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indouloureux · 2 years

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chateau (feel alright)

steve harrington x reader

summary: with your insomnia driving you insane, steve goes through the sleepless night helping you fall asleep in his arms.

word count: 3, 577

warnings: insomnia, fluff, smut mdni 18+

a/n: i was like halfway through my mcu peter fic then my brain stopped and told me to write steve??? anyway this is kinda short so bear with me pls hope you guys enjoy

MASTERLIST

explicit warnings: sleepy sex, slight choking, praise kink creampie, oral f receiving, fingering, multiple orgasms (like two lol)

1. shower, 12:34am

“(y/n)?”

Steve’s awakened by the soft pattering of the shower hitting the ceramic floor. His upper body cold with the lack of your warmth, and he immediately thinks that this was one of those nights – the unsleeping mind taking over your poor lethargic body.

He glances to the bedside table and faintly sees your notebook left open with a pencil on the edge. Steve scoots upward and takes the notebook into his large hands, opening the lamp to read your list. In the dim glow, your hand writing presents yourself to him in messy cursive written on the thin lined paper, a list you’d done years ago for nights like these.

It’s not your fault, really, rather it’s the Hawkins’ freakish encounters that keep you up late at night staring at the window, waiting for the inevitable. And a few weeks ago it had been okay – you’d been sleeping right on time, with the help of Steve's tactile touch and sweet loving.

Until right now. For some unknown reason. And he feels the guilt creep up to his chest at the thought that he may have not done enough.

Steve must have woken up too late because he hears the shower turn off. The light seeps through the bottom of the door, and turns off when the lock clicks. Steve places the notebook beside him and rubs the sleep off his eyes, bare chest nipped by the cold air that seeps through the ajar window.

You open the door, clad in a white towel that covers your body, residue water dripping down the carpeted floor. Steve frowns, pushing the covers off his legs to walk over to you, socked feet padding against the floor as he stares at your awfully pretty face that’s sunken by disappointment.

Your back is hunched with the upsetting weight of inertia on your shoulders. Steve places his hands on your shoulders and straightens them, rubbing the wet hair off your forehead. He cups your face, thumbs rubbing your eyebags.

“Hey,” you murmur. “Did I wake you?”

Steve shakes his head, smelling lavender and soap off your body, hands running up and down your shoulders. “No. Just woke up by myself, don’ worry.”

“Yeah,” you tell him, slipping on your underwear, not bothering to wear a bra. “It’s happening again, Steve. I’m sorry.”

Steve doesn’t care being late at night with you, as he’s told you many times before. But he does mind the sadness that creeps up your face when the tiredness can’t let you sleep in those opprobrious nights.

He instructs you to raise your hands and slips on your shirt, careful not to hit your face and smiles when your head peeks through. “‘s alright, babe. I’ll stay up with you.”

Shaking your head, you secure the shorts around your waist and take the towels off his hands. Steve brushes your hair out of your face, running a hand through your slick tresses and untangle the knots. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he places a hand on the back of your neck and kisses your forehead, letting his lips linger on your damp skin before he pulls away to massage wipe droplets off your eyelids. “I’ll be with you till you fall asleep, doll.”

2. read a book, 12: 39am

Steve’s head rests on your shoulder, hair lit into a soft brown provided by the orange light of the lamp beside you. A blanket covering both of your enervated bodies, there’s a hand that runs through his hair, and a hand on your book.

He turns the pages for you when you kiss his forehead, fighting his slowly blinking eyes and tries to read with you. But he finds the book you’re reading awfully disturbing, and when he reads a part that snaps his eyes wide open, Steve looks at you with a befuddled gaze.

“Baby, that book’s messed up,” he mumbles, wrapping the blanket closer around him. The soft fabric tickles your skin, and whilst pushing the glasses up your nose, you kiss his forehead. “I’m not turning that page. Let’s read something else.”

“No,” you whine, pulling on his arm when he tries to get up. “Mike told me to read this and I promised him I’d finish it so I can tell him what happens.”

He snorts, pushing your glasses back up when it continues to fall down your nose. “You’re reading a book so you can tell him what happens in it?” Steve shakes his head. "That kid's spoiled rotten."

There’s an incredulous look on his face that mingles with amusement, because he can’t believe you’re doing this for Mike, of all people. “Yeah. I mean, it’s interesting. It’s a killing, shapeshifting clown.”

