#it doesn’t even make sense i’m so sorry

[luveline]

Hiii!! Could I request a bombshell reader x Spencer where someone (a local police maybe) says something rude to her about her appearance or something and normally it doesn’t really get to her, but something snaps and she kinda shuts down/is rude to Spencer until he coaxes it out of her? Sorry it’s long I had an idea and ran w it loollll

ty for requesting angel! confident fem!reader, 1k

Spencer shouldn’t expect his colleague to hold his hand, especially one so confident. What sense would that make, a woman as established as you are, who smiles without a lick of worry nor smugness, wanting to hold his hand? 

But you do it all the time, is the thing. In the car on the way to crime scenes, in the hallways of the office, under the round table. It started as a tethering for his distractedness, when one day he’d wanted to talk but hadn’t had the presence of mind to walk at the same time, so you’d taken his hand and led him to the office. You’ve been taking it at your discretion ever since.  

Spencer knows something is wrong —you haven’t tried to hold his hand all day. And even if you aren’t interested in him romantically, Spencer has come to crave the touch. He’ll accept platonic hand holding. Anything, really. 

“You’re staring very deeply, Dr. Reid,” you mutter, shades from your usual lightness. 

“I’m thinking.” 

“Aren’t you always?” 

“About you.”

“Well,” you smile fleetingly. “You should always be thinking about me.” 

“You’re truly humble.” 

His joke doesn’t land, it crashes and burns; your smile fades completely into a short, sharp line. Your gaze moves back into the restaurant, waiting for the team's food order in silence once again. 

Spencer’s pinky finger twitches across the gap. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks. 

“Fine.” 

You stay quiet, Spencer worries. He takes the bags before you can when they bring your food to the collection desk, two lumps of heat he holds to his thighs as you begin the walk back to the hotel. Tonight, the team will pick at their food together and rehash the same arguments they’ve been making all day, filling in each other's gaps, and tomorrow the work will start again. He can’t have you this unhappy again tomorrow. 

“You’re amazing,” he says, watching you turn to him from the corner of his eye, “you know you are, we all do, everyone who meets you. I know you don’t need me to tell you that, or to feel better, but… I’m here for you. If you want to talk. It’s been a hard couple of days, and talking about traumatic events as they happen and directly afterward make them easier to recover from.” 

“I’m not traumatised.” 

“Upsetting,” he corrects. “Having a shoulder to cry on is good for you, and I can be that shoulder. You know, if you need me to be.” 

He can’t know this in the moment, though maybe one day you’ll tell him, further down the line when the hand holding is better defined, but you look at him and you love him. To know Spencer is to love him. Or at least that’s how you’ve always felt. You’d love to cry on his shoulder about what transpired that morning if it weren’t embarrassing to think about, you’re upset over a throwaway comment made by nobody important. 

Spencer offers his company earnestly. He stammers. It’s amazingly sincere, as he usually is. He won’t mind if it’s embarrassing, he’ll just listen. 

You clear your throat. “I know I’m not to everyone’s taste. I know that the way I… present myself isn’t what most men like. People love confidence, but not when it’s bossy, not when it’s– when it’s vain. And I am vain. I think about my appearance a lot, I think I’m beautiful most of the time, I try so hard to have that be true.” You eye him thoughtfully. “Do you realise that?” 

He shakes his head gently, one ear toward one shoulder and then the other, as though balancing. “Sort of. I know you put effort into your appearance, but I also assume a lot of it to be natural.” 

“Right, well. It’s not natural. Not really. My natural beauty wouldn’t be all the beautiful to most people. And I’ve accepted that, I know what I like about myself, and–” You’re losing the thread of your point, an upset creeping into your melodic tone and turning it ragged. “When people tell me they don’t like how I look now, I guess it hurts because I know they wouldn’t like me before, either, and I feel defeated because I know I can’t win.” 

“Who said they don’t like how you look?” Spencer asks, confused, on his way to annoyed. 

“Officer Friendly.” You look to your shoes, watching the steps you take. “Guess he wasn’t as nice as we thought.” 

“What did he say to you?” 

You shrug. “Same story. He doesn’t like girls who wear makeup. Doesn’t like uppity women.” 

“Did he call you that?” 

“What are you gonna do if he did?” you ask without malice. 

“Morgan’s teaching me self defence for a reason.” You smile at his light joke, though it doesn’t last. He transfers the takeout bags into one hand, the other held out to you, his fingers sliding down your arm to your wrist. “You know you’re beautiful, with or without makeup. And you’re not uppity, you’re out of his league. There’s a difference.” 

“You’re flirting with me.” 

“No.” He wishes he had the wherewithal sometimes, but this isn’t flirting. “I’m being honest with you. Men like that don’t like you because they know they’ll never, ever have you, or anyone like you. There isn’t anyone like you,” he adds, sliding his hand into yours. 

He squeezes all your fingers together twice in quick succession. 

“Don’t let a jealous chauvinist halfwit make you think you’re not good enough,” he says. 

You curl your fingers around his before he can take his hand back. Slowly, you squeeze his hand. Then, smiling, you let him go. 

“I’ve never heard you say something mean like that,” you say. “Halfwit. That’s crass.” 

“I was going to say he’s an asshole, if that’s better.” 

Your laugh echoes off of the sidewalk. “That’s perfect. Say something meaner.” 

The insult he uses next doesn’t bear repeating. 

#spencer and bombshell reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

[lovebugism]

hi!! could you write shy!reader where Eddie bumps into the new kid at school and she gets hurt? I’m a sucker when it comes to Eddie doting on people 🙈

i tried to be so normal about this request but then proceeded to write 2k words for it so... hope you like it lol :D — the hawkins high freak takes the new girl under his wing after they run into each other. literally. (shy!r, meet ugly-ish, hurt/comfort, 2.2k)

You clutch a paper schedule in a pair of anxious hands, squinting to see through the scribbles there. Three boys in bright green lettermans made a total mess of it — writing directions in chicken scratch and doodling a sloppy map of the school over your classes. They said they were helping you, but really they’ve just turned you all around.

Fallen leaves crunchbeneath your feet as you walk past the vacant football field. West of the bleachers and down the dirt trail, the stranger with a harsh jawline and quaffed blonde hair told you. His directions lead you directly to a half-decrepit building in the thick of the woods. A strange spot for a biology lab.

You’re trying to make sense of the scrawled notes on your syllabus — eyes narrowed, and chin tilted downward — when you run into something tall and firm. You don’t hit the warm body hard enough to fall, but stumble back in fear enough to slip on the dewy grass. Like a cartoon character and a banana peel, you land comically on your ass.

“Shit. Sorry,” the towering stranger grimaces. “Didn’t see you there.”

Your wrists start to sting, burdened with the weight of catching your fall. “It���s okay…” you tell him anyway. ‘Cause everything’s always okay. Even when it isn’t. 

A ringed hand enters your vision then — lanky, pale, and tattooed. “Here. Let me help you up.”

“It’s okay,” you dismiss with a shake of your head. “I got it.”

Your jaw clenches tight as you rise on your feet. The slippery mud threatens to pull you down again. Your wrists throb with a dull and distant ache. You stand, despite all that, before the stranger you’d stumbled into the back of. 

Eddie watches you wipe your dirt-covered palms together with a lopsided smile tugging at his mouth. He doesn’t have a clue who you are, but he’s getting a few ideas now. You’re a strong, stubborn, and shy little thing. Pretty, too. 

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he cautions with his palms spread awkwardly in front of him. He wants to make sure you’re alright, but he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Strong, stubborn, shy, and definitely skittish, he thinks to himself.

You shake your head again, finally glancing at the boy looming before you. His curls are dark and untamed, billowing in the early spring breeze. His deep chocolate eyes match the color of the frizzy strands — both equally as wild as the smile he looks at you with.

Your breath catches suddenly in your throat. You hadn’t expected to bump into him, of course, but you expected even less for him to be so pretty.

“I’m—”

“Don’t say okay,” he interjects before you can start. His plush lips quirk in a genuine smile a second later, to show he’s only joking.

You swallow hard, still hopelessly trying to rid the mud from your aching palms. “I’m… I’m— I’m fine.”

The boy scoffs a faint laugh. “Here. Let me see.”

He takes your wrists in his hands before you can protest. His fingers are long, gentle, and strangely warm as he brushes the mud off your scrapped skin — hardly flinching when it dirties his own. 

He wipes his palms on his jeans after, never minding how it stains the denim. Then he reaches a leather-clad arm behind you and plucks a leaf gently from your hair. He flicks it to the ground again.

“There,” he grins. “Good as new.”

“Thanks…” you sigh, voice wavering from a reason you can’t name.

“Why haven’t I seen you around before?”

“‘Cause I’m… I’m new.”

“Explains why you’re all the way out here,” he jokes. Most people only come around this side of the football field to buy weed off him, and you don’t exactly seem like the type. His chocolate eyes narrow. “You lost?”

You shift on your feet, feeling suddenly very silly about the whole thing. You’ve got to be a special kind of stupid to take advice from a bunch of jocks and hardly bat an eye when they lead you in the exact opposite direction. You’re too trusting for your own good. It’s embarrassing.

“I was, uh— I was just trying to follow this map, but…” you wave the paper in your clammy hand. “I think it just made me more lost.”

Eddie reaches out a ringed hand and takes the schedule from you when you hand it over. His face scrunches softly together as he squints at the sloppy scribbles. You can’t tell if he’s confused or if he needs glasses. Maybe both.

He can hardly make sense of the directions. And the map was designed in a very obvious attempt to confuse you — the sweet, shy girl who’s never stepped foot here before. Something redhot simmers in his chest ‘cause he can’t imagine doing this to someone. Finding someone who obviously needs help and doing them over for a couple measly laughs.

It’s got Jason Carver and the Dick Brigade written all over it. Literally.

“Who gave this to you?” he asks anyway, just to be sure.

You blink up at him with a pair of doe eyes, gaze glimmering with innocence. “Um… A couple of basketball players, I think. They were wearing lettermans, so…”

“Fucking Carver,” the boy grumbles under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing…” he sighs. “Here. C’mon. Let’s go.” 

“Where— Where are we…” you mutter in a mousy voice, trailing off when he stomps past you. You get a faint whiff of floral shampoo and woodsy cologne as he goes. Less inclined to stay alone in the unfamiliar forest, you decide to follow behind him. “O-Okay…”

You fight to keep up with his considerably longer strides as the stranger leads you back towards the school. His dark eyes flit over your schedule, squinting to see past the messy lettering covering the typeface. 

“No point in making it to your third period,” he announces suddenly, swinging the heavy metal door open with a ringed hand. The rusted hinges squeak in protest when he holds it open for you with his foot. You slide in past him. He walks on ahead of you again, letting the thing slam shut behind him.

“Why?” you ask the back of him, voice wavering.

“‘Cause you’re already fifteen minutes late. And take it from me— Mr. Kaminsky hates when people are late,” Eddie tells you, flashing you a stern look over his shoulder. “Trust me. I learned that the hard way.”

Your brows pinch as your face swirls with a distant panic. You couldn’t conceal your worry if you tried. The gravity of it all hits you, then — the fact that you’re following a stranger you ran into (in the most literal sense of the phrase), who’d previously been half-hidden away in the forest behind the school.

It’s all a bit odd when you think about it. This. Him. You. 

But this strange boy, dripping in silver and all black, is the very first person to show you an ounce of kindness all day. You don’t know why you’re following him so blindly — only that you don’t mind it as much as you should.

“Okay. So. Uh… Where are we— Where are we going, then?” you squeak behind him.

“Right here,” he answers, stopping short in the middle of the hallway. 

Still a few paces back, you don’t hopelessly bump into the back of him like you did before. You watch with wide and curious eyes as he wraps a pale hand around a rusted door knob. The heavy wooden entrance squeals when he opens it.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” the boy jokes with a crooked grin. Everything about the pink expression glitters with mischief. He flicks on the light switch, letting the flourescent lights buzz on in protest. “Well, not abode— I don’t live here, but… You get it.”

The room smells overwhelmingly teenage boy. A mixture of cologne, sweet soda, and sweat. Most of the chairs have been stacked on top of each other and pushed to the edge of the room to make space for the long wooden table in the center. Binders, notebooks, and miscellaneous figurines sit scattered on a gameboard.

“Is that D&D?” you wonder quietly.

Eddie lights up at the question. “You play?” he asks as he saunters to the desk shoved in the very back corner of the room.

His excitement makes you regret your answer. 

“No…” you waver, then quickly follow. “But I’ve— I’ve heard about it.”

“I’m president of the Hellfire club,” he tells you, nodding to the poster on the wall. The demon in the center of it isn’t nearly as intimidating when you can tell it’s handmade. “You should join.”

The boy eyes you expectantly as he rounds the metal desk. You shift your weight on your feet and wring your clammy hands together. He tilts his chin to his chest and peers at you from underneath his lashes. “Think about it?” he presses.

You nod once. “Sure.”

He ducks down then, out of view behind the bulky desk. You stand awkwardly in place while the boy rummages through the drawers. “Ah, here we go…” you hear him murmur after a few moments — followed by a dull thud when he bangs his head. “Shit!” he swears under his breath before rising to his feet again.

You hide your smile behind your scrapped palm as he walks back over to you. His cheeks glow faintly pink as he rubs the crown of his head with his hand — the one not clutching a first-aid kit. “Here. Shit down. Let me look at your hands,” he urges, still worried about you despite his throbbing skull.

You shake your head rapidly in response. You’re not used to being doted on like this — or at all, really — but especially not from a metalhead, wild-haired, pretty-faced stranger. “No. I’m— I’m okay.”

