#let’s just make a dogpile

[makoredeyes]

“What’s your name?”

“What?”

“You gave me a name. What’s yours?”

“I haven’t thought about it.”

The first few entries of The Liar are so painful, and Fel sitting there with his head on his knees just kills me… but then he picks up and fucking trolls Felspring into orbit bless him. I always got the feeling he didn’t like her naming him and that the matching name was revenge. And whaddaya know, she doesn’t like it either. Cx

I started this one quite a while ago and it’s been sitting here demanding attention that I really wanted to give it, but I guess Felwinter’s apathy sank into the page a bit because it took over a month? Idk. Finally done tho 💜

[apostate-in-an-alcove]

Leftists sure do a shit job at encouraging people to change for the better and let go of old biases; it's almost like guilting and shaming people is an ineffective tool that doesn't accomplish anything worthwhile in the long run.

[samuraisharkie]

Going on record to say I can’t stand scoutandcompany *bracing for impact*

[lesbianpikachu]

.

[iovetecchou]

What’s Your Motive? ⧸ Wriothesley.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Summary: Wriothesley is fed up with you constantly getting arrested for petty crimes. It's like you're trying to get locked up just to annoy him. Perhaps a different form of punishment for your crimes is in order.

༞ Contains...! smut, hatefucking, use of handcuffs, fucking through the jail cell bars, no prep, degradation, name calling (runt, cumslut), one use of "good girl", reader refers to Wriothesley as 'mister', cumshot, facial, subtle fluff because i am insane

༞ AFAB Reader.

༞ 1.920 words.

kinktober masterlist!

"I told you not to break the law. More than once." 

Wriothesley deadpanned. His grip around your hand was tight as he took your fingerprints. You could tell he was concealing his rage, but the tremors coming from his large palm were a dead giveaway. 

"Aww! Not happy to see me again, mister?" You snickered, purposefully making the process more difficult for Wriothesley. You kept smudging your prints; he had to start over twice already. There was no way in hell he was putting up with your shit tonight. He was stressed, and your constant reappearances here only added to the dogpile of dread. 

"Guards, finish booking this runt. I need to make myself a cup of tea before I lose my mind." That last statement was more of a whisper to himself. But you were amused by it, regardless. 

"Who you callin' a runt, huh?" You gasped in faux disdain, bumping shoulders with him as you feigned offense because of his little nickname for you. Wriothesley's large palm squeezed over yours once more as a warning before he walked off. 

You clicked your tongue as you watched him walk away. You hated to see him go, but you loved to watch him leave. 

Wriothesley wanted to gouge his eyes out as he heard you whistle while he descended the dark hallway. He knew you were directing the catcall at him and him alone. Every time you came to Wriothesley's precinct, you sought him out. He didn't understand your strange requests to be detained by him each time, and quite frankly, he didn't care. 

But you both have been doing this little song and dance for months. You would get arrested for a minor crime, taken into custody for a few days, be released and repeat every few weeks. They were all petty crimes, proof enough to Wriothesley that you were committing them with ulterior motives. 

Wriothesley had the graveyard shift tonight, which meant lots and lots of tea was in order to keep him functioning, especially now that you were back under his watch. 

He was monitoring the security cameras as he sipped his favorite stress relief tea blend, nearly dropping his cup when he noticed you attempting to escape from your cell. Wriothesley sighed deeply, clenching his jaw as he shot up from his desk. Wasting no time, he made quick strides toward your section. 

On his stride there, Wriothesley's anger toward you bubbled up from deep within. Each passing step caused him to become more and more agitated. He recounted all of the encounters you both had over the months. He didn't understand you in the slightest, and that just enraged him even further. What was your motive? 

"Hey, runt. You seriously didn't think this pathetic attempt would work, right?" Your smirk grew tenfold from the sound of his voice. 

"Nope, just needed an excuse to get ya down here!" You giggled, tilting your head up to meet his icy gaze. 

Oh... he looked furious. Good.

He glared at you from beyond the bars, eyebrows ticked up in annoyance as he captured his cuffs. Wriothesley swirled them around his index finger before seizing them tightly. "Turn around and stick your hands out, now." 

"Aww, but you only just got here! I wanted to admire your pretty face for a little lo—"

"Now."

His stern voice sent chills down your spine in the best way possible. You finally got him to break.

You followed his orders. Turning your back toward Wriothesley, leaning your back against the cool metal bars. You extended your arms behind you, letting them slip through the spaces of the metal cell. 

Before you could question him further, Wriothesley cuffed your hands. Trapping you against the metal bars of your enclosure. You tugged against your restraints, tilting your head back and getting a glimpse of Wriothesley. 

"Care to tell me what this is about, mister? Doesn't seem like protocol to me." You quipped, shooting a playful wink at Wriothesley. All of your sass was knocked out of you the moment he slotted himself against the bars. You could faintly feel the warmth radiating from his chest as his hands slipped past the metal poles. 

"Keep fucking quiet, runt. There are other prisoners and guards here, you know. The world does not revolve around you." Wriothesley spat. Wasting no time tugging your flimsy pants and panties down your legs in one harsh tug. 

Heat rushed through your core as the cool air hit your exposed lower half. 

This was really happening? Fucking finally. 

"Oh, I really got your panties in a twist this time huh, mister?" You pressed your ass further into the cell, trying your hardest to feel him closer. Your smirk only grew when you heard Wriothesley fumbling with his belt. 

"I said, be quiet," Wriothesley whispered. You could feel his breath fanning over the tip of your ear as his hand crawled back through to grasp your hip. He hastily pulled his cock out of his confinements, slipping it through the cell bars. You choked on a whine as you felt the blunt head of his cock run through your folds. 

"Oh? Now you got nothing to say? Who knew all you needed was some dick to put you in line." Wriothesley spat, cursing under his breath as he gathered your slick. "You're so fucking wet, too. What, don't tell me this was your plan all along? Such a filthy fucking runt."

A choked moan slipped past your lips as his cock pushed past the tight ring of your pussy. Wriothesley quickly slipped his other hand through the cell bars, slotting his large palm over your mouth. "Shut the fuck up." He mumbled against the shell of your ear, slamming his cock inside you to the hilt. 

Your eyes rolled back in ecstasy as he filled you to the brim with his length. You could feel his thick cock pulsing inside you, his balls twitching from where they kissed the underside of your pussy. You had dreamt of this moment only a thousand times over, but the real thing exceeded your expectations. 

Wriothesley wasted no time pounding into you relentlessly, barely giving you a moment to adjust. You drooled all over his fingers and gloves as your shameless whimpers and whines slipped out. However, the more you cried out in pleasure, the harder he fucked you. 

"This pussy is so greedy, fuck." Wriothesley cursed, clenching his jaw tightly as he pulled your hips harshly to meet his thrusts. Your arms strained from the uncomfortable position they were in. But you couldn't care less. The feeling of Wriothesley's cock prodding your sweet spot overpowered that dull ache in your cuffed wrists. 

You desperately longed to see the look of pleasure twisted on Wriothesley's face as he fucked you. But his deep grunts and groans of pleasure against your ear were mind-numbing enough. 

You hardly tried to conceal your mewls of pleasure, too cock drunk to care if someone were to overhear. "If you don't shut that dirty fucking mouth of yours, you'll regret it." Wriothesley huffed, clamping his hand even tighter around your mouth. His thrusts were brutal. The sound of skin slapping against skin and the rattling of the steel rods echoed through the dark halls. 

Quite ironic. Considering Wriothesley was the one telling you to be quiet. 

If he wanted you to be quiet, then so be it. Your teeth sunk into the back of his fingertips, pulling a loud hiss from Wriothesley's lips. He chuckled deeply. Breath tickling the side of your face as his pace only quickened. The tip of his cock was nudging your cervix with each deep thrust. 

"Good," He paused, grounding his hips into your ass as deep as he could through the bars. 

"Fucking," Wriothesley pulled his hips back, tip nearly slipping out of your hot wet heat if it wasn't for the tight grip your gummy walls had on him. 

"Girl." He slammed himself all the way back in with a loud, wet squelch. Wriothesley calling you a good girl, paired with the feeling of his cock rubbing against your g-spot was too much to bear. 

You gushed around his cock as the coil within you snapped. Your teeth sunk into the rough material of his gloves as you came. Your pussy clenched and pulsed around his length as you struggled to stay up on your shaky legs. 

Wriothesley cursed under his breath. Quickly, he pulled himself out of your tight, wet heat. He swiftly undid the lock on your cuffs. You collapsed to your knees, instinctively pulling your hands back through the bars. You nursed your wrists, cradling them to your chest as your legs trembled.

"Look at me," Wriothesley demanded breathlessly. You slowly turned on your knees, eyes widening as you faced him. He was fisting his cock furiously, a wild blush coating his cheeks as his icy orbs locked onto you. You felt your pussy throb once more from the sight alone, bringing your hands up through the bars— desperately trying to replace his hand with yours. 

Wriothesley swatted your hand away before ordering, "Stick your tongue out for me, runt." 

Without hesitancy, your jaw fell slack. Your tongue darted out almost instantly as you drank in his blissed-out expression. Without warning, Wriothesley brought his dick only centimeters away from your lips. A deep groan slipped past his mouth as his first ropes of cum shot past his slit. 

You admired his pretty face as Wriothesley came all over yours. You swallowed every last drop of his cum that landed on your tongue, allowing the ropes that missed your mouth to roll down your cheeks. 

Wriothesley grunted as he shot the last of his load onto your face. He admired your filthy state for a few beats more. A smirk cascaded across his face before he let out a whistle of his own, mimicking your actions from earlier. 

"Wow... guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that you're a filthy cumslut on top of all your other crimes." Wriothesley deadpanned, leisurely tucking his now softening cock back into his pants.

"Oh, so now it's a crime to want to fuck you?" You chuckled, swiping some of his cum off your cheek before placing the pad of your thumb in your mouth. Licking it entirely clean. 

Wriothesley flushed, averting his gaze from your lewd display. He stifled a cough before muttering, "No, but I'm sure you and I just committed about a dozen crimes. Indecent exposure, public indecency, disorderly conduct— shall I continue?" 

"You do realize you just said we right, mister? Meaning you should be in this cell right alongside me. Come on, handsome, why don't you keep me warm tonight? You can come inside me this ti—"

"In your dreams, runt. Consider this your punishment for causing me hell for months. I won't give you what you want just because you're cute."  

Your cheeks flushed as you stood on shaky legs, coming face to face with him. "You think I'm cute?" You asked earnestly, a genuine smile pulling at your lips. 

