#but I have no idea what to do. it would have to be outside because he 'doesn't believe in covid' and while I could probably get him to mask

[darkbluekies]

One by one

Yandere!mafia oc x reader

Summary: it was too easy to run away ... maybe because Silas has a plan to get you to come back by yourself ....

Warnings: yandere, feelings of isolation, mention of murder, anesthesia, everything in the oneshot is a bit more on the darker side, so prepare for that

Word count: 4.3k

It had been too easy, you realise in retrospect. It had been harder before. If none of Silas’s men or security alarm had caught you, Otto would have—the 90 pound male Doberman—but this time, you almost walked out the front door with ease.

You lean your chin in your hand. Something's wrong. Terribly wrong.

You glance down at your hands, trembling as you remove the wedding ring from your finger and putting it in your pocket. The moon above you seems to stare right at you. The playground is empty, which probably is for the best. You haven't been able to breathe inside, but going outside is dangerous.

“Here, I got you a soda”, your friend says as she returns from the corner shop.

You take it in your hands, mumbling a ��thank you”. Your friend sits down beside you on the bench, glancing at you from time to time.

“Are you thinking about him?” 

You nod.

“It'll be okay”, your friend says. “Somehow.”

“He'll be furious”, you mumble. “He always gets mad. But … something is different. I shouldn't have been able to leave that easy.”

“Don't think too much about it. It'll only make things worse.”

You've been home for a few days and with every day that passes, you're scared it'll be your last with your family. It always feels like someone's watching … because there is.

“Boss”, SIC says into his phone. “They removed their wedding ring.”

He's hidden by shadows, standing too far away for you to see. But he sees. Oh, how he sees you.

“What?” Silas asks, anger growing in his throat. 

“Should I go over there?” SIC asks.

“No. Don't. Come back.”

 “Uh, are you sure? They might not be here long.”

“Then hurry. I have another idea.”

SIC gives you one last glance before stepping onto his motorcycle. Silas waits for him outside his house, Otto by his side.

“Shouldn't someone watch them?” SIC asks. 

“I’m going to send them a message”, Silas says.

“A message? Won't that hurt them?”

Silas rolls his eyes and holds up a note. “Not one of the messages. I'll put this in Otto's collar and you'll take him with you and go back. Send Otto forward, stay hidden. Y/N will recognise him and then understand that I am watching. If they follow what's on the note, go get them. If they decide not to, simply walk over and get Otto, but don’t say a word to them.”

“What? Why?”

“I'm not going to chase them this time. I'm going to bring them to me by removing what they left me for … and I'll start with that friend of theirs sitting beside them. One by one, until Y/N comes crawling begging for forgiveness.”

SIC smirks. “Gotcha.”

You’ve barely touched your soda when you hear the sound of panting. 

“Oh, where did that come from?” your friend asks. 

You turn your eyes up and feel how every nerve in your body snaps, like cords being cut. You could recognise that dog among hundreds. 

“What the fuck”, you breathe out and on instinct crawl higher on the bench. “No, no, no no—”

“What is it?” your friend asks. 

Otto wags his tail, more than happy to see you after a few days of being apart. He barks happily. Your eyes scan the horizon with blurry vision, panicky searching for him. He has found you. He’s here to take you back. 

“You know this dog?” your friend asks with furrowed brows. “He seems to know you…”

“It’s … uh, it’s his dog.” 

Your voice trembles more than it should. Your breath hitches as you sit down normally again, hands shakingly reaching out to pet Otto. He’s ecstatic, licking your hands and barking as if you’ve been apart for months. You can’t see Silas anywhere and decide to turn your eyes onto Otto. 

“If you’re here … someone else is too”, you whisper shakingly. 

“Should we leave?” your friend asks. 

“No use … Otto runs faster than we do.”

“Does he bite?”

“If he’s instructed to.”

You notice a paper locked onto his collar and pull it out, almost drop it when you try to open it. The handwriting is intensely familiar. To your surprise, there’s only one sentence.

“Put your wedding ring back on your finger.”

You hesitate. That son of a bitch. He basically releases you, psyches you for days ,making you absolutely paranoid, and then sends forward the only thing in that damn household you like with a demand? Who does he think he is?

You crumpled the paper and throw it. If he wants to get you, he’ll have to come get you himself. You’re not a doll for him to play around with. Not the butt of his joke. He must stand somewhere in the shadows and watch you with that grin on his face. It’s all a joke to him, isn’t it? That’s why he let you leave. He’s toying with you. But you won’t entertain him. 

Someone comes walking out of the shadows of the other side of the playground. Your entire body tenses, eyes widening. You expect it to be him, but it’s SIC. You’re not sure if that’s better. 

“Here, boy”, SIC says and pats his thigh. 

Your heart stops. Eyes never leaving him. Otto turns and runs to SIC, getting into work mode. Your friend seems less scared than you. She doesn’t know who this is. Or what he does. Doesn’t know how close to death she is right now. You wonder what she’d say if she knew that she was face to face with the right hand man of the country’s most dangerous man. 

You meet SIC’s dark eyes for a second, before they flicker to your friend, then back. 

“If that’s how you want it”, he says calmly. “You had a choice and you declined it.”

Wait what?

He turns and walks, Otto following him. 

You’re not sure why, but you fly up from the bench, hurrying after. 

“What are you talking about?” Your words come out way too quick. “What is he going to do?”

SIC doesn’t seem to notice you. Or he doesn’t care. Otto doesn’t look at you either. 

“SIC!” you say, louder than intended. Your voice trembles. “Stop doing this! I’m fucking scared, don’t do that! I don’t want to play your game, I just want to be left alone!”

SIC looks at you, still walking. 

“How hard can it be to put on a little ring?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “Hm? You’re selfish and you’re childish. You think Silas will come running after you again? You don’t think he has better things to do than to chase after you like a goddamn toddler every fifteen minutes?”

“Fine, I’ll put on the ring! I’ll wear it.”

“Cute, but I don’t ask twice. You’ve made your choice.” He stops and turns to you. “We both know it wasn’t actually about the ring, right? And if that’s the case … why didn’t you put it on? Why be so selfish and let other people take your punishment?”

“SIC … please …”

“It's not me you have to beg.”

With that said, he leaves. You watch him disappear into the shadows, hear his car's engine tone out.

You realise you haven’t breathed in over a minute. On heavy legs you drag yourself back to the bench. The soda is since long forgotten. Your breathing comes out hectic, rushed. Frantic. 

“Y/N, breathe”, your friend reminds you, holding one of her hands over your chest. “Let’s go to the cops, let’s—”

“That won’t work … oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Get up. We’re moving.”

The note lays scrambled on the ground. It was a test? “You had a choice and you declined it?” What the fuck did that mean? What have you declined? And what have you, in response, opened yourself up for?

Your head is spinning. SIC has seen tour friend. Actively turned his gaze to her. That split of a second was all he needed to memorise her. 

“You have to leave.”

“Let’s go home, Y/N, you look unwell. It’s going to be okay.”

“No, I’m actually serious. You have to leave.”

Or is it better for her to stay where you can see her? 

“Should I call someone?” your friend asks.

Who can you call? The cops? You want to laugh out loud. The second you call the cops, Silas men will know, because of course he has people working for him in the police force. Besides, your phone is back at Silas’s house and your friend's could easily be tracked.

“Let's go inside, at least”, your friend says. “It's getting chilly.”

“We're not going home.”

You're sure Silas already knows where you live, but it's the principle. Your friend takes you to the corner shop she got the sodas from. The bright fluorescent light hits your eyes. But the warmth from the heaters makes you relax slightly.

“I feel so selfish”, you say as you walk around the aisles with your hands in your pockets. “You have nothing to do with this, but he'll drag you into it …just because you're connected to me. Guilty by fucking association.”

“I'm not scared”, she answers softly.

You should be.

If only your friend knew who she had been standing eye to eye with. SIC is a machine, no remorse, no conscience. He could have killed her right then and there and not have cared that you were sitting half a meter away. He's not like Silas. Compared to him, Silas is almost humble. Almost.

“Silas has two dogs”, you mutter and pretend to look at a bag of chips. “Just that one of them happens to be a thirty-six year old narcissist. You met both tonight.”

“He gave me the creeps.”

“Silas insists that he's my brother-in-law, but I only see a dog following it’s owner.”

“Should we get rid of it? The ring?”

Your eyes dart to your friend, horrified at the mere suggestion.

“Are you insane?” you breathe out. “He already knows I've taken it off and that has put me in trouble. If I get rid of it, he'll kill me.”

“Would he?”

“Well, maybe not kill, but I don't want to figure out what he figures out. I tried to put it on, I begged SIC, but … he said it’s too late.” You bite your lip. “I think I've done something really bad. Every time I try to push back he finds a way to cage me in. Wouldn't surprise me if I become the third dog.”

“I think you need to rest, Y/N. Let's buy some snacks and go to my house and watch a movie, okay?”

You think of your parents back home. You should go to them, in case Silas shows up, but maybe he won't go there if you're not there. 

You grab the bag of chips you pretended to look at and go to the counter. The woman behind smiles at you and scans the bag. 

“That'll be three dollars”, she says.

You pick out your wallet and give her three one dollar cash. All taken from Silas's wallet. Your own bank card has been cut in two and if you get a new one he can track that too. Cash is the only safe way.

“Thank you”, the woman says. 

“Have a good evening”, you mumble and grab the bag of chips.

“You too, Y/N.”

You freeze in place. Eyes widening. Suddenly the cashier's smile doesn't seem the least sweet anymore, even though it hasn't changed. You stumble backwards.

Run.

Your nails dig into your friend's arm and hurry out of the corner shop, heart hammering against your ribs.

“How did she know your name?” your friend asks.

“Fucking hell”, you hiss, running your free hand through your hand. “He's stationed them out! That woman works for him. He's put her there to keep track if I walk in! That asshole. She heard what I said about SIC!”

You hit your palm against your forehead, groaning.

“Jennifer messaged”, SIC says and walks into the office, phone in hand. “The one we put in the corner shop, you know? She messaged that Y/N and their friend walked in.”

“Well?” Silas asks and leans back. “What did they buy?”

“Chips.”

“Chips? Seriously?”

“She wrote that. Said that they're going home to the friend to watch a movie. Sour cream and onion, if you want to know the flavor. Kind of basic if you ask me but who am I to judge?”

Silas leans back in his chair. “So … Y/N both ignored my warning, crumpled the note, talked back and is now buying snacks to watch a movie? Seems to me like they're not the slightest worried. What a joke.”

“What do you want to do?”

Silas thinks for a moment, jaw burn. “They're going to their friend's house?” 

“Yes, it seems like it.”

“So their own home is free?”

“I'd guess their parents are home.”

Silas stands up, pushing the chair back. “Let's pay them a visit. Grab Otto.”

You couldn't focus on the movie and ate chips on autopilot. Couldn’t even tell what the movie was about, but now that you’re lying on the mattress in your friend’s room, turned to the side, you feel how you wish you had watched the movie, forced yourself to enjoy it, just so that you could have kept your mind occupied, because now that everything is silent and dark … the thoughts come back. You sit up slowly, glancing towards your friend before picking out the ring from your pocket, admiring it in the moonlight. The engravement on the inside makes your stomach twist. In some way, you do like Silas. A part of you can’t deny that, but you know that staying with him means giving up all of your dreams and the life you’ve studied to get. If you stay with him, all your decisions becomes his. Your life, becomes his. You’re his accessory, his. When he’s not the mafia man that comes home bloody, he’s almost normal … and you’re terrified to let that part of him take you under. 

I shouldn’t have been so naive to mess with Silas about the ring. Why was I so selfish to just … throw the note away? In front of SIC?

You know it was because of just needing to put a little stick in the wheel, just something to annoy him, to show that he can’t scare you into being his obedient little dog. A little rebellion to have something for yourself.

But you know how stupid that is. 

You rest your head into your hands, groaning. 

“Get out of my head”, you whisper pleadingly. “Please, please, please get out of my head.”

 “We both know it wasn’t actually about the ring, right?” SIC had said when you had begged him to explain. “And if that’s the case … why didn’t you put it on? Why be so selfish and let other people take your punishment?”

You know how Silas functions by now. He’s like an explorer in a jungle, cutting down branches in the way to get to their target. He’s going to use people you love to get to you. But how? Is he going to search every house until he finds you and kill every time he won’t find you? Or kill when he finds you?

Suddenly the house doesn’t feel safe anymore. You’re just waiting for him to come and get you … and that’ll put your friend in danger. You sigh and get up from the mattress, grabbing your jacket. If he gets here and finds that you’re not here … maybe your friend will be safe? Or … maybe you’re not here to protect her …

He wants you, after all. If you’re not here, he might just move on to the next and leave them be.

You give your friend a small squeeze on her shoulder before slipping out of the dark house. Your mind contradicts itself again. How are you any more safe out there in the open darkness than in there behind locked doors? You stop in the middle of the road, the streetlights shining above you, lighting you up like spotlights at a trial. Should you go back?

You’ll risk her life. Her parents life. 

Every step you take can be wrong and result in death. Tears fall down your cheeks as you run home. Your feet barely touch the ground. Every step hurts. 

The house is quiet as you enter through the back door. You stop and frown, listen for sounds … or the lack of it.

“Mom?” you ask hesitantly. “Dad?”

Their lack of answering rips your heart out of your chest. He hadn’t started with your friend, of course not, he had started here … where your most cherished loved ones live. With your heart in your throat you run up the stairs to their bedroom. Two bodies are lying in bed, above the covers, without as much as a movement. You turn on the lights and see them lay there. Your eyes search for blood, for wounds, holes … but nothing. Instead, you see a note taped on the headboard. Before grabbing it, you feel for your mother’s pulse. Alive? With confusion mixed relief, you grab the paper. 

“This is the second note I’m writing to you this evening. Don’t let it reach a third one. Since I love you more than I probably should at this moment, I will give you ONE last chance. Your parents are not dead—not yet, at least. Just some anesthesia … but it scared you, didn’t it? Made you think they were dead? How did that feel, Y/N? Was it worth it? Would your little adventure be worth losing both of you parents? This time, it was just a scare. Next time I WILL go through with it. And don’t think that by staying by your parents side will do any different. Your friends, your extended family, are all in my reach. You can’t protect everyone at the same time, can you? If you want all of this to stop, you know what you need to do — S.”

New sobs escape you. You crumple the paper and throw it to the side before shaking your mom and dad, pleading with them to wake up. When they don’t, you continue to sit at the bedside, filled with nothing. Emptiness had never felt so large, so filling, before. 

“I knew something was up the second I left”, you say out into the room, almost as if you expect either mom or dad to answer. “I should have realised … but I’m pretty good at acting first and thinking later. I just wanted to get away, I never meant for anyone to get hurt … I just wanted to be free. We live one life … why should mine be wasted just because that man has decided that I should be his spouse? It’s not fair. It’s not fair that I have to be responsible for everyone around me. Their life shouldn’t have to be in danger because of me. I know I’m not technically responsible, that it’s Silas, but … somehow it feels like my fault. And I hate it …” Tears roll down your cheeks and you don’t try to stop them. “I hate that I have become dangerous and I hate that people can’t look at me without thinking of him. I just wanted to get away … go home … be the old me again … and I thought that if I remove his ring, I would be my old self again … stupid. It’s all so stupid!”

You rise from the bed, glaring towards the hallway, almost expecting to see someone standing there. 

“If I don’t want anyone I love to die, I need to crawl back to him”, you hiss. “Be a good little doggy. I need to sacrifice my entire soul for everyone. The trolley problem, right? But fine. I’ll come crawling on my knees. I’ll do what it takes because I can’t let him hurt any of you. If the only power I have is to keep you safe … then I guess I’ll do it. My only resistance that I can’t be punished for.”

You tuck a blanket over your parents and quietly leave the house. You wrap your arms around your body and walk on heavy legs through the night once again. This time, you don’t stop at the end of the city. You keep on walking and walking and walking. It never ends. 

Until you see his house. Black and modern, with lights in the windows. He’s still up. Waiting for you. 

You’re not sure if you should knock or walk right in. You’re way too tired. Way too painful. Your hand trembles as you open the front door and stumble in. Head turning directly to your left, to the door to his office. Closed. Light shines beneath it. You walk over and knock, heart sinking down to your stomach. 

“Yes?” Silas voice asks. 

“I’m … I’m back”, you whisper. 

You can hear his lips turn into a smile. 

“Come in, little thing.”

You open the door, heavy eyes setting on him where he sits on the couch by the window. Not by his desk. He hasn’t been working. Only waiting. Expecting. 

“Look at you”, he chuckles, leaning his head back against the wall, legs spread. “Quicker than I thought.”

You want to sit down. Your legs can’t hold you anymore. He can see the way your eyelids flutter in exhaustion and defeat and stands up, strolling over to you. His hand creeps up to your cheek, cupping it. 

“Such a good little thing you are, aren’t you?” he mumbles. “You gathered all those brain cells in your head and came back.”

“Stop fucking saying that …”, you breathe out, shaking your head in exhaustion, anger flaring back into your bones. “Stop making it into a joke … it’s anything but …”

He caresses your cheek, voice becoming gentler. “I know. I know.”

He catches your tear with his finger before it reaches your skin. 

“Now that we don't have to fight anymore, you should go to bed—”

“Fight?” you questioned. “Is that how you view this?”

“How else? You were mad at me and left and I got mad at you when you removed your ring. Show me your hand.”

