#After how many years you delete a horrible match from your mind

[contemnitefortunam]

Kinda wanting Villareal to win so it's not an all English victory this year, kinda not wanting it because I still have Villareal memories.

#More like ptsd I guess #After how many years you delete a horrible match from your mind?

[gotnofucks]

Master of His Own Fate

Pairing: dark!Bucky x Reader, dark!Steve x Reader

Summary: As far as Bucky knew, fate would not decide who you belong to. Very twisted dark soulmate AU.

Words: 3.3k

Warning: forced bonding (in a way), blood, violence, messed up stuff, language, noncon (if you squint). 18+ ONLY

MASTERLIST

A/n: I have no idea how this got deleted ^.^

Part 2

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Bucky crushed the phone in his hand and let the broken pieces clatter to the floor. His whole body trembled with barely restrained anger and he took deep breaths to calm himself. How could you do this to him. How dare you.

You’d known each other for two years now since you joined the Avengers Medical team at the tower. As someone who frequented the med bay a lot, you both saw a lot of each other. Bucky knew from the moment he saw you that you were a sweetheart. His sweetheart. He didn’t care that the initials on your wrist were not his. He didn’t care about the stupid Soulmate legend. You were made for him and that was the end of it. So why now did he find your profile on findmysoulmate app? Why were you looking for the person whose name matched the initials on your wrist when the one who you belonged to was right here?

“Buck, you okay pal?”, Steve asked, and Bucky’s gaze flew to him.

“No. I am not alright. My girl has decided to whore herself out to other men and I am not fucking alright Steve!”

“Your girl…Y/n would never do that. I just saw her this morning.”

When the people said Steve and Bucky were best friends on and off field, they forgot to mention about how alike they were in their thinking too. If Bucky said you belonged to him, Steve believed him, no questions asked.

“She has a profile on findmysoulmate. I saw it. She’s looking for him, whoever he is!” Bucky shouted and then started pacing back and forth. Steve let him work out his frustration for a minute before stopping him with a hand on his shoulder.

“You know, maybe you should finally talk to her now. She’s young, innocent. And she spends awful amount of time with Wanda who never shuts up about soulmates. She’s impressionable and must have been confused. You can put that right. Let her know who owns her.” Steve said gently. Bucky blinked at Steve then nodded. It made sense after all. You were a nice girl. You would never intentionally break his heart.

“Yeah, I think you’re right. I need to let her know she’s mine. I’ve waited long enough for her to come to the conclusion on her own anyway. She’s young, she needs help to see it.”

----------------------------------------------------

You were returning to the compound after a day of disappointment and exhaustion. Wanda had convinced you to make an account on findmysoulmate and post a pic of the initials on your wrist. Everyone wasn’t born with some stranger’s initials tattooed on their body. You’d lived with these two letters since the day you were born, and people had told you how lucky you were to be gifted with someone special. They did not however understand how utterly taxing it could be to have a soulmate. Finding the person you are destined for is not easy, since they could be anywhere in the world, in any country. You had no luck finding him, whoever he was, and you were losing hope.

People who didn’t have their soulmarks didn’t understand the burden it came with. Once you knew that there was someone out there in the world for you who was going to be in absolute sync with you, you just couldn’t settle for anyone else. It doesn’t matter how many nice men you met or dated, you kept thinking about the person you’re meant to be with. You can’t be happy with anyone else, ever. For the longest time now, you’d ignored your soulmark after having no idea who the initials belonged to. You couldn’t live your life searching for him. Instead, you focused on your studies and honed your skills until you became the youngest doctor to join the avengers. You loved working here and the busy atmosphere almost always took your mind off things. But then you met Wanda Maximoff and the girl wouldn’t shut up about the mystery man you’re meant to “marry and have cute cute kids with who’ll call me auntie Won-Won!”. How Wanda convinced you to not just join the app but go on a date with a man who matched your soulmark you don’t know. But it was a disaster. Though the man had your initials on his wrist too, it was more than obvious in the first few minutes that you both were not the people destiny paired together. Not only was he a pervert whose gaze barely lifted from your cleavage, but he was also a junkie who took out a pouch from his pocket and laid down two lines of coke on the table as dessert. After you had made sure to report your date and pay for the miserable dinner, you’d gone out on a drive and stopped by every food cart on the way to indulge in comfort food.

Now, it was way past midnight as you returned to the compound with your beautiful dress wrinkled and makeup smudged from crying. You were tired and you vowed to give a piece of your mind to Wanda the first thing tomorrow morning, right after chucking your phone in her face. You entered the security pin to your apartment and shut the door behind you, blindly searching for the switchboard. Flicking it on, you removed your high heels and sighed in relief.

“Welcome back.”

You screamed and stumbled back, before you recognized the figure sitting in your living room. Bucky had his legs crossed at his ankle and he was drinking whatever soda you’d left in the fridge.

“What the fuck, Bucky? You scared me to death!” You huffed in annoyance. “What are you doing here at this hour anyway?”

Bucky took another gulp of his drink before setting his glass down and looked at you with a frown.

“The question should be where the fuck have you been all this time? I’ve been here since seven in the evening and you are returning hours later looking like you just spent a few hours sucking some good for nothing bastard’s dick.” He had never cursed in front of you like that or been rude to you.

“Excuse me, what the hell is wrong with you. I – You know what, just leave. I’m too tired to deal with anyone’s shit at the moment. Go.” You just wanted to burrow in your bed and sleep your horrible day off. You’ll worry about a cranky Bucky tomorrow.

“No, I think we’ll stay.”

“We?”

That was when Steve emerged from your kitchen and you tried your best to rouse your half-asleep mind. Bucky and Steve were in your apartment after midnight, without your consent and they seemed less than friendly. You looked at them cautiously, very sure they were in no need of emergency medical aid to prompt this visit. Both of them were frowning at you, their eyes displeased at your ruffled appearance.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I am seriously too tired to care. I had the most horrible date of my life and I’m sure I ate too much and will end up puking in the morning. Whatever you have to say, can it wait until tomorrow?” You were already crossing the hall to your bedroom as you spoke, but Bucky quickly stood up and stopped you with a grip on your arm.

“You were on a date?” He growled and looked at Steve as if to say, ‘what did I tell you’.

You shrugged his arm off, the cold metal of it waking you up along with the dark tone of his voice. Suddenly, though you were in your home, you felt unsafe. It was bizarre because these were two avengers who you counted as friends and felt very secure with, but you gut was screaming at you to get as far away from them as possible. The very peculiar feeling of fear formed in your gut, the very same one that women get when they know they are being stalked in a dark alley at night. You hesitantly moved away from Bucky, only to bump into Steve. You peered at him over your shoulder and he wore the most disappointed expression you had ever seen on his face.

“Where do you think you’re going Y/n? Bucky asked you something, answer him.” Steve said and pushed you towards his friend with a hand on your back. Bucky crossed his arms over his chest and looked at you, waiting. You felt trapped, your exhaustion waning with every passing second.

“What’s happening guys? You both are scaring me.” You said.

“Maybe you should be scared, sweetheart. You just came home having spent the last few hours with a man who’s not me and going by the state of you, your evening was very eventful. Did you let him cum in you? Did you compare those tattoos on your wrists and make plans for future?” Bucky had crept closer and now he was inches apart, his words spoken directly in your face.

You blinked almost stupidly at this sudden twist in your night. Bucky was angry at you for having gone to a date, Steve was disappointed. But that makes no sense. Why should it matter to them at all, unless for some reason Bucky thinks…?

“Buck, you are my friend. I don’t know why you’re talking this way. Why you sound so –”

“– So jealous? Because you fucking belong to me. You have always belonged to me.”

The moment the words left him, your worst suspicions were confirmed, and you wasted not one second before sprinting for the door. You think you would have managed to evade Bucky had Steve not been there. He seemed to have been waiting for you to make a move and you had taken only a step before you were grabbed by the back of your neck and pulled into Steve’s body.

“Stop! Both of you! Let me go!” You struggled but Steve held you fast and soon Bucky was at your back, his breath on your neck and hands capturing your arms.

“Baby, you need to slow down. Your squirming is turning me the hell on and as much as I would love to wipe any other man’s essence from you, we need to do something else first.” Bucky said and a second later he bit your neck making you screech. He kept pushing his teeth in, breaking your skin and you felt blood pooling in the juncture of your neck.

“Buck, stop.” Steve said and threw Bucky off you with a powerful shove. “Shit, come here sweetie.” You were cradled in Steve’s embrace, his handkerchief at your neck putting pressure on the wound and hand caressing your head. When Bucky made to move forward you whimpered and Steve stopped him with a raised hand.

“Baby, I am so sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” Bucky said and you looked at him with tear filled eyes. Your day today has been a whirlwind of shitstorm and you just wanted it to be over so you could forget everything about it.

“Y/n look at me” Steve said softly and raised your face to his with a finger. “Did you have sex with your date tonight?”

His voice and actions were so soft compared to Bucky’s that you shuffled closer to his warmth and shook your head.

“No, I left early. It was terrible, so so terrible that I went out for a drive to clear my mind. I didn’t expect to be so late, but time just flew away.”

You knew you didn’t owe them any explanation; you knew they don’t have any right to ask anything from you. But you were tired, exhausted, shit scared and absolutely terrified of what they would do to you if you didn’t answer them. They were genetically enhanced super soldiers while you were a brainiac doctor who worked overtime to avoid thinking about a man she had never met. You were no match for them physically and you were smart enough to accept defeat when you had to.

“Shh, I got you sweetie. You’re a good girl, aren’t you? I know you’re so tired of being alone, of not having someone with you. But you’re so naïve. Look behind you, the perfect man who will love you more than anyone else is standing right here.” Steve said and turned you to face Bucky. Bucky slowly walked to you and held your hands, kissing both in apology.

“I know this seems sudden but believe me when I say that I’ve loved you practically from the first moment I saw you. Everything about you sets my nerve endings on fire. You dominate every part of my life: my thoughts, my dreams, my very breath has your name on it. You’re mine.”

Your breath caught in your throat in fear. This could not be happening to you. You struggled to remove your hands from Bucky’s, and he relented in the end with reluctance, a scowl on his handsome face.

“Bucky listen to yourself. You’re talking like a crazy man. I don’t belong to you, I literally can’t. I belong with him.” You said pointing at the initials on your wrist. You knew immediately you’d made a big mistake because every last bit of sanity faded from Bucky’s blue eyes and they turned feral. He crowded you and his hands, tight as steel brands, caged your body.

“How dare you, hm? How dare you talk about belonging to someone else in front of me? Don’t think for one second sweetheart that just because I love you, I’ll not punish you.” His voice had gone soft, the way it does when he’s as his most dangerous. Steve stirred somewhere behind you, but your eyes were locked in terror to Bucky’s who pinned you frozen with his glare.

“Buck, please…” You didn’t even know what you were asking him for. He apparently didn’t care to know because he had started dragging you across the hall towards your bedroom while you shouted and wrestled in his grip. You shouted for help and begged Steve to help you, but he had was silent and watched you being hauled to your room with no emotion on his face.

Bucky entered your room and swiftly pushed you to sit at the edge of the bed, one hand on your shoulder and other grabbing fistful of your hair to manipulate your head. You were pulled up and his kiss descended on you with the force of a truck, knocking you back and his body followed. He swallowed your moans and protests, teeth clashing against each other’s. You barely noticed his hand reaching for the hem of your dress and then the ripping sound echoed around your room and cool air met your bare skin.

“Please, don’t!” You said, hiding your breast with your hands. Bucky stood with his gaze fixed on your body and when his hand reached for his pants you started sobbing. Curiously, he didn’t reach for his zipper but instead fished from his pocket his trusty knife. You whole body began shaking enough to rattle your teeth and gibberish spilled from your parted mouth in fear.

“Don’t look at me like that baby, I will not kill you.” Bucky said but you were far from reassured.

You saw Steve enter the room from the corner of your eyes and heard the door shut. He walked swiftly to Bucky’s side and restrained the hand with the knife.

“What the hell are you doing pal? You’re scaring her, put this thing away.” Ever the voice of reason but Bucky looked at him imploringly.

“Don’t you see it Steve? Look at her wrist. As long as she lives, she’ll live with this ‘what if’. But we can change that. Set her free from whoever this man is.”

While the talked you made your last attempt to escape and jumped out of bed towards the door. You could almost taste the freedom on your tongue, the door knob was clenched in your hand when you were yanked back by Steve who hoisted your twisting body on his shoulder and dumped you back on bed with almost no effort. You curled in yourself, acutely aware of your nakedness.

“Don’t take away my soulmark, please. Don’t cut it!” You croaked out and Bucky looked at you with his head titled.

“Cut your arm? No no my love, you’ve got it wrong. I won’t cut your arm” He assured and bent over you to kiss your sweaty brow. “I’ll carve myself into you.”

With that he straddled your waist and kissed you again, the cold knife in his hand making a terrifying trail down your cheek to you neck and collarbone, before stopping right above your heart.

“You think these letters on your wrist make you someone else’s? Well, guess what sweetheart, I’ll put my letters on your heart. Then you’ll become mine!”

Your body jerked violently under his trying to buck him away and Bucky urged Steve to take hold of your arms. You lay prone with a hoarse throat and watched with fascinated horror and pain as Bucky’s knife nicked your skin and glided smoothly to form his initials. He was great with knives, so it hurt less, and the effect was neat. He wiped away the blood and you could see shining on your skin, right over your heart the initials: JBB.

You belonged with, no, you belonged to James Buchanan Barnes.

Your tears had stopped, and you lay limp on the bed, lower half immobile under Bucky’s weight while your arms were held fast in Steve’s. The fight had left your body and you wanted to drown in the numbing embrace of sleep.

“I’ve let too many people control me all my life. The army, then Hydra, even Avengers. They order me and I follow like a good soldier. But I won’t let anyone take you away from me. Not even fate. I’ll be the master of my own fate. You bear my marks now. You’re mine.”

His weight was gone, and he said something about getting you water before leaving the room. You didn’t move but when Steve lifted you a little, so you were in a comfortable position, you for some reason reached out to him and nuzzled your face into his chest to weep. His large hand patted your head and back, voice soothing as he shushed you.

Bucky came back with a chilled glass of water and painkillers but stopped at the door, watching you in Steve’s arm. Your eyes met his and you thought he’d be jealous and pissed but a content smile lit up his lips.

“Steve” His voice rang out and Steve looked at him. Whatever passed in that wordless gaze you couldn’t tell but a minute later Steve was puling you harder to his chest and his lips were pressed in your hair.

“I’m sorry” He whispered in your ear and he did genuinely sound upset. “If there was another way, I swear I would do it.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he rolled off the bed and resumed his position of taking hold of your arms. Bucky was again over you with his knife and a wild, almost passionately crazy look in his eyes. The knife was back over your heart but just below the three newly carved letters into your skin. As it sliced into you again, Bucky spoke.

“You can’t belong to me without belonging to him too, for we both are one. And after tonight, the three of us will be bound together.”

The blood forged a small river down your breast, and you hissed as a neat SGR was carved into you.

“You’re our girl Y/n.”

They cleaned you up and dressed you in your softest nightdress, both super soldiers on either side of you. They each held a hand of yours and their own clasped hands lay on your stomach as they slept. It didn’t matter now who was the man who bore your marks. Fate was too late.

#dark!steve x reader #dark!bucky x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #steve x reader #bucky x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #chris evans x reader #sebastian stan x reader #dark!stucky x reader #stucky x reader

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

We Met Within This Screen (chapt. 2)

[Donnie x fem reader]

Sfw, part 1 here

Intellectually, Donnie was the best matchup for their leader as today was sparring day. He'd gone against his oldest brother many times, sometimes even coming out the victor himself, but today was just not his day.

He held his staff with that iron grip of his and waited for Leo to come at him. Donnie was more on the defensive than any of his brothers; he had to be. Out of all he was weakest physically but superior in calculations, but he was missing range in this matchup. Leo had a hard time disarming him as his katana could sometimes get lodged in the solid wood staff, giving Donnie leverage to perform the finisher in the short time it took him to dislodge his sword. He thought this time would be how that would happen.

"You're slow today, Donnie," Leo said as he lunged at his brother with a swing of his katana, forcing Donnie to step back. He was too focused on blocking Leo's rapid succession of attacks to respond.

Leo reeled back to swing his blade again but Donnie parried and struck his arm with his staff, shoving it aside. For a split second, Leo actually thought he was fixing to go down by this move if Donnie could hit him again quick enough. But his brother hesitated in thought, and without any reluctance himself, he used his other katana to put him in a compromising position. The match was over and Donnie was forced to stand down.

"Why did you hesitate?" Leo questioned him, lowering his blade. Raph watched from the sidelines with Mikey as they prepared to go up next. Since Leo was the winner, it was Raph's turn next to spar in his younger brother's place.