“Who eats children,” he points out. “Why don’t you read something friendly? Like…like The Polar Express.” Steve looks up at you with puppy dog eyes, excitement riddling in his face at the mention of a child's book being read.

Your heart melts and breaks at the same time, because you know his excitement for it comes from the lack of affection he gets from his ignorant parents. And just like him, you intend to give love to his empty heart.

But you'd do it on another day. “I’d rather not.”

You kiss his forehead again, and he finally flips the page. He remains silent for the whole time, because he craves more of your soft lips on his skin, and he quietly relishes in your loving hands toy with his hair.

At some point, he's requested for you to read it aloud and you do. Which is a thing he regrets as he's on the verge of falling asleep as you do so, especially when you start reading faster and the kisses become frequent.

The sleep’s phantom hovers but never really mingles, and Steve tries to help you fall asleep faster by kissing everywhere on your shoulder, like it used to work. But when it doesn’t, his arm comes across your waist and tugging you closer to him, hopefully giving you some of his sleep.

3. solve a puzzle, 1: 40am

The gelid water keeps Steve awake as he frowns at the missing puzzle pieces, fingers tapping on his chin as blurry eyes look for the tiny squared cardboards.

“Do you know what that is?” you tap his shoulder and tilt your head sideway, neck gauche in its position. “Looks like a deformed lamb, babe.”

He looks down under the table, the lack of light blending in the pieces onto the floor. Steve hears the rapid clicking of the rubik’s cube you’re trying to solve while you simultaneously look for the other pieces.

“Baby, why are you looking there? It couldn’t have gotten that far.”

“But maybe it got blown away,” you crouch and rest your upper body on the ground to peek beneath the sofa, and still with the darkness, you don’t see anything.

Steve drinks his water and looks at the puzzle. “It actually does look like a deformed lamb. Look, he’s missing his eyes. I-I don’t think this ones supposed to go there.”

“I don’t think this is tiring me out at all.” You stand up, back aching the slightest. Steve makes his way to you, a hand to your back to rub the ache off, offering you his water. “We can do number four now.”

You take a sip, Steve holding the glass for you as your boyfriend’s eyes brighten, and suddenly the sleep is fully off his body and now he’s tugging his shirt off. “Great. I’m gonna fuck your brains out.”

4. have sex, 1: 48am

Steve’s got his mouth hot on yours, kissing you wild like he's been starved as his mouth widens and pushes his tongue inside, touching yours before he closes his lips and sinks deeper.

Your hand comes up to tug on his hair, pulling on the back of his neck as his barely covered cock grinds on your clothed cunt, damp underwears colliding, friction eliciting a low moan on your warm mouths.

"Steve," you whimper, leg coming up to press your clit on his dick. "Touch me."

He inhales your scent, breaking away and kisses his way to your already sweating neck. "Where are your manners, doll?"

Panting, you grab on his shoulders when he starts biting on the juncture of your neck, suckling until he's certain a mark would leave. "Please, Steve. Please please please."

"You'll be a good girl?" the indentation of his smile on your neck tickles you, leaving feather light kisses on the spot you're the most sensitive to. "'d you promise to be a good girl when I fuck you?"

"Yeah," you nod, pulling his face back to yours and kiss his lips. Soft, effervescent. "I'll be a good girl for you."

And so he moves down, kissing his way down your clothed top until he bites on the garter of your sleep shorts, fingers hooking underneath to pull it down with your damp panties coming with.

"God, baby, your pussy's so pretty," he looks up at you, senses the heat rushing to your face and possibly everywhere. "Pussy's so pretty you should feel how hard my cock is."

Steve throws it aside, cock hardening at the sight of your cunt glistening from the minimal light the streetlights give. You're already panting despite the lack of touch he's giving you. With his eyes looking up at you with pupils in a dusk of lustful haze, his tongue sticks out and presses the flat of his thick muscle on your folds.

He moans at your sweetness, pulling back to slip the tip of his tongue between your puffy folds and dragged up in a slow pace that has you mewling with your back arched up against nothing. Steve doesn't stop until he's reached your clit, lazily wrapping his lips around the bud and suckling its arousal.

"You taste so good, baby," a loud, obscene sound created between his lips and your wetness. "So fucking sweet even early in the morning, hm?"

When you move too much at his teasing suckles, his hands slither beneath your thighs until they press flat on your stomach, legs spread as far as they could and thighs locked in place. Steve's access is wide and with his attainability does he take advantage of your cunt open and pretty for him, tongue dragging between your folds and clit but never really going to where you want him.

