#without them looking like utter trash .

[tavroasticus]

day 19872 of wishing i could draw actual humans and not vague just humanoids

#i just want to be able to draw other peoples interpretations of non-shadow billy #without them looking like utter trash . #is that too much to ask for ?? fhcfgxtyvu #im glad i can draw shadow billy at least #hes just fluffy hair . a single eye (with a mouth occasionally) . and a green sweater #in bust drawings that is #aaaanyhoo #billy lenz #black christmas 1974 #stupid little tav ramble 🐇 #<- because of the tags

[shaisuki]

yandere kaiser & sae respond to their chubby!darling have a feelings on somebody else because of their both past where the yandere used to mock & bullies the darling's weight & appereance, please make this noncon cus i like it more darker. as if its spicier ✨

CAN'T HAVE WHAT'S MINE

ft. michael kaiser, itoshi sae

content warnings ─── degradation, history of past bullying, babytrapping, forced affection, manipulation, gaslighting.

ᝰ synopsis .ᐟ you shouldn't have dared to love someone that is not them.

MICHAEL KAISER

he was above everyone else and yet, how dare you fall for someone else who's beneath him. you, out of fall people should be grateful for him giving you the attention that many would die for.

he can't take it. not when he's the embodiment of perfection and you choose someone who's not even his equal for your attention. don't get him wrong. michael wouldn't lower his pride nor self for you but why does he sees red everytime you associate yourself and sing praises for that trash?

the familiar terror you felt and watch how your bright eyes turn lifeless brought him joy. he was glad he still have that hold over you. one touch. the tone of his voice changing into a snarl and his vein popping in his forehead. your lips tremble when his face gets nearer at you.

“i get to give you attention and you dare to ignore mine. who taught you that?” he laughs in a scornful manner. his smile wide but never reaches the eyes that is cold and seethes in betrayal at your found fondness for the other who is not him.

his grip was painful. his fingers digs at your cheeks. his palm hard as it holds your jaw in a firm manner. you look ridiculous similar to a blobfish. your round cheeks puffier from how hard he grips it. the flesh gathers in a confining state. you know from the reflection of his blue yes that you dared to meet.

“it's my own decision to choose who i want to love. your opinion does not matter in my own affairs.” you state matter of fact. biting your lips to prevent the tears from spilling from your waterline. years of being the center of the attention of his mockery and the endless degradation you received — you learned to despise him. michael kaiser is nothing to you despite with his fame and talent. you don't need someone like him in your life.

ah. you learned to talk back. it's fine. he will put you back to your rightful place like what he did years back before he is now. you will love him. worship him. offer your body and soul for him.

the pressure of his hold in your cheeks got firmer. it was starting to bruise your skin. you tried to pry his wrist off you but to no avail it was like clawing on a wall with no damage taken. michael chuckles at your attempt.

“i love him and nothing would change it.” you look at him straight in the eye and michael was unfazed by it. you were comparable to a dog resisting until being held by the scruff.

“do you?” he smirks, and then faint footsteps came nearer where you are being held by michael and then your boyfriend stumbled between you both. you were relieved by his appearance and you called his name but michael was quick to squish your cheeks harder and the position in your boyfriend's perspective finds it rather intimate yet he isn't bothered by the fact that his girlfriend is being held in a uncomfortable manner by someone.

you met his gaze. tears threatening to fall as your lips utter the word of help and that's when you thought he will come rescue you. he shakes his head. taking slow tentative steps backwards before disappearing.

he recognizes michael kaiser. the ace of bastard munchen and there is no way he will come fight or mess with him and so he ran.

“you love that cuck, huh?” the blonde taunts you. “no one can give you this kind of attention without me. be grateful, liebe.” the endearment made your stomach churn.

“i will never — ever love you!” you snarl at him and the air in your lungs got knocked out of you when he slammed you in the cold hard wall.

michael grabs your jaw. pulling him closer and his breathe is closer to you. “you will love me.” he says before crashing his lips into yours. slipping his tongue inside your mouth and claiming you as his.

you fought him. kicking your legs but michael was quick to trap you. his tattooed arm wrapped around your waist and his hand grabbing your clothed ass and giving it a firm squeeze.

“m—michael!” you managed to croak out. your hands in his chest. desperately trying to push him but he simply won't budge.

“resistance is futile. take what i give you and you will be rewarded, hmm?" he hums. grasping your chin in his fore and index finger. “you will follow me.”

forcing you to grind in his clothed thigh. he latches to your neck. sucking and biting the skin until bruise starts to bloom from it. “i will let this one slide.” he warns you, continuing his assault in your neck while his hand fondles your belly under your shirt. you let out a whimper when he squeezes the flesh in his hands.

“defy me again and you will learn the hard way.”

ITOSHI SAE

sae was never one to bother himself with distractions until he got a wind of his "childhood friend" planning to settle down with someone who is not him. of course this isn't something he would oversee. you belonged to him.

it was a headache seeing you glowing and unabashed. nothing could stop you from falling in love and show how much you adored the person you are with now.

“i just left you and this is what i come home to?” there's the passive-aggressiveness in his voice. you raised a brow at his statement. finding the words odd after just being home a few hours ago.

“a hello would be nice, sae. and what does it even mean?” you asked him curiously. unclear of the meaning behind those years and it's not like you were both close.

“you going behind my back.” his teal eyes gleaming with some unknown emotion while looking at you.

“going behind your back?” you want to laugh at him. “we're not even a thing, sae. the only thing or decent thing you had done for me was to leave. i was happy with you gone.” you bit your tongue to further stop the retaliation. the words coming more of a personal grudge against him. you didn't mean it but seeing sae after a long time just brought back the memories you desperately wanted to forget and sae is similar to a memory that randomly pops whenever a happy memory surfaces.

gone. you wanted him gone. sae is used to being trashtalked. wether it's online, personal or in the field but nothing stung like what you had said. he kept quiet. he shouldn't be acting so brash right now, not when you're within his grasp. he still have plans.

“what the hell do you think you're doing, sae!?” you screamed at him. you were in a unfamiliar place and your body is sore and heavy. your sight a bit blurry as your head spins.

“stop screaming now, won't you.” he sat at the foot of your bed. his gaze fixated in you. “i just saved you from being tied to someone you didn't want.” he says. his stare dark while he slowly crawls in front of you and the action agitated you. instinctively moving backwards until your back hits the headboard.

“you always ruin things for me, sae. i genuinely consented to be with him! not you, you fucking asshole! i love him! get that through that thick skull of yours!” you spat at him. you were about to scream again when his hand came wrapping around your neck. therefore cutting your air and the fear settles in your bones at him.

“you don't love him. i was the one who dealt with your bullshit ever since and i won't allow you to be with someone who is not me.” his eyes never leaving you while he slowly pries your creamy thighs open to accommodate him.

your cries fell into deaf ears. sae was cruel. always ways. he didn't care for anyone not even you. he only cared when it was for his own gain. he will be keeping you by his side. you will have no qualms over it and take it over and over again.

he seals your fate when he dumps his load inside you. a baby he says. just to keep you occupied. this wouldn't be more difficult if you just have set your feelings aside until he comes back but you will always be his stubborn, chubby childhood friend and you are to be with him until your last dying breath.

#♱ ⋮ shai's works⸝⸝ #chubby reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock scenarios #blue lock smut #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x you #kaiser x reader #blue lock x chubby reader #blue lock #bllk #itoshi sae x y/n #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x chubby reader

[sinofwriting]

It's Like I Don't Know You Anymore - Max Verstappen (& Lewis Hamilton)

Words: 4,816 Summary: Y/N Rosberg, Nico Rosberg’s little sister, returns to the world of F1 after six years away. And she returns in the most unexpected garage. Warning(s)/Note(s): Takes place in 2022, Past Relationship with Lewis Hamilton that involves an age difference of about 11 years. Secret/Private Relationship(s), Smut in the Imola 2022 part

Taglist | Masterlist | Patreon | It's Like I Don't Know You Anymore Verse

Jeddah 2022

Lewis scoffs as he reads the trash article. It was anything but substantial and from a site that was more known for just recirculating already known things in their own words and for the occasional lie to stir up drama.

He had only seen it because he had alerts on his personal phone for her name and he couldn’t help but click on it seeing that it was popping up on an F1 related site. He expected it to be one of those top ten outfit things, he hadn’t expected utter garbage.

He’d know if she was returning to the paddock, he would’ve been told, especially during one of the first few weekends of the new season. The first season since he had won that he won’t have the number one on his car and his jaw clenched at the reminder that he was no longer the current world champion, that he had to stay longer, needed to stay longer. He wanted that eighth championship, and until he got it he was staying, needed to. And this year could be the year, would be the year.

“Have you seen this rubbish?” Lewis asks Toto when he steps out of his driver's room and into the garage. It’s filled with life as everyone gets ready for the first free practice session. Shouts being heard back and forth. The whirring of tools as mechanics make sure they’re all working and where they should be. “What rubbish?” His Austrian accent is thick as it wraps around the words. He glances around, looking for cameras, spotting none, he still lowers his voice. “Y/N,” the name is awkward off his tongue and it makes Toto flinch, no one had called her that, not unless it was for something important, like life or death. “Some blog reported that she’s in Red Bull’s garage.” He laughs. The taller man stills.

Toto after all these years still wasn’t sure what exactly had happened between Mouse and Lewis. He knew what had happened between Nico and Lewis, had tried to fix it, to patch it up, to stay neutral, but his preference for Lewis had been obvious to Nico and the brotherhood that had been so strong, had spanned so many years, ended quicker than it began as the season drew on and the tension got tighter.

And while he hadn’t managed to play middle man without one of them getting mad, shouting, screaming, storming away like a toddler. Mouse had. She had easily gone between the two men as they both threw fits. He still wasn’t sure how the girl had done it, barely an adult, but dealing with two grown men, but she had and handled it like a champ. Toto had never been allowed to hold Nico’s trophy like Lewis had allowed him to when he had won before, but he knew and had seen how Nico let her hold. As if it was not just his but hers as well.

Toto had expected when the 2017 season started even with Nico, leaving, retiring, for her to come anyways. Had set aside passes for her, made sure that she was in the system to be allowed in despite knowing that she would show up with Lewis, because that’s how it had always been. If she wasn’t showing up with her brother, she was showing up with Lewis. But she was a no show and when he tried to reach out, he was blocked.

