly cried a good ways of the journey over, only stopping when you had fallen asleep on Uraume’s shoulder, and when you had awoken, you had stayed quiet as you sulked to yourself.

Dramatic.

The two of you were now in the bath, Uraume’s hand gently moving the soapy cloth up and down the expanse of your back. You were still quiet, something completely uncharacteristic of your usual self. Even when Sukuna left the palace for weeks at a time you didn’t act like this. Perhaps you really did believe that he sent you away to be killed…

A part of them wanted to pick at you for their own amusement, but another part of them was slightly…worried. A very minuscule part. A displeased you would inevitably lead to a displeased Sukuna, and Uraume simply refused to let that happen.

“Lord Sukuna’s business will likely be finished before two weeks.” Knowing his master, the man would ensure the workers hands didn’t stop moving until their fingers were worked to the bone - the project would surely take no longer than a week, at the latest.

You give no indication to having heard them, and Uraume rinses the soap from your skin, silently acknowledging just how soft and supple the flesh is. “Have you decided what you’ll have for dinner?”

“You mean my last meal?” You quip, and Uraume grasps the wooden bucket filled with water at their feet. “You have some nerve, Uraume. Bathing me and plumping me up before you drive the knife in. Just know that—ah!” You splutter as a wave of water comes crashing down against your head, and they reach around you to dab at your eyes with a dry cloth.

“I think a hearty soup would do you well. I noticed that your voice sounds a bit scratchier than usual. I suspect you’ll come down with a cold in a few days.” Uraume turns you so you’re facing them, and they pause when they notice the tears gathering in your eyes.

“Did he grow bored of me?” Your voice cracks, and Uraume tilts their head. Humans and their needless worries.

“You are a very silly girl.” You sniff. “We both know very well what has become of the people that bored Lord Sukuna.” Their hands move on instinct, thumbs flicking away the tears that slipped free. “Do you really believe that I would be treating you so kindly if my master had signed off on your death?”

“You dumped water on my head.”

“Lukewarm water. It could have been boiling.”

You laugh, a soft, breathy sound, and Uraume isn’t pleased to admit that they can see the appeal that Sukuna sees in you.

“Let’s quickly finish so you can eat.”

~

“Is it any better?” Uraume questions, careful of their strength as they push their fingers into the plush flesh of your waist. You had found yourself tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep, and once questioned, you had complained about a stiffness in your shoulders and lower back, prompting them to undo your robe and attempt to work the kinks out…kinks that they had yet to find.

“Mm-nn,” you sigh, cheek resting on the pillow as your lashes flutter, and they add a bit more pressure, oiled hands sliding up the sides of your waist, fingers brushing against the sides of your breasts, before they’re pushing down between your shoulder blades. “It’s…it’s lower now.”

“Lower?” They let their hands slip further down, thumbs pushing into your lower back and moving in wide, slow circles. They can feel you wiggling underneath them from where they straddle your bare behind, and Uraume focuses their ministrations in that area. “I suppose you are a bit tense - is this better?”

“L-Lower.”

Their brows furrow as they shuffle back so they’re sat atop the backs of your thighs, only for understanding to settle on their features at the slick sheen between your inner thighs. Uraume hums, a single finger moving to trace down your slit. You gasp, butt jutting out, and they tsk with a shake of their head.

“What a roundabout way to say you want me to pleasure you.” You hide your face into the blankets, and they allow their finger to push past wet, puffy lips to get to your clit. “Lord Sukuna instructed me to give you everything that you desired, and if sex is what you desire from me, then you will have it. There’s no need to beat around the bush.”

After Sukuna had first demanded that Uraume ‘teach you how to take him’, he had also given them the task of satisfying you whenever he was not around. You had only come to them twice so far - once at the end of your monthly cycle, a time where you could frequently be found moaning in Sukuna’s lap and pawing at his chest, and twice when Sukuna had ‘punished’ you by refusing to mate with you, forcing you to come to Uraume as a last, desperate resort.

You don’t answer them with words but moans, short breathless sounds that leave you with every swipe of their finger against your clit. Their free hand moves to a plump cheek, and they spread you open, eyes taking in the way your drooling hole clenches around nothing and oozes slick.

Their finger moves from your clit to your hole, and they add in another finger before slowly pushing in, silently marveling at the way your walls greedily suck them in, a low squelch sounding as your arousal bubbles up around the digits.

“Uraume,” you gasp, voice heavy with desire, and there’s a stirring in their groin that they pointedly ignore. They pull their fingers back until they slip out of you and spread them apart, your slick webbing between the two digits, and then they’re plunging them right back in. “Uraume!”

“Does this please you?” Their voice is breathier, heavier, and your ass ripples with the force from their hand hitting against you. “Or would you prefer something else? Perhaps my mouth?”

You moan out something indiscernible, but Uraume decides to take it as an enthusiastic yes, a decision that they refuse to dwell on as they push your thighs apart and lay on their stomach in between them, thumbs keeping your lips spread as they lick a long stripe up your cunt.

You gasp and twitch, and they let you move as you see fit, simply adjusting their position to keep up with you. Their tongue flattens over your bud, nose nuzzled against your clenching hole, and the scent of you nearly overwhelms them.

They venture up a tad, tongue now thrusting into you, and the heat of your pussy is enough to make beads of sweat trickle down their nose to mix in with your essence. They push in deep, tongue rubbing against your walls and curling up before withdrawing, pools of your slick collected and messily gulped down.

Uraume now understands why they so frequently catch Sukuna with his head buried between your thighs, hands keeping you pinned as he feasts on your cunt. Their master has never once eaten a meal they’ve cooked for him with such hunger and passion, and Uraume hates to admit that nothing they make could ever amount to the taste of you.

Their hands move to lock around your hips, your movements preventing them from mouthing at you the way they desperately need to, and they pay no heed to the way you sob into the sheets, pussy tightening around their tongue as you come with a breathless shriek of their name.

You relax in their hold, and they let their tongue slip from inside you, the muscle once again parting your folds to give slow, gentle licks to your twitching clit. You weakly call their name, and they pull away from you with a wet, messy kiss to the sensitive bud, hands going back to massaging into your skin as they struggle to calm their racing pulse.

Your soft snores filter into their ears a few moments later, and they observe you as they’re smacked with a new revelation.

Uraume doesn’t hate you, not one bit.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Passion for Fashion Part 2

Danny glances around the room, initially supposed to be the living room, but Dan had quickly turned it into a studio. He had fabrics stacked everywhere, random clothes designs pinned to the walls, and various-sized mannequins scattered about with half-finished projects.

"It looks like Joann Craft's store exploded in here" he grumbles side-stepping into a half-finished gown dress and ducking under rows of fabric swatches that Dan just has to hang across the whole house by color because they help him visualize.

Or some nonsense like that.

Frankly, Danny was starting to suspect Dan had developed a new ghost Obsession now that grief no longer blinded him, and he knew Clockwork made it deliberately fashion design.

He is a bit unsettled that Dan's tunnel vision mirrors his parent's obsession with ghost hunting. Is it a ghost Obsession thing or a Fenton thing? Even Jazz can't get sucked into her physiology studies, so he had to remind her to sleep and eat. Eventually, Danny will find his own tunnel vision obsession. He just knows it.

Ducking two more times to avoid the shades of blue and green, Danny follows the barely visible pathway to where Dan is likely working on the first suit for the competition's first catwalk.

The first round of the competition was a mere selection round, where contestants were all brought into a large room and given a sketchbook, pencils, colors pencils, and reference books. After the surprise judge gave them the theme of household pets, they were to design two male and female outfits within an hour. Dan had entered the testing room like a man sent to the front lines.

Danny hadn't been needed for that round, so he explored Gotham, stopping to eat the famous Batburger. The food was far tastier than Nasty Burger, and he felt like he was betraying his city by how much he savored the Joker fries.

He did notice the way everyone was staring at him, much to his shame, just as he was licking his fingers clean. He scrambled to leave as a few teens whispered, gesturing to him.

He had been in Casper High to know that usually meant insults, so when a pretty blond girl stood up and started for him, he made haste to get out of there as quickly as possible.

He met up with Dan- with a carryout bag because he wasn't a monster- and found the other had blown the competition out of the water. His designs were first in the selection round, and Dan's head got three sizes bigger that day.

It's strange how used to living here he's gotten. It's been a month and a half, and yes, people still stare at him a lot, but it's not like Danny isn't used to being called a freak, so he ignores them all. Dan tried to stay inside the house as much as possible, rarely leaving his fabrics, but Danny felt restless being indoors all the time.

Amity Park is a small city, with most of it being open space and grass he felt strange being surrounded by a loud, crowded city like Gotham. He often wandered about trying to find something new and fun, though that was hard to do once the sun started setting.

He found being outside at night was a terrible idea the first time a trio of men attempted to shove him into a van.

Thankfully, Danny had been bored enough he recreated some of his parents' gadgets, and the three men had been stunned by his Fenton Tazzer wristband before they had opened the van door. Then there was that time a group of toddlers tried to mug him. He had been trying to find a park or something when seven kids- couldn't be older than twelve- all creeped out of the shadows holding knives and bats and demanded he gave them his wallet.

Danny hadn't meant to, but it was so bizarre he had bursted out laughing. He was so used to ghosts that the sight of little kids trying to be threatening was so historical that he couldn't stop laughing. He also forgot to breathe for a second since coming to this world. His body needed less sleep, less food, and got less tired, which was a plus on their wallets.

Danny laughed so hard he fell to his knees, shaking with jest.

The kids scattered at once, a few shouting, "Joker venom!" he was left chuckling to himself. After that, he got up and went home, the occasional snicker slipping from his lips.

Dan had thought it was hilarious, too.

