#too bad it’s impossible to afford a place by yourself

[lipringlrh]

race for your heart | mv1

summary: you’re not meant to be there, but you can’t stay away, especially not from the racer who can’t stop winning.

pairing: illegal street racer!max x fem!reader

an: might be my fave thing i’ve ever written. thinking of making this a mini series, thoughts? i’m also not an illegal street racer and have never seen one so might not be accurate x

word count: 3.7k

warnings: illegal, police chase, speeding, mentions of drugs and dodgy men

feedback appreciated and requests open!!

…

You'd been here a few times before, not regularly, never more than twice a month, but enough times to know how everything goes. You weren't meant to be here the first time, you found it by a complete accident but you were grateful now. It filled you with both excitement and dread to be here. It was illegal and wrong, nevermind the fact someone could die.

The place was crawling with creeps and criminals everywhere, one wrong move or one wrong sentence could get you on the wrong side of some dangerous people, but you lived for the thrill. The danger of the drive, and watching the drivers do it. In brand new sports cars you could only dream of affording. You didn't really know much about the drivers, except one.

Max.

He caught your eye instantly when you'd first shown. He was stood there, head to toe in black, his arm placed carefully on his car, showing off all the right bits. He was the reason you kept coming back. He was fast, quicker than all the other drivers, and everyone knew it. He was the one people wanted to challenge, to beat, but they never seemed to.

You'd seen the bets. The money people were giving to the winner after every race. More money than you knew what to do with. You craved it, the luxury and the lifestyle, but it seemed impossible. You weren't a fast driver, and you weren't a criminal by any means yet you still found yourself drawn here every time. And drawn to the driver everyone deemed untouchable.

He was the same today: a winner. You never expected any different, no one did. All the prizes were handed to him on a gold platter. Crowds cheered for him, men patting him on the back as he got out of his car to grab a beer. He met your eye again as he sat at the bar. He was left alone now, the crowds already moving on to the next big thing to talk about. He didn't look away, and for the second time, he found himself walking over to you.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing here alone, again?" He grumbled, taking a sip of his beer. He changed his clothes after the race, now dressed in a white button-down and jeans.

He was weary of you the first time you met. You looked lost, you were, and you were not the kind of person to be here. You looked too pure and good to be surrounded by lousy criminals with more money than they knew what to do with. He wondered if you were with the police, trying to scope out the area and shut it down, but he learned quickly he was wrong.

You explained you were lost and he blindly believed you. He was worried once you figured out what you were doing that you would go to the police but he made you promise you wouldn't, and after he watched how your knees went weak after he called you a "good girl," he knew you wouldn't.

He saw you the next few times you went, looking less and less lost every time, but he never caught your eye long enough to feel confident in walking over. "Can you imagine that?" He thought to himself, "I'm treated as though I'm a fucking god around here and I still can't talk to a girl." He beat himself down over it, watching you interact with people he never wanted you to talk to, in fear they'd ruin the pure image he'd created of you in his head. So he watched from afar, giving creeps the eye long enough to scare them off. Of course, you didn't know it was him sending these men away, but sometimes you were grateful and other times you weren't. He felt bad for a moment before not caring again. "It's to keep her safe," he promised to himself every time.

You didn't reply to him immediately, instead drinking in his appearance: the way his face looked under the moonlight, the way his jaw locked when you didn't reply, and the way his shirt stretched over his muscles perfectly, letting you see everything.

"So?" he replied, smirking, watching you look him up and down more times than he could count, "are you going to answer me?"

You're eyes flew to his face again, watching as he became more confident the longer he saw you looking.

"What did you ask?" you mumbled, holding eye contact.

"I said: "What's a pretty girl like you doing here alone, again?" Think you can answer that?" he challenged, taking a step closer. He saw what he did to other girls, how he made them crumble, but nothing compared to you, and how he loved watching his effect on you.

"I- well, I just came for a beer?" you answered, sounding more unconfident the more you went on. You knew why you were here: because you liked it, but you didn't want to. It was criminal yet here you were, enjoying the thrill and the danger. And watching Max, racing or not.

"And the last time? And the time before that? You don't seem like the type of girl to go out drinking alone, especially to the type of place so dirty and illegal." He asked, teasing, stepping closer once again. His voice was growing louder even as he got closer until he was touching you and leaning down to whisper in your ear, "I think you like it, don't you?"

Your body shuddered at the closeness, your hand flying straight to his arm to keep balance. Instead, you made it worse for yourself, grabbing straight onto his muscles, and turning your face the slightest shade of red. You hoped Max wouldn't be able to see - you were too close and there wasn't much light, but you were very wrong. Crowds moved everywhere around you, but all of Max's focus was on you. It was impossible for him not to notice, he was trying to pick up on every detail that he could about you.

His head lifted back up so you could see him fully like he could see you. Your faces were barely apart, a few centimetres at best, but it still messed with your head, a million thoughts flying everywhere at once until there were none. None other than Max and what his lips would feel like pressed against yours.

You let out the slightest nod as a response to his question. You didn't want to admit you liked it but with Max so close to you it was the only reaction you could even fathom of giving. He was messing with your head and he hasn't even done anything yet.

"Are you going to answer me like a good girl or just stand there?" he says, with the cockiest attitude you'd ever seen. He knew what he did to you, and what else those two little words would do, and he loved it.

Before you got the chance to reply, you felt pressure on your back and you were pushed into Max. He grabbed you and kept you upright, but he couldn't miss the sudden uproar of the crowd and the fact they were all running in the same direction.

He gave you a once over to make sure you were alright before looking forward to try to see what was happening. People were screaming and running and he couldn't tell why. His arms wrapped around you in a protective manner, pulling you closer in an attempt to keep you safe.

So many people were shouting at him and he couldn't make out what anyone was saying. He was trying to figure it out but it seemed impossible. You were almost pushed again but the person managed to stop themselves. Max didn't care, he was almost starting to shout at them for their recklessness until he finally found out what was happening.

"Police! Run!" the man screamed at him before carrying on running himself. It was like his fight or flight mode kicked in and he wasn't going to get caught.

"My car," he said as he realised an escape plane, telling you at the same time. He found your hand and took off running, dragging you with him. He led you both to the side of the crowd so that you wouldn't get lost and led you quickly to his car.

Police were everywhere, especially near the cars. They were parked on the road but out of the way of the runners. Many of them were unregistered or stolen, and others held bags upon bags of drugs. Police were stood by his car, trying to look inside the windows for anything immediately suspicious. They were covering the drivers side and he knew he would have to be fast.

"When I jump across to the drivers side, get into the passenger seat and shut the door," he called back to you. You processed the information, barely, and nodded, but Max was already focused on using his free hand to find his keys.

He got them, twisting them around, and unlocking the car just as he was about to reach it. The police were looking in the backseat, but were too slow to process the flashing orange lights and the doors at the opposite side opening.

Max leaped in and switched sides like a machine, doing it with so much ease it seemed impossible. He grabbed the driver's side door, holding it close as officers tried to open it.

"Get in," he screamed, watching as you paused for a moment. You made eye contact with an officer whilst quickly overthinking your whole life up until this moment. How did this happen?

You couldn't think much longer and you got inside, shutting the door shut with a slam. You let out a sigh of relief much too quickly as your breath hitched with the speed the car had just started.

Max locked the doors and took off in a flash. The car sped up in an instant, going to speeds you never dreamed of. Max was absorbed into the roads, dodging people and officers as he tried to escape.

Your hand gripped the seats until your knuckles were white; this was not a situation you ever wanted to be in. Max noticed, taking his eyes off of the road every few seconds to double-check you were okay.

"I do this every day and I've never got hurt," his eyes flicked back to your face after trying to reassure you, which was obviously failing.

"You won't get into trouble with the police either." he tried again. After looking at you again, he realised how badly he was failing. He didn't know what to do. He was fine in situations like these and had never had to comfort anyone. Every solution was running through his mind, not only to get out of here safe and alive but to make sure you knew that.

"Hold my hand," he ordered softly, holding out his hand for you to grab.

"Don't you need to focus on driving?" you questioned, worried. He laughed and lifted his other hand off of the wheel too. When he saw your face he immediately put it back on but kept the other outstretched for you to grab.

You looked at it for a second before grabbing it, interlacing your fingers together, and bringing your hands to rest on top of your thighs. His thumb immediately started traveling back and forth along the back of your hand as you decided to focus on that rather than the road in front of you.

"I promise you I will keep you safe. Nothing bad will happen," he spoke gently. He smiled at you, not that you were looking, but he thought that it might lift the mood anyway. "Trust me," he added, in the softest tone he thought he'd ever spoken with. He shook his head - he was going soft for a girl he's only ever spoken to twice.

You nodded gently, genuinely trusting him for a moment. That all faded when you started hearing sirens in the distance, getting closer and closer.

Max looked through the wing mirrors before speeding up the car even more. You subconsciously squeezed his hand more, gripping it like a vice.

"Okay, pretty girl, I'm going to need my hand back but it's only to keep you safe. I promise I'm going to keep you safe." You didn't believe him but you tried anyway.

You let go of his hand reluctantly, going back to squeezing the seats. You let out a shaky breath and tried to see what was going on behind you. You were on a motorway, going much higher than the speed limit. You could see three police cars in your view, all trying to catch you up.

Max hit the pedal again, speeding up impossibly faster. His eyes were on the road, occasionally on the police behind him and occasionally on you. If he had it his way, they'd be always on you, but he promised to keep you safe and was doing his damn best to keep it.

"We're going faster than their cars can physically go. We'll lose them in no time." He did another once over of you, taking in how petrified you looked once again. "Sitting so tense is going to make you more tense. I don't want you to worry yourself sick."

"Sorry," you mumbled, taking a quick look in the mirrors to see the police much further in the distance than you thought they would be.

"Don't apologise, pretty girl." he spoke, moving the car to the first lane.

He went round a sharp turn, almost heading onto a junction exit but only just missing it. He sped up again, heading around the next corner with flying speed.

"The police will think we just turned off, we'll turn off at the next one." You just nodded, going along with everything. You barely knew the man yet you were on a literal police chase with him.

He slowed the car down to a normal speed, placing his hand back into yours, "see, we're okay."

"We're okay," you repeated, trying to reassure yourself. His thumb was back to tracing lines on the back of your hand and it was helping you more than you'd like to admit.

It wasn't long until you turned off, traveling at a normal speed down some city suburb roads. You headed into an area you'd never seen, full of some of the biggest houses you imagined the city had to offer. You didn't even know where you were going yet you trusted Max blindly.

He parked in front of a huge residence, with all sorts of fancy cars parked in front. You imagined multiple massive families could live there with tonnes of spare space due to the sheer size of the front alone. It was truly extraordinanry.

"Where are we?" You questioned. Max had turned off the car and leaned back in his seat. His hand never left yours, and his thumb never stopped brushing back and forth.

"My home," he spoke, watching your face convey more emotions than he thought was possible. Your mind was racing a mile a minute: what did he want from you? was he kidnapping you? did he want something in return for saving you? You didn't like the thought of what was happening at all but Max read you easily.

"I can drive you back home if you'd prefer. Or take you somewhere, get you a hotel, anything," he spoke sincerely. He fully believed anything you'd want him to do, he would do for you, and he would go to the ends of the world to do it.

"I don't think I can be alone right now." You said, training your eyes onto yours and Max's hand.

"I can take you to a friend's? I can stay with you? I can take you somewhere crowded? Whatever you want me to do, I will do." He said, promising himself he would do whatever you wanted.

It was stupid - so stupid - the way Max had made you feel safe and the fact you wanted to stay by him. Not one thing led to the conclusion that he was a good man yet you still wanted to stay.

"My house is probably over an hour away." You knew Max could drive fast, you knew he could get you there much quicker but you didn't want to leave him. You looked out the window, at his house.

Max saw the way you looked at it, longingly yet worriedly. He didn't want to push you to make a decision, he wanted you to say it himself. He gave you hand a few reassuring squeezes, urging you to say what you felt.

"I want to stay with you," you whispered. You still stared at his house in horror and amusement. Max could see you in the reflection and could feel the worry radiating off you - he wanted nothing more than to make you feel safe.

"Let's go to a hotel." he said, your head immediately flicking back to look at his, "We can get different rooms if you'd like, but if you'd feel more comfortable there, we can go. It's no problem at all."

"Yes please," you nodded, grateful for Max's thinking. The more he was talking, the more comfortable and safe you felt around him. Past you would probably be calling yourself stupid in every way you knew how, but you felt like it'd be okay this time.

He drove off carefully, sticking to all the speed limits, something he rarely did when he was alone. He took you to a nearby hotel, only a ten-minute drive away. It was a lovely-looking hotel, something you'd never check yourself into though when you could just get the classic cheap ones that always worked fine.

"You okay?" Max asked carefully as you peered outside.

"This looks expensive, Max."

God, he loved when you said his name. You hadn't said it a lot but he felt like he could get addicted every time.

He chuckled in amusement, "I've got more money than I could use if I tried, it's on me."

You nodded and opened the car door, unfortunately dropping Max's hand in the process. Not for long though, as Max whipped around the side of the car to grab it again after muttering a small, "let me open it for you next time," to you.

He ordered two separate rooms but made sure they were next to each other and handed you both keys to your room and the spare keys to his, making you promise to let yourself in of you needed anything.

You felt yourself drawn to him, becoming disappointed as he left you to your own room, longing for more. You led in bed, in the same clothes you'd been wearing all day, wanting nothing more than to just be with him again.

You also couldn't stop thinking about the night that passed and how it could've ended much differently. You were reckless and a complete disaster of a person but you didn't think you would change it if you could.

So you left. You got all your belongings and you knocked on Max's room. He opened the door rather quickly, with a sudden look of confusion on his face when he realised it was you.

His hair was messy and stuck up in every direction but he still looked flawless. He had no shirt or pants on, just boxers, and you couldn't help but admire his whole body.

"Are you okay? Just let yourself in next time. What happened?" he asked frantically, worry laced all over his voice.

"Can I stay with you?" You asked nervously, refusing to look at his face.

"Of course, pretty girl," he replied with no hesitation, he would do anything to have you nearby. He stepped aside and welcomed you in, taking everything out of your hands and placing it on a table.

"You take the bed. I can either join you, take the sofa out here or take the chair in the bed room. And here," he said, picking up the shirt he'd changed into after racing, "take this, you can't be comfortable sleeping in that."

You took the shirt with a "thank you," and got changed in the bedroom. The shirt was long enough that you couldn't see anything if you tried, and it was incredibly comfy.

