#when you direct rage at someone and then immediately realize it’s not the person you were directing it at like rip

[masokissslasher]

.

#gets booted off Twitter for a bit #when you direct rage at someone and then immediately realize it’s not the person you were directing it at like rip #I do feel bad bc I wanna let them know that I’m sorry #at least I deleted the post like immediately after and followed them I hope they understand it was wrong person #ugh i feel like shit #I’m so tired of feeling like shit I just wanna diseappear

[moonsvillain]

have been toying with the idea of an au wherein shen jiu, after burning down the qiu household and running away, comes across xie lian rather than wu yanzi poaching him immediately afterwards:

i'd imagine in this verse he runs away to town rather than immediately being found in the aftermath of what he's done. at this point, shen jiu would be too paranoid to consider reaching out for directions to cang qiong mountain even if he wanted to make it there: what if they knew what he did? or figured it out if he did know? (if he even had the mind to think of these things through his panic)

he doesn't want to end up begging on the streets again, though—too alike his childhood and last time he was in that position, shen jiu ended up with the qius in the first place

so he takes refuge in temples that he comes across, stealing food when he can before moving to a different part of the rather large town he's ended up in so there's no clear pattern of when he shows up at whichever food stall

despite not holding that same respect and unwavering belief in gods (how could he, after everything he's gone through? shouldn't they have stepped in, sometime? what god would let him suffer as he did, separating him from the only person he loved?) he knows better than to try them, and begrudgingly thanks them for the shelter (because this he did appreciate, at the very least, if nothing else)

winter hits hard when it does, and shen jiu, after spending so many years in the qiu household, forgot how the cold seeps into your skin and bones without solid walls to keep out the frigid breeze.

he quickly falls ill with nothing to protect him from the elements but his threadbare clothing, and when he grows ill, he becomes slow. shen jiu nearly gets caught stealing, running away before he can be dragged to a town guard for his offence, but earning himself a nasty wound to his leg as he retreated

sickness + the cold + the wound leave him weak and wanting: missing qi-ge, reminiscing on nights where they'd curl up together for warmth, still cold but not alone, the two of them steady against the storm that raged on ahead of them

fever-ridden and teetering close to death, shen jiu wanders into a temple late at night and sinks to his knees, falling to his side, heart-rate slowing. in his delirium, he misses the figure taking shelter from the storm in the corner, watching him

shen jiu wakes up (he doesn't expect to), warm while he hears the wind whistle. he's still in that temple from earlier, but it's considerably... cozier. a small fire warms the inside and his clothes aren't as damp against his cold skin. his fever's broken, too—he doesn't know how long it's been, but he's glad he didn't die: never realized that he wanted to live until he was close to forfeiting his right to

here is where he meets his accidental saviour: xie lian stood over a slowly bubbling pot of stew that smells heavenly to shen jiu—he'd eat just about anything at this point, starved

his immediate distrust of xie lian stops him from being truly excited about his appearance

their relationship is veryyy shaky at the very beginning: shen jiu refuses to trust him and xie lian refuses to abandon this strange child he found on the verge of death

(there's a strange sort of bond built up when you nurse someone back to life, dragging them away from the brink of death and xie lian isn't interested, but he's curious about this kid who stumbled into his temple at the dead of night on a midnight in winter)

shen jiu's torn between distrust and this desire for company he didn't know he possessed; after being alone with no one but the qiu household [before he went on his massacre] he didn't realized how much he wanted to share space with someone who wasn't actively hurting him until he was afforded the opportunity to experience non-violent company with xie lian

his distrust slowly declines when he finds out that xie lian is a cultivator. despite being arguably too old to learn cultivation to the fullest extent he could have if he started a few years earlier, he still desperately wants to learn

xie lian, perceptive as ever, slowly starts teaching him bits and pieces of the basics, teaches him to meditate, takes care to keep his distance when it looks like shen jiu's getting overwhelmed

shen jiu can't help but get attached. he hates it

shen jiu decides to test xie lian before resigning himself to this

he was snappy, impatient, and argued with xie lian, when he came over, one day, waiting for some form of punishment to come, bristling like a spooked cat.

nothing came of his experiment but a slight frown from xie lian, which made shen jiu feel almost bad—xie lian almost reminded him of qi-ge, which made him feel doubly bad because he desperately wants to find him

shen jiu came to xie lian the next day with a pastry [that he stole] as an apology. and a request:

"teach me how to cultivate so i can be a disciple at the cang qiong sect"

xie lian agrees easily enough: he's been around shen jiu to see that despite the late start, he has potential to be great [especially untouched by wu yanzi and his twisted form of cultivation]

shen jiu throws himself into his studies, working himself to the bone

xie lian is concerned by this and after trying to soften the load of his work doesn't make shen jiu slow down, he becomes stern: warns him against trying to chase too much frivolously

this leads to a breakdown of sorts—where shen jiu gets angry, dismissive, before becoming upset. the average emotional depth of a teenager but, like, 4 times worse because of the circumstances

xie lian coaxes the story out of shen jiu here; qi-ge [the first time he's mentioned aloud by name], the qiu household [only the barest of details. shen jiu refuses to dwell], and the night shen jiu made qi-ge leave, as well as qi-ge's promise to come back

shen jiu finishes by telling xie lian he needs to make it back to qi-ge, needs to see if he's still alive, he's been selfish for sticking around as long

shen jiu tells xie lian that he needs to figure out as much as he can, as fast as he can, so he can leave and make his way to cang qiong mountain with some sort of base knowledge to make it in. and that he's not sorry for pushing himself because he doesn't have time

xie lian is quiet for a while

puts a comforting hand on shen jiu's shoulder and tells him he understands; he knows someone who would do anything to make it back to the one they loved, understands the pain that comes when time and distance separates the two

however, xie lian tells him, he can't let shen jiu push himself. he'll only stunt his progress by hurting himself rather than speed things up

shen jiu is ready to argue again before xie lian offers to make the trip with him

shen jiu doesn't believe it at first—who would bother with helping him for this long if they weren't getting anything out of it? he already found this hard to believe, let alone the fact that xie lian would drop everything to travel with him for weeks on end

xie lian doesn't shake in his resolve, though. shen jiu figures out he's being serious and wants to argue, but he's just—relieved

so many people have stood as roadblocks on his path back to qi-ge; xie lian might be the first person actively trying to help them

it almost reignites hope in him; someone other than him believes in them. someone other than shen jiu thinks they'll make it back to each other and succeed in reuniting. xie lian's faith in him is like a gust of wind beneath his wings

he agrees to their road trip

[xie lian makes sure to tell his beloved he'll be away for a while]

[shen jiu doesn't notice that xie lian buys steamed buns off the same stranger in nearly every town they stop by for a night of rest in the following few weeks]

[xie lian notices, years later, when shen qingqiu doesn't recognize him upon their first meeting in decades. shen yuan doesn't know xie lian, but xie lian knows this isn't shen jiu, anymore]

#i've had this idea in my head for a few months now #only just finding the time to write everything out #i'll write this on ao3 eventually! trust me i will i promise just need to defeat exams first #hua cheng stalking xie lian w a forced smile on his face: who the hell is this fraud and why is he stealing my husbands attention #xie lian with a happy lil smile: theyre just like us san lang he's learning cultivation to find and protect his beloved isnt it so wonderfu #hua cheng letting go of the steamed bun smushed to pieces in his hand: ah yeah sounds great. sooo cute gege. come home soon. Please. ^_^ #xie lian meeting shen jiu: what a lovely young man #shen jiu half feral and armed with the worst attitude known to man: who the hell is this fraud #svsss #tgcf #mxtx #shen jiu #shen qingqiu #xie lian #hua cheng #svsss au #svsss fanfiction #scum villain #scum villain self saving system #the scum villain's self saving system #heaven official's blessing

[lakesbian]

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I said. “Even if we were warned, we wouldn’t last long.” I leaned close, close enough to whisper in his ear. “But some of us would last a while, you little creep. Long enough to make sure that your parents … well, use your imagination.” He stepped back, drew back his fist, and swung on me. I dodged the blow. I grabbed his head with one arm and jammed the fork against his ear. I fought a nauseating urge to twist the fork, to make him scream in pain.

What had I just done? In all the time we’d been fighting the Yeerks, I’d never made a threat like that. What was the matter with me? I felt … not exactly ashamed. But I knew I never wanted to talk to Cassie about what I’d just told David. Or Tobias. Or even Marco. And as for Jake, I found myself filled with a terrifying surge of pure, utter hatred for him. I couldn’t begin to explain it. But I swear at that moment I hated Jake far more than I did David. I should have gone back to the cafeteria. I should have told them all what had happened. But Jake already knew, didn’t he? Jake, the smart, determined leader, already knew all about me. And I couldn’t face him. I couldn’t face what he knew about me.

i would like to preface this post with the fact that i was discussing this matter and i was like "where's that quote i've seen about here on ruthlessness that was tagged as taylor hebert? that's how marco works" and then i googled it and

apparently that quote is just straight up literally from marco. whoops. stop being taylor, marco. being taylor is taylor's job. very funny thing to find out though. ohh that quote i was remembering and thinking was applicable to a fictional character was literally from that fictional character. okay. anyway.

the jake/rachel dynamic here is probably objectively more interesting but i'm particularly enamored with the rachel/marco dynamic because it's like. they're not particularly close. they're banter buddies but not friends beyond that. but when it comes down to the bloody shit they're perhaps the most closely aligned on the team in terms of how they think and act, in that rachel is the one whose immediate suggestion is always "what if we kidnap/murder/maim them" and marco isn't cruel but he is, well, ruthless in the manner described by the above quote i didn't realize was from him. it's such a weird little cross-angle of closeness where they're close in a way that doesn't mean they're friends (for a certain definition of friendship, anyway), but does mean something is severely wrong if she can't even go to him with the blood on her hands. it rocks.

the dynamic with jake is also really good. being the type of person that the one whose job it is to understand & direct you all knows should be called on if he needs someone killed in a cold fit of rage, and the resentment that stems from having to recognize this about yourself thru someone else's recognition of the fact

#animorphs lb

[anxiouspineapple99]

Himbo Noodle Soup for the Soul

Pairing: squint and you can see potential hints of 501st x f!reader; - aka if someone wanted to make it smutty they def could. 🩷 …I’d totally read that too

Summary: Your sleazy boyfriend cheats on you and dumps you. But your favorite 501st himbos are coming to the rescue!

HELP IS ON THE WAY DEAR! HELP IS ON THE WAY!

But the boys can’t agree on a gift. So they all get you something different!

Warnings: FLUFF. It’s all fluff. Don’t come for me. I will not be accepting dental bills for tooth rot thx 😜Some talk of sexual transmitted infections, self loathing, self depreciation

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: This fic absolutely DOES NOT take itself seriously lol. I honestly had no idea it would garner the support it has and frankly I had fun writing it. I love sappy fluff. It fuels my soul. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

This fic was inspired by THIS post! 🩷💖

How could that sleemo do this? Not only did he cheat on you but then he broke up with you via hologram while you were working. A hologram, mind you, that said you should get tested for some STI he picked up from the slag he cheated with. You launched the handheld holoprojector across the supply closet, rage and heartbreak simultaneously fighting for dominance within your stomach. You had an implant that prevented pregnancy and diseases but that inconsiderate, two-timing, laserbrained, e chu ta didn’t know that. How could you be so stupid? You thought he was going to propose. You told everyone as much. This was humiliating. They’ll never let you live this down. They are still taking the piss out of Jesse for that girl from 79s. Obviously you were the problem. He wouldn’t have cheated if you were prettier, smarter, funnier…was it that weird sex thing he wanted to do that you weren’t comfortable with? Bet she did that with him. She was everything you weren’t apparently.

***********

You’d been skulking around the medbay for days now and the boys of the 501st had noticed. Kix realized your usual bubbly greetings you had for him when he entered the medbay had been replaced with a blank stare. You’d been distracted and making mistakes, very unlike you. Fives and Jesse saw the dark circles carved under your puffy red eyes as they passed you in the hallways. You’d stopped laughing at Hardcase’s jokes, now only staring off or giving a halfhearted hum in response. Tup and Dogma found you crying in a supply closet. When you finally stopped joining them for meals in the mess, they decided they needed answers.

“Did we do something? She won’t even look at us,” Fives moved his food back and forth sadly. “Yesterday Dogma and I accidentally bumped into her and she immediately turned and ran crying in the opposite direction. We didn’t even get to apologize,” Tup mumbled as Dogma rested his chin in his hand.

“She doesn’t even laugh at my jokes anymore,” Hardcase whined as he poked the pathetic excuse for breakfast on his tray.

“If you’re talking about who I think you’re talking about, she’s been practically catatonic in the medbay for the last week,” Kix hummed as he and Jesse squeezed in at the table with their brothers.

Rex, who had been silently listening as he worked on reports spoke up, “Her sleemo boyfriend cheated on her and then dumped her over hologram. And told her she needed to get tested for an STI.”

“Kriff…” Fives and Tup mumbled in unison wide eyed in disbelief.

“Hold on, the same guy who called us her…what was it…her ‘work himbos’?” Tup scrunched his nose irritably.

“Maker, what a shabuir. I always thought she deserved better, but this is a whole new low. He can say what he wants about us, I’ll be a work himbo. But he hurt our girl,” Fives growled as he clenched his fist around his fork.

Hardcase slammed his fist on the table, “Where is he? I’ll personally pay him a visit! I’ll show him what this himbo can do!”

“How did you find that out,” Kix leaned into Rex, “I work with her directly and she never confided any of that with me. Last thing she told me she thought he was going to propose.”

“I pulled rank. Told her I was worried about her. She crumbled into a blubbering mess and dumped it all on me and General Skywalker,” Rex shrugged and took a large swig of his caf.

“Cap! Permission to hunt the nerf herder down and put the fear of the 501st in ‘im!” Hardcase was already on his feet. He was itching for a fight and he was ready to show that worthless womprat that no one messed with one of his own.

“Stand down, Hardcase. I don’t need you getting locked up for some scummy nat-born,” Rex sighed, “Besides I may have already offered to put the fear of the Force in him with an unexpected visit and she was adamant that I let it go.”

“Well what can we do? We should help cheer her up,” Tup mused, swirling his cup of caf mindlessly. “Women like Hyellian musical noodles, right? Maybe we can do something with that?” Hardcase mumbled between chewing mouthfuls of food.

“Hardcase that’s the stupidest idea-” Jesse began but Fives interjected holding up his hand, “No. No, he has a point.”

Jesse whipped his head toward Fives, “What point? Fives, no!”

“Fives, yes!” Fives jumped to his feet with chaos twinkling in his eyes.

“Hardcase, yes!” Hardcase followed suit with unbridled elation scrawled into his expression.

“Shut up!” Resounded a synchronized admonishment from Jesse and Kix.

“Jesse is right, ‘Sorry your boyfriend cheated on you and might have given you some weird disease, here are some noodles?’ That is stupid. Women like flowers. She always complained that sleemo never bought her flowers anyway. Flowers say ‘He was a creep but you have us. And we buy your favorite flowers, unlike that walking STI.”

“Flowers? Boring and cliche, much like you my beloved vod.” Fives slung an affectionate arm around Kix who immediately shoved him off with a gruff, “Kriff off Fives. Not boring. Considerate. It shows that I listen to her. And women like being listened to more than Hardcase’s noodles, di’kut.”

“Nah, we should get wine. She loves wine,” Jesse kicked his feet up on the table eliciting a glare from Rex. “Remember a while back when I got totally wasted at 79s and she took me back to her place and took care of me? Once I’d thrown up everything in my stomach and then some, we got to talking and she told me about her favorite wines.”

“Jesse. Boots. Table.”

“Sorry, Captain.”

“Fine. She can drink the wine with the noodles we are getting her, right boys?” Hardcase was not giving up on the idea of noodles no matter what his brothers said. He knew the way to your heart was through your stomach.

“Wait. Isn’t this fraternizing? That’s completely against regulations!” Dogma pressed. A collective groan peppered with “Kriffing Dogma” and “You just had to say something” erupted from the table as all the men turned to look at Rex.

