#like i cannot get the image of his face in the new mask out of my damn head

[dollypopup]

Today I'm thinking about how so much of Colin's narrative speaks to the neurodivergent experience of having to pretend to be someone else as a survival mechanism. Of the pressure in masking because your real, authentic self is rejected or ignored: too weird, too quiet, too loud, too gullible, too soft-heart, too. . .everything. Too anything. And at the same time, not enough.

Colin gets excited about his travels, about his hyperfixations, talks and talks and talks about them, and no one cares. So, Colin shuts up. Colin writes letter after letter, and gets no reply. So, Colin writes in a journal just for himself. Colin tries and tries to make his family proud, tries to marry, tries courting properly, and it blows up in his face. So, Colin chooses not to date, to become a spectator. Colin is yelled at for trying to invest, so he no longer asks or talks about money, doesn't try to rock the boat in his city. Who Colin is, what he wants, ceases to matter, the fabric of him folded smaller and smaller- instead he focuses on the shell. Builds it in image of his older brothers, of the men around him. Mirrors them.

Anthony says he should have taken Colin to brothels, that he's a fool for trying to marry and his engagement blows up- Colin thus goes to brothels. Colin hops from city to city, trying on new personas like outfits, fine tuning each one. Is this it? Will this be what finally makes them accept me? Colin's appeal to the women of the ton is that he does not talk about himself- but about them. That they're wearing beautiful dresses, that surely they'll find husbands. Separating himself from them- cannot tell them of his travels, that he's not the brave one, it was everyone working together to help with the balloon.

Deflect. Never centered. Colin exists on the outskirts as Pen does, he's just hypervisible for his exterior, and invisible otherwise. His charm is that he pleases those around him. His wounds are that the truest version of him cannot accomplish that. Thus, he becomes hyperaware of what his impact is, first to apologize and last to be forgiven. Living for the approval of others is a trap. He knows. He's fallen into it, a bear claw around his ankles.

He feels like the only way he's worthwhile is if he's providing something for someone. An apology, or comfort, or ease, compliments or winks, a laugh or a distraction, good looks or a fantasy. Providing a happy life for Pen by stepping out of the way, his own needs secondary. It's being there for his mum for an escort or a soft heart to heart. It's taking Anthony's disappointment in him and being indulgent to Eloise's insults. It's giving Benedict his special tea and saying hardly anything about why he bought it in the first place. Bringing gifts to family members who did not write back to him as he wandered the world, alone. It's sticking his neck out for Penelope with Jack, it's providing a dance or a rescue or a good time, checking on Marina to make sure she's alive and okay, listening to Phillip. Colin isn't at all comfortable being himself, the himself that is messy, so he covers it in the himself that is useful.

But what he does, what he provides other people, is not his actual worth. He thinks he's being altruistic by stepping aside and languishing in his feelings for Pen, believing she'll be happier in the future with Debling, waiting and waiting and waiting, until that candle burns out and he's at the 11th hour- and when he snaps and goes after her, when he cuts into her dance, when he runs for her in that carriage, he makes a choice for himself that he thinks, in some way, is selfish.

But it isn't. It's what she wants, too. And there's something beautiful in the fact that with Penelope, his being real, what he thinks is so difficult and unwanted, is actually giving her what she has desired all along. They both find fulfillment and contentment in his unmasking. Penelope never wanted the shell. She saw what was beneath it. She loves what's beneath it.

And I think there's something. . .healing, in that narrative. That us ND peeps who mask as a means of fitting in- that will never bring us happiness. Not really. That it didn't bring Colin happiness.

His arc is realizing that he should be his true, authentic self, and that love will bloom from it. And it does.

I don't know. I think I can learn something from that. I think I'm going to carry that with me for a while.

#polin #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #bridgerton #i just have a lot of feelings about him #and Colin as an ND character means a lot to be as an ND person and I know it meant a lot to Luke Newton as ND actor #like i see the choices he made with colin and that makes his performance so impactful for me #fandom: *shakes magic8 ball* “will dolly ever shut up?” #response: 'seems unlikely'

[scarlet-and-ultraviolet]

I think I have a problem

#i have a severe case of sleep token brain rot #specifically vessel brain rot #like i cannot get the image of his face in the new mask out of my damn head #i want him to literally scream the intro to Vore at my face #he has put me under a spell i swear #I'm sorry this is a simp post #i cant stop my brain #please disregard

[chronically-ghosted]

can you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills?

rating: T (this is the tamest thing I’ve written in years)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 8K

summary: a year into secretly dating, you are overwhelmed by your feelings for Dieter Bravo, confident and resigned to the fact that he doesn’t feel the same way. But on Oscar’s night, drunk on sparkling wine and a terrific win, Dieter gives you a reason to doubt your fears. 

warnings/tags: age gap, self-aggrandizing rumination on our public vs private personas, a stupid amount of kissing, angst but soft angst, angst that is resolved, this is very different from anything i’ve done recently, and there’s no smut? just kisses? What have you become Taylor? one very very very soft Dieter, waxing shamelessly poetic about being in love and being loved by Dieter Bravo 

a/n: this comes from the same request by two of my LOVELY followers ( @tvversionperson and @bitchwitch1981) from my 100 followers event: “I’m not drunk. Can a drunk person do this?” “You’re not doing anything.” “But… I sent you my love. Did you… did you not get it?” with Dieter Bravo. this is so wildly different from anything i've done before, i'm flinging this into the internet like a goddamn trapshooter of emotional angst

shout out to @iamdesibell for the visuals of Dieter at the party. She spoils me with all of her incredible Dieter artwork.

🤍Masterlist

Every artist knows it's about the looks. The aesthetics of it all, the internet’s new favorite buzzword. Increasingly too often, the merit of the artwork is equated to the moral merit of the artist; it’s not so much about selling the image you create, it’s about selling the image of yourself. Does the artist fit into the image of what the masses imagine when they hear what the artist offers? Can the artist balance both the expectations and provide something new? When is the right time to break the mold, and be different, or when is it best to follow the crowd? Keep your head down and make more content than art. When does the aesthetics of a thing matter more than the thing itself?

For Oscar’s night, often there is nothing more important than the look of things. The elegance. The allure but approachability of the stars. Beautiful but obtainable. Handsome but effortless. But beneath all the veneer, all the lights, and gold and glitz, there is a yearning, an animalistic hunger, for a quite literal shiny object waved in their faces to clamor and push and shove for. The beauty is a mask that covers fragility and fear and anticipation – and that mask must remain firmly in place, no matter the outcome. Remember, they’re watching, always watching, and you cannot want a thing too much, lest you become conceited or conniving. You cannot love in a way that scares them.

And sometimes, you think you love him in a way that scares yourself.

His warm palm grips yours over your knee. He, along with the other nominees, wait patiently as the names are read allowed from the gilded stage. His face, a mask – of curiosity, of wonder – but only you, perhaps because you are so close to him, can see the fraught want in his eyes. You know how much he wants this, how much you want this for him. He wants it so much he’s trembling. Microscopically. Barely at all, barely a flinch of genuine human emotion, it makes you sick. Because Dieter, the Dieter you’ve come to know in the past year, is so wonderfully unpolished, such a sterling testament to the beauty in the raw, it makes a spot behind your sternum ache to watch him hold himself back. 

You want to give him a smile of encouragement, to kiss his knuckles and soothe his hammering pulse with your thumb, but you can’t. You can’t even look at him, any movement immediately flagged by the cameras. Always watching.

But behind the rows of seats, they can’t see your clasped hands. Can’t see his tapping foot. They can’t see how much he wants, how much he loves. As the names are read aloud for the category of Best Actor, you lift your thumbnail to the meat of his palm, between his own thumb and index finger. Gently, softly, quietly, so as not to startle the molecules of air around you, you draw a heart in his skin. 

But by his rigid posture, you’re not sure he registers it. You can’t tell if he knows you’re there at all. 

It began a year ago. 

After a truly spectacular break up that left you bereft and aimless, you decided to quit. Quit it all. Quit and start over doing the one thing you actually had passion for: screenwriting. Was it risky and dumb as hell at your age? Absolutely. But it didn’t matter if you never ended up writing for a big Hollywood film, you told yourself, as long as you were writing, that’s all that mattered. 

So you quit writing articles about car insurance, packed up everything, and moved to the City of Angels. 

Two years later, you were still earning your dues. Still working from the bottom of the barrel up, climbing through muck and verbal abuse and emotional exploitation and the very dredges of the industry. 

You tried to focus on your craft, on getting more than just getting coffee for the actual writers, but after multiple days spending nineteen hours on your feet, the capacity to be creative so rarely comes, your brain often sizzled and fried like the back end of a janky, unreliable toaster. The production company you worked for had just purchased the rights to a popular novelist’s book for a film adaptation. The party you were at was more of a “pat yourself on the back” sort of thing for the director and novelist to rub elbows while surrounded by beautiful people. Attending mind-numbing parties for the sake of building connections was one thing. You could actually have fun when you wanted, but this? This self-indulgent, ego-driven, flattery bullshit, when all you wanted to do was sleep?

You watch as Eliot Baker, friend of the director and whose house is currently being trashed by a bunch of dangerously drunk and high animals, steps up onto his kitchen table. His pupils nearly dilated to the size of quarters, he holds up a baggy of white powder.

“Anyone interested in Colombia’s finest, please join me in the bedroom. Beautiful women, please stay.” 

The three shots you had done earlier had done nothing to dull your irritation, now amplified by the grating cheer that goes up from the crowd. Coke rarely puts you in a better mood, but at least it’s better than sulking by the stairs. Eliot leaps off the table and leads a gaggle of giggling women, and men with their hands all over their sparkly asses, down the hall and you try not to roll your eyes, your feet all but dragging beneath you. 

Then someone catches you by the elbow.

And you wonder how a homeless man got past security. 

A comically large green beanie on his head, a blindly yellow hood zipped up over what perhaps had been a white t-shirt – you are immediately arrested by his dark, soft eyes. Thick, furrowed brow. He hasn’t let go of your elbow. 

“That guy is a fucker,” he tells you with vehemence. 

“What?” He could have asked you your name and you would have said the exact same thing.

“Baker,” he sneers over your shoulder at the small crowd tumbling through the open door, Eliot’s too blue eyes watching like a farmer counts cattle to the slaughterhouse. “He laces his shit. Makes you too fucked up. He’s the kind of evil fucker who roofies drinks.”

The stranger looks at you, the twist of rage around his mouth fading, eyes softening again, as if he is worried about you.

“Don’t go in there,” he says. 

His warm hand is still around your elbow. 

“Okay,” you say because you haven’t come across anyone this earnest, maybe in your entire life, and certainly not since moving to LA. 

He blinks, as if surprised, and slowly withdraws his hand. You stare at each other for perhaps too long before he jerks his thumb over his shoulder.

“Wanna smoke some weed?”

The cool night air of LA always surprises you. It’s never cold, no, but the chill is noticeable, tangible, always right at the back of your neck when you least expect it. You stifle the urge to shiver as the man slides the glass door behind him, immediately deafening the party inside. You hadn’t realized it had been so loud until there is blissful silence, the sound of blood rushing in your ears replacing the trance music and the dull hum of overlapping voices. 

The man straight off the set of The Big Lebowski unhurriedly digs around in the pocket of that obnoxious hoodie for a bit, as if he could lose an item in that small pouch. 

He finds what he’s looking for with a grin on his face, and when he brings both the lighter and blunt to his lips, you realize his left arm is in a cast. 

He sees you eye it, managing to light and hit the blunt with one hand before pocketing the lighter and offering the smoke to you. The browns in his eyes are overcome by the darkness surrounding you on the back porch overlooking the valley below, the skyline of Los Angeles winking in the far distance. 

You notice something, not writing or words on his cast, more like a dark blot, but you don’t ask him about it. Most people in this business you’ve found are only on for the cameras and when it comes to personal, quiet moments, the less personable they have to be the better. You feel like you’re already pressing your luck by getting a few free hits off this guy so you wait your turn, ready to be as silent as he wants it to be.

Which apparently isn’t very much at all.

“How’d you end up here?” He asks with genuine interest and just a touch of weariness. 

You shrug as you take the blunt from him again. “My boss is here to schmooze his new writer. As his assistant, I think I’m contractually obligated to be around him more than his own shadow.”

“You’re a PA?” He asks, voice strained and full of smoke, before he puffs out the side of his mouth. A considerate smoker, then. 

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m whatever is lower than a PA. I think an actual bottom-feeder in a fish tank has more power than me.” 

“So you’re new to the scene?” 

You scowl, one arm tucked around your waist, the other tapping on your thigh. “Yeah, if two years is still new.” 

He frowns. “What are you trying to break into?” 

His fingertips brush yours over the next exchange and maybe it’s the earnest look in his eyes, or the bizarre fact that he actually smells good despite looking like he’d raided a garbage can, or maybe it’s the weed finally hitting, but you are honest with this complete stranger.

“I wanna be a screenwriter.” 

Maybe it’s the drugs finally hitting him too, but the glossy shine to his eyes doesn’t seem to be from boredom as you explain to him the past few years of your life, starting from the breakup in Boston to getting a very specific brand of q-tips from a drugstore on the other side of town for your boss at midnight. 

“I know I have to pay my dues, and I don’t mind that, but I just want to do something that matters, you know?” The unexpected chill of the night air curls around your neck as he listens intently to your uninterrupted ramble for ten minutes. “I don’t even care about big movies, or the awards, I want to write something that touches just one person. Give them something to think about for years to come. Comforts or encourages them to do the thing they’re scared of doing.” You feel heat climb up your ears as he watches as though you’re the most fascinating thing in the world. “It’s silly. It’s just a job, and I know I should treat it like that . . .”

You trail off, waiting for him to admonish you, but instead he grins. A smile that widens his whole face. On someone else it might look condescending, but he’s grinning wildly as he slides the joint back into his mouth with two fingers and leans back on his heels.

“So you’re a little dreamer, huh?” That faint blush now beats a harsh red. Fuck, you knew you sounded like an idiot – always opening up too soon and too fast to strangers who don’t really give a fuck. You were just supposed to have a conversation with this nice, albeit weird guy and go on your way and – 

He cocks his head as he looks at you, takes in your beet-red ears and cheeks and that smile falters.

“You know that’s not a bad thing, right? The world needs more dreamers. People, who despite all the bullshit, continue to believe they can be happy.”

“You could also call that being delusional,” you mutter as you take the halfway-spent joint from him when he offers. 

One of those thick eyebrows jerks as though thinking of a funny joke. He shrugs, his mouth twisting down in a disbelieving smirk. “Personally, I like to call it whimsy.” 

Whimsy? Who talks like that?

You fight a giggle and find him looking at you again, that smile smoothed out and warm again. One glance and you snort loudly, then bust out laughing. 

Those magnanimous eyes glitter as he watches you laugh yourself silly. 

“Child-like, wondrous whimsy,” he teases and you laugh harder as though he tickled you. Another snort explodes out of you and you clap your hand over your mouth, finally hearing the noises you’re making and mortified beyond reason. You glance over your shoulder, worried someone else might have heard your donkey laugh. In fact, you wish anyone other than the gorgeous man standing next to you had heard it. 

But if he finds it unpolished or annoying, he doesn’t show it. He just rolls on his heels, grinning and looking overly pleased with himself. When the giggles subside, you bite your lip at him.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Fire away, Pistol Pete.” 

“How’d you break your arm?” 

He looks down at it as he forgot it was there.

“Uh, it’s a long story.”

He finally pulls it out of the sleeve of his jacket. Your mouth drops.

You can’t even tell what medium had been used, either paint or sharpie or something else entirely, but the cast is a mosaic of some of the most gorgeous artwork you’d ever seen. Birds in gold and blue hues, flowers and leaves in stunningly rendered detail, the curves of anonymous noses and lips and teeth and earlobes – all wound together in collage by someone with an eye for detail and a precious reverence for the mundane. 

But for all the artwork, designs you fully believe should be in a museum, you realize no one has signed it. Maybe only twelve year olds sign each other’s casts, you think harshly to yourself. Grow up.

But still, the sight makes you a little sad. 

“Did you do these?” You ask quietly.

He nods, turning his arm to give you a better look, as if eager for your approval. You think you see the horns of Goya’s El Gran Cabrón before he pulls his arm back. 

The man hasn’t answered your original question, watching your face for every microexpression. Finally, you do glance up and he has his bottom lip in teeth, as though preparing to be scolded. 

At that moment, you want nothing more than to kiss those plush lips. You swallow, feeling rather lighted-headed and capable of making terrible decisions, so you take a clear step back. 

“I got daydrunk and fell in my pool wrong.”

You frown at him. “That’s not a very long story.”

He drops your gaze, suddenly bashful, and shakes his sleeve back over his cast. “Yeah, well, I couldn’t come up with a better story that makes me look really cool, or makes you laugh, so I went with the lame truth.”

You don’t remark that it sounds like he wanted to impress you so you go for the easy alternative.

“Why would I laugh at you?” 

He flops his arms in half-shrug. “I don’t want you to laugh at me. I just want you to laugh. I like your laugh.” 

How does someone who wears their heart so openly on their sleeve survive in a place like this? You want him to swallow you down so you can count the rings in his stomach, learn his history like oak trees. 

“Who are you?” You blurt out, your mouth full of cotton and brain somewhat disconnected from your brain stem. 

At that, he laughs. “Gimme your number and you’ll find out.” 

His smile elongates the longer you stare at him. “It’s not a line. I mean, it is, but not like that, if you don’t want it to be. This fucking industry is built on who you know and I know a couple of people to know. You can call me if you have any questions or need a reference.” 

The whiplash between flirty tease and professional contact is jarring. Your fingers shaking from shock, you take your phone out of your pocket and hand it to him. 

He taps away, bobbing his head to some tune only he can hear, before lifting it up to his face and snapping a selfie – tongue out and eye squinting into the flash. 

He tosses your phone back and you learn his name for the first time. 

The shock wears off immediately and you roll your eyes.

“Okay, my turn.” 

He digs into his back pocket and slides a bright pink 2007 motorola flip-phone into your outstretched hand. 

Full – chock full, in fact – of surprises. 

“I’m not gonna get tracked,” he says seriously, eyes narrowed. “You really should think about giving up your iPhone. All kinds of bad vibes.”

You eagerly look forward to him explaining the Big Foot Conspiracy and his theories about the magic silver bullet. 

It takes you a second to type out your name with the multiple buttons, some old sense memory from seventh grade coming back like a grumpy, displeased ghost, but finally, you snap the phone together and toss it back to him.

With the nub of the smoking joint poking out of his mouth, he frowns when he looks at the phone screen. 

“Dolly Parton?”

You pluck the joint out of his mouth, a surge of playful confidence keeping your eyes locked on his. You nod. “Since we’re doing the whole fake name thing . . .”

You want to wink, with your hand on your hip, so clever to have figured out his little game, but when he continues to frown, that rush of bravery fizzles out.

“But the name I put in your phone is actually my name?”

You chuckle, surprised and confused he’s still committing to the bit, a little frustrated at this point because you are actually starting to like this guy and . . .

Unless . . .

“You’re actually Dieter Bravo? The actor? Three-time Emmy nominated actor Dieter Bravo?” 

He loops his finger through one of the free-roaming curls from under the beanie and twists it. “That’s what it says on my underwear . . . when I remember to wear it.” 

The blush on your face now scalding, you dart across the space between you and him and snatch his phone back. You can literally feel the shameful heat in your spine, your lower back, as you delete Dolly’s name and frantically type in your own. 

