#street art exit enter

[vvrong]

10.2

Street artist Exit Enter and #carlabru

#street art #graffiti #Exit Enter #carlabru #street photography #Florence #Italy #out there #outside #ishootsometimes #vvrong

[venicewalls]

#venezia #venice #streetart #street art #venicewalls #thegreatslug #graffiti #aerosol #aerosol art #k #exit enter k

[crispy-armpit]

✧ 𝖎'𝖒 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘 ✧

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ʀᴏᴄᴋꜱᴛᴀʀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

☆⋆｡🎧𖦹 °✩ 🎸⋆⸜♩

⭒ 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: reminisce about your forgotten first meeting with Deimos 3 years ago. meanwhile, you've been invited to watch his concert after the previous events. (pt.2)

⭒ 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵: 𝘨𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘳𝘺, violence, implied stalking, reader gets called a bitch, (slight) sadism, kinda tame

⭒ 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 1,495

⭒ a/n: dear lord i am simping for my own art... hope u all enjoy reading this! i'll be opening asks & make a short introduction in the next post ^^ ( yan jock makes an appearance here too!)

will you venture down this path?

where is he?

did I walk in the wrong direction?

am I lost?

... nope, this is the right place.

you are standing alone in a dark alleyway, looking around the location you agreed to meet your friend in. checking the virtual clock on your phone, you count the time you have left before you go on stage. 32 minutes.

time was ticking and he was still nowhere in sight. there's no way you could perform the duet alone. anxiously, you try texting your friend again.

You 》 17:28

bro where are u

i'm alr here

are u lost again

LIAM

liam

liam

liam

liam

liaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam

fuck it, i'm leaving him. alleys are never good news. ever since you entered the place, your stomach has been in knots and the back of your head was tingling. it's almost as if... someone's been watching you.

typing on the small screen, you tell him you're going to meet him behind the stage instead. you speed walk towards the end of the tunnel, relieved you were leaving this place. you almost reach the exit until a rough hand pulls on your wrist.

a gruff voice speaks, "hey, you dropped this."

SHIT, I'M GOING TO DIE—

without thinking, you instinctively clench your fists into a ball and punch the unknown 'assailant' on the nose— effectively causing him to bleed. the stranger gasps out various curse words as you turn to scream and run away.

"I'M SORRYYyyyy—"

knuckles still bruised from the impact, you try to hide them as best as you can from the crowd's attention. Liam had managed to arrive on time, seconds before the performance. he claimed to have come across an old friend on the way who was difficult to shake off. but that was all in the past, and he has yet to notice your injured knuckles.

currently, you are performing on the stage in front of a sea of people. with your friend on the acoustic guitar, you both sang a duet that sang of two lovers, a confession of how one felt incomplete without the other.

it was a popular song, so Liam insisted on it. you were glad he did because in the end, the happy crowd's applause rang loud across your ears. a sound you'll always love.

now off the stage, you and Liam decide to explore the festival's offerings. the spring festival at night is beautiful— lanterns clipped across the starry sky and flowers and people littering the area. you approach one of the food stalls that lined the streets, purchasing a sundae of your favourite flavour.

as you are about to pay, you rummage through your pockets and realise... your wallet is gone. did i leave it at home?! Liam seems to pick up on your situation as he pulls out his own wallet, "i'll pay for them." you thank him and promise to pay him back. "it's alright, you don't have to." he smiles.

suddenly, a loud voice approaches the both of you, "Oi, Lili! ya did great up there, man." you turn to see a group of four people heading your way who were all dressed head-to-toe in punk clothing and carrying band equipment. they must be a band. a slim man holding wooden drumsticks pats Liam on the back, and he shortly notices you.

"oh? hello there, mx. the name's Vern." he grins and offers you a handshake, to which you politely return.

"y/n. nice to meet you, Vern. I'm a friend of Liam's."

"a friend of Liam is a friend of mine, y/n!" Vern heartily laughs, "let me introduce you to the gang, y/n— of course, you've met me, the drummer. that lady with red hair is Kyra, the lead guitarist. the young-looking fellow with shit for brains is Astrid, our second guitarist. and finally, our beloved lead singer and bassist, D—"

you don't have time to react before your face is roughly grabbed by a hand larger than your head, cheeks squished. you try to pry your face away from the thick fingers of the unknown man, as you shakily look up at his furrowed eyes. he's seething, and you don't know why.

"it's you. fucking bitch."

you don't know what you've done to this man to warrant such a reaction, you've never even met him before!... right? you think back to earlier in the day when you punched the stranger from the alley. shit, it's him.

though muffled by his palms, you still manage to voice out an apology. for the first time in your life, you feel a sensation rushing through your blood. dread and terror. in the corner of your eyes, you spot Liam being held back by a concerned Vern and Astrid.

you desperately try to pull his hand off your face while repeating apologies, but it's useless. he's too strong. the tall stranger continues to stare at you and you swear he was enjoying this. if not for the sick glint in his eyes or the soft panting from his pierced lips, then maybe for the light blush dusting his cheeks.

after what felt like hours, he finally lets go. you immediately massage your aching jaw and cheeks at his release. the stranger scoffs and hands you a familiar item... it's your wallet! "...found this in the alley. you throw a good punch." you gently take the small pouch off his hands and thank him.

a ghost of a smirk morphs on his face before he grunts and walks past you. the others instantly follow behind him like baby ducks trailing their mother, but not without giving you a sympathetic look. Vern checks up on you before joining his group, "woah, he's never spared anyone before. sorry about him, but i hope you'll still come to watch us?"

Liam, who is no longer held back, runs to your side and inspects your face. "are you alright?? fuck, I should teach him not to mess with you!" he angrily shouts. you're still recovering from shock. but that doesn't stop you from thinking how nice the stranger's smile looked. "do you want to go home? i'll drive you bac—"

with newfound motivation, you're able to speak again, "no, i'm fine. let's go watch the next show!"

you and Liam stand in front of the stage, somehow having managed to get past the current of people. there are way more people than before, and you notice some of them are holding signs. confused, you turn to the person next to you and ask her, "hey, what's with all the people? is a celebrity coming?"

she looks at you astounded, "you seriously don't know? Ares is performing next! they're like, all over social media right now." Ares? you don't think you've heard any singer with that name before. before you can ask who they are, waves of screams fill your ears as 4 pairs of feet walk on stage. you look back at Liam to see him clapping for the band, following his gaze, you accidentally lock eyes with a pair of heterochromatic eyes.

he acknowledges your presence with a lazy lift of his brow and faces the crowd again. this time, the audience shouts in union.

ARES!

ARES!!

ARES!!!

the electrifying sound of a guitar and drums booms through the speakers. the ground vibrates along with the rhythm, as your heartbeat follows along. the song begins, but it's not until you hear the deep bass of the leader's voice do you feel the aching throb of your core.

(R U Mine? - Arctic Monkeys)

I'm a puppet on a string

holy shit.

She's a silver linin', lone ranger ridin' through an open space...

his voice is intoxicating.

In my mind, when she's not right there beside me

I go crazy 'cause here isn't where I wanna be

your heart feels like it's about to burst out of your chest.

And satisfaction feels like a distant memory

And I can't help myself

All I wanna ever say is, "Are you mine?"

yes.

Well, are you mine?

Are you mine?

Are you mine? Oh, ah

i'm yours.

his deep voice that was once laced with anger and malice— now brings your own heart to tears. you could only think about what was going through his mind to sing a beautiful song in such a wrenching manner. and on that day, you swore to one day bring someone to tears with your voice, just like he had with you.

but what you did not know was that you'd already done the exact same thing to Deimos earlier that day. and for that, he'd follow you down every road until there comes a time when your paths meet again.

back in the present, you've been forced invited to watch Deimos' latest concert. like before, you sat at the very front row, right in front of his assigned position. the only difference from then was his lovestruck eyes that would never leave your figure.

in the end, he was yours.

#male yandere #original yandere character #yandere #yandere boy #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere scenarios #oc #oc art #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #x reader #gn reader #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral reader #gender neutral mc #obsession #yandere rockstar #rockstar #my artwork #my art lmao #my ocs #original character #my art #digital art #original work #yandere love

[jujutsukgojo]

The boy in art

gangster!Sukuna x reader

Chapter Two

Summary:

Minutes later you hear screams and more gunshots. None inside though. You peek around to see a group of men shoot others. Quickly, you turn around, so you don’t see anything. You don’t want to.

Tears stream down your face. This isn’t you! You aren't cut out for this. You did not sign up for all of this!

"You know you're my girl, right?"

a/n: Not the best but oh well. i was supposed to write something for Gojo because of his birthday yet here i am with sukuna i dont own jjk tw: implied violence, vandalism, implied drug deals, etc. fast paced! ooc sukuna (oh well :)) fast paced! characters: Reader, Sukuna, OC, Nobara, mentioned Megumi and yuuji, and a little mahito (sorry)

 

 

 As you are walking to your classroom, you hear swearing. The hallway is empty and brightly lit. You are the only one here now since you decided to arrive early for class. Entering the classroom, you sit your bag down. Much to your annoyance, the noises don’t stop. Curious, you get up to go to the source. 

  In the middle of the hallway is a window. You open it to see two men talking. Everything is normal until you see what is in their hands. You gasp, causing the two men to look at you. “What are you two doing?” 

“Mind your own business.” The one with pink hair and tattoos says.  “You can’t do that here!” 

“Get inside, little girl.” The other rolls his eyes at you and leaves. “There, you happy? It’s all over now.” 

 “Whatever you do in your free time is up to you. But you cannot do this here.” 

“You own this place?” He gestures the area.

“No, I take classes here.” He pops out a cigarette and lights it. You noticed that his ears move a little when he does that. “Then why are you so pressed about it?” 

“This is my school!” He looks around at the building. “That’s your name?” 

“Why would my name be “Community College”, dumbass?” The pink haired man shrugs. “The hell I know. What is it anyway?” 

“This is a community school that offers art co-” 

“Now look who’s the dumbass, you’re just as stupid as I am. I mean your name.” He interrupts you. You bite your lip and tap your fingers.

“(Y/n). What's it to you?” You place your hands on the windowsill. He laughs and walks away. “Nothing at all. See you later.” You slam the window shut.  

It isn’t your business, yeah, but it is around you. They can say whatever about you who cares. However, you don’t want that type of shit anywhere near you. With a goal in mind, you cannot afford to be bothered with that.  

  Over-achiever, prude, rude, and whatever else they say. Let them talk. It will be you who has a good, decent, life that is secure and stable. 

“He was cute though.” You won’t ever see him again. There is nothing to hold onto. 

---

Your professor points to the stack of papers on his desk. “For those who would like to, the papers are right here to fill out. Turn them in accordingly and on time.” 

This is what you have been waiting for. Your heart is racing. Finally, you got an opportunity for an internship at the art museum. With your good grades you should be a shoo in for the position. After class, you get up and grab a paper to fill it out. Since you have some time on your hands, you fill it out right then. It is not every day that the museum allows interns.  

With the final signature of your name, you turn in the paper. Leaving the room, you exit the school with a pep in your step. Lo’ and behold, there is the pink haired guy at the corner of the street. You roll your eyes and walk past him, mentally kicking yourself for forgetting your headphones.  

“So that’s how it is?”  

You shouldn’t acknowledge him. “What do you want?” 

He hisses as if you hurt him. “You’re not going to say hello?” 

Rolling your eyes, you ask, “Why the hell would I do that for?” 

He chuckles and leans back further onto the wall. “No reason at all.” 

 Scoffing, you walk away. “Sukuna!” He yells. You turn around and ask what he meant. “That’s my name, Sukuna.” 

“I didn’t ask you.” 

“Alright then, brat.”   

You smack your lips and leave. He's bad news. As pretty as he is, he’s no good. You have all this going for you, you can’t afford to be around him. With the possible internship, your part time job, to school, you can’t be associated with him.   

  You take out the store’s keys to open the door. A little bell goes off when you do. You set your things down on the counter and open the blinds. Nobara had been here earlier, so there was not much else to do. And by the looks of things, business was slow.  

