#i want to make the greys quite powerful but i feel like that's too forcing them into the narrative lmao

[livelaughlovesubs]

Just some brainrot scraps for Fyodor ღゝ◡╹ )ノ♡ (idk if this is cnc or not so I’ll just say it here just in case)

Imagine corrupting angelic Fyodor. Even though he’s an angel, your guardian angel at that, he’s quite stuck up since he thinks that he’s better than a human sinner like you . From the parties to the one night stands you have he swears that you’re driving him insane! One day he had enough of your antics and decided to disguise himself as a normal human and attended another one of the parties you were invited (this was the eighth party this month alone for fuck’s sake!) He swears that he’ll make you see the light of god and make you change your ways tonight, that’s until he finds himself in bed with you as you plow yourself deep into his ass. He tries whining out how this was dirty and how you shouldn’t have sex before marriage but the feeling of being manhandled in such a way made all his words that came out of his mouth unintelligible. His mind attempts to fight back and keeping himself pure but the pleasure was too overwhelming. By the time he had his third orgasm of the night, he mind was so clouded by lust that he completely forgot about his duties as an angel, his wings turning a dark grey as he falls further from god. In the morning you find yourself trapped in bed with a sweaty, clingy and needy fallen angel, his wings completely tainted black as he wraps himself tighter around you. Maybe it was worth it for some of your dick <33

(I feel a bit rusty when it come to writing so hopefully it isn’t too bad kuhuhuhu (┳Д┳))

- 🍮

Nuuu it’s alright haha. I just love your ideas 🍮 anon, and I love angels. Honestly, when you first proposed incubus fyodor I thought: why not angel? Cuz it kinda fit better BUT FYODOR AS A TOTALL SLUT IS ALSO GREAT KEKEKE

Dom!reader x sub!Angel!Fyodor

Warning: heavy on hierophilia, pegging (can be read as a dick), virgin fyodor, hair pulling, overstimulation, sub-space, dubcon, corruption kink, manhandling, no prep, save word (not used), dacryphilia, objectification, degrading, forced orgasm

Edit: I got carried away

He really wanted to do his job well, seriously. Being a good angel who carry out his lords orders with diligence, never lazing around and protecting you with all his might. But it’s so difficult to like you, to like someone who’s depraved of god’s blessing like this. It must be god’s trial for him, otherwise he can’t explain why someone as great as him got paired up with you. You are basically the incarnation of sin itself! It’s one thing not to stay pure, but to indulge in pleasure every week, multiple times? That’s beyond acceptable!

How despicable your actions were, they were totally against the will of the lord. Were it even possible for someone to be lead astray from the right path so much? Partying so much, drinking, playing and doing satans work… There is no way the pleasure of the flesh would be worth that. Fyodor really couldn’t understand your ways, not like he ever tried to anyway. Instead, since this was a trial given by him by god himself, he planned on giving it his all. To get you to change your vulgar behaviour, he’ll need you to find it repulsive too. Maybe if he criticised and embarrassed you during one of your outings, you’ll be too scared to attend another one? That would be worth a try, no?

With that being said, the angel hid his beautiful pure white wings and descended upon the human realm just for you, to help you see the light and powers of god. Of course he wore clothes that didn’t show any skin, as well as hanging a cross around his neck to display his faith. Today you were going to a bar once again, who would have guessed. Fyodor was at the bar counter, looking for you all over this dirty establishment. At the same time he observed the other humans who were present. Dancing, alcohol, drugs and lust. This place was beyond saving, the people as well. He hoped he wouldn’t need to enter this place ever again.

Finally, after a long wait, he found you. Dressed in revealing clothes, smirking from ear to ear. Even if you were under the spell of the devil, fyodor had to admit that you were pretty good looking. He immediately made his way over to you, smiling, to appear friendly. It surprised you a little, that someone was heading your way without beating around the bush. The angel who was now in front of you said, “I have something to say to you, can we go to somewhere more private?” Stunned but intrigued, you agreed to his request. He looked cute after all, you wondered what he was hiding under these layers of clothing, perhaps some dirty secrets?

He really didn’t plan for this to happen, seriously. All he wanted was to talk to you, and maybe pressure or manipulate you a little. Though you seemed amused by the whole situation? Why even? Then you proposed for the two of you to go to a hotel to have an even more private talk. At first he was sceptical, but then he thought it might be your way to initiate your wish for a better environment, because you noticed how the club is a filthy place. Of course the boy obliged, yet as soon as he stepped into the room, you pushed him and pinned him to the bed.

“Wa-what..!?” He sounded shocked, absolutely confused even. His face was pressed into the pillow by your hand which was on the back of his head, your other hand appears to be on his waist. “Oh cutie, no need to play naive now, there is a reason why you came up to me no?” You’d tease while getting rid of his pants, admiring his awfully slim waist. My my, he was hiding some treasures underneath his sweater after all.

Yes, he came up to you for a reason, but not for this reason!

“No! This is dirty- you.. we shouldn’t… just let me go- ahhhH?!” Fyodor tried to reason with you, until he noticed how his shirt got yanked off. In less than a minute he was butt naked already, how shameful this was. His body wasn’t something for your eyes to see, heck, no one but god should be allowed to see him like this! Unless you two were married, that is, but it was clearly not the case here. Tears were collecting in the corners of his eyes as he gazed back at you, seeing you all prepared and ready for the deed. Your dick was already covered in lube as you lined it up against his sweet little hole, rubbing it between his asscheeks to let him have a pretty good guess on how big the thing was. Oh and how he shivered, shaking as fear and.. something hot filled his senses.

Before he got to say no a second time, you already shoved the tip in, causing him to throw his head back and grip the sheets like his life depended on it. “AaAAAhHHh..!! It hu-hurts..!” He could have spread his wings and shoved you away, though due to some unknown reasons, he didn’t. Staying put like a good and obedient birdy, hiding his face in the pillow as you slowly bottomed out inside him. “MhmMN..! Ooh! To-too deep..<3!” Fyodor would whine and complain about your size, this was his first time after all! You didn’t even prepare him… did you think he was some common, cheap and loose prostitute?

“Fuck, you are damn tight huh, you doing alright over there?” You leaned down and yanked on his hair, causing him to arch his back further. Then you groaned that into his ear, watching him quiver in response. “Uhm-aaHHhnnGhm! I- mHMm!” Poor boy can’t even form a single cohered sentence at this point, too preoccupied with the feeling of your cock inside him. How it stretched him apart, as well as how his walls pulsed and clenched around it. Oh lord.. this was too much for his innocent body to comprehend. “Haaah.. say red if it gets too much, alright? Otherwise I’ll start moving.” You warned him after he didn’t give you an answer. “Ah-no- wait, unngHh!” The moment you started moving, he started sobbing uncontrollably and praying to god. Was this really going to be how his chastity gets ruined? How he loses his innocence? By someone like you?

Dear lord, our father, please pardon him, for his pathetic, unholy and defiled form. He must look so perverted right now. Dick leaking precum everywhere as his bottom got pounded by you mercilessly. You whispered some impure words into his mouth as you did that, asking him if he’s enjoying it or demanding him to degrade himself. Each time he’d refuse and call this sinful, ungodly, and wrong as well as crying even louder. At one point the poor baby was holding onto the cross hanging around his neck with both hands, trying his best to clench onto the last bits of dignity he had as an angel.

It got increasingly harder with every trust, it made him see stars and caused his entire body to twitch like a sinner. Slowly, he could feel himself crumbling and succumb to the devil’s temptation. More pleads escaped his throat, though not even he knew for whom it was or what purpose it served. All he could think about was how sorry he was for failing his duties, and for loving every second he spend with you <3

After his third forced orgasm, the angel- if you can still call him that considering how fallen he was, got so overstimulated and fucked out of it that he completely lost himself to the bliss and ecstasy. Lust clouded and pestered his mind like some spell, it wouldn’t leave him alone. You just felt so damn good, and he adored how your length spread his insides every time you shoved it deep inside him. His own shameful body fluids were spread around the bed, dripping down his thighs, causing the entire scene to look even more erotic. Not to mention the sounds he made….

Since you’ve been fucking him for so long, even you were out of breath. But him? Oh no, he couldn’t stop. He was addicted, hypnotised, whatever you’d like to call it. This is his first time experiencing such sensations in eons, he wasn’t going to be satisfied with only three orgasms. His very first three ejaculations to be exact. You want to stop? Heck no, he’s was going to keep doing this until he exhales his last breath! He was ready to become a whore for you, your very own slut that got banned from heaven.

So the black haired boy was riding you now, bouncing up and down your dick desperately as the cross flew around with how fast he was going at it. He was drooling and melting the entire time, not a single logical thing coming out of his mouth as he blabbered something about it being too good. About how he’s sorry for getting corrupted. The little angel didn’t know, but the more he indulged in these impure pleasures, the more he fell from grace, and the more his wings darkened. The only hint he got from his deity was when the chain of his necklace broke, and his cross hit the floor. It broke into six pieces, yet he didn’t even notice. Oh what a degenerate being he has become. He was sullying gods name with his deeds..!!

At the end of it, not only him but you too were totally exhausted, so much that you both fell asleep after washing up. On the next day, you noticed something soft yet foreign hit your face. It couldn’t have been his hair, since it felt differently. When you opened your eyes, you almost jumped due to the surprise. These were wings, and gigantic ones at that. Huge, raven black wings covered the entire mattress, and it came from the back of your planned one night stand partner. Was this some cosplay? He didn’t wear this yesterday, or did he but you were drunk and didn’t notice? Nonetheless, he didn’t let you leave the bed, instead he held onto you as if his life depended on it.

When he woke up, he had heart-shaped pupils as he stared at you with such a strong want and need in his eyes. Cheeks already flushed pink even though you haven’t done anything yet. He wanted to keep going were you two left off yesterday, despite his body protesting because he was so sore. His insides have been rearranged by you after all, and if he weren’t a holy being before, he was sure his pelvis would be broken by now. You took a while to believe him, as well as understand the situation. Afterwards, you took him in, since it was your responsibility. Besides, now your guardian angel was a horny little bitch bird who is in heat 24/7, waiting to get taken by you. Maybe it will be quite fun?

Now, you made him like this. You made him dependent on the feeling of being filled to be brim and stuffed like an object. Well, at last, his actions were not in vain. You stopped going to parties and random hook ups, since you got a personal fuck toy right in the comfort of your home now <3

#sub character #sub!character #dom reader #dom!reader #sub bsd #sub bungou stray dogs #🍮 anon #sub fyodor #fyodor bungo stray dogs #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #fyodor bungou stray dogs #fyodor bsd #fyodor #fyodor x reader #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #bungou stray dogs fyodor #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x you #fyodor smut #fyodor x y/n #fyodor dostoyevsky smut #angel fyodor

[greymount]

this is such a hyper specific desire for the rpc but i want there to be more fereldan nobles to write with so i can expand the greys and play around with where they sit in the grand scheme of things. i want alliances, rivalries, marriages, romances. i want rose and edmund to be their glorious gay selves and play the game as ferelden rebuilds itself

#out of character. #i just want noble things!! politics!! #i want to make the greys quite powerful but i feel like that's too forcing them into the narrative lmao #they're a naval power anyway but #i have to behave i don't wanna go over the top

[phyrestartr]

Divine Favour | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader (TEASER)

#full is NSFW, mild yuuji/reader, yuuji and gang are v early 20s, heian sukuna, male reader, typical kitsune shapeshifting, mentions of abuse, typical canon violence, morally grey reader, sukuna has FEELINGS but is BAD AT FEELINGS

A/N: this fic is so long rn lol I just have to release a piece of it into the wild :sob: feel free to reply if you want to be tagged for the full story when it's ready

☆☆☆

You were never supposed to be anything more than a trinket. You were a gift from some family trying to show off for Sukuna, so much so that they offered him a delicacy, something he surely didn't have yet–a yokai. A kitsune, to be more exact. One with peculiar black tails. 

Sukuna found it interesting, and similarly desperate, to be brought such a creature as tribute. Certainly, it was meant to be seen as a high honour, yet somehow it felt…off. Why would humans give up something so powerful? 

Unexpectedly, it'd be you who told him. 

They submit me for the sake of convenience and mockery, your withering voice whispered where no one else could hear. You sounded weak. Tired. Maybe afraid, yet brave enough to reach towards the king and unveil the intentions of the men who brought you before him. 

Sukuna's eyes flicked to you, his feigned interest in what the sorcerers said falling straight into dismissal. You were much more intriguing. 

“Oh?” Sukuna asked, a smile creeping onto his face. The speakers ceased their jabbering and stared at your back with fierce intensity. Sukuna grinned wider. Oh, how he loved the way fear twisted mortal faces. 

You didn't shift or crumple into yourself under the eyes of so many, however. You pushed on with what little energy and life you had, so intent on dragging that clan through the mud. 

What I say is true, you assured simply. I expect to die today–

“Speak so everyone hears you, fox,” Sukuna commanded.

“--so I–I–” you coughed and cleared your throat, trying to rid your voice of the scratchy, weakness it struggled through. “I wish to not die with regrets.

“They have rendered me ill and unable to produce children, they see the black of my tails and regard me as an ill omen; yet they bring me to you, daring to spin sweet tales about the value of such an offering. But they lie,” You hissed. Your eyes glinted with molten malice, and Sukuna fell captivated. “They throw me to you as they would diseased meat to dogs.” 

The courtyard fell silent, and Sukuna basked in it. You really were such a little troublemaker. A quietly chaotic force of nature. 

The king stood, rolling his shoulders as he did, and his pride flared as you dropped to your knees before him in respect. He walked to you and patted your head as one might a child's before appraising the sorcerers stood before him. 

“What a disappointment,” Sukuna sighed, raising another hand. The couple took up position, pooling their cursed energy in hopes of fending off the monster standing before them. The effort was quite cute. “Here I thought your clan might actually earn my mercy.” His hand dropped as the two lunged. Then, the two clansmen fell, too, both in neat, vertical halves. Quite overkill, yes, but he had a point to make. 

Where he expected a reaction from you, he got nothing. Only panting and poorly-stifled coughs came from you, racking through the entirety of your skin and bones frame. Sukuna could see it up close now, the way your body trembled from fatigue, the sickly greying of your skin, the scent of disease clinging to you. 

That wouldn't do. Sukuna liked his things to be in good shape. 

“Uraume,” Sukuna droned as he stared down at you, “fix this.”

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x male reader #sukuna x m!reader #sukuna x you #jjk x you #male reader insert #male reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen reader insert #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

[fission-mailure]

I feel like the ‘the Jedi were too strict with Anakin and it was abusive and that’s why he fell!’ is telling of a certain ... power fantasy some Star Wars fans have.

