#they were expensive as hell to make but...

[steventhusiast]

STWG prompt 20/4/24

prompt: accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss

pairing/character(s): steddie

i somehow wrote 1.8k... enjoy

. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Steve doesn’t think he’s ever been this distracted by a customer before at work. He’s just so… hot. Like, the usual customers he serves are rich and well-dressed, sure. But they’re businessmen well-dressed, and that can’t even begin to describe this particular customer. He’s been calling him Hot Guy in his head for the past thirty minutes.

Hot Guy is in a suit, yes, but that’s not even the best part of this man’s look. The suit’s all black and hugs his waist deliciously, but it’s everything else that has Steve practically drooling where he stands by the bar, waiting for his next round of drinks to be made. Hot Guy looks a little less pristine and perfect than the usual businessmen; his hairs up in a messy ponytail, strands of a fringe framing his face, and he has beautiful silver earrings on and an expensive looking chain around his neck. And every time he moves just so, Steve gets to see a peek of a tattoo on his chest as his half-unbuttoned black shirt moves. Gorgeous…

“All ready for you, Steve.”

He’s snapped out of it by the bartender on shift, and looks at the bar to see, oh yes, all of his drinks are ready. He offers the bartender a smile and a thank you, and gets to balancing them on his serving tray.

See, he can get a little distracted by hot customers, but he can’t be seen as a slacker. He cannot afford to lose this job.

He and Robin finally were able to move to Chicago four months ago, and it took him three months (and a good chunk of his emergency savings) to find a job as a waiter at some restaurant. It’s not even a particularly nice job. Sure, the restaurant is fancy as hell, and the customers tip really fucking well, but the pay leaves much to be desired. Like, a usual customer (rich) tips him more than he gets paid for a whole shift! And he’s not complaining about the tips, per say, but when the restaurant’s clientele can tip that much… surely the restaurant can afford to pay their workers a decent wage!

Just as he manages to balance the drinks on his tray, he notices his newest co-worker, Danny, fiddling with his own collection of drink glasses. Danny looks awfully shifty as he glances over his shoulder at a table and then takes a small sachet out of his pocket, tears a corner and pours it into one of the wine glasses.

Steve’s eyes narrow at the action. What the fuck?

Over the last week of Danny working at the restaurant, he has thought him to be unpleasant at best and suspicious at worst. The one time Steve tried to make conversation with him, just asking where he worked before there, he got a glare and a clipped comment about not getting personal. Now that he thinks about it, Steve doesn’t even know Danny’s last name.

He watches Danny pick up the tray, do a final glance around the restaurant (either not perceiving Steve as a threat or not seeing him stood five feet away), and walks toward the table area.

And he’s not saying Danny would poison a customer. He’s not saying that, because that is insane. But. What’s the alternative? That Danny got a request to put, like, powdered vitamins in someone’s drink? It’s just shifty that’s all!

And, like he said, he can’t afford to lose this job.

That includes if it gets shut down for becoming a murder scene. Or him accidentally abetting a murder by not doing anything!

What does he even do? He’s going to look genuinely insane, whether he's right or wrong.

Danny reaches a table (it’s the table Hot Guy is seated at) with his tray, and plasters on a customer service smile as he starts dishing out the drinks. Steve keeps an eye on the (possibly) tainted wine glass as Danny puts it down in front of- in front of Hot Guy. Shit.

Steve’s heart starts speeding up as he watches Hot Guy pick up the wine glass, inspecting it and giving it a little swirl before starting to lift it, and- fuck it.

Steve bolts over to the table, definitely knocking over another server’s tray as he goes, and has to shove the wine glass out of Hot Guy’s hand to stop whatever’s about to happen.

The liquid splashes onto Hot Guy’s chest (Steve hopes the poison isn’t, like, corrosive), then the glass shatters to the floor, and Steve’s left heaving as he catches his breath. Not from the exercise, but from the adrenaline rush. Because Steve is- oh god, he’s in Hot Guy’s lap.

He scrambles to stand up, cheeks bright red, and chances a glance at Danny. On the surface, Danny looks shocked and apologetic to the rest of the businessmen at the table, but Steve sees his right eye twitch and his ears start to tint red. Okay. So. Even if he looks crazy, maybe he made a good move.

He looks back toward Hot Guy only to find that he’s already being watched with an inquisitive gaze. The man still has his hand held up like he’s holding the wine glass still, and he has one (perfectly manicured) eyebrow raised at Steve. Steve feels his cheeks heat up even more under his attention.

“I am so sorry, sir.” Steve finds himself blurting out, but Hot Guy just shakes his head at him, oddly calm.

“I’ll get you another drink, Mr Munson.” Danny says, giving Steve a pointed glare before walking away.

Hot Guy- No. Mr Munson looks like he’s about to say something, but Steve needs to get him somewhere he can tell him what happened away from other people and before Danny tries it again, so he boldly puts a hand on the man’s shoulder. The possibility of looking crazy be damned.

“Let me help you get cleaned up, sir.”

Mr Munson considers him for a moment more, and then nods. Maybe he sees the frantic, anxious look in Steve’s expression, or maybe he just wants to yell at Steve outside of the view of his assumed co-workers.

"I'll be right back. Don't talk business without me." Mr Munson addressed his table before following him off.

Steve leads him to the customer toilets, and then takes him to the staff hallway just behind them. Mr Munson’s eyebrows raise at that, and at the serious expression on Steve’s face.

“Sir, I’m so sorry for that, but I… This is going to sound insane, but I think my co-worker poisoned your drink.”

He levels Mr Munson with a serious expression as he speaks, trying to negate the craziness of what he’s saying by showing he’s not joking. Through doing so, of course, Steve also gets the chance to get a better look at Mr Munson’s face, which is just… like he said earlier, gorgeous. And that’s not even talking about the deep brown of his eyes.

Mr Munson doesn’t even flinch at Steve’s words, just looks down at the wine on his shirt with a vague look of disgust.

“I see.”

He doesn’t sound surprised. What the fuck? Who is this man?

“You don’t seem shocked.” Steve finds himself saying, and then his eyes widen and he smacks a hand over his mouth, “Ignore me! I don’t want to get involved in any, um. Not crimes. I’m going to stop talking now.”

As he keeps talking, Mr Munson’s face contorts into an amused smile, and his gaze wanders over Steve’s form, then back up to his eyes. When Steve’s done rambling, the man laughs.

“No. I’m not shocked.” Is all Mr Munson says, “But unfortunately, you are involved now, sweetheart.”

Steve feels the colour drain from his face at the words and the serious tone Mr Munson speaks them in, but before he can even squeak (or scream) in response, the Staff Only door slams open, and Steve is greeted with two pistols pointed at him.

Then he squeaks. And puts his hands up in a surrender position, even though the two men glaring at him don’t look like police officers. They’re wearing suits, like they’re customers of the restaurant. And they completely ignore Steve in favour of scanning over Mr Munson.

Holy shit. What the fuck is his life? Robin will never believe him when he gets home. If he gets home.

“Put the guns down, boys.” Mr Munson says from beside Steve, and then (gently) puts his hands on Steve’s arms to push them back down to his sides, “No need for all that, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, Eddie. We thought- you just disappeared, and we heard glass shattering, so-” One of the gunmen says, stumbling through his words slightly.

“We thought you’d been kidnapped. Again.” The other says, looking unimpressed.

Eddie rolls his eyes, and Steve notes how he hasn’t removed his hands from him yet.

“I’ve been told that- sorry, sweetheart, what’s your name?” Eddie starts, maintaining eye contact with Steve only.

Sweetheart. Kill him now. How is his dick still working in these conditions, and why is 'sweetheart' doing it for him? Maybe it's more to do with Eddie himself than the word...

“Steve.” He squeaks out.

“Right. Steve, here, thinks my drink was poisoned by his co-worker. He’s the culprit for the glass, and this,” Eddie gestures to his wet shirt, “and then he took me here to clean me up.”

“What’s the name of this co-worker?” One of the gunmen ask Steve, voice intense, and when Steve just blinks at him he takes a step forward like he’s about to put a hand on him. Steve can’t help his flinch in response.

Which Eddie apparently feels, given the way he tsks at his men and takes a step back, pulling Steve with him.

“No threatening my possible saviour, Jeffy. This isn’t an interrogation.”

“His- His name’s Danny. I don’t know a last name.” Steve says finally, and gulps when Eddie rubs his thumbs back and forth where his hands are still on him.

“Good boy.” Eddie says softly, and Steve can’t help the shudder that runs through him.

Okay. It's confirmed. Apparently being mildly traumatised by guns doesn’t stop him from getting horny. Good to know. Hopefully Eddie doesn't notice how red he's gotten again.

Eddie finally lets go of him to step toward his men.

“You heard the man. Gareth, go get a sample of the wine that spilled on the floor and figure out if Stevie here is right, and Jeff, go tell everyone else who we’re looking for and find Danny.”

The two gunmen leave with their orders, and Eddie turns back to Steve. He’s looking at Steve with that intense gaze once again, eyes dragging down to his beat-up Reeboks and back up to his dishevelled face.

“Now, how can I reward you for probably saving my life, sweetheart?”

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie drabble #steve harrington #eddie munson #this got away from me so bad it's 1.8k words at least #stwgdailyprompt #dailydrabble #mywriting

[ghostofhyuck]

Gang AU Series 6

Gang leader! Zhong Chenle x Gang member’s younger sister! Reader

Summary: "Why can't you resent me?"

cw: mentions of death, and blood. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Yn Lee.” 

You turned around and saw him. You freezed, hands tight on the hem of your apron. You knew him and how you two are the same-age. But the way he’s all roughed-up with his leather jacket in contrast to your plain sweater and apron, shows how your lives are different from each other. 

“You know me,” you mumbled. 

“You’re Mark Lee’s only sister,” he answered. “I’m Zhong Chenle.” 

“What do you want?” you asked, trying to look calm, knowing that you two are in a public place. 

“Can I have a spare of your time?” he asked. “I need to talk to you about your brother.” 

You only pursed your lips, it’s been a week since your brother’s burial and as much as you want to cope with his death, the ghost of his past keeps on haunting you. 

And that ghost is none other than Zhong Chenle. 

“Is it important?” you asked, looking around the place. “It’s a busy hour for us —”

“Don’t worry about it yn,” your manager interrupted. “He already asked for my permission, go on.” 

That’s how you found yourself at a table in front of Zhong Chenle. You watched as he took a sip of the iced coffee that he ordered, glancing at the window beside as if he’s admiring the view of the outside. 

“Before Mark-hyung died, he asked if we could look after you,” Chenle started. “And I promised him that. That’s why I’m telling you this right now, moved in with —”

“What are you talking about!?” you asked, confused. 

“Mark-hyung wanted you to leave that shitty place of your aunts’ house,” he explained. “He’s much more comfortable if you stay with us.”

“And how can I be so sure that you’re not fooling me?” 

Chenle became quiet. A scene played in his mind. 

Blood. Lots of blood. Lots of Mark’s blood. Mark smiles at him, who's crying hopelessly, trying to keep his friend alive by holding him tightly. Mark continued to talk, stuttering at his own words in an attempt to make out of your name. 

“Get her out of that place, please…” Mark whispers at Chenle, who could only nod. And as if it was the answer that he needs, Mark closes his eyes slowly. 

“It’s a promise before he joined the gang,” Chenle lied. “We look for each other’s family, especially when someone dies.” 

You stared at him. He seems more distant than what you assumed, as if he was hiding something from you. But you tried to look on the other side. He wants you to leave your aunts’ place. Something that you and your brother have been dying to do. 

It was the reason why your brother even joined the gang. Both of you were orphaned at a young age. Your parents died due to a car accident, leaving you two under the care of your aunt and her husband. 