  Even though it is a small shop, you don’t want it to close. You don't really see bookstores like this anymore. Unfortunately, closure may be soon since you, Nobara, and the owner are the only workers.  

  After settling down, you flip the sign to ‘open’. Nobara didn’t finish putting the newly donated books away. Sighing, you check the books and push the small cart to the aisle so you can put them away.  

You hum a light tune until the bell dings. “Welcome!”  

Pushing the cart to the front, you greet the person with a smile. They tell you what they’re looking for in exchange for the bag full of classic books they give you. As mandatory, you study the books for any rips, stains, writings, drawings, and other signs of wear that would make the book ineligible to be donated.  

  Only three of them passed.  

  “Alright, you have a credit of five. You can use it now or later.” They frown. “I just gave you a shit ton of books?” 

“Yeah, but other than these three, the rest are too messed up for us to take.” Please, don’t argue. 

And of course, your prayers go unanswered as they begin to raise their voice at you. “Stop yelling. Please understand that these books here,” You push them towards the owner. “Are in terrible condition. I cannot take them.” 

  They really are. A giant coffee stain in one, a ripped page in another, and one of the covers are barely together. The three that passed inspection barely made the cut. They will have to be half price. 

“I’ll take my business elsewhere then.” Tired of them, you push the three towards them as well. “Here. Please go.” 

 They huff and shove all their books into the plastic bag. Grouching and complaining, they slam the door open and leave.  

It isn’t every day that this happens but lately it is becoming common. Ever since summer vacation is over, there have been a few students here and there looking for books. Mainly, textbooks. Unfortunately, not many people donate them. Even if they did, many schools tend to switch books frequently, which makes textbooks age like milk and practically useless.  

  Still, donations would be nice to those who still need those editions.  

  Rubbing your hands together, you put on a pot of coffee. If you are going to have to deal with customers, you should at least have a pot or so.  

The bell dings again. Your day is ruined by that one worm, so you don’t smile. Dramatic? Yes. Do you care? No. 

  The customer walks to one of the aisles and begins to search. You'll be of assistance if they need help. The pot of coffee is not brewing fast enough. It is about halfway done by the time the customer comes to the front. You face the customer and don’t quite know what to expect when it is that one pink haired guy from before.  

  “You stalking me, sweets?”  

“No, I work here! You are stalking me.”  

“If you say so.” He places the book on the counter. Quickly, you check it out, not wanting to talk to him more than you have to. “Hey, why are you so rude?” 

“I’m not rude.” You say in a matter of fact-tone. “Yeah, you are. I’ve been nice to you all day and you’ve been so snooty.”  

“I am not snooty.”  You cross your arms and frown. It is the condescending feeling he’s giving, and the fact that he thinks he knows you so well.  

No one knows you better than you.  

“What do you call all that then?” 

“Goal oriented.” He hums and runs his tongue along his teeth. “What are your goals?” 

You begin to check out his books. “Art. You?” 

You don’t tell him the ultimate goal, of course. And like almost every person in your predicament, it’s stability, security. You're tired of the unknown and the possibility of losing everything. Tired of caring for everyone and everything else because of someone else’s irresponsibility. 

You want to live and do it for yourself. 

 “Normal stuff.”  

You look up at him with an eyebrow raised. “ It'll be ten fifty, please.” 

He hands it to you in cash. His book is placed in the store’s bag. Before he can leave, you shoot him a question. “You don’t read, do you?” 

“Not much.” He leaves you. 

----

After meeting him, you end up seeing a lot of Sukuna. He comes by the store every day to bother you, teases you, and walks you to school. Lately you’ve noticed the crime rate going up, but not a single crime is near you. For a bit, the owner was scared for the shop. Fortunately, nothing has happened. Nobara, of course, is suspicious but you can’t blame her.   

  Out and about with Sukuna, you reveal that you take care of your baby sister. Even though Sukuna has become a constant in your life, you are still leery about them meeting. “You understand, right?” 

He carries the items you intend to buy. “Yeah, I’d be freaked if you were too eager.” 

“It’s just the damn crime rate’s up and we just met-” 

“And here we are.” 

“Shut up. Anyway, I’m being cautious.” Sukuna chuckles. “I know. You don’t have to explain,” 

  You smile at him. Talking to him is so refreshing. There isn’t pressure and you don’t have to watch what you say. The two of you come together so naturally.  

   “What do you know about the crime rates anyway?” You pick up a candle and smell it first, then have him smell it. Sukuna hums and gives you a slight, ‘gimme’. You place a candle in his large hand.  

“I know that they’re becoming more frequent. Way more violent, too. Not much as robbing as it is assaults and murder and drugs.” 

“Murder?” 

  “Yep. Just the other day, a guy was in an ‘accident’ and what did they find? A message carved on his stomach or something. It's crazy!” It was on the news. The accident is believed to be staged, obviously. You found out about it at work. Nobara and you of course had your theories and assumptions on what the message could have been and who the culprit was.

   “Well, don’t worry about all of that, alright? You're fine.” You side eye him as you put your items on the belt to check out. Immediately, he cuts in front of you to pay. “You don’t have to...” 

“I’m doing it anyway.” 

    Most of it is for your sister anyway. A coloring book and crayons, some fruit snacks, a toy that she’s been wanting for months, and a cheap pair of sneakers. The candle was something on sale that you picked up on a whim. 

  “Sukuna, you don’t have to. I'm serious.” 

He carries the bags. “Always this stubborn? You can’t even accept help?” 

“I’m used to doing it all.” You awkwardly laugh as guilt settles in your gut. It makes you so uncomfortable knowing someone else bought your sister’s things. You have been taking care of her for so long, it’s weird. 

   He stares at her little shoes. “You need to relax, sweets.” After noticing that you are still uncomfortable, he adds, “I enjoy it. Let me take care of you.” 

Your head is down so he can’t see how wide your eyes have gotten. The last time someone took care of you, you were a child and your sibling wasn’t thought of. Now, Sukuna, someone you met not long ago, wants to?  

After all these years, you don’t know how to handle that. 

You find yourself at another store trying on the cheapest shoes there. Sukuna comes up to you with an adorable pair of kid shoes. “What size shoe do you think I wear?” 

“They’re not for you, dumbass. They’re for the kid.”  

“She already has a pair, remember?” 

He rolls his eyes. “And now she has two. And these are better.” You sigh, giving up on explaining that she’ll grow out of them in no time.  

  “Here, put these on.” You sigh as he gently places a heel on your foot. It's black and with the finest leather and comes to a delicate point. “What am I going to wear this for?” 

Sukuna buckles the straps on your ankle. “For me.” You scowl at his smirk and laughter at your expense. “Here, look,”  

He has you stand in front of a mirror. “See how good you look?” You hum in response. They're pretty and make you feel pretty. You find them to be a pair that’ll fit for different occasions. “What’s not to like, sweets?” 

  You suck in your lips. “You’re right, fine. I do look good in them.” You would have been able to keep that mindset had you not seen the price point. “They’re hideous, put them back.” 

  “They’re yours.” 

“I can’t afford them.” He has already done too much. Sukuna rolls his eyes at you. “I can.” 

All the pairs of shoes ring up to a ridiculous amount. You can’t even look at it or Sukuna. He grabs your chin. “Stop it.”  

No matter what, the feeling of guilt and unease is too strong to just ignore. 

The next time you see Sukuna, you are at a park during your lunch break. In your bag are art supplies that you thought of bringing in case you got bored. Now, it is just up to finding what to draw.  

“Sweets, what’re you doing out here?” You shrug your shoulders. He sighs and sits down next to you on the grass. “Why are you still mad?” 

“I’m not mad. I'm just not used to it. I'm always the one taking care of things and you pop up taking my responsibility away...I don’t like it.” 

He plucks the blades of grass. “I will only say this once. So, fucking listen," He takes a deep breath and mumbles, "I’m sorry. I wanted to do something for you. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

  “You didn’t hurt me, Sukuna. You couldn’t.” Sukuna looks at the birds in the sky flying freely. In the silence between you two, you take it. With each stroke Sukuna manifests on the paper. The essence of peace and security is slowly being captured on the canvas.  

“What’re you doing you little brat?” He takes a peek at it. It is a rough version of him. It captures the serenity and beauty of him, though. “Hm.” 

“Do you like it?” 

“Hm.” Is all he says with the slightest curve of his lips and tiniest hint of pink on his cheeks. Although this is also picturesque, you’ll keep this part of Sukuna for yourself. For your blessed eyes only. 

  Soon, the rough portrait is done. You are so focused on it, you don’t see the softness in his eyes, but you do feel the roughness of his calloused fingertips as they caress your face in adoration. 

------

“(Y/n), I'm just saying I saw him there. Not that he did anything!” Nobara exclaims after sipping her overly sweet coffee. 

“Well, it sounds like it.” The two of you have been going back and forth for about thirty minutes because Nobara saw Sukuna standing and acting suspiciously. And, well, doing what you thought he did when you first met him. 

Not that you’d admit it. 

“Damn it, Nobara. What were you doing there anyway?” You ask as you pour yourself a cup of strong coffee. You need something to distract you. Anything to deflect this.  

  “Don’t do that. I was passing by to go to the fucking station. He was out in the open.” After a moment or two of complete silence, she breathes. “I want you to be safe and know what you’re getting into.” 

  Immediately you scoff. 

  “You act like he’s some dangerous criminal ready to chop me up into little pieces. Would a criminal tuck my sister into bed? Or let me read to him? Keep my paintings and support me? Protect me? Or-” 

“Oh my God. I’m not saying he isn’t sweet to you. I am just telling you what I saw!” 

“Am I interrupting?” Both of you turn around to see a tall man stand there with his eyebrows raised. You suck in your lips and shake your head no. Nobara recovers quicker than you and smiles at the man.  

 “No, no, no! Just a tiff among friends. Y'know, friends who look out for each other and recognize danger.” 

Your eye twitches but you don’t retaliate. Not when there is a much needed customer.  

   “Have a look around! Let us know if you need anything.” You put on a smile for the man. He nods and looks around. There is something off about him. At first, you think the cold aura is in your head, but Nobara sticks close to you with the same thing in mind. 

He's dangerous. Something is wrong. 

What is he doing here? No way is he actually looking for a book. All he’s doing is looking at the walls and pretending to skim the novels. Nobara grabs your hand and squeezes. She's shaking and he hasn’t even done anything remotely threatening. 

Maybe it is the way he moves. Gracefully, like a ghost. Or the muscles that form his body that his shirt struggles to contain. It doesn’t look like he has a weapon on him. Perhaps it isn’t needed. 

  What is this heaviness around him? The chill you get when he turns the corner of every shelf. How he looks at you with a curious and studying gaze. Is this bloodlust? The hair on your arms is raised. Nobara, who isn’t afraid of anything or anyone, is scared. 

  “Is there anything in particular you’re looking for, sir?” You are pinching your thigh to keep a steady voice. “No.” 

  He grabs a random book that he didn’t even look at and places it on the counter. The nameless man says nothing when you ring it up. He pays with crinkled up cash and a wink in Nobara’s direction. 

   Once he leaves, she runs to the door and locks it. “Did you see what he did?!” 

“What?” 

She groans and explains that he checked out the store to rob it. “Why would he rob it? A bookstore of all places?” 

  “I don’t know...but tell me you weren’t scared!” You cannot deny it. There's something wrong. 

  Nobara goes out with Megumi and Yuuji to lunch immediately after. She makes you swear to lock the door and not let anyone in until she comes back. Lately, the usual busy time isn’t until another hour anyway, so it’s an easy promise. 

   You’re putting on another pot of coffee when the first shot happens. The bullet goes right through the pot that you’re holding and shatters the glass. A scream is caught in your throat. More bullets come through barely missing you. You duck and see the store’s merchandise suffer from the insanity.  

You grab your phone and in a state of panic, call Sukuna and tell him everything. He can hear the glass and the wicked noise.  

“Stay down, and crawl to the back hallway. I'll handle it.”  

It was the hallway the man didn’t see.  

  You do as he says and wonder if you should call the authorities. Maybe Sukuna will. You don’t know why you called him instead of the police. It was just a quick reaction. 

