#and emotionally there's so much pulling her in different directions

[justanotherhh]

some trailer things:

big fight around lust/ozzie's place that involves m&m and loona + we know fizzarolli is going to make another appearance, so i wonder how that'll connect potentially. also, new villain?

obvs the whole section of CHERUB working with DHORKS and this massive thing/portal:

john waters big villain episode???? (ghostfuckers from the looks of things)

also more crossdressing in that same episode + millie vs possessed blitz? both millie and blitz giving some evil dead type vibes?

more on stolas' whole social sphere and potential judgement and hell's class politics related to his dating blitz + p much confirmed that blitz will not take stolas' gift in the spirit it was intended

also, "you fucks think you can do this every time-" feels not just like it's about the wider class issues in hell, but maybe like it's personal (potentially with verosika? although it does seem like it's canon that he had more than a little bit of a hand in ending that relationship, so could just be him echoing everything he's been seeing in the treatment of imps and putting that onto stolas in this moment)

and then "thank you blitz, for making me so happy, even for a little while" is during this moment too. lot of teasers for how this is gonna go down (badly, upsettingly, emotionally)

the whole "do you feel any remorse for what you do" feels like a misdirect -- that is, it's edited to look like it's about blitz, but i feel like it's directed at stella or her brother

generally a lot of fun stolas visuals that i won't get into here, but am excited to see more contexts for

also this isn't new, but im always interested in blitz's heart/broken-heart forehead marking

blitz and tilla moment! generally more flashbacks (in the shape of blitz seeming to be almost at the movies, watching his own "failures") around the time of the fire! i didn't see any barbie stuff, alas, but the rest of it looks !!! also lowkey confirmed it was cash who stopped blitz from seeing fizz in hospital

who's this?

another sin? maybe related to ozzie and/or stolas and that judgement of the kinds of people they love?

blitz protecting stolas - maybe from the above, considering the hand motif of it all... stolas really living the life of blitz as a romantic hero, while blitz is barely holding it together as a person the whole time. different genres, my guys. different genres (that's their real communication issue)

this fuck-you-blitz cake looks like a verosika thing to do, esp considering it's her calling him shitty in the VO -- but yay, maybe giving that verosika catharsis, but also generally just verosika!

also the VO part where he says he doesn't want to be this way, he's wearing the same shroud as during his confrontation with verosika. idk, im just. contexts for things. i am curious

is the below also the same episode? I'd think so. it's set during halloween (?) and blitz is then maybe in the blood-covered shroud (costume? undercover? going undercover as a ghost? post-breakup stalking undercover ghost costume?)

MAMMON! and he looks pleased. oh dear.

this blitz + fizz moment

it kinda looks like blitz is wearing the same tee as when he and stolas have their moment + a horse bag + fizz casual wear. fizz generally in this trailer seems to be having the best time (outside the flashbacks). everything makes me suspicious all the time

(also generally hello all the different outfits coming up!!)

fascinated by this:

is that millie?

things we didn't see:

no barbie, no striker, no crimson, no asmodeus (directly, although his imagery is everywhere + fizz and mammon appear), no paimon -- this not to say none of them will show up, but am enjoying that a lot of this is clearly pulling from s1, with the focus on verosika, DHORKS, and CHERUB -- potentially a lot of the s2 villains need some time to lick their wounds a bit (and paimon was never a Villain, just a terrible parent... if he ever returns though...)

and barbie... i do want to see barbie again soonish ngl, she needs some proper introducing, but this is already giving so much callback and continuation of immediate plot-threads, very excited

[revelisms]

Excerpt: You Can't Replace Her

Vi's return has Jinx floundering. Sevika sifts through the layers.

From 'heron blue,' an AU where Vi and Jinx reconnect under different terms. Slow, rocky relationship rebuilding, found family messiness, and political schemings. Full story on AO3

Sat at the table across from the kitchenette's thin galley, Jinx twists her plait about one finger—a single one, today, the weave of it adorned with scraps of bullet casings and clips—and doesn't say a word. She squeezes the cool metal of one of the casings, hard enough to sting.

"I'm not mad at you, you brat," Sevika grumbles, without sparing her a glance. "Not your fault the little shit's back from the dead. But, of the seven hells—" 

Her thick fingers spear into the creases beneath her eyes: a slow kneading. She says nothing, for a beat. Just smokes, and smokes. 

"He loves you too damned much," she growls quietly, then. She flicks the ash of her cigarette over a tray on the balcony's railing. "Your sister worth all this, to you?"

The casing between Jinx's fingers aches. 

Ever since he'd placed a meal and a plan before her—laid a quiet, terrifying choice in her hands—she'd turned the thought over, for hours, and hours. 

Do you want her near you?

She wanted her sister's presence, less than craved it—like a girl yearned for her favorite toy; like an infant wailed for their mother; like a child found comfort in the lonely walls of their room, closed off from the rest of the world.

She missed her. She was terrified of her. She longed for her. She hated her.

She hadn't been able to answer him, then. She couldn't.

The same denial sits on her tongue, now.

"I don't...I don't know," she mumbles.

"'Course you don't," Sevika snarks.

"I don't know, okay?" Jinx wrenches her head away, glaring into the yellowing paper of the wall. "She—she left me." Her nail picks and picks at her knee. "She left me, because I—I wasn't good enough, I wasn't strong enough, I was—I was weak." A crack in her voice, thin and sharp. "I was weak, and I ruined everything."

The shadow across from her chuffs, quietly. "Boss doesn't see you as weak."

Jinx curls her shoulders to her ears, pressing her cheek into one of them. "Doesn't matter."

"Like you couldn't knock me off my feet, if you tried." A steel-gray stare flicks over at her, cold points in the greenish haze that stretches beyond this small room, seeping through the open door like a sweet-soured fog. "When we took you in, you couldn't throw a punch for shit. You took to a gun like it was welded through you, though." Sevika lifts one brow, with a shrug of her shoulder. "Still need to work on your punches," she notes, dryly. "But they're better."

Mylo's voice scratches and claws through Jinx's ears.

"So what?" she spits. "I'm not—not like her. I'll never be like her."

"Why do you need to be?" Those eyes again, staring hard at her. "You can't replace her." Sevika huffs, turning back to the smog-tainted view that spills down from the balcony's edge. "If you had that in your head, with her gone—sure as hell doesn't matter, now."

The words tear at something in Jinx's bones, buried so deep into the marrow that it uproots her. She blinks. Breathes. Shakes.

"Something you Fissure brats should've learned, years ago," Sevika rumbles on, a low, muted thing. "Someone dies, you leave them dead. You don't carry around their corpse, making yourself into their image; you don't become them, to you, or to anybody else." She ticks the ash from her cigarette. "You can't."

Jinx's fingers tremble over her knee. The swallow she forces down clings like ash to her throat. "Then," she whispers, "then what do I—what do I do?"

Sevika's mouth curls at a snarl.

"You be." A final drag: the cigarette crushed into the tray, among a litter of countless others. "Whatever you need for yourself, first. Damn the rest."

Silco, in his own ways, had told her the same. Cradled her head beneath the cold drape of the Pilt's waves, with the gentlest sweep of his thumb: as though she were still only a scrappy street-cat of a girl, eleven years old and raging at the world. As though he were lowering himself back down into the place of his rebirth, where he had reforged himself, rebuilt himself. Where he'd found what he needed, to survive again.

She hadn't quite understood it all, then. 

She'd been too lost in the silence of the waves, in the strange peace she'd found floating in the blackwater, in the warmth of his hand lifting her back to the surface. Lost in her own fears of going back to the terrors gnashing on the shores. Too exhausted to move, to come back to herself. 

He'd carried her from the shallows, like he'd carried her back from the wreckage that day. They'd sat at the water's edge for hours, his coat draped over her shoulders, his eyes so faraway, and said nothing.

She thinks she might understand, now.

[princess-tulip-writes]

honey bun • poly!batboys

genre: smut

summary: reader is ovulating, so her three mates make it their mission to get her pregnant by pumping her full.

a/n: this piece serves two meanings: my 1k special, with a dedication to my lovely @redbleedingrose for both the idea and a lil gift. i hope you all enjoy!

you knew that the moment you agreed to move into town house with all three of your mates that it was going to be very chaotic— sexy, but chaotic.

and mother, were you right.

everyday was something new, adventurous and full of love, even though each male had a different way of expressing their love, communicating was never much of an issue. you were spoiled rotten by the three illyrian’s, both emotionally and financially, and never doubted the amount of love they had for you.

although, they were very wholesome and sweet, they sure could fuck like they hated you— especially during fertility season.

“fuck, get ready take another load, baby.” cassian grunts out into your shoulder, feeling his balls tighten as he ruts into you.

you were already pumped with your high lord’s cum, twice, and you knew there was four more rounds of semen to come before you were anywhere near finished for the night— not that you were complaining.

it was like a dream to be pumped full with not only one, but three different sets of illyrian cum, and at least two times each at that. the consequences being a sore cunnie the next morning and a possible babe announcement next month; exactly what they were hoping for.

cassian came seconds after for the first time that night, joining his brother’s sticky mess inside of your womb with his own. his heavy breathes cascaded off of the skin of your neck and sent shivers down your whole body, your shaking legs tightening around his waist and pulling him in deeper— if that was even possible.

“f-fuck, your cunt’s so lovely.” he chuckled into your shoulder, but the laughter faded into a whimper as the new sensitivity of his cock came apparent when you became tighter around him.

the both of you took a breath before the general slowly pulled out of your dripping pussy with a hiss, and softly pushed back into the sopping mess of your cunt.

“so fucking messy in here now.”

a dark chuckle sounded from the right side of the bed, snapping you out of your subby and filled headspace as butterflies abrupt within you from the familiar sound.

rhysand.

you turned your attention to the male, eyes quickly finding his violet ones and softening them as he takes in your fucked out state. the smirk on his face gentles, yet the fist around his cock doesn’t flatter.

he cocks his head at you, a tell of his fake sympathetic mood.

“awe, my darling, do you feel full already?” he asks softly.

you babble an incoherent agreement, one that only your mates would understand, followed by a fast nod and a whimper as cassian hits your sensitive gummy walls over and over and over until your stomach knots again.

your mates knew too well that you were close again, and the two beside you quicken the pace on their cocks as the one inside of you fucks you faster, ignoring the painful sensitivity of his cock.

“look at me, pretty girl.”

azriel.

you obeyed thoughtlessly, immediately directing your eye contact to the shadowsinger, where your head had been laid on his thigh all night.