“I’m so, so, sorry. I was just trying to be funny. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you but it’s dark and, um, you don’t look like I thought you would and I-I had no idea – I’m so sorry –,”

“Girlie, take a breath,” he chuckles and strokes your fingers as they tremble over the keypad. “I’ve never seen someone so stressed out after smoking half a joint before.” 

You’ve gone stock still as he bleeds the panic out of you with just his touch. You watch as his warm hand, dwarfing yours in size, slowly moves up to your wrist, your pulse point. His thumb presses into the vein and gently rubs. You can’t help the sigh that eases out of your throat as all the tension in your arm collapses into that one focal point, that one place he presses against you. You inhale, not realizing you had stopped breathing for a second and he releases gently, the ache in your body left over from the rigidity gone. 

A brief dark haze passes over his eyes when you sigh, but gives you space easy enough when you settle. 

He takes the phone out of your limp hands and reads what you’ve typed out.

“Cute name. But I think I’m still gonna call you Dolly.”

Humor is your gut instinct. Defuse a situation or calm your nerves, sometimes the best you can do is crack a (often poorly timed) joke. You feel all fluttery inside, partially because you’d been talking to Dieter “I know people who know people” Bravo all night and partially because you’re about 86% sure he’d been flirting with you. And so, without thinking, you say:

“Because of my massive tits, right?”

His eyes flit up from his phone screen to, presumably, your tits. Which are very much not Dolly-Parton-comparable. 

But he grins. He actually giggles, pressing the back of the hand holding his phone against his lips as if trying to hide his smirk.

“Yeah, that’s definitely it.” 

It is the kind of laugh that you know he’s laughing with you and not at you and he’s still staring when his laughter subsides. 

He is still staring at your tits.

Just as your face flushes what feels like the hundredth time tonight, he glances up at you. He offers you the last puff, you shake your head, so he sucks in down before flicking the nub over the railing of the patio. His hands sit heavy in his front pocket, the frown on his face contemplative, eyes searching the horizon.

“I think you’re going to text me . . . on a Tuesday,” he says, like he’s divining portents from the shapes of the clouds. 

You swallow, trying to purge yourself of this whiplash embarrassment, but you can’t quite decide what exactly to make of this man or this conversation. “What makes you say that?”

His smile is so genuine it rattles something inside you. “It’s my favorite day of the week.” 

This feels too good, too real, too intense, too fast. It was a quiet, but familiar story passed around in writer’s rooms or on the back lots of sets: an older man seduces a young girl, promising the world, and then offering nothing once he had gotten what he wanted. 

You beg your heartbeat to slow down. 

But Dieter Bravo doesn’t seem capable of that, not with his honesty, his open heart, but then again none of them ever do. 

That’s the whole point. 

“So, um, I should go. My boss is probably out back, breaking things, pissed off because I’m not behind him with a fresh macchiato.” Your phone feels absurd in your hands, as if it now carries something vital inside of it. “But, uh, thank you – for everything. The smoke, the advice, listening to me ramble endlessly –,”

“You weren’t rambling,” he says, arms crossed and finger tugging at an errant curl again. “You were talking about what makes you happy and I was listening. I like listening to you.”

You wanted to believe him. You really did. 

“I’ll call you sometime, okay?”

He nods, raising a hand in a wave, but as you turn away, something final, the last piece of the puzzle, pops into your brain.

“Why me?”

Dieter looks at you, big brown eyes confused like a puppy whom you scolded for chewing on your shoe. 

“What do you mean?”

“There’s gotta be at least fifty people here. Why did you stop me from going into Eliot’s room? 

Dieter shrugs, that easy smile returning. “You looked like the only other person who didn’t want to be here. And you’re really pretty,” he adds casually and your heart launches itself into your throat. “I’ve got a thing for really pretty girls. Gets me into a lot of trouble.”

There comes that heat, that flare in his gaze that makes you wonder how someone like him fucks, all proof necessary that he has a working cock, and he’s not some mystical, Willy-Wonka-esque Ken doll. 

It’s a look that makes you wonder if he wants his cock in you. 

“Good night, Dieter.”

“Night, Dolly.” 

Weeks passed and immediately you were so drowned in work, Dieter Bravo occasionally slipped your mind, falling back on your list of things to do when a deadline was approaching.

But when a contract for a position in a new writer’s room passes over your desk, you pause, and immediately think of him. The offer is unbelievable. More money than you thought possible working as an underling. The channel set to produce was the real deal, likely to order more seasons if the first went well. 

“Saw your writing,” your boss told you by way of explaining your dreams falling directly into your lap. “Good work. I sent some of it off, and the studio came back with this. Don’t take too long signing the dotted line, okay?” 

You nod, dumb-founded as he walks off, and you glance back at the contract.

And, despite your almost desperate elation, something felt off. But you didn’t know enough about the industry to confidently say if this is a bad deal or not. 

So, with a glance down the hall, you call the only person you know who would.

He is immediately livid. Not that you haven’t called, of course, but that someone has clearly tried to take advantage of you. 

“Do not take that deal. That corporate bullshit means they’ll own your IP for years to come. I can’t believe they’d do that to you. Stay right there and whatever you do, do not sign that. I’m calling someone at the studios.”

“Yeah. Uh, okay, Dieter, I won’t,” you murmur, half-expecting your hand to burn if you picked the contract up again. “But, um, thank you, for being honest with me. It felt weird, but I didn’t want to pass up an opportunity and I was freaking out that this was the only one I was gonna get but I didn’t want to be rash,so I, um, . . .”

You trail off, the sudden silence on the other line only making your panic and shame more pronounced. You cringe inwardly – Dieter Bravo had better fucking things to do than console a baby screenwriter out of her first mistake – and Jesus, if there was ever a chance he was going to sleep with you, it’s long gone now – it must be, no one willingly sleeps with someone so goddamn gullible.

“Dolly?” His voice is quiet, but with a certain edge that makes you picture that implish little smirk. “Do you know what day it is?” 

“No?”

“It’s Tuesday.” 

That phone call turned into a new job with a female-led production team, thank yous over drinks, late-night dinners at obscure and dark Chinese food restaurants, movie nights at your shamefully small apartment, and then . . . a kiss.

Which led to all the rest. 

A year later and you’re so in love with Dieter Bravo, you crank up Beyonce’s Countdown and belt it from the top of your lungs every time you hear it on the radio. 

There’s a new irritant, a new agitation that can only be soothed by him. He’s remade you, changed you, reformed your very being to be missing a piece when he’s not around. He’s made space for him inside you, there was no life – not a real one, not a happy one – not before him and there won’t be anyone or anything after him. No one else fits with you anymore. Ever again. 

Your blood runs hot over the ridges of his fingerprints, stamped deep on your soul and your bones.

Trouble is, he’ll never know.

“And the award for Best Actor goes to . . .”

His grip is almost painful and you return it with everything you can, your jaw drawn tight.

The pause feels like it lasts forever.

You hear his name and you think for a second you’ve blacked out, that you’ve somehow missed the moment, or you’ve somehow slipped into a pungently real dream. 

And the crowd erupts.

The spotlight finds him in the crowd and you’re being pulled into his chest. 

The cologne he wears costs more than your car payment but the instant you’re crushed up into his silken shirt, it’s him. Beneath all the layers, beneath the veneer, the man with the green beanie and fervent yellow jacket is still there. Somewhere. You love them both.

“You did it, darling, you did it,” you whisper into his ear and that’s all you can say before you know you have to tear yourself back, because every second you linger on him, the harder it becomes to quell this rising tide inside you that increasingly tastes like salt water whenever he’s around. It’s become so obvious his name resides in the cup of your mouth. 

But when you do pull out of his embrace, in the ringing shout of the crowd, the sparkle of the spotlight, his hand lingers on your elbow, and in a space of a heartbeat that lasts impossibly longer in your memory, you’re met with such a look of profound regret you feel it take up room in your chest. 

And in an instant, it’s gone. Grinning broadly, he drops your elbow and moves on down the line, cheered on by his peers, the white light from above illuminating his broad back, the bits of gray becoming ever more present in his beard. You cheer and you cheer and you cheer and you hope it’s from all the cheering that your voice grows hoarse and the tears start to trickle out of the corner of your eyes. 

You’re trembling visibly as he accepts his award, showing just the right amount of awe, and appreciation, and excitement. He glances up into the spotlight and there’s the real Dieter for just a split second before he humbly gawks at the golden statue in his hand.

The clock begins.

Make your speech thoughtful and poignant – relevant to what is close to people’s hearts right now.

Be profusive with your thanks. Better start with that, actually. Lower yourself at the height of your glory.

Mention family, friends, names and faces that the masses don’t know because it makes you appear connected to a reality those watching on the television can only speculate about. Say something kindly about how this means so much to you.

Cry a bit, but not too much. Keep your voice steady but with tears in your eyes. Cut yourself off, the emotion too much, and say thank you again. 

And anything more than three minutes, they start to play you off. 

You’re mentally going through the notes on a potential acceptance speech his PR manager gave him on the drive over, but in the end, it’s clear he doesn’t need it. 

Dieter’s speech is excellent. 

Really good. Really, really, really good. It has a flare of genuinity, but not the bite of vulnerability that makes people uncomfortable. 

He’s been practicing for weeks now, editing as he talks, in the mirror, while driving home from the grocery store, before he goes to sleep. Tonight’s speech, a compilation of all that you’ve listened to time and time again, is the best version of all of them. 

He’s soft when he needs to be and excited when he can. He’s onto the gratitude bit, going through the director, the writers, the cast and crew, even his costar, whose beautiful face is shown on the twenty foot screen above the stage, joyful tears in her eyes. And as the applause dies down, his big hand dwarfing the tiny metal statue, his fingers flexing, Dieter’s back goes ridgid, his eyes downcast. A smile slips out infinitesimally. 

Dieter clears his throat and looks up.

“And there’s someone else I’d like to thank. This, uh, this one goes to all the little dreamers out there. Working nine to five, to make your dreams happen. We did it, baby, couldn’t have done it without you.”

He stares into the camera and you swear, you fucking swear, he’s looking right at you. 

It’s a drowning sort of wave, this focal point that draws you down into him. It’s all consuming and it’s tender and it touches places you didn’t know could go this warm and what else could describe this but love? You resent the Academy, this place, these people for keeping him away from you. You think you’ll claw out the eyes of anyone who tries to separate you again.

You are crying – for your industry friend, his guest at the Oscars, so sees the cameras and the glitz and the glamor. 

You’re crying because you’re in too deep. 

The rest of the night is dipped into a champagne glass and swirled fast, catching like lighting in a bottle.

Gold dust falling fast, dizzily. 

Bubbles, glinting green and pink in the light, rising and winking out of existence.

Golden bubbles in your drink, in your mouth. Your throat. Your stomach. 

You feel lighter than air. 

With him, you feel as bright and as strong as diamonds. As timeless and luminescent as pearl.

As beautiful as gold. 

When the door finally shuts behind you in a darkened apartment, you’ve entered a secret, separate realm of domesticity: mismatched shoes, coffee creamer flavors you don’t like, and shampoo bottles that take up too much space in your shower.

It’s quiet here, blue and shadowed. The girl who left here hours ago to get ready in a hotel halfway across town forgot to leave on a light, rushing out in her haste. 

Behind you, you hear him snicker, his tongue behind his teeth, champagne bubbles still in his nose, as he hangs his silk jacket on your coat rack, right next to your muddy raincoat and baseball caps faded with sweat. 

“We gotta be quiet,” he hums, wobbling a bit as he toes out of his expensive loafers, pushing them near your off-brand birkenstocks. “Nala’s gonna hate me forever if we wake her up now.”

He is, of course, referring to your tabby cat, who hates everyone who isn’t you, and has a distinct requirement for twelve hour naps with no interruptions. Dieter swears he’s going to wake up one morning with that cat flexing her claws against his throat.

It takes you a moment to recognize and comprehend how your lives have melted together, how extracting you from him and him from you would be akin to destructive alchemy, the process of deconstructing two things causing both of them to oxidize and reduce to flaky rust. You’re drunk and you’re a little dizzy and you’re swaying slightly because your feet hurt but you are too consumed by introspection on your own feelings, what it means to love something other than yourself, to do anything about it. 

You’re so far gone from your own body you float, untethered and lost in thought, right up until the moment his arms come around your waist and he pulls you into his chest, like slipping on a beloved coat. 

“I think I can buy you for a quarter at Coney Island,” he murmurs into the nape of your neck like he is reciting Neruda’s poetry. You stifle a smile, your hands gripping around his elbows, as he sways with you. He does this a lot; thinks one thing, then two, then three, and by the time it comes out of his mouth, it’s nonsensical to anyone not strapped into his train of thought. 

“Try again, darling.” You stroke his cheek with your thumb, his chin tucked over your shoulder, ear pressed to yours. “I think you missed a couple of steps.” 

Your voice is gummy even to your own ears, the endless drinks at the afterparty stitching your syllables and consonants together into some freakish creature. He’s slightly blurry in your eyes, his presence overwhelming all of your senses as they try to keep you upright. 

He chuckles and presses his face into your neck in what you believe is an attempted kiss. 

“I mean, you glow,” he admits quietly to your skin. The grin falls from your face when your heart constricts. “You fucking shined tonight and I couldn’t stop thinking how beautiful and sweet you looked. Sweetness I wanna lick up.” He chuckles again, this time through his nose, laughing at his own absurdity. “And then I remembered cotton candy is sweet too and you can buy cotton candy at Coney Island for a quarter and. . . I think I can buy you for a quarter at Coney Island.” 

He scrapes the back of your neck with his teeth as he nudges you forward down the hall, not sparing an inch between your bodies. Which makes for a disastrous time, both of you drunk, his socked feet slipping on the wood, and your heels and dress tangling up together. 

“Baby, wait–,” 

“We’re almost to the bedroom, we can make it–,”

“Not if we break our necks first. Gimme a second, I’ll just–,”

You slide out of his grasp, inching down the wall and tucking up the truly insane amount of tulle they managed to stitch into your dress. You feel like you’ve been digging for five minutes before you find what you're looking for.

You stick your heel in the air and fiddle with the clasp around your ankle, drunk and working in near total darkness.

Dieter huffs and slides to the floor next to you. He watches you struggle for a minute, nearly swallowed up by the layers and layers of tulle, before he squeezes the air with his open hand.

“Gimme. We’ll be here all night.”

You pout visibly and awkwardly rotate until your foot is in his lap. His fingers are warm as he plucks at the clasp.

“I am perfectly capable of getting dressed on my own.” You toss your hair indignantly. 

“Yeah, but you’re always going to need my help to get undressed, right?” He smirks, eyes bleary, as he slides the heel off your foot and takes up the other one when you don’t move. 

Always, he said. 

Forever.

He’s being so soft, so gentle.

He sees the red marks left behind by the straps of your heels and frowns, displeased. Slumped over in the hallway of your tiny, pathetic apartment, his top few buttons of his pressed dress shirt hopelessly gone, tonight’s bow tie slung around his neck like a tipsy snake, Dieter gives you a foot rub by way of kneading out your pain. 

He kisses your ankle with such reverence, adoration, the liquid in your mouth vanishes and ends up in the crotch of your tights. 

You’re both too drunk for an actual fuck (“don’t make fun of my whisky dick, baby, it makes it sad,”) but you don’t want to be anywhere else but in your bed with him when you do sober up. So, you let the tulle drop, Dieter giggling as he gets hit with an avalanche of dress and you both clamor over each other to stand up. 

Towering over you and smelling like rich, warm, leather and splash of something spicy, he raises an eyebrow at you. You scrunch up your face, your twisted-up mouth betraying the stern look in your eyes, and put your knuckles to your hips. He matches your stance, this town ain’t big enough for the two of us . . .

“You’re in my way,” he grumbles, his mouth twitching. 

“Maybe you’re in mine.”

“Well, then it looks like we’ve got on our hands a good ol’ Mexican standoff.” 

“By all means, pardner, stick ‘em up.”

You eye him like PopEye, cheek full of nothing but air, your one eye all squinty. At that, he completely breaks, going red as he laughs. You hold the pose for a second longer before you collapse against him, laughing until tears run out of the corners of your eyes. You press your forehead into his chest, his heartbeat like a homing beacon, as he nuzzles the back of your head, giggles escaping occasionally on puffs of air. 

“That’s it!” He says after a moment of silence and tosses his hands into the air. “I’ve had enough! I can’t do this anymore!”

Without warning, he bends down and hauls you over his shoulder. He continues his tirade over your brief gasp of surprise – “Dieter!” – his finger indignantly in the air as he marches off towards the bedroom.  

“I can no longer date a girl who is funnier than me and so goddamn, fucking pretty. Who let you do that, huh? Who taught you how to be so fucking adorable? Answer me, you sexy, little weirdo.”

He tickles you enough just to make you squirm before dramatically tossing you onto the bed. You assume your best heart-broken divorcé pose, hand draped over your forehead, one leg tucked under the other. 

“Think of the children, honey! Nala needs a father’s influence, a lonely girl trying to survive in a man’s world! You can’t shoulder me with the responsibility of single motherhood!” You sit up, eyes fluttering up at him. “Everything I learned, I learned it all from you!”

Smirking, he kneels onto the mattress, your body folding back as he hovers forward, his nose inches from yours. You fight the shiver that arches up your body every time he gets that look on his face. He’s got your sanity between his teeth. “That child loathes me, darling,” he purrs. “She’s better off with you. She looks far too much like the milkman to be mine anyway.”

Your fake gasp is buried beneath the lunge of his mouth over yours. His hand cups your cheek as his mouth seeks out all its favorite places against your lips, your skin, your jaw. Your fingers dig into his wrinkled, once-starched shirt, the heat of his skin pricking your fingertips.

It’s right there, that knife edge between starting something there’s no going back from, no alternative path that ends in anything other than him buried deep inside you, filth that still makes you blush pouring from his mouth into your ear. A part of you, the part of you that’s been stalking behind every smile and touch he sends your way all night, the part of you that every nerve sing for him, is begging you to continue. To touch him in the right places that make his eyelids drop, mouth wrench open, to take on the animal that’s gnawing at you both. 

But you don’t. You can’t.

The simple fact of the matter is – you’re exhausted. You know he is too. The Oscar statue sitting on your entryway is a culmination of dozens of exhausted nights that finally paid off. 

He sighs when you pull back, there is no anger on his face, no disappointment that you’re ending things here. There’s only . . .

“You looked really, really pretty tonight,” he confesses to your nose with a smile. “Thanks . . . for coming with me tonight. You make everything better.”

You tuck his hair over his ear, feeling whole and small beneath the gentle search of his gaze. His hair is getting long and you love it, but you don’t want to nag him about it. The universe has finally balanced itself with him in between your legs, the foundations that make up the galaxy all settled in right here. 

He takes it one step further, reaching back behind him to the comforter you keep on the end of the bed that inevitably gets kicked to the floor every time he stays over. You’d pick it up and put it back every day of your life without complaint if it meant him in your bed until the end of time. 

Dieter tosses the blanket over both of your heads and crawls back in between your legs, elbows tucked by your ribs. All the champagne in the world couldn’t give you this same warm, bubbly feeling in your chest as his weight sinks into you.

He’s submerged you both in another realm, a deeper one than the one before, and in this one you have to whisper, even though the only other person in all of existence is inches from your nose. 

“You’re drunk,” you murmur, hushed. You can barely find the outline of his chin, his lips, his nose. The steady drum in your chest misses a beat as you consider where he might be looking on you. 

He awkwardly tugs your knuckles from both hands beneath his head, kissing them gently before allowing them to quietly slide into his hair. He’s so warm, nearly completely invisible to you in the blackness, the weight of his broad chest threatens to choke the air right out of you. But this exactly is how you want it to be. You want to be overwhelmed by Dieter Bravo.  

