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#my first time actually commiting to do color

willowser · 3 days

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you know gojo satoru as a friend of a friend.

you hear more than you think you should about him, given that he's not really your friend, but that's all just chalked up to him being gojo satoru.

you hear conflicting things. some say he's a playboy and some say he's the biggest virgin on the planet. some say he's rich only from family money and some say he's been the most important part of the gojo business since it began. some say he's so fake that it's frightening, and some say he wouldn't hurt a fly.

it's enough to kind of ward you off a little bit, how much is said about him. whenever he pops into your thoughts, you always end them with a shake of your head, a "i really don't have time for that kind of drama in my life".

he disappears for a little while. you notice and you don't. parties and dinners without him are less chaotic, but not as memorable. the gift exchanges you do with your friends are, as much as you hate to say, lackluster. you're not invited to any weird, big events anymore—like some celebrity birthday or fashion shows or black tie silent auctions—even though you never went before; the tickets would just sit on your dresser until the ink faded and lost color, and now you don't have any.

you never ask, because you don't know who to. he and suguru weren't talking before he left, anyway, for reasons that you're too far removed to get the scoop on. you know of the students he mentors but you don't know them, actually, and you think the little mauve-haired one would have the answer, but you can't commit to the awkwardness of asking him. after a few weeks, his cousin disappears, too—a quiet boy with a sad look in his eyes, who has only ever been kind to you.

you run into him by chance, at an ice cream shop of all places.

his hair is not styled, flat and a bit dull against his head, and his eyes aren't as bright as you think you remember them being. but it's hard to tell. that makes you feel bad, and so you stop trying to find all the little ways he's changed—because if you want to know so bad, why don't you man up and ask?

he looks tired and his smile doesn't dimple, but it stretches thin across his face regardless when you say hello to him. something about his smell is off, too. expensive but not in a sharp, cologne way, but a sterile, clinical way. he knows your name and when he says it, his voice rasps, like he's been asleep for a long time. you don't know what any of it means, but it alarms you in an instinctive way, like how you know when someone is hurting and just needs a bit of kindness.

yuuta comes from around the corner while you make small talk, but he gives gojo his space. shoots him a small thumbs-up that is returned.

you've both been standing in the corner for an amount time that doesn't match the distant relationship you have, but leaving him now feels like abandonment. you never realized how much he towers over you. you never realized how much he joked until he doesn't.

you realize you don't have any of your own opinions of him, of satoru. only ones that have been fed to you.

you decide to start forming your own.

"i feel like," you reach behind him for the counter, for a spoon. the little cup of ice cream in his hand is melting because you've been talking for too long. "i haven't seen you in a long time."

he doesn't say anything when you scoop up a little and hold it to his lips. you don't know if you're being offensive or weird because you don't have any sort of threshold with him, but there's only one way to get one.

the first thing you really truly feel about him is that maybe he needs a little more help than anyone realized. maybe that's where he's been.

eventually some life comes back to his face, and he takes the bite you're offering. "yeah," he agrees, and when his eyes shift towards the window, the sun shining through makes them seem translucent. "i didn't feel like myself for a while."

"well, do you now?"

"i think so," he eyes shift towards yuuta, who smiles reflexively, a bit shy, when you glance at him. "i hope so."

you turn back to him and take your own bite of his ice cream—a rather large one, too, since it's melting—before saying, "yeah, me too."

and you still don't know what's right or wrong in his eyes, but he smiles, dimpled, and you think you're finding your footing.

#i dont know what this is okay love you byeeeee #actually tbh i just enjoy trying to fit canon atmosphere into modern settings that's what this is LOL #✿ thoughts: gojo

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otaku553 · 6 months

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Ok so I have been stewing this crossover au in my brain nonstop for the past few days and. I am nothing if not committed to the bit, so. Volume cover redraws :)

Here are the originals:

If you want to read more about my one piece spy x family crossover, keep reading!

So the idea is simple! Crossover reincarnation au where ASL is reborn in Spy x Family. They’re each born separately and none of them are born with the same names as their previous lives, and with no way of finding each other, they each find their own thing to do in the world.

Sabo, too used to the dangers of being a spy, eventually finds a cause to devote himself to again, in preventing war from engulfing the country he was reborn in. Ace, drawn to fire as he was in his previous life, used arson as a means to rob rich people for sustenance and survival, and is eventually scouted and hired by Garden as a fire specialist and assassin. And Luffy, though born in perhaps the poorest condition, grows up happily and takes whatever part time jobs he wants to do.

The thing about Sabo is that, as much as he seems like a young man of good repute and high standing within society, everyone in WISE knows that he is a massive nuisance. Nobody knew in the beginning how a child less than half the age of most of their veteran agents could have the same skills and knowledge in their profession. Sabo was— and still is— hyper competent, and by the time WISE figured out just how much of a menace to society he was, it was too late.

Ace forgot for the first few years of his new life that he wasn’t made of fire, and consequently, received multiple accidental burns. This did not deter him, however, from growing up to be a very skilled arsonist, well-practiced in every which way to start a dumpster fire or house fire. As a teenage he would use this often to draw attention as he robbed rich people blind. When he was caught, he was given an ultimatum by Garden: join them and receive payment for starting fires and causing problems under contract, or face the government and authorities for his crimes. Begrudgingly, he joined Garden, but eventually comes to appreciate that he can make substantial money in his element.

Luffy is Luffy. No telepathy or experimentation, no fancy schools, no gimmicks or secret identities. But he has still lived an extremely colorful life in this world, full of fascinating and kind individuals who have helped him grow up healthy and relatively happy. He goes where he is free, and he takes whatever part time jobs he wants in order to make the minimum he needs to survive.

Ace and Sabo find each other first, in their late teens, and neither of them realize that the other remembers their previous life, but both refuse to separate. (Sabo thinks Ace doesn’t remember, because Ace didn’t recognize him. Ace never saw Sabo grow up past 10, however, so he doesn’t recognize older Sabo immediately. By the time he does realize who exactly Sabo is, Sabo has backtracked and pretends to know Ace from a dream, or from somewhere else.)

Sabo’s attachment to Ace, predictably, causes problems between Sabo and WISE, but by then, Sabo is indispensable to the organization, and they make an exception for Sabo to be able to remain with Ace, so long as Ace never finds out what Sabo’s actual job is. Ace, on the other hand, hides his job because he doesn’t want his brother, who he has just found and who does not know Ace well enough yet, to know that he makes a living from killing people.

And they find Luffy sometime afterwards, prior to the beginning of the Spy x Family canon. Luffy figures out, not long after moving in with his brothers, both of his brothers’ secret occupations and the fact that both of them remember their past memories. He thinks it is common knowledge, however, and so he never brings it up.

#one piece #spy x family crossover #sabo #monkey d luffy #portgas d ace #crossover #I have so many ideas for this au #I’ll probably write like a drabble series for it #maybe. if I get around to it #extra things:#Loid and sabo get paired on a nonzero number of missions as siblings #they are only 6 years apart in age and they’re both blond so WISE is like.. ‘it’s free real estate’#every time this happens sabo finds a way to sneak into conversations that they’re actually cousins instead #this annoys loid a LOT because he thinks sabo can’t keep a cover to save his life. sabo is aware but he only has 2 brothers #and even in disguise he refuses to let someone else take ace and luffy’s place #ace’s codename within Garden is either ‘flame lily’ or ‘pyracantha’#the latter being another name for the firethorn plant #yor has only heard of him in passing and has not met him in person before. but she knows that she is sent whenever he blunders and lets #someone see his face #Luffy is kind of just chilling! he takes a lot of part time jobs everywhere #to the point that loid is briefly worried that he’s a tail or stalker or something since he keeps seeing luffy around #Anya really loves playing with Luffy though because luffy has such vivid thoughts of the ocean and being a pirate #ok that’s it for now #I am very. brainrotting

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drvscarlett · 2 months

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Let Him Cook pt5

Charles Leclerc x MasterChef! reader

A/N: I'm really so happy with all the love that you have given to this fic. I enjoy writing about it, let me know if you have any blurbs or scenarios that you wanna see. This series will continue on and on

Let Him Cook Series: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

taglist: @bookstore-of-dreams @barcelonaloverf1life @ririyulife @minseok-smaus @mehrmonga @sltwins @charlesgirl16 @six-call @spideybv28 @casperlikej @weekendlusting @janeholt3 @evie-119 @leilanixx @randomgirlnumber-13 @itsjustkhaos

lec lerc challenge

"As you all know by now, Charles is planning to launch his own ice cream store"you started talking to the camera "And you know what funny story, he didn't even tell me"

Charles, who was by your side, was laughing like a hyena. He actually wanted it to be discovered on the the first day of April so everyone might think its a prank but then he will announce that he is very serious about it. It was an elaborate prank on top of prank. However, the news sites got a hold of it earlier.

"That's another story time. We have to get down to business" Charles reeled the topic back to the video that you two are making.

"Okay so in order to test Charlie's knowledge about ice cream, I have here ice creams that I made myself" you explained.

In front of the two of you were 10 paper cups. They have been covered on top so that Charles won't get a hint about the color.

"So my main task is to identify what's the flavor of the ice cream"Charles confirms "Easy"

"I made some unconventional flavors to throw you off" you informed him.

You can't help but giggle as you remember how you made some weird flavors for the ice cream. But hey, this was supposed to be a challenge to see if Charles' taste buds are working so it doesn't necessarily have to be a delicious ice cream.

"Okay, I am ready to scream for ice cream"

The first five cups were easy peasy. It's common flavors such as chocolate, vanilla, cookies and cream, caramel, and pistachio.

"I'm good at this mon amour"

Charles is pretty confident now. Time to throw the curveballs.

"I'm excited for you to try this"you excitedly give him the cup.

Since Charles is blindfolded as he does this challenge, the first thing he does is smell it. He is usually confident upon spelling but the frown lines forming on his face suggest that he might be confused about the flavor profile.

"This feels strange. I smelled this before but I can't put my name on it"Charles notes.

He takes a scoop from the cup and tasted it. It was evident to his face that he didn't enjoy this ice cream a lot.

"That's so sour, mon amour there are definitely strawberries in that"Charles complained.

"Strawberries and?"

There was a string of italian and french word from Charles as he tries his best to identify it. Finally, he had a lightbulb moment where he remembered the taste of it.

"BALSAMICO" Charles screamed "That is not a flavor I will put in my store, definitely"

Y/NCooks posted a photo.

Y/NCooks turns out Charles is pretty good with his taste buds. Watch me test Charles with his ice cream skills [link]

User1 Atleast we know that Charles is committed to being an ice cream man

User2 Charles_Leclerc you should definitely try the bourbon and corn flakes in the menu

User 3 Highly agree, I would love to try that User4 were all acting like were so close to milan. Babes we live across the world.

LandoNorris do you have some plain ice cream left for me

Y/NCooks i have some but its good to try other flavors every now and then Lan LandoNorris mmm, i'll try that black sesame one. that seems like a good flavor Y/NCooks brilliant. message me when i can see you Charles_Leclerc im amazed how Y/N managed to convince you of different food choices

MasterChefAU is this Charles' entry to master chef blind taste test challenge?

Charles_Leclerc MasterChef Monaco soon??? User4 I'm laughing at the number of sidequest Charles has. SIR you are an f1 driver!!!

Charles the baker

Charles_Leclerc posted a photo.

Charles_Leclerc okay i did all the measurements right. WHY DID THEY EXPAND

User1 I can hear Charles screaming with the caption

User2 Charles is such a mood when I try to bake things

User3 But is it edible tho?

Charles_Leclerc it is but its not as pretty User4 this is an internet highlight wherein Charles is sulking and asking the internet where he went wrong

maxverstappen1 recipe reveal?

Charles_Leclerc no ✨✨ maxverstappen1 don't want it anyways. i just wanted to know what you did so i won't end up like that User5 MAX!!!!! User6 your honor we love the lestappen crumbs

Y/NCooks honey maybe you should consider giving it some space, bread do expand when they get baked.

Charles_Leclerc they do?? Y/NCooks Yes they do. But in all honesty they look so cute, its alright honey Charles_Leclerc love you mon amour!

SebastianVettel maybe we should have a baking session one of these days, I can teach you a lot about baking breads

Charles_Leclerc sounds good, miss you already Seb User7 oh to be Charles Leclerc having the Sebastian Vettel teaching him bread and MasterChef Y/N encouraging him

tiktok pasta challenge

It was a fairly simple tiktok viral recipe and in your mind its something that Charles will be able to follow instructions with. So you set up your camera and told Charles about a cooking challenge that he has to do.

"Today's challenge, Charles will be using his listening skills. Lets see how well he listens to me"you greeted the camera "Are you ready mon amour?"

"More than ever, I look good in an apron"

You stayed behind the camera as Charles stayed in front of the kitchen counter. He was tying up his apron and grabbing your chef hat from one of the drawers.

"First of all, I need you to quarter an onion"you instructed.

Charles was immediately grabbing the onion and you immediately face palmed yourself when Charles started quartering the onion without even peeling it.

"Honey, you are supposed to peel it" you sigh

"Honey, you didn't say anything about peeling it. We have three cameras set up and editors should replay that you said quarter it and not peel it" Charles argued

You raised your hand in defeat, you should have been more clearer.

"Okay, I'm not gonna be vague. I'll make it clear"

The whole cooking went along smoothly until its time for Charles to cook the pasta. He has been heavily stressing to get the texture right this time or else it will further the allegations that he can't cook pasta.

"Calm down Charlie"

"I am very very very calm, I'm just checking" he lifted the lid for the fifth time "They have to be perfect"

"Charles is very honored to be taught by Gordon on a 1 on 1 session"you informed the camera.

The two have exchanged numbers and Charles will often ask his culinary questions to Gordon when you were not available to answer them right away. Gordon seems to enjoy the new friendship with the driver since he often send Charles link for cooking recipe to try.

"I don't wanna be an idiot sandwhich" Charles muttered, stirring the pot of pasta.

Charles got a perfect al dente to his pasta. He pulls out the baked feta and tomatoes out of the oven then mixed it with the pasta. It seems as if the dish looks pretty especially with the garnishes that Charles insisted.

"Plating is also everything"he says to the camera as he grates some lemon zest to the plate "Whatever this taste like, just remember that Y/N was instructing me so if there is anyone to blame then its Y/N"

"Way to throw me under the bus Charles"

Y/NCooks just posted a photo

Y/NCooks The dish vs the chef. I think they are equally yummy [link]

User1 CHARLES CAN COOK!!!!

User2 alternative title charles stressing 10 minutes straight if the pasta is al dente or not

User3 The girlfriend effect on Charles is that he is now able to cook pasta

User4 I really want to try that pasta

Arthur_Leclerc i hope you never get tired of the pasta, its the only thing he will cook from now on

Charles_Leclerc i mean she loves it!!!! Y/NCooks its pretty good arthur, you should try it!! Arthur_Leclerc next family dinner? Charles_Leclerc im on it! User24 oh to be a fly at the Leclerc family dinner

User5 I think everyone ignored the caption, miss maam thirsting over her boyfriend

User6 if i was Y/N i would too Y/NCooks facts only!!! User6 Mother replied to us!!!

scuderiaferrari so charles is approved for a cooking challenge in the channel soon?