Donnie huffed and dropped his stance, putting his staff away. "It's just an off day," he replied. Splinter wasn't there to dictate today's training session and tournament, so Donnie was already on his way out to go to his lab by the time Raph stepped up to spar. But Leo sheathed his sword and put a hand on Donnie's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

"You've been pretty eager to run back to your lab lately," Leo said matter-of-factly. He was wondering what was going on, why Donnie seemed weirdly distant the last couple of weeks. He had gone through a very withdrawn phase in earlier times upon entering his teenage years, but now, he was legitimately making everyone guess. He didn't snap at his brothers, and he wasn't any more impatient than usual. But something was different. He'd been spending a lot more time holed up in his lab, which everyone began to notice. Leo wanted to know what was wrong.

Donnie shifted and shrugged, "Like I said, I've been busy with some projects. Also, it's not like I have much to do out here beside training and patrol."

Leo opened his mouth to speak, but Mikey jumped on between them. "You missed game night last week! You never miss it," he butted in. Both Donnie and Leo gave him a look as if to say really? and he added in, "Well, uh...not usually."

Gently moving Mikey aside, Leo wanted to continue, but he saw Donnie staring at him expecting a follow-up when he didn't really have one. Whatever this was, Leo knew that coming at Donnie with questions was not the way to go about it. So he stepped back and gave his brother some space.

"We all have off days," Leo said finally after an awkward moment of silence. "Just work on your speed, Don."

"Got it."

With that, Donnie turned to leave, and Raph entered the ring to go against Leo in the last match of the night.

Once Donnie was gone, Leo got ready to spar with Raph. As they got into position, he contemplated bringing this recent development up with the other two, but decided against it in the end. He didn't want to incriminate Donnie, especially with Raph's assertive approach to handling things. Donnie could be somewhat flighty at times when it came to resolving matters of emotion, at times a little too introspective, but Leo couldn't fault him—he had his own struggles with that very thing, too.

Done, finally, Donnie thought as he skirted into his lab and started up the game. He was late to the party quite literally; training lasted longer than he'd thought, and he was disappointed to see that his newest friend was online, but not responding to his invite. Did everyone get together and play without him? After a few minutes, he almost decided on giving up. The instance made him contemplate whether he even wanted to continue this. Perhaps he'd been too eager.

He sighed. And then the menu pinged, and he was there reading the message in an instant.

Hey, sorry I partied up without you, I just didn't know if you were gonna be on or not :/

Without even thinking, he licked his lips typed back, repeatedly deleting and retyping his message to make sure it was casual but not too casual, apologetic but not desperate—

It's okay, don't worry about it

Likewise sorry it took me so long to get here.

That would do. He'd be lying to say he wasn't feeling that flutter in his stomach; the excitement of something new got to him in a way that only a discovery in his research did, or how he felt when he mastered a new technique in his training.

Let's get started then :)

They started the game, and this time he kept the mic on, as she did. They talked back and forth as they fought creatures and enemies and looted things, eventually coming to learn that she herself was in New York City. He was surprised; suddenly, the world felt a lot smaller, and he couldn't concentrate on just playing after that. The time they spent became more of an opportunity to converse than to play a mundane game for hours on end.

At some point, she switched the topic to his whereabouts. Donnie's breath hitched.

"I'm...not anywhere near. So it doesn't really matter," he told her, cringing. If the guys found out—if Splinter found out—he would be in such trouble.

"Oh," she paused for a moment, trying to find something to say. "That's alright, I don't want you to feel like you have to tell me, you know?"

He'd muted his mic to release a deep breath. He got lost in thought thinking about how in that moment, he wanted to be human. If he weren't a giant mutant turtle, he could actually form a connection with someone. It was a very "Mikey" thing to think, he reckoned, but at times he wanted friends just like his brother did.

"Yeah, sorry, I just…"

"It's really no problem, dude."

He felt as though he could hear the smile in her voice. What did she look like, he wondered. He wanted to see her, but he couldn't ask for that when he could never do the same. If he could get her name, he'd be in the clear to do some preliminary lookups on this person, but so far, she'd been dodgy about sharing info about herself as well. He couldn't blame her. They were two strangers online, one with a huge secret and the other completely in the dark about who he truly was. For all she knew, he could have been a creep, looking to stalk her online and perhaps do even worse. The thought made him feel almost nauseous, how she could be considering that about him as a possibility as they spoke. But she seemed comfortable enough. Unlike him, who was still slightly skeptical of the entire thing, because after spending his whole life in practical isolation, he was at a loss as to what to say or do after a certain point. The conversation died off and both of them thought simultaneously about how weird the sudden silence between them felt.

She hummed, as if searching for something to bring up. When she spoke, he was taken aback—"Hey, I'm gonna be honest, I really like talking to you but this game is getting boring. Do you wanna chat somewhere else?"

"Uh…" he trailed off, mind shooting blanks. Oh, was it just a horrible idea. He couldn't keep the jig up forever; the truth was bound to get revealed somewhere down the line. He was fixing to reject the proposition, tell her that he didn't want to take it that far. She could be anyone. The likelihood of it being a clever ruse on account of the Foot Clan was slim, but the paranoia still worked ambiently in the background noise of his mind. But his other doubt stopped him—when would he ever have a chance at this again? He wanted to have the strength to say no and leave it at that. The loneliness that crept up on him from time to time had something else to say.

"Yeah," he answered after a terribly long pause of mumbling, fighting with himself all the way as she told him where to add her. He could have kicked himself had it not been for the fact that he knew how to encrypt data, and that as long as he didn't leak a word about his inner circle or life, it would be okay. It didn't feel okay, though.

"Nice! I'll text you, see you later, Bo. I had a lot of fun tonight," she chirped.

Before he could respond, she was gone from the party, and the mic went silent. It happened so fast. He was barely caught up with the fact that he was now receiving messages and prompts to talk, but he couldn't bring himself to answer right away. He had to refocus his logic; how could this be used by the enemy as a way to get to them? Could they have somehow anticipated he'd download this game and find this random on there? The more the thought about it, the more glaringly obvious it was that it was not the case. It was just too improbable.

"The probability of the Foot being able to simulate such a specific scenario in order to get intel on us is so slim, it is practically non-existent," he told himself as he finally pulled up the messages. He read through them. "Approximately a zero-point-zero-zero-zero..."

My name is (Y/N), by the way :)

Well, that was easier than expected. He figured that somehow, the name suited you—a fitting name for such a personality. But it also gave him a glimmer of hope. It made him want to ask why you appeared to trust him, as he could be anyone on the Earth over the screen, not his benevolent self. Which she had no way of proving, technically. But he soon came to realize the screen painted him in a whole new light that it casted on him. It hit then that he could be anyone. He didn't have to be himself; not necessarily. She'd never have to know, as he could wear a human mask and she'd be none the wiser. Problem was, the lying made him feel guilty, and slowly would develop to be the thorn in his side.

Donnie thoughtfully stared at the screen. Now that he was here, some of his anxiety began to fade. He found himself actually able to talk, someone to listen to his tangents and even build upon them. They spent hours texting back and forth about anything and everything until it was almost time for him to put the phone down to leave for patrol. He felt giddy, like a kid, all over again.

________________________________________

Had you ever been able to talk to someone this easily?

You asked yourself that question as you exchanged with the faceless and nameless stranger over your screen, chatting from afternoon to night. Time flew by in an instant, with him, and you loved every minute. He was someone intellectual, but funny and so easy to talk to that it was as though the conversation carried itself. After some time he came out about his age after you revealed yours. Oftentimes, he'd just present to you a random question when the subject tapered off and run with it, like now:

What do you think of reptiles?

Puzzled, you took a second to reply. Odd question.

Why do you ask? Do you have one?

I was just curious

What do you think of them?

The chat indicator flip-flopped between "typing" and "idle" a few times before a message finally popped up, and you smiled. You'd learned over this short time that he was a dork in a cute way.

Well...I think they're pretty cool.

They've got natural armor and you would be surprised to know just how fast a turtle can be

You laughed a little to yourself. It was such a random thing to bring up, yet you were endeared. Deciding you'd go along with it, you asked him what else he knew about turtles.

Well...

__________________________________________________

Donnie was wondering what he was talking about just as much as she probably was. Stupid, he thought, facepalming. His first time really speaking with a human as an equal and he starts talking about turtles. Of course he knew a lot about them, he was one himself—but for some reason he found himself wanting to dispel myths and misunderstandings about turtles as if they reflected on him, when as far as she knew, he was just a human guy like herself.

He groaned lightly and typed, thinking up a fact that wasn't too conspicuous.

Red eared sliders are semi-aquatic.

As he typed the next part, he caught himself writing "we" instead of "they", to his dismay. He quickly fixed the error and continued, feeling weirdly exposed as it was almost as though in sharing this information, he was putting himself under a microscope for her to inspect.

They can hold their breath for up to thirty minutes, usually

Holding his breath was something he'd tested numerous times before. He and his brothers had actually made a game out of it on a few occasions, with Leo leading at thirty-three minutes, Donnie in second at thirty-one. Raph broke at twenty-nine minutes and Mikey followed behind in last at just twenty-seven. The ability could be trained, nonetheless.

That's interesting, I wonder what it's like to be able to go underwater so long?

It's kind of cool, you should try sometime

For THIRTY MINUTES?

Shit. He promptly replied:

No—not like I can hold my breath that long, I just mean you should try to see sometime I guess

I tested it just for the fun of it.

Looking up how long humans could hold their breath on average (between thirty seconds and two minutes), he bumped the number up a little bit and added:

Personally, I'm at two minutes and forty-five seconds

He was embarrassed, partially covering his face as he waited for a response. Such a foolish slip-up; he couldn't afford to say anything cryptic. But he still was fairly sure that he had recovered that alright. He couldn't help but think about how awkward or weird he seemed to her. Who talked about this?

I don't think I could hold my breath for more than a minute, kudos to you haha

Anyway, sorry to switch gears all of a sudden but if you don't mind me asking, what's up with your family? You have any siblings?

He told her no. He would not bring his brothers into this, lest it be the slim chance of a ploy, after all. He said his family situation was unconventional and left it at that.

With that, he said to her goodnight and put his phone away, getting up to go get geared for patrol. It was only then he noticed the figure leaning against the doorway.

Chapter 3

#tmnt #donatello #tmnt donnie x reader #donatello x reader #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt bayverse #tmnt fanfiction #sfw #fanfiction #romance #writing

[buggy-d-hoe]

1-25 all evens for the new ask game

Oh you........the amount of love I have for you...... I'll skip 6 since I already answered it tho :o

2) what work of yours, if any, are you the most embarrassed about existing?

The best part is...I DELETED IT >:) It from when I was in high school and wrote this Eragon story that was a complete nightmare...in the sense that the canon characters were borderline OOC. It's been a good while since then, who knows if I will ever update the doc I have for it. I am afraid of opening Pandora's Box with that one.

4) favorite character you’ve written

hmmm....I think it would have to be Violet because she was the first character I wrote and made content for after my 4 year hiatus. I was aware of the OC community back in the day but had no means to make manips or publish it until I got a new laptop. Pixelmator was the first software I used until I eventually got Photoshop from school, in which I eventually bought the monthly subscription to it TT_TT. I binged Umbrella Academy when it first came out and I remember writing the first couple of chapters during lectures and it brought back this nostalgic feeling I had when wrote back in high school because I finally had the means to publish again. That's why Violet is so precious to me.

8) favorite genre to write

Definitely something on the fantasy, sci-fi, romance angle. Action is definitely hard for me because I feel that writing those scenes are a hit or miss; it has to flow naturally and not read so choppy. Still learning on angst because I need to better understand the term in order to portray it properly.

10) write in silence or with background noise? with people or alone?

A little bit of both? I HAVE to listen to instrumentals if I write with music because lyrics distract me and I end up pausing the damn song to write in silence. Instrumentals help me build the mood and just inspire me overall. I tend to listen to soundtracks from whatever fandom I'm writing for or just typical trailer music. If it's a song that serves as an inspiration for the story, then I tend to leave it on repeat (i.e. All I Want by The Offspring or Confusion and Frustration in Modern Times by Sum 41 for Divided We Stand).

DEFINITELY ALONE. I can't stand people looking at me when I'm typing. I tend to type really fast and loud and there was this one time my coworker came over to where I was writing and started reading out loud what I was typing. They kind of made a comment that struck me and I got self-conscious as a result.

12) your weaknesses as an author

I never update and keep coming up with too many stories/characters. I write one chapter and move on to the next obsession, depending on my muse. I am horribly inconsistent and I have a lot of docs that are like 80% done that need to be updated/published, but because I am drained and never confident in my writing. 

14) do you make playlists for your current wips?

Not really? Maybe I’ll find a song or two that fits the story (the pairing’s song and just a random song that matches the aesthetic. See Q10 for a better response hahaha). 

16) are there any characters who haunt you?

I’ll give two instances:

A character who haunts me for the way I wrote them: Definitely my Eragon OC: Illisimé. This was when I didn’t know how to write a well written character, and she was a complete Mary Sue and OOC for someone in the setting. I have updated her considerably since, so I think she’s a little more tame now. Hopefully I can come back to her because she is my first precious baby. 

A character who haunts me because of the story I have planned for them: Daphne McConnell, my IT OC, because of the story and canon mature themes. If you have read or seen the movies/tv series, you know exactly what themes I’m talking about. If not, don’t worry about it! One of the themes that Daphne will experience is something I’m trying to find the courage to undertake. 

18) were there any works you read that affected you so much that it influenced your writing style? what were they?

A couple people actually (please click on their underlined names to check out their FF profiles): 

My Weeb Besties: Ashley influenced me that slow burn isn’t boring/tedious and that it’s sometimes needed for events to play out perfectly. You want the story to get to certain events naturally so the end reward is well worth the wait. Kim influenced me in a way that description and putting effort in how a character is portrayed makes for interesting writing. Taking time to do accents, description that paints a picture in your mind, etc. Nikki influenced me that it’s fine to be adventurous with your writing and there shouldn’t be any shame in indulging in your kinks. Smut and well written stories/one-shots can go hand in hand together. 

20) do you write in long sit-down sessions or in little spurts?

Before my hiatus, I used to just sit and write for hours on end. I could get a chapter out within a day or two. Since I came back, it’s been increasingly difficult to just stay focused and not over think it, hence why I now write in spurts. 

22) are there any subjects that make you uncomfortable to write?

For the sake of my followers, I won’t mention it here, but there certainly are some subjects in which I will be “NOPE” to. 

24) have you ever become an expert on something you previously knew nothing about, in order to better a scene or a story?

Maybe some medical related things. I come from a family of medical workers, I trained in some areas in caring for my grandma, and even went to LVN school so I know how some procedures go. I haven’t written these topics yet, but at least I have a good knowledge of how it will be 

#author ask game #thanks Kim <3

[ohpretty-baby]

“you’re not a fucking magician.”

⇥ pairing: yoongi x reader

⇥ genre: angst

⇥ word count: 1.0k

a/n: been having a lot of suppressed anger and this is the result i suppose :,) most likely will delete bc this was REALLY aggressive of me to write lmfao

A soft knock on your door brings you out of your excited, adrenaline-filled daze. You look away from the vanity in front of you, away from the makeup artist applying blush on your face, to see him standing there behind you. He has a small smile on his face, one that doesn’t match his usual genuine, wide grins. If you looked hard enough you’d notice how strained it was.

“Yoongi!” You beam. Seeing him all dressed up in a formal suit—a rare sight to be seen—puts a smile on your face.

“Hi, Y/N,” He chuckles, leaning onto the door and staring at you, “You look…”

“Do I look weird?” You sputter out quickly. It’s almost laughable how eager you are for your best friend’s validation.

Yoongi shakes his head profusely.

“No… no,” He says, “You look beautiful.”

His words are light and airy, his shoulders heaving up and down once as he tries to steady his shaky breath. A small frown appears on your face as you take in his nervous appearance. The way he seems so… afraid right now unnerves you. This wasn’t Yoongi’s typical behavior.

“Can we talk?” He glances around the room, “Like, just you and me?”

“Uh, sure…?”

You mumble something to the makeup artist and you walk over to Yoongi, grabbing bunches of your wedding dress in your hands so you can actually walk. When Yoongi sees how much of a struggle it is for you to make your way to him, he suppresses a laugh and guides you out of the room, holding up bits of your dress as well.

When the two of you are in the hallway, Yoongi shuts the door. It closes with a satisfying click!

You look up at him with curious eyes.

“What’d you wanna talk about?”

Yoongi takes another deep breath and he grabs your hand. He holds them gently, a sensation that you’ve always longed to experience, but one you’ve realized that you’re better off without.