It was a living hell. They would tell you everyday that both you siblings should be grateful that she took you in or else you two will end up in an orphanage. She treats you like a maid and for years, you and your brother endured it. They were greedy for money too, they couldn’t even spare money on you two, saying that you two should be grateful that you have a place to live. At a young age, you are forced to find part-time jobs so that you have money for yourself. 

So did Mark. When your brother turned nineteen, he ended up joining a gang. It was dangerous, but it gave him a huge sum of money enough to buy both your needs. But in return, he would go home wounded and blooded. You hold your tears, as you mend your brother’s wounds. Trying to convince him to stop it and just live a normal life. 

“Soon, just a little bit more, we’ll get there. We can now move out of this shitty place and have a place of our own, you can study at one of the best universities here in Korea without worrying about the expenses.” he told you, smiling. You have your lips tight, trying your best to trust your brother.

But a few weeks later, Mark died. Your world crumbled when you received the news that your brother died in a gang fight. It was said that he was just an innocent passerby who happened to witness the illegal activities, that’s why he got involved. But you knew that he wasn’t as innocent as they tried to paint him. Whoever decided to change the statement, must be trying to protect Mark too. 

And you wonder if it was Chenle’s doings. You glanced at him, and he was nothing but staring at you. You let out a sigh. 

“How can I be sure that I should trust you?” you asked.

“Don’t trust me,” Chenle answered quickly. “I’m just fulfilling what Mark-hyung wanted. It’s just a temporary stay, soon, you can stay at the apartment flat Mark wanted to buy.” 

“Okay,” you let out a sigh. “I’ll come with you.” 

It was a risk. But it was better than staying in your aunts’ place. You knew the gang your brother joined. Mark keeps talking about them whenever you mend his wounds. He seems to love his gang, even considering them as friends. If Mark trusts them enough to look after you, then you’re convinced that there’s nothing for you to worry about. 

“Alright,” Chenle muttered. “Here’s my phone number, just contact me when we pick you up.” He leaves a card in front of you, and before you could mutter a word, he bids his goodbye to you and leaves. 

You stared at the paper. There’s not much to see except his name and number. That’s how discreet Chenle was, and now, you were even more curious about the gang your brother joined. 

-

As expected, your aunt was more happy for you to leave their place. She didn’t have an ounce of care about you and kept on insisting that it was time for you to be mature and live on your own. 

“Maybe even try to follow your brother’s footsteps, how about that?” she taunted. You froze for a second, but as much as you wanted to stop and slap the hell out of her, you couldn’t do anything but to continue packing your things. You tried to brush it off. At least you’re leaving the place. You’re free now and you’re on your own now. 

It took a while before Chenle arrived. A slick black car stops in front of you and from the driver’s seat, Chenle exits. He helped you load your things on the trunk, and even opened the passenger seat for you. You glanced at the apartment building, not noticing that Chenle had entered the car. 

“Is there something wrong?” he asked, you glanced at him and shook your head as answer. 

“Did your aunt say something?”

You became quiet, wondering how he was able to read your mind. 

“Mark-hyung talks about her all the time,” he answered, “That’s for another time, let’s go.” 

The drive to their place was quiet. You only stared at the view from the window. Chenle was a skilled driver, but he didn’t say a thing to you during the duration of the drive. You found it weird, he was far different from your brother’s stories. 

You knew them and their personality. You know that they’re just lost kids like your brother, trying to fight their way to survive the harsh world. The gang was small, but it’s enough. Chenle was their leader due to the fact that he founded and funded the gang, he did it in order to rebel against his parents. But slowly, Chenle realised that this is the family that he’s been yearning for. 

That’s why he was so protective of not only his members, but their member’s families too. 

Your thoughts started to trail off when you found Chenle turning right to a secluded road. It was down a narrow alley that seemed abandoned, barely visible from the highway you two just drove through. 

From the outskirts, you found yourself in a more hidden alley, filled with abandoned buildings and ruined roads. Chenle parks the car outside of a decent-looking building. And as you glanced at him, he only gave you a go signal to leave the car. 

“It looks abandoned but that’s the purpose of it,” Chenle commented. Grabbing your bag, not even letting you touch it. “Come on.” you only followed him quietly, entering the building. It was dimmed with lights, the walls weren't painted with any colours, and you felt its eerie presence as Chenle's footsteps echoed through the empty hallways. 

As you two reached the second floor, Chenle stopped in front of the only door in there. He types on the passcode and enters. “We’re here!” He shouts, and you only follow suit. 

You stepped backward when you were greeted by a bunch of boys — and girls. You were surprised, given that your brother didn’t mention any girls in the gang. 

“Like I told you, we protect each other’s families,” Chenle said. You only nod, as they introduce themselves one by one. Only a few of them are the member’s sisters, mostly their girlfriends. You gave them a warm smile, trying your best to be acquainted with them. 

“Jaemin-hyung, bring yn to her room, I’ve got to do something,” Chenle ordered, disrupting the talk. 

“Uhm, sure…where are you going?” Jaemin asked. 

“Meeting someone,” he said casually before leaving the place without any words to you. 

You stood there frozen, clueless as to what to do when Jaemin tapped your shoulder. 

“You’ll get used to it, that’s just how Chenle is,” the older one assured you. 

You tried to brush it off. That’s just Chenle’s personality. They say. It was weird given how your brother talks about him like a younger brother. 

“He may be younger than me but he’s smart, also calculated. But he still has a childish side of him. If you met him, you'd definitely like his smile.” 

Two weeks into your stay and you never saw Chenle smile. He seems reserved, as if he’s trying to hide something from you. You became curious, especially when the rest ignored it. Was your brother’s stories a lie? You wanted to approach him, and talk to him about your stay. You feel agitated, doing nothing and spending most of your time on your part-time job. But he seems busy, doing something, and completely shutting himself from the world. He couldn’t even look you in the eye.

You wonder if it was because of your brother, and yet, as much as you want to find the answer, you couldn’t find it especially when Chenle’s been avoiding you. 

It’s not like you want to leave the place, living with your brother’s former gang was much better than staying in your aunt's place. They were welcoming and still acted like a bunch of teenagers. They seem like a close-knitted family, and now you understand why your brother thinks highly about them. But of course, he mentioned that this is just a temporary stay, so you were also half-eager to not stay any longer. 

“We don’t know either,” Jeno answered when you opened up your concern. “It’s best for you to corner him.”

That was the only answer that you got. You only nodded and didn’t push them furthermore. Jeno noticed the way your expression faltered, he only smiles as he gently ruffles your hair. 

“He’ll be back here around two am, if you really want to talk to him.”

So you stayed up late. You’re used to it. Back then, you would wait for your brother’s return. It comforts you that he would go home late but alive. It assured you that he’s fine. 

Just like what Jeno had mentioned, it was almost two in the morning when the door opened. You stood up from your seat. You heard Chenle’s harsh breathing, as if he was struggling. You immediately went to him, surprising both of you. 

Your eyes widened to see him ruined. Open cuts and wounds in his face, blood-stained shirt and jacket, he was limping too. 

“Why are you still awake?” he asked, struggling to finish his sentence. 

“I was waiting for you,” you said, making him quiet. “You should sit, let me tend your wounds —“

“No thanks, I can manage —“

“Please,” you pleaded. “I do this to Mark too, I know what I am doing.” 

As if the magic word was your brother’s name that he agreed to. You helped him sit on the sofa, while you left to find the first aid kit found in the bathroom. Minutes later, you returned and began mending his wounds. You noticed how he’s looking sideways, not even batting an eye at you. 

“I was going to ask,” you started. “Until when can I stay here?” 

“Why?”

“I just don’t want to burden everyone,” you timidly said.

“You’re not a burden,” Chenle answers. 

“Really? Then why can’t you even look me in the eyes?” you asked. 

Chenle didn’t answer. He couldn’t help but remember Mark’s funeral — where you two first met. 

It was at a decent funeral parlour. The six of them went there together, and from the outside, Chenle noticed that there’s only a few visitors. You were Mark’s main mourner. Only sitting at the corner, holding the frame of your dead brother. Your head lay low, not even noticing their arrival. They all stood there quietly, trying to sink into their mind that Mark is dead. 

In the midst of the ceremony, Chenle’s eyes never left yours. He can see the resemblance of Mark to you, and he couldn’t help but feel guilty. 

Yet he was intrigued at your calm demeanour. When it was time for them to bid goodbye, you personally sent them away, bowing at them as a sign of gratitude, and as you come face to face with Chenle, he couldn’t help but noticed the dead look in your eyes, and yet you seem to not shed a single tear for your brother. 

He doesn’t know what to feel about you. Intrigued? Curious? Guilty? All he knows is that he killed the only family member that you had. And as much as he tries to help you, he knows that he couldn’t do anything about Mark’s death. 

“Why can’t you resent me?” he asked. You stopped your tracks, looking at him. Chenle was devastated. He was wondering why you didn’t even try to push them away, scream or even call the police at them. 

But you only let out a small chuckle, “I don’t know, why would I?”

“I killed your brother,” he confessed. 

“You didn’t Chenle, I know the truth,” you told him. “You weren’t able to save him, that’s all.”

“See!? I was useless! How can you still mend my wounds after what I did!?”

You let out a sigh, “How can I resent the people who my brother considered as family?”

Silence. Chenle wasn’t able to say anything. You only gave him a bitter smile as you grabbed another alcohol pad and gently tapped it on his cheeks. That’s when he noticed how your eyes felt hollow, as if you’re dead inside. 

“My brother talks about you all the time, you’re like his younger brother,” you answered. “He thinks highly of you. He respects you, so how can I resent the person my brother loves?” 

“Why should I blame you for my brother’s death? When it was my fault that he joined the gang in the first place —“ and tears began to flow. Your hands drop as you hold onto the pad tightly. You couldn’t help but to sob, remembering that all your brother’s doing was for you.

All Mark wanted was for you to live a comfortable life, away from the shithole of your aunts’ house. And the only thing he can do as quickly as possible is join an underground gang. An easy access for money, but a risk. 

As much as you tried to stop him, it was useless. In the end, Mark was gone, and you don’t know if you can survive in this world alone. You felt helpless, that’s when you realised that you’ve also been dependent on Mark throughout your life. 

Your tears wouldn’t stop even when Chenle pulled you closer to his arms, you couldn’t help but cry louder. After weeks of being alone, this was the first time you found comfort.

“It’s not your fault,” Chenle muttered. “We never wanted this to happen,” he told you. 

And he was right. No one wants this, and the only thing that you two can do is assure each other. Both lost someone who’s very important to each other. Blaming and living with guilt was useless. 

Chenle thinks that it’s useless for him to let the guilt swallow him. He only lets out a deep sigh as he pulls you even closer to him. He was determined to never let you cry again. 

“I’m here, I’m not going to let you be alone again,” he swore to you.

#nct dream #nct imagines #nct dream fic #nct fic #nct #nct x reader #nct dream imagine #nct chenle #nct chenle fic #chenle fic #chenle imagines #zhong chenle #nct dream chenle fic #chenle x reader #nct dream chenle

[superfast-jellybitch]

I've been seeing some....odd takes about the Watcher situation, and as a huge fan of Puppet History, I have really only one thing to say about it:

Worth it.

If you're really struggling financially to keep up the production, to the point that you're making the rash decision of starting from the ground up on an entirely new platform with no consumer rapport, why bring back a series that is, by its very premise, exorbitantly expensive?

The extra $6 a subscriber that they were banking on (Which, let's be real, even with their "Everyone can afford it" attitude, they had to have known that not all 3 million subscribers would have paid for it) isn't going to the art. It isn't paying for the studio or the employees or the existing Watcher content or brand.

The extra money is so that Steven Lim can afford to bring back an already costly show at a higher production value than the original Buzzfeed production, which was already needlessly expensive to begin with. Whatever's left over might go to Watcher.

