#i'm very normal about this beast can you tell

[nickeeree]

y'know what? i think i'll just post all of my Bracken art even though some of it is not so pretty

from oldest to newest!

ref translation below (i'm too lazy to edit the ref in english whoop sorry)

leaves rise to intimidate prey. lowered when at rest

extra joint

forehead eyebrow cheekbone parietal bone temporal bone fused upper and lower jaw + nasal bone skull sutures + Rapax-folium specimens don't have jaws so all the sutures of the skull are connected motionlessly

???vibrissae for reading oscillations and vibrations??? (<- got too silly)

#nickeeart #lethal company #lethal company bracken #bracken #regarding the vibrissae thing -> you see my main hc is that bracken can't hear or smell #but they do however have great eyesight with night vision and they also can sense a lot of things #heartbeats or soundwaves for example #that's how they locate their prey #i'm very normal about this beast can you tell #also baby bracken. bracken cub. or bracken sprout?

[lemonlover1110]

Hello! I hope you are doing well 😌 you are my fav writer and I just wanted to to throw out this crazy brainrot request to u bc I am SICK over it

So Florence nightingale syndrome right? Toji is like a professional boxer or whatever something athletic bc he's a fucking beast and he gets hurt, like his leg or something, and you become his at home occupational therapist. So you're like taking care of him and he's getting feelings for you while also being a stubborn ass bc u push him constantly so he can get better. and he's super hesitant to accept his feelings bc he's a Playboy of course.

I'm just picturing this one scene where you're helping him up and he's leaning on you and he says something like "are you sure you can handle me princess?" Idk I'm insane I'm sorry 😭😭😭😭

Pairing: boxer!Toji Fushiguro x f!caregiver!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, frustrated Toji, Florence nightingale syndrome, Toji has an injured leg and is a little bitch for a bit

*This was so fun to work on and now I'm having thinking a little too hard about boxer toji (I'm ovulating) sofjsof enjoy!

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Toji never really thought he’d be dependent on someone, yet now he can’t even take a shower standing up. After an unlucky boxing match, Toji ended up in a cast and crutches. That’s what he gets for not listening to his son who told him it was around time to retire.

“I’m not a fucking skeleton, I’m good in my field. I can do this for a couple more years.” How he wishes he could swallow his fucking words. He thought that after getting the cast off he’d go back to normal, and he’d have no issue with mobility. He shouldn’t have an issue moving his fucking leg again, he’s been moving it for more than thirty years, why should three months of not moving it change much?

Apparently he can’t do anything, which is why he has someone with him all day every day, helping him so he can get better. Toji’s main issue? He gets frustrated when someone tries to help him. 

“Be careful, it’s hot.” You smile at him as you put his dinner in front of him. He has a scowl on his face as you set it down in front of him. He tried to help make dinner but he couldn’t stand for too long. He’s mad, but not at you. He could never be mad at you. 

Toji wasn’t necessarily fond of you when you started working with him; he hates being dependent on someone else, and he knew that he would have to depend on you for pretty much everything. You try to help him though, and he should be more appreciative of you because of it, but in reality he feels like a fucking baby. He’s grown to like you though… A little too much for his liking. 

You leave him to eat, going to wash the dishes since he can’t do the task yet. Perhaps his own bowl and spoon, but not everything that needs to be cleaned. You watch him from the counter, watching his refusal to pick up the spoon and eat the soup you made him. Earlier he was so prideful, telling you that he would help you every step of the way during dinner, and he couldn’t even finish one third of it. You were proud of him regardless.

“It’s really good, Toji! The potatoes you helped peel really added a touch to it.” You’ve gotten close enough to be on a first name basis. You see each other every day, you stay in the same house, of course you’re close enough to talk to each other so casually. It doesn’t mean you should though. You’ve always managed to keep a very professional relationship with patients, but there’s just something about him that makes it hard for you to be normal around him.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a fucking kid.” He says, pushing the bowl of soup away. He’s not hungry anymore. Toji stands up, his hands holding on to the table to support himself before grabbing his crutches. 

“Toji, if you’re not eating it, can you try to bring it over to me, please?” You ask. You know the soup has cooled down, if he spills it, he’ll be fine.

“If you want it, pick it up yourself.” Toji is clearly mad. You don’t take it to heart though, because you know it’s with himself and not you. 

“How about we go to the park tomorrow? It’s supposed to be a nice day out.” You talk to Toji who tries to watch a documentary. He’s not all that interested in what he put on, caring more about what you have to say. He might not show it, and he tries to deny it, but he has the biggest soft spot for you. “We can also get some ice cream, if you’re in the mood!”

“Hey… I’m sorry about earlier. I was just—” It’s hard to get an apology out of him, but sometimes he knows he’s in the wrong and he feels the need to apologize. He doesn’t want you to be mad at him, even though you’re clearly not upset with him. You’re so understanding and patient with him, he feels like he doesn’t deserve that.

“You’re fine, Toji.” You reassure him with a smile, your hand going over his balled up fist. You feel your heart skip a beat as you touch him. You’ve crossed the line past a professional relationship, and you should set some boundaries within yourself– But his other hand goes on top of your own before he brings it up, softly kissing your knuckles. It’s hard to set boundaries when he feels the same way.

“I’m tired.” He tells you, and you stand up to help him get up. Toji usually denies your help, but this time, he has no problem accepting it. You just want the best for him, and there’s some things that he can’t do completely alone. He has to take baby steps. He’s using you for support, and he’s scared that he’s too heavy for you. He asks you, “Are you sure, princess? Can you handle me? I know I’m pretty big.”

“You’re fine. I can handle you.” You reassure him, and you begin to walk to his bedroom. His room was previously on the second floor, but ever since his injury, he’s moved his bedroom to the first floor. You get him to his bedroom, helping him on the bed. You smile at him before saying, “Let me grab your crutches. You left them in the living room, right?”

Before you can walk away, he grabs your sleeve. Toji’s slowly realizing that he can’t fight off the feelings that consume him when you help him, and he’s usually not a fan of them. Toji’s been tied down once before, he certainly doesn’t want that again. But with you, it’s different. He doesn’t mind the idea.

“Will you lay down with me?” He asks, and you suck in your bottom lip between your teeth. You shouldn’t. He caresses your cheek with the back of his hand before he prompts himself up to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“Toji, you know this isn’t something I can do.” You tell him as he looks lovingly into your eyes. “I’m here to help you get better.”

“You can help me get better by laying down next to me.” Toji responds. You grab the hand that so lovingly touches your cheek and kiss it, before bringing your lips down to meet his momentarily. He swears he hears fireworks when your lips meet, even after you pull away.

He’s most definitely in love with you.

“I’ll go get your crutches. Good night, Toji.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #toji fushiguro #jujutsu toji #toji zenin #dilf toji #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro x you #daddy toji #toji imagine #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x y/n #jjk toji #toji fluff #toji x reader #toji x you #toji jjk #fushiguro

[darkbluekies]

never trust a cupcake

Female!yandere x male!reader

Summary: mean boy yn got too popular for Hedwig's taste, so she took him

A/N: started to write this oneshot back in August/September but never finished, so I'm releasing what I had done as a drabble instead :)

Warnigns: hedwig goes insane, poison/drugs, knife, kidnapping, throwing up

You can't remember what happened. You were eating the cupcakes you got from Hedwig and suddenly … you felt sick. You must have fallen asleep. But where are you now? You look around, head pounding. You're in a … kitchen? A very fancy kitchen. Whatever Hedwig put in the cupcakes, you still feel sick and as if you're about to throw up. You try to stand up from the chair you've been placed on and quickly notice that your hands are tied behind your back and your feet to the legs. Confusion starts to fade into anger and you tug at the ropes harshly. One thing leads to another and you end up on the floor. The loud sound of wood hitting marble echoes through the large room. You manage to lift your head in the last second before it smashes against the floor.

Suddenly, a familiar face runs in. The anger runs off. Confusion is back.

"Hedwig?" you pant.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize that you were awake!" she apologizes quickly and pulls the chair up with you on it. She cups your cheeks and she lets her hand wander into your hair. "Are you hurt? You didn't hit your head in the fall, did you?"

You turn your head back and forth to get free from her grip.

"What have you done?" you ask harshly.

"W-What do you mean?" Hedwig asks unsurely.

"Did you kidnap me?!"

"Y-Y/N, please don't say it like that! I didn't kidnap you! I brought you home!" She sighs and lets her shoulders slump, voice grow small. "I couldn't watch you be swarmed by all the girls in school … I had to have you by myself. It doesn't matter if you're mean to me … I still love you."

You stare at her in disbelief. Hedwig has always been clingy and suffocating, but you could never have anticipated that she would kidnap you.

"Hedwig, what the actual fuck?" you breathe out. "Untie me. Now."

"Not yet", she answers hesitantly. "You have to calm down first."

"Calm- …?" You snap. "Who are you to tell me to calm down?! You fucking kidnapped me! How sick in the head do you have to be in the head to do such a goddamn thing?! Untie me now!"

Hedwig’s just standing there … listening. You can tell that something shifts behind her eyes. She's trying to hide that she gets sad. As if she's telling herself that she doesn't care if you're mean, when in reality she does. Telling herself that you can be mean makes her feel better about herself.

"You don't need to be scared", Hedwig says carefully. "I'm not going to hurt you. I didn't mean for us to start our relationship like this … but you got too popular for your own good."

You scoff. Fear has started to creep into your heart.

Hedwig walks over to the kitchen isle where a glass dome covers a neatly stacked tower of cupcakes. She picks out one and walks over to you. The sight of it causes your stomach to turn.

"Here, I think you should eat", she says.

"I'm not eating anything from you", you almost growl. "Do you really think I trust you?"

"This isn't dangerou. It's a normal cupcake." She breaks off a bit and puts it in her mouth. "See?"

You watch how she breaks off another bit and moves closer, close enough for you to smell her perfume. It's sweet enough to make your head spin.

"Open your mouth", she says softly.

"Hedwig …", you say distantly. "I feel sick."

Hedwig suddenly becomes alert and runs for a bucket. She returns and holds it up to your face. The bucket smells of strong cleaning chemicals and that is enough to awoken the beast in your stomach. It spurs out of you like a waterfall.

"Good boy", she says softly, running her fingers through your hair. "Get it out of you. You're doing so good. My good boy …"

Finally, you're cleansed. Hedwig puts the bucket in the hallway and gets you a glass of cold water. You hesitate before gulping it down. She tries again to feed you the cupcake.

"I'm never going to eat cupcakes again", you mutter and glare at her.

"Alright … I understand", she sighs and walks over to the fridge. "Cheese?"

You don't answer. You'd rather have cheese than the cupcake, but you'll not tell her. Hedwig returns with a charcuterie board. She picks up a cheddar cheese.

"Open your mouth", she smiles.

This time, you obey. She places the cheese on your tongue and watches how you chew.

"You're such a good boy", she says dreamily and caresses your cheek. "My boy."

She feeds you some more pieces.

"Can I untie you now?" she asks. "I want to change you out of your school uniform."

You nod frantically. Hedwig sits on her knees to untie your feet and sneaks behind your back. As soon as you're free, you jump up and run.

"Y/N!" Hedwig gasps.

You run over to the front door and grab the majestic handles, but it doesn't matter how much you drag, they're as locked as can be.

"Y/N", she says disappointingly, walking towards you.

"Don't!" you shout and run past her, towards the living room.

You grab the TV remote and throw it towards one of the tall windows. The glass doesn't budge.

"It's not cheap glass", Hedwig says behind you. "You won't be able to break it."

"Let me go, you psycho", you hiss and turn around.

She stands with her hands behind her back and watches you carefully.

"Please stop trying to get out, it won't work", she says. "Even if you get out of the house, you won't get out of the garden. Please stop before you hurt yourself." She takes a step forward. "If you just accept your fate you will be happy. I won't hurt you. I will worship you."

"I don't fucking need that. I don't need you."

You can see that it shatters something in her. She stumbles back a step and gulps.

"Don't say that … please", she says weakly, tears entering her eyes as she shakes her head. "You're just scared. I understand. I don't mean to scare you, but-"

"I'm leaving. Open the front door."

"No! No, you can't!"

You push past her and storm towards the front door. You turn around to tell her to hurry up, but you're met with her holding a knife in her trembling hands. The very hands she hid behind her back. You flinch.

“I want you to go upstairs”, she sniffles and nods at the staircase to your right. “I want to change your clothes a-and tuck you in.” She wipes her runny nose with her white sleeve. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You glance at the knife, at the locked door and at the staircase. Slowly, you move up the marble stairs, head spinning. You’re not angry anymore … only terrified. Hedwig isn’t just annoying … she’s insane.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere oc x reader #yandere fics #yandere stories #yandere female #male reader

[juanarc-thethird]

If interested please DM him

Nora: How was your Valentine's Day?

Jaune: Um... Normal.

Nora: You didn't ask a girl out?

Jaune: No...

Nora: Why not?

Jaune: Because no one is interested in me?

Nora: What?! How is that possible?!

Jaune: Trust me, it is possible.

Nora: Not on my watch! *Leaves*

Jaune: Hey! Where are you going?! *Sighs* Whatever, it's not my problem.

The next day....

Jaune: *Reading a book*

*Ting!*

Jaune: Huh? *Checks his phone* An unknown message?

*Ting!* *Ting!* *Ting!*

Jaune: More?

*Ting!Ting!Ting!Ting!Ting!Ting!*

Jaune: What the?

*TING!TING!TING!TING!TING!TING!TING!TING!TING!TING!TING!TING!*

Jaune: WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!!

Momentas later

JNPR's Room

Nora: *Playing games on her phone while lying in bed*

Jaune: *Shows up* *Angry* What did you do?!

Nora: Do what?

Jaune: You know very well what I mean. What did you do?!

Nora: I seriously don't know what you're talking about.

Jaune: I'm talking about this!

Jaune shows his phone, still being bombarded by messages from unknown numbers.

Jaune: Why do I have a bunch of strangers asking me on a date?!

Nora: *Excited* Really?! That means that my post worked!

Jaune: *Confuse* What post?

Nora: This one!

She selects something on her phone and shows it to Jaune.

"Do you want a Man that has abs? Do you want a man that can cook? Do you want a man that is literally the dream house husband?! Well look no further.

Jaune Arc, the only son of the Arc Family.

Let's talk about features: - Power: No - Money: No - A car: No - Great confidence: Nope... but he has a humongous dick that makes up for everything else.

Let me tell you a story. One day I entered the bathroom without checking to see if anyone was there using it. And when I did it, he poked my eye. "With what?" you might ask. I think we both already know answer to that.

You can present him to your parents, to your sibling who never stops bothering you that you are single and alone, to your weird creepy uncles, to your gossiping fat aunts, to your racist grandmother who no one dares to tell her to stop saying rude things, because for some reason everyone is afraid of her. And I can assure you that all of them will change their ways when they see what a good boy this man is. God damn it! Everyone will want to protect this golden retriever of a person!

Good boy Approved!!

Things this man is old enough to do: - Vote: Yes - Consent to Sex: Yes - Becoming Huntsmen: HE IS ALREADY A HUNTSMEN!

This man has history. He's seen some shit. He has done "things" for his friends. He has killed for his friends. He will not judge you like other people.

Interesting facts: - He is a good boy on the outside, but he is a beast on the inside~ *Wink* *Wink* - He is an Arc, so he is designed for breeding. - He holds the record for most boxes of cereal consumed in one day!

What more can you ask for?!

Look...

Let's face the facts. He may not be the most beautiful person in the world, but you aren't either (I mean that's why you're still single). So stop lying to yourself and stop lying to your mom about that "guy" you met at the supermarket. (We both know that's a lie). He may be too good for you, but he's really desperate. So send him a message and try your luck.