His chocolate eyes go wide and softly stern. They glimmer playfully down at you as his brows raise behind his fluffy bangs. “What we’d just talk about?” he teases.

You swallow down the rest of your protests. “Right…”

You sit in the chair adjacent to the one at the head of the table. The cheap plastic is a stark contrast to the heavy wooden throne the stranger descends upon — with a sort of ease that tells you he sits there often.

He digs into the opened first-aid kit and pulls out a bandaid for you. He fumbles with the packaging for a moment before ripping it open with his teeth. 

“It’s okay not to be okay, you know?” he tells you, mostly muffled until he spits out the paper in his mouth. It lands on the floor at his feet, but he doesn’t seem inclined to pick it up. “Tell me I’m a shithead who needs to watch where he’s going. I know that’s what you’re thinking.”

Your face screws in offense. “I wasn’t—”

“I’m teasing,” he interjects softly, peering at you with a pair of button eyes. “Even though I am a shithead who needs to watch where he’s going.” He takes your palm between his warm and gently calloused ones. He smooths the large bandage over the raging scrape below your thumb with an impossibly delicate touch. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. Again.”

“It was my fault,” you murmur, gaze averted to the boy’s kind hands — at the six tiny bats tattoed in the junction of his thumb and forefinger. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s just a scrape, anyway, I can handle it.”

“Agree to disagree,” the boy says with a lopsided smile, brushing his thumb over the bandage to smooth it out. He gives your fingers a small squeeze before he parts from you. “There you good. Good as new.”

Your hands buzz with the longing to feel him again. You bring both of them to your lap, wrenching your fingers into a knot and hoping your face doesn’t look as hot as it feels. “Thank you…” you murmur, trailing off when you realize you don’t know the kind stranger’s name.

“Eddie,” he finishes for you.

“…Eddie.”

“You can stay in here with me if you want,” he offers with a nonchalant shrug — trying to be cool despite his thundering heart. “Third period’ll be over in, like, twenty minutes. I can walk you to your next class— you know, make sure all the freaks leave you alone.”

You purse your lips to the side of your mouth in attempts to hide the beam tugging there. It only halfway works. “That’d be great,” you tell him in a mousy voice. “Thank you…”

Eddie swallows hard and leans forward again. You can smell the nicotine on his breath and the musky cologne on his neck. His face hardens into a gently solemn look. 

“And don’t… Don’t hang around Jason Carver and his goons anymore, okay?” he tells you, sounding like he’s half-pleading. “Those assholes that fucked with your schedule? They’re bad news.”

Feeling like he must know this better than anyone else, you nod firmly in response. “Okay,” you answer, though it comes out in a whisper when the word gets caught in your throat. Something about having Eddie to you is making your body go all funny. It’s weird.

“Stick with me, okay?” the boy smiles, pink and pretty and petaled, as he slouches back onto his throne again. “I’ll take care of you.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble

[kiss-inthekitchen]

favorite insomniac | spencer reid

a little warm-up exercise i just finished <3 you can't sleep, so you decide to call the only other person you know who would be awake at this hour. ~500 words

You don’t get insomnia. Usually, you fall asleep quickly and easily, and then devolve into any number of nightmares or vivid dreams or somethings that cause to you wake up feeling like you hadn’t slept at all. 

Obviously not great. But not insomnia.

You roll over once again, after what feels like hours but is probably only twenty minutes of lying as still as possible and trying to will your body to be tired. You check the time on your phone; 3:14 AM. 

Ugh. You have to be at work in less than 6 hours, awake in less than 5. Closer to 4, if you want to actually look presentable. 

You groan, scrubbing your hands over your face and barely resisting the urge to start punching your pillows. 

And then you give up. 

There’s one insomniac you know who’s got a pretty good chance of being awake right now. You've dialed the number before you can even think about it. The line rings once, and you realize what an inappropriate, quite possibly disrespectful choice this had been. You’re about to hang up, hovering over the red button, when you hear him. 

“Hey,” he says, voice raspy. 

Oh god, oh god. “Please tell me I didn’t wake you up.” 

“No,” Spencer chuckles bitterly, “You didn’t. What’s wrong?” 

“I can’t sleep?” 

His eyebrows raise halfway to his hairline. “So you called me?” 

You and Spencer are coworkers. You’re friends. You just don’t really hang out much outside of work and work-related events. Not that you haven’t wanted to, you just… don’t really know how. Or if you should. Or if it would be particularly smart. 

“I’m so sorry. I figured if anyone was liable to be awake right now, it’d be… I wasn’t thinking. I’ll let you go, I’m–” 

“Hey, it’s alright,” he says, amused. You’re the only person he ever gets the opportunity to calm down; he’s usually the most nervous person in the room. “This doesn’t usually happen to you though, does it?” 

“No,” you huff, flopping back against your pillows. “I’d ask you for tips, but whatever you’re doing clearly isn’t working.” 

“That’s nice.” 

“Am I wrong?” 

“No, you’re not wrong.” 

You make a self-satisfied little “hmph” sound. 

“What did you call me for then?” 

Something in the timbre of his voice makes your heart speed up. “I don’t know, human connection across the ether that is 3 AM?” The sense that you’re the only two people in the universe. The sound of his voice. Not that you could say that part out loud.

“Wanna go for a drive?”

Huh? “Wh– We have work in, like, 5 hours.” 

“Oh, you haven’t been counting, have you?”

“You mean like thinking ‘if I fall asleep right now at this moment I could get 5 hours of sleep’ but then I still don’t fall asleep and I watch the minutes go by until it’s only 4 and a half hours and then I get angry at myself for being awake and then I’m somehow even more awake?” 

He chuckles, dark and rich through the phone. “The classic trap. Never count the hours.” 

“Now you tell me.” 

“Alright,” he grunts, and you hear him shuffling around, “I’m picking you up.”

“You're what?!"

"I'm picking you up," his voice lilts up, almost like a question. But not like he's asking for permission, more like he's teasing you. Like he knows your answer anyway.

"Now? You have a car?” 

“Yes, now. And yes, I have a car,” you hear jingling on the other end. “You’re gonna like it.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #criminal minds drabble #my fics #couldn't find a cuter pic of spencer on a phone so its payphone image u have to suspend ur disbelief

[jflemings]

— party of two

pairing: ucla!jessie fleming x ucla!reader

synopsis: jessie saves you during a frat party, forcing the two of you to confront your feelings head on

warnings: angst lol, unwanted male attention, mild homophobia, jealous!jessie, insecure jessie if you squint, the downstairs bathroom is a character of its own

a/n: i love teags and jess 🫶🏼 my bruins girls 🫶🏼 (this took an angsty turn whoops)

the stale smell of alcohol and sweat invades your senses as you shoulder through the crowded living room of the frat house. you smile politely at the people you know, squeezing past a guy you know from you psych class. his name — brendan or braeden, or something — escapes you as he turns around. the two of you are chest to chest and right in eachother’s personal space, allowing him to easily grip your shoulder and lean right down in your ear, basically leaning his cheek on your own.

his hot breath fans over the shell of your ear “i didn’t know you were coming” he shouts over the loud music, putting his hand on your shoulder as a means to get closer.

you shrug in an attempt to rid your shoulder of him “it was a last minute thing” you yell back before trying to step away from him.

he pulls away from you momentarily and smiles whilst nodding his head, allowing you to smell the vodka on his breath. his tanned hand rubs your shoulder in what you’re sure he thinks in an affectionate manner. you make the attempt to step around him to no avail and your face drops seeing that more people have managed to pack themselves into the already crowded space.

“i was thinking” he begins to say, squeezing your shoulder so you look at him. he’s not ugly, per say, and he seemed like a relatively nice guy everytime you did speak to him but you were into women. women who had freckled cheeks and curly brown hair and who got pissy everytime you scribbled on the corner of her page aimlessly.

before he can speak again he’s shoved from behind and because of his tipsy state, he doesn’t have the reflexes to stop the jungle juice in his cup from spilling all down your chest and top.

you grimace at the sticky feeling and begin to regret wearing such a revealing shirt. you can feel the alcohol drip down you collarbones and the valley of your breasts, furrowing your brows at the sticky feeling and the smell you know is going to linger for the rest of the night.

he shoves his friends blindly “i am so sorry, let me help you clean that up”

“no i’ve got it. i was just heading to the bathroom anyway” you shoot him a tight lipped smile and begin to go in the direction of the only downstairs bathroom.

he follows closely behind and pushes the bathroom door open for you quickly, watching you turn the tap on and reach for a towel. his eyebrows shoot up “let me go get you some paper towel” he says before scampering off, finally leaving you alone.

you don’t bother waiting for him and instead use the last of the toilet paper to clean yourself off. you run it under the tap and pat your chest, trying to rid your skin of the sticky feeling. you can definitely still smell it on your shirt but you’re more worried about getting away from this guy rather than what you smell like so you quickly turn on your heel and walk out of the bathroom.

“y/n!” he yells over the music, a few paper towels fluttering in his hands “did you clean up alright?”

“yeah! yeah, i’m good” you say tight lipped before jerking a thumb behind you “i’m just gonna find my friends”

he once again reaches for your shoulder “hey, y’know i was just wondering if maybe you’d let me take you on a date?” he slurs slightly, his green eyes boring into you “you’re like hot, and smart and stuff. i just wanna get to know you better” he shamelessly checks you out, his eyes hungrily taking over your form.

he’s had a fair bit to drink, that’s obvious, but you don’t even get the chance to say no before he’s talking again “people say that you like girls but, honestly, are you sure? if you’ve never been with a guy how can you be sure?”

you make a point of rolling your eyes before shrugging him off and looking around. it’s only when one of his buddies loudly catches his attention does he tear his eyes away from you, yelling back at his friend.

you beeline for the back door once his back is turned, desperate to find someone you know so that you can shake him. you search every face you pass but come up disappointed each time, sighing deeply at the thought of having to hide in a different bathroom just to get this guy to leave you alone.

the cool air hits your sweaty skin as you step outside. you sneak a glance behind you and see him pushing past a girl he seems to know so he can follow you outside and you huff. can’t he take a fucking hint?

it’s only when you hear teagan micah’s familiar boisterous laugh do you relax a little. you can clearly see the back of her head as she animatedly speaks to some people next to the bonfire, allowing you make your way to her easily.

you appear next to her silently, almost huddling next to the australian in an attempt to hide yourself. she stops mid sentence when she notices you and grins “y/n!” she yells, throwing an arm around you “i’ve been wondering where you were”

you give her a tight lipped smile and duck your head, her arm a welcomed security blanket. when you don’t answer right away she notices the almost distraught look on your face and pulls you into her side.

“what’s up?” she asks thickly

“there’s just this guy from one of my classes— he won’t leave me alone”

teagan’s face hardens and she looks over her shoulder quickly. she looks like she’s about to turn around and mouth off to the next guy that gets in her way when jessie slides up next to the two of you, her hand finding the small of your back easily.

the goalie notices the new presence and in her drunken state, doesn’t immediately see that it’s her teammate. she whips her head around, her mouth open to hand out a snarky comment, before she sees the canadian’s freckled face. “oh!” she says delighted “it’s all good, jessie’s here! that guy should leave you alone now”

she rubs your shoulder affectionately before dropping her arm. she still looks around — in a way that you’re sure she thinks is subtle — before scowling and focusing her attention back to the conversation. jessie on the other hand, is wearing a look of concern as she sits down on the dingy day bed that’s been dragged onto the lawn. her hand stays on the small of your back as she sits “what guy?” she questions quietly.

you chew on your bottom lip for a moment and she drums her fingers on your back “just this guy from one of my classes. he’s kinda been following me around”

jessie can see that you’re clearly uncomfortable and her face softens slightly. she hooks a finger in the belt loop on the back of your jeans and begins to pull you towards her “come ‘ere” she urges whilst spreading her legs.

you let her pull you into her space until you’re standing in between her legs. she keeps an arm around your hips and you place both of your hands onto her shoulders “are you okay? did he touch you?” she says as quietly as she can so she doesn’t draw unwanted attention from her teammates around you.

you shake your head and she immediately lets out a sigh, running her hand across your lower back comfortingly. just the feeling of her arm around you is enough to calm your nerves and you squeeze her shoulders in appreciation.

“sit” she says whilst guiding you into her lap.

you do as she says and settle on her thigh, tossing one leg over the other as you get comfortable. her hand doesn’t leave your waist as you wriggle slightly on her lap, looping both arms around her shoulders gently. the midfielder traces shapes on your body as she takes a sip from her solo cup, making sure to hold eye contact with you through her lashes.

jessie wasn’t an intimidating person by any means but the stare she was pinning you with now definitely made you feel the need to turn away from her. it was the type of look that made you want to do something stupid like kiss her on the mouth.

she slides her hand up your spine and holds the back of your neck whilst ducking her head in an attempt to get you to look into her eyes. “you’re awfully quiet” she teases lightly, squeezing your neck once to get your attention “got something on your mind, pretty girl?”

in an attempt to hide the blush forming on your face you lean your chin on your right arm that’s around the back of jessie’s shoulders. “no” you almost whisper. if your face wasn’t so close to jessie’s ear she probably wouldn’t have heard it which means you wouldn’t have egged her on even more.

