#i’ve heard it so many time but it doesn’t matter whether or not you think they are because you aren’t in the relationship with them

[norrizzandpia]

I’ve Got You (LN4)

Summary: In the midst of the FIA determining whether his lap times will be deleted, Y/n finds her boyfriend sitting in front of multiple cameras, but that doesn’t matter, he’s upset and she’s got him.

Warnings: none <3

Note: this is based off when Lando’s quali lap times were deleted and he was just sitting there looking at his hands all sad :(

“Where is he?” Y/n threw the headphones off her head the moment she caught wind of the news.

Andrea approached her softly, a hand up, “He’s doing the post-quali interviews, Y/n.”

She shook her head at him, “So, what? He’s just sitting there as they converse about his lap time? Andrea, you know how he gets with these things. He shouldn’t be alone.”

Andrea stepped in front of her when she tried to maneuver around him, trying to get to Lando, “Y/n, there are too many cameras. We can’t ensure PR.”

She blinked at him, “Are you fucking kidding me? Fuck PR. I don’t care about anything, but getting to him right now. He should not be alone right now. I mean, look at him!” She waved her hand toward the TVs, screens showing Lando picking at his nails as clear embarrassment sunk into his body, “He doesn’t even want to be alone right now.”

Andrea huffed, eyes glancing to the side before landing back on her and nodding, “Fine, but no major PDA.”

She loved Andrea, she truly did, but she gave him a nasty look before rushing off.

—

She weaseled her way through the crowds, tears springing her eyes at the image of Lando sitting idly by himself. A man stopped her when she tried to get passed the barriers, “Miss, you do not have authorization to enter into this area.”

She smiled at him, “I’m his girlfriend.”

That didn’t mean anything in the eyes of security, “Okay.”

A frown found its way onto her face, “Sir, please. I’m trying to comfort someone I love.”

He continued to shake his head, “I understand, but I cannot allow you into this area. I can’t confirm who you are.”

Hands tied, her eyes spotted Oscar and she yelled him over. When his feet landed him feet away from the situation, he didn’t need anytime to realize what was going on. Oscar grabbed Y/n’s arm, “It’s okay. She’s with me.”

The man thought for a moment before allowing her through, a smile on her face as she thanked Oscar. He waved it off, asking her to promise a happier Lando. She would try, she said.

Lando saw her feet first. Her white sneakers that she loved so much aligned in his vision and he stopped picking at his fingers. His gaze slid up her form as she sat down next to him, hand sliding under and around his arm softly. She heard the murmurs, they were incredibly loud, and the camera clicks, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She could practically feel the upset melting off Lando. She hurt so much for him.

His body relaxed at the feeling of her warmth and when she laid her head on his shoulder, he laid his on the top of her head.

“I’m sorry, baby.” She whispered. Maybe lip readers would figure out what they said.

His hands went to fidget with the nails on his fingers, but she stopped him, linking their hands and softly rubbing his skin, “It’s okay. I need to work harder. I can’t keep failing like this.”

She squeezed his hand three times, a silent confession of love, “You’re not failing. You haven’t failed, Lan. Everybody is proud of you. Racing is a hard sport and you are one of the most talented drivers here. You’re so so hard on yourself, love.”

Lando chuckled, “Y/n, you have to say these things. You’re my girlfriend.”

She pulled her head back lightly, giving him a moment to get his off her head before looking him in the eyes, “Lan, I don’t have to say anything. When have I ever lied to you? When have I not told you that an outfit looked bad when it did? When have I not told you that a move you did in the race screwed you over when it did? When have I not told you you handled a situation badly when you did? I’ve always been up front with you. This is a hard track. You are not a failure, Lan. Nobody thinks that.”

He was quiet for a moment before pecking her lips, “Even though part of me is still beating myself up over this, knowing you’re proud of me helps it subside a bit.”

She smiled, kissing his cheek whilst still rubbing his hand, “Of course, I’m proud of you. Lan, I will always be proud of you. Even when you don’t give your all, I’m proud of you for being you. Fuck anybody who thinks different, you’ve got this. You have shown time and time again that you’ve got this. I’m sure you’ll give it your all tomorrow and you’ll continue to show just how much you’ve got this.”

His head fell to the side with a soft grin, “You think so?”

She brushed the hair around his face away, “Yes, I do think so. And, hey, even if you don’t, if you DNF, I’ll buy you your favorite ice cream and we’ll watch a sad movie, have a good cry. We can turn anything bad into something good.”

He laughed, “How is crying a good thing?”

She gave him a deadpanned look, “Baby, you love a good cry.”

He leaned into her as he giggled, “You’re right. You know me too well.”

She nodded, “I love you, don’t I?”

“I love you too. Thank you.” He whispered, kissing her lightly in fear of the cameras. He never told her often, but Y/n had the greatest ability to talk him out of his moments of self-doubt. Whether it was small or big, she always knew just the things to say to make him snap out of his anxieties. Her superpower, turning his frown upside down.

He wished he was as good as her at it, but she was Y/n, his favorite person, she did everything better than everybody.

He loved her for it, he lived for it, he continued for it.

He loved her, he lived for her, he continued for her.

And when they told him his lap times had been deleted, the weight didn’t feel as heavy. Her arm wrapped around the side of his body as they walked away and her whispers of reassurance in his ear, the lap time situation began to feel smaller.

He accredited it all to her. Her words worked wonders, but, if he was being honest, a small look sent his way from her would do the trick. He guessed it was how much he felt for her, how much of his happiness lay with her.

Under the Qatar Grand Prix lights, Lando found peace. When the reporters asked him how he was coping with the loss, he had the same response every time.

“Some time spent in the presence of my girlfriend will work wonders.”

#mclaren #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagines #lando norris fic #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando norris #lando norris x you #lando norris edit #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris blurb #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fluff #ln4 fic #ln4 x you #ln4 x y/n

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Miguel and Hobie Fighting for Your Love

Summary: Both men knew they were wildly in love with you. But, as you remain oblivious to their feelings, their conflict strengthens. A war is brewing.

“I won’t let you have her.” Miguel’s eyes gleamed between the velvet sheets of artificial night, the dim glow of the control panel at his back, casting a shroud over his front. Hobie stood before him, gripping his guitar by the neck, resting it over the back of his shoulders. His other hand sat in his pocket, creating the illusion of comfort. Yet, beneath his lax exterior, Miguel could hear his heart pounding. Racing. Hobie drew a breath, looked off to the side.

“I don’t think that’s your decision to make, Big Man.” Eyes half-lidded, he returned to Miguel, dragging his stare. Lethargy. Gave a thin smile. “Though, I suppose that if you knew that – really believed it – you’d know that you don’t stand a chance–”

Miguel’s fists clenched, the sound of his suit squealing beneath his grip causing Hobie’s gaze to flicker. He swallowed, shallow. He knew what Miguel was capable of – had seen how many lives he’d gladly put at risk for you. And he’d do it again if it weren’t for the fact that your friendship to both him and Hobie was what kept them locked in a stalemate; a spectral triangle; Bermuda. An anomaly in itself.

Of course, you had no clue that you’d captured the hearts of the two superheroes. The problem was that they did. Their softened attitude towards you, their care for the most banal of features of your life, their seemingly bottomless investment in your close circle of friends and beyond could have been construed as platonic concern. Friendship of the highest degree.

Once they realised that, individually, they were not alone in the pursuit of your heart, a competition was born. Miguel, ever the organised, careful individual he was, orchestrated your time together, manufactured it, monitored it – poured over it with a fine-toothed comb. Many a night had he spent awake wondering what your accidental brushing of hands had meant, whether the warmth that had flushed your cheeks was the result of his presence or the joke he’d just cracked, your laughter Calliopic. Persephonic.

He savoured every hug you shared, no matter how brief, sewing the patchwork memories into the fabric of his heart, the fragrance soaking into his bones. Your phantom warmth wrapped around him tightly, a second suit, whenever he needed it – needed you. He’d find ways of encouraging physical contact whenever he could, his heart throbbing at the feeling of your face pressed into his chest, your arms around his back as he embraced you.

He wondered what your kisses tasted like. Whether you thought of him when you used that chapstick he bought you, ice cream cake – the aroma of celebration. Because, to him, any moment with you was a celebration.

Miguel would offer to take you home after work. Though, not via ordinary means of travel.

He’d permit you to hop onto his back and slide your arms around his neck, taking you on a spin through the city, bringing you to the highest peaks, the pinnacles of human beauty through neon illuminations making the city sparkle like a sea of jewels. He’d feel his heart stutter as you shifted to get a closer look, your chin almost resting on his shoulder, cheeks just touching as you gasped, took in the scenery. In times like these, he was glad of the mask, of his ability to hide the effect you had on him, how you played his emotions like a string instrument.

“I’ve never seen the city like this before,” you told him, voice gentle at his ear, almost carried away by the wind. Miguel heard you. He strained his every spider sense to do so, no matter the conditions.

“Hobie hasn’t done this with you?” He tried not to let the hope in his tone show. You shrugged. 

“He’s more of a stargazing kind of guy. Though, I’ll let you in on a secret,” your voice tailed off. Miguel leaned in. You whispered. “I think he just doesn’t want to go pivoting off buildings after a long day of already having done so.”

Miguel felt an idea spark in his brain. The start of a new ritual, routine, for just you and him. This would be for him what stargazing was to hobie – he’d bring you closer to the stars than Hobie ever could!

Whenever he’d return you home, whisking you through the midnight air, he’d place you at your door, imply what a good time he’d had. And, as always, you thanked him, eyes crinkling before parting with a hug.

Miguel would wait until you’d enter your apartment and locked the door behind you before leaving, and even then, he’d find himself perched atop a nearby building, waiting for something, anything to happen – for any opportunity wherein he could prove to you he was a hero. In times like these, he wished with a selfish heart that you lived in a more decrepit part of the city.

He realised how much he loved you – adored you – when you fell asleep in his arms after work one evening. He’d been carrying you to your room when you just nodded off. In his grasp, you were tiny, fragile. Weak. The responsibility of protection, the fierce need to watch over you, to possess you entirely, overcame him, overwhelmed every sensibility he’d cultivated throughout his life.

And so, he watched you. Eneamoured himself with your sleeping features, the trust you displayed to have fallen asleep on him. In his mind, this becomes a core memory. One which he turns into a joke between the two of you, his own fragment of sanctity – the beginnings of close friendship – one he’d use to build a statue like Hobie’s. A statue of you. 

Hobie’s eyes narrowed. His nose wrinkled as his lips turned up in a half-sneer.

“You think the odd hug and a second of eye contact constitute as…what? A chance?” He scoffed. “A signifier that she feels for you more than she feels for the common man?” Incredulity danced in hobie’s eyes. Seethed from between his lips. The corner of his lips pulled back, revealed a smirk.

“Get over yourself, Mate. If she were interested, you’d know it by now.”

Of course, Hobie had his own collection of memories regarding you, his own wardrobe of moments sewn together with the thread of mirth to wear and fashion whenever and however he so pleased. He would wear it out to parties, on the town, to the Spidey-Station (as he referred to it with you). Show Miguel that his bare-threaded ribbon was nothing compared to his tapestry.

You and Hobie would wander the city when it was late and dark and quiet, talking about anything and everything that crossed your minds, more often than not leading the two of you to howl with laughter, leaning against each other as tears flooded from your eyes. The story, regardless of how funny it had been, held no weight compared to the joy that sparked in Hobie’s chest whenever you touched, whenever you simply existed with him. Fireworks.

You got him in ways nobody else truly could.

Many times had he come to visit you, only to lay his head in your lap and tell you what was bothering him. Sometimes it was trivial, others it was not. And every time, you’d sit and listen, playing with his hair and the badges on his jacket. And, of course, Hobie did the same for you.

One evening, you’d come banging on Hobie’s door, voice distraught as you called for him. He practically tore the door off its hinges when he heard how distressed you were, and, when he saw you, his heart tore. Your face was tear-streaked and your posture gave the impression of anguish, immortal and unrelenting.

“Hobie,” you cried. “Am–” your sniffing diced your words like meat in a kitchen. “Am I pretty?!”

Hobie blinked, unsure if he’d heard the question. And when he didn’t respond, you wailed.

Hobie knew what this was, for you’d spoken about it at length many times before. Insecurity was a powerful tool, especially when fuelled with sleep-deprivation and alcohol, one which Hobie wished he could destroy. But, while he couldn’t do that yet, he reached for you and took you in his arms. And as you cried into his shoulder, he told you how beautiful you were, how surprised he was that he was able to get a look in with you at all with how many men were chasing after you. And when you tried to say that no such thing had ever happened, he pulled back, gave you a smile, the visage of mischief.

“That’s ‘cause I scared ‘em all away!”

Your veneer cracked, and a laugh sprung from the concrete, the beginnings of life in an apocalypse. What Hobie wanted to say, though, what he nearly said, was everything he felt for you – how no word in the human vernacular could ever even begin to comprehend or compare how ethereal you were to him, how widely his love for you encompassed his very being, everything he said, did and wanted dictated entirely by the thought of you.

He opened his mouth, holding you close again. He could say it all now, while you were drunk – pretend it never happened if the exchange turned sour. But he knew he couldn’t live with your rejection, even if you’d have no memory of it.

He closed his mouth, swallowed the confession that teetered on his tongue like a pill. Consumed his contemplation, obscuring his feelings from you for just a little longer. While he couldn’t say it – not yet – he pulled you closer still, chest-to-chest, one hand at the back of your head and the other wrapped around your waist. A lover’s lock. And he held you. Tightly.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in every universe, (Y/N). I should know.” he murmured. He felt you nestle into him. You’d heard him. He sighed. “I just wished you could see it, too.”

Both men viewed the other as possessing some unattainable advantage, the beginnings of a  fabled proverb blatant in their desire to attain what they thought the other had. What they were both striving for.

You.

For Hobie, the very thing he had prided himself on was his self-believed downfall. Friendship. The two of you had been friends for years, basked in a platonic limelight. Initially, Hobie hadn't needed to worry about how you viewed him, but as he fell deeper and deeper in love with you the longer he knew you, the fact that you’d maintained such a close friendship with him without once giving the indication of romanticism frightened him.

