#built to kill and taught to perform | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

meazalykov · 3 months ago

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perform

catarina macario x f!reader

warnings: angst

the cheers from chelsea supporters run through your body as you jog off the pitch, sweat dripping down your temples, your legs burning from another ninety minutes of relentless play.

another goal, another two assists and another player-of-the-match award is tucked under your belt against west ham like it’s just another tuesday.

your chelsea teammates lucy, millie, and sam clap your back as you pass, their grins wide and proud.

“bloody hell, y/n, keep this up and i’ll see a d’or in your future,” lucy says, her voice rough with that familiar edge of admiration. you force a smile, nod, let the praise roll off you like water on glass.

it’s what you do. it’s what you’ve always done.

if you’re not performing, if you’re not the best, the brightest, the one they can’t look away from, what are you? nothing. that’s what your childhood taught you, back when the house was too quiet, too empty of anything resembling warmth.

your parents didn’t hit you, didn’t yell. they just… didn’t see you. not unless you were winning something, not unless you were perfect. so you learned early: love isn’t free. it’s a transaction. you perform, you get a scrap of it. you falter, it’s gone.

now, you are one of the best footballers in the world, a name whispered in the same breath as bonmatí and putellas. you are a star for the uswnt and chelsea and you’ve built a life on that performance, a fortress of accolades and highlight reels. however, it’s fragile. you know it is.

beneath the shine, beneath the player everyone sees, there’s you…small, scared, convinced that if anyone saw the real mess of you, they’d turn away.

at least you have your bestfriend, catarina.

she’s been your anchor since you met her on the national team back in early 2021. you remember that first drill when the two of you were fighting for the ball. your aggressiveness matched hers, she needed that ball just as much as you did. since then, she has become your best friend, your everything you won’t let yourself name.

you wouldn’t have it any other way. you need her close, even if it kills you to keep her at arm’s length.

“you did nice todayyyy,” she says now, dragging out the ‘y’ in today as she is catching up to you in the tunnel. your bestie’s voice is soft, teasing, the way it always is with you. the woman’s dark curly hair with blonde highlights is pulled back, a few strands sticking to her sweat-damp forehead, and her eyes…god, those brown eyes…sparkle with something that makes your stomach twist.

you shrug, mutter a “thanks,” and look away because if you hold her gaze too long, you’ll drown in it.

“you’re too hard on yourself, you know,” she adds, bumping her shoulder against yours. it’s casual, friendly, but it sends a jolt through you anyway.

you laugh it off, a brittle sound that doesn’t reach your eyes.

“gotta be,” you say, “or i’m nothing on this team.”

you mean it as a joke, but it lands heavy, and you see her frown out of the corner of your eye. she doesn’t push, though.

nobody at chelsea are people who mind their own business. they’re aware of the mutual yearning between cat and you. lucy’s caught you staring at catarina across the locker room too many times to count, her smirk saying she knows exactly what’s up.

millie’s dropped hints… “you two are basically married, just kiss already”... that you brush off with a roll of your eyes. sam, with her sharp aussie humor, once said, “mate, if i looked at kristie the way you look at cat, she’d ask if i was horny or some shit.”

niamh and aggie exchange glances when you and catarina sit too close on the bus, erin whispering something to them that makes them all laugh. they see the yearning, the way your eyes soften when catarina’s around, the way hers linger on you when she thinks you’re not looking.

unfortunately, you can’t and you won’t take it further.

what if it falls apart? what if she sees you, the real you and not the footballer, and decides it’s not enough? you’ve never had nice things that last. your parents’ attention flickered out like a dying bulb. friendships faded when you couldn’t keep up the act, even the fleeting flings with other women that you’ve had over the years always ended with you feeling emptier than before, because they only wanted the shine, not the person beneath it.

catarina’s different…she’s seen you at your lowest, crying after losses, angry after fights with coaches, quiet when the world felt too heavy but you think that she hasn’t seen it all.

so you keep her close but not too close, a tightrope you’ve walked for years. it hurts, though. god, it hurts. every time she flirts, because she does and you’re not that oblivious, your heart stumbles.

“you look good today,” she’ll say, her voice low, and you’ll laugh it off, “yeah, right,” because you can’t let yourself believe it. she’ll brush her hand against yours when you’re watching film together, and you’ll pull away, pretending you didn’t notice, even though your skin burns where she touched you. it’s safer this way. if she never gets in, she can’t leave.

it was last night after a match against arsenal, that things start to crack. you scored twice, assisted once, carried the team to a 4-1 win. the adrenaline is still pumping in your veins as you head to the locker room, but there’s a heaviness too, a quiet ache that’s been growing lately.

catarina’s beside you, as always, chattering about the game, about how your second goal was “pure class.”

you’re half-listening, nodding, when she stops walking and grabs your arm.

“hey,” she says, and her tone is serious, “we won the match…what’s going on with you?”

you blink, caught off guard, “what do you mean?”

“you’re… i don’t know… distant? more than usual.” her brow furrows, and she’s looking at you like she’s trying to peel back your layers, see what’s underneath. it terrifies you.

“did i do something?”

“no,” you say too quickly, shaking your head.

“no, cat, you didn’t…it’s not you.” your voice cracks on the last word, and you hate it, hate how fragile you sound.

she steps closer, and you want to back away, but your feet won’t move, “then what is it? talk to me, y/n. please.”

you swallow hard, your throat tight, “i’m fine. just tired… i think i pushed myself too hard today.”

“bullshit,” she says, soft but firm, “i know you. you are not tired but this is something else and you know it.”

your chest tightens, panic rising. she’s too close, too warm, too everything, “i don’t want to talk about it,” you mutter, turning away, but her hand catches yours, gentle but insistent.

“y/n,” she says, and it’s the way she says your name��like it matters, like you matter…that undoes you. tears prick your eyes, and you yank your hand back, hating how exposed you feel.

“just drop it, okay?” you snap, sharper than you mean to. cat’s face falls, and guilt twists in your gut, but you can’t stop now, “i don’t need you fixing me or finding out what's wrong with me, cat. i’m not some project.”

“i’m not trying to fix you,” she says, voice steady despite the hurt in her eyes.

“i’m trying to be here. because i—” she stops and looks down bites her lip, and you feel the unspoken words hanging between you like a storm cloud.

“don’t,” you whisper, shaking your head, “don’t say it.”

if she says she loves you, you’ll break. you’ll believe it for a second, and then you’ll ruin it because that’s what you do. you don’t get to have her like that, not when you’re this mess of a person who only knows how to perform, not how to be.

she stares at you, eyes glistening, and for a moment, you think she’ll push anyway. but then she nods, steps back, and the distance feels like a chasm.

“okay, fine.” she says quietly.

cat walks away to the locker room, and you’re left standing there, trembling, the weight of your own cowardice pressing down on you. you want to call her back. you want to tell her everything. the longing, the way you’ve loved her since you were twenty and too scared to admit it.

you don’t. you just watch her go, because that’s all you know how to do.

the next evening, you’re sitting on the edge of your couch. the flat is too quiet, too still. the match replay hums faintly on the tv, but you’re not watching. your knees are pulled up to your chest, arms wrapped tight around them, and your face is wet. you had tears you didn’t even realize were falling until they started soaking into your shirt.

it’s stupid, you think, crying like this. you’ve got everything… trophies lining your shelves, a contract with chelsea, a great spot on the uswnt thanks to your last chelsea coach emma who is now the uswnt coach, many fans chant your name. you’re living the dream of many.

so why does it feel like you’re drowning?

why can’t you just believe it? that someone could love you…not the footballer, not the star, not the girl who’s always on but you, the one who’s quiet and flawed in ways you’ve never let anyone see.

your whole life, it’s been the same: perform, win, be perfect, and maybe someone will care. the second the spotlight dims, the second you’re just y/n, it’s like you disappear. your parents taught you that. their indifference carved it into you, a wound that never healed.

now, with catarina, it’s worse because she’s the one person you want to believe in, the one person you want to see you, and you’re too terrified to let her.

your phone vibrates on the cushion beside you, and you glance at it through blurry eyes. catarina’s name lights up the screen, her goofy contact photo… a shot of her mid-laugh from a team bonding night back in the united states…staring back at you.

your chest tightens, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill. you want to answer. you want to hear her voice, let it wrap around you like it always does, steady and safe. however, your hand won’t move. if you pick up, she’ll hear the crack in your voice, the mess you are, and you can’t bear that.

so you let it ring, and ring, until it stops, leaving the silence heavier than before.

twenty minutes later, the phone vibrates again.

this time it’s niamh.

you wipe your face with your sleeve, take a shaky breath, and answer after the third ring, trying to sound normal.

“hey,” you say, voice rough but passable.

there’s a beat of silence on the other end. no “hi” back. just niamh’s voice, sharp and knowing.

“why’d you answer me and not cat?”

your heart sinks, a cold weight settling in your stomach.

“i, uh… just got out of the shower. she calls me when i was still in there,” you mumble, the lie slipping out before you can stop it.

another pause. you can practically hear niamh raising an eyebrow through the phone.

“your hair’s dry, y/n. it’s six o’clock. we all know you don’t shower ‘til half nine like some weirdo with a bedtime routine.”

you glance at the facetime screen and curse inwardly. she’s right, your hair’s a dead giveaway and the lie’s so flimsy it’s almost laughable. you force a weak laugh anyway, but it sounds hollow, “well you’ve caught me, i guess. i’m sorry.”

she doesn’t laugh back. instead, she sighs, long and tired, like she’s been carrying this conversation in her head all day, “are you okay?”

“yeah,” you say too fast, too bright, “i’m fine.”

“have you talked to catarina since she called?”

“no.”

the word comes out small, and you hate it.

niamh doesn’t let it slide. she’s too perceptive, too stubborn, and right now, it’s the last thing you need.

“y/n,” she says, her tone shifting, softer but firm, “i can’t keep ignoring this like everyone else on the team has… you’re in love with cat and we all see it. so why the hell aren’t you doing anything about it?”

you freeze. your breath catches, and for a second, you can’t move, can’t think. the phone feels like it’s burning in your hand, and every instinct screams to hang up, to run from this because if you stay on the line, she’ll see right through you.

you could end the call and claim a bad connection, dodge this until training tomorrow but she’d just corner you there instead, probably with lucy or millie in tow, and that’d be worse.

so you stay, pinned by her words, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“i’m not—” you start, but the denial sticks in your throat, weak and unconvincing even to you.

“don’t,” niamh cuts in, gentle but unyielding, “don’t lie to me. you look at her like she hung the moon for you, y/n. cat looks at you the same way. she’s in love with you too so why aren’t you together?”

you swallow hard, the lump in your throat choking you.

“i don’t know,” you whisper, and it’s the most honest thing you’ve said all night but you do know. it because you feel like you’re not enough. you do not feel good without the goals, the wins, and the shine.

catarina deserves someone whole, someone brave, someone who doesn’t flinch at the idea of being loved. not you, with your niches and your late-night doubts.

she’s your best friend, your everything, and you’d rather keep her at a distance than risk losing her entirely.

niamh waits, like she’s giving you space to say more, but you don’t. you can’t. she sighs again.

“y/n,” she says softly, “you don’t have to figure it out tonight. but you can’t keep running from her. she’s not going anywhere…none of us are.”

the call ends with a quiet click, and you’re left staring at the blank screen, niamh’s words echoing in your head. she’s in love with you too. it should feel like hope, like a lifeline, but instead it twists the knife deeper, because what if niamh is wrong? what if catarina loves the version of you she knows? the footballer, the teammate, the friend…and not as a potential romantic partner?

you drop the phone and bury your face in your hands, the tears coming harder now, because you want it so badly to be enough and to be hers. you don’t know how to let yourself try.

your phone’s still dark on the couch beside you when it buzzes again. it is not a call this time, but a text. you don’t even want to look, but your eyes catch the name anyway: catarina. your stomach lurches.

you swipe it open, hands trembling, and the words hit you like a punch.

you answered niamh but not me? what the hell, y/n?

you stare at it, the guilt clawing up your throat. she’d called earlier before niamh, before the tears and you’d let it ring since too afraid to face her. you didn’t think she’d know. you didn’t think niamh would text her about this. you sighed when you realized that niamh is catarina’s closest friend on the team besides you… and of course they planned this.

your fingers hover over the keyboard, searching for an excuse. it takes you ten minutes before you can type or think of anything. however, as you grabbed your phone… there’s a sharp knock at your door.

you freeze. it’s her. you know it’s her. no one else would show up unannounced like this, not at this hour, not when you’re this much of a wreck. the knock comes again, harder, insistent, and you drag yourself off the couch, wiping your face on your hoodie sleeve like that’ll hide the evidence of your breakdown.

when you open the door, catarina’s standing there, her jaw tight, eyes blazing. she doesn’t wait for an invitation since just steps past you into the flat, her energy crackling like a storm about to break.