“no?” she questions amused “you sure?” she tucks her face into the crook of your neck and breathes in deeply, making your skin prickle. she removes her face from your neck and adjusts her thigh, jolting you in a way that she knows will get your attention. when you tighten your hold around her shoulders and level her with a scowl she smiles and hums, resting her face on just below your collarbone.

she must notice the lingering smell on your chest because her brows are furrowed when she looks at you questioningly. “jungle juice” you say shortly “he spilt it on me when he was trying to make a move”

the canadian rolls her eyes “asshole” she mutters before taking another swig of her drink. she drags her hand back down the length of your back slowly and settling it on the waistband of your jeans. “who is this guy anyway. do i know him?”

you play with her baby hairs at the base of her skull absentmindedly “brendan, or braeden, i don’t know”

“mustn’t be that memorable then” jessie hums, leaning back into your hand and closing her eyes. you smirk at her reaction and tug the hair experimentally making her eyes snap back open. jessie pulls you impossibly closer to her, dragging you up her lap until your thigh is pressed against her abdomen. she looks like she’s decidedly wether or not to kiss you for a moment before ultimately making her decision and craning her neck. you thread your fingers in her hair and move just as slow towards her, wanting nothing more that to kiss her stupid.

“y/n!”

you shut your eyes tightly and sigh at the sound of your name before turning and looking over your shoulder. braeden— or brendan, you still don’t know— smiles and inserts himself into the group. jessie leans back against the thin pillows lining the back of the day bed and frowns. he can’t be fucking blind can he?

“hey…” you trail off awkwardly “what’s up?”

“you ran off, i couldn’t find you!” he answers enthusiastically, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. he must really be gone because he seems to be completely oblivious to the looks that teagan and jessie are levelling him with.

you feel jessie’s hand thats on your back travel down and rest on your bum, her other hand sliding along the denim of your thigh. “brandon” she says unamused and your eyebrows raise.

“you know him?”

brandon looks over your shoulder and seemingly sees jessie for the first time. his eyes rake over your body and linger on the position of her hand “fleming” he greets politely before turning to you “soccer. we train together sometimes” he explains as if it’s that simple, getting caught up in jessie’s stare before he looks away “sorry, i didn’t know you two were…”

“together. dating. girlfriends.” she finishes curtly for him before patting your thigh for emphasis “but now you do so it’s all good” she shrugs and smiles sweetly. you see teagan stifle a laugh behind her cup, raising her eyebrows at you suggestively once you catch her eye.

apparently brandon wasn’t the only one who didn’t know you and jessie were dating because up until now, neither of you had confronted your feelings head on let alone put a label on your situation.

brandon gives you an apologetic smile and a nod before scurrying away with his tail between his legs. jessie remains sat back and continues to stroke your thigh whilst you refuse to look at her. confusion and embarrassment bubble in your stomach and you suddenly have the urge to get off jessie’s lap and get away from her.

you pull your arms off her “i’m gonna go to the toilet” you say whilst standing “i’ll be five minutes”

the canadian immediately sits up straight and grabs your hand “you okay?” she asks you, the concern evident on her face.

“yep, just really need to pee” your response is uneasy and you shoot her a tight lipped smile before making your way back to the house. you resist the urge to look back at your apparent girlfriend, choosing to pick your nails to keep you distracted instead.

you find yourself weaving through bodies once again and breathe a sigh of relief when you see the bathroom you were in before unoccupied. you brace yourself against the counter and press a hand to your chest before turning on the tap. the water runs over your warm hands soothingly and you place a palm to your heated cheek.

you can’t recall a time when you’d seen jessie get so outwardly jealous. her naturally timid nature just didn’t allow her to be so quick to voice her distain in a situation off a soccer field. it was undeniably hot but it also left you feeling like you had been kept out of the loop. it was obvious to everyone around you that the pair of you weren’t just friends. you had bering toeing the line between friends and something more for far too long now but not once had you or jessie ever verbalised your feelings, leaving them locked up safely.

but you didn’t need verbal confirmation. you knew how jessie felt about you and she knew how you felt about her.

three knocks to the door interrupt your blurred train of thought, making you jump out of your skin “occupied!” you practically shout

“it’s me” says the voice beyond the door, the unmistakable canadian accent making your skin prickle “i just wanna talk”

stepping away from the mirror, you quickly unlock the door and go back to leaning against the counter. you close your eyes just as you hear the door open and close softly, jessie’s presence almost suffocating you in the small room.

“i shouldn’t have said that” she begins, her hand hovering over your back like she’s unsure if she can touch you. she decides against it “that wasn’t fair on you and in all honesty, i don’t really know why i said it. i think i was just so frustrated that it came out but that isn’t an excuse”

“jess” you sigh heavily, opening your eyes so you can look at her through the mirror “you know that there’s nothing to be jealous about”

jessie’s cheeks burn as she leans on the opposite wall and tucks her hands behind her back. she quickly looks down at her old worn nikes that are scuffing against the tile. “yeah” she weakly says “hey, well, i just wanted to come find you and apologise so i’ll get out of your hair”

sudden anger overtakes you. first she was going to announce in front of all your friends that the two of you were dating and now she won’t even stay and give you a proper explanation?. you shake your head and spin around quickly “jessie don’t you dare” you say sternly, making her stop in her tracks “i deserve an explanation, a real one, not some half-assed apology that you can’t even look me in the eye for”

the canadian’s shoulders sag as she turns to look at you with her hands tucked in her pockets. she looks up to the ceiling and lets out a shaky breath before looking at you “brandon and i have had issues before. about you.”

the confession shocks you. you had barely spoken to brandon besides a few short conversations and note sharing, but beyond that you didn’t know a thing about him. “about me?”

“he just… he was just being disrespectful one afternoon and we got into it, okay!?” she exclaims defensively “and he was just saying shit about you and me, and how you would never date a girl anyway so i should just leave it alone” she shrugs, casting her eyes back down to her feet “when he came over i felt like i had something to prove but i made you uncomfortable in the process. i’m so sorry”

your eyes soften and you tilt your head. tenderly you reach for her hands and pull them out of her pockets and hold them in yours “why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“because it’s embarrassing!” she stresses, looking at you with glassy eyes “the fact that i let some guy get me worked up over practically nothing is embarrassing, y/n. half of the boy’s soccer team thinks that i’m just the little gay lost puppy following a straight girl around begging for a chance.”

jessie screws her eyes shut and takes her hands out of your own “i really am sorry for telling him that we’re dating without talking to you about it. that was wrong, and i know that”

you brush a few of jessie’s stray baby hairs back and let her calm down, having worked herself up again. she blinks back tears and you take her face in your hands “i really would’ve preferred you talk to me about this jess, i had no idea that they were giving you a hard time about me”

she she begins to shake her head you hold her head more firmly “they don’t know anything, okay? they. don’t. know. anything. they have no idea how i feel about you” you assure softly, making sure to keep eye contact with her “i know we don’t say it, or hardly acknowledge it, but i really, really like you”

“i really really like you too” she all but whispers to you “i’m sorry i didn’t talk to you about it”

“make it up to me?”

jessie’s pupils blow out wide and she quickly looks between your lips and eyes, her hands finding your hips and hooking her thumbs into your belt loops. she licks her lips and swallows thickly before smashing her lips into yours.

your hands wrap around her shoulders and pull her into you even further, allowing you to walk back until you hit the counter. jessie leans into you, your mouths slotting together perfectly, and she plants her hands on either side of you body on the bathroom counter.

you can’t help but smirk and swipe your tongue along jessie’s bottom lip slowly. she parts her lips and allows you to slide your tongue into her mouth just as you wrap one of your hands in her ponytail. she hums into your mouth when she feels your hand in her hair and knocks her knee in between your thighs, separating them slightly and gaining the upper hand.

the midfielder crawls a hand up the length of your spine and hold the back of your neck whilst pressing herself impossibly closer to you.

a loud knock on the door leaves the two of you jumping out of your skins. jessie’s knee hits the cabinet below you loudly and she groans in pain “fuck”

“hurry the fuck up!” a booming voice comes from outside the door, whoever is on the other side clearly not happy with how long the only clean bathroom in the house has been occupied for.

“this bathroom is too clean to be used” jessie mumbles against you, rolling her head along your collarbone and shoulder as she straightens out her leg.

you mourn the loss off the warmth between your thighs as you let go of the girl’s ponytail “someone’s poor girlfriend is cleaning this bathroom” you grimace “she must really like him”

she lifts her head off you and your eyes are immediately drawn to her slightly swollen lips. you half smirk and run a thumb over them, collecting lip gloss that had been transferred and wiping it on your jeans “you don’t make your girlfriend clean your dirty bathroom” jessie says as she rolls her eyes “that’s just being lazy”

“so you wouldn’t make me clean your bathroom?” you ask innocently, folding your hands in front of you.

jessie’s eyebrows raise “my bathroom is already clean, thank you very much” she pointedly says “you’ve seen it, you should know”

“jessie”

“what?”

you toss your arms out beside you and give her a look of disbelief “i just gave you the perfect opportunity to ask me to be your girlfriend and you’re telling me how clean your bathroom is”

jessie opens and closes her mouth “you want to be my girlfriend?” she asks “are you sure?”

“of course i’m sure” you say softly “i thought that was obvious”

she grins wide and holds her hand out for you to take, which you do immediately, before leading you out of the bathroom and through the crowd of students. you think she’s taking you back out to the bonfire and your friends before she heads for the front door of the frat house, her grip tightening on your hand as you pass brandon and his group of friends.

you can’t help but cheekily wag your fingers at him as you pass before pressing your body right against jessie’s and wrapping a hand around her arm “where are we going?” you ask loudly into her ear

she looks at you over her shoulder with a sly smile on her face “my place. i’ve still gotta make it up to you”

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming imagine #jessie fleming fic #woso #woso x reader #woso fic #woso imagine #pegs writes #pegs woso

[taeyongdoyoung]

end of beginning

summary: your perfectionist self can't settle and wants to improve your grades. no matter the cost... pairing: johnny x reader genre: smut warnings: professor/student dynamic, age gap (unspecified), dubcon, power play, neck-kissing, biting, spanking, fingering, slight dumbification, size kink (duh), unprotected sex, creampie, forbidden relationship, pet names (angel, baby, sweetheart) word count: 1.5k

You have never felt so foolish as you do now, standing outside of your professor’s cabinet, waiting for his office hours to start. This isn’t like you at all. You are usually at the top of each class, amazing students and teachers alike with your well-written assignments and outstanding participation in the discussions. You are usually the one that professors praise.

To say you feel embarrassed would be an understatement. You are not used to this, asking for help, admitting that you are falling behind, that your grades have never been worse. But if you want to graduate successfully, you have to swallow your pride and face the problem head on.

You don’t know what it is about Professor Suh’s lectures but you just can’t seem to focus. You try to take detailed notes as you do in your other classes, but you end up getting so lost in his beautiful voice, staring at his pretty face and thinking about his big hands as they flick through the pages that your notes end up being messy, incoherent and awfully inaccurate.

You have tried different strategies such as asking other students for their notes but nothing seems to work. So, in your desperation, you end up here, waiting for Professor Suh to put you out of your misery. You hope that no one else shows up during office hours ‘cause it would be too mortifying if other students find out and start making fun of you for being so behind on the material.

“Oh, Y/N!” Professor Suh exclaims in surprise as he unlocks the door to his cabinet, letting you in. “How long have you been waiting? Usually no one comes to these office hours so I’m a bit late. You should have emailed me.”

You stand nervously, your fingers digging into the tender skin of your already sweaty palms.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…” you start to explain.

“No, you don’t have to apologize, it’s just unusual. Take a seat, make yourself comfortable,” he tries to reassure you in his calming voice.

You take off your bag, putting it on the ground and sit in the chair against his. God, you feel so stupid…

“So, what brings you here?” Professor Suh asks.

“You’ve probably noticed but my grades have been plummeting,” you murmur awkwardly.

“Well, if that’s what you call a couple of B’s, then sure, I guess,” he laughs softly.

“You don’t understand…I know other students may be happy with such grades but this is unusual for me.”

Professor Suh looks at you over his glasses in disbelief.

“You do realize that in real life nobody cares about grades, yes?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time,” you reach to grab your bag but he stops you.

“I didn’t say that I wasn’t going to help you.”

You exhale in relief.

“What is troubling you the most? Is it the material?”

“I don’t know…It doesn’t make sense because I love literature, it’s always come easy to me. I just have a hard time focusing during your lectures, for some reason.”

“Must be my fault, then,” Professor Suh smiles knowingly. “My teaching method isn’t engaging enough.”

“N-no, that’s not what I m-meant,” you stammer nervously. “I’m just…easily distracted, I guess.”

“Oh? Are you like that in your other classes, as well?”

“Not really, no,” you admit, feeling even more embarrassed.

“See? Then I guess I need to improve. Find a way to help you focus,” Professor Suh insists.

“Please help me. I really don’t want to fail your class, it’s very important to me.”

“Is it important to you because you care about your grades or because you don’t want to let me down?” Professor Suh asks staring into your eyes.

The question is so direct that it takes you off guard. You want to look away but you are so captivated you don’t dare to blink.

“I…don’t want to disappoint you, Professor Suh,” you confess. “Your lectures are very engaging and I enjoy listening to them.”

“Do you enjoy the content or the sound of my voice?”

“Professor…” you break eye contact and you are far too gone to think clearly. What is this man doing to you?

Suddenly, he stands up in all his glory, walks to your chair and lifts your chin up with his finger.

“Answer the question.”

“What…what was the question again?” you ask dumbly.

He shakes his head in disapproval.

“Just as I feared. Helping you focus would be quite difficult.”

“I’m s-sorry, I’ll try harder.”

“You better.”

Grabbing a book from his desk, he opens it and puts it in front of you.

“Read. Out loud. Don’t stop unless I tell you to, understood?”

You nod eagerly and start reading.

“We like to think of the old-fashioned American classics as children’s books. Just childishness, on our part.”

Professor Suh starts playing with your hair gently, surprising you but you don’t dare to stop and continue reading to the best of your abilities.

“The world fears the new experience more than it fears anything.”

