#rejecting gage

[latestghosts]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ closed starter for @tinkrbell based on this.

standing at the mailboxes in his apartment building, gage was struggling with the lock. "this fuckin' key doesn't work. i just moved in like a week ago and honestly, i forgot that mail was a thing? like official business comes through snail mail, right? i don't think the landlord gave me the right key," he wasn't looking at who he was talking to, simply jimmying the key into this lock, hoping it would pop open. when it didn't, he turned to look at the person he'd been venting to. "ellie…" gage trailed off. after high school, gage had gone off to a different city in hopes of finding something new. he wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he didn't find it and found himself back at home. "wow, i always expected you to become this big time journalist and write on different crime stories or music, something…" he chuckled, nervous for some reason. "what are you still doing here?"

#{ gage & ellie. } #lmk if you want me to change anything! #up to you as to who rejected who #thank you for liking my starter call <3

[alpaca-clouds]

Neurodiversity & Rejection Sensitivity Disphoria

Starting with this graphic by @adhd-alien

Okay, let me talk about Rejection Sensitive Disphoria, which is something ADHD folks - but also autistic folks - struggle with a lot. And technically speaking... it is a trauma response. This is nothing that just happens to a neurodiverse brain as is, but it is an effect of trauma.

A lot of neurodiverse people - especially ADHD people - encounter a lot of rejection during their life. They get criticized for being inattentive, for being "lazy", for being "weird", for being too attached, and too detatched. Basically, we cannot do anything right. We often struggle to maintain friendship, especially with neurotypical people, who find our behavior grading.

There is always the saying among neurodiverse people: "We have best friends, but we are never anyone's best friend", because of this and because we often only have the emotional energy to maintain a few friendships at once.

There has been a study done a while ago and it found, that a typical child with ADHD would experience about 50 small rejections within each and every day. 50! 50 times that someone told them "You did this wrong" or "You are wrong". And in a lot of times the people giving these rejections do not think about it as much. But for the kid, it leaves an impression. Because they learn, they cannot do anything right.

Because of this, each rejection feels even more horrible to them. Even as an adult. Something that is not meant as a big slant against them, turns into it in their mind. Like, even a small criticism. Take one like this: "Tone it down." Because we often have problems regulating our voice. And just this small thing feels... horrible.

And, yeah... We struggle with this. It is a trauma response. Nothing else.

But if we bring it up to someone - for example, someone who keeps bringing out those small rejections - we are often depicted by them as self-centered and the like.

Ever since I learned about RSD, I have an easier time dealing with it. Because I can now gage that moment, where it kicks in and go in, telling my brain: "Hey, stop this crap, that is not what they meant and you know it". But... I also would fucking appreciate if neurotypical people had a bit more chill with us.

#adhd #autism #rejection sensitive dysphoria #disability #disability rights #neurodiversity

[thelesbianpoirot]

People who don't seem to get why trans deceptive rape is bad need to watch the infamous clip from the movie revenge of the nerds. A 80s movie about a group nerds that exact revenge on fraternities and sororities for bullying then using nerdy "pranks". One of the pranks was one of the nerds wears a mask, pretending to be someone else, to have sex with (rape) a hot woman who he knows would reject him if she knew who he was. Even though I was probably 15 when someone online explained that was rape, I didn't doubt it for a second! No matter if the guy was the underdog hero of the film before, he had violated that woman, it is played off as humorous in the movie, but it clearly is wrong and would in real life end with that woman feeling disgusted, outraged and violated. I believe so many trans people, especially the straight men calling themselves lesbians, but also inclusive of ("gay" trans men, and "straight" transwomen) have a very "revenge of the nerds" mentality to dating "cis" people. They are the oppressed underdogs everyone else is their evil bully, so any and everything they do to get back at cis people, or get their way is justified in the end. Even rape! And there is also a level of sadism to humiliating the person if they find out your actual sex, like laughing at straight guys who fucked a post-op trans male, or laughing at the gay guy you gave head to or the lesbian you sexted. In their heads violating someone is them overcoming adversity and sticking it to the man. "But staying stealth is to protect ourselves," Dating and Fucking bigots is not an activity someone in physical danger should do. If you are upfront to everyone you're interested in right away, you would more easily weed out violent bigots before they get invested and feel humiliated by your deception. Putting it on your dating profile, telling the person over the phone or on video chat to gage reaction, literally anything else but tricking them will have a better outcome. Maybe they are angry because you violated them, so don't.

#thelesbianpoirot

[per-se-phone-e]

Hound in an alleyway | Damon Salvatore x reader

Warnings: non-con, Damon can't take rejection, p in v sex, oral (male recieving), anal sex, degradation, minors dni!!!

Summary: If you won't give your affections willingly, Damon decided he will have to take it by force.

THIS IS AN EXTREMELY DARK PIECE, PLEASE INTERACT AT YOUR OWN RISK!

Damon Salvatore was a sex god.

He could crack the whip and every girl would chorus, how high? He knew that. You knew that. Everyone did. Never in his one hundred and seventy something years of life had he needed to make an effort to pursue someone as he had done with you.

Most would just come running.

The first time you met him was in a cafeteria with Bonnie and Caroline. You were trying to console the sad blonde. He was the mysterious stranger sitting opposite you. Your eyes had met, only for a moment, before you pulled away.

The second time was in your school ground. You were practicing for the cheer team with your friends when a chevy pulled up into the school's driveway. You remember your eyes nearly falling out of your socket as Caroline got out of the car, placing a kiss on the older man's lips. He sent a wink your way, which you ignored. 

His hand on Caroline's leg in the Gilbert living room had bile rise up in your throat. That was when you found out from Bonnie that he didn't have a good relationship with his brother. And by the fourth time you met, Damon Salvatore had turned from a creep to a pyschopath. 

He had hurt Caroline. Your childhood best friend. Elena's memory might not work as well, but how could you forget? How could you accept any interest he threw your way?

You didn't want him, and it hurt. It hurt him. It made his blood boil. It clouded his senses. What had he done to get your rejection? Damon wanted you, so why couldn't he have you? 

And if you wouldn't willingly accept his affections, then Damon Salvatore would take it by force. 

It felt nothing more than a child's play to lure you into his trap. To follow you into the dark alleyway. You should've know better than to roam around by yourself past midnight. What if some man took advantage of you? Guess you weren't as smart as he thought you were.

He adored the way your eyes welled up when he backed you into a corner. Your lips pouting, spilling out pleas fruitlessly as he tore the clothes from your body. You trembled as he cupped your pussy, plunging a finger into your wet heat — then two, stretching you out.

It belonged to him. You belonged to him.

Your knees dug into the cold concrete as he forced you onto the ground. One hand working his belt open, the other had you by your hair. His thick cock jumped out as his jeans hit the ground, angry red tip dripping precum.

Damon pushed your head down on his cock until your nose was resting snug against the curly hairs at the bottom. He gave a deep groan, feeling the warm embrace of your mouth around his cold cock. You kept your mouth open for him like an obedient whore, letting him fuck your mouth like his personal pocket pussy.

He ignored the way you gaged and choked, bruising a spot at the back of your throat. Spit pooled from the corner of your mouth, dribbling down your chin. "Now be a good girl and suck daddy's balls," he directed you towards the base of his member.

You shook your head no, refusing to meet his eyes. You had never felt so humiliated in your life. Why weren't you trying to get away? Why couldn't you run?

Damon rolled his eyes. "Do you want me to go and drag your pretty little blonde bestfriend here? Or Maybe Elena? I'd love to kill two birds with one stone."

You obeyed at the threat, sucking on his balls, one by one. You teased the little slit between the two, desperate to get it over with. They were heavy against your chin, so full of cum and throbbing. You thrashed against him when you feel him jerk his cock hard and fast above your face. Slapping at his thighs, trying to push him off you. But all your efforts are futile; Thick ropes of cum land on your face, mixing with the tears.

"Good girl. Now turn around," he demanded and you did, pushing down the bile rising in your throat.

In no time, he had you onto your fours. A foot pressed to the back your head, keeping you down on the dirty ground as he entered you. "Shit sweetheart, look at that cunt sqeezing my cock so well," he hummed in approval, pushing out, then pushing in with force.

You could only manage to gasp with each thrust, your knees scraping against the concrete. He started to fuck you relentlessly, pounding your pussy red.

"This is what you wanted, didn't you? To be fucked like a dirty slut? You wanted my cock didn't you?" His hand lands on your ass hard, making you whimper.

"Yes," You yell, feeling his cock deep inside you. You were leaking down your quivering thighs, letting him split you in half like a rag doll. His balls pressed against your clit with each thrust, the sound of slick skin slapping echoing through the silent alleyway.

"Fucking slut," he gritted his teeth, hips pounding into yours at a supernatural speed. Your legs were numb from his assualt, spreading out until you're laying completely against the ground. You felt him soread your cheeks apart, watching his cock disappear and reappear from your abused hole. With a shudder, he spilled his cum inside you, sinking his teeth into your shoulder to contain himself.

When you felt him pull out, you thought it was over. But he wasn't done with you yet. He kept fucking you on the cold concrete — thanks to his vampiric stamina — shooting load after load of his seed into your womb. And when he was bored with your pussy, he'd play with your puckered hole. He would grab your face backwards by your hair and pound you like a bitch while you scream.

Now that he got you, it wouldn't be fair to let you leave so soon, wouldn't it?

#damon salvatore x reader #damon salvatore #the vampire diaries #vampire #smut #dark fantasy #x reader #tvd #sexy content

[justpoliteconversations]

Breakdown [Isekai!Reader + (Legend x Marin)] (Part 4)

Few things worth having in life are easy to obtain. You just have to keep moving forward, one step at a time.

Another round of fodder for this bin fire.

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

Masterlist

TW: Choosing not to display warnings. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise. Linked Universe is the fan creation of jojo56830.

---

You expected a lot of things when you saw Legend again after everything that'd happened. Few of them anything good for you. Most involving the cold sting of rejection or the spiteful words of a man who has suffered yet another blow to his already wounded heart. And you were prepared to meet it all with quiet acceptance, because you made a choice and this was your burden to bear.

What you had not expected was for the man to meet you at the door of Marin's room with a disbelieving, hopeful (painfully obvious for all he tried to hide it) expression. His shoulders hunched up in an almost defensive position, eyes rimmed red and swollen with dark eye bags from lack of sleep or tears, you did not know. You dreaded to think it was either.

You most certainly did not expect for him to take a cautious step forward, eyes still locked on Time's, and reach out for you with both hands. Palms up. It was enough to stun you motionless and speechless, looking down at him from Time's greater height with concern. Because Legend was not a touchy-feeling man, and this was definitely out of character for him.

Then it clicked, and you had to grit your teeth to keep yourself from falling even deeper into self-admonishment. It wouldn't do anyone any good here, despite what your heart might believe.

You wanted to glance up at Time's face, to gage his response to Legend's blatant postering (placed squarely in the doorway, refusing his elder brother entrance and demanding your presence). You honestly didn't need to though, the way his large (powerful, deadly, protective) hands tightened on you was more than enough of an indicator of his feelings.

Time thought Legend would hurt you, in whichever form that took. Lashing out in anger at the situation he'd been forced into or the desperation, you didn't know. But it didn't matter. You'd already made your choice.

"Thank you for bringing me, Time. I'll see you at dinner, yes?" You asked with only slightly feigned gratefulness, looking up to meet his eye with quiet assurance. Willing him to see, to understand the words you hadn't said aloud. That you trusted Legend with your life. And if need be, with your death.

The elder Link nodded, face carefully neutral, before leaning forward and-

You hadn't expected to be snatched up so swiftly, nor seamlessly, as though the wind itself had guided you from one pair of hands to the next. Not for the door to be slammed shut immediately after, blocking Time from view before you could properly see his response.

You hadn't expected the deafening quiet that followed immediately after, Legend's lithely muscled body tense under you as he waited. For admonishment. For a struggle. For retaliation. (For Time to kick down the door and snatch you right back out of his arms in a protective rage.)

None of that happened though, simply a tense moment of silence and then Time's heavy (purposely heavy, for a man who could remain deathly silent with full armor) footsteps disappearing down the hall. And then he was gone, and it was just you and Legend and the motionless lump under the covers on the other side of the room.