“Y/N… I’m so…” He starts, “I’m so happy for you, I promise. I just…”

“Yes?” You can barely manage to whisper, the intensity of Yoongi’s gaze making you falter in your speech.

“This is gonna sound terrible of me, I know,” He lets out a shaky laugh, “But I just have to tell you. I really do.”

“What is it, Yoongi?”

“I…” He swallows down before speaking, “I’m in love with you.”

You look at him in confusion, then slowly in anger. Your blood boils hearing those words fall from his mouth. A tear pricks your eye, but you pay it no attention.

“Yoongi, I’m getting married…” You murmur, “You can’t just-“

“I know. I know I can’t,” He retorts, “But I just… When I realized that I had feelings for you, even though I knew it was too late for us, I had to tell you. I really am in love with you, Y/N. I’m sorry-“

Even though you’ve desperately wanted to hear those words from him—to have him say it to you after all those times you’ve confessed to him—when you hear it now, you can’t control the anger quickly arising in you. Before you know it, your hand meets his face, a loud, crisp slap echoing down the hall.

“Are you insane, Yoongi?” You hiss, “What did you think this was going to do?”

“N-Nothing, Y/N,” He responds, stunned at your reaction, “I’m sorry-“

“No, you don’t get to say sorry, Yoongi,” You pull your other hand away from his grasp, “You don’t get to say shit.”

“I know, but Y/N, please,” He begs, “I get it, it’s too late for there to ever be an ‘us’. Y/N, please don’t let this-“

“No, you don’t get it. You don’t get it at all. I’m getting married, Yoongi.”

“That’s why I wanted to tell you before-“

“8 years.”

“...What?”

“I’ve been madly in love- no, infatuated with you for 8 years,” You spit, “And I even told you. You rejected me every single time.”

“Y/N-“

“You don’t get to say shit right now, Yoongi,” You glare at him, “Do you know how many nights I’ve spent crying over you? Because even when we were younger and even up till now you’d always make fun of me, both to my face and to our friends!”

His words die in his throat.

“And now I’ve actually found someone who I genuinely love… Someone who loves me for me and doesn’t ask for anything in return,” Your voice breaks, “Now you want to come back and say that you’ve actually felt the same way this whole fucking time? After all the cruel things you’ve said to me? After every all those times you’ve told me I was too sensitive for getting hurt by what you say?”

“Y/N… I’m sorry.”

“Did you think this was going to change anything? Did you think I was just gonna run away with you if you just went up to me like this and told me this?”

“Yes? I mean, no- maybe?” He scratches his head, “I’m not… I’m not sure. I’m so sorry.”

You scoff at him, hating how he looked so pitiful before you.

“Did you really think this was gonna work? You’re not a fucking magician, Yoongi,” You grasp the doorknob, but before you open the door, you send him one more cold look.

“You’re horrible, you know that?”

“I know…”

You open the door and once you walk back into the room, you slam it on him. The sound startles the makeup artists and the bridesmaids around you, but you pay them no mind, sitting back in your seat as nothing has happened. The lady in charge of your makeup returns to her work promptly, also ignoring the steam rising from your ears.

It isn’t until she stops her work that you’re brought back to your own senses. You stare at the person in the mirror, and you can’t seem to recognize yourself and your disheveled state.

“Oh, darling,” Your makeup artist sighs, bringing a tissue to your face.

“Huh?” You say, confusion present in your tone, “Is something wrong?”

“You’re crying…”

a/n: hi k if you made it this far i promise i’m ok! i’m not really proud of this one so yeah i most likely am going to take it down when i wake up ahahaha love u guys

#yoongi angst #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts drabble #bts blurb #bts yoongi angst #bts yoongi fanfic #min yoongi angst #yoongi drabble #yoongi blurb

[srhlsx]

master | chapter 5 | CHAPTER 6 | chapter 7

A/N: just to clear up any confusion - reader and her “guy friend” have never dated!

Still heated from your exchange at the gym, you let out a huff as you messed with the hem of the simple dress you had put on. Your mind was still a whirl of confusion while your heart sat heavy in your chest. Glancing down at your phone, you looked at the message you had typed to Oikawa but had yet to send. With a sigh, you deleted it, stuffed your phone into your bag, and locked up your apartment.

You’d gotten the hotel information earlier in the day, it was a short bus ride into the heart of the city and the entire time your nerves were getting the best of you. You had convinced yourself that the gut-wrenching feeling that was brewing in your stomach was just nervous excitement, but something deep in your mind knew it was more than that.

This was not right. 

The hotel itself was nice, one of the newer ones to have been built over the last few years to attract more tourists. It’s modern design was brightly lit, the walls and tiles a blinding white that screamed sophistication. The restaurant in the lobby was easy to find and you made your way to the host with a nervous smile on your face. Before the man could even ask if he could help you, a familiar voice called out from the bar area to catch your attention.

He sat perched on one of the stools looking as handsome as the day you met him. Hair styled in his signature look and wearing a nicer pair of pants with a short-sleeved button up shirt to acclimate to the weather. His bright smile beamed at you as you walked up to him. He took a step off the stool he was sitting at and wrapped an arm around your waist in an intimate and welcoming hug.

You leaned into the warmth he provided, finding a familiar feeling in his smell and touch. He complimented you and pulled out a stool next to him for you to sit down in. Pushing one of the two drinks in front of him in your direction, you noticed it was the same drink you always had in college when the two of you would frequent bars together. “Remembered your favorite,” He flashed you a closed-eye smile. 

It wasn’t your favorite drink. Actually, you didn’t like it at all. But you always had them because he bought them for you and you would have done anything to make him smile. You thanked him and nervously played with the straw poking out of the drink, twirling it around in the glass and watching the ice swirl and clink together. “So…” You began.

“Man, it is good to see you.” He sighed, a look of relief washing over his features. “I mean seriously (Y/n), you disappeared.”

“Yeah,” You looked away from his intense gaze, glancing at the television above the bottles behind the bar, anything to not look at him. “I just kind of had to go.”

“I know,” He said quietly. You glanced down when you felt his hand reach out and grip yours tightly. You felt the familiar jolt, that spark that started where he touched you and spread up your arm in a tingling sensation until it made your heart clench tightly in your chest. “I really missed you, bug.”

He moved his hand, shifting so his fingers easily twisted and tangled with yours, and lifted them up to press his lips against the back of your hand. You watched him with your eyes, not pulling away although you felt like you should, the image of the card that still laid on your countertop flashing across your mind. You tugged on your hand to pull it away, resting it back in your lap. He didn’t seem deterred by the action, instead resting his arm across the back of the seat you were in and angling himself closer to you.

“Why did you come here?” You asked for what felt like the thousandth time.

Your eyes studied him as he let out a sigh, his gaze diverting away briefly before coming back to land on you. His expression shifted, the once tense muscles relaxing into his signature lopsided smile. “I had to see you, (Y/n).” He said, voice low and soft as he spoke. He reached a hand up to tuck a piece of hair back behind your ear, finger lingering on your cheekbone just a moment too long to be casual. “I missed my best girl.”

You chewed at your lower lip, thoughts whirling as you nodded your head. He was speaking the words you always wanted to hear, the very thought making your previous self giddy like a schoolgirl. “Guess I really have been distant. I uh… didn’t know you proposed.”

He reached a hand up and rubbed the back of his head, a slightly nervous expression on his face. “Yeah, it was about time. She’s great, you know.”

You nodded, “Of course. She should’ve come with you.”

“Oh, she wouldn’t have wanted that.”

You narrowed your eyes at that comment, tilting your head to the side as you watched him avoid your gaze. You got along with his girlfriend, now fiancé      , very well. Your personalities were similar and the only thing keeping you from being closer was your unrequited love for the man in front of you. 

“What do you mean?” He avoided answering you, electing to take a very long sip of his drink instead. You pushed a little more, “Does… she even know you’re here?”

Silence. 

He turned his body so he was no longer facing you fully, instead focusing on the way the condensation of his glass had leaked into the napkin under it, picking it apart and rolling the paper into tiny, soggy pieces. You felt a flush begin to form on your face as your eyes widened, your chest tightening uncomfortably. 

“You must be fucking joking.”

“(Y/n),” He started again, turning back to grab at you. “You have to understand, I had to see you before everything. When I hadn’t heard from you for so long and then we sent the announcement, I knew I couldn’t- can’t lose you.”

“You don’t get to make that decision,” You snapped, snatching your arm away from his grasp. “What do you want me to say to that?”

“Anything,” He said as he leaned in slightly. “(Y/n), I love you so much.”

You closed your eyes tightly and took in a deep breath, feeling him press his forehead against yours. “You know that I’ve waited years for you to say that… But-”

“But what?” He said as you opened your eyes. “I’m here now and-”

“And you picked her.” You watched as he leaned back a little in his seat, blinking slowly as he ran a hand down his face. “You are marrying a girl that looks exactly like me, acts exactly like me, how do you think that makes me feel?”

“(Y/n), come on.” He sighed. “You’re not being fair-”

“Fair?” You repeated, a good amount of disbelief in your rising tone. “You knew how I felt about you, you knew what coming here would do to me.”

“Felt?” He asked, moving his hand to rest on your thigh with a squeeze. “Do you not anymore?”

You paused, not having realized what you had exactly said. Did you still feel the same? At what point did your feelings move on- was it when you got the card announcing his marriage? Was it when you moved to San Juan? Or was it someone else?

Across the bar, a boisterous laugh boomed from a group of younger guys that caught your attention. Your eyes immediately snapped in the direction of the group, the laughter was almost familiar and you felt a hopeful swell grow in your chest at the mere thought that a certain person could be there. When you didn’t find anyone matching the description of tall, dark hair, and charming smile you focused your attention back on the man before you. 

“N-no,” You said, pushing your drink towards the bartender and moving to stand from your seat, letting his hand fall limp from your leg. “I’m going to go. I’m really happy for you but…” You reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder, the action feeling almost distant as you did it. His expression grew sad and confused. “This is done.”

Walking out of the hotel, you felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. You breathed in the slightly muggy air of the night, the combination of smoke and street vendor food wafting through your senses. You held yourself together until you rounded the corner, but as soon as you knew the hotel was out of sight you bent over with heaving breaths. Holding your weight up with your hands on your knees, you sucked in as much air as you could to clear out the toxic feeling that had formed in your chest. 

After a few moments and a few more odd stares sent in your directions, you started to make your way to the bus stop. You intended to go home for the night but your feet took you past the bench and continued down the busy street.

You picked up your pace a little bit as you thought back to what had just happened in the hotel bar. You thought about the moment when your attention was pulled away, when you thought you had heard a very specific laugh ring out. The feeling you had was so hopeful, you had wished so badly he was there. But why? You were so close to getting what you thought you had wanted for so many years, only to be completely caught off guard by what you had right in front of you.

You thought back to how horrible you had been earlier that afternoon. What you had said to Oikawa before brushing him off. “We’re just lonely people having fun, remember?”

Turning a few street corners you ended up at a familiar apartment complex, one that wasn’t yours. You climbed the steps two at a time until you reached the fourth floor, chest heaving with the physical effort and emotional strain. In all honesty, you didn’t know exactly what you were doing coming here. It was like your body had moved on its own, as cliche as that might have sounded. 

You paused a moment in front of the door, apartment 43G was familiar to you, so why were you so nervous being here now? You knocked and waited. Would he send you away? When the door opened, your breathing stopped and your heart swelled to at least twice its size. 

Before you, Oikawa stood in an old t-shirt and a pair of joggers - one leg messily pulled up like he had been too lazy to bother fixing it. He looked down at you with knowing eyes through the pair of glasses that rested on his nose. His hair was a tousled mess as he ran one hand through it. Leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, he rested a hand on his hip and smirked at you.

“Well, look at this.” You knew his words were teasing, the fact that he held no anger towards you allowed you to release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in. He glanced at an imaginary watch in his wrist, “It’s pretty early still-“

“I’m sorry,” You started, sighing and looking up at him. “I don’t want to just be a couple of lonely people.”

Oikawa’s smirk turned into a soft smile as he closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. Stepping towards you, he wrapped one arm around your waist to pull you into his chest, the other hand wrapping around to tangle in your hair and drag your face up to meet his. His lips pressing against yours felt different than they had so many times before. His touch sucked the air out of your lungs, leaving you to fall into his embrace right in the doorway to his apartment. 

It was hot and needy, a pouring of emotions that the two of you must’ve been holding back for who knows how long. All wrapped into one moment that seemed to last forever, but was still not long enough. Oikawa pulled away only barely, your lips still touching slightly as he bent down to grab your thighs and lift. You wrapped your legs around his waist, threading your hands through his hair and pulling his lips to meet yours again as he backed away from the door and further into his apartment, shutting the door to the rest of the world and everything that wasn’t just you and him in that moment.

TAGS: @akasuns @edensxgarden @carefreeloner @mush-boom​ @angrylittlezizi​

#oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa #oikawa torū #haikyuu!! #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu #haikyuu!! x reader #hq!! x reader #hq!! #hq #x reader #reader insert #haikyuu reader insert

[thethousandyearwitch]

The Show Must Go On! - A Youtuber AU you didn’t want and didn’t need

Hisoka Morrow, italian Makeup Youtuber, enjoys his life in the comfort and occasional drama of his profession. But nothing brings more drama into his life than the eldest son of the Zoldyck fashion magazine empire.

Meanwhile, aspiring australian Twitch Streamer Gon Freecs forms a special bond to a Speedrunner commonly going by "Kil".

Chapter 1 

FF.net link - AO3 link 

Beep Beep. beep Beep. Click

8:00 am. Hisoka rolled over in his queen-sized bed, groaning at the interruption of his beauty sleep. Setting an early alarm after editing until 2 am was a horrible idea.

He grabbed his phone from his nightstand and rolls onto his back, following his ritual of checking all his notifications in the morning. The video he had uploaded after editing was well received, many comments about how he should try more looks with purple eyeshadow. About 3 years ago he had started his channel “Bubblegumbitch Makeup” as more of a throwaway joke after someone insulted his makeup on Instagram. However, an audience grew quite quickly, and Hisoka had to admit that he enjoyed the attention and luxury of it all. Making money by sitting in front of a camera and applying Makeup while people tell you how good looking you are is a great ego boost.

Half-heartedly he scrolled through his subscription feed, just to see what his competition was up to, though barely anyone had really uploaded during the night. Amateurs and their 'healthy' sleep schedules. A true influencer knows that an audience never sleeps.

 He disregarded his phone somewhere into the pile of pillows that make up his bed and made his way into the bathroom. His morning showers are more functional than enjoyable, quickly rinsing on whatever spirits of sleep may linger on him.

After that, the Makeup artist applied his usual morning creams, body lotion, towel dries his hair, and threw on a pair of grey low-waist sweats and a comfortable white razor-back shirt. Need. Coffee.

 Hisokas flat was a quaint little thing just outside of Rieti. An open imitation marble kitchen, facing the living room equipped with a black leather couch and wall mounted flat screen TV, opening to a relatively small balcony housing a few plants.

Exiting his bedroom, he grabbed the TV remote and switched unto a random morning news show, just needing background noise while he waits for his coffee to brew.

"And preparations are running wild for the annual Fashion Week in Rome. This year the line-up features many new promising designers from all over the globe. Tune in at 10 for more-"

The fashion week! Hisoka grinned, having nearly forgotten about this important event that he had always followed closely. Though rarely attending himself, he had been requested on multiple occasions as a make-up artist for certain models. But there was something more important connected to that special week. He grabbed his fresh cappuccino and strolled back to his room, fishing his phone from the depths of pillow mountain.

"Hisoka: Gooooood Morning! Roma's Fashion Week is coming up, are you going to stop on by? ~"

It didn’t take long before his phone chimed with the familiar Ping of a private Message.

“Bellissimo <3: I will be going to the Show for 4 days. If it proves convenient, I’d drop by for a short collaboration.”

“Hisoka: I’ll be keeping my bed warm~♥️”

“Bellissimo<3: Gross and unnecessary. I will book a room in my usual hotel in Rome. I’ll drop by for the Collaboration on Monday afternoon, and leave after.”

“Bellissimo<3: I will send you some sample pieces later, please come up with a look for one of them, and don’t just ‘wing it’ like last time.”

Hisoka giggled before disregarding his phone again. Illumi Zoldyck, breakthrough Fashion Designer from England, and eldest son of Zoldyck fashion magazine empire, who often uploaded videos of his artistic process on his channel “I. Zoldyck Fashion”. They had met 2 years ago, at a smaller Paris fashion show, the first one Hisoka ever attended. A model had requested Hisoka as her makeup artist, while Illumi had been working on a dress for her, and the two of them ended up working closely together to properly coordinate colours with each other. And though Illumi expressed great annoyance with Hisoka, they exchanged numbers, and started to make collab videos whenever they fell into the same place. Something about working together with Illumi got Hisokas heart racing. Seeing the camera-shy man get increasingly more frustrated with his antics was a joy that could hardly be topped.