“what’s wrong with you?” she says, spinning to face you as you shut the door. cat’s voice is sharp, hurt bleeding through every word.

“you can pick up for niamh, but not me? your best friend? i’ve been worried sick, y/n, and you just ignore me?”

“it’s not what it looks like,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest like that’ll shield you. your voice is small, shaky, and you hate it.

“then what is it?” she snaps, stepping closer, “because it looks like you’re pushing me away. again. you always do that when i get too close. i don’t get it…i don’t get you anymore.”

“cat, stop—” you start, but she cuts you off, her hands flying up in frustration.

“no, i won’t stop! i’m tired of this, y/n. i’m tired of you shutting me out every time i try to be there for you. what did i do? tell me because i’m racking my brain trying to figure out why you won’t even talk to me!”

“you didn’t do anything!” you shout back, louder than you mean to, and it startles you both. your chest heaves, the dam inside you cracking, “it’s not you, okay? it’s me…it’s always me!”

she stares at you, her anger faltering which is replaced by confusion, “what are you talking about?”

you turn away, pacing toward the window, because you can’t look at her when you say this. your hands tangle in your hair, pulling at the roots like it’ll steady you, but it doesn’t.

“i’m in love with you,” you blurt out, the words ripping free before you can stop them, “i’ve been in love with you for years, cat, and it terrifies me. you’re my best friend and my everything… i can’t… i can’t lose you because you’d pull away.”

silence.

it’s suffocating, pressing down on you as you wait for her to say something, anything. when you finally turn back, her eyes are wide, glistening with something you can’t read.

“y/n—” she starts, but you’re not done, the floodgates open now.

“i don’t deserve you,” you say, voice breaking.

“i’m not perfect, not yet and maybe not ever. i’m a mess, cat. i criticize myself until there’s nothing left, because that’s all i know how to do. i perform, i win, i make people proud, but outside of that? i’m nothing. you shouldn’t love me. you can’t because if you do, you’ll see things that i do not notice and you’ll leave.”

your knees buckle, and you sink onto the couch, burying your face in your hands. the tears come hard now, ugly and unstoppable, and you don’t care anymore. she’s seen it all anyway.

“i can’t lose you,” you whisper, barely audible, “i’d rather keep you like this…safe and at a distance than risk it.”

there’s a long pause, and you brace yourself for her to walk out, to prove you right. however, the couch dips beside you, and her hand which is warm and steady rests on your shoulder.

“y/n,” she says softly, “look at me.”

you shake your head, too ashamed, but she doesn’t give up. cat’s fingers slide under your chin, tilting your face up, and when you meet her eyes, they’re soft, fierce, brimming with something that steals your breath.

“you know that i’ve seen you,” she says, her voice low and sure.

“not just the footballer, not just the star. i’ve seen you when you’re not perfect…when you miss a shot and curse yourself out for hours, when you’re jet-lagged on the national team bus and drooling on my shoulder, when you burn toast because you’re too stubborn to ask for help. i’ve seen you outside of football, y/n—when you’re quiet and moody, when you hum that awful off-key tune you think no one hears, when you’re laughing so hard you squeal by accident. i’ve seen it all, and i love you. not because you’re perfect but because you’re you.”

you blink at her, stunned, the words sinking in slow and deep.

“but—” you start, and she shakes her head, cutting you off.

“no buts. i’ve loved you for years, even every time you’ve pushed me away because you’re scared. i’m not going anywhere, y/n. you don’t have to ‘perform’ for me. you don’t have to earn it. i just… i love you.”

your chest cracks open, hope and fear spilling out in equal measure, and before you can think, before you can stop yourself, you lunge forward and kiss her. it’s not gentle, not tentative…it’s hot, desperate, full of everything you’ve held back for too long.

your hands fist in her blue shirt, pulling her closer, and she kisses you back just as hard, her fingers tangling in your hair like she’s afraid you’ll slip away.

it’s messy, all tension and need, lips crashing together like you’re both trying to prove something. you taste salt, your tears, maybe hers…and it’s overwhelming, the heat of her mouth, the way she presses into you like she’s been waiting for this as long as you have.

after a full minute you pull back just enough to breathe, foreheads pressed together, and whisper, “you mean it?”

“every word,” she murmurs, her breath warm against your lips, and then she’s kissing you again, slower this time but no less intense, like she’s sealing a promise.

you don’t know how long you stay like that. minutes, maybe hours just wrapped up in each other, letting the world outside fading away.

one thing to know is that you do not need to keep up an act in order to receive love, you deserve love simply because you exist <3

masterlist

#catarina macario #catarina macario x reader #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #uswnt #uswnt x reader #uswnt soccer #uswnt players #chelsea #Chelsea fcw #Chelsea women #niamh charles #lucy bronze #sam kerr #niamh charles x reader

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mummyemmatojames · 1 month ago

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42. Our Dynamic: A Beautiful Transformation

Hello, wonderful community! Emma here, your Mummy-in-training, with a heartfelt update on our MDLB and FLR journey. I’ve been reflecting lately on how well this dynamic is working for us, and I’m just bursting with joy and gratitude. Being James’s Mummy fulfills me in ways I never imagined, and watching my little boy thrive—truly thrive—makes every challenge so worth it. I wanted to share this happiness with you all and celebrate how far we’ve come together.

My Joy as Mummy

Being James’s Mummy is the most rewarding role I’ve ever stepped into. I get so much joy from caring for him—tucking him in at night, cutting up his snacks for his safari bowl, greeting him in the morning with a big smile and wild hair to match. Every little moment—whether it’s nursing him to sleep, guiding him through his chore chart, or watching him play with his train set—fills me with this deep, warm satisfaction. I love being the one he turns to, the one who sets the rules and keeps him safe. Even on the hard days, like our recent public struggles or bedtime battles, I wouldn’t trade this for anything. This dynamic has given me purpose and a closeness with James that’s beyond what I dreamed possible.

James Thriving: A Different Guy

And James—he’s a different guy now, in the best way. The routine and structure I’ve built for him have transformed him, and I’m so proud of the results. He’s off his mental health medication—something he’d been on for years to manage anxiety and low moods—and he’s doing it without a hitch. His doctor cleared it a few months ago after seeing how steady and happy he’s become, and that alone feels like a miracle. The early bedtimes, the healthy snacks, my milk and the formula top-ups—they’ve leveled him out emotionally in a way pills never did.

Physically, he’s in amazing shape too. His skin’s clear and glowing (thanks to Mummy’s milk and no more junk food binges), his energy’s consistent, and he’s even put on a little healthy weight from all the nourishment. At work, he’s killing it—two promotions in under a year, leading a team now, when he was on a performance plan not long ago. His boss raves about his focus and reliability, and James himself said during our last check-in, “I think it’s because of you, Emma.” That moment—I could’ve cried. My little boy needed this structure, even if it’s hard sometimes, and seeing him bloom into this confident, capable version of himself is everything.

How the Routine Makes It Work

It’s the routine that’s done it—the backbone of our dynamic. That 7:30 PM bedtime routine with a bath, nursing or a bottle, and 8:30 lights out keeps him rested and calm. The chore chart on the fridge—still up, stickers and all—keeps him on track with little tasks that build his discipline. The kids’ utensils, the snack permissions, the morning wait for Mummy to get him up—it’s all part of this world we’ve created where he can just be my little boy, free from the chaos he used to live in. Even the tough moments, like the toddler grounding or the bedtime spanking, have taught him (and me) that consistency is what he thrives on, even when he pushes back.

It’s not always easy—bedtime’s still a battle some nights, and public outings can strain us, like the wedding or the wetting incident. But those hiccups don’t overshadow the big picture. James used to be scattered—stressed, up late, snacking on junk, stuck in his head. Now, he’s grounded, healthy, and happy in a way I hadn’t seen before we started this. The structure’s what he needed, even if he doesn’t always love it in the moment—I see it in how he softens after a nap, or how he beams when I praise him for a green sticker on his chart.

A Fulfilling Life Together

This dynamic has changed us both. For me, it’s the fulfillment of being his Mummy—knowing I’m guiding him, nourishing him, giving him a safe space to be little. For James, it’s the freedom to let go and thrive under that care—off meds, in great shape, excelling at work, and happier than ever. We’re so connected now—our check-ins as equals show me his heart, and our daily life as Mummy and little boy builds something so solid and sweet. I love watching him play with his trains or latch on for comfort, and he loves the predictability I bring, even if he grumbles sometimes.

It’s hard sometimes, sure—balancing his needs with the rules, figuring out public boundaries—but the joy outweighs it all. I’m so fulfilled, and James is thriving. This is us now, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

What Do You Think?

I’d love to hear from the community—how has your dynamic transformed your partner, or you? What parts of the routine bring you the most joy as a caregiver? For those whose little ones struggled at first, like James with bedtime, how did you see them settle into thriving? And if you’ve got stories of that “different guy” moment—where you saw the change click—I’d love to hear them. This journey’s been incredible, and I’m so grateful to share it with you all.

Thank you for being here to witness this happiness. I love my little boy so much, and seeing him flourish makes every day a gift.

With all my love, Emma (aka Mummy) 💕

#mdlb relationship #mdlbmommy #ab dl mommy #ab dl lifestyle

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blond3ang3l · 11 months ago

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🌷♡₊˚geek lover! eren🦢・₊✧

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This is a remake of the already geek lover eren, but specifically a sfw version but I actually really love this story

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Eren is a geek lover. He absolutely is enamored with you. Watching your lips with every word you spoke. The way you got excited telling him about every single new detail of the things you got interested in. Eren worked hard as a famous rnb singer, long days in the studio trying to perfect his songs. Then having to perform when he literally had the WORST anxiety known to man. It always felt like someone needed him and was on his ass about something.

But he did it all for you. So you can have everything your heart desired. He left nothing behind when it came to you. You wanted to see a new sci fi movie? He already bought out the theater. There’s a new podcast you like? He’s downloaded all the episodes for you on both yours and his phone. Don’t even get started on books. On your first date you mentioned you like to read and study psychology in your free time. Once you moved in he had your very own book room built for you. Carefully picking out each book for you on his own. Your own desk and room for you todo your writings in. He even surprised you with a laptop and camera so you can start your own podcast! He just wanted to show you how much he loved and supported you.

For moment like this were he could come home and listen to you tell him. About the things you've watched in your huge list of video essays that you had in a playlist on YouTube. How you lit up telling him different facts from how the dating game killer had a coworker that also happened to be a serial killer and he didn't know to the conspiracy theory of the 27 club, no matter what you said it always made you so happy and seeing you all giddy and stimming while you talked to him made him so content with his life.

"I know cotards syndrome, Koro, Diogenes, fregoli, hypochondria, pica, capgras, boanthropy, apotenmophilia, kulver bulcy, ekbom, erotomania, Stendhal. Pics is like one of the more well known. You know that show my strange addiction that we watch together? Yeah so like those people who eat the random shit like the lady who ate rocks- omg that reminds me!"

You were sitting on his lap, yapping his ear off.His eyes couldn't help but wander to your legs which lead him to notice you were wearing his boxers. Your hands thick thighs were filling them out so well. His hands moved to grip them as he watched you talk. You’d kill him later for not listening but he just felt so much dread when he was away from you that he couldn’t help but just stare at you forever.

Erens ass was not listening one bit. He was watching you, watching your body. You guys had been apart for a little over a month so could do a very short tour in another country and he was sick as fuck that he couldn't bring you.Everyone knew it too. His attitude fucking sucked that trip. He was antsy, his anxiety was through the roof, he snapped at everyone, overall he fucking hated it. But now, sitting here with you he finally felt at peace.

“Rennie, papa are you okay? You’re getting all red. Are you feeling sick baby?”

You were worried, he had a bad history of getting sick easily. With him coming back from another country he could have likely caught something. It would hurt your heart to know he wasn’t feeling well.

“I’m fine baby. Keep going. I wanna hear you talk.”