Despite the time they have been here and Danny's many outings, they haven't really interacted with anyone else. Danny had never been one to have positive memories with socializing, and Dan frankly disliked humans too much to want to be around them.

With nothing to do but wander during the day and practice his model walk, Danny quickly got into the habit of tinkering with various machinery. At first, he needed to rebuild his parent's weapons and ghost gear- something he had been able to do since he was seven- then he shifted to building whatever popped into his head.

From robotic prosthetics to a TV projector, Danny filled the hours with some eclectic in his hands. Otherwise, he looked around Gotham and took pictures of the architect because it was Sam's entire aesthetic. How could he not try to capture this place for her?

Dan had been researching through the house internet- thank the ancients the house came with the service- and found various styles he liked experimenting with. Due to his ghost abilities, he worked faster than the sewing machines and was dishing out whole outfits in matters of days instead of the months they usually take.

He has even been walking around in whatever Dan chose to make for him since he thought it would get him used to being seen in something not his usual style. He can't afford to lose the fashion show simply because he got awkward. That would ruin his plans to help Batman and get home.

His wardrobe now varied from what Dan called "eboy", "skater" "K-pop" "casual chic" "haute" and "streetwear". Personally, Danny preferred the streetwear since it was more often than not baggy.

He had a lot of people staring at him when he walked around in Dan's clothes. Danny hopes he doesn't look as dumb as he feels.

"Danny, come try this on!" Dan shouts, snapping Danny out of his thoughts. He gestured to a black and navy blue three-piece suit that took Danny's breath away.

"Wow, Dan, it's gorgeous."

"Duh, I made it brat." He gestures to the vest, which Danny can see painfully embroidered swirls of black, purple, and a few white strips. It did not take him long to recognize the Magellanic cloud resting on the right side while the left is a mirror design in black, carefully blending into the blue. The pants, jacket, and shoes were a nearly jet-black cloth that somehow looked like a liquid even when standing still, but what tied it all together was the black cape draping over the right shoulder. It was pinned in place by a metal piece shaped like a Sirius Star. "The first round is space theme, and lucky for us, I was obsessed with NASA as a kid."

"No, but honestly, can I keep this afterward?" Danny asks, reaching out to rub his hands on the fabric. "Wow this is soft"

"It's satin, of course; it's soft," Dan snorts. "And sure, if we win, it's yours. I don't care what happens to the clothes after I make them."

"How long did this take you to make?" Danny asks, turning it around and sporting more accurately placed constellations of the satellite galaxy. It was like a picture made of fabric, curling from the right to the back of the vest. He'll have to take the jacket off at some point to show that part off.

"Three days. Without sleep."

"That's insane Dan"

"No, you know what's insane? This place has different beauty standards. It's all about the goth and emo kids here. A few Victorian lads, too. Or frankly, a straight-up twink is hot."

"What?" Danny's brain buffers "That can't be right. I was bullied and so were my friends for looking like that."

"Trust me, the ideal body kept coming up as I researched fashion trends and ideas. Nerds are in here. "

"W-what do I do with knowledge?"

Dan's eyes flashed a dangerous green. "You put it to use on the walkway. This suit is designed to show you off, and the best part? It's your natural body; no need to highlight beefed-up muscles or a wide chest like Dash."

"Oh my ancients....Am I hotter than Dash? Then the top A-lister?"

Dan grins. "We got this competition in the bag."

Across Gotham, Tim is scrolling through GothamLive- the favorite plate form of all Gotham, beating even Twitter- and he's surprised to see it covered by the target of their latest mission. He's back at the cave running coms since he got dosed in fear toxin on the last big fight. It was not too bad but Bruce didn't want him doing anything too adrenaline-inducing for a least a month.

He would argue, but even he knew his hands still sometimes shook when he trained. So he was on comm duty listening in to all his family as they moved about Gotham.

It was a quiet night with only three muggings and one car thief so far, but Bruce wanted everyone connected just in case.

Tim figured he could check in on the meta twins and found Danny everywhere on Gotham's online platform.

People have been spotting him strut around Gotham looking drop-dead gorgeous, and everyone near their age group who was attracted to men was losing their minds over Danny Fenton.

Tim found a few of him in skater clothes and felt his face get slightly warmer. Okay, they are right. Danny certainly paints a pretty picture, but that's worrying.

A pretty meta? He could be snatched up by the worst of Gotham soon.

Tim will have to get close to keep an eye on him. You know, for the target's safety.

Dan is his identical twin, which means there are two beautiful boys out there. Tim thinks, checking over the twin's house location. It's thankfully on the outskirts of Gotham, where it's not exactly safe, but it sure as hell isn't Crime Alley. They should be okay as long as no one finds their home.

He choked on his coffee when a picture of Danny dressed like a K-pop star casually lodging on a chair drinking a coffee appears on his dash. Yeah, he can see how the guy ended up in modeling if he could make poses like that naturally.

"Red Robbin to everyone, we may want to keep an eye on the Fenton's. Don't want them taken by traffickers."

"Danny Fenton already fought off a kidnapping:" Jason responds in seconds with a slight sneer. His elder brother has always hated traffickers and rapists the most. " Some idiots tried to escape me by going into the Outskirts and saw Danny. They took their chance only to be taken out by the guy's tazer disguised as a bracelet."

He sends the family a photo of the incident, and Danny's unimpressed look at the three screaming men makes Tim's lips twitch. Maybe Gotham wasn't so different from Santa Prisca. Only someone used to danger so often found would be kidnapers annoying, and that island wasn't exactly the safest place to be.

Their mother died to get them out, after all.

"That's not all. He's also fought off three different gangs, none of the big players but enough to raise some brows," Babs adds, displaying a gang of Crime Alley kids running from a laughing Danny, a group of men and women wearing the red scorpion marks running from a laughing Danny and a second group of kids- slightly older but not older than Danny- all backing away from the ice Danny had encased himself in. "The first two he tricked into thinking Joker was about, and the last one he just froze himself until they got tired of shooting and went away."

"What about the other one?" Bruce asks.

"He doesn't leave the house, but he's been very active online. Mostly, he's looking up fashion articles or trends. Recently, his search is nothing but "What are twinks, and why are they hot?". I can't tell if that's a culture difference or if Dan is just weird."

"They are not trained," Damian says, an undertone of curiosity in his voice. "But they can defend themselves well and truly know their craft. Dan's designs for my animal theme challenge were exquisite. I will be commissioning the black German Shepherd suit he made. Ace and I will look divine at the next gala."

"I kind of want the bird dress," Steph cuts in with a chirp. "I know it's not purple, but it looked cool in concept. What bird breed did he pick for it?"

"It was the Lovebird," Damian answers. "Somehow his design was both elegant and accurate without seemingly childish as the bird it was based on."

Tim wonders if Damian may start to develop an interest in fashion or if he just appreciates drawings as an artist. "So should we be worried?"

"No. Fenton has unwillingly gathered too much attention online. People will notice if he disappears. Traffickers don't go for people that are easy to recognize." Jason sighs. "For now, they're safe, but not if Danny keeps wandering around like an easy target in those tailor outfits. He looks rich, even if it's only lower first class. That will attract a lot more muggings."

"Someone will have to get close to them-"

"I can do it!" Tim shouts, cutting off Bruce, then shrinks into his chair in mortification as the family chat dies. Trying to sound less eager, he hastily adds, "You know, since I'm benched. Light work to befriend the Fentons."

"Smooth Tim." Cass laughs over the coms with his other siblings snickering in the background, and sinks into his chair.

After a moment, Bruce sighs, "Alright, Tim, you can befriend one of them, but not until your turn to judge goes by. I don't want people claiming a conflict of interest there."

Hell yeah! Tim got the job!

"Of course, Bruce."

"And no flirting."

"Spoilsport"

[starlost97]

— forgiveness.

summary: After a fight, you decided that the best way to punish Arthur was simply not talking. He couldn't, however, take it any longer after seeing you in a silk red dress.

keywords: not really fluff but not really angst, kind of sexual, he begs, Arthur is a simp, f!reader.

characters: Arthur Leclerc.

warnings: reader wears a dress, reader is referred to as "sweet girl".

a/n: the first shortfic to a series of formula 1 one shots! me and my friend did this thing where we write things of our favorite drivers to one another and I decided to post some (a lot) of them. hope u enjoy it! this one's prompt is "wearing a revealing dress while giving them the silent treatment". also, the next one will probably be either a Jenson Button one or a Max Verstappen one!

word count: 342.

requested?: yes! by a friend.

Arthur never regretted something more in his entire life.

Sure, right after raising his voice in his argument with you he already felt like the worst boyfriend ever. You two were discussing his crappy time management skills and since he was already stressed, he ended up telling you to shut up.

And he regretted that terribly.

He had given you apology letters, perfumed them with his cologne — which you once told him was one of your favorite scents — and left them on your nightstand. But that didn’t seem to help much — even though he caught you smiling to one of them one day.

He was already hopeless by day two. He didn’t even know what to do anymore.

But when he saw you with that silky red dress, it was inevitable.

His knees failed him — thank God they did —, and soon enough he was crawling to you, putting his hands on your thighs.

“Baby, please.” He shamelessly begged. He didn’t know how long he could endure this torture anymore. “I might actually go insane without hearing your voice, mon amour.”

His eyes got lost in the way the silk hugged your body. The soft cloth moved around your waist freely, cruelly reminding him of your smooth skin underneath it, making him desperate. Desperate for your body, for your touch, for your sweet whispers against his ear.