Legend still hadn't moved, and you were so tired. The short journey here and the tense exchange that had happened just moments before draining you of what little energy you'd managed to store away for this very moment. Your body ached too, like someone had wrung you out and left the bindings on your limbs.

"Hey, Link." You said softly, and he flinched at the sound of your voice, muscles (that you hadn't even noticed were starting to relax) tensing once more. You rested your head against his slim shoulder regardless, close enough to feel the bob of his adam's apple when he swallowed. "Take me to Marin, please."

He nodded once, not speaking. He readjusted his grip on your body (so thin now. so frail even a petit man like Legend seemed to dwarf you), and you were taken aback by just how gentle he was with you. Nearly cradling you in his arms, tender in a way even Time had not been.

And you realized you had misunderstood this man too. For all you knew of them (and thought you knew of them) you'd been misled by your own guilt and self-centered sense of responsibility to truly see this man for who he was.

He took you to Marin's side, no more than a few strides, but to you it was an eternity. He reached down with one hand, you still in his arms, and moved the top cover over to set you gently upon the mattress. You looked up into his face as he softly, quietly, (so damned delicately) tucked you properly under the thick blanket.

He looked so tired (exhausted, haunted) his eyes withdrawn despite the seemingly aggressive curve of his brow. Resting bitch face, as some would say, but that wasn't entirely accurate. Legend was not a man who ever truly rested. This was the face of a man lost in the unrest of his mind, his heart. Pushing forward, when everything in him just wanted to slow down.

The pillows were soft and cool under your head, smelling of freshness and something savory sweet. Recently washed, perfectly fluffed and purposely placed you realized, and your heart ached with the acknowledgment of this man's unyielding heart. His kind spirit. The elegant, delicate weave of his soul etched into every small action his voice could not breath into the world.

The sheets had stayed between you and Marin's warm (skin warm, blood warm, flesh warm, life warm) body. An intentional arrangement, to keep your skin from touching. To prevent the inevitable from happening. To protect you from yourself, and her. Even at the cost of Marin's recovery, and his heart. Unspoken. Unacknowledged.

You saw though. You saw the way he tucked your limp, trusting body into the safety of the fabric. Saw the way his eyes tracked the line where you ended and Marin began, smoothed out the sheets up around her shoulders where skin had once laid bare. Saw the tender curve of his mouth for just a moment as his hand soothed over her covered form.

Saw how he gathered sunset-red hair into his strong, nimble hands and gently tucked the long locks beneath plush (fluffed recently, smelling too of something sweet and savory) pillows. And, with Legend leaning over you (a warm, trusted shadow across your eyes) and his hands in her unruly hair, you saw her.

Marin. Eyes closed lightly in rest, slightly dry lips parted, breathing easily with little huffs of air that snorted with each exhale. Freckles spread across her pale cheeks (pale, where they should be tanned and rosey) and down the bridge of her nose. Freckles on her eye lids too, like tiny stars nestled against the shadow of long, dark red lashes.

Her eyes moved beneath closed lids, dreaming, and your breathing nearly faltered at the sight. Alive. Alive and untouched by the affliction that littered your body. And you were so, so grateful for that. So grateful that when she opened her eyes, it would be her face staring back at her and not something else entirely.

Legend was pulling back, his shadow passing over you. Your mouth was running before your brain. "Thank you for taking care of her, Link." You said honestly. You turned to look up at him, his face hovering over yours where he'd frozen at the sound of your voice. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there with you."

His face twisted into a nasty expression, his lips pulling into a snarl, brows pinched (his eyes though. his eyes gave him away). "You shouldn't be. I'd have stripped the flesh from you myself if I'd had my way."

"You wouldn't have." You said, tired but with confidence, meeting Legend's eyes without fear or doubt. "You are strong, Link. And so cunning." You slipped your hands from the covers and gripped one of his (it was shaking) weakly. His hand shook harder. "I wouldn't be alive right now if you wanted to hurt me."

His breathing had gotten heavier. Ragged. His eyes darted to the side, avoiding your gaze as though it would tear the soul from him. He wanted to pull away, you could feel it in the coil of his muscles, but he couldn't bring himself to break your fragile grasp.

"I'm sorry Link, for the hurt I caused you." You said, and you could feel the beginnings of tears building on your lashes. Above you, he suddenly looked stricken, staring down at your face with mute horror, and understanding.

You gripped his hand harder, refusing to back down even as your throat swelled with emotion. "I'm so sorry I ever doubted you. You are too good and strong to falter in your convictions. And I'm sorry anyone ever made you feel otherwise." The tears fell then, because how could you have fed into that lie. Even if just in the confines of your mind. Just to satisfy your self-righteous bullshit.

"I'm so fucking sorry, Link. I hurt you with my carelessness." Your voice was breaking, tears overwhelming your sight. And all you could do was grip his hand with feeble, desperate strength and push forward. "And you were the one punished for it."

Because who the fuck were you, to cast doubt unto this man's character. When he'd given up everything for the greater good over and over, even when it required him to rip his own still beating heart out. Who gave you the right to ever cast doubt upon his name, when you knew better than anyone just what type of man Legend was.

Thin-fingered hands were suddenly on your face, on your cheeks, rough, calloused thumbs wiping away the tears with gentle hesitancy. "Fuck. Don't cry." His voice choked with emotions you could not see through the haze of tears. "It's just some bullshit that'll blow over."

You shook your head, unable to vocalize the mantra of 'I'm sorry' and 'you didn't deserve any of this' running loops through your head. Your weak, bony hands came up to wrap around his, trying to press them further into your skin. Seeking comfort, even if it was selfish, and trying to give comfort in whatever way you could.

You tried to speak again, but failed. In your mind's eye, all you could see was Marin's peacefully resting face. The soft curve of her cheeks, full and splattered with freckles. The rapid movements of her eyes as she dreamed. As she dreamed.

As she dreamed. Perhaps for the first time in her entire existence.

Finally, with strength you did not truly possess, you managed to push out your confession. Your heartfelt sin. "I'm sorry. Because I'd do it again. Even knowing it'd hurt you." You heart ached with the truth of it.

You liked to think of yourself as rational and considerate of other's emotions. But the truth is, that you will hurt others if you think it will help them in the end. And you will do it again and again, even as your heart breaks. And so too, does theirs. Because you're selfish in your selflessness. You're cruel in your kindness.

And then you'll apologize for hurting them. Like a damned cop out of guilt, for all you claim responsibility of your actions.

Because when you're sorry, you're not supposed to do it again. Because you're supposed to acknowledge your actions as unacceptable and correct the behavior.

And yet. Here you are. Apologizing, and yet refusing to back down from your choices.

You're such a mess.

"Good." Came Legend's voice, shaking but firm with conviction. You finally managed to open your eyes to look into his. Sharp with command even with tears beaded on his lashes. "Because I'd be damned pissed if you backed down just because you got a little butthurt."

You stared at him, wide-eyed and shocked at his words. His resolve. Your tears slowed to near nothing, but cheeks still stained with the remnants, drying under his softly cradling hands.

You blinked rather blankly up at the man. Processing his change of tone. His strength of character. Feeling like an idiot trying to make sense of simple words.

"Ha." He snorted suddenly, a smug grin pulling at the corner of his lips from his position hovering over you. "You look so stupid right now." He said with light mockery, but his eyes were soft and playful as he did so.

Despite yourself, you laughed. And laughed. And nearly choked, until Legend put a hand over your mouth and rolled his eyes. Looking exasperated, but for the way his shoulders had completely loosened of their previous tension.

He shook his head, looking for all the world like the most put upon man in the entirely of existence. The brows helped sell the image too, much to your tired amusement. "Now go to sleep. You look like you're about to keel over." He snipped. Narrowing his (now dry, but red) eyes with judgement.

You nodded, not having the energy to do too much else. One of your thin hands slid atop the covers, resting over were Marin's own lay beneath the layers of cloth and fabric. The other reaching out and resting gently, hesitantly over Legend's. Fingers resting on his, thumb slowly caressing over his thickly calloused knuckles (should have pegged Legend as a brawler, with those rings of his).

He snorted, but didn't remove your hand. Just accepted it with mild disgruntlement.

But as you slowly started to drift further into unconsciousness, you could have sworn you felt his hand shift, until his thumb was at your wrist. Taking your pulse. Caressing gently against the delicate, vulnerable skin.

It was quiet when you finally succumbed to sleep, with Legend's hand in your own, and Marin's soft snores in your ear. And the warm, sorrowful song of acceptance in your heart.

Legend never had said he'd forgiven you after all. You still had such a long way to go.

'I won't falter. I just have to keep pushing forward. One step at a time. Wait for me, Legend. Marin. I'll figure this out somehow.'

---

The sun was just starting to dip down on the horizon, the long forms of evening shadows beginning their final trek along the lands below. And the people that inhabited them.

From the partially open doorway, somber blue eyes took in the scene laid out before him. Lips pressed into a flat, concerned line.

Legend half bent over the side of the bed from his seated position, head resting against the diminished lump of your body. His hand laid upon yours, his fingers wrapped loosely around your thin (so painfully thin) wrist. And Marin, tucked away in the covers beside you both, your hand resting upon her peacefully snoring form.

His eyes remained pinned to Marin's unawares face, not hateful or angered or mistrustful. Simply worried. And filled with hope and sorrow both.

A hand touched his shoulder, and he looked back into a single, equally solemn eye.

Time shook his head. And Warriors nodded.

They closed the door quietly. And then they walked away.

In the room, Marin snored. Legend grumbled. And you stayed asleep through it all. Blissfully unaware.

Unaware of the coils of destiny unspooling and reshaping under your hands. And the shape it would one day take.

---

Back to the shadows to rest.

#linked universe #linked universe x reader #legend x marin #isekai reader #legend needs a hug

[l8rs-gat0rs]

You're legit the only Eva writer, so I have a cute, fluffy request of the girls helping Eva ask reader out because she's scared of being rejected. I love your work btw, i literally stalk you to make sure i didn't miss anything

The Golden Window

Pairing: Eva x Female reader

Warning(s): none, just Eva overthinking and gallons of fluff, quite a bit of y/n use at first. Sorry if the POV situation is weird, I couldn't get a solid gage of what the POV would be, this is the closest fit.

Summary: Eva turns to the girls for some help telling you that she likes you, but it doesn't go as planned...

Word count: 1.1k

WHAT THE HELLLL. I AM SO HONORED. I have an account stalker :') Ugh no but fr, you're so sweet and thank you so much, I'm always over the moon when people tell me that they like my writing, because it's something I'm genuinely passionate about and love to share. So I hope you like this one too :)It's a bit shorter than my usual fics. (I am so sorry for making you wait literal months for this oh gosh)

