#like am I desperate for companionship and everybody knows it but me???

[gemstarstarlight]

I think that I think a little too much about how uncomfortable I would be in a relationship and yet how much I would be letting people down if I told them I was ace and almost certainly permanently uninterested.

#like people don’t believe me when I say I’m pretty sure I’m not really interested in dating #like ever #I don’t even believe me tbh #it’s just so normal and expected in my world #like of course you’re gonna get married someday I just know it #like am I desperate for companionship and everybody knows it but me??? #but at the same time I like the idea of not being alone always #but not in a sexy way #or in a constant live life and fight about toilet seats way #i don’t know #and the worst part is that most people don’t even say anything like that to me anymore but I hear it anyway #thanks! it’s the trauma #asexual #am i asexual?

[jjasen]

sleepless nights

summary: the happenings of when you and Rafe are the only ones up late at night

warnings: smut, minors do not interact, 18+

word count: 1.5k

a/n: reader is Sarah’s best friend; so sorry i’ve been mia for a bit!! i hope you all enjoy ❀

It’s late when you pad into the kitchen of Tannyhill. The sound of water filling your glass almost echoes throughout the house and you hope that nobody wakes up. Before returning to Sarah’s room, you settle atop the marble counter of the kitchen island. It’s peaceful at this time of night, when everybody but you is dead to the world, and you can have a few moments of silence to yourself.

Until you hear someone else traipse into the kitchen. “What are you doing up?” Rafe asks. He leans back on the counter opposite you and gives you a lazy smile.

You shrug. “Couldn’t sleep,” you whisper. He nods, and a few moments pass in quiet companionship before he steps closer to you. 

“You know what helps me fall asleep?” he asks. There’s a glint in his eyes that makes you shiver despite the warm summer night, as if he sees you, suddenly, for more than just his little sister’s best friend. You’re painfully conscious of the fact that you’re wearing only a thin cotton camisole and sleep shorts as Rafe stares at you unabashedly.

You bite your bottom lip nervously. “What?”

He grins and leans over you, his long arms on either side of your body, caging you in. He smells good, like sandalwood and something warm, some sort of spice, maybe. 

“Sex,” he answers. 

You intake a breath sharply and can feel your heart pounding, a flustered warmth blooming in your chest. His hand is on your thigh, rubbing circles with his fingertips, and you feel sparks fly over your skin at his light touch.

“Rafe,” you whisper, “we shouldn’t.” It’s a half-hearted attempt, really, you know that he won’t stop until he gets his way. He moves his hand even further up your leg to brush his fingers over the softness of your inner thigh, and you gasp, but make no bid to move away.

“I know you’re just as desperate to touch me as I am,” he whispers, his gaze intense, lustful. “Tell me I’m wrong. Look me in my eyes and tell me I’m wrong.” You exhale slowly and allow him to brush his thumb over your jaw, peering up at him from under your lashes. Your eyes down flit to his lips, and a smile tugs on the corner of his mouth. “That’s what I thought,” he says, before leaning down to kiss you.

He’s insistent and rough. Possessive, even. He kisses you as if he wants to consume you, as if it isn’t enough to just touch you, as if he must devour you whole. It’s strangely arousing, the way his carnal desire makes your core stir sinfully. His teeth skim along your skin as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, and his hands run over your waist down to your thighs. You part them instinctually, your hands tangled into his hair, and you gasp shallowly for air.

Rafe pulls back to admire you. Your mouth is parted and deliciously swollen, your hair is mussed, your eyes glazed over, and reddened marks are beginning to bloom across your neck in a way that makes him achingly hard. You sigh his name and he hardens further still. The heat of his skin searing, sparks shiver down your spine when Rafe shimmies the lace of your panties down your thigh. He runs his fingers between your legs over your slick entrance and grasps your waist, gazing intently into your eyes. The brilliant blue of his stare has heat flushing up to your cheeks and your teeth sinking into your lower lip. You rock your hips against his hand.

“Do you like this?” he asks. He brushes over your swollen clit.

“Yes,” you breathe, trembling. 

“Good, because I like it too,” he says roughly, thrusting his fingers in. You gasp and throw your head back, moaning in pleasure and trembling, your hands scratching along his broad back. His thumb grazes teasingly over your clit and with his other hand he cups your breast, dragging his fingers over your nipples under the thin cotton of your camisole. Kissing up the column of your neck, Rafe runs his tongue along your jawline as he tastes your skin, salty-sweet. With each dip of his fingers curling into just the right spot, you gasp louder and louder until you come all over him. Quaking in your orgasm as pure bliss radiates up your spine, the sight of Rafe’s smug smile and his warm, heavy-lidded stare is almost too much and you clench around his fingers again.

Sliding his fingers out of you and into his mouth, the way he’s gazing at you whilst tasting you on his tongue, sinfully, a wicked gleam in his eyes, has you squirming beneath him, heat blooming into your cheeks. You look away, embarrassed, and he uses his free hand to tilt your chin up.

“Eyes on me,” he rasps, “I want to see your face when I fuck you.”

You are at a loss for how to respond to his words, the pure filth of his desire causing a shiver of excitement to run down your spine. “Okay,” you whisper, looking up at him through your lashes. Your innocuous, doe-eyed gaze only serves to increase Rafe’s lust, and he palms his cock before allowing you to slip your fingers beneath the band of his boxers.

You stroke his length gently, a little intimidated by his size and circumference, your hand barely able to wrap around its delicious warmth. He hisses, drawing air between his teeth, and grabs your wrist, forcing you to relinquish your grasp on his cock.

“Keep doing that and I’ll come right here,” he says, his breath hot on your cheek, before sliding on a condom and thrusting into you.

Rafe is no gentleman. He’s hungry, greedy, as he pounds into you roughly, his thick cock stretching you deliciously, all the while whispering filthy encouragements into your ear. The cool marble of the kitchen island is punishingly hard against your back, and yet you have never felt such intense pleasure.

You claw at the rippling muscles of his biceps with your free hand, the other frantically circling your clit. His arms cage you in as he holds himself up with one flexing forearm, the other curled so that his hand tangles into your hair. His eyelids flutter with pleasure and he almost has to force them open so that he doesn’t miss a moment of your arousal. The way you part your lips and bite down on your lower lip to muffle your lustful whimpers has him dangerously close to his release, and he fucks into you faster, harder.

“You wanna come, sweetheart?” Rafe pants, his thrusts getting sloppier, but still pounding into that spot that has your eyes rolling up to the back of your head.

“Don’t make me beg,” you whine, so close to the edge.

“I’m not going to. But we both know that you would do it if I told you too.” He’s smirking into the searing kisses he’s pressing to your collarbone, all too pleased with himself. You shake your head at him as best as you can manage while getting thoroughly fucked, but you know he’s right. 

With a final, shallow thrust and a cry of, “Oh, shit!”, Rafe comes, biting down into your neck to muffle his groans. At the sensation of his teeth piercing your skin, the searing pain rapturous to your nerve endings, your orgasm washes over you in a haze of euphoric bliss. You can feel his spent cock twitch inside of you as you clench around his length over and over again, pure pleasure rocketing up your spine. 

Panting softly, Rafe pulls out of you and briefly rests his forehead on yours, this  inconsequential action somehow more intimate than the sex. All too soon, he gets up to tread back upstairs to his room, leaving you to clean up your mess alone. His absence makes the kitchen feel even larger, the house more quiet, and there’s an ache of disappointment in your chest. Only then do you begin to worry about what will happen if Sarah finds out, what you will tell her. When you return to her room, she is still fast asleep. Relieved, you slip back under the covers.

Sun streams through the window and it’s so late you aren’t sure it’s morning anymore when you awaken. Stretching and yawning, the throbbing ache in your legs is a harsh reminder of the events of last night. Sarah is already up; she’s running a brush through her honey-blonde hair in the bathroom adjoined to her room.

“Someone slept in,” she remarks nonchalantly. “Rafe made crêpes, I saved you a few.” You smile despite yourself, and drag yourself out of bed to wash your face. Running a hand through your hair, you pull it back into a ponytail and accidentally brush over the bite Rafe left on your neck and wince. Sarah notices from the mirror and glances at you, frowning slightly.

“Is that...a bite mark?” 

Shit.

#rafe x reader #rafe smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron outer banks #jjasewrites

[ttthenerd]

How much I like getting letters from you. With what zest do they send me to meet the day. So much do I like getting them, that I keep them as the last letter to open of my morning post, like a child keeps the bit of chocolate for the end –

Please, in all this muddle of life, continue to be a bright and constant star. Just a few things remain as beacons: poetry, and you, and solitude. You see that I am extremely sentimental. Had you suspected that? […]

Someday I’ll write and tell you all the things you mean to me in my mind. Shall I?

I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone: I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. You, with all your un-dumb letters, would never write so elementary a phrase as that; perhaps you wouldn’t even feel it. And yet I believe you’ll be sensible of a little gap. But you’d clothe it in so exquisite a phrase that it would lose a little of its reality. Whereas with me it is quite stark: I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal. So this letter is just really a squeal of pain. It is incredible how essential to me you have become. I suppose you are accustomed to people saying these things. Damn you, spoilt creature; I shan’t make you love me any the more by giving myself away like this – But oh my dear, I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defences. And I don’t really resent it. However I won’t bore you with any more.

Yes, I miss you, I miss you. I dare not expatiate, because you will say I am not stark, and cannot feel the things dumb people feel. You know that is rather rotten rot, my dear Vita. After all, what is a lovely phrase? One that has mopped up as much Truth as it can hold

I am now going to Karnak. It is full moon, and it quite frightens me to think what it will be like. Damn that you’re not here.

Do you know it was four weeks yesterday that you went? Yes, I often think of you, instead of my novel; I want to take you over the water meadows in the summer on foot, I have thought of many million things to tell you. Devil that you are, to vanish to Persia and leave me here! […]

I can’t write, except to you. I lie in a chair. It isn’t bad: but I tell you, to get your sympathy: to make you protective: to implore you to devise some way by which I can cease this incessant nibbling away of life by people

I would ring you up and say all this instead of writing it, but the reason why I don’t is obvious.

But she won’t, she won’t! Something will happen. Of course something will happen. Something always does, when one wants a thing too passionately.

Bring your work, I won’t interrupt. I so want you to be happy here. I wish, in a way, that we could put the clock back a year. I should like to startle you again, – even though I didn’t know then that you were startled.

I’ve got a lovely full moon (or nearly) for you.

Why aren’t you with me? Oh, why? I do want you so frightfully.

I want more than ever to travel with you; it seems to me now the height of my desire, and I get into despair wondering how it can ever be realised. Can it, do you think? Oh my lovely Virginia, it is dreadful how I miss you, and everything that everybody says seems flat and stupid.

I hope you miss me, though I could scarcely (even in the cause of vanity) wish you to miss me as much as I miss you, for that hurts too much, but what I do hope is that I’ve left some sort of a little blank which won’t be filled till I come back. I bear you a grudge for spoiling me for everybody else’s companionship, it is too bad –

Yes yes yes I do like you. I am afraid to write the stronger word. Your Virginia

Really this isn’t false humility; really it isn’t. I can’t write about that part of it, though, much less ever tell you verbally.

I’d better stop now, or I should write you too wild a letter of love and longing.

So no more – but if your pen should again take to twisting, let it. Because, my dear Vita, what’s the use of saying ‘once Virginia’ when I’m alive and here now?

-Love Letters: Vita and Virginia

#virginia woolf #vita sackville west #love letters

[vlueavl]

you cannot receive food with your mouth closed

you want my companionship, you want my kisses, you want my good times, but you don’t wanna be with me. you want me to make you laugh, you want my hugs, for me to receive you happy and with a kiss, but you don’t want to give me clarity.

you tell me i’m the coolest, that you enjoy my company, but if it wasn’t that way, would you stop entertaining me and leave?

because i know that i am that way. that’s what i have to offer, a good conversation, a good partnership, giving that it’s my speciality. so you won’t astound me complementing that.

everybody knows how to receive my essence because it’s nice, i am not hard to love, my absence it’s felt. and i am so accustom to give, i like being easygoing, i like to entertain people with my energy. i deliver happily because i don’t care about receiving the same in exchange. and i didn’t mind searching you if i wanted something of you, but you wore me down. i no longer feel like we are meeting in the middle, now i feel like i’m constantly searching out for you. so i ask you, why don’t you wanna be with me?

you assure me it’s not like that. that you do wanna be with me. but now you turn your back on me to sleep, you don’t spend your days alongside me, you don’t ask about me, you don’t search for me, you don’t long for me, you no longer show that you wanna be with me. and you make me feel like when we’re together, that evening in which we see each other, its a favor you’re doing me. a little breadcrumb you are giving me so i don’t forget that there’s a bread out there.

you tell me it’s all you can give me for the moment, and you make me understand that I have to settle for that and that you are not interested in trying harder. and so you want me to believe you when you say you want me? if it’s so easy to let go of me? and if i get to tell you that i won’t settle for that, will you do absolutely nothing to convince me otherwise? why would you want me to want that? how would that not make me feel hurt?

and if you know, if you know how that would hurt me, why you keep doing it? is that how much you don’t want to give in?

if i only want to love you, i badly want to want you, because i cherish so real, so from within, so foolishly, so thoughtlessly, so naively.

am i so naive? i sometimes think, fuck it. i will give myself thoughtlessly to you, i’ll give all my love to you even if you fuck me over and consciously hurt me and it only fills your ego not to reciprocate it back. because fuck it. i am the one with good intentions and love to give, and the one who hurts, the bad one it’s you, and the universe will make you pay for it. you’ll get older and ugly or something. am i so naive for putting you as the villain in my story? if we all have the right to give what we wanna give and its not a matter of meritocracy.

and how do i explain to you, in a sane way

that i want you to adore me, that i want you to never stop thinking about me with total limerence, that i want you to never see your world without me in it. that you won’t fall asleep if its not with me by your side, may your arms hurt from not hugging me and may the days without seeing me weight you down.

i am capricious and i am desperate to let you go so you can come find me, because you will search for me and you will realize that you only served yourself breakfast when i was the whole course, and that you half-swallowed me while i was used to be consumed whole.

#self #writing

[normalcartoonic]

I don’t know about myself, feel like I’m an outcast

I just feel lost. I made some bad moves and I feel like I can't make things better.

Ever since the late 2010s after getting back into drawing, some of the people I met that were friendly to me have now become different people and when I decided to chat with them, they became very upset with me,   either because I never talked to them that much or because they hung out with other people that told them behind my back that I was a bad person. Why did some of them say I'm a bad person? Well, because since getting back into drawing, I decided to draw NSFW. At first nobody batted an eye on what I was doing. But after hanging out with one person that encouraged me to draw more NSFW on that fandom I was in after paying me, people started to dissociate with me because of the behavior that toxic person rubbing off on me. In hindsight, I should've cut them off early on, but at the time, I was desperate for some sort of payment as this was before I decided to start selling online.

I also accidentally hurt some people, either directly or indirectly. Even after apologizing for my actions down to my heart and cutting out some toxic people out of my life, I feel like nothing's working. I apologized to some people hat were offended by my action, but they didn't want to draw him due to them being uncomfortable with my past and can't refund the money back due to some money. I thought on trying out a new fandom after a person I talked to for a few months that they had a discord and let me in. But then a month after joining, someone online told that person about me and banned me despite not causing any trouble.

At this point, I feel like moving on is no longer an option. I thought on trying to join another fandom would be a good break, but then some rando told the admin on that server about me and banned me despite not breaking any rules. Even if I make a huge apology for my actions out to the public, it still won't let me be accepted. I feel like everybody is treating me like I'm a bad person, even though there are much worse people out there. And I know some will say just move on to something else or make new friends. The problem is that either it's something that won't stick with me long enough to get my attention, someone I tried talking to doesn't stay around to chat, or the worse case scenario being rejected. I feel like everyone treats me like I'm the most horrible person in the world, even though there were worst things other people have done. I know you can't be friends with everybody, but I just want some sort of companionship for what I am.