“You know I don't mind begging you, don’t you, sweet girl?” Arthur asked, looking up at you. He grabbed your hand, kissing your palm, then wrist, then arm. Slowly, he reached your ear. “I beg you to tell me what I have to do to earn your forgiveness. I’ll do anything, darling. Anything.” He whispers. His desperation was palpable enough for you to touch. “You have me entirely to you, and that means that I’ll do as you wish. So please, baby, tell me how I can show you how much I regret saying those things.”

In the end, Arthur showed how sorry he was.

And how thankful he felt to earn your so desperately desired forgiveness.

[allfearstofallto]

Dandelion Wine

Yandere! Scaramouche x Fem! Reader x Yandere(?) Childe

Forced Marriage AU

Word Count: 4.1k

Synopsis: No crush is simply harmless when married to Scaramouche, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him. And what he doesn't see won't affect him, so what's the harm in putting on a little show?

TW: Yandere, obsessive themes, forced marriage, mentions of abuse/violence/punishment, reader mentions dissociating during sex, dub-con, unprotected sex, finishing inside, voyeurism, infidelity, masturbation (m. & f.)

Scaramouche believed that dinner should be eaten in silence with only the sound of the silverware and plates clattering. Hence why he rarely spoke at the table. He also believed that the same morals he applied to himself, were for you as well. Your sweet, plump lips that he kissed and sucked constantly, were to be shut and devoid of noises, only eating during meal times. The food that was prepared was meant to be savored, every bite of it tasted and appreciated. Because of that, dinners felt long, quiet, and worst of all, extremely tense.

The only times things were different, was when Childe came to visit. Number eleven as your husband called him, and Ajax as the orange haired man insisted he wanted you to refer to him as. His cheeky smile and big, blue eyes practically lit up the room, he was practically the epitome of visual charisma. And there was his incessant chatter, Scaramouche would say, his non stop talking about something or other. You never had the heart to tell the man you married that Childe actually talked a normal amount and that he was abnormally quiet.

“Have you ever seen a piece of mora straight from Liyue,” he asked rather loudly while holding up the coin, “Shiniest you'll ever see one. Man, those Liyue natives have no idea how lucky they are!”

You smiled alongside the man, also finding the topic interesting. The coin was indeed shiny, the only impurities on it being the fingerprints from Childe's hands. Other than that, it glimmered, making you realize how old and dirty the mora you must've had before was. Scaramouche wasn't impressed at all. He wasn't even paying attention. Quietly sipping his miso soup at the head of the table, his eyes only focused on his meal.

“Want it?” Childe asked you and you tried not to perk up too much, but your excitement was palpable. Seldom did Scaramouche entertain you with conversation or fun gifts. The only thing he'd bring you back from his travels was a single flower and maybe a regional tea to try together, but nothing you typically enjoyed.

“May I take it, my lord?” Pleading eyes looked at your husband who seemed more irritated than usual.

He let out a sigh, dropping his chopsticks in frustration, “Will it make the both of you shut up?”

Harsh words were nothing new to you, but you had to admit that those eyes of his made you freeze up like stone. No matter how many days you spent married to him, you never grew less afraid of your husband. And you definitely never found yourself coming to love him.

“Yes, my lord,”

He nodded to Childe and the coin was dropped into your hand. You held it as if it were fragile, not wanting to stain the shiny metal anymore than it already was. Your lips formed into a weak smile that you gave to Childe, then another one to Scaramouche who merely nodded at your display of joy, seemingly disinterested.

His chopsticks were picked up, a sign that he wished for dinner to continue on. You picked up yours as well. Your months of living with your spouse meant you had plenty of time to practice. Little leeway was given to you when it came to what you ate with, and despite the fact that you were originally from Mondstadt, you were given chopsticks with every meal. Time and practice made you grow accustomed to them, that and the fact that Scaramouche wouldn't allow you to eat with anything else. Learn to eat with them or starve, he told you. And you did grow terribly hungry.

Childe was more of a special case. He apparently lacked dexterity in hands. You saw it in the way he struggled to use the bow he was hell bent on learning and in the way he struggled to use chopsticks. Throughout the course of the meal, he'd already dropped three pairs, fumbling them dramatically like a character in a comedy play. Each time he'd lose a pair to gravity, leaving the wooden sticks on the floor, he'd look at his barely touched meal. The tragic, almost hopeless look on his face would elicit a laugh from you, followed by Scaramouche shooting you a very knowing glare. He'd sent you to your room without dinner many times before and for much less. Those glares were a good warning to shut up.

“Man! I can't seem to figure out how you eat with these things,” the orange haired male was holding one stick in either hand, instead using them to stab through the food and bring it to his lips. You held back your laughter again, instead forcing yourself to swallow more of your meal.

You had a crush on Childe. Maybe it was because of how kind he actually was or maybe it was because he was the only man you'd seen outside of your lawful husband in a year, but you did like him. He was funny, strong, and most importantly very attractive. Blue eyes and orange hair, a smile that could make a girl swoon with perfectly straight, white teeth. His voice was sultry, smooth like fine dark liquor, but he also knew when to be funny. His sense of humor was more comical to you than Scaramouche's dry humor or snide remarks. You liked Childe. Way more than you wanted to admit.

After dinner was a free time for you. From the time the plates were clean, until it was time for you to go to bed, you were allowed to wander the manor and do what you want. During this period, Scaramouche would be off doing what he pleased. Typically leaving the house to enjoy his night walks, where he'd be gone for hours. It was truly your only time of peace in hell he called home. It was also the only time you could talk to Childe when he came to visit. The two of you would spend the hours just telling each other whatever, it was mostly just you listening to him tell of his travels across all seven nations as you longed for the perceived freedom he had.

Much to your dismay he was nowhere to be found after dinner. You felt stupid searching the house looking for him. The interest towards him was likely one sided and on the slim chance it wasn't, you knew that nothing would happen between the two of you. Yet you looked for him. He was still good for conversation.

Find him you did, at the end of the second floor hallway, but not in the way you thought you would. Steam clouded around the door as he exited the bathroom, a towel was wrapped around his hips, orange pubic hair peeking out from it. His bare chest was covered in scarring, some old and healed, some visibly fresh. His skin was still moist with bathwater, his hair clinging to his face and dripping more down on him. He looked like a piece of art, a statue standing at the end of the hall, toweling his hair with his eyes closed. But then they opened.

You tried to turn on your heels and walk away before he spotted you gawking at him, but quick reflexes were expected of a harbinger. He saw you before you could even manage to take one step back.

“Oi! I was looking for you!” He called, stopping you in your tracks. You did everything in your power to avoid looking at him. That toned, firm body of his was practically begging you to gaze upon it.

“Please find me again when you're more decent, Lord Childe,”

He immediately recognized the forced stiffness of your words and scoffed, a look of disbelief forming on his features, “Since when do you refer to me as Lord, huh?” he was still smiling. Despite his undress, he wasn't the least bit shy.

Your mind shifted to your husband. Unwilling of a bride as you might have been, he made sure you were fully committed to him. He once commented on how much you smiled at his fellow harbinger and your blood went cold. Of course he noticed. Scaramouche was nonchalant, quietly observing everything around him, but he wasn't stupid. You know better than to think your little crush was well hidden, he was just giving you a warning in advance.

“I think we should start being more professional around each other,” you strained the words out, watching his face fall from his normal smile. It felt painful saying these things to him, but it was better for your safety and his.

“So we're not having our talks anymore?” He whined cutely, even pouting his lips a little, “I was looking forward to telling you about my stay in Mondstadt,” it was as if he knew exactly how to hold your attention. Lingering on every single syllable to make sure you knew he was speaking of your home, convincing your already weak will to falter, “and the wine I brought with me.” If he had you on his hook by mentioning Mondstadt, then the notion that he'd brought wine with you was all he needed to reel you in.

Hailing from the city of freedom, you were no stranger to a good drink. You remembered your first glass better than you remembered most things in your first kiss. Your first drink was like a rite of passage for Mondstadt and typically, the first liquor you tasted, became your vice. You were no different than your mother or your grandmother, the drink handed down from generation to generation, and your fondness was felt for dandelion wine. A sweet delicacy only found in the city of freedom, an unassuming drink that'd knock you flat on your ass if you didn't take it seriously enough.

But Scaramouche wasn't a fan of sweet things. He wasn't a fan of much, seeing as very little could even get a smile from him, but he had a special hatred in his heart for anything sugary. His taste leaned more towards the bitter, which was like hell for you.

Sake was never your drink of choice. There was plenty of it in Mondstadt, if there was one thing that your city could do right, it was import drinks from all over Teyvat. But just because it was there, didn't mean you ever drank it. Sake was a drink that tasted wrong to you. The harsh, bitter flavor left a terrible feeling inside your mouth that wouldn't leave no matter how much you tried. So of course, it was the favorite of Scaramouche. The disgusting taste matched his disgusting personality. And when you were permitted to drink, which was rare, you were given sake.

“Dandelion?” You questioned hopefully.

“Dandelion,” he affirmed. He was still using his hands to hold his towels, instead using his head to gesture to his room door, telling you to follow him inside. And you did.

You were tense as you sat down on his bed. Tense when you were handed a cup and told to hold it while you waited for him. Tense as he stepped into his closet to dress himself, still coming out in only pants, but no shirt, telling you that his hair was still wet to wear one. But all that tension melted away when he pulled that familiar green bottle from his bag, pouring you a glass of that rich, yellow wine.

The first sip took you back to your family's home. To a festival in Mondstadt, which was just one of the city's many excuses to drink more. The second took you back to a bar you favored, drinking competitions were held through the night, you always won. There was a part of you that just wanted to down the whole glass, drink it all as you'd done before and request another glass before that sweet taste ever left your tongue. But you saw that he'd only brought one bottle, you had to savor this glass.

“It's yours, if you want it,” Childe spoke softly while holding the wine up, he hadn't even poured himself a singular glass of it, “You just have to do one thing for me.”