But he didn’t have time to dwell in good memories and spine-tingling anticipation. He had work to do. And so once again he chucked his phone back into the pillow-cave system and made his way into his recording room.

It was a small office space, on one side an office Desk with a Desktop Computer, a couple of small succulent plants framing it, and a comfy black office chair. On the other side a set-up to record videos, with a white-pink gradient wall, a stainless white desk with a small mirror standing on it, and a less-comfy stool to sit on. In a smooth motion, Hisoka downed the rest of his coffee, set the cup aside, and started the camera. The night before he had laid out everything for his next video, a review for a new eyeshadow palette released by another Beauty Youtuber, still trying to get into the game. How Cute.

Hisoka clapped his hands together, putting on his best camera smile. “Hey, Scum! ~ Today I have a very special treat for you all. I got my hands on the new Togari Palette ‘Hunting for Your Dreams’, his first release.” He held up the shimmering silver case and opened it up for the camera to reveal 6 eyeshadows in various shades of orange and red. About half an hour and a couple try hard glamour shots later, Hisoka dropped the Palette with a grin, staring directly into the Camera. In addition to his signature Star and Teardrop under his eyes, he had attempted to imitate a flame-inspired eyeshadow look. “Well, this has been an absolute disaster. I feel like I’m losing clumps of eyeshadow every time I blink, and it feels sandy and irritating on my skin. But you have got to give it to Togari: I have never seen a Palette that features colours that are eye-biting and yet completely bland before. Though the surprise gift of a long, brown hair inside the sealed Palette wasn’t for me. But you know, if you see these Palettes in your local bargain bin, I’d say go for it.” He gave a cheeky wink, before rattling off his usual goodbyes, like and subscribe, yadda yadda.

Click.

Hisoka took the camera and set it by his computer. Before he could even think about editing, he must wipe away whatever the hell was in that shabby palette. Of course it wasn’t the worst make-up he had ever worn; it probably wouldn’t even make it in the bottom 10, he wasn’t here to make friends and spoon-feed his competition compliments. If a creator dares to churn out a subpar product, they have to deal with the consequences.

After practically subjecting himself to water torture via make-up remover towels, the man grabbed another whiteclaw from the fridge, and settled into his office chair. Digging through business emails was a boring, repetitive task, deleting promo-email after promo-email, practically begging him to promote some skin-care vitamins or boring phone app. Clicking the nails of his free hand against his desk, he tapped away at the delete button in a rhythm only known to him.

Finally reaching the bottom of his inbox, he switched to his private Inbox with a satisfied smile, an expected email already waiting for him. “From: I. Zoldyck: Roma Fashion Week Promos”.  To my private Email, dear Illumi? How shockingly Intimate~ Hisoka mocked in his head while opening the mail.  

“Hisoka.

Attached are 3 Designs I plan to show off at the show. Chose one for the collaboration and let me know in time.

Sincerely,

Illumi Zoldyck.”

Under his signature, 3 files were lined up, boringly titled “Design Roma 1/2/3”. Hisoka opened the first file and is greeted by a 2-piece suit with a light pink base colour, and blue-green flower highlights that frame the pockets and seams of the jacket, and the belt of the pants. Not bad, not bad.

The second file contained another 2-piece suit, this time with a black base colour, and a repeating roman-vase pattern in eye-catching blues, pinks, and oranges. Lovely pattern, and what a revealing jacket cut~. He was sure he had found his favourite, already planning a matching make-up look. But it wouldn’t hurt looking at the last design for pity, right?

Hisoka audibly gasped in a mixture of shock and flattery and laid a hand over his heart to complete the star performance. Staring back at him was a beautiful white-jeans design, patterned with colourful card-suits dotting the jacket and pants. The pattern was ever so slightly washed out, faking a vintage look. This is it. Mine. His heart was beating through his chest, and for the first time in a while he was truly speechless.

He had 3 more weeks until the show, but his mind was already bursting with inspiration, and when he later laid in bed, he couldn’t contain his grin as he texted.

“Hisoka: You already know which one im choosing~♥️♥️♥️”

 --------------------------------------------

Gon had been streaming for a good hour or so, talking excitedly to his chat about the new Season of Fortnite, admiring new skins that he was definitely going to try and get. Every new pass just meant a new challenge for him to prove himself, and it was undeniable that it was satisfying to work and game hard to get what he wanted. Just as he was about to ask chat if he should go another row, or change games for the night, a discord message drew his attention away.

“Kil: Yo, wanna team up? :p”

Filled with even more excitement, Gon returned his attention back to his stream. “Everyone, today we are going to feature a special guest!”

#Hisoillu #killugon #Hunter X Hunter #fanfiction #hxh fanfic

[crazycoke-addict]

Shallon Lester needs to be held accountable

If you’re wondering who she is. Shallon Lester is a YouTuber who makes videos of celebrities whether it be relationships or other stuff in general. She’s also MTV personality and may have connection with some celebrities but not all. I discovered Shallon when a video was recommended for me and it was about the Khloe/Tristan/Jordyn that went down last year. She talks about how Khloe should’ve been aware whom she was dating and how the kardashians treated Jordyn wasn’t ok. I didn’t watch the whole video because she began degrading Jordyn Woods. I can’t remember the exact thing she said but it was basically Khloe is the beautiful one like Jordyn is not. I see this as being racist.

Khloe has done a lot of surgery on herself from her face to her butt even she denies it, it’s clear that she has done surgery. Jordyn however it doesn’t seem like she has ever done any surgery on herself just lost weight naturally. The kardashians and also the Jenners are known for profiting off of black culture and they are obsessed to look like a black woman. They deny this but there’s so many proof like how Kim uses a foundation that doesn’t match her skin tone. They are blackfishing and people like Shallon see them as ‘beautiful’ and even praise them but degrade and hate on a real black woman who has all these features that the kardashians and other white insta models are trying to steal. Because of white supremacy Black girls were taught not to love themselves and their mind were poisoned into believing that European beauty standards was better. Flash forward to today and you got white girls pretending to be a black Woman for clout and get likes and followers.

I didn’t watch any of her other videos because she didn’t really peak my interest and especially after that video she made that I mentioned. A video that she made was recommended to me again and it was about why Scott Disick shouldn’t be dating Sofia Richie. She basically goes into detail as many people have said about why this relationship isn’t going to work out. The age difference, Sofia is 21 while Scott is 36 so there’s a 15 year gap between them, Scott has three kids with another woman and she mentioned his past. To be honest I don’t care much about age difference as long as both parties are in legal age and it’s consent. I find the relationship between Scott and Sofia not problematic as many trying to make it out like. He doesn’t drink that much as he used to and it seems like he cleaned up his act because of her. I don’t think Sofia pushed to change him, but I do think she’s the reason along with his kids he decided to get his shit together. Although girls that are Sofia’s age are still trying to figure out everything and relationship with older man can go different ways until they look back and realise there were a lot of red flags. There are girls like Sofia are actually mature for her age and they know it too. One of the celebrity couples I’ll give an example is Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. When they met each other, Humphrey was 45 and Lauren was 19. The way Lauren carries herself shows that she’s mature person for someone her age. Although the age difference is quite big, the two got married, had two kids and stayed married until bogart’s death in 1957. So it can work for some but not all.

Many would agree on Shallon when talking about the age difference but she comes off as hypocritical. She doesn’t agree with an older man dating a younger woman but is ok with an older woman dating a younger man. Her defense was younger women become sexually traumatised but apparently younger men aren’t going to share the same experience. This becomes more uncomfortable when funding out that she made tweets about Justin Bieber about having sex dreams with him in it. The tweet that was made in 2010, she was 25 and he was only 16. Why is a 25 year old woman tweeting on having sex dreams about a child. It’s creepy and disgusting.

When she talks about certain celebrities or even certain topics, majority of the time she acts like she knows what she’s talking about. It’s the way she says make you believe that everything she said 100% accurate to the point where it feels like she’s manipulating you. It seems like she considers herself as a physiology and has even try to diagnose celebrities based on what she has heard despite not being accurate. Her latest video is about Ellen DeGeneres and how to spot a psychopath. In video, she goes straight to Ellen and her marriage with Porsche by saying that Ellen was mean to her wife and refused to give her a baby. She says this is allegedly as what she has heard, but Portia on other hand said she doesn’t mind not having kids. The way she tries to self-diagnosis Ellen to see if she has psychopaths tendency and even try to compare Ellen to Adolf Hitler because they both love animals. I love animals does that mean I’m Hitler. It’s so weird and just ridiculous.

She tackles on another serious topic like Mental Health and suicide by making video about Pete Davidson. The video is titled “Ariana Grande & Pete Davidson: how beta males manipulate women”. There was certain time when Pete wasn’t in a good place. He deleted all of his social media accounts but before doing that he wrote a statement which appear to be a suicide note. Everyone was worried about his well-being. Pete has been about his mental health issues and how he suffers from Borderline Personallty Disorder and sometimes have suicidal thoughts. Shallon doesn’t like Pete because he’s not doing anything to fix his mental disorder. What Shallon is doing is victim-blaming and very insensitive as well. You can’t be fix in way as what she is implying there’s no cure for mental health. The only that Pete can do is seek treatment. People with BPD can get treatment but it’s not something that can be cured. She talked about where Pete did an interview with Charlemagne the god. It doesn’t seem like she even watched the video, because she sees Pete going to rehab or getting help in order to get more drugs. She also thinks that people suffering from BPD can’t seek treatment because it’s not something you can get treated because it’s part of your personality. This is so ignorant and incredibly harmful.

She mentions how in the interview Pete Davidson says he use to cut himself and how Charlemagne didn’t asked them in that when he actually did which shows that she didn’t watch the video at all. She also doesn’t think he goes to therapy when he actually does. Like she did with the Ellen DeGeneres video, she thinks him having bipolar disorder and even BPD is connected to his mother and sister. Like something bad happened in the family household. He lost his father due to 9/11 so he probably suffered from loss and trauma, But it’s not the way she’s implying at all. It’s like she’s saying he can’t have good and stable relationship with his mum and sister because he has a mental disorder. The way she talks about Pete shows how much she hates men who talk about their mental health issues. She is one of the reasons on why men have a hard time expressing their emotions and deciding to mental disorder they suffer from because it’s people like her whom are going shunned them and even said that they don’t deserve any love and happiness.

She also hates Selena Gomez and even calls Selena her “mortal enemy” even though Selena probably doesn’t know who she is. Her hatred towards Selena has to be an extend of her being attracted to Justin Bieber when he was 16. She says that she could help Selena and whatever issues that she’s battling but doesn’t want to because ‘Selena is annoying’. Imagine you going to therapy and telling your therapist how you been feeling and they says ‘I would love to help you but your annoying’. She says that if Selena dies from overdose than it’s our fault for not holding her accountable and says that Selena isn’t going to make it to 27. Her dying gets better. Which is completely disgusting and just insensitive. She says that Selena has bad tattoos and even though one of her tattoos is a semicolon that is located on her wrist. The semicolon actually means something very important which is a solidarity against suicide, depression and other mental health issues.

Overall Shallon Lester is a horrible white woman who doesn’t know what she’s talking about spreads false lies on people and does the harmful by trying to diagnose a person because you just don’t like them.

#shallon lester #mental health #selena gomez #pete davidson #insensitive #pedophillia #fake diagnosis #Youtube

[those70scomics]

How would you write a reunion special set in the 90s (two scenarios wherein one is a version ignoring s8 and one that considers that season as canon)?

Okay, so I went in one direction while writing this post then decided to go in another. Instead of deleting the first draft and starting again, I kept it -- and recorded here in writing the moment I changed my mind. 

---

These are another set of scenarios I could write several different ways. So the following is not my One True Version™ of either. I’m going to treat these as two-hour TV movies.

The S8 as Canon version (yikes)

In the years since the end of season 8, Jackie moved on from Point Place and her group of former friends. Her romance with Fez fizzled during the first time they had sex. During it, she realized she’d regressed back into accepting less than what (and whom) she’s worth. Fez is not her perfect mate. He made clear he viewed her as a prize to be won -- and that he believed she should be grateful he still wanted her after all the years she rejected his advances.

But as they began to have sex, she retreated inside her mind. All of her history with Michael and Steven and Fez coalesced into her truth: perfection doesn’t exist, and she had to stop choosing everyone but herself.

She chose herself that night. She put an early end to their intimacy, telling him to pull out. He was utterly confused, but she told him they didn’t work as a couple. She loves herself most, and she owes it to herself to act like it.

She goes to college and eventually becomes a fashion and beauty editor at a women’s magazine. Fifteen years after the events of season 8, her life in Point Place is just a memory, until she receives a phone call at work from Donna -- a person she hadn’t expected to hear from again.

After surprised pleasantries, Donna says, “You have to come home.”

“I am home,” Jackie says. 

“I mean Point Place. Hyde’s ... not good.”

This statement inspires a swarm of conflicting feelings and thoughts deep in Jackie’s being: He doesn’t deserve to be good. But what if he’s dying? No, it can’t be that bad. Whatever’s wrong with him isn’t my problem.

That last thought is the one she shares with Donna.

“Okay, you want to know how serious this is?” Donna says, and she puts Eric on the phone.

“Please come back!” Eric shouts. “I’ll be your chauffeur for the week. My mom will cook all your meals. I’ll let you call me a bony dumbass loser in front of my kids. Just get here A.S.A.P.”

His reaction startles Jackie, but she says, “Are you pranking me, Eric? Because if you are, I’ll publish an old picture of you in my magazine as a big Romance Don’t.”

“It’s not a prank. Hyde’s retreated from his career, his friends. He’s barely talking even to me and Donna. And it’s because of you.”

“Me? I haven’t talked to him in fifteen years!”

“That’s the problem!”

Jackie can’t believe what she’s hearing, the audacity of Donna to call her about this. But Eric was the only person who didn’t mistreat her during that horrible year everyone turned on her ... because he was on another continent.

“Can’t I just talk to him on the phone?” she says.

“He’s unplugged his phone,” Eric says. “Donna and I go over to his house with food to make sure he’s still alive."

...

Okay, no. 😅 That’s a bit too fanficcy (and silly). But I don’t think Jackie and Fez would stay together long. His characterization in S8 is terrible, and Jackie’s self-esteem was pummeled that year. They are not a match.

A S8-is-canon reunion TV movie would have to bring the characters together because of a realistic reason and/or problem. A high school reunion wouldn’t work since Jackie isn’t in the same grade as the rest of them.

You know what? Screw it. This is how I would do it.

Without explaining anything to the audience (yet), a married Jackie and Hyde would arrive together from Milwaukee in Point Place for Red and Kitty’s fortieth wedding anniversary. Red is planning a huge shindig for Kitty as a surprise. She has some idea that he’ll do something special since he did for their thirtieth and thirty-fifth anniversaries. 

Jackie and Hyde bring their seven-year-old son, James. Kelso, Brooke, and their four daughters arrive from Chicago. Fez arrives from Florida with his wife, Rhonda, and their daughter, Charlie (named after the character from the movie Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, though they let everyone think Fez chose the name in honor of Charlie Richardson, who died).

Eric and Donna have two children, a son and a daughter. Laurie also arrives, pregnant. This is her first child, and she doesn’t know who the father is, and she’s come home to live with her parents (for now) -- which is one of Red’s many surprises. Kitty will be thrilled to help raise one of her grandchildren. 

Lots of hijinks ensue as everyone tries to help Red keep all his celebratory secrets from Kitty. We get humorous and touching heart-to-hearts among different pairings and groups of characters. They partake in a circle of a different kind in the basement. They show one another their latest family photos while reminiscing about their long friendships -- which lets the audience know how they all got to the places they are now in their lives.

Jackie and Hyde reconciled while she attended college. She dated random dudes during her freshman year -- to get the taste of Fez out of her, er, mind -- and realized dating randos is so not for her. She remained single during her sophomore year, and that was when she and Hyde began talking again. He apologized sincerely for all he put her through, owned his mistakes, and they began a true friendship. Halfway through her senior year in college, she realized she’d re-fallen in love with him, and this time he’s ready and wanting to commit to her fully.

Problems arise in Red’s anniversary party plans. The children cause trouble as only kids can. But in the end, Red and Kitty’s love is celebrated -- and Kitty reflects that love back to all her kids and their kids. The T7S universe is realigned with canon and not the AU of season 8.

As for the reunion scenario/TV movie where S8 isn’t canon? It’s the same as the above, minus Jackie and Hyde ever having broken up (and Charlie Richardson being dead). The events of season 8 are ultimately irrelevant, regardless, since I have to write the characters as I understand them to be.