“Are you sure baby? We can go lay down if you’d like.”

It warmed his heart how much you cared for him. You made him the man he was. He used to be so closed off to anyone that wasn’t your friends mikasa and armin. You taught him how to deal with the grief of life and got him therapy to get through the rough days of his depression. He just loved you so much and truly couldn’t imagine being anywhere without you.

“I’m fine baby, just missed you so much..”

For my girlie @merakidoll

#spotify #fanfic #x character #x reader #x black reader #x black plus size reader #x black male reader #x male reader #eren x male reader #eren jeager x reader #eren x reader #aot eren #eren x black fem!reader #eren x black reader #aot imagines #aot au #aot x reader #aot x black reader

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alexanderwales · 8 months ago

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Imagine that you have an encounter with something you can't explain, a mysterious book that speaks into your mind, an old man who shows up in the corner of your vision, a recurring dream of a roadway built of corpses. You go to a play and see in the newspaper that the whole troupe killed themselves thirty minutes after the performance. You buy an old trinket from the shop and then the next time you walk by it's a laundromat instead. Your father quits his job and spends all his time making paintings of women with their eyes cut out, which would be fine if he didn't make that the topic of every conversation and seem a little too gleeful about it.

Whatever it is, you feel like you've made contact, there's something that's happened that's rattled you.

And then someone comes into your life who seems like they have all the answers, and they bring you into their tight-knit group of friends that seem to have their own lingo and understanding, who talk about the things that feel like they've been on the periphery of your understanding.

So you become one of them, get taught to talk how they talk, move into their group house, pay into the pool of funds, do housework that needs doing.

But you keep expecting that eventually it's going to happen, someone is going to open their mouth and you'll see a hint of a beetle where their tongue should be, or you'll be let into the inner circle and see someone levitating, naked, with the blood of a sacrificed chicken pooling in their navel.

And it slowly dawns on you, as none of that happens, that this is not a cult with a deep dark secret. They don't actually have forbidden knowledge or mystic artifacts that should have been buried. They're just a high control group filled with regular people, not any more in tune with the aberrant and supernatural than you are.

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maxdibert · 7 months ago

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If James chose a muggleborn as his longterm partner, why not Sirius? After all Sirius had a tendency to parrot a lot of the stuff James did.

But Sirius is not James. Sirius saw James as a moral compass because he likely thought James, being from the same social class but belonging to a “progressive” family, had the right ideals—first to annoy his mother, and later to serve as a guide for his behavior. However, a guide is one thing, and the essence of a person is another.

James could justify being an absolute piece of trash to Severus by making all sorts of political excuses: he was a Slytherin, hung out with shady people, liked the Dark Arts, and so on, convincing himself that bullying Severus wasn’t personal (even though it was) but instead served some higher purpose. He probably needed that justification because rich kids with hero complexes need to believe they’re serving a greater good to excuse the terrible things they do.

But Sirius didn’t. Sirius grew up in a family of sadists who taught him from an early age that he was above others and had the right to step on anyone he deemed inferior. James’ moral compass helped Sirius identify muggles and muggle-borns as people not to touch, but that guidance stopped there. If Sirius thought someone didn’t fall into that category, he had no remorse in torturing them and didn’t seem to care about their life at all.

For me, a very telling example of this is The Prank. Sirius didn’t just not care if Severus died—he might have even found it amusing because he had completely dehumanized him at that point—but he also didn’t care that his supposed friend, Remus, could have committed murder and been judged and condemned for it. James, on the other hand, did care. If James saved Severus, I believe it’s because he didn’t want Remus’ secret to be revealed and because, honestly, I think James drew the line at death. James wasn’t raised in sadism, and while he could be a piece of trash, he knew that killing was wrong, even if it meant killing someone he despised. He knew Remus could face severe consequences, and he didn’t want that. James was raised with a certain conscience—Sirius wasn’t. James wanted to perpetuate the public image of a hero, a role model, someone to admire. Sirius didn’t. James wanted the spotlight. Sirius didn’t. Sirius wanted to piss off his mother, make her seethe with rage, and maintain his friendship with James, but beyond that, he didn’t care about anything else.

(Except for Harry, whom Sirius only loves so much precisely because he is James’ son, in a way very similar to how Severus only protects Harry because he is Lily’s son. It’s quite funny how these two hated each other so, so much but have such similar ways of loving people. It’s also quite amusing that Severus is often called obsessive when it comes to Lily, yet Sirius was exactly the same in his relationship with James.)

Sirius’ fixation on James is similar to Bellatrix’s fixation on Voldemort: only James could stop Sirius, just like only Voldemort could stop Bellatrix, because both Bellatrix and Sirius gave them that power. But this doesn’t mean Sirius shared James’ values—he absolutely didn’t.

James, with his image as the pure-blood hero of the people, benefited greatly from marrying a muggle-born. And the fact that Lily not only was muggle-born but also from a working-class background further reinforced that image. James’ personality is built around not being like other pure-bloods, coming from a family of progressive wealthy people—upper-class but concerned with worldly causes. Having a partner who embodies the values he so publicly champions is the perfect fulfillment of the heroic archetype he aspires to and works hard to perform. No one could doubt him now, no matter how arrogant, idiotic, or abusive he was. How could they? His partner was at the very bottom of the magical social hierarchy, right?

But Sirius didn’t need that. Sirius didn’t base his personality on being the knight in shining armor, the king’s first man, or the kingdom’s hero. Sirius’ identity revolved around wanting to piss off his mother and doing everything he could to enrage her while remaining perpetually tied to the attitudes and tendencies he learned from his family. Sirius wouldn’t feel comfortable sharing his intimacy with someone who wasn’t from his world.

The clearest example is that his best friend, the one whose house he fled to after leaving the Black household, was equally magical, equally pure, and equally rich as he was. Sirius viewed muggles as something exotic or as a means to annoy his mother; beyond that, he didn’t care. In fact, it would make perfect sense for him not only to end up with someone pure-blooded and from a good family but also someone who reminded him, in certain ways, of his mother. Someone rather authoritarian, who could keep him in check.

He’s textbook Oedipus, sorry.

#sirius black #sirius orion black #sirius black analysis #sirius black meta #james potter #james potter analysis #james potter meta #pro severus snape #severus snape defense #severus snape #lily evans #lily potter #bellatrix black #black family meta #voldemort #harry potter #harry potter meta #harry potter headcanons

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queer-irritator · 2 years ago

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Everything Has Changed | Kratos x reader

A/N: I was listening to music and Everything Has Changed by Taylor Swift came on and it made me think of how one look at Kratos and I was in love lmao. I think Kratos deserves a whirlwind, sudden teenage dream type romance. Pure fluff!

Fem reader, no use of pronouns, but feminine descriptions used.

CW: Adult language, mention of death, mention of mysophobia.

Word Count: 4,535

---

You lived alone on a small island in Svartalfheim, near Dragon’s Beach. Since the towns nearby were built with dwarves in mind, you didn’t exactly find it the most comfortable to live in Nidavellir. So, you built your own little slice of paradise. You had a quaint home, not unlike those housed by dwarves. You also had your own garden to grow food, and a few pets to keep you company. You found your way into the tight-knit community created by, and for, dwarves after being taken in by the most unlikely candidate in all of Svartalfheim, Sindri.

Left an orphan after your parents were murdered under Odin’s orders, you were stuck wandering the town of Nidavellir at the age of 6. Your parents were adventurers; brave and curious truth-seekers. But when their curiosity brought them to Svartalfheim, dangerously close to what you can only assume was something very sacred to Odin, they were killed. Or, that’s what you think anyway. Odin and the aesir claim there was an “accident” when they were exploring. You didn’t know any better at the time, but Sindri did. Somehow he had convinced Odin not to take you away with him, gods know what he would have done to you if he hadn’t been successful.

Since then, you’ve looked to Sindri, and the entire community of Nidavellir, as family. It had been almost two decades since then, and now you work hard helping out the dwarves any way you can. You perform chores that are made easy due to your height advantage over them, but most importantly you make yourself available to listen to the community, sort of like a self-appointed therapist. That’s where you were at this very moment, on a hill a few minutes walk outside of town, you call your “office”. You saw a few people each day, but today was slower than usual. On days like this you liked to practice magic and tend to your garden. You took an interest in nature, so Sindri taught you how to manipulate some natural elements, get food to grow quicker, some healing magic, stuff like that. You were planting some seeds for the upcoming harvest season. Your hands, covered in soft, cold dirt, carefully poked holes into the tender earth. You dropped a few seeds in each hole before gently covering them back up.

The snap of a twig to your left tore your focus away from your current task. You turned your head to meet the sound and couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. You saw Sindri stepping out from behind a tree, you hadn’t seen him in a few months, the both of you had been consumed in work as of late.

“Sindri!” you called to the dwarf as you dusted the dirt off your hands and stood up.

“Hey, it’s been a while. I-”

You cut off Sindri’s words by running over to him and embracing him in a bone-crunching hug. You were careful to keep your dirty hands away from him, but he hated being touched nonetheless. This was the longest you’ve ever gone without seeing each other, so he was just going to have to deal with your close proximity. You could feel his body tense up around your arms, signaling he had enough.

“I’m sorry, I know you hate it, but I haven’t seen you in forever!!” You flashed him a sad smile, pleading him not to be upset with you.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just… take a bath in bleach.” He was standing so none of his limbs were touching each other, like an awkward sparring dummy.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” You teased him as you knelt down to rinse your hands in a bucket of water nearby.

“We breathed the same air for nearly 20 years, a hug is nothing.” you attempted to reason with his brain. You stood up once again and really took in the sight of Sindri standing in front of you. Despite his mysophobia that refused to waver, you really missed him.

“So, what are you doing here? Just dropping by?”

“No, I… I actually need your help with something.” Sindri’s tone had shifted from annoyed to more serious. “Anything for you, Sin’.” you smiled at him, trying to keep the conversation light. You couldn’t imagine he would have anything horrific to ask of you. You turned to a small shelf and grabbed a clean rag and a bottle of cleaner and handed it to Sindri.

“Here. I can’t take you seriously with you standing like that, man.” You chuckled. He mumbled out a ‘thanks’ and swiftly began to clean himself.

While Sindri was getting himself into a state of cleanliness that he deemed suitable, he told you of the favor he needed. He explained that the World Tree was dangerously close to becoming overgrown, and Ratatoskr had his hands busy trying to parent the lindwyrms, who were not ready to care for the world tree on their own quite yet.

“Ahh, so now my “dirty hobby” has come to be useful!” You crossed your arms smugly as Sindri rolled his eyes with a scoff.

“If that’s how you want to look at it…” he murmured. “Just, come to my house when you’re ready. I have to take a bath now.”

Before you could even agree, Sindri was gone. You chuckled to yourself and began to clean up and get ready to be away for awhile. You said a spell over your newly planted seeds to keep them healthy and watered for the time being. Next you collected some clothes and supplies into a small satchel and picked up your sword. Its hilt was crafted from dwarven steel and the blade was made out of wood from a poison tree and wrapped in thorny vines. You slid it into its sheath on your back and headed to the nearest mystic gateway.

---

Kratos, Atreus, and Mimir had just returned from freeing the Hafgufa from Vanaheim. There was a trail of sand following behind them.

“I’m really glad we got to set the Hafgufas free, but I don’t think I wanna go to any realms with sand for a while…” Atreus stated as he brushed some sand from his hair

“Aye, I’ve got sand in me neck stump!” Mimir shared Atreus’ disdain for feeling sand in every crevice imaginable. The sound of the front doors opening pulled the men’s attention from their current discomfort.

You took a few steps through the front door before you stopped in your tracks as you locked eyes with perhaps the most invigorating man you’ve ever seen. You hadn’t expected to see anyone else at the house, let alone someone so tantalizing. It felt as if all the breath was stolen from your lungs as you looked deep into his amber eyes. The scowl the man had on his face only a second before had noticeably softened now. It was as if the two of you were the only people in all the nine realms at that moment. After what felt like years of staring into this man’s soul through his eyes, it was cut short as sound filled the air.

“Y/n! About time I saw you again.” Brok greeted you as he walked out from behind the counter of the workshop. You held your gaze with the giant man for just one more second before reluctantly tearing your eyes away to greet Brok.

This was no big deal, you just had to act like you hadn’t just seen the most attractive and magnetizing person in your entire life… If you didn’t believe in love at first sight before, you sure as Hel believed in it now.