Miguel had only waltzed into your life a few months ago. You didn’t have to see him in a platonic light, didn’t have to bear witness to his deepest faults or his subtlest of quirks. Quite simply, you didn’t know enough about him for his mystique to be shattered.

On the contrary, Miguel saw how close you and Hobie were, how, without saying a word, the two of you knew what the other was thinking. He found your incessant asking of “Do you think Hobie would like this?” when visiting a store to be intimidating. He wondered if you asked the same when you went out with Hobie. If he was the subject of your concern as your best friend often was.

Whereas Hobie knew your every thought and desire, Miguel knew he clutched at straws by comparison, drinking in every detail you afforded him, taking nothing for granted. He’d bring you gifts, stories, regalements from his time out in the field, and his chest would swell whenever you watched him with wide eyes. He hoped, with every fibre of his being, that your astonishment was confined to him and him alone. He prayed that your years of friendship to Hobie was enough to dull any excitement you may feel when he told you similar tales.

This war was simply beginning, no two ways about it. And as they surveyed each other, Hobie and Miguel, weighing up the other’s pull on you, their minds conjoined to speak once and for the last time.

“May the best man win.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

#across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #hobie brown #hobie x reader #hobie x you #atsv #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x y/n #spider punk #spiderman astv #spiderman

[shadowtriovibes]

something wretched about this, something so precious about this

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x f!MC

Word Count: 3k

Rating: E

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), PIV sex, language kink, parseltongue kink

Summary: request: "mc finds herself absolutely taken with Ominis and his parselmouth." aka mc is absolutely taken with ominis' mouth in every sense of the word

“But you don’t even understand what I’m saying,” he counters, curious. “N-no,” you whine. « I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it, sweetheart? » he hisses. « You’re a troublesome little thing, you hardly listen to me when you can understand. »

The first time you heard Ominis speak Parseltongue, you’d found it to be almost antithetical. It had sounded so bizarre coming out of his mouth, so different from the gentlemanly manner in which he most often spoke. Yet the strength of his snakelike voice sounded somehow familiar, and the way his sighing, hissing words wrapped around you felt like sinking into a warm bath.

“It worked!” you’d exclaimed, hoping your voice wasn’t trembling. “Ominis, you possess a rare ability indeed.”

Minutes later you’d writhed on the floor in unimaginable pain and all thoughts of Ominis’ potentially disreputable talent had flown from your mind. In fact, you’d been so rattled from being on the receiving end of the Cruciatus curse that it took several days for you to recall that you were no longer the sole member of your little trio with a rare gift.

A month later you’d asked Sebastian about it while you were studying for Charms, lazily levitating stacks of books while he had been pouring over Salazar Slytherin’s spellbook.

“What does being a Parselmouth mean?” you asked him curiously.

“Means you can talk to snakes,” he replied, half listening. “Understand them, too.”

You rolled your eyes. “I know that, thanks.”

Sebastian looked up from his book with a skeptical expression on his face. “Then what exactly are you asking?”

You shrug, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t know, I just… Ominis made it sound like it was a bad thing, to be known as a Parselmouth. Like it’s given him a bad reputation. Why is that?”

Carefully closing his spellbook, Sebastian sits back and considers his words carefully before continuing.

“Well, the answer to that is right in front of you,” he says, gesturing to the tattered book on the table before him. “As Ominis said, most Parselmouths are direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin, and whether it’s warranted or not, he’s a controversial figure.”

“Sure,” you agree. “But… does Ominis speak Parseltongue much? How would anyone even know?”

“I think most people just assume,” Sebastian replies with a shrug. “His brothers spoke it, and he’s told me that they speak it more regularly at his home. Many Gaunts have chosen to keep a snake rather than an owl or any sort of conventional animal.”

You nod slowly. “Have you heard him speak it before that night in the Scriptorium?”

“A handful of times,” he admits. “Sometimes he’ll slip up if he’s especially angry or frustrated. I’ve also heard him speaking it in his sleep on occasion.”

Eventually, the conversation shifts to the spellbook and you once again forget about Ominis’ rare skill – this time for nearly two years.

By your seventh year, Ominis has learned about your ancient magic abilities, and your friendship has grown from one of rueful kinship to genuine affection. Nevertheless, he still seems to keep so much of himself guarded, even as you’ve shared so many of your worries and insecurities as you’ve grown into your role as the only living Keeper of your ability.

(It doesn’t help that you’ve fallen achingly in love with him along the way.)

These days you spend most nights studying with him and Sebastian. Usually, you’re eager to soak up the years of knowledge they’d accrued before you’d started school at Hogwarts, but tonight you find yourself distracted.

“Are you listening to me?” Ominis suddenly snaps, and you glance up from where you’d been reading the same paragraph over and over.

Ominis looks annoyed, and to his point, you certainly hadn’t been listening. You’ve both been sprawled out on the floor of the Undercroft for hours now revising for Potions. Sebastian had called it a night shortly before dinner, leaving the two of you to continue pouring over theory textbooks in preparation for Professor Sharp’s famously lethal end-of-term exams.

“Y-yes, sorry,” you stutter. “What were you saying?”

In your defense, winter has arrived in the Highlands and the stone floor of Ominis’ hideaway has cooled you to the bone. The weak flame flickering beneath your shared cauldron isn’t enough to pull you out of your daydreams about a nice warm bed, some cozy blankets, and perhaps someone to share it with…

(Someone who can whisper secret serpentine words against your skin, chasing your goosebumps lower and lower beneath the covers…)

“Again?” Ominis asks, more disappointed than angry this time. “You can’t focus on my words for a full minute before slipping into some reverie?”

Merlin, if only he knew that focusing on his words wasn’t the problem at all.

“I’m sorry, Ominis,” you whine. “But it’s getting late, it’s freezing down here, and we missed dinner…”

“You said you’d help me,” he reminds you, perhaps a bit vulnerably. “The exam is tomorrow afternoon, and my Draught of Living Death is still curdling.”

You groan pathetically and rub your eyes. “Ominis, you’re a dear friend, and I simply adore you, but you’re bloody rubbish at Potions. Perhaps we should take a break for the night.”

Ominis’ jaw clenches while he stirs his (admittedly lumpy-looking) brew.

“Ominis?” you ask hesitantly. “...I apologize if I was harsh, but–”

“Don’t,” he interjects. “Just… stop talking. Clearly, you’re no longer interested in helping me, so you might as well go back to your common room for the night.”

Sighing, you shift closer to where he sits cross-legged on the stone floor and gently rest a hand on top of his knee. You know how challenging Potions has been for him, especially lately; N.E.W.T.-level draughts are challenging enough when one can confirm that the brew they’ve already spent hours preparing has progressed to the appropriate color.

“I think you need to take a break,” you say softly. “You’re making yourself too frustrated, Ominis.”

You watch as a bit of the tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders seeps away as his head hangs gently. As his fingers nervously twitch in his lap, he takes a slow, measured breath and lets his eyes fall closed.

« I need to do this correctly, even just once, » he says. « Then I’ll be able to sleep. »

You suspect he doesn’t even realize he hadn’t spoken English until you sharply pull your hand back with a gasp.

“Wh-what… did I, um,” he stammers. “I didn’t… say that the proper way, did I?”

“Well, er – you hissed it,” you say carefully. “That… that was Parseltongue again, wasn’t it?”

Ominis carefully nods. Your stomach clenches when you notice him hunch in on himself as if he’s ashamed of what he’s done.

“It’s okay!” you quickly tell him. “I, um. I haven’t heard you speak Parseltongue since fifth year, and – and I don’t understand it, obviously, b-but it’s alright if you want to use it.”

You trail off lamely and try to rest your hand on his knee once more, but he nudges it away.

“I apologize,” he says hollowly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

A wave of nausea rolls over you as you watch him duck his face and turn away from you – not so that he can’t see you, mind, but that you won’t see him.

“Omins,” you sigh. “Please, you – you haven’t scared me, I promise you.”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he counters in a deceptively soft voice. “I can tell, you know. Your heart is racing, you’ve gone warm all over… You want to run away. It’s only natural, when one is frightened. I would know.”

You swallow audibly and once more attempt to rest your hand on his thigh, and this time he allows you.

“I’m not scared,” you insist, and as true as your words are, you almost wish you were lying to him.

You think it’s probably less shameful than the truth, which is that Ominis’ brief Parseltongue outburst has your heart racing with desire, not fear.

“Then why…?” he asks before eventually trailing off.

“I find it fascinating,” you tell him softly as you trace your fingertips along the seam of his trousers. “It’s… compelling, Ominis. Perhaps a bit enticing.”

“Enticing?” he repeats softly. “You feel, er.. compelled by my Parseltongue?”

You shyly shrug before remembering a non-verbal answer won’t suffice. “I suppose I do.”

The both of you are silent for several long moments. The only sound that can be heard in the Undercroft is Ominis’ sickly bubbling potion, until he finally asks you, “May I kiss you?”

You hesitate for merely a beat, just to let your mind catch up, but before you can answer Ominis repeats himself in Parseltongue: « May I kiss you? »

This time, your non-verbal answer of crawling astride his lap and kissing him yourself is entirely sufficient.

Ominis moans into your mouth while you grab the lapels of his uniform shirt, brazenly rocking against his lap like one of those wanton witches in Sebastian’s rather foul romance novels. His hands settle on your hips and he helps you grind down onto him until you can feel for yourself where he’s grown hard.

“Wh-what are we doing?” he asks against your lips.

He doesn’t sound scandalized, or even hesitant – rather, he sounds like he’s asking how much you’re going to let him get away with.

“Whatever we want,” you answer him breathlessly. “Ominis, I – I’ve wanted this for so long, we’ll do whatever you want.”

« Whatever I want? » he hisses, and you shiver in his lap. « What I want is to get you on your back for me, sweet girl. »

Carefully, Ominis tips you from his lap back onto the freezing tile, but just as quickly he gently pushes your shoulders back until you’re sprawled out on some abandoned Potions notes. Your skirt falls halfway up your legs and Ominis traces his fingertips along your skin until he finds the hem.

« Spread your legs for me, my love, » he hisses, sliding his hands up the insides of your thighs. « Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to touch you here? »

His unseeing eyes flutter closed as his fingertips brush against the hem of your undergarments. You’re wet – you have been since he’d first slipped into those low, hissing tones of his – but now he knows it. He can feel it.

“Gods,” he groans. “You.. you really like to hear my Parseltongue this much?”

“It’s your voice,” you whimper, grinding your hips toward his teasing fingertips. “You… you sound different.”

“Tell me,” he demands. “How do I sound?”

Realizing that he likely sounds the same to his own ears even when speaking the ancient snake language, you bite your lip and force yourself to focus.

“You – you sound powerful,” you admit. “Like your voice is stronger, or… it’s like I can hear it in my whole body, not just my ears.”

Ominis wordlessly rewards you by firmly dragging his thumb down the length of your core through your panties. You melt into his touch; your skin feels as if it’s on fire now, and the very same icy stone floors you’d complained about not long ago now feel like a soothing balm against your skin.

“But you don’t even understand what I’m saying,” he counters, curious.

“N-no,” you whine.

« I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it, sweetheart? » he hisses. « You’re a troublesome little thing, you hardly listen to me when you can understand. »

You whimper and arch your back. “I m-might not understand Parseltongue, but I can tell when you’re teasing me.”

“Darling, I’ve barely begun to tease you,” he murmurs before leaning down and licking up the length of your body from your navel to the dip between your collarbones.

“Please, Ominis,” you beg.

« You’ve been distracting me all evening, » he continues. « I fully intend to have just as much fun playing with you, since you seem to enjoy driving me mad. »

While he kisses what’s sure to be an impressive bruise onto the side of your neck, Ominis slides your panties down your legs.

“I want you inside me,” you confess.

« You want the first time I take you to be on this dirty stone floor? » he asks lazily. « Are you that desperate to be fucked, sweetheart, or have I made you wait too long and driven you mad? »

You groan frustratedly as he starts to kiss his way down your body, pointedly ignoring your canting hips. “Ominis, I’m begging, please say you’ll touch me.”

Ominis presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss against your hipbone. « Don’t fret, my love. How could I refuse such a tempting offer from such a beautiful, albeit slightly mad woman? »

By the time he traces the tip of his tongue along the crease of your hip, you realize where he’s headed. An irreverent array of babble spills from your lips while you attempt to grind impossibly closer to his face, but he places his hands over your hips and keeps you firmly planted against the stone floor before he presses his tongue flat against your cunt.

If he were still speaking Parseltongue into your skin, you’d never know. Any words of praise or kindly teasing that spilled from his lips were drowned out by a litany of curses you’d never utter in front of a man like Ominis in any other setting.

“That’s it, my lovely girl,” he whispers against the inside of your thigh. « Your cunt is so wet for my tongue, and it’s even sweeter than you are. »

He’s switching between English and Parseltongue so easily that you can’t be sure he’s even doing it on purpose anymore, and you couldn’t possibly say which you prefer more. Being fully aware of every filthy word he says is a dream, but is it as delicious as not knowing what he’s saying as he utters secret confessions inches from your skin?

You don’t bother spending much time considering it while you lie back and let him lick you open. All you can think about is his tongue on your skin, pushing inside you, savoring every inch of your body while he learns you by touch and by taste.

That’s what he’s doing, after all – learning you. He’ll get you off, of course he will, but that’s not why he’s bent over between your legs with your calves thrown over his shoulder.

“Ominis,” you groan. “I need you in me, I… I need you.”

He presses a deceptively sweet kiss to your sensitive clit before he asks, “Is that so? I thought you liked my Tongue, and now it’s not enough for you?”

“Don’t tease me,” you plead. “I know you want me just as badly.”

While Ominis had been coming up for air between burying his face between his thighs, you’d been able to see just how affected he is – you aren’t alone in your eagerness, you can be sure of it.

« Right as always, you are, » he hisses. « Perhaps you don’t understand my words, but you can sense my desire, can’t you? »

He grinds his hard cock against your inner thigh to punctuate his words and you whine pathetically.

“Take me, take me, take me,” you chant while he sits back to undo his trousers and push them down just enough to free himself. You realize he intends to stay fully clothed while he takes you apart, and you shiver against the cold floor.

When he finally sinks inside, you fall helplessly silent.