You poked your head out of the bedroom to see Max half asleep with his head in his hands. You gently called his name, his head jolting suddenly towards you.

"Will you stay with me?" you asked, a lot more confidently than before, but still a little shaky.

Max got up with a nod and headed inside the bedroom. He watched you get comfortable in bed and snuggled into the side you hadn't chosen.

You immediately moved towards him, throwing a leg over his, and your head on top of his chest. His arms moved instinctively around you, pulling you impossibly closer. He was so tired but wasn't going to waste an opportunity of staring at you a little longer.

"Sorry the night didn't turn out how you planned," he mumbled, wanting so badly to kiss your forehead but didn't want to overstep boundaries, "and sorry for scaring you."

"It's okay Max," you whispered, turning your head to kiss his chest ever so delicately. He decided to kiss your head in retaliation, smiling all the way through it.

"Tell me if you want to go again and I'll be there," he chuckled against your head, "goodnight, pretty girl."

"Goodnight, Max."

…

this might be my favourite thing i’ve ever written so reblogs and feedback would be really appreciated !! :) also thinking of making this a mini series, thoughts?

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen angst #max verstappen smut #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen f1 #max verstappen x yn #f1 fic #f1 angst #f1 smut #f1 imagine #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen drabble #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fluff #formula 1 angst #formula 1 fluff #formula 1 x oc #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x female reader #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x you #formula 1 smut #formula 1 #formula one #my writing

[orionremastered]

Hybrid/shapeshifter golden tiger reader as a vigilante with batfam? I really love your writing :0

They're so PRETTY how did I not know they existed before???? Also I love shifter fics bc who doesn't

Masterlist

Part Two

Golden

Being a shifter is bad in this day and age, at least until the shifter is mature enough to shift on command. Before then, young shifters can shift with any strong emotion, especially negative ones like anger and fear.

Most shifters mature when they turn into adults, which means they're either taught to become temporary psychopaths or are homeschooled until they're mature enough.

You, like many shifters, were the latter. Now that you're in university and studying biology, living in your own apartment states away from your parents, you're free. So incredibly free.

Free to be you, free to talk to people who interest you, and free to fight the lowly criminals of Goth- wait, what?

It was an accident, you swear. You couldn't bear to hear that poor little girl's blood-curdling screams (you hadn't understood what the phrase meant before, but you sure do now) any longer, so you shifted and almost, but not quite, mauled the man to death.

"Pretty kitty!" she had called you, and from then on you vowed to look after the young kids of Gotham, especially when going to and coming from school as well as at night (if you weren't studying). Sometimes you simply lay in the bushes of a park and watched over the kids as they played on the playground.

They remained your main focus (though you did save others, you mostly watched over the young children) even when the press got wind of the golden tiger shifter vigilante. "Golden" is what they called you, and it was certainly better than other names the press had given vigilantes before.

The local bat population had gotten word of your existence beforehand and had tried to even just get a glimpse of you, but you were too quick. After the press got wind, they amped up their efforts.

You've decidedly had enough of your studying and walked out of your apartment, climbing into the window of an ashy-smelling abandoned building, the charcoal staining your fingers as you moved into the dark to shift.

One could guess what happened to the building, but it didn't have anything to do with a golden tiger climbing out its window on a cool early spring night, the snow thawing slower than usual. There weren't many people on the streets at this hour which you were glad for.

You take your normal route today, going through the less fortunate neighbourhoods where kids are most commonly found. Slushy snow drenches your paws in cold water as you leap onto the next roof and climb down the stairs on the side of the building.

There's a bundle of blankets placed gently into a plastic bucket. You nudge the bundle with your nose gently and when the wailing begins you huff. Another abandoned baby; it's the third one this month. A mother you can't afford a child or is scared for the child's safety when it comes to the father.

Your teeth close around the bucket and you begin carrying the baby to the hospital in Crime Alley, a long trek from where you picked the baby up.

You hear something. Whispers. Your ears rotate to find the source of the sound which would be impossible for a human to hear.

"That's the tiger?"

"No shit," the second voice hisses, much older than the first. "What else could it be? A cow?"

"Whatever," the first one replies. "What do we do? Think that's a baby?"

"Probably. I say we take the baby and bring it to the hospital."

You turn your head to where the sound is coming from, impeccable vision allowing you to see Robin and Red Hood perched on a building above you.

"What about the- how good is a tiger's hearing?"

You do trust these vigilantes but not more than you trust yourself. You flick your tail and continue walking, a few corners from the hospital. The sound of their grappling hooks as the vigilantes follow you are only able to annoy you.

There's the hospital, just at the end of the street. You take no more than two steps before Red Hood steps out in front of you. You aren't surprised as you could hear him the entire time.

"Can I have the baby?" He asks, hand outstretched as he gestures for you to hand it over.

Your eyes narrow and you turn to see Robin behind you.

"It'll be easier for me to get it to the hospital," he explains. "They won't react calmly to a tiger carrying a baby."

He had an unfortunately valid point. The other times where you'd brought a baby into a facility, people freaked out.

Reluctantly, you gently place the bucket on the cold pavement and step back, letting the vigilante pick it up.

As Red Hood takes the baby to the hospital, you turn fully to face Robin. He's short and you reach up to the start of his ribcage.

"You're not an easy tiger to locate," he says. "It takes a few idiots."

You make a sound akin to a laugh, turn your head and vanish into the alleyway beside you.

Robin curses himself for not getting to pat the tiger. He'll be damned if his siblings get to first.

#batfam #batfamily x reader #damian wayne x reader #jason todd x reader

[twstowo]

I noticed that you opened the ask box, so I came to ask for Floyd x Yuu with the scene from "The Little Mermaid", in which Ariel saves Eric from shipwreck, like it was an au where they met like that

I hope i'm not being too picky with my order ♡

♡OMG, I literally thought about this but with Azul, but then I was like, "Would Azul be able to save you?" because I have this mental image of him not being able to swim very well/being really slow. Lmao

♡Warning: Drowning

You'd always been a wanderer at heart, eager to explore the world, discover new places, and connect with people. Your adventure began when some sailor buddies welcomed you aboard their ship. Days at sea were filled with chants, parties, drinks, talks, and lending a hand to everyone. Once on land, you made the most of each day, wandering through cities and villages, documenting your experiences, and sketching landscapes. Your circle of friends in these new lands expanded so much that monthly, you'd receive a flood of cards and gifts, making it a challenge to find a spot for them all. Life was easy-going, a privilege granted by your birth into a well-off family, affording you the means to sustain yourself in these faraway places.

As you wrote letters to your distant friends, the sea's scent became a comforting constant, making you feel more at home on the waves than on solid ground. With night approaching, you finished the last letter and stepped out for a walk before dinner. It was then that one of your sailor friends, looking pale and alarmed, rushed towards you. "A storm's heading our way!" The wind had already picked up, and though storms at sea were nothing new, the urgency in your friend's voice unsettled you. "This one looks really bad, we might need your help," he said, and you nodded, following him.

With the wind intensifying, tasks on the ship became more challenging. The wind seemed determined to push everyone off the deck, and as you struggled to secure the unruly sails, your hands felt the sting of the rope. Panic spread across the crew, and for the first time, you feared this might be your last adventure. Looking at the encroaching storm, escape seemed impossible.

"Look out for that barrel!" you screamed as you watched the object land on someone's head, sending them tumbling down the ship. You ran towards them, grabbing their hand and holding it with all your strength to prevent the man from falling into the wild sea. The boat waddled with the strength of the waves, and you started to fear it would turn around at any moment.

"Don't let go!" you told him as you tried to pull him back up. You watched the fear in his face fade as he placed all his hope in your confident words. However, uncertainty crept in as the strength drained from your arms. The biggest wave you had ever seen approached the boat. You feared you'd never see your friends and family again as you said your last words before the wave hit all of you. "Fuck!-"

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

You felt so cold, your body shivering as you slowly opened your eyes. It was mainly dark, but you could see some strange light from above reaching towards you. Nothing made sense as your brain tried to process everything around you. Strange wood started sinking around you, and the bodies of the crew members slowly sank by your side in a slow rhythm. You tried taking a deep breath, but your brain didn't allow it as you realized that you were underwater, having fallen off the boat after that huge wave hit it.

You finally grasped the situation as you started flapping your arms and legs around, trying to reach the surface. Wood pieces hit you along the way, sending you tumbling repeatedly. You feared the oxygen would not be enough for you to save yourself. Your throat burned as you tried holding your breath, unable to swim back to the surface. Everything started to become dark as you dared to breathe in the water. Then, you felt a strange touch on your shoulder. The lack of oxygen was surely playing tricks on you as you watched a strange creature look at you with a curious glance. You closed your eyes, awaiting death to take you.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Floyd observed your sleeping form on the sand. He had brought you to the nearest land he could find, ensuring that your chest's gentle rise and fall indicated life. It was the first time he had come in contact with a living human, finding you strangely intriguing. Although he had seen some humans at rock bottom underwater, encountering a living one was a different experience.

Attempting to wake you, Floyd shook you gently, his fin hands reaching for your shoulders. However, your eyes gave no signal of opening. Annoyed, he sighed and lay back on the sand, half of his long tail submerged in the water.

Minutes passed as he lay there, gazing up at the sky. Strangely, after saving you, he felt in a remarkably good mood. He wanted to talk to you, for you needed to thank him, and he had questions about the inland people. Your head leaned against his shoulder, your cheek touching him, catching him off guard. He grinned as he gently arranged your hair.

When your eyes started to open, Floyd watched as you struggled to comprehend the situation. Weak and almost unable to move, you stared at his face, just a finger's distance away. You had never seen someone like him—strange ears, unnatural skin colour, and vibrant yellow/brown eyes. "Wh-Who are y-you?" you weakly whispered, and he quickly glanced behind, sitting down on the sand with his arms, reaching for the water.

“Oh My! Y/N is that you!” a voice shouted, and you tried to sit down, looking in the direction of the man who had vanished. You swore you had seen a tail—had you been saved by some sea creature? "We need to take you to a doctor!" a friend's hands reached for your arm, trying to help you stand as you continued gazing toward the ocean.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

“A human? I wasn’t expecting you to take such a strange liking to one of them,” Jade mocked his brother with a grin.

Floyd wasn’t enjoying Jade's tone as he swam away. He had been interrupted by another landwalker just when he had the chance to talk with you, not even learning your name. Though he'd never admit it to Jade or Azul, Floyd occasionally returned to that beach, hoping to meet you again. Perhaps one day, the two of you would get to talk properly, and Floyd could finally learn your name.

#twst #disney twst #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst reader #twst x reader #x reader #disney twisted wonderland #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech #twst floyd #floyd x reader #twst jade #jade leech

[n3xii]

why do you feel stuck?

this spread is designed to help you identify why you are feeling stuck right now, as well as what you can do to get yourself unstuck. take a deep breath and choose an envelope from below

i also have personal readings available for an affordable price, check my pinned post for more information!!

Pile one-

your current situation: 8 of wands

i honestly think taking action is the biggest hurdle for you, taking the first step and actually taking action may feel bigger than the task itself. perhaps you may have just overcome some hurdles or blockages that might have previously been in the way, and now that the path is clear, it feels impossible to go forward. i also feel that this represents the momentum it takes to get something going, you may feel that your energy ebs and flows, perhaps motivation and passion are fleeting emotions that you cannot rely on to take action. this makes you feel stuck as a consequence.

what do you need to let go of in order to move ahead: the hanged man

ok, i feel like you're waiting for an external force to thrust you into action, you've taken the passive stance towards your own goals because you find it difficult to actually start. you're waiting for something else outside of you to give you the momentum, this could be another person you're waiting on, a sign, the feeling of motivation. but spirit is communicating that this passiveness is something you need to let go of. stop waiting for something else to spring you into action, the first step has to be done by yourself

message from spirit: boundaries

i think establishing some borders between yourself and what you will and will not tolerate is something that can actually help you become unstuck. this can be boundaries with other people, as well as boundaries with yourself, such as what behaviors and treatments you will tolerate towards yourself. people forget that the relationships they have with themselves need boundaries too.

Pile Two-

your current situation- seven of swords

the message im getting with this is self sabotage, you're in a situation where you are trudging upon your own steps forward by looking back, looking to other people, and looking everywhere but in the direction you're going. i feel like you could be comparing yourself to others, even comparing yourself to your past self as well. there may be somehting you feel you need to tuck away to the back of your mind because you perceived it as bad or undesirable.

what do you need to release in order to move ahead: nine of swords

so far im getting that this is an issue occurring mostly on the mental plane which one of the denser energies in someone's aura. this means your thoughts and words need to be something that you become more aware of so you can identify what exactly you are thinking about on a daily basis. journal, get a mood tracker and write your daily thoughts and feelings. become familiar with what you are saturating your mind with. this card tells me that you need to release overthinking, obsessions, and memories. specifically you need to release the recurring thoughts you have, the fears and paranoia that you may have that are causing you to self sabotage.

message from spirit: attraction

you are a powerful person and manifester, you could be spending more of your energy attracting what you want if you wanted to. now can be spent thinking about what you want to attract into your life and what you want to repel from it. your energy is precious, dont fuck with it. instead of comparing yourself or saturating your mind with obsessive, negative thoughts, direct your mental energy towards something that is positive.

Pile three-

your current situation: the star

the star conveys healing, hope, optimism, and a balance between both the physical and spiritual world. you're in a place where you may feel stuck, but you are actually just healing and recovering from something. the star comes after the tower in the tarot, which indicates the healing process after something major has been unraveled, you may feel like you are behind, or that you should be already healed, but let your spirit and body take the time it needs. you are healing from something, mental or physical at this time

what you need to release in order to move ahead: six of pentacles

i feel like you may have this lingering sensation and feeling that you owe other people something, that you aren't keeping your end of a bargain. this could be you feeling the need to maintain balance in a relationship, friendship, work partnerships etc. you may feel that you aren't being fair or balanced in those relationships but that is actually something you need to release. nothing is expected of you at this time, release the sensation that you need to make up for or do something in return.

message from spirit: power + 4 of pentacles

conserve your power, and know that you are powerful. dont expend energy you dont have right now, just hold onto it knowing that you have it. im also getting that ancestral work may be important right now. as you are healing, tapping into your ancestors and your lineage may give you the extra support and power supply that you need to recover. ancestors play an important role in supporting, when channeled you can rely on them to give you the energy and the momentum to support you on your healing energy.