Even if I give up drawing lewds just to please some corners of the internet, I feel like that won't work as some people that dislike in the first place for drawing that stuff won't be friends with me.

So I don't know what to do. I feel like taking a break from the internet doesn't work as it only works in a small dose before the negativity will back up again. The last time I took a break was between 2015 and 2016, but that didn't seem to help as things were fine during 2017 until everything went back to how it was before I took a break. Even then, I still want to do something as sitting around doing nothing isn't gonna help me. And I know some will say just move on to something else or make new friends. The problem is that either it's something that won't stick with me long enough to get my attention, someone I tried talking to doesn't stay around to chat, or the worse case scenario being rejected. I thought on going more into drawing NSFW, but everyone on that side mocks me for drawing stuff like that, and some people on that fandom I was in hates me for drawing lewds. Everyone tells me to get therapy, but I don't have the money to go into that, and I feel like it's not gonna cure everything that is wrong with  me, as they're either gonna repeat what everyone is telling what is  wrong or give me the wrong advice, except I have o pay out of my own  pocket. The  last thing I need is to take medication an get addicted to drugs and alcohol, which is what caused my family to break apart. It's sometimes why I feel like I wish I never went back into drawing as I felt like it made everyone turned against me than helping me.

#vent

[stanknotstark]

Commanding Loki (just kind of happens)

Summary: You’re not really sure how it happens but you begin commanding Loki, the God of Mischief, around. To everyone’s shock, he happily obliges to your commands. 

The first time you do it in front of the Avengers they all kind of stop in shock.

"Loki, get me a soda before you sit down." You told rather than asked the God.

You were too busy looking at a tablet Tony had lent you to see him stop in his tracks. He glared at the Avengers looking at him, ready to attack him as if he was thinking about attacking you for giving him an order. They weren't wrong but only because you did it in front of everyone. Probably.

He got you a soda and sits next to you, rolling his eyes at your nonchalant thanks. 

The next time it happened was kind of a life or death situation.

"Loki, leave the room right now and calm yourself," You checked Thor's pulse through the gushing blood which made him slippery as an eel, "You either calm yourself and I’ll let you back in or you can sit out there like a petulant child. Go."

Natasha looked at you as if you were crazy, her hands pressing a t-shirt to Thor’s wound tightly. Loki heeded her no mind though and did as you told him.

He was welcomed back within 15 minutes.

Next, you do it more to push boundaries because Natasha had a conversation with you after Thor's fiasco. She's finds it quite funny that he obeys you like it's second nature but if anyone else dared do it he wouldn't hesitate to threaten their life. Trust me, Tony had wanted to test his boundaries and tried to do it too. Needless to say, Tony wouldn't be doing it again any time soon, he was still pissy some very expensive pieces of furniture got destroyed.

So one day while you and Loki are hanging out with Natasha, like you all consistently do because you three enjoy silence but companionship at the same time. You look across at Nat and grin, making sure Loki doesn't see it and commence your plan.

"Loki," Loki looks up from his book on midguardian foods newly introduced from 1996 to 2010, a questioning frown on his face, "Pass me the remote."

It's simple enough, nothing too strenuous. Yet.

"You have two perfectly functioning arms." Loki mutters but grabs the remote and gives it to you. You give him a genuine smile and you can see he has gone soft in the eyes before he looks at his book again. 

You glance at Nat with raised brows, she looks away with a smirk as you turn on the TV. Flicking through channels you finally settle on reruns of Stranger Things. Natasha gets interested and you kind of watch but mostly you're thinking about commanding Loki to do something else but what? Loki keeps looking at his book but you see him glancing up often to watch the show too.

"Hey, Cowboy," Loki growls at the name, it had come up when Thor told you he used to call him a cow for his horns, "Don’t sit like that you'll get scoliosis....if a God can get that." Loki who had slouched forwards blinked at you and sat up straight in shock from the bad posture. When you see him glower at the TV you smile, he's probably cursing midguardians for ruining his good posture.

"Thanks." You whisper.

Loki hums carelessly and puts his book down to instead watch the show. Natasha coughs into her hand (a hidden laugh, you knew Nat too well), Loki eyes her suspiciously, looks at you, then focuses back on the TV. You force yourself, with great resolve might you add, to not laugh. You let things settle again before you try the ultimate command.

"Ugh." You start, rolling your right shoulder around and poking at it as if it hurts. You're literally about to tell Loki to massage it for you but you’re struck by paralyzing shock. Loki had noticed your 'discomfort' and moved closer to you. Lifting his hands towards your shoulder he stopped and looked at you with a tilted brow, asking consent. 

Aww how sweet.

You nodded and shifted so he had better access to your back. One hand landed between your shoulders on your back and the other pinching the area where your shoulder met your arm and began massaging.

Shocked you let him staring at the TV but not knowing what is going on on the show. Loki and you had touched before so it's not so out in the left field that you're concerned but he was massaging you in front of Natasha. Your thoughts turned to mush as he pushes and pulls your body so he could access all of your back and starts massaging your entire back. You couldn't help the little whimpers and soft moans of delight. Not only was this man a God but he was literally gifted God like hands, unfair!

After letting out another whimper Loki stopped. You felt him shift back to his original spot and so you did too. Glancing at him you saw a hint of flushed cheeks as he stared at the TV distantly. Natasha was outright staring at him with both eyebrows raised to her hairline, it looked like.

Loki cleared his throat and left with an offhand excuse.

Once Loki left the area Natasha's eyes fell onto you. She smirked lecherously but said nothing about what had just happened. Turning her attention back to the show when you shrugged your shoulders, completely flustered. 

She asks, "So like, I don’t doubt Will is going to be found but does Barbara make it?"

You smile and settle into the couch, "You'll find out in a few episodes."

Natasha groans and you laugh. You know she hates not knowing but if she's truly desperate she can look it up on Google or ask Jarvis.

The next time you command him it's another crisis. 

In short, Thor and Loki are arguing, both clearly in a ferocious rage in the kitchen. All the team is there to experience it this time too.

"No, Thor, I cannot simply understand why you would defend those inept idiots you call friends. If you think they're in the right you’re more brainless than I thought!" Loki yells at Thor who now looks like a kicked puppy and your motherly instincts kick in.

"Hey!" Loki looks at you shocked, this is the highest he's ever heard your voice, and probably the angriest too because you just don’t get mad. You have the patience of a Buddha God, Tony likes to say. 

"You apologize to him right now, then you will listen to what your brother has say, and if you interrupt him I will show you just how minuscule a God can be to a non believer."

The entire kitchen is silent. Tony looks like he wants to flee the area, he's been on your angry side once before. Steve is practically engraving the table with his eyes. Natasha shrugs and continues eating her meal, the utensils clipping the plate the only noise in the room.

Loki looks at Thor and raises a brow. Thor, still looking at you, swallows and begins to talk, focusing on his brother again. 

"Im trying to learn but I don’t know how to stay neutral between your feelings and my friend's-"

Loki opens his mouth but slams it shut when you snap your fingers.

"-i do not want to offend anyone but every choice i make I offend you and I’m sorry brother, I truly am. What can I do to amend things between us?"

Loki glances at you to see if he may talk now. At your nod he says, "Start by supporting your brother sometimes. I don't ask that you stand behind every argument between your friends and I but you never fail to support them, it seems. You can't please everybody Thor, and you can't stay neutral forever, at some point you have to realize that you have to pick a side and who's side."

Thor has lost to kicked puppy look but he now frowns and nods, staring at the floor with guilt. Loki's hand comes up, hesitates, then he places it on Thor's arm for a second and swiftly leaves.

When no one moves for a few seconds you clear your throat and they all go back to whatever they were doing before the argument escalated out of proportion, you included.

You realize you may have tiptoed the line of being fair with that last command so you let it rest for awhile, give Loki some space. He of course notices your avoidance because Tony had asked you what was up between you both, stating that the God had asked him if anything was bothering you. Usually Loki came to you with his concerns, not being the type of person to talk behind someone’s back. 

You sigh and tell Tony you’re fine, that you’ll talk to him. So you head out from Tony’s lab and search for Loki. He isn’t in the living room, kitchen, or even his own bedroom. You remember him once stating that he likes read on the roof sometimes, Tony had build Loki a garden up on the roof at one point since Loki clearly missed the garden from home, Asgard. A small gesture but a true turning point for both Tony and Loki’s relationship you think. 

Walking out on the roof you don’t see Loki in the garden so you murmur a few expletives and make your way back to the door when a voice calls out your name. You follow the sound and find Loki hidden on a corner of the roof, sitting on the edge of the building. 

Walking up behind him you ask, “Can we talk?”

“You’ve never asked before, don’t see why you’d start now.” Loki says, no contempt in his voice though, it’s just very...neutral. 

You force out a small laugh, hearing your own tenseness in it, “Ya, about that..”

You sit next to Loki letting your legs dangle over the ledge like Loki does now. His legs kick every once in awhile giving him an almost childlike appearance. 

“First off, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Loki looks at you.

“I was out of line the other day with you and Thor. Not just then I’ve been, well, commanding you to do things for me and that’s...it’s not...right?” You finish lamely, your face a big grimace but you look Loki in the eyes when you apologize.

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?” Loki says with mirth lingering in his words. 

“Well, ya, is there some other reason I should have?” You squint at him suspiciously.

“No.”

Loki looks at you with an innocent look on his face, which you know is pure bullshit, but you let it slide. Shaking your head with a smile you then look out across the open skyline below you. 

“Apology accepted.” Loki says after some time has past. Your shoulders, which had tensed involuntarily, now relax. 

You don’t react, well more like force yourself not to, when you feel Loki’s hand come to rest atop yours which had been supporting you on the ledge. Loki lets his hand rest there before he gets more confident and intertwines both of your fingers. You smile, finally looking at Loki who is already staring at you brazenly. 

“Kiss me.” 

“What?”

“Did I fucking stutter?”

Loki smirks then leans in, his left hand coming to cradle your head at your jaw and kisses you. At first softly, as if testing the waters, then begins to put more passion behind it as you lean into him. His tongue gently swipes across your bottom lip and you open your mouth to let him explore. 

If you thought this man had God like hands....

When you’re both breathless you part but keep your faces close together. Your eyes roam over his face, noting how young he looks right now, how vulnerable, and bite your lip. Loki’s eyes drop to your lips and uses a thumb to pull your lip from your teeth lest you bruise them more. “Don’t bite them, it is my job to bruise them.” Loki says breathlessly. 

Much later, when it’s dark out, you both come back into the tower and make your way to the living room. The first person you see is Natasha who, legit, smiles at the look of you two. Tony who notices Nat smiling looks where she’s looking and whistles at the two of you who decide to share a love seat. 

“Shut up.” You command the two of them. 

You were sure the both of you made a pretty funny picture. Your hair was most likely tousled, too much so to just be from the wind, and Loki’s lips were nearly purple with bruising so no doubt yours were any less. Not to mention the both of you were too incredibly happy, which ya you being happy is normal but it was almost an alarming amount of giddiness and Loki doesn’t normally show his emotions so openly like this. 

Tony smirks, raises a brow and points the remote at the TV. “Stranger Things?” 

You, very much flustered, clear your throat and say yes. 

#loki x reader #loki odinson #loki #reader insert #one shot #avengers #tony stark #natasha romanov #my writing #dudes i literally had this thought pop in my head while out eating dinner with my family for mothers day #and i was constantly picking up and putting down my phone to write it all in my notes #like i always have the best ideas while out doing something or when people need my attention gdi #but enjoy #commanding loki (just kinda happens)

[candycityy]

waltz

Synopsis: He'd chase her to hell itself, and beyond, if he had to. Greek mythology/PJO-inspired reincarnation AU.

[Click here to read on AO3 instead.]

The first time, Levi dies quietly, in his sleep.

He does not go out in fire and fury; it is a peaceful death, one he goes into with grey in his temples and sickness in his blood, unbecoming of humanity's strongest soldier. But Levi has never been a hero. Never wanted to.

He wakes to the gentle, rocking motion of a sailboat. It's dark, cavernous, but there is no ceiling as far as he can see, only steep walls of grey rock that stretch into the sky, lined with candle sconces that curve upwards and throw eerie blue light onto the dew-slicked surfaces.

He moves to sit up. His head spins, his consciousness threadbare and fragmented. When he glances over the edge of the boat, he sees a strange reflection in the black water.

It's him, but...different. Paler, younger, gaunter. The ghostly light casts shadows that pool in the hollows of his cheekbones and underneath his eyes, making him look almost skeletal.

Appropriate, he supposes, considering he's dead.

The figure that sits silently at the other end of the boat smiles, a flash of white, pointed teeth in a silhouetted face. "Levi Ackerman," it pronounces. Its voice is soft but grating, like its vocal cords are made of rusted iron instead of soft flesh. "I finally meet you. It's an honour."

"More than I can say for you." His voice is unnaturally loud, bouncing off the rock and echoing into the silence. "Am I supposed to know who the fuck you are?"

"I am Charon." It inclines its head, and Levi catches a flash of its eyes; they're the same strange blue-grey as the flames that light the cave. "You don't know me, but I know you. Oh, if I could count all the times I've heard that name on the lips of the newly-dead...as if you were a demon, or a god."

When Levi doesn't respond, Charon continues, its conversational tone clashing with the rasp of its voice. "But now that I see you here, as dead as any of your soldiers, I see you are no more than simply human."

The boat bumps roughly against the shore. In the distance, a city emerges, like magic, from the darkness. It glows with a warm light, delicate towers of glass rising up into the sky, which is already lightening into a soft, clear blue. As Levi watches, the grey rock of the shore metamorphoses into an endless, rolling green field, blades of grass shifting and swaying in a nonexistent breeze.  

"Your fare?" Charon extends a bloodless, expectant hand. Levi stares back uncertainly.

"What?"

"There is always a price to pay, to cross over into death." Charon's withered lips curve into a smirk. "Blood, or wealth, or sorrow...and in your case, that." It nods at his clenched fist.

He uncurls his fingers, revealing a tattered soldier's patch, torn from their uniform, embroidered with the emblem of blue and white wings he thought he'd never see again. It sits among a sea of red, crescent-shaped imprints, carved into pale flesh.

Before Levi can react, the ferryman reaches over and plucks it from his open palm. In its skeletal grasp, the patch shrinks and changes, turning into a single heavy, gold coin.

Charon stands up, its spine curving into a low, mocking bow.

"Welcome to Elysium, Levi Ackerman. I wish you a pleasant death."

==

Levi doesn't remember much about his death.

He'd died in bed, he thinks—he remembers the sharp, acrid scent of medicine and disinfectant, the way the illness crept into his bloodstream, making his bones brittle and his lungs constrict. But already, his time on earth is becoming a distant memory, colours and textures and emotions once cast in sharp detail softening into a sighing, distant grey.

Such is the spell of Elysium, he hazily guesses. The pain of life has no place in paradise, and his life has been so little apart from pain. Some memories remain, though, either unable or unwilling to be pried from his mind—a strange, lilting lullaby in a language he doesn't recognise. The crisp aroma of fresh tea leaves. Hair the colour of a sunset, a shifting mass of reds and golds. A name.

He struggles to remember, and fails.

The ground is soft, unresisting, under the crunch of his boots, and Levi isn't sure if it's been minutes or years when he finally steps onto dry sand. When he looks up, he's engulfed by the radiance of the golden city—Elysium.

"Welcome, hero." The woman that appears before him smiles. She is undeniably beautiful, and yet not quite right; there is something unnatural, inhuman, to the curve of her mouth and the brightness in her cerulean gaze. Her white dress drapes her every curve and flows to the ground, gossamer-like and almost liquid. A closer look reveals that it is constructed entirely of tiny white flower petals, stitched together with a silky, translucent thread—spiderwebs, he realises with an inward shudder.