Every ounce of focus you have is spent on relaxing your body, opening up for him as he buries himself inside you. He’s almost ruthless in his endeavor to fully seat himself in you despite his intimidating length. Save a few breathless not-quite-whines, you’re quiet beneath him.

« Nothing to say, darling? » he hisses at first, and then in a softer voice he asks, “Are you alright? Am I hurting you?”

“N-no, it’s good,” you moan. “Please… keep talking to me.”

“You want me to talk to you, hm?” he asks, grinding in until the flat part of his pelvis brushes against yours. « Do you need a distraction? You’re taking me so well, my angel. »

He starts to fuck you in earnest with a slow, careful rhythm to keep your bare skin from catching along the worn stones beneath your back. As he thrusts inside you, he keeps talking in that low, hissing tone. Soon you realize even his words match the rhythm of his body, rising and falling with his motions.

« Feels so good… Waited so long… I can’t stop, please don’t ask me to stop… »

His back feels feverishly warm to the touch while you drag your hands down from his shoulder blades to the back of his hips. In the years since you’d first heard the snakeline sound of Parseltongue fall from his lips, he’s grown taller and his musculature has changed into that of a lithe, well-built man. Now the strength of that voice suits the body from which it emanates, and both have combined to keep you firmly pinned to the floor beneath their might.

You cling to him as he fucks you harder. You feel so close already, tumbling toward the edge of pleasure beneath him as his serpentine words glide across your skin.

When you come around him, you hear him whisper your name in Parseltongue – it’s the same, you think, but softer, and sweeter.

« When I come inside you, » he hisses just above a whisper. « I want you to keep every last drop inside for me. Will you, my darling? »

“Ominis!” you wail.

“Fuck – fuck,” he gasps, and seconds later you feel the mess he's made inside you threaten to spill out with every slow, greedy thrust in his post-orgasmic haze.

“N-no, stop,” you whimper, and he immediately goes still.

“What is it?” he asks, his English crisp and clear.

You shift shyly beneath him and whisper, “Don’t… don’t keep going. I want to keep it inside for now, and – and when you move, it, um…”

Merlin, you don’t have the words to say you’re just as greedy as he is – you want to stay full of him, just as he’d asked in that ancient, indecipherable tongue.

Ominis presses soothing kisses to your face while you wrap your legs around his waist to hold him in place. His lips brush across your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, the curve of your jaw.

“Of course, darling,” he whispers. “I’ll stay right here.”

Then, with his lips pressed to yours, he hisses, « I’ll stay right here as long as you like. »

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis x reader #ominis x mc #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fic #hogwarts legacy smut fic #parseltongue #parseltongue kink

[gh0stsp1d3r]

Hii love you work!! Can I request a Luke castellan x daughter!of Artemis reader?? Like reader is badass and flirty with Luke, and Luke doesn't even know whether she's serious or not because he has a big fat crush on the reader ever since he met her 🥹🥹

so Luke has been praying to Artemis since then for her blessing and Artemis is just like "You are not good enough for my daughter and I don't want you around her, END OF STORY." "SO WHY DON'T YOU GIVE ME ONE MORE-" SLAM

Ends with Luke finally confessing to reader and reader accepting after a long time of deciding because reader had a crush on him for a long time now but knows her mom doesn't like Luke at all :((

HOPE YOU HAVE A GOOD DAY/NIGHT!!! <33

One more chance

A/N- I love this sm, so sorry this took a while ):

Masterlist

Warnings: you make some suggestive jokes, that’s it really

“Thought you were the best swordsman in years.” You joked, Luke was on the ground, as you pointed your sword at him.

“I’m going easy on you.” He replied, grabbing the edge of your sword. You rolled your eyes, mumbling out an ‘mhm’ as you extended your hand, helping him up.

He brushed off the dirt, picking up his own sword.

“You done yet, Castellan?” You asked him, going over to your water bottle and drinking from it.

“Nah. I can go all day.”

“Can you? I’d like to see that.” You said in a suggestive tone, laughing at his face and the way his cheeks turned a pink.

“Whatever.” He mumbled, rolling his eyes, getting back into a fighting stance.

At dinner, he disappeared into the woods. You wondered where he went sometimes, he’s been doing this for years now. But you gave him his privacy.

He sat down with his food on the ground, pulling out a match from his pocket and taking a deep breath before lighting the food on fire.

“Uhm.” He cleared his throat. “Hello, again.” He laughed quietly, “I know I ask almost every day, but I really, really truly do like your daughter. Please. All I’m asking for is your blessing to date her-“

His sentence got cut off by a familiar voice. “No.” Was all she said, this time.

He sighed, feeling defeated. It’s been years he’s been asking, and every time it’s been no.

“Ma’am please-“

“I don’t want you near my daughter. You’re not good for her.”

Those words hurt him, a pang in his chest. No matter how many times he’s heard it, it hurt him every time.

He loved you, more than anyone else could. So why was she still saying no? The flame went out and he sighed, defeated.

Fuck it.

To him it seemed like the Gods already didn’t like him, so why not piss them off even more? He doesn’t like them, never has. He doesn’t owe them shit, he thought.

So, he went back to the tables, coming up to yours.

“Hey, y/n, can we talk?”

You nodded instantly, saying goodbye to your friends and walking with him. You both took a little path to the lake.

“What’s up?” You asked him, hands shoved in your pockets as an attempt to hide your nervousness. Your heart raced as he turned his head to look at you, he pulled out a little rose.

“I was just… I’ve been thinking, a lot recently. And I think I like you.” He said the words in almost a whisper, your eyes widened. He handed you the flower.

“One of the Aphrodite girls picked it. Cost me 3 drachmas.” He said with a nervous laugh as you took it.

“Thank you. I uh… I like you too..” you told him the truth. You weren’t too sure what to say.

“Would you… wanna go on a date with me?” He asked you, hopeful now.

You thought for a moment. Your mom. She would be mad.

“I don’t know, Luke. You know how my mom is about…”

He sighed, and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. Sorry, for even asking.” He cleared his throat and began to walk away. You grabbed his wrist.

“That wasn’t a no.”

He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Just… give me some time to talk and convince her, then we can talk about that date.” You said with a small smile.

He nodded, a small smile making its way onto his own face.

#luke castellan apologist #luke castellan x you #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #pjo disney+ #pjo tv show #pjo x reader #charlie bushnell x reader

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: At Arm's Length.

Pairing: Yandere!Capitano x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 1.0k.

TW: Unhealthy Relationships.

You’re not completely sure that you’ve ever heard your husband speak.

Which, to be completely fair, isn’t quite as surprising as it should’ve been, considering how long you’ve been married. You corresponded solely through letters for the entirety of your prolonged engagement, and your wedding was a rushed affair – the ceremony brief and the reception nonexistent. There'd been vows, but his had been written as a sentimental (albeit, misplaced) reminder of your bethrothal, and your wedding night had been cut short by a sudden need for his presence in Fontaine. It’d been a relief, in the moment, a gentle mercy to punctuate your floral-adorned death sentence. You'd thanked not just the Tsaritsa, but all the many Archons for their clemency, and resolved that your relationship with Capitano would not be an affectionate one.

Now, you can only worry that he’d considered it a mercy, as well.

It’s a needless anxiety, really. Why should you care whether or not he loves you? You certainly don’t love him, and you’ve always known that Harbingers only marry out of convenience, that you’re more of an asset to him than a proper companion. He needs someone to take care of his household while he’s away, fighting for Snezhnaya in some distant nation, not a true partner, not someone it would affect him at all to leave for months at a time. He doesn't need to love you.

You shouldn’t be as nervous as you are, shouldn’t have to keep your hands balled so tightly around your sheets as you wait for Capitano. He’d returned to your estate earlier that evening, his armor dusted with ash and gore and his men visibly exhausted. You’d been there to receive him, but your sole greeting had come in the form of a hand on your shoulder, a light hum of approval before he left you, once again, to tend to matters that he genuinely cared for. Only minutes later, you’d asked a maid to fetch him for you, but that was hours ago, and you’re starting to think that he simply hadn't deemed it worth his time. Capitano is a lot of things, but you’d never known him to be careless. He couldn’t have forgotten, unless he genuinely cared so little for you that he paid you no mind at all.

You square your shoulders, gritting your teeth in frustration, but no sooner than you’d begun to curse yourself for being so naïve, the door to your chambers slowly creaks open, forming an entrance just wide enough to allow your husband through. Immediately, you do what you can to regain your composure, but if he senses your distress, if he cares about your faltering posture, the dark circles under your eyes, his concern is hidden by his ever-present mask. You can’t remember ever seeing him without the damned thing.

For a long moment, he only stands in front of you, silent and apathetic. You sigh, resigning yourself to a very lengthy, very one-sided conversation. “My lord,” You started, bowing your head slightly. “I… If you have a few spare minutes, I’d like to speak to you.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t respond. Again, you do what you can to bite back your irritation, gesturing towards the remaining space on the foot of your bed. “I'd also like you to sit down, my lord.”

He hesitates, but ultimetly abides you, lowering himself onto the mattress by your side. During his frequent absences, it could be easy to forget how large he is, how imposing he looks in his armor, how effortlessly he’s able to tower over you. You’d always known he was a soldier, a Harbinger, but still. He seems more like a monster, when the two of you are alone together.

You purse your lips, but force yourself to speak. “I’ve been dutiful to you, haven’t I?”

A stilted nod, but little else. Honestly, it’s already more than you expected.

“Have I disappointed you in some way? Failed to satisfy the responsibilities you've left for me?”

He shakes his head, as you had assumed he would.

“I… I just feel like I’ve let you down. You’re preoccupied, and I’m only here to care for your estate. I understand that. I know you don’t love me, but I can’t help but feel that you’ve been… distant, recently.” You pause, letting out a breathy laugh. Hands folded over your lap, your eyes set solidly on the floor, it's hard not to feel a little childish. Like you're playing house with someone who never had an interest in indulging you, let alone playing along. “I mean, I can’t even remember the sound of your voice. That’s not something I’d like to say about my own husband, no matter how superficial our marriage might be.”

He doesn’t react, not immediately. You wait, your patience well-trained to accommodate his reserved nature.

Then, he raises a hand to the bottom of his mask. Your heart skips a beat in your chest, more out of anticipation than anything else, and for a moment, just a moment, you think you might be allowed a glimpse of his face. You want to see his face. You want to be able to turn your husband into something other than a dark, foreboding shadow – present only in his letters, when there's a nation's worth of land between you and him.

But, your heart falls as quickly as it'd started to flutter. There is no face, no features you can assign to your dearly beloved. Instead, a thin line forms across the center of his mask, the metallic surface splitting apart into two jagged, organic pieces; revealing an endless void interrupted only by rows upon rows of pointed, razor-like teeth. All as white as snow, and so, so much sharper than they should’ve been, if he was anything remotely human.

The shock leaves you in a stupor as a long, black, tapered tongue curls out of the nothingness. The flat of it runs over your neck, your cheek, and you don’t have time to shudder before his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you into his lap with no hint of strain. “Love,” He says, but the word is more purred than spoken, stifled and distorted and twisted into something only barely recognizable. It nearly hurts to listen to. “My love.”

He goes silent, after that. His tongue retreats, his mask (mask? face?) sealing back into its idle state, but he continues to hold you, to trace little patterns into your sides with the pointed claws that you'd once believed belonged to his gloves. You only remain still. It’s all you can do to tell yourself to breathe. It's all you can do to remind yourself that he’s still a soldier, that he’s still a Harbinger, and it would be best not to struggle against him.

It’s all you can do to be thankful that your husband chooses to speak so rarely.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere prompts #yandere x you #yandere oneshot #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin x you #yandere genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #yandere capitano x reader #capitano x reader #yandere capitano #yanderecore #yancore

[theshelbyclan]

Baby Outlaw

Summary: Natasha has found out about another little girl who managed to escape the Red Room and she’s put Yelena onto it. But you escaped over a year ago and have no intention of being found (Part 1)

A/N: Here we go: my first not-Peaky fanfic on this blog. I started writing this one a while back and I’ve written a few more parts already, but I just wanna see first if anyone is interested in this one. Also, I wrote this one with an OC originally, but decided to post it as a reader insert, because people on here prefer those usually. Anyways, let me know what you think and whether you’d like to read more!

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Words: 3228

*****

“Yelena.”

“Hi! Are you calling me from your superhero friends’ headquarters? Are they with you now? How is the god from space doing? Tell them I said ‘hi’!” She excitedly answered the phone, only to suddenly change her tone, “Wait, what is wrong with you? You sound so serious.”

Natasha was serious, “I need you to track someone down.”

“I am,” her younger sister still didn’t quite understand, “You gave me the file with all the girls, remember? I’ve been tracking them all down for the last months.”

“I know, I’ve heard.” Still there was the urgency in her sister’s voice and it didn’t go unnoticed by Yelena. “This one is special.”

“They all are.” To Yelena, this was a matter of principle; from faceless weapons they were now free women, all important and valued. Still she understood, “Special why?”

Natasha sighed on the other end of the line, “Do you remember everything Dreykov did after I managed to get out?” She tried to hide the guilt from her voice as much as she could, but didn’t quite manage it.

“Of course. The security got much stricter, punishments harder, and the chemical subjugation. No one escaped after that.”

“Well, someone did,” Natasha said sharply. “Another girl managed to get away, only a year ago. She escaped from the woods, when they were training her. During the blind dropping.”

Yelena remember that part of their training well. The young girls were dropped in the middle of the woods during the freezing winter and had to get back on their own. It had taken her days to do it. A lot of girls never came back. “But wait, that means she’s only small...” she wondered out loud.

“I think she’s twelve now, thirteen maybe?”

“How did she get away? The tracker...”

“She cut it out of her leg,” Natasha finished her sentence for her. “This must’ve been before they did the operation on her.”

“Umnaya devochka...” Yelena mused with some admiration in her voice.

“She won’t be in your files.”

“I can find her,” Yelena said confidently, “if you can tell me where she was last seen?”

“St. Petersburg,” Natasha was obviously rummaging through some files on the other end, “but that was almost a year ago.”

Yelena nodded and was quiet for a little while. Then she wondered, “Why is she special? To you. There were so many little girls. We all were little girls once.”

