#i have a vague idea of what i want it to look like but i need to sit down and sketch it to actually figure it out

[reidmotif]

Check Your Window (He's At Your Window)

Summary: Reader discovers her window faces into the apartment of her very attractive building neighbor, Spencer. She's willing to do anything for his attention. He's willing to reward her for her efforts.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: voyeurism, lingerie, masturbation, slight dubcon (but for like 5 seconds i swear), nipple play, penetrative sex, apartment break-in.

Word Count: 3.9 k

Masterlist

It’s natural to believe you’re safe in your place of residency. You’re given locks, blinds, a security gate- all measures designed to invoke a false illusion of privacy. Of course, there are defects that no one can plan for that have the ability to shatter this illusion. 

Mine happened to be a badly placed window. 

Finding this apartment felt akin to love at first sight. It sounds dramatic, but I’m serious. Do you know how horrific real estate is these days? But when my eyes came upon piano oak flooring, the soft light of the day streaming onto a marble island, and of course, an in-home washer/dryer system, I was sold. 

Due to my inherent awkwardness around meeting strangers,  and lack of overt charm, I’d never been one to initiate introductions with my neighbors. I moved in quietly, packing up my life into neat little boxes and dispersing them throughout the emptiness of my new space. It was only then, when I realized a strangely placed window that seemed to fall exactly where I’d wanted my bed to be. 

And while examining my outlandish situation, I saw him. 

I didn’t want to assume he’d been watching me. I wasn’t paranoid like that. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to give off the aura of, for lack of better words, a creep,  so the quick aversion of my eyes from his gaze felt instinctual. Curiosity won over me a millisecond later, though, and against my better judgment, I quietly peered into the window again, wondering if the man in the glass had slipped away, or had looked away from where our eyes met last. 

What I hadn’t anticipated, however, was to be met with the unflinching stare of his eyes, far from concerned with how he came off, holding his gaze with an almost disconcerting and defiant presence. 

He gave me a subtle nod, before walking away, disappearing from view. I was left feeling.. unsettled. But also strangely thrilled. There was a certain peculiarity in knowing you were susceptible to an audience at any given moment. I vaguely recalled social facilitation as a possible explanation as to why the concept roused me the way it did, but whatever it was, I didn’t feel compelled to attach curtains or any kind of barrier to avoid the phenomenon. 

While my thoughts occasionally drifted to the man, I didn’t actually know anything about him. He lived in the building beside mine, so we didn’t even share so much as a landlord. I truly never expected to gain any insight on him besides the location of his domicile in relation to mine, and the thought didn’t bother me by any means.  I was completely fine with letting our connection stay as severed as it was. 

Fate, on the other hand, had other ideas. 

I found myself a few weeks later, struggling with an overstuffed grocery bag in front of my building, and in a terrible game of mismanaged weight and the flimsiness of grocery-store plastic, my bag gave way, scattering the contents of it across the ground. Further misfortune plagued me, as the bag in question had been holding a good pound of lemons, that rolled quite far from where I’d been standing. I immediately dropped to the ground, trying to gather up the ones by my feet in my arms, and noticed a presence nearby doing the same and bringing the runaway citrus to me. I was thankful, and was ready to express my gratitude to the helpful samaritan, until I saw a flash of recognition collectively pass over our faces as we made eye contact. 

Him. The man in the window. 

“You dropped these.” He says, his voice a little quieter than I’d expected from him, and I nod. 

“Yeah, no. It’s these bags. Not really equipped to hold a pound of lemons.” I say, trying to gather the rest to my chest, our eyes still trained on the other. 

“Can I ask why a pound of lemons?” He asks, a sort of playful lilt in his voice. 

“Lemonade.” I say, almost immediately. 

There’s a bit of confusion that flashes over his face. “Are you making a joke?” He replies, furrowing his brows a bit. 

I realize that my response might’ve come off as too deadpan, and I shake my head to correct his misconception. “Oh, no. I’m serious.” I say, offering a grin.  “I love lemonade. There’s a work party I’m attending, and I offered to make some for the office. Hence, the lemons.” I continued, gesturing at the aforementioned fruit, and feeling myself ramble slightly, but it didn’t seem to offend the recipient. 

“That.. is a surprisingly normal response, given the situation.” The man says, nodding. “I love lemonade too.” He adds. 

There’s a bit of silence as we both picked up lemons together, the man more focused than I on the task. I took the oppurtuinity within the lull of our conversation to truly examine the man, finally no longer separated by a pane of glass, and my observations all seemed to point towards one glaringly obvious conclusion. 

The man in the window was hot.

He appeared older than me, yet his age did nothing to diminish the beauty of his features. His doe-like eyes seemed to shine with the same curiosity that I felt towards him. His hair was a bit longer than I’d expect from a man his age, but it suited him. The smooth slope of his nose had a certain charm to it, and his cheekbones were impossibly sharp. I wanted to run my thumb over the bone, and kiss him senseless until we could barely remember our own names. 

“I’m (Y/N). You’re free to come over.” I say, a little more rushed than I’d wanted to. “For the lemonade, of course.” I add, trying to not drop the ball when it came to inviting this gorgeous man over to my apartment. 

“Spencer.” He replies, offering his name to me. “I'll keep it in mind.” He says, smoothly. He flashes me a kind smile as he places the last of the lemons into my other bags or directly into my hands. 

I’d hoped “I’ll keep it in mind” meant “within the next few days or so” but waiting seemed futile after a certain amount of time had passed. He never came, and I even stopped seeing him as often through the window in passing. In hindsight, it was rather naive to genuinely expect a near-stranger to come to my apartment, on account of an invitation that could have been interpreted as a thinly-veiled proposition.

It felt a bit dull, his lack of interest. I’d had a taste of his attention, and for some reason, I was hooked. It was irrational, and illogical, but I couldn’t help the desire I felt simply at the thought of this man. And in a mixture of perversion, desperation and pure brainlessness, I tried to use the one thing that had rarely failed me in the past. Sex. 

I reasoned by telling myself it wasn’t like it was guaranteed he’d see me. 

And it wasn’t as if I was standing directly by the window, exposing myself for his pleasure, and his pleasure only. So hey, if he saw my figure adorned in lacy lingerie in passing, and felt compelled to act on that in any way he chose, well. No harm, no foul, right? 

So that’s exactly what I did. To my benefit, it was one of the hottest summers D.C had ever had, so the lack of clothing worked in my favor.  I’d always felt quite confident in my own skin, so lounging around in bras, panties, barely-there cover-ups around my apartment didn’t strike me as the oddest thing to do.  I felt comfortable, and in turn, possibly seducing the man in the window. Win-win. 

And “win” I did, in some way at least, because I noticed the arrival of lingerie correlated in a sudden uptick in the times I’d see Spencer taking a longer-than-normal glimpse into my apartment. It was fucking exhilirating, to have his regard in this strange, taboo way. I’d find myself imagining him, surrounded by a sea of sheets and pillows slowly stroking his cock to the images of my scantily-clad body. I had no real way of verifying if this was the actual case, but the fantasy was enough to bring heat to my cheeks and an ache in my panties. 

It started to drive me a little crazy, however, when after a week of this,  literally no tangible reward came from the fruits of my labor. While I’d enjoyed his eyes on my form, that seemed to be all he was capable of. He seemed completely at ease with just watching (to my utter dismay) and it seemed the action I wanted him to take was sorely out of reach. 

Reflecting on his shy, soft demeanor from the one time we’d spoken, I concluded that he might not be as forward as I am. It made sense; he never seemed to have visitors in his apartment and, seeming to be in his 40s without a stable partner, he probably wasn't accustomed to a woman's attention in this way. He didn’t exactly exude “womanizer” anyway from what I knew about him, and I began to connect his lack of initiative to these points.

 It didn't deter me from continuing my attempts though. At best, I was at least providing a lonely middle-aged man some sorely needed imagery in the meantime. I’d always been a giver, anyhow. 

It’s reasonable to assume there’d be some payoff down the road, right? 

Wrong. I continued to wear increasingly revealing lingerie, going as far as just walking around naked once in a while. Nothing. I was a fucking saint at this point for continuing this for him.

It didn’t help that my mind insisted on taunting me with what I couldn’t have, as a moment of spare time in my day would constantly be preoccupied with thoughts of him in my bed, pinning my hands down and kissing up and down my neck. I’d imagine him pounding into me, or bouncing up and down on his cock, bringing us both to the throes of pleasure. I couldn’t halt the depravity of my thoughts, no matter how hard I tried.

What I also couldn’t stop, was the slow descent of my fingers into my panties one night, finding a delectable mess within them, signifying my deep arousal associated with the man. It’d been a long few weeks,  the smell of summer and heat encasing my apartment, and a profound craving I couldn’t resist. I breathed out a sigh of relief as I began rubbing the small nub, alternating between up and down motions, and then a slow, circular rub. Little moans poured out my lips, before I quickly shed my panties entirely, watching a string of arousal stuck to them, kicking them haphazardly to the side, wanting more access to my clit. 

My eyes naturally closed as I found myself lazing towards the precipice of release. Soft sighs and moans filled my apartment as I let my fingers rub a bit more desperately. I could see flashes of him again behind my eyes, his hand on me, instead of my own,  mirroring the actions I was performing. A gasp of his name came tumbling out of me as the image became clearer and clear, my eyes opening almost frantically as I felt myself closer and closer. 

That’s when I got the strangest sensation, and felt a pair of eyes on me. I jolted my head to the left, and saw Spencer, who was clearly watching at this point. His gaze was entirely trained on me, and similar to the first time he saw me, our eye contact didn’t deter him from his observation. 

I refused to let it either, and kept my gaze trained on him. I was entirely exposed. I wouldn’t have been able to stop my actions if I’d had a gun to my head. It just felt too fucking good. A moment more of eye contact from him, and I felt the familiar clench and release from my body, waves of pleasure wracking my body. I let out another moan, but not once did my eyes leave his, as my back arched against my sheets, a silent plea on my part being conveyed.  

Come here. What could you possibly be waiting for? 

I watched him disappear from the window as I finished, both literally and figuratively, and panted, wondering if finally, finally, my prayers and fervent supplications would be answered. 

After about 30 minutes, my anticipation was replaced with severe disappointment when I realized even after then, he wasn’t coming. I could no longer see him in the window, and at this point it seemed a little silly and pathetic to continue expecting him to come. 

