Tumgik
#and sometimes the thing they’re calling people out for isn’t even a problem
Text
Make Me Write ask answered
162 📖 for @inell!
---
When they arrive at the fire station, Eddie is indeed in rough shape. Scratched, damp, and wearing a heating blanket. 
“Buck, why is my dad dressed like a baked potato?” Chris asks nervously when he sees him. 
Eddie is sitting in the back of an ambulance, looking a little sleepy. The other paramedic - the one that isn’t Chimney - is talking to him. 
“It’s keeping him warm,” Buck explains. “Why don’t you go see him? That’ll make him even warmer.”
“DAD!” Chris calls out, heeding Buck’s advice. He picks up his pace a little in Eddie’s direction. 
“CHRISTOPHER!” Eddie calls back once he sees him. He hops out of the ambulance, dropping the warming blanket, and runs across the engine bay floor towards his son. When he reaches him, he scoops him up into the biggest, tightest, most loving hug Buck has ever seen. Buck honestly feels a little choked up, watching it. 
He doesn’t want to intrude on their moment, so he hangs back, holding onto Christopher’s backpack. After a minute of this hug, of Eddie speaking quietly to his son, he finally looks in Buck’s direction. He sets Christopher down, strides over to where Buck is, and hugs him too. Just quick, with a clap on the back, but it’s still a hug. It catches Buck off-guard a little.
“Thank you,” Eddie says emphatically. “Thank you so much for taking care of him.”
“No problem, really,” Buck says when Eddie pulls away. “Chris kept me in line. Made sure I knew the right answers to American history. Really he did me a favor.”
Eddie’s smile in response is practically glowing. “I owe you one, man.”
“Hey, don’t mention it. Just glad you’re okay.” Buck says. “Is Carla good? I couldn’t reach her either.”
Eddie nods. “Her dad isn’t well. She was visiting him today.”
“Oh,” Buck replies. “That’s… That’s too bad.”
Eddie takes a deep breath. “Listen, man, can I buy you a beer sometime? As a thank you?”
Buck… Well, for some reason, even though it’s totally not necessary, Buck really likes the sound of that.
“Yeah,” Buck nods. “Yeah, that’d be great. My number should be in your phone from when I tried to call you.”
“Perfect,” Eddie smiles. 
x.
It’s way too much fun. 
Buck meets Eddie at a sports bar. They grab beers. Watch a game. It’s probably the most fun Buck’s had in a while. Without work or a kid in between them, they connect as just people. And it turns out, they connect pretty well. They have a similar sense or humor and like a lot of the same things. Eddie listens when Buck goes on accidental tangents about subjects he finds interesting. Buck is genuinely delighted with stories about Christopher. They just sort of… Mesh?
By the end of the night, they’re making plans to hang out again, and Buck’s stomach can’t quite shake a fluttery, swooping feeling. Something that he’s only really felt before… Well, on dates. 
Which is strange for Buck because, well… Eddie is a man? And Buck didn’t know that another man could make him feel that way. 
Which probably means… Something. 
xi.
Buck and Eddie manage to hang out two more times by themselves, and once with Christopher, even, before the world shuts down. And Buck goes from the exciting thrill of a new friend/maybe crush to working alone in an empty library, filling online orders, and putting them in sterile pickup areas, with nothing at all to look forward to. 
It’s awful. It’s depressing. Buck genuinely struggles to get out of bed in the morning for the entire month of April. 
His sister is pregnant, and she can’t even stay with Chimney because of the risk. She’s alone. Buck’s alone. Everyone is boxed off from each other. 
They keep in contact. Eddie and Buck. Text. Social media. Buck does a few virtual homework help sessions with Chris out of working hours. But it’s weird. It’s like they almost had a friendship or something, and it just kind of gets stalled. 
All the nothingness means Buck has time. On and off work. He has nothing but time. It reminds him of the early years of his undergrad, where the coursework wasn’t challenging or interesting enough to keep his mind busy. He’d had to find ways to fill the time. Partying. Drinking. Sex. Working out. Those had been his options, then. Apart from working out, he doesn’t want to replicate the rest in a global pandemic. Which means Buck is left with way more hours to fill than even in undergrad. 
And he’s a librarian. So… One of the things he does to avoid going crazy? He reads. He researches. He learns. And one of the things he starts going all in on learning about? Human sexuality and attraction. Because the distance from Eddie doesn’t make Buck stop thinking about him. Doesn’t quell the curiosity, the thinking. The excitement each time a notification from Eddie lights up his phone. So Buck researches, and he tries to figure himself out. 
So, in the middle of a pandemic, where everyone is quarantined, and Buck is completely alone, he discovers he’s bisexual. Stellar timing. Really great work. Had he uncovered this little tidbit of identity earlier in his life? Maybe he’d be quarantining with a boyfriend or a husband or something cool like that. Since he’s historically fumbled all the women in his life. Who is he kidding? He’ll probably be the same with dudes. But until proven otherwise, he imagines he’ll be very smooth.
So. Bisexual. Alone in his studio apartment. Living through an unprecedented global emergency. Kind of thirsting over a man he won’t be able to see for months, and who he doesn’t even know is queer, so probably has no chance with. 
Buck is frustrated. 
He learns to cook. He buys a variety of plants. Tries and fails to learn to draw. Impulse adopts a cat; a Burmese he renames Begonia. Her previous name was Princess and to be honest she is way too relaxed for that designation. 
Nothing makes the sense of restlessness building in his chest go away. 
xii.
It’s late summer by the time he and Eddie can hang out again. At a distance. Outside, on a hike. Masks on if they get any closer. Eddie has a higher chance of infection on his job, and Buck wants to be safe. 
They fall back into their easy pattern of conversation and humor. It’s like whatever paused between them at the beginning of the year picks right back up without any issue. And Buck is relieved. Relieved and excited. Like they’re pointed towards a direction he hasn’t seen before, but is desperate to discover.
Buck tells Eddie all about the ever-changing library policies regarding the virus. Eddie tells Buck about childcare struggles. 
“With Carla caring for her dad full time, and my Abuela back in Texas, it’s been insane,” he admits. 
“And no aftercare programs at the library,” Buck says. 
“Or anywhere,” Eddie says. 
“Man, that’s rough. I’m sorry.”
“It’s… Well, single parenting is never easy. But global catastrophe certainly adds to it.”
“Hey, if-if I can help…” Buck offers, a little aimlessly. 
Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Is the library open to visitors yet?”
“Well, no,” Buck admits. “Soon, hopefully? But I mean, I can ask the head librarian - Janine - if he can, uh, sneak in. Masked up, of course.” “I mean, if he could. That’d be really helpful. He could do class from there, right?” Eddie asks. ”Only if it wouldn’t put you out!”
19 notes · View notes
DPXDC: I wanna be like most girls ghosts.
or Danny: What should I do to make my mom happy?
or ~Danny deserves a little teenage rebellion as a treat~
Maddie: I just want this damned Phantom to stop pretending to be a hero! All ghosts are pure evil, who is he trying to deceive? Danny: Oh, really? And Danny took it personally.
It’s not Danny’s fault that he’s a good kid and wants to make his parents happy. But why would he have to be a monster to make them happy? Why must they hate him to be happy?
Danny’s obsession was going crazy.
Well, when your own parents call you a monster in the face, it hurts. Why do they always believe that only their opinion is the absolute truth? They have no idea how much worse things would be if at least some of the ghosts really behaved the way Maddie and Jack think they’re supposed to. If he really is evil by nature, is there any point in fighting his own fate? They want to see him as a villain, he will become one. He will. He just needs a little help and practice. And not bring it to the level when Clockwork has to clean up his mess. Poor guy is without a vacation for how long? Couple of millennia?
Johnny 13: Sup. Danny: F*ck off, Johnny, I’m not in the mood. Busy thinking about world domination. Get out of here or I’ll call Kitty. Johnny 13: What’s wrong? You’re usually so grouchy only towards the end of the week. Danny: Nothing. Just parents. Again. They are wonderful but I can’t help but feel sometimes that they, em… Johnny 13: Suck? Danny: Right…Damn. I’m a terrible son. Maybe something is wrong with me. Johnny 13: What? No, no, dude. You’re just growing up. And you’re a little late, usually teenagers go through that stage before they graduate. Well, you’ve probably been busy with other issues, so just missed it. Danny: I wonder whose fault it is. Aren’t there ghosts who enjoyed to ruin my life in the middle of school day?
Johnny 13: Oh, bother. Anyway, you’re entering a beautiful time of emancipation, where you’re going to shape your own view of life and, along the way, to get drunk on cheap alcohol at parties, maybe to go to jail and to become the greatest disappointment to your family..And then you will be ashamed to remember it for about the next ten years. Danny: Well, it looks like I’ve already done two out of three additional things. Great success. Johnny 13: When did you get drunk? Danny: I didn’t. Johnny 13: Oh. Want to fix that? Danny: What? No. What an idiot wants to add a headache to his problems? Johnny 13: Well, your loss, then I’ll go terrorize the bars of Gotham alone and no one can stop me. Let’s see what your boyfriend will say about it. ~~~~~ Danny: Bartender, another shot of Dead Man’s Fingers, please. Red Hood: Babe, haven’t you had enough? Danny: Have you ever felt that no matter how hard you try, no matter how many sacrifices you make, in their eyes you’ll always be nothing more than a monster? Nothing more than a mistake? Oh, Death doesn’t give people like me a break. Red Hood: …I’ll have what he’s having. *gives the bartender a sign to switch the rum shots to a batburger milkshake for them, and starts talking to Danny so that he doesn’t understand Hood's scams*
~~~~~
Johnny 13: Other people’s kids are growing up so fast. It seems like yesterday he didn’t know how to shoot ectoblast, and now.. Kitty: Stop trying to make me feel bad, we’re leaving. Johnny 13: But the boy needs our support, honey boo!
~~~~~
Danny: I'm fine. Really, I am. This isn’t the first time mom’s called me a monster. She often called me that when she was upset with my behavior in my childhood. Huh, it's even funny. Jason: There’s nothing funny about that. Danny: No, you don’t understand. Looking back, I was really a very active child and didn’t know when to stop. Not surprisingly that I often annoyed my parents. They’re very busy people, and Jazz couldn’t always keep an eye on me. And I was often afraid to go to sleep alone because there were shadows in the darkness of my room. Well, I used to think they were. But I pretended everything was okay to not distract parents from work. Jason: Hey, it’s not your fault. You were a child. Obviously, kiddo requires a lot of attention, they must have understood that. You are the second child in the family, right? Danny: Well, Jazz was different. I don’t know. Anyway, I thought if the monsters behind the curtain and under the bed were just like me, well, according to my mom, you know, then they wouldn’t want to hurt me. And since they look after me, they are friends. So I kinda greeted all the suspicious noises and howls. Huh, I was a strange kid. Jason: If you smile at someone in the dark alley right now that someone is more likely to wet themselves or faint. Danny: Rude! I’m not that scary. Admit that I’m adorable. Do it right now. Jason: Stunning, darling. But still carry a gun and a knife, please. My childhood taught me that what's hiding in the dark is worth beating up. Danny: Come on, what should I be afraid of? Death? Anyway, I want to try this shit. Like, the inevitable one. Being a bad boy, you know? Hood *raises eyebrows*. Danny: Oh damn it man, I'm talking about ghostliness. I want to try to be like most of dead ones. I want to unleash my side of the trickster and the villain. But only a little bit. I have to be supervised so that things don't go too far. Would you help me, honey?
~~~~~2 hours later~~~~
Tumblr media Tumblr media
~~~~~
Goons used to expect a lot of weirdness from working with the boss.
Sometimes Bruce Wayne would go into their base and yell at the Red Hood like he's one of his kids. Of course Wayne's well-known as 'Gotta adopt them all' but the guy must really suffer from insomnia to count the Red Hood into his brood of chicks several times. Sometimes the boss would fight Robin or Nightwing over differences in morals…or for biscuits. It varied from moment to moment. Sometimes the boss caught the local street children, fed them and taught them to steal correctly. And most of the foundlings stayed with them under their protection.
To make a long story short, Red Hood is not the typical crime lord that some of them had to deal with before. Which is a blessing. Thanks Lord for the health insurance. But still the crime lord. Which means he's still scary, and sometimes deadly.
Anyway, when the boss brought in a guy who looked more civilian than any civilian in the whole Gotham and said he was going to be their intern, they thought it was a joke at first. Despite the fact that Hood was not in the habit of joking while working.