“I’m not drunk,” he tuts, a soft slur still tucking his words together. 

You reach down just inches to his temple, following the lines of his body that swear all lead to you, to find the arch of his cheek. He closes his eyes, lashes fluttering like butterfly wings against your thumbs. 

“Could a drunk person do this?” He asks quietly, as close as he could come to indignant in this special, dark little world. 

You wait, for a sloppy kiss, for something hard to tap against your thigh, but nothing comes. In fact, he doesn’t move. 

You inhale as best you can, grinning, ready to start another proverbial sparring match with him.

“You’re not doing anything, Dieter.”

His eyelashes stroke your thumbs again, a kitten lick, as he opens his eyes. 

“I sent you my love. Did you not get it?”

All in the air in your lungs is purged in a heavy gasp as his words impact your chest the way comets collide with meteors. 

He says your name, concerned by the wounded noise you just made, and when you don’t answer, he leans back, tugging the blanket as he goes.

It’s not until you’re looking up at him in your bedroom, his face blurry and your cheeks cold, that you realize you’re crying. 

“Dolly, what did I do?” He sounds so concerned, so visibly shaken, you can’t help but cry harder. He only touches your wrist, as if he’d been banished from your body. 

If you hadn’t had so much to drink, this wouldn’t be happening or at least you’d be able to get it to stop, reign in those explosive feelings that you had kept for so long deep and buried until he came along with a match in the dark. 

You take a deep breath, eyes locked onto the ceiling, hands clenched in fists. You know he can feel the tension in your forearm beneath his thumb making circles inches below your pulsepoint. You thought you never, ever wanted to have this conversation, but now you understand this has been the only thing that’s been on your mind for months.

“You don’t mean that,” you croak into the darkness. You feel small and foolish, embarrassed for having a body that produces emotions. 

“Don’t mean what, darling?” He’s still talking quietly, but firmer, providing a hook onto which you can grasp and fight the current in your mind. He knows this feeling, anxiety, and he hates how it looks on you.

“That you love me.”

Your words ring in the air, like the distinctive pitch of singing glass. You swallow that choking knot further down your throat and, wrenching your gaze down from the ceiling, finally look him in the eyes.

It’s the same look he blinked at you from the seats, there and gone so fast you partially convinced yourself you’d imagined it: profound, deep regret.

“You think I don’t love you?”

His tone makes you instantly feel guilty. Did you miss something? What if he texted it to you and you didn’t see it? Or wrote it in a note . . .

“You’ve never said it. At least not to me.” 

And his face crumbles.

He slides off his haunches, feet dangling over the edge of the bed, his big shoulders curved. 

Slowly, as if believing he has no right to, he touches your ankle, where he had rubbed away those painful marks in the hallway. He shakes his head, smirking darkly at himself.

“At the risk of sounding like a dramatic fucking actor, I didn’t want to put you in harm’s way.”

You sit up, unable to help yourself from curling up next to him, his grip adjusting to your thigh, instantly finding the heat of it beneath all the tulle. Cutting right to the core of you. 

He gets this furtive glance when he’s thinking about something unpleasant, his eyes darting rapidly back and forth, as though unable to choose the right course of action. How much does he say, how much does he give away?

He rubs your dress material between his fingers.

“I’m older than you,” is how he starts. When your mouth twists open, ready with a litany of reasons why you don’t care, why no one should – reasons you’ve already said to him a dozen times – he meets your gaze and silences everything in your head. “And it’s not me they’re going to come for.” 

The weight, the finality to his voice shoves that knot right back up your throat, your eyes hot and tight.

“I . . . I didn’t say it, outloud, because then we’d have to do something about it. I don’t want to keep us in the dark, but . . .” he swallows as if choking too. “But after the dox two years ago and then the incident in Austin, I feel like I’ll be putting you in physical harm when they find out we’re together. And I would literally rather die than have anything happen to you.”

He kisses your temple, the touch a consolation. 

You don’t want to turn away, you want every kiss he gives you, but all you can feel are the studio’s words, the words of your managers, pressing down on you:

You know how some fans get. For your safety, let’s give it two years. 

We’re happy for you, we really are, but you can’t be seen together too much. Minimal instagram, rare public appearances. We’re just trying to keep up appearances until the fans settle. 

Appearances.

Aesthetics.

Image.

You’d happily kill anyone who tried to take him from you. 

But you know he’s right.

“It has nothing to do with how I feel about you, what I feel for you,” he promises, voice warm, dipped in honey. “I just . . . I can’t lose you.”

“Then can you say it just this once? Just to me?” You try to smile but the tightening of your skin only spills the tears. “Please, Dieter, I won’t ask again. I have to hear it once from you. After that, I promise I–,”

His great warm palm covets the back of your neck, rolling you into him like melting chocolate drips onto the floor. He stops, inches from your mouth, so close you can feel your neutrons mix with his.

“I love you.” 

Earnest, genuine, real. 

A green beanie and a yellow jacket.

Chinese food and dreams of a better life. Of a happy life.

You steady yourself, your spinning world, against his hand around your cheek, clutching onto his wrist like it’s the last great lighthouse at the end of the world.

You open your eyes and, yes, yes, there is adoration in his smile, in the way he watches his words soothe some ache inside of you with joy.

“I love you too,” you tell him, in case it wasn’t obvious. If somehow he couldn’t smell your obsession for him. “I love you,” you say again, firmly. 

It’s an inevitable sort of fall, his mouth into yours.

Like neutron stars collapsing together, alone and quiet in the far reaches of space.

Like the stone bones of an ancient church cracking and tipping into the sea as time and erosion eats away at a once great monument.

Like the spinning metal within a compass, never failing to find north, to find home.

When you awake next to him the next morning, warm in a way that goes behind physical body heat, he kisses your nose.

I love you, he tells you, with his words, with his body. With the dozens of ways he’s been mulling over in his mind to keep you safe and make you his for everyone to see.

I love you, he tells you that morning. 

And every morning after that.

#100 followers event #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble fanfic #the bubble

[ohbo-ohno]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMjrpHSoU/

(Video description: When I went to agressive haunted house with a signed waiver and two masked workers told me to get on the ground and bark like a dog)

I immediately thought about your Ghoap writings!! Just imagine Reader being a victim of Ghost and Soap who are basically retired gracefully, get a bunch of money saved + their military payments, moved to some rural area and found themselves a new interest of hunting down tourists/just doing fun retired husbands shit. Ghost has an ongoing project of building a place for possible animals, but we get locked here instead. And we are just their little pet!!! Their house is in outskirts, literally the forest, no one would hear our screams. Sometimes Soap also gets chained outside because They Are Freaky Like That.

Dilf!Soap and Ghost that can basically be by your side 24/7 because they don't have to work anymore!! And maybe they are not as muscular as they used to be since their last deployment, but they can still break us like twigs!!! In normal ghoap AU we at least get some rest because they need to leave for missions, but not anymore!! Also cuddling near fireplace, watching Ghost and Soap all sweaty doing hard work while we are just here, with huge and heavy chain on our neck (literally a cow bell and a chain from the barn) fetching them lemonade like a good pet.

Sorry for incoherent thoughts, I just need that dilf itch scratched or else I am going to write it and explode

🎷🐛

"found themselves a new interest of hunting down tourists/just doing fun retired husbands shit" is fucking killing me lmfao.

also if you want scenes of people being locked outside in the cold by their partner.... check out His Captive Pet by Measha Stone. MMC locks FMC in a cage outside because she refuses to behave :/ he's very mean to her

obsessed - OBSESSED - with the image of reader (you) knocking on a door because you're lost or smth, and just picking the absolute worst people to ask :/ you just want directions but they're gonna keep you all for themselves :/ i swear to god i've read that concept somewhere but i cannot for the life of me remember where and it's driving me insane

anyways... johnny invites you in for a warm meal and of course you accept! you've been on such a long journey, a warm meal sounds like heaven. maybe they drug you (you wake up chained to the wall, heavy cuff around your ankle and wrists tied behind your back) or maybe they convince you to stay the night (give you their bed, you wake up and swear your feel their eyes on you, they don't let you leave in the morning)

soap is bad and gets chained up outside.... ohhhh the things that does to me. ghost railing you and you look out the window and just see soap drooling there :( simon slams you up against the window and johnny paws at the glass desperately, your skin right fucking there, it's killing him that he can't touch you. ghost standing just outside of the chain's reach, watching as johnny leans his full body weight forward, clawing desperately to try and get closer :(

and the contrast between them chaining you up outside, leaving you naked and alone in the cold, shivering and a little scared :( and then curling up with you in front of the fire, making sure you're toasty warm and helping you stop shaking. rubbing the red spot on your neck from where you pulled at the collar :( locking a heavy chain around your neck when you're outside, locking a muzzle around your face so they don't have to listen to you bark the whole time.

#gremlingottoosilly #asks and answers #ghoap x reader #this one really did it for me ily #bo writes

[ogata77]

Fireflies can only be seen at night

Less and less to know what will happen to Doumeki and Yashiro in that empty room. Having survived the shock of discovering that Doumeki did have a tattoo, as always I couldn't stop thinking about the mystery so I started to do some research.

After reviewing information about yakuza tattoos, I believe in the theory that Doumeki has been getting this tattoo, better known as IREZUMI, for quite some time and that the last retouching that was done helped Yashiro realize, due to the injuries, that he was tattooed While theories of what Doumeki got tattooed abound everywhere, I want to focus on the deeper meaning of the act itself.

First of all, with the tattoo reveal, Doumeki finally showed that he was serious when he said that he would do anything to stay in Yashiro's world, just look at his reaction upon finding out.

The last scene of the first arc shows us Doumeki plunging into the darkness going down the hospital stairs, then we see how he assures Amou that he is willing to go against his own principles in order to be close to "that" person and finally the statement he makes in the sake bar: "my time and my BODY belong to me", by the way, this is one of my favorite phrases. But words are carried away by the wind, so what better tangible display of his tenacity than getting a tattoo.

In Japanese culture, tattoos have always had a connotation related to the criminal world, so it is not uncommon for the yakuza not to display this art publicly, but there is something much deeper in the concept of privacy of Japanese mafia tattoos. Horiyoshi III, one of the most legendary and favorite tattoo artists of the yakuza, explains that he does not believe that they get tattoos to say that they are loyal to a group, rather it has to do with the ninkyō concept that means helping the people below you, therefore, when a yakuza gets a tattoo, he would want to show that he has the strength to help the weak. If we take this to saezuru I couldn't agree more because Doumeki finally had to reinvent himself to gain strength if he wants to protect Yashiro in any way.

Horiyoshi III (in the image) also explained that the yakuzas only tattoo themselves in places of the body that are protected by their brand new suits, tattooing hands and neck would be prohibited by the afore mentioned. With this information I think I can understand Yoneda's vision of not showing Doumeki tattooed until the precise moment in the story arrived, the final rapprochement with the person he loves. Why would Doumeki have to be showing us as readers something that is so private to him?

This last thing made me remember that I had a book called Junichiro Tanizaki's Praise of the Shadow. The author through different disciplines such as architecture, art, design, etc. It shows us that fascination that the Japanese have since time immemorial for what cannot be seen so clearly. One of the examples that interested me the most was when he recounted how beautiful the Noh theater of yesteryear was where there weren't too many advances in lighting. The old theaters barely illuminated left enough, the development of the works of the moment, to the imagination of the assistants.

When I read this I couldn't help but relate it to Yashiro's phrase "being a yakuza is like being an actor", every time I read these cartoons I thought about contemporary actors but what if Yashiro was talking about traditional Noh theater actors. These actors are almost completely covered with their clothing, only their hands and neck are visible because their faces cannot be seen either because of the masks they use to represent the different characters.

You don't know how excited I was when relating these facts and thinking about the moments in the manga where we discovered Yashiro wearing or removing that mask. On the other hand, Doumeki has always paid close attention to what Yashiro says and after several years it is not evident that he has become quite an actor to the point of deceiving many of the readers at some moments in the story.

My conclusion about the meaning and importance of the Doumeki tattoo is that Yoneda, as always, has masterfully known how to use Japanese tradition, delicacy and mystery to precisely show us everything under a dim light where each reader has to discover this story for himself because the beauty of all this is as Horiyoshi III said: "Fireflies can only be seen at night."

You know, if there are problems with the text, it's Google translator's fault. Thank you very much if you read this far.

#saezuru tori wa habatakanai #saezuru #saezuru fandom #twittering birds never fly #saezuru analysis #Doumeki tatoo

[miela]

Shattered Memories • Chapter XIII: The Rumor & The Scandal • {Peter Parker x Stark!Reader}

Chapter Genre: Pretty chill but also pretty dramatic lmao Chapter Warnings: LONG BOI AF, ✨Drama✨, I did my best to proofread but if there are mistakes I'm sorry Extra: Sorry I was gone for so long but I'm back baby and we are entering a new arc in the fic baby! Word Count: 7.7k

Masterlist | Playlist | Pin Board | Trello

↪ divider by firefly-graphics

BREAKING NEWS:

Rumor has it that American Sweetheart (Y/N) Stark and Avenger and Friendly neighborhood hero, Spiderman have romantic and possible sexual relations with each other. They were spotted in the Avengers Tower west parking lot a few hours ago in a heated makeout session in the-

(Y/N) Stark and the mysterious Spiderman have been caught in the Stark Industries building parking lot in an aggressive and scandalous makeout moment and-

The vigilante bug hero, Spiderman, and Tony Stark’s daughter, (Y/N) Stark have been caught in a hot and heavy lip-locking session that shows that there might be a deeper and possibly sexual relationship between the two-

As the channels were flipped you were forced to watch yourself makeout with a half-masked Peter with his body pressing yours against the wall and your hand gripping his ass, multiple times you felt yourself sink in your chair with the feeling of mortification eating you alive. You sat casually on your chair at the head of the long square table as you eyed Nika who sat adjacent to you with a flabbergasted look in your eye. She reciprocated the look as she lifted her stark tablet showing you all of your friends screaming, crying and emoting in the group chat on Discord. You had to keep yourself from bursting into a nervous giggle fit. 

The TV is turned off by a board member as all of their eyes narrowed at you. You sat up straight and cleared your throat softly. 

"Miss Stark," one board member named Leanne Camry stated sternly. "Do you have any idea how serious this is?"

"What? That I'm in a relationship with an Avenger? Nobody is actually surprised, are they? My dad was literally Iron Man. I literally run the company that funds the Avengers."

"You are also the face of this company," another board member named Xavier Chavez interjected. "You have a responsibility that requires you to at least look like you give a damn about the well-being of this company."

You were taken aback. "So an innocent….well barely innocent kiss with Spiderman is gonna make the entirety of the company crumble? Wow, if I knew I had this much power maybe we should make sweet, sweet love on top of a HYDRA facility and watch the whole organization disintegrate."

Nika was in the middle of sipping her coffee before she spit it out all over the table from your words. A soft string of apologies left her mouth as she avoided the gazes of the board members. You dared to not look at each other for the moment because you knew if you did it would end up being a chaotic and unprofessional giggle fit.

"This is a serious matter," Darlena Christensen, another member, exclaimed. "You represent this distinguished establishment as a spearhead for greatness. We cannot afford you going around galavanting with random superheroes in parking lots doing unspeakable acts."

Your face twisted in confusion that screamed 'What the fuck?!' before you spoke. "What is this, the 1800s? Should I change my last name to Bridgerton? We were kissing and we made a mistake by doing it in public. This isn't the 1950s anymore. I'm not gonna get executed in the plaza by angry customers and benefactors with pitchforks and shovels because I kissed a guy who happens to be a favored superhero." 

"You're a businesswoman, not an influencer," Camry continued. "You should start acting like it for once. This image makes you look frivolous."

You rolled your eyes and sighed. Choose your battles, you thought to yourself several times.

"Okay, well, if you're all quite done patronizing me," you stood up and smoothed out your black bodycon dress under your matching black oversized blazer. "I would like to go back to being a businesswoman. In fact, I have to upgrade Spiderman's suit to have an invisibility option so we can galavant on top of the Empire State Building later. Hope it doesn’t fall over in the process."

And with that, you walked out ignoring the board's protest as Nika bumbled behind you still trying to keep composed and recover from your attitude that you definitely inherited from your late father. You glanced at each other for a quick moment before letting out a stream of silent giggles as you headed toward your office. When you both entered, you two looked at each other for a long moment before anyone spoke. 

"Oh, you're so fucked," she raised her eyebrows and nodded slowly with her lips pulled into a thin line.

"Yeah," you bit your lip nervously as you thought about Peter and if he was doing okay with all of this. 

Nika instantly started scrolling through her stark tablet, "It's trending on all platforms and people have…. opinions."

As you expected, people would have opinions. It’s not like you guys wouldn’t be a big conversation. Tony Stark’s daughter and an Avenger? You could only imagine how much you both broke the internet with this. 

"Yeah, I'm not worried about them," you replied, grabbing your phone. "I'm worried about-" You looked around cautiously. "Spidey." 

You knew that someone from the Avengers Tower was responsible for this but it was also both of your fault for not being more careful. Luckily, you didn't completely reveal his face and his back was to the camera. His identity was still safe for the time being.

But for how long?

You guys have been out and about together not really hiding yourselves, but considering you looked like a normal person on the streets no one could really tell if it was you or not. Your Stark appearance and your Jarvis appearance were vastly different.  As a Stark, people would expect you to be in edgy yet chic business casual designer fashion, a face full of bold glam makeup, hair slicked, and looking like a billion bucks, as one who's a Stark does. But as your Jarvis alias, you wore your usual staple look of black jeans, black jacket, black top, black shoes, minimal makeup, hair, and your Stark specs shaded over your eyes. Sometimes a mouth mask and a hat if there was an event coming up and you knew people would be looking for you.  It was something you carefully curated for this very reason. You weren't stupid. You knew you were a well-known public figure so you had to make life easier on yourself as much as possible. Especially because of enemies. Specifically, your dad's enemies that fell onto you.

Nika pursed her lips together again and crossed her arms. "So, what do you wanna do first?"

You chewed on your rose-painted bottom lip and crossed your arms over your chest. You tapped your ankle-booted foot on the ground in unison with your fingers tapping your arm several times as you ran down the list of things to do to help alleviate the situation at hand.

Willow took the time to rub herself between your legs and purred loudly at your presence. You smiled down at the bundle of fur before squatting down to pet her for a moment. Instant serotonin. 

"Let me call…Spiderman," You were careful to not use his name in case someone had bugged your office. "You check the security cameras to see who spilled the beans."

"On it," Nika clicked around on her Stark Tablet and sat on the couch in the middle of the office.

You stood up straight and texted Peter.

Hey, handsome~

He responded right away.

Hey, beautiful~ 💕 How are you?

Well, I got reprimanded by the board about 10 minutes ago. Did you see the news? 

You mean us making out in the parking lot yesterday trending? Yeah, I did. People are especially taken by you grabbing my ass.

I'm really sorry…are you okay?

Not your fault. It's mine really. So I'm sorry.

It's going to be the self-blaming olympics, you thought and sighed. 

We're both at fault for this really. We're trying to figure out how to go about this. Me and Nika. 

Have you checked the group chat? 

You groaned softly, remembering how rapid-fire your friends were typing.

I haven't fully but I can imagine they're all confused and thinking the worst of me right now.

You frowned at that.

You continued to chew your lip as your cherry-colored nails ghosted over the keyboard of your phone hesitantly. You let out a sigh and leaned back on your desk as your heartbeat began to pump at a rapid pace. 