Jaune Arc 206-XXX-XXXX"

Nora: What do you think? Very cool, right?

Jaune:...

Jaune: Am I a joke to you?

#jaune arc #jaune #rwby jaune arc #rwby jaune #nora #nora valkyrie #rwby nora #rwby nora valkyrie #rwby #rwby shitpost #I don't know what the hell I'm doing

[frogchiro]

😭😭god I must share this thought with you about Andrei I can't- though not the tallest, he's definitely built more like a wall than the others, a big and steady and loyal man (which we all know from his loyalty towards makarov), he'd be the most loyal of them all. And definitely listens to everything his wife says like a good husband. Sometimes he gotta bring his wife along with him into the base and stay with him cause the missions ain't easy. He'll be needing some kinds of massage and he'll be asking for it everyday just to feel how close he and his wife could be and how warm could his wife's palm feel like and how if he'd be more aggresive than normal he could just force his wife into the corner and holding them and pressing them on the wall and kiss and hold them like ajgakdklahjwkrk pls andrei pls andrei i couldn't do this anymore 😭😭😭

I've extensively discussed this with my friend @justadeadreaperthat Andrei's motto for live is "Happy wife happy life" and he'd do about anything for his sweet girl <3 Also god bless you nonnie bc this is my first real Andrei ask and I'm so excited😭😭

He loves deeply and fiercely loyal, there's nothing he'd stop at to keep you safe and happy, that includes making you move to the base to keep you safe and under supervision because his Kommandir's (and by extension his) enemies never sleep and he's afraid something will happen to you, so you're to stay here where he can keep an eye on you :((

Andrei is a very busy man, especially now that he's acting as Makarov's right hand man but he always comes back to you at the end of the day and positively melts whenever you greet him with your warm smile and a homecooked meal waiting for him; he's a big man, he need his food after all! At least that's what you tell him when you're caressing his tummy and chest in bed <3

And yes you're so right, he'd be so so happy when you offer him a massage :(( Tensions are high nowadays, there's a lot of work to do but you're there like the sweetest angel, wanting to help your husband and ease at least some of his burdens; something he'll never be able to repay you back in his eyes.

The burly man will let out all the noises, all the guttural groans and moans when your soft hands caress his shoulders and ease the tension there, he will sing you praises as you let out a whispered 'Dyushka' when he stands up from the comfy armchair and gets close to you, covering your smaller body with his burly one and cradles your face in his rough palms as he kisses you passionately, primaly like a beast.

Andrei is a extremely loyal and devoted man and he shows the depth of his love for you almost every night whenever he worships your body like you're his goddess and his offering to you is his heart, his warmth, his love and his seed <33

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #andrei nolan x reader #andrei nolan #andrei nolan cod #cod andrei nolan #andrei nolan call of duty

[kthecutest]

hello uhm I recently just followed your account because I am very interested in the way you write smut stuff or au's in general and hope your gonna like my idea <3

can you please do legal line like including Jo and yuma considering they are I think 19? and whether they are sub or dom <3

if you are not comfortable with writing it it's totally fine<3

and uhm I already asked so much questions but can I be 🤍anon? but if it's not alright its fine<3

-anon

Of course! you can be 🤍anon! I'm sorry I replied so late, I wanted to finish your request by the time I reply ໒꒰ྀི ╥﹏╥ ꒱ྀིა I'm so glad you love my way of writing! and I hope you'll enjoy this post and my upcoming future posts as well!

&Team legal line : Dom&Sub Dynamic˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊

•✩──────✧✩✦✩✧──────✩•

Pairing : &Team legal line x f!reader Genre : NSFW (づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ 🥕 A/N ೃ⁀➷ MINORS DNI

K – Hard Dom

Literally I cannot see K as anything other than a hard dom. No matter how cutesy he acts normally, in bed he’s a beast no doubt. He’s the kind of dom who would set out a whole reward and punishment system from the very beginning. But really it didn’t matter because for you both reward and punishment represents the same thing – pleasure. You don’t even have to request him for any experiments you wanna try out, because he is the most experimental bitch okay. He’s flexible as fuck too so he’ll fuck you in every possible position and make you cum and squirt in each of them. And it’s not just the positions that he’ll be experimenting on, expect to be trying out all sorts of toys in his sight all night until you’re all spent and passed out in the morning. He’ll also edge you as punishment, pulling out his fingers every time you felt your orgasm approaching leaving you whining and sobbing. As reward, he’ll overstimulate you, swirling his tongue skillfully around your clit while pounding three of his digits into your dripping pussy till you feel all numb and dumbified. Dirty talk 100% too, harsher words if its angry sex of course. Prepare for him to degrade you, mock you and tease you in every possible vocabulary ever.

“You wouldn’t want euijoo to see how much of a slut you are right~?”

Fuma – Soft Dom

His body maybe built as fuck but his heart has such a sweet spot for you. He’s more of a lovey dovey person rather than a degrader. But that doesn’t stop him from destroying you with his huge girthy cock though. He’ll pour out praises and whines while pounding into you like there’s no tomorrow. Bro is a softy at heart but he’s definitely not soft down there. Would repeatedly whine your name out loud when he started chasing his own orgasm. 100% into breeding you so bad, just watching your pussy getting filled to the brim with his seed to the point your stomach started swelling up at one point. He’d lose his mind from just that sight. Definitely a cum eater. He would pull out after filling you up, before kneeling on his knees, head between your legs and started lapping up the mixture of your and his cum that spills out your stretched pussy.

“You look so cute… falling apart on my tongue baby..~”

Nicholas – Wild Switch

Feel like everyone in the legal line has their own chosen sides like either dom or sub accurately but this dude, this bitch got no sides, because he be taking every role. All depends on your request. If you say you wanted to take the lead, he’ll definitely lay himself beneath for you to use him however you want. But he’ll still definitely be bratty about it though, would piss you off, mocking you, saying how what you’re doing to him is so ineffective and weak, just so you would grow wilder. But if you put him in charge though… bro turns into K honestly. You cannot stop this man. He is like K number 2, he will have you moaning and gushing all over his cock until you’re on the verge of passing out. Not to mention, it’s very easy to make Nicho jealous, you can easily tell if your little mischievous plan works or not from the look on his face. He’ll drag you away to the nearest isolated area and break your mind with his cock.

“Fuck.. had your fun pissing me off huh~?”

Ej – Soft Sub

Whiny soft sub. That’s what Ej is. It’s just the easiest thing ever to make Ej blush. Just a small dirty little tease and he’s already up and ready, his face flushed. A subby pervert so any slight wording or action, could get his cock twitching to life. Once that happens, you’d best believe you’ve got a whole lot of responsibility on your hands now. Because that boy more specifically his girthy cock has infinite stamina, it ain’t gonna go down in just a few strokes hell no. Vanilla boy though but still could be rough if he’s feeling way too much pleasure. Once his cock is in your mouth, you bobbing your head licking and choking on it, in just a few seconds he’ll find his hands in your hair, pushing your head down in a swift. As you felt his tip goes deeper down your throat, you gagged around it rolling your eyes back. That sight alone could get Mr. Vanilla cumming in a whip, whining out little sorries as he shot his seed into your mouth.

“Aaah~ s-sorry love~ I’m sorry~ I can’t h-hold back..anymore..!”

Yuma – Soft Dom

This boy. This cute ass little kitty, he’s not so much of a kitty when he fucks though. Yuma’s the type of baby boy who would come up to you from behind while you’re cooking or washing the dishes, starts nibbling on your neck sweetly signaling you that he’s horny while rubbing his bulge against your back. There’s no way you could say no when you felt arousal starts pooling in your underwear from his mere actions. Yuma is the type of boyfriend who loves to fuck you with any type of outfits on. Bonus points if they’re intentionally sexy of course, but he still finds you sexy in anything. He’ll rip your skirt in an instant but when you try to get out of your apron, he’ll stop you, telling you that he’d prefer you with only an apron on. You agreed to his little suggestion, taking your top off as well staying only in your apron. It only took a second until he’s pounding into you in a heated state.

“Noona~ you look so good.. exposed for me like this~”

Jo – Average Dom

Shy Jo is definitely a dom but he neither leans on the hard side nor the soft side. He’s just in the middle level kind of dude. But that doesn’t mean he can’t go rough with you. This cute baby-faced cutie could definitely destroy your petite body into oblivion. 100% size kink. The height difference between you and him alone proves it too much. With your petite body, this boy wouldn’t show it on his face but he was secretly getting more and more turned on from how the huge bulge on your stomach was visible every time he pounds into you. But his excitement was definitely obvious from his twitching cock in you. You’d gasp suddenly when you could even feel him getting a bit bigger inside you. And it’s not just in fucking, he also loved and I mean LOVED it when your small mouth was filled with his cock. Your cheeks puffing up, tears welling up in your eyes, as you struggled to breathe, not being able to take it whole. He wouldn’t be too harsh but he would sometimes tug on your head and push your head, making you take more than you can, as he secretly gets turned on seeing the tiny droplets of tears hanging on the edge of your eyes fell down your cheeks uncontrollably.

“..love open wider now.. cmon you can take it..~ just a bit more~”

#&team #andteam #&team imagines #&team scenarios #&team fanfic #&team smut #&team hard thoughts #&team hard hours #&team x reader #&team k #&team nicholas #&team fuma #&team ej #&team euijoo #&team yuma #&team jo #koga yudai #murata fuma #byun euijoo #wang yixiang #nakakita yuma #asakura jo #&team k smut #&team fuma smut #&team nicholas smut #MY HEAD IS HEATED AND A MESS RN #BYE. THIS WAS IT FOR ME

[creature-wizard]

ngl as an abuse survivor the whole “micro trauma” thing makes me roll my eyes back into my head like that’s life babe sometimes we have a negative experience it’s not trauma 💀💀💀 i really feel like so many folks live soft lives that any negative feeling becomes “traumatic” and something to avoid. i don’t think it’s good to conflate times your ego was tested or times that didn’t go exactly your way with genuine trauma. you’re more resilient than that. (obviously this isn’t about day to day trauma living as a bipoc in a racist white society etc but i don’t think you were talking about that either)

Welp, there's a lot to unpack here.

First of all, I'm an abuse survivor with my own share of trauma. I was raised in a form of conservative apocalyptic Christianity where beatings were considered an acceptable form of punishment. Because my parents believed that parental authority was never wrong, and anything a child did or even felt that seemed to challenge that authority (whether intentional or not), I was constantly told that I was wrong for having my own feelings, punished for having my own feelings if I dared to to express them. In addition to this, my family thought I needed to be very aware that the Mark of the Beast was coming and I needed to emotionally prepare myself for beheading once the Antichrist took over and started killing anyone who refused the Mark of the Beast.

In addition to this, I was subject to all of the day-to-day trauma that comes from growing up with ADHD and autism in an ableist society, as well as the trauma that comes from growing up with ADHD and autism in an environment where people think children must be obedient at all times. (My parents believed spanking and slapping was fine, by the way. So, that happened often enough. And when it wasn't spanking or slapping, it was my mother screaming and yelling.)

Now with all of this context established, I'm going to tell you: You don't get to decide who does and doesn't get to have trauma. Trauma doesn't work according to some abstract notion of what should and shouldn't constitute "trauma." People can, in fact, be genuinely traumatized over things that seem totally ridiculous to you.

Also? You don't know what other people are living through. You don't know what goes on behind closed doors. You don't know how people are being traumatized by economic circumstances, by bullshit at the workplace, by knowing that Christofascists want to subjugate them or kill them. You don't know how many people are being slowly traumatized by partners who invalidate and mock them in countless tiny ways every day. You don't know how many people are being traumatized by thinking they should be able to meet certain expectations that they don't realize are based in ableist standards or impossible capitalist ideals.

You've also evidently never had a conversation with someone who can't figure out how they're such a mess because they "don't have a reason to be traumatized," but the more you talk to them the more it comes out that they lived a profoundly messed up life, and were profoundly mistreated in a thousand ways that they didn't even recognize as mistreatment at the time. (No, it's not normal for your mother to call you ableist slurs if you can't tend to her every whim in five seconds.)

You also say "obviously this isn’t about day to day trauma living as a bipoc in a racist white society etc but i don’t think you were talking about that either." And you know what? You wanna know what? I absolutely was, because my post was meant to be inclusive of all forms of microtrauma.

Anyway, I hope you can recognize that suffering and trauma aren't a contest, and trying to decide who does and doesn't "deserve" to have trauma based on your own personal abstract ideals and limited comprehension of their lives doesn't help anyone.

#answered #trauma #child abuse #ableism #racism

[antiyourwokehomophobia2]

Man, this pisses me off so bad. If you're a woman who relates more to males than other women, it's because you've decided to focus more on how you're different from other women rather than how you're like them. You will literally never have more in common with males, and males do not feel the same way about you. These cute little posts that you write about how you love males more than your fellow women? They do not write the same thing about you. They hate and mock you constantly. Anyone remember "Cis women need to shut up"

"As a cis woman, I agree"

"You need to shut up, specifically"

?

Yea, that's how they feel about you and your solidarity.

The difference between lesbians and trans women in female spaces is the fact that lesbians do not have high rates of violence. There is no group of women that outclass men in terms of violent tendencies. Trans women retain the rates of male violence that regular men do. I'm not saying you have to treat trans women like they're all violent beasts, but if you can't see why female people would be uncomfortable with male people in their spaces, you're either naive or genuinely unsympathetic towards the very real fear that women have of being subjected to male violence. You can't say trans women and lesbians are similar because, unlike males, there is no statistical evidence that lesbians are highly likely to take advantage of a woman. If it turned out that 98% of rapes were committed by lesbians, I would 1000% understand why straight women don't fucking want to be around me. Have some fucking empathy, holy fucking shit. Even if you are completely on board with trans women being in female spaces, at LEAST acknowledge that it makes sense for women to be concerned about who is allowed in their spaces. It's crazy how I could tell someone I have a fear of dogs because one bit me when I was a kid, and they'd put their sweet pooch up, but God forbid a woman be cautious around a demographic who commit 90% of all violent crime. Oh no. That woman is suddenly a terf bitch.

I have nothing in common with trans women. I don't care how much pain they have experienced. We are not the same. When I was twelve, I cried and I cried as I put my palms together to pray to a God I hoped would be able to take away my homosexuality. I didn't even grow up in a particularly homophobic family. Both of my parents were accepting of me, but I still sat in the dark of my room, tears streaming down my face, as I prayed to have my sexuality changed.

Two years later, one of my friends made a joke about me dressing to impress my crush. She said my crushes name---a feminine name. A girl sitting in earshot heard her, turned to me, and asked me with disgust if I was gay. I said no without even thinking about it. It absolutely did not help that we were in a locker room with other girls. I was aware of my sexuality by that point, but I was 14 and unable to hold my own against a girl looking at me like THAT. For a few weeks after that, that girl made comments about how she was "watching me".

I know pain, I know discomfort, I know what it's like to feel predatory. Seeing feminine women, especially if they're white, makes me feel like an alien. I look at them and think "how are we so different? I see none of myself in you."