She went full no contact with everyone in the racing world and at first Toto had thought that maybe something serious had happened, but she was still posting on her blog, though there was a distinct lack of F1, she just wasn’t talking to him. He could still remember the swell of anger that came over and then the shame that had quickly followed. How he had gone to Lewis to ask if she was alright, if she was mad at him, mad at Mercedes, only for Lewis to flinch, to shake his head. Telling him that he hadn’t heard from her or seen since the day after Nico won his championship. He could still feel the bitterness that rolled off of Lewis’ tongue as he said that none of the Rosberg’s were talking to him.

“It’s not rubbish.” Toto manages to say after a moment, trying to push back the memories, the grief of no longer getting to see Mouse grow up, because god she had just turned twenty-six and the last time he had seen her, she was twenty, still a child in many ways. “She is at Red Bull’s garage.” “What?” “She showed up after all the drivers did, waited I think, and made her appearance. Went straight to Red Bull. She had passes.” “She’s never liked Red Bull.” “You’ve never liked Red Bull.” Toto corrects.

It was a thing that had frustrated much of the Mercedes team, how despite himself, Nico, and Lewis despising Red Bull, she still liked them, would pop into their garage, chat with their drivers, mechanics, engineers, and such. Toto nearly had an aneurysm the first time he saw her and Horner talking.

“Doesn’t make sense.” “No it doesn’t.”

—

“Red Bull, huh? Naughty, naughty girl.” He clicks his tongue. She rolls her eyes, “You already knew that I was going there.” He laughs, “Doesn’t mean I can’t tease you about it.” “Was there a reason you called, Nico?” “What? I can’t check in on my sister?” She rolls her eyes again, but grins. “I just wanted to make sure that nothing happened.” “Lewis didn’t try to talk to me or at least not that I know of.” It was easy to read between the lines with Nico. “I stayed at Red Bull, in their garage, no one but Red Bull personnel came close to me.” “And you still want to do this?” “Yes.” Her voice is soft and she sits on the hotel bed, crossing her ankles. “I’ve missed it, the sport, the paddock, it’s nice to be back.” “And Mercedes?” “I have no interest in talking to anyone at Mercedes, past or present. They don’t matter, not anymore.” “Mouse. You will be careful, yes? I’m not there anymore.” “Careful as can be.”

Australia 2022

He expects her to be at the next race in Australia and he doesn’t know why. It had been one of the races she was always willing to miss as she hated flying there. Not feeling it was worth it.

So he pretends not to be disappointed when no photos of her arriving popping up, not even whispers of rumors of her sneaking in which he wouldn’t believe in the first place. The idea of her sneaking into a race made him scoff. It wasn’t her, that wasn’t how she operated. He knew her, knew she liked the attention of arriving at the races just like he did. He also pretends that it doesn’t hurt to think about how they used to show up together to races.

Imola 2022

“You’re going to win.” She soothes, rubbing his shoulders and he can’t help but let them drop, let her loosen the tension in them. “I retired from the last race.” “And that was the last race.” He wants to deny it, there’s still that feeling that settles at the bottom of his stomach when he doesn’t win, when he isn’t on the podium, in the points. But it’s lessened as he’s been with her. “And tell me, Schat.” He grabs at her hand, gently pulling her until she’s in front of him, standing between his legs. “Will I just win the GP or also the sprint?” She smiles and he can feel his heartbeat quicken. “Both.” She tells him, resting her hands on his face and letting their lips brush together. “You’ll win both, Max.”

He wins the sprint and then the GP and he’s thankful that she isn’t out with the rest of the team when he’s on the podium, that she stayed in his drivers room, waiting for him. Because he knows that if she had, he would’ve ruined their plans of staying private, secret. He would have kissed her, told her that she did it, she told him he was going to win, so he did. He won both of them for her.

Max does tell her that. He tells her that in between champagne flavored kisses, along with thanks and murmurs of his love against her skin as she sighs and tugs at his nomex.

“I could win every race this season with you supporting me, Schat.” His breathing is heavy, he’s in between her thighs, racesuit and nomex just tugged down enough for his dick to be free, ass exposed. She hadn’t protested, but moaned when he ripped through her tights that she was wearing underneath her skirt, and moaned again when he moved her underwear to the side. Rubbing at her clit to get her wet as he quickly prepped her before sinking into her. He repeats it as he thrusts inside her, high on not the two wins, but on her, on her support, her belief. “You're my lucky charm.” She freezes around him, her moans tapering off and he curses as he realizes what he said. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs, lips against her forehead. “I did not mean.” “I know.” She sounds sure, truthful, but her legs that had been tight around him, heels digging into him, have loosened.

“If I don’t win a race that is my fault or the teams. It is not yours.” He tells her. She nods but doesn’t look at him. “Schat.” He holds her chin between two fingers, holding eye contact with her. “You are my lucky charm. Not because I think I will win races because of you and your support. Because you make even the races I don’t win feel okay, like I haven’t failed.” “You haven’t failed.” She immediately says frowning and her legs are tightening back up around him. “You can’t win every race no matter how good luck it looks on you.” He flushes at her words. “I know you are different from him. You have shown that already.” She struggles with the next words. “I just don’t think I can handle being called a lucky charm yet.” “Then I won’t.” He tells her. She blinks at him, at how easy he said, at simple he’s making it. “But you said.” “Yes.” He shrugs, shifting his weight and they both hiss at how his body moves from it, both having forgotten that he was still inside her. But he pushes his building arousal away. “But I won’t say it any more. Not if it makes you uncomfortable.” She stares at him for a few seconds before smiling. “Ik houd van je Max.” He smiles back at her, kissing her. “Ik houd van je, Schat.”

He goes to pull out, unable to ignore the arousal building in him anymore, but not wanting her to feel like they need to have sex, but her heels are pressing into him, thighs tightening around him.

“Fuck me, Max.” He says her name, quiet and with wide eyes. She moves her hips and he follows them with a snap of his own. “You won two races.” She murmurs, breathing tickling his lips before she’s placing her lips on his jaw, moving them down to his neck. “Fuck me, Max. I want you to. Want to celebrate with you like this.”

She’s sucking a mark into his skin and he’s choking down a groan. “Just us two, our own quick celebration before you have to go with your team. Before I’m left all alone in our hotel room.” He starts to thrust again, pressing his lips against hers before she can say anything else, before he really leaves any earlier than he was already planning to at the dinner celebration the team was holding.

As he continues to thrust into her, his lips stay against hers, muffling both of their sounds, but as he feels his balls tightening, he breaks them apart, pressing her face into his neck, encouraging her to bite at him as his other hand goes between their bodies, to her clit.

The bite of hers against his collarbone when she clenches around him, cumming, has him hissing. He stills his hips as she comes down from her orgasm, still rubbing at her clit, but more gently.

“Where do you want it?” He asks, when she bats his hand away from her and presses for him to continue to rock into her body. His orgasm is quickly approaching and really he should be pulling out, just finish in his own hand in case he finishes inside her before she says it's okay. But she’s tight and warm and feels too good. “Do you want it in your mouth? Want me to pull out? Finish in my hand, feed it to you?” She moans at his words, at the thing they’ve done once before. “Or do you want me to leave you something? Cum inside you and have you feel it drip out, go back to the hotel with just your underwear stopping it from dripping down your leg and ruining your tights.” “Inside Max. Please, inside me.” He groans at her words, hips speeding up. He only manages a few solid thrusts before he’s shuddering, pressing as close as he can as cums inside her, muffling a moan against her shoulder.

His hips twitch a little in the aftershocks of his orgasm as he pants against her shoulder.

“You’re going to kill me.” “With what?” She laughs. “Orgasms?” “With your dirty little mind.” He tells her, slowly pulling out, rubbing at her thighs as he does. She laughs again and he smiles at how her whole face lights up.

Miami 2023

It’s Miami. It’s extravagant. It's the first race at the new circuit. It’s her.

She’s dressed in a soft color, bringing out her eyes. She’s wearing the bracelet he gave her when she turned fourteen, the ring her father gave her that once belonged to her grandmother. She’s not wearing the necklace he gave her when she turned eighteen. It’s back in Monaco, still sitting on the nightstand of what’s still her side of the bed.

She has new bracelets, rings, and a new necklace. The necklace makes his jaw clench, fists tighten. He had never thought to consider that maybe she’d be with someone else after all these years. He hadn’t, not for anything more than one night.

Lewis stares at the clasp of her necklace. Wonders if it’s worth anywhere near what he gave her. Wonders who gave it to her. Some boy with a trust fund? Some guy that managed to make it to the top not because of hard work but because of connections?

He doesn’t know and it burns alongside the anger. He used to know nearly everything about her and he still knows her, he just doesn’t know the new things and that hurts worse than not knowing her at all anymore.

He watches as Geri fixes the necklace for her and wonders when exactly she got so close to Horner’s wife. “Where exactly did you get this darling?” She glows at the name, “From a jeweler that Nico loves. I can never remember the name.” The burning inside him vanishes at his name. Something had changed, he knew something new about her. Necklaces were no longer just things she wore from significant others.

Spain 2022

He cocks an eyebrow as George comes up to him nervously, messing with his hands. “You alright?” “Yeah, I just heard a weird rumor.” His eyes dart away and George hates that Toto is making him do this but doesn’t want to think about why, can feel the headache from just imagining thinking about the why. “What did you hear?” “Apparently, Y/N Rosberg,” Lewis stills at her name and curiosity clutches at George before he pushes down and away. “got snuck into the Red Bull garage.” The older man immediately scoffs. “Yeah, right. She likes arriving at the races.” He raises his hands, “that’s just what I heard.” “Well, it’s wrong. A shit rumor. Anyone who knows Mouse,” the nickname leaves his mouth before he can think, can stop it, “knows that she loves arriving on a race weekend, all the cameras, getting to show off whatever outfit she put together.” “Just what I heard, mate.” George repeats, before quickly retreating, cursing Toto out underneath his breath as soon as he rounds the corner and is far away from Lewis.

Monaco 2022

She’s not at Monaco. She’s not at Monaco. The words are on repeat in his head. He doesn’t understand it. She lived here or maybe had lived here. Monaco was small, it was hard to imagine that he had never run into her since the end of 2016 but then again he managed to dodge him. So it was possible.