You knew Peter keeping his identity secret was important to him, especially after everything he went through…that you both went through…what you all went through. Luckily for you, your identity was never revealed to the world like Peter's was because you never showed your face around Quentin Beck or anyone on that mission. It was a gut feeling you had that both you (and Faceless Peter in your memories) had. Luckily, not many people at the company knew about your identity as a Stark by face only by word of mouth. And nobody knew you as Silk at the company either and you preferred it that way then and you preferred it that way now.

So, you didn't want to force him to tell your friends and family about his identity. That would be unfair to him. But you needed to find a way to tell your friends that you weren't cheating on Peter with Spiderman without telling them that Peter was Spiderman. So you began thinking of different ways to tell them without necessarily lying to them either.

"Peter was cosplaying as Spiderman and testing out his upgraded suit. Spidey didn't mind." Maybe, but maybe not. Peter wouldn’t keep that kind of information from his friends that he tested out Spiderman’s suit and you wouldn’t make him keep that info to himself either. 

"It's a deep fake video." No, that's a lie. That would only make him look like the bad guy. 

"He wanted to test out an upside-down kiss." No, that doesn't help your case at all and would keep making you look like the bad guy. 

"Publicity stunt?" They knew that you were far from that type of person.

"We're poly." Yeah, because that would totally go over well.

You took a deep breath and threw your head back in defeat. You wholeheartedly didn't know what to say. You were at a loss for ideas without being a straight-up liar. 

But then Peter's text took you by surprise. 

We should tell them. 

Your eyes widened when you looked at the screen again.

Are you sure? 

Yeah! It's about time they know. It would be better if they had direct contact with us in case they're in trouble with anything anyway. Plus MJ, Ned, and Celina already know about you. It’s starting to get difficult to keep up with these half-truths we keep throwing around…

But what about Police Captain Stacy and Police Captain Davis? They practically hate us. That could be putting Gwen and Miles in an awkward position, no? 

There was a long pause in between your text which meant he was considering your words. So you took the time to look at Nika who was still looking through the tablet.

"Any luck?" You asked.

"Not yet," she replied, not looking up from her tablet. "But I'll figure it out."

Your phone sounded again.

Luckily for us, they're both stationed in Brooklyn. Plus, I feel bad for keeping this from them. I want them to know everything. 

Like…everything?

Like everything, everything.  If you're okay with it.

You took a deep breath.

Okay. I'm okay with it if you are. But only if you're sure 💕

I'm sure 💕Also Cindy has a huge crush on Spiderman and I would really like to get that out of the way as soon as possible.

LOL I’m so sorry.

You both agreed on having a group meeting with your friends in a secluded and safe place, so the Avengers Compound it was. You had taken Celina, MJ, and Ned there a few times before when you were staying there for a while after your trip from Malibu but it's been a while since they've been there. Nika had been there plenty of time considering her job and this would be the first time for the rest of your friends so you expected some oohs and ahs and a lot of gawking, which you didn't mind. 

But first, you had to keep yourself from looking like a cheater first. 

Everyone was there when you finally walked in and you figured Nika, who arrived earlier, was the one who showed them around. Sam and Bucky were coming back from a mission that day and you weren't sure if they were there yet or not. You hoped they weren't for your own sake. You knew they would do everything to embarrass you in front of everybody as they usually do in their brotherly way, especially with you as a hot topic in the news right now. You were surprised they didn’t call you about it. 

Peter was waiting by the door for you when you arrived and you hugged each other tightly and basked in each other for a moment. Your face was buried into his neck and you breathed in the scent of sandalwood and vanilla and safety and he kissed your shoulder and let himself linger there so he could take in your sweet and floral scent. You could hear each other's heartbeats as your senses hummed. 

You made a mental note of a cuddle session later.

After a moment, you pulled away and he cradled your face and stroked your jaw with his thumbs for a moment and searched your eyes to find any signs of your current mood. You searched his back.

"Hey," he smiled softly.

"Hey," you smiled softly back. "How much do they hate me?"

"They… don't hate you."

You looked up at a window where you saw Gwen and Cindy looking out at the both of you. You could tell by their stances that they were in protective mode as they eyed you. You could see your other friends sitting around the table in the conference room in discussion, probably about everything happening. 

 You smiled to yourself. It was nice knowing Peter was in great hands.

"Ready for the big reveal?" 

You nodded in response. "Are you?"

He also nodded. "Yeah, I am. I am a little nervous though. It's not that I don't trust them, I just…don't want them to be upset, you know?"

"I don't think they will be if they don’t hate me for this."

You guys pecked each other's lips after a short moment of silence before walking hand in hand up to the conference room where your friends were. When you arrived there, you couldn't even process everyone's presence before you were met with…

"(Y/N)!!!!!" Celina screamed in a high-pitched voice as she stomped over to you. You winced as her voice rang in your heightened hearing ears. "Explain yourself!" 

"Celina-"

"How could you do that to Peter?! This sweet boy?! Who loves you so, so much and would do anything for you?! Oh god, please tell me you have a halfway good reason for this-"

"Celina," you sang but she didn't hear you.

"I know you like, have this thing for Spiderman and all but THIS?!"

"Celina, please-"

"Poor Peter," you could've sworn she was crying. "I don't understand…were you possessed? OMG does Spiderman actually have that mind control powers that were rumored years ago?! Did he take advantage of you-"

"Peter is Spiderman!" You blurted out loudly from getting fed up that she wouldn’t let you get a word in. 

There was a long silence and Celina's face was in pure shock. Everyone else besides Nika and MJ was just as shocked.

"HUH?!" Celina finally squeaked. "OH MY GOD REALLY?!” Her eyes flashed to Peter who pursed his lips into a thin-lipped smile of confirmation.  “NO WAIT THAT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE NOW THAT I THINK ABOUT IT!"

 "Yeah, I figured this out long ago," MJ said calmly. "Halloween confirmed it for me."

Your eyes narrowed at your curly-haired best friend and you crossed your arms and stood in contrapposto. "You've been sitting on this for five months?"

"Well, I was only sixty-five percent sure," she explained. "On Halloween, I was ninety percent sure, but I still didn’t want to assume and make things awkward. Now I'm a hundred percent sure."

“You know,” you started squinting at her. “Maybe you should actually use your degree and become a PI or something.”

Celina’s eyes were switching from you to Peter repeatedly as if she was trying to solve a problem. Meanwhile, you looked at your other friends.

"You're Spiderman?" Gwen asked with her eyebrows furrowed like she was processing what was being said. 

"Um…yeah!" Peter squeaked nervously and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Like actually?" Miles asked. "Like…not just the Spiderman in the video? Like, you're the Spiderman?"

"Mhm," Peter nodded. “In the flesh.”

Gwen crossed her arms over her chest. "This is one hell of a way to find out…"

"I'm sorry," Peter's shoulders dropped slightly. "I wanted to tell you guys but I wanted to protect you guys but it's gotten to a point where I couldn't keep it to myself any longer."

"Wait so if you're Spiderman what about you and Silk-" Gwen turned to look at you with wide eyes and realization. You waved your fingers at her with a small 'hi' and a confirming look. "Oh….!"

"Wait,” Pav started. “You’re Silk?”

“Yep,” you responded. “In the flesh.”

“I kinda figured that one,” Harry replied. “I was there when you got bit by the spider, next thing you know you were disappearing and Silk would appear. You two were never in the same room at the same time. But I also wasn’t sure and didn’t want to assume. Life can be weird like that sometimes.”

“You’ve been sitting on this for over five years?!” You exclaimed, narrowing your eyes at Harry. “You two are meant for each other.” You were referring to him and Michelle.

“Ditto,” Harry responded, referring to you and Peter. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up,” Ned interjected. “So if Peter is Spiderman…how come you didn’t know who he was until like…seven months ago? You both are Avengers, no?”

You and Peter looked at each other hesitantly not knowing where to actually start in the clusterfuck that was your situation. You had told so many people different things that you almost couldn't keep up. Now that it was coming to a head, you didn't know who knew what about who or what anymore. 

Good thing the air was about to get cleared. 

You chewed your lip as Peter crossed his arms over his chest.

“That…is a long and complicated story,” Peter started. “It’s all my fault really.”

“Care to share with the class?” Gayatri motioned her hands to everyone after a mini moment of no response or continuation. 

You let out a sigh. “We should start at the beginning, otherwise it could get very confusing."

So you told them everything.

 You told them how you both got bit on a school trip to Alchemax during your freshman year. You were at Horizon High with Harry and Peter was at Midtown Tech with Ned and Celina. The spider bit you first and you flung it off of your arm which caused it to land on Peter and bite him and he killed it. You explained how you both developed your powers the next day and how you would get stuck to things, sweat like crazy, had muscles you never had before, heightened senses, and quick reflexes.

You told them how you told your dad right away that something was wrong and Dr. Cho and Dr. Banner ran tests on you and found out that the DNA from the spider bite had spliced with yours to make you part spider. Peter explained how he kept his secret from everyone for a solid six months before Tony showed up at his door one day. 

You told them that when you switched schools your sophomore year was when you met each other and your senses only started going off when you made physical contact with each other. 

You told them about the fight in Germany and how when you guys got back you spent most of the time trying to stop Peter from taking on missions too big for him which ended up with him wanting to prove himself even more and it caused both of you to get your suits taken away. 

You told them how you two found out about each other's identities and how you guys got together as a couple.

And finally, you told them about the senior trip to Europe, Mysterio, and his antics, and the aftermath where Peter had to make everyone forget who he was.

"And I still don't remember him fully," you said. "just bits and pieces that used to give me mind-splitting migraines."

Your friends all had different expressions on their faces, all a mixture of shock, concern, and confusion. 

"Okay, paraphrase," Gayatri started. "You both got bitten by the same spider on a field trip, you guys both become spiderheroes and avengers later on, you both find out about each other and fall in love, you guys go on a trip to Europe and get summoned by SHIELD then find out Mysterio was a fraud and then tried to pin everything on Spiderman and revealed his identity which caused you to be a suspect and the most talked about person globally and prevented Celina, Ned and MJ from getting into college so you went to a sorcerer to make you everyone forget that you were spiderman but you accidentally messed up the spell which caused a rift in the multiverse and brought villains from other worlds to ours who you tried to fix but they ended up killing your aunt-"

"Only one. Norman Osborn. A different Norman Osborn."

"...okay, and so Ned accidentally brought over two other Peter's from different worlds who helped you fight these villains but in order to save our universe from collapsing you had to make everyone forget about you?"

"Yep, sounds about right." 

A thick silence fell over all of you as everyone took the time to process the information given to them.You took the time to open up your holographic files to explain to them how this whole situation was.

"Let's try it this way," you started and grabbed everyone's attention as you drew your fingers across the holograms. "This is me. This is Peter," two stick figures show up, one male the other female. "This is us before the spell but then," you drew a line in between the two stick figures, "the spell happens," you point to stick Peter, "he's fine because he remembers everything. The only thing he suffers with is missing me on a deeper level," you point to stick you "me on the other hand, my senses were trying to connect back with his and my dreams were me trying to remember him. My body, mind, and soul had a big disconnect because of the spell which caused the mind-splitting headaches. But when we kissed my senses recognized him but my mind still doesn't remember him because of the spell."

You looked back at your friends who all still had confused looks on their faces. Celina's expression was slightly less confused due to her knowledge of how convoluted magic and sorcery could be. Everyone else was more or less looking at you like you were insane.

"Okay you all must have questions," you took a deep breath and leaned back onto the table.

Pavitr raised his hand. 

"Yes, Pav," you smiled.

"Okay," he started with an unsure draw in his tone. "Don't take this the wrong way but…how do you know that your 'pheromonal connection' isn't the sole reason for your attraction to each other? Like if you guys didn't have it, would you two even be in love?"

"We questioned that too," Peter responded. "Very early on actually. Finds out the shared DNA makes already established bonds stronger and will adapt to that if the relationship were to change. So like friends become best friends, siblings get the twin instincts," he looked at you,  "and lovers become…"

You smiled softly back at him as love flashed in both of your eyes for a moment before you turned back to your friends.

"We went back to Alchemax for a project for our junior year bio class, but it was really an excuse to learn more about our connection," you explained. "Plus, I had a crush on him way before I even got close enough to him to even feel the pull."

"And vice versa," Peter added.

"Okay, I have a question," Harry started with a worried look on his face. "You said one of the bad guys was my dad in another universe, does that mean my dad…?"

You shook your head. "No, there's no guarantee."

"But there's a possibility?" It came out more like a statement.

"To be fair, In Peter 3's universe Gwen is dead," Peter stated. “So that’s a start of the differences and inconsistencies.”

"Huh?!" Gwen exclaimed with wide-blue eyes. 

"I don't even exist in the other two," you added. "At least, I don't think so."

"That's terrifying! Wait, am I gonna die?!"

"Likely, not," you added. "Gwen 2 was dating Peter 3 Spiderman."

"Wait, I dated Peter? Ew! No offense, Parker, but I don't see you like that," Gwen explained.

"Trust me, none taken," Peter agreed. 

"Wait, so who was Peter 2 with," Ned asked. 

"Um…" Peter rubbed the back of his head nervously. "MJ." 

"MJ?" Cindy asked in disbelief.

"I think I'd rather eat dirt," MJ replied.

"Trust me, likewise," Peter agreed again.

"Either way," you interjected. "Nothing in their universe is guaranteed to happen in ours. They don't even have the Avengers in their universes. According to Peter, the other Peter's didn't even look like him or each other."

Celina hesitantly raised her hand.

"Yeah, Celi?" Peter asked.

"You said you're Ben and May Parker's nephew that they raised," she looked at Peter as she started, a sheepish tone in her voice. "That means we must have grown up together."

Peter nodded. "Raised like siblings. You were like a younger sister to me even though you're four months older than me. You would celebrate your birthday in August because it was cheaper for us to have a shared birthday party rather than separate ones. Everyone thought you were an August baby like me but really you're an April baby which, you would say, astrologically, is the reason we got along so well."

Celina smiled softly back at him. "I suspected when I found out your last name was Parker, but I thought it was a mere coincidence. I'm sorry I can't remember you." 

"No," Peter shook his head in disapproval. "I'm sorry I made you forget me."

"So that means you knew Ned too right?" MJ started. 

"Yeah," Peter nodded again. "Best friends since the third grade."

"Is that why you came to the coffee shop a lot?" Ned asked.

"Yeah. It was a sense of normalcy," Peter explained. 

There was a moment of tense silence as everyone processed everything that was going on. Harry glanced over at Nika who was leaning silently against the table. 

"You've been really quiet over there," Harry said to her. “Nothing to say?”

"Listen," she started with a sigh. "We were all part of the blip. Either you disappeared for five years or you didn't. I'm just not surprised by anything anymore. None of this really applies to me because I met (Y/N) in Malibu in rehab."

"Wait, you were in rehab?" Harry asked, looking at you.

"Yeah, if your superhero-known-to-be-invincible dad died in space by sacrificing his life for humanity, and your boyfriend sacrificed his identity for humanity that caused you to have mind-splitting migraines and dreams of a guy without a face and it left an empty hole in your soul, and you lost most of your crime-fighting family, and you were just crowned the next CEO and Owner of a company so large that it's responsible for majority of the technology in the world and is expected to make mega weapons to keep our world safe from aliens, wizards and robots then you'd probably have a hysterical psychotic break and turn to narcos, alcohol and make a bunch of bad decisions too."

"Fair," Harry replied softly after a moment of processing the longest sentence you ever spoke.

"So…" Miles started, looking at Nika. "You knew they were Spiderman and Silk?"

"Yep," Nika confirmed. "She told me she was Silk long ago. Figured out Parker was Spiderman when she called him an Avenger and I didn't recognize his face."

"You cornered me!" You defended. 

"Mhm," Nika replied with doubt written all over her face and in her tone. 

After a moment, all of you fell silent again and their air was thick with something that wasn't tension but was filled with anticipation of sorts. Your friends looked at one another as if they were speaking telepathically or waiting for someone to address the elephant in the room. 

You knew what it was right away. 

"Okay, for one," you started. "No we don't lay eggs, We can't talk to spiders or summon an army of spiders, we aren't venomous, and no if we ever had offspring, they wouldn't eat me. Or Peter."

“Tha-...That’s six things,” Peter softly said, which caused you to stick your tongue out at him.

"Do you shoot webs out of your ass?" Gwen blurted with her whole chest.

Both you and Peter blinked rapidly in response as you processed the nature of the question.

"Gwen?!" Cindy scolded her with a flabbergasted expression.

"What?" Gwen asked defensively. "It's a valid question."

"It's a little outta pocket," Miles added before turning to the two of you with a wondrous look. "But do you though?"

"No," you replied quickly with offense or defense in your tone.  

"I've had nightmares though," Peter added, speaking to no one in particular before he looked up at everyone. “We’re sorry we kept all of this from you.” 

“You know everything I said about Spiderman before was a joke right,” Cindy asked gingerly. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Peter replied, motioning a hand in the air.

“Like, I was totally kidding,” She added with a red face. “I think Thor is hotter anyway. Aish, I mean-”

“Cindy, really it’s fine,” Peter smiled. “I get it. We don’t have to do this.”

“Okay, great,” she sighed and looked down at her hands shyly. 

“So…” Harry started looking up at the both of you. "Are you gonna show us your cool abilities or what?"

Social Media was a suspool. There were arguments up and down Twitter about who Spiderman should and shouldn’t be with. You didn't even realize the Spiderman and Silk fanbase ran so large in the first place since you were really heroes only confined to New York City.

Peter avoided social media at all costs. You on the other hand, were neck deep into it.

You learned that there were four types of stans: the SpideyStark shippers, the Iron Spider Shippers, the Stark is Silk theorist and the possessive antis. And they were all at war with each other.

SpideyGworl616:

I think SpideyStark makes sense! Just because Spidey and Silk are always together doesn't mean they're dating!

SilkenWebs3000:

How could he do that to Silk?! Did they break up??? OMG my OTP 😭😭😭💔

WorldWideWeavers:

Guys, (Y/N) Stark is literally Silk! Think about it, it makes sense!

SpiderQueen143:

He's not stupid enough to date that whore Silk and he would never date that bitch (Y/N) Stark 🙄 He could do so much better than that. 

"How does it feel to be dating a whore and bitch?" you asked Peter amusingly not looking up from your phone. 

You both were lying on your bed at the compound. You were wearing a science pun shirt that you borrowed (stole) from Peter and a pair of black drawstring short shorts. Peter was lying next to you wearing a Star Wars tee and a pair of plaid pajama pants with his stark specs on. 

You didn't catch the way he looked over at you as if he were offended (which he was). "You're not a whore or a bitch," he stated seriously. "Stop reading those."

"Why?" You asked, still not looking up from your phone. "They're kinda funny honestly."

You honestly found most of it amusing but Peter didn't appreciate the way some people spoke about the both of you. Especially you. Even on patrols, people were questioning both of you about your relationship and the infamous kiss in the Avenger’s Tower parking lot. He did admit that you handle it pretty well though. When someone would ask ‘Hey Silk, how do you feel about Spidey cheating on you?’ You would respond with ‘Who said he’s cheating on anyone? What he does in his personal life is his business and his business alone.’ Which made it vague enough to satisfy most people who asked. But even after a while, Peter could tell that even you were getting annoyed by all of the questions, comments, and two cents when you were just trying to be a neighborhood hero. 

It reminded him of when his identity was first revealed and how you got the worst end of the stick when it came to everything. 

Peter let out a sigh. "Are you amused or are you doom-scrolling?"

You paused and looked up at him wondrously as you noticed his tone was getting more and more bothered as the conversation went on. "Petey, love," you scooted closer to him and laid your head on his extended arm. "Are you okay?" 