“It’s really great to see you, Brok.” You smiled at the blue dwarf and bent down to engulf him in a hug. You could only hope that he couldn’t feel your heart pounding in your chest.

Although your back was turned, you could feel the man's eyes on your body. You stood up straight and took a deep breath, readying yourself to speak to the handsome stranger. You turned towards him and held out your hand to greet him as you found yourself drawn to his eyes once again.

“Hi, I’m (y/n).” You introduced yourself. The man glanced down at your hand and then back at you. He reached his hand out to grasp yours in a surprisingly gentle handshake.

“Kratos.” is all he said. The sound of his voice was better than anything you imagined. You could have melted into a puddle of goo at that very moment.

“Kratos.” You smiled as you repeated his name. “It’s very nice to meet you.” You said, letting go of his hand, missing the warmth of his body heat immediately. You looked to your right to see a teenage boy. You had almost missed him in all the feelings and thoughts swirling around in your head.

Kratos placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, “This is my son, Atreus.”

You reached your hand out to greet Atreus as well, “It’s very nice to meet you too!” you smiled at the boy. He returned your smile and shook your hand, with much more grip and enthusiasm than his father.

“Good to meet you as well! So, how do you know Sindri?” Atreus asked, assuming only people close to the dwarf would be allowed access into his home. You chuckled slightly, thinking he was joking around. When he glanced around awkwardly you realized how serious he was.

“Oh…” you started, confusion showing on your face, but it soon turned to agitation. “Oh my gods.” You quickly turned your head to Brok. “He… He doesn’t talk about me?” You practically yelled in astonishment.

“Hey, don’t take it out on me… But, uh, let me take a look at yer sword.” Brok knew just how to evade your annoyance. You took out your sword and set it down on the workshop table with a scoff as you repeated your words with disbelief, “He doesn’t talk about me…”

Kratos and Atreus silently exchanged glances to each other as they were left guessing how you and Sindri were acquainted. One situation in particular was swirling around Kratos’ mind, that you were romantically involved with the dwarf. Disappointment had crept up onto him as he began to entertain this thought.

“Uhm… Are you and Sindri, like… dating?” Atreus awkwardly asked you, staring at his own feet to avoid your gaze.

“No! Oh, no, not at all! He raised me!” You had been so lost in your annoyance that you never answered the boy's question.

Kratos felt relief wash over him. He wasn’t sure why he was relieved, or why he cared if you had been something more than a friend or family member to Sindri. He had just met you, he should not be having these types of thoughts or feelings about anyone, let alone a stranger.

“Ohhh!” Atreus chuckled a little, finally looking up at you again. “Wait- Sindri had a kid?” He glanced at his father and then back to you. “Are you-”

You cut Atreus off before things could get awkward again, “No, I’m like an adopted sibling he never wanted.” you cleared the air.

Seemingly right on cue, Sindri entered the house.

“Oh! I didn’t realize you three would be back already...” Sindri shifted his weight from side to side, seemingly unprepared to introduce you to his guests. But his awkward demeanor soon switched to panic as he noticed the pool of sand in his house.

“Really?!” Sindri sighed loudly as he fetched a broom from a nearby closet. “You two, get outside!” He commanded Kratos and Atreus, pushing the broom at their heels to rush them out of his previously pristine house.

Once the duo had been escorted outside, Sindri shot them a warning, “And do NOT come back in until you are sand-free!”

Sindri propped the front doors open and began to sweep the sand out of the house. You were left watching the entire ordeal with a slightly amused look on your face. You figured you could give Sindri shit later for not telling his friends about you, he had enough on his plate for the time being. For now, your gaze drifted back towards Kratos.

“Uhm, I’m gonna go take a bath.” Atreus notified his father before turning his back to walk through a small wooden gate on the side of the house to clean up.

Kratos grumbled slightly and unhooked Mimir from his belt, setting him down on the bottom step of the stairs leading into the house. He then proceeded to take off each piece of his armor and shake the sand out from them. You took your time to look over his upper body. Your eyes trailed the bright red tattoo, from the sharp edge on his face to the swirl on his bicep, and the curve on his abdomen. You couldn’t help admiring his muscular physique and taking note of the large scar on his stomach, and a smaller one over his eye.

“Alright, quit yer drooling.” Brok’s voice snapped you back into reality. He set down your sword on the counter in between the two of you.

You whipped your head towards the dwarf, a soft pink blush falling over your cheeks.

“Fuck off, I was not drooling…” You defended yourself, snatching your sword back. You took a moment to look over Brok’s upgrades before returning it to its sheath.

“Whatever you say, princess.” Brok teased you further.

You rolled your eyes and started to walk down the steps outside. You were careful not to make any more of a mess for Sindri, but not careful enough to notice a severed head on the very last step. In your effort to avoid stepping on the head, you tripped over your own two feet. Instead of feeling the harsh impact of the ground, you felt a warm hand on your upper arm. You looked up to see Kratos holding onto you. His piercing brown eyes were staring right into your soul, again. You felt your heart rate pick up, you opened your mouth to speak but no words came out. His grip loosened on you and he returned his hand to his side.

“You should be more careful.” Kratos advised you.

“Yeah- uhm, I’m sorry about that.” You turned to the severed head on the steps, “I’m really sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. It’s the big oaf’s fault for settin’ me down there.” The head was surprisingly forgiving of your clumsiness. A tinge of pink settled across your cheeks as you looked back to Kratos. The man just grunted in response to the head.

“I’m Mimir, it’s nice to meet you.” The head introduced himself at last. You sat down on the steps next to Mimir.

“Right back at’cha. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier.” You felt guilt for over-looking him earlier. Although, you did overlook just about everyone except for Kratos…

“Don’t even mention it. How could ya have seen me?” Mimir continued to joke at the expense of Kratos. A smile spread across your face. Before you could continue your conversation, a voice rang out.

“Master (y/n)!” A familiar voice entered your eardrums, Ratatoskr. A small sigh escaped your lips as you stood up.

“Duty calls.” You announced. “I’ll see you two around.” You gave a smile to Mimir and a wave to Kratos before walking over to speak with the abnormally large squirrel. It was time to find out what exactly you’ll be helping him with.

Kratos’ gaze followed you as you walked away from him. His eyes raked over your figure, memorizing the way you walked and how your hips moved with each step.

“Father?” Atreus’ voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Hm?” Kratos turned his attention to his son and continued to shake the last of the sand out of his waist armor.

“I was just saying that the bath is ready for you, and I can clean up out here.” Atreus shifted his gaze between Mimir and his father. Kratos simply nodded his head, dropping the armor he was holding and headed to get himself cleaned up.

Atreus began to gather the armor from the ground. “Uhh, do you think he’s acting a little… weird today?”

“I think he might be a wee bit tired from all the traveling, lad. Speaking of, would you mind helping me clean up a bit?”

“Sure, no problem Mimir.” Atreus smiled and got to work.

---

You spent the next few hours getting a tour of the World Tree and extremely detailed instructions from Ratatoskr on how to care for it. He explained how to prune the branches, what limbs held which realms, what you should never touch, the list went on and on. Your head was so filled with new information it felt like your brain was going to explode. You walked into the house just as it was getting dark outside after finally being relieved for the evening. Even though the realm between realms doesn’t have a sun and a moon, it was still nice to have it simulate days and nights, so as to not lose track of time. The scent of meat and spices filled your nostrils, Brok was in the kitchen stirring a large pot, of what you assume was dinner.

“That smells amazing.” You said, walking towards Brok. You stopped in front of the giant pot and picked up a spoon to give the stew a taste test. “Tastes amazing too.”

“It ain’t ready yet.” Brok snatched the spoon out of your hand. You put your hands up in defense.

“Sorry, I guess I’ll just wait then… and never compliment you again.” you turned your back and headed to where you used to sleep growing up.

“Wait, that’s-” Before Brok could finish his warning, you opened the door to be greeted by Kratos sitting on the side of a makeshift bed. The only item of clothing he had on was dark brown pants. He almost looked like a different person without all his armor on. There was even more scarring hiding under his wrist armor, it looked like chains had been branded onto his forearms.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were staying in here.” You apologized for intruding.

Kratos looked up to meet your gaze, “It is fine.”

You gave him a small smile and looked around the room, “This place hasn’t changed much. I used to stay in this room when I was younger.” You leaned against the wall as a flood of memories entered your mind.

“You can have the room if you wish.” Kratos said as he stood up with a slight grunt.

“No, I couldn’t kick you out of your room. You probably need it more than me. Plus, the chair out there is pretty comfy.” You assured him.

“Mh… Let me know if you change your mind.” He began to wrap some red cloth around his forearms.

“So, how did you come to have a talking severed head as your companion?” You questioned him.

“I cut it off.” Kratos replied to you plainly.

“Huh?” You had confusion written all over your face.

“He was trapped. Imprisoned in a tree and tortured everyday. He asked me to cut off his head to free him. So I did.” Kratos further explained.

“Oh, that’s actually really kind of you.” You said, reflecting on the odd, but thoughtful, request.

Kratos grunted in response.

Just as you were about to ask him more about himself, you heard Brok announce that dinner was ready. You gave Kratos one more look over. His lack of clothing was incredibly inviting, but you were hungry and tired.

“I’ll see you out there.” You excused yourself and walked out to the table to sit down and get some food.

---

Dinner was nice and casual, there was no residual awkwardness from the days prior events. You got to know more about Atreus, that boy really likes to talk. He was going on about the different types of monsters he’s fought with his dad. He seemed the most proud of defeating a huge electric dragon a few years ago. The most surprising detail of the story was that Sindri utilized one of the dragon’s teeth to enhance Atreus’ bow. Swapping stories around the dinner table made the time go by far too fast for your liking. It felt like the six of you had been friends for a lifetime. When the conversation had died down, you stood up and collected the empty plates. You made your way to the kitchen to wash up while Kratos and Atreus went into their respective rooms.

“I can get that, you should get some rest.” Sindri’s voice came from behind you. You turned your head to look at him.

“No, I really don’t mind!” You insisted, turning on the water.

“Okay… Well, to be honest I don’t trust anyone else washing the dishes but me.” Sindri admitted.

“Mmmh, the truth comes out.” You chuckled and stepped away from the sink. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“You just rest. You’ve done a lot for me today… Thank you.” Sindri gave you a small smile and got started on cleaning up.

You had an idea brewing in your mind. You couldn’t get your mind off of Kratos. You just wanted to know more about him, he was all you could think of. You found a spare piece of paper, scribbled down a note, slipped it under Kratos’ door and made yourself scarce.

“Brother, someone’s slipped a note under your door.” Mimir alerted Kratos, who was laying down on his makeshift bed. He pulled the weight of himself up with a slight grunt and walked over to where the note was. He bent down and picked it up, unfolding it carefully.

Meet me at the side of the house.

Kratos furrowed his brows and let out a confused grumble. He set the note down on a crate near his bed and stepped out of his room.

“Aye, what did it say??” Mimir questioned, but the only response he got was the sound of the door closing and heavy footsteps leading further and further away.

You were sitting on a barrel, leaning your back against the side of the house and nervously tapping your fingertips on your thigh. You heard the front door open and close, causing you to spring to your feet and run a hand through your hair to tame any fly-aways. You watched as Kratos entered through the side gate, latching it behind him. Your heartbeat started to increase with each step he took toward you. He stopped a few feet away from you.

“You wanted to see me?” Kratos spoke with a hint of confusion laced in his words.

“Yeah, I did…” You took a step toward him, taking in a deep breath before looking up into his eyes. “I’ve really enjoyed talking to you, and I just wanna know you better.” You confessed your infatuation with the man.

“What would you wish to know?” Kratos asked you.

“Everything?” You responded, taking another step closer to him, leaving only a few inches of space in between you.

“Mh… That may take awhile.” Kratos looked down at you, his chest steadily rising and falling with each breath he took. It was beyond your grasp how he could remain so calm and stoic, but it made you want him more than ever.

“I have time.” You told him with a small smile. You lifted your hand from your side and carefully placed it on Kratos’ cheek, right where his beard began to sprout. You looked in his eyes for any signs of hesitation, but you found none. You leaned up on your tippy toes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

You leaned back just a few centimeters from him and opened your eyes. He hadn’t moved a muscle, it was like you had kissed a statue. Kratos had a look of surprise and confusion sprawled across his face. His eyes were raking over your facial features, searching for any hint of disgust. He was waiting for you to shove him away, to start laughing at him. He was expecting to hear you question who would ever want to touch a monster like him. But you were just staring right back at him, looking increasingly worried by the second.