You lift both hands. He touches the golden ring on your ring finger. 

“Good”, he said. “That was all I wanted. If you’d have put on that ring, I wouldn’t have had to let you see that side of me … but you’re stubborn, aren’t you?”

“So I should just let you dictate my life as you please then?” you hiss without looking at him. “As long as I do what you say, I don’t have to worry you’re going to murder my loved ones?”

Silas’s black eyes hardened slightly. 

“Do you even acknowledge how lucky you are being able to speak to me like that and still not get killed?” he asks. 

“If you hurt any of them you knew I'd never forgive you. That's why you didn't. Because you wouldn't want to admit you did wrong, so you'd rather have it look like a kind gesture. It wasn't. None of it."

“Really? How about you stop staring into the wall and at least look at me when you're accusing me so I might believe you're actually serious.”

You look at him. He scans your face for a few seconds before scoffing. He takes a step closer, until he can reach down and whisper in your ear. You stand perfectly still.

“You pretend to hate me”, he whispers, breath fanning your ear. “But we both know that's not true.”

“I hate this. Whatever you're doing now.”

“That's fine with me, because you're not supposed to see this side. As long as you behave … you don't have to.”

Behave. The words make you scoff. 

“Let’s get you to bed now”, Silas says. “We will talk more in the morning … and while you sleep, I’ll figure out appropriate consequences for this dumb act.”

Before you can protest, he bends down and lifts you over his shoulder. You don’t even bother fighting back. Why should you give him the delight of your struggle? You’ve already lost. You’re exhausted.

He might have won the battle, but you will win the war. Somehow.

Otto comes out of the dining room and barks happily at the sight of you. His tail wags and he hurries after you and Silas up the stairs to the second floor, jumps into the bed when you’re placed down. You lay still, staring to your side, refusing to acknowledge him. Silas removes your shoes, throwing them to the side and tucks you in, still in the same clothes you’ve been running around in.

“Rest”, he orders, his hand resting on your ankle for a moment. “You’re home now. Where you should be. No more running around or I will cuff you to the bed with Otto’s leash. You’re mine.”

The Doberman jumps up on the bed. Silas pets him once.

“Otto will make sure you’re still here when I come back. Now that I don’t have to wait for you anymore, I will get some actual work done. Sleep well, little thing, don’t ever do this shit again. I miss you too much, you know, and you’re not safe out there alone.”

He leans down and kisses your forehead before alkig over to the door.

"Oh, and next time you compare my best friend to a dog ...", Silas says, smirking slightly, "... maybe you want to make sure no one listens."

With that said, he chuckles and leaves the room. Otto lays down beside you and licks your face. You reach your hand to pet his fur. With a sigh, you rest your head back on the pillows, cursing quietly with your arms crossed over your chest. Next time you’ll succeed. Next time.

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

teachers pet pt. 3

brothers best friend!rafe x thornton!fem!virgin!reader

cw — minors dni, fingering, oral (f receiving), kissing, reader is very innocent, slight insecurity

summary — when sarah leaves you alone in her home, her brother uses it to his advantage.

authors note — thank you guys so much for all the love on this mini story. it actually makes me so excited to continue because i wasn’t even sure people would like this idea!! i love you guys and appreciate all the kind things you guys have been leaving in the comments 💕

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

the movie was playing in front of you, yet neither you or sarah were paying attention. she was on her phone and you were dozing off. the background noise was almost annoying at this point. it was some sort of horror with lots of loud screaming.

sarah laughed at something on her device then powered it off and placed it down on her bed. “i’m hungry,” she blurted out. “wanna go get something from the pantry?”

you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and forced yourself to sit upright. “sure,” you grumbled. the two of you headed downstairs and got to work searching for something to snack on.

she searched the pantry while you looked through the fridge. footsteps approached behind you, which you just assumed was your best friend. that was until your felt a familiar firm chest press to your back and an arm by your head grabbing the milk from the shelf.

a squeal of surprise caught in your throat. he disappeared as quickly as he came, now standing with his back to you by the island.

“what are you doing home?” sarah asked curiously, still rummaging through the snacks. thank god she hadn’t seen his little act. “i thought you were supposed to be out with topper and kelce.”

rafe shrugged lazily and continued making whatever concoction he was whipping up. “i had some work to get done,” he replied. “we’re about to head out to the gym now.”

she nodded and shut the door. “there’s nothing good in here. got anything?” she asked you.

you opened up the freezer and found a tub of ice cream. “i think so,” you stated, picking it up and inspecting it.

“you guys high or something?” he questioned, looking between the two of you and shaking up his protein drink. “why are you guys searching for food like you’ve been starved for days?”

sarah rolled her eyes. “no. just hungry,” she muttered. “unless you’re offering to get us food.”

a fake laugh left his lips. “very funny,” his tone was dry and careless. “but i’m leaving. be back in an hour.”

and with that, he was walking out of the house and shutting the door behind him. the two of you went back upstairs with your tub of ice cream and two spoons to return to your movie.

you must’ve fallen asleep a few minutes in because when you woke up, sarah was tapping at your arm frantically with a giddy smile on her lips. “are you up?” she asked for the fifth time. “i need a favor.”

“what?” you grumbled, looking around as your eyes adjusted to make sure you weren’t missing something. “what are you talking about?”

she began to stand and shrug on a jacket. “john b is outside. can you cover for me tonight?” she asked, practically begging. “i promise i’ll repay you.”

a sigh slipped out before you could stop it. thankfully her parents and wheezie weren’t home, which meant you’d only have to lie to rafe. “fine,” you mumbled. “but don’t be gone long. i can only come up with so many lies.”

an excited grin stretched across her lips. “thank you so much,” she said happily. “i owe you big time.”

and before you knew it, she was slipping out of the window. it annoyed you slightly to be left here alone for the next few hours, possibly even the night. part of you wished you’d just stayed home.

nonetheless, you made yourself comfortable in her bed and turned on a different horror movie, one you’d never seen before and began to scroll on your phone. until you got a certain notification.

rafe:

you still here?

you had to roll your eyes at that.

you:

yes

why?

there was a small pause where the bubbles appeared for a minute or two.

rafe:

wyd rn

that was it? all that typing for three letters?

you:

watching a movie

and another pause.

rafe:

come to my room

i wanna show you something

you let out a huff and rolled over onto your side, far too tired to walk over there.

you:

i’m watching a movie w sarah

rafe:

ik she snuck out

i heard her and john b laughing outside my window

you had to giggle. she’s gonna die when she hears about that tomorrow.

you:

i’m still watching

rafe:

you can watch in here

my tvs bigger

he was persistent, you had to give it to him.

you:

don’t wanna walk over there

rafe:

i’ll carry you

i’ll beg if you want me to

you couldn’t help but smile. you definitely looked like an idiot. it was almost embarrassing how giddy you felt just reading his text.

you:

i’ll be waiting

rafe was quicker than you’d expected. he opened up the door and scooped you up bridal style. and when he heard you laugh, he felt his knees give out a little. he would never admit what he was willing to give up to hear that laugh over and over again.

“you better not drop me,” you said pointedly, wrapping your arms around his neck just incase.

he smirked and slowly, carefully, made his way through the halls. “i’m offended, sweetheart. think i’m weak or something?” he teased.

then he lowered you quickly as if he were to let go, making you gasp and hold onto him tighter. he had to laugh. you smacked his shoulder. “that’s not funny, rafe. what if i died?”

“dramatic much?” he said jokingly. “i wouldn’t let you die.”

you leaned your head against his firm chest and let him carry you into his room, gently placing you onto his bed. “what exactly am i doing in here?” you asked once he settled in beside you.

“why? got somewhere else to be?” he said sarcastically, already knowing you didn’t. “hot date or something?”

you eyed him suspiciously. “not until tomorrow.” if he wanted to play this game, you were going to play.

there was a shift in him. one that was hard to put a finger one. “i still don’t understand why you’re goin’ on that. he’s a fucking loser,” he muttered, turning onto his back to scroll through netflix.

“i’d be careful rafe,” you began, a slight teasing tome in your voice. “you’re almost starting to sound like your jealous of the guy.”

“what if i was?” he asked with a softer voice than before, propping his elbow up on the bed and resting his chin on the palm of his hand to get a better look at you through the dark. “what’s so bad about that?”

you shrugged as best you could. “don’t see why you would be,” you mumbled. “you’re the one who gets to teach me all these things.”

“and at the end of the day, you’re still going back to him,” his tone was almost disgusted. like talking about enzo physically repulsed him.

“not true,” you replied, huffing out a soft laugh. “if you want to be technical, i always go back to you at the end of the day. i ask you to pick me up, i ask you to teach me.”

his gaze analyzed your face for a second. “and he’s the one you’re willing to learn all of this for.”

the way he sounded almost broke your heart. rafe was a confident guy, never really had to compete for anyone he wanted. and if he did, he always won. but right now? he felt like the biggest loser. and it was showing. he was being vulnerable with you, something he rarely ever did.

“doesn’t matter,” you said after a moment of silence, finding his free hand and holding it in yours. “you’ll always mean more to me than any guy.”

it was as if time stopped for a second. the two of you just staring at each other with the same look in your eyes. one that told the other that you guys were dancing around the truth, just waiting for when it spilled out. it made you both wonder who would crack first.

rafe leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours tenderly, making you smile against him and wrap your arms around his neck. he moved to situate his legs between yours, his body covering your much smaller one.

you could die happily here. him kissing you, his warmth on top of you acting like a blanket, his hand cradling the side of your jaw. part of your mind wandered to a place you’d been trying to shove down since this started last week.

one where things could be like this all the time. where you didn’t have to do stuff in secret. where he could parade you around as his girlfriend. where you didn’t have to use another guy as an excuse to be with him. one where you guys just had each other.

maybe you’d only ever be able to dream about it. and you were okay with that. as long as you had him here like this.

he began to kiss down the side of your jaw and to your neck. “wanna teach you a new lesson today, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your skin, sucking light enough to not leave a mark.

“yeah?” you asked a little breathless, eyes closed as one hand lightly scratched his scalp while the other draped over his shoulder. “what’s that?”

“yesterday, i taught you how to make someone else feel good,” he mumbled, pressing more kisses down to your collarbone. “today, i wanna show you what if feels like when someone else makes you feel good.”

you almost died. never had you had words spoken to you like that. you’d only ever heard these things happening in movies.

it was like your heart was beating out of your chest and your cheeks were bright red. “you don’t have to, rafe,” you choked out, trying to make sure he didn’t feell pressured to do anything for you.

he nodded and moved so he could look directly into your eyes. “i know, angel. i want to,” he whispered softly. “what kind of teacher would i be if i didn’t treat you for always bein’ so good to me?”

butterflies erupted in your stomach more than ever. you knew you had to be as bright as a tomato by now. his words had too much of an impact on you and he’d barely even touched you.

you nodded eagerly and pulled him back down to your level to kiss him. his hands slipped under the bottom of your shirt to hold your waist while yours came down and tugged at the hem of his.

he leaned up on his knees for a second to pull it off and throw it somewhere on the floor then returned to his previous position. the things you’d give to live in this moment forever would probably have you sent away for good.

“can i take this off?” he mumbled against your lips, bunching up your shirt in his hands slightly.

“mhm,” you hummed and say up slightly to help him a little. he pulled it from your body and added it to the mess on the floor carelessly.

there was a moment of silence where he just stared. you began to feel small under his gaze, especially being bare from the waist up since you hadn’t worn a bra, wondering what exactly he was staring at. it was hard to pinpoint with his eyes wandering all across your face and body. “you’re a fuckin’ dream,” he smiled to himself and leaned down to mouth over your shoulders and chest.

if this was anyone other than rafe, you’d be embarrassed at how damp your underwear were. you could feel it sticking to you in the most uncomfortable way imaginable. never once had you experienced something like this.

“tell me if you want me to stop, ok?” he said firmly, pausing so you’d pay attention. you nodded. that made him shake his head. “i need to hear you say it, baby.”

you nodded once more, too lost in everything to actually function. “i’ll tell you,” you breathed out. truthfully, you just wanted him lips on you again.

the wish was granted almost instantly. he began to kiss over the tops of your breasts, his hand kneading one while his mouth gently sucked on the other. you took your bottom lip between your lip to suppress any noises and allowed your eyes to flutter shut.

after he’d moved onto the other one, he began to slowly kiss down your stomach and to the hem of your baby pink underwear. “can i take these off?” he asked softly.

you nodded. “yes.” even though your heart was about to burst out of your chest, you felt oddly warm with him. the intimacy of the situation made your body relax slightly, feeling like putty in his hands and slightly fuzzy.

he gently peeled the fabric down your legs, leaving you completely naked under him. “you’re so beautiful, angel,” he muttered, mostly admiring your face with a soft smile on his face.

before you could even reply, he was settling between your legs and hiking your legs up over his shoulders. his lips ghosted over your inner thighs and left an occasional kiss over the sensitive skin there.

a pit formed in your stomach from nerves. you’d never actually thought you’d be able to be this comfortable with someone to allow yourself to be vulnerable.

he must’ve noticed because one of his hands came up to grab yours as a silent reassurance, intertwining your fingers and letting you squeeze whenever you needed.

your body shuddered when his tongue licked a long, slow stripe up your center. another shaky breath escaped your lips when he kissed your clit with a gentleness you hadn’t been expecting.

once he was sure you were comfortable to the new feelings, his tongue began to work over your cunt. you squeezed his hand tight and moaned. if he wasn’t making you feel this good, you’d have to disappear from how that noise sounded.

rafe was loving it though. having you fall apart because of him. to finally get you to lose that goody-two-shoes persona while he fucked you with his tongue was enough to make him come right then and there.

his free hand found the back of your thigh and pushed it up slightly to open you up more for him as he lapped up your juices.

“fuck. oh my god,” you mumbled, closing your eyes. your hips repeatedly jerked involuntarily.

he smiled to himself and pulled away for just a second. “feel good, angel?”

you nodded quickly, eager for him to keep going. “mhm. feels so good,” you replied, whimpering when he began to suck on your clit and smooth over it every now and then.

one of his fingers came down to gently prod at your sopping hole, carefully pressing inside. your back arched off the bed slightly when the tip of it hit that certain spot. you’d never dared to touch yourself, let alone put anything inside of you.

you were expecting it to hurt more but you felt pure pleasure. maybe it was how wet you were. or because of how much rafe turned you on.

if this was any other situation, you’d feel bad for how hard you were squeezing his hand now, especially as he added in a second finger. your body was spasming as sparks ignited in your stomach and a knot formed.

and the sounds. god, the sounds were obscene. the way he was lapping at your cunt like a starved man. the way his finger fucked into you with little resistance. you wished you would’ve done this earlier if this is what you were missing out on.

“rafe, oh—“ you cried out when the pads on his fingers curved upwards and pressed deep inside of you. the knot in your core began to pull harder and your legs began to shake. the feeling was indescribable, unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

“i know, baby. i know,” he mumbled against your center. he always seemed to know exactly what you needed. “i’ve got you. jus’ relax.”

he was completely enamored by you, completely drunk off of the taste and smell of you. if he could relive this moment everyday of his life, he’d never complain again.

the way your hand was holding onto his for dear life, your other one raking through his buzzed hair, your cunt fluttering around his fingers. all because of him. not anyone else. and he’d make sure you never found pleasure like this with anyone else but him.

and when you finally did allow your body to relax, you felt a wave of ecstasy wash over your limbs. you loved it. a whine slipped past your lips as he continued to lap up every last drop of your juices and thrust his fingers into you until your high was slowly coming to an end.

he slipped his finger from you and placed them into his mouth, sucking the liquid off of them as he stared at you. “tastes so fuckin’ good, baby.” he grinned. you might’ve died right then and there. he took his time placing kisses to your thighs, your stomach, collarbone, throat, and finally your lips. he swallowed down your moan when you tasted yourself. “you okay?” he asked, barely pulling away and resting his forehead on yours.

you nodded and smiled, cheeks flushed and lips slightly swollen from biting them so much. “i’m good,” you whispered, scared of speaking too loud and ruining the moment.

he pecked your lips once more and rolled off of you, grabbing his shirt and tossing it next you for him to help dress you in a minute. “stay here, ‘m gonna grab a few things.” he headed into the kitchen first to get you a water then into the bathroom to grab a towel.

maybe this wasn’t so bad, you started to think to yourself. maybe you didn’t need to see anyone else. maybe you didn’t need to keep denying yourself of something real.

maybe you’d just found that something with him.

hi guys!! sorry for the wait but it’s finally out. lmk what you think. also, so sorry if i’ve missed anyone who asked to be added to the list

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@sublimepenguinpeach-blog @deeznuggetsbebussin @nonbeliever1 @elvislover1967 @strawberrymilk99 @hkhkhkhj @matthewswifeyy @hbuhhiumij @rafeysangelbaby @sophibennet @sweetnastybunny

[thealtoduck]

ANGEL | Having a best friend who wants to be the one to take your virginity…

Male Best Friend!OC x Male Reader

Warnings: Smut, you’re both 18 (still in high school), purity kink (oc), cheating (oc on his girlfriend, anal sex, blowjob, fingering, fucking while his parents are home…

Summary: He’s your fuckboy best friend who wants you…

(A/n: First OC fic I’m posting, hope you all like it)

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• He’s your best friend who you’ve known since you were both toddlers. And you’ve stuck together ever since, even late in to your High School years.

• He’s one of the most popular guys in school, known for being the schools biggest fuckboy, with a new ”girlfriend” every other week.