“I already got her something, so you won’t be hearing a word from me,” Rex never looked up from the reports he was poring over.

“Great! That’s settled then, wait… What did you get her, sir?” Fives narrowed his eyes at Rex and drummed his fingers on the table. “Now I can’t tell you that. It would take all the fun out of me watching you all fumble over each other trying to figure out what to get our sweet girl,” a mischievous smile crossed Rex’s lips as he stood up. “But I’ll be giving it to her tomorrow at 1700 hours. So you lot better get a move on. Good luck, gentlemen!” The boys heard Rex chuckling to himself as he walked away. “Good luck, indeed.” Fives’ eyes remained fixed on Rex until he was out of sight.

He sure as hell wasn’t going to let his CO best him at this, “We meet at her apartment tomorrow at 1700 sharp. We’ll see who the best gift giver is then!” After another round of bickering over who was going to find the best gift, the group dispersed. Fives and Tup opted to work with Hardcase, pooling their credits to buy the expensive noodles. Kix, Jesse, and Dogma opted to select their gifts independently.

**********

You were wrist deep in your second tub of ice cream of the evening as you binged holodramas and wallowed in your own self pity on your sofa when someone knocked on the door. You swore under your breath and wrapped your blanket tightly around you as you shuffled to answer.

The door slid open and there were your 501st lads bickering and shoving each other, each one toting an armful of gifts. They froze wide eyed and grinned sheepishly.

“Hey mesh’la! We are here to brighten your spirits!” Fives beamed proudly with an extraordinarily large takeout container and some flowers he had clearly picked from one of the garden boxes outside your apartment building in his hands. You were speechless looking from face to face positively bewildered. Suddenly you were self conscious about what a mess you were, eyes red and puffy, nose runny, hair untamed, potentially chocolate ice cream on your face and you were wearing someone’s blacks, though you couldn’t recall whose. “Hey! I was wondering where those blacks went!” Jesse chortled, “they look better on you cyar’ika.” Okay so they were Jesse’s.

“Boys, w-what is this?” You hugged yourself, an unconscious self soothing habit you’d acquired.

“We heard what happened. With uh…I guess he’s your ex now. We wanted to help you feel better,” Hardcase joyfully ripped the takeout box from Fives’ hands and thrust it toward you. “The noodles were my idea mesh’la! I heard the ladies love Hyellian musical noodles from that restaurant near the Senate! So we had to get you those! Fives, Tup, and I went in on them together for you! Also I got your favorite cookies.” His brilliant smile shining from his eyes even more brightly than his lips as he proudly placed the small bag on the takeout box. For the first time in a week your smile met your eyes, “Hardcase you’re too sweet! I do love noodles and I’ve been meaning to try these for a while now.” Hardcase gave Kix a playful shove, “Told you so, vod!”

Kix rolled his eyes before he held out an exquisite bouquet to you. “Kix, these are…these are my favorite flowers.” His warm smile met his shining amber eyes with a radiance that was unsurpassed even by the twin suns of Tatooine, “Yes, mesh’la. You mentioned once you’d always wanted flowers and that piece of bantha poodoo refused to buy them. But you’re worth all the flowers in the galaxy.”

You sniffed back tears as Jesse stepped toward you with your favorite wine, “Jesse how did you know…” He winked and gave his most charming smile, “You told me that night I stayed here. You know, the one where I got so smashed at 79s and you had to take care of me?” Your eyes widened, “You remembered that?” His only response was a soft kiss to your hand.

Tup leaned around him and handed you a small box the string it was tied with was intricately hand braided. “Tup this looks like the string bracelet I made you,” you tenderly toyed with it, smiling as the soft fibers tickled your fingertips. “I remembered when you showed me how to do it. You said you’d tried to teach that cockalorum once but he told you it was silly. Now we match. I always have mine with me. And those,” he gently tapped the box, “are just some of your favorite candy.”

Dogma shyly slipped you a folded sheet of flimsi. You placed the boxes, flowers, and wine on your end table by the door so you could unfold it. You gasped when you found it was a beautiful sketch of a beach sunset. Dogma flushed as he cleared his throat, “You said once you want to move to a planet with a quiet beach. I just,” his shy smile was one of the most endearing attributes and you loved seeing it now, “I hope this will suffice until you can do that.” “Dogma, it’s exquisite! You drew this? I can’t even imagine how much work this was.” You reached out and squeezed his hand, “I…you went through all that effort just for me?” He shrugged, squeezing you back before bashfully stepping aside.

Fives swaggered up, elbowing past his brothers holding out a messily wrapped package and the freshly plucked flowers. You couldn’t fight the urge to giggle at the sight, “Fives, are these the flowers from the planters outside? This one still has its roots attached.”

“Ahhh maybe? Just open the gift.” Your breath hitched in your throat at the holophoto inside. It was from the most recent deployment, in the medbay on the Resolute; Tup was in the hospital bed, still smiling regardless of his head being freshly wrapped from an injury. Kix was stoically fighting a smile in typical fashion. Hardcase donned his signature beaming grin as he flashed a thumbs up. Dogma was seated next to the bed and there you were. You were atop Fives’ shoulders as Jesse stood next to him, their faces pressed to your thighs. It was a moment you’d wanted to commit to memory forever. A brief glimpse of joy in a seemingly endless war. “These di’kut think I don’t listen, but I do. You were so happy there. I heard you say you wished you could stay like that with us forever. Now you can.” His honeyed voice dropped to a whisper, “You’re special to all of us, sweetheart.” The soft kiss he placed on your nose, a wordless promise that you’d always have a place with them.

Rex, who had been quietly observing, finally stepped through the huddled mass of clones crowded around you. He handed you a small box with a handwritten note. He placed his elbow against your door frame and propped his head on his fist, his gaze soft and affectionate as you read it.

Something to keep with you to remember how loved you are.

Always, Rex.

PS your work himbos never liked him anyway.

You opened the tiny box to see a pair of delicate earrings with little gems that were 501st blue. “Rex, these are incredible. But…these are…I mean. This is so much. I really don’t deserve these. Or any of this really,” your voice was soft, shaking in disbelief at your current situation.

“No? I’d disagree, cyare. In fact every single trooper standing here would disagree with that, wouldn’t you boys?” A chorus of “That’s right, Cap!” and “He’s right cyar’ika!” echoed through the empty hallway. “Besides,” Rex continued, “the ones you’re wearing now are from that scrawny little tit. Correct?” Your nod was barely visible as you stared in awe at the troopers before you. He reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “Thought I’d replace those unsightly things with something that reminds you of the real men in your life who actually care about you every time you look in the mirror.”

Your lip trembled looking at the overwhelming display of love you’d received from the boys. Your boys. It was then the dam broke and you could no longer hold back the tsunami of emotions and tears that had been pounding at you all week. “I…you…thank…” you couldn’t form words between the heavy hiccuping sobs. Rex moved in for an embrace. It felt as safe and warm as it had when you’d first confided in him. You pulled back and wiped your face on your sleeve. You inhaled deeply and though your breath was shaking still you were smiling when you looked at the anxious faces quietly watching you, “I can’t possibly eat all of these noodles AND the takeout I already ordered. You boys get in here and we can watch a holofilm while we dig into all the food.”

**********

You and your boys piled on and in front of your sofa until it was just a mess of limbs and laughter and poking and teasing. Once settled you had every trooper touching you in some form, even if it was just a hand resting on your arm, or leg. Rex claimed the spot to your right, his arm lazily resting along the back of the sofa. Kix squeezed in on your left, hands immediately beginning a soothing dance through your hair. Jesse squeezed in behind you, insisting on sharing the middle cushion with you. He positioned you snugly between his thighs. You stopped wiggling when he began drawing soft lazy shapes along your arms, shoulders, and neck with the pads of his fingers, gooseflesh prickled over you followed by a shiver running down your spine. Hardcase and Tup rested their elbows on your thighs and stroked the insides of your legs while ignoring Jesse’s protests of not wanting them hanging on him too. Fives scooted up to you as he sat on the floor, lifting your knees over his shoulders and resting his back against the couch. Dogma laid on the floor, head resting on a pillow between Tup and Fives. His hand reached behind him absently massaging your leg.

For the first time in a week you felt better. You felt loved. You were home. The food, wine, and holofilms lasted late into the night and one by one the clones who’d come to cheer you up had fallen asleep on and near you. Armor had been piled everywhere in your tiny apartment. The flowers were in vases and Dogma’s sketch was already framed. And when you made to switch out your earrings, Rex insisted on doing it for you. You reiterated you could do it, but he was so persistent you let him. “Much better,” he had crooned giving you a tender tap on the chin when he’d finished and chucked the old pair in the garbage.

Hardcase’s snoring was cutting through the silence like the Z-6 rotary blaster cannon he loved to use. Your legs had fallen asleep but you were unwilling to move and disturb any of them. Kix and Rex had made themselves comfortable on your lap, their feet kicked up on the arms of the sofa. Jesse shifted, wrapping his arms around you with a tender squeeze and a mumble that sounded a little like “darling little cyar’ika.” You nuzzled closer and allowed the warmth of their bodies affectionately piled around you to lull you to sleep.

Turns out that loser dumping you was the best thing to have ever happened to you because now you could have as many evenings like this as you wanted. You definitely could get used to himbo slumber parties.

Tag list babes 💕(plus everyone who was interested in this): @dystopicjumpsuit @deejadabbles @sunshinesdaydream @starrylothcat @wings-and-beskar @littlemissmanga

#star wars #anxiouspineapple99 writes #501st battalion #501st x reader #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars #star wars tcw #clone trooper kix #clone trooper tup #clone trooper hardcase #arc trooper fives #clone trooper jesse #clone captain rex #reader insert #fanfic #sw tcw fanfic #fanfiction writer #clone trooper fanfiction #the clone wars fanfiction #f!reader #501st x f!reader #501st legion #clone medic kix #this is absurd #and doesn’t take itself seriously #but it was fun to write #clone trooper dogma

[douma-daisy]

How You Caught their Attention {Gyomei/Mitsuri/Sanemi x Reader}

Warning: Sanemi is literally just insane lmao

Gyomei 🪨

You understood his feelings.

The battle was over, Gyomei knew it by the trickle of the demon’s ashes that flew onto and past his face, brought by the gentle breeze. Although no human lives were lost, in fact, there were barely any injuries even, Gyomei felt a great sadness build up in the form of a lump in his throat, and the familiar feeling of tears welling up in his eyes returned once more.

However, before a single tear could fall, a gentle sob caught his attention. It came from beside him.

“Is someone injured?“ he asked, turning to face the direction the crying sound came from.

“N-no,” a sweet voice croaked. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. It’s just… I feel so sad for that demon. I wish they’d never been turned in the first place.” You broke into another sob, burying your face in your hands. Gyomei stepped forward and put a hand on your shoulder.

“I understand your sorrow,” he said. You sniffled and looked up at him, surprised to find tears of his own streaming down his cheeks. Your lip trembled for a few moments before, unable to help yourself, you threw yourself at him with a hug. You heard a few gasps around you, but you didn’t care. And by the feeling of the stone hashira delicately wrapping his arms around you, neither did he. Still, you apologized when you pulled back, wiping your tears on your sleeve.

“I’m so sorry, I—“

“No, please do not apologize. That was quite comforting, actually. Thank you,” he said, then smiled. “I think we should do more missions together. It would be nice to know I have someone to turn to when the battle is over and the grief sets in.”

Mitsuri 💗

You have an adorable laugh.

“And that’s when I realized the demon had already died and I had been searching for it terrified it was gonna jump me for five minutes for nothing,” a fellow demon slayer told you as you ate dinner with the rest of your team. You laughed at her story, nearly choking on the food you had just put in your mouth.

Mitsuri looked up at the sound of your giggling, her face turning red.

That was the cutest laugh I’ve ever heard, she thought. I already want to hear it again!

“Hey everyone! Let’s all share our funniest experiences!” she suggested, internally congratulating herself for thinking up such a brilliant plan. After the first person went and your laugher once again graced her ears, albeit blended with the laughter of everyone else, she squealed. This was going to be a fun night after a successful mission.

Sanemi ✵

You calmed him down.

Sanemi was beyond furious. He couldn’t believe Oyakata-sama could let this obnoxious child run around with a demon. After everything he and everyone else in the Demon Slayer corp had gone through. After they’d watched their friends and family get slaughtered by these horrible creatures, Oyakata still let one of them in. The rage this built up inside him was unbearable. He felt sick to his stomach, restless, and exhausted all at the same time.

Instead of letting himself explode in front of his fellow hashira, Sanemi remained calm for the remainder of the meeting, then swiftly left to find a way to take out his anger.

That’s when he noticed you, sitting alone under a tree, completely covered by the shade. You were carefully sharpening your katana, the gentle breeze keeping your hair from falling into your face. Sanemi didn’t know how long he stood there staring at you, but he shook his head as he snapped back into reality. He realized suddenly that his anger had dissipated. It was strange. Suspicious, actually. You were wearing the corps uniform, but who’s to say you hadn’t stolen it? Or maybe you had betrayed them.

“Hey!” he shouted, marching towards you. You jumped slightly in surprise as looked at him. “What’s your name and rank?”

“(L/n) (y/n),” you answered quickly, immediately recognizing the wind pillar. “I’m rank tsu—.” Sanemi squatted in front of you and grabbed your face, cutting you off as your cheeks were squished between his thumb and pointer finger. His intense, violet eyes studied your face carefully as you sat there. It’s not like you could do anything. He was a hashira! He could easily overpower you if you tried to push him away.

“Your eyes look normal,” he muttered to himself, finally releasing your face. “That’s a good disguise you got there, but I know there’s something off about you. Come on, demon! Show me your true form!”

“Huh?” you squeaked.

“Playing dumb? Let me guess, you want to infiltrate our ranks and kill our master. Well, it ain’t gonna happen!” Sanemi growled. “Don’t worry. I’ll get the truth out of ya.” He unsheathed his katana.

“What are you talking about? I would never harm–”

He squatted down again and pressed the blade against your cheek and you froze. “Let’s see those healing powers in action, shall we?” He created a small slit in your cheek and you grunted in pain, slapping your hand over the cut.

“What the hell?” you said. “Leave me alone!”

“Come on! Don’t hide it! Show me your cheek! You’ve healed already, haven’t you?” he taunted. You lowered your hand, revealing your bloody cheek, still with a fresh cut.

“Oh? Was that not high stakes enough? Well how about—?”

“Shinazugawa! What are you doing?” Sanemi froze at the sound of Mitsuri’s voice. She rushed over and shoved Sanemi off of you, pulling you up and standing between you and him. “Have you lost your mind? What are you doing attacking (y/n)?”

“(Y/n)? You know her?” Sanemi asked.

“Yes, of course I do! She was on my team on my last mission. She practically saved my life!” Mitsuri explained. Sanemi paled.

“He thinks I’m a demon,” you said.

“Not anymore,” Sanemi mumbled, sheathing his katana. He turned to walk away.

“Where do you think your going? I think you owe (y/n) an apology,” Mitsuri insisted.

“It’s okay, Kanroji. He was just being cautious,” you said. “Though I’d prefer if he hadn’t resorted to violence so quickly.” Sanemi scoffed.

“Whatever. I’m sorry,” he said.

The next day a crow showed up with ohagi for you. There was no note, but you happened to know that the wind hashira didn’t know how to write.

#sanemi x reader #mitsuri x reader #gyomei x reader #demon slayer #hashira x reader

[according2thelore]

i feel like es dean appearing to sooo prefer ls sam, and clinging to him, and trying to win his approval, and looking up to him (physically & figuratively) is going to give es sam some serious john flashbacks…. i suppose how he handles those depends on whether john is dead yet.

also there’s something about es sam feeling like dean doesn’t love HIM he just loves the idea of family, because as soon as there’s other family around, he’s choosing them. not true of course, but still…

SHIT

YOU'RE SO RIGHT! we gotta talk about it!

one of my favourite things they do in supernatural is draw clear lines between sam and john, and dean and mary.

dean and mary have the parallels between selling their souls for john/sam, and the same self-destructive sacrifice.

sam and john get more easily blinded by fear and anger and purpose. sam&john's grief is miasmic. it's metastatic.

dean wants adam to have a normal life, and sam wants to pull him into the hunt. in that one scene, dean even tells sam he's more like dad than he realizes.