Because Anakin didn’t have to be a Jedi. We know he could’ve left the Order, because that’s what Dooku did. The man’s the most skilled fighter pilot of his era, a capable combatant, has experience with diplomacy, has worked as a bodyguard, etc, etc, he would not even remotely struggle to find work, even without taking into account that his wife is a wealthy senator who could easily support him. Hell, while he’d probably have to give up his lightsaber, it’s not like it’d be impossible for him to build another one -- it isn’t illegal for a non-Jedi to own a lightsaber, and it’s clearly possible to acquire lightsaber crystals outside of the Order because, again, Dooku has a lightsaber. It’s not even like he’d have to give up his friendship with Obi-Wan -- Obi-Wan has friends who aren’t Jedi, he has a whole bunch of them. So does Yoda.

(Hell, it’s not even like non-Jedi aren’t allowed to use the Force. As Palpatine points out in the Revenge of the Sith novelisation, it’s not even technically illegal to be a Sith Lord.)

The only reason Anakin can’t leave the Order is because he doesn’t want to. He wants everything: He wants the power, prestige, excitement, and community the Jedi offer, but he also wants to not have to follow their rules. 

And I think for quite a lot of people that’s a very relatable thing, right? We want to have it all. The fantasy of being a cool Jedi is, for a lot of people, ruined by the addendum that there are things you would have to forego to do that. That’s one reason why the idea of Grey Jedi, which fully is just that ‘you can have your cake and fuck it too’ is so appealing to so many fans.

But that’s not what life is like, in reality or in fiction. And Anakin’s fall brings that crashing in: He tries to have everything, and he ends up with nothing. Less than nothing, because at the end of it, not only does he not have any of the things he wanted in the first place, but he’s also lost his freedom (because let’s make no mistake, as much of a terrible, gleeful executor of cruelty and misery as he is as Vader, he is also Palpatine’s slave) and his body.

It’s easy and in a way quite appealing to shift the blame elsewhere and go “Well, he could’ve had it all, but people more powerful than him stopped him from doing so.”

#star wars #anakin skywalker

[idksmtms]

The Prettiest Trophy (Capitol Elite!Aegon II Targaryen x Games Winner!reader (Hunger Games AU)

Summary: You never thought you would make it out of the hunger games, but now you have another fight ahead of you. What do you do when one of the most powerful citizens of the capitol has chosen you to be his? 

Word count: 3.5k 

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, profanity, innuendo, Dub-con due to power imbalance, coercion too ig (???), some angst (reader talks about survivor’s guilt from the games),  p in v s*x, unprotected s*x, oral f receiving, degradation (constantly referring to lesser status of districts), objectification and ownership,  (please let me know if I missed any) 

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim to own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :) 

AN: Aaaaa my first fic finally! Didn't mean to make it this long but I got a bit carried away! I hope you enjoy! (Side note: I was imagining his hair as the style in the black and white pic, just with Targaryen white, Side note 2: I def realise the references to the way Gollum talks about the ring, IT WAS ON PURPOSE)

You never thought you would leave the arena. Every second could have been your last and you still didn’t quite believe you had made it out, that you were standing outside the President’s mansion at a lavish party, dressed in silks and jewels. No one told you how to live after the games were over. It had taken you three days just to be able to get out of bed and move around again after leaving the arena. Being at this party? It felt like a betrayal to all the people who had died so you could live. You sipped from the sickly sweet drink that almost seemed to glow in the night, and looked around the garden. 

Most people had finally left you alone thankfully, though you could still see eyes turning your way, whispers and conversations pointed toward your presence in the garden. At least no one was trying to force you into a picture like some capitol celebrity anymore. 

People in the most lavish costumes customary of the capitol milled about, talking, whispering, cackling like witches in their modified bodies with their modified voices. It was a horror show. The gardens had been decorated with delicate yellow fairy lights strung up in the trees and over poles around the tables. You assumed they wanted to give it a warm and welcoming look with the yellow lighting but it only cast grotesque shadows on the building that was not only the backdrop to this party, but to all your nightmares. There were tables set up with stark white tablecloths draped over them, an area cleared away for a dance floor, and more noise coming from the entrance to the mansion. Avoxes walked around carrying trays of food and drink between their hands, heads bent low, and shame began to rise inside you. What were you doing here? Why were you forced to be here?

There was someone behind you. You didn’t know when you had become so aware of any presence, probably somewhere between fending off humans and wildlife alike in the arena, and you could distinctly feel someone behind you. A slight shadow fell over your shoulders. A small touch rustled the train of your dress. Someone cleared their throat. You turned around, hands quivering, and looked at the man smirking broadly at you. Your first thought, shamefully: was he even real? 

His hair was so blond it was white, cut short and combed back so perfectly he could be no less than an aristocrat. He wore a suit of dark grey over a black shirt, one of the less eccentrically dressed people at the party. But his shoes were lavish. Black and shinier than anything you had ever seen, embroidered with gold thread, gold jewellery dangling from the laces and gems stamped into the fabric. Surely this man was of the richest of the rich, because even in the capitol people were wont to have shoes so lavish. You stared at his shoes for a good minute, whole body frozen, when he cleared his throat once more. You looked at his eyes. You couldn’t tell if they were more blue or grey, like ice had formed over a stormy ocean. 

“And who might you be?” He asked, mouth still smiling, before he brought his glass up to his lips and took a drink while waiting for your answer. 

“You don’t know who I am?” You asked, almost taking a step back. That couldn’t be true. Viewing was mandatory, your face had been plastered across every screen in Panem for weeks, it couldn’t be true that he didn’t know you. And yet… for a moment… it felt so good not to be recognised. You were just some other girl, lost in the crowd at a party, who hadn’t gone through what you had gone through. 

“Well, I may know of you, but I don’t know you know you,” his smile had softened and he stepped closer until his elbow lightly brushed yours and you were both looking out at the party.

“I suppose that’s true,” you answered quietly, still watching his face. His skin was almost as dangerously pale as his hair, and sallow, like he was never quite in the best of health. Though you couldn’t deny the truth, he was a handsome man regardless of his slightly ragged appearance. 

“Aegon Targaryen the second,” he held out his hand, running his eyes over your face like he hadn’t gathered enough of it the first time, “and you?” 

“Y/n L/n,” you breathed out, reaching out an unsteady hand to limply shake his own. He gently clasped your fingers and brought your hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to your knuckles before releasing your hand. It was such an odd sensation, his hot breath brushing over the back of your hand, his fingertips slightly rough - but not enough to suggest any sort of manual labour - clasping the skin of your palm. Your cheeks went hot, the tips of your ears tingling, and you continued staring at this enigma. 

“How has the capitol been treating you?” He asked, chugging the rest of his drink and depositing it on the tray of an Avox as they passed by like some well-practised dance. You didn’t want to reply. “Well, I suppose you haven’t had the time to truly enjoy it. At least, not the truly fun bits anyway,” he shrugged, tilting his head and looking at you like it was a particularly amusing thing he just said. 

You couldn’t understand this at all. Who was this man? What was this interaction? What did he want with you? Why was he acting so mundane, like this was normal?! None of this was normal. 

Noticing the look on your face, Aegon chuckled and reached forward to push some hair over your shoulder. It took everything within you to hold in your shiver. 

“Ah, you must be confused about who I am! I shouldn’t have assumed you would understand the name Targaryen. We may be famous in the capitol but who knows what goes on in the districts,” you swallowed hard and nodded, trying not to flinch at the dig. “Our family works in all sorts of sectors, for example, my uncle Daemon is responsible for manufacturing arms for the state, my younger brother Aemond works under the president in some position or other - god knows he never shuts up about it - and my father currently runs the peacekeeper program. Of course I’m expected to step up to that eventually but- I won’t bore you with the details.” 

You didn’t really consider that work. You had seen the way your parents toiled in the factory every day, had seen the way every member of your family slowly became a hunchback from their work. But you weren’t going to say anything to him. 

“What does your family do?” He asked, and again you almost moved out of surprise. His face seemed so sincere as he watched you, waiting for an answer. 

“I’m from District 8, so my parents work the looms,” you answered slowly. You almost sounded condescending, like you were talking to someone who couldn’t quite understand your words, but Aegon understood it was the shock of him speaking to you. After all, it had only been a week since you had left the arena, he understood how difficult it would be to gain your confidence. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. And Aegon was a firm believer that flattery could get you anywhere, especially a girl’s bed. So he decided to change course. 

“Do you see that man over there?” He pointed discreetly to a spot just to your right and you shuffled back so you could look over without being noticed. You sipped from your glass as you noticed the man, an older gentleman wearing a full fursuit topped with a lion’s mane going around his head. Even his face had been painted with fur and whiskers to resemble a lion with the body of a human. You nodded to Aegon, turning away from the man. Something about that picture made you uncomfortable in a way you had never been before. “Well, rumour has it that he wears that entire get up, face paint and all mind you, every time he fucks.” You gasped, staring at Aegon with eyes so wide they started to hurt. 

“You can’t be serious,” you whispered sharply. 

“I am the most serious, dearest. Why would I lie to you?” He smirked, leaning closer once more. He draped his arm over your shoulder and you stiffened for a moment before continuing to listen to his next story. 

You were slowly beginning to relax in Aegon’s company as he continued to chatter to you. He no longer asked questions or expected you to speak, just pointed out people in the crowd and made colourful commentary that had you hiding your face in his shoulder and giggling against the fabric of his suit. He gazed at you with sparkling eyes full of mirth and shared his ever-full glass of whatever drink they were serving at the time. You couldn’t help but be charmed. Maybe, just maybe, not everyone in the capitol was as bad as they seemed. 

“D’you wanna go somewhere quieter?” He finally asked after completely relieving another stranger of their dignity. You took a moment to catch your breath and looked at him, at the sudden darkening of his eyes and the way his tongue poked out to lick his lips. He watched you like a tiger readying to pounce. You nodded without a second thought. Though he had made the party bearable, anywhere would be better than here. He smiled and reached down, sliding his fingers over your inner wrist, then your palm, then grasping your hand in his own. “Come on.” 

Aegon led you into the house and up the stairs, nodding at random people (who sometimes you could barely recognise as people), skilfully dodging attempts at conversation. Up and up the lavish stairs you went before walking down a large hallway and stopping in front of a wall. Aegon pushed at the wall and it gave way, revealing a spiral staircase in the dark that led up into an abyss. 

“Um, are you sure you know where you’re going?” You asked, pausing at the entrance to the rather dingy looking chamber. 

“There are some perks to having been at the president’s mansion practically since I was born. One of those being secret access to the roof, now come on!” He dragged you into the dark and shut the door behind him, before ushering you up the first steps. 

The staircase really wasn’t all that tall. In fact, you could see the top and light bled down from the opening. Your heels clanked against each step and you almost toppled back into Aegon more than once. Then you were at the top. Then you could see the whole Capitol. Oh it was breathtaking! The whole city, laid out before you like a miniature scene to play with. There were lights glimmering in houses and cars on the roads and life! There were signs of life everywhere. Oh you couldn’t believe it. You almost believed you could see to the very edges of Panem. 

 “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Aegon asked, and you turned to meet his eyes. Both of you had moved right to the edge of the rooftop so you could look out over the party, and he moved to stand directly behind you. You could feel his chest press into your back. The fabric of his shirt rubbed against the skin of your back and he was a solid pressure behind you, like the comfort of a wall at your back when you slept. “Hm?” He asked again, bending his head down to run his nose up your neck. You shivered, the light graze was just ticklish enough to start a spark inside of you. 

 “Yes,” you breathed out, clenching your hands on the concrete to stop yourself from leaning back into him. You didn’t know him. You didn’t really know him. You didn’t know him at all. 

 “You know,” he began slowly, hands going to your shoulders and turning you around to face him. “When I first saw you on the television, the day of the reaping, I knew you would win.” Your breath caught in your throat. Your mouth was so dry. You wished you hadn’t discarded that sweet drink so quickly. “And look at you now,” he leaned in closer, cupping your face to force your eyes to meet his, “you’re the winner, the greatest person in Panem, to come out of the districts anyway.” He gently kissed your right cheek, warm lips on plush skin, and when he pulled away the breeze cooled the hint of saliva he had left behind. “You’re the greatest treasure one could possess, you know?” He kissed your other cheek, firmer this time, like he was trying to leave the imprint of his lips on your skin. “Everyone knows the winner of the Hunger Games, and to say you own them? To parade them on your arm for everyone to see, saying you own the very concept of survival?” He seemed to groan in pleasure, and then everything was moving. 

His lips were on yours, slightly wet and forceful. His tongue was delving into your mouth, tasting like sugar, too much sugar, and you wanted to pull back because it was so overwhelming and everything he had just said and and and… and it felt so good too. It was warm, and desperate, like no one had ever been for you before. 

A hand moved into your hair and grasped the strands at the back of your head tight, pulling slightly to tilt your head back so you had to look up at him. He was almost leaning over you so your spine bent over the edge of the roof, and the skin of your back scratched against the unpainted concrete. He huffed against your mouth then pulled back, his other hand coming up to trace your mouth with his thumb. You stared into his eyes but he wasn’t looking back at you, not really anyway. He was watching his prize, the reward that no one but him deserved. 

You whimpered, a small and pathetic sound that only seemed to make his skin hotter, and he let go of your hair to begin pulling the straps of your dress down your arms. It was a heavy thing, and it felt good to finally be rid of the weight, but you were keenly aware of the cold night and the party in full swing just underneath you. If someone in the garden decided to look up, they would surely see you bent over the edge. 

“Wait-” you began to protest, but Aegon was past listening, past caring. He just shoved the dress under your breasts and down your legs, before grabbing your face and bringing your mouth to his own again. His hands travelled over your neck, then caressed your shoulders. He gently pressed the red indents the straps of the dress had left and you sighed into his mouth, leaning onto his chest. Your nipples rubbed against the fabric of his shirt and you gasped into the kiss before moving your chest slightly. The warm little tingles travelled all the way through your torso and you clung to his arms. 

Aegon kissed sloppily over your cheeks, your neck, pausing to bite into it until you grunted with pain and pushed at his shoulder. He licked all the way down to your chest, his tongue warm and wet, then the slick trail of spit suddenly cold. Your legs felt unsteady, and you leaned back against the barrier as he began mouthing at your breasts, little circles of warmth formed everywhere he kissed, and then his mouth closed over your nipple and you clenched. It was so… weird. A wet suction formed over your nipple and it seemed to make the inside of your breast spark, your stomach jolt, and the space between your thighs tingle and turn to mush. 

“Come on precious,” he mumbled against your skin, “you can be louder,” and he bit the flesh. It really was a live wire attached to your skin, so easy to spark, so easy to create a fire that spread all throughout your body. 

Aegon was quicker with the other nipple, licking over it like a dog with a bowl of water, before making his way down to the apex of your thighs. He seemed to be in a hurry with the way he dove his face between your legs. A cry left your lips, loud and shriek-like, at the overwhelming activity. His nose slipped between your lips and pressed to your clit, his tongue out and flat and lapping against the sticky slick that covered the puffy folds that hid your hole. He was ravenous, pressing his face in in in until you stood on your tiptoes and half your weight was balanced against his face. The contours of his face pressed at your hole, his nose rubbed at your clit, and he moved his face back and forth so his tongue could poke inside of you then slip back into his mouth. He began speaking into you, rumbling words you couldn’t understand over the rushing in your head. 