Hands stopping from clutching the ivory sheets, they go down to tug on Steve's hair, moaning lewdly. "Baby," you whimper. "Stop teasing."

"But I'm supposed to tire you out," he breaks away, lips covered in slick and spreads them around your inner thighs that he generously bites before he's greedily come back to eat your pussy like it's his last meal (like it's not about to be two am). "You gotta be patient, babydoll."

But despite his declaration, a hand leaves your stomach. With your eyes closed, you feel a finger tracing your hold, prodding at it but never sinking in. "Steve!"

Finally, he sinks two inside, slowly as your walls evade his limbs the way you would to his cock. You moan louder than you should, and cover it up by biting your forearm as Steve pushes his fingers in until they're at his knuckles. He rubs your spongy spot, one that has you mewling tumultuously, providing him better music.

"That's it baby, good girl," he curls his fingers, the same way his tone curls into an applaud. It's tantalizingly slow, the pads of his fingers pressing against your walls before they've come to graze your sweet spot over and over again.

With his pink lips wrapped loosely still on your clit, his pace quickens and shoves a third one in, the stretch painfully gratifying until you hear the all too familiar squelching sound of your slick cunt against his versatile fingers. Steve fucks them in with a vigor that you think is impossible for him to have in a very early morning, libido probably driven by the smell of your arousal and your appraising moans.

"That's it, baby," you purr, tugging on his hair and pushing him harder against your cunt. "Fuck! Don't stop,"

And when you feel that coil tightening on your navel, you tell him so that you're close. Steve sucks the living shit out of your clit, fingers using all it's mobility as thrusts them vigorously in a way that you love it, pinky finger slapping on your pussy at every hard thrust.

Steve feels the warm cum evade his three fingers, coating them like paint and doesn't stop until he's milked all of you. He slows his fingers down, lets you ride your high until you push his head away and pull him back up to you.

With a face half covered by your slick and tendrils of cum coating the shadow of his midnight chin, he wipes it off and licks a finger clean, groaning at your delectable nectar. "Like honey on a spring, baby."

He doesn't kiss you first, instead shoves his two cum-coated fingers inside your mouth and presses it flat on your tongue, going deep until you gag around them. You clean your cum off his fingers, swallowing. Steve smiles and pulls them away, replaces it with his tongue that still tastes of you.

Lips still on yours, you tug on his briefs and pull his cock out — all swell and hard for you. You pump him, from base to tip, squeezing until there's a bead of cum seeping through his slit.

"Oh, baby," his head falls into the crook of your neck when you gradually jack him off, jaw slacking at your light squeezes and thumb grazing his head. "Oh, fuck yeah, keep going,"

You do, the other hand coming down to fondle with his balls, squeezing like what you'd do to his shaft, Steve's hips moving and fucking your hand. You tut. "Baby, how 'bout I give you something better? Something tighter?"

Barely a minute of jacking him off and his cock's already twitching. "Baby, you're gonna be the death of me, I swear."

You remove your hands from him, licking his slick off your palm and moaning at his bittersweet taste. Steve props himself up with one forearm, a hand coming down to guide his helmet on your entrance and wastes no time pushing in.

Concomitantly, you both moan at the feeling each other — his cock stretching you out in the best way possible, and your tight walls clenching on his hard cock. You arch your back, clothes tits pressing against his chest but your nipples sensitive and hard from the simple friction.

"N-ah! So, so tight," he kisses your throat, a hand coming up to wrap around it with his thumb and index squeezing the sides. Steve's hips begin moving, pushing out fully with his tip still inside until he sinks back in in a rough force that emits a wet slap from the impact of your sticky thighs. "So good for me, baby. Taking me so well like a good girl,"

Your hands come up to scratch on his back, feeling his muscles flex at every trust he makes. Your legs come up to wrap around his torso, the heels of your feet digging on his fast to urge him to go deeper into your pussy.

"Faster, Steve," you mewl. "Shit—...go harder."

He does, obeying you by fucking your puffy cunt faster, balls slamming on your ass and cock stretching you wide open when he removes he takes his hands and brings them to the back of your thighs, spreading them open to drive his dick deeper into your pussy.

Your moans become high-pitched and short like petulant whines, nipping and kissing Steve's neck as his fucking has gotten to a point where the headboard slams on the wall.