#That 70s Show #That '70s Show #Jackie x Hyde #Red x Kitty #Eric x Donna #Ficlet #Ask #Anon #Season 8 Sucks! #Special

[ant-dec-1975]

Behind his Back 3

(LAST CHAPTER)

DIFFERENT POV :D

"This is life, isn't it? I can promise you that everything will work out in the end, and that you'll be happy."

That was the first thing Simon had said to me when I arrived back in America. On the flight, I didn't have a particular feeling inside me. I wasn't empty, just...cracked.

My teammates tried their best to comfort me, even the girls that Dec said were jealous of him tried to cheer me up. I told all of them that I was fine, but I guess they knew me better than I thought they did. I told myself that I was OK now, it was in the past. But you can tell when you're lying to yourself.

We had our last football match against the hardest football team known. On a normal day, I would've been feeling brave and confident and hopeful. Well, it wasn't a normal day. I think the weather understood me too, it was dark and cloudy. Simply perfect.

"Just for this match, remove Declan from you heard," Robbie told me. Easier said than done, Dec was always etched into my mind. I couldn't bring myself to hate him.

Who could hate Dec?

I would find myself on those days scrolling through my phone, looking at all our photos. I couldn't bring myself to delete them. I had even set one as my home screen background. The picture was of him winking, his lips were curled up slightly, the eye that was open was twinkling, and his cheeks were slightly pink.

Adorable.

That was the last thing I checked before getting on the pitch for the match.

The first half of the match was horrible. The worst match I've ever played. The other team was amazing, they kicked the ball into the goal many times, with me only saving 3. I tried hard, so hard to concentrate and focus on the match.

My mind kept wondering to the times Dec and I played football together, where I would tickle him and he'd fall on the floor, wrapped in my arms. His laugh was so pure and loud and lovely. We'd stay on the floor together, those days were so happy.

When it was half-time, my team called for a group huddle. They were kind, but told me to get it together. I couldn't blame them, we'd trained for years to win something like this.

Here I was, failing everyone.

It all became a bit too much for me, so I went to the end of the area and sat down on the grass. We had 10 more minutes to rest. I brought my knees to my chest, hugging them as my only source of comfort. I couldn't see myself, but I'm sure my face had no expression on it. There was no point crying, where would that get me? Dec always told me that we'd be together forever, that he'd never stop loving me,he told me about the doubts he had that I would dump him.

The opposite had occurred.

"5 MINUTES LEFT!"

The referee's voice echoed through the field, I was grateful that my team had left me alone for a while. I didn't have the energy to continue anymore. The crack in me had done something, I didn't have that feeling burning inside me like I used to. I couldn't find a reason to carry on.

I didn't have anything left to fight for.

Maybe I could stay on the floor. I was disappointing my team anyway, I wasn't any use to them.

As I stared at the trees in front of me, I felt something being placed on my head.

"You forgot your cap." The voice was soft but also determined. Upset but strong. It was a voice that I would recognise anywhere.

As surprised as I was to hear him, I didn't want to glance at him. He'd broken my heart; broken me. Looking at him would make everything worse. Dec sat down next to me, breaking all rules of personal space.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice just above a whisper. If he was here to apologise again, it wouldn't make a difference. If he was here to get back together again, that wasn't going to happen.

I didn't get a response, I knew that he was thinking of what to say. I guess words sometimes fail, he decided to do something different.

Dec placed his two hands on either side of my face, forcing me to face him. I only had a second to see him before he jerked forward, attacking my lips.

The logical side of my brain told me that he was with Stephen now, that he'd broken my heart, that I shouldn't just run back to him.

But Dec had taught me to live in the moment.

I wrapped my arms around him, feeling the soft curves of his waist again and brought him closer to me. That wasn't enough, he pushed me back slightly so I fell on the ground and straddled me. It was all fire and flames, heat that felt good. It was like the world was OK again, like everything was coming back to me. Dec had knocked the cap of my head and was now tugging my hair, he tilted his head, allowing my tongue to enter, starting the battle of dominance. It was desire and passion and lust.

I would've loved to continue, but I felt something wet fall onto my cheek. Opening my eyes, I rolled over so I was on top of Dec. I used my hands to support myself and realised that the wet thing was a tear from him. "Hey," I brushed another tear from his face, "why are you crying?"

His eyes were shiny and starry, he shook his head before grabbing my face again to kiss me. This time it was short and sweet. "You've got a football match."

Slowly, I got up from the grass, holding my hand out to help him. I still had about two minutes until the match, and then it hit me. "Dec, you're with Stephen."

"No," he stared down at his trainers, "I've left him."

"So, you've come back to...me?"

Dec nodded blushing, "I know, I don't deserve you after what I've done...but we need to talk...after your match."

I leaned down once more to kiss his forehead. The smile that lit his face was enough to make a crowd of people happy.

*****

I was tired, exhausted and my body was aching. But then I would look at Dec, cheering in the crowds. He was shouting and yelling and screaming, I'd never seen something so beautiful before. And that burning feeling came back to me, powering me on.

I was fighting for something. I was fighting for love.

That match was amazing. More than amazing. I saved every goal that came our way, my team grew confident and scored more. We won by a milestone. They came to congratulate me after, but I didn't take any of the praise.

When that was over, Dec dragged me aside. I was overjoyed at our win, so I didn't exactly understand what he was saying. He started rambling on about how he wasn't worth it and how he'd understand if I didn't want to be with him anymore. He said some stuff about how he was so sorry, that he'd kissed Stephen because he was missing me, that he realised how nothing felt right with Stephen, that he still loves me and that he'd always will. He wouldn't shut up, just ranting about how stupid and unforgivable and hurtful he'd been.

I forgave him with a kiss.

*****

BONUS SCENE

Back in England, roughly a week later:

"You're...Anthony?"

"Yeah, hi Stephen." I smirked at his pale face. "Sooo...."

"Just so you know," he took a deep breathe, " I still like Dec."

It was amusing, I raised an eyebrow back at him, "and Declan doesn't like youuu," I sang.

"I won't stop liking him."

"Neither will I, but there's a difference."

"What?"

"I love him, and he loves me. We were meant to be."

Stephen just looked at me, his bottom lip quivering.

"Mate, you'll find someone," I stepped closer to him, placing my hand on his shoulder, "I'm sorry it wasn't Dec. There is someone out there, you'll just need to wait...friends?"

"Really?"

"Everyone deserves a second chance," I said, smiling.

#antanddec #antanddecfanfiction

[kittybennett]

your choice | anti-soulmate au where they weren't born with soul-mates and they meet in a group where other people who don't have them meet-up. and they come to the conclusion that they're not weirdos for not having them. cause they have the group and each other jhskfjksdf - @malcolmbrights​

ok i’m sorry this turned REALLY long but here we go.

aka: five times ev didn’t go to support group and one time she did

i.

Evelyn Reyes spends much of her sixteenth year of life staring into reflective surfaces in the vain hope that she will find a soulmark has bloomed on her skin while she wasn’t looking. Most people are born within them, though it isn’t entirely unheard of for the matching tattoos to make themselves known in the years between childhood and adolescence. A teenager already, Evelyn is a rarity, late even by the most generous of time frames, and this makes her a repository for her peers’ pity. She takes to wearing long sleeves even in the sweltering heat of summer to avoid questions, but finds that it’s all people want to talk to her about. No matter how they phrase their comforting platitudes or prying questions, it all sounds the same to her.

Are you scared that you might be utterly alone? How relieved I am that it’s you and not me.

Evelyn hates them all, but most of all she hates the guidance counselor who calls her into her office to offer ‘support’ and gives Evelyn a flyer for a group of people with deceased soulmates. It’s not the same, the counselor explains, but those in the group might understand what Evelyn is going through. They can sympathize on how horrible it is to not have a soulmate.

Her cheeks burn hot. She shoves the flyer into the pocket of her hoodie and begs to be excused. On her way home she tears the flyer into little pieces and throws it over a bridge, watching the pieces of paper flutter and land on the river below while angry, shameful tears prick at her eyes.

After that, she stops checking her body for new marks.

ii. The first man that Evelyn loves also takes pains to keep covered up. Unlike Evelyn, he actually has something to hide: a bright blue tattoo of a bird in flight. The space where it adorns his forearm is usually bandaged lest Jamie’s eager admirers find a way to replicate it and render the mark useless.

When they lie together at night, Evelyn traces the mark. It’s the closest she’s ever been to one that didn’t belong to either of her parents, and even at a young age she knew not to ask questions about theirs.

“They weren’t soulmates.” Evelyn tells her lover one night. “His died when they were little — childhood sweethearts. And my mom has never talked about hers, but I know he’s gone too. She wouldn’t have married my father or had me if she thought he was still out there.”

What she doesn’t confess hangs in the air. Jamie addresses it anyway.

“You know that’s not the reason you’re like this, right?”

Evelyn is silent but the finger that was tracing his mark stills.

“Evelyn. It’s just bad luck. Seriously.” He tilts her face so he can stare into her eyes. Jamie is rarely serious, so this sudden sobriety makes it difficult for Evelyn to hold his gaze, but she does. “Bad things happen to lots of people, and it’s not the end of the world. My cousin is widowed, and he remarried and—“

Before he can finish his story, Evelyn kisses him. And kisses him. Her distraction works.

That night Evelyn prays for the first time in well over a decade: asking for a blue bird on her forearm. ( She breaks up with Jamie a week later. Better to get out with her heart mostly intact. She never does find out what happened to that cousin of his, though sometimes she wonders if she should have let Jamie finish. )

iii.

“Would it kill you to write something happy for once? Just one ballad about summer love, or getting dicked down?”

Evelyn frowns. “You know I’m not the bubblegum pop type.”

“That’s for sure.” Her producer sighs. “Listen, you’re good. But can’t you just write a love song that isn’t super … intense and depressing? Give us something fun and light-hearted for once.”

“What if I haven’t felt that?”

“Then pretend, or talk to someone who has.” The producer fixes her with a look between pity and sternness. “Seriously, Evie. Don’t come back here without a love song. And get a therapist.”

Evelyn returns in a week with a song about the thrill of a first glance and the intense flush of devotion that follows it. The song spends several weeks on the charts and goes viral after someone creates a Tik Tok dance for it, though none of that matters to sole inspiration for the song: Evelyn’s new cat.

iv.

Her second-ever happy love song is not as commercially successful, but it is inspired by a human being this time. Naomi is brilliant, and funny, and the most talented actress of her generation (according to a Vanity Fair correspondent but Evelyn is inclined to agree). The first time she refers to Evelyn as “the love of my life”, Evelyn spends the better part of a week repeating the moment in her mind.

Naomi really should have thought to mention the caveat.

Three years later, Evelyn laughs at something a precocious child on a television program says and asks, “What would you do if your child asked you that?”

Naomi shakes her head. “Pour myself some scotch and direct them towards their other mom, or dad.”

Evelyn is frozen.

Other mom or dad. Not you. Not the love of her life. Because Evelyn is only the love of Naomi’s life … for now.

Evelyn turns off the television program. “You don’t think we’ll raise children together?”

Naomi looks sheepish. To her credit, she picks her words more carefully this time. “Evelyn … be realistic. I love you so much but - someday I’m going to meet the real thing. You can’t ask me to say no to them for you.”

Evelyn feels the same hot shame she did when she was sixteen and finally accepting that she had no soulmate and never would. This time she won’t cry, not in front of Naomi. “I’m a person. Not your training wheels.”

She moves out the next day.

v.

Dating apps aren’t much different, as it turns out. She has way too many messages from people who assume that being bisexual means she wants nothing more than to fulfill the threesome fantasies of heterosexual couples, and even more messages from people who think that because she is “unmarked”, she isn’t looking for anything serious. To be unmarked is to be written off entirely as a romantic partner, or at least as a serious one.

She deletes the dating app, but not before she posts a screenshot of her DMs to her Instagram with a caption finally addressing the rumors that she is unmarked.

I've always been private regarding the subject, but I owe it to anyone else like me to be more candid about my experiences as someone without a soulmark. Yes — I am unmarked, but not unworthy.

That night she’s flooded with messages from others like her, who thank her and repost her message. It’s humbling and uplifting all at once and Evelyn is guilty that she didn’t do it sooner. She responds to as many as she possibly can.

( One message stands out among the rest:

@ teorror: hey @reyevie​  - if you’re in nyc, my support group would love to have you! we meet at [ …. ] )

vi.

In the end, it’s not another rejection or loneliness or even solidarity that leads Evelyn to finally try talking to others like her.

It’s pettiness, and a lot of annoyance.

A former classmate posts a soulmate announcement on Facebook in which the caption describes meeting her soulmate for the first time as the single most important day of anyone’s life, the center of the human experience.

It makes Evelyn grit her teeth.

She is indignant that anyone would not consider the pain and feelings of inadequacy those words might cause for unmarked youth like the ones she’s received messages from, or her younger self. And she realizes with a pang of regret: it’s not just social media, or dating apps. It’s also the songs that people like Evelyn have written, the films and books that saturate the market that convince everyone that no other kind of love or measure of happiness matters when compared to romantic love.

As much as Evelyn craves it, she refuses to accept that it should overshadow every other aspect of her life.

She scrolls through her messages until she finds the one from @teorror again, inviting her to join his group and decides to show up and prove her point, even if she’s the only one who knows it.

To her initial horror, the group is small. There are only three people there, and Evelyn is just about ready to turn on her heel and walk away rather than join such an intimate gathering when a man bolts from his chair with an overjoyed expression on his face.

“Hey! You actually came!” He goes to her, and offers his hand to be shaked. “Can I call you Ev? Guys! This is Ev! The singer I was telling you guys about? Come on, sit down.”

The man she’s guessing is Teorror (Teo, she’ll later learn) guides her towards the others and the other man produces a chair for her and introduces himself as Rico.

Mercifully, they don’t ask her to introduce herself first or talk first. The woman next to her (Claudia) does, then Rico and Teo. Eventually they all turn to Evelyn.

“You don’t have to share if you’re not ready, Ev.” Claudia says, adopting Teo’s nickname for Evelyn. “The first time can be overwhelming.”

Ev nods, but feels she should try anyway. “I’m Evelyn — and as I guess you’ve figured, I’m also an unmarked.”

Immediately, a shadow crosses over the faces of the others. Evelyn stops.

“We try not to use that word.” Rico says gently and Evelyn can tell he’s taking care to not embarrass her. “It isn’t good to define ourselves by what we don’t have, rather than what we do.”

“Tell us about you. Teo says you’re a singer?” Claudia coaxes helpfully.

Teo offers Evelyn another wide smile. “I used to call myself leftovers. Or spare parts. I thought it was really funny, you know? But they’re right: focusing on what you lack just sets you up for more pain.”

It’s something to think about. She’s back for the session next week.

As the months go by, she sees the group outside of meetings too, starting with a potluck at Teo’s and leading to drinks and mechanical bull rides with Rico, or sightseeing with Claudia. At first she wonders what it might be like to share a soulmark with one of them … to find a soulmate after all … but eventually, she nearly stops thinking of the marks altogether.

Those fantasies end entirely after another night of dancing, as they’re having greasy fast food and Teo slings his arm around her as he tells a story that requires exaggerated facial expressions and wild hand gestures. She laughs and almost misses the moment where Claudia returns to the table with her order and slides her a crispy taco (Ev’s favorite) and Rico picks at the tomato (which Ev’s hates) and places it beside his own burger so that Evelyn won’t have to. They know her well, she realizes, better than anyone. They love her better than anyone …and suddenly Evelyn feels overwhelmed with her love for them in return.

Here is the intimacy she’s been craving her whole life: a love that doesn’t ask her to define herself by it, or insist upon its sole importance. It simply accepts, and gives. 

Evelyn can only wonder why she ever thought this wouldn’t be enough.

#long post for ts #bc i dont remember if readmores show up on mobile #evelyn reyes* #tag later #mw*

[thewildheroine]

Fly Away |Thirty|

Warnings: Abuse mentions, language

Word Count: 3K

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

A/N: Yo okay so tumblr fuckignjlbshfalbdh deleted my shit before I even got the chance to post, so here’s my second go at it :(((((((( Sorry that it’s so brief but I’m still a little rusty. I hope you guys enjoy and if you like it please reblog loves!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

|Masterlist|

|Part Twenty-Eight|  |Part Twenty-Nine|  |Part Thirty-One|

“How can I survive this without my magic, Heather?” I wonder, already sensing that the vortex is trying to suck me up again. We’ve been walking for a long time, though I have no idea how long. Time is non-existent here and the miles we walk become the ones in front of us. Everything here is simply infinite. Well... as simple as infinity can get.