“Come on, cum on my face,” he huffed, grabbing your thighs and licking at your clit until it was puffy and swollen. “I wan’ you to cum on my face, give me what I want.” He pressed his tongue inside you. In. Out. He licked your clit. In. Out. He sucked it into his mouth, and your legs shook so much that you would’ve fallen onto the floor if you weren’t practically laying on the barrier already. It was a release. That’s all it could be called. Every muscle clenched then released. Even your mind felt like it had slowly been clenching and now it had been unravelled and was slowly dripping out of your skull. 

“Fuck, that’s right,” Aegon mumbled as he pulled away, standing to full height and pulling your hips against his own. His hair had fallen forward into his eyes and his mouth and nose glistened in the low light, but he didn’t seem to care one bit. He had leaned over your body again, pressing his face into your neck. The slick on his chin stuck to your skin and squished whenever he moved. He humped into you a few times, grunting and groaning, before hurriedly reaching down and fumbling with his belt and zipper. You could hear the clanking of metal, the rustle of fabric, and then something warm pressing to your thigh. 

There was no waiting with Aegon. His body simply didn’t contain the patience for it, and really why would you wait when the prize you had so long coveted lay bare before you, just ripe for the taking? A shift here, a push there, and he caught at your entrance. He finally pulled away from your neck and looked into your eyes. He caressed your cheek, and you could tell all he saw was a trophy he had just won. 

Then Aegon pressed into you, and his veins rubbed at your slick insides, pressing against your walls and sliding against your own textured flesh and you were leaning back to moan into the night sky, chest heaving. He kissed your breasts and pushed into you again, his lower stomach pressing your clit. Again, he moved into you and the sparks flashed and you clenched around him, onto him, and he moaned against your ear, hot breath fanning the shell. 

“Fuck yes, you’re my precious little thing aren’t you? Huh? You’re my special little prize?” His hips slapped against yours and the sound echoed over the roof. His mouth biting into your neck sent sparks through you. Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and oh god it was too much! You clenched onto him and screamed into his neck, open mouth pressed to the sweaty skin. You clenched and unclenched onto him as waves passed through you, melting your flesh and your bones. It was over too soon yet it lasted too long. He pushed once more, twice more, and you could feel him quiver against you, even as you tried to push him away from the pulsing flesh of your insides. You could feel the spurts inside you, hot and gushing. You felt it trickle out of you, slide down your thighs in warm rivulets and you shuddered. 

Aegon still lay on top of you, huffing heavily into your neck. You didn’t know what to do, so you stayed still, waiting for guidance, waiting for the other shoe to fall. He slowly pushed up on his arms so his face hovered above yours, and he smiled a dazed and delirious smile. Was it always there, or had it just appeared, that insanity in his eyes? 

“Oh my precious,” he sighed, cupping your cheek, “we have so much ahead.”

#hotd x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x reader #hotd aegon #aegon the second #aegon targaryen #team green #aegon ii fic #aegon ii x you #aegon #the greens #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #hotd #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon fanfic #hunger games au

[ariadne-mouse]

This post discusses addiction & mentions related heavy topics.

The addiction comparison for what Laudna has going on with Delilah is certainly not 1:1. Most obviously, addictive substances & activities IRL are not sentient evil wizards who have found a way to cheat death (that we know of). Put more seriously: in-universe, warlocks exist all over and the relationships they have with their patrons don't necessarily evoke addiction; someone saying they are a warlock does not mean are an addict. But I've seen a couple takes thrown around for why Laudna's connection with Delilah isn't or can't be compared to addiction, and I'd like to examine those briefly.

Let's start with the origin of their entanglement - it's notable, for instance, that Laudna's fusion with Delilah's spirit was not something she chose or was necessarily even conscious of at first; however, equally notable is that not all IRL addiction begins with a person making bad choices to do the addictive thing, such as in the cases of forced drug use in trafficking, painkillers post-surgery, etc.

There is also the point that Laudna would die if Delilah were to be removed, whereas addicts can put aside the object of their addiction. But here there is also grey area: in some cases, unassisted withdrawal from serious substances can in fact kill you. And for another angle, even when it is quit the object of addiction will still exist in the world somewhere; it cannot be completely removed either, and it is the recovering addict's challenge not to engage.

Next is the way feeding Delilah gives Laudna new powers she can use to help the group - and certainly, IRL addiction doesn't give you magical combat abilities! But a substance being abused may indeed provide an effect that the user can leverage to their advantage (stimulants for work productivity, alcohol for relaxation or confidence, etc). Addiction happens because the mind and/or body are getting something in return that feels good, at least in the short term.

I mention these counterpoints not to say it's all a slam dunk, but rather to point out that addiction is a hugely complex issue, both mental and physical, taking many forms. If you want an addiction comparison to apply to Laudna, or not, you can probably find a manifestation of addiction out there that aligns with your argument. Marisha and others of the cast using addiction to describe Laudna's behavior just gives us one (1) possible lens to orient her experience and motivations, and, critically, to envision a way out for her: to fight Delilah with every ounce of willpower she has, to ask for the support of her friends in that effort, and to shove Delilah back into the sub-basement of her brain and keep her there for good. A common adage around addiction is that there is no "curing" it, just the lifelong work of recovery; and similarly, if Delilah can't be fully removed from Laudna, she has been successfully suppressed before and could be again. I think it would be incredibly powerful to see Laudna take that journey! She has agency in her circumstances and she can seize it. Also, she still has responsibility for her actions when they harm those around her; addiction, like trauma, explains but doesn't excuse.

The addiction comparison for Laudna and Delilah seems to have mixed reactions from fandom, and that's fine! If it truly just doesn't resonate with you, fair enough - there are plenty of other valid ways to describe Laudna's behavior and circumstances, and not mutually exclusive with the addiction angle either. We don't have to pick only one way of interpreting what characters do (in fact I advise against it), and as the story evolves our frameworks of interpretation may change too. A lens is just a tool for understanding. But for the handful of folks on the two sides of the polarized reaction coin at the moment - those either overly defensive about the comparison or conversely leaning into it in an ugly, mean way - if you think the word "addict" by itself irrevocably condemns Laudna or deprives her of compassion for her circumstances, perhaps consider mulling over how you view addicts IRL.

#cr spoilers #cr discourse #not maintagging this #laudna #c3e95 #op #cw: addiction #addiction

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Can I have a snippet about a morally grey Hero taking advantage of yandere Villain’s jealousy and violent tendencies? Hero knows Villain kills people Hero gets too close to, so they start flirting with other villains that they want stopped or villains that they just plain don’t like.

“You look tired,” the hero said. Usually, they would have the curtesy to ring the bell and not enter through the window. However, they hadn’t had time to change into their normal clothes which left the window as the best option.

They weren’t too thrilled to explain to the villain’s neighbours why they were dressed up like a superhero. Especially not to the old lady above them.

“I...” The villain looked at them, pupils blown up. They looked quite innocent like this and the hero supposed they rather made that impression on everyone in their life. The villain was clever, was quiet when they had to be, was assertive when it was demanded of them, was seductive when they forced themselves to be. Sometimes the villain’s ability to adapt scared the hero. What if the hero was too boring for them one day?

Would they get rid of them?

Although that seemed unlikely, the hero had seen the villain’s deepest secrets and they had learnt about their most vulnerable parts. If this was a long-term thing (and the hero wanted that, not only for the violent benefits but also for the ego boost), they couldn’t allow themselves to slip up.

Then again, the villain was efficient when it came to murder but they also had the tendency to lose all their power when it came to the hero.

They were like a puppy.

“Hm?” The hero raked their fingers through the villain’s messy hair. It wasn't exactly love what they wanted. So what?

Didn’t they deserve a little compensation for all the pain they had lived through? Losing people was part of the job and if the hero could have someone who wanted them, who could protect themselves, who really cared about them, even if the hero didn't have the same feelings for them? Who could blame them for continuing this? Who could blame them for wanting to be loved?

“Sorry, I’m very tired,” the villain said. They closed their eyes and took in a deep breath.

“Hard day?”

“Yeah.” Obviously. The villain had murdered one of the most powerful villains in the entire country a few hours ago and it hadn’t been a quick fight. The hero would know. They had watched carefully.

They doubted the villain knew any of that.

“Got into an argument again, did you?”

No one had found the body yet.

“Yeah, you could say that,” the villain said. The hero smiled gently as their grip grew stronger in the villain's hair. Slowly, the hero scrutinised the villain, noticing bandages and bandaids on their body. Not saying a word, they let go of the villain and walked over to their fridge.

For a moment, the hero had thought the villain wouldn’t make it. The fight had been brutal and bloody and anything but easy. But even if the villain had died, the hero could’ve killed the other villain easily.

It would have been a devastating loss, obviously. The villain had already killed ten of their own kind and their work was incredible.

“How was your day?” the villain asked, despite being in incredible pain. It was adorable how they thought the hero wouldn’t notice.

“Oh, it was alright. Arresting some bad guys, doing an interview, stuff like that.” They closed the fridge, disappointed.

“Being a superhero must be hard.”

“You have no idea,” the hero mumbled, still eager to find something to eat in the kitchen. It was a mess and the hero was truly not impressed.

“...I’ve been thinking about us,” the villain said quietly. “Today was...difficult and I just want you to know that you mean a lot to me. All I do is for you and—”

“We agreed on friends with benefits,” the hero interrupted. “I told you my secret because I trust you, because I care about you, too. You know I cannot have relationships that are more than that.”

The hero looked at them sharply, as if to scold them and apparently, the villain understood. They wanted to say something but did not.

“That being said, there’s a new villain I got assigned to. I don’t know, they’re kind of funny.”

“Oh, really? How funny?”

The villain didn’t learn, they always took the bait.

#oh boy #did you miss me? #writing snippet #heroxvillain snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #morally grey hero #yandere villain

[vidavalor]

So... I made a key lime pie cheesecake thingy with toasted marshmallow topping, and something that was meant to be mint choc chip cake but ended up as mint choc chip brownie (task failed successfully?) with mint buttercream and candied violet petals on top -- have a slice of each!

Also, GO thoughts:

Restoration of angelic status: obvious BS offer in s2, foreshadow/Chekhovness for s3???

If the Bookshop was literally burned in s1 and got un-burned a couple of episodes later, and was metaphorically 'burned' in s2, five gets you ten it'll be un-burned by about halfway into s3. Reason one, parallel storytelling. Reason two (I think it was @ao3cassandraic's 'compassion fatigue' meta that talked about this), Azzy's never been shown much gratitude for the good stuff he does, so he's due a heaping helping of positive karma -- Anathema doing witchy stuff? Gabriel wanting to repay what he sees as some sort of life debt? Muriel wanting to repay his kindness? Azzy's old platoon remembering seeing him desert and deciding their respect for him outweighs their fear of punishment? Reason three, Good Omens is a fundamentally optimistic show written by a very talented storyteller who loves and cares for the characters, so the bad shit ain't gonna stick around forever and the good stuff is allowed to happen and persist without being cancelled out by gratuitous Drama(tm) and Angst(tm) (this isn't Game of Thrones, or a J**s Wh***n project). When Aziraphale quits the Bookshop for the South Downs, it would I think be out of keeping with the themes of the show for it to be anything other than his free, genuine, un-manipulated/forced/puppeteered choice, where he's had time to think things through and make arrangements for a proper handover.

If Gabriel could remember parts of Everyday even after removing his own memory, because of the strong positive emotional wossnames after less than four years, how much more might Aziraphale retain in his subconscious after an attempted memory wipe, given his bloody-minded stubbornness and 6000+ years of Crowley?

...it's too warm here rn and my brain is going wibbly and giving me Emotions(c)

Hi @jotun-philosopher! Hope you're having a good week so far, dear. Your kitchen adventures sound delicious. 💕

-On b.s. "Metatron" offer for Crowley foreshadowing restoration of angelic status in S3: I think, by the end of it, that Aziraphale's fall leads to the characters banding together to try to challenge it and overthrowing The Metatron in the process. They might all find out that it's The Metatron behind the concept of a demon and it's all b.s.. The demons will wind up restored to "full angelic status" by way of the fact that they'll realize they've really had it all along. Evil exists (Satan, The Metatron) but the rest of the angels and demons are, for the most part, just different shades of moral grey, like the rest of us. I think that would go along with the ideas of personal power that you mention and not letting others define you that I see in the series a bit. We'll have to see what happens though.

-On bookshop "unburned" in S3 & it being Aziraphale's choice to leave it: It's funny that you mention the fact that it was burned two different ways-- on fire in S1 and as a safe place in S2-- and how that fits in with the idea of mirrored storytelling because I was musing about what that could look like continued into in S3. I was thinking of the idea of "unburned" and I think there is an element of that. (Would also not be surprised if it's burnt a third time-- this time, by a burnt orange paint job lol.) I feel like it probably does remains an embassy. Have a meta in the ol' drafts folder about the bookshop, that its an embassy, and the cottage idea & where I can see already where the cottage idea might weaved into what's going on in S2 (besides the potential Jane Austen connection) so more on that when I get to finishing that one at some point between now and 2027 lol.

I do agree with your thoughts on the tone of the show and how it deals with dark stuff but in a way with a lot of humor and an overall positive tone. It'll have a good ending. You're right about Aziraphale being overdue for some good karma-- I think S3 will take care of him pretty well before all is over.

-On Gabriel's memory loss foreshadowing that Aziraphale might remember some things: What Gabriel could remember and when was really interesting. It played to me a lot like retrograde amnesia, which can really happen to some people who experience traumatic events. The mind puts caution tape around anything associated to the trauma and doesn't let the person engage those memories so, as a result, they lose parts of their identity. Suffer severe enough or all-encompassing enough trauma, like Gabriel did, and the mind can cause itself to forget its own identity completely in an effort to protect itself.

Gabriel's recall is also in keeping with that. He knows things like how to take himself to the bookshop and the lyrics to "Everyday" (and, some of us suspect, remembering Bildad!Crowley during the protection miracle scene) because part of his mind is whispering to him "these things are safe" since he considers the people associated with the memories safe but the context isn't safe enough to fully remember because of how Aziraphale, Crowley and Beez are tied to the traumatic event he's undergone.

There's also that Gabriel remembers more when he feels safe enough and trusts enough to do so. Crowley is more successful at helping him remember things once they've talked and the tone is less antagonistic and it's Beez, of course, who can bring him back in full.