Maybe he was just entirely sexually inadept. That could be a possibility, right? How much more explicit could I get than this? I’d masturbated in front of him! Albeit, through a window, but masturbation regardless! Was this seriously all he was willing to do? 

I roll my eyes at the thought. I came to accept that maybe, truly, there was nothing I could do to get this man to fuck me the way I deserved. Fine.

As I closed my eyes to get some necessary rest after my endeavors, I made up my mind that I’d buy curtains tomorrow. Fuck Spencer Reid, and his absolute inability to take any action in his goddamn life. Fuck this apartment. Fuck everything. 

Was I dramatic? Yes. Was I still right? Also yes. 

Despite the sour mood I’d taken to bed with me that evening, my dreams were anything but. The idea of Spencer Reid holding me down, whispering sweet and dirty nothings alike were all still incredibly tantalizing to my subconscious. I could hear his voice in my ear, soft pink lips brushing against the shell of my ear, a deep pressure imprinted onto my body, keeping me in my bed. 

“Wake up, sweetheart.” He murmured, beckoning me out of the peaceful cocoon of sleep. 

I felt a few more wet and warm kisses trailing up and down my neck, the sweetest sensation of pleasure being granted to me with every touch he gave. 

“Need you to wake up, pretty girl.” He mumbles. “You really are so pretty up close.” His voice is slightly patronizing, and it does nothing to help the excitation that was steadily growing inside of me. 

Suddenly, I became incredibly aware that the stimuli I was receiving didn’t appear to be a byproduct of my psyche, but rather- he was here? My eyes opened slowly to realize I wasn’t at all mistaken, the soft brush of his brown hair against my neck slightly tickling me as I came to. 

“Atta girl.” He mumbles, his lips still mapping out every inch of my skin. Out of pure instinct, a slightly alarmed moan came from me, still unsure if I was dreaming or not. Surely I had to be dreaming. I had to be, because how the fuck did Spencer Reid get into my apartment? Into my bed? 

“You want this, yeah?” He murmurs, taking a second to gaze down at me. I realized he’d been on top of me this whole time, and the pressure I’d felt in my dream was his skin on mine, trapping me in between his strong chest and the soft sheets adorning my mattress. “I know you do. Saw your little show and everything.” He breathes out, desperately, almost. 

I know I should’ve thought about it. Perhaps I should’ve pondered on the idea of letting a man who’d just broken into my apartment full access to my body as he pleased, but there was no time. He was here, and how could I have ever said no to that? 

There’s an equally as desperate and breathy, “yes” that escapes my lips, and before I can finish saying the word, he dives down, meeting my lips with his, absolutely devouring me with no hesitation whatsoever.  If I'd thought his previous ministrations were delightful, this was absolutely heavenly. 

I moan softly into his mouth, wanting to tangle my hands in his hair, or latch them onto his shoulders and sink my nails deep into the skin that resided there- anything to show even a semblance of control in this situation, but it seemed Spencer had already thought of that, pinning my hands against the mattress so tightly, I couldn’t have moved if I’d exerted every last bit of strength into it. 

“God, the first time- first time I saw you.” He mumbles in between kisses. “With those lemons. I knew they’d fall. Saw you through the window across the street and practically ran. Wanted to meet you so badly.” 

A small whimper escapes me, and I can’t help but get wetter at the thought. I knew he’d been watching me through the window, but the idea that I captured his attention, outside of my apartment, in the most mundane of situations only served to heighten the arousal I felt, my thighs rubbing together for any kind of relief. 

He notices the movement and grins, planting one last kiss on my lips before slipping down. His hands cup the backs of my knees, forcing me to spread my previously shut legs. 

“You had the prettiest voice.” He breathes out, examining my glistening heat. “Fuck. Couldn’t stop thinking about how you’d sound, screaming my name.” He leans forward, planting a chaste kiss on my clit that caused an incredibly breathtaking jolt through my body. 

“Spencer-” I moan, my head rolling back as I felt it, my back arching slightly. 

“Yeah, just like that.” He mumbles, clearly pleased. “Good girl.” 

His hands traveled upward from where he’d been situated between my legs and squeezed my breast blindly. It didn’t feel like it was for my pleasure, but rather that he was desperate to touch anywhere he possibly could. Anyone else, and I might’ve been annoyed with the incessant touching, but with him? 

 It was so fucking hot. 

“That goddamned lingerie.” He mumbles. “The things I wanted to do to you. Did you know that?” 

I looked at him through hooded lids, unsure what he meant, and he took my diversion of attention to quickly tweak one of my nipples, eliciting another surprised moan from my mouth. 

“I’m so much stronger than this, usually.” His large hands continue to squeeze and grope at my breasts. “But you.” He whispers, a hint of a growl making its way into his tone. “Had to push the limits. Practically begging me to come here and take you.” 

I let out a gasp as I felt his hands trail down my stomach, the cool touch of his fingertips causing the muscles to tense up there. 

“I’m gonna do it.” He whispers, his face only illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the open window, but I could still see the dangerous glint in his eye, thrilling me even further. “Fuck you exactly how you want it.” 

Before I’m able to react to the sentiment, he’s grabbing onto my hips and turning me over, a yelp drawn out from me. 

“Hands and knees.” He says, in an authoritative tone that doesn’t leave any room for any disagreement. I comply quickly, much to his elation. 

“You’re so good for me, yeah? Gonna ruin you. Just how you want.” 

There’s a hint in condescension in his tone, like he’s making fun of me for wanting to be fucked this badly, but I can barely pay any mind about it, especially when I feel his cock slotting itself betweet my folds, separated only by his boxers, a shaky moan coming from Spencer. 

I can feel his hands leaving my hips and the slight lean away as he quickly shucks off the fabric, and within the next second, he’s pushing into me, providing me with a stretch and fulfillment that was so much better than I could’ve ever imagined. It doesn’t take him long to set a fast pace, the sound of our skin slapping and the smell of sex permeating the room. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He moans out, and I let out similar noises in tandem. 

I can barely find it in me to stay coherent. I want to scream how good he feels, how big his cock feels in me, how close I was- but instead the only thing I could manage was the borderline scream of his name and loud sobs of pleasure, fully at the mercy of the man behind me. I can feel the way I clamp down on him, absolutely imploring him for as much as he could give me. 

“Gonna come for me, yeah?” He says, feeling the clench of my walls on his cock.  “Come on, pretty girl. Give me what I want.” He murmurs lowly, leaning down closer to my ear. His hand shoots out a moment later, beginning to rub my clit, similar to how I had been doing a few hours earlier as he watched me, and the memory and sensation of it is enough to hurl me off the edge, my walls tightening around his cock as waves of pleasure wracked through my body.

It seemed that was enough for him as well. I felt his hips still, and a sudden warmth at my deepest point. He let out a groan of relief as he thrusted once, twice more, and then pulled out, his cum slipping down my thighs as he plopped down next to me. I’d already collapsed the second he pulled out, panting as I came down from the orgasm. 

“You good?” He mumbles, wearily, and I can feel him moving aside my hair to kiss at my shoulder. 

“Mhm.” I murmur back, a small sigh of relief escaping me. There’s a beat of silence, before he breaks it.

“Tomorrow.” He murmurs. “Wanna go out with me?” 

I raise an eyebrow, turning at him with a playful expression- as playful as I could get in this state anyway. “Where to?” 

“Target.” He mumbles, still stroking my back lazily, his eyes shining with something less intense than lust now, but still enough to turn my stomach over with butterflies.

“Target?” I say, squinting my eyes. “Why Target?” 

“We’re buying you some curtains.” He says, a small grin appearing on his face. “And maybe a stronger lock.” 

I giggle at that, rolling my eyes a bit.  “But then you don’t get to see me anymore. I kind of liked what we had going on.” 

“I did too.” He whispers, his tone slightly vulnerable now. “But I like this a lot more.” 

A small smile plasters itself to my face as I nod.

 “Me too.” I whisper back, biting my lip. 

A mutual understanding passed through the both of us as we smiled at each other in the dark, and for a split second, I imagined myself possibly loving this more someday. 

All in good time. Right now, I was going to sleep, protected by his soft, strong arms. That was enough for now. We’d finally gotten what we wanted. 

woah!! trying to finally get back into writing semi regularly i see. i hope this was enjoyable. this is one of those pieces i'm kind of unsure about, so please, please interact if you liked it! likes, comments, reblogs, anything! or let me know if you didn't! i live for feedback of any kind. thank you for reading anyhow, i am very grateful for it <3

also lol if it wasn’t obvious i listened to “she” for fic inspo lol. linked below

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[sunrizef1]

What Happens in Vegas pt 14

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, verbal abuse

Word Count: 1.6k

Authors Note: No Charles content in this one but important nonetheless

Summary: Logan and Y/N talk, y/n finally reveals who’s been texting her

Masterlist

“Have I ever told you about my family?”

Logan doesn’t reply for a moment, annoyance still resting under his deadpan expression. You’re both sat on the floor of his drivers room, backs resting against the wall behind you, coffee from the Williams hospitality sitting in foam cups getting cold as they sit, untouched. Champagne dries on the top of your skin, casting a sticky residue onto your face and the ends of your hair.

Your win was now forgotten, the trophy having been left in your room to be picked up by a random Porsche employee who’d eventually get it back to you. Logan’s DNF was also now forgotten, although it did leave a lasting effect on his mood, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed tightly.

“No, but I know your dad.”

You tilt your head, pulling the inside of your cheek between your teeth as you respond, “Well, you know him now.”

Logan doesn’t respond, not in the mood to play into your vagueness. He’d invited you here to explain. He knew you’d clarify eventually, whether he asked you to or not.

“It’s a complicated story,” you pause, bile rising to your throat at the notion of explaining your childhood and forcing you to swallow it back down, “You don’t have to say anything.”

Logan hums, obviously not planning on speaking much anyway. Both of you stare off toward the floor in front of you, unspoken words hanging in the air around you.

“I was born in France, not sure if you knew that,” you start after a moment, hesitance laced in your words, “Everyone thinks I was born in Texas but my mom would’ve rather died than let that happen.”

“You probably know my mom, Amelie Laurent, French, vogues favorite person and I guess she’s a pretty famous model,” Logan pauses for a second, no doubt not aware of who your mom was, before he nods in recognition of the name.

“When my parents had me, they were still in love, I think,” you furrow your eyebrows as the words leave your mouth, “Um, but after they had me, I guess they got really busy with their jobs and stuff so they sent me to live with my grandparents in Texas for a while.”

