#only the truly deranged like that shit

[justagaycryptid]

Hannibal would put spirulina in his smoothies

#true indicator of evil #god I fuckin hate spirulina so goddamn much #foul foul substance #I don't give a shit if it's 'good for you' #tastes like absolute ass #only the truly deranged like that shit #like in Creep 2 when Josef was putting it in his smoothie I was like #you would #shouting into the void #hannibal #hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal #shitpost #hannibal lecter

[lord-radish]

So for the past week, I've had "Felony Martinez" posts queued up to post once a day. Some days it's gotten a response, some days it hasn't.

I did that out of anger one night, but once the posts were queued I just sat back and let them post. The queue is empty now, so I'm moving on.

I will say one thing: people who did respond liked to paint me as obsessed. Obsessed, no - the less I know about Melanie Martinez and her fanbase, the better. I mean, look at these anon messages:

But one thing that I definitely am is angry.

I'll be frank, I got caught in a rage loop. Her and the fanbase - specifically the way they treated someone for talking about a traumatic experience with Martinez - make me angry beyond words, and now I got those Felony Martinez posts out of my system, I'm going to move onto something more productive.

So yeah, happy birthday to a narcissistic maniac with a truly unhinged fanbase waiting in the wings for them at all times: Nagito Komaeda.

#not tagging this one. this is just a way to air it out and let it come to its conclusion #the 'narcissistic maniac' thing was a goof and I truly do only apply it to nagito. after the armchair psychology I've seen from the fanbase #I'm not going to lower myself to that level and start throwing petty mental health diagnoses at anyone #because seriously ffs the way people have tried to 'catch' people based on how their face falls and shit is bizarre and awful #but seriously - the narcissistic maniac thing was me goofing around and I only apply it to nagito. who is totally a narcissistic maniac #specifically he's a character written to be like that so chill #so yeah I'm done here. the only thing that'll bring me back is if someone writes a deranged enough anon message #y'all chill and I'll chill

[thisgodwontforgiveyou]

i think that ironically the problem with a good 75% of elden ring arguing is that the people doing it arent fixated enough on being mad at ranni

#like only the most truly deranged misogynists like they guys who can bluff their way through the babyboy radahn turing test do tahht shit #whcih again is still like 5-10% of the entire playerbase because the previous series of game heavily cultivated that type of guy #but not being blatant enough about hwo much you should want to get chained up and whipped by the sexy feet women #but everyone else besides her stans just sort of ignores her which utterly invalidates understanding literally anything #and for once i cant really blame them because while gwyndolin was definitely the key to understanding ds1 and bloodborne was entirely about #the doll they werent the Main Character the way ranni is #like you could still derive meaning and understand the themes and have context for other storylines #without looking at them as all being throwaway devices for develoiping the single meow meow #i thiink both writing approaches rule tbc this isnt a critique of the media post its just a funny gamer situation

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

forget everything i said about ditching the hestio/reed fic. i'm forced to turn it into a slow burn enemies to lovers fic that will inevitably need like 20k words before i even get to the emotional beats that i was aiming for at the start.

#mimin trying to write #hestioreed #like im still trying to figure out the logistics of hestio getting around to seeing reed's pov and sympathizing with him #and the stockhold syndrome vibes are really leaving a bad taste in my mouth #like reed's not keeping hestio hostage but he may as well be with how much power he has relative to hestio #hestio can run anywhere in the world and never actually escape #like atp their dynamic is incredibly screwed up and hestio is like a pet mouse that some deranged person keeps around just to #see what it will do. if it will die if left alone or if itll flourish or something #but also their potential dynamic afterwards ??!?!??? #reed is the only version of tesilid that is THIS unrestrained #like yeah okay hes trying to kill the world too whatever but also consider: hes doing all sort of other shit too #only version of tesilid that is mean to hestio too or something like that i dont know #s-class heroine spoilers #poor hestio is truly going through it in this fic and always like thiiisss close to a breakdown but tbh so is reed #none of their lives are okay when ailette isnt in the picture lets be real #the strict order is truly kind of fucked for putting them in a world like that

[jashne-bahaaraa]

i really wanna know what my cousin was thinking when he made a "family" gc lol

#the only nunbers i have saved in that gc is my cousin's and his ma's #oh and my brother but he doesn't count #everyone else? idk #and idc?mm #damn it must be nice to be a younger member of our family who knows nothing about how dysfunctional and deranged our family truly is lol #idk how to tell my cousin that none of us get along lmaooo #also who tf let him have. a phone bruh he's like 11 #idk how to tell him that none of us will say shit in this gc #but also ppl won't leave bc he created it and he's just a lil boy and they don't want to hurt his feelings or whatever #oh well i'll just go and disturb my cousin and sister then #oh fuck it's 3 am #ny.personal

[sh1-n0bu]

𝔫𝔬𝔟𝔲’𝔰 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 2023!

day 30: choking with il dottore from genshin impact

warnings: choking, slapping, usage of aphrodisiac, dottore is a masochist, cockstepping, foot humping, degrading, cumming untouched, reader is a harbinger

notes: can you guys just tell that i fucking despise this rat????

as harbingers of the tsaritsa and a group of very unlovable, twisted, evil and just genuinely not-so-good people, disturbance at workplace was common. of course, said disturbance ranges from a simple hiss of “i fucking hate you. i hope your next mission goes so unwell that the only casualty will be your tattered corpse” to whatever this is. this could have easily been called as something that most people would call as ‘hate sex’ if only the both of you were not fully clothed.

so technically, this would be counted as ‘hate masturbating’? ah, fuck the labels or those things. right now, the only focus on your mind was to put this annoying bastard in his place.

he really thought he was the shit, didn’t he? the absolute galls of this motherfucker to even dare to put you down and insult you in front of your own subordinates. not just that, he went ahead and put aphrodisiacs into your coffee and his own like the absolute lunatic he was.

how badly you wanted to crush his windpipes in. that would oh so easy with your current position of your hand wrapped nicely around his neck like those beautiful chokers you see on some certain accessory shops. or even one that resembles a collar that is bound tightly around the neck of a rabies infested animal. but with a deranged doctor like dottore, the latter description seem to fit well with how he was moaning and wheezing, clothed cock humping your boots as he panted like a dog.

“you really are a detestable creature, you know that?” you hiss in sheer and utter anger, your other hand joining the other to wrap around his throat more forcefully. both hands on his neck, ready to crush his windpipes in if you wanted.

you had the power. a harbinger who’s currently in the position of tenth may be considered weak amongst fellow harbingers but even then, the tenth fatui harbinger is more than capable to shake an entire nation and to be seen as a threat to an archon.

and that tenth harbinger is you.

so even if dottore may be the second, one of the few who has the capacity to rival a god, right now he was nothing more than a pathetic dog who was humping your shoe. panting and whining loudly with his tongue stuck out, the mad doctor only focuses on the feeling of your hands choking him and the hardened leather of your shoes.

“y-yes.. yes yessshh yesyesyesyesyes oh archons, yes. i am. i’m a detestable creature. your detestable creature” dottore chokes on his spit, a wheezing shrill moan escaping his open mouth as his drool drips down his chin. he seems to like being degraded like this, the movements of his humping becoming more and more frantic on your shoe.

red eyes rolling to the back of his skull, sharp gasps and squeals following until he swore he could see black dots in his vision. he didn’t wanted to have the black spots dancing in his vision! because if so, how was he going to see you? he wanted to see you. that look of just pure anger on your face as you choke the daylights out of him and let him hump you like a dog in heat. no, he needed to see you.

“aaANGH—! kyuuck hhang♡︎♡︎ gck! ♡︎♡︎” a loud intake of breath is heard as your hands let go of the position around his neck, allowing him to breathe for a moment. not too long after, without even allowing him to catch a full breath, his head lolls to the side with a stinging feeling on the side of his cheek. did you just…?

“eyes on me. who said you could go around tearing your gaze away from me, rat” he could briefly hear your voice hiss through the ringing in his ears. muffled, faint, hard to tell if the voice was truly falling from your lips or if it was one of his manic episode voices talking.

either way, it was still your voice that was blessing his ears. it was your shoe that was now stepping on his clothed, weeping cock and he was thankful. maniac and downright insane but dottore knows a holy being when he sees and hears one. he may have not worshipped any of the archons, but for you? the mad doctor would gladly kiss the soles of your shoes over and over. hell, he would even thank you just for being in the same room as you.

call him unstable as much as you would like and he knows that. he even revels in the title and he would gladly wear that title for his entire life if he could be with you. dottore always had this odd obsession with you. since your titling of becoming the tenth fatui harbinger, he had developed this odd sense of fascination.

fascination to dottore, but unhealthy obsession to others.

not like the doctor cares. he had long since gave up trying to reason with other beings and had lost almost all contact with social interaction if not for the harbingers gathering or his experiments with his lab rats. until you joined his ranks.

“i said eyes on me, doctor” you grunt, slapping him across his face again. on the other cheek this time. that seemed to have done the work to catch his attention successfully as his hazy blood eyes focus on you. his cheeks were the same shade of red as his eyes, however it was hard to tell whether it was from your forceful hits or his blushing.

“ougck—! yess.. ye-es yes yesyesyesyes, eyes on you♡︎eyes solely on you♡︎” the blue haired man nods frantically, slight twitch and wince in his eyes showing that the added pressure to his cock was just a tad bit painful for him. even a masochist has their limits. but did he care? no. no he absolutely did not care. if anything, the crazy doctor wanted it to hurt since it was you who was delivering these delicious cocktail of pleasure and pain. he wanted it to hurt. he wanted it to feel good.

with another slap to his cheek for his continued disobedience — for constantly trying to look down at where your shoe was stepping on his stained pants — the doctor lets out a choked noise akin to a mewl before his entire body spasms. thighs shaking and twitching before a strangled noise is let out as the stain in his pants become darker and darker. the stain moving and spreading, some of it even seeping through the fabrics of his clothes as it drips onto the floor below.

“did you… just cum untouched?” you ask, doing a double take as you lift up your shoe to stare at the white translucent juice drip down onto the floor, leaving a tiny puddle. dottore only giggles, almost as if he was in a drunken haze, as he slowly lifts up his face to stare at you. he looked positively fucked up.

“do that again, pleaasshee♡︎?” dottore drawls out.

#nobu.writes #sub genshin impact #sub!genshin impact #sub genshin #sub!genshin #sub dottore #sub!dottore #sub character #sub!character #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin x reader smut #dottore x reader #dottore x you #dottore x y/n #dottore smut #fatui x reader #fatui smut #fatui harbingers #x dom reader #dom reader #dom!reader #nobu’s kinktober 2023

[seattlesellie]

❀ deranged loser!ellie stealing your used panties she found in your dirty laundry basket, walking home with them stuffed in her pockets with a guilty expression on her face, jesse running into her and asking whats wrong and ellie just being like “no…n nothing” and then running off, cheeks burning bright red, praying to god you wont notice theyre gone.

❀ deranged loser!ellie pulling her pants down only to her knees as soon as shes inside, because she truly cant be bothered to take them all the way off, stuffing her hand down her boxers frantically and shoving a long finger in, gasping at how wet she already is. taking your panties and shoving them in her mouth, only to let out a high pitched moan she never knew she could make, licking over the wet patch and pretending its your cunt, eyes tightly shut because she cant let that picture escape her mind. running her tongue up and down the soft material while grinding on her hand, pushing two eager fingers in, only muttering soft whimpers of your name; “i wanna fuck you so bad” and “let me lick that pussy”, sounding so desperate and pathetic for you, if only you could hear. ellie then taking the soaked panties (from her own drool, she wishes it was you) and rubbing her puffy clit with them, groaning and bumping repeatedly into her room’s door like a dog in heat till she cums, a sweet little droplet streaming down her thigh <3

❀ deranged loser!ellie finally getting to fuck you, acting like a madwoman for your pussy, when you suddenly lift her pillow up to see the white cotton panties you just realized were gone a mere two weeks ago… ellie looking like she just saw a ghost and muttering useless apologies, and its only when she turns slightly unhinged with her strap inside your tight cunt and your legs on her shoulders that she gets the courage to stuff them in your mouth and tell you that she’s gotten off to you so many times she doesn’t even care what you think— “you wanna know where — ungh, shit— know what i did with those?” as she thrusts herself in so fast you go cross eyed <3

#i literally need to stop w these #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x you #loser!ellie #ellie williams hqs

[nudityandnerdery]

[Image Description: A series of sixteen tweets by John Rogers @jonrog1 that say:

1) A moment at the Teamsters/UPS rally this morning clarified our current struggle with the studio CEO's (among other bosses). Teamsters got a lot of wins, but one of the main sticking points is the pay for the 65% of local UPS workers who are part-time …

2) If you read the SAG-AFTRA demands, a truly STUNNING amount of their points involve protecting background actors, and trying to improve conditions for the 87% of their union who makes less than $26,000 a year.

3) As WGA members know, this is not a strike for the showrunners. We're trying to fix the fact the the current younger generation of writers can't even afford housing and their pathway to advancement has been cut off.

4) Like … folks, I'm fine. There are maybe two proposals in there that affect me. I'm walking in 90% weather and losing over 50% of my income for the year because I want the younger writers to get what I got at this stage of their careers.

5) Our unions and the CEO's and various negotiators have a fundamental cognitive disconnect. Because CEO's types only succeed by FUCKING THEIR PEERS.

6) Zaslav, Iger , those types of execs, etc have never gone without so a fellow exec or a junior exec could thrive. A fellow exec failing is the moment to use your own leverage to advance past them, if not destroy them.

7) Part of it is the money but part of this, I think, is a genuine inability to grasp even the concepts of any labor action. Because it is always other-directed.

8) So many people treat capitalism as part of nature red in tooth and claw, but it's not. It's a human construct. There are different rules you can play by -- but not if you want to win.

9) The greatest gift capitalism ever granted was the ability to validate selfish behavior as a virtue because that's "just what's necessary, I don't make the rules!" (Look ma, it's reification!)