#tarot #pac tarot #tarot pac #pick a card tarot #pick a card #pick a card tarot reading #tarot reading #free tarot #free reading #pac reading #tarot pick a card #affirmations #astro notes #manifestion #loa #pick a pile #pick a pile reading #pick a photo reading #free readings #free psychic reading #love reading #free tarot reading #law of abundance #pick a card reading #love pick a card #pick a photo #pick an image #pick a picture #pick a pile tarot #tarot cards

[makethatelevenrings]

Breakfast for Three // J. Todd x f!reader

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: reader has a kid, swearing, talks of poverty (if u haven’t been able to figure out, I am a leftist and I am tucking my lil handkerchief into my collar and preparing to eat billionaires)

Summary: Being a single parent is hard. Being a single parent in Gotham feels impossible sometimes. Two people change things for the better. 

Listen, raising a child on your own was a test on its own. But being a single parent in Gotham? You had to be absolutely out of your mind.

But you loved your kid. You wouldn’t go back and change your decision. Every morning, you woke up to the giggles and shrieks of your four year old climbing all over you. Lucy was always up before your alarm and while you needed every minute of sleep, you would miss these moments whenever she became too cool to hang out with her mother. So you just bundled her wriggling body up into your arms and peppered her head with kisses as she laughed and wrapped her little octopus limbs around you.

Breakfast had moved from a coffee and a granola bar as you rushed out the door to work to Bluey pancakes for Lucy and even more coffee for you before you rushed out the door to get her to preschool and you to work. Every day felt like it was flying by too quickly.

Her birthday was quickly approaching and that’s how you found yourself out on the fire escape of your apartment with the baby monitor clutched between your hands and sobs escaping you despite your best efforts to stifle your cries.

You couldn’t afford any of the popular toys or games that kids were obsessed with. Hell, you could barely afford rent this month. Living in Gotham wasn’t as bad as other places in terms of rent but raising a kid was expensive and you were struggling to make ends meet thanks to work being slow. God, she was going to be so disappointed. Maybe you could start eating only one meal a day? That would save some money on groceries…

“Are you okay?”

The voice came from the shadows and the subsequent heart attack you received practically launched you into the air. The person cursed and then stepped out of the shadows. Okay, less scary but still pretty fucking terrifying. Red Hood stared down at you, or at least, you thought he was looking at you. The helmet made it difficult to figure out what direction he was facing.

“I said, are you okay?” he repeated in a gruff, no-nonsense voice. You nodded quickly and swiped away your tears with the back of your hand.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Don’t you have skulls to bash in or something?”

A huff of laughter escaped the vigilante’s helmet and you cocked your head to the side. He could laugh? He was capable of humor? Surprises were all around tonight.

“Already did that. And then I heard someone sounding like they just watched Marley and Me three times in a row and figured I should come check.” He eased himself into a crouch next to you and you admired how large and imposing he was yet he didn’t seem terrifying when he was next to you. You weren’t his target so there was no reason to fear him.

“Gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he asked.

“It’s stupid,” you muttered. You turned your attention back to the baby monitor to see Lucy fast asleep in your bed. The one bedroom apartment you rented didn’t have space for another bed so the two of you shared one. Luckily, she was a deep sleeper so she never stirred when you crawled in a few hours after her bedtime and got up early in the morning to get ready for the day.

“Nothing that makes you cry is stupid,” Red Hood retorted. “Hit me with it.”

“My kid’s birthday is coming up and I don’t have the funds to pay for anything. I can barely keep our heating on. She’s going to hate her birthday and I’ll have ruined it forever. I’m already working sixty hours a week, but I can’t ask Mrs. Hayes to watch her longer. Fuck.” You scrubbed a hand down your face and bemoaned your rotten fucking luck. Fuck your shitbag ex. Fuck the system that prevented single parents from succeeding. Fuck it all.

Rustling beside you made you look up to find Red Hood rummaging through his pockets. He let out a triumphant hum and then outstretched his hand. A stack of bills rested in his gloved palm and your eyes widened at the offering.

“Absolutely not,” you blurted out. “I’m not taking blood money from you. Who knows where that’s come from? And what if you show up in five years demanding the money back with some huge fucking interest rate?”

He chuffed out another laugh. “Christ, your mind is an interesting place. It’s legit, I promise. And it’s not a loan. It’s a gift. Take it. I’ve got enough cash.”

You watched him warily as you reached out and grasped the money. Your lips moved as you counted out the values silently and inhaled sharply once you got to the end. Three thousand dollars. That would pay rent for two months, leaving your paycheck to cushion you.

“Holy shit. Thank you. Thank you so much,” you gasped. But when you looked up, there was no sight of Red Hood. He had simply disappeared into the shadows once again. Only the rough paper of cash in your hands made you realize that it wasn’t a dream.

You spent the rest of the night going over your finances and figuring out where you could use the cash and how much you could spend on Lucy. With enough to bolster you for a bit, you decided to take her by a bakery on her way to pre-school. With her dinosaur backpack firmly settled on her back, Lucy bounded towards the bakery with you hot on her heels. Where the hell did she get all this energy?

“Woah,” a man exclaimed as Lucy tripped on a raised edge of the sidewalk. He caught her before she went sprawling onto the pavement, saving you from a torrent of tears and skinned knees.

“Gotta be careful there, kiddo,” he said as he righted her. You caught up to her finally and kneeled down to check her for injuries. Unscathed, thanks to the stranger. You raised your head to meet his eyes and thank him and found yourself captured by searing teal eyes.

“Thank you,” you blurted out. “I should really get her one of those backpack leashes.”

His full lips curled up into a grin and your heart stuttered at the sight of it. Small scars littered his tan skin, but it only added to the handsome rogue look he had going for him.

“I get it. The cinnamon rolls at this place are fu-” His eyes darted towards the squirming child in your hands. “Freaking amazing. I practically run here every morning to get one.”

Lucy gasped. “You like cinnamon rolls?”

The man shrugged. “Well, yeah, who doesn’t?”

“Sad people,” she replied wisely. You burst into laughter at the solemnity of her words and leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“I love you, kid,” you announced.

“Love you too, mommy. Can we go now?”

You stood up to your full height and the man did the same, but he was much taller than you. He offered his hand and you shook it.

“I’m Jason. How about I buy you two breakfast?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do it. If anything, I owe you.”

His smile grew and you marveled at the slight dimple in his chin. “Yeah, but this way I can be a gentleman before I ask you out.”

There was no way this exceedingly handsome, Adonis-like man was asking you on a date. No fucking way. You had toothpaste on your shirt and a four year old currently clinging to your leg. No man had even looked at you since your ex knocked you up and left.

But he was kind and genuine and there was some kind of soft emotion in his eyes that made you want to ask him how the world had hurt him. And Lucy seemed to like him from just their first meeting.

“Okay. Breakfast sounds nice.”

If only you knew how a simple breakfast would change your life forever.

tag list: @mcrmarvelloki​ @gone-batty-fics​ @someoneimsure​ @perpetual-fangirl900​ @visagebrise​ @cursedandromedablack​ @alexxavicry​ @the-wayward-daughter​ @raging-trash-of-mind​ @kat-nee​ @khaylin27​ @igotanidea​ @princessbl0ss0m​

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #jason todd fluff

[vulpisnocturna]

Bloodstained Rubies - Chapter 1 - Snare

Not sure if I’m going to cross post here as well, but I’ll post the first chapter… in case I only continue it on AO3, this is the link

Chapter II

I do not condone this behaviour in real life. This is fictional. Please take care, read the warnings and avoid if you think this content may be triggering to you.

Warnings: Yandere Chrollo, Stalking, Kidnapping, Obssessive Love, Possessiveness, Jealousy, Drugging, Breaking and entering (Chrollo out here committing all the felonies)

Word Count: 5k

The rain had seeped into the cracks of the cobbled alleyway, rendering the stone slippery, dampening the aged brick walls caging the narrow passage, darkening the view even more. Straining eyes could only make out bulbous orange glows of faraway street lights, legs numbed from the cold autumnal air and unrelenting rainfall toiling to keep a rapid pace and avoid slipping on the damp stones.

Slowing down was not an option. Neither was turning back and choosing a different path. Over the sound of the roaring rain, soft footsteps could be heard, not too far away. Growing closer. Or perhaps it was a mere figment of an imagination much too vivid and active, and the danger was only the product of a life of warnings and cautionary tales. Like a monster under the bed.

Thirty steps. Thirty steps to the safety of the main street. Breath puffing in clouds of haze, raindrops adorning lashes, hair sticking to the skin, knees weak and unsteady.

Twenty.

It was closer now. Almost real.

Ten.

Almost tangible, close enough that the alleyway seemed to lengthen, dilating, making the main road impossible to reach. One slip on the damp cobblestones could spell demise.

Five.

The light was closer. People could be seen walking through the street, carrying umbrellas or hurrying through the rain. Safety.

One.

You inhaled sharply, your heart thundering in your ribcage, the sounds of the bustling street filling your ears, enveloping your heaving chest in relief. People walked by you, and you blended with the crowd, heading to the station. You had walked that alleyway a thousand times, and you’d never felt that dread, that feeling of being hunted. Targeted. Your bones had turned into ice in your body.

You had never been particularly impressionable, but in the last couple of weeks, you’d felt watched. But when you turned towards the alleyway, your eyes wandering around the street behind you, there was no one. You shook off the horrible feeling in your gut that told you to run and hide, and sought refuge in the warm underground station, tapping your phone at the gates and descending the stairs. No one was behind you. No one was out to get you. You were safe. You were going to go home and make yourself a cup of tea before you went to bed early.

You got on the train, sitting in a fairly crowded carriage, taking out Pride and Prejudice from your bag and resuming from where you had left off that morning. It was one of your favourite books, and you had read it dozens of times, but you still got some nostalgia for it from time to time.

The minutes passed, and you forgot all about your gut feeling in the alleyway, your mind immersed in the world of Elizabeth Bennett and her witty quips that always made you smile. She almost made you lose track of the stops, but luckily, you heard the announcement and stood up, hastily putting the bookmark at the page you had reached and hurrying to the platform.

Luckily, you lived a mere two minutes from the station, in the outskirts of the city, where trains could be heard even with the windows shut and the curtains drawn, but at least, you could afford your own place. It wasn’t all that bad, truly. It was a small house, reminiscent of a cottage with its brick walls and small rooms, and its low ceilings. It was cosy, covered with plants and books, it even had a small fireplace that was your pride and joy. You’d filled it with pillows, blankets and trinkets that had caught your eye in thrift shops and fair markets. You locked the door behind you, taking off your drenched coat and your damp boots, hating the feeling of wet socks clinging to your feet. You took them off too, deciding to have a hot shower before bed.

You had finished late at work, to the point where your boss had offered to get you some dinner, and you had gladly accepted, blinking your tired eyes at the computer screen to stay awake.

You were overworked and underpaid, but you needed that job desperately, and therefore, you made it a habit to gamble more unpaid hours for a more stable future. With the hope that one day, your hard work would pay off, and you’d get a promotion. So far, you’d been unsuccessful.

However, the week was now done, and you prepared yourself for a free day of peace. Saturdays were your favourite days. You usually tried to get up before nine, so that you could make the most of them. You made pancakes, went for a walk to the park next to your house, bought lunch at the quaint brunch stall by the lake and on good days, you ate under the weeping willow on the shore, basking in the sight of the tree branches swaying on the surface of the water, the water lilies crowding the shore and the sunlight reflecting on the lake. After that, you headed to the library in the city centre, where you would have spent all day if you could. You usually visited the market before you went home, and then, you would watch a film and head to bed later than usual. Sundays were your cleaning days usually, unless you wanted to meet up with a friend or needed to run errands.

You had no idea that Saturday would be the last chance for you to experience all those things.

The library was quiet that day, even though the rain had continued to pour down the city since Friday morning and people usually flocked there or to the museums and cinemas when it was gloomy outside. In your opinion, it was the best time to be at the library: the big, arched windows of the upper floor offered a scenic view of the storm brewing outside, and the warmth of the orange lights and the mahogany bookshelves of the antique library made you feel cosy. You were sitting on a plush green armchair, your favourite spot in the corner of the upper floor, right by the window and the classics section. Something about the smell of the old books that were gathered there offered you comfort.

‘Excuse me, miss’ you heard a soft, masculine voice say, timbre smooth and rich. You lifted your eyes from your book, looking at the man in front of you. Your stomach dropped for a second, and you swallowed, trying not to stare. He was around your age, perhaps a few years older, and the most attractive man you had ever seen in your life. His lean, tall build was highlighted by smart black trousers, a simple maroon jumper and a long, black coat. Round, slightly upturned grey eyes sat in a face of sharp cheekbones, angular jaw, delicate and yet masculine nose and well-defined lips stretched into a slight smile. He was wearing an odd bandana of sorts on his forehead, but it did nothing to dampen his looks. Shoulder-length black hair fell in unruly strands around his neck and shorter bangs that covered parts of his forehead, and round turquoise earrings shone on his ears, the bright hues contrasting against the beautiful dark hair.

‘Uhm- yes?’ you murmured, righting your posture a little under his gaze.

‘I was wondering if you dropped this bracelet by any chance’ he said, lifting a hand, your gold bracelet dangling from his tapered, willowy fingers. You glanced at your wrist, clearing your throat.

‘Yeah- yes, thank you, that’s mine’ you said, holding the book with one hand and lifting yourself up, extending your hand. Instead of giving it to you, he held your hand and wrapped it around your wrist, clasping it and giving you a smile. Your breath threatened to falter, and you were almost hypnotised by him as he gave one last stroke to the back of your hand before he let it go.

‘There. Should be safe from slipping now’ he said, and you noticed he was holding a book in his hand. The Picture of Dorian Gray, one of your favourite books. So not only was he handsome, he also had good taste.

‘Thank you’ you said again, smiling at him. He nodded.

‘I’m Chrollo’ he said, extending a hand. You shook it, giving him your name in return, and he said it himself, as though he was weighing it on his tongue. It sounded good in his voice. Soft, like a gentle caress on your spine. It made shivers run down your spine.

‘I’ve never seen you here before’ you said conversationally, hoping your social skills hadn’t been too hindered by your nervousness around someone so attractive and charming speaking to you.

‘This is my first time visiting this library, actually. I have only recently moved here, and I happened to walk by and see this building, and I had to visit it. It is truly beautiful here. A very pleasant place to read in peace’ he said, and you nodded along. He was so like you, you thought the same of this library. It was your special place in this city.

‘I feel the same way. I come here every Saturday, just to escape the daily life for a while. How are you finding the city? Are you here for work?’ you asked, finding yourself drawn to that stranger for some reason. There was something fascinating about him, something enigmatic. Or perhaps it was just the way his grey eyes seemed so intense, as though he could read your mind. He was like a lead character in a book.