Her sister didn’t reply straight away and when she did, some emotion slipped into her voice, “She doesn’t have anyone. I checked. Dreykov killed her whole family. And she managed to get away, just her, but now she has nowhere to go and no one to go to. I think she deserves someone looking out for her for once.”

“I think so too. I will look out for her,” Yelena answered decidedly, “I will find her.”

Natasha felt a certain relief wash over her. She knew Yelena would understand. After all, if she didn’t, who would?

*****

Six weeks later, Yelena was staying in a small apartment somewhere in Camden Town in London. It had taken her quite a while to track down the little girl who somehow had slipped through Dreykov’s fingers. She’d survived the Red Room and found a way to use it to her advantage. Yelena decided that as soon as she’d found the girl, she would have to ask her a lot of questions on how she did it.

But the kid was slippery, as Natasha would say. In the last month, she’d moved cities twice and changed the name she went by four times. In St. Petersburg, they called her ‘Anya’ at one of the shelters where she sometimes went for food. In Berlin, the homeless kids mentioned a girl named ‘Lisa’ that fit her description. In Paris, she’d dyed her hair, clever girl, and went by ‘Cleo’ and then ‘Lilian’. Finally, Yelena tracked her to London, where she heard rumours of a ‘Maisie’ living rough, which was funny to Yelena, because that name did not suit her at all. She felt like she knew the girl already. 

But the trail kept going cold. Yelena was constantly chasing shadows and rumours, never catching actual sight of her. Until London. Up until a few days ago, the former assassin had spend days gathering information and had gotten a recent description. And then, when she wasn’t even really looking for her, she’d seen a kid on the streets. It was only a glance but Yelena knew it was her.

“Hehe, there you are, you little fish,” Yelena whispered to herself, as she observed a child that had gotten so good at not attracting any attention to herself, that Yelena noticed at once. Right now, she was walking around the farmers market in Islington and she’d already managed to nick two apples, some chocolate and some more chocolate, a can of coke and a loaf of bread. All the food disappeared into her seemingly endless pockets. Yelena smirked at the sight.

“Well, that explains one thing,” she told the little hooded figure from far away, “how you managed to survive the Red Room’s starvation techniques. Let’s see what you do next, rybochka.״

But as Yelena made her way to follow the girl who had just rounded a corner, she saw that she had vanished. “Shit,” she hissed and cursed herself internally for being spotted. Quickly, she started running until she caught a glimpse of the blue raincoat the girl was wearing. Fast a lighting, she darted through the crowds and Yelena had the hardest time keeping up with her. Through the streets she chased her, waiting for her to slip up somehow, but she never did. Nimbly, the girl suddenly sprinted into a narrow little street and Yelena almost ran by it. At the end, she jumped over a few cars and crossed the road, while Yelena had to wait for them to pass before she could follow. She was losing her, a twelve-year-old girl, and it bothered her immeasurably.

“Oh, come on!” the blonde called out, as the kid suddenly did a double take and disappeared into the crowds again. Full of frustration, Yelena shoved people aside left and right to her. And then, pure luck, she recognised the raincoat right in front of her. She grabbed it tightly and tried to tackle the girl to the ground, though carefully, very much aware that this was just a child. However, this child had received years of training in one of the most severe facilities on earth and as soon as she felt Yelena’s tightened grip on her shoulder, she spun around, ducked and flipped her assailant over her shoulder.

With an “oooff” filled with surprise and embarrassment, Yelena hit the pavement. “Seriously?” she muttered and in that moment, she locked eyes with the strange girl. It was like the world stopped for a few seconds. Yelena recognised both the fear and the resolution in the other’s eyes. She opened her mouth to say something to calm her down, but as she moved to get up, the girl kicked sand from the streets into her eyes. Spluttering, the assassin wiped her face and lost sight of the girl. When she pushed herself up, she was gone.

Cursing loudly in Russian, Yelena attracted quite a bit of attention on the crowded streets. She huffed with irritation and walked away. Then she took out her phone and called her sister.

“Did you find her yet?” Natasha answered by way of greeting.

“I lost her.”

“Again?” she sighed, “She’s only twelve, Yelena.”

Full of indignation, she protested, “Well, none of this would have happened if you would have given me the correct information sooner! She is too smart now.”

“Smarter than you?” Some sarcasm laced Natasha’s voice and Yelena could practically hear her smirking on the other end.

“I have sand in my eyes...”

“Poor baby,” She now not even tried to hide the humour in her voice. “Do you need me to come down there to help you?” 

“Yes,” Yelena replied at once, mainly because she just wanted to see her sister again, but reconsidered, “No. No, I know you are busy with superhero stuff.”

Natasha was silent for a little while, letting her younger sister sulk for a bit, “Stop chasing her. You’re probably only scaring her away. Remember what they taught us about being followed?”

“Find out who is following you and why.” The tactical theories had been an integral part of their training.

“Exactly.”

Yelena bit her lip and suddenly smiled, “I know where she’s going next.”

*****

As soon as you were certain you’d lost the assassin, you made your way back to Camden Town. For a couple of weeks now, you’d noticed someone on your trail and while you’d had your suspicions, your pursuer managed to remain in the shadows for the most part. Until the last few days: you’d decided to flip the tables on her and tried following her. This all went according to plan, up until today. Still, you figured you could use your little scuffle to your advantage, because now she’d be busy trying to find you. This gave you a chance to check out her apartment and learn more about her.

It hadn’t been hard for you to figure out where she’d been staying. In fact, it had been laughably easy, if you knew what to look for. And so, only half an hour later, you were standing in front of the right building.

Now for a way to get in. You debated climbing up the walls, but there were a few too many tourist out and about for your liking. As a stroke of luck, one of them walked up to the front door and was currently fiddling with the keys.

“Let me try,” you walked up to him with a winning smile. “My mum owns this apartment, there’s a bit of a trick to it...” Without suspicion, he handed you the keys and soon enough, you’d opened the door. “See?” you charmingly beamed up at him. He didn’t think anything of it as you followed him inside.

After waving after the tourist, you walked up the stairs to the third floor. You knew it had to be one of two apartments on the front side of the building. Singing some Russian song to yourself, you settled on trying one of them.

Forcing the lock was a piece of cake and it took you about four seconds to do so. After looking around for a few moments, you knew you’d picked the right apartment. Everything looked staged somehow: there was some furniture and even a few knick-knacks scattered around, but none of it really seemed to reflect a real personality. This was an assassin’s cover story, without a doubt.

“Bed first,” you whispered to yourself, as you lifted up the mattress to look for the most obvious hiding places. Nothing there. Then you checked a few random drawers and eventually made your way to the kitchen. There, on the table and in plain sight, you found a postcard yet to be sent. You flipped the image of Nelson on his column around and on the back was written: ‘The biggest poser of them all, just for you. Love, Yelena.”

“Yelena...” you tried out the name carefully. Suddenly, your stomach made a growling noise and you went in search of some food.

Just as you had your head stuck inside the refrigerator, you heard a sound behind you. Quickly, you slammed the door shut and ran for the bedroom window, but when you got to it, a blonde was blocking the way.

“Hi!” she cheerfully said, which only gave more rise to the panic you felt building up inside of you. So, she continued, “You know, if you are looking for more food, I can make us something.”

“Shit,” you hissed and ran into the other direction.

Behind you, you heard her call out, “You do not have to run, I am happy to cook us something. I am hungry too, you know!”

Not knowing what else to do, you fled into the little bathroom and locked the door. Breathing heavily, you tried your very best to keep your focus, just as you were taught. But panic settled into the pit of your stomach, because as soon as you laid eyes on her again, you were certain: she was a widow. And you’d rather die than be taken back to the Red Room.

“Little fish...” she called out from the other side of the door, “Please just stop. It is no use. That window will not open. I have tried.”

You tried the window and cursed again at finding she was right.

“Yes, much shit,” the voice confirmed.

You slapped the side of your head three times, telling yourself to snap out of it. The only way you are going to survive this, you told yourself, is by staying calm and thinking.

“I just want to talk. And eat.”

But her talking to you didn’t help. In fact, it only increased the urgency to flee you felt. Finally, you let yourself slide down against the door and sighed. If you were going to get out of here, you needed to find a way out of this bathroom first.

Yelena, on the other side, sat down with her back against the door as well. And even though she remembered being that age so well, and she understood all the fear and distrust you were probably feeling right now, she had a hard time finding the right words. So, instead she asked, “During the dropping, how did you manage to escape the dogs? I mean, you cutting the tracker from your leg was smart, I will give you that, but that also makes me wonder: why did they not notice sooner that it was no longer moving? And how did you manage to get out of the forest without dying of frostbite first? I just have a lot of questions, you know, and I really would like some answers, because now I feel stupid for not thinking about all of that when I had my dropping.”

“You wanna know so you can tell them where to upgrade their security?” The words had left your mouth before you could stop them.

“No, rybochka, of course not. Besides, there is no point now. The Red Room is gone.”

You sucked in a deep breath, hopeful for a second, but immediately telling yourself this must be a lie.

“You don’t believe me?” Yelena seemed to sense your emotions, “I have proof.”

Considering all your options quickly, you realised you didn’t have many. “If I come out, you swear not to touch me?”

You heard some movement outside of the bathroom and realised she was getting up. “I swear it. And if I did, you’d probably throw me across the room again.”

Furrowing your brows and wondering if this was another joke, you opened the door and moved out with your back against the wall. There you found Yelena, standing in the middle of the room with her hands up, and a slight smirk on her face.

“Dreykov send you?” you asked, still eyeing all the possible exits.

“Dreykov’s dead.”

You narrowed your eyes, “How do you know?”

“I blew him up. Boom. Just like that,” the blonde smirked again at the memory, “First, we set the Red Room on fire and when they tried to escape, I sabotaged the engine and blew up the ship as they tried to get away.”

“How?”

“I stuck my baton into the propeller and it exploded. Like fireworks,” Yelena nodded proudly.

You frowned again, “There’s no way you would have survived that.”

The assassin made her way to the kitchen, but continued in a conversational tone, “I almost died, but my sister jumped after me and attached her parachute to me. Natasha saved me.”

“Right,” you nodded slowly, still very unsure of what was fact and what was fiction in this story.

“Listen, rybochka, I understand you don’t trust me now. It is okay, but I just want to help you.”

You felt at the lining of your pocket to feel for the reassuring presence of a knife there. “Why do you keep calling me ‘fish’?”

“Because you are slippery and also cute.”

Some strange part of you did like this strange assassin that was probably send to kill you. She felt familiar somehow, like you’d known her for a long time.

“Now what?” you finally asked.

“Now you give me your knife,” she glared at you strictly, like you imagined maybe a mother or sister would, “the one you keep in your pants.”

Rolling your eyes, you produced the small weapon and reached out towards her. But as Yelena tried to take it from your hands, you swiftly kicked her to the side and dashed forwards.

“What was that for!” she shouted out, full of genuine hurt. With a growl, she dodged the next few blows you tried to land. Quickly, you became aware of the fact that she was a lot more skilled than you were but you had one advantage: she tried her very best not to hurt you. Guess there were some upsides to being only twelve.

Yelena jumped out of the way and avoided the chair you threw at her. “Enough!” she warned you, “Stop fighting me or I will have to fight back.” By way of an answer, you kicked the door in her face and sprinted across the little corridor.

This was your mistake, because in those few seconds, you lost sight of her. The moment you rounded the corner, you were tackled to the floor. Yelena quickly straddled your waist and pinned your hands as you tried to claw at her face.

“Calm down!” she instructed loudly, trying to make herself heard over your loud shrieks, “I do not want to hurt you!”

“Maybe I do want to hurt you!” you ground out. Again, you felt a part of you wanting to trust her, but you just couldn’t let yourself do it.

“So stubborn...” Yelena gritted her teeth, as she tried to keep your squirming form in place. “Fine,” she suddenly let go, “As a sign of trust on my part, I will not stop you. Go on, little fish, hit me.”

You balled up your fist and pulled it back, but for some reason, you couldn’t do it.

“Good.” She climbed off of you, “Now we can eat.”

You watched her walk away and wondered, “Are you the Yelena?”

“Yelena Belova, and yes, you have heard from me.”

You had: ‘the greatest child assassin’. It was like she could read your mind, “But I am not her anymore. I am free now.”

“How?”

“I will explain while we eat. Come, little fish,” with a small smile, she motioned for you to follow her.

“Stop calling me ‘fish’!” You got up and walked over to the kitchen.

Yelena was gathering different groceries and you wondered vaguely what on earth she planned on making with all of that. Meanwhile, she stated, “But I don’t know what else to call you. What is your name?”

“It’s Y/N,” you whispered, feeling more vulnerable than ever.

Yelena smiled warmly at you, “Y/N is a nice name, rybochka.”

*****

Masterlist

#marvel #yelena belova #yelena #natasha romanoff #black widow #black widow fanfiction #yelena x natasha #yelena x you #yelena x reader #black widow imagine #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #florence pugh #avengers #avengers x child!reader #the avengers #avengers x platonic reader #avengers x y/n #natasha romanoff x platonic!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #yelena belova x sister!reader

[toulouseradiosilence]

Rainy Days

TW:signs of depression, blood(described), wounds and later chapters WILL discuss suicide and self harm. If you are triggered by these themes do not read this. I will make happier stories

I do not relate to this, and this might not be accurate. My grammar and writing abilities aren’t good, please correct me or give me constructive criticism ❤️ also, this story was !!!PERFECTED!!! with AI, I wrote it myself, everything, but because I’m German and my whole family doesn’t know much English, this is one of my only options. I have the original where I wrote it into my notebook and made notes for myself and I still have it in it’s earlier stages (I already wrote much more when I was younger, my grammar was pretty bad tho) if anyone wants proof (the notebook) I’ll release it on @toulouseradiosilence <3

enjoy!