Sometimes I'm right. Sometimes we're not similar at all. But guess what? That doesn't mean I'm similar to a straight male. Fucking hell, sometimes I'm not similar to other lesbians. That's completely normal. I think OP needs to read better work by cishet women. If you think that there is not a single piece of cishet female writing that can move you more than something written by a male, you're not looking in the right places at all. I don't understand why some LB women seem to think that the very act of someone being a straight woman makes them incapable of relatability. Of course it makes sense for you to be cautious. Lesbians deal with a lot of alienation and predatory feelings, but if the very ACT of a woman being cis and straight makes you feel like she has absolutely nothing in common with you...? The issue lies with you. YOU are the one othering THEM. Not the other way around. You're the one who has decided that a few cis straight women othering you means that they ALL will so you'd better beat them to the punch. You're the one who has decided that your relationship to womanhood is so astronomically different from straight women that nothing they say speaks to you. That's INSANE. Do you realize how much you have to alienate yourself from womanhood to feel more relatability with a male person than a female one? Idk how to tell you this, but it is highly probable that the most cis, most het woman you have ever met has had a period. It's highly likely she's been harassed by a man. It's highly likely she's been made to feel inferior by way of being born female. No, they can't relate to the experience of being a lesbian who is made to feel predatory for no reason, but to say that nothing a cis het woman says/experiences can move you at all? Nothing they say can make you feel like your experience with womanhood and hers are similar? Do you realize how you sound? "Trans women have been harassed by men and made to feel inferior, too!!" Okay! So you should be able to relate to cis women in the way you do trans women, right?

I told my discord server that I was nervous about my future roommates. I showed them photos and someone said "all this tells me is that they're feminine and white" and I literally think about that all of the time. I was projecting. I was so scared that these white, feminine, probably straight women were going to judge me for being a black lesbian that I didn't even realize that I was the one violently judging them based off of nothing but their skin color and their femininity. I knew nothing about them. I STILL know nothing about them. I've barely spoken to them. But already I had labeled them as unrelatable judgemental women because of how they looked. Hold on. Wasn't I the one afraid of them judging ME? How could I be so afraid of them judging me for being a black lesbian when I was the one judging them already? What sense does that make?

You guys are so busy writing off cis straight women as unrelatable bigots that you've failed to see that you're the one who is extremely prejudiced against them. And I absolutely fucking know someone is gonna read this and say "well, you can't say that all trans women have male violence patterns and dahdahdahdah" and it's like. But YOU can say that cis straight women are so unbelievably different from lesbian women that you'd rather say you're more similar to a straight up fucking male???

I'm not saying it's not a little jarring to see women who are so different from me. I'm not saying I haven't been burned before and there's no reason for me (or other lesbians) to be cautious. But I will literally ALWAYS have more in common with cishet women than I ever will a man pretending to be a woman.

One time I had a professor. She was on the older side (I'd say 40's) and white. Not the type of person I'd think I'd click well with. She was straight and married with children. One day we talked after class, and the only thing that ended our conversation was the fact she had an event she had to go to. We would've talked longer if not for that. She emailed me a little while later to tell me that she enjoyed our chat. After that, she actually hugged me on two occasions. You wouldn't think we'd have common ground. An older, straight, married white mother and a young black lesbian. Both of us are "cis" but I can tell you I relate to her much better than I ever could someone born male.

I once had a personal trainer who was a feminine woman. She had acrylic nails and everything. One time she said that she couldn't hug her male friends anymore because she had a boyfriend (he wasn't the one enforcing that rule. That was something she personally felt). Also not someone I thought I'd click well with. But we did. One time we had a really productive discussion that was actually derived from the conversation with my professor. I felt very close to her in that moment. Our conversation came to a close because she had another client, but I still think about that convo.

There have been so many fucking times where I thought "this woman is not like me. Look at her." But what I realized was that I was the judgmental one. I was the one deciding we were different, not her. I was the one writing her off. I was the one convinced we had nothing in common.

I am BEGGING you not to alienate your fellow women. There are no inherent traits that make you unable to relate to other women. No amount of whiteness or cisness or straightness can make a woman completely unreachable. I am NOT talking about political parties or views so don't fucking try me with that shit. Obviously that puts a wedge between people, but someone simply being born cis and het does not make them alien from you. For God's sake, look at the fucking MeToo movement. Women from all fucking backgrounds who share an experience that an unfortunate amount of women go through. Women from all different races, sexualities, etc. who came together to talk about how they've been subjected to sexual violence. Ellen degeneres was one of them. How does that fit into your "lesbians and cishet women cannot relate to each other" spiel?

OP's post has 130k notes and it makes me fucking sick. Holy crap y'all, we need more solidarity than this. Other women are not your enemy. I'm begging you to reconsider your approach to women who are different than you. You are missing out on people who can love and support you in a way that literally no male can. You are depriving yourself. Just because a few cishet women in the past alienated you, does not mean that you have to continue their legacy. Let it go. Everyone on earth can see you embracing your hatred of women, and you wonder why your fellow women never hug you? They fucking can't! Put your hatred down and make space for the love that comes with realizing that you absolutely are like other girls!

#You guys think you're so progressive but you're just in a woke version of not like other girls #Stop comparing lesbians to literal males #Jesus fucking Christ #I actually hate you guys so fucking much #I'm never telling anyone I'm gay every again bro #I hate all of you #I should've prayed to be asexual man #Maybe god would've taken me more seriously

[astaroth1357]

That 'Realistic' Summoning act was done very amazingly, it all seems like summoning them is something you should do when you're smart and at the very end of your rope.

Is it alright if we ask how things differ if MC summons them?

Or if a Witch has MC with them for the summoning? (Either as a Friend Way or they Kidnapped them, whatever you feel like you would want to talk about :3

And if not that's fine too!

It's always a joy reading your stuff! )

Ooooh, I like the way you think! 😌

Why MC Can't Have Witch Friends

Building off of my Summoning Headcanons here.

Contents: MC has "Main Character Syndrome" and is always the exception to the rule... most of the time. Very LONG post (because I didn't want to post like three then deal with requests for all of the rest. My inbox still scares me lol)

Scenario: While training in more advanced magic with Solomon, MC made a normal witch friend as a study buddy/fellow intern! Comedy ensures.

~♡♡♡~

MC Summoning Lucifer

*it's 2am on a Wednesday but MC and their witch buddy are just now leaving their alchemy laboratory after cramming for another one of Solomon's tests. Much to their dismay, they see it's raining outside, with water just pelting the pavement outside the windows*

Witch: Seriously?? This wasn’t in the forecast this morning!

MC: *glares at the droplet-coated glass then glances down at the books in their hands* You gotta be kidding...! If I get these tomes wet, Solomon'll kill me...

Witch: That's true, but I mean it's not that bad. I think I know a spell or two that could... Wait, what are you doing...?

*the MC looks away from the phone they were furiously texting on as their friend was speaking*

MC: Hm? Oh! I'm just seeing if anyone can bring me an umbrella.

Witch: You would make someone drive all the way out here just for that...? 🤨

MC: *blinks* Huh? Drive? Oh no, that's not necessary- *their phone dings and they wave it triumphantly* Ah! There we go!

*the MC slides their phone into their pocket before pulling out a stick of chalk from their summoning supplies. Their friend watches with confusion as they begin to draw a circle on the ground, but it quickly escalates to full-blown panic the more that gets filled in*

Witch: Oh. My. Word. What do you think you're doing!?!

*MC looks up from their half completed Pride sigil just in time to see their friend diving for cover behind a stairwell*

MC: W-whoa, whoa, what's wrong???

Witch: *points at the sigil* If that's going to summon who I think it is, then what the HELL is wrong with you?? Are you trying to get us killed?! You don't even have an offering!!

*the MC looks utterly mystified as their buddy struggles to at least find their purifying salts*

MC: What? Killed?? Oh no, I know what I'm doing! I've done this hundreds of times, see just watch!

Witch: WHAT-

*the MC completes the sigil and it starts to glow bright blue against the tile floor. They get back to their feet as their friend screams in terror but rather than the rage-filled beast of Pride bursting forth from the ground, a frankly tired-looking man in barely-wrinkled silk pajamas pops into existence holding out a red umbrella...*

Lucifer: *grouchily narrows his baggy eyes at MC as they take the umbrella from his grasp* Should I even have to tell you to be more careful next time...?

MC: *frowns right back and brushes some lint off of his shoulder* I dunno, should I have to tell you to go to bed before midnight?

Lucifer: MC, don't start pushing me today...

*even though it should sound like a warning, Lucifer's voice seems more exhausted than anything, which softens the MC's expression considerably*

MC: Oh, Lu....

*they pull the haggered demon into their arms. running their fingers through his hair and earning a small grunt of satisfaction from him as he melts into their touch*

MC: Thank you for the umbrella, but you didn't have to bring it if you're this tired... Go get some rest, okay?

*Lucifer only grunts again before placing a sleepy kiss on the side of their head. He grumbles out something along the lines of, "Keep safe," before disappearing in a puff of white smoke and black feathers. While the MC inspects their newly acquired umbrella, they hear the sound of their friend scrambling out from behind the stairs, practically tripping over themselves trying to get back to their feet*

Witch: What thE ACTUAL FUCK WAS THAT!?!

MC Summoning Mammon

*MC and their witchy pal are in the kitchen of their shared apartment looking over some old notebooks that Solomon gave them, most of them holding transcribed stories or old conversations with the Demon Brothers. One story in particular has been especially... perplexing to them for about ten minutes now*

Witch: "-and then the secondborn trembled before the mighty thirdborn's trident as he brought it low upon his..." *glances at MC*

Witch: "his, uh..." MC?

MC: *sitting there, staring at the notepage with pursed lips*

Witch: MC, is something wrong?

MC: Wha- *they pull their eyes away from the neatly penned words then force a quick smile* Oh, no no. It's nothing. It just... this account feels a little off is all.

Witch: Really? Didn't Solomon say that he got it from one of the Demon Lords himself...?

MC: Yeah but... You know, I think we should get a second opinion on this. *they start looking for their summoning tools to find their chalk once again* I'm going to bring out Mammon.

Witch: What?? You want to call upon Mammon right now?! *their hand instinctively goes down to guard their wallet* But we could barely afford takeout last night!! 😫

MC: *frowns at them in confusion yet again* Uh... I know that? Mammon will eat leftovers as long as we heat it up right.

Witch: *jaw drops with a pop* Th-at... That wasn't what I meant...! I mean, how the heck are you going to pay his "entrance fee" with just 20 bucks to our name??

MC: *eyes widen sharply* Oh. My. God. You're absolutely right...

Witch: Thank you! Now if you just put the bag down-

MC: I totally forgot about Mammon's gift!!

Witch: His... his what?

MC: His gift!

*MC opens their backpack digs in past the zipper. After a few seconds, they pull up a small, cutesy keychain made with black beads and a crow-shaped pendant*

MC: I found this little thing while we were thrift shopping downtown. Isn't it just the cutest??

Witch: *stares at the dinky little trinket in their hand with growing concern* 😟 U-uh... It's uhm... Uh-

MC: Look, I know what you're thinking-

Witch: -Do you really??-

MC: -but don't worry! *they lift up their phone to show a similarly styled chain hanging from the case, but white instead of black*

MC: They had a matching pair! I know he's going to love it. I'll get him out here in just a second.

*the MC gets up with their chalk while their witch friend watches them go, muttering dejectedly*

Witch: Please don't tell me that actually works for you... How in the world does that actually work for you?? 😰

MC Summoning Levi

Witch: DAMMIT!!

*the shout of their witchy pal reverberates off the drabe apartment walls, sending MC out of their bedroom to investigate shortly after*

MC: What? What's wrong??

*they come over just in time to see their friend toss a ruined cloak onto the couch. The poor garment looks like it's been torn to pieces by a pack of animals, though their friend appears miraculously unscathed*

Witch: I ran into some of Solomon's missing hellhounds on the way home and had to use my cloak as a diversion. Just look what those little hellions did to it!!

*as their pal begins to mourn their favorite accessory, MC takes a couple long looks at it before waving their hand dismissively*

MC: Hey, don't worry about it. I've got a guy just for this!

Witch: A "guy"...? You know a tailor?

MC: Er... Well not exactly. Whenever I need something sewn up, I just call Leviathan.

Witch: ......

Witch: The...

Witch: The Grand Admiral of Hell's Royal Navy...

Witch: ... sews your clothes...?

MC: *blinks then flushes a bit* W-well not all of my clothes... But, you know, if I need something mended he usually lends a hand...

Witch: I didn't even know he could sew...

MC: Well, Levi's actually very talented in a lot of things! I'll even show you, just, uh...

Witch: Just... what? 🤨

MC: Well he's is pretty shy, so let me do most of the talking... And try not to look at him for too long, but also don't actively avoid looking at him either. And I know it's going to be hard, but try to keep up if he gets on one of his tangents because it really means a lot to him when people listen... Oh, and-!

Witch: What are you, his therapist??

MC: *shrugs* Kinda. I'll go get the chalk.

MC Summoning Satan

*MC and their witchy pal are in an out of the way bookstore specifically for esoteric relics and forbidden magical collections. It's an amazing little place, but it's chock full of shelves upon shelves of impossible to decipher titles and mindbending illustrations that have left the two feeling hopelessly lost...*

Witch: This is taking forever... How the hell does Solomon expect us to find anything in here??

*they look down at the small list of books their less-than-prescient mentor asked for, most of which with titles like "Cgfthgnm'o'th" or "Ghatanothoa"*

Witch: I mean, is this an errand or a C-tier fetch quest...??

MC: Ugh!... I swear Solomon knows that I'm no good in these places... Let's see.

*MC sets their summoning supplies down on a nearby table to look for their chalk and, for once, their friend actually seems kind of relieved to have the short-cut...*

Witch: Are you calling for Lucifer again...?

MC: Hm? Oh no, I think I've heard Satan talk about this place before, so maybe-

Witch: 😳 Hold on. Do... you mean that Satan?? THE Satan???

MC: *blinks* Uh... Yeah? Is there another one or...?

Witch: "Is there another one?" Are you for real?? How do I look? Is this presentable?? Shit, is it true that he hates the color red?!

MC: Where did you...? I mean, he likes green, I guess but I don't see-

Witch: WAIT, don't bring him out yet, we need a cat!! I think the café down the street attracts a few strays. I'll go grab one and come right back!!

MC: *holds up their hands to try and keep their friend from running past them* Hold on, we don't need any of that! What has gotten-??

*the MC yelps as the witch grabs them by the front of their shirt and grips the fabric tight, a burning look of determination setting their eyes ablaze*

Witch: MC, DO NOT ruin this for me!! Do you have any idea how well-connected that guy is? How many covens would kill just have someone around who's on his good side?? If this is the first impression I'm going to make, it's going to be a damn good one!

*they let the MC go only to snatch their summoning bag from the table beside them and stuff it under their arm*

Witch: I'll be taking this and you stay right here! I'll bring everything back after I go change into something green and find a spare cat!!

*as they watch their pal sprint out the door with what was effectively their only means of physical communication with the boys, the MC takes a seat at a dusty table and rests their elbows on the surface*

MC: I guess Solomon is getting those books a little late now... 😕

MC Summoning Asmo

MC: Ow!!

*the MC and their witch friend have JUST finished washing up Solomon's experiment beakers and half-eaten plates from his lab, the latter of which look so disgusting you could mistake them for old petri dishes. As the MC dries off the last glass and goes to slide it in place, they miscalculate their finger position and jam their nail right into a stack of ceramic plates*

*they pull their hand back out and they're previously trimmed nail is now broken into a sharp, jagged mess...*

MC: Oh dammit...! I just broke a nail...

*while they inspect the damage, their buddy slides next to them to look at it over their shoulder*

Witch: Huh...

Witch: Let me guess, you're going to call on ASMODEUS HIMSELF to fix it, aren't you? 🙄

MC: What?? No, of course not! I have my own kit for this, thank you very much. 😠

*their friend's eyebrows raise, almost like their impressed that MC is showing at least a modicum of self-restraint*

Witch: Well, well. I didn't think you woul-

MC: Though it IS almost time for him to give me my bi-monthly skin detox treatment so... 🤔

Witch: Are you kidding me??? 🤬

MC Summoning Beel

*the MC and their witching buddy FINALLY have a day off from Solomon's constant pestering lessons. While they discuss their upcoming plans, the news of a big human world fair in the area comes up. Though their friend seems less than impressed, MC immediately latches onto the idea for uh... reasons.*

MC: Okay, okay, I know this how this is gonna sound, buuuut we should invite Beelzebub to go to the fair with us!! 😁

Witch: ....