He is kissing your neck, biting even, eliciting soft moans out of you. How is that going to help you focus?! You feel like your brain is no longer working.

“Keep reading,” he reminds you.

“Cutting away the old emotions and consciousness. Don’t ask what is left.”

Professor Suh makes you stand up and then pushes you down abruptly so that your breasts and tummy are lying on the desk and your ass is up in the air.

“And you can please yourself, when you read the Scarlet Letter, whether you accept what that sugary, blue-eyed little darling of a Hawthorne has to say for himself-” you continue to read, voice shaky and lacking any confidence.

He lifts your skirt up, touching you in all the right places in all the wrong ways. You are so terrified of what is happening but you are even more terrified of stopping to read.

Professor Suh spanks your ass harshly the second you pause briefly.

“N-no, it h-hurts,” you cry out.

“Read,” he orders you and you have no choice but to obey.

“They didn’t come for freedom. Or if they did, they sadly went back on themselves.”

Professor Suh takes your panties off and slides his fingers inside your pussy easily, as you are embarrassingly wet. He assaults you vigorously, expecting you to keep reading.

“They came largerly to get away. In the long run, away from themselves.”

“You skipped a few sentences.”

Damnit, how did he catch that?

You go back to the parts you missed but your reading continues to be full of mistakes. Eventually, Professor Suh grows tired of that and takes the book away from you.

“I’m not sure this method is helpful,” he sighs and starts unbuckling his belt. “Might have to find another way for you to acquire knowledge.”

“S-sir?” your voice trembles, though you already anticipate what is coming.

“Stuff you full of it,” he explains calmly and enters you from behind.

You want to scream but you are so afraid of someone hearing that you bite your hand.

Professor Suh seems to notice your concerns, moves your hand away and presses his own against your mouth.

“Shhh, it’s okay, angel, I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispers gently while doing the opposite of what he’s saying.

He is so big that you feel as if he’s splitting you in half. Miraculously, you are still alive.

“You’re not good at focusing in my lectures anyway so I might as well give you something to remember during them,” he laughs. Oh, he’s so mean. You deserve it, though. For being so greedy. Not satisfied with a B. Stupid girl.

He removes his hand from your lips, trusting you not to make any loud noises.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Why ask now? He’s already gone this far…

“N-no, p-please,” you whimper helplessly.

“No as in stop or no as in keep going?”

You genuinely don’t know what the right answer is. If this is a test, then you’re surely failing.

Apparently, Professor Suh does not care what you have to say. Perhaps it’s your fault for being so slow…He keeps fucking you, going deeper inside of you than any man has ever been. Soon enough, he paints your walls white as if he’s an artist and not a literature professor.

You feel so dizzy, so brainless, so silly.

“Are you alive?” he asks, scooping you up into his big arms.

“N-no?” your response comes out with a questioning tone.

“Take all the time you need to recover,” he tells you thoughtfully.

“Can I ask you something, Professor Suh?”

“You should call me Johnny when we’re alone.”

“Oh, um…Johnny, what if someone had walked in?” you ask fearfully.

“Relax, sweetheart, I locked the door,” he laughs gently.

“Ah, that’s good.”

“Anything else you’re worried about?” Johnny plays with your breasts lazily as you sit in his lap.

“Um, yeah…”

“I’ll write you all A’s from now on if that’s what…”

“I don’t care about that anymore,” you confess teary-eyed. “Was this a one time thing for you, Johnny? Will I have to pretend nothing happened during your lectures?”

He caresses your hair just like how he did when this all started. For some reason, it doesn’t feel like the end.

“Oh, baby, this is just the beginning.”

The End

#nct smut #johnny suh smut #johnny x reader #nct #johnny #johnny smut #nct 127 smut #johnny suh x reader #nct johnny smut #nct imagines #johnny imagines #nct hard hours #nct scenarios #nct reader smut #writing

[thechaosdomain]

Prompt: You’re bad for me

Word count: 709

Characters/pairing: Steddie

Its intoxicating taste floods his mouth warm and sweet and so rich he can't get enough of it letting it fill his every sense. Nothing else matters right now except for drinking his fill. The slow steady rhythm of Steve’s heart is the only noise he can hear as he drinks thump, thump, thump, it’s so calming putting Eddie into a strange trance that he hardly hears the soft gasping

“Eddie.” That leaves Steve’s lips in fact he’s so focused that his first warning something is worrying is when Steve’s heart beat starts to slow down and the man leaning against him sags forward all of his weight suddenly on Eddie, who’s eyes snap open in alarm. He looks at Steve pale and sweaty struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Fuck.” He whispers, pushing his mouth away from Steve’s neck with a great deal of difficulty, he didn’t want to hurt Steve.

“Hey Stevie, wake up.” Eddie pats the other man’s cheek softly, relief flooding his body as soft brown eyes flutter open, the pupils blown wide and a small smile spreads across his face.

“Hey.” Steve slurs lifting his arm towards Eddie only for it to fall like it's too heavy for him to move.

“I’m tired.” He adds closing his eyes again

“I know Sweetheart but let’s get you to bed first?” Eddie coos softly at his boyfriend, relief making way for guilt he couldn’t keep doing this. Steve tasted too good for him to have any control over his feeds. Maybe he shouldn’t even be around the other man just to be safe.

A finger pressing between his eyebrows startles him out of his thoughts.

“You're thinking too loud.” Steve tells him leaning forward to press a kiss to his stil bloody lips that makes Eddie smile a little he’s a little worried that the blood thing doesn’t gross Steve out but he lets it go.

“Sorry.” He mumbles getting up off the couch and holding his hand out to Steve who stands on wobbly legs nearly falling straight onto the floor if it weren’t for Eddie's quick reflexes.

With a considerable amount of difficulty and team work mostly from Eddie the pair makes it upstairs and doesn’t even bother trying to get Steve to change out of his jeans when the man flops face down onto the bed and snuggles into Eddie pillow with a quiet happy hum.

Staring down at his slowly rising and falling body Eddie waits until he’s certain Steve is asleep before climbing into bed beside him shifting him around so he’s lying on his side of the bed. Pulling the duvet over both of them he lays down staring at Steve’s peaceful face.

“You’re so bad for me steve.” He whispers, reaching forward to brush a strand of hair that’s fallen into his face.

“You make me feel so out of control I can’t even think .” He continues “I’m scared I’m going to hurt you one day and I couldn’t live with myself if I did.” His eyes fall shut as he tries to hold back the tears quickly building in his eyes at just the idea of that.

“You won’t.” Steve slurs back in what Eddie thinks is meant to be a whisper but is actually quite loud. Opening his wrt eyes Eddie meets Steve, drooping brown ones so wide and full of trust.

“You don’t know that.” Eddie protests

“Yes I do.” Steve retorts, nodding his head ever so slightly “because I know you and you are a good person.” He tells him and as Eddie open his mouth to protest Steve’s hand dart forward one finger pressing against his lips as Steve says

“Shhhhh. Sleep time now.” Steve tells him, shuffling so he can tuck his head under Eddie's chin and wrap his arms around his waist, pressing his warm body as close as physically possible.

Eddie lays there for a few moments before wrapping his own arms around Steve and burying his head in Steve’s hair he doesn’t know how Steve can have this much faith in him but he’ll try to believe him he thinks as his body grows heavy and sleep reaches for him dragging him down into the peaceful waters of his dreams.

#vampire eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #drabble #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #stwgdailyprompt #chaos writes #steddie ficlet

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (11)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to part one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!

Notes and TW: Congratulations! You have successfully made it all about you (positive). This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Sorry that the tags haven't been working for the past couple of posts! I had to go in and edit the html for each individual one T-T please forgive me

Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi

A strange sense of satisfaction fills you as surprise fills the man’s face, but you don’t show it. You need to see this through. If you’re powerless in the face of his ability, you simply need to borrow his power. So what if he’s akin to a god? All you need to do is bring him to your side. Whoever that author is, whoever took over (Y/N)’s body—maybe they aren’t capable of using such an asset effectively. However, you’re confident you won’t let that advantage go to waste.

The man hums in thought. “I suppose it could be done without much fanfare. I would simply need to shift my attention to your experiences and abandon the current story. However, you would need to have your story recorded somewhere, in whatever form you may wish for it to take.”

You understand what he’s getting at. A story needs a medium, just like that manuscript. There are many options: on film, as a novel, as a collage of pictures. No strict rules exist for expression of self.

“I’ll keep a journal. Every day, I’ll write an entry, and I’ll also use it as a planner. This way, my ‘story’ will have the events that occurred in my life, how they affected my ‘character development,’ and also outline how I expect the story to ‘progress.’ Is that good enough?”

You still don’t think of yourself as a fictional character. You’re real, in every aspect, to yourself. But that doesn’t matter right now. Functionally, you’re a character to this man. You’ll use that assumption to put yourself in the most advantageous position.

“Yes, that would be a rather interesting way to tell your story. There are indeed many stories that were written in the form of diary entries, so this is not an issue at all. This would, in fact, make things easier for me. I would not have to go through the paperwork and expend energy to bring someone from another world since you already exist in Twisted Wonderland as an established character. There is just one thing you should know before you make this decision.”

“Tell me.” Of course there are strings attached. There always are. You prepare yourself. Self-sacrifice in small amounts is necessary, of course, but if there’s anything you can negotiate with . . . .

“I will have to take the previous author’s soul out of (Y/N)’s body. (Y/N)’s soul will regain control of her own body, since it was never removed, only dormant. Since the author’s original body cannot function without a soul, she cannot return to her world. It will disappear, never to be recovered, lost to the fabric of what forms this space. Are you still willing to proceed?”

“Is that it?” You expected something else. This has nothing to do with you giving up anything. In fact, it could even be considered a bonus. This woman whose story made your life and relationships exceedingly difficult will disappear down to the traces of her soul. It’s an easy decision. “Of course.”

“How cold-hearted you are.” He chuckles down at his teacup. It never seems to drain empty no matter how he sips it. “That is not an undesirable quality in protagonists, although they often do not have a happy ending in fairytales.”

“Is that supposed to deter me or something?” You stay resolute. “My future was always uncertain no matter if it’s a story or not. I’m in the mafia. I’ve come to terms that horrible things could happen at any moment because of the nature of my job a long, long time ago. It’s my responsibility to plan so that I reduce those chances as much as possible. And you’re going to help me.”

“Yes, I am.” He glances at the fireplace, which has burned down to glowing red embers. “Perhaps you should count yourself lucky that you are under my jurisdiction. I am partial to tragic endings, but I also do not mind if an amoral character triumphs in the end. Some of my peers would adamantly ensure it does not happen.”

You furrow your brows. This is not the first time he brought up something being under his “jurisdiction.” However, this is the first time he’s mentioned “peers” instead of “characters.”

“There are others like you?”

“Yes, of course. Twisted Wonderland is filled with too many stories for me to manage on my own. Since you are mainly involved with the Leech Mafia and stories of the Coral Sea, you fall under my jurisdiction.”

It makes sense. This man compared himself to a god, but he isn’t one. He isn’t omnipotent or omniscient.

“Who are they?”

He tilts his head. “You would not know us even if I told you.”

“I’m curious. Tell me anyway.”

“Such a curious character.” He glances at the embers again. “Alright, I see no harm in it. My peers overseeing Twisted Wonderland include Walt Disney, the Brothers Grimm, Hanna Diyab, Victor Hugo, and Lewis Carroll, among others.”

None of these names ring a bell. It is just a list of names, but having more information is never a bad thing.

“And your name? I should know how to address you.”

“Oh, I have not yet introduced myself to you? My apologies, I must be turning forgetful in my old age.” He laughs at himself in a good-natured manner. “My name is Hans Christian Anderson. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

You introduce yourself as well. He extends a hand to you. When your hands connect in a firm handshake, the new deal you’ve made feels solidified.

Anderson looks at the fireplace one more time. The light has died completely, the little room lit only by the moonlight pouring in the window. With a gentle but decisive clap of his hands, he stands from his armchair.

“That was a fruitful discussion, and I thank you for your patience and understanding. I fear time has run out, however, and so I will be sending you back shortly. I’ll place you right back where you came from: at the moment when I brought you here.”

“Hold on!” Too soon, too sudden. You still have so much to say. He holds up a hand, stopping your protests.

“If you’d like to communicate with me, simply write a request for it in your new journal. I wish you best of luck.”

And with that, the world goes white again.

This is the story of a girl whose name is no longer hers. A girl so common that she may as well be a faceless background character in another person’s story. A girl who wishes, more than anything, to be the protagonist of a love story that will sweep her off her feet and solve all her problems.

Her family is normal. Her friends, too. And so is she. It isn’t enough for her. The world inside that game she plays is so magical, so whimsical, so perfect. The characters are handsome, powerful, clever, funny, or rich, or some combination of those qualities. If she enters this world, surely all those wonderful characters would treat her as someone special. They’d love and revere her unconditionally. She pines for a man who would love her and her shortcomings in their entirety, no matter what she does.

The beauty about fictional characters is that because they are fictional, they can be whatever she wants them to be. She can wholeheartedly believe they’ll love her, and there is nothing wrong with that. But she isn’t satisfied with that alone. It needs to be real.

Desperately, she writes a story revolving around a faceless, flawless main character who she desperately wishes she could be. Everyday, the writing consumes her, dragging her into a fantasy of bliss. She begins to resent her reality. Nobody in real life will love her the correct way. Nobody can be as good as the characters she pours her love and headcanons on. She doesn’t consider how love can be gradual, nor does realize someone might have to get to know her before loving her. After all, in her fanfiction, the perfect mafioso loves her main character upon the first meeting and devotes himself with no questions asked. Isn’t that the ideal love?