• While you, yourself, weren’t unpopular but you were more so ”popular by proxy”, known for being the guy who has some weird sexual tension with his popular best friend.

• The best friend that buys you a red heart shaped lollipop everyday on the way to school insisting that it’s a completely normal platonic thing to do as he unwraps it and sticks it in your mouth. But who really does it because he loves seeing you suck on it, imagining your lips around something else.

• The best friend who’d never do that for any of girlfriends cause he dosen’t really like any of them, at least not the way he likes you.

• He has a thing for virgins, loving the idea of deflowering someone, being the one to take their purity, ruining them. He usually gets tired of them afterwards.

• One day he invites you over to his house after school, the two of you hang out, sit outside tanning by the pool, play video games and later you eat dinner with him and his parents. After that you and him lay in his bed watching a movie on his tv.

• You’d be laying on your stomach, making him easily see the outline of your perky butt through your shorts.

• He knew you were still a virgin, you’d have told him if someone had popped your cherry.

• But yet he found something so whorish about you. The way you dressed, you were currently wearing a tank top and short-shorts. The way you sucked on the lollipops he bought you, as if hinting something at him. And the way you had that ”dumb slut” tone of voice.

• You were like a walking contradiction of your own wholesome and sweet personality.

• He’d lay down next to you, as close as he could, then pull you into a hug. And once you started getting confused by his clingyness and asked him what was up, he’d kiss you and you’d kiss back.

• The two of you would roll around in his bed making out. You crothes grinding against each other.

• He’d get you on your knees infront of him, pull down his underwear to reveal his hung thick juicy cock, dangling it in front of your face. And when you’d look up at him from the floor with innocence in your eyes and ask him ”What about your girlfriend?”. He just answers ”What about her?”.

• He’d love finally getting to see your lips wrapped around his cock instead of a lollipop. His dick stuffed in your mouth until you almost choked on it.

• Then he’d undress you, let you lay on the bed as he fingered your ass, he’d then lube his cock. And as you turned on to your back and he’d spread your legs he’d start pushing himself in to you.

• He’d love finally getting his cock inside your tight virgin hole, it clenched hard around him. He loved the sound of your moans and whines from having his dick shoved deep inside you.

• He’d say things like ”Fuck your loving this aren’t you, you’re not as innocent as I thought” and ”My little virgin, Y/n, finally losing it and to me of all people”.

• He knew that his parents definetely heard what the two of you were doing upstairs, hearing their son taking his friend like he did with every other girlfriend he’d ever had. The sound of his creaking bed, the sound of your moans, the sound their son’s rough thrusts. They could hear it all.

• The moans coming out of your mouth were music his ear. It helped encourage him and roll his hips so reach deeper inside you.

• He’d fuck you so good you came early and watch your embarassed face as you both knew he was far from done with you. But he’d just smile continuing his thrusts deep into until you got hard again.

• Once he’d gotten you to cum two more times he finally started getting close to his own orgasm and he pushed his full hard self into you erupting inside you, his cum taking what little you had left of your innocence.

• He’d pull out of you watching as your gaping hole leaked with his seed. The sight could make him hard all over again.

• He’d lay down and pull you close to him and whisper how good you had been. And he’d hold you as you drifted off to sleep as he layed awake thinking about you.

• Once the virginity was taken he grew tired of whoever he slept with, he only liked the part of having them first, ruining them for those who came after.

• But you were different to him, now that he’d deflowered you, he needed to be by your side to protect you from the sinful world he’d now taken you into.

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*    •    .   *  + *   .   •.    +  *     * ..   •  . * .  * + . . • . .

[yuh13lo]

best friend chris and y/n are at horror nights and y/n gets her period and chris takes care of herrr!!! love your work so much btw❤️

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐢𝐝 & 𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 ⋆·˚ ༘ * c.s. ++ ily! Thank you

You had no idea why you agreed to this.

“Come on, Y/N,” Chris teased, swinging an arm over your shoulder as you two made your way toward the neon entrance that read “The Chainsaw Slaughterhouse.” “You said you wanted to do something bold this fall. This is bold.”

You gave him a look, hugging your hoodie closer. “Bold is trying a new coffee order, Chris. Not getting chased by some dude with a fake chainsaw.”

“Fake?!” He laughed like you’d just insulted his entire personality. “They’re professional scare actors, Y/N. They live for this.”

“Yeah, and I live for staying alive.”

Chris smirked, tugging you toward the line anyway. “You’ll be fine. I’ll protect you.”

You snorted. “Right. Because you’re totally not the type to throw me in front of a killer clown to save yourself.”

“Wow.” He placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “That’s how little you think of me?”

“That’s how much I know you.”

He laughed, squeezing your shoulder before dropping his arm. “You’ll see. I’m basically your personal security tonight.”

The first few minutes inside the maze weren’t that bad. A few flickering lights, some fake blood splattered on the walls, creepy whispers from speakers overhead. But then—then came the clowns.

You were gripping Chris’s sleeve so tightly he glanced down at your hand. “You okay there, champ?”

“Don’t talk to me,” you hissed as a strobe light flashed and a clown lunged out of nowhere.

Chris laughed so hard he nearly doubled over, even while you smacked his chest with your free hand. “Not funny!” you whisper-screamed.

He grinned down at you, dimples flashing in the chaos. “Little funny.”

You rolled your eyes, focusing on breathing—until suddenly, your stomach dropped. But not because of a jump scare.

Oh no.

No, no, no, no, no.

You froze in the middle of the fake butcher shop setup, heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.

Chris noticed immediately, turning back. “Hey, you good? That guy with the axe was creepy, but—”

You shook your head quickly, stepping closer so no one could hear. “Chris.”

His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

You bit your lip, cheeks burning. “I think… I just got my period.”

For half a second, he blinked like he was making sure he heard you right over the distant chainsaw revving. “Like… right now?”

You nodded, wishing the floor would swallow you.

Chris didn’t laugh. Didn’t make a face. Just reached for your hand, calm and steady. “Okay. Not a big deal. Let’s get you out of here, alright?”

“Chris, I—”

“Nope.” He squeezed your hand lightly. “Don’t overthink it. Bathroom first. Let’s go.”

He was a man on a mission, weaving through actors and flashing lights like nothing fazed him. Anytime someone jumped out at you, he stepped between you and them, muttering, “Not now, dude,” like he was protecting you from an actual killer.

“If that clown comes near you again, i got you,” he said under his breath, and you almost laughed despite wanting to cry.

When you finally made it outside, the cool air hit your face, and you exhaled shakily. Chris scanned the park like a hawk, spotted a restroom sign, and nodded toward it. “There. I’ll wait right here.”

You mumbled a thanks and hurried inside. Luckily, you had your hoodie, so you tied it around your waist before ducking into a stall. The damage wasn’t… catastrophic, but still enough to make your stomach twist. You didn’t have anything with you. Not a single pad, not even a tiny emergency tampon.

You sat there for a second, head in your hands, when you heard a soft knock on the door.

“Y/N?” Chris’s voice.

“Yeah?” you called nervously.

“Don’t freak out, but I may have just unlocked a new level of best-friend status.”

You frowned, opening the stall just enough to see his hand slide a little paper bag inside. Curious, you pulled it in—and nearly teared up. Pads. Tampons. Even a chocolate bar.

“Chris,” you whispered. “You didn’t.”

“I did.” You could hear the grin in his voice. “They sell them at the first aid booth. Lady was super nice. I told her it was for my girlfriend—figured that was easier than saying ‘best friend who’s currently panicking in a bathroom.’”

You let out a watery laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably awesome, yeah,” he shot back.

You rolled your eyes, smiling as you cleaned up and changed. When you came out, Chris was leaning against the wall, hands shoved in his gray jeans, hoodie sleeves pushed up. He straightened when he saw you.

“All good?”

“Better,” you said softly.

“Good. Let’s roll.” He started walking, then stopped suddenly, turning to you with a sheepish look. “Uh… random question. Are those your favorite jeans?”

Your stomach dropped again. “Why?”

“Because,” he said slowly, “there’s a little… situation. On the back.”

You wanted to die. “Oh my God.”

“Hey, hey,” Chris said quickly, holding up his hands. “Don’t freak. I’ve got an idea.”

He led you into a merch shop, pretending like it was the most casual thing ever. “Pick a pair of sweats. My treat.”

“Chris, no—”

“Y/N,” he said firmly, giving you that look that always shut you up when you were overthinking. “Pick. A. Pair.”

You sighed, grabbing a pair of black ones. Chris smirked, snatching a pair for himself. “Now we match. sweatpants squad.”

“Chris…”

“What? We’re making it a fashion moment.” He winked, slinging the sweats over his arm as he walked to the counter.

You changed in the bathroom, and when you came back out, he gave you a once-over and grinned. “See? Cozy vibes.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, cheeks warm.

“Hey,” he said, voice teasing now, “at least the blood in the maze was fake. Yours? A little too realistic, Y/N.”

“Chris!” you smacked his arm, horrified, but he was laughing so hard he nearly doubled over.

“Sorry, sorry!” he wheezed. “Had to lighten the mood.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best,” he corrected, slinging an arm around your shoulder again as you walked out.

You skipped the rest of the mazes, opting for snacks instead. Chris bought a funnel cake and two sodas, and you sat on a bench near the glowing Horror Nights sign, splitting the chocolate bar he got you earlier.

“This is way better than being chased by a guy with a chainsaw,” you said, licking sugar off your fingers.

“Agreed,” Chris said, leaning back on the bench. “Besides, I already saw you scream like your life depended on it. My night’s complete.”

You groaned, covering your face. “I hate you.”

He grinned, nudging your knee with his. “Nah. You love me. Admit it.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, laughing despite yourself. “Fine. I love you. But only because you bought me sweats.”

“And chocolate,” he added proudly. “Don’t forget the chocolate.”

You shook your head, smiling as you looked around at the flashing lights, the screaming guests, and your best friend sitting next to you—making the most awkward night of your life feel… not so bad.

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[dufferpuffer]

-crawls ontop of this like a dragon on a hoard of treasure-

There's small bits I disagree with or think are not fully explored, but fuck this is good. This is delicious. Finally some good fucking food - looking at the classism, inequality and 'racism' of HP through a British colonial lens rather than the fucking 'nazi fascism' and 'american slavery' angles that don't fit

Small yaps, but overall I don't want to nitpick this masterpiece much:

I think the look at Dumbledore is flattening him a little. 'We don’t know what Dumbledore’s answer would be if a young goblin wanted to apply as a student at Hogwarts.'

I think this is a little unfair to Dumbledore as a character - understandable, as the authors voice is so loud that it does taint every positive thing the characters do. I think it comes from the assumption that Dumbledore has power over the Wizarding World, which is an idea dismantled in literally every single book as part of the individual and overarching narrative. He is tricky and slippery specifically because he doesn't have power and won't accept power due to personal trauma (he is frightened of his thirst for it, seeing himself as unreliable and unfit).

But his approach to other creatures does not come across as equally segregationist to the rest of the WW but as respectful of rights he thinks they should have. Which, unlike Hermione's forced-freedoms and lack of respecting the needs and feelings of the people she is trying to help, is framed not as ridiculous but quietly revolutionary.

He doesn't only care about the Centaur when they are useful to him. His slight ownership of the Forest for the school seems to be the only thing keeping the Forest from being further claimed for Wizards, yet he never asks anything of them. Instead the culture of the school is to not go into the forest, as the Centaur don't like it - and they seem to respect him and Hagrid for that. It isn't that he is using the Merfolk for the Triwizard tournament. He communicates with them in their own language and made agreements when most of the Wizarding world would have just taken from them. He offers Dobby a good wage and bows his head when the Elf makes his own terms, because he respects his autonomy.

I think we would know what Dumbledores answer would be if a young Goblin wanted to apply as a student - because he has already hired a part-Goblin as a teacher. He fought to keep a 'violent' Half-Giant on the grounds of the school, just so he wasn't an orphan, before he was even a Headmaster. He sneakily changed layout of the school and local town just to help the needs of a werewolf child getting an education.

He is a big "help will always be given to those who ask for it" fan, and if a Goblin asked for a chance he would likely use every trick up his sleeve to make it possible. He's done it before without even being asked to - even when it harms his own reputation with the majority - because unlike the rest of colonialist Wizarding society, he gives a shit. And is framed as correct for that.

That doesn't mean the criticisms here aren't valid. All of this reeks of noble-savagery, non-humans having to play Wizard just to be in the narrative and open mockery of different cultures that is never addressed or commented on. The Author is evidently confused about what exactly constitutes as 'good' when it comes to colonialist shit - but Dumbledore takes the closest step, based on vibes the Author feels while not understanding. And that the role of the UK is more complicated than 'is globally important' (almost in a self-aware take of UK's self importance and self-division - we get hints that there are massive Global events that the UK doesn't seem interested in, and aside from some individuals the outside world isn't that fussed with the UK... But I also think the author writes that based again on vibes rather than clear intent. But that means there is a lot of depth to pick apart there, too.)

And the small point that Arthur is far better with Muggle things than people give him credit for. (People do him so dirty for being enthusiastic and from a different culture i stg) He gets words wrong because he lives amongst people who don't use those words often - more a dialect thing than ignorance. He mistakes the word Telephone for Fellytone - but he knows how to use it. He knows how to drive a car. He has a collection of plugs? So do I. Got drawers full of wires and plugs and adapters and shit. Excited about electric fireplaces? Idk what an electric fireplace is either because I come from a very hot place - fireplaces in general are rare here. His job isn't 'Muggle Affairs' in terms of like... understanding Muggle things. He works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts specifically: Tracking, investigating and collecting enchanted objects, with an optional side of soothing the Muggles they have startled and upset - and he is quite good at that. Also the rubber duck thing was a movie addition, it's not in the books.

Please share the receipts about Harry Potter being a colonial fantasy! Reading stuff like that is so interesting 🙈 have a good day

I’m glad you both asked!

This argument will be divided into threemain parts. The subject of magical creatures in the wizarding world, thesubject of humans other than English wizards, and the subject of Harry’scharacterization in the novels. But before I can discuss the novels andRowling’s (probably mostly unintentional) colonial fantasies, we must look atthe background information of those colonial fantasies. To do that, I willoutline and explain certain elements of the 1800-century cultural and politicalsituation, reflected in the literature of the time. (See! This is why you don’tdismiss history as the unnecessary boring subject Rowling!!!!)  

(In this text, I use the word wizard akin tothe universal man, as in mankind. I do this, because Rowling herself does this,referring to unisex groups of witches and wizards as “wizards”.)

Racial thinkingin the British empire was heavily influenced by pseudo-scientific theories likephrenology and race classification theory. Humanist sciences like sociologywere heavily influenced by “hard sciences” and there was a strong demand tofind a scientific justification for the existence of the empire. Thisjustification came with race classification, that was divided into twodifferent equally racist branches of theory. The idea that different human races were actually subspecies inside the human main species, and that these subspecies had evolved to fulfill different functions and behave in different ways. Roughly divided, the Anglo-Saxon subspecies had evolved into a rational thinker and a natural leader, the Asian subspecies into servile and effeminate role, and African subspecies into manual labourer. Now, in order for society to live in perfect harmony, that society has to be built in a way that each human species can follow their natural predilections and follow their species-natural behaviour. 

The other branch of scientific sociology argued that all humans had the same potential for civilization, but that all human societies were also in different evolutionary stages. Human societies were seen to evolve in a neat line, from promiscuity-matriarchy-transitional patriarchy-patriarchy. All human societies therefore started from hunter-gatherer tribes and would eventually turn into enlightened British style modern societies. As the British already had reached the top of the societal evolution, it was also their right and burden to protect the societies that had not yet reached this top evolutionary form. It is very important to remember that while the British empire was filled with straight up hateful and vile racists that saw genocide as a fun past-time, there were equally many people who condemned the mistreatment of the empire’s subjects and fully believed that the empire was in truth necessary in order to help their less-evolved human compatriots.

Another important note to make about the imperial mindset is how these rational leaders were created; in boarding schools. The future leaders of the empire were all sent to a boarding school, somewhere around the age of 10. These schools, rampant with bullying, pressure and straight up rape, were not places that a young boy was supposed to become a scholar or an athlete; his job was to make connections and learn to become charismatic. Doing too well in your subjects was not desirable, as a book-worm is not what the empire needed. Being good at sports was good, but not if you had to sacrifice time to practice too much. Sports and sciences were there to support the student’s growth into a proper English gentleman, not as an educational goal themselves. Debating, public speaking, and aggressive confidence were much more important skills to master for the future overseer of a colony. Your job as a student in, for example Eton, was to network and grow a stiff upper lip. A terrible educational system for sure, which caused damage to the British psyche that people today are still trying to understand; with Boarding School Syndrome and its consequences important when trying to understand the problems in British politics today

How do these facts then relate to Harry Potter? Well, let’s start working our way through from magical creatures. In the Harry Potter universe, the world is filled with creatures with human-sentience that however do not, at least in Britain, mix with the dominant human population. We know that there are house-elves, working as servants, goblins, working as bankers, centaurs, keeping away in their forest, as do merfolk in their lake. Dwarves were employed as cupids (entertainers) in Hogwarts by Lockhart, and there are veelas that work as exotic dancers in the quidditch world cup.