Y/NCooks he is born ready User8 kind of missed the c2 cooking challenges

everything i cooked

Charles_Leclerc posted a reel

here is everything that I did to celebrate Y/N's birthday. This isn't a common day, its really special so I have to run at 5 to get the flowers I ordered for her. Then next I cooked up breakfast which is some pancakes, thank you Carlos for the recipe. And then I surprised her with a little bit of breakfast in bed

and then I started making our lunch after clearing the table. Y/N had been craving butter chicken and I purposely did not take her so I could make some at home. Its a fairly easy recipe, I just had to mix some spices, cook the onions then you have the tomato paste and then cream. thanks Gordon I owe you one. She loved it so much.

and then I started early on the dessert for dinner. I didn't do the ladyfingers from scratch, I don't have a lot of time so yes here we are. The tiramisu is in the fridge. And then since Y/N loved the Lady and the Tramp spaghetti meatballs scene. I did my own take on it. Needless to say she loved it. So yes happy birthday once more mon amour, I love you so so much.

User10 I know we have been making fun of Charles but the man can actually cook.

User11 My boyfriend be forgetting my birthday but Charles here is slaving in the kitchen for Y/N's birthday

User12 CHARLES IS THE STANDARD!!! User14 Imagine cooking a whole breakfast, lunch, dinner, with a birthday dessert???!!! GOD I SEE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE FOR OTHERS

MasterChefAU Im glad to hear you are treating our girl well, happy birthday Y/NCooks

User13 OUR GIRL??!!!! Y/NCooks he is treating me well, thank you for all the greetings

Gordongram That's a beautiful dish and effort Charles!

Charles_Leclerc Thank you !!! Y/NCooks he is screaming btw Gordongram

PierreGasly when will you cook for me

CarlosSainz55 and me?? i think there is some former teammate privileges out here LewisHamilton the current teammate is also wondering SebastianVettel you boys are not Y/N. Y/N is special. Charles_Leclerc what seb said!!!

Y/NCooks one of the sweetest gesture anyone did for me. Thank you honey for making this day extra special. I don't need any five star restaurants when I have you in the kitchen.

Charles_Leclerc I love you. You deserve the world User21 Them your honor. User22 Happy Birthday Y/N, you two are excellent for each other

#charles leclerc x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc fluff

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stickyspeckledlight · 2 months

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Sunrise, Sunset, My Destroyed Body in the Onset [Yan!Aventurine x GN!Reader]

The cotton in your mind protects you.

Ao3

word count: 11.4k

TW: Stockholm syndrome, implied/referenced noncon, suicidal thoughts (not detailed but reader does mention having them and thinking about the act), mild gore (little actual gore but the prose uses gory language), reader goes through it and let’s just say aventurine is a terrible influence, tonal whiplash for my own sanity, wow aventurine are you really this emotionally constipated

Note: My first ever yan work! This is a bit of a mess, but I’ll bet five dollars and janitorial duty at Taco Bell that it’s a good mess 👍

(Written before 2.1)

The sun sets as you both bask in the afterglow. Clouds streak the baby blue sky, hued in soft yellows, calm oranges, and blushing pink.

(And it reminds you of his eyes)

Sights like these made nights spent in a casino a bit more bearable. You take a deep breath, sighing in contentment and exhaustion, and you wish you could shut your eyes and stretch this moment for an eternity. To remain in the setting eye of the sun, softly breathing as you press against the gentle beating of his heart. To have his hand lazily draped over your waist, the other caressing your head, fingers softly entangled with your locks. Your tears have dried, too. Yes, you’d like to live in this singular moment, divorced from everything else.

But as you’ve learned during your time with Aventurine, time is a rapid to move with.

You shiver a bit. Noticing this, he pulls up a thin blanket. The difference is small. But still, the serenity of the moment is shattered. The soft silk is meant to cage you in for whatever happens next. You don’t mind, anymore. Or, when you’re more lucid, when you let the torrent that is your mind flow, that’s what you decide.

You’re not stupid, but you wish you were. If you were stupid, you wouldn’t ever be forced to trek away from your home. Wouldn’t grab the attention of anyone smart and shrewd (though you did hear about one ‘Dr. Ratio,’ committed to remedies of ignorance). Even if you somehow did and ended up where you were, maybe your mind would be filled with cotton rather than thoughts. That you could enjoy everything all the time.

But you’re not stupid, nor are you a genius who could hope to outwit the man who holds the aventurine of stratagem. Knowing how normal you are compared to him only makes you more hopeless, so you do your best to fill your mind with cotton again. You feel your inner voice berate you for your willing ignorance but it also cries at its necessity.

Cotton. You needed to fill your head with cotton, because if you didn’t in time (and that time was short when you were with Aventurine) you might just sob again then and there. You think too much. So you won’t think. At least around him. Because…you still don’t want to acknowledge it in your mind. You protect yourself from the brunt of it and effectively live a lie.

“You’re clenching your jaw,” Aventurine’s voice possesses a perpetual drawl, but in moments like this it softens a little. Almost like he’s talking to a person and not something to use. “Just what could it be you’re thinking about?”

Could you even be called a thinking creature right now? Cotton absorbs color, and right now the sun, so big it could engulf you, is so beautiful. You tell him the truth. “The sunset’s beautiful. Really, really beautiful. A lot more beautiful than the others.”

He hums. He knows you’re not lying, but you haven’t answered his question. “You’ve made your affinity for the sight quite clear,” he says, and you only notice that odd edge in his voice from your sheer exposure to the man. Whatever Aventurine has against this sight, you’re not sure. He seems to like sunrises, though, if you can trust the times you’ve woken up and see him watching it. And whenever there is no sun, you wake up to him gone or kissing you awake. Though lately, you’ve been steadily receding from your habit of oversleeping, so you more often wake to the sound of his morning rituals. The hand in your hair tightens, and there’s a small tug, firm but not painful, at your roots. He still wants his answer.

Your mind, chosen to be wrecked with cotton, doesn’t know what to think. You say the only other thing in your absent mind. “This one looks like your eyes.”

You think he likes that because you feel him shift to look at it. You can’t see his face, but you assume he’s taken off his usual smile. Smiling all the time sounded torturous, and you rub your cheek at the phantom pain of your own imagination.

“Hmm…” and you feel him shift again, and you really have no idea what he wants. From the intonation, he’s about to do something either mischievous or ‘flirtatious.’ “You know, sweetheart,” he purrs, the word heavy on his tongue. He shifts, so you lay on the bed and he lays directly across from you. If this were earlier in your relationship you’d fantasize about ripping his throat for robbing you of the sunset; and he’d tut and make sure to evaporate those thoughts. His hair is messed up, his smile soft but still unreadable. The sun shines on the mark on his neck, and something about the sight makes you a bit…happy. And angry. He takes your face in his hands and locks your eyes. You tense a bit out of instinct. Aventurine’s full attention on you was intense and overwhelming, like a bright sun and a feral beast; the bit of dried blood on his lips is proof of it. You make a note to yourself to do more work on hammering your justified instinct away. Your heart feels like it will burst, as his gaze bores into your own. From apprehension or anticipation, you’re not sure. “If that’s the case,” one of his hands trails down your jaw, the ghost of his touch fluttering against the marks he’s painted on your neck. He’d have no issue finding more all around your body. He softly, lovingly holds your neck like he’s prepared to snap it and equally prepared to drown you in his affection. His thumb finds and lightly presses on a mark, one he drew blood from. “Why not take in the real thing, hm?” His thumb presses harder, and you blink back a wince at the pain. He notices, eyes softening impossibly further before relinquishing his thumb and kissing the irritated skin. “Sorry,” he says, but it’s said the same way a cat licks a mouse’s carcass. But you don’t mind. You’ve made sure you don’t mind a lot of things, and it’s made you equally content and miserable. Maybe you hold onto that latter feeling in stubborn defiance, because losing that shred of yourself would turn you into something that You wouldn’t necessarily hate if it were anyone else, but when it’s You becoming that—that, that, You hate.

But you do enjoy being close to someone like this, and hum contentedly to try and focus on that instead. But Aventurine is perceptive, and though his head is below you, you feel as if you’ve been chained up when you once again lock eyes. “I can hear your thoughts, darling,” He returns to his former position, “I hate seeing you all stressed out,” he says, as if his veins weren’t running with anticipation when you were saddled with debt and when your parents got hit with unfortunate ‘accidents’ that insurance couldn’t cover and he didn’t love the day you became his. “Didn’t you say that open and honest communication is important in a healthy relationship? I’m rather fond of our little romance, and I’d hate for it to crumble.” He nearly pouts—doesn’t surprise you much anymore, but there’ll always be a little bit of whiplash that doesn’t quite go away. Though, You feel a slight hint of bitterness—‘crumble?’ Some cotton burns away. Did he mean that for himself? …Or might it have been a vague threat to you…? You think, but you’re quick to fill your head back up with cotton. The process isn’t immediate, however.

“Our relationship is the furthest thing from healthy,” you point out. You don’t add in that you never sought out romance in the first place, “and it hasn’t exactly been built on a sturdy foundation.”

“You’ve got me there,” He chuckles. “Well, let’s put it like this,” he brushes a lock of hair from your face, “I see that my lover’s been saddled with all these thoughts, and it’s gotten them so awfully quiet,” Lover? No, that’s hyperbole. He tucks his fingers underneath your chin, stroking the soft, unmarked skin; the only area spared from his assault. “Makes a guy worry, you know? The last time you were this quiet was when you first moved in.”

Yes. It was mostly because You spent the majority of your free time sobbing, leaving your voice all but spent by the time he got back. And it wasn’t like you could be the goofy and sometimes witty and sometimes not buffoonish person You were when You were so miserable. When you wanted to do everything you could to retreat into your own skin—but Aventurine simply ripped you out, exposed, bloody, and sniffling. After that thought, the cotton has completely grown back.

“…And…?” Through the cotton, you can only wonder what he’s talking about.

His smile becomes sharper, and you wonder if he might feel insulted. Does he think you want to leave him, see him get what he deserved and some actual help like You used to? “C’mon don’t you…” you blink a little vacantly, and he seems to realize something. “Or, maybe you’re…” but his voice suggests something knowing. Suggests experience. And the gears in his mind click. “Oh, I know that look!” He laughs, delightedly or derangedly, you don’t bother to differentiate. Either way it makes you shiver.

“Huh? What look?” You asked, filtered through cotton. He doesn’t answer and cuts to the chase.

He playfully flicks your forehead, and you imagine a bullet going through it, “Riddle me this: what do you want, sweetheart?”

You blink. What do you want? When you first got here, it was security and his or your death. After some time had passed, it was peace. But now…you want whatever storm that’s inside of you to stop. But he doesn’t need to know what you want deep in your soul. So you tell him the truth, filtered through cotton.

You do something that would’ve been unthinkable to You, and worse, it’s subconsciously without a second thought. You push him back down on the bed by laying on him—flopping on him like a fish, You think, for your mind is such a silly little thing—lay your head over his heart, and take in the sunset. The sun’s nearly below the ground. “…If it’s fine, and only if you want…” you ask, because You detest the idea of being controlling, “I’d like you to…” you flush, “…h-hold me, um, like you are right now, until the sun’s down and, um…” your heart is going to burst and there’ll be a hole of viscera through your chest and maybe Aventurine will admire your pathetic, desperate corpse before burning it, “we can take a bath. And,” you look up at him, “I’ll look into your eyes, as much as you want…” You tell yourself it's because you need to appease him. But you know of the primal thing that lives in your chest.

It’s true. But Aventurine puts it perfectly.

His smile speaks of years of clawing his way up with honeyed words and masked expressions. “You’re not lying. Thank you. That’s such a sweet wish,” he says kindly (you’re no longer scared of his kind voice), stroking your head like you are an obedient dog, one that he adores and veers on despising, and then wraps his other arm beneath your thighs, “but you know I’d like the truth.” He then says, primally, ready to carve out a space in your body to inhabit, “To know what storm’s brewing in that little head of yours,” he takes in a shuddering breath, and his eyes light with perverse excitement, “if it’s begun to…crack and burn up.” He sits up and carries you away. You’re slightly disappointed you won’t be seeing the sunset in its entirety, but you’ve gotten good at forgetting. Aventurine sighs wistfully. “But…” he grasps your chin, forcing you to look at him, “I don’t mind that second proposition of yours,” his voice is husky, and he kisses you. You flush, and the cotton is the only thing that prevents you from tearing into him with your canines.

As the sun moves further and further away, You think yourself a fool for thinking it would engulf you. Aventurine wouldn’t leave anything left of you, whenever he decided he was done with you.

—

This is your only choice, and it was everything you could do to not shut down the instant you realized.

You were in denial, at first. It was all just a coincidence, right? You’d always feared this sort of thing—financial struggle—and so getting hit with it should be something you take in stride, and come out of it either in a wreck or just barely getting by. And, if you wanted to get a little nerdy, capitalist economies have to crash into recession eventually, so maybe now was just that time of the era. No place was hiring you, and your parents were getting buried in bills they couldn’t pay.

But, if anyone with half a brain took a step back, they’d call out the bullshit excuse you concocted in your mind, to deny the ridiculous truth. Because whatever recession was happening, it seemed to only affect you; not to mention that this wasn’t even how recessions worked. The truth that you, you, were the apple of someone’s eye (for lack of a better term—you aren’t delusional—you’re just as disposable as the next person, as much as you wish for the universe to cease operating like it).

Preposterous! Scandalous! You, a complete idiot, catching someone’s fancy? How the fuck did that happen?! Were pigs flying now? …You take that back, there are indeed flying species of the hog persuasion gallivanting about in the cosmos. But this does not detract from your point. One might say “bimbo vibes,” but you know for a fact, even taking into account your own bias and self-perpetuation of your self-esteem issues (which makes you still having them even worse, but you’ve already gone down that spiral more than you could count), that you do not have anywhere near enough bimbo energy to attract anyone with that kink. Or the looks. This was your knee-jerk reaction to the situation. And to an extent, still is, because thinking about it like that gives the situation a bit of levity you desperately need. You can’t wrap your head around it in the slightest. But you can’t dispute fact. And the fact is that you are wanted by someone else, and you can’t even begin to understand why. Least of all the person who wants you.

The man who hides behind the name ‘Aventurine.’ That fact alone already makes you not want to be so closely associated, and it makes everything more insane and stupid. An IPC executive has no use for you. If he wants to extort you for unpaid or cheap labor, he’s already got a vast selection of underpaid grunts to do his bidding. If there’s one thing the IPC knows how to do, it’s keeping those desperate enough or arrogant enough trapped. You’re not either of those things; though you admit you’ve adapted the former trait in light of recent bullshittery, but you digress.

Most of what you come up with is met with an easy counter. Aventurine, a sleazy businessman obsessed with sex? He has money—he can just hire a prostitute; hell, you’re sure there are plenty of people who’d throw themselves at him for no charge. Sure, most of them would be coming into it with their own agendas, but he’s sharper than that. Aventurine, a man with insatiable greed? Again, he’s already rich as fuck, and the only way he’s getting any more money is if he looks up the pecking order. Whatever wealth you offer as an asset (the thought churns your stomach) is barely a drop in the bucket. Aventurine, a gambler who loved seeing his opponents fall into ruin? That was actually plausible to some extent, but you’ve made it very clear you’re no gambler (not in tangible matters at least, but you keep your card close to your heart). Then maybe he wants to try and push you over the edge? Try to make you take a risk bigger than yourself?

So, you’ve settled for this: Aventurine, a man who cannot stand to be sober from the drink called “power.” Desiring complete domination over someone. A personal matter, and briefly you hear the echo of a quote: “We desire that which we do not have.” What doesn’t Aventurine have?

…A relationship? Well, you shoot that down easily. Whatever kind of relationship this leads to ends with you ruined and him hunting after his next prey.