One day, a miracle occurs. She meets a man who offers to make her story into her reality. Jumping on the chance to live her perfectly crafted life of happiness, she agrees. Finally. Finally, she will be loved the way she wants.

At first, everything went perfectly. Real life follows her fanfiction to the letter. Jade is charming, Floyd is endearing, and a string of coincidences leads her to meet Vil, another handsome bachelor. Love surrounds her at every turn. All she needs in this life are the handsome men who give her special treatment. After all, this body, this life—(Y/N)—was created by her, for her use. All of the previous relationships this body entertained no longer matter. They aren’t hers, anyway.

The polaroids that occupied her nightstand are probably in a landfill somewhere. The aesthetic was cute, befitting the tastes of a character she modelled after herself, but the person in them is irrelevant. Some side character she’s never going to see again. No matter; she’ll eventually replace those polaroids with cute photos of herself and her new love. (Y/N)—no, the placeholder—has served its purpose. It will not miss those useless decorations since it will never again have its own consciousness.

So where did it all go wrong? Perhaps it was wrong from the start. She should have cursed that old man for scamming her. Her happy ending was never a guarantee. How dare a throwaway side character upend her perfect, fairy tale ending? Is that even allowed? They’re all just characters anyway. How can they steal from a real person?

Until the very end, she couldn’t see anyone around her as anything other than characters in a story. Maybe if she did, she might have gotten the love she wanted. Now, she disappears, having never achieved the goal she so desperately grasped at. Like seafoam, her hopes and yearning for love bubbles and disappears.

Hans Christian Anderson places a book into an empty spot on one of his many shelves. He has always been fond of tragedies. As for this new story that’s unfolding . . . who’s to say how it will end? He’s a patient man. With a smile, he settles into an armchair and sips from a cup of tea. He’s looking forward to it. When it eventually ends, like all stories inevitably do, he’ll shelve it and find another story to bring to life.

The world suddenly flashes into focus. The sun’s dying embers flicker on the sea. Sand shifts between your toes. Fingers graze your neck. Before you can activate your Signature Spell, (Y/N) crashes into you and you both topple over into a bed of sand. Bloodlust raises the hairs on the back of your neck. But it isn’t coming from (Y/N). Instead, you instinctively wrap one arm around her and hold the other one out in front of you, shielding her from Jade.

“Wait, wait! Jade, it’s fine. I’m okay.”

He freezes. One of his hands stops a centimeter away from (Y/N)’s hair. She doesn’t react. Slowly, you lay back down, heaving a sigh. You shift her face to the side so that she doesn’t suffocate in your shoulder. Her eyelashes flutter against her cheekbones, complementing the slow rise and fall of her ribs.

“See? She’s asleep.”

Jade furrows his brows. “I fail to understand. Most importantly, are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, staring up at the stars that unveil themselves in the darkening sky. “I’m just a little tired.”

You explain everything to him. He seems skeptical, but eventually, he accepts it. He sits in the sand next to you, his hand covering yours. You pretend not to notice, but it offers a soothing calm to your exhausted mind.

“I’m sorry,” you say, glancing at his side profile. “Even if I write that Vil Schoenheit will cure your parents, it might not happen because of continuity issues. Maybe (Y/N) will still be able to convince him.”

“That’s alright.” He catches your gaze. “It would make the story progress more smoothly if we continue with our talks with Walrus.”

He accepted it so quickly. For that matter, so did you. You wonder briefly if there is something at play that makes you accept the reality of your situation as fact—if it’s because you’re a character after all—but that’s all speculation. Not worth your time and energy to figure out.

“Bottom line is, this is my story now. So I’ll make sure the curse on your parents is dispelled.”

“How reliable.” Jade gives you a gentle smile, one that causes an unfamiliar stirring in your chest. “Thank you. What would you like in recompense?”

You weren’t expecting him to offer anything at all. But since he offered, you aren’t one to refuse.

“Money.”

His quiet laughter blends in with the sound of rushing waves.

“No hesitation at all, I see. Of course, I will pay you adequately for your invaluable help.”

“I also want something else.” You fiddle with the strands of (Y/N)’s hair. “I’d like a vacation. Just a week or two after everything settles down so I can go back to my hometown with my mom.”

“Is that what the money is for?”

“Yeah.” Your heart feels a little lighter. “You should visit the Coral Sea after your parents wake up as well. I’m sure you’ll want to spend time with them.”

A pause. You scrutinize Jade’s expression in the low light, but his expression is wholly unfamiliar to you. He almost looks . . . nervous.

“Would you come with us?”

You blink. “Don’t you want to spend time with just your family?”

“Yes, but my parents would be delighted to have you over again. You have not been to our home under the sea in a long time, and I would be more than happy to show you around again.”

“It won’t be a bother?”

“Far from it.” His thumb rubs softly against the back of your hand. “I . . . We are very fond of you.”

You can’t help but think there’s an ulterior motive, but you accept. This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve travelled to their home under the sea, and this most likely won’t be the last.

Suddenly, (Y/N) shifts on your chest. A soft noise escapes her lips as though she’s finally awakened from a long nap. Her bleary eyes find yours. Kind, lovely, and gentle eyes. The eyes of the (Y/N) you know and love, the eyes of your friend.

“Huh? Are we on the beach? What happened?”

A relieved laugh bubbles out of your throat and you hug her tightly. Confused but sweet, she reciprocates with reassuring pats to your arm.

“Yeah, we’re on the beach. Let’s get you home.” You sit up and smile as she fusses over the sand in your hair. Normalcy is slowly but surely returning. “I’ll tell you everything on the way there.”

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #jade leech #twst x reader #twst jade #twst fanfic #jade leech x reader #mafia au #multi chap fic #slow burn

[spicyclover]

No one can hurt you

Summary : A dinner of revelation and tragedy.

Hope you’ll enjoy it. Let me know in the comment section.

Thank you! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

DISCLAIMER : Rewrite and final version of "All the things you said" | Netflix show: One Day at the Time | Elena’s Story part | Season 3, ep 2.  WARNING: mention of physical and verbal aggression! Su*c*de WARNING !R@PE! WARNING: mention of SU*C*DE WARNING TOUGH CONTENT, BE AWARE

DISCLAIMER:  This story is fiction and has no correlation with reality. All site names making acts, violence or any other type of aggression are used for artistic purposes, and they did not commit those acts

If you need help. Please get help. You are loved, and your life is valued. Even if you don’t see it, you are loved.

The Monaco Grand Prix is in a few days and you will be slowly preparing for tonight’s dinner. Charles decided to organize a small evening for the pilots and their respective companions. It is in a magnificent hotel overlooking the sea that Charles booked the room and privatized the chef of the restaurant. The luxurious life of Monaco in its greatest fullness, you are always amazed by all the secrets that this small principality shelters.

You were third-wheeling your best friend Heidi to that party. She and Daniel invited you after running into you in the afternoon at the marina. Since you were little you know most of the pilots. So you are happy to have been invited to celebrate this new year of racing in Monaco with them. The evening was going well until the subject of the conversation crumbled into something darker.

“I gotta admit, I’m getting kind of confused.” Ends up saying, Checo rubbing his nose with his glass. 

“Oh, my god, me too. What if someone says, “I am not sleeping with you tonight?” And then... an hour later, they’re like, “Eh, fine.” What’s that?” Ask Lando, completely confused. 

“Unsurprising,” Pierre whispers under his breath, laughing. You laugh at with him, ignoring Lando's thunder.

“How many women have said, “Eh, fine”?” Questions Heidi sarcastically. 

“Yeah, I got to make some calls.”

“Now I’m perplexed.” Says Max trying to make sense of everything he heard. 

“I know. It’s confusing. I hate to admit it, but I feel sorry for men. This consent thing is tricky.” Kelly responded and gets up to pour herself more wine. 

“No.” You exclaim annoyed by her comment. “Women always blame themselves, and then the man never has to take responsibility. During rape prevention week at the university, all the signs are aimed at women. “Girls, don’t dress provocatively. Girls, don’t walk alone.” How about, “Hey, guys, don’t rape.”" You look up at Pierre knowing perfectly it will trigger him.

“Oh, my god, why are we talking about that? I took a couple pictures as a joke, and Cece thought it was funny.” Pierre exclaims as he gets up from his chair to get himself another beer at the bar. 

“Did she? Or did she feel like she had to laugh ‘cause she doesn’t know what else to do with your hand on her boob?” Everyone around the table falls silent and waits. You get up from your chair and walk you way to Pierre.

“Ok, sweetie, take it easy.” Adds Sebastian taking your arm and tries to calm the conversation.

“No. He thinks what he did is cute. You are basically a predator.” You accuse, pointing your finger at him. 

“You’re basically a psycho.” Pierre replies, knowing full well it will trigger you.

“Good, call me crazy for defending a woman’s right not to be groped!”

“You’re mad ‘cause the internet told you to be. You don’t know my life or even leave this apartment!” Pierre screams as he approaches you.

“Because of guys like you!” You answer with the same intonation. 

“What are you talking about?” Charles asks, taking your hand for you to sit down.

You and Charles are special. You’ve been like ass and shirt since childhood. You’ve known him since you were six. For as long as you can remember, Charles has always been one of your dearest childhood friends. You have shared so much together. No one has ever made you vibrate like he does. Usually his simple touch makes you calmer and reassuring. But you are no longer able to appreciate this contact that you cherish so much.

“You want to know?” You said, scoffing. “Okay. A couple of weeks ago, Heidi and I were coming home from the movies, and we were holding hands. And we noticed these guys staring at us, and then we changed the sidewalks , and they followed us.” You speak with tears in your eyes. 

“What?” Sebastian says concerned in his voice. His turn your body to him.

“Yes. And they were going, “Come one, you guys, kiss. We really wanna see it. Just kiss.” They thought that was really funny, too.” You continue telling while drinking a sip of your glass.

“It was actually terrifying.” Ends up adding Heidi after Daniel stares at her intently. 

“It was terrifying. And then we finally lost them in a crowd and ran home...” You finish in a huff trying to hold back your tears. Your hand hides your eyes and you try at best to find your calm.

Charles, in his divine goodness, hastens to extinguish you warmly. At first, his touch hurts you and you have only one desire to remove his hands from your dirty body. Yet you cling to him like a lifeline. Deep down, you know it's time. Time to tell what happened that night, a year ago. Nobody dares to speak at your revelation and everyone feels guilty for not knowing sooner.

“Umm... Last year after the Monaco Grand Prix. Lance Stroll raped me. He was my friend, and he raped me in my own bedroom. And then, he threatened me not to tell anyone... but. Why did he do this?” You ask breaking down in tears. “Sorry, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what... I feel.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Sebastian asks tenderly, approaching you rubbing his hand on your back. 

“I tried, but... nobody listened to me.” You respond looking at Lando through your tears. Your eyes pierce Lando’s being. He doesn’t know where to put himself and his cheeks become red. He implores you to keep your mouth shut, but the situation no longer belongs to you. You feel the body of Charles being redeemed against yours and you notice that he followed your gaze.

“You knew.” He accuses Lando turning his attention abruptly towards him.

“I... I.” He tries to defend himself. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Oh, you think she knew what to do either.” He yells, getting up from his chair and grabbing him by the collar. 

“Charles, let him go!” Orders Carlos. 

“You let her suffer silently when you knew what he did to her. I thought you were better than this. T’es qu’une grosse merde.” You’re a piece of shit

“Oh please, like you would have done something? We all know he’s untouchable and has done it before.” Admitted Lando, pushing Charles away. 

“What?” Sebastian speaks up. This is the first time he has heard this from his former teammate. He never thought he would ever see Lance in this light.

“Nothing.” 

“It’s nothing? He raped her, and now other girls too?” Charles advances again, preventing him from fleeing the situation.

“Don't play fouls, Charles. You were in his hotel room at the party in Abu Dhabi last year, and I quite remember your hands on some teenage girls, groping them.” He said suddenly, pushing Charles out of his way again.

“What?” You speak up, troubled by Lando's affirmation.

“It’s not what it looks like.” Charles turns to you, trying to explain himself. You get up from your chair and walk back as you see him approach.

“Don’t touch me.” You say, pushing him away. “Did you do it?”

“I... It’s not the same thing.” He justified himself.

“Yes. It actually is. Did you grope those teenage girls or worse raped them?” You ask scandalized. Charles, your best friend, your confidant, the one you most trust is capable of the same thing as the person who hurt you the most.

“Oui,” he admits in a small voice. “I didn’t want to.”

“You didn’t want to? What the fuck, Charles. What's wrong with you all?” You yell, taking your stuff and leaving as fast as possible. 

The thought of all this happening to so many more makes you sick. How could nobody speak up about this? You walk down the hotel hallway. You can hear footsteps and Charles's voice telling you to come back. When you get to the lobby, you ask for a taxi home. Tears fall down your cheeks, and you look at him as you push the door out. 

You take your taxi and give him your address. All you want right now is a shower. A warm and reassuring shower. To pull away all those memories and thoughts. You want to scream to the world. You want to smash your entire apartment down. You want to stay in bed for the rest of your life. You want to jump off the roof. You want to cut yourself so that the pain stops. You want to be set free.

You arrive at the complex. Your dark thought runs in circles in your head. Like a robot, you open the door, press the elevator, and finally unlock your apartment. You let your essentials fall on the ground with your bag and coat. Like a machine, you take your shoes off and open the lights. 

The sight of your home, which does not feel like home anymore. Since Lance pushes himself into you while you try to make him go away, this place hasn’t felt like home. You can’t even sleep in your own bed anymore. No matter how many times you clean the sheets, change the bed. This memory comes running back into your mind. Invade you like a parasite. 