“Didn’t really see them much growing up. My dad took me to the paddock a lot though, I got to hang out with everyone at McLaren, which was nice.”

“But he was busy so I usually got stuck with Kimi and then eventually Lewis, when he joined, which is where the uncle Lew thing comes from. Sometimes I felt like McLaren and Mercedes raised me more than my dad did,” the end of your statement comes out in a whisper, this being the first time you’d voiced the idea.

Logan glances over as your face sours, his hand coming out to hand you your, now cold, coffee. You grasp it from him and take a sip, sliding it back down to the ground after.

“When I was 8 my parents had my brother, which I think was the final straw. They got a divorce right after and my dad moved me to England. My brother stayed in France with our mom,” you wince.

“I started karting, my grandma moved to England to take me around to races when my dad couldn’t. Despite my own… objections, I spent my summers at my moms house with her and my brother.”

You pause, stomach turning as you let out a shaky breath, memories flooding back. Logan shows his first emotion of the night, glancing over to check you're not going to die. When he confirms you're, in fact, breathing, he looks back to the floor.

“I don't think she wanted kids. Maybe she did. At one point. But I think, after the divorce, all I did was remind her of my dad, a man she hated more than anything. She made it obvious with the way she treated me, as well. Well actually, the way she treated both me and my brother.”

“She never wanted me in karting, made it clear. Only reminded her of my dad again, made me do ballet in the summers. Thought it was more proper, or whatever. Didn't let us speak English at her house either, we were only allowed French, took Juli forever to learn English correctly, he'd only grown up with her.”

“Juli?” Logan asks, adding his first bit of input since you'd started talking.

“Brother,” you mumble into your knees as you pull them into your chest, resting your tired face against them. Logan nods.

“Um, she yelled a lot, I guess. A lot of stuff about our futures and how we'd always be failures if we went through with racing and football, she didn't like that Julian only wanted to play football, either.”

“Dad didn’t know, I didn’t tell him,” you mumble, “I didn’t think there was that much wrong with it until I left.”

“She just sucked, man,” you groan, eyes shutting tight as your head falls back against the wall, “I hated her so much! Because I was winning, I was getting these championships and getting these trophies and I thought she’d finally accept that I wanted to kart but the only thing she’d tell me was that I’d never get anywhere!”

You take a deep breath, holding back the faint tears in your eyes.

“But yeah, that's the worst of it, really. Completely cut contact at 15. Begged my grandparents to let me spend summers with them. They let me.”

“It just stuck with me for a while, you know? The shit my mom would say. A lot of crap about how I was failing myself with racing or how I would never have a future if I continued down that path. Said a lot of things about how I'd always find a way to lose and that it would never be worth it if I wasn't the best. Everytime I lost a race, she would find a way to use it against me, proof that I shouldn't be racing.”

“I did block her though, couldn’t stand the constant texts when I lost. Probably wasn’t even very easy to find those results, they weren’t exactly mainstream,” you furrow your eyebrows, confusion passing over your face momentarily, “Anyway, three years later, I’m 18. I move out and sign an f3 contract. My dad got super busy with Lewis’s championships and Mercedes. Kimi was actually the first to congratulate me.”

“I haven't spoken to my mom or my brother in, what? 8 years? I've mostly forgotten them by now, paris a thing of the past,” you trail off, the air of Logan’s room suddenly feeling a lot colder.

“All this to say, um-“ you rush out, shaking your head quickly.

You finally look over toward Logan, moving your body to face his, “She texted me, in Australia. Told me that the crash was all she'd ever expected from me, anyway. She's been calling ever since.”

Logan turns his head, concern written on his face.

“I think I'd forgotten about everything she said since it's been so long. But that text kind of brought it all back. It's been stuck in my mind for every single race. That's the reason I’ve been so unfocused lately. I don’t even know how she got my number, she was blocked on my old number and then I just got a new one, I don’t know how she could’ve got it.”

Logan, having dropped his previous spite, quirks his head, “What about yesterday?”

You swallow thickly, “Julian texted me. She kicked him out. He’s staying with a teammate. He’s sixteen, Lo. He’s still a kid.”

You fall back against the wall with a thump, your hands coming up to cover your eyes, “He’s still in France, still training with PSG. He’s asked to talk to me before Monaco.”

“Monaco?”

You nod solemnly, “My least favorite race, too close to my mom. I was so relieved when they took France off the calendar, you know? I’m pretty sure that, until recently, she didn’t know I was even in F1. She’s sworn off any media that isn’t French and I chose to race under dads last name. Makes me think someone told her I was.”

Logan hums, trying to process all the information you’d just told him. Eventually, he pats you heavily on the back, groaning as he stands up. You look up as he reaches a hand down to you, questions laying in your gaze.

Logan pushes his hand further down toward you, “Seems like a good enough reason to go out, celebrate your win. We can talk heavy solutions in the morning. For now, you are a race winner. A race winner who needs to get her mind off her fucked up family.”

You grin at his words, grasping his outstretched hand and letting him pull you up, “You reacted better than Arthur did. Think he was about to throw up with me.”

Logan pauses, his face screwing up with faux betrayal, “You told Arthur before me?”

You roll your eyes, “I was having a panic attack on the floor of the bathroom, talking about it was the only thing to get me out of it.”

Logan smiles softly at your response, slinging an arm over your shoulder as you two walk out of his room, “Let’s go, winner. Who do you think the most famous person you can get to celebrate with you tonight is?”

You take a moment to think about your response, “I think I saw Kendall Jenner, I’m sure I’ll probably see her at some point.”

Logan hums, looking out ahead of both of you, “You know I’ve seen the pictures of you two in Miami last year? You were so far gone.”

You laugh, hitting him in the ribs, “Shut up. We should leave soon, Porsche has probably already started partying without us.”

Logan laughs, patting your shoulder lightly as you both go to leave the Miami paddock.

———————————————

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 smau #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x fem!driver #charles leclerc x fem!driver!reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fanfic

[meanbossart]

i know Drow is kind of known around here for being Shirtless, but what clothes does he like to wear? What style does he like? What does he hate wearing?

The stuff I have drawn him in so far hopefully gives a pretty good idea of the man's range. He suffers from a particular type of vanity where, while he doesn't care for looking fancy or particularly put together, he does care about showing off his strong build and other - uh - assets. The recurrence of tight pants and open shirts are no accident, that's a choice on his part.

And he does run hot, to be fair, so anything to avoid feeling stuffy.

When it comes to every day clothes, silhouette and comfort aside he doesn't care much for the details. He has more to say about armor craft and special-made itens, but not much besides for appreciating when a design pleases him. Contrary to popular belief he's perfectly capable of cleaning up and looking nice LOL Astarion wouldn't need to dress him if there was to be a special occasion or anything like that (very much to his surprise, I'm sure).

Basically, he has the mind (or, you could say, the vague recollection) of being someone who cares about such things, and hence knows how to present himself nicely when necessary. He just doesn't care to 90% of the time. And when he does, it's usually because he just felt like it that day or doesn't want to embarrass Shadowheart or Astarion by being an eye-sore at an event.

As for what he dislikes - basically anything that's impractical or a burden to wear. If he can't get it on or off under 2 minutes he doesn't want it (armor being an exception, obviously.)

#ask #du drow

[igotanidea]

The perfect story: Dick Grayson x reader

requested by @fullbelieverheart (thank you! <#)

summary: Dick waking up alone for the third time this week because his beloved girlfriend/fiancee is away promoting her book (she's a successful writer) and he can't accompany her because of his duties as vigilante.

warnings: LIGHT SMUT, MDNI.

***

Dick groaned in his sleep and rolled on the side, instinctively reaching out to Y/N’s side of the bed. Though Instead of meeting with her soft warm flesh, that would ground him in reality, helping ease whatever burden was haunting his mind, his hands met with emptiness.

Third time this week.

He should have known better.

It’s been like that since she published another book, which obviously became another market success, reaching a dizzying number of copies sold. There was no denying his girlfriend was a literary genius and he was proud but it also made him …

Lonely.

If waking up at 4 am feeling your entire body tense from touch starvation is not loneliness then what is?

He was doing everything to ease it.

Clutching her pillow.

Taking off his sleeping shirt and holding himself.

Running his hands on his skin imagining her soft caresses.

Nothing helped.

It was like he could just tear his own skin off from all the tension and need to feel.

Feel her hands on his body.

Feel the warmth of her embrace.

Her skin against his.

Not in a sexual way. Not at all. More like - tender way. Just being close.

He craved physical affection and her presence.

Meanwhile, even her scent on the sheets has almost evaporated and he could not recall the last time she spent the evening or the night with him. Just being there, both mind and body. He yearned for her desperately, but doing all in his capacity to hold those feelings back, knowing it would bring her down from her success high.

Instead, he settled on listening to her interviews on the radio, reading her stories (books with dedications after all) and watching her on the breakfast TV.

Lonely.

Sighing in both frustration and resignation he sat up in bed, running hands over his face, hoping to wipe his emotions away. If only he could be there with her. If only his nightwing duties weren’t keeping him glued to Gotham and Bludhaven. If only he could just travel with his fiancée, without worrying about the future of their relationship.

Cause it was pretty obvious that given their lines of work, situations like that were to happen more often than not.

And losing her for the books and writing started to become his biggest fear, and a threat worse than any villain could pose. At this point it seemed like she had more in common with Jason, constantly babbling about the authors, publishers, plot twists and book characters, of which Dick had only vague ideas.

“Dickie…”

His head snapped to the doors, where she was standing. Still in her pretty party dress, with stilettos in hands, slightly tipsy with weariness on her face. The light coming from the hallway illuminated her silhouette making the contours of her body blur. An angel or a demon.

“I’m sorry…” her tone was sincere, almost pleading as she carefully came inside, perching on the bed, reaching for his hand.

“It’s 4 am Y/N…”

“I know. And I’m sorry…”

So lonely.

“I miss you.”

“Dickie…”

“What?” he raised his head, meeting her eyes, unable to hide the longing and pain. “What’s more there to say? I miss you. That’s it. There’s nothing you could say to make it stop.”

“I’m sorry…” a few tears brimmed in her eyes

“You said it.”

“The party—”

“Did you at least have fun?” he cut her off, not wanting to hear about another fancy banquet where she was the star. Even from her words he could imagine the looks men must have given her and how most of them would love to just whisk her away.

“I—”

“You know what, just forget it.”

“Please don’t be like that…”

“Do you even still love me?”