Wriothesley turned on his heel, trying to conceal his embarrassment from slipping up and calling you cute. He stifled a cough, making slow strides down the hallway. You assumed he was going to keep walking without another word, and just as you began pulling your pants back up your trembling legs, you heard him shout, 

"Yeah, I do, so stop breaking the law. Then maybe I can take you on a proper date."

[spaceistheplaceart]

I have this headcanon that's too long to make into a full comic but I think Gordon, though the process of being worn down, now has to read a bedtime story and kiss goodnight each member of the science team

started with Dr. Coomer asking him to read him a story, and the others were also there so they got to hear it. Then he asked for a goodnight smoochy and Gordon was like "Dr. Coomer, I love you, but no." and Benrey chimed in that that was rude and of course Dr. Coomer doesn't let up and does his big sad eyes so Gordon groans and gives him a little forehead kissy. turns to leave-- and then Benrey is like "not gonna give one to me??" and Gordon vehemently says no, he's NOT. and Bubby's like "oh I see how it is" and in typical science team fashion it turns into this massive dogpile on Gordon for his 'favoritism' until Gordon gives up and angrily kisses each team member goodnight. Nobody else even wants a goodnight kiss they just wanna annoy gordon

TLDR please consider this:

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Six — Azriel x Reader

Note — Tumblr still isn’t allowing me to tag some of you. I’ll keep trying but if you haven’t already, make sure you check in settings that your username is able to be searched/tagged! Mwah 💕

Summary: Reader seeks comfort after the events in Fenlaros. Lines are crossed that can’t be uncrossed. Actions come with consequences.

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: Some violence. Things get fiiiilthy. 18+, NSFW, smut, minors dni.

It’s not clear who punches who first, because fists are flying left and right. The male in front of you lands a harsh hit on your cheek, the metal of a ring catching your skin, but there’s no chance to register the burst of pain, because you’re being shoved, and you’re shoving back, and your knuckles are pummelling into another male’s face while his friend sends a punch straight into your gut.

It’s that impact that winds you too much to move. You’re doubling over, trying to draw breath while the fight continues around you. The same male goes to hit you a second time.

But he doesn’t have a chance as Rhys comes lunging at him and knocks him to the floor. Your friend is as flawless with his fists as he is with steel. The Fenlaros male doesn’t stand a chance against him.

This is…this is bad. If you can somehow round your friends up and get out of there before it gets any worse, you may be able to escape the repercussions. A fight like this between two camps could carry a punishment anywhere from revoked privileges to an outright flogging. You’d really rather not face a disgruntled Lord of Windhaven upon your return.

Through the brawl, you’re searching for both Azriel and Cassian. You’ve lost sight of them both completely. And you know they can hold their own, that they’re some of the best fighters in all of Illyria, but the four of you are vastly outnumbered. Even the trio of your closest friends have limits, and being dogpiled by a group of males out for blood surely brings them close to theirs.

Someone grabs the back of your shirt, and with your breath having returned to you somewhat, you round on them, ready to defend yourself once more. However, it’s Cassian who looms over you, hair tousled and shirt wrinkled.

He yells at you over the noise, “This is getting out of hand! We need to get out of here!”

Thank gods he’s choosing to be sensible for once. You suppose even Cass knows when a fight is worth having.

“I’m trying to find Az!” You shout back. “I don’t know where he—”

“Kaeda already pulled him out. Let’s grab Rhys and go!”

Now is a really, really inappropriate time to feel jealous.

And yet jealous, you are.

And maybe even a little hurt, too. Did Az even try to find you before making an exit with Kaeda?

You banish the thoughts, allowing Cassian to wrench you through the people and mostly avoid getting hurt, besides the odd wayward fist that isn’t intended for you. The second he spots Rhys, still fighting with the male who winded you, he’s grabbing him firmly by the collar of his shirt and leaving no room for protest.

“We’re getting out of here before this turns really bloody.” He tells him loudly.

Rhys doesn’t put up a fight. He nods, straight on board with the exit strategy. His wild, alert gaze swivels to study you. “You’re alright?”

“Fine.” You nod. “Let’s go.”

It turns out the exit strategy is to just shove through hordes of people until you find a way out. Rhys is keeping hold of Cassian and you’re keeping hold of Rhys, and the three of you create an aggressive little train that wends through the chaos until cold air washes over you, and you’re spilling out onto the front path. You can hear the distant whoosh and thwack of the Fenlaros lot having no choice but to turn on each other.

“Y/N!”

You turn, just in time to see Az pushing away from a wall, Kaeda in tow. She carries a bloodied dish rag that she was clearly using to dab at his bust lip, but she falls back as Az strides over to you.

“I was looking for you everywhere.” He grabs your chin in his hand, turning your head to the side. “Your cheek is cut.”

You stare back at him, waiting for him to say something — something that even vaguely resembles an explanation as to why he started all of this.

“We should really get out of here—”

“Does it hurt?” He interrupts Rhysand’s interjection, his touch gentle despite the ferocity in his gaze. His thumb brushes over your cheek.

You’re too pissed off to care about his concern.

“I’ll live.” You snap, shoving him away from you. “Azriel, what the fuck?”

“My sentiments entirely.” Cass mumbles.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You continue. “You were the one who said coming here was nothing to be worried about, and then you start that? Have you totally lost your mind?”

“My sentiments entirely.” Rhys echoes.

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw ticks. He takes a step back, swallowing hard. “Sorry for being protective—”

“Possessive, more like—”

“It’s my fault.”

Both your heads snap round as Kaeda steps closer. She stares between you, wide-eyed. Doe-eyed. Looking like she stole the last slice of cake and has a litany of evidence stacked against her.

“He was being protective over me.” She says, and you freeze. She angles herself towards Azriel. “I shouldn’t have mentioned that Thedis and I have history. I don’t know why I did. I’m sorry, I—I didn’t think you’d react like that.”

Oh.

Oh.

That’s—that’s not what you thought was happening.

Clearly, you and Kaeda have two very different understandings of what went down.

You study Az closely, waiting for his reaction — to see if Kaeda is right, and it wasn’t you he was starting a fight over at all.

He stares at her like she’s spoken in a foreign tongue. He opens his mouth.

“Shit.” Kaeda swears suddenly, looking past him. “Shit, that’s my father.”

Each of you swivels around to see the colossal male striding down the path towards you, two slightly — very slightly — smaller males flanking either side of him. His long hair falls about his head in unruly waves, and there’s something ruggedly handsome about his face that kind of makes you want him to smother you with his ridiculously huge bicep. Everything about him is dark. His eyes and his beard and the whorls of Illyrian tattoos that cover the expanse of his neck.

This…this is a male who could snuff out a family of six just by looking in their direction. And his gaze zeroes in entirely on Azriel.

Cassian yanks you closer by the back of your shirt. “Let’s go—”

“He’s going to want to speak with you.” Kaeda turns to Azriel. “You’re the only shadowsinger around here. He knows who you are. He’s intrigued by your power.”

Az continues to watch his approach. And then he squares his shoulders. “Fine.” He doesn’t even glance your way as he says, “I’ll see the rest of you back in Windhaven.”

You don’t like this. Not one bit. Who knows what the male might do to Azriel? You want to say something, to protest—

But Kaeda links her arm through his, and you know there’s no point. This isn’t your fight.

“Don’t get yourself into even deeper shit.” Cassian says, lifting you into his arms.

Kaeda doesn’t seem worried. She rolls her eyes at that. “He’s not going to hurt him.”

You can’t help staring at her. She seems so sure, so unbothered. Not just by what her father might have in store, but by the entire situation. She seems almost…smug.

Az did start an entire fucking brawl over her, after all.

You can’t meet his gaze as you cling to Cassian. Too much has happened in a short space of time. It makes you feel…full. Uncomfortable. You need some space from Az to process what exactly just occurred.

And it seems like your wish will be granted. It’s clear, as he steps closer, that Kaeda’s father has no interest in the rest of you. His cat-like eyes follow a shadow that coils around your friend, and you could swear his lips want to smirk. Like there’s some inside joke the rest of you aren’t privy to.

“Go.” Azriel says, and neither Rhys nor Cass need telling twice. They don’t seem particularly concerned.

Your gaze snags on Az just as Cassian’s arms tighten around you, and he shoots into the skies with an unpleasantly steep climb. Rhys does the same.

And as Kaeda and Azriel become smaller the higher you go, you’re just able to glimpse Kaeda’s father stopping before him and shaking his hand. It’s then that you look away.

This isn’t for you to worry about. It’s—

It’s between him and Kaeda.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The thing about flying — or, in your case, being flown — is that it’s invaluable for moments of pensiveness. There’s no better time to face your thoughts than when the clarity of the sky stretches all around you.

But that can also be really fucking dangerous. Because you think. And then you think some more. And then suddenly, you’re thinking about anything and everything all at once, thinking about ifs, buts, maybes, thinking yourself into a bad mood.

And that is precisely what you do.

You are pissed the fuck off.

So pissed off, you want to scream into the void, at the shifting landscape below. You’re pissed off with Azriel, with his actions, with your entire situation.

He has never been as stupid, as reckless, as he has been recently. Never did you think you’d see a day where Cassian was the more sensible of the two. You’re used to Az being the mediator, to always approaching situations with a rational mind.

And yet these days, he’s a ticking time bomb. You don’t know who he might have a problem with, and clearly you don’t know why, given that you so wrongly assumed his protectiveness — possessiveness — flared up over you.

Of course it was Kaeda. How stupid you are.

Lust is one hell of a blinding light.

Every few seconds, you tell yourself you’re not going to think about it. And then a few seconds after that, you’re straight back to that constant screech of AZRIELANDKAEDAAZRIELANDKAEDAAZRIELANDKAEDA.

If this is who he’s becoming because of her…you’re not sure that’s a good thing.

By the time Cassian is setting you down in front of the cottage, your mood is absolutely foul. You feel sobered by the situation. You may as well have not had a drop of alcohol at all.

Rhys doesn’t stick around. He tells you and Cass that he’s going to Velaris — he wants to explain what happened in Fenlaros to his father before the High Lord can hear it from anyone else. And so it’s just you and Cassian traipsing into the cottage, freezing cold and fed up that the night went how it did. Your stomach is starting to ache where the male punched you, the cut on your cheek starting to sting.

You head straight for the kitchen and begin turfing through the cabinets, looking for a half-empty bottle of whiskey or a snack or something. You slam each cabinet door closed, but it does nothing to alleviate your irritation.