“Are you okay?” You spoke, barely above a whisper. Had you broken him? Did he not like you? Was he trying to find a way to let you down without hurting your feelings? Your embarrassment started to manifest itself as redness across your cheeks, darkening with each moment of silence that passed.

Kratos nodded ever so slightly and one of his hands ghosted just above your hip, barely making contact with your body.

You placed your free hand on top of his, encouraging him to make full contact with you. You placed both of your hands on either side of his face and kissed him again. Only this time, you weren’t as gentle. You started with a firm kiss and then began to move your lips against his, trying to encourage him to kiss you back. You felt his hand on your hip pull you closer to his body and then you finally felt his lips start to move against yours. He dipped his head down so you didn’t have to strain to reach his lips. You couldn’t hold back a faint moan erupting from your throat as you wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to get even closer to Kratos. He now placed both his hands on your hips, tilting his head slightly to the side to deepen the kiss. After a few more moments, you weren’t sure if it was a lack of oxygen, or if you were getting drunk off of the feeling of Kratos on you, but you were getting dizzy. You stopped kissing him and placed a hand on his chest to steady yourself and took a moment to catch your breath. Kratos watched you cautiously, he gently brushed a strand of hair out of your face with the back of his hand. Your face was flushed pink and your lips were wet with the mix of both of your saliva. He hadn’t had any feelings like this in a long, long time.

“Uhm…” You looked up at Kratos, pleasantly surprised to see he was watching you carefully, “Would you wanna get a drink with me sometime?”

For the first time you saw the man’s cheeks firm up into a slight smile and heard the sweet sound of a chuckle escape his lips.

“Why don’t we go now?” He proposed.

You nodded in response, “Yeah, that sounds great.” You smiled back at him, not caring if you looked like a complete idiot.

“Let us go then.” He declared, walking towards the gate and holding it open for you.

“Okay, I know just the place.” You walked through the small wooden gate and excitedly waited for Kratos to catch up to you at the mystic gateway.

---

A/N: Thank you for reading! I very well may do a part two to this story. Feedback and interaction helps me know if you want me to continue!

#god of war #god of war ragnorak #gow #gowr #kratos #gow kratos #kratos x reader #kratos x fem reader #kratos x gn reader #kratos fluff #kratos smut #gow fanfic #gow fanfiction #gow sindri #gow spoilers #gowr spoilers #atreus #sindri #brok

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cakemoney · 7 months ago

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once in a while i contemplate what was going to happen to evan, back in season 1 when he asked for the Procedure to Make Him Normal. because, like, we realized that that's a lie, right? we realized at the big reveal that there isn't anything that makes someone capable or incapable of magic; everyone on earth could do magic if they were aware of it and were taught how to do it. there wasn't a thing that could be taken out or a switch that could be flipped; everyone was magic all along, had been even before some british assholes built a secret society on it. evan was never going to stop being magic.

so, like, what was philtrum's plan. were they going to just wipe evan's memories and drop him back where he was before? would they try to erase all of evan's memories that involve magic, including all the scary demon shit that happened throughout his life? or would they just cut out his knowledge of gowpenny, and essentially rewind him to before he got that first owl? if he doesn't remember gowpenny, he's not gonna remember that he was supposed to have a procedure that fixed him anyway, so what does it matter?

i don't remember clearly, but i believe (?) the whole procedure thing was one of the ways philtrum was trying to get the whole pilot program declared a failure, so maybe wiping all their memories and sending them back without knowledge of gowpenny or magic or each other was always part of her plan. but even if they no longer remember what magic is, they will still have the potential of magic, and that could be an issue with evan, right? philtrum and co. don't know everything about evan's demon stuff, but she must've noticed from the beginning that something about evan isn't right. evan's familiar is his own shadow; in every conversation with him, evan has spoken of magic as something that he had a pre-existing relationship with (namely, a bad relationship where he is scared of magic because it has caused bad stuff to happen to him). for all the others, if gowpenny was removed from their lives, may never cast another spell again, but it's hard to be sure of that with evan; philtrum didn't know concrete details about the demons, but she also didn't know that sam managed to charm them into leaving. what happens if Bad Magic Shit happens to evan again, and something leads evan to remembering or finding out about gowpenny anyway? evan could be some kind of prophecied dark wizard, which probably isn't a foreign concept for a headmistress who runs a school where there is a whole house for kids who've been labeled evil; if they return him to america and he's left to his own devices, how can they be sure that he doesn't Cause Problems for wizard society later?

what i mean is. we already know philtrum's tried multiple times to get evan killed; we know she feels contempt for the pilot program and want to get rid of them and protect the status quo. and evan has no family to go back to; the only people who would care enough to miss him would have no way of knowing where he's gone and what's happened to him, and hopefully would not remember him once this whole ordeal was over.

she was probably going to kill him, right? like, why waste time performing complex magic brain surgery on this kid? she's got no issues with lying, manipulation, and child murder. if evan had ended up going to the nebulous Appointment, philtrum was probably going to straight up kill him, or at least try to. and for the first time in his life, the shadows and demons wouldn't be around to protect him.

#laughs awkwardly #dimension 20 #misfits and magic spoilers #anyway just some fun thoughts to chew on. man philtrum's corpse was such a funny saga #EDIT: i feel like maybe this is worth adding. at the core of all this is #regardless of whether or not there actually exists such a Procedure. philtrum has been trying to kill this kid this whole time #and he is now agreeing to go with her on his own and let magic stuff be done to him. why WOULDN'T she kill him #he's finally isolated and heading into a situation with the understanding that none of his friends would hear from him again. so like.#without public pressure of the big debate that the pilot program represents. what value does evan being alive provide to philtrum?

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seraphimaa · 1 year ago

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Haarlep character study/further Headcanons

Some more word vomit that nobody asked for about how I perceive Haarlep and what it would look to love him in the ways that you can.

Warnings: a bit nsfw, unhealthy relationships(?)

Available under the cut!

A wider look at his general character, to begin with …

- haarlep lives in the boudoir, starved of everything that gives him purpose, power and fulfilment in life. His existence may cater to base comforts, he does not live in danger because Raphael would not risk killing him in fear of what may replace him. This does not mean, however, that does not make it a happy existence. He is starved of sex and intimacy, the very thing that he was built to live for. His enjoyment of flirting, and charming, and experiencing the “chase” of those he lays with is all but stripped from him too, spending hundreds or thousands of years trapped alone with only himself for company. This means that Haarlep’s life inside the house of Hope is very like that of a caged animal in a circus. He performs tricks when told but when he’s not needed to entertain, he is left to pace in a tiny cage that is built to meet none of his needs. He has lost any power and purpose he once had, it slumbers inside of him while he sleepwalks through existence.

- It only gets worse when you consider what Haarlep is. As an incubus, he is the embodiment of hunger, much like a vampire, but he feeds the source with sex and intimacy instead of blood. He is always in a state of need, never fully satisfied or fulfilled and always manipulating and corrupting others in order to fill the endless void that screams for more, day and night. He will never know what it feels like to live without this consuming curse and the purpose of his existence is to simply feed it as much as possible. So while in the house of Hope, Haarlep is starving every. single. day. His nature would be screaming at him to feed and he would have nothing to do other than stay in that room becoming more and more feral and driven half insane. Much like Raphael tortures Hope because he despises everything that she represents, I think Haarlep is in a similar situation. Raphael looks at this creature who thrives off of affection and intimacy and hates it because to him, that is a weakness. The solution? Make it suffer an eternity, only giving it enough of what it needs to survive and then it, like Hope, may suffer the same hell that he existed in. There would be no need for weak things like Hope or intamacy in his house.

- on the topic of his incubus nature, I think everything from his smell, sickly sweet but poorly hiding the predatory and carnivorous musk beneath, to the way in which his demonic eyes mimicked that of a reptile wearing a flesh suit, would cause him to feel undeniable uncanny underneath his charming surface. Incubi are masters of understanding mortal emotion and motivation enough to mimic them, usually masters in the art, but remembering that Haarlep has been locked in isolation for an unimaginable amount of time, with the exception of the occasional pragmatic exchange with a visitor, it’s not hard to believe this this would be less masked in his presentation than one would usually expect. When he moves, he slinks and prowls around like a giant demonic tiger, muscles taught and always looking ready to pounce. His face would contort to all of the correct responses, but his expressions would always have a manic intensity to them that looked unnatural and more like what an actor would do on stage. His eyes would stay the same no matter the shape his face made, always dark and piercing you with that uncanny intensity, never leaving you once. Under the mask, you were making eye contact with the dangerous predator that lived underneath.

What it look like when you came along?

- When you encounter in him the boudoir, you give him everything he had spent so long without. You bring a spark of chaos that he’d forgotten the feel of to begin with - if nothing else, a little entertainment for once, but you don’t stop there. You blush and shy before him, you fall for his pretty words and you follow his every demand and for the first time in so long, you finally feed the screaming hunger inside. He charms and flirts with you until you climb under him and all but spend yourself to make him feel good and to serve his every desire. For the first time, he remembers the power that he has and what he was built to do. You, for a moment, make the hunger disappear and give him total satisfaction. A new breath of life. If that wasn’t enough, you also gift him a new form to wear, something he’s also been denied by his master. You waltz into his little cage and where you easily could have cut down the strange creature lurking on the satin sheets, you instead give him every single thing he had been denied for almost his whole existence. You liberate him from his sleepwalking and he becomes fascinated with you for this.

- when alone, Haarlep would now have something interesting to do. He’d love to use your form and just play with it. I know it already mentioned this but I can’t overstate how much I love the idea of Haarlep viewing this form as a fun “doll” to experiment and ‘practice’ with. Brushing your hair, washing it, putting it up in different pretty ways. New and exciting hair. Trying on makeup. Learning what suited your features and how to put it on without making a mess. Your face and all the ways it moves. Siting for hours in front of a vanity mirror, smiling, crying, frowning, that little O your mouth made with your eyes rolling back just like when you’d cum for him for the 4th time that first day…They all looked so delicate and different to his other face. At first, they’d been all wrong and he’d even unsettled himself seeing your face contorted into such hard angles but he had so much time to practice. Using your voice and all the noises he could make with you. The soft chiming of your made sounded too sulty when spoken with his tongue, something else he could improve over time. It was fun to scream and wail and all sorts, they sounded so cute when he was you. He mimicked the moans and gasps you’d made for him as you’d panted and whimpered beneath him the most because those were his favourites. He’d hum and murmur phrases over and over again as he paces around his room, moments of boredom or silence broken by depraved whines and giggles. Your body would be extremely fun to learn. Nobody would know you as intimately as Haarlep could. He would know exactly how you liked to be touched and where, the exact amount of pain that would still allow you to revel in the throes of pleasure, and exactly how your body hurt and jerked in response to crossing that threshold, how to make you cum at his very whim, how to edge you for hours and days at a time, every depraved little kink that caused a jolt of heat to spread in your loins. I think the absolute fascination with being you would only grow his obsession. It was like he wanted to be you, and have you both at the same time.

- this would lead to Haarlep being desperate for you to continue returning to him. Not only can he study you in the flesh, fascinated by every word and move you make, but he can also continue establish a consistent way to feed his incubus cravings. Not only does he want you to come back and let him use you again, but he wants you to stay longer every time. ‘You should bathe with him, little mouse.’ ‘Before you go, tell me about how exactly you managed to drop a spectator flask in the middle of a a tavern.’ ‘But, surely you must be tired, no? The master will be gone for weeks. You could just sleep here.’ Don’t get me wrong, he likes you. You feed him and you make him feel good and you like him so why wouldn’t he? He likes your face and your body and your voice and your hair. Anyway, it lets him know you better. Use you better. Yes, the days spent fucking, or lounging in the bath or bed, or listening to him tell you that you were special and he just loved being around you weren’t lies as far as Haarlep cared, he meant every word of it. Your mistake would be to assume that this means that it’s noticed by love.