Minutes later you hear screams and more gunshots. None inside though. You peek around to see a group of men shoot others. Quickly, you turn around, so you don’t see anything. You don’t want to.  

Tears stream down your face. This isn’t you! You aren't cut out for this. You did not sign up for all of this. 

And yet, you don’t want to look outside and see what is happening. 

The police did come after Sukuna came in through the backdoor. He told you that the bad men were gone and for you to tell the cops that the shop was attacked and that you hid the entire time. You did as you were told. 

  Who they were, why they were there, what could have happened to them? You don’t know. You were hiding. 

  The shop keeper was furious but grateful for your safety. Nobara, too. But she knows better.  

-----

“What’d you doing now, brat?” Sukuna likes to bother you at work, home, and especially at the museum now that you got accepted as an intern. “Working!” 

  “That’s too heavy for you.” He grabs it. “Where do I put it?”  

“Here.” You gently guide him on where to put the sign. After, he decides to stick around and help you with the heavy things. Of course, you watch as his arms flex whenever he picks something up.  

   “Hey, Sukuna,” you start. The two of you are alone right now with nothing but the art witnessing the conversation.  

“What are we doing?” 

  He stops and furrows his brows. “What?” 

“Like, what are we?” Do you really want to know his answer? Then again, the rejection will make it easier to let go, you think. Or maybe you want him to release you? To push you away so you don’t have to think about that night anymore. 

  He comes up to you from behind. Sukuna's arms wrap around you and his chin rests on your shoulder. “I’d like for you to be mine.” 

  You scoff and try to step on his toes. Playfully, Sukuna bites your ear, causing you to shriek and laugh.  

“If you two are done now-” 

 You jump at the sound of your boss. “Sorry!” You grab your boyfriend’s hand and rush past her.  

Boyfriend...wow. 

-----

  

 You tuck your little sibling into the bed. After reading their favorite book in the character’s voices, she went fast asleep. Sukuna wished her a goodnight on the phone, too. The smile she had on her face was picture worthy. She seems to like him a lot. 

  Although, you couldn’t tell her the truth as to why he wasn’t there in person. So, telling her that he was just at work sufficed. 

   After putting away her new shoes and the dinner dishes, you rest on the couch. The museum has a big showing tomorrow. All the lifting and organizing took a lot out of you. However, you are excited more than anything. He doesn’t know it yet, but your drawing of him got a place in the local’s art section. 

   Right as you close your eyes, your phone rings. “Hello?” 

“Come to the museum, right now.” Your boss demands before she hangs up. Her tone gave you pause. Not because of how rude it was, but because of how stressed and worried. 

   Quickly, you put your sister’s shoes on and wrap her up in her blanket. Unfortunately, you don’t have anyone to watch her. Your mother is as useless as your father is.  

   “Where are we going?” She sleepily asks. “Sh, go back to sleep.” Immediately, she does.  

  Besides, you aren’t sure if you really want her to be awake during this. 

- 

 

Your breath is taken away at the sight. Flashing colors of the police cars illuminated the night. Everything you worked at was completely destroyed. The museum walls, the art, and most specifically, Sukuna’s portrait, are ruined. 

   Your boss is tapping her foot as she is lost in thought. Suddenly, she notices you. “There you ar-” She stops when she sees the bundle you are carrying. 

“I didn’t have a babysitter.” 

She takes a deep breath. “Look around. Do you see all of this? The museum is totaled.” 

“I see that, ma’am.” She walks to you. “Your boyfriend’s picture in particular suffered.” She stops walking. “I need to know. Are you involved in this?” 

  “No! Not at all!”  

“I won’t press charges on you. But I do need honesty.” Your eyes are wide. “I am serious! I really don’t know!” 

You pray that she can hear the sincerity in your voice. 

 She sighs. “Ok, I believe you had nothing to do with it.” She looks down before she continues. “But I do not believe that you are ignorant as to why it happened. (Y/n), I’m going to have to terminate the internship.” 

Your breath is caught in your throat. “F-for what?! I didn’t do anything!” 

“You are a smart girl. You need to choose who you are around better.” She leaves you in the street, surrounded by darkness. 

Your arms begin to get tired from your sister’s weight.  

“Lord, I am so tired...” You whisper in the night. 

  After this, you didn’t get another internship. Not with Sukuna’s mark on you. 

-----

You go to the park a few days later so your sister can play with the other kids. She wanted to call Sukuna and ask him to come. He never showed up even though he said he would. 

By the time dusk broke, you packed everything and went home to think. 

  After the museum incident, you got blacklisted by other museums around the city. Even private artists avoid you. Your professor, naturally, heard of the incident and lectured you about safety and how you should not have taken the internship for granted.  

It spread like wildfire. Your boss at the bookshop had a talk with you as well. Wanting to know if Sukuna was connected with the vandalism at the shop. You told him you didn’t know and that it was possible. He decided to let you keep your job, but you are on leave. 

Nobara filled the room with ‘I-told-you-so's. Though she stopped when she saw your vacant expression. 

  Everything you worked for is crumbling around you. At least Sukuna is looking for the bastard who did it, right? 

Sukuna kisses your cheek when he walks in. It's late and your little sister is already in bed. “I’m here. Sorry I'm late.” He settles down next to you, grabbing your hand and kisses it.  

“Sukuna, we have to talk.”  

“Don’t worry, he won’t bother you again. There was just a little hitch.” You shake your head. “I don’t care. I don’t want to hear about it, either.” You reply quickly with a snappish tone. 

  He looks confused at first then his face settles in a raised eyebrow. “Look, Sukuna, I can’t continue to endanger my sister and I anymore.” 

  Sukuna sighs. “You won’t be. I took care of it.” 

“I’m blacklisted and almost got fired. My boss is watching me tread on thin ice. I can’t lose my job or anything else.” 

  He says nothing but stares at you. “I think we should break up.” 

Pain shoots through your heart as the words exit your trembling mouth. You really, really, like him. Maybe even love him. “No.” 

  “Sukuna-” 

“I said no.” 

“That’s not how it works. I can’t keep doing this. I'm losing everything because of you.” 

“Me? You think I did all of this?”  

“No! You are connected to it! Everything all leads back to you!” 

  He grabs your face gently but firmly. “I took care of it, (Y/n). You’re safe with me.” 

“But my future isn’t!” You stand up. “I have dreams, goals, all of it! My sister does too!” 

“I’ll give you it all, for fuck’s sake!” He stands up too. 

“No, Sukuna. I'm not cut out for this life. Everything you do...it isn’t me.” 

“Thank God you’re not doing it then, huh?” You want to touch his face. To comfort him and take back everything you said. At the same time, you want to shake him into understanding.  “Sukuna, it’s over.” 

  He looks shocked. Like it is finally settling in that it is over, done. The lovely chapter is finished, and the page flipped.  

“I love you, (Y/n).” The air is sucked out of the room. Neither of you have said it before. You always thought you’d be the first one to admit it. “I love you too. God knows I do. But I am so tired.” 

  You worked so hard for it all to crash down so suddenly. Those nights of the attacks were a special breed of terrifying. You could have died that day in the bookshop. The internship is gone, your work unsalvageable. The bookshop put you on unpaid leave. 

   He walks over to you and presses his lips to yours. Despite what has just been said, you fall into it with passion. He presses his forehead to yours.  

   “You know you’re my girl, right?” You don’t say anything. “Give the kid a hug for me, will ya?” 

  He leaves. 

You cry. 

____

Two years later 

As it turns out, your gut feeling was right. The shop owner fired you when your weeklong leave was up. Nobara talks to you from time to time. You finished school quickly, too. Now, you have got a local factory job. Hell, you even sell a few art pieces here and there. It all pays decently but not enough to keep your old apartment. So, you had to get a smaller one in the less savory part of town. It’s alright as long as your head’s down.  

  You walk home with your sister in your arms. She talks about her school and her kindergarten teacher. Apparently, she does not like her and insists on calling her teacher a witch. 

  You try to pay attention but it’s hard to. Lately, your mind has been all over the place since the violence in the city has gotten a bit more frequent. From what you can tell, it is all due to one man: Sukuna Ryoumen. 

 At least, that’s what you heard. That he has gotten so big that the police won’t touch him and that this whole thing is just punishment for those who thought they could go against him. Whatever. It has nothing to do with you. 

That's what you have to remind yourself. Sukuna's dangerous. Not just to others but to you and your sister, no matter how much your sister says the opposite. That he was kind and that there was happiness. She isn't wrong about that part. But just because he showed you a part of himself, does not mean it's enough.  

 “Well, well, what do we have here?” You look up to see a man with scars on his face. Long grey hair and heterochromia add to his uniqueness.  

  “We don’t want any trouble.” You try to ease the situation and go around him. “That’s just too bad. I like the fight.” 

  “Ew.” Your sister looks at him with disgust. Just as he gets ready to take another step, you hear a deep voice from behind him. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

  “Kuna!” Your sister calls with a big smile on her face. The man steps aside enough for you to see Sukuna stand there with his hands in his pockets. He has more tattoos and is bigger now. He’s stronger and looks a lot meaner than he did when you knew him. 

  The man with the grey hair sputters. “Sukuna! Long time no see! How ya been?” 

“Ew.” Your sister says again. “Yeah, ew.” Sukuna agrees with her. Not that you don’t.  

    “I was just-” 

“Get out of my sight.” The guy doesn’t wait. He takes off down the street so fast. Something tells you he won’t get far, though. 

  Awkwardly, you say, “Thanks...”  

“You’re my girl, right?” He asks you. Your cheeks get warm at the question, but you don't answer. Not when the answer is obvious. Your sister jumps down and runs to him. Sukuna doesn’t hesitate to pick her up. He was always soft towards her. 

  “Come on, I'll take you two home.” A car pulls up, a model you can’t identify. He puts your sister inside and waits for you.  

  With a smile and warmth, you get inside. 

#ryoumen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk #jjk fanfic #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryoumen #gangster sukuna #idk what else to tag i'm awful at it

[yukisprincesswifey]

homecoming | a kyo sohma one shot

summary. kyo comes home

❀ kyo sohma x female reader ❀ 1,500+ words ❀ no content warnings ❀

kyo sits perched up against the windowsill, the midday sun shining brightly against his skin. 

yet another day had passed without so much as a phone call from you, not that you were planning on calling him in the first place. in fact, it would have been strange if you had called. 

he stopped counting the days, stopped looking at the calendar at all, as to not be reminded of how many days he’s spent without you. 

unfortunately for kyo, the calendar wasn’t the only thing that reminded him of you. it was just about everything; the smell of a bakery because you’d always pick a treat to you share or the flowers blooming in the spring because you liked to pick them for him. 

sometimes he loved being reminded of you so much, it was a footprint that you had even existed in his life. however, on days when he was too in his own head, things went sour real quick. 

the most repetitive thought seemed to be how he was at fault for pushing you away, which he already knew was very true. he just…hated admitting it. he hated himself for how he hurt you and drove you away, never to see or hold you ever again—

“taking a sun nap today, kitty?” shigure jolts the door open, startling kyo and interrupting his inner dialogue, doing so with an innocent smile. 

“ah! don’t you knock?” kyo shouts, almost falling out of his seat. 

“not in my own home,” shigure sasses. “anyway, i need you to stop by the market for me. i forgot to on my way home. here’s some money and the grocery list.” he extends his hand with the money and paper in hand as kyo glances between the two with an annoyed stare. 

”why do i—“

“great! thank you for being such a big help! oh, but don’t you want to change first?”

with an offended look, kyo takes ahold of his shirt with confusion. “what’s wrong with this one?”