“Hey, that’s not fair! It’s my work, Dick. The same kind of work as yours, when you are absent the whole night, patrolling on the streets. Just because you are taking some sort of break and are here doesn’t change it.”

“This is not about me—”

“No, this is about us. Us, Dick. You and me. So how could you even ask me that?”

He sighed in frustration, running hand through his hair. This was not how this conversation was going in his head. She was finally here, and all he did was pout and act like a moody five year old.

“Don’t worry babe. Once the press starts digging into my personal life once more you’ll get all the paparazzi and journalists in your pretty face.” She teased, sensing his unease, trying to soothe the atmosphere.

“The only thing I want in my face are your lips.” He smirked, picking up the tone, taking a chance to diffuse the tension.

“Finally you’re making sense.” she smiled, rolling up her dress and climbing on the bed next to him, capturing his lips in hers for just a second, before pulling away. 

“Don’t you dare-“ he placed hand on the back of her head pulling her back to him.

“I’m tired-“

“Don’t worry, I’ll do all the work. You just have to lay down and look pretty for me…”

He tangled fingers in her hair, capably messing up the elegant updo she was sporting letting the curls flow down, symbolically freeing her not only from the hairstyle, but also from the work mask. Right now, she was the home version.

His home version.

The one that didn’t require much stuff and definitely nothing on her.

“I missed this…” he caught onto her hips, sliding the material of her dress even higher, up to her waist and over her head.

“Me too…” she responded laying on her back, giving him full access to her skin, almost fully exposed.

“Why are you wearing such pretty underwear for an official party?” Dick hummed, trailing a path down her chest and between her breast with his nose. Her smell was intoxicating and he was going to make sure it stayed with him longer this time. “This little thing is supposed to be only for my eyes.”

“I thought you only liked not seeing my lingerie?”

“But yet, removing it is only my job…” he whispered, playing with the clasp of her bra. “Did you put that front fastened one on purpose, pumpkin?”

“I'll take the fifth on that…”

“Whatever, it doesn’t really matter much now.”

His touch was like fire, showing off the inferno inside him. Fueled by their time apart, but still fought off bravely to avoid premature ending of this sweet reunion of two lovers lost amongst the sea of everyday duties.

Lips met lips, body brushed over body, skin touched skin, covering with goosebumps.

Intensity of the movements causing the cover to fall onto the floor, incapable of standing up against the naked passion.

“Dick…”

“Yeah, keep saying my name, baby …” he grabbed the back of her thighs, caressing them only adding to the sensation of being fully embraced by him. “Isn’t that better than your books?”

It was so much better.

No description could ever give justice to everything she was feeling now. The divide between heaven when he was thrusting forwards and hell when he was pulling back. The fire burning her to the core, leaving nothing but an immortal soul melting into his.

Carnal pleasure bellied by the explosion of the spirit, finding a way home. To the place where it belonged.  

How could she even put into words all the longing, all the need, the want to both keep him like that forever and let go in his arms?

To be possessed, dominated and loved like this till the end of all time?

“Dick…”

His body under her fingertips, his muscles clenching in time with each movement and stroke.

‘Y/N….”

Her softness and warmth, her eagerness and finally the feeling of him being complete.

In time Dick started becoming a little rough and possessive, purposefully moving slower and deeper, relishing each breathless moan and spasm contorting her face. Pressing thumbs into the undersides of her breast, before moving them to cup her ass, pressing her core more into him. 

Developing the urge to ruin her but also to keep her safe and protected.

“You’re mine…” he groaned, connecting their foreheads, intensifying the thrusts.

“I’m yours.” She moaned, letting him bite her neck to leave a mark for everyone to see.

“Mine!””

“Yours!”

The grip on her waist tightened, the digging of nails on his back left crescent marks.

His mouth was on her breast, licking, nibbling and kissing.

“Yes!”

Her hands pulled at his hair, arching to his ministrations.

Neither of them broke the pace of the thrusting, almost grasping the peak of the mountain. Just within reach.

“Dick!”

“Y/N!”

Falling into the abyss in the best possible way, knowing that this descent will undeniably end right here.

In this bed, in between the crumpled sheets with the loved one by the side.

Reality has never been sweeter.

***

“How much longer till the promotional tour’s over?” he asked some time later. His back was against the headboard, but this time Y/n was right next to him, with head on his shoulder, with legs hooked over his lap.

They were exchanging soft, lazy kisses, speaking volumes about the depth of their connection.

“I hope the hype on my writings never stop-“

“Y/N!” he pinched her side, causing a gasp of surprise and pain. “Come on, it was not that hard.”

“Maybe, but someone made my body sensitive!”

“And I’m gonna brag about it.” He kissed her again. “But seriously, when will I have you all to myself again?”

“In a few weeks—”

“FEW WEEKS!?”

“There’s really no need to shout about it. I could—”

“You could end up tied to the bedpost.”

“Dick!”

“Okay, fine, we can work with chairs too.” He raised hands in surrender, agreeing to another piece of furniture as if that was calming her down.

“You really have to stop watching Netflix shows labelled as voluptuous. You’re getting ideas.”

“I’m sorry? I’m getting them all by myself, thank you very much! Besides, you weren’t complaining fifteen minutes ago, cumming happily.”

“I need to enjoy you for a long time…” she sighed.

“Wish I could go with you-“

“You could. But we both know you won’t.”

He sighed, and for a second they just sat there in silence holding onto each other, with interlaced fingers and heavy hearts.

“Promise to call me. Skype me. Text me. Whatever. Just don’t leave me hanging.”

“Promise. You will be sick of my voice when I come back.”

“When you’re back after those weeks, it won't be your voice that I’ll be interested in” he teased.

“Want to remind me what exactly you’ll be longing for?” her lips found a way to his.

“Since you asked so nicely—” he pulled her on top of him, reciprocating eagerly.

In a few hours, she would have to get up and finally pack her suitcase, but for now – it was just them two.

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson smut #nightwing smut #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x you #nightwing x y/n #nightwing x you #dick grayson fluff #nightwing fluff

[hitoshiyoshi]

save me, cupid ! | midoriya izuku

synopsis ↬ having a cupid quirk is proven to be a curse

warnings ↬ angst(?) but not too bad, honestly i don't know what to label this exactly lol, the reader acts like a yandere, unrequited love, love-starved reader, just an idea of what it would be like to have a cupid quirk, mentions of red string, mentions of violence, my apologies if it sounds bad, it's just an idea, obsessive reader

pairings ↬ crush!midoriya izuku x gn!yandere!reader

word count ↬ 4.7k

Since you first discovered your quirk at the tender age of four years old, you've always hated it. It had no purpose; no ability to defend or protect yourself, much less others. You might as well have been born quirkless. Whenever you told anyone about it, you always heard the same words. They would either reaffirm how pointless your quirk was or talk about how powerful it was, but never good enough for you to become a hero. Of course, you didn’t mind their ignorant comments. Until you noticed the behavior of your friends change upon telling them, always leading to the same outcome.

You have a type of mind-control quirk, called ‘Cupid’. Your quirk allows you to see whether two people are soulmates; when you concentrate long enough, a red string appears on the ring finger of your target connecting them to their soulmate. You can also make two people fall in love by locking eyes with your target, repeating their name, the name of another target, and a simple phrase: “loves you”. The same is true with the reverse phrase, “loves you not”.

After numerous attempts on yourself, you concluded that your quirk could not work on you. Despite this, you still explored the idea. Ever so often, you would come up with ideas but each failed.

You weren’t immune to crushes. When you tried to make them love you, your quirk would never activate on them. It was hard for you to understand why at first.

At first, it began when you noticed thin red strings attached to the fingers of some classmates in school. Some connected students that were in the same class while others stretched far outside the building, until they were out of view. When asking your friends about the strings, they seemed confused and looked around but couldn’t see the strings attaching them together. Only you could see the red string. It was like this for a couple years, a thin rope connecting two people.

There was no red string on your ring finger. Concentrating on your hands and trying to find one only brought you head splitting migraines.

You could vaguely remember when you learned about the other powers of your quirk. School ended early that day and one of your best friends insisted on going to the nearby park before heading home. As you sat close to a field of buttercup flowers, they picked one of the stems. Your friend professed their deep affections for another classmate. You two were young and it was nothing but puppy love. Plucking the yellow petals from the growing bud, they repeated the name of their crush followed by "...loves me," and then another petal, "...loves me not".

Staring at their ring finger, you noticed the string trail off in the distance. A sudden, innocent, thought came to your mind. Tapping your friend on the shoulder and giggling, you tore off one of the petals before locking eyes. They seemed to lose focus as they watched your actions and peered down at the flower in curiosity. You called their name, making eye-contact again, and repeated the name of their crush, "...loves you".

It was only meant to be a harmless joke, but as you watched your friend's eyes go into a cloudy gaze, you panicked. Shaking their shoulders and calling them again, they seem to regain consciousness. Your friend's eyes quickly darted across their surroundings until they finally noticed your presence. Except, they began to act abnormal.

Rambling about their crush in a feverish manner; how they wanted to touch, feel, kiss, and caress them. Eyes glowing pink with lovestruck passion and a deep red blush warmed their cheeks. You tried to speak to them and ask them what was wrong. Until they scowled at you, slapping your hands away when you tried to reach out to them. Screaming nonsense about how you weren't their beloved, only their true love could touch them!

Soon, they ran off — searching desperately for their sweetheart.

The next day, you saw your two best friends holding hands and whispering sweet nothings without a care in the world. You tried to speak to them, but you were always ignored. When lunchtime came, you tried sitting next to them, only for them to immediately stand and move to another table. Eventually, they refused to acknowledge you. You had no use for them, only a burden and a distraction from their beloved. They left you alone...

Alone.

It took you some time to realize — you thought the world was being cruel when you noticed other classmates begin to avoid you as well — it was more than matchmaking. It was based on attraction. The stronger the target's love was for their partner, the higher the chance of success. The disgusted stares of your classmates became a repetitive occurrence; you only used your quirk once yet they became naturally repulsed by you.

Your friend's love deflected a force onto you that repelled everyone away, an unfortunate weakness and downside of your quirk. Soon, you were abandoned. The small acquaintances you had, dropped like flies.

As your new friend Ochaco approaches you in the lobby after school, you wonder how you managed to defy the negative effect of your quirk usage. Everyone in your previous school either hated you or had some type of unjustifiable prejudice against you; if people already disliked you, might as well have fun with your quirk, right? Creating short relationships with nearly all of your ex-classmates, it was pure enjoyment.