He just didn’t like the idea of it. That if she still lived here that she had made sure to dodge him, to make sure they never ran into each other.

Austria 2022

She doesn’t show up at Baku, her favorite circuit, Montreal, or Silverstone, but she’s here at Austria. He can’t make sense of why she’s showing up at the races she is. Can’t make sense of why it’s only Red Bull’s garage that she visits.

It’s driving him insane trying to make sense of it. Just like he can’t make sense of another rumor that she sneaked into watch the race in Baku. This one hadn’t been quiet though from George. It had made its run on twitter and instagram, though most fans of hers just like him, knew that they were false. Her blog was still full of talking about how much she loved showing up at race weekends, feeling the energy, interacting with fans, even if they were years old. It was telling that she never deleted them. And he knew that she’d never sneak into a race.

July 2015

“Lew?” Her voice is quiet, barely a whisper, as if she’s afraid he fell asleep. He makes a humming noise, keeping his eyes closed but pressing his fingers a bit more into her back as they dance along her spine. “When do you stop?” He frowns at the vague question, eyes blinking open. “Stop what?” “When did you stop seeing me as Nico’s sister? As a kid?” His fingers pause as he thinks about her questions, wonders if he really wants to tell her, really wants her to know. He takes a deep breath, in and out of the nose before letting his fingers continue to dance. “As Nico’s sister? Probably around 2011 and Nico wasn’t hiding you away from everyone as much. I still see you a bit as his sister, don’t know if that will ever change.” She nods, “and as a kid?” “December 2013.” He’s just happy that he doesn’t remember the day. “Nicole and I joined Nico, Viv and you on that yacht.” She makes a humming noise, curling closer to him. “Nicole noticed actually.” And he has to chuckle remembering his then girlfriend's reaction. “She hadn’t seen you for a few months and had never seen you like that. Told me that I’d have to help Nico out with keeping guys like us away from you.” She huffs out a laugh, but doesn’t say anything, sensing that he’s not done. “She said that and I looked and suddenly you weren’t five years old content only in Nico’s arms, or ten crying because Keke and Nico were leaving without you again. You had grown and you were fucking gorgeous.” She stares at him, unsure of what to make of what he just told her. Not sure how she felt that it was Nicole that had made him realize that she wasn’t a little girl anymore. “You know,” she starts. “I had boobs way before I was seventeen.” Lewis sputters out a laugh and she laughs as well. “Well, I wasn’t looking.” She shakes her head, before tucking it into the crook of his neck. “No, just waited until I was a month away from being legal.” “Yeah and I waited longer to do anything about it.” “Not that much longer.” She mumbles, grinning against his skin when he pinches at her.

Spa 2022 They're making a statement, not one that says much, her prior years coming to so many races and being friendly with drivers preventing that, but it’s still a statement.

It’s the second race since she’s returned instead of arriving before all the drivers or after when making an appearance in front of the cameras that she arrives when they are. More importantly she’s arrived with Max. She’s not on his arm or holding his hand, there’s a well kept distance between them. One that reads friendly, close, but not intimate. She wasn’t quite ready to go public with him, but she was willing to make it known that she and Max were friendly with each other.

“It’s nice having you here.” She smiles at Sophie, taking her eyes briefly off the little boy in her arms. “It’s nice being here.” The couch sinks next to her and she leans into Max as he wraps an arm around her shoulder, dropping a kiss to her temple. “Looks good on you.” He murmurs, smiling at his nephew in her arms. “A baby? Or a baby that looks identical to you?” “Well I’d much prefer one that looks like both of us.” She sends him a look, but can’t not smile at his words. “Sap.” “Just for you.”

Two days later she sits in a garage for the first time in years during a race and she remembers how much she loved it. There was nothing better than watching a race from the garage.

She watches as Max manages to recover from his grid penalty, making his way through the field and winning the race and she cheers with the rest of the garage, hugs everyone she can reach. As everyone runs out to greet Max, to watch as he celebrates his win, she stays.

Max didn’t have any impulse control when high on adrenaline, she knew exactly what would happen if she went out there with him, so she went back to his driver's room and waits for him.

Dutch 2023

“Mouse!” Lewis calls and he watches as she stills while Horner stiffens at the name. It makes him itch. Horner and the rest of Red Bull had always been the odd ones out, never calling her Mouse, but rather her name or girly, the last she took a shining to.

He could still remember the first time they had heard Horner call her that. He had been ready to punch him, but she had beamed at the team principal, jumping up to give him a hug and asking him about his wife.

“Lewis.” Her voice is cool and he nearly flinches at her calling him Lewis. He had never been Lewis to her, always Lew. “How have you been? It’s been awhile.” Nearly six years, he thinks but doesn’t say. “Good. So has Nico.” He flinches at his name. “Good.” His voice is quiet. “That’s good.”

Horner wraps an arm around her shoulders, “Let’s go. We’re going to be late.” She nods and doesn’t even glance at him as she and Horner walk away, leaving him looking after her with despair and grief threatening to swallow him whole.

Japan 2022

He watches as she looks at Max with tears in her eyes as the Red Bull crew cheer as Max gives his post race interview, smiling as he thanks the fans, smiling because he won his second championship.

As soon as the interview is done, he’s launching himself back into the arms of the Red Bull crew, they all easily take his weight, patting him on the back, cheering for him. And then he watches when as soon as they release him, Max sees her. His eyes going wide with surprise at seeing her.

Lewis watches as she leans as far over the barrier as she can, wrapping her arms around his neck as his go around her waist to hold her. He watches but nothing prepares him for what happens next, the pain that strikes his heart. Because suddenly she’s kissing him, tears running down her face and Max is kissing her back like he’s done it a hundred times.

He doesn’t hear it or see it, but one of Red Bull’s cameras does and it makes it into their video to celebrate Max winning his second championship. Her saying that she’s so proud of him, never been prouder, and that she loves him and the easy way Max says it back, no hesitation.

It’s that, not her kissing Max in front of seemingly the whole world, that makes him realize that the future he had imagined, the image of her that was still the nineteen year old girl he fell in love with, is gone and has been since the night that Nico won his championship and when she came to comfort him, he only had harsh and degrading words for her.

They never could have been together again after his accusations of her feeding Nico information, blaming her for his lack of winning because she wasn’t supportive enough, his accusation of the lucky charm she was supposed to be was nothing but bad luck just like she was and always had been.

He had deluded himself into thinking that they still would end up together, that her being the love of his life, meant that he was also hers. He’s deluded himself for almost six years and now it’s not just heartbreak that fills him but shame and guilt. Because how could he have ever thought she’d want to be with him again when he never even tried to offer her an apology or to tell anyone about her.

@cixrosie @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @quackquackhun @crystals-faith @andreea-15-25 @rewmuslupin @copper-boom @stopeatread @crashingwavesofeuphoria @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @topguncultleader @iloveyou3000morgan @benstormy @elliegrey2803

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #max verstappen imagine #lewis hamilton imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen smut #f1 smut #idkya verse

[bradshawsbaby]

“don’t worry, i’ll always come get you.” and “i didn’t have anywhere else to go.” scream rhett to me!! like you could call this man up at any time and he would drop everything to come to you

I hope it’s alright, but I decided to edit one of the prompts slightly to make them work a little bit better together. So “I didn’t have anywhere else to go” became “I didn’t have anyone else to call.” Hope you enjoy!

“Hullo?”

Rhett’s voice was groggy when he picked up on the fifth ring, and you could tell you had just woken him up out of a deep sleep. You winced, guilt assailing you when you heard the exhaustion in his husky greeting. It was nearly three in the morning, and you knew he’d have to be up in a few hours to start doing his morning chores around the ranch.

“Rhett.” Your voice was soft as you uttered his name, pressing your phone closer to your ear and turning your back on the entrance to The Handsome Gambler. “It’s me.”

You could hear the rustling of his sheets, the picture of him bolting upright in his bed floating clearly across your vision. The sound of your name on the other end of the line, falling from his lips, caused tears to spring unbidden to your eyes.

“Where are you?” he asked, a gruffness to his tone that you knew had nothing to do with frustration and everything to do with worry and concern.

“The Handsome Gambler. Can you come pick me up?” you asked, your voice sounding pitifully small, even to your own ears.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Don’t move,” he instructed you. You could already tell he was jumping out of bed, reaching for whatever clothes he could find first.

“Thank you, Rhett,” you murmured, ending the call and burrowing further into your jacket, your back pressed up against the wall as you tried to make yourself as small and invisible as possible.

True to his word, as always, Rhett’s truck pulled up in front of the bar exactly twenty minutes later, his hair sticking up in all different directions as he jumped out and slammed the door shut. Evidently he’d been in such a rush that he hadn’t even thought to grab one of his hats.

“Are you alright?” he demanded, closing the space between you in seconds and pulling you in, his blue eyes scanning your face for any sign of trouble.

“Yes,” you assured him, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “I just really want to go home,” you confessed.

Rhett tore his gaze away from your face long enough to glance at the door of The Handsome Gambler, his expression hardening slightly as he turned back to look at you.

“Roxie still in there?” he questioned, his warm hands still resting on your upper arms.

You just nodded in response, ducking your chin to avoid his eyes.

“It’s not your responsibility to take care of her. You know that, right?” he asked, his tone softening as he hooked a finger under your chin to lift your face.

You laughed without humor. “It feels like it is.”

“If your big sister wants to drag you out every weekend so that she can get trashed, that’s her problem, not yours. Let her figure out her own way home. I’m taking you back now,” he said, draping his sweatshirt over your shivering shoulders and walking you to his truck.

As he opened the passenger door for you, you stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Rhett. I know it’s so late. I just…I didn’t have anyone else to call.”

Rhett grew very still, carefully lifting one hand to brush his fingers down your cheek. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, his voice low and husky. “I’ll always come get you.”

late night prompts

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #outer range #rhett drabble #lewis pullman

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

Dramatic snowball fight with this prompt one muse has little to no experience with sex and approaches the other more experienced muse to teach them with the loml Steve Harrington! Please and thank you 💋

a/n: is it weird that now that i’ve written it i wanna do it again? there are just so many possibilities, but this one is just too good to not share and just throw in the trash

word count: 855

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

“Hey, there you are!” you saw Steve stumble across the lawn towards the rusty garden bench you were currently occupying, “I thought for a second you had left without me,” he sat down next to you, a plastic cup in his hand with only the memory of a drink sloshing around at the bottom, “what are you doing out here?”