He’s a bit like a serial killer, you muse, and you just so happen to meet his criteria for victimhood. But unlike a killer, he’s merely going to make you wish you were dead. If you wanted death, it’d have to be at your own hands. If he gave you that option at all. Another thought you have is that he might use you for snuff or something else equally or more horrific. That’s…you haven’t pursued the thought any further.

You’ve been robbed of much of your control, but you still control the hand that knocks at the door. If you’re going down, it’ll be on your own terms. This is your last, desperate attempt to pretend you have any control at all. You make sure your bangs cover your eyes.

You just wish your heart didn’t feel like it would explode. You wish that you weren’t actively holding back from breaking down into a sobbing mess. You wish you were made of the same steel heroes were, but you cannot be what you are doomed to not be.

Aventurine opens the door, giving you a grin that makes you retch. He’s dressed in his usual peacock-esque finery, and something about it makes you frown. Maybe it’s because he’s dressed in the colors you love—forest green, the blue of the sky, the black of where the moon does not shine—and it feels so wrong for something that wants to destroy you to be clad in them. “Sweetheart!” he coos out the wretched (and cringe-worthy) pet name with faux surprise; it propels you to roll your eyes even now. He knew you were coming; otherwise, you’d be detained by hotel staff. It didn’t quite help that you didn’t really bother to dress up either. It made you stick out like a sore thumb, and you’re glad that this is the only time you’ll be at a gaudy hotel. “You’ve come to visit little ol’ me! I’m charmed. Aren’t I a lucky man?”

You fantasize about his guts strewn about on the floor, accompanied by your maniacal laughter and sobs of elated despair. “...You could say that, Mr. Aventurine,” you aren’t foolish enough to be curt, so you settle for polite and cordial. Professional and businesslike, though you know that gives him a slight advantage. “There’s something I wish to discuss with you. I think that’s best accomplished behind closed doors.”

He clicks his tongue playfully. “No need to be so cold. We’re friends here, aren’t we?”

“I suggest you drop the ‘sweetheart,’ then. Friends don’t call each other that, Mr. Aventurine.”

He raises his hand in mock surrender, and you want him to get to the fucking point before you lose your nerve. “Oh, fine. Then,” he gestures to the lion’s den. If only he were the gentleman he was pretending to be. “Walk on in, darling.” You cannot suppress the groan that comes out of you. His smile widens; you're sure he gets some kick at riling you up.

You don’t have the energy to deal with him, and you certainly don’t have enough to suppress the sigh of irritation you let out. He seems to look like…some sort of positive emotion that you don’t know what to name. You’re not sure if you want to name it.

The sunlight catches his predatory yet enrapturing eyes. His eye twitches, clearly trying not to shut. Maybe, you muse, the sun hates him as much as you do. It brings a weak smile to your face. You make sure to take your sweet time to enter. You won’t take off your shoes, either. He can deal with a bit of tracked dirt, you think, but then you notice that he’s wearing his shoes as well. In his own place. And here you thought he was monstrous enough.

But when the door shuts, any semblance of levity you could summon dissipates, and you’re reminded of what you’re here to do. Aventurine’s hand snakes up on your shoulder, and you want to rip it off and feed it to the birds. Thankfully, he just leads you to the living room. The sun is cast overhead.

“So,” he circles till he’s in front of you, “What could be so important that you’ve come to see me this time of day?” The cat purrs to the mouse, petting it with claws retracted; for the time being. It makes you abandon courtesy for curtness.

“Don’t act like you didn’t cancel some business meeting to make this happen.”

“Oh! You’ve got me!” he chuckles, “My, you’ve already gotten to know me so well. Don’t you think we’re like two peas in a pod?” He teases, and you know he specifically means for it to piss you off. Not to mention it’s an incredible reach. But to his credit, it works.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you spit, and his hand lets you back away from him. “I was thinking about…” you take a sharp breath—you can’t lose your nerve now, “...the ‘deal,’ you gave me a little while ago. The gamble, to be more precise.”

His smile stretches so wide it seems to crack his face, and you feel phantom pain radiating along your own mouth. His eyes, those alluring and dangerous rims of pink and electric blue, are spiked with adrenaline. You wonder if his eyes are dilating, but you don’t want to look at his eyes any longer than you have to. “I knew you would come around. But I see it in your eyes—you want to discuss the terms, right?”

He’s right. “Yes.”

“Admirable,” he says lazily, “but before you start, you should know that I’m not budging on my reward.”

“I know,” you bitterly say, “this is about my reward.”

Interest ignites, burning the blue of his eyes hot with intrigue.

“If I win, then I want you to reimburse my family, and then some, for all of the shit you’re making them go through. And then I want you to leave them the hell alone and not harm them.”

You can’t tell if he looks more interested or disappointed. “That’s hardly different from our original deal. The only difference is that you’re not getting any compensation.” At least he doesn’t deny that he’s the one the source of your family woes this time. Likely because you two already jumped through that point. You may not be sharp, but there are things even you can’t be gaslit on, and you think Aventurine realized this and decided not to bother. “Do you really hate the idea of getting money from me? You do remember that I told you that you can use me however you want, right?”

Money that’s sourced from less than savory grounds, you think. You hate how he wants to use you, and you equally hate using anybody. “Yes. You made that very clear. I know what I’m doing. Now, come on.”

“Don’t be so hasty. I’ll have to modify my will so—”

“No need. Get the gun already.” You aren’t too worried anyway. Businessmen like him know to honor their deals. He’ll probably dismiss it easily and assume you’ll either donate it to charity or give it to your family.

He laughs, not so dissimilar from nails digging into a chalkboard, “You’re that eager to kill me? And you were so against it too! I wouldn’t have expected your morals to shift so quickly.”

You bite your lip. “You don’t seem to be all too worried about dying,” you point out, “You were the one who proposed this in the first place.” Another reason you don’t want to associate with this man. He treats his own life far too callously, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that whatever there is to unpack, it’s bursting at the seams. Normally you would’ve been sympathetic, but this is the manner of man that wants to seize you. You don’t want to know what would happen to you, under his dominion.

Still, at least you know that he prizes adrenaline above all else. Why else would he risk his life for a hit of it? It’s useful info and also the only wrinkle in your plan…but you’re not banking on this entirely.

Aventurine doesn’t respond, but his eyes accentuate his mirthful grin. It reminds you of yourself, muttering a joke under your breath. You do like inside jokes, but you cannot say the same for the ones you’re left out of. No matter how demented this man’s humor is, knowing what he finds funny would at least give you more to glean on him. A part of you does enjoy piecing together puzzles, even ones you can’t solve.

He produces a simple revolver from his jacket. Sleek and as dark as a moonless night, even you can tell that its craftsmanship is more than deserving of admiration. But it spikes your anxiety. You want to dig a hole and suffocate, to feel your lungs burn like lava and to have your fingers raw when you have second thoughts and desperately try to claw your way out. You blink back tears, but you know what you must do.

He takes his sweet time with the gun, but you don’t pay attention. Your eyes are trained on the ground as you try and fail to psych yourself up. You know what you're doing. Your parents would tell you this was a bad choice, and you agree, but you weren’t given very many good choices.

A shot rings out. Glass shatters from behind you. The coffee table. Your breath halts. Something searing and hard digs into your chin, forcing you to look up. Your gaze is misty from the pain, for you’re more resilient to the cold, not the heat.

“Sweetheart,” he smiles kindly, “I don’t like being ignored.” Despite your best efforts, a tear has rolled down your cheek. Your chin feels like it will be seared and forever be fiery hot. You need to get this over with before your mouth starts to uncontrollably twitch into a frown. He roughly lodges the gun from your chin, but replaces it with a kind touch that sends spiders crawling down your back. “Aw…” he coos, his cheeks faintly dusted with pink as he begins to lean in, “there’s no need to cry, dear.”

You can’t stop it. You let out something that sounds like a growl, and shove him off of you. “You don’t get to touch me,” you hiss, a sound you didn’t know you were capable of, “Hands to yourself,” For some indiscernible reason, another tear falls, “you haven’t won anything yet.”

He’s not fazed. “Ah, I suppose I’ll have to concede there,” for now, “Here you go then, friend,” Despite his claim of concession he yanks your arm up and forces it in your grip, “Let’s see who luck favors.”

You shake, a little, but you’re not shaken enough to lose all your rationality. “Is there still a bullet in here?”

“Yep,” he pops the p, like you two were old pals, “though I suppose I should roll the chamber again. Give me a second.” He takes the gun away and gets to work. You’re both thankful and sobbing on the inside. At this rate, your ribs will be dust from how your heart hammers into them.

It’s back in your hand after what feels like an eternity and a microsecond. “Now there shouldn’t be any problems. Feel free to start shooting,” he purrs, adjusting it to point toward his chest. He moves to secure the barrel to his chest, and you must act now. You’re shaking and you want to die—

Ah.

Good.

You won’t lose your nerve then.

“Actually,” your words shake with imminent tears and ramping fears, “there’s another term I wanted to discuss.” Your words aren’t threatening, but it’s ominous enough to give Aventurine pause. Now that he’s given you the inch, you’re taking the mile. You take a deep breath. It could be one of your last.

You’ve forced the barrel against your forehead. You’ve either gasped or Aventurine’s breath has hitched. You feel tears welling up, but you’ve made it too far for things to end here. You will yourself through your terror. “If I get shot, I win. If I don’t, you win.”

A tense silence whistles about. The air is almost electric from shock. But you know what you’re doing. You know it’s stupid, but you’re hopeless and this is the closest thing to a shred of hope you can grasp. See, you did a bit of research (on a library computer; you weren’t taking your chances). You found out that there are a few stories (very few, buried underneath the announcements of a music video and interviews and what-have-you) about Aventurine playing roulette—and even more about how he’s made numerous casino goers lose everything. In other words, he’s a lucky bitch.

And you’re not that lucky. You doubt your luck is good enough for a regular gamble, but for your life? You treasure it, and sealing the gun to your head leaves you on the cusp of a breakdown. This is what you’re banking on: you’re not lucky enough to win a gamble, but you’re unfortunate enough to lose your life over something so inconsequential. Your parents would murder you if they saw you. Say you owe them nothing, and you do agree—but you can’t shake your habit of overpaying them. You’ve left a note at home for them to dig up, but it wouldn’t be an apology. If there’s an afterlife, you’ll apologize for eternity. You think the only way you can apologize is by searing your soul in the hells till nothing is left of you.

You do have a more selfish reason for taking this approach, but it’s also incorrigible and unreasonable. You don’t need to dissect it.

You think he’ll take it up. Sure, maybe the adrenaline he’ll get won’t be as great if he were the target, but so far he’s been the type to take pleasure in pushing others down a peg. He smiles at your distress, after all. So surely your quivering, sniveling form is giving him a kick? And surely, surely he’ll want to see your eyes glassy, your expression forever contorted in a fearful, desperate sob?

But Aventurine’s voice is missing its usual lilt. It’s hard, no longer deceptively light. Not playfully pushy but demanding. Maybe this is how he speaks to his enemies, you think, suppressing the urge to crawl into yourself. “…What?” A shard of ice is lodged in your back and makes your heart skip a beat from the surprise. But you can deal with the cold. It helps that it numbs the piercing pain in your back.

“I said what I said,” you push the terrifying thing harder into your skull, “these are my terms.” You’re more adamant than ever to not look into his eyes. You fixate on your shoes. You won’t speak more than necessary.

He seemingly contemplates for a moment. You’re about to push further when he finally speaks. “Do you remember what I said when I first proposed this gamble?”

Your mind is too fear-stricken for recollection. “You say a lot of things. C-can’t remember all of them.” Shit, your mouth has twitched a bit.

Shockingly Aventurine doesn’t poke fun at that, and is unusually focused. “I don’t take deals where I’m on the losing end. You’ve skewed this far too much in your favor.”

No. Oh, no. You were wrong about something. Lava starts to sting at your eyes. If you were wrong about this, then what else were you wrong about?!

“W-what? You’re not the one risking your life!” You exclaim, and it makes you look up at him, “How are you on the losing end?!” You shriek, because you aren’t a composed person at heart.

His eyes, lifeless and intense, widen as they bore into your own, pinning you down. If you squirm, you think he would stab knives in them to keep you down. You’re afraid of even blinking. He isn’t smiling and your knees want to shake. “Let’s go through this one by one, so you understand. One: what do I want?”

“W-wha?”

He repeats himself, harsher. “What. Do. I. Want?”

You settle for the safest answer. Your heart feels dead. You’re sure it will wither to dust. “M-me?”

“Bingo.” It scares you that he’s not saying that with a lilt. It scares you that he’s not trying to manipulate you. It scares you how there’s only a thread between him ripping you in half. “And here’s something very, very important to know about me,” his hand caresses your cheekbone, positioned to catch any tears that fall, or to crush your skull, “I do whatever it takes to get what I want.”

“Then how is this different?! You’re still taking the risk of not getting what you want no matter how you slice it!”

The smile he gives you is all at once angelic and biting. “I don’t like it when I don’t get what I want.” His pupils dilate. Your eyes well up looking into the malice and…something, that plunges you in ice water. “If I can’t get what I want…hm, how do I describe it?” his voice begins to regain its lilt, fueled by your increasing distress. He smiles like he’s teaching a child a lesson, but you swear his eyes are growing duller. “Well, it’s like being trapped in a land without dawn,” his other hand softly holds your shoulder and it feels so wrong because you swear he’s holding back from brutalizing you, “there are chains around your neck, ankles, wrists, waist, eyes…” he chuckles sardonically, and a vindictive grin spreads as he leans in, till you can feel the ghost of his breath, “your life is a living hell, but the cold of the metal seeps down to your very bone.” You yelp; his grip has tightened. “Something stirs in your chest,” the hand caressing your face comes to rest over your heart, “begging to destroy everything and everyone that’s made you suffer.” His fingers dig into your chest, as if he’ll rip out your heart. “Tell me, my friend, do you want a man like that alive?”

You want to close your eyes so badly. Your mind is an inky landscape, blackening every single thought you hold. A soft flutter to your cheek knocks you out of your stupor. You register expensive perfume, something tickling your skin, and soft lips kissing away your tears. Immediately you shove away the opportunistic beast and stumble in your escape.

You’re in too deep. You need to make this work, because as much as you're terrified, something deep within you purrs at the weakness he’s given you.

But it’s good to know how spiteful he is. You already feel much better about your own plan. Both parts of you purr in delight: one knows you must twist the knife, and the other has been waiting for the opportunity.

“Coward,” your mouth is faster than your mind, “you coward!” Your meager wit and anguish over the past few months begin to tumble out uncontrollably, “I don’t care about your shit—you’ve hardly given me any say about anything. You’ve had the upper hand this entire time, and now you want to backpedal? This is too much risk for you?!” You heave, and you’re too enraged to care about how disgusting you must look, “You said to me there’s nothing you like more than a good gamble. Well, I’ve got a GREAT gamble for you, and if you’re upset you’ve got no one but yourself to blame! You wormed your way into my life, you orchestrated its steady decline, and you pushed me right here! You don’t get to back out of this like a coward!” You’re breathing heavily, and your vision is watery red, and you throw the gun in what you think is his general direction, and your vitriol spills out of you, “Take it and take whatever fucking risk exists! Languish for a month or a day or an hour because you didn’t get what you want like a little baby! If I’m going down, you’re coming down with me!” You’re heaving at this point, and you absently lean on the couch so you don’t collapse. Your composure is in shambles, but you’ll try to save a complete breakdown for when your choices catch up to you and you’re choking on your own blood.

You hear a slow, rhythmic clap, and it shocks you that your ears aren’t flooding with blood at it. You hesitantly look up to see Aventurine grinning like a beast.