THIS ABSOLUTELY WOULD BRING UP JOHN DRAMA.

if john is alive: ES!Sam is pissed. here dean is proving that he will desperately cling to and value the opinion of someone else over him every time. LS!Sam is certainly a little paternal, and ES!Dean consistently choosing someone else's good opinion (even if that person cannot/will not return his devotion AND ESPECIALLY if that person purposefully hides things from them!!!) over ES!Sam's needs/wants/concerns. it hits too close to home! literally!

if john is dead: ES!Sam is pissed AND devastated. he clocks ES!Dean's preference for paternal figures after john's death with gordon almost immediately, kink-shaming ES!Dean so thoroughly that he has to crawl under a bed in shame.

and to have LS!Sam BE that paternal figure?? talk about mixed feelings! on one hand, he prefers A sam, but THAT sam? brutal. and AS A FATHER FIGURE?? makes for some confusing boners.

there's some of that inadequacy there as well because here dean is choosing someone that at his worst reminds them all of john. ES!Sam is not enough because dean will always need someone else in his life. even as ES!Dean says that dad was a bastard for what he asked me to do, and we didn't deserve that, here he is, wanting and choosing this dynamic, unknowingly and almost compulsively.

ES!Sam tries to be respectful of that, but it infuriates him and makes him feel inadequate and it makes him sad!

(he does not know of course that the only reason dean wants to climb this man like a fucking tree is because he is 800% unadulterated sam, and is also rugged and huge and can throw him around a little if he wanted. rugged man + sam = dean's ideal self-directed porn shoot)

and FOR SAM TO RECOGNIZE HIMSELF AS JOHN???? HOLY FUCK!! COULD YOU IMAGINE??

they're on a hunt or something and one of the deans gets hurt and LS!Sam shuts down. completely. terrifyingly. tears into them for being reckless, for being stupid, for not paying goddamn attention, and what did i tell you, you should've listened to me. and ES!Sam is fucking shaking in fury and rage because that's dad.

this man who wears his face and lies to them and treats them like children when he's angry but like adults when he needs them is who sam will become! it's inevitable! he becomes the thing that he fears!

i'm chewing through my leg!!!!!

i don't think ES!Sam would see ES!Dean's obsession as him not loving ES!Sam, but it would absolutely show ES!Dean's preference for an ideal.

ES!Dean will choose a more compliant, more devoted version of his brother, because he's easier to love. he loves LS!Sam more because he doesn't like being challenged.

in ES!Sam's mind, ES!Dean has to work to love ES!Sam, so why would he bother to put in the effort when there's a version of him that's already so ready to reciprocate and capitulate and can express devotion so easily?

ES!Sam is struggling with the weight of his destiny, and his fear, and he knows that it weighs on dean, too. to have a seemingly idealized version of himself? of course he would be upset by ES!Dean's sudden obsession, and presumed preference.

it rankles, because ES!Sam already feels a little inadequate. as mentioned in one of my last posts, one of sam's only true spaces of belonging is with dean, (in S1 outside of the hunt, but in S2 including it) when they're just being brothers.

and now that they're not hunting with their LS!selves, and all they have is time to sit and interact with each other, that only secure place is suddenly mutable! sam's one true home is mutable!!

he knows ES!Dean loves him, but not as much. he loves him, but not enough to satisfy. he loves him, but he's capable of loving something else more. and isn't that the worst possible scenario?

i know i tend not to have the exact same john opinions as some other folks, but this was a really interesting ask, and i hope you liked reading about it!!

this ask was incredible!! thank you for this ask, anon! your brain is too big. it's HUGE. <3

-lizzy

#ask box #lizzy answers #ES/LS verse #anon <3

[twistmusings]

Can i request leona, azul, jade, malleus, and jamil reacting to someone trying to hit on their s/o? Yay tension lmao. Also, happy holidays!! Love your stuff ❤

Happy holidays! Thank you so much!!

How would these five react to someone else hitting on their significant other?

TW: Emetophobia warning (Jamil's part, nondescript), jealousy, Octavinelle implied to do illegal shit (as per usual).

Note: Their partners do not reciprocate the flirting here, and these also assumes that they have never discussed having open or poly relationships with their partners in the past.

Leona Kingscholar

Well he isn't going to react well that's for sure! Leona is pretty territorial when it comes to the people he cares about without even realizing he is, but especially so when it comes to his partner. Now, it would be a different story if his partner would have approached them and maybe they had talked about it beforehand, but that's not what happened and it pisses him off.

And if his partner doesn't want to be hit on or is uncomfortable because of them? There will be hell to pay. If you're going to disrespect him, you had damn well better respect the person he loves if nothing else.

He immediately gets into their personal space and put himself between the person trying to hit on them and his partner and uses his height to his full advantage. If his partner looks closer, they can probably see his tail bristling too.

"Why don't you go find someone else to bother before I make you regret waking up this morning." Leona's voice is cold, and there's the low rumble of a growl from deep in his chest . He scowls at the intruder, lip curling in distaste.

They shrink back, apparently not expecting him to step in. Leona without looking behind him, reaches a hand behind him to where they are, brushing his knuckles against them gently so that they know that the anger isn't directed at them. They didn't do anything wrong.

Azul Ashengrotto

So long as his partner doesn't flirt back then the situation will be fine. Azul is too level-headed to jump to pure rage at someone flirting with his partner, and there was probably a misunderstanding somewhere that lead them to think that they were single.

More than likely things would be just fine... so long as Jade and Floyd aren't there. While Azul is the sort of person who takes an indirect approach, those two would be more than a little likely to go to bat for his honor without his prompting.

It's fine... ah, that's... como se dice a fucking lie. Azul would be furious, and all the more so if it makes his partner uncomfortable. If neither of his two right-hand-men are there at the time, he will step in and make sure his partner is okay and that they are aware they accounted for... and then then will be hell to pay later after Azul calls in a few favors.

"Ah, there you are, dearest." Azul says it loud and clear, enough to startle both of them. He will offer his hand to his partner, smiling at them warmly. "Could you come with me for a moment? I would like to get your opinion on a few centerpieces I'm considering."

And then, when they get close, he will link their arms, fingers curling around their bicep fondly as they do.

And, perhaps, as he and his love walk away from their uninvited guest, he may just throw a rather cruel smile their direction, knowing that his revenge is soon at hand.

Jade Leech

Jade isn't nearly so patient as Azul is. The moment he sees someone else is hitting on his partner, it upsets him. Not that anyone would be able to guess that with the carefully monitored expression on his face, but to his partner it's probably exceptionally clear that he's angry.

He slides right into their conversation like he belongs there. After all, they had enough nerve to step on his toes, didn't they? So why shouldn't he? His lovely partner is spoken for, and they certainly haven't discussed adding anyone, so to him this is a threat to someone he holds very, very dear to him.

He smiles a little wider than usual, just to be extra sure to show the sharp points of his teeth so that they're well aware that should they do something stupid and try to fight him they're outmatched in size and natural weaponry.

"A friend of yours dear?" He said, giving his partner a quick glance to see their response. It takes little more than a shake of their head for him to immediately know how to proceed. "Oh, I see. How kind of you to strike up a conversation then."

Jade perches his chin on his knuckle, eyes narrowing and a wide grin splitting his face, transforming his usually gentlemanly face into a perfect visage of the predatory animal he really is. It's just a quick flash, but it's deeply threatening.

"It truly is a shame, then, that we should be needing to get along on our way, dear." He places a gentle but firm hand at the dip of their back. "Come along, now."

Jamil Viper

Jamil is normally pretty good at keeping his anger and frustration under wraps, but I think that given everything he's been through that seeing his partner being chatted up by someone they've never met might just be the thing to make him snap.

Jamil is... well, a schemer. It's what he does. Especially if the other makes his partner uncomfortable. He's not the kind of person who forgets, nor is he the sort to forgive easily. He'll be sure to thoroughly think out the best plan of action after he gets his partner away from them.

Jamil is glad that his partner seems to be in better spirits after having had some time to themselves away from the interloper who'd been pestering them this evening. They're at a table with friends-- ones that Jamil trusts-- so he has no worries about an encore performance as he stands.

"I'm going to take a quick trip to the bathroom, I promise I'll be right back." He murmurs, pressing a soft kiss against their temple.

"Don't take too long, food should be coming soon." Jamil smiles, smoothing a hair through their hair softly.

"I know. I'll make it fast."

He enters the bathroom and makes quick work of doing what he needs to, and as he's washing his hands, he hears the slam of the door behind him. He glances into the mirror with just enough time to see the unknown flirt from earlier scamper into the restroom. It's barely a moment before there's a rather painful sounding retch, and Jamil smiles at his own reflection rather smugly.

Syrup of ipecac is good for more than just emergency poison treatment. He says a silent thank you to Kalim for helping him to be prepared for a moment just like this.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus isn't angry perse. It is a pretty understandable mistake-- most people weren't aware that they were dating as of yet because of his status as prince. Now that doesn't mean that he's not upset. He definitely steps in to interrupt even if he can't exactly out their relationship just yet, though.

It starts to storm. Violently. Which is weird because the weather reports said it should be clear. And if it just so happens that the thunder claps whenever the intrusive flirt opens their mouth, that's just a coincidence. He swears.

He is not pouting. (He is. He's quite grumpy about this whole situation.)

The moment his partner shows even the slightest sign of being uncomfortable with the other's presence, he's sweeping them off to do whatever other thing he can find to do.

"Child of man, shall we dance?" He says it abruptly, smiling at them in a manner that looks just a touch forced.

"Oh? Sure." They reply, honestly a little surprised at Malleus being so forward, but there is no hesitation at all as he takes their hand in his own and guides them away from the conversation, shooting a very visibly cruel grin over his shoulder toward the suitor whom he'd swept the rug out from under. They gape after the two of them, and Malleus can't help the cruel seed of joy that brings him.

"Have you ever ballroom danced? I can show you the steps if you'd like." He chatters, though his emotions show in the tense line of his shoulders. Truly, he'd like nothing more than to sweep them away to his room and into his arms until the both of them forget this little social faux pas. He, quietly, promises himself that as soon as he is able, he will proclaim to the world who his beloved is. He would truly like to see who would be brave enough to flirt with them in front of his face then.

#answered;; #twst #twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #leona kingscholar #jamil viper #azul ashengrotto #jade leech

[honeeslust]

A Wicked game 10.13

18+ Only

STARRING: Douma

SYNOPSIS: Douma can’t help himself around his bosses sister. Especially since she’s so starved for attention.

TW/KINK: (all mild cause I’m still a baby writer ☺️) Slave training, edging, voyeur, virginity.

🖤 wc 4.5k my longest so far 🥵

It was always sweet talk and dirty little comments from him. He was charming in a completely different way than most men. The allure was …indescribable.

You knew it wasn’t healthy to be so captivated by the way he doted on you. He was possessive and treated you more like a prize to be won. He would handle threats to your safety with a certain ferocious approach that excited you.

He kept you close at all times which meant you were often present for his elegant displays of prowess. It was like he had a talent for exacting such brutal punishment while maintaining his charismatic charm. It was safe to say that maybe you were in awe of him too.

Douma wasn’t entirely annoyed when Muzan had relegated him to being your personal bodyguard. There were far less meaningful ways to spend his time so getting to spend every waking moment with you was a welcome change to his routine.

You knew it was irresponsible, falling for someone whose job it was to protect you? But how could you not? He gave you all the attention you craved thanks to your raging need for validation. Your family was always too busy to notice you, even when you acted out. Sometimes you thought yourself depraved for having the kind of thoughts that you were. If fucking your brother's 2nd in command wouldn’t garner at least some kind of response, you didn't know what would.

The more time you spent with him, the more you realized just how deep his fixation of you really was. The man was completely obsessed with you. The sound of your voice, the way you moved, but most of all it was your innocence. You talked a big game but he saw through all of your bullshit. He knew how badly you were just itching to cut loose from the girl you thought you should be.

Being around you so often meant you got to know him on a whole new level. He was… different. Everything about him drew you in. Especially the part of him that found excitement in the life he lived.

When he insisted it would be better if he utilized the spare bedroom in your loft to better protect you, you happily accepted. Fast forward…

All day you two carried on with your usual antics but only until his attention was averted to the pretty waitress who all but drooled in his lap. You didn’t necessarily get mad, you knew she couldn't help it. What irked you was the way he immediately excused himself from the table muttering something to you about sampling something that wasn't on the menu.

After that, you rode home in silence, pouting and keeping your body facing away from him. He noticed your attitude but was distracted by the shape of your thighs as they puddled against the seat. You tried to distance yourself from the gaze you felt hot on your body but it was too intense to ignore the subtle glances in your direction.

The look in his eye had you squeezing your legs together the entire ride. As soon as he parked you were out the door heading to your room without saying anything else to him.

You were only upset because you allowed yourself to think he only had eyes for you and today was a reminder that that wasn't true.

Later, you found yourself alone in your room trying to forget the image of him fawning over some doe-eyed girl other than you. Dreaming up new images, you slowly caressed your stomach. You thought about the way he would smile at you with those gleaming opal-like eyes. You breathed deeply recalling his signature warm vanilla and cedar scent and imagining the heady aroma filling your every breath as you clung to him. You thought of the way he would touch the back of your arm to gently guide you to the inner sidewalk whenever you walked along the street.

The contact was always so brief but it was enough to leave you so flustered that you'd had to do this. You were on edge and in serious need of release. Your fingers dipped into your waistband and you closed your eyes. You let your thoughts carry you through the same fantasy you'd always play out in your head, stuck on repeat as you chased down your underwhelming but somewhat relieving climax.

What you didn't know was that he could hear everything. He palmed his bulge as it twitched every time he heard you whisper his name. He had done this every night this week and he could hear just how much more desperate you sounded tonight when you climaxed all on your lonesome. But you weren't alone in your lustful misery because as he listened to you make yourself come he all but exploded in his hand, just barely satisfied but no longer feeling like he was wound quite as tight.

After a shower and a little ganja, you still felt pent up.

— A little later you came strutting out of your room wearing the tightest dress you could dig out of your closet. The selection was intentional, you were aiming only for his attention simply because he was so good at giving it.

“Take me out, Douma”

“You ca—” he paused taking in the sight of you standing before him wearing a dress he hadn't ever seen you in.

“You're not going out tonight, there's too much heat right now. You know that.” his eyes lingered over your cleavage just a little before he continued. “ When did you get that?” he said calmly, looking you over before averting his eyes back to his book.

His reaction was expected and you knew if you leaned in a little more, he wouldn't be able to say no. And Douma, well, he chose to let you think you had him wrapped around your finger. It was all a part of his plan. You walked a little closer to where he sat, feeling extra devious given the slickness between your legs from secretly coming to your thoughts about him not 20 minutes ago. — too bad it just wasn't enough. You were practically bursting at the seams aching for the slightest bit of just the right touch.

“ …but I wanna dance. I came and I smoked and now I just wanna dance.” your brow shot up as if you hadn't meant to say all of that out loud.

Douma looked up to see the stern look you were giving him. Instead, he only saw the way your cheeks flushed. you weren’t fooling him. He knew you were likely still dripping from earlier and it made him smile to himself.

He puts the book down and crosses his legs drawing your eyes to his crotch.

“You came. and without me. I’m hurt.” He said feigning hurt feelings.

“Whatever Douma, let’s go.” You popped your hip out and watched the way his eyes cruised the sultry line of your body.

Even if it was just a game, Douma hadn't needed to fake his infatuation with you.

“You know I'll make you stay if you try to leave,” he said, clasping his hands together over his knee like he was having the final say.