Still far away in your thoughts, you glanced back at the roaring party you had been invited to, “it just got a bit loud in there, that’s all…”

“You want me to take you home?” he offered, trying to catch your distracted eye.

“No, no, I just needed a moment,” you finally met his searching glance. 

Taking in the slight furrow to your brow, he asked softly, “are you alright?” gently placing a hand above your knee, “did something happen?”

Still overwhelmed with unanswered questions, you just blurted out, “what’s a g-spot?” in the exact same tone you would have used to ask what the time was.

Choking on his intake of air, he blinked hard, “I’m sorry? W-what?”

“Is it something bad?” you asked in alarm, eyes growing at his stunned reaction.  

“No, it’s-,” he rushed, snatching back his comforting touch, “why are you asking?”

“I just overheard someone in there talking and there were some of the words they used that I didn’t really know.”

“Oh,” he breathed jaggedly. 

“And, I mean, I don’t exactly have a dictionary on me,” you scratched the itch on your cheek, “even tried to find theirs, but I couldn’t.”

Letting an uncontrollable chuckle go, he said, “I don’t think you’d be able to find the definition of that in a dictionary, sweetheart.”

“Why? What is it?”

“It’s, um,” he attempted carefully, “a specific spot inside of you that feels really good.”

Your brows not unfurrowing at his vague explanation, you repeated in a questioning tone, “…a specific spot inside of me?”  

Sucking in a sharp breath, he clarified with a squint of his eye, “inside your pussy.”

“Inside my-, oh my god,” your hands instantly shot up to hide the flush razing to cover your entire face, “oh my god!” you shrieked, mortified that you had unknowingly asked him to explain something like that to you.

Feeling his fingers touch your forearm in a plea to lay down your shield, “what?”

“No!” you wiggled his touch off of you, the sensation only worsening your flustered state.  

“It’s okay, you have nothing to be ashamed about.”

“Oh really? You’re not the one accidentally asking your friend sex questions!” you let your hands slide down your face, staring up at the night sky in horror, “I am so sorry, I didn’t know, I swear.”

“Y/n, it’s alright. I don’t mind talking to you about that kind of stuff.”

Hesitantly, your averted vision flickered back down upon him, “you don’t?”

“No, I don’t,” he shrugged. 

“I-, okay…” his intense stare made your whole body tingle and sent an all too visible shiver down your spine, “stop looking at me like that.”

Refusing to avert his gaze, a soft smile simply bloomed on his lips as his head cocked to the side, “you’re cute when you get all flustered, you know that?”

“I am?”

“I sometimes forget how innocent you are with these things. It’s like you’re a little princess in a fairytale or something, I love it,” he chuckled lightly. 

Offering him a slight eye roll, you said, “I am not a princess.”

“Oh yeah?” he grinned. 

“Yeah.”

Tongue flickering out to wetten his lower lip, Steve scooted just an inch closer to you on the bench and uttered, “you know, I don’t think I properly explained to you yet what it really is.”

“No?” your breath caught in your throat as you looked back into his chocolaty eyes. 

“In a lot of ways that kind of stuff is easier to learn about in practice. It really helps when you have a visual aid.”

“A-a visual-…” your breathy echo trailed off. 

“So, you know, if you ever want a more in-depth understanding,” his eyes briefly flickering down lower upon your face, “you just let me know.” 

Holding eye contact a moment longer, “o-okay,” he then leaned back and returned his vision to the rumbling party still buzzing in the background. 

“You wanna go back inside?” he asked casually. 

Stilled dazed, overwhelmed by the strong beat of your pulse throbbing between your clenched thighs, “inside?”

“Yeah, you wanna go grab another drink?”

“Actually,” you breathed, “I think I might be ready to go home soon. You know, if that’s alright with you,” you rambled nervously, “if you’re ready to go too, I don’t wanna cut the party short if you’re not-” 

Still recalling the agreement you had made to leave just as you had arrived together in order to avoid having to drunkenly navigate the small town all alone, he cut off your jittery babble, “well, let’s go then.”

Sucking in a jagged breath, you wondered if you’d be able to gather up the courage to take him up on his offer before you parted ways and the night was over.

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

#lea’s writing #steve harrington smut #stranger things smut #steve harrington x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington hc #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x female reader smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington blurb

[perplexedflower]

Waking Up With The Shield - 3/3: Rain On Your Pillow

Fandom: WWE.

Category: F/M.

Relationship: Roman Reigns x Female Reader.

Type: One shot.

