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saintsenara · 8 days

Note

Riddle’s extremely fearful and aggressive reaction to Dumbledore when he thinks he’s a doctor (and the fact that he assumes this at all and believes he is being lied to) has some pretty dark implications (which of course no one follows up on). Do you have thoughts?

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

and yes - this has occurred to me too... which means that my thoughts come with a trigger warning for the sexual abuse of a child, and are under the cut.

the relevant scene in canon is, of course, this:

“I am Professor Dumbledore.” “Professor?” repeated Riddle. He looked wary. “Is that like doctor? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?” He was pointing at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left. “No, no,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “I don’t believe you,” said Riddle. “She wants me looked at, doesn’t she? Tell the truth!” He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes had widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked, if anything, warier still. “Who are you?” “I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school - your new school, if you would like to come.” Riddle’s reaction to this was most surprising. He leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking furious. “You can’t kid me! The asylum, that’s where you’re from, isn’t it? ‘Professor,’ yes, of course - well, I’m not going, see? That old cat’s the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they’ll tell you!”

the surface-level reading of this scene - which is clearly what the text wants us to go for - is that riddle thinks he's about to be institutionalised for being "mad" - and, specifically, that he thinks that what dumbledore has been told is his "madness" is actually his magic.

[he is also clearly meant to be read as panicking a little bit that he's fucked around torturing his fellow children and is now about to find out...]

that riddle accepts he's a wizard so easily - and that he is so reassured by dumbledore agreeing that he's not mad - is something the text wants us to read as sinister. him immediately describing himself as "special" is set up as a precursor to the adult voldemort's delusions of grandeur - which the entire arc of the series, ending in his death as an ordinary man, is designed to undermine.

but i've always disliked this reading. the eleven-year-old riddle - a magical child raised around non-magical people - is objectively correct to describe his powers as "special" [in that they make him identifiably different from the crowd] within the context in which he lives. the word choice is nowhere near as deep as dumbledore decides - he's clearly known since he was very young that he's a wizard, but he didn't have the precise language to describe this fundamental part of himself until dumbledore offered it; prior to that, "special" is a perfectly reasonable alternative term.

and, in always knowing that he's a wizard, he also knows that he doesn't have a mental illness - but he must also know that this is something it's near impossible for him to prove.

in the real world, if i spoke to a patient who told me:

“I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.”

then i would be correct to describe them as experiencing psychosis. and i might - depending on their other symptoms - have reasonable cause to admit them [voluntarily or not] for psychiatric treatment.

riddle is - of course - demonstrably not psychotic. but it's not unreasonable that mrs cole would assume he is - the world she lives in, as a muggle [even if she's a religious one], is one in which people do not possess the ability to move objects or control animals with their minds, and if one of her charges is convinced that he can, then she's justified in seeking medical intervention.

[that psychiatric treatment in the 1930s can be described without exaggeration as inhumane is another matter...]

which is to say, i think we can easily suppose that mrs cole has - prior to dumbledore's arrival - succeeded in having riddle "looked at", and that the idea that he's mentally ill and should be committed to an asylum has been mentioned before. i think most of us would be instinctively [and angrily] wary of doctors if this happened to us, regardless of how nice the doctors in question were.

and maybe that's all there is to it.

and maybe it isn't...

in the doylist text, the eleven-year-old riddle's personality is the way it is because he's the villain of the series. where harry is preternaturally capable, even as a child, of all the things the series defines as admirable - above all, enduring difficulty without complaint - riddle is preternaturally incapable of them. he's meant to come across as unambiguously sinister - and the fact that the text repeatedly emphasises that he has control over his unpleasant traits invites us to view him as someone who is acting with full agency. that he lives in an orphanage is a trope which the text uses, like a campy horror film might, predominately to underscore how creepy he is - and the text, in keeping with its general lack of interest in states and their institutions, never really prompts us to interrogate the impact of his childhood upon the course his life takes.

[this is despite the fact that voldemort's reliving of the night he killed the potters in deathly hallows is an incredibly accurate depiction of ptsd...]

but it's also the case that the eleven-year-old riddle's behaviour and personality fits a pattern we might expect to see in a child who is being abused, sexually or otherwise:

he's aggressive, he has a hair-trigger temper, and he becomes distressed even by behaviour - such as dumbledore speaking mildly and calmly - which would not ordinarily be expected to provoke such a reaction.

his broader emotional state is fractious. his mood changes sharply, he seems to feel emotions very profoundly, he struggles to control his emotional response to things, he's extremely easily irritated, he's attention-seeking - and he particularly seeks negative attention, and he's very highly-strung. his admission in deathly hallows that he feels calm before he kills - or before he otherwise eradicates a threat or a problem - comes with the flip-side that he's someone who appears, when things aren't going well or he finds himself in a situation which he can't control, to become quite anxious. which is a trauma response.

he's extremely isolated. the text presents the fact that he has no friends as a deliberate choice - "lord voldemort has never had a friend, nor do i believe that he has ever wanted one" - and his relationship with everyone else he ever meets, including his fellow orphans, is defined by the text as exclusively involving him controlling, manipulating, and punishing them. or: he is always the more powerful person in the pairing. but this need for control can be read as self-protective just as easily as it can be read as sinister. there are hints in canon that riddle is not just some malevolent force in the orphanage preying on mild-mannered innocents. for example, billy stubbs, the owner of the rabbit he kills, is targeted by riddle as revenge: “Billy Stubbs’s rabbit... well, Tom said he didn’t do it and I don’t see how he could have done, but even so, it didn’t hang itself from the rafters, did it? [...] But I’m jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before." on the rare occasions billy turns up in fics, he's usually - i find - written very like neville - sweet and guileless and a bit pathetic. but the alternative reading - especially when we take into account that riddle attacks the rabbit rather than billy himself - is that billy is someone he would be afraid to physically confront. indeed, it's striking that voldemort - at all stages of his life - is described as being quite physically fragile. not only is he very thin, but he's always cold and his heartbeat is described several times in canon as irregular. i think this is supposed to be a comment on the physical changes he undergoes the more horcruxes he makes - although the idea that the soul would affect the heart doesn't actually align with how the series understands the soul to relate to the body - but it can also be interpreted perfectly legitimately as something he was experiencing prior to splitting his soul. i am committed to the headcanon that riddle was quite a sickly child - and that this is one of the things which drives his fear of death - and i'm also committed to the idea that his obsession with magic is because the enormity of his magical power makes up for his physical lack. he can defeat - and humiliate and frighten and remove the threat of - billy or dennis [or even an adult man?] with magic. without it, if they were to physically overpower him, then he wouldn't be able to throw them off.

he is extremely nervous about being alone in a room with dumbledore - someone he doesn't know, and who he assumes is connected to a profession [and, maybe, who knows any other doctors he's been previously made to see...] of which he is frightened.

he doesn't trust or confide in anyone - which, as a child, means particularly that he doesn't trust or confide in adults in positions of responsibility. he's clearly uneasy with the idea of finding himself in the subordinate position in an adult-child relationship when dumbledore offers to take him shopping for school supplies - potentially because he's worried that dumbledore will try and dictate or restrict what he's allowed to buy unless he behaves in a certain way... and i am always very struck that dumbledore says in half-blood prince: "He was very guarded with me; he felt, I am sure, that in the thrill of discovering his true identity he had told me a little too much. He was careful never to reveal as much again." this is presented in the text as evidence that dumbledore is the only person of whom voldemort is afraid - by which the text means that voldemort acknowledges that dumbledore knows that an ordinary man, mortal and unimpressive, lurks behind the mask of unassailable power he has created for himself; and which the text thinks is a good thing. but we can also read it as a self-protective act on riddle's part. in his excitement, he offers dumbledore information [that he is known to be a liar, that he is in trouble a lot, that mrs cole dislikes him and is disinclined to believe anything he says] which would give dumbledore - or anyone in a similar position of power and presumed respectability - cover to abuse him, safe in the knowledge that he would be unlikely to be believed if he reported it.

he doesn't appear to feel safe in the orphanage and he's frequently absent from it - by his own admission, he spends a huge amount of time wandering around london on his own, which may even involve him staying away for several days at a time. nobody appears to notice or care about this.

he's very independent - which the text again presents as evidence of his deliberate self-isolation and rejection of the bonds of love and friendship - and his independence is unusual for a child his age [i.e. that he is capable of doing all his own shopping for school].

his knowledge of violence - i.e. how he designs the trip to the cave to be maximally psychologically devastating for dennis and amy and devoid of repercussions for himself - is also more advanced and methodical than would be expected in a child of his age. again, the text uses this to emphasise how inextricable the child-voldemort is from his adult self - and also, to some extent, to underscore the intellectual brilliance [his magic is also more advanced than is normal for a child] which his narrative archetype [the exceptional villain who is defeated by the everyman hero] requires. but we can also read it as evidence of his own victimisation. a common sign that a child is being sexually abused is that they display a knowledge of sexual behaviour which is more advanced than is reasonable for a child of their age - for example, knowing in detail how a sex act is performed, or fluently using sexual slang which they have no chance of knowing either from age-appropriate settings like school-based sex education or conversations with a parent or trusted adult, or from the sort of enthusiastic hoarding of rude words and phrases all children enjoy as they grow up. riddle's precise, clinical knowledge of how to manipulate, frighten, torture, and control can be seen as something similar. if he can - at eleven or younger - methodically break down another child until they're "never quite right" again, then this is because he's learned how to from someone.

he keeps secrets. and he also goes out of his way to extract them. his grooming of ginny in chamber of secrets - he manipulates her into confiding things she wants to keep to herself, promises he won't tell anyone, and then uses the threat that he will to get her to do his bidding - is an absolutely textbook example of how abusers use the idea of secrecy to control their victims. it doesn't make his abuse of ginny any less inexcusable if we assume he learns this from being on the other side of things.

dumbledore understands his little cache of objects as trophies he's taken from victims - and the text takes the view that dumbledore is correct in this assessment. that hoarding trophies is something widely associated with serial killers means that this is yet another thing which underlines how creepy - and how like his adult self - the child-voldemort is. but it's also the case that the adult - and teenage - voldemort places a lot of emphasis on gift-giving as part of his control over other people. the two most obvious examples in canon are wormtail being given his shiny hand as a reward for helping voldemort get his body back, and slughorn being buttered up with crystallised pineapple before voldemort asks him about horcruxes. the text thinks this is sinister - and one of the reasons it does this is because gift-giving is a grooming tactic. the text also clearly thinks this isn't behaviour voldemort has learned from the other side. and yet a common sign that a child is being abused is if they have possessions it doesn't make sense for them to own [i.e. a child from a low-income background who is suddenly decked in designer clothes] and which they can't or won't explain how they came by. riddle's cache isn't luxurious - although he's so poor that a yoyo or a mouth organ probably is a luxury to him - but there's also nothing in canon which precludes the objects being presents, rather than stolen goods. if the spell dumbledore uses to make the box rattle is caused by a statement which is both relatively ambiguous and dependent on dumbledore's subjective personal morality - is there anything in this room he's acquired through nefarious means? - then the spell would still work as it does in canon if riddle was an abuse victim given the objects as "rewards". dumbledore's tendency to locate right and wrong in the individual and dumbledore's belief that good people should steadfastly endure misery means he can be written entirely canon-coherently as someone who would think a victim who appeared to collude in their own abuse - such as a victim who "offered" a sexual act because their abuser promised them something if they did - was behaving consensually, manipulatively, and nefariously. and it's worth noting that when riddle doesn't know what dumbledore has done to make the box rattle, he is "unnerved". when he realises dumbledore thinks he's stolen the objects - and that he has no interest in forcing him to admit this aloud - he is "unabashed". perhaps because he's just received proof that an experience he doesn't want to talk about is still secret...

on the other hand, the objects could indeed be stolen - because petty criminality and anti-social behaviour, especially in pre-teen children, is also a sign of abuse.

he can be extremely obsequious - when dumbledore tells him to watch how he speaks he becomes "unrecognisably polite", he ruthlessly flatters slughorn, and he is cringingly deferential to hepzibah smith. the text understands this as evidence that his apparent charm is only superficial - another trait associated in the popular imagination with serial killers [and it's striking that so much about the young voldemort - handsome, charming, seemingly quiet and polite, true evil lurking underneath the mask - is exactly like the pop-culture persona which has been created for ted bundy...]. voldemort himself agrees that his charm is performative in chamber of secrets: “If I say it myself, Harry, I’ve always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted." but his obsequiousness is also a fawn response - a way of minimising a threat by attempting to please the person issuing it. he becomes "unrecognisably polite" - after all - in response to this: Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts - ” “Of course I am!” “Then you will address me as ‘Professor’ or ‘sir.’ ” Riddle’s expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognisably polite voice, “I’m sorry, sir. I meant - please, Professor, could you show me - ?” riddle could reasonably interpret what dumbledore says here as a threat to prevent him attending hogwarts - even though dumbledore evidently doesn't mean it in this way - and he switches to being fawning because this is something he really doesn't want to happen...

do i think that any of this is what the text was actually going for? no. and nor do i think that reading riddle as a victim of abuse excuses the violence which the adult voldemort goes on to perpetuate.

but i think it is a reading of his characterisation which is both canon-plausible and interesting - a strange, sickly child with a reputation for cruelty and dishonesty being abused by the respectable doctor who is constantly called in to treat his coughs and wheezes, who buys him little presents and charms him into telling him secrets, who then [to paraphrase the teenage voldemort] feeds him a few secrets of his own, safe in the knowledge that nobody will ever believe him if he tries to get help.

and i also think this a reading which is sincerely important.

a significant contributor to the prevalence of child abuse - no matter what exact form this abuse takes - is that we are culturally conditioned to imagine that both the abuser and the victim will look and behave in a certain way if the abuse is "real".

and this means, all too often, that we take child abuse more seriously when the victim is "sympathetic" - when they're from a stable home, and their family are respectable, and they do well in school, and they're polite and sweet, and they look innocent, and they behave perfectly appropriately for their age, and nobody would ever dare to say that they come across as older than they are, and they're white, and they don't have a history of lying, and they don't have a history of attention-seeking, and they don't have a criminal record, and they're not abusive themselves, and there's absolutely no way of suggesting that they colluded in their abuse, and the perpetrator was someone who looks like a child abuser.

someone who is creepy, low-status, ugly, unpopular. someone who everyone can tell is socially abnormal, someone who nobody would ever intentionally permit to be around their children. not someone who is charming, well-respected, attractive, rich, popular, trustworthy. not someone who has a loving family and a happy home. not someone we might be friends with.

but many perpetrators of child abuse are these second group of people. and many victims of child abuse are "unsympathetic", when their social positions and reputations are compared to their abusers' own.

they lie. they steal. they're attention-seeking. they're vindictive. they have trouble distinguishing between imagination and reality. they're violent. they're bullies. they hurt animals. they abuse other children. they take drugs. they're mentally-ill. they come from broken homes. they're in the care of the state. they're dirty. they're poor. they're odd. they're behind at school and badly-behaved in the classroom. they do things which allow their abuse to be dismissed as something they brought upon themselves - they speak or dress in certain ways, they pose provocatively in pictures and post them on the internet, they are known to be sexually active outside of the context of their abuse, they lie about being over the age of consent, they engage in sexual behaviour with an adult abuser in a way which appears [even though it isn't, and there's never a circumstance in which it will be] to be consensual or for their own personal gain, they are flattered by the attention they receive from someone who is important or attractive grooming them, they have complicated - and not always wholly negative - feelings towards their abusers.

and they are still - unequivocally - victims, and what happens to them is still - unequivocally - abuse.

tom riddle is an unsympathetic victim - not only of any potential abuse, but also of the horrors of his life which are explicit on the canon page: that he is raised in an orphanage; that he is grieving; that he knows nothing about his family; that he is thought to be mad.

the absence of any institutional response to his childhood experiences - dumbledore, by his own admission, discloses nothing about riddle to his fellow teachers - is a flaw repeated again and again in the worldbuilding of the harry potter series.

hogwarts - and the wizarding [and muggle] state more broadly - doesn't intervene in any case of neglect or abuse, from harry to snape to voldemort's own parents. the series' individualistic morality means that we aren't supposed to interrogate these collective failings. and the series' black-and-white view of good and evil - and its general belief that violence is fine if the person it happens to "deserves" it - means that it has no interest in examining the ways that poverty, isolation, and neglect are risk factors; that straightforwardly unpleasant people can still be victims; that victims can go on to become perpetrators without their victimhood ceasing to matter; and that the abuse of children usually takes place not in silence and secrecy, concealed in ways which make it fine for adults not to notice it and not to intervene, but in plain sight.

this is knowledge it never hurts to refresh. thinking about lord voldemort's childhood might be an usual way of doing so... but it is an effective one nonetheless...