Cassian lights a fire, his eyes watching you closely. Perhaps he can sense that something is brewing in your veins. And he’d be right about that — you’re just not sure what it is.

Finally, you sit up on the kitchen counter and settle on biting into a stale bread roll. It’s dry and tasteless, but it occupies your mouth and stops a scream from escaping.

“I want to clean that cut on your cheek.” Cass strides over to the kitchen, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Only in your heart. “No.” You lie.

He nods, and just like the other night, he begins gathering medical supplies. He’s getting good at this. You kind of want to tell him not to bother, to just let the cut sting, but you’re brooding too much to get the words out.

You swallow down your last, dry bite of bread, and you comment, “I knew going to Fenlaros was a fucking terrible idea.”

Cassian chuckles. There isn’t much that fazes him. “In hindsight, I don’t know what we were thinking.”

“With your cocks, probably.”

He quirks an eyebrow at you, and then his hands are on your knees, parting your legs so he can slot himself in between. You don’t protest; he’ll only start a mother hen routine and threaten to bring you to a healer instead.

He wets a rag and begins to gently dab the gash on your cheek. It hurts, but not enough. Not bad enough to drown out the thoughts of the night’s events. You go through them from start to finish, and you have to suck in a deep breath just to stop yourself from punching something.

Why had Kaeda suggested such a stupid fucking thing?

And okay, you can’t put the blame entirely on her; it’s mostly your jealousy that stokes your anger. You, Azriel, Cassian and Rhys are all fully autonomous adults. Any of you could have shot the idea down and refused to go.

But it just…it just sits funny with you, weird in your chest. Something about it feels…gross.

Again — probably your jealousy talking.

But the entire thing had been a shit show from start to finish. You should have known, from the self-loathing thoughts that were pelting you on the way there, that you should never have gone. And your failure to listen to your gut only worsens your mood.

“You push that brain to think any harder and it’ll explode.” Cassian murmurs, his warm breath fanning your face. “You can share, if you like. I may even be able to dredge up some wisdom to impart.”

You bite down on your lower lip. “Why would Kaeda’s father want to speak with Az?”

It surprises you that the question makes him smile. “I wouldn’t worry over that.” He says. “I imagine he’s more interested in speaking to Az because he’s fucking his daughter than because he came to a rival camp.”

You almost flinch at the words.

Of course, you know that by now, Azriel and Kaeda have probably taken that leap and slept together. But torturing yourself with your thoughts is different to hearing it said aloud, and by someone so close to Az, too.

It hurts. And you want to scratch away at the feeling. It might just be what tips you over.

Cass studies you for a moment, reading the change, the tightening, in your expression. He knows there’s something — but thank the gods he doesn’t know what.

He turns his attention to your hand — your knuckles must have split when you threw a couple of good punches — and he begins to clean it gently.

“Here I am again, eh? Playing healer. I should get myself an apron.”

He’s trying to make you laugh, but you can barely force your lips to twitch upwards. He drinks in your pathetic attempt with a sympathy that you can’t stand. And, sensing that humour isn’t going to be enough tonight, he tries a different approach.

“Talk to me, Y/N.” He pleads softly, dabbing gently at your hand. “Please…”

You frown. You’re thinking and feeling too many things at once to make sense of them. Running through the entire night over and over. You’re not sure which of those feelings will rear its ugly head when you try to speak.

But you open your mouth, and the words just spill out.

“I really fucking hated myself tonight.”

Cassian pauses momentarily. And then he continues his treatment to your wounds. “Y/N, fights break out every other hour—”

“No. Not because of the fight. It wasn’t that.” You swallow a lump down. “It was the flying.”

“…the flying?”

“Being carried by Rhys while the rest of you flew so freely. Knowing I’ll never be able to do that. I’m Illyrian, and yet I’m always going to be confined to the ground. I hated myself—”

“Y/N—”

“I really fucking hated myself, Cass. And to be confronted by that fact every damn time I take my shirt off…to see the fucking hideous remains of my wings—”

Your words are cut short when Cassian’s huge hands grab your face and force you to look at him. It stings the cut on your cheek, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he stares at you fiercely.

“No. Cut that out right now.” A muscle in his jaw moves. You’re looking back at a lesser-spotted serious Cassian. “There is no part of you — not one part — that comes even close to being hideous, scars or no scars. You’re brilliant. Inside and out. You’re fucking beautiful, and I love you, and I won’t have you hating yourself. Particularly not at the hands of your piece of shit father.”

For a moment, you’re so stunned by the impassioned speech that you don’t know what to say. Thanking him wouldn’t be enough. And you think you might want to cry, but tonight, crying wouldn’t be enough, either. Nor would screaming. You just…want to feel something different. Something good.

Something worth feeling.

You stare back at Cassian, and your throat bobs.

And it might be against your better judgement, but you cover his hands with yours, and you haul your mouth to his.

You can’t exactly explain it, but he has a mouth as rugged as his general appearance, something rough and untamed and just…Cassian. It’s exactly what you need in that moment. You kiss him as if you’ve kissed him a thousand times before.

You feel the moment’s hesitation on his end. It’s rare that anything is able to knock him silent, but this most certainly does. After a pause, he rips his mouth away from yours, and he stares at you, wide-eyed and flushed, reading your face as if in search of an answer to an unspoken question.

But his internal battle isn’t a long one. He seems satisfied with whatever conclusion he comes to. And then he’s surging forward and kissing you back, hard.

What follows is not slow nor tentative.

You and Cassian love each other dearly, but there are no illusions that this is anything but needed pleasure. He’s not reciprocating because he’s spent hours daydreaming about this, or because you mean more to him than any other female.

Cassian would fuck a tree if a stirred branch waved in his general direction.

And that is absolutely fine. That is exactly what you need.

He wrenches your legs further apart and yanks you to the very edge of the counter, just so he can get closer, kiss you harder. His hand snakes up the nape of your neck and bunches in your hair, strands of it tangling around his fingers, and he tips your head back, his mouth scorching hot and hungry on yours.

This is not something you’ve ever thought about, because he is just Cassian. He’s the male who pisses you off by leaving weapons lying around under couch cushions, who sings loudly at the top of his voice first thing in the morning, who fights like fighting is going out of fashion. Since the first day you’d met him, when his eleven-year-old self had looked you up and down and challenged you to an arm wrestle, he’s always just been Cassian.

You’ve always needed him in some impulsive, temperamental way — someone who keeps you on your toes, even if you complain about it sometimes. But now, you need him in a different way.

You part your mouth from his, just long enough to rip your shirt off and chuck it vaguely over his shoulder. Cass watches as you unclasp the bandeau that covers your breasts, and that’s being thrown away, too, and now your top half is naked, and Cassian is growling. It’s not even that he hasn’t seen these parts of you before, but you’d think it was the first ever time, going by the way his eyes darken, and a thousand sinful thoughts flit over his face.

“Fuck.” His voice is deeper. Both of his hands cup your breasts, and he kisses you again. “I love these.”

You smile, and you lock your legs around his waist, and you both groan as you yank him as close as he can get, and you’re grinding the centre of you over the bulge in his breeches. That, alone, feels too good — the length of him pushing through the barrier of your clothing. It’s not enough. You need more. You need him inside you.

Cass seems to echo the sentiment as he growls and finally yanks you fully off the counter. “No screwing around.” He says through gritted teeth. “I need to fuck you.”

His hands are at your breeches, and he’s ripping them open, and you’re so wet between your legs that you have to rub your thighs together, desperate for some kind of friction. Cassian notices, of course, and one side of his mouth tips up into a smirk.

“Turn around.”

You do.

You’re happy to be commanded. You don’t want to be in charge, don’t want to teach.

You want to be taken, and you want to be taught.

His rough hands shove your breeches all the way down, and then he’s seeing to his, ripping at the buttons and stays just enough to pull the hard length of him out. You turn your head to drink in the sight, but he doesn’t allow it.

He slams your front against that counter, and then he’s at your back, the head of his cock brushing against you as he murmurs into your ear, “How do you want it?”

You think your mouth might be watering. “Hard.”

“Hard?”

“Hard.”

“Brace yourself, then, sweetpea.” He grabs your hands, plants them firmly on the counter, calluses biting into your skin. His teeth graze the shell of your ear as he asks, “Are you ready for me?”

You couldn’t be more ready if you tried. You moan, pushing your ass back against him. His chuckle is felt through every inch of you.

He moves one hand down, drags it down your body, slots it between your legs. Your hips give a little jerk as he mops up some of your wetness with his fingers.

“Oh, yeah, you’re ready for me.” There’s a smirk in his voice. His fingers land on your clit, and he nips your ear again. “Good girl.”

You open your mouth — to say something, or to beg, you’re not sure. But there’s no chance.

The head of Cassian’s cock is guided to your entrance. You gasp at the mere feeling of it bumping against you, teasing the opening.

And then he fucking thrusts all the way in, hard enough that you slam once again against the counter. Medical supplies go flying onto the floor.

And gods, it feels too good.

There’s a tiny bite of pain, yes, but it’s pleasurable — more a feeling of fullness. He’s pushed all the way in to the hilt, and the guttural noise that leaves him might just be enough to make you come. It’s animalistic, the way he groans, almost a snarl.

“Hard?” He repeats, withdrawing slightly.

You gasp, your head tipping back. “Hard.”

“Thank the Mother.”

You yelp as his hand suddenly smacks against your ass cheek, and then he’s spreading you open and thrusting in again.

He is not gentle.

He is not soft or tentative or even kind.

This is how Cassian — the much-feared Illyrian — fucks.

And you like it, want it, need it. You push back against him to remind him he doesn’t need to be gentle. Forget about the fact that you’ve always known each other, that you have a fondness for each other.

Fuck me, you communicate silently. Ruin me, and make me forget who I am.

He growls, as if those very thoughts reached him mind-to-mind. And fuck you, he does.

You’re slammed again and again against the counter, hard enough to bruise and leave marks. His balls slap against your skin as he damn near rams into you at an unstoppable force. He’s grunting and snarling and panting. His hands suddenly clasp both of your arms, and he pulls them behind your back, holding onto them and thrusting faster.

“Fucking knew,” he growls, “that your cunt would feel like this. That you’d squeeze my cock like this.”

He slows just slightly — just enough to roll his hips and make sure you feel every single inch of him stroking the inside of you. The shout that leaves you doesn’t even sound like you.

“You like that, sweetpea?” He chuckles darkly. He pushes in to the hilt again, and you moan — a mistake that comes with a penalty. His hips still. “Give me your words, sweetheart. I want to know how much you need my cock.”

“Cassian.” You grit your teeth. “Fuck me.”