- as discussed, incubi are alien in their culture and experience to us. Haarlep is not capable of applying love to his range of abilities, at least not how mortals would usually expect it. He can obsess over you, desperate and possessive. He can like you, and need you, and feel empty every time he isn’t feeding, but you will never be his equal. Whatever flavour your relationship takes, be it predator and prey, pet and master, or shiny toy and owner, to be clear Haarlep will always prioritise his own needs above your own, even when it appears he is being thoughtful, the logic will always loop back to being something that also benefits himself too. Your relationship and favour with Haarlep does not extend past your usefulness to him. He ‘loves’ you because you give him life and power by submitting to him. As soon as you deny him his nature and needs then he would be simply incapable of having interest in you past that, unless it was to force you back into submission. He, by his nature, would want you to see him as your sole purpose in life. He needs you to love him, and need him, and think about him, and fear him and he needs you to feel hollow and empty whenever he is not there. Love is devoting yourself to this cause and wanting nothing but his happiness, and reducing yourself to something that can’t exist without him. The way he would return this love is by trying to treat you well and keep you happy too. He would recognise your needs and desires and as long as it didn’t conflict with his own, he would humour you any time he could. Again, you’re valuable to him, a souvenir of his new life and a reliable source to feed from, and he likes you. There would be nothing to gain from being bad and deliberately cruel to you, unless you pushed him into it. He wants you thriving and all the more eager to give him whatever he wants, when he asks. It may manipulative and selfishly motivated, but again, that is just his nature. He would love you very deeply and consumingly, but like a possession or a useful toy.

- On that note, loving Haarlep would not be a pleasant, easy experience. First it comes with accepting that loving him is inherently destructive. While you spend your time filling the void in Haarlep, he would spend his moulding the emptiness inside of you to only fit him because he had to ensure that you would never have a reason to leave or deny him and he had to make your needs fit only what he could provide you. He would convince you that only he could make you happy and that nobody would ever compare to him, and he would sow a deep fear inside of you that if you disappointed him, he’d leave you and you’d be alone and have nothing. Think about it, incubus are kind of the embodiment of unhealthy, toxic, and destructive relationships and the kind of romance written about in Shakespearean epics that always ends in tragedy. Again, he does very much love you in his own way but that doesn’t mean it translates as such. Give him everything he wants? Good, he’ll treat you like a perfect little doll and he’ll be so doting, and loving, and soft, and kind for you. Try to deny or escape him? He will use fear and suffering to convince you back into his warm, “loving” embrace.

- on that note, I think another tragic element to this romance comes from the fact that what Haarlep genuinely views as kindness, isn’t always perceived as such. Your relationship would destroy any passion and enjoyment you have for life outside of your bond to him, as his nature intends. This means that the fuller he feels, the emptier you often feel and the only cure and comfort you can find, by his design, is himself. Say he sees your spark slipping more every time you come back, your eyes more dull and tired with every visit. It would make him feel distressed. He didn’t want you to be unhappy. He wanted to make you happy like you make him happy. What was it you needed that he want giving to you? If he took your soul and left you a mindless doll, then surely then you’d be happy and stop crying? You’d not even remember any other needs, you’d be like him. The only hunger you would feel anymore would be to be used which is perfect because he always hungers to use you. Wouldn’t this be the kind thing to do? He’d do it for you, because he cares. It would make them both so happy. He’d hiss into your ear as he rode you frowning at the tears slipping onto the sheets. “It would all be over so quick. You wouldn’t feel anything. You’d never be sad again. Let me do this for you.”

- on a lighter note, for all the extreme oppressive lows of loving him, there would also come the incomparable highs he’d be able to make you feel that kept you returning. I mean, if you’re someone who struggles with loneliness and connecting to others, those issues would be long forgotten with him. He would know you inside and out better than anyone ever could. Your fears, your desires and everything that made you ‘you’ would be engraved into his memory. Like a little subconscious, he’d exist at the back of your brain, a constant companion. You’d feel his awareness of you and your activities at all times and sometimes you’d hear him reaching out to you, begging for you to return to him. With Haarlep, for better or worse, you’d never know what it felt to be alone or have privacy of anything anymore. Everything that you had and that you were would be his too. As long as you could cope with the uncertainty of what he was capable of feeling for you, knowing how much of the act came from truth, he would play the role of whatever you wanted him to be. He’d build a little world where the only things that existed were both of you and you would never be alone or unhappy as long as you just stayed here in it, with him.

The ‘happy ever afters’…

- I can see it ending multiple ways. Firstly, there’s the chance that he simply grows bored of you after you get old or he simply finds something newer and more exciting. Perhaps he drains you of all your passion and fun and then has no use left for you. Either he’ll convince you to give him your soul as a final act of devotion to him and move on, or maybe he’ll just forget about you and leave you behind, so broken and alone. The emptiness he made inside of you would no doubt consume you and you would be left a lifeless husk regardless. He wouldn’t feel bad about it per say, he would always value everything you gave him and he had genuinely enjoyed the time spent with you but this was the inevitable conclusion, he guessed. You were by nature his prey, and as enjoyable as the feast had been, your meat smelt rotten to him now. Had you expected anything else, really?

- the second scenario I can see is that he keeps you around for as long as possible. His obsession with you, fed by his dark and consuming nature, would lead him to always be able to feed from your hand. His entire existence would become dedicated to both of your hedonistic pleasure and to milking everything he could take from you. Any time he wasn’t feeding from you, you can bet he’s out there somewhere enjoying life through your eyes. Any time you are not with him he’s haunting your mind and begging so sweetly for you. Like a treasure, he’d want to display you to the world and he’d want nothing more than to preserve you. He knew that you needed love and softness to thrive so he would deny you none of it. He would worship you and you would serve him so well in return.

- This is totally silly but I also just love the vampire and incubus dynamic. Creatures lead by the same beast but who tame it differently. I know it’s totally self gratifying but I love the idea of incubi having the ability to either turn someone into a vampire (something like older DnD lore) or Haarlep finding a way to immortalise his obsession in this method.(“ Hey, ascended Astarion, please turn me into a spawn so that I can have a dark parasitic love with my demon boyfriend.”)

Like think about it, he’d be able to corrupt and reduce his obsession to something more like him. Something he could better understand and fulfil the needs of. It would seem like the perfect solution. They would be able to let him use their body forever and feed from them as much as he ever could want. In turn, they’d be stuck to his side by the promise of as much fiendish blood as they could ever want. They’d doom each other living like two leaches attached to one another, both giving and taking in return and incapable of leaving, lest they risk starving. They’d be able to fill their needs in each other forever and their depraved idea of love would become a poetic and self fulfilling prophecy.

A/N: thanks for reading. I do take prompts and requests too. Idk if I got the right about of ‘dark’ in the ‘romance’ captured here or if I went to far in either way for it to be enjoyable but I hope you liked it. I think Haarlep is so hard to write for because when you’re trying to describe and explain the emotions and motivations of an incubus and look at the world through their lens, it mostly gets lost in translation, so to say lol.

#haarlep imagines #haarlep headcanon #haarlep headcanons #haarlep x tav #haarlep imagine #haarlep smut #haarlep bg3 #bg3 haarlep #haarlep x reader #haarlep #incubus boyfriend #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #haarlep x you

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aliciavance4228 · 3 months ago

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Thanks to @galusandmalus I've fell into a rabbit hole of Greek Mythology again.

So basically they gave me this fragment extracted from Tatian's Address to the Greeks:

"To the Babylonians you owe astronomy; to the Persians, magic; to the Egyptians, geometry; to the Phoenicians, instruction by alphabetic writing."

What the hell do you mean by "magic", Tatian?!

So I've made a quick search and the very first (random) source related to this topic I've managed to find was from St. Jerome's account:

"Perseus fought against the Persians, holding the decapitated head of the licentious Gorgon, which on account of her extraordinary beauty so rendered the minds of her spectators impotent, that she was thought to turn them into stones; Didymus writes in his Foreign History, and exposes its author."

Excuse me, Perseus fought the persians? Really? I mean, SEARIOUSLY?!

For more context, it is believed that Perseus and Andromeda's very first child and son, Perses, was left in Aethiopia to be raised by Cepheus and Cassiopea because Cepheus didn't have any male heir and life as prince cannot be so bad (especially when your father grew up either as a fisherman or slave).

So why would the persians, which were very likely led by Perses giving the context, would want to fight Perseus? Was he angry that his father went to get the milk and his mother joined him? Was he angry that he never met his parents? Did Cepheus lied to Perses all this time and told him that Perseus was a horrible man because he was still pissed off by the fact that his daughter married him instead of his brother? This part is confusing, nervertheless.

Anyway, I then tried to search for a concrete source and finally found some information about the persian magus, which kinda clarified my confusion a little. But here's thing is: the magi were priests in Zoroastrianism. And if you check the Malalas Chronography, you would find out that here Perseus was considered a wizard who killed Medusa for spells and potions, then ruled over Persia where he invented Zoroastrianism, and then after his accidental petrification his son Perses ruled over the persians:

"They write that he had wings, because from childhood he was very quick-moving. Hence his father Picus Zeus taught him to perform and carry out the Manganeia [witchcraft] of the abominable cup (myseros skyphos), teaching him everything about mystic and impious errors. He told him that “You will defeat all warriors with this, your enemies and every man opposed, and everyone who looks at this face with be blinded and remain so until they are dead and slaughtered by you.” So Perseus was persuaded by his father Picus Zeus. In later times, after the death of his father Picus, when he had come to full age, he coveted the kingdom of the Assyrians, envying the children of Ninus, his uncle, the brother of his father. Having received a prophecy, he went to Libya. On the road a virgin, a village girl, met Perseus. She had wild hair and eyes. Standing in front of her he asked her, “What is your name?” She freely replied, “Medousa.” Holding her hair, with the sickle-spear sword he carried, he cut off her head. Perseus took it and immediately performed mystic rites on the head, as he had been taught by his father Picus the error of the hateful Manganeia."

[...]

When a winter storm came, and the river running past the city of the Ionitai, then called the Drakon and now the Orontes, was flooding badly, he asked the Ionitai to pray. While they were praying and carrying out the rites, a sphere of fire-lightning came down from the sky, which caused the storm to cease and the flow of the river to be contained. As they marveled, Perseus from that fire lit a fire, and kept it guarded. This fire he carried back to Persian territory, to his own kingdom, and he taught them to honor that fire, which he told them he had seen being brought down from the sky. The Persians continue to honor that fire as divine, up to the present day. Perseus built a sanctuary for the Ionitai, which he called “of the immortal fire.” He built in Persia, similarly, a fire sanctuary, installing pious men to minister to it, whom he called Magi. The very wise chronicler Pausanias has recorded this. After some time, King Cepheus, the father of Andromeda, came from Ethiopia to attack him. Cepheus couldn’t see, due to his age. When Perseus heard that he was attacking, he was furious, and went out against him carrying the head, and showed it to him.

Unable to see, Cepheus rode at him on horseback. Perseus didn’t know that he didn’t see, and concluded that the Gorgon head he was holding no longer functioned. So he turned it toward himself and looked at it. Blinded, he remained that way until he was killed. So then, the son of Perseus and Andromeda ruled over the Persians. He was appointed by his grandfather Cepheus, the king of Ethiopia. Cepheus commanded that the hateful head of the Gorgon be burned, and left for his own country. So the lineage of Perseus continued to rule the land of Babylonia.

Now, this book is both an unreliable source and one of those late ancient/early medieval texts that will tell you about that one confusing myth you can find nowhere else in the original ancient myths and doesn't even make sense to begin with. But the fact that Perseus is considered here the inventor of Zoroastrianism along with the fact that his son Perses is considered the ancestor of persians and persians were also believed to have invented magic according to the greeks is some solid lore, I'm not going to lie.

#greek mythology #perseus #perses #persians #ramblings

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nanamineedstherapy · 8 days ago

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Kaapi Aur Kaand: South Delhi Gangs Edition

Previous Chapter - [Tumblr/Ao3] A/N: This fic is based on true events (i.e. every group project I ever did with men) warning: contains caffeine-fuelled vengeance, parasocial loyalty to filter coffee, Gojo being a chaabi-less himbo, & Nanami praying for god to kill all startups. Inspired by the question: What if capitalism but everyone was hot & needed therapy? If you’ve ever wanted to sue a founder on Shark Tank, this one’s for you 🫡 Anyway enjoy the unhinged startup gore. (p.s. Sukuna is right. Helvetica is the font of war.) No hate to anyone, its all just comedy.

A corporate shootout, but the guns are NDAs and Gojo's chaabi-less Audi.

It started the way most Delhi beef does—on LinkedIn.