#asks answered #asenora meta #tom riddle #lord voldemort #if wizards had the concept of safeguarding it would be a game changer...

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yuri-is-online · 7 months

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Jade narrating the stuff Yuu is doing sounds funny/cute.

Dear annon, objectively you are correct. Jade narrating things sounds funny and cute in general. Unfortunately I have a cold and just took some nyquil ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ Whoops.

notes:they/them used for Yuu, this is a joke tm inspired by this meme. Please do not take this seriously and look at my masterlist for something not written on drugs.

"The humble shrimp, according to all known laws of hydrodynamics should not be able to swim. Their little legs are much too small to propel them through the ocean." Jade does not say this out loud, instead he continues to prop his head up on his hand and observe the Lounge's newest employee slaving away over the stove, signature reserved smile on his face. "The shrimp of course, swims anyway, because the shrimp does not care about what mages think is impossible."

Not that you are cooking for the lounge (yet) Jade had just invited you over for a little... he had said it was to study. What you had no idea, your patience maybe? He certainly hasn't moved since inviting you to help yourself to the Octavinelle kitchen saying something about how "humans have such interesting uses for leftovers."

"Bullshit." You think, punctuating the curse with a particularly harsh scrape to the pan. "He just didn't want to cook his dinner tonight."

"Imagine if you will, a pan of rice." Jade is idly toying with a spoon, swapping between waving it like a conductor or holding it still to speak into it like an announcer. "Truly a blessing to the hungry masses, a staple food if you will."

"Oh please no." You are tempted to spit in his plate but he would just put an unnecessary type of emphasis on thanking you for the food.

"It is presented to you fried," Jade continues, clearly deeply amused with himself "but this time, it has not been fried by a trustworthy fellow human-"

"You are an eel." You decide to settle your need to be petty by giving him the smaller fork, which does get you a regretful sigh but does not stop Jade's recapping the last episode of Twisted Wonderland.

"But by a shrimp." Jade loves it when you cook for him, not that he really wants to admit to that out loud lest you stop. Or huff and puff in embarrassment, he wants to save that for much later. Sometime when you are back in the Coral Sea and tucked neatly against his chest, safe and very much completely his and not able to run away. "The humble shrimp is proud of it's cooking."

"I am not an it, I am your partner." You are not exactly mad, you are proud of your cooking. And proud that, just like he does for his brother, he will eat all of it and then find something to complain about with a big smile on his face. Jade once again twirls his conductor's spoon, with a hum that sounds sort of like an agreement.

"The shrimp is very proud of their cooking," he amends "and the eel is very happy they want to share with him." You push your food around your plate in embarrassment much to his delight. He can't resist pushing you just a bit further, getting up as if to make for a cup but pausing to kiss your cheek before setting his kettle on the stove so it's ready to repay your favor once dinner is done. "Do be gentle with me," says the eel, heart beating horrifically hard against his chest "I am much more fragile than I look." He very much does not expect to see you darting up to kiss his lips when he turns back from the stove, the shrimp darts away with a smug giggle as the eel stands stunned, savoring the warmth of their affection before he returns to his seat.

Yes, the eel thinks he is keeping this one. Forever, ideally.

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #idk if this counts as jade narrating yuu's life #is mostly just domestic fluff huh #oh well

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ynackerman9499 · 5 months

Text

Hello! This is me! 𝕪/𝕟 𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕟! This is my tumblr in case you don't know me i have a youtube channel which I upload texting stories videos to it! And this is my first post here in tumblr (original)

Some male Hashiras + kagaya reaction to you sacrificing yourself for them

⚠ Warning : spoiler in kyojuro and kagaya, take of death, blood, injuries, crying, some of them are really short

Giyu Tomioka

You and Giyuu were fighting against 2 demons who used a blood demon art

You killed one and Giyuu killed the other one

Or so you both thought...

"You did well giyuu_san!" You said smilling putting your sword in place

While giyuu just nodded humming as a silent 'thank you'

This only made you smile even wider. You've been friends with giyuu with great amount of time now

You both actually gets along very well Despite your different personalities

So you got used to his comforting quiet gesture

"All right! Let's head back n-"

You suddenly stopped sensing that something is wrong While giyuu looked at you wondering why you fell silent so suddenly

"Wh-"

You breathed in sharply, catching a glint in the air watching it whizz towards Giyuu.

"not on my watch!"

You yelled, quickly drawing your sword breaking the unknown object in half.

Giyuu's eyebrow twitched, taking his sword out of its sheath.

"giyuu, there!" You shouted, pointing to the direction of the demon that was currently perched on one of the trees.

The two of you gave each other a knowing nod, rushing towards the trees and jumped landing on one of the branches,

"come back here you coward!" You barked, skillfully jumping from tree to tree, following after the demon.

The demon hissed, sending metal shards towards you and Giyuu, which the two of you dodged with ease

"breath of ice..." you mumbled taking a deep breath

"dance of frozen crystals!"

Streams of sparkling diamond-like figures flowed out your sword as you jumped upwards, holding your katana over your head as you swung it effectively cutting half of it's body;

sadly, not his neck, as he covered it with a steel-like substance.

"Y/n!"

Giyuu called out, causing you to look back at him wondering why did he sound so worried

You saw he was looking horrified looking at your chest rather than your face

'why did he sound so-'

You were caught out of your thoughts by yourself coughing something liquid out of your mouth

You looked down at your chest, a large sharp metal shard piercing through the middle of your chest

"uh.. F-fuck.." you muttered stumbling back and falling against a tree vomiting even more blood feeling it a bit hard to breathe

"y/n! No!" giyuu shrieked running at your slumbering and bloody figure against the tree

"giyuu.. The d.. emon" You mumbled, coughing out a worrisome anmountof blood, the crimson liquid spilling out of your lips in mouthfuls.

"i cant leave you..." he whispered as of scared of starling you

"i cant you are in_" "... Dying"

You corrected him. Mastering the last energy you had to cup his face with your bloody hand while lying in his embrace

"i am.. Dying, Giyuu..."

"no.. No you are not.. You can slow the ble-" "my lungs are... damaged giyuu"

Tears burned his eyes, hugging you close to his chest and placed his hand over your cheek

"i.. Love you... Giyuu... So... Much.. " you confessed as you started to lose consciousness and struggling even more to keep your eyes open

You took a deep breath but sadly... It didn't come out again...

"y/n.. Y/n... Hey.." giyuu said with shaky voice as a couple of tears escaped his eyes

"hey...don't do this to me, love... I–i love you too... Why did you do this... I–i don't deserve this..."he said as he closed your lifeless eyes with his fingers

"i am sorry i am too useless to be able to protect you..." he was now on full mode sobbing

Oh how cruel is it that you didn't even hear the person you love saying thing you wanted to hear from him the most...

Obanai Iguro

No...

No no no no...

That wasn't supposed to happen...

The hit was meant for him...

It was meant for him damn it!

Why did you have to take it for him

He doesn't deserve it

He doesn't deserve to live

Why would he live while you are here dying in his arms gasping and wheezing for air

He is enraged

His fear tends to come out as anger

So while you are literally dying he is shouting at you for how stupid you are, how foolish to waste your precious live over his useless one

His shouting you mutter out an Inaudible : 'sorry... '

Just then the anger turns into tears

"you idiot..." he wailed... Actually wailed.. Something you never thought you'd see, not that you wanted to in the first place

It was supposed to be him...

"don't you dare apologise..." he hugged you even tighter feeling you fading away from him as you tried to breath but it only come out as a horrible choking sound as you choked on your own blood

His cheek rested on top of your head

"o-oba... nai.. " you said chocking in the middle of word as the hole in your chest began seeping even more blood

"g–give them.. H–hell for m–me... Yeah?..."

Oh he would...

He would make them pay for taking you away from him

For making the only person who kept him moving forward...

Is now cold and limb in his arms...

Sanemi shinazugawa

Fuck!

Shit! Shit! Shit! Fuck!

He physically can't handle what he is looking at

As he refused to stop saving you even after you already stopped breathing

"shit! Shit!" he pressed harsher on the wound, the blood was slowing but not because of his relentless attempt...

You were gone... Not even being able to get a word out because of how harshly he was crying

For some reason... Even in your final moments you found it kind of comforting that he was try his best to save you

You felt your heart break looking at him from the other side hugging your cold, lifeless body... Trying to squeeze some warmth into it even though he knows its useless

Kyojuro Rengoku

You coughed out blood as akaza hand went through your stomach

"Y/N! NO!"

You took the hit for kyojuro

I mean... How could you not... You just couldn't let someone like him die

You just couldn't...

Gripping your sword harder, you slashed it against his neck making his eye widen

'she got in my way! And she still has the strength!

Akaza thought as he was amazed at how you still has the strength to even breathe

'Kyojuro, im going to die. I know. We had a life planned in front of us, but..l couldn't let you die. I just can't'

You thought as The demon tried to punch your face, but you stopped it with your other hand

"Y/N!!"

'you won't get away... Akaza!'

Looking behind the demon, but still applying force on the neck, you looked behind to see Rengoku with the boy from before charging at you with their swords.

A smile got onto your face.

'I wont ever let go off the sword ..Until I cut his head off!'

"INOSUKE MOVE! MOVE FOR Y/N-SAN!"

The boar now charged at you with speed His attack cut the demons arms, your sword still attached to his neck.

He was running away, clearly.

The boy threw his sword at the demon,.

stabbing him through the chest. Followed by Screaming of how he was a coward by running away and that both Rengoku and you were stronger than him.

You felt two gentle pair of hands gripping your back, drops of water, or tears, to your cheek as kyojuro took you in his embrace trying to stop the bleeding even though he knows it's a fatal wound

"Y/n.. No. No..please don't leave me! Please! I beg you! I will go down on my knees if it have to!"

"kyo... It's okay..." You say voice barely a whisper as you gathered all the strength you had trying to put your hand on kyojuro's cheek.

He quickly took your bloody hand in his and put it over his cheek

"no no... The hit was meant for me to take... Why did you have to get in the middle... Why.."

"i just couldn't.. Let–" vomiting blood "y-you... Die"

You said panting feeling like you can't breathe anymore...

Kyojuro the brust out sobbing burying his face in your neck as your body laid lifeless in his arms

It was supposed to be him dammit!

He was supposed to be the one protecting you!

Not the other way around!

On the other side tanjiro watching the scene feeling his heart break over and over again

Another love story between two lovers was ruined by those disgusting Creatures

Tengen uzui

after a long and hard battle you had ended up dangling off the side of a cliff barely holding onto an also seriously injured tengen.

He could feel your fingers slipping from his.

you were both tired and injured it was a tough battle and despite the demons head being cut off you had taken some heavy blows and now you were dangling off the side of a cliff, barely conscious as tengen held onto your hand with his

"dont worry y/n! ill pul you up Soon!"

you could see him struggling to hold your hand and knew that if he held on any longer he might go down with you

watching him struggle above you made your heart ache as you couldnt do anything to help

"Ten.."

the both of you made eye contact with each other

"thank you for being with me... I love you so much"

his eyebrows twitched at your words

"why does it sound like youre saying goodbye? y/n. You better hold into my hand!"

his jaw was clenched as he spoke to you

you couldnt leave him

if only he had killed that demon sooner

if only he could have protected you

in this moment he hated the gentle smile that was on your face

because to him it meant he had failed

"we both know we'll both fall if you dont let go, neither of us have enough strength left to do anything."

"its okay ten, im ready. i love you and I'll always be watching over you. live well"

he could feel your fingers one by one letting go of his hand and he tried as hard as possible to not let go

"y/n please! I.. I can't do this without you... "

you just shook your head

"im sorry ten but you have to, i know you can. you're going to do great things, with or without me."

"always remember that i love you... And i'll always be watching you"

With that, the last grip he had on you failed

the serene smile on your face was the last thing he saw as you fell to your probable death,

shattering his heart

he screamed your name on the top of his lungs as your hands disconnected followed by painful sobs

Not again...

First his siblings now you..

He lost so many loved ones

of course he knew that he was too injured to pull you up and the most he could have done was just hold onto you until help came,

If help came...

he hated this,

he hated himself

what was the point of being strong when he couldnt even save the one person he loved most in this entire world

"Live well" it was one of the last things you told him hed try his best to because you asked him of it but to him living well meant being by your side which was something he couldnt do anymore.

Muichiro Tokito

poor baby doesn't really know what to do

he's kneeling beside you with a worried look

he's sweating and his hands are clammy

he remains silent for the most part

"Y/n?"

He is right next to you, hand nervously taking your own

"Don't worry."

you give him a weak smile as scary as it was, just his presence was enough.

"|-what do I do?"

The fear in his face made your heart clench.

"Just stay with me. You dont need to do a thing..."

You squeezed his hand with the last bit of strength

you had, smiling softly

"Be careful okay? There are still a lot of demons left"

You didn't fear death,

but you did fear what would happen to those you

loved once it got to you.

Kagaya ubuyashiki

This took place before the explosion in the final battle era

Your husband's hand is cold in yours. You squeeze his

fingers and watch the moonlight bleed out the color of

his skin into silver.

"Are you well, love?" you ask quietly. A washbowl rests to your side, the cloth draped over the side dripping droplets of water down the floor. You take it and wrangle the water with one hand as best as you can,

laying it atop his forehead after. Kagaya closes his eyes and smiles beatifically. It looks painful.

"I will be fine," he says. A mere whisper; it runs wild in the echoes of the night. "| am certain... After tonight, everything will be fine again." You hum thoughtfully. Your heart turns like a clock,

mechanical, a slave to fate. You dare not tell him anything.

"I wonder. . " Kagaya starts. "How does the sky look tonight, Y/N?"

You looked up at the sky as the clouds moved to reveal the beautiful moon

"it's beautiful..." you said as he leaned into your hand as you caressed his cheeks

"he is here..."

A long shadow blocks the moonlight. You look up.

Plum red eyes stare back.

"It's finally nice to meet you, Kibutsuji Muzan," Kagaya says casually.

A chuckle flits in your ear, honey-thick and suave.

Muzan's jacket rests precariously on his shoulders,

and the wind picks up, as if trying to steal it away. The sleeves whip around him uselessly.

"Well;" he says. "You sure look terrible, Ubuyashiki."

If you do not look too closely, you can still delude

yourself into dreaming that this is a normal family.