“ugh, how disgusting! you’ve been wearing it for three days! here,” shigure rummages through the laundry bin filled with clothes kyo should’ve folded two days ago, “wear this one!”

kyo nabs the shirt flung in his direction, giving it an inspection. his face contorts into a frown, knowing it was your favorite shirt he wore. before kyo can argue again, shigure is already out of the room and presumably no longer willing to chat on the matter. 

groaning as much as he possibly can, kyo throws the shirt on and stuffs the money in his pocket before heading on his way. 

the walk is brief and notices a much bigger crowd than usual today…great. the culprit being a pop up flea market right in the center of downtown and, unlucky for him, in front of the market.

although annoyed by the noise and crowds that hoarded the streets, kyo can’t help but smile knowing that you would’ve dragged him here all on your own and, despite what he says, would’ve enjoyed it too

it felt like the universe was especially mad at him today as he passed by a ramen stand you two had frequented, a street artist you would’ve loved to buy art from, and a flower stand he would’ve bought you flowers from. 

when entering the much less busy store, kyo is tentative and grabs everything shigure had requested, even throwing in some extra items he knew the house was running low on. 

he chuckles to himself; if you were here, you’d call him such a “thoughtful boy,” and he’d enjoy it too.

handing the teller the appropriate amount of cash, kyo waved him off as he exits the shop. the noise from outside resumes as kyo does his best to avoid thinking about you as much as possible, which was difficult to do considering where he was. 

it seemed as though the crowd had picked up whilst he was busy, excusing himself as he passed by others. 

maneuvering his way around the crowd, kyo grows irritable and overwhelmed as the sea of people is relentless. 

pushed from another passerby, kyo is shoved into someone in front of him with enough strength to knock them to the ground. 

he grabs the persons hand, preventing them from hitting the concrete or being trampled by the crowd. “ah! im sorry, i—“

kyo rapidly blinks. making sure the sight in front of him is real and not some cruel joke the universe was playing. there you were, attached at the hands, staring right back up at him. 

“kyo?” 

this time, the surprise is enough to startle him, and he lets go of your hand causing you to fall to the ground. 

“y/n? i mean, uh, here let me help you up,” he insists, taking your hand once again and leading you to a bench to regather yourself. “i didn’t mean to let you go, you just scared me,” he explains, nervously scratching the back of his neck. 

you giggle, “i figured.” you swipe off the dirt of the floor from your outfit, reorganizing all the things you had bought in your bag. “i should get going,” you trail off, looking for an exit away from the crowd and your ex boyfriend.

“wait—i…at least let me buy you lunch? as an apology for dropping you?” he suggests, his cheeks flushing a soft red while pointing to the ramen stand down the block.

you look over your shoulder, immediately recognizing it as one you two had gone to quite often when you were together. you chew on the inside of your cheek, anxiously wondering if this was a good idea. 

kyo notices your apprehension before showing you the money he had in his wallet, “i’ll pay.” 

laughing at his joke, you nod your head knowing he was too gentlemanly to ever let you pay anyways. 

you wiggle through the crowd, kyo’s hand instinctively wrapping around you ever so gently so no one would bump or push into you, just as he did not even 5 minutes ago. 

“hey! haven’t seen you two in awhile; glad to see you two are going on strong. the usual, i presume?” the older gentleman running the stall smiles, glancing between the two of you as you take your seats. 

neither of you wonder if you should mention your relationship status to him, knowing it would probably break his heart to do so. 

“yes, of course,” you smile as he begins preparing your plates. 

the two of your find yourselves sitting in an uncomfortable silence that neither of you knew how to get out of. 

kyo knew he should apologize, but he didn’t know how. the words…they were never as good as they sounded in his head. they always came out…wrong…but he wanted to say something, anything. 

when he glanced over at you, who is mindlessly staring into space, his face softens. you were so sweet, so kind; he doesn’t understand how someone like him could have ever been with someone like you. more importantly. he doesn’t understand how he was idiotic enough to lose someone like you. 

“you’re staring,” you say, bringing the glass of water to your lips without batting as so much of an eye to him. 

snapping kyo out of his inner monologue, his cheeks flush a deep crimson red as he shoots his eyes forward. “what? no—i—“

“it’s okay, if you weren’t already looking at me i would be looking at you,” you admit. 

as the bowls of ramen arrive, you remove the chives that garnished his bowl and replaced it with the egg that did so, yours. kyo’s eyes just follow your hands; so quick and natural as if you had been doing it every day since you had met him, which it felt like you had. 

“you didn’t—“

“you don’t like chives, i know that,” you interrupt as matter-of-factly as you could. “i know you, kyo,” you state, emphasizing each word. 

“better than anyone,” he adds, not bothering to eat anything and opting to poke at his food instead. 

your eyes glance between the empty spot between you two and your bowl, taking some noodles between your chopsticks. “so, when are you going to ask me to be your girlfriend again?”

the chopsticks between kyo’s hands’ clang against the wood of the bowl as his perspiring grip cause them to slip through his fingers. but you don’t bat an eye as you consume your meal, satisfied with that type of reaction out of him. 

“i’ve been waiting so long for you,” you softly admit. 

you can feel kyo’s shocked stare at the side of your face, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eye. 

“i thought you gave up on us…”

kyo sighs, feeling the bitter burn at the back of his throat when it has, in fact, been the opposite. 

“…until i bumped into shigure earlier day and he told me you were still  in love with me.” 

the flush in his cheeks deepens as his hands slap his cheeks. 

“so that’s why shigure wanted me to come here today…” he grumbles. 

your giggles slip through your lips because, although you don’t know what he means, you can assume shigure had been scheming. 

he sighs, leaning against the table to stare at you. “i missed that laugh…i really want to make this up to you,” he confesses. 

using the napkin in your lap, you nod your head. “if you’re asking me on a date kyo sohma…” you lean in and kiss his cheek, “…i accept.”

#kyo sohma #kyo sohma x reader #fruits basket #fruits basket x reader

[tiredly101]

I saw you made a fic based off of @clownsuu art of Mafia au WH and it's really good!

I was wondering if it's alright if you did their emo/goth au with goth moth priest!Howdy x Mortica Adams like Fem! Reader x Emo! Wally?

I was tempted to ask for a Mafia!Wally and Howdy x black widow fem!reader but I didn't want it to get in the way of the main mafia fic

Maybe Reader is the newest neighbor who is an air of mystery. Knowing that little emo gremlin, you can add if they are possessive/lovesick if you want

Hello dearie! I absolutely love both ideas the thing is that I don't know for which of those ideas is the "Maybe Reader is the newest neighbor who is an air of mystery. Knowing that little emo gremlin, you can add if they are possessive/lovesick if you want" but I'm guessing that is the first one! Anyways hope you like it and I just left it as Emo!Howdy Pillar btw!

Three dark souls

Pairing: Emo!Howdy Pillar x Emo!Wally Darling x Flirty as fuck!Female reader

Illustrated Au, took me like twenty minutes to find an Emo Wally drawing but I finally found one I liked so credit to @nonomives! Emo Howdy down right don't exist tho-

Wally Darling and Howdy Pillar, the dark dressed couple of the neighborhood. Everyone knew that they lived to dress in black and hear very different music than the rest but they all loved this couple nonetheless.

It all started as a normal day, a new neighbor came into the neighborhood which exited everyone including the "emo" pair. F/n was a very sweet lady, guess you could say that since she did love very morbid things, she was beautiful and just like the pair she dressed a lot with black mostly with some beautiful dresses that made her look ethereal.

F/n met Howdy first when she entered his record store, she wanted some records of a spanish singer and the "Howdy's record store" seemed to be the only that existed in the tiny town. Howdy was more than confused at seeing a woman dressed in such a similar way than he did but what honestly left him speechless was the way she talked.

"Good afternoon Mon Cheri, how much would this records be~?," Asked F/n in a smooth way but her voice held that teasing yet flirty tone in such a natural way. Howdy pointed at a sign that said "100% for today" which made F/n smile softly.

"Well then, I guess I will be taking my leave... see you around Mon Cheri," said F/n before walking away from the store with a record in hand and Howdy let a sight leave his lips which he didn't even realize he was holding his breath.

"So this is how straight people feel?," Muttered under his breath Howdy now looking at his hand in plain confusion meanwhile F/n walked down the street to crash into a guy with long blue hair that was down that also dressed in black. F/n smiled while extending her hand out to Wally which made him blush softly, her smile was... Pretty

"Thank you," said Wally now standing up still holding F/n hand taking into mind the soft blush that coated her cheeks.

"No problem Cara Mia, I'll see you around~," said F/n softly before walking away from Wally leaving him puzzled. He blushed before running into Howdy record store seeing him with a soft blue hue in his cheeks.

"Did you also meet her?," Asked Wally while walking over to Howdy who hugged him as soon as he reached him. Wally smiled softly when he felt Howdy nod against his neck mumbling a soft yeah.

"How odd is life"

I think that is good, not completely sure but hope you liked it Anon!

#welcome home #wally darling x reader #wally darling x female reader #Tiredly Jackie replies #wally x howdy #howdy pillar x reader

[slimthicksonnett]

2 and 72 with Alexia, if you are still taking requests. Thank you!

“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?” + “You’re so fucking cute” / Alexia Putellas (1343 words)

Obviously, an ACL injury is painful.

What people tend to not realize is that it is also incredibly annoying. 

“Bebé, I can call a car!” Alexia fussed, limping to her feet as you stood by the doorway with your arms crossed and keys in hand.

“Not a chance, La Reina. If you insist on going to training, I’m driving you.” If the sass in your voice wasn’t evidence enough that you didn’t plan on budging, the nickname certainly was. 

“I can do it myself! I don’t want to be a distraction from your work.” The footballer whined, earning a laugh from you as you watched her try and cross the room. 

She was moving well, already rehabbing the injury at a pace that was beyond impressive. However, she still much resembled a puppy who hadn’t quite grown into its legs with the way she struggled to adjust to the new sensations.

“What work? It’s the weekend!” You smiled at her sweetly, an eyebrow arched in amusement at her attempts of independence. 

“I don’t know, like… grading?” She grumbled, finally reaching where you stood. 

“Lindura…I am an art teacher. Grades are a formality.” Leaning down, you placed a kiss on her forehead as you held back a giggle at her supposed frustrations.

“Fine.” Alexia huffed as you cheered in excitement at the win. 

“Perfect, let’s get you to the field!” 

—

“Are you coming in?” Alexia whispered, poking you gently over the armrest of the car.

You couldn’t help but laugh. Of course the woman who was initially worried about being a burden and taking up your time to drive her to the stadium was now asking you to stay with her.

“I can if you’d like?” You answered, tilting your head to the side as you glanced over at her. 

“Yes please.” Her voice was still soft but enthusiastic as you reached over and squeezed her hand gently before parking the car.

“Alright then, off we go!” Contrary to the usual order of things, you were the one who popped out of the car and opened her door. 

“That’s my job.” She huffed again and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Not right now it’s not!” You held out a hand reassuringly, helping her to exit. Once she stood up though, her hand immediately dropped from yours.

“Cameras.” Your girlfriend whispered, not missing the hurt look on your face. 

It wasn’t a conversation you had often, but it was one you were in disagreement on for sure. Alexia said she didn’t want everyone to know about your relationship in fear of the way it would affect you. You had told her everytime that you didn’t care.

As you approached the stadium security, Alexia was prepared to argue her way into getting you access into training. 

“She’s w-” But you didn’t let her finish.

“Bon dia, Iker!” You greeted the security guard by the door, who grinned widely when he saw you.

“Y/N! Bon dia! Com estàs?” Giving you a big hug, the older gentleman looked you over as he asked how you were doing, not used to seeing you in non-paint splattered clothing.

“Ahhh bé, gràcies, i tu? How is Maria?” Your response was so informal that Alexia wasn’t sure if it was your words or the hug that caught her more off guard in that moment. 

“We’re good, we’re good! Maria is very excited to have you again this year.” Iker answered, and you smiled at the compliment.

“I’m so excited to have her! She shows great promise. I will see you all soon, yes?” You let your hand fall to Alexia’s lower back, urging her forward gently.

“Of course! You two have a good training!” Iker waved in parting as he stepped aside to let you enter, Alexia still somewhat dumbfounded by the interaction.

“Why do you…” She trailed off, not even sure what to ask.

“My school is just across the street, Ale.” You supplied in lieu of an actual answer, continuing to make your way towards the pitch. 

—

Training went as usual, though your heart ached a bit to watch Alexia captaining the sidelines instead of chasing down a ball. 