“You, dragging me down…” the lilt has come back, and you realize that he likes something about this; that he’s schemed a part of it, “...so I see.” He drawls. He tilts his head, regarding you with the interest one has in an animal displayed in a zoo. “I’ll admit,” each slow step he takes toward you makes you sink further into the couch, “I was expecting you to cave with that. Yet you still insist…sweetheart,” should you be glad he’s calling you that again? “Let me be the first to tell you that it’s a great honor to push people like you into a corner. You were correct to fear me to try and avoid this.” So you were right on one thing, but it’s only a single thing. He’s inching ever so closely, and before you can start getting away he’s pounced on you.

You yelp in surprise and begin to thrash, “You—get, get off of me!” You attempt to be intimidating, but your intense terror makes you seem like nothing more than a child scared to get a shot. Perfume burns your nostrils. More tears are shed, but he’s merciful enough to not lap them up just yet.

He giggles and just pins you down. He waits until you're humiliated and exhausted before continuing. Your mouth twitches, and against your better judgment a sob brews in your chest. Your mind floods with ink, now. You try to tell yourself to keep it together, but the more you repeat it the more terrified you become. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d change the terms like this,” you squirm and look away—you don’t have the bravery to look at him directly right now. He lets you. “I was sort of expecting you to try and stand up for yourself, or maybe even demand I put in two bullets…but, you’ve run counter to my expectations. For one, I didn’t have you pinned to be this spiteful, nor this willing to give up your life.” You flinch and make a hateful sound as he starts to pat your head, continuing on as if this was the most normal conversation in the world, like he was the most normal person in the room, as he smiles so warmly—you’re a frog being boiled, but you’re too tired and afraid to retort, “Heh, this must’ve taken all of your guts to do, right?” The affection in his voice forms a lump in your throat. “I’m proud of you. Take pride in that,” he wipes away a tear, “and you’re right.” Suddenly, all warmness is gone and you’re blasted with heat. His grin shows his teeth, and for a moment you think you’ve really died. “I’ve always loved the thrill of going all in.” He laughs, a depraved sound of hedonism and complete despair, “If I win, it’s the jackpot. I get you, and you get me.” Get him? “And if I lose,” your head is tipped up by the cooled barrel of the gun to look into his eyes—

You whimper. The only thing that registers in your mind is that you’ve found yourself in a fox’s jaw about ready to clamp down.

“I live with my loss at the hands of a nobody. And it’ll gnaw at me from the inside…” he says breathlessly, “Yes, that’s a risk I can see myself getting behind,” Ink has made your soul quiver further. “And only taking deals on the winning end…I do that enough for business. That's to say…” he suddenly pulls you up, causing you to stumble and lean into him. He chuckles as your addled mind and body reorient, but the arm slung around your waist prevents you from straying too far. It’s the pillar you must rely on, but one wrong step and it will crumble to dust.

It scares you.

But.

There’s another side to your fear. What sort of things do we fear, you think? These months have taught you that people hate that which they fear. When the fear amps up, so does the hate. You aren’t blind to how he looks at you. He’d vivisect you if it got him what he wanted. Your teeth grind. Oh, you hate him, you hate him so much. But your hate doesn’t burn, nor does it freeze. It’s a part of you; it hums through your veins; it thrums with the beat of your heart. There is nothing special about what is merely a fact of life. You are its vessel, and for that it sustains you.

You won’t see the fallout of your victory, but the mere idea sends a wave of ecstasy through you.

The barrel of the revolver presses against your heart.

“I accept your terms.” His voice edges with adrenaline and delight, but, and rather exquisitely, your instincts think, an edge that he must be the one to win this gamble—that in this moment, for him to live with loss is completely undesirable. It pleases you greatly, that you seemed to have ever so slightly peeled off his mask. But unfortunately for him, you’re not lucky enough to avoid a stupid death. You quiver, but not with fear; not entirely. Still, a part of you wonders if he’s just been testing you with his easy agreement. Should you be glad if you got full marks? Or should you hope you’ve failed?

Still, a brief feeling of levity blooms in your chest, and you seize it immediately.

You did it. And unexpectedly, rather than further terror, relief washes over the heat and ink, because now that you’ve felt dead so often in such a short time, death is salvation. But just as quickly as the water came, a blizzard freezes the sea.

Click. His lips are against yours.

Of course. He wouldn’t let your final moments be pleasant.

He takes advantage of your inexperience to entangle your tongues, and his hand against your head pushes you deeper and deeper as he tries to devour you. You gasp and tear up when he bites and bruises your lips. You’d like to fight back, but you want to get this over with. Even if it means being taken advantage of in your last moments, mother death’s repentance is merely a chamber or two away.

But still, no matter how demented you are in the moment, you are human, and the instinctual desire to survive makes you recoil. The eye contact exacerbates it. His eyes hold a sea. On the surface, you can freely see the coral and starfish, difficult to understand but beautiful. But deeper, where the sunlight does not shine, the predators have taken to hunting one another, having wiped out the prey. And when only one is left, then it can only move up and up, until it’s the only thing left standing. And now it looks to consume you to satiate its unending appetite. Your lungs burn.

You’d love to shut your eyes, but doing so feels like losing. At least when you do so, you can see yourself be devoured. Your awareness of yourself is the only agency you have right now.

Click. He pulls away, and you take in a greedy breath. You feel a deep imprint on your lips; a bite, just barely not drawing blood. Your heart beats and a tear trickles; you’re not dead yet. That’s ok. You’ll be dead in a moment.

“You look so certain you’ll win,” he observes, “it’s a good look on you.”

You scrunch your nose. “Pull the trigger. I’m getting sick of looking at you.”

“But, if I do, then you might breathe your last,” his eyes narrow, though you’re not sure if it’s predatory or softening, “can’t I take the sight of you in?”

“Ha!” You cough it out. “For a man who dresses to the nines, you sure have bad taste.”

“Aw, don’t demean yourself like that,” he mockingly reassures, “I’ll have you know you’re perfectly enchanting.”

You decide to play along because banter is banter, and no matter how spiteful you are, you’ll take comfort and levity where you can find it. “And you’re a Knight of Beauty.” Absently, you wonder how terrible you must look. You feel your eyes still well with tears, still sniffling back bits of snot every now and then.

You’re not sure if everything’s just catching up to you, or if the thought has propelled you to the realization, but you’re so, so, so tired. It does make your tears dry, a little, and your muscles relax.

You see he’s starting to lean in again, and you immediately put a hand between you and his lips. “Don’t.” You growl. “Just…just shoot,” you sigh in exhaustion, “I’m tired. Just shoot. If you’re not satisfied, then you’ll have my corpse.” The implication is disgusting but he’s disgusting, and you really just want to sleep. You’re pretty sure he would’ve done it even without you saying.

His hand drifts down to your waist. “Can’t say the image is pleasant.” Is his voice colder? Tired? Distant? Or are you finally losing it?

“I’m already a teary mess. It’ll just be colder and a little stiff.”

He scoffs, “If I wanted someone steely, you wouldn’t be here.” True.

You bite your cheek and look at your feet. “Shoot.”

There’s a pause in the air. You wonder if he’s contemplating on saying something to you, or just getting it over with. Both would make sense. You close your eyes. You will yourself to not think, because you know if you do that your life will just flash before your eyes. And if that happens, you’ll die completely miserable.

Click.

You’re breathing. His hand is on your waist. The gun’s pressed to your chest. Nothing’s changed. Why aren’t you on the ground choking on blood?

“I win.” You hear. You shut your eyes when sunlight gets into them.

Oh. Oh. Oh.

You’re still here.

It didn’t work. It didn’t pay off. Your knees give out as you finally are no longer able to keep your tears at bay. You feel fluttering around your eyes, and you dare not open them. Shhh, shhh, you hear, but you only cry more. Everything has come to impale you, and you cry as you feel your organs spill. You’re his. You’re his. You want to die. Everything is coated in ink. You process nothing but the terror and rage and fear and despair and laughter and anything and everything you’ve ever experienced. You try to curl in on yourself, but you’re stopped by a beast’s hold, warm and predatory.

“Shhh, it’s alright…” a hand strokes you to soothe, but it’s more akin to sandpaper rubbing on raw skin, “Let it all out…we have plenty of time. I don’t have to hold back and neither do you,” he reassures. It makes you sob harder.

You heave and sob. All you can think about is the unknown future that awaits you. You barely register being placed on a plush surface.

When your sobs finally quiet, you’re forced to look into his eyes. There’s a flush on his cheek, a slight inconsistency in his breathing, and his eyes have dilated with adrenaline and…and…you’ve never seen that emotion before, whatever it is.

You wonder what face you’re making, as he smiles ferally. “You were right. That was great,” he hisses with elation and laughs. “Oh, you’re beautiful.”

The world spins. You’re lying, and he’s on top of you.

Oh…oh no…You begin to flinch and twitch uncontrollably. You aren’t thinking. You flail, kick, and cry even as you exhaust your meager energy, but he doesn’t budge. You need to get away get away get away get away—

“One last thing, to really seal the deal,” he smiles, insidiously kind and horrifying, “to commemorate my victory and your defeat.”

He bites into your neck, and you scream.

The fox swallows you whole.

—

He lets you roam freely, whenever he’s gone. To say you were baffled and suspicious was putting it lightly, so you refrained from taking advantage of it for a long, long time. In fact, when you found out his spaceship-apartment-thing was mounted with surveillance in every nook and cranny, rather than walk out the door, you found a cramped closet to hide in for a few days. Curling into a ball all day wasn’t easy on the joints, but you were taking any semblance of privacy you could get. But Aventurine, petty and cruel, forced you to seal off your haven with your own hands before he tore into you. If he wants you in his sights or roaming about, he should just make up his mind already.

But, for this one occasion, you choose to abuse this privilege. You usually come back around the same time he does to appease him, but you finally decided you needed a vacation after he forced you into one of his stupid gambles and forced you to fulfill another of his especially perverted fantasies; on top of forcing you to help him get acquainted with a gacha you played—and he’d be the direct cause of your cake turning out burnt. Sure, there are those big moments where lava and ink converge, but it’s the little things which sting and nick that pile up. The real kicker was when he forced you two to share a plate of pasta one night and when, of course, you two landed on the same noodle, he had the brilliant idea to suck it up at the speed of light; likely hoping it would get him to your lips sooner. How romantic, making out while you both had half chewed food in your mouths; you truly could not commend this man’s genius enough! Unfortunately for his plans and your sanity, you couldn’t keep up, and that is why you know what it’s like to have tomato sauce in your eyes. Not to mention that there were pepperoncinis in there. You were washing it out for days. At least he seemed genuinely apologetic over it, but copious amounts of jewelry don’t supplement how he never asks if you even want or like it.

So, yeah, you’re no fan of how he fucks with you. You gladly made this choice, and all the risk it came with.

“So, this is where you’ve been.” You think he’s still a little surprised, just as you are. You haven’t done much in the way of defiance, both because you wanted nothing more than to remain within yourself, and because you feared his retaliation (very, very much). The few risks you have taken never pay off. Even this one didn’t pay off in full: for you didn’t even go to see your parents. You tried to tell them the horrible truth and because they deserved to know their child’s fate, but every time you approached their house, something stopped you. Shame, fear, embarrassment, sheepishness…you don’t know. You almost laugh. To think, a quarter of why you’re here is because of the danger they were placed in, yet you can’t even muster the courage to talk to them. Maybe you want them to think you’re dead, because then that’s the version of you that’ll be eternal in their minds: loving, goofy, brimming with potential and optimistic pessimism; and not the pathetic wimp you truly are. The mere risk of seeing disappointment shine in their eyes (they wouldn’t but what if they did? What if?) was enough to scare you off. You dismiss them from your mind because you have to deal with Aventurine, unfortunately. You wonder if you’ll forget them, if you cast them out of your mind enough. “I’m charmed. Our special place.”

You scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself. This was mine before you ever came here, and it still is.”

You met each other here on a moonlit night. You couldn’t see each others’ faces, but it didn’t stop you from conversing. You don’t bother to think about it more, because what started as a memory that made you feel warm now enshrouds you in a volcanic blizzard. You’ve already mulled over it plenty anyway—on how such a mundane conversation started all of…this.

Now, the sun is setting. It calms you down.

“Darling, this is a national park. You don’t own it.”

You tsk. “Shut up. I don’t feel like dealing with you right now. And you literally called this place ‘ours,’ you conniving bastard.”

“Unfortunate,” his arm slings across your shoulders, “because it’s been such a lonely week without you…” you don’t share the sentiment. His other arm cages you by the waist. You imagine his body rupturing and exploding, showering blood and guts that you’d dance in. Or would you soak yourself in his organs, to savor his defeat? Maybe you’d open your mouth, let your mouth and throat be coated in his blood so you—

Huh. Something’s off again. You are no stranger to violent thoughts, but lately, at rare times, your fantasies get accompanied by something strange you can’t quite put your finger on.

You make a face, as you look at him over your shoulder with a deadpan glare, “And you’ve let me parade about.”

He giggles. “What? I had no clue you were here till a few hours ago! Honest.”

“Says the surveillance freak.” You wave your phone, “Not to mention I’ve so conveniently kept this tracker with me.”

He drops the act. “You didn’t even try to cover up your tracks.” He sighs, “I must say, your defeatism is probably the least attractive part of you. Can’t say I really understand.”

Then why does he still keep you around? It’s already been nearly half a year.

“You and I have no illusions that I can escape you, and I lost a bet. I try not to be a sore loser.”

“And yet you so often cry when you lose our games. Kick and scream sometimes.”

Your chest feels hollow, and you hate the feeling so much that you want to die right then and there. “What, should I be jumping for joy when you rape me?”

Silence. You can almost think he’s a little remorseful. But then his fingers snake up to pull at your collar. Peeling back your skin, to try and coax you out of it. More like tear you out.

You scoff, but your eyes heat up. “Seriously?” Your voice carries a mix of disappointment, anger, fear, and despair. It cracks, “Hardly three minutes and right after I—”

“Relax,” he’s so soothing that your muscles tense up and your heart beats to the nines—what a reassuring boyfriend! He continues his ministrations until he has a good view of your neck, and hums in pleasure, “I can’t say I’m entirely peachy with what you’ve done, but you haven’t been that bad—” you feel yourself slightly relax, “—so we’ll get a room first.” And your heart drops, but you did expect this. He hums, and you can practically hear the grin in his voice, “Unless…you’d like to really make this our special place?”

No. He can’t he can’t he can’t he can’t he won’t—The slightest bit of life crosses your relatively lifeless face. “Don’t you fucking dare—!”

He covers your mouth, silencing you, and squeezes tight when you try to speak; you feel something in you wither. “Alrighty, I get the idea,” He casually concedes, but you doubt he was all too adamant if he dropped it so easily. “We’ll both save ourselves for later. In the meantime, let’s keep quiet, mhm? We really wouldn’t want anyone to just interrupt us.”

You seethe, but then his grip becomes near painful. Humiliation wells in your chest, as the muzzle tightens. You forcibly relax, and reluctantly nod. Fresh air has never been sweeter. A drop of sweat trickles down your face.

“Good. Very good,” he purrs. “You’re always so good; thank you. I’m glad you see the mutual benefit in doing so.” He brushes a spot at your neck. It’s the spot he first bit you in, and thinking about it still makes you shake in pain. And he’s always sucking or biting at it to stake his stupid claim. You brace yourself. And right on cue he’s latched on, and your scream is muffled by your hand. You’d like to say you’ve gotten used to it, but you’ve never had a good tolerance for pain. Against your wishes, tears fall. Aventurine lunges at the opportunity, sensually licking them and leaving behind a disgusting trail of slime to dry. He kisses your cheekbone, leaving behind a weeping crimson flower, “You really are a crybaby…” his voice sends spiders crawling into your ear.