"I am Persephone, queen of the Underworld, goddess of spring." She lifts a hand, and a sighing, heady breeze envelopes her, making her hair and dress ripple. "Levi Ackerman—I must admit, I expected you much sooner."

"Sorry to disappoint," he says flatly. "Although, you can't really blame me for trying my damned best to avoid, you know. Dying."

"Well, no matter." She lifts an elegant shoulder, in a guise of a shrug. "You're here now. I'm delighted to welcome you into my realm."

She spreads her arms in a dramatic gesture, and the otherworldly light coming off her intensifies to an almost blinding degree. He winces wordlessly. "Could you turn that goddess thing off?"

"Hmm." Persephone casts him a thoughtful look, and then smiles, catlike. "Maybe you'd prefer this, instead, then?"

As he watches, her statuesque form shrinks until the top of her head reaches just below his eye-level. Her elaborate crown of braids, as pale gold as a wheatfield, softens and falls to her collarbone, and darkens into a honeyed copper. Her features blur and bubble over, revealing amber eyes and a too-familiar smile.

The elusive name—he forgot, how could he forget?—is torn from his throat, a ragged whisper. "Petra."

The word is a hook, tugging to the surface a lifetime of memories, and all at once, he remembers.

The first time he'd seen her, she'd been participating in a titan drill. She'd swept through the air like quicksilver, tumbling past her comrades in a graceful choreography of movement, silvered blades like deadly extensions of her slender arms. But far more arresting was the look in her eyes: her amber irises set ablaze from within, bright with ferocity and triumph.

She'd been the first person in the Survey Corps who'd ever been kind to him; who'd looked him straight in the eye and spoke honestly, defiantly. Levi doesn't know exactly when, but she'd cut a hole into his chest with that warm, reticent smile. And for the first time since he was nine years old, he'd allowed himself to be weak.

An initially uneasy truce had grown into a comfortable companionship, and after months of push-and-pull, polite banter turned into shared moments in the corridors, and evening tea sessions turned into late nights spent in his office, fingers intertwined underneath the table.

And he remembers, with startling clarity, the day he'd been walking in a Sina marketplace and found that silver ring, set with a stone the exact colour of her eyes. He remembers how it'd seemed to burn a hole in his pocket after he bought it, day after day, week after week. Impatient. Demanding.  

It'd burned all the more when he'd found her that day, sprawled against the tree, her neck thrown back at a grotesque angle, empty eyes trained at the sky.

"So you do prefer this." The goddess who is not Petra smiles, cold and otherworldly, and the expression looks desperately wrong on her face. "How terribly unsurprising. Humans are all the same, in every age and time...I suppose even being humanity's strongest wouldn't change a thing."

"Is she here?" is all he manages to say. Persephone waves a slender white hand, carelessly.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," she drawls. "But we are not here to talk about your long-lost love, Levi Ackerman. We are here to talk about you, and that all the wildest desires that your fragile little soul can muster." Her lip curls. "You are in Elysium. What is your heart's desire, hero? What do you ask of paradise?"

"Isn't that your job, to figure that out?" he shoots back. She sighs.

"Well, yes, I suppose. I'd hoped you would be different, but you seem just as human as the rest." She pronounces the word in a manner similar to the ferryman, with a kind of amused scorn. "For most humans, it's either love and power—only two things satiate them."

Her ageless green eyes seem to pierce him like knives. "Which do you want, Levi Ackerman? What drives you?"

Kenny once said, everybody needs to be a slave to something. A god, a drug, something to be drunk on, to keep the air circulating through their lungs and to force them to wake up day after hellish day.

Levi doesn't agree. He'd lived years and years without anything, after all; a shell of a man driven by pure survival instinct, by the sheer virtue of a heart that refused to stop beating, all the way until it did.

But Petra had been different. She'd believed in the old stories, the ones in the countryside hymns she used to sing. Of a purpose, a meaning, something greater. Sometimes she'd close her eyes, her lips moving in a soundless prayer, and he'd close his eyes as well and wish with all his heart to believe, too.

He looks straight at the goddess. "Nothing," he replies, truthfully.

Persephone laughs, a too-perfect, bell-like sound, that is so utterly unlike Petra's that it sounds nearly obscene coming from her lips. "Oh, you are just delightful, hero. You're telling the truth, aren't you? That's adorable. And yet—this girl," she gestures down at herself, "I saw her at the top of your mind. Your biggest regret, isn't she, Levi Ackerman?"

He grits his teeth. "So what if she is?"

"She is not here, hero." Persephone smiles, her pale irises alight with an icy glee, and for a second, a wave of cold dread crashes over him—could she have ended up anywhere else? No, she was a soldier, brave to the end. She couldn't have.

"Not anymore. You're too late." An exhale of relief—she had made it here, after all. "Petra has chosen a different path, to be reborn again, and to try for the Isles of the Blessed."

"The what now?"

"It is a paradise above all," she explains airily. "To reach it, you must live and die thrice, and each time reach such heights of heroism or courage that so suffice to earn you entry into Elysium."

Levi exhales, a low hiss escaping his teeth. Of course she would have—she was always so restless, so fierce, a caged bird striving constantly for the sky. She could never stay in one place, never settle down into comfort and domesticity. Elysium would never have been enough for the girl with fire in her eyes and an unquenchable thirst for more.

"What will you do?" She surveys him with her cool, immortal gaze. It rankles him.

"I'm going, too." He straightens, fixes her with a a cold glare. Persephone cants her head to the side, her expression shifting to something akin to amusement.

"Then, will you give up Elysium to follow this girl?" She waves a hand, and the city's glow reaches almost blinding heights, forcing him to turn his gaze away.

"How much does she mean to you, hero? In this city wait so many who you know and love, who have yearned to see you. Your men, who gave up their lives for you. Your friends, who rode with you to their deaths. Your mother, your own flesh and blood.

"Petra Ral has the spirit of a warrior," she adds, almost conversationally. "Do you, Levi Ackerman? You, with your heart that has ever only wanted peace and comfort?” Her lips twist, mocking. “Or is your heroism a mere product of your circumstances? Do not expect to be blessed with Ackerman blood again, this time. And if you fail—you will never see any of your loved ones again."

Some paradise.

"Do I have to make this decision now? Don't suppose I could stop to sightsee first?" His words are gelid but his tone is raw—not that he'd fool the goddess either way, he supposes.

"Of course not. That wouldn't be any fun," she goes, with that chilling bell-like laugh that makes his hair stand on end. He hesitates.

He thinks of Isabel, that trusting, childlike gleam in her eyes. Furlan, arms folded, leaning against the doorframe with that knowing smirk ghosting over his lips. His mother, singing him lullabies in the dark of the brothel. Erwin, who he'd told, in no uncertain terms, to give up his dreams and die.

And Levi knows it isn't there—he'd slid it onto the finger of her corpse, all those years ago, and it'd be little more than tarnished metal against bleached white bone by now—but he feels the phantom heat of the ring in his pocket, scorching hot. No regrets.

He's never had a single regret, except for her.

Levi lifts his head, and meets the goddess's gaze, unfaltering. Decisive. "I'm going."

"If you wish. But know this, hero." Her voice seems to thunder through the city. "If you succeed, upon your third death you may enter the Isles and live a life of eternal bliss.

"But, if you fail to reach Elysium even a single time." Persephone's eyes gleam with a predatory eagerness, "you are doomed to spend eternity in whatever realm you are sentenced to. The light of paradise will be barred to you...forever."

Talk about dramatic.

"Get on with it, then," he almost spits. It figures, it really does, that even in death, he wouldn't get a second of fucking peace.

Persephone casts him a quelling look. He ignores it. With a roll of her eyes, she waves a hand, and immediately, the glow of the city begins to crumble away, even the sand beneath his feet, and he feels himself fall. An incredible wind rises, and he finds himself being shoved backwards, the fields and the cavern roaring in his ears.

"As a final gift to you, hero..." The goddess's teeth flash tauntingly in the fading light, like pearls set against ebony. "I grant you memory."

The last thing he sees is the glint of cruel delight in her eyes.

#rivetra #levi ackerman x petra ral #i was reading madeline miller's circe and it reminded me of this fic which never materialised #much to my FRUSTRATION #candycity writes #levi ackerman #petra ral

[takamakisu]

Alright, I'm going to give a very unpopular opinion cuz I've been having a lot of thoughts.

I think that Eiko (from Makoto's Confidant) is overhated, and while not the most likable of people, she is realistically written. She doesn't do well in school, she doesn't have a good home life, and she doesn't seem to have a lot of friends either (she's kind of similar to Mishima almost although from what I remember he never struggled academically). Eiko's lonely, and she doesn't feel valued as a person at her core, which is why she attaches herself to her boyfriend who's very, very bad for her: he makes her feel like somebody.

And that's why she's so defensive when Makoto tells her he's bad news and tells her that she just doesn't understand: she has low self esteem and because of that she'd rather feel like she's worth somebody to someone even if they're toxic than be alone. That's what not being whole and not loving yourself will do: you develop codependent relationships with folks who are not good for you (or even ARE good for you but you rely on their companionship waaaaay too much).

Literally almost every person that I have encountered who dislikes Eiko will say "Oh she's so stupid she should've listened to Makoto." And she should've listened to Makoto, yes, because Makoto was right about Tsukasa being a bad person. But not listening to her doesn't make her stupid. Eiko was in an emotionally manipulative relationship because somebody took advantage of her low self image and once an emotional connection was formed it wasn't easy to break it off. It's very easy to say from an outside view that it's obvious that someone should leave a toxic relationship, but it's not as easy as just up and cutting that bond off, even when you know that it's unhealthy. Eiko wanted a long lasting relationship (and iirc she actually even knows deep down that Tsukasa is bad news but she doesn't want to admit it because she's that desperate for somebody to care about her) and put herself in dangerous situations in order to get it.

The thing that bothers me the most is when people find humor in Makoto hitting her and say that she deserves it. I could understand saying "it was a last resort", but to say that violence is deserved towards someone who's being emotionally manipulated doesn't sit right with me. Makoto hit her because she was angry and frustrated and that is never okay; which is why Makoto then makes amends with her later because she admits that she often acts impulsively and out of emotion (which is immature but she is working on it) and it is a fault of hers. And it's immensely frustrating that a lot of folks think Eiko getting hurt is funny and even warranted, just because she's stupid.

I am not saying that you have to like her or that you're wrong for disliking her, or that if you dislike her it is solely because you do not understand her, so please don't misunderstand. What I am trying to say is I feel like a lot of people DO misunderstand the nuance in her character (and that's not their fault because P5's writing is not always 10/10 let's be real) and because of that they reduce her to "stupid and annoying" when it is not that simple, is all. Eiko is a young woman struggling to find her worth. She's a victim, just like a lot of the cast, and getting through to her isn't pretty or fun because the affects of emotional manipulation are not pretty. (Same with Mishima and his codependency. He's been physically abused by people in authority and verbally mistreated by his peers)

Abuse victims do not recover overnight and they will not always listen right away even when they know that their friends love them and want what is best. It takes time to unlearn codependency. It takes time to unlearn self hatred. It takes time to learn to love yourself and associate with others who genuinely love you too. It takes time to set healthy boundaries if you didn't have them set and let people mistreat you. It's a process and it can be frustrating and I think the fandom as a whole could be more gentle in regards to characters who admittedly are not as appealing character wise but are still hurting and struggling like basically everybody else in the game. That's what P5 is about: rebelling against corruption but also helping and sympathizing with the people who are victims to it.

If you read all of this, thanks for giving me your time. I appreciate it. I like Eiko and I am glad that in the end she was able to try to get back on her feet and I wanted to write about it. Sorry if this is incoherent, I just wrote as things came to me. Anyway, take care of yourselves, and have a good day.

#persona 5 meta #persona 5 #eiko takao #in this house i love and support eiko #persona 5 royal #📖; jazzy drabbles

[twdmusicboxmystery]

The Daryl and Leah Spoilers - Everybody BREATHE!

Okay, let’s talk about it. We’re gonna have to talk about it. The Crappiest Spoilers of All Time. (We’ll just abbreviate them CSAT, okay?)

Yes, I saw them. Yes, I spent most of the day yesterday talking about them with people. Yes, we went up and down and forward and back and right and left trying to figure out what the hell. Actually, I literally got 68 Asks about this yesterday. 68! Lol. I may have sarcastically told a couple of people it was 400. It wasn’t that high. But even when something big happens, I don’t generally get more than about 20, so this was a lot.

***Below I’ll be talking about all kinds of spoilers for 10x18! If you’re not someone who wants to know, stop reading now. You’ve been warned!***

Okay, let’s start by attacking this head-on.

Does this suck? Yes.

Am I happy about it? Obviously not.

Does it change my opinion about Beth’s return? Not in the slightest.

And in all seriousness, I’m not trying to make light of this. I totally understand how everyone is feeling right now and I feel the same. But if you’re doubting or losing hope, please keep reading. I really think the things I have to say after talking to people in the fandom literally all day yesterday will make you feel better.

So I’m going to talk about some things that are suspicious to me about this, and also about some reasons why, even if it’s exactly what it looks like, we don’t really need to worry. I’m also gonna give you a possible way this could actually be okay, but I’ll warn you that scenario is mostly head canon and not super likely to be the case.

Context

The first thing I’m going to point out is that we really, REALLY do not have the full context for this episode. CSAT are big, but there’s a lot we don’t know about what’s going on here. I have a thousand questions and we can’t really be sure of anything until we know the answers. Which we won’t until we see the episode.

And I don’t mean things that make me doubt CSAT are true. I mean like, what is Leah doing out there? Why did no one else ever meet her? Why did she disappear? Did she go on her own because she’s a jerk, or was she taken? Is the CRM involved? We simply don’t know.

These are just a few, and the answers might profoundly effect the way we view these events. So, I’m just saying there’s a lot we can’t be sure of and we should be taking these with a grain of salt. I’ll come back to these questions in a minute. 

The Psychology

So, my first reaction to this was that it’s not entirely unrealistic. Is it out of character? Yes, for sure. They’ve pegged Daryl as a character who wouldn’t do something like this, so it’s definitely out of character for him. I’m totally with ya on that. But I also feel like this isn’t a real relationship for him. What I mean is, it might be something of a rebound or an act of desperation on his part.

Think about what we know about this part of his life. He’s just lost Rick and is devastated. According to these same CSAT, Carol abandons him. AGAIN. I think he’s feeling very depressed and lonely and would reach out to just about anyone at this point. It doesn’t mean he’s in love with her. And yes, I know about the note he wrote to her, but I still think that can be explained by his state of mind. If he’s not feeling like he belongs anywhere else, and Carol has specifically told him she’s not coming back, why wouldn’t he go with someone who’s promising him companionship? I don’t like it, and I know it’s not what everyone wants to hear, but I do understand it.

I promise I’ll move onto happier things. Like this:

Patterns:

We’ve seen this pattern with A LOT of the TWD couples. They put one or both of them together with a small, short-term love interest. And that always happens RIGHT BEFORE they hook up with their soul mate. So, let’s review, shall we?

Carol had Tobin, and right after she left him, she met Ezekiel. Rick kissed Jessi, and only a month after she died, he and Michonne finally got together. Enid was with Ron when we first met her, but it was obvious Carl was meant to be her true love. You could even point to Abraham and Rosita. Their relationship was a bit longer and more established than these others, but the fact is Rosita wasn’t Abe’s soul mate. Sasha was. And now Rosita is with Gabriel, so…

My point is that Leah may be Daryl’s Jessie. Or Tobin. Take your pick. But the pattern is that this will be short term and he should be finding his true soul mate VERY soon after. Just saying.

Is This a Healthy Relationship?