At first glance, you might think that Harry Potter and Dumbledore are on the side of the creatures. Dumbledore is noted for being a great advocate for non-humans when defending their right to exist, as opposed to the more genocide-minded goons at the ministry. Voldemort is happy to employ creatures that he deems “dark” and ignore the rest. At first glance it would even look like the narrative is advocating for tolerance, and it is, but it is not advocating for equalitybetween humans and non-humans.      

The centaurs and the giants have lost their native lands to humans, and have been forced to live in reservations, as most notably pointed out by Dolores Umbridge in Order of the Phoenix. “Ministry of magic permits you certain areas of land.” (p.665) At the same time, the books do not portray either the giants or the centaurs in particularly sympathetic light. Centaurs are shown to be violent and even unreasonable towards any humans who would want to have contact with them. Giants are shown to be simply so stupid that they are killing themselves into extinction. (Order of the Phoenix p.377) Meanwhile, the races that do mingle amongst wizards all have something to offer to humans who allow them in their society. Goblins are useful to have around because of their hold over the banking industry and their superior metal-working. House-elves are useful as domestic servants. The creatures that wizards label as “dark” are all creatures that do not have any filled role that they can perform for the benefit of humans, (vampires, hags, werewolves), segregated from the wizarding society proper, and are therefore shunned as undesirables. Veelas on the other hand are blatantly fetishized, and they are only shown in two roles in the books. Either as entertainers or as married to wizards. The narrative does not even hint that a veela might have any non-sexual role in the society. It would seem, that all the magical races have either been pushed out of the wizarding community, or they fill some niche purpose in society that the wizards find useful, and that the wizards themselves do not want to perform.This structure of society, built upon the assumption that there will always be creatures fulfilling certain roles for the society, is not questioned by any of our heroes.

Dumbledore is happy to advocate for tolerance, but not inclusion. He is happy to create a dialogue between humans and centaurs- aslong as it is not humans who have to make any concessions in theirrelationship. Same goes for merfolk. Dumbledore advocates for their right toexists in their own segregated patches of land, and in return they will helpDumbledore. Merfolk will allow themselves and their home to be used as obstacles in the tri-wizarding tournament and the centaurs will let wizardstraipse through their forest. Inside the centaur society, we are supposed tosee territorial Bane as the “bad guy” and the meek Firenze, who argues thatcentaurs should take sides in a human war, and eventually accumulating into the human society (by becoming a teacher in Hogwarts, but only after he has been banished from the Centaur society and therefore is not a centaur culturally anymore), as the “good guy”. After all, Firenze placed the needs ofhumanity above the needs of his own species.   

The same happens with goblins. They are at every turn shown to be unpleasant, unreasonable, and impossible to work with, and when Harry Potter shows the bare minimum of respect- acknowledging that goblins have their own legal system that defines ownership of an object differently than a human would, it is framed as the greatest height of progressiveness that anyone could ever show towards a goblin. Never-mind the fact that the books explicitly mention that goblins are denied the use of a wand by the dominant human government, which is neither an interest nor a concern to any of our heroes. Note of interest is also that most non-humans taking action against the status quo are antagonists. There are no creatures in the order of the phoenix fighting against the dark lord, (Remus Lupin identifies as a human with an unfortunate condition.) but there are several under the command of Voldemort. (Order of the Phoenix p.88) The most positive attitude towards non-humans comes from the heroes who show tolerance towards non-humans, but who also do not try to reach any deeper understanding about non-human experiences in the wizarding society.

The house-elves are the most blatant piece of yikes when it comes to the issue of creatures. The enslavement of house elves is explained away as a natural order of the world.  At the end the series, even the protagonist Harry Potter accepts this natural order and becomes himself a master of the house elf Kreacher (Half Blood Prince p.55). Harry’s slave-master position is accepted,because we trust Harry to treat his slaves decently, there is never anyquestion what the condition of being a slave-master can psychologically do tothe master, or that slavery as an institution is too immoral to accept, nomatter the conditions. The reader is shown that the elves are not capable oftaking care of themselves without a master by examples of Dobby and Winky, the only freed elves shown in the books. Winky, after being freed, becomes an alcoholic. (Goblet of Fire, p.564) Dobby, while enjoying freedom, would be unable to support himself without the help of benevolent Dumbledore, to whom Dobby works in the same way as the other slaves in the castle, even if he is namely free. (Goblet of Fire p.400) (Both alcoholism and “frivolity” were anti-abolitionist talking points in the southern states in the antebellum era). Theimplication is that some races are simply born subservient, and the morally decent thing to do is to keep them in slavery but treat them kindly. 

Hermione Granger, who in the books argues that slavery as an institution is by itself something that cannot be accepted, is presented with her views as ridiculous and misguided. On the other hand, those who argue for the institution of slavery appear as rational and reasonable. There is no way for anyone to think of her S.P.E.W badges as anything but childish and stupid. In Chamber of Secrets, the readers do see Harry freeing the house elf Dobby, after Dobby has personally helped Harry. However, the implication is that Dobby suffered from an unfit master, not from the slavery itself, and that his freedom came as boon after he had done a personal favour to Harry Potter. In the world of Harry Potter, slaves are happy to be slaves, as long as their masters are decent masters.

But if you stop and think of all this, it should not be rationally possible for a society like this to exist. If the giants truly are so stupid and violent that they are accidentally killing themselves to extinction, they should also not be sentient enough for humans to breed (and even create emotional bonds, as Hagrid’s family) with them. If these creatures have a society, they are sentient enough to realise the peril they are in and who their true enemy are. Same with the centaurs. Segregating an entire culture to a small reservation is not pretty, and it does not happen peacefully. Still there is never any indication that the centaurs would be actively fighting back to regain more land or that the wizards would be actively curbing their numbers in order to keep them in check. No creature segregated in their little reservation wants to leave that reservation, choosing to rather waste away amongst their own kind than pushing for their species to be integrated into the wizarding culture, or gaining more land from the wizards. The mythical tale of the noble savage who quietly goes into the good night, is real in the wizarding world.   

Those creatures who do live and work alongside wizards are equally content with their narrow roles. No goblin wants to work anywhere else expect the bank, no house-elf wants to open a business, no veela wants to study in Hogwarts. Half-breeds might be allowed in, if the headmaster is eccentric enough, and as long as they are able to “pass” as humans. The fact that their creature parents would never have that change is not even acknowledged as the tragedy that it is. It is easy for the heroes to appear as progressive, when the only thing the creatures want is to be allowed to exist in their pre-ordained roles and be treated with the most basic decency.            

We don’t know what Dumbledore’s answer would be if a young goblin wanted to apply as a student at Hogwarts. We don’t know what any of our heroes’ reactions would have been, if the centaurs demanded compensations for Hogwarts’ rights to use the Forbidden Forest. Or if Dobby would have been competent enough to actually start campaigning alongside Hermione for abolition. We don’t know, because the wizarding world is in perfect harmony, as long as the creatures are allowed to exist peacefully in their roles, without corrupt, dark wizards abusing them needlessly.

What about humans then. Not all humans are created equal either. We don’t really see about the state of the wizarding world outside of Britain, but we are given the implication that the political situation in Britain is equal to the fate of the world. Harry Potter is not fighting for a political cause in UK, he is saving the world. British politics are world politics. The international wizards we do see, are also almost as much stereotyped as the creatures are. The French boys and girls from Beauxabatons are vain and frilly, while the girls and boys from Durmstrang are brutish and coarse. And in the European stage, UK and France gets their own wizarding population, while the eastern Europe is apparently lumped together in a way that makes you suspect that the Soviet Union never fell in the magical world. (considering when Rowling was creating these stories, that is not impossible. Rowling started writing Philosopher’s stone a year before the Soviet Union was dissolved). In the world politics, these three are the only ones important enough to be included in the tri-wizarding tournament, (tournament that the British dominate easily in book four), and therefore clearly hold the political cards of magical Europe. What we do know is that British wizards have no trouble finding work overseas, while we do not see any foreigners living or working in the British wizarding world. Britain’s importance as the centre stage of magical world politics is simply a given fact of the world.

(Note that I havedecided to omit all nonsense that Rowling has added to Pottermore in her effortto world-build but rest assured that it makes the situation simply much worse.)  

There is also the clean divide between muggles and wizards. The wizards once again are honour-bound from their superior position to protect the muggles. The books make it clear that it was not for the safety of the wizards that the worlds were divided. It was simply that muggles in their ignorance kept burning other muggles during the witch-hunting times. The idea that muggles, if confronted with an existential threat like the death-eaters and their genocidal tendencies, were to win the fight, is not even floated as an idea. The moral implications ofkeeping the muggle world ignorant about a part of UK population that wants to kill them, and has succeeded in several terrorist attacks against the commonpopulation, is not discussed at all. The wizards simply have the right to sacrifice the lives of muggles in exchange of keeping their society hidden from the “common folk”. The wizards who do show any interest in muggles, do it in the most condescending way possible. Arthur Weasley, who has spent years working in the ministry of muggle-affairs, cannot pronounce the word electricity or know what a rubber duck is. How exactly does someone work for muggle-affairs if one is completely ignorant of said affairs? Why are muggleborn’s not automatically working for muggle-affairs? How is it, that muggleborns all simply choose to embrace the wizarding culture without there being any underground muggleborn culture running counter the pureblood establishment? Hermione Granger wants to be seen as one of the witches, not as someone whose cultural knowledge of muggles could in on itself be a strength. Rowling really wants you to believe that the British wizarding culture is naturally so desirable that no counter-cultures have born inside it, or that there ever could be any other problem expect that muggleborns are restricted from accumulating into it.

And then we come to Harry. Our hero. At first look, he appears to be the underdog fighting against the unjust establishment of the wizarding world. However, if one takes a closer look at the story, Harry Potter is not an underdog at all. In the beginning of the story, he acquires a great inheritance from his exceedingly wealthy parents. (Philosopher’s Stone p.85) In every other character exceeding wealth seems to be a negative trait, but curiously Harry’s status as an heir to a fortune is never properly addressed in relation to Harry’s moral character. Harry is also a son of esteemed and powerful magical parents, both highly regarded in the wizarding society. From his father’s side, Harry can claim a connection to an old pureblood house, making him part of the purebloodwizarding establishment. Both the wealth and the bloodline inherited from thePotter family guarantees a place in the upper class of the magical society foryoung Harry. Even the extremely racist Draco Malfoy in the first book seemseager to make friends with Harry. (Philosopher’s Stone p.120). It is only Voldemort who has robbed him of his natural heritage and privileges and forced him in to hiding with his brutish and cruel (muggle) relatives. 

The story of Harry Potter is not of someone who fights for acceptance, but of someone who returns to his rightful place on top of the wizarding society. characters who do not naturally have this privilege, gain prestige by being helpful and loyal to Harry. It is a deliberate choice by Rowling to make Harry a pureblood fighting for the rights of muggleborns and those lower than him in the wizarding societal ladder. He is the archetypical English gentleman hero, because he has both the privilege and the proper character to carry that privilege. Voldemort, Malfoy, and other “dark-siders” from the pureblood establishment have abused this privilege and are therefore unworthy of it.

Another important part of Harry’s character is that all his powers and abilities that help him champion against Voldemort are either inherited or inherent. Harry does no need to labour for his victory. His mother gives him “blood-protection”, his father and mentors give him magical items to help him on his journey, and he simply has skills that others don’t. His flying abilities making themselves known the first time he hops on a broom, and his inexplicable talent to resist the imperio-curse is never explained expect with “a strong heart”. What he is good at, he doesn’t need to work for, and what he is not good at, he never improves on. If there is something he doesn’t have the innate talent for, he has friends who will do it for him. When Snape claimed that all of Harry’s successes were due to luck and more talented friends…he wasn’t wrong. And the kicker is, that that’s the point. Harry’s main strength is the fact that he is good at networking and having a brave heart. That is the ideal that thousands of young Englishmentried to mould themselves into during the imperial days. Harry doesn’t need tobe the “smartest wizard of his age”, he needs to be charismatic enough thatothers will follow him into the battle. He doesn’t need to be shrewd, or ambitious,or smart, or even kind, he needs to know how to apply his inheritance correctlyand how to manage those in the lower position than him, in order to return thestatus quo into the wizarding world.

When both Harry’s already existing place in the magical society, and the question of how the books treat the magical creatures are considered, the main conflict in the book seems to be reduced to an inner struggle between the higher classes of wizarding society. Voldemort and the death eaters are evil because they misuse their power over the lower classes, and because they discriminate against other witches and wizards. Therefore, it is the duty of Dumbledore and Harry Potter to return the wizarding world to its former and rightful order. The narrative supports the idea that now that the proper people, the naturally noble-minded heroes, are once again in power all the social issues of the wizarding world will disappear. Those on the top of the social pyramid will treat those under them with tolerance, and those at the base of the pyramid will stick to their place.In other words, the world of Harry Potter has fulfilled the colonialist fantasy of the British empire, where everybody has their place in society, and theinferior races truly are without ambitions or nuances.     

The wizarding world has the structures that the British empire had, but none of the problems that come with those structures. In the end, the wizarding world returns to peace. “all was well.” The house-elves are given laws that punishes a master that mistreats their slave. The goblins continue in their segregation. The centaurs and merfolk are given a promise of no genocide. The British muggleborns are promised a place in the dominant society, as long as they perfectly emulate their pureblood peers and don’t bring muggle culture with them. The superiority of British wizardingkind has been proven, and they benevolently reside over their less evolved subjects, making sure that they are allowed to fulfill their roles in the society, as they naturally desire, in peace. There are no troublesome creature-rights activists causing havoc on streets. There are no muggleborns who would wish to side with muggles against the wizards. There is no empire, there is only the natural order of things.  

Bibliography

https://www.academia.edu/26667941/Crowning_the_King_Harry_Potter_and_the_Construction_of_Authority

https://www.lib.latrobe.edu.au/ojs/index.php/tlg/article/view/162/161

https://kb.osu.edu/bitstream/handle/1811/24083/H_and_F_book4print_final.pdf;sequence=1

https://www.verywellmind.com/what-is-phrenology-2795251

https://www.gresham.ac.uk/lectures-and-events/the-victorians-empire-and-race

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Johann_Jakob_Bachofen

https://kenanmalik.com/2014/05/15/the-forgotten-roots-of-the-first-world-war/

http://historymatters.gmu.edu/d/5478

https://www.naturepl.com/stock-photo-tableau-to-accompany-professor-agassiz-opening-sketch-on-the-image01388344.html

https://until-darwin.blogspot.com/2012/09/darwin-slavery-species-question.html

https://www.britannica.com/topic/race-human/Scientific-classifications-of-race

https://www.vanityfair.com/news/2008/11/hitchens200811

https://newrepublic.com/article/151232/britains-boarding-school-problem

https://www.theguardian.com/education/2014/jun/09/boarding-schools-bad-leaders-politicians-bullies-bumblers

https://anotherwasteland.blogspot.com/2008/05/robinson-crusoe-colonialism-and.html

https://neoenglish.wordpress.com/2010/10/17/colonialism-in-victorian-literature/

https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/aia/part4/4h3141t.html

[batsandbirdbrains]

Hmmm I have kind of a wild idea for an au where Dick actually secretly has a very specific super power he keeps hidden from Bruce but it’s based heavily on the Expedition 33 video game so idk if anyone would actually be interested or if I’ll just be ranting into the void so anyway it’s under the cut

So what if Dick’s mother’s family all were Painters like in the game. Like they can create entire worlds that they can go into, maybe it’s a form of magic or something. And Mary teaches this magic to John, and then she teaches Dick. So Dick has always been a Painter. He grew up just knowing how to do it. He’s been making whimsical worlds full of whimsical creatures his entire life.

And when his parents die? In a grief-stricken haze, he uses the canvas his parents used to play with him in and paints copies of his parents. They have a whole home and life in this painted world, and he creates a painted circus and painted cities so he can pop on anytime he likes and be with them.

But he keeps this all a secret from Bruce. Why? Maybe being a Painter is frowned upon, or maybe it’s just a very secretive art form. You’re only supposed to pass it on to a spouse or a child. No one ever told him if you could teach an adopted parent how to do it, or let them know it even exists.

Maybe he’s afraid Bruce will view it as a meta ability, and he’ll kick Dick out of Gotham entirely.

Maybe he’s afraid Bruce will destroy his canvas – the only thing he has left of his parents.

And Dick uses this as a coping mechanism for the rest of his life. He pops into the canvas at least once a week, if not every couple days. And time in the canvas is so different, so much longer. He can be gone for a couple hours but a few months pass inside the canvas.

It’s not healthy. He knows that, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. But he gets to spend time with his parents (he ignores that theyre not real). He gets to tell them about what he’s been up to (he ignores that these are just shadows of the parents he loved). He gets to go on adventures with them in the world he created, like a playroom just for them (he ignores that he’s making these painted version of his parents live in an eternal limbo).

But it’s addicting. And he can’t stop. Bruce thinks he processed his grief so well, so quickly, but Dick has had so many extra years inside the canvas, and in a way, it’s like his parents never really died (even if they’re just a reflection of what his eight year old self viewed them as).

Then years later, when Bruce is thought to be dead and Dick has custody of Damian, officially adopts him, he sees how much Damian loves to paint. He loves to draw. He loves art.

And so he teaches Damian to be a Painter. Because Damian is his child, now. He’s just passing on the art.

He brings Damian into his oldest canvas, the one with his parents. But now there’s painted versions of Jason and Bruce, because they’ve both died (or Dick thought they did). And this is how Dick grieves. He immortalizes his family in this canvas.