‘I am. The city centre is quite beautiful architecturally, but I haven’t had the chance to partake in much sightseeing’ he said, ‘and you? Why are you here? Work, or is this the city you grew up in?’

‘No, I grew up in a very small town you probably never heard of. A boring place. I came here to find some work a couple of years ago’ you said, hoping that before the conversation ended, you could get his number. You hadn’t been in the dating scene for a while, and though you were busy, this stranger was just too intriguing. He seemed so intelligent, soft-spoken and genuinely interested in you.

‘I see. I’m afraid I must take my leave now. Allow me to buy you a coffee before that’ he said, putting down the book in a basket by the banister. Your stomach felt warm, and you chuckled nervously, finding it hard to keep eye contact when he was staring at you so intently.

‘Oh, no, you’ve already found my bracelet, I wouldn’t want to keep you. Besides, the prices here are outrageous’ you stammered. Did he like you? Was he truly... flirting with you? This was more like a scene out of a romance book rather than real life.

‘Please, I insist’ he smiled, and you could not say no.

‘Oh, well... thank you. That’s really kind of you’ you said, following him towards the stairs. Chrollo’s eyes softened, and he shook his head.

‘It’s my pleasure’ he only said, smoothly, nonchalantly, as he started to descend the stairs, with you following close.

The cafeteria was placed near the entrance, and you had always deemed it too expensive as a treat. But Chrollo did not even have a change in expression as his eyes followed the menu on the chalkboard on the wall.

‘What would you like?’ he asked, and you eyed the drinks and the corresponding prices, gaze trailing to seek the cheapest one.

‘Uhm... just a coffee would be fine, thank you’ you said hesitantly. He let out a soft sigh.

‘I would not offer it to you if I could not afford it. What would you really like?’ he asked, a sly smirk on his face. Your cheeks felt hot, and you smoothed the front of your jumper in an attempt to calm the embarrassment of him calling you out.

‘A chai latte, please’ you murmured, and he nodded, seemingly pleased as he made his way to the till and took out a black leather wallet from the pocket of his coat. When he came back, he was holding your drink along with his. From the smell, it was black coffee. Quite in tune with his gothic appearance.

‘Thank you, Chrollo’ you smiled at him, holding the cup with both hands when he handed it to you, warming your cold fingers.

‘It was a pleasure to talk to you. I hope to see you again soon’ he said, standing closer to you, his fingers reaching to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind your ear. You didn’t realise you were holding your breath until he stepped away.

‘Me too’ you murmured, earning another slight smile from him as he walked away, sipping his coffee and disappearing behind the corner that led to the exit.

You smiled, fingertips reaching to your cheek, the skin feeling warm where he had touched you.

You found you could not wait until the next Saturday, hoping he would remember that you’d said you’d be there and visit the library again.

Your Sunday was spent running errands, getting a haircut, visiting your friend who was in the hospital following a fall from the stairs that had resulted in two broken legs and a concussion. He was quite optimistic despite saying that he had had no idea how he’d fallen, that he’d just felt pain on his nape and then he had lost consciousness. When he’d woken up, his legs were horribly broken and bent as he had fallen from a flight of stairs.

You’d just seen him the day of the accident in the morning, and he had seemed fine, not dizzy or anything. Although he’d been reminiscing about a crush he’d had on you years ago, which to you was odd, as you had had no idea he had ever liked you.

Nevertheless, the doctors had said he’d been lucky to survive because his head trauma was nothing short of dangerous. You were just glad he was in good spirits and looking forward to getting better.

You smiled slightly, turning the keys to your door and stepping in, holding the letters you hadn’t yet opened as you walked into the living room.

The first one was your electricity bill, the second one a useless letter of invite to a neighbourhood church meeting-

‘Hello, darling’

You let out a scream, your heart skipping a beat as you spun around, the letters falling to the ground, and your terrified eyes set on the man who was lounging on your sofa, sipping a cup of tea from your favourite mug.

Chrollo.

It was Chrollo. The guy whom you’d met the day before. The kind, handsome man who’d found your bracelet and offered to buy you a coffee.

‘W-what are you doing here? How do you know where I live? How did you get in?’ you stuttered, taking a trembling step back. He took another sip, setting your mug down.

‘I came to visit you. You have a very flimsy lock, it’s very unsafe’ he said calmly, as though his words were not completely insane. He’d broken into your house? Was he- a stalker? The presence you’d felt in the alleyway… was that him?

You felt nausea coil in your gut, making your head spin with fear and horror.

Another step back. His eyes were on you. Calm, unfazed. He was smiling slightly, as though amused. But he was sitting, and you were less than ten feet away from the door. But it was locked. You needed time. At least a few seconds of advantage.

Your phone. You would call the police whilst you talked to him. But your phone was in the hallway. Not with you.

‘Chrollo- please go away’ you tried pleadingly, hoping it would make him spare you. It did not.

‘There is no need to worry. I won’t hurt you, darling’ he said, voice soft and sweet. You shivered, and when you saw he was taking another sip of his coffee, you bolted to the door.

Your fingers had barely managed to graze the keys when he appeared in front of you, blocking the door, clucking his tongue against his teeth. How had he managed to get there so quickly? What was he going to do to you?

The kitchen. You needed to get to the back door. Maybe grab a knife and stab him.

‘Now, now, this would be much easier if you just listened’ he said, but you did not wait for him to grab you. You made a beeline for the kitchen, and you had almost reached the handle when he once again appeared in front of you. You flinched, stumbling back, spinning to the counter and grabbing a large knife. Chrollo let out a soft laugh.

‘Oh, darling. I admire your efforts, but that won’t help you. Put it down’ he said easily, one hand in his pocket as he approached you. You swallowed heavily, cold sweat clinging to your spine as your fingers tightened around the handle until you thought you could feel welts stinging your skin.

You could hear the hammering of your heart in your ears, the heavy sound of your panting.

When he took another step, you swung at his stomach. Your wrist was caught in an iron grip, and you hissed in pain, your fingers loosening instinctively until the knife clattered to the ground.

Your eyes burnt with tears, and you tried to punch him, which only resulted in your other hand being caught. Thrashing wildly, like a caged animal, you kicked and pulled to no avail.

Chrollo was too strong. Inhumanly so. He was like a brick wall, completely unfazed by your attempts at escaping or hitting him.

‘Let me go! Let me go!’ you screamed your lungs out, until one of his hands lifted to cover your mouth and he pushed you against the wall, trapping you against it.

‘Shh, shh. You are being such a brat, my love. This is all futile, can’t you see? Where’s the sweet girl I met yesterday? The one who could not stop blushing and smiling at me?’ he asked against your ear, pushing his body more into you. Your eyes widened as you felt a hard bulge against your backside.

No. No, no, no. This could not be happening. Not to you. Not here. This was your safe haven. Your home.

You screamed, sounds muffled by his hand, and he let out a sigh.

‘You have nothing to fear. I don’t plan on acting on my desires as of yet. However, your defiance is starting to irritate me. I’m going to have to take more drastic measures’ he said, and you felt his hand leave your mouth briefly and return pushing a cloth to your mouth and nose. Your heartbeat shot up as panic gripped your stomach, and you held your breath, kicking and thrashing, unable to get him off you until you had to breathe in that sweet-smelling scent. He held it there for a few seconds, and your head immediately started spinning, your ears starting to ring.

‘I’m truly sorry to have to do this, darling. If you’d been compliant, I wouldn’t have had to knock you unconscious’ he said, and your legs wobbled when he pulled it away, to the point where they could not hold your weight and you slumped to the ground. He caught you, holding you against him, and even though you tried to fight back, to push him away, your body was limp and it would not do what you wanted it to.

‘What… did you give me?’ you breathed, vision blurry, your body completely numb. He pushed away the strands of hair from your face, stroking your cheek.

‘Shh. Just an incapacitating agent. This will make you sleep for a few hours. Close your eyes, my love. You must be so tired after all that screaming and thrashing. You can rest now, I’ll watch over you’ he said gently, and you blinked slowly, trying to see him through the dark splotches in your field of view, trying to curse him, to beg him to leave, but your mouth would not move anymore. Soon, the darkness pulled you in and made you its prisoner.

Chrollo smiled, stroking your soft hair, tracing the skin of your jaw and lips. He hadn’t been able to hold himself any longer after having made contact with you. He’d first seen you a month earlier, in that picturesque library where you were curled on a green armchair, completely spellbound as you read Pride and Prejudice in front of an arched window. He had been entranced from the first moment he’d seen you. It wasn’t just your appearance, though he was convinced there was no woman more beautiful than you were, but your mannerisms, your soft smiles as you read specific lines, the way your eyebrows furrowed when you were concentrating, the natural innocence that radiated from you, that had been what had truly ensnared him. That moment, he’d decided that he needed to know everything about you, from your hobbies to your favourite colour to your life story.

He had never fallen in love, but the feeling that had bloomed in his cold heart must have been love: it was desperate, all-consuming, and yet so gentle and calming. It burnt and soothed his soul at the same time. Images of you plagued his every second, and he could think of nothing but to have you all to himself. Why should the world be allowed to benefit from your presence? Why should people be allowed to leer at you, desire you, want you for themselves? He wanted all of you to be consumed by him just as every part of him was consumed by you. He did not want to share your affection with anyone else.

He had followed you home many times, making sure you were safe. After all, you didn’t even know how to use Nen. You were so delicate, like turquoise and amber gemstones. So beautiful, yet so easily broken. With his new love for you came a heart-wrenching fear of losing you: in a world like that, you could never protect yourself. Only he could offer you enough safety.

Despite being a normal civilian, your intuition and gut feeling was impressive. Sometimes, he had to rely on Zetsu in order to avoid being sensed by you. You had a keen sense of danger. Not that it would help you.

Your house was little, much too inadequate and meagre for someone who deserved the most beautiful things the world had to offer. But you would not have to live in this dingy neighbourhood, with the train tracks so close to your windows, for much longer. Despite the grimy neighbourhood, your cottage was cosy. Decorated with everything that made up your lovely personality, Chrollo had felt his chest swell with warmth as he walked silently around the living room the first time he’d broken in, examining your collection of books, seeing which ones were more tattered, lines on the spines of cheap copies. You deserved the feel of an antique book in your hands, not one of those second-rate editions. He could tell from the décor how much you loved this place. He would make sure you had plants, a fireplace, paintings and books and whatever else your heart desired.

All the treasures in the world had been made for you, he’d decided. And he’d steal them all. Then, he had wandered to the small bedroom connected to the living room. His eyes were accustomed to the darkness, he could see your sleeping form curled under the blankets, lips parted and breath steady and heavy. You looked so beautiful, so peaceful. He had the urge to slip the blanket off you, hold you to him, bury his face in your hair. But he didn’t. Not when he could not see your reaction. He wanted you to be awake, wanted you to want him to do all those things.

Temptation had taken him as far as stroking your hair, bending his head to press his lips against the top of your head. The scent of it, so sweet and reminiscent of a spring meadow, had almost made him groan.

He had visited you at night more often, and every time, he would dream of you afterwards, always waking up burning with desire. He needed you. Needed you all to himself. And so he resorted to doing what he did best: steal you.

He knew your patterns well after a few weeks: you worked a contemptible job undeserving of you Monday to Friday, and often stayed late, to the point where you would have to walk back to the station in the dark through dingy alleyways. It was completely and utterly unacceptable. On Saturdays, you walked through the park near your house and then went to the library in the city centre. On Sundays, you stayed home. Before he stole you, though, he wanted to speak to you.

The Sunday he had planned to meet you as you went about your errands, he had seen you visit a man you seemed friendly with. You had gone for lunch with him, laughed at his inane jokes, smiled at him. Chrollo had gotten closer to overhear the conversation, finding out that the swine was infatuated with you. Jealousy he had never felt in his life had burnt hot and bitter in the pit of his stomach, and he had barely been able to restrain the urge to kill him there and then.

But he couldn’t, not in front of you. You were too precious and sweet to bear such a sight. And he would need to make it painful, as punishment for the crime committed. He also did not like the idea of you shedding tears for that moron. No, he would have to kill him after he stole you. It would not do for you to weep for him, be consumed with thoughts about him, when Chrollo wanted him to disappear from the face of the Earth. It did not mean he couldn’t inflict pain on him in the meantime, though.

So that was what he had done. It was a meagre consolation, mere crumbs of reprieve for his resentment, but at the very least, he had had the pleasure of seeing him fall on his legs in the worst way. The worst possible fractures would be there, possibly incredibly painful and inoperable. He hoped the hit to his head had not made him a vegetable. He wanted him cognisant and receptive when he returned to visit him.

Because of the little mishap, he hadn’t been able to steal you on that Sunday and had had to wait one more week, which had only fuelled his bitterness for your acquaintance. However, it had also given him the possibility of meeting you at the library on the following Saturday. And God, you were truly delightful. Sweet and shy, kind and trusting. He had had to leave, or he would have stolen you right there and then. He could see you liked him, his touch. You had been keen to have more. And he would be delighted to grant your wishes.

Which was why he had chosen the next day to wait for you at your house. And now, he finally had you in his arms, though you had been a little recalcitrant. It had saddened him to have to render you unconscious, and the fact that you had seemed so frightened despite him reassuring you he had no intention of harming you was deeply displeasing. Still, he would be a liar if he denied that your fervour and defiance hadn’t tempted him, too. You had just been thrashing in his arms, rubbing against his body in the most sinful ways, and he had only wanted to have you at that very moment. But it would not do. You had been too scared and taken aback to enjoy the encounter, and he planned to make it unforgettable for the both of you.

So he had merely resorted to knocking you unconscious so you would stop causing a commotion.

He picked you up gently, lowering you on the sofa whilst he went to see if there was anything he needed to take with him. He could get you more clothes, ones that would look perfect on you. But he still got you a few handpicked garments for the time being, including your prettiest lingerie, which was utterly ravishing. He could hardly wait to see it on you and tear it off your body.

Your perfume was on the dresser, and he happened to have developed quite a liking for it. It wasn’t as expensive as something he could have gotten for you, but he could find a substitute for it that resembled its scent in the future. For now, he put it in the bag he’d taken with him. None of your books were of any significance, he had memorised the ones you liked the most and planned to get you antiques of those. Jewellery was also not an issue. He could get you so much better. Rubies or emeralds would look stunning on you, he thought. He got your passport, wallet and phone, just to throw off the police, and closed the bag. He put the knife you’d tried to use on him back in the holder and exited the house, putting the bag in the trunk of his car and going back to get you. You were still unconscious, sprawled on the sofa, and he checked once again that no signs of struggle could be seen before he picked you up, took the keys from the dresser next to the front door and closed the door behind him.