PSA: I am giving my editor a break so this is lowkey not edited as great as usual. I apologize if there are any mistakes😭

~~~~Happy Reading!~~~~

Eva sat at the kitchen table, nervously twiddling her fingers distractedly, staring at nothing.

"Eva...Eva!?"

Suddenly her attention snapped to the person in front of her, whose hands were waving in her face.

"Oh shit, sorry Cricket, what's up?" Eva said apologetically.

"What's on your mind? We're usually the ones who are all in our heads" Cricket chuckled.

Eva cringed at the thoughts currently going through her head.

They were all about you, of course.

come onnnn, spit it outttt Cricket urged.

"well... I like..." Eva sighed, she was usually the one helping the other girls with their emotions, but ironically she was struggling with her own emotions.

Cricket put her arm on Eva's shoulder

"Hey, it's alright" She said softly

"I like y/n." Eva said suddenly.

Eva stared into cricket's eyes for a moment as Cricket said nothing.

"Well, we all like y/n..." Cricket said.

"Cricket!" Eva slapped cricket's arm causing the other woman to laugh.

"I'm just fucking with you! okay okay so, what's the problem with that?" Cricket asked curiously.

"I-" Eva cut herself off, frustratedly running her hands through her hair.

"I'm scared to ask her out" she slapped her hands onto the table.

Cricket looked at her and held her chin in her hand as her elbow rested on the table.

"I think this is a job for the group" Cricket smiled.

...

"okay girls, I have gathered you all here today because-"

"Where is y/n?" Salem spoke up.

"I was just getting to that, if you would let me continue Salem" Cricket said with strained politeness.

"oh okay, sorry" Salem said sheepishly.

"As I was saying, I sent y/n out for some groceries because we need to help Eva with something. Cricket continued

all the girl's turned to stare at Eva, who blushed embarassingly.

"we are gonna help Eva here confess her feelings to y/n"

the girls gasped and Eva even heard one "I knew it!"

"okay okay, settle down!, settle down!" Cricket yelled over the women's voices, causing them to quiet down.

"Eva, you have the floor" Cricket continued when it was quiet once again.

Eva cleared her throat and addressed the girls.

"Alright guys so, as Cricket says, I have a crush on y/n... and it's eating me up inside that I don't know how to tell her because I'm scared she doesn't feel the same way."

a few "awwww"s were heard from the girls before Salem spoke up once again.

"I think you should do something big, like maybe buy her chocolates and flowers and leave a letter for her that tells her to go to the garden and then you tell her there" Salem said with a dreamy smile.

"um, no you idiot, y/n will hate that" Isis scowled at her.

"hey, Isis! Eva chided causing Isis to look back at her.

"that wasn't nice, Salem's idea was good" Eva scolded Isis

"apologize to her."

"fine. I'm sorry Salem" Isis rolled her eyes.

"I accept your apology, and forgive you for the harm you have caused" Salem responded tightly.

"Good, but that being said, Salem, even though your idea was good, I also don't think y/n would like that" Eva said gently.

"what if you did it during one of your sessions?" Audrey spoke up.

"No, I can't do that, the session are for you guys and your feelings, I'm not going to make it about my feelings." Eva shook her head.

"I think you should just flat out say it to her some time. Pull her to somewhere private and just speak your feelings to her. That's what you always teach us" Cricket spoke up from Eva's side, uncrossing her arms and placing a hand on Eva's shoulder.

Eva looked at her and smiled a little.

"yeah you're right. Fear is an emotion that I can persevere through as long as I speak my truth." Eva smiled.

"That's the spirit! Right girls!?" Cricket asked the girls sitting in front of them.

A chorus of "yeah!"s and "Yeah! just tell y/n you like her!" could be heard.

Suddenly there was a loud bang and all the girls were startled into silence as they turned to see what had made the noise.

There, standing in the arch leading into the living room was y/n, mouth agape, staring at Eva. She had dropped the bag of groceries she was carrying.

The silence that filled the room was deafening and Eva could practically hear the blood rushing through her body.

Eva was the first to speak up though.

"um, girls, can you uh..." Eva started

before she even finish her sentence, the girls were already quickly getting up and leaving the room. Cricket picked up the bag of groceries and finally left, Eva and you alone.

"Would you sit down please?" Eva said softly, gesturing to the couch.

you nodded and took a seat in front of her before she moved to sit next to you, causing you to turn towards her.

"how much did you hear?" Eva cringed.

you smiled a little,

"I heard enough. 'tell y/n you like her!'" you said in a teasing voice.

Eva put her face in her hands and groaned causing you to giggle a little before gently removing her hands from her face to see her red face.

you looked into her blue eyes that you always seemed to get lost in.

"hey, it's okay" you whispered gently.

Eva found herself getting lost in your warm brown eyes as well.

"it's just that... i don't know, I didn't expect to tell you this soon, I was going to plan it in my head" Eva explained, looking away, feeling embarrassed.

you were silent for a moment, and as Eva was about to turn her head back to you, you took the liberty of doing it yourself, grabbing her chin and connecting your lips to hers.

Eva was surprised at first, but quickly returned the kiss.

Once the two of you separated, you smiled brightly.

"Now are you ready to tell me?" you smirked.

Eva laughed before responding,

"yeah that definitely helps"

"well?" you urged her on.

"y/n, I like you" Eva said with a smile.

"I think you have my answer" you giggled.

"I don't know, I think I need your answer again" Eva said with faux confusion.

You laughed, causing her to do the same as you smacked her gently.

you kissed her once again, reveling in the feel of her soft pink lips that you could never seem to keep your eyes off of.

When you pulled away again, you pressed your forehead to hers and smiled.

"I like you too Eva"

#fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction writer #gxg #eva x you #eva swarm #eva x reader #fluff #billie eilish fanfic #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x reader

[therainscene]

Ever notice how frequently Will is associated with rods?

They show up in multiple places: Will wields a rod-like weapon in every season; he’s compared to Phineas Gage, the man with the iron rod driven through his brain; Castle Byers is made up of them, as seen above; and there’s even a couple of uncomfortably phallic references here and there.

This motif works remarkably well as a framework for understanding his character arc:

At the start of S1, Will has begun to realize that he really is as gay as his abusive father always accused him of being. He’s horrified. His homosexuality manifests as a monster from the game he plays with the boy he has a crush on.

He grabs a gun, a symbol of his father’s expectations of manliness...

...but he can’t bring himself to use it. That’s just not who he is.

He lets the monster drag him into the closet, and it’s terrifying in there. His upbringing in a homophobic 80s environment has robbed him of the opportunity to understand his sexuality in an age-appropriate way; all he knows about it is perversion and disease.

He’s haunted by disturbingly sexual thoughts he’s not old enough to handle yet.

At the end of S1, he metaphorically comes out to his mother when she rescues him from the Upside Down and reassures him that he’s still loved. Will feels a bit better... but he’s not out of the Demogorgon-infested woods just yet.

In S2, he still feels the urge to fight his developing sexuality. His mother’s support has made it easier to forget about his father, though, so the urge isn’t as strong as it used to be.

His gun is now a nerdy toy, more reflective of Mike than of Lonnie.

Unfortunately, his father isn’t the only homophobe in town, and word of his metaphorical coming out has gotten around -- the bullying is worse, and even his loved ones don’t look at him the same way anymore. He feels like a freak; he identifies with Phineas Gage when he learns about him in Mr. Clarke’s class.

His homosexuality comes for him again in the shape of yet another monster from D&D. This one can’t drag him fully back into the closet -- that ship has sailed -- so instead, it torments him. You’re a mistake, it whispers in his ear. Why not be angry about it?

Like Phineas Gage, he’s not acting like himself anymore.

Joyce does her damnedest to help, but her efforts aren’t as effective as they were in S1. She just doesn’t understand what he’s going through. This time, it’s Mike -- the boy who refuses to treat him differently or leave his side -- who succeeds in reassuring him that he’s not a mistake.

Will falls even more in love with Mike in the wake of such a sweet gesture. He knows that Mike will never truly love him back in the way he wants, but... maybe Mike really does want to be his D&D-playing bestie forever. That’s good enough for him. It’s the best a bundle of sticks could realistically expect to get, anyway.

His gun has become a D&D wizard staff, now fully symbolic of his feelings for Mike.

Unfortunately, Michael “I’m not gay ur gay” Wheeler is too busy having his own character arc to notice how important D&D is to Will. They argue over it, and without meaning to, he pins Will to the wall like a butterfly: “it’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”

Will feels seen. He feels rejected. He feels stupid. Of course Mike doesn’t want to be a kid with him forever. It’s too much; all of his pent-up trauma and internalized homophobia and grief for his lost innocence comes spilling out at once.

His gay wizard staff morphs into another symbol of Lonnie’s expectations and he uses it to destroy the last vestiges of his childhood.

The wooden rods that were once Castle Byers lay strewn about. One slices clean through his face as he sobs:

His father’s in his head again. He’s not acting like himself.

At the end of S3, Will moves to Lenora, far away from his homophobic hometown and his memories of Lonnie. He gains some perspective. He grows more confident in his identity.

He decides to be honest with Mike about how he feels.

For the first time, he’s not wielding a weapon. He's finally stopped trying to fight his sexuality.

How could it be a bad thing to love a boy as sweet and stubborn and loyal and stupid and brilliant as Mike Wheeler? The painting is the purest possible expression of his love for Mike.

However, this is only the penultimate season -- Will hasn’t self-actualized just yet! He chickens out of a true confession, sacrificing his own feelings in favour of helping Mike repair his romance with El. He still believes that the best he can hope for is a close platonic friendship...

...but he can’t lie to himself about that being enough for him anymore.

At the end of S4, he returns to Hawkins, and we get another shot of Phineas Gage imagery as the Cali crew arrives in town:

Memories of homophobia are flooding back in the form of a D&D villain’s voice.

The shame instilled in him by this town still affects him. But he’s also matured enough to understand now who it really was that he should have been fighting this whole time.

Will’s ready for one final battle. But what about his relationship with Mike in S5? Does the rod motif give us any clues there?

All I’ll say is, it’s interesting how both boys were sweeping at the start of this scene... but only Mike carried his broom over to the sofa.

#stranger things #rod symbolism #byler #will byers #mike wheeler #castle byers #analysis

[slocumjoe]

What would you headcanon as the companions sexuality and type? If they had to have one.

Companions sexuality + their type + what'd be good for them

Seeing as these guys are all bi/playersexual in canon for game play reasons, the sexuality bit is ignorable and can be disregarded. I also tend to write them all as bi/pan in other reacts for reader immersion so as to not exclude anyone. Just don't worry about the sexuality, its fine

Cait; pansexual queen, has a romantic and sexual preference for women. She lacks a type because she lacks taste. Cait, when choosing her sexual partners, really needs a fucking committee of bitchy lesbians to give their votes. Her type is everywhere but generally bad. Who do I think would be good for her...ultimately, someone she wouldn't get along with, at first. Think Preston. Cait needs a good person who's selfless, kind, empathetic, and most importantly, unfazed. Someone who balks at her and what she's been through wouldn't be great for her. I don't mean fazed as in 'horrified', I mean 'yikes, that's more than I want to know or deal with.' It's fair to have that boundary, of course, but Cait needs someone who can know her and not flinch.

Curie; I personally think Curie is the token straight, but I can see her experimenting, just to really figure it out. I can also see her being heterosexual, but biromantic. Curie seems the type to get gay married just because she loves another lady, even if not physically intimate with her. Her type would have to be similar to her—hygienic, polite, detail and data oriented, curious...a model scientist and gentleperson, really. That would be good for her, if only because that kind of person is just a solid choice for partnership. But someone with more edge—think the pin to her cushion—would balance her out well. And Curie needs balance, and sometimes a different perspective. She needs some challenging. And she'd appreciate it! Peer review is important for growth and learning. I think she'd feel a little stagnate with someone too much like her.

Danse; Demisexual and demiromantic. Don't roll your eyes. This is just a fancy term for "it doesn't matter, as long I have a bond as deep as the marina's trench." Dude? Lady? Both? Neither? It does not fucking matter. You could be the hottest ass and goldest heart, if Danse doesn't have a long history and isn't close with you, he isn't going to consider it. His type is whoever the hell he ends up falling in love with. He could fall in love with Hancock if they worked through their shit and got close enough. But what would be good for him? Danse is both pin and cushion, so we can't make that comparison. Someone patient, I think. Someone who doesn't just tolerate his quirks and his various rough edges and flaws. Someone who doesn't just let him ramble about whatever's on his mind, but enjoys it. Someone who doesn't just allow him to touch them, but wants to touch him back. That kind of thing. Danse has suffered rejection all his life. You could be anything, anyone. He needs to be accepted. Not put up with.