Receiving the acceptance letter from U.A. was a pure miracle. You didn't bother trying to get into the hero course, letting the words of your peers control you. Instead, you opted for the General Studies course once deciding that the business and support courses were not the most ideal option for you. You managed to befriend a boy named Shinsou Hitoshi who didn't seem too bothered by your quirk.

Although some of your classmates blatantly ignored you, he was unaffected. You didn't find a threat in his mind-control quirk; you found solace in the similarity of your quirks. He accompanied you to your classes and was a shoulder to lean on when you were feeling down.

Ochaco waves at you and urges you to come closer, a pleasant smile spreads across her lips. In the distance you see her friend, Midoriya Izuku speaking to a tall, blue-haired boy with glasses. Izuku... You can't remember where you first heard his name or noticed him, but your unnatural infatuation with him had grown surplus since then. Was it at the Sports Festival? Or perhaps when you noticed him walking in the halls one day and felt your heart-pounding in your chest as you stared. Izuku felt your eyes on him and peered back at you with a soft gaze, blushing and smiling before continuing his walk.

Maybe it was his gentle nature towards you that made you feel at peace. Although Shinsou was nice to you, there was something about Izuku. You already knew it had to be a crush; the feeling was so familiar to you. Perhaps it wasn't the healthiest infatuation, though. Every time he was in your vicinity, you could feel your heart threaten to rip out of your rib cage and leap into his arms. He was one of the few that didn't seem too bothered by your quirk or see you as a nuisance.

There was a need, no, a desperation for him to be with you. Always having a watchful eye on him, you studied nearly all of his movements. Feeling someone's gaze on him, Izuku would glance around and search for your eyes. Only for you to quickly shift away, but he wasn't an idiot. He caught your glance a few times and once thought about approaching you, but he never did.

It was impossible to have him reciprocate your feelings, you were positive. He didn't know you despite recognizing your face and eyes. Of course, you knew so many things about him; sneakily following him home after classes, overhearing him and All Might talk about their association — how cute! You were the first to know about his secret, a good lover should know these things, right? It was truly amazing how after all these months, he hadn't noticed you.

Thank goodness his mother wasn't home when you broke into their apartment and went through his bedroom. The All Might memorabilia was nauseating, but if he loved it then you should too! A little shrine of his possessions and unmentionables started to build quickly in the corner of your room. How devoted you are... it's only fair that he should be the same. You desperately wanted him to act as such, but he never did.

Using your quirk was not an option. Even if it was, his attraction to you wasn't strong enough... yet.

There was also another problem: the girl approaching you right now, Ochaco. It was clear as day that she shared the same affections as you. Anyone could notice the two students shyly flirting and blushing around each other. How his face would light up whenever she entered the room or how her cheeks would turn a dark shade of pink around him. You were familiar with their actions because you witnessed them on others in the past. A sharp sting of jealousy arose as you watched them.

You seethed with envy around her, befriending her was a fine way to keep her in your proximity at all times. She was another one who didn't mind your quirk. So, you decided to wait until the perfect moment came.

Only God knows how many times you needed to stop yourself from intertwining your fingers into her brunette hair and bashing her head into the concrete — she'd become so unsightly. Blood staining the ground with purple and black bruises spreading across her swollen face. But if you did that, the teachers would surely have you expelled. Perhaps, her parents would press charges on you. Then, you could never see Izuku again. And the poor look on his face from watching would surely traumatize him... there wasn't any possibility you would dare.

You watched their interactions through gritted teeth every time they spoke to each other. You've had this quirk since the day you were born. The expressions of true love and light touches your victims would share with their beloved was all the same. Their love had blossomed like a field of tulips once spring comes.

"Hey, (Y/N)! Are you alright?" Ochaco asks as she stands in front of you. She waves her hand in your face after a few seconds to gain your attention.

"Oh... H- Hey, Ochaco... Sorry, I wasn't paying attention." Giving her your best smile as reassurance but she doesn't seem to believe you.

"You weren't...? But you were staring right at me?" Fuck. She turns her head and looks behind her, searching around. His shy green eyes meet her gaze before quickly looking away. "Were you looking behind me...? Is it Deku?" You want to leave the conversation, but you know how persistent she would become.

"No," Her head quickly snaps back towards you, intrigued but calm. "Don't worry about it. I guess I'm just tired."

"Ah, okay..." She peers down at the ground as her rosy cheeks begin to deepen their color. "Well... I actually wanted to ask you a favor."

"What is it?"

"I know you don't like using your quirk often..." You've told her your quirk numerous times and always mentioned your reluctance to use it. You realize now that was a mistake. Not want to repeat your years at your previous school all over again. "...and it's OK if you don't want to do it. I won't force you." She's still staring down, too embarrassed to continue but she still attempts.

"It's fine, don't worry."

"Could you... Could you use your quirk to make Deku like me back? I really like him but... I'm not sure if he feels the same way about me... I'm kinda scared, you know?"

You pause at the girl standing in front of you, still hiding her face as her eyes cast towards the ground. Make him like her back...? Why would you ever do that? As if it wasn't obvious to nearly everyone in their class and, even some random students, that they had feelings for each other. Why would she need you to do something she could do herself? She's lucky her eyes are fixed towards the ground or else she would've noticed your clenched fist landing somewhere painful.

Truthfully, she didn't know how envious you were of her position. You weren't even sure of the extremes you would endure just to have him notice you. Alas, perhaps now is not the time. You knew it would end in the same outcome as all your other attempts.

"Just confess to him. I'm sure he'll accept it." You never wanted to use your quirk to find the string on Ochaco's fingers, you were too afraid. You began to walk away from her after unsuccessfully hiding your scorned voice, but she tightly held onto the sleeve of your gray blazer.

"W- Wait!" Refusing to turn around, you let her finish. "Can't you at least tell me if we're soulmates?"

"I won't." The girl seems to sulk at your rejection, her grip on your blazer loosens before she pulls away.

"Well, I guess it's wrong to want to know. I'm sorry for pressuring you..." As you begin to forgive her, she interrupts you. "I hope this isn't too personal for you, but is it true that you like him too?"

"Where did you hear that?" You snap your head and see her nervously scratching her neck, glaring up at you.

"I always see you staring at him! Don't you think it's kinda weird?"

"What do you mean?"

"He has no idea who you are and the way you look at him can be kinda creepy sometimes…” Ochaco straightens her back, stiffening her posture in an uncomfortable way while smiling at you tauntingly. Her brows furrowed as she peers around the room.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Ochaco.”

“But it’s true!” She twirls her brown hair between her fingertips, thinking once again before asking. “Is that why you won’t tell me if we’re soulmates?”

The thought of you two having the same crush makes Ochaco sick to her stomach. She doesn't know the reason why. It was an uneasy feeling that remained throughout your entire interaction.

“I’ve told you countless times before, I don’t use my quirk as much as I did in the past…” Ochaco holds her head down in defeat again, on the brink of giving up. “But since you keep pushing me, fine. Give me your hand. Let me check for the string first.”

She beams up at you, eagerly passing her ring finger to you. Filled with a new found excitement — Oh, she can’t wait! Ochaco’s eyes lit up with the same expression as every other person who has asked you. Each hand you’ve held has prayed for the same outcome. The warm, yet sweaty palms feel common. Occasionally twitching their fingers with anticipation.

You gaze at her ring finger, ignoring the distractions around you. Your eyes squint until you can see the familiar red string appearing on her skin. It’s looped perfectly where a wedding ring will be in the future. The string trails down her arm, falling to the floor and continuing behind her. It cuts through a group of students loitering around nearby and past chairs scattered through the room.

Your heart pounds in your chest, beating heavy like a drum with each second that is drawn out. It ends with a girl throwing away her trash. You want to breathe out a sigh of relief, but she walks towards one of her friends. And of course, there he was. Completely oblivious to the scene happening a few feet away from him.

Ochaco, moving restlessly on her feet, turns behind once more.

“It’s Izuku, isn’t it? It’s him, right?” She grins, ear to ear. It’s unknown if she’s ecstatic about being soulmates or if she can no longer worry about other competition — including you.

"Of course, it's him."

"So, can you use your quirk on him?" She hops around excitedly on the tips of her toes. Her face is as red as a cherry, but she's more confident than before. "For me? Please?"

"I don't even need to do that, Ochaco. Everyone in your class knows that he has feelings for you. You don't need me."

"Are you jealous? Is that why? Come on, (Y/N). There's nothing about you that he would want, anyways." She stares up at the ceiling, tapping her finger against her chin. "Use your quirk to find someone else, it shouldn't be hard."

But… But it’s just not fair, you tell yourself. In all honesty, you should’ve known. There were too many signs that you chose to ignore. This was the reason you hesitated for so long. As Cupid, you already knew. Now you were destined to have the same fate once again. Should you tell her? Even now, you aren’t sure why you agreed. Should your spirit to find clarity and let go?

Maybe you will stop caring about Izuku. Forget about the burning passion that flourishes through your body with every glance you give to him.

But you don’t want to do that right now.

“Uraraka Ochaco,” Surely, you still have a chance. Your eyes are locked on each other. “Midoriya Izuku, loves you not. Forget him.”

Her breath stops, her eyes become dilated and watery. You’ve never seen someone react in that way before. She stares at you with a vacant expression while you examine her face. Ochaco’s mouth is slightly agape, like she’s frozen in place. You feel her pulse start to slow down gently. Grasping her shoulder, you shake the girl out of her trance — you can’t have her passing out in front of everyone!

“Wha… What happened?” Ochaco returns to normal — well mostly.

“You were asking about Izuku, don’t you remember?”

Her cheeks turn a dark rosy color and for a second, you wonder if you’ve finally lost your quirk. Until she responds:

“Izuku… Izuku…” She glances around the room, trying to search for an answer in her mind. It sounds familiar, that name. “I don’t know who that is,” She tries to sound confident, but you can tell that she doubts herself.

“He’s your classmate.” Did she respond to your ‘forget him’ command? Has your quirk evolved since you last tried to use it? All that time you’ve spent with Shinsou must have rubbed off. She seems lost for a moment; She blushes, yet a frown is worn on her face.

“Oh, a classmate. Then why can’t I..?” Her head is empty with every attempt at trying to remember him. In the few chances that she can, his existence and the thought of him makes her sour. Barely knowing his face, yet she cannot stop the disgust that emerges.

“Ochaco? Isn’t there somewhere you should be right now?”