MC: 😀 .... So, yeah? Is that a yes?

Witch: .... MC. I swear, even you have to know why that's a bad idea... No mortal event is ever going be stocked enough to keep him from eating us-

MC: *GASP* WHAT??

MC: Beel? Eat US?? In a place with that many vendors, that'll be so unlikely. I'm sure we'll be safe!

Witch: Annnnd I just noticed that you left out the part where you're supposed to say, "Oh, he would never do that" to reassure me....

MC: Oh come on, I'm positive that he wouldn’t want to eat us, at least. He's a big softy and he really tries to keep himself in check...

Witch: I fail to see how that makes things any better...

MC: It will. Trust me. Look, Lucifer can send me enough pocket money to keep Beel fed while we're there. Pleeease, just give it a try...!

MC: I've been telling him about cotton candy and funnel cakes for years! He'll be so excited to come with so pleeeaaaase? 🥺

Witch: I think I'm starting to see why they keep caving in to you so quickly.... 😑

MC Summoning Belphie

*it's been several long nights in the shared apartment as MC and their witchy pal have been cramming for another one of Solomon's infamous tests... Despite having the test in the morning, both have long let time get away from them and neither were particularly well-rested to start with...*

MC: Shit, it's almost 2 again...

Witch: Seriously...? *checks the closest clock then snaps their book shut* Great... I think know a restorative spell or two, but there's not a lot of time to... *they stop as they see a sleepy MC reaching for their goddamn chalk again*

Witch: ... Uh, MC?

MC: Mmm...? *they blink their drooping eyes and yawn* O-oh, sorry... uh. Don’t worry about me... I got a guy for this too...

Witch: *frowns* You've got a...?

Witch: 😳 ... No... No, you can't be serious... You are NOT thinking of who I'm thinking of right now, right? Right??

MC: *rubs their eyes* Eh? Um... no? Maybe?

Witch: Do NOT summon Belphegor! No one ever summons Belphegor!! Especially to go to sleep at night!!

MC: Huh...? 😕 Why not? Isn't sleep what he's good at...?

Witch: Yeah sure, if you're looking to never wake up again! Drink some sleepy time tea or something, but keep Belphegor out if it! You're going to get yourself killed!!

MC: What do you...? *they blink then, suddenly, it actually seems to piece together for them for once* Oh. Oh! You must mean that Belphegor...

MC: Don't worry, he promised to never kill me again, so I'm safe.

Witch: That's not the-wait did you just say "again?"

MC: I'm going to bed now. Goodnight...

*the MC gets up and starts back towards their room without answering the question and their roommate calls after them*

Witch: Don't bring him or I'm taking selfies at your funeral, you hear??

~The Next Morning~

*their witch friend steps out into the kitchen, completely drained after having some AWFUL dreams the night before, just to see a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed MC in the middle of making breakfast. Their newly refreshed look is so radiant that they're practically glowing with health*

MC: Good morning~!! Would you like some pancakes? 😊

Witch: ..... I'm trying so hard not to hate you right now.....

MC: H-huh? Why?? 😨

MC Summoning Diavolo??

Witch: So... Could you do it?

*MC and their witch buddy are sitting on the floor of their living room with MC's summoning equipment in front of them. Both of them have their arms crossed as they run through their hypothetical*

MC: I mean, maybe I could... But I dunno. I not even sure where to start...

Witch: MC. You are probably the most successful summoner I've ever seen. I say just go with your gut.

MC: Oh? My gut, huh...? 🤔

*after some quiet reflection, MC grabs their chalk and begins to sketch out a new circle, making it a much larger one than all the rest*

MC: Let's see... we'd need a sigil so.

*they swipe in three long slash marks, then fill them out until look like taloned legs, humming as they go*

Witch: *frowns* Uh... MC? Isn't that just the corporate logo for the Three-Legged Crow?

MC: Yep! I figured since Dia owns the place, it should probably work. 😁

Witch: *blinks furiously* Wait, he owns what-

MC: Forget I said that. Anyway. Now we need the offering! Uhhhmm... *they tap their chin before breaking into an excited grin*

MC: I'll go get some McDonald's!

Witch: What???

MC: Dia loves human world fast food when he can have it, so that ought to work! *they start to gather their things to go out, but stop just before the door*

MC: Oh! While I'm gone, look around my room for my copy of Dark Persona 4! Levi says he's been getting into that series a lot.

Witch: He plays video games too???

MC: Only when he can! Just trust me, I'll be right back! 😁

~Twenty minutes and three orders of cheeseburgers later~

MC: Okay! Almost ready!

*they take a proud step back from their work of ritualistically arranging cheeseburgers, french fries, and ketchup packets on the makeshift summoning circle and... it sure is something. Just as their witch friend is starting to lose all hope that this idea could ever hold water, the MC goes on to add the final touch by plopping the Devil Station game right in the middle of it all. They take one BIG step back and....*

*...nothing happens*

Witch: .... Huh. Well. I guess there's stuff even you can't do-

*the markings on the ground suddenly radiate a light brighter than the sun that gets snuffed out by the growing shadows in the room. It's as if every ounce of darkness surrounding them is attempting to funnel its way towards circle's center, swirling in place like an inky black portal to the hellish depths below. Just as the MC and their friend dive behind their couch for protection, the darkness suddenly dissipates and everything, surprisingly, returns to normal*

Witch: *shakily looks at the wrecked room from behind the couch cushions, pale as could be* ... Wh-wha... what... the fuuu...

*MC's phone starts going off, startling them both, but they pick it up anyway*

MC: H-ello...? O-oh Dia!!

MC: No, no I'm fine there isn't any emergency!...

MC: No, please stay put!! I was just messing around with a friend, but I'll be way more careful going forward!

MC: .... And what would Barbs say?

MC: .... Yeah, I didn't think so, but I'll come back to see you soon, okay?

Witch: *springs to their feet reaching PEAK frustration with it all*

Witch: SERIOUSLY, WHAT EVEN ARE YOU?!?

MC Summoning... Barbatos...?

Witch: MC. This is an emergency.

MC: Yeah but-

Witch: He'll be here any minute. We're screwed!!

MC: Maybe it won't be so bad-!

Witch: I saw him buying JELLYFISH yesterday, MC! JELLYFISH!!!

MC: ..... 😨 What if we disconnect the stove???

Witch: MC!!!

*their friend pulls out their own summoning chalk and shoves it into MC's hands, clasping them closed in a desperate plea for help*

Witch: We have to some kind of meal plan in place or Solomon is going to make us dinner tonight. You know and I know that there's only ONE person who can keep him out of the kitchen at this point. MC, you have to summon Barbatos!!

MC: B-but...! But-!!

*their friend doesn't wait for them to finish before pulling them down onto the ground and making enough room for them to start drawing*

Witch: THERE'S NO TIME!! Do it, MC!! Do it!!

*they lean back to watch as the MC rests th summoning chalk on the ground, but rather than drawing their hand remains perfectly still...*

Witch: MC? What are you waiting for??

*their friend leans over to get a good look at their face, and they see that the MC's forehead is already glistening with beads of sweat... Their hand goes from still, to trembling slightly when they attempt to make their first stroke... only for their grip to snap the chalk in half completely. The MC stares quietly at their hand for a few moments, before setting everything down and pulling out their cellphone instead*

MC: Y-you know, I think I'm just going to call him.... 😥

*as their witch friend watches the being who hugged Lucifer, tamed Belphegor, and (unofficially) summoned the Demon Prince himself, chicken out of summoning this one last demon they know, a single question burns deep down in the pit of their stomach*

"Just how scary is that butler...???" 😰

#favoritism. #the answer is favoritism #i almost want to make this witch an official OC #the comedic potential is truly endless #long post #even for me #obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #obey me ask #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos

[staytinyville]

Stay Alive (42)

BTS poly!ot7 x Reader

Magical Creatures AU

Series Masterlist

Warnings: none

A/N NOT BETA. I am back to writing! I am crying. You have no idea how terrible this past two weeks was for me. I felt so out of place not writing but for some reason I couldn't find it in me to get back to it. I had lost literally all passion for it. So much happened that really didn't put me in the right state of mind. But I got back to it and found my passion again! So here is the long awaited Hobi chapter! I'm so excited to hear your thoughts on this one.

Hoseok lived in the same region your grandparents had. It was nice to take in the beautiful sights you were so familiar with. However, watching as creatures and different kinds of magical beasts mingle about. The flora and fauna were much different to your own home–it seemed like everything flourished a lot more. 

Taehyung had told you about how witches and faeries lived out in nature because it made them feel connected. As you held onto his hand, you smiled softly as his fingers weaved between the bushes and trees that covered the path they were taking. Your eyes widened as the foliage seemed to bloom and follow along with his hands. 

“Hoseok!” Someone shouted, moving along the path as they came upon a large cottage. 

You smiled to yourself, finally seeing the kind of house you had assumed this world would have. However, it was still large. You were sure the inside looked spectacular. 

You let go of Hoseok’s hand, allowing him to embrace his mother and another woman who was crying. 

“Oh, my baby boy!” His mother smiled, looking over his shoulder to find you. “This must be your mate.” She exclaimed walking over to you to give you a hug. “I’m so happy to finally meet you.”

She turned around to her son, smiling as he was being bullied by the other woman. She had him in a chokehold, laughing when he tried to pull at her with the grass that was growing exponentially. 

“I came home when mom called to tell us that you finally came back.” She smiled, patting Hoseok on the back. 

“All thanks to (Y/N).” Hobi smiled, reaching out for your hand. 

“We owe you so much.” Hoseok’s mother smiled softly, dropping her hand onto your shoulder. 

“It was nothing.” You smiled bashfully. 

“Nonsense!” Hoseok’s sister exclaimed. “Please, allow me to give you something in return.” She reached out to hold your hands. “Not only did you bring my brother back but you also brought his coven home. I'm sure their families would give you something as well.” She told you softly. 

“I don't know—” You tried to tell her it was alright but she just gave you a smile. 

“Let me give you a reading.” She stopped you.

“A reading?” Your eyebrows furrowed, looking over at Hobi. 

“Jiwoo is a master at reading people.” He explained. “Witches clairsenses are a lot stronger than anyone else. We can predict futures, see the dead, see what haunts you. It's part of our abilities.” He told you. 

You grew interested, being reminded about how Taehyung had explained his abilities to you. He did tell you that you could find out what Hobi was capable of if you asked him. You assumed readings were part of the things witches could do that faeries couldn’t. 

“Taehyung can't do that then?” You questioned. 

“No.” Hobi answered. “Telepathy and mental manipulation is our thing. He can't do any of that.”

“Fairies have energy manipulation which is a very powerful thing.” Jiwoo told you. “However we have healing and can control the elements.”

You looked down to the grass, seeing that it had gone back to normal now that the siblings weren’t play fighting. You also remembered how the leaves and the trees followed after Hobi’s fingers as he passed them. You wondered what it was like to watch him play with fire or water. 

“That's so cool.” You breathed out. 

“Come.” Jiwoo quickly brought you into their home, the decor modernized as you guessed. “Sit!” She pushed you to sit at the dining table, moving a chair in front of you and taking your hands. “I already saw a lot the moment you walked in.”

You could feel something tingle at your fingertips, making you tilt your head. You suddenly felt something hovering over your shoulder. Hobi and his mother were standing behind Jiwoo, watching with curiosity. You wanted to turn your head and see what it was but Jiwoo stopped you before you could. 

“Oh.” You watched as Jiwoo’s eyebrows rose, making you glance up at Hobi. 

“I think the first thing I should say—you have a past with our world.” Jiwoo turned up to you. “Don't you?” She asked. 

“Yeah.” You sighed, thinking about your grandfather. “Apparently I do.”

Jiwoo nodded her head, smiling over your shoulder. “You have a protector too. They've been there since you were a little girl. Butterflies are what I see around you.” She explained, running her fingers along your palms just to get a sense of your energy. 

“Nabi.” Hobi spoke up. “It was a name you kept saying but didn't know where it came from.” 

“They're someone very important in your story. Both the past and this one.” Jiwoo nodded to herself, pausing as though she was listening to someone. “I'm positive they were the ones who led you to my brother and his coven.”

“You really think that?” You asked, eyes wide. 

“Of course.” Jiwoo hummed. 

You flinched just for a moment, hearing a childish giggle from behind you. Hobi and his family must have heard because they all looked over you, smiling softly. You turned around, frowning when you couldn’t find anything. It was clear that the Jung family could see things that you were not. 

“Now something I find extremely fascinating is the number 5.” You quickly furrowed your eyebrows, wondering what that would mean. 

“It keeps turning up–four and then two. They are different animals–different creatures.” This only served to make you more confused. If it was about the boys there was seven of them, not five. It made you worry, thinking something was going to happen. 

“I can't really tell what they are going to be but I know they have to do with the boys.” Jiwoo turned around, quickly pulling her brother to the table. “Hobi, come here.” She told him, making him place his hand over your own. 

“Ah!” Jiwoo gasped out, hands flying away from the two of you as though she had been burned. “I found it! Babies!” She jumped up, her face having elation as she turned to her mother.

“Babies?” You asked, still confused. You looked up at Hobi, watching as he seemed to have a frown on his face and looked beyond confused. 

Hobi was nowhere near as powerful when it came to his clairsense like his sister was. The most he knew was his mental abilities so watching how his sister made him take your hand brought things out of him. He saw the animals that seemed to scurry around. They were small things, indicating something childish and small. It was clear that Jiwoo knew exactly what they all meant by her screeching. 

“Eomma!” Jiwoo shouted. “Five grandbabies!”

“Five?” You whispered, wide eyed.

“Grandbabies?” Hoseok repeated. 

Hobi’s mother and sister took a moment to gush and talk about it–claiming that Hobi was going to be one of the babies' fathers. However you just kind of sat there with a wide eyed expression trying to go through the motions. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want children, it had more to do with the question Taehyung had asked you when you had visited his family. If you were to have their kids did that mean you were going to stay with them? Was that your answer without you even reaching it on your own?

Later that night, Hobi had taken you to his room–showing off everything he could. You smiled softly when he showed you his elemental manipulation. He created ice sculptures for you, made the wind blow through your hair, and had a flicker of fire crackling at his palms. It served to entertain you for a while, keeping your mind off what had happened with his mother. 

But after she came to bid you both a goodnight, you were left awestruck once more at the happy expression the woman had on her face. You couldn’t know how she must have felt–spending ten years without her son only to come back and hear that he had finally found his forever and was going to make a family of his own. 

It must have been something that one would think hard on–especially because the one who was meant to be the mate to seven men was human and not from their world. 

“Five children.” You brought up, laying on Hobi’s chest. “Oh god.” You chuckled quietly. 

“Wow, wow, wow.” Hoseok sat up, bringing you along with him so he could look at you properly. “You're okay. You're fine.” He tried to tell you. “Let's not think about it at the moment, yeah?” He said softly. 

“How can I not?” You sighed. “Jiwoo told yoru mom it was going to be her grandchildren.” You smiled lightly, memorizing Hobi’s face. “Does that mean I'm going to have a family with you?” You whispered to him.

“Not everything is set in stone.” Hobi’s shoulders dropped thinking it wasn’t something you wanted. “You can always change your future.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, pulling a hand up to his cheek. “What if I don't want to?” You whispered.

His eyes went wide, looking at you incredulously. “You want—to start a family with me? With us?” He gasped, lip trembling as he thought about it. 

“I don't think we're there yet but, staying with you all has been on my mind.” You laughed lightly.