I think Aziraphale will be the same if he loses his memories for part of the story. There will likely be things he remembers without full context. It will be fun to see what those are. One scene I think foreshadows his memory loss in general is the one below but I go back and forth on what it might be suggesting regarding what of Crowley Aziraphale can remember at first. The mirrored storytelling we mentioned would mean it could go either way, really, but I can only think of one, other character who could genuinely be described as a skinny latte, can't you? lol

#ineffable husbands #good omens #aziracrow #good omens meta #good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #good omens theory

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Thanks (m, cold)

Hi guys, thank you again for voting on which scenario you wanted to see for this fic! It's a bit of a slow burn, and idk how I feel about the ending, but Elijah is staunchly miserable by the end so hopefully that makes y'all happy 😅 let me know if you like it 🫶

Ps I've been writing this for literally the past 12 hours so I cannot look at it anymore, I'll read it over and edit errors in the morning but I need to get it out before it drives me insane lmao. 5.5k words under the cut :)

CW: male snz, colds, coughing, fever, contagion

There was nothing quite as depressing, Elijah decided, as the days leading up to Thanksgiving dinner service in a restaurant. Well, unless you were Greyson.

“Goooood morning, boss! Two days til the Big Day; are you pumped?”

Elijah turned his chair slowly towards the door, where the chef stood grinning unironically. He thought, not for the first time, that Greyson was likely some sort of dog in a past life – a golden retriever, or possibly a lab. One of those ‘no thoughts, just vibes’ dogs.

“Am I pumped?” Elijah asked, glaring at Greyson. “For a day that should be spent drinking shitty beer and eating my weight in carbs spent instead putting on a fake smile for people who don’t even think of us as human? For people who go out to eat literally once a year, and make sure they do it on a holiday so they can feel powerful by forcing a restaurant to serve them, then complain about the price and stiff my servers? Am I pumped to barely break even, even though the restaurant will be packed from ten am until close, because those same people staunchly refuse to pay more than eighty bucks a head to stuff themselves silly? Am I pumped to listen to my staff complain all day, despite the fact that when each of them was hired, they were told in no uncertain terms that they would be working holidays?” Elijah clicked his pen closed loudly, stood to let Greyson through, and sat with him in tandem, his face set in anger the whole time. “No, Grey. I am not, in fact, pumped.”

Greyson broke their eye contact to wake his computer, the lecture obviously unexpected. “Clearly I should’ve read the room before opening my mouth,” he said, glancing back over at his boss briefly. “My bad, boss.”

Elijah, embarrassed that he’d let himself sink into such a state about something as stupid as a holiday service, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Fuck. Sorry, Grey. You just caught me at a bad moment. I had two servers call out for today, I’m fuckin’ sweating because we really need everyone here for Thursday and neither of them are sure they’ll be good to come back in two days.”

“Hmm,” Greyson hummed, his eyebrows threading together. “That’s weird. I had Victor and Elise call out on my way in.”

Elijah felt his heart thump in his temple. “Did they say why?”

“I didn’t ask,” Greyson said, turning his chair to face his boss. “But I guess I should’ve. Did the servers say why they couldn’t come in?”

“Some sort of fever-cold thing, is what Jason said he had. Ashley just said she felt like shit.” Elijah pressed his fingers into his eye and sighed. “I need a cigarette. Care to join?”

Greyson, never one to turn down nicotine in any form, stood from his chair. “Thought you’d never ask,” he said.

The two of them walked through the empty kitchen in silence, Elijah entirely too wrapped in his own thoughts to continue their conversation. There was an ongoing joke, a trope, at this point, about holidays in the restaurant; everyone was always sick for them. Last Easter, the servers all had bronchitis, and a couple of Valentine’s days ago, Greyson had so many cooks call out with the stomach flu that they’d had to hire last-minute temps to fill in on the line. Despite doing nearly 300 covers, they barely made enough to cover the immense labor that seven temps on a holiday cost.

“Lij,” Greyson said as the two of them stepped out the back door and sat on the milk crates littering the loading dock, “it’s not going to be like Valentine’s. I can see your fuckin’ gears turning.” The chef pulled a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, handed his boss one, and lit them both up. “Relax.”

Silence, once again, fell upon them as they smoked and watched fat snowflakes disintegrate on the asphalt. Elijah hoped that Greyson was right, that everything would be fine and he was overreacting – but he knew better than to hope. More likely than not, it was going to be what it always was on holidays: a shit show.

Matt and Mark, hand-in-hand until they spotted their bosses by the door, turned the corner and waved to their counterparts in tandem like well-trained circus animals. Elijah couldn’t help but smile as their fingers unwove from one another.

“Morning,” Elijah called, stubbing out his cigarette. Greyson did the same, and the two of them stood to let the younger men into the building.

“Aren’t you freezing?” Mark asked rubbing his hands together as he pushed the door open. Elijah shrugged as he held the door open for the other two and walked in behind them.

“My rage keeps me warm,” he said, prompting a laugh from Greyson and an eye roll from the younger men. “How’re you guys?”

Mark shot a look at Matt as they all walked towards the office at the front of the kitchen. “I’m well,” he said, pointedly. Elijah nearly stopped in his tracks when he glimpsed Matt glaring at his boyfriend.

“Matt…?” Greyson asked, an attempt at giving his sous chef a get-out-of-jail-free card. There was silence as the three of them turned, expectantly, towards Matt.

“I’mb good,” the sous said, his voice cracking on the second syllable. Elijah audibly groaned, Mark winced, and Greyson bit his cheek to keep from laughing at the absurdity.

“Well, you certainly sound great,” Greyson said, palming Matt’s shoulder aggressively. “Would you like to go home and sleep that off?”

“Yes, he -”

“Ndo,” Matt said, cutting Mark off and shooting him a look. “I wandt to help prep.I’mb – hh! hh’NGTSH-uh!” Matt turned and pulled his coat up over the bottom half of his face to sneeze, then quickly gathered himself and stood up straight. “I’mb fine,” he said, convincing no one.

Elijah closed his eyes briefly and sighed through his nose; fortunately or unfortunately, he knew exactly why Matt hadn’t called off.

The week prior, Elijah and Greyson had dolled out raises and bonuses for the staff; this year was Matt’s fifth as sous chef. Greyson had basically written a dissertation of why his sous chef should be given a new title – Executive Sous – along with a significant raise and bonus. It hadn’t taken much convincing; Elijah knew exactly how hard Matt worked, and staying at the same restaurant as a sous chef for five years was nearly unheard of in this city, especially for someone as young as Matt. He and Greyson had agreed that Matt’s loyalty to the restaurant deserved to be compensated, and had surprised him before his day off with the new title and pay.

Matt had been surprised – shocked was probably a better word for it, honestly – and had confided in Elijah after Greyson had dipped early to meet up with a date that he felt like he didn’t deserve the raise.

“You do,” Elijah had said, laughing lightly. “We wouldn’t have given it to you if you didn’t deserve it.”

The younger man had shaken his head. “I just… I mean, Greyson is here way more than me. I get two days off mostly, and he doesn’t let me work longer than ten hours. And I love it here, you guys don’t need to, like, worry about me leaving if that’s what this is about.”

Elijah had given Matt a confused look. “Greyson should be here more than you, first of all he’s a partner, not just the chef, and secondly, he gets paid very well to be here eighty hours a week. That’s his choosing. You’re his employee – if you were here as much as he was and getting paid significantly less, that wouldn’t be fair. And we’re glad you love it here, but that’s not why we gave you the raise. We gave it to you because you’re a hard worker, and you deserve to be compensated for what you do.” Elijah had smiled at Matt, patted his knee, and finished with, “Don’t sell yourself short.”

Matt had just smiled back and nodded, but Elijah knew he hadn’t changed his mind about ‘being undeserving’. Elijah knew, via background checks that were performed by his off-site HR company, and via Mark being a blabbermouth the second he got a glass of wine in him, that Matt had been a bit of a troubled kid; he’d been bounced from one foster home to another as a kid, and then one juvenile detention hall to another as a teenager. Only when he’d dropped out of high school and gotten a job as a dishwasher at a Denny’s did he finally decide it was time to shape up. He’d worked his way into the diner’s kitchen, then a slightly nicer kitchen, and when he was 20, he’d shown up at the front door of Elliot’s in an ill-fitting suit with a speech about how he was ready to work somewhere that he could hone his passion, even if they couldn’t pay him a dime. Greyson had hired him on the spot, not even consulting Elijah, despite only having been the executive chef for a few months.

Elijah knew Matt felt that he owed Greyson, not the other way around, and this promotion and raise was the nail in that coffin of doubt. He knew there was no way Matt would go home, no matter how shitty he felt.

Greyson just shrugged at his sous chef’s denial of being sick. “If you want to stay, I’m not going to make you leave,” he said, walking into the office and changing from his sweatshirt into his chef’s coat. “Just don’t sneeze on the food.”

Matt rolled his eyes and stripped off his jacket to put his own chef’s coat on. “Yes, Chef,” he said, coughing into his elbow. Mark and Elijah exchanged sidelong looks.

“Are you feeling okay?” Elijah asked his junior manager. Mark smirked, hiked his laptop bag further onto his shoulder, and started towards the dining room – his makeshift office.

“Never better, boss,” he said, pushing through the swinging doors. “Never better.”

***

“So, is he coming in tomorrow?”

Greyson lolled his head to the side, hands still on his keyboard, and deadpanned Elijah. “The fuck do you think?”

Elijah pulled a hand down his face and nodded. “Yeah, okay, just wanted to check.”

While Matt had been relatively fine the first few hours of the shift, by the time the last guests had eaten, the sous had been so staunchly miserable that Greyson had marched his ass into the office, thrown his jacket over his shoulders, and pointed towards the back door. “Go. Home. Now.”

“Chef, I – HTSHH! Hh-! GTSH-uh!” Matt wrenched to the side, collapsing into a post-sneeze coughing fit that made the cooks flinch from five yards away.

“You’re not fine,” Greyson insisted. “You’re sick, and you’re going to get everyone else sick.”

Matt nodded, miserable, and hung his head. “Sorry, Chef,” he muttered, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his jacket.

“Go,” Greyson said. “And come back when you’re well.”

Mark had taken Matt home in an Uber, and the cooks and servers had been able to leave relatively early, which left Elijah, Greyson, and a bottle of whiskey between them on the desk to figure out how they were going to handle the rest of the week.

Greyson sighed and reached for the bottle as he pushed away from his computer screen. He took a long pull and handed the bottle to Elijah, who followed suit. “I just… I don’t understand why he’d come in that sick,” Greyson said, pulling his hair to the top of his head and securing it with a rubber band from their drawer of office supplies. Elijah had to pull the bottle away from his lips to laugh. “What?” Greyson asked.

“You, of all people, can’t understand why he came in sick?” Elijah asked, incredulous. “You?”

“What do you mean me?” Greyson asked, snatching the bottle back. “If anything, he learned it from watching you.”

“Oh, spare me, Greyson,” Elijah rolled his eyes. “For awhile there, you literally came in sick three weeks a month.”

Greyson scoffed. “At least I’ve never passed out on the kitchen floor.”

“Yes, you have.”

“No, I almost passed out. You actually fuckin’ swooned. Collapsed in a puddle. Full damsel in distress.” Greyson took another pull and placed the bottle back on the desk. “So don’t come for me unless I send for you.”

Elijah guffawed at this. “Who taught you that saying?” he asked. Greyson shrugged.

“I heard one of the servers using it. I like it.”

“The servers are twenty years old, you dinosaur. The last thing they want is Grandpa Greyson using their jargon.”

“Fuck off, if anyone here is a grandpa it’s…” Greyson stopped suddenly, held up a finger, let his eyes flutter shut, then let out a shaky breath. “Fuck, that’s annoying.” He rubbed his nose on the back of his hand, then raised an eyebrow at his boss, whose face had drawn into concern. “What?”

“What was that?” Elijah asked, glancing over at the bottle of whiskey they’d spent the past hour sharing.

“I just thought I was going to – oh,” Greyson’s eyes widened. “No, dude, relax, I’m totally fine. I feel great.”

“‘Buzzed’ and ‘great’ are two different things, Grey,” Elijah said. He reached up to feel Greyson’s forehead, prompting the chef to lean back in his chair.

“Great as in healthy,” he insisted, shooing Elijah’s hand away. “Seriously, I’d let you know if I – HRRTSHHH-ue!” He caught the sneeze in his elbow – barely – and choked back an irritated cough. From the crook of his arm, he heard Elijah swear.

“I’m going to end your fuckin’ life, I swear to God,” Elijah muttered, pushing the bottle further onto Greyson’s side of the desk. “You let me drink from the same bottle as you, you dick.”

“I’m fine, Elijah, Christ it was one sneee – hh! - hh…” Greyson tipped his head back in anticipation, then lowered and shook it when the feeling once again dissipated. “See? Totally fine.” He sniffled – convincing, Grey – and immediately changed course. “Plus, it’s alcohol. It’s an antiseptic.”

“It one million percent is not,” Elijah said, rubbing his temples in defeat. “Greyson, you cannot be sick. We cannot be sick. How the hell are we going to be able to run Thanksgiving?”

“Elijah,” Greyson said, “listen. I am fine. Everything is going to be just fi – ITSHH-ue!” Greyson pitched forward into his palm and cringed. Elijah, begrudgingly, slammed the box of tissues they kept on a side table in front of the chef.

“Bless you,” he said while Greyson cleaned himself up. “And, I mean this from the bottom of my heart: fuck. You.”

***

“Hhh-! Huh… hnnn.”

“Bless you.”

“Oh, screw you, Lij,” Greyson muttered for the millionth time that day. He grabbed what felt like his hundredth tissue and blew his nose – only for the feeling to reignite. “Huhhh! Hhh...hh… guhh.” Greyson rubbed his nose again and angrily spiked the tissue into the trash can beneath his prep station.

“Bless you,” Elijah said again, mocking.

“You kndow,” Greyson said, turning towards his boss, who was seated in the office, not looking Greyson’s way. “Karma is going to combe for you for being an asshole to mbe.”

At this, Elijah glanced towards Greyson. “Karma? No, karma is having a cold and not being able to sneeze because you let your friend drink out of the same bottle as you when you knew you were getting sick. That’s karma, and you got what was coming to you.”

“Fuuhhh! Huh! Hh...fuck,” Greyson grumbled, coughing into his shoulder.

“Karma is also giving your sous chef a lecture about being sick at work, only to be get sick and have to come into work because you’re technically the most well of all the sick cooks and chefs.”

“Are you finished?” Greyson asked, throwing his hands in the air. “I get it. And to be fair, I did ndot kndow I was getting sick.” The chef sucked in painfully through his nose and collapsed into coughs once again.

“Mmhmm,” Elijah mumbled. When it seemed like Greyson wasn’t going to be able to stop the coughing, he took pity and got up to make the chef tea.

“Here,” Elijah said, slamming a paper cup in front of Greyson. “Drink it. Sickie.”

Greyson, unable to come up with a proper comeback, just did as he was told. “How mbany on the books tonight?” he croaked. Elijah sighed, pulled up his phone, and slid it towards Greyson. “Fuck,” Greyson said when he saw the number.

“All the people in the city who aren’t coming in tomorrow decided tonight was the night, apparently,” Elijah said, taking his phone back and putting it in his pocket. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked, in earnest.

Greyson nodded. “It’s ndot too bad,” he said, taking another sip of tea. “Just wish I could fuckigg sndeeze.”