"I'm close," Steve pants, eyes closed tightly and jaw slacked open with a sheen coat of sweat dripping down his forehead and his baby hair. "Fuck, baby I'm gonna cum."

"Then cum," you clench around him, as tight as you could as you bring him closer to his orgasm. "I'm coming with you."

And when his hips stutter and a loud moan leaves his slackened mouth, face scrunched into what is a calamitous orgasm, you whimper and moan as you cum around his cock, his alabaster ropes filling you up to the brim and mixing your cum with his.

Steve drops down on top of you, hands massaging your sides as his ass raise and pulls his softening cock out of your full cunt. He knows he's gotten hard at the sight of his cum leaking off your gaping, clenching hole.

"Fuck, baby," he runs a hand through his hair. "That's so hot."

"Um, Steve?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want another go?"

How could he say no when his cock suddenly springs up when you finally exposed your tits to him?

5. watch a movie, 2:55 am

"So you're telling me his mom is trying to bang his son?"

Marty McFly's bright red vest blinds you and Steve's straining eyes. Your boyfriend shakes his head, hand absentmindedly rubbing your inner thigh to massage the ache away. "No. Well, she didn't know."

"She didn't know he was from the future?"

"Yeah."

"Oh," you nod your head. "And you watched this with Robin?"

"When we were high,"

"When you were high?" you sit up, hands on your lap and looking at Steve with wide eyes. His hand stops moving and looks at you perplexingly. "I thought you stopped getting high, Steve?"

"I mean, by accident—!"

"I swear if I find out you're still taking marijuana, I will waterboard you, Harrington."

"Boobies or water, I don't care being waterboarded."

"It's called motor boating for the tits, dumbass," you smack his arm. "You know what? This isn't working."

You reach for the remote and turn the TV off. Steve's smile falls and lets himself sink in disappointment with you, because even sex didn't tire you out. Your eyes adorn a twilight of hopeless glimmer, and all he can do is wrap his arms around your tired body.

Steve sighs. "I'm sorry, doll. Wish I could help you better."

You shake your head. "You did well, babe."

Then an idea comes into his head.

Steve sits forward and reaches for your notebook, hastily taking the pen off the table and scribbles his thought loudly like he's in an exam.

6. eat those sleeping gummies dance with steve!

His capitalized, brazen handwriting next to your looped and poised calligraphy, you read his addition. Your eyebrows furrow, looking up at your boyfriend who's stood up and offered his hand at you.

"Yeah?" his hand tilts. "Gonna dance with me or what?"

You set the notebook down. "Sure this would work?"

"If it's my idea, it totally will."

You stand up and smack his chest. "Cocky bitch."

With bodies entwined and hearts tethered into the dark morning of your shared home, Steve wraps his arms around your waist, yours coming up beneath his armpits and grabbing his shoulders as he gentles you into his soft humming.

And you rest your ear on his heartbeat, his harmonious humming synchs your heartbeat with his, his warmth and faint elation melting with yours.

"So I turn back in time," Steve sings into your hair, bodies dancing into a rhapsodic song. "I'm at the chateau and I feel alright,"

"Cool song." you say. "You made it?"

"For you," he pulls his head away and looks down at you. Steve leans in and presses a gentle kiss of exhaustion against your lips. "Yeah. I made it."

Maybe his idea did work. Because now you're by the sliding door to his backyard, gazing into the naked night sky with the moon high and bright, providing the gentle haze of slumber of those who remain in a dreamless sleep in this nightmarish town.

Your back on Steve's chest, legs on either side of you and yours flat on the carpet as you lay upwards on the couch, his strong arms wrapped around yours with hands entwined in a protective action. The ghost of his lips lingering on your forehead, and you slip in easily into slumber in the arms of your lover.

reblogs and feedback are highly appreciated <3

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definegodliness · 23 days

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Blue, The midnight Sky, and all the stars, Opprobrious.

Blue, When black, or better yet, Void, Would have been More appropriate.

I look up to heaven And see its sparkling teeth Shaping constellations, grinning For a fool.

Blue.

I gave myself To you.