The teenager was too well-mannered and sweet to come from Crime Alley. Phil thought the guy was gonna run when he saw the first murder, Jessica didn’t think the domestic boy wouldn’t chicken out at the sight of a fight. But arguing with a boss’s orders in their profession is like asking for a bullet in the head, so these conversations were taking place outside of their boss's sight. God, how can they teach him anything? What do you take from a boy who’s only good to do the coffee run? Fenton will fall if they’ll give him something heavier than 10 pounds. And then boss will yell at them because he treats the new guy like a princess on a pea. Well, at least that’s what they thought until the boss decided to give the new guy his own assignments:
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
~~~~~
Red Hood: So, what have you learned during your internship, my young Padawan? Danny: Well, it looks like I’m gonna suck at being a criminal mastermind. I think I may have to find myself some other profession. Red Hood: Come on, you just need a little more practice. Danny: Thank you but I don’t think that’s fit my obsession that good. Don't misunderstand me, I wanna be like most ghosts. But I was wrong to go to hit that goal only base on human stereotypes about my nature. Red Hood: What a pity. The newbies just learned not to flinch when you walk in. But, to be honest, I'm not gonna miss the adrenaline-boosting roller coaster of you at work. Danny: Oh, and I guess to hold on to the concept of humanity was really stupid too. I clearly no longer fit in and I’m finally ready to accept that. So, hopefully, if you get into trouble, you can rely on my ghostliness and call for help. I am the spirit of many talents and of my word. I can haunt your enemies or walk through the walls of Arkham Asylum. Whatever you need, I’ll be here. Red Hood: I’ll bear that in mind.
2K notes · View notes
thaliagracesgf · 7 months
Text
i get a boyfriend
part two of the casual series! (requests are in progress, i just churned this out because it is my baby)
warnings: making out and luke being cocky asf
wc: 1.2k
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
the sun streamed through your eyelids in the morning. you shifted in bed, cozying up in rebellion. you really did not want to get up. you felt luke behind you, starting to move, and you closed your eyes. you knew he wouldn’t be able to wake you up just yet. 
his head finds the crook of your neck, and his curls brush against your face. you’ve never felt so safe. 
“jesus christ,” you’re rudely disturbed. you keep your eyes shut. maybe beckendorf will leave. 
a knot grows in your stomach as luke grumbles from behind you. “fuck off, man. i was sleeping.”
“yeah. i noticed.” 
“what are you doing here? this isn’t your cabin,” he said, sleep evident in his low voice. 
“yeah, isn’t hers either. so are you two a thing now? you finally hook up last night? what’s the sitch here, because silena needs her update.”
with that, luke pulls himself up. “shut up, man.” he looks down at your ‘sleeping’ face, hoping you didn’t hear. “have some respect.”
you did hear, of course, and at first it did make you feel gross, but the ‘finally’ catches you, and you remember that luke wants you. he isn’t jack, who just wanted to fuck somebody, he’s been waiting, and yeah, the older kids at camp sometimes fuck. it’s relieving to realize that beckendorf doesn’t know about last night— he would never had said that if he did. besides, luke’s attempt at a defense, though hampered by his sleep-addled brain, is adorable. 
“i’m just saying! don’t act like you haven’t thought about it. every person in this godforsaken camp can see it, ’cept maybe her.” 
“can you seriously fuck off? i’ve got my girl, don’t make it my problem that you’re scared of yours.” 
you laugh softly at that one. you don’t open your eyes, but you can feel luke freeze behind you. beckendorf doesn’t notice, but your gig is up anyway. 
“your girl?” you mumble, a smile crossing your lips. beckendorf stifles a laugh. 
“alright, i’m heading out! good luck with this one, man.” you open your eyes, and even as they’re adjusting to the light in the cabin, you swear you can see him wink. you’re not sure which one of you it’s to. 
“die,” luke calls after him, throwing his head back on the pillow, but pulling you into his chest. 
“hi.” you say, still facing away from him, and he tucks his head into your neck again. 
“hi.” luke says. 
you turn yourself over to look at his eyes. they’re such a deep brown. he tilts his head forward. you smile. you let his lips graze yours. 
it’s exactly like it was when you were fourteen, and a million times more. he’s soft and gentle, pulling back between each kiss. your arms move around his neck, his wrap around your waist. you’ve never felt so secure in your life. 
but you have to pull away. “i— i…” you start. 
luke sits up. “i’m sorry,” he says. “i’m so sorry. fuck, that was so stupid of me. i’m so sorry, gods, what was i thinking?” he ran his hand through his hair. it was adorable. you reach out to his arm. (gods, he’s jacked). you wish you had allowed yourself to stare sooner. you’d been depriving yourself. 
“it’s okay, luke. it was…it was really nice.” it seems like such a cheap thing to say, and by the look on his face, it wasn’t all that convincing. “i’m not… this is just a lot to process.” 
“in what way?” he probes. you aren’t used to people asking questions. usually hannah just stares you down until the words come out of your mouth.
“i mean,” you try to word it in a way that won’t set him off. “it would be kind of shitty to jump into anything, right? after what happened with jack?”
luke gives a contemptuous look at the mention of his name. “no,” he scoffs. he’s still sitting up, looking down at you lying in his bed. you figure it might be a bad time to tell him how badly you want him to kiss you again. 
“well, i don’t know. doesn’t it look like i’m just hopping around from guy to guy?” 
“ok. first of all, i’m pretty sure there are only, like, four people who know about you and jack. second of all, at the risk of sounding like an absolute dick, aren’t you supposed to be in love with me or something?”
you gasp. “what the hell?”
he grins. “it’s just what i’ve heard. you know what the camp gossip mill is like.” 
you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “this is so not fair.”
and he laughs, he really laughs. “how is it not fair?” 
“you are such a dick. this is so embarrassing. i’m going to kill you.”
“you seem pretty content under those blankets for someone plotting a murder.” you look through your fingers. his smile is so, so, unbelievably cute. “how is this not fair?”
“because you totally know everything and i don’t know anything.” 
“okay. what to you want to know?”
“shut up. die. i hope you drown today.”
“are you really going to make me say it, jack-jack?”
“i hate you.”
“i like you.” you go quiet. “i really, really like you. i think i’ve had a crush on you since we were fourteen. and i fucking love you. not like we already say everyday. like i think i’m actually fucking in love with you.”
he lays down beside you. you’re facing away from him, so he traces swirls on your shoulder.
you turn to face him, and for a second he has the decency to look nervous. 
you narrow your eyes at him. “so how do you really know i’m not just in this for the sex?” and he bursts out laughing. and before you know it, you’re laughing with him. and he loves the way your eyelids almost close when you do. 
“i wouldn’t blame you if you were,” he grins.
“well, who are you hooking up with these days? i’ll have to see if you have good reviews.”
“good luck with that, it might be difficult.”
“what, like you’ve never hooked up with an aphrodite girl after a bonfire.”
he shakes his head, and you’re honestly stunned. luke castellan, the most gorgeous boy on long island, is a virgin? 
“i mean,” he starts. “it’s not like i haven’t had offers.” 
“oh, shut up, you asshole,” you try to turn away from him, but he wraps his arms around you, and at his next words you freeze. 
“but i was holding out hope that it would be with you.” 
fuck. that was really hot. 
you look up, into his eyes. “i hate you,” you roll your eyes.
“i love you,” he murmurs, his eyes on your lips.
this time when he kisses you, you’re never letting him go. you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him atop you. it takes everything in you not to roll your hips into his, but you don’t stop yourself from reaching down his torso to find the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head, and running your hands along his stomach. fuck, you think for the second time that morning. he’s jacked. he smiles into the kiss, and you know you’re stroking his ego right alongside his abs. 
“so,” you say, biting your lip as his trace your jaw and neck. “what was that about ‘your girl’ earlier?”
you’re expecting a sly remark, a grin, or something. instead, he doesn’t hesitate—“be my girlfriend,” he almost moans. “please.” 
and you don’t have it in you to leave him waiting. 
“okay,” you whisper.
731 notes · View notes
temis-de-leon · 5 months
Text
Shy gn!reader confesses to the Demon Brothers
Characters: Mammon, Levi, Satan, Asmo and Beel (x reader, separately)
Main Masterlist
Part 1 , Part 3 , Dateables version
Anon request: Could I request headcanons for Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, and Beelzebub, react to shy gn crush confessing to him nervously?
.
A/N: life became hard for 4 full days and writer's block hit me with the power of a thousand suns. Then I went to therapy and I immediately started writing. Here it is, folks, 1899 words.
.
Mammon
There’s no doubt that Mammon loves to have fun. Either counting money at casinos or wildly drinking and dancing at various clubs, the sight of him with the occasional fling by his side is not a strange one for the demon folk.
He doesn’t look for it; it’s not like he needs to, anyway. After all, who wouldn’t like to be with The Great Mammon? He’s a catch!
But no, it isn’t something he needs to feel good. His heart beats for one thing and one thing only: money. Gold sparkling on his fingers and coins filling his pockets, what else is there to live for?
His brothers would never understand him. When Beel empties the kitchen it’s cute, but when he steals Levi’s figurines, Asmo’s jewellery and Lucifer’s wallet suddenly it’s a problem.
And what’s his punishment? Taking care of a dumb, weak, boring human.
You better leave him alone, MC! He’s a very important demon and he has very important things to do! Don’t you listen to what his brothers say about him! Listen only to him!
Also, pay him attention and ignore the others! He’s so much better, you know? Can’t you see by now? He wishes you did and he isn’t sure how he feels about it.
The pang in his chest, his reddened cheeks and his avoidant gaze aren’t things he’s used to, but they become the norm once he spends more time with you.
Enduring his brothers’ jokes and taunts is humiliating and he perfectly knows he would act the same if he wasn’t the one involved, but damn MC, why do you have to be the way you are? Why are you so easy to fall in love with?
You have to feel the same, right? With your stammering and your bashfulness, you have to feel the same.
Mammon thanks his Father when you invite him to your room out of the blue and blurt out your feelings. The situation is ridiculous, he’s sweating buckets and your hands won’t stop shaking.
He tries to confess back without directly saying he loves you.
Key word ‘tries’.
Leviathan
Love is not for him, or rather, he’s not made for love.
That’s just who he is. A shut-in who finds companionship in fiction, in the idealization of friendship, romance and loyalty. His expectations are set way to high, near long opening titles and uninterrupted rambles, and he doesn’t expect people to reach them. Is he even worth the effort?
He has internet friends who he met through online gaming and forums and he cherishes them very much, but it makes him feel lonely and insecure sometimes. What type of life do they have when they’re not gaming or role playing or just talking on video calls with him? Do they act like plain old normies, taking their partners out on dates or having lunch with their classmates after class?
He prefers not to think about it.
Your arrival to the Devildom doesn’t change his life at all. He’s curious, sure, but what are the chances of you sharing his interests? Also, you quickly become friends with Mammon, which says enough about yourself.
At least, that’s what he thinks at the beginning. Time passes, as well as the TSL quiz, and he immediately realizes that you’re not who he thought you were.
There’s no judgement in your eyes whenever he rants about the latest piece of media he has consumed, instead filled with curiosity and fascination; and not only you’re the sole person in the house that doesn’t make fun of him, but you also defend him against his brothers.
His romantic feelings for you grow strong and fast, but your friendship is what’s most important for him.
You’re so, so much better than what he initially thought, even when you remind him of himself sometimes.
The glint in your bashful gaze, the doubt in your words in search of the right ones and the everlasting fidgeting with your fingers. You are the perfect romantic interest from the perfect otome game and he can’t believe how lucky he is to be the main character.
When you finally confess to him under the comfort of the blue lights of his aquarium, you’re barely able to finish your sentences while looking at him, which in reality is a blessing, because he can’t bring himself to look at you either when he confesses back.
It’s awkward, but sweet. Kind of like him.
Satan
Romance is for him what a painting is to the viewer. A novel to the reader.
He understands the significance, the words, the colours. What the creator wants to portray and what the consumer interprets. Narrative rules, the significance of flowers, metaphors, history… All of that mixed with the abstract of the mind.
He understands.
He just doesn’t feel it. Not at its full potential, at least.
There had been partners in his life, years ago, and he knows he’d loved them, but he wasn’t in love with them. Whatever line kept him from going forward with his feelings is what made him stop trying alone.
Books and cats and the Anti Lucifer League are enough for him to be occupied. They also make him happy, so his views on romantic love are easily set aside.
He doesn’t think much of you at the beginning, mainly because he doesn’t expect you to last very long, but you quickly show an amount of potential he’s ready to exploit.
Diavolo dreams of unifying the three realms and Lucifer would do anything to not spoil those plans, so what better way to annoy his brother than through you?
It’s selfish and reckless and of course his eagerness screws the whole thing up, but it ultimately helps him realize he shouldn’t have underestimated you.
You are kind, brave and smart. You see him beyond his wrath and his academic knowledge, remembering him even in the smallest of details that surround you. It was such care and affection that made his feelings grow.