Additionally, I think of all the Buzzfeed originals to revive, Worth it has to be the most tone deaf in this economic climate. A large big mac meal at your standard McDonald's drive through is $9.19. Federal minimum wage is $7.25 an hour. It is no longer entertaining to watch people spend money you could never dream of having on a Michelin star restaurant. It is even less entertaining when you're the one funding it.

I agree that Watcher should be fairly compensated for the content they produce. I agree that something probably needed to change in the business model to help bring in revenue. Hell, I don't even disagree with charging fans something for new and upcoming content that we've previously received for free.

But if this was really about them hurting to keep their company afloat amid rising production costs, they would not be advertising a new series where the cost that we as the consumer do actually get to see onscreen is the equivalent of (this is specifically taken from Buzzfeed's "Worth it: $4 burger vs $777 burger video", where the estimated cost of the food alone is $2,397. Not including tips to waitstaff, other items purchased, and assuming they did not feed Shane. Also not adjusted for current inflation or price gouging) 260 large big mac meals at McDonald's.

#watcher #ryan bergara #shane madej #steven lim #worth it #puppet history #buzzfeed unsolved

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Nevermind (ao3)

Twelve months to the day since she and Elain were thrown in the Cauldron, Nesta finds herself at one of Feyre’s dinner parties, trying to wrestle with an entire year’s worth of grief— until Cassian holds out a hand. (For @nestaarcheronweek day 2)

“I fell out of love again, not with you but with living in general, and I lost a lot of friends, never mind. Cause I’ve been on a losing streak, my heart’s made of stone, and I can’t trust my own damn feet to show me the right way home.” - Nevermind, Deaf Havana

It was the laughter that rankled the most.

That stung as it echoed off the crystal wine glasses and polished silver knives that lay at intervals along the grand mahogany table; glittering peals of it reverberating as bottles were uncorked and priceless wine was poured as liberally as water. Edged in the soft evening light, their joy was bright and bold and loud and warm, but as the dark crimson liquid licked the sides of her glass when someone filled it, Nesta Archeron could do nothing but sit frozen in the chair set out for her in Feyre’s expensive new house, watching the wine settle in her glass, trying not to think of how much it resembled freshly spilled blood. 

There was no air in that expansive dining room trimmed with wealth and filled with golden light and laughter, no way to breathe, and as Nesta felt herself slowly suffocate, their laughter cut and pierced her skin like an entire quiver of arrows shot from seven different bows. Each one hit their mark; each one made her bleed. 

With a hand she forced steady, she reached for the wine and lifted it to her lips, praying she might find some relief at the bottom regardless of… well, everything.

She wished they’d given her whiskey instead.

Cheap wine and strong liquor— that’s what Nesta had grown used to these past months. What she wantedmore than fine wine and elegant dinners pierced with laughter she couldn’t share. But then— when had it ever really mattered what she wanted anyway? When had it ever made a difference? 

This wine certainly wasn’t cheap. It was rich and heady, the taste lingering on her tongue and coating the back of her throat, so thick she couldn’t breathe. It clung to the side of her glass as she lowered her hand, a smear of red staining the crystal that had her stomach churning and her throat threatening to close. Blood— did none of them notice, how much it looked like blood? It had her hearing not laughter but screams— had her tasting iron and recalling the way the blood had pooled between her fingers and collected between her knuckles only a handful of months ago. 

Around the stem of her wine glass, her fingers trembled.

So little time had passed since the battle that had made an orphan of her, and yet…

They laughed.

Still, they laughed.

It was why, in the time since they had walked away from that battlefield alive if not entirely intact, Nesta had done everything in her power to distance herself from her sister and her newfound family. She had found an apartment on the other side of the city, as far from Feyre’s new house as she could get, and most nights she tried her hardest to avoid Rhysand and the members of his Inner Circle, seeking solace instead in dive bars— trying to find it in the arms of strangers whose names she never learned and whose faces she wouldn’t remember when the sun came up.

But this night… 

This night was different. 

The wine soured on her tongue, the sound of their laughter almost making her flinch. It was twelve months to the day since she and Elain had been forced into that Cauldron— twelve months since she had been broken apart so irrevocably that she didn’t think that there was a hope in hell of putting her back together again. It was the only reason - the only reason - why she had accepted Feyre’s weekly invitation to dinner when so many others had gone ignored. Why Nesta had crossed the river and stood in that grand, echoing entrance hall, looking up at portraits of damn near everyone Feyre had ever met, and finding that the only absence was her own. 

The familiar hole in her chest had widened, yawned and gaped until it threatened to swallow her, and on this brutal anniversary she had thought that she might want, for once, to be near the only people who might understand the significance of it. Who might remember what day it was too.

She’d realised her mistake as soon as she stepped over the threshold.

Elain had been holding a cake on a silver stand, emerging victorious from the kitchen and smiling as she made her way to the dining room, where the cake now sat proudly in the centre of the table. Elain always makes dessert, Feyre had whispered as Nesta stood motionless in the doorway, trying to catch Elain’s eye and hoping to find—

What?

The same pain, reflected back at her in eyes she knew as well as her own? Some flicker of understanding?

Feyre had patted Nesta on the arm and slipped away to the sitting room, leading her to the space warmed by the glow of the fire and softened by the sound of laughter. But Nesta couldn’t find it in her to make her lips bend into a smile, couldn’t force a spark into her eyes. When Elain returned, and when Rhysand complimented the cake, her sister had blushed and dipped her chin, batting away the kind words with a soft smile and a demure tilt of her head. All the while Nesta sat in her chair, blinking, trying not to feel like a ghost that had stumbled and sat, unseen and unnoticed, at a stranger’s dinner party.

The laughter rose now, filling the dining room until the space was bursting with it, their joy pushing at the seams until it felt like Nesta would break beneath the pressure. As if from a great distance she heard Amren make some dry, cutting comment that she was too far gone to fully comprehend, and Azriel’s retort was a low, dark whisper across the silverware that had Mor’s laughter pealing all over again, like the ringing of a church bell. 

Nesta’s hand tightened on her wine glass.

Did they not realise— did they not see? Or was she just screaming into the void, her pain and her anguish swallowed by their laughter?

The grief was a collar around her neck, tightening with every breath and dragging her beneath the surface whenever she was reminded that this place was not her home, this life not one that she had chosen. When she looked in the mirror and glimpsed her reflection, Nesta saw elegantly arched ears and eyes that glinted silver and she mourned every. damned. time. On the rare occasions she managed a smile, her lips felt absurdly weighty, the curvature forced and unwieldy, too unnatural to be believable given that her chest was still so empty and hollow.

And none of them noticed.

It hurt.

Every breath hurt— still. They had told her it would get better with time, that she would learn to heal, but it hadn’t, she hadn’t, and all she had come to realise was that her anger and her sorrow and her pain could not be parcelled away, couldn’t fit neatly into their little box. It had teeth— teeth and claws and a taste for blood, and it was tearing her apart, day by day by fucking day.

But it was invisible to them, because they had ticked off the days, the weeks turning to months, and now that a full year had passed… Nesta had, apparently, sailed right past the point of her pain being acceptable.

She gritted her teeth now, the meaningless and inane babble making her want to take her fork and drive it through Rhysand’s neck. If any of them spoke to her, she didn’t hear it. Didn’t register it. Instead she sat with her back straight, pushing around the food on her plate and ignoring Mor’s disapproving glance when she barely ate a mouthful and chose, instead, to drain her sanguineous wine.

A silent scream began to build in her chest, one that threatened to cleave her in two.

The laughter grew louder, another bottle of wine was opened, and for all the size of the great dining room in Feyre’s new home, the walls seemed to be closing in, the air suddenly thin as ribbons of ice crawled up Nesta’s spine. When the food was cleared away, Nesta saw as if through water when Feyre pushed away from the table, lifting her glass and suggesting that they move to the sitting room for a while before returning later for Elain’s cake.

She didn’t hear the murmurs of agreement or the clink of glasses as her sister’s family got to their feet. She didn’t hear the scrape of the chairs against the hardwood floors - not even her own - and as the rest of them departed for one of the luxurious sitting rooms overlooking the lawns, Nesta curled a hand around the back of her chair as she stood, fingers curling painfully into the carved wood. 

“Nesta?”

Feyre’s voice drifted to her as she placed a hand on Nesta’s arm, but Nesta didn’t feel any warmth or kindness in her sister’s touch— felt only the icy kiss of the Cauldron and the hands that had held her captive in that throne room— a bruising grip that had held her down before water closed over her head, before her blood had boiled and her bones had shattered. 

The memory slammed into her, made her flinch. 

Against the onslaught Nesta took a breath, fixing her eyes on the windows and the night sky beyond, dark and clouded over, without a single star visible in the sky overhead. She looked into the impenetrable black, like a mirror to her soul.

“I’ll join you in a minute,” she managed after a long silence, her voice straining against the words. 

Slowly, Feyre nodded.

She drew her hand away and looked once at her eldest sister before turning for the door, and as the sound of Feyre’s retreating footsteps grew distant, Nesta found herself standing alone and motionless before the window, looking at her reflection and mourning the life she had lived twelve months ago.

A life where she had a father still, even if he had been absent.

A life where she woke each morning and recognised her face in the mirror; where there was a path laid before that she knew she could follow. A human, mortal path.

Nesta caught sight of her eyes reflected back at her in the glass, dark and humourless, as cold and as empty as a void. From the sitting room the laughter echoed still, Mor’s voice louder than the rest as she told some ridiculous, raucous story that had Rhysand shouting something in good-natured protest, that had Feyre gasping a laugh as she allowed herself to be regaled by some tale from her husband’s past.

Nesta wondered if she would ever laugh again— ever find a reason to smile. 

She had never felt more out of place than she did now, with her arms wrapped tight around herself as she stood alone, listening to the laughter and the joy of a family she would never be a part of. 

A mistake— it had been a mistake to come tonight.

She closed her eyes, wondering how much scorn she would receive if she left right now, without saying goodbye. Glasses clinked in the sitting room, and it was almost enough to make her dart for the kitchen and the door that she knew would take her outside, but before she could commit herself to running away, the sound of footsteps approaching made her open her eyes again. Looking at the dining room reflected back at her through the windows, Nesta didn’t bother to turn as the door was opened again, letting in another sharp slice of the mirth beyond. 

Cassian hesitated in the doorway.

Through the glass Nesta watched as he stood, lingering and drawing no nearer, even though his eyes had found her in an instant— had snapped to her, like seeking her out was the only thing he was good at. Without pause, without fear, he met her gaze in the window’s reflection, standing a handful of feet behind her as the heart in Nesta’s chest twisted painfully. 

“There you are,” he said gently. “I wondered where you’d got to.”

He stood with his hands in his pockets, a stance so casual that Nesta could have forgiven herself for forgetting that he was a warrior born and bred, as ruthless as they come, with hands even more bloodstained than her own. The hair hung to his shoulders in a mass of haphazard curls, and the ruby earring he wore caught in the low light as he canted his head to the side, studying her with eyes that held no humour anymore, no hint of jest.

She wished now that Feyre had left the wine behind.

Cassian’s eyes searched hers in the reflection, taking in the hollows of her cheeks and the skin that she knew was too pale, too wan. His eyebrows inched together, a furrow forming in his brow as he took in the tracery of grief left behind, and when his throat bobbed with a swallow, something like concern alighted across his face. The scar slicing through his eyebrow was thrown into relief as his head tilted, his jaw tight as he looked her over, and something sparked in his eyes that she couldn’t bear, something so ardent and sincere that it made the hollow ache in her chest spread until she could feel it in her toes. 

She didn’t know what to do with it. How to handle it. 

So Nesta turned sharply on her heel, whirling to face him and taking some small pleasure in the fact that his eyes widened— that she had managed to surprise him. 