You desperately wipe your cheek with your sleeves, mostly because you know shoving him away doesn’t work when he gets like this. And then your short lived adrenaline fades.

“Shit!” He’s drawn blood. Again. And you liked this shirt! But you can see why he doesn’t—it was a high collar and a long sleeve, able to cover the mural of bites and bruises he leaves on your body. The majority were faded, but some of them were just a little more permanent. You briefly wonder why he’d ruin your shirt; he’s made it very clear that the mural is for his eyes alone. You suspect he wanted to create an excuse so you’d be forced to wear some jacket or shirt of his.

“Sorry,” he kisses the spot, but each kiss burns you. You don’t understand why he bothers to say the word when you both know he’s not capable of feeling remorse, at least, not for you. He keeps stinging your tender flesh.

You groan, blinking back mist. “You’re making it worse.”

“Sorry,” he repeats, giving you a bloody peck on the cheek, “but can you blame me? You’re not wearing any of my gifts. Makes a guy a little jealous, y’know?” He kisses your cheek again, firmer to imprint his bloody kiss.

“Yes, I can blame you for making conscious decisions,” you coldly snap, but you’re already tired, “Once again, jewelry is overrated and I reaffirm that your taste is shit.”

“I recall my jewelry and clothes were some of the first things you complemented.”

“Aye,” it’s true, but you see an opportunity for levity and take it, “but I have since evolved from my follious self.”

He’s getting that feral look in his eye again. Why?! You didn’t even do anything! You snap. “What is it? Spit it.”

“You’re doing it again.”

You can’t stand his touch any longer. “Doing what?” You hiss, shoving him away from you so you can face him. But you almost wish he didn’t let you, because there are few things he would trade for you in his hold.

He whistles. It feeds your frustration. You assume that it’s what he usually wants from you. “If this is some weird sexual innuendo then it’s fallen flat on its ass, you affluent horndog. I thought you said to wait later, anyway.”

He blinks in brief shock, before laughing—his canines shine in the orange sunset, “No, no no, not this time around. Let’s put it this way, and I’ll be very clear, just for you,”

As he calms down, an angelic smile spreads in his face, and you know you’re looking straight at damnation.

“I’ve learned that defeatists succumb to themselves. Pushing them past their limit helps, but it’s not entirely necessary.”

…In the back of your mind, you make a horrific realization.

You have tilled fields, so You may eventually sow them with cotton.

—

What does your face look like, right now? If you hazard a guess, it might be bestial. You only know your eyes are wide open and not flooding.

In an unexpected subversion, it is you who pins Aventurine to the ground. You don’t pay much mind to his expression: parted lips, breathless, glimmering interest and fulfilled desire in his eyes; it’s unusual and you would’ve drank it in if not for the tornado in your mind. It’s torn through some cotton, leaving the field barely clutching to life.

“What. Were. You. Thinking?” You do not recognize your own voice. You feel your body shaking and find that you’re breathing heavily.

He smiles. “You watch me gamble all the time, dearest.” His head tips in faux questioning, “I don’t see how that’s gotten you so worked up—and you’ve been so sweet lately.”

You grind your teeth. He hasn’t answered you. “You played Russian Roulette.”

The body of his opponent is slumped on the table across from you two. Their blood continually drips, crying out in defeat. You couldn’t care less about that, because there’s a thought playing on repeat in your mind.

That could’ve been his body.

His eyes twinkle as he smirks, “Are you jealous?” He cruelly teases, “Did you want to kill me, or were you hoping to take the bullet yourself?”

“No.” You’re not being sensible. The cotton in your mind is shredding. You want to balk at the idea, and You want to jump at the opportunity. “Answer my question.”

“Mmm,” he hums, and his nonchalance makes you shake, “well, I suppose I’m in no position to refuse. It was a good gamble with a good thrill, of course! I thought you knew this.”

He’s right. You know just how much pleasure he takes in putting everything on the line. Your question is answered, but for some reason it’s still not satisfied. The few surviving patches of cotton are still in your way.

That depraved feral look in his eyes only grows at your internal battle, and his gloved hand cups your cheek. “What’s wrong?” He goads. “Or have you finally come around to just how irresistible I am?”

For a moment, the cotton has come back, regrowing into a beautiful field. But then the scent of blood wafts to your nose, and all of your senses have increased tenfold. The drip of blood sounds like pouring rain, poking numerous holes; the tile below your palms are lifeless slabs of ice, sticking itself to you so you’d have to rip your skin off to get away; blood and perfume and spilled champagne root themselves into your sinuses, bleeding

them out; chocolate and salt roil on your tongue, scraping along like a rusty iron blade; and Aventurine, beautiful, cruel, loving Aventurine, has never looked clearer, so enthrallingly vivid and colorful you are tempted to sob at the beauty alone.

Hell hath flourished, and it burns the cotton to dust.

You begin to unravel.

“I want to hollow out your chest.” You admit maddeningly, and you wonder how much your insanity bleeds out. “And burrow into it, so I can listen to your heartbeat and feel the expanse of your lungs pressing into me with your every breath,” you think your breath has grown more erratic, “I want to breathe in your blood, taste your heart, blood, sustain myself on nothing, on nothing but you!” You’ve leaned closer till your breaths fan over each others’ faces. Small patches of water begin to drop onto Aventurine’s face—his face that is so breathtakingly and satanically beautiful without the cotton obstructing it—your breath hitches and your mouth twitches, as you take in a quivering breath. “If you die…I might just join you, because…there’s really nothing else for me…” and then something ugly sparks in your chest. “If you die…I’m pulling the trigger, not some random sap in a casino.”

The puddle of blood begins flowing toward you.

It completely burns the cotton, and that is the moment You are no longer safe. But hell is beautiful, you find, and you so gladly drench yourself in its flames. You are still painfully aware of how wrong it all is…but, the storm within you is starting to calm, you don’t cry with your every free moment and you no longer agonize about your parents. You…you think this is peace. To harbor obsession for the man who trapped you in this hell and tortured you and then drowned you in affection and obsession.

You sob, a sound of euphoric despair, and you confess the terrible truth,

“I love you, Aventurine,” you take in a shuddering gasp, “I love you…” you cough, no longer able to hold back as you break down, “I love you, I love you,” you hiccup and sob, “I love you I love you I love you I love you!” You’ve collapsed, curling in on yourself but resting your head atop his heart. “Don’t throw me away…don’t l-leave me…I need you, and it’s your f-fault I’m like this…please, please Aventurine, tell me you love me and won’t ever let me go!” Oh, you feel so ugly and you feel so much lighter and, and—

His breath shudders, and then swiftly takes you in his arms. You flinch out of your daze, but his grip doesn’t cease, like he wants your bodies to meld into each other. His grip is tight, almost biting, but in your mind free of cotton, it feels secure and adoring. He sits up, shifting so you straddle him. Red dusts his cheeks, a similar shade to the crimson pooling beneath you two. His eyes hold a hunger satiated and a new voracity, gleaming with animalistic intent that makes you shiver.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he shudders, grounding himself to hold back, “that was beautiful—you’re beautiful,” he’s panting, “how could I refuse such a heartfelt and adorable confession?” Your heart soars. “You’re so perfect. You’re the other side of my coin…yes,” he groans, “I’d love to bring you down with me, and to tear you apart if I’m back in that dawnless land.”

As the dawn shines on you both as he kisses you, it clicks.

He wanted someone just as desperate as him.

The whisper against your lips is almost reverent, “I knew you were the one,” His eyes are like a meadow, where you dance and sing and never leave, even as your feet howl in pain brushing against poison ivy and oak hidden amidst the grass and flowers. Now you recognize the emotion that drowns in them: an all consuming affection which threatens to erase your existence to everything but him. “Thank you, for destroying yourself for me. It’s truly an honor, sweetheart.”

Your tears flow, but the corners of your mouth twitch upwards. Insanity has sunk its claws into you, your stress and limits explode in a desperate supernova, and your very being trembles with ecstasy. Aventurine joins you, standing up and spinning you around in his firm hold as you both laugh and laugh in the dawn’s sunlight, with red not trailing too far behind. This is a spectacle you burn and freeze and drown in, witnessed by your spectator in rot.

Then you're devoured, but you’ve grown your own claws and fangs.

Driven by nothing more than instinct, in the throes of your tryst, you bury your head in the crook of his neck,

And bite.

#yandere #Yandere aventurine #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #yandere aventurine x reader #aventurine x reader #yandere honkai star rail #Yandere x you #tw noncon #if you’re this far into the tags then hello welcome to hell #How are you? I’m chillin out it’s pretty nice #Dreading the day I must finally become a proper tool in capitalism (re: get an actual job so I do not starve to death and deprived of—#—basic human necessities. Like nestle water)#Ha didn’t expect capitalism depression in the tags of a yandere work didja well to that I say SIKE BITCH I’ve got you #But also every other post has espresso depresso abt capitalism so it’s kinda the norm at this point #Marx is rolling in his grave #Anyway go get a drink of water it’s very very important to be hydrated #Also you do not know how hard it is to not write good girl/boy in this FR—#Destroyed Onset

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calisources · 3 months

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𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences were taken from different sources about romance, marriage and specially arranged marriage and what that entails. Mentions of affairs, mistresses, wedding ceremonies and medieval talks of what marriage entails follow. Change names, pronouns and locations however you see fit.

Marriage is a marriage, whether it is arranged or not. Both necessitate the same level of dedication.

It’s not an option to be best friends with your life partner; it’s a requirement for a firm foundation in a long-term relationship.

Arranged marriage is not always a bed of roses, but it is possible to achieve with love and faith.

It’s different for women, isn’t it? They have no choice where they go. They grow up in a prison and then get married into one.

Is there anything more courageous/stupid than saying yes to spend your life with someone you have no idea about?

The country was as much of a mystery to me as the man I had married.

One day you’ll be in love with me.

You could be a titled lady.

I have avoided the fate my father had planned for me. Surely it is I who has won, not he.

I do not care about power and wealth, father. I want to marry for love.

But if you were matched, what do you think she'd be like?

We're supposed to be unable to keep our hands off of each other.

In this case the time is not so important for me, the person asking for commitment is.

We are trapped by convention and must marry another.

Every good child knows: duty before your heart's desire.

I am to be a bride, but whose?

I married you to stop the bloodshed, and you keep killing. When will it be enough- when?

I found out soon after we met that Leah’s father had promised her in marriage to some young Pole.

If I ever get into an arranged marriage, I want it to be like theirs.

Arranged marriages require effort; constantly and every day. And where there is love, you want to make these efforts.

A successful arranged marriage can help climb the biggest mountain and build the biggest empire.

An arranged marriage is like wine; it tastes good with time.

You will marry him and do your duty to your House.

You are my daughter and you will do as I say. End of discussion.

Love? What does love have to do with marriage?

He'll honour his duty to family and swallow it.

I was three when my parents promised me. When a deal was struck.

So I was raised to be his wife. I was taught my favorite color was gold because his favorite color was gold. I was told my favorite foods were his favorite foods

I never thought what it would actually be like to have him... be gone.

I was raised for him, and now I am... new. I am brand-new. And I do not even know how to breathe air he does not exhale.

A bride at her second marriage does not wear a veil. She wants to see what she is getting.

Marriage is a financial contract; I have enough contracts already.

The dowry, not the wife, is the object of attraction.

Arranged marriages work like this. The girl is hardly asked and is expected to follow whatever her parents deem fit.

Marry, that marry is the very theme I came to talk of.

Maybe she'll be beautiful. Maybe she'll be rich. As long as she brings swords and men.

Perhaps love is a minor madness.

It doesn't matter who the seed is. The important thing is that it has a place in your womb.

Her maidenhood will seal an alliance and must be kept safe.

Every married woman knows a man can have mistresses and we must look the other way.

All I ask is, that you do not cast me aside. Have mistresses and lovers as you please, but confide in me as I am to be your wife.

A husband’s first and foremost job in a marriage is to protect and love his wife.

Touching without looking had been incredibly arousing.

In my opinion, most marriages are based either on money or the fear of being alone.

I want you in every way there is to want. I want you in any way you choose to share.

I'm free to do with my wife as I fucking please.

The marriage of convenience lasts until you become an inconvenience.

Ours is a marriage of convenience and nothing more.

From now on, you're sleeping in our room. There's no chance in hell I'm letting you sleep far away from me again.

You agreed to this marriage and didn’t even dare to ask my opinion on the matter.

You're going to bend, and so am I. We're going to compromise, negotiate, and distract each other.

Being together means our priorities are going to change.

Men marry because they are tired; women, because they are curious: both are disappointed.

I don't think I am likely to marry, Harry. I am much too in love.

It is certainly romantic to be in love, but there's nothing romantic about a definite proposal.

They are royals, whoever they marry is not their choice but who is better for the crown.

That is a match made in a boardroom.

Once you are wed to another, you will forget me.

I will marry a man who desires me but I have no interest in.

I will not be a secret kept in shadows. Once you are wed, I will leave.

How can I marry them, when I am in love with another? It is not fair to them, that I think of you when I’m with them.

Ever since I met you, no one else has been worth thinking about.

Behave yourself, out here, we are wed and what you do, reflects on me.

You are being sold like a mare and do not care.

Once I bore him a son, he shall be happy, I know it.

We hate one another but for peace, we must wed. At least, let us enjoy this part of the contract.

I am doing this for my family and for the terms you offer.

A marriage is simply an alliance.

All will be well, love can be found in a marriage. If not love, at least, good company.

Do your duty and give him sons. That’s all men want.

I will not be paraded around in a bedding ceremony. I will wed them and bed them, but I will not be humiliated.

You think this title gives me power, but you forget, I am a woman.

I am lucky enough to have options. None who please me but at least, I can choose one.

Come to bed now, husband. It is our wedding night, after all.

#roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. )#rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt #arranged marriage

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11vr1 · 11 months

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Still Yours ⭒ Miles Morales

Part one: Been Away

Synopsis › You’re still his. You just need a little reminder.

Pairing › Earth-42! Miles Morales x Reader

Inspo › “Still Yours (feat. Big Sean)” - Bryson Tiller, Big Sean

Includes › ATSV SPOILERS, angst, fluff, swearing, Spanish, toxicity, going back to your ex, man has a staring problem, stalking, mentions of violence, manhandling i think?, kissing, terrible grammar, maybe some continuity errors (don’t think about it too hard)

P.S. › I had to write this part on my phone because my house has no wi-fi. Forgive me.

You were a vision as your head threw back in laughter at something your friend said. Absolute perfection in the way your uniform fits in all the right places and the gentle swoop of your edges framing your glowing skin in the harsh fluorescent lighting. It was aggravating. “When did she get that?” Miles’ rich eyes narrowed at you and your group of friends.

His best friend looked up from his phone in your direction. He didn’t need to ask who she was. “Get what?” he sighed, already sensing where this conversation was headed.

“Her lipgloss.” He tilted his head. “It’s Fenty.”

Ganke couldn’t remember when Miles became a makeup enthusiast, but he knew he was a Y/n expert. “And how do you know that?” he asked in disbelief. Their lunch periods had turned into a sort of Y/n watching session since your mysterious separation. He was over it and tired of watching his friend not-so-subtly stare at his not-ex-girlfriend. It was sad and getting a little creepy.