You go to the bathroom and open the valve to fill the bathtub. You watch the water. You can hear your phone blowing up with notifications and calls. “Why does this world have to be this cruel?” You think, taking your clothes off. 

Your body envelops itself in the heat of the water, and you close your eyes. Your body slips in the bath. You head underwater. You hear focusing on your heart bit. You enjoy this moment of quietness and solitude. 

That’s it. You feel alone since that night he took your joy, your life, yourself. 

You can feel the water pressure you to gasp for air. Your head starts popping your blood. Your heart rises to find oxygen. You struggle. You have been struggling this long. You want to go, and you want to let go. 

You let the water go in, and suddenly, all the scary parts disappear. The explosion in your head fades away, and you’re not scared anymore. You find it relatively peaceful. Very peaceful. 

Strangely, you’re dreaming. Him with you. On a boat. Feeling the breeze in your hair. The warm sun on your skin. His light touches on your thigh. His breath on your neck. His lips are on your breast. You’re daydreaming. Are you? Is your mind trying to ease the pain in your heart? Is it even the day? 

Then. You open your eyes. You try to scream, but your head is under the water. You feel weak but strong. Sick but healthy. Chaos but at peace. You can feel your body wiggling, but your mind is different. No one can hurt you now. Quietly, your eyelids become heavy again, and what a moment ago hurt you the most now makes you feel good.

The water fills your lungs, and you sink more and more into the darkness. Nobody seems to pull you up. The seconds pass, but you no longer find the courage to go out. The bathtub disappears, and you find yourself in the sea. In a warm and welcoming sea; The Mediterranean. An infinity of blue. An infinity of sweetness. The noises are only deaf sounds, and you feel your brain more and more calm. The sun’s rays pass through the water, and you move further and further away from it. Your eyelids become more and more stretched.

Then you see beautiful blue eyes through the water. No fair. You can’t reach them but can’t stop staring at those ocean-blue eyes. Suddenly, you feel scared. Scared to leave those ocean eyes. You’re afraid, and you’re drowning under the waves of words you haven’t said to them, to you. 

You try to fight back this peaceful state, but darkness is an easier path than light. Suddenly the silence suffocates you, and you miss the sound surrounding you. 

Then comes the darkness.

When you leave the apartment, Sebastian watches Charles running after you. He can’t believe what has happened. He doesn’t want to consider it. How could he? He sees and goes to the door, and Charles is defeated on the ground. He passes by without a look and walk his way to the lobby. 

You have always been a fragile child. Even when you were a child. You were always this little fragile and precious porcelain doll. You’ve never been afraid of anything growing up. Sebastian always loved to see you grow up with him. Despite your age difference, he always considered you his little sister. The little one who needs to be protected from everything and at any cost. Knowing that you are suffering so much hurts him.

In the hallway, the walk seems long and endless, his thoughts wandering toward your shared memories. He remembers many summers spent in the countryside. At your grandparents' meadow, there was a vast field with a few horses grazing on the fresh grass. He remembers that beautiful-eyed little girl running in his direction.

You had dirt all over your clothes. Your hair was braided, and he still remembers the grass sticking in it. He remembers your laughter, which lit up the prairie thousands of miles away. Hearing you laugh has always been his favourite thing about you. Lost, it’s only when the doors block his way out that he remembers he has to go looking for you. He runs through the night towards your apartment.

Charles is devastated. Everything he tried to build with you has just broken in a moment. He feels lonely and ashamed. He wants you to know how much he loves you. How much you mean to him. How much you have become the center of his universe.

Before you, there was racing, and that was it. When you became something more his life change. It was as if you had lit the dormant fire in him. You have extinguished the flame since the death of his best companion, his father. You have given meaning to this quest. The stakes are not won but won for you.

He still remembers the first time he took you to his garage. You were with Sebastian. He was showing you around the Ferrari factory, showing you the different facilities, different parts. You were so captivated by his words, and your eyes were shining like stars in the sky. 

He remembers the moment when your eyes landed on him. The smile you had, and the dress you wore and the clip in your hair. He counts you. Unable to say anything. Captivated by your beauty.

“Hi, Charlie.” You said in your beautiful voice. 

He stuttered and blushed heavily. You laughed gently before putting your lips on each of his cheeks. He likes a kiss, and no, he likes your kisses. 

A hand falls on his shoulder, and he sees Pierre. Tears in his eyes prevent him from distinguishing himself perfectly, but he recognizes his friend.

“Don’t worry. She’ll come back.” He says softly. Taking him by the shoulders to lift him up and bring him back to the room. 

The others are still there. Confused and shaken, no one speaks. Silence reigns in the room, and no one knows what to say. Charles opens the patio door and leaves the fresh night air in the room. The city slowly began to calm down, and he heard the waves regularly hitting the harbour.

Daniel gets up and gets rid of the table. Putting this party away may make us forget the events that occurred. Heidi and Kelly help him while the others put orders in the room. No one dares to go to see Charles.

The hour passes quickly, and some decide to leave. They quickly greet the last remaining. Pierre observes his friend, who has not moved, and still looks at the sea.

It’s only when Charles' phone starts ringing that he looks away. He calmly enters the room and answers.

“Hello?”

You always liked the fields. You always loved hiding in the big wheat fields surrounding your grandparents' house when you were little. This stretch of yellow was as far as the eye could see. You liked feeling the stems between your fingers, the seeds melting to your touch, and the particular smell of wheat.

You remember a hot summer day. Lying on a tablecloth after a picnic, nature calms by this overwhelming heat, especially the calm of this yellow and green nature. You remember the farmer who held the farm. You spent days watching him working. Helping him through the mould. Watching him turn wheat powder into cereal. You remember this great man, always with a grain of wheat in his mouth that was constantly chewing.

You remember the hum that bees made at work. From wheat to wheat, pollen is harvested. You remember the nests in the hives that you created one summer. Your grandfather, with his jumpsuit, would go every morning and inspect the nests, and you loved watching him do it. You also loved to taste honey with each harvest. Honey is good. It’s sweet. It’s sweet. It’s wild.

You remember Sebastian. His blond hair, his smile, the sound of his kart engine. Many hours passed in his company at the track with his dad. You remember your big brother, following him and Sebastian all day long, like the annoying little sister you were. You remember falling from a tree after the boys thought it was a great idea to climb it. You see your brother jumping down the tree to get to you and hear Sebastian running back to the house to get help. You spent the night at the hospital. You broke your arms that summer, and you had a commotion. Your parents were furious and punished your brother for the rest of the vacation. 

You remember your first winter in the mountains. Mornings skiing, and afternoons making snowmen, eating maple syrup, drinking hot chocolate, just playing in the snow. See your happy brother’s face after he managed to get the last pancake.

You remember Sebastian’s victories. To see him move up from category to category. You remember his encounter with Hanna. You love Hanna. She is so sweet and kind. You remember your great jealousy towards her from the height of your twelve years. She who steals your Sebastian. She who steals your second brother. Oh yes, you were jealous, but she knew how to win your heart, and after all, she stayed.

You remember the Ferrari years. Everyone was in red. You saw the world with red glasses. Red like love. Red like anger. Red as the colour. Red as blood. It’s kind of at this time, when adolescence really starts that you start to change. Physically, mentally, and spiritually, you were no longer the wise little girl your parents admired and your brother despised. No, you grew up making mistakes, a lot of mistakes, until you met him.

Him. The golden boy. The one destined to be great.

You remember his perfume, his smell, his laughter, his mimics, his way of speaking, his way of being and his way of simply being. He intimidated you so much; this guy was destined for something big. Whereas you, we never expected much from you besides being pretty, lovely, not disturbing, quiet, and reserved.

Quiet. 

Reserved. 

Pretty. 

In those words, your brain falls into the dark side of your life. The darkened side of time. Painful and unhappy memories. The memories of him, the one who once was your best friend. He who once was your confidant. He who once saw fit to r*pe you.

To find you after the Grand Prix, in your apartment, in your house, in your home. To be a little too drunk, surely. To hold you firmly. To put his lips on yours. To hold your wrists. To put all his weight on your body. To force you into bed. To beg him to stop. To cry in silence. To feel it in you. To feel dirty. To feel unloved.

To feel alone, so lonely, too lonely. 

To find yourself curled up in a ball in a corner. To wait until morning for him to leave. To want to end your life. To end your nights. To seek help. To be abandoned. To be alone. To be dirty. To be silent. To be reserved. To be pretty.

To be pretty. 

To be pretty. 

To be. 

Silent is all you ask for. 

It’s been a long night. The hours have been staggering. The noises of monitors, nurses, doctors, and ambulances invade their ears. No one speaks, and no one dares speak. It is as if a white veil covers the weighing atmosphere and borrows all those present.

The wait is long, too long. They wait patiently for the outcome of this atrocious night, something that does not happen. Sebastian holds his head in his hands, tears have finished flowing, but his eyes are still red. He feels bad. He feels immense guilt. This mixture of shame, sadness, contempt and anger is eating him increasingly as the hours pass and pass before his eyes. He blames himself for not coming sooner. He blames himself for not holding you back. He blames himself for not seeing. He blames himself.

Full of life and ardour, this little girl was smothered under this icy water. Frozen in time. Only the repetitive sound of drops escaping from the pipe disrupted this freezing scene. She hides all her problems behind her smile. Never in his life has he thought of having this vision of you. This pure horror vision of an act yet so courageous. Because it takes courage to think about yourself before thinking about others. It takes courage to put yourself forward and not others. It takes courage to achieve what others have likely failed to achieve.

The roar of the machines stifled Charles. He closed his ears in the hope of silencing them. To see you with your tubes hanging around you, in you. On this hospital bed, this white bed, this room that feels the end. Eyes wet, Charles looks at your pale, serene face. The doctor’s words are dry and not encouraging. Your parents arrive a few hours later, a flight later. They cry. Your brother has tears in his eyes. Sebastian collapses in a corner. Hanna is there; a veil of sadness covers his eyes. Heidi cries in the arms of Daniel, who looks again in the eyes of Charles. Charles holds your hand, your hand. Your hands are cold, frozen by the consequences. Lando doesn’t dare to come in. He feels guilty because he refused to believe you, to reach out to you, see you, and see your distress. He preferred to become blind rather than awake. It haunts him.

Charles, sitting next to you, is watching people walk by. To say goodbye to you, goodbye, forever. He doesn’t want to. He can’t. You’re still breathing. Your heart is still beating. So why do you have to leave? Why did you choose to go?

“Why?” He mumbles one more time, his head against your ear. “Why are you not fighting?” 

“Cha... we have to go.”

“No... I-I-I can’t. I can’t leave her.” His voice breaks in a sob.

“Charles,” Pierre says, putting a comforting arm on his shoulder. “Let her go.”

“No...” Charles pushes him away, gripping your hand tighter. “She’s going to survive. She’s going to live. She has to live. You have to live.” He prays, kissing your cold skin.

Pierre sight and get out of the room. His family, her family, his friends, and her friends are here waiting for him. The visiting hours are almost over. Everyone wants to go back to their house and sleep a bit. They haven’t slept all night. Charles hasn’t slept all night. Pascale enters the room quietly. Staring at his son. 

“Charles. We need to let her rest. Will come back in the morning, d’accord mon bébé?” She says, taking him in her arm. 

He acquires at her request despite himself. Unable to fight anymore, fatigue slowly eats him away, and he knows that he is of no help if he is exhausted. He leaves the room not without a last kiss, a last look, a last goodbye.

On the following day, Charles came. Staying for hours next to you. Stroking your hair, mumbling your name, praying for you to wake up. He can't take you out of his brain. He can't take you out of him. You're haunting him. We realize how important it is in our life when we lose someone we take for granted. Charles looks at you as a friend until he realizes he loves you. Is it too late? Were you supposed to be?

Sebastian came a few times, only a few minutes. He can't unseen what he saw. He plays and plays the night in his head over and over again. Wondering what he could have done differently.

The doctors are not really optimistic about your recovery. Your body is tired. Your mind is exhausted. They did all they could do. All we have to do is wait. Wait for you to come back. Wait for you to fight for your life. How could you fight if you're not even awake? It's painful.

Strangely enough, he came. The rapist. The abomination of your life. You came late at night when everyone left. He felt bad. "It's too late to feel bad," you think when you feel his hand and you. You wanted to cry, to scream, but nothing. He left shortly after. Looking at you one last time. Looking at what he did to you. You hear from Lando a few days later that he got arrested. Other girls spoke, and there were enough accusations to start a trial. Even more strange, it did nothing to you. Well, how could you feel? When he toked everything you got and smashed it in a million pieces?

Sometimes, you can feel the warmth of the afterlife tingling your skin. You feel it right near you, calling you. Calling you to answer the call. You want to feel this feeling of peace, this quietness. You don't know how to feel. You just want to float. You forgot how to be happy. How to be. Why fight if you may never find yourself again? What were you made for? You wonder to yourself.

Time flies. A couple of weeks passed. You made some improvements for the doctors to feel optimistic for you to wake up eventually. You're stabilized by all those machines. Your parent finally arrived a few days after you were admitted. You can feel your mother's tears on your cold hands and the soft kisses of your father on your forehead. You can smell the sunflower Heidi brought you every time she comes to see you. Sometimes you want to react. To show her you listen. But you can't. Or you don't want?

The feeling of loneliness passed. You can see now how much you're loved. How they love you. You love to hear Arthur talking about your favourite series. You love to hear Sebastian remembering childhood moments whenever he found the courage to come. You love to listen to your mom singing your favourite songs. You love to hear Daniel telling dad jokes, hoping you'll smile in your sleep. You love hearing Lando talking about his latest Quadrant adventures or Twitch lives. You love to listen to Charles saying how much he loves you. How much his life is plain without you. You can't imagine somebody else cared so much about you.