Someone in my group pointed this out. CSAT says she asks him to choose between her and the rest of his life. I didn’t think much about that until one of my FB groupies pointed it out, but it’s really not cool to do that to him. It’s almost passive-aggressive. The way I see it, when you fall in love with someone, you want to get to know their family and participate in every part of their lives. If this was a true, committed relationship, she would WANT to go to Alexandria and meet his friends. She would WANT to help him in his search for Rick’s body. But that doesn’t seem to be the case.

So, in terms of how Daryl feels about her, well, loneliness is a different feeling than real love, and I’m not sure this is the healthiest relationship for Daryl to be in.

Scope, or Lack Thereof

The thing that I think most of the fandom is on the same page about is how out of character this is for Daryl. How out of left field this feels.

I’m mean, this is Daryl. Daryl Freaking Dixon. The writers know about the shipping wars. They know that no matter who they pair him up with—Carol, Connie, Beth, Leah, someone else—it’s going to be a huge deal. For them to do it like this just doesn’t make sense.

Now, I don’t think we have a definite timeline on this. We have two possibilities.

1)     I’ve seen some people say he’s sleeping with a complete stranger, which is very out of character for him.

2)     I’ve also seen posts that claim the two of them meet and develop a relationship over time. That would be less out of character, but it would also mean that the writers developed an entire relationship for Daryl in only one episode…and then took it away.

Does that seem logical to you? I just don’t buy it.

So, at the very least, if this turns out to be what it looks like on the surface—a real romantic relationship for him—I’m gonna say it’s not going to be a big one. It’s not going to be end-all, be-all of Daryl’s love life.

My Praying-This-Headcanon-Is-True-While-Also-Trying-Not-To-Get-My-Hopes-Up-That-It-Is Theory

All right, everyone. I honestly wasn’t sure I should even include this. I don’t want to get people’s hopes up about it. But the more I think about it, the more I think it’s a distinct possibility. 

So, @wdway said this first, and I kind of just glazed over it like, “Meh, probably not.” But the more I thought about it, and the more I talked to people and hashed things out, the more sense it made.

Let me go back to some of those questions I asked at the beginning. Why did no one else ever meet Leah when he was in a relationship with her? Yes, because they were out in the woods together, but it talks about him going to see Carol and going to Alexandria and looking for Rick, which is why she asks him to choose in the first place.

But if you have a sustained relationship with someone, why wouldn’t you introduce them to your friends? Why wouldn’t he have taken her to Alexandria with him? It’s really odd to me that this happened at a time when Daryl was completely on his own out in the woods and NO ONE in his life ever saw or met her.

(Once again, I have to point out that with how vague CSAT are, we can’t know for sure that no one else knew about her. Maybe when we watch the episode, it will show that someone did, but this is the vibe I’m getting right now.)

What else do we know about this point in his life? He’s deep in the throes of his grief over Rick, he’s withdrawn to his robotic, survival mode, which he always does when he’s lost someone close to him, Carol has just abandoned him, and he’s lonely. People who spend too much time alone DO tend to go a little crazy.

So, here it is:

Is there any chance this Leah woman…could be a hallucination?

Honestly guys, that makes WAY more sense to me than that she’s real. Because everyone in the fandom who’s saying this is out of character for Daryl is 100% right. Everyone who’s asking why the writers would do this is 100% right to be asking that question.

And let me tell you, it’s not just us asking it. The entire fandom is. Obviously, all the shippers. And while I’m sure there are some in the non-shipping fans who are glad Daryl is getting a love interest, even they think it’s a little weird. Cuz, you know, it is.

But this show regularly does hallucination story arcs, and Daryl himself even has a history of it. I’m just saying.

People have also suggested that it would sort of makes sense given what I said above about the “unhealthiness” of their relationship. Maybe her wanting him to choose was really more about his sanity and leaving the delusion behind. Again, just a thought.

Then there’s the suspicious timing of CSAT.

Suspicious Release of CSAT and Hype

While messaging with @monroelibrarian0626, she said something I hadn’t thought of that made a lot of sense. Does anyone else find it suspicious that they said we wouldn’t be getting screeners for several weeks and then literally two days later all these spoilers about Daryl’s sex life drop?

It’s not rocket science to know that tptb intentionally leaked these to drum up viewership. Everyone is totally going to watch to see what this is all about. But it also seems to me that they may be releasing just enough information to get everyone all hyped up and then it won’t end up being what it seems. Here, I’ll just give you part of my text message with her because she explains this point better than I do.

But yeah, I get that impression that she's not real, and that's really good promotion and hype for the producers to draw in more viewers. Don't miss it! Daryl is gonna have sex! And then, boom! You find out it's a hallucination. I remember with LOST, there was a preview for next week's show, and in it, the Korean guy, Jin, was shown saying, "It's going to be alright." And he didn't speak English then, in season 2, so it was like, OH MY GOD! And here, when the episode aired, Jin speaking English was part of Hurley's hallucination. Could be along the same lines! --@monroelibrarian0626

Doesn’t that just make a certain amount of sense? Especially given how out of character this feels for Daryl? No matter what you think of the writers on this show, they just really don’t betray the way they’ve set up their characters like this.

Now, once again, I’m really not hanging all my hopes on this. I’m preparing myself for the outcome of her being real and this being a real relationship for Daryl. Mostly because I don’t want to get my hopes too high. And I would suggest you all make your peace with that being the case. I’m just throwing this out there as a possibility. Even TD aside, given how out of character this feels, it would make more sense to me than that they’ve actually put him in this relationship.

It could also that once we actually see the entire episode, depending on what the other details of the story line are, it might be really obvious that she’s real and the detail will explain a lot of this away. That’s a real possibility. Once we learn about other parts of the episode, everything I’ve said here could easily go straight down the toilet.

Another outcome is that she could be a hallucination, but we won’t even know it because Daryl doesn’t. If he doesn’t realize she wasn’t real, the viewers might not be told that, either.

Other Things I’m Side-Eyeing

Check out this tweet, specifically the emojis he uses. Don’t you find those suspicious? Fish? A violin? A sunrise? Boat? Hourglass? Now, this guy got a screener. He’s not one of the writers or someone close to the show who would know the overarching grand plan, so I’m not suggesting he has some inside knowledge of Beth’s return.

But why would he use these emojis? There’s no reason for him to tie them to Leah. The only answer there can be is that he saw these things in the episode. He simply added them to the tweet as hints of what we can expect. And if all those symbols are represented in the episode, this is going to be a super heavy Beth-symbolism episode.

Not to mention, have you checked out Leah’s costuming in detail? Her boots are damn close to what Beth’s looked like. And sitting on the porch, the bag on her back looks a LOT like the one Beth carried in Still. 

I feel like she’s a Beth stand-in. And I think that will be true whether she’s real or not. Again, if we go with the Tobin/Jessi/Ron pattern, she’ll be a forerunner of Beth, so having Beth symbolism around her isn’t surprising.

But once again, this isn’t something we need to worry about.

And don’t even get me started on the damn cabin motif. I’ve been thinking about this since I did my 5x09/Tyreese post last week. I’m not going to go into details here because I don’t even have it all straight in my head yet, but it has some interesting ramifications for this Daryl/Leah situation.

So, pretty much everything that everyone is saying (including me) is pure conjecture until we actually see the episode. I know that’s probably not very helpful, but it’s the truth.

So, what’s my main point about this? It’s this:

I hope she’s a hallucination, but even if she’s not, it doesn’t bother me overly much. I mean, of course I’m bothered because I don’t like to see him in a relationship with her, but I mean I’m not bothered where Beth is concerned. It doesn’t change the fact that I think she’ll still be back, and this will just be a blip of some kind in Daryl’s story. And if she’s real, and it’s following the Tobin/Jessie/Ron pattern, Beth (his true soulmate) should be surfacing VERY soon thereafter.

So, we basically don’t know anything until we do, and I know the fandom is collectively losing its mind. I know this is going to be hard to get used to. But try to make your peace with it, in all its possible iterations. Try not to let it freak you out. Hold the line, TDers. Hold the line!

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

[worldwidemochiguy]

until i saw you - mafia yandere! namjoon

Summary: You were up at two am finishing an essay for college. All alone, you felt like you were the only person awake in the world. Until you heard the gunshot, until you looked up, until you saw him... and until he saw you.

Word Count: 2.5K

Masterlist 

a/n: hello everybody! this is in response to @kpopgirlbtssvt​ ‘s prompt asking for fem! reader who is going to college in South Korea to see mafia member namjoon doing mafia stuff and then him comforting her and eventually taking her home. I hope this is ok! also, for future reference, a ‘food market’ is like a type of charity shop in South Korea where disadvantaged people can go and get food and clothing and essentials for free and people volunteer to help at them. 

You take another sip of your vanilla latte, humming at the pleasant taste. You generally have more of a sweet tooth and prefer to order a hot chocolate instead of coffee — much to the amusement of your friends — but you knew you would need the extra shot of caffeine to stay awake. You’ve been so busy with college assignments and all the little jobs you do to keep yourself afloat that you have ended up awake at one in the morning, furiously typing your essay in the hopes that you can complete it within two days. 

You’re very lucky the owner of your favourite cafe, a sweet old lady who has given you free daanpatbbang more times than you could count, despite your protestations, seems to like you so much. She was kind and trusting enough to allow you to stay the night at the cafe, working on your essay. Jiho, the girl who was cleaning down the tables, left to go to bed, leaving you completely alone in the night. 

It is slightly eerie. The only light in the cafe is coming from the screen of your laptop, the only noises are your steady breathing and the soft tapping of your fingers on the keyboard. If you looked outside the floor-to-ceiling glass window you loved to sit next to, all you would see is the soft glow of streetlights reflected in the puddles on the sidewalk, and the occasional car passing by. 

Seoul is asleep. You just wish there were someone awake to keep you company. 

The thought dissipates in the wind as something catches your eye. You see a man, half-running, half-staggering out from an alley that opens into the sidewalk across from where you are sitting. A hand yanks him back into the shadows. As if in a trance, you rise from your seat, abandoning your tepid latte and move towards the exit. If you have any common sense, you would hide behind the counter, or run away as soon as you reach the door, following your head and avoiding trouble and minding your own business when anything looks dangerous. 

But, for some indiscernible reason, you drift out onto the sidewalk, closer to the point where the staggering man disappeared. You notice a dark stain spilling out from the shadows onto the concrete. The moonlight bounces off it, except the white light has been burnt as it reflects, changing into the deep red of sunset.

The night is no longer silent — harsh pants of exertion and the sounds of bodies being slammed against brick emanating from the darkness. You feel a building pressure in your head, a voice that sounds exactly like yours screaming at you run! run! run!

A gunshot.

The staggering man falls to the ground, his body half-in and half out of shadow. His head has been blown open, and its remnants are scattered across the street. His hand is outstretched towards you, open and grasping, asking for help. 

You vaguely register the coldness spreading across your backside. You worry for a second that you have wet yourself but then realise, with some relief, you have just fallen against the wall of the cafe and slid to the ground. You feel guilty for feeling relief at a time like this, your thoughts turn sharp and loud in your head and then you scream again. Again? Oh, you had forgotten the first scream. You guess you are once more the only person awake in Seoul.

But. If you are the only person awake in Seoul then who is coming towards you?

The second man to emerge from the shadows, and you question how many more are hiding behind him, takes measured steps towards you. His gun — he has a gun, and you want to scream again, but you start crying instead — is relaxed in his hand. It’s still smoking slightly. You wonder if it would feel warm pressed against your forehead. You guess you will find out soon enough. 

He is tall, and when he stops in front of your curled up figure his shadow covers you completely. But then he crouches, and a pair of dark, intelligent, earnest eyes meet yours. It is difficult to maintain eye-contact when everything looks blurry to you, your tears forming into stained glass in front of your pupils, but you do your best. If you disappoint him, you just know that he’ll shoot you too. 

“누구십니까?” He asks you a question, but you can’t answer, and for some reason this inability to obey his expectations sends you into a spiral. You burry your sobs in your knees, strains of your thoughts slipping out as I can’t, I don’t know, please don’t hurt me. He sighs, then asks in slightly accented, but fluent English.

“Who are you?” 

His voice is smooth. It is the first voice you have heard all night and it startles you for some reason, your spine stiffening and forcing your head upwards again. He had leaned in even closer, and now your nose is an inch from his. He tilts his head, almost encouragingly, and you try to swallow even though your mouth has completely dried up.

“My name’s y/n. I’m a college student. I-I was working on an essay.” Your voice is scratchy and quiet, and every other syllable is a poorly concealed sob, but the man nods politely as if he is even remotely interested in what you have to say. 

“An essay, huh? At three am?” It’s like he is disapproving of you staying up late. “Did you leave it to the last minute?” He definitely sounds disappointed in you, and your heart thumps painfully at the thought, though you can’t say why.

“No, no, I- I’m double majoring and I’m doing multiple jobs to support myself, so I don’t have time for schoolwork. The essay is due in two days, so I’m n-not leaving it to the last minute.”

“If it’s due in two days, why are you staying up all night finishing it now?” You could almost say there was concern in his voice, which prompts you to keep on telling this stranger more details about yourself.

“I’m volunteering at a food market all day tomorrow so I won’t have time to do it then.” 

“You’re-“ he breaks into a smile, and your heart cracks at the realisation that he has dimples, “You don’t have time for schoolwork because you volunteer.” He doesn’t phrase it like a question, but you shrug self-consciously anyway, feeling colour bloom on your cheeks. Your friends always teased you for it, so it makes sense that this man would as well. 

“You’re so- innocent.” 

He pauses, before reaching up slowly, as if he doesn’t want to startle you, and cups your cheek. The semi-dried tear tracks on your face are wiped away as he swipes a thumb under your eye. You don’t know why his touch doesn’t frighten you especially since he had been holding a loaded gun, though it had been discarded as soon as he crouched down to your level. 

“Who takes care of you?” He asks, and your brow wrinkles slightly in confusion. He huffs a laugh, then brushes his thumb over the crease until you relax again. But you still feel bewildered. That was a question you had never asked yourself, but now that you turn it over in your mind, you realise you don’t know. 

Who takes care of you? Not your dad, who walked out on your family before you got old enough to have a chance at remembering his face. Not your mom, who relied on you to send money home to support her, and then spent it all on alcohol to give her a chance at forgetting your dad’s face. Not your little brother, whom you loved with all your heart and who was too young to understand anything other than the fact that you were who he could rely on and mom was not. You wish you could say your friends took care of you, or at least comforted you, but it felt like all they did was mock you, for so many things such as the cheap clothes you always wore and did your best to take care of, to the ease with which you gave in to others’ demands. The truth was, no one took care of you at all, and you had never even realised that until the stranger had asked. 

“Y/n?” His voice rouses you from your thoughts and you snap your eyes back to his obediently, even if tears are once again obscuring your vision. You hadn’t realised you had started to cry. 

“Who takes care of you?” He reiterates the question, and before you can stop it, a sob racks your body.

“No one. No one does, no matter how hard I wish for them to.”

You bow your head, watching as your tears drip off your face and create small ripples in the puddle next to you. Suddenly, the ripples increase and you realise it has started raining, like the sky is crying along with you. The closest thing to companionship you have. 

You are encased in warmth and protected from the ice-cold rain as the man wraps his arms around you. You shiver as he presses you to his chest, somehow lifting you into his arms and protecting you from the chill with his body. 

“You are wrong, y/n.” His voice rumbles, and your shivers instantly calm. “From now on, I’m going to take care of you.”

“Y-you are?” You sound fragile and pathetic even to your own ears.

“I never make promises I don’t intend to keep. And I promise you, y/n, I will always protect and care for you.” 

“But,” you flounder, not exactly in distress, but disbelieving that anyone would do this for you, “Why?”

“Why?” The man repeats, now walking along the sidewalk in fast paces, though you barely notice. “Because when you saw me, you did not run. When I asked, you answered obediently. You are desperately in need of someone to protect you, to take care of you, to love you.” At the last phrase, his voice dipped lower and you burrowed deeper into his chest, desperate to believe that he was being truthful and this was real.