For the first time in his very long life he starts to relate to the characters in his books, his heartbeat increasing when the scenarios feel too familiar or when the dialogues replicate exactly what he yearns to say to you.
It’s thanks to his novels that he recognizes your feelings. The shy and endearing romantic interest quietly approaching the main lead, confession learnt by memory.
His first reaction is to be surprised. He doesn’t expect something like this to happen to him, let alone you being the one to reciprocate his feelings. How much luckier could he be?
Asmodeus
What better love exists than the one he feels for himself? He’s beautiful, charming, adorable, addictive and every other compliment in the book. He can’t get enough of them!
He’s obsessed with the idea of being surrounded by people, by their affections and their devotions, touching him, looking at him, singing him praises. Unfortunately for everyone else, his narcissistic tendencies only grow when those that fall under his charm feed into his “delusions”.
That’s how Mammon calls it, at least.
At the time of receiving, he doesn’t distinguish between romantic love and sexual attraction, although it’s more difficult for him to reciprocate the first one.
Deep down, hidden amongst his insecurities, Asmo believes no one would love him for his truest self. That’s why he insists on looking perfect at all times, following a strict sleep schedule and a well-balanced diet, going out to remain in everyone’s minds; always a trending topic, a sensation.
If his outstanding physique and impeccable personality aren’t enough for you to know he’s the best amongst his brothers, then his charm would do the work.
But it doesn’t.
When he purposefully makes eye contact there’s no sign of you falling for his magic and, suddenly, he finds himself at a loss of words.
He doesn’t panic too much, given that he is still a beautiful and powerful demon that could devour you in a second, but knowing that there’s no barrier between the two of you to protect his vulnerability gives him an unpleasant feeling of exposure.
Surprisingly enough, it’s also your resistance to his powers what centers his attention on you. You’re one of the very few people that knows him as he is, even with the ugly parts, and it doesn’t take too long for his affections to become obvious and somewhat desperate.
Asmo is elated when your behaviour around him changes. He recognizes the pattern, since he’s seen it many times in his fans, and he can’t believe that someone who’s seen him at his worst still considers him as beautiful as those who have only seen what he wanted to show.
Although you don’t really need to confess, due to him immediately wanting to be with you, hearing your feelings spoken out loud sends his heart into a frenzy rhythm.
The attention fuels his ego, sure, but it’s the veracity of your words what makes him want to cry out of happiness.
Beelzebub
He’s not really interested in relationships. There is a fling here or there, sure, he still has other type of urges, but he hardly thinks about it.
The feeling of emptiness follows him around like a metal ball and chain and the only consumption that can give him relief, even if temporarily, comes only in the form of food.  
He’s often seen as emotionless or famished and, although he knows he’s popular amongst many students, his height and muscles make him look too intimidating to engage further than necessary.
It isn’t something that bothers him at all. His love goes straight to his family and there’s nothing food can’t fix.
However, when he is told Belphie is the demon chosen for the student exchange program, the hole inside of him grows deeper and deeper. His urges go on a rampage and Lucifer has to give him a pep talk to drill into his brain how important it is that you are to remain uneaten.
It’s not like he’s very interested in you anyways, so leaving you alone doesn’t feel like a draining task.
Of course that changes when you physically put yourself between him and Lucifer. A stupid, idiotic, reckless decision that serves to prove how brave you are.
Your friendship quickly blossoms after that and, unlike many other people, you start seeing him beyond his hunger. That makes him cherish you even further, but it’s your dedication to helping his family what sparks a romantic interest in you.
Since he’s not that experienced in that regard, it feels a little intimidating, but you make it seem easy and effortless. The both of you are equally shy in your affections and there’s a mutual unsaid understanding that helps you build the base of a relationship, so the confession isn’t really necessary.
Still, hearing you say the words makes his heart flutter.
His response is short and blunt, but sweet in nature. He is blushing the whole time, not breaking eye contact with you, and for the first time in many years, he feels completely satisfied.
.
.
Tagged: @darkflowerav
362 notes · View notes
swordsandholly · 4 months
Text
Keep it Casual
NSFW | MDNI
John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x fem.plus size.Reader
cw: injury mention, death mention (in passing - no character death), brief weed smoking
Word count: 3.7k
One-shot/Drabble
Boy loves girl, girl loves boy. They’re not allowed to admit it, though. It’s good, right? All the benefits without any of the commitments. It’s what they both want, right?
Johnny MacTavish is an enigma to you in many ways. You’ve known each other for years - ever since you came over to the UK for Uni. He was in basic training then, out drinking when he approached you. His buddies were brutish and rude, only looking to add a soft American to their list of conquests, but Johnny… he spoke to you differently. Looked into your eyes, listened intently, gave you his full attention and nothing less.
You’ve been thick as thieves ever since. Beyond that, even. You and Johnny are entirely indivisble. Even when he’s gone for weeks, months, at a time, you’re inheretnly interlinked. Whether by phone calls or the matching tattoos you got on your ankles one drunken night, you’re connected.
There aren’t any labels for it. When people ask you default to best friends, but that doesn’t quite encapsulate it. There isn’t a word in the English language for what you have. You’re not partners - you’ve both had plenty of those each, however briefly. Even those always end. You and Johnny can’t be torn apart, though.
You know what the problem is. The reason you both keep it this vague, amorphous thing between you. Labels are frightening. Labels make things real. Labels mean you have to tell other people what you are, that suddenly there are expectations to live up to.
Labels feel like a death sentence in his line of work. Too many lost husbands, partners, lovers.
You lay on your belly in bed, legs kicked up in the air as you engross yourself in a book when the door knob clicks to the side. Johnny has a key to your place, of course, just as you have one to his. You don’t bother to get up. The chain always hangs loose when he’s gone - knowing he’ll come around at any moment. The door would stay wide open if it could, just for him.
You hear a thunk as as he drops his duffle on the ground. He didn’t go home yet, just came straight here. His boots fall on the floor next, then his jacket drops quietly in the hallway as he slowly makes his way to your room - to you.
“Bonnie lass…” Johnny greets, crawling across the bed toward you. He managed to get down to just his standard issue t-shirt and boxer briefs before climbing in. He knows you hate outside clothes on the bed.
“Johnny.” You smile, rolling onto your back as he climbs over you. Your fingers card through his mohawk, tugging gently on the strands curling at the base of his neck. “Need a trim there, bud.”
“Aye.” He chuckles. “Was waitin’ tae see ye. No one does it as good as my girl.”
His girl. Your boy. That’s the closest either of you ever get to tempting fate.
You hum. “How was work?”
Work. That word doesn’t even come close to what Johnny does. You can’t say more - can’t utter the word deployment. Coward.
“Ach no’ tha’ bad this time. Go’ my heid knocked around a bit.”
“So the usual?”
“Oi.” He scoffs in mock offense. “Donnae be rude.”
“I’m never rude.” You snicker, turning over and reaching for the top dresser of your nightstand. “Do you want to roll or me?”
“I think I’ve earned some princess treatment.” Johnny flops back on the bed, a finger hooking in the hem of your cotton panties as you sit up. He always does this when he first gets back - has to have some part of him touching some part of you. Not that you’d ever complain. You need it just as much as him, though you’d die before admitting to it.
Those blue eyes bore into you as you roll. It’s tradition - a celebratory joint when he gets back. Then you’ll binge all the TV shows and movies you saved up while he was gone and order an ungodly amount of take out. Indian. His favorite. Sometimes Johnny will go back to his apartment the next day to get some quiet time, maybe visit his parents, before he has to go back to work on the base but other times he’ll stay with you his whole time back home. Just taking up your space and being so domestic it makes your teeth hurt like too-sweet candy.
You always hope he stays.
“First hit for the guest of honor?” You smile, holding the joint out for him.
“Och, yer a blessing, hen.” His hand is warm as it brushes yours when he takes the joint from you, eyes locked on your own. There’s something intense in his stare that you aren’t used to. It makes you look away, almost shy under his gaze. He coughs suddenly, a harsh burst of smoke puffing from his lips.
You can’t help but laugh at him, “Getting weak lungs, soldier boy?”
“Oh, feck off.” He elbows you gently.
Somehow you’ve already got the giggles. It’s just something about being around him that makes everything feel better - brighter. More lively. Even the colors of your ugly little ashtray (the one you painted terribly when Johnny’s niece insisted the three of you go paint pottery while babysitting) feel so much more clear with him near.
“Oh!” His brows shoot up suddenly, as if he just remembered something direly important. “I got somethin’ fer ye. Be right back.”
You watch him jog down the hall - definietly not staring at his butt, no ma’am - and listen to the sounds of Johnny rooting around through his duffle bag. Your lips quirk up into a smile when he lets out a distant “aha!”
He comes back with a small, velvety box, flopping back into bed beside you and criss-crossing his legs. “There was this little artisan shop in a town we stopped through. The Captain wanted tae get his wife somethin’ an’ I saw this an’ thought of ye.”
The box slips into your hands. It’s small and light. You roll it between your palms a couple times before shaking it with a grin. Before you can make one of your usual silly quips about what might be inside, your eyes meet Johnny’s. They’re on fire, sparkling with anticipation for you to open the little gift. He’s gotten you things before (you actually have a shelf dedicated to his nicknacks from around the world) but this seems… different. There’s a heaviness to his expression that you’re not used to.
You glance between him and the box briefly - opening it slowly. Your eyes turn to saucers as you come face to face with a finely crafted silver necklace. A little four pointed star with a sparkling gem in the middle that looks the same icy blue as Johnny’s eyes. Little flecks of pink and green catch the light as you turn it between your fingers.
“Johnny-“ You gasp, at a total loss for words.
“Ye like it?” He asks with an uncharacteristically nervous pitch to his voice. His palms rub together absently as he glances between you and the necklace in your hand.
“I love it.” You smile softly, heart fluttering as Johnny breaks out in a grin of his own. “Put it on me?”
“Course.” He whispers, pushing your hair to the side and locking the clasp with deft fingers. It hangs perfectly underneath your clavicles, resting between the other jewelry you wear daily.
Those hands linger for a moment, before both slowly brush down over your shoulders. Rough, calloused fingers glide across your skin and leave an electric current in their wake as light kisses trail up your neck. “Missed ye, bonnie.”
You sigh and lean back against his broad chest. “Missed you too.”
Teeth sink into the crook of your neck, pulling a gasp from your lips. Large, rough hands grab and knead your tits through your thin tank top. He plucks at your nipples - rolling them between his fingers as he sucks deep marks into your neck.
You open your mouth to complain about leaving visible hickies but all that comes out is a breathy moan. You run your hands up his thighs on either side of you, dragging your nails across his skin in the way that always leaves him panting.
One hand travels down, grabbing onto the softness of your belly appreciatively before continuing. His fingers glide over your covered pussy, teasing you to gasp and squirm under him. Rough fingers continue to pluck at your nipple, eventually pushing their way under your tank top for better access. A low hiss escapes Johnny’s lips as your breasts fall free of the camisole.
“Fuck, bonnie. Can I taste ye? Please? Need ye so bad.” Johnny groans in your ear. “Please.”
How could you ever say no to him? He doesn’t even have to ask, really.
He repositions you on your back, tucking a pillow under your hips. Ever the considerate type. His fingers hook in your panties, a low, pleased rumble echoing through his chest as he shucks off the soaked fabric.
No matter what he’s doing, Johnny’s eyes always find yours. He could be across the most crowded room in the world and, imminently, they’ll find yours. They crinkle at the sides with his smile that pulls the scar on his chin.
“So pretty fer me.” He murmurs, lowering himself between your thighs as he bites and kisses up the soft flesh between your legs.
Johnny is a lot of things, and a total much is easily near the top of the list. Maybe number one, even. He presses his face into your cunt - mouthing over your clit and dragging his tongue down between your lips. It’s almost more for him, you think, the way he drags his tongue through the crease between your thigh and pussy. You can’t complain - you would be a fool to with the way he absolutely worships your body.
A harsh suck to your clit as your back arching. Strong arms wrap around your thick thighs to hold you down as he devours you.
“Taste so good, lass. Sweet as fuckin’ candy.” He moans against your cunt.
“Johnny!” You gasp, hand tangling in his overgrown mohawk. A low moan pulls out of you as he licks from your back hole to your clit before stuffing his tongue as deep in your pussy as he can. Chants of obscenities and pleading and oh, god, Johnny please you’re so good fall from your lips.
You know better than to try to hide your sounds. If he could he’d devour them just as much as he already does you - inject them straight in his veins to live there forever. Two fingers push into you, the stretch causing you to gasp. Johnny chuckles as you buck into the touch. The fingers curl directly up into that spot inside you as he nips at your clit.
Your climax hits you like a train - stars blooming behind your eyes and your back arching sharply. You’re always so sensitive after he’s been gone. So ready to have him again.