Words: 1,071.

~~~~~~~~~~

As I listened to the sound of the rain pouring against the bedroom window, I peacefully awoke to the feeling of a gentle touch on my skin, a touch I very well knew the origin of; I decided to keep my eyes closed, making this pleasant sensation last, even if just for a little longer. Then, after a few minutes had passed, minutes of silence broken by the wind and rain, I slowly opened them. And when I did, my gaze landed on Roman, his face leaning close to mine, his tender lips kissing my cheeks, my chin, my neck, in a soft and delicate manner. While his mouth traveled across my face, his smooth beard caressed my skin in such a way that it sent shivers all the way down my spine.

Although I was now awake, I willingly kept my body still, not moving, leading him to believe I was still asleep. However, he eventually stopped kissing me and looked up at me, only to see my eyes open.

"Good morning, precious." He said with the most affectionate of smiles.

"Good morning, honey." I said in return.

We exchanged a delicate kiss, after which Roman slipped his arms around my body and pulled me against him, holding me tight; as he did so, I turned my head to the window, watching the rain fall against the glass loudly.

"Trash weather today, right?" He asked rhetorically when he noticed where my eyes were looking.

"Yeah... I really don't like when the sky is so gray, when there's so much wind and rain..."

This made him chuckle, a soft and genuine laugh that was accompanied by a caress on my cheek by his thumb, while his other hand began to play with my hair affectionately.

"Well, I personally like it. 'Cause without it, there'd be no reason for me to be here, watching over you and keeping you cozy through it all."

The wholesomeness of his words made my cheeks blush and I instinctively tucked my head in the crook of his neck, my face partly on his bare chest.

Roman always cares so much for me... I thought to myself, my eyes staring into nothingness. Whenever he opens his eyes before me in the morning, he always makes sure to wake me up with kisses, to ensure my day starts on a tender, loving note...

Though my mind was swirling with thoughts, I remained silent and did not utter a single word, only listening to both the rain and his breathing above my head; I sighed a deep exhale through my mouth as my fingers traced his arm, my eyes still closed.

"... Is everything all right, darling?" He softly asked me, having noticed the look on my face.

"Yeah, yeah..." I started with a brief nod. "It's just... This is going to sound ridiculous to you, but... It's still so hard for me to believe that your strong arms, your sweet lips, your wholesome words... They're all for me, and me only."

For a second, Roman did not react, until he put the palms of his hands on my shoulders and placed my head in front of his so that he could look at me, so that I could see the concerned expression on his face.

"... Am I really deserving of it all?" I asked in a broken, quiet voice.

"[Y/N], don't ask yourself such a question, please..." He replied in a voice equally as broken. "You can trust me when I say these arms couldn't have found a better body to be around than yours."

His words were so utterly sweet, so utterly sincere, they almost made me tear up, so I turned my head to the side instead, back to the window, to the outside world.

"Thank you, love." I told him in a whisper. "... It's probably nothing, just the weather making me all moody."

"Do you want me to go outside and ask the rain to stop falling for you?" He asked playfully as he rested his chin on one of my shoulders.

I could not suppress a smile upon hearing his question, his silliness already starting to cheer me up.

"No, but in all seriousness, sweetheart, please, don't worry so much about things like this." He continued, regaining some semblance of a serious attitude. "There's no need for you to wonder whether you're worthy of me or not: I love you, wholly, and I love to be with you, like I am right now, and I love to have breakfast with you every morning, and I love to go out with you every day. You're my motivation to open my eyes and get up in the morning, because I know that when I do, you're there, beside me. And you are deserving of it all, because I've chosen you to be."

A single tear rolled down my cheek as I listened to Roman, a tear he gently wiped from my skin with his thumb: I could tell, by the genuine love in his voice that each and every single one of the words he had spoken were true, that he truly meant them, and that simply melted my heart down to my core.

"... Thank you, Roman." I said softly after a moment of quietness, my lips shaped into a shy smile.

He smiled back at me before he pulled me into his embrace once more, and while one of his hands was now wrapped securely around my waist, the other started to trace my back with its fingers, ever so gently, spreading goosebumps over my skin.

"Are you feeling any better, now?" He asked me in a caring tone. "If not, my offer to go shout at the rain still stands, you know."

"Yes, I am." I answered with a chuckle. "Don't worry, love, there's no need for you to go outside just yet. In fact, I want to keep you right here, with me..."

Outside the window, the storm was far from reaching its end, even though it had calmed down by a little; in fact, the rain continued to pour throughout the entire morning. So, Roman and I decided to stay in bed, for as long as we wanted to, neither of us focusing on any bad thoughts, and only on what was truly important to both of us at that moment: being happy in the arms of the one we loved most.

#roman reigns #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x you #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfictions #roman reigns one shot #roman reigns one shots #roman reigns imagine #roman reigns imagines #wwe #wwe fanfiction #wwe fanfictions #wwe one shot #wwe one shots #wwe imagine #wwe imagines #the shield #female reader #perplexedflower

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Black Light 3

Warnings: namecalling, violence, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: thank you for waiting! Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

He’s gone. You only realise as you get to the corner that you’re going the exact wrong way. Duh. You turn back and head back down, mourning the cookies as you approach the remnants strewn along the street. He could just say no, you would’ve liked those even if he didn’t.

As you get close to the doors, you brace yourself. Knowing your timing, he’ll come back out and think you’re looking for trouble. From him? Nope. He’s big and scary and you aren’t into that.

There’s an alley just before the facade of the club. You hear a groan as you pass by. You stop, at first you think it’s just a random noise, like a hinge or maybe some weird bird. Then it comes again along with a one very clear word.

“Hello?”

You stop. Strange. The only birds you know of that speak at parrots and they don’t hang around in alleys. You stare down the narrow walkway and a subtle movement catches your eye. A clunky heel sticks out from behind the dumpster.

You look both ways and venture forth. This better not be a trap. You should’ve thought of that sooner. As you get close, the smell of garbage fills your nose and makes you want to wretch.

There’s a girl sitting with a bag of rubbish. She holds her head as if it’s splitting in two, her teeth bared in agony. As you come into her sight, she gurgles.

“Where am I?” She utters, wincing with each syllable.

“Um, in any alley,” you answer.

“Where?” She repeats.

“Outside a club. Uh, shoot, what was the name–”

“Fuck,” she grumbles and plants her hands. She bends her legs and puts her heels to the pavement. She tries to stand but merely shakes and falls back onto her ass. 

“Here,” you offer your hand and help her get up. She sways and you let her lean against you. “What happened? Drink a bit too much?”

She looks at you venomously but the edge slowly fades from her eyes. She hangs her head. “I don’t… know.”

“Are you hurt?” You ask as you hold her up.

“Hungover, head is pounding,” she croaks coarsely.

“Yeah, must be,” you agree. Her eyes dart to you again, another sharp look. “Sorry, I know that’s not very helpful. Sometimes I talk without thinking and… I’m doing it again.”

“It’s fine. Can’t believe those bitches left me,” she scowls as she stands straight, clinging to you before she gains her balance, “fuck, I need coffee.”

“You know, there’s a place nearby. They do great coffee. Better cookies.”

Her eyes drift around as she examines every inch of the alley. She limps, the strap of her left heel loose. She catches herself on the dumpster and touches her hip.

“So, how often do you find strangers passed out with the trash?” She moves her leg gingerly, shimmying as if trying to pop her hip back into the socket.

“Well, you’re the first. How often do you wake up in the trash?”

Her brows arch and she sighs, “also my first.”

“Oh wow, that’s special. I mean, we get to share this moment.”

“Very special,” she drones dryly, “are you fucking with me?”

“Uh, no,” you answer with a nervous chuckle. “Um, I’m…”

You give your name and hold out your hand. She seems hesitant but she shakes it and returns her own. She manages to steady herself and rolls her shoulders.

“You seem like a nice girl. Don’t know why you’re hanging around here,” she rasps.

“Well… long story,” you shrug.

“Entertain me,” she begins down the alleyway and you catch up to her.

“I was here last night. With my friends. Kamlai and Amanda. Amanda just broke up with her boyfriend so she was tryna make him jealous, but it was my birthday too so we came out to dance and meet some guys. I met this one guy, Cole, and he wanted to dance…”

She spins her finger, signaling you to speed up as you come to the mouth of the alley. She whimpers as she stumbles and her fingers touch her skirt briefly before she retracts them.

“You okay?” You ask.

“Finish the story. You obviously didn’t stick around, it’s well past closing.”

“Ah, yes,” you finger gun her but quickly holster it, “that guy, Cole, he put something in my drink and the big guy at the door, I guess his name is Auggy, he saw and he saved me!” You smile, “I came down to thank him but I guess he doesn’t like snickerdoodles.”

She squints at you and crosses her arms, “uh huh.”

“That doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

“You’re too nice for your own good,” she says, “you don’t belong somewhere like this…” she looks back down the alley, “where assholes are spiking fucking drinks.”

“Yeah, I’d hate to think if anyone fell for it. Could you imagine? What kinda person even does that? That Cole guy seemed real nice too.”

She nods and considers you. Her eyes scan past you and she looks at the cookies on the ground. Her brow wrinkles and she feels around her body until she clutches her purse. Her cheek twitches but she quickly wipes her expression.

“I owe ya,” she says, “how about I buy you a cookie? For you birthday or whatever. You said they have good coffee, right?”

“The best. So I hear. I’m not a coffee person. But I love their hot chocolate. Oh, they have a white hot chocolate that I love,” you turn and direct her down the street, “I’ll show you! And the furniture, so cute! They have beanbag chairs…”

As you start forward, the front door opens again. You stop short as Auggy emerges again. He growls as he sees you.

“I thought I told you–” He spots your new friend and hesitates, “to go home.”

“I am,” you stick out your tongue, “it’s a public street.”

“Who’s this?” He points to the other girl.

“Mind your business,” she retorts sharply and grabs your hand, “come on. I need coffee and less of this asshole.”

You hiss her name. He’s gruff but you wouldn’t call him names. She drags you past him and you bounce to keep up with her. She stomps despite her uneven gait.

“That guy threw your cookies on the ground?” She asks without looking back.

“Mmhmm,” you confirm with a creaky hum.

“Well, fuck him. He didn’t deserve your cookies anyway,” she peeks at you from the corner of her eye, “you’re too nice for your own good, you know that?”

#august walker #dark august walker #dark!august walker #august walker x reader #drabble #series #au #black light #mission impossible: fallout #bucky's reader

[gyuriac]

content: emo man comforts frustrated artist

cw: nothing i know of

pairings: makoto yuuki x artist!reader

People talk. Led pencil breaks. Another page trashed. You slumped over the table, not bothering if you looked inelegant. The corner you’ve made in the library is enough privacy for you.

You’re appalled, you’ve been in this so-called artist’s slump for a week now. Ten pages of paper was already wasted in the span of twenty minutes.

Stacks of motivational books sit in front of you and you dully stare at them. The tireless bouncing of your leg even furthered your anxiety.

Your gaze on your sketchpad was heavier than the books in front of you combined.You wondered if it would actually burn ablaze. And you also don’t appreciate the sudden presence of somebody.

The noise of them sitting on the vacant chair right next to you startled you bad. Very bad, that your arms shot up without any command, spilling the blue paint on your new sheet of page. 

Anger quickly replaced your anxiety and you glared at the person responsible for your sudden outburst although it softened when you noticed who it was. 

It was the blue-haired underclassman who you didn’t know the name of nor talked to before. Yet, he was always present when you have your random drawing sessions in the middle of nowhere.

“Did something happen?” The words he uttered were not the words you expected to come out of him for your very first conversation. But no, you were more focused on the way his voice sounded.

It suited his personality very well, like lying on a cloud, the soft cotton lightly pressing on your back. The sun shining softly on your skin. Its light, rather than its usually harsh disposition, was comforting like a bundle of blankets hugging your person.