“You’re going to t-take care of me?” You stutter, and his lips curl up in a playful smirk, revealing the dimple that you were already growing to love.

“Of course I will, and you only have to do one thing in return.”

“What is it?” You ask right away, desperate to please him. He does seem pleased by your responsiveness, and you can feel your heart skip a beat with excitement.

“All you have to do, y/n, is love me.” 

He stops walking, and you realise you have reached an expensive black car parked by the side of the road. He opens the passenger door for you and sets you down, moving swiftly to the other side to occupy the drivers seat. You notice he puts child-lock on, effectively trapping you in the car, but it is unnecessary. You are already leaning sideways slightly so that you can rest against him. He appreciates your clinginess, and presses a kiss to the side of your temple before putting the car into gear. Butterflies settle in your stomach pleasantly as you relish the tingling feeling his lips leave on your skin. 

“I-“ you start, then falter, and he sends you a glance, still mostly focused on the road.

“If something is bothering you, say it, y/n.” He commands firmly, but by no means unkindly. You take a deep breath to steel yourself.

“I don’t even know your name.” You sound almost mournful of that fact and he turns to you with a boyish grin fixed on his full lips, and his duality shocks you, switching from the intimidating man with a gun to the sweet guy who wants to take care of you in a heartbeat.

“My name is Namjoon.” 

“Namjoon,” you try, and his encouraging smile and nod give you a fraction more courage to continue “you know how you said- you said that if you were going to take care of me, I have to- have to-“ you falter again.

“Yes, y/n?” He prompts you patiently, but you can see his hands have started to tighten on the steering wheel. Like he’s angry with you. Panic coils in your gut and you retreat back to your seat, gaze firmly fixed on the airbag in front of you. He notices your distress right away and attempts to comfort you.

“Listen, y/n.” You immediately snap to attention, despite the fear now causing your breath to come in short whimpers. “I want you to say what’s on your mind. I promise you, I won’t punish you for it, no matter what. I want you to tell me what’s wrong.”

“Ok,” you say unsteadily, and Namjoon takes a hand off the steering wheel to run it up and down your leg comfortingly. His touch calms you, and you take a deep inhale before speaking again.

“You said that if you were going to take care of me then I have to love you. And I don’t- I don’t know how to… love you.” He opens his mouth to intercede, but you don’t give him the chance. “I don’t mean that I- I mean, it’s not to do with you specifically, it’s just… I’ve never loved anyone before. And we’ve only just met. I… I’m worried I won’t do it right.” You trail off in a small voice, and you see his irritation melt away instantly.

“No, my love, you don’t have to worry about it. I didn’t mean that you had to love me right away.” He explains and relief floods your system, allowing you to relax into his side again. “I just meant that… I want you to be affectionate with me and allow love to grow over time.” 

“I just want someone to wake up with each morning and send me off with a kiss before I go to work, someone to worry about me while I’m off on business and to fuss over my injuries. I want someone to take care of and to buy things that make them happy and make sure they’re warm and cozy at night. That someone has always been faceless until…”

“…until?” You question, your heart in your throat.

“Until I saw you.” 

“Wow…” you chuckle even as a tear slips down your cheek, “If I’d have known about your talent for romantic speeches I wouldn’t have worried about taking too long to fall in love with you.” His laugh is loud and warm and it washes over you, dragging you under the tide and drowning you in feelings you hadn’t been aware existed within you. He takes one hand off the steering wheel to intertwine his fingers with yours and you let him, a smile outshining the tears on your face as you start the next chapter of your life, feeling loved and wanted for the first time. 

#yandere namjoon #kim namjoon #namjoon fic #bts namjoon #yandere bts #yandere #namjoon x reader #yandere bts fic #yandere fic #yandere bangtan #bangtan boys #yandere kpop #yandere imagines #namjoon fanfiction #yandere bts x reader #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts

[doctorgerth]

One of my favorite love confessions is yelling BECAUSE I LOVE YOU during an intense argument or other high stakes now or never situation. Headcanons on what situatiom would push Zoro, Law and Marco to shout this at their s/o? Thanks, Coop :)

Ok, so for this I just kinda picked random situations and ran with them lol this ended up scenario-y, I hope that’s ok! I also went a lil overboard as always ugh these are really long so I’m putting them under the cut.

I hope I wrote this how you wanted! I made them angsty but I know you said you wanted a happy ending so I made them fluffy and cheesy too 💓

HCs: “Because I love you!” (Zoro, Law, Marco)

Zoro

wanting you to stay

- as a new member on the crew, you instantly became friends with all of the Straw Hats, Zoro included and perhaps the most of all

- you two just seemed to hit it off instantly, enjoying each other’s company, training, and drinking together

- though you were friends, you and Zoro also tended to butt heads a lot of the time, simply because you weren’t scared to call him out and challenge him; he found this equally annoying and exciting about you

- the entire crew picked up on Zoro’s manners with you, the way he went out of his way to see you, the way he fussed at you when you were being reckless, the way you two just couldn’t possibly walk by one another without saying anything snarky and low key flirty…it was so obvious that you two were crushing on each other

- your arguing was just so different from Zoro’s genuine dislike for Sanji; Zoro knew he didn’t dislike you, he’s had many good moments with you, but when Robin tried to convince him that he was in love with you? that made his stomach flip

- when presented with the idea of love, Zoro denied everything, claiming that you were just friends, someone who he enjoyed spending time with and that was the extent of it

- annoying as you could be, he really enjoyed your company, and your companionship when on missions or trips was really endearing to him, but he would never admit that

- but, you were just a passing friend after all, not intending to be an official crew member as the Straw Hats helped save you from a village you were held hostage at, carrying you to your home island

- Zoro grew accustomed to your presence, and much like the rest of the crew, was used to seeing your smiling face every day, even looking forward to it 

- he didn’t imagine that one day you would suddenly want to leave; why would you leave? you were all friends right? wasn’t everything you needed right here?

- the day the Sunny docked at the next island, Zoro thought it would just be any other day, not expecting you to have your bags packed, ready to disembark 

- “Oi, what are those for?”

- “They’re my bags, dumbass. You guys are dropping me off here, remember?” 

- “What? Why the hell are you leaving us?” he’s utterly shocked, just completely forgetting the whole plan to bring you home; you’re his crew mate, you can’t just leave!

- Zoro throws a fit, begging anybody and everybody to make you stay; no one is against it of course, but they’re telling him that he has to be the one to do it

- flustered and confused, Zoro’s unsure what to do; he understands you wanting to return home, but what about all your adventures together? who would train with him now? does this mean he won’t get to see your beautiful smile or hear your cute little laugh again?

- Zoro was a stubborn man and he knew he wouldn’t let that happen without a fight

- he instantly rushes to find you, heart dropping into his stomach when you’re no longer in your room and all of your things are gone; he runs out on deck, catching sight of your figure at the edge of the ship, preparing to leave to walk off onto the island

- “Oi! Wait!”

- you turn around to see Zoro running towards you, his cool demeanor replaced with a clearly unsettled one

- “Come to say goodbye?” you smiled brightly

- “You’re not going. I won’t let you.”

- “Huh?”

- “You can’t leave! We’re your friends. You can’t just leave us like this!”

- “Zoro, my home is here! My family-”

- “Are we not your family? We’ve been taking care of you for months now! And you just want to throw all of that away?”

- “I’m truly grateful for all of you but…”

- “But nothing! There’s no real excuse for you to go and you know it! You’re just being a dumbass!” he hadn’t meant to be so harsh, but the thought of you leaving forever was truly breaking him

- you had no words to say as you turned around, fuming, saying your goodbyes to everyone else except him; he looked to the crew, desperate for advice as he watched you walk further down the walk way, so close to the shoreline; his head was spinning, heart racing, knees shaking as all he wanted was for you to stay with him

- “(Name)! Stop! Please stay!”

- “Why should I stay?” your foot almost reaching the shore

- “BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!”

- everyone audibly gasped, including you, at his confession; you stopped dead in your tracks, unable to move, listening to your heart echo in your ears

- slowly, you turned around to see the shock on everyone’s faces and Zoro’s own flushed body; he was completely red head to toe, chest heaving from stress, but he maintained eye contact, letting you know that he was dead serious 

- your body felt like it was floating as you made you way back up to the deck, Zoro moving to meet you halfway; soon you were standing right in front of the other, both wide-eyed and sweating nervously 

- “You…love me?” 

- “Uh, yeah…” a hand reached to scratch the back of his head, eyes averting from yours in anxious manners, “Do you…?”

- “Yes.” you muttered simply, catching Zoro by surprise once again, “I do. I love you too.”

- a small smile graced his lips as he looked at you incredulously, lost in thought and happiness as he stared at your smiling face

- “Kiss her you fool!” Franky couldn’t help but cry out at this romantic moment

- Zoro grunted, annoyed, gearing up to yell at him for ruining the moment but your lips on his stopped him dead in his tracks; eye wide open he stared at you, hesitant to move until your soft lips sent him into euphoric bliss

- his hands grasped gently at your waist, accepting your confessions, thanking the heavens above he was brave enough to confess to you; elated to know he had gained a lover and official crew mate all in one

Law

when you get hurt

- it all happened when the Heart Pirates had come across some enemies on an island you were visiting; Law wanted to avoid a scuffle, but he knew that was never possible with his crew; the whole crew fought for their captain, you being no exception, much to his dismay

- there was something special about you to him after all, something more than you just being his subordinate

- he tried to deny that four letter word for so long, but he knew he had fallen deeply for you when you were the one he was searching for once everything was over

- his heart sank when he couldn’t find you, he cursed at himself as he searched through piles upon piles of bodies, wishing he had just locked you up in your room and not let you fight

- when Shachi called for Law, he rushed over, studying your beat up, unconscious body; he couldn’t hate himself any more in this very moment

- with haste, Law scooped you up into his arms, carrying your limp body quickly into the sub; he wasted no time in yelling at the crew to load up, doing a quick head count of everyone, making sure everyone was safe and on board before submerging

- many rooms were filled with injured members, but nothing was life-threatening; Law laid you down in the infirmary, making quick rounds to check on his other members, asking Bepo to watch over you 

- though Law deeply cared for his other crew members, with each shot he gave, each stitch he laced, he could only focus on you, praying that you were going to be okay

- “Captain, let us take care of everything. Go take care of (Name).” Penguin and Shachi offered their captain some help, and with slight hesitation, he nodded before rushing back to the infirmary

- when he entered the room to see Bepo pushing you back into bed, he felt a wave of relief wash over him; your genuine smile, though tattered and bloody from battle, made his heart warm

- “Captain! Will you please tell Bepo that I am perfectly fine and can get out of bed?”

- though he was happy to see your cheery self return, a scowl stretched along his face as he looked at you, “Bepo, leave us.” the bear left and you couldn’t help but look wide-eyed at your clearly pissed captain 

- “What’s wrong, captain?”

- “Are you stupid? You can’t possibly leave this bed now under these conditions! I’m demanding three day bed rest, minimum.” 

- “Three whole days?! That’s highly unnecessary! Look at me, I’m perfectly fi-ouch.” you attempted to stretch your arms to prove you were completely healthy, but the sharp pain that ripped through them was undeniable

- “If you move one more inch, so help me god, I will put you under right now.” he replied through gritted teeth, laced with utmost concern; he reached towards your clipboard, checking your readings and vitals 

- “I can’t stay here for three whole days, Captain. What if those pirates follow us? I need to help fight!” 

- “You don’t need to do anything except stay in this bed, (Name)-ya.”

- “Why can’t you let me fight? I took down the most guys on that battlefield and you know it!”

- “That doesn’t matter.” the vein in his forehead was beginning to show all the while you were beginning to fume

- “Why are you treating me like this? I just want to help! I’m supposed to help protect you!”

- “No!” he yelled, slamming down the clipboard, “I’m supposed to protect you!”

- “Why-” 

- “BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!”

- your eyes were as wide as the moon now as you looked at your disheveled captain, a flush of red on his cheeks as he realized what he just confessed, eyes averting as he fumbled his words to backtrack

- “The crew loves you and we want you safe. That’s all.” he so desperately wanted to run away from this, but he knew he had to bandage you up first; what a truly awkward situation

- you couldn’t calm your racing heart as he didn’t mutter a single word while his soft hands bandaged you up delicately; a blush graced your cheeks with every tender touch from him, wondering if he really meant what he said

- “So, you love me, huh?”

- “Please stop talking.”

- the rest of the three days were long and awkward, giving you plenty, perhaps way too much time to think about your captain’s confession; you thought hard about your feelings, deciphering between subordination or adoration for your captain; when the third day arrived, you were ready to give him your answer

- Law wasn’t expecting an answer of course, he had spent many sleepless nights attempting to get over the painfully inopportune situation, and accepted your silence as an answer in and of itself; he was beginning to remove himself, desperately trying to forget his romantic feelings altogether

- that was, until you welcomed him into your room with a warm smile that was both pleasant and embarrassing for him

- “How are you feeling today, (Name)-ya?”

- “Loads better, captain.” his heart shattered a bit at that name, though he was very used to you calling him that, it still felt like a slap in the face

- “Let me replace your bandages and then you’re free to go.” 

- his soft hands were on your skin again, sending you reeling; when his face was mere inches from yours, you couldn’t help but touch it, him flinching ever so slightly 

- “Captain?”

- his golden orbs were focused on you, fluttering lightly at your gentle caress that he couldn’t help but lean into; was this all a dream?

- “Do you really love me?”

- he was hesitant as he could take the opportunity now to recover, pretend that his outburst was simply just that and nothing more; he could go back to only being your captain, you only his subordinate; you two could move on from this situation, pretending like nothing ever happened

- but as you looked up at him innocently, lips parted and eyes glossy, he knew he couldn’t lie to you like that, no matter how terrified he was to face his feelings for you

- “Yes, I-“

- he couldn’t finish his sentence but it was all you needed to hear; your lips plastered on his own with eagerness, affirming that you loved him back

- “Good. Because I love you too, Captain.” you smiled innocently at him

- Law peered down at you with a smirk, hardly believing this was real life; his heart raced when you pulled him down to your face once more, “Now let me out of this god forsaken room before I go insane.”

Marco

wanting to protect you

- Marco’s lost many important people in his life, and you weren’t going to be the next if he had anything to say about it

- ever since meeting you, he’s felt an intense desire to protect you at all costs, perhaps sheltering you a bit too much but it was all under good intentions

- he didn’t realize it was love until a few months in to your friendship; he was terrified to fall at first, as so many loved ones have slipped away and Marco would break if he had to lose another

- but he couldn’t deny the happiness you brought him, the way you made him feel so complete; all worries and fears subsided when he was with you and for the first time in a long time, thanks to you, he found peace in his world

- that being said, he’d do anything to protect you; being a former Whitebeard pirate means he tends to get targeted by scoundrels every now and then and he’s had to fight so many times already

- so the day a certain pirate groups raids his village, he knows that he has to go fight again, aiming to protect the village and yourself

- you were plenty capable of holding your own and you’d shown him that countless times, but he wouldn’t have any of it

- “Just stay here, (Name)-yoi! Let me handle it!”

- “But Marco, you might get hurt! Let me help you.”

- “I said no!”

- “Why won’t you let me help! I just want to-“

- “BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!”

- you were instantly taken aback, and even among the screams and canon fires, you could hear your heart thumping wildly in your chest

- Marco didn’t seem to budge at his confession as he took the opportunity to flap away to the scene while you stood there in complete shock

- after some recollection, you aided townsfolk in helping them find shelter in your home; you were helping and talking with these people but all your mind could focus on was those four words Marco had said

- did he mean them? or was it all just heat of the moment? would you even be able to ask him?