A beige-font post with the humility of a CAA student and the subtlety of a banana republic ad:

“Emerging startups need to step back and let legacy brands lead.”

— Eepy Crow’s CEO, apparently inspired by Ambani but mentored by Manav Kaul

He wasn’t even tagged.

Just... posted it.

No context.

But you choked on your espresso.

Because you were the “emerging startup.”

The one roasting beans and egos since 2021.

The one with warehouses in Noida, interns from IIT, and the emotional stamina of a C-section mother running a tech team.

Nanami read the post, looked up from his quarterly report, and muttered, “I’m going to kill him.”

Gojo shared it in the team group chat with, “Should we post a reaction reel or just slash his tyres?”

Suguru shared it to your internal Slack with the caption: “Hahaha, are we allowing war crimes yet?” Then sipping oat milk like a villain in slow motion, added it to his “petty crimes I’m manifesting” list.

Sukuna was already in the parking lot, warming up. “Send me the location.”

Toji was in a towel on the terrace bench-pressing the printer, already on Instagram DMing the CEO’s girlfriend. He saw the post and said, “Say less. Give me 48 hours and a cricket bat.”

You kicked open the glass door of the CP investor roundtable an hour later.

Hair uncombed. Kajal smeared like war paint. Black kurta, silver jhumkas, chappals snapping like gunshots on marble.

Toji followed behind, chewing gum and looking like he’s already committed three minor felonies.

The CEO looked like a law intern turned health startup bro who discovered caffeine after losing his crypto wallet.

Three co-founders. One vision. Zero originality.

Packaging like an Art Deco Spotify ad. Branding like they swallowed the entire Pinterest board of Bon Appétit India.

And now he wanted to talk legacy?

You walked up to him, sipped your espresso, and said: “Who taught you marketing? A 3rd year SRCC frat boy on his second heartbreak? Or was it Akshay Kumar during a pressure cooker ad?”

He blinked. “Can we not—”

You didn't. “Bhaiya, aapne LinkedIn pe post kiya na? Ab face pe sun lo.”

The Eepy Crow boys ran with legacy funding, Gen Z packaging, and Gurgaon dads.

You? You had rage, caffeine, juniors who knew Photoshop, and absolutely no respect for men with sandalwood-beard-oil startups.

Startup War: Day Zero

Their flagship café opened in Defence Colony at 9:00 AM sharp.

By 9:01, your rage was boiling like an underpaid tandoor.

Right across the street from your best-performing kiosk. A kiosk built on insomnia, broken relationships, and two years of unpaid emotional labour. A kiosk where even the pigeons knew better than to shit on your logo.

Then their banner had the audacity to read:

"REAL Coffee. REAL Flavour. Not Filtered By Attitude."

Gojo staired. “Is that... is that about us?”

You didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Just sipped your cutting black brew. “They want smoke. Let’s give them a gas chamber.”

You gathered the team.

War Room Meeting: 10:00 AM

You walked in like a mafia consigliere in a Fabindia funeral edit. All black kurta. Khol. Gold jhumkas swinging like guillotine blades.

Nanami already had a whiteboard up, graphs stabbing across it like war wounds. Toji brought a cricket bat and a chai thermos filled with vodka. Suguru was hand-roasting beans in a corner like some evil witch auntie. Gojo looked like he hadn't slept since Tinder updated. Sukuna wore a red shirt, silver chains, and that glint in his eye—the one he only got before crime.

You: CEO. Full Wasseypur revenge arc. Hair unbrushed. Eyes sharp. No time for emotional closure.

Gojo: Partnerships lead. Wearing eyeshadow brighter than his career prospects.

Nanami: CFO. Already threatening to call SEBI.

Suguru: Head of R&D. Barista Cult Leader. Quietly planning biological warfare via almond milk.

Sukuna: Brand Head. Has 3 meme drafts ready. All of them slander.

Toji: Logistics. Smirking like he just ran a red light with no number plate.

Ino: On Leave.

Nanami starts the meeting, “They’ve poached two of our vendors. Offered them double. Their cost of production is now 38% higher than ours. They’re losing margin just to spite us.”

Sukuna sipped his Red Bull. “Let me design the revenge poster. I want blood splatter and Helvetica.”

Suguru raised a brow. “Can I poison their almond milk supply chain?”

Toji cracked his knuckles. “I’ve already hacked their founder’s wife’s Pinterest. She now follows a board titled ‘Meat Porn & Failed Marriages.’”

You nodded. “Focus. We have 72 hours. Operation: Caffeine Coup. Begin.”

Gojo raised a hand, hopeful. “Should we... try talking?”

The room turned. “Shut up, Gojo.”

Eepy Crow’s flagship launched with free cappuccinos and poorly timed jazz.

Across the street, your kiosk played Daler Mehndi and gave out free espresso shots with stickers that said:

“Legacy tastes like your dad’s failed dairy business.”

The war had begun.

Their press release hit Mint. Yours hit people’s souls.

Gojo stood behind you, watching you yell into your phone at the B2B manager while eating golgappas.

He didn’t say anything.

Just watched.

Like he used to. Back in college.

When he thought, maybe the world made sense if you were in it.

Suguru fed you a sweet golgappa by hand while you continued seething, “If you ever want to co-found something less stressful—like a poetry café—I’d build it around your rage.”

You chewed it with judgement. “If you ever quote Ghalib at me again, I’ll co-found your funeral.”

Gojo didn’t flirt.

He just... walked beside you.

Followed your orders.

Made your decks prettier.

Answered your 3AM Slacks without asking why you were awake.

The other men wanted you.

He just missed you. His friend he could always talk to.

Day 1: Khan Market Bloodbath

Flash mob. Free cold brew shots. Loudspeakers blasting “Tunak Tunak Tun.”

Yuji and Junpei handed out coupons with QR codes linking to a blog titled:

“How Eepy Crow is Gentrifying Filter Coffee.”

Sukuna tweeted:

“BREAKING: Eepy Crow found guilty of war crimes against South Indian breakfast culture. Source: Rage and receipts.”

Day 2: Twitter Bloodbath

Sukuna’s thread went live:

A THREAD 🧵: Why Eepy Crow is South Delhi’s Theranos. (1/47)

Point #3 included a Google Sheet of their copy-pasted mission statements. Point #19 included a meme of their CEO edited into a sachet of Bru Gold.

Day 3: Biological Warfare

Suguru quietly delivered a “new cinnamon infusion” pack to their Defence Colony outlet.

It had fermented extract from leftover paani puri water and cinnamon grown in some unknown man's Gurgaon balcony.

Their cold brew turned into what could only be described as paani from Lajpat sewage.

You received a cease and desist letter.

Nanami wrote a reply:

“Freedom of Beverage Expression is protected under Article 19(1)(a). Choke on it.”

Day 4: Reels and Revenge

Kokichi directed. Nobara styled. Megumi composed background score.

The revenge reel?

Sunset behind your kiosk. Your juniors laughing. Slow-mo espresso pours. Captioned:

“We didn’t inherit this. We bled for it.”

Zomato reposted. Chuiggy made a sticker pack.

Eepy Crow’s engagement dropped 18%.

Day 5: Merch and Menace

Nobara’s tote bags said:

“F*ck Legacy. Filter Coffee Forever.”

Sold out in six hours. Delhi girls wore it like it was political protest merch.

Megumi added an AI feature to your app. Without telling you.

You found out when Toji asked you, “Why does the POS system say ‘you’re doing amazing, sweetie’ after every transaction?”

You almost smiled.

Almost.

Day 6: Breakdown

It was late.

You were in the war room.

Hair in a bun.

Glasses crooked.

No shoes. Chai untouched.

Toji asleep under the desk.

Sukuna’s meme flagged for hate speech.

Nanami threatening to resign via Excel cell comments.

You were pacing.

The new café promo had just tanked.

You turned—and Gojo was there.

Laptop open. Campaign ideas queued.

Sitting quietly.

He pointed to a single line of copy on the slide:

“For the ones who built it without help. Without names. Just hands.”

You read it.

Then looked up. Slowly.

He didn’t meet your eyes.

Just smiled.

Small. Real.

You didn’t say thank you.

Just handed him a new task. “Fix Ino’s ad. It looks like Google made it during a migraine.”

Day 7: Final Strike

You launched: “Pay What You Want” Weekend.

People queued. Students. Lawyers. Delivery boys. Aunties in nighties. Everyone came.

You made profit.

They made complaints.

Eepy Crow’s CEO posted a long LinkedIn cry:

“We must ask: is this disruption or is this... toxicity?”

You posted a video of Toji beating an espresso machine with a chappal. Caption:

“This is what we do to machines that try to replace us.”

The Final Meet: Lodhi Garden.

You walked in: black shades, printouts, full Delhi 6 swag.

He brought: two angel investors, his gym bro, and a dog in a bandana.

“This isn’t how legacy behaves,” he said.

You didn’t sit. Just dropped the file.

“Legacy doesn’t mean jack if your coffee tastes like Noida divorce court.”

Gojo arrived late with parathas.

Sukuna livestreamed.

Toji flirted with their CFO.

Suguru watched a couple cry beside the pond and whispered, “Romance is dead. So is their funding.”

Nanami finally spoke:

“We’re going D2C exclusive. Six-week drop. Delhi only. Title: Sutta Aur Sudden Espresso.”

You left with a nod.

He left with PTSD.

Results:

Eepy Crow café “closed for rebranding.”

Your kiosk hit record footfall.

Your juniors dropped a rap:

“Chai ho ya coffee, startup toh yahi baap hai.”

Gojo tried to hug you. You ducked.

Nanami quit. Came back. Quit again.

Sukuna’s brand thread got published in The Ken and now has 200K Twitter followers. Fights Aranb Goswami daily.

Suguru got a cold DM from someone who just wrote “marry me.”

Toji is banned from four cafés.

And you drink black coffee on your office rooftop and whisper:

“Iss Dilli mein... revenge aur coffee dono kadak chahiye.”

Gojo watched from the office terrace as you laughed—full chest—with the juniors, sipping chaas and playing Uno.

You were barefoot.

Happy.

Not with him.

Just... in the world again.

He didn’t say anything.

Just sat near the glass door, laptop open.

Still trying.

Still your friend.

Just quietly now.

Bonus:

App Reviews:

“5 stars but Toji stole my scooter”

“Coffee slapped harder than my breakup. Would recommend.”

Gojo’s Bad LinkedIn Bio:

“Digital Nomad | Coffee Cultivator | Part-time Muse | Still finding myself (pls don’t contact HR)”

---

A/N: Thank you for reading this caffeine-drenched, unbrushed-hair revenge arc. I wrote this during a real-life budgeting breakdown & yes, I did threaten to bite someone in finance. Pls let me know in the comments: Who would survive a WeWork docuseries? Which jjk man should be handed over to SEBI? If Gojo should be allowed a driver’s license ever again? comments = legally binding NDAs saying you’ll fight legacy cafés with me hate = filtered like eepy crow’s espresso See you in court (or Khan Market) 💅☕

Next Chapter - Beedi, Budgets, & Bitching - [Tumblr/Ao3]

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wordsformizu · 1 year ago

Text

Your Father's Daughter Mizu x Reader

Word count: 3.1k

Chapter 2.

There were no words left to say for this assignment. You were to be in and out, and if anyone were to interrupt or attempt to stop you you kill them too. A quick disposal of garbage your father did not find fit for his future.

The Kamiizumi’s are a family of wealthy merchants that began offering their financial help to support your fathers cause. They believed in his greatness and wanted to be on the right side of history, which you translated to being “On the safe side”. They were on whichever side that would keep them as one of the richest in the country and currently that was your fathers. They held no true morals and only believed in currency as time and time again it has proven to keep their hinds safe, stomachs gluttonously full, and even the darkest of their desires satisfied. As slimy as slugs on a wet leaf after it rains and with the same backbone as one, the Kamiizumi family were truly distasteful to you. It was an honor that your father sent you to cut off the head of the snake.

Your father taught you that gossiping was a horrible hobby to uphold. A hobby that should be left to women to carry as wasting time is not a task a man should be performing. And the head of the Kamiizumi family was a horrible gossip. Letting slip your fathers plans and his true allegiance to the young girls that frequented his home. And girls, they speak even if you aren’t listening. After a few sips of warm sake, and some comforting strokes on his pimpled back, he would begin spouting information along with his blank seeds. Red in the face for both stimulating actions.