“You don’t want to join us in the sitting room?” he asked, his voice slow and careful. Like he was sizing up an opponent for battle.

Nesta snorted.

Regret glimmered in his eyes, edged with just the barest hint of sorrow, but it was there and gone in an instant. The hazel darkened, and Nesta felt the anger and pain that simmered beneath her skin extending its claws like a beast stretching languorous before the hunt. 

“Why should I?” she asked, poison seeping into her tone— poison as lethal to her as it was to him. Part of her knew she would regret it later, regretted it already, but she couldn’t hold back the tide of her grief alone. It was easier to let it swallow her, to let it drown her— easier to feed the anger than feel the pain, and so she lifted a chin and nodded to the doorway and the sitting room beyond, her lip curling on a sneer that only a small part of her tried and failed to fight. “So I can hear more tales about how wonderful your lives have been?”

Cassian’s eyes didn’t widen this time, like he’d expected every harsh word that had fallen from her lips. But he didn’t draw back— Cassian remained, resolute, with his face blank as Nesta’s arms tightened around her middle, as though her grip was the only thing holding her together. For half a moment she thought she saw his eyes soften— thought she saw him reach the same conclusion.

“So you can sit beside your sisters and remember what it is to be loved by them,” he suggested instead, removing one hand from his pocket and extending it smoothly out towards her. He caught her eye and raised an eyebrow, splaying his fingers like all he wanted was for her to take his hand and let her fingers slip between the gaps he’d left in his. 

Nesta’s heart twisted again, and she thought that maybe - maybe - a part of her might want that, too. 

A pity then, she thought dryly, that she couldn’t see beyond the tangled mess of emotions that were churning up her chest like dried earth. That she couldn’t reach beyond the shroud of grief to accept the hand that he offered. 

She was silent for a moment, not quite knowing the words to say. His hand hung in the air between them, not quite enough to close the gap, and she was acutely aware that before her was a man who had thrown his life before hers, who had laid his head in her lap and grasped her hand as he lay dying. A man that she had barely seen since, who had started the hours and days after the battle by giving her space, and had never quite managed to stop. The distance between them was so great now that Nesta had no idea how to bridge it. 

And then—

“I know what day it is, Nes,” he said quietly.

He made the nickname soft, breathed it like it could somehow belong to someone with a tongue as sharp as hers. His lips parted as his eyes fluttered, his gaze drifting down, and gods, it was as much of a hand extended out to her as the fingers he still had stretching towards her, a bridge offered when she couldn’t find one herself. Nesta had stilled by the windows, immovable as stone, but when her eyes shifted from his outstretched hand to the eyes that he had fixed on hers…

She had never seen his hazel gaze so earnest. 

It was almost enough to make her weep, forcing apart the cracks in her chest with enough verocity to leave her in splinters. But Cassian didn’t blink, didn’t shy away from her, and when she said nothing, he only took a single step towards her. 

“I know what it is to grieve, you know,” he added softly, in a voice hardly more than a whisper. “I know what it is to mourn.”

The laughter from the sitting room grew louder, and Nesta felt her eyes close against it, like she might protect herself from it if she could only pretend she was somewhere else entirely. She heard the rustle as Cassian’s wings spread a little, and part of her wondered if he’d thought he might extend those wings and shield her, blocking out the entire world. Part of her wished he would. 

“Do you?” she managed as she opened her eyes again, tilting her head in a challenge that wasn’t half as sharp as she had intended. His eyes softened. “Do they?”

“Yes,” he answered simply. “But they don’t allow their pain to morph them into something else—“

“How dare you—“

“Nes.” He dared another step, eyes wide, lips parted. A plea shone in his eyes, edged with desperation. “Please.”

Nesta felt her lip curl, falling back on the all-too familiar anger that served as her shield— the defence she flung up to keep them all from looking at her too closely, from seeing just how much she had been torn apart that day twelve months ago. Just how much she’d been raked apart every day since.

“Please what?”

Cassian didn’t back away, and in the face of her barbed words he only took another breath, as if to tell her he understood— and he wasn’t afraid.

“Please let me help you. Let me do something. Anything.”

There it was again— the bridge he offered, the path back to the surface.

“You think after all these years I don’t know what you’re going through? That I don’t see it?” Cassian dropped his hand at last, curling it into a fist and bringing it above his heart. “That I haven’t been standing exactly where you’re standing right now, facing down the same damn thing?”

The beast inside her bared its teeth, claws raking down her spine. It begged to be set loose again, to snap and bite and lash out and even the slightest provocation, but…

Gods, she was tired.

So, so, tired.

“I can’t sit there and pretend,” she said at last, her voice tight in her throat. She nodded to the sitting room, to the laughter still drifting through the walls. “Just because a year has passed doesn’t mean I’ve suddenly made my peace with any of this.”

“I know,” Cassian said smoothly, reaching out his hand once again. He didn’t wait for her to accept him this time, and there was no hesitation or second-guessing as he took her hand in his and closed his fingers tight around her own. His eyes burned, his face lined with the kind of sorrow that Nesta knew would be etched across her own too, and she wanted to sob, wanted to crumble. But for once there was a crack in the darkness, a sliver of light pushing against the black and begging to be let in, and as Nesta’s fingers slid home between his, she let his warmth ground her just enough to pull her back from the edge— enough to let his light filter through the gaps. 

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he whispered, and just like that… 

Suddenly it felt like the weight she had carried alone for so long was shouldered by him too. Like he took a portion of it, eased the burden with nothing but a squeeze of his hand and a look in his eyes that said that even now, he wouldn’t forsake her.

And it didn’t fix everything - far from it - but she hadn’t realised how powerful it was to have someone there beside her, to take her hand when the darkness got too much, when the ache was too deep and the world too heavy. Somehow the teeth tearing her apart felt a little less sharp, the claws a little more dulled than usual; the beast calmed if not placated. The pain didn’t vanish,  but it was easier to bear somehow, and for the first time in twelve months, Nesta could see beyond her grief to the world beyond. 

Cassian’s fingers curled around her own, his grip tight, like he was loath to let her go lest she slip away into shadow again.

“Why?” she asked, looking down at their entwined hands. “Why do you remember when they don’t?”

Cassian shook his head. “They remember,” he said softly. “Elain remembers.” He nodded to the cake still sitting on the table, waiting to be cut after dinner. “Why do you think they laugh so loudly, Nes?”

His other hand lifted to her face, his thumb brushing across her cheek, as if to wipe away the tears that had yet to fall. He angled his head to the side, as if to hear the laughter, and when it echoed his eyes snapped back to hers. His grip on her hand tightened. 

“They laugh in the face of it,” he said. “They find the joy and cling to it.”

And what do I have to cling to, Nesta thought dryly. Who do I have to lean on?

She thought of the dim bars waiting for her and the nights she had spent in the arms of strangers, and even though she didn’t ask the question out loud, Cassian’s lips lifted at the edges, giving her a gentle, plaintive smile as he squeezed her hand— as if that was the answer.

As if he was the answer.

He tugged on her hand, his smile lifting to something wider, something more mischievous. 

“If you don’t want to face the sitting room, how about we just stay here instead?” he suggested. “Or slip away to Rhys’ study? There’s a chess board in there and believe it or not, I was never much good at it.” Slowly, the smile curving his lips grew into one that felt more genuine than any Nesta had to offer, but Cassian didn’t let it drop. His eyes glimmered as he added, “Would thoroughly humiliating me in a game of strategy help turn the night around for you?”

“You’d rather sit and play chess with me than be with your family?”

Cassian rolled his eyes indulgently, tugging on the hand she still had clasped in his palm. “Of course I would.”

Nesta didn’t know how to answer, but when she glanced up and met his eyes, there was a warmth there that she hadn’t expected to find. And maybe it wasn’t enough to chase away the dark entirely, but maybe it was the tether that she needed to a world that wasn’t so completely consumed by sorrow. Cassian’s fingers were so warm around her own, still holding tight to her even after she’d spent so long pushing him away - pushing all of them away - and for the first time in twelve months, she wanted to let herself feel that warmth, to let it sink into her bones.

“Come on,” he said, giving her hand another small tug. His smile turned somewhat conspiratorial, his voice dropping to a whisper. “If we’re quick we can sneak down to the wine cellar. I know where Rhys keeps the good stuff.”

The retort bloomed in Nesta’s throat— a cutting remark waiting on her tongue about how she didn’t want anything from Rhysand, not even his most expensive wine. A scowl threatened to twist her lips, but when Cassian waggled a single eyebrow as if to say, well? What do you say? she felt the words die on her tongue, turning to ash as she pushed the scowl back. For too long, the sharpness had been her only defence, the only armour she could call on. But with Cassian’s hand wrapped around her own and the small smirk at the corner of his lips somehow telling her they were in this together… 

Maybe she didn’t need the armour.

Not all the time. Not with him.

After all, he had taken her hand when she was hurting and hadn’t flinched as she spat and cursed. He had let her sharpen her claws, but had been there to bring her back when she needed it, when he realised that those claws were cutting her to ribbons too, and so this time, when Cassian tilted his head in a silent question and squeezed her hand one more time…

Nesta nodded.

Because she didn’t want the next year to be like the last, and she didn’t think she could do it alone, and he was there, holding her hand and throwing a smile over his shoulder as he led her from the dining room and towards the kitchen, headed right for the door leading down to the cellars beneath. And even though the grief inside her continued to snarl and writhe and claw, Nesta felt her steps fall in line with his and thought that as long as she wasn’t alone, as long as he was there, waiting to pick her up when she fell down…

Well, she thought as she squeezed his hand in return, maybe the next twelve months would turn out better than the last. 

New Taglist: (If you want to be added or removed, let me know!) @asnowfern , @podemechamardek , @c-e-d-dreamer ,@lady-winter-sunrise , @starryblueskies7, @melphss , @that-little-red-head , @misswonderflower , @fwiggle , @tanishab, @xstarlightsupremex @burningsnowleopard , @hiimheresworld , @wannawriteyouabook , @hereforthenessian @kale-theteaqueen

#nessian #nessian fic #nestaweek2024

[lovelywritinglady]

Smokin’ With A Crocodile

Sir Crocodile x Fem!reader

In which you and crocodile share a blunt.

Mentions of smoking and using drugs, sexual themes, established relationship, set during the alabasta arc. (I wrote this just for fun)

“So you’d like to get high with me then.” Crocodile teased sitting in his chair.

“Yep.” You said emphasizing the “p”

“Why?” He asked leaning back

“Because I though it might be fun. And you and I have been working a lot lately and I think we’ve earned a break.

“Sure, why not.” Crocodile said picking up his transponder snail. He then called Mr.1 inquiring about getting the thing you desired. After about 30 minutes the two of you heard a knock on the door.

“Yes!” You cheered making you way to the door.

You opened it revealing the man you were looking forward to seeing. Mr.1 then handed you the rather large bag of weed. Your eyes seemed to popped out of you head at the sheer amount of weed that was available. It was a massive bag that was at least half the dose of you. You then turned to your lover, Crocodile, with a confused but amused expression. He just shrugged putting out his signature cigar on his golden astray.

“You said you wanted to relax and get high my love. I feel like I don’t need to remind you but I am a big man. It’s going to take a lot for me to feel it.” Crocodile teased getting up from his chair after he dismissed Mr. 1.

“Fair, I guess that would make sense.” You laughed. “Alright you got some papers?” You asked

“Of course I do.” Crocodile said confidently

The next 10 minutes we’re filled with the two of you rolling a massive blunt. And for some reason Crocodile was really good at it. And it made you question to yourself whether or not he use to smoke a lot of weed back in his younger days.

“Alright, light her up.” You said to Crocodile as he grabbed the lighter from his pants pocket as he lit one of the blunts the two of you were going to share.