10) This is where I usually point out that Adam Smith wrote that you have to overpay workers to keep your labor force up, and you need to take into account the psychic damage of capitalism to the workers, and that admiring the rich is the greatest source of moral corruption …

11) But I'll stave off that diversion to just land with … this is a discontinuity of attitudes which I think was once breached by the fact that management USED to come from people who loved building their company or their trade, even if they eventually did management shit.

12) Now, even that thin thread of SYMPATHY (Adam Smith joke, get it? People?) is gone. The CEO's are working off a different scorecard, practically and morally. We're not just playing by wildly divergent rules, our lives and careers are DEFINED by those wildly divergent rules.

13) To them, we are IN FACT being "unreasonable", as our behavior does not make sense in their moral framework. They don't think they're being evil, they think they're playing by the actual rules, and we're nuts.

14) There's not great conclusion to this, other than to note that the bit about making writers homeless was described as "cruel but necessary" because they genuinely don't understand the meaning of cruel, because they are always on the other side of the power dynamic.

15) And if they're ever NOT on the top of the power dynamic, they're not suffering, they're dead. They are un-people in their own eyes.

16) These men are not irrational, but they are deranged. This isn't about money, it's about identity. And in a fight about identity … they will set billions on fire.

Because they can always get more money. But they'll never shed the stink of losing to their lessers."

end of image description]

#strike #sag aftra #wga strike #ups strike #john rogers #sag strike

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ l went through like a fuck ton of shit [Broke up with my boyfriend of two years, entrance exam, and uh I lost some friends] and 2024’s barely started lol sorry for the late update, i am,,, extremely deep in hurting 👍

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @depresssedcowboy @adorefavv @l0starl @your-girl-mj @nyumeii @iheartamajiki @yoluv-tiannaaa--212 @bakauwu @callsignwidow

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐: 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐎𝐧 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Miles and Eddie make an exchange. A certain nightmare plagues his thoughts. Your insanity unfolds, and so does Miles’ suspicions.

[Warning: Blasphemy, mentioned of fucked up things and crimes, deranged thinking]

MASTERLIST

Previous chapter || Next chapter

“Miles, what would make you hate me?”

The memory was so long ago. Well, to be exact, perhaps it’s been a month or two since it happened. Miles could still so clearly remember the way you leaned your head against the damp wall, your eyes far off into the void of whatever haunted you. At that time, his feelings had been but a spark budding within his chest ever so delicately, a butterfly ripping out of its cocoon in his stomach.

“I don’t know.” Miles whispered into the air. “I don’t think it’s possible to truly hate a person when you know them personally.”

At that moment, you looked at him, with your head half-buried within your hood.

“Why’s that?” You asked, fiddling with the ends of your hoodie.

Miles took a moment to think about how to word his answer.

“When you recognize someone enough to know that they’re not evil people who’d do random shit for shits and giggles, you learn to realize that they’re not really a monster.. At least, not as much as they seem.” His lingering gaze travels towards the ample of your cheek. “I can’t hate you when I know you. You’ve got a name, and you’re somebody’s sister, daughter.. Well, you don’t have to be all that. You just need to be somebody, and you’re somebody to me, and that alone’s the reason why I can never hate you.”

“That’s.. Interesting.” You whispered. “So technically, you humanize your enemies.”

“That’s one weird way to put it, but yeah.”

“But what if it’s a façade?” The words rolled off your tongue seamlessly. “What if.. They’re not exactly the person you thought they were. What if they’ve done more harm than good?”

He thinks about it for a moment.

“It’s not my job to humanize people. People humanize themselves.” Miles answered. “If there’s truly nothing at all about this person that makes them human, or makes me feel like they still have a relatively active conscience inside of them.. I can’t.”

“So you’re saying thay if they’re not human, you’ll hate them?”

“No!” He rapidly shook his head.

“No, ‘cause Miles, I’ll be fair with you. Ion think there’s anything more monstrous than humanity. We are our own enemies. Nothing else causes more pain to a human other than its own body or its own kind, which is why hatred is such a natural thing.”

“Hatred is a natural thing for you, because you grew up only having to think about yourself.”

“Because if not me, then who would?” You spewed. You didn’t mean to sound overtly bitter, but you were. “Unlike you, Miles, my family ain’t the shit. It’s me against the world always— I-If, had I gotten a remote opportunity to care about anyone other than myself, maybe I wouldn’t be this hateful.”

“Well, you got a chance now.”

“How so?”

“You got me.”

You paused, wondering if you’ve heard correctly.

“… I’ve got you?”

Whatever did that statement mean? You’ve heard about a million pick-up lines, but what the hell was this?

“F’course you do. We’re friends.”

Friends.

“Friends?” Just friends?

Miles hums. “Buddies. Amigos.”

Ah, right, that’s how it always starts. Just friends.

Miles snuck his hand into one of his pockets, plucking out something round that you were too lost in your haze to even notice. He seems to fiddle with it for a moment, digging his fingers into its plush before nudging it towards you.

“You want some?”

You turned around and realized he’d peeled you an orange. “.. What.. These are so expensive these days. How’d you even get one?” Your hand reaches out for the fruit, examining its tiny size. You’d heard about the sudden inflation of prices, so fruits inevitably turned into a luxury for most. Miles parts the mandarin and places the larger half on top of your hand.

“.. I stole one from my neighbor’s garden. God did say generous people prosper, so I did him a favor.”

“I’m pretty sure there was a ‘thou shall not steal’ in one of the commandments, Miles.” You laughed, plopping a piece atop your tongue. The tangy, sweet, yet sour flavor bursts right in, making you grimace ever so lightly. “Oh, that’s sour.”

Miles took after you, similarly cringing. “Eugh.”

“It’s probably not all that ripe yet. It’s fine though,” You plopped another into your mouth. “I like oranges— sour things as a whole. They snap me back into life.”

“That sounds sad.” He mumbled, turning to look at you. “Kinda worrying, if you ask me.”

“Well, I wasn’t asking.” You plucked out one of the seeds from your teeth.

“Right, ‘cause you never ask.” Miles took another bite. “You only answer.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know.” Miles shrugged. “I like saying random shit to tick you off.”

You rolled your eyes, trudging your way up from the floor as you staggered from the cold. “Thanks for the orange, Miles.” Running a hand through your hair, you looked out and sighed. He couldn’t help but feel surprised at the lack of your sass.

“You’re welcome, princesa.”

Your brow cringed. “Don’t call me that.”

His finger twitches. He watched as you froze for a moment, turning to look at him. With gentle steps, you approached and leaned down— tufts of your hair brushing against the temple of his forehead. At that moment, he swallows while taking in the scent of your perfume and its ridiculously sweet stench. How could everything about you be so sweet?

You plucked your pen out of his hands. “This is mine.” You reminded of him. Miles didn’t utter a single word til’ your eyes met. Even in the darkness, you saw, but you ignored— well, rather, you tried to ignore it, but it stung.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Miles turned his head, forcibly pushing down the butterflies fluttering like haywire in his stomach.

Hands clammy, heart haywire, eyes unable to meet yours.

“Sure, whatever.”

That day ended there, but Miles knew then. He knew.

Eddie Brock couldn't look past the television store, as his eyes were drawn completely to the news. Not that he couldn't afford a paper, or a gadget of his own— he was simply nervous, figdety, and this ominous pit that holed itself into his stomach unnerved him like a pig carved up for the butcher. He'd known of the news already, honestly, something along the lines of the daily murders and crimes that weren't all too unusual to be fair, and rather than the screen's bright technicolored themes, he was hyper focused entirely on one thing.

The face of Will Barlowe, the almighty senator. Eddie had long been staring at that man's creased, brown skin and slick, blonde hair that was fading into this falsified shade of platinum all because of his whitening strands.

Damn the rich, all of them.

Eddie was no one, like everyone else. A drop of water in the ocean, a needle in a haystack. He was one, like the rest, with the hard workers who carried the economy with their white, blue, pink-collared jobs. He thrived, initially, three years ago. He was an activist then— a journalist in a crisp collared shirt and black dress pants, warning the young about the dangers of climate change, and speaking outwardly in regard to politics.

Now, he was nothing more but a wrinkled jacket-wearing, eccentric and amusing conspiracy theorist scraping the tiniest bits of his dignity to post videos on Facebook or Youtube shorts about how fucked up and dystopian America's grown to become.

When the Prowler, the younger one, decidedly linked him a location allegedly shared by the elites, Eddie wanted to think of it as a chance to shine, to end everything once and for all, and to avenge Anna. For Anna, and for what could’ve been their happy, serene life. But when he arrived, painstakingly clad in plaid while forging the identity of a lost tourist, he was disappointed entirely to find out that the warehouse had been burnt down.

He could still recall the charcoaled crevices of what could’ve been his salvation— that masked boy, the Prowler, promised him salvation in a what-could’ve-been some rich guy’s attempt of a house barbecue.

“Did I make ya wait long?”

A voice reminiscent of a growl. That same shade of neon magenta lingered, popping like a change of color in the melancholy of great Harlem. Eddie tries not to look, but the presence of the boy simmered like fire even as he hung like a spider from the ceiling. He was always like that— the Prowler. The boy was a tall, lanky thing who walked and talked suave. Dominican, he initially assumed. Eddie figured this little vigilante was likely a high schooler with hopes consequently dimmed by the recession.

“Nope.” Eddie attempted to appeal cooly, instead, he only crumbled more. “I’d been watching the news this whole time, tryna check if there was anything about the fire.”

He hears a metal click. “They prolly wouldn’t say nothin’. See, if they didn’t wanna hide it, it’d be all over the television. But it ain’t there, so that means the Chávez’s are hiding the fire from the other families. They prolly paid the witnesses to keep their mouths shut or bribed all the television networks to say it’s some barbecue party gone bad.”

A few passersby couldn’t help but squeak at the sight of the infamous vigilante hanging from a store sign, but they all seemed to know better than approaching him. Trouble was wherever he was, after all, or something the daily bugle said along those lines. They shared glances, sure. Curious, amused glances like how people would marvel at a lion in a zoo.

“It’s,” Eddie finally looked at him. “it’s something ‘bout the Chávez’s?”

With a momentary pause, the Prowler released his grip from the metal poles and dangled down for a second before decidedly letting his feet hit the ground. He was tall— truly, around an inch or two taller than grouchy Eddie. His braids seemed much longer than he’d last seen them. Did he recently get them redone?

“.. That’s right.” Prowler hummed. “.. But we might wanna move some place else to have this conversation, Mr. Brock.”

And where the cat went, curiosity followed down as it made its way to the dark alleyways.

Eddie had a million questions, like any other normal being. The Chávez’s, the Primos, the Barlowes, the Fisks, the Osborns, and all of the other wealthy families connected to one another were all listed down on his kill bill naturally, and he’d been dreaming about the day of crossing out their names with ink made from their blood. Cliché, but a threat either way. Eddie wasn’t a writer, but a journalist anyways. Creativity in terms of wording his hatred was limited and it wasn’t his forte.

“In your past facebook post, you mentioned the Chávez’s briefly,” The boy began, halting by the corner dampened by rain. “I need information about the whole family.”

“… Aren’t you supposed to know the basic information about your enemies?”

“If it were that easy, I wouldn’t be needing your help.” The two white shapes that proxied as his eyes narrowed, grimacing ever so lightly. “There’s little information about them in the black market, and within the scarcity, most of them aren’t factual.”

“They’re rich enough to be able to squander their wealth on silencing people,” Eddie kicked at a can. “Of course no one knows, but I do.”

“How so?”

Picking at something in between his cheek, Eddie sighed a long sigh.

“… My wife worked as their private attorney.”

He watched the boy take a step back. “.. Your wife?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded. “My wife, Anna. She was taught to keep silent about their crimes, and to find a loophole in every case.” A lump formed in his throat.

The Prowler stared. He couldn’t make out whether it was an empathetic or judgmental one. “.. So your wife covered up the Chávez’s crimes?”

“A part of it.” Eddie mumbled. “There’s more to the elite than we know, Anna had to burn her files after every case, so she couldn’t snitch or post them after she quits.”

His head turns. “… I see.”

He sees the boy shift, weirdly, fidgety. He couldn’t particularly describe the unease this young vigilante conveyed. It was almost like he was on the verge of asking something, but his mask made it harder to read what he was desperate to know about.

“.. So can you tell me?”

A simmering silence sunk into the gaps of their conversation.

“What’s in it for me?” Eddie asked, knowing he shouldn’t have, as it was obvious and painstakingly accusatory.

“Why do we have to have transactions when it comes to justice?”

Eddie paced. “Capitalism.”

“Fair point.” The Prowler sighed, rocking on the ends of his neon shoes. “Well, what d’ya want?”

Eddie thinks, and thinks. What could a conspiracy theorist— no, a journalist want? Could he ask for a man’s death? The head of Barlowe? The head of Chávez? Or could that only be achieved after this gamble? He looked at this boy, and Eddie pictured this teenager basking his hands in blood.

What would make him any different from the elites?

“… When you went to the warehouse, you guys.. Took evidence? Even a USB, right?”

He stared. “Yeah, we dug it up and we tried sending it to every news outlet we could find.. All of them rejected the information.”

“Why?” Eddie furrowed his brow. “Was the information incomplete? Did you send the evidence beneath a credible name as a source?”

“Credible name?”

“Yeah, if the information comes from a credible source, they might do something about it. Likewise, if the information is complete, they might take the risk, after all, the Chávez’s are old money, and they have a lot of influence in regard to politics. If they publish anything against them, without complete information, or if you’re just a bunch of trespassers regarded as criminals by the media,” Eddie held out a finger. “Someone will get shot.”

The boy swallowed.

“If not you, if not your partner, it’s the journalist. Always the journalist.”

And Eddie’s seen too much of his co-workers wound up as mere victims in a headline. ‘Journalist shot dead.’

And he didn’t want his name to be reduced to a John Doe in one of the many causes people are too afraid to fight for.

“… I’ll tell you all about the Chávez’s, if you give me the records you stole from the warehouse.”

The Prowler stood, seemingly caught up in his thoughts for a moment. “.. Okay, but I’m telling you, don’t make a large move without consulting me first.”

“I still want my head attached to my head, of course I’ll consult y’all first.” Eddie chuckled, his fingers pouring into his pockets. “Then, what do you want to know about the Chávez’s?”