--- 12-5-2024, M.A. Tempels ©

#poetry #poem #late night write

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okierazorback · 2 years

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Word of the Day – Opprobrious

Adjective: Opprobrious expressive of opprobrium : scurrilous opprobrious language deserving of opprobrium Noun: Opprobrium something that brings disgrace public disgrace or ill fame that follows from conduct considered grossly wrong or vicious Synonyms: abusive vituperative derogatory disparaging denigratory pejorative insulting offensive slanderous libelous bitchy Usage: Asimov raised…

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#Asimov #Joseph Telushkin #Opprobrious #opprobrium

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sofoulandfairaday · 9 months

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for @monicafave who asked me about my opinions on Lucius Malfoy.

TW: very brief mention of sexual assault (DE crimes).

Honestly, one of the (few) improvements the movies made on the books. Jason Isaacs is hot. And has so much charisma when playing the villain I cannot see anyone else doing the character justice in the remake. Also, Lucius doesn't have long hair in the books, but it's the only way I imagine him (my headcanon is that Draco grew his hair out eventually too). Also, the choice to make him unshaven in the last movies? Gold. 10/10.

He wore his hair a little shorter in the First War, but still long enough it could be tied back with a ribbon.

Is a victim to one of the worst takes in the entirety of the Harry Potter fandom of all time, which is of course abused!Draco. It angers me more than abused!Black Sisters, or abused!Remus... grrrr, it makes me so mad. If there is one (1) character in the entirety of the Harry Potter fandom, only ONE that we can be sure wasn't abused by his parents, that was Draco. Where - where? - do people get the absurd idea that Lucius was a cruel father and husband, who routinely cheated on his wife and beat her and their son?

(Also, imagine beating/cursing Narcissa Black, who was not only vicious herself, but also the beloved only sister of Bellatrix Black Lestrange. Like. Who would do that? Madmen wouldn't do that.)

Abusive Lucius for the sake of being cruel makes me laugh. It makes me giggle. The man wouldn't be able to correctly use a Stinging Jinx, never mind the fucking Cruciatus Curse, on either of them if Lord Voldemort was pointing his wand directly between his eyes. Although-

Yes, he is a coward. Which, by the way, there is a big difference between being unable to actively hurt your family members and passively standing by when they are threatened/tortured. The big, realistic failure of Lucius, the one that would sour his image in both Draco & Narcissa's minds by the end of DH, is not that he hurts them directly, it's that he says nothing, does nothing, when his son is branded by the Dark Lord and sent on a suicide mission, is that he says nothing, does nothing, when his wife and son are openly mocked by the Death Eaters, who do as they please in his own home. If Voldemort threatened to torture either of them, Lucius would probably fall to his knees, beg for mercy, but he would not, could not bring himself to stand up and dive in front of the curse. He would watch, horrified, as they are tortured- that is what spoils their view of him in the end.

As the author herself has said, the Malfoys' saving grace is that they love each other.

His fault is cowardice, not cruelty (to family at least) and that's the hill I'll die on.

Lucius, as a character, represents the banality of evil. Indifference. Cowardice. Casual cruelty. Upholding of unjust systems. Not sadism. If you don't understand the difference, you're a bad writer.

Moving on.

He was highly competent in the First War. And by competent I mean competent. There is no way this guy was Voldemort's... second in command (?) or at least one of his top-ranking Death Eaters if he acted anything like he did post-Voldemort's rebirth.

I don't know whether to cry or laugh at his character, actually. He's so petty (he tries to ban The Fountain of Magical Fortune from the Hogwarts Library because it depicts the relationship between a witch and a Muggle, which he deems obscene, and when Dumbledore replies “Nu-uh, suck it, I know about all the Half-bloods in your family tree you hide”, the response prompted several further letters from Lucius, consisting of "opprobrious remarks" on Dumbledore's sanity, parentage, and hygiene).

He's a simp for his wife, whom he loves more than anything in the world (except maybe for Draco). He tries to send Draco to Durmstrang, where Karkaroff is headmaster and no Muggleborns are allowed, and Narcissa says “No, I want my son close to home” and that's the end of that. He puts up with having Bellatrix in his house (she really doesn't like him), and the two of them don't kill each other merely for Cissa's sake.

In my headcanons, they didn't hate each other in the First War. They weren't best friends by any means but they respected each other well enough and had a somewhat cordial if a bit prickly relationship (although, I love fics that get their bickering right). But then Halloween 1981 happens. I have a lot of headcanons for that night and I don't think I've ever really detailed them, so I will now.