Elijah huffed out a laugh. “You’re sure you don’t want to call Matt in?”

“Definitely no – hh! Huh...hhhITSHHHZUE! Oh thank fuckigg God – HUHHESTCH-ue! Hh! Hnn...HuhhhETSCHH-ue! HTSSHH-ue!”

Elijah whistled, long and low, and pushed the box of tissues towards Greyson. “Wow,” he said. “Bless.”

Greyson rolled his eyes as he took a handful of tissues and cleaned himself up. “See?” he said once he’d thrown them away and washed his hands, “Good as new. HTSSHH-ue!”

Elijah chuckled. “Sure, Chef,” he said, moving towards the doors to the dining room. “Whatever you say.”

***

In his thirty-nine years on earth, Elijah had learned a lot about himself. He’d learned that he was a hothead, and he had to really think about the repercussions of what was going to come out of his mouth if he wanted to keep the person he was talking to in his life. He’d learned that he was incapable of whistling, juggling, or any other party trick – but he could pull out a fantastic rendition of Queen’s Somebody to Love during karaoke, and that was enough to make him seem like he was fun at parties. He’d learned that he loved to have his own space, and should he ever find a partner, he knew they’d have to have separate bedrooms. And he had learned exactly what it felt like when he was getting sick.

Like… really sick.

When Greyson said things like, “I didn’t know I was getting sick,” it truly did not register to Elijah. Maybe it was because Greyson’s illnesses always seemed to be some sort of mixed bag – starting differently every time, with symptoms that varied wildly – or maybe it was because he just didn’t tune in to how he was feeling. Greyson always said he basically tried to ignore his body until it forced him to pay attention; maybe that was something that Elijah needed to attempt. Because Elijah… Elijah knew exactly when and how badly he was getting sick every single time.

It had started that afternoon, mere hours after he’d given Greyson shit about exposing him to this illness, the way it always did – with the type of sore throat that made you feel weak in your knees. Elijah had swallowed, then immediately felt dizzy with the pain that surged in his throat. Oh, he thought, touching his neck. Oh, no.

He was, of course, a creature of habit and attempted all his usual ways to quell the pain – cups of tea hidden in paper sleeves, lozenges he hoped Greyson was too stuffed up to smell on his breath, handfuls of ibuprofen – to no avail. By the time dinner service came around he could hear the rasp in his voice and, despite the ibuprofen, could feel the ache in his joints that meant he’d already made it to stage two; fever.

This was how he knew he was going to be down badly. If he could ride the sore throat past the fever and straight into congestion, he might be able to get away with just a normal cold. But if that fever set in before any other symptoms, it was all over.

“Yo,” Greyson said, approaching his boss post pre-shift. “Cand we quickly talk about the semantics of tomborrow’s buffet before people get here?”

Elijah lifted his heavy head from his pre-shift notes and blinked in Greyson’s direction. “Okay,” he said, brilliantly. Greyson’s eyebrows knit together, concerned.

“You good?” he asked, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. Elijah nodded slowly – surely, if Greyson was able to push through this illness with such ease, he was just being a baby about it. He swallowed through the knives in his throat and nodded.

“Just a headache,” he said. “What do you want to talk through?”

“Just wanted to see how mbany cooks you think I should have on the buffehh....ETSZHCHH-ue!” Greyson directed a massive sneeze into his elbow, and Elijah’s head about exploded with pain.

“Christ,” Elijah muttered, pressing his palm into his eye. Greyson muffled a cough into his sleeve and shook his head to clear it.

“Fuck, ‘scuse mbe,” he said, looking back at his boss. “Umb. Did I get you or something?”

Something like that, Elijah thought as he shook his head. “No,” he said. “You’re just loud, and my head hurts.” He pulled out his phone, looked at the cover spread for the next day, and said, “Three cooks on the buffet. One for omelets, one for prime rib carving, one for dessert bar.” He looked up at Greyson for his confirmation. “What?” he asked.

“You just… look like you’re in pain,” Greyson said, carefully. “Did you take -?”

“Yes, I took ibuprofen,” Elijah cut him off. “Go make sure your guys are ready for tonight. Take a decongestant so they can understand you. I’ll be back there in a minute.”

Greyson pursed his lips, but didn’t argue. “Yes, sir,” he said, and left Elijah to brood.

By some stroke of luck, the third inevitable stage of Elijah’s illness didn’t hit him until after they’d finished service. He was checking the lead server’s station so she could go home, when suddenly it felt like a thousand bees collected in his sinuses.

“Yeah, looks good Riley, thanks, see you in the mo – IGTSHH-uhh! HSTSH-ue! HhhhINTSZH-ue!” Elijah wrenched to the side, the sneezes so sudden he barely had time to cover his mouth.

“Yikes,” Riley said, taking a step away from her boss. “Bless you.”

“Thanks,” Elijah muttered, pinching his nose to quell the itch.

“You pick up whatever has everyone else out this week?” she asked, taking off her apron. Elijah shook his head.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Have a good night.”

With all the servers gone, Elijah slunk back into the kitchen and sunk into his office chair, his head in his hands. He was not prepared to do a whole holiday service feeling like this. This was nightmarish, and he’d only felt sick for nine hours. Tomorrow? Tomorrow was going to be -

“Hey, bless you,” Elijah sat up and turned around at the accusation to see Greyson standing at the office door with his arms crossed. “Could’ve heard those from fuckin’ space.”

Elijah rolled his eyes, painfully. “Whatever,” he said, powering his computer up to finish the night’s paperwork. “You’re one to talk, I don’t think you’ve gone three seconds without -”

“HRRSHH-oo!” Greyson cut him off with a comically-timed sneeze directed into the collar of his shirt.

“-that,” Elijah finished.

Greyson grabbed a tissue and wiped his nose. “Yeah, but it’s been well-established that I have a cold. I was under the impression that you were still -”

“HTSHH! HRSHH! Huh-! HuhhESTZHH-ue!” Elijah once again collapsed in on himself, head both buzzing and pounding, the explosive sneezes grating the back of his throat.

“- well,” Greyson finished, and moved into the office to sit by his boss. Just as Elijah looked up from his lap, Greyson slapped a hand on his forehead.

“Enough,” Elijah said, pushing Greyson’s palm off. Greyson put both his palms on his knees and gave Elijah a knowing look.

“So, you’ve been sick all day, or…?”

“Greyson,” Elijah said, clearing his throat, “I’m fine.”

“You have a fever, Lij. Like, a pretty significant one.”

He knew, and he had known, but the words made Elijah’s eyes well and his throat close all the same. God, he hated having a fucking fever and all the stupid, ridiculous emotions that went along with it. Elijah took a breath, closed his eyes to collect himself, and addressed the chef.

“I’m not feeling 100%,” he said. “But I will be fine. You are sick – if I’m not 100%, then you must be at like 10% at this point.”

“I don’t have a fever,” Greyson pointed out, taking Elijah’s hand and placing it on his cool head. “See?”

Elijah bit his cheek to keep from snapping. “Alright,” he said. “Whatever. Still, you need to go home; it’s a big day tomorrow.”

“I will when you do,” Greyson said, shrugging. Elijah, completely spent, and done arguing, just turned off his computer – paperwork be damned for the night.

“Fine,” he said, putting his hands up in surrender. “Let’s call it a night.”

Greyson, clearly confused, just raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Alright boss,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “See you tomorrow.”

***

If there was one thing Greyson knew about Elijah, it was this: if you wanted him to admit defeat, you had to corner him.

When he woke up at oh-dark-thirty that morning, Greyson felt lucky that he was no worse for the wear then he was the night before. Was he stuffed-up to the gills? Yes. Did he have an incessant, grating cough? Yeah. But ultimately, it was a cold, and he’d work through far worse many more times.

So, despite the fact that it was still dark out, Greyson donned his hoodie and set out for the restaurant. On the way to the early-morning subway, he called Matt.

“...Hello?” Matt answered on the third ring. “Chef?”

“Mbornin’ sunshine,” Greyson said, coughing into the receiver. “How’re you feeling?”

“Uh…” Matt said, attempting to gather his bearings. “Better. Am I supposed to be at the restaurant now? I thought I was scheduled at eight.” Greyson heard him push back a blanket and plant his feet on the floor. “You sound like shit, by the way. Sorry about that.”

“Inevitable,” Greyson said, a brush-off. “And you aren’t scheduled til eight, but I have sombe very important, pre-work, Executive Sous shit I ndeed your help with.”

“Sure, boss,” Matt said, and Greyson could hear him changing clothes, using mouthwash, and whispering goodbye to Mark. “Anything you need.”

“Good man,” Greyson said, pausing at the top of the subway steps. “Could you pick up cough drops, Mucinex, and a hot water bottle, if you see one? Oh, and a real blanket. I’ll Venmo you some mboney.”

“Uh, sure, boss. Is this… for you?”

“Not for me,” Greyson said, coughing into his sleeve. “For Elijah. He’s down bad.”

“Oh. Oh, shit,” Matt said. “Yeah, okay, for sure boss. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks, mban. Hey, I’mb about to head down to the subway, text mbe if you have any – hh! HTSHH-ue! Fuck, sorry,” Greyson wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “Mbaybe grab more tissues while you’re there,” he amended.

“Sure, Chef. Bless.”

“You’re the best, Mbatt. Always knew you’d make a perfect number two.”

Greyson could hear the eye roll through the phone. “Don’t get sappy, old man,” Matt said. “See you soon.”

***

To say Elijah felt like shit would’ve been the understatement of the century.

When he woke up that morning, Elijah was fairly sure he was dying. The fever he’d crawled into bed with hadn’t budged, his sinuses were packed, and he’d officially acquired the final gem on his sick-as-fuck gauntlet: the cough. This day was going to be absolute hell.

Elijah did his level best to get ready for the busy service; he managed to take about half a shower before he had to sit down, dizzy from exertion; he’d gotten one contact in before sneezing so hard he almost poked his eye out and settled on glasses; he’d even found the strength to put on a pair of pants, though a button down was entirely too much for his shaking hands, so he settled on a cardigan that looked passable enough. God he hoped the servers – and Mark – would be able to hold down the fort out front, because this was nothing short of tragic.

Unwilling to deal with the subway and unable to drive safely in this state, Elijah settled on calling an Uber to work. It was early, a little before eight, but he knew if he didn’t get there now, he’d never make it.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” the driver said, leaving Elijah to immediately regret his decision not to drive. “Pretty early to be up and at ‘em. You heading to see family?”

Elijah cleared his throat as best he could before begrudgingly responding to the driver. “Ndot quite,” he said, his voice strained and congested. “Worki – HGSTHH-ue! HRSSH! ETSZCH-uh!” Elijah attempted to hold back the sneezes, unsuccessfully. Sans any tissues, he wiped his nose on his sweater sleeve. “Excuse mbe, sorry.”

“Working and sick on a holiday?” the driver said, shaking his head. “That’s rough, man. Bless you.”

Elijah’s face flamed, but he was in no state to deny. “Yeah,” he said instead. “Thangks.”

The rest of the drive was in blessed silence, and Elijah made sure to tip the guy extra for being exposed to whatever plague he was walking around with. When he finally pushed through the back door of the restaurant, Elijah felt like he’d already lived a lifetime today; he really wasn’t sure how much he’d be able to take.

“Elijah!” Greyson’s voice reached him before Elijah could even see his face. “Happy Thanksgiving, you sick old fuck!”

Elijah turned the corner and almost burst into tears – there stood Greyson, his face pale and nose bright red, and Matt and Mark looking no better, outside of his office; his office that had been, essentially, turned into a cozy-looking bedroom.

There were blankets on the floor, the chairs removed, and medicine on the desk. The harsh office light had been shut off, and instead one of the lamps from the host stand glowed gently from behind the computer. And, perhaps most heart-rendering, in Greyson’s hand was a bowl of steaming soup, and in Matt’s, a cup of tea.

“I know you hate working the holidays, and feeling like shit is just insult to injury,” Greyson said, setting down the bowl so he could guide Elijah into the office. “So we thought we’d mbake it just a little less shitty.”

Elijah allowed himself to be lead in, unable to find the words to thank his friend. He turned into his elbow to cough, a welcome respite from the tears he could feel threatening to spill over. “Grey,” he said when he’d gathered himself. “I… this is so… you guys…” he swallowed around the lump in his throat and shook his head. “I don’t kndow what to say,” he said, looking up at Greyson. “Thangk you.”

“Ah, save it,” Greyson said, placing a hand on his friend’s back. “You’re always looking after us. Call it our Thanksgiving to you.”

Elijah smiled a little, punched Greyson’s arm lightly, and allowed himself to be pulled into a hug. Heading to see family? the Uber driver had asked him. Maybe he had been, after all.

#whiskeyswriting #snz #sickfic #snzfic #coldfic #snez #snzblr #male cold #male snz #male ocs #original character

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒳𝒱: 𝒜 𝒱𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐿𝒾𝑜𝓃 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you again to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

TW: crying, self-loathing, discussion of grief, narcissistic collapse, smut (oral)

Summary: John does his best to console Vincent, who has been shattered by grief and remorse.

Bellwood Mall’s sleeping quarters occupied a Bed Bath and Beyond, where divider walls had been set up to create individual hotel rooms. The overhead lights were switched off in favor of bedside lamps, creating a space of blue-grey darkness above them where the strangely oblong light fixtures and metal rafters of a department store crisscrossed each other. There was even a long-deflated balloon, trapped in the joint between two rafters, its limp body telling the story of some disappointed child who had let it go.

Vincent was similarly deflated. It had been less frightening when he was wailing in the middle of the food court, John decided. Now, he slumped forward on the end of a twin bed - one of two in their room, though John had left the second one entirely to Dog and come to sit beside Vincent. He was exhausted by his fit, staring into space with dead eyes. He bore little resemblance to the poised, collected, arrogant man who had once held unmitigated power over all the forces of the High Table.

For a while, there was no sound except the occasional sniffle. John wasn’t very good at these things, he realized. He had no idea what to say. Maybe there was just nothing to be said. Nothing had been able to reach him, after Helen’s death. He wondered if Vincent loved Chidi at that depth. Or at all. “Did you feel the same for him?”

Without looking over, Vincent shook his head. “No. He was right. I never even considered him that way. Or – “ He let out an exhale of frustration. “I don’t know. He was important to me. But I never - I took him for granted…” He was getting worked up again. “I – I killed him…” John pulled him into his arms. He didn’t hug back, just hung limp against John’s chest, his head draped over his shoulder. It was heartbreaking to see him like this.

“You didn’t kill him. The High Table did.”

Vincent extracted himself and laid back onto the bed, covering his face again. “But I treated him like a thing! I used him! Until he died…”

John wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. It was, if Chidi’s letter was any indication, true. And to lie to him would only undermine his trust.

“There are people who wouldn’t even know that’s wrong. At least you do.”

There was a long silence full of slow, heavy breathing before Vincent admitted, “I didn’t at the time. I’m not a good person, John. I try so hard to be what the world wants from me…but it always comes out wrong.”