Chapter 1: Rose

I wake up to the sound of rain pouring onto the roof. The first thing I do after lying on my side for another 5 minutes is to look at the alarm clock. The time it’s displaying is barely visible, yesterday’s meal is standing in front of it. Would you call that dinner or breakfast? It was at about 4AM, so I’m not really sure, but it also does not matter, so I shove the leftover ramenbox and cheap diet lemonade off of the bedside table. The bottle shatters on the floor, startling me. Besides the cars, rain and airplanes outside this is the first noise I’ve heard today, and probably one of the ones I will hear. I finally look at the time. 10:30 AM. I’m not late to anything, I haven’t been late to anything in months.. or years. Because there is nothing to be late to. Nobody needs me, I’m not part of this “system”. And I think that’s not as bad someone would expect. I don’t have any responsibilities whatsoever. I don’t have to take part in this society, I can do whatever I want. And I choose to lay in my bed, draw or sleep. I have food in my storage (ramen, diet lemonade/ water). Sometimes I crave foods I used to eat when I was younger, but it’s certainly not worth going to the store for. Some days I eat a lot, some I don’t eat at all. Most days, actually. Some days I don’t get out of bed and some I don’t even wake up. Others I don’t sleep. Sometimes I look at drawings or other posts on tumblr. That’s all I really do. Sometimes I think about signing up and posting my drawings, but I’m not good with social stuff and this is too social for me in many ways, so I don’t. I have to go to the toilet, which is pretty unusual for me, considering i barely drink anything. I don’t want to get up though, so I continue lying in my bed for another 20 minutes, until I feel too uncomfortable. I sit up and put my feet into the ground. Something sharp cuts into one of them. I don’t do anything; I don’t even look down to see what just hurt my foot. Another minute of just sitting there and staring goes by until I decide to check. A piece of a broken diet lemonade bottle. I stand up and shove the trash under my bed, I didn’t remove the shard. I start walking. The cut stings. I really do not care though. Dragging myself into the bathroom, I push the door open and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, but I quickly look away. I sit down onto the toilet and.. pee.. yeah, I pee. Afterwards I continue sitting on the toilet and my eyes trail along the way I was walking on, from the toilet to to the door. The door is open. I live alone. There’s a trail of blood on the floor. What? Oh. It’s my blood. Wait, yeah, of course it is. Who else’s would it be? I put my leg into the other to look at my foot. The shard is still in there. I actually kind of panic because it looks really, really bad. Almost my whole foot is cut open. And THAT is a reason to stay in bed all day (as if I wouldn’t do that anyway.. but now I have an excuse, I guess.) I limp over to my bed, but before laying down I check whether I still have some water. Luckily, I do. So I let myself fall onto the bed back first, take a chug of water and start to sleep.

Next chapter will probably release next week❤️

omg I just read through it and the amount of typos I made?? Guys pls tell me if there are mistakes this is embarrassing 💀😭

Also I hate the pace, its so fast…

#Rainy Days #writing #story #writers on tumblr #writeblr #tumblr writers #tumblr story

[sexyandhedonistic]

Faith (and feeling) is the secret: A small success story and what you can learn from it.

Hello, my loves. It’s been a while since I’ve made any sort of post on this blog. Today I’m going to be bringing you one of my many success stories. As someone who’s very private, I’m always skeptical about talking about any of them as they tend to be quite personal and oftentimes require me to disclose details to provide context. Even in this one, I’ll be keeping it occasionally vague and change a few insignificant details to preserve that privacy. Nevertheless, I feel good about sharing this one because I remember drawing so many comparisons and turning to a lot of what Neville himself said in his lectures and I applied what I’ve learned from beginning to end. Anyway, let’s get to the story:

This happened some time ago, it doesn’t really matter when but I had found out that a favorite artist of mine was having a concert after tickets had started going on sale. The concert was in one of my favorite cities which was a bit of distance from me so I was open to going, but not particularly compelled to. When I first heard about it, I looked up how much of the seating was occupied just to have an idea of how popular this concert was. 

I couldn’t even see the seating chart because it would halt me with a “there are no seats available at this time”. Knowing the law, if I really did want to go, what I had just read meant nothing in the slightest, so I wasn’t discouraged. I continued to check from time to time to see if anything had changed and I would bump into the same exact notice. But again, I was still open to going and what I had read held no value and my reaction was no different than if I had seen a stadium full of blue sections. It didn’t matter one bit. This went on for two months.

During that time, I found out that some of my friends were going, so now I was more interested in going as well. I hadn’t particularly assumed I would go throughout, I was always thinking of the idea rather than from it. So, although for the most part I had no solid desire to actually be there up until now, I still knew that if I wanted to, I could be. Not once through this entire time did I feel stressed nor desperate. I always had faith.

It was the month of the event and I still didn’t have seats, and then they announced a giveaway which I entered. The span to apply was approximately two weeks and they would announce a winner a week before the event. That very morning, I was still hopeful about winning. I felt good, I kept thinking about what it would be like to be in one of my favorite cities hanging out with my friends and seeing one of our favorite artists. And then I decided to induce the state akin to sleep to really place myself into that state of consciousness.

I would like to mention something very briefly here that I’m not sure whether or not I have previously brought up, but whenever I imagine during the state akin to sleep, I see it as death. What I mean by that is that I am conscious of being something I don’t want to be before I induce the SATS, and the goal should be to come out of that imaginal act conscious of being something else. That’s how you should always approach the state akin to sleep. Die to the old state and identify yourself with the new one. 

 Having already been in Los Angeles on numerous occasions, I drew the feeling from that. I recalled what the weather was like at that time of year, I remembered all of the landmarks I would pass by, I thought about how happy I would be to see my friends, how excited I would feel to see one of my favorite artists perform, and I mentally placed myself in that city. I was no longer sitting in bed within four walls miles and miles away. I was in Los Angeles. I was surrounded by the hot weather telling my friends how happy I was to see them and I heard them say it back to me. I saw the lights and the streets, I felt the butterflies of making my way to the venue and finding my seat. I took all of those feelings and really let myself sit and become fully drenched in them until I felt happy to be there. (And I remembered to think from the end and not of the end. Remember that this is key. If I simply thought about being there, it would create no shift in consciousness.) I kept focusing on that feeling, I didn’t have a particular scene in mind, I was simply focusing on the senses and the emotions of being there. I felt happy that I was able to make it, I was thinking about how glad I felt for not taking no for an answer and the memory of the present moment of me inducing the SATS was something I had done last week.

I wasn’t keeping track of the time I was in that state, but it was roughly an hour. I hadn’t slept and the sun was starting to rise when I pulled myself out. I felt satisfied with my prayer and I reminded myself that if for whatever reason I felt uncertain I could simply do the same, so I felt good. I wasn’t anxious about whether or not I had done enough because I knew praying and accepting that it was happening was all I had to do and soon enough I’d be making my way to LA. 

Then I went to sleep. The winners were to be announced in a few hours and shut my eyes assuming I would wake up to the good news. However, I didn’t win the giveaway, but I was a runner up and I was given access to purchase tickets at a heavily discounted price, which in itself was a good start to my trip to LA. I didn’t have a particular seat in mind when I saw myself there, but I did want to be close and I was (4th row from the stage). A seat that would’ve cost me about $230 went down to $60, so I snagged it. If you’re familiar with the You Are In Barbados story, this was my “Good news, Mr. Goddard” moment. It was happening.

I had my trip, I booked my flights, I prepared everything and within a week I was on my way to see so many of my favorite people in one city. I was ecstatic the entire time leading up to it and I enjoyed myself to death. The concert was on a weekend and I was back home by the time the week started. It was Tuesday and I was checking my inbox and for some reason I felt like going through my spam folder. And I came across an email that stood out to me.

It was an email from the event telling me that one of the winners hadn’t responded so I was next in line and I had won two tickets plus the opportunity to meet them. Now, I admit that I did think the giveaway was going to be the how in my story. When I induced the state akin to sleep, I didn’t visualize myself winning, I visualized myself being in LA because that was the actual end. What I most wanted was to attend the concert so that was the end I was living in. Yet, that email served as a reminder that if I really did want to meet them, I very much could have. That would’ve been the part where Abdullah would’ve told me, “Who said you are only attending? You are in Los Angeles and you met them.” If I had that desire in my heart, I would’ve remembered to remain faithful to that even after the giveaway had ended. Remember that it always comes down to persistence and brazen impudence when it comes to whatever it is that you really want. Know what you want and reject anything that isn’t it. Nothing more, nothing less.

I hope you guys enjoyed this little success story of mine and you can learn a thing or two from it. I know I’m always here providing advice to the best of my ability and this particular success story attests to the fact that I practice what I preach to you all. I’ve also told you guys before that when you all start having successes of your own, your faith in the law will only grow more and more. I speak from experience! 

So my advice to you from this story, as I always have advised:

Know what you want. Have a clear idea of your desire.

Facts aren’t important. The 3D isn’t important. 

Go straight to the end. You don’t need to become conscious of things in steps. (This is why I focused on being in LA and not on winning the giveaway.)

Have faith. Always walk by faith and not by sight.

The takeaway is to not worry about the how in the slightest, only concern yourself with what the end of your wish fulfilled looks like. It is yours if you truly want it. Focus on the end only, not anything in between. If you know circumstances don’t matter and you are limitless, that you don't need to worry about the how, the when, the why or the if, the only relevant question you should be asking yourself is the following:

Do you want it?

[longtallglasses]

it’s very interesting to me amongst the different fandoms i’ve been a part of in regards to their attitudes toward nsfw fanworks bc with the marauders those teens are always wildin’ - smoking, drinking, sleeping together - if they’re not i would even say it would be out of character for them? wolfstar is messy and horny and so in love, even if in a lot of fics they won’t admit it to each other. in atyd everyone is shagging up a storm, the girls, the boys, it’s still juvenile of course the way they discuss it and go about it. very little communication, feelings are hurt, they don’t know what they’re doing all the time. and it makes sense, they’re teenagers!

i have never once heard of discussion around it being ‘wrong’ to write them this way. that it’s ‘objectifying’ and if you’re thinking about it you must be weird or unnecessarily sexualizing characters. sexualizing characters? they’re already sexualized wdym? they have a sexuality, everyone has a sexuality, whatever the author/artist wants to give them, whether that’s a sex crazed maniac or the most sex repulsed asexual, they Have a Sexuality! even before the exact moment they turn 18, they have a sexuality. it’s just another facet to explore character through, to understand them more fully, and also sometimes for the author to help understand themselves.

i’m sorry age doesn’t matter when it comes to fictional characters. it just doesn’t. they’re not real you can’t hurt them. if someone wants to write through trauma, something ‘wrong’ and ‘problematic’ let them use fictional people. it may seem gross and you don’t have to read it, but its existence does not mean promotion of harmful behavior. it can mean so many different things to that author but it doesn’t equate to that.

i say this bc i myself have written some horrid things. i’ve never posted them, was not in a place where i wanted to, i wrote it all in a period of my life where i was seriously hurting, and writing fucked up horrific things stopped me from hurting Myself. i’ve read some ‘problematic’ fics that made me feel better, hurt me in a good way, reading comments of people who related and appreciated what was being explored.

most people who write about fucked up shit, SA, or some form of trauma porn or whatever it is have probably gone through something similar in their life. the people who read it and seek it out are usually drawn to it for a reason but we don’t need to know why. there is also just curiosity. and being curious doesn’t make you a bad person, it doesn’t mean you ‘like’ it. you may like the power dynamics at play, you may be intrigued by desires different than your own, you may… ANYTHING what you enjoy to read or write speaks to nothing regarding who you are in your day to day life. your morals, your beliefs, or what you want sexually or otherwise. i say this to a younger me, there’s nothing wrong with you!

with all that being said… there is also porn that is just porn. and that’s perfectly fine and good too. people have always written porn about whatever and whoever they want and they always will. if you don’t want it, scroll pass. you won’t be given a gold star for announcing you think it’s gross or wrong, you just look silly. i’m not saying that you must like it too, but attacking the moral character of those who do partake, shows an immaturity and lack of tack when it comes to these subjects. go out in the world and you will discover just how ‘abnormal’ and ‘depraved’ sexual desire can manifest itself as.

as someone who grew up a Very sexually confused person. not knowing i was queer or on the ace spectrum exploring sexuality through fiction was like my saving grace. and those books and those fics that made me feel seen, made me go huh! woah! ooooh my god that’s me! or made me go … wait why do i kinda like that? more often than not they were written by adults. bc they had made it through to the other side so to speak. and as An Adult now i find the traditional adolescent experience very intriguing as i did not have that growing up. the sexual experiences i’ve had now have shown me so starkly that that feeling which accompanies a new experience never really goes away. people are fumbling well into their 20s and 30s. reading the plight of a young person discovering who they are sexually i don’t think will ever not be relatable or make someone reflect. that includes the sweet and innocent as well as the ‘gross’/depraved horniness. it is not necessarily enjoyed on a basis of attraction to these characters, it is enjoyed on a basis of ‘i know this feeling’ or ‘i also do and have yearned for this kind of intimacy’. and if who you are isn’t represented in those stories, oh well damn, looks like i have to write it now. that’s how we have Are you there God, it’s me Margaret and the edge of 17 (the ‘98 and ‘16 iterations), all these stories written by Adults! that make us all sigh in relief and laugh and cry and aaahhh

fiction is fiction, idek what anti-ship means, let people be freaks in peace, fandom spaces are created to have fun in, let’s pls have Fun!!! explore and write and draw and fantasize whatever your heart desires bc there can be no right or wrong, it is just discovery.

if you feel kinship with characters and it feels natural to extend yourself to them, to take them and make them your own, amazing, gorgeous, beautiful. play dress up with them in all the ways you can, do whatever You Want!!

#i really surprised myself w how much i wanted to say here but #i started writing and just couldn’t stop #byler #marauders #spicy byler #fandom #fandom discourse #fandom discussion #fanfiction #byler fanfic #marauders fanfiction #stranger things #speaking my truth #bc i can’t believe what i see sometimes #gritting my teeth as i post this #i just feel like this message needs to be reiterated #i know there are a lot of young people in this fandom and i find this censored attitude so harmful #longtallglasses

[spirit-of-the-chaos-gospel]

My thoughts on John Mulaney & the Baby J special

There’s so many places I could start but it doesn’t matter because this is definitely gonna be long af.

So. I’m not exactly clear on what exactly the beef with Mulaney is. Here’s what I have heard:

People are upset about his addiction and stay in rehab. Honestly, I don’t understand why this is even a reason to be angry at someone. Parasocial relationships really have y’all pissed at this one man for something a lot of celebrities have done, are doing, and will continue to do. Dumb reason to vilify him.