- it wouldn’t be until morning when you’d get a chance to speak to him, and lord knows you didn’t sleep a wink that night as you worried yourself sick over if he was safe or not; the thought of what was going to happen between you two now if he was safe haunted your every thought

- as soon as day broke, you rushed over to check his home, finding a seemingly normal looking Marco resting in his bed; the nurse assured you that he needed rest, but when he stirred in his bed, asking to see you, she complied and left the room

- though there were no markings on his body, he hissed a little as he sat up in his bed to look at you, an unreadable expression on his face

- you couldn’t stop yourself from rushing over to him, throwing your body onto his to embrace him; he yelped a little at the pain, but accepted your body nevertheless

- “Don’t do anything stupid like this ever again, okay?”

- “I just always want to keep you safe, (Name)-yoi. It’s my duty to protect this village and-“

- “Promise me!” you were crying now, a mix of emotions as you were so relieved to see him okay, but the terror of last night still remained

- Marco was shocked to see you so worked up, but he hugged your body tighter into his, petting at your hair, “I promise.”

- “Thank you. I just can’t bear the thought of losing you…” you wept into his shirt, soaking in his every smell and touch

- Marco enjoyed having you so close like this, he prayed time would just stop so he could continue holding you forever

- “I don’t know if you meant what you said last night…”

- “Oh…”

- “It doesn’t matter because I just want you to know that I love you too. You don’t have to say it ever again, I just thought I would…”

- before you could finish he tilted your chin up to look at him, a content smile on his face as he peered down at you, “I promise you, I meant everything I said. I love you, and I want to protect you always. If you’ll have me.”

- you couldn’t help but smile through your tears, accepting his soft kisses and caresses as you continuously confessed your love for one another

#doctorgerth #doc writes #headcanons #hcs #fluff #angst #romantic #one piece x reader #zoro x reader #law x reader #marco x reader #takethethirdoption

[keyofjetwolf]

AN EXCITING NEW LEG OF THE TOUR

The chink of a metal spoon brushing against ceramic is a singularly unique sound, and one of my personal favourites. It promises warmth and waking, companionship and conversation. It’s always a shame that, most mornings, particularly when I begin my day stirring my coffee or tea alone without the low hum of others, it also promises a wave of sadness.

The last several years have been tumultuous ones for me. Okay, yes, for everybody, what with the fascists and the pandemics and all. But the larger shared problems don’t remove the smaller personal ones, and so it’s also been a few tumultuous years here in my little me-shaped flesh bubble. It feels like every time I turn around, I’ve stubbed my toe on a new rock jutting out of the soil, or I find a crack in the foundation I thought whole and untouched, and it’s like, I knew all this was a shitshow, but really? Really?

I have no regrets about moving to Montana, and that is a lie. I regret leaving behind my ramen place. I regret I didn’t get one last mango alexander from Pok Pok. I regret I stopped going to my therapist right as we began scratching away at the rich, untouched, fertile fields known as ... THE MOMMYLANDS.

It’s come as quite a shock to me, all these new and exciting difficulties. Here I am, sitting in the audience, thinking I know what the play’s all about, and when the curtain rises on the second act, I’m slapped in the face with a sea bass. WHERE DID THE SEA BASS EVEN COME FROM THIS WASN’T FORESHADOWED IN THE OVERTURE AT ALL

My father is A Bad Man, and this has painted my world in shades I wouldn’t necessarily have selected for myself if handed a Valspar colour fan. It’s not new information, though. It’s so much an established part of me, it should be a line in my character intro. “Hi! My name is Jet Wolf! I’m a Virgo, my blood type is B+, I love puppies, my father was a raging dick, and I could happily eat a plate of french fries the size of my face!”

My mother, though? She wasn’t perfect, but she was A Great Mum. She sacrificed so much for me! She liked having me around! I’ve sat here for ten minutes and become legitimately distressed that I’m having trouble writing a third exclamation!

What I hadn’t realized, until just these past couple years, was that my story, with its clear and almost comically obvious villain, desperately wanted for a hero. So I made one out of my only other featured player.

Even as the years ticked by, as events piled up and moments became patterns, I couldn’t recast my mother. Right here, right now, I’m intensely uncomfortable typing this and feel the guilt stabbing through me like a skewer. JUST SHOVE A CHERRY TOMATO ON ME AND CALL ME CAPRESE. I feel shame, I feel a traitor. What I don’t feel, though, is a liar.

The rush to my mother’s defense is immediate and intense, even as I sit here in this moment with these words appearing to no one but myself. Every thought comes bundled with a half dozen reasons and justifications why I shouldn’t be thinking it at all. It’s a storm of anger and guilt and blame and excuses, and slicing through, louder than any crash of thunder, is the chink of a spoon against ceramic. My mother, her morning coffee, and my complications.

She struggled for me. The man she married, who whisked her across the ocean and dumped her in a tiny trailer on a tiny island, revealed himself to be someone else entirely when the game was played on his home turf. She couldn’t return home. She had me to think of.

I’ve never not known this, you may as well ask me the day I learned to laugh.

She went without for me. Hungry days and hungry nights, while my father, stationed half a world away, lavished his shipmates with beer and po-boys and sent no money, only credit card bills. She didn’t eat, so I could.

I don’t remember this, but I don’t remember a time I didn’t know this.

These are just a few of the stories of my life, before I began to write them for myself, and they are true. My father, as you may recall, was A Bad Man, and I have enough of my own stories to look back at all this and say, “Yup, that checks out.” My mother told me the truth, no question.

What I question is why she told me. So young that they’re among the first threads woven into the tapestry of me. So well that I see them play out in my mind better than any movie. So often that I know the familiarity of them, know them like I know the sound of that damned spoon in the damned coffee mug. Three times, it was always exactly three times she stirred it, and each stir echoes, it’s a gunshot, and it brings me comfort and fear. I love it, I hate it, and I hate that I hate it.

So I crack my toe on the new rock. It’s always been there, archaeologists aren’t magicians running around pulling ancient ass pottery out of thin air. They dig. Keep digging, keep moving the dirt away, eventually, you’re gonna find rocks.

My mother wanted me to know. Needed. That much is easy, and nowhere near enough to clear the rock. I have to dig out more, and the spoon stirs, and the sound of it sometimes makes me want to cry. I feel the irresistible tug of guilt in the things she’s asked of me since, still asks today, the silent hum of it like a live wire running under the floorboards.

I need to dig out the rock, and part of me howls in indignation that I would dare. I have to ask questions when I don’t want the answers. I crave a hug that doesn’t feel like it comes with a price tag.

I want to stir my damned coffee without all this. And so, I dig.

#the fix my broken ass tour #i have been reluctant to talk on this for many reasons #but besides pushing myself forward #perhaps it will be of help

[starwriter22]

Stranger || Hoseok

Word Count: 1.6k

Genre: Angst 

Listen to this song while reading

Light jazz played in the club, cigar smoke and the pungent smell of whiskey swirled through the air and the ever-present smell of wealth could be detected throughout the establishment. It was an intimidating environment, especially when your bank account only held an incredibly small fraction of what any of the inhabitants had in their suit pockets.

But the same facts that intimidated her, were the facts that urged her on.

One thing that she learned very quickly in her part time hobby, was that rich people were incredibly lonely. While having anything and everything they could ever want, there was one thing that they couldn’t buy, and that was genuine companionship. Between the business partners, thirsty money hungry girls and back-stabbing friends and family that were only there to obtain just a small amount of what they had. They couldn’t trust anybody. It was a sad life, and she hoped to give them the experience they craved so much but unfortunately couldn’t obtain. For, of course, a small price.

She sat at a table opposite to the man of the hour, watching as the cigar dangled between his long, thin fingers. He laughed, his lips only curving in the slightest. Not enough of a smile to show happiness, but enough to show amusement. He was lonely and she could tell. He didn’t want to be in the club, surrounded by his peers that were only hanging around him due to his status, he would have rather been at home. But home held nothing but silence, a hallow silence that constantly reminded him of the one thing he was trying to hide from. Loneliness.

The perfect client for her on this late Friday night.

She stayed her distance, watching as multiple females tried and failed to receive his attention. Each poor thirsty girl that approached him was quickly turned down. Some receiving a smile and apology, others receiving a simple wave of the hand to dismiss their drunk attempts of getting into his pants. It was amusing, watching the failures of each girl and just how disappointed they got. Of course that could happen to her as well, but due to her different approach, her success rate was far higher than her failures.

As she watched his friends, who unlike him found their companions for the night, slowly left one by one he only seemed to get more miserable. His lips took longer drags from the cigar between his fingers, his sips of whiskey turned into gulps, the small curl of his lips quickly turned downwards. He was in his head, thinking hard, of what she was unsure. But she could easily make a guess as his displeasure continued to intensify as each of his friends left until it was only him.

She took that as her cue to move towards him. She stood to her feet, fixing her little black dress, before slowly walking over. She didn’t say anything at first, deciding that introductions were something that would do nothing but bore him, and instead sat across from him. He looked up, almost staring straight through her, before he finally looked at her. Drinking her in, inspecting her, before he spoke.

“Hello,” He said, seeming to contemplate his words before he spoke them, “Are you lost, sweetheart?”

She smirked, “What makes you ask that, sir?”

“Well, last time I checked I didn’t invite you to sit.”

“You didn’t, but I couldn’t just leave you here all by yourself. No offense but you look absolutely miserable.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Well, while I appreciate your concern, I’d much rather be alone.”

“Are you sure about that?” She asked, and this quickly caught his attention. The look he gave was a weird one, intrigued yet confused. “That’s what everyone says, but while they say it deep down their soul is begging for someone to sit and be miserable with them.”

He seemed dumbfounded, and chuckled. “Maybe for most people, but I’m perfectly fine.”

“Why? Because you’re used to staying to yourself? Being used to it and enjoying it are two very different things.” She explained, slipping the cigar from his fingers and placing it into her own, flicking off the ashes from the tip. “If you don’t want my company, than tell me honestly with no regrets that you don’t want me here. Speak the words without feeling that ache for someone else’s presence. Whisper for me to leave without the back of your head whispering for me to stay. Tell me the truth without your heart telling you the exact opposite.”

He stared at her, silent, curving his lips to say the words but he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell her to leave, couldn’t say he wanted to be by himself, because just like she said he didn’t truly want to be alone. And as his eyebrows knitted together, he found himself frustrated. Frustrated because this random woman who simply plopped herself across from him seemed to be reding him as if he were an open book. Who did she think she was?

“Who are you?”

She smiled as she moved herself forward. Her elbows held her up as she sat right in front of him, face inches away from his, “I’m just a stranger, but a stranger who understands how you’re feeling. It’s easy to see you’re lonely.”

“I’m not lonely.”

“You’re not?” She asked, faux shock in her voice, “Let me reiterate. You’re not lonely in the physical sense. You probably have dozens of people around you constantly, hundreds of people blowing up your phone, thousands of women throwing themselves at your feet. You’re lonely inside. Because all of these people around you aren’t truly here for you, they’re here for what you have. Only hoping that being your temporary lover, family, fake friend, etc will be their one way ticket to your fortune. That appealing to you will give them what they’re thirsting over.”

He stared into her eyes, feeling his heartbeat in his chest uncomfortably. “So suppose I am lonely, what makes you any different from everybody around me? Who’s to say you aren’t running after what I have? As you said, you’re a stranger. How am I supposed to know if you’re different?”

“You can’t tell.” She said honestly, shrugging her shoulders, “You have no idea who I am. You have no idea if your wallet and car will be stolen when you wake up in the morning if you decide to take me home. You have no idea if I’ll leave your side the moment you give me money. You have absolutely no idea whether I am someone genuine or some fake individual.”

He frowned, waiting for her to say something else, but she simply took a drag from the cigar. Blowing the smoke into the air. “So what should I do?”

“Well that’s entirely up to you. It’s your decision of whether or not you want to continue to engage with me and take that chance. I can’t force you to want my presence, you could easily shoo me away like you’ve done any other girl that’s approached you.”

She continued to smoke from the cigar, all while he stared at her completely intreagued. His heart beat sped up incredibly, his attraction to the woman in front of him not just physical but mental. Unlike any other girl she seemed to nestle herself into his head. She understood him unlike anybody around him, and this fact alone made him ache for her. Even if she turned out to be like everybody else, she was still different. An honest person who wasn’t trying to grin and lie to his face about their intentions.

Goddamn, he wanted her.

And she could see it just by the look on his face.

So it was no surprise that they ended up in his very expensive Mercedes behind the club, his hands all over her as she sat in his lap and kissed the smoke and whiskey off of his lips His moans were loud, grunts vibrating her bones as they sounded against her lips. He gripped her waist tight, pulling her away just so he could catch his breath.

“Lie to me sweetheart.” He slurred, and she wondered if that were due to the alcohol in his system or her.

She gripped his face, looking straight into his eyes. Watching his blown out pupils stare straight back at her. He gave her his complete attention, she felt like the only thing in his world and she absolutely adored it.

“I’m not interested in you because of your money.” She said, giving him a kiss on the lips. “I’m not a stranger.” She kissed his jaw, “I won’t leave you tomorrow,” She kissed his neck, “I’ll stay with you forever.”

His eyes glazed over, and she could tell that the final lies hit him like a train. He gripped her waist even tighter, pulled her impossibly close so her chest pressed against his, desperate he said, “Lie to me again.”

She kissed him again, keeping her lips against his, “I’ll stay with you forever.” Another kiss, “I’ll love you forever.”

And even though he knew they were lies, he convinced himself to believe it. Holding her close, like she couldn’t slip through his fingers as quickly as she came into them.

~

The next morning he woke up in the hopes that maybe she didn’t lie. But as he opened his eyes he was greeted with an empty bed, the blanket lifted just slightly to show her departure. In his king size bed he felt alone yet again.

He sat up, replaying the words she whispered to him last night, with such a genuine tone, and he felt his heart clench in pain as tears welled up in his eyes.

All the while there was a note on his bedside.

Thank you for a great night

                                            ~ Stranger

#honestly you could place whoever as the main character #I just imagined hoseok #bts scenario #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bangtan scenario #bangtan boys scenario #bangtan boys fanfic #bangtan fanfic #bangtan smut #bangtan boys smut #bangtan angst #bangtan boys angst #bts jhope fanfic #jhope smut #jhope angst #jhope fanfic #btswritingcafe

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, RACH You’ve been accepted for the role of TAMORA. Admin Rosey: You’d think that a person wouldn’t REALLY be charmed by Trinity. I mean, why would they? She’s terrifying and otherworldly. I don’t know how you managed to do it, Rach, but in that interview you had me completely and utterly charmed by Trinity -- her voice, her mannerisms, everything about her had me sighing in total infatuation. But then you reminded me of who she was -- a beautiful, terrifying monster. Shaped by tragedy, but still learning and evolving. I am so incredibly happy to finally say this: everybody, welcome Trinnity Zakarian onto the dash! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

IN DEPTH

Alias | Rach

Age | 20

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | 8.5 ; These quarantimes are doing  wonders for my activity levels.

Timezone | PST

How did you find the rp?  | See below!

Current/Past RP Accounts | I play Jules over at @julianaxcapulet ;)

Character | Tamora; Trinity Khalida Zakarian 

Trinity - “Triad”

Khalida - “Deathless”

Zakarian - “God has remembered”

What drew you to this character? |

If I were to compare Trinity to Juliana at face value, I’m not sure that I could select two more different characters, but I suppose that is part of what draws me to Trinity. She is so different from what I typically look for in a character and there’s something deeply and darkly alluring about her character. There’s a certain cleverness, a certain craftiness that I sensed in her bio that initially drew me toward her. Despite her inability to feel emotion, I think she has a surprisingly strong grasp of the human condition. She has a unique perspective and furthermore, a unique understanding of people, one I think does her both a great service and disservice in the land of Verona.  