Your twins have not stopped playing, and their

laughter mingles with the song.

*after the speech because i cant recall it 💀*

"Kibutsuji" You incline your head, a mockery of respect. "You may have prepared for everything.. But there is one thing you didn't prepared for.."

"and what would that may be?"

"this–" you pulled out teh explosion monitor and jumped on kagaya and just before it explored a room open under kagaya's bed and you both fell into a room underground where your kids were waiting for you to come and there was a secret door which led to outside

But it was quite the fall, but you shielded kagaya's body with yours as you he fell on top of you

"Uhmm... " Kagaya groaned from the pain of the impact but more at the though that you were hurt from the fall and his weight together

"it's okay... It's okay..." you said as you cradled kagaya's fragile body

"i just need you to hold on for me... Can you do that please?"

The explosion was loud on top of you but what was more terrifying was the piece of wood of the selling above you that was about to fall

So you quickly pushed kagaya out of the way just as the piece of wood fell on your lower body completely breaking it

"y/n! " Kagaya yelled as best as he could as he heard your crying of pain

"i am fine! I am fine!" You shouted as you tried to stop the tears from dropping from the pain

"kiriya! Listen! Take your father and run out of here!"

"b–but mo–" "no buts! This piece of seilling completely crushed my lower par! You won't be able to get it out! Even if you did i'd be just a burden! I won't be able to run! No go! Go!"

Kiriya quickly carried his father on his shoulder as best as he could

"no... Y/n... If we die... we die together.. That's a promise..."

"well.. Look like i have a change of plans, sorry love"

You said as you smiled sadly at him even though he can't see it

*time skip*

"CAW! CAW! KIBUTSUJI MUZAN IS DEFEATED! KIBUTSUJI MUZAN IS DEFEATED! THE FINAL BATTLE IS OVER! CAW! CAW!"

Kagaya opened his eyes at the sound of the noisy crow.. And for the first time in years...

He sees the sky clearly as the curse marks started to fade from his body...

He quickly tried to ran into the place where his estate is supposed to be with only one though in mind...

'y/n...'

He opened his eyes clearly for the first time in years and the first face he wanted to look at was yours

"oyakata_sama! Wait! You are not fully recovered yet!"

The kakushi tried to warn him but he just didn't care

He wanted to see you, to touch you, to tell you how much you mean to him even though words cannot describe, to make sure you are alright

But what he saw made him stop and his blood run cold...

The estate.. His home... Your home.. Is now crumbled to pieces with you under all that

he quickly took off and tried to dig into the rubble in hopes maybe.. Just maybe.. You are still alive...

"master..."

The kakushis and the remaining of the hashiras felt thier heart break looking at thier master like this...

Nevertheless, they started to help thier master find his wife.. I mean.. You were like a mother and a big sister to them all...

"I found something!" one of the kakushi shouted as he saw your bloody hand sticking out of the rubble

They quickly ran to where he was and started digging even more, just as they reached your head they all stopped and stepped back for thier master to take a look at you...

"oh my dear..."

Kagaya quietly knelt down where your bloody upper body only was visible

He caressed your bloody

cheek just as you did with him a few hours ago...

Oh how beautiful you looked... Even if you were cold and pale with your lips starting to get blue..

He missed you so much that he almost forgot the way you looked...

You looked even more beautiful than he remembered even with the black circles under your eyes and the few wrinkles that appeared on your face and the grey hairs despite how young you are...

"oh love... How many times did i tell not to worry to much about me..." Kagaya whispered as he caressed your cold skin with a few tears falling from his eyes "like this you will age before time..."

He hugged you one last time before the kakushis free your body completely from the rubble and take you to bury your beautiful body

Today the world won peace.. But he lost his...

#uzui tengen x reader #uzui x reader #tengen x reader #tengen uzui x reader #hashira x reader #kny x reader #kny headcanons #kyojuro rengoku x reader #kagaya ubuyashiki x reader #kagaya x reader #kyojuro x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #rengoku x reader #iguro x reader #giyuu x reader #tokito x reader #muichiro x reader #sanemi x reader

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lizard-on-a-window-pane · 2 months

Note

hi gorgeous!! The way you write james has me thinking non stop about him for days (i need him fr) so on that note, can i please get a request where reader gets jealous for some reason and he doesn’t notice at first cause he only has eyes for her but she kind of gets clingier and a little grumpy so he talks to her and just lots of fluff and cuddles? Thank you <3

thank youu! comments like that make me want to be writing all the time really hope you like it!! sorry i got a little carried away length-wise

a confession among friends: getting called my boyfriend's sister actually happened to me once and i was soo pissed lmao

pairing: James Potter x reader word count: 4.1k (not completely proofread)

Boy-friend

You weren’t much in the mood for a party. No matter how many times Sirius clarified that it was only a “get together,” it was a party. Still, James had wanted to come, and there’d been plenty of times he’d come out because you were the one who felt like it, so you were happy to try to make the most of it.

James comes up behind you now, surprising you and tickling you with no warning. You break out in full laughter but contort to smack him away.

“Stop! stop!” you half laugh, half yell.

“Alright, shortcake, but if I catch you looking grumpy again, you’re gonna get it,” he replies cheekily, giving you a playfully accusatory squint. “Shortcake” wasn’t your favourite of his nicknames, but it had stuck after one night the boys had had way too much to drink and way too much fun making fun of you for being the shortest of the group, not bothering with your contention that it wasn’t fair since you were the only girl.

“I was not looking grumpy.”

“Given I’m the one who could see what you looked like, not you, I think my word counts for more here.”

“What are you two on about?” Sirius interrupts, wrapping an arm around James’s shoulders in their typically brotherly way.

“Was or was she not looking grumpy just now?” James asks.

“Was,” Sirius nods affirmatively.

“Whatever, you losers,” you roll your eyes at them. “Anyway, if I’m looking bored” — you glare at them before either corrects your word choice — “I feel justified in blaming the host of the party,” you smirk at Sirius.

“It’s not a party; it’s a get t—“

“A get together,” you both finish for him.

“Yes, yes, we know, mate,” James laughs. “Lots of people in your flat for a ‘get together,’ don’t you think?”

“Well, I’ve just made lots of cool friends recently. Thought it’d be nice for them to meet each other,” he shrugs.

“Always so generous,” you tease.

“‘Course,” he shrugs. “How else are you two annoyingly romantic recluses going to meet anyone new? You never leave your flat.”

“We do so,” you try, but it sounds damningly defensive. You cringe before Sirius can pounce and add, “Well, we’re here now aren’t we?”

“Fair. Glad you’ve graced me with your presence, L/N,” Sirius smiles.

Just then a small toy football whizzes past Sirius’s head.

“Oi!” he yells, turning towards the source of the projectile. “No indoor football!” Then he grins his characteristically wolfish smile. “Not before I get to pick teams! I am host after all.” He grabs you by the wrist, dragging you with him. When you begin to object, he just shushes you with, “Weren’t you just complaining about being bored?”

James comes too, no dragging necessary. You’re surprised to find Remus, usually so responsible, in the midst of the ball game crowd.

You raise an eyebrow at him, and he chuckles, shrugging and telling you, “It’s Sirius’s flat. Do you think we’d even be able to tell if something got damaged?” He looks around at the messy space.

You all start what was initially some kind of football game, but it just devolves into a drunken monkey in the middle situation.

You get stuck in the middle, for frustratingly longer than most. It’s not fair Remus is so tall, and James so athletic. When you’ve finally had enough, you jump at James when he catches the ball, wrapping your arms around him, not even going for the ball.

“Hey!” he yells as he’s laughing. “Ref! Foul!” He shakes you loose, not without a fight from you. “That’s not the game,” he chides you. He lifts the ball high, and you make the mistake of reaching for it, obviously having no chance. “Gotta try better than that.” He hasn’t stopped laughing as you jump up and down like an idiot.

“I give up,” you announce, winded but smiling slightly.

“Such a sore loser,” he teases, ruffling your hair a bit and giving you a gentle playful push.

“Whatever,” you push him back. “I’m thirsty. You want anything?”

“I’m good. Catch up in a sec.”

“‘Kay.”

He throws the ball over your head at a ready Sirius as you weave your way to the kitchen.

You lean on the counter, drinking some water. You look back over toward your silly boyfriend and best friends, who are still playing the game, but your view is mostly blocked by a couple of girls who are also watching the shenanigans. You don’t mean to eavesdrop, but they’re standing very close to you.

“He’s so cute,” says one of them, a strikingly attractive girl in heels that make her a whole head taller than the other girl.

“Why am I not surprised? You have such a specific type,” laughs her friend.

The gorgeous girl just shrugs, owning it with no shame.

Having witnessed your fair share of such reactions, you automatically assume they’re talking about Sirius. You just smile and roll your eyes, used to it.

Soon the boys are over the antics too even though the game continues without them, and they come get some water as well. James stands next to you as he downs his glass. He bumps his shoulder against yours, a common gesture between you.

The girls turn toward your group now, and the especially pretty one says, “Thanks again for inviting us, Sirius. If I’d realized it was going to get so… physical” — she emphasizes the word seductively, as she nods back to where they had just been throwing the ball — “I wouldn’t’ve worn such high heels.” She kicks her foot back a bit, as if to show the heels she’s blaming, but you don’t miss her turn into it, showing off her (amazing) body.

Sirius just grins knowingly, unfazed.

“You could always take them off,” he suggests nonchalantly.

She giggles and retorts, “But they look so good on me.”

You can’t help but think it’s incredible people actually just talk to each other this way. You feel like you’re watching a movie, sure you’d never feel bold enough to say something like that unless the other person knew it was your line. You’d never been particularly good at flirting, and getting together with James since back at school, you hadn’t had the need in a long time. Even with James, though, you’d never talked like this, not back then, not now. You were glad you didn’t feel the need; everything just came naturally when it came to James. He used to make you nervous from how much you liked him, sure, but for years, you’d become completely comfortable with him. The closest you came to flirting was your quite frequent teasing, but you teased Sirius and Remus as well, and they you.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friends?” The girl’s question breaks you from your thoughts, drawing your gaze to her. Her gaze, you come to find, is not on Sirius, but on James. Directly, aggressively on James.

Oh god. Maybe it wasn’t Sirius after all.

“Oh, how rude of me,” Sirius says, typically theatrical. “Lads, this is Jules and…” Jules introduces her friend, but you miss her name as a group of people near you laugh loudly. “And these are my best mates, Remus, James, and Y/N,” he gestures at each of you in turn. “We go back to our school days,” he adds kind of adorably.

“Oh, how cute!” says Jules.

Ok, not that adorably. You cringe internally at her then feel a bit guilty for disliking this girl for very little reason. Well, maybe there was a reason… but it wasn’t one you felt often.

She hasn’t stopped staring at James the whole time, and you steal a glance at him now. He’s pouring himself more water, quite unaffected. He looks at her only when she addresses him directly.

“You were so good at… whatever you all were doing over there,” she giggles. “James. It was James, right?”

Oh please. She obviously remembered.

“Yeah,” James smiles, wiping some water that had condensed around his glass. “Thanks,” he chuckles and shrugs. “Not much competition, though,” he adds teasingly, shoving Sirius on one side of him and splashing your face with the water droplets lingering on his fingers on the other.

“Oh don’t be mean,” she says exaggeratedly, playfully hitting his shoulder.

You are not a fan of how angry such minimal contact makes you.

“I thought you put up a really good fight against someone so tall and clearly athletic,” she says to you, looking back toward James at the end of her sentence.

James just laughs lightly and, turning to you, bumping your shoulder, asks, “What do you think, shortcake? You think you put up a good fight?” His tone is all teasing.

“You two are too cute,” says Jules.

Weird angle for her obvious flirting, you think.

“Is this your sister?” she asks, pointing between the two of you.

Oh god. You are simultaneously mortified and infuriated.

Sirius breaks out laughing, saying, “I told you I bet other people play siblings or dating with you two when we go out.”

James starts saying something, but just then, the ball from the continued game hits the counter right next to you, knocking over a bunch of water glasses and startling you all.

“Alright,” Sirius chuckles. “Maybe enough with this shit.” He grabs the ball and goes to toss it in a closet. James goest to dry his arm where it got splashed. Remus starts cleaning up the mess. A loudly apologetic bloke you don’t know comes over to help.

The slight chaos has moved the conversation away from what was just happening, and you have no idea how to clarify things without being incredibly awkward.

His sister? What the fuck? Did this girl really not mind being a total bitch to get what she wanted or, worse, did she actually think you were siblings? Did you look like siblings to the rest of the world? Should it bother you so much if you did?

You’re reeling, and start thinking back to what could’ve given her that impression. Your stomach sinks at the realization of so much playful bumping, hair ruffling, and the like. You can’t remember kissing James once tonight. Maybe this isn’t out of the ordinary, with your slight aversion to PDA, but not once? You realize also how many of your gestures toward James you’d also done toward Sirius. How much they behaved similarly not just with you but with each other. Oh god. Were you that sisterly?

You panic, reach for a kitchen towel, and start drying your damp boyfriend, getting way too close and speaking way too loudly when you say, “Let me help you with that, baby.”

James is a little taken aback. You never call him baby. In fact, though his calling you pet names is common, the reverse is rare. You usually stick with “Jamie” … or some dumb teasing insult like “loser.”

“Uh, it’s fine,” he chuckles confusedly. “Wasn’t that much.” You nod and put the towel down. “You okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” you say too quickly.

You glance toward Jules to gauge her reaction, but she’s busy also drying off, her friend having gotten the worst of it, and you’re not sure whether she heard you.

“Wanna go sit down? I’m tired,” you tell James, dragging him by the hand, which you don’t let go of even after he’s clearly following you, back to the living room.

You pull him down to the couch, where you proceed to sit way too close to him despite there being more room on your other side and wind your arm under his as you continue to hold his hand. You kiss his cheek as he settles in.

He’s smiling but asks, “What’s with you, love?”

“Nothing,” you say, but your voice sounds off even to you. You kiss him again, and even more confusion seeps into his smile.

You’re trying to think of something “couple-y” to do but come up with absolutely nothing, an awkward air arising between the two of you as you squirm. You literally cannot remember the last time you felt awkward with him, and now you add feeling guilty into the mix. At your insecurities, at your jealousy, at his slight discomfort, you’re not even sure at what, but it’s awful.

“You sure you’re alright, sweetheart? You’re all tense, and I’m pretty sure I’ve lost circulation in my hand at this point,” he chuckles. You notice your grip is vice-like.

His tone is light, but yours is not as you snap, “I’m just holding your hand. I’m your girlfriend; that shouldn’t be weird.”

His smile fades quickly as he answers, “Uh… I didn’t say it was weird, Y/N. Just too tight?” It sounds like a question, but that’s probably just because he seems very confused overall.

“Right. Sorry.” Your voice is much softer now as you let go of his hand.

“It’s fine. Obviously. I just… Um…” He’s searching for what to say, wanting to comfort you but unsure what you even needed comforting from. He opts for just reaching for your hand again, straining a smile though his eyebrows remain in a confused furrow.

“You wanna go disorganize Sirius’s beloved record collection?” he asks mischievously.

“No, not really,” you say softly, not feeling like a prank right now even though you usually did.

“Um, ok.” James looks a bit awkward. “You hungry?”

“No.”

“Right.” A silence. “Let’s just sit here then,” he says, probably a bit more sarcastically than intended.

“Is that so bad? Do we always have to be doing something for me to be fun?” you shoot, standing up. “Why don’t you go find Sirius or Remus, James. I’m sure it won’t even make a difference.” You turn away angrily, but he follows you up quickly and stops you.