“good, good girl.” his free hand found the side of your face, grimacing at the left over saliva on your cheek where rhysand had licked a few tears away earlier, but smiled down at you anyway.

“wanna cum baby?” he asked gently, eyes intently watching yours for hesitation or pain but was met with an enthusiastic nod instead. “you can cum then, princess. go ahead.”

with a small scream and a harsh arch of your back, you did. you clenched tightly around cassian’s cock once more, creaming around the thick base and pushing some illyrian cum out accidentally.

“such a pretty girl.” rhysand spoke as he watched the way your body shook. “one more round from you cass, then it’s azriel’s turn.”

“ ‘s not gonna be long then.” cassian responded, feeling the euphoria of another orgasm closely approaching as his strong hips picked up inside of you, slamming into your hips roughly and undoubtedly bruising them.

you didn’t seem to mind, in fact they all recall watching you buck you hips to meet his, as if you were begging for another fill of his cum.

a wish that would very soon be fulfilled.

“she wants it, cassian.” azriel encouraged. “she wants it so bad.”

with a loud growl, warm liquid coated your walls once more and joined the other three puddles in your womb.

the male above you shook lightly, huffing out breaths as he regained his strength to switch. but you were too tight, too warm, too wet to pull out of, a drug cassian shamelessly become addicted to as he stilled his hips.

after a minute too long, the oldest brother shoved at the male’s shoulder with a hiss that meant ‘move’.

“you’re lucky she likes you so much, brother.” he groaned before reluctantly removing himself.

though he didn’t roll over without a ‘thank you’ kiss to your lips, slipping his tongue along your own quickly before joining rhysand against the head board.

“my turn, isn’t it, beautiful?” azriel mumbled to you, his thumb stroking your jaw softly as he carefully slid his thigh from under your neck and slipping off the bed. “do you need a break?”

as usual, you shook you head to the offer as you made grabby hand motions at him, watching your mate position himself between your thighs with a lazy smile on both your faces.

his eyes studied your face for any pain or discomfort as he tapped the head of his hungry cock on your clit lightly, teasing you just as he always did.

“put it in, please.” you whined causing all three of your mates to chuckle softly at your eagerness for the spymaster’s cum.

rhysand quirked an eyebrow at you. “i don’t remember you being in any place to call the shots, darling.”

before you could apologize, azriel slipped inside of your aching cunt, still standing between your legs but his eyes moved onto your harden nipples. memories of sucking on them previous to your first load of cum of the night flashed through his mind as your lip wobbled at your lord’s scolding tone.

“leave her be, rhys. it’s not her fault her womb loves my cum so much. is it, princess?”

you shook your head, babbling another incoherent version of ‘no’.

“gods, she is so fucking full. so much godsdamn cum inside this cunt, it’s practically leaking out.” azriel hissed to his brothers as seed poured around his cock with each inch deeper that he pushed inside.

“don’t worry, she won’t let it spill, will you, sweetheart?” cassian cooed at you.

“n-no, i-i-i promise.”

azriel smirked at you proudly, and increased the speed of his hips for you.

you gasped when his cock directly pounded into your spongey spot, and you could feel another orgasm approaching already.

“good fucking girl.”

before azriel could announce your impending arrival, rhysand kneeled beside your face, hands cradling your cheeks. confusion spread across your face as he maneuvered your head to his liking, but you understood once the leaking head of his cock pressed to your lips.

“i’d hate to waste my cum, darling, but i’m afraid i can’t wait.” he explained. “open up.”

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

♡ handwriting analysis: alex turner and miles kane ♡

as promised, here is the analysis my wonderful friend (who used to work as a professional handwriting analyst) did of miles and alex's handwriting! a couple of important points to read before you dive in:

my friend analysed these blind - to avoid bias, she always makes a point of never knowing whose handwriting it is she's looking at, so she had no idea that these samples were from alex and miles while analysing them (not that it'd have made much difference if she had, she can't even name one am song lol)

she stressed that her analysis should NOT be taken as fact - it's just one person's interpretation of the material, and handwriting analysis is ultimately always subjective

the two analyses below are based on notes i took while she was talking and is pretty much verbatim - none of the wording is my own and i have changed as little as possible in typing it up

she noted that it was harder to provide a full and accurate analysis just working with photos of handwriting, as you can't see things like pressure on the page etc. she also stressed that context is significant when it comes to interpreting someone's writing, and it's important to bear in mind that how someone writes in one context, e.g. signing autographs or writing something for the general public could show quite different characteristics to how someone writes in another context, e.g. personal letters to someone they're close to. in an ideal world she'd have access to samples from a different range of contexts to provide the most detailed and accurate analysis. in other words, this analysis is quite rough

alex's handwriting:

(samples taken from roughly 2011 - 2018)

block capitals suggest this is someone who don't want to show themselves, makes it hard for people to reach them

someone interested in thoughts and ideas, would engage with these in a way that's intelligent and very original

a lot of emotional and social inconsistency, suggests someone pulled in different directions. they might show very different sides of themselves with different people and probably have complex and/or conflicted feelings about identity

very creative, someone who'd make interesting and unusual connections about the world around them

highly intuitive but also lacking harmony from an emotional perspective. lots of internal emotional conflict and changeability

someone who fluctuates a lot socially as well as emotionally - might go from being quite sociable to withdrawing completely. ultimately struggles to reach out socially and holds back a lot, but there might be certain situations or people they feel particularly at ease with where this is different

really hard to read, don't give much of themselves away

thoughtful and enquiring, interested in ideas

someone who feels things very strongly

signature:

implies someone hiding themselves or presenting as someone they're not. they want to look confident and exciting, but they're actually much less confident that they'd like to appear. lets their creative and artistic tendencies hide them and take centre stage.

miles's handwriting:

(samples taken from roughly 2022 - 2023)

a little sharp, could suggest humorous wit and/or being critical (either of self or of others)

ambitious and incisive, intelligent and enquiring mind

fearful or wary about opening up and reaching out to people, emotional inconsistency. potentially quite restrained - looks like someone used to hiding a lot of hiding of emotions

has an enquiring mind but isn't particularly interested in abstract thought, more grounded in reality and social/emotional things

someone with strong feelings, they get held in and confused. could be warm and open on a surface level, but looks like they'd be reserved about their innermost feelings

could be sharp tongued to avoid dealing with their own feelings

lower zone suggests someone who might not be completely comfortable in their own body and/or sexuality, or have a complex relationship with these things

someone with a tendency towards strong feelings and devotion/worship (could be religious, or could just be to do with the way they relate to people or ideas)

signature:

someone who wants to look more confident they feel. sense of changeability and flashes of insecurity, but ultimately suggests strength of character, not someone who's a pushover. they know what they want and what matters to them.

interesting extra notes:

the wonderful @ballad-of-what-could-have-been managed to find this sample of alex's handwriting not in capitals from when he was much younger (from what i can see, it looks like it was early fwn era):

so i showed this to my friend too (after her analysis of alex's usual writing) and noted that it was probably done when he was a lot younger. she said that all her points from the original analysis still stood, and that despite the fact this writing isn't capitalised it was actually still very hard to read and definitely someone not comfortable with showing themselves. she also said that it was more emotionally conflicted and uncertain than the later sample of their handwriting. the phrase "emotionally all over the place" was used, and she noted a greater sense of inconsistency with identity. overall though she said the earlier sample confirms that this is someone with a high level of intuition and originality, and she said they're someone she'd be fascinated to have a conversation with!

thank you for reading! if you have any questions, please feel free to comment/drop me an ask and i can always pick my friend's brain again the next time i see her!

[cooki3face]

wounded feminine energy vs wounded masculine energy:

Wounded feminine will struggle primarily with feelings of unworthiness that will present itself in a lot of different ways but wounded feminine energy may include things like:

issues with control and manipulation : stepping outside of her feminine energy and her home energy of recieving and trying to push and pull things into fruition or to go in the direction she sees fit and often for personal gain. This may present in her relationships with others, manipulating her friends, manipulating her partners, manipulating strangers. May be dishonest, deceitful, or deceptive.

low self worth & self esteem: she’s unable to make good decisions on who she chooses to be around and what she allows, may fall into a habit of people pleasing, may struggle with internalized misogyny, may be boy crazy or blow her entire life up for male validation or male presence, may constantly speak negatively upon herself and upon others. May victimize herself often or be prone to feeling “sorry” for herself, may also be heavily emotionally unstable or consumed by her emotions to the point where she’s constantly at high points of emotional distress. She has no boundaries, she’s desperate for love, she’s obsessive in a way where it comes from a place of lack or a void.

Vindictive,bitter, and jealous: falls right in hand with low self worth and self esteem, projecting all her fears and jealousy onto others especially other women. Always out to get someone, always picking on someone, always attempting to humiliate or tear someone apart.

over-giving: falls right into people pleasing but a feminine who may be over giving may not know how to or be unable to protect her energy, her power, her divinity and her “soft feminine”, she may become over-giving, over nurturing, overly empathetic to the point where she pours too much of herself (from a raw and authentic pool of her energy) into others. this comes hand in hand with my post about a feminine needing a divine counterpart who is conducive to her energy and is safe and giving so that when she’s in her most vulnerable state her energy won’t go to waste.

Shame and guilt: ashamed of her body, ashamed of her sensuality, ashamed of her femininity, ashamed of what it takes to protect herself from others, guilty for putting herself first, guilty for being in her power, guilty for recieving what she rightfully deserves, etc. etc. falls hand in hand with what I spoke about briefly about how purity culture and certain aspects of culture and life may supress one’s feminine nature and identity and ability to connect with self.

Intuitive and expressive: she’s in touch with her intuition, she’s strong and in tune, truth is clear and she lives in her truth. She lives an honest life, is honest with herself and with honors, shows up as an authentic version of herself in spirit. She’s creative, she inspires others instead of picking them apart or leading them astray.

Consumed by emotions: she’s angry, she’s aggressive, she’s emotionally consumed or disturbed, she’s violent, always fighting people, doesn’t have effective problem solving or communication skills outside of violence or conflict. Is always involved in conflict, is always involved in drama, befriends people with the intention of constantly being in the center of an issue or being aware of an issue, nosy and cunning. If she’s jealous and bitter she expresses it heavily.