“Right! Gosh… My head feels like it’s spinning.” You release her hand, she gathers her belongings and tidies up. “I’ve got to go home and help my parents with some stuff. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow!”

Ochaco runs off to the exit, hopping away like a rabbit fleeing from a predator. It was for the best; you try to tell yourself. But the guilt of it all eats away at your soul. You wait for a few minutes before you step outside into the warm air, you aren’t sure of the feelings erupting inside. You should’ve been relieved; no need to worry about Ochaco or any other person in the way. If you needed to, you knew how to handle it.

By now, Izuku and his classmates have left the building. Ochaco stands by the entrance of the school. You see two of her friends nearby, chatting away and completely oblivious to the spell you’ve cast on her. The separate groups don’t seem to notice each other yet; they stand on opposite ends with their backs turned.

The time was perfect, you clutched the envelope in your pocket tightly.

Your legs move on their own at first, running to the fluffy haired boy. He smiled at his friends, unaware of your heavy steps to him. You bump into a few students who gave you annoyed glances. There’s no time to apologize to them, you move with a mission.

He doesn’t notice you behind him at first. Izuku was only alerted from the expressions of his friends surrounding him and the softest tap on his shoulder.

“Izuku?” You say quietly while he turns his body to face you.

“Yeah, what’s up?” The others around him paused their conversation.

“Oh, I just wanna have a chat with you… I hope you’re not busy.” You replied while pointing to his friends behind him. “By the way, I’m (Y/N)…”

“Ah, I’ve seen you around the school before.” Izuku waves goodbye to his friends and pulls you aside to talk.

"Really...?” He knows who you are! You reach into your pocket and pull out the letter. It’s pink and decorated with colorful hearts on the outside. Your hands tremble with the paper; shyly and with your head focused on the ground, you slip the letter in his hands.

“What’s this?” Izuku asks and peers up at you, your fingertips graze his hand ever so slightly — the tingling against his skin draws him closer.

“Midoriya Izuku,” With the command of your voice, his mind becomes a fog. The same unaware expression as Ochaco was written over his face. “Uraraka Ochaco loves you not.”

“I… I…” Unlike Ochaco, Izuku tries to fight the spell as he did at the sports festival against Shinsou — except your quirk was far stronger than his. His eyes become vacant; things were working nicely in your favor. You just needed to make sure.

“Izuku?”

“What...? Oh,” Izuku regains consciousness and focuses his eyes on the pink envelope in his hand. Outstretching some of your fingers, you gesture for him to open it.

"It's for you. I wrote it..."

He sloppily tears the letter open - all that effort you put into folding it, you cringe a bit as you watch. Izuku's eyes scan your writing, widening with every word. His cheeks tint into a light pink color, a soft grin adorns his lips:

"Izuku, from the day I saw you at the Sports Festival, I truly experienced a love that I've never known before,"

But of course, it's short-lived.

Clinching onto the paper tightly, he begins to tremble.

"And that love is one that I want to be kept near to me, have you ever felt this before?"

. . .

"My dearest, Izuku. My nights have been endless with thoughts of you. I can hear it, your footsteps in the night. I feel as if I'm going insane,"

. . .

"It's shameful of me to admit. How pretty and soft your skin looks; I've fantasized about this — dragging my sharpest knife across your every vein and marking you,"

. . .

"I want to rip your heart out of your chest with my own hands and keep it to myself, blood and all. I'll give you mine in return. I will surrender myself to you,"

. . .

"I wonder what it feels like to be inside you, inside your mind. I want to touch you, I want to feel you,"

. . .

"My dearest, Izuku. Will you let me do that? Will you give yourself to me?"

Izuku's mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water; he becomes completely at a loss for exactly what to say. At first, you thought it must've been side effects from your quirk, until...

"Well? I put a lot of thought into it. I know we haven't spoken before, and I might not be your type, but..."

"I appreciate the- the letter..." He fumbles out, unwilling to face you. His eyes travel from the paper to the orange-magenta sky. Anywhere besides you. "But I'm in the hero course, you know. It's ve- very tiring. I can't manage a relationship n- now. I'm sorry..."

Yet, deep down, Izuku can't help but pity you. He would've at least considered if you hadn't written about wanting to stab him.

"I see," Your words are barely audible, even with the close space between you two. "So, that's your excuse. Well, don't worry," The only thing you could do was smile, trying to balance out the tears welling up in your eyes.

"Excuse...?" What a funny word to use. The vacancy in his heart is profound; a force is stopping him. He knows, you must've done something to him.

"Never mind."

Izuku passes the letter back to you and takes a few steps back. Slowly and with a step at a time. He waits for the perfect opening and retreats to the safety of his friends. They all cheer him on, seeing him chat up someone for the first time — unaware of the contents of your 'love letter'.

A stream of tears falls from your eyes, traveling from your damp cheeks to the paper in your hands. It ruins your perfectly crafted letter that you spent months preparing. What a waste. Izuku can hear your sniffles as his friends quiet down. He was such a good-natured boy, that was what you loved him for. Deep down, he wanted to calm you, but he refuses to move from his spot.

It's not fair.

Cupid. It's a useless quirk that you will forever hate. The love you truly want will never come to you — it's your karma, anyways. Well, it wouldn't be too big of a deal. All the hearts you've meddled with will find new loves eventually. Once they learn to overcome the emptiness where their soulmates should be, they wouldn't need to worry.

Why can't these feelings just disappear?

You had a plan. Should you try it? One last chance to see if you quirk could work on yourself. How often do quirks work on their users? It was a rarity, and you were willing to take that risk.

Opening your phone, you place your earbuds in your ears.

"(Y/N) (L/N), Midoriya Izuku loves you not." A recording of your voice plays. Only an experiment to see if it would actually work on you. The thought came to you after a period of frustration.

Eagerly, you waited for your mind to become foggy. No thoughts and a blank expression; the curse of all your victims before you took them out of a trance. The phrase replays multiple times in your ears, and you march off the campus back home. Although you tried, deep down in your heart, you refused to let go. You clasped your eyes shut and prayed, by some miracle that it stops.

"Midoriya Izuku loves you not." "Midoriya Izuku loves you not." "Midoriya Izuku loves you not." It continued, soon sounding like a chant with the way your voice rings.

With the last echo of the sentence in your ears, the pain in your heart travels straight to your head. Crying out in distress, a wave of pressure flooded to every inch above your neck. You stopped in your tracks, nearly ripping out locks of hair trying to suppress it. With every movement, your head ached and throbbed to the rhythm of your pulse.

And like a true hero, he ran to you at the first yelp that left your lips.

"(Y/N)! Are you OK?" A fluffy, green-haired boy asked. He placed his hand on your shoulder, trying to lift your head up to get a better look at you.

What a good-natured boy he was. You'd be fawning over his actions on a normal evening. But unfortunately for him, you weren't in the mood.

"Get the fuck off me." Your body reacted before anything else. With a strong shove, he let go of his hold on you. The paper you were holding slipped out of your hands, and the boy with the familiar face stared at you in disbelief.

The farther you walk away from him, the more the pain of your headaches soothes. Who was that?

You try to remember along your journey to the train station, but after a while, you lose interest.

#mha x reader #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons #izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya drabble #deku drabble #deku x reader #mha angst #bnha x reader #izuku angst #deku angst #midoriya angst #midoriya izuku angst #deku x you #deku x y/n #izuku midoriya angst #izuku midoriya x reader #bnha angst #yandere reader

[alexanderwales]

Epistolary Novels and the Modern Age

"Epistolary" is one of those words that I always feel awkward about, because it's a rare word describing a rare thing, which means that I have to say "an epistolary novel, one composed mostly of letters between characters", but then I feel as though this might be redundant and insulting, like the person I'm talking to just wants me to get on with it, because of course they know what an epistolary novel is, and the fact that I have clarified it for them is insulting.

Anyway, I have a particular love of writing letters, and so have a particular love of epistolary novels. I think it would be great if they made a comeback.

We talk to people online, and they have a profile picture, and maybe the occasional photo that reveals their physical form, but text is mostly how you get to know them. You get to understand their grammar, the clusters of concepts they're drawn to, their affection for the em-dash and parentheticals of all kinds, the way they'll resurrect a conversation from days before, which shows that it was on their mind. You read the pauses in their discord messages for meaning. You somehow divine their tone from whether a sentence has a period or not.

And then there's something magical that happens if you meet them in person: you get to learn them all over again. Their mind is the same, that hasn't changed, but all the grammar is suddenly different. They talk with their hands, or have long pauses looking up at the ceiling while they think about things, or are quick with a joke in a way that you would not at all have expected. Maybe you had some sense that they were always stoically typing away at their computer with a cup of tea beside them when you read their responses, but in person they smile and nod a lot, grinning as they listen to whatever you're saying.

I think the thing that I've read that comes closest to interrogating this is @nostalgebraist's The Northen Caves, which holds a place in my heart for the way it talks about this weird divide, and the way it nails differences in how people talk online.

Of course I want to write an epistolary novel, and secondarily, a modern epistolary novel that's about email and discords and tumblr and whatever. I want to write All the Novels. It feels like there's something to say about how we relate to each other. But unlike a letter, which comes in and is read all at once, the online stuff is pervasive, and I don't think that a simple transcript would be enough — wouldn't catch all of the anxiety of waiting on the three little dots to resolve into words, or the feeling of typing something in and deleting it.

I'm at a convention right now, and have met a bunch of people whose stuff I've read, and people who have read my stuff, and sometimes, people I've interacted with online. Sometimes I know them well enough to know their textual quirks and tics, the energy that they bring to a blog post, and it's set my mind whirling with ideas about how I can harness this dissonance for novel-writing purposes. And sometimes it goes the other way, meeting a person at a campfire, wondering vaguely what their deal is, and then reading through a dozen of their most insightful blog posts, which give a very different view of who they are.

I don't know form either of these novels will take, whether the idea of people being different in different environments has something to say about anything. There's meat here though: I can smell it.

(There's a tumblr post going around about wet drip narrators who were only in novels of the 18th century because of a demand that there be a diegetic reason for the text to exist, and this is one of the reasons that epistolary novels saw a rise in readership — the letters exist, so it's easy for the reader to suspend their disbelief of how they could come to be holding this text.)

#writing #overlapping realms #online #fiction #epistolary #epistolary novel

[lovemyromance]

You know that scene in the Jim Carey grinch when he yells “I’m an Idiot” into the cave and the echo says “You’re an idiot!” back at him instead? I feel like that is the glenriel echo chamber in a nutshell. THAT is the real take away from the fated mates quiz that was posted today.