Without missing a beat, he answered.

“You can give me all you got. Recent scandals, fuck ups.. Perhaps, you got anything from the collapse of the Aureum building three years ago?”

“The Aureum building,” Eddie echoed, reminiscing like a veteran released from war. “That was the messiest thing I’ve ever witnessed in the last ten years. The lawsuits, the bribes, and the social media mayhem—“

“The deaths.” Miles cringed, remembering his father. “Surely, that was the most fucked up thing.”

“Aside from the architecture? Sure.” Eddie pulled out a box of cigars from his pocket, wringing out a single stick. “Weak scaffolding, quick-dry cement.. Put two and two together, and everything collapsed as soon as the opening began.”

Miles wallowed, grimacing at the sight of the habit. “Could it have been planned?”

With a flick of his lighter, Eddie took one breath in and sighed. “Could? There’s no ‘could’, boy, it was planned.”

Planned? Planned by who?

Were the Chávez’s really masters at self-sabotage? Or were their enemies really just each other?

“You see, the Chávez’s specialize in human trafficking, slave trade, and child labor. The people they ship work tirelessly for other businesses without a fee— because we, you and I and the rest of us who had the freedom to earn education, refused to work under hellish circumstances and poor environments. Without us, precisely, without the poor, the rich are nothing.”

“Then the Aureum building?”

“The Aureum building was a cover-up for a bigger scandal.” Eddie tilted his head. “The people inside were likely witnesses, or people who knew about the human trafficking.. And when the building collapsed, they sued the construction companies involved, got the money, but damaged their reputation.. And I don’t see why they’d do all of that just to damage their reputation.”

Miles pondered and pondered.

“.. It was probably someone from inside the family who planned everything.”

“That’s what I think so too.” Eddie added, blowing off another puff of intoxicating smoke. “Someone who won’t suffer from the damaged reputation.. Yet someone who still manages to benefit from it all financially.”

“… Could it be.. Any one of the siblings?”

Eddie takes a step back, likely thinking about it. “.. Well, the other one’s in London, the other one’s too stupid, and the last’s a minor.”

“Minor?” Miles repeated. “How young are we talking?”

“.. Well, the last time I heard about the girl.. She was thirteen, and it’s been three years since then, so she’s probably fifteen to sixteen.”

It’s not as though a thirteen year old could possibly plan out such a meticulous plan… Well maybe, or maybe not, it’s not as though Miles was the only genius capable of great things.

“You know any of their names?”

“Names.” Eddie furrowed his brow. “The last girl’s protected by the law, since it’s illegal to paparazzi minors.. But the first two are Montrell and Anthony.”

Montrell. Mon. Three children. Two older brothers. One girl. Sixteen, sixteen years old just like you.

Miles swallowed.

It’s as though he could feel your hands blocking your vision, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

He falters, alerting Eddie. “What’s wrong?”

“.. My head just hurts.” He mumbled, turning his head. “I think I kinda overworked myself. I still got a date.. Need to.. Rest.”

“Date?” Eddie blew. “That’s right. You’re quite famous, ain’t you?”

Miles rolled his eyes, able to freely express his distaste for the supposed compliment behind his mask. “I try not to be, don’t wanna make her think about it too much. The broad shoulders don’t help as much, though.”

“She know all ‘bout your..” With his cigarette squeezed between his ring, Eddie gestured at him. “Your little vigilante thing?”

Leaning his head against the brick wall, Miles crossed his arms and shrugged. “She better not. Don’t wanna make her daddy even madder.” He lowers his gaze a bit, his mask naturally zooming into the title of Eddie’s cigarette box. It was the same brand as your brother’s, likely a different flavor. Mint or something. Everyone around him smoked too much.

“She from the finer part of York or what?”

“The finest.” He recalls your brother’s luxury car. “.. But I think she’s tryna hide it.”

Eddie plucks the cigar out his teeth, a sort of accusatory yet mundane expression scribbled all over his scruffy face. Eventually, he laughs it off. “That’s all of what’s wrong with our society. The poor pretend to be rich and the rich pretend to be poor. They like romanticizing poverty but likely won’t be able to find comfort if they walked in our shoes for ‘bout a damn mile.”

“She ain’t nun like that.” Miles butted in. “She’s sweet, my girl. Cruel, sometimes, but that’s how ladies gotta be from time to time— seeing as how the world fucks them up every now and then.”

“.. That your first date?” Eddie asked.

“I guess. We’re kissing, but we got no label.”

Eddie scoffed an old man’s scoff. “Your generation’s got me fucked up. Y’all and your situationship bullshittery.”

“It ain’t like that.”

“It’s always like that.” Eddie narrowed his eyes. Miles similarly cringed, wondering how Eddie could be so bitter— having to remind himself seconds later that the man’s poor wife was dead. Dead as hell. As dead as his father. “If she can’t even be upfront about her wealth, she’s likely hiding something from you.”

“My man, I’m lucky she even looked my way. You know nun ‘bout her, don’t be like that.”

“And what if she’s from the oligarchy, huh?” Eddie exaggerated. “What if she’s a Fisk? A Barlowe? Hell, even worse, what if she’s a Chávez?”

Miles didn’t reply.

As the puff of smoke emanated through the damp air, suddenly, Miles pictured you holding a cigarette while grinning at him wickedly— and somehow, that tantalizing air.. Suited you like the slip of a glove.

“I’m just kidding w’ya, man.” Eddie laughed, flicking the cigarette away, crushing it with the sole of his wrinkled boot.

“Ain’t funny, Ed.” Miles grumbled. “People I loved died in Aureum.”

“But she’s still rich, though. You can never be too sure ‘bout the kind of secrets her family’s keeping. If push comes to shove, will you still be able to love her if you do find out that her family’s fucked up?”

“Stop it.” He angrily seethed. “Stop.”

Eddie watched with a certain stank in his eye.

“… Y’know, there’s a rumor that one of the Chávez kids are illegitimate.”

.. Miles left seconds after.

It’d not been his greatest day, and earnestly speaking, his gut’s been clamoring at him to listen, only for him to reject its pleas. He’d thought about listening— to whatever higher being was calling upon him to stray away from you.

His Mama told him to pray throughout his struggles. She’d not been a zealot, his mother. But she was no stranger to the novena, to pray and to call for help in such long days. He’d been subjected to it early on: the novenas, the masses, the lingering of frankincense in the air. Though she never truly coerced him to participate in the church, Miles simply titter-tottered throughout those dull Sunday evenings.

He didn’t want some higher being to stop him from becoming a horrible person; Miles wanted to be good on his own accord.

But you.. You made him question. Not you, but himself.

Though his dad always told him to question everything while he’s young, Miles couldn’t question you. How could ever question you?

An illegitimate child. Which one was it?

Your brothers, who had everything?

Or you, who had nothing?

And although Eddie left the alleyway unscathed, Miles felt that blood had stained his hands.

And you could still taste blood in your mouth.

You could still hear the crunch of that man’s neck echoing in your ears, his tiny pleads of self-preservation before the snap to his death. It rang and rang behind your eyes, between your ears, like a haunting melody you couldn’t help but repeat.

The memory of his fear merely energized your veins, but left you gawking in dauntness even as you worked your way through the hotel— showing Montrell the ropes and tending to the preparations for the upcoming charity event. The snap, the way it snapped— the way his neck snapped was a musical lyric that pulsed and pulsed in your mind.

Snap.

Snap.

ＳＮＡＰ.

The idea of fear intrigued you, cannibalism, however, not so much. The symbiote immensely argued with you, that it wasn’t your body in particular feasting on human flesh, but the symbiote itself. It needed to be fed, and it needed sustenance— but you didn’t know where else to find that sustenance.

“Miss?” Charlotte, the head housekeeper called out to you, snapping you back from the profanities of your mind.

Suddenly, you’re back staring at the new, tall, stained-glass windows— basking you in the glory of pale lights in shades of ethereal yellow and blue. It’s been under construction for quite a while now, but after your father had approved of the idea, you were willing to wait long enough to see its outcome. You’d only gotten the news just a few hours ago in regard to its completion, and now you’ve been staring at it for a while now.

“Yes?” You stifled airily, wallowing in a hundred emotions.

Charlotte bows her head for a moment, unveiling an approaching guest.

Before you could even process to question who it was, Montrell and his gentle eyes appeared before you. He seems to marvel at the windows before you as he takes another step up the stairs.

“Wow,” He huffed. “Is this.. Your design?”

You simply looked at the window with crossed arms and a smile. “I couldn’t forget about the windows when we went to Veronica’s wedding. I liked.. The colors and the drama it endowed.” You smiled, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “.. This was my final project in the hotel.. I’ve done so much to rebrand everything, but we still can’t do much ‘bout what happened in the past.”

The lights dawned upon the both of you.

“Does it hold any special meaning?” He asks.

You shrugged. “It varies on the person, I guess. I think, those who don’t really know me will try to put meaning into all that I do, but those who really know me know that my art is plainly.. Meant for aesthetic.”

Montrell frowned. “How can you make art without passion?”

“.. You pick up a pen.” You carved a smile. “And you just draw.”

You draw, and you draw. Carved it in, like how a knife would pierce a sack of flesh. Murder the canvas with each stroke, and if they ask you ‘why?’, answer with ‘why not?’.

“I think.. Only Miles can place meaning in my art. After all, my passion resides in him.”

“Like a proxy.” Montrell darkly laughed, shaking his head. “.. I wonder how hard you’d break once you lose him.”

You turned your head to look at your brother’s charming face.

“Is that a threat?”

“A warning,” He remarked. “After all, how could he ever love you once he realizes that our family’s responsible for his father’s death?”

You turned your head back to the windows. “… I feel guilty, actually. I don’t really know how to approach Miles if he ever comes to realize my identity.”

“.. Don’t you feel lonely having to constantly push away the people you love?”

You shrugged. “I’m a pretty girl. Pretty girls are never lonely.”

“Sure.”

Montrell looked at you. To be precise, he eyed you, and he looked at the way you casted your eyes downward. From a mile away, one would believe you fostered insecurity and shame in the way you’d stare, but knowing you and the way you were, that downcast gaze of yours imbued disinterest and a heightened sense of.. Superiority.

No matter how hard you try to appear empathetic, you were always and inevitably still a Chávez. Even in the way you pursed your rouged lips, or spoke with eloquence, or held your head high.. You and your siblings, who were forged to become heartless from the beginning, were never bound to be kind.. Or good.

But could Miles do it?

Could he actually change you? Humanize you?

Make you kind and loving, and normal?

You tightened your grip over your arm. “I.. Was going to escape tonight, originally.. For our date. He wanted us to have a halloween date. It’s so dorky. He’s so dorky.” The way you fawned was genuine, though. He could see it so clearly. “But after daddy mentioned the USB, I didn’t know how to face him without feeling guilty.. I came to meet Miles with the intention of using him to get his dead dad’s stuff but I ended up.. Falling for him. I never knew I was capable of feeling like this.”

“.. When we’re too busy to survive, it feels frustrating to have to care for someone else. That’s why our family doesn’t feel like one.” Montrell whispered.

“We’re not a Greek tragedy.”

“Exactly, which would mean,” He turns to you. “You’re likely still savable, [N/n].”

You lightly winced. “.. I haven’t heard that nickname since I was twelve.”

Your brother chuckles at the reminder. “.. We called you that since you couldn’t pronounce your name when you were three.” Montrell heaved a long breath, as though he were a dreamer reminiscing the times. Ah, he truly is a sucker for what’s long gone, huh? “Antonne and I were so excited to have you. Your first word was my name, actually, Mon. I had to sneak up into your cradle every night just to make you practice say my name. Mama used to hold you in her arms whenever I got home from school, and she used to read out my cards with you in her other hands ‘cause you were one energetic kid.”

Oh, so like a normal family?

We were capable of having that this whole time?

…

“[Y/n]?”

You snapped yourself back to reality, Montrell’s voice leading you out of your internal monologue. “Did you hear my question?” He queried. “You kinda zoned out there.”

“Sorry, I was thinking ‘bout something. You were saying?”

“Once you get the USB.. Are you going to leave him?”

The question seemed far fetched from the previous topic, which caught you off-guard. You turn your head. “.. I don’t know. I’d rather make him hate me, and have him leave me first, because I don’t think I can ever bring it upon myself to leave him.”

Such a romantic.

“Do you think you can handle it?”

“.. It’s not a question of whether I can handle it, it’s a question of whether Miles can handle it.”

Montrell murmured. “.. What if he gets revenge?”

“Revenge?” You repeated, the idea sounding funnily dramatic. “Revenge on me? I didn’t throw that building over his father’s head.”

“Ah, yes, but there’s a thing called karma.” Montrell spoke as thought to remind you. “It’ll be out there to get you, or at least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

You couldn’t help but aimlessly ponder. “… Why do poor people believe in futile things such as karma?”

The way you worded it, and the way it exited your tongue seemed unusually natural. Montrell, who’s been too used to such words, only shrugged. “Cause there’s nothing else to save them. That’s why they have a god, [Y/n]. They can’t save themselves, and so that’s why they believe something otherworldly will.”

Before you could speak, Montrell looked out into the glass windows before turning to you.

“Speaking of which, I think you should use daffodils for the upcoming party.”

“.. Daffodils?” You repeated.

Your brother nods. “Yes. I find them to be quite lovely.”

Since when did he have an interest in flowers? You internally squirmed. “Where the hell am I going to get daffodils in autumn?” You groaned. “We can use other yellow flowers for the golden theme.”

“Well, you’re not in charge anymore.” Was his attempt of a tease. “Surely there are still daffodils here in this season. We’ll have to find the best greenhouse in town.”

“But why?”

“Because I said so.”

You sweetly casted a glance at him, smiling as a thought crowed at you.

A sharp pain shoots through Miles’ head. A pulsing, familiar pain— resembling a bullet, dove straight into his subconscious.

He stumbles back as darkness clouds his vision, a sort of slithering and slimy feeling coursing through his system like a snake seething beneath his skin. His heart was hammering against his chest. It was like that time during the warehouse, where he felt genuinely uneasy and unsettled. The eyes of that figure behind the window, watching him tremulously stare back.