You sat contentedly in your normal seat, high enough to see the whole pitch but close enough to still see the detail of your friends at work. Sketchbook sprawled open in your lap, you let the charcoal fly over the page without thought as you watched the girls.

When the team was done for the day, you shouldn’t have been surprised with the plethora of them that clambered up the stands to greet you.

“Y/NN!” A familiar voice called out, earning a squeal of laughter from you when the younger woman threw her arms around you. 

“Mariona!” You laughed, the joyous sound practically filling the stadium. 

“Careful!” A distinctively English voice joined in, as quick hands darted out to grab your art supplies before they could go crashing to the floor. 

“Gràcies.” Your voice was shaky as you spoke, interrupted by bouts of laughter as Mariona continued to rock you side to side with her hug.

“Woah, you did these? They’re incredible.” Lucy whistled, staring down at the sketches on the notebook she held. You felt your face flush at the compliment, thankful for the recognition of something so small.

“Sí, I believe there’s one of you in there if you’d like it?” You responded softly, reaching for the sketchbook and flipping through the pages.

“Of me?” Lucy asked, blinking somewhat dumbfounded. 

Humming sweetly in response, you found the page and tore it out carefully before handing it to her. The Englishwoman stared down at it in awe. It was a simple thing, a quick sketch of her and Keira exiting the tunnel together. But from the look on Lucy’s face, you’d have thought you’d just painted her the Mona Lisa.

“This is beautiful, Y/N. Thank you.” The defender whispered, leaning down to where you sat to place a kiss on your cheek. You smiled at the gesture, cheeks blazing hot, unaware of the now looming presence of your girlfriend. 

The girls filtered away to go change as Alexia settled down beside you.

“Glad to see you’re making more friends.” Alexia said, though you could hear a certain tightness in her tone.

“Yes, that Bronze is a big sweetie.” Smiling, you stared down at where the brunette defender was walking away.

“I bet she is.” Your girlfriend grumbled, gaining your full attention.

“Why the tone?” You questioned, peering at her in interest.

“I don’t have a tone.” Alexia snipped, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked away from your prying eyes and out over the pitch.

“Yes you do! What’s your deal?” Poking her with your charcoal covered finger, the older woman pulled away from you.

“I don’t have a deal! You just seemed very touchy with that Britt.” Her pout was deepened by the admission and your eyes went wide in both understanding and amusement.

“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?” The question normally would’ve seemed absurd. La Reina did not get jealous of most people. But it seemed your closeness with the Englishwoman in particular had crossed an unspoken line.

“No.” Alexia tried to protest, but there wasn’t much to it as she looked at you almost pathetically.

“Oh my god, you are! Ale, bebé, I gave her a drawing of her and Keira! You know, her GIRLFRIEND?” You emphasized, watching the way Alexia turned bright red.

“Yeah, whatever…” She looked off to the distance, a mixture of guilt and embarrassment written across her face.

“You’re so fucking cute.” Laughing, you leaned over and placed a kiss on her cheek. Unlike Lucy’s who had been far up on your cheekbone, you let this kiss settle just on the corner of your girlfriend's lips which was a decidedly more intimate gesture. 

“Shut up…” Alexia muttered, but you could see the smile ticking up on the lips you’d just kissed.

“Never,” You whispered, “Never in a million years.”

#alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #espwnt imagine #espwnt x reader #slimthickficlets

[starshooter-1004]

The Little Mermaid

@deliciousfestsalad​

ART IS NOT MINE!

Masterlist

“Ni Ajaw, the Wakandians are at the surface requesting to meet with you,” Atuma alerted. Namor nodded collecting his spear and swimming from the city to the surface. Namor soared out of the water into the sky; he landed onto the short walking toward Shuri and M’Baku. Both stood with two members of the Dora Milajae and Jabari members at their sides. 

Namor’s generals Atuma and Namora stood on his side as well as they approached. Namor nodded to both of them in welcome; M’Baku grasping Namor’s arm. 

“What brings you here today,” Namor asked.

“We wanted to inform you on the news from one of our operatives on the inside in the US,” said M’Baku.

“Word on the street is there planning a attack on Wakanda sometime in the near future. Unfortunately his position has been compromised and he is being transported here for safety,” M’baku replied.

“So, already the wolves come,” Namor grinned. Shuri took a step forward the kinetic energy in her suit rippled purple.

“You promised me that you would be there if we ever need you, take this as us cashing in that promise,” Shuri said. Namor looked at Shuri and then to M’Baku. Namor slammed his spear into the sand. The Dora Milajae and Jabari suddenly standing in attention. Namor looked between the soldiers and smirked then extending his hand to Atuma. He handed Namor a shell.

“Just like the last, blow into this and place it into the water; my army and I will come to the call,” he paced it into Shuri’s hands. Shuri turned and walked away from the men. M’Baku stood a few moments later and nodded his head in thanks walking away in tow. 

Namor watched as their backs disappeared in the tall grass they're steps disappearing. He turned and dove back into the water straight to the way home. Once Namor arrived home it was dark; he was greeted by servants who offered him clothing and refreshments. Namor walked toward the family hut expecting to see his wife. To his surprise and worry she was not in; all was quiet inside. Namor quickly exited asking one of the guards where she was; he pointed towards the third level library.

Namor flew up to the level slowly approaching the door and placing his ear against it. He didn’t hear a thing and opened the door; he took in the sight before him. He saw his pegnant wife sleeping on the library couch with a book open on her upper belly. She was using her bump as a reading table; Namor smiled placing his hand gently on her belly.

He kneeled placing a kiss on her belly and placing his ear against it. His child’s heart was strong as was there kicks as he felt the pressure on his cheek. He pulled his head away looking at the book. Picking it up and examining he saw that she was reading ‘The Little Mermaid.’ Namor smiled it was one of her favorites and remembered her telling him she would have it be their childs favorite as well. 

He found it to be a peculiar story, a mermaid falling in love with a human man. Instead of he man becoming one of her people she bargained with a sea witch to be with him. Flipping through the pages Namor thought that this scenario was similar to him and his wife; except she didn’t give anything to be with him. Namor sometimes wondered if he had the ability to give up his powers to be a human would he? If it was what his queen wanted, for her… He would.

Namor placed the book on the table next to the coach and lifted his queen into his arms. he stirred and repositioned so she was on her side. Wrapping an arm around Namor he made his way to the door exiting and then flying carefully down. He landed at the entrance of their family hut entering and placing his wife onto the bed. He took off her jewels and shoes placing a pillow between her legs and beneath her head. He bent down placing a kiss to her head.

“Goodnight Ni Reina,” he whispered before blowing the candle out. 

#namor imagine #namor x y/n #namor x you #namor fanfiction #k'uk'ulkan of talokan #talokan #avengers imagines #the avengers #fluff #romance #black panther #wakanda

[vvrong]

10.2

Street artist Exit Enter

#street art #graffiti #Exit Enter #street photography #Florence #Italy #out there #outside #ishootsometimes #vvrong

[venicewalls]

#venezia #venice #streetart #street art #venicewalls #thegreatslug #exit enter k #exitenterk #k #chalk #paint

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

What is Ableism?

 Here are 10 examples (that I’ve experienced or witnessed, as a physically disabled person) that have nothing to do with using the “Wrong Words,” or being mean:

In countdown style, but really, no particular order:

10) Strangers asking “innocent” questions, such as: “How do you go to the bathroom?” or “Do you sleep in a bed?” as openers to conversation

9) Caregivers, teachers, therapists, etc. controlling, and limiting, access to someone’s Augmented Assistive Communication technology

8) Not being allowed, as a wheelchair user, to sit next to the fire exit, because you’ll block other people’s escape

7) On a period drama on TV: the entire street has been dressed up to look right, with building facades, and lampposts accurate to the period, but no one has taken the time to disguise the wheelchair access curb cuts.

6) The city’s art museum has a grand staircase for its main entrance; If you use a wheelchair, you have to use a small door with a ramp off the back parking lot. The door is kept locked, and you have to use an intercom to call someone to unlock it, and then wait. The intercom speaker is at the height for a standing person.

5) Wait staff at a restaurant asking the normate person at the table with you what you want to eat.

4) If your wheelchair or other assistive tech breaks down, the only business allowed to fix it is the business you purchased it from. If that establishment has gone out of business, or if you have moved to a different city, you’ll have to call up your insurance company, and negotiate something (good luck!)

3) Medicare and Medicaid only paying for assistive tech if you need it for “daily activities” inside your home. “Daily activities” are limited to: Eating (but not cooking), “Toileting” (bathing and using the toilet), and transferring to and from your bed. Holding down a job outside your home, caring for children, participating in your neighborhood events, escaping your home in case of a fire, are not considered “daily activities,” and thus anything you need for those things is not covered.

2) [This happened to an online friend, years ago, who has since erased themselves from online] Emigrating to Canada for a job promotion, selling your home in the U.S., converting all your savings to Canadian dollars, only to be told you’ll never be granted citizenship, because your daughter has Down Syndrome, and will be too big a burden on their health system (The U.S and many European countries have similar policies)

1) [This was reported to me by my aide, whose other client at the time was a boy with a C.P. attending his local public school] A school policy that said that all students with an Individual Education Plan must ride to school on a segregated bus, even if they don’t need the wheelchair lift, and they enter the school through a separate door, and wait for the first bell in a separate room (but they’re following the ADA, right? ‘Cause they’re teaching the kids in the same school!)

#Ableism #what it is #list of 10 #Disability Pride Month ♿ #No - I can't just escape to Canada if this country gets worse #stop suggesting that

[ciaotoska]

Anyway, following up on my previous post about noir Bret and the aggravating blond man getting in his way:

(also on AO3)

a/n: This turned out longer than I expected lol so splitting into two parts

Bret got a lot of calls to catch cheating spouses — he always saw himself doing more noble work once he set up as a private investigator — but this one struck him as a little different. For one thing, the alleged divorce lawyer hadn’t given him a name and, truthfully, Bret didn’t care so much when the check slid through his mail slot from the “Greenwich Trust” cleared. All he said was that the spouse, something of a wildcat, had been blackmailed before and the attorney figured that was worth following up on.

They’d never met, but Bret knew plenty about the guy he was supposed to be following. Shawn Michaels, the younger son of a Texas oil family who’d used his family’s name to get engaged to another billionaire and move off the oil fields and into a Mission-revival mansion and make trouble.

He was an easy enough kind of guy to take pictures of, and not just because he seemed like he didn’t have anything to hide. Bret spent most of the couple of days he’d been following him watching the man in stores Bret couldn’t even stand near without getting a sideways look.

On the second day — the last of his contracted nothing burger of an assignment — Bret was about to call it a day when he followed the man to his house and parked a little ways down the street. The night before all he’d done was watch him make several animated phone calls by his bedroom window. He was too far back for Bret to hear him even with the window open, but he had a close call when he was sure the blond was looking right at him.

The second night, however, was far different. He ended up at home much earlier than the day before, after a hard day of a late breakfast and browsing the farmer’s market. The mansion was fully staffed, so Bret was surprised to see the housekeeper and butler sent away in the early afternoon on a Thursday.

Then he saw the reason.

Not long after the two left, a Mercedes entered the driveway driven by a man Bret recognized; he knew him as one of Hunter’s business associates, the one that Bret guessed was put in charge of bribes specifically, considering how often he’d seen him around during his time at LAPD.

A huge man — he must’ve been near seven feet tall, from Bret’s vantage point in the bushes — was met at the door by his target, who greeted him in a silk robe with a lingering kiss. Maybe the divorce lawyer had been onto something.

Bret snapped a photo and then followed them through the wall with his camera lens, waiting for them to reappear in the upstairs bedroom. Without bothering to shut the window — maybe he hadn’t expected an audience, or didn’t mind one — he made quick work of the larger man’s clothes and was tossed onto the bed. The blond quickly changed their positions to straddle the other man, and Bret snapped several photos of the blond in the throes of passion. Just doing a thorough job for the client of course.

Bret returned to his office the next morning, developing what he had in the makeshift red room he’d made from the space a secretary would normally occupy. He had a large office, mostly because no one wanted to be in this part of town, spreading out in the top floor of a pre-war art deco building that had seen better days — and worse ones — than a B-movie starlet.