“Thassit, tha’s my good girl.” Johnny kisses up your thigh, working you through your orgasm with his fingers. “Ready fer me, baby? Missed this pretty cunt so bad - thought about her every day.”
You nod excitedly - mind too fuzzy and content to come up with the words to respond. Lazily, Johnny reaches over to the nightstand to grab a condom. He knows your home, like you, inside and out. Every nook and cranny might as well be his.
It could be his.
It should be his.
Johnny cups your cheek, kissing you slow and deep. His tongue parting your lips gently before exploring every inch of your mouth. Those rough hands trail down your body with reverence. One going from your cheek, to your sternum, over your belly to sink into the softness of your waist. The other holds tight on your hip as he lines up.
You gasp and moan against each other as he pushes in. The stretch is delicious. Your nails sink into his strong back.
“Practically made fer me, bonnie.” He groans as he moves. It’s slow, languid.
He’s so beautiful. Always has been. No matter how he changes - new hair, new scars, new tattoos - he’s still beautiful. The prettiest man you’ve ever met. You run your fingers through the downey layer of dark hair over his chest - tracing the outlines of his muscles, up over his thick shoulders to cup his cheek.
Your bodies move together easily - a well practiced dance that you’ve perfected over the years.
“Christ.” Johnny gasps into your ear - strong forearms bracket your head, burying you under him. “I lov-“
You turn your head, catching his lips in a kiss. It’s terrible of you, you’re sure, but there’s nothing those words can communicate that a well timed gasp or a perfectly placed caress can’t say better. His nose knocks against yours, your hands travel all over him, seeking out any purchase they can find.
It turns desperate. A clawing need as you rediscover each other for the millionth time. Wet, open mouth kisses against each others skin and bodies moving perfectly in tandem. The light high from smoking leaves your skin warm and buzzing with electricity. It borders on overstimulating - just barely this side of too much.
“Johnny…” You whine, tilting your head back.
“Aye?” He pants, laving at your clavicle. “Gonnae cum f’me? Cream all over my fuckin’ cock?”
All you can manage is a keen, teeth sinking into his shoulder to hide you face form him. A hand tangles in your hair, pulling you down to stare up at him.
“Eyes on me, hen. Want - ah - want ye lookin’ at me when I make ye cum.”
It’s too intense. It always is looking into those baby blues. As if they can see right through to the most buried parts of yourself. Johnny shifts your hips up ever so slightly, the new angle bullying his head against your g-spot with each thrust. Your nails claw across his shoulder blades.
It doesn’t take long before you’re careening over the edge with him, bodies tensing against each other. Clenching down around him like a vice while you gasp for air.
“There she is. Tha’s my girl.” Johnny murmurs against your lips, still rocking into you in short, sloppy motions. Just to drag it out a little longer until you whine at the overstimulation.
You let yourself lay back to catch your breath, floating back to earth while Johnny disappears to toss the condom in the trash. He’s back nearly as fast as he left, pulling you against his chest and burying you both under the soft sheets of your bed.
“Shower?” Johnny whispers into your hair, eventually. You nod against his chest, slowly peeling yourselves apart. Your fingers remain tangled all the way to the bathroom.
He whirls you after you turn on the shower, kissing you slow and deep as you wait for the water to warm up. A warm hand splash across your lower back - keeping you close. You’re left breathless when he finally pulls back, pupils blown so wide in the low evening light that you can hardly see the blue of his eyes.
You sigh to yourself as you step into the shower, grateful that you splurged on the apartment with the especially large bathroom. It definitely wasn’t with Johnny in mind. You’d never make your decisions based around such a nebulous relationship.
Not the size of your bathroom - enough to fit both your wide frame and his broad shoulders.
Not the location of your apartment - only a few blocks from his.
Not keeping his favorite snacks stocked at all times just in case he comes home early.
Not referring to your apartment as his home.
“Lean down a bit.” You smile, pouring a glob of shampoo into your hand for him. Johnny’s always been picky about his hair care. You always make sure it’s on hand in your bathroom.
He does the same for you, of course, when he can, but somehow you both always end up at your place instead. Not that you’d ever complain. You like your place. It’s safe. Warm. A cocoon away from all the parts of the world that have scarred you so deeply.
Johnny groans happily as you scratch his scalp, the quality shampoo cleaning far more deeply than any of that standard issue stuff he gets on deployment ever could. You watch the suds slowly drip down over the lines of his back, breath catching as your eyes settle on a nasty, raised patch of skin you hadn’t seen before.
It looks like a chunk got ripped out of his back, right under his ribs.
“Johnny.” You gasp.
“Hm?” He looks over his shoulder at you, brows raising as he realizes what you’re looking at. “Oh tha’? It’s nothin’. Just go’ a bit knocked around, remember?”
You bite your lip, tamping down the rising fear in your gut. “D-does it hurt?”
“I’m fine, lovie.” Johnny turns, giving you that sparkling, million dollar grin. He knows it scares you, shakes you to the core.
You’ve already lost everyone else in your life, having the ever present threat of losing Johnny as well is too much to handle sometimes. It keeps you up at night, when he’s away, imagining all the worst that could happen to him.
How easy it would be for a simple bullet or knife to shatter your world.
That’s why the two of you keep up this little arrangement. This song and dance at arms length. To spare you. Both of you. Either when he doesn’t come back or you break and run.
You won’t run, though. As much as it hurts, the good is too good to give up. You’ll stay through it all, with just enough distance to keep your sanity.
“Ye with me?” Johnny asks gently, slowly pulling you out of your thoughts and back into the moment.
“Yeah. Yeah, sorry. Long week.” You lie, leaning up on your tip toes to plant a small kiss in the corner of his mouth.
He hums, turning to meet your lips. You let yourself fall into him, fingers running through the hair on his chest, up to the back of his neck. He just feels right under your hands. Perfectly molded to press up against you - hard muscle to balance out the softness of your body. Angles and curves. Push and pull. Sun and moon.
Holy hell, you’ve become a sap.
“Sit.” You point to the chair you drug into the bathroom and Johnny happily plops down - big, fluffy towels tied around your chest and waist respectively. A content smile settles across his face as you slowly work your way across his scalp with the electric razor. You let your fingers to scrape along after you just the way he likes.
When you were young, you watched your mother cut your fathers hair. It seemed so subservient to you. Shameful, almost. You said you’d die before doing that for any man.
You carefully raise each section of his mo-hawk, cutting it down to the exact length Johnny likes to style it. A little on the short side, actually, so that it has time to grow before looking messy. Shearing the sides and taking extra care around his ears. He doesn’t need any more nicks or scars.
Johnny suddenly looks pensive as he watches you in the mirror - carefully taking in each of your movements.
“You’re worrying.” You murmur.
“I-“ He sighs. “It’s nothin’.”
“Johnny.” You level your gaze on his in the mirror, he looks off to the side.
“I’m just- I cannae-“ He sighs. “I miss ye.”
You snort. “I’m right here.”
Johnny shrugs. For once, he stops talking. You hate when he does. It’s the only true hallmark that something is wrong.
“Johnny-“
“Do ye want tae hear a new Ghost joke?” He interrupts. It’s an out. You’ll let him have it.
“Lay it on me.”
“Whit’s the difference between the bird flu and the swine flue?”
“What?”
“One requires tweetment an’ the other requires oinkment.”
A huffy laugh escapes you despite yourself. “That’s terrible.”
“Aye. Imagine listenin’ tae that in a life or death situation. Could be the last thing I hear!”
You giggle, finishing up with shaping the edges of his hairline. “How is it?”
Johnny stands, leaning close to the mirror and running a hand over his hair. Your eyes lock onto that newly forming scar again. It makes your throat feel tight.
He stretches his arms way over his head with a groan. “Think it’s time f’some proper lazin’ about.”
The rest of the night goes by as they usually do when he gets home. Indian take out, a romcom in the background, another round of fucking. Or two. It’s near eleven when you finally settle into the sheets, Johnny long asleep beside you. Comfortably snoring with that angelic peacefulness you only ever see in his sleep.
Will he look that peaceful if he dies?
The thought makes you want to throw up.
It takes all your mental fortitude to push that train of thought away. Opting to lay beside him, eyes flicking across his features as you attempt to memorize them all. The curve of his strong brow, the arch of his nose, the slight part in his lips as he sleeps. Your thumb traces the scar on his chin while you cup his cheek. As if sensing your current state - and, if you’re honest with yourself, you’re sure he can - a strong arm wraps around you to lock you against his chest. You let your legs tangle, breathing him in and following the pattern of the rise and fall of his chest. Real and tangible under your hands.
You’re just so glad that, at least right now, he’s home.
237 notes · View notes
gravedigginbbydoll · 2 months
Text
Tutoring and Tension
Dom! Leighton Murray x Alt fem! reader smut
Tumblr media
A/N: Hi! This is my first time writing for something non ST fandom in a while so please be patient with me!
CW: sex, smut, porn with plot?, Leighton x reader, fem! reader (v) desperate! reader, alt reader, piercings and tattoos mentioned, makeup mentioned, oral sex (v), overstimulation, degradation, humiliation, sub! reader, dom! Leighton, use of toys (vibrator), power play, aftercare, etc.
When you first moved to Vermont, you knew there would be people like Leighton Murray. Rich, spoiled, kind of mean. 
What you didn’t guess, however, was that they would maybe be gay. 
Which was a shock to you while studying at the library, muted whispers at the table across from you. 
“I know! I know! I was shocked too! But then she pulled me into her bed and…” 
Muted squeals came from the table behind you as you rolled your eyes. You came to Essex for the fact that you could be away from your small town judgment at a prestigious school, but were starting to regret every second of it. People weren’t receptive to you, and most of the students were rich assholes who would sooner tell you that your diy patch jacket was clearly ‘Not Saint Laurent’, and call you ‘cute’ when you mentioned thrifting. 
And it didn’t help that most of the student population was scared of your look. Tattoos, piercings, dark clothing, and platform shoes. Sometimes, even colorful hair. You were a walking social pariah. You knew it, but you didn’t care. You were here to make a name for yourself through extracurriculars and studies. To follow your dreams. 
If only math wasn’t kicking your ass. 
You could never focus. Sitting behind Leighton Murray meant you had to watch the back of her perfect blonde head and that you could smell her perfume (something classy and brand name, probably, all you knew is it made her smell like florals and vanilla). You kept getting C’s and D’s on papers and tests, too distracted by Leighton’s perfect handwriting. 
And it wasn’t until you got an F that you finally plucked up the nerve to talk to the professor, begging for help. And of course…they brought Leighton over. 
“Could you help Y/N with this class, please? They’re struggling a lot.” 
Leighton looked at you with a smile, but her eyes said she wanted to strangle you. 
“Sure, Prof. I’ll definitely tutor her.” 
Tumblr media
The two of you were sitting in Leighton’s dorm, looking over the books, your heart racing. Sure, you wore dark makeup and clothes and people were scared of you…But Leighton was much scarier. She was pretty and smart and damn blunt. You had gone over some of the problems and were still feeling your brain turn to mush next to her. You were pretending to heavily inspect an equation when she suddenly turned to look at you. 
“A-Are you, like, a goth? Sorry, I just…I don't understand this whole…Hot Topic aesthetic…thing. No offense,” Leighton blurted out, her brows pinched together as she had an awkward smile on her face. 
You laughed a bit, smiling. Her confusion was funny, despite her harshness. “Goth is a music genre…but I do like it. So kinda? I just like dark clothes…They make me feel like me.” 
She nodded a bit before putting up her book, setting it aside as she scooted closer, eyeing you. 
“Don’t tattoos hurt? You have…a lot.” 
You nodded, feeling heat travel up into your cheeks, stomach fluttering. “They hurt a bit. But I like them. They make me feel kinda like an art gallery, ya know?”
You noted her eyes traveling over your collarbones and to your cleavage, before turning to your books again, cheeks slightly pink. 
“So anyways, do you get the gist?” 
You furrowed your brows, smiling awkwardly, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, math just isn’t my thing.” 
She rolled her eyes, expression snarky as she smirked. “Let me guess…your thing is arts or social sciences…maybe even English?” 
You held up your hands, a devilish grin on your face as you attempted to match her energy, your cheeks heating up. “Guilty.” 
She tutted, eyes rolling before looking down at the paper. “Well, we’ve got to figure out some way to incentivize your learning…” 
You stared, slack-jawed, as she crossed her legs in her mini skirt, perfect pink mouth chewing on the end of her pen. She seemed deep in thought. She was like Cher in Clueless, the perfect prim and well-bred American girl…and you had such a huge crush on Cher as a child. 
She seemed to look over at you before smiling a bit, clearly catching you staring at her and your ever-growing embarrassment. She tilted her head at you, a smug expression on her face. “Do you like treats?” 