He lowered you on the backseat, closing the door and letting out a sigh as he walked to the front and locked the doors before he drove away. You were finally his.

Chapter II

#chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #hxh chrollo #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x you #chrollo x y/n #yandere chrollo x you #chrollo smut #yandere chrollo smut

[oddeyes588]

So... Lostbelt 6 part 2 is out and it's great! I haven't finished it yet but uh... I gotta address something. And it's this scene.

Good scene, right? Beautiful CG, some insight into the way Castoria thinks... but there's something wrong with this scene.

It's translated wrong.

Now if you're like me and you've been keeping up with fan translations for FGO, you may have realized this already, but this translation fundamentally misses the entire point of the scene.

This is what Castoria is supposed to be saying:

I don't want to see her. I don't want to be shown her. She's too much. I don't want to believe it. I don't want to acknowledge it.

After all.

She has no equal. Takes no refuge. No one who understands her. None who can comfort her.

She receives no reward. No goals. No rest. She cannot afford failure, not even a single mistake.

Ah—from the bottom of my heart, I think: "no."

Just how cruel must it be for everyone to smile and acknowledge a king like that?

Do you see the difference? This is a defining scene concerning Castoria's character. Something that sets her apart from every other iteration of Artoria that we've known so far (barring the Servantverse ones). Castoria sees the way of life that her PHH self chose and is repulsed. She can't stand to think about it. At first it seems like she's just buckling under the weight of those expectations, but in reality, Castoria just can't stand to see her.

She can't stand to see this other version of herself willingly throw away her humanity for the sake of an ideal. To give up her own happiness, to give up any chance of ever being understood, all to become a perfect king who the people will love and praise, but never truly understand.

It is a lonely existence, and like a certain redhead in Fate/Stay Night, she can't accept it. Who could bear to live like that? Who would want to live like that? Castoria wants nothing more than to be happy. She wants to make friends her age, eat sweets with them, go shopping with them and walk down the street while holding their hands. She wants to LIVE, and the thought of giving all of that up for the sake of everybody but yourself...

Noble? Sure. But it's mostly just tragic.

That's what this scene is about. Establishing exactly how Castoria feels about her Proper Human History self. She doesn't admire her, if anything it HURTS to see her, to know what she went through, to know what she did.

So WHY was it translated like this?

I'm the only one of my kind. I have nowhere to run. No one understands me. Romance is out of the question.

There's no reward. No finish line. no rest. I can't make so much as a single mistake.

Ahh... So many things I'll never have.

How cruel would I have to be for everyone to accept a king like me with a smile?

Listen, Castoria thinking of her own struggles in parallel to Saber's is interesting, and it isn't NOT there... but that isn't the point of the scene, and foregrounding it like this is uh...

It sure is a decision, that's for sure.

It's not necessarily bad, but it just doesn't fit due to the obvious reason that this isn't what the scene is supposed to be. This scene isn't Castoria seeing a vision of Saber and going "wow, how am I going to live up to this?" as if Saber's story is aspirational.

No. It's a tragedy, and what Castoria is actually thinking is "that's cruel and fucked up"

Anyways I just felt like putting this out there... and before anybody jumps down my throat about how the fan-translation could've been wrong... I did bring this up with a friend who can read Japanese and went to read the node in Japanese. While you could argue that because Caster and Artoria are acknowledged to be different versions of the same person, that Caster is using "I" to refer to the other, but the last line is just outright wrong. The scene is fundamentally about the cruelty of everyone around Saber placing an impossible burden on her, and how Castoria feels seeing that.

#fate grand order #fgo #fgo na #lostbelt 6 #artoria caster #castoria #artoria pendragon #saber #lostbelt 6 spoilers #oh would you look at that its a SURPRISE ODDEYES RANT WOOHOO #this time its about FATE #ABOUT TIME RIGHT #anyways i have a normal amount of thoughts about artoria caster and artoria pendragon

[wavypotatochips]

𝑺𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓 | 𝑵𝒆𝒚𝒎𝒂𝒓 𝑱𝒓.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 : Neymar Jr x Female reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 : You are an upcoming Call of Duty streamer that's ends up in a private lobby match with Neymar. During the match, you constantly kill him with his own operator skin. He gets upset and decides to message you.

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 1.9𝘬

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: This is my FIRST time writing an imagine and I am currently learning a 3rd language so I apologize if my grammar is horrible-my brain is frying lol c': If you guys would like a part 2 pls interact!

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ♥

You are an upcoming Twitch streamer who has around 8,000

subscribers, streaming Call of Duty Modern Warfare II on a Friday

night- very typical for someone like you. You were playing with

another streamer at the time; she was a good friend from college and

had more subscribers (about 500k) than you had. She is the one who

suggested that since you have always been a gamer, you try your

hand at being a streamer. While your friend Jocey, a fellow Twitch

streamer, left to get a drink, you were considering which operator to

get by looking through the storefront within the game. "Okay chat

which skin should I purchase?" The 4,560 viewers of the livestream

immediately started spamming the chatroom with "Messi" or

"Neymar Jr.", which wasn't much assistance because so many people

said one or the other that it was impossible to determine which one

was most popular. "Well, that wasn't much help, now was it?" you

chuckle. Leaning closer to the monitor as you modify your position

on your gaming chair, you try to decide which one you like. You click

to make the purchase while muttering to yourself. "I guess I'll

choose Neymar for the time being and get Messi afterwards." Even

though you didn't know much about Messi or Neymar, you were

aware that they were two of the best three football players in the

world. Once more you glance over at the chatroom and read, "Why

don't I just buy both? Since I spend most of my money on new video

games, I really can't afford to buy both." Jocey's voice may be heard

briefly through the microphone saying, "Yeah, you totally didn't

spend your money on going to a concert." "Alright, maybe that was it

too." You click on the game invitation she sent you and muttered. You

inquire, raising an eyebrow, "Search and Destroy?" She answers

swiftly, “Another streamer wanted to host a  search and destroy

lobby, is that okay? If not, we can go back to doing our own thing.”

You're not bothered at all. Call of Duty's Search and Destroy game

mode calls for 4-6 players per squad. While the other team works to

defuse it, one team must plant a bomb at the explosive site. Every

player only has one life. By successfully defusing the bomb,

successfully placing the bomb, or being the last team standing, you

can win the game. “No it's fine no worries… I'm ready to destroy all

these bitchesssss.” You stretch a little, crack your knuckles, and look

across at the other gamertags in the lobby not being able to make

out any of the names. To ensure that the squad can all join the party

together, Jocey says, "Okay, I'll provide you the discord connection."

While navigating to Discord to join the link and join the channel you

spotted, you nod your head despite the fact that she couldn't see

you. Jocey had entered with four other people already. Shortly after

the introductions, everyone turned their attention to the game.

Naturally, it wasn't a competition, but we didn't want to look bad in

front of our audience. The game shortly started and you were doing

decent as you were averaging at least 2-3 kills before dying. One

game suddenly became six which wasn't surprising as you can never

believe a gamer when they claim to be playing just one. You always

eliminate the player with the gamertag "Neigh" that was on the

opposite team in each game that was played. “ I just know this Neigh

person is pissed off.” The seventh and last game loads. With both

your team and the opposing squad each having three victories, the

game was now deadlocked. Jocey laughs and says, "Since this is the

last game, when we die we should leave the main chat so the ones

who are alive can concentrate." "Alright bet bet bet bet.” You

respond, the other guys in our party agreeing. As soon as the game

began, bodies began to fall from both teams; on your team, you and

Jocey were the only survivors. “Jocey if you die I will strangle you

myself.” You gripped the mouse firmly, feeling as though your heart

may jump out of your chest. How challenging can a 2v2 be? You

and Jocey have done this a lot of times. Before you can cheer, Jocey

dies. The Kill feed shows Jocey getting a kill, which made you joyful.

You bite your bottom lip when the game tells you that you are the last

one left alive, "Well chat, it's just you and me now, and let me tell you. Eu acredito que eu poderia cagar um tijolo agora ... Eu odeio ser o último vivo!" (I believe I could possibly shit a brick right now... I hate being the last one alive!)

As you searched the map for the last person, all you could hear was

silence. The game informs you that a bomb has been planted, and

you have 30 seconds to locate and neutralize it. One of the bomb

sites suddenly begins to glow. The only words that came out of your

mouth as you moved cautiously toward the explosives were "Fuck

fuck fuck fuck fuck." You watch the opponent stoop down and start

hardscoping the bomb location as you draw nearer, which makes you

grin evilly. They are unaware that you are directly behind them.

You make the decision to try Neymar Jr.'s execution move instead of

shooting them since he is the operator you are playing. When you are

close enough, you press the keyboard to start the execution by

catching the enemy. Neymar Jr. execution consisted of kicking the

opponent in the back of the leg, causing the opponent to fall to his

knees and then elevating his leg, kicking him hard in the face. As it

happens, you chuckle, and once he was dead, you hurried over to

defuse the explosives. You glance over at the chat room while using

the keyboard to disarm the explosives. “Quem quer que tenha sido a

última pessoa precisa excluir seu jogo.” (whoever that last person

was needs to delete their game)” As you read some of the messages,

you smile. When the game ended and your team was the victor, you

realized it was the "Neigh" individual you had slain yet again. “Sim, o

cavalo precisa ficar em um lugar de cavalos. Devo enviar-lhe

cenouras por correio?” (Yeah, the horse needs to stay in a horse's

place. Should I mail him carrots?) Even if you thought the joke was

humorous, you must admit that it was really corny. As you become

perplexed upon seeing your view account soar to over 200k viewers,

your laughter quickly comes to an end. “What the...?” You instantly

thought Jocey viewers were just raiding you (raiding= many viewers

join their livestream for a short amount of time), “Oh, ei Jocey, os

telespectadores gostaram disso? Apenas saiba que foi uma

embreagem rara e é mais do que provável que eu não possa fazer

isso novamente haha” (Oh hey Jocey viewers, did you like that?

Just know that it was a rare clutch and I will more than likely not be

able to do that again haha)  Little did you know that the person you

kept killing with the operator skin was the man himself, and he was

now observing you from the other side of the screen. Your stream

was open on his monitor allowing his viewers to see you, which

resulted in them searching you up themselves.

Neymar found it infuriating to keep dying by the same individual,

especially since it was his own operator. He had a small tantrum

every time he died, cursing towards his monitor and letting out

stressful sighs. Once the game was over he read his chat

noticing that someone had mentioned the identity of the Twitch

account that kept killing him, Smilingxo. “Smilingxo, eh? Vamos ver

quem eles são.” (Smilingxo, eh? Lets see who they are.)  He instantly

opens Twitch and types in the username, expecting to be greeted by

a male but to be astonished to see a female.  one that is also

appealing. He joined exactly at the time when you made fun of his

username,“Ela acabou de me chamar de cavalo?” (Did she just call

me a horse?) He laughs as he turns to his camera, “Vocês podem

acreditar nisto! Eu morri constantemente por ela... Eu sou tão ruim

neste jogo." Another sigh was released, " Isso me estressa.”(Can you

guys believe this! I constantly died by her… I am so bad at this

game. It stresses me out.) He takes one more look at you before

closing your channel. “Alright guys I'm gonna end it here and get

some rest.” He says to the chat, not bothering to join in the discord

channel that everyone was talking into-instead he just sent his

friend, the host, a text message. He yawns as he waves at the

camera, saying ‘Goodnight’ while ending the stream and beginning

to shut everything down. The sight of you continued to linger in his

mind. You were not only attractive to him, but seeing how good you

were at the game definitely made you get extra brownie points. With

him only seeing you for a few minutes, he couldn’t help but feel a bit

curious about you. Grabbing his phone once more, he looks back at

your twitch account to see if he could take another look at you. 

Meanwhile, since the viewers have been here, not all of them have

been polite; the majority of them were offended when you referred to

the username "Neigh" as a horse. You didn't believe them when they

said that Neymar Jr. was the user. Really, what are the chances that

you two are playing together?  “Mesmo que fosse Neymar, não tenho

culpa que seu nome de usuário me fizesse pensar que ele era um

cavalo.” (Even if it was Neymar it's not my fault his username made

me think he was a horse) you respond sarcastically while rolling your

eyes at the others comments. “There is no reason for y'all to be

acting this way over a practice match.” You mumble as you watch the

screen say you were disconnected from the match. When Jocey

returns to the channel you were in, you hear a tone through your

headphones. "Hey Y/N I believe everyone is leaving; do you want to

continue playing? Or are you also finished?"

“I think I'm done. Your viewers are starting to annoy me with this raid.

Why am I getting attacked because I kept killing the horse?”

“My viewers? What do you mean…. I am not raiding you?” She replies

back confused. “Nevermind. Yeah I'm gonna get off, I'll text you

tomorrow. Goodnight Jocey!” You wave your hand at the camera to

also say bye to the viewers, “ Sweet Dreams to the Smiling family

and to everyone that was being rude I hope you guys get

nightmares.” The broadcast was subsequently cut off, and your

computer was turned off. You sigh, realizing that you really shouldn't

have wasted your time arguing with the random chat users, but you

did so because you found it amusing that they were unhappy for the

wrong reasons. You shut down your computer and then get ready for

bed by taking a shower. When you are all set for bed, your lovely bed

beckons you, and you breathe a sigh of relaxation. You hear a "ding"

from your phone as you settle in and cuddle up under the blankets.

You sigh and sit up to grab it because you believe Jocey messaged

you. When a notification appears on your lockscreen, your eyes

widen and you cover your mouth with your free hand as you

immediately start to totally regret everything you said on video.

Instagram : NeymarJr wants to send you a message.

Edit : PART 2 POSTED!

#neymar jr x reader #neymar one shot #neymar jr imagine #neymar x y/n #neymar jr #neymar imagines #neymar jr x you #neymar jr one shot #neymar jr fluff #neymar #oneshot #female reader #football fanfic #football imagine #soccer imagine #neymar x reader

[teresalace]

"I won't cry for you" - Yandere Tyler Galpin x Female Reader PART 3

•Part 1 •Part 2

Words: 1699

Warnings: Mentions of torture, psychology, dysfunction yet healthy family relations if you squint.

Show: Wednesday (2022)

Summary: You've graciously or stupidly, granted Tyler a phone to call his father for whatever reason he had while you went to call yours for assistance. And since you weren't fully knowledgeable about Hydes, you contacted the only person you knew, who wasn't in prison, that had that knowledge. Your father, Alvin Gates.