Divorcing his wife and having a baby with another woman even after saying he didn’t want children. Okay, if he did cheat on his wife, that’s fucked up and he sucks for that. Another ‘my wife’ guy down the drain. But whether he cheated or not, the reason his marriage fell apart is not our business. Stop taking it personally.

Dave Chapelle transphobia when he opened for JM. Alright, I’ll give you this one. I don’t know the details (honestly I don’t really want to go looking for them), so I’m not going to say whether it did or didn’t happen and how bad it was. I’m a genderqueer person and it makes me sad that Mulaney may have knowingly let that joke happen. I wish he would say something.

I found Baby J comforting in a weird way. I went into it wondering if he was going to address any of the shit that happened in the past few years; I was thrilled to see that that is literally all the special was about.

Someone on tumblr said “John Mulaney is a piece of shit, but he’s still the funniest motherfucker out there” and dude. Yes. As always, his comedic timing was incredible.

Baby J made me laugh so hard. There was some killer lines in there that nearly knocked me out; his vibe is truly different, but there’s also still that token Mulaney dry humor. It reminded me why I took so much comfort in his past specials as a teenager, because his sarcasm and wit have never failed to make me smile. As I watched the special, I found myself relieved that he was back, happy that I have new John Mulaney content to meme about.

Don’t get me wrong, Baby J was not as raw and brutal as Bo Burnham’s Inside. If Mulaney had tried to make it like that, it would’ve been disingenuous and boring. He was true to his own humor and I things that’s really important.

Everything he said was blunt and honest. I noticed that he was genuinely laughing at his own jokes and the memories he was recounting. I don’t think anyone ever realized how truly buttoned up and rigid he was onstage in the last specials because we were all “hehe funny man runnin around”. Isn’t that wild? Suddenly he’s showing his real self, and I think that’s incredible. He’s imperfect and uncomfortable and that’s not something we haven’t gotten to see in celebrities very often.

I can’t speak from experience with addiction because I’ve never had an addiction. But I do understand that it’s a remarkable thing to overcome. I’m really happy for John Mulaney, and I’m very glad he’s doing better. Hopefully we’ll see some more improvement in him from here. I wish we could’ve gotten to hear more about what happened with his wife and the baby, but like I said that’s not really our business.

“When I’m alone, I realize I’m with the person who tried to kill me.” Okay but that one felt very personal, I won’t be taking questions.

TLDR; I think parasocial relationships are a big part of why people are pissed at John Mulaney, and we all need to recognize that. He’s a human being and he’s allowed to fuck up. Baby J was an incredible show from start to finish and I will be watching it a million more times.

#I’m probably going to get hate for this #but oh well #i stand by what i said #john mulaney #baby j #spirit rants

[okanadafreakingfan]

Teach me to laugh again

Buggy X reader

Part 1

So this started as me writing out my OCs backstory but I’ve changed the POV so that it can be read as a reader insert. Currently it’s all angst and fluff cause they are children in this, after the flashback I’ll see about more mature themes :)

Let me know if you’d like to see more of this, title help me with inspo <33

Everything was cold. Whether it was the golden collar around your neck, or the chains shacked to your ankles, hidden beneath a long skirt, keeping you from running away, that made you feel this way. Or maybe it’s from the general lack of warmth in your life, since the day you ate that damn devil fruit. You only ate it 3 years ago, the day you turned 7. You were only a child. You still are a child, but it doesn’t feel like it. You feel like you’ve had you childhood stripped from you, had to grow up so fast, to mature in this new, unloving environment.

You ate it by accident, almost dying from hunger on the streets you resorted to stealing. it was the only food in reach, it was a bit odd, blue and swirly, but at the time you just assumed it was from the other side of the grand line, maybe even the red line, as that specific market was full of odd fascinations from many different places. You ate the odd fruit thinking nothing of the distastefulness of it, your mind was solely on survival. However, the person who set up the shop caught you around the corner, dragged you by the elbow and chained you to the shop stall. He said that you will have to earn that fruit with your life, and that he now owned you for your trespasses.

He chained you up and made you perform, after finding out that you had eaten a sing-song devil fruit, allowing you the power of voice, and a beautiful, alluring singing voice that was very profitable for the man that now owns you.

And so now here you are, ten years old, sitting on a wooden plank that substitutes as your bed, staring at the wall. You have no dreams, no aspirations. You barely remember the person you were before everything went downhill. can’t even remember the faces of your family.

Did i even have a family?

Oh well it doesn’t matter now. What good will thinking do me. I’m an object, a simple attraction that people pay to watch perform, a designated child prodigy,but no one knows the reason for your amazing voice is simply the effects of a Devil fruit.

all of a sudden your world crashes around you as the entire building shakes. The place is built near the shore, so it’s very likely to have been a cannon ball, pirates were attacking.

The wealth that has been wracked up by the establishment must have made its way to the pirates ears. Your eyes finally leave the wall as another loud bang goes off and the building shakes, there are no windows in the room your kept in, there’s no way of knowing what’s going on out there. Shouting and the sound of things being broken is all that can be heard. Footsteps coming closer and closer.

Drawing your legs close to your chest, tears start to form at the corners of your eyes. Although this is a horrible life to live, it’s the only life you’ve known, other than starving on the streets that is. You don’t want it to all be stripped from you once again, anything but that. And pirates were sure to be worse than any treatment you have gotten here.

The door to your so-called room suddenly gets bashed in, an older man with a prominent black mustache looks in and seems surprised to see you here. Next to him are two boys around my age, one with red hair and a straw hat, and the other with blue hair and a prominent red nose. You look at them for a moment. The older man (you later find out to be Gol D. Roger) steps forward to see if the key he has on him fits in the keyhole on the gold collar strapped to your neck. It doesn’t and he lets out a slightly annoyed sigh.

“Buggy, try get this lock picked,” he tosses him a thin lock picking tool “I’ll continue to look around, shanks with me” he orders that last part as he turns his heel to leave the room.

Buggy looks annoyed at this and grumbles something you can’t quite make out before sitting beside you to try pry off the collar.

“I’m buggy” he huffs, apparently not liking how silent you were being.

“Y/n” you whisper back, voice slightly horse from un use. You haven’t spoken a word in the past three days.

“Pfft” he chuckles as he continues to work at the lock.

“What?” You tilt your head, confused. He thinks you look sadly adorable with such a blank expression but such inquisitive eyes.

“It’s just the way your looking at me, it’s funny is all… uhh not that It’s a bad thing, or anything,” He curses at himself, he doesn’t want to make her think he’s a mean person, it seems like she’s got enough of that already from the looks of things. She was scarily thin though, and definitely looked too pale for comfort. Finally the clasp to the collar unlocked and the chain fell from it just as the building began to shake again, the walls crumbling slightly from pressure. They needed to get out of here quick.

“Comeone lets go” he says quickly, standing up and yanking you up with him. The chains around your feet clang at the movement. he, only now noticing them, lets put an audible groan as he tries to pry them off.

“Just take the gold collar and go, it’s more valuable than I am” you say, barely above a whisper.

Buggy just stares at you, not believing what just came out of your mouth.

“Do you think we’re just trying to get your gold off you!?” He yells, genuinely worried that that’s actually what you think is happening.

You simply give a small nod, what else would pirates want from you? In your mind You would have no other value to them.

“No! We’re getting you out of here, whether you like it or not, I am gonna save you and your gonna thank me” he shouts this, like a promise. The way you look at him makes something inside him break. The light in your eyes looks like it’s been dimmed a long time ago, and a part of him just wants to make you happy again, to see you laugh. And most of all, to see you away from this hellhole, and safe with him.

#buggy simps #child buggy cause he is lovable soft boi #buggy #buggy the clown #buggy x reader #opla #one piece

[hxney-lemcn]

Dedicated To The One I Love — Connor x gn! reader

summery: A series of events that that reader and Connor share (a bunch of my daydreams put together somewhat poorly)

tw: Connor breaks in and reader freaks out (that one scene with Hank), mentions of alcoholism, mentions of death.

a/n: I'm not super proud of this but it's better than nothing I guess.

wc: 3.1k

Master List

Change is universal, inevitable. No matter how hard you try to push it away, to forget, change will always follow. Change can be slow, barely noticeable until you peer into hindsight. But it can also be fast, like a predator pouncing on its prey. 

We all experience change. From the clothes we choose to wear, to a star blinking out of existence. Growing up, my life wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t perfect either. I’ve experienced relative poverty, but also having unwavering support from family. I’ve experienced my mom choosing to nurse bottles of beer night after night, but I also witnessed her becoming sober. 

Change will happen. There is no stopping it, no matter how hard humans try. But it’s people's choices that decide what that change will become. Whether it’s a good or bad change, or possibly something that doesn’t fit in that binary. My mother has made many bad choices, but it was an opportunity to make me a better person. Showing me what not to do to better myself. 

But change will rock your boat. Like how my mom died suddenly, and I was put under the care of my estranged uncle. I suppose estranged is the wrong word. My mom and him were close. Until Uncle Hank lost his son. We tried to help, offer him support, but he pushed us away and turned to the bottle like my mother once did. So being under his care was like reliving those painful memories once more. 

This night seemed to be particularly bad. In my last year of college, I was exhausted half the time. Trying to find a job, an internship, something to help get me out of what’s become a hell hole to me. I didn’t blame Uncle Hank, I can’t imagine losing a child. Yes I lost my mom, but her death was more of just a bitter feeling. I stopped caring for her when I believed she chose her addictions over me, and when she died I was just learning to love her again. 

I was just on my phone, scrolling through social media before I turned in for the night. I felt myself calm when Uncle Hanks drunken shouts died down. I tried to ignore the sudden thud that soon followed, he probably passed out somewhere. I felt bad that I would avoid him, sober or not. But I don’t think I can handle looking him in the face. 

About twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang, making me jump out of my skin at the abrupt sound. My heartrate picked up, wondering who could be visiting us at night? I heard a muffled shout, barely making out what he was saying, I heard the work title of my uncle. I let out a sigh, getting slightly irritated as the person held the buzzer down for a ridiculously long time. I just turned back to my phone, maybe if no one answered he’d realize it was a lost cause? Was it someone from Uncle Hanks' work? Someone who was unhappy with his work? Rolling my eyes at the thought, I wondered who wouldn’t be unhappy with his work. Things seemed to be peaceful once more. Well until the sound of a window breaking made my heart leap to my throat. My heart hammered as I heard the same voice try to soothe Sumo. I stared at my phone. This is when I call emergency services right? 

I felt frozen as I heard the intruder shuffle and try to wake your uncle. Taking a deep breath, I dialed 911 and pressed the green call button before I could back down. Who knows what crazy person is in my house right now. 

“911 what’s your emergency?”

“There’s someone in my house,” I whispered, blood rushing past my ears. I slowly got off my bed, looking for a place to hide, but wasn’t overly cliche. 

“Do you know who it is?”

“No,” I replied. “They seem to know my uncle, Hank Anderson.”

“Are you and your uncle in a safe place?”

“I’m in my room,” I muttered, heart dropping as footsteps got closer to where I was. My eyes landed on my doorknob and I felt sick when I realized I didn’t even lock the fucking thing. “They’re coming-”

“Police are on the way,” The dispatcher alerted. “Please stay on the line, where’s your uncle?”

I quickly scurried under the bed, my breathing becoming erratic both from the small space of the underside of my bed, to how the footsteps stopped in front of my door. 

“Strange,” The voice muttered, muffled behind my door. “It says the call is coming from this room.”

“Where is your uncle?” The dispatcher kept repeating but I quickly hung up. He knew, he knew I was calling 911. He knew where I was. My eyes shut tight, small desperate tears falling down my face when the door opened slowly. The squeak of the door made my heart pump faster in anticipation. 

“Hello?” The man called out. I bit my lip, trying to stay as quiet as possible. “My name is Connor. Android sent by Cyberlife to assist with Lieutenant Anderson’s latest case. I apologize for scaring you.” 

Opening my eyes hesitantly, I couldn’t stop the scream that escaped me as our eyes met. Jump scare much? I scrambled out from under the bed, the claustrophobia finally getting the better of me. I leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths before finally getting a look at the intruder, only for my breath to be taken away once more due to the beauty of the man, or I suppose android, that stood in front of me. 

It wasn’t the best meeting of my uncles companion. Quite embarrassing actually. Especially when the next morning, he was sitting in the living room. I couldn’t help the double take I did, wondering if I should go back to my room or not. 

“Good morning,” Connor greeted before I could do anything. 

“Uh, good morning,” I greeted back, not sure what to do. I was somewhat confused. My uncle hated androids, so knowing he was working with one, no less letting one stay in his house, made me very confused. But instead of commenting on anything, I went to the kitchen. I decided to get myself something to drink, an excuse for leaving my room. I was too tired for this and I had to get ready for class. 

Begrudgingly, I sat down on the couch, hoping he wouldn’t start incessant small talk. I didn’t hate androids, quite the opposite actually. I found them very interesting. I wanted to know how they worked, what their programming looked like, how they managed to replicate the human body so well. Since I grew up somewhat poor, we never owned an android, not that I fully agreed with owning something that seemed so human anyways. So my interactions were limited. It never failed to amaze me how lifelike androids were, and Connor seemed to take the cake. 

His fingers tapped against his thigh, his gaze elsewhere. He looked so human, acted so human, the only reminder of him being an android was the spinning blue led on his temple. I wonder what he was thinking about, what he saw. 

“I apologize for scaring you,” Connor spoke up, brown eyes meeting mine. I looked away, the eye contact making me uncomfortable.

I couldn’t help the awkward smile that fell on my lips, “You’re still on that? Its okay, I probably should’ve answered the door anyways.”

“I should’ve done more research on Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor rebuttled. “I would’ve changed my approach if I knew he was housing another person.” I glanced at him and I couldn’t stop the genuine smile, his eyes held an innocence that made me completely forgive him for the absolute heart attack he put me through yesterday. 

“It’s kinda funny now that I think about it,” I chuckled lightly. 

Connor’s brows furrowed lightly, confusion splayed across his features, “How so?”

I opened my mouth to explain, but paused, not exactly sure how to explain it, “I guess cus the situation was so absurd? It’s not everyday you become an acquaintance of someone you called the cops on.” 

His led spun blue again, clearly thinking over my words, “I’m not sure I fully understand.”