Tim is in there too, now. Because Dick feels like he lost him. Tim is so insistent on searching for Bruce, and Dick hasn’t seen him in the real world in months, and he missed his brother.

There’s a painted version of himself, even. To stay there with his family while he’s outside the canvas.

Maybe they add a painted Damian, too.

And Damian makes an excellent Painter. He makes such fascinating creatures.

But then fast forward a few years, and maybe Dick has been having a rough time. Maybe it’s post-Spyral, and he thinks his real family doesn’t want him. They hate him.

He’s so tired. And he’s so, so lonely.

So he goes inside his canvas. Except this time, he doesn’t come back out after an hour or two. Or even a day.

No one has seen Dick in a couple weeks, and they’re starting to worry. Nightwing hasn’t been spotted. There’s been no sign of him anywhere.

And Damian, fidgeting and nervous-looking, eventually spills that he thinks he knows where Dick is.

And they find him in his apartment, in a tiny room full of art supplies and half finished paintings, sitting in front of a giant canvas. His eyes are glazed over, it looks like he has glowing paint spread across them like a mask, and the canvas is glowing.

“What the fuck,” Jason whispers.

Bruce ends up bringing in a Justice League Magic user to help, because Damian doesn’t know how to bring others into the canvas, and he hasn’t been able to convince Dick to leave, and now he’s hiding somewhere in this world he created, and Damian can’t find him. And all his painted family members are helping him to hide.

Just imagine tho it’s Constantine they got to help them.

“So did you know your son is probably the most powerful Painter I’ve ever encountered?”

“What the fuck is a Painter?” Bruce questions, almost barking. “Just help me get him out!”

“Guess that’s a no then,” Constantine snorts.

Idk I’m just rly into this game rn and I love the world and I was trying to figure out how to incorporate the bats into it lmao.

[bluebird47ep]

Elevator Buttons & Morning Air

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. .·:*¨ ¨*:·. .·:*¨ ¨*:·. .·:*¨ ¨*:·. .·:*¨ ¨*:·. .·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Clark Kent x Reader

⁂ summary: Things take a turn for the worse when your new assignment asks you to dog on Superman. Even after he saved your life.

⁂ tags: slow burn, multiple parts, fluff, no mentions of y/n or reader’s appearance

⁂ tw: mentions of minor injury!

⁂ author’s note: Thank you all for all the likes on Part 1! I feel like a real tumblr writer haha. 100 likes feels insane to me- I made my account this week? I’m just really grateful. Again, if anyone has any ideas for fics they want to see fleshed out, reach out to me or comment! Enjoy! And I’m working on Part 3!

⁂ credit to @uzmacchiato for the borders!

⁂ word count: 4.7k

⁂ link to part 1!

Part 2:

You hadn’t meant for anything to start.

After your first day in the ‘bullpen’, which your coworkers so affectionately called the news room, and your subsequent walk home, which did involve stepping into a 24-hour 7/11 because you were almost positive you were being followed, you were half in love with Clark Kent.

How could nobody else see it?

He seemed… a little too gentle. He was incomparably large, so much so that you were positive he would be some distasteful gym bro. You had asked Cat Grant, your coworker, if he was obsessive about the gym. She had said Totally not, he looks like, a like, gym junkie, but that’s just because he worked on a farm, I think. In like Idaho. That’s the Midwest.

Of course Idaho was not the Midwest, and after you asked her that she proceeded to ask you how many Instagram followers you had and if you had downloaded Tinder yet, but she seemed like a reliable source, right?

He was big, in a delicate way. Sure, he knocked over two stacks of files and someone’s coffee, which sat on their desk far from the edge, in just the single day you’d been there… but he had also caught the apple Jimmy Olsen had thrown him during lunch without an ounce of effort. And when, in the middle of eating his packed lunch in the break room, that he must have packed himself, he received a phone call and said it was just his Ma. His Ma. Is that not the cutest thing you’ve ever heard? Most people would say it’s their ‘mother’ or just ‘mom’, but he said Ma in such a genuine way, it almost reminded you of a little kid. A 6’5’’ little kid.

So that morning, your official second day of work, you were wholly concentrated on looking your best and being the wittiest and funniest and nicest girl you could be. That shouldn’t be hard. Hopefully.

So you threw on an outfit that said I’m a professional and also, I am a confident, sensual woman, and also, I am a cutie pie. That’s what you thought it gave, anyways.

However, life seemed to have other plans, because when you go to work, Clark Kent was not there.

You felt… wilted.

Why is it that everytime you try, the universe has a different plan? And to make it worse, Perry sent you to get quotes and photos and you had to go to the Metropolis library for information on money-laundering, because according to your coworker Lois Lane, there was a librarian there who was a total expert. That did not make sense, and you were so irked already you had thought of sending an anonymous tip to the police about her. But instead you gathered your things and made the trek to the library, because what else was there to do? Pout?

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

You were trudging down the library steps with a frown.

You’ll never get used to research. And the librarian? She asked if this was for a school project. Like, yes! A school project on money-laundering! You weren’t in the mood for her comment, and you also weren’t in the mood to step outside and see a 30 foot alien wrecking the park across from the library.

Great. Lovely.

And because you felt so sour, you reached for your phone in your bag, turning to take a picture of you with a pout and the alien holding a tree like a broccolini behind you. It was supposed to be funny.

What wasn’t funny was how the tree was subsequently hurled in your direction, and suddenly, without warning, without a do I have your consent for this?, you were flying.

Or, not really. Someone was certainly flying. You were in their arms being held bridal style, and if it wasn’t for the fact that you were being flown at what felt like lighting speed, a stranger might mistake you for a couple crossing the threshold. With the groom in underpants.

You were placed, a little too gently, a couple blocks away in front of a comic book store. By none other than Superman.

He towered over you, he towered over everyone, and he was currently giving you a very disapproving look.

“What?” You said, which sounded a little more crabby, and a tad brattier than you had intended for it to come out.

“Taking photos with an extraterrestrial who is incredibly dangerous is not funny.” He said steely, his cape billowing almost performatively behind him.

And this irked you even more than the librarian.

“Ok.” You said curtly, turning to head into the comic shop. Why? Where else were you supposed to go and still maintain a shred of dignity?

You can admit you probably looked stupid taking that picture, but also! You’re a journalist. You could tell him that. You could sit Superman down and say, I am not a reckless civilian! I unplug my television everyday before leaving my house because I don’t want my cat to accidentally stick his paw in the outlet and explode like a microwaved corn dog! You could say that.

But you don’t even have to, because he lays a large, warm hand on your shoulder and you’re turning before you know it.

“Please be safe.” He says with such sincerity, and almost intensity, that you just nod.

Then he’s flown away in a flash of blue and red, probably to go get rid of the giant monster alien thing wrecking the city.

By the time you get to the office, you have two new comic books and have wasted half a work day on absolutely nothing.

The bullpen hardly notices you’ve come in, because everyone is gathered around the newsroom television, watching footage of the alien attack. Jimmy and Robert keep making comments on who would win in a fight, Green Lantern or Batman, and Lois is giving her opinion on Superman’s apparently careless manner of saving people.

“He’s destroying crucial infrastructure!” She practically shouts, pointing towards the tv as if we weren’t already looking at it.

Lois had given you her whole spiel on Superman yesterday. Everyone in Metropolis seemed to have strong opinions on him, love and hate, and you just couldn’t seem to make up your mind. You liked Superman. You liked his billowy cape and shiny boots-… if you were a superhero you’d wear the same thing! Sure, he seemed to be a little accidentally destructive. And there was that whole rumor on the harem, and though it was cleared up, you did see his parent’s message on the news back home, and were a little distrustful. But other than that, and his more than reproachful look at you, he was practically a mother tutting at you, you liked Superman! So you had no idea why you said to Lois, “..and he totally destroyed the library.”

Everyone seemed to turn to you.

“He did-… what?!”

“I was right outside. Instead of stopping a tree being thrown at it, he pulled me out of the way. Not a very good problem solver, that one.”

The words just slipped off your tongue, and before you knew it, everyone was crowded around your phone to see the picture you took. As if a perfectly curated joke, Superman could be seen right behind you in the selfie too. Jimmy even made you to send it to him.

So when Lois suggested you write a piece on this attack, which Perry agreed to as long as it was on his desk by tomorrow, you were more than excited. This was your opportunity to whip up a good piece and have your name on the byline. It probably wouldn’t be Pulitzer-winning, but that didn’t matter. Lois and Perry both believed in you and your ability to write a story. This was your job after all. To give the people of Metropolis an inside scoop, to offer them a nuanced argument-… they were busy people, and it was your job as a journalist to spell things out and uncover the truth. So why did you feel guilty writing a Superman hit-piece?

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Your intention was hardly for the tweet to go viral.

After spending the rest of the day writing a copy for your article on the alien attack and Superman’s inattenion, you had tweeted.

It was a burner account with like twelve followers! You had just gotten so riled up by the piece, so invigorated with reporting the truth, so enamoured with the idea of the community rallying being you, that you had tweeted:

who tf wrecks a public library and the local park and is seen posing with children #supershit #supersellout #youremadweird

It wasn’t even funny! You just tweeted it because you could, and now you have 30 thousand likes and are one of 1.1 million posts under #supershit.

You felt guilty, at least at first.

But then it was time to go home, and you had almost forgotten about Clark Kent and the whole ‘trying to impress him’ thing. Almost.

He walked in a quarter to seven, his dark curls slightly windswept and his glasses askew.

You felt that familiar heat of embarrassment creep up just looking at him.

When he sat at the desk across from yours, you didn’t even have to act cool, because he was immediately looking at you.

“Jimmy said you were amidst the alien attack. Are you alright?”

He sounded so sweet, so genuine, slightly familiar, but that didn’t matter because he cared.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright. Perry assigned me to write a piece on it since I saw the damages first-hand.”

“Damages? There were hardly any damages, everyone was safe. No lives lost, no one injured.” He said softly, his eyes flicking from your face to the red pen in your hand.

“Well the park is totally ruined. And so is the library. Are Green Lantern and Superman going to clean that up?”

“They saved people’s lives. I hardly think a building that can be repaired is as important as people. Humans.”

“Humans use those buildings. Need them, actually. And the city definitely doesn’t have money to repair the damages as quickly as they need to be repaired. Someone told me Superman is attracting all those aliens here in the first place.”

He swallowed at that. “Did they now?”

“I didn’t know you were a Superman fan.”

“I’m not a fan, I just think he does a lot of good things for the city.”

“A lot of bad things too.”

And when you say that, he wilts. And you feel terrible.

“I know he’s your friend. But isn’t it the press’s job to be critical?”

He looks up and nods. “Though he’s not my friend.”

“You’ve had five interviews with him.”

He just sighs and accidentally knocks over the cup of pens on your desk.

Then you stop talking, and he begins working, and by the time he pulls out a ziploc baggie with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and he offers you half, you shake your head no.

You feel like a dimwitted hating robot, and have been making your penance ever since you left the office. Clark was at his desk with jelly on the corner of his mouth when you said goodbye. He offered to walk you home, but you said it was fine.

“But you’re limping.”

You had to stop and think, were you really limping? You told him it was because of your shoes, that they pinched your heel. He told you to get home safe and that was that.

On your walk home you thought someone could snatch your purse from your arm and you still wouldn’t feel as bad as you do now. Stupid article.

You’re in your apartment, after just having eaten a half-frozen microwave meal, ready for bed and on the couch watching an episode of a show from your childhood you had almost forgotten about, when you hear a rap at the window.

You get up cautiously, holding the remote as a makeshift weapon and you pad over to pull back the blinds.

And what you see makes you drop the remote and stubble slightly back.

Outside your window, in all his blue and red underpantsed glory, is Superman.

He sees your reaction, and his eyes go slightly wide, and then he motions to the window latch.

You were not letting that man in!

First of all, how did you know he was the real Superman? This could be a man on stilts! Or wires. You shouldn’t be so trusting.

But when he motions again towards the latch, an honest smile now creeping on his face, you reach to unlatch the window, against your better judgement. Before you know it, you’re taking a step back, and he is standing in your apartment.

You look up at him. “Yes?”

“Are you alright?”

You seem to take a minute to assess. Not really, Mr.Superman.

“I’m… fine.” But your voice croaks awkwardly on fine.

“You’re limping.” He said, staring down at your right leg.

You squint. Were you old man hobbling and didn’t realize it? You must be pretty bad if both Clark and Superman are commenting on it.

“I guess… I guess it hurts a little.”

“Where? Your leg? Your ankle? Your calf?”

“Ankle. I twisted it on my walk back to work. There was a huge brick on the sidewalk and I didn’t notice and I tripped and landed badly on it.”

Superman frowned. A full frown.

“Can I see?”

“Are you a doctor too?” You say with a huff that sounded more like a laugh.

He shakes his head. “But I can help. If it’s really hurt.”

You stare at him.

He takes you by the wrist and makes you sit on your couch, moving a pillow behind your back at a speed that should scare you, and all before you can manage to protest.

He’s big, in a gentle way. Tall, but right now he’s leaned over you, his hand holding your right ankle tenderly. You hadn’t expected this.

“You said you twisted it?”

You nod and soon he’s in your kitchen, digging through your freezer and then your junk drawer, and later in your bathroom. You heard a clink on the porcelain sink bowl, and try not to crane your neck to catch a glimpse of what he’s doing.

Then he’s back to hovering over you, holding a bag of frozen blueberries against your ankle, fastening it in place with a bandage.

“Does it hurt a lot? Your heart is beating really fast.” He says, all sincere, his hand still warm against your ankle.

“I’m just… a little startled. I didn’t know Superman paid home visits.”

He cracks a smile, and glances around the room, as if taking it in. Usually you would shrink in self-consciousness at the idea that anyone would scrutinize your apartment in this manner, your messy, messy apartment where your dish from dinner was still out. But he wasn’t anyone, he was Superman, and you assumed he was like a firefighter- if you needed him, what you wearing or what your home looked like hardly mattered.

He glanced at your coffee table, at your empty dish and mug, and soon his eyes traveled to the two comic books splayed on one another by your bag. Here was your opportunity to shrink.

“Superman comics?”

You swallowed thickly. “You left me in front of a comic store. I had to go in for… for safety.”

“I thought that didn’t concern you.” He said, and you felt reprimanded once again.

“The store owner really wanted me to buy them.”

“The store owner wanted you to buy ‘Superman: The Wedding?’” He asked, and you swore he was trying to play innocent.

He held the comic up in his hand, looking at its cover intently. On it was Superman in his suit, holding a bride in his arms as he flew above a city skyline. His eyes traced the drawing, slightly misty now, you’re certain of it, before he cleared his throat and put it back down on the coffee table.

Then he straightens up, pats your cat on the head, who through this entire process has not so much as cracked an eye open, and was now turning over to get a belly rub from Superman.

“You should feel better with that. Rest. That’s the best remedy for injury. And sunshine, get lots of that.” He said, a little too gallantly, and then he flew out the window just as fast as he came.

You were slightly stunned, and mostly grateful. You reach for your laptop, which sits just underneath your left leg. Propping it open, you begin to edit your story.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Ok, so you didn’t exactly complete your assignment. Perry had asked you to cover the damages to the city after the alien attack, and instead you had written a fluff piece on Superman’s crucial role within the city. You compared him to the transit system, that’s how fluffy it was.

When you sent him the finished copy, you were positive it was not going to be published, and that Perry would fire you for being such a weak writer.

Surprisingly, all you got was an email with a thumbs-up emoji.

You were sitting at your desk, working on your copy for the money-laundering bakery story, finally, when a stack of papers scatter at your feet, and you hear a familiar oh, I’m so sorry, let me get that for you. Clark.

You look up to find him as you always seemed to: glasses askew, tie slightly loosened, gathering papers off the floor as quickly as he could. You bend out of your seat too, your knees hitting the rough carpeted floors, as you help him pick up the last of his papers.

He looked up at you, a dopey grin already forming. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” You say without looking up, and when you both get up, his papers now happily back in their folder, he’s staring at you with his mouth slightly open.

“I-… Perry-… Perry asked me to edit your recent story.”

“Oh. Oh, alright.” You say, taking a seat back in your chair. You don’t exactly want him to read your writing. Especially not after what you said yesterday about Superman wrecking the city. You didn’t want to be proven wrong. Nevertheless, you pulled up your copy, and while you intended to simply pass your laptop to him, he chose instead to hover over you and read over your shoulder.

He placed a palm flat on your desk to steady himself, his head angled right above yours. You tried your hardest not to crumple… you could feel his warm breath against your ear. He was so close you could hear the second his lips unturned in a grin.

“This is really good.” He said, and the sound slightly startled you. His voice was warmer than his breath, and you felt yourself glow under his compliment. He thinks your writing is really good. Part of you wondered if it was because of the Superman flattery. He had certainly pleaded his case to you yesterday- no doubt he was a fan. But you also knew your piece spoke less on Superman’s character, and more on the city’s need for his action.

When Clark finally pulled away, now leaning slightly against your desk, he spoke again.

“I thought you were against Superman. Something about… damages?”

“Yeah, well, I’ve changed my mind. The damage to the library and park really wasn’t all that bad. My first argument wasn’t a very good one.”

He just nods thoughtful, and then looks at you, a little piercingly.

“Is your ankle better?”

“It is.” You paused, had you told him about your ankle? You honestly couldn’t remember. You probably had. Probably.

“I have to go down to city hall for some records for a story I’m working on. Interested in coming?”