He glanced back over at you and turned himself on his side to face you. "Yeah, I'm sorry. It just makes me upset when people talk bad about you like that. I know it shouldn't bother me this much especially when you're not upset by it but…when my identity was first revealed, people talked about us a lot, obviously. You got harassed by tons of people because you were known as 'Spiderman's girlfriend' or 'Spiderman's…'' he trailed off for a moment as his jaw clenched at the memories of how wrongly you were treated and the labels they would pin on you. "I just don't want you to go through that again."

Memories of the words Spiderman’s slut and Spidey’s whore from Mysterio extremists rang through Peter’s head. Or how the media painted him to be some type of mind-controlling villain. He could take all the shots thrown at him but when it came to you? He knew you could take care of yourself and that you were more than capable of defending yourself, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t hesitate to help in defending your honor. There were times when he tried to distance himself from you so you wouldn’t get caught up in being a victim of tabloids and media outlets, but you never left his side. You even scolded him when he found out what he was trying to do. 

You smile and peck his lips softly. "You're cute when you're protective. Well…you’re always cute, but especially when you’re pouty like this."

Peter’s eyes softened as he looked into yours. “I just…you mean everything to me. I don’t want this to affect you in a negative way.”

"And here I thought, you would be worried about your identity being revealed again," you smiled. "Instead you're worried about my reputation. Pete, if the public wants to label me Spiderman's slut then I don't care. If they want to paint me out as the homewrecker of Spidey and Silk, let them." You stroke his cheek with your thumb gently. "You know that quote from Christian Bale? 'If you have a problem with me, text me and if you don't have my number then you don't know me well enough to have a problem with me'. I'm damned if I give a damn what other people outside of my loved ones say about me or to me. As long as I'm with you, all of the shit they throw at me is all worth it. I'd scream from the rooftops that I, (Y/N) Stark aka Silk, am in love with Spiderman." 

Peter's eyes softened at your words and he laid his hand over yours that was on his cheek and kissed your palm. Your heart fluttered and you leaned in and kissed his lips softly and he kissed you back. He visibly and audibly relaxed which caused you to let out a soft giggle. You pulled back after a moment. 

“Better?” you asked.

“Not quite,” he replied, looking at you. “I’m still like...really upset. I think I need more to help me feel better.”

“Oh?” You giggled and moved yourself to straddle yourself on top of him as he laid back on the bed. You leaned down and pecked his lips. “How about now?”

“You’re getting warmer,” He smirked. 

You hummed and kissed his nose, forehead, temple, cheek, jaw, chin, and everywhere else on his face that wasn’t his lips which caused him to let out a warm laugh. You leaned your head on his after a moment and cradled his face in your hands. 

“How about now,” You asked in a soft voice. 

He leaned up and pressed his lips to yours deeply and you reciprocated the action. His hands find their way to your waist as he pulls your body closer to his and wraps his arms around you in a sweet embrace to match with the passionate kiss you both were sharing. Your heart fluttered and face burned at the action. After a moment he pulled away slowly.

“Much better,” he whispered before he rolled you both over so he was on top as he kissed you deeply. 

Peter had the day off from school and work which was a rare occasion. He decided to spend his morning visiting Aunt May and Uncle Ben's grave 

Celina and Ned had invited him over to hang out and get to know more about the time that they don't remember having with him. 

Honestly, he felt like a huge weight was lifted from his shoulders now that his friends knew the whole truth about the both of you and that they didn't think anything different of the two of you. Gwen and Harry still playfully bullied Peter which was a good indicator. Cindy was a little distant at first but she came back around after a couple of days of processing. 

Now you both had to deal with everyone sending SpideySilk Memes in the groupchat. Your favorite had to be the stock photo meme with the guy walking with his girlfriend and he's looking back at another woman, with spiderman as the guy, silk as the girlfriend and you as the girl he's looking at. 

You insisted to Peter that things would blow over eventually and that you both could go back to normal and learn from your mistakes. Nika was still investigating who leaked the video. It was harder than it seemed to find the person who did it. 

Peter was glad no one heard the conversation you both had during that whole moment. And he was glad that everyone in the Avengers Tower had to sign NDAs upon hire about revealing the personal details about any Avengers. So if anyone in the Tower knew Peter was Spiderman, they couldn't say anything legally. Luckily, most times he showed up in full suit.

Peter decided to skateboard his way to Nedlina's apartment to keep lowkey. Swinging in suit while you both were still a hot topic wasn't the greatest idea right now and he even had to double-check before entering his own apartment. He settled with landing on the roof and sneaking through the roof doorway and down to his floor a few times when he was feeling extra paranoid that day.

What a week it had been. 

When he arrived at the apartment complex he walked inside and went over to the elevator that was fixed by himself using Stark tech that you let him borrow. The landlord was so thankful that he even paid Peter more than he expected to get paid for it (which was nothing really). He was really doing a favor but the landlord insisted he take the money. When he stepped into the elevator he heard a meow and little pitter-patter footsteps. When his eyes followed the sounds he saw Loki the cat, who approached him. He smiled as the cat trilled and rubbed its side against his jeans and began purring. 

“Hello, Loki,” Peter greeted. 

The dark shadow of fur meowed in response and climbed up onto his shoulder and made himself comfortable. Peter smiled softly as the elevator doors closed and began moving upward. 

“Does your parents know that you’re down here?” He reached up and petted the cat who rubbed its head against his hand. “No worries, I’m sure Celina won’t scold you too harshly.”

When the elevator stopped at the eleventh floor, Peter made his way to the apartment down the hall. When he arrived the door opened before he could knock. Celina stood in the doorway wearing an oversized tee shirt that he recognized as Ned’s, a pair of biker shorts, and her hair up in a messy bun with her wavy bangs framing her face. She smiled at a frozen Peter who had his fist in the air to get ready to knock on the door. 

“Peter!”Celina chimed. “It’s good to see you!”

“Hello, Celi,” He smiled and lowered his arm.

Loki took the time to jump down from Peter’s shoulder and rub against Celina’s legs. 

“Mhm, trying to butter me up so you don’t get in trouble I see, you little troublemaker,” she said looking down at the bundle of fur and petting his back with her foot. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Peter chuckled as he walked in, took his shoes off by the door, and set his skateboard next to his shoes. Celina hugged him and then led him into the living room area as Thor came running out to greet Peter as well. 

“Ned, babe,” Celina sang. “Peter’s here.”

Ned walked from the hallway and smiled.”Hey, dude!”

“Hey, Ned,” Peter smiled. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty good,” He replied as they did a mini handshake that was the start of their famous secret handshake. “I always feel like there’s more to it when we do that.”

“There is,” Peter said. “But It’s okay. One day you’ll remember it.”

“We ordered pizza,” Celina called from the kitchen. “It should be here soon. Would you like anything to drink?”

“I’m okay for now,” Peter called back and sat on the couch with Ned. 

Celina came over and joined Peter and Ned on the couch with a mug of tea that read “witch’s brew” on the front of it. Peter sat on the other couch adjacent to the one the couple was on. The cat decided they wanted to snuggle up to him. 

After a little bit, the pizza arrived.  As Ned flipped through the channels on the TV to find something to watch, Celina was grabbing plates and napkins while Peter went to get the pizza from the delivery guy. When he came back he saw Celina looking at her phone with a concerned look on her face as she slowly brought her hand up to cover her mouth gaped open as her hazel eyes went wide. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Peter asked as he approached her and set the pizza down on the counter.

Her eyes flashed up to him with a look that worried him.

“Hey…guys…?” Ned asked with concern in his voice.

Peter walked over to the living room with Celina following close behind. Ned was standing up in front of the couch with wide eyes and a concerned expression on his face. When Peter looked at the screen it was the Daily Bugle with J. Jonah Jameson on the screen.

“J. Jonah Jameson here and this just in on the Daily Bugle,” The older man said on the screen. “(Y/N) Stark, so-called America’s Sweetheart, is now caught up in yet another scandal. Earlier this week she was caught in 4K messing around with none other than our favorite criminal psychopath, Spiderman, which took the entire world by storm that not even Thor could control. Since then neither party has spoken out publicly about the incident as if they are trying to pretend that it never even happened. Way to be an accomplice to the Vigilante with your status, Stark. You can’t blame her though, she’s the daughter of the late Tony Stark who was Iron Man, so it is no surprise that she would be fadoodling with the likes of some miscreant like Spiderman. But what am I doing here talking about old news? Well Let me tell you, folks, we received here a video of America’s so-called Sweetheart being anything but!”

A video clip appeared on the side of the news reporter’s head and the clip made Peter’s eyes go wide and his heart drop to his stomach. Celina and Ned both looked at Peter with fearful expressions on their faces. Peter felt lightheaded as he watched the clip of you in a very compromising situation. The pace of his heart picked up, the feeling of his body going numb and his throat tightened. 

He was pretty sure he was going to faint. 

As the clip continued to play, J. Jonah Jameson continued. “It seems that the secret double life of (Y/N) Stark has been revealed. Can’t keep silent now can you?”

“Oh my god…” was all Celina could say. 

“I-I…” Peter stuttered. “I-I…need to go…”

He needed to make sure that you were okay and that you were safe because he knew that in a matter of minutes, you would be back in the place where he feared you would be again years ago when he was exposed to the world.

And now something similar was happening to you. 

~

Tags:

@i-love-mommy-wanda @riordanness @peterdarlingg @thecrystalclarity @brckenmemories @paleprincesssxo @blackcanary130 @kindlover @i-have-no-life-charlie @melodicheauxxlovesfood @hufflepuff-n-fluff

#peter parker x stark!daughter #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x silk!reader #peter parker x avenger!reader #peter parker x afab!reader #spiderman #peter parker #avenger!reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fic #peter parker imagine #tom holland #marvel #mcu #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker series #mcu marvel avengers #mcu peter x reader #marvel mcu #mcu fanfiction #avengers #marvel cinematic universe #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland fanfiction

[passmethatcokezero]

Every body needs a therapy. (18+ // Jeonghan!vampire au)

Yup, even vampires do.

pairing: jeonghan!vampire x fem!reader, joshua cameo

words: 4186 words

tags: superhuman au, superficial, y/n is a healer-slash-sex worker, threesome (!!next chapter!!), unprotected sex (this is fiction for a reason! let’s always stay safe!!))

warning: tw // vague mentions of abuse, toxic household/parental relationships

disclaimer: these type of vampire you may have not seen from anywhere. I added some characteristics/abilities to it that does not reflect the stereotype

+ + +

The streets are still lit up by fluorescent lamps when the clock points to five. Your early morning arrival in school had long been regular. The front gate guard, although always surprised, is somewhat already used to seeing your face and greeting you back with a lively one. It was one of few things that give you motivation to get up tomorrow, and you never thought you won’t be hearing that today.

“Oops I’m sorry!” You were absurdly apologetic as if accused of a crime you didn't even do, you furiously bowed numerous times, checking if the coffee on hand stained the suited up man in white that just got out of a convenience store.

Oh, it’s him. The beautiful guy; Joshua's new tenant in his loft. You met him just yesterday, visiting your friend to seek refuge from the world when all of a sudden, a seemingly son of Aphrodite was revealed behind the grandiose wooden doors. He was unbelievably handsome and your encounter with him suddenly felt like a dream. Did he really stare at you, at your bruised lips? And his scent that trailed on the path he walked on, a smell so alluring, so nostalgic as to an extent you cannot fathom. Something like roses maybe? Or was it jasmine? A mix? And that pair of mesmerizing eyes that felt like a black hole any star would get lost to. You concluded he might have been one of the most gorgeous (and great-smelling) men you have laid eyes (and nose) upon.

“Yeah… just me.” Your eyes widened in shock. Did I say that out loud? “I’m sorry, are you okay?”

He was careful, checking if an amount of the scalding hot coffee in his hand spilled on you. None, your marigold shirt, perfectly masking your mood, was stain-free, so was your skin showing through the rip in your jeans. He felt relieved somehow, even more when he saw your once bruised lips patched on. You seemed fine to him, if not for his otherworldly senses.

“Early for school?”

It must have been obvious that you’re on your way to school, and perhaps, Joshua must have told him somehow. Or did your casual outfit and backpack give it away?

You hummed at him, a bit shy of your contrasting appearance. His seemingly newly waxed oxford shoes were intimidating, as if it would cost you your life once a particle of dust from your proximity lands on it. “Uhm… yeah… I’m gonna get going…”

“I heard about your mom,” you were too stunned to even look at him with bulging eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to be nosey, but I was worried about that bruise."

It stung just as it slipped from his lips. And all the painful images just flashed right in front of you from yesterday's unfortunate events that led you to knocking at Joshua's already open doors.

"Don't get mad at your friend, I insisted." He didn't. His inhumane intuition told him.

"You want some company?" He asks, letting out a small smile. Just before you refuse his kind offer, a gush of warm air envelops you - a warmth you craved from the once you called home. A tear almost fell, and that's when you realized it came from him, gently petting your head. “You can't walk alone in that state so...I insist,’

He lets out a small smile and invited you inside the store. Not that you’re being rude nor you don't prefer caffeine, but tugging the sleeve of his suit from behind was the only thing that came to your mind. The act made him pause, as well as the clerk that gave you a look of indifference. "I'm sorry but-"

"You're not going to school, aren’t you?”

The air froze, much like you did. How does he know every single thing? Do my eyes give me away? You thought.

“I don’t know…” you mumbled. “I don’t know.” you spoke a bit louder with all the uncertainties and fear manifested in your voice.

“Don’t worry, I can accompany you for a while. But first, let me get you this drink you'd love, as what you're friend told me.” and there goes his warm smile once again, never fading as your coffee comes ready.

"Why are you doing this?" It was straightforward, but being raised from a draining toxicity, you have learned better than beating around the bush and speak your mind.

"I am not sure either. I just know you might need someone to talk to...?"

"Well I don't." You faked a smile, as a motive forms in your mind. "But if you're just hitting on me, well, call yourself lucky."

The walk grew quiet as you kept him hanging; the other not knowing where your feet would take him. Although Jeonghan has pure intentions, he was not able to manipulate you even if he tried. Seeing you in such a state from yesterday, a tinge of wariness and worry painted him human.

True enough, he did live as a human before surrendering his entirety into his bloodlust reality. A human with otherworldly senses and “illnesses” - as how he was diagnosed. Even though he cannot go out like normal person would, he had experiences with humans that softened his cold heart. He learned about music and singing from the buskers at night, he learned about pleasure with the goers at clubs, he learned about the human psyche from an elderly friend who frequents his lover’s tombstone.

He hated the fact that he was already used to living as the second best, never the heir to the throne in highest and hidden behind the darkest of fences, but his soul just cannot let past how to feel being human again, because for him, it was what taught him happiness - a feeling he never knew existed.

“Oh,” he looks at the sign board in front of him as your feet halts and laughs slightly. “No, I am not that kind of man you think I am.”

“That’s what everyone says, and yet the first ones to barge on me like some hungry wolves,”

You have brought him back to the motel you stayed for the night. It was a place that you can call home at nights you got kicked out the house literally. There stood your dear friend in concierge sighing in response to your small smile as bells ring to announce a guest's arrival.

“Joshua told you anything about this too?”

“The therapy thing? Not so much.”

You regretted you asked, not knowing if you wanted to kick your friend in the shin for sharing such information or just melt in the ground due to a private matter boldly coming out of a stranger's mouth.

“Not gonna force you to anything. Just... if you're interested in some kind of therapy I am always free if it’s you. You passed Joshua's strict screening so you're a VIP to me. You just have to let me know in advance.” you winked at him.

It is probably your special gift: your sexuality healing others. And you figured that out when your ex came back once just to lash out how his then lover whom he loved greater, betrayed him and left him for another. It wasn’t to bring back the relationship, but he said he felt you’ve always healed him every time you two had sex before: may it be from stress, or fatigue, even physical and internal pains which he had once tested and proven when he recovered from his migraine after a quickie. It was the first time you heard about it, and later on confirmed when even his broken heart that manifested chest pains were healed. If you think about it, the intercourse was supposedly emotionally damaging, an ex coming back to fuck? But rather you felt grateful for the discovery of your gift, and the feelings that were completely gone for your past lover.

Jeonghan was astounded. Sex for therapy? Humans are really weird, he thought. He was about to let it pass, until he feels rather hot, like needles prickling his skin. Right, the sun is rising, few rays seeping through the glass windows by the rear overlooking part of the building.

He needs the shade.

“Sounds great, how ‘bout you run me through it?”

The room he booked was the most expensive, triple the price of regular rooms. It was a secret listing, and the only item that can guarantee therapy for anyone. You let him settle first, as you excuse yourself to change to your uniform. It was a two-piece black lingerie with your soul almost bulging out. It did nothing to hide anything, it was like a decoration to your body. Visuals are part of your therapy of course; stimulation of the senses being the first part of the overall session that can last almost a day if the client would request. Which Jeonghan did.

After dolling yourself up, you stood in front of the room feeling rather unusual today. Why are you getting nervous!? You breathed through your mouth to regain focus and repeated it’s just another session, it’s just another session.

Revealing your presence with three knocks, you entered the room without waiting for his acknowledgement. The room was nicely prepped, thanks to the quick housekeeping. It was lit dimly by the lamps, blackout curtains not letting any sunshine in. Faint zen music sets the mood, and you see Jeonghan looking at you from the chair across the mattress where he is supposed to be, legs crossed with a very unpredictable expression.

“So… how do we start?” he whispered, curiosity was evident but he’s good at presenting himself as confident.

“You start…” heels tapped the wooden floors as you slowly walked to him, sititng on his lap. “...by telling me your worries.”

“That I don’t have,” he smirks, collecting fringes away from your face. “I just wanted to know how you do therapy in the form of sex.”

“Well, then this wont work as therapy, but just sex.”

He thought for a while, as you made yourself comfortable in his lap, caressing his chest and shoulders. “Ah, I think I have one.”

“Tell me,” you cooed softly brushing your lips against his ears. “I’m listening.”

He began talking about his power-greedy brother, only he tells it as if they are average humans with sibling rivalry over a business ownership. He said he struggles from low self-esteem and envy, as his brother has always been the better one. And he thinks proving himself as the better successor of the so referred to as company will be the last chance, and yet the most powerful one that can prove his worth as his father’s child - a validation he crave’s for.

Rich people problems, you assume, all the while loosening his buttons as he spoke. Not once his voice hitched throughout your touching, and now it was your turn to have low self-esteem. Even more upon seeing his flawless skin.

His body glistens to bare and is smooth as heck. He looked paler than earlier and you might have assumed he isn't feeling well until he suddenly groped your body strongly so close to his.

"Your lips... they look... inviting. Can I..."

He mutters incompletely when he didn't look so turned on just now. You hummed a small consent, assuming what he wanted to say. On cue, his soft, almost lullaby kiss in contrast to how he has you on hold gave you the tingles.

"Really sweet…" He whispers as he runs his tongue between his lips and continued, "Totally my favorite."

You didn't mind his sudden tone change but not his eyes sparkling crimson red. It was too late to back off, nervous for not knowing who or what could you be dealing with, when his mouth caught yours so dramatically fast as if you were the last meal in an apocalypse.

His kiss was too deep, literally breath-taking for every second that you kept on moaning into his mouth to catch your breath. It was so bad that it felt so good, supposedly unpleasant as your wound probably have opened back up, but no stinging whatsoever. Only pleasure, his soft, innocent lips that looked like belonging to an angel is now rummaging yours. It was a kiss you have never shared with anyone, or even thought of getting from anyone. It was so wild, there was nothing in your mind but him sucking oxygen from your lungs, fucking, pounding you so hard in the mattress. It felt like your brain rode a rollercoaster, so dizzy and yet so full of adrenaline.

"Oh god…" you were panting against his lips. "What was that?"