I took a sip of my drink, not sure how I could make him understand, “I’m sorry, I’m not the best at explaining things.”

“It’s okay,” He replied, “Perhaps I will understand in the future.”

Checking the time, my eyes widened, wondering where all the time went. 

“Shoot,” I muttered, standing up quickly and rushing to my room. I got dressed as quick as I could before grabbing my bag. “Bye Connor,” I waved to him on my way out. His departing words faint as I was already trekking to my car. 

Soon, Connor became a comforting presence in the mornings. Once, I used to like getting ready alone, no one to bother me or make me cranky. But now…it was nice with Connor being there. In fact, I kinda looked forward to it. 

“Hm?” I hummed out confused as Connor placed toast in front of me on the coffee table. I looked up at him confused. 

“It is recommended for humans to eat a balanced meal in the morning,” Connor explained. “Unfortunately, I was unable to make anything but toast.”

I blinked, and suddenly I felt myself melt at the action. I smiled sheepishly, taking a slice, “Thank you Connor. This was nice of you.”

Every day Connor seemed to do something that would make my heart beat a little bit faster. I knew it was stupid. He was an android, he couldn’t feel, he didn’t care, he was only there to hunt deviants. 

So why did he slightly smile when I told the lamest joke in the world? Why did he scold me when I didn’t take care of myself? Why did I catch his stare lingering, or how he’d come to me with questions that others refused to answer? 

“I still don’t think our meeting is funny,” Connor said randomly one morning. I was currently house hunting. Having a steady income was a nice change of pace and I was excited to finally get a place of my own. 

I glanced up at him, “Oh?” 

Its been a few years since I met Connor and so much has changed. For one, androids had their freedom. Two, Connor ended up being my best friend, as he’d confide in me and I him. I had found a well paying job and things were finally looking up.

“In fact, I feel guilty when I think about it,” Connor frowned. His gaze fell on me, his eyes soft and he reminded me of a kicked puppy. “I wish I made a better impression.”

I rolled my eyes, “Connor, if anything, you made quite the impression. And besides, if I was really bothered by it we wouldn’t be friends now would we?”

“But-”

“No buts,” I interrupted. “People make mistakes, it’s apart of life. You grow, learn, and change from them. Besides, why don’t you apologize to uncle Hank about it? He’s the one that was really bothered by it.”

“Th-that’s different,” Connor rebuttled, leaning closer to me.

“How?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“He’s not you,” Connor breathed out. 

There it was again. The common occurrence of my heart skipping a beat. Of my heart melting. Of me falling deeper than I already was. So deep in fact, that I’m not sure if I could crawl out of it anymore. The occurrence of Connor saying something so sickingly sweet that I was surprised my teeth didn’t fall out. Something so hopelessly romantic that I wanted to just confess all these overwhelming feelings. No matter how common this would happen, it would always leave me breathless, and a memory for me to rewind like a broken record. 

I wasn’t sure how to reply, wondering what he meant by that. Did he mean in the way I was currently hoping he did? Or was it just because we were close friends? Was I looking to much into things? Why did Connor seem so desperate in this moment?

Our eyes met intensely. His brown eyes searching deeply within my own. I felt a certain tension fall over the room, or was that just me? 

“Your special to me,” Connor confessed, saying my name in the same breath. “Different than anyone else I’ve met. You’ve cared for me, guided me, make me feel alive.” 

I stared at him with batted breath. I couldn’t believe my own ears. Was he…confessing? Do I…confess my own feelings? Did he understand the weight his words currently held? That he was currently cradling my heart in his hands, and could crush it without even realizing it? His sweet, brown eyes once again seemed to be searching for something. 

“Your special to me too, Connor” I whispered. “I’ve never felt as close to someone as I do you. I love making you laugh, even if my jokes are dog shit, I love seeing you smile, and I’m glad you trust me enough to confide even the smallest things.”

I thought I’d be anxious to confess my feelings outloud, but I felt at peace as his gaze was soft, dare I say adoring. 

“You got to be kidding me,” I heard uncle Hank grumble as he passed by the living room. “You got a room for a reason kid, take the cheesiness elsewhere.” 

I flustered, breaking the intense staredown Connor and I had held. 

Ever since that conversation, I noticed that Connor seemed to be more affectionate. His hand would brush mine more often when he’d hand me something. He’d hug me more often, arms lingering longer than normal. 

“Holy shit,” I grinned, eyes wide in disbelief. I just found a place and managed to buy it. I just had to give the down payment and I could move in right away. 

Energy buzzed through me and I left my room to find Connor. Uncle Hank sat on the couch, his drinking habits have improved significantly. Connor stood a little farther away, hunched over a stove. He’d taken up the hobby of cooking, in fact he would pout when he couldn’t cook me something or if I’d already eaten. 

I beelined towards the handsome android and hugged him from behind, “Guess what?”

“What?” Connor asked, cranning his neck to try and look at me. 

Letting go, I stepped beside him, “I got my own house!”

His smile fell, before retaining a clearly fake smile, “That’s amazing to hear. When do you move?”

“Probably in the next week or so,” I replied, for some reason feeling…guilty. 

His stare didn’t shift from the pan that sat ontop of the stove, his shoulders tense. I fidgeted with my fingers, unsure how to make the situation better. 

“I’m proud,” He muttered, the words sounding forced.

“It’s going to be hard to keep up with my payments,” I said without even thinking. My heart beat faster as I surmised that it was too late to back up now. “It’d be nice to have a roommate to help lighten the load.” 

I stared at the brown haired beauty from the corner of my eye as he seemed to piece together what I was hinting at. His gaze swept over to me and I almost choked at how hopeful he looked. 

“I-I could help,” Connor stuttered excitedly. “I make more than enough at the precinct now…a-and I don’t mind sharing a living space with you.”

He reminded me of a golden retriever with how he always seemed to try and please me. The thought made me swoon. And only made me double my efforts in showing him I cared as well.

“Okay than,” I nodded. “Hopefully uncle Hank won’t mind-”

“Please!” Hank exclaimed. “Get the hell out of my house so I can finally rest in peace.” 

Connor and I looked at each other before falling into a fit of laughter. 

“I suppose that answers that question,” I teased with a grin. “Better start packing mister, we’ve got a house to start decorating.” 

The sound of sizzling grew louder and Connor tried to save the meal he was making. Apologizing when it was burnt. 

I let out an exasperated sigh, trudging up to Connor who stared at me concerned from the couch. I laid down, resting my head on his lap, frowning in frustration. Today was just a bad day and I wanted to cling to the one comfort I found consistent. 

Connor didn’t hesitate to run his hand through my hair, soothing my touch starved self. I didn’t even realize I let out a hum of content at the contact. It was nice to share a space with Connor, not having to worry about uncle Hank walking around and making teasing comments. 

“I got you a surprise…” Connor trailed off, his nails scratching my scalp in a pleasing manner. 

“Is it a bad surprise?” I asked, wondering if he was buttering me up right now. 

“I think you’d enjoy it,” He hummed. I opened my eyes and met his loving gaze. 

“Do we have to get up?” I grumbled. 

His smile was so soft, I just wanted to lean up and kiss him. 

“I assure you it will be worth it.”

I froze when I heard a bark. I stared up at Connor in shock and he just gave me a smug grin. I scrambled up, running towards his room where the bark came from. I opened the door without second thought and a puppy barelled towards me, jumping up to meet me. A kitten trailed not too far behind, exploring the world around it. 

A giddy smile rested on my face as I sat on the ground and pet the puppy. Connor joined me, petting the kitten that sniffed at him curiously. When my gaze met Connor’s, my heart stuttered as he was already staring at me with that goofy grin of his. I lept at him, embracing him but also making us fall down, startling our pets. I squeezed him as tightly as I could, and he held me firmly as well. 

“I love you so much,” I confessed without even thinking. I froze, turning ridged in his hold. I tried to pull away but Connor only held me tighter. 

“I…love you too,” He breathed out, nuzzling his face into the side of my neck. 

Change will always happen. Where androids were once seen as emotionless slaves, they turned out to be complex beings, seeming more human than actual humans. When you thought that you’d never be close to an android, you ended up loving one. Things won’t always be perfect, as mistakes are a step of change, but as long as the intentions behind your choices are good, good is likely to follow. And you couldn’t be happier with the choices you made that led to this moment.

#connor dbh x reader #dbh connor x reader #rk800 x reader #rk800 connor x reader #detroit become human #dbh #dbh x reader #detroit become human x reader

[gaywattpadstorykid]

Rainy Days

TW:signs of depression, blood(described), wounds and later chapters WILL discuss suicide and self harm. If you are triggered by these themes do not read this. I will make happier stories

I do not relate to this, and this might not be accurate. My grammar and writing abilities aren’t good, please correct me or give me constructive criticism ❤️ also, this story was PERFECTED!!! With AI, I wrote it myself, everything, but because I’m German and my whole family doesn’t know much English, this is one of my only options. I have the original where I wrote it into my notebook and made notes for myself and I still have it in it’s earlier stages (I already wrote much more when I was younger, my grammar was pretty bad tho) if anyone wants proof (the notebook) I’ll release it on @toulouseradiosilence <3

enjoy!

Chapter 1: Rose

I wake up to the sound of rain pouring onto the roof. The first thing I do after lying on my side for another 5 minutes is to look at the alarm clock. The time it’s displaying is barely visible, yesterday’s meal is standing in front of it. Would you call that dinner or breakfast? It was at about 4AM, so I’m not really sure, but it also does not matter, so I shove the leftover ramenbox and cheap diet lemonade off of the bedside table. The bottle shatters on the floor, startling me. Besides the cars, rain and airplanes outside this is the first noise I’ve heard today, and probably one of the ones I will hear. I finally look at the time. 10:30 AM. I’m not late to anything, I haven’t been late to anything in months.. or years. Because there is nothing to be late to. Nobody needs me, I’m not part of this “system”. And I think that’s not as bad someone would expect. I don’t have any responsibilities whatsoever. I don’t have to take part in this society, I can do whatever I want. And I choose to lay in my bed, draw or sleep. I have food in my storage (ramen, diet lemonade/ water). Sometimes I crave foods I used to eat when I was younger, but it’s certainly not worth going to the store for. Some days I eat a lot, some I don’t eat at all. Most days, actually. Some days I don’t get out of bed and some I don’t even wake up. Others I don’t sleep. Sometimes I look at drawings or other posts on tumblr. That’s all I really do. Sometimes I think about signing up and posting my drawings, but I’m not good with social stuff and this is too social for me in many ways, so I don’t. I have to go to the toilet, which is pretty unusual for me, considering i barely drink anything. I don’t want to get up though, so I continue lying in my bed for another 20 minutes, until I feel too uncomfortable. I sit up and put my feet onto the ground. Something sharps cuts into one of them. I don’t do anything; I don’t even look down to see what just hurt my foot. Another minute of just sitting there and staring goes by until I decide to check. A piece of a broken diet lemonade bottle. I stand up and shove the trash under my bed, I didn’t remove the shard. I start walking. The cut stings. I really do not care though. Dragging myself into the bathroom, I push the door open and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, but I quickly look away. I sit down onto the toilet and.. pee.. yeah, I pee. Afterwards I continue sitting on the toilet and my eyes trail along the way I was walking on, from the toilet to to the door. The door is open. I live alone. There’s a trail of blood on the floor. What? Oh. It’s my blood. Wait, yeah, of course it is. Who else’s would it be? I put my leg into the other to look at my foot. The shard is still in there. I actually kind of panic because it looks really, really bad. Almost my whole foot is cut open. And THAT is a reason to stay in bed all day (as if I wouldn’t do that anyway.. but now I have an excuse, I guess.) I limp over to my bed, but before laying down I check whether I still have some water. Luckily, I do. So I let myself fall onto the bed back first, take a chug of water and start to sleep.

Next chapter will probably release next week❤️

#writblr #writers on tumblr #writing tips #writing #writing stuff #writerscommunity #writeblr #writer stuff #creative writing

[thenightfolknetwork]

There are… strange things happening to my body. I heard from some of my friends that I should come to you for things like this. Sorry if it’s a bit oddly worded, I’ve had to rewrite this quite a bit.

You see, I’m used to having the ocasional astral spell, leaving my body from time to time while I nap and waking up an hour or so later to find my body right where I’ve left it. But recently, these spells have been getting quite a bit longer. And someone has seen fit to move into my body while I’m out.

I’ve heard of this sort of thing before, shared vessels and all that. But I never asked for a bodymate, let alone gave them permission! You see, my new bodymate is a refugee from their dimension. They jumped into my body since it was the first they could find unoccupied at the time, and apparently it’s rather similar to the one they used to have at home. I’ve left notes around, and they’ve written back, and for a while we had a somewhat tedious agreement over who could control the body when. I control it during the daytime, and them at night, simple as that. We both take frequent naps as our schedule allows, so our body doesn’t get too exhausted.

However recently, they’ve been a bit of a “controller-hog”, so to speak. I’ll settle down for a nap in my bed, only to wake up on the couch watching some bad medical drama. I hate medical dramas. But the worst thing by far was when I woke up three days ago with blue hair. Blue HAIR. My hair has never been blue, nor have I ever dyed it, or even had hair dye in my home!

I immediately wrote several very stern letters to my bodymate. I had hoped that maybe over the next few nights, we could have hashed something out together. But today I woke up with a NOSE RING. What’s next? Some cheap tattoo?!

I’ve tried writing this letter SO MANY TIMES, but each time I’ve been “dozing off” and waking up with my finger pressed conveniently to the backspace button. I’ve tried so hard to get them to leave, but they simply refuse. What do I do?!

Reader, this is absolutely appalling behaviour. It is never acceptable for a bodymate to make changes to the shared vessel without the permission of all inhabitants, and their blatant disregard for your wishes proves them to be as unscrupulous as they are rude.

The fact this person is a refugee from another dimension does not give them the right to treat your shared body with impunity. Quite apart from the violations of changing the body's appearance without your agreement, there are the very real health risks involved.

After all, if your body doesn't get enough rest because one of its occupants sees fit to sit up watching medical dramas, you will both suffer the physical consequences.

Usually I am the first to advocate for communication and compromise. But in this situation, I think your bodymate has shown they are not interested in negotiation. The time for rationality and reason has passed. You must take direct action.