***

Wounded masculine will struggle primarily with how he sees himself, honoring his heart space, and what it means to be masculine or a man. This is not a new issue, it’s as old as time, wounded masculine may exude behaviors like:

overly competitive and combative: masculine may have a tendency to try to out compete others, regardless of sex or gender. He competes with women, he competes with men. He used envy and insecurity to fuel these urges to compete with others. He wants to be the biggest all the time, he wants to be the most successful, the most important, the most looked at, etc. etc. there’s nothing wrong with these desires when they come from a place of self love and growth, there is an issue when they come from the ego and his desire is to push others out of their rightful place or consume the energy of others to make himself larger. Or he needs to be right and he’s argumentative. He may be prone to having narcissistic traits or a narcissistic personality type, he may have an inflated ego or sense of importance. Constant inner and outer conflict, he’s displeased with himself, he’s displeased with what there’s, he’s always fighting, always arguing, always involved in some sort of altercation.

Abusive and angry: he has a tendency to communicate with physical violence or is unable to solve problems effectively. He has a desire to hurt others to make himself feel stronger or more powerful or feel validated and respected. Constant inner and outer conflict, he’s displeased with himself, he’s displeased with what there’s, he’s always fighting, always arguing, always involved in some sort of altercation.

controlling and/or possessive: controlling in plenty of areas, in his relationships, in career, in life. Reflects a masculine whose not confident in his ability to be loved and admired, not confident in his ability to make a difference or take action that will push things forward or into fruition in a genuine and meaningful manner. A possessive masculine is a masculine who has a strong desire to consume things rather than enjoy them and allow them to flourish. Especially in his relationships, he may attempt to “squash” his partner, keep them from stepping into their power, keep them from doing well, he may have a tendency to view his partners and counterparts as objects to be had or to be owned rather than to be appreciated or as an energy that is complimentary and adds to his value or divinity. This goes hand and hand with what I spoke about briefly about men in relationships with successful women who try to trap them with pregnancy at the height of their careers or try to minimize their success. He’s overly critical of others and overly critical of himself on an internal level. May be prone to picking up misogynistic tendencies and views, he picks on women, he degrades them, he feels the need to tell them what to do and what’s acceptable.

Manipulative: again. A masculine who doesn’t think he’s truly capable of making an impact, a masculine who doesn’t believe he’s capable of truly being loved or doesn’t believe he has enough value to be stayed with in his relationships. A masculine who may have a tendency to see others as below him or as pawns.

over-preforming or overcompensating: am i man enough? Am I doing enough? Will they look at me or admire me enough? He tries too hard to be “masculine”, is afraid to stray away from masculine stereotypes, bullies and takes out aggression towards men who don’t fit the mold that he’s been conditioned to believe is what masculinity or being a real man looks like. Leads him to being controlling, resentful, aggressive and violent in a lot of cases. Resents others who live in their truth and live authentically despite judgment and rejection, tries to squash or push down others who go against what he’s been conditioned to believe is right or wrong, ends up pushing people away or ruining a lot of his relationships and his connections because he’s unable to find the courage to be who he is from an authentic stand point and he’s angry because he always feels like he has to preform and conform. And bro is definitely the lgbtq police and the “that’s gay asf” guy in the back who nobody asked an opinion from. He’s overly critical of others and overly critical of himself on an internal level. May be prone to picking up misogynistic tendencies and views, he picks on women, he degrades them, he feels the need to tell them what to do and what’s acceptable.

Unable to feel emotions/disconnected from self: unable to communicate and communicate effectively, he doesn’t understand himself and therefore can’t understand others, has a tendency to resort to anger or shutting down or running from things when he’s feeling triggered or being coaxed out of his shelf or is required to open up and be vulnerable. He’s guarded and closed off, he’s defensive, he struggles with an avoidant attatchment style, he’s afraid of being seen, he’s afraid of true intimacy, he’s afraid of being perceived in general and perceived as being soft or emotional. He doesn’t want to talk about his feelings because he’s conditioned not to and it’s difficult. He’s stagnant, he’s unable to grow, he’s unable to learn hard emotional lessons. Repressed his feminine energy or actively represses it and this goes hand and hand with overcompensating and over preforming.

Unstable: unstable, unsupportive, unsafe physically and emotionally. He can’t create a safe space for you, for others, or himself emotionally or physically and he will not.

[raribella]

THE FIVE TIMES YOU SAID NETEYAM'S NAME AND THE ONE YOU COULDN'T | N.S.

© raribella 2022, do not repost, modify or translate!

summary: a super angsty take on the trope. self-explanatory I guess.

pairing: Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan x Metkayna!reader

genre: strangers to friends to lovers. angst with no happy ending.

involves: major character death, omaticaya x metkayna, learning the metkayna clan's ways, scolding, slight fluff, angst.

word count: 1,3k

notes: I wanted to write this very quickly as soon as I had the idea because I have three other Neteyam ideas (another blurb and two one-shots) but I think this one is an excellent way of launching my writing on the Avatar fandom. I adore this movie since I was 5 years old it's just so emotionally important to me and they kill off my love in the first movie of the saga I watched at the cinema?? gross. I'm not used to writing a sad ending to angsty stories but this is no fix-it fic, really, it's just me in my feels. I'm watching AWOW for the third time next Tuesday and I'm so excited!

NETEYAM? – As you met with the Omaticaya family for the first time, noticing how their skin was adorned with a darker shade of blue, their eyes shined in a nearly neon shade of amber, and they had feathers and colorful seeds adorning their braids. As the Toruk Makto, known by the clan since the war told his family in a stern tone to greet your Olo'eyktan Tonowari, you repeated their eldest son's name in your mind, liking how it sounds, feeling a different pull towards the family, like Eywa herself wanted and needed you to be a part of their journey here.

IS- IS NETEYAM HERE? – As you asked for the boy in front of the mauri the Sullys had accepted for themselves. It was shy, you were starting to get to know each other as you helped Tsireya and Ao'nung with teaching the family the Metkayna ways. You were part of a simple, common family in the clan, but being close friends with Tsireya, she giggled as you told her before of how the eldest son of the Sully had struck your attention, and she vividly nodded, saying that Lo'ak, the youngest, made her feel like she was being pulled into them. After that, you started helping her with the swimming and breathing lessons, and as you patched Neteyam up after he fell off his ilu, trying to make the bond, inkimaya, for the first time, you discovered how the both of you had so much in common, and so much to contrast, that it became routine to walk the waterfront while talking about your day. Neteyam would tell you stories about the forest, how he learned to fish, how he flew his ikran, and the pressure he felt sometimes, and you would tell him about the creatures you usually saw, about your soul sister, Epeyfwa, and how she would soon come with the tulkun migration, as the bioluminescent seaweed would make the glowing waves slightly brush your feet.

NETEYAM, you skxawng! – As you reached to hit his forehead, the both of you on top of your ilus, him cocking his head to the side with a grin, chuckling. You always told Neteyam that he didn't need to actually be perfect, and he always felt so at ease when he was with you. Time spent with you was time he actually forgot how much he missed home; but Neteyam knew how much you cared for the sea, and he adored pushing certain animals over to see funny reactions or how they flew with the water, and, secretly, to see how lightheartedly stressed with him you could get. It was only in times like this that you frowned in his direction or called him a skxawng. And he could see now how, even though his parents met with Neitiry trying to kill Jake, they grew to love each other so much.

NETEYAM! – As the adrenaline of flying for the first time made you laugh so much that your stomach started to hurt. In your nightly conversations, you told Neteyam about how only warriors rode with the skimwings and could fly for a certain timespan, he took notice of how he once told you about his Ikran and wanted to be the one who took you flying for the first time. One day, he took you to the shore and started whistling to call his Ikran, leaving you confused until the batting of its large wings forced you to close your eyes to avoid sand getting in them, warning you of Neteyam's intentions and making an iced chill run through your spine. When the Ikran landed, you looked at the boy wide-eyed, muttering a small "no, no, I can't believe it- no, 'teyam I'm actually scared", and with his pleas being said in between laughs, assuring you you could ride on the front and he would be holding you the whole time, you complied, and did not regret it for one second as he held your waist tightly, the Inkimaya formed with the creature and your loud screams meeting with wide laughs that made you breathless while cutting through the air.

NETEYAM. oel ngati kameie. – When you fight with your parents after an adventure with the Sullys and Tsireya and her brother, being back only after the eclipse, you rush out to the Sullys mauri again, the path becoming familiar ever since your first apparition looking for Neteyam; since you were all grounded, you didn't think about rushing in or having his parents know you were there. It was late, and you didn't really have a plan, but when his unmistakable eyes and bioluminescent traits appeared in your line of vision, you relaxed ever slightly. He was pacing, and he saw you. Neteyam quietly left the pod, asking what were you doing in there, since he knew you were punished for being "reckless and impulsive", as you responded that you felt safe around him and just needed a bit of comfort and his soothing energy, his chest puffed forward with pride, though his cheeks turned a shade of purple. You blurted your feelings out, ears pointing down and a frown on your face. You complained about how you hated and felt scared to disappoint or disrespect your parents, but with their protectiveness being overwhelming, you felt like anything could make them feel that way, and this was making you feel suffocated, how you hated the heavy responsibility of being promptly perfect. At that, Neteyam looked at you ever so thoroughly, his eyes deep into yours, his eyebrows arched up; his tail brushed slightly over your leg as he reached to cup your face, "this is not your burden to carry, y/n. trust me, I'd know... you know it, right? I... I see you." your look upon him became soft, you sighed rapidly, feeling the weight get off your shoulders. You didn't know if it was because you were finally understood by someone you knew went through something similar, or if it was because he said it. He said it first, and he felt it too. "Neteyam...", you smiled, both hands touching his chest. "oel ngati kameie."

NET... – you couldn't bring yourself to finish it as you felt the guttural scream coming from your throat coming to interrupt your calling at the sight you were met with. After rushing to Epeyfwa to warn her and the tulkuns that swam near you, you came back to the village, asking if your help was needed anywhere else, but got orders to just keep yourself safe; it was after eclipse when you went out of your mauri pod, anxious, preoccupied and missing your friends, especially Neteyam. As you walked the shore, you took in the rushing people and the shifted energy, gloom and revenge written on all of the Metkayna it was disturbing. Nearing the beach, you spotted the Sully family, backs slumped forward and tear-stained faces, an energy of loss even though they were back that took over you as soon as you saw them; eyebrows knitting together and steps becoming vigorous as you missed Neteyam. Halfway through asking for him, you noticed Jake carried a curled body, legs hanging from his arms. With a shift, you saw Neteyam's peaceful looking face, but bloody chest, as a whole wounded his torso. Your throat went dry, hurting as you screamed, your soul was cut in half as a third person held you by your arms, trying to avoid further commotion. Your knees fell to the sand as thick tears started to fall from your eyes. As you lost a sense of fullness you only gained when you first learned his name, when you first saw his eyes, when the Sullys first landed in Awa'atlu. As pure rage invaded your being from being robbed of something so early, from having this allowed by Ewya. From having your heart bruised in a deep shade of blue.