He withdraws. Slams into you again. And then the rhythm picks up, the pace fast and raw and unbeatable. Gripping onto your arms gives Cass the perfect leverage to take you exactly as you want him to take you, as he wants to take you. He can’t possibly go any faster, reach any deeper.

Heat coils in your lower belly. You meet every one of his thrusts by bucking against him, and it spurs your body on. You can feel something brilliant building beneath your skin and firing through your veins.

And when he lets go of one of your arms and dips his hand between your legs, his fingers immediately finding your clit, you’re not at all sure that you won’t just explode.

As you feel the head of his cock hit deep inside you, unable to go any further, as the pads of his fingers circle your clit, the noise that leaves you is unlike any other noise you’ve ever made. You’re vaguely aware of a sudden surge of wetness between your legs that drips down your thighs. Cassian made you squirt.

He half-laughs-half-groans, and his teeth nip your ear. “Sweetpea,” he bites out, “who knew you were such a filthy girl? Is this what I’ve been missing out on?”

You can’t speak — words fail you. You’re utterly incapable of doing anything but making your breathy little noises, your fractured moans, as Cassian pounds into you. His ministrations at your clit don’t even falter, even as he lets out a noise that hints at his own release being close.

“Come for me again.” Your wetness still drenches his hand, you know, but it’s not enough — he wants more. His finger presses down hard on your clit, and at the exact same moment, he lands a harsh kiss on your neck that turns into a suck. He slams into you so hard that you have to grip the counter to stop yourself being winded for the second time that night. And you erupt.

You hear the exact moment the walls of your cunt clamp around Cassian’s length. The noise he makes is one that you need to commit to memory, keep for a cold, lonely night when it’s just you and your hand. You’ve never heard anything like it. You never imagined he could make a sound like it.

“Oh, gods, yes,” He damn near whines. His hand is suddenly at your back, and he pushes you down, bends you over until your cheek is pressed to the countertop. He fastens that hand at your shoulder, the other at your hip, and then he’s on the homestretch. “Oh, fuck!”

He thrusts, and he thrusts, and he thrusts — and then he goes still, his cock exploding inside you.

He grunts through every spurt, his fingers biting into your skin. You’re not sure you can move as your cunt continues to contract around him, draining him of every last drop. The counter and Cassian’s hands are the only things holding you up. If he steps away now, your legs may just buckle and drag you to the floor.

So in contrast to the wicked noises you were both just making, near-silence sweeps in, broken only by you both gasping for breath. You close your eyes, your brow furrowing. Press your forehead against the surface you’re currently slumped over. You can’t remember how to…how to exist outside of pleasure.

You are well and truly fucked out.

You’re almost content to just stay there, gripping onto the counter for dear life. But then Cassian finally slides out of you, pulling his seed with him. It drips down your legs, into your underwear. A shudder leaves you.

“Shit, that was—” Cass breathes a laugh. “Gods. Why have we never done that before?”

You manage your own weak, sated chuckle, and finally try to stand up straight. “Because friends aren’t supposed to fuck friends senseless.”

“No,” he agrees. Pauses. “But, like…it doesn’t have to make things awkward, does it? We’re both adults. Capable of sharing pleasure and…and carrying on as normal…”

Oh, bless his heart.

Non-committal Cass is now worried that a casual rearranging of your organs might turn into you falling in love.

“It’s not going to be awkward, Cass.” You snort softly. “I’m just not sure I can move.”

He stares at you. And you stare at him.

The laughter hits you both at the same time. It’s laughter of both relief and release. An acknowledgement that you both feel a darn sight better now than you did when you first walked in. The night isn’t weighing on you so heavily, now.

Is that bad? Perhaps.

But you can fuck people, too. Why…why should you regret it?

“Here.” Tucking himself back into his breeches, Cassian yanks his shirt off, handing it to you. “You can use this to clean yourself up. I’ll run you a bath.”

He turns, but you’re stopping him with a hand on his arm. “I don’t want special treatment just because we fucked. Just…be normal.”

One eyebrow quirks up. “I planned to run you a bath after I cleaned your cheek. We just got a bit…sidetracked. I’m looking after you, Y/N — as your friend.”

You study his face. He’s open, sincere — not pitying. Good.

“Okay.” You tug your hand away. “Thank you.”

He dips his chin, and then he’s strolling away again. He stops at the bottom of the stairs, turning back to look at you.

“I love you.” He says. “Just…don’t ever doubt that.”

You’re not sure you ever could. He’s one of the few constants in your life.

You nod, suddenly not sure you can make eye contact. “I know. I love you, too.”

He, too, nods. And then he disappears, and you’re listening to his boots thudding against each step of the stairs.

You wipe yourself down, tug your breeches up. Slump back against the counter. Drag a hand over your face.

You kind of just want to sleep, be unconscious, before the weighty thoughts begin to shove their way in again.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The summons comes early the next morning, before the sun has even arisen.

One of Lord Devlon’s cronies comes to pluck you and Cassian from the cottage, lead you to the Camp Lord’s study. Azriel is already there when you arrive.

You meet his gaze as you sit down, trying to look for some clue as to what might have occurred in Fenlaros after you’d left. All he seems interested in is checking you over, surveying you for what injuries you have as a result of the night before.

You’re not all too sure if your stomach is tender because of the punch you received to your gut, or because of how thoroughly Cassian fucked you against the kitchen counter.

 Probably best not to linger on that thought for too long.

You’re sandwiched between your two friends, waiting for Lord Devlon to actually grace you with his presence. Where Rhysand is, you can only imagine — probably dealing with his father’s wrath.

You glance down at a slight, sudden pressure you feel at your leg. Azriel presses his thigh into yours, and you lift your gaze to meet his.

“You’re not too hurt?” He speaks quietly.

You shake your head. “You?”

“I’m fine. All good, Cass?”

With his typical, swaggering nonchalance that will most certainly land him in deeper shit, Cass grins and stretches his arms above his head. “Just peachy.”

“Az.” You coax the shadowsinger���s gaze back to yours. “What happened with Kaeda’s father?”

Perhaps you’re being a tad dramatic, but you’d lain awake pretty much all night, brooding on the fact that you’d fucked Cass whilst Az was being subjected to the gods knew what. Your thoughts had snowballed into preparing you for Az to return beaten black and blue — or not return at all.

But he looks…fine. A little roughed up from the brawl, but otherwise fine.

He opens his mouth, leaning closer, and that’s when the door flies open.

The three of you stand up immediately. Tuck your hands behind your backs. Bow your heads.

Lord Devlon saunters into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. His footsteps are loud and purposed as he strides to his chair.

“Sit.” He says coldly.

You take your seats once more. The Lord’s eyes skate over the three of you for a pensive few moments, before settling entirely on you. It makes you uncomfortable.

“So.” He sits back. “Who wants to take a stab at why I’m not very happy this morning?”

The three of you keep your mouths clamped shut.

“I’ll give you a clue. It’s not so much to do with a piss-poor night’s sleep, as it is to do with the fact that three of my fucking soldiers,” his lip curls as he looks you up and down, “and their little plaything,snuck off to a rival camp and picked a fight.”

“She’s not our—”

“Did I give you permission to speak, Azriel?”

The ticking in Az’s jaw is slight, but it’s there, as he stares forward. “No, my lord.”

“Then keep your fucking mouth shut until I do.”

Your friend bows his head once more.

“Can any one of you explain why, exactly, you not only travelled to a rival camp without my orders, but why you then decided to stoke tensions between our two camps? Because, you know, that’s their territory. They were well within their rights to defend themselves and not one of them is being punished for it.”

None of you are sure whether he actually wants an answer. It’s best to just…keep your mouth shut.

“None of you have anything to say?” Devlon’s eyebrows flick up. “Fine. How about I offer you my theory? Because I’m seeing a running theme, here.”

You can feel his hard, intense stare bounce from Azriel, to you, to Cassian. Back and forth and back and forth.

But it always returns to you.

It might be in that moment that you realise there’s another layer to this, that you stupidly hadn’t considered. One that’s really going to get Devlon and his cronies grinding their teeth.

You’re female.

And it’s bad enough for males, his soldiers, to behave like this. But you? A mere, docile female? Someone who should be focused on housekeeping and finding someone to breed with?

A female stepping outside of her place is more or less considered a crime by Illyrians. And you don’t have a Camp Lord father to get you out of that very deep shit.

“It’s Y/N, isn’t it?” Lord Devlon addresses you. He knows your name. He’s a cat playing with a mouse.

You meet his gaze and nod. “Yes, my lord.”

“The blacksmith’s daughter.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Hm. The thing is, Y/N, I am here to raise armies. To oversee the training of their soldiers. As Camp Lord, that is my duty.”

You grit your teeth, bite your tongue. You hate the condescending tone that is so fucking typical of Illyrian males. It’s patronising. Offensive. He’s stating blatant facts and explaining them to you as though you are a child.

But you simply dip your chin in acknowledgment, because playing your part is the only way the three of you are getting out of here with a slap on the wrist.

“I cannot afford for my soldiers to be distracted from their training, or be seduced into making trouble for themselves.” The way he looks you up and down, in that moment, makes you feel oily. “I need my soldiers to be prepared. If war came tomorrow, do you honestly think I could send these two out onto a battlefield?”

These two. He says it with such dismissal, such contempt, that you find yourself balling your fists at your sides. He’s always singled your friends out, tried to break them. He may have to tolerate Rhysand — his father being the High Lord and all — but the tiny slither of acceptance he has for Rhys does not hold up for Azriel or Cassian. He sees them as useless. As nobodies. He’s waiting for them to lose their lives in training or combat so he can be rid of them for good.

It boils your blood.

Before you can stop yourself, your lip curls. “I think they’re two of the best soldiers in Illyria, and you’re damn well lucky to have them.”

Devlon sneers back at you. “I’m sure you would say that. If only to keep them in your bed.”

Beside you, the arms of Cassian’s chair creak as he squeezes them hard. “My Lord—”

“If either one of you speaks without my permission again, I will string you up by your balls. Understood?”

There’s a pause. And then both Cass and Az are sitting back in their seats. Offering quiet, affirmative responses.

“So.” Devlon focuses on you once more. Anger mottles his cheeks a reddish hue. “Considering every time these two land themselves in shit, you are at the centre of it, I see only one appropriate course of action. I will not have you leading them astray. Be it pointless fighting or the absolute colossal fuck up of last night, you are always the common denominator. That stops today. This instant.”

You stare at him. You’re not entirely sure what he’s getting at, but something lurches in your stomach. You swallow down a lump in your throat and grip hard onto your chair.