They have an early dinner all together - Lucius, Narcissa, Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan - and then the Lestranges leave. After the clock strikes ten, they feel a searing pain in their forearms. The Mark is gone. There are a few minutes of what the fuck do we do now and two very distinct ideas pop up. Bellatrix would rather die than forsake Voldemort, she's willing to battle every soul in Britain if it means finding him. He is not dead, he is not. He is immortal. They have him, they've captured him with some weird trick and are holding him hostage. Lucius, on the other hand, takes a good, hard look at his left forearm and decides well, this fucking sucks but at least we had a good run. He is not about to risk his family name by picking duels with the Aurors. The second after he's waltzing in the Ministry, telling everyone who'll listen that he's just woken up from the Imperius Curse, and blackmailing/bribing/threatening his way out of Azkaban. You must do the same!, Lucius and Narcissa tell Bellatrix. Traitors, backstabbers, vermin, is the reply. She is truly, seriously, hurt and furious that they would denounce the Dark Lord. To her, it's the most horrid of betrayals.

This is when she loses her second sister. It's the moment Narcissa makes it clear that not only she will denounce Voldemort with every breath, but she will stop Lucius from going after a dead master. We have a son, Bella, he is our priority. We have a son, and you do not. You don't know what it means. It's a nice little parallel to the end of Deathly Hallows - I cannot stress this enough: Narcissa's lie to save her son causes her sister's death. Narcissa indirectly kills her. Bellatrix and Narcissa's relationship is never the same after that.

On a lighter note. It's canon that Lucius has little hobbies: peacocks and collecting Dark artefacts!

Also, he has a sick interior designer because the secret chamber beneath their living room is a marvellous idea, I need one of those.

A bit of a germophobe.

Cruel, but again: casual cruelty. Yes, he enjoys tormenting Muggles because they are less than human to him; no, he does not enjoy watching little Mudblood children get bitten by Greyback or Muggle women being raped (and no, before you ask, he would never lower himself to something like that, even if Narcissa wasn't in the picture).

Inspired by the movies, of course, but he has great fashion sense.

He was nice looking, definitely not incredibly handsome (unlike my boy Rodolphus who is hot) but he was very charismatic, so much so that Narcissa Black fell desperately for him, much to Andromeda's dismay and Bellatrix's perplexity.

Elaborate courting ritual (peacock-like, get it? ah ah).

The second most extravagant wedding of the century (Bella & Rod take the cake on that, you have no idea).

I am fascinated by his relationship with Voldemort. By the end of the second war, the two pretty much despise each other (and if Cursed Child is to be believed - which I don't - Lucius had a Time Turner tucked away and never once tried to use it to bring Vold back). But what about during the first war? Lucius' loyalties were always to the Cause more than to the man, and yet he is given the Diary. First War Lucius must have been fascinated by Voldemort - we see a hint of this in GoF when he asks Voldemort to tell them how he managed to survive the Killing Curse.

I think Voldemort saw this fascination and somehow, in his usual arrogance, misunderstood it. You see, the way I think of (and write) the Death Eaters is very Succession-y: everyone wants to be Voldemort's favourite, the one to sit to his right, the closest to him. During the First War, Lucius would have sold his mother to be closest to Voldemort. His entire worldview shifts when Draco is born, and as Lucius grows to love him. The same went for everyone else, including Snape. This is why, to me, Voldemort doesn't see their betrayals years later: he is used to thinking that they would do anything, sacrifice anyone, for him. He doesn't see that the love they feel for others is stronger than whatever fucked-up bond is there.

And, if you think about it, the two Death Eaters that are truly, fanatically, loyal above everything else are the two that are in love with/love him. Bellatrix and Barty.

Stopping now because my head is falling on my keyboard from sleepiness. Hope you enjoyed! I probably have more somewhere.

#hp headcanons #lucius malfoy #narcissa malfoy #draco malfoy #bellatrix lestrange #death eaters

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six-eyed-samurai · 2 months

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: This relationship should not be condoned and was only written for entertainment purposes. Dark content like murder, gaslighting, cutting up and cannibalism is in here, so don't read if it makes you uncomfortable. Minors, scat and shoo and scram!

Obviously, he's obsessing over his one and only!

I put a lil tracker on your phone, just to make sure you’re all alone - and I crept into your room, lying next to you, saying I love every part of you, blood and skin and bone.

Walking down the corridor casually and oh so ordinarily he pretends to trip and makes you fall down with him, slipping a tiny little tracker into your pocket, hidden amongst overbearing, obscure, obsequious apologies and a flash of that open smile for the cherry on top. Oblivious little you didn’t even feel the extra weight in your jacket, occupied with trying to hide your giggles.