[yet-another-haven-of-dollya]

Do you/Lya/Lyah have any opinion on Avery? I don't think I've ever seen him come up on the blog before.

Right right, of course...

Personally, I feel Avery and the Great Hawk are the two most "lack of content" LIs. I don't know man, I just think Avery has so much potential, their social position, their status, how they have so much money, are they involved in the town's crime system, do they know about the UB or UF and if yes do they benefit from those?... So many questions and yet I can't seem to find answers in the game, at least with just the basic level of a perfect prized sugar baby that goes on a date with them once every week.

I know maybe Vrel had answered those questions somewhere on their blog, but that does not count. I want in-game content and the sole Cafe grand opening event is not enough. Avery has so much potential, I need to emphasize it one more time, and, if I could be so bold as to assume, by getting closer to them, PC can have more opportunities to discover the Town's government system. Big company? Fucking hell they can have a fucking helicopter to come to pick PC up from school, lol show off. Inside influential? Relationship with Quinn? Bla bla economic and political stuffs.

What I mean is, I guess, yeah pirate and Island sound nice, and yeah more religious mysteries and rank-climbing on the Temple server are nice too, minus we still can't fuck Jordan,... But I'm still quizzical at the political system of the town and how they decided to make Avery so unappealing... I will elaborate more about this later since my PCs have different opinions about Avery.

Even if the devs aren't planning on getting too deep into the political or economic sides, maybe I could at least expect something more... emotion-related kind of development? What's in there for me if I don't want the money, but to get closer to Avery and be an actual soulmate-lover-partner? If Avery is only there to be an emergency ATM then they don't necessarily need to be a LI?? What kind of "love interest" can make you stay so uninterested and emotionally detached like Avery? Or is that what actually is meant to be in a relationship with a middle-aged successful businessperson? Okay? If that's so I guess I placed my hope too high. Sorry Avery to me you'll be the first one out if this is a dating game show if you keep up that husband-who-going-for-business-trips-all-year-long-and-getting-cucked-because-the-wife-he-left-home-is-fucking-horny attidude.

Okay now that some of my bitching is over (lol not I can bitch forever) let's proceed on how my PCs see Avery through their POV.

Lya basically doesn't even know he exists. Mind you, her early game phase was confusing, she can't remember just some man she met only once at the Park? And because of the game mechanics, she only grew more and more confused because why the fuck does a man she had never spent time with one day just get out of his car and demand she get in or get beaten?? "I never knew you??" she thought to herself as she frantically reloaded the save file to go in another direction.

Then she came across the social tab only to see "Avery thinks you're insolent." in a tab she never really paid any attention to. No love, just 100% Lust, that's normal, the barbarian in the forest is the same. But there's another scary-looking icon - 100% rage. What? What did I do? He looked like any random man in a car, randomly pulled at her, and demanded an encounter. She never wants a car fuck, she hates car smell, she doesn't even get on a bus if not strictly needed even so she always... Oooooh, she sees, he's special, he has a place in the higher-up Social tabs, among other certain boys at school, this Avery person is a Love Interest, and she fucked up her potential relationship with him even before it started, without her knowing.

Oh well, whatever, he has a fucking "Rage" stat, he seems violent and has angry issues, so he's not a good person, like Robin or Sydney, and fuck it if he looks old enough to be her parent if she ever had one? Judging by his expensive suit and car, he's rich, so if he's so bitchless to the point of beating a young orphan because she refuses him, he can go fuck himself. Lya had more than enough to worry about.

But then stuff happened. The trauma Chobi was spat out, Whitney tried selling her, she saved him only to continue to be bully. She snapped. Lya's first phase officially ended, and she approached her second phase - the depressed phase. She sold Whitney, got Kylar's ass into prison, and then dismissed Avery too, and that's the end of the story. Even now, looking back, she has no regret. She never knows Avery.

Lyah has a more lenient view of fem Avery. He was born with Lya's experience and his creator's - my wish to explore more potential of the world so his attitude toward the LIs is more laid back. He knows how to benefit from them and handle them.

He sees Avery as a lonely older woman and is willing to accompany her as a rented escort, no more no less. And if she wants more sexual things, she'll pay higher, so there's no problem, he's willing to go with her flow. The only drawback of going on dates with Avery is he cannot sleep in Robin's bed those nights. But that's something he can work with, he needs to visit the Hawk sometimes anyway.

If you ask him what he thinks of Avery, Lyah will answer with something like: "I feel kinda sorry for her. She must have been too focused on her career when she was younger and now she's awkward with her own love life. Gaining that much power and wealth in this town as a woman is not an easy task, and she's willing to pay to have some little company, fair and square, is that how I should put it?."

Then he would stop to think a little, and chuckle: "Lucky me, never had a real "parental figure", otherwise it would be pretty awkward to be seen with her, I admit. But, I know as long as I act professionally she won't get mad and target Robin. Also even if she does she won't cause nearly as much trouble as Kylar so I don't see any problem going out with her once every week."

[4channerguy]

HI HI HI HI! I just wanted to ask if you could do a Nagumo fic where he falls in love with reader after they took down someone twice their size with their ridiculous strength. And literally just punched the guy out of fear, they were in a mission with Sakamoto and Rion too but reader got ambushed if that makes sense😪 BASICALLY THAT MITSURI SCENE WHERE SHE'S FIGHTING THAT UPPER MOON AND SMACK THE SHIT OUT OF THE DRAGON TREE THING if you can't do it it's ok thank you for your time :33

scaredy-cat / nagumo

ngl i never expected anyone to actually put smthing in my inbox but thank you!! dear anon!! not the proudest of this fic but i think its a little goofy. sakadays is a fandom where i dont think about a lot but i love nagumo my baby girl!!! also there's not a lot of romantic things in here? i kind of rushed this fic TT also the reader's personality is more like kobeni than mitsuris because i never had really watched demon slayer that much lel i hope you enjoy it :3 xoxo (。・∀・)ノ

wc: 1036

warnings: gender neutral reader, fluff-ish, not much romantic intent but use ur imagination ^_^ xanax mentioned.

you were about to piss your pants. 

your palms were sweaty as you cradled the sheathed sword between your hands. your head was down as you looked at the ground. 

you were in a car with rion, nagumo, and taro. rion was bickering with nagumo in the front seat while taro was sitting quietly in the back with you. taro, being more observant than everyone else, sensed that you were nervous. well, you were always nervous…but he could tell it was more than being nervous. extreme anxiety perhaps. 

“...is everything okay on your end?” he asks. you nod, not being able to form a sentence properly. you were scared out of your wits. 

you were dragged by rion to join her and her crew (nagumo and taro) to a mission that you really, really, REALLY, didn’t want to go on. she bribed you with a pizza bun. out of everything. this trip was not worth a convenience store pizza bun. but you went because rion liked you and was very much your only friend. the other two however, you didn’t know that much except for rumors and whatnot floating around them. taro, was a man of few words. he wasn’t as emotionally interactive but he was kind to you so you didn’t mind. nagumo was an undoubtedly attractive tall man with dark hair and eyes. you only recognize him because he’s a classmate in one of your classes that he only shows up once a month in. you always let him borrow a pen or any weapon on you, and he was very talkative towards you. you had a feeling that he was observing you in class but you didn’t really pay mind to it. he was an assassin–a great assassin, so maybe that feeling was normal. if he weren’t an assassin, he’d make a great model or even an idol. you’d definitely be one of his fans. you were a sucker for pretty men. 

the car swerves to a stop while everyone goes silent (well, taro was always silent anyway). 

“we’re being followed,” rion quietly announces. 

you look cautiously behind you. you could sense a presence even though you didn’t visibly see anyone. you grip your sword even harder, you could feel a pool of sweat forming. rion sighs and pulls out a hidden pistol under her shirt. nagumo pulls out an swiss knife while taro face hardens as he looks behind him. 

“exit slowly,” taro says to no one in particular.

the four of you exit slowly, before any of you could react in time a gust of wind was felt. everyone turned around too late and everyone was thrown in different directions. except for you. for some reason. you were about to seriously throw up. 

“you fell into my trap,” the perpetrator sneers.

you turn around to see…the convenience store man?! you recall the time seeing this huge burly man as you were clumsily knocking everything over before ruining his display of various snacks on the counter. to be fair you were high on caffeine from an all-nighter. you also remember his face when you knocked them down, he looked astonished and angry that you almost wanted to become his employee to pay him back. but you fled out of fear that you would piss him off even more.

yeah, you were going to piss your pants.

luckily, rion swoops you out of the way before the convenience store man striked you.

“i’m really sorry about this, i never knew that this guy had a grudge on you,” she grimaces while pulling you up as she thrown both of you into the tunnel wall. “um…i’ll treat you, again, sorry.” you felt bad but before you could even accept her apology, she grins mischievously. “at least i got you out of your dorm for billions of years!” you retract your acceptance to her apology.

the man charges toward both of you before nagumo and taro block his way pulling out their respective weapons while rion pulls out her gun and shoots. as the three of them were distracted, another perpetrator behind you grabs you by the throat. 

“watch out!” nagumo yells, noticing you while the others swivel back in time with his voice. 

“sorry about this,” the monotone voice says. you turn just in time to see who was doing this to you, a woman with yellow eyes stares at you back. the janitor??? from the convenience store??? you were so, so, so, SO confused at this point. you didn’t inconvenience her (no pun intended) at all. possibly. who knows. it didn’t matter anymore anyway because you pulled out your sword and slashed her face because you were terrified. an automatic reflex that you had ever since you became an assassin.

the woman falls back in surprise and in shock as she looks up at you. a large gash on her face appears.

you were surprised too because you totally forgot you did that.

rion, nagumo, and taro were surprised (well only taro was because nagumo had a weird smile on his face while rion’s face was a mix between taro’s and nagumo’s expression).

the convince store man charges at you as the others were gawking at you, you even more terrified punch the shit out of the man with closed eyes. 

he crashes upon the tunnel wall as the others look at him in amazement and amusement. nagumo was really staring at you now, intensely trying to make eye contact with you as you looked away from this whole thing while walking briskly to the car. you needed xanax.

the car ride back to the school was quiet, but you could tell that they were somehow telepathically talking about you. you shrink into the car seat. when the car is pulled to a stop and everyone gets out, you’re stopped by nagumo as the other two walk ahead of you. he smiles with closed eyes practically copying the “^_^” emote. 