As much as you wanted to find out what that meant you stood straighter and cocked your head to the side. “Aww, please,” you said coming around to stand in front of him. “Just one dance.”

He didn't answer you. Instead, his eyes were drawn to the way you bit down on your lip. Was he letting himself be controlled by your charms?

Yes. He was.

That's exactly why you were both now locked in the VIP room.

“Breath bunny, breath” he had to remind you as your body reacted to the dangerous proximity of his. If he stood any closer behind you, he'd surely feel the way you were trembling. The near touch made every fiber of your being scream for him to finally close that distance. How could you breathe when his body was the answer to what kept you up at night squeezing your pillow between your legs wishing it was him?

“You’re just as messed up as I am aren't you” That's what he said to you as he finally slipped a hand in front of your now quaking body. He held you tight against himself and instructed you to watch in the mirror as he absolutely ruined you.

“You just had to let him touch you, didn't you.” Those sweet whispers easily locked you in his spell. Your mouth fell open, exhaling a pathetic “sorry” with a heavy sigh. You met his gaze in the mirror, hoping he would finally read your mind so you wouldn't have to say it out loud. But of course, he was already in your head, Douma knew you more than you realized.

“Why apologize? this is what you wanted right? Me losing my fucking mind over the likes of you. You, who doesn’t even know what it means to be properly fucked stupid.” He taunted you more as you soaked in the torrid scene displayed before you.

“You hate it? Don't you?” His hand was coming so close to touching the very spot that would make you divulge all your dirtiest secrets and more. – never mind the way his brutal honesty had you eating out of the palm of his hands as he read you to the t. “You just hate that you can get your way anytime you want. You hate that no one has claimed you, because they can't ever seem to actually see you, can they?.”

His fingers skimmed over your breast and he circled them over the newly perked bud sheathed by your flimsy dress. The bit hardened under his icy touch making you shudder into him. There was lewd friction from his bulge as you arched your hips against his palm that pressed lightly over your core. “You wanted me to kill him? Didn’t you?”

Your lip trembled fearfully as he peeled back the layers of you. He was blatantly appealing to that side of you that you were so afraid to let loose. His hand crept up over your throat and he applied a little pressure. “Didn't you?”

For all you knew, his voice was laced with a potent demon blood art that forced the truth to fall from your sinful lips. But you both knew better than that now. So it was barely a whisper when you answered him. “Yes.”

Douma laughed. “If you want me to kill for you, all you have to do is ask.” His breath turned icy as he licked along the shell of your ear making you gasp. Douma slipped his hand further between your legs and hovered just over your untouched wetness while he waited for you to finally say it.

Every jagged breath you took made your heart beat faster, there was no way you were about to say it out loud. But his hands were there, so close to giving you the much-needed friction you had yearned for. Inhibitions floated away and your body ignited as you finally uttered the words to him “I want you to kill him….”

Lascivious long fingers teased gently back and forth as you breathed in his heavily intoxicating aroma. “What was that bunny?” Hushfully he whispered finally applying a little pressure to your center drawing a grateful moan out of you. “ Kill my brother Douma.”

The demon's arrogance and blood lust finally played on his face. Bright eyes were now darkly devouring the shameless picture he illustrated.

Wicked greedy fingers slipped under the thin strap of your dress and he tucked the light fabric under your breast. An icy feeling teased over the little button now tucked between his skillful digits. He rolled and tugged them running his nose down your neck and then over your shoulder.

“Was that so hard?” he said pressing a little harder against the heat between your legs. “You’re not as good at pretending as you think you are.” He spoke as his fingers moved in long drawn-out circles. He was drunk with the power he wielded over you. All the times he listened to you make yourself come did not amount to the way you sounded for him now.

You didn't know which would make you come from first. His touch or the way he breathed your name as he started to play with your wantful pussy. So much time you had wasted not wanting to admit the truth. –That you were just as unhinged as everyone around you. Truly a product designed by your environment no matter how much they tried to keep you from it. Douma could see how badly you yearned for the excitement and was happy to finally help you over the edge.

–and here you were, doing just that —happily letting the sinister likes of him drive you wild and crazy like you were nothing more than some desire-starved nympho.

“Will you do it, Douma?”

“I can take care of your brother. You don’t need to worry. But what does that mean for you?”

Your trembling legs were barely keeping you upright as a heavy warmth continued to build. “What do you mean?” you panted curling your leg around his and inching onto your tip toes.

He takes your chin and sharply turns your face to his “You’ll need to be protected of course, I can’t do that unless you’re mine.” your leg locked around his and he nudged your legs wide, bending his knee slightly so your weight could settle onto his thigh. The circles he rubbed over that tender knot started to feel more intense. He didn't need to do much to convince you. You knew you belonged to him from the moment you laid eyes on him.

“Yes.”

“So eager” he teases slipping his fingers under your dress. His icy hand grazed your skin as he bunched the light fabric around your waist. He grasped under your neck and the other closed over your bare virginal pussy. “You know I've heard you every time you called out my name.”

Your cheeks flushed at the notion of him hearing all the ways you pleasured yourself to the thought of him and you shuddered against the chill of his palm pressing into the spongy center just between your hips. “Now… look this way,” he guides your eyes back to the mirror. “ I want to see your face when I make you come.”

“Ahhh” you sighed letting your head drop and drool strung from your lip as you hung on tight to the intense wave that was washing over you. “Ohhh ha ha Fuhhhh” you cried as his digits toyed with you some more. He eyed your reflection as he started to edge your pussy that was now gushing. “Oh bunny, I've barely touched you.” he taunted you. “You’ll need some training if you want to be mine..” he slipped one finger inside just enough to feel just how wet you were and he flashed a wicked grin.

“Mmmmm, it’s gonna to be fun training you… wait until you see all the ways I can break you” He pushed another finger into you and started to work them in and out with ease, setting a crucial pace and making your hips swirl to match the hypnotic movement of his digits inside of you. Your body was ascending again, your walls clenching tight as that heat crept up your spine. Your nails dug into his thighs and you crumbled into him.

Your weight was held upright effortlessly and he hugged you tight and forced your legs back open whispering “Ah Ah Ah, let me get a look at you”

“How does that feel?” He pushed in deep and the wetness overflowed making those sweet squelching sounds he daydreamed about so

much. “ Ahhh, so fucking good” you cried drenching his fingers as you came so hard you felt his breath hitch in his chiseled chest that was pressed into your back.

“You’re so good at giving yourself over to the pleasure, aren't you?”

“Yes”

“You’ve been starving haven't you?”

You arched as your body was set ablaze again. “Yes, ahhhh, fuck yes”

“You need to be mine, don't you?”

“Yes .yes. yesss”

“Well let's go home and get started”

Back at home, he took you to your room and proceeded to strip you out of your clothes. By the time he had you tied to your bed, writhing pathetically under his body as he hovered over you. Your nervous heartbeat was music to his ears.

You were so high off the pleasure he gave that you couldn't believe it was actually happening. — But it was real. He was actually here. Leaning over your body, letting the warm honey puddle over your perked nipple as he reveled in the way you twitched against your restraints. You were foolishly enjoying how he toyed with you.

You wept as he smeared the sticky sap around the bud and meanly he sucked the warm elixir off, tugging at your nipple and making it hurt just enough as he looked you right in the eye. Your body jerked as he released the bead from his mouth and left your skin flushed with color. Your eyes squeezed shut making him pout.

“How am I supposed to know what feels good if you don’t look at me?” Said the fiend in all his devilish charm as he taunted you. “eyes on me. always.” The stern look he imposed made it clear that you were here for his enjoyment. Your neediness was intoxicating to him. And though it didn't quite show at first, it was actually driving him crazy.

The thrill came from knowing you were a willing participant in this erotic torture. He loved how you gave him complete control over your body and he didn't disappoint. He knew exactly how to wield the power you so eagerly handed him.

“I'll give you everything you want if you beg,” he said, trailing his fingers over your hips. His devilish grin was captivating. You loved being nothing more than his plaything .“Please,”

“Be specific bunny, what do you want.”

“I— I don't know. Just don't stop touching me there.”

Douma retracted his hand to grip your trembling jaw, “ that almost sounded like you were telling me.”

“Please,” you breathed, taken by the darkness etched behind those bright shining eyes. “Please, I want you to touch me.” You begged.

He held your face tighter, his eyes widening “That’s it bunny.” He was so ecstatic with the way you let him handle you, so obedient and so…new. His voice faltered, “Good girl.” He said brushing your hair off of your face.

His thumb brushed your lower lip. “Open” he commanded, pressing downward. He slipped between your parted lips and over your tongue. Lazily he swiped down your pallet “suck”. You obeyed, locking your eyes with his while you sucked his thumb.

He pulled the slick appendage from your mouth and traced his sleazy tongue over the pad before he brought it to your now engorged clit. He hadn't made you come again since you left the club. He had only given you a taste of what he could do to you and now, he wanted to see you desperate.

As bad as you wanted every bit of him, you enjoyed the way he took his time. Methodically giving you more and more just to take it away. He was showing you just how polar opposite the roles were from the picture you had painted in your head.

“So far so good bunny,” he panted as he tipped his fingers inside you. “Thank you.” you whispered and his eyes lit up with satisfaction “mmmm,” he groaned like a feral animal. “you learn well”

You moved to his every whim. Sucking harder as he instructed. Bending into any position he puts you into. He’d command your attention whenever the dizzying arousal became too much but still, he persisted.

You struggled against your restraints and the demon soaked up the way your gorgeous features were glistening with your tears. He had a fist full of your hair wrapped tightly around his hand as he forced your head back to look at him. You couldn't help but be bewitched by the colorful hues that gleamed at you with such adoration.

“Please please please, you sobbed to him. “I've been so good, let me cum”

He grabbed your face, his eyes widening “Yeah, that's it. Beg me.” He was so full of himself for driving you to this. “Plead for me like the good little bunny I know you can be.”

“Let me be a good little bunny for you Douma. Please I’ll do anything”

Douma undressed before you. Every tight muscle in his body seemed to flex, especially the one that hung heavy and just slightly to the left between his legs. Your greedy eyes fixated on his endowment and you nervously swallowed as he inched that pretty pulsing cock toward your face.

His vivid opal orbs were daring you to taste his velvety cock. You opened wide and took the heart-shaped tip into your now slutty little mouth. You started moaning around him, moving your head up and down awkwardly struggling to find the right angle around his curved length.

“Bunny—mmmm, pretty as you look teasing me, suck this fucking dick baby, unhhh” He said, thrusting himself between your lips nearly meeting the back of your throat.

He shook, unable to take the way you glared up at him all starry-eyed as his cock gaped at your pretty mouth. You gagged but kept your throat open to take him deeper. He assumed you’d never done this before but your nasty little self had been practicing on bananas for as long as you could remember. Granted none of them were as big as the girth you were taking now.

Nonetheless, he came close to finishing in your mouth as you sucked him deeper, lodging him firmly in your throat while you made hearts for eyes at him.

He pulled out, gasping as he stifled a heavy load that would’ve ruined your pretty face. “Alright fine,” he said, reaching toward the bedpost you were still tied to. “Time for your reward bunny, how do you want it?”

He was actually asking you what you wanted after all of that. Your mind couldn’t process it, you only rubbed your arms trying to regain some of the feeling in them.

You blushed and peeked up at him, his pale face still flushed from how well you’d done with your mouth. “I don’t know, fuck me, however, you want to fuck me, Douma.” You said smiling coyly as you lay back on your pillow.

The always gleeful pitch to his voice was replaced with a smokier sounding one as he assumed his position atop your naked body. The clarity in his glittering eyes left an unexpected warmth settling over you. He didn’t smile at you and take your hand to gently take your innocence. Instead, he forced a soul-snatching kiss upon your lips and cradled you underneath him. You felt it then. He would own you after this and you wanted it too, and desperately.

Just as you felt the friction of him lining himself up against you, you cling to him, ready to be tainted by his darkness. You anticipated the pressure as you felt him tipping into you, right as he was ready to push that pulsing porcelain cock inside you, your phone rang.

Douma reached for the cell and immediately swiped to answer after seeing your brother's name on the screen. He shoved the phone in your hand and your barely focused eyes widened as you saw your brother's contact picture on the screen.

The pressure was heavy as he slipped inside and your fingers clasped over your mouth clamping on down on the illicit squeal Douma's dick was crudely forcing out of you. He smiled watching your wide eyes turn misty. He could hear your brother yelling over the phone for you to tell him what was wrong.

It was pointless to try and form words. Douma watched the way your eyes glittered with fresh tears and your drenched oasis struggled to take all of him at once. No matter, his cocky smile took your breath away as he snatched the phone from your hand to answer your brother's frantic pleas for you to tell him if you were ok. You watched in awe and excitement as Douma held the phone to his ear and continued to fuck your tight little cunt as though he wasn’t about to start a whirlwind of chaos.

“From the sounds of it, it seems like she’s doing just fine if you ask me.” The enchanting demon taunted his boss without so much as a glimmer of restraint and he fucked himself into you making you cry out his name.

“Don’t worry, she’ll call you later, right bunny?” You agreed taking him deeper and soaking the cock that battered your newly ruined pussy.

“I’ll call you later” you moaned as Doama held the phone to your now quivering lip.

He tossed the phone aside and his hips bucked relentlessly.

“I’m impressed little bunny.” He said as his voice finally started to give. Your pussy was milking him perfectly and he was nearing his end. “Keep taking me just like that..” he grasped the fatty flesh around your hips and dove deeper, forcing your legs a little further back so he could feel himself popping your cherry.

Your face scrunched from the sting as he rudely spread you you. Every muscle in your core clenched in on itself. Douma's tight body shook as he pounded a sloppy mess of wetness out of your orgasming pussy. He was feral, jutting his hips into you so hard that the entire bed shook. You both erupted, releasing months’ worth of pent-up frustration. Your mind was numb to anything that wasn’t his dick and how it was unloading all of his thick cum into.

" I'm almost tempted to deprive you of the chance of catching your breath, little bunny. But then again, it's going to be fun building your stamina.”

He presses his body into yours, letting you feel his still engorged prick pressing into your pelvis and he whispers, "I plan on keeping you for a while.” You wanted to respond but the heaviness of your tired eyes was overwhelming, and you passed out, sprawled naked across your bed.

Douma took care of you, cleaning your body and tucking you into your bed comfortably. He lay next to you watching you calmly as your phone erupted with messages and calls for your older brother.

Douma smiled. “Looks like you finally got his attention.”

Heavy influence from Muzan Fangz for this one. See 👉🏾 https://www.tumblr.com/muzansfangs/730816602440892416/from-the-bottom-of-my-heart-thank-you-i-am-so

The list

#2023 kinktober #kny kinktober #douma kny #doumakinktober #demon slayer kinktober #smut oneshot #smut writer #spicy headcanons #smutxanime honeeslust #blackgirlswhowriteanimesmut #honeeskinktober #douma x reader #virginity kink #domkink

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dark Knowledge: Part Two

Miraak x Hermaeus Mora x Female Dragonborn Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): brief blood, body horror, horror elements, alien / eldritch anatomy, suggestive themes

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Part Two of Dark Knowledge

The Dragonborn and Hermaeus Mora make a deal.

Part One // Part Three

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // dark knowledge masterlist

Sticky. Stringy.

When you blink—or try to—it’s thick, as if someone smeared honey over your eyelids while you slept. You try again, but whatever covers your eyes resists the pull. Shaking your head, you attempt to throw off this shade. Perhaps it is something tangible that simply needs to be dislodged.

No luck. It stays.

Slowly, you reach out, lightly pressing around your eyes. Immediately, just along your cheekbone, you discover a gluey substance. You recoil, but your fingers stay, stuck in the muck. A distressed whimper leaves your lips as reality starts to set in.

You are in Hermaeus Mora’s realm. You are alone. You are captured. A fox in a cage. And you are unable to see.

Panic sets in and then you start clawing at the sticky substance, nearly growling like a feral animal in an attempt to remove the gunk from around your eyes.