Big, doe eyes looked up at him as you practically pleaded with him, “What?”

“Tell me how you really feel about me,”

He could've asked you to do a handstand on the roof of the house during a thunderstorm and that would've been much easier. For so long, your feelings for Childe were just thoughts. You could push them to the back of your mind and pretend they didn't exist. If they weren't real, your husband wouldn't hurt you. He wouldn't punish you. And knowing Scara's jealousy, if he knew you had feelings for another and not him, no one would be safe.

“I won't tell,” he spoke again, a gentle hand coming down and stroking his cheek. His fingers were still warm from his bath, still slightly damp to the touch, the way they cling to your face was assuring.

“I'm married,” you said, “Not just to anyone, but your superior. He's nobody that we should be toying with like this.”

“Who says I'm ‘toying’ with anyone? I wouldn't be asking if I didn't have feelings for you as well,”

Your quick beating heart stilled in your chest for a moment, you lingered on every word. Did you make it up? Did he really say what you thought he did? Silence fell over the room as you contemplated what he said. If he liked you as well, he never showed it. Yet, he'd have no way to. Scaramouche seemed to be around every corner.

“I…like you,” saying the words solidified it. His hair, his smile, his voice, even the way he smelled, you liked it all.

You liked him so much you let him place the bottle of wine in your hands. You let him lean over and place a hand on your shoulder, so close to your face his still dripping hair was wetting your forehead. You let his nose brush against yours, you let him sigh against your lips, you let him close the distance between the two of you and sink into a kiss.

Your mind was a blank, empty room as you kissed Childe. You really kissed him. Kisses with Scaramouche felt like he was trying to swallow you whole, trying to own you, not cherish you. But Childe's admittedly cold, chapped lips were caressing yours. His hand that managed to slither around your waist, holding you like he didn't want to let you go, his other hand squeezing your chest. You wondered if he could feel your heart beating. If he could, you wanted his to be beating the same way.

A bell made you break away from the kiss with a gasp like you were about to be killed. Because you were. That wasn't just any bell. It was the chime of the bell above the main door. The one that signified that it was opening. The one that meant Scaramouche was home.

Biting back the urge to throw up, you tossed the wine on his bed and raced from the room. You didn't want to look back at Childe once. Not after the mistake you'd made with him. Lust was clouding your mind, it had to be keeping you from thinking properly. That was the only excuse you could make while you cursed yourself mentally, simultaneously begging that he wasn't aware of what you'd done.

At the foot of the stairs, his large hat still on his head and a grimace on his face, was Scaramouche. His indigo eyes looked you up and down, noticing the way you trembled and panted like you’d run a marathon.

“Where were you?” He asked, tossing his hat to the side. It fell to the floor with a clatter and was easily ignored by him, “Have you forgotten your duties? You know when I'm supposed to be home.”

“I apologize, my lord!” You tried to stop your voice from shaking.

“Well?”

You looked at him dumbfounded as he walked past you up the stairs.

“Aren't you going to tell me why you were late and huffing like a fool at that?”

“I fell asleep, my lord. And once I noticed I was behind, I raced to try to meet you at the door, but it appears I was too late,”

A mere hum from him was your response. Which was good enough, it meant he had nothing harsh to say. As the two of you entered the privacy of your room together, you felt him hug you from behind. Little did he touch you meaninglessly, which meant he wanted to go farther, his soft lips kissing the back of your neck told you enough.

“I'm only so hard on you because I care about you,” he whispered into your ear. Him being sweet you felt worse knowing what you did with Childe just a few short moments earlier.

But still, you ended up lying back on the bed, naked and nestled in the mountain of pillows. Scaramouche thrusting into your hole above you, eyes clenched shut in pleasure. He was fucking you into a mating press, your knees against your chest, causing you to only take shallow breaths. It was a personal favorite of his since it meant he could sink every inch of his cock into you, while still watching your face.

You kept silent as he fucked you, only letting out a few gasps or whines as he hit particularly sensitive spots inside you or thrusted too deep. You didn't enjoy sex with him, it was always something you didn't want, and he wasn't going to make you pretend. Scaramouche was going to do it with you regardless, it was about his own pleasure.

During the act you'd normally be lost in your own world, trying to pay attention to anything, but the way he was rutting his hips into you, it made the time go by quicker. The closet, the clock on the way, the way the bed squeaked, the crack in the door. The crack in the door where Childe stood, watching in the darkness of the hallway.

It took you a moment to realize what you were seeing and you had to convince yourself still that you weren't imagining it. Orange hair, deep, blue eyes, shirtless and strangely with a tent growing in his pants. Childe stood in the doorway watching, out of view of Scaramouche who either has his eyes closed or stayed focusing on your face.

You went to cover yourself, but realized that that would draw your husband's attention to the other man. You couldn't say anything, not without fear of Childe getting hurt in the process. You felt scared, neverous, a little violated, but when you saw him slide a large hand down and palm his growing length through the fabric of his pants, you began to feel almost aroused.

Sick. Sick in the head, you called yourself mentally as your eyes stayed focused on the man watching from the hallway. But you still placed your hands on your breasts, tweaking your nipples and mewling out softly. You didn't know what came over you to make you do such a thing, but knowing that Childe could see you made you want to do more than just lie there. Scaramouche was immediately surprised by you making any noise of pleasure at all and quickened his already brutal pace. But it felt good for once. It felt nice. You could feel yourself growing wetter, your cunt finally sucking him in and welcoming him.

“You're rather receptive tonight,” he grunted out with a smirk and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes at his confidence.

“I…I suppose it feels better than usual, my lord,” you locked eyes with him, until he clenched his shut from the pleasure once more. Then you looked back at Childe. He'd long since freed his cock from his pants, stroking his long thick length. It was big. That was all you could think as you watched him, how you wished that it was his big cock inside of you, but you could pretend. Pretend that it was him on top of you instead of your husband.

Mewling and moaning louder than you ever had before, making noises you didn't even know you could, your legs were pressed harder against your chest, opening yourself up for him to go even deeper. You were dripping at this point, your wetness sliding down to your ass. But Childe was dripping as well. His cock was leaking precum, coating his hand in a lube that he was using to stroke himself at the same pace that Scara was going inside you.

“Ah! Yes….yes! Fuck me harder!” You'd never begged for more like this before, but who was he to question it, he'd never know that your cries were for another. He was enjoying how wet you felt around him, how you were moving your hips to match his pace inside you. He merely panted and did as he was told, his cock thrusting into you in deep, long, hard, strokes, each one having you see stars.

“I'm finishing inside, my love,” he cooed, pressing a kiss against your lips. You nodded, locking your legs around his hips. A move you'd never done in all the times he'd slept with you and something that made him gasp out in pleasure.

It only took a few more thrusts before he held his cock balls deep inside you, you could feel the length twitching as he filled you with seed. Each shot of his hot ejaculate hitting your walls and making your whimper. Light kisses were pressed against your forehead as the two of you were locked together. His cum and your honeyed wetness dripping from your hole.

When he pulled out, you kept your legs up a little longer, making sure Ajax saw every drop of his cum dripping from you. Your still needy twitching cunt, filled with a load, your delicate fingers rubbing your clit in slow circles while he watched. Your soft gasps and pants, trying not to draw Scara's attention while he was cleaning himself up in the connected bathroom. Both of you, putting on a show for each other. Him stroking his length from the base to the tip slowly, extenuating every inch and you dipping your fingers into your filled hole.

He continued jerking his cock while he watched you, nothing was said or spoken between you two, but your eyes conversated enough. This was pure desire. It was need. And when you came, it was for him. Your hips stuttered and bucked off the bed, toes curling almost painfully.

Childe came with you. Watching you finish while looking at him was more than enough. His hand was pressed against the door, scratching at the wood, begging to be let in so he could finish inside you as well, like he knew you wanted him to. But he didn't. His cock sprayed rope after rope of cum onto the floor of the hallway in front of him. His toned chest heaving as he watched himself make this mess.

You longed to lick it up, not just the cum, but his still aching cock. You wanted to clean it with your mouth, to suck it the way your husband made you. You knew he wanted more. But Scaramouche was already out of the bathroom, a towel in hand. He began cleaning you up between your legs, eyes seeming a little softer than normal while he did. A look that wasn't normal for him.

“You did well tonight,” he praised you. Fond words you'd never heard from him before, but likely because he had no idea why you were putting on such a show.

“Thank you, my lord,” you replied sheepishly, looking back up to the crack in the doorway, Childe was gone. It was better this way though. Better that he leave now than accidentally get the attention of your husband.

“I'll think of a reward for you tomorrow, but rest for now,” the candles were blown out and he laid next to you. A protective arm was wrapped around your waist as you lay on your back, trying to regulate your heartbeat.

Realization hit you like a truck, forming a sickening pit in your stomach. It was only now that you'd realized what you'd done and fear and worry were taking over. If Scara were to find out, he'd kill you. He'd do worse than kill you you supposed, ending your life would be much too easy

And you could only imagine what'd happen to Childe next.

You lay on your back in that inky black, pitch darkness, eyes trying to adjust to the light. You were feeling regretful, but you'd also never felt such a thrill in your entire life. Not since you got married.

[orphicwitt]

YOU DON'T DESERVE THIS FATE

note; yes i somehow got into poppy playtime fandom and here a little treat.

-

You were exhausted, scared yet you continue to push foward. Shaky hands gripped onto your shirt, wrinkles formed on the battered dirty used to be white fabric.

you wanted to leave the moment you step into this place, your very gut screamed to get out while your logical side of your brain begged you to leave and don't go further.

but you didn't, you ignored every red signal that was present to you. you continue foward like it was nothing, it was your own action and you once questioned yourself.

do you regret being here?

the answer was, ...Maybe

one side of you regret setting a single foot here yet the guilt consumed your very being, it haunt you to the bones. you hated it, you want to get rid of it, to relief it, to ...