Your face heated at her sudden attention as you furrowed your brow, laughing awkwardly. “W-what? Like candy?,” You asked, voice cracking because your mind was flooded with other…ideas.
Leighton smirked and fingered the metal loop on your choker with one perfect manicured hand. Her voice was low and sultry, her eyes mischievous. “Something like that.”��
She leaned forward a bit more, whispering in your ear. “I see the way you look at me in class. It’s a bit pathetic really,” She coos condescendingly, her voice sending chills up your arm. “Big scary girl like you…all whipped over a little spoiled rich girl? What would everyone at school say?” 
You squirmed in your chair, your thighs squeezing together to relieve the throbbing need beginning to grow. “I..I just, I don’t-” 
She cut you off by squeezing your face in her hand. You felt your desire grow, your heart racing. 
“Shut up.” 
She let go of your face, standing up and smiling, her expression dangerous and yet so enticing. She crossed her arms, looking down on you.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to work on a problem. You get it right, you get a treat…get it wrong…and I’ll test your limits. Got it?,” she asked, voice radiating authority and lust. You nodded quickly in agreement, the heat in your cheeks growing and traveling to the tips of your ears. 
She grinned, pointing at a problem while still standing. “Get started, baby.” 
Tumblr media
About an hour in and your mind had become a puddle. You were face down on Leighton’s bed, your head in her pillow, no doubt smudging eyeliner and mascara on her satin cases. She was standing near you, her wand pressed against your clit as you whined, your nails clawing at the bed. She whispered in your ear, voice low and dripping with lust. 
“Aww, is someone wanting to cum?” 
You whined, your clit throbbing at the constant attention and from the overstimulation of the last 3 orgasms she had given you. You couldn’t see her but knew her expression was probably that of an evil grin, her eyes glinting with pleasure at the mess you had become. 
“Please, please, please, please…I’ll fix the problem…please..,” You sobbed, fists clawing at the bed, earning yourself a spank on the ass, Leighton gripping your hair and pulling your head to look at you, your vision of her blurred through your tears. 
“Don’t fucking mess up my bed.” 
You nodded helplessly, thoughts only swimming with Leighton, Leighton, Leighton. She dropped your head before finally diving into your pussy, her tongue delving into your folds from behind as she ate your out, the vibrator against your clit still. You cried out,  your body about to snap, your thighs shaking and clit pulsing painfully. 
You could barely hear her over your moaning, but managed to hear the muffled ‘cum for me.’ 
So you finally snapped, body shaking as you felt waves of pleasure wash over you, your eyes rolling back and shut, your thighs shaking as you came, feeling Leighton moan against you and seeming to ride you through your high, your body worn out and practically collapsing at the end. 
Tumblr media
You laid there for a minute, hearing some shuffling before you felt a warm wet cloth wiping you off, and Leighton’s soft manicured hand rubbing your back. 
“Hey,” She whispered softly, “Turn over.” 
So you did, brain still floating as Leighton softly wiped at your face with some cool makeup wipes, cooing softly in your ear. 
“You did wonderful, baby.” 
You felt her softly remove some of your jewelry and leftover clothing before dressing you in some comfy pajamas, silky soft like her own, before she kissed your forehead. You were slowly coming back to yourself as she snuggled up next to you, eyebrows raised as she looked down at you, smiling softly. 
“So.. I imagine you like my tutoring style?” 
You let out a giggle, feeling your cheeks heat as you sheepishly offered. “Is it that obvious?” 
She grinned flirtatiously at you, hands rubbing at your side as she whispered cheekily, “You’re gonna be acing this class in no time with my help.” 
You grinned. 
You couldn’t wait for more math.
299 notes · View notes
lucilleslore · 10 months
Note
sometimes when i think about crack with coryo and reader, i have a little fun with reader being someone who is a very powerful person and genuinely has control over snow with just 'tiny' ways like: decorating the house, clothes, food, anything so trivial. it starts out tiny, small, personal things but the influence gets bigger to the point that politics has to get dragged in.
somebody please humble this man, even though this is a bit ooc, i just need this man to lower a bit in my imagination.
yeah 1000% i’ve been saying this from the beginning and it will forever be my favourite concept!
whilst i don’t think coryo would actively want you to have any control over him, there’s not much he can do about it once the DEEP obsession kicks in. making people happy has never been his priority but then he has you and suddenly he needs you to be happy. needs to spoil you and give you everything you could want but it’s more from a place of thinking that if you’re happy you’d never even consider leaving him. which i think is a fear of his because he’d never let you leave of course but he’d never even want the thought to cross your mind. would feel like a massive betrayal to him.
so that kind of follows into you getting a little control here and there. if you slip something into conversation that you don’t like he’s automatically getting rid of it. problems with staff? they’re gone. don’t like the food? someone will make you something else. want to change the decor? go ahead. not feeling any of your clothes? here’s access to his bank accounts.
it’s definitely slow because politics and his overall plans for power would be things he strictly doesn’t want you involved in. sure he’s not got any morals but you’d still be his safe place and he feels like that should be protected. his time with you is kept separate from his work life but maybe one night he comes home extra stressed and you’re just there, offering him drinks and rubbing his shoulders and his problems all just sort of fall out.
now coryo isn’t expecting much. you’re his wife and have no experience in the ways of politics so he just expects you to listen but all of a sudden you’re coming out with these brilliant solutions, things he would never have thought up in his life. maybe it’s not the conventional way to do things - and by that he means his way - but he has to admit your ideas could work.
but that’s how it starts and after that when he’s really stumped he comes to you. talks it out and sees what you come up with. he always gets this grin on his face that’s honestly kind of menacing because you’re boosting his ego. like how did he instinctively pick a wife that’s not only beautiful but so, so scarily smart?? he must be a genius.
but when you’re talking about humbling i can honestly see the both of you at some fancy dinner and they’re all fawning over coryo, about everything he’s done for the capitol and the world and how amazing he is and you’re just sat there like?? those were all my ideas?? not his?? so then you’re all over him and asking him just how did he come up with these plans and coryo is just kind of fumbling for once and you’re just sitting there enjoying your wine and smirking <3
or you could go full girlboss and call him out in front of all the old loser politicians!
535 notes · View notes
suffersinfandom · 10 months
Text
Controversial opinion (?): the Kraken Era wasn’t all that dark.
There’s a lot of meta and fic out there that portray Ed as a bloodthirsty, hyperviolent monster, and when that portrayal is challenged, the rebuttal is usually along the lines of, “I’m just doing what canon did. Did you even watch the show? It's racist, not me!”
I did watch the show, and honestly? I went in expecting far worse based on meta and fic I read during the hiatus. When I see people say they didn’t think Ed did enough to redeem himself or that he went past the point of no return, I just don’t understand.
I already went into this in my way-too-long meta about Ed and abuse, but I do think it bears repeating (in a shorter post) because it seems like Ed’s actions -- more than the actions of any other character -- are scrutinized and discussed outside of the context of a comedy about pirates. There’s tons of casual violence in Our Flag Means Death. Sometimes the violence is even funny! 
So what does Ed actually do in the first episodes of season two?
We see Ed directly harm someone twice in the first two episodes: first on the wedding boat, and then when he shoots Izzy in the leg. Kind of unimpressive numbers, yeah? I'd expect more out of a heartbroken Blackbeard.
The first instance involves Ed shooting a man during a raid. That man has a sword through his chest before Ed fires, leading me to believe that Ed’s still following his season one pattern of keeping himself a step removed from murder (technically, the sword killed that guy). We also don’t see the murder happen; the man tumbles offscreen before Ed shoots. This makes the action less brutal. If the writers wanted us to be appalled by Ed’s violence, we would’ve gotten a graphic kill or several.
And the second instance is Izzy. Ed shoots Izzy in the leg after he suggests that the shitty atmosphere is because of Ed’s feelings for Stede. Hot take, maybe, but I don’t think that was entirely out of line. Ed’s feelings for Stede are not the only problem; a significant chunk of the problem is Izzy. Izzy called in the navy and led to their capture. Izzy threatened Ed back into the Blackbeard persona the last time Ed tried to talk things through, and that was without an audience of potential mutineers.
We’re also told that Ed has taken more of Izzy’s toes between seasons. This isn’t cool -- bosses definitely shouldn’t be asking for their employees’ toes -- but there is a precedent for it. In season one, Ed told Stede that he used to feed people their toes for a laugh (yuck). For a laugh. This, to me, implies that it’s not a huge deal. It’s certainly not completely unexpected pirate behavior, and it seems more lenient than a keelhauling or a whipping. I think both of those things would've felt far more gruesome and dark.
As far as violent actions go, that’s not a lot. Like, numerically.
Things get darker in S2E2 when Ed becomes increasingly desperate for someone, anyone, to send him to doggy heaven. He’s unhinged and working his way up to a murder-suicide before he’s stopped. He hacks the wheel right off of the ship and threatens to shoot the mast. He orders Archie and Jim to fight to the death. He ignores anonymous crewmembers as they’re swept overboard in the storm. This is bad! It’s self-destructive and selfish! But it's also tragic and human and understandable.
In my opinion, the worst thing Ed does in these episodes is force his crew to do violence for him -- not because it’s violence (again, they’re pirates), but because the violence hurts them. THIS is what traumatizes them. Their trauma flashbacks are scenes of them hurting others, not of Ed hurting them directly. Ed didn’t physically torture his crew (with the exception of Izzy, and that’s complicated). His crime was driving them to do one violent raid after another, killing and plundering without any joy or theatrics. Ed feels trapped in the role of Blackbeard -- the role that he’s been desperate to escape -- and, in his heartbreak, he opts to trap his crew with him. 
Yes, Ed is messed up in the first two episodes of season two. I don’t blame the crew for almost killing him; it’s what needed to be done. I think that Jim, Archie, Frenchie, and Fang had every right to want Ed gone after Stede’s return. 
But I don’t think that Ed was a super violent monster who tortured his crew and murdered his way through his breakup. He engages in very little onscreen violence, and the person that most of his violence is focused on -- Izzy -- is the same person who told him to be violent. I think that anyone who says that Ed’s actions in the first part of season two are extremely dark is either looking at them out of context, misremembering what actually happened and just recalling the dark tone, or working with some kind of motive.
In conclusion: Ed is a man who, at his very darkest, was still operating pretty firmly within the bounds of "stuff pirates do" (but not stuff Ed has historically done, presumably).
Also look at him. Thank you.
Tumblr media
GIF by unearthlydust
EDIT: Read the reblogs for some amazing and more nuanced additions!
437 notes · View notes
sp0o0kylights · 1 year
Text
Steve And Robin Are Stuck in A Timeloop AU 
Steve's lost track of which time loop this is.
Had lost track pretty much instantly, because it turns out when people die repeatedly in front of you, it kinda takes precedence in your memory. 
Besides, Robin has a list in her head, memorized via some kind of musical code, alongside all the dates and times they wake up in. 
(Steve doesn't see what difference it makes if they wake up at 7:15 am the day of the Championship or 8:25 am, but Robin's insistent that even the slightest variations could mean something.) 
He’ll have to ask his soulmate when he finds her though, because presently Steve has determined they're having one of their weirder loops.
Typically, when the two of them get kicked back in time, they wake up the day of the Championship game. Occasionally it will be the day right before or the day after, but sometimes? 
Sometimes they’re sent back someplace, some time, that isn’t related to 1986 at all. 
Thus far, the Starcourt loop had been the worst. 
("If it happens a third time I'm killing myself." Steve had told Robin after they’d failed that one. 
Robin didn’t even look at him, the two of them huddled up together in Steve’s bed. "No you're not Dingus, not without shooting me first."
"How come I have to shoot you!? Is it because I'm a man? That's not very feminist of you."
"No its because you've seen me shoot, I would miss!") 
Steve had even woken up in an odd place. Not his bed or the couch, but the driver's seat of the Beamer, seated in the high school parking lot.  
It made him immediately uneasy. 
The chair is reclined all the way back, the mass of cars indicating it was a school day. Steve struggled to recall when he's ever taken a nap in his car as he got out of it, trying to decide how he wanted to go about things. 
Felt his pocket and was surprised to find it full of a packet of smokes. 
The sheer implication of that had him pulling out a cig and lighting it before the knowledge that he'd officially quit buying his own cigarettes in 1985 sank in.
Panicked and chainsmokes three, before deciding his best course of action was his usual one. 
Find Robin. 
Which of course means that he found Eddie instead. 
xxx
He’d started his first lap, walking out if the parking lot and round to the more shaded, empty parts of the building when a voice he knew yelled. 
The kind of yell he’d grown intimately familiar with, the one Eddie used when he was terrified and using anger to hide it. 