“Who told you?” Hobi pouted, knowing it had been one of the boys who brought it up to you. 

“Taehyung.” You giggled. 

“Such a boy.” He rolled his eyes. 

Taking a glance over your face, he smiled softly, moving to rub a thumb across your cheek. “Hey, I love you with everything in me. You have done so much for all of us that it's hard not to love you.” 

“But we want you to know that even if we do love you, it's not our choice to make.” He added softly.

“I love you, Hoseok. I love you all so much I don't think I'd want to be away from you.” You leaned forward, breathing against his lips. 

“We have to save everyone first. And then we can talk about our coven.” Hoseok told you. 

He leaned down capturing your lips in a kiss. 

And so you smiled at him, knowing exactly what you wanted to do now that you had heard it from them all. You weren’t going to leave them. It would hurt too much. So you knew that deep down this was your story alongside them.

Series Masterlist

@h3arteyes4mingi , @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh , @rinkud, @rln-byg , @singukieee ,  @hoshi-is-ult-bbg , @ldysmfrst , @juju-2275922 , @alienchickenpoop , @dreamerwasfound , @afangirl91 , @psiphidragon , @puppyminnnie , @shyloh-the-cornsnake , @ollyoxenfrees , @whynotlarene , @beeltsumu , @cryingpages , @milopenne , @belikejk , @thatonedemigodfromseoul , @woozixo,

#bts fanfic #bts #bts jungkook #bts jimin #bangtan sonyeondan #bts v #bts jin #bts namjoon #bts jung hoseok #kpop fanfic #bts imagines #bts min yoongi #jeon jungkook #bts x reader #bts x you #bts x y/n #bts ot7 #bts fantasy au #bts smut #hobi x reader #hobi x you #hobi x y/n

[kneelingshadowsalome]

your toxic könig is so perfect and the more recent posts made me think about a similar kind of au but with gromsko. like god i need this man to """force""" me into being his perfect little wife i swear.

AND IM SO SORRY but being slavic also makes this even more feral for me because i imagine the second his gf shows a bit too much independence/DARES to talk over him (yeah it's an achievement to be able to talk over him, the mf is LOUD)/etc he just. goes feral like he sees it as a challenge and he needs to show her what a slavic woman is actually supposed to be like.

but slavic or not he'll keep holding the fact that he "tamed" you over your head even when he's fucking you. talks about how this is your place, this is where you belong and how he's going to make sure you remember by breeding you full.

Omg Gromsko OMG

I'm so normal about him yes yes it's just your ask that made me this way ^^ I'm blaming you my dear anon 💕

CW: Protective & possessive behavior, implied sexism

So, Gromsko. Your car broke down in the middle of the road and this absolute bear of a Pole pulls over to help you. He has a charming smile, sure, but he's also obnoxiously bold. That casual masculine bravado makes you feel weaker than it should; there's this aura of shameless pride about him, and you can't quite decide if it's annoying or sexy.

You try to tell him you can handle it, that the repair guy is already on his way. But Gromsko? Hah. He just bypasses that shit. Pops up the hood and gets to work. The car is fixed in no time, and the next thing you know is that you just said yes when "Sobieslaw Kościuszko, pleasure to meet you, miss," asked if he could take you out to dinner this evening.

And it's true that he's loud. Like, why does he have to talk by half shouting...? (Probably because he has to make it known that he's the strongest, most virile male in the area.)

Sobieslaw always sits with a wide spread, with a broad, tall chest, with a confidence that seems to come naturally to him. He never tries to make himself smaller, no matter how crammed a space is. Everyone except the elderly has to move aside when he walks because he's not going to dodge or sidestep. You're not the only one who fears he will eventually break one of those dainty little chairs in the fine dining place he brought you to; the waiter side eyes this man like he's some beast that somehow got in and should be caged, not fed.

Despite all that brass, Gromsko is a proper gentleman. Always opens the doors for you, always pays at a restaurant. And always grabs your waist and draws you closer if there are other men around. Guy looks like he's ready to get into a fist fight for you if it comes to that.

It's kind of hair-raising how he laughs at the very concept of independent woman. His woman should never have to be "independent." It would be an insult to him as a man if his wife had to go to work.

He tells you how beautiful you are with intensity and passion that seems to come from another age. That boundless adoration makes you feel drunk, and Gromsko doesn't seem to notice anyone else but you – it's like all other women have disappeared from this planet.

He lays siege to you like crusaders of old laid siege to a city. You never have to fear whether you're coming off as too interested or eager or that you'll "scare" him away: this man is always more interested and eager than you. Still, you fear that everything will come to an end once you give this man what he wants – namely, sex.

You couldn't be more wrong! He's not fucking around, and he's not dating for the sake of getting laid. He's looking for a wife and a mother for his kids.

An infuriatingly sexy, uneven smile spreads across his face everytime you meet. He's checking you out, and he's utterly shameless about it. You're being rated like cattle, and it should not send butterflies to your stomach when you notice he seems to more than just approve of your hips and breasts. Little do you know Sobieslaw Kościuszko has already decided you're to be his wife.

When you finally spread your legs for this man, you expect him to fuck you with the urgency and attentiveness of a 20-year old hockey player. But Gromsko is actually a skilled lover! You don't know why and you don't know how, but he seems to decode you and all your weaknesses in record time. Hot kisses and intense love making are his bravura. Gromsko is so attuned to you and your pussy that it should be illegal.

It's like the gods made this man to breed women and spread his seed because he has the biggest balls you've ever seen. He doesn't grow all too soft after climaxing, and continues to fuck you even after you both just came. With sloppy patience, sure, because you're practically begging for mercy under him… but the point is that he just won't stop. He continues to pump you with strong hips and infinite stamina, and groans how perfect you are as you approach your second orgasm.

He places so much trust on his cock that, perhaps surprisingly, you're the first woman he has ever put his mouth on. It's the only thing that makes that eternal shield of pride tilt aside a bit, because he hates it when he doesn't know what he's doing… but neither is he a man who backs down when faced with a challenge!

He doesn't know what he's doing, which means he takes a mental note of every single thing that makes you shiver and sigh. This Polish bear learns to please you and just you, examines how you respond to slow licks and fast laps, sucks on your nub until you cry, and when he sees how much you enjoy his treatment, this man goes crazy.

"You like that, kochanie?" He pants between your legs, drunk on your pussy, swearing in Polish and giving lewd comments about how wet you are. He only ups the pace with his tongue when you cum. You're an overstimulated mess, but he's not done. He crawls on top of you and gets down to business with his thick cock, those heavy balls start to slap against your soaked flesh until you feel like you have no brains left.

"It's easier to just stop fighting, kotku," he seems to approve of your wet, moaning state more than anything. But it's the wickedly pleased gruff of "Let's get married, Słoneczko," that sends you spiraling into another overstimulated, glorious orgasm.

You don't even know that he's already told his whole family about you. You don't yet know that his grandmother already loves you. But it starts to dawn on you that you got more than you bargained for when Gromsko informs you that he'll take you to Poland but only as his wife.

Perhaps that's where this man's charm lies! Gromsko simply knows what he wants: a good loyal wife and a nice, large family. If you can give them to him, he's not wasting any time getting you pregnant. You're knocked up before you even know it, there's a ring on your finger before you get to say Na Zdrowie. You're his little wife now, and there's nothing you can do about it ❤️

#answered #gromsko x reader #gromsko #sobieslaw kosciuszko #gromsko cod

[simonjadis]

Jesus christ. I'm scared to ask but... what the hell happened with The Watcher fandom?

I don't even go here, but here's my understanding

Several years ago, Shane and Ryan left Buzzfeed to launch their own company, teaming up with Steven Lim. Watcher has grown, producing multiple shows. Initially, people were supporting them on Patreon (for discord + early access) and YouTube. both of these are increasingly notorious platforms that take cuts from profits. YouTube payouts are massive if you're just 1-2 people getting a million views per video and a new successful video every week. but it doesn't cover a growing company's needs

To be blunt, for Watcher to continue as a company, they need cut out "middleman" services that both regulate their content and take a cut of their earnings. That means moving off of YouTube and it means changing the Patreon to just be for the podcast.

So, on Friday (April 19) Watcher announced that they're launching their own streaming model. Everything that they'd already shared would remain on YouTube, but future content was coming out on their own service for a $5.99 sub. Which in turn would be lower than or about the same as anyone subscribing on Patreon, and would also be without the horror of YouTube ads

(Again, I don't go here, but I will not watch advertisements voluntarily, least of all on yewchube. I have ublock origin/firefox and when it comes to streaming, I have the ad-free subscription or I don't watch it at all)

To be clear, they made this announcement well in advance of launching, and were making sure that international viewers would still be able to view (something that some major corporate streamers have not done). They also emphasized that they're unbothered by profile sharing, so that $5.99 per month could come down to $2 per month for three friends, or just (as I often do) one person buying it and sharing the login with friends.

Also you can gift subs. All of this is unfortunately moot, and it seems that many of the people reacting to the announcement did not learn or care about any of this.

The reaction to this news was, to be blunt, unhinged. Obviously, it's normal for some people who cannot afford $5.99 per month to feel disappointed. And any change can be unnerving for a fandom. But the vitriol (some of it, like the person who accused them of "ruining Taylor Swift's day," was admittedly very funny) was pretty vicious.

I think that a lot of it was disinformation based (unclear on where the idea that they were removing old content from YouTube originated, as it certainly was not from their announcement video) and a lot of it was (predominantly younger) viewers looking for social media clout by coming out with the coveted "worst new take" to impress their friends.

And so, SO much of it was racism. For some reason, a lot of people have invented a narrative where Shane is being held hostage by the other two co-owners, and desperately wants to release content for free to the detriment of his company, but Ryan and Steven have somehow conspired to make their company profitable so that they can continue to (evilly) pay their employees.

From what I can tell (again, I don't even go here), the bulk of the backlash ended up targeting Steven. People in the fandom are already weird about him and have an ugly tendency to invent mean things about him (a couple of years ago, some of these same ill-behaved "fans" decided that he was homophobic, not because of anything that he did or said).

So this was an excuse for these vicious little beasts to let loose. They were leaving abhorrent comments on his loved ones' Instagram photos -- some from months ago.

On the less overtly racist front, backlash included people saying that they just want Shane and Ryan sitting in a room talking about stuff. It is unusual for creatives to not care about the quality of what they make; of course Shane and Ryan and Steven care about production quality, about being able to film ghost-hunting and other shows. They're not 23-year-olds scraping by, they're artists and storytellers and they are also employers.

I don't know these men and I don't generally feel sorry for men, as a rule, but it must have been pretty devastating to find out how many of their most vocal "fans" seem to despise them, feel entitled to their art for free, and will rage against them like this.

Which leads to Monday's grim announcement, which as I understand it was that they're going to put new Watcher content up on YouTube with a delay. I'm not saying that it's a bad policy; I'm saying that it means that they remain tethered to YouTube for what content they can include, and it's showing these rancid trolls that their cruelty works.

I'm not going to say that this is "letting the terrorists win" because I'm not trying to victim-blame Watcher here. But I worry about what these rotten little beasts will do now that they've felt the rush of victory.

I cannot emphasize enough that I do not even go here. plenty of people very much go here and have written at greater length and in greater detail than i have. I'm just horrified. I don't even go here

#watcher #watcher entertainment #I don't even go here #anon #ask #anon ask

[wildbluesorbit]

London: Holiday Prelude || JTK

18+MDNI

Paring: Jakexreader(f)

LONDON SERIES MATERPOST

A/N: Howdy! Here to interrupt your regularly scheduled programming with twist on the London menu: A TIME JUMP! This is how I envision the first meeting between Jake and the reader unraveled. This one is very fluff (which is a bit off brand for this series) and is my gift to all readers who have remained loyal amongst the endless angst. I'm aware, holiday editions are normally posted before the holidays, but I have chronically delayed holiday spirit that doesn’t spark until about a week before Christmas which is when I started this. My holidays got a bit more hectic than I expected so I didn’t finish till just now, but I figured I’d pos. Also, know that my particular style of writing is shaped by an editing process of which requires time I did not have, so baby this is ROUGH. Anyways, I am very open to criticism so pretty please let me know what you think.

Summary || Before the storm, there was a calm. Your first interaction with Jake is less than ideal, but you give him a redeeming chance only to spark something more.

Content Warnings || holiday [stress], workload stress, slight verbal aggression, holiday party setting, depictions of affectionate displays

Word Count || 6.6k

– December 24th, London, UK –

Your arduous typing is disrupted by the groan of your office door as it’s hesitantly eased open. You rigorously resume your work, not even averting your eyes to make note of who has disturbed you. You already know it's your colleague. You know they have trouble for you. And you know it's a problem you don’t currently have the attention span nor time for. 

Eyes still pinned to the numbers on your computer screen, you address the damsel in distress dawdling in the doorway behind you, “Is it urgent? I’m on a deadline.”

“Um- There’s a customer out here who I have tried my best to help with the knowledge I have,” she remorsefully squeaks.

You mellow your tone as you can hear desperation shrouding her every word, “Tell them I’m unavailable.” 

“I did- He insisted he speak to some form of management,” she huffs exasperatedly.

You come to a stopping point in your numbers game and begrudgingly pry your hands from your keyboard. You spring from your chair and propel yourself through the doorway, already eager to crawl back to the stillness of your office. Your footsteps echo against the hallway of dark offices and storage rooms in a unison stride to your coworker a pace behind you; two valiant knights on their quest to the front of the store. 

Preparing yourself for battle, you dig for your finest customer service armor as it's buried beneath all the enervating adversities and blows of running the shop; a duty you normally carry so effortlessly and gracefully, but this year you had been the only manager who volunteered to work the holiday week. Your workload alone is enough to spook the average person, but the extra weight you foolishly decided to take on this year is a different beast. You have half a heart to gift yourself hair dye this Christmas as you’re already convinced the New Year would find you prematurely gray. 

“Alright, let’s see the prick who is harassing my-,” your finishing thought never arrives as you swing the door open to reveal the store.

Any and all resentment is momentarily tamed by the endless sight of musical paraphernalia. Every last inch of the walls are shrine to the greats; posters, pins, buttons, stickers, clothing, books, CDs, tapes, cassettes, and of course aisles and aisles of record vinyl LPs; all seem to celebrate your great escape from the confinement of your office. 

Your eyes adjust to the warm lighting that coats everything and everyone bustling about isles, faces beaming with joy as they discover new treasures to call their own; treasures you ordered and stocked the shelves with yourself. 

You take a deep inhale of the healing sight in front of you. You never tire of walking through this door after a long day; a portal to your favorite realm. Your spirit beams as you recognize the classic rock sonic of The Dire Straits pouring through the speakers at way too loud a volume. You find it almost impossible to be upset within these walls. Almost.

Though you want nothing more than to idly wander around the store, you redirect your focus to the task at hand; eyes scouring the floor for the customer that so desperately needs your attention. Within an instant, you undoubtedly deem a man within your gaze responsible for your unnecessary ordeals; no guidance from your coworker is required to know exactly who summoned you from your hideaway. 

He is an ornate scene; one that confiscates and pleases your attention all at once. He stands, bare chest proud and puffed, fingers fidgeting with the facial hair that roofs his protruding pout as he devoutly scans through titles of the nearby books. His narrow shoulders are cloaked by long chestnut waves that frame delicate facial features and a prominent nose. He’s rather small in stature, yet strong in physique. 

The pretty man is bewitching in the way he seems to have just hopped out of some antecedent reality; a walking, talking antique. Doused in all black, he wears a blazer and waistcoat with nothing underneath to properly clothe his tan skin except chunky chains weighed down by a ridiculous amount of pendants; all silver to match his oversized hoop earrings, reflectively gleaming as he saunters through trespassing sunlight. His torso is paired with black pleated trousers and seasoned black boots. This man looks as if he woke up and couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be a pirate or a rockstar. 