“that was amazing, i knew there was something more to you!” he pats your arm as you slightly flush. “see you around, [reader].”

you could feel your heart beat even faster than the time where you punched the shit out of that guy. 

⋆｡𖦹 °✩ 02.24.24 , do not repost or translate my content :^)

[fishsticksloser]

Reconcile pt 2

Donnie x male!reader (past)

Warnings: angst, slight comfort, closure?, a tad bit of flirting, mid 20s- early 30s

A/N: So... I had a bit of trouble with my fun idea... I'm not overly happy with this... Maybe I'll rewrite it at some point...

Previous | Next

You watch Donnie walk away, meeting up with a woman just outside the alley he'd just been in with you. She was pretty, handing him his favorite snack and drink. The way she looked at him, the way he looked at her. You then realize...

He never looked at you like that.

While your heart ached, you felt good knowing he was happy. After he dumped you, you never heard from or about him. It was nice to know that Donnie was loved and in love.

You let your gaze linger on him and his wife before you turned and left in the opposite direction. You continue down the street, lost in your own thoughts. You had truly thought your relationship with Donnie had been going well, but thinking back, it wasn't. You were young, never truly understanding what the word 'love' meant. He kept trying to slow things down, needing more time. But you were sure that was what love was.

You're thoughts led you to bump into someone else. "I'm so sorry, I seem to be bumping into everyone today." You laugh nervously, looking up to see who you bumped into this time. It was one of Donnie's brothers, he had sprouted up too.

"No problem." He chuckles, holding your shoulders like he was keeping you stable. "It's been a long time, y/n, what's on your mind?"

"Why would anything be on my mind?" You ask, looking up at the turtle. He cocks his head, smiling down at you, his eyes filled with amusement.

"Other than my brother, you and I were pretty tight." He rolls his eyes playfully, his hands gently sliding down your arms. "I can tell something's on your mind..." He sees the look on your face, his voice and smile fading. "You saw him. You saw his wife?"

"Unfortunately." You frown, looking away from the turtle in front of you, but he grabs your chin, making you look up at him.

"Listen. You have to know that as much as it hurts, it was for the best." He sighs, squeezing your cheeks between his thumb and pointer finger. "He's happy and you have a chance of being happy too."

Your eyebrows draw down as you're forced to look at him. "Are you saying I wasn't happy with Donnie?" You ask, glaring at the turtle man.

"That's pretty much exactly what I said." He shrugs, finally letting go of your face. "You came to me a lot, telling me how you wished Donnie was more... Emotionally present. And sure, he tried, but ultimately, you two weren't good for each other... You can interrupt and tell me I'm wrong at any point." He smiled smugly, knowing you had no rebuttal. "That's one way me and my dear brother differ. We compliment each other quite well."

You honestly had nothing to say, looking at the tall turtle man, lips parted slightly. The turtle still had that smug smile on his face and you wanted to wipe it off, but you really couldn't. He moves closer, his hand on your hip. His fingers lightly tap on your hip he pulls you flush against him.

"I'm sure he meant well. In fact I know he did, he felt bad about how it ended. I was left to comfort him, but he says that it was for the best. Donnie told me you deserved to be with someone who could give you what you were looking for, that could love you as much as you love them. " Leo looks down at you, his smile no longer smug, it's softer and kinder now. Leo's free hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your cheek bone. "He found his person and maybe... It's time you found yours."

꒦꒷⚔️꒷꒦

It took a while, but you moved on. You realized that everything Leo said was true. You weren't happy with Donnie, content sure. But content and happy are very different. You can be happy and content, but not content and happy.

After speaking with Leo and Donnie, you decided to disappear for a while. You worked on yourself, trying to figure out what you actually wanted, what you needed. And when you came back? Leo was waiting. He caught you up on everything, you meet Donnie's wife too. She was lovely, everything he needs.

You were welcomed back in the Hamato family like you never left. Leo hardly ever left your side, keeping you up to date, making sure you were okay.

It definitely wasn't perfect. You struggled a lot, trying to find out where you fit. But don't worry, Leo helped you the whole way. He was your rock, helping you find your place, to find what you needed.

[pedgito]

Eddie with his cute and soft sadistic girlfriend. Just feels right.

author's note: okay, but why is this so fucking cute?? i always have different interpretations of the requests people send in, so i hope it's not too far off from what you were going for.

cw: 18+ (minors, shoo!), fem!reader, threats of violence (words/weapons), sub!eddie (if you squint really fucking hard), breath-play/hair pulling (small pain kink i guess?), aggressive but soft reader (i swear), and more smut, as per usual (heed the tags)

word count: 1.9k

It wasn’t something Eddie noticed at first, just how aggressively you came to his side whenever people were talking shit about him, spreading rumors, it seemed like normal behavior, until he realized there was a different tone to the way you talked to people. 

“It’s too bad stupidity isn’t painful.” You interject one day, attempting to knock Jason down a peg during one of his rants about how this town was turning to shit and it was all because of those damned ‘devil worshipers’—god forbid you wear black, or listen to heavy metal music, or even so much as stray from the normal, clean cut image of the other people in town, because if you did, you were doomed. 

“The fuck did you say, freak?” Jason seethes, eyes squinted. “You think you’re funny?”

“Mm, yeah—actually,” You cock your head ever so slightly, shoving a painted nail in his direction, “what’s even funnier is when I sneak into your room at night to watch you sleep—I bet no one knows about Mr. Fuzzy, right?”

Low blow, but the look on his face is worth it. You found out about his stuffed bear after Chrissy mentioned something to you when they first started dating—“Should I be weirder out that he sleeps in bed with it?” She’d asked, feeling guilty for thinking oddly of it. It wasn’t that big of deal—but he was beyond his normal level of assholery today, and you could give less of a fuck (plus, creeping Jason out was always the cherry on top of an argument with him). Chrissy never told him you were friends, afraid he might view her differently. It was fine, really—Chrissy was a sweet girl and you had formed an odd, but comforting friendship with her, even if no one knew about it. 

Jason grips the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white. He wants to retaliate—physically, emotionally, his fuse was getting shorter and shorter, but so was yours. You shoot forward in an act of defiance, scaring him back into his seat.

“Pussy.” You mumble under your breath, sinking back into your own seat. 

⋆·˚ ༘ *

And then there was the time that Jason thought it would be hilarious to send one of his basketball minions to mess with Eddie, stealing his guitar pick necklace out of his van. He hardly ever took it off, but during a particularly wild sex morning between the both of you he’d set it on the dashboard—it was ridiculous, the length Jason was willing to go to make your life miserable, and in turn, Eddie’s.

You’d caught them after school the next day, huddled up for their evening practice, talking about some party—or girl, or whatever it was that they liked to brag out. 

“Hey!” You call out, fist connecting with Jason’s face. “Where the fuck is it?”

Eddie was hot on your tail, attempting to pull your arms back. But, you forced yourself out of his grip, as difficult as it may have been. Eddie was more scared of you hurting someone, than hurting yourself—but part of him couldn’t find the need to stop you now. So, when you wriggle out of his grasp, he doesn’t try to hold you back again.

“What are you talking about?” Jason retorted, trying to sound nonchalant about it. He looked meek, terrified even. “Get the fuck out of here.”

You couldn’t help but see red, grabbing onto the lapels of his letterman jacket and forcing him against the wall, even Jason was surprised by the upperhand you had. “The necklace, where is it?” Your grip tightened, squeezing around his throat slightly. 

He coughed, hands coming up to grasp at your wrist, forcing you away from him. “What fucking necklace?” He asked, dumbfounded. 

“Fuck this,” You grumbled, pulling out the pocketknife tucked into Eddie’s pants, shoving it at Jason, who immediately retreats away from you, back against the wall, “Tell me or you’re going to have one very serious problem to deal with.”

You weren’t actually going to use it, not really. You knew that Jason was easily subdued when he realized he couldn’t outwit or overpower you—he was scared. You fell into the image of the psychopath he viewed you as, it’s exactly what you needed to have him cowering in fear, embarrassing himself in front of his entire team. 

“It’s in the trash—the trash out by the front entrance of the school.” He blurts out. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Him. He was the problem. 

You took the basketball from Patrick’s hand, slicing into it with the small, sharp blade of the knife before handing it back over, staring directly at Jason.

“If I see or hear one more joke about Eddie come out of your mouth, it’ll be the last thing you say.”

⋆·˚ ༘ *

“You know you don’t have to act like that.” Eddie tells you, curled up against you on the sheets of his bed. “I can handle it.”

“But you don’t, you just let them say all of this shit, even when it’s not true.” You couldn’t understand why it didn’t upset him, not with how strongly it upset you. But, you cared about Eddie, that’s where your weakness lies. “It’s not fair.”

“I stopped caring a long time ago.” His face is blank, staring up at his ceiling. “That shit doesn’t even faze me anymore—it used to, but you just have to embrace that shit, you know.”

“Yeah, I think I might’ve scared Jason into pissing his pants.” Eddie laughed, hand absently stroking your thigh from where it was resting on top of his lap. “Ever since I turned him down freshman year, it’s like he can’t stand the fact that I chose you and not him.”

“Well, good thing you chose me.” Eddie smiles fondly, maneuvering you until you’re resting over him, arms folded over his chest, chin resting against your hands as you stared down at him. “I really don’t think he could handle you.”

“And you can?” Eyebrow raised slightly in amusement, watching Eddie’s expression change. You knew that look. “Prove it.”

⋆·˚ ༘ *

“So fuckin’ tight,” Eddie groans out, fingers in a vice grip around the curves of your waist, watching the way his dick disappeared inside of you, again and again, as you moved frantically above him. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

“Not your sweetheart, Eddie.” You gasped out, the palm of his hand coming down on your ass in a rough slap, bound to leave a mark. His shirt is bunched high up his chest, both of you too impatient to bother taking it off. You twist your fingers in the fabric, using it to rock yourself down onto him, Eddie just as eager as he lifted himself up, hitting something deep inside that had you pulling tighter, moaning out his name, the crisp air doing nothing to cool your feverish body.

“Come on, baby.” Eddie begs, fingers tracing lines up your body, over the sensitive skin of your stomach; a slow, tantalizing trace around your nipple, and then the other, until his fingers were a few inches from the nape of your neck, winding it your hair and pulling it taut. “What’s wrong with sweetheart?”

You would never get over that. 

You laugh softly, feeling the tinge of pain as your neck strained back. Eddie was observing you, still while somehow encompassing the softness he always held with you. 

“You better watch that mouth,” It’s a playful warning; but a warning, nonetheless. Eddie liked to fight back, he always did. 