“It’s her favorite brand, but the shade’s darker. She’s never worn it before.” Miles’ food was left untouched, too preoccupied with the sight of you. You must’ve been doing this on purpose, he thought. Sitting directly in his eye line with your annoying ass group of friends. And Drew Harris, Brooklyn Vision’s resident dickhead jock, sat a little too close to you.

Ganke shrugged, turning back to his game. “I don’t know, man. It looks like the one she always wears.”

Miles tore his gaze away to face Ganke. His eyes hardened to an icy glare. “Why do you know what color she usually wears?”

“Chill, dude,” he rolled his eyes. “This break up is actually making you go insane.”

“We didn’t break up,” he snapped, but who was he fooling? Ganke was spot on. Miles was increasingly on edge, waiting. He’d texted and called multiple times since last weekend when finally spoke to you for the first time in weeks. But you didn’t respond or pick up. At this rate you were going to block him…again. Just when he thought everything was piecing itself back together, you slipped away out of his reach.

Ganke stood up with his trash. He had better things to do than watch his best friend run himself to the ground over a girl who obviously wanted nothing to do with him. “Broken up or taking a break, either way you’re miserable. You need to figure your shit out or move on before you burn a hole in the side of her head.”

Miles waved him off, not showing his words struck a chord. Moving on wasn’t an option. You were on his mind twenty four hours a day, seven days a week without fail. The thought of you waiting for him safe and sound kept him alive while he committed every crime in the book. Everything he did was for you, to keep you protected in this twisted city. Nothing was going to ruin his forever, not even you.

⋆

“Why not Drew?” Ellie suddenly asked while they walked the halls away from the cafeteria. You could tell she was enjoying having you back with their friends. “He’s all over you. You guys would be perfect,” she gushed, practically skipping across the tile.

You gave her a stern look, “Ellie.” You hated to burst her bubble, but she was too eager for you to be single. “I’m not interested in Drew Harris.”

“Okay, picky,” she hummed in thought for a moment. “Erik Falls? He’s on the basketball team and I heard he thinks you’re gorgeous,” she tried again. You stopped at Ellie’s locker. You weren’t going to ask where she heard such a rumor or why it seemed she had a mental list of the single male population.

You shook your head. A new relationship was the last thing on your mind. Miles was it for you, the one who made your heart sing, the man who made you believe you could be loved like in the stories. No one could compare, especially not a couple of immature jocks who would eventually become mere blimps in the timeline of your life. If only there wasn't a plot twist. “Despite what you think, I am more than happy being single. A new man is not on my list of priorities.”

“If you say so. You’ve just been so down since…” Ellie’s wide eyes briefly glanced over your shoulder. “I thought you and Miles weren’t together anymore?” her voice lowered to a sharp whisper.

Your response stalled, caught off guard by the question. Did Ellie know you and Miles had spoken? You didn’t want to imagine what kind of hell would be unleashed if she found out. “Of course not,” you forced a laugh. “Why?”

“Don’t look, but he’s at your locker!” she scowled, tossing her books back into her locker. “Don’t worry, girl. I got this.” Ellie pulled the earrings from her lobes along with her stack of bracelets, mumbling something about the “little creep.” She never hid her distaste for Miles, the two bumping heads more than once the duration of your relationship.

Against your better judgment, you looked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. Miles Morales leaned against your locker like he owned it. With his shirt untucked and tie loosened, he never failed to make the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

You stopped her before she stalked off in a fury. “Hold on, let me talk to him. I’m sure it’s nothing.” You didn’t even sound convincing to yourself.

Ellie drummed her fingers, lips pursed as she looked between you and the boy over your shoulder, skepticism written all over her face. “Fine, go ahead, Y/n. But I swear if he tries anything, I’m coming for his ass,” she pointed, making sure to shoot him a steely glower.

“I’ll be alright,” you assured her, already walking away.

You finally approached Miles, rolling your eyes at the enigmatic smirk on his lips. “You ignoring me, ma?” He asked, his gaze never leaving your face as you fiddled with the combination on your locker. “I thought we was good.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you, Miles. I just…” you struggled to explain without sounding like you were in fact avoiding him. Did he really think cornering you in an alley would fix everything? “I still needed a bit of space.”

He was clearly unsatisfied, but held his tongue. Instead he nodded his head. “Let’s take a walk, princesa.”

“I can’t,” you stuttered out, unable to trust yourself around Miles. Ignoring his messages took everything in you, so used to spending hours of your day spamming him with the most trivial things when you weren’t together.

“Yes you can. You have a free period.” Of course he had your schedule memorized. Nothing could get past Miles. He entwined your fingers in his, enveloping you with the rough calluses of his palms and dragging you through the halls without care for the curious stares directed your way.

The usual commotion of the city hit your ears as Miles swung open the rooftop door. Fond memories of your favorite meet up spot came flooding back, the late nights Miles would help you study for a Spanish test or when he simply wanted to sit in silence and bask in your presence. You’d fallen in love here over and over again, the stars and city skyline your only witness.

Miles had yet to release you from his hold, savoring your touch after being starved for so long.

He wasn’t going to let you go, not when you were finally where you belonged. “We need to talk.”

“We’re talking now, aren’t we?” No one wanted to hear those dreaded four words.

Your attempt at humor was not appreciated. His grip squeezed your hands in a gentle, but firm warning. “I’m done playin’ your little games, mami. This back and forth shit ain’t gon’ work. I need you to be straight with me.”

The impending weight of the conversation began to settle on your shoulders. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Miles. That I’m totally fine with you being the Prowler and everything can go back to normal?” You avoided his gaze, choosing the cerulean sky knowing his gaze could pull whatever he wanted from you if you dared to stare too long. “You lied to me for the better part of our relationship. Where you go, what you’re doing, who you are and if you’re okay, like really okay. I can’t trust you!”

Too much had been broken for you to go back. And you tried! Lord knows you fucking tried. You hid your tears when Miles missed a date, coming up with some lame excuse. Or the days he’d return and couldn’t bear to look you in the eye. Your mind turned to the worst. Doubt festered where trust should have been. But you held on just as fast as Miles held onto you now.

Now you know the reality and it scared you more than any possibility you came up with.

Miles listened to the cracks in your pretty voice, seeing the damage he caused. He never hated himself more. Ripping out throats and cracking skulls he could stand, but the sight of those crystal tears nearly broke him. “Mi corazón...” A large pad tenderly wiped a droplet from the smoothness of your cheeks. “Lo siento.”

“Say what you have to say, Morales. You can’t keep wasting my time.” You forced yourselves apart to furiously rid the traitorous tears. He didn’t deserve them.

“‘A waste of time?’” he repeated incredulously. Miles grabbed your left wrist, tugging down the sleeves of your navy blazer to reveal the golden bracelet you wore and its various charms. The cursive “M” dangled in your face, mocking you and your devotion to him. “Is that what this is?” He fished the delicate chain from beneath his own uniform where he wore your name closest to his heart. “Are you done with me? Was all this pointless to you, Y/n?” he nearly shouted, doing his best to keep what little composure he had left.

The answer had never been more simple. “No, of course not,” you said. “I don’t regret loving you. I just can’t keep loving half of you when you already have all of me.”

Shock filled the silence between you. “You love me?”

“Yes, dumbass!” You pushed against his chest. He didn’t budge, too stunned to breathe properly. “I know you won’t say it back but I don’t care. You should already know.”

Miles cradled your head and leaned down, your noses touching, sharing the same air. “Say it again,” he ghosted your lips.

Your knees weakened, his heat creating a haze of solely him in your mind. You studied the gentle contours of his face, the fullness of his lips, the healed scar on the edge of his right brow, someone only as close as you could see. An inch was all you needed to think, but you were snatched back. “Miles,” you gasped in surprise, steadying yourself in his arms. Through layers of fabric, you felt the rapid rhythm of Miles' heart and you were positive he could feel yours.

“Dilo de nuevo,” he commanded, pressing your body against his in a vice and yet you were still too far. “Por favor, para mi.”

“I love you,” you began, but Miles cut you off as he eradicated the damned space between you. Your mouth parted, the taste of spice and uniquely him familiar, like loving Miles was a reflex you’d always succumb to.

You relented to your need to breathe, still cradling Miles’ face in your hands. “Te amo también, mi corazón.” You never thought he would return the words and you’ve never been happier to be wrong. “Let me do it right this time. Be mine again. No more secrets, no more lies. Prometo.”

One chance was all Miles needed to gain access to your heart. You should have kept his number blocked, called the police like you threatened to do, but his determination was endless. He wanted you and here you were in his embrace saying, “I’ll always be yours, Miles.” You reached on your toes to steal another kiss, consuming as much of him as you desired. The pink of his tongue peeked out as he licked the sticky glitter from his lips. You moved to wipe the remaining gloss about to apologize before he took your mouth again, his teeth teasing the delicate skin.

“It is new.”

#iivri writes ˚·⊹ ⟢˖∿#Spotify #marvel #spider man: across the spider verse #miles morales x you #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x reader #prowler miles #earth 42 miles morales x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman fluff #spiderman #fanfic #angst #fluff

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lacybunie · 4 months

Text

adieu, mon dieu!

“forgive me, father, for i have committed the biggest sin of all!”

pairing: afab!reader x re4r!leon

warnings: smut, virginity loss, blasphemy, dub-con, inexperienced/pure reader, religious reader, manipulation, cum eating, creampie, pussy slapping, pet names, breeding kink, slight choking, crying during sex, age gap mention (reader is 19 while leon is 27), fingering, porn with plot (?), bit of ooc leon

note: first time writing hence why it’s so long :3 also wrote this based on leon saying “i’ll give you a holy body” in re4r bc nobody freaks out over it like i do

“holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners.” the prayer is muscle memory. a smile adorns your face as you walk out of sunday mass with your family. oh how you cherish the time spent in god’s temple. you would not have it any other way. this small, quiet town in washington homes jesus freaks like yourself. where every summer, all children through teens spend their time at church camp. cross necklaces or rosaries are worn around the necks of bypassers and neighbors. you feel as though you are blessed with such a life.

so when leon appears in your life, you think you’re the most blessed girl alive. as the two of you go steady, he starts attending church with you and listens to the word of the lord with you in his black jeep. he listens to your prayers and readings of the bible. leon couldn’t be anymore perfect. “our heavenly father has blessed me with a man who loves me.” pink hues flush your cheeks as you smile giddishly during confession. “do not let temptation fool you.” the priest on the other side taunts, almost as if it’s a warning.

the people of the church disagree with the relationship you have with leon, the eight year gap between you two. more so, they dislike leon. they tell you he is not a man of the lord, he is a walking sin. they share their stories of glancing at him during mass and how he’s appearing to hold back laughter, how he doesn’t actually consume the blood and body of christ, how his eyes are filled with something evil. you choose to not believe them as they don’t know leon as you do. “he is nothing like that, sister olivia.” you defend during sunday lunch, biting your tongue. “you have found the devil in a lover.” sister olivia spews with disgust.

her words are a distraction during your date, echoing and bleeding into the grooves of your brain. “sweetheart?” leon calls as he catches your zoned out state. your eyes connect with his, you break yourself out of thought. “i’m sorry, i was just lost in thought.” you apologize, gleaming with a shy smile. the warmth of leon’s hand engulfs yours across the table, the cold silver of your ring turning hot. “i was asking if you would want to go back to my place after this?” leon repeats what you had muffled seconds ago.

“i’ll have to ask my dad first.” you embarrassingly respond as pinks heat your cheeks. there’s limited privacy with leon, daytime stays at his home with an hour max limit and once every two weeks only. your father implemented this as a way to keep a better piece of mind. “c’mon sweetheart, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” leon persuades with sugar on his tongue. the veil of orange from the candles illuminating the table is covering his face, you might just burst from the ethereal beauty he holds. he’s saying something color-coded yet it’s muffled as the tidal wave of his eyes are drowning you. “okay.” you mindlessly respond, leon faintly smirks.

the little skirt you wear is almost halfway off while you and leon makeout on his couch, something you shamelessly leave out during confessions. you keep your hands on his broad shoulders while he dangerously lingers his hands at your hips and thighs. you think you’re seeping through your panties as you feel a wet patch forming, making you feel bothered. “i feel weird.” you pant between a kiss, lungs aflame from the little oxygen you grant yourself. leon pulls away with furrowing eyebrows, “did i do something wrong?”

yet you’re struggling to understand what IS wrong. why do you feel so…wet down there? maybe you started your period but you realize it ended a week ago. leon’s eyes are burning into your skin, the gaze causing you to feel mortified. how can you tell him this? what if he thinks you’re weird? his girlfriend is wetting herself like a damn fool for no reason. “what is it?” that soft tone of his makes you feel even worse. embarrassment is starting to creep itself into the flesh of your body.

“i feel wet.” you say it so clearly and slowly as if you’re dumbing it down for yourself. you don’t know why you feel like this and you don’t know why it’s happening. leon smiles at the frustration you show, clearly not thinking of your situation weirdly. “that’s a good thing, doll.” he coos while holding your hands. head tilting and ditzy eyes searching for an answer, you are clueless by how this is a good thing. “what do you mean, leon?” “you’re turned on, that’s what i mean.” the blood pumping into your heart turns cold at the realization of what you have let yourself done. one of the deadliest sins of all: lust

how can you let yourself get carried away and almost give into something sacred? something you promised to your heavenly father that you will wait till marriage to do? you clutch the rosary wrapped around your neck, “please forgive me. i’m sorry, leon.” you think leon must be feeling the same way too, realizing you both almost gave into sin. oh how awful he must feel, to almost have betrayed the lord and gave into temptation. leon searches your face in hopes to find something you’re not sure of. “why are you apologizing?” he questions, hands no longer embracing your own.

“for getting you caught up in almost sinning.” “it’s not a bad thing to be turned on.” his voice is laced with something unfamiliar, a tone you’re not even aware of. “but it can lead to having sex and we’re not-” “there’s nothing bad about having sex either.” leon interrupts with annoyance. you can’t fathom how he thinks premature sex is not bad, he’s read the bible with you countless times. the purity ring wrapped around your finger symbolizes the commitment you vowed to and he’s reminded every time he holds your hand. “we can’t have sex, leon. you know that.”

“do you not love me?” leon is frowning at you, taking you aback with his words. “i love you, leon. of course i do.” you profusely confess as you get closer to him. the weight of your chest growing heavy while he shakes his head. “you’re supposed to have sex with the one you love right? then why don’t you? if you love me enough, then it’s not sin.” leon preaches with eyes glimmering with something indescribable. “we won’t have sex, we’ll be making love. that’s different. the lord doesn’t view it as sin.”

different strokes of blue are piercing into your soul, almost like his eyes are trapping you. your mind is foggy as you try to think of something to say. “i don’t think...” you trail off with unsure certainty, but what you want to actually say becomes lost in thought as leon’s cherry-bruised lips pull apart in a smile. you think he’s right, it’s something you probably skimmed over. cold hands caress your bare thighs, leon’s lips kiss the skin below your jaw. “you know i’m right, doll.” he mutters while his teeth lightly nip your skin, you grow hot. “i would never lie to such a pretty angel.”