“You know, Halloween was almost two months ago,” you heedlessly blurt as soon as his golden brown eyes collect yours.

“Real original,” the customer retorts with a smirk and a slight shake of his head, “definitely never heard that one before.”  

His American accent nearly startles you; his features certainly tell an origin story of Central Europe, yet his phrasing is not harsh enough to miss the hint of something not quite American in his raspy tone.

You quickly steer away from your cheeky dig and towards a more professional rapport.

“What can I help you with today Mr.?”

“Jacob Kiszka,” he extends his hand to shake yours, “but you can call me Jake.”

The Jake Kiszka. You have definitely heard his name before. A guitarist whose discography is infamously compared to and even deemed gross appropriation of classic rock legends; and whose romantic track record has an even worse stench. 

You prematurely take the sincere offer of his hand before weakly falling back to your satirical ways, “Wow, lucky me- I’ve only heard stories of The Illustrious Jake Kiszka.”

He is not oblivious to your sarcasm but decides to take the cocky route anyway, “Oh- A fan, huh? Glad to know my reputation precedes me.”

“I never said they were good stories,” your hand repels from the guitarist’s calloused grasp and attaches to your hip, “but what brings you to my store?”

“This is the only place in town not playing Christmas music,” his eyes flit around the store trying to commit every last detail to memory as if his knowledge might be tested later and questions you with an intimacy he hasn’t yet earned, “So this is your kingdom, huh?”

“I don’t own it, just run it, but yes- this place is my baby and I’m its sales manager,” you briefly answer out of the scarce supply of decorum you currently possess and efficiently reroute to the reason for his visit, “but I doubt you came all this way just to escape the holiday spirit.” 

“Well, I am currently in town and in dire need of a last-minute Christmas gift, and you came highly recommended as far as rare LP sets go,” his features stretch into a ponderous tightlipped smile. 

The musician either isn’t receiving your assertion of pace or blatantly holds no regard for it as he digresses once again.

You aren’t certain whether his narrative is spoken to you, himself, or some unseen force, “But this really is some marvelous little store you run here. I have to admit I'm a bit envious. Somedays, I swear I would trade it all in for a simple quiet life like this.”

Simple? Quiet? Who the hell does this man think he is to come in the day before Christmas and casually spend your time and patience, only to then reduce your entire world to simple and quiet?!

Your fists discreetly curl behind the secrecy of your back as you scrupulously monitor your highly explosive tone, “Thank you kindly, Mr. Kiszka, but maybe we can hurry this along. I have lots of work in my simple quiet life to return to.”

Instantly, his entire physique cowers to a posture of mortification and regret. If your composure hadn’t already been so far spent, you might have even felt a strand of empathy or reprieve for him.

His face takes on a shameful shade of pink as fragments of an apology trip over one another, “No- No- That’s definitely not what I meant- Of course, the work you do here is very important. The responsibility of granting access-”

You wave him off, bestowing him clemency in hopes of ending this interaction as fast as possible, “It’s fine, but I really do have lots of work to return to, so just follow me.”

You hastily string him to the glass cases in the back of the store, a stream of clicking and clacking trails behind you with every heavy-footed step of his boots. His footsteps gradually sound less and less, his pace a relaxed rhythm compared to yours. You impatiently arrive at your destination of high-valued items and turn to see he is only leisurely tracing your path, still gazing about the store as if he is in an art gallery.  

You inhale. You’ve dealt with worse. Today would not be the day you lose your patience with a customer. 

Once he finally rejoins you at the display case, you begin the tour of each LP, explaining its contents, history, value, rarity, and your favorite details about it. Showmanly, you set a scene of necessity for each set as to speed his decision process along by targeting his obvious lack of impulse control. 

You’re about done appraising almost five sets when a lack of opinions, theories, and questions registers from his silence. You transfer your vision to learn your audience had not at all been concentrating on your dissertation, those amber eyes studying you right back; eyes reflecting not a strand of cognizance for your vain words, pronouncing your breath wasted.

Your abrupt eye contact seems to burst his trance, clearly not expecting you to break from your sale. 

“Are you hearing a word I’m saying or-,” you fuss, condemning any remaining attempts at professionalism. 

His features reveal comprehension, your confrontation certainly registers but his ample lips only vacillate in a dumbfounded silence.

You flatly attempt to jumpstart his verbal reflexes, “Mr. Kiszka?”

Pressure-buildup from every imprisoned word rattling around his head with no escape, erupts all at once, “I’m sorry- I’m sorry- I heard you- It's just- When I asked for help today- I didn’t expect someone so-”

A brittle tone emerges before you can even take the time to contemplate what he is trying to articulate, “Young? A woman? A different stigma that probably has nothing to do with my knowledge of music or ability to manage a business?”

“No it's not that- It's just- you-,” he hesitates to catch the breath he forgot to take and decidedly abandons his current thought to expedite his next, as if they might trample over each other if he doesn’t, “This is very inappropriate but I seem to keep putting my foot in my mouth and I would appreciate it if you let me make it up to you over drinks tonight. Also, please call me Jake.”

His unanticipated proposition hitches your breath and widens your eyes, “You’re right, that is very inappropriate.”    

He quickly shrinks yet doesn’t withdraw his offer, “My brothers will be there too if that makes you feel a bit better, but your expertise so far fascinates me, and I would love to discuss more with you.”

Asking you out. After insults. After disrespect. After no regard for your time-poor schedule. He is asking you out.

You take it back. You have not dealt with worse. This is definitely the worst. 

Panic and indignation concoct a bitter climb in pitch, “Unfortunately, Mr. Kiszka, there’s still so much that requires my attention before the year’s end. I’m as busy as someone with a simple and quiet life can possibly be. That leaves no time for idle pints with random guys in pubs. So will you be purchasing anything today?”

“No- of course- you’re right- I’m terribly sorry- I do need to get something,” his attention finally converts to the vinyl with an oncoming frown, “but nothing here stands out to me. I know you certainly don’t owe me any favors but is there any way you can show me anything else? You know- the good stuff?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you blatantly feed him a white lie, “Excuse me? I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

You know exactly what he’s referring to. However, the thought of sharing another second with this infuriating stranger threatens to ignite fire to your dwindling composure. So, you tuck away all opportunities that would admit him to take any step that isn’t towards the door. 

He drives his agenda one last time, “You know? The treasures that never see the shelf? Surely, you have a secret stash. Every great store has one.”

“I guess we’re just not that great of a store then,” the shit-eating grin that smears across your face wards off any other inquiries he might probe for, “I can assure you this is the best we have. Maybe next time, do all your Christmas shopping before Christmas Eve.”

You are immediately pricked by a pang of guilt. Even you can admit you are being impudently cruel; for which you expect at least a return of assailment. Yet it never arrives. 

Instead, his eyebrows turned upwards just above a sheepish smirk and a diffident man takes the place of the obnoxiously charismatic rockstar once before you. He just might genuinely grieve the score of your transaction. As if he knows something you don’t. As if he knows in some other time or place this narrative was supposed to take a different course and he is now mourning a great failure.

“Okay- well, I can take a hint,” he meekly forfeits, “I apologize for wasting your time. Thank you so much for your help.”

You can’t seem to wrap your fingers around any response, lost somewhere amongst the spate of regret that you might have misjudged him based on presumptions. Your mouth runs dry and you’re only able to blankly stare back at him.

In your silence, he impulsively shoves his hand into his coat pocket and shimmies out some small notebook. He flips through pages and pages of scattered notes and highlights and even some light sketches before he finds the first blank sheet. He materializes a pen from the same pocket that had been sheltering the notebook and quickly scribbles before tearing out the page, folding it in quarters, and gifting it to you. 

You’re not sure why, but you find your hand an open landing for the paper. Unconvincingly, you reassure yourself it's because you know little resistance will only usher him out of your store sooner. 

As soon as he successfully rids himself of the note, you witness a bashful movement emerge upon his face in what you swear is the biggest and prettiest smile you’ve ever seen. You aren’t allotted time to admire or commit it to memory as its life spans less than a second, quickly shrinking till it's gone.

He bids you a rushed, “Take care, Merry Christmas,” before he turns on his heels and rapidly weaves his way through the isles till he disappears past the glass doors without so much as another word or last glance. 

Your eyes gravitate back towards the paper in your hand. You inspect the folded thing before you decide reading its contents would hold no worthwhile benefit and absentmindedly place it in your own pocket. 

— December 26th —

You mentally file through your checklist: The doors are locked, the drawer counted, and the lights turned off. Your colleague took care of the floor prep portion of closing duties before she left; you stayed way too late to finish your end-of-year reports. But you can’t seem to shake the feeling that you are forgetting something.

Your phone! You realize as you pat down your pockets you don’t have your phone. 

You race to your office through the dark void store to see your abandoned device sitting on top of your desk. As you grab your phone, the little forsaken folded paper you forgot you had placed on the work area earns your attention. Whether you set it aside for two days in a veto or for safekeeping is beyond you.

Now having endured your irrationally aggravated haze that always shrouds end-of-year stress, the only thing that remains is a flare of burning curiosity. 

You resist your own inquisitive demands and desert the mysterious note once more to hesitate towards the door, each step becoming more burdensome the further you trudge from your office.

Did you misconstrue him, seduced by mere whispers floating in the wind? Did you indignantly vilify him deceived by your own occupational duress? Despite being verbally clumsy, he was endearingly unconventional, and he clearly carried some remorse for your interaction.

You’re even baffled by the rumination this small piece of paper has conjured. Customers come and go, but you can’t seem to justify why he has become an unwelcome stowaway in your mind.

For the past two days, you’ve been choking on the bitter taste of rueful pining that you can’t seem to wash down. Suffocating under abrasive waves of what might have been if you’d only had patience to spare, till you can no longer deny your craving. 

You find your limbs and retrace the progress you’ve just made. You restively unfold the note to read confirmation of the exact information you imagined was inked into the little white sheet.  

Please, please, call me Jake.  And pretty please reconsider those drinks. [phone]

You are alarmed by the giggle that sounds past your giddy smile, penetrating the silence of an otherwise lifeless building. Your chest is ambushed by an aching weight as your sight darts across the hall to the storage housing the “secret stash” as he put it.

You suddenly have no idea why you’d been so hard on him; just that you’re now certain of your looming resentment. You’re not sure if it’s this reasoning, or the way he looked stunned by you, or even the shape of his giant childish smile you can’t seem to recall, that drives your thumb as you dubiously dial the phone number on the paper. 

Each ring of another number entered descends you further on your fall from professionalism and floods your head with panic. As soon as the dial tone begins to ring against your ear you’re immersed into a fit of denial, convincing yourself his answer is an unlikely outcome; despite this being his phone number and you are, in fact, calling it. 

“Hello,” his vaguely familiar rasp becomes one of undeniable recognition.

Neglecting to even consider what you might say if he did answer, you awkwardly blurt, “Hey, Mr.- Jake-,” it occurs to you that you never properly introduced yourself, “It’s the girl with a simple quiet life.”

You possess no control over your hand as it impulsively smacks against your forehead amid your poor choice of words.

You’re mortified he might have heard your reflex as he giggles through the line, “Hey, pretty girl. I was hoping you might call.”

— December 31st —

You aimlessly pace about the bathroom, your platform loafers suctioning with every sticky step on the tile. You survey the sting of your angry nail plates, red and visible from an anxious nail-biting fit. 

A jiggle of the doorknob and a harsh knock on the door interrupts your examination. 

“Just a minute,” your voice shakes trying to overpower the blaring music.

You possess no concept of how long you’ve been hiding out from the party just beyond the bathroom door. You had been wading through a sea of strangers for almost an hour looking for Jake before you finally became overwhelmed, retreating to a random bedroom and locking yourself inside its bathroom. You’re beginning to question Jake’s attendance at the very party he invited you to.

Another bang at the door.

You squeak in panic, “One second!”

You run your hands against your dress to wipe the sweat from them as you shuffle over to the mirror to perform a last-second evaluation. You straighten the collar of your little black button-down dress and readjust your pantyhose so the hem isn’t visible from your dress’s high-thigh split. You quickly retrieve your wine-red lipstick to featherly dap it over your lips in reapplication and sloppily attempt to recoil any broken curls before you're startled by another thud on the door.

You growl as you stomp over to the entryway, “Who the fuck?! I said hold-”

You swing the door open to gather those wide honey eyes framed by pretty chestnut waves.

The weight lifted from your chest is quickly chased by the embarrassment of your reaction, “Jake?!” 

The both of you, relieved to see the other, spill your words out in unison, “Where have you been? I was looking for you!” 

You aren’t sure whether the uncontrollable giggle you let out is induced by amusement or nerves. Jake only gives you a peculiar smirk while scanning you up and down. 

He slightly tilts his head and tries to interrogate you through a chuckle, “How long have you been hiding in here?”

You’re only able to bat your eyes at him, clueless as to how to save yourself. The way he reads the situation with such accuracy makes you question whether you have the words “socially celibate” written on your forehead; which isn’t true about you at all. You are usually a social butterfly but something about Jake makes you want to gasp for air. 

“I’m not hiding,” you blurt the lie straight through your teeth. 

“It's blatantly obvious you're hiding,” he playfully rolls his eyes and leans against the doorway, listing the factors that clue him in, “this is not the most accessible bathroom. There’s a bit of wandering you have to do in order to end up here.”

You attempt to redirect his heat back on him, “Well, what are you doing in here?”

His brows draw together in confusion, “You mean…in my bedroom?”

If your face wasn’t beaming pink before it certainly is now.

That night on the phone he had apologized profusely. After you reciprocated the remorse, he insisted on making up for the misunderstanding in person and invited you to a New Year’s Eve party. You spent the hours of that night learning bits and pieces about each other over the phone, yet not once did he make you aware it was his party. 

“I mean you invited me, but you failed to mention you own the place,” you shake your head and light-heartedly chide.

There’s a lot of attention that comes with being the host; attention you couldn’t compete with being that you have known Jake for all of five minutes. You have half a mind to make up some excuse to escape now and be done with this. 

Jake’s words soothe your storming thoughts, “I’m just glad you’re here and I found you. It's almost midnight and I was starting to think you flaked.”

From where your abrupt banter appears you’re not certain, just that you’re pleased with its arrival, “Wow, all these guests and those pretty eyes were searching for little old me? I’m flattered.”

“I was only concerned you might be hiding in a bathroom somewhere,” he teases back.

You roll your eyes and exit the bathroom. Only now do your inhibitions hush, admitting you to espy Jake dressed essentially in the same ensemble as your first meeting, the sore difference being the color palette. However, this single change is not one of subtlety, as you discover navy blue is certainly Jake’s color.

Jake instructs you to reenter the party and he’ll come find you in a few before disappearing into his own bathroom. 

You almost scoff out loud. There is no way you are subjecting yourself back to that lion's den alone. You instead idle about his room. 

You presume this bedroom is the master due to its excessive space and height. Two walls of a deep timber green meet one of exposed cobblestone, where the head of the bed is positioned, and another wall that is made completely of bookshelves. Mounted on these walls are frames of various historic maps and sketches and what you assume to be sailing routes. The decor is accented by espresso wooden floors and leather furniture; everything within your line of sight could certainly tell stories of a life dating well before your own. 

You wonder how it hadn’t occurred to you before, this room might belong to him; Jake is almost the room personified in its rustic aesthetic.

You saunter over to the wall of books, extending your reach to them. The pads of your fingers ridge against the embroidered spines of various vintage books as you skim through their titles; from which you determine the wall displays are most likely of a piratical lore. 