Deacon; ...I'll say straight, but bi-curious piques my interest. He's one of those "late bloomers" I think. I'd say his type used to be Barbara—dry-humored, fretting, stubborn, poised, an extrovert, can-do attitude—but since Shit, he'd just think of her with someone like her, and that's not a relationship he's getting into. His current type would be flexible, open to anything so long as their values match up. What'd be good for him...a lot of people think someone he can idolize. No, pedestals are not good for Deacon. He needs to be himself, not someone else. So, someone perceptive, who can smell bullshit from miles away and calls it then and there. Who won't humor his self-deprecation and harmful coping mechanisms. Everything else, he can work with. Deacon is adaptive. But he's gotta be Deacon, and someone who lets him not be Deacon is just enabling him.

Gage; I say he has no label and I'm fucking sticking to it. Gage is an old ass raider who has probably tried and offered every hole there is—this is not a dude who goes "I'm [sexuality]". I won't even call him demi. Anyway. Type...Gage really only has one type, and like Cait, by the very nature of what he values, this person is unhealthy for him in the long run. They're aggressive. They're selfish and cold. They're not a good person, not anywhere in their bones. Gage ultimately needs to be lured in with promises of being His Type (Awful), but if they end up being Good For Him (Soft spot, principled, picks their battles, has respect and some decency), he isn't leaving. You reel him in, he's biting. He needs someone who's outwardly what he wants, but actually, what he needs. He needs something he thinks is too good for him, so he settles for trash. Like promising your toddler McDonald's for lunch, but just putting healthy shit in a re-used bag.

Deacon; wait hold on i already did you

Hancock*;

Whoops shit hold on the cat just decimated the counter top

Hancock**; Okay. Hancock also is unlabelable, in that he is too fucking horny. It isn't a "be nice to me and I'll die for you" like Danse, or "hole is hole" like Gage. Hancock transcends these pitiful ideas. What is Hancock's sexuality? Yes. He is simply sexual. His type? Yeah. Preference? Correct. Hancock kneels for the flag but that thang be patriotic. This is how I segue into "Hancock's dick is trying to kill him." His taste is whatever seems fun. Fun can mean public quickie. Fun can also mean BDSM with someone he's never met before at a second location. BAD. UNSAFE. Hancock needs someone who can satisfy his thrills, but is trustworthy and loves him enough to keep him safe, and respect him. So, "Yes we can go piss on the Brotherhood as they come from that subway tunnel, but we can't drink beforehand, i don't want you falling." That kind of thing. I can definitely tell you what's bad for him, and that's another substance user. Hancock very much does it as a form of depersonalization and thats not good for him. He needs someone who won't encourage his self-harmful habits.

MacCready; Also see him as a token straight. He gives good ally vibes. Frat bro ally. Mac likes his partners dark-haired, dark-eyed. He likes them visually different from him. Makes them exotic. As for personality, Mac-attack favors the more home-body type. Someone who likes cooking, is clean, good with kids...he just admires it! He likes someone who he thinks has their shit together. Can you blame him? He wants to chill and raise their kids, he needs a partner that does well with that lifestyle. As for what's good for him...about the same, really. Maybe someone more outwardly kind, who can bring out the best in him and help him shave off the mercenary thought process and values. But generally, MacCready wants someone who doesn't do bullshit. Just say what you mean and want to, he'll do whatever you need. Very much wants a partner, not just a significant other. A real partner.

Nick; Good morning bisexual community! This man be queer. His taste? Obviously a femme fatale, all legs and dark lips and suspicious outlines in their dress. Obviously a whiskey-soured gentleman, hard in the eyes, soft in the mouth, and harder in the hands. He likes his pals and gals the way he likes everything—theatrical. But what this old bag needs...firstly, to fucking process Jenny, for one. Good luck there. Two, Nick needs someone who doesn't entertain his philosophical brooding about his circumstances. He's prone to getting in his own head. He could use a referee, someone to point out when he's sulking to sulk. Maybe a callous need, but Nick's pretty well-adjusted save that. And hey, all he really asks for are nice shoulders. Besides, Nicky is old enough he doesn't really need influence with growth. It's more like road-side clean up, picking up years of litter. It's a fair thing to need. You get old enough, you start needing change and challenge.

Piper; Lesbian. Come on. Lesbian. Piper Wright fancies herself a tomboy (she is, at best, a toddboy), and while she says she prefers similar girls, girlie is down bad for femmes. She likes a gorgeous woman in a tiny dress. She likes a nice set of hips. Can't say I blame her. Piper has had few but fraught relationships, and her takeaway from them all is that she can't stand indecisiveness. She wants commitment or a clear, quick answer of 'no'. Piper has done situationships and she is DONE. And honestly, she needs the grounding of that! Piper is a flightly girl, always off on some new trail or adventure. Someone to anchor her won't just be a source of comfort, they very well might keep her from becoming an acolyte of a different cult, or worse, kegchugging more moonshine.

Preston; Bisexual and Pansexual just don't...feel right...like, I think he's an all-doors-open guy, but I just can't put a label on him. Maybe just "open to whatever happens"? Either way, Preston is similar to Curie in that his type is similar to him, and his type is a very good romantic candidate just by virtue of who they are. Compassionate, selfless, reliable, just good traits for a romantic partner. And I can't say he needs anything else, really. Preston doesn't have Curie's limited world experience, he doesn't need different perspective. He's seen and had different perspectives and most of them didn't work for him. The best trait for him, I think, would be someone with more edge to them. Preston is a nice dude who doesn't often want to cause problems, he wants to sort things as peacefully and amicably as possible. But if someone else says what he's thinking...that's just vindication. And Preston deserves some of that. He deserves someone who will sock another in the jaw for looking at him funny. He might not approve, but he'll appreciate it.

X6-88; Asexual, but it's possible for him to fall in love. Demiromantic doesn't feel strong enough a word for it, but I guess that works. His type is very flexible as well. It really depends. X6 is action-oriented, but he does put value on words, especially his own, being someone of few words nd fewer sincere, emotionally-available ones. I feel like his type would be someone who can navigate such things with ease, without being sappy. Emotionally intelligent, but poised and objective without being cold. Anything else would spook or annoy him. But as time went on, it'd be good for him to learn by example and loosen up with his own identity and desires. X6-88's best partner would be an advocate for synths, obviously, but they'd also see the pragmatism of emotional connection and self-worth and individualism. X6-88 exists in a shell—if you can crack him out of it, it's only a stone's throw to a romance developing.

#fallout 4 #fo4 #paladin danse #preston garvey #x6-88 #nick valentine #piper wright #companions react #robert joseph maccready #porter gage #Codsworth's ultimate love is a working vacuum

[everydayyoulovemeless]

Fo4 Companions as Aesthetics

➼ Word Count » 0.1k ➼ Warnings » None ➼ A/N » I spent way too long on this😭🔫

MacCready - Cabincore. Campfires, breezy summers, and getting lost in the woods.

Nick - Film Noir. Black and white movies, mysteries, and large cities.

Cait - Scrapper. Bandaged hands, fight clubs, and rage.

Danse - Americana. Freedom, Democracy, and hard work.

Preston - Cottagecore. Farms, sunflowers, and loved ones.

Codsworth - Old Money. Sophistication, education, and family values.

Piper - Chaotic Academia. Rebellion, unorganized writing, and intense obsessions.

Curie - Light Academia. Antique items, fields of grass, and 19th century France.

Strong - Coffinwood. Masculinity, survival, and preserving the past (Macbeth).

Hancock - Grunge. Rejection of the mainstream, grimy buildings, and graffiti.

Deacon - Greaser. Family, revolution, and enjoying life.

X6-88 - Dark Academia. Existentialism, intrigue, and loss of control.

Dogmeat - Adventurecore. Traveling, hunting, and the outdoors.

Old Longfellow - Ocean Grunge. Nihilism, being stranded, and the deep ocean.

Gage - Brocore. Chugging alcohol, punching walls, and working out.

#fallout 4 #fallout #fo4 #nick valentine #nick valentine fo4 #maccready fo4 #robert maccready #cait #cait fo4 #paladin danse #danse fo4 #fo4 headcanons #preston garvey #preston fo4 #hancock fo4 #john hancock #deacon #deacon fo4 #x6 88 #x6 88 fo4 #dogmeat #dogmeat fo4 #old longfellow #old longfellow fo4 #codsworth #codsworth fo4 #piper wright #fo4 companions #fo4 piper #porter gage

[zahri-melitor]

oooo how bout charlie!!

How can I say no to my Charlotte Gage-Radcliffe?

Headcanon A:  realistic

Charlie gets very smug about the fact she's a full member of the Birds of Prey and most of Babs' other mentees are not. She likes to break out the phrase "my teammate" when talking about other heroes. My teammate Vixen. My teammate Big Barda. My teammate Power Girl.

(Steph and Charlie can't stand each other)

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

Charlie had been edging towards having an emo phase...right up until she met Black Alice. After having to deal with Lori though, Charlie went back to picking the brightest colours out of her wardrobe, out of spite.

She kept Dark Vengeance as her catchphrase anyway. That was Bat, and thus still cool.

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

The first time Charlie bounced with another living thing was in a Metropolis alley. She'd found a box of kittens and a group of kids were throwing rocks at them. Charlie grabbed the box and ran, ending up in a dead end. She bounced, clutching the box.

They were so small. Had barely opened their eyes yet. One of them, a tortie, now never would.

Charlie held their soft little bodies and cried as she buried them under mulch and leaf litter in a park garden bed.

She tried a few more times, to make sure. The kittens had been so young. A mouse in a trap, caught in their kitchen. A spider in a jar. A cockroach. Each time they ended up still. Unmoving.

When the fire broke out and the building burned and her mother screamed for Charlie to get out, she was holding her little brother. Her mother didn't take him back out of her arms.

On the bad days, Charlie remembers the look in her mother's eyes as she pushed Charlie to leave. She had known. She'd meant it. Maybe she'd thought it was kinder, that way.

Charlie had had the tiniest hope that her curse might have just applied to animals, not other humans. She doesn't, now.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

Charlie 100% is living with Helena Bertinelli as her foster daughter and finishing high school at the moment. On weekends, she gets to go on Birds of Prey missions. Babs is organising her magic lessons with Zatanna, particularly focused on her teleportation.

#dc ask meme #charlie gage radcliffe

[gerardpilled]

Zine interest survey!

This zine (tentatively titled "just like me, fr") is designed to explore the complicated relationship we hold with the people we admire. It's meant to be a personal exploration on how you find yourself relating to My Chemical Romance + its members while exploring the assumptions that went into perceptions of relatability and accepting them. Submissions can be heavy and serious, or silly and fun!

This would be a project moderated by Sammy (@columbosunday) and myself, Kelly (@gerardpilled)

Submissions will be looked over and assignments will be determined based on interest and availability

If you choose to tackle a topic relating to a demographic, it is highly preferred and recommended that you belong to the demographic yourself. 

Respecting the identity and private lives of the real people associated with this zine is REQUIRED. No work that aims to seriously theorize further than information publicly given will be accepted. Any assumptions made should be clearly or contextually depicted as assumptions.

The prompt/example submission is primarily for ensuring you've thought of something!

If you wish to submit work with a partner, please submit the form individually and add your partner's info in the provided section

People might be rejected depending on number of responses!

This form is meant to gage initial interest in this zine at all, depending on the feedback it may or may not be used in topic distribution.

Please be at least 18 years old

Deadline for submissions will be determined based off initial response rate. Things are in very early stages so no promises on a finished product as of right now!

#if you have any suggestions on anything we should add pls! #also any questions or concerns

[scholastic-dragon]

Okay, I’m loving the Christmas prompts!!

Can I please ask for Raph (tmnt of course) with scenario 1: decorating the tree and dialogue 40: “Will you make me a hot chocolate?” - “Name all the reindeer and I will.”

Congratulations on 500 followers!! 🥳🥳🥳

Friend you are one of my favorite people on this app, of course I will do it! And thank you!!

Raph x Gn!reader

Tmnt Stocking Stuffers

Hot Chocolate Kisses

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: oblivious idiots, turtle kisses!!, spelling mistakes,

Summary: Raph helps you decorate the tree

"Stop being a sour puss and help me!" You chided, moving your step stool for the third time.

You had invited Raph over to help you decorate your new Christmas tree, well, more like had to bribe him with food and begged him because you couldn't reach the top to put the star on.

He was lounging on your couch, failing to hide his wide grin at watching you try to hang lights on your tree.

It seemed he was more interested in watching you struggle with the lights.

You'd just moved into a new apartment and bought a new tree to fill the corner by your fireplace. It was perfect, until you actually checked the height and realized your mistake.

If you were honest, it was a great excuse to get some one on one time with your crush, normally one or more of his brothers would also be in the room. Not that you didn't like them or didn't want to hangout with them, but your crush on the big brute was driving you insane and you couldn't gage if he felt the same.

He always had this annoying chill persona on, nothing bothered him or got to him but he had no problem complaining or mocking you when he felt like it.

As you peer over your shoulder at him, sitting on your couch, legs spread too far for it to be comfortable, one large arm dropped across the back of the couch, you prayed your face wasn't as red as his mask.