I think time and time again I am drawn to characters who experience this very quintessential loneliness, but when it comes to Trinity, there’s a distinct lack of longing for companionship which intrigues me. Here is a woman that has only ever come close to loving one thing, a son that was stolen away from her in the wake of the greatest betrayal. Her story is so tragic but clearly unfinished. I love the idea that the loss of the thing she held dearest is what marks the beginning of her story, rather than the end. If death is the beginning of Trinity’s story, then perhaps life is the end and I am extremely excited to see how that could possibly play out. 

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | 

One. 

Full disclosure, Titus Andronicus is one of my favorite tragedies but I find myself thoroughly interested in where Trinity’s story departs from (or rather begins at the end of) her namesake’s story. As mentioned in what I wrote about what drew me to Trinity, I am fascinated by how her character blurs the line between beginnings and endings. Her character stands to exist so non-linearly in such a forward-moving world. Shakespeare’s Tamora, Queen of the Goths, is driven entirely by revenge, but Trinity is a character who has had her revenge without facing the same untimely fate or consequences of her namesake. So how does Trinity exist beyond the fulfilment of her revenge? The Montagues have given her a place to plant her roots, but where and how does she grow from there? There is a ghostly quality to her presence, but it is an enduring one and I want to explore how Trinity’s spirit endures. She has already begun to develop a legacy, one written by outsiders and onlookers to her life, but what does Trinity want the world to remember of her? How does she honor her son’s memory? Is it through big, public acts or rather, through smaller, everyday actions? 

My suspicion? It’s a combination of both.

Two.

I am intrigued by how Trinity is a character that simultaneously manages to be wholly content and entirely discontent at the same time. It’s a strange line to walk. She wants for nothing, but is solely driven by this constant yearning to feel. Trinity is such a stranger to the hungry ambition that seems to drive so many of Verona’s people that I would like to see her have a taste of what really drives her new city. I would like to see Trinity put in a situation where some form of ambition is encouraged, if not required of her. Perhaps, the Montagues task her to further develop her ties to the Russians elite, or better yet, encourage her to further integrate herself into Verona’s high society, where she cannot merely slide by on the nobility of her last name. Trinity is well acquainted with the art of acting, of maintaining a presence, but what happens when what is required of her is something that must come from deep within? How does she adapt? Are her suspicions confirmed that all tasks and ventures are equally empty? Or better yet, does she find an additional avenue of finding that warmth she aches for? Does she find a new way to slow her brutal decay?

Three. 

This may sound strange, but Trinity’s connection to Mona was one that managed to surprise me, to catch me off guard (in the most pleasant way, of course). The notion of envy from a character that is so intrinsically distant from emotion adds this wonderful nuance to her character. It’s this wonderfully humanizing quality that somehow manages to still feel characteristic and honest of Trinity. There are hints of this passion throughout Trinity’s bio-- the spark she feels when her son is born, the desperation in her bones when she stabs her wife. I love the idea of such grievous, deplorable emotions being the tipping point for her, which is why I would really love to explore what else within Verona can ignite such fury, such wrath from detached being like herself. Besides Mona, I would love to explore the different emotions that can be pulled from Trinity through her different connections. Conversely, there’s a part of me that wants to see Trinity become attached to something, to someone, especially because I know it’s something she would be resistant to, something she may not even recognize within herself. I think there’s a lot of potential ways that it can be taken (maybe with Grace?), but I would be very excited to explore how that might unfold.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Always

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

Tw: murder, death, blood, torture (kind of)

What is your favorite place in Verona? | 

To have a favorite, is to have attachment, Trinity thinks. She is keenly aware that an attachment is not something she possesses within the confines of Verona borders, or perhaps, possesses at all. In truth, she does not particularly care for Verona. Faron had promised her that the warmth of Italian summers was incomparable, though she’s been rather underwhelmed by the mellowness of the Veronian sun. Every now and then she finds herself longing for the endless, Russian winters which were at least bitter enough to send a chill through her bones. 

“The Lamberti Tower.”

“Why?” the interviewer presses further, as if intrigued by her lack of elaboration. His reaction alone alerts her to the nature of his being-- he’s the typical journalist type, addicted to the thrill of uncovering secrets and stories. He’s eager and objectively handsome enough to make something of himself, but perhaps too curious, too invested in his art for his own good. She thinks she might see something in him but she’s not sure what. 

She contorts her lips into what passes for a pleased smile, though the creases beside her eyes fail to form, “I like the view from the top.”

The interviewer pries no further and Trinity decides he may actually possess enough self-control to go far in life. 

What does your typical day look like?

Trinity takes in the question, absorbing it before formulating a calculated response in her head. It’s a much preferred question to the previous one and it’s one Trinity supposes she can humor for the time being-- no revealing of attachments, no nostalgia or falsified wistfulness. 

Since the passing of her son, her days have begun to blur together-- only identified today, tomorrow, yesterday. She puts no faith in the distant future that she does not know, for she sees her life in two acts: before her son and after her son is born. Alexei’s death marks the end of her life, as he takes her heart with him to the grave. It’s a morbid finale followed by a somber epilogue, in which she must continue living. 

“The day begins in the early hours of the morning, when my sleep breaks,” Trinity begins as though she is narrating a story known well by her missing heart. 

“And then there are the meetings and of course, more meetings…” she draws on with the tilt of her head, as if to highlight the fact that they are engaged in some sort of meeting right now. She recounts the numerous times those around her have complained of their lengthy meetings and in truth, Tamora doesn’t really care. She has no particular affinity for small talk nor discussions of projected growth, but there was something to be said for the time that they managed to fill. What else was she to do with her countless hours of the day? There was nothing leisurely about her life, no excitement to be captured from the monotonous joys her brethren seemed to so easily delight in. She could feign delight and desire with a flawless accuracy, but it did little to hide the ultimate truth that there was no spark to be found behind those hollow eyes. 

“Meetings can be so dull,” she adds for good measure, leaning in towards the interviewer, as if to confess something honest. Really, it’s just an easy lie, one with a dangerous relatability that manages to produce a nod of agreement and knowing smile from the young man she sits with. He’s charmed now, confident that he’s managed to peer into her mind, elicit some great secret from a locked vault. Little did he know that if he were to truly see inside the woman before him, he would be consumed whole by a dark and tormentful emptiness, a ceaseless, gruesome night with no end in sight.

“After finishing up my personal work, I like to return home and unwind...perhaps even watch a movie. I’ve always been partial to films ever since I was a child.”.  

“Oh, I wasn’t aware that you liked movies, Miss Zakarian,” the interviewer notes, with mild interest scribbling something down on his notepad for the first time during the duration of their entire interview. 

“Doesn’t everyone like a little escapism?” she replies, actively curling the edges of her lips into an easy smile, an expression so well-practiced it seemed as though it was the most natural response in the world. 

This time Trinity had afforded him a half-truth, for indeed she did occupy her time with the occasional movie, though never with the intentions of escape (she had long known of their ineffectiveness). Rather, there was something educational to be taken from films, to absorb the mechanics at which actors expressed themselves so convincingly. Films were like holy scriptures to her, unflinching in their portrayal of the human psyche, even if not always intentional. There were lessons to be learned from even from the worst actors, just as there were lessons to be learned from the worst kind of people.

What has been your biggest mistake thus far? 

The ghost of her smile fades just as quickly as it had formed itself upon Trinity’s face. Mistakes were certainly treacherous territory. 

The answer seems increasingly unclear to Trinity as she sees herself gazing into her wife’s eyes one final time, as she plunges a knife into her lover’s heart, over and over again. Her eyes are dry, for she cannot yet weep for the child she has lost at the hands of a woman she had sworn her life to. She had sealed her wife’s fate without a moment’s hesitation and made her pay for her wretched crime, in the only way she knew how. Trinity had watched the life fade away from her wife slowly, her eyes glazed over, devoid of sentiment, ensuring her beloved knew that the price of her betrayal was her life. Only when they are both truly gone, does she finally dissolve. For one brief, shining moment, her grief manifests in a tidal wave of anger, sorrow, rage, and tears and it is the last time she ever comes close to touching life. Alone in her cursed home she falls apart, clinging the body of her dead son tightly against his chest as his blood pools around her, drenching her dress in an unsightly crimson.

When Trinity finally leaves her home she never returns, nor does her heart. It’s remains had been left behind to turn to ash, along with everything else she had ever loved.

She attempts to discern what marked the beginning of the end, what had set the stage for such tragedy and betrayal but she finds herself largely unsuccessful. Each moment was interwoven within the next, each choice could be traced back further and further until her memory turned to oblivion. 

“Identifying one’s biggest mistake is a futile endeavor,” Trinity replies aloofly, her counterfeit charm giving way to something far more harrowing. If the young man before her was so eager to peer behind her mask, then she supposed she ought to offer him a glance. “Every mistake is merely a summation of what has come before it.”

“So, your biggest mistake is being born?” the interviewer frowns, attempting to gather whatever scraps he can from her cryptic response. His tone suggests confusion but there’s something that resembles intrigue that forms upon his well-sculpted features. 

Trinity presses her lips together firmly but does not correct his assumption.

What has been the most difficult task asked of you? 

“Tasks implies a sense of duty...” Trinity replies pointedly. The very notion of a task seemed to involve some sort of great undertaking, which much like sentimentality, was not something Trinity had ever associated with. She makes a conscious effort to lace her cool fingers together in her lap. If the young man were to shake her hand now, he was sure to be frightened by the chillness of her touch. 

“And you do not possess a sense of duty?” the interviewer prods, though this time he’s managed to more effectively mask his surprise at her response. He seems more engaged now, fascinated by the woman that sits before him, desperate to unearth more of her secrets.

“I did, once,” Trinity nods, affirmatively and she sees her young son’s face in the corner of the room. He’s looking at her imploringly, with bright eyes and she sees the only spark of life she’s ever known. “But I am no longer beholden to that duty.” 

“Why not? Did you succeed? Did you fail?” 

“Success and failure are not metrics of difficulty,” she answers, “Just as some people fail at easy tasks, others succeed at difficult tasks.”

“And you?”

She gazes through the young man before her and her eyes settle on the wall behind him, as through she could see straight through his skull. He looks nothing like her Alexei, but she finally understands what she’s recognized in him the moment they met. His eyes are so bright, so full of promise, that she’d like to sink her cold thumbs into the sockets of each eye and push harder and harder until she felt that warmth, that brightness, even if only for a few solemn moments. 

 “Success, task, failure, difficult-- they’re all just words, маленький, empty words. It would serve you well to learn that.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

Arguably, Trinity's loyalty to the Montagues likely failed to constitute loyalty at all. It was merely a convenience, if that. 

“Where do your loyalties lie?” she asks, turning the question back towards him. 

“I’m journalist, Miss Zakarian...I’m loyal to the truth,” he says, and Trinity cannot help but grit her teeth slightly, a rare reaction from the otherwise largely unresponsive woman. What could this man possibly know of the truth? 

“So you truly possess no ties to the Montagues, then?” Trinity clarifies, as she stands from her chair stepping closer to the young man, cupping his face, her icy fingers searing into the warmth of his skin as she examines his every feature.

“No...no,” he replies, his eagerness mounting as his own hands settle upon her waist, gazing at her with a hunger she cannot possibly begin to relate to. “Honestly, they would probably prefer if I wasn’t around. They don’t really like independence around these parts...but you do, right? You’re really not like the rest of them are you?”

“No, I am not,” comes from the lips of the corpse-like woman and it’s the first truly honest admission she’s made through the entire interview. She looks at him vacantly as her fingers slowly slide from his jaw to his throat until they settle firmly around his neck and begin to squeeze.

She looks on as his expression morphs from excitement to confusion to desperation which manages to send a single tingle running down her spine. He attempts to struggle but her grasp is too tight and by the time he’s realized his fate it’s too late. His body releases one final shudder before eventually falling limp below her. With two fingers, she drags his eyelids shut with mild satisfaction as she has finally managed to extinguish the light.

She exits the room silently and glides to the hallway void of any emotion. When they eventually ask who finally took care of that terribly nosy young journalist, she’ll collect her payment but not before her lips curl into that well-practiced and reply, “A ghost.”

Extras:

Mock Blog 

Pinterest 

#accepted #accepted: tamora

[speaknowslut13]

A Relative Lyrical Analysis- Cruel Summer

Cruel Summer is stuck on replay in my head.  Its catchy, it’s daring, and its brilliant.  I wanted to start doing lyrical analysis on Taylor Swift’s songs because I’m 100% that nerd.  I started thinking though, that sometimes its not important exactly how Taylor Swift’s experience is coming through but how we take the art she’s given us and have interpreted it through our life lenses.  So, without further ado, I give you my first Relative Lyrical Analysis. 

The Lyrics:  “Cruel Summer” by Taylor Swift, 2019 Lover

     (Verse 1:)

Fever dream high in the quiet of the night

You know that I caught it

The syntax she chooses to use is so interesting here. She’s flipping the sentence a bit (very Object/Subject/Verb or “Yoda” syntax).  If you want to really understand what she’s saying, read it like a proper sentence.  This is a technique she uses throughout the song.  I love it.

Let’s break this down:  She’s caught the “Fever Dream High”.  What is a Fever Dream High?  Without looking it up, I would say think of a high fever.  If you’ve ever had one, time seems to move by at its own pace.  It’s a weird world that seems dream like.  Sometimes you think hours have passed but its been seconds.  Other times it moves so fast much like dream logic.  It is surreal.  

So, she’s caught it.  The imagery here is a disease.  Which makes sense with her metaphor of a Fever Dream High.  

The part that is pretty fascinating is the quiet of the night.  Not only does this conjure up an image, it captures the feeling that goes along with that.  She’s alone suffering through this fever.   But there is something so delicious about this fantasy that she sits alone at night combing it over.

bad bad boy

Shiny toy, with a price

You know that I bought it

Let’s start off with “bad, bad boy”.  It mirrors MAATHBP “bad, bad girl” which is fantastic.  Maybe she did it on purpose, maybe it’s a coincidence; either way I love it.  

This part makes me think that she went into this relationship (whatever type it is) believing she was in control.  Taylor is aware that the subject is known to be ‘bad’. Taylor knows that the subject is ‘bad’ for her.  

He’s a “shiny toy with a price”.  Boy toys are boys whom one uses for an intended purpose. Often its for fun (hence ‘toy’).  When something comes with a price, it has a risk versus benefit analysis.  In other words, do the risks of the option outweigh the benefit or vice versa?  Because Taylor goes on to say that she “bought it” it implies that she determined the benefit was greater than the risk.  

killing me slow

Out the window

I’m always waiting for you to be waiting below

So, not going to lie, I struggled for a bit with this one.  The feeling is tangible but putting it into words was difficult.  Initially I was reminded of a song that I love, Killing Me Softly.  However, I eventually decided that the feeling I was picking up was being teased. I imagine it’s a scenario where a game is being played with her emotions.  Once I was able to put it into words I felt better.  He’s playing a cat and mouse game.  The control she has (probably imagined) is slipping.  She’s now waiting for him every night.  She is used to him being below her window.  It’s like a distorted fairy tale.  

 Devils roll the dice

Angels roll their eyes

The continued game imagery.  As well as control imagery.  Clearly this is not up to her but the fates playing with her life. The control of how this is going to go is out of her hands.  

What doesn’t kill me

Makes me want you more

This ties in the rest of the first verse imagery. A Fever Dream High, dangerous and is Killing her Slowly.  She decided that risking this disease was worth the benefit she’d find with him.  A beautiful metaphor for deciding to jump into a relationship.  She comes back and says this isn’t going to kill me, but it is making me want you more. She’s losing control over the situation. The emotions she’s receiving are too powerful to walk away.  She just wants more.  Like a drug.

     (Chorus: )

And it’s new

The shape of your body

It’s blue

The feeling I got and it’s

Ooh

It’s a cruel summer

The shape of his body is new.  Literally it points to his newness.  He’s a new partner.  However, this can be taken figuratively.  The feelings are different to Taylor.  Somehow the subject elicits a different and new response in her heart.