“As soldiers under my command,” Devlon’s eyes flit between Cassian and Azriel, “I forbid you — and Rhysand — from having any more involvement with her. You will not spend time with her. You will not speak to her in passing. You won’t even look at her. If I find out you do, you’ll regret it.”

All three of you shoot up in your seats, alarmed looks passing your faces. “You can’t do this.” You’re the first to spit.

“Oh?” Devlon cocks an eyebrow. “This is Camp Windhaven, is it not?”

“Yes, but—”

“I am Lord of Camp Windhaven, am I not?”

“Obviously—”

“Then I absolutely have the authority to give such orders, and thus, consider them given. Starting today, your involvement with my soldiers ends.”

“My Lord,” Azriel’s tone is pinched, panicked, “you don’t understand — she’s living with us right now. Her father kicked her out of his home. She has nowhere else to go.”

“Do you think I give a shit about her domestic situation, Shadowsinger?” The Lord snaps at him. “I’m here to oversee the training of Windhaven’s soldiers. Not to get involved in pointless family drama.”

“But where am I supposed to go?” You can’t help it — you slam your fist against the arm of your chair. “What am I supposed to do?”

“That isn’t my problem.” Devlon shrugs. He stands up, planting his hands on the desk between you. He leans over with a glower. “But you better run home with your tail between your legs and begin mending relations with your father, because if I detect that there’s even a hint of involvement with you and my soldiers, I will make you regret it, girl. Do not cross me.”

He tucks — no, slams — his chair under the table. It’s a dismissal. You’re not allowed to respond.

You’re silent, too stunned to think, speak, breathe, as Devlon strides to the door and rips it open.

“Get the fuck out, all three of you.” He orders, and you stand numbly from your chair. “You two,” he directs his attention to your friends, “I want your asses in the training ring immediately. Go.”

They don’t want to, you can tell. They hesitate, but ultimately, there’s no other choice. They have no authority. They’re mere soldiers in training. This is their career, their life’s work, on the line. They can’t meet your gaze as they file out of the door, and you don’t blame them.

“And you?” Devlon stops you as you try to follow, gripping onto your shoulder hard. He may as well pick you up by the scruff of your neck like a boisterous pup. “You’d better heed my warning, Y/N the blacksmith’s daughter.”

He shoves you out of the room. You throw your hands out before you slam into the wall.

“Stay. The fuck. Away.”

azriel tag list: @hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @audie-writes @aaronwarnerswifereal @starxqt @lulufairbank @laurzwrites @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden @jjlevin @smitty-werbenjagermenjenson @spikertrash @kindagoldylocks @barbiezambie @kht1998 @soupghoul @nyctophiliawitch @gracie1234567891011 @gaymistakeboi @luvmxo @rinalouu @microwaveallthedemons @starlightshowdown

[woso-dreamzzz]

World Cup V

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your first World Cup

Everyone dreams of scoring a goal in the World Cup final. Hell, everyone dreams of scoring in even the qualifying rounds for the World Cup.

But, to you, it was almost certainly going to be a dream.

You were goalkeeper. You didn't score goals. You stopped them.

It was your whole job.

Your first World Cup was an honour. You were still young but it had been timed perfectly. When you were first called up to join Sweden's team, it was as the third keeper.

The two keepers before you had retired just before the selection for the World Cup squad. Two new keepers for the squad (both older than you) had been selected but you were the number one - a combination of your talent, training and just how many more international caps you had over your counterparts.

Coach Emma had been wary about putting you as the first choice but your performances at Arsenal spoke for themselves. There wasn't much she could do. No one else seemed to quite fit the bill like you did.

It had been a hard won road with two rounds of penalties in the knockout stage that you refused to be cowed by.

It all came down to this.

Sweden vs England.

You recognised a few of the girls from playing in the WSL and you gave them each a tense smile as you run through warmups. You sit in your cubby during the last team talk where Emma speaks about the game plan and how much work this will be and how much everyone needs to give it their all. You put on Zećira's old World Cup gloves. You flex your hands before clenching.

You replace her's with your own and roll your shoulders.

You walk out to the cheers of the crowd and take your position.

England are out with a vengeance and you make a few daring saves in the first half but it's mainly Sweden who dominate possession.

You're deadlocked in nil-nil throughout the first half and then the second half.

You leak into nine minutes of injury when one of your midfielders is dispossessed. You can hear Coach Emma yelling something at your defenders but you don't look to see the disarray of your backline. An England kit comes streaking up your left wing. She shoots but you're not worried because you already know that she has a tendency to shoot wide.

You collect the ball for a goal kick and one of England's finest starts a run towards you, to put on the pressure.

You could think of nothing but making sure this forward didn't get anywhere near your box or your ball.

You booted it up the pitch.

To be honest, it was an accident.

It hadn't been you trying anything. All you could think about was making sure England didn't even have a chance to score a goal.

You assumed one of your forwards would pick it up - some of them had this uncanny ability to know what you would do before you did.

Either way, you watched the ball sail over everyone's head...

The keeper was about as far off her line as she could be.

It sailed over her head, bounced and rolled into the bottom right corner.

You freeze in shock.

You hadn't meant to do that.

The crowd behind you screamed and you didn't have time to think before you were completely dogpiled by your teammates.

"Get off!" You laugh, trying to shake them off.

"There's no chance now!" Someone says.

"Keep them away from my goal and then there will be no chance," You reply, still completely trapped.

"Which goals is yours again?" Someone else teases," Because I think you've staked a thorough claim on England's too."

Your cheeks flush red and you bat her away. "Shut up."

"Never!" Someone declares," I'm pretty sure our goalkeeper just won us the game! You're never hearing the end of this!"

"Go away," You laugh," Go on. We've still got a few more minutes to play. Keep them off my goal and I'll let you talk about it all you want."

And they do keep England off your goal.

You sink to your knees in shock as you're dogpiled again. Swedish is flowing easily into your ears but you can't understand any of it. You slowly get to your feet and walk strangely calmly over to the stands.

You pass Coach Emma on the way. She's smiling, clapping you on the back. You think she says something too but you're too busy listening to the roaring of blood in your ears.

You hop the barrier and move into Momma's arms.

She holds you nice and tight as you still stare in shock. You think you're crying but you're numb to most things.

Momma's talking but her words are just static in your ears as you're moved from her to Morsa to moster Frido and then finally to Zećira.

You come back into the present when you see her. Shakily, you remove your gloves and hold them out to her.

She smiles and takes them. "I'm so proud of you. Best keeper in the world."

More tears slip down your cheeks. Your voice breaks. "Thank you."

"So proud of you," Morsa says as she and Momma appear over your shoulders," Clearly you're just like your Momma. Scoring goals."

"Is was an accident," You say softly.

"And it was a perfect accident," Momma says," I couldn't have done it better myself."

You laugh a little wetly. "Well," You say," I must have picked it up from all those times you kicked at me in the garden."

"Champion of the world!" Moster Frido declares, clapping you on the back and planting a kiss on your head," World Champion! Best keeper in the world!"

"Well," Momma says," This keeper needs to head back down to receive her medal. Go on, off you go." She pushes you away lightly.

You hop the barrier again and line up with the others.

There's a sense of pride as you walk across the stage, receive your medal and kiss the trophy.

You feel a little shaky as the trophy is lifted and you celebrate, screaming out your victory for the whole world to see.

You jump around with your teammates, each of them strongarming you into taking a picture with you and the trophy.

By the time you manage to get away, you're jogging over to the England side. You strip your shirt and hold it up into the crowd.

A hand reaches down to take it.

You look up.

Leah stares down at you. She leans over the railing.

"I should be mad at you," She says," But that was the best goal I've seen in a while. I'm very proud of you. Are you sure I can't convince you to stay?"

You look down bashfully and confess," I think Arsenal's getting a bit too small for me."

Leah laughs. "Yeah, I reckon that too." She pulls your shirt over her head. "You'll come back and visit?"

You bump your fist against hers. "Well, North London is red."

She grins at you. "Go on, World Cup winner. Off you go. I'll see you around."

"Bye, Leah."

You jog towards the Sweden side of the crowd again, pumping up your fist as people scream your name.

You skid to a stop in front of Morsa. You drop your medal over her neck.

"For you," You say," For all the World Cup medals you gave me."

[yourfatherlucifer]

ATZ 9th Member Shenanigans

poly!teez x male!member!reader

warnings: slight polyamory, crack ateez, funny shit.

au: none

genre: fluff

wc: 438

tags:

@choism @k-hotchoisan @asherthehimbo @wooyoungqueen @mjyungi @yunho-mp3 @staytinyville @dinossaurz @sanspuppet @emtrades22

nets: @cromernet @cultofdionysusnet @k-labels @kflixnet @pirateeznet @wonderlandnet

let me know if you'd like to be added to the permanent tag list!~ PLEASE REBLOG

MOMENT ONE

"Wooyoung!" You shouted, your hands balling into a fist, "I swear to god, if you left your dirty dishes in the sink, again, I am going to choke you."

You threw the sponge into the sink, before making your way to the man.

"And I swear, if you say you don't remember if it was you or not," you held your finger up in his face, "I will get Hongjoong."

Wooyoung's eyes widened, "Okay, okay! It was me, I'm sorry!" He set down his phone and scurried to the sink.

Did he really think you forgot about the time he confessed to being the one to leave his ramyeon dishes in the sink?

Jongho stared at the scene and laughed, but you quickly glared at him, "This isn't even my dorm, Jongho. Don't even start with me."

MOMENT TWO

"San, stop moving." You whined into his chest, "I can't, Wooyoung keeps kicking me in the butt." He whined back.

Hongjoong burst into the room, "What are you three still doing in bed? Get up! We have practice in twenty!"

Wooyoung sat up from behind San and threw a pillow at Hongjoong's head, "Hush!"

You reached behind San and pulled Wooyoung's ear, "Be nice! He's still your elder!"

Hongjoong laughed and walked up to you on the bed, "Thanks, but you gotta get up too." He kissed your cheek.

San whined, "Where's my kiss, Hongjoong?"

"You disgust me."

MOMENT THREE

Everyone laid on the dance practice room floor, breaths heaving out of all nine men's chests. You had rolled onto your stomach, your shirt riding up. Wooyoung giggled as he stood up, taking his plan in action, everyone but you stared at him in confusion.

He quickly runs over and plops onto your back, his witch-like cackle fills your ears, "Hi, Y/N!" He giggles.

You grunted and whined, "Youngie!"