Why did he have to be that buff?

"Alright, alright, if ya stop yelling at me I will," He stands, coming up to your step ladder, taking the lights from your hands and easily reaching up and hooking it in the branches.

"There, now will you stop complain-" He turned his head to mock you more, but noticed just how close he suddenly was.

For the first time you were eye level and he could see all the individual colors that made up your eyes. Your skin wad glowing in the light from your fireplace.

Man, he had it bad for you.

You stared deep into his green eyes, gushing over how the flames flickered across his green face, noticing all the little knicks and scars on his face.

His eyes were wide and for the first time since knowing him, he actually looked.....vulnerable.

You shakily exhaled, licking your now very dry lips.

"Do you want something to eat or drink?" You blurt out, mentally smacking yourself. Why are you talking?! Just kiss him!

He shakes his head, taking a step back, rubbing his hands on his sweatpants. "Um, yeah, I wouldn't mind something, I guess,"

Great going, you just ruined the moment.

You step off the ladder, now very small compared to him. You saw his walls go back up and that annoying persona come back.

He smirked, staring down at you. "Will you make me a hot chocolate?"

You scoff, pushing past him toward the kitchen. "Name all the reindeer and I will."

Reaching the the cabinet, you pull out two Christmas mugs and start making the drinks.

It takes a minutes for the water to boil and you take deep breaths to calm your racing heart. You were so close, were you scared to make the first move? What if he rejected you?

You shake your head, even if he did reject you he wouldn't be an ass about it like your other ex crushes. But what if he did like you? That'd be a fun conversation you'd have to have with your parents.

The water was finally boiling and your poured an almost even amount into each mug, then getting the powder packets and pouring them in.

Raph saunters in, leaning over your shoulder. "Smells great,"

"Thanks," You smile, trying to not enjoying how your side is practically pressed against his chest.

"Are you putting crushed up candy canes in it?" He steps back, noticing how you tensed momentarily.

"Yeah, I'm a sucker for it, have you ever had it?" You hand him his mug, his large hand brushing against yours as he takes it.

"Yeah, I have, but it wasn't on purpose, Mikey has a tendency to just put stuff together and then not tell us," He rolled his eyes at the memory with a small laugh, taking a careful sip.

You giggled, knowing full well he's done the same to you.

"This is really good," He smiles at you, a genuine smile, not the smirks or cocky face he makes when he gets his way.

Now would be a great time to kiss him-

"I'm gonna go finish the tree," Setting the mug down you turn on your heel and head out of the kitchen.

What's wrong with you?! So what, there's a 50/50 chance he'll reject you? That's better then crushing on him for years and years, acting as his best friend.....until he might eventually find someone else to like....then you'll have to support him while silently suffering.

You shake the thoughts from your head, opening up the decorations box and pulling out ornaments.

You start putting them up, trying to not look back at Raph, wherever he might be.

You get the bottom and middle down, you hear Raph sit back down on the couch.

You can't tell if it's a comfortable silence between you or if you both have no idea what to say.

You climb up the step ladder, putting up the ornaments. You reach out to place one of the very edge of the tree, but you're wearing socks and your foot slips on the metal.

It's so fast, you're headed straight for the floor then, staring up at Raph. He jumped from the couch, rush to your side, spun you around in his arms and is now holding you a fee feet from the ground.

"Are ya alright? Yer not hurt?" He voice is low, eyes scanning your face.

You shake your head, hesitantly placing your shaking hands on his shoulders. "No, I'm....I'm alright, I just slipped,"

Raph stared down at you, so small in his arms, clinging to him in the glow of your stupidly nice electric fireplace.

He moved before his brain could talk it out of him, messily pressing his lips to yours, hoping the small gasp you let out wasn't a bad sign.

He pulled back far too quickly, leaving you shocked, red faced, with wide eyes. "I...I'm sorry, I should-"

You cut him off, cupping his face in your hands and pulling him back in for a more controlled kiss. His arms tightened around you, engulfing your waist. He straightened up, pulling you with him, keeping you flush against his chest.

You pulled away, unfortunately, needing air, panting and giggling softly in his face.

"I'm really hopin' that means ya like me too," Raph breathlessly laughed, eyes shining with hope.

You nod happily. "Yes, I do, I really like you," You press three quick pecks to his lips.

"Does that mean I can ask ya to be mine?"

"Recite all the lines from '12 days of Christmas' and I'll think about it,"

tags: @thelaundrybitch @mysticboombox @strawberrycakeblog @dilucsflame33

#tmnt #tmnt bayverse #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt raph #tmnt raphael #tmnt raph x reader #tmnt raphael x reader #tmnt x reader #tmnt headcannons #tmnt imagine #tmnt imagines #tmnt stocking stuffers #christmas prompt list #christmas prompts #turtlebabe83 #thanks for the ask!

[brokehorrorfan]

It Lives Inside will be released on DVD on November 7 via Alliance Entertainment. Unfortunately, no Blu-ray is planned. From the producers of Get Out, the film is currently in theaters via Neon.

Writer-director Bishal Dutta makes his feature debut on the 2023 supernatural horror movie. Megan Suri, Neeru Bajwa, Mohana Krishnan, Vik Sahay, Gage Marsh, Beatrice Kitsos, and Betty Gabriel star.

No special features are listed. Read on for the trailer.

Sam is desperate to fit in at school, rejecting her Indian culture and family to be like everyone else. When a mythological demonic spirit latches onto her former best friend, she must come to terms with her heritage in order to defeat it.

Pre-order It Lives Inside.

#it lives inside #megan suri #betty gabriel #bishal dutta #horror #alliance entertainment #dvd #gift #neeru bajwa #mohana krishnan #vik sahay #gage marsh #beatrice kitsos #get out

[gravity-barbie]

The Hargreeves having a crush on you HCs

Request

A/N: So I did end up including Five in this but if I get another half-romantic request for him I probably won’t do it

Sparrow version

Masterlist

Luther Hargreeves

-Luther has no intention of pursuing you as he believes you deserve better than a (in his opinion) emotionally-stunted monkey man

-But he's also completely wrapped around your finger, he just melts when you're around and does whatever he can to keep you happy

-Even when you're not around you're often consuming his thoughts, he'll have you at least at the back of his mind regardless of what he's doing

-You can fluster him extremely easily, compliments or unexpected touches leave him stumbling over his words or around the room

-You're one of the few people that can see his vulnerability and coax him out of his shell

Diego Hargreeves

-Diego might seem cocky, like if he wanted something he'd go for it but he actually struggles to ask you out out of fear of you rejecting him

-He tries to impress you though his attempts have a bad habit of going wrong and embarrassing him

-He really pays attention to you and looks out for your needs, like if you seem down one day he's giving you a pep talk

-He's quite protective from offering to accompany you if you need to go out at night or go to a shifty area to him getting in arguments with people who have a problem with you

-Its pretty obvious he's sweet on you but if anyone brings it up he'll deny it and act all macho

Allison Hargreeves

-Allison handles her crush with charm and casual confidence

-Odds are you'll be wooed very quickly by the sweet attention she shows you, tossing you compliments, meaningful smiles and doing nice little things to brighten your day

-She invites you out a lot, she doesn't call them dates but that's kind of what they are

-She's often dressed and styled to the nines around you which isn't significantly different than usual but she still hopes you'll notice

-She does tend to prefer to be pursued than the pursuer so for all the hints she drops she leaves you to make the first real move

Klaus Hargreeves

-It's actually kind of unusual for him, sure he's been attracted to plenty of people but rarely does it develop into a full-fledged crush like it does with you, it kind of sneaks up on him

-He considers approaching you like anyone else -forward and flirty- but actually gives it a second thought, not wanting to throw away his chance or ruin your already existing relationship

-He shows surprising restraint, dropping hints and trying to gage your feelings while really he's desperate to just come out and confess

-He's sweeter than you're used to, offering to help you with various things and getting your opinion more often

-You are on the receiving end of more flirting from him than before but its not exactly out of character so you'd be forgiven for not noticing

Five Hargreeves

-Well obviously you can’t reciprocate, though ironically it’s Five who thinks he’s a bit too old for you

-Even if your age situations lined up better he wouldn’t pursue you, always too preoccupied with some world-ending matter

-So for the most part he actually just avoids you where he can

-His protectiveness over you is one of the only signs, always rushing to your defense during battles and threatening enemies when your name slips out of their mouths

-Of course his siblings catch on and have a laugh about their ice cold brother having a crush

Ben Hargreeves

-It’s pining turned up to 11 since he literally can’t act on his crush

-He talks Klaus’ ear off about you, partially because he wants him to understand the depth of his feelings and partially because he has no one else to talk about you to

-Klaus is a bit of a jerk about it though, teasing him in a brotherly, very Klaus-like way

-He’s incredibly observant over you, often just sitting back and admiring you

-Mentally, he’s been over dozens of ways to approach you and conversations you could have but he knows, unfortunately, it’s just fantasy

Viktor Hargreeves

-He’s friends with you for a while before he falls for you and he pines for even longer after that

- You probably have no idea he likes you because -as with most things- he’s not especially expressive about it, it’s more of a quiet longing

-He spends as much time around you as possible but gets self-conscious that he’s bothering you

-You compliment him often and even though he has a hard time believing them they still give him butterflies

-You’re the only person that can make him feel special, unfortunately that’s because he thinks having you as a friend is the most special thing about him

#The Umbrella Academy #the umbrella academy imagine #the umbrella academy preferences #tua x reader #tua x you #five hargreeves x reader #ben hargreeves x reader #viktor hargreeves x reader #luther hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves x reader #allison hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves x reader

[writer-k-pop]

Mastermind

난 아무데도 안가요. I’m not going anywhere.

Description: [Literally based on the Taylor Swift song because I couldn’t get it out of my head and Jeonghan fit the song so well.] Yoon Jeonghan and (y/n)’s relationship was everything she wanted it to be. But that’s because she designed it by hand. Warnings: Swearing Genre: fluff, Idol!Jeonghan x Celebrity!Fem!Reader Word Count: 2.3k

SEVENTEEN Masterlist | Other Masterlists

Yoon Jeonghan. From the moment I saw him, I knew I wanted him. And nothing was going to stop me. He was going to be mine and no one would stand in my way.

Did he know this? Absolutely not.

Would he ever find out? If the dominoes lined up correctly, he would never find out.

Sure, we’d heard of each other before but never met. That’s because I played my pieces perfectly. Pushing pawns forwards and keeping the Queen a mystery. It was simple, truly, listening carefully to everyone around me to find out he was single. Then it was only a matter of time until he was going to a place that I was going to be at as well. I made sure it would be the first night we met and the start of everything.

I made sure at that party to watch and listen to everything going on around me. An hour or so into the night, I found the perfect moment. 

He pulled himself away from his friends to go grab another drink at the bar. I had to carefully time out everything. He was known for his love of the chase but there had been stories of him getting bored if the chase was too intense, too calm, too bold, too boring.

Leaning against the bar, I waited to order as the bartender made his drink. As if by accident, I let my pinkie brush against his. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him glance over, gaging the distance I had put between him and me. Not far enough to say we were strangers but also not close enough to be obvious that I was interested in him. Just somewhere in between.

“Haven’t seen you around much lately.” He commented, facing forward again as if we were on some covert mission, which I most certainly was.

I looked over, studying him like I knew his secrets when I was dying to uncover every single one. “I’ve been busy with this and that.”

“Would you allow me to buy you a drink since you’ve been so busy with this and that? We can just put it on my tab." He offered and pulled out his black card, attempting to impress me with his wealth and status. He must’ve started a tab on a different card but was trying his best to impress me. 

I smiled and looked over the card, making sure to keep a intrigued look glossed over my face. The bartender placed his drink down on the table and I turned to the bartender.

“A Vodka Mojito, muddled.” I told him and pulled out my own black card, “And start a tab for me.” To make him think that I was staying for a while. 

“Right away, ma’am.” The bartender took the card and walked over to the register. 

“Hm.” Jeonghan hummed, slowly lowering his card and looking up and down my face, impressed.

“What?” I leaned my head on my fist, “Figured I didn’t have one myself?" The bartender stood behind the counter, listening but keeping his eyes and hands busy with my drink.

He shook his head, "It's a first."

A new piece of information flips open a new page in my mental notebook of him. "First time a woman rejected you?"

"Usually women reject me and turn away empty handed." Jeonghan corrected me, "This is the first time a woman has rejected me as an equal." 

I knew then I had him interested in my hook. But he was just looking. I needed him to bite before tugging and securing him. If I tugged too soon, I'd lose him in the dark waters.