“Or what?” His free hand came up to run along the slope of your lips, finger dragging down your bottom lip teasingly, until Eddie was forcing his pointer finger inside the wet heat of your mouth, waiting a few seconds before adding another. “Can’t shut me up, not when you’re bouncing on my, fuck—my dick, like this.”

He’s close, his voice tightening, thighs flexing underneath you. You’d spent enough time learning the signs, learning his body. He groaned at the faint squeeze of your walls against his dick, a careful warning that if he kept it up, this would all be over sooner than you both wanted it to be. 

Your hand follows the lines of his chest, up along his neck, moving the thin material of his shirt out of the way and wrapping your delicate fingers around his throat. It was a light touch, barely any pressure at all. Eddie closes his eyes, nodding slightly. He wanted it.

“Let’s test that,” Your voice is dripping with sweetness, but laced with a faint trace of warning, “ready?”

He nods again, hand still in a vice grip, wrapped up in your hair. He’s staring at your breasts, shamelessly, but you needed his attention. You two always had boundaries, despite how far you would take it—you both always had an out, never push the other too far. It was a sacred rule that you both promised to abide by. “Need to hear you, babe—say it.”

“Yes, fuck—yeah, I’m ready.” 

You apply pressure, the lightest, tiniest bit—feeling the pace of Eddie’s thrust slow, losing himself in the feel of your hand around his throat, his dick buried inside of you—so fucking deep, you thought. It was the only thing dragging your focus away from him, the feeling of being full. 

He breathes out, lips curving up into a smirk—he enjoyed it way too much. “More,” His hand grips your hair tighter, the other squeezing your ass as he lifts you up and slams you back down, “I can take it.”

More pressure, his hips faltering in their pace—“I didn’t tell you to stop fucking me,” His eyes slowly connect with yours, “More?”

Eddie nods, whimpering out a soft—“Yeah.”, as his nails dug into your skin, leaving faint crescent shaped marks. Your fingers tighten a fraction—but Eddie can’t make it, the feeling of you around him, all over him—“I’m close, babe.”

You nod, quickly removing your hand from his throat, allowing him to flip you both over. Eddie rearranged your legs easily, knees forced to your chest as he fucks up into you, leaving you to do nothing but take it—crying out from every inch of you being consumed, desperately grasping onto Eddie’s arm.

His hand sneaks between your legs, helping you fall apart beneath him, knowing exactly what you needed. “Good girl.” He murmurs, mouthing along the line of your collarbone, “So cute when you come like that—fuck, love those little sounds you make.”

If there was anyone to soften your hard exterior, it was Eddie. It was always Eddie. It doesn’t take much longer for him to come undone either, groans muffled into your skin, hands gripping onto your for dear life, afraid if he let go he might not make it back.

When he finally recovers, he has the nerve to look amused, a smile creeping onto his face, “Good girl,” His hand brushes a few stray hairs out of your face, “that one’s okay?” You nod, bottom lip pulled between your teeth. “Got it, no more sweetheart.”

“I’m not sweet, Eddie.” It was a fair statement, the description didn’t fit. “I never have been.”

Eddie laughs softly, hand curling around the back of your neck to tilt your lips up to meet his own, tongue swirling into your mouth, pulling a soft squeal out of you when his hand dives lower, squeezing at your ass. 

“And I don’t want you to be.” Eddie never tried to change you or force you to act a certain way. He wanted you for what you were and how strongly you protected the people you care about. Eddie was the only one who’s ever cracked the surface, he knew all of you. The soft center, the hard edges—it didn’t matter to him. “I love you, baby.”

Your face softened, finger coming up to trace the outline of his nose. “I love you too.”

[mudinyourshoes]

I'm having so much fun watching Li Xun trying to drive Zhu Yun away by being mean to her while he's simultaneously amused, annoyed, and admiring of her professional competence and her efforts to corral him into behaving. Emotionally, he's being pulled in six different directions. Meanwhile, she's like a javelin.

[eyesaremosaics]

When Dora Maar died on 16 July 1997 at the age of 89, few people seemed to notice. It took the French newspaper Le Monde – in her home country – 10 days to publish anything. And when journalists did cotton on, they didn’t seem to think Maar was the story. The New York Times called her “a muse of Picasso” and the “principal model for many of his so-called weeping women portraits in the late 30s and early 40s”. The Independent, while admitting that Maar had been an artist in her own right, suggested that she would nonetheless be “remembered as the most poignant of Pablo Picasso’s mistresses”.

Forget that she’d also been a major surrealist photographer, one of the few women in that circle, and that she was still painting into her 80s. For critics, she was Picasso’s Weeping Woman – the eternally spurned mistress and muse. Maar herself bitterly resented being regarded as a sort of art-world Miss Havisham, the subject of someone else’s picture. “All [Picasso’s] portraits of me are lies,” she once said. “Not one is Dora Maar.”

Not before time, the Weeping Woman is having the last laugh. After a spell at the Pompidou in Paris, a major retrospective is heading to London’s Tate Modern then Los Angeles. The largest exhibition of its kind yet staged, it features nearly 300 objects: photographs, photomontages, advertising mock-ups, self-portraits, watercolours, oil landscapes and still lives. Few of these objects have been exhibited before, and certainly not on this scale. The sense is of a curtain being pulled back. Forget those Picasso portraits: here is how Dora Maar actually wanted to be seen.

Born Henriette Théodora Markovitch in Paris in 1907, to a French mother who owned a fashion boutique and a father who was a Croatian architect, her upbringing was multicultural. The family relocated to Buenos Aires when she was three, and she spent her childhood shuttling between Europe and South America, taking her first photographs on the sea journeys between. She trained as a painter in Paris, but found herself drawn to photography in the 1920s, becoming friendly with Henri Cartier-Bresson and Brassaï.

“She was very ambitious,” says her biographer, Victoria Combalia. “She wasn’t sure which direction she was going in, but she had such energy.”

In 1936 she met Picasso, and seems to have decided that the painter, nearly 30 years older, was her next project. The story of the encounter that turned them into lovers has been much mythologised. Legend has it that Maar sat in the famous literary watering hole, the Cafe les Deux Magots, playing a game where she stabbed a knife between her fingers to excite Picasso’s attention.

Whatever the truth, Combalia suggests that the striking thing is the way it suggests that she, not he, was in charge. “She wanted to seduce him, I’m sure. The whole scene with the knife is like a sadistic joke, almost a performance.”

Yet the balance soon tipped the other way. Picasso was also having a long-running affair with Marie-Thérèse Walter, which he refused to break off. He seems to have taken a perverse thrill in making Walter and Maar compete for his affections, describing a story where they came to blows in his studio as “one of my choicest memories”. Having initially painted Maar as a nymph or a bird, his portraits begin to show her in tears, notably the excruciating Weeping Woman (1937), now in Tate’s permanent collection, in which she seems to dissolve before our eyes.

Maar’s own artistic response is similarly hard to look at, though in quite different ways. A painting of hers from the same year, The Conversation, shows her and Walter sitting next to each other, almost in mirror image. Walter looks out, passive and inscrutable; Maar has her back to us, face hidden.

Yet while the relationship was emotionally punishing, it was productive. 1937 was also the year that Picasso painted Guernica, and Maar – as well as teaching him darkroom techniques – agreed to photograph the process of its creation. Indeed, it seems likely that his decision to depict that particular atrocity came from Maar, who was far more politically engaged. Not only does its style – severe black-and-white, almost photographic in its pitiless detail – borrow from her work, she actually painted a small section of it.

“He trusted her,” says Tate Modern director Frances Morris, who interviewed Maar when the latter was in her 80s. “As much as being a sexual or emotional relationship, it was a collaborative one.”

When their relationship finally fell apart in 1945, Maar was devastated and suffered a brief breakdown, intensified by the death of her mother. The guilt-stricken Picasso helped her buy a house in Provence, where she spent an increasing amount of her time. Catholicism began to occupy her life; rumours circulated – fanned by her former partner – that she’d gone mad, or become a recluse.

The truth is different, Combalia says: Maar kept making art, producing textile designs and devoted more time to painting. She also travelled, and continued to exhibit through the 50s and 60s. It’s also not true that she abandoned photography, as some claim. Though she made fewer photographs after the break with Picasso, she continued to experiment, crafting a late series of photograms (photographic prints made without a camera) in the 80s, as if reconnecting with her younger artistic self.

Maar never regained the profile she had experienced in her 20s, yet it’s wrong to say she disappeared. It was a slow withdrawal, and came about largely because Maar wanted to focus on her art. “In letters she writes, ‘Well, I don’t want to be social, I want to do my own thing. I have to paint,’” says Combalia

Morris, who visited Maar at her apartment in Paris in 1990, agrees. “It was an artist’s home. Every surface, every wall, spoke of that. There were easels and lots of canvases in her studio, covered in polythene. She was still working.”

What was Maar like to meet? Morris laughs: “When she answered the door, I thought at first it was the maid, this little old woman.” But she was soon struck by Maar’s forcefulness. “She was terrifically strong, you could see that. I think that’s what it was, in a way: making art was more important to her than how she was perceived.”

“She was very curious about the world,” Combalia adds. “She was always asking me what I was doing in Paris, what the name of my boyfriend at the time was. She loved gossip.”

Despite Maar’s talents being overlooked during her lifetime, Combalia believes we should be grateful that we can see so much work, and that so much of it is so good. “She really deserves to be known. We owe her that justice.”

[harryjpotter-shitpost]

I can give Dudley the redemption arch because he was a child following after his parents (very abusive behaviors) but people are really defending Petunia and Vernon???? What the fuck?? Like it pretty much says in the first sentence of the whole series that they’re assholes! And it is canon that both Vernon AND Petunia were physically, emotionally, and mentally abusive to Harry until the last moment he left private drive.

The only reason I can give Dudley any kind of redemption or forgiveness is because we see him change in the books after the Dementor attack. I don’t think he and Harry will ever be close or very friendly, but I can see them having a civil relationship at least for their children. Or even just to make up for their shitty childhood that they shared together, as Dudley was also abused too. But this would definitely be after years of therapy and trying to make amends, it wouldn’t happen until many years after the war was over.

You would be surprised on how many posts I’ve crossed where people almost worship Petunia and say that Vernon is the one who forced her to hate her sister!!!