San followed after, landing on top of Wooyoung, then Seonghwa, then Yunho, then everyone else followed. A dogpile of eight men were on you, everyone laughing as they crushed you.

"You guys are killing me!"

MOMENT FOUR

"Y/N, could you stand closer to Mingi?" The director shouted out.

Your eyebrow twitched in irritation, "Gladly, sir!" Anything to get away from Jongho poking your ass, you were tempted to hit him in the balls like San did to him before you guys performed once before.

Jongho was stifling his giggles, not wanting to mess up the MV shoot. When the director called for a break, you turned to face him, but he'd already ran off. Whatever, you'll just sneak into his room tonight and push him off his bed.

[utilitycaster]

It's become stunningly clear with this most recent episode that Imogen and Laudna's insularity, mistrust of everyone else in the party, and refusal to take responsibility for their actions is at the heart of the disconnect and lack of bonding within Bells Hells. It is not the only reason - I think Orym's constant smoothing over of issues in the interest of forward motion has certainly exacerbated the situation - but it's a significant and unavoidable factor. I'm hoping that while the actual exercises of the team-building probably won't themselves fix the issues this party has, addressing the various secrets that are now out, specifically the ones that touch on issues that affect the functioning and dynamics of the entire group, actually might.

As this post notes, their unwillingness to question each other or develop any conflict resolution with each other means they tend to, even if unwittingly, dogpile the rest of the group by acting as a singular voice. In a small conflict-averse group, this tends to constantly overwhelm the conversation. This is worsened by Imogen's psychic abilities, which permit her to glean information about the others without the need to have a conversation; it means the others in the party frequently start with two votes against them before they've even said anything.

They also both suffer from a pretty profound lack of boundaries. Again, Imogen's psychic abilities are invasive, frequently unwelcome, and often lead her to both jump to conclusions and to police the behaviors of others without considering their actions nor giving them any chance to have a full conversation. It also means she controls what information the rest of the party knows, as her interpretation of someone else's mental state is the only thing they're given when she reads someone's mind. Laudna, meanwhile, is extremely quick to trust, while also taking any deception as profound betrayal. As a result, they both tend to take a hot-or-cold approach to the others in the party based on the other person's most recent thought or action. They are prone to black-and-white thinking and snap judgments, which, as the next paragraph indicates, has serious ramifications.

Imogen and Laudna are terrible about actually talking to people and getting anything out in the open. This includes each other; again, see their frequent unquestioning support or the claim that their relationship defies words (which it does not; as of last episode this has culminated in Imogen revealing that, in fact, she is disgusted by a fundamental reality of their relationship, which is absolutely not something that can be addressed without a pretty intense conversation.) We also see this in how they've taken Fearne's choice not to take the shard. While, arguably, they had heard Fearne express her concerns about the shard to Morri by the time of the honesty exercise (which would make their behavior even worse), even if they hadn't, that's two voices shaming her for without hearing her side of the story. It's in sharp contrast with Chetney, who also expresses his disappointment with Fearne in episode 3x78, but immediately follows it up by asking her why she didn't want it. Imogen and Laudna never take it upon themselves to ask her how she feels or why she made that choice and let her explain; they jump straight to judgement.

That failure to ask ties into the final element of why they are the weak point in Bells Hells' communication: they are just as guilty as Ashton of "violent projection of responsibility", but unlike Ashton have not realized the depth of this flaw and the consequences it has not just on their own life but on the others in the party. This is less of an issue with Imogen with regards to Bells Hells (in fact one might argue she takes far too much responsibility in that she apparently sees policing the party on the basis of their thoughts to be her duty, though I would note that unattuning the circlet leaves her, the person with the clearest ties to the Vanguard, vulnerable to the powers of others within the organization) and far more so with the gods, from whom she apparently expects instant gratification. However, this is at the core of Laudna. It's true that she is by no means the only powder keg within the party; Chetney and FCG's abilities are also dangerous. However, one must take into account that Laudna has been aware of Delilah's presence for, as she has repeatedly stated, over three decades now, and only now realized the implications thereof, whereas Chetney became a werewolf less than a year ago and immediately took steps to mitigate the threat he posed, and FCG only learned of their condition within the past few months. Like Chetney, she has learned to remove herself from situations in which she could pose an immediate threat, but that slow learning curve and lack of proactivity is not promising for the future. It's also true that, keeping all other circumstances identical, the impact of Laudna's loss of control is far more dangerous. If Chetney bites someone or FCG attacks, unless they kill someone, the damage and curse can be undone and the power within them is unchanged. The same is not true with regards to what happens if Delilah makes Laudna absorb a magical item or a soul.

While everyone in Bells Hells shares some responsibility for the current state of affairs, Imogen and Laudna are without a doubt the primary source of toxicity. I think the others have become aware that they are in an environment in which Imogen is likely to either shoot them down, read their minds nonconsensually, or make insensitive suggestions, and that Laudna will nod along next to her as she does. It does not feel coincidental that Fearne chose not to voice her concerns and that Ashton avoided the group conversation entirely. This again does not absolve Ashton or Fearne of their deception of the party, but it does explain why they might feel an honest conversation is impossible. Unpacking what was said during the Honesty exercise might finally allow Bells Hells to excise this rot and to begin a new era of group conversations in which everyone feels they can say what needs to be said without fear, but it will be an effort to be sure.

Because it's me, I think it's worth noting that the fandom emphasis on absolving Imogen and Laudna of any accountability (which I've spoken about at length and have had on my radar for a long time now) is obviously not the cause of this behavior in-game, but does echo it in interesting ways. I'm not sure I would have realized the extent to which they evade responsibility in-game without this mentality being so prominently in the fandom. It explains why they are never expected, by many fans, to even achieve as minor a task as "asking Fearne how she feels instead of letting their own feelings dominate what they think she should do", let alone set boundaries for each other. But ultimately, that is the key: I think the only way for this party to achieve the trust they need is through the assertion of those boundaries. When Bells Hells know that they have the freedom to disagree with each other without being accused, dogpiled, ignored, or told to get it together, only then will they be able to actually come to true consensus rather than the fragile and tenuous teamwork they have had so far.

[bloodpen-to-paper]

Gonna throw my hat into the ring here, as someone who very recently had a streamer they loved and supported go down for serious allegations and crimes. Feel free to skip around my long ass response, I'll break it down into parts:

---Public Reception

Part of the reason I despise these situations is because people online don't ever know enough to make 100% accurate assessments, but will act like they do anyway (I don't care if its authoritarian, I want a bill where people on Twitter can't post about drama until after at least 5 minutes of being forced to critically think). Having said that, here's my opinions on how everything should go forward:

-Shelby shared her story in order to spread awareness on domestic abuse and the signs, so that others can read those signs and keep themselves safe (or leave an actively abusive situation they've been convincing themselves isn't that bad). That is the priority here, that is what people should be focusing on. If you make this situation about stirring drama with the other CCs, you're a dumbass and you need to stop posting. Give support to Shelby, uplift the voices of women like her sharing their stories, spread awareness on what domestic abuse can look like so everyone can learn, and wait for more information. Its that simple.

-CCs don't owe statements for conflicts they weren't involved in. Philza, Tommy, Quackity, Charlie, and other CCs close to Wilbur who aren't part of this don't owe you an explanation. They're people, they're most likely having to come to terms with the fact that a dear friend, someone who could've been like family, isn't who they thought he was. Have a fucking heart and cut it with the parasocial entitlement. I'm hoping Quackity will remove Wilbur from the Qsmp, but just like with Forever, he probably won't make a big announcement of it, and that's perfectly ok. I understand wanting to make sure you're not supporting a CC who would defend someone guilty of committing domestic abuse, but its still not your right to get anything from these people. If they share, they share. If not, then they don't. If you can't handle that, then leave.

-Having said the above, its worth noting that CCs aren't just a fun group of friends, they're coworkers. Much of what they say publicly and when they say it can be shaped or restricted by situations that can affect their careers or get them in legal trouble. You don't know these people personally or what goes on behind the scenes, its a network and you can't measure their responses the same way you would your own opinion piece. The CCs will always need to be careful about how they respond to an issue, and they will most likely respond in "safe" ways considering what's on the line. Not accusing anyone of anything, nor demonizing them for it, just something to keep in mind. They're human, but they're also working a job.

-If you have Lovejoy or Wilbur-related merch, DON'T THROW IT AWAY OR DESTROY IT. I've seen lots of people pointing out merch can be donated to thrift shops or shelters, and its more eco-friendly than burning or trashing. Remember, anything can be repurposed; a book, a hoodie, there's always someone who can find a use for it. Likewise if you want to keep your old merch, that's fine to. You can wear it if it brings you comfort, or if its something you just like the look of. As long as you're not supporting the source, you already have the merch so don't let people pressure you into thinking you're bad for keeping it if you're not ready to let go/throw away those $70.

---My Opinion Regarding His Response

Everyone and their cousin has been dogpiling on Wilbur's response (rightfully), but I think people online don't understand how public responses work when there's legal team and PR interference. The tweet for me had a weird lack of personal touch and emotion from the guy I've observed to be very personal in his writings, whether its his music or a community post about a life update (blah blah parasociality I know, but I'm letting you know the observations I've made of his behavior simply as someone who notices these things). He also never explicitly stated Shelby's name, rather saying "that person" (you even had the textbook 'black text on a blank white background' screenshotted response). Finally, there was a consistent standing on Wilbur 'not being aware of how the other person really felt' regarding his actions. What I'm trying to say is... y'all really gotta start putting two and two together. Its a textbook PR response. As in, I'd be surprised if Wilbur had over 50% involvement in making it because the wording is exactly how it reads when a response has been initiated by someone's lawyers rather than themselves. The reason he doesn't take more accountability and openly admit to having abused Shelby (other than the obvious public backlash) is probably cause his lawyers are banking on the feigning ignorance angle, that Wilbur didn't intentionally abuse Shelby and was ignorant to how his actions affected her. Its the best way to get him out of hot water on the legal side, because again, this isn't messy drama; its a genuine accusation of a crime. I don't think the response is tone deaf and unaware, I think its a deliberate and measured legal move not even fully created by Wilbur himself. This isn't to say I think he's innocent, but I do know that Shelby and others have brought up some serious accusations, and Wilbur is lawyering up as a result.

---Nuance

Prefacing this part by saying that things are not looking good for Wilbur in regards to what other CCs have brought up about him, and I fully believe and support Shelby, hence why I support that the community should start distancing from him and his work. But I would like to take this opportunity to look into the greater aspects at play. We are within a system that brings up men to do what they want without teaching them to be considerate and aware of the consequences. Men are taught their harmful behavior is perfectly fine, often at women's expense, which makes these situation a very different story depending on who's telling it. Its because of this that we need to critically analyze the system and how it causes men to turn out as they do, instead of giving an immediate opinion without any nuance.