As you scale the bookshelf you run into a bar cart. Surely, he won’t miss a sip of liquor as much as you’re in need of one. You grab a cocktail glass from its rack and start with an easy pour of sparkling water. You aren’t sure which liquor to choose as they are all top shelf but land on tequila, mixing in an extra shot to take off the edge. You dress your drink with the squeeze of a lime and drop it in with a plop of ice, the residual juice left on your fingers begins to sting at your bitten fingernails. You take a moment to admire the symphony of each bubble fizzing its way to the top while ice chimes against your glass; the mere song of a tequila soda already easing your nerves. 

As you sip on your elixir and further snoop, you notice there are not many pictures in the room. The few you do find tell the story of four siblings. Although, you struggle to pick Jake out amongst the bunch, having it narrowed down between two in every photo. 

A whisper from somewhere just beyond your shoulder shatters your sleuthing trance, “Nosy little thing, aren’t you?”

Your drink nearly escapes your glass from the jolt his ambush sends through you.

He further teases you, “Ah, now you’re going to spill stolen liquor on my floors too?”

“It’s not stolen if you owe me a drink, sir,” you quip, referring to his offer of your first encounter. 

He playfully reclaims your drink from you while declaring, “Let’s see how good of a cocktail you can mix-,” he takes a swig and speaks through a stifled cough, “whoa, bit stiff there! I suppose you may just be able to keep up with me.”

You are on the verge of investigating the family pictures when his phone rings. He frowns, yet still retrieves the device from his pocket to read the notification. However, his eyes break from their summon within a second, elated to receive yours once again. 

Jake almost pounces on you, giddy to usher you back to the party, “Come on, I want to introduce you to some people!” 

You tail him down the hall to the main part of the house until you reach the outskirts of crowd congestion. He shifts his lead to your side, his arm still extended to precede you, parting the way through traffic. 

Parading through the guests, almost everyone attempts to greet their beloved host, stepping in front of or trying to walk between you. 

You feel Jake’s broad hand lightly rest against the small of your back in an attempt to stay tethered, your skin waking to the sudden warmth and weight of his touch. 

As you travel deeper into the heart of the crowd, it only multiplies in its density. Jake's fingers delicately travel from your back, over your hip, and wrap into your waist. He tugs you into his side, practically walking hip to hip; a measure taken to make certain you remain by his side.

Ordinarily, touch from any stranger is an unbearable concept you desperately flee from, but Jake’s hands are ones you’ve never known. He grabs you like he is certain your skin is his to touch. Simultaneously, it's assertive and amenable and affectionate. It grants status in a house full of strangers. You know you’ll only grieve its absence. Yet, you fear how you already crave more. 

Your buffer’s escort sees you into the kitchen and immediately draws towards a group of three men: two of a tall lean stature and the other petite like Jake. He walks before you and seizes their attention from whatever concentration previously held it.

You shadow Jake, shifting behind him so there is as little space as possible without physically touching him; weary of your new appetite. 

Even inches away from the men’s huddle, you can barely hear over the roar of the overcrowded house and the blaring music; your only indication of Jake speaking is the wave of his hands and the three boys’ responding laughter. 

You lean as an attempt to hear their conversation when someone stumbles past you, knocking you straight into Jake’s backside and sending him into a light stumble. 

Like some bashful toddler hiding from scary stranger danger, you stand straight and peek over Jake’s shoulder to see three wide-eyed men gaping at you. Jake loops his hand around your arm and casts you dead front and center as if you are a surprise gift he’d been concealing behind his back this whole time. 

He lightly rests his hands on your shoulders and leans towards your ear, you gauge he’s close not by sight, but by the warm sensation of his words tickling your skin, “These are my brothers,” then reverts his attention to the other men, “guys, this is who I was telling you about.”

You formally introduce yourself and one by one they do the same: Sam, whom you recognize from the pictures and assume is related to Jake, Danny, whom you’ve never seen before but seems to possess the same familial chemistry, and finally Josh, who you now identify as the other face you couldn’t differentiate from Jake’s in the photos; you know they must be brothers. 

You turn to confirm your suspicions with Jake and find he is no longer behind you. Eyes apprehensively detailing the scene, you scour till you recover him at the bar topping off your drink. You know he means well but the last thing you want is to be stranded.

As if he can access your thought flow, the man who earlier introduced himself as Josh is standing next to you now and gingerly places his fingers on your bicep to reassure you, “Don’t worry, you're in good hands.”

As your insecurity is driven away, curiosity remains, “So, what has Jake told you exactly?”

“Well- really, only that he came into your store and bugged the shit out of you-,” across from you,  a slightly tipsy and loose-lipped Sam is silenced by Josh nudging him, “ow?!”

“He told us that you hold an interesting perspective and a vast knowledge in the world of music,” Josh earns the title of damage control, “in addition to your immunity to his charms.”

When Josh laughs, it is a grand thing, his whole body participating in his colossal giddy smile. You can’t help but receive the glee he is emitting.

Only now does it occur to you, that pretty smile has graced you once before. It's the same one Jake wore for a mere second, of which the imageless memory has been bugging you for a week. Their wide smile seems to exist in exactly the same shape yet live in different lights: Josh’s a bit more generous and Jake’s a bit more significant.

It isn’t until now that you’re able to delineate all the same features about their face, noting now that they aren’t similarities at all but replicas. Only now can you see they’re twins. 

“Stop scaring her,” Jake’s voice rasps from behind you as a fresh drink is placed in your hand. 

“If you haven’t done that already, I’m not sure what will,” Josh collects Jake’s warning with a banter of his own. 

Suddenly, the boys’ are uprooted by a slow bluesy ballad sounding throughout the house; not a conventional party tune but after all it’s not your party. One after another, each brother’s face lights with recognition of a happening and disappears from the kitchen to the heart of the house, dragging along a someone as their chosen company. You witness every bystander in the kitchen mimic the strange migration. You never imagined a change of song could so dramatically alter the behavior of a room. 

Immediately, consciousness of an unknown tenses in your muscles. Your eyes storm Jake for clarification, yet the coy grin that he produces does nothing to soothe your skies. 

“So it's kind of a Kiszka New Year’s Eve party tradition,” his hand finds the back of his neck as if he is trying to thread together bad news, “to have a last dance just before midnight.”

“Oh,” your chest drops at a much less severe diagnosis than you anticipated. 

Jake distances himself a step from you to offer his hand and bashfully beams, “Care to be my final dance in these last fleeting moments of a year’s dying life?”

“I- um- actually,” you panic grasping for any declination, only to find a confession in reach, “I can’t dance. Well, not slowly anyway.”

He feigns shock, “A beautiful girl of your musical knowledge and you don’t know how to dance?!”

Despite the urge to run far and fast the moment Jake calls you beautiful, you charge to your own rescue, “No one ever taught me!”

He raises an interrogative eyebrow, “You promise that’s the only reason?”

You give Jake a confused nod while also averting your eyes in shame, so you aren’t aware when he lunges to snatch your hand from its comfort zone by your side. 

“It’s never too late to learn,” Jake chimes while tugging you from the kitchen.

The unforeseen tow renders you almost tripping over your own feet, docking your sweating glass courage on the nearest counter. 

You’re dragged into a tempest of strangers waltzing about until Jake decides your destination in the eye, a center spectacle accessible for anyone to gawk at. 

Jake plants you in position by steading your shoulders. You pay him no mind as your consciousness is currently employed by the surrounding cloud of people. He lifts your arms by the wrists, resting them around his shoulders before drawing in close to place his hands on your waist. You’re once again consumed by the warm weight of his heavy hands that spell you starving for more. 

“Jake-,” you begin to fret, suddenly feeling like you might burst into tears. 

“Shh- It’s okay- Look- Look, it’s simple,” he consoles you like an eager child. 

Jak motions your sight to follow his to the floor as he steps out with his left foot. Paralyzed by your own nerves, Jake doesn’t give up when you completely miss his cue to mimic his movement. You barely process the light chuckle that leaves him as he retraces his step back to starting stance.

Nimbly, his palm delineates your pelvis as his grip runs from your waist to your hip. Jake then replicates his previous action, this time firmly swatting your right side to follow; the slight impact sends an unsolicited shudder down your spine that you pray goes unnoticed. 

Hesitantly, you pursue his step. Then again with your left. Retrace. Repeat. Again. Then again. And again. Until you are swaying along with the rhythm.

Jake's eyes have since left the floor, amused at the sight of concentration you are. He allows you a moment of beginner’s peace before disturbing your count.

“I think you’ve pretty much got it,” his finger lands under your chin to lift your hanging head back to eye level again, rejoining his honey-brown gaze, “you can look at me now.”

You recognize something perennial in his tired eyes and all at once you’re aware the road to unwind is undoubtedly a long one, but whether it routes through pleasure or pain is beyond your discernment; the only thing of which you're certain, is at this moment he became ineradicably and irrevocably undeniable. 

After a few confident strides, you courageously let your head fall to Jake’s shoulder, only tripping over your instructor’s feet a few times but he doesn’t appear to mind. If you were rhythmically inclined you suppose you might even enjoy slow dancing, swaying about solely to remain blissfully close to your pretty dance partner as the rest of the reality seems to wane from existence. 

You swear hours pass before the melody finally fades out, yet Jake and you take your time to rejoin the rest of the world, lingering in your bubble; a countdown to midnight being the hammer that eventually breaks your glass.

TEN! NINE!

You hastily revert back to your own, excusing yourself from any rejection or inquiry by joining the chant. 

EIGHT! SEVEN!

Rather than dwell, your abrupt modesty strikes Jake endeared. He simply restructures himself, respecting your space, with a regaling smirk as he now jumps into the sequence. 

SIX! FIVE!  

Achingly aware that you’re the one who broke it, you’re assailed by a twinge of loss, fighting the appetite to feel him pressed against you once more. 

FOUR! 

That is until you feel Jake’s slight caress against your wrist. At first, you assume it’s an accident. The remaining life of the current year dwindling provokes the roaring crowd to compact, dancing and hugging, in hopes for a better year. 

THREE!

Yet, Jake’s touch doesn’t retract. His fingers dawdle about your skin, dancing down till he climbs into your palm. 

TWO!

His vast hand is extensively more than you’re able to hold, so his calluses tickle as he swiftly rakes them against your skin to interlock his fingers in yours; the bond devoted and interminable.

ONE!

You expect a confession from Jake as he cranes his head to fall in close to yours, but instead, feel a pink blaze rise to your cheeks as he delicately places his pretty plump pout just before the corner of your mouth; the sensation of his facial hair, prickly against your skin, being one you’d like to know further. 

As he pulls back to revel in your bemusement, you’re finally caught in that beautiful beaming smile for the second time. Your ache to witness the entrancing sight again hadn’t registered until it surfaced long for you to savor this time; your hope for the year to come instantly blossoms from Jake’s smile. 

“Happy New Year,” his blessing is barely audible over the cheers of a new era.

Some unseen and unfamiliar force greater than lust, commandeers your limbs diminishing all conscious control as you impulsively cling onto his lapel and yank him back into your orbit. Recklessly, you devour those pompous pink lips into your own. Jake doesn’t hesitate to consume the small of your back and dip of your waist within the swallowing grip of his palms. His mouth emulates your hunger, letting your kiss flourish and thrive against your lips. You give into your need for an air supply only when you feel the shape of that giant ass smile break the seal of your embrace. Nimbly, you press a small pucker to Jake’s dimples while they exist. 

You remain within the gravity of your shared breaths, giggling your wish against his smile, “Happy New Year, Mr. Kiszka!”

pretty please let me know what you think🫶🏼

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[lollytea]

hunter baby fever haver so true. guy who is mentally furnishing a nursery before even having his own place. baby name book addict. hes comparing & crossreferencing BI & earth names as soon as children start to be a possibility

Fr I don't think he even particularly cared about kids at all until a certain point. Like his lukewarm reaction to little Philip in Hollow Mind, before he actually realized who he was? He was all like "Hm. Yes. That certainly is. A Child."

But then he starts his apprenticeship under Dell and suddenly he's exposed to kids every day. And he's put into situations where he needs to talk to them and understand them because it helps with the palisman carving process. And he was pretty awkward at first cuz he has barely had any interaction with children before this (King was the only child he knew, who happens to be very mature for his age) and kids are weird and bizarre and unpredictable and Hunter is a little out of his depth. But he gradually get accustomed to it and even warms up to being around them, even finding them endearing. So at that point he's like "Hmmm....maybe....maybe I'd like kids one day. Maybe....."

But then, but then, but THEN!!! But then he's at work one day and somebody lets him hold their baby and its all fucking over for him. It awakens the beast. He's not normal anymore. How can he possibly be normal??? How??? How can he continue to exist and live an indifferent life when babies are so fucking SMALL?????? WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!! And then it just gets worse and worse and worse over time. He gets more and more comfortable with kids. He holds more babies. Now he's just insane about it.

And the thing is. Hunter knows he and Willow are too young for a baby. He knows neither are emotionally mature enough. He knows they still have so much growing up to do. He KNOWS okay he knows. So he's not begging for a baby. He has no intention of trying to have a baby right now. But that doesn't stop him from being in AGONY over the fact that it's gonna be several years before he can have a baby. His primal instincts are like. WANNA HOLD BABY!!! WANNA SQUISH BABY!!!! WANNA SMOOCH BABY!!!!!

Man is sighing wistfully over little baby clothes at the market and Willow's kicking herself for leaving him unattended cuz now he's gonna be in one of those moods tonight where he's whispering potential baby names in her ear when they're cuddling and she's had ENOUGH of it. She already wakes up every morning to twelve video links from Hunter of toddlers eating lemons and making funny faces or some shit because its usually in the middle of the night when his fever is the most potent.

Willow wants kids one day too. But she's also in very deep in her Flyer Derby thing. So while Hunter's idea of having children is the aftermath, Willow's mind immediately goes to the pregnancy part. And like. She has no intention of taking a pause from her athlete life yet. She's thriving.

Tho in fairness she does think it's kinda funny just how much of a menace Hunter is over this. He's just. Listen. If Hunter was never supposed to be a father, fate wouldn't land him with so many hobbies that could be utilized for future fatherhood.

An avid bookworm with an insanitable curiosity? He's 19 years old and reading parenting books for fun.

A tailor? He can sew, knit and embroider. He can MAKE little baby hats and mittens and booties and blankets. He'd probably be so excited to do so actually.

Woodcarver? He can build little wooden baby toys. He can make a mobile with little dangling palismen. He can build the goddamn crib itself and carve patterns into it of all of his and Willow's favourite flowers.

Like. He's spent a decade preparing. He's gonna be so ready when the time comes. But also you know that when the time DOES finally come and Willow tells him the exciting news, Hunter's euphoric celebration lasts for a total of four and a half minutes before he's like "Oh Titan....oh Titan, Willow, what if I'm a horrible father?"

He's a mess of a man.

[dlartistanon]

There's a Liz CG in chapter 13 and I'm both excited and scared at the same time... Please enlighten us on what happened when you've got the time (っ °Д °;)っ

Let me tell you that I nearly jumped out of my seat when I first saw that CG. And let me tell you that Liz's expression was the second thing that gave me concern. I absolutely had to know what was going on immediately.

So, below the cut, I'm going to recap the most pertinent parts regarding this scene. Afterwards, I will reblog with my thoughts and commentary, and some speculation.

Shiningale focus? In my main plot? IT'S MORE LIKELY THAN YOU THINK.

CHAPTER 13 SPOILERS AHEAD

First off, this scene involving Logos, Ascalon, and Salus:

Logos: How far have you tampered with your… "bloodline"? It’s unimaginable that you are blood relatives of the Follower Shining. Such an outstanding person must always repent for your filth. (This is after Ascalon stabbed Salus in the neck)

After that, there's a conversation between Kal'tsit and Shining:

Kal'tsit: What's Nightingale's status?