I believe that Dudley deserves redemption cause as you said he was a young person living in a very toxic environment. However, I’m always rather conflicted on how his relationship with Harry is post-war. I’ve read a few fics that had different perspectives on what their relationship have come to, and they’re all very interesting! But I’m not set out on one opinion. Sometimes I think Harry would try to leave it all behind him, but sometimes I think that maybe they’d reconnect as Dudley was obviously a very huge part of Harry’s life (even though it was horrendous) and the same goes the other direction. But I’m sure of one thing; I don’t think they’ll ever have a “close brotherhood” kind of relationship. Maybe sending presents over the holidays or reconnecting every few years, but never close, yk?

But anyways let me get back to my rant about Petunia. It’ll be under the cut :)

CW: mentions of abuse

Let’s get one thing straight: Vernon did not make her hate Harry nor was he pulling the strings in that house and the abuse regarding his nephew. It was Petunia. She collected ALL the hatred in that house and made sure it was taken out on Harry. Why? Because she’s a petty, small-minded and disgusting woman who abused the power she had over a child. All that to let out some of the childish jealousy she had against her DEAD little sister.

Here are some quotes from the books to use as a starting point:

“Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn’t have a sister,”

“They didn’t want Dudley mixing with a child [Harry] like that.”

“she [Petunia] always got so upset at any mention of her sister.”

"He [Vernon] cleared his throat nervously. ‘Er — Petunia, dear — you haven’t heard from your sister lately, have you?’ As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn’t have a sister. ‘No,’ she said sharply.”

“Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he’d heard the name ‘Potter.’ He decided he didn’t dare.”

“‘Harry’ [Said Petunia]. ‘Nasty, common name, if you ask me.’”

So these quotes are from the first chapter of the first book (Philosopher’s Stone).

As you can see, pretending the Potters don’t exist is a mutual decision from both sides and it seems that Petunia is more bothered by the mention of her sister than Vernon is because when he tries to bring up the Potters his main concern is upsetting Petunia. Never once does he mention his own disgust with them when trying to bring them up. No, it’s Petunia’s reaction he’s worried about. This doesn’t seem like a behavior of someone who is forcing his wife to hate her sister.

If anything it seems to me that Petunia have explained to her husband how much she dislikes the mention of her sister (and her sister’s entire family too) and so Vernon got the memo that the Potters should never be brought up. Which shows that Petunia is the one who fuels the hatred for the Potters in their household.

Now I’m not saying that Vernon is completely innocent, no he’s hates the Potters too. But his is more personal. After the whole double date incident when he felt that James was taking the mickey out of him and undermining his power. A bully like Vernon who likes to show off his money and power being insulted by a teenager made Vernon hate James’ guts.

“…James was amused by Vernon, and made the mistake of showing it. Vernon tried to patronise James, asking what car he drove.”

“Vernon could not tell whether he was being made fun of or not, and grew angry. The evening ended with Vernon and Petunia storming out of the restaurant.” -Pottermore

And I think that Vernon usually likes to pretend that the people he hates don’t exist, he’s way to high to be bothered by a cocky teenager who ‘doesn’t have a future’. He feels way too superior. During his wedding he made sure not to give James any attention, but made sure to return the humiliation he felt during the double date.

“Vernon refused to speak to James at the reception, but described him, within James’ earshot, as ‘some kind of amateur magician’.” -Pottermore

After Vernon obviously felt satisfied with his comeback, he never gives James a glance.

That’s why when mentioning the Potters he doesn’t even mention the double date incident because technically who’s that James next to him?? No, his wife’s reaction is the main concern.

And that’s the difference between the hate Vernon has towards the Potters and Petunia’s hatred. Whereas Vernon hates James specifically for undermining him and his money and power, Petunia hates them all because she ‘knows’ she’s less superior and special. This fuels her jealousy and anger towards them.

Therefore; Vernon’s ultimate superiority and Petunia’s ultimate loathing.

And you can see that Petunia already has it out for Harry even though she hasn’t met him yet; calling his name “Nasty”. Now I know some of you might interpret her sentence as Petunia criticizing her sister’s choice of names, but if that was the case she would’ve claimed the boy’s misfortune of having such a name or the kid’s misfortune on having parents like the Potters. But no, she mainly focused on the child. Which gives the impression that she’s disliked Harry the moment she knew about him.

“she [Petunia] received from Lily and James the announcement of Harry’s birth, and after one contemptuous look, Petunia threw it in the bin.” -Pottermore

These things sets the foundations for her dislike towards Harry. So when the moment comes where she actually meets him, he will be connected to the ‘detestable’ announcement and the ‘nasty’ name.

Then the times comes where she has to handle that child’s responsibilities and raise him.

And she did take him in, no one’s denying that, but this happened:

“She did it grudgingly, and spent the rest of Harry’s childhood punishing him for her own choice.” -Pottermore

She spent the rest of Harry’s childhood punishing him for her own choice.

She took him in. She hated every single moment of having to raise him. So she made sure he was punished for it.

If that is not abuse as some people like to say, then what is exactly???? Punishing an innocent child for taking him in? Are you guys serious?

That’s why her character disgusts me so much. I cannot stand her at all. Because if anything this is a psycho level of behavior. A sane person wouldn’t dream of hurting a small animal let alone a child. Her nephew.

And as for Vernon’s hatred towards Harry it stems out of the humiliation he felt when he met James. The fact that Vernon made sure to return that humiliation during the wedding satisfied Vernon and he didn’t have to think about James anymore. But Harry ( the carbon copy of James) serves as a constant reminder of that feeling, so his hatred towards Harry stems out from his injured masculinity. As Pottermore says:

“Uncle Vernon’s dislike of Harry stems in part, like Severus Snape’s, from Harry’s close resemblance to the father they both so disliked.”

So ya this is my rant about them. Sorry if this is all over the place, English isn’t my first language and this topic pisses me off so much🙂.

And I’d like to conclude that I hate them both, but hate Petunia at tad bit more :)

[what-do-you-mean-you-ate-it]

Nine Lives

CW: discussions of suicide and suicidal ideation. The Sandman fanfic, Fix-it for the Wake, ergo cannon divergent. Dreamling feels, but Hob is at the ren-faire with Gwen, and Death of the Endless gives him a present. I have used up my whole year's supply of cuteness on this fic.

Read here on AO3; or here:

If Morpheus is the King of Cats surely he has Nine Lives

Hob sighs as he nurses his too good beer. He’s been morose, passive aggressive, superior, and short with Gwen. She deserves better, she deserves to be with the man she thinks she is dating, Robbie, educated, moderately wealthy, emotionally aware, attentive, and born in the 20th century. Hob clutches the pint mug with both hands and tries to scry its depths. He is nursing not only a pint of beer, but a case of despair, both of which—or at least the despair—he should set aside, and instead find Gwen and a fine old time. But if he goes out there he will need to not be an arse at a Ren-Faire that has little attachment to accuracy. No one believes him though. He is here for Gwen and she didn’t bring him here to make a fool of himself. Best to keep a handle on how much beer he drinks. The beer is better than it was those years ago. But while the beer is smooth and sweet his thoughts are bitter this evening, and lonely enough that he wishes for the piss that passed for ale that evening. There is a different Dream now, or so he thinks. It’s not the same. He’s not the same. Hob is lonely for his friend and homesick for 1389. He takes a swig of his too good beer, and then startles.

Death looks lovely. She always does, but more so this afternoon. He thinks of taking her hand, asking for a last dance, it would be a good way to go out, dancing with a beautiful woman. They would find his body here later, a tragedy, they would call it, dead at only thirty-two! That should raise a smile. It doesn’t.

Hob doesn’t remember Dream’s - Morpheus’ - wake clearly, but he knows that he damn well could have. He should have been told, properly, that Morpheus was gone. Morpheus should have told him about how bad it was getting. Hob knew something was up. He didn’t ask Morpheus, he didn’t want to cause spook him again, have him run off again. Morpheus should have told him what was happening. Hob should have said more, been direct, blunt, overly curious. There were an awful lot of things that should have been properly said. No one told him, he was left to his own suppositions. Could he ask her if Morpheus were as dead as he would be should he ask her for her hand? She looks lovely today

But he needs it confirmed. “It’s true? Isn’t it?” Hob says to Death, “he’s gone?” He can’t help the question in his voice. Hob knows Death, so he has said, he knows what she will say.

Instead, she rummages in her shoulder bag. Then her face lights up, and with two hands she reaches in, she smiles brightly and broadly, and she pulls a small black blob of fur from the depths of her bag, and hands it over to Hob. He doesn’t have time to refuse

It is soft, it is small, it is rumbling with purrs and life and Hob holds it gently cupped in large strong immortal hands. He raises it to his face, not kissing noses of new acquaintances be damned, he is over 650 years old, today his heart just won’t stop breaking, and he’s damned if he’s not going to give a little love to a little cat fluff. He has plenty of spare love, love that was meant for Morpheus, best that love find a new home now. Hob is looking at the soft new thing, knowing that he will keep and protect it for as long as it lives, and his heart is already trying to break again.

Then the little thing opens its eyes.

not the blue of seas nor the blue of skies, not the blue of cornflowers or topaz, or bluebells, nor lobelia, nor flax, nor hydrangeas, not bluebirds, or Lourie birds, or blue-tits, or blue jays or herons or swallows, or tanzanite or opal or sapphire

Hob runs a hand over the kitten’s little fuzzy black head, rubs a finger along its puffy cheek, he smiles at it, touches a finger to its nose briefly, and then plants a kiss on the top of it’s head. The kitten purrs, giant whirling purrs. Happy purrs.

blue of the night sky lit with hope

There is a moment in this world and Hob and a blue-eyed cat are in it.

Hob brings the kitten tight against his chest, hopes it will be comforted by his steady heart. He doesn’t know how long he has been standing there. He should go find Gwen, she will be looking for him. But for now he just holds the kitten tight. Forever, he thinks, forever.

Fin. Thanks for reading!

[nnnyxie]

KICKS DOWN YOUR DOOR SWAT TEAM MILITARY STYLE.

Did someone say ,, blueberry pop tarts? Well guesswhat , I'VE GOT EM!! FRESH FROM THE HARVEST!!!!!! Tosses these in your general direction, dabs, and grapples away.

leo 🫐

Leo, who shudders and feels his hands twitch– a nervous tick– when April returns to their (relocated and refurbished ✨) lair with you in tow. You, in all your beaten and bruised and battered and broken renown.

Leo, who then and there, swears to protect you with his entire life.

Leo, who takes on a softer tone of voice and tries to distract you with sweet jokes as he moves to patch you up. He’s the residential Team Medic, after all. But Donnie's there too, and that's comforting. As he moves and flitters about you, he tells you everything he was doing as he did it - an effective distraction tactic and who to pull it off better than him? - as he's not trying to add (the) insult (of the unknown) to injury.