“i’ll make you feel so good.” leon promises with his hands scrunching up your skirt. the sudden action causing your heart to burst within itself. your dry mouth defeats the words wanting to escape, to tell him to not touch there. you’re also battling the urge to let yourself do so as his hands grasp your inner thigh, sending a rush throughout your body. doe eyes noticing the way leon is looking at you as if you’re a sheep, tethered in his sharp teeth, bracing to become a meal.

two fingers rub you over your panties, the new feeling quickly has you inhale sharply. butterflies flutter around in your abdomen. leon hums as his fingers gather your essence that is leaking through the fabric. “there you are, pretty.” leon lays you further down on the couch. his lips kiss you again roughly and you grip at his bicep as his hands quickly discard your skirt. leon impatiently pulls away from your lips to look at the newly found view, lilac panties adorned with a baby blue ribbon. leon’s favorite color.

the wetness from earlier feels as if it’s completely soaking the fabric. you feel utterly exposed like this, so vulnerable in front of leon. “you’re so fucking sexy.” he sighs out once he finally removes the one thing keeping him away from your forbidden fruit. “please leon.” you’re unsure if you’re begging or pleading. the temperature of your body is uncomfortably hot and you’re sure it’s because your soul is already spiraling down to hell. you want to stop leon from inserting his finger into your sopping cunt, but of course you don’t.

“have you ever touched yourself, doll?” leon asks, while fingering you agonizingly slow. you crave for more, not exactly sure of what. you need more of him. you’re heaving at this point, staring into leon’s eyes as he watches you unfold before him, a flower blooming almost too late. “i’m not supposed to.” you choke out the answer while he begins to messily rub your clit. the smirk resting on leon’s lips is haunting you, why does he always look so desirable with that stupid smirk?

“says who? your god?” leon pushes a second finger into your sopping hole, an uncomfortable stretch soon followed by an indescribable pleasure. the erotic sounds of your cunt being touched for the first time reach your hot pink ears. leon curls his fingers against your spongey walls causing you to squirm. the imaginary coil in your lower stomach feels like it’s on the brink of snapping.

“yes.” you moan while he lightly slaps your cunt. “what kind of god deprives his children of a pleasure such as this? don’t you feel good, angel? i know your pussy sure does.” leon smiles at your reaction for his choice of words, you forget how blunt he tends to be. “d-don’t say that.” “your god can’t be all that great if he won’t even let me feel how your pussy squeezes around my fingers.” the blasphemy hits you like a gunshot only temporarily, the pleasure you’re receiving rids it right away.

you’re shaking your head but you don’t know if it’s from the frustration of leon speaking against the lord or if you’re about to reach sweet relief. “leon.” you hiccup, the pleasure becoming too much and your mind is turning into mush. a tight grip on leon’s bicep has him chuckling, looking down at you so pathetically. “you look so fucking stupid. go ahead and cum for me, pretty.” he grants while your cunt is squeezing so tightly around his digits.

back arching off the couch along with the most pornographic moan to ever come out of your chest, the coil snaps. waves of ecstasy crashes within your body, releasing out of your sopping hole. your thighs are shaking to snap close but leon doesn’t let it happen as he gathers your essence up with his fingers. “god, you’re just so fucking perfect.” leon grunts before sticking his own fingers in his mouth, the honey he has been craving falls onto his tongue. you feel yourself get dizzy at the sight.

leon reaches down to give you a messy kiss, tasting your cum on his tongue. “wanna fuck you.” he moans into your mouth, his jeans rub against your cunt and you’re sure your cum smeared onto the denim. you want to stop right here, you want to run straight to church and plead for your life in the confessional booth. however, when leon pulls away to strip off his pants and his fat, long cock hits his abdomen, you feel that indescribable want grow stronger.

your breathing becomes heavy as leon rubs the tip of his cock at your entrance. his cock looks too big for you, fearing he’ll split you open. the taste of bitter metallic hits your tongue and you realize you’re biting your bottom lip too hard. “i’m so lucky.” leon grunts, dragging his thumb across your bleeding lip. “get to be the first to fuck this virgin pussy.” he barely pushes the tip into your tight cunt when you start crying. the pain of slight tearing mixed with the eternal damnation you’re going to face is cutting at your skin. “please.” your vision is blurry through the tears when leon pushes his cock fully into you, you can hear him let out a deep groan.

the way leon’s cock feels inside of you makes you feel so full. the pain of being ripped open for the first time is soon subsided by a mind clouded with desire, yet you’re still crying. leon moves in and out slowly but roughly, hitting a spot within you just right. you moan wearily, salty tears trickling down into your agape mouth. when leon begins to thrust a bit more hard, you’re sobbing out loud moans. leon presses his hand against your throat, “so fucking loud.” he’s snapping his hips into you, his cock bruising the inside of your cunt so sweetly that you feel the coil about to snap again.

“need to shut that mouth of yours next time.” leon grunts, looking at you in a haze. he squeezes your throat as if to test the waters and you choke out a needy moan, your cunt almost suffocating his cock at the action. “such a nasty girl.” leon smirks while picking up the pace of the abuse on your cunt. baby pink nails are scratching at leon’s biceps. you slur out an apology, clearly not in the right headspace to realize that leon is toying with the rosary tangled in your neck. “oh my-” you cut yourself off when leon’s cock repeatedly hits against a spot so sweet, the coil in your stomach feels like it’s tightening.

“say it.” leon taunts. his hand reaches down to messily rub at your clit once more, your eyes flutter shut. you know what he wants and you don’t think you can push yourself further into damnation by saying the lord’s name in vain. “c’mon, doll. tell your god how my cock is making you feel.” leon tightly wraps his fingers around the dainty rosary, you’re pleading at him through your eyes, mouth too occupied by the moans you let out. “leon please.” you cry out, you’re not sure if you’re begging him to stop the blasphemy or to make you cum.

leon soon loses himself in your cunt, grasping at your hips to drill his cock deeper in you. the stars in your eyes are getting brighter, you’re almost there. dirty blonde hair cover leon’s eyes, relieving yourself of the gaze he had on you. “gonna fucking breed you.” leon laps at your neck, biting at your soft skin as if it’s the bread he eats at church. “you want that? want me to fill you up?” you moan out a incoherent yes, too fucked out to understand what he’s even saying. leon captures your lips in a heated kiss, tongues relentlessly clash against each other.

leon’s cock hits that sweet spot one final time before the coil within you finally snaps. “oh my god, leon!” you moan so loudly, throat becoming faintly sore. your body is shaking at the ecstasy that’s somehow stronger than before, nails clawing at leon’s back that you feel like you may draw blood. “there you go, angel.” leon’s words are drowned out by pure euphoria. you feel the warm essence escape out of your cunt but it’s soon mixed with another hot feeling, leon’s own cum. he desperately shoves his cock into you to rid himself of every last drop. you look down to where you two are connected, the lewd sight brings you back down to earth.

if anyone were to rip open your chest to view the way your heart is pounding, almost punching itself out, they’d think you murdered a man. the burden of betrayal is sitting heavy on your shoulders, all the prayers in the world couldn’t save you now. when you look at leon, who is taking in the sight of his cum dripping out of your cunt, the thought begins to become a crimson haze. a string of pearl beads clutched in leon’s fist catches your eye, you look up at him. a blue hue meet yours, the once bright shade now dark. leon lets out a daunting chuckle, “won’t be needing that anymore.”

sprawled out on his palm is a broken chain along with a few pearls and a tiny cross. leon ripped off your rosary.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil 4 smut #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x fem reader #idk how to tag this

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victimsofyaoipoll · 7 months

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Finals

Propaganda Under Cut

Sakura Haruno

Her husband is gay and her author doesn't know how to write women. So many people say she's the worst but she. DESERVES. BETTER!!! Save her from this franchise.

My baby girl my bestie my best friend. She committed the crime of um being written by kishimoto who both doesn’t know how to write women and somehow writes men in the gayest way possible specifically naruto and sasuke. Like the thing is naruto and sasuke ARE gay and also she gets so much hate for the crime of kishimoto writing her one dimensionally in love with sasuke. I know her personally she is a butch lesbian to me just trust me she’s in love with Ino and has a lesbian thing going on with Karin okay just trust me. My everything. She needs to divorce the loveless lavender marriage she’s in

What is there to say, even? The OG Threat to my 90s anime brain, the only woman I've ever hated with such a passion she made me turn away from the color pink. I used to write fics with my friend where she got left behind on purpose so our OCs could join the Naruto and Sasuke team instead. I loathed this bitch until I was 16 and realized the author simply couldnt write women and decided it was time to make peace with Sakura. It is not her fault she's vaguely written and obsessive over Sasuke. She deserves better. Sasuke and Naruto still should be together and Sakura shouldnt be with Sasuke but I no longer believe this because I hate Sakura, it is because I love her. She deserves a spouse who will actually put in the time to treat her like the hero she is.

Misa Amane

she gets treated in-canon the way fandoms treat female characters that Threaten an m/m ship. it's like, "oh why don't you go sit in the corner and be pretty, misa, while the Men have intelligent conversation and pretend they aren't ten seconds from fucking each other, doesn't that sound nice?" it's infuriating. and MAYBE it's better now but i remember her getting treated the same way in fanfiction too, like we all need to do just as badly by our female secondary characters as fucking tsugumi ohba, but with the added insult of making her be alternately oblivious of the relationship between light and L or actively trying to sabotage it—incompetently, of course, because god forbid misa be allowed dignity or moments of cleverness.

she's one of the first characters I think of when I consider old school fandom misogyny. The annoying bitch and clingy crazy gf allegations were AFTER HER ASS. She's also a lot more intelligent than people gave her credit for, but most seem inclined to take the Very Biased word of our unreliable, narcissistic narrator and his homoerotic arch nemesis and claim that just because she's bubbly and into romance that she's also a complete moron. Which is blatantly untrue. Everyone was afraid of Misa girlbossing too hard. Killing people and devoting yourself to the deranged twink of your dreams even though you know he'll never love you back??? Having a hardcore goth aesthetic and being so Hot even literal Death Gods are into you?? God forbid women do ANYTHING!

Not only is she the victim of yaoi culture, she is the victim of early 2000s misogyny by an author that wanted to introduce a girl character because he knew his male rivals were getting too homoerotic. She is a goth bimbo icon who portrays what I think is one of the few callouts for stan culture and what parasocial relationships can do to both the stan and the idol. The fact that she is a toxic fan of Kira and also hot, funny, sociable is tragic in its own way, which I think the author did try to touch on but was too misogynistic too really get through. Of course, she was reduced to villain status by the fandom and anime alike because she got in the way of the supposed romance in their psychological horror anime

#poll #finals #sakura haruno #naruto #misa amane #misa misa #death note

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theangelcatalogue · 2 months

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WHAT'S WRONG? || YANDERE FRANCIS X READER! || ★!

★ - Romantic or Platonic(?)!

★ - Gender Neutral reader!

★ - One shot!

★ - Before we start: Idk why i did this, but i saw fics of him, and people going crazy over him, so why not?? I don't even write for that's not my neighbour, but i love the game! So let' go! Also sorry if is confusing! My mind is kinda tired and idk why i wrote this at 1AM(Is i wrote this at 1AM, remade some parts and posted it at 2AM) (Pls check Tw before reading it! <3)

★ - TW: YANDERE, DOPPELGANGER, BLOOD, BAD ENGLISH, BAD GRAMMAR AND MADE BY A MINOR!!! PLEASE TELL ME IF I MISSED SOMETHING!!!

˚๑ ✦ Y/N!!! ✦ ๑°

・・・ ★ ・・・

︶ ꒷ ︶ ꒷ ꒦

Just a normal day in work!

This work is not that bad, i mean, i have to focus in every single neighbor, check some papers and be careful because some of than can be actually doppelgangers that will kill me and the persons that live here? Yeah-

But is guess i am getting used to it! And some neighbors are really nice! And others are just weird and rude! But what i can do? People are like that!

It's kinda weird that no one is showing up now, but i can have some time to rest now! Just me, a good coffee and my jornal/book(it can be a jornal or a book!)

Now i am just reading, waiting for anyone, i mean the today's list is short today! Lucky me i guess? I get kinda focused in the reading, the content is kinda depressing and boring, but is what i have for now

" Hello Y/n. "

I heard someone saying, Oh! I can't forget this voice!

" Francis! Tired as always? Well, let's see if you are in todays list! "

I said not taking the eyes of my jornal/book, i am lucky that Francis is the one who showed up! He is kinda nice! Just a tired guy but hey! He is a hardworker!

" Sounds good for me. Here is my entry request and ID "

I could notice him giving the papers, now i notice his hand is kinda dirty and his voice is kinda off, more tired than usual...

" Oh! Thanks- "

I respond him finally taking my eyes of the book, now i can see Francis better let's say, he is covered in a red liquid with a weird smell

It is what i am thinking? Oh yeah! A doppelganger! But i never thought a doppelganger would commit a error like that, why blood...? Some are a missing eye, others just say peach and others are a long neck and etc, what if is not a doppelganger...?

" What's wrong Y/n? Something wrong about the papers? "

He says noticing that i am kinda nervous, i just pick the papers and the clickboard as usual, first thing to question?

His looks.

" Francis! What happend? You are corvered in...what is that? Can you explain? "

Francis just looks at his outifit and then back at me, the same tired look, but something about the way he looks at me is different, i can't tell what is

" Oh this? It's a new milk! Scarlett Milk! It's a Milk with Red coloring, and Yes, it's food coloring! Not used in clothes... "

" Really Francis? So tell me! How did you got corvered in...Scarlett Milk...? "

He was getting tired of me questioning i guess, okay, i have three options!

1. It's really a milk with food coloring

2. It's a doppelganger

3. Francis is a killer or just got crazy

Please let it be 1-

" Accident at work. Just that, can i go in? "

He asks me looking at me deep at the eyes, i feel like he is judging all my sins, i break the eye contact and look at the Red button and then at the phone

Should i call the police or my boss?

" Look Y/N, i am really tired, just let me in, so i can go take a shower and rest. Maybe after you are done, you can go to my room, drink some coffee together! I heard is your favorite drink, what about a coffee with milk uh? "

He says to me, i think he is getting impatient

OH REALLT Y/N L/N!? DON'T TELL ME

" I- "

" Come on darling. "

He gets closer to the window, supporting his one of his arms in the glass

" Let. Me. In "

✦ - NOTES!!!

✮ " Sky wtf was that? " I DON'T KNOW LOL ✮

✮ The fandom go crazy about him gosh ✮

✮ Okay should i write for TNMN??? ✮

✮ Anyways have a good day my loves! <33 ✮

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youthofpandas · 3 months

Text

Call Her Ishmael (or: a trans reading of one of my favorite Limbus characters)

Hi, I have been thinking about writing something like this since Canto V first released and today I finally felt inspired to actually make this... A compilation of the parts of Ishmael's story that lead me to reading her as trans <3 and why I think that understanding her character though that lens works so well

We begin with a woman stuck in the mundane. No plans for the future, no dreams of a life beyond the one she is currently living in, and that life is one she has long grown tired of. And she decides she would rather quit living that life, even if it would kill her. Everyone told her not to do this, but she wanted (needed) to do something new with her life.

She finds Ahab here, when she is at this low where she is unsure of where to go from here now that she has cast her old life away. She looks at Ahab and sees a woman with goals, determination, serious plans for the future she is willing to commit to. And she wants to be just like that woman. She wants to be a woman who will choose what her destiny is, choose what life she has.

"I hoped to be like her one day. To be someone who will face the destiny of her own choosing. To have something I could give it my all with conviction and without a moment of hesitation."

And when she gets on that boat and starts this new chapter in her life, well. There she meets Queequeg, and is asked for her name...

Queequeg asking her name, something that surprises Ishmael, and complimenting her hair is a defining moment in Ishmael's life and in their relationship. And not only is it the first conversation they have, it is the also last thing Queequeg asks of her. To hear Ishmael's name one more time is something that will bring not only herself comfort, but she knows will stabilize Ishmael as well in this moment. That it will bring her back to when they had first met, to the fond memories of a good friend who had asked for her name. Ishmael's name, her identity, the one she forged on that boat even through great difficulty is what shaped her into being herself... That is how their relationship begins and ends...