There's a possibility that Wilbur is being genuine in not realizing how bad his actions were. There's a possibility he truly is a manipulative liar who knew exactly what he was doing. He could be a piece of shit. He could be genuinely trying to improve and do better. We don't know. I'd say its pretty cut and dry that he hurt Shelby, and for that I'm glad she's getting justice for herself and spreading awareness. But if we're to entertain the idea of redemption, we need to look at situations like these with nuance so that we can understand the "why". I'm not trying to justify Wilbur's actions or even give him the benefit of the doubt, I have no idea what's going on in that guy's head. I'm just putting this out there because its something I want everyone to think about, especially when it comes to topics regarding narcissism and mental health issues. Don't support him or Lovejoy, just keep something like this in mind for the future.

---The Community/Now Displaced Fans

To everyone who's immediately telling Wilbur's fans (the ones that don't support his actions and are actively mourning no longer being able to enjoy his stuff) to just listen to other music or move on, and who are celebrating each negative new thing that comes out about Wilbur's current status, sincerely, shut the fuck up. You are completely lacking in empathy or emotional intelligence, and what you're doing is the last thing the community needs. Wilbur and his work could have and for many did get fans through some of their hardest moments, and losing that wonderful sense of community you get from streamers and their work (especially with the roleplay stuff) is awful. It fucked me up losing that after almost a year, for some of his fans its been even longer.

If you're a (former) fan of his, its ok to feel like shit. We're human, we get attached and we grieve losing something like this because that's how capable we are of loving. Take your time, as long as you know where to stand (supporting Shelby and raising awareness on domestic abuse), you're doing good. You can keep enjoying his characters and work and making content about it, separating the art from the artist (though don't stream his music from platforms that would give him the money, find a way to pirate it).

This sucks. I feel it as a casual fan who was once hugely into his content, I can imagine what its like for those who were huge supporters all the way up until now. You didn't do anything wrong supporting someone you thought was a good person, its just a thing that happens and its so fucking shitty. You ain't alone though, I know some of you have that knee-jerk reaction to avoid anything to do with him but reaching out to others in the community and actually processing it all is way better, you won't be bottling it all up. Don't be afraid to continue engaging with this part of your life until you're ready to move on from it in your own time, and be kind to yourself. From someone who went through exactly what you are now, trust me, you'll get through it.

[magicalgirlmindcrank]

Legit not tryna drum up drama but whats your beef with demilypyro? I follow you both but i guees not for long enough to be in the know.

We have beef with Demily like iHop has steak. Yeah it's on the menu, but we're no porterhouse. That said-

She has awful takes about pretty much everything from games to social issues, suffers extreme pick-me-ism, is like two steps away from being an open transmedicalist, and she's just extremely annoying. She seemingly can't go a month without saying some offensive shit about her fellow transwomen or letting her dutch upbringing show. Whenever people bring up that she did or said something shitty she hides behind her autism even when it's not relevant and wouldn't excuse it if it was. Or in case of her saying something racist again, her grandfather being Moroccan or whatever, so she's technically poc so it's automatically fine. Just ignore the fact she's speaking over Black and Latin American people who have actually grown up as such.

On top of it all she often weaponizes her follower base, getting them to attack anyone who is unlucky enough to talk about shitty things she's done somewhere she sees. I won't mention their names, but users have gotten dogpiled and sent death threats cuz of her. She's just immensely toxic and is almost categorically allergic to growing as a person.

None of this is even getting into specific shitty things Demily has done, like making fun of the looks of other transwomen calling them 'it' and such, or her saying passing makes her better at being trans than a transwoman who doesn't pass, or the most recent thing where she puts a transgirl hook up on blast for having ED saying it's gross.

There's funnier trans streamers on this site who don't suck. There's funnier trans vtubers on this site who don't suck.

[daytaker]

Oh! Oh! Spin the bottle with Mammon for the followers event!~

Thank you for your prompt, and sorry for the delay! Writer's block has been killing me but I'm trying to get back into the swing of things. Enjoy this little Mammon x reader drabble!

Spin the Smartphone

Mammon x Reader Genre: Fluff Word Count: 1154 CW: Nothing, really.

[Part of my 250 Followers Mini Event!]

“Hey, how ‘bout a game of spin the bottle?”

Mammon made the suggestion, grinning at everyone. That is to say, grinning at Levi, Satan, Asmo, the twins, and you. You were all sitting in your room, trying to figure out what to do now that the Monopoly board was scorched after Satan’s brief burst of rage earlier. (He landed on Park Place again.)

“Ew,” was Levi’s response.

“Eh?” Mammon blinked.

“You do realize that if we did that, you’d have a 5 out of 6 chance to land on one of your brothers?” Satan asked, tilting his head with a small smirk.

“...EH?!”

“Seriously, how is our brother this stupid?” sighed Belphie.

“I ain’t stupid!” Mammon whined.

“Why can’t you just ask the human for a kiss instead of coming up with these convoluted excuses?” Satan rolled the Monopoly top hat between his fingers. “Are you really so full of yourself that you can’t admit that’s what you’re actually after?”

“W-What? Whaddaya mean ‘all these convoluted excuses’?! I said one thing!”

“Last week you wanted to try seven minutes in heaven,” sighed Asmo, shaking his head. “That was even worse.”

Levi laughed. “Not to mention all the times you’ve been like, ‘Guys! I have the best idea! Let’s play truth or dare!’ and then ‘Okay, Human, ask me truth or dare! I choose dare! Huh? …Can ya dare me something else? …Can ya dare me something else again?’ Lol!”

“He’s so obvious it makes me a little sad,” Beel added with a sorry frown. 

You sat and listened to the exchange. They weren’t wrong, of course. You and Asmo had made a bit of a game of it; guessing what weird attempt at an excuse to kiss you Mammon might pull out next. Still, you weren’t completely heartless, and watching Mammon get dogpiled by his younger brothers wasn’t making you feel amazing, no matter how used to it he probably was.

So later that night, after you’d all agreed it was only fair that Satan should buy the replacement Monopoly board and the brothers had all cleared out, you pulled out your DDD and opened your texts.

> Hey. Mammon: Hey!!! Mammon: I mean, what’s up? > Could you come back to my room? I wanted to ask you about something.

Less than a minute later, there was a sudden, excited knock at your door. Mammon entered before you even invited him in and plopped down on the floor.

“So! Missin’ the Great Mammon already, eh? Can’t say I blame ya.”

“I have a proposition for you,” you announced, and you pulled a Demonus bottle from under your bed.

“I accept,” Mammon declared, snatching the bottle from your hands before you had a chance to get a word in edgewise. “...Hey, what the…? It’s empty!”

You took the bottle back and slipped onto the floor, facing Mammon. “We’re not drinking it, you doofus. We’re spinning it.”

You watched the gears turn in Mammon’s head in real time. He looked at you, then at the bottle, a complete lack of understanding on his face. Then his lips moved. You thought he mouthed the word “spin”, but you couldn’t be sure. He looked up at you again, decided that was a bit too intense, and returned to staring at the bottle as his cheeks turned red.

“Wait, you mean like…?”

“Spin the bottle. Yeah.”

Mammon looked around the room in an exaggerated fashion before raising a hand dismissively. “Uh, in case ya ain’t noticed, there’s only two of us here.”

“Is that a problem?”

“I’unno. ‘S meant to be a party game.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

Finally, the last few gears seemed to click into place, and a look of recognition crossed Mammon’s face. “...Oh!”

“Yeah.”

You set the bottle down on the floor between the two of you. You both stared at it. Then you looked up at each other. 

“You go first,” you said, and at the same time, Mammon said, “Uh, did you wanna–?”

Mammon gave it a spin. It was not an elegant spin either. The thing wobbled and rolled on its side and it took a few tries to get it to spin anything like how it always looked on TV.

When it stopped, it pointed unambiguously at the wall.

“Try it again,” you said.

He tried it again. This time it stopped facing your bed.

“You’re doing it wrong,” you sighed.

“The hell does that even mean?”

You ignored him and gave the bottle a spin. It went skating underneath the bed, and Mammon looked vindicated. “See? ‘S not that easy!”

Irritated to see your best made plans laid to waste, you opened up your DDD, typed a 🍾 emoji into the Notes app, and set the device down on the floor between you. You gave your device a little spin. This went far better than your last attempt, so you decided to quit while you were ahead.

Meanwhile, Mammon was attempting to decipher your actions. “The fuck is that?” he asked, squinting at the DDD.

“A bottle,” you answered with a shrug. “It’s pointing at you.”

Then you crawled across your wooden floor and pressed your lips against his, and Mammon just sort of tensed up and didn’t move, and it was awkward and kind of embarrassing and really nice. You hadn’t felt this much like a teenager since you were a teenager.

Once you crawled back to the far side of your DDD, he shook himself out of his fugue state and began protesting what had just occurred.

“H-Hey… Hey… Hey! Hey, hey, wait a second!” He seemed to be grasping at whatever he could to give himself an excuse for just how passive he was for that entire thing. “You said I could go first!”

“Spin better,” you shrugged.

“You spun worse than I did!”

“Creative solutions are rewarded.”

“...I see what’s goin’ on here,” Mammon said after a flustered pause. His confidence was suddenly back at full strength. “...You were just desperate for an excuse to kiss me, weren’t ya?”

You stared at him. Was this guy really trying to flip the scenario on its head?

“So desperate! Invitin’ me up here and pullin’ all this dumb crap with the bottle… Y’know, if ya really wanted a kiss, ya coulda just asked.” He was smirking now, smirking! “As my number one human, you should know ya always get special treatment, even when it comes to things like that. ‘Cause I’m so magnanimous and awesome and stuff.”

“Oh, Great Mammon,” you sighed, unsure if you found his schtick charming or irritating at the moment, “would you bless this poor mortal with a kiss?”

“N-Now you’re just gettin’ greedy!” Mammon scolded, cheeks flushing once again.

“Says the Avatar of Greed.”

“Exactly! I’d know!”

“Never mind then.”

“Ah, wait, wait, hold up.” Mammon grabbed the DDD that still laid on the floor between you. He gave it a spin. “Is that pointin’ at ya? Close enough, right? C’mere.”