“…You’ve done bad things. But - ”

“I’m still doing bad things, because it’s a part of me. Some corruption in my soul.”

There was pure despair in his voice. To think that Vincent thought this way of himself was unbearable. John laid next to him and wrapped around his waist, cuddling him, trying to console the inconsolable. He could still feel Vincent’s chest shuddering. He was too broken down to resist an offer of comfort, and rolled over onto his side to curl up against John, who was still searching for words. “You’re not corrupted. You’re hurt, and lashing out.”

Vincent laughed humorlessly into the crook of John’s neck. “God, that’s so pathetic. I’m so pathetic.”

“I don’t think you’re pathetic,” he said calmly. “I think you’re really brave.”

“…You’re being so kind to me, and I was thoughtless to you all day. I am, all the time.”

“Are you sorry?”

“Yes! Yes I’m sorry.”

“Well then I forgive you.”

For a second, the Marquis seemed completely overwhelmed. He took John’s face in trembling hands and kissed him forcefully, before pulling back to search his eyes. “Why would you do that? Why are you so sweet to me?” He shook his head and bowed it against John’s, pressing their foreheads together.

“I just…I just want to. What’s the point of making you suffer more? I forgive you.”

“You say it like it’s so simple. An apology is real only if the one who is apologizing plans to change. And I can’t. You don’t understand how hard this is for me. I’ve never – “ He had to stop to choke down sobs again, and only continued when he had composed himself. “I’ve never had a real friend, John, not since I was a child. I was popular. But I never connected with any of them, I just toyed with them. I can’t treat people well, I don’t know how. I can’t care about people.”

“You just saved Dog.”

“…Only because you told me to. I wasn’t thinking of his safety. I was thinking that you’d kill me if I let him die. And…maybe that I’d miss him. But I wasn’t thinking about him at all.”

“That’s okay. I don’t care why you did it. You still did.” He stroked soothingly down Vincent’s back. “You know what Iosef told me, when I met him at that gas station? He said he loved dogs. And then he – ” John went quiet with anger for a moment. “It doesn’t matter whether you feel warm and fuzzy inside. You have a choice about what you do.”

“What if I don’t have a choice? What if I’m completely out of control and I can’t do it?”

His voice shook with desperation in that dangerous way that made John want to crush the sadness out of his body with sheer physical affection. John got over the top of him again, on hands and knees staring down directly into those swimming pupils, which widened in surprise. Words tumbled out of him, low and fast and coming from some primal core of his being. “Then I’ll treat you as a wild animal that doesn’t have reason right now. My pet lion. I won’t judge you or punish you. I will just stop you from hurting people…or yourself. I will control you, by force if necessary, and take care of you. And I will try so very hard not to hurt you in the process, because at a time like that, you’re completely innocent.” He realized his heart was racing and their eyes were locked together. There was something burning between them, a mutual intoxication at that prospect. He wondered if he’d said too much, if that would be insulting.

Vincent swallowed, staring up at him with devastating awe. “That sounds…safe,” he said, in a small voice. “I think…I think I want that, Mr. Wick.” Not the resentful “Wick” that he often spoke in defiance. Not the tender “John” that had risen up in familiarity. Mr. Wick, whom he trusted to control him in every way, to be his moral compass and his failsafe. Mr. Wick, who was staring straight into the tear-stained, puffy-eyed face of the responsibility to which he had just sworn himself. An intense rush of fondness went through him at being so trusted, at holding Vincent’s very wellbeing in his hands, and he caressed his cheek, brushing away tears.

“I want that too.” He realized Vincent wasn’t the only one who was shaking, and fought for control over his desires.

“You’ll really…you’ll take care of me? When I’m at my absolute most petty and cruel, beyond all help?” His voice was too high, too sugary, brain-broken. He was stroking absently along the front of John’s button down in a way that sent thrills to his core. Stripped of all defenses, Vincent had become boneless and needy. John wondered if anyone else had ever seen him this way, and if so, how they had treated him. As he cupped Vincent’s face, John’s thumb rested tenderly against his lower lip. It occurred to him how soft he really was, underneath everything.

“Yeah. Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?”

He nodded, placated, subdued…and nuzzled into John’s hand. Fuck. His chest shuddered with rampant affection.

He had to communicate one more message, before allowing lust to overcome him entirely. “But listen to me, Vincent. As much as I want that, I want something else more. I want to love you like a man, not an animal. Someone I can trust with freedom. I believe that the man in you is alive. Okay? You can get better.”

Only one part of that had registered with Vincent. “You want to love me?”

John’s heart nearly stopped as he realized what he’d said. It could not be reciprocated, but…to hell with it. Might as well learn from Chidi, and not wait until it was too late. “…Yeah.”

Even John, in his near-pathological humility, couldn’t misinterpret the way Vincent beamed and let out a little gasp of giddy disbelief. A radiant happiness shone out of that dimpled smile, and he dragged John down against him by the collar, demanding his lips, demanding that the heat between their legs press together. When they finally broke, he was still clinging to the front of John’s shirt. “I want to love you too,” he whispered. “I don’t know if I can but I want to.”

The pang of disappointment was swallowed by gratitude. “What you feel towards me…I accept it. It doesn’t matter what it is. I’m lucky.”

“Good. I…I need you. Kiss me again, please.” He was flushed and disheveled and perfect, and angling his lips upward in desperate anticipation. So John pushed his tongue between Vincent’s teeth, tasting blood and salt, until his back arched, wringing a whimper from him as it affected his chest.

“Don’t move.”

“Mmmm…” he whined in some mixture of misery and pleasure, and went limp. His fingers were still wandering listlessly over the blanket so John lifted his hands one by one and kissed each wrist, just above the end of the gauze. He let them fall back to the blanket and moved on to his chest, hiking up his T-shirt over the bandages to kiss just below them, on the arch of his ribcage, moving slowly and deliberately.

Then he went lower. Sliding his waistband down an inch, he kissed the protrusion of each hip bone at the front of his pelvis, and then the sensitive hollows where his hips dove into the base of his cock, already visibly throbbing in deep pink. He gripped the sides of his hips like handles and guided them into a rolling motion, showing him how he could move them in isolation from his abdomen. Vincent pushed against him, moving too far, but John pressed him down into the bed, refusing to let him thrust. He sucked in a breath and didn’t let it out again.

“Breathe, моя любовь [my love].”

Obediently, Vincent forced his chest to rise and fall, and John rewarded him by sliding his pants down far enough to let him stand erect. It was really gorgeous, so flushed with color. His own cock was screaming for relief at the sight of it. He unbuttoned hastily and for a moment, he let Vincent watch him stroke himself to the image of the beautiful, helpless, demonic angel laid out before him, vulnerable and tearful and completely trusting of him. His skin shone even in its tortured pallor, interrupted by slivers of red along his arms and by the purple flowers blooming at his bruised jaw. “You’re beautiful, Vincent. You’re so beautiful.”

Rosiness flooded through those pallid cheeks and he made some little flustered noise of appreciation. “I…I’m…merci.”

“And…” he reluctantly let go of himself to slide his hands down Vincent’s sides and onto his rod, where he took hold of it, “you’re good. You’re so good. You deserve happiness. You shouldn’t have to be trapped in your head all alone. You deserve for someone to take care of you. Someone to help you.”

His moan shuddered its way into a sob and he covered his mouth with one hand to stifle it.

“You’re allowed to cry. You’re safe. The only thing I will do is make you feel good.” And he closed his arms around Vincent’s thighs, sliding his hands underneath him to make him feel held from every side as he planted a kiss on the swollen head of his cock. It twitched in response.

“John –  Putain, s'il te plaît… [fuck, please…]“ he gasped, squirming for more.

John chuckled lightly. “Okay.” And he took him into his mouth, deep. God, he was silky soft, and so responsive. His thighs flexed hard whenever John’s tongue rubbed along a favorite spot. John worked relentlessly and systematically until he found the rhythm that drew the most flexing out of him. Vincent was rolling his hips as he’d been shown, fucking his head softly and slowly. Whenever he got too aggressive, John’s arms tightened around him, pinning him helplessly to the bed. He wondered momentarily whether anyone in the adjacent rooms could hear Vincent’s shuddering moans of ecstasy and decided he didn’t care.

Before finishing him off, he surfaced to see his head thrown back. To admire him, and to give him fuel for the final stretch. “Я тебя люблю.”  he said slowly, this time teaching him. “I love you. Безоговорочно. Unconditionally.”

“I don’t…I don’t deserve you.” He was crying uncontrollably.

“Я тебя люблю,” he repeated firmly, and cradled his hips in his arms again, enveloping him in warmth right to the base until he was breathless. His face was a mess but he refused to break rhythm for anything. In this little time, he had already learned how to bring this newfound treasure of a body to unrelenting pleasure and he did not hesitate. The growing scent of Vincent’s aromatic, animalistic musk drove his own arousal to maddening urgency with every breath. Lust sent him into a daze. Vincent’s breath hitched again and this time he could not restore it. John was growling into the flesh, struggling not to use teeth, as he carried his angel over the edge at last and swallowed every last precious drop of that salty-sweet proof of Vincent’s orgasm.

He crawled back up to his side and embraced him again, not allowing them to lose contact for even a moment. “Я тебя… тебя люблю [I love…love you]” Vincent mumbled clumsily into his neck, covered in sweat, stumbling over the words, and then kissed him. “I’m sorry…if I’m bad at it.”

Impossible. A miracle. He laughed and realized his own eyes were wet. “You’re pretty good at it right now.”

Impossible peace.

Peace all through his body, peace singing something operatic inside his ribcage, something Vincent would like. Peace he thought he would never feel again. No…not exactly like that. Peace more bittersweet, peace somehow crafted out of a white hot inferno, peace made of longing, a longing for continuance, for this moment to never end. For tomorrow to never come to test this fragile bond and steal Vincent’s life away. He pulled Vincent on top of him and held him as if he might never hold him again.

“How do I be better, John? At loving you,” said his perfect, impish angel, some minutes later, as their hearts slowed down together. His face was buried in his chest. “I really do want to try.”

“Umm…” he struggled with the afterglow clouding his brain. This was important. “Tell me when you’re hurt.”

Vincent snorted. “That doesn’t make things better for you.”

“It does. For both of us. Because then…I can help before you get mad. I can figure out what I did and apologize or…just help however you need. I promise I won’t be upset if you tell me.”

“Even if it’s something petty?”

“It’s not petty if it’s upsetting you. Maybe irrational, but…there’s always something behind it and we’ll figure it out together.”

Vincent sighed. “Like when you mentioned Helen earlier.” He cleared his throat, struggling profoundly. John waited. “I was. Um. I was jealous.” John could feel his heart racing. He had gone totally tense with anxiety, waiting for a response.

“That makes sense. I didn’t think about that. You should know that you mean very much to me, even after this short time. I…I have struggled with moving on, but it’s what she would want. She even said so. And what I have with you is something…completely unique. I have never felt this way before.” That was true.

“Well that…wasn’t so bad.”

“See. You can do it.” He could feel Vincent’s cheeks smiling against him.

“Will you tell me about her? You wanted to and I stupidly…”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I can handle it. Anyway, I need to do something nice for you. You’ve been so good to me, Mr. Wick.”

“Well…” How to describe Helen to someone who had never met her? “She showed me how to do…this.” He gestured between them. “How to love unconditionally. Before I met her, I was power hungry in my own way. I was a pure nihilist, just angry with the world and stepping on its throat just because I could. I wanted love. Dreamed about it all the time, ever since I was a kid. I was into fairy tales, and then fucking…Victorian novels and shit. But I was completely unworthy of that. A killing machine with no idea how to live a normal life. And then she…just appeared.”

“She was a photographer at the time, doing this project for public awareness about gangs and the mob and all that. Like, telling people’s stories anonymously, to help people understand how criminal activity starts and build empathy, that kind of thing… She saw me sitting alone in a restaurant trying to look normal and immediately knew I wasn’t. Saw right through me. So she asked me for an interview and took photos of some of my old suits for the piece.”

“You did an interview? About being an assassin?”

“Well, no. I didn’t tell her that at the time. I just told her I was involved with the mafia against my will. That I had been trafficked into the business as a child and uh…”

He had to pause to swallow the lump in his throat. There were tears flowing freely down the sides of his face but he had to at least try to keep his voice steady. “Anyway, that was the first time an innocent person was willing to listen to what I’d gone through. She didn’t judge me, she didn’t try to turn me in. Didn’t see any of it as my fault. She just wanted to help me get out. Even after she found out what I was really doing. She was…remarkable. Deeply compassionate. And she spent a lot of time just…doing things with me that I never got to do. Like go to the mall…I was going to show her so many things too, because she had a hard life of her own. Messed up shit. She deserved so much more. But she’s gone, and this yearning…to give to somebody like she gave to me…this desire that she put in me, to take care of people, it’s still here. As grief. And it just has nowhere to go…”

He realized Vincent was lifting up his hand. Nothing could have surprised him more than the soft kiss that he placed on his wrist, mimicking the way John had kissed him earlier. And then he kissed him again, right at the center of his palm.

“Don’t cry, Mr. Wick,” he said. “You can take care of me as much as you like.”

John laughed in wonder. By the time he forced himself to speak, it was ragged and deeply sincere. “I will. I promise. Do you want to tell me about Chidi?”

A long silence. “…One day.”

“Okay.” John kissed the top of his head. “Do you feel any better?”

“Oui. Merci.” He cuddled closer against John, if that was even possible.

“Bien. Fais de beaux rêves. [Good. Sweet dreams.]” He switched out the light and let Vincent sleep on his chest like a curled-up cat, sighing softly from time to time.

They had a hell of a big day tomorrow. John stared into the darkness, his hands tightly around Vincent’s back, and prayed to whatever gods may be.

Don’t take him from me. Please. Don’t take him from me.

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#john wick #john x marquis de gramont #marquis de gramont #john wick fanfic #wickblr #marquis de gramont whumpee #angst #emotional whump #guilty whumpee #hurt/comfort #whump fic #redemption arc #assassin whump #ao3 crosspost #enemies to lovers #// grief

[v1vian-th3-f4nfic-wr1ter]

An Eternity With You

Felix Fickelgruber X Fem!Reader X Arthur Slugworth X Gerald Prodnose Fic

(Slightly Dark!Chocolate Cartel X Fem!Reader)

Potiental Triggers: Eating disorder (Felix) Manipluation (Arthur) Harsh Love (All three at first) Blunt Insults and Gaslighting (Gerald And Arthur) Smoking (Felix) Slight Arguement (Only this chapter for now || Felix and Gerald) Forceful kissing (Arthur to Gerald)

Authors note: All of the triggers will eventually be practically gone by the end of this fic but Felix's anoxeria will stay the longest but the smoking warning will be gone by the 2nd or 3rd chapter and sorry to the people but no smut, i plan to make at least 10 chapters but slow updates gender neutral but implied to be female reader

Chapter 1

The winter air blew into his face when he exited the shop, it made him shiver from the shop, but he had to go outside, he entered the church and headed down the elevator, he was greeted by Gerald sipping on hot chocolate and Arthur was talking with Miss Bon Bon, he sat down, drinking the black coffee that was presumably made by Gerald for him

He took a cigarette and lit it, taking a puff and sipped on the coffee, its hard to act like enemies in public when deep down they are all lovers. Though Gerald feels quite left out out of everything they do

"Whats up with you today, Felix?" Gerald said bluntly

He rolled his eyes "Just some nobody girl entered my shop, extremely disreveled, disgusting..."