Heather smiles softly, as always, knowing something I don’t. “It’s your magic, Y/N.”

“No, it’s not,” I whisper, despair settling in like a cruel disease. “I gave it to Dormammu. I’m not a sorceress anymore. I’m not the Bluebird.”

“Glinda…” Heather murmurs sweetly, using the ancient nickname before grabbing my hand and holding against her chest. “Your magic is your soul, and as long as you’re alive your soul will want to come home.” She turns away from me, looking into the white abyss. I follow her eyes and immediately shrink backward. A swirling, opalescent hurricane has opened up overhead. Fearing the worst, I look at my free hand. My suspicions are confirmed where I see my fingers fading into dust before being sucked into the vortex.

“Heather-” I have to measure the questions I could ask in a split second. “What’s happening?” I finally murmur in a desperate voice.

“That doesn’t matter right now,” she asserts. “What does is that you escape. You can only do it with magic.”

“Which I don’t have,” I remind her, growing slightly impatient. Suddenly a look spreads over her face. The look. The look she’d give me everything time she came up with a horrible idea, and I already know what her idea is. “No,” I growl, indignant even when I’m running out of time. “There is no way I’m doing that Heather.”

“Why not?” I roll my eyes and spare the hurricane another frightened glace.

“Because he won’t just give up his magic to me, and I obviously can’t take it.” I hold up my hands frustratedly, showing her that I don’t have the magic to pull my father’s away from him. “I have nothing, and it wouldn’t even be enough to get me out of the hell hole he’s going to throw me in!” I feel guilty for being angry towards Heather after so many years of not seeing her- of believing she was dead. After everything though, after being tortured and haunted and taken advantage of it’s so easy to be angry. Even with Heather.

Despite my outburst, her eyes remain patient though. Her loving purple eyes. “Then fight,” she whispers, and I finally catch a glimpse of something unusual in her eyes. Guilt. Like she’s in on some sort of universal secret I don’t know about. I open my mouth to say something back, but instead, I’m only left with her voice murmuring ideas straight to my mind.

Take in your surroundings.

When I open my eyes tears that I hadn’t even known existed are streaming down my cheeks. I’m on a bed. One softer than even the one at the base. The springs don’t ache below me as I draw in a deep, patient breath. Everything here is white. There’s no detail, just absence. The only thing with color is the different picture frames sitting on the desk and bookshelves. Ones I can’t remember. Ones that are absolutely and entirely fake.

Things are going to be warped.

I stand up from the sofa bed and step towards a bookshelf. On it is a beautifully framed photo. The photo itself is from what seems to be three years ago based on the appearance of my face. I look like I’m thirteen in it. Old enough to trick people into letting me work. To my right is my father, smile glowing on his face in a way I have never seen before, and to my left is a beautiful woman. She has to be just about my height now, and her long, y/h//c hair matches my own. My mom.

It will be based on your father’s mind and everything he’s created

Across the room, I see the glimmer of a mirror. Turning around slowly, I begin to approach the corner in which it stands ominously, ready to show me something just as frightening as this place. As soon as I see myself in the mirror I take a step back. I don’t recognize the girl I just saw. She is unscathed with soft, beautiful skin and hair that seems to gleam in the dim lighting of this room. She is lovely. The image of an angel. There are no ugly scars that mark up her body. Again, I begin walking towards the mirror, this time keeping my eyes locked onto myself. The only similarity I see between the two of us is our eyes, which both hold the same fear.

He will have made everything to be perfect.

I close my eyes and concentrate on Heather’s voice.

Ruin his perfection.

I open my eyes and look towards the exit.

Destroy it.

Gulping, I stumble to the doorway.

Sow chaos into his order.

Staring at the door frame I swear I can see a green haze peeking through. Just like the apartment.

Ravage against everything that place is.

I brace myself once more and place my hand on the cold, bronze knob.

Fight, Y/N.

My hand quakes against the metal. In fact, my whole body does and no matter how hard I will it, it won’t stop.

Fight for me.

I close my eyes and tighten my grip on the handle, trying to push away my fear

Fight for those who raised you.

I suck in a big breath, praying that the extra oxygen may help to slow my racing, aching heart.

Fight for Peter.

I listen closely as the door clicks. My entire body shudders as I open my eyes to stare through the small crack I’ve just created. Through it drifts in the smell of cinnamon, and coffee, and, if I’m not mistaken, chocolate chip cookies.

Most importantly Y/N…

Realizing the air I’ve trapped in my lungs I swing the door open and straighten myself. I clench my free fist and glare at the man and woman who are sitting silently at the table opposite to me.

Fight for yourself…

Everything, every atom in the room, stops as both my parents, the man who I hate and the woman I have never known look towards me, gaping out of absolute bewilderment. My grip on the door handle tightens so much I’m afraid that I may just break it. Knowing it is more likely that I will hurt myself I drop the hand to my side.

Because there is no one in there who can do it for you.

“Y/N,” my father, murmurs in an uncharacteristically soft voice. It takes everything inside of me not to throw myself at him and rip the man to shreds with my bare hands. Instead, I just let my eyes snap to him, fire filling them. “Come sit with us.” He reaches across the table and grabs the woman's hand who visibly shrinks under his touch. My eyes meet her’s suddenly, and I feel my heart quench. I see everything I am in her. Scared eyes. Oh god, we’re both so scared.

“I made cinnamon rolls,” she nods at me, and I immediately understand that she isn’t telling me, but warning me. I gulp and take another glance at my father. Although his expression is still soft I can see the slight strain in his expression.

My fingers unwrap themselves so they are no longer clenched and I try to force some sort of pleasantness into my expression. Biting my lip, I make my way towards the table. My mother has already made me a plate and wordlessly she slides it towards me as I take a seat.

“Thank you,” I mumble my first words in this warped place. When I look up she smiles at me softly and I find myself curious about what exactly she’s thinking of. I wonder if she’s imagining a different lifetime. One where my father and husband wasn’t so cruel. One where she was allowed the chance to raise me throughout my childhood. One where I could learn magic on my own terms. One where I was loved day in and day out. One where she taught me how to be strong and how to fight. One where she helped pick out homecoming dresses and threatened the boys who’d come by the house.

“Of course Y/N,” my mom whispers back. Her voice is not sweet. It is hoarse from a hundred battle cries. She has scars over the entire extent of her body. Ones on her collar bones that have turned a pale shade of their original tone. There are puffy brands that seem to be the result of brands. On her arm, the only part of her that doesn’t seem to be marked by pain, is the mark of the Valkrie. She follows my eyes to the dark brown tattoo and smiles. There’s something reminiscent in her eyes. Like somehow, serving Asgardian royalty was a simpler time. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

Wordlessly, I cut through my cinnamon roll, keeping my eyes down. Both of their eyes are on me. I can feel them.

Even as my father reaches his other hand across the table to cover mine I keep my eyes on my food. She had to have had a reason for why she interfered before I let my anger get the best of me. When his ice-cold hand lands on mine I flinch. Goosebumps appear on my forearms and I shiver as quietly as I can manage.

“Now Icarus,” I feel the need to choke on the nickname. No one has called me that in six years. The last time I heard it was the day before my tenth birthday. “I know this is a big change, but I just want you to know the rules.” I furrow my brows and look up at him through a thin curtain of hair.

“Rules?” I question. My voice is alarmingly vulnerable.

“Of course.” My father’s grip on my hand tightens suddenly, and I feel my knuckles crack. “All you need to do is listen to me.” Unable to stop myself, I scoff and look back down at my cinnamon roll.

“It’s not like I have much of a choice, do I?”

“Excuse me?”

“Y/N,” my mother pleads from her spot on the table. Suddenly, I begin wondering how many of those scars really happened in battle.

“You take away my magic, my choice,” I throw my fork down on the plate, “my family.” All of the sudden my father yanks me towards him. My ribcage hits the edge of the table and I wince out loud, pain bursting through my chest. The second I look up I’m faced with my father, whose eyes are filled with molten lava. I don’t shrink under his gaze though. Something about my mother has given me back my iron heart so that I can face him with my head held high.

“We are your family, Y/N,” he retorts, his voice stern. I scowl and shake my head side to side.

“To me,” I rip away from his grasp, “you are the man who destroyed my childhood, and she is just the women I’ve met in my dreams. You are not my family, and you cannot control me.”

Everyone is silent as though we’re waiting to see if I back down. I’m even waiting for my resolve to falter. It doesn’t though. My eyes stay cold, indifferent to the man in front of me, and after so many years of his torture and abuse and manipulations, I see all the power in his eyes fade away. He has nothing left to hurt me, and therefore he has lost control.

Finally, he drops his eyes and reaches to grab his napkin. I watch attentively as he rubs the white cloth against the corners of his mouth, his eyes still cast down. My mother’s fear rolls off her shoulders and towards me, but I do not look away. When my father looks up again he’s angry, yet he doesn’t know where to put it all.

Abruptly, he stands from the table, the legs of his chair screeching against the marble floors. I watch as he numbly tosses the napkin onto his plate. My mother, on the other hand, bows her head and goes back to picking at her food. Once he can manage to look me in my eyes my father glares down at me, raising his finger accusingly.

“I want this place cleaned up by the time I get back for dinner.” My expression remains blank as my father stalks over to a hallway that I assume leads to an exit. Both my mom and I watch as he disappears. Once he’s gone her eyes are on the side of my head again. I swallow and tear off a piece of my roll.

I’ve walked throughout the entire house five times over, but I still can’t get used to it. As a child, it was everything I hoped for. It’s all so pure. Everything is so perfect. Even the air. Breathing it in I find that it smells like the ocean. There are windows covering an entire wall, and they all look out on an infinite sea of clouds. Everything is white. The floors are white marble, the ceilings are white arches. It’s like this place has been waiting for my arrival so that I may color it myself.

I think this is everything I wanted. When I was young at least. I wanted a place that felt pure, a place where I felt pure, but now I want nothing more than to be sitting at the kitchen island, basking in the rays of the real sun, which I have taken for granted so much, as Peter traces the scars covering my hands. The only imperfections in this entire place are the ones that cover my mother. I don’t even have imperfections anymore. He’s taken those away as well.

“It’s beautiful out there,” she remarks behind me, as though just the thought of my mom summoned her. “It reminds me of Asgard,” my mom continues under her breath as she slowly approaches the windows. “I loved it there, you know? It was always so beautiful.” I turn towards her, curiosity getting the best of me.

“Then why did you come to Earth,” I question. My mother smiles, remembering.

“I suppose it was my disregard for authority that prompted them to exile me.” She places a scarred hand against the glass. The clouds seemingly shift beneath her gaze, and I’m stunned to see them part, revealing the true, pearly ocean beneath.

“Glad to know where I got it from,” I scoff, trying my hardest to hide my amazement. Glad to know where I got everything from.

“I know I’m not your mother, Y/N,” she informs all of the sudden, and I find myself at an immediate loss for words. “I have no right to be. I wasn’t there for any of it. Your childhood.”

“You didn’t have a choice,” I remind her.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you aren’t my daughter, nor are you your father’s.” She beams at the beautiful sky, shining its perfection down on us. “I believe someone else deserves that honor far more than us.” I find myself gawking at the women before me, finding something about her so very unbelievable. I don’t understand how I can see so much of myself in her, and how she can see just as much of herself in me, and yet she understands that I can’t think of her as my… mom. I know she is. I know she and I share blood, but she isn’t my mom, and it is so incredibly amazing to me that she knows that.

“How’d you end up with that monster?” I laugh quietly. She’s so good and kind and the fact that she managed to end up with my father is unfathomable.

“He wasn’t always a monster. Before Dormammu found him, he was good, Y/N. He was a man who could’ve loved you properly.” Tears rim her eyes as she remembers a man who I do not know. “He called you Icarus before you were born, too.”

“Well, it’s not really endearing, huh?” I shake my head and look out at the endless sky. “He told me that story to remind me that I am not permitted to fly away. That’s how he phrased it you know. Fly away. Every damn time. He always said it like I was a goddamn broken bird that couldn’t escape.” I wish that I could take hold of my magic at this moment, but it is gone. It can’t rumble in my fingertips anymore.

“That wasn’t the reason he called you Icarus before you were born,” she informs confidently. “In Asgard, we had our own version of the story.” The woman looks to me, our eyes mirroring each other. “An intelligent father created wax wings so that he and his son may escape a cruel king, but the child, Icarus, flew too close to the sun. I assume you know what happens next.”

“Of course,” I mumble. “He falls to the ocean and drowns. His father drags him out and curses his own genius. I’ve heard it a thousand times.”

“Icarus didn’t drown.” My mom looks at me closely. “She fell to the waves and she sunk, and sunk, and sunk, but she never hit the ocean floor. Instead, she was reborn on the other side with wings made of sunlight.” Suddenly, she grabs onto both of my shoulders and turns me towards her. There is an intensity in her eyes that I have yet to know from her. “It’s time for you to fly away, Y/N, and I know how.”

A/N: I just want to say thank you to all those who welcomed me back after my impromptu hiatus. I love you all so much and to have had your support for nearly a year now is incredible!

If you would like to be tagged shoot me a message in my inbox or comment below. Please reblog if you guys enjoyed to let others know about the story.❤️❤️❤️❤️

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[gotham-city-tales-blog]

Jerome Imagine: “Retirement Plan”

Prompt: “Can you write an imagine where the reader is pregnant and afraid to tell Jerome because she doesn't want to tie him down and so she starts avoiding him, thinking he wouldn't care” -by Anon

Summary: I kind of strayed buuuuut I’d like to think it’s cute. The reader is pregnant and thinks she has to leave Jerome for obvious reasons but the message is intercepted by Jeremiah who is after Jerome.

M A S T E R L I S T

This is my first shot at writing in like a year so I am very sorry it this is a little rusty ad not my best! and as a disclaimer: any messages about his being “unrealistic” will be deleted. these are characters. and i’m my writing i will manipulate them as please for a story. i understand that maybe my taste isn’t yours but then another writer may be just in your lane. i am a fluffy writer and will never write something with abuse or a horrible ending-life is depressing enough.

SPOILERS: If you don’t know who Jeremiah is you probably don’t want to read this.

Bruce Wayne fought everyday for a better tomorrow in Gotham. Selina fought to empower the systematically powerless. James Gordon wanted a city which was civilized and just. Lee only wanted to help the people. Bullock was bored but fought for his friends.

Even the worst of the worst needed a reason to live. They fought everyday too-just for different things. For The Riddler, he wanted to remain unforgotten, never again in the shadows as Ed Nygma existed. Barbara Kean, to prove her depths of her strength and never be helpless at the mercy of others again. For Penguin, to be love by a kingdom he has created. 

Jerome had one too-not that anyone knew it. 

You’d asked many times, feigning curiosity. But you knew deep down that you just wanted to hear it was you. Unreasonable as it may be, you wanted to be Jerome’s reason. Looking back on it now you knew it was selfish and a childish take on real love. Jerome wasn’t your reason for waking up and living everyday. As he shouldn’t be. You loved him more than anything or anyone, but you fought for yourself. Created your own life, your own path and your own strength. You lived everyday because you owed it to yourself to create a life and a purpose. And now, in your older age, that’s all you ever really wanted for Jerome too-because that’s what you want for the people you love. But you were younger then, naive and a bit egotistical-all normal for someone in their early 20′s. If only you knew what you know now. 

He always said he wasn’t sure what drove him or joked that it was a part of his madness. 

You knew he was lying though.

22 was a tender age. You were working part time at a small food store and spending the other working time in classes. Technically you were an adult. You paid rent by yourself. Filed your taxes and had a savings account. But that didn’t mean you were ready to be a mom.

You missed your period and were irresponsible enough to have spontaneous unprotected sex with your boyfriend. You went to the doctor and they told you that you were indeed pregnant.

When those words fell from the nurse’s lips you were actually excited. You had always wanted children and were in a loving, albeit strange, relationship with someone who thought the world of you. Jerome was the person you wanted to spend your life with and have a family with. But despite your own desires and a year long relationship, you an Jerome never really talked about having a family and kids. It certainly wasn’t the time. 

Jerome was mad. He was insane. He was apathetic and controlling. But with you.. well... he was normal. A normal 24 year old. He’d sneak away to your apartment and bring you flowers that he paid for. He’d watch movies with you and hold your hand. The only trace of insanity were his scars. 

To you it was insanity. But to him it was sanity. 

Jerome loved having a person that remained in his life. He reveled in the continuity of your stability. When he was with the others like him and doing the unspeakable things they did, no one saw Jerome. They saw a villain, a criminal, a killer. You brought a light to his life and a relaxation.