Anyone who might try and catch your love, sweetheart, might not survive for long, because I've got a knife and a big crush on you, you, you!

He expresses concern over the ogling boys and so called friends who hadn't shown up to school while throwing away the offending bottle of poison he had dripped into their food, pleasing him with the appeased look on your face and twisting his heart at the same time - how dare your concern be given those odious others? Very well, soon the obstacles will have to obey his orders and leave you if they value their organs!

Lies, cheats, fools...how many of them could possible be at school? Backstabbed by friends who haven't read the rules on how to survive without incurring terrible consequences...well, sinners who stained your name had to repent, and repent they will.

Of course he’s heard those onerous, opprobrious snakes of gossip girls oppugn your very Olympian-god worthy self and ostracized you out of their friend groups, essentially abandoning you, so what sort of knight would he be if he didn’t slay the dragons for his princess? He stalked their social media, then sabotaged every project, homework, relationship, posts, family ties and things they've done in their oppugnant existence that he could lay his hands on. How dare they cause you such ordeals.

You're my muse in every poem that I write, every song that I sing, every romance story you star - it's all just to be with you, don't you see? Or rather, dream?

He hopes nobody will ever check under his desk, because he’s got a whole outrageous file dedicated to papers upon papers of crossed out, failed love letters, poems that could barely do your open-hearted, optimistic presence and scribbled fantasies he's determined to have with you one day...even if you are going to have to be unconscious, so be it! You’re never going to remember it anyway in the end, and he’s not afraid to admit that’s the part that drives him mad.

Aren't I your friend, show you anything you want and need once you get to know me? Are they your friends, wreck your life, make you cry, laugh behind your back?

But you know what drives him even more insane? Over everyone who can freely talk to you, have your obligation to touch and hold hands and hug, LOOK AT YOU AS IF THEY COULD EVER OWN YOU - aaaah, why can't he do that? WHY CAN'T HE BE THE ONLY ONE TO DO THAT? It's alright, it's fine, you can't talk without a tongue! Overzealous they may call him and overprotective he might be, but he’ll do anything for a love just as obsessive from you.

Sure, I know it hurts honey but you've got to grin and bear it, just a little slice, 'cause when it's all done you and I can never leave.

Can you really blame him? He just desperately wants to hear you promise you'll be with him forever and ever and ever, and what better way to do that than to extract a blood oath? Oops, guess he cut off your hand! It's fine, now you'll have to depend on him even more - he swears he'll be good to you, oh so good! Anything you want and need will be offered!

I'm the better alter ego when I'm down on my knees for you, so I'll take a hammer to their heads, but to her I just reek of love, so if I go down it's only because it's over!

He’s known for being calm and cool and...alright, and a crazy killer too who has never been more triggered than when he sees you being the target of horny comments by his traitorous pals. They'll find out just how strong he really is soon enough! Funny way of answering their questions, huh?

Gore is what I carve up and what I'll serve in gourmet, and of course my gorgeous, you can join the soiree.

His friends constantly ask him what's in his secret meat soup recipe - pork? Chicken? Seafood? - as they talk about their missing friend at the same time...oh, idiots that they were. He slyly glances at you - ah, thank the stars for you too had no idea of where he was. His suggestion of “in a better place now” was widely accepted, although he doubted that being digested by stomach acid applied.

The world says I'm depraved, but your love's just what I crave, and I know you feel it as well, so they can all go burn and rot and die in hell.

He can't take it if anyone says otherwise about the both of your love or disagree with your compliments, no, no, no! Duct tape won't work, so he'll break their jaws! You're his one and only, only he can break and take and snap you, the same way only he can be affectionate and shower his only true love with worship!

Now tell me that you love me or everything blows, you have to reciprocate, you have to love me! I'll burn this fxxking house down and hide them all six feet underground, only for you, you know? It can't be all for nothing!

He threatens to jump off the balcony if you don't return his crazed affections, especially when you're pressed against the wall and strangled by his hands - he’s done all this for you and for the “us”, atrocious crimes and horrendous killing…but he honestly doesn’t want to force a confession out of you, so why won’t you be an obedient little darling?