I think the issue in this fandom is that people tend to take things very, very personally. Ive seen it on all sides, but it's especially prevalent when we take a look at some of these Gwynriel theories. Gwyn became a self insert character for many because she's just vague and secondary enough that she has no real flaws and is not very complex or fleshed out. She does a few brave things and is generally kind and pretty - and people just latched on.

Any idea that Gwyn isn't a main character, any mention of the lightsinger theory, any whisper even that Gwynriel isn't backed by evidence from the books - that is something they are going to take very personally. Because even if objectively, all those things are true, these people are using Gwyn as a self insert. So they are hearing people say:

"Gwyn is not an MC" = "you're not a main character"

"Gwyn could be a lightsinger" = You're a cruel evil lightsinger"

"Gwyn and Azriel aren't mates" = "you're not gonna end up with azriel"

And that doesn't seem like something they want to hear. So they lash out, go crazy with their crack theories even more than before. They take it as a personal insult when it is just something that is objectively true. They accuse everyone of being anti Gwyn when they dont support Gwynriel when they are really two separate things.

I'm sure they'll find some way to spin this fated mates quiz anyways. Or more likely, the Eluciens will spin it because Lucien was an option and try to push the Elucien agenda, which the Gwynriels will hop on board for just to say "ofc SJM wouldn't spoil Gwynriel in a quiz 🙄"

That's what happens when you form a conclusion and then read the books to zero in on any scrap of text you can twist to fit that conclusion. When you read backwards, you form backwards opinions 🤷🏻‍♀️

People have got to understand that being anti a ship doesn't mean they hate that character. All I see Eluciens & Gwynriels do is accuse people of hating Lucien and Gwyn. Which is crazy. Nobody hates them, im pretty sure feelings towards these characters have only soured due to the insanity of the fandom, not the books or characters themselves.

And I've been very clear about this. For example, Lucien was actually my favorite character in ACOTAR. But when SJM stopped writing him, I stopped liking him as much. When Lucien and Elain were declared mates in ACOMAF - I was actually in support. It was only in ACOWAR did I see how unsuited they were for each other that I realized I don't think this ship is endgame. I reached that conclusion without hating Lucien or Elain - imagine that?

Furthermore, I actually got Lucien in that fated mates quiz. And I was not surprised nor was I disappointed by the answer. It tracks. If I were to go for a man, it would definitely be someone like Lucien. Even my current boyfriend has the same kind of traits as Lucien (dry wit, snarky, but able to switch to polite and charming at the drop of a hat).

But that's the important distinction. I, personally, would go for a man like Lucien. But I am not Elain.

And I know that. I am able to objectively read these books and form accurate conclusions because I don't let my personal preferences cloud my judgement of what is on the actual page.

I might personally prefer a man like Lucien, but Elain clearly does not. She wants nothing to do with him.

And if people were able to stop with the self-inserts and obsessions over fictional men, they would be able to read these books with a clear mind. The way they were meant to be read.

#elriel #acotar #elain x azriel #azriel #elain archeron #pro elain #elain #antielucien #antigwynriel

[macksartblock]

weird timing but s1 dads and their bastard fathers (and frank)

#dndads #dungeons and daddies #omega daddies #im sorry anthony why did you call them that i can never get over it #willy stampler #ron stampler #barry oak #henry oak #henry oak garcia #autumn oak #bill close #glenn close dndads #frank wilson #darryl wilson #dndads odyssey #i also wanted a reason to draw the s1 dads as teens so #also apparently people found my design for bill hot?? i don't know what i put into him in that first post w/ him but #yknow idk it just caught me off guard lmaoo #also have no idea why frank came out looking vaguely like ned flanders but its funny to me so thats him now #my artwork

[lunacias]

these are the silt verses, and I name our disciples thus

#the silt verses #sister carpenter #brother faulkner #paige duplass #james hayward #not 100% happy with this but I've been working on it for uhh two months and wanted to get it up before the next ep #cannot stress enough this isn't necessarily how i picture these characters but moreso what I can draw LOL #every time I try to conceptualize them it's like trying to look at someone without my glasses #in that i get vague forms etc but nothing concrete #it's weird bc it's like. the more i relisten the less concrete image i have of them /thinks #though I will say i will die on curly haired + freckles faulkner #and I usually picture carpenter with a simple wavy ponytail #also in terms of scars i like the idea of faulkner having a scar on his hand from the glass in the s2 finale #and hayward having a scar on his forehead from hembrey! #also i don't think hayward smokes but i liked how it looked when paired with paige and her alcohol! #also something something he might have tried once to blend in with the other police officers but never took to it #been wanting to draw something for silt verses for forever so!! #edit: added an alt id in the image description! #uploaded this last night and completely forgot to i'm sorry! #pls lmk if it's too long or not really a good description!

[fizzytoo]

"How am I supposed to move on without you?"

#ts4 #ts4 gameplay #sims 4 gameplay #oc: zoe holiday #ts4: dead end save #someone hug her 🫂 #im planning a flashback to when her brother was alive. I have a vague idea of what i want him to look like. they aren't blood related #lowkey i forgot they had established lore before i started posting this save so i went back and privated all her lore posts 💀

[courfeyracs-swordcane]

[pointing towards you emoji] favorite blaseball team. go

(if you want to practice drawing in another style, then draw yourself as a transformer OR as a human character)

WE ARE FROM CHICAGO

#THANK YOU THIS WAS VERY FUN 10/10 #This also took Actual Years but that’s mostly bc I have really no idea what I look like #it’s not especially this tho #top one is better than the bottom one #but still #ah fuck I forgor to color in the Chicago across the chest on that one #whoops #oh well. too late #blaseball #Chicago firefighters #I do not know if we have a generally agreed upon uniform this was just what I found in the server #also technically TECHNICALLY max ballad brothers was vaguely supposed to be a transformersona #that did not so much happen lmaooo #<— nobody say anything about catalyzer I’m better than him #and also. more importantly. would not look like that. #just me #look I drew a thing #am I allowed to maintag this? I don’t know. #sorry if you don’t want to see it I’m gonna want to be able to find it later and my Blaseball tag is way smaller than my art tag. #and technically it’s related but still. augh #<— overthinking this

[snickerdoodlles]

📓 :3

:D!

@mortimerlatrice got me thinking about a KimChay Chrestomanci AU, so more of that.

the Chrestomanci series, sidenote, is an absolutely delightful fantasy series by Diana Wynne Jones. it's composed of mostly independent stories set in a universe of 12 parallel universes (called Series), each with their own string of worlds (except Series 11). generally speaking, every person has eight identical copies borne into other series than their own, but very occasionally all nine lives will be borne into one person. this nine-life enchanter has all the power of nine magical people in them and is therefore the only person powerful enough to fill the role of Chrestomanci to regulate magical use and prevent any abuse of it across the 12 series.

which cool, very fun story premise actually, but not what I care about here. I'm setting kp in one of the series that doesn't deal much with magic because I don't care about magic meet mafia, I care about Chay having nine lives and all the ways that could make things worse.

(cw: non-permanent but slightly graphic character death under the cut. ft a dash of actual character death, but that only applies to Tawan.)

Chay doesn't have all his lives when canon starts. he lost his first one the same day he and Porsche lost their parents when he fell out of his crib trying to investigate the noise. he lost his second to food poisoning, before Porsche started working for extra food money and they had to make every scrap stretch. he lost another when a debt collector hit him too hard and snapped his neck. (Porsche wasn't home for that day. Chay told him he wasn't either.)

Chay loses his fourth life in the warehouse. it actually wasn't intentional on anyone's part -- Tawan's hired meat weren't careful enough bringing him in, and Chay's luck has his head hit a curb or scrap metal at just the right (or wrong, as it were) angle to kill him instead of concuss him, and head injuries take so long to come back from. Tawan drags out the charade because he wants Porsche desperate, not angry, and Porsche is in too deep of denial to accept the possibility of Chay actually being dead not to fall for it.

Kim arrives before Chay comes back to life. it's...bad. Porsche is screaming for him to get Chay out. Kim first checks Chay's breathing. failing to find that, he frantically (but carefully!) hauls Chay upright. that's when Chay's head flops limply to the side and reveals the dried blood down the back of his neck, which Kim had already felt grabbing but refused to process.

Kim sees red.

Tawan knifes Big. Porsche's shouts break through the fog threatening to overwhelm Kim. then Tawan gets one very distraught, very angry, very murderous Kim materializing in front of him and going right for his eyes. it doesn't matter that Tawan's the one with a weapon, he could've had an armory and that couldn't have helped him. Kim is very, very, very good at fighting, and he's on a mission to hurt. but he's also missing his control, and kicks Tawan in the kidney so hard Tawan stumbles back into a pile of scrap and, in true irony, jostles it hard enough the end of steel beam falls on his head. as discovered earlier, metal and concrete are not kind to heads, and bullet proof vests certainly can't protect from that.

it's too quick and too kind, and Kim stares at him disbelievingly, half a mind to drag Tawan out and beat out the little life he's surely still clinging to, when Chay groans. Kim first thinks he hallucinated it, but then he sees Chay move and he's so relieved he was wrong that he shoves everything else out of his mind and just gets Chay out. then everything and one trailing shouty Porsche slams back into him the minute Chay's out of his arms and with the paramedics that Kim bolts to go hide in a dark corner in his apartment and fail to process any of it.

Chay misses all of this btws. He was dead, then he was back with a headache, and he loves Porsche but he needs Porsche to please shut the fuck up and get him some tylenol.

then apartment confrontation, where Kim says I'm sorry and shoves off even quicker because all he can remember are those moments when he'd been so sure Chay was properly dead. club scene goes down even worse when Kim yells at Chay for making stupid reckless choices that could get him killed, and Chay demands to know why Kim even cares, and Kim goes pale with anger that Chay doesn't care that he (only nearly, surely) died, and it's all very terrible and ends in them storming away from each other.

then comes Yok's bar.

Chay dies. Kim had taunted them into a direct fight inside instead of picking them off outside, and it should have been fine, would have been fine, had Chay not had a bit more awareness and looked over to see Kim pinned between two guys and rushed to help only to get shot by one of the goons on the other end of the bar. he bleeds out while Kim kills off the rest.

Chay comes back to a bar full of bodies and Kim (clutching) cradling him. Kim isn't crying. he isn't really doing much of anything other than clinging and staring off into nothing with a thoroughly haunted expression.