In the cage of his mind, Miles finds himself inside a dark void— where the silence was loud enough to hear the sound of a pin drop.

Then there was this drumming.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The melody was unfamiliar, but the voice nostalgic. Miles crawled amidst the darkness, searching for the voice, only to look up and catch the sight of a pristine, delicately made shoe. It kicked against the front of a desk, making a rhythmic pattern. Thump. Thump. Thump. With each passing moment, his eyes continued to linger upward, from the shoe, to a leg, to a waist, to your pretty face.

You sat there, above the desk, with your pretty hair and your pretty eyes, puckering up your pretty lips along with the song. You were so idly calm, so leisure while singing so softly, he could hardly make out the words exiting your mouth. A dim, green light cascaded against the silhouette of your figure, further accentuating the pink of your lips and the darkening of your gaze.

You smiled, but your eyes held nothing. Like you never knew what kindness was, even in his presence. You never looked at him like that before— like you hated him enough that you wanted him to die.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The thumping was growing faster and faster with each second. Upon seeing his struggle, a stifled laugh laces the lyrics.

Miles tried to move, but his whole body writhed in pain— like he was beaten, defeated. His arms itched in burns and scars. With the sound of your hum, Miles looks up, only to see you cross your arms before your chest, the tip of your shoe gently grazing against the skin of his temple. He feels as though he was being watched, idly, by an audience that had no interest at all in intervening. Like everyone was amused to see him.. Kneeling before you.

Click. Click. Click. The cutter clicked in your palm as the blade rose higher.

It’s like your presence alone was enough to blind him, and his conscience kept crawling back to you no matter how hard it tries to stray.

Really, who are you, [Y/n]?

Why was it whenever you lingered in his dreams, you were the cruelest person to exist?

And why was it that Miles knew that he’d probably still adore you with your hands around his neck?

“.. Miles?”

From a gentle shuffle, Miles awoke to the sound of his mother’s voice.

Miles jolted up, his skin half drenched with cold sweat. Unfortunately enough, his awakening was nothing avian. On the contrary, his awakening felt like a somber chore. The material clung onto him like glue, making him utter a groan. For a while, he helplessly looked around like a child lost between rows of linoleum aisles, his mind hopping from question to question. 'What just happened? What was I dreaming of?'

Like some hungover drunkard, he gently peeled himself away from the sweat-stained sheets and begrudgingly sat upright. Rio’s gentle hand cradled his aching head.

“Rest, mijo, you’re exhausted.”

“Mama, I—“ He broke, running a damp hand over his head. For a moment, he flinches, checking to see if his hands were covered in blood. “What happened?”

His mother’s dark curls lightly brushed against his temple. Her eyes were just as exhausted as he was, with dark circles rimming the doeness of her gaze. “I got home to you taking a nap but you kept squirming. I was so worried. Que paso?”

He looked around, realizing he’d dropped himself unconscious atop the sofa.

“.. Nightmare.”

Night terrors, to put it precisely. It’s been haunting him since the death of his father three years ago. He thought they’d long vanished after meeting you, but after his suspicions arose, his anxiety came crawling back like a dreadful stench.

Rio handed him a glass of water, to which he gulped down to its very last drop— like he’s been thirsting for all his life.

“Mama,” He called out. “… What do I do?”

His loving mother creased her brow, shaking her head. “What is it, mijo? What’s wrong?”

He runs his hand over his face, wondering how to begin. At that moment, Miles recalls your sweetest smiles, your loudest laughs, and your warmest hugs.

You held his hand, dragged him out of that maze, and you vandalized the hotel together. You tore yourself away from the expectations of your family, and went to him.

You chose him.

But could he go so far to assume that you loved him?

Rio shifted comfortably, trying to appear more welcoming to whatever catastrophe Miles was about to unleash. “What’s wrong, Miles?”

Miles couldn’t even admit it to himself, though he’d long noticed, he preferred to remain ignorant ‘til the truth was spilled from your own lips.. But he didn’t know how much longer he could last. Blood runs thicker than water, but both feel the same when your eyes are closed— and that could mean many things.

“A lot, ma.” He buried his head into his hands. “And Ionno if I could deal with it all.”

“You don’t have to deal with everything, Miles.” Rio frowned. “You’re only fifteen. Eres demasiado joven. Con el tiempo todo se arregla.”

“Me duele la cabeza.”

“Ponte vaporub.” Rio stood to grab the small, blue ointment. As she unscrews its green cap, Miles was immediately hit with its loud, minty scent. Digging her fingers into the substance, Rio smears the vaporub all over Miles’ forehead. “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.”

He lightly moved away with a sigh. “I’m not a kid anymore, ma.”

“I’m your mother, you’ll always be my kid.” As the cooling sensation sunk into his skin, he felt his mother’s palm cup his cheek. “And since you’re my kid, I always get worried about you. I know we ain’t got nothing much, but we got each other, Miles. You’re a great kid bound to achieve great things.”

He wasn’t too sure about that. That whole great kid thing. You had your fingers entangled all over his puppet strings, and it made him hesitate.

But what if that was exactly your plan? To ruin him entirely for your benefit?

“.. Ma, what would you do if the person you liked lied to you about their identity?”

Rio sat in silence.

“.. Que?”

Ah, fuck. That’s a stupid question.

“Nothing.” Miles turned his head. “Sorry, that was a stupid question—“

“No, Miles. I didn’t mean to— I just, you like someone? A girl?”

Miles shifted uncomfortably. Rio softened. “A boy?”

“No, ma!” He exclaimed, embarrassed. “I-It’s a girl. I like a girl.. Por los clavos de Cristo.”

“Oh, I was preparing myself.” Rio placed a hand over her heart. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d accept you no matter what, I just didn’t have a long wonderful speech prepared for it.. But what’s wrong with the girl?”

“Well, ma, it’s just..”

“Did she cheat on you!?”

“No! We’re not even together yet, ma. We were gonna have our first date today, but.. But her family’s been treating her horribly, and her older brother picked her up while we were out buying costumes for our halloween date only for him to directly tell me that it ain’t happening.”

“And then?”

“She talked ‘bout her dad throwing a fit, and now she hasn’t replied the whole day.” He slipped his fingers through his hair. “I even woke up at six in the morning just to get my braids redone at Tasha’s… And they invited me to a party at their house on Sunday.”

“Sunday? Then— that’s great!” Rio exclaimed, placing her hands over her son’s shoulders. “That would mean they’re open to getting to know you. Well, I think you can borrow some of your dad’s old clothes for the party, you two look great in suits anyway.”

“W-Well, ma, that ain’t entirely the problem, she’s..” He swallowed. “Ma, I think she comes from a very rich family.”

“Okay, and?” Rio raised a brow. “Did she ever make you feel inferior for having superior wealth?”

“.. No? Well, she’s been trying to keep it on the down low this whole time, but.. Whenever I see her, she acts so.. Proper and polite when she don’t even notice it. And her brother’s British too, and I— Ionno how the hell that happened, but he sound like the type to spit out tap water if I ever brought him to a restaurant.”

“Well, you’re dating the girl, Miles, not her brother.” Rio sighed. He thinks of it for a moment, then shrugs. Only then he notices his mother’s wide smile, her shoulder nearly glued onto his.

“So.. Who’s the girl?”

Miles fiddled awkwardly, unsure how to answer. Rio seemed adamant for an answer, so, after a while of internally mustering up sentences, Miles replied. “Her name.. [Y/n].”

“Mhm.”

“She uh.. Sixteen. I-I met her three months ago.. And we started doing graffiti together since then.”

“Oh, so she’s an artist?”

Miles gaped. “S… Sum like that, yeah.”

Your art varied. Your colors were blander while his, more vibrant. But there was something about the way you drew, that was so meaningfully realistic that it captured entirely how your mind pondered in its darkest moments. An art style that captured entirely the darkest of what life could bring.

He remembers going through your sketchpads, how your dabbles consisted of dull realism. Maybe it was only dull because it was exactly what New York’s become— cold and calloused.

But in contrast, you were able to set his world on fire in a way he’s never seen. Only you could paint over the dullness with scarlet, in a way that had him choking from the smoke emanating from your fire.

But he couldn’t tell his mother the way you’ve worsened him.

His mother wouldn’t let him get too close to someone as bright and dangerous as you.

“Why haven’t you mentioned about her before? I could’ve helped!” Rio tossed her dark curls to the side. They’d always reminded him of the dark sea. “Es puertorriqueña? Puede hablar español?”

“No,” Miles thinks about it for a minute. “I-Ionno, actually. She never told me anythin’ bout it, but she can’t speak Spanish so I ain’t sure.”

Rio attempted, no she really did try to attempt— to hide her disappointment. Were her grandkids bound to forever be free of her culture? How saddening.

“Pero creo que ella está estudiando español.”

“Oh?”

“Sí.” Mile seemed to lightened up. “She’s so cute. She can’t even pronounce ‘roja’.”

“But she’s trying.” Rio could not be any happier. “She’s trying! Eso es bueno! Ella ya me gusta. Not everyone tries these days, you know.”

He wondered if his mother was faking her enthusiasm just to ease him. He’d expected her to be more.. Angry about it.

“.. I’m surprised you’re not upset, ma.”

“Upset?” Rio furrowed her brows. “Miles, how could I get upset? You’re experiencing what every other teenager experiences, that’s great!.. I know you’ve been trying to act like an adult to help us, and you’ve given up so much just to keep us afloat. I’ve been getting worried that you’ve been focusing too much with adult responsibilities that you’re forgetting that you’re just a kid. You’re allowed to go around and be a kid. You’re allowed to like a girl— so long as she’s not a bad influence.”

Miles pushes back the thought of you being a smoker.

“She’s not a bad influence. She’s.. Just going through a lot.. She makes me happy, ma.”

Rio looked at him proudly. Only then, she wondered if her dearest husband ever brooded like this too upon realizing his feelings for her. She wondered if Jeff ever pouted the way Miles did, and looked out into the world with such admiration in his eyes as though he were shaping the void into an image of her.

Jeff loved, and thus, Miles could love too.

“If she makes you happy, then I’m happy.” She beamed. “So long as she’s not a brat or an alcoholic, or a racist, or any of those bad people, I’ll accept her.”

The mother shared a loving glimpse of her son, making out an image of her late husband in the way he smiled. Suddenly, she pats her lap and stands up. “Bueno, I’m making adobo.”

“I can help—“

“No, sit down, you’re tired.” Rio held out a finger. “Take a rest, Miles.”

“But Ma—“

“Rest.”

And he did.

Well, he tried. It was a subtle attempt. A poor one, at that. He sat upright by the sofa, listening to his mother chop up the potatoes. He tries to discreetly look into your messages, only to find you’ve finally texted back.

her ♡ || two minutes ago.

sorry i haven’t texted!! 😭😭

remember the party this sunday? my dad is making me help with the preparations so i couldn’t go to our date

i’m really sorry 🥺 don’t get mad

if you want, we can do it tomorrow.

Miles pouted. He didn’t want to reply immediately. He didn’t want to look desperate.

So he waited for another five minutes.

.. Even though you made him wait for six hours.

He switches the television on in attempt to distract himself from your message.

‘Last night, a horrific murder happened within Brooklyn, as the body of a beheaded man was discovered outside of a local bodega. Witnesses claim that an alien disguised as a teenage girl had ripped off, and eaten the man’s head.’

“The hell?” Miles burrowed his brows upon being greeted with the news on television. “An alien?”

He watches as the screen switches over towards one of the witnesses, a scruffy man with reddened eyes— evidently too lost in whatever he was taking to speak too calmly.

“.. They’re prolly high as hell.”

‘I’m ain’t even [censored] with y’all— some [censored] ripped off Kyle’s head— it was a horrific looking piece of [censored] made out of black goo or whatever the [censored]. The government’s [censored] making alien [censored]!

‘So far, there have been no records of the scene, as the cameras had been blacked out.’

“What the f—“ Miles grew mindful of his language upon realizing his mother was in the other room. “How the hell did that even happen!? Blacked out my ass.”

It was more or less, likely a murder related to the elites. One of their kids must’ve been hanging out with those junkies and killed a man for fun.

A phone begins to ring. Miles turns his head.

“Miles, can you get that for me?” He heard his mother, who was too busy chopping up something, call out.

He turns off the television, hops out of the sofa and heads straight into his mother’s room. As he flicks the light open, a king-sized bed greets him with its gray, large glory. He used to jump on that bed too much when he was a kid. Now, it looked.. Desolate, and almost deserted. With how large the bed was, he couldn’t help but ponder how lonely his mother must’ve felt, sleeping in a bed less warmer than three years ago.

Miles passes by the closet, and after foraging for a bit, he manages to find his mother’s phone atop a drawer— swiftly grabbing the gadget before turning to leave.

As he turns, his foot accidentally nudges against a box.

He peers through it, before kicking it away.

Making his way back to the kitchen, he hands the ringing phone over to his mother before curtly returning to the room to close the lights.

But as his hands reached out towards the switch, his eyes were drawn back to the sight of the box.

It looked like it’d been cast aside beside the closet.

Hearing his mother speak over the phone lightheartedly, something about something. Miles trudges towards the orange, cardboard box, kneeling by the floor with a single knee down on the wood. His hand curiously glazes over the top, feeling a pile of dust collect over his fingers.

Hesitantly, he takes off the lid, finding a familiar white, collared shirt. He pulls it up to the ceiling light and watches as it unfolds into a larger sheet.

This belonged to his father’s.

He looks right back into the box, finding a pair of black, dress pants neatly folded into a square. Meekly, he tugs on it, hoping he wouldn’t uncover anything sinister like a severed hand or an eyeball. After pulling the whole thing out, a longer line of black unravels.

A strange array of emotions lingered inside him.

Nostalgia. Wrath. Happiness.

It smelled like dust, and it was forever devoid of its owner’s scent and warmth.

“Miles, do you want juice?”

“Huh? Y-yeah.” He stammered. “Grape juice would be nice.”