"If you can find me again, maybe I'll let you buy me the second." I said, wrapping my hand around my drink and disappearing into the crowd. 

Little did he know I wasn’t going to stick around for that second drink. Spent an hour nursing my mojito and when it was nearly finished, I returned to the bar, closed my tab, and retreated to my home.

Over the next couple days, I heard whispers that Jeonghan was quite mystified by my disappearance. But just like I knew, he didn’t turn away. My disappearance only made him more curious. I heard from friends he was poking around, asking if I’d be at places and making comments about the cities I bounced around.

I knew we would have to meet again but it was all calculated. Timed so his obsession would grow instead of diminish. 

It was after a few months of cat and mouse did he finally bite the hook and got me alone. 

“I have not stopped thinking about you for months.” Jeonghan whispered lowly, “Would you care to share why you have not left my mind?”

I looked up amused, “Maybe I’m just that unforgettable.”

“I decide when people are unforgettable.” He pushed back, lifting his chin ever so slightly.

“Is that so?” I tilted my head to the side, “Then do share, when do you know people are unforgettable?” I asked, tempting him to take the bait.

Jeonghan smirked and I knew he thought he had me where he wanted me. Though I wanted to kiss away that smirk because it was actually me who had him where I wanted him. “Usually after a date or two.”

“Then, Yoon Jeonghan,” I crossed my arms over my chest, “Take me out on a date, or two.” 

His smirk turned into a smile and the dominos started cascading in a line. 

One date turned into two.

Then two dates became two months.

Two months flew to a year.

And suddenly we were together for a year and a half. 

It’s not like I was dishonest in our relationship. I told him all my secrets. I let him into my turbulent storm of emotions swirling in my mind. Everything I let him see was the truth. Everything except the timing. 

How I needed to meticulously pick and choose what I told him and when I told him. Letting him think he was peeling back the layers on his own when in reality, I was the one at the top, releasing my hold of the layers when I saw fit. 

And as the layers fell, so did the dominos. They fell, one by one, all in a perfect line. Crashing into each other with the most satisfying sounds. 

Until one was crashed into but didn’t fall, only teetered before stilling once more.

We were out eating dinner at a restaurant. It was one of the higher ends, something we both loved - the glam and glitz. 

Talking about our days and the latest gossip surrounding us and those around us. Then he looked up with a nostalgic look in his eyes.

“You ever think about it?” He asked, holding his fist under his chin.

“Think about what?” I picked up my wine glass, peering at him over the rim. 

He resumed cutting into his steak, “The night we first met.” 

My hand faltered for second but I quickly recovered before he saw, covering up the fear that he found out. “What about it?” I kept my voice calm and curious. 

I was not going to let a simple question reveal my web of schemes. 

“Just how the planets, fates, and all the stars aligned so perfectly that I met you that night.” He smiles softly, silently thanking the universe for aligning so. “I can’t imagine my life if I never met you that night. Like what if I simply passed by and not noticed how intriguing you were.” He shook his head, “Crazy.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and chuckled lightly, “Yeah, crazy.” 

He carried on like normal, but his simple ‘what if’ question sent thousands spiraling in my mind. 

‘What if I told you none of it was accidental?’

‘What if I told you how nothing was going to stop me from having you?’

‘What if I told you how I laid the groundwork?’

What if I told you how, just like clockwork, the dominoes cascaded in a perfect line?’

‘What if I told you it was all by design?’

Yet one repeatedly came up until is was the only question I could think about.

‘What if I told you I’m a mastermind?’

‘What if…’

‘What if…’

The question kept me up hours after we had returned to my apartment. Long after we had finished the movie. 

I knew he knew something was off. It was evident in the way he cuddled me closer and kept a hand trailing up and down my arm, occasionally drawing shapes into my skin. 

But he never asked. He knew I would tell him what was bothering me when I was ready. But this, this was something I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready to tell him. 

This would be me admitting to every scheme I had ever executed. This would be me giving up my control to him and dear god, that was my worst fear.

For my whole life I was a schemer. It started on the playground when no one wanted to play with me as a little kid. I schemed like a criminal to make everyone love me and to make it seem so effortless. And everyone had fallen for the plot lines. Including him. 

So why did I feel the need to confess. Why now? And why with him?

The moon sat in the sky, brightly shining and keeping me company through the midnight hours. 

Jeonghan laid beside me, sleeping soundly and probably dreaming about me. 

Giving up on the sleep, I padded out to the living room and sat on the couch, legs crossed underneath me and hands folded in front of me. 

My mind was reeling with all the possible outcomes. This was not part of my perfect plan. I had always plotted the obstacles that I could encounter through each scheme. But never once did it occur to me that I would need to plan for the obstacles my own mind would throw at me. 

In the midst of my thoughts, Jeonghan stirred awake, missing the feeling of my warmth beside him. 

I barely noticed him exit the bedroom and search through the house for me. He was silent when he sat on the coffee table directly in front of me and moved like a ghost, enclosing my hands in his. 

It was there, in my living room, under the watchful midnight moon, that I spoke my fears to the one I swore would never know them. 

“I have to tell you something.” I said softly, staring only at his hands. I was afraid if I looked up and saw the hurt on his face, I would never forgive myself for making such a costly mistake. 

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going anywhere.” He said with such certainty I almost laughed.

I took a deep breath, the bubble of fear lodged in my throat and growing. “What I told you I’m a mastermind?”

He leaned forward on his thighs, “What do you mean?” There was no malice, only confusion. 

He hadn’t caught on yet.

“What if I told you that none of this was accidental?” I pushed on, squeezing my eyes shut and listening for the telltale gasp of realization and betrayal. “That the first night you saw me, nothing was going to stop and I knew I wanted you. That I laid the groundwork and watched the dominoes fall like clockwork. What if I told you you’re mine because it was all my design and that I’m the mastermind who planned it all.”

I rushed to finish and listened. I was listening for the gasp. I was waiting for the air to change to something I needed to cut with a knife. I was waiting for him to say he hated me.

But I heard nothing. The air didn’t change. The tight grip of his hands was still around my hands. He was still sitting in front of me.

Confused, I slowly raised my head. 

And there on his angelic face was a wide smirk. 

It hit me like a ton of bricks. 

He knew this entire time.

My mouth dropped open in surprise.

“I was wondering when you would realize.” He brought my intertwined hands up to his lips and kissed them. “Everyone said you were a mysterious one. They all said they thought you were some kind of spider, setting traps and creating seamless crimes. But I didn’t care.”

I searched his eyes for any sign that he was going to take my trophy and smash it to pieces. But instead, he polished it, held up it up to the light, and admired it.

“I saw every move you were making and I willingly fell for every single one.” He continued, “Because I finally found someone who was as equally Machiavellian as I was. Every move you made impressed me because you constantly surprised me. Going left when I assumed you’d go right. Pushing when I thought you’d pull.”

“You knew.” I whispered, stumped beyond belief.

He nodded with a smile. “I knew. You were going for checkmate and I wanted you to get there. I wanted to fall since the first night I met you. And I want to fall every day from now until forever. I’d get checkmated by you in every goddamn lifetime.” He confessed and the midnight stars were the witnesses.

A smile grew on my face as I untangled my hands and pulled him into a kiss. A kiss that could’ve moved mountains. When he pushed, I pulled. The both of us tempting the other to break away first. To be the one to relinquish control of the uncontrollable hurricane of schemes that we both loved so much. 

It was the night I knew he was mine for good. And the night I knew I was his all along. 

I was a mastermind.

But so was he. 

#kpop #kpop imagines #seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen imagine #seventeen jeonghan imagine #seventeen jeonghan imagines #seventeen jeonghan #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan imagine #jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #yoon jeonghan imagines #yoon jeonghan imagine #writer-k-pop

[maevesheart]

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪ masochistic desires

series masterlist

note: harlem gage is a completely fictional character, as with cillian, petra, and jane.

summary: prince harry, known for his extensive drug use and lewd band, openly rebels against his birth into the most famous english family in the world. his norm of getting everything he wants is challenged when you, the know-it-all, smug american, rejects his advances. but the prince is never one to turn down a challenge.

WC: 6.4k

TW: swearing, drugs

listen to: babylon - 5 seconds of summer

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

the halls of condé nast’s london headquarters were bustling with men and women dressed to the nines in all designer clothes.

you had been expecting this, but not quite to the extent you were experiencing this moment. a flurry of directions were flown at you by the woman giving you directions — bella, maybe? you couldn’t really remember, your focus was trained on keeping up with her long strides.

words flew out of her mouth, before she came to a sudden halt in a large window-lined room filled with cubicles, whiteboards covered in posters and samples, and racks of clothing.

she leads you to one of the cubicles in the front, a man wearing thick black glasses on the opposite end.

“here’s where you’ll be, harlem, the fashion lead of british vogue will be here shortly to speak to you.” she smiles and walks away, leaving with the glasses-clad man, who is now staring at you with wide-child-like eyes.

“hello, i’m y/n,” you smile at him, sticking out your hand.

“cillian, nice to meet you,” his irish accent is thick, and he swallows quickly before placing his hand in yours.

“where’re you from? i mean, that’s a stupid question, i can tell from your accent — god, i’m sorry sometimes i—“

you cut off his awkward rambling, “i’m from new york. you’re irish?”

he nods sharply, turning red and leaning his head down to go back to his work.

okay, awkward…

you pull your computer out of your black goyard tote, but before you have a chance to pick it up, harlem, the fashion lead, is standing above your desk, his famous wide smile across his cheeks.

“y/n l/n? your outfit is amazing,” he examines as you stand, eyes raking down your body, picking at the tan tweed chanel jacket your wearing.

a sewn bow goes across the cropped jacket, tying together in the front. thick black lines the collar, and the matching skirt has small slits on each side, with gold buttons down the middle.

you paired the set with tweed black chanel flats, simple yet elegant, perfect for a first day at a famous magazine house.

“thank you,” you smile, his bright blue eyes still scanning down your body.

“alright, follow me,” he smiles, and you follow closely behind him.

people stop to say hello to him, their eyes following you in a mix of jealousy and admiration.

you didn’t know why he wanted to speak to you, you were just as much confused as everyone else.

he turns the corner and enters the large doorway into a big office with floor-to-ceiling windows, a simple black desk in the middle with a rolling chair.

a white board sits behind his desk, different sample pieces taped up and scribbles in dark ink, the words the masochists are in all caps and underlined three times, you assume that is the issue of the month, even though you’ve barely heard of the group, or person, or whatever it was.

“please, have a seat,” harlem speaks, unbuttoning his jacket as he sits in his chair.

you sit down across from him, folding your hands into your lap, suddenly feeling very nervous.

“you met jane this morning, i’m assuming she gave you the rundown of how things work here?”

jane! that was her name, the secretary who led you to your desk. you nod to him, remembering the directions and few names jane threw at you this morning.

anna wintour, the global head of vogue, roger lynch, the coo, and then a few other names who worked in various departments, like harlem gage as head of fashion and petra taylor as head of design.

he continues, “perfect. i can dive right in,” he opens a drawer, pulling out a folder with your name scribbled on the front.

he flips it open, flicking through a few papers before pulling one out. the same words, the masochists, is printed on the paper in large letters, followed by a few names and a location.

“miss l/n, i’d like to personally give you your first piece.”

you watch as he slides the paper over to you, his demeanor a bit more uncomfortable than it was when you had met him just a few moments earlier.

you were confused. on the paper it says that the masochists is a band, an up-and-coming “punk rock” band that was founded on the basis of rebelling against societal norms.

“i’m sorry, i thought i was writing about fashion?” you question, shaking your head.

you had been hired as a paid intern for vogue’s fashion department. you assumed this would mean going to shows and dissecting the various pieces; not some band you had never heard of.

“that is correct, miss l/n, we, um well i, thought it would be great to put you on with the masochists. they’re a young band with great talents, their members are rather famous,”

you raise an eyebrow. if this band was so famous, wouldn’t you have heard of them? or even have an understanding of who was in the band?

“sorry, but i’m failing to find the connections,” you gave an awkward smile, not wanting to overstep. but this was ridiculous! you didn’t want to write about some random punk band you’ve never heard of.