“Whoah, what’s up, shortcake?” he asks, eyes wide.

“Don’t call me that. It sounds like you’re teasing your little sister.”

You see something in his eyes at the word “sister,” but you turn and keep trying to walk away before you have time to really analyse it.

James is following you but he has to weave between a group of people you managed to avoid, so you get to the bathroom before he catches up. He knocks a second later.

“Y/N? Can we talk please?” You don’t say anything. “Come on, Y/N. Let me in. Or you come out.” You lean against the door but still don’t say anything.

“I just want to know you’re okay,” he says more softly this time.

“I’m fine,” you say, softly too. “I just need a second, okay? I’ll be out in a minute.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, just give me a minute.”

“Alright, love, but just come back quick, alright?”

You’re not even really sure what you’re doing in here. You just need to collect yourself, you guess. You fiddle with some stuff on the sink then find yourself looking in the mirror.

An ugly thought arises, and you hate it, trying to push it away. It comes back anyway.

She’s much prettier than me…

That distorted inner voice doesn’t stop there.

And better at being a girl.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you whisper out loud to yourself. “Completely ridiculous.”

You wash your hands even though you haven’t used the toilet, shaking your head, your gaze fixed on your hands. Then you go back out into the party.

James is across the room, talking to Remus, but staring at the door you just came out of. As soon as he sees you, he pats Remus on the shoulder, saying something quickly, and starts moving toward you.

He’s stopped in the middle of the room by a perfectly manicured hand on his chest. It’s attached to Jules, of course, and your glare hardens. You’re too far away to hear what she says to him, her hand lingering on him.

James shakes his head a bit at whatever she’s saying, his eyes coming back toward you quickly. He gives her a glance again and a nod then his hand comes to her shoulder. You’re eyes are glued to where they connect, and so your gaze follows the motion of James’s hand gently pushing her body aside. A moment later, it detaches as he continues walking toward you. You haven’t moved when he reaches you.

“Hey,” he says simply.

“Hi,” you return. You look away from his face, shy and confused about what to tell him.

His hand gently guides your chin back up, and you lose yourself in his beautiful eyes for a second. He gives you his warmest smile, and you give him a pitiful but sincere one back.

“You wanna talk about what the hell just happened?” he laughs lightly.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you try. You’re not sure you want it to be, but you’re too embarrassed to explain and would take any option that meant you didn’t have to.

“Actually, it wasn’t,” he chuckles. “When you got weird, I thought it was just because you didn’t want to come tonight,” he starts. “But I still didn’t understand the specific… I don’t know, kind? of weird you got.” His lips quirk into a teasing-adjacent smile here, but your face immediately contorts in embarrassment. You cover it with your hand, but James quickly removes yours with his. “Hey, hey, no, sorry. I’m sorry. It’s alright, lovely.” He caresses your hand he’s still holding. “I’m not teasing, okay?” He smiles at you, and you just keep watching him, but your face relaxes a bit. “Then,” he exhales dramatically, “Remus asked me how you reacted to that girl flirting with me right in front of you then calling you my sister.” He grimaces.

Thank God for Remus, you think, the only emotionally aware man you’ve ever met.

“I hadn’t noticed the first part, sweetheart,” James adds. “The flirting part, I mean. I’m sorry, pretty girl. I mean, she didn’t know I had a girlfriend — clearly — but I would’ve just told her I did if that ball hadn’t hit us.”

“She was really into you,” you say before thinking, unsure where that’s supposed to take the conversation.

“Was she? Huh.” He sounds slightly amused, but you know he’s acting to amuse you.

“You really couldn’t tell?” you ask him. There’s disbelief in your voice, but you’re smiling a bit at him. He takes a step closer to you.

“I mean, I guess in retrospect, it makes sense,” he says honestly. “But I guess I’m out of practice,” he laughs. “And more importantly, I don’t care who’s really into me because I’m really into you, you silly girl.”

You exhale, your heart warming and most of your heavy emotions leaving you. You squeeze his hand, and shaking your head at yourself, bring it to rest on his chest. James chuckles into your hairline, kissing the top of your head and holding it close, his fingers interweaving into your hair.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, your mouth squished against him.

You can feel him shake his head since he’s resting it on yours.

“No need,” he smiles. “I’m sorry. Was quite daft.” You laugh into his chest. You wipe away a tiny tear you’d been about to shed then rest your hand on his chest. The image reminds you, and you jolt upright, looking into his face again. He looks startled but amused.

“What?”

“What was she saying to you? Just now?” You nod toward where they’d been talking. He laughs a full laugh.

“She was telling me we should ditch this get together and go to her place.” He wiggles his eyebrows goofily.

“Jamieee,” you scold, smacking his chest. He grabs hold of your hand and holds it to his heart, thumb caressing the back of it. His other hand still at the nape of your neck.

“She was telling me,” he leans in conspiratorially, “‘sorry for not realizing your girlfriend was your girlfriend,’” he chuckles again. “I guess your little show worked afterward.”

“And what’d you say?”

“Does it matter?” It’s not harsh; he’s all warmth now. Knowing him, you realize he probably just doesn’t see the point of lingering.

“I just want to know,” you say.

“I said I didn’t care and it was fine or something.” He shrugs. “Can’t remember my exact words. Had more important things — a more important person — on my mind, to be honest.” He smiles at you. You smile back.

“I love you,” you tell him.

“I love you too,” he replies with a laugh as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “So much,” he adds, a bit more seriously, and kisses your forehead.

You just stand there, close to each other, your head back on his chest, his arms around you, for a few moments.

Then, leaning back to look at his face, you ask seriously, “Do you really?”

He looks confused by your question, its sincerity. “Of course I do. I adore you. You don’t know that?” His question has more than a tinge of hurt under it.

“No,” you chuckle. But before he can get the wrong idea, you quickly continue, “Of course I know that.” You smile earnestly, and he seems comforted. “I mean, do you really not care? That she couldn’t tell I was your girlfriend?” Your voice grows softer and softer as you ask, and it’s a mere whisper by the end.

“No, sweetheart,” he smiles. “I don’t. I know. And you know. Who cares what other people think?”

“I did,” you scold yourself. “I’m sorry I got so weird. I just… I got really insecure about being just like Sirius or Remus to you. I know I’m just one of you in some ways —“

He cuts you off, “Yeah, baby, you’re one of us in some ways, but not in every way. The four of us, we have something special,” he nods. “But the two of us, we have something special too.” He tightens your embrace. “Seriously special. Yeah, we’re… what? friendly? sometimes. But, darling, you are not like Sirius or Remus to me.” He brings his hand to your face, caressing your cheek. “For starters, I don’t want to kiss Sirius or Remus, and they’re pretty good looking blokes,” he jokes. “And I don’t want to tell them about every single thing that makes me smile — just a lot of them — and about everything important in my life. I don’t need to make sure they’re happy and safe absolutely all of the time. I don’t feel warm and happy to be alive every time I look at them, and I don’t love cuddling with them at night, waking up to them in the morning. Not to even mention the other things that happen in that bed…” Now you laugh too.

“Yeah,” you nod, getting convinced.

“Yeah?” he pushes.

“Yeah,” you say certainly.

“Good.”

You hum a warm assent.

“Now what do you say we ditch this get together and go back to our place?”

You roll your eyes at him but laugh as you nod.

“Yeah, let’s go home.”

He’s nodding as he shifts his arm across your shoulders, kissing the top of your head and continuing to hold you close as you walk toward Sirius and Remus to say goodbye.

“Leaving already?” Sirius complains, teasing you about being antisocial and lame.

“Sorry, mate, but I really want to cuddle up with my girlfriend right now, and this doesn’t seem like the best place for that.”

“Ugh, so cheesy, Prongs. Just leave already,” he says, feigning disgust and pushing James away.

“Good night, gorgeous,” Sirius tells you, kissing your cheek carelessly like he’s done a million times. Similar words, similar gestures, yes, you think, but they don’t feel the same at all. You smile.

“Good night, Siri,” you say. You and James hug Remus too.

James puts his arm back around you as you go to leave. You smile up at him, then, mischief in your eyes, you push him away and walk faster.

“You’re all sweaty, Potter. Gross.” He laughs and play chases you all the way out the door.

Once you’re on the other side of it, enveloped by the welcoming quiet privacy of the night, he catches up to you and pulls you to him. You resist for only a moment, your laughter intermingling with his, then you melt into his embrace.

“C’mere, gorgeous,” James huffs, kissing you ardently. “Can’t wait to get home with you,” he whispers before kissing you again.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter oneshot #james potter fanfic #james potter fluff #james potter angst #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #sirius black #remus lupin #marauders #marauder x reader #marauders fanfic #harry potter fanfic #established relationship

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jupitercomet · 5 months

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The Highly Anticipated Bacherolette Party

summary - Living in a new apartment, you run into your neighbor all the time. You run into him in the hallway, on the elevator, at your best friend's bachelorette party where he's dressed as a sexy firefighter. After seeing him in nothing but a pair spandex briefs and suspenders, you know have to move. Or sleep with him. One of the two.

warnings - stripper au, tangled dynamic, language, no use of y/n, mentions of drinking, stripping, sexual touching?? idk, Bradley is 6'7" because I said so, chapter specific

this blog is 18+, minors please do not interact

word count - 3.3k

so seductive masterlist

“You’re not allergic to sesame, are you?”

You perk up when Bradley calls to you over his shoulder, raising his voice slightly to be heard above the sizzling pan in his hand. The scent of teriyaki steak wafts through the room and you know Pascal is completely jealous of you right now. Not that you blame him, you also didn’t expect to be waiting comfortably on a couch as your incredibly hot neighbor cooks food for you.

You wet your lips, ignoring the slight sting as you take in his question. You’d lost your chapstick somewhere on your walk to work and haven’t found the time to get another one so, for the moment, your lips are paying for it. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” Bradley narrows his eyes at you, turning down the heat as you start to take up more of his attention.

“I mean, to my knowledge, I don’t have one,” you shrug. “I haven’t really thought about it. But I’m not dead yet, so—”

You bite back a grin when Bradley lets out a scoff, placing an exasperated hand on his hip as a dish towel stays thrown over his shoulder. He looks like an overworked housewife in the best way, lips pursed as he glares at you. “Princess, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I genuinely have no idea how you’ve survived this long,” he starts and then you can’t stop yourself from giggling, doubling over on the couch as Bradley’s expression quickly shifts to confusion and then amused understanding. “You’re messing with me,” he concludes.

“I am,” you agree through your laughter.

“You’re ridiculous,” Bradley shakes his head fondly, turning back to the kitchen to start plating the food. “More ridiculous than Ms. Tillard.”

Your jaw drops. “No, I’m not! Bradley, she tried to get you to fix her shower at 2:00 in the morning!”

“Don’t forget the skimpy bathrobe,” Bradley adds, making his way over to you and popping a bite of broccoli in his mouth.

He plops down directly next to you, large bicep brushing against yours as he settles and hands you your plate of teriyaki steak. You thank him for it quietly, before delving back into the conversation at hand.

“Exactly, I’m not worse than her. I’ve never done that.”

“Hey now, I never said I’d be mad if you did that,” Bradley corrects you quickly, a smug smile on his face when you visibly fluster.

You shove his shoulder with a roll of your eyes, trying to hide how heated your face is. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m just saying, princess,” Bradley holds his hands up (well, one hand. The hand that’s not busy holding his plate raises with his fork in between his fingers) with a cheeky grin. “If you ever want to wake me up in the middle of the night, wearing lingerie and telling me deeply intimate stories about your ex husband, I would not object in the slightest.”

While the thought of Bradley openly admiring you in lingerie has you hot for a whole different reason, you ignore the feeling, shrugging off his words with a humorless chuckle. “Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t have an ex husband. That would require me to have, you know, dated someone.”

The words come out more awkward than you mean them to, perhaps the definition of oversharing now that you think about it, and you wish that you could take them back as soon as they leave your mouth. If Bradley agrees, he doesn’t say anything, instead his eyes almost seem to darken and then he’s looking away from you and shoving a carrot in his mouth.

You follow his lead, finally digging into the food in front of you. The second it reaches your taste buds, you let out a sound of delight. “Bradley, this is so good!” You take another bite hastily.

Bradley’s cooking abilities had been a surprise to you the first time you finally came over. Actually, everything about the encounter had been a bit of a surprise. You hadn’t entirely known what to expect when you and Bradley finally set a concrete date and time to hangout. The two of you had been toying around it over text, which you felt much more comfortable communicating on in the beginning. It was so much easier to get your words out clearly without having to also look at his cute face.

But maybe the two of you had grown too comfortable with small talk you could respond to at your convenience or, as Callie had so nicely put it, both stupidly thought you’d mess up a face-to-face interaction. (Which you had valid reasons for, but Callie refused to hear it). With a push from her and a motivational talk with Pascal, you and Bradley finally made the plans that would require you to walk approximately five feet from your front door.

You were nervous, of course you were. You like to think that Bradley was a little nervous too—with the way he opened the door before you could even knock and the light flush on his face that never seemed to quite go away. Was he as nervous as you suddenly became when you caught sight of the open door to his bedroom and were reminded of all the things you know he does in said bedroom? Maybe not, but he was nervous for a moment and you take some pride in that.

The two of you sat on opposite ends of the couch and stiffly talked about things like the weather, before Bradley offered to make some food and that was when you first learned that he was an excellent chef. Cooking seemed to put Bradley in his element, making him more relaxed, and his easygoingness resulted in you relaxing a bit more too. The two of you fell back into how it was over text and, while laughing with him over some gossip about one of your other neighbors, you realized that Callie had been right. Maybe the two of you had just been a little scared.

After that, you and Bradley started seeing each other more regularly. You have standing dinners every Saturday, though often see each other far more throughout the week. If Bradley had a long day, he’d send you a quick text and leave the door unlocked for you. If you had a long day, you’d just show up unannounced.

You’re sure that your mother and father would have an aneurysm if they knew about your friendship with the man. He was everything you were taught to avoid growing up and also somewhat of a stranger (the first time you met him, at least). He cursed, and told vulgar jokes, and hadn’t gone to college. And part of you worried that you were so interested in Bradley as a way to spite your parents about the sheltered upbringing they forced upon you, but you knew in your heart that wasn’t true.

Bradley’s a good person, you know that. And you know that anything your dad thinks about him is entirely false because there’s not just one way to be a good person. You’re not sure what you grew up thinking even makes you a good person. Because Bradley is kind and funny, he carries your groceries and makes you laugh when you’ve had a bad day. He helps you with things you don’t totally understand, like talking to your landlord or building IKEA furniture. He does all that because that’s just the kind of person he is, you’ve learned, a good person. And your family—your father especially—would never do something like that. So what exactly does that say about you?

You feel a thick finger press gently into your temple.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Bradley teases. “Care to share with the class, princess?”

You purse your lips, embarrassed to have been caught falling into this spiral that you find yourself in often. You don’t really want to ruin the mood of the night and you feel as though you’ve overshared enough. Talking to Bradley has really shown you just how privileged you are and if your biggest problem is simply morality maybe you shouldn’t be talking at all.

Bradley’s face softens as he must read something across your features. He moves his hand again, but instead of poking you, he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “Or you could tell me how Callie’s wedding planning is going.”

He’s giving you an out and you smile softly. Bradley’s a good person.

“It’s good,” you say and you take another bite of food because it’s delicious. “I can’t believe how close it’s getting.”

“Have you finished planning the bachelorette party?” Bradley asks.