Gerald sighs "You are too picky with women, or anyone"

Felix tried to defend himself but was cut off by Arthur "Thats enough, both of you" Felix complied to Arthur

Felix took another puff of of his cigarette, he finishes the coffee and sighs, tired of being just them three, but all the women they tried to ask rejected or left after taking a sum of money, Gerald couldnt careless, just wanting the new person to love him. And Arthur...was indifferent, he was content with just them but he cant help but please Felix and Gerald, despite their differences, they tried to find a common ground, but no luck

Felix puts out the cigarette and looked at himself in the mirror, disgusted on how frog-like his face was, he wanted to get surgery before but Arthur and Gerald stopped him instantly

He waa disgusted at his own self image, he didnt fit into any other character type except "the pretty one" or "the eye candy" it damaged his own self esteem and view of self worth but Arthur always had a way to make him feel better. Always

But he was blind to the gaslighting and manipluation

Flashback

"Arthur, do you think am too skinny...?" Felix nervously asked the much more confiedent man

Though Arthur thought the same, he was far too skinny for his own health, he would do anything to please Felix, even if it means adding to his disorder

"No, you look perfectly fine Felix, no one would ever think that" Arthur said while his back turned to Felix, busy fixing up the arrangements for a sponsorship

"Say it to my face then" Felix spat out in irriation, Arthur did as he said, Felix was pleased...for now

And that was just of many examples of his gaslighting, Arthur is a bit ignorant to Felix's and Gerald's needs since he was the "leader", he is meant to please them and boost their ego, right? So he said what they wanted to hear. Never thinking twice if it was damaging them in the long term, he could not care, he will please them in one way or another

Meanwhile Gerald was mostly pushed to the side, mostly only there since he had more money than them combined but not that much power, Gerald often felt lonely, even when they tried to find another person to add

Gerald was just a different kind of a black sheep, a grey sheep of sorts. Liked but also ignored, Gerald often wanted to leave them but couldnt out of love for their relationship, he was too attached for his own good

And there was You. Poor and barely making a living at a rundown café, desprate to just even live, just a pushover, you never gave in to love since it would be a big cost for you, you spent your whole paycheck just for a week worth of groceries, you often tried to make it stretch but often snuck bread from closing time so you had food to eat, it wasnt as fresh as it was in the morning, but you have no other choice

Anyways back to them

Gerald was just bored, desprate to have something to do, so he just decided to head out and explore the less fortunate part of the city, he found the cafe you work at, Gerald didnt mind it, it was cozy but only two people were eating there since it was in the more sketchy part of the town, no rich person would risk being robbed so they dont even bat an eye here

Gerald asked the cashier AKA you for a bagel and some sweet coffee, he sat down and just spaced out, you brought it to his table but he was still spaced out, you snapped your fingers and he was brought back to earth

He thanked you and ate, it was a good cafe but due to not many people able to afford it or not daring to enter the shady part of the city

He finished and gave a massive tip of 100, you never held that much money in your life, you went home as fast as possible, storing the money in your small wooden box of money, it only had a few nickels and soverigns but it finally felt full for once

Next day

You walked to work to see Gerald there, waiting for you, you smiled at him and cleaned up the café and served him what he had yesterday, he felt another 100 dollar tip, it made you happy, it went on for weeks until it was a sum of 1500 soverigns, you dont know what prompted it but figured it was because he was rich

Gerald liked the food there, so he always gave a tip, it was also for the nice server (you) and it just felt right, though the other two were suspicious, they noticed he always left for lunch to somewhere in the shabby part of town

"Gerald, where have you been?! I hope youre not cheating" Felix spat out in anger at him

Gerald responded with a tone, almost like he couldnt care what he thought "Eating out, its not like you or Arthur would come, you always starve yourself anyways" Felix fumed in anger but was interrupted by Arthurs presence

"What are you two arguing about now" Gerald explained his part but felix over dramatically said his, Arthur took Geralds side

"You're overreacting Felix, hes just eating out in one of the more poo- i mean...less fortunate parts of the city" Arthur said, almost matter-of-factly

Felix threw his hands up in the air in anger and left. Leaving the two of them alone, Arthur shook his head in dissaproval but shook it off. He looked into his eyes, appoarched him with a slow movement, looking at his every little movement, Gerald was used to this by now, he was pulled into a kiss by Arthur, forcing his tongue into Geralds mouth. He was agressive but had a sense of gentleness, the kiss was hot and heated. It lasted for a minute until they pulled away

Arthur was pleased and left as well. Leaving gerald alone with his thoughts, he decided to go to the café again, getting his usual, he was tipping them the 100 dollars agsin when their hands brushed, but he suddenly felt a rush of warmth, he brushed it off as your body being warm from the heater inside the café

You didnt notice but was glad you could finally have some more financial freedom, you paid your rent for the next few months and you had 850 left for food and everything else, that was quite enough to last, you were happy with your finacial position for once

Authors note: Sorry for a short first chapter but i tried by best for my first long fanfic/series

Next Chapter

#gerald prodnose x reader #felix fickelgruber x reader #arthur slugworth x reader #gerald prodnose x felix fickelgruber x arthur slugworth #felix fickelgruber #wonka 2023 #gerald prodnose #arthur slugworth #wonka #angst with a happy ending #toxic love #toxic relationship #chocolate cartel #chocolate cartel x reader #gerald prodnose x felix fickelgruber x arthur slugworth x reader #an eternity with you

[immasock]

Hello.... I just came back from church and I will worship demons again. Anyway, I just came into mind to Nephalem! Mc, (I love really OP MC) and I was forced to read the bible and another version that's the reason I've come to this conclusion. So like it's between Belith (the most powerful demon king who owns 85(?) demon legions) and Seraphina (the female version of the six winged seraphim) they do the nasty and boom demonangel baby whose raised in an human orphanage because God forbids and Bebelith's (uwu) kingdom opposed. And the child somehow almost terrorizes the entire human race without exposing themselves. Imagine those reactions from the bros + dateables hekhek. I really love the bible sometimes you know...

It’s been too long but my god I’m excited to do this one. I always love your ideas

Nephalem!MC + The Obey me boys

Pronouns: They/Them

The chaos

MC grew up as an orphan, going in and out of foster homes and different adoptive parents. It never lasted though. No one knew why. The kid seemed nice enough, if not a little quiet

Some say it was because they were too quiet. They never talked or bonded with the families. Others say that it was because the other families kept having kids of their own and decided they didn’t need MC anymore

But the real reason? The real reason was because they were actually a little terror

They would start out seeming innocent, sure, but that was all a part of their plan

After about a week though? They would start causing all sorts of chaos.

When MC got sent down to the Devildom, they thought it would be the same thing. They’d be there for maybe a month and then be sent back. But no, that’s not quite what happened

Lucifer:

When MC first came through the portal, he wasn’t quite sure what to make of them

He knew that something wasn’t quite right about them but that would have to be an issue for later

He has things to do

He assigned Mammon to deal with them while he went back to his office to check this “humans” file

Except wait

No

They are, in fact, not a human

Well fuck

This didn’t go like he planned

He immediately tells Diavolo, thinking he’d want to send MC back and get a new exchange student

But no

He wants to keep them

Of course 😑

Lucifer can’t do much else besides just proceed as normal, he supposes

But he does keep an eye on the kid

It’s bad enough that he’s got to be responsible for a child, but a Nephalem?

He’s going to be grey by the time the exchange program is over

Mammon:

He genuinely has no clue

I love him but he doesn’t have the faintest idea

MC walks through that portal and he just assumes they’re just some human

Honestly, he won’t figure it out unless he’s told or if he catches them doing something

Even then, he might just assume they’ve been hanging around Solomon too much

He is, however, a great target for MCs chaos

He’s constantly being messed with

His things go missing, only to show up in random places

Grimm will appear and disappear in front of him

You get the gist

He’s easy to mess with

Which is why MC likes to hang around him

But he doesn’t mind too much

Once he warms up to them at least

He enjoys the company

Leviathan:

He also doesn’t know

But it’s mostly just because he doesn’t care

He’s focused on his games and anime

I get the feeling that he would be all over it if he found out though

Like he would think that it’s super cool

He could absolutely figure it out if he decided to dedicate the brain power to it

But he’s got other things to worry about

He’s also pretty easy to mess with

But be careful

He’s not just gonna get over it quickly like Mammon does

While MC could probably take Levi, I wouldn’t recommend it

Maybe avoid doing anything to his collections

Satan:

He figures it out pretty quickly

He’s a smart demon

MC absolutely fascinates him

He spends a bunch of his free time studying them

Trying to figure out anything and everything he can about them

Well

Until MC decides to be a little shit

Books start going missing and showing back up with writing on the pages

His feather boa is nowhere to be found (Though Mammon and Asmodeus aren’t complaining about that one)

At one point, Satan got turned into a cat for a few hours

Okay he didn’t mind that one all that much but still

It’s about the principle

It’s not smart to mess with him either but oh well

Asmodeus:

Every time I do a child!mc, I say the same thing

He absolutely adores them

He thinks they’re adorable and he can’t wait to dress them up

Maybe not this one tho

He still thinks they’re cute and wants to do little fashion shows with them, but it’s not really going to go how he planned

It’s crazy

Makeup isn’t the right color and the clothes keep changing into other clothes

How weird

In reality, MC just doesn’t like being dressed up so they have to make it fun for themselves somehow

I don’t have much to say for Asmo

Except that he’s gonna be a bit of a good sport when it comes to the chaos that is MC

Beelzebub:

Honestly

He also does not notice that there’s something off about the “human”

He’s gonna be easy to mess with as well

But do be careful

Stay away from his food

We’ve all seen the rampages he goes on when someone touches his food

I think that he would just assume that MC is this fragile little child and so he’d try to protect them

But he’s in for a surprise the first time that someone tries to mess with them

You can imagine that he’s speechless when he sees MC, this small child, absolutely demolish some demon

Doesn’t have to be physically

They could verbally destroy some random demon trying to mess with them as well

Either way, he wasn’t expecting it

Belphegor:

Honestly, this could go either way

I don’t think he’d be able to tell right away

Which is where lesson 16 would come in

But I think that, based on how this MC would react, he’d figure out that something isn’t quite right after that

Like

There’s no way in hell this is some normal human, right?

Not after all that

Once he figures it out, he’d be pretty indifferent

He’d be put at ease that there isn’t a human staying with them

And he’d be more than happy to help them cause chaos

Especially if it’s directed towards Lucifer

Somehow tho

I don’t think he’d be that easy to fuck with

I feel like he’d be unbothered by anything they could do to him

Well

Mostly

Diavolo:

Once again, absolutely loves them

Even before he finds out

Which doesn’t take that long

Obviously

Since Lucifer found out and told him

I feel like he would be 100% on board with any mischief that they cause

Having to do all his princely duties all the time is so boring

He enjoys the entertainment

He would probably also be enamored with them

Wanting to see all that they can do

I dunno I wasn’t able to fall asleep last night so my brain isn’t very creative

He would try and involve them and what they can do in things and events

Most likely

He’s just excited

Barbatos:

He knew first

He just didn’t tell anyone

Because why would he?

I swear, this man lives for drama

He would never admit it but it’s true

Anyways

He doesn’t care either

As long as MC doesn’t cause problems

Which they absolutely will

I feel like his attitude towards MC would be similar to what it is with Dia and Luke

Just another child to look after

He’s fond of them tho

Don’t let him tell you otherwise

Simeon:

I don’t have much to say about him

He might be able to tell

Or he might not

If he does, he definitely does that thing he does where he doesn’t outright say he knows, but he drops hints

Like

He might make a passing comment about how MC is similar to some of the angels he knows

And then a day later say how they remind him of one of the brothers

He would definitely wait for MC to outright tell him tho to actually say anything

He’s respectful like that

Solomon:

He knows

Maybe not right away but pretty early on

He’s also absolutely fascinated

He wants to do so many tests on them

Surely they react differently to his potions and spells, no?

Maybe they’ll love his cooking like the rest of them

That’s what he thinks at least

Or not

It’s been a while since I’ve played but I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew no one liked his cooking but he kept doing it just to take the piss

He’s such an asshole and I love him

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #obey me asmo #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon

[smallfrenchstudyblr]

Finally finished Yellowface, and I have thoughts -overwhelmingly positive ones- but the main takeway is that... it was not what I expected?

I expected to satire, hate-able MC and satisfying ending that I can close and go "AH ! That's what you get!". And as far as I can see, it seems that this is how the book was experienced by most people?

But I found it way more nuanced than that. Not that I am surprised RF Kuang can write nuance -hell, that's really what she *does*, writing nuanced characters and morally grey plots- but I didn't expect it from this particular book. And yet.

Spoiler under the but - this is not a review, just some thoughts I had about it.

The MC is, indeed, a terrible person. But she is the particularly ordinary brand of terrible. She is not an evil genius, she is not a self-aware mastermind, and we know that because we are in her head. I personally started hating her, but somehow, at some point, it switch to pitying her. I found her pitiful. Perhaps because she is not happy. It's easier to be angry at a terrible person when they are happy ; but June spends most of the book drowning in pettiness, in insecurity, in broken dreams, anxiety and depression. And RF Kuang makes sure that it does not justify any of her decisions whatsoever, and that we know she is still a terrible person. So I both condemned her and pitied her.

The publishing environment described did not feel like satire, because I feel it hits too close to reality for this. The rat race, the twitter obsession, the tokenization of minorities, the marketisation of marginalisation... That's really not satire, that's just plain reality. It's too real to make me laugh, even bitterly - and instead it made me plain sad. You wonder what you can do, as a reader.

And the most terrible thing - in the best way- is that we will never know who Athena was. As I am writing, I am realizing that the whole book revolves around this - Athena's voice being silenced. In the story, this is through June's actions of course ; but in the very structure of the book, it's through us knowing Athena only through second hand accounts. How June describes her, how her ex describes her, how Candice describes her, how her mother describes her... We get different accounts, different descriptions, but we will never know what kind of person she was. And how she felt about her own identity, her own story, her how image. At the end of the story, you can make a case for her genuinely being a wonderful person or an absolute asshole. And like most people, she probably falls somewhere in the middle. There is more to her story that we ever know, but we don't know what this more is.