Never before would he just sit own and watch a movie or go to the small park by the water’s edge. Before he was always on the run. Making narrow escapes and looking over his shoulder. When he started seeing you it was usually once a month in passing, quick conversations. Eventually he realized he was excited about seeing you so he started meeting you at the park an then once at your place. That was when he realized you were stupidly trusting.

But he loved you for it. You made him forget about the bad in the world. You made him feel safe and happy, you made him feel at home.

Lately he started feeling even stranger things.

He didn’t want to die during some escapade. He wanted to impress you. He wanted to come home to you and go for walks and fall asleep with you an wake up next to you. He wanted you to be his home.

He didn’t want a kingdom. He wanted you.

But now you were here. 

After a long and frigid walk home from the clinic, you silently heated up a microwave meal. The television was on but it was mute. Everything seemed too loud, too bright. 

Jerome may come home to you more nights than not but that didn’t mean he wanted a baby. You never even talked about marriage as a concept, let alone having children. He was a creature of the night, born out of chaos. There was no place in his life for a child and you knew that meant there would be no place for you.

It was time to release Jerome of this burden before it had a chance to fall on his shoulders. You wouldn’t ask him to give up his nature and livelihood, all he’s ever know, to raise a baby with you. 

You felt trapped. You stared at your keyboard for what felt like seconds but the minutes were passing. How could you say this? How could you write it when you couldn't even say it... 

The keyboard looked as though the letters were in Mandarin. Your fingers were shaking and your mind was numb. Feeling exhausted and exasperated, your breaths were shaky just like your hands. Hovering above the keys, you just couldn’t find the words.

The emotions an desires and wants and fears were all so crystal clear at the forefront of your mind, flooding you with an overwhelming warmth and love but the fears and loneliness were crashing in too. You finally knew what you wanted to say-but there was no real way to say it. 

You still don’t really remember the trip to his then residence, a vacated and foreclosed apartment in the Narrows, just that you felt nothing but a great sadness. The cab ride home is similarly hazy but you remember a deep seeded  relief that cushioned the blow of your feeling of loss. 

The time in between was filled with clumsy venturing and fumbling as you told the cab driver to keep the meter and the engine running. Under a broken rail, through a wedged door and under a tarp, you then climbed to the second floor and walked passed the abandoned domains. Dusty doors and damp carpets lined the halls-Jerome was in 2D, the fourth one down. 

The molding rugs squished beneath your shoes as you quickly ran towards the door, slipped the note under and ran back to the waiting taxi.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t Jerome on the other side of the busted door, but Jeremiah.  

After two years of tracking him through his escapades and newspaper clippings alongside some gossip from low level informants, Jeremiah finally found where Jerome was living. He knew he would never be safe as long as Jerome was alive. It didn’t make sense to him that Jerome never came back after him years after their first adult encounter. 

He was sitting quietly on a pile of clothes. There was no furniture aside from a lone chair which seemed as though his weight would make it buckle. So he opted for the cushioning of the ratty clothes and started at just four walls whose siding was peeling and a window which was wedged open. All of the sudden there was a quiet swoosh and a letter slid under the door. No one knocked and nothing followed so Jeremiah stood and went to the letter. It was just a paper folded in three with Jerome’s name.

Curiosity bubbling over, Jeremiah read the letter. 

When he did he nearly fell over. Not only has his horrible brother had a willing girlfriend but... she was pregnant? And Jerome was the father.

Jeremiah had about three hours to process this earth shattering news and plan for when Jerome walked through the door. He used every second of those three hours. He thought about how Jerome must be manipulating you and that the baby must be cursed. Jeremiah sunk deeper and deeper into his rabbit hole thoughts: he wanted to kill you-and your baby. How could you spawn with someone like Jerome? He hated you already. 

He was shaken from his pool of thoughts by a rattling from the fire escape.

Of course Jerome wouldn’t use the door.

Jeremiah slid behind a piece of siding that was separating from the wall and wielded a knife in front of his face. 

Jerome’s criminal experience became apparent in his match against his brother. Within moments of his clumsy entrance through the open window he had spotted his meager twin. It took less than a minute for Jerome to both subdue his brother by bounding him to the rickety chair and take control of the carving knife.

Stepping back from his handy work, Jerome looked at Jeremiah tied to the chair. His has were secured behind him and his legs both bound to the old legs of the chair. “So to what do I owe this pleasure?” Jerome cackled.

“We need to talk.” Jeremiah deadpanned as he pulled at his ties.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Jerome smiled wide and turned with his back facing his brother. “I’ve been busy but planned on taking care of your prying rodent self in the future, but...”

He swiveled around on his heel and peered into Jeremiah’s eyes. “I never would have imagined you’d be stupid enough to walk right in front of my gun-or knife or whatever, you get the picture.” He chuckled. 

“Kill me and your girlfriend is dead.” Jeremiah spat. He may not have been criminally insane but he could be cunning. “Did you really think I’d come here alone? If I don’t walk out of here in 20 minutes one of my men who is sitting on her apartment will take care of her.” He spoke quietly but with conviction, silently thanking the universe for that unexpected bit of leverage. 

Jerome looked at his twin through narrow eyes, “Touch her and I swear I will burn down everything and everyone you’ve ever come into contact with.” He growled.

“I’m not sure what she sees in you,” he sneered. “You’re a complete lunatic, you killed our mother and our father and now you’re going to kill your brother. No wonder she’s leaving you.”

“Your tricks won’t work on me.” Jerome barked in response. “There’s no way you’ve met her, you probably on’t even have anyone at her apartment. Who would work for a geeky little freak like you?” He hollered. 

“It’s true. Read the note,” He nodded toward the pile of clothes, “Over there.” 

Jerome leaped toward the note and scrambled to read what you’d said.

He was unreadable, a solid poker face as he stared at the type written note. You told him you loved him that you didn’t want to take away from his life. You were leaving to give him the freedom he loved. You didn’t want him to hate you. There was so much in only 7 sentences.

He quietly turned toward his brother and ripped up the note. A large smile graced his face as and he sprinkled the note at his face. 

“It will be resolved.” Jerome spoke slowly and surely. 

“Sure,” Jeremiah scoffed, “she’s leaving you Jerome. You’re a psychopath! She wants to protect her baby from you.” He spat. 

Jerome leaped towards his subdued brother and pulled the knife up and to his throat. “Don’t you dare.” He growled lowly. “I love her and will love that baby. I’m the one that keeps her safe! She used to live in the Narrows! Do you know the people that hang around there? I saw her, we used to cross paths before she finally moved uptown!” He was screaming in his brother’s face now. “Men watching her, leering at here! One of them tried to follow her and I pulled him off! I made it go away! I KEPT HER SAFE!”

“By what? Killing people? Killing him? Did you follow her that night? Tell her you were a hero then fuck her in the stairwell-” 

Jerome’s hand clamped around Jeremiah’s throat with such force the chair rocked backwards.

“I didn’t talk to her until three months after that.” Jerome whispered hoarsely, grip still tight on Jeremiah’s neck. “I respect her, she’s strong and kind. That man wanted to hurt her and would have. Maybe I’ve hurt the wrong people, but he was the right one. He was going to hurt her. If not that night, the next.” He released Jeremiah’s throat and leaned back slightly.

“Well fine, he was scum but you’re about to kill your last remaining relative. You know she’d hate you so you won’t tell her. There’s no way she could possibly love you for the real you.” Jeremiah was grasping at straws now, desperate to live, realizing he had pushed the wrong buttons. He may be cunning and manipulative but Jerome was unhinged, his tactics wouldn’t work on such an abstract mind. 

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Jerome laughed. But it was a genuine laugh. “She does know me, all of me and she sees passed it and believes in my potential and ability-she sees me for who I am.” He leaned back into Jeremiah’s face. “Now,” he paused, “don’t be so rash brother!” Jerome laughed, flicking his knife upward. “I must celebrate! You just delivered the greatest news of my life!” He cackled as he pushed his tied up brother back and onto the floor. “I created a family.” He spoke as he stood over Jeremiah's body. 

“I got a woman who’s making an honest man-I’m sorry, father-,” he winked, “outta me. It’s your dream come true.” 

Jerome knelt down and pulled his brother’s head towards his own but the short tufts of hair that sat atop his skull. “I’m gonna be a better father than anyone. And her? Shes gonna be the best mom, I know it. Shes caring and understanding.” He tightened his grip and his brother winced as Jerome’s hot breaths raped his cheeks. “She can love a psycho like me, and care for me-she’ll be the best damned mom I’ve ever seen. Our mother was a drunken whore who beat us for shits and giggles.” Jerome growled as he dropped the knife and placed both hands around Jeremiah's throat. 

“But [Y/N]? Never.” His grip subconsciously loosened. “She’s light and strong and beautiful and loving. And she wants me.” Just barely gripping Jeremiah's throat he raised his brother’s ear towards his lips, “And that is very lucky for you dear brother,” he whispered closely. 

With no warning Jerome dropped his brother cold onto the floor and stood up. Taking three large, tentative steps back, he folded his arms neatly behind his back. Adorning a large, sinister grin, Jerome spoke carefully, “See, I have a point to prove, therefore you are spared.”

“But make no mistake,” he hissed toward’s the helpless man still tied to a chair, “If you give me a real reason dear brother, I will take you out with no hesitation.” He bowed his head and let the silence sit for a heavy moment. 

Jerome ran out through the busted door this time. Leaping with joy and hollering in the now empty nighttime streets of the Narrows. He left Jeremiah on the floor the chair was crap he’d eventually break free. 

You really never expected him to come back. So when you answered your door all disheveled you really were expecting the pizza guy. 

He wasted no time pulling you in for a kiss and walking you backward. At that moment you didn’t care if he was here to yell at you or only here to throw a fit, you just wanted to feel whole again. You wanted to feel him. 

He pushed the door shut but held you close as he broke the kiss. Holding your hands in one hand, he brushed your cheek with the other. 

“You are my freedom. My escape from insanity.” Jerome breathed. “When I’m with you nothing else matters, please, let me do this with you.” His smile was so wide you couldn’t tell the scars were there. “When I’m with you I’m free of reputation and expectations, I can just exist.”

“Really?” And that was all you could say. Tears welled in your eyes as your stomach finally felt whole again. 

“Really.” He laughed lightly. “You’re my family.” He kissed your forehead as your snaked your arm around his neck.

“We’re gonna be parents.” You whispered, looking up at him. “You’re gonna be a dad.” Smiling gently you pecked his lips. 

“Yes, yes I am.” He chuckled. “And you’re gonna be a mom.”

“Well I have a savings account Hon, it’s time we talk about the Joker’s retirement.” You laughed as he swung you off your feet and into his arms. 

“How about I get some guys we do some stuff at a bank...” He drawled on as he dropped you on your couch. “Then you and me, outta Gotham in the night ever to return.” He climbed over you and laid down on top of you. And indescribably warmth spread through your body like when you wake up and before sun rise and the first rays of sun touch your skin during the rise. 

“I like that.” You giggled as he kissed your cheek. 

“Yeah?” He laughed as you pulled him further into your body.

“Yeah.”

#jerome x reader #jerome imagine #jerome valeska imagines #jerome valeska #jerome valeska x reader #jerome valeska imagine #gotham imagine #Gotham #gotham fanfic #gotham imagines #gotham fanfiction #ed nygma #the riddler #Oswald Cobblepot #the penguin #jim gordon #selina kyle #jerome one shot #jerome oneshot #jerome valeska oneshot #gotham oneshot

[shininjjongg]

Karma

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader

Warnings: Mention of depression

Genre: Angst

Word cound: 1,490

A/N: I don’t really know why i even wrote this. I will probably delete it later. It’s not edited so i’m sorry if there’s any mistakes.

When you first met Seokjin he was nothing more than a face but 6 months later he’s the only face you could ever find in a crowded place.

In February you got a message from unknown number, you told this person that they got the wrong number but since you were bored and they had already texted you you asked them to keep you company.

That’s how you got to know Kim Seokjin.

You met up with him in May. You two weren’t alone, there was an event and you were with friends. He was quite not really talking much, which wasn’t like him at all. Somehow you two ended up alone. You found the even pretty boring so you suggested to leave. You, your friends and Seokjin were waiting for a bus. It came suddenly your friends were talking and they didn’t hear you calling for them. That’s how you two ended up alone.

From then on you were meeting up with Seokjin frequently.

In June he confessed. You never saw him being more than a friend. Maybe the reason was that you were 1 year and 9 months older than him. So you rejected him. Your friendship didn’t became awkward or anything and you were delighted. Since it was summer and both of you were traveling and visiting different places you kept in touch through texting.

In August he told you he had a girlfriend. You were happy for him really. He was coming to you every time they had fight and you were gladly giving him advices.

On 14th September you met him again. The long awaited meeting. When you saw him you stopped breathing. You stopped breathing because you finally accepted the fact that you had fallen for him. The day went on smoothly. You two talked about a lot of things. When it was time to go home you hugged him and it hurt you on so many levels. Regret hit you so hard in that very moment. When the night came you texted him, it was around 9pm. You told him because your friends encouraged you. You told him because you couldn’t handle it anymore. You HAD to tell him. So you did and you got the response you never ever expected to get. He told you he loved you too. But then what about his girlfriend? He explained that he was trying to move on and was simply using her. No he didn’t feel bad. And that’s how you two started dating.

You never knew you could love someone as much as you loved Kim Seokjin. He was your first love. You cherished him so much, you adored him. You knew every little thing about him. His habits, what he loved, what was his favorite color etc. You loved him to the moon and back. You just couldn’t shut up, your friends were tired from hearing his name 24/7. When is the right time to fall in love? Autumn. People fall in love in Autumn, late October. You should fall in love with your hands shaking from cold, your nose red, wearing dark colored clothes. You should fall in love when the weather matches our own souls. You should fall in love with your boots covered in mud and your hair wet from rain. You should love to the extent to not want to run when it’s raining. True love isn’t finding the perfect person, it’s when you love and accept them with their flaws. That’s how you loved Seokjin. You loved him with his every flaw.

On 17th December Seokjin kissed you. He was your first kiss. He kissed you twice that day and then told you that he was extremely nervous. Kim Seokjin never failed to embarrass you in public. He did stuff that 9 year olds do. But that’s why you love him so much. He’s and idiot, but he’s yours. I mean he was.

March 5, 1:25 AM

You broke up with Seokjin.

It wasn’t an easy decision, hell it wasn’t even close to that. You’ve been thinking about this for a month now. He became distant, it seemed like he didn’t care about you. You had talked to him about it previously and he gave you more attention but it lasted for a month only. That’s why you decided to set him free. Everyone told you to do it in person but you couldn’t. You would never be able to look into his dark brown eyes that you’ve fallen so hard for and break his heart. You couldn’t do it. So you decided to text him.

1:23AM

Seokjin: I miss you, are you free tomorrow?

Yeah you missed him too. It’s been a month since you saw him in person. Yes a month. You didn’t reply.

1:24AM

Seokjin:Y/NNNN

Seokjin: I love you

That’s when you broke. Your hands were shaking while you typed the reply

You:I love you too

You: So so much

You: But I think we should break up.

Seokjin: Okay.

Okay. Fucking okay. You didn’t get any sleep that night. In the morning your eyes were red from crying so much and you had to go to college. Hilarious, all of your friends believed that you were fine, even though they knew just how much you loved him. Maybe it was because you were wonderful actress. You never knew people could experience this kind of pain. It was unbearable. You were burning from the inside. It felt like someone set your soul on fire. You woke up at 5am every night screaming, because you always saw him in your dreams.

March 12

This day you were born. You hoped that he would text you, even a simple happy birthday would be enough. You wanted him back, no you needed him. You were waiting the whole day for his text. Checking your phone every passing minute. Then you got drunk with your best friend. You got wasted, absolutely waisted, and honestly if you didn’t you would have texted him yourself.

You always were sensitive and depressive person. 1 month after the break up your best friend moved to different country. The person who supported and loved you since you two were kids, the person who was next to you when no one else was, the person who taught you everything. You still remember the last hug. Both of you were crying, you two promised each other to never lose contact. You were completely destroyed. One of your friends told you that you looked like a dead man. That was true, you had died. There was nothing alive inside you anymore. Suicidal thoughts never left your mind. You would fall asleep imagining your death and wake up with wanting to just die. It was horrible you couldn’t even breath.

24th April

You saw Seokjin in your dream yet again. This time though it wasn’t another dream were you two made up, no this time the dream felt ridiculously real. You two were lying in your bed. You were staring at his angel like features and you were blubbering. You wanted to touch him, hug him one last time but you couldn’t touch him and that’s what broke you. You realized that you just couldn’t touch him anymore. He wasn’t yours.