There is also a recurring theme of being reborn, of happiness being found in another life that is kinder to them both. Ishmael dreams of a life where they can break out of their cocoons. She wants to bury her past and had no dreams of the future before joining the Pequod, before meeting Queequeg and finding someone she wants a future with. Through Queequeg, through the woman who thinks her hair is the brilliant color of sunset and asked for her name, Ishmael is capable of imagining a destiny of her own choosing just like she had wanted when she met Ahab. (She isn't able to chase after it, not yet, because of Ahab's influence over the Pequod, but she for the first time can at least dream of a future where she is happy)

When tragedy strikes, she is left as, in her mind, the sole survivor of the crew, she has lost Queequeg, lost Ahab, lost her chance at finding happiness and purpose. It's then that she takes Queequeg's rope (the thing that kept her alive! Queequeg throughout their time knowing each other is always there to save her and help her keep on living) and makes it into a headband, attaches cute bows to it, a bit of femininity that is intrinsically attached to the woman who helped save her. She grows out her hair, her beautiful sunset colored hair, and it is so heart warming. For a long time I assumed that her not cutting her hair was done out of mourning, out of an unwillingness to move on from the life she had on that ship, but instead it was because Queequeg had loved her and she had loved her friend in kind.

In conclusion I love Ishmael very much and I like to rotate her around. Everything from her metaphors of being stuck in a cocoon and wanting to break free, her envy of Ahab's ability to find purpose so easily, her relationship with Queequeg that helped inspire her to dream for more to dream of a future where she is happy,, it is all very good and to me reading her as trans strengthens the themes of her story. I've watched the final part of the Canto V dungeon several times over when my friends arrive at that part of the story, and the Call Me Ishmael line always makes me start tearing up.

Ishmael starts as an unhappy office worker with no future and it is a life she cannot continue living, she meets an older woman who has the drive and passion to chase after her goals and wants to be like her when she is older, she has a life defining moment where another woman asks for her name and wants to be good friends with her, that woman will save her in so many ways and she will love that woman so deeply for how she helped influence her life, she sees herself trapped in a cocoon and wants to break free, she dreams of her and that woman will persevere, how they will live out the rest of their days, countless mirror worlds of happiness spent at each other's side. She starts the game proper with her hair grown long, ribbons attached to a rope that helped save her that represents the woman who had saved her before. She ends her chapter finding a new adventure to go on, one will she get to explore the world she lives in, she has found a compass in Dante who will help her chart her path forward.

Also I know we all make jokes about how inconsistent the art is when it comes to her chest but like... Come on look at the difference here.... I'm correct about this. But I mostly wanted to make this post to point out that her narrative arc is also trans and it goes so much deeper than just art inconsistencies.

Okay that's all I can think of now, thank you for reading, I hope you all also love her <3

#limbus company #ishmael lcb #not quite sure what to tag this as but I hope you all enjoy...?#i just sort of wrote whatever came to mind so i hope this is like... understandable

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shankschewtoy · 2 months

Note

Hiiii. So this is my first time requesting or anything so I’m kinda really nervous??? Anyways, I love your crack fics, I literally giggle non stop and they bring light into my soul.

So, that being said, I have a request. Could you do something with Crocodile and Ace (and whichever other characters) reacting to their s/o having a spider or some type of scary bug on their back? Idk if your can go anywhere with this but hey, it’s worth a shot.

Okay that’s it bye bye have a good day :)))

a/n - omg I’m so glad I can bring light into your life 😭🫶 literally my goal when I’m writing this stuff 💜 oml bro crocodile is afraid of bugs I just know he is 💀 that’s why he had robin, so she could handle them for him

warnings ⚠️ - g/n reader, crack, crocodile would leave you with the the bug just to run as far away as possible 💀🫶

- pls if he sees a single bug in his house he’d move out of his mansion and go to another sea of ocean 💀

- don’t get me wrong he takes you with him of course and makes sure you’re protected from those heinous insects. Get ready for loads of bug spray and pest killing chemicals, because your house is going to smell like that for at least a couple weeks 😃🫶

- so one day, you’re relaxing on the sofa, listening to some ambient music, the lights a bit dimmed, with the shutters open just enough for some light to shine through without being too harsh. It was a weekend, so it was due time for some relaxation!

- crocodile had just gotten finished with his work, and finally he’d get to spend some quality time with you. As he walked over, getting ready to join you on the couch, he froze.

- his eyes were locked onto your back, his breathing completely stopped, his body stiff as a board

- a tiny black speck on your back was… moving. Could that be a- SPIDER? You turned around because you heard footsteps, and you looked confused to see crocodile just- frozen, with wide, disgusted, fearful eyes as if you just committed some heinous crime against humanity

- “….Crocodile? You ok?”

- …

- “Hello???? Earth to crocodile?”

- “Y/n. You know I love you right?“

- “…What?”

- “Then you know why I must do this.”

- “What do you me- hey where’re you going?!”

- to go bag (he has one prepared for this exact situation bruh 💀) materializes out of thin air, then cue crocodile skedaddling out the door without explaining or warning you like a scared selfish asshole

- “CROCODILE IT’S NOT EVEN THE SIZE OF MY FINGERNAIL.”

- “IT’S AN INSECT Y/N.”

- “SO YOU’D LEAVE ME WITH THE FUCKING BUG SO YOU COULD GET AWAY FIRST-? 😭”

- “..well of course I would’ve sent someone back for you-“

- “SENT SOMEONE?!”

- see now ace is afraid of bugs too. But he’s not a selfish asshole like crocodile 💀 bro would at least try and protect you while screaming and sobbing

- you two were relaxing, snuggling together and watching the sun set on the deck of the Moby dick. It always never failed to amaze you with how many colors spread across the sky.

- ace absolutely adored these moments with you. It made him feel so- alive but also dead at the same time. Because how could one be this happy and in love with you?

- he looked down at you, and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head, and that’s when he saw… it

- cue the scream of a demon plus a kid who just saw a clown

- “WTF ACE WHAT?!”

- “BABE- DO NOT MOVE. THERE’S A BIGASS BUG ON YOUR HEAD.”

- “EXCUSE ME?!”

- ace grabbed his shoe in a panic, and aimed directly at your head. But since he was so afraid, he was closing his eyes.. as he was swinging to kill the bug.. and he ended up slapping the absolute shit out of you instead of the bug

- “Phew, think I got it- Y/N?! WHAT HAPPENED ARE YOU OK?!”

- “WDYM AM I OK YOU SLAPPED THE SHIT OUT OF ME-“

- “Sorry.. OH SHIT I MISSED-“

- “NONONONO ACE WAIT-“

- you got hit five times before he actually got it. 💀🫶 I hope your brain isn’t damaged 😭

- luffy was one of those kids who collected beetles and watched them fight each other like it was the most intense battle he’s ever seen 💀

- so of course he’s not afraid of them. Bro likes them so much that he doesn’t know if the one piece is better or if beetles are better 😭

- luffy was rambling to you about the various different types of beetles, and which ones were the strongest in fights. He was giving you the WHOLE lowdown, their stats, weaknesses, special skills, traits, etc. 💀 you were surprised luffy had this level of knowledge on- anything really

- “Yeah so the atlas beetle can DEFINITELY take down the rhino beetle because of its really tough shell and- OH MY GOD-“

- “Huh-?! What’s wrong?!”

- “OMG OMG Y/N YOU HAVE AN ATLAS BEETLE ON YOUR HEAD!”

- “Luffy you better be joking. Is it even April yet?”

- “Nono it’s right here see?”

- he pulled it off your head and put it in front of your face. The way you froze, and the way your heart stopped, dropped down to your feet, and then climbed back up 😭

- you couldn’t even scream, you just got up and hauled ass away from whatever that abomination of a creature was

- “Y/n where are you going?! I have to show you how it fights!”

- “I’M PERFECTLY FINE NOT SEEING THAT LUFFY-“

- “But y/n they really like you! You’ve got a rhino beetle on your back too!”

- “WHAT?!”

- you legit stopped, dropped, and rolled 💀💀💀 poor robin was watching the whole thing transpire from really far away so she couldn’t hear the context of what the hell was happening 😭

a/n - bro I missed writing these. I’m a bit rusty tho 😂

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pumpk1n-writes · 1 year

Text

Tell Me All About The Dark Places You Hide

➥ in which the reader figures out that their best friends are the infamous Woodsboro Killers and decides to help them rather than turn them in. {ft. stalking, in-depth descriptions of how the reader would murder someone, Billy uses “princess”, reader is a bit insane}

Part Two | Word Count ~ 720 (sorry, this one’s pretty short. The next few parts will be longer — this is more of an intro than an actual part and I was rushing to finish it)

The media you consume is your own responsibility and I will not be held accountable for your choices. I’m not going to block minors from this account, but proceed with caution anyway.

Taglist ~ @wasawattpadkid

It was a normal Friday night for you, some old black and white horror movie on, parents gone, and homework lying forgotten about on the kitchen counter.

The phone behind you rang and you groaned, leaving it for a few moments before getting up to answer. “Who’s this?”

Somebody on the other end — clearly using a voice changer — began speaking. “Do you like scary movies?”

“Eh. I enjoy them but the suspension of disbelief needed for most of them is too much.”

“Oh? What do you mean by that?”

“Well, for one, the way that the killers in a lot of them actually do it is disappointing. They hardly toy with their victims and just straight up kill them. There’s hardly any fear, it’s just a single moment of blood and gore before it’s over.”

Billy grinned underneath his Ghostface mask. “You’re an interesting girl, what’s your name?”

“You don’t need to know that right now. What’s your favorite color?”

Without thinking Billy answered. “Red.”

“Like blood?”

“Sure, princess. Like blood.”

“Princess?”

Billy smirked again. “Well if you’re not going to tell me your name I have to find something to call you. You got a boyfriend?”

“Oh god no. They’re all toxic little shits that don’t know how to act. Besides, it’s too messy to clean up their blood.”

A beat of silence then; “For legal reasons, that was a joke.”

And all of a sudden, you were a much more fascinating person than Billy had ever imagined you would be to him. He wanted to know everything about you, all your strange little habits and personality traits that made you the way you are, your daily schedule, what your blood looked like spilled over his blade and hands.

“Hello?”

“Don’t worry, princess, I’m still here. And I have more questions for you.”

“Well I’m getting kind of sleepy so hurry it up.”

Billy smiled to himself, using his binoculars to glance around your room. You sat up on your bed, playing with something he couldn’t see. You also — he noticed, blood pooling southward — were only wearing an oversized t-shirt.

“What would you do differently as the killer in those movies?” That wasn’t the question you’d expected. Maybe your favorite band or your least favorite food. Maybe your name again. But not how you would commit murder.

You thought for a moment, humming under your breath. “For one thing, I wouldn’t make it so obvious it was me. In a lot of those movies the audience is guessing who it is in the first five minutes. That wouldn’t be me. I’m pretty outgoing and bubbly around my friends anyway, so I wouldn’t really be a suspect. Plus, my friends say I’m wicked smart but no one can tell when they first meet me.”

Billy nodded to himself. That much was true. He would never have expected you, one of his classmates who sits next to him in English, to go so in depth on how not to get caught murdering people.

You kept going. “So I would play that up. Cry at any mention of my dead classmates, but not too much or it’ll get suspicious. I’d keep up the facade of ‘perfect student’ and act disgusted when anyone brings up how I killed them. That alone would help.”

Billy laughed. “You sound like you’ve thought about this a lot.” But secretly he was taking notes.

“Sorry, I get really bored sometimes, and this is just what my mind strays to.”

Really? This is what your sick, twisted mind thought up in your free time? He wondered how many times he’d glanced over at you in English and you were plotting his death, spaced out with a happy smile on your face.

“Keep going, princess.”

“Well that’s just how I wouldn’t get caught. The actual murders themselves I would make as grisly and gory as I could think of so people would think a sweet, innocent, ‘perfect’ girl could never commit them. I would maybe draw satanic symbols on the wall in their blood or something to throw off police. I would only kill crackheads or past criminals so that the police wouldn’t really care very much to solve it. And I would only kill weeks apart so that they don’t feel immediately threatened.”

“Jesus Christ,” Billy was mostly thinking to himself, but still. He was impressed.

He also thought he might be falling in love with you a little bit.

#poly!ghostface #poly!ghostface smut #angst #billy loomis #fluff #scream #scream 1996 #smut #series #fic #scream 1996 smut #billy loomis scream #stu matcher x reader #stu macher

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critterbitter · 4 months

Note

HELLO HI ID LIKE TO ASK WHAT PROGRAM AND BRUSHES YOU USE CUZ IM LITTERALY EXPLODING EVERYTIME I SEE YOUR ART

actually actually... *pulls out whole stack of paper*...I have. a FEW,, a good few,, questions to ask. they are not many I swear 😇

OK SO FIRST OF ALL HOW DO YOU DRAW SO FAST???? everyday I log onto Tumblr I always see something new from you and I get very very happy. But then I start to question my own existence because not even I CAN SPEED RUN ART LIKE THAT. AND SO SPECTACULARLY TOO

Last question! how do you color and make it look so well?? just. How. I need to know. This is a CRY FOR HE-

anyway thank you for being one of my favorite artists that always feed my brain rot, pls keep making amazing art because like a little yamper I will follow behind and stay updated.

(Stands there)

Response and thoughts under cut!

First question! What art program I use!

Mostly procreate, along with a handful of brushes! (Specifically the Jing Set and some custom stuff, which is really just a circle brush with the shape changed to a square.)

Second question! How do i draw so much!

Okay so. I am. Ahhah. Unemployed,,,,? No, I do freelance illustration, but hmm. A studio job would be nice.

i graduated college last year and I’m very used to eight hour art shifts. The body sort of remembers to keep working, even though I no longer have storyboards or visdev homework to do.

Also. The hyperfixation is a deep vast tunnel I STILL have not seen the end of the light to, good golly. (I have dreams now about the kids committing shenanigan crimes. I wake up in cold sweat and write them down in a journal. It’s like being the mouthpiece to an angry god.)

So the overall gist is: I was trained to be a storyboard artist with a visdev background, and I’m using that higher education to draw funny muppets because my brain’s funny.

I also DO have a queue, and I’ve been treating this as a sort of inktober project. I am definitely going to slow down soon though! Maybe. Hopefully. Ah… (sheepishly drops my kofi here)

Third question! How do i color!

I. I, uh. I dont know man the coloring demons have a grip on my soul and i just go along for the ride. But also, if it helps, i prefer to limit my pallets to only a few colors at a time. Lighting is king, so if you can figure out if you want to focus on either on your lights or shadows, you’ll have a much easier time composing. That, and symbolic colors— idk, something hits different about art drenched in gold with a tiny hint of a man staring into the blinding horizon, or a green leafy environment with a single dot of artificial red. I also like using blue and purple for shadows, and I’m a big fan of muting colors with only one or two that pop— one of the reasons why I was so attracted to submas in the first place is because from a design aesthetic, they’re both super funny muppet men AND really cool train guys that have a limited pallet and thematic apparel.

Overall response! THANK YOU SO MUCH. This goes out to a BUNCH of people who sent me inbox queries— sorry for not responding, it’s a tad overwhelming because some of them are story questions even I don’t really know will go yet, and others are words of praise and I’m selfish and like scrolling through the inbox to look at them when I feel down. I am more of an artist who sits in the corner and sprouts like a potato rather then a branching vine who socializes, but I really do see people’s responses and they make me go :)))))

Okay ramble over. Thanks for coming to the soapbox, and good luck on creating!

#critterbitter #ask #mailbox

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