He did not answer, but his eyes were still fixated on your now cherry lips. He was craving for it, but he doesn't know how to make his sudden addiction to your lips seem so normal.

Because for him, it's also insane how kissing you makes him feel like the greatest, most powerful being of his kind. His insecurity blurs as if there wasn't any in the first place.

"I…" He was thinking twice; would you find it weird if he suck those plump lips, or in human words kiss you once again, and longer, deeper this time? "Uhm… was it… good?"

"Honestly?" You tried to divert his sight from to meet your eyes but to no avail. "It was so good I don't want to stop."

Hearing that he wasted no time claiming your mouth once again, this time going deeper, and wetter than earlier. His hands were groping your body as if your warmth might leave him anytime soon, and yours around his neck with the same desire of having him only yours.

Your therapy has never been this full of desire. Although, most just wanted the lust, but this time around, the emotion was even beyond that. You even thought there was something evil going on, that it is impossible to have this level of greed and lust, mixed with pride at the same time over a person you just met. All the lewd things you wanted him to do to you and for you, all the dirty kisses you want him to mark you with, all his rich, creamy, filthy cum all over you - you desire it all.

Oh, how he wish he can read your mind, and you his.

Your moans to his ears was the most beautiful song, and your hot cavern was a refuge to his pent up frustration. He poured all them to kissing you with passion, or maybe even stronger than that. He then proceeds to unconsciously tearing your two piece lingerie apart at once, a moment you gasped so hard due to it being dumbfounding, and well, hot.

"Sorry," He softly giggled. "I can buy you a new one…"

"Sure you can, so I can have something to wear only for you." You winked at him, to which you never thought would gain a moan from him.

"I can't believe I am being seduced right now to buy lingerie. Do I look like a sugar daddy to you?"

"Hmm... good idea," you started kissing his neck as you grind your wet pussy against his pants, which reminded him to take what remained on him off so he can feel you at most. You felt your body being lifted as he stood from the chair, softly mounting your body on the bed. From a slight distance you watched him look at you intently without blinking, clothes being discarded in a second. His eyes once again sparks crimson, to which he scoffed and looked down as if not letting you see it, but too late.

His body glistens as he topples over you, his dick hanging, grazing against your core. The contact itself made him shiver, or so you thought, arching his back on gritted teeth.

What you didn't know, it was your lips that got bloodied from the makeout and he was trying so hard not to fall for the luscious smell. He just wanted to enjoy sex without his hidden identity going in the way.

He leans in closer so painfully slowly, thoughts of tasting more of your fresh blood may ruin the night. As his forehead touches yours, his thumb sweeps your lips, and forces it inside your mouth, which you instinctively suck, tasting your own blood.

"I think I kissed you too hard… should I do that to your other lips?"

The words were wild enough to produce more wetness down there. And before even expecting it, his hot mouth was already conquering your south lips and his tongue definitely knows how to play. You didn't realise you let out the sexiest moan tonight due to the contact. Your back arched to the pleasure, and your chest chased your breaths. It was lubricated enough, with his hot saliva mixing with your arousal. You haven't been eaten this good: his mouth not leaving any spot, his tongue lapping your folds, and the tip teasing your hole. You didn't think it was possible, but it's happening right on your very mattress.

"Fuck, ahh… you're so good." You can't stop moaning, and so does he as he sucks your sweet juice. Vibrations from his mouth added to the sensation as he eats you out with all his might. You were even worried you might break his head nestled between your thighs, feeling the curling of your core.

"Shit…" His tongue was now doing wonders fucking your hole. He entered without a warning, and the the friction of his naughty little tongue rubbing against your hole made you go nuts, forgetting you were almost on your release. You didn't know if it was just you being high on adrenaline and libido, but his tiny little muscle seem to fill you up so perfectly, even contracting and growing from its supposed size and reach  making you pause for a second, mouth wide agape. 

"J-Jeonghan…ah!"

Stars filled your tightly closed eyes as his tongue explored your insides, growing to your wall's extent. It was as if he took the size of you completely, which you didn't mind, focusing only on the pleasure.

It was so good, better then majority of, if not all, dicks that fucked you. Especially when he started thrusting in and out abusing your tight hole. Your eyes were rolling almost to the back end, and you almost questioned reality. It felt like a dream to be fucked and filled in so perfectly, and all your sweet spots entertained. The mattress soon felt like cloud on your misty body, mind dizzy and only moaning was something you consciously do as you surrender to nirvana.

"Baby you're so sweet," Jeonghan cooes by your ears, when he stopped fucking you with his tongue you didn't notice. You were then tasting yourself from his mouth, the heated session soon turned even fiery when his long, hard cock entered you right after he says a very sultry “Ready?”

Just like his tongue, his cock grew huge as it fills you inside. It was cold, literally so cold it caused a burning sensation in your hole as it stretched out. That's when you realized, his whole being was a complete opposite of yours even after quite some time in heat. He was like made of ice, and every touch you feel electrified.

It was your blood that faded his mask. The taste of its residue on your lips was enough for his insides to get awaken. He wanted more, of course. He wanted to suck your rich blood, drain you out and get his pride back. But what was it that stops him from tearing a slit on your neck? What was it that fights his thirst for power?

Your hands entangled as he starts thrusting in and out soon after your good pussy has taken his length. The first few seconds felt like making love to your lover, butterflies were present in your stomach as his cock dives deep into your pool. Oh how you wish he feels the same. He seemed like a nice guy to date, you thought. And hot one at that.

Soon the innocent lovemaking elevates to a rather rough one. A force you never thought a man could be capable of had your mind spiraling back to the once fantasies you only imagined. His strong force you thought might break your spine as he continues fuming oxygen from your lungs. He fucks you like it was his last, his dick that seemed to only grew bigger by time kept drillling and tearing your hole.

Moans and the slapping of your misty skin were the sole thing that makes you aware of reality. That you were not in dreamland or someplace your mind made up. 

His strength was unbelievable - he was unbelievable, and the way he made you come thrice the entire night will truly be one for the history books.

The night dawned with just him serenading you with his lovely hums, as you lie comfortably on his chest all cleaned and cared for by the gentleman himself. Come to think of it, what was supposedly a therapy for him must have been one for you and your wounded soul that craved attention.

"Thank you," He suddenly breaks the silence.

"Hmm? For what?"

"The therapy…?" He giggled. “Indeed, I felt lighter. Rejuvenated. I felt like I flushed so much insecurities away in a form of semen.”

Wow, truly a rare find of a guy. Handsome, flirty, humorous. With what else does he serve the world?

"Ah, that was nothing. Just doing my job."

"What do you mean, that was the best sex I've ever had," He was blushing when you tried to meet his eyes. "Don't tell me that was nothing compared to any of your so called therapies?"

You wanted to lie and say yes to kind of provoke him to tease, but what can that do? Ruin a non-existent reputation? Although you wanted to humble him down a bit.

"Well, let's just say… you did better than most of my clients."

"Fair enough…" He coughed out to clear his throat. "Tell me, has anyone ever came back to… you know just have a casual sex?"

"Duh, they all do, though booking it as a therapy. They just wanted sex. Everybody does. But I always told them once it starts as casual, the healing effect for them will never come back-just like how one of my patrons has experienced."

"Quite a gift you have," He catches your hand for him to caress.

"We all have it." You smiled at him. "Kinda curious about yours."

He stalled for a moment thinking deep, faked with a soft laughter. "Oh… you don't wanna know."

"I think I already do…"

His breathing stopped at your confession. Do you, really? He was clearly nervous, heart pumping with only a millisecond interval. You sat up, looking him straight into his eyes. Both of you are still bare of clothing, and only light from the lamp illuminates a small part of your skin.

Your finger painted an invisible line from his lips down to his chest, leaning in closer to his ears. The next words shook him to his core, but also made him attached himself to your loose strings.

"You're not human, are you?"

The crimson light shines on both his eyes once again, thus time fully enclosing his irises to its hue. A sight of his fangs peaks itself from between his lips, and was then followed by a smirk when you showed no scare at all.

"I hope you don't mind me being blood lust when you were moaning like that earlier," He says closing the gap between your faces to lick that dried up wound in your lips. "I promise to only suck your pussy if you wish, even if it's a little too tempting - not my fault your blood tasted just the perfect sweet for me." He then kisses you slowly as he pins you down on the mattress, and the day that you thought have just ended isn't apparently so.

You had so many questions that night, so did he. But you seemed far from disbelief rather interested with anything about him. Until morning came, both lacking sleep (or maybe only you do) but not of knowledge (and taste) of each other’s personal businesses. Each curiosity had been satisfied, but there’s still this lingering that you want to know more about him and his gift he calls a curse.

He was too, the connection he felt from the intercourse was too apparent to disregard and he is definite it wasn’t just due to the brief taste of your blood. So many stories he still wanted to hear from you, so many questions deeper than who you are or what you do, yet too less of a time as you have other functions as an individual who gets by on wages yet costly living unlike him.

But one thing he was sure of, it feels great to be human at times.

+ + +

《 1, 2 》

ㅡ Thoughts and feedbacks are always welcome as i am also trying to get better at writing or getting ideas^^ just drop by my askbox ♡

#seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #seventeen fic #svt fic #kpop smut #svt au #seventeen au #svt drabbles #seventeen drabbles #jeonghan smut #yoon jeonghan smut #svt jeonghan smut #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan au #get well soon hannie!!!! #svt jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan

[kurtzw0rld96]

KÖNIG SMUT!

NOT MY GIF!!!

this is my first ever post so i’m terrified.😭

warnings : mask kink!, (f) reader, caught masturbating,daddy kink, thigh grinding, chubby reader!, body worship, fingering (f) receiving, name calling,TW: mention of scars! um idk what else-

18+

You’ve been waiting for your loving husband to come home , it’s been around a month and a half and every day you’ve been dreading just waiting for him to come home safe. Every time he comes home he comes with a new scar and it scares you to death.

It’s been a long day and you’ve just came back home after a long day of working, getting yelled at by your boss. You come home to an empty house, you sigh and go into your room that’s shared with your husband. You change out of your sweaty clothes, put ur hair up in a bun and pop in the shower. You sigh feeling the hot water hit your skin, you wash your body thoroughly, ignore washing your hair and just think to do it another day. You pop out drying your body and changing into some shorts and a tank top.

You go into your room and lay down on your bed, then start scrolling through your phone and look at the time 01:37am. you sigh again and close your eyes and lay down on your side trying to fall asleep but then your mind keeps playing these inappropriate images of könig just pounding you-

you shake away the thoughts and try again but all you get is the times you and him have had sex, you start feeling yourself get wet and just thought “he isn’t here he doesn’t know i’m gonna do this without permission.” you slide off your shorts and panties and rub your clit thinking about the way your husband does it, it just doesn’t feel as good as he does it.

you slowly put a finger inside yourself in sigh in relief, you put another finger in and start thrusting, you moan out loud “könig” then that’s when you hear a shift on the floorboards.

you look up in fear and see that it’s your husband. you gasp and cover yourself and try to frantically explain yourself. “nono this isn’t what it looks like!” your delighted to see him but terrified at the same time.

“my my don’t let me stop you darling, keep on going” könig chuckles and walks towards you slowly and pulls off the covers you oh so failed at covering yourself, he takes off his gloves and shirt. You can’t help yourself but just topple the man while kissing him, you sitting on his lap while kissing him after so long js what you both longed. He moves a little and you can feel his thighs flexing right under your pussy, you sit on his lap properly and can’t help but just move your hips and let out a gasp. You look at him just to see him looking at you with the most tired but seductive eyes ever.

You whine just seeing him looking at you like that and your so tired at chasing your high so you bite your lip and whine, “what is it my Schatz? need some help?” you nod looking down in embarrassment.

he grips onto your hips, definitely leaving a bruise there but you couldn’t care less and he guides your hip to grind yourself on his thigh, after minutes of this, you cannot get yourself to cum. you tear up and pout “i cant do itttt” you whine to him and look at him. He softly smiles at you and lays you down gently on the bed “don’t worry my love let me do all the work”

you nod at him and open your legs and cover your face from embarrassment after it’s been so long since he’s seen your body being all vulnerable to him. He drags his hands up your thighs going over some scars and places his hands on your hips and whispers to himself “such a beautiful body.” you blush and smile softly. He adds one finger into your pussy and slowly moves and sees the way your body responses and adds another fingers scissoring you open, getting you ready for him.

When he takes out his fingers he sees how wet you are just from this foreplay and lifts his hand to his face and uses his other hand to taste you while looking at you. he hums at the taste and starts undoing his trousers and pulls them off.

“you ready?” he asks very quietly, when he sees you nod he slowly enters you and looks at your expression. Sees your eyes roll back just from him doing this and slowly picks up a pace while you wrap your hands around his neck, moaning into the side of his neck, you beg him over and over again “more, more, more please daddy.” he snaps when he hears that name and starts to pound into you putting your legs over his shoulders to get more depth.

you feel so close. but you can’t seem to muster up the words to tell him but he can tell your close, the way your back arches and your face scrunches up “let go, Meine Liebe” he whispers into your ear and your body can’t help but listen to his command, you cum, moaning his name over and over again, your legs shaking just a bit and he snaps. Starts pounding into you because he’s so close.

he cums into you and let’s you ride out your high, he pulls out and gets a tissue from the bed side table and wipes himself and wipes you too, he smiles softly at you seeing your tired expression. He takes off his mask and goes down and kisses your forehead and goes down to kiss your scars littered on your thighs.

you tear up everytime he does this, you sit up and pull him in for a kiss, he kisses back and you just stare at him lovingly and smile.

he hands you back your shorts and he then stands up and gets himself a pair of shorts and lies down on the bed beside you and looks at you “i’ve missed you so much meine Prinzessin” softly he says to you. “i’ve missed you so much too könig” you say back

you feel comfort after being able to lay down on his after so long feeling the comfort of his warm body you hold his hand and close your eyes drifting off to sleep slowly “i love you Liebste” he says tiredly

“i love you too könig”

THIS IS SO BAD 😭😭😭 kill me xx

#konig mw2 #konig smut #cod modern warfare

[teddybasmanov]

Lily of the valley, snow-white lily of the valley

Pairing: Dimi/Malenkee

TW: nightmares, mentions of death, mentions of firearms, implied nudity.

Word count: a bit above 750 (but since I decided to be weird and give translations instead of writing everything initially in English it's closer to a thousand).

Notes: Title from a poem by Tsvetaeva that is being sang here (there's also a full translation - for once not mine). This is absolutely not canon compliant in any way. I made up a patronymic for Dimi (it's from a book/movie character). I use they/them for the listener, but in direct speech in Russian I use he/him (which you wouldn't have known unless I've told you or you know Russian well enough).

They wake up in the middle of the night shaken by a nightmare they can barely remember - something with odd masked men. Their new friend breathes quietly by their side and they slowly sit up and put their feet on the floor - they need to go to the bathroom to calm down and they're afraid they cannot cry silently enough not to wake up the person right next to them. They pull Dimi's jacket from the chair beside the bed to put it over their naked shoulders - the apartment is chilly especially at night - and feel the weight of the gun still in their pocket. (If they weren't so distressed they would have though that it's just like that one scene from "Diamonds for the Dictatorship of the Proletariat", except they aren't trying to shoot their bedmate.)

They stand in front of the mirror for a bit, before turning on cold water and getting their hands under it before putting them on their cheeks. They feel stress tears starting to gather at the corners of their eyes and they let them spill - it's okay, definitely crying quieter than the running water. That's how Dimi finds them - dutifully wiping the tears off their face with cold water.

He leans on the door frame and they notice him in the mirror and promptly drop their eyes to the sink.

"Что-то не так, Дмитрий Юрьевич?" [Something's wrong, Dmitry Yurievich?] they ask quietly, their voice flat.

"Это я должен спршивать, что не так," [It's me who's supposed to be asking what's wrong.] he takes a step towards them.

"Всё в порядке, прошу прощения, если я Вас разбудил," [Everything's alright, I'm sorry if I woke You up.] they still aren't looking at his reflection.

He takes another step forward and gently puts a hand on their shoulder, "И именно потому, что всё в порядке, ты плачешь в ванной?" [And exactly because everything's alright, you're crying in the bathroom.] he says softly, not really a question.

"Всё правда в порядке, просто приснилась какая-то ерунда," [Everything's really alright, I just dreamt some nonsense.] they try to give him a smile, but it not very convincing.

He sits on the edge of the bathtub, getting to their eye-level, and pulls them onto his lap and they don't resist, leaning against him as they feel their shoulders starting to tremble and the tears coming out for real.

"Шшшш, мой маленький, я здесь, я с тобой," [Shhhh, my little one, I'm here, I'm with you.] he wraps his arms around them and whispers almost directly into the top of their head, "Что же тебе такое приснилось?" [What did you dream about.]

"Я не помню," [I don't remember.] they shake their head somewhere into the crook of his neck and their mind helpfully reminds them of an image from the beginning of the dream, "Только помню, что Вас убили," [I only remember that You were killed.] the last words of the sentence get drowned out in sobs.

"Ну что ты, маленький, из-за меня так убиваешься," [Oh, little one, and you're so upset about me.] he gently strokes their back, while they calm down again.

"Вы из-за меня жизнью рискуете," [You risk your life for me,] they say seriously finally lifting their eyes at him, "а я даже не могу вам ничем помочь". [and I cannot even help you.]

"Ох," [Oh,] he cannot help but give them a somewhat lost smile, "но, маленький, ведь я бы и так рисковал жизнью, только теперь мне есть за что - вернее за кого," [but little one, I'd be risking my life anyway, just now I have something - or rather someone to do that for.] he puts his hand on their cheek and it covers almost half of their face. They lean into it and drop their gaze again.

"Мне нечего ответить Вам на такое, и всё же я чувствую себя виноватым, что я подвергаю Вас опасности," [I have nothing to answer you for that, and yet I still feel guilty for putting You in danger.] hey put their hand on top of his and slightly turning their head kiss his palm.

"Ах ты глупенький, опасности значит он меня подвергает - да я может безопаснее, чем с тобой, себя в жизни не чувствовал?" [Oh, you silly thing, 'putting me in danger' - maybe I've never felt myself safer in my life than I do with you?]

"Если это так, то я скажу, что из нас двоих глуп не я," [If that's so, then between the two of us I'm not the silly one.] they finally return his smile and he pulls them in for a kiss. They wrap their arms around his neck and his jacket starts slipping from their shoulders.

He catches it, wrapping it around them again, "Пойдём спать, маленький, у тебя же и так глаза слипаются". [Let's go to sleep, little one, your eyes are already closing.]

They hum affirmingly, but before they make a move to get off his lap, he picks them up and stands up.

"Дмитрий Юрьевич, пожалуйста, не врежьтесь в стену, Вы же без очков," [Dmitry Yurievich, please, don't bump into a wall, You're not wearing your glasses.] they say almost half-playfully, while he carries them back to bed.

"Я могу ходить здесь вообще с закрытыми глазами," [I can walk here with my eyes completely closed.] he retaliates setting them on the bed and taking the jacket off them to put it back on the chair.

They settle in bed, he wraps his arm around them as they cuddle up closer to him.

"Спокойной ночи, Дмитрий Юрьевич," [Good night, Dmitry Yurievich.] they whisper into his chest.

"Спокойной ночи, мой маленький". [Good night, my little one.]

#jimち asmr #jim asmr #writing #? #when I decided to google how to properly transliterate Yurievich it hit me that 'Dmitry Yurievich' gives anyone #who spent any time on russian internet a very obvious association - but I assure you that was an intended outcome #it's from above-mentioned Diamonds for the Dictatorship of the Proletariat

[mbti-notes]

Hi mbti notes, I'm INFJ and I hope it's okay if I share my problem here.