Focus! you thought, shaking your head. you are getting distracted from your main task, the longer you take. the more time you are forced to stay at this damn wretched place.

you came across an area, an area that look like a prison cell judging by the numerous cell that was littered and sat beside each other.

as you look around the place, a voice spoke. scaring the shit out of you, "you... you're poppy's angel" the voice was raspy yet sounded so tired, you turn around to look for the voice, only to be horrified to see who's belong to.

it was a smiling dog mascot, hanging, you guess it was dogday due to you encountering his cardboard. "come to save us" the mascot wheezed out, it sound like it was taking a toll on him heavily just to speak.

well... he only has half of his body afterall, dear god. it must be so painful for him just do the simplest thing.

"nothing left to save,..."

"not here"

you furrowed your brows, progressing the dog mascot's word. before you could let out any words, dogday continued. "you're in catnap's home, angel... their home"

their home? is he referring to the little smiling critter version of them? you guessed so.

"a million pairs of eyes are on you, now" dogday lifted his head up trying to meet your gaze, gosh. you will never get over how some mascot are just giving you creepy vibes.

"watching, waiting, hungry. they want nothing more then just to crawl beneath your skin, and eat away at you bit by little bit..."

now that's just... you shudder unintentionally at his word, well. your not letting yourself to become food or basically fresh meat to them also not him aswell.

dogday took a short intake of breath before he continue "and fill what empty inside themselves." he then fully face you, "that ...thing... catnap" you take notice of his change of tone when he mentioned catnap, a lingering of fondness yet so distant.

"the prototype is his god"

"and this is what he does to heretics, these little toys... they followed catnap to avoid that very fate...- and in return, they are fed"

"we tried to fight it, the prototype control."

"i'm... the last of the smiling critters" he then look at you, despite his endless depth of darkness eyes and the never ending wide smile, you could tell he was desperate.

"listen to me angel, you need to get out of this place" this time you spoke up, "without you? i don't think i can do that" you huffed, crossing your arms.

"angel... you don't have to, i will only slow you down-"

"Dogday, i'm not leaving you, not on my watch." you stubbornly stated, even he was half of catnap's size without legs, you don't want to leave him, to die in an endless painful toture. you wanted to save him, it was the least thing you can do after defeating huggy wuggy and mommy long legs.

you shakily curled your fists up, you didn't mean to kill them but can they blame you? you did it out of self defense yet you still feel terrible. you wish you can save all the toys.

from this mess.

from this toture.

from this pain.

"you can say all you wanted but i will state firmly that i won't leave you behind." after saying that, you went to set him free. it took some time as well firing some flare to keep those nasty little smiling critters away from attacking.

although you doubt you can carry him but you still tried it away, oddly successful and huffed as you stood up with dogday wrapping himself around your form.

"angel... are you sure this is not heavy for you? i can-"

"i am doing very wonderfully, dogday. don't mind it" it was a flat lie, he was heavy by dear lord. but you endure it for him.

"thank you, you're ...really are a angel in disguise."

"you're welcome, now Off we go!"

[groceryreceiptss]

𝐚𝐥𝐥'𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 & 𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 | p.j.

percy jackson x reader | word count : 1.4k | requested

summary : though you were a skillful archer, you were an amateur when it came to dealing with a sword. while percy helped you trained for hours after lunch, he couldn’t help but fall in deeper with you, even though you’d probably never know it.

contains : my writing (again, warning). just fluff things <3 reader was implied as apollo's daughter, but never actually specified. oh, and a katniss everdeen reference! (because is the fic actually written by me if it doesn't include at least one thg reference?). let me know if there’s more!

a/n : i do NOT know how to write action-y scenes (even ones that are as light as this) so sorry if this comes out as flat haha. i had to get out my copy of the lightning thief just to be a tinny bit more familiar with it to be honest. also yes the title is kinda cheesy but soo is this entire fic < 3

credits : fan art by frostbite.studios, dividers by @benkeibear, pins i used (1) (2) (3)

───────────────────────

The afternoon sun hit the color of your eyes as you tried the move he had just demonstrated to you. Your eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and your forehead slicked with sweat. A borrowed but fitting sword was gripped in your hand, ready to clatter his. Percy and you had been going at it ever since lunch ended and yet you still seemed determined to keep going. 

Percy counted and you attacked, one, two, three. Next move, you tried to thrust it into the right of his protected ribcage. But with your lovely eyes being a little too obvious and your hand still clumsy with the blade, he deflected it off easily, letting yours fall to the ground. 

“Oh, I’m terrible,” you said with an embarrassed smile, pulling up your bronze helmet and dragging a hand to swipe your hair out of your forehead. You retrieved the sword and turned to ask him. “Okay, honest opinion. What did I do wrong?” 

“Well…” he started, as he took off his own helmet, tucking it under his arm, “Your eyes give away a bit too much to the opponent, so I could easily tell what you were going to do. You’re still too hesitant about it I think.” 

You playfully rolled your eyes, “Well, how can I not when my opponent at this given moment is Percy fucking Jackson but go on.” 

Percy was thankful that the sun was taking it one for the team and became a cover for the red that just possibly covered his face. He shook his head, fighting a smile that was trying to break through his lips. Joke about it, take defense.

The lines of his mouth morphed into a teasing grin. “Is that an excuse that I hear, miss y/l/n? Since when do you play with those?”  You were always so stubborn, in the best sense of the word. And Percy always found it admirable to say the least.

You raised your eyebrows before shooting back, “And if it is, it's also not unreasonable, Mr. Jackson.” That cute smile of yours taking flight in your face. He noticed that it was still the same one from when he first saw you at twelve, a few years back. Some things never changed. 

“What else?” You asked again, crossing your arms with the sword pointing downward. “Come on, don't be shy. I can take it.”

He considered it before answering. “Your hand wasn’t steady enough with the sword and with the move you were trying to execute. It made it a bit… off. And hard to get away in battles.”

You let yourself collapse to the ground with a dramatic sigh, exhaustion finally took over you. Your legs stretched in front of you and your helmet and sword clanged by your side. “Never mind, I lied, I can't take it."

He laughed and sat down next to you, putting his equipment by yours. The wind was finally picking up now, bringing a sense of balance to the hot weather.

"I can never get this right.” You huffed, blowing up your loosen hair, which Percy couldn't help but think that you looked slightly adorable.

“It’s totally fine,” he promised you, words creeped with encouragement. “Just be more confident! I swear it works. Or just…” he trailed off, unsure, and then shrugged. “don’t think about it too much, I guess.” 

“Contradiction, contradiction.” You said in a sing-song voice before looking at him with that inspecting face and said, “Do you drink some secret potion or something? Someone altered your ambrosia?”

Percy let out a laugh, “Your perception of me is unrealistically high, I see. I can say the same to you, Katniss Everdeen.”

Your face’s expression stretched with surprise before you nodded in approval. “That’s the best way to compliment my archery skills actually, yes. Forget Apollo the doofus.”

“Who?” Percy played in the joke, to which you answered with the only appropriate one : “Exactly.”

He clapped his hand, an idea forming in his head. "Alright, how about this. If you give it a try just one more time, I'll give you some blue cupcakes my mom just sent me a few days ago." He offered with a knowing smile, getting you too well to strike a tempting bargain with you.

Percy knew how in love you were with his mom's cupcakes. Sally Jackson made the best for the best. It had only taken one bite and he could already tell how head over heels you were with them. He might or might not be planning to try to make a batch himself as a surprise for your upcoming birthday, but he feared the baking talent of the greats did not pass onto him. These hands weren't only skilled in combat, but with a pair of mitts and an oven, they could also burn an entire kitchen down.

Still though. Seeing the way your eyes immediately lit up right now made him rethink his choices. Maybe burning down a room wasn't so bad. At least you would probably laugh at his pathetic attempt.

Your mouth split into a grin and he was brought back to the world. You shook your head in slight disbelief. "Bringing Mrs. Jackson cupcakes into this? You are not playing fair, Perce."

"That's a deal then?" He held out his hand for a shake.

You sighed, putting his hand in yours. "Fine, deal."

Percy tried to ignore the fireworks he felt as he gripped your hand tighter and pulled you up to stand. His heart felt like it was trying to push its way out of his ribs, but in a good way. Like a thrill.

"Alright, one more time," He said as he retrieved his sword and you retrieved yours. "You ready?"

"Honestly, I'm just doing this for the cupcakes now." Seriously, how much could one person make him smile in the span of five minutes?

You and Percy put on the helmets. He counted to three, and you started taking offense as he took defense. One, two, three. It all started out well. Your movements were still a bit clumsy, but you'd get better on it in no time, he was sure. And you were doing pretty good work too. That was until you were stepping back, trying to deflect his now offensive movements, and tripped over yourself. You fell to the hard ground with an oof.

Luckily, with your equipment still intact, you couldn't be hurt that much. But Percy immediately dropped riptide and got to your side.

He knew it was stupid. You and him were both warriors, you were good with a bow, he was good with a sword. Both of you had been injured multiple times in different kinds of battles, and yours had been more grotesque than his more than once, so this was absolutely nothing. Still, he guessed, the instinct to worry would just stay the same.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asked, as he gently pulled you up to a sitting position. His forehead was creased together as he looked at you, but you were instead laughing, finding your recent incident funny. "What?" He asked, couldn't help but let a laugh, albeit confused, out of his lips too. Yours were charmingly infectious.

You pointed at your face, your bronze helmet askew, voice still laced with traces of mirth. "Tell me, how silly do I look?"