Steve turns automatically, following the taunts and loud, pained breathing until he finds a handful of jocks encircling the metalhead. He's down on one knee, snarling like a wildcat caught in a trap while some guy Steve barely recognizes holds him by the hair, laughing. 
Red coats his vision instantly, and any thoughts Steve had about being stuck in time (sort of) vanish from his mind entirely. 
The world shrinks down, to that white knuckled grip on Eddie's hair, the way it’s pulling the older boy’s face up so that Steve can see the straining muscles in his throat. 
The protective creature that lives in his chest and likes to punch it’s way out of problems awakens, and a thrum goes through Steve as he feels its demand for blood. 
"Hey fellas " Steve calls joyfully, striding directly into the crowd. "What’re we doing?" 
Two part before him like fish seeing a shark,and a faraway inner voice identifies them as members of the swim team. 
Which likely meant the other two were football players, and for all the tackling they did they were surprisingly easy to scare, if you knew how to play it right. 
Steve absolutely knew how to play it right. 
"Fuck off Harrington. This isn't your business." The one holding Eddie's hair spits. 
"Well that would be where you're wrong." Steve was still keeping things conversational as he positioned himself, arms nice and loose at his sides. He lets the thing that lives inside him, who made him turn right back around all those years ago and charge back into the Byers house, out a little more. Feels the need to protect, to save, to destroy the things that are his, fuel him.  "Seeing as all of Eddie's business is my business."
Eddie stares up at him, wide eyed at the declaration. 
Feeling entirely out of control of his body, Steve sends him a wink. 
"Since when!?" The other football player asks. 
"Since now." Steve declares cheerfully--and then smiles. 
It isn’t a nice smile. 
Thoroughly unnerved, his swim team members shrink back. He’ll have words for them later if he has time--Steve can't ever recall the swim team members being dicks but who fucking knows. 
His memory wasn't the best before he and Robin got stuck in time. 
"You fucking into drugs now or wha--" Their ringleader, still holding onto Eddie by the hair, doesn't get to finish his sentence.
Mostly because his mouth is too busy catching Steve's fist. 
Fighting, he knows, is something he does best when it's too the death and he's armed with something. 
Bonus points if his opponent is a horrific monster from another dimension. 
He has gotten better though, and here the rapid pace he sets feels almost too easy. 
The first guy goes down on the ground before the rest pick up on it, giving Eddie time to lurch backwards as Steve turns and torpedoes into the next jock. 
This one gets in a good shot--Steve staggers with a blow to his side but it's not enough to wind him. He keeps to his feet and advances, delivering one more punch before the swim team guys are trying to call him off. 
"Come on man, you're gonna kill them!" 
Steve almost laughs-- he hasn't come close to killing either idiot-- but backs away, keeping himself between them and Eddie. 
They wave their hands, getting ahold of their bloodied friends as they slowly ease between them and Steve. Make apologizes and promises that it was a poor joke, Munson just got to them, hot heads you know? 
Steve snarls at them to fuck off, and glares until they're gone. 
"What the hell just happened?" Eddie asks him, and Steve turns to find him on his feet, leaning heavily against the brick wall of the school. 
As far as he can get away from Steve. 
"Our football quarterback can't hit for shit." Steve informs him, having finally placed an least one of the guys. "It's probably why we always lose." 
Eddie gives him such a freaked out face it almost makes him laugh a second time.
The effect isn't helped by the fact that Eddie's normally long mane is hovering just over his shoulders, the curls somehow poofier than normal. Clearly he’s still trying to grow it out, but it just makes him look like one of those frazzled dogs. 
Adorable. 
On instinct Steve reaches out to playfully pull a few strands, then freezes when Eddie flinches from him. 
"Sorry." He keeps his hands up, as he takes in Munson's face. "Shit dude, he got your nose good." 
There's blood smeared under it, and given the look of the skin surrounding it? 
Eddie's gonna have an impressive bruise soon enough. 
Steve gets a glare sent his way. "Why do you care?" Eddie spits, back very much still up, and-- right. 
Right. 
Time travel. 
"I'm really bad at explaining it." Steve warns, running a hand through his hair. He did this part plenty without Robin (meeting Eddie that was--Robs usually tackled Nancy.) But he also typically did in it 1986, and with at least three of the kids, not whenever they currently were. 
"We usually start with facts only you'd know, but I don't actually know when I am right now." He finishes, and realizes immediately that it doesn’t make a lick of sense. 
"When you are?" Eddie asks, because of course he clocks that part immediately. 
"Ye--eah." Steve says, dragging out the word. 
He looks at Eddie desperately, like the metalhead will tell him the exact information he needs. 
Eddie just stares back. 
"Look, it sounds really stupid when you say it out loud." Steve says finally, because fuck, it does!
"Comparable to all the other times you talk out loud?" Eddie snips, voice full of venom. 
"Shut up.” Steve replies automatically, but his tone holds no heat. He’s too used to trading banter with Eddie that is friendly.  “I'm gonna preface this by saying I can prove it."
"Oh wow preface. Such a big word for you! Did Nancy Wheeler teach you that one?"
"Robin actually." Then, "Nancy?"
The look Eddie gives him could melt steel beams. "Yeah man. Nancy Wheeler. Your girlfriend." 
"Oh--oh god." Steve says, because that means they're way back. Possibly to the beginning. 
Or worse, before he and Nancy had broken up.
"I can’t handle that breakup a second time." He says wide eyed, the panic gripping him for a second. “I could-no, no I could get Robin to tell her!” 
Because that sure would work. 
Steve can just imagine it now. Robin, sauntering up to Nancy and going ‘Hey, we really haven’t met yet but you’re gonna dump Steve, if you haven’t already and to cut through all the drama, I’m here to just tell you on his behalf that it’s over. What was that? A coward? Why yes, he is one!’
You know, provided she didn’t just laugh in his face and then cuff him over the head when she realized he was being serious. 
“Dude.” Eddie says, sinking a world’s worth of judgment into the single syllable. 
“Yeah, you’re right, bad call.” Steve says, and whatever Eddie was expecting it clearly wasn’t that. 
“Are you on drugs right now?” Eddie finally asks when Steve reverts back to looking to him as if he’s going to help. A bad habit, and one Steve knows he needs to stop doing. 
Even if Eddie, in the original timeline and every one after they got him on board, eventually becomes someone Steve can rely on like that. 
“You can tell me if you are, man, you know I won’t judge.” The hateful air around him is fading into something more confused, and then into something else entirely. The persona Eddie pulls when he’s hurt and trying to hide it with jokes and rants. “Unless you and your buddies bought from someone that wasn’t me, in which case I get exclusive rights to judge.” 
He’s shifting as he finally stands up off the wall, and Steve doesn’t miss how he hugs one hand to a rib. 
Shit. 
He needs to get Eddie up to speed and he needs to do it fast.
Steve sighs and just starts listing Eddie Munson Facts like an unprepared kid who was called on in class. 
"Okay, so your uncle collects mugs, right? And--fuck I don't know when you get all the tattoos,” Steve makes a vague gesture around his chest, “but you have bats on your arm and you gave them all names." 
Eddie's eyes pop wide again, jaw slacking as Steve volleys off a few more Munson Facts. 
"You have this weird fear about red ribbon necklaces because of a book you read in third grade, your first guitar has this giant ugly--sorry dude, but you cannot write legibly to save your life, 'This machine slays dragons' quote across it and--oh!"
 He was so fucking stupid. The answer was literally staring at him in the face, dangling around Eddie's neck. 
Steve snapped his fingers excitedly. "The guitar pick on your neck is your moms!"
Eddie’s mouth open and closes like a fish, long enough that the smile slowly slides off of Steve’s face.  
"How the fuck do you know all that?" He manages after a long, tortuous moment, looking like he’d been sucker punched. 
Again. 
With the most pained look his face can manage, Steve finally answers. "Time travel."
Eddie blinks.
Then blinks again. 
 "Time travel." He echoes faintly. 
"Yeah. I'm from 1986, where things kinda got really fucked up."
"No kidding?" Eddie says, right before he erupts into giggles. 
"Did they get you in the head?" Steve asks, abruptly concerned, as Eddie collapses back against the wall in a growing fit of laughter.  
Concussed Eddie was not a road he wanted to go down but Steve knew better than anyone what happens if you ignore such things. 
"I think my weed just hit." Eddie explains as he wipes away a tear, and Steve wants to shake him, but knows it won't get him anywhere. 
"That's great. That's just great."  He grumbles, hands going onto his hips. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"To get you a bandage. And then find Robin.” 
Robin, Steve decided, could handle a high, concussed Eddie.
894 notes · View notes
nekropsii · 2 years
Text
More Reminders:
Karkat is a bootlicker. This is a prominent character trait. He’s rooting for the Alternian empire- yes, even though it’s ruled by a system that wants him personally dead- and really wants to be a part of its military.
Eridan has a “genocide complex” and is able to be roughly described as the troll equivalent of a white supremacist. This is one of the first things we learn about him.
The Beta Trolls are 13. All of them. This includes Equius. This includes Eridan. This includes Vriska. This includes Gamzee.
99% of Gamzee’s character is racial caricature. No, he is not intended to be a Dionysus parallel. He is intended to be a “satirization” of Black people.
Sapphic pairings have always held precedent over MLM pairings. They’ve always been more important to the plot, been handled with much more grace, and had more screen time. This isn’t a bad thing.
Doc Scratch is a child predator. This is an incredibly prominent character trait of his, and you’re way past due for a reread if you’ve forgotten. He has a particular fixation on, as canon puts it, “little girls”, and targets both Rose and Kanaya. Do I even have to bring up what he did to Damara?
Regarding the previous point, Rose and Kanaya both get very traumatized during the course of Homestuck’s story. They’re not well put together sophisticated “mom friends”, they’re 13 year olds just like almost everyone else is, and they’re going through hell. Rose in particular makes the effect all of this trauma has on her very well known. This is what Grimdarkness is.
Cronus is a child predator, too. During the course of the Openbounds and Ministrife, we see him unabashedly predate on three specific kids, and this behavior is made out to be extremely creepy. These three kids are Karkat, Tavros, and, yes, Eridan.
The Exiles were incredibly important to the plot, actually. You guys are just mean.
Almost every relationship in Homestuck is flawed in some capacity, that’s the point of a tragic drama. The main cast is literally nothing but traumatized and/or mentally ill 13-16 year olds. A good chunk of them aren’t even socialized, or grew up in an actively hostile environment. Or both. No shit characters mess up sometimes, or have unhealthy behaviors- it’s just natural in that situation. Some dynamics are substantially more healthy than others, but the main appeal of Homestuck is that everyone is flawed and damaged.
A good majority of Vriscourse was just people leaping at the opportunity to express pure, unabashed misogyny. I don’t think I have to elaborate upon this.
No, Jane is not a fascist, nor is she racist. She’s never been either of these things, that’s something that was invented out of left field by the Post Canon writing team. Being a fascistic racist was never within the scope of Jane’s character. No, it being “a result of her having grown up being fed propaganda by The Condesce” does not explain that plot thread in Post Canon for a single second, because Jane experiencing a major personality shift because of HIC literally already happened in canon with her going Crockertier, and she came out of that a stronger person. Never once has “racism” been on the list of problems she has.
Hemoloyalty is not intended to be a 1:1 metaphor for racism, nor is it intended to be a 1:1 metaphor for classism, or any other type of oppression. It’s not a 1:1 metaphor for literally anything, it’s intended to be flexible and contextual. This is not a bad thing, and is, in fact, a common storytelling method used by a lot of fantasy/sci-fi writers. Condemning Hussie for a lot of things in their writing is valid, but Hemoloyalty not being strictly analogous to only one type of real world oppression is patently not one of them. You do not know how metaphors work.
Official =/= Canon. No one is calling Pesterquest canon. You really shouldn’t be doing the same for Post Canon. The Homestuck Epilogues and Homestuck^2 are Official, but they are definitively not Canon. This is literally the first thing you learn about either of these projects. This doesn’t invalidate anyone’s enjoyment of any of these properties, of course, but it has to be stressed: Official does not automatically mean Canon.
1K notes · View notes
yaksha-lover · 8 months
Note
Hey! How are you doing? I don’t know how dark you’re willing to go, but the angst brainrot is back and I guess I just need somewhere to ramble.
Sometimes I like to think about how the prefect’s super chill reactions to… well everything, could just be a carefully crafted facade. I mean, the students at NRC are kinda awful people, and I don’t doubt any weakness would be swarmed like vultures to a fresh corpse. And a magicless, naive person like Yuu would be an extremely easy target. So, instead they just bury all the pain and pretend everything is okay. They’re not crying for their family and home late into the night.