“Oh.” You deflate. “I’m actually not planning that.” You try to shrug it off, though you’ve never been good at that, so you’re sure it’s not successful.

From your peripheral, you see Bradley furrow his brows. “You’re the maid of honor though.”

“Yeah, I— One of Callie’s work friends really wanted to plan it and I was busy moving at the time. Plus I’m not super knowledgeable about that stuff. Everyone thought it would be easier.” You shrug.

It’s silent for a moment as Bradley sets down his plate and you fear you might have overshared again. “You can plan my bachelorette party,” he offers suddenly.

The words catch you off guard and you can’t stop the giggles that suddenly spill from your lips. “What?”

“You heard me,” Bradley shoots you a lopsided smile. “You can plan my bachelorette party. We can wear those sashes and everything can be dick shaped. Just—” He grins. “No strippers please.”

Your jaw drops. “Strippers? Bradley, don’t be crass.”

“It’s settled then,” Bradley teases and then he’s patting your knee. “Now finish your food, I know you didn’t have lunch today.”

How Bradley knows that, you have no idea, but you’re sure your guilty expression confirms it and you quickly start digging in again, giving him a sheepish smile as your cheeks puff out with food. He just snorts at your expression, picking up his food again with a shake of his head.

“Ridiculous,” he reiterates and you grin.

Regardless of what’s actually right and wrong in the world, at least you know that Bradley Bradshaw is a good person.

You feel like a football player with how many drunk girls you’re dodging and weaving through—or at least, this is what you imagine football players feel like, maybe it takes more than just barreling through intoxicated women and dodging off-rhythm elbows. Finally, you make it to Callie with an over dramatic sigh of relief as you plop down next to her on the vinyl upholstery of your booth.

Callie’s work friend Lucy had gone all out for her bachelorette party, renting out a private room at a popular club and providing you all with copious amounts of alcohol. Callie seems to be having the time of her life, wearing her white bride sash across her body proudly and a cute tiara that’s sliding off her head. You’re dressed similarly—though your sash is pink—and you can feel the combs of your tiara just above your ears. All and all, everyone seems to be having a good time and you’re happy that it turned out this way because you doubt you could have pulled off anything near this.

When Callie catches your thoughtful expression, she wraps her arm around yours, pushing a shot towards you. “You are not drunk enough,” she tells you knowingly, collapsing all her weight onto you.

You take the shot quickly, wincing at the taste, holding up the shot glass as if to prove it to Callie. “And you may be too drunk,” you note, noticing the way she’s resting her head on your shoulder. “Do you want me to get you some water?”

“No!” Callie stops you quickly, perking up suddenly before pushing at you to let you both out of the booth. “Lucy said she has a surprise in our private room and, as my maid of honor, you legally can’t miss this.”

You laugh as Callie drags you through the crowd of people dancing, faring much better than you did, but you’d always known she’d be a better football player out of the two of you. “What? You gonna sue me or something?”

“Why do you think I’m marrying Billy? It’s so I can sue you whenever I feel like it.” Though drunk, Callie comes up with the quip quickly and you shake your head with a giggle as she shoves you into the private room.

Most of your party is already inside, all about as drunk as Callie, watching as Lucy clears the few tables in the room and drags two chairs into an open space.

“Callie!” She lights up when she sees the bride-to-be and for the second time tonight, you’re being dragged by a drunk woman. “And maid of honor! You totally need to be here too.”

Before you can ask any questions, Lucy is pressing on your shoulders—and for such a small woman, she is strong—causing you to plop into one of the empty chairs as Callie sits in the other one.

Lucy claps excitedly. “Okay! Just stay like that, alright? They should be here any second.”

“They?” You turn your head to Callie slowly, but your best friend just shrugs.

It takes another minute of sitting in a chair in the middle of an almost empty room before you’re ready to start asking questions again and you open your mouth, but the words die on your tongue when the lights suddenly dim and color changing stage lights take their place, moving over the room slowly. Lucy squeals as the door to the room opens and… is that a fog machine?

“Hot in Herre” suddenly starts blasting through the speakers and then three men are entering the room clad in thick jackets and— Did someone call the fire department?

One of the fire fighters stops in the middle of the room, scanning you all with a smirk on his face and there’s something about him that’s strangely familiar. The music dies down a bit as he struts around the room.

“We’re here about the fire.” Your eyebrows jump in alarm. Fire?! If there’s a fire, why are these guys just standing there? “But the only hot stuff I’m seeing is you ladies,” he continues before turning to his compatriot. “Wouldn’t you say so, Coyote?”

The other guy—Coyote—grins, locking eyes with Lucy. “Definitely.”

It’s not until one of your friends shouts “Take your clothes off!” that you realize what’s going on and you whip your head to look at Callie in a panic. “Oh my god, they’re strippers?”

“Bitch, what did you think they were?” She laughs and you’re too embarrassed to admit you honestly thought they were a part of the San Diego Fire Department so you just keep your mouth shut.

…For approximately one second, when your brain finally pieces together something else. “Wait,” you whisper hiss, gesturing to the chair you’re sitting on. “Are they gonna give us lap dances?!”

Before Callie can answer, Firefighter number one grabs your attention again, the song switching to something you don’t recognize—though it’s still fire related, you’re sure. “Well, if we’re here… Why don’t we give you ladies a show?”

The room erupts in cheers and suddenly the lights are blinding and all three men are ripping off their jackets to reveal spandex briefs, suspenders, and baby oiled abdominals. The rest of your party looks elated at this development, but you’re sure your face shows nothing short of horror because you finally realize where you’ve seen Firefighter number one from. He was the blond guy from the elevator that was heading over to Bradley’s place that day you and Bradley talked for the second time. And Coyote, you recognize him too! He was also there. And the third guy—

Oh no.

No, this can not be happening.

“Where’s the bride, huh?” Firefighter number one smirks, directing his attention to you and Callie who are both frozen in your chairs. “Hey, sweetheart. Aren’t you a pretty thing?”

Firefighter number one seemed focused on Callie, and Coyote had already moved to entertain the rest of your friends, and Lucy had sat you down in a chair which meant that she expected you to also… interact with the strippers, and the only one left was—

You duck your head down quickly, hoping the darkness of the room can hide your features from Bradley as he makes his way over to you. Suddenly all you can think about is his voice through your wall the first night you moved in. Would he sound like that now? What if he called you a good girl? How could you come back from that?!

Bradley’s deep chuckle cuts off your thoughts and you have to hold your breath because he’s now close enough that you’re making the choice between making direct eye contact with either his abs or his… package. “Shy, honey?” He questions softly and your thighs clench.

You’re not strong enough for this. You’re not strong enough for this. You’re not strong enough for this. You’re not strong enough—

To your right, Callie is pretending to throw money on her stripper with a loud cackle, having a much better time than you as you try to figure out how to get through this interaction without Bradley realizing that he’s strip-teasing his neighbor.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Bradley’s voice is raspy as he gently takes your hand and slides it across his defined muscles. “We can do this nice and slow…”

Inside you’re screaming, but you know you can’t say anything because then he’d definitely recognize you. Instead, you keep your eyes trained on his massive thighs, teeth clamped down on your tongue as he drags your hand over his bare chest. He pauses this exploration suddenly, reaching his other hand up to fix the tiara you’ve long since forgotten about.

“This is cute. You a princess or something?”

Your eyes widen at the name and you shake your head vigorously, eyes now trained on his shoes. He can’t recognize you!

Bradley laughs are your reaction. “Alright, alright. Not a princess, got it. But since you’re answering questions now…” His grip on your hand suddenly tightens and he leans over to whisper, “You like touchin’ me here?” He emphasizes the words with another stroke of your hand over his abdomen.

You know you should shake your head. That would get Bradley to stop touching you and maybe you could get through the whole thing without him realizing that it’s you. But his voice so close to your ear does something to you and you find yourself nodding meekly.

“What about here?” He whispers, dragging your hand down over the curves and dips of his abs until your fingers are brushing the waistband of his shorts. “You like touching me here?”

You can only nod again.

“Yeah, you do, huh?” Bradley chuckles against your ear. His hand feels so big compared to yours and he just keeps dragging it down with such dominance, you can’t help but follow whatever he decides. His hand—and, as a result, yours—stops suddenly. “What about here?” Bradley smirks, his voice heavy.

When you realize what you’re holding, your eyes widen and, without thinking, you whip your head up to look at Bradley in shock. One of the colored lights flashes over you and Bradley’s hand freezes and then falls from where it was pressed against yours. His own eyes widen, his face still mere inches from yours as his mouth opens and closes a couple times.

“Princess?”

join my Bradley Bradshaw taglist here or follow my library @jupitercometgold

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! thank you for reading!

Bradley taglist:

@parrish-will-perrish

@bobblebobsbae

@takemetooneverlanddd

@queerqueenlynn

@emma8895eb

@averyhotchner

@shanimallina87

@yuckosworld

@rosedurin

@thatdammchickennugget

@sailor-aviator

@kmc1989

@desert-fern

@sammyrenae68

@cottagecori

@sailor-aviator

@thelonelyumbrella

#bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw imagines #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic #rooster imagine #rooster imagines #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster fanfiction #rooster fic #top gun maverick imagines #top gun maverick fanfiction #x reader #so seductive #buggy's got a pen

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gummilutt · 3 months

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250 followers Custom Memory Bonanza

It's finally time! To thank all you lovely people for your support, I have been working hard to get this ready for upload and here we are. Today I am sharing my custom memory object, and my library of a whopping 201 custom memories. Based on the wonderful Tattered Diary by DiLight over on MTS, and the tutorial she shared of how to make your own custom memories.

I've always cared a lot about memories, to me they tell the story of the Sims life. Some of you from MTS may recall when I did the whole several year rebuild of my hood, replicating every last detail of the original. I'm memory crazy, okay? And when DiLight gave me the power to make my own, I may have gone a tad overboard. Or just the right amount, you get to decide :P DiLight taught me most of what I know about making custom memories, and the base BHAVs are from her, but as I've learned more I've added some bells and whistles that I hope you will enjoy. It's a new clone and separate GUID from the original tutorial object set up by DiLight, so if you have your own you can have mine too without issues :) Found in misc/misc, costs 1 simoleon.

Download on simfileshare

Features - Brand new form, created by me. Resized BV photo album with new mapping and new texture (seen above, in game pictures at the end of this post). I wanted something that was uniquely mine, and that you don't necessarily have to hide away in the attic or under the foundation. If you don't like it, you also have some additional model forms you can switch between through the pie menu. - Adaptable dynamic menu. Thanks to a really neat trick from @picknmixsims the menu reflects the memories you put in your downloads. If no file with the correct guid is found, the option for it won't show. Which means that although I am crazy enough to have 201, you can go ahead and only pick your favorite ones and the object will automatically detect and adapt the menu to that selection. - Memories all have a custom icon, that's made from game icons from TS2 or TS3. Some I am quite proud of, some are admittedly not great. Not everything is easy to convey through game icons, but I've tried my best, I hope the effort shows. 5 memories have icons that are not from the game, but I tried to match them to the aesthetic as best I could. - Memory subject menu shows only relevant age groups. For example, if the memory is about having a baby, only baby/toddler Sims will show as options. Goal being to keep menu as concise as possible. If you wish to assign memories retroactively, please see jonasn's excellent Memory Commander object, which has support to add my custom memories without age limitations. As well as a whole lot of other useful memory-related stuff. - Extensive documentation detailing everything you may need to know about the memories (text, icon, background, who can get it, who they can get it about, repeatability, where to find it on the object) to help you select the ones you want for your game, and familiarize yourself with them. - English and Swedish translations of memories, and object menu. If someone wants to add their language, that would be great but it's a lot of work so I don't expect it. You are welcome to share your translated versions directly if you wish, or you can send them to me for me to update files shared here :) If you want to learn how to translate the files directly, Episims has a great tutorial found here.

Examples of types of custom memories included - Extended family members memories (got cousin, got aunt/uncle, got sibling, got twin sibling, got great grandchild, got stepparent, got stepchild) - Birth related memories (pregnancy, becoming parent, late in life parent, had multiples birth, premature baby) - Marriage related memories (divorce, parental divorce, custody things, alimony) - Relationship related memories (fighting, breakups, additional love memories) - Woohoo related (memories for specific woohoo locations, repeatable generic woohoo/public woohoo) - University degree related (declared major memories, got a minor degree memories, got a major degree memories, for remembering having studied multiple things and being able to see what major your Sim chose without looking at their diploma) - Loan related, for remembering taking and paying off loans of different types - Moving memories (first apartment, child moves out, various memories for sims moving in with others) - Kids related (child's first day in school, got their own pet, nursery rhyme, giving up for adoption, living at orphanage)

Mods automating delivery of my CC memories (more to come) Learned nursery rhyme from - Found here, by me Wrote restaurant guide - Found here, part of jonasn "Novel Writing Improvements" mod

Credits: DiLight, @picknmixsims, @morepopcorn, @latmosims, @joplayingthesims, maxon, @keoni-chan. For detailed info on how they all impacted the creation of this, see readme :) Policy: Give credit to DiLight, beyond that, totally open. Enjoy!

#gummiluttmods #ts2 mods #ts2 gameplay #ts2 cc #ts2 custom memories #gummi memories

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mistydeyes · 8 months

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cold coffee and sloppy notes

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summary: As the 141 returns home, they're always more than happy to support their favorite student as you work towards your degree.

pairing: Task Force 141 x student!civ!Reader

warnings: none :) all fluff

a/n: i thought this was fitting as i'm now officially back in school! good luck to everyone who is also heading back and feel free to reach out if you need any help or just want to destress :)

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price - defending your thesis

"How's it going in here, love?" John asked as he entered the living room. He observed the TV that had your thesis defense presentation and the collection of papers and notecards on the table. "It's…okay?" you said, almost questionably. In fact, it was not okay. You had gone over your presentation to the fictional group of panelists thousands of times but always tripped up on your words. He could sense your distress and enveloped you in a comforting hug. "Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked as he rubbed your back lightly. "I don't know," you mumbled, "I just need to get this presentation down." He took a step back and made his way to the couch. "Then present it to me, and I'll give you some feedback."

“Good morning panelists,” you began nervously as you clasped your hands together. “Take a deep breath,” John corrected and you sighed before taking a seat next to him. He placed a comforting arm around your shoulder before you leaned into his side. “What if they don’t approve of my research?” you shakily spoke as your mind flooded with the possibility. You had spent 4 years researching this topic and the only thing in between you and your doctorate was your thesis defense. “Well you can’t go in like that,” he advised, “researchers can smell fear.” You lightly punched his shoulder as you both laughed. “I’m serious!” you exclaimed, “What if they tell me I wasted all these years?” You sighed again and he placed a gentle hand on your cheek. “You’re the expert on this topic, you just have to show them that,” he reassured and you smiled back to his soft gaze. You spent a few moments like this before getting up again and trying to go through your presentation.

You looked down at the coffee table of notes before John snatched them in his hand. He held them gently in his lap before looking back at you. You were about to object when he placed a finger to his mouth. “Love, if you keep a script then you’re going to sound like wet cardboard,” he explained as your face twisted in a mix of emotions, “I doubt they’d want to sit through another boring defense.” You took a moment to compose yourself before he gestured for you to start again. “Good morning panelists,” you repeated, with more vigor than the last time, “I am Y/N, a Ph.D. candidate in the Department of…” Even if tomorrow you left as a candidate, you knew that you would have John’s unwavering support through it all.

soap - mathematics work

As you lay on the loveseat with Johnny, you groaned loudly. You stomped your feet childishly on his lap which caught his attention. He looked up from his phone as you frustratingly erased at the paper. "You alright?" he asked and you shook your head. This assignment for your maths class had taken you hours and you still could not figure it out. The words on the page began to blend together and you were at a loss of where to start. "I don't understand why I took a maths class," you mumbled and put your forearms above your head. Soap patted your leg reassuringly before trying to peek a look at your notebook. "Let me take a look," he offered and you couldn't help but laugh.