• •

🥺 Sorryyyy this took forever a lot of months, planned to post this at February but got sick and many stuff happened, preparing for an interview :--D but am back in my writing mojo!/kinda, HAPPY HALLOWEEN) AND I HEARD season 2 is coming omggg I'm excited

————

"Well, well, well~ If it isn't the sweet consequence of my actions with your mother." A voice unmistakably grouchy speaks, sounding jovial with every word out.

A quick glance to your locked bedroom door before you finally said a response into the cellphone.

"You sound well, father." You mildly greeted, a tinge of a smile in your voice. To think it's almost only been a month since the last call.

"Yeah yeah it's been a while but cut the chitchat, sweetie, what do you need helping with?" You could imagine an eyeroll as your father said, always cutting to the chase.

"About Hydes." You spared no other detail and maintained calm articulation. Not that you needed to be careful with him, thankfully.

For more precaution, it's better if not even your own father knows about Tyler being in the house. You didn't want things to get out of hand.

"Ah- what about them? Did something happen that isn't supposed to–" Suddenly silence overtook the line, a thoughtful humming until he spoke again. "Don't get yourself into any unfamiliar territory, kid. That's suppose to be your mother's speciality."

So he noticed, of course he did. Better leave that to his wandering imagination than spoil your plan. A very non-existent plan at the moment.

"I don't plan to. Father, I was just curious since I kept hearing about them." True, that wasn't a lie in the slightest. "I was wondering if you'd know anything about them."

Surely he must know something.

"Hmm, you heard it from someone, no doubt. . . Alright, alright. What do you want to know exactly, kid. I'll tell ya as much as I can afford to." Sounds like mother has been keeping tabs on him.

"Hydes obey only one master, their own, correct?" You continued when father hummed a helpful tune, "would it be possible to sever the ties between a Hyde and its master."

A pause in-between your father's breathing left you suspended.

"Well. . . Got bad news for you kid, I don't know any available methods for that." He sighed gruffy like he felt bad, "sorry but can't help you with the whole severing business. It's set in stone, pretty much."

"I see. . . " You massaged your temples, disappoinment rising inside you. But you couldn't just accept this answer easily, stubbornness seemed to take hold in your heart. For what reason? You couldn't figure out.

"However–" A hoarse chuckle emerged from your cellphone. "It's not entirely impossible to say there aren't other ways of solving that problem. I'm sure you can get some creative ideas from their origins, kid. Only one thing is set in stone, Hydes only serve one master."

Father's bold hint sparked a lightbulb in your head. Their origins.

In the first place, what caused Hydes to bond an undying loyalty to their masters was–

"Sorry for not being alot of help, kid, I'm out of time for the day. Take good care of yourself, will you."

"I will." A buzz of excitement slowly crept over you as an idea began running through your mind. "You were very helpful, dad, thanks. You take care too."

"Mm sounds like you found an answer eh?" He sounded genuinely happy, making you feel much more sturdy in this new plan.

"Not exactly but I should be on the right track." If Tyler would go along with it.

"Mm so you're going to try any attempts, I see. Hah– it's hilarious how similar you and your mother's thinking is!"

Again with the comparisons. You rolled your eyes, "Goodbye, father."

"Alright alright, see ya kiddo. For now." BEEP. BEEP.

The call was over already.

.  .  .

You turned off the burner phone, picking out the block of battery from the back and saving it in your other hiding space for another time. Now you should check on Tyler, you can't afford to trust him so easily especially when his father's a sheriff. 

Quietly you went out of your bedroom, closing the door slowly so as to not make a sound. You headed down the stairs in a casual, fast pace to quickly see his state of mind.

But it's likely he isn't planning to screw himself over... Your assumption was most likely made correct when you came to see Tyler sitting slumped on the couch, his face buried deep in his hands. 

Sweeping your gaze across the living room and floor, the burner phone you gave him was nowhere in sight… Mentally noting to check the trash bin by the kitchen before you stomped down the stairs and made yourself known.

Tyler's eyes peeked up first from the gaps in-between his fingers like the leafy venus flytraps back home ever so often tempting you to closer inspect. To place your finger in there, to feed. 

He waited on your next move.

Your arms folded, hiding your hands twitching on their own for a tweezer. "Did you have a good talk?" 

What else could you really say without sounding too interested in him. 

"It was something…" Tyler did a small shrug, less energy than he's shown before, voice dulled by the cover of his fingers. "Could've gone better. I wish he didn't hang up so fast."

"What did you talk about?" Might as well see how much information he was willing to give.

A small sigh, Tyler slowly revealed half of his distraught face. "Not a lot. He wasn't interested in what I had to say… Told me to be careful." Strange of the dutiful sheriff to say but then again you didn't know what kind of father-son relationship they had.

"How are you feeling?" One of mother's favourite lines growing up that you've somehow adapted into your vocabulary. It seemed the most appropriate.

You continued watching Tyler's tensed form with a safe but short distance away, the coffee table acting as a possible shield in between you and him. Incase he raged.

But there was none.

There was something in his usual silence this time that irked you. Like he didn't fully trust you. 

You approved of that, as he shouldn't. Mutually. Especially if things ever go wrong because of him, you were ready at a moment's notice to abandon everything to do with him. 

"I… Hate him." 

The pause went on for however many tensed seconds before Tyler's hands fell onto his knees.

"Sorry sorry, I know I shouldn't be saying this… I mean I can't say I don't miss him." 

"You can say what you want. I don't mind," you said flatly, genuinely meaning it. His expressions stiff, he looked mentally pent up, thoughts practically steaming out from his ears.

"No, it's fine. You've done a lot for me already, I owe you." He grinned brightly, the dark cloud looming over from before gone in an instant, "for that phone call too."

"Sure," it wouldn't be bad to have a Hyde indebted to you.

Tyler checked the ticking clock on the kitchen wall, "I guess it is getting late… See you in the morning?"

You nodded. "Night, Galpin." 

"G-Good night! Have a good sleep." He smiled dopey, waving briskly while walking backwards to the foot of the stairs before jogging up to his bedroom. So naturally at home.

Just how eager was he to get back in his room?

 That wasn't his usual way of walking, what could he be looking forward to or hiding in there… Or he could just be relieved of stress after that talk with his father, maybe that brought about his new behavior.

Your suspicions were beginning to sound far-fetched even to yourself but then again, there was always that silver of possibility that he could be planning to rebel against you. 

So you moved fast towards the kitchen sink, tiny spikes of uneasiness pulsing through you, turning the facuet on and letting the water run loudly as you went to look into the trash bin.

Expecting to look down into a void of nothingness.

The large black plastic bag sleeved over the edge of the bin looked loose and puffy. Clearly you didn't do this, your meticulousness wouldn't allow such a lazy set up. You pat down the puffy areas, flattening the edges to allow better access in seeing what trash had been collected.

Shiny peices of black metal greet you at the bottom of the pit, tiny and almost powder-like glitter in the kitchen light. What previously used to be a burner phone now looked like the result of being in someone's clenched fist. Useful monsterous strength… if he could actually get it under his full control.

Whatever anxiety crept inside your heart disappeared as you contently spun on your heel and turned off the kitchen faucet. 

A small appreciation for Tyler as thanks to him, there's less work for you now.

You wondered why you even felt 'anxious' at all, it must've been the slight stress of knowing he could've screwed things up for you. And himself. Now that makes sense, of course since it's not as if you actually knew him personally even back in town. 

Feeling much more at peace, you headed towards your own bedroom, adjacent from Tyler's. His room barely made any noise except for the few inaudible mumbles and the faint use of his shower and the light peeking through from underneath his door. 

You never noticed before but he always had the lights turned on in there. Well, it's not as if you were the one paying the electrical bill. It was nothing noteworthy.

Once settling in your own bed and underneath your blanket in the cozy dark, sleep came easily… Until your brain jostled an interesting observation your very eyes must've slipped. 

In the trash bin, there was no sight of the small black piece. The memory card. 

The sim card. 

Despite his questionable actions, you chose to sleep, thoughts racing alongside a strange excitement building up in you. 

Oh what are you up to, Tyler Galpin.

Time was ticking. Neither on his or your side. He just didn't know it yet.

In the following morning you received a misscall from an unknown number. Father. He never contacts you first. There's nothing he needs that you could provide. It must be about the Hyde. 

Finally.

#tyler galpin x reader #female reader #tyler galpin x you #yandere tyler galpin #wednesday 2022 #yandere x reader #yandere x female reader #teresalace #writing #dark fic #I won't cry for you #yandere male x reader #male yandere x reader #Teresalace #wednesday netflix

[wilchur]

Sceleritas: Oh Master, consider the tiny mishap with the bard you had the last time we met.

Sceleritas: Your unconscious, clever mind hungers for extreme violence.

Sceleritas: Who knows you might kill next if you do not satisfy your Urge?

This bit of dialogue from Sceleritas fucks me up so bad. As Durge (unless you're metagaming for a particular outcome instead of going full roleplay) you're being placed before an impossible choice. Do you kill dozens of people by taking out Isobel or risk taking the blade to one of your companions again?

You know you can't control yourself fully so the threat is not empty. And you definitely care about your companions more than you do about a bunch of Harpers you've just met. But there may also be the tieflings involved, mostly children. Sparse in numbers now, but still people you've once saved. Was all that for nothing because now you might need to sacrifice them all? Do they tip the scale? How much is too much? What price are you willing to pay for your friends' safety and your own peace of mind?

"What is the worth of a single mortal's life?"

You and your companions are fighters, you have a mission. Fate of legions more people depends on you taking out the Absolute. Can you truly afford the risk? Whose survival is more important? Yes the Harpers may be valuable allies, but you are the ones with the prism. Without the party they don't stand a chance.

I hate how that's not ever touched upon properly in the game.

Killing or sparing Isobel is the only path-defining choice for Durge until the end of their personal quest and is treated as reference for their entire attitude towards being a bhaalspawn in act 3 no matter what other dialogue choices you make. Kill her and you more than embrace your heritage, you revel in what you are. Any other choices made up to that point are immediately voided.

But what if you did it out of fear? What if the "prize" you were awarded for it in the form of the Slayer terrifies you even more than the Urge itself? Which is a feeling you are able to express, but it holds exactly zero value because there's only two paths for you to take and nuance is not allowed. Why are you not able to express regret and have that matter? Not to mention that if Isobel dies due to unforeseeable consequences of other actions, it's still treated as if you went up the stairs and dug a knife in her back when nobody was looking because you simply felt like it.

Yes sacrificing Last Light is not the choice of a perfectly good aligned hero, but it is also not something only a villain would do. People make terrible choices when there's an axe raised over the nape of their neck and where the Urge is concerned Durge has absolutely no close confidants or support system who could help them make a better one.

The foundations of a complex character are there and every time I notice the game fumbling like this, railroading into an evil/good binary despite that, it ruins my fucking day.

#“oh we're not including an alignment system in the game because it's restrictive” #yeah congratulations you've created something even worse #anyway i have so much more to say on this but it's healthier if i just stfu #i will probably rant about this again in a week tho #it's a never ending cycle #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #the dark urge #durge spoilers #baldur's gate 3

[joheunsaram]

platonically cuddling (ksj)

checkout the platonic collection masterlist

summary- All Seokjin want after a long day is your ‘anime titties’.

word count- 1.1k

pairing- fwb!Seokjin x Reader

rating- PG-15

genre- fwb2lovers, idiots in love, fluff

warnings- nothing but soft soft soft fluff

a.n.- I just had an image of seokjin burying his face in some boobs and this is the result lol

Unedited cause I was in my feels.

As always reblogs, asks, and feedback appreciated 💌

-

You hummed to yourself as you chopped vegetables in the kitchen, the knife easily slicing through the carrot in your hand. Next to you the stone pot preheated on the stove, getting ready for the stew you were planning to make. It had been a while since you had properly cooked, but with exams piling up you needed an hour to turn off the stress so you didn’t lose your sanity.

However, your brain refused to turn off as you went through your notes in your head, trying to remember all the neurotransmitters and their detailed effects, even though you had relentlessly studied them since undergrad. Your humming slowly turned into a recitation of your notes as you went on autopilot, taking out the sauces from the fridge. That is, until the beep of your front door brought you back to your surroundings just in time to watch your best friend walk in, dressed in a full suit. As soon as he saw you in the kitchen, he was rushing to you, turning you around and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Anime titties,” he sighed, burying his face in your chest, his nose nestling in the cleavage afforded by your tank top, his smile painted on your skin. He seemed so content that you almost felt bad for smacking the top of his head. Almost.

“I have a name!” you huffed, failing to push him away when he clung on tighter, now stubbornly rubbing his face against your chest, cheekily biting over the fabric.

“Mmm… love when you don’t wear a bra,” he moaned happily before reaching over to turn off the stove and ignoring your protests as he picked you up and carried you to bed. Laying you down, he didn’t even discard his jacket before he was on top of you, face once again resting on your sternum as he pulled your hand to place it on his head, coaxing you to scratch the scalp like you usually did.

You shook your head at his antics, surprised that it hadn’t escalated to more than just cuddling. He usually couldn’t keep his hands off of you, so this sudden affection was confusing. Regardless, your fingers ran through his hair, nails scraping gently at his scalp as he rumbled in satisfaction like a giant cat, making you grin.

“How was the interview?” you asked, continuing your movements, waiting for his answer. He laid there for a while, nuzzling into you before he moved further up your body, head now in the crook of your neck, his body cushioning you to the mattress. You held him, hands roaming across the large expanse of his back, making him hum contendly.

“It was okay,” he replied, tired voice reverberating through you, his breath prickling your skin. He moved up then, supporting his weight on his elbows on your sides as he looked down at you with a smile that puffed up his cheeks. He kept staring at you as if he was trying to memorize your face before he chuckled to himself, leaning down to meet your lips, pulling them between his gently, instilling you with warmth.

When he had had his fill of your lips, he moved to the side of you, using your arm as a pillow and turning you to the side as well so you were facing him and he was once again facing your chest. “Let’s nap,” he suggested, wrapping his arm and leg around you, pulling you impossibly close.

“Jinnie, your suit will get ruined,” you chastised, but you were too content to untangle yourself from him, your earlier stress melting away at his little whine. He sat up though, carelessly discarding his clothing till he was just in his boxers, and you couldn’t help but notice the aggravated skin of his chest, indicating the stress he always tended to hide so well.