My nagging fear of appearing as unskilled/incompetent stops me from being honest with people and taking decisive actions. That is why I always try to learn as many new things as I can, but my anxiety doesn't go away. Whenever I have a chance to make things better, I feel like I'm not ready yet, I can't handle it yet, I need more time to prepare, etc. etc. I delay this decision for better time, but this better time never comes. What makes this problem even more complicated is that people in my surrounding overestimate my smarts. It seems that I convinced everyone that I`m capable and can be trusted with important tasks but I'm still not sure whether it's true. I feel like the skills/knowledge I have are never enough, so what should I take into account and what should I work on to get rid of that fear and make positive changes?

You name the problem as "fear of appearing incompetent". Thus, you concluded that you had to learn more or be more skilled to solve the problem. Yet, no matter what you learn or how you prepare, your fear never goes away. Why?

1) Unhealthy Ni: You live in your own little bubble of unrealistic beliefs. You believe that it's possible to be so competent that you'll never ever feel incompetent again. Striving for impossible ideals ends up exacerbating your fear because you are constantly reminded of how you fall short of perfection, which triggers feelings of low self-worth.

2) Unhealthy Fe: You fear looking bad in front of others, so you try to figure out how to get affirmation. Somehow, you came to believe that a worthy person must be "competent" and/or "decisive", so you've tried to turn yourself into such a person. This means your motive for learning doesn't come from a pure or noble place; you don't genuinely love and value learning in itself. Getting validated for shallow attempts to appear competent only serves to reveal the falseness of the self-image you're trying to construct, which triggers feelings of low self-worth.

3) Unhealthy Ti: Instead of facing up to the truth of yourself, you hide the truth of who you are behind a mask. You manipulate people's perception of you as a means to get ahead of any potentially negative judgments and criticisms. In the end, however, you cannot escape criticism of yourself. You can't help but feel like an imposter because the fact is that you are one, which triggers feelings of low self-worth.

4) Unhealthy Se: In the end, you have trapped yourself in a lie, but you can't give up the lie, because the alternative is to face reality. The reality is that you are but a human being with limited mental resources, so you cannot be prepared for every possibility or make perfect decisions like an omniscient being. Instead of having faith, nurturing adaptability, and accepting yourself for who you are, you overreact, overthink, and micromanage yourself into a corner, often feeling stuck and incompetent, which triggers feelings of low self-worth.

Excessive/irrational fear is an emotional problem. One of the most important aspects of improving your emotional intelligence is to stop treating your feelings and emotions as the enemy. Feeling afraid threatens the ego, so you label fear as a "problem" and try to get rid of it. You end up in self-sabotage because you have missed the point. Fear exists for a reason.

You're asking the wrong question. You're asking how to get rid of fear when you should be asking where your fear comes from, to get to the bottom of it. The way through fear is to confront it head on. Why, exactly, are you so afraid to appear incompetent in front of people? Why don't you believe that you have the right to be who you are and make whatever decisions you want at whatever speed you want? Why do you self-harm trying to twist yourself into some unhealthy image of perfect "competence"?

Therapy might be a good idea. You seem to suffer deeper problems related to low self-worth, low self-esteem, self-loathing, or shame. You overcompensate by trying to fool everyone into thinking you are skilled instead of figuring out why you have low self-worth to begin with. When you come to understand your true worth, you won't be afraid of appearing incompetent in front of others because: 1) you would have realistic expectations of yourself, and 2) you would embrace mistakes and failures as necessary for learning and growth.

Have you read the study guides and researched past posts, because low self-worth is a common INFJ problem that has been discussed before? If not, you've got some studying to do. To address negative emotions properly, you have to listen to them and understand them. This requires empathy and compassion - two things you do not offer to yourself. When you don't have empathy and compassion for yourself, you'll never truly know yourself. It's very difficult to learn and grow when shame keeps the real you locked away in a dark cage.

#infj #ti loop #indecision #self worth #shame #fear #anxiety #social anxiety #self compassion #competence #self confidence #emotional intelligence #ask

[mysteriawrites]

Hi lovely, thank you for doing a trade with me! Below is my info, and I’ll request a male match from Genshin Impact, please! If you need anything else let me know.

- Gender: Cis female, she/her

- Zodiac: Aquarius

- Appearance: 5’4, light blonde hair & green eyes. I’m toned/muscular, but still pretty skinny. I have tan skin from living on the coast my entire life, and freckles on my nose and shoulders.

- MTBI: ENFJ-A

- Enneagram: 8w7

- Personality: Confident, outspoken, sociable, logic-driven. High self esteem & self worth, independent. I’ve been told (& I agree) that I speak with a very sharp and blunt tone that comes off rude and sarcastic, even if I’m not trying to be. I try to have a lot of patience, but it often does not work. Flirty, sometimes without realizing, but also just because I really do enjoy attention. Talkative & hyper at times. Physically cannot sit still for more than 20 minutes.

- Likes: Music, dance, writing, modeling, meeting new people, the beach, parties, planning events, learning.

- Dislikes: Complaining (especially when the person is doing nothing to try to fix their problem), people with no regard for those around them, bugs, weird food textures, stubbornness, unnecessary things

- Giving love language: Gifts (usually just small things that I see when I’m out, like their favorite snack at a gas station)

- Receiving love language: Physical touch (Generally, I hate being touched. Cannot stand it. It takes me a long time to get comfortable enough with someone for touching, but when I do I enjoy it. Only at certain times, though, because there will be times I don’t even want to be touched by whoever I’m dating.), Words of affirmation (I get incredibly insecure in relationships, lots of past issues, so fun. Consistent reassurance is definitely needed because I get an attitude)

- Extras: I am a model & my income comes from booking shoots. I have naturally curly hair. If it’s in the arts, I can do it (singing, art, instruments, dance). I have been a dancer and cheerleader since I was 2, so about 18 years. I have PNES & have seizures when I am too stressed out. I go to the gym & work very hard to maintain my image and keep my face and body healthy to maintain modeling

Thanks so much for doing the trade with me. DRUMROLL PLEASE!!!

🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

KAEYA!!!

I think you and Kaeya would be a rather interesting couple. He would be able to see past your blunt exterior and see not just a confident, strong, and powerful woman, but also a soft heart that has her own doubts and struggles as well.

No one knows 100% how you and Kaeya met, maybe at a tavern, maybe at a party, who knows. However since then you and Kaeya have had this sort of rivalry going on.

By day you were a beautiful dancer who would perform in taverns and town square of monstadt, but by night you were a vigilante. A masked heroine of the night who tried her best to take care of the crimes and problems of the town that the knights couldn’t.

Every time Kaeya came to take care of a problem around town or catch a criminal you would already have wrapped things up long ago and be on your way out. Every time before you made your escape you would share some flirty banter.

One night you were overviewing the town from the rooftops when you heard footsteps behind you. You whipped around ready to fight off whoever it was, when Kaeya stepped out of the shadows.

You two ended up talking for hours up there until you heard a cry for help down below. Before you took off to go take care of it he asked if you guys could keep meeting up there, and you agreed.

And so every night you two would hang out and talk on the rooftops of Monstadt. Sometimes you guys would talk, sometimes you would have dinner together, and sometimes you two would just sit and silence and watch the stars until there would be a call for help, or if it was a quiet night then it would last till sunrise.

One night Kaeya was waiting for you in your usual spot. Tonight was an odd night because you weren’t there yet. Normally you were always the first one to get there, even when he left early, so the fact that you weren’t here set off red flags. Then he smelled it: smoke.

He took off in the direction of the black clouds to see a house set a blaze in Springvale. He dashed towards the disaster to help in whatever way he could. Amongst the crowd he heard that the famous masked crusader had gone in to save a few people who made it out safely, but the hero had yet to return.

Using his cryo vision Kaeya frantically made he was through the flames in search for you. He had to hurry as the house was falling down around him. Even if he put the fires out it was too much. Just when he was about to give up hope heard small coughs coming from the room in front of him. He dashed for the knob to find you surrounded by a sea of fire and unconscious.

When next you woke up you were in the healing ward of the church, your arms covered in bandages, a patch on your head, a raging headache, but most important at all no mask. In a panic frenzy you tried to remove yourself from the bed when you realized that next to you sat a sleeping Kaeya holding your hand protectively.

He stirred awake at the motion, looked up at you and smiled at the fact that you had awoken. He that after he saved you the nuns had worked tirelessly to save you (smoke inhalation go brrrr) and not to worry about them knowing your identity because he had removed you mask earlier (so you could breathe easier) and didn't tell them your identity.

After you two had reached a moment of silence Kaeya had admitted that he was terrified of losing you. When he found you in the fire barely breathing, he realized that he didn't want to live in a world without you. He said that he wouldn't waste time anymore. He asked you if you would go out with him, and you said yes.

And now you two have a happy playful relationship and are now both officially part of the knights of Favonius saving lives every day.

Sorry this took so long but I hope you like it.

#multi fandom blog #multifandom #multifandom account #multifandom writer #multi fandoms posts #multifandom fanfiction #matchups #multifandom x reader #multifandom imagines #genshin impact #kaeya alberich #kaeya x reader

[butterflies-and-blades]

Session 10: The Ceremony

I dropped the sword and shield that I had been gripping so tightly that my knuckles ached. The pair disappeared in gold trails of light, silently rematerializing as my bracers, before either hit the ground.

Sala said that she could try again to bring Rosi back, but it would require a longer ceremony that she would need our help to complete. She stepped away from the body to begin her preparations.

Still frozen in place, I remained on the ground beside Rosi, my knees digging into the stone floor. The steadily increasing sting was a distant thought. I couldn't look away. The scattered dust of the failed diamond clung to the ruined fabric around the open gash in her chest. The granules had lost their crystalline luster--now more of a dull gray that absorbed light instead of reflecting it.

Somewhere behind me, Sala said that she was ready to begin whenever we were.

I pulled myself to my feet, stone-imprinted skin briefly threatening to stick to the floor, and looked to everyone else. Talo and Verca's eyebrows were dipped in concern. There was no point in waiting; the issue that caused this was not going to get any easier to stomach.

With another glance towards Rosi, shame--as well as the thought that the Mask might immediately undo Sala's hard work if we were successful--tried to pull my ribs back until they were on the verge of cracking. I wanted to help right what damage had been done by my hands, but the imagined scene was nauseatingly vivid.

"I don't think I should be present for the end of the ceremony," I said, forcing misshapen, too-quiet words up my throat and out my mouth. Talking had been so hard the past few days. I wanted to play my part in helping the ceremony, but I couldn't bear killing Rosi again if the Mask were to return.

But Sala looked over and said she thought it would be better if I stayed. Similarly, Talo did not think that the Mask would be able to make another appearance so quickly. Regardless of their confidence in their theory, I said, "Okay, but do not hesitate if-" I couldn't bring myself to finish: if I try to kill her again. Instead, I looked to an empty corner of the room, hiding from whatever was written on their faces. I finished, "-if the worst happens." The intent was clear enough.

I would rather be torn into irrecoverable pieces than let myself do...that again. I'd rather switch places with Rosi on the ground than dangle safety in front of her only to cruelly cut it away again. If whatever Sala had said yesterday was true--and it was growing harder to deny, despite my desperation to prove her wrong--, then I had no more right to keep standing than she did; if Rosi "cannot be allowed," to quote one of the far too many voices occupying my head, then neither could I. What was the difference?

With everything ready for the ceremony, Sala sat behind Rosi and gently rested her head atop her lap. The scene would have looked tender, probably even loving, if it were not for the gore that marred the rest of the image. Sala looked to the three of us and nodded for anyone to start.

At first, no one moved. Missing the sounds of charm-laced conversations or protective threats or the rhythmic clamor of fighting, it was the quietest I had heard the basement.

I stepped forward first and carefully returned to my knees where I had first regained control of myself. Although there was nothing there to scare, I moved slowly--as if I was concerned a sudden motion would scare the body away like a wild animal met unexpectedly in the woods. I gently held a limp hand between my own. Rubbed my thumb over the back of her hand the way Dad used to touch mine when he read bedtime stories--the night's chosen book balanced precariously across his other broad hand, where the pages would turn on their own as if assisted by the wind.

"Please come back. You have people who care about you and who need you. Your wife. Your children. Do not make them go through the pain of learning this news," I said. "I understand if I am the last person you want to hear from right now, but I truly am sorry for what happened to you by my hands. I assure you that we did not come here with duplicitous intentions. We do not wish to continue causing harm to you once you are back."

I had been focusing my attention on her hand in mine. A deep breath, trying to still the erratic tingling in my fingertips. I looked to her face and continued. "John and you both taught us an unexpected lesson in nuance. I do not think any of us were prepared for that kind of impact. More people could use the opportunity to learn that same lesson. You are needed here." I squeezed her hand and carefully returned it to her side, making sure the stone did not scrape her.

As silent as when I used to hide in the butterfly bushes to watch the woods go about its daily motions uninhibited by knowledge of outside eyes, I stood up and backed away to give whoever went next the room to work.

Talo approached with one of their many potion bottles in hand. They uncorked the glass and poured its contents onto the open wound while speaking in a language I did not understand.

Once they seemed finished, Verca stepped up while they were still by Rosi's side. He looked over to me and gestured for me to join. I followed, and then Verca stood over top of her. He pulled out a different spear than the one had been using recently. Instead, this one resembled a different weapon he had described our second day of knowing each other: the spear that had been his father’s.

Verca slammed the butt of the weapon into the ground. "Whatever you are--whoever you are--, I'm not letting you take someone else." He spoke in Celestial, staring into the open space of the room with his face drawn into a tight, determined expression. "Put her back. I know you wait."

The spearhead erupted in blue flames very similar to those that occasionally sprung to life near Verca. Blue balls of fire coalesced in the air, floating around him. "Put her back and leave," he ordered.

Shimmering, half-translucent gold energy crept into the periphery of my vision. My sense of control faded as the Mask formed over my face, but--even as the room was washed away in darkness--I retained a sense of awareness that previous episodes lacked.

"I don't care whether or not she's undead--," an unseen, masculine voice said before being cut off by static as if he had said something no one was supposed to know. "I'm putting her back."

A feminine voice responded, calm against the man's argumentative insistence. "The undead cannot be allowed to roam."

"Really?" he asked, incredulous and increasingly irritated. "While we have your pet vampire here trying to fix this? You don't get to pick favorites. Or, if you do, I get to pick favorites, too."

A pause. Then the masculine voice's attention seemed to move. "I'm sorry," he said, more collected than he had been a moment prior. "I know you don't want this...And I hope they don't listen as well as I think they do."

The darkness gave way to the view behind the light-emitting Mask.

I watched my hand reach out as if pulled by a marionette's string. There was still a disconnect between me and my muscles, like a distant numbness that prohibited me from moving myself. I crouched, bringing my extended hand to the singed site of destruction that cut across Rosi's chest. Despite my constant concern regarding the Mask's nefarious intentions and priorities, I felt no dread at the imminent meeting of Rosi and my puppeteered hand.

The light of the mask flared.

Rosi gasped for breath.

The flames wreathing Verca were snuffed out in unison.

Once more in control of my body, I stepped away from Rosi as she processed the fact that she was back. Talo made sure to check her vitals, and Sala insisted she would care for Rosi during her recovery.

"I am sorry for what I did," I told Rosi, waiting to speak to her until she seemed less overwhelmed by the return.

I did not anticipate the forgiveness or the--admittedly tired--smile she offered in response. Even more unexpected was her claim that she could tell it was not really me and her choice not to blame me. I didn’t know how to respond.

After finishing with Rosi, Talo came over and asked how I was doing. There were too many ways to answer that, so instead of getting lost in the fog-laden hedge maze whose exit seemed to have grown shut behind me, I kept my answer simple. I shared that I had been aware when the Mask took over during the ceremony. They perked up, excited, and called it progress. I added that I had seemingly overheard an argument about whether or not to allow Rosi back.

The conversation stopped before they could theorize about whatever that meant when we noticed Verca breathing heavily, still standing where we had gathered for the end of the ritual. "I'm fine," he answered when we asked if he was okay. "That just took more out of me than I expected." My concern remained, but it did not seem like the time or place to pry.

Before we left, however, I did at least make myself ask Rosi about how we had seen her in the middle of the day on multiple occasions. She verified that although she was a vampire, she could withstand some sunlight. Unfortunately, I could not piece together any more information than that because she was not even sure why. I was hoping that whatever her reason for being able to maneuver daylight was might help me better understand what my future might look like once that ticking clock runs out--or at least what the first signs of changing might be--, but no luck.

Verca eventually insisted that we all needed to rest. He added that we would be back to check in on Sala and Rosi, which nailed a spike of renewed dread into the center of my sternum. As impractical as it was, a part of me had hoped to never have to see Sala again.

Sala nodded in understanding. She reiterated that she was still always willing to help. The way she looked at me as she said those words made me wish I was invisible. I averted my gaze, hiding as best as I could in such an open space. Shame clung to my back like a parasitic growth; every little acknowledgement that there was something unchangeably wrong with me made it feel even larger.

We were halfway up the stairs out of the basement when Sala came running after us, saying that she had something to give us in thanks. I was confused by what she thought there was to thank us for; we had only introduced problems into her life today. She handed an item to Verca, who was initially confused why she was giving something to him before he seemed to understand. After Sala returned downstairs, he shared that it was a diamond--something we had been needing to buy but lacked the proper funds to acquire.

"By the way," I said, fidgeting with the edge my gloves, "when were you planning to check back in with them?" I don't know what I was hoping for. Three days? A week? Maybe more? Realistically, I would never want to go through with that visit, so the answer did not really matter. It was only really asked so that I could prepare myself for the inevitable discomfort.

But I still was not expecting Verca to say, "Tomorrow."

I doubt I hid my surprise very well. He was quick to add that he thought "proximity will help with the problem." From a practical standpoint, he was right. Sala knew best whatever lifetime of issues I was on the precipice of suffering, but the larger reason I did not want to run back to her was the feeling of violation that I had yet to find a way to lessen. I hadn't even been able to bring myself to tell Verca or Talo about the times she had kissed me because of it.

"May I touch you?" Verca asked. I froze, not expecting the question and struggling to understand what he meant; a 'touch' could mean countless different things.

I nodded and gave a hesitant "Okay." I can trust Verca, I told myself. At the same time, though, I was prepared to jump back just in case it was a touch I could not go through with.

He took my hand. Albeit lessened, the heat passed through the palm of my glove. My exposed fingertips collected most of the foreign temperature, reminiscent of times I had held my hands out to the fire pits Dad made whenever the sky was particularly clear and we'd spend the night stargazing and roasting bits of food in the controlled flames. We stayed like that the rest of the walk to the inn.

I still am not quite sure of his reason for holding my hand, though.

Back in our shared room, Talo asked if they could check me over. At their question, Verca's face fell, passing through a range of emotions before landing somewhere adjacent to regret as he said, "It's up to you, Maeve."

"There is no point in avoiding it anymore. It is pretty clear there's something wrong with me."

Talo frowned, confused.

"You'll see soon enough," I said, holding out my arm and once again looking back to the empty far corner of the room.

They felt for my pulse, then went through the rest of the motions without saying anything. "Um...you're very cold." Talo squirmed. I appreciated them trying not to make a big deal out of the glaring issue at hand. But maintaining the charade was pointless. "No one's pulse is that slow," they said.

I nodded, thinking about all of the off details that were falling into their inevitable places. Looking to Verca, I forced a wobbly smile. "Guess it wasn't the infernal constitution after all." I wasn't angry; I didn't even hold it against him. There was an unspoken gesture of kindness in his intentions.