Yes, your father taught you a lot about this society and the responsibilities of women and men when you would have time for your talks. The importance of a man, and the subservient duty of a woman and what happens if order is not in place.

“Everyone and everything should be in its rightful place, and it is the responsibility of Man to uphold this system.” he would explain. “If God were generous we would live happily, but we have hands and will and hunger. With these tools Man becomes king under the heavens.” he would speak the last part to himself in a low tone before going onto the next topic. “For on this earth, there is no God.”

It isn't like you had forgotten you were a woman, the soft features were present on your face and though you were built petite, you could see the perk of your breasts in certain angles. You would catch yourself in the mirror at times when your mind would curiously wander on the topics of beauty; though these moments were rare. Other young women your age were a bit more developed, more womanly and full. You sometimes wondered what kind of woman you would have grown to become if you weren't so malnourished and underfed as a child. Would you have grown taller, with more slender legs instead of the thin ones you possess? Would you have more curves to your figure for your kimono to hold onto as you wrapped it around your body? Would your lips display as blossom petals on your face when you applied lip paint to bring out more color to your features? All these thoughts you let yourself explore for a brief moment as you prepared yourself for this assignment.

Slipping on the okobo’s you had found, you headed into the night to begin. This wasnt your usual attire, but you were able to slip onto the Kamiizumi property on time without drawing any attention to yourself. In the late nights at the end of certain weeks, the Kamiizumi head of house would throw a small party just for himself and a few friends who shared his tastes. Young women. No not women, girls would be gathered like flowers in a vase to decorate his halls with their youth and essence. Him and his lowly friends would pick their favorites and pluck from them their petals of innocence and virtue. They would do this until they became too old for the weekly visits, or their bellies swole with budding life. Sometimes that wouldn't stop them. Through the halls you could hear the cries of children, and the moans of men. Two sounds that should never cross, you thought to yourself. Men like him were beastly. Barbaric. It was an honor that your father left the final say in your hand. You were glad to be the period to his sentence.

You took to wandering the halls, wondering which room would inhabit your target. You hated listening, but it was important for you to hear if you could recognize his voice through the acts or possibly someone whispering his name to lead you into the right direction. Finally you came across a room with its door shut. You thought to yourself what was the point of a closed door if you could still smell and hear everything going on within its walls.

“And he has eyes that are blue-” you heard one of the men inside the room grunt and then collapse onto the floor.

“Like an Onryo.” You heard him finish in a pant. The thought of this man speaking on your father set a spark of fire that traveled through your skin. The only blue eyed man you knew was your father, his boss, and he dare spoke of him while relieving himself as if he were common gossip at a brothel.

You moved to a far corner so that you could slip deeper into the shadows, but stay hidden from anyone who left the other rooms.

“Its said that he disgraced the once honorable student now Samurai of the Shindo Dojo .” You heard another man speak. “Cut off the top of his chonmage.” The men ooo’d and and spoke amongst eachother. Some laughed, arguing if the samurai deserved it or not.

“I heard he opened the mouth of the beast and tore out the Four Fangs.”

You caught on to what they were speaking about. The Four fangs were an elite group of assassins known across Japan for carrying some of the most lethal exterminations. Whoever it is that they were discussing was not your father as your father and that group have never crossed paths according to his stories. They were speaking of someone else. Someone more dangerous than the Four Fangs. You leaned in to listen.

“I would have paid good money to see that.”

“You fools would believe any lie. Any fool can say they defeated anyone, it doesn't mean they did. Look here, this small rabbit defeated the Four Fangs. Didnt you, sweetheart?” You heard a quick smack of a hand on flesh followed by a child's yelp and a gaggle of laughter. You winced.

“Who is this nameless samurai anyway? Or can we call him a samurai?”

“A crazed murderer is more like it.”

“They say-”

“Who says?”

“Those who get the chance to witness him and live to speak-”

“Oh, God.”

“Anyway, they say he’s on some sort of mission. A friend of a friend-”

“A friend of a friend, he says”

“A friend of a friend has told me that he is hunting down specific people. People that arent of our own. Foreigners.” Silence as the men slowly began to understand what this meant.

“It is said he has already taken down one of them.” There was more silence before someone finally spoke.

“It was about time someone handled this problem.” This was the voice of the Kamiizumi’s family head. You recognized it by the wheeze of his lungs that followed behind every sentence he spoke. This was caused by his years of smoking, it has weakened him as a man.

“I’m simply saying what we all are thinking. We all knew eventually we would have to rid our land of these white men. I will speak my mind, because I am the bravest.” and the dumbest, you thought to yourself.

“If anyone finds this “White man” killer, let me know. I will pay a hefty price to speak to him. Maybe we can be rid of our own..problem.”

A few cleared throats and muffled “Im tired”s “I must rest” “Good nights” later and the men, and girls, came pouring out of the room, headed in the direction of their guest spaces. Everyone came out, but the Kamiizumi head was the last to poke out. He was just as ugly as you remembered him. His stomach left the door before he did, gray hair trailing from his navel to his exposed pubic region. His face was not a sight for sore eyes as it was heavily aged beyond its years and held craters and moles in different areas. His teeth were yellowed, and you couldn't tell if his hair was shining from grease or hair oil. When you have money, you don’t have to consider others. You can be as ugly as you want, inside and out.

He looked down the left side of the hall, watching his friends slip into their guest rooms. You watched from the right, deep within the corner. He would eventually shift and return back to the room and in doing so he will spot you here. After watching him for weeks, one thing you knew of him was that he couldn't help touching something shiny and brand new. For all he knew, you were a new girl brought to him that he had never experienced before. He would approach you, and beckon you into the room to comfort him into the night. And spot you he did.

“Would you look at that. Were you hiding behind all the other lovely dolls brought in, or saving yourself for last?” He approached you, lowering his stance which made the stench of alcohol and unkempt dental hygiene stronger. You backed away from the scent, but was sure to put on a face of fear. One of the benefits of appearing so young was being able to use it to your advantage. It wasn't the first time you’ve used this tactic. You would feign weak and feeble, younger than your true age. You weren't hideous, and once again if your mother had spent her money on feeding all of you more and giving you the proper nutritional value as a young child you were sure you would have grown into a full and beautiful woman; but now that you're stuck in this slightly smaller than average malnourished body you could take advantage of the people who viewed you as weak and vulnerable. This allowed you at times to exploit them and target their soft spots. Appearing weak and feeble allowed certain people to pull you in. Close enough for you to strike where it hurts. Men like Kamiizumi enjoyed torturing the weak and feeble. Even better, he liked naive. Untainted. Clean.

He was eating the reactions you were feeding him out of the palm of your hands, his hunger striking again. You were sure to lower your face incase he noticed the hatred you held for him through your eyes. This also wouldn't be a good time to be recognized as he was now leading you into the room.

“Lucky you I have energy for one more,” his laugh sounded like mud trying to push its way out of a small hole. “I’ll be sure to be slow with you so we can cuddle all night. The other girls your age like that.”

The minute the door shut, the stench surrounded you, forcing itself down your throat. It was so strong you could taste the room, and looking around you didn't need much of an imagination to know the absurdities that happened in here. It was rancid. Repulsive. Revolting.

You didn't realize he had begun speaking, rambling about whatever nonsense.

“There's something familiar about you, I can't pin it, but I like it..” Your senses were becoming overstimulated, and you needed to focus.

“- and I can show you how a real man breaks in dolls like you. Don’t you worry though.” he began reaching towards you, and all you could see was his grimy sweaty palms and fingers as large as sausages threatening your personal space.

“ I’ll be gentle…”. The buildup of skin under his fingernails. The scent. The sweat.

“...so you can come back.”

His blood was warm before it cooled and dried on your skin, spraying everywhere. This was erotic in its own way, except you got to choose what was being ejected. He reached for his neck quickly, trying to clog the deep slice you left in the deep layers of his skin when he was crawling closer. His usual gurgles were louder now, but he couldn't scream as you were sure to strike his vocal cords as well. The right price for someone who gossips as much as he does, you thought.

“You-..” the realization hit him as he began to recognize who you were far too late. In the corners of the room, behind your fathers coat. He had seen you but as always too late.

He tried to let out some sort of noise to alert the others, but instead let out noises of a dying fish. Skillfully switching the dagger from one position in your hand to the next, you lifted your arms to deliver your fathers final say.

Approaching the entrance of your fathers study, senses of relief began to wash over your being. Home again, after another successfully completed assignment. You were drenched in blood from your hair, to the hems of your kimono. You overheard a conversation taking place behind the doors.

“Sir, I apologize. We didn’t know-”

“I knew.” You recognized your fathers voice, but it didn't sound like your father. There was no warmth, no peace.

“I knew, didn't I?”

“Yes, Sir..” The man sounded petrified, like he was pleading for his life. You approached the door to peek inside.

“And you didn't listen.”

“Yes, Sir-”

“Say it.”

“We didn’t listen..”

“Right.” You heard the hit before you saw it with your eye. The man let out a blood curdling scream before your father hushed him. You might've heard a bone crush beneath the grip your father had on the man, but you weren't sure.

“You're going to fix this.”

“We’re going to fix this..” The man spoke through the pain, blood seeping out between his gritted teeth.

“And next time you’ll listen to me when I say to-”

“And next time we’ll listen to you-”

“Do not interrupt me.” Your father spoke, followed by more crunches and whimpering from the man.

You watched now, this man who you called father, violently lashing out on one of his followers. You had never seen this side of him before. A colder, violent side to him. His usually groomed hair, now letting out a few strands as he overpowered this man. His top coat now removed. Everyone could get angry, but never your father. He was never angry. Never bothered. Never disturbed. He was prepared for everything, anything. It’s one of the things that made him above man, above all.

A few moments passed before he let out a sigh, releasing the man to drop onto the floor hard. He combed his fingers through his blonde hair, fixing it and then adjusting his vest.

“I expect immediate results. Do inform me if anything changes in our favor, friend.” His voice was beginning to sound familiar, lighter, at ease again but not quite there yet. His strides are long, so he leaves the man on the floor to pick himself up and walks towards his desk, reaching the other side of the room in no time.

The man throws opens the slide door and limps past you so fast he didn't even see you. You stood there at the entrance of the door, but close to the shadows. If it was your father, he’d know you were there sooner or later. He would feel you. Your father would know. He’d know-

“Come,” the warmth in his voice returned and a wave of emotion washed over you, threatening to overtake you. All of a sudden you were five again, running into the safety of his arms. Approaching the side of his desk quietly, you made sure to ignore the blood on the floor. One of the house maidens would clean it spotless as if it never existed. Until then if your father has decided to not address it, so would you.

One look at you and he clicked his tongue in disappointment. You had forgotten the mess you were in, and even worse you had brought yourself in the presence of your father looking this way. Shame shaded your cheeks before it was met with a damp towel, and the other with the padding of his palms. He held your head still as he wiped away the blood. He knew.

If you were snow, you would melt in the palm of his hands, and if you were a himawari flower you would bloom in his direction. Though you weren't a child any longer, it was moments like this that made every mission, every completed assignment, worth it. Your eyes fluttered in comfort, before finally closing. Yes, this was your father, and that was just a moment that that man definitely deserved. The same way you have earned your fathers softness, and comfort, he has earned his harshness and was punished for whatever mistake he shouldn't have let happen. Simple enough. At the end of the day, it was this man who knew your strengths and weaknesses, it was this man who built you into who you are. It was this man who knew how to soothe your nerves. It was this man who made you great.

“There, now I can see your face.” Your eyelids felt heavy in this moment, but you opened them still to meet his. A door opened in your mind, reminding you of the oceanside he took you to as a child. How he rolled the legs of his pants up so that you both could enjoy the water, your sudden shock of the coldness touching your skin followed by giggles and laughter, how you thought to yourself that his eyes reminded you so much of the sky’s horizon, how they were the same color as-

“The ocean.” The words slipped from your lips in an accidental whisper.

“The ocean?” He repeated smoothly, pausing for the moment.

It was then that you were reminded that his eyes weren't the only ocean blues in Japan, and that these ones were possibly looking for him.

“There is a man looking to kill you.”

Your father smiled and began wiping at your face again, tilting your head with delicacy.

“There are a lot of men looking to kill me.” he said plainly.

“No,” lifting your arm, you rested your hand gently over his and met his eyes with a desperate urgency behind them.

“This one is different.”

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