YANDERE ALPHABET MASTERLIST

#sanzuyaps #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere fics #yandere x gn reader #male yandere #yandere alphabet

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thepro-lifemovement · 1 year

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Can you give me some arguments about abortion and eugenics with black Americans in mind? My older sister is pregnant with her second child and everyone (our mom, her child’s father, our aunts and grandma) are pushing for her to have an abortion. She’s a great mom but she’s young and we’re poor. My moms also delivering ultimatums like she’s not helping her like with her son. I can tell she doesn’t want to but she feels a lot of pressure. I just want to help her feel supported and there’s another way.

Hello! I'm sorry your sister is being pressured into an abortion. That's horrible and completely unfair to her. Keep offering her emotional and moral support. I will link other resources to help support her and her children.

Margaret Sanger, Planned Parenthood's founder, was a known eugenicist who wanted to supply birth control and abortions to the black community because she believed their children would be burdens to the nation.

But Sanger's preferences went beyond race. In her 1922 book "Pivot of Civilization" she unabashedly called for the extirpation of "weeds . . . overrunning the human garden"; for the segregation of "morons, misfits, and the maladjusted"; and for the sterilization of "genetically inferior races."

Sanger's own racist views were scarcely less opprobrious. In 1939 she and Clarence Gamble made an infamous proposal called "Birth Control and the Negro," which asserted that "the poorer areas, particularly in the South . . . are producing alarmingly more than their share of future generations." Her "religion of birth control" would, she wrote, "ease the financial load of caring for with public funds . . . children destined to become a burden to themselves, to their family, and ultimately to the nation."

Following Sanger's death in 1966, Planned Parenthood felt so confident that it had safely buried her past that it began boasting about "the legacy of Margaret Sanger." And it began handing out cutely named Maggie Awards to innocents who often had no inkling of her real views. The first recipient was Martin Luther King--who clearly had no idea that Sanger had inaugurated a project to set his people free from their progeny. "We do not want word to go out that we want to exterminate the Negro population and the Minister is the man who can straighten out that idea if it ever occurs to any of their more rebellious members," Sanger wrote to Gamble. Had Dr. King known why he may have been chosen to receive the award, he would have recoiled in horror.

She also referred to people as "human weeds":

In promoting birth control, she advanced a controversial "Negro Project," wrote in her autobiography about speaking to a Ku Klux Klan group and advocated for a eugenics approach to breeding for “the gradual suppression, elimination and eventual extinction, of defective stocks — those human weeds which threaten the blooming of the finest flowers of American civilization.”

Here is more on how Planned Parenthood would target the black community.

Here is an article on Abortion’s Devastating Impact Upon Black Americans.

Planned Parenthood puts 86% of its abortion facilities in minority neighborhoods.

In the Black community in particular, abortion rates have become so high that abortion is a public health crisis. As Live Action News’ Danny David reported in 2016, “Relying on statistics from the U.S. Centers for Disease Control, the National Center for Health Statistics, and the Guttmacher Institute, the team of researchers concluded that abortion is responsible for… 61.1% of black American deaths, and a shocking 64% of Hispanic/Latino deaths – making abortion by far the leading cause of death for blacks and Hispanics/Latinos.”

One of my favorite pro-life activists is Dr. Mildred Jefferson, the first black woman to graduate from Harvard Medical school.

She also argued that the abortion industry was targeting the Black community. “Blacks suffer more from abortion because what looks like help is actually striking against them,” she said in 1977. “Blacks are fewer. They will disappear sooner.” This prediction has been sadly prescient, as Black women get a disproportionate number of abortions, the highest rate among all women, and in some cities, like New York, more Black children have been aborted in recent years than were born.

I'd recommend you read that article about her. She's an inspiration in the movement.

Here are some black pro-life organizations:

I would urge you to call 211 to figure out what resources are available to your sister in your local county.

You can see if your local Catholic church has a St Vincent de Paul which will give your family free food upon request and help pay a bill if needed. I know Baptist churches also offer financial assistance, if needed. You can save money on bills by getting food for free from food banks, as well. Visit or call your local crisis pregnancy center about what services they can offer to your sister. I know many pro-life centers will give her free baby items and baby clothes, and I know some offer mother support groups.

Here is a master list of available pregnancy resources:

Make sure she knows she's not alone and there are people out there willing to help support her. Keep offering her support! You're doing great! I'm sorry your sister is dealing with pressure from family to abort her baby.

Let me know if you need any other information! Hoping you are able to find helpful resources to help her choose life.

-Sarah

#abortion is racist #resources #pregnancy resources #thanks for the ask #ask #asks #sorry for responding late

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