Narratively, it doesn't matter - her being a good person or not does not affect June being rotten. But as far as the thesis of the book goes, I found it quite powerful - and forcing myself to confront : why do I even want to know ? Why do I care, if she was a good person or not ? June is rotten regardless. I think it calls out or need to have clear narrative to make sense of things, we need the good person and the bad person - but once again, RF Kuang shows that this is not what it's about : we need to find a sense of right and wrong, even when there is no 100% good person and 100% bad person to be found - because that's not how life it, but we still need to find a moral compass to navigate it.

#the book gave me a lot of thoughts #I closed it and just stared at the wall for 10 minutes #but not with the usual post RF Kuang anger and need to start a rebellion #instead I was just so melancholic and sad #next will be the second book of the Atlas duology #I wanted to get Summer sons but my book store did not have it! #yellowface #RF Kuang

[angelkitty54]

Yet another Sonic AU idea, coz I can never focus on a single one for very long! Also, was rewatching the Incredibles movies and had thoughts(tm)!

So! An AU set in a world kinda like the Incredibles wherein Sonic and the other hero characters were like proper Superheroes, but then were forced to retire and go into hiding when laws were passed that made superheroes illegal.

Sonic is in a committed relationship with Sally and Shadow, the three of them being former Supers now trying their best to live as a "normal" family with their four kids. All of which have powers, except for the baby.

Sally was one of the few Superheroes without any powers. A lot of people forget that about her, partly coz she later gained cybernetics after a terrible accident (ironically unrelated to her hero work) that took her limbs nearly took her life too. Still thinking abut her hero name but she spent many years struggling to balance her superhero career with her civilian life. She has a lot of complicated feelings about it all now that she's been forced to give up one side of her life. These days she reluctantly works at her father's company, trying very hard not to draw any attention to herself, or her family.

(Nicole is also here, integrated into Sally's cybernetics. She's quite literally in Sally's head, which kinda makes them a package deal. Her bond with Sally is incredibly strong, tho neither see it as romantic, same goes for Sonic and Shadow. They all consider her as part of the family, and the unofficial fourth parent.)

Sonic and Shadow didn't really have secret identities. Shadow had to invent an identity, going by Terios while dyeing the red parts of his fur and quills black to blend in better. He now works a boring desk job and also tends to wears grey sweaters or plain button down shirts. Shadow is very dissatisfied with his life. He's supposed to be the Ultimate Lifeform! He was meant to protect the world! He made a promise! And now he's just Terry, a boring guy working a mind-numbingly dull office job, barely able to protect his own family much less anybody else. (Yeah, Shadow be Mr Incredible here.)

Now Sonic, he pretty much lived as his superhero identity full time, so very few people actually knew he even had a secret identity. See Sonic used to be Nicky (like from the manga), a quiet, timid kid with freaky powers that always got picked on. One day he ran away from the orphanage he lived in, changed his hair, changed his whole look, changed his attitude, and started calling himself "Sonic". Becoming a superhero was never the intention, but after his first run in with Eggman, well, it all just snowballed from there.

Sonic had the hardest time adjusting to the new status quo in the beginning, having always thought he'd just be Sonic forever, even if he ever got the chance to retire from the hero life. He's had part time jobs, but was never able to hold one for very long. His lack of formal education makes things a little harder on that front too. These days he's settled down as a househusband, being the primary caretaker for their children. He loves his kids and wants to give them all the things he never got to have growing up, like loving parents and a stable home. It would be a lie to say he didn't miss his old life, but if was a choice between that and the life he has with his family, he'd pick his family every time.

I feel like Infinite would fit the role of Syndrome here. With Gadget (that's what the custom avatar is called right?) as Mirage.

Thinking maybe Knuckles and Julie-su would be Frozone and his wife?

Can't really decide who would be Edna. Maybe Rouge?? She kinda has the style for it... There's also Honey the Cat who is a designer I think? Dunno if she fits the Edna Mode vibe tho...

#sonic au #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sally acorn #sonadow #sonally #shadally #sonic x shadow x sally #nicole the holo lynx #incredibles au #Imma maybe do art for this later

[starchildren220]

Phoenix Chapter One

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Phoenix Masterlist

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Homelander x OC

Black Noir x OC

Soldier Boy x OC

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Your parents worked in the labs at Vought, working on a better, more powerful version of compound V they tested it on multiple children including their own. The only one to survive was you, your parents finally understanding the cruelty of what they were doing they abandoned testing. Vought didn’t want that to they pressed for the research notes when your mother didn’t give them up they disposed of her. Before they could get to you or your father, your father took you and ran far away. He found an abandoned area in a dense forest and started to build self sustaining home. Teaching you how to work the farm, to work with the animals, how to cook and clean, to make your own clothes and entertainment. He also taught you to control your powers. Though it felt like it was quite difficult with the amount of them. Your dream was to be a superhero but your father didn’t let you leave a perimeter around the house. Until one day when you were nine he left, he told her he would be back soon, you’re now 22 and he hasn’t returned. Deciding enough is enough you decide to follow your dream of helping people and become a superhero.

I based the powers on Jean Grey from X-Men.

♡

The house smelled like syrup and pancakes. You were making your dad a big breakfast for father’s day, just like every year. He came trudging down the stairs as you put the last pancake on his plate. While bringing him the plate you notice a large backpack on his bag.

“Where are you going?” You ask him, your excitement replaced by confusion.

“Daddy has to leave for a few days, don’t worry he’ll be back soon.” He ruffled your hair. You giggled before extending the plate to him.

“Eat, I made it for you.” He frowned in turn making you frown and pull the plate back.

“I can’t, I’ll be late.” He smiled before offering a solution. “How ‘bout you save it for me, for when I get back.”

“Ok daddy!” Placing the plate down on the table you run and jump into his arms. “I’ll miss you, don’t be gone for too long.”

“I won’t pumpkin.” What you couldn’t see was the tear escaping his left eye. Pulling back you turn around fast enough to not see his tear. You grabbed the wrapped box from the table, circling back you handed it to your dad.

“You can’t not open your present before you leave.” He smiled at you before undoing the bow and carefully ripping the paper surrounding it.

It was a leather bracelet, carved into the other side was the words ‘I love you’. On the ends that tightened it were blue colored beads.

“I love it pumpkin.” You beamed. He put it on immediately, hugging you again before finally leaving. You watched him leave from the front porch, not moving from your spot until you couldn’t feel him anymore.

♡

It had been two weeks, the pancakes had stayed there cold the whole time. Whenever you had free time you worked on your powers or you waited on the front porch for him.

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Two months had gone by and the pancaked started to go bad. Forced to throw them away you started to make fresh ones every morning to keep them ready for him.

♡

Years had passed and new pancakes had switched out with old ones every morning. You had grown quite a lot, but the most you had grown were your powers. Easily using them and pushing them hard everyday, even starting to work on physical training and fighting styles.

♡

It had been 13 years and you finally had enough. Packing a couple of bags you set out for any other place.

Soon enough you found a bus stop and with some cash you made with your powers you paid for a ticket as far away as the bus could take you. You ended up falling asleep.

When you came to the bus driver was nudging your shoulder.

“Come on honey it time to get out.” She told you. You grabbed your bags and left the bus. Before the doors closed you turned around.

“Where are we?” You ask, the busy streets were loud.

“Manhattan.” You nodded in thanks. After walking a little bit holding your bags got tiring so you made them disappear. Slowly a headache started, a quiet mumble in your head started to get louder and louder.

Groaning you hold your head, random words started popping up in your head. ‘who’, ‘huh’,‘bitch’. Then sentences.

“Look at that weirdo.”

“What a slut.”

“Can he just shut up.”

You scrunch your eyes tight, you thought back to what your dad had told you. ‘You need to Breathe.’ He had told you when his thoughts were too loud for you. ‘focus on turning it off.’ You did just that and just like that the voices stopped.

All the focusing made you hungry. You saw a diner to your right. Pushing through the door a bell went off. You notice a table top and sit there. A waitress approached you and spoke to you.

“What will you be having sweetheart?” You look down at the menu in front of you, choosing a classic cheese burger with fries. She wrote it down on her little note pad before leaving you alone.

You survey your surroundings. There was a cute 80’s vibe to the place. An old record player quietly playing old tunes. It was pretty busy but it was nice until it was interrupted by masked men who barged into the place. One held up a gun and fired into the ceiling. Screams were heard.

“Everybody get down on the ground!” One yelled. “Cash and Jewelry into the bag and no one gets hurt.” The other one walked around with a black bag holding it out to people to fill. ‘Perfect.’ You thought. It’s a perfect time to practice being a superhero.

“You!” The one giving commands points his gun at you. “Put your shit in the bag right now.”

“Don’t got ‘nothin” You told him, it was technically the truth.

“Don’t lie to me.” Then he pulled the trigger. You easily stopped the bullet in midair shocking the two robbers. Turning the bullet around you flung it back landing it into his dominant shoulder. He yelped in pain dropping the gun and clutching his shoulder.

“Bitch!” The other one yelled going the throw a punch. You ducked before punching him back square in the nose. He got knocked back and fell into a table knocking him out.

You made a rope and wrapped the robbers up. After tying the knot, everyone cheered. Crying children gave you hugs and people asked for pictures. After a few minutes of that someone bursted through the wall.

Some guy in blue and red with an American flag cape. “Homelander!” People around you yelled, so you guessed that was his name.

“Seems like y’all don’t need anymore help.” He chuckled. Truly he was annoyed, he had the chance to boost his ratings. Everyone rushed him except for You. You stood by the robbers arguing with them.

“Please! Let us go!” The conscious one begged. “We have a family, our daughter’s sick please!” You felt bad for them, you thought about letting them go. A red leather clad hand rested on your shoulder.

“Well done.” A voice said from behind you. “Let me take these guys from you.” You turned to him, it was the Homelander guy.

“We should let them go, they were doing it for their daughter.” A laugh came from the man.

“You’re funny.” He wagged a finger at you.

“I’m serious.” There was no smile on your face. From that his smile fell slightly before being replaced by his forced smile.

“No.” His smile was threatening. “I’m bringing them in. Try and stop me.” His pupil started to glow a bright red and the hand on your shoulder tightened. He was trying to scare you. You decide to use his own tactic.

“I wasn’t asking.” The loose stuff around you floated along with your hair, your iris started to glow golden and glowing golden cracks started forming on the outside of your face and up your neck. He felt heat through his gloves for as his hand stayed it got hotter and hotter it actually started to sting which caught him off guard.

Whispers started and people started to record the interaction between the two of you. When Homelander noticed his eyes returned to normal and he laughed.

“Settle down tiger.” He lifted his hands up. You stopped and everything dropped. “But there isn’t a discussion here. I’m a hero, we take people like them and we punish them.” He decided to take a talking approach rather than a violent approach.

“Fine but promise me you’ll take care of their daughter.”

“Yes, yes. I will, promise.” He laughed and bent down to grab the two men by the rope. ‘the fuck I will.’ He thought.

“Fucking liar.” You whispered under your breath. He heard it and stopped his movements before leaving.

♡

#the boys tv #oc #homelander #black noir #soldier boy #homelander x oc #black noir x reader #soldier boy x oc

[thatonebirdwrites]

lena and kara 7 and 8 please for the ask game :D

KARA:

7. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you like?

I like when the fandom is willing to explore her alien nature, and how easy it is to misinterpret things. I mean, her coming of age is basically being dumped at age 13/14 and forced into a quick assimilation course on humanity. There's bound to be some rather odd and strange behaviors or verbiage that gets mixed up in her head, and it's fascinating and fun to see that appear in the fandom. Especially if it relates to how her Kryptonian heritage impacts her understanding of humanity and the society in which she current lives. (Bonus points if people work in the differences in courtship between what Kara grew up learning on Krypton versus human courtship.) I feel sometimes the fandom doesn't dig into this part of her nature enough honestly, but when I do see it appear, I always love reading it. I also really love how the fandom all agrees that Kara is more of a hands-on sort of person when it comes to jobs. She likes to get in the thick of things to better understand, to work through the problem, etc. And I love a good Kara-ramble.

8. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

I feel like the fandom will sometimes paint Kara as too much of a silly, oblivious, dumb himbo. She's very intelligent, and although she has to hide this to pretend to be human, I wish there was more acknowledgement of her intelligence. Like I get if the fic is meant to be a crack fic and just for laughs (I enjoy reading crack fics sometimes to help me destress). But I feel like the fandom trends toward this characterization of Kara that doesn't really fit how she was portrayed in the show. (Even if the show was rather... inconsistent on this point, she still has her moments where her intelligence shows. She can definitely keep up with Lena, but sometimes fic writers write her as if she can't. And that rubs me wrong.) It's important to note, especially for AUs, that intelligence doesn't just exist for 'being good at science and math.' One can be quite intelligent but instead it's within their field -- like the Dancing with the Stars AU that Jazz did, where Kara's intelligence comes through in her brilliance with choreography and building stories through motion. (Using that fic as an example because it very vividly shows an intelligent Kara that is unrelated to journalism or science/math). So if it's not a crack fic, I wanna see Kara's intelligence come out somehow. Don't just make her silly, hot, dumb himbo. LENA:

7. It kind of makes me laugh that the fandom as a whole decided she's a bottom. I love how fic writers portray her as complex but kind. Lena is a more cynical kind person while Kara is a more idealistic kind person. Both approach kindness in different ways. Lena can be snarky and cynical, but her actions are always her trying to find a solution that causes the least amount of harm. (Heck, even her "revenge plot" was her trying to find a way to stop humans from harming one another, which uh, her application of that goal was problematic. She really doesn't make a good villain; she wants to help others far more than she wants to hurt. She also doesn't want power for power's sake either, and tends to be somewhat humble. Like when she creates something to help others, she puts it out there, but doesn't make a big deal that she is the one who made it. In a way, she's the opposite of her brother, Lex.) So although I love seeing her be snarky in a fic, I love it more when fic writers explore how she approaches the "leave the world better than I found it" ideology that she seems to take to heart. How she goes about trying to make the world better is where Lena may drift into morally grey areas, and I think that adds a lot of interesting nuance to her character that is pretty consistent across the fandom.

8. I feel like this question is harder to answer for Lena. Probably because there's a lot of similarities in how Lena is written that seems to exist across the entire fandom, which I like for the most part. I think one thing that I don't like -- it's not that I despise it per se, just can't quite stomach it -- is when writers go down the angst fest until it becomes angst for angst sake rather than anything really to do with Lena's characterization or arc. It's in these moments where the angst feels contrived and stagnant the plot and characters. Makes it hard to stomach it. This seems to be an issue primarily with Lena as I don't see this happen with other characters in the fandom. I'm trying to think if there's something else... Oh! When Lena is portrayed as cruel. That's one thing she doesn't do well, even in canon. She's never cruel for cruel's sake -- she can't even stomach it. Her actions and words might get snarky or mean-sounding, but her goals and intentions are always rooted in her drive to 'make the world better than how we found it" ideology. (Which is the opposite of cruelness). She tends toward kindness not cruelty. Snarky also doesn't equal cruel either, so I think sometimes it's a lack of understanding of that aspect of her character. Anyway, that really got me thinking! Thanks for asking!!

#character ask game