His mother’s comment slips past his ears. For a moment, he pondered about wearing this to the Sunday party, but he couldn’t help but think how it likely wouldn’t fit him. His father was a giant, and he was quite lanky.

Upon hearing his mother’s footsteps, Miles hurriedly and clumsily attempts to refold the clothes, only then hearing a soft clatter. He pivots his head to the side.

There was a USB.

“For the florals, I think daffodils would be great.”

Your hands skimmed across the air in attempt of drafting an idea. From afar, you manage to earn a wider view of the banquet hall. Workers left and right helped with tidying up the refectory, scrubbing up windows and mopping up the floors. “It would match the golden theme, don’t you think?” You asked of Charlotte, who nodded wobbly with her dire age.

As of that moment, you’d been preparing for the layout of the party. As much as you didn’t want to listen to Montrell’s suggestion, you figured getting on his bad side would be a bad move.

The fundraiser, originally hosted by your aunt, was planned out to gather enough money to support Senator Barlowe’s projects. Your family was to auction off high-priced materials such as clothes, jewelry, paintings, and even estates for the sake of meeting the goal. Which would also mean that the highest of the elite would be attending the party.

And you were less than thrilled to be its co-host.

Charlotte marvels at your suggestion, taking it with a smile but a pique. “However, daffodils can’t usually be placed with other flowers, so I’ll have to make a special request to the florist to do the preparations extensively.”

You raised a brow. “Why can’t they be placed together with other flowers?”

One of the maids carrying a porcelain vase walk past you, making you gently remind her to put it aside.

Charlotte parts her palms. “They secrete toxins into the water. So whenever it’s placed among other flowers, the rest die.”

“Oh,” You widened your gaze, processing this newly found information. “How did you know that?”

Charlotte blinked, trying to think back. “.. Well, daffodils were used for your mother and father’s wedding. It was a struggle, since the day of the wedding, half of the bouquet had already wilted.”

You stood back in surprise, crossing your arms before your chest. “Mama must’ve been furious.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Your father plucked flowers out from the gardens and made her a bouquet himself.”

Wait. What? WHAT?

Wow, who knew your daddy was quite the romantic?

I’m just as shocked as every other person.

“M-My father?” You dumbly repeated. “My father plucked out the flowers himself? Or was it Mr. Nigel?”

“Your father, himself, Miss.” Charlotte laughed, finding your shock to be quite amusing. “He’s quite great at it too— flower arrangement. Your grandmother taught him from an early age.”

“My father truly arranged the bouquet for him and mama’s wedding?” You couldn’t believe your ears. “He has that sort of talent?”

“Why, of course!” She beamed a warm beam. “Like you, he used to oversee the interior of the hotel. He has great taste when it comes to color, and you’ve inherited that side of him.”

You tried to think about it, your father— who was now an old man with a permanent sneer on his wrinkled lip— arranging flowers in his youth, picking out pastel and cream curtains for the parties, and overseeing the menu. It didn’t seem like something he’d do, at all. Then again, your mother used to describe him in a way that made it tragic.

A good man, never a good father. Torn between yearning to be held in arms that never welcomed him and finding his worth beyond the standard of his own father.

You tried to sympathize with him. Your father.

Though he was who he was, he cared about you, in a twisted, fucked-up way. Your engagement with Richard Fisk was privately decided after the hotel went near-bankrupt had it not been for the Fisks and their mystical talent for cover-ups— and your father simply took most of your managing rights away just so the family you’d marry into wouldn’t use you for their own greed.

The fate wasn’t entirely horrible either. You’d marry into new money, sure, but their wealth would most definitely preserve the comfortable life you’re living right now.

It was your own greed that was worsening you.

Your desire to have a tantamount of power.

But what if you never needed it?

“Miss!”

What if all you needed was a peaceful life? Marry into the Fisks, host parties, and care no more about anything?

“Miss [Y/n]!”

.. But what about Miles?

He hadn’t answered any of your texts yet.

“Miss [Y/n], a call.” One of your secretaries came crashing through the doors with his phone. How you hated that word. Call. A signal of what would definitely exhaust you. Where was Montrell? Why weren’t they calling out for him? Were you really the only one able to handle all the messes in here? Workers left and right stopped as he trudged up the stairs, nearly tossing the phone over to you. You slip it close to your ear, making your way down with each click of your heel.

Charlotte watches as you listen to the caller with such intent. Silently, you eyed your surroundings before heading out.

As you reached the patio, you looked out into the dimming violet evening that was fading out along with the scarlet of the sun. The caller rambles on, something along about the recent incident.

“I’ve bribed the higher-ups to rush the investigation and to arrest the witnesses. We’ll release the story that they had murdered their friend after taking drugs.”

“Good.” You plucked out your vape from your pockets. “Report to me immediately once you find all the records about their families and their identities.”

“Understood.” You hear the sound of Morrison’s computer typing. Likely writing up a list. “I’ve also halted the investigation of the fire. I’ve told your father the information was tracked from an accidental leak after a delivery of the samples to one of the families had the address exposed. Sir Anthony will have to take up the blame since it was his idea.”

You took a long huff. “Good job. You did well.”

The smoke lingers, and you close your eyes.

Sorry, Antonne. You’ll live, I guess.

“Morrison,” You called out to him. “.. How’s Miles?”

The typing comes to a halt. For a moment, the two of you shared a moment of silence. You picture him pushing his glasses up higher off the bridge of his nose.

“.. I’ve spent most of my attention on other things, so I haven’t been able to check up on him yet.”

“Ah, is that so?” You mumbled. “Never mind then, just continue on with halting the investigation. I’ll take care of the rest, and remember, if any of the witnesses start describing my face—“

Clack.

You turned your head.

What was that?

ＳＯＭＥＯＮＥ‘Ｓ　ＨＥＲＥ

No shit.

Beyond the gardens, the skies were beginning to dim. That familiar shade of magenta, it lingered like a ghost and it haunted you like your past. There was a click that set your mind off, and suddenly you couldn’t help but feel like the world was integrating itself into a technicolor, dotted comic.

Then and there, spying on you from the top of the six Corinthian columns of the garden, sat the young Prowler.

“Miss [Y/n]? You were saying?” Morrison pried from you.

You parted your phone from you ear, a side of your grin heightening into a catty smirk.

“… If any of them start describing my face, take care of it.”

Then and there, you ended the call with one light tap. You remained stubborn with your posture, seemingly amused and befuddled by it all while keeping your head high. The boy watched you curiously but stiffly, as if he were unsure of what to do. You were mutually frozen, but you couldn’t allow any sort of weakness to seep through the cracks of your confidence.

You took a step close, and he tenses. The sound of your heel clicking against the tiles sends an echo into the garden.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You greeted of him with sincere politeness, placing a hand over your hip. Was it an attempt to appear idle or what? “… It’s quite an honor to have you here as a guest.”

“Who are you?” The boy growled, voice delved baritones deep. “Really.”

You tilted your head.

“Who would you like me to be?”

His gauntlet unfolds, and suddenly, he launches himself at you, grabbing you by the neck.

[A/n: I PASSED MY FUCKING ENTRANCE EXAM GUYS]

#miles morales #42 miles morales #42 miles morales x reader #astv x you #miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #astv miles #astv x reader #astv x y/n #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 prowler #earth 42 miles morales x female reader #earth 42 miles fluff #astv #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #miles morales prowler #miles morales x y/n #prowler miles #miles morales 1610 #d

[nightdivinity]

Drink Responsibly! Prologue

ABO!Vampire!Batfam x reader

Minors! Do! Not! Engage! +18 only.

Platonic! Alfred, Bruce x reader, Possessive! Batboys x reader

Warnings: Alcohol, bad choices, stupid choices, possessive behavior, a/b/o fic, there is slight blood and gore, it's a vampire au, age gaps, because they're all significantly older, it's going to get suggestive from here on out, reverse harem, slight proofreading

Writer's Note: I want to thank @sophiethewitch1 for inspiring me and talking me through posting my writing. I hope it doesn't let you down! This is also my first time posting my writing on Tumblr, please be gentle. English is not my first language. Also, this is a why choose fic. So, it's Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian x reader. Maybe even Duke. I think four is a lot. Got to draw the line somewhere. Chapter 2 will be posted tomorrow.

It was midnight when you finally stumbled out of the latest club. Your heels were long gone, as you had taken them off the first time they got stuck in a grate. You’re pretty sure you handed them to a nice girl in the bathroom while her friend held your hair as you threw up copious amounts of alcohol and bar food. She had been super nice, you liked the way her short black hair was spiked, and her blonde friend’s eyeliner was superb. Anyways, now you are shoeless and desperately looking for the next bar on your crawl.

Gin’s. Ooh, that’ll do. You reach out and grab your friend’s bicep, point at the neon sign, and do vague gestures. Of course, your friend is not as well off as you are, so it takes a while to get your point across. Only they start crying again over their bullshit bar fling, and the fact you have no shoes.

It didn’t matter, none of it truly mattered. Not a single thing. This was your one night off after weeks of back-to-back grueling shifts at a job that doesn’t care whether you live or die. Yesterday you even took a quick unintentional power nap on the toilet. All of this resulted in you being slightly crazed and a little deranged as your night progressed.

But hey, Gotham just brings that out in people. In your job's defense, no one could take any more sick or inclement weather days thanks to all the random villain attacks next to or at your office. You blame the monthly rut.

At least you didn’t get stuck on the subway taped to a bench by the Riddler this week as he awkwardly rifled through a notebook of pickup lines. Life was certainly looking up.

See, unfortunately, or fortunately depending on the propaganda you consumed, you were born an Omega. Which had never truly been an issue. Except for the fact that thanks to a few foul choices from the government, it was getting harder and harder to get access to affordable pheromone blockers. You wouldn’t have even chanced this outing if you hadn’t found that one pill that rolled a little under your cabinet. Hey, you were desperate for a night out.

“I’m going there”, you slur.

Yes, this was asinine, but you still managed to wheel yourself and your friend to Gin’s. You hardly noticed the dark shadows following you as your friends from the bathroom quietly herded you. As you and your friend jaywalked across the street, you didn’t notice the red-headed woman standing in the middle of the road, blocking traffic from actually hitting you. It also barely registered when the nice boy with flashing gold eyes took your hand and led you past the line and directly to the front. This. Was. Your. Night. Out.

“Hey man, she can’t come in here with no shoes”, the bouncer at the door complains.

He was going to say more until he looked at the man holding your hand so nicely. You could hear the slight choking noise, and in your drunken stupor, you stumbled a little into your guide.

“He’s going to shit himself”, you stage-whisper. Or what you think was whispering. You were screaming over the pounding bass spilling out of the door.

                “Shhh, Jackson, she’s with me”, your guide replies.

                “She can come in, her friend can’t. Sorry Duke, they’re way too fucked up”, the bouncer swears.

                You gasp and let go of Duke’s hand, instead reaching for your friend and pulling them tight into your embrace. While smashing their face into your chest. Even though you were the most drunk you’ve ever been, you didn’t miss the spike in pissed-off Alpha vibes that happened around you. Still, you smacked a hand against your friend’s ear in an effort to protect them from what was said. Then you got sidetracked by their hair. It reminded you that you wanted a pet. Although with your work and class schedule, it would probably die in a week. Three days tops. At least you had your emotional support friend.

                “I can’t leave them alone”, you say.

                “Hun, how about I call them an Uber, they look like they’re ready to pass out. They definitely can’t handle it anymore”, Duke replies.

                He gestures towards your friend, and you notice how they’re slowly swaying on their feet. Eyes half closed. Shit. It would be shitty if you left them passed out somewhere in the bar as you danced and drank. They were already on their fourth wind and fading fast.

                “Look, you see this nice car”, Duke continues.

                He turns you three, and suddenly you notice the nice black town car next to the road. You vaguely register the fact that it’s one of those high-roller cars. Ones that only the richest in Gotham could afford.

                “See, this is Killian, he works for Wayne Enterprises. He’ll make sure your friend makes it home. I’ll even have him text you when they get there. Won’t that be nice? You don’t have to worry at all (y/n).”, he tells you.

                You nod, and it all makes sense somehow in your drunken brain. He knows your name, so obviously you know him. He also knows your friend, since he rattles off their address and gently pries them from your clutches before handing them off to Killian.

You pay no mind to the mention of a name that would have sent shivers down your spine normally. Wayne. Mysterious and dangerous to all who get involved.

                “I need them back, don’t sell their organs”, you warn.

                Then he gives you a tight brisk smile as he turns away from you. A persistent thought is starting to nag its way through the cotton in your head. The slightest unsettling feeling. Maybe there was something wrong with that blocker pill you found on the floor of your kitchen. You were certainly feeling as though there were a lot of pissed-off Alphas near you. The undercurrent of anger was a tang you couldn’t escape. More and more you felt the need to run somewhere dark and quiet to hide.

                You ignore the persistent tugging by Duke as you watch your friend get loaded into the car and driven away. Well. That ends that.

                The next time Duke tugs on your hand, it causes you to slightly stagger. He easily catches you and spins you around and through the door before you can protest.

                “Can I have a Rum and Coke?”, you shout over the music.

                “Yeah totally”, Duke shouts back.

                It’s only until you are tugged past the bar that you realize that everything is not all sunshine and daisies. No. No. This is wrong. You want to go back.

                You put your heels in. Duke was not ready for resistance as your hand slid out of his grasp on the way to the V.I.P. section. He turns around to get a better hold of you, only to watch you slip into the crowd and get lost in the sea of swaying bodies. Fuck. He was told to bring you to them. You still had to be here, there’s no way you could have bumbled off far. Shit. One job.

                Duke ran a palm over his face as he scanned the crowd. There’s no doubt in his mind. Bruce was going to be pissed. He wasn’t supposed to know about your little excursion out. Everyone had agreed, they would watch over you as the day turned. You still weren’t used to Gotham; you didn’t know the sort of creatures that came out during the night. While the rest of the world was happy and filled with normal and meta shifters, Gotham was overflowing with the less-than-stable. All more than happy to take a bite out of the innocent. The only thing that kept it in check was the unspoken King and his disgraced hellions.