“Stop,” comes a masculine voice. It isn’t deep, but on the higher side, and the tone indicates concern. You immediately pause, chest heaving, waiting for this person to speak again.

They do not.

Licking your lips, you tilt your head in the direction in which you think the voice came from.

“Who are you?” you ask hesitantly.

A long moment of silence follows. It stretches, and the uninterrupted quiet chills you to the bone. Sorrow and despair threads through your nerves, but then the voice comes again, this time much closer.

“Don’t rub it off. It’ll help.”

You clench your fist, the muscles in your arm tighten with the anticipation of throwing a punch. Even though you’re blinded, you want answers. “Who are you?” you ask again.

“I am but a servant.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” you growl.

Of all the strangeness you’ve experienced while in Hermaeus Mora’s realm, the silence is the oddest. Even though you cannot see where you are, there is no sound other than what you and this man make. There is no dripping water, no chirping of bugs, or the squeak of rats. Nothing. Just absolute silence that fills the space between breaths.

“My name is irrelevant,” comes his reply. “And it has been lost to time. I could not tell you.”

He is close, but you’re not sure how close. This man—this servant—is near enough that he doesn’t need to go above soft speaking. Which means, he might be in range of your hand. You’ll have to play this right. Keep him talking. Rely on other senses.

“All this knowledge around you and you don’t know your own name?” you mock, voice dripping with cruelty. The idea is absurd. How could you dwell in a realm like this with no knowledge of who you are?

“In order to do my work for my master, I had to relinquish the ties I had to the mortal realm,” he answers, as if it’s so simple.

Slowly, you draw your hand away from your face and to the floor. Rock. You shift a bit and then frown. Your feet are bare. You didn’t notice before. Reaching out, you grab your foot, and then your naked ankle. Horror seizes you as you quickly take note of your body.

You make it to mid-thigh before you find clothing. From there, you realize that what you have on is just a sack. Your armor and weapons are gone. The fact that you’re in different clothes means someone stripped you. Someone’s gaze was on your naked body.

Before you even have the chance to demand where your stuff is, the man answers as if already knowing your question. “It’s all somewhere safe. I saw to it myself.”

Fury burns in your veins. It doesn’t matter that you might be in an actual cage. You’re ready to rage.

“You put your hands on me,” you growl, venom seeping into every word. This man will die for touching you.

“Earthly needs are unimportant to me. They have been since I entered my master’s realm.” He says it blandly, like he cannot believe you’d even imagine such a thing. “You are His guest here, and will remain unspoiled unless he wills it.”

Unspoiled. As if you’re a piece of ripe fruit ready for the knife.

“What a benevolent master,” you mutter, seeking out with your fingers, your hands slowly sliding across the floor.

The man hums softly in agreement. “The paste on your eyes needs a bit more time.”

So far, you’ve only found more stone beneath your palms. “What is it for?” You check both ankles, wrists, and neck. There are no chains or restraints.

“To curb the madness.”

You freeze. “The what?”

“Hermaeus Mora’s influence starts to take effect the moment you enter his realm. For those of us who serve him, the influence is desired, but Lord Mora suspected this is something you did not wish for.”

Slowly, you drop your hands into your lap. Master Neloth mentioned black spots in the eyes as a sign of Hermaeus Mora’s influence in the body. Perhaps this is what the paste prevents.

Even though you wish to slit this man’s throat, you restrain some of the rising violence, opting for a more civil tone. “That is generous. Thoughtful.” The words taste foul on your tongue.

“Lord Mora understands many things.”

You don’t answer him. Instead, you sit in the silence, awaiting your opportunity.

Time passes, and you have no idea for how long. But the stranger eventually speaks again. “I do believe it is time to remove the paste.” There is soft jingling, and then the creak of hinges.

So, you are in a cage.

This stranger claims you are a guest of Hermaeus Mora, but guests are not kept in cages or stripped of their clothes. The weapons are understandable. You can forgive that but not the sack that drapes your body.

What was it that Hermaeus Mora said on the bridge just before you slipped into unconsciousness?

You are in my realm now, Dragonborn. Apocrypha will be your home. You will converse with me and I cannot wait to know your secrets.

What does the Prince of Fate mean by that? Will the two of you actually talk? Or will he pull your memories from your mind, turning you into one of his followers? The very idea makes your skin crawl. Autonomy is important, and though you’ve completed many quests and tasks for some of Mora’s siblings, none of them will truly be able to claim you in the afterlife.

You are Dovahkiin. After you are gone, your soul will dwell within the Hall of Valor in Sovngarde. But if you are trapped here, in Hermaeus Mora’s realm, will your death not ascend your soul to Shor’s mead hall?

You’ll need to play along for the time being. An opportunity will present itself, and you will escape this wretched place with its sickly green sky and tentacle-infested inky waters.

“Crawl forward,” instructs the stranger. “The door is a bit low.”

The act of moving toward this man on your hands and knees is degrading, but you do it anyway, reaching out to get a sense of the cage that you’re in. This servant of Mora is right. The door is low, and you nearly knock your head on it but prevent yourself from doing so when your raised hand clips the top of it.

“Very good. You’re out now. I’ll start cleaning around your eyes.” His voice is calm, almost fatherly, and it only makes you want to claw his eyes out. Why is he trying to comfort you? Did Hermaeus Mora tell him to? Does the Prince of Fate want you soft and compliant?

The moment the stranger’s cold hands touch your face, you lunge. It’s more of a reaction than anything, the instinctual need to protect yourself burning like a hot iron. Your hands wrap around his throat and squeeze.

The two of you fall together, and then you’re bashing his head against the floor in sharp blows that bring the scent of blood to your nostrils.

It’s over quickly. Not because you kill him, but because you’re prevented from doing so.

Long, thin fingers with sharp nails grab at your arms and effortlessly toss you aside. You roll into it, landing on your knees. You pivot, bare your teeth, ready to lunge again.

It doesn’t matter that you cannot see. You’ve fought in true dark before and yet came out alive. This is no different.

A rippling burst of air slams into you. It’s not enough to send you to the ground but you do recoil from the sudden blow. Another crashes into you, and then another. This time, you do start to bend.

Throwing your arms over your head, you tuck in and take it. Perhaps it’s only seconds of time, but they eventually recede, and then you’re shaking. You feel drained, as if your very soul has slowly been extracted from you through a small hole. The energy within you is limited, but you still have something none of them can take away.

Your Thu’um.

Rising to one knee, you inhale sharply, ready to unleash an unrelenting force of power. The moment you exhale—the moment your lips shape the words—you choke. All breath is snatched from you. Lungs shriveled. Unable to take in oxygen.

Panic spikes, and you try again, only for you to choke harder.

“I advise against it. You’ll only hurt yourself.” It’s the man, but his voice is distant and shaky, an almost moan of pain when he speaks.

You don’t care if this act won’t allow you to speak again. Your Thu’um is your lifeblood. It is the thing that beats underneath your skin alongside your heart.

This next attempt chokes you to the point that your hands come up and claw at your throat. It is agonizing, a squeeze so tight that even with the paste over your eyes, you still feel the formation of tears.

You do not try again, and the invisible grip on your throat eases.

You collapse to the floor, chest heaving. Those thin, long fingers with sharp nails curl around your forearms. There is no strength left in you to resist this time. You’re lifted off the floor, guided to your knees, and then human hands are on your face, a damp cloth moving slowly over your eyelids.

“Stay still,” comes the voice, and it is not the same man who you’ve been talking to. It’s a different one.

Slowly, the stickiness fades, replaced with a cool dampness from the cloth.

“It is done.”

You blink, and this time you see the black stone beneath your knees. Your eyelids flutter, and your gaze shifts from the floor to the person standing before you. They’re bent at the waist, a damp cloth balled up in one hand.

The man before you, who is old enough to be your father, peers into your face. He is completely bald and wears simple black robes that stop at his feet. The signs of madness that Master Neloth spoke of is evident. There are dark spots in the whites of his eyes, but that isn’t the only unsettling aspect.

The dark spots aren’t perfect circles, more blob-like in appearance, just like Hermaeus Mora. The dots that linger near the edges of his eyes seep outward onto his skin. From there, they form black lines, like dead veins under his skin. They stretch away to create little webs across his flesh.

He smiles, showing his teeth. They are stained with ink.

You immediately recoil but the man doesn’t seem to care that you’ve drawn back from him. The sudden movement startles whomever is holding you. The sound they make is not human. You twist enough to glance over your shoulder and find one of those creatures you’ve slain.

Its face tentacles flare slightly in agitation.

“You killed several Seekers before you were subdued. They’re not particularly happy to see that you’re alive. Or that their master spared you.”

The corner of your lip curls as you turn back to the man.

Now that the paste is gone from your eyes, the room you’re being held in becomes clearer. Just behind you is the cage. It’s all gnarled black metal. Embedded into the metal are jagged spikes that jut outward. It’s clear that they are meant to keep things out rather than the captive individual inside.

The room itself is relatively small. The walls are books including the support pillar in the center of the room. Within the ceiling are holes, and through it, you distantly see Apocrypha’s green sky. There is no door but an open archway.

At the stranger’s feet, but off to the right, is the man you choked. His eyes are vacant, staring up at the ceiling, a halo of blood crowns his head. The new stranger’s gaze follows yours and then he sighs when he lands on the dead man.

A Seeker floats in through the open archway and heads for the dead man. Using its four hands, it grabs hold of the man, dragging him out, the blood smearing across the stone.

You swallow, and your saliva sticks in your throat. “What happened to my Voice?”

The bald man in black robes bows slightly, and then straightens. “Welcome to Apocrypha, Dragonborn. I am one of the endless Ciphers of the Eye. Lord Mora asked that we look after you until we bring you at his summons.” He steps around your question.

“Why can’t I use my Thu’um,” you prompt, wanting an answer. You’re far more willing to cooperate if he’d just be reasonable. “Have you taken it?”

“Taken it?” he asks with a hint of surprise. “No. The Prince of Fate cannot steal your Thu’um. That is a gift bestowed upon you by another, and is not in his realm of control.”

“And yet, you silence me.”

The man inclines his head. “He did. But it is temporary. I assure you.” That does not bring you any comfort. “I am to escort you to him.”

You don’t need to ask to know who him is. “Now?”

“Indeed.”

You lick your lips and find only dryness. “Where are we going?”

“One of the many scriptoriums of Apocrypha. It is where we prepare the Black Books for our master. It is rewarding work. Few ever witness it from an…outside perspective.”

From the open archway, two more Seekers appear, mandibles flaring.

The Cipher bows slightly to the Seekers and takes a step back. “You will not be chained if you behave on our journey. It is not far. This I promise.”

He could promise you your release and you still wouldn’t believe him. Without your Thu’um, you’re almost powerless. While there are magic basics you understand and can control with ease, you are no mage. This man, this Cipher, may wield magic, and you have nothing to defend yourself with other than your fists.

You are vulnerable, and the bareness of this reality is tar that sticks to the skin.

Instead of pushing the issue, you comply reluctantly, following the Cipher through the archway as three Seekers drift behind you.

The walk to the scriptorium is short. The Cipher was honest about that, and you appreciate it even if you’re hesitant to do so. You also remain unrestrained, and no chains are brought.

The entrance to the scriptorium is a wide yet short bridge with two archways. One is rather simple, while the other is more intricate, narrower, and the black rock has a green glow deep within in. When you pass under it, you enter one of the many massive towers you noticed when you first entered Apocrypha.

This entryway is large, the ceiling of which juts upward sharply. From the ceiling, black tentacles hang, swaying softly, their suckers pulsing with a faint green glow. There is a simple stone pathway and it’s covered in worn, rotting paper. On either side of this stone path is that inky black water.

It’s completely still. Silent. And that is somehow even more ominous than the water that roils outside this hall.

At the end of this small path is a massive double door, the symbol of Hermaeus Mora carved into the center. The tower itself is built from stone and an endless number of books. You’re not sure if the books are the wall or the stone is. It’s all fused together.

Your small herd moves toward the doors, and as you approach, they start to open. The sound the doors makes as they open is awful. There is no creaking of metal hinges or wood, but a wet, slippery sound, like you’re trying to hold onto a wiggling eel.

As you, your guide, and your guards pass through, you’re spit out into an open atrium. You’re outside again, but it’s clear that won’t be for long. From the atrium are multiple bridges and pathways, all of which connect to various towers.

In the center of the atrium is a stone statue of a person seated on a throne. Their hands rest on the arms of the throne, but their head is covered by an open Black Book as if the tome has suctioned itself to their face.

This image calls back those brief moments before the Black Book sucked you into Apocrypha. Darkness bled from the binding only for tentacles to follow, wrapping around you tightly to drag you into Hermaeus Mora’s realm.

All around the statue are more books. Some are neatly stacked while others appear tossed. But there is little time to linger. You’re only in this atrium for a minute.

The Cipher leads you on, taking a bridge to the left. When you enter this tower, you arrive in what has to be a workshop. Your guide mentioned that the scriptoriums are places where Black Books are made, and that few outsiders ever see the process.

You are an outsider, witnessing the creation happen in real time.

Seekers and Ciphers work together. There is a mechanical-like efficiency to the whole process. The two groups work in almost near silence, as if their communications are all done internally, almost like a hive of worker bees.

There are vats of bubbling ink and some that might contain a clear glue. All the mortal helpers are bald and it is a varied mix of men and women across multiple races.

“This way,” murmurs your guide, and the two of you branch off into a much smaller room.

This one is still littered with books, all stacked high and part of the architecture. But here, it’s warmer, with actual lanterns hanging from various points around the room. The ceiling is fairly low, and there are several stone tables, all of which have stacks of books on them.

“Leave us,” comes a deep, primordial voice.

Hermaeus Mora swells into existence before you. He is not nearly as large or imposing as on the bridge, but he isn’t any less creepy.

The Cipher bows deeply, his bald head nearly touching the stone floor. He keeps his eyes turned downward as if looking on Hermaeus Mora is a privilege. He backs out of the room slowly, never turning his back from his master. The Seekers follow suit.

Hermaeus Mora floats nearer, and his form shrinks a bit more. The large eye in the center blinks slowly.

“Are you rested?”

“One cannot rest in a cage,” you snap.

The eye blinks again, followed by an amused chuckle. “A necessary precaution.”

You run your tongue over your teeth and frown. “Are you afraid of me, Prince of Fate?”

The low rumble from Hermaeus Mora is surprisingly human-like. “I’ve watched you for some time, Dovahkiin. The lure of Apocrypha is too great to ignore. Not when it is tied to your fate.”

“Then why do you wish to talk? It sounds like you have all the answers.”

“You are Dragonborn, like my servant Miraak. You are following in his footsteps, seeking power that is your birthright.”

Miraak. So, he is a servant of Hermaeus Mora. Does he walk these halls? Would you find him if you looked? Would you find him if you asked Hermaeus Mora?

Evading his questions or even outright lying won’t do you any good. He will know, maybe not completely, but he will see through a deception.

“You called to me through your book.”

“Did I?” he replies, almost breathy with surprise. That large, center eye blinks slowly again.

“Is that not what happened?” You take a step back and reach out to place your hand on a nearby stone table.

“All who seek after the secrets of my world are my servants. Willing or not. By opening that book, you served me. You…worshipped me.” That word—worshipped—rolls out in a purr. It slides over your skin as if invisible tentacles roam over your limbs.

“How do I worship you?” you counter. “I enter your realm without permission. I slay your servants. That does not sound like a loyal devotee.”

Hermaeus Mora’s form ripples like he’s shaking off a shiver. “You’ve come for secrets. You’ve come for knowledge. You’ve come for answers. All of which can be provided.”

You take another step and position yourself on the other side of the stone table, creating some sort of distance between yourself and the Daedric Prince.

Within Hermaeus Mora’s mass are smaller eyes. They blink at random, some of them disappearing entirely before returning. “Your journey towards enlightenment has finally led you here. To my realm. To me. As I knew it would.”

Storn Crag-Strider talked about how Hermaeus Mora likes to possess things just for the sake of possessing them. If Miraak is like you, if he is Dragonborn, then you are one more object for the Daedric Prince to hoard.