The feeling she has is blue.  This is making her sad to feel this love.  Interestingly, the new/blue references can be linked to a recurring theme through the album and that is the wedding rhyme.  Something borrowed, something blue, something old, and something new.  She’s using the same syntax as before here too.  I’m living for Yoda Taylor.  

It’s cool

That’s what I tell ‘em

No rules in breakable heaven but

Ooh

These seem self-explanatory.  Noteworthy, however is the contrast in word choice between “Summer” (which is hot) and “cool”.  This is a beautiful unsaid connection to Cornelia Street’s lyrics “when we were card sharks”.  This screams poker.  Its clearly a bluff.  It becomes abundantly clear with the bridge.  

Breakable Heaven is such a vivid metaphor for a tentative relationship.  It describes this relationship as a poorly built construct.  The slightest change in pressure, temperature, wind could bring it crumbling down.  And yet it is just so beautiful and seems so pure.  

It’s a cruel summer

With you

Let’s talk about Summer.  I am living in a place called Phoenix, Arizona.  So, I know a LOT about summer.  Its basically one of two seasons that we have.  Let me tell you that this line conjures up so much pain its ridiculous.  I have literally branded myself on a metal seat buckle.  It was painful.  It’s hot. Dehydration is just a thing that happens.  There is sweat, dirt, and no reprieve.  Except for maybe the Costco dairy rooms.  Other than that, it’s miserable.  However, there are some benefits to Summer.  You can bake cookies in your car while you’re at work.  I’m kidding.  A little bit. However, there is so much sunlight. The nights are warm.  Swimming.  I have many good memories attached to summers.  So, hear me out when I say that “Cruel Summer” is more figurative than a literal time stamp.  Granted, the story behind this song could have been set in literal summer.  But saying that it’s a “cruel summer with you” seems to be more of a description than anything else.  I feel that this hearkens back to the beginning of the song where Taylor mentions a “Fever Dream High”.  Summers are long and hot.  Time has its own pace it seems.  This seems to be a theme so far.  He could be the refreshing Costco refrigeration.  Or the large iced water with lemon in it.  But it is gone too quickly.  Eventually the water is gone and you’re thirsty again or you’re kicked out of Costco.  This being left high and dry after such a refreshing moment is cruel.  

      (Verse 2: )

Hang your head low

In the glow of the vending machine

I’m not dying

This is one of the few times in this song that I will say that this is a snapshot memory.  The detail in this is precise in such few words.  It is Taylor’s forte.  We will never know what memory it is that she’s sharing here.  So, I’m going to attach the feeling I get from that last line “I’m not dying”.  

This sounds like a mantra you tell yourself. The feeling I get here is one of grasping for control in an out of control situation.  In fact, it reminds me of myself.  There was one summer that I tried and failed to convince myself that the guy I liked was not the guy I liked.  I then tried to convince myself months later that I just wasn’t in love with him.  It didn’t work.  So this “I’m not dying” business just feels like a person trying to convince themselves that the perfect nature of this image has no affect on them.  She’s ‘melting’ as she’s watching their profile. Maybe they don’t see her moment of control loss.  Maybe they do.

Lyrically it also ties in the “killing me slowly” motif from verse one.  

We say that we’ll just screw

it up in these trying times

We’re not trying

When you’ve been burned one too many times, eventually you start saying you’re just not going to try anymore.  Things are out of control and you just don’t want to live through more heartache.  Everybody’s threshold is different so maybe one person’s never been in a relationship but has seen so many fails so they don’t try.  On the other hand, maybe, someone has been in many heartbreaking relationships, so they’ve stopped trying.  It happens no matter how sad it sounds.  This is also an image that reminds me of summer flings.  It’s a fling, not meant to be taken farther than companionship for a few weeks.  Anything further and it might be too hard to get through.  Its playing it cool in a non-commitment because there is just too much outside pressure.

So cut the headlights

Summer’s a knife

I’m always waiting for you just to cut to the bone

So, here we have this knife imagery.  In a way it reminds me of a sadistic game of Russian roulette.  With a knife. It’s a cynical way of saying I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.  All of this is figurative to explain how they’re both playing hot potato with their feelings.  Once again, he’s teasing her and she’s engaged but she’s expecting the worst from this exchange.  

Devils roll the dice

Angels roll their eyes

And if I bleed you’ll be the last to know

She’ll never let him see if her deck was good or not. Taylor will not be letting him know her true emotions.  It seems to be one last grab at control.  She desperately wants to control how this is going to end. Even if she’s bleeding and hurting, her poker face will stay in place.  

        (Chorus Repeat)

        (Bridge: )

ALL THE ROM COM CLIMAX FEELS

I’m drunk in the back of the car

And I cried like a baby coming home from the bar

The alcohol imagery in her lyrics are just *chef’s kiss*. This is the other snapshot memory but oh so much more loaded.  I think she’s literally drunk, but I also relate to this as a lack of emotional inhibition. She’s done and she’s lost control.

Said ‘I’m fine’ but it wasn’t true

This is how I imagine it.  The subject is at a party or bar with her and he takes the opportunity to make her jealous.  He’s trying to get a rise out of her.  And in order to keep control, she’s pulling the “I’m fine” card.  LADIES.  Oldest trick in the book.  A decent detective can see that you are clearly NOT fine.  

I don’t want to keep secrets

Just to keep you

This is the moment he runs after her in a rom com. The big confrontation.  She’s done trying to keep her feelings to herself. She may also be done sneaking around with him.  She’s in love and she can’t hide it.  

 And I snuck in through the garden gate every night that summer

Just to seal my fate

I have this image of Taylor Swift creeping into a dark garden like a cartoon criminal.  It cracks me up.  

I don’t know—I’m weird.  

However, here she says that this snapshot series of memories have solidified her fate.  She’s finally admitting to him that she was never in control.  

And I scream ‘For whatever it’s worth,

I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?’

Clearly this is a loaded moment.  For starters, if we’re talking specific to Taylor, anybody she loves will be drug through the media mud with her.  That can be terrifying.  

In general, it’s a self-conscious nature.  Her love is a terrible fate.  It also means that if this is a casual situation, its now over. Screaming it is just her fighting at him.  I’m not going to say with.  Its more of an ‘at’ action.  

He looks up grinning like a devil

THIS LINE.  He’s known this. He has been angling for her to finally admit it.  Its been a long con. He’s been teasing her, goading her, so she’ll let him in.  The cheeky devil is clearly pleased with himself.  He’s put her through all this so that she’ll finally let go of controlling this narrative.  He definitely has her number and he most definitely loves her back.  Its frustrating but its sweet.  

         (Chorus/Bridge repeat)

In conclusion. WOW.  What a song.  Taylor Swift has returned to her story telling roots with style.  I feel like I’ve watched a really good rom com.  One where I am playing back my own memories as the plot line.  I get a strong sense of Friends with Benefits vibe, or summer fling but I also can see this applied to the time old ‘are we/aren’t we’ story.  I feel like both life and art melded into each other to create such a beautiful bop.  I really drew from my own memories to create the feeling attached to this.  And I think that’s art.  Its subjective.  Her experience has been made universal by purely being relative to the listener.  

 If you enjoyed this, go ahead and leave me a comment.  You can also message me with requests.  I’ll give them my best shot.  I’ll answer any questions too.  Share your opinions and just be lovely to each other!

 Love,

Lauren

#taylor swift #taylor nation #cruel summer #themodren #relativelyricalanalysis #Swifties #lyrics #Lover era #amwriting

[brokenplums]

The Age Of The Nutcrackers.

(This is based on my character in Saints Row The Third, and The Nutcracker from Tokyo Ghoul)

It was a terrifying world, between the immense amount of criminals, the radical extremists acting on their own agendas, the vigilantes. It seem as if there was danger nearly everywhere.

The worst was a group known as, “The Nutcrackers”, led by The Destroyer. It was a group of feminist extremists who took any chance they got too crack a male’s testicles. Everybody- Err, well, every guy feared them. It was impossible too know who was a Nutcracker.

It started getting to the point where they hunted guys down just to bust their balls. They didn’t want gender equality, they want female supremacy. The Destroyer convinced all of her followers that the Patriarchy started in the testicles, and that by crushing them they’d become superior.

Jakob was a young buck out on the field, paying no attention to the risks of exposing his hormones, he was trying to find female companionship via a one night stand. As he entered the bar, he scanned the patrons, looking for a girl he could easily seduce. As he approached the bar, he was stopped by a busty blonde with glasses.

“Hey honey, how are you doing tonight?” The woman asked him.

“Better, now that I’ve met you..” Responded Jakob, flashing a charming grin.

“Real smooth.” She chuckled. “My name’s Emily.”

“Jakob. Nice to meet you, Emily.”

“Likewise... Mind if we go get a drink?” She asked.

“Oh, of course!” He smiled.

‘Holy shit! I’m gonna get laid tonight...’ He thought.

The two sat down together in a private booth, both ordering beers.

“I’m going to the bathroom real quick, be back in a second.” Jakob said. As he walked away, he peeked around behind him, glancing at Emily’s full and popping chest. She smirked up at him, their eyes meeting.

Jakob entered the bathroom when blood filled his not-so-flaccid penis.

‘Damn... I can’t wait to cum over those tits. Fucking beautiful, they are.’ He thought to himself.

Jakob left the bathroom, not realizing just how hard he was. When he returned to the booth, Emily got an eyeful of his bulge.

“Excited to see me?” She jokingly asked.

“O-oh fuck, sorry.” He responded awkwardly.

“It’s okay, doesn’t bother me one bit.” She winked at him. “Anyway, our beers came. Cheers!” She held up her beer for him to toast.

“Cheers!” He clinked beer bottles with Emily, then drank a fourth of it immediately.

“So I’m gonna be completely honest with you, Jakob. After seeing your, well, bulge, I’m feeling a little... excited too. How about we go back to house?”

“Hell yeah! Definitely!” His erect member twitched at the thought of entering Emily.

Jakob stood up, and stumbled. ‘Wow, that’s some strong beer.’ He thought.

As they walked toward her car, Jakob couldn’t see straight.

“H-hold on, Emily. I-I’m feeling really dizzy...”

“It’s okay, honey, the car is right here.”

Emily opened the backseat door, and pushed Jakob inside.

“W-woah!” Jakob passed out as soon as his body met the seat.

*3 HOURS LATER*

Jakob woke up, sluggish as can be. He tried moving, but was completely strapped in on what seemed like a medical stretcher. He was completely naked, and came to the painful realization that his scrotum was held tight by a very, very tight band. His testicles being completely held in place, and circulation being cut from them.

“W-where am I?” He asked.

“Look who’s awake...” Said an unknown woman.

“What- Wh- Who are you?! Where am I?” He asked, terrified.

“You don’t get to ask those questions!” The unknown woman slapped his tight balls with the back of her hand, using her knuckles. Jakob yelped in pain.

“W-Why did you do that?” He asked hesitantly.

“I said you don’t get to ask those questions!” She back-handed his nuts again. Jakob just moaned in pain.

“Thank you, Jaylyn. That’ll be all.” Said a familiar voice. Emily emerged from the shadows, wearing only a pair tight shorts. Her bare breasts sat freely.

Jakob’s eyes immediately attracted to her chest.

“Ugh. All of you guys are the same, you’re all filthy, disgusting pigs who just want pussy. I could go on and on about the painful things I’m going to do to your poor, pathetic balls and you’ll just keep on staring at my tits. Maybe I have to get your attention a different way...”

Emily got closer and closer to Jakob’s face, then shoved her chest forward, smothering him with her large breasts. His penis rose from the sight.

“I thought that would work. You like what you see, Jakob? Would you like these ‘beautiful tits’ pressed against your cock? All you have to say is, ‘Yes Madam.’”

“Yes Madam.” Jakob said in a nervous pitch.

Emily moved over to Jakob’s cock. She crouched down, and rested her breasts around his manhood. Just as she was about to like the tip of his penis, she thrusted her closed fist into his trapped testicles.

“My Balls!” He screamed in agony, followed by several groans.

“Hahaha! I still love cracking these pathetic nuts!” Emily cheered. “You do know who I am right?”

“N-no...” Jakob confessed.

“Oh... I guess I need to show you then. They call me, ‘The Destroyer of Testicles’! Me and my followers, The Nutcrackers, we’re trying to clean the world of you filthy pigs and your pathetic spunk-makers.

“N-No! I’m sorry, Emily! Please don-”

“Shut up!” She slammed her knuckles into his poor, contained testicles again.

“O-owww...!” He cried.

“I’m going too destroy your balls. This is going to be complete agony for you, and I’m going to make you endure every second of the pain. If you pass out when the pain gets too severe, I’ll make it a thousand times worse. I hope you enjoyed life with these disgusting things.”

“Please... I’ll do anything... Just don’t crush my balls!” He begged.

“Wow, you’re really desperate... maybe after suffering through severe humiliation I won’t have to destroy them. Well first, you’re going to eat my asshole.”

Emily dropped her shorts, revealing her cleanly shaven pussy, her thick thighs, and her large ass. She sat right on his lips. “I want you to really lick inside me, I expect to feel your tongue in my tight asshole.”

Jakob immediately got to it. He licked every single inch of her anus.

“Mhm... taste good?” She asked in a taunting manner.

Jakob moaned in agreement.

“Come on! You can do better than that. Maybe with blueballs you’ll be more motivated...”

Emily started stroking Jakob’s erect penis with her feet. She kept until he was approaching orgasm, then slammed down on his ballsack with her heel.

Jakob screamed inside of her deep, wet asshole.

“Mhm that felt good! That scream really did it for me. I wonder how many until you can make me cum, I guess I’ll need some help to see.”

Emily called for Jaylyn to come back in.

“Yes, Madam?” Jaylyn asked.

“Please, just call me Emily. We’re equal. This pig isn’t.”

“What would you like help with?” Jaylyn asked.

“See, the disgrace I’m currently sitting on is tongue deep in my asshole, and I really want him to get screaming. I want to feel the air ripped from his throat pleasure me until I cum all over him.”

“Of course! I’ll happily crack this motherfucker’s eggs.”

Jaylyn hit Jakob’s tight orbs with a barrage of hard hits.

Jakob’s muffled screams could barely be heard through Emily’s thick ass.

“Oh god! That felt so good. Again! Squeeze those balls and don’t let go until I cum!”

Jaylyn gripped his balls and squeezed nearly as hard as she could.

Jakob screamed until he couldn’t scream anymore.

“FUCK YES! I’M CUMMING!” Emily cried out, moaning loudly.

“Oh... that felt so good. Thank you, Jaylyn.”

“No problem, but do you mind if I have a turn? I’m basically gushing after seeing him lick your ass like that.”

“Happily, I’ll show you why they call me the destroyer of testicles.”

Emily lowered the stretcher completely on the ground, so she had very easy access to kick his bruised eggs.

“Okay, straddle his face, sweetie.”

Jaylyn did exactly that.

“You better start licking my pussy, or else I’m going to crush your balls myself.” Jaylyn stayed.

Jakob started licking, and shortly after Emily slammed her toes into his tight, trapped, and tortured ballsack.

“Scream, boy, scream!” Jaylyn demanded.

Emily kicked as hard as she possibly could in a barrage of attacks.

“I think I might of just popped one of them!” Emily said with a laugh.

“POP THE OTHER! HIS SCREAMS HAVE ME SO CLOSE!” Jaylyn screamed.

Emily rose her foot above his package.

“Have fun being a eunuch!” Emily taunted.

She slammed her foot down as hard as humanly possible, shattering his remaining testicle and causing him to scream his lungs out.

“MY PUSSY IS SO WET! I’M CUMMING!” Jaylyn screamed. Her cum dripped all over his still screaming face.

“Call in the girls, I’m glad we got to have some fun with this piece of garbage.” Emily said, walking out of the room.