He took a puff allowing for the smoke to fill his lungs completely as he exhaled. He did this once more leaving you slight impatient but soon handed it to you. You followed him taking a puff of it. You let the smoke sit in your lungs for a second before exhaling, enjoying the sensation of the drug that slightly started to kick in. You then passed it back to him feeling satisfied.Whatever weed this was, it was strong and you knew that after only a few more hit you’d be out.

“Take it easy there love.” Crocodile teased taking the blunt from you and doing an even longer drag. He then did something you did not expect.

Crocodile pulled you towards him, capturing your lips into a sweet but heated kiss. You could taste the drug as you breathed him in. It was intoxicating and downright sinful the way he was kissing you. He then pulled away exhaling with a smirk on his mouth as he looked at your flushed and slightly high face. Crocodile laughed slightly before passing it back to you.

“What the hell was that?” You asked feeling hot.

“What you didn’t like it?” He teased giving you a wink.

“You know I did.” You huffed taking a hit before blowing it out on his face.

“Good. Kiss me y/n.” He demanded

However, before you did you took an even longer drag on the blunt. Your lungs slightly hurt but you knew this wouldn’t last long. You then placed the blunt on the ashtray. You pulled your lover by his expensive suit and forced his on your lips. In response he put his hand on your thigh stroking it up and down which made you whimper into the heated drug filled kiss. You pulled away letting some much needed air fill your lungs once more. However, this was short lived as Crocodile pushed you to him once more feeling more needy for you, to which he blamed the weed. Normally he was a composed man. It was rare for him to lose his composure like this, but with all of the high quality weed in his system, he felt like he was completely losing control. And it definitely didn’t help with you being as attractive and alluring as you were. To say the least normal Crocodile was completely in love and obsessed with you, but high Crocodile was on a completely different level.

“I thought you said that it was going to take a lot for you to ge high, my love.” You cooed stroking his flushed cheeks. To which he grumbled feeling slightly shy.

“Just kiss me, woman.” He demanded trying to get the upper hand.

“Oh I’ll kiss you. And I’ll take good care of you took, darling.” You spoke pulling toward you again feeling even hotter than before.

The rest of the night consisted of the two of you being tangled in your rather large bed. Your combined moans were so loud that they could be heard by anyone who was in close walking distance of your home. However, due to your high state neither of you cared. All you cared was the ecstasy of being filled with each other. And the next morning you woke up with hickeys and bruises littering you body. Crocodile too had hickeys on his neck and chest from your own domination. It took the two of you hours to realize that you hadn’t used protection.

“I’ll call Daz to get a pregnancy test.” Crocodile said admiring your body as he held you close to him.

“Good, because I don’t remember you pulling out last night.” You remembered

“No matter what happens, let’s not get that high again.” Crocodile sighed.

“We’ll see.” You cooed feeling happy that you finally got to smoke weed with Crocodile.

Thanks so much for reading💜This was just something I felt like writing. Lol.

Feel free to like, comment, request, and reblog

Click here to see what I’ll write for and HERE to see my master list.

•I do NOT own any character except y/n•

-L.W.L

#sir crocodile #crocodile one piece #crocodile x reader #crocodile x you #one piece #one piece corodile #crocodile x y/n #one piece crocodile #one piece crocodile x reader #sir crocodile x reader #sir crocodile x y/n #sir crocodile x you #smoking #one piece fanfiction #one piece fic #crocodile #fluff #established relationship

[orionsangel86]

You know, I thought we were done with the ageism in fandom thinking that its purely for teenagers? Because it doesn't help anyone to have the attitude of this (now blocked) anon. People don't stop having passions and being fans of things just because they get older. Fandoms thrive BECAUSE older people put in the effort to MAKE them thrive. Do you really think that 100k word perfectly written epic fanfic that you adore so much was written by a 16 year old? Because I guarantee it was more likely to be written by a 35 year old mother of 2.

That amazing cosplay of your fave character you saw at a recent comic con that took phenomenal skill and probably a good deal of expense to look perfect wasn't put together by a 17 year old high schooler, it was perfected through years of passion into a hobby that more than likely required a full time job and a savings account to afford.

That amazing fanartist who has the BEST art of your OTP that captures their likeness in a really gorgeous style? They weren't born with that talent. It takes years to develop a personal art style, and capturing a persons likeness in art is a skill that has to be nurtured. The best artists are the ones who've had years to develop their skills. They aren't school kids. I have had mutuals on this site for a decade now and I have seen how much their art has improved and become absolutely beloved. These are people who at their youngest are in their late 20s now. Most of my mutuals are in their 30s, some of the best fanfiction writers I know are in their 40s and 50s. The meta writers I know are also in my age group. Hell, do you think teenagers run AO3? You'll be surprised just how many "old people" make the best fanworks. If you removed them from fandom spaces, I guarantee you would remove most of the talent, because no offence to you kids, but that talent is something that is nurtured over time, and time and aging go hand in hand i'm afraid.

The people who make fandoms what it is, the ones running events, pouring themselves into analytical posts, providing the best fanart, coming up with the amusing memes and textposts that go viral? Do you REALLY think they are all school kids? Fandoms are made up of PEOPLE, and newsflash assholes, people AGE.

This attitude always amazes me. There isn't an age limit in fandom. This isn't fucking Logan's Run (bet you the kids won't understand that reference) and honestly if these kids genuinely think they need to give it up and quit at a certain point in their future I just pity them.

Fandom thrives because of the older people that have nurtured it for years and carved out a space where younger people can enter in comfort and safety. Which are only possible BECAUSE older people built online fandoms and continued to put in the work to keep them going. If we all had to stop caring and leave fandom at some specific cut off date, the fandom landscape would be a vastly different space - and probably a lot worse for being predominantly run by hormonal teenagers - heh, I guess it would be a lot more like TikTok and we all know how dreadful TikTok has been for fandom so far. If nothing else that alone proves my point.

At the end of the day, no one can stop the passing of time. Even the horrible children who send adults nasty anons. Eventually, they will be the "fandom elders" and receiving their own anon hate from a future generation of brats, I personally can't wait to be the very old lady laughing at them when that day inevitably comes.

#fandom #ageism #respect your elders #fandom problems

[bg3trashcompactor]

I wrote a smutty one shot because I wanted to sin outside of the longer fic I’m working on and felt like I needed the practice.

I Think He Knows

Link to story on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55385323

Astarion comes home early unexpectedly as a week long case wraps up before lunch.

He is going to scold you for leaving your dirty adventuring gear in a heap downstairs, but is so happy you're home he almost forgets all about it.

Until he sees what you were doing in his dirty clothes in your freshly changed bedsheets…

(POV female Reader x Magistrate Astarion/3k words of straight up filth underneath the cut)

You were so close to your climax, rubbing and thrusting the soft, spongy spot inside of your entrance with your fingers when you heard the jingling sound of the front door opening.

Shit.

“Darling, home from your adventuring so soon?” The voice of your beloved calls out to you, the musical words carried up the stairs by the acoustics of your shared townhome.

How are you home so early? What in the nine hells- how is he home so early? He sounded fairly confident in the sending spell he replied to as you made your way within the final stretch of the road home that jury deliberations were going to take at least until the end of the day.

You can hear him grumble unintelligible words of disapproval at the filthy armor you had peeled off shortly after you arrived home and left on the floor of the foyer.

“Adventuring gear strewn about the floor again? My sweet, we’ve talked about this…”

Your heart pounds from his scolding and you sit up in bed, covering your drenched thighs with the soft, clean linens of the duvet. Hands wet with the slick of your arousal work swiftly to halfway fasten the buttons of his dirty work shirt that you blamed for the cause of your activities after you had arrived home early.

The stairs creak under the weight of his feet as he makes his way up to your shared bedroom.

Running your hands through your hair, you try to smooth out the area that had been frizzled by your rutting, wiping the sweat off your brow.

You can feel a heat wash over you when you flush at the sight of your husband whisking around the corner of the hallway in irritation, black silk robes floating behind him as he sharply turned the corner. He was always gorgeous, but there was something irresistible about him in his magistrate garb- even more so when he would take it off.

An involuntary clench rocks your body forward when you notice he had already begun the process of undressing on his way up the stairs. His flawlessly pressed shirt had been undone a few buttons to the middle of his chest, reading glasses hanging down from a single breast pocket on his waistcoat. You followed the trail down his lithe frame to his fine silver and black leather belt, down the lines of immaculately tailored trousers.

Whatever temper that had flared in him melts away just as quickly as it had arrived. After a very long week of going through the motions without you at his side, the ache in his chest that set in with your absence fills with a warm light at the sight of you in your bed. You are finally home.

The intensity of the look you share while he stands in the doorway makes you suddenly aware of how your nipples felt brushing against the fine linen of his filthy shirt as you breathe…and the throbbing sensation between your legs.

“My brave heroine, have you returned from your travels victorious?” He lilts, sauntering over to you.

“Even if we had found the mountains of gold rumored to exist underneath the City, it wouldn’t compare to the treasure that awaits me when I return.”

You capture his face with your hands when he looms over you, drawing him to stand at the edge of the bed. You shift your hips and move your legs so that the insides of your knees are touching the finely woven and expensive wool of his trousers.

“Clever little thing, using my own honeyed words against me.”

When your lips meet his, it is so perfect, so sweet that it tugs the strings of your heart. You pull away momentarily before slanting your mouths hungrily against each other. A half-lidded, lusty gaze from him and a ragged breath from you snap you both together like two ends of a magnet.

Your tongues glide against each other in concert as you kiss deeply, devouring each other now that you have broken your fast. You catch his tongue in your mouth and suck on it like you would his cock, eliciting an obscene groan that vibrates in the back of his throat.

He reaches up to pinch your nipples through his shirt, disarming you as you squeal and pull away. Dragging your bottom lip between his teeth, he chuckles at the filthy moan it draws out from you.

He pauses, his expression flattening as he sniffs the fingers that clutch his face. Suspicious eyes point downward at your uncovered lap, focusing on the sheen that coats the inside of your thighs in a vertical line. His pointed ears perk up and you sharply inhale as he nips the finger that had been inside of you minutes ago.

“Well, well. Couldn’t wait until I returned home? You naughty girl,” he grits out, squeezing your hands that rest on the side of his face. You clench again at his scolding, maneuvering your legs to rest inside of his to hide the rest of the evidence, pressing your knees tightly together.

“Perhaps I wanted to be ready for you when you returned home,” you purr out, surging forward to take his lower lip in between your teeth. Your front teeth clack together as he pulls away from you, straightening up with a dark, throaty chuckle.

“You’re a terrible liar, darling,” he turns away to drape the fine, obsidian silk of his magistrate robes over the same dressing bench you had found his perfumed and discarded shirt. Next, he removes his waistcoat in a similar fashion, placing his reading glasses with care on the bedside table next to you.

“While I am grateful that you never developed the skill for deception, you seem to have forgotten how well I know your particular brand of foolishness,” he takes the cufflinks out of his sleeves and rolls them up, tugging at the ends to ensure they are secured. You bite your lip and lean back on your hands in anticipation of what’s to follow. He has you trained like a pet, needy and eager for his touch.

“It seems a reminder is in order,” Astarion breathes out, running both his hands up your knees, over the tops of your thighs. He grasps the crest of your hips, a perfect handle for him to guide and manipulate your movements.

He revels in seeing you like this, desperate for his touch. You gasp out in surprise when he digs his fingers in, yanking you forward towards him.

“Have you forgotten how we would rip the armor off each other after battle back in our adventuring days? How we could barely make it upstairs at the inn or into our tents after a long day on the road?” He kneels down in front of you while he issues the reminder. You match his eye level as he speaks and lean back on your arms, watching Astarion slowly pry your legs apart.