When your gaze was getting too intense, you finally broke eye contact. Your focus going back to the page in front of you.

The blue paint was scattered although it was not covered completely since your reflex was fast enough to save the bottle from spilling everything. You looked back at the male next to you, although this time, his voice isn’t the one you’re captivated by. Rather it was his deep blue eyes that were staring blankly at you yet full of life.

Your lips quirked up.

This is perfect actually.

#minato arisato x reader #makoto yuki x reader #persona x reader #persona 3 x reader #persona 3 reload #persona 3

[leahsgf]

flicker of hope

pairings. adult lottie matthews x reader

you have struggled with your anxiety for as long as you could remember, but with lottie you feel like you can get through anything.

description of anxiety and panic attacks!

-

the bitterness of the cold nipped at your skin, joining your mind in taunting you as you slumped down against a tree, an unplanned detour from your final jobs of the day around the compound.

you’d felt the weight of your anxiety compressing against your chest from the moment you had awoken, teasingly, like some twisted social experiment to see how long you could bare to fight it before it inevitably consumed you.

“fuck” you threw your head back, feeling the scratch of the bark behind you as the lump in your throat grew strength, and tears began to silently slip out and down your reddening cheeks.

your bad days were now considered rare in comparison to the decades ago when you were stranded, and the gnawing, looming voices inside of you had actual reason to grip onto and control you with, like a puppet on strings. however, even years after you’d been rescued, every now and again that puppet would be ripped from it’s prior abandonment and tormented, when you least expected it and without reason, making your feelings even more overwhelming and complicated, especially now that you’re expected to of left every aspect of the wilderness behind you with the time passed, and stories were no longer published in the news about it, meaning no therapist cared to see you either.

“you love and care so deeply about every little thing that it consumes all of you. i couldn’t imagine a more exhausting existence.” one particular doctor had uttered to you once, paired with the typical sympathy laced look in her eyes that made your stomach drop that little bit more.

you were your own biggest enemy. it was a simply a fact, one that no medication or fancy degree would truly ever solve. you shredded yourself from the inside out before anyone else could even come close to doing so, something you’d done since the days when you would simply rip up your finger paintings and cry because everyone else’s would automatically be better than yours no matter how hard you tried, and it utterly exhausted you.

lottie was your one constant throughout everything. she always had been. she was the one who, at the age of six, would pull your torn up art out of the trash when you weren’t looking, before spending all night taping each of the tiny pieces back together and returning them to you anonymously, with a smiley face and a note saying how beautiful it looked scrawled across the back.

your dynamic had always remained similar to this, and you knew that she loved you. every single inch of you. she reminded you of it every single morning in the mirror, and in every note she’d leave dotted around the house, with the same smiley face and handwriting that had been engrained into the very workings of your mind for decades. you loved her so much that it terrified you that she’d one day see you the way you see yourself in moments like this, that the love would one day slip - and she’d leave you.

no matter how hard she had tried to guide you into it, insisting that it’d help and that she’d never judge you, you had always refused to completely break down in front of her, or anyone, even in the crash, out of the sheer fear that consumed you.

you’d been avoiding her all day, having long predicted the inevitable - skipping your usual breakfast together in favour of ‘getting a head start on your jobs and classes’ and rushing around to ensure that your paths wouldn’t cross, knowing that she would’ve seen straight through you with even a glimpse in your direction. instead, you let the mere whispers in your head gain power and volume, until you were thoroughly overwhelmed, and lisa’s simple correction when you were helping load the van for the upcoming market sent you running off into the depths of the woods.

you had never learned your lesson in bottling everything up until it was too late, putting off talking about what was on your mind in hopes that it would resolve itself, and simply disappear. but they never did. not once. the bottle always got too full, shattering into sharp edges that cut into you before you could even flinch.

you buried your head into the coldness of your hands, as you shuddered, clinging onto the last shred of composure that you had before you completely broke down, as the looming darkness and distant echoes of your name pulled you from the depths of your thoughts, and sent even more panic surging through you.

lottie had felt deep inside, long before lisa had approached her full of concern for you, that something was up. she had been in your life for as long as she could remember, and no matter how hard you tried to shield it from her she always knew. it was just something in her. upon hearing about your sudden disappearance and your general demeanour, she too ran in the direction of the woods, almost directly mirroring your actions.

as the thickness of the trees enveloped her and her feet burned as she moved, she had a feeling she knew exactly where you would be. it was a habit you had adapted during the time you had been stranded. one that she had yet to of seen you you come to since then, disappearing and sitting against one specific tree when you were having one of your really bad moments and didn’t want her to see you.

there was a particular tree nearby that you had discovered together on a walk years ago, shortly after lottie’s return from switzerland and your reunion, your hands only once parting from one another’s to carve your initials into its bark. you had spent hours there, making up for the time that had been stolen from the pair of you, and it became your spot. lottie had since built the compound and had grown her community in the surrounding area, wanting to cherish the meaning of it and the part it had played in bringing you back together, and it had always remained an incredibly special place for the both of you.

she found you with ease, as if on autopilot, and almost melted with concern and relief as you came into her eyeline, her intuition proving correct. she rushed towards you, feeling her heart break as she kneeled down on the ground in-front of you, discarding the way her robe became dusted with mud as she guided you into the familiarity of her embrace. your walls crumbled miserably as her warmth enveloped you, and the tips of her fingers traced your back, the last kick of encouragement the sobs previously trapped in your chest needed to break free.

“i’m right here with you, sweetheart. i’m not going anywhere, just let it out.” she soothed, coaching your breathing as you trembled in her arms, tears dampening the softness of her clothing as you pressed your face further into her neck.

“i can’t, i can’t-” your face burned, as your chest tightened and a stream of incoherent apologies and cries fought past your lips.

“it’s okay, it’s okay. just look at me.” she spoke to you with such love and softness that it made you feel like the crumpled up pieces of art of yours that she was taping back together.

“i’m sorr-“ lottie lightly guided your chin, thumb caressing your cheek as you locked eyes.

“you have nothing to be sorry for. ever. you are everything to me, and i love you, all of you, unconditionally. i’m here baby, just breathe with me.” she pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering for just a second longer and closing her eyes as she ever so gently rocked you, knowing without hesitation exactly how you needed to be comforted, like it was natural, a language that she was fluent in but yet never had to learn.

“things may feel impossibly hard to navigate right now, but i’ll do all of it for both of us, okay? put it all on me.”

you had never felt like you deserved the goodness, and pure light that was lottie. you didn’t think you ever truly would. she taught you not only how to receive love but how to love someone else, completely and through everything. allowing yourself be so vulnerable around somebody else, and beginning to let the long standing walls you had up was a challenge, but lottie matthews has never been just somebody to you.

and although things were complicated, and painful, and messy at times, she was your flicker of hope. that you could fight it.

that you could beat it.

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #lottie matthews #lottie mathews x reader #lottie yellowjackets #lottie matthews comfort

[hedwig221b]

oh my god! 🤩 trick or treat!! 👻🖤

I recall you were ok with mpreg (?). If not, send me another ask I'll give you non-abo 👀 🖤

Light chilly wind tickled the pages of the book that the omega held on his knees, and whined pitifully after failed attempts to capture his attention. Bundled up in black leather, scratchy wool and furs, Stiles watched a couple of birds stealing bits of frozen fat from the feeder, yet his mind was far away. A tender smile kept tugging the corner of his mouth up.

They were going to have a baby.

Stiles closed his eyes and huffed at the silly grin that took over his lips. He’d been like that for days now, feeling like he could float above the ground and dance with the snowflakes from how happy and light he felt.

He always thought that pregnancy would be a dark time for him. Looming death aside, he worried that he wouldn’t want a child from someone he despised, would break at the thought of another being living inside him. Yet, with Derek…

Stiles’ heart fluttered, as he traced the black droplets of words on the page.

Derek.

His precious face after he learned about the babe was still fresh in Stiles’ mind. His eyes were wide in fear, his closed mouth tight in awe and disbelief. When Derek told him what beautiful sound had just reached his ears, Stiles grinned and laughed, and swept his alpha in a victorious embrace. He didn’t say a word about the glistening of Derek’s eyes, how tight the alpha held him, or how he kept choking on words of love and gratuitousness.

Their little heaven, that’s what it was.

Oh, they would be so joyous, the three of them! They would—

Stiles frowned. He blinked the world back into his mind and inclined his head.

Someone was breathing heavily.

The omega turned his head this way and that yet saw no one. He was hiding from curious people in the gardens, just a touch inside of the crusted walls of the pine labyrinth. Stiles only dared to go far when Derek was beside him.

Someone stifled a moan.

With his heart slamming on his ribs, Stiles stood up, and looked closely into the needly teal blue bushes, but—

Stiles went still.

A man, broad and red in the face, stood hidden behind the bald spot in the wall. He was noble, from the looks of his clothes. His intense, half-lidded gaze was set on Stiles, as he took quick inhales. One of his hands was down near his groin, and he was—

Stiles shut his half-opened mouth, fighting the stomach bile that rose in his throat, swiveled around and ran.

It felt like, all of a sudden, he was covered in slimy dirt, gobbled up by the deepest moor with no way out.

The thin cover of snow crunched under his feet, and his breathing trailed after him like a cloud. The pikes of the castle towers sliced the grey sky above him. He needed to get inside. Away from… from…

His appeal would haunt him forever, Stiles realized, and even marriage wasn’t able to guarantee him peace. They smiled at him, while their gazes trailed across his body; they said nice things, yet who knew what was on their minds?

No wonder no one dared to speak to him in Derek’s presence. The wolf would’ve sniffed the lies out.

He would never go outside alone again. Fuck this. He would whine and tease, but he would drag Derek out of his boring meetings to have a stroll without men watching him and—

Stiles let out a sharp shout as someone caught his wrist.

“Don’t tell him,” a deep but pleading voice uttered.

Stiles inhaled sharply at the sight of the same man, then quickly broke out of his hold and stepped back.

“Don’t you touch me,” his voice trembled from anger and disgust.

The man’s face was red from the cold. His small brown eyes hooked onto Stiles’ face, with an animal fear trashing in them.

“He’ll kill me,” he exclaimed, following after Stiles. “Please, I— I haven’t even done anything—”

“You did enough,” Stiles bared his teeth, walking backward.

The man’s face went white. He lifted his hands, ready to fold them in prayer. “You cannot blame me for your beauty. You’re a curse to us all. You don’t even know how many of us you—” he stuttered, noticing something behind Stiles, then let out a scream and took off running.

Stiles didn’t even have time to turn, as a dozen warrior wolves swept past him in pursuit. Cold air burned his throat, as he stared at the inevitable. They would catch him. That man wasn’t—

He let out a scream, as someone grabbed his shoulders, and dropped his book. His heart stuttered as he saw who it was.

“What did he do?” Derek snarled, looking over Stiles’ face.

The wolf caught him, as Stiles sagged against him. Pushing his face into Derek’s chest, Stiles gulped greedily, grounding himself in the safety of his scent. His hands clutched at the lapels of the wolf’s big coat.

Derek pulled him close with his arms sliding across his back. “Tell me.”

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the sour burning in his throat. “Nothing, he… He watched me and…”

“And?”

“Pleasured himself.”

Derek’s silence covered Stiles’ skin in goosebumps.