If you had been sober, you would have noticed the people slowly disappearing from the crowd. You would have noticed that tonight was absolutely not a good night to be out. One by one, shrieks of fear and pain were mistaken for fun. Jostling in the crowd was hardly registered as the violence spread. The whole night, you were in a sea of sharks feeding. Now you had finally ditched what you didn’t know was your only protection.

                 Not to worry, fear splashes hot and cold against your nerves as sharp claws grip your arm, your back slamming into the bar as a distended jaw hisses open in front of you.

                Yeah. Maybe you should have been drinking responsibly.

#abo batfam x reader #vampire batfam x reader #batfam x reader #how many tags am i supposed to be making #is this yandere? I'm going to go ahead and tag it #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfam #I'm dying from all this #Can and will be crying later

[phoenixkaptain]

Gotta be honest, the idea that Luke wouldn’t send a child alone in an X-wing with only a droid for company is funny to me.

Like, we’re talking about the same Luke, right? The one who spent years bulls-eyeing womp rats and took the experience from that to then blow up the Death Star? The one who was like “This is a trap… I’m gonna walk right into it.” The one who was like “I will rescue my dear friend by waltzing in without a disguise and being as obnoxious as possible.” “How do we get out of this situation? How about we convince these small bear creatures that our droid is a god, that will probably work.” “I know Darth Vader is a murderer who murdered my Ben and is trying to murder me and all, but he is also my dad and therefore I love him.”

Luke would send a child in an X-wing without even fucking thinking about it! Do you REALLY think LUKE SKYWALKER is a reasonable human being?? Are you honestly trying to tell me that this man who has been driving the same fucking ship for like ten years would understand how dangerous it is to put an unsupervised child in a vehicle??? Do you really honestly truly think that Luke knows how to care for children????

You see, a lot of people like to portray Luke as perfect. And this is the same issue I have with people who portray Obi-Wan as perfect, or Yoda, or Mace, or literally any character in all of Star Wars because the whole point is that the are flawed human beings!

But it’s ESPECIALLY egregrious with Luke because I don’t know where any of you got this idea that Luke is a sweet summer child??? This man has a death count of over one million. This man had Seen Some Shit that it is literally impossible not to be affected by. Why do so many people assume that Luke at the end of the Trilogy is the same as Luke at the beginning of the Trilogy? He’s changed! He’s a different person! That’s what makes the Original Trilogy such a good trilogy!! It’s basic storytelling!!! A character canNOT be at the same place mentally as when they began the story, or else it’s not a good story!

But also, I hate the way this colours shipping fics with Luke. Like, listen. There is no ship where Luke should be the straightman of the relationship. Luke Skywalker just is not normal. He’s weird, he’s deranged, he’s so strange; he cannot be a straightman, it just doesn’t work. It’s so completely out of character it isn’t even funny.

The joy of shipping Luke is that every single thing that you can ship Luke with will come out the other sode looking rational.

Han Solo is a smuggler who hangs out with a Wookiee and who does extremely dangerous, stupid shit, but next to Luke?? Rational. Normal. Someone who uses their brain, Luke, take notes-

Din Djarin is a bounty hunter who decided that he would rather destroy an entire group of highly dangerous men than give up the cute kid he just found. But compared to Luke? At least he has equipment on him!

Mara Jade literally was mind-controlled by the Emperor and was Darth Vader’s coworker and was also a Jedi (something that no rational person would be honestly) and even she comes across as normal compared to Luke Skywalker.

I know this is rambly and disjointed and I know people disagree with me, but like??? Yes, I think Luke is great with kids. Yes, I think Luke is a good teacher. Yes, I think Luke is the type of person to wave goodbye as an infant flies off in his warship. I think Luke is the type of person who would throw a child into the air way too high and then catch them. Where did the idea that he’s the responsible parent come from? Luke is teaching infants how to use laser swords, do you REALLY THINK that’s what a responsible parent would do????

#luke skywalker #star wars #star wars original trilogy #the mandalorian #dinluke #hanluke #maraluke #grogu #din djarin #han solo #mara jade #i keep seeing people treat luke like he is a preschool teacher #and i also view him as a preschool teacher #but not the preschool teacher who is seventy eight and croons about how good her darlings are doing #no luke is the preschool teacher who eats sticks with his students #he is absolutely unhinged and this is just a canon fact #luke skywalker would not see anything wrong with a baby flying an x wing #it just isn’t in character for him to think that’s weird #he was going to give the baby a laser sword #do you think he would draw the line at a gun ship #the inane ramblings of a madman #ranting #long post

[ultralightpoe]

Blood of my Blood- Aemond Targaryen

Authors Note: This is my first Aemond imagine. There will be a couple more  parts  (not long of a wait since I have already started the next part). Any hate will not be tolerated but I do hope you guys like it. Reader is written as a female. I do take requests so feel free to send some in.

Warnings: Smut, a little angst, beginning of a deranged Aemond. Next part will be terrifying for him 

Word Count: 3,328 (lmao. I went hard on this one) 

Description: Aemond falls in love with a woman already married. Not that anything ever gets in his way. 

Part 2     Part 3

            Life had been dull. That was the best word Aemond had been able to use to explain his life. Dull, empty, utterly useless. 

            He was the second born son, fourth born child. Even if something happened to his spoiled sister he would still not be a contender for the throne. There were her shit kids, and then his brother, then whatever heir his brother would provide. 

           Aemond could only really be thought of as useless. 

           So he trained, fought, and killed. Over and over and over. Any days he spent at Kings Landing were in the gardens listening to his older sister talk to herself and or barging in on council meetings in order to make something of himself.

          Dull, boring. The only thing he truly loved was flying with Vhagar. 

         But then…..then there was you.  

          The sun was shining the day you arrived, it had left a soft sheen of sweat across his skin that the wind dried off when he took Vhagar out for a bit of freedom that day, he liked to make sure she got her flight in everyday. The bastards could think he stole her all they want, but a dragon chooses its rider just as they choose their dragon. It’s a calling. 

         Vhagar was his, and he knew that she desperately craved an early morning flight everyday. 

          He had returned earlier that morning than normal, there was a lord to be arriving to court and it was important that the entire royal family be there. That included his older sister Rhaenyra coming, and whenever she was there his mother was intense on how late he was. It was best never to be late. 

         He had taken a seat next to his sister, still smelling like the morning breeze from his ride, doing his best to drone out his older sister mumbling under her breath. “Sunlight trapped by a falcon.”

           He avoids his mothers pointed glare and the wretched smell coming from his brother, he also avoids his half sister's entire family on his other side, which leaves him to stare forward. Which was fine, anyone not in his direct family had an issue looking at his face, the patch unsettling to them all. Weak bastards. 

             Soon enough they were announcing the lord and everyone stood out of respect, his father struggling on the throne and groaning in pain as he tried to stand tall. 

              The lord, a middle aged man with a messy beard and a beer gut, walked in with a gloating smile. His large hammer strapped to his back and his house crest stood out against the ugly colors of his house. The crest was a falcon, the colors green and red. Disgusting. 

            But his breath stops short when you come in, you…..you, you , you you. 

             Aemond could not breath, his spine going rigid as his eye catches you walking behind the lord with an older female using you to help her walk as well. 

            You kept your gaze to the ground, refusing to look up even when Aemond was mentally begging you to.  Please just look up, please let me see your face-

            Then you did, and it felt like every breath he had taken before this moment merely helped him survive, but this………looking at you was breathing. His lungs filled with air and his chest easing. You were air, fresh air. The air while flying a dragon, wild and clean and -

             “-I would also like to introduce to the king my lady wife, Y/n Borlis. Now lady of-” And all Aemond was able to hear from that point on was a harsh ringing in his ears. 

             He debated killing the man, one swing of his sword and he would marry you and-

                It was like you finally heard his thoughts, lifting your head and making contact with him. A feeling of shame crossed through him, making his mouth water with nausea as he awaited you to look at him with disgust. Just as everyone did. 

But you didn’t. 

You didn’t look away. Not for a second. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

               His mother thought it was weird how attached Aemond was to you. She fought it quite a bit. 

               You had been married 2 months ago, an alliance was necessary for your husband to get men and win a battle. He had, and now he was parading around the castle as if he was a god, if gods were drunken disgusting bastards. 

               He would never have won that battle without your fathers men. So you should have been getting the attention.  But it seemed no one cared for you. 

               You spent your afternoons with his grandmother, sewing and listening. You didn’t say a word and anytime he spotted you in the gardens you never smiled.

            You had been there for 2 weeks before he was even able to catch a word from you. But he did. 

            He planned the day perfectly, instead of taking Vhagar for a morning flight he stalled until the sun was already up. That way when he landed he would be able to walk through the gardens right as you-

           Perfect timing, just as he was taking a glove off and sauntering through the garden you were helping your husband's grandmother out. Aemond thought the woman was absolutely wretched, although he thought this of mostly everyone. 

           But from the conversations he had eavesdropped on he knew he was ready to kill the old hag. She spent her hours lecturing you, about your weight and your lack of children and your lack of blah blah blah. 

          What was it her fucking business? To him you were absolutely perfect and it was so much better that you weren’t pregnant.  

         “Lady Mirva, Lady Y/n….” He says softly, bending his head out of respect but he makes sure to angle himself to you and only you. 

           He notices how his grandmother pinches your arm harshly while you both curtsy, mumbling out a soft “My prince.” 

            He clenches his fist, desperate to grab his sword and swing it at the old hags neck. He would take you and run to the throne room and beg for your hand and- shit. You were watching him. 

             “How is the sun treating you today?” He casts a slight look to the old hag, who had covered most of her skin. 

               “Oh, it is quite  perfect prince. We are very blessed for your father to have-”

              “I believe I was asking Lady Y/n.” He snaps, arms pulling to meet each other behind his back as both fists clench in anger. 

               He sees the old lady look shocked, and you look absolutely terrified. But he had planned this. “Lady Mirva, it is far too hot for you to be outside in the gardens today, and I’m sure my dearest sister could use the company. My guards can escort you to her-”

              “That would be wonderful, my prince.” She nods, leaving you to him….finally. 

               “I should go with my-” You begin, and Aemond feels a burst of energy in your voice. 

            “No! Please. It’s been so long since I’ve enjoyed our gardens, please allow me to escort you…” He holds an arm out, hand shaking a little as he does. Desperate to touch your skin, and he feels like fainting when you grab onto his hand, walking with him through the gardens. 

         “It is an honor, My Prince-”

         “Aemond. You must call me Aemond.” 

            “Oh I possibly could not-”

            “You must. An order, I’m afraid.” He teases, internally screaming when you crack a small smile and chuckle a little.  

         “Well if the prince demands it….Aemond it is.” 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

              He had made that his daily routine, trapping his sister with the old hag every morning while he spent time with you. He was desperate to spend every possible second with you. He began sitting at your table during meal times. He would meet you outside your chambers in the morning and escort you to breakfast. Then you began walking with him to greet Vhagar in the mornings before going to see your husband. 

             Your disgusting ass of a husband. 

               Aemonds day wasn’t complete unless he had imagined a hundred different ways to murder that man, especially when he saw your bruises and tear stained face in the mornings. He was desperate to kill that man, to watch the blood leak from his body. 

               You had been in kings landing for 2 months, and spent nearly every open second with him, any second your husband didn’t drag you away from him.

               He fully had you in the early hours of a rainy morning. 

                 It had been storming all night, and he had just gotten back from trying to scout an enemy on the shores. His first stop was to get to you. 

                  He had knocked on the doors, not really bothering to care that it was far too early in the morning and the sun hadn’t even come up yet. You didn’t answer. Not surprising considering the time. But he persisted, and you still didn’t answer. His heart beat through his lungs and he dismissed the guards, barging through the doors. 

                  He was ready to throw up, if something had happened to you he would slaughter anyone in reach and tear the world apa-

                    And then he saw you. In your bathing chambers, sobbing and scrubbing at your body. Your skin was red and screaming, blood dripping from the spots you had scrubbed far too much. 

                    He called your name, or at least he thought he did but you didn’t look at him, you simply kept scrubbing. Sobs racked your body as you kept the movement going, and Aemond was reaching to stop you. 

                     “Hey hey hey. Easy now.” He orders as his arms encircle you, a scream ripping from your lips as you struggle until you recognize his scent and hair. 

                        “Aemond-” You whisper, looking at him. He feels his heart shatter. Your neck was once again covered in bruises and it seems you’ve been scrubbing at your skin for hours. “Aemond, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

                  You kept sobbing as you wrapped around him, your entire body exposed to him as the anger began talking over. “What do you have to be sorry about?”

               “I’m sorry. I’m sorry-” He wanted to cradle your head, and kiss away all the pain. He wanted to comfort you, but he needed to know what the problem was to fix it. So he takes a hand, gripping your chin and making you look into his eye, his other arm pulling you out of the water and bringing you to his chest. 

               “What do you have to be sorry about? What does my little bird ever have to be sorry about?” He whispers, rubbing from your jaw to your chin, eyes pleading. “Tell me. Tell me all your worries and let me kill them.”

               “I am trying. I swear it. I’m trying to bear a ch-”  He looked away, he couldn’t possibly hear it. You were hurting yourself over that? Over bearing that fool a bastard that didn’t deserve you?

               “Enough.” It’s nearly silent, his throat too locked up for much sound to come out. 

                 You seem to take the order as a rejection and your body lunges away from him with another sob, he’s quick to snatch you back to him. “No. No easy, look at me.”

              “I’m sorry Aemond-”

                 “Enough. Don’t be sorry. You do not need to be sorry.” He sneers, pulling your forehead against his as his hands grip your jaw, your own clinging to his tunic. “Please don’t be sorry. Please don’t.”

               The kiss that follows is gentle, for just a moment, before he is devouring you. He drags his lips across yours before biting down in an effort to mark you, fresh air filling his lungs even though you hadn’t broken from the kiss. 

               You’re tugging him in, seemingly trying to mold your body to his own as he tugs your hair and deepens the kiss even more. He’s taking steps to the bed in the middle of your room, hands grasping everywhere he can possibly touch while also trying to keep you as close as he possibly can. 