He smiled, affection swarmed him. "Very silly," Should he risk it? "So silly, it's borderline annoyingly cute actually." Okay, risking it then.

But you just smiled, either welcoming it or oblivious to the actual meaning behind it. Probably the latter. You wouldn’t be convinced someone actually liked liked you even if it was plastered on a billboard. You pointed at his face, and laughed again, this time with an effort of covering your mouth. "You look so silly too, I'm sorry."

He shook his hand, bringing out a breath of laughter, unable to keep his smile from growing further under the protective gear. "Hey," he said, finally taking off his helmet and letting the wind touch his face. "It was in solidarity with you as a friend! Please appreciate it."

"I do!" You took off your helmet, letting the glow of the sun kiss your face again. Percy couldn't help but be entranced with the way you looked, still perfect even with the destroying searing weather of June. You couldn't keep doing this to him. "Sorry, I'll stop." You promised as you withdrew a laugh, but he actually wished you wouldn't. He loved hearing you laughed, it made the wind that danced around him a melodic thing, one he could be around forever—or whatever it was the poets said.

Looking at you made him understand what they were always talking and raving about, but he could never explain it.

"So," You began, "About those cupcakes?"

───────────────────────

[utilitycaster]

The thing about Ludinus is that yes, he does have a very high INT score but he is in fact stupid. He is a particular brand of stupid that I like to call Wizard Stupid, which is related to but not identical to Wizard Hubris. Wizard Hubris is the vision; Wizard Stupid is the realization.

Wizard Hubris is excessive confidence that is derived from the fact that one is a wizard, and therefore obviously knows everything, probably even more than the gods. Wizard Stupid is then carrying out the plans derived from Wizard Hubris without any kind of safety net. Where Wizard Hubris says "There is nothing beyond my capabilities"; Wizard Stupid says "No consequences can touch me." Wizard Hubris is building the Tower of Babel; Wizard Stupid is leaning one ladder on top of another ladder to do so. Wizard Hubris is the belief that you can, and indeed, are entitled, to fuck around. Wizard Stupid is the unshakeable belief that you will not be subjected to finding out.

So: let's look at Caleb. Caleb is FULL of Wizard Hubris for most of Campaign 2, given that he desires to reconfigure the time-space continuum, but except for a few relatively rare occasions, he is not terribly Wizard Stupid. He actually tends to be extremely cautious, and the cases in which he indulges the Wizard Stupidity are relatively self-contained (eg: the emerald).

Yussa, meanwhile, has few grand designs and mostly wants to hang out and fuck with the gentrification and political cronyism of Nicodranas, and honestly, good for him, seems totally reasonable. However, he does think that the Archmage's Bane is not referring to him (archmage) and that Astral Projection, a totally standard high level wizard's spell well within his abilities without any need for hubris, will carry no risk if he then decides to check out a little place called Cognouza.

Of course, many wizards have both. It's actually pretty rare to be mostly one or the other (which is why Caleb and Yussa are used for illustrative purposes). It's also pretty rare to have neither; Allura is the closest, and even she has her moments. Some degree of Wizard Hubris and Stupid do come packaged with the act of being a wizard.

Ludinus, obviously has both; he is, basically, building the Tower of Babel and he is, canonically, violating a list of safety protocols that rivals the length of a CVS receipt. And so: the hubris is "I can, should, must, and will blow up the moon that imprisons a god-eating abomination"; the stupid is sticking his fucking arm in the machine to power it.

[mamirhodessxox]

One request. 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Angry black suit cody. 😍😍😍

That's all.🙃🙃🙃

Ask and you shall recieve shnookum 🤓☝️

Settle Down

Cody Rhodes x Fem!Reader

Desc: Cody fires himself up during his Monday Night Raw promo which results into Y/N having to help calm him down backstage.

Contents: Fluff, Cussing, Y/N being a sweetie, angry cody 🤗‼️ (No smut in this one since next oneshot will include smut)

🏷️ list: @alyyaanna @ginswife @coolpastelartshoe @greatkoalawizard @cokolin044 @kotoriarlert @alicerosejensen @bunnybot55 @agent-dessis-posts @adollonyourshelf @mini-rhodes @southerngirl41 @harmshake @femdisa

{~I'm very serious with you guys interacting with my writing!!!! it would make me so happy & excited, the more comments & reposts the more inspiration i have to write :) likes and comments are strongly appreciated so please COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT COMMEENNTTT the more comments the more content <3!!!~}

“The Rock, took to instagram last week following up with a very entertaining rock concert, too bad he didn’t wanna be here tonight..” the crowd booed “Rock referred to himself as our favorite heel..?” Cody’s voice echoed throughout the arena talking & saying “The nature boy rick flair was a heel. Rock..I don’t think you’re a heel I think you’re an asshole..” Cody scowled directly into the Camera while standing inside the ring as if you two were making eye contact despite the fact you were backstage watching this all go down on the tv that laid against the wall of his dressing room.

“Haven’t you been crying behind the scenes this whole time? I mean once that hashtag came out once they started chanting something else, you went and CRIED to your buddies on the TKO board ‘HEY HEY! This is gonna be some good pr for the rock I need to save wwe’ god knows look at thise house we sure needed saving right?! He said it’s gonna be this great pr for the rock until it wasn’t..” Cody ranted while circling around staring directly at the live camera & you immediately noticed that he was beginning to fire himself up the more he spoke.

“Rock, the TKO folks said to you oh my gosh yes rock yes put on your gucci shirt your muscles will look so big YES YES YES YES! The reason they said it is because they are YES people they are enablers they don’t tell you like it is, so I’m going to.” Cody scoffed as he went on another tangent on how he could admit many things on the Rock but then he pissed himself off so much to the point where he started becoming more verbally agressive “Rock you are also a terrible Salesman a carny succubus and for those who don’t know what that means..Your a whiney BITCH.” He snapped.

Y/N sat in the dressing room staring directly into the fury of his eyes right through the television screen, all this talk about the rock had genuinely started becoming angering to him & bothersome that he somehow managed to upset himself the more he spoke. “You haven’t been in the ring in real time action in YEARS! And April 6th the BELL is gonna ring! What happens rock when it rings? Are you gonna have all that Big Dwayne Energy or LDS?! Little. DICK. Syndrome!” He shouted while all of the fans within the arena started Chanting, Cheering, Shouting waving around their signs while even the announcers chuckled to themselves.

For the rest of his promo he continued ranting, shouting & even going as far as making a sudden deal with The Wiseman Paul Heyman, threatening to pull a Homelander & rip out his throat if he didn’t get to the point which left Paul a little shocked. Once his promo for the night was finished You immediately left the dressing room just as he rushed his way backstage huffing and puffing mumbling with Jey & then approaching you hut you held up your hands that lightly knocked against his chest about to speak but you shook your head

“Cody I can tell you’re pissed off, You upset your own self just by talking about Dwayne alone & before You do anything like take off the suit, get comfortable, go to the bus I need you to grab some water & take a breath.” You spoke softly as you noticed his hands were shaking in irritation and inner rage before he took a deep breath & exhaled while nodding.

“Good. Now let’s get you out of that suit & into the bus before Pharaoh looses his mind..” you pat his shoulder while you two went to the dressing room. You helped him get undressed and for a moment he just legit stood there with boxers on ranting his heart out “Had the nerve on him to mention MY mother y/n and complain about me shedding ONE tear ONE SINGULAR TEAR but this entire time he’s bitching and WHINING to TKO” he started shouting a bit while you folded his suit & packed it away. You turned around & started shushing him softly and pat his chest “Baby your yelling, Settle down okay? I know your pissed hell I would be do if someone talked about my parents like that. But I need you to lower your voice, your throats gonna go raw. Like Monday.”

Cody chuckled at the corny joke you had made to help cheer him up while pulling him into a warm hug as you practiced deep breathes with him “Thank you sweetheart I don’t know what i’d do without you.” You smiled shrugging “I don’t know either.” He snorted and pressed a kiss against your lips “alright now pipe down a bit.” You laughed before giving him one more kiss.

Cody was not an easily angered man, until things like his parents or loved ones getting mentioned but when he had You around? He was going to go a long way when you knew how to calm down in the right ways.

xtripleiiix’s Masterlist

[coolaboutlucy]

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙜𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 | 𝙚. 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙢𝙨

pairing: nepo baby!business owner!ellie williams x afab!business owner!reader

tags: smut, fingering (r receiving), pet names/name calling?? (dirty girl, pretty, good girl, baby), slight praise??, god why is tagging so hard, mild language, unethical business practices??, thoughts are green, ellie lowk an asshole, but both reader and ellie are pretty harsh to eachother, maybe that’s it, bare with me if i forget something pls. 😭🙏

a/n: i wrote this directly on tumblr bc i did NAWT feel like pulling up google docs today saur the format might be a lil off. i was watching this show on netflix called ‘locked up’, and like an episode from season two is what inspired this!!! 😜 the show is good honestly it just drags on sometimes!!! ive actually never actually written smut any times before this (believe it or not hehe) anyways, let’s get into it!!!