That makes you cry. You can't show them you can hear. You can't show them you love them too. You can't show them how grateful you are or will be. More time passed, and the more you could slowly feel you were losing yourself. All you need to do is happen your eyes, but for some reason, it seems an impossible task to do.

"This is impossible," Alices says in disbelief at the creature rising upon her.

"Only if you believe it is." The hatter whispers, scared of the outcome of all this adventure. But wasn't this all the point of this madness?

"Sometimes, I believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast."

"That is an excellent practice." The hatters says. "However, just now, you might want to focus on the Jabberwocky."

"Six impossible things. Count them, Alice. One, there's a potion that can make you shrink. Two, and a cake that can make you grow. Three, animals can talk. Four, Alice, cats can disappear. Five, there's a place called Wonderland. Six, I can slay the Jabberwocky."

You feel yourself falling into the rabbit hole, and you have been in Wonderland all this time. That's it! You can do it. Six impossible things before breakfast.

"One, you will get a major in architecture."

"Two, you can drive an F1 car."

"Three, you can be happy again."

"Four, Y/n, there's a place for you in this universe."

"Six, I will fight for my life."

At this, though, he feels darkness rising upon you. Everything fades away slowly. You can hear the constant beep of the machines around you. You can feel Charles's hands against yours. You can smell the hospital room you're in. You can see the light shutters again you close your eyes.

Then... you breathe.

Feeling the grass on your feet. The autumn breeze cools down your spine. For the first time, you appreciate being alive. To fill your lungs with air, to hear the water crash against the rocks, to feel the sun warm up your skin, and to taste food again.

You feel a hand around your waist, and Charles brings you closer to him. He sticks you to his bare chest. He holds you firmly for fear that you will disappear again. It makes you smile to see him so loving, so gentle, and so attentive. You turn your gaze from the blue horizon to meet his emerald eyes. He smiles tenderly. His eyes sparkle with a thousand lights when you return his smile. You hold these eyes a few moments before you look wandering towards his lips.

If only it could be true.

If only you could be with him.

______________________________________________________________

Hi! Hope you enjoy this final version of the story. It took me sometimes to get back to writing but I'm getting there. I know some of you really like it and it's fill my heart with joy <3

Tag List : tyna-19 dessxoxsworld ynbutbetter alexander-hamilhoe honethatty12 janeholt3 mloyer karmabyfernando omgsuperstarg laura-naruto-fan1998

#Charles Leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #f1 #charles #charles leclerc sad #charles leclerc x you

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Lol.

Yeah… the more news that comes out just confirms more of what I thought. This unnamed character who moves from HYBE to ADOR, and mere weeks later, HYBE gets a ‘tip-off’ and all the incriminating documents are in his work diaries where he narrates things MHJ has supposedly said, including that she believes that Bang establishing BTS or groups with the same cache as BTS, was him copying her…. Everything that’s found in his documents is almost clinically incendiary lmao. Like, weapons-grade rage bait. Partly because of how bizarre it is. And the sinker - they tie it to Min Heejin supposedly wanting more money. MHJ has meanwhile released another, stronger statement refuting the allegations about trying to stage a management takeover, or artists contract leaks etc.

Of course, the discourse about this is going to develop predictably, especially after the mention of BTS and other groups MHJ supposedly says copied her.

This has all the makings of one thing and only one thing, to me. It doesn’t change my opinion about Bang PD but it does make me revise my view on Min Heejin, she’s a bit more naive than I assumed her to be. I feel a bit sorry for her, because she’s been got. Again. It’s similar to the ig situation that also started with ‘a gift’ her ‘friend from SM’ gave her to congratulate her on launching ADOR - a gift that ended up being the most damning controversy that almost sunk the group. A controversy where the primary demand was for her to leave NewJeans and HYBE. Now, a ‘right-hand man’ transfers from HQ to her team and it’s his uncorroborated narrations that match what’s in the ‘tip-off’… the demands are the same.

I like MHJ, but I’ve always watched her with caution because in Korea, no woman makes it to the c-suite without making a shit tonne of enemies. Imagine it to be triple the amount a regular working class man makes on his way up the ladder, because that kind of status in Korea is something you’re either born into, or born close to. It’s rare for working class men to work their way up and even more rare for women. In fact, I’d say it’s an aberration.

I see all the flack MHJ gets for being a narcissistic bitch, wanting to constantly assert ownership of her ideas, wanting to be widely associated with her successful projects, etc. I see people irritated by her arrogance, but full disclosure, I like her for it. For several reasons, but one reason is that in her environment, the default is to let your male superiors take credit for your work. It happens in corporate environments all over the world, but in Korea it’s a mentality entrenched in the DNA. Pushing against that earns you enemies every time you speak, by default. But I suspect that’s how she worked her way up from being a graphic designer to having a seat on the board of directors at SM Entertainment before leaving when they wouldn’t give her more autonomy. So, in my eyes, she’s got spunk. But also, now I see she’s clumsy.

Oftentimes with corporate drama, there’s no point using moral language because it’s just business. You either pitched the best deal or you didn’t. You either fucked up or you didn’t. It’s cold numbers and rationality - business. But… there are some cases where it’s not really about the business, cases where it’s personal.

I don’t have meaningful insider information, I’m reading the press releases and ‘leaks’ along with everyone else, so I can’t be certain and that’s why I’m talking in this long-winded ramble without coming right out to say exactly what I think. What I’ll say though is that this is less about NewJeans and more about Min Heejin. And she’s the first person who should’ve understood that and taken necessary precautions.

Clearly, it doesn’t look like she has, and in that sense she has no one but herself to blame. She’s being stupid, in fact I’d say delusional in some ways, but I guess some things can’t be helped. NewJeans isn’t exactly fucked, but it’s clear that yet again, they are collateral damage. And it’s a shame.

#ador #min heejin #bang pd #NewJeans #Hybe #kpop

[cherryredstars]

OH MY GOD REQUESTS ARE OPEN💃🏾💃🏾

gosh cherry i love you and your blog sm it makes my day😭

could i please have a college or highschool au where reader studies subjects like social science and business and literature and he does stem subjects and he at first has like a superiority complex, he doesn’t intend to, but he can’t help it, until he sees the reader like talk about social issues or how she can remember 17 step procedures and shit and he’s like…wow. maybe they can be together and he sees her pretend to teach people to learn and he’s learning stuff from her and it’s wholesome asf

god i don’t know i’m sorry im rambling😭😭 you don’t have to ofc but thank you anyway

and again, love you!!

Thank you, love!!!

He's the smartest person he knows.

It's not narcissistic if it's a fact. He's the top of his major program, already has offers for Ph.D programs nationwide mailed to his door. He's sure to get into any genetics department he wants for grad school. He's the star of the industry-path students. He's just that good, and what's the harm in taking pride in your accomplishments?

But he's never met someone like you before.

Usually he wouldn't care for people like you, with their abstract liberal art degrees in nonsense majors that'll just collect dust in a box in an attic somewhere. But there is something so enduring about you, about everything you do. The way you just know what people are thinking based on the twitch of their fingers and why they think it. The way you're so open to everything in a way that would make his lab buddies laugh with their one-way minds. It amazes him, the way your view is so wide in a way that something like genetics or STEM can't comprehend. In a way they don't allow. There is something so breath-taking about the way your mind has this endless freedom that he can't even grasp. Like a kaleidoscope of colors that are simultaneously beautiful and overwhelming to the senses. Something his factual mind craves.

The first time he had seen you, he was in the library. It isn't a place he would usually go to, but he had to collect some textbooks for his professor in the storage closet. He had gotten in a bit of trouble that day for taking so long, but how could he resist when he had heard the sweet cadence of your voice through the open door of a mini-lecture room. Very few students were in the room, it looked like a side presentation; one of those assignments that forced students to present their ideas on a topic to a group of people to try to captivate them into agreeing with your findings. There was a sort of fiery passion in the way you spoke, a hardened steel in your eyes that showed your resistance to back down. It was... enchanting, siren-like. So much so that he had been forced to sit in one of the empty seats in the back of the room, eyes stuck on you as you paced the front of class and rebutted comments from your peers.

He had no idea what you were talking about, but it still had that overwhelming effect on him. One that had him pressing the surface of his stomach against the hard edge of the lecture tables, his senses honing in to hear every last syllable that departed from your lips. There was this dream-like quality to you, something that consumed the mind and made them listen. A sort of intelligence that he would never know or understand. One that he would spend hours trying to learn if you were the one explaining it. He can't remember how long it took for him to start breathing again when your eyes scanned the room and locked onto him, clear confusion on your face at the random presence of college's most-awarded student. He could feel his heart bursting against his ribs, mouth parting slightly from the honor to be the center of your attention for even a few seconds before you looked away and carried on.

Suddenly, he didn't feel like the smartest person in the world. Not when you left him absolutely stupefied.

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x you #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel 2099 #miguel o hara #miguel spiderman #miguel atsv #spiderman 2099 #miguel x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you

[cephalonheadquarters]

Finally thinking about her more

Sharlotte ref + rambling under cut

Hi this is Ch— Sharlotte “with an ‘S’” Licha ⬆️ She is a kitefin shark and an old woman now but she’s very eccentric (despite the ref looking kind of stiff, sorry).

She comes from a very wealthy and weird family who lives far outside of Splatsville in some countryside area idfk. She moved to Splatsville as a young adult and later wanted to pursue her (impulsive) dream of...opening a pizza place. Her crazy-rich family graciously supported her endeavors, except for her older sister (who i've yet to design and name lol). Sharlotte’s sister is also her only sibling, and the only one that has “common sense” in the family, or at least she says so herself.

Sharlotte and her sister often spent time together while their parents were out most of the days. Not in a neglectful way, though. They were very loved and taken care of very well. Sharlotte would usually sit around watching her sister do random things like homework and it’d really bother her. Her sister didn’t like her, if it wasn’t obvious.

As they grew up, they drifted further apart from one another. Sharlotte watched her sister go on to become more successful and move to Inkopolis. Her sister wanted to be more independent and not have anything to do with her family because “they’re all idiots.” As mentioned before, Sharlotte went to Splatsville. She found it to be sort of cozier than Inkopolis, yet just as lively, if not livelier. She had no idea why she went there (It’s because she wanted to be like her sister and grow up but she doesn’t know that). She felt sort of lost. And hungry. And then the Fantastic idea appeared in her shark brain and in a short amount of time with hard work and a lot of her parents’ money, she was able to open up the saddest, most pathetic, near-invisible restaurant(?) squished between buildings that Splatsville had ever seen (if they were to look for it).

She needed employees though, so she started looking and wow the first guy she hired was some loser chimaera who she later started to see as the emo teenage son that she never had. Her dumb pizza place has been “in business” for several years now because no one fucking cares enough about it to do anythibg Oh also she’s still hiring. Most recent guy is a random tilefish of some kind, who she can’t ever remember the name of. She’s also not very good at being a boss/manager because she makes the wildest and most unhelpful decisions ever. No one working for her likes her but they stay anyways because they get paid Super well. She likes to keep her wealthiness a secret but is very bad at it and everyone who works there knows she’s suspiciously rich. Her cars also get stolen a lot. Doesn’t know why. Doesn’t care. She just buys identical new ones. Also 98% of her money she has isn’t even hers I’m guessing you can guess where it comes from LOL

TLDR Sharlotte is kind of stupid, but her heart’s in the right place

#splatoon #splatoon oc #oc #sharlotte licha #my art

[enjoyerofsoup]

listening to ep 100 of riptide and thinking about the parallels of the encounters with jay’s dad

in their first encounter, at the block, jayson ferin (grizzly, man, i’m sorry but why does it have to be spelled that way) knows exactly what to say to intimidate jay. he ridicules her choice to become a pirate, insults her friends. but he also shames her for having left featherbrook island. for “leaving her mother all by her lonesome.” jay’s response is that her mother can handle herself, though her father continues on, speaking at her rather than to her.

the majority of the conversation, jay pleads more than argues. she doesn’t need to prove him wrong. she just needs to convince him to let her friends live. she doesn’t move to attack or defend, just walks up to her dad, head down, and puts her fist on his chest. she immediately surrenders. says she’ll return home, do what he says, begging him to let the others go.

this doesn’t pan out of course. gillion acts, fights against jayson for the sake of his friend, for her freedom. but jay’s internal conflict, the secret she’s spent all this time lying about, her genuine care for her friends but her want to somehow appease her father, to find out what happened to ava. there’s uncertainty. and jayson sees this, and uses it to punish them. by forcing her to punish them. there’s nothing else she can do.

she shoots gillion in the chest.

in episode 100, as the crew has just left zero, they’re ambushed by the navy. as jay’s father lands on their ship to arrest them, something is different. jay has committed to her choice, to her co-captains and her crew. jay speaks against him.

“you shouldn’t be here.”

jayson ferin doesn’t know his wife is sick, that her magic is leaving her. jay herself has only just found out, but it makes sense that she hasn’t been able to return home as a wanted pirate. jayson doesn’t have that same excuse, yet he’s been absent for years. he doesn’t visit home often, not even before jay left to be a pirate.

when her father asks why, jay says “of course you wouldn’t know. always blind to everything around you, especially your family.”

he speaks as if he’s looking past her, trying to separate the person he sees from the daughter he raised. trying not to think about how much she looks like ava.

“my family would never forsake their duty on some immature whim of emotion. i see no family-“

jay interrupts him. “yeah? and what about mom? you ever once think to look over her? check in on her maybe?”

and jayson’s response is what really stands out to me.