[bartzabell]

The problem with Aziraphale and Crowley’s belief system is how different they are (i can hear you say ‘’duh angel/demon’’ but hear me out) Aziraphale’s biggest flaw is how self sacrificing he is and opposed to that, Crowley’s biggest flaw is how selfish he is when it comes to himself and Aziraphale together. Let me explain in detail. Even in s1, we saw them clashing about this in the bandstand and after in front of the bookshop.

‘’Even if this all end up in a pile of burning goo, we can go off together!’’ ‘’We can run away together!’’ ’’We need to get away from them, just be an us.’’

Said Crowley, even though he loves humanity and earth, the only thing that’s important to him is Aziraphale. This is where his selfishness comes from, he just cares about Aziraphale. He doesn’t care about saving anything else, he just wants them to be happy together at the moment and doesn’t think about the long run but we all know even if they run away together like Gabriel and Beelzebub, Heaven and Hell will never leave them alone for the eternity. It’s not gonna work in the long run, this is what Crowley can’t see, he’s blinded by the love he has for Aziraphale.

For Aziraphale… He’s too self sacrificing for his own good. In both seasons, we’ve seen him losing hope in Heaven, never in the Almighty, but in Heaven’s system.

‘’I’m sure if i can just reach the right people i can sort this out. I’ll have a word with the Almighty and it’ll be fixed’’ ‘’If i’m in charge, i can make a difference.’’ ‘’We can make a difference, I need you.’’

He thinks the system is broken and if he joins the system, he thinks he can fix it. He needs to fix it because if he won’t, things will never get better, only worse. He’s willing to risk everything he got in order to perfect Heaven. It includes leaving his bookshop, includes having to choose blood over love… And this is what Aziraphale can’t see, he can’t save everything. He’s sacrificing his own happiness in order to perfect something he can’t. In our eyes, it’s easier to dogpile on Aziraphale because as a viewer, we all root for them to become together and just like Crowley, we don’t care about the long run. We just want them to kiss each other back and be happy for that moment. 

[blue-isnt-here]

💙The Mutant Mayhem boys with an ftm boyfriend/crush💙

Leonardo

- Bless this guy's heart. With the way you nervously pulled him aside during a hangout at the lair, hands shaky and eyes escaping his own, Leo seriously thought you were going to break up with him.

- You could tell he was starting to panic and quickly de-escalated it, comforting your anxious, teary-eyed boyfriend by hugging him close.

- After calming down, he asked you what was really going on, and, well... you told him. Openly, with scattered giggles and stuttered words, as well as a few stray tears.

- Leo was quick to place his thumbs on your face and rub the tears away, listening closely as you told him everything.

- Proudly proclaims (when you're comfortable with it) about having you as his sweet, wonderful boyfriend.

- Constantly checks his internal alarm clock (as well as his phone) whenever he knows you're wearing a binder. Leo worries he's being too overprotective, but that thankful smile of yours whenever he does bring it up washes all the bad thoughts away.

- Reassures you whenever you're feeling down about yourself (best boy) and claims that he'd physically fight your dysphoria if he could.

- You're saved as "Prince💙" in his phone and his brothers never let him live it down.

- Totally relates to your insecurities of not being "manly enough" and so, you two hype each other up, in your own cringy, dorky lovestruck way.

- "You're so handsome!"

"No, you!"

- If you have a similar taste in clothes to him, get ready to be dogpiled by his brothers for the crimes of "dressing like bestbuy employees" and "looking like you're gonna sell them an insurance plan"

- With the way you laugh it off, Leonardo can't help but join you, adoring your new-found confidence and the loving look you gave him as you met his eyes.

- Cringefail boyfriends fr

Raphael

- He was kind of confused at first, but listened intently as you explained how you felt, occasionally taking your hand in his and toying with your fingers.

- Raphael never gave much thought to his orientation, even after falling in love with you and getting together. He may need some help understanding a few things, but he's thrilled to call you his boyfriend.

- Like... Nothing changed. You're just a boy to him now.

- You were a little nervous about him not making a big deal out of it, but it quickly turned into relief once he crushed cuddled you for the rest of the night, occasionally making some VERY crude gay jokes to make you laugh.

- Will not let up with the "no homo" jokes after you tell him. The both of you could literally be kissing and-

"I love you so much, Raph"

"Love ya too. No homo though right?"

- Loves it when you laugh and/or scoff at these jokes

- Since you're a guy, Raph figures he can tell you all about gross guy things like he does with his brothers. He's just that comfortable with you.

- If you're trying to put on muscle, he's all smiles and already dragging you to the training area. You're not getting out of this. (affectionate)

- Raphael actually has a pretty good fashion sense and would be really flattered if you asked him for advice. He'll never admit that though, obviously.

- One time, you came home with a pair of matching red and black jerseys, in yours and his respective sizes.

- Raph.exe stopped working

- Like... Face redder than his mask type of gay panic.

- Offered to steal testosterone for you more than once.

- Noogies you/threatens to shove you into lockers affectionately. When you confront him about his nerd/jock thing, he just malfunctions and denies it.

- Would beat up anyone who gives you trouble for your identity in a heartbeat. No one messes with his man.

Donatello

- It was late at night at the lair, during one of your hours-long gaming sessions with your best friend, Donnie. He laid in his tent, shifting side to side excitedly, relieved that you couldn't see how much of a mess you made him whenever he heard your voice.

- And yet Donnie made the effort to hide his feelings, because you two were friends. Wait, no. He was your BEST friend.

- ... Who had been crushing on you for ages now. Painfully so.

- Much like his older brother, Donnie misinterprets your anxious tone and stuttering as something different, thinking you were about to tell him you've always loved him and wanted to be together forever-

- "Donnie, I'm trans."

- A choked sound comes out through the other end of the call as Donnie faceplants into his pillows, face flushed in embarassment.

- "T-that's okay. I, um... Totally cool."

"You sure? You sound weird."

"*voice cracks* ..yEP!"

- Really supportive, but in a chill sorta way.

- Donnie is easily the most casual about it. Barely questions it - before you know it he's already complimenting you, telling you how well you pass.

- If you're self conscious about your voice, Don makes sure you know that he loves it and also jokes about his own, saying that you don't need a deep voice to be a man.

- "I mean... Look at me! I'm pretty much a falsetto and you like me anyways!"

- Donnie says that last part lightly, but he listens intently for your reaction, and is relieved when you laugh; he successfully cheered up his crush. Score.

- Compares you to various anime guys he thinks resemble you - given that you may not know much about the characters or Donnie's knowledge of them. His brothers, however, noticed a pattern - they're always the anime boy archetypes he seems to favor the most.

- And so they tease him, relentlessly, mercilessly, about his crush on you.

- "Donnie's got a tyyyypeeee!"

"Quit it, Mikey!"

"C'mon guys, maybe he wants to go see his boyfriend!"

"H-he's not! Shut up, Raph! You know what? I'm gonna go."

"What, you miss your senpai already?"

"WHAT THE HECK LEO!?"

Michelangelo

- You sort of came out to Mikey shortly after becoming his friend. Being a member of drama club, you were lucky enough to find yourself in a supportive environment and you were finally free to be yourself, much like the turtles.

- Mikey always tiptoed around the idea of what romance could be like and, well... you were just his type.

- You didn't mock him, or treat him like the weakest one of the group or anything. You took him seriously.

- And so Mikey was seriously obsessed with you.

- So much so that when your group was tasked with dressed rehearsals for the play you'd been practicing together, he can barely look in your general direction as you slip off the stage garments to reveal black underarmor.

- It was chill. You were just friends. Totally chill. Be cool. Mikey could do that, right?

- "W-wait, where are you going?"

- He was struggling with removing his shirt, the thin cotton getting caught on his shell. Mikey stood there, watching you step out of the changing rooms and into one of the bathroom stalls, face flushed and arms raised awkwardly as he fiddled with the shirt.

- "I just gotta get this binder off. S'been knocking the wind outta me!"

"O-Oh..."

- Unexpectedly, Mikey's kinda paranoid about you binding. It leads to some awkward questions, but he's genuinely worried and means well.

- Mikey gets very passive aggressive whenever someone misgenders you on purpose; you may have to hold him back a bit.

- Does his best to cheer you up when you feel down about yourself. This man will NOT rest until that handsome smile is back on your face.

- Tries to low-key sneak it into conversations that he likes guys. And that you're a guy. And that he REALLY likes guys. And-

- He's just a gay mess, forgive him.

[uninformedartist]

I really don't like going through Viv's likes or anyone's for that matter but for evidence purposes I do. Viv liking this tweet is so... I can't describe it just wow (second tweets is more context).

Viv there is lots of valid reasons (yeah some not) that people dislike you and subsequently don't want to support/dog on your projects. You're a shitty person in many ways from transphobia, employee abuse, having a toxic work environment and not changing it at all, allowing your fans to run as your protection hounds (not once you stepping in to call out their behavior) from silencing your victims in multiple egregious ways, harassing critics/critical fans. Your show helluva boss is ableist, it fetishises queer people/relationships, inconsistent in its storytelling/identity, has staff members working on it thats problematic yet you never address the multiple call outs against them, heck Viv interacts with said problematic people regularly on twitter showing she doesn't care. Hazbin hotel has the worst poc representation I've seen in recent animation from Velvette being a black woman but looks ashey thus erasure, Alastor being creole but looks how he looks, basing him on a native American creature you been told by many native Americans to remove that aspect of him, making Alastor use Haitian Vodou when many said its used incorrectly/used in an aesthetic manner which is insensitive/wrong to use, basically making a mockery of these people's beliefs/religion. And I can go on.

Even your own staff/die hard fans shit on other idie shows in private (and some of such sentiments seep out in public social media spaces)

And lets not forget you making such a big deal on your lackadaisy donation, posting the amount & tier of executive producer credit you selected. Then when your donation was rejected you subsequently posted its rejection, which triggered your fandom to boycott lackadaisy. Also the fact Viv posted that donation rejection on the same day when lackadaisy hit an astronomical donation goal, which resulted in many of her fans pulling their donations because their "queen" feelings got hurt.

Remind, is was totally valid for lackadaisy to do, whatever the reason for the rejection they can deny/accept whatever donation, that is their production's private decision. Lackadaisy had to come out with reasonings on their rejection because of the dogpiling they received, and they even replied to Viv rejection tweet they sent a message in private/the matter could've been talked about in private.

Also this liked by viv: sorry on the gif can't post more images.

And this is all the tip of the iceberg. So yeah don't cry/like tweets of your bootlickers pitying yourself in the process Viv when people don't like you/want to support you. Play the victim all you like Viv, you're a shitty person through & through and people are starting to see it.