Shining: … Outside the window, Shining sees Nightingale sleeping, leaning against a tree. Shining: Not good. Though Liz's state has never been more stable, the levels of Originium content in her body are rising, most likely even affecting her pain nerves.

Kal'tsit: This would not be a normal infection.

Shining: Maybe it's the sorcery devices that Sarkaz have set up on the battlefield, or the whispers of dead souls… I don't know. I can't tell her "I empathize with your pain." I really don't. But she happily told me yesterday that she hasn't felt pain in her sleep for a long time…

Kal'tsit: You're hesitating. You've been hesitating ever since you came back from the Confessarii alone. Do you remember the reason you applied to come along to Londinium in the first place?

Shining: 'To cure Liz'. Dr. Kal'tsit, I have never hesitated, even for a moment, about that goal.

Kal'tsit: Even without knowing the exact state of her condition, we all know what "cure" means.

Shining: What needs to be done hasn't changed… I know.

Kal'tsit: I trust you. The eyes with which you view Nightingale are not only compassionate. You're not the only one who's taking care of her, she's treating your fears as well. Nightingale may be physically challenged, but she is a member of the Followers, your companion, not a delicate flower to be protected. The secrets of the Confessarii are truly stomach-churning. But perhaps it is only by confronting the deepest of abominations that we can unravel the truth.

Shining: …

Kal'tsit: I know you're a little upset, Shining. But as we said at the beginning of our partnership, Rhodes Island will help, if you need it.

Shining: --Thank you, Dr. Kal'tsit. The blue feathered beast lands on Shining's shoulder, chirping. It was Liz's usual way of greeting her. Shining: … Liz is awake, I'm going to get her.

Nightingale then recalls a dream (or a memory?) that's very peculiar. Basically it's her and Shining when they were younger, holding hands and walking along a river and watching a bird, but then something strange and horrifying happened to the bird.

Unfortunately the next thing that happens is that they're ambushed by Confessarius and Salus in an attempt to kidnap Nightingale. Kal'tsit summons Mon3tr but Salus--from her battle with Amiya--is able to restrain Mon3tr. Apparently she was able to do this by performing rituals on herself and finding a way to cannibalize the Arts of other bloodlines. She also dove into Amiya's memories (where it turns out that there's a part of Theresa's soul/consciousness that's protecting Amiya still).

Kal'tsit: Mon3tr!

Shining: Dr. Kal'tsit, you can't move yet. Shining: I told you--you and I will only meet on the battlefield.

Confessarius: Oh? Then why are you hiding your sword at this moment? When you left home, you swore an oath to sever your family's bloodline, and I have longed for you to return and fulfill that oath. I gave you time, and you let me down again and again. We should have given birth* to the next me. It would have been the most ethereal bloodline in nearly a hundred years. Then Liz uses her Arts.

Confessarius: … well. Sharp, but full of impurities. What happened to your soul? Do you still think you have hope while you are away from us?

Shining: … Liz! Come back!

Nightingale: …！I won't… at your mercy!

Confessarius: … oh? You are truly an unexpected piece of work, far beyond my expectations. Even though it's just a body, can it still touch "me"?

Nightingale: Shining, now! I… I can't hold on for long!

Shining: … A strange feeling came over Shining.

Nightingale took the initiative to resist Confessarius and restrained him. The ancient demon clan, which had never seen its true soul, was now more vulnerable than ever. Bloodline. The word bloodline was vague, but at this moment, a long bloody crack seemed to appear right in front of you.

Shining hesitated. How could it be so simple?

How can it be so simple?

Kal'tsit: Nightingale, stop! This is a trap, he's waiting for your Arts!

Nightingale: ——！ Time slowed down.

Confessarius: You and I both know where fate will lead us, but the only one who doesn't know is this poor caged self. Contempt of blood and resistance to destiny are doomed to be in vain. No one can deny the heavenly principles gifted by our bloodline. I will do for you what you hesitated to do, create a gap in the cage… Come into the cage with me, and I will set you on the right path. Think through your options… [ancient Sarkaz name].

On the stone platform covered with dead branches, the white sword pierced the heart.

Shining remembers the first time she cried, how amazing it was, giving birth to emotions that she didn't expect. A new soul is carved and shaped under the sword's edge.

???: I have seen… your pain… your… tears…

Confessarius: Accidents always bring surprises. You could have stopped experimenting right then, but you couldn't bear to destroy the ignorant consciousness in that empty shell. … So you sewed memories into the empty shell.

Shining: She is Liz. She shouldn't…

Confessarius: It is your freedom to name your populated consciousness "Liz".

"Liz" was afraid of the silence of those across the long table. They meet to sit here and have dinner at the same time every day.

But the white-horned Sarkaz holding the sword opposite her had stopped talking to her, taking only notes. "Liz" is always asking herself, 'did I do something wrong to make her angry?'

"Liz" misses the fond memories of their past…

Liz?: I repeat the same dream every day, dreaming about us walking hand in hand in the stream when we were children… Then I flew up, flying higher and higher, but you couldn't hold onto me. From the clouds, I saw you crying. Every time I want to come back to you, I wake up in pain. I ache from feeling your pain and I want to share the burden with you. As long as you tell me why you are suffering… Quesasina.

Shining: …

Confessarius: Quesasina, the name means "hope that does not allow separation", our destiny. She blames herself for your moment of kindness, and she thinks all the fault is her own, this poor "Liz."

Shining: I have abandoned that sinful name. I am now Shining and will only ever be Shining.

Confessarius: Really? Do you think you can resist your family's destiny for thousands of years? I'll wait and see.

"Liz" held the blue feathered beast she rescued from the river in her hands. Her indigo feathers trembled, and the cold river water made her shiver. She thought Quesasina would be angry, but the sad Sarkaz just knitted a brand new birdcage for "Liz".

"Put it in the cage, and it'll be safe from now on."

Liz?: Quesasina, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to risk walking into the river to save it… but I can't just watch it die like this. I fell in love with it when your family gave it to me as a gift. It likes to fly freely, but once it gets too far away from me, it seems to lose its energy and always falls into the river… You said the same thing happened yesterday… but I don't remember it at all. But I will listen to you and put it in a cage. I will protect it. Please don't be angry. I promise you, such a stupid thing will never happen again.

Confessarius: The more fragments and lies you fill her with, the more confusion and pain she will feel. I uncovered the dusty fragments for her. Her awakening is irreversible, and she will eventually painfully disintegrate her rootless consciousness.

Shining: I won't let that happen, Father. I will put an end to our sins with my own hands, and Liz will be cured.

Confessarius: Then what? Isn't her regaining the truth what you fear, dear sister? This is the source of your sad hesitation.

Shining: …

Confessarius: I tolerated you wandering around with this container, and I tolerated you continuing to strengthen this fragile cage… Because I trusted you to love it with all your heart, and you didn't disappoint. Eventually you will come back to me with your cage. And you did. See, she even tried to imprison me to create opportunities to defeat me. Your rebellious love for her and her struggles against fate have sadly become another catalyst.

Shining: You--even using the hope she found in herself?!

Liz?: Shining? Are you here?

Shining: ！

Liz?: I can feel your breath, but I can't see you…

Shining: I'm here, Liz!

Confessarius: She can't hear your voice, we walk within her broken consciousness—the interior of the cage.

Liz?: Shining… there is a burning name and vague question echoing in my mind, but I can't remember it… Maybe I'll remember it when we leave here. I found myself able to share the pain of others to slow the withering of their lives. You said we would go far away to find a cure for me, and maybe I could cure others in pain on our journey.

Shining: …

Confessarius: The disordered and broken memories are flooding her, and sooner or later she will get lost in them. Perhaps she'll go insane, or will kill herself before that happens. But you already know the solution I taught you, Quesasina.

Shining: …

Confessarius: Draw your sword and destroy the bodies of your blood relatives once and for all. Our souls will be reconnected with your sword as a bridge, and you—will give birth. Give birth to eternal authority. This is a fate you cannot escape. Become one with me and nourish her otherwise shattered consciousness with the remains of your blood family.

Shining: … Liz, forgive me.

Shining clenched the sword in her arms, her hand already on the scabbard.

Confessarius: Finally, Quesasina…

From the scabbard, morning and dusk are about to pour out. But at this moment, a hand held Shining's sleeve.

Nightingale: Shining, I like your current name a lot more.

Shining: Liz…

Nightingale: I seem to have slept for a long time, lost in countless fragments. But I heard your voice, and you guided me to a place buried among the debris. There, I dug up fragments of memories… I still haven't remembered them all. But I remembered the question that should have been answered long ago… I forgive you. I forgave you even before you cruelly sealed my memories away… That's why, I'm angry at you for making these decisions all by yourself.

Shining: …

Nightingale: "Liz", I've always loved the name you chose for me. Don't leave me and bear everything on your own. We made a promise to get through this together—

Shining saw Nightingale's eyes and Nightingale's smile.

When Shining came back to her senses, the hand had quietly slipped from her sleeve.

Confessarius: A tragedy, but the ending is always fixed. Either you kill me and become the breeding ground for the next bloodline, or you watch me take her away and then drown in your regret. It’s all the same, sister. Quesasina, the consciousness of the cage has awakened. If you continue to keep her by your side, she will only evaporate and die like dewdrops in the morning.

Shining: …

Confessarius: I will take her away, I will help you maintain it, I will help you make up for it—I will mold the cage into a crown. Then, you will be, we will be… the eternal devil.

In the end, Confessarius ended up kidnapping Liz.

Kal'tsit: Operator Nightingale is a member of Rhodes Island's Medical Department, and we will not allow her to be kidnapped or harmed. But any rash move may put her in greater danger. After all, the opponent we need to face… is an immortal "Demon King" who has coveted the crown for thousands of years. Quesatushta. He who knocks on the door is he who usurps the king. I was aware of the threat of the Confessarii, even during the Tower of Babel period, and several attempts were made in vain. Theresis concealed them so well that people thought they were only the regent's bodyguards.

Shining: … Please don't worry, I know what we have to do.

Ascalon: You are calmer than I thought. What are you planning?

Shining: Liz… made her own choice. It's a choice that even I would never dare to think of. It is bold and aggressive, but it is the most effective. It seems that I'm always the one who's afraid of failure and dying… What I want to do, ha. It is to catch up with her.

#dltext #anonymous #arknights #shining #nightingale #dl talks ak #IT'S ALL SO MUCH #MY BABIES ARE GETTING SO MUCH RELEVANCE #BUT AT WHAT COST #SHININGALE FANS WHERE YOU AT

[ystrike1]

Beast’s Flower - By Habrin (7.5/10)

Would you read a story about a cliche abused heroine and a possessive guy if it came with a little spice? Most people give smutty stories a chance when they're weird. So, this one is totally PG13 and the heroine is stinky. You heard me. Her magical powers make her stinky. She only smells good to the crown prince, because he's a panther man. None of that information is presented in a comedic way. The author is dead serious.

Lyla comes from a village where mages aren't seen as valuable inventors. They're still witches in the eyes of the uneducated and poor. Lyla was born stinky. Her magic is too strong. It's implied that the smell makes people fear her, but the "I'm stinky" curse is too damn funny please help me I can't fucking do this one...

Anyway.

Lyla is the daughter of a Baron. Nobody else has magic nearby so no tutor comes to save her. The maids abandon her and she starts living in the barn with the horses.

When she turns ten things get worse. Her father leaves her in a cabin near the mansion in the woods. He provides candles and minimal supplies. Lyla has no education. She's kinda dumb as a brick and defensive as hell, and she's stinky. The locals think she's a witch that eats children. Really, her life could not suck more.

Ariadne is Lyla's tall, normal smelling sister. Ariadne is a narcissist that thinks Lyla should die. She gradually makes Lyla's life even worse.

Lyla begs for more candles for her hovel. Ariadne says no, and Lyla's position is very realistic. Without candlelight she literally must live like an animal. Ariadne's sick games worsen her mental health, which is already questionable...at best...

One night, while Lyla is busy thinking about death, she hears a noise. It's a guest. A "lost" man has come. It's Prince Viorst, a prince that can transform into a beast at will!!!!

He doesn't tell her that. He pretends to be a passing noble who is lost and injured and in need of help.

Lyla rushes to his aid...just kidding she tries to stab him. Lyla doesn't trust him AT ALL. He even says he doesn’t have a sense of smell....which is also a lie. Lyla can't resist. No nose means she can maybe have a normal human friend. She's very uncivilized and blunt with him, but he doesn’t care.

Lyla's yucky stink smell...turns him on? Like he immediately wants to marry her, and no one else ever. Viorst is more beast than man. He is known as a sociopath who will do anything to maintain power. That's great for the country but he is deeply feared by all. He even threatens to sell off his head aide when he's kinda annoyed. Violence is part of his everyday life, and he thinks Lyla smells like a flower. A sexy one....

The flirtation is all one-sided until Lyla cracks. It's so ridiculous. Viorst acts like a normal Casanova type of man, even though his bride is in rags. It gets absurd and really creepy. Viorst doesn't feel human in the slightest. All of his sweetness is a ploy to capture Lyla, who is the only woman he has ever felt anything for.

By the way the shit with Lyla's family is actually really depressing??? Ariadne is the perfect daughter her father always wanted. She's not stinky and she's pretty. The Baron ignored her lust for blood, and now it's too late. The Baron is actually afraid of Ariadne. Ariadne thinks she's going to be Crown Princess, because Viorst is staying with them will he courts Lyla in secret.

He's staying there out of convenience.

As soon as Lyla agrees to go with him he's going to kill everybody in the manor.

Hardcore...

Ariadne doesn't know that, so she tries to seduce him the whole time...

Ariadne actually tries to fight back. Viorst admits he's after Stinky Lyla. Ariadne convinces her father to give the order for an old-fashioned Witch Hunt. By the way!!! Lyla's father did love her!!! He just kinda gave up on her because of the Witch Stuff and the stink. He used to visit her. Ariadne slowly convinced him that he didn't need an imperfect daughter. He hesitates to give the killing order until the last second, with Ariadne screaming in his face.

He still sucks, but Lyla could have had a better life. She didn’t get it because Ariadne is a violent, narcissistic wacko. This idea is pretty great. In any other story Ariadne would be a hateful villain, but her parents adored her until the end because she's not cursed/magical.

Viorst uses his beast form to scare the villagers and save(?) Lyla from the Witch Hunt. However, he does let them burn her cabin down. He practically forces her to come home with him, because there's no home left for her to cling to. He reveals that her father gave the order too. There's no chance to put Ariadne on trial for her madness. Lyla doesn't get the chance to reconcile with her father.

Viorst takes her away.

He unleashes his punishment.

He cuts off Ariadnes arm, because she dared to touch him.

He takes away the Baron's title, leaving him destitute.

Then, he sets the manor on fire while the entire family is still inside.

If they survive they all have to live as peasants.

Maybe Ariadne will live and return...but it's most likely that the family will choose to die.

They can't beat the prince.

Lyla learns that Viorst is the prince...when she's locked up safely in the castle. He pretends to be a normal noble until then. Lyla says she wouldn't have accepted his proposal if she knew and he's like...lol yeah that's why I lied to you the whole time...lol...

This is the beginning of a super healthy relationship. How wholesome.

Viorst wants to keep Lyla stupid too.

He doesn't want her to learn about her powers or anything. She just needs to stay in the palace and be loved by him.

......

......

Viorst is a real wackjob. Lyla is definitely a strong mage. After she learns a bit she'll be able to control the miasma/stink. Viorst doesn't care if she spends the rest of her life in isolation. At least let her get rid of the stink....come on....stinky....Why would you want to go down in history as The King with the Stankrank bride????

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #webtoon #monster guy #monster boy #Beast’s Flower