Ignoring his grabby hands, you reached for the cooling gel in your drawer, smiling as he relaxed on the bed before letting your fingers gently massage the cream on to the rash on his pecs. He closed his eyes, relishing the feeling as he thought about the interview he had just been to. It had gone perfectly. They seemed to love him; commending his research and laughing at his jokes. His resume was impressive as well and he was positive that he had the position in the bag.

It wouldn’t be a bad job. The university was nice, high in ranking for the chemistry department, but it was three hours away, and somehow on the way back from the interview to your home it dawned on him how long the journey was. He didn’t want to be away from you, relegating your meetings to busy weekends. He hadn’t been away from you for too long ever  since you were kids and he didn’t think his heart could take the distance. However, every other interview he had been on had been subpar, making him brace for a rejection. Would it be wise to give up potentially the only offer he might get for you?

“It will be okay,” you consoled, unaware of the battle in his head, massaging his shoulders as you leaned over him, trying to reduce the tension in his stiff body and melt the frown on his face. “There will be other interviews. You’ll knock their socks off, Dr. Kim.”

He opened his eyes at that, looking at you with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, before he was leaning up and kissing you. You felt your heartbeat rise. Seokjin hadn’t kissed you like this before, it was almost full of yearning, in a way that terrified you a little, left you breathless.

“You okay?” you asked, unable to control the concern lacing your tone as you looked down at him, lightly stroking his cheek, and he just nodded, pecking your lips once again before pulling you down on top of him, holding you tight.

“Better than okay,” he sighed, turning on his side and cuddling you to him once again. “Let’s nap.”

He held you as the two of you drifted off, inhaling your shampoo and letting your words of encouragement ring in his head. Decision made, he kissed the top of your head, feeling more relaxed than he had all day.

There will be other interviews. Hopefully ones a lot closer to you.

-

taglist: @kithtaehyung, @missgeniality @cheesecakes-randomshitz, @aroseforyoongi, @awhnamjoon, @codeinebelle , @sugakookitty , @ressjeon , @lavienjin @abyssaeri @raplinesmoon​ @jcsmae​

check out the platonic collection masterlist

I hope you enjoyed this! For more fics of mine check out my masterlist

#seokjin x reader #jin x reader #jin fanfic #jin fluff #seokjin fanfic #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts jin #bts series #seokjin series #jin smut #52hertz #thebtswritersclub #bts scenarios #clubzerooclock #ficscafe #bangtanbathhouse #purplearmynet

[whetstonefires]

Do you think Itachi would make a good Wei Wuxian? One could substitute Jiang Cheng for Sasuke.

....oh my god it returneth. After how many months????

Okay. Okay, no I don't. Hard no. He could not do it. I can see the shared bridge, the 'to save you I will contravene the laws of gods and men and embrace my own destruction, and I will not consult you on the subject.'

But they were addressing fundamentally different types of problem, and crucially: Itachi's plan was someone else's idea.

Itachi is an inflexible person who, however, was brought up to understand that the demands of authority figures (the decisions of adults, I will never get over the clear retcon making him thirteen at the crucial juncture) are immovable boundaries that you have to problem-solve within.

Wei Wuxian is an extremely flexible person, who understands rules as recommendations or requests being made of him by people whom he may or may not bother to accommodate.

Itachi is a weapon and a child soldier, and did mass murder and betraying-his-brother-to-protect-him because someone cornered him into it.

He shows some signs of willfulness, under enough stress, but he isn't creative. Maybe he could have been and those aspects of his character just got shut down and failed to develop to cope with the trauma of murdering people when you're six, because he was a sensitive child and couldn't afford to stay that way and that explains so much about him. But he's just not. There is no way he could or would be Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian has a lot of childhood trauma too, but it's almost the opposite in type; he makes his choices in a corner too, but they're his own solutions, which nobody else in the world intended him to make or could even have predicted. (Except the mass murder when the Jins started pulling shit, by then they could have and should have called that.) Even inasmuch as he becomes a weapon, and inasmuch as he subordinates himself to Jiang Cheng, all he does is close off options for himself.

And he acts above all voluntarily--even when he's reacting in the moment in ways he's going to regret when he has time to think, even when it's painful and awful and self-destructive, it's all done of his own will.

If you put Wei Wuxian in Itachi's position, he would see it as a people problem and try to solve around the people. The politics are deliberately insolubly awful, and Wei Wuxian is not politically minded, but Wei Wuxian simply would not accept 'kill your own sect because if they start a war they'll die anyway and innocent people will be caught in the crossfire and it will be your fault, but if you save the day by setting yourself up as a supervillain your favorite person can live' as a reasonable premise.

Taking all the hate on himself is something he'd be willing to do but the rest of it...

He would kidnap tiny Jiang Cheng and run, and let the grownups figure out their own shit, or he'd invade an Uchiha leadership meeting and speak up uninvited, or he'd try to expose MadaTobi as an outside agitator, or he'd concoct an elaborate Danzo-assassination scheme, or he'd sneak into the Hokage's office and be like, gramps i got some abnormally fucked up orders even for ANBU, is this you and if it is what the fuck?

Or various other things, depending on his specific relationships with the specific adults on the board. Like Itachi he's bad at asking for help, but he's also bad at giving in. Wei Wuxian even having parents makes him a different kind of guy a little bit, so a scenario where he's convinced to kill them is hard to frame, but also pretty much out of the question. Where is jyl in all this.

I don't think a Danzo type of guy would try to use a Wei Wuxian type of kid in this way in the first place, but anyway.

Wei Wuxian would look at the proposed 'solution,' deliberately contrived to be acceptable because every other outcome was even worse or impossible, and refuse to bite. He kobayashi-maru-breaks himself into his bullshit, that's one of his hallmarks, that's basically the opposite problem-solving style of what gets Itachi into his long ruin.

Itachi meanwhile, in the scenario that his Sasuke was clan heir and he wasn't for some reason, still wouldn't consider crippling himself so Sasuke could reach his full potential.

Itachi in Wei Wuxian's position would go in and start killing Wens, probably including Wen Ning because he was there and would not be given time to defect (if he even would in the absence of Wei Wuxian having tipped the scales by making a good impression previously, we don't know) and stop when he had a corridor out.

And then he'd find somewhere safe to put Sasuke, and the fact that his brother was no longer fit to engage in high-level ninja fights would be 1) a great validation for his 'don't get dead' agenda 2) on some level something he'd envy, though I don't think he'd spend any time with that thought since obviously his power is their most valuable asset, for the surviving.

It would be better if Sasuke could also defend himself but his individual distress at being ninja-disabled wouldn't be a thing to solve, just kinda push through. There are no more Uchihas left to lead so what does it matter.

If Itachi somehow wound up seeking safe harbor with Tsunade, he'd be supportive of Sasuke/Jiang Cheng's grim determination to recover no matter what awful medical interventions it took, but having her rip out his chakra system for Sasuke, or whatever, wouldn't really be on the radar. He'd agree if Sasuke and Tsunade both wanted it, but that wouldn't happen and isn't the same thing anyway.

I also don't think it's particularly likely Itachi would be able to develop a new branch of zombie mysticism under any conditions. He's creepy but he's not committed to it the way some of his colleagues are, and like I said before his creativity is nothing much to speak of.

These two went with roughly similar 'solutions,' sure, but to wildly different problems. They would not make each other's choices.

#ask #hoc est meum #ramblebrambleamble #return of the mdzs naruto character swappage #offspring of the jane bennet cinematic universe #guy whose ability to exercise his own judgment has been systematically crippled #cannot stand in for guy who will not STOP from exercising his own judgment #even in places and scenarios where nobody thinks there are decisions left to be made #naruto #mdzs #fun ask #s;lkjakfl;dfd; #meta

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — HAWKS x READER 

There’s a beautiful boy in your church and he’s asking for forgiveness. 

wc — 1k

tags — hawks and his catholic guilt complex, church maid/daughter of the local priest reader, religion, title from Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

Is it rude to tell someone they don’t get confession? 

Well, in the first place, it’s not like confession is something that can be got. Confession is…confession. It’s just what it is, but it’s not what it’s not, and what it’s not is whatever the pretty blonde boy is doing in the confessional. He comes in and tries to flay himself alive on the altar of self sacrifice, which is decidedly not in your father’s teachings. 

There’s a reason your brother got sent to the seminary and your parents made you the church maid (church mouse, more like, your brother teases). You’re in your head too much, talking to yourself about your daydreams, but painfully quiet when addressed. 

For all your faults, however, you’re observant. 

Because you’re quiet and soft spoken, people overlook you. The church grandmothers pinch your cheek and call you ‘such a good child’, only to whisper their concerns about your inability to find a husband behind your back. You know they’re only gossiping out of concern, but still. You’ve got time! What’s wrong with being an old spinster, anyways? At least you would never have to ask a man for money if you were self-sufficient. 

You’re not worried. If anything goes wrong, you can extort all the churchgoers with what you know (that was a joke). But what else are you supposed to do with all this information? You’re holding everybody’s secrets and it’s eating you up inside. You’re worried that any time you open your mouth, they might just spill out of you, like the fairy tales about the girl who could only speak in jewels. 

Maybe you need to go to confession. 

Someone beat you to it. 

You can’t see him inside, of course, or what would be the point of a confessional? But you can tell from the minuscule details, as you always have. The sunlight from the large windows have trails of dust motes floating through them, shining on the light marks left behind by expensive dress shoes. The air smells like honey and oranges, cologne that no one else in this town could afford to commission. The single blonde strand of hair (that man shed like a dog, honestly) on the floor tied it altogether. 

Hawks was here. 

Quietly, surreptitiously, you try to sneak off. He’s doing his thing, and you don’t want to disturb him. As nice as it is to hear the soft rumble of his voice smooth over the words of his prayer, you don’t want to eavesdrop. You felt bad enough the first few times you did it and realized how tortured he was. 

Hawks was the most desirable bachelor in the town. He had been adopted by the mayor when he was just an infant and raised to be the perfect successor. He was never anywhere short of the golden boy he had been taught to be, always polite, always the gentleman. You like him well enough, of course. Like everyone else, you couldn’t help but be charmed by him. He just had that aura to him, a sort of call for love that made him irresistible. It was like the beauty of a clear spring day or the sweetness of a newborn puppy - you couldn’t help but adore it. It was only natural.

Still, there was a lack of authenticity that made Hawks distant. He was wealthy, powerful, and well-read, it was true, but more than that, it seemed like there was a glass partition between him and the rest of the world. 

You didn’t think it was all a facade. It was impossible to be as kind as Hawks was and have it all be fake, but you didn’t think it was all real, either. It was like watching a doll rather than a human, simply eerie to witness such perfection and know that some of it must be manufactured. 

Just as you’re about to escape the room, you’re too lost in your thoughts about Hawks to hear the door swing open. 

He sees you. 

“Hello there.” 

You resist the urge to squeak (you are not a mouse, you argue with your brother in your head). 

Run or stay? Fight or flight? Go or stand your ground? 

While you’re deliberating, he’s already caught up to you. 

“The priest’s daughter, right?” he smiles. “It’s good to see you again.” 

You’re a little stunned by his admission even though you shouldn’t be. Hawks is perfect, it makes sense his memory is as well. You try to convince yourself it’s nothing personal, that it’s just part of his upbringing when you ask, “You remember me?” 

“Of course I remember you,” he says. “You were the one who left me the poem, didn’t you? By the Oliver girl?”

You had. 

It was after you had caught him at confession. You hadn’t meant to. It was just-

It had been hours, he was still in there, and you needed to clean.

Hawks had a peculiar way of praying. He knelt down, head pressed firmly to the ground, and prayed like he was begging. It was as if he thought he needed to suffer to get what he wanted - to deserve what he wanted. You caught snippets of prayers on your rounds every hour or so, checking to see if he had left yet. Sometimes, all he was asking for was the right to live. To be made worthy of the gift he had been given, and yet the one he felt he did not deserve. 

But Hawks was a good boy. You knew this. Everyone knew this. You were surprised he didn’t. 

In a moment of sympathy that had been startled out of you by the force of his prayer, or just simple compassion that the Lord had charged you to have for every human being, something had compelled you to slip the poem you had stolen out of your brother’s books into the side pocket of his bag. Then you ushered him out. 

It hadn’t meant anything, really. You were surprised he even found it. 

“Did you like it?” You ask, lamely, with nothing else to say, grasping for topics of conversation. 

Something about his smile seems different from usual. Softer around the edges, eyes crinkled in a way that’s likely to give him premature wrinkles. “It was a kind thing to do. Thank you.” 

Perhaps it’s because he’s so good, but something about Hawks makes you give way to impulsivity. You want to take care of him. It’s like looking at a soaked kitten left on the side of the street, except Hawks is inconceivably more privileged, and yet- 

Something about him seems in need of spoiling. 

It’s that urge that makes you stumble over your next words, struggling to get them out. “I’m not a priest but you’re always welcome! I mean, of course, the church is always open to everyone. You know what I mean!”

“I do,” he laughs. “Thank you. Really. I have a gift for you, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Oh-“ you’re pleased against your will. He’s so good. At making you love him, at everything. “You don’t have to.”

“Please. I want to. Will you wait to open it until I leave? I’m a little nervous to see your reaction.” 

Now you’re nervous, but you doubt that he would give you anything dangerous. When the door swings closed, you unwrap the beautifully wrapped package he pressed into your palm. It’s a sturdy tube lined with jewel toned velvet. When you pull off the lid and turn it upside down, neatly folded paper cascades into your hand. 

A letter?

(A confession?)

A poem. 

#sera writes #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #hawks x y/n #hawks x you

[xxlovelynovaxx]

Someone doesn't understand the difference between "hard and inconvenient" and "literally impossible". Like sorry, starving to death to avoid buying food from Amazon because they're the only place you can afford to buy food from and the only place that even delivers to you because you live in a food desert in a pointless act of martyrdom is just as a much a human rights violation as what Amazon does. Why do poor people only matter to you if they're laborers?

Then this tag from someone else:

"stop ordering from Amazon because of the human cost" is actually about feeling bad about what YOU have to do to survive. There is also a human cost to poverty. We need to talk about the people who don't have a choice. The original post isn't even about the actual human cost. It's literally about the fact consumers should feel guilty. It's not derailing the conversation that yes should be had but still ISN'T being had.

This person literally admits they use the service they work for. And maybe actually we should talk about the emotional cost it does to good people to have to choose between willingly laying down and quite literally DYING vs feeding corporations that are directly contributing to their own oppression while committing human rights violations against their fellow poor people. Often, as in this example, against them too.

Idk, this reads as victim blaming. How we handle the guilt of living in this society is very much a societal problem, not an individual one, and I feel like treating it as the latter is just another symptom of hyperindividualism.