“After the very last job we completed together you blamed the adrenaline rush that consumed you for your voracious appetite, almost stroking me to completion under the table at the Elfsong,” He kisses a line up your thighs, his lips lingering on you as he moves closer towards your drenched core.

“What can I say? I’m cursed to put my hands on everything. If I remember correctly, your hand was also up my skirt, doing the same thing- hah! That was a good night. My favorite part was when you fucked me in the alley later against the walls of the tavern.”

He pauses at your recollections, his face having reached the apex between your thighs. You crane your head up to see his eyes peeking above the crest of your sex, half-lidded and cloudy with lust.

“Cursed to put your hands on everything, you say?” Astarion rumbles out, gently moving your legs wider as he presses his lips to the corner of the inside of your thighs.

“Could you be a good girl for me and keep your hands to yourself while I pleasure you?”

You felt his warm tongue then, lapping and sucking along your tender flesh. Throwing your head back, you gasp at the sensation, rolling your hips forward. He suddenly withdraws his mouth with a pop, giving you a wicked look before languidly running the flat of his tongue against your slick, soaked outer lips.

Your wandering hands that had begun to card through his silver curls tense and freeze above him while he languidly licks up and down your center, the sensation driving you mad.

You need more.

Grasping the back of his head, you make an attempt to mash your engorged clit against his nose with a sudden upwards thrust of your hips, whining in desperation when you feel the sudden loss of him pull back from you.

“Ah-ah, what did I say, little love?” he tuts, delivering a single, punishing flick of his middle finger to your clit.

The only response he receives is you sobbing out his name, your back arching with the pain and pleasure of his correction. He leans on his elbow on the side of the bed and looks up at you expectantly with a raised eyebrow.

“Delicious as that was, I believe I am still owed a different reply,” he repeats the motion and you throw your head back, keening as you undulate your back against now rumpled bedsheets.

“Hells, Astarion, it’s not like I’m on trial,” you complain breathlessly. He perks up suddenly and rests a hand underneath his chin, the other drawing lazy circles on your hip, a villainous twinkle in his eye as he regards you with bemusement.

Uh oh.

“Now there’s an idea, love,” he drawls out, drumming his fingers on the crest of your hip. The tapping of his fingers unexpectedly feels good…really good. The percussion elicits a small roll upwards from your hips to meet them.

“...There’s an idea indeed. But we can’t have you showing up to your court date still filthy from the road, can we? In the tub you go, up you pop,” he orders, holding his hands out to you.

Once you are sitting on the bed, arms raised above your head, he lets go suddenly. The motion leaves you confused until you feel the barest touch of his fingers tracing up your sides. He collects the edges of his rumpled shirt, raising it above your head. Hastily throwing it aside, his hands return to cup your full and aching breasts. Thumbs draw lazy circles around your pert nipples, you hear him hum in appreciation when they pebble and harden with his touch.

“Can you stand up for me, beautiful?” You sat forward, feeling only a little unsteady on your feet from the orgasm that you were so recently denied as you rise.

Your mouth opens in surprise when Astarion sweeps you up in his arms. He carries you to the tiled bathing room, setting you down in the tub while he activates the enchantments that fill it with rapidly with warm water.

He wastes no time unbuttoning his shirt, peeling it slowly from his chest. You watch him make quick work of removing his clothing with practiced ease. He enters the waters of the bathing tub with you in a fluid motion, denying your hungry gaze the view of his naked form that it so desperately craves.

He takes a sponge sitting on a built-in ledge on the wall and soaks it in the water, ringing it out. He swipes it sensually up the side of your breasts, slowly down your neck. Maneuvering you to face away from him, you gasp out as he perches your slippery sex upon on his thigh. The sponge goes down below the water and you chase your pleasure rutting along him while he brushes in long strokes up and down your abdomen, to the bottom of your breasts, gently kissing the side of your neck.

You’re an absolute mess. You grasp the edge of the tub, head thrown back against Astarion’s shoulder in ecstasy, breasts bobbing up toward the surface of the water.

“Please, please Astarion…” you gasp out, a pressure building in your core as you rock along the alabaster expanse of his thigh, your legs spreading wider underneath the water.

“Please what, darling? Use your words,” He licks a line from your neck, up to your sensitive ears, nipping and sucking along the cartilage. You cry out softly at the sensation, squirming in his lap.

“I need you inside me…please,”

Astarion presses a kiss to your shoulder and looks around the would be peaceful and quiet bathing room. Lazy rays of the mid-day sunlight stream in through the sheer window treatments that illuminated the tiled and grouted surfaces of the floors and walls. At this time of day, he would be going through cases and preparing notes to bring with him to his next session at the beginning of the next tenday.

Seizing the opportunity his pause brings, you grasp his hand in yours, plunging it down below the water, the destination between your legs.

You hear a knowing chuckle behind you when he slips free of your grasp with an effortless rotation of his wrist. He encircles you with strong arms, nimble fingers pinching both of your nipples tightly. He smiles devilishly as you moan and writhe against him. Now that you’re cleaned up, it’s time to get dirty again.

“Mrs. Ancunin. As it stands, you are being accused of pleasuring yourself while you are filthy on our freshly cleaned sheets. How do you plead?” He practically growls out the last few words, the change in timbre sending a shiver up your spine.

“Ah! Not guilty…”

Astarion bites a sensitive spot on the side of your neck that he knows drives you absolutely insane. He flicks his tongue over your skin, delighting in your sobs of frustration.

“Not guilty your…?” he asks in between swipes of his tongue.

“Your honor” you gasp out, gripping the seat of the tub beneath the water with white knuckles.

“Present your proof to the court.” He nips at the crook of your neck.

“I was…uhm…technically ‘resting’ when you got home. I didn’t know the sheets were freshly changed. And…I almost stood on my own just now without falling down…so if it’s all the same to you-” you lift your hips and angle them so that you are almost successful at impaling yourself on his twitching cock. He catches you at the waist, pressing his forehead against your shoulder.

“Wicked thing. Are you ready for your verdict?” He tuts, lowering you just enough so that your slick and throbbing entrance is barely grazing along the tip of his penis.

“Yes, your honor,” you gasp, trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

“On the count of pleasuring yourself while you are filthy, I find you guilty.” He whips you around to face him and hungrily claims your lips, still holding you above him. He moans greedily in to your mouth as you try to grind down on him again, he’s not sure how much longer he can resist you. You're so eager, so responsive, and all his.

You break the kiss by successfully dragging your teeth over his lower lip.

“And my sentence, your honor?”

He releases your waist.

“Ride me.”

You both groan out and curse in mutual relief as you plunge down on his length. Your walls are already beginning to tighten around him, pulsating with the lewd sounds that you both make, echoing off the tiled walls of the bathing room. Astarion growls at the sight of your breasts that slap against the surface of the water and the feeling of your walls milking his cock.

He grabs your ass and yanks you forward, positioning you over him that his mouth is on your breast, licking and sucking your sensitive nub. He slams up into you, moving your hips up and down on him, guiding himself deeper. You feel the rumble of his ecstasy bring you closer to your peak as you sob out with pleasure at the change of movement and pace.

“Gods, Astarion I’m so close,” you’re so perfect, so tight around him-

“Then let go, my sweet.”

The spasming of your walls against him send him over the edge with you. His eyes roll to the back of his head, moaning your name in euphoric relief. The profane noises of his release, sensation of his warm seed shooting into you, his cock spasming inside of you brings you to the peak again.

“I can’t stop, Astarion, I can’t…ahhhh!”

A second wave crashes through you. He continues to fuck you through your drawn out orgasm, marveling at how beautiful you are unraveling in his arms. Slowing the pace he kisses you again, savoring the taste of you as your hips gradually slow down and lift off of him.

Giving him a satisfied sigh, you nuzzle your forehead into his neck.

“And they both went to horny jail and lived happily ever after.”

“Technically, it would be prison. Jail is for holding the accused prior to sentencing my love,” You grumble and nip his ear in irritation at the reminder.

Astarion laughs softly, kissing the side of your flushed and sweaty face.

“What do you say we dry off and take this to the other room? I’d like to request a hearing to negotiate an early…release,” you nip and suck your way along the line of his pointed ears, eliciting a new series of debauched noises from his lips.

“You’re insatiable,” he says with a smile, throwing his head back in bliss.

He wraps your legs around his waist, supporting your back with his strong, lean arms as he stands the two of you up. You watch the water drain away with his utterance of the correct enchantments under his breath.

“Early release is only granted for good behavior, prisoner- which you haven’t demonstrated since you arrived home. I hope you’re ready for your punishment.”

#astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #magistrate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction

[mslanna]

Assuming cambions can get drunk, one way or another, how about a thingy following Raphael's perspective as he wakes up after being drunk only to find himself wrapped in the arms of his little mouse even though he knows for a fact he hadn't brought them here? Both he and Tav are clothed and Tav is still asleep. As Raphael tries to recall what happened the night before, he faintly remembers that Haarlep or Korrilla brought Tav to him then left... and after Tav helped/convinced him to go to bed, the adventurer turned to leave and- Oh... He grabbed for their wrist and begged asked for them not to leave, for them to please stay with him. What would he do next?

enby Tav wihtout body configuration mentions of past/recent alcohol abuse hangover soft Read it on AO3 🥰

In Vino Veritas

Hangover.

Raphael couldn't remember the last time he had one. Devils had metabolisms that did not make such a thing easy. And infernal alcohol had the tendency to burn through your throat, literally. Yet a dark memory lurked of him getting completely wasted.

What was the reason?

Raphael stirred and the movement throbbed in his whole body, especially his head. A platoon of Orthons was practising a tap dance on it, no doubt. The reason for this excessive celebration – he closed his eyes shortly which only encouraged the unruly Orthons.

The Crown!

Raphael reached for his head and found it empty. No crown. But also, no tap dancing Orthons. At least he now knew why he indulged so deeply in the fiery drinks that – Haarlep? had served. Who had allowed that?

He tried to move again but something poked into his chest. A swift swipe with his arm was out of question considering how the last attempt at quick movements ended. Raphael slowly lowered his raised arm again to prop himself up. It brushed against something that made an unhappy noise. His hand descended and landed on cool and squishy skin.

What in all the nine hells?

The intruder mumbled and twisted against him until a nose pressed firmly into his chest. Such impertinence. He would not- that was another movement too fast. The world started spinning and Raphael's every bodily function handed in a written protest in triplicate. It must have been quiet the party. A shame he remembered so little of it.

But back to the problems at hand. His headache. There had to be a way – Raphael waved his hand gently and a little of the pain lifted. Much better. He winced at the idea of snapping his fingers, still. So instead he carefully craned his neck downwards. There they were. The intruder.

Tousled hair crowned the sleeping face of Tav. Raphael shut his mouth so forcefully, his ears rang.

Tav.

What was his little mouse doing here? In his arms. Or, to be more honest, buried under him like an expensive body pillow. It wasn't that Raphael objected to their presence. It also didn't look as if they did. Tav looked rather peaceful. Even as Raphael mulled over their position, the mortal reached up sleepily, grappling for him.

Small fingers closed sloppily around his shoulder and pulled, as if he was nothing but an expensive blanket. Surprised, the devil followed, swallowing the small figure under his larger devil form. Tav mumbled again, not making the effort of actual words, but adjusted themself happily under his weight.

It occurred to Raphael that though his tail was tightly curled around a leg, he did not feel it around either of his. It occurred to him that he was not wearing A Lot and that dignity was see-through. Tav didn't mind and was still in underwear. Blood shot to Raphael's head (and a less polite place) at the implications. And the possibilities. Tav opened up a few more of those, scrabbling over his shoulder with their hand and resting it at the base of his wing.

But how did they end up here? Raphael closed his eyes to remember. The crown. Tav had brought him the crown and that memory ran through his veins sweet and hot. The power. The extreme exertion of self-control as to not ravish his little mouse after they placed the crown on his head. Truly a reason to celebrate.