There are two options available. If you are not particularly attached to the body itself, you could always cede possession and take up residence in another vessel.

Many people consider such a change to be a refreshing change of perspective. You might choose a vessel at random, find a volunteer online, or indulge in having a custom body created for you by a professional matter consultant.

Just be sure to update your identity documents and paperwork before making the jump. There are ways to prove your identity in the case of corporeal eviction and so on, but it can be a lengthy and uncomfortable process and is far best avoided.

Alternatively, if you have a particular affection for this vessel, I'm afraid you're going to have to put your foot down. At a time when you are in full control of the body, speak to a trusted friend and establish a way of communicating to them whether or not the person in control of the body really is you. A code word will do, or a reference to a shared memory. Anything your new bodymate will be unable to guess.

Then, you need to call in the professionals. Exorcism has an understandably poor reputation in the community, but it remains the most effective way to handle unwanted guests.

Find a licensed practitioner to perform the ritual, and book them for a time and place of your choosing. You'll also need to give them the contact details of your trusted contact, to check whether the ritual was successful or not.

Finally, at the allotted time, tell your bodymate that you are ready and willing to take drastic measures to protect your boundaries. There is a chance they will take your threat seriously, and agree to either vacate your body of their own volition or to treat your shared space with more respect.

Given their behaviour during the writing of this letter, however, I think it far more likely they will respond with aggression. Brace yourself. They will very probably try to wrest control of the body and suppress your influence entirely. Let them – your exorcist will be on hand to manage the situation.

Once your bodymate has been safely transferred into temporary storage, the rest is up to you. The most ethical choice is to find a willing alternative vessel and having your bodymate transferred to them as soon as possible. Alternatively, safe release into a crowded public area is often included in the price of an exorcism, with a small surcharge if you want to choose the target area yourself.

Banishment to another realm entirely will cost significantly more. Besides, even without the concerns about keeping them from accidentally going back to the realm they just left, crossplanar banishment is considered rather gauche.

You don't need to decide right away. Once your headmate is removed, they will be able to remain in the storage container for up to a week with no harmful effects. It will be rather boring for them, but frankly I'm inclined to think they deserve a little time to sit on the mantelpiece and think about what they've done.

#answered #the nightfolk network #monstrous agonies

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #23

This is a scene from a noir-inspired original work about a PI who's hired by a little girl to investigate the disappearance of her older brother. Enjoy!

xxx it’s gonna get me by the end of the night

He becomes aware of the tail somewhere on 9th, between the deli and the smoke shop--a tall man in a long brown coat, walking with his shoulders rounded forward as if that could somehow help him blend in (it doesn’t). His fedora is pulled down over his eyes, and though he keeps some distance between them it’s pretty obvious what he’s up to. Simon does his best to act like he hasn’t noticed the giant man following him, adjusting his route so that he makes his way out of the busier streets and to a quieter area. Then, when there aren’t many people around, he ducks into an alley and waits. 

The man appears faster than he expected--must’ve sped up in case Simon made a break for it--but Simon is ready and leaps on the man as soon as he appears, grabbing the front of his coat and slamming him against the wall so hard that the man’s hat falls to the ground. The face underneath is angular and hard, the eyes cold and piercing, mouth drawn into a thin line, jaw twitching. 

“You wanna tell me why you’re following me, friend?” Simon says. 

“You’ve been sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Boss doesn’t like it.”

“And who’s your boss? He got something to do with the kid? That why he’s not happy?”

“He doesn’t know the kid. Never seen him, never heard of him. Doesn’t know him from a hole in the ground. But the kid is beside the point, Hornby. You’re starting to interfere with Roman’s business and he’s had enough.”

Simon’s stomach drops. 

Shit.

Of all the people whose henchman this could be, why did it have to be Roman? He lets go of the man’s jacket and gives his shoulder an awkward pat, stepping back. 

“Right. Right, well if he’s not involved then I’m sure I can turn my attention elsewhere. I’ve got plenty of other leads. Roman doesn’t need to worry about me.”

“You’ve said that before,” the big man growls.

“I mean it this time.”

“You’ve said that before, too. Boss wants to make sure this time.”

Before Simon has a chance to react, there’s a flash of metal--Big Man is fast--and an impact in Simon’s side that drives the wind out of him and doubles him over as he folds around the man’s fist. The hand withdraws, and with it a bloodied knife. Simon stares at it, then up at Big Man as he falls to his knees. 

“You--I--”

“Boss says if you survive this, you better stop sniffing around or next time the knife goes in your heart. You understand?”

Simon is trying to catch his breath, trying to fight the sickening dizziness that’s washing over him. He nods twice, closing his eyes when the movement makes the world spin. A hand grabs his hair and he groans. 

“Gotta hear you say it.”

“Ye-yes. I understand. I understand.”

“Good.”

The hand releases Simon’s hair and his head drops to his chest as Big Man disappears out of the alley, leaving Simon on the cold ground holding trembling hands against the hole in his gut in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. His mind is racing but he has to think, he needs to--he has to do something. He puts one hand against the wall. It takes him two tries to stand.

He’s got no change for a pay phone.

His apartment is too far. 

Hospital’s too far.

Businesses are close by now...

There is one place he can think of, someplace close with a resident who will probably be awake, who may even be able to help. 

Whether she actually will is another matter entirely.

But he’s got to try. 

He takes a deep breath and pushes away from the wall, leaving behind a streaking red handprint, and starts to walk.

xxx 

He knocks quietly. He doesn’t want to wake the neighbors, or the kid, and, if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t have the strength left for dramatic banging. Though he may need to summon it if she doesn’t come to the door soon. He’s feeling lightheaded--the blood loss, he expects. A wave of dizziness hits him and his vision goes fuzzy, ears ringing, and before he realizes he’s moving he’s leaning on his arm against the door. 

“Who are you?” someone says behind him, and the steadiness of her voice, the challenge in her words, leave no doubt in Simon’s mind who the voice belongs to. “Turn around slowly.”

“You armed?”

“I might be. You wanna find out?”

He can’t stop the chuckle that rises in his throat as he straightens up.

“What are you laughing at? I’m not afraid of you. Turn around. Slowly.”

“No, no. I wouldn’t think so.” He turns, taking his time because she told him to and because he might fall over otherwise. The blood loss is making his tongue loose, and his mind dull, because he says, “Not with Ruth for a daughter.”

The woman, who had been eyeing him with suspicion, goes rigid, face darkening. 

“Excuse me?”

Simon grimaces. “I’m--my name is Simon. I’m not--I’m a private investigator, that’s all. I promise, I haven’t done anything to hurt her, I just want to help, I’m looking for Noah. I swear. I’m only here because I need your help.”

She doesn’t look convinced, so he moves his hand away from the wound, showing his bloodied hand and side. Her eyes widen. 

“You’re a nurse, right? I’m-I’m sorry, only the hospital was so far away, I-I didn’t know if I would make it.”

His knees finally give way and she lurches forward, catching him before he falls, letting out a small grunt at the sudden weight of him. 

“Okay, let’s get you inside. Where did you walk from?”

“The alley behind Mozzie’s.”

She clicks her tongue as she helps him lean against the wall so she can fish her keys out of her purse. “That far?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You know who did this to you?”

“Best I keep that to myself. They won’t follow me here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She pauses with the key halfway turned in the lock to give him a look. “Well I wasn’t.”

She opens the door and he steps inside, with her close on his heels. She closes the door behind them before helping him to the couch. He barely manages to collapse onto it before he slips out of consciousness. 

“Hey!” she says sharply, and he blinks blearily at her. 

“Hm?”

“Stay awake.”

And then, from the other side of the room, a familiar, tiny, tired voice. “Mama?”

Even in his barely conscious state, he winces, grabbing a throw pillow and holding it in front of his blood stained shirt. 

“Honeybee, dont’--”

She’s too late. Ruth’s excited voice cries, “Simon!”

“Hey, kiddo,” he says as she appears in front of him, hair wild, rubbing at her eyes in a pair of oversized pajamas. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Ruth, I need you to listen to me,” the woman says. “Are you listening?”

“Yes, mama.”

“Go down to Ms. Bailey’s, tell her I sent you and tell her--tell her I need her to call for an ambulance. And then you stay with her until I come get you, you understand? You stay with her.”

Ruth’s brow furrows. “I don’t like Ms. Bailey’s.”

“Ruth Clementine, you do as I say. Go on!”

She doesn’t move, her frown deepening, lower lip protruding. “I’m afraid,” she says quietly.

Her mother’s face softens instantly. “I know, Honeybee. But it’s time to be brave. You’ve got a stinger, remember? Not just wings and pretty stripes.”

The familiar determination flashes across her little face and she nods. 

“Good girl. Fast, now!”

Ruth nods again and takes off. The second the door closes, the woman’s face twists with rage and she snatches the pillow from Simon, then pulls the scarf from around her neck, balling it up in her fists as though it had somehow personally wronged her.

“This happen because of you chasing after my boy?”

He shakes his head and she presses the scarf to his wound. He lets out a cry that’s equal parts pain and surprise. 

“Hush! And don’t lie to me. You may be a private eye, but I’m a nurse. You wanna try that again?”

“I…” She glares at him and he sighs. “Yes. And no. Looking for him led me down a line of inquiry that led to…this.”

She frowns, looking down at her hands. “No one asked you to do this.”

“Ruth did. She’s someone.”

She looks up at him sharply, and her eyes are watery but her expression is hard to read. They gaze at each other for what feels like a long time, and that’s when he realizes--

“I don’t know your name.”

She blinks, and he’s not sure she’s going to answer. And then she says, “Beth. Elizabeth.”

The world feels strange, and his body in it feels stranger--cold and light, weightless almost but not in a pleasant way. Still, he smiles. “Like the Bible.” He blinks heavily, and it’s hard to open his eyes again.

“Hey, Simon? Simon!” She squeezes his hand. “I know that look, and you’re not gonna do that to me, you hear me? You’re not! Keep your eyes open, Simon. Talk to me! That’s a nice suit, where’d you get it?”

“Looks nice,” he says, and his tongue is filling his mouth, the words thick as molasses. “But…it isn’t. Dirt--” He chuckles. “Dirt cheap, but I--I’m a good faker. Always have been. Well, no, that’s…That’s not quite true. Harry always knew. Harry…” He hasn’t talked about Harry in a long time, shouldn’t be talking about him but the blood loss is really getting to him. 

He realizes with a sickening feeling that he’s dying. 

“You…You should put on a sweater, Miss Beth. It’s cold in here.”

“Help will be here soon. Just keep talking, private eye. We don’t know each other nearly well enough for you to die on my couch.”

He’s not sure he has much choice in the matter. He doesn’ want her to see him when he goes.

“‘m alright. Just go…go get a sweater, please. I don’t…I don’t want you to be cold.”

“I’m not cold, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Simon hums in response. The pain seems distant now, and he doesn’t feel well and the world is spinning, spinning and his eyes are rolling--

And then they shut.

xxx 

#whumptober2023 #no.23 #stalking #original content #fic #blood #stabbed #original character #whumptober #noir #private eye #my writing #whump

[kairakeiji]

“have you heard of the multiverse theory?”

akaashi looks up from his book, “what’s that my love?”

you shuffle closer to him on the couch, “it’s this whole theory about how there are multiple universes and how there are multiple versions of ourselves living in them.”

“interesting,” akaashi mumbles, closing his book to look down at you, “what do you think we’re like?”

you think for a moment, a small smile appearing on your face, “i mean i hope i’m cool,” you tell him as a small laugh leaves akaashi’s lips. “i’d want to be some kind of badass fighter who goes to fight space monsters. if not i’d love to be the ruler of a kingdom with a pretty outfit and a crown.”

“that’s,” he laughs, “very farfetched.”

“well it is farfetched here, but in other universes, it could be a whole different story,” you reason.

“very fair,” akaashi thinks, “they might have better technology for space travel than we do.”

“and they might have kingdoms that i could be an heir to,” you pout, “why does this universe have to suck so much?”

he laughs, “now why do you say that?”

“here i am in loads of student debt because of college working a boring 9-5 job when i could be fighting aliens with space blasters in another universe,” you tell him.

“space blasters?”

“oh you know what i mean keiji,” and he can’t help but laugh. “what about you?”

“what about me?”

“what would you do if you were in another universe?”

he thinks for a moment, “i’m not sure honestly,” he tells you, “i’ve never really thought about it.”

“well, think about it now,” you start.

“then,” he pauses, “i’d probably help you rule that kingdom because god knows you can’t take on that much responsibility by yourself.”

your eyes widen, “i so can!”

“you can’t even drive on the freeway by yourself.”

you blink, “okay well that’s different.” he laughs at your response before you roll your eyes, mumbling about how you could rule a kingdom just fine on your own.

“do you think we’d still find each other though?”

akaashi doesn’t hesitate, “of course, we would.”

“you think so?” you raise a brow, “there are probably billions of other people in this universe and-”

“and i’d find you every single time,” he cuts off.

and your heart can’t help but race at his words.

“i’d help you fight your space monsters, i’d be the one ruling the kingdom alongside you,” he tells you with a soft smile.

“i don’t care how many universes there are, i’ll be by your side in every single one.”

your cheeks flush, “okay keiji, now you’re just being cheesy.”

“i wouldn’t really trust you with a space blaster either,” he jokes.

“for the record,” you point out, “they wouldn’t send me out to space without proper training.”

he laughs, “you make a very good point.”

“besides,” you smile as you lean closer to him, “they’d probably send you out with me just as a safety precaution.”

“so you do agree,” he mumbles, hand reaching up to your cheek.

“not really,” you joke, “they just know you love me too much to let me go by myself.”

“and that,” his lips ghost over yours, “they would certainly be right about.”

he kisses you as your lips curl into a small smile. his touch is always gentle as his other hand reaches up to cup your other cheek and you swear you can taste coffee on his lips.

“i’d spend every lifetime with you if i could,” you tell him as you pull away, “whether we’re fighting monsters or ruling kingdoms, i wouldn’t wanna do it with anyone but you.”

“i’d find you every time,” he smiles, “no matter how long and hard the journey is, i’d find you every time.”

“and you’d love me?”

“without any hesitation.”

sob sob i saw this on my fyp yesterday and though of him :(

thanks for reading! reblogs/interaction are always appreciated <3

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