The way that kind of repression would just build up over the year and slowly cause resentment towards everyone, deserved or not, is just delicious. Pretending to be everyone’s friend, to be the kind and welcoming prefect while coming to hate the other students’ guts. The eventual snap after one misplaced comment or one more mess to deal with, when the house of cards all falls down.
Maybe Rollo was right.
Idk, just got a lot of thoughts. Mainly based off of how Rook calls the prefect “Trickster” and the prologue almost framed Yuu in a strategist role. Thoughts?
Honestly, it would make a lot of sense. As much as we love the boys, most of them would be pretty terrible to be around and are very selfish and/or mean (with some exceptions, but that’s still a good majority of the school).
I like the idea that Yuu does start out genuinely wanting to help everyone and find people to be friends with, to try and make this experience of being trapped in another world even somewhat bearable.
At first it’s okay that Ace is a jerk sometimes, because he comes around once you get to know him. It’s fine that Riddle nitpicks and punishes the three of you because in the end, he’s trying his best to get better, to heal from his past. It’s alright that Leona is unrepentant and mean, because he has things he’s been dealing with, and you need to be understanding of his pain. Even when Azul tricks your friends and later you, when you almost lose your Ramshackle, the one place you’ve had to call home, you try to have patience, because he’s got his own issues as well, he has his reasons for things.
But somewhere along the way, you’ve stopped caring for their excuses. Their trauma is real, but so is yours. Even after everything you’ve done to try and help them, you don’t doubt for a moment that none of them would run to your rescue. That they wouldn’t take any opportunity to step on and over you if it meant getting closer to their goals. Because at the end of the day, none of them cared, no matter how much you wanted to believe it wasn’t true.
Breaking down isn’t an option - not when everyone is out for themselves, when your feelings would surely only be ridiculed at best and taken advantage of at worst. Even more than that, you’re a guest at this school. You never earned your way here like the other students and you’re magicless; the only reason you’re even here are extenuating circumstances. The headmage isn’t any more loyal than the housewardens - if any of them had a problem with you, it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine he’d throw you out onto the street the second you became an inconvenience that was too much work to handle. So you keep quiet, even when all you want is to tell off everyone around you.
The only housewarden to ever seem to really give a damn about you is Vil, but by the time you get close with him, it’s already too late. Maybe if you met him first, if you’d been less scorned, you could’ve forgiven his little digs at your lacklustre presence and imperfection. He’d done much to try and make up for it after all, helping you out with Ramshackle and voicing his appreciation for you. It was more than you could say for anyone else, but it still isn’t enough. Vil’s sweetness can’t counteract the bitter taste that’s been brewing for months, so you can’t bring yourself to forgive him despite everything.
It’s not his fault, but it’s never anyone’s fault. It’s all of them, chipping away at your sanity little by little.
It’s okay that you can never fall asleep anymore, kept awake by memories of never ending fights and catastrophes to deal with. It’s okay that the same people you’ve helped barely regard you as more than something worth pitying. It’s okay that you’re reminded every day that no effort is being put towards getting you away from this hellhole and back home.
It’s all okay, until it’s not. Until Yuu finally reaches their breaking point, and starts to question if anyone is truly worth saving at this school.
234 notes · View notes
raina-at · 4 months
Text
Jealousy
He’s not jealous. It would be ridiculous to be jealous. Not after all this time.
Sherlock is gay. Sherlock is also married. To him. They’re raising a daughter together. He trusts Sherlock absolutely. It was hard-worn trust, and it needed a lot of time, therapy and painful honesty to re-establish, but it’s rock solid now. He knows Sherlock would never betray him.
And yet. 
And yet, the very sound of that obscene text message chime is enough to set his teeth on edge and make his blood boil.
Sherlock never replies. He does read the texts, though, and he doesn’t delete them. He went halfway around the world to save her, and he still has the fucking camera phone. 
John hates her. He never found her attractive at all, even though she’s practically Sherlock in female form, with her dark hair, her pale skin and her sharp intellect. But she lacks something completely essential to John. Something Sherlock has, even though he hides it well. Integrity. Morals. Sincerity. He always found her painfully artificial. In control. Cool, calculating, always out for her own advantage. Never a genuine emotion. Even though Sherlock believed she loved him, John never bought into it. 
He hated how she toyed with Sherlock’s emotions, hated how she manipulated him, made him dance. He hated, hated, how fascinated Sherlock was with her, how he admired her, how she turned his head and scrambled his sensors. How desperate he was to impress her. How she taunted him. Look at us both, indeed.
He was insulted when she compared herself to John. John would die for Sherlock. Irene wouldn’t have crossed the street to spit at his corpse. And yet she mockingly called him on his biggest vulnerability, his unrequited—or so he thought—love for Sherlock, his traitorous heart that even then belonged entirely to Sherlock, who—or so he thought—didn’t want it.
Even now, almost a decade later, every time Sherlock gets one of her moany texts, John wants to take Sherlock’s phone and shatter it against the wall. 
It’s not that he thinks Sherlock will ever have sex with her.
It’s that she still fascinates him. Intellectually. She’s so clever, isn’t she. She’s so smart, so cunning, such an elegant criminal. She never gets caught, and only Sherlock can trace her crimes through newspapers and social media posts. A blackmail here, a clever con there. A clandestine theft, an act of corporate espionage. Victimless, bloodless, traceless. And Sherlock loves it. He enjoys regaling John with her exploits, full of admiration and praise for her cleverness.
The thing is, John recognises that this is a him problem. Sherlock doesn’t do anything to make him jealous. Ever. People flirt with him all the time, and he’s oblivious at best and scornfully dismissive at worst. He’s a great father, a wonderfully attentive lover and much easier to live with than he used to be. He’s a good partner, period. And he clearly, openly, transparently, visibly loves John. 
It just.
John isn’t brilliant. He’s not clever, cunning, or elegant. He’s not seductively amoral, he’s not out there temptingly flaunting all the roles of social dos and don’ts in an elegant, victimless, clever fashion. 
He’s the person admonishing Sherlock to put his socks in the bloody hamper. He’s the one asking him about the electric bill. He’s the one topping up Sherlock’s oyster card and the one telling him to call his parents. 
And yes, he binds Sherlock’s wounds and soothes his nightmares and tethers him to the ground when he would otherwise fly apart. 
And he knows Sherlock loves him intensely, passionately, almost obsessively. He knows Sherlock values him, respects him, needs him.
He’s just never sure exactly why.
Most of the time, he doesn’t think about it. They work, as a couple, as parents, as partners. They’ve always mysteriously clicked, like two broken pieces fitting together perfectly at the cracks. Most of the time, he’s too busy living his life, raising his child, loving his husband.
But sometimes, there’s a text. And a sound. And John looks at the person he loves so much his heart literally quivers with it sometimes, and he wonders. 
Why me, if it could be her? Why me, if it could be anyone?
He never asks, because he’s honestly afraid of the answer. And he knows it doesn’t matter why Sherlock loves him, because it’s so obvious that he does. There’s so much binding them together these days. Parenthood, trust, affection, family, habit, and more than a fair share of lust.
But sometimes he doubts. Will it last? Will he one day wake up, look at me, realise I’m just a broken ex-soldier who has nothing to offer?
It only lasts a second. It only lasts until Sherlock notices his frown, pulls him down for a searing kiss that relegates the doubts in John’s mind back into the closet. 
One of these days, John knows, the doubts will disappear completely. One of these days, he’ll hear that fucking moan and won’t care.
He’s not quite there yet. 
But he will be.
----
Tags under the cut as usual, please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged.
@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee @dapetty @salmonsown
101 notes · View notes
cozage · 1 year
Note
Thinking about what if Trafalgar Law had an s/o that is secretly rich. Like...
They don't flaunt it but they aren't exactly hiding it either. How would law react?
Would he be neutral? Would he be confused...? Like...? What?
Characters: GN! reader x Law
Cw: some fighting/arguments, cute fluff other than that :) 
Total word count: 700
Quite literally nothing goes unnoticed with Law, so I imagine he figures out you’ve got money pretty quickly. However, he’s not sure how much you have or how you’re getting it, and he won’t confront you until something big happens.
It starts out with little things. On port days you always come back with an extra special dessert or something fancy to share with the whole crew. Law can calculate how much it costs to buy something that nice for a crew of 20 people. He doesn’t think anything of it at first, but after the third time at port, he’s suspicious of your finances. But again, he’s not asking.
A crew mate mentions that they want something they see while they’re on an island but don’t have enough berries. Every now and then when you hear someone talk about something they really want, you’ll buy it for them and place it on their bed while they’re out. 
You never say anything about it or let them know it was you who bought it, but every time someone shows up to dinner showing off something they wanted, Law notices how your eyes are full of joy, while everyone else’s are full of amazement and shock. The crew thinks it’s their captain who’s giving the gifts, and he thoroughly denies it, but he never throws you under the bus.
And then the ship needs a repair. A BIG one. And you’re stuck at port until you can get it fixed. Law gets the estimate for repair at 100,000 berries. You can see he’s stressed about it, trying to figure out where to cut corners to afford such a big (but necessary) repair. His stress is bleeding into all other aspects of his life, including your relationship. 
So you walk into his office one day, and just set the money gently on the table, and walk away. He’s staring at the money, shocked that you could have so much on hand.
“Y/N-ya?” he calls to you before you exit the room. “Where on earth did you get this?”
“It’s better not to ask questions,” you smirk back at him and leave. You’d rather not tell him that you were rich, it’s not like it really mattered anyway. 
Later, when the two of you are alone in his room, he brings it back up again. “Seriously, though” he purrs to you, kissing the crook of your neck in between words. “Where are you getting all this money?”
You laugh and push him away gently, teasing him. “What, you think I’m a secret Marine spy or something?”
His eyebrow raised in suspicion, playing along with your joke. “Wouldn't be unheard of, you know.”
You kiss the tip of his nose, finally giving in. “It’s just some money I had from my past life, Captain. Nothing more to it.”
That’s enough of an answer for him. Law isn’t one to pry, and he trusts you completely.
He continues to let you do small gestures for your crewmates anonymously. Your secret is safe with him.
But he doesn’t let you pay for ship problems or other things he should have to deal with as a captain in the future. Sometimes it can spark arguments between the two of you. He’s so damn independent and prideful, and you just want to help ease his burdens when you can. You two usually find a compromise, but sometimes the argument can last a few days until one of you gives in to the other. 
Sometimes he caves first, sometimes you do. It not a super common occurrence, and after your alls spat about money is over, it’s completely forgotten. Law doesn’t want to take advantage of you, even though he knows you don’t see it like that. Because of that, you rarely buy things for him. He’s more of an “Acts of Service'' and “Quality Time” kind of guy anyway.
He likes to pamper you with gifts though. Little treats from a bakery, small pieces of jewelry you pass by and comment on. In the back of his mind, he knows you can afford it, but he still likes to show his love through little gifts anyway. And you like receiving the gifts too. They’re way more special coming from him.  
877 notes · View notes
copperbadge · 2 years
Text
Having ADHD and Being A Little Punk Rock
So....a huge amount of the discourse on Tumblr around neurodiversity generally is just venting. Which is good, it’s good to vent and Tumblr is a good place for it. And I know that often, when venting, the LAST thing you want to hear is someone trying to offer help or solutions. So generally I keep my mouth shut unless someone is speaking to me specifically. 
But a while back I saw someone asking (rhetorically) about what people with ADHD wish their parents had known, and I had a lot of thoughts about that which I started jotting down. Reading the various ADHD tags, I also see a lot of teens and twentysomethings with ADHD who visibly have no coping mechanisms and no way of creating them. I don’t blame the kids, and it’s not some kind of personal failing on their part; they’re young, and nobody has taught them. But I look at them and I think, A little sideways thinking would help you out so much. Then, recently, I got an ask (thank you for the permission not to respond directly) that was full of feelings about not being able to process or communicate well, and feeling a lot of negative emotions because of it. 
So, maybe it’s time to just throw this out there. I want to offer some advice as Fandom Dad with forty-three years of being neurodiverse and exactly seven months of actually being aware I was neurodiverse. Which for once is actually going to be pretty helpful! Because I looked at the world and I assumed my own neurotypicality and I thought, well, okay, but fuck all that.
Allow me to explain.  
I think this can apply to a number of ways in which people are neurodiverse, but I have ADHD so that’s what I’m really speaking to here. With ADHD, there’s medication, and I strongly urge people to explore that option because medication is awesome when it works. But there’s also a lot out there about how to try harder, or trick yourself into doing something in a very neurotypical way, or use systems that may not work for you. I know; I tried some too, and the sense of failure, the sense of being an ongoing failure, is terrible. So I want to offer an alternative which has helped me a great deal, and may help other people with ADHD, particularly younger people. 