He called Apocrypha your new home, but you’re not interested in staying here, falling to the same madness the Ciphers have.

As if sensing your unease, Hermaeus Mora retreats a bit more, his form receding in shape. Like this, he isn’t nearly as frightening, but you still know who he is, and that is enough to ward off any attempt to bolt.

“What can you tell me about Miraak?” You want to divert this line of conversation to something else. Hermaeus Mora is too focused on you, and you do not care for his wandering eye. It moves in the socket, assessing, and it gives you a sense of objectification, like he’s trying to decide how valuable you are to his goals.

“Does my form disturb you?” he asks gently, not answering your question. “Would you prefer something more familiar to your mortality?”

Before you have the chance to object, Mora turns inward, his tentacles folding in as if he’s being pushed through a keyhole in a door. It all melds together and then drips to the floor. Those tentacles unfurl slowly in an upward arch, binding with each other to present a humanoid perversion of Hermaeus Mora.

He has two hands. Two feet. Two arms. Two legs. The Daedric Lord stands tall in this form, easily closing in on seven feet tall. These features are the only normal parts about him. His entire body is shiny, reflective like the inky water of his realm. Briefly, you consider whether or not it would part like water, or if it’s solid like skin. There are no anatomical features like nipples. It’s all smooth, including the space between his legs.

In the center of Mora’s face is a large, singular eye. There is no mouth, but that isn’t a surprise. Even in his true form, Hermaeus Mora has no physical mouth from which to speak. He simply does.

“Is this more pleasing to you, Dovahkiin?” Hermaeus Mora extends his hands outward, flexing each finger. A lone tentacle appears from behind his back to slide over and around his right leg. It stays put.

“Not particularly,” you answer, knowing that the truth is best.

“You offend me,” he laughs softly. Mora isn’t insulted at all. It’s clear that your discomfort amuses him. He strides forward, and there is a purposeful swagger. It’s very… human.

His hand reaches out toward the stone table, the tips of his fingers brushing along the curved edge as he circles the rocky slab. Instinct has you walking backward, but this version of Mora is tall, and his stride covers twice the distance yours does.

“You didn’t answer my question about Miraak,” you state, the fine hairs on your neck standing on end as Mora’s humanoid form advances into your personal space.

“All that he knows, he learned from me.” Hermaeus Mora’s hand reaches up, the tip of one finger running along the curve of your jaw. He is not cold or hot. In fact, there is no temperature, but his touch is tangible like flesh.

“That is not an answer and you know it,” you retort.

That large eye softens, the eyelids closing slighting as if your stubbornness is something to be enjoyed. “Miraak has been my loyal servant for many years. He has served me well, but he…grows restless under my guidance.”

Another tentacle appears from behind Mora’s back. This one wiggles upward before sliding over his shoulder and around his neck like a collar. It stays in place, shifting only when he does.

“Miraak desires to return to your world. It would spread my influence more widely across Tamriel, but it will also release him from my direct control.” Mora demonstrates his meaning by lifting a clenched fist and releasing the tension in the muscles, exposing his open palm. Within the palm, the blackness parts, and an eye appears. It briefly glances in your direction before retreating.

The finger tracing your jaw shifts into his hand. Mora steps closer and you have to crane your neck upward to see him properly. “It may be time to replace him with a more loyal servant. One who still appreciates the gifts I have to offer,” he purrs, the touch becoming a caress against your cheek.

For a moment, you lean into the touch, your body surrendering to his power. It lasts for only a handful of seconds. You’re quickly thrown out of the pull to submit, reality and awareness slamming into you like a battering ram. You stumble backward, nearly fall, and only steady yourself by reaching out to grab the stone table.

“Your words are poison,” you hiss.

“No,” replies Mora. “I am your freedom.”

He is still so close, and you need to find some distance. If that means you need to stay on the other side of the room, then that’s what you’re going to do.

The second the muscles in your legs tighten with tension, Hermaeus Mora’s gaze narrows. You begin to walk backward, moving away from the Daedric Prince, but he is having none of that.

Four large tentacles shoot out from his body, each one grabbing hold of your arms and legs. He draws you back to him, your body floating above the floor. The Prince of Fate is dangerously close. If he were truly human, the two of you would likely be touching noses.

“I know what you want,” he says softly even as the tentacles tighten around your limbs. “You want to learn a Word of Power. You want to use you power as Dragonborn to bend the world to your will. You. Crave. Power.”

You have always served others. You have always done everything for everyone else. When have you stopped to do something just for you?

Hermaeus Mora’s words are tempting, a sweet song of promise that lulls you slowly into compliance. What were those symptoms Master Neloth spoke of? Signs of corruption? Signs of madness?

Loss of will.

Have you lost it? Are you being influenced by Mora or is this your own desire finally floating to the surface?

“An exchange, Dovahkiin. What say you?”

It’s not like you have anywhere to go, and you’re not sure if your Thu’um has returned. Even if it has, would it truly do anything against the Daedric Prince of Knowledge and Fate? Doubtful. In his realm, he suppressed your Thu’um for a time, which means he could do it again. Why tempt fate when the odds are not on your side.

“I’m listening,” you whisper, hating that you’re giving in to him.

His shoulders soften with pleasure when you acquiesce. “Knowledge for knowledge. I bestow upon you a missing piece, and in return, you give me one of your secrets.” Hermaeus Mora clarifies his meaning by running the back of his hand down your throat.

There are worse things. There are worse deals. And this will be temporary. You will make it so.

You swallow, and deal the killing blow. “I will serve you in this way in exchange for your knowledge.”

Hermaeus Mora’s humanoid forms swells with pride. “Here then is the knowledge you need. Although,” he laughs. “You did not know you needed it. Not until you came to me.”

That massive singular eye of his closes. The tentacles around your limbs draw you closer until the two of you are almost touching. Then, the Daedric Prince clears the distance, resting his forehead against your own, joining your flesh with his.

“The second Word of Power. Use it to bend the wills of mortals to your purpose.”

The connection is immediate. It’s a blow to the face. A sharp tug on your hair. The strike of a sword against a shield.

The language of the dragons’ batters against your skull. The Word of Power appears before you, and your body immediately responds, absorbing all its knowledge and memory into yourself. It tastes like fire, and everything vibrates with a thudding thrum like the beat of dragon wings.

Your body takes it in, melts the Word of Power down into blood, and injects into your marrow, fusing yourself with the innate ability to wield it. It is your history. It is your truth. A piece that has always been with you.

Your eyes snap open and there is Mora’s singular eye.

“Now, Dovahkiin. I would like that secret.”

Part One // Part Three

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @singleteapot @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado

#hermaeus mora x dragonborn #hermaeus mora fanfic #hermaeus mora smut #herma mora #hermaeus mora #hermaeus mora x reader #hermaeus mora fanfiction #hermaeus mora fic #hermaeus mora x you #the elder scrolls smut #the elder scrolls fanfiction #the elder scrolls fanfic #the elder scrolls fic #miraak skyrim #skyrim smut #skyrim fanfiction #skyrim fic #skyrim fanfic #miraak fic #miraak x dragonborn #miraak fanfic #miraak smut #miraak #skyrim miraak #hermaeus mora skyrim #tentacles #eldritch #eldrich horror #tentacle monster #tentacle smut

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Yandere Helen, Sully and Jason if their partner was kidnapped by a cult to be used as a sacrifice?

I remember someone sent a similar request, thanks

Click here to find the request mentioned

Helen:

Helen is thrust into an incredibly bad panic the second he realizes you've been taken away, and he's freaking out. He knows he needs to get you back as soon as possible, but he also doesn't want to rush in and be an idiot, costing you your life in the process. Helen knows he needs to be fast, but he efficiently takes his time in getting you back. He's glad he works with poisons so much, because that's exactly how he takes out any surveilling members of the cult, by using his poisoned tranquilizers, and when he finally gets to where they're keeping you, he takes them out hand to hand with his poisoned blades. He's quick to get you home, rushing out so many apologies, about how he's disgraced you, about how someone as holy and heavenly as yourself should never have to go through that. He's most distressed about how the person he worships and praises so much had to go through such an experience.

Sully:

Sully, on the other hand, is the one that does immediately rush in, blood pumping and fists flying. Sully doesn't have Liu's intelligence or planning skills, he just knows he desperately needs to get you back, and that's what he does. The whole time, he's moving in a blur, not really processing what's happening. He knows he cornered off a stray member, beat them to a pulp, and asked where they took you, and then he found the location and infiltrated, and the moment he finally had you alone, he snapped back to reality. He was covered in blood, some his own, most from other people. His legs and chest ached. He was sure he had a massive injury to his abdomen, but, for now, he didn't care. All that matters is that you're safe. He clutches you to his chest, heaving as he presses kisses to you, telling you it's alright, you're safe now, they can't hurt you anymore. After getting you home, Sully will be incredibly protective in the coming weeks.

Jason:

Jason also goes quite fast when it comes to collecting you right back. He hasn't feared his own death in quite some time, and really, it's just you he's worried about, rushing in to save you as fast as he can. He's incredibly angry, and he's sure you can hear his yells of anger for miles away, of him screaming about how unforgivable something like this is, for such disgusting vermin to put their hands on you, to try and use you for such an act, to steal you away from him, to even glance in your direction. He mercilessly slaughters every single one in ways he knows are excruciating, and by the time he's collected you again and gotten you back home, his facade is right back up. You can tell he's still burning with rage, but he's incredibly gentle as he cleans the two of you up, whispers hushed words about how you're alright now, he's got you, you're back where you belong. This one will be glued to your side for months, never letting you out of his sights for even a moment, and his home security for keeping you locked up escalates greatly.

#yandere #creepypasta yandere #yandere jason the toymaker #yandere homicidal liu #yandere bloody painter #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanons #jason the toymaker #jason the toymaker headcanon #jason the toymaker headcanons #jason the toymaker x reader #homicidal liu #homicidal liu x reader #homicidal liu headcanons #homicidal liu headcanon #bloody painter #bloody painter headcanon #bloody painter x reader #bloody painter headcanons

[cheerstotheelites-if]

Oo can I request for a mix of

❛ i couldn't do it without you. i wouldn't even wanna to do it without you. ❜

❛ i don't understand why you can't just let something good happen for once in your fucking life? ❜

for the prompt between Fleur and MC? Thank youu

Prompt list

Both of those dialogues together just conjured a bad vibe in my brain... and I will write that.

~•~•~

I never should have said "I love you" You never said it back So why do I still care for you?

– A Soulmate Who Wasn't Meant To Be - Jess Benko

~•~•~

Feelings are confusing, especially when you're in love with someone who was in or is in a bad situation. Sometimes it overlaps with similar emotions. You either love them truly, that you want give them all the good things that they couldn't ever have. On the other hand, you could just love the idea of saving them, to be the hero that swoops in and be the fixer to all their problems.

We're all like that sometimes, wanting to take away all the bad things out of someone's life, to be their fixer in their lives. Though one has to be aware that no matter how much we want to help, the other person has to want it too, and we can't always help all the people in our lives no matter how hard we insist that if we just try hard enough and use the right solutions that you thought of.

It's one of those days again, where you try to drag bring Fleur to somewhere you think she'll you'll both enjoy after stressful day. It's hard to tell with her, since she barely opens up about herself. Though from what you know, and are aware, Fleur enjoys going to museums. So why not go to one of the local art museums? Which is also great, since you know Fleur can't do a lot of labor extensive activities due to her sickness, and surely, this won't put her at risk of having an asthma attack.

Even with a perfect plan put into action, the unexpected is always kind enough to make it crash and burn.

The scowl on Fleur's face only seems to grow more, and more as you went through the museum. It didn't vanish, no matter how hard you try to remove it.

"Huh, the details on this sculpture is insane." You comment as you inspect the marble bust of a person wearing a knight helmet. You look over at Fleur, who stands a few feet away, glaring intensely at the sculpture of two people. One of them is trying to literally tear the other person off of them who's melded on to the first like a parasite. You idled up to Fleur, stopping beside her, mouth open to comment about the brutal depiction of the sculpture only to be immediately cut off by her.

"Why are you doing this?" She asks quickly and coldly. Her glare is now directed to you without even turning her head. There is malice, and irritation, and quiet rage.

You fought to keep the chill that ran up your spine and voice cool as you reply. "I just thought that we could destress this way together."

Her scowl deepens as her glare is directed back to the sculpture. "How thoughtful."

"You're... not really enjoying this, are you?"

"Wow, is it that obvious?" She scoffs and looks at you fully. "It took you that long to realize? How blind must you be to not even acknowledge the clear displeasure on my face for the past two hours?"

Immediately, you match her scowl. "I just want to help you have a good day, Fleur. What's wrong with that?"

"You never even asked me what I want throughout our entire time together."

"That's it?"

Fleur doesn't answer, giving you a long stare, arms now folded across her chest.

Your scowl vanishes as you let out a resigned sigh through your nose. "Alright... what do you want to do today?"

"I want to walk through the forest trail."

"No. I'm not going to put you at risk of an asthma attack because of that."

A scoff, then a dry chuckle as Fleur looks away from you. "So now you're just going to deny me what I want because you don't think it's good for me?"

"There are risks, Fleur." you emphasize in both exasperation and irritation. "I can't let you dive head first into that and get you hospitalized or worse!"

"I know what my limits are, and—"

"Then good to know! So let's not do that and get you in danger and closer to those limits."

Fleur pinches the bridge of her nose in clear irritation. "You're not even listening to me." With a frustrated sigh, she turns and starts walking away.

Immediately, you follow, of course. "Where are you going?" You interrogate, quickly catching up to her.

"Away from you." She tersely replies.

"Don't even think of going to the forest trail or somewhere even similar. I'm not letting you get—"

"Can you stop doing that?!" Fleur abruptly stops and turns to face you, causing you to stop and step back a bit in surprise. "You're trying to dictate my entire day, telling me what to do and what not to do. What are you? My babysitter?"

"I only want to let you have a good day for once. So I don't understand why you can't let me fucking help you in achieving that."

"Because people like you keep ruining it."

You stare at her incredulously. "What the hell does that—"

"No, you listen to me. I was already having a good day on my own, until your unwanted presence showed up unannounced and dragged me here."

"You never even told me that you wanted to be somewhere else, not even given me a sign!"

"I did, you blind, self-absored, pig. You just never listened, nor took the time to acknowledge that I wasn't having a good time with you. You declared yourself better than Eliseo—kinder, nicer, and more loving. Well, congratulations, you're even worse than him. Are you proud now, for being the source of all my frustrations and letting me relive the worse year of my life again?"

"I'm sorry." Was all you could end up saying.

...

"Don't even bother talking to me again."

#prompt #Fleur #MC

[banamine-bananime]

the forum werewolf game ever. of all time: night four

Start reading here!

Because they're down a wolf so early, the wolves unlock the ability to convert one player (change one villager into a wolf. It's a mechanic that's deeply hated by a few players. It was part of the design of this particular game to be unlocked only if wolves are at a disadvantage early). "You have gained one convert. You must use it immediately. You may convert any player."

By (deeply scary for the wolves) coincidence, Grif brings up the possibility of conversions. Sheila responds:

Sheila, in her mod PM:

....

Meanwhile, on thread, Sheila:

Church:

Okay yeah I'll feed Church's hologram "ghost" little colby jack slices until he gets drunk. why not.

Lopez:

Sheila:

Andy:

Sheila:

... uh

No fear.

[Andy the bomb, Sheila the tank, and Lopez getting drunk together, in defiance of science]

One fear.

Lopez, bored to spitefulness, tries to post-restrict someone again (mod reply: "You look for your spare voice box, hoping to find an extra, but unfortunately you were only given the one spare. You’ll have to put up with this canyon full of idiotas hablando el idioma ingles. Ugh.")

Caboose shoots O'Malley

Wolves have been fervently strategizing all the while, and they decide to convert Sheila, redirect Caboose to Tucker, make him kill Tucker, and steal his night result.