Chay blinks and tentatively lays his fingers against Kim's cheek. "Kim?"

Kim's eyes snap to him, but still don't quite see him. he stays looking blank for a few seconds that feel like hours before saying matter-of-factly, "I've snapped."

"Kim!" Chay protests, distressed.

"It's okay," Kim says, still matter-of-fact but smiling tenderly, "better to be mad with you than without."

it takes a while to convince Kim he's not insane and that Chay's really back. Chay's not certain he fully manages it. but his death also shook loose a lot of confessions Kim normally couldn't say out loud. ("why--" Chay starts, voice cracking, "why did you say 'I'm sorry' that day?" / "You were supposed to be safe," Kim replies hoarsely, mad smile slipping for tears.) there's more clutching and clinging, this time by Chay too. both of them manage to forget they're in a bar of dead bodies until Porsche and Kinn come crashing through the door.

"Chay!" Porsche yells when he first sees him.

"Chay," Porsche pleads brokenly when he sees Chay's blood soaked shirt.

"Not mine!" Chay says quickly, and would've been given away by how fast Kim's head snaps around in any other circumstance. "See?" he says, raising his shirt to show unblemished skin, "No injury."

this does a lot to reassure Porsche, but Chay can tell Kim still thinks he's a little bit insane. Chay decides that's fine for now, because dying takes a lot out of you and apparently everyone around you too and it's unfair to expect Kim to just bounce back from him bleeding out on him, he'll work on it after a shower and dinner.

I'm not writing this AU because I only really have these two vague scenes in my head, but Chay having multiple lives making his existence in the mafia hurt more than canon's calls to me, it really does.

oh, also: in the AU source material, one of the nine-lifers has one of his lives removed and stored into a ring for safekeeping. he later gives this ring to his to-be-wife as her wedding ring. I'm not sure yet how to work that into this AU because Chay's contact with magic and other magicals would be slim to none in this, but please picture how this would absolutely wreck Kim, because there's nothing Kim wants more than to safeguard Chay but as far as he's concerned, he's already failed Chay in that regard twice. 😈

[[ ask me about fics im not writing ]]

#kinnporsche #kimchay #ask game: fics im not writing #this idea is fun but im only really here for vibes #and i already have many similar vibes in timeloop AU so im gonna stick with that one but like...so much fun 👀👀 #ANYWAYS vague possibility for how chay meets magicals: in charmed life they mention looking for a 9-lifer off world/outside of series 12 #chay's that 9-lifer in this case #originally not the candidate they wanted because he's in a different series AND a non-magical world to boot #then he gets involved with the mafia and all these government officials go Uhm #christopher: what's the problem i smuggled black market goods for years as a kid #government officials: uHM?! #christopher musing to himself: and that resulted in gabriel getting blown apart for a few days hmmm maybe not #christopher then meeting cat post apple scrumping: are all nine-lifers simply criminals as children??? is there no hope for us??????? #i love Very Specific AUs made for an audience of me and 1.5 people can u tell 😂

[nerosdayinanime]

"Im worried what people would think of you then, that you're just a personal whore or something- i don't want to ruin your reputation.."

"Are you kidding? 'My dick was so good i got promoted-' Thats the biggest flex i can think of!"

"Well, you're certaintly enthusiastic about this."

#ive been thinking of the au from @planethoneybee's tags in that writing prompts post #on the topic of giyuu wanting sabito to have political power in case something happens or someone tries to pull shit- #him & shinobu debating the pros and cons of giving him title of concubine before giyuu brings up the social aspect #so shino calls sab in to get his thoughts on the matter directly and it made me laugh #another bit w sanemi- theyre at a meeting talking abt finances and theyre talking of cutting sanemi's beetle funding- #G: i can pay for it /Sane: what? /G: keep as much funding to the project as possible- i'll finance the rest of it out of my #own allowance. that works doesnt it? /Shino: i suppose. ..but you'd do that for beetles? /G: i see importance in it. /Shino: very well- #sanemi doesnt thank him or even mention it but he definitly looks at giyuu differently after that- he used his own shit to keep #the project going full blast? damn. he did that for sanemi's beetles. man. #somethn somethn giyuu bringing up the idea for shinobu to have a personal guard(/helper) as well #shinobu 'i know what you are' @ giyuu before he hurriedly explains he doesnt mean get a side hoe hes genuinely just #offering to find her a trusted guard/helper whos sole purpose is to do errands n shit specifically for her 'oh! that sounds nice actually' #'sab has someone in mind for you- says shes one of the best in the forces and a pleasant personality' 'ill see that for myself first' #'okay [thumbs up]' #im imaginging a mix between european kingdoms & east asian/chinese/japanese empires except i dont know shit about either #only thing i vaguely know is theres advisors & like sub-royalty & in traditional japanese more (/complex) layers of clothing = rich/royal #the 'sub royalty' has a name im p sure. i forgor. fuckiinnn. #nope its just not there. oh well. giyuu w the fingerless sleeve-gloves my FUCKING beloved #also vague thought of sabito & mitsuri wearing helmets that utilize their pink hair as fuckin. yk the european knights #w the stupid ponytail thing/romans w the gold helm/red mohawk thing. somethn like that #they wouldnt wear like full Heavy Armor like knights do their fighting styles & w the close-quarters they wouldnt need it #but like for Show at Fancy Pantsy Time theyd dress up similarly #loserboy giyuu posting #loverboy sabito posting #sabigiyuu #of all the shit i have for this au THATS the scene that gets front page. dick joke funniee #(in case its not clear text goes Giyuu-Sabito-Shinobu talking)

[qwertyfingers]

working on my initial sketches for my ee tarot 🫡🫡

#have pretty solid ideas for 4 designs so farm whether i can pull them off is incredibly questionable but i know what i WANT them #to look like by the end #and i have vague ideas for about half of thw remaining major arcana cards #many of them are just. big ole question marks as of yet #but i figure i dont have to be certain so soon lol #my projects #ee tarot #ee #(for my own sorting)

[ying-doodles]

my brain is running a million miles a minute rn

help

#ying rambles #let me try to just spew out my ideas in here so i'm not making so many individual posts #uh let's see #i wanna make an underwater version of void ying (my main sona rn) #where instead of having stars all over there's little fish? and they're wearing a clear raincoat and boots #i wanna draw myself in little outfits again (like those old wardrobe memes that are like pjs casual formal etc) #i need to actually sit down and draw new pfps for main and spam cause i'm tired of my current ones #it seems like the reverse absolutes are winning the poll so i have to come up with an archangel javier design (not that hard actually) #but i want to try to draw his rainbow wings in that piece?? maybe?? #and then there's the turnaround i just talked about that i have to figure out #cause that's like what. 4 frames if we keep it simple (front left back right). or 8 if we do quarter turns (so many angles..)?? #and then there's the drifting closer comic that's in second place in the poll #i have a vague idea of what i want it to look like but i need to sit down and sketch it to actually figure it out #and then at some point i need to figure out what the fck i'm drawing for the tged zine #cause i don't actually know what i'm gonna do yet (but i have until june to think on it i guess) #and. and... #... i think that's everything? #no there's still a lot of other stuff i wanna do but these tags are so long by now.. #if you read them all uh good on you i guess? #i gotta go to bed i need to cease thinking-

[crossbackpoke-check]

Substance, Shadow, and Spirit [remixed, abridged] by Tao Yuanming

#liv in the replies #patrice bergeron #boston bruins #brad marchand #do you ever think about how brad marchand said that when bergy retired he would retire or are you capable of normal thought i'm not at all #please say a gratitude for both my sanity& y'all that this poem (which has been saved in my camera roll with the vague idea of using it for #??? ​long) & not one of the poems i had saved for carey for a really long time & remixed & everything with another poem until i found a poem #that absolutely murdered me in cold blood but there is an alternate universe where i did& then had to explain my unhinged thoughts to you. #anyway how are we feeling about bergy retirement. pspspspsp sara & luna are y'all doing okay like. the doc title for this one was #patrice the hockey player means a lot to me but patrice the person means so much more #which is why the end line of the other poem was so *%"@^)! (you love / what you are) because patrice does. like he is a whole ass good huma #& now since no one asked i need to tell you all the details about everything also y'all please clap i made an edit with NO baby pictures #although i did find one & save it & minimal genres of photo i always use in edits because they're my taste & aesthetic but anyway. #when i saved the first photo and marked it as one i wanted i accidentally wrote “how will he know they love him” which is not the line but #makes me feel feral about patrice & the rest of them all had hurtful names too but also. the third picture is literally a CELLY like brad #just scored a goal & he is clinging to bergy for dear life with that shit i saved that as “oh the agony on his face for unendurable” #& yes it is one of my cliches to have a draft day picture but in my defense the lifelong bond that patrice has/d with boston deserved to be #there even if i put in the love story & YES that picture is from the 2011 playoff right below it shared joy & pain & i couldn't tell you #when the brad marchy photo for together forever is except for the fact that i saw it & just the gut punch of oh my god the way he looks at #things men will praise you for is the stanley cup. duh. but i love the contrast of “some deed” being the stanley cup but then #bergy's choice to do noble deeds (ends up still earning praise &that's my note to his efforts outside of hockey we love a supportive captai #should also mention the first two i came up with & had the photos i knew i wanted for were the first and last one alskaldk but i KNEW i #wanted chara somewhere in the paragraph about leaving & then while i was looking found the one of bergy playing tuukka on accident & yes #i do have to make goalie jokes every time. no reprieve . no dice/no deal/no goal goalies have no rest/reprieve etc etc the one that killed #me though was looking for a patrice award pic & i wanted basically the one that i got for “how will you know any will praise you” & instead #also got the picture of patrice winning the some community hero award for charity work that he does & i love him mama & of COURSE that puck #is from bergy's 1000 game who do you think I am (if you guessed sleepy and emotional about patrice you'd be right) and ALSO please be ready #for all the patrice posts/bruins posts that have been sitting in my drafts to be released on this occasion of patrice retirement #I FORGOT TO MENTION THAT TUUKKA ALSO RETIRED THAT’S WHY HE WAS ON WISE OR SIMPLE NO REPRIEVE AND THAT LATE OR SOON WAS ALWAYS GOING TO BE #CHARA BECAUSE CHARA LEFT FIRST TO GO TO THE CAPS AND THEN LEFT IN RETIRMENT HE LEFT SOON BUT NOT FOR REAL THEN LATER LEFT FOR REAL (RETIRED)