P.S - DEDICATED TO @sweetysaccharine YAWP YAWP!!!! <333 HOPE U ENJOY POOKIEEEE

P.P.S - don’t look at the typos or i will find you (IM JOKING)

rumors traveled fast, and sometimes it wasn’t always good. for one, they could be infuriating. a company you’d been toe to toe with for.. quite some time had gotten a new ceo. some young girl. articles appeared online about some kinda nepotism scandal. the photo on the top of the article displayed a photo of the previous ceo — joel miller, and the new owner, ellie. they looked happy. but why were they accused of something as harmful as nepotism? long story short, joel turned his brother down for the position (even though he was the better option) so ellie could have it. favoritism of sorts. but god was she infuriating! her stupid, flashy displays of wealth (that probably didn’t even belong to her) made you so mad! and also, her arrogance and her constant need to compete with you was very infuriating aswell. you had influence, she had money. wouldn’t these things be considered as a double kill in some perfect world? yes. would you ever even consider working with someone like her? absolutely not. you couldn’t even stand being in the same vicinity as her whenever you two ended up at the same social events.

imagine that terrible, ugly feeling of anger that coursed hot through your veins once finding out she’d brought possibly one of the biggest clients you could’ve ever had. it was one thing for her to shove it in your face that she was wealthy but this? she’d completely overstepped. storming your way through the companies large building, you find yourself at her offices door knocking like a madwoman. “open the goddamn door, williams!” you yell as you attempt to open the door on your own. she doesn’t say anything, but you’re just almost certain she’s smirking or something. she opens the door with this.. look. it was weird. a perfect mixture of condescending, arrogance, and ‘i know what i did and i don’t regret it’. “are you insane?” “mm.. yeah. i guess so.” you laugh, dumbfounded by her. “how bout you come into my office for a seat and a drink?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “let’s handle this civilly, shall we? knowing you, i have the feeling that this could get real ugly.” she pushed open the door with that same condescending/arrogant smile. of course, reluctantly, you walk inside. maybe this could be resolved civilly.

the sound of some smooth music played. it sounded like micheal buble or something. she walks around her desk to pour you a glass of bourbon. she hands it to and you just hold it. “it’s not poisoned, see?” she says before taking a sip. you take a sip and of it before putting the glass on her desk. “so, i realized that.. i have something you want.” the something being that client. “why else would i be here? that was a really petty move and you know that.” she chuckled. “yknow, i could just.. refer them back to you.” initially, you’re in disbelief. ellie? being generous? no way. she must’ve completely lost it. “but! it comes with a price.” of course it does. nothing was free, not in this economy. you kept your expectations low for this very reason. you raise an eyebrow at her. “we could work together. become business partners.”

she turns her music up a little. she dances her way over to you, circling you a bit. “no chance, ellie. how could i ever work with someone like you?” she chuckled again. “why wouldn’t you work with ‘someone like me’? you have something that i want aswell.” “what?” “power. influence. however you may wanna word it. i admire that.” it had to be some sick joke. why would she wanna work with you? “shouldn’t all your daddys money be more than enough to keep you in a position of power?” you quarry, then crossing your arms. a part of you didn’t believe that she’d been the one asking you for help.

“just think about it. me, giving you money. you, drawing power hungry clients in with that pretty face of yours. we’d work together like yin and yang.” she proposed before taking another sip of the drink in her glass. that was her giving a go at an analogy. was it good? she didn’t know. did she care? not at all. “you bullshitting me, williams?” “not at all. all you gotta do.. is say ‘yes’. cmon.” she offers her hand, those pretty slender fingers and that tattoo that peeking from underneath that black button up shirt were just so.. enticing. you were in your head, just thinking. was this a good idea? could i trust her? she probably has bad intentions. but she was so tempting. this had to be one of the seven deadly sins or something.

she snaps infront of your face. “where’d you go?” she asks. “nowhere.” you respond quickly. “so, you taking the offer or not? or.. will i have to convince you?” she takes a step closer to you. temptation taints your brain.

you’re not in control of your thoughts anymore. ellie was.

her hand seeks solace on your waist. “shouldn’t finding business like this be considered illegal?” you whisper to her. “im not a law abiding woman. and quite frankly, i don’t give two shits.” maybe it wouldn’t be illegal if nobody knew. but all you thought about was her. how she smells. how she’s looking at you. how her hands feel on your body. you can’t stop yourself. your lips crash down onto hers. your fingers tangle in her auburn hair as the both of you kiss passionately. she brings you to her desk, knocking stuff over as she sat you on her desk.

glass shattered, pictures were knocked out of their frames, and her computer mouse was.. somewhere. your back arches into her touch as you let out a soft moan into her mouth. she takes the opportunity to slide her tongue into your mouth. in the competition of dominance between your tongues, she reigns supreme. her hands slide up your body and end up on your oxford button up shirt. she doesn’t unbutton it, she rips that shit open. “i’ll get you a new one.” she mumbled as the buttons from the shirt scatter across the room.

“you’d better. or else id have to come back here and get it by force.” “oh please, you’ll be back here for more reasons than a goddamn shirt.” she said as she peppers kisses down to your jawline, then your neck. “don’t leave any marks.” “but why?” “oh, i dunno, cause i don’t want anyone asking me who i had sex with?” “who gives a shit? your workers get paid to look the other way, don’t they?”

well, she makes a good point. and you can’t argue with a point as valid as that. she sinks her teeth into a sweet spot of your neck, making you moan out as she runs her tongue along the new mark. she sticks her tongue out again to run it all the way down to one of your boobs. the sensation makes you shiver. “wore this pretty bra for me, didntcha? you were just expecting this. you must’ve wanted me to touch you like this, didn’t you? dirty girl. must’ve been waiting for me to bend you over this table.” she rambled all while stripping you of your bra, then leaving soft kisses and licks across the valley of your breasts.

she takes her time, making you wait for it. she knew what she was doing to you, and she was going to make you wait. “ellie, you’re going soo slow! you know what i want.” you whine as she leaves kisses and bites all over your exposed skin. “tell me what you want or you’ll get nothing. tell me where you want me.” she whispered. “i want your fingers.” “where?” “you know where.” “tell me or you get nothing.” you hesitate for a moment before saying feebly. “in.. in my pussy..” “that’s a good girl.”

she smiles as she pushes her hands into your slacks. she could feel your wetness. “i got you this worked up, huh? who knew little miss perfect could get this wet over me, a ‘nepo baby’?” she teased with a cocky smile. she slowly slides your slacks and underwear all the way down to your ankles before she applies a delicious amount of pressure to your clit. you gasp, your hand wrapping around her wrist. “oh, you like that do you, huh? you want more? fucking beg for it. cmon.” she applies more pressure to your clit, rubbing small and soft circles as her fingers ghost your sopping entrance. “oh— please ellie, i need more. give me more.” “gonna take more than that, baby.” you whine when she suddenly takes all that pressure away from you.

you let out another whine as you attempt to rut against her hand. her free hand slaps your thigh as she shakes her head in disapproval. “none of that. keep still. you get nothing until you beg like a good girl.” “please, please. ill do anything. just please touch me.” she chuckles at you. she found it cute how you were so desperate to chase that pleasure. “god, you’re so desperate. you need it so.. goddamn bad, don’t you?” she lets out a grunt in the middle of her sentence as she suddenly plunged into your pussy.

as she moves her fingers, she groans at how wet her you were. first she starts with middle finger, then adding her ring finger. her long fingers are hitting that sweet spot in you. she was making you see stars. “listen to yourself. look at ‘er, she’s crying for me.” she coos as she speeds her pace. you moan out. “watch me, baby.” you slowly look down at her fingers plunging in and out of you. sounds of wet squelching fill your ears. you bite your lip and you toss your head back as you let out a moan. you grind yourself down onto her fingers, chasing that wonderful and blissful orgasm.

you felt a pressure building up in your stomach. your eyes were fluttering open and shut. everytime you looked away, she stopped. you made sure to not look away. once that pressure in your stomach felt like it was gonna release, your moans became more broken. “ellie! ellie— oh fuck! ellie! im gonna cum! don’t stop, please don’t stop!” you say between moans as you bring your hand back down to hold her wrist in place.

“oh yeah? gonna cum? let go for me. make a mess on my fingers. cmon. i know you can do it.” she said as she kept her pace at that same one that was making you see stars. she’d been rambling something to you, talking you through it as she watched you cum all over her fingers. she helps you ride out your orgasm, a slight tremble in your legs becoming more apparent.

“what do we say?” “thank you.” she smiled as she pulled her fingers out. the sudden loss makes you whine. she sucks her fingers clean and you watch as her tongue runs across the length of her fingers. “still being a tease, williams?” you ask as you look at her while she does it. “mm.. well no, i dont think so. just savouring how good you taste.” when she was finally satisfied, she drops her hands. “so, you finally ready to stop being so stubborn and take the deal?” “not a chance if it means we get to have sex like this.” you respond with a chuckle. “maybe you need to be fucked again, hm?” she ask with a smile.

needless to say, you’d went another time, and on the third you fucked ellie. eventually you come to some sort of agreement after you’d been laid on her leather sofa, naked and feeling like you were floating. the only question you had now is what the hell had you gotten into. “will this turn into a scandal?” you ask. “.. probably not if we keep this under wraps.” she responds as she puts her head in the crook of your neck, pressing soft kisses to it. “plus, yknow i can just pay the media off right? they won’t say anything. not a peep.” she reassured as she smiled softly.

[glittergoblinzz]

Now, don't get me wrong. I love headcanons about Simon that are extremely dark. What I DON'T like is people twisting his character and trying to say he's canonically a rapist just because of a single line from the comics (Yes, Simon Riley got his own mini line of comics before the OG MW2 released. As far as lore goes, these are still considered canon. They're pretty dark so I heavily advise people who are sensitive to sexual assault and abuse to take care while reading)

It's this line in particular people are using to justify him being an abusive rapist in canon:

"I do terrible things, violent, to people, to women. The scary part is that I like it..."

His mother literally calls him out on that bullshit, knowing that isn't true in the slightest....and yes. That is fucking TOOTHPASTE he's putting on his face. I literally do not think this man is in the right state of mind to be making claims like that when he's up at like 3AM putting toothpaste on his face

Also, what people leave out when bringing this up is what happens before and after this scene. Let's talk about the before first....