Doc protects Tucker. (Go Doc!!!!)

O'Malley's night results: N4: You pop into Caboose’s armour through the commlink and direct him to go kill Tucker. You linger in his mind long enough to make sure you remember what happened instead of him. From his mind's eye, you gather the following: On your (Caboose's) way to O'Malley’s tent, blind rage overcomes you. Unable to think straight, all you remember is that someone is killing your friends and you are going to stop them and YOU. HATE. THEM. You charge them at full force, sending them into a wall their tent was set beside with a speed that could kill even someone in power armour if they hit something vital. The wall gives, but they don’t. When they get back up, you shoot them. This time, you see that a strange effect surrounds their armour, absorbing the damage. As the rage begins to clear and your mind again feels like your own, you realize that the person you tried to kill, now fleeing from you, was Tucker.

Caboose's night results: N4: Even more than usual, your memories of last night are a confusing blur. Some of the fun functions in Tex’s armour, the more deadly ones, are no longer functional.

Doc's night results: "N4: You give some bandaids and aloe vera to [Tucker's player] to keep her safe. They’re pride flag colours, how fun! In the process of giving her a quick med scan (it lit up green for healthy! Or maybe for pregnant! Or maybe for chronic myelogenous leukemia! It’s hard to tell all these shades of green apart. But probably for healthy!), you accidentally activate something in her armour. “PROTECTION MODE ENGAGED.” Huh, okay, works for you!"

Tucker's night results: "N4: While enjoying some much-needed beauty sleep and you-time, someone bursts in. Holy ****! They knock you straight through a wall your tent was set up beside before you have time to process who they are, let alone to draw your sword. Luckily, someone triggered some sort of automatic protection mode in your armour tonight and it momentarily locks upon impact, shielding you from damage. The same thing happens when the assailant then shoots you. Okay, no, you’re not taking your chances with this bull****. You get the hell outta there while you have the chance." [every villain in a ten mile radius deciding to try to kill Tucker as per fucking usual]

Sheila's night results: N4: Your artificial body can’t be killed so easily, but your artificial mind is unfortunately still vulnerable to corruption. Something has gone drastically, drastically… wrong? right? in your programming. You is woof now and will be added to wolf chat with Wyoming, The Meta, and O'Malley. Oh no? Oh yes.

Wolves results: "Sheila is among your number now. She is an AI in a big beautiful 60 ton mechanical body immune to night kills, looking fly and ready to make some sim soldiers die."

Sheila's reaction in wolfchat:

Sheila's reaction in her role PM:

While players wait for the morning writeup, they get a bit silly. Lopez:

Mod:

Donut:

Finally, writeup is posted:

Next: day 5

#red wwersus blue

[austajunk]

I'm not the person who requested it but I LOVE Overcompensating (the makoyomi omegaverse fic), so I'd like to request a sequel with 2, 10, and 16. Maybe Makoto uses the information that Yomi is an omega as blackmail to let him claim him as his own? :3

Awwww, it's so nice that someone is out there pulling for a request that someone else made. I'll gladly write a little sequel to Overcompensating (it will be added as a second chapter on AO3).

Triggers: Dub-con, Humiliation, ABO, and Breeding

Fic under the cut.

"Ungh..."

Yomi Hellsmile lifted his head. He was splayed out sloppily across multiple fancy cushions. Tufts of shredded bedsheets were piled into hills surrounding him on the bed. As he raised his head and shook off the grogginess of his deep sleep, he realized that both of her hands were slick with a somewhat translucent fluid. Glancing down with an angry twitch in his sharp jaw, he caught sight of his own cock flaccid between his legs. The head was quite swollen, and even brushing against the soft blankets made him want to dry-hump the pillows. It felt mercilessly soft against his naked body.

What had happened the previous night? The director groaned and ran a frantic hand through his unkempt crimson hair to try and think back. His body was light, but his backside was sore. Left with a needy cock he nursed between his legs, he could only experience a sense of bitter frustration at his surroundings. "That masked freak's penthouse," he spat. Makoto must have dragged him into his bed... and probably taken advantage of him. He wouldn't put it past that freak, but he couldn't understand why all the blankets and sheets were torn to shreds and placed in piles beside him.

As he leaned forward to brush his sensitive chest against one of the fluffy blankets in front of him, a light clinking brought his attention to a small, steel chain drooping from his neck. Hissing, he let his hand travel up his chest to tug at a leather collar. "What the fuck is this?!" He growled, his nails digging into the garment.

Like that, it started to come back to him. The previous day where he had gone into heat and revealed his status as an Omega--his jaw clenched as the thought ran through his head--and in front of Makoto Kagutsuchi no less! He was screwed. Worse than fucked. That masked freak knew something any of his various underlings at Amaterasu would cut their wrists off to hold over his head!

"When I get my hands on that-!" A light chuckle cut Yomi off.

In the corner of the room, on a long and cushioned bench, the masked man laid with his head propped on his hand. It wasn't as though Yomi could read his expression, but he could practically feel the smirk oozing behind that mask. Makoto's laughter dripped with a fair bit of amusement, making Yomi's stomach churn with rage and regret.

"And here I thought I was being a kind soul by letting you stay here for a few days. I wasn't even going to send you my dry-cleaners and damages bill," the masked man chided Yomi. He gave a shrug, looping a strand of pale hair around one of his fingers. "After all, not even Yomi Hellsmile can be perfect when he goes into heat."

"You sick bastard!" Yomi seethed immediately. He launched at his opponent, only to be yanked back brutally by the collar around his neck. "You fucked me-! Of... Of course you did... couldn't help yourself, could you?!"

Makoto barely gazed in his direction. Instead, he inspected his nails. "I wasn't the one whimpering and trying to jerk off all over my floor, silly," he said with another chuckle. "But I understand if you want to think of yourself as different and above your own needs. That's just soooo you, Director."

"Shut up! Where the hell have you brought me?!" Hysterical, Yomi jerked his hand at the mountains of blankets beside him. "What is all this?! Are you trying to mock me?!"

The smaller man sat up and shook his head. A sigh escaped behind his mask. "It's called nesting. Or building a nest. You would know this, I assume, if you had any idea about your status as an Omega-"

"I AM NOT AN OMEGA-!"

Despite the red-haired Omega screeching about his predicament, Makoto merely swung a leg across the opposite and watched him with ease. Yomi continued to thrash against his collar and leash like a beast, leaving Makoto to be somewhat thankful he had discreetly secured the foundation of the chains to the wall. Hopefully, it would hold out, but he anticipated the Director to be unreasonably upset. In a sense, he almost felt sorry for Yomi, having to face his existence as a subservient class of beast beneath him.

Well... he almost felt sorry for him, he reminded himself as he watched a crack form in the structure of the lavish walls of his penthouse.

Makoto raised his mask. Desperate times called for desperate measures, especially since he was quite fond of his living conditions. Yomi dropped pathetically into one of the pillows, his eyes straining as he tried to tug himself free from the leash. If the appearance of Makoto out from under his mask shocked his Omega, he certainly made no mention of it. But that was alright.

Locking his cold, undaunted gaze into Yomi's eyes, he said firmly,

"Yomi."

It cut through the air like a bullet straight into Yomi's ears. He froze on instinct at the tone of Makoto's voice, an involuntary shudder running through his nude form. A need took root in Yomi's senses. His eyes dilated sincerely. Without hesitation, Yomi rolled onto his backside, raising his arms like a puppy desperate for its master to caress its stomach. His cock was half-erect already, hardening for his Alpha so he could present for him.

"Good," said Makoto gently. He stood up and stepped over to Yomi's side on the bed. Like this, the Director of Amaterasu was quite appealing. Under the call of an Alpha, Yomi's gaze softened, and his posture opened to Makoto. Even when he knew better, he wanted to stroke down his chest and give Yomi a scratch behind his ear. With that slender body of his, not quite athletic but not untoned, Yomi was going to make a delicious Omega. Makoto ran his eyes freely over the body before him, from Yomi's sensitive nipples to his leaking cock. It was all for him. Even if Yomi couldn't understand it, his hips were even starting to jerk eagerly towards him. He longed to be touched, to be caressed by a master.

Makoto sighed. As nice as it would be to shove Yomi out the doors and leave him on his own while the heat consumed him, it would alert every Alpha in twenty miles to come and claim him for their own. Even Yomi did not deserve such a fate.

And besides... Makoto narrowed his eyes at the Omega.... Sleeping with Yomi the night before made the Amaterasu cretin his, didn't it?

"Wha...What am I...ha..." Yomi sputtered. Coated in a new layer of heat, he trembled.

When his senses returned to him and he realized what he had just done, the color drained from Yomi's face. He quickly scrambled to obscure his body from Makoto, covering himself up behind the blankets. Fleeing felt shameful. Everything was shameful!

"What have you done to me?!" He hissed to Makoto, wincing. "How did you make me-?"

"Because you belong to me," said Makoto simply. He knelt to Yomi as he slipped off his jacket. The way Yomi's chest rose and fell excited him. As much as a slave Yomi was to the instincts he tried to ignore, Makoto was a slave to his own needs too. It thrilled him to watch Yomi shudder and fight himself, to have watched him hump the pillows and whine the previous night for the ounce of satisfaction he so desperately desired. Yomi Hellsmile was a beast of a person, but now he was reduced to the real thing in front of Makoto. How could Makoto not love him for it?

Shedding and kicking away his pants and underwear, he reached to stroke down Yomi's hair. Yomi hung his head, dazed and lost in confusion. His body wanted to respond. He lurched forward like a lost pet, urging his cock against Makoto's bare thighs.

Makoto's tightened his grip into Yomi's hair, earning himself a whine from his Omega's lips. It had to be like this. It would be simple to mount Yomi and take him as he pleased, but he had to establish ownership of him. He had to take responsibility.

Yomi growled, but Makoto held him tighter. His other hand snaked across Yomi's jaw, jutting his thumb to trace his sharp teeth. "The more you try to deny your status as an Omega, the more pitiful you truly are, Yomi."

He shoved Yomi's head down forcefully between his legs. When Yomi opened his eyes, he found himself face to face with Makoto's erection pressing to his lips, the bulge of his knot before him. The salty, bittersweet scent filtered through Yomi's nose, making his mouth water. He gurgled childishly, licking his lips and quivering. His ass remembered the shape of that knot inside of him.

"You are my Omega... but only mine," assured Makoto, holding him to his crotch to make him.

Precum slathered across the redhead's lips. Yomi couldn't help but to take some of the salty essence in his mouth. It tasted good. It smothered his mind in that stench, but like a cat, Yomi wanted to roll around in it. When had he become so low?

Makoto continued. "Clean my cock and get me wet, alright?" He lowered and gave Yomi's ear a possessive nip. "The wetter it is, the easier it goes inside of you... and if you please me... perhaps we don't need to register you as a true Omega after all..."

He clutched Yomi's hair and swept his hand down his back. The heat seeping through Yomi's body made his cock pulse. Being so close to Makoto's body heat was getting him drunk off that sweet, rum-tainged scent of his.

Yomi couldn't resist. His mouth took the CEO's cock inside, tasting him. He wanted to melt. Hungrily, he licked and sucked on the large knot, savoring each time it pulse in his mouth. His eyes rolled upward as Makoto groaned, stroking his hair sweetly.

"Yes... like that, Yomi..." Makoto uttered. It felt cruel to take advantage of Yomi when their proximity was melting his inhibitions away. But he had to breed him before another Alpha took his place. Yomi was his responsibility... "Watch your teeth now...ngh! ...heh... or don't..."

The sharp canine had just barely grazed Makoto's sack. It made the CEO pause, but his anticipation shot towards the heavens. He grinned and pulled his knot free from Yomi's greedy lips.

With his cock slathered in Yomi's hot saliva, he flipped the Omega over on his stomach quite easily. Pressing his cock to his backside, he waited for Yomi to shudder.

"You... ha... you fucker..." Yomi grunted. He wrapped his arms around a pillow in front himself, baring his ass to his master.

"It's alright, Yomi..." Beneath Yomi's legs, Makoto stroked his cock and gave it a few pumps. Then, he inched forward and slipped inside of Yomi's warm depths. The redhead whined, launching his back upwards. Makoto bucked in turn, slamming back with another thrust to fit more inside of him. He groped Yomi's ass, then gave it a merciless, surprising slap.

"FUCK!" Yomi cried. He raised his ass higher, the sting burning into his flesh. It felt so good, so addicting. He was stuck in the thrall of wanting more and the fear of what would become of him. It was then that he realized... he had no choice anymore. His instincts flooded his thoughts and drowned his mind in urges. Panting like an animal, he took Makoto's cock with each thrust as it hammered that fleshy knot inside of him. One thrust, two thrusts... three... and it was within his ass, binding them together again.

"Fuck... fuck....ah....no...." He couldn't help it. Even in front of Makoto, Yomi broke down and wept. His eyes were burning. It was too much. There was too much inside of him. The knot pulsed inside his ass, making him bury his nails into the white sheets as the tip of Makoto shoved against his button. The pleasure snaked through Yomi's cock, leaving him sputtering and unintelligible. Again and again, Makoto gripped his ass and fucked him.

Yomi knew. Between the tears that he fought back against and the brutal fucking he was locked in, he knew he was an Omega. He was submitting and worse, he didn't want to stop submitting. He buried his face and came against the white sheets beneath. Thick ropes of cum coated the bed and his thighs. He collapsed and still, Makoto fucked him again and again, stirring him up all over once more.

Behind him, finally, Makoto let out a pleasured groan and buried himself up to his balls inside of his Omega, letting out three spurts of hot cum within Yomi. He collapsed atop Yomi, letting his lips find his lover's neck. Yomi complied with him, even if he growled. It almost made Makoto chuckle. He certainly didn't expect Yomi to ever be easy.

But for now... Yomi was utterly his...

The children forming inside of the Director of Amaterasu Corporation were going to be strangely blessed by a newly domesticated Yomi Hellsmile.

#mdarc #master detective archives: rain code #rain code #yomi hellsmile #makoto kagutsuchi #makoyomi #helltsuchi #omegaverse #alpha beta omega #nsft prompts #thanks for the ask!

[empresskylo]

It's Raining Vengeance - Ch. 8

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7

Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Batman x Female!Reader Series Summary: (Based on The Batman 2022) It happened a while ago: the day you stumbled into the batman. And ever since, he seemed to pop up exactly when you needed him. You thought it was stupid to try and be his friend. He thought it was dangerous to let you in. Both of you did it anyway. Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2k+

series masterlist | main masterlist | AO3

It must have been near midnight by the time Bruce was bloody and bruised and ready to call it a night. The storm had been unrelenting, he hoped you got home safely.

Maybe he should call you? To make sure you got back safely. 

’I can take care of myself’ He heard your words reverberate in his head. That calmed his nerves slightly, he knew you were smart and resourceful. Then his thoughts flickered back to the van filled with steroid, rotted men, and his fists clenched, the rubber from his gloves crunching. Bruce was already a wreck trying to save his city, but now he had you to worry about. He had a person he cared about who kept putting themselves in danger. This is exactly what he never wanted to happen—granted, he never thought it would with the way he seldomly socializes. But the idea of shutting you out hurt just as much. And he knew that even if he did that, he’d still care and worry about you just the same. 

But you’d be safer if you weren’t associated with him, his mind thinking about the blonde man who demanded how you knew Batman.

He rode his bike down into the bat cave (which proved to be a challenge in the storm, though it was dying down), shoving it to the side and soaking in the dry air. He was wet and soggy from the rain, desperately wanting to get out of his suit. His boots rattled as he walked, droplets of water flying off them with each step.

The elevator sounded and he looked in that direction. Alfred stepped out and made his way to Bruce. 

“You make it home okay?” Bruce asked him. Bruce was shifting uncomfortably in his suit, he needed to pry it off. 

“Mhm,” Alfred paused for a moment. “There’s someone here to see you. 

Bruce froze and his chest tightened. He didn’t have to ask who. He knew exactly who it was. It was written all over Alfred’s face.