You pause to think on his offer.

As if sensing your trepidation, he adds, “You know, sunshine is the greatest cure for an injury. That and something warm to drink. That’s what my Ma always said.”

You smile. You had heard that recently, but where? You more than likely read it somewhere. You stand and grab your bag and soon you’re heading inside the elevator.

“Let me do it.” You say, reaching to press the button to the lobby, but his hand is already there. Your hands touch for a second before he quickly pulls his back. You didn’t mind that he had pulled his hand back so quickly, but you also didn’t mind the warmth of it either.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Your day so far has been wonderful. You and Clark had gone to City Hall, and afterwords he insisted on sitting outside on a park bench, hyper-fixated on that you both get plenty of sun, and if it came from anyone else you’d argue, but you did what he said. You talked about life before Metropolis, and he told you about Smallville, the almost laughable name of the town he grew up in. Then you got coffee, which he graciously payed for, and maybe it was how sun drunken you were, or the cool breeze that passed every now and then to whip through his curls and caress your face, or the rush of caffeine, but you had asked Clark Kent to dinner.

You meant for it to be casual. A hey, what are you doing tonight? Want to do it with me?

Wait, no. That sounds wrong. You had just asked if he had plans. And when he said no, you said you were looking to try some places around the city, and if he knew of any. He started talking about a diner he loved, especially after a late night at the office, and before you could stop yourself you were asking him go with you. Just in case you can’t find it.

He smiled when you said that, and said well if I must.

It was funny. In the office he made a mess of everything. He tumbled over his own feet, spilled everyone’s coffee, and Jimmy told me he breaks a camera every quarter if he’s around them. But now, in the sunshiney park, with the backdrop of the sharp blades of grass that held droplets of morning dew even now into the afternoon, Clark seemed like a new person.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

He had walked you home, and was now sitting on your couch. Clark, was.

After work, which felt painstakingly long with the idea of your upcoming date, not a date, just dinner, but that fact doesn’t make your heart beat any less fast, you and Clark walked to your apartment together. It would have made more sense to get dinner right after work, but your heels had your feet aching, and you feared your limp would turn into a complete hobble by the end of the night if you didn’t immediately change shoes.

So he was sinked into your couch, with your cat making himself comfortable in his lap.

“It’s like he met you before.” You remarked humorously, but it must not have been funny, because Clark just smiled and turned pink.

You managed to change into something more comfortable and sightly, because if you were going to dinner with Clark, you’d have to look as best as you could.

You walked into your living room to find Clark rubbing the cat’s belly as he made biscuits in the air. This is exactly how you imagined it. It was sweet domesticity repackaged as friendly professionalism. You swallowed that blooming heat in your chest, because you didn’t know if he felt the same, and it would be stupid to even assume, because you know what they say about people who assume…

“Ready to go?” He said softly, looking up at you.

The diner he had mentioned was only a couple blocks away from your apartment, and as you walked in unison, one of his hands sitting idly in his pocket while the other dangled precariously close to yours, he asked you why you had really changed your mind.

“It wasn’t anything really. I always liked Superman, if I’m honest.”

He turned to glance at you, his eyes meeting yours and then dropping before returning again. “Really?”

You nod. “He’s… cool. He saved me the day of the alien attack. Compared to all the other superheros I know, he’s the only one who would do that.”

At that comment, he smiled at the pavement and nodded.

“Maybe that’s true.”

“It is.” You said, looking at him.

He chuckled and looked up at the sky for a second, and then looked again towards the sidewalk.

The diner was unlike any you had seen around the city. Clark held the door open for you, and upon hearing the jingle of bells hanging over the entrance, you were transported into another world.

The diner was covered in checkered everything. The walls, the booths, the floors. The bare part of the walls were a pale baby blue-… it was straight out of a Grease film.

Clark led you to a booth by a window. The food was all-american, and the menu seemed like it was from the seventies, all frayed edges under lamination.

“How did you even find this place?” You say with a smile, still looking at the retro decor.

“Late night, and I was a little sick and just trying to find some place still open. Do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s cool.” You say, glancing at the menu.

Clark had ordered a reuben sandwich and a matzo ball soup.

It was weird, seeing him eat. Sure, you had seen him eat his packed lunch. But this was different. Those lunches were domestic, in plastic containers and a little too delicate to have been made by him. He ate it hunched over in the break room, as if he were trying to take up as little space as possible. He did everything that way, hoping for everyone to sidestep him, ignore his practically palpable presence.

But sitting here, across from you in the booth, he was straightened up to his full size. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off his incomparably large forearms. How was he not some kind of body builder?

He grasped the sandwich with both hands, which made it seem comically small. He smiled at you over his sandwich, and your heart melted.

You two sat in the diner for longer than you should have. It was easy talking to him. He was expressive with his hands when he talked, and he laughed at every joke you made, even the dumb ones. He wasn’t offended when you had called him corny either, though you had really just said it to get a reaction out of him.

When you finally did leave the diner, it was dusk, and soft rain was hitting the pavement with a pitter-patter.

Clark had the brilliant idea of just running back to your apartment, the whole three blocks. He had taken off his coat, a wooly grey material, and held it over your head as you speed-walked to your apartment, because you do not run.

You unlocked your door as you both stood in the hallway panting, slightly soaked from the rain, and grinning ear to ear.

You had laughed the whole while you entered your apartment, while you both shed your wet coats, to the turning up of the heater, to the making of tea in the kitchen, to the moment beside the sink, when your hands trembled, but there was no going back now, and you placed a hand on his forearm, and reached up to kiss his mouth.

Then the laughing ceased.

Because he was meeting you halfway, bending lower to catch your lips where they were, and you could feel the heat rising to his face as your lips connected in a sweet, unhurried, kiss.

And as you pulled away, his glasses, they were askew as they always were, managed to slip off his face and into his hands.

He looked up, his eyes slightly wide, and what you saw made your heart stop.

Looking back at you, dark hair and electric blue eyes, was the same man who put frozen blueberries on your ankle.

The same man who asked you about the comics. Who prescribed you sunshine. Who knew your cat.

You were never good at puzzles, or riddles, or even crosswords, and that made sense, because how had you not seen this?

“I-… you’re-… you’re Superman.”

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. .·:*¨ ¨*:·. .·:*¨ ¨*:·. .·:*¨ ¨*:·. .·:*¨ ¨*:·. .·:*¨ ¨*:·.

[4doras]

DO YOU EVEN LOVE ME ANYMORE? ₊˚⊹☆ 

» when taesan says “i love you” but you dont say it back 

♯. taesan x f.reader, fluff, 0.6k 

𝄢. ty anon for requesting!! it’s such a cute idea (≧ᗜ≦) 

taesan moped around the room, head hung low at all times. he was making loud sighing noises, trying to get your attention, but each time it happened, you tried your best to bite back a giggle. 

he had been in a much better mood, happy to see his girlfriend after a long week, but from what it looked like from an outsider's view, he had been happier when you were gone. 

but that wasn’t the truth. taesan would say it himself, even if he was sulking right now, that he was way happier the moment you stepped into his house. 

taesan had been waiting all week to meet you, to cuddle with you, to talk about how your weeks have been, but to his dismay, it ended up with him brooding over if you loved him. 

sometimes, it’s just a little too fun to tease taesan. 

more under the cut! 

it started when you dodged telling him “i love you, too.” the first time, it was unintentional, but when you saw how he already started to pout, you couldn’t help but continue the act. 

he was sitting beside you, shoulder melting against yours. he scrolled on his phone, but was clearly uninterested – all he wanted was your attention. 

a loud breath of air escaped his mouth. “i love you, y/n.” he said, trying again for the third time. you could see him looking at you through the corner of your eyes, they were basically pleading for you to say it back, even if it was just a mumble. 

but you had to resist. it had barely been thirty minutes, you had to go at least an hour without giving him what he wanted. 

you hummed in response, your eyes not leaving your phone’s screen. “mhm,” your hand tangled in his hair, carding through his locks. 

once again, another sigh. he sounded defeated, but knowing taesan, he wouldn’t stop until he heard you say it back to him. 

not long after, he kissed you. attempted to, that was. once you noticed his head turn toward you, you swiftly spun yours away from his, leaving him speechless. 

who was this? because the y/n he knew would never dodge his kisses. 

each time he tried to give you some sort of physical affection, you quietly slipped away from it. each time he wanted you to reciprocate words, you played dumb, giving him half-assed responses. 

you carried on with your act of blindness, pretending to not see him pacing the room, until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

he looked like a cat with glossed over eyes, waiting for its owner to come back. you couldn’t hold yourself any longer and stood up from your seat, walking to him. 

now that you had taken a proper look at him, taesan was stressed out of his mind. 

“did i do something wrong?” he asked as soon as you approached him. 

you tilted your head slightly, scrunched your brows. “what do you mean?” 

“you keep dodging my kisses and never tell me you love me back.” his gaze tore from you, shifting to the ground as he said it, seemingly ashamed. 

the slow realization that taesan was actually upset started to sink in. 

you pulled him into a tight hug, your arms wrapping around his body. 

“i’m sorry,” you murmured, voice muffled due to your head snuggled into the crook of taesan’s neck. “i was just…” your voice trailed off. “i’m sorry, baby.” you said again, pressing kisses to his lips. 

“don’t do that again, y/n.” taesan was still pouting. happier, but pouting. “don’t you have something to say to me?” 

“i love you, taesan.” 

bnd taglist. @beomev 

perm taglist. @jellyouse 

[giddlywinks]

It's so crazy how quick people will jump for a chance to be angry at something that makes them feel marginalized and burn all solidarity to do it. This discourse is also deeply multifaceted and rooted in geographical and cultural borders where language can shift in meaning dramatically. The persistence of homophobia necessitated the use of a more popularly utilized label (bisexual) for many to even be understood by people outside the queer community in the US until probably almost to the 2010s. Every celebrity, until way later than it should've been, had to say bisexual because then it would be understood that they did not differentiate amongst genders in attractions, but with the rising visibility of trans communities, new questions were asked by the cisgender heterosexuals who could not conceptualize trans people as anything other an unattractive spectacle which required (in their mind) an explanation which required public advocates, allies, and those who were questioning themselves to understand that Pansexual is not a term invented on Tumblr and it serves practical purposes that have changed over time. ALL labels are just for practical purposes. None of these words really say anything about who you are. You would be reduced to a miniscule fraction of yourself if you lived by a single word. At the end of the day, we use labels for people who do not know us. Not people who do. In-fighting about the completely arbitrary meaning of these terms that changes over time serves no one and is the same as two spies on a mission criticizing each other for having the same or different covers. Like girl, we are in a land that hates us and poses many dangers. People explain themselves in a way that protects their sense of authenticity to others, and that's how everyone does it from they moment they begin to try to figure it all out for themselves. I had always felt the distinctions between Bisexual and Pansexual were culturally semantic more than linguistically. I say that as someone who went from gay to queer to gender-fluid pan over years of internal work. The labels are like clothes. Wear what you want that makes you feel like yourself. None of it matters. There's no one to impress. The labels are just for people who don't know what the hell that alphabet people are.

Bisexuality is often explained as a spectrum of attraction between and around two poles. Pansexual doesn't have polarity. It's entirely based on contextual energies/vibes. Maybe some of you Bisexuals are actually Pan. And maybe some of you Pansexuals are actually Bi. It could depend on where you place attractive-value relative to the bodies of individuals, or it could just not fucking matter because the world is falling apart while people would rather bitch about nonsense than come together in political solidarity with people they find annoying, problematic, or triggering, arbitrarily based on the way they have "experienced" or "analyzed" a community or idea. Your interpretation is arbitrary.

("Your" being literally anyone at any given time. If someone considered the way global systems of oppression impacted people in a contextual moment, then they would see that every behavior from every person is a by-product of some previous thing. This would trigger empathy, compassion, and a drive for solidarity in people who cared. Under that understanding, any analysis rooted in taxonomy and principle/ideaology as praxis for interpretation will be at the whims of a biased individualist-understanding as opposed to using taxonomy and principle/ideology for solidarity to know where others have positioned their lives or have had their lives positioned by their environment. This is because for the latter method of applying analytical skills, in-praxis, the analysis will inherently have an opportunity to be reasonably grounded in the cross-cultural realities of different communities across the world. Simply put, it would be non-judgmental, and judgments are quite literally the biggest barrier across all political spectrums to developing solidarity. Authoritarian American Conservativism appeals to people more than ever because all judgments are reserved for those they feel have judged them first. These violence-inducing judgments have many forms, contexts, and labels. This type of in-fighting in the original post flares up extreme hatred and attracts people seeking revenge for feeling judged or othered by society. This is why it was TERF bait even though OP is obviously not a TERF. Also, to be clear, the reality of if that individualist judgment system is honest (or if it actually applies at all) is irrelevant to the delusional mind utilizing it to protect their fragile psychologies.)

What's more important than some stupid label is to get shit done by saying, "I don't care how you define who you've fucked. We've probably fucked the same people." Because you probably have! This is how you know this is a pointless argument. Everyone knew the differences in the labels when they were giving y'all head. Y'all are living in a perpetually inflamed nervous system and trying to blame others into addressing that for you so you can feel peace. Just go enjoy your day and pour into your health and well-being instead. That's an agenda that serves us alphabet people!

Edit: Just for fun (as it should be), I want to add why I identify as Pansexual. As a gender fluid person, I don't have stable poles for understanding gender attraction as my gender is not static. It always moves me around the spectrum relative to ideas of gender. My framework is always shifting. And, I thought Pansexual gave more "wants to live in a queer, post-capitalist commune" energy. I'm trying to manifest, ya know. Love y'all. Hate social media.

Like imagine if one day someone just came up with a new word that meant "lesbian but will date trans women" or "lesbian but like women for their personalities instead of looks" and randomly decided that the old term lesbian meant you only like cis women, and just for their looks or body parts. And now everyone is either forced to adopt the new term, or keep the original term but have to deal with misconceptions and constantly have to clarify that you aren't what they randomly changed the definition of lesbian to mean. And when you point out "actually lesbian never excluded trans women or implied I don't care about personality" and people respond by saying "oh well I still like the new term anyways its a personal choice and it's not hurting anyone" even though the literal existence of the new word implies things that aren't true about the old term. That's exactly what pansexual did to bisexuals

[daydreamingatnight209]

“Maybe The World Needs A Wake Up Call”

Authors note - Oooh first Lando one shot! I just think he fits this idea well. This one is semi person to me as I suffer a lot with back pain due to my disability but I still wanted to keep it inclusive/ relatable to everyone not just myself so I changed things slightly and didn’t go into specifics as I know it’s different for others. As always feedback is welcome, hate is not ✨💕

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

Summery - You have chronic back pain and you can’t help but think it will impact your relationship with Lando. - Angst ☁️ / Fluff 💕

Warnings - Angst? Doubt of relationship. Mentions of chronic illness. Not fully proofread.

——————————————————————

The lights outside the apartment window glimmered over the harbour, soft and slow. You sat cross-legged on the sofa, heating pad tucked behind your back and a blanket pooled around your waist. The ache had settled in deep tonight—sharp enough to make you wince when you shifted, dull enough to make everything else feel heavy.

You tried not to let Lando see it.

He was in the kitchen, barefoot, sleeves pushed up, humming something half-tuneless as he stirred pasta. He always cooked on nights like these. Not because you asked. Because he just knew.

When he walked over with a bowl and placed it gently in front of you, you gave him a look. “You don’t have to do all this.”

He raised an eyebrow. “It’s literally pasta.”

“You’re fussing.”

He sat beside you, slinging an arm behind your body on the sofa but careful to not touch your lower back, knowing exactly where not to lean. “I’m not fussing. I’m feeding my girlfriend. If that’s fussing, then I’ve been doing it since the day I met you.”

You laughed at that, but there was a flicker of guilt in your expression. “I just… I don’t want you to feel like a carer, you know? Like you have to look after me all the time.”

His brow furrowed slightly, not in frustration, just quiet seriousness. “Baby. I’m not looking after you like a nurse looks after a patient. I’m with you. It’s what people do when they care. You’d do the same for me.”

You looked down, stirring the pasta you suddenly had no appetite for.

“I don’t want to be the girl with the pain,” you answer, looking down. “I don’t want to be someone you have to… adjust around.”

Lando paused for a second before answering.

“You’re not ‘the girl with the pain.’ You’re just… you. And yeah, I adjust. But not because I have to. Because I want to. That’s love, isn’t it? Figuring each other out. Showing up.”

Your throat tightened.

“I know I get angry sometimes when it’s bad,” you whispered. “And tired. And I know I cancel things last-minute, and I’m not exactly the easiest—”

Lando leaned in and kissed your shoulder, his voice low. “And yet, you still make me feel more at home than any podium ever has.”

That got you. The emotion crawling up your throat, threatened to escape as unwanted tears slowly made their way down your face silently.

Lando gently pulls you into his side, making sure not to press anywhere that would cause you more pain. His arms wrapped around your waist like muscle memory, practiced and careful. No pity in his touch—just calm, consistent presence.

“No pity,” he murmured, resting his chin on your head. “Just love.”

At home, Lando’s love and patience shielded you, but outside, that shield didn’t seem to stretch far enough.

Public perception was hand to handle. Lando was so understanding, but the public? They were not.

You stood just behind the barrier in the paddock, sunglasses on, hands tucked into your jacket pockets. It was one of your bad days, but you hadn’t wanted to miss Lando’s race. You never did. Your back ached from standing too long, but you didn’t say anything. You just leaned against a metal post near the McLaren hospitality entrance, trying to blend in.