He didn’t want to look, but as the screaming got louder, as the excited yips and growls grew closer, Stiles turned his head and nearly flinched.

The wolves dropped the blood-covered pale man at their feet and stepped back. He didn’t try to run again, instead shaking uncontrollably and pleading for something.

Derek took Stiles’ chin and turned his head to look into his eyes.

His irises were burning fire.

“I want you to watch.”

It was an order, the one that Stiles found himself immediately nodding over. Derek wanted to show him something. So he would.

A strange calmness settled over him, as Derek’s hands left him. Stiles watched in detachment as Derek walked over slowly to the cowering man and inclined his head.

“Did you like what you saw?” he asked in what seemed like a normal voice. Yet, his eyes still burned.

The man sniffled. “N-no.”

Derek smirked. “Liar.”

He began circling the man with measured steps, his hands locked behind his back.

“You think I don’t know the feeling?” he asked. “I know how my mate looks. How he smells. Can you smell him?”

“No, no, please…” the man slobbered over himself, shaking his head.

“Right, you can’t. You’re human.” Suddenly, he turned his head towards the wolves. “But you can.”

Stiles had never seen the warrior wolves this still. Some whined, some stood frozen with their ears flattened and backs hunched, pressed down by the force of submission.

The winds picked up.

“I know how it feels to look at him,” Derek continued, pinning a dozen wolves with one stare. “I am no different to you in that desire. He’s divine, isn’t he?” Derek met Stiles’ wide gaze and smiled coldly, before turning back. “All of you want him in your bed — or, anywhere, really. I hear what you whisper amongst yourselves, I see where your gaze falls.”

The nobleman made a pathetic sight. He seemed to stop listening to his leader, and just pleaded, shaking his head and rocking back and forth. The wolves stood frozen.

Derek put his foot under the man’s chin and lifted it from the ground, before catching his face in his hands. Long claws pierced through his cheeks, forcing a wail out of the damned soul.

Stiles shivered but continued watching.

“My mate is irresistible, yet my wolves learned to resist,” Derek murmured, studying the man’s snot-covered face. “I don’t think you would.”

“No! Have mercy! I will resist, I would never look at him anymore—”

Derek smiled. “Of that I am sure.”

He cupped the man’s cheeks, put the tips of his claws against the man’s eyes and pushed.

This, Stiles couldn’t bear. He closed his eyes and turned away, but the blood-curdling scream still reached his ears.

And it didn’t stop.

Stiles could barely hear Derek’s “Make his death slow, else you’ll suffer the same fate.” to his wolves over the wailing. This time, when the alpha took him by the shoulders, he didn’t flinch.

“Let’s go have a bath,” Derek muttered to him, his voice gentle as always. “You must be cold…”

Stiles laid his hand over Derek’s and held it, seeking reassurance in the slick hot bloodied skin.

“Join me?” he asked quietly, barely heard over the sound of tearing flesh and sharp cries.

“If I ever refuse, consider me dead.”

#sterek #sterek fic #my fics #stiles x derek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #eternal sterek #hedwig221b replies #ask game #mpreg

[mrsarnasdelicious]

The Adoption of Cynlaef (and Aethelstan)

Sihtric feels his heart race as Rumcofa comes into view. He tightens his hands on the reigns of his horse and makes sure the boy in front of him is still steady.

"Almost home." Finan says. He's noticed Sihtric's strange demeanor and has begun to wonder. Is it the boy? Finan thinks that unlikely, knowing full well Sihtric is a stellar dad to quite a few children.

You wait, with Ingrid and Aethelstan, for the men to come home. Osferth's said they won't be long now.

And indeed, you see Delling's familiar dapple fur, becoming more and more white with each passing year. The lads are home.

The Irishman gives a small shout when Sihtric shoves the kid into his arms.

Sihtric gives Delling his heel, wrapping one arm around the boy to keep him steady. The stallion galops forward. Finan speeds after him, afraid the Dane is going to do something rash and odd. He would not put it beyond Sihtric.

Sihtric pulls Delling to a halt almost right in front of you. Finan is very quick to catch up to him.

Sihtric swings out of the saddle and pulls you into his arms. "Thank the Gods." He whispers against your neck. You hold him close and stroke his hair.

"What is the matter, my love?" You whisper. Sihtric heaves a dry sob and clings to you. "You are alive." He rasps. "Of course I am, silly man." You cooe.

You both look at Sihtric.

Just as Sihtric takes a small step back, you hear the boy in Finan's arms shout. "Móðir!" The child trashes and wails. He kicks Finan in the guy. Finan cries out and drops him.

The boy runs to you, calling "móðir" and clinging to your skirts. You are at an utter loss. And so is Finan, which is a rarity.

"What happened?" You demand. Sihtric swallows thickly. He looks down to his boots and runs a hand over the boy's hair. The child squeals and tries to hide in your skirts.

You lift the boy up, not averting your eyes from Sihtric. The lad is crying and clings to you. He can't be older than Aethelstan.

Carefully you take your husband's hands, as good as you can while still holding the weeping boy.

Sihtric takes a shakey breath. "We happened upon a Dane village, which had been quite brutally attacked." He mutters. "The boy is the only survivor. An orphan." Finan adds. It is the only thing he knows for sure.

"His mother... Gods.. She lay dead at the door of a hovel, throat opened. Killed without a second thought." Sihtric's hands tremble, even though he does his best to keep them still.

Sihtric looks you in the eye. There are tears on his dirty cheeks. Your heart breaks for him. But you are also very curious whith the fate of this stranger.

"Husband." You whisper.

Sihtric gathers you in his arms, child and all. He inhales the scent of your hair. "She .. she looked just like you." He rasps. "It was like seeing you dead." His voice breaks and more tears streak down his face. "Oh, my love." You whisper soothingly, running your fingers into his hair.

"Just one more." Aethelstan mutters.

"Alright, you two get home. I'll take the boy." Says Finan. "No, we will keep him. Let him think I am his mother for a while." You reply. Finan makes a little noise, but you feel Sihtric nod.

"We'll keep him, for as long as he needs." Your husband says. He reluctantly lets you go. He looks at the boy and smiles a wain smile. "We can handle one more." He says.

Sihtric places his free hand on the small hand of your back. "Let's go home, with our sons." He purrs warmly.

The boy is clutching your skirts, looking up at the child Sihtric's brought you. Usually it is the other way around, you amusedly realise, you bring Sihtric new children every so often.

"You already have a place at our hearth and in our hearts." Sihtric murmurs, ruffling Aethelstan's hair. Aethlestan flusters and looks at his boots.

"Can I call you mom and dad, too?" He mutters. Sihtric stoops down to pick him up. "Of course you can." He murmurs. Aethelstan heaves a happy little sigh and leans into him.

#sihtric x reader #sihtric #arnas fedaravicius #tlk #the last kingdom

[cornerstoreclown]

Laundry Day

Summary: This is a short one-shot (2830 words, approx.) where the Reader (Gender Neutral) has an undomesticated killer clown stopping by infrequently to use their shower and get his clothes cleaned. Some light domesticity, which is quite a feat, given this wild guy!

Trigger warnings: None this time, unless you really don’t like laundry, which is understandable. 

Author’s notes:  This was absolutely the first thing I wrote on a whim while trying to find my feel for Art. It feels very much like a toddler trying to learn to walk, so bear with me. Likes and reblogs are appreciated! It would be nice to know I’m not just filling up an empty room with no one in it. I hope to do some NSFW soon! 

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Art was kind of hard to pin down. For anyone to really pin down, honestly. Those that knew him feared him, except you.

You can’t remember the exact date, but it was last year in October, and it was in the final week of the month, you think. That’s when you met him–that strange black and white clown who didn’t utter a single word. He was dressed up walking around the streets with a giant black trash bag slung over his shoulder. It was hard to miss him–he was covered head to toe in gore and dirt and mud. Poor thing looked miserable, and the wet flopping sounds of his shoes as he walked sounded a little uncomfortable. 

Very clearly you can recall when he laid his eyes on you, and the way that he looked like he wanted to tear you apart, limb from limb. He approached you, and you hadn’t moved. Even when he stood a few mere inches away from you, then made the choice to jump at you to try and see if you flinched, nothing. That made him curious. Why didn’t you react? Most shrieked in horror or resorted to slinging insults. 

“I… Have a washer and dryer back at my place. You wanna use it?” You asked him. 

It was that single question that changed the trajectory of your entire life. 

 You didn’t have an ounce of self-preservation in your body that night, and to this day, you still don’t. Some things didn’t change. 

Pan over to present time, months upon months later, where you’re in the same spot as you were the night that he took you up on that offer, sitting on a tiny stool in the laundry room with some clothes you were folding to put into the basket in front of you, spacing out until you hear the sounds of someone approaching. The bare footsteps are ones that you recognize, and you’re confirmed in your suspicions when you see him wearing nothing but a cotton white towel and his standard makeup. It was a little weird seeing him out of his outfit at first, but you’re used to it by now, and so is he, at you seeing him like this. 

Evil was taking up residence in the vessel of a fleshy body that donned black and white. At first you wondered if he was human, but the longer you both spent together, you soon came to realize that he was something supernatural, and the more knowledge you had, the more questions it gave you. Why of all people, did he let YOU live? What did he see in you? 

Art could have killed you. You knew this, and he knew this. It was a mutual understanding, but where else could a notorious killer have a place to hide, rest, have laundry done, take a shower, and eat all in one place without a care? You didn’t get in his way, and while you weren’t necessarily a murderer, you were at the very least complicit by giving the stray and feral clown a sort-of-but-not-really home. 

“Hey, buddy! You look great.” You flash him a smile. “Feel better after the shower?” You’re never short of amazed at how he manages to keep his makeup so pristine. It always seemed to be in a flawless condition, even when he was looking rough. 

Art takes a few seconds, raises his hands out wide to his sides to express how refreshed and brand new he feels, then drops them, giving an enthusiastic nod, eyes closed as he shows an even wider smile. You can see the flash of his teeth that look like they haven’t been brushed for at least... a while. He then brings his hands up to the front of him and gives a gentle clap, interlacing his fingers thereafter. The clown then gives you a few hopeful blinks and an innocently pleading look with a tilt of his head, looking at you, and then the washer and dryer. 

“Oh, no,” You laugh. “It’s not ready yet. Still isn’t done with the wash cycle. You got your clothes really bloody, Art.”

And just like that, the puppydog-like eyes Art has been giving you disappear as he scoffs silently and impatiently. The clown’s arms go to fold across his chest. 

“How many people did you kill exactly to get it that messy, Art?”

He gives a shrug and a turn of his head, as if asking for you to guess. 

“Two?” 

He gives you a ‘more’ gesture, hand held out and fingers wiggling which would otherwise look like he was telling you to come closer. 

“Three?”

He’s still indicating for you to keep going. 

“Four? Five?”

He raises his hand and tells you to stop, raising his finger. 

“Five?” 

A shake of his head no. 

“Four, then.” 

He points at you. You genius, you! You got it right! He’s smiling now again, clearly proud. He even gently claps for you. 

“Yeah, that makes sense.” You answer. You’re not really feeling one way or another about it. The initial shock has kind of worn off. You stare down at the clothes in your lap briefly when you see Art staring down at the basket. 

“Yeah. I’m doing my own laundry. Folding it is a little bit of a pain, but I’m almost done.” And it’s true, you were very meticulous with folding. Normally you’d just have your clothes in the basket and unfolded, but you were trying to be a little more diligent instead of just fishing out what you washed the week before and putting it on. You’ve been struggling a little doing it, too.

The clown begins to approach you, and is rather leisurely at that. He’s relaxed and in his element here, familiar with the environment. 

Familiar with you. 

That makes your heart flutter a little, your mind in a daze that’s short lived, because Art is now close enough to you that you have to give him your full attention. Sometimes you still wonder if each time he visits will be the last time, and that one day he gives into that irresistible longing which ends with him pulling your intestines out of your lower abdomen like he were performing one of those endless magic scarf tricks. He’s thought about it, and while he hasn’t told you, you know. Maybe it’s a kind of unexplained psychic link that you swear you have with him nowadays, or maybe it’s just the simple fact that at the end of the day, he is what he is at his core–a predator. And you’re just prey. 

You tense up a little when he leans down in front of the basket of folded clothes, and you watch him come close. 