                He’s ripping his tunic off as he presses you into the bed, moaning as you bite down on his lip before pulling away to pull the fabric over his head. You whine and grasp at him from the lack of contact, pulling a smug smile from him as he tugs at his pants and boots. “I just need to-”

                “Aemond please.” He feels a tug at his ribcage, looking at you in this moment of desperation. Your eyes were still leaking tears and you were sniffling as you reached for him once more, hands rubbing up his chest until they got to his neck and hair, grasping at anything you possibly can. “This is dishonorable-”

             “I know.” He answers, chest expanding as he leans closer.  “I can leave.”

             “NO!” You gasp out, reaching to grab him and stroke, his breath catching in his throat. He couldn’t breathe, he needed you, he needed to marry you and care for you and to take- “Please Aemond.” 

         “You….. you need to say it.” He whispers, hand reaching to stop your wrist, kissing along your cheek softly. “Please just say it little bi-”

           “Make me yours Aemond.” And now he was a crazed man. 

             Before he can even grasp his own thought process he has you pressed into the bed, one hand reaching to rub your folds, drawing a moan from you. His left hand comes up to hold your jaw as he pulls you in for another intense kiss. 

             “On any other day,” He gasps out, voice barely a whisper. “I would spend hours in between your legs, a feast for me, but today we do not have time and I need you-”

             And you laugh, a light airy laugh that has a wide smile covering his own face as he finally thrusts into you. 

                  He takes a second to let you adjust, your chests pressed together as he grunts and feels you. You were still so tight, and he tried not to let the pride take over at the fact that he was stretching you so far. 

               “All those nights your shit husband takes you and you’re still this tight- gods, you were made for me.” His words draw a moan from you as your hips move up in a desperate attempt to make him move. “Yeah? You like when I say that? How you were made just for me?”

          “Uh huh-” You gasp out, back arching as he begins moving his hips in slow but deep thrusts. 

             “Good. Because you were made for me. Your soul to match mine and your body mine to fuck. He doesn’t deserve you, no one fucking deserves you.” He speeds up, his thrusts getting faster and harder as you cling to him, lifting you both so he is on his knees with you splayed across his thighs, bouncing you on his member. 

                The sound of skin slapping and wet squelching filled the room as he began grunting, one hand tight around your waist while the other hand that had been rubbing your clit moves up your body to softly rub at the harsh bruises on your neck. 

                 “One day I will strangle him to match. I’ll hurt him just as he fucking hurt you. I’ll. Kill. Him.” And that was your undoing. He watched in amazement as you came around him, a loud moan falling from your lips as your head fell back and your nails dug into his shoulders and back. 

                  “My king-” You moaned, and he was right behind you, filling you up without a second thought. “My king….my king….. My brilliant masterful king.”

                 He’s kissing your neck softly as he lays you both back onto the bed, your arms still wrapped tightly around him. “I can fix this…. Let me fix this for you….”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                He spent every morning with you after that, coming in  the early hours before the sun was close to coming up, right after your husband left you every night. 

                 He would bathe with you, washing you clean before taking you in the bath and then again in the bed. He kept to his promise of feasting on you, every morning, before taking you and claiming you as his. Your moans filled him with a purpose and your smile gave him something to live for. 

                He was your lover. He was your soulmate. 

               It had been five days since he saw you, out on a bullshit search that dragged him away from you. What if that idiot hurt you? What if something happened and he wasn’t there? What if-

               “I believe we are ready to head back, My Prince.” A soldier mumbles, bowing to Aemond from where he stood on the sand. Aemond looks to Vhagar, his dragon already looking to kings landing in a yearning stare. 

             “I know, girl. I know.” He mutters, climbing up to the saddle. “To Y/n.”

                The dragon knew what to do instantly, taking off in a flight to the castle you would be in, ready to see you again. 

               Aemond had taken you to ride Vhagar countless times and it seemed to have paid off. 

               When he lands he’s going to your chambers, ignoring his mothers calls, his only thought of you. 

                 He nods to the guards, walking in after they turn away and he searches for you. It’s not a long search, he finds you sitting on your bed. You’re staring out the window, looking at the dragonpit. 

                 “Were you watching me return for you, my little bird?” He teases, waltzing up to you and kissing your neck, his arms wrapping around you. You instantly melt into him, hands gripping his own but you refuse to look his way.

              “Look at me.” He whispers, though he already knows what he will see when you do. Just as he predicted, a split lip and eyes filled with tears. He moves to let go, already having a plan to march to where he is and rip out that fools tongue. 

                 You’re quick though, hands already grasping his and keeping him to you. “Aemond no.”

                  “No no no. Don’t tell me no. I’m going to kill him- I will-”

                 “I’m pregnant.” You mumble, a sob escaping your lips. “Aemond I’m pregnant.” 

                   He’s at a loss for words, nothing to say. 

                “Aemond I’m pregnant…….”

                  “Why are you sad? This…..This is what you needed.” He tries to sound happy for you, but the thought of losing you to a babe has his chest tightening, it was getting hard to breathe. “I…..We need to get the royal maesters to treat you….. You need the best care-”

                  “I’m not royal Aemond.” You remind, pulling him to sit with you on the bed.  “I’m not allowed access.”

            “I’ll get you the fucking access.” He snarls. “You need someone who knows what they are doing. You could die-”

           “They are going to kill me, Aemond.” You mumble. 

             “Not if we get you to the royal ma-”

              “Not the babe you fool. I will be beheaded for adultery.” You snap, thumb rubbing at his scar as you slip the patch off. It had been a long time since you had first seen his sapphire eye, and whereas he expected you to turn away disgusted you had simply spent the next two hours treating him like a king. 

               “No.” It’s the only word he can process while you shake your head. “I won’t let them- this will not-”

              “There is a strong chance it’s yours-” His chest expands with pride at the thought, only for his breath to leave his lungs as he realizes the truth. 

            The babe could be his, and if it came out looking like him you would be hung or beheaded. This Targaryen could kill you.

Will the baby be Targaryen??????? Tune in for Part 2 

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen angst #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader

[lesinquietes]

A truly scary thought is breaking up with Dabi, because you figure he never really acted like he gave a fuck about you anyways, and him turning into a total yandere

Tw; burning, kidnapping, noncon

At first, he’s chill about it. K. Fine. Good riddance. He doesn’t need you. You were simply something to pass the time with, and he’s sure to let you know precisely that if you badger him too much. It turns out you’re kinda cute when you cry. Makes him wish he’d been around more to tease the little droplets out of you instead of ruminating on the past.

Your lack of presence hits him after the first night. Having the bed to himself isn’t as nice as he thought it’d be. Maybe it was comforting to have you warm the other side of his mattress — or the space beneath him, when he used to cage you between his chest and the memory foam. Growing up close to Natsuo, he became familiar with having someone else nearby. But it can’t be just anyone; it has to be someone he cares about. And he guesses that means he cares about you, after all.

He was so preoccupied with getting revenge on his father that he neglected you; likewise, he isn’t in-tune with his emotions enough to own up to his mistakes. That makes his next step challenging. How is he supposed to get you back if he doesn’t bother to apologize? You won’t accept that. So, naturally, instead of causing himself a molecule of personal discomfort, he decides it’s in his best interest to kidnap you.

God help you if you’re the type to move on from relationships by slutting it up. Dabi won’t like that other people have touched you. He’ll have to kill them; then, he’ll have to burn some sense into you. Where would you prefer his mark on your body? It doesn’t matter. He chooses your tender inner thigh. Screaming only motivates his effort, so by all means, sing.

“Think it’s hot when you scream for me.” He grins as you wriggle on his grasp. “Should’ve done this sooner.”

If you’re the type to heal on your own, in the presence of yourself and a few close others, your punishment won’t be nearly as bad. In fact, he hesitates to even brand it as a form of discipline. Sure, he still burns you — because you can’t get it in your pretty head that you have the choice to up and leave him a second time — but he makes sure to be gentle. He knows he’s the reason you left; he can’t fault you for it.

“Don’t give me that shit, doll. I know I fucked up. That’s why I’m here.” He murmurs, advancing toward you with a single blue flicker igniting from his index finger. “But be a good girl and bend over the couch for me. I’ll make this quick.”

When he finally takes you back with him, he doesn’t let you out if his sight. He lets you blow up and yell at him. He lets you curse and cry. He doesn’t let you wallow for too long, though. It pisses him off that you’re still acting like being with him is horrible. He said he’d have more time for you now. He said he’d speak to you nicer. What the fuck more do you want from him, an apology? You’re not getting that.

Dabi is delusional in every sense, except he’s a little bit more so in bed. He thinks fucking you will fix things. It always did before, didn’t it? He’d make you cum and you two would forget about your argument. It didn’t even have to be addressed. He’s confused as to why it isn’t working now.

“Not good enough for you anymore?” He hisses between several deep thrusts. “This dick doesn’t stretch you right, princess?”

Moaning is the only correct answer. If you talk back, he makes it worse. He remembers where your pain threshold is. He thinks he can literally drill a good attitude into you. There’s no escaping how terribly deranged he is.

And pretending life is good won’t get you anywhere. He knows you. He’s studied you enough to detect your deception. Don’t worry — you’ll love him for real again one day, when you have nothing but a modicum of your sanity left.

#minors dni #tw noncon #tw abuse #yandere dabi x reader #yandere touya x reader #Dabi x reader #afab reader

[macabrecake]

Devilish Intentions

➛ Pairing: Incubus!Leon S. Kennedy x Female! Reader

➛ Warning: Just pure smut and demon shit meaning- minors back off

➛ Note: I've been dead on here for so long and I'm really sorry about that so hopefully this little treat I had saved in my W.I.P.'s makes up for it! Everyone please stay safe and Happy Halloween! 🎃

"Mmh, Leon!~"

Another breathy whimper emits, earning you a low dangerous chuckle from the demon towering over you, before his claws dig deeper into the sweet, supple flesh of your hips and slides into you again. Hitting that sensitive spot inside you once more.

The gasp that escapes you is sudden as your hands frantically latch onto his blackened arms in a feeble attempt to keep yourself grounded, and shyly peek up at the beast.

In all his breathtaking glory.

The thin layer of sweat covering his beautifully toned body that moves with enigmatic vigor. Casting him in a light shimmer that mirrors the subtle shine of the ebony horns resting atop his head, abound with locks of sand blonde fringes that softly flutter with every little groan and huff that utters from soft pale rose lips. Hellfire red irises hold your gaze from the depths of night filled eyes. Clearly proud by what he sees.

Don't be shy.

Please keep looking at him.

He loves your eyes.

They confess so much to him. How good he's doing, how badly you need him. Your moans, your wails, and all your sweet melodies in between keep him alive. However, eye contact satiates his hunger the most. And he's starving for more.

Leon's eyes travel downward to take in the view of your breasts bouncing with every steady thrust he sends into your weeping hole. Unable to stop from pulling his bottom lip between his fangs in a smirk at how prominent his marks stain your skin. Evidence of his possessive nature. He doesn't care though, the different pink, purple, and red hues look so stunning on you. A gorgeous painting of his own design.

But the real masterpiece is what he sees when he looks down…

There.

The points where you both connect with a rhythmic slap. Where your shared arousals splatter every time his throbbing cock disappears back into your soft pink slit. Amplifying just how truly wet your cunt sounds. That's what gets him to moan with delight, what sends his demonic wings trembling with glee. You wrap so nice and tight around him. Almost too small for him in fact, given how a slight bulge appears in your lower belly every time he sinks back inside you.

Leon's eyes light up even brighter at the sight, almost deranged with excitement. Because holy fuck that's hot.

You're in shambles.

A perfect mess.

All for him.

He praises you for that, by leaning down to place his lips upon the hollow of your throat. Teeth like his close to such a vital area should scare you. Yet it only sends a blissful shiver down your spine and makes you let go of another airy moan. Leon hums at that, feeling your sound vibrate against his lips.

"Louder my little dove." He utters sweetly into your heated flesh before his lips work their way up to yours, so close to kiss you yet still so far away, and releases a hoarse whisper. He can't hold himself back any longer, and he knows your coil is close to snapping as well.

"Let Heaven and Hell know how good I make you feel."

Who are you to deny such a request? Especially when he's not exactly giving you a choice. Leon's large hands creep down from your hips to cup your ass, then lifts you a few inches off the bed. And abruptly pounds your dripping pussy harder. Driven with animalistic need as he heavily pants into your ear.

The new angle and speed hits so many spots inside you with such precision it pulls the most euphoric scream from your shuddering frame that clings to him for dear life. The demon doesn't mind one bit. That sound is what he'll commit to memory as he squishes you close to his body.

Leon never let's go, even when you cum. And you cum hard around his heavy cock, gushing all over him and onto the sheets beneath you. A growl rumbles within his chest at your walls clamping down on him so tightly. He can't stop himself from burying his face in the crook of your neck with another harsh bite while he brutally fucks you through your orgasm. Promptly earning him a squeal at your release being drawn out. "Ah!~ Oh F-uck Leon!"

You sound so cute like that.

Leon practically purrs into your skin when his own high is finally reached, making him go still and lightly shudder. Your quiet whimper tells him all he needs to know. You're completely stuffed. So full to the point his cum will ooze out of your visibly pumping cunt once he pulls out. He smirks rather proudly at that, knowing that'll be such a pretty sight to behold.

But he doesn't move yet, not wanting to disturb the way your smaller frame embraces him, like he's your favorite teddy bear. Leon can't help but smile at that and softly bump his nose against yours, "Did I break you, sweetheart?" His sultry tone rumbles out rather teasingly. Letting his smile burst into a sharp toothed grin at the sound of your tired little breathless giggle, "Maybe a little."

The warm sound of a chuckle resonates from Leon as he rewards you with a small but loving kiss, allowing his wings to furl around you while he holds you close, fending off the autumn chill that sweeps through this blissful Halloween night. With his hunger now greatly satiated, all he wants to do now is hide his treasure from the world.

Hell will not have you, and Heaven doesn't deserve you.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #demon leon kennedy #demon leon s kennedy #happy halloween! #halloween

[autisticlancemcclain]

Lance snaps the last piece on — a dorky fingerless leather glove — and smiles, satisfied. He observes the rest of his handiwork and can’t help a single nod.