August

Your father cheated on your mother. Now you could say without any hesitation that your life has turned into hell. You had to be there for your mom, you could bear to see her hurt. She talked to you so much, and told you to never let a man treat you any less than you deserve to be treated to never let any man break your heart. She didn’t know that Kim Seokjin has already smashed your heart in pieces, there’s nothing left to break. Long story short you lived in agony. You went up on the rooftop every night, thinking that if you just jumped everything would end. You wouldn’t feel pain anymore. You were always standing at the cliff, only one step and you would die, you would fulfill your long awaited dream. But you never did. You had to be there for your mother. You just couldn’t hurt her any more, because that’s what suicide is, your pain passes to the ones who loves you. No one knew about your depression, you never told anyone. You couldn’t, you would break.

March 5

One year passed since the break up. You seriously don’t know how you survived. Maybe because you love to suffer, maybe because you’re sure you deserve to suffer. You’re still in love with him, but you don’t feel so bad anymore because you’ve got used to the pain.

In the end you knew why this happened. Karma said “You’ll fall in love with someone who will not love you back for not loving someone who did.”

Kim Seokjin was sent to you to teach you a lesson. And you’ve learned it

#kim seokjin #seokjin #seokjin x reader #jin #jin x reader #kim seokjin x reader #seokjin angst #angst #bts #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts imagines #seokjin fanfic #seokjin imagines #kim seokjin angst #karma #kpop #kpop angst #kpop fanfic

[drizzitwrites]

(More Than) Six Sentence Sunday

Six sentences??? Not today!

I’m still in the midst of editing (which at this point is basically the word document equivalent of pushing food around on your plate and pretending that means you ate it), so here. Have something that’s ALREADY DONE and is posted as a draft scene to AO3 just waiting for me to finish up the rest of this mess so I can hit publish. 

I have until 23 February and the draft deletes itself. It’s my horrible way of making myself try to work to a deadline. I predict I will regret this decision.

Anyway... a while ago I posted the (short) opening scene to my fic, so today, have the very much longer second scene, which is a flashback and is basically Vincent acting as the mouthpiece for my emotions during a certain World Cup penalty shoot-out.

Sunday, 1 July 2018 — Nizhny Novgorod, Russia

Vincent stood nestled among the mass of Denmark supporters, every single one of them on their feet and cheering as the teams lined up for the penalty kicks that would decide their World Cup future.

Earlier, while the captains were negotiating the terms of the penalties, Christian had glanced in his direction. Vincent’s heart caught in a vice grip. He knew there was no way Christian could pick him out of the sea of faces staring down from the stands, but he’d flashed a wide, encouraging grin and held out his hands, fingers pressed together in the shape of a heart. He hadn’t bothered to make sure no one was watching. At that moment, he didn’t care if the entire world knew he loved Christian Eriksen. Vincent believed in him and would be his strength through anything, even if it all came crashing down around them.

‘If I could take this kick for you, I would do it without hesitation.’

Vincent thought the words in Christian’s direction as hard as he was able, but it wouldn’t matter, even if they did reach him somehow.

Christian’s whole country was looking to him, and although the weight of that could be crushing at the best of times, he would step up, head high, and lead his team forward, no matter the consequences.

As if on cue, Christian was the first to the penalty spot.

Vincent had watched him move through these motions more times than he could count--in stadiums across England, on the Enfield practice pitch, on screen as he lay in bed in a tiny Rotterdam flat long after his roommates were asleep.

Today, Vincent took every step along with him, his body perched at the edge of his chair, hands gripping its overheated plastic until his fingertips burned.

Christian placed the ball, stepped backwards, and stared at the goal.

The crowd settled into a muted apprehension, their tension radiating out to fill the entire stadium as they held their collective breaths.

Vincent whispered a silent plea to whichever gods might be listening to ‘please let him have this, please let it go in, please let them win.’

He counted the steps as Christian ran to the ball, his head up, eyes straight ahead.

Right foot back. Laces into the seam.

*Thwack* of Christian’s boot against the ball, echoing out into the arena.

Vincent’s whole body tensed at the sound—ready to spring forward, in triumph or in agony.

The keeper dove the correct direction, but Christian had struck it with pace, and Vincent willed it to move faster, to curl the slightest bit more, to rise upward and away into the net.

A resounding *clang* as the ball parried off the goalpost.

An instant later, the crowd exploded as one—agonised groans and screams of displeasure from all around Vincent; echoed by the delighted roar of the Croatian fans.

The ball rested in the grass a few metres from the goal, knocked to safety by the goalkeeper.

Christian turned away from the goal, his eyes downcast as he tugged the hem of his shirt up to cover his face.

Before Vincent’s mind caught up with his movements, he surged forward, struggling to push through the crowd and towards the pitch to—what, exactly? Leap over the wall and sprint to Christian’s side?

No. This wasn’t Vincent’s fight. He was powerless to help. All he could do was keep believing Christian’s miss wouldn’t matter and Denmark would still come out on top.

He whispered another prayer into the wind, begging anyone who might listen to let Schmeichel save this one. It wouldn’t take away the sting of Christian’s miss, but it would soothe the wounds a bit.

This time, the gods listened.

Schmeichel made the save.

Vincent leapt into the air, fist held high, and shouted along with the surrounding crowd. Everyone jumping and hugging and waving their arms. A shower spray of beer and water and whatever else anyone happened to be holding rained down to cover them all in a sticky film, but he barely noticed, attention focused only on Christian.

He now stood in line with his teammates, their arms linked or slung around shoulders or waists. All of them leaned together in solidarity as their captain, Simon Kjær, stepped forward and buried his kick past a diving Croatian goalkeeper.

The teams remained even through four rounds, Schmeichel stepping up and producing another massive save to hold his team level after another Denmark miss.

Nicolai Jørgensen stepped to the spot, the fifth player to take for Denmark.

Vincent had only met Jørgensen a few times in passing, but his Oranje teammates spoke highly of him. Two seasons ago, he’d led Feyenoord—Vincent’s very much former club—to their first Eredivisie title in fifteen years, and was lauded as the club’s hero and their best hope for the future. He’d been the league’s top scorer that year, an honour Vincent had once held. It hadn’t made much difference for Vincent, at least in terms of his goal scoring form in subsequent seasons, but hopefully Jørgensen wore the mantle differently.

Vincent needed to believe that, unlike himself, Jørgensen would score when it mattered.

In the stands, Vincent plastered his hands over his eyes. Heart slamming in his chest, he couldn’t watch, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even breathe.

Around him, the rustle of clothing and the squeak of shoes on damp concrete as everyone shifted and stirred.

Shrill blast of a whistle and a hollow *thud* as boot struck ball, followed by a roar from the crowd.

A beat, and as one, the Danish fans collapsed into their seats, heads back as they groaned or shouted curses up at the sky.

Vincent lowered his hands, slowly, already knowing the outcome, but needing to see it for himself.

On the field, the line of Danish players stood together, faces buried in their hands.

Jørgensen bent double, forehead pressed to the ground as he slammed his fists into the turf.

He’d missed.

The pressure was on Kasper Schmeichel to come up with one more amazing save.

Once more, Vincent willed the football gods to take notice. He wasn’t asking this for himself; he was asking it for Christian, who was everything good about football. Who deserved to leave Russia with a medal around his neck. Who worked harder than anyone Vincent had ever met and loved this game more than anything else in his entire life.

The crowd around Vincent settled into an uneasy hush, the low murmurs joined with the squeak of seat hinges and the swish of fabric to fill up the space into an unsettling, hanging silence that spread into every centimetre of space.

Vincent held in his breath, not daring to move until he heard the smack of gloves parrying the ball away to safety.

Schmeichel was an excellent goalkeeper, one of the strongest he’d faced, and he knew how to step up in pressure situations.

Instead, the swish of the net and an uproar from the fans and all eleven representatives of Landsholdet crashed, deflated and dejected, to the ground.

They’d poured themselves into a match for two hours, and it had all unravelled with one kick.

That was football, but it didn’t make things hurt any less.

Vincent understood. He’d experienced such defeat too many times in his life—standing on a pitch that a few moments ago had carried such potential but now held only disappointment. The crush of it mixing with the exhaustion you’d kept at bay through adrenaline and sheer force of will until you collapsed, spent and boneless, to the ground.

One by one, the Danish players climbed to their feet, led by Kjær, who had managed to drag himself out of his emotions long enough to get up, walk to each of his teammates, and offer them a hand. He gathered them together—Jørgensen and Schmeichel first, then Christian—wrapping each of them into enormous hugs.

Christian, when he’d found his feet, wiped once at the corners of his eyes with the collar of his shirt, then joined Kjær in rounding up their teammates.

All around Vincent, the supporters, many still with tears in their eyes and anguish in their voices, sang down at their beloved team, who had come so far and had deserved to go farther. Vincent wanted to lend his voice to the chorus, but although the melody was familiar, he couldn’t understand the words.

He might be clad in the red and white of Denmark, wrapped up in the colours of the man he loved with all his heart, but he still wasn’t one of them.

Instead, he waved a hand and let out a whistle of encouragement.

Vincent lingered there, staring down at the scene playing out before him—Danish players slowly gathering together and lining up to offer their applause and thanks to the huddle of supporters, Croatian team doing the same, albeit with a different sort of tears wetting the corners of their eyes.

It wasn’t until the pitch was cleared and the stands began to empty that Vincent turned, allowing the stadium stewards to usher him back into the masses. He wanted nothing more than to find Christian, to beg and scream and generally make a scene until someone let him down into the tunnels beneath the stadium so he could wrap Christian up in his love and make him believe that everything would be okay. Instead, he flowed along with the crowd once more, finding his way into a taxi and back to his hotel.

When he crashed into his bed an hour later, damp and sticky and exhausted, he grabbed his phone and sent off a string of messages to Christian—routine commiserations and the offer of a listening ear. Vincent knew the way of these things. He’d give comfort and love, because it was all he could do. Whenever Christian was ready to talk, Vincent would lend support.

‘I’m proud of you.’ ‘Call me if you need. Any time.’

He hesitated a moment, then banged out a follow-up message.

‘I love you. Always.’ ‘Remember. Whatever happens, we will get through it together.’

Christian hadn’t returned his messages until well past two in the morning; a straightforward ‘Thanks for being there. Sorry we didn’t win.’

Vincent had taken a moment to respond, despite the hour. He’d been lying awake in his own bed, unable to sleep despite his bone deep weariness and the lead weights over his eyelids.

‘I will see you when you get home.’

He’d heard nothing from Christian since.

#writing #six sentence sunday #fic excerpt #football rpf #christian eriksen x vincent janssen #drizzit writes #thoughts on writing and life

[iamperfectlyimperfect]

Sam...

Nov 20th:  I was doing the normal online dating thing...  I hit a wall... got tired of the way guys were talking to me. I changed my mind set. I am only going to swipe guys that I feel have FULL potential! I swiped one person that night. 

Four days later I was just about to delete the apps because I couldn't stand it any more and I matched with the one guy I had swiped in 4 days you know the one with the cute dimples. The moment we matched I told him I was deleting my dating profile and he should snap me. The other guys I was talking to.... I stopped. There was no one I wanted to invest my time in.

Nov 27th He doesn't text a lot so it's been pretty slow. I am loving getting to know as much about him as I can. His dimples! Omg his dimples. I'm in trouble. I'm definitely attracted to him. He has a positive energy about him. He is insightful. So far a good listener and engages in conversation. Even says supportive things. He is respectful of me. Respectful in the way he talks to me. I love the fact that he understands working in yourself. We can have real conversation about growth and challenges. Just supporting one another keep positive and keep going.

Nov 28th We had a "virtual date" kind of... I was watching the fight with Todd. I live streamed the Tyson fight so sam could watch it. Because he couldn't get it at home.. But honestly it made my night. To spend that time with him. Laughing together from miles apart. His smile makes me smile and I love it. Ugh I really like his energy. Not many people work as much as I do. but It could be fun! 

** I am doing this whole manifesting thing so here goes it lol!  “He is going to be the one and I never have to be broken hearted ever again. Wish me luck 🙏 😅** 

He said we could get together on Friday!

Well... It’s Friday the 4th! I am so excited. Like the tension between us is pretty intense. I don’t normally hook up really quick only but holy shit. I want him! I don't know I guess we will see what the night brings. I just want to know more about him. He is really busy so I don’t know a lot! but I want to know more! 

Later Friday night! well umm... I'm either getting stood up or he is stuck at work. We were suppose to connect at 7. Its now 8:30 and I am sitting here starting to feel shitty.... I am all dressed up, looking cute and he has not text. I don't want to be the 1st one to text but I could go out to a friends if I found out right now we are not getting together. I will wait a little while... 

Okay, it’s 9:30 I am texting. 

He is not standing me up on purpose he is stuck at work. It takes 30 seconds to say that. So that respect would have been nice to know 2 hours ago...  I'm sad... really bummed actually.  He asked for a rain check for Monday. Monday can’t come soon enough!  I thoroughly enjoyed our conversation after work. I don't think he will be standing me up again any time soon... :) 

Saturday the 5th This smile never goes away. I have not even met him yet. But I cant get him out of my head. How do I miss someone I have not met. I want to kiss him. I want him to kiss me. 10 minutes video calls with him make my heart melt. I can't wait to met him.

Monday might just come sooner then I thought! He asked If I wanted to come hang out around 3. Umm YES! 

It was everything I wanted and more. He is just as adorable as in his pictures. I could stare at him for hours. Snuggling in his arms was the only place I wanted to be. ugh the way he kissed me and looked at me!*everything else was pretty amazing too*

I asked when do I get to see you again. He said he would look at his days off and get back to me. I didn't want to ask again. so I didn't... 3 days went by... Then 4 & 5 days. His texts got fewer and fewer. It was a crazy day at work! Even if It was just a night after work snuggled on the couch I would be fine with that. I had such a rewarding week and I just wanted to share my days with someone but he never called he never asked.  Some nights he wouldn't even text when he got home from work. It takes 2.5 seconds to text good morning. And 5 seconds to send any text out of 86000 seconds in a day. 

By Wednesdays I knew this was not going anywhere. It was 11 he has not text or called but he was off work. so I tired to video call him. I got an error that he was on another video call. Instantly my heart sank and I decided it was time for bed. 

Thursdays even though I knew what was going on, I didn't want to believe it. So I went about the day like I normally do. giving him text updates along the way. So badly just wanting anyone to give a shit about my day. I just want someone to share life with. Towards the end of the day I changed gears over to I want you texts. Different ways to put a smile on his face. He never texts back so that was at no surprise. And some times he get off around midnight so I sat checking my phone every 5 minutes... by 12:30 I had accepted he didn't care. by 1:30 I was hurt because he was online. So I text a simple “you suck” I was up all night thinking of what to say or how to say it. telling him how fucked up it is not not text back. like what a douche bag thing to do. If you are not interested then just say it. why waste my time. why lead me on. I made excuses for him, being understanding of his routine. Being understanding of the fact he works so much. Just no. 

I woke up to a “mernin” text for the 1st time all week... Here we go. Go ahead and tell me the things you should have said 3 days ago when you made up your mind that I was not what you were looking for. Tell me it’s you and not me. Tell me that you are you and not willing to change. You know the worst thing about recovering addicts, is that they believe their own bullshit and they think you are stupid as fuck. I grew up in the rooms. My mom is an addict. My dad is a recovering addict of 23 years before he died.  I am 100% in support of recovery, Routine and you time. Means I would have a routine and me time. I am even more in support of how much you work. Because there is no one that works as much as me. That's what I liked the most. Positive, encouragement to just "do better, be better." Is my life right now.

You could have not said anything at all today. because your silence last night was enough! All you said is exactly what I already knew. It’s not that you wont change. It’s that I’m not enough to make you want to change and you are already looking for the next best thing. It’s ok. I'm a big girl I am use to it. I’m Fine. My dad said it best “I can pick an addict out of a crowd and that is who I am going to fall in love with.”

Do you want me to accept this or call you out on your bullshit. Either way it doesn't matter to me. I mean I could choose to be nice just so I can still fuck you for a while. ** After thought, No if you will please block my number. If I call... don't answer. Shouldn't be there hard for you. As hard as I love, is the same as I hurt.

He told me that i needed to chill... that this is the drama he was talking about yet its been 3 days of him saying he was gonna call and we would talk about this. How understanding do you think a girl can be when she is confused and disrespected. Hurt and feeling like garbage. When if you would just tell her that your not interested the horrible feeling would go away and she could start to move on. But your gonna tell me "I'm all over the place rn" because your a douchebag that won't give me the respect of a 10 minute phone call to stop my mind from racing. Thank you for the emotional roller coaster, treating me like I never mattered to begin with, Making me feel worthless, but I do appreciate you showing me now instead of later. To begging with would have been better. ps. FUCK YOU MY HEART WAS IN THE RIGHT PLACE MY INTENTION WERE PURE AND ITS YOUR LOSS NOT MINE!