“it’s custom that we do a background check on each employee, and with you, our data team found some connections, within your family or friends, or whoever you’ve posted on instagram. but they’re there. and they’re hard to miss,” an awkward smile falls on his lips, as if he’s trying to say he’s sorry.

you had worked so hard, trying not to let your fathers last name determine your work or career.

at first, you hoped they recognized your name from mitch y/l/n, your little brother, who plays d1 lacrosse at unc.

but you knew that was way too far fetched.

your father had owned a publishing company, one that held heaps of stock in various other magazine houses.

one of which was condé nast. the building you were sitting in right now.

after his and your mother’s death a few years back, your eldest brother, noah, had been given sole inheritance to the company.

he sold it for a pretty penny, and now the three of you — you and your brothers — were living quite comfortably.

“so you’re implying that i only received this internship because of my late father’s stake in the company?” you wondered, peaking an eyebrow as harlem shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“no, of course not, but it was a key factor.”

he realized soon that he shouldn’t have said that, and scrambled to cover up the mess he was creating.

“miss l/n, your connections are immaculate. as are your talents. we’ve reviewed your portfolio and previous pieces you did at parsons and nyu. but the masochists, this band is a diamond in hiding. i think it could do wonders for your career here. and i like you, as i liked your father. so i’d like to offer the review to you first.” he was composed, almost compassionate.

you found it hard to believe him. but you were selfish by nature, and knew that you wanted to write. you wanted to show your talents, show that you were more than your last name and father’s connections.

“alright.”

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

the job was easy enough. you were to attend the masochists gig at some college bar, and write about their outfits. maybe even get an interview with their stylist.

seemed easy enough.

harlem walked you back to your desk, gave you a hasty and awkward hug before waltzing back to his office.

the fellow people in the room gawked at you, shocked to see a brand new intern hugging and whispering with the harlem gage.

if only they knew why. you scoffed, grabbing your tote, ready to head out and start the first day of second term at the imperial college of london.

you were lucky to be one of the few nyu students selected to do a year abroad. you were a senior, majoring in journalism and a minor in fashion design, this would hopefully make a big break in your career.

you hoped it would be as good as harlem was promising.

you were sitting in one of the back rows of your trend forecasting class, having entered a few minutes late, you didn’t think it would be right to interrupt the entire class in order to find a good seat.

so here you were, stowed away in the back of the lecturing hall, your computer propped in front of you, glasses sat atop the bridge of your nose, trying desperately to concentrate.

you lightly tap the end of your pen onto the desk, feeling extremely sleepy listening to your boring professor explain something you had already learned; it was custom that you had to take this class, even though the intro to trend forecasting was required as a freshman at nyu.

a warm hand reached out and slammed your pen onto the desk, you looked behind you, a scowl playing on your lips, eyes meeting the light green you couldn’t seem to escape.

you rolled your eyes, not wanting to deal with his royal-pain-in-the-ass, and turned around.

harry was extremely amused. he assumed you’d be more feisty, maybe give him a good lecture, but nope. just an eye roll. he wasn’t willing to settle for that.

“where’s my feisty girl, eh?” he leaned down to your seat, lips brushing your ear.

your body shuddered, and harry didn’t miss the light sigh that left your lips.

“leave me alone.” you growl out. leaning forward, getting some more space between you two.

you didn’t understand how he was everywhere you turned. the bar, and now sitting behind you in class. he was a prince, yes, but that did not mean he deserved your respect.

he had been nothing but an arse. if anything, he should be demanding your respect. not the other way around.

“cmon princess, don’t be like that,” a smirk tugs on his lips as he watches you spin around, not expecting that word to fall from his lips.

“just because you have a title does not mean you can treat me like a piece of meat.” you surge forwards, face inches away from his. you swear there’s steam coming from your ears.

a blond boy sits to harry’s right, letting a chuckle fall through as he watches the two of you argue.

you turn to look at him, raising an eyebrow. he was handsome, light blond hair scattered across his forehead, a muscle tank hanging loosely on his body, arms crossed against his chest. his silver lip ring glimmering in the dim light.

“and who’re you?” you cross your arms, almost fully turned around in your chair at this point.

harry sends him a side-eye, pissed that nash is at the receiving end of your attention.

“he doesn’t matter,” harry spits out, reclaiming your attention that he so badly craves.

“darling, my title’s never denied me anything. i don’t expect you’ll be an exception, either,” harry smirks, your frown somehow turning deeper.

you huff and turn back around in your seat, refusing to feed his ego or slightly give in… his eyes were too pretty! you weren’t always perfect… your self control lacked sometimes, just like everyone else.

“the glasses are cute. i like them.” he leaned down once again, lips ghosting back over your ear. he pulled away immediately, you gnawing on your bottom lip, trying to stop the red from flushing into your cheeks, ultimately failing.

was he being… nice? giving you a genuine compliment?

no! snap out of it y/n… he doesn’t even know your name! or bothered to ask for that matter…

you ignored him, and the growing heat in your cheeks by tuning in with your stoic professor, hanging onto his words, trying your absolute hardest to block harry out.

this became increasingly difficult, as much as you didn’t want him to get a rise out of you, his continued chuckles and kicks to the back of your chair were driving you mad.

“oh will you just stop it!” you whipped your head around, almost 100% sure that the entire class was watching, as you may have said that a bit too loud to go unnoticed.

harry’s eyes have a gleam in them, nash (you think his name is that, harry said something starting with an n — you aren’t the best with names) is awkward? trying to sink to the bottom of his seat watching you and harry size each other up.

you were far too stressed about your assignment for harlem to worry about harry right now, and he was really pissing you off.

all you wanted was to get the stupid concert over with and write the dumb report, you did not have time to deal with harry on top of all of it.

“miss l/n, could you take it outside please?” your professor asks. you tuck your chin into your chest, immediately feeling extremely self conscious.

“of course. i’m sorry, sir,” you speak out, shocked your voice hadn’t betrayed you yet.

gathering your things, you threw harry one last glare, eyes softening as his face held a look of… pity?

turning back, tears burned into your eyes, but you refused to cry. no, you would not let yourself unravel over something as ridiculous as a prince who needed some serious humbling.

you walked as fast as you possibly could, wanting to put as much distance between yourself and harry as possible.

he had ruined your weekend, now ruining one of your easiest classes. he was a dick and you despised him. how could he sit there and be so smug? so… mean? how could he be so mean to you? all you had done was stick up for yourself, but you assumed he wasn’t used to that. a man like him was used to taking what he wants and not caring who he hurts in the process.

you could see that between he and nash. how nash was timid, lips sealing as soon as harry gave him a look out of the corner of his eye.

yet you found it hard to feel bad for him. anyone who was associated with harry left a sour taste on your tongue, and you usually weren’t the forgiving type either.

once you had made it out of the design building, you sat down on the concrete steps, placing your head in your hands.

you didn’t care about your chanel skirt possibly getting dirty, or how you threw your goyard down onto the pavement.

you wanted to go home. desperately. first semester was fine, you did well in class and landed your internship with condé nast.

but now, here you were, feeling like prey in the eyes of the king of the safari — hunted, stalked. you did not like the feeling whatsoever.

someone dropped down next to you, you saw their dirty black converse through the cracks in your fingers, where your head lay.

lifting your head up, you met harry’s friends blue eyes, filled with a look that simply stated, i’m sorry.

“i’m nash, by the way.” he offered a tight lipped smile, extending his hand.

you looked down to it, before looking back up into his eyes. you took his hand, giving it a weak shake.

“y/n,” you muttered out, resting your elbows on your knees, and then setting your chin atop your palms.

“sorry, about…harry. he’s difficult sometimes. i know firsthand how much of a dick he can be,” nash awkwardly laughed, watching you with careful eyes.

harry had sent him daggers when he dashed out after you. harry wasn’t the type to apologize, he usually let nash do it for him.

“whatever. i don’t feel like dealing with the disrespect today.” you brush off your skirt, chin still resting in one palm.

neither of you say anything, nash’s presence helping the pit in your stomach.

you feel sick. sick with hatred and anger. you hate how much you let harry get to you in there, how you had resorting to yelling at him.

you weren’t loud, or obnoxious, or flashy. he had just proper pissed you off, and you never let people walk all over you.

“harry is difficult sometimes… but he’s not evil. and i don’t know what went down with you two before but he made us move so we could sit behind you in class today. the other boys wouldn’t… so it was me who had to.” go figure.

nash was his puppy dog, eyes soft and genuine, you figured it probably hurt him to speak badly of harry.

but… he made them move? he wanted to sit near you? you couldn’t think of any other reason except to annoy you, adding it to your growing list of cons.

silence created a blanket over top the two of you. while nash’s presence pissed you off (greatly), it was also weirdly comforting.

you were extremely conflicted.

nash left you moments later, his coarse hand lightly pressing into your shoulder, saying goodbye.

back inside, nash slumped in next to harry, who was twisting a tooth pick in his mouth.

“she’s kind of… almost reserved, harry.” nash murmurs out, harry looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

“well whatever she is, i know she’ll be a good shag. always love the feisty ones,” he smirks, running a hand through his tousled curls.

nash wanted to rebuttal, to argue with him. he knew it would be no avail, yet he found himself wanting to stick up for you.

in his eyes, you were weak, no match for harry.

harry was… powerful. he had connections, obviously, and his parents were willing to give him anything to keep him docile and submissive. but harry wasn’t either of those things.

harry would tear down everything to get to a person, he was egotistical, and self-important, and nash believed you to be the exact opposite of what you truly were. he thought you’d be easily swayed, and give in to harry. a swipe of harry’s credit card and you’d be on your knees.

but you didn’t need money, and you didn’t want power, or the ego trip of hooking up with a prince, you wanted to make a name for yourself, to have a career.

harry was willing to stand in the way of that. and you were willing to fight back.

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

september 28, 2013

you had been staying off the internet for the past day, wanting to be completely surprised at the masochists concert tonight.

you did listen to their album, and while you weren’t a complete fan of their style, you had to admit that it was good.

your favorite song had to either be clouds or only angel, the lead singers voice was mesmerizing, and you found yourself lost in the music.

figuring you could get away with being a little casual tonight, you slipped on your favorite pair of jeans, black and slightly faded, with distressed cuffs at the bottom.

you paired them with your black adidas spezials, a simple vintage fleetwood mac shirt that you had thrifted thrown onto your body, you had rolled up the short sleeves to make it into a makeshift “tank top”.

tucking it into the jeans, you buckled your thick black belt, the buckle in the shape of a silver horseshoe — it was one of your favorites.

you threw your signature black leather jacket on over the outfit, the concert was outside at a college bar, and considering it was october and the weather was changing, you figured warmth was a must.

grabbing your black the row tote bag, you shoved a notebook, a few pencils, your ipad, and other essentials. and your pepper spray — just in case. you could never be too careful.

the walk to the venue from your apartment was short — the outdoor space was just around the block. close to your favorite coffee shop.

you were surprisingly in a good mood. harry had pissed you off once again, and you wished you could’ve kneed him again.

you were shocked he would even come near you after what he pulled outside the bar. you had seen him twice in one day! it was too much — you wanted nothing to do with him.

he was far too self important for you. his ego smeared all over his face, screaming i’m better than you to every person he met.

you also didn’t understand how no one ever seemed to recognize him. his father ruled the country you were in, his sister next in line. he was one of the most famous people in the world — why was he so unrecognizable?

maybe people chose to ignore him. you knew he was violent and irrational, the people of the uk must know the same.

the venue was already packed once you arrived, getting your hand stamped and giving them your ticket — that condé nast was paying for.

your outfit was perfect for the scene, the only colors in the sea of people were black, white, and red, clearly this band had an in-sync fan base.

drums were set on the stage, along with a microphone standing tall in the middle.

teen girls mostly made up the audience, their love struck eyes trained on the stage as they waiting for the boys to come out.

you were stuck in the back, loads of people had shoved their way to the front, filling the entire outside space.

you retired to a small corner, close to the exit. you could still see and hear everything perfectly, the lawn wasn’t that big.

the lights dimmed, a sudden hush falling on the audience. you watched with wide eyes, wanting desperately to put a face to the voice you had been listening to for the past few hours.