Before this scene with him telling his own mother he "enjoys hurting women", he was asleep; having a nightmare. Guess what this nightmare was about? Roba and what he had done to Simon

Basically what happens here is that Simon has a dream and he's a sexist pig wanting to get a look at the bartender's daughter. Roba appears and tells Simon that he had done a good job "teaching" Simon (referring to the brainwashing and torture Roba had put Simon through in Mexico)

It becomes clear with this dream and the conversation with his mother after he wakes up is that Roba did get to Simon....but what happens after these two scenes shows that Roba didn't get to Simon in the way he wanted to.

Roba wanted to brainwash Simon, turn him into a puppet. The following interaction with Sparks proves that Roba's brainwashing may have worked on Sparks and Washington but NOT Simon

Sparks was literally about to rape a woman and Simon was NOT having it. He called the cops, purposely spoke up and asked Sparks about raping the woman so the operator could hear. If Simon genuinely felt that he enjoyed doing violent things to women, then he wouldn't have hesitated to join Sparks in raping her. Instead he called the cops, stalled until the police came and ran off with Sparks.

ALSO, SIMON WAS NOT COMPLIANT IN THIS SCENE. HE LITERALLY CALLS THE COPS AND STOPS THE RAPE FROM HAPPENING

Sparks and Washington have been fully brainwashed by Roba. They're working for him at this point in the story, keeping an eye on Simon for the bastard. Simon, on the other hand, has NOT been brainwashed by Roba. He still has a sense of himself.

As the comic goes on, he does take down Sparks, Washington, Roba and a lot of his men....proving he never fell victim to the brainwashing Roba put him through like Sparks and Washington had.

Again: I don't mind headcanons....I actually enjoy a lot of the darker Simon headcanons....It just bothers me when people try to push their headcanons out as actual canon. I've had to leave discords and group chats because people got pissed that I wouldn't agree with them on Simon being a rapist/abuser (like, beating his spouse abuse) in canon

[cambion-companion]

could I request for you to write an scenario in which Raphael does not die to Tav nor their party, but in an other similarly humiliating circumstances, and Tav when learning about this desperately goes to save Raphael from his father by bargaining with Mephistopheles? (hilariously in a very sad way, I assume this, is the only moment that Mephistopheles would ever "value" Raphael's life, but then again that is devils for you) and Raphael's confusion at the whole thing, someone taking a terrible bargain to save him, just… because they… like him…??? (bonus points, if Tav still has a crown to willingly give Raphael XD)

It's beat up Raphael hours huh? (also Korilla will be fine)

Hi there love. This turned from a drabble into a oneshot haha

Have fun running to Cania to pick up your wayfaring devil!

Raphael x reader (gn)

Korilla had come to you.

Broker and bruised, battered and bloody. Her long curly hair matted with mud and dried viscous.

“Help him.”  Her first words, rasped from a throat raw from screams.

“Korilla!”  You caught her weight as her knees buckled, lowering her gently to the ground.  The Dwarven woman wasn’t your friend by any means, but she had been your ally.  “Who needs my help?”  You couldn’t fathom who she might be referring to.

Surely it wasn’t Raphael. It couldn’t possibly be the enigmatic, self-assured cambion.

Korilla’s answering rasp dispelled any doubt. “My master.”

A fog of shock settled over your mind, your hands loosening around Korilla’s shaking form.  She whispered the truth into your ear, her bruised lips trailing her blood onto your clammy skin. With fading voice Korilla told of the attack, Raphael’s demise and his imminent doom.

“Portal. Diabolist.  Cania.”  Korilla’s breaths grew short as she fought valiantly once more against the oncoming black.

“Hold on, Korilla.  You’re going to be okay.”

“Save him.” She said again, her eyes slowly glossing over as the life left her broken body.

You cursed.  The warlock’s last actions had been to find you in a desperate hope you’d help Raphael before he was consumed by his father.  His father who just so happened to be an archdevil. Mephistopheles.

“Little shit could’ve mentioned that.”  You grimaced, lowering Korilla’s body to rest upon the cold earth.

You stood, pinching the bridge of your nose as your thoughts whirled and clashed. Not only had the attackers killed Raphael, but they had also looted his house, stealing the Orphic hammer and the only hope you’d had of defeating the Elder Brain.

“Damn it.”  You returned to your companions with the news. “Looks like we’re taking a rescue party to hell.”

“Who’s the damsel in distress?”  Astarion asked, tilting his head as his red eyes flickered over your blood-flecked form.

“Raphael.”

The plan was to use as much stealth as possible. The vaults of Mephisto had been broken into not long ago, according to Raphael, so it was possible.  A direct confrontation with the archdevil himself was out of the question.  

The diabolist in Baldur’s Gate took some convincing, but in the end you were able to push enough gold across the counter to seal the deal.  

“Very well.  Though I warn you, you’ll not return alive or with your souls intact.”

“Yes, yes.”  You waved the woman off, her visage reminding you of Korilla. “Believe me, I’ve heard it all before.”  Your eyes scanned the musky shop. Do you have anything that will locate a specific fiend?”

With a Locate Creature spell scroll ready in your bag you watched as the diabolist created for you a portal. Ice crystals immediately crusted on the edge of the black abyss, the wind coming from the portal nearly freezing your shoes to the floor.

“Quickly, and remember the disguises!”  She ushered you and your party through, the frigid darkness enveloping you with a grim finality.

Through cold halls you’d snuck, invisible fingers cold as death scraping along your back and through your hair as you passed beneath torches of blue flame.

Time lost all meaning here.  Your eyes began to play tricks on you. The only thing keeping your mind focused was the spell lighting the edge of your vision with a warm glow, growing brighter as you hurried to where Raphael was being held.

An age, or an hour had passed.

The wrought iron door, so cold to the touch it burned, swung noiselessly inward, admitting you to an octagonal shaped room. On the far wall you saw him, his form dark, chained by one wrist to the wall.

“Raphael.”  You hissed, unexplainable relief flooding your frozen veins when his head moved in response.  

Your companions waited by the open doorway, keeping watch from the shadows.  You snuck as quickly as you could to where Raphael was restrained. His glowing eyes looking down upon you with consternation before recognition slowly dawned across his sharp features.

You held up a hand, silencing him as he opened his mouth. Movement could be heard from outside the prison room. You were running out of time.

“Can you get us out of here if I free you?”  You hissed, still keenly aware of the nature of the devil.

Raphael nodded, his tail moving to and fro in agitation.  Something about his vitality seemed to be missing, you had never imagined seeing him in such a state.  It was unsettling.

The matter of removing the singular shackle proved to be more challenging than you’d thought.  Astarion’s lockpicking skills proved futile.

“It’s a magical seal.”  Raphael breathed, his voice low yet sharp with anger born of desperation. “Now’s not the time to play the fool.”

You gave him a severe look which he matched right back at you, his eyes sparking flame.

You raised a hand to the ice-covered metal, about to dispel the magic surrounding the lock. “You owe me a favor.  A big one.  I don’t know yet what I will ask of you, but you will deliver. Understood?”

Raphael’s gaze scorched you for a moment, it was clear he was furious with his current predicament. But he had no choice, and both of you knew it.

He nodded curtly.

You cast your spell.

Raphael’s wrist broke free with the sharp sound of metal splintering. His hand closed tight around your arm, the dungeons of Mephisto melted away as you and your companions were yanked unceremoniously back to the material plane.

At least, your companions were.  Deposited non-gently upon the hard ground of your camp.

Raphael kept hold of you.  Taking you back to the foyer of his house. The house which still lay in semi ruin from its previous sacking.

He was angry.  Each step he took crackled fire and promise of swift vengeance.

“Raphael…”  You said hesitantly, following him down into the dining hall.  “Raphael, Korilla-”

“Is dead.”  Under the glow of firelight, you could properly see the state he was in. You winced when he turned to face you. “I know. Though not as dead as those who dared pillage my home, the fools.”

“Do you know who?”  You remained wary as you watched him conjure an armchair and sink down into it.

Raphael ignored your question, he issued orders in the abrasive Infernal tongue, seemingly into thin air.  His fingers clicked and a spark of flame licked around them.  Unseen servants began bustling around, clearing the debris and wreckage.  Setting the House of Hope back in order.

Raphael leveled his gaze upon you.  His expression was not unkind, it was calculating.  He had underestimated you and overestimated himself.  Not a mistake he’d make again.

“Why?”  No flowery words, no ado.

“I still need the hammer.”  You had the response prepared, having known the question was coming.

“You could have hunted down the thieves without my help.”  Raphael narrowed his hellfire eyes. “Why come to my aid?”

“Korilla asked me to.  It was her dying wish.”  You fidgeted under his piercing presence. “Besides, you’re a useful ally.  I still need your help to save the world.”

Raphael arched a brow, unconvinced. “Half-truths are still considered lies, dear.  But there are matters I must attend to.”  He stood, restless.  

“Will your father come for you again once he realizes you’re gone.”  The question came before you could stop yourself.

“Concerned for me?”  Raphael appraised you, a knowing tilt to his head. “No.  He will not.”

You didn’t argue, Raphael was clearly on edge, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

You rubbed circles against your aching temple. “Well, seems we have some thieves to track down.  A hammer to retrieve.”

Raphael looked as though he was biting back a sharp retort.  He chewed on his words, looking you over. “Yes.”  He growled, infernal fire flickering off his form. “You may watch as I peel their souls from the writhing mortal flesh.”

In an unexpected move, Raphael strode to you and took your hand, placing a kiss to your knuckles. His breath hot on your still chilled skin. “You may even assist me, if you so desire.”  He straightened.

That was as close to a “thank you” as you were going to get.

You set your jaw grimly. “When do we start?”