“Thanks, babe but I don’t know if you can help,” you said, chewing on the end of your pencil. “Try me,” he joked as he looked at you. Deciding it didn't hurt to let him try, you threw over your notebook with impossible equations and problem sets. You took the time to check your phone and take a break from your calculations. After a few moments of him thinking out loud and throwing out various “hmmmms” and “I sees,” you sighed as if you were wasting his time. You were about to take the notebook back when he hit a eureka moment. “Pencil me,” he commanded and you passed it over to him. After a few more scribbles and mental math, he presented you with the solution. “Here ya go,” he said smiling and you couldn’t believe he found an answer. Your eyes scanned over the sloppy handwriting but you were able to see it followed the equation you had learned and the answer was reasonable.

“How-how did you do that?” you asked as you looked over his work. You hoped it was correct but we’re at a loss for his sudden stroke of genius. “‘m more than just a pretty face,” he joked and you pushed you eyed him suspiciously. “I’m serious, Johnny.” “Think ‘bout it, my job is all about maths,” he explained, “demolitions is about figuring out how much ya need, how big the building is, and where the pressure points are.” You shook your head in disbelief. He was right after all, geometry was so integral to many professions even if you didn’t enjoy it. "Thank you," you smiled and leaned forward to give him a quick kiss, "might just ask for your help on all my assignments."

gaz - studying

Kyle returned from the kitchen with two cups of tea, surprised to find you had overtaken the living room floor with your textbooks, notes, and electronics. You had been at it for hours now and Kyle was more than happy to make dinner and clean your flat while you worked. The room was filled with a mix of classical music and lo-fi beats. Somewhere in there, he could've sworn he heard the Coconut Mall theme song. "Hey, you," he called and you looked up at him. He noticed the bags around your eyes as you pushed back your blue light glasses. "How's it going," you weakly asked and motioned for him to sit. You shuffled a few papers around on the couch behind you as he maneuvered through the mess.

He placed your favorite cup of tea down on the glass table before settling on the comfortable seat. You sipped it gently and savored the taste. "Decaf?" you asked, looking back at him, and he nodded. "I don't think you need more caffeine," he chided as you rolled your eyes in response. "I just have so much to do," you replied before looking back down at your organized mess. You always dreaded finals season and would procrastinate studying until the last week. Despite having copious amounts of notes, you were at a loss to remember all the material asked of you. You wished there were more hours in the day to study.

“Love, you should rest,” Kyle gently suggested as he put a hand on your shoulder. You leaned back into his touch, groaning at the eye strain and the now persistent headache. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” you whispered, trying to overcome your anxiety and disappointment in your lackluster study habits. Kyle massaged your shoulders as you closed your eyes. “We’ll wake up early tomorrow and I can help you study in one of those cafes you love,” he offered and you nodded with a smile on your face. As you relaxed into his soothing motions, he stopped before cupping your tired face. “Let’s go to bed and start again tomorrow, yeah?” you again nodded, this time eyes heavy with sleep, before you followed him to bed.

ghost - reading and revising

When you were nose-deep in a textbook heavier than his tac vest, Simon knew to vacate the room. You were a model student and Simon would always let you know when he returned home. While you loved seeing your boyfriend, you also enjoyed his clean flat without any flatmates. You’d often lug your materials to his and request a table to organize everything. After five minutes, Simon would walk by to see you with a stack of textbooks to your side and your iPad propped up in the center of the oak table. He also noted the sticky tabs and highlighters organized by some unknown hierarchy delicately placed in arms reach. You were your own tour-de-force and with your large headphones, it was only you and your revisions in this world.

Simon didn't mind the peaceful atmosphere. It often allowed him time to clean his flat from the accumulating dust or exercise in his bedroom. "Just tell me if I'm being too loud," he'd whisper before you put on your headphones, tuning out the world. He would leave you until you finished or you found him in another room. It was a functional routine and Simon enjoyed it. This time, you had a large exam coming up and Simon had run out of errands and chores to do. As he entered the room with some paperwork in hand, you nodded in approval before returning to your work. Every so often, he would look over at your hunched-over figure and smile to himself.

Eventually, as the sun began to set, Simon decided to return to the paperwork another day. He closed up the manila envelopes before stretching slightly and making his way to the door. He was pondering what to order for dinner when he heard you take off your headphones. “Can you stay?” you said, barely over a whisper and Simon stopped in his tracks. He looked over to you but your eyes remained trained on the minuscule font. “You want me to stay?” he questioned as he walked back over to the couch. As he reclined himself on the seat, you looked up. “If you don’t mind,” you smiled, “your presence is reassuring.” Simon let out a soft chuckle at your explanation. It wasn’t every day someone told him he was a comforting presence in the room. "I can stay for few," he replied, "but we're getting dinner in an hour and you're taking a break." He laughed as you shooed him away with your hand before returning to your productive state. Simon closed his eyes and rested, knowing you wouldn't mind. Hopefully, your headphones were loud enough to drown out his snoring.

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marzipanandminutiae · 2 months

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[taps microphone] so here are some 1980s-90s songs that aren't technically "about vampires" but which are in fact about vampires.

(I have not included actual Goth Music because that would be low-hanging fruit)

I Would Do Anything For Love (Meatloaf)

Walking on Broken Glass (Annie Lennox)

Total Eclipse of the Heart (Bonnie Tyler- shhh yes I know about the failed Nosferatu musical)

All Coming Back To Me Now (Pandora's Box)

The World Is Not Enough (Garbage)

feel free to add more. I am objectively correct. thank you

#music #vampires #1980s #1990s

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

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Clown Talk

Yandere Crime Harem + G.N Clown TV-Showhost Reader

Extortion. Aggravated Assault. Murder.

The list went on for the royal who had it all, and lost almost everything in one night.

A well respected and charitable figure in their community, it was a shock to the masses to see local casino owner, and frequent donor to hospitals framed on the five o'clock news for misconduct. Anyone with a good head on their shoulders and a realistic outlook on the world could see straight through the facade. Beneath that mask was a monster - every good deal that person ever committed a cover for their true goals.

Those they had helped plead their innocence. Those they had wronged tied their noose. The documents leaked to the public would tell which party was correct, wiped clean from history before the victor could be declared. Read aloud in court, each word marked a new trial at play. The execution of the rat bastard who got them into this whole ordeal in the first place.

The criminal know exactly who it was. Caught his hand in the cookie jar resembling their safe weeks ago, but they had enough of a heart to let him go for being the one person his little girl had. Not again. Day in and day out they dreamt of how they'd carry out their revenge. Splattering his brains all over the wall. Slicing him into cutlets and having a nice cookout for everyone involved. It was a beautiful dream. The one thing preventing the compete lost of their sanity. Shouldn't be too long now until their people manage to get them out and their hands around that bastard's neck. Only a matter of time-

"Quit mumbling to yourself- I can't hear the TV."

As if this hell couldn't get any worse. A desaturated rainbow flies across the television screen, showering an empty field with stars and hearts that sprout colorful flowers from the earth. The theme song for the show plays in the background; the strums of each guitar string and the voice humming along to the beat drilled into the criminal's head like psychological warfare. While the voice wasn't totally abysmal it still belonged to their greatest enemy. That fucking clown.

"Good Day, everyone! I've missed you all so much, and am so excited to meet all the new faces. Are you ready all for an exciting day of fun and new adventures?"

The few shouts of agreement make their ears bleed more. Needless to say the prison they had been thrown in was a shit hole. Terrible food, hard beds, and televisions that only played one station without interference. That neon haired, colorblock mess of an entertainer had haunted them from day one of their stay; the sounds chasing them whenever they fled to the sanctuary of their cell. Pathetically, while there were a couple naysayers, majority of the prison population had begun to actually like the show. A body hurls into the seat next to them.

"Thank fuck I didn't miss it. You staying this time, Zero?"

Zero's face wrinkles from the frown lines. 4D was a fellow intimate and the biggest fan of the show. A crook booked for various robberies who just like Zero was ratted on by an acquaintance. The nickname came from their tag including the number fourty and they thought it would be cool in unison with the one they forced onto Zero.

"I told you not to call me that."

"I get that you're some big hot-shot and "adults shouldn't be watching shows for kids.", but it's really good when you sit down and watch it. That clown ain't too bad on the eyes either."

Zero resists the urge to snap their fingers as they air quote. "I'd rather flush my head down a toilet."

"Come on! If ya watch it, I'll leave ya alone for the rest of your sentence."

That catches their attention. Armz crossed, Zero looks at the television. The set had switched to that of a kitchen as the clown speaks

"Juno has been feeling better down today, let's cheer him up with his favorite snack! Before we begin, make sure you always ask for an adults help when handing sharp objects or using the stove. Unless you are one yourself. "

With a wink, they throw an apron and go through the steps of making homemade rice treats with the audience. After putting the tray in the oven, they discreetly pull out another one with a full sheet of the treats already made. Marshmallow fluff and melted chocolate chips ooze from their sides as the clown cuts out a heart shaped piece with a cookie cutter.

"And there you go! A simple, fun activity you can do with family and friends, and even get something taste out of it. Juno prefers chocolate, but you can add a number of things to your own and let your imagination run wild."

Great. Now they were annoyed and hungry. They couldn't stand another segment.

"I'm leaving."

4D whines. "Whaaat? That was barely anything. Hey, don't go-"

They grab Zero's sleeve, but are powerless to stop them as they leave the common area and venture up to their room. Over the guard rail of the second floor, they watch the other inmates mindlessly crowded around the television screen and unironically enjoying it. They would've spat at them had it not been for the guard by their cell. Inside the room, their roommate had left the tv on and that same damned show was playing. They go to turn it off only to be cut off by a fake cry of pain.

"Ouch!"

The clown tumbles to the ground, figure looming over them off screen. They come into frame as they grip the clown's arm and helps them to their feet.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's okay, Juno. I know it wasn't on purpose."

The two face the screen as the clown speaks.

"Sometimes our friends do or say things that hurt our feelings. Take a breath, hear them out, but there's one important rule. Remember - forgiveness and friendship aren't always mutual. Sometimes people we may think are our friends go too far, and they believe an apology will make everything okay, but that's not always the case. The best thing you can do is forgive - and let go."

The background music is soft. The clown's smile is sincere, but an offshoot of that silly expression they had moments ago. Forgive. That weasel? There's no way in hell they could. He ruined them. Damaged their imagine. The bitterness Zero held was the only thing that pulled them forward. But what would come after they got their revenge?

"That's all for day, folks! And don't forget- you all may be my helpers, but I am here to help you the most!"

The intimate ends up watching the show until lights out. Each episode holds a new life lesson, cushioned by the silly activites prior to them and the songs the clown and their friends sings at the end. Regrettably, Zero finds their lips twitching upwards and a hushed laugh in their chest at some of the clown's jokes. When the clown visits them in their sleep, the dreams didn't seem as bad as before.

The next day Zero finds 4D in the yard. They're hesitant to speak.

"So... Why exactly do you like that clown?"

4D drops the equipment in their hand, looking flustered. "Wow, uh, why do you ask?"

"Just curious. If it's so embarrassing, I can make it worth while."

4D refuses the cigeratte they offer. "I quit. It ain't nothing serious like that, we just... talked."

Zero raises a brow. "Talked? You some kind of nutcase or something?"

"Maybe, but what I mean is I sent them a letter. After all the rush and freedom of the things I did, I was going mad in here. I got no friends, no family. At the end of every episode there's an address so I thought I'd try and send them a letter. I never expected them to respond. Hell, I thought the guards would tear it up and laugh, but neither of those predictions were true. They... helped me. More than anyone ever had in my life. Even sent me a couple things when I hadn't asked. They're all I have."

4D wipes their face with their sleeve. Zero, unsure, raises their hand to their shoulder, but falls short of a comforting touch.

"..Thanks... Take care."

Zero sits in their cell when the next show comes end. They pen down the address on the screen, wondering if they were really going to go through with this. They write out their letter and hand it off to the only guard they trust.

"What do you do, when you've lost everything."

A response comes in a week's time.

"Hey, there!

First off, I want to say thank you for sending your letter in. From the address and the others I've spoken too, I know that you're going through a really tough time. It's understandable to believe you've lost everything, but there will always be a new ladder to climb to the top so long as you try your hardest. You may be in the dark for now, but the sun will shine again for you some day."

Zero loses track of how many times they read the letter. They can see eraser marks from when the writer rewrote their lines. It was the exact same penmanship as when the clown wrote their name on a drawing they had just finished, clearing out the possibility of it being an assistant on the show. Zero crumples the envelope and throws it in the trash, but tucks the letter under their pillow.

When they are released the following month, they're found sitting in front of the community television.

"Sunshine's beautiful this time of day, isn't it?"

"B...oss, I'm sorry, please."

Zero takes another drag of their cigar as his head is dunked into the freezing waters. The silence makes the scenario one for the books, but for some reason the sun just isn't as bright as it was on those dirty screens. They exhale as the bruised male is brought out of the sea once more.

"I forgive you, and now I'm letting go." They wave to the others on the boat. "Drop him. I don't want to be late for the show."

Arriving at the studio, a whiny voice drills from behind them.

"Aw, man- you got front row seats? Switch with your ol pal. Its the least you can do since I introduced you to them."

#Clown reader #yandere oc #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere scenarios #yandere blurb #yandere x darling #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere drabble

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iamthat-iam · 2 months

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Validation 🎬🥇

Lamar has been in the LOA community for years. It has always been a magical experience to read everyone's success stories, and to share some of his own. Everytime he successfully "manifested" something, he felt like "HIM." He felt like That Guy.

He couldn't wait to run to social media to brag about getting his SP back, and them moving into a beach house together. He couldn't wait to talk about how he met his favorite rapper, J Cole, and was invited to a party after one of his concerts.

"Wow that's insane!" People commented. "Congrats man! That's crazy!"

He didn't know what felt better, actually "experiencing" his manifestations, or the validation he got from sharing his success stories. Either way, he felt pretty damn good all the time.

Then, one day, he came across some ND/AV posts on Twitter that humbled him in ways he didn't think were possible. "Everyone and everything is you," "There's no manifestion, it's just an imaginary concept to explain how reality works," "All experiences are the same. No difference between physical and imagination," are all quotes that stood out to him.

This made him question everything he thought he knew about his own life, how reality works, and manifestation. If everyone was him, that means his girlfriend is also him, and everyone in his life? He's just been sharing his success stories with himself? If all experiences are the same, what was the point of waiting for everything to show up in the 3D? What's the point of it all? He needed to find answers soon before he drove himself crazy.

He found a NDtwt account that was willing to take DMs and sent a lengthy message about his concerns.

"Hi Lamar, thanks for messaging me!" The ND 'teacher' greeted him. "The first thing I want to explain is how 'everyone is you.' Everyone is not the PERSON you think you are, everyone is not Lamar. However, your true nature, the awareness behind everything that appears, is everyone and everything. You may have labelled the phone in your hand a "phone", but in reality it's just you. Same thing with the objects in the room you are in. Same thing with anything you can think of."