People of any age, but especially young people who have ADHD, should be made aware that it’s okay to suck at things, to struggle, and to fail. Even if you think you should be good at something, even if everyone around you thinks so too, it’s okay to just be garbage at it and to acknowledge that fact. But just saying “well I’m dumb and can’t do this” of course isn’t actually helpful, and harms you a great deal, because you are a living person with feelings and if you’re self-aware enough to notice, you’re also too smart to be calling yourself dumb. Acknowledging that you’re bad at something, and even acknowledging that you’d like to succeed at it, is only part one of figuring life out.
Part two is deciding what to do about it, and more importantly, how. 
I was always told I was smart, but I was told “You’re smart so you should be able to do this”, not “You’re smart, so let’s come up with a way around this.” I don’t think many people are encouraged to explore why they are bad at something, to understand their own brains and thought processes which cause them to struggle.
Decades before I knew I had ADHD, I had to figure out that one of life’s most important skills is not being able to creatively solve problems but to recognize when you have to. Anyone can sit around and come up with three or four ways to solve a problem, but it’s not actually often taught that you should also be aware of when this is needed. Often, when faced with a problem that is difficult to solve, we’re taught that our reaction should be the socially approved “I just need to try harder”. Sometimes that’s true, but usually it’s not.  
More often, when we feel that instinct, especially as people with ADHD, we should say instead, “I’m not going to try harder, that’s bullshit. I’m trying already. I’m going to find another way to solve this problem.” Trying harder doesn’t work, after all, when your own brain is fighting you.
So you stop and think, if there were no rules to the world, how could I do this? You don’t have to work smarter; a lot of my solutions could reasonably be described as “work dumber”. The point is to work differently in a way that helps you specifically. 
Stop trying to remember to take your keys when you leave the house and get a lanyard and hang them on the doorknob; if you lose them a lot, hang the lanyard around your neck when you leave the house. 
Stop pretending you’ll remember to scoop the litterbox every night and set an alarm that tells you to do it. Or don’t, that works for me but might not for you! Maybe you have to put the litterbox somewhere you’ll see it right before bed (I ALSO do this for the days I turn off the alarm and then promptly forget it happened). 
There are phone charging cords in every room of my home so that I never run down my phone battery, something that is mildly inconvenient to have happen but deeply anxiety-inducing to think about for me. And now I never worry.
The point is, don’t ask how you can do better at something, ask how you can make something easier for you.
Even rewiring your brain to ask the question is a learned skill, though. You have to consciously stop when you find something is fighting you and consciously think, how can this be easier for my specific brain? If we assume I am not stupid but am in fact fighting an invisible monster, how do I make the monster visible? 
Life became roughly 60% easier for me when I started thinking this way. Of all the tips for time management and list making and organizing and de-organizing you can try and implement, none of that is necessary if you know how to ask yourself, “How do I do this differently?” and come up with alternatives that suit your brain. 
Especially with neurodivergence, there’s no “one size fits all” when it comes to handling it, neurologically or emotionally. So I think that it’s important to be a little bit punk rock. Not necessarily in the way of defying authority but in the way of defying convention -- the ability to say “fuck you” to the Way Things Are Done and do one’s own thing is very liberating and healthy. You lose a lot of the benefits of creative problem solving if you’re also ashamed of the solutions. So I think the best trick I know of to succeed despite unmedicated ADHD is just to say “fuck you, there must be an easier way to do this.” 
I’m garbage at cleaning my home (I can say that because I’m not only calling myself garbage, I’m using “I’m bad at this” as a stepping stone to solving the problem, and then I no longer feel like garbage and can joke about it with a healthy ego). I vacuum regularly and do the dishes and such but like...I don’t scrub the floors or dust or wash out the bathtub. That’s part of why I do November Cleaning -- so that at least once a year those things, that I never want to do but always think I should do, get done, but only have to be done once and at a specific designated time. So now if the bathroom floor is a bit grimy in the corners I just think, “Ah -- that’s for November” and add it to my November Cleaning list. 
For my friend who struggles with communication, which is something I also used to really struggle with (and still do in some ways), one of my “make stuff easier” techniques for this was simply to...tell people.
“Hey, I tend to talk really fast when I get excited, so please tell me if I need to slow down.” 
“Sorry, I have some hearing issues, I may ask you to repeat something -- it’s fine just to do it slower, I don’t need louder.” 
“I’m upset and struggling, I need a minute.” (or even just “Hey where’s the bathroom?” so you can sit quietly for a moment and gather your thoughts. If you’re too upset to talk, it also helps to type them out, which I often do.) 
If someone tells me something I want to remember, I’ll get out my phone and say “Sorry, I’m still listening, but I want to write that down so I won’t forget it.” I do all my writing-things-down in Google Tasks, then once I’m somewhere quiet and private I review the notes and move stuff that isn’t actually “to do” to another list. Sometimes I’ll tell someone “I’m so sorry, you just said something and I totally missed it, but it’s important to me -- can you repeat it?” 
Most people find that kind of honesty, where you’re open about why you’re maybe talking at cross-purposes, really charming. It indicates that you think they are important, and you’re putting in effort to hear what they’re saying and respond to it thoughtfully.  
I hope this is helpful in finding ways around some basic problems, rather than through them -- that being able to stop and think “This could be easier -- how?” is something that people can internalize and make use of. Going around a mountain rather than through it might look like it’ll take more time and energy, but it beats trying to punch through granite the whole way there. 
2K notes · View notes
m-says-hi · 5 months
Text
Hi I have more thoughts about Sampo… kinda. This is more about some weird things I found out about Mechanical Fever that might have to do with Sampo
For those of you who don’t know, Mechanical Fever is Serval’s band. Why do I think Sampo has anything to do with it? Well in his character introduction he mentions that he used to play for Serval’s band. Or more specifically, he would stand in when they were short handed. 
So yesterday, I remembered this and decided to look into Mechanical Fever, not expecting to find anything. I was wrong.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me first list the members of Mechanical Fever and then explain the weird things you find out when you speak to them about the band.
Serval: Lead singer and guitarist Pela: Drummer Lynx: Keyboarder Dunn: Old keyboarder ???: Bassist
I’m going to go from least to most interesting response
Pela I don’t think we ever actually talk about Mechanical Fever to Pela in person. If we do, I didn’t find it on the wiki. However she does message us about it, asking if we were coming to a show. Other than that she doesn’t really tell us much.
Dunn Talking to Dunn is when it first gets interesting. When we talk to him about Mechanical Fever, he mentions that he remembered there were four members: Serval, Pela, him and an unknown fourth member. 
Tumblr media
The weirdest thing about this is of course the fact that Dunn doesn’t remember who this fourth member was. He doesn’t even remember the instrument they played and only remembered they played the bass after we suggested it.
Another strange thing is how Dunn calls the bass player a “he” before doubting their gender. When I first found this information and shared it with my friends, we assumed it was Sampo. Afterall, we know he played with Mechanical Fever sometimes. We also know he’s a Fool, so him messing with Dunn is believable. And Sampo’s gender seems to be questionable considering his adventures as Burghel.
But talking to the other band members made me doubtful…
Lynx When talking to Lynx in the outlying snow plains you can ask her if she’s a member of the band. She says yes and then goes on to talk about the other members… also bringing up our mysterious bass player. But not only that…..
She mentions Cocolia of all people.
Tumblr media
Now our good pal Sampo was a well connected man. But Cocolia? I’m doubtful of that for some reason. Especially since he eventually became a part of Wildfire. Yet who else would just “disappear”?
I didn't think much of it at first. I was pretty convinced Sampo was the bass player at first. And Lynx even calls it a baseless rumor. But Lynx isn’t the only one who mentions Cocolia.
Serval Serval is the last member to talk about. We actually speak to her about Mechanical Fever twice. Once is during a quest Pom Pom sends us on called “Looking for a Disk”. Basically we’re looking for music for the express. One of the places we go is to Serval to ask if her band has any discs to give to us.
She tells us that unfortunately she can’t and lists out the reasons why… problems with their bass player being one of them.
Tumblr media
The other time we talk to her about it is when we find her in her workshop. We ask her about the members of our band and we hear about the bass player and… Cocolia again.
Tumblr media
Again, it’s said that the lack of a bassist has to do with Cocolia. In fact Cocolia is mentioned so often with this mysterious bassist that the wiki has named her as the former bassist of Mechanical Fever.
Tumblr media
However, I disagree with this conclusion. Both times Cocolia was mentioned, she was never directly called the bassist. Only that the bassist’s disappearance has something to do with her. It feels odd to me that they would mention the two separately. If Cocolia was indeed the bass player then why don't they just say that?
Another possible explanation is that maybe they’re trying to hide the fact she was a member of Mechanical Fever. But that doesn’t make sense either. Both Cocolia and Mechanical Fever were very well known. I mean Dunn’s status on his messages says that he left the band and people should stop contacting him about it.
If people know Dunn was a member, then surely they would know Cocolia was. That also doesn’t explain why Dunn doesn’t even remember who the bass player was. I’m pretty sure he’d remember who Cocolia was. 
So… if it’s not Cocolia, then who? Sampo? But how is Cocolia involved? A friend of mine offered the explanation that maybe Sampo got himself involved in some sort of trouble involving both Serval and Cocolia. Then using Masked Fools magic, he wiped everyone’s mind. But the question remains, what trouble did he get into? And is this bass player even sampo?
82 notes · View notes
banishedchildofeve · 2 months
Text
Tumblr media
˚。⋆ Patron Saints that help guide us through the year
₊⋆·˚ ⁀➴ ༉‧₊˚. ₊ ⊹ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✧˚ .
- St. Dymphna ; the Patron Saint of mental illness.
while it can hard for us to admit that we are struggling mentally on a serious level, we have all had moments of feeling very low. i personally have struggled, and so struggle with, anxiety, depression, anger issues etc. these have been serious issues for me and i learnt a prayer i will link - here - that has helped me know St. Dymphna. ˚࿐
- St. Vitus ; the Patron Saint of oversleeping.
we have all overslept once, if not maybe multiple times a week or month. for some, oversleeping is a rare misfortune, but for others, including me, oversleeping is a regular problem and has affected my life in a various of negative ways. here is a - link - to a prayer that i found. ˚࿐
- St. Phillip Neri ; the Patron Saint of joy (and friendship).
i dunno about all of you guys, but i have lost more friends then i have gained since leaving high school. this isn’t a bad thing as a lot of the people i spent time with weren’t very nice, but like most people, i am always wishing for more friends. friendship is so important, and i read up about St. Phillip Neri and learnt so much. he is also the Saint of Joy! here is a - prayer - ˚࿐
- St. Padre Pio ; the Patron Saint of stress relief (and adolescents).
we all get stressed, duh. stress can take a toll on so many aspects of our lives, including our health on a long-term scale. trying to reduce stress is ironically, quite a stressful process. i have found peace in a plenty of Bible verses that talk about being calm and trusting God. i have also found peace in Padre Pio, a Saint who i knew about long before God called me to Catholicism. i have him on a bracelet, haha. here is a - prayer - by St. Padre Pio i have found, and also a - prayer - TO Padre Pio. ˚࿐
- St. Expeditus ; the Patron Saint of procrastination.
if someone says they don’t procrastinate, i’m 99.9% sure they’re lying. you do it, i do it, we know it’s bad, but it can be so hard to fight sometimes. good thing we have St. Expeditus! here is a - prayer - that we should all recite daily. i wish you the best! ˚࿐
- St. Anthony ; the Patron Saint of lost things.
my keys, my glasses, my card, sometimes even whole outfits or pairs of shoes… how many times a week, even a day, do we lose things we own? i’m sure we all know about St. Anthony, most atheists know about him, but i often find myself forgetting that he is there for us. a - prayer - to the finder of those annoying lost items.
- St. Jude ; the Patron Saint of lost causes (and “impossible” circumstances).
we have all thought a situation we’ve been in is completely and totally helpless. we’re stuck, there’s no way out and this feeling might just be forever. despite how hard these moments are, however long or short they may last, they do always end. we end up feeling better. however, that’s not to say that that feeling of helplessness isn’t so hard to bare. i’ve been there, i understand. i only recently learnt about St. Jude, (prior to this, the only ‘jude’ i knew of was the Beatles song… forgive me…). thankfully, St. Jude represents hope for the hopeless and miracles for all of us facing those helpless circumstances. - prayers
₊⋆·˚ ⁀➴ ༉‧₊˚. ₊ ⊹ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✧˚ .
i hope this was somehow useful. God bless you. <3
౨ৎ
i also just make up my own prayers to Saints when needed. sometimes we don’t resonate with a prayer, and that’s okay. i often add to prayers or find myself reciting my own. i linked prayers for suggestions, not as some sort of strict guideline :)
౨ৎ
Tumblr media
39 notes · View notes