"I only checked because of what that priest briefly said," Verca explained. I remembered the conversation in reference with Toma's partner; back then, I had thought it was nonsense and didn't put any worth into the joke. "Then I felt how cold you were, and I had to see."

Yesterday, Sala had said I was undead. She'd implied that that had been the case long before her biting and supposedly--nothing had yet to happen, so maybe I could be optimistic and hope it didn't stick, as unlikely as that was--turning me. Any other time I tried to gauge how honest Sala was, she seemed true to her word as far as I could tell. But when she had said that, I had still been charmed and never bothered to push for the facts as well as I should have. The details were there, but I hated the prospect of putting it together by actually saying it.

But I did. I said, "I'm undead." It fell into my lap like a rotten admission of guilt. "What's wrong with me?"

I never expected Talo to be capable of such anger. They flared with rage at the prospect of anyone saying that. I'd never had friends before Talo or Verca; I wasn't used to seeing protectiveness from anyone who wasn't family. It was appreciated, but the nagging sense of wrongness and not knowing was louder.

Then Verca hugged me. He was so close, and I wasn't sure what was happening for the first couple seconds. That warmth. It didn't move or shift. Coming back to my senses, remembering where I was--who I was with--and where I wasn't, I brought my arms up and hugged him back. Not quite as tight or securely but enough to say it was okay. "We're going to take care of you, Maeve."

We all went to bed after that.

Sleep was still hard, but it at least felt like a normal kind of difficult--rather than an influenced kind. The past days' dread and discomfort were a miasma that blanketed everything. Amongst the difficulty of the night, I saw the cabin. I missed home; it was hard not to imagine how different things would be right now if Kaemon and I hadn't left. I missed those comforts. I missed not knowing and wanted to forget what had been learned over the past two days. It felt like I have been gone so much longer than seven days, and it felt like I might never find my way back.

The pressure of a hand landed on my shoulder. The touch was cold--a sensation I rarely came into contact with. And that frigid hand pulled me backwards, tearing me away from the cabin and Dad and Da. Trees and flowers were replaced by a large, circular room. While the tile that lined the walls was familiar--reminiscent of the underground chamber we all met in--, the space itself was not. Verca and Talo were there, too

A tall figure of shadow rose from the ground. He towered over the rest of us with horns and a build eerily similar to Verca's but on a larger scale--as if the shadow with a razor sharp smile was his. The figure surveyed the three of us. Chuckled. "Finally," he said, "I've got the three of you where I want you. I'll have my revenge, and your little ghosts aren't here to stop me." His stare lingered in Verca's direction with a particular intensity. Verca's eyes followed the figure, wide and mortified. It was subtle, but I have never seen him in such a state.

The fight was grueling. The shadow hit hard and moved between us with ease. Considering past trends, it was no surprise that the Mask pushed itself forward. What was surprising, however, was the fact that I didn't disappear; there was no memory blank or lack of control--only a bright mask that cast a golden filter over the rest of the room and six spectral wings at my back.

Verca and Talo said there was only one set before.

"I think I'll leave you the reigns this time," said that familiar masculine voice in the corner of my mind.

And we kept fighting, refusing to back down. The shadow held a special cruelty for Verca, and neither Talo nor I were going to put up with that.

Another unseen hand touched the back of my shoulder. "Stay your next attack for my assistance," said another voice in my head. Feminine but unfamiliar.

A necrotic blast exploded from the shadowy man, barreling into all three of us. "Now," the voice said.

A tall figure with pointed red hair stood behind Verca, as well as another with long blue hair by Talo.

The three of us attacked at once. The new figures all raised a hand, sending beams of light into the shadow, too, until the dark material of the man was burned away to nothing.

The light at the center of the room coalesced into a similar figure to the others--this one blonde. She looked between us, a sense of calm falling over the chamber. "Hylia thanks you," she said and faded away.

[neonseperatedau]

NEON - Fanart and Snippet Chapter 25

Freewit just shared an incredible piece of art and since it’s on twitter and I cannot reblog it directly I need to ask you to follow this link and shower them with love! They did such a mind-blowing job capturing NEON AU Leo and his recent development. The pose and lightning and the words looming over him, it’s all just WAEFAWEFAWEFWAE I find is so fascinating how it is not directly referring to a scene and more to the overall vibe and I just cannot stop thinking about it. What scene came my mind was one of my personal favs from chapter 25, so if you have no idea what this fic is about maybe the art and the snippet bellow will pique your interest?

“You must become an extension of the clan, ready to sacrifice all,” Splinter told the three turtles with a grave tone. I was leaning against the skating ramp keeping my distance, which became a habit whenever he would tell us anything related to his clan. I liked to think of it as my ineffective way to rebel. “The old versions of you will be gone,” Splinter went on and as he passed Mikey, placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be remade in the image of your ancestors. Tomorrow you will receive your traditional Hamato clan uniform that will complete your training.” ‘Doesn’t that sound familiar?’ The voice was like a low growl, a purr even, that reverberated through my skull. My head shot up and my first instinct was to locate it in the room. After a few moments passed it hit me why I recognized it and why its source remained invisible. It had been the voice of the man from my last vision, the one who somehow also got tied to the dark armor, though I wasn’t sure why his spirit was there in the first place. I forced my body to relax. ‘How so?’ I formed the thought and focused on it, repeating it even a few times. I didn’t get a reply. Not a verbal one, that is. The lair turned darker like someone had forced me to put on a pair of sunglasses and the outlines of the others got blurry. Splinter’s frame extended and turned bigger and broader, while Mikey’s shrank becoming leaner and with yellow and red markings. Before me, I saw Draxum placing his hand proudly on my left shoulder. I was maybe fourteen years old. Even if this version of me was focused on the yokai before him, I could see the steel-cold gleam in his/my eyes. The new scarf adorned his neck. “You did well on this mission, I’m proud of you.” Draxum’s voice came out of its flickering reflection, which was weird since I was aware that this must all be in my head. “Those council agents could’ve endangered my research and we’re so close to a breakthrough,” he went on and I saw myself nod. Draxum lifted his masked face and shifted it from my younger vision to my actual self. When he spoke next it wasn’t his own voice alone anymore. That of the disembodied man joined him like they were almost in perfect sync. “Why did you kill that poor yokai?” They asked me, calm yet intrigued.   I couldn’t breathe anymore, my chest moved up and down, but I wasn’t registering it. My whole body tensed up. ‘I didn’t have a choice. He came at me with a knife. I tried to defend myself and he fell down the stairs,’ I thought frantically, in an attempt to defend myself. I didn’t dare to try and speak, fearing my voice would quiver. “That’s not what you thought at the time.” The Draxum-illusion told me. My younger self had now noticed me as well and regarded me without any sense of remorse or pity.   “Didn’t you feel validated when your master praised you for completing the mission on your own? So strong, cunning, and useful.” One step after another, my younger version walked toward me. ‘Stop this immediately.’ I tried to flood my mind with the command. The vision didn’t fade. “Everyone seeks purpose in life and yours is to serve. For the sake of scientific progress.” Draxum and the gauntlet spirit exclaimed. ‘I told you to stop,’ I repeated, hoping to block them out mentally. “For the sake of yokai kind,” they went on and the vision of me got closer and there was nothing I could do. ‘Stop it.’ It was a frantic plea at this point. “For the sake of the great Baron Draxum.” They called out triumphantly, and the suggestion of a smile appeared on my younger self’s lips. ‘STOP-‘ “Leo!”   My instincts kicked in and catapulted me back into reality. It wasn’t myself who stood before me but Mikey, eyeing me with concern and one hand grasping my armored wrist. My breath was so quick and uneven that I was dangerously close to hyperventilating. I forced myself to move my head and look down. The black bandages around the gauntlet were there, but they were torn around my fingers as they had extended into long, nasty claws. “It’s okay, it’s just me,” Mikey whispered. No one could have known what I had just gone through, but he could sense my distress and that it was connected to the gauntlet. I counted down as I inhaled and exhaled, first from ten, then from fifteen, then twenty. Finally, I felt steady enough to speak. “I’m fine,” I murmured to him, and he let go of me. “You’ve been staring, and your mouth moved but you didn’t say anything,” Mikey explained. He nudged his head in the direction of the others, who were in the middle of an intense conversation about outfit designs and hadn’t taken notice of us. “I got lost,” I said in a lower voice, kinda to assure the both of us. “I got lost in my memories. That’s all.”

#rottmnt separated au #neon separated siblings AU #neon au leon #rottmnt au #separated siblings au #neon #rottmnt #rottmnt fic #incredible artists #fic snippet #I'm still crying

[blueheartedmayor]

She didn’t need to be told twice. Random picks up Barnum and gently sets him down beside her, giving him a pat on the head. It puts a smile on her face, even for just a moment. She listens and nods as he speaks.

“There are a few reasons why I thought leaving that house was smart, but… Seriously, thank you, Damien. I’m grateful to you and Wilford for allowing this to happen. And sure, I’ll look into those events. I’m not the most outgoing person, but it couldn’t hurt to try.”

Her heart sinks as he describes his own loneliness, but she smiles a bit and glances between him and Barnum.

“Loneliness is definitely rough - I can understand how it would be in your situation. But I can also see how he’s helped you so much. He’s like a little roommate! I think I would love to get a pet sometime after Wilford helps me find work. Hanging out with Barnum in the meantime does sound great, though.”

She chuckles and sips her coffee again before focusing back on her story. Her expression turns serious.

“I wish I could tell you that that’s when I went to see Wilford, but… One of Yancy’s boyfriends, Asterius, found out I had feelings for him. He got…really jealous.”

Just mentioning it puts the image in her head of Asterius looming over her, and she sounds angry as she continues.

“He threatened to kill me if I didn’t stay away from Yancy, who is still my friend. Can you believe that?! I think he thinks I’m a homewrecker who’s going to steal him away, and I’m NOT like that at all! Asterius is the one who’s insecure about it. He still has a lot of maturing to do. I even discussed being roommates with him before all of this, but now I feel I should just get my own place instead. I’ll be surprised if he genuinely apologizes to me the next time I see him. *mutters* Bullheaded jerk!”

She huffs and sips her coffee, trying to calm down. She knows she’s holding back, but she doesn’t want to subject Damien to an onslaught of her just cursing out Asterius.

“So, obviously, I told Yancy about it. They got into a fight, though I’m sure they’ll make up soon, and I ended up going to see Wilford.”

She shakes her head and taps her fingers on the cup.

“…Now do you see why I really don’t want to go back there yet? Whenever I do, I’m sure I’ll forgive and forget, but I didn’t realize until now just how badly I needed a break from everything.”

@the-crypt-of-randomness

-

The fluffy corgi was grateful for the assistance. She didn't drop him roughly either. Maybe she wasn't so bad for interrupting their morning.

"It's not something you need to do if you don't want to," Damien was quick to give reassurance. "The local library has a notice board that showcases other events, such as book clubs or talks. At the very least, it would give you a new interest, which can sometimes help give a layer of a distraction." He paused, only to laugh. "Otherwise, I can let you have one of my ten stress relief colouring books. There was a period of time where people kept gifting them to me for some reason."

(He knew why, but he didn't need another person aware of his long work hours.)

As Random continued her story, she might have felt something press against her as Barnum tried to offer some form of comfort and grounding. Opposite her, Damien couldn't mask the alarm quick enough. None of these names were familiar, fortunately (the city was large. He doubted he'd meet anyone mentioned).

"That must have been a terrifying experience..." From what he could gather in their brief conversation, Random didn't act on her desire. Of course, he was only hearing one side of the story, but he was keeping an open mind. "I will be honest, Random. For the time being, it might be wise to put some distance between yourself and anyone who might be involved in that relationship for the moment. As you said, there is a chance that they might have patched things up post-argument, and I have no personal experience in polyamorous relationships so I cannot give any accurate explanations on matters." The mug was placed back on the tray for the moment as he focused on Random. "Even so, jealousy to that extend in a relationship is not good. It could be insecurity, it could be something else, but you being the target of it is something that can be dealt with. I would advise against moving in with this individual for the present moment. While one could argue that it would allow you both a chance to get to know each other, my worry would be in two areas: one, that you would be in an environment where you could be walking on eggshells; two, that you are in an environment where you are constantly reminded of someone you have unrequited feelings for. The latter in particular would make me feel it would be somewhere that could make your mental health worse, and bar you from properly moving on."

Her final question had him nod in understanding. "And you said Wilford was helping you find a job... He's eccentric, but I have learned he knows what he's doing when he has a surprisingly sensible plan in place. If he's helping there.... Then, should you find somewhere to rent for yourself, I will be happy to help contribute to the cost until you are stable in said job."

#on the tablet #thecryptofrandomness #v; keeping the egos in check

[elflikesfrogs]

Elven System

I recently got diagnosed with OSDD, so here is a little info post about it. (Forgive me if I get some of the terminology wrong, I'm new to this!)

I am a 4-part age regression system. We are all memory-sharers, but hold different responsibilities/personalities. We are also all autistic, but showcase symptoms differently.

I tag some, but not all, posts with the alter's name, especially if it's specific to them and their interests.

Here is a little introduction to the alters.

posts about the system (usually jokes/memes)

Elf

20 years old currently. They/them. Host/core.

Elf is the host alter, so they are almost always fronting or co-fronting. They are in the process of emotional healing (which is how they found out about their OSDD in the first place!!). They hold most of the body/society responsibilities (eating, going to class/work, etc). They like writing and art. Most of this blog is from their POV, so I won't usually tag them.

Sam

14 years old. He/him.

Sam is the trauma holder and harbors a lot of anger as well. He uses humor as a coping mechanism. He is also very into music, with his favorite band being Twenty One Pilots (blurryface/trench era specifically), though he also likes folk punk, alt, and hard rock. He is transmasc. Sam fronts when the other alters are stressed or tired. He's sort of like the protector I think? He's a pretty cool guy, if perpetually tired. He's the only(ish) alter in the system to have romantic desires, and he mainly likes men/masc folks. Resting bitch face type autism, but mainly just wants to listen to music and vibe.

#sam tag

Ellie

6-8 years old. She/her.

Ellie is the innocent one of the system. She is the most outwardly noticeable personality change; she speaks in a "baby voice" and her neutral expression is different from the other alters'. She cannot mask autism worth shit, so she is constantly stimming vocally or physically. She's usually very excited and happy, though she sometimes fronts when other alters are overstimulated and can take on that anxiety. She is always ready to infodump about anything and everything, especially our special interests. She loves typical "kid's stuff" like stuffed animals, dinosaur chicken nuggets, etc. The rest of the system is very protective of her and will not let her front unless they all feel that it is safe for her to do so.

#ellie tag

Dog

????. It/its.

We started calling it Dog as a joke ("I got that dawg in me") and then the name kinda stuck. Dog rarely fronts and is in the background mostly. It's a "thing" alter, representative of the space in between alters, kind of when we're dissociating and don't really feel like a person/having a body. It's basically like a rabid animal, like those reaction image stick figures covered in blood, basically. It holds all the "nonhuman" emotions/feelings, sort of the instinctual stuff if that makes sense. Dog basically goes batshit over stuff that it's interested in, and is the "source" of hyperfixations. There's also like an inside joke between the alters that Dog is the source of songs getting stuck in our head, because it's just constantly playing music.

#dog tag (haha get it...)

If you have any questions, please feel free to comment, DM, or send in an ask! As long as you're respectful, we won't be offended. I'm going to be editing this post with new info sometimes (and possibly collages to represent the alter's interests?).

#osdd #osdd system #pinned post #elf rants #sam tag #dog tag #ellie tag #ok to interact #elven system

[agentnico]

Monkey Man (2024) review

Reading up about the behind the scenes of this film, I must say this underwent quite the troublesome production. From filming during COVID to Patel breaking his foot during the shoot to the cameras breaking forcing them to film certain scenes on iPhones to Patel’s mother dying…. Honestly talk about pouring your heart and soul into something, eh! Bet Patel was recalling the words of his character Sonny from The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel - “Everything will be all right in the end... if it's not all right then it's not yet the end.”

Plot: A young man ekes out a meagre living in an underground fight club where, night after night, wearing a gorilla mask, he's beaten bloody by more popular fighters for cash. After years of suppressed rage, he discovers a way to infiltrate the enclave of the city's sinister elite. As his childhood trauma boils over, his mysteriously scarred hands unleash an explosive campaign of retribution to settle the score with the men who took everything from him.

It’s hard not to root for Dev Patel. He just seems like such a solid dude, so of course we want him and his little new movie to do well. Naturally Jordan Peele buying the project from Netflix and putting it in theatres is a great way to market it and I’m so happy Patel is getting the recognition for it, as for a while there it did feel like he fell off the face of the Earth. Last time we saw him was in Green Knight that came out in 2021. Wait. 2021? That cannot be right. Green Knight was released 3 years ago??! I’m sorry, I need a minute, as I just realised I’m growing old really really fast. You know who isn’t getting old? Dev Patel apparently as turns out he’s a straight up action star in his thirties! He beats the hell out of a lot of folks in this movie. Like the dude straight up knife kills a goon with his teeth! That’s some John Wick-pencil killing level shiz! Patel doesn’t pull his punches here, and Twitter referring to him as ‘the Indian John Wick’ is very accurate.

That being said Patel not only stars, but is also on writing, producing and directing duties here. This is very much a star-turning moment for him, as he calls for Hollywood and the audience to accept his new image. Again - as the action hero totally believable. From a writing standpoint too he seems to have a lot to say, as Monkey Man is imbued in Indian culture and tradition, as well as a lot of social political commentary, as well as giving a nice nod to the trans community. That being said it does also seem like he has too much to say. As in the movie feels really messy with so many themes and ideas, that especially the first half feels really all over the place and it’s so difficult as a result to connect with anything that’s going on and even so much as care. In the last third the movie does find its groove, however it does take its sweet time to get there.

As a director too Patel definitely takes inspiration from other filmmakers he worked with in the past such as David Lowery, Neil Blomkamp and Danny Boyle, in the way he stylises this movie, and a lot of it does look good. But, and of course there was going to be a but! But there is a lot of shaky cam. Yes ladies and gentlemen, as much as this is the great comeback of Dev Patel, this too happens to be the major return of shaky cam. And unlike Patel, this is an unwelcome one. Like why? Why I ask?? Who the hell was craving the return of shaky cam!? So much of the action in this movie is missed due to the camera frenetically jumping around like a monkey high on cocaine, and in fact not only in the action sequences. Dev Patel also seems obsessed with filming close ups, so much so that 90% of the movie I found myself staring up someone’s hairy nostril. Whilst still in shaky cam mode!! This movie was honestly so dizzying and that very much hindered the overall experience.

All in all this is an ambitious directorial debut for Dev Patel that primarily works as a showcase for his action star potential, whilst when it comes to his directing even though there are a lot of flaws, I believe give the man a few more projects and he’ll be able to create something truly special. Look, everyone needs to start somewhere. Also special shout out to my man Sharlto Copley who’s only in about 5-10 minutes in this movie, yet he brings his usual excitable charismatic South African energy, that he still made me chuckle whenever he did literally anything. The guy’s just amusing to watch. Anyway, Dev Patel keep it up - you’ve definitely got something. However I must say for all the teasing of him being the so-called monkey man, when it came to the final fight he comes wearing the mask, but then takes it off before entering battle mode. Like what the hell? You promise us monkey man so I expect and want to see a man fight in a monkey mask at all times!! Why hast thou forsaken that from me??

Overall score: 5/10

#monkey man #movie #movie reviews #film #film reviews #action #thriller #the green knight #dev patel #jordan peele #2024 #2024 films #2024 in film #cinema #India #monkey man review #John wick #Indian John wick #sharlto copley #sikandar kher #vipin sharma #makrand deshpande #lgbt #lgbtq #gore #shaky cam