Damn, he’s a whiz with a sewing machine.

“Don’t get too big of a head,” Pidge mutters, adjusting her new go-go boots. “This is still the dumbest thing any one of us has done ever.”

Hunk snorts. “Speak for yourself.”

That is fair. Lance has caught Hunk negotiating both of his kidneys for a particularly rare machine part.

“It’s still stupid,” Pidge insists.

To her credit, she’s probably right. It had started as a bit. A dumbass, one-off bit that Lance cooked up one random day, after a shitty mission that had them all in the dumps.

“I miss Keith,” Allura had muttered, huffing to herself. “He would have trained with me more so I wouldn’t have been so blindsided. You guys never do any extra training with me.”

The team’s responses had been a mix of mild offense and several other affirmations of missing their friend. All of them did — yeah, sure, each and every one of them finds great joy in giving Keith shit, and some of his leadership skills were…questionable, at best, but he was still their friend. And they missed him.

Lance got an idea.

After everyone else went to bed, he dug through random material boxes littered throughout the castle, and fashioned himself Keith’s infamous cropped leather jacket. It wasn’t quite the same — the only way he’d get leather in space would be from Kaltenecker, which was never going to happen on Lance’s watch — but there was no mistaking who he was imitating. He walked into breakfast the next morning with his fringe pulled over one eye and a smirk making the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Life is a nightmare and existence is a prison,” he’d said in his most emo voice.

Was it a fair impression of Keith?

No.

But was it funny?

Lance’s question was easily answered by the rest of the team losing their shit. He’d kept it up the rest of the day, playfully pretending to be Keith whenever someone asked him a question. As stupid as the whole bit was, it did make him feel a little better. A little more like Keith was just away for a little while, and that he was coming back, rather than a nameless face on a Blade base. It made things a little less scary, a little more lighthearted. It was a stupid joke, but a good one. Lance took off the dorky jacket at the end of the day, hanging it in his closet, not even thinking about it.

A week later, Pidge walked into the kitchen with the jacket she’d lifted from his room, doing her own garbage impression, and from there things had kind of snowballed.

None of them made anything official, obviously. That would be embarrassing as shit. But every Tuesday — or whatever the space equivalent was — someone would inevitably show up in the kitchen with an article of clothing that was unmistakably Keith’s. Eventually Lance started actually making replicas that would fit everyone; a jacket for Hunk, go-go boots for Shiro, fingerless gloves for Allura. Small, stupid things that Lance would make when he had the time and leave by their door without saying anything, without acknowledging the objectively deranged bit they were all overdoing.

It’s been long enough, though, that everyone’s outfit is complete. They’ve been celebrating Keith Day and cycling through enough weekly impressions that everyone has a full Keith outfit, so they’re having a Keith party.

Lance has not had so much fun in ages.

“Yo, Keith, pass the Gufla juice,” Lance says. Coran looks delighted for a moment before schooling his face into a grumpier expression.

“You’re the only one who drinks this garbage,” he says, doing a truly wonderful impression of Keith’s exasperated tone. “Just keep it where you sit.” He passes the bottle to Lance, then leans in close so Lance can hear his whisper. “Am I doing an alright job, lad? I’ve made an attempt to let the fondness he has for you bleed through my words!”

Lance flushes, taking the bottle from the advisor and hurriedly occupying himself with pouring a glass. He clears his throat three separate times before he finally manages to speak, conscious of the various snickers he can hear from around him.

“You did fine.”

Pidge scoffs, leaning back in her chair and raising a cocky eyebrow. “I dunno, usually it’s more like this.” She widens her eyes obnoxiously, batting her eyelashes and clasping her hands under her chin. “‘Nice shot, Sharpshooter. Couldn’t do it without my right-hand-man.’”

Allura and Hunk cackle, offering their palms for Pidge to slap, which she does unashamedly.

Lance, who is the pinnacle of grace and poise and Being the Bigger Person, primly dabs his mouth with a napkin and decides not to attack his horrible gremlin friend where she sits.

“That was the worst Keith impression I’ve ever heard,” he informs her.

Shiro hums before she can respond. “You’re right, Keith.” He nods at Lance. Lance sticks his tongue out at Pidge.

Ha!

“He hasn’t used ‘Sharpshooter’ in a while,” he continues, and Lance’s heart drops.

Shiro? A traitor? No. No!

Shiro adjusts the oversized white collar of the cropped jacket and grins to himself. “It’s a little more like this.” He stands, because he’s a dramatic hoe, and puts his hands on his hips, shaking his head mock-fondly at Lance before saying, in a hugely exaggerated Southern accent, “Well I’ll be, Bluebell. Maybe we make a good team after all.”

Okay. Evidently, Being the Bigger Person is overrated. He grabs a butterknife and throws it at the asshole black paladin, which is narrowly dodged with a yelp.

“There,” Lance says smugly. “Knife violence. How’s that for a Keith impression?”

Besides Shiro’s pout that lasts for a good five minutes, the rest of breakfast is just spent having good fun. They each break character a thousand times each, but it’s fun anyway. Allura in particular is the king of Keith impressions — possibly from the mess that was the Coalition Show — and the rest of them aren’t too shabby, either. Lance thinks he’s pretty good at nailing Keith’s laugh when he’s startled to find something funny (and no, he’s not going to spend any time reflecting on why that is, thanks).

“You know, fellow Keiths,” Shiro says, picking at his gloves, “I’ve teased him about the gloves for years, but they kind of do make me feel cool.”

Lance sighs. “Yeah, that’s the worst part. The gloves really do make me feel like a ninja sword guy.”

Instead of the various affirmations he expects to hear — come on, he and Shiro cannot be the only ones to feel that way — there’s only silence. He glances up at the rest of the team, only to find them all slack-jawed and horrified, staring wide-eyed at the door.

Lance’s stomach turns to stone.

There’s no way.

Slowly, as if he can make his suspicions disappear if he halves his speed, he turns toward the dining room door.

Where, of course, stands Keith, somehow, the real one, Blade uniform clinging to his body as he leans on the doorframe. He sports the tiniest of smirks, and yet somehow it’s more smug than any expression Lance has witnessed before.

“Hey, guys,” Keith says, casual. “Mission got cancelled so I had a couple days off, and I was nearby. Thought I’d hang with y’all for a while; Black let me in.”

He speaks so casually, walking into the room with a slight sway to his hips, a swagger, that leaves no question about it: he sees the situation in front of him. He gets it. He knows damn well he has the upper hand here.

He’s playing them.

The whole team sits frozen in their seats, hyper aware of their outfits, each knowing they have no excuse and no way out. They will never be able to successfully clown him again. He’s won. He knows how much they like him. Worst, still, is that Keith knows exactly who on this ship can make fingerless leather gloves from scratch. He knows exactly who’s dumbass idea this bit was, who put hours and hours into making accurate Keith outfits.

Lance is going to reacquaint himself with that airlock.

“Oh, nice, you guys are having that Dushan stuff.” Keith strides over to Lance’s seat, places a hand on the back off his chair and leaning in close. Lance puts his head in his hands and prays his ears aren’t as red as they feel. Keith reaches right over his shoulder and plucks a piece of food off his plate, popping it into his mouth. For a moment there’s nothing but a horrible silence, none of them knowing what to say.

“And by the way,” Keith says, when it’s clear none of them are going to speak up. His smirk has widened significantly, and he looks like he’s just won every argument he’s ever wanted to have at once. “The gloves make me feel cool, too.”

———

based on this scene in teen titans

#saw it and IMMEDIATELT thought of them lmfao #vld #voltron #lance #lance mcclain #hunk #hunk garrett #shiro #takashi shirogane #allura #princess allura #pidge #pidge holt #coran #coran coran the gorgeous man #keith #keith kogane #klance #pre klance #pining klance #seamstress lance #team as family #fluff #dumbass shenanigans #my writing #fic #longpost #cant actually tag this as brown eyed lance rip #everybody loves keith #post s5

[creepy-friday]

Creepypasta Mansion Headcanons

Warnings: misogyny,suggestive themes,violence,mental illness and drugs mentions

Slenderman

I see Slenderman as an entity who uses his power to control more and more of the human world,but at the same time I can still see some sort of "humanity"

He took in Sally because he felt pity for her and treated her as his daughter after all,so I believe there are still some feelings underneath all of this darkness

Using and desposing residents is no strange occurrence to him,yet he is able to form bonds with them and see them as more than possessions and valuable minions

Because of this,there are definitely exceptions on who he decides to kill and who he decides to punish and to what degree.The others have an idea who is more favoured than the other

Cody

he's fresh meat,new to the proxy team,yet he's already pissing the living hell out of Masky

Cody's skills sure can be a threat to the power hierarchy among the proxies,altough he would selfishly want more he won't get promoted solely because you're already all the team needs Slendy's words,not mine

He has a special sibling-like relationship with Toby,at first he looked up to him as a mentor but now he became a little cheeky shit and wants to overpower him,kinda like how smaller siblings would want to do

He's also in the lab 80% of his working time,so no one really sees him that often which means he has time to do and clean up the messes he does with his chemicals

Cody is no longer the loser everyone in his life assumed him to be.He has power and became mentally and physically way stronger,it's only normal for him to want to be seen as the bigger/stronger person,the one who can finally protect what he loves do what you want with this information

Toby

Mister insecurity himself.He was bullied outside of the mansion and now he's bullied by slightly more deranged and dangerous motherfuckers.I feel bad for him to be honest

I believe the residents choose to keep their memories or not(or they are punished to lose them and have to work to get them back)from before they were abducted in the mansion,but Toby choose to lose a part of them and now he feels bad for it,especially because he cannot truly remember his sister's face

He believes he was a coward because of this and now he does everything in his power to prove to himself otherwise,but the constant toxic environment doesn't really let him to

Even if he is allowed to go to town he might lose his control and that isn't really good for him and his "work".He cannot be with people and cannot be alone,except some emo moments from him

Yeah,he was fucked by Natalie a couple of times when he was sort of new in the mansion,but nothing too serious happened between them.Now he resents and slut shames her but never to her face,he's kinda afraid of her lol

Clockwork

she has no shame whatsoever,would talk the dirtiest pornographic/goriest content over breakfast like it's the morning news

I headcanon her as a chaotic bisexual

There are reasons why she's here,so she's not all sweets and roses.She slept with Toby and made his mommy issues worse.After she got bored of her boy toy she ditched him and now they have this "bad blood" with each other

She was lonely but Toby had too many issues and she really needed someone to improve her,that's why they are now not in the greatest terms

She doesn't like Nina because Jane doesn't like her,it's kinda like how your best friend has beef with someone and now you have it too

I see her,Jane and Liu being mostly seen together because they tend to get along really well.She's definitely the glue that keeps the group together

Jane

strong woman.Definetly uses way too much perfume so her presence is always known,it's her assassination signature

Altough Clockwork puts on a strong and confident demeanor,Masky would avoid Jane the most she gives him the creeps

The reason she doesn't like Nina it's because of her past involving Jeff,she would never forgive her bad decisions.She surprisingly gets along with Liu because of his cool demeanour and his ability to calm her down

In terms of Sully,she actually is the one to mellow him down

She observes a lot and doesn't talk much,I see her listening to goth music in her room while she reminisces over her past life

Jane either ignores or gets extremely violent with Jeff,but all of the aggression is MOSTLY started by Jeff

Liu

he's a sweet guy.He's the calm after the storm while Sully is most like the actual storm

I see Liu having trust issues and would need a while to get intimate with someone,he labels himself demisexual, much to Sully's disapproval since he puts his dick into anything that has a hole

He's the only friendly face you would see when you need one

Liu has strong opinions and moral codes despite his work,I headcanon him as a feminist tbh

You will know when Sully takes over,even tough he likes to pretend he's still Liu for personal reasons, the eyes never lie ("the eyes chico,they never lie")

Jeff

he definitely has issues but he loves himself

don't let this ass fool you,if you go trough all the layers you will witness mister insecurity 2.0

uses his looks to his advantage.Jumpscares people,tries to overpower them,eats only gym shit and he's blasting metal everytime he works out

this guy loves when women fight,finds it especially amusing whenever Clockwork starts to fuck up Zero smh

his trauma doesn't justify his actions tough.Everytime he gets bored he goes out and tortures his victims for hours,rapes them,photograph and humiliate them just because he feels like it.

Jeffrey has his moment of question about his morals but he will simply get high and try to puff puff pass these thoughts away

The only person who stands him is Ben,and even if Jeff won't admit it,he's secretly grateful he has someone.Sure,Liu cares about his brother and even if they act as if nothing has happened between them sometimes,he knows that everyone gave up on him.

The tought terrifies and soothes him.He wants to be free and to fuck up even more but at the same time he wants one more chance

sadomasochist

Hold him accountable for his actions.As much as he needs someone to untie his strings he needs someone to further pressure him to do better.

Masky

the amount of times Natalie smacked the table with her palm and made him jump inside is galactic

before you came he definitely TRIED to bang at least one woman in the mansion,all to Jane's utter disgust towards him

I'm sorry your mother didn't tell you she loved you Tim,you don't have to seek approval to every feminine presence you come in contact with

He gets high with Jeff,but do they get along outside of this?Not really,but they are okaish with each other.I would say they are buddies,not really friends

Jane gives him the creeps,it's something about her presence that doesn't allow him to insult her,that's why he decided to avoid her as much as possible

Secretly respects Natalie's strength,wishes to train with her or have a friendly battle but outside the fact that he doesn't really has the chance to,he would be too ashamed if he would lose to a woman lmao

He could overpower her but he's more impulsive while Clockwork can think before she blows a hit

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta #headcanons #y/n #tim wright #tim wright x reader #masky x reader #creepypasta masky headcanons #masky headcanons #masky creepypasta #jeff the killer #jeff the killer headcanons #creepypasta clockwork #clockwork headcanons #jane the killer #jane the killer headcanons #homicidal liu #liu headcanons #ticci toby headcanons #toby headcanons #slenderman x reader #slenderman headcanons #cody creepypasta #x virus #x virus headcanons #cody headcanons creepypasta #creepypasta mansion headcanons