You noticed the camera lenses shift toward you before you heard the whispers. A couple of photographers were muttering something, eyes darting between you and their notepads. You felt your stomach sink. Not again.

Later that night, the headline popped up on you feed:

“Who is Lando Norris’s ‘Tired’ Girlfriend? Fans Question Her Constant Fatigue and Strange Distance at Races.”

The article was pure speculation, riddled with photos taken at awkward moments— you wincing while walking, Lando placing a hand on your lower back, a close-up of you sitting with a heat patch visible under your jacket. A comment thread underneath didn’t help.

“Why is she always slouched or grimacing?”

“She looks miserable next to him.”

“She seems more like a burden than a partner.”

Your hands shook. You didn’t want to react, you didn’t want to cry, not again but when your phone screen blurred you knew the tears were flowing.

You didn’t want Lando to see it. But he did—of course he did.

He found you curled up on the balcony of the hotel suite later that night, hoodie pulled tight around you, staring blankly at the sea.

“They’re saying I look like a burden,” you said before he could speak.

Lando crouched beside you, taking your phone gently from your hand and placing it on the table behind him without looking at the screen.

“Then they’re idiots,” he replied flatly. “And they have no idea who you are.”

You stared at him. “But what if it does look that way? I don’t want people thinking I’m dragging you down.”

He sat beside you, arm coming around your shoulders. “Let them think whatever they want. The truth’s not for them. It’s for us.”

“But it affects you,” you whispered. “Your image, your interviews—”

He looked at you then, his expression fierce but tender. “If the world thinks less of me because I love someone with chronic pain, then maybe the world needs a wake-up call.”

Your eyes stung again.

“I don’t want to be your weakness,” you chocked out. Vulnerability coating every word.

“You’re not,” he replied. “You’re the part of me that doesn’t quit, even on the hard days. That’s strength.”

After that night, Lando posted a set of photos on his story. It was you, in the safety of his arms, head on his chest, and others of you living your daily life in despite of your pain. The caption was simple:

“She’s the strongest person I know. And I love her. That’s it.”

[oztri]

I would like to very kindly ask for your thoughts on older brothers best friend ! Oscar ..... I fear I can not stop thinking about it

so i have a hard time seeing osc as older (which im assuming? is what you’re wanting) bc i am two years older than him, BUT!!! i do think hes the perfect candidate for brother’s best friend!

he’s so sweet. and oblivious. i think that’s the biggest thing. like he genuinely cannot tell you have a crush on him for the longest time, even when your brother is rolling his eyes, complaining about your silly crush on oscar. he’d be so genuinely confused. “they don’t have a crush on me, though? they’re just nice, dude. relax.” and oh… oh osc, how wrong you are, sweet boy!

he’s so incredibly helpful that sometimes it gives mixed signals. he’s the type to push up against you while youre reaching for something on a high shelf and then give you the most devastating polite cat smile like he didnt just make you question every part of your relationship to one another.

he comes over for dinner often, when he can. he’s a fan of pizza and making you blush it seems. when you get a bit of sauce stuck to your lip, oscar doesn’t hesitate to reach out and thumb it away, giggling about you being messy, needing a napkin. all the while, you’re screaming inside.

offers to drive you somewhere if you need a ride, then spends the entire ride just letting you talk. and if there’s nothing to talk about, he turns on his little house music songs and sings along when there are lyrics. has one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift. has no idea how hot he is under the city lights when it’s 2am and you needed a ride home from a bar.

he realizes your brother’s been right this whole time during a small party your brother has. he’s invited a few friends from work, some of his mutual friends with oscar, tells you that you can invite whoever you want. you’re in the backyard, sipping on a drink. you’ve been nursing it all night long, just laughing with a few friends when oscar walks outside, catching your eye. you lock eyes, bringing your drink to your lips, then you smile, all soft and shy when you put it down. he can feel something tugging in his chest, in his gut. and, oh. your brother was right…

when he eventually realizes he has feelings for you, too, i don’t see him being secretive about it, honestly. he’s a deeply honest man. he tells you the second he feels like he has more than platonic feelings for you. and it isn’t harried or frantic. it’s not really a surprise, either. to him, it feels right. because, yeah. you’d spent so much time together, grew up together. he knew you inside and out. he’d grown closer to you for the past few months. being with you felt easy and natural. like breathing.

he tells you during a movie night, settling against the arm of the couch. his hand is slung over the back of the couch, nearly touching the back of your neck.

“hey, can i… can i tell you something?” he mutters, managing to pull his eyes away from the screen. there’s no nervousness in his expression, not since he knows you most definitely feel the same.

when you give him your attention, he has this calm smile on his face. it makes butterflies erupt in your tummy.

“i think i… like you. no—not think. i know i like you.”

and at the stunned look on your face, he’d just giggle, all soft and sweet and scoot closer, turning his body to face you. “and i know you like me, too. your brother’s been telling me for years. let me take you out?”

he’d be the easiest brother’s best friend scenario.

(sorry if this is not what u wanted my brain’s a little wonky!)

[cherrydriver]

Catch Me I'm Falling - I'm Alive series pt.3

It's here!! Thank you again for all the love on this little series! This part is definitely inspired by a comment from @chaoticfivesworld so thank you for your idea!! Part four may be the final part :)

CW: Still angst (Definitely not like before but it's not fluff yet) 🙂

----------------------------------

ABBY -

Ever since that night at the store, Abby had been wracking his brain to try and find some way to talk to you without you freaking out on him. It broke his heart every time it happened. 

At first he was confused himself until he realized that you really were the only one who could see him so it was no wonder why you were so panicked. He knew that your friends were worried about you, especially with how on edge you’ve been. 

He kept his distance from you for a little but it was always watching. He couldn’t help it. He loved and missed you too much to stay completely away. 

He needed to find some way to explain to you the situation without you breaking down into tears and running away. He needed a way for you to believe him. 

He knew that it didn’t end well last time but showing up at the store after you closed was the only way he could maybe get you to listen to him. 

So Abby waited outside the store until the last customer left before he slipped inside. When you caught sight of him again, you paled instantly. 

“I thought I told you to leave me alone…do you have any idea how this makes me feel? I feel like I’m going insane…and now I’m talking to thin air again.” You mumbled under your breath as you took some deep breaths, hoping that it would help to get Abby to go away. 

You heard movement though, telling you that he hadn’t left yet. “Y/n, please. I need you to listen to me without freaking out. I know that this is hard to believe, especially when you watched me die on that stage but I’m really here.” Abby explained, her eyes never leaving you even as you had your back turned to him. 

You didn’t move or say anything. Simply just stood there in silence. You kept hoping that maybe he’d go away on his own but it seemed like Abby was determined. Or at this this hallucination was. 

Abby took the silence as a sign to keep talking. “I know that it’s complicated, especially since others can’t see me, but I’m really alive. It’s like I'm stuck somehow. Stuck between the living world and the demon realm. Only you can see me, y/n. I need you to believe…it’s the only way I can cross over completely.” His voice was serious and for a moment, you questioned whether he was telling the truth. 

You slowly turned to face Abby, looking confused and hurt. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. You don’t know how this feels for me…it makes me feel insane. How do I know this isn’t a trick my mind is playing on me because I miss you so much?” You asked him in a shaky voice. 

“I don’t know how to get you to believe, y/n. You can feel me, can’t you?” Abby asked, reaching out and touching your hand. You sucked in a breath as you felt his touch, just like you had back in the kitchen a few weeks ago. 

You stared up at him, your mind racing with possibilities that maybe he really was telling the truth. That was until you saw someone walk by the store and look at you like you were crazy. Standing alone, talking to no one. 

Your face instantly fell and you pulled your hand away, shaking your head. “No…it’s too good to be true.” You whispered, feeling like you were losing your mind even more now. 

Abby was left alone once more, slowly starting to worry that maybe you’d never come around to believe him. However, you stopped before fully leaving and glanced back at him. “If you really are telling the truth…which I’m struggling to believe but I really want to…I need to process this before anything else.” You murmured, trying to ignore any glances you got. 

Abby nodded, feeling the smallest bit of hope in his chest which is more than he had before. He watched you leave, feeling even more determined now to get you to believe that he was real. 

———————————————————

ROMANCE -

After what had happened in the park, Romance was terrified of scaring you again. Seeing the way you reacted to him broke his heart into even more pieces. He had never seen you so upset and distraught and it was clear that these last few weeks had been more than challenging for you. 

He needed to find a way to get through to you though so that he could be back for good. He needed to be back for you but he could only do it if you truly believed that he was alive. 

Romance spent all of his time at the park. He didn’t try to find you. He just sat in the same spot and hoped that you’d eventually come back and to his luck, you did. 

You had avoided your favorite spot in the park for a little bit ever since that encounter with Romance - well The hallucination of him. It felt so real…even more real then when you saw him in the kitchen. When you headed around the bushes to the small hidden spot that you and Romance had found, you instantly spotted pink hair. 

You closed your eyes tightly and took in a deep breath, mumbling to yourself that he wasn’t really there and this was just another hallucinating moment. When you opened your eyes again though, he was still there and looking at you with a broken expression. 

“I know you don’t believe that I’m here…and I know that this has only been making things worse for you which is exactly what I didn’t want. But y/n…please. I need you to hear me out or at least try.” Romance told you quietly as he stood up and walked closer to you.

You took a step back but kept your eyes on him, still not saying anything because you didn’t want others to see you talking to thin air. The park wasn’t crazy busy but there were enough people around to notice you. 

Romance noticed the way you stayed silent and continued talking. “This is going to be a lot, but try to hear me out. I’m somehow stuck between being fully alive in this world and being stuck in the demon realm. I need you to believe me, y/n…to believe that I’m truly here. I know it’s a big ask and after what you’ve been through, I know that it might take some time but it’s the truth. That’s why I keep coming back and how you can feel my touch, even if you try to convince yourself that you don’t” Romance explained, trying to gauge your reaction but there was nothing. 

“That sounds crazy…like some wild romance story that you think should just magically work out.” You mumbled, clearly not believing anything that Romance had just said and it felt like a knife to the heart for him but then you spoke again. “If…by some crazy miracle this was real…it would take a while for me to ever believe something like this.” You added, glancing back at him. 

Romance quickly nodded, stepping just a bit closer. “I’d wait forever, my love…you know that,” He told you quietly, his eyes never leaving his. You looked at him for another moment before let out a heavy breath and walking away, your mind racing with thoughts. 

—------------------------------------------------------------

MYSTERY -

Mystery had been kicking himself ever since he made you basically have a panic attack in your own apartment. He couldn’t believe that he had made you feel like that but at the same time, he couldn’t blame you. You had watched him die so it made sense for you to be so freaked out about him being there. However, you thinking he was just a hallucination tore his heart in half. He just wanted to hold you…to protect you from your own mind. He couldn’t do that. Not yet.

He needed you to believe that he was really back for good. Or at least he would be…if you ever did believe him. He wasn’t sure how he could possibly do that though without sending you into another panic attack. That was the last thing he wanted to do. 

So, he decided to do something that had always been special to the two of you. Him leaving you notes. They started out simple, just with apologies and love affirmations, and then slowly started to shift towards asking to maybe talk. 

When you first noticed the notes on your door, you truly believed it was another sick joke. Until they kept showing up…then you got to thinking. One evening, you sat in your apartment and finally found the courage to pull out the box of all the notes you had saved from Mystery. You compared the handwriting and it was identical, even down the fancy way that Mystery always signed his name at the bottom. 

On the most recent note you received, it was an address to a spot that had always been special to the two of you. Somehow, you managed to convince yourself to go, just in case. Sure enough, he was there. 

Your heart felt like it was in your throat. Things seemed too real lately and you didn’t know what to make of it. Was this the final straw before you lost your mind for good? You slowly approached and didn’t say anything, just looking out towards the lights of the city. 

Mystery made sure not to make any sudden movements but he wanted to hug you so badly. He was terrified of scaring you away though. He was surprised you had actually showed up. He took a deep breath before speaking. 

“I know how hard this has been…and it hurts me so badly that you think this isn’t real. But, you showing up tonight means that maybe you really do believe…at least a little.” Mystery started, turning his head to look at you. “I’m not fully here…you are the only one who can see me, y/n. I know that sounds crazy and trust me, it is. I don’t even really believe it myself but I need you to believe in me. I’m stuck somewhere between the two worlds…and I think the only way I can be back fully is with your belief that I am alive.” He finished off, never taking his eyes off of you. 

After his explanation, you still felt just as confused about everything as before. What he was saying didn’t even really make a lot of sense but then again he was a demon. You slowly looked over at him, a conflicted expression on your face. 

“You have no idea how badly I want to believe you…it’s just hard when no one else can see you so I feel insane. My friends are so worried about me because they think I’ve been hallucinating and I’ve been believing them. I even started seeing someone to talk about this too.” You said quietly, as if afraid that someone would hear you somewhere nearby. 

“If this is true, in some crazy circumstance…there needs to be some solid proof that I am actually seeing you and talking to you and not going crazy. I just…I think I need some time to process this information.” You added quietly, looking over at Mystery who truly looked like he was right there. 

He didn’t say anything, just gave you a small nod of understanding before watching you walk away. He was grateful that you didn’t shut down the idea right away. It was the slightest bit of hope, but he’d take it. He was already thinking of ways to make you fully believe him. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

BABY -

He never stopped with the text messages. He knew that maybe it was making things worse but he needed to feel connected to you in some way, especially after you had reacted to seeing him again. He couldn’t stop playing it over again in his mind and it tore him apart. You still didn’t answer the messages he sent you and he couldn’t blame you. 

After some days passed though, Baby was feeling more impatient to see you again. He knew how big of a risk this way but it was one that he was going to make. He needed to do everything he could to make you believe that he was real, that way he could be back with you again just like before. Before he got trapped between the living world and the demon realm. 

So he showed up at your apartment one night. You heard the doorbell and felt a small tinge of anxiety since you weren’t expecting anyone. You got up and looked through the peephole, seeing the one face that you had been trying so hard not to see. You slowly opened the door, fully expecting Baby to be gone afterwards since he was just a hallucination. When you opened though, he still stood there outside. 

All the texts…seeing him in person multiple times now…the fact that you could feel his touch that one night in the kitchen. None of it made sense and these days you found yourself just feeling more and more confused. You stayed silent as you slowly stepped to the side and let Baby walk into the apartment. His shoulder brushed against yours, causing a small gasp to leave your lips because you really did feel it. 

“I’ve never been more confused in my life…I feel like I’m losing my mind and every time I think it’s over, something else happens.” You said quietly, watching Baby walk into the living room, his eyes still on you. 

“I know and I wish I could make this easier for you but I’m afraid it really is complicated. Listen, y/n…I’m stuck between the living world and the demon realm and as crazy as that sounds, it's the truth. I don’t expect you to just suddenly believe me but…when you do believe me, that’s when I’ll be back for good.” Baby explained, his eyes locked on yours. “It breaks my heart that you have to suffer this much because of me…and it hurts me more knowing that I’ve only caused more distress to you lately. Your friends? They can’t see me. You are the only one who can.” He added, talking slowly in hopes that you were taking in all this information. 

You just stared at him, slowly trying to process what he was saying. It sounded made up but then again, you thought back to all of these instances. Your mind was racing and you almost felt like you were falling from how insane this all sounded. 

“Okay wow…yeah I don’t know if I have the mental ability to process all of this right now. I-I still don’t even know if this is really happening but…god, I want to believe it so badly.” You admit quietly, looking at Baby. He gave you a small, swallowing quietly before clearing his throat. 

“Don’t push yourself…just promise you’ll think about it, okay?” He told you quietly before he headed towards the door. He gave you a quiet ‘goodnight’ before leaving you to think. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------

JINU -

He regretted his appearance at the aquarium. He should’ve known better, especially since it was a public place and you were the only one who could see him but he was so desperate to get you to believe that he was back. He just wanted to be with you again…just like before. Before everything went downhill. He knew that he couldn’t just search for you in public again though so he planned for a more private encounter. He was terrified of seeing you freak out again though. That was probably the hardest thing he had ever had to witness, especially since he could tell you were in so much pain. And all because of him. 

Jinu made sure he waited a few days before he acted on his next plan. He wasn’t even sure if you’d come out onto the balcony but just being there made him feel closer to you which is what he needed right now. To his luck though, you did come out. 

Your eyes instantly widened when you saw Jinu standing out there. Your first thought was to start panicking again but Jinu quickly put his hands up and took a step back to try not to freak you out anymore then he already had. 

“I need you to hear me out! Please…just give me a few minutes.” Jinu said quickly, his eyes never leaving you as he watched you closely to ensure you weren’t going to have a panic attack. Ever since the aquarium, you had been thinking of everything that had been happening lately. And seeing Jinu on the balcony like this…it felt so real. Too real. 

You didn’t say anything but gave Jinu a small nod to continue, watching him let out a breath of relief and lower his hands. “Look, this is going to sound crazy but it’s the truth. You are the only one who can see me, that’s why Mira looked so concerned. I’m somehow stuck between the living world and the demon realm, I didn’t fully die. And…there’s a way to get me back for good but you need to believe me and believe that I’m fully alive.” Jinu explained as precisely as possible. 