He’s careful to not move too quickly, skillful and mature and with every ounce of compassionate care you needed in that moment. All while feeling a dangerous, seething anger bubble below the surface of his chest—somewhere at the center of his ninpo, disturbed and rippling with a burning urge to protect— with every uncovering of wounds on your frail body.

Leo, who watches April tuck you in when the whole ordeal is over and barely holds on until then. He’s haunted, and it shows.

He wouldn’t consider himself a vengeful person, per se – and the surge of protectiveness he had for you, a kid he’s admittedly never met before (then why did you seem so devastatingly familiar?), was uncanny. A bit uncomfortable, in all honesty. Yes, he loves kids and yes he’s a hero but. This? This was different. You were different. And as much as he wants to know why . . . he's content to just help you for now. It's all he can do.

Leo, who busies himself with fixing you a plate with fresh pizza: Hawaiian and- if you weren't so adventurous in the tastebud department- classic pepperoni, and barely dodges Mikey's wooden spoon cracking over his head, the orange box nagging about 'nutrients' this and 'any other time but NOW with that junk' that. But he still slips the plate on the tray alongside Mikey's chicken-vegetable-pasta soup, crackers, and small separate cups for ginger ale and water.

Leo, who [once you're settled in and become delightfully comfortable with them, obvi] is definitely a little clingy. Not in a bad way though! He always asks permission, respects your space and boundaries – even helps you to establish them if you have trouble saying no – and doesn’t take it to heart if you decline, but on the bright side that you do? He loves to snuggle up with you. He ruffles + smooths your hair, chuckling fondly when you whine and either a) bat him away or b, his personal favorite) indulge in his shenanigans and adopt the cutest pout on your chubby little face. Hugs you a lot, too. (Only if you’re comfy!) He really likes giving you reassurance and comfort in any and every way possible, whether physically or emotionally. He can be that stronghold for you. He wants to be that for you. You learn a lot from and with him.

Leo, who's a fruit (HAHAHA) roll-up of: Fun Reckless Uncle! :D™, Doting Motherly Figure read: just mother #2, Annoying but Necessary Big Brother and The Dad-est Dad all in one! 

. . . Leo, who has to be held back by both Donatello and Casey when confronted with your former foster mother as they finalize the paperwork at the adoption facility — the witch was spitting the most dastardly things at and about you (thank Pizza Supreme you weren't there), and if Leo threw all his moral principles out the window for the sake of you— his little cielo— then that was nobody's business except him and the involved party, wasn't it? 

🟦🟪 (Donnie got her back for it. They both share a fist-bump whilst walking away from the *metaphorical* explosion behind them. Don't mess with the Disaster Twins OR their Dumpster Baby.)

Leo, who takes it upon himself to teach you swordsmanship, and is absolutely floored when the day comes that you best him in a sparring match – a day that comes way quicker than he could've imagined. You were really something, weren't you? 

"Clever little charmer. I'm so proud of you."

Leo, who denies ANY and ALL astute observations ACCUSATIONS that he CRIED when they dropped you off at SCHOOL for your first day after having you all to themselves for several months and no he was NOT an “OVER-EMOTIONAL MOTHER HEN”, DONNIE. D:<

Leo, light-hearted jokester Leo, who does a complete 180 to somethin' murderous if he discovers you getting picked on—goodness forbid bullied. It isn't limited to just school, either! Some jerk tries to mess with you in public? Leo's right up in their face(s) with his odachi at the ready. Though his intimidating aura, lower, rougher tone of voice and some choice words are enough to send them scattering.

It's no doubt that the whole Clan is super protective over you, but Leo? He's a unit of his own. His Mama Bear Instincts is right up there with Raph and April and it's petrifying: deadly glares that pin you to the spot and mean mugs paired with venom words delivered so smoothly, it takes people a moment to realize the insults, the threats, but boy do they get across. Speaking of April and/or Raph . . . if they don't get to the poor soul who decided to try you first, then guarantee it'll be Leo. Pizza Supreme knows that there'll be hell to pay once he gets to you. Nobody will ever get to you so long as he's around. You can guarantee your sweet little cachetes of that.

Leo, who especially loves it when it’s you, him, and Casey hanging out. He adores all-around family time with everyone of course, but when it's just you three? He feels a different kind of fulfillment. It's foreign, but not unwelcome. It's ancient, yet young. It's sweet, blissful, and so, so warm. He is perfectly content to just, watch you both bond. To also bond with you. His familia. His little treasures. His kids.

Leo, who — if you weren't already fluent — casually teaches you Spanish just for the heck of it, but is highly amused and more than slightly touched when you pick it up really well and use it in everyday dialogue. You both hold entire conversations in Spanish and definitely pretend to talk smack about the others just to mess with them. Even if they can understand everything you're saying. In actuality, you’re probably just reciting unnecessarily complicated ice cream and pizza combination orders while giving your target the deg deg expression. He’s escaped from the playful wrath of his siblings with you in tow more than once, and y'all's combined laughter makes his heart light and burst with joy.

Leo, who tortures you on the daily (hourly, more like) with endless puns and dad jokes. ALBEIT ,, if you somehow enjoy them? Goad him on, even? Ay, mi burbujita, you've got him wrapped around your cute lil' finger.

—but if you ever start reciprocating?

Oh. It’s over for the entire clan. You bounce wise-cracking wit off of each other like an endless game of verbal tennis! You’re both unstoppable. It's terrifying. Maybe even more so than the Invasion (/lh). Donnie is side-eyeing the flash drive with concealed backup plans for the new escape pods and a clandestine bunker hidden deep in the depths of New Jersey’s sewers. There’s nowhere anyone can hide. You both crave the chaos, and the chaos craves you both. Then. The day comes when you turn the tables and 😱OUT-JOKE😱 Leo with some clever jokey-joke of your own!! It's a groundbreaking moment that renders him absolutely speechless. — Bro’s flabbergasted. Bamboozled. Taken aback. Led astray. He’s going through withdrawals. He’s writhing like a salted slug. He’s frothing at the mouth. How could it have come to this? But most of all? He bows at your feet in complete and utter reverence. Your TRUE Hamato honor was gained this day. No, no- forget the ninpo that swirls beautifully around you in a mystic aura. No- not the designated weapon tailored specially for you. This is what makes a legend. You will forever have his respect. like you didn’t already jsjsj he’s so silly. (For all his theatrics, NOTHING can belie that he’s stupidly proud and it all shows on his cute, dum-dum face.)

— bro’s flabbergasted. Bamboozled. Taken aback. Led astray. He’s going through withdrawal-like symptoms. He’s writhing like a salted slug. He’s frothing at the mouth. How could it have come to this? 



Leo, who is indeed wrapped around your little finger, but he teaches and guides you as well as he can. He teaches and guides you well. 🩵 

Leo, who can't help but feel this was always meant to be. And when Casey opens his big mouth (/aff), he can only grin warmly when he realizes that yes. You, you were always meant to be.

He loves you endlessly. His tesoro, you will always be.

SO HAPPY I DIDNT LOSE MY INBOX REQUESTS SKSGSK

honestly i have nothing to add onto bc it’s like you crawled inside my brain and picked at every little dumpster child thought /pos

[anantaru]

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗟𝗢𝗜𝗗 & 𝗬𝗢𝗥 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝗧𝗪𝗢 !

˖˚˳⊹ yandere loid and yor (separate) part two : spyxfamily x gn! reader

˖˚˳⊹ warnings: toxic relationship : yandere behavior (not detailed) : cursing : angst

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗟𝗢𝗜𝗗

Why were you holding onto this relationship so desperately? The once loving and affectionate feelings you grew for Loid were long gone, replaced with daily arguments, followed by empty promises that you both knew, would never be held.

"Loid." you sobbed, still, your voice clear and direct focused on him, "This isn't normal." was all you choked out for his expression to fade away into something different. Obviously, he wasn't enjoying this conversation at all. Loid pursed his lips as his eyebrows twitched in annoyance.

"Huh." he huffed, eyes sharply watching your every movement as you sat on the couch in front of him. Hugging your legs closely against your body, head resting on your knees. Small sobs stifled yet hearable, "You, you heard me." rubbing your eyes to get rid of the blur you took a gulp of air to steady yourself.

"This isn't working anymore." Nothing could explain the sadness you felt at that discovery. Body language announced that he was emotionally reacting – something his facial expression didn't betray.

Loid clicked his tongue, "How amusing." his body rippled with angry power that made you want to keep your distance. But, you were unable to do so, he stomped angrily towards your frame and placed both arms next to your head, making it unable for you to even move a single muscle nor withstand his intense glare.

"Please, (y/n), say that again." he rolled these very words off his tongue with such ease, one by one, making sure it would be engraved in your brain. He purses his lips to fight off an incoming smile. It's not like you didn't see it, but Loid found it amusing how whenever he acted this way, you would shut your little mouth so quickly, that he can't help himself but laugh on how much control he had over you.

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗬𝗢𝗥

"Yor." your voice sounded so serious and sad that the chirping of the birds outside were silenced at once. "We don't work anymore, I can't-" you locked gazes, her intense dark eyes boring right through you. Warmth and cold shot over your cheeks, a shiver running up your spine as Yor advanced towards you.

You, who were currently standing next to the doorframe, fingers fiddling of being so unbelievably anxious, lower lip in between your teeth. "What?" Struck with realization over your mistake, you drop your gaze to the ground in embarrassment, feeling the warmth invading your body.

"Hey now." Yor's calloused hands cupped your cheeks and her thumbs brushed lightly against them, caressing them and you could've sworn her touch was something else than bad. It was caring, loving but why, why couldn't she change for the greater good. "This is toxic, don't you realize that yourself, Yor?" You blink, your voice cutting through your clouded mind like a knife.

Your hands, reached out for her slender wrists and pulling them down, holding her hands with your shaking ones. Quite surprised to say the least, that Yor even let you do that. Never had you felt such an acute and thoroughly strong emotion. However, the silence that occurred in the air soon was cut short when Yor, and it was a sudden movement, took your fragile hands in hers again and pushed you closer to her warm chest.

You looked up, chin resting on her chest as she smiled down at you. You tried to move away so desperately but it was in vain because Yor already looped her arm around your waist, securing you and making sure you weren't able to leave her or get out of her hold.

"(Y/n)." She slowly lowered her head, and when her lips touched yours, they were warm and firm. For a moment you surrendered to her warm lips and secure embrace, clinging to her as your heart stepped up pace. "You're mine, there is no breaking up (y/n)." she replied while refraining from your face, a coy smile dancing on her lips.

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