a loud guitar strum is heard, lights still pitch black. suddenly the lights blink on, girls screaming as the masochists play the introduction to their song woman — one that you did like.

you watched, a light smile tugging on your lips. the lead singer was turned around, lightly moving his hips to the beat, a melodic sound coming out of his mouth.

it was like sex for the ears, and you were loving every second of it.

you forced yourself to tear your eyes away from his body and the way it was perfectly moving, his back still turned, and shifting your line of sight to the other band members.

one with cropped brown hair and dark brown eyes was on the drums, his arms flexing as he hit the different parts of the instrument, a concentrated look on his face.

you took note of his outfit, all you could see was his tight grey flannel, a few buttons undone, revealing his upper chest.

you shifted to the boy on the right of the lead singer, his black hair sticking straight up and into a million other directions. a piece hung down low over his forehead and eyes, moving as he beat down on his red guitar, eyebrows furrowing in focus.

he was beautiful. dark eyes coated with dark, long lashes, a light stubble and mustache, earrings in his ears, and a simple black t-shirt straining against his muscles as he moved his arm up and down the guitar.

he had a microphone pressed against his mouth, singing along to the song, your eyes trained on his lips. you assumed he was the role of the lead guitar, as well as backup vocals.

there were two boys on the opposite side, the farthest right had light brown hair, flat against his forehead, high cheekbones, and bright blue eyes.

a tattoo sat above his right eyebrow, something scribbled that you couldn’t make out because of your distance from the stage.

he was beautiful also, playing the rhythm guitar, smiling out to the crowed, enjoying the attention.

the other boy was shorter, wearing beat up black converse, ripped black skinny jeans, and a loose grey tank.

his blond hair splayed across his face, sweat beading down as he beat against the guitar, obviously on the bass.

your eyes flicked up from the black guitar, taking in all his features.

it was… nash? his eyes were trained down, but you could make out all his features. it was the boy who had chased after you… sticking up for you against harry.

harry! you flicked to the lead singer, his back finally turned, letting the audience get a good view of his toned chest, his shirt completely unbuttoned and flying to the side as he writhed his body along with the strum of the guitars and the beats of the drums.

his green eyes were on yours, a smirk toying at his lips as your mouth dropped into an “o” shape, and your eyebrows knitted together in frustration.

why was he everywhere you turned! and why were you starting to like it…

no! y/n enough!

he was hot, there was no point in denying it, but you’d never tell him that.

you busied yourself with writing down the outfits of choice for each the boys, so that you wouldn’t have to stare into the eyes that you hated so much, yet seemed to be blushing because of.

blushing?! you couldn’t believe yourself.

no boy had ever gotten to you like this before, and you would not let harry be the first.

he was a pompous, arrogant prick who couldn’t tell his arse from his head. you wanted nothing to do with him.

but yet again… here was a free show, with music you did like, and some serious eye candy, all for you… you could stay a little bit longer.

a little bit longer turned into a while longer, and you had stayed for the whole show, swaying along to their covers of my chemical romance and green day. harry’s voice was magnificent. if being a prince didn’t work out, he should seriously continue this path of music.

pretty soon you were hanging off the arm of a cute blond boy named luke, his brunette friend callum cracking a joke, you and luke doubling over in laughter.

them and their other friends michael and ashton had gotten a round of drinks, and you figured why not. luke had approached you after seeing you all alone in the back, his presence was comforting and he seemed genuine.

he was dressed much like the masochists were, skinny black jeans and a metallica graphic tee hanging loosely off him.

ashton had run off to speak to the band, luke had said. they were friends with them, they had told you, they had all started their music journeys together, and luke and his bandmates wanted to be supportive friends.

after thanking luke and callum for their generosity, you told them you had to leave.

“why don’t you come with us to the after party? we’re going down the street to a bar, it’s chill, you’ll like it,” luke encouraged, callum humming in agreement.

“i don’t know, i’ve got work tomorrow and —“

“y/nnnnnn, please?” callum pouted, tugging on your arm.

you caved, not really wanting to go home anyways.

“i guess i’ve got a few spare hours,” you smiled, callum and luke now tugging you away into the streets of london.

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

alcohol was coursing through your veins, mind cloudy with thoughts of more beer and getting your ass on the tile floor to dance.

“dance with me!” you shouted over the blaring music, callum and luke shrugging, allowing you to pull them into the dance floor.

now you were grateful for your loose t shirt and jeans, they allowed you to move freely.

your dance moves were all over the place, grinding against thin air, your hips methodically moving along to the addicting song engulfing your senses.

“i want another drink!” you screamed, scurrying away to the bar, ordering a cosmo.

you suddenly found yourself needing to use the restroom, heading down a hallway that you assumed they’d be in.

it was dimly lit, and the music was muted, making the hallway eerie.

your senses were heightened as you turned a corner, your pepper spray clutched tightly in your left hand… you could never be too careful.

“hi.” the silky smooth voice with the accent that you refused to admit turned you on caused you to jump, and you lifted up the pink spray bottle, pressing the button.

harry shrieked, hands coming up to cover his eyes. it was too late now, the damage had been done.

“oh god, oh my god, are you alright?!” you rushed over to him, your hands trying to pry his off his face.

“no i’m not okay! you just assaulted me!” he groaned, slumping against the nearest wall.

“i’m sorry harry, you just startled me,” you trailed off, watching with gentle eyes as he rubbed his, trying to rid off all the spray.

“could you get me some water?” he asks, quietly, gently, possibly the most gentle he’s ever spoke to you.

“of course,” you murmur, rushing into the closest door, running a paper towel underneath the sink.

you brought it back to him, carefully pressing it against his eyes, his head tilting backwards, pressed against the brick wall.

silence surrounds the two of you, his quiet breathing the only noise. though you didn’t like him, you couldn’t help but feel bad. he wasn’t trying to hurt you, he was just saying hello. and you sprayed pepper into his eyes.

“i deserved it,” he lightly laughs, carefully peeling the wet paper off his eyes, his hand around your wrist.

“what?” you question, almost all the alcohol in your system had dissipated once you had sprayed him.

“i deserved it. for how i’ve treated you.” he stared into your eyes, his a little bloodshot and red — likely due to the irritation.

“maybe,” you giggled, looking down at his long fingers still around your wrist.

“but it still wasn’t nice of me,” you whisper, smiling back at him.

“nonetheless. i’m sorry.” you nod at his apology, a silent acceptance.

“you were great, by the way,” you are staring at him, sipping down all of his features, trying to take a photo and remember it forever. he was gorgeous.

he nods, trying to find the right words. “yeah, i was surprised to see you here. y’know, i still don’t know your name,”

you smile as you realize he’s never bothered to ask, and you’ve never cared enough to tell him.

“y/n.” you smile, “and i actually didn’t know you were the singer until i got here. i’m here for work, to do a diagnostic piece on your wardrobe, but i had no idea who i’d be looking at,”

“i hope i didn’t disappoint,”

you go silent, harry’s been quiet, gentle? he’s the most reserved you’ve ever seen it. “i can assure you didn’t,” you say lightly.

you didn’t know what to make of this. sitting on the floor of a dirty bar, harry leaning his back against the wall, you on your knees, pressing into the side of his thigh.

he looked like a painting, big, round green eyes staring up into yours, dark curly hair creating a halo around his head. freckles dot his nose, something you’ve never noticed before.

he has dimples when he chuckles or smiles, and his nose lightly scrunches. his laugh is melodic, you could listen to it forever.

your heart beats faster in your chest, unsure of what is going on. here you are, pressed against the man who tried to have you grope him last night.

yet this harry, he was… well, different. he had apologized, owned up to his actions.

for some reason, your mind betrayed you, a whisper ghosting on your lips, you hoped he hadn’t heard the soft words, “i also know you’re a prince,”

you were afraid to look at him. for whatever reason, you did not know. but all of a sudden you felt small, timid. here you were, sitting with a prince. a prince who was wearing tattered clothing, tattoos peaking out under the long sleeves of his white button down, studs in his ears.

“hmph. that i am,” he shrugged, his hand leaving your wrist. the cool air hit the burning on your wrist, aching for his touch once more.

“i didn’t know you were one last night. if i had… i probably wouldn’t have kneed you.” you sheepishly admit, feeling very small.

he chuckled, his head turned away, his hand on the concrete floor dangerously close to resting on your thigh.

“still better than letting me be a perv.” he turned back, apology swirling in his eyes. maybe he did truly feel sorry.

you nod, flustered.

a heavy silence followed, the both of you refusing to look at each other.

“well, i, um, i better get back. luke will probably be looking for me, i think,” you stumble over your words, clamoring to your feet.

“luke? as in luke hemmings?” harry quirks an eyebrow.

“oh— i don’t know, really. i met him tonight at your show. he was with a guy named callum. they’re real nice. australians, i’m pretty sure.”

“yeah that’d be luke. he’s a cool guy,” harry said while climbing to his feet, brushing off his jeans as he peaked over to you.

he took in your outfit, effortless but you were beautiful. he figured you’d be beautiful in any situation. in his bed, in a cafe, in a fancy restaurant, anywhere he could get you.

“yeah, he’s nice,” you smile at harry, suddenly feeling very awkward as the two of you just stand there and stare at anything but each other.

“okay, well,” you mutter, awkwardly swaying your arms. harry nods, lips in a tight line, neither of you knowing what to do next.

you finally look up to harry, his hair thrown in all different directions, your eyes softening as you drink him in.

he was different alone. he was gentle, nice to you. maybe he wants all that ba—

“y/n!” nash and one of harry’s band members — the name, you weren’t sure of — rush up to you two, eyes widening when they see you two alone.

“and harry.” nash breathes out, nodding to his friend. “hey nash, zev,” harry speaks, nodding to each of them, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“y/n, i was uh - looking for you,” nash smiles, a hand rubbing his cheek.

“oh, okay,” you smile. “well, here i am!” you awkwardly laugh, zev and harry sharing a silent conversation. their eyes bore into each others, harry’s soft and zev’s questioning.

“i’ll see you guys later,” harry coughs out, his body suddenly rigid, cold, distant. if you reached out and touched him, he’d feel like ice, you think.

zev follows after him, placing a hand on his shoulder, the two obviously close.

you walk past nash, wanting to get back to your other friends, and your drink. you didn’t have to use the restroom anymore, the feeling long gone after you saw harry.

nash matches your pace, stuffing his hands in his pockets. he thought you were rather stand-offish, he couldn’t understand why you and harry were alone. the two of you couldn’t even sit next to each other and get along — how were you alone for such a long period of time and no one heard shouting?

all of you made your way back to the bar, harry and zev going straight out the door back into london.

nash went to where the other two boys were — a table in the back. as soon as his back was turned, you rushed outside, wanting to now where harry was going.

somehow he had weaseled his way into your brain and now he would not leave, and for some completely unknown reason to you… you didn’t want him to leave.

you had known him for 24 hours… yet he was all you could think of, whether it was of him up on that stage or slumped against the wall of the hallway.

obviously you weren’t as sneaky as you thought you were, harry and zev both whipping around to see you.

“hi.” you quietly peep, zev’s eyes narrowing. the street was dimly lit by a few lampposts.

“hey, y/n, why aren’t you back there?” harry asked, taking a step towards you.

“dunno. wanted to go home,” you lightly sway and both of the boys rush to your side, neither of them wanting you to face plant into the pavement.

“uh, zev, bro can you call her a cab?”

zev’s shadow moves further away to the edge of the sidewalk, harry’s arms snug around your waist to keep you from falling.

“your hair’s pretty,” you whisper, sticking your pointer finger in his hair and twirling it around.

harry nods, then clears his throat, not knowing what to do with you. should he come with you to make sure you get home safe? or should he just get you in the cab? after all, you weren’t his responsibility. and he didn’t care about you.

….did he?

his thoughts were extremely conflicted. if the paparazzi caught him now it wouldn’t be a good look… he had never been the best son but he was trying now.

“haz, the cabs here.” zev walked over, offering another arm for you to take.

the two boys helped you to the cab, and harry placed you in the seat, you giggled as you hit the harsh leather, hand slipping from harry’s shoulder down into his palm.

“bye,” you smiled, loopy and soft.

“bye,” he echoed back, a tight-lipped smile, much colder than he had been before.

“alright, man, we gotta go,” zev’s voice is rushed and worried, clearly you had interrupted them at not quite the best time.

harry nodded, taking one last glance at you before slamming the cab door shut.

he was feeling things that he really didn’t want to feel.

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

#imagine #angst #harry styles au #prince harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles series #harry styles imagine #harry styles x y/n #one direction #masochistic desires series #maeve writes 🎀