You simply stared at him, his words echoing in your head. Technically, what he said sounded like it could be the truth but it also sounded insane. Was this your brain just trying to drive you crazy again? “I just can’t comprehend how that’s even possible…I know being a demon gives you some other abilities but this? It just sounds…crazy and I’m tired of feeling crazy.” You told him quietly, still keeping your distance from him. 

Jinu gave you a small nod, understanding where you were coming from. He couldn’t expect you to believe him right away but at least he got you to listen. “Listen, y/n. Take the time you need to process all of this, okay? I will be back for you though…I promise I will make you believe and then things will be better. Just take it easy…okay? I love you.” Jinu told you in a softer voice and despite not wanting to leave but he knew you needed to process so he left the balcony, leaving you to yourself and your racing thoughts. 

[venusscore]

Omg I'm the anon who requested the last mer!Damian fic I love it so much I love YOU so much author 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

I love when ppl write au stuff cuz it's so interesting to read and I love that you were excited to write it too!!!

How abt I throw you another one ehehehehe :3

This is like a funny one if you wanna take it that way, but like since mer!Damian and mer!Reader are not reproducing (mostly cuz Damian wants to take his time courting her and she just learned about the *ahem* yk how do mermaids even shaboink anyway) so the scientists were like aite let's look at the other two pairs i.e. mer!Jon + mer!Reader and mer!Damian + mer!Flatline.

You can like take this idea and make it angst this idea is officially yours, but I think it'll be funnier if like Damian's just continuously feral bodyslamming the walls of his tank cuz he doesn't want Jon to lay a finger on his mate (dw Damian, Jon knows this. He's hiding under a rock because he knows he'll get ripped to shreds if he does 💀) and Flatline is just looking at Damian like 'dude tf chill ain't no one taking her from you'.

The scientists just never separate mer!Reader from Damian again because they know if that merman can crack a 5 inch thick fiberglass tank he will, and most definitely will rip mer!Jon's head to get back his mate.

Ahhh hi anon!! You’re so kind!! ❤️

I’m so glad you liked the story! I was a bit worried it wasn’t on par with your request, so hearing that brings a smile to my face.

I love silly requests btw.

Mer!Damian x Mer!Reader

Contains: Feral Damian, happy little reader, so much yearning it’s pathetic, and just merfolk stuff

(If you want some background information, read this fic specifically)

Enjoy!! 💚

You and Damian started to get used to the new, private tank.

Despite what any scientist says, he wanted to be polite. He doesn’t want to rush your relationship, so no hybrids have been created, much to the scientists disappointment.

Also, even if he wasn’t the type to take things slower, you literally just found out what the child making process was not too long ago, so it’s not like you were overly interested in procreating, either.

However, instead of letting it go, you and Damian were separated into different tanks.

Damian was with Flatline in a dark, cold tank, mimicking the deep sea. Jon was put in the tank that you and Damian were previously sharing.

Damian knew what these heathens were planning, and he wanted no part in it! There was a wall of the tank where he could see the outside. They tried to dim it, but he had very good vision in the dark, as most deep mer do. He could briefly see your tank through the area, as it was right by his.

Now, he wasn’t surprised when he saw Jon. The scientists have made it apparent that they think you and him would be a good match not that they know you or anything, but he was still angered immensely by it.

He assumed that, if he showed enough disinterest in Flatline, the scientists would get the message and send him back, so he’d been trying his best to stay away from her, who has long abandoned any previous feelings she had for him.

˚₊‧𓆝 𓆟 ❤︎ 𓆟 𓆝‧₊

A week. That’s how long he lasted.

He just wasn’t used to not having your stupid words being yapped in his ear, or your constant clinging, or the way you’d play with his short hair when you were bored, or even just the small kisses you gave on the occasion-

“You miss them.”

Damian looked over at Flatline.

“What?” He tilted his head, just like you do.

“You miss your partner.” She says bluntly. “It’s obvious. You’re like a kicked puppy.”

“I am not-“

“You are too! You keep looking at their tank longingly. You refuse to sleep in the cave even near me. You just… brood.”

He couldn’t really counteract that. It was true. He missed you more than anything.

˚₊‧𓆝 𓆟 ❤︎ 𓆟 𓆝‧₊

One day, while he was watching your tank, he saw you and Jon chatting. You’re both friendly. He knows it. It didn’t make him less upset right now, though.

Then Jon’s hand suddenly touched your arm, and he was done for.

He started growling- genuinely growling! Flatline stared like he’d grown an extra head.

“Damian-“ she whispered. “What the hell??”

He shot her a glare. The scientists that stood between your tanks looked concerned. Jon looked at Damian’s tank and swam away quicker than a bullet.

Damian swam straight into the glass. The scientists looked shocked, Flatline made the most unimpressed face, your jaw fell open, and Jon, wherever he was, was probably pissing himself.

Jon didn’t even grab your arm for anything crazy! He was actually about to show you that you could see Damian through the wall- too bad he overreacted.

He rammed into the wall a few more times. It took a bit, but then a crack formed in the glass and a scientist yelled- “Okay, okay! Calm down!”

Damian paused a second and looked at them.

“We'll put you back together. Just… calm down.”

˚₊‧𓆝 𓆟 ❤︎ 𓆟 𓆝‧₊

Everyone was dropped back into the original, big tank. The second Damian saw you, he grabbed onto you and never let go.

“Bro, chill. Nobody’s gonna take them from you.” Jon deadpanned.

Damian just growled- angrily cuddling you, which you weren’t complaining about.

Flatline snorted at the scene while Jon flinched back from Damian’s glare. The scientists were watching through the glass while others were calling repair men to fix their tank.

“Guess we’ve learned our lesson.” One of them mutters while hanging the phone up.

“Won’t separate them again.”

————————————————————————

I had so much fun with this!! Wrote it the morning I got it. It took like two hours.

Thanks anon!! You’re so sweet omg. I’m so glad you’re enjoying my fics

Ty all for reading! Requests are open!

Taglist: @no-bishes, @shiibello

[darkbluekies]

The mortuary assistant idea is interesting becuase Silas really likes to iamgine darling as innocent and nowhere near his line of work of violence at all. But with this, he can't.

I think it's be super interesting if she did makeup for funerals as well, maybe he starts attending the funerals and she becomes an automatic guest since she did all the stuff for the person.

Silas creepily stands in the background of the graveyard watching like

😀🖐 "heyyy, you free for coffee after this?"

Then again you don't really get open casket here in England so idk if that's really a thing outside of America, which is where Silas is set anyway

We don't have open cascets in Sweden either, i think, i've only been to one funeral, but thankfully it was closed. I would not want my last memory of my loved one to be lying in a cascet.

My idea was that darling works the night shift at the mortuary (idk whats wrong with this darling to voluntarily do that but you go girl/boy) and Silas breaks in to retrieve something from an enemy and finds darling working. And from then on, he comes night after night after his missions, just to be with darling. He feels like it's his little secret, because who else would go to the mortuary in the middle of the night. It's their own little world with just the two of them (and dead bodies)

This could work for any type of night time worker but there's someting about a mortuary worker that feels right for this scenario. It's so ... random. Like, why would Silas want to hang out in the morgue night after night if it wasn't just for Darling? Watching them care for dead ones with grace. He kills people ... darling cares for them. And he finds something soft about that.

But like ... "sooo .... you hungry?"

"I'm doing a dead person's makeup?"

"Yeah, but ... i'm kind of starving ... can you order food here? Or is that weird?"

[kaliuchisangel]

Hey twinicillin I have a request 🤕 could you write a kind of angsty fic where Malachi and reader were hanging out but he just gamed the whole time, he wasn’t mean about it, and he would talk to you. But you guys just didn’t hang out like you planned, so you got bored and left to do something by yourself.

You can give it a happy ending id you’d like! Mwah!

(Don’t feel obligated to write this)

Not Mad, Just Disappointed

Pairing: Malachi Barton x Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Angst, hurt

A/N: Hey, twinnn. Ofc, I will write it. I hope you like this. Enjoy!

You always imagined the afternoon going a little differently.

You'd both cleared your schedules—no practice, no auditions, no errands. It was supposed to be one of those rare, quiet days where you finally got uninterrupted time together. You brought snacks. You even wore his hoodie because he always grinned like an idiot when you did.

But instead of a cozy, slow afternoon with his arm around you and music playing softly, you're curled up in the corner of his bed… while he’s two feet away, glued to his screen. Again.

“Babe—watch this headshot.”His voice cuts through the silence like it's something sacred. You look up, eyes tracing the way his fingers fly over the controller, his jaw set in focus.

You nod with a small smile, even though you have no idea what’s going on.

“Nice,” you say, because what else is there?

Malachi grins—barely glances over his shoulder at you. “Told you I’ve been getting better.”

Then he’s back in the match, and you’re back in your silence.

It’s not that he’s ignoring you on purpose. He still talks between matches. He asks if you want water, he shares his chips, he even rubs your foot under the blanket without looking.

But it’s not the same as being together.

You shift on the bed, pulling your knees up. For a while you just scroll. You even try to watch one of his matches with interest, asking who the guy in red is or why he keeps switching weapons. He answers, of course, but his replies are short—absent-minded.

And eventually, you stop asking.

—An hour passes. Maybe two.

You check the clock. The sky is starting to bleed into gold through his bedroom window. It would’ve been the perfect time for a walk. Or to lay out on the roof with speakers and a half-melted Slurpee like you always say you will and never do.

You glance at Malachi again. The blue glow of the screen paints him like a ghost. He’s laughing now, teasing someone through his headset.

You smile softly to yourself. Not mad.

Just…

Noticed.

You sit up quietly, brushing crumbs off your lap. Slipping your phone into your hoodie pocket.

Malachi doesn't even look up.

You hesitate in the doorway, eyes flicking back to him. For a second, you think about saying something—“Hey, I’m heading out.”* Or even just,“I’ll see you later.”

But your throat tightens around the words.

So instead, you just leave.

—

The sky outside is warmer than you expected. August soft, with a breeze. You let your feet carry you nowhere in particular—past the little bakery you both like, down the path that leads to the reservoir. The sun’s low, catching in the ripples like scattered gold coins.

You sit for a while. Watch ducks swim past. Answer a couple texts.

And then you just… breathe.

It’s not that you’re hurt. He didn’t do anything wrong. You know he loves you—he’s just distracted. Caught in his own world.

Still, it stings. To be next to someone and still feel kind of invisible.

You pick up a pebble and toss it lazily into the water.

Maybe you’re overthinking it. Maybe he didn’t realize how quiet you’d gone. Maybe he thought you liked being there, just near him. And honestly, part of you did.

But part of you also missed the way his hand would find yours under the blanket. The way he’d make dumb jokes just to see you roll your eyes. The way he used to look at you like you were the best thing in the room—not the game.

You lie back in the grass, hoodie bunching beneath your head.

You’re not mad.

Just…

disappointed.

And somehow that’s worse.

—

Your phone buzzes sometime later.

Malachi (My man):

where’d you go?

you ok?

You stare at the screen, thumb hovering.

Then you type.

You:

i’m fine. just went for a walk.

A pause. Then—

Malachi (My man):

you left without saying anything?

You chew your lip.

You:

yeah. didn’t wanna bother you.

No reply.

A full minute passes.

Then—

Malachi (My man):

you weren’t bothering me.

Another beat.

Malachi (My man): i was just… i dunno. caught up.

but i wanted to hang out with you today.

You exhale slowly, heart tugging a little.

You:

me too.

but it didn’t really feel like we were hanging out.

The typing bubble appears. Disappears.

Comes back.

Then finally:

Malachi (My man):

i’m sorry.

i thought you were okay just chillin there with me.

i should’ve paid more attention.

You sit up, brushing grass from your sleeves.

You:

it’s okay.

i wasn’t mad.

i just felt kinda… forgotten.

This time, he calls.

You almost don’t answer.

But then you do.

“Hey,” he says softly, voice smaller than usual. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“I swear I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I thought… I don’t know. That it was enough just being near you.”

You’re quiet for a second, then say, “It usually is.”

He sighs. “You’re right. I got stuck in my own head. I should’ve been more present.”

You trace your thumb over the edge of the phone. “I just missed you. And I was right there.”

“I know,” he says. “Do you wanna come back?”

You glance at the sky. “Only if we actually hang out.”

“No game. I promise,” he says immediately. Then adds, “Unless you wanna kick my ass at Mario Kart later. But only if you feel like it.”

You smile faintly. “Maybe.”

“Okay. I’ll make popcorn.”You hum. “Extra butter.”

“Obviously.”

You let the silence stretch for a moment, softer now. Then you say, “Mal?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “But I kinda wish you were. That’d be easier than knowing I let you down.”

Your chest tightens, but in a good way. In the way that says maybe next time, he’ll notice before you leave.

“I’ll be there soon.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

-

And when you walk through his front door again—this time, he meets you halfway. No controller in hand.

Just his arms. Open.

Like they should’ve been all along.

[batsandbirdbrains]

OOOH Ok but Dick who was taken captive by Deathstroke when he was still Robin, and then when he gets back it’s after Damian has arrived. He bonds with Damian because he sees how much the others disregard him and treat him poorly. Then he starts calling Damian, “my little Robin” despite the fact that Damian isn’t Robin. Both Tim and Jason are exponentially jealous and angry, because Dick refuses to even acknowledge them being Robin. Maybe one day they start yelling at him in front of everyone, about how they’ve brought magic and intelligence and honor to the Robin mantle, and why can’t Dick fucking acknowledge that??? Damian hasn’t even done any good, it’s not fair that Dick keeps calling him Robin. And Dick just…blinks at them. Then he goes “Robin isn’t a mantle or a legacy. It’s a name, my name. I don’t give a flying fuck what “good” you’ve done while using my name in my family’s colors. You’re not really Robin and you never will be.”

I want this version of Dick to just. Hate Jason and Tim. Because while he was held captive and tortured and forced to be Renegade, Deathstroke’s Apprentice, these two were playing superhero wearing his name and his costume and his family’s colors. They have no idea what Robin means. They have no idea where it comes from.

And Slade taunted Dick the entire time he was with him about how the Bat replaced him so easily. How he never really mattered. Batman wanted a soldier, a sidekick, he was really no better than Slade. At least Slade is honest with him. At least Slade would never replace him.

And after years of that being whispered in his ear, he starts to believe it. And maybe in a way, some of it is true. He was replaced. Very easily. Very quickly. Bruce did give his name and identity away like a hand-me-down to kids Dick never met.

When Dick finally escapes and Bruce brings him back to the manor, wants to bring him back into the fold of the Batfamily, Dick hates it. He goes along with it because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself, but he doesn’t like it. He especially doesn’t like having to work alongside these two schmucks who claim to have brought so much to the Robin mantle, who claim they were better. Who try to insinuate that at least they were never kidnapped by a mercenary when they were Robin.

As if that was Dick’s fault. As if that made him a bad Robin. As if Robin was only ever just a sidekick.

He hates them. They hate him, because they don’t understand why he has so much contempt for them. They hated always being compared to the golden boy, who now is magically back from the dead it seems (which is rich, coming from Jason, but he ignores the hypocrisy).

But Damian is different. Because he’s not Robin. Because he asks Dick where Robin came from in the first place. Because the two of them are both outsiders in this family, and they bond with each other over that.

Because Dick sees so much of himself in Damian, and he doesn’t want this boy to close himself off like Dick has. Because he wants better for Damian.

Because the two of them train together. They can’t train with the others. They’re told they don’t know how to hold back, that they’re not fighting properly, that they’re using too much force. But together, they can be as forceful as they want. They know how to fight like this. They know how far they can go.

And when Dick tells Damian the history of the name Robin, of the meaning behind the colors, the costume, he sees how Damian soaks it all in, how he respects it so much. How he respects Dick.

And so at first, he doesn’t even realize he’s saying it. But Damian has become his, and they’ve grown to love each other. They both only really trust each other.

So it’s natural to call Damian My Little Robin. It’s natural to treat him like a son. It’s natural to be soft and sweet and gentle with him.

And Damian loves it. He preens whenever Dick calls him his little Robin, he thinks it’s so special.

And when one day, Dick just happens to call him My Little Robin when Tim and Jason are around, shit hits the fan. The two of them start bitching and moaning and arguing about how unfair Dick is to them, how they were better Robins than Damian could ever dream to be, how Damian isn’t even Robin, but for whatever reason, Damian is the only one Dick will acknowledge as Robin.

Dick just placed a firm hand on Damian’s shoulder, tugging him behind his back, glaring at the two shouting in front of him. Maybe Bruce heard the shouting and has made his way over, maybe Alfred is there too.

But Dick has had enough. He can’t stand these two. He especially can’t stand that they think they can dictate who Dick does and does not share his name with.

“Robin is not a mantle,” he spits at them, voice cold. “Robin is not a legacy. Robin is not Batman’s to give away. I am Robin. Robin is my name. The name my mother called me. Robin does not exist without me, you would not exist as Robin if not for me. I don’t give a flying fuck if you think you did a better job than me, than each other, than Damian could as Robin. Because it doesn’t matter. You will never be Robin to me. I would never have given my blessing for either of you to take my name. But Damian is mine, he is My Little Robin, and you don’t get to throw a fit because of something you will never understand the significance of.”

He takes Damian and guides him away, not waiting for a response from any of them.

Tim and Jason are still miffed, because they think Dick is just being dramatic.

But Bruce feels his heart drop. He feels like he’s been dunked in ice water, like he can’t breathe. Because he realizes that he gave his son’s name away. He realizes how much it hurt him. He realizes how badly he fucked up.

And he has no idea how to fix it or make it up to him.