Photos developed, Bret went back to work on his usual batch of background investigations, tailings, and surveillance, with radio silence from the divorce lawyer who’d hired him as he waited in his office.

Bret could hear someone opening the door in his front office developing room. The creak from a door off its hinges thanks to more slammed fists and hurried exits than Bret could remember added a layer of security.

He saw a shadow sidle up to the door and watched it click open before he had time to reach the handle of the gun he kept on the underside of his desk — just in case.

The person who opened the door wasn’t a gangster or wronged client out for blood. It was someone altogether more dangerous, Bret could already tell: the good-looking blond he’d been hired to photograph.

Before stepping fully inside, the man ran a finger over the Hart & Associates label on the door and made a show of glancing around the office.

“And where are your associates?”

Bret hadn’t talked to him, just taken pictures of him, so he wasn’t expecting the low, raspy voice that came out of the blond — not the type of voice for a society boy to have. In fact, it was one that spoke more to long days of hard work, Bret decided.

“Out in the world when I choose to associate with them, Mister…” Bret said, offering an opening for an introduction.

Not finding a seat, the blond perched himself on the corner of Bret’s desk, where he immediately noticed the stack of photos Bret had developed.

He lifted his sunglasses to look at them and then back at Bret. “I know you know who I am.”

There was a flash of something dangerous there; a challenge.

“Right. Anyway, I prefer a solo operation.” Bret leaned back in his chair.

“Do you prefer it, or does your bank account?”

Bret cleared his throat, watching the other man push through the stack of photos for a moment before reaching out a hand to stop him. Bret had gotten rid of the more personal ones. Well, he’d locked them away in his desk drawer.

The man paused on the one of himself in his bedroom, talking on the phone.

”This is a good picture of me, don’t you think, detective?” He showed it to Bret. “Did you forget your job was to make me look bad?”

He pocketed the photo and put the stack back down. “And since you know who I am, I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

Bret wasn’t sure why, not entirely. He’d been sure he’d be served or had at the very least expected a second lawyer in tow with a legal threat, but instead the blond had shown up here alone in a long black coat and sunglasses, looking exactly like the dangerous type of character the detective always ruins his life for in a Marlowe story.

“Well, I heard about the blackmail. If you’re here to sue, I wasn’t going to publish these.” Bret gathered up the rest of the photos and put them in his desk drawer — a different one.

“It’s not to sue; it’s about my missing husband,” the blond said. “Although, my lawyer is the one who suggested I contact you.”

“Oh?” Bret hoped he sounded less surprised than he was.

“I’m not sure which part of that you were surprised by, but I don’t think it was the last part.” He turned his head to look at the Times in the bin by his desk, then gave Bret a pointed look. “Don’t you read these papers before you throw them in the garbage?”

“Well,” Bret bent to pick up the paper. “Maybe I need a refresher.” And there it was on the front page: Billionaire Helmsley Missing — Tycoon Last Seen Tuesday.

Good riddance, Bret thought. He’d never cared much for Helmsley anyway.

The blond watched him read and must’ve been twigged by the face Bret’d made.

“His parents called to talk to him and he wasn’t home, so they get the reporters involved.”

He reached inside his coat pocket for a pearl cigarette case and put a Marlboro to his lips. Bret was used to clients reaching for a smoke, but it was normally with shaky hands and fingers that couldn’t quite get the flint to light. This man was all ease.

He pointed back at the story’s placement on the front page, some of the ash burning a hole through the photo of his husband. “Slow news day.”

He held out the case in Bret’s direction and put it away when Bret declined.

Something about the other man set Bret off course; not quite making him uneasy — he was still interested in the case. Even moral men had bills to pay, after all.

“So what can I do for you?” Bret asked.

“The LAPD have been in Hunter’s pocket since we lived here — you know that better than anyone,” he met Bret’s eyes meaningfully, “so of course they suspected me as soon as they got a chance to.”

“You want me to help clear your name?” It was less a question than one of the services on Bret’s menu board.

The blond was already pulling out a checkbook. “I’ll pay you double whatever that idiot was paying you to follow me.”

Bret huffed out a laugh. “’That idiot?’ Your missing husband?”

It was the other man’s turn to laugh. “My husband is not the one who contacted you.”

And Bret knew that was true. While the “lawyer” on the phone hadn’t left a name, Bret had had to speak to Helmsley enough to decide he didn’t like him, after all. He’d certainly recognize his voice.

“Mr. Michaels —”

“My husband’s missing, not dead.”

“Mr. Helmsley?”

“Shawn.” Shawn gave him a wry smile. Now he was just being difficult.

“Shawn, I’m not sure —”

“Whatever you’re about to say, scrap it, and say you’ll take the case.”

Even if Bret had on objection, he wouldn’t have had time to voice it before Shawn was off his desk and at the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, detective.” Shawn held up the photo of himself in his room he’d swiped from Bret’s desk. “I know you know the place.”

When Bret pulled up, the driveway was full of more LAPD cars than the lot at the station during shift change.

It was the maid who answered, but Shawn was right behind her, a catlike smile as soon as the door swung open to reveal him. Not that he needed much more revealing, considering the shoddy job he’d done closing his robe — the same one he’d been wearing the other day.

“Detective.”

Bret paused to wipe his shoes at the doormat.

“Don’t bother, I was hoping to add a few more muddy boot prints to my collection,” Shawn said, loud enough for the patrolmen passing them from outside to hear.

Bret followed Shawn into the sitting room, where he noticed that Shawn had already had the surveillance photo of himself framed. He sank down next to it in an overstuffed armchair.

Shawn produced another cigarette from the case in his pocket.

“They’ve been in and out of here all day.” Shawn tracked the boys in blue with his cigarette before putting it up to his mouth. He searched for his light, but Bret beat him to it, offering it to his mouth.

He looked surprised. “I thought you didn’t smoke.”

“Never know when you need a light.” Bret pocketed the lighter and pulled out his notebook. “Makes sense they’re being so thorough. They thought of your husband like one of their own, right?” It came out more bitterly than Bret had meant it to, but the sentiment was there.

“If that’s the case, I wish they’d treat that rug the same way. They’ve been tracking mud all over it all day.” Shawn rolled his eyes. “It only got here last week. Christmas gift from Hunter or something, I guess. He never let me buy this one.”

Bret looked around while Shawn reached down to pick at an imaginary stain on the white fur. He was loved, clearly. Plenty of pictures of him and Helmsley from expensive-looking vacations and some just of Shawn.

“What’d you do before this, if you don’t mind my asking?” Bret was going to guess model, the past time of rich younger children who weren’t born ugly.

“Nothing. Now I do nothing with more jewelry.” Bret looked at the ring on his finger. Yes, he was loved.

Bret glanced around and met eyes with a group of cops the next room over. It’d been an uncharacteristically rainy day in LA, and Bret knew he’d need to move quickly if there was anything to find. The cops must have known the same thing and sent out half the force.

Bret recognized most of them, still working for the LAPD even after everything that had happened — it seemed not many other cops had had the same distaste for bribery that Bret did. But, true to Shawn’s word, they did seem to have a distaste for him — something Bret and Shawn had in common — and talked loudly in every room they occupied.

Bret leaned toward Shawn, elbows on knees. “Do you have somewhere quieter we could talk?”

Shawn laughed a little, bitter. “A bar.” Then he grinned. It was decided. “I’ll get ready.”

He shimmied out of the room, clearly expecting Bret to watch him leave — and he did, but only for a second.

Bret dropped his eyes to Shawn’s black book next to the phone as soon as the other man was out of view. He glanced around for his potential audience and moved to Shawn’s unoccupied chair to look at the open pages. Normal enough — certainly not quite as many numbers as Bret had expected a society swan to have — but there was one without a name attached.

The line picked up on the first ring.

“Shawn?” A drowsy voice answered, and Bret could hear an accent even on just one word.

It sounded familiar to Bret, but he couldn’t quite place it. He stayed silent on the line, hoping the man would continue.

“Shawnie, if you’re calling back about Hunter, like I said, I’d let you know when —”

Bret rubbed his thumb along the receiver, hoping it sounded like a bad connection, and placed the receiver down. He definitely recognized the voice, but he still wasn’t entirely sure from where. But the accent and the local area code certainly narrowed it down.

The outfit Shawn Michaels wore to a bar before noon on a Sunday wasn’t much more conservative than the robe he’d been wearing at home.

Instead of one of the dives Bret was used to — or one of the high-end places he expected society people to go — Shawn had dragged him to a hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint.

Shawn gave up on translating the menu to him — “there’s nothing to translate, detective, all of the drinks are what they say they are” — and ordered him the same thing he was having — and continued speaking to the bartender in Spanish for longer than Bret thought necessary, both looking over at Bret a few different times.

They took their drinks to the small patio in the courtyard of the complex, string lanterns offering a little light from the rain still drizzling around their table umbrella. Bret wiped down his chair with a discarded table cloth; Shawn stood to the side, expecting Bret to do the same for him and rolling his eyes when he didn’t, pulling his coat off to drape over the seat instead.

Bret was used to the relative cold outside, but maybe Shawn had already had something that was warming him up.

Bret inspected both of his drinks, one a shot of something clear and the other what Bret guessed was a margarita. Dark liquors and beers were more his speed. He opted for the shot first and had to wince back when it burned his throat. He coughed.

“I have to say, Shawn, not many of my clients looking for a missing person wait until the next day to start looking.”

Shawn threw back his own shot and met Bret’s eyes dead on. No wincing. “I’m not looking. I’m sure I know where he is.”

Bret couldn’t help the head shake and little smile he could feel forming on his face. So far, nothing about this case had been typical.

“And where is that?” He asked.

“I think,” Shawn started, turning the margarita tumbler in his hands with a smile of his own. “He decided he was having a little too much after-Christmas fun with his little friends and I’ll see him next week. Probably went down to Mexico.”

Bret reached for his notebook, thinking more of taking notes on his client than on the missing husband. “An after-Christmas cruise? Do you not normally tag along?”

“And watch my husband flirt with some whore on a boat? I don’t care for it. Unless I get to be the whore, that is.” There was that smile again.

Bret flipped to a new page in his notebook. “He much of a partier?”

“No, that’s me.” To illustrate, Shawn toasted his near-empty margarita to him. “He doesn’t like the drinks, but he likes the ladies who bring them.”

“You don’t seem terribly concerned.”

“About what?”

“About… anything.”

“I’m not concerned — and I just told you why I wasn’t. But I’m sure you know how it would look for me to be unconcerned.”

Bret knew how people like Shawn came off. Bret had been thinking of him the same way. The clothes, the jewelry, the flirty touches, and the easy smile that didn’t reach his cloudy eyes. Of course a guy like that would make his husband disappear, and of course everyone would think that.

“Well, if you say he’s on boat to Mexico, then what should we be working on?”

“He normally leaves out of Long Beach.” He leaned forward to finger Bret’s sleeve. “I guess you could poke around there if you’re already sick of me.”

Bret pocketed his notebook and stood from the table. “I’m starting to think you hired me to be your friend.”

“I have friends.”

“Not in LA.”

On a good day, you could be in Long Beach in under two hours. On a day like this one, where the port was blocked off by yet another set of cops and what felt like miles of crime scene tape, it took longer.

Bret was less than pleased when he pulled off the side of the road and was greeted by a familiar face strolling up to his car. Jannetty, a late night partier playing dress up in a trench coat and badge, leaned his arm on the roof of the driver’s side as Bret made to open his door.

“Doing an investigation, Hart.”

“Explains all the tape.” Bret moved his eyes away from the scene in front of him to meet Jannetty’s. “Doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“Case I’ve been working on. New developments, so I followed them down to Long Beach.”

Bret made to open his door again but was blocked by Jannetty’s knee nudging it closed.

“What I meant was I don’t normally see you around the scenes of investigations — doesn’t matter where they are.”

Bret would have written this off as a bust. Talking to Jannetty was never much use to him — but it did give him some important information this time: the identity of the man on the phone. Shawn had been calling Jannetty’s number and seemed to have a direct line.