—

You sat at the ornate table in the middle of the room, Alfred pacing in front of you. 

You had changed into spare clothes given to you by the older woman. You realized they were his when you held them up in the bathroom. 

The dark t-shirt hung loosely around your torso, the sweatpants needing to be rolled up. 

You looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror. You were standing in his clothes. Dear god. How did you get yourself into this mess?

Your hair still sat in a damp bundle by your neck as you watched Alfred walk back and forth. 

Your cheeks turned red every time you remembered who’s dry clothes you were sitting in. Who’s table you were propped in front of. Who’s butler you were talking to.

“How did you…” Alfred began, his voice slicing into the silent air.

You knew what he was trying to ask. He knew you had figured out that Batman was Bruce, but you didn’t outright say it to him, so he was choosing his words carefully.

“It was pretty obvious,” you laughed. Alfred looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “I mean, his jawline is very distinct…” you blushed at your words, hoping Alfred didn’t notice. “He left half his face out of the mask! I recognized him almost immediately.”

“Yes, right,” Alfred spoke anxiously. Did Bruce know? Had he seen you at the gala? Was Bruce about to walk into a dumpster fire? 

All these questions Alfred didn’t know the answer to. It’s not like he could turn you away. It was raging outside! And the fact that he addressed you by your name before you told it to him…

Alfred liked you based on what Bruce had said about you to him. He wanted Bruce to reveal himself to you. He wanted to see Bruce happy. 

He relaxed. Maybe he’ll finally have someone besides Alfred who will know of his duo identity. This was a good thing—hopefully.

—

Hours had passed and you entertained yourself by exploring the tower. You looked at the many books, the ornate carvings, the grand staircases–it was unlike anything you had ever seen before. 

You crouched down, now in a sort of office or personal library (you couldn’t tell with how damn dark they kept it in here), and pulled out a book. You walked it to the desk and went to set it down when you saw photos sprawled out across the table's surface. 

There were photographs of all kinds of things, all with a red hue. They were of people, of places, of zoomed-in details. It was some sort of log of information. A stockpile of things Batman saw that he used for his detective work. Curious, you pushed a few about to see some more. 

Wait . You thought. Is that me?

Underneath the scattered pile there was a photo of you. Smiling, your forehead bleeding. It was one of the nights Batman had come to rescue you. You remember laughing at him, saying he was overreacting. 

You set the book down and picked up the photo, looking at it more closely. Your hair was messy and had dried blood amongst the wild strands. It was quite the juxtaposition to your open-mouthed smile as you laughed at something you said that you couldn’t remember. 

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You knew those footsteps… 

— 

Bruce went up to the main floor, keeping his bat suit on. He couldn’t bring himself to remove it if he knew he was to be seeing you. He wanted to think that maybe you hadn’t recognized him. Maybe you were ogling at something behind him. 

He knew that wasn’t true. He saw how you were looking into his eyes. The way you had stopped in your tracks and shot your head back at him. You knew .

He walked across the floorboards, seeing your silhouette in the open library. His heart leapt. You were really here.

Alfred walked beside him. His boots clambered on the floor as he made it into the doorway. 

He watched you pause what you were doing, your body facing away from him. You slowly turned around, now facing Batman in all his glory.

He quickly noticed your outfit. It was much different than what you had on at the gala. You were in his clothes. Alfred!

He liked the way they looked on you, though. 

His eyes traced your face but you remained expressionless. You both stared at one another, not sure of where to go from here. 

Alfred shifted, the floorboards creaking.

“I’ll be…” his voice trailed off as he awkwardly backed away and left the area.

Bruce walked into the room a bit more, his cape leaving a small trail of water as he did.

You looked down at the photo in your hand then quietly held it up for Bruce to see.

Had he crossed another boundary? Of course, he did, what was he thinking?

You looked back at the photo then set it down on top of the book you left on the desk.

“I look like complete shit in that,” an exasperated laugh escaped your lips.

Bruce’s jaw stayed clenched, watching you. Trying to decipher what you were going to do next. 

Your fingers tapped along the desk, turning your body to face him once more.

Your eyes connected with his. They hurt. You felt embarrassed with the way you learned to care for the Batman, and how you thought that maybe he felt the same for you. 

“I’m sorry I’m not what you expected.” He knew you had been let down when you learned his true identity. How every time he did something wrong, you were let down.

“What? Is that why you didn’t want to tell me? You thought I’d be disappointed with who you were under there?” 

To some degree, yes. The confidence and strength Batman exuded ended at Bruce. He was nothing like the Batman.

“It’s safer this way.”

You rolled your eyes. “God! Why can’t you just be fucking honest with me?”

“I am,” Bruce said, confused. 

You sighed, your palms getting sweaty. You felt your body fidgeting as you fought back tears.

“It’s always about how much safer I'll be without you. Just tell me you don’t care! I know I am just a burden to you. That I get in the way. I cause you nothing but extra work! Why can’t you just tell me that?! Why couldn’t you just be honest so I didn’t embarrass myself?! So I didn’t keep seeking you out like an idiot!” You were yelling. It wasn’t his fault that you read things wrong. You didn’t have a reason to be as mad as you were.

“I am being honest, Y/N.” His voice wavered. 

“Batman, Gotham’s famous vigilante can’t even tell a girl when she’s dragging him down!”

“You’re not dragging me down!” The sudden increase in Bruce’s voice startled you, and he saw the way you slightly reclined backward. He was doing nothing but hurting you. Why couldn’t he just get things right for once? The last thing he wanted to do was cause you pain. 

“I do care for you,” he finally said, his words full of force. He wanted to openly care for you, but even now, with the way he let his frustration get the better of him, watching you recline from him…

You suddenly felt small, your voice settling to a much softer tone. “Then why can’t you let me in?” 

The way he wanted to protect you but would push you away was killing you. Then he’d show up at your apartment and watch you through your windows. It wasn’t fair. 

“You know I care. I can see how you’re lying to yourself.” He took a step forward. “Why do you think I kept that picture of you?” 

You shrugged, tears welling in your eyes. “So you keep saying.” Your arms crossed, holding your body in on itself. “If you want me to stay, take off the mask,” you insisted. “Stop playing with me, Bruce.” There it was, his name in your mouth again. 

Bruce inched closer again, now only a few feet in front of you. “I—“ his voice wavered. “I can’t.”

Your arms flew up in disbelief. “I’ve already seen who you are, Bruce Wayne!” 

His name on your tongue sounded so foreign, yet it flowed perfectly out of your mouth. 

“I can’t,” he mumbled again. 

You shook your head, tears falling down your cheeks. “I can’t keep…” your voice faltered. You couldn’t keep doing this with him. It was torture. “I’m going to leave then.” Your eyes darted up and connected with his in a challenge. He stayed motionless, watching you. You paused, waiting for him to say something like you always did. 

And as usual, he remained silent.

Your lips formed a tight line, your eyes now leaving his as you walked past him, your shoulders brushing as you did. Your hands came up to wipe your eyes as you stumbled out into the hall where Alfred stood. 

“Where are you going? What happened?” He asked, concerned at your tear-stained face and your rush to leave. 

“Tell him that I’ll mail his clothes back, or something. I don’t know. I have to go,” you spoke frantically, desperate to leave before you changed your mind. 

“Miss, whatever he did, know that he cares about you—“

“Yes, he's made that clear!” You said in a huff, eyes rolling. It’s as if caring for someone is enough. That you should just continue on as you were, never getting close to him. Just accepting that he’ll never let you in further. That it was all okay because he cared.

Bruce appeared at the end of the hall, seeing your figure as it hurried to escape his home. 

You turned as you went to step in the elevator to leave and spotted Bruce in the shadows, watching you through the mask. 

Then the doors closed, cutting you from his view. 

He couldn’t let you in. He never wanted to let anyone in again. 

But… he did want to let you in. He tried. He really tried. But… It's too dangerous. 

And he didn’t know how. 

The photograph of you hung loosely in his fingertips.

He wasn’t enough for you. 

So he let you go. He watched you leave .

Ch. 9

#the batman #the batman 2022 #batman x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fanfic #bruce Wayne insert #bruce wayne one shot #batman one shot #batman imagine #battinson #robert pattinson #its raining vengeance #bruce wayne headcanon #dc #dc fanfic #bruce wayne x reader #smut #bruce wayne smut #batman smut #the batman imagine #the batman fanfic #the batman one shot

[fernsandsunflowers]

Naming your Neurodiversity

I don't know if this will help anyone, but I want to tell you about Agatha.

A friend told me about their new trick to managing their depression that's been helping them a lot. They named their depression. I immediately loved the idea, and I had barely formed the thought "what would I name my ADHD" that the name Agatha fell in perfect place in my mind and there she was. Wild, feral and romantic.

I know techniques aren't universal but I never anticipated then how much naming her would help me, so I wanted to share it here in case it would help someone else.

Getting know Agatha, who she is, what she likes, what motivates her, has helped me be so much kinder to myself and just love myself. I used to curse and yell and scream at myself for my inability to function, but how can I treat Agatha that way? She wants to be wild and free, and run around and paint and make random things and rearrange the kitchen cupboard and eat funny tasting food. She loves stories and philosophizing and she wants to find out how things work and how words became words and what that specific plant she saw a week ago is called ("just describe what it looks like on google and if you don't do it right now I will absolutely die" - she's dramatic like that). She wants to go days researching a random thought she had while I was trying write my paper because "wouldn't that be so cool? and it's totally relevant to this paper, I'm sure of it". She wants to storm and rage at the world and revels in plotting petty revenges just for the fun of it. and she's constantly singing though she always forgets the words.

How can I be cruel to her? She's amazing and honestly such a great fucking time. So we hangout a lot now. We paint and philosophize and we start writing stories never to be completed, and order desserts and buy random shit online together. Everyday in my mind, I'm figuring out her personality -- I was talking to another friend a few days ago and we were talking about anxiety and depression and figuring out if these states are the symptoms of adhd or separate to it, at any given moment. And I realized my anxiety was not related to Agatha... anxious is not her.

I'm just doing so much better. I'm not tired and angry and sad all the time. When I spend a whole day getting nothing that needed to get done done, I'm not screaming at myself I just say, 'it's ok, Agatha, we'll try again tomorrow." When I'm completely paralyzed and I want to punch a wall again and again and again, I see Agatha in my mind curled up and crying because she's just having a bad day and she's overwhelmed and her whole body feels like it's being pulled by a hundred horses in hundred different directions - so I just sit down next to her and keep her company until it passes. In the long run, I don't really know if this will help me be more productive or be more functional. I'm working on how we can find a good balance. Agatha just has a different idea of productive and functional, I guess, and that's OK - maybe in the future we can come to a compromise, or maybe we can finally and finally find something where compromise isn't necessary at all. Especially now that I know her, maybe together we can figure out what that latter something is.

All I know is or what I've come to realize through all this is that I don't actually want to tie her up and lock her away - I don't want to compromise her. The world isn't her fault. We just gotta find a way to be that let's her be free.

This is all probably related to the defusion technique I was told about years ago in therapy, and 'would you say those things to a friend' and inner child healing and all the stuff that Inside Out was based on - I don't really know and I don't necessarily want to know the science behind the Magic. I want to let Agatha become whoever she wants to without adding technique to it you know? Which is honestly very in-character for her. Agatha, hates being told what to do and how to do things.

As always didn't intend for this to be this long, but no longer apologizing! I wish for you all to find your Agatha, and when you do, if you want to, tell me about them.

#adhd #neurodivergent #neurodiversity #mental health #self care

[mazhazalotofthoughts]

Harry Styles, Queerbaitor or Queer Icon? (Mock Article)

Maz Love, The Larry Times

Harry Styles, where do I even begin. When I was assigned this topic I didn’t realize how opinionated and outwardly spoken his fans, and the general public are on his every move. It seems everyone and their grandmother has an opinion on him. After scouring both sides of a very polarized fan base and general public, I have come to the conclusion that all these extreme views are rooted in homophobia, transphobia and an overall lack of understanding of the queer experience.

When Styles was cast as Tom Burgess- a closeted gay police man in Bethan Roberts screen adaptation of her book My Policeman, there was one term I kept seeing repeatedly- Queerbaiter. Many were outraged that Styles, a seemingly heterosexual man was cast as a queer character, thus taking away a big opportunity from an actual queer person. It’s been a long standing debate within Hollywood on whether it’s okay to cast straight actors in queer roles. Many would argue that it’s not. There are of queer actors who deserve the recognition and more importantly, it acknowledges that being queer isn’t something you can try on and off like a shirt. With Styles playing Tom and his history of co-opting important parts of queer culture, many are quick to call out the singer as a queerbaiter. Saying he is someone who uses the queer aesthetic to increase profits and cultural relevance. These claims are not unfounded. Styles has been an open advocate for love in all forms, routinely runs around with pride flags at his concerts, helps fans come out and actively breaks gender norms. These should be great things right? But Styles has refused to comment on his sexuality, has only dated women in the public eye, and when asked about using the queer aesthetic for profits his response was a throwaway, claiming he just likes what he likes. Many queer people are upset that this high profile man has been able to avoid labeling his sexuality even as he continues to take gay roles and use the queer aesthetic like it’s not something people aren’t killed, abused and beaten for on a daily basis all while dating a woman.

I can understand where these folks are coming from. Their rage isn’t unfounded or misplaced. Styles, for all intents and purposes is heterosexual to the general public and by taking on the the role of Tom Burgess and waving around pride flags like they are anything more than fabric to him, must be disheartening.

However, I will ask, does anyone, regardless of their public stature, owe us an explanation on their gender or sexuality? Are queer celebrities required to sit down and record a twenty minute video describing when they first knew they weren’t straight? Or a tweet officially declaring themselves a member of the alphabet mafia? No. They don’t. Styles is not the exception.

After seeing the commentary on Styles sexuality the one thing that kept coming up for me was what they were basing their assumptions on. He wore a dress on vogue, no straight man would do that, he must be gay. He paints his nails and wears designer clothes, no straight man cares that much about their appearance to dress up each day. All these little comments are really just reflections on the harmful stereotypes queer men face. It sets a standard for what queer looks like. It makes it hard for more masculine men to be taken seriously when they come out, it immediately places more feminine men into a box that they may or may not fit into. And more importantly, it’s assuming someone’s sexuality based on their clothes and expression.

Harry Styles wearing a dress or painting his nails is not an indicator of his sexuality. Nor is it an open invitation to discuss it. Now, Styles has been dropping what many in the community refer to as ‘queer codes’ since the early days of one direction. And while the general public may not know the words to a rarely played unreleased song, his fans do. In his song Medicine which Styles started playing on his first world tour, the lyric “I mess around with him, and I’m okay with it” can be heard, oftentimes with a smirk, coming out of Harry’s mouth. He released “Lights up,” a song which has been deemed a bisexual anthem by fans on national coming out day. Styles is very careful to use gender neutral pronouns when talking about love interests and many of his songs (She, Fine Line, As it Was, and the music video for Treat People With Kindness) deeply explore the themes of gender and the gender binary. Now, these things are often overlooked by the general public but I find it important to note that Styles has been insinuating his ties to the queer community for years and that his unwillingness to give the public a definitive label is not from a place of malice or deceit, but for the simple reason that he does not owe anyone his label. That label is his, and it’s his choice on whether he wants to share that label with the world. And if not, that should not give his fans the wherewithal to call him a queerbaiter and say he’s pretending to be gay for money. It reinforces the narrative that queer people have to come out in order to be seen a queer. They don’t. Queer people will be queer whether they tweet about it or never tell a soul.

This applies to Styles and every other celebrity out there. He has made his concerts a safe space for everyone, his rainbow flag waving is the highlight of his shows for many, and he will make a wonderful Tom Burgess that will be cherished for years to come.

So let’s leave the homophobic stereotypes and standards in the past and let people, not matter how famous do what they want without knowing down their doors for explanations

#harry styles #harry is gender #harry’s house #harry’s gender #get ready for the queer content #harry is queer #mock article #I wanna be a journalist #harrys house #harry’s identity #harry’s sexuality