Tav had stayed for the rather raucous party, even as their companions left one after another. Those who had accompanied their fearless leader to his House of Hope. Not all were happy with their decision, and some were already following their own destiny. Raphael remembered his little mouse, drunk, their eyes misty and their heart torn. Happiness and grief battling it out beautifully on their features.

And him, unable to lay hands on them while Haarlep made the most lewd suggestions. At least those had drawn a smile from Tav's lips. And then – things became slightly fuzzy. Haarlep created cocktails from infernal wine and mortal liquors. A potent mixture and one Tav wisely refused. But he had not. He was a devil, immortal, unstoppable. And very, very drunk.

He remembered dancing, lewd, bordering on other activities. But with Tav within reach, Haarlep was of limited interest. As was his bed. Which he did end up in in the end anyway. Raphael tightened his arm around Tav who sputtered sleepy approval. He did not remember wanting to go to bed.

The evening was perfect. He never wanted it to end, high on success and alcohol as he was. And Tav didn't leave. The last of their mortal crew and they did not leave. Made no attempt to even. So the night drew on until –

There was a vague image is his mind of Haarlep dragging him to bed. Not to do anything with him, which he would have objected too anyway. After Tav was still around, his little plaything, his perfect mouse. A mouse that had – followed? Raphael frowned and inhaled Tav's scent. The wouldn't. Or would they? An exciting prospect.

But another memory drifted up, crashing that dream. A struggle with Haarlep and Korrilla to get him to lie down. A victory that lasted only seconds until a new battle raged. The sharp claws of his incubus cut lines into his skin Raphael could feel when he concentrated. They pulsed with the steady thrum of his heart and head.

As a last resort, Korrilla had dragged Tav into the fight. His little mouse had laid hands on him. Delicious! The memory brought a smile to his lips. But they only did so to push him back onto the bed. Not bad, that had potential. And he had accordingly removed his clothing.

Tav's reaction was disappointing. Instead of jumping on their chance, and him, they stepped back. The only reason Raphael didn't wilt in disappointment was that there was nothing to deflate. As excited as his mind was, his body was way too drunk to react appropriately. At least Tav didn't mock him.

They kept pushing him into bed, so Raphael had acquiesced. Eventually. With Tav's hands all over his skin, though it definitely did not bring the desired erection. Dammed alcohol. Damned cock that wouldn't rise. Damned Tav for seeing him in such a state.

Only, his little mouse was still here. Cradled tightly against his chest, little puffs of air bouncing off his skin. Tav must have convinced him to lie down at some point. Probably leading by example as they usually did. Raphael adjusted his position to dig up that sweet moment from the intoxicated for in his mind.

The moment didn't rise. Raphael dug around in the dark corners of the last night. But there was nothing. He finally slumped on the bed, defeated by alcohol, gravity, and his own little mouse. To rest, to sleep, to hold on.

But Tav turned to leave. That image cut through the haze like a knife. The curve of their neck as they turned away. The cheeks flushed from their own alcohol indulgence. The soft expression of sadness mingled with regret. A still image in Raphael's mind.

How could he let them go? How did they stay? Why? Another memory crept up on him, covered in the deep burgundy of shame. His hand, wobbly, searching, creeping towards Tav. The light on their face, slanting red of Avernus, glowing red from their blood. And him asking, asking because devils do not beg, to stay.

Oh.

Oh!

Raphael curled up a little embarrassed. But Tav lay under him, a soft centre and a willing one. Their arms tightened, fingers caressing the base of his wings.

"Good morning?" The words were muffled against his skin.

They stayed. The feeling of their cool skin against his, the regular breathing rocking him to sleep. And now Tav's hand rested on his back. "A good morning indeed." The words were surprisingly warbled. "How do you feel?" It seemed the polite thing to ask, though the reply "like a pancake" was probable and unwanted.

"A little fuzzy in the head and mouth." Tav's jaw worked in the attempt to expel their own taste. They coughed and the sound and sudden movement made Raphael wince.

"No loud noises, no hectic movements. Got it." Tav pressed their face back into his chest. That felt nice. But any throbbing as went down between his legs also went into his head multiplied.

"Healing pool," he murmured and felt only slightly insulted by Tav's soft chuckle. "And then back to bed." He grinned over their body and pulled them close with arms and tail.

Tav only chuckled more. "Naughty devil. What makes you think I will not escape as soon as I can?"

Raphael propped himself up and stared down at his captured little mouse. "Because then you'd already have." He leant down and shut them up with a deep kiss.

#bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #prompt fill #anon answered #mel writes fanfic #sleazy second-hand car dealer #bg3 fanfiction

[reikodoesfanstuff]

No one asked, but I feel like Durge and Enver have nearly the exact same ways they show affection. (Is it good that I put the keep reading so high up? IDK anything about Tumblr etiquette lol)

Enver, coming from a poor family, so much so that he was sold, would go out of his way to shower his nearest and dearest with gifts. It would be things like an expensive wine, maybe a few pieces of jewelry, or an intricately made (but still deadly) dagger. He would also slowly buy Durge so many clothes that, eventually, they're dressed fully in things gifted by Enver. And he's so into that.

He's also brilliant and known to have a silver tongue, they have to be writing verbose and seductive letters or poems back and forth. Enver would be writing things like, "Once the world is mine I will gift it to you and we'll rule together", "Watching hardened killers tremble at your feet makes me envious of their position", or "With me, you'll want for nothing but more pleasure than you can handle." And he sends them within the boxes of his gifts, neatly written and topped with a wax seal of Bane's hand.

Durge, as we know from the "Forgive Me Father" letter, is also a bit of a wordsmith. Their letters would be of a similar tone to Enver's but the words are more like, "Every second spent without your voice in my ears is a new layer added to the hells", "I will hunt your every adversary and ensure they know only misery in your name." and even, "The urge to flay you alive and hear your pretty screams cannot be matched by my need to experience your body as you writhe in the deepest carnal pleasures." All of their poems are haphazardly written on whatever paper scrap Durge can find and half illegible due to being delivered in the open mouths of severed skulls or crumpled in palms of corpses hand-delivered to his chambers when no one's around. Sometimes, they would even be a political rival of Enver's, which they both think is very romantic.

And on that note, body parts are Durge's favorite gift, by far. Bloodied hearts, severed hands holding out a single red rose, cold fingers spelling out a simple message like "Love you" or "Stay safe" or sometimes just a heart shape are left in increasingly intimate places in Enver's home. His front door, the living room, bedroom, and even his bathtub had a corpse display one time! How cute. Durge had quite a hand in raising Enver's political status this way, some were by accident.

And you can't tell me those babes don't shower each other in physical affection behind closed doors. Enver was never shown any compassion as a child. Even worse, he was beaten, often. And now, in adulthood, he can't trust those he brings to his bed as they don't know who he really is or just want the power associated with him. Durge never connected to anyone personally or romantically so physical touch was a rare commodity. They have killed every bed partner at some point in the affair, as the urge commanded. But with Enver, they refuse to listen to it. They want Enver alive, against their father's wishes. As a result, both of them are touch-starved and refuse to keep their hands off each other when alone.

#If you tell me this is false #I WILL cry #durgetash #enver gortash #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #durge #bg3 durge #bg3 enver gortash #baldur's gate 3 dark urge #dark urge #tw: murder #2 cute chosen falling in love

[ipushedthewrongbutton]

Imma do this final vent and then I’ll shut up about it.

This was a dumb move, from every possible perspective.

In the og goodbye video, they really made it sound like they were doing the streaming service because they wanted to go bigger, make cooler videos, really see what they could do and let their creative vision take the lead.

Growing as an artist is what you do when you Already Have The Money To Do So. You don’t tell your audience “give me money and then I will use to it to make cooler bigger things”. That’s not a streaming service, that’s a kickstarter.

They didn’t have the numbers to pull a streaming service off either. “We think we’re ready for television quality content” no you don’t. Sorry, no you do not. Television quality content means 30-50 crew per project, means at least 4-5 production being worked on at the same time, and at least 4-5 productions being broadcast at the same time. Watcher has maybe 2 series they upload simultaneously and they have 25 employees TOTAL. Not even CLOSE to tv levels of content, who the fuck do you think you are???

Did they really think all 3 million of their subscribers were going to follow them on this? Including kids, whose spending is dependent on their parents? Including the casuals, who only subscribed for the occasional video? Including people for whom $6 dollars on another streaming service just isn’t an option? Why DIDN’T they poll this, was this being a surprise really that important??

AND why would you completely cut off another revenue? Even if YouTube is restrictive, it’s still another source of income. Cutting that off completely is… bold.

Especially since in the apology, they let it slip that no, actually, it’s because Watcher is on the brink of having to close up shop because they’re not making enough money with just the patreon, the merch sales, the ad reads, etc.

So… one of those is a lie. Or at least part of the truth.

But let’s assume they are in financial trouble, then this was still the dumbest they could’ve done.

Welcome to the entertainment industry where we follow 1 giant fucking rule: Kill Your Darlings.

Fellas, pals, amigos, bros, dudes. If your projects spend more than what they make, it’s time to downsize. Not upscale. Cut the shit that’s spending the most money, start concentrating on how you can conserve without having to fire your crew. Put the projects where you have to fly out and buy new stuff all the time on the back burner, you can get back to them once you actually have the money for them. Work with what you already have. You have a MASSIVE studio space, fuckin use it. You HAVE sets, you HAVE props, you HAVE talent and you have ideas. Start workshopping all the crazy and shit ideas you thought weren’t gonna work and start thinking how you could make them work with the lowest possible budget you can have. Your audience is there, they’ll watch whatever you throw at them. Now is the time to go crazy and see what sticks. You HAVE viewership. Collab. CONSTANTLY. Get it the fuck out there that you exist. A lot of people had no idea a patreon existed, mention it ALL THE TIME. To the point that it becomes annoying. Do it!

If your studio is becoming too expensive, get rid of it. Sorry, kill your darlings. Move some shit around in Steven Lim’s tesla garage, put up some green screens, this is where you work now until you can afford a studio in LA again, you dipshits. Editors can work from home, sound designers can work from home, writers and researchers can work from home, meetings can happen in someone’s kitchen or living room.

And finally: be transparent. Be honest to your audience and communicate. “We’re sorry to put Ghost Files on hiatus, however we can no longer justify the cost of traveling to locations.” The majority of your audience will understand and show patience. The part of your audience that matters will wait and enjoy your other wacky shit in the meantime. Hell, they might spontaneously start their own kickstarter because those who can, will want to support you financially, if you’re just hONEST WITH THEM.

As a business, you constantly have to choose between your financial stability and that of your employees, your vision and the future of your company and what you Want to do with it, and your integrity, the trust between you and your audience. (Especially that last one, businesses can’t pretend they don’t have a relationship with their audience, that’s not how business works, guys.)

When you’re in financial straits, one of those has to go. Watcher chose the latter, they should’ve picked the middle. Their grand television quality ideas can fucking wait, if money is a problem.

Look, I’m an artist too. I had a vision too. But it was either my creative vision or being able to afford food and rent. Creativity can wait, creativity will always be there once I can support it. Living comes ALWAYS first. Asking my audience to fund my huge artistic dreams though, with only the promise of something cool, NEVER even crossed my fucking mind. That’s what donations are for, that’s what the patreon is for.

They apologised. And good. But this was a dumb decision from the goddamn start. There were like 500 steps in between and they skipped all of it. And for what? For money? For grand ideas? For greed or for hubris? How many of their original subscribers are actually gonna come back? How much money did they lose with this stunt? If they really are in financial trouble, this MASSIVE risk -which is what it has always been- might just be their downfall. And it’d be 100% their own fucking fault.