But also... "you're directly causing this abusive corporation to abuse people by buying from them to avoid the "inconvenience" of not dying" do YOU hear YOURSELF? Do you have that little compassion? Or do you just refuse to acknowledge the reality of your own privilege, in that you have a CHOICE and therefore you think everyone must?

I thought we agreed that abusers actions were on them, "voting with your wallet" doesn't exist and certainly not with monopolies, and that "no ethical consumption under capitalism" was precisely ABOUT how even getting your basic needs met will involve horrific human rights violations and that the best you can do is just try and find the path that is least unethical while surviving to fight for better.

But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe this person eats only fair trade ethically harvested food (cost: $5000/month) and makes all their own clothes out of hand harvested wool and built their own house out of trees they raised and felled themselves. After all, according to them, it's MEAN to say that you shouldn't rely on industries that commit human rights violations EVER, and surely they're definitely not a hypocrite! They'd never patronize any of the major monopolies in the agricultural, clothing, or housing industries, right?

Oh wait, they need to in order to survive. Congrats, now they can understand that some people have the same reliance on companies like Amazon, gold star!

Oh and btw, talking about how shame is ineffective in changing people's behavior but DOES have a significant impact on the mental health of people already undergoing severe complex trauma to the point it'll become genetic from poverty is a good conversation to have. No one's saying "uwu that's mean". I think that's just the projection of the guilt you're feeling about bullying other people about it :)

[thatfanfictionchick]

This is intended to be...archival, for myself, mostly. But if you find it interesting you should definitely check out Ikemen Villains!

Ikevil Event - Wrapped in Wicked Romance pt.2

Harrison's Route Ch. 2

·✦...·✧

Kate: “Accomplice…?”

Harrison: “What, don’t feel like you’re up to it…?”

-time skip-

Kate: “H-hey, that tickles!”

Harrison: “Sit still or else I can’t get this necklace on you.”

Harrison: “I’m helping you since you couldn’t put it on yourself, remember?”

(I wasn’t expecting him to make me change clothes all of a sudden…)

I wore a chic black dress, an expensive necklace, and high heels–a far cry from my usual self.

As for the person who made me change, he now walked slightly ahead of me.

Kate: “Um, where are we heading?”

Harrison: “The dangerous place Al told you about. The casino.”

Harrison: “I’m pretending to be a naive, well-to-do noble there.”

Harrison: “And your role is to play my devoted, adoring girlfriend.”

Kate: “...So that’s why we’re dressed to the nines.”

Harrison: “I would’ve thrown something together anyway if you hadn’t shown up.”

Harrison: “Anyway, there’s something I want you to do in there.”

Kate: “And what’s that?”

Alfons had said that Harrison’s curse was the Lying Fox, and that I should be wary of him.

Honestly, I didn’t know much about Harrison yet.

I had no idea why he was going to the casino, either. I’d asked, but he’d insisted it wasn’t for a Crown mission.

However…

Kate: “Earlier you said I was going to be your accomplice.”

Kate: “So does that mean you’re going to make me do something bad?”

Harrison: “Pretty much.”

Kate: “But what if I decide that I can’t be your accomplice?”

He paused for a moment.

He turned toward me and smiled faintly.

Those eyes that could detect any lie seemed like they were piercing right through to the depths of my heart.

Harrison: “Well, that casino’s right there. And beyond the door is a place full of lies.”

Harrison: “You have to choose very carefully what’s a good lie, what’s a bad lie, who is evil, and who is just.”

Harrison: “You said you wanted to see it for yourself to make your own decisions, right?”

Kate: “...Yes.”

Harrison: “Good answer. All right. What I want you to do is…”

-they enter-

Kate: “Whoa!”

As soon as I opened the door, I saw a sight so dazzling it didn’t even seem real.

Luxurious decor, the scent of wine, stacks of bills and coins on the game tables.

(I had no idea a place like this even existed. Just looking at it makes me feel kind of dizzy.)

Harrison: “Hey. Pull yourself together or people will get suspicious. You’re supposed to be my girlfriend, remember?”

Kate: “Yes!”

Flashy Woman: “Look over there! Isn’t that Lord Oscar? He’s been winning an awful lot lately.”

Flashy Man: “Yes, that’s him. I heard he’s the heir of a very rich noble family. Must be nice to be rich AND lucky.”

(Hm, so Harrison calls himself Oscar here.)

I made eye contact with him and he placed a finger to his lips and smiled.

(I’ve been thinking this for a while, but I bet Harrison is super popular with the ladies… He’s attractive and has that air of casual charm.)

It seemed like all eyes were on him as he walked through the room.

Harrison: “You’re being too awkward, you’re acting too suspicious, and you’re bad at lying.”

Kate: “W-well, I didn’t think we were going to get so much attention!”

Harrison: “...Fine, then. Come over here and just sit still and act like my girlfriend.”

He wrapped an arm around my waist, and his light, minty fragrance drifted through the air.

I stood up straighter, trying to pull off my role a little better.

Man with Mustache: “Y-you’re cheating!”

A man nearby shouted.

(What’s going on?)

Man with Mustache: “There’s no way the same card would keep coming up! It’s impossible!”

Man with Mustache: “...Please let me play one more round!”

Man with Mustache: “My daughter has a high fever and she’ll die unless I can afford her medication…”

Dealer: “You’re the one who decided to bet such a small amount. Please leave.”

Man with Mustache: “B-but…!”

Dealer: “Take this man out of here.”

Two men in black suits grabbed the man by both arms and dragged him away from the table.

The moment they passed by us, Harrison spoke up.

Harrison: “...Hey.”

Man with Mustache: “...Huh?”

Harrison: “They played you. You can’t protect anything with pure intentions alone, you know.”

Man with Mustache: “...Ugh!”

The man’s face filled with despair and sadness as they dragged him away.

(Why did he say that?)

Kate: “Harr–Oscar. You didn’t have to kick the man while he was down.”

He didn’t look toward me at my words, his focus remaining up ahead.

(Huh?)

Harrison watched the man being dragged outside.

And I saw anger and then sadness on his face.

(...Why does he look like that?)

Dealer: “Lord Oscar! Welcome. What are you planning on playing tonight?”

Harrison: “Ah, could I get a bottle of your finest wine first?”

Harrison smiled calmly at the dealer.

There was no longer a trace of his carefree demeanor from earlier.

Harrison: “I wanted to take that as a gift and play against the owner of this casino, since he’s rumored to be the most competitive player in England.”

Owner: “I’m happy to hear you’d like to play with me.”

A man wearing a nice, tailored suit strolled out from the back room.

(This must be the casino owner.)

Owner: “Sounds like a good time. I’ve got the wine and a special partner to play against!”

Owner: “How about a game of roulette, Lord Oscar? I believe you’ve never played that before.”

Harrison: “Sounds good to me.”

They showed us to our seats, and the owner sat in the dealer’s seat.

Kate: “So this is roulette?”

Harrison: “Oh, I’m sorry. This is my girlfriend. She’s been pestering me to come to the casino for quite some time now.”

Owner: “Oh, I see! Haha! Well, we can’t have you losing in front of your lovely girlfriend, now can we?”

Harrison: “The dealer spins the roulette wheel and throws the ball onto it.”

Harrison: “We predict where the number will fall, and place our chips on the betting slots.”

Kate: “If the ball hits our number, we win. If it doesn’t, the chips go to the dealer.”

Harrison: “Exactly. I’d expect nothing less from you, my dear.”

Harrison: “Shall we begin, then?”

The game started off surprisingly calm. A small amount of chips moved back and forth.

It was almost like an appetizer for our wine.

Harrison: “Hmm, don’t you think this is a bit boring? Let’s raise the stakes.”

Harrison arranged the highest value chips in order.

(That’s a lot of money. If he loses…)

A small wave of anxiety washed over me.

Harrison: “Six again? The probability of the ball hitting number six consecutively is extremely low, don’t you think?”

Owner: “That’s what they say.”

Harrison: “Then the next number should be anything but six. So I’ll bet on a different number.”

However, the ball landed on…

Harrison: “Six again?”

Owner: “Oh! Well you know, things like this happen sometimes.”

Harrison: “Surely, it wouldn’t happen four times in a row. I’ll bet on everything but six again.”

Harrison tapped twice on the table.

-flashback-

Harrison: “This is what I want you to do.”

Harrison: “When I tap on the table twice, I want you to bet all your chips on the number that appeared consecutively.”

Harrison: “In other words, bet everything. That’s all you have to do.”

Harrison: “And until then, just pretend to be my girlfriend.”

-end flashback-

(I’m still not exactly sure what his intentions are.)

(And maybe this is some kind of trap, for me or otherwise…)

(However…)

(I can’t stop thinking about the anger and sadness I saw in his eyes before.)

(He told me I had to decide what was a good lie, a bad lie, who was evil, and who was just.)

(So in that case…)

Owner: “Last call.”

I grabbed all of my chips and–

Kate: “I’ll bet it all on number six!”

·✦...·✧

[bitter end] [premium end] [main page]

#ikemen villains #ikevil #ikevil event #ikevil harrison

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph, I hope you’re well. I also hope this message isn’t hurtful in any way. See, I’m not even 25 yet, but I struggle with shame at the idea that I’m still on tumblr and reading fanfic. It just doesn’t feel grownup or mature enough. It feels like I should get over it. It may seem like a childish concern but the level of distress and shame it causes me is significant. Have you ever felt the same way ? How did you overcome it ? Much love to you.

Hey Nonny *HUGS*

Listen: The idea that fandom should be discarded when you get older is UTTER FUCKING BOLLOCKS, and the majority of people shitting on older fandom folks and trying to make people feel bad about it are either too young to comprehend that there's no magic door you go through in your 20's and suddenly you lose interest in everything you enjoyed and pop out on the other side in a suit and tie, or "high and mighty" ass-twats who think they're better than everyone else, that everything except for what they like is “cringe” and are the same folks who think sports fandoms aren’t weird-as-fuck either.

They don't understand who keeps fandoms alive. They don't understand that the creators of the media they consume are also adults over 30 (this one ALWAYS confused me... like... who they fuck do they think wrote the content they currently enjoy in the first place???). They don't get that not everything is made for them specifically, and that people are allowed to enjoy different things.

They don't understand that being an adult doesn't mean losing a part of yourself, nor losing the things that make you happy.

And they CERTAINLY don't comprehend that it's fantastic being an adult in a fandom. I can now afford a Funko collection, or buy those prints I wanted, collect comics, create the art I enjoy, interact with people who share my interests, and play video games without rage quitting because now I enjoy the challenge that they present to me.

And, ESPECIALLY in this day and age of the entire world falling apart, obligations having to take precedence over yourself, and jobs working us so much that it’s nigh impossible to have free time anymore, we adults need things that make us happy, to help us make sense of the world, to help us escape it for just a little while, because honestly once you have to deal with real life again, it can sometimes really suck.

I've written and reblogged posts about this very thing in the past that you can check out, before I get to my main point and answer your actual question:

MY POSTS:

Fandom Twitter seems so ageist, I see why you don’t like it (with reply from JBaillier)

REPLY: I’m a 33 year old nurse, I come to fandom to escape

HATE REPLY (to a different ask): That other Anon is right, it’s weird you’re almost 40

REPLY to REPLY: Don’t let the ageism get to you

REPLY to REPLY: Don’t listen to that other anon

REPLY to REPLY to REPLY: Anons are mean

REPLY to REPLY: I’m 18 and it makes me mad people are ageist

OTHERS' POSTS

On Fandoms, Age and Gender

On Fanart and Fanfiction: When Are you Going to Stop It?

Ageism in Fandom

Ignore the Fun Police as you Age

Your Fave Author is over 30

You only need to like a thing to be a fan of it

Ageism in fandom, 27 is too old?

ALL THAT SAID, finally, Nonny, I can’t 100% relate to how you feel because I was fortunate enough to have family and friends who encouraged me and my interests given my affinity for art and my initial desire to be an animator. Of course I had the occasional adult belittle me, AND I still keep my fandom life VERY much separated from my personal and work lives, AND I also hyperfixate on fandom things so I’m always “weird”, so in that regard I have felt shame. But when I got into my late 20′s and early 30′s, I suddenly realized that those people who shat on me for liking the things that I do were just miserable people themselves, who had very little interests of their own, and their impact on my life is literally a blip of a moment in a life that could be 80 years long. Suddenly it didn’t make sense to me to stop doing things I enjoyed and be shameful of that stuff, because there’s so little in my life these days that makes me happy, and my Stuff and Things™ are precious to me. Sure, I still have a Personal Life, Private Life, Work Life, and Fandom Life that all vaguely connect together but are for the most-part kept separated, but it’s not out of shame, it’s out of “my job doesn’t need to know what I do in my off hours because it’s none of their business”. It’s worked for me, and perhaps it can work for you.

I mean, who wants to essentially go to work 40+ hours a week, pay bills, do essential and obligatory tasks and chores, try to stay alive, and then in what little free time one has and just.... do nothing? I genuinely do feel sad for people who feel like they have to abandon what they once loved... it must make life feel very lonely and very unfulfilling. For me, I do all of the adulty things mentioned above, plus I watch movies, I draw, I write, I maintain a blog that fulfills me, I read, I collect stuff, and I play video games. I can’t afford to travel nor do I have any partner/s in my life, so it’s these little things that make me happy. And once I realized that, it was easier to let go of any residual shame I still had.

Don’t ever stop enjoying fandom. No one does... Conventions of any sort would never exist without fandom. Sherlock Holmes is still a relevant literary figure because people STILL adapt it over a century later. Sports live on forever and no one ever shames those people, right? Like, I don’t GET football or hockey or the fandoms surrounding them, and I don’t GET enjoying a sport I’m not actively participating in, but sports isn’t my thing, ergo, not my place to shame someone else for it. 

As one post put it up above there: a LARGE chunk of your favourite fic authors are in their 40s/50s/60s. Fandom is multigenerational and no shame should ever be had about reading fan fiction. I don’t make it a secret anymore that the only literature I read is fanfic. Quite frankly, it’s easier for me to consume because the worlds are already established, and I just get to read about what the toys I love are doing in the sandbox this time from someone ELSE’S perspective.

*HUGS* Please don’t feel shame, Lovely. It will take time, but once you realize how insignificant other people-who-you-barely-know’s opinion really is, you genuinely do stop caring what other people think. Literally just a blip.

*HUGS* Please take care, Nonny. I hope my words comforted you at least just a little bit.  

#steph replies #chatting with nonnies #my advice #about me #fandom life #fandoms are the best #seriously