Since it didn’t seem like he’d be doing much here — not with Jannetty breathing down his neck, anyhow — he’d do some other investigating. Shawn was covering the gas.

They’d worked together for a few years back when Bret was a detective and Jannetty was wearing a detective’s uniform, but Bret had never known much about the other man other than that he clearly wasn’t an LA native. Not too strange: LA was always a city of new residents. Bret had moved there himself after the war.

They’d started off on the wrong foot — Bret turning down Jannetty’s offer to go to a club after work one day — and ended on another wrong foot — Jannetty’s mysterious lack of punishment for a flub that saw an innocent officer punished instead. Well, it had served as a wrong foot for both Jannetty and Helmsley, in Bret’s book. The two had always been buddy-buddy and it didn’t take genius to figure out how Jannetty got off scot-free. Bret left the force soon after.

He wanted to know just what Shawn would’ve been calling a man like Jannetty about. Knowing he wouldn’t get access to Jannetty’s files, Bret decided to try his luck with a newspaper search. Jannetty was an uncommon enough last name, and if he’d done anything noteworthy, he’d show up. The library staff was used to Bret enough by this point that he had his own login to the microfiche and records. Doing a word search of Jannetty’s name proved easy enough, and he was able to find a few records in Georgia and Texas. Finding nothing in Georgia other than a few reports about Jannetty’s apparent amateur wrestling skill, he moved onto the results in Texas.

They weren’t long afterward, and Bret had guessed Marty moved west looking for work and wound up in central Texas. Not interesting on its own, but what was was the engagement announcement from several years back: one Martin Jannetty and a Shawn Michaels. Bret didn’t think he had a very common name either — certainly not common enough to overlook this coincidence.

Bret couldn’t find a photo of either of them in this paper, but he did find a photo of someone else in another newspaper for another town in Texas, near Dallas. A tragic accident — a young heir falling off a boat. A young heir who happened to be named Shawn Michaels. There was a photo of the family in the newspaper, taken in some opulent living room on some sprawling estate, Bret was sure. It was helpfully labeled for his convenience.

He turned the dial to look closer at the picture. The young man in the photo didn’t look a thing like the Shawn he knew — even in the grainy newsprint, he could tell he had dark hair. More importantly, he was dead — and had been for about five years.

#bretshawn #hartbreak #shawn michaels #bret hart #triple h #marty jannetty #unnamed appearance from #kevin nash #i apologize for the barebones mobile formatting #but helpful scene dividers courtesy of @saradika

[neonblessing]

10.

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT! ⚠️ Click here to read Neon Blessing from the beginning!

Club RED was a labor of love. A cyclopean eye of neon tubes stared down at the street from the facade of a beautiful temple to excess, bathing the darkening street in bloodred light which played through the mist kicked up by a nearby waterfall. The building was dark glass and darker stone, three stories tall and culminating in a domed roof. It wasn’t even 5 pm, but the line was pouring out the door and onto the sidewalk, foreign raincoats and umbrellas standing side by side with wet-haired Diluvian partygoers.

Shiv had never entered a nightclub through the front before. There’d been one club, the Magpie, that she’d frequented with her friends, but the owner was one of Ornarch’s devout and always let them skip the lines. Huh. She hadn’t been to the Magpie in years. She wasn’t even sure if it was still in business.

The line moved quickly, and before long, she was at the door. “Let’s see some ID.” There were two bouncers, identically dour and militaristic-looking men who loomed over her like a pair of sunglasses-clad statues, their suits custom-made to fit over the bulky structure of a mil-spec exocloak. Thin seams in the skin of their faces suggested the presence of subdermal armor plating to protect what the mechanized armor didn’t. One of them handled a scanner with the practiced care of a guy whose grip could crush a human skull.

Shiv showed them the card. “Kooler sent me.” The one with the scanner stared her down while the other barked a few quick words into a headset. If shit went south, the only viable exit was ducking the rope to the left, but Headset would make a grab for her and if those huge hands got a grip it was over. She’d need to distract him first, maybe blind him. Throw her coat in his face? She started to shrug it off her shoulder, just in case. Scanner continued to glower at her in a prolific display of disdain. He should be too far away to do anything, but just in case-

Headset spoke, snapping her out of her planning.

“Hm?” She’d missed what he’d actually said.

“Go on in. The boss is on the second floor.” Shiv pulled her coat back over her shoulder and brushed past the bouncers and into the club. She pushed her way past a heavy curtain of soundproof fabric and replaced the endless roar of the streets with the endless roar of Club RED’s speakers.

Water poured down gilded fountain walls and colored lights arced and scattered through thick smoke, produced by a mix of sweet-scented cigarettes and industrial fog machines. Waiters and waitresses wearing practically nothing served a very peculiar clientele: half of the patrons were exactly what she’d expected, the sort of wealthy-looking folks willing to spend fifteen credits on a can of beer; and the other half were all grizzled paramilitary types. The burning coal glow of their cybernetic eyes stared out at her through the fog, automatically seeking out her vital organs before flicking back to their drinks.

Shiv scaled the stairs to the second floor, taking a moment to look out on the dance floor from the balcony. The band’s frontwoman was more work of art than human, her limbs all formed from sweeping lines of carbon fiber and steel. Her guitar plugged into a port on the back of her neck, her quicksilver fingers dancing over the strings with surreal grace. She had a voice like an angel with a smoking habit.

“She’s quite something, ain’t she?” A woman’s voice came from behind Shiv. She turned to see Kurtz, for who else could it be? The owner of Club RED was maybe forty years old, a little shorter than Shiv, and built like a brick. Her head was clean-shaven, revealing dozens of tally mark tattoos, in sets of five, spreading from near her temple and across half of her head. Unlike everyone else, she was dressed simply and practically, in sturdy black pants and a tank top, and unlike everyone else, she had a gun at her hip, an antique revolver. Both of her eyes were red: one eye was flesh, with an iris that had either been dyed or transplanted. The other eye was metal, the iris glowing the exact same shade as the vast eye on the front of the building. She carried herself with an easy confidence, bordering on arrogance. “Are you the one Kooler mentioned?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m Joan Kurtz, owner of Club RED and REDEYE PMSC. What brings you to my door?”

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#neon blessing #10 #shiv #kurtz #xuria

[jaketswine]

dear stranger…

the intro

a/n: this is a multi part imagine series based on Laufey’s songs dear soulmate and beautiful stranger.. hope you all enjoy <3

600+

summary: moving to a new city has been a little isolating, but you’ve managed to pick up a self-soothing journaling routine.. filled with hopes and dreams, and maybe someone in particular…

making the move to a new city after grad school had proved to be one of the most difficult things you’d ever done.

it wasn’t that you didn’t like it here.. you loved the city, but you were now hours away from friends and family, beginning a new chapter of your life virtually alone.

you’d spent the majority of your free time so far exploring the streets, stopping by local spots you hoped would become frequented locations. lots of time at local markets, and coffee shops; always being sure to check out any bookstore you saw.

you had found solace in one location in particular. a little cafe that doubled as a used bookstore.

it reminded you of home the second you entered the store.. smelling of freshly baked cinnamon rolls just like your mom used to make on special occasions. the hustle and bustle had drawn you in as well; the constant grinding of the espresso machine, low chatter from the customers, and always a friendly face behind the counter.

they had everything you wanted.. spinning records in the store, some of the best lattes you’d come across in quite a while, and even selling locally made art and products.

on your first visit in you’d had a long chat with the owner; one of those people who seemed to know everyone.. everyone but you. they wanted to know all about you after learning you had just moved. you laid out your whole life for them, never caring to keep things to yourself hearing you speak about your struggles of feeling alone, they gifted you with a hand bound leather journal made by a friend of their’s.

weeks went by, and you only found you’re growing more attached to your journal.. writing down anything and everything that came to mind. grocery lists, quotes, even your mass amounts of dreams.

which is where you found yourself again today, head buried in your journal, favorite pen in hand, trying to remember the tasks you had wanted to accomplish.

you’d been so engrossed in your writing that you barely noticed the nudge to your shoulder. quickly raising your head, you locked eyes with what you thought had to be one of the most beautiful men you’d ever seen.

he wasn’t too tall, just enough that you had to told your head upwards to get a good look at him. he had slender features, defined cheekbones, and you noticed the slightest shadow of a dimple peeking out as he spoke.

“i’m so sorry, I hope I didn’t mess up your writing.. these damn trains shift so unexpectedly sometimes.”

realizing he had bumped into you on accident, you gave him a quick grin, promising that no harm had been done. you watched him carefully as he gave you one last apologetic smile, backing away to find a seat of his own on the crowded subway car.

you watched him as he sat, withdrawing a book from his small backpack. looking him over, you took note of how his long brown hair fell in waves over his shoulders. watching the singular pendant on his chest rise and fall, under his mostly unbuttoned maroon shirt. the tan chelsea boots he was sporting looked to be well-loved, matching nicely with the tattered chord bracelet around his wrist.

a man who loved and cherished things.. that’s exactly what he appeared to be. for the briefest moment, you envied the people in his life, the ones who knew him best. you wondered if they received the same warm smile he gave you just minutes ago. you quickly decided this train of thought was ridiculous.. he was just a beautiful stranger.

arriving at your station shortly after, you gathered your things and prepared to exit the car, giving one last look over to the man you had been intermittently staring at the whole time. you watched him as he read, waiting for the doors to open, taking in every detail of him you could.

you decided you’d be thinking about him for many days to come.. and who knew, he may even land in the dreams section of your favorite journal.

taglist: @gretnavannfleet

#greta van fluff #jake kiszka fluff #jake gvf #greta van fleet #jake kiszka #gvf blurb #gvf fanfiction #jake kiszka x reader #jake x reader #gvf fluff #dear stranger #beautiful stranger #dear soulmate #laufey

[lorei-writes]

Halcyon Among Hills

Chapter I: The Gentleman

Clavis x Reader Alternative Universe "Mystery" Premise: The death of your great-grandfather comes with an inheritance hefty enough to pay off your family's debt. While dealing with the financial matters himself, your father sends you to your great-grandmothers estate, to properly show your gratitude... However, things aren't quite the way they should be. Word Count: ~1k Masterlist

Once upon a time I've drafted an AU for @rinaririr . In turn, she drew this wonderful art. This story has been inspired and written for Rina <3

Content Warnings: none

The coach sways evenly, a boat with the gentlest winds in its sails, the few uneven stones in the track of the wooden wheels the sole wayward waves wishing to disturb the pace of your journey. Chin propped in your hand and elbow resting over the windowsill, you gaze past the glass, the scenery floating by languidly. Old tenements line the streets, distinguished ladies in various shades of the fashionable yellow swarming the milliner’s display, the bustles upholding their skirts vibrating as if in a state of resonance.

“But father, cannot this wait? I am most certain it’d be preferable for us both to pay the visit to dear great-grandma. She must be feeling lonely now that great-grandpapa has died, you see.”

“No, darling, it cannot. Go ahead by yourself, lest you wish for even the inheritance to be of insufficient aid to us. I shall join you in three weeks, however, so be not worried.”

***

The coach sways evenly, a boat with the gentlest winds in its sails, the few uneven stones in the track of the wooden wheels the sole wayward waves wishing to disturb the pace of your journey. Chin propped in your hand and elbow resting over the windowsill, you gaze past the glass, the scenery floating by languidly. Old tenements line the streets, distinguished ladies in various shades of the fashionable yellow swarming the milliner’s display, the bustles upholding their skirts vibrating as if in a state of resonance. You narrow your eyes in an attempt to see what may be the cause behind this buzzing now… Ah. It appears to all be about some precious lace, or some other damask.

You blink.

You do not need any of that.

A curious thing happens in this blinking, however, for it has the time rush. The hustle’s grip over the carriage loosens, and soon enough you are released into the countryside, to then skip past the fields and enter the forest, to traverse the remnants of the beaten paths… Or at the very least, that is how it feels to you, for you have never left the city before. Alas (thankfully?), the duty calls. Sit you must, so sit you do, and you take in the sights previously unseen, to your eyes’ content. The green is greener than the emeralds of your dear maternal aunt, the azure plains above somehow are more than just a sky; the bark is more abrasive, for it scratches you even without being touched. Outwardly bored, you take in the world with marvel of an adult newborn.