#Watcher #Ok that’s ACTUALLY the last time i talk about this i need to move on #I dunno why this played in my mind so much #No i do know: it was boredom #But even as an outsider to whole streaming service just Felt Gross #And as someone who’s worked in the entertainment industry… i just.. SAW all the red flags #And it’s BAFFLING none of the so-called professionals at watcher entertainment stopped this #Or maybe that’s the hubris of the ceo’s talking who tf knows at this point #Anyway all of this was playing in my mind and i had to type it out to get my brain to hopefully shut up #Imma pirate some fucking tv shows now #If paying for it isn’t owning it then pirating isn’t stealing #Long post #like LONG-ASS FUCKIN POST

[justchronicallyillthings]

After sitting with my feelings about the apology, I have some thoughts. Because I wanted to forgive and forget, but I don't think I can. I think, at best, I can forgive, but I won't be able to forget. The leaving youtube video was very out of touch and it took too long to apologize and admit that they fucked up.

I don't think they intended to or wanted to apologize and backtrack. The apology video being 4 minutes long and released at the time it was today makes me believe two things:

1.) They saw the negative feedback and decided to ignore it and hope it would fade into the background. They had all day Friday to respond but didn't. And they could have responded at any time on Saturday or Sunday. Hell, the apology wasn't even ready to go this morning. Which is further proof that they really believed support would grow for the subscription service.

2.) When they got to their expensive ass LA office today they probably discussed this and realized that they royally fucked up. Other youtubers were making videos discussing how bad it was. Patreons were rightfully pissed. They were losing subscribers and followers left and right. And I think something sunk in, and they realized they could not wait for us to forget. We were not going to forget, and the number of subscribers to the watcher channel was probably extremely low. They had to do something before they ruined their entire company. This is why we got the apology video when we did today. It was short, too late, and feels like trying to placate us too much.

I will give them props that they did make the right choice by still allowing free content, by making it up to patreons, offering refunds, and admitting they fucked up. But I can't shake the feeling that they had zero intention of backtracking and saying sorry. It felt like they were playing a waiting game and lost horribly and now they are trying to save face.

They are doing now what should have been done in the beginning. And I'm curious to see how it will play out. But I will never give them a dime of my money. In the future that may change but I have no desire to waste the money I desperately need every penny of to survive on a group of people who were so quick to tell myself and other poor people to go fuck themselves. So I wish them the best but they best learn to manage their finances and live within their means.

#watcher #something about the whole situation just dont sit right with me #i think a large part of it may be LA brain rot #and just not knowing the difference between what actually hurting for money is versus not being able to afford an expensive lifestyle #either way #they aint getting another dime out of me #but good luck dudes #ill forgive ya here in a bit #but ill be damned if i forget how badly this was mismanaged

[thought--bubble]

Taking a little breaky break

This is just a heads up for my small little group of people on here. I have come to call my friends. I just wanted to let you all know that I'm going to be taking a much needed respite from tumblr and probably discord, too. I am feeling lost, sad,overwhelmed, and confused.

I know it sounds silly or whatnot, but all of this stuff is overwhelming and depressing, and I feel sick when I open this app at this point.

The best word to use, I guess, would be winded, maybe?

I joined Tumblr in Sept 23, and at first, it was really fun, a much needed escape from my daily never-ending list of crap to do.

I unfortunately learned how crazy this fandom can get early on and the hard way. I had hoped that that was just a one-off due to my newbie ignorance and took it as a lesson learned for myself.

But it's starting to feel like the drama never fucking stops. It just keeps going, and nice people, kind people, just get dragged and ridiculed for seemingly no reason. I will pathetically admit that I am a sensitive soul, and the things I've read and seen have seriously negatively affected me.

When people are catty regarding people they don't like or that don't like them, I can usually reconcile that to a particular degree. People are, in fact, people. Not everyone is going to vibe with everyone, and people will make jokes at others' expense, and it isn't exactly mature, but it happens.

That is what I expected when I heard this was coming. Some catty shit slinging between people who don't like each other.

But that isn't all this was, and I'm having a really hard time with that. I even thought, "Oh maybe some moderately rude jokes here and there where you know cultural differences and stuff could account for that" like I'm from the northeast and we can be harsh out here. So something that may be offensive to someone from another area may be looked at here just as a joke made in poor taste.

I know I myself have made jokes or whatnot, but you would think certain things would be off limits.

I thought I could combat the negative with positives. Silly jokes, little messages filled with love, but even that isn't working at this point.

My heart hurts, and my brain hurts.

And all this stuff has made me question myself. I had a block list a mile long for the longest time. Filled predominantly with people I had never spoken to because I was scared, nervous, I didn't want to accidentally interact with a post of someone who would be upset that I did, I unfollowed blogs I liked based on this same principle. I just desperately did not want to make someone mad or uncomfortable and find myself back in some weird mean anon tornado.

I tried to sus out who would be bothered by my presence and who wouldn't. I can't even know if my thoughts on who may or may not be upset by me were based on my paranoia or a perception i developed or was potentially affected by outside sources.

Now, i just don't know what the hell is going on.

Sorry for the word vomit. Just wanted to be honest. There are some of us out here who are just standing around with question marks over our heads.

Maybe it's because I wasn't here for a lot of that other weirdness. Maybe it's because of early events that shaped my experience on this app, but I for sure 100% need a break.

I'm an odd duck and love this app mostly because it's the only site I've seen where others actively fan-girl over my favorite Ewan character.

But right now, not even my love for Will can keep me on this app, and for those who know me, that's truly saying something.

This post is not meant to badmouth anyone at all. Honestly at this point I couldn't bad mouth anyone because I'm fucking lost on who anyone really is or how they really feel about things, dude I'm just plain lost.

Thank you to those who have been kind. My apologies to those I may have judged or assumed things about based on who the hell knows.

I hope that when I come back, I can open this app without yet another person that I like having a post of them being torn apart. Or a post of a story that I had heard being told in a completely different way and throwing me for a complete loop.

For now I am going to watch Will edits on TikTok and maybe read via Ao3.

Love and healing vibes to all.

#To my lovelies #I'll be back #I'm just not sure when #hotd fandom

[icewindandboringhorror]

I got these shoes from someone recently but thought they were way too plain looking, so I set out on a quest to customize them with some sharpies and charms and miscellaneous ribbon I had in my craft drawers. Mostly sky themed (clouds, rainbows, rain, stars, etc.) because that's my favorite aesthetic, but I had to include some cat imagery as well, of course lol.

#also honestly had NO IDEA that real converse have that star logo on the INSIDE not the outer part??? why the hell would you want it on the #inner portion where nobody can see it?? my entire life I always would have sworn it was on the outer facing portion.. #I think these would be perfect IF they were just slightly taller (top part higher above ankles instead of just weird hard material digging #right into your ankle whenever you walk) and if they were actual good platforms. they're so short. It's good that 'chunky' shoes are gettin #more popular as they've always been my favorite Look ever since I had these shoes with roller skates that pop out of thebottom (not heelys. #but like. before those. it was two whole entire roller skate wheels like a normal pair of roller skates) and the bottoms were so tall and #clunky and it made my feet look giant (because it had.. entire wheels in the bottom pockets lol). so #I've alwatys been into the aesthetic but . still I find a lot of the 'brands jumping on trend' are too short of platforms #OR they're plafrorms with a raised back/heel/wedge which to me is not aesthetically good and also makes them exceptionally uncomfortable to #wear compared to just plain completely flat chunky platform bottoms. ANYWAY.. if these shoes had a 3 or 4 inch platform I think they'd be #cooler. however for what they are it's still fine! and I like them more now that they actually have some sort of anything to them and #aren't just plain white. The weird thing is that the material it's made out of (maybe some sort of leather or something) absorbs sharpie? #the color changes over time. You draw a mark and then leave it for a few days and it either fades into being barely there or has changed #colors. so I had to go back in and redo parts. ALSO the shoe chains are so funny because I did NOT have the right tools for them #I don't have the stuff to make bracelets or open and close the little rings. they're held onto the shoe with just safety pins and the actua #little rung things that hold the charms on half of them are like broken or the metal is just jam smushed together bent and warped hhbjhjhb #I actually like the back a lot where there's the irridecent star thing hot glued on there. it's cool and shiny. and the clouds #are sparkly on the main parts of the shoe though I'm not sure how well it shows up in pictures #ANYWAY... shoegs..... If I were rich this is one of the things I would definitely custom order from craftsman #why would I spend like thousands of dollars on plain ass shoes that are just expensive because they're a Luxury Brand when I could literall #like pay people to create me custom shoes to my exact specifications?? I could have like 5 inch flat platform boots with fur andclouds #and cat shaped holes in the bottom with LEDs in them with pom pom and charms and etc. etc. etc. Like as gaudy and excessively over #decorated as I want lol.. AND they could have skates in the bottom somehow!! ghjgbhjb #this on top of all the custom wizard costumes and period clothing I would order.. Like i LOVE customizing things. I love everything in my l #life being as particualr as possible and cultivating every experience I have to meticulously meet my own specific criteria as much #as is possible. If I had the money to I would never buy something from a store again. EVERYTHING I owned from furniture to clothing #would be either made by me - or mostly - comissioned from craftsmen. custom tiles for my floors. custom bed. custom table. #even like. custom toilet. custom sinks. etc. etc. ouGGH... but yeah.. anyway... shoes..

[terrorbirb]

I'm bored at work so I'm seeing if I should report my old company for violating labor standards.

#totes bro #im so close but it is so obvious it would be me because i used to complain about this all the time #they dont inform their immigrant workers of their rights and so they dont like understand how their timecard works #and thr company advises them to take the least expensive insurance policy because they 'are healthy and don't need it' #but i know one couple wants fertility treatments but couldnt afford it because of that #they dont have the required posters #they also knowingly continue osha violations which i held a meeting over and was told this doesnt apply to us #which uhm it says it does on the Web site so i disagree #all of this is like why i left and what caused me to leave #and literally lying to me and another guy that we would get promotions for the work we did #and then they hired someone else to do the job making our promotions unnecessary and they were like hmmmm sorry #idk they like got a ton worse and i think the president got more reactionary which caused this #not sure how many of these count but thats not for me to decide anyway #oh and cleanliness standards but i actually fixed a lot of those..... fulfilling the role that promotion role that was promised #my coworkers here are like 'absolutely report the hell out of that place' because we do code violations lol #every time i say something they go 'that could be a violation :)' #they paid someone on a salary basis when they were under the salary pay and therefore should have gotten overtime

[itstimeforstarwars]

Getting distracted from the main plot of three jedi to focus on the history of bacta.

#chit chat #bacta is only made on ONE planet in the whole galaxy #which in light of the clone wars means that either the Separatists did not have bacta as a general rule #or that somehow in the 20 years between the bacta war and the clone wars someone figured out how to make artificial bacta #and then artificial bacta got outlawed after the war because it’s explicitly mentioned that during the Empire all bacta came from Thyferra #and it was expensive as hell #i am going with the headcanon of artificial bacta #because i simply do not think that one planet could keep up with the bacta demands of a galactic war #even if they were only providing to the republic #because i have not seen a single episode dealing with bacta scarcity much less a theme of it in tcw #and a singular point of bacta would be a HELL of a military target #especially. y'know. if only one side of the war requires bacta to treat their troops #anyway #paw notes

[natandacat]

After 12 attempted fixes, some of which took 6h to run, and including a full factory reset, my laptop is finally back to full performance

#NIGHTMARE #IT TOOK 72H TOTAL #it was the fucking battery bugging out i had to uninstall the device and reinstall it #cant fucking believe i didnt think of that earlier #i was so busy making sure the hard drive the memory and the graphic card were ok 😭 #that battery has been bugging for a while tho i might see if its expensive to just get a new one #but fr it was so bad i could barely do an internet search #couldnt launch a single game #took me 10min to join a teams meeting #hell