“my wife can take care of herself. how dare you use her to provoke me. is this how far you have fallen?”

he’s contradicting his words in the block. not that he really meant what he said, as he didn’t truly care about jay leaving her mother. he cared about controlling the situation, and his wife was an easy card to play to make jay feel guilty.

as jay challenges her father, he assumes she’s trying to play the same game. weaponize their remaining family to gain control. she isn’t.

“when was the last time you saw her?”

jayson ferin is silent.

“i saw her a week ago. she’s very sick, dad.”

he doesn’t seem to even consider that she’s telling the truth. skirting around the subject to insult jay’s character before addressing it.

“try to trick me all you want. but it will not be me who dies a fool. and do not dare use my wife to bargain.”

“that’s just like you, dad. just like you to think i’d use mom as a bargaining chip and not tell you out of pure concern for her. i would’ve stayed and helped. but, y’know, you have so much navy on the island no i couldn’t even do that for mom.”

there’s such a contrast in how jay holds her self during the block and now. her father never allowed her to be her own person, wouldn’t have acknowledged it even if she’d tried to do so. and she knew that in the block, knew it long before she left featherbrook. it may have been easier had she gone back home with jayson after the block, but it would have been a betrayal. not just to her crew, but herself. she knows better now. knows what she wants and what she’s worth.

“so you know what? you continue to do your thing. be a bad husband, be a bad father, i don’t care. right now? i’m gonna get you off my ship.”

and she shoots at him.

#jay ferinnnnnnnnnn i love you #i could go on about jay ferin and the ferin family and jay being caught between her found family and her family by blood forever grrrr bark #this feels a little all over the place but fuck it im posting it anyway #was it overkill to stop as i watched and copy the exact dialogue? maybe. but i dont care #jrwi #jay ferin #just roll with it #jrwi riptide #jrwi riptide spoilers #just roll with it riptide #jrwi show #jrwi podcast #jayson ferin #riptide pirates

[emxritus]

re: ur post about criticizing the wealth of the watcher boys and that they’re an “indie company” i agree that I always feel uncomfortable when ppl try and frame them as starving artists. Idc if they’re not millionaires, if they’re not the 1%, they (to ME) are still considered rich. (Also, indie doesn’t mean poor??? Just independent?? Plenty of “indie” companies are fucking rich okay guys?) like, teslas may be “more common” but it’s still a luxury car. The cost of buying, (even the cheapest) maintaining, insuring, and charging one is worth more money than I could fathom spending on a car. It’s a luxury that I (also an artist here!) could never even dream about affording as of now. Idc if they own a business and therefore the thousands they make doesn’t all go to their pockets. Their business = their responsibility to run it properly and finance it smartly. If you own a Tesla I consider you rich (and a bit out of touch if u wanna support musk financially but that’s a whole other can of worms) if you think a Tesla doesn’t make someone rich (even a little bit) I encourage you to examine the privilege it takes to own one and to have that perspective.

I won’t speak to moral standings or anything like that. From a pure money perspective, Teslas are a luxury. Hundred dollar designer bags are a treat many ppl would have to think VERY HARD ABOUT before purchasing. Buying those things without a thought is a privilege.

Sorry for this rant, I’m too scared to say this on my own blog, but I’ve appreciated a lot of your posts on this situation and I hope you’re doing well and taking care of yourself!🥰

Absolutely, anon! You completely nailed it! Thank you for sharing, I'm glad to see others agreeing too because it is absolutely ridiculous to see the mental gymnastics people are going through on here to try and find a way to defend them or justify this all.

Ryan, Shane, Sara, and Steven, are all extremely privileged people who are not struggling for money in any sense of the word. They like to say and act as if they are, but they're not. Nobody struggling or level headed person would ever buy a Telsa and support the nightmare that is Elon. No struggling person would behave and guilt trip others this way, or manipulating their majority struggling fanbase and so arrogantly state that "6 dollars is nothing, you can pay it." No struggling person would sit and behave this way, engage in the lives and activities that they so casually do. They want to pull the whole "We are artists and need to be paid." Okay, I get that, and I agree that artists NEED to be paid, especially struggling ones, but the way they went about this is NOT it. And the fact they lied and acted as if they were barely hanging on and struggling, basically pretending to be poor, is extrenely tonedeaf. They also were and still likely are, getting a shit ton of money from patrons, ads, tours, merch, etc. As an actual struggling artist, it is offensive and pisses me off.

I'm well aware they've apologized, but IMO it doesn't truly fix anything. At the end of the day, they're rich and clueless to the privilege they hold, and that makes them both arrogant and dangerous.

#buzzfeed unsolved #watcher #shane and ryan #ryan bergara #shane madej #sara rubin #steven lim

[vauxxy]

my camp half blood oc ^_^

YALL SHES ADORABLE

her name is odette van schmidt and she’s a child of dionysus 😇

her story is actually rlly funny tbh. makes me crack up a bit. so here it is

basically dionysus met her mum (a rich socialite) at a party she was throwing for the opening of an art gallery, and it was getting late so everyone was going home. odettes mum looked over at dionysus and was like ‘omfg these old geezers r soooo boring. wanna hit the club?’ and dionysus was like ‘have my baby’ SO SHE DID.

9 months later she gave birth to odette van schmidt: the lying, unstable (possible future addict), drama queen JOY of dionysus.

by the time odette turned 14, her mum was like ‘right. this girl needs to get her ass to boarding school’ bc she could not stop CAUSING A RUCKUS. she was a menace during important parties and events- not because she wasn’t good at parties; but because they weren’t fun. while her mum agreed with her, she had grown out of her party girl phase and had to settle down.

well, odette didn’t fight her mums decision to send her to boarding school. after all, that’s where the craziest shit happens, doesn’t it? especially in new york.

so imagine this: odette van schmidt, the pretty girl with weird eyes and designer clothes CHOWING DOWN ON SPECIAL BROWNIES WITH HER ROOMMATE WHO LOOKS LIKE HOMELESS MAN IN A PRETTY GIRLS BODY.

odette could NOT stop getting into trouble. always sneaking off with her friends, partying her weekends away. by the age of 15 she had developed a pretty bad habit of taking a shot of vodka every sunday morning to get through the preachy ass mandatory services.

odettes mum had enough when she found out her daughter wasn’t taking her meds everyday at 8:00, and was instead lighting up at 4:20.

odettes mum had to call her baby daddy and tell him to pick her up for the summer. odette heard this call, and jumped to the conclusion she was getting sent to REHAB. so she ran.

she ran fast and fast and fast and fast. all the way from manhattan to queens.

ofc odette always saw weird shit. but she just always chalked it up to sleep deprivation, adhd, maladaptive daydreaming, and later in her teens: drug induced hallucinations.

after walking around new york aimlessly for 3 hours to escape rehab, her mum gave her a call.

“hey odette… can you come back home? bc ur lowkey a demigod and I WONT SEND YOU TO REHAB BABY IM SORRY I WONT ITS FINE YOU WERE ONLY SMOKING WEED ITS OKAY BABY-”

BOOM. hellhound right in the middle of the dingiest 7/11 in all of queens.

odette booked it- already terrified by what her mum said, and even more so by this terrifying dog thing.

she ran down at alleyway, hoping to escape the gross mangy dog, but she wasn’t fast or sharp enough to lose it or outsmart it. the hellhound attacked her from behind, ripping through the back of her shirt and leaving a scar that ran across the length of her back.

like that shit was BIG. like, from her neck down to her hipbone.

odette was vengeful thoguh. she was more angry than she was in pain, so she took out her pocketknife and started stabbing and punching that thing away. LIKE. HOW WOULD THAT EVEN PROTECT HER FROM A HELLHOUND??? but then the mutt started chasing its tail and howling like crazy, making it easier to put it down like an old dog.

and poof.

into thin air.

“alright what the fuck”

so there she lay- sitting and panting and wheezing in an alleyway, bleeding out. so she decided to pray,

“god i’m sorry for drinking on sundays! i’m sorry for using bible pages to roll! i’ll do anything to make it up to you!”

“girl, it’s fine.”

all of a sudden, there was this middle aged guy in front of her with the same eyes as her and the worst fashion sense she’d ever seen.

“i didn’t know jesus shopped at h&m…”

“jeez, you sound like ur mother.”

after 10 awkward seconds of silence, odette passed the fuck out. bc her back is a war zone. obviously.

when she woke up the next day, she was at the most rank hospital she’d ever been to. but all the doctors were cute. they were all blonde and spoke like poets and had such gentle hands. but they were wearing the most atrocious orange shirts.

good thing I’VE got STY-

odette looked down at herself. “are you fucking kidding me.”

orange was not her colour. it was purple.

after she got all healed up, two blonde 13 year olds who looked just like her arrived at the infirmary. “hiiiiii welcome to rehabbbbbbb”

“oh my god i’m actually going to kill myself”

castor and pollux eventually cleared up mostly everything about camp (after fucking around with their new older sister a bit more, of course), and proceeded to take her to get some food in her tall ass stomach.

she ate. and then she ate a bit more. and then she complained. and then she asked if her mum has her ‘crazy meds’. and then she asked for new clothes. and then she called her mummy and asked her for new clothes or perfume or anything. and then she walked over to the big house to complain about something again.

and as soon as she walked through the doors, screaming about how she can’t party with a torn up back- she was claimed.

“oh my gods odette. we have your stuff. its fine. it’s cool. you’re my daughter btw. and no drinking at camp.”

“… why would my mum fuck a guy who shops at h&m?”

“I DO NOT SHOP AT H&M, I AM A GOD-“

odette blanked. she wasnt really good at faces. much better with names. that’s what u get for being a history buff who can’t make eye contact i guess.

“… which one, sorry?”

“… dionysus?”

“oh. that checks out.”

#pjo #pjo oc #pjo ocs #percy jackson #pjo fandom #pjo series #dionysus #child of dionysus #dionysus kids #cabin 12 #cabin 12 oc #odette van schmidt #odette

[vellichorsdesire]

life before moving in with your f/o(s) if you’ve thought about the possibility, where you two visit each other’s homes instead… them leaving things at your place, from clothes to personal belongings that they’ve forgotten but it’s fine because they’ll be visiting tomorrow anyway, and they don’t mind you borrowing their stuff because in a way it’s become yours now too. them borrowing your stuff as well when they stay over unexpectedly, like your favorite tshirt or sleepwear. them going through your cupboards for food or getting cutlery for when you two eat because they already know where everything is. their toothbrush beside yours in the bathroom. an extra pair of home slippers by the door. all of this but vice versa, even. and whenever you two are even just sitting on the same couch or laying on the same bed or simply having a meal together, your f/o can’t help but think that this feels just right

#idk if i got the message across but it’s mostly about how you two have grown accustomed/comfortable with each other and in your homes #that the future of continuing this and even having your own home together is just. so nice to feel #that seeing them in your home or vice versa really does feel just right #i’m on five hours of sleep sorry. if this doesn’t make sense LOOL… #❥ vels ramblings #self ship #self shipping #f/o imagines #imagine your f/o

[sirazaroff]

How do you think Velvet flirts with Coco?

This is one of the funniest asks I ever got and im glad cause this is just gold. Like how does the Bun™️ woo her stupid bozo??
————


I have my biased takes on what Coco and Velvet are like as characters, but to start off I wanna focus on what Vel brings to the table.

I think a lot of people have moe’d her down to a nervous/scaredy bunny girl and…that’s not her at all. She’s a real multilayered character who can and will kick your ass flat. She’s also…

- very very attentive to people

- excellent at memorizing things she sees and hears, and quickly at that

- very emotionally in tune with people, herself included

- insanely kind and helpful

- honest about her feelings and will voice her thoughts when ready

Also she’s a bunny like come on. Is baby. It’s impossible to not find her likable.

I can go on forever, but I think these are enough likable traits to work with.


Time to shift. Now we focus on what I think Coco likes in a person:

- Hot girls

- Complexity

- Someone true to their nature

- Some sense of honor

- Someone striving to learn and to better themselves

Hopefully it’s not lost here, but there’s some compatibility don’t you think? Velvet’s got some of those traits that Coco likes.

————

So where’s the flirting? It’s coming I swear, I just needed the background info to help support the answers.

Bun bun flirts two ways: intentionally and unintentionally. The latter is usually what’s happening most often.

Her intentional flirting is what you would expect. Some cheeky words, being a playful tease in her actions like when she flashed her camera in After the Fall. I think she would 1000% take advantage of her physique and incredibly vast skillsets. She is totally totally showing off during training and sparring. Coco might hide her gaze under her glasses but that dumb bitch is so easy. So so easy…

Now her unintentional flirting is basically that Velvet is just doing her thing. She’s comfortable and loved by her team. With them she’s able to be herself and have fun, and that’s what coco loves most. Seeing Velvet thrive and not feel like she has to hide herself away from the world, and with it comes moments and actions that make Coco, much to her surprise, fall for Velvet.

I guess simply put, Velvet flirts by being her cheeky self around Coco, and her leader falls for her every time.

#fooze #smugm3ss #rwby #rwby fanart #velvet scarlatina #rwby velvet #coco adel #rwby coco #crosshares #rwby crosshares #of course these are just my playful opinions #but yeah I mean these two kiddos are funny and idiot goobers but they’re also so sugary sweet to each other #without any compromise to their personalities either #I just wanted to answer this already but I had a lot more tender moments planned for these two to show #I’m a firm believer that they’re perfectly made for each other. they kinda remind me of bees but just. different you know? #wow Fooze so much stuff to answer a simple question~ SORRY IDK I HAVE THOUGHTS and it takes months to get them out okay?!?! #probably doesn’t even make sense either! #anyways velvets favorite pastime is raising coco’s bp just by looking at her for longer than 5 seconds #sorry if this is also formatted weird I’ll fix it tomorrow if need be