The sun has begun to lay its head at the hills by the time you arrive at your great-grandmother’s estate. You take that with a hearty dose of displeasure; however, between your numb legs and the ant nest you must have apparently stepped into, it may be for the better. Any more excitement and who knows, perhaps you’d be as daring as to personally inspect the grounds at night. The coach rocks one last time to then fall silent among the calm.

The lights are lit inside the mansion, although you do dare wonder why. Is it not too late a time to host guests? Or… Perhaps, there is another visitor staying the night. As if to answer you, voices overfill the estate, the door-dam bursting, unable to hold back the almighty laughs.

“Of course, ‘Ma! Of course! Haven’t you seen me when I was but a little boy? Tell dear Cyran I was not the cutest creature underneath the sun!”

Your eyebrows raise, as do your suspicions. Cautiously, you exit the carriage, the coachman removing your luggage from the trunk.

“Um… Good Sir, may I ask you a question? For I take it was my great-grandmother who has sent you, and thus you must be familiar with her.”

“ ‘Course, I am. Old lady’s been hiring me since the dawn of time, whenever that was. What is it, Ma’am?”

You throw a cautious glance over your shoulder, hands gripping at your skirt. “That gentleman, he…?”

“Dearie me, introductions? Clavis Lelouch, at service for the beautiful lady.” A whisper nuzzles against the nape of your neck, hot breath caressing the shell of your ear, falling behind your collar like a spring mizzle. Your heart skips a beat and then a dozen more, your blood boiling water exposed to the sternest frost. You seem to evaporate, however, you do re-crystallise, some magnanimous hands removing the gentle cause of your trouble from behind your back.

“Sir Clavis, please, contain yourself…” a man groans.

You turn on your heel, gravel grumbling underneath the sole of your shoe. At the same time, it appears less troubled than the ginger man whose fingers still perch on the shoulder of the young gentleman from just a second ago. He stares at you, although you cannot quite decide whether he is more dejected or apologetic; conversely, you are most certain the astute golden eyes of Clavis Lelouch have not been tainted with any such impurities as remorse. He smiles at you, a basilisk hypnotizing his prey.

Clavis takes a step towards you.

You do not dare move, his fingers hooking below your chin to force you to meet his gaze.

“Welcome to our town. Please, make sure to make ‘Ma smile. She’s been rather down for… a long time, you see,” Clavis says, in a voice low enough that it excludes anybody else from hearing a word. Something wavers in his eyes, but you do not get a chance to question that. His hand drops away from you, your great-grandmother’s voice cooling the scalding embarrassment that near blisters your skin.

“Dearie? Is that you?”

“Yes, great-grandmama!” you reply, as earnest as a callow student yet to experience the life of a school.

“It’s been too many years, too many! When have you grown so much? Ah, I swear… ‘Pa and I should have visited the town more often, but alas…”

A hand pushes at the small of your back. You turn your head towards it owner, Clavis staring down at you with a smile bright enough to dispel the night.

“Isn’t that joyous then, ‘Ma? You have got plenty to discuss. I shan’t occupy you any longer then, but worry not. We will meet again soon enough,” he laughs, each word falling into you as into a cave, echoing deep within the crevices of your mind. You do not get to say anything, however. The moment your lips choose to part, Clavis Lelouch is already gone.

That is how you arrive at your destination, to set off on the very first adventure of your life.

You've seen a typo? Let me know!

Tag List: @lancelotscloak @violettduchess @pathogenic @fang-and-feather @tele86 @rinaririr @keithsandwich @cheese-ception @bis-enti @claviscollections @queengiuliettafirstlady @sh0jun

Tell me if you'd like to be added to my tag list :)

#clavis lelouch #ikepri clavis #ikemen prince clavis #ikepri #ikemen prince #ikemen series

[five-miles-over]

Can you write a one-shot about Yandere Jaguar Tom when he became obsessed with an innocent woman and starting to stalking her sending her gift and flowers, the woman tried to explain that she is not interested in him, but Tom doesn't listen to her and one day he became tired to just stalking her, what do you think?

Thanks for the request, and thank you for your patience

All I Long For, All I Worship and Adore

Pairing: Yandere Jaguar!Tom Hiddleston x Reader 

Warnings: stalking, brief mention of drugging, obsession, kidnapping

As soon as the engines came to a halt, you exited the train and briskly walked towards a small bistro. Located on Great Suffolk Street, it was one of your favorite spots in London. In your mind, there was no better place to be on a Friday evening.

Much to your relief, the place wasn't terribly crowded, and you were able to find a table within minutes of entering. You removed your coat to reveal a pretty navy dress that perfectly suited your body type, and smoothed your hair with your fingers.

"Good evening, madam." A waiter - bearing an accent distinct to Essex - handed you a menu.

You glanced at it for a moment, and then gently handed it back to him. "Thank you, I think I'll go with my usual. Pan-fried prawns with no coriander, and chips please. Curry on the side."

"Of course, madam." 

Strange, you thought to yourself. He never asked you for your drink order. No worries, perhaps he would return after some time. And if not, then you would tell him when he brought your food.

With small sigh, you rested your head upon your hand. Throughout the week, you had wanted nothing more than to escape your home for a little while. The same home, which you'd lovingly decorated and furnished into a sanctuary, was now turning into the setting of a nightmare.

It had actually began two months ago, with anonymous letters arriving at your doorstep. They were love sonnets at first, some of them extremely familiar to you. One of them read, 

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date."

And you actually loved them; no one had ever made you feel so beautiful inside. Some of the letters, though, were too…intimate for your liking.

"My sweet darling,

There is simply no perfect way for me to eloquently convey my feelings for you, please forgive me for being so forward with you.

I love you, my precious flower. I love you more than Cupid loves Psyche, more than Apollo loved Daphne, and far more than King Arthur loved Queen Guinevere.

From the moment I saw you on your way home, exactly twenty days before today, I knew that my heart belonged to you and no one else. I cannot stop thinking about you day and night. I think about your beauty and your sweetness, about how you are truly made for me.

You have made me feel a love more beautiful and powerful than anything I have ever read or felt before. Perfect you are indeed, my lovely starlight.

And for months now, I have watched your every move - my eyes seem to always find you, I cannot help it - and I find myself each time admiring your numerous charms. I watch the way you smile at little things, like sunsets, ice cream, and film posters. I notice the way you run your fingers through your hair so playfully and absent-mindedly…oh, were I one of those fingers that I could caress you so.

One day, I promise that you will be mine. Surely now you are aware of my deep amorous feelings for you. I will make sure that we are together forever, even if I must butcher the whole world to win your love. 

Nothing else matters - you belong to me, for you have captured my heart, my lovely starlight. And one day, I know that I will steal your heart as well.

Yours truly,

Tom

At least now there was a name that you could associate with the stalker.

Then, the letters began arriving at your doorstep with gifts - Godiva chocolates from the Gold Collection, bottles of perfume from Gucci and Prada, and seasonal flowers wrapped in tissue paper. Each gift came with a little notecard that said,

"Thinking of you, my lovely starlight. Fondly, Tom."

The first few times, you took the gifts to the police,hoping that you might be able to find out who was apparently stalking you. Maybe the police could issue a restraining order, but your efforts were in vain. Without a face or a physical description, they could do nothing.

Once, while you were leaving the police station, you found a black Jaguar parked incredibly close to the building. Leaning against the car was a tall gentleman wearing a white button down shirt, black trousers, and shined shoes. Everything about his appearance was immaculate, from his unblemished skin to his jet-black hair.

"My lovely starlight," he addressed you, causing you to stop in your tracks. The gentleman grabbed your wrist and studied you intensely.

"Tom." You swallowed, not meaning for the name to escape from you so suddenly. 

The gentleman tightened his grip. "You know my name…tell me, my darling, why were you sat the police station?" He glanced at the package in your free hand, and then returned his gaze to you. "You wound me, darling," he whispered with pity in his voice. "Don't you know that I adore you? My gifts are a token of my admiration for you. They were meant for you to have."

"I don't want them," you stiffly answered, trying not to look into his eyes. 

"You don't want them?" He echoed, his breath warm against your cheek. "Then I suppose I'll have to punish the ones who selected them. I'll bring you something more closer to your liking." 

With those words, he shamelessly kissed your knuckle and released you from his grip. You fled to the train station without looking back, only to find a box with a white, lacy set of lingerie at your doorstep the next morning.

"Ma'am?"

Interrupting your rumination, the waiter placed your food before you. And much to your surprise, he brought a glass of your favorite drink.

"How did you…this is my favorite, how did you know?" You asked, a twinkle in your eyes.

"Wasn't me, ma'am. It's compliments of the gentleman over there." The waiter pointed to another corner of the bistro, where Tom - who was sitting at his own table -  waved in your direction.

A chill rushed down your spine, your toes trembled inside your shoes, and your breaths grew shorter with each passing second. He knew you were here…

A jovial grin upon his face, Tom invited himself to the chair across from your table. He wore a black blazer and a slender silk tie of a similar hue, and carried a glass of champagne in his right hand. "How wonderful to see you again, my lovely starlight."

Tom clinked his glass against yours, and took a sip. "It's bad manners not to take a drink."

Not knowing what else to do, you took a drink from your glass. It was delicious, yes, but not good enough to fight the knots forming in your stomach. 

"Better." Tom reached across the table and gently clasped your chin, raising it so your eyes met his vibrant cyan ones. "You look very beautiful tonight, darling."

"Thank you." You gulped. After a moment of silence, you spoke up. "Tom…"

"I love it when you say my name," he praised. "It sounds perfect from your lips."

"Tom, I…I know you have…I know you've done all of these gestures, but I'm not interested in being with you."

Tom blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I don't want to be with you. I don't feel this way about you, and I want you to stop watching me. It scares me…"

"I see." 

You sighed with relief. "Oh. Thank you…you understand."

He nodded. "Still no reason we can't have a nice supper together." Tom mischievously grinned at the chips on your plate. "Those look delicious - I think I'll get a plate of my own."

"Alright." You looked down and licked your lips. Something just felt…off about this situation. Did he really just agree to stop stalking you so easily? Only one thing to do. 

You rose from the table and adjusted your dress. "I think I'll go freshen up - there's a ladies' room here." After Tom began talking to the waiter, you left.

Ten Minutes Later…

"Fly me to the moon

Let me play among the stars

Let me see what spring is like on

A-Jupiter and Mars"

You rubbed your eyes, finding yourself in the backseat of a car…with Tom in the driver's seat, casually singing along to the song playing on the radio.

"You are all I long for, All I worship and adore…" Tom sang, a slight breathiness in his voice. He pressed his foot on the accelerator, making the engine roar. Then, he turned to you with a grin.

"What happened?" Your eyes shot wide open at the sight of your state. Your hands were chained together with handcuffs, your feet were bound with a cloth, and there was a strange, sweet smell coming from your arms. "Tom, what happened? What am I doing here?"

"You were right," he simply said. "It was time to stop watching you."

"I…I don't understand. How did I end up here?"

Tom shrugged, making a turn at a green light. "What do you remember?"

"I asked to go to the washroom."

"Did you wash your hands?"

"I did…"

"Then what else?"

"I…I…" You faltered. "I wiped my hands…and then nothing."

Tom chuckled to himself, and this only made you more nervous. "I ought to give Dr. Laing a present." He smirked, "The soap and the paper towels you used were laced with anaesthetics. And before you try to guess, I did not use chloroform; its reputation is based on lies. Requires too much time, and keeps one unconscious for too little time."

"What will you do now? Are you going to hurt me?"

"Hurt you? Do you really think that low of me, darling?" He shook his head. "I would never do such a thing. I'm going to make sure we're together forever."

"This can't be happening…" You shook your head.

Tom continued to sing along with the radio, "In other words,  please be true

In other words, I love you…"

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston characters #jaguar tom hiddleston #jaguar villains #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x y/n #jaguar tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston imagines #yandere male #yandere tom hiddleston #tw yandere #male yandere