"Okay so I am one with everything, that makes sense," Lamar typed. "What about all experiences being the same? This whole time I've been waiting for things to show up in the 3D for nothing? Is it pointless to share success stories?"

"You got your GF back, you're living in a beach house and you met J Cole, I completely understand why you'd want to share that with others," the ND 'teacher' began. "However, once you've collapsed the duality between physical and imagination, you won't need that validation anymore. You know your true nature, you know that everything is you, so you know that no experience is seperate from you. That's the difference between LOA and ND. In LOA, there's someone here in lack to get something. In ND, there's nothing to get. You simply experience whatever you want without labelling it 'physical', 'imagination', 'dreams' because there's no such thing. No one can validate or invalidate your experiences because seeming others are also part of the illusion."

"Okay, I kinda get it, could you give me an example?" Lamar inquired.

"Suppose you were aware of being a famous rapper, and you had tons of fans. Then you open your eyes and everything appears to be the same. You try telling your family that you are a famous rapper, they all look at you like you're crazy. What happened here was you were perfectly aware of being this famous rapper, then switched to an illusion where you are not a famous rapper, and tried to get validation from people in the illusion where you aren't a famous rapper. Do you see where I'm going with this?" The ND 'teacher' asked.

"So it would be pointless to tell them I'm a famous rapper if I already experienced it myself, and them looking at me crazy doesn't really mean anything," Lamar guessed.

"Correct!" The ND 'teacher' replied. "Also, when you were aware of being a famous rapper, the old life and old you did not exist. This is because there's no objective reality here. There's actually nothing here, only your awareness of being, or " ."

This made Lamar feel better about this whole situation. There's no need for validation from seeming others when everyone and everything is you. Your success story is your ability to appear as anything or anyone.

#non dualism #nondualism #consciousness #awareness #self #self realization #advaita vedanta #advaita vendata

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gabrielsbubblegumbitch · 3 months

Note

DROP YOUR DX FOR VOX !!!!! Please and thank you.

I would like to preface all my posts on headcanons related to psychology and mental illness with a disclaimer: diagnosing mental conditions, especially personality disorders, can be extremely challenging. It's a complicated process that relies heavily on a psychologist's interpretation of facts, making it susceptible to biases. Personality disorders cannot be diagnosed based on surface-level observations and are not just labels that we can assign to people like in the case of MBTI. Additionally, I am not a clinician with any expertise in diagnosing people. Therefore, the following post should not be taken as a reliable professional opinion. It's simply my interpretation of the internal mechanisms that may be responsible for the behavior of certain characters in my fan fiction. Furthermore, I want to make it clear that I have no intention of stigmatizing people with personality disorders by associating them with villains. A personality disorder does not determine someone's character or make them a bad person. Some characters may be evil because of the choices they make, not as a result of their mental conditions.

(I've already posted some stuff here so I'm not going to repeat myself.)

Okay, so, Vox has Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD). It's crucial to distinguish this from "common narcissism" (people often described as "narcissists" by others just because they are egotist assholes; kinda ableist, you shouldn't do it because it's extremely stigmatizing towards people suffering with actual NPD) . While those individuals typically function well, those with NPD exhibit all the traits – grandiosity, egocentrism, attention-seeking, intense power fantasies – but as it's a disorder, these traits lead to inflexible and maladaptive patterns of behavior and cognition.

NPD has its roots in intense feelings of shame, low self-compassion, and self-loathing. In my interpretation, Vox has always felt inadequate. His father inherited an enormous amount of money, establishing a media conglomerate in the 20's. Vox's mother, captivated by the world of movies, used them to escape her reality as a trophy wife. Despite her dreams of becoming an actress, Vox's father, possessive and protective, prevented her entry into the entertainment industry. As a compromise, he made their son a child actor, with the condition that it would be temporary. When Vox grew older, he was expected to transition to learning business and other skills, ultimately to take over the family's empire.

So, Vox was never enough for either of his parents. His father thought of him as annoying and unserious due to his talkativeness and exaggerated behaviors, attributing it to growing up surrounded by actors. As for his mother... Vox turned out to be a terrible actor, struggling to convey emotions that weren't bombastic and over-the-top. Being a teenager is humiliating enough, but imagine being a teenager bad at something and forced to do it for a worldwide audience, when the whole production crew is annoyed with you. Fortunately, he grew up to be devilishly handsome (not to be a simp, I just believe someone must be handsome to endure the ethereal punishment of having their face swapped for a TV screen) and entertaining, leading them to make him a TV host and media personality.

Anyway, NPD is all about creating a perfect self and projecting it to the world when you're deeply ashamed of your true self. It means that, no matter what you're doing, you're constantly concerned about how it looks to other people. You constantly play an exhausting game, trying to win gold stars of social admiration for every-fucking-thing, guided by superficial ideals of wealth, perfection, beauty, and, above all, power. One reason Alastor's existence bothers Vox so much is the fact that he cannot comprehend the idea of someone choosing radio over his "objectively better and correct" medium. Vox lacks the ability to understand nuanced sentiments, which ironically makes him thrive in Hell. In this anarchocapitalist, lawless society, survival of the fittest prevails, and this is a game he excels at playing.

Generally, the best approach for individuals with NPD is to pull them out of delusional thinking by confronting their beliefs about the world and themselves with reality (it should be performed by qualified therapist, especially when someone hasn't completed any kind of therapeutic process yet). However, in Hell, Vox's behavior was no longer in violation of social norms; on the contrary, it was highly rewarded. Consequently, he completely lost his shit, became unhinged, and began acting on all his previously suppressed urges. He finally fulfilled all narcissistic power fantasies and became (almost) untouchable. Now, he's ready to kill anyone who questions him, seeing it as threatening to his fragile image of the perfect self.

He exhibits strong bipolar tendencies. Most of the time, he's power-tripping in a semi-maniacal state. Periodically, he undergoes deep, depressive episodes, locking himself up in his apartment and avoiding interaction.

Constantly guarding this fragile image of the perfect self that he built is exhausting. The bigger this image gets, the more fragile it becomes, like a house of cards. And guarding it becomes more and more exhausting. But there's nothing scarier than the idea of the facade falling apart and people seeing him as he is: imperfect and vulnerable, damaged and ashamed, rotten and evil. Deep down, he knows he's unlovable, and it hurts. He knows that true love exists; he craves this ultimate form of admiration and devotion, but it requires vulnerability and honesty, which he's not capable of. He's only vulnerable with Valentino, and only occasionally when he's intoxicated or when Val fucks every last thought out of his body. He's very much a controlling top insecure about his masculinity, so the latter happens rarely.

Also, drugs. Oh, do this man enjoy some coke. Other drugs and booze, not so much; they make him feel less in control. But getting coked up, going out, causing a scene, killing some poor souls, and relishing this feeling of being completely untouchable? Feels so good.

When it comes to Alastor, he hates him because he's jealous. Despite all his efforts—building a perfect persona, a perfect company, perfect entertainment—this stinky, outdated, and boring radio demon gets so much attention and admiration that should be his. Moreover, he feels that Alastor can see right through his bullshit. He's so paranoid about it that he's almost certain Alastor knows about his childhood traumas, about his death, about all his truths, and could one day broadcast it for all people of Hell to hear. So, he needs him dead.

Note: these headcanons (especially Vox's past) are very important part of my fanfiction. Please feel free to use them in your fics but I'll appreciate if you tag me 🩷

Velvette hc | Valentino hc | Vees + Angel hc | VoxVal hc

#vox #vox hazbin hotel #Valentino #valentino hazbin hotel #voxval #staticmoth #headcanon #character analysis #ask

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festive · 1 year

Text

✿ - cyno x fem!reader

content+warnings: fem!reader, pet names used, established relationships, vaginal penetration, vaginal fingering, use of vibrators, multiple orgasms.

✿ - a/n: posted on my ao3 a few days ago, decided to post here. anyways more scholar!reader x cyno. happy holidays, y’all!

++ tagging: @bubble4u @thicksimpx

Cyno's been worried about you; lately, he's overheard from the other students just how hard you've been working — day in and day out, dedicating yourself to your studies; even Faruzan had mentioned you once or twice to him in hopes that he could help.

Although, as clever as Cyno was, not even he knew what he could do — yeah, Cyno could play mother hen and tell you not to overwork yourself, but even he knows you're way too stubborn to listen, and you would probably shrug him off with 'just five more minutes.

Not knowing how he could help, he turned to a friend. He's thankful he caught Kaveh when he did, much to the blonde's dismay seeing as how Kaveh was complaining about being locked out again.

But considering how fond of Cyno, Kaveh was, as soon as he heard the dilemma, he was more than willing to help. He had given the smaller male plenty of solutions, yet they all led him to the same place.

A foreign goods vendor on the outskirts of the bazaar, that's what the eccentric blonde had told him.

Cyno walks around mindlessly, his eyes falling on all the different shops and trinkets that decorate the way. From the candy to the freshly baked goods, he'd bring you some later as a treat after he buys what he needs first.

Cyno did a fantastic job brushing off all the cowering looks he received from countless people, wondering what archon-forsaken thing sent him to the bazaar. Even with his disguise, the jackal ears that stood proudly on his hood were very distinguishable.

Look for the stand on the furthest part of the bazaar. It's hard to miss. Kaveh's words ring through Cyno's head. The stand on the most distant part.. he murmurs.

And sure enough, after walking for what felt like hours. There stood the shop, hidden behind two other stalls, draped in deep purple and golden clothes — although nothing distinguished this seller from the others.

"Are you the shopkeeper?"

He's greeted by a taller woman that dwarfed him completely in height, with darker skin — long purple hair that was parted down the middle, but what stood out the most was the pair of long, fluffy ears that protruded proudly from her head, reminiscent of Tighnari's, and the geo vision that rested upon her neck.

"Why yes, you're correct, young general mahamatra," Cyno quirks an eyebrow, and the woman laughs, pushing aside the candles and other exotic goods across the counter. "I am Sheba. I've heard all about you from Kaveh,"

Sheba, as she calls herself, ducks underneath her desk. Cyno can hear her fumbling with whatever's under there — watching as her puffy tail sways back and forth until she finally gets up.

"I have exactly what you need," Her cerulean eyes beam, lighting up in joy as she places an item on the counter, nearly pushing it into Cyno's hold.

Cyno glances at it expectantly, snatching it off the counter.

It looks like it's made of the same advanced technology the ruin guards are made of, he thinks — knowing exactly what their reactor cores look like, he finds it odd how the device has the same designs.

"Is this a weapon?" Cyno asks, curiously looking over the wand-shaped item he was handed — the object's outline reflecting in his ruby-red eyes. Cyno's seen many odd devices, runes, and mechanisms, but nothing compares to this. He continues examining it, checking for any blades.

The merchant laughs, nearly doubling over in amusement. "Hah, surely you jest?" Then, wiping at her eyes as water collects around the edges.

Cyno stares at her blankly, lips formed into a straight line before summoning his weapon. Sheba jumps, eyes locking onto the sharp blade of his polearm.

"Ahaha, no need for violence. Here, allow me to demonstrate," cautiously Sheba gestures towards the device, palm shakily reaching forward until finally, Cyno places the object in her palms. She chooses her following words wisely, she's heard of all the rumors and tales that circled the General Mahamatra, and she was determined not to be the next story in the tavern.

"Look," Sheba says while pushing one of the buttons. Cyno watches as the device's intrinsic designs glow before it starts up, the blunt end of the object vibrating furiously. "See, like this," The woman laughs awkwardly, trying to save her hide.

"I see,"

To further sell her point, she starts talking about how advanced the piece of technology is. "It's popular amongst the women in Fontaine. In fact," She drawls, watching as Cyno looms in closer. "they all recommended this as their best way to relieve built-up stress."

It's working. Cyno's further intrigued; his ears perk up when she mentions the stress part.

"And look," Holding out the device, Sheba waves it around before pressing another button. "It even comes with different vibrations, and you can control the speed!" She chirps, demonstrating all its settings.

"How much," Cyno asks, arms folded against his chest.

"200,000 mora."

"That's a scam,"

Sheba sighs, ears drooping dramatically before taking the toy in her palms. "I guess you don't really want to help your beloved that much," She turns away, a sly smirk playing on her lips while she waits for the white-haired man to fall victim to her ploy.

And just like that, it happens.

"I love my beloved wife very much," Cyno grumbles, reaching for his pouch that carried all his mora before dropping it on the counter. "It's yours."

"Sold," Sheba beams, "and just for you, I'll wrap it, just like a gift!"

After completing the transaction, Cyno picks up his purchase before trailing off.

Kaveh was right. His friend was a lovesick fool, Sheba thinks.

"Thanks for the purchase. I hope to see you again soon." She beams, waving off the smaller man, praying to the archons she'll see him again — fools like him were her favorite, easy buyers.

Cyno didn't even realize he was gone for so long until he felt the cold desert air brush against his skin, making haste towards your home away from school.

He can see the candle-lit room from your opened window. The more he peeks in. Finally, he can see you hunched over your desk on the other side.

He's quick and quiet — effortlessly sneaking in through the open window. You don't even realize he's in your room until he speaks up.

"My dove," his voice is soft but enough to startle you, nearly causing you to shriek as you jump in your seat.

"Oh, archons, Cyno, you nearly gave me a heart attack." You sigh, your heart still pounding from the scare you received mere minutes before.

Your lover apologizes, "You've been overworking yourself," Cyno points to the bags that have grown underneath your eyes, then to the paperwork in front of you.

"I know," You let out a heavy breath, "but look, I'm almost done," Before you pick your pen up, Cyno snatches it away, careful not to hurt you.

"Tonight, I want you to relax,"

"But,"

"I'm not asking you. You will," Cyno's voice is stern, causing you to lean back in your seat, defeated. Your eyes wander to the bags placed in his hands, and soon enough, his gaze follows yours.

"What's that," You point. Cyno merely shrugs, placing them both on your bed before digging through them. You're quick to recognize the smell that wafts through the air.

"Padisarah pudding," you inquire, sniffing the air for good measure. "I want it,"

A gentle smile tugs at Cyno's lips as a soft laugh escapes him. "After,"

You huff. "What else did you get?"

Cyno's hands fumble with the other bag. You can hear the sound of paper wrinkling as he searches for whatever it is. "A foreign gift," unboxing the 'gift,' Cyno holds it up.

You nearly choke on your spit as you realize what he bought precisely. "That's a vibrator," you cover your face in embarrassment, having heard countless stories about how your friends had enjoyed them.

"A what," Cyno looks at you perplexed, as he examines the vibrator again. "The merchant said this was popular amongst the women,"

You try to stifle a laugh, although you fail horribly. "Oh, I'm sure it is,"

As soon as you stop laughing, you explain to Cyno its purpose, feeding his curiosity as he stares between you and the toy.

"Can we use it?" Cyno asks all too eagerly.

"What,"

"Can we try it,"

Although embarrassing, it's pretty endearing seeing how eager Cyno was to use it. You nod, "I don't see why not, but how do to go about this?" Then, you question, did he want to watch you use it? You wonder.

A sly smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, "You'll see."

The buzzing sound coming from the vibrator resonates through the room — mixed in with the soft gasps and whimpers that fall from your lips.

"Cyno,"

Your lover hums, rubbing circles into the softness of your breasts. Your legs are shaking above his, and it's getting harder for you to keep them extended —- sensing this, he spreads them even further using his limbs; your knees fold over him as he forces them open.

"Relax for me, my dove," Cyno dips his head further into the crook of your neck, placing gentle kisses upon the column until finally, his lips stop behind your ear.

