HELLO MORTALS

this is a quick get to know ! I should probably actually do that now...

I'm Cupid, 20 years old, I'm an aries. I write kinda mediocre fics, but I like them so who cares. My ao3 is also cupidsworstcrime !

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ [MASTERLIST] working on it

ask tag : #ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ cupids asks

irl ramble tag : #ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ cupids talks

CURRENT OBSESSIONS

He knocked gently on the balcony glass, knuckles tapping just enough to let you know it was him.

It was late. He was tired. Bleeding a little. Okay—a lot. But his feet still brought him here. Always here.

The door slid open with a soft scrape.

“Oh my God, Jason,” you muttered, reaching for his arm, fussing immediately. “You’re tracking blood on my rug again—”

He laughed, low and unbothered, already kicking off his boots. “It’s not that much.”

You glared, but there was no heat in it. Just affection under the exasperation. “You’re here every night,” you said, tugging at the collar of his suit to check his shoulder. “You should just move in.”

Jason blinked.

And then—without thinking, without panicking, without planning five exits and six excuses—he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said simply, and leaned in to kiss her temple. “Okay.”

Jason never thought of himself as old. Thirty-four wasn't a grave sentence—not for someone who’d died already.

But then you showed up.

Bright-eyed, soft-voiced, and barely a breath over twenty. Just a flicker of life in the city’s constant dark. And suddenly, he felt like some grim, brooding relic. A man with blood on his hands and too many ghosts in his head, watching a girl who should’ve been invisible to someone like him.

But you weren't.

You moved through your little apartment like the world couldn’t touch you. Laughing at old movies, dancing in threadbare socks, mouthing lyrics to songs you thought no one could hear. You’d hum into the night, while Jason crouched on the rooftop like a feral thing, helmet in hand, trying to remember how to breathe.

You didn’t belong in his world.

You belonged in bookstores, under heavy blankets, beside coffee cups and hands that hadn’t broken bones.

He felt like a fucking creep every time he lingered too long. Thirty-four and loitering outside a twenty-something’s window like some twisted shadow. He told himself it was patrol. That he was just making sure your street stayed clean. That he was just being careful.

But it wasn’t true.

He knew your schedule. Knew when you got home, when your lights turned off, what color your robe was, what pages you re-read at night because your lips moved along with the words.

You’d glance at the window sometimes. Like you felt him watching.

And he’d retreat a step back into the dark.

He could go down there. Could speak. Could give you a name—Jason. Just Jason. Not Red Hood, not the vigilante with blood under his nails and a death certificate in his past.

But what the hell would he say?

“Hey, I’m twice the trauma and almost ten years older. Thought I’d make your life harder.”

No. Better to stay in the shadows. Better to keep the distance.

Still… that gap between you two? It didn’t stop him from watching.

And one night, it might not stop him from coming down.

was writing for my getting sober fic and i realized i was just writing my really weird situationship with my best friend that is ABSOLUTELY FUCKING DATING AND HE'S IN SUCH FUCKING DENIAL I COULD RIP MY HAIR OUT

the best fics come from a place of pain.

FTM!Simon that doesn't shave. Why would he? Body hair is hot, bushes are in. Till he gets his first yeast infection at 35 years old. And best believe he blames Johnny, that mangey fuck. He's struggling to apply ointment, he's near tears over the itching that wont relent. So he shaved it all off.

'No Si, dont shave, the pubes protect-'

'go fuck yerself i need it to STOP'

The ointment against his bare skin feels like a blessing, so he sends a prayer to the big man upstairs. He's all fixed up in 2 short days

Next time he and Johnny fuck? Johnny is distraught!!

'Baby??? Why is he bald???'

'...'s not bald... gots s'me stubble on him....'

Johnny who literally sobs against simons cunt.

Darrow O'Lykos tells himself it's a matter of duty.

That it just so happens his visits to your block are becoming a regular part of his watch. It's nothing personal. He’s the Sovereign’s husband, a man of responsibility. His work keeps him away for long stretches, but when he’s on business, he has his orders—routine checks, assessments of the soldiers’ readiness, briefings. But there’s one soldier who’s caught his eye. You.

It has nothing to do with the way you move with purpose, the steady rhythm of your steps as you cross the hold, your posture always alert and yet carrying an ease, a quiet grace. Your strength is palpable, even when you're just standing still, as though the very air around you knows you're capable of more than you let on.

Darrow watches from the shadows of the ship, his eyes lingering on the way you work. You’ve proven yourself—a warrior with a sharp mind and iron resolve. But it’s not just that. There’s something about the way your quiet intensity contrasts against the rough, harsh life of the Reds. You’re young, barely over twenty, but there’s an earnestness to your spirit that calls to him, something that promises to bend without breaking, something soft he can’t quite place but is drawn to.

You don't know he's watching, of course. Not yet. He’s careful. He’s methodical. Just a flash of his cloak disappearing behind a wall or a corner, never more than a few minutes at a time. He tells himself it’s just practical—a quick check in, just in case. But there's an ache in his chest, a yearning he didn't expect to feel.

Your routine becomes something he memorizes. The sound of your boots on the ground when you leave in the mornings. The way your back straightens when you stand guard. The way you take your meals alone, always near a window, always looking out at the stars like you belong to them more than anything else. It shouldn’t feel like this. He’s been with Virginia for years—he’s loyal to her. He promised her he'd always come back, always be hers.

But the permission she gave him... when she agreed to let him find someone else to warm his bed while he’s away, something twisted in him. He didn't think he'd actually use it. But then again, he’s never been good at ignoring what his instincts tell him.

He already knows who it’ll be. It’s you. The thought stirs something in him, an itching need that’s not entirely physical, though it starts there. It's the way you stand apart from the others, the way you don’t know the darkness that swims just beneath the surface of your world. And it makes him wonder—could you?

His steps grow heavier the more he watches, the more he lingers, longer than he should. Always just out of your reach. He can almost taste the tension, the desire. But he's patient. He knows how to wait. The moment will come.

And when it does, he won’t be just a shadow in the dark. He’ll claim you for his own. And that will be the beginning of the end.

FTM!Simon absolutely owning conservatives on the daily. like dudes in the military, he's had at least 6 interactions like this:

random soldier: something something "I don't care that they exist, i just think bathrooms should be biological sex only. Puts women at risk y'know?"

The Ghost™️: "ya want someone like me in the womens?"

random soldier: "no??? I just said i dont want men in womens bathrooms"

The Ghost™️: trying not to laugh "I have a cunt, ya fuckin' daffy."

i am drunk with ftm!simon thoughts.... i need him.... im desperate for a big big man