"You've been working so hard lately, let me take care of you." The drop of timbre in his voice, mixed with his warm breath fanning against your skin, is enough for the hair on your neck to stand up while it sends shivers down your spine.

Leaving no room for argument, you recline to your fate — allowing yourself to relax as the toy rubs against your clit, massaging the poor bundle of nerves in a tantalizing slow motion.

"Cyno," you moan breathlessly as you allow your body to lay limp against his — closing your eyes, you let your head lul against his chest as you focus on the sensation, allowing your fantasies to race through your mind.

Cyno's hand plays with your breast while the other grips the vibrating wand, holding it between your legs as the heads nudged between your folds, vibrating against your clit.

The position your lover has you in is embarrassing, leaving nothing to be hidden as you're forced to stare at your semi-naked body in the mirror. In addition, your robe is awkwardly out of place, the ends bunched up around your waist, while the top is undone, hanging loose enough to expose your chest to the cool air.

"You're so beautiful," He praises, and you gasp — the toy bringing you even closer to your orgasm. You grab his wrist, your breaths becoming shallow as the coil in your tummy tightens.

"'S close," You slur, fidgeting in his lap, your ass grinding against his growing erection with enough friction to cause him to groan.

Even his grasp on the vibrator becomes shaky, as you continue to grind your hips against his, bucking your cunt into the toy.

"'S close, 's close," You cry out, Cyno presses another button, and you can hear the faint click before the head of the toy speeds up.

Although there's another faint noise, and just as you're about to cum, the toy stops — leaving you pent up at your high without a way down before the feeling disappears.

You look at Cyno horrified, and he mutters a string of curses under his breath. "Stupid cat, selling me a defective good," he swears in reference to the merchant from before.

"I—" he bites on his inner cheek, "I can fix this," Tossing the dead toy to the side, Cyno traces your folds with his fingers. Your slick catching on his digits. "You're so wet," He breathes against your shoulder before placing a sweet kiss on your skin.

You shudder, feeling Cyno sink his fingers into your heat. He starts with two, slowly pushing them in and out of your cunt — slightly stretching your hole with each thrust.

"More!" You whine, and you can feel Cyno's muscles flex against your back as he hunches over you — speeding up his ministrations.

As soon as your slick pools around him, he slides in an extra finger — curving them just enough to prod and poke at your spongiest spot that has you seeing stars.

He's sure he's found it by how your thighs quiver around his and how your breath hitches in your throat. Finally, he pulls back, retracting his fingers before sliding them back in with enough precision to impale that sensitive spot inside you.

Spots of white decorate your sight as that familiar feeling from before comes back. Your hands claw at Cyno's muscular thighs, your nails leaving scratches across his flesh.

"Gonna cum," You moan, drool spilling from the corner of your lips. You nearly lose it as you feel Cyno thumb at your clit — vigorously rubbing circles into the hardened nub.

Your body falls limp against Cyno's hold, your orgasm hitting you hard as he lazily pumps his fingers inside you while your walls spasm around him.

He kisses your temple, his lips soft against your skin.

"You did so well. You know that?" Cyno hums, and you can still feel his erection straining against you.

"What 'bout you," you slur, still hazy from your orgasm.

"Ah, don't worry about it," He says, placing a chaste kiss upon your lips.

"But I want to," Your hands weakly fumble with the hem of his pants until you finally free his cock — he hisses, feeling you guide him towards your cunt. Spreading your folds with his shaft as you grind yourself against him.

"You're dangerous. You know that?"

Cyno lays with his back against the bed, beads of sweat forming along his brows as he anxiously watches you.

You lift your hips slightly, aligning yourself with the leaky tip of Cyno's cock — rubbing it up and down your folds.

Cyno groans, and you feel him shudder underneath you before he mutters out a quick ‘don’t tease me’, there’s a pause, and you hear a ‘please’ after — it’s small, but desperate enough for you to almost feel bad.

"Sorry," you mumble, sinking your hips against his. You nearly choke on your spit as Cyno's cock forces its way inside you — his sheer girth alone, feeling like it'll split you in two.

A soft moan escapes Cyno's lips as he bottoms out, the warmth of your gummy walls wrapping around him going insane.

There's a smirk on your face as you lean closer to Cyno, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. "Gonna take care of you,"

You wait for a moment, giving yourself enough time to relax around his girth.

Cyno, unsure of what to do, places his hands loosely on your hips, the tips of his thumbs rubbing circles in the softness of your skin.

His eyebrows are furrowed, and you can see his lips quiver as he tries to hold himself back — his flustered expression was cute, you think.

Your pace starts off slow while you relish in the way your lover's cock fits inside you — much to his dismay, Cyno rolls his hips against yours, desperately looking for more friction.

"Cyno," You moan, and the man underneath you groans, gritting his teeth — he can barely take it. He needs more.

Cyno doesn't say a word, and the grip on your hips becomes bruising, but before you have the chance even to think — you're flipped onto your back with your lover looming over you.

"Cyno," You look at him in surprise. Cyno readjusts your body into a better position — throwing your legs carelessly over his shoulders as he guides his cock back toward your hole.

You nearly choke on your spit as Cyno slams into you with a relentless pace, your arms wrap around his body in hopes of grounding yourself — though the more he ruts into you, the harder it is for you to think.

Especially when the tip of his cock pounds against your cervix with each movement while his shaft drags along your walls — all you can think about is how good he feels inside you.

"You feel so good," he groans, although you can barely register the words coming from his mouth. Your brain feels fuzzy, and it's getting harder for you to concentrate.

Cyno's name falls off your lips like a prayer as he continues thrusting into you, your walls squeezing tightly around him — it's not long before he pulls another orgasm from you.

This time you scream, falling slack against the covers. Cyno wraps an arm around you, almost possessively, while he readjusts your body to slam into you with a better angle.

He pants, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with a pap noise. He's close.

All it takes is a few more thrusts before his cock twitches for the last time — spilling his seed inside your cunt as he idly thrusts into you until he's sure you've thoroughly milked him.

The mixture of your juices seeps out from your folds as he pulls away with a squelching sound. His hold on your waist falters, but his arm still rests across your flesh. You can feel the sweat dripping from him.

You both don't say anything, preferring to bask in the silence of your post-orgasmic bliss and enjoy each other's presence. Until your stomach growls and your eyes shoot open. Suddenly you remember the treat he had brought before.

“Cyno, I want the pudding!”

#cyno x reader smut #cyno x reader #cyno x y/n #cyno x you #genshin impact x reader smut #genshin impact x you smut #cyno imagines #genshin drabbles #cyno smut

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gravehags · 4 months

Text

satan baby

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: Teen

Tags: yule with the papas, secondo and terzo fighting over caroling, gift giving, and maybe...kissing

Words: 1,877

Summary: It's the most wonderful time of the year.

a/n: it's been a while my children. eat up and merry christmas to those who celebrate. a little present from me to you.

~~~

“This is Secret Santa, you’re only supposed to get a gift for one person,” you sigh, currently inundated with a pile of presents on your lap and by your feet. “What’s all this?”

“Correction, bella, this is Secret Satan where you get as many gifts for whomever you like, sì? And you’re our star this year.”

Terzo smiles warmly at you as you fidget with the fabric of your festive dark green velvet skirt. You’ve all gathered in the Papas’ private living room, the mantle of the roaring fireplace positively bedecked with greenery and a massive tree opposite. A couple weeks ago you and Copia were put in charge of creating the orange garland, a not insignificant task given the height and breadth of the noble fir. Speaking of Copia, he is sitting in a deep leather armchair, stroking his mustache thoughtfully and giving you a funny look. When you give him an exaggerated wink his lips curl into a smile and his eyes dart away as his cheeks flush.

“Another cup, signorina?”

Primo is currently standing next to the hot plate on the side table, stirring the large cauldron of mulled wine. You really shouldn’t, you already are feeling a little woozy and warm but what the hell. Christmas, right? Or Yule, rather. You nod eagerly and Primo doles out a hefty amount of the dark liquid into a mug with little rats on it, passing it to Secondo who passes it to you as Terzo hands you yet another gift to open. So far you’ve unwrapped a beautiful homemade perfume from Primo and a garnet jewelry set which you are sure is quite old and quite expensive from Terzo. Copia still clings to the small present on his lap that bears a tag with your name on it, unwilling to see it in your hands just yet. One of these presents alone would be more than enough to dazzle you but the Papas insist on spoiling you. Who are you to object?

“This one is from me,” Secondo says, smiling slightly sinisterly over the rim of his mug.

“Ominous, but okay,” you say as you unwrap the box with caution. When you gingerly open the lid and see what’s inside, you let out an undignified screech. Primo, Terzo, and Copia exchange alarmed expressions as you reach in and lift the stuffed creature from its confines to marvel at it. It’s positively hideous - a large round potato-like head, red vestments, even a glittering pectoral grucifix. You’re beaming.

“Is that supposed to be me?” Copia says, outraged and red-faced.

“He’s perfect,” you coo, holding him against you in a tight hug. “Look at his stupid little face!”

“Ah, sì, he looks just like you,” Terzo says with a grin.

“He–it–looks nothing like me. No mustache. No sideburns. Eyes are all wrong!”

“He’s beautiful,” you say, cradling the monstrosity in your arms with all the grace of Mary. “Thank you Secondo.”

“I made him myself, you know.”

“A man of many talents!”

“A man of many war crimes,” Copia growls from his spot, flinging himself backwards in his chair and crossing his arms.

“Don’t speak about our son that way!” you cry, pressing your palms to the ears of the small stuffed man.

“Our son?” Copia cocks his head with interest and the brothers all look at you in silence.

“Y-yes. He looks - mostly - like you and I am his mother. Therefore we are his parents. So step up.”

When you reach out to hand the stuffed cardinal to the real thing, he sighs and takes it in his hands.

“He is infernal,” Copia says, placing him sitting up on his lap. “But I accept him as mine.” The sight makes you scramble for your phone to take as many pictures as possible.

“What a beautiful family moment,” Terzo says, wiping a fake tear from his cheek. “Copia, I think you’re the only one left who hasn’t exchanged presents!”

Handing the doll back to you he hesitates to reach for the gift still in his lap. Primo, ever wise, interrupts to ask if anyone wants dessert while you reach down and grab the present you’ve brought for Copia. Terzo and Secondo haul themselves up with much grumbling and follow Primo out of the room to help.

“I thought you said you were only bringing a present for one person? Primo was who you drew, sì?”

“Yeah I know but,” you scoot your chair closer to him, “you’re special. You’ve been on my side since day one. I couldn’t not get you something. You mean too much to me.”

Copia blushes the fiercest shade of red you’ve seen yet as you hand him the heavy package.

“Grazie, cara mia,” he says quietly, mismatched eyes boring earnestly into yours.

“Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t opened it.”

With a smile he begins unwrapping the festive paper. When he finishes and sees what is inside his heart jumps.

“Dolcezza,” he breathes and you blush just as fiercely as him at the nickname, “this is wonderful.”

It had taken you a lot of time and a lot of money (worth every cent as far as you are concerned) to locate an antique facsimile of William Blake’s art. Admittedly, you had used a lot of the Ministry’s excellent resources to find it but all the effort was worth it for this moment. When Copia looks up at you, you swear there are tears in his eyes.

“I have never before received a gift such as this, cara. Thank you.”

When you reach out and cover his gloved hand with yours and squeeze firmly, it’s as if his whole body sinks into itself. Softly, he picks up your hand and brings it to his lips - a sweet echo of his action from the first day you met. It takes everything within you not to knock all the items out of Copia’s lap and climb in it yourself. In all honesty, you’re moments away from doing just that when the Papas return to the room with much clamor. Your heart sinks as Copia drops your hand and clears his throat, and you return to your chair from your half-risen position. When Copia looks at you and points to the small box next to him, you mouth the words “later” with a smile before accepting a comically large slice of yule log from Secondo. The rest of the evening is relatively quiet apart from the dueling rendition of “Carol of the Bells” that Secondo and Terzo fight over while Primo sleeps contentedly in his comfy armchair. When the Papas begin loudly arguing in Italian you signal to Copia and begin gathering your things in a large brown bag. Without a word the two of you slip out the door and when you hear a crash and Primo’s deep bellow ringing out you skitter away down the hall.

“Looks like we made it out just in time,” you giggle as the two of you finally slow.

“Eh, sì, it always ends like this,” Copia says with a huff and an eye roll, “they can’t help themselves.”

Copia is unaware of where he is standing but oh, you certainly are. This looks like a perfect place to stop.

“Not trying to be pushy but I think you were going to give me something?” you say, cocking your head and setting down your bag.

“Ah…yes,” he sets down the book you gifted him and thrusts out his hand with the fastidiously wrapped present within it. “For you.”

You take the gift and open it delicately and slowly and see him chew on his bottom lip slightly.

“If you don’t like it I–”

“Hush,” you say simply as you open the box. Inside, resting on dark red velvet is a simple and small golden grucifix on a delicate matching chain.

“You always wanted to be a part of the Ministry,” he says quietly, fussing with his gloves, “and I hope this lets you know that we accept you. We’ve always accepted you. I–”

You remain silent as you set down the box and put the necklace on while Copia watches. When you finish your hands don’t return to your sides but rather come up to cradle the Cardinal’s cheeks. He’s frozen as you stand just like this, thumbs brushing against his sideburns and a look on your face that he doesn’t think he has the capacity to describe. Your cheeks positively glow, your eyes seem lit from within and your lips are curled into a soft smile. They part momentarily for you to take a deep, steadying breath - inhale, exhale - before you lean forwards and gently place your lips on his. The ground shifts beneath him, the world is spinning as the fingers of your right hand begin to slide along his jaw and you tilt your head. You hesitate only for a moment, pulling back slightly before Copia grabs you insistently by the back of the head and pushes his lips back against yours. He tastes of mulling spices and his mustache tickles your upper lip, as you always knew it would. When you finally need to catch your breath he barely relinquishes his grip on you, making you laugh and kiss his chin.

“Why,” he whispers, thumb running against your cheekbone. “Why me?”

You lean forward and rest your head against his chest, close enough to hear the thud of his heart.

“It was always you,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his waist and stroking his back. “Always. From the moment you kissed my hand the day I was hired to the moment you comforted me when I was sad and lonely. From the moment you shared your rats with me. From the moment you put me to bed when I was drunk. All of it, Copia. All of you. That’s why.”

When you pull back to look at him, there’s definitely no mistaking the tears in his eyes this time and when he frantically pulls you in for another kiss, you can feel the wetness on your own cheeks. When you pull away with a giggle he looks concerned.

“Amore mio, what is it?”

You point upwards to the healthy sprig of mistletoe hanging from the rafter.

“You had no idea did you,” you say with a grin, chin resting on his sternum.

“Who would? Who could even see that and in the dark I–” his words cut off as you gasp from the short sharp smack to your ass.

“Copia! Not in front of our child!” you chastise, reaching into the bag and pulling out the accursed doll.

“Ugh, I had forgotten about him,” Copia grouses as you take it and peck him on the cheek with it.

“What should we name him?” you muse, adjusting the doll’s pellegrina.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something suitably horrific,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead which you lean into eagerly. “Until then…shall I, eh, walk you back to your rooms?”

“Please,” and with one last long, lingering kiss with the odd cardinal doll squished between the two of you, you pick up your bag and continue the long walk back to your cozy bed with the Satanic cardinal you hoped would soon be in it.

#cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x f!reader #cardinal copia x female reader #cardinal copia #the band ghost #the band ghost fic #rachel writes

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