“Oh, you want to.. Help me fold clothes?” 

He doesn’t answer, instead lifting up the laundry basket in front of you, and before it fully registers in your head what he’s doing, it’s already too late.

“Hey–No, no, Art, don’t–!”

Almost thirty minutes of folding, spilling right on top of you as you were about to stand up and try to stop him. Piece after piece of clothing falls on you, around you, and all around at your feet from where you’re sitting. You even see him pretend as if it was all by accident, looking shocked, even as he tosses the laundry basket off to the side where the plastic container hits the wall and clatters to the floor. He likes to be funny sometimes, but other times, it’s like he’s testing you. 

Your heart rate immediately speeds up and your muscles tense as frustration makes your blood simmer. But it dies just as quickly as it rises, a flame snuffed out as he watches for your reaction, as if wanting to see if you’d let your anger get the best of you. As if that’d give him incentive to strangle you with one of your own sweatshirts, should things go south. 

He was a jokester at heart, and that was part of who he was. Often when he was here, he’d ruin something because he’d think it was funny, or he’d just be generally chaotic and straight up unhinged. One time a few dishes were broken, then one day he brought home a half chewed on rabbit you think he caught, a few months ago he took your entire collection of knives that you used for cooking, no doubt to stab and murder someone with. You remember that he took all your razors from your bathroom too. Another time, he took your toaster? Literally just walked out of the house with it in that Mary Poppins black trash bag of his. What was yours was also his when he came to visit, and at the end of the day, you know it was better that he fucked with the things in your house instead of you. In this instance, it was something less offensive than destruction or theft–he just foiled your attempt at trying to be a little better with your clothes. 

Instead, you just sigh, and look up at him. He’s tilted his head back, mouth open wide, eyes closed, pointing at you, silently laughing hysterically. You just know that if he had a voice, it would be bouncing off the walls right now.

Your lips thin out into a small line, lifting upwards into a faint but tired smile. Art was always a reminder to you to maybe not take things so seriously… After all, you might not wake up tomorrow. 

“Funny.” You give a soft chuckle. Art is now slapping his knees as he’s leaned forward, still pointing at you. He’s got some audacity, you think, standing there in nothing but a towel, but you just shake your head and keep your smile present. You’re not going to go back to trying to refold the clothes. So much for trying, you’re just going to shove them haphazardly in your basket and put it on your bedroom floor and keep pulling from it until there’s practically nothing left. Fuck that. You tried, and therefore no one could criticize you. 

A hand with wiggling fingers is out in front of your face suddenly, and when you glance up, Art is now looking down at you. You take his hand with no hesitation, knowing that if you only rejected him, he’d keep putting his hand in your face until you listened. When you take hold of it, his grip is tight. Tight to the point where it’s almost painful. He yanks you up to your feet out of the pile of clothes and you have no choice but to glance up at him. He’s taller than you, standing at what you guess is a little over six feet tall. Being so close to him always manages to take your breath away at some point. 

“Thanks, Art.” 

He gives you a pat on the shoulder, then grips it firmly to where it hurts a little, and gives you a few gentle shakes before letting you go. It’s a little jarring, but you’re fine with it. You still keep your expression pleasant, and had your hand rested overtop of his until he decided to let go. You give a few laughs. 

“Hey, I didn’t get the chance to ask you right away when you came in, but where is your friend? Is she okay?” 

The little girl.

Sometimes she was here, sometimes she wasn’t. She left messes of her own in your house, and they were often unsavory ones that you weren’t sure what they were, and you didn’t like dwelling on them. Liquids, mysterious chunks of sticky substance, among other things. Art however, thought she was a high class comedian, and so you went with it. She meant well in her own way, you suppose. But like all children, she had a habit of getting into things she didn’t need to be in. It was just another level of stress for you, so as much as it’s a relief that she’s not here right now, you still can’t help but worry a little. That was Art’s friend. She brought him joy. And what made Art happy was good. 

The clown’s demeanor shifts a little at that, to which he stares at you for a few seconds before once again asking for your hand, to which you give him it. This time, the grip is much tighter than the one he used to pull you up with. This is the same kind of grip that you just know was amplified even further to rip open torsos and rip faces clean off to the bone. You feel fortunate that he’s shown restraint, and that he cares enough for you to deliberately not want to hurt you. He leads you from the laundry room to the next room over–the living room. Your living room. 

The living room is pretty plain and standard, the main attraction being the couch, coffee table, and what he’s gesturing towards in front of both of those things–the flat screen. 

“Oh, the television! Yeah, of course.”

He sits you down on the couch first, before seating himself. He reaches for the remote on the table and surfs the channels until it lands on the news, displaying the show of a cleaned up scene of the crime stained with blood out on a neighborhood street from what you recognize is the next county over. 

LOVING FAMILY MAN FOUND DEAD OUTSIDE OF ESTATE, the headlines read, before going on about how a man was found outside of his home, arms chewed on and with a few pens jammed through his eyes straight into his skull. Following the details, there’s the show of a single tiny hat, one that you immediately recognize that would have a pigtail jutting out of it. 

So, that’s where she was. Did anyone actually see her? Could she only kill people that could see her? There was no sketch provided, nor is it seeming as if there's any sense of awareness as to who the hat belonged to in the news report. You knew that she was selectively visible to certain people, but what determined that? Art can’t help but silently laugh and point at the screen, going so far as to reach out over to you to show you the answer to your question, and most certainly for you to also appreciate his friend’s handiwork. You laugh out of politeness, though you’re not really feeling one way or the other about it. Your head is swirling with questions as you try to figure out the logistics of the case. Was that actually her hat? 

Just as soon as the news of the murder was on the television, it moved on. Local news tended to not dwell on topics for too long. They had a list of updates to go through and a short time to allot for it. 

“Stay tuned for the upcoming documentary on the infamous terror on the streets every October–The Miles County Clown. We suspect he’s back. More at eight.” The news reporter says. 

Art enthusiastically points at the television while looking at you, and you give him a nod of acknowledgement. 

“Glad you’re getting the attention you deserve.” You tell him, and he gives you an incline of his head and a smile, before showing how pleased he is with the chef's kiss gesture. You actually do genuinely laugh at that. His body language was always… Charming. 

Advertisements start playing and there’s just the weather and now national news up next until eight. During that time, Art reaches behind you and puts his arm on the top back part of the couch. While it’s not over your shoulder, you still feel enveloped by him all the same as you sit crisscross applesauce next to him, fiddling absentmindedly with your hair, fingernails, anything to keep you stimulated as the news prattles on. 

It was kind of nice. The intimacy and domesticity–if you could even call it that–which the two of you shared was a special one. You’ve seen him exposed like this, and he’s seen you dressed down in a similar fashion before. Neither of you thought much of it, but you at least would find your gaze wandering, and you’ve seen him do the same a few times in turn. The chemistry is undeniable. There’s something there. 

It was going to be maybe another thirty minutes until Art’s clothes are done in the wash and need to be moved over into the dryer. Just in enough time for the documentary on the Miles County Clown, who was right next to you. You start to feel a little tired, fatigue taking over you as you begin to, against your better judgment most certainly, lean against him a little to doze off briefly. 

And he lets you. 

The Miles County Clown has his hand on your back now, giving it a few gentle yet firm rubs before returning his arm on the top of the back cushion of the couch, intently watching the television. He might not be mortal, but you are, and he seems to understand that. 

Those thirty minutes of rest are going to come in handy for the level of attention you’ll need to give him when you wake up.

#terrifier 2 #art the clown #art the clown x reader #art the clown x you #terrifier #slasher x you #coulrophilia #minors dni #horror #slasher x reader #canon x reader

[weirdmageddon]

Do you recommend reading homestuck? I really like your analysis and takes so I was curious when you talk about homestuck and want to know if I should read it and when to stop. I’m aware that it has its own unsavory elements but I was curious on your opinion

honestly yeah despite everything i honestly do. just don't read the epilogues or homestuck^2, they felt like a spit in the face to me. what i loved about the comic properly ends at ACT 7.

i think it's a marvel in world construction and scale, has very intriguing elements, and has excellent consistency in character voices and characterization. and i think about what hussie, as much of a dick as he is, once said back in homestuck's early years regarding this all the time because i think it's some the best character writing advice i've heard in my life; this is how i manage to think about it as well.

i think writing in voice is pretty simple. its mostly about consistency. choosing a set of parameters and committing to them absolutely. it can even be a shitty set of parameters and a crappy character. but if you keep hammering away at that voice, people will say, damn thats some pretty good characterization there! i mean… they might be WRONG. but theyll SAY it. the advantage in being so obstinate with the profile you choose is then any deviation you make will be very noticeable. this is to your advantage, if you can control these deviations with purpose and precision. such deviations can serve as the pillars for character development. they cant happen without the consistency first. and ironically, without the consistency, they DO happen. for the wrong reasons. because you fucked up. syntax is not a typical part of voice in most works but its one ive latched onto aggressively in HS and perhaps solidifies the illusion of strong voice. in fact ive become so conscious of syntax-voice, i noticed for some reason when answering these questions ive gravitated towards an ad hoc syntax, no caps, no apostrophes, otherwise punctuated. i am fearful of deviating from it. because it will mess with your heads if i do. and mine. See, look. Instant syntax upgrade. It’s hard to believe this is even the same person talking! Inconsistency can be one of great calling cards of utter trash. Glorious inconsistency, artful inconsistency even, I think is something to behold. It’s like a window into a defective mind. These are principles I employ in SBaHJ. They interest me for some reason. Will this sentence end with a period? No, looks like it won’t. But this one will. Why was that particular word misspelled? Why not just misspell every word? That would make no statement. It would invite no speculation into a uniquely defective thought process.

(x)

i highly recommend the authentic experience if youre gonna read it. tons of things you can do with this to make your read more comfortable too

#homestuck

[sassydefendorflower]

For some time now I've harbored the suspicion that Ao3 and fandom in general is pretty anti-abortion. Not in a conscious, malicious way - hell no. I think it is an unconscious thing, something that sneaks into a lot of fiction in a way that isn't actively harmful, but has an accumulative effect.

And i get it.

Fanfic and fandom are escapism. They are there to present happy stories and happy endings, big What-ifs and endless coffee-shop AUs. It is easy to imagine these worlds as perfect enough that no one needs to have an abortion because only people who want children only ever get pregnant.

And on an individual level that is absolutely fine. Nobody has to deal with topics that make them personally uncomfortable, or deal with delicate discussions such as this in their free time entertainment. It's just...

A world without abortion isn't a happy one for everyone. Partially because it is a human right that is being threatened all over the world by conservative governments who want to take away the bodily autonomy to have one. And since such is the state of the world, there should be a room in fiction to explore the implications of this. The horror of some government having this kind of control over your body, but also the fantasy of a support system that is there for you should the need for an abortion arise.

Why am I typing all this? Because I just got a lot of hate on one of my fics dealing with abortion. And I think it is a symptom of a larger problem.

[ID: screenshot of an anon Ao3 comment saying: "Why do you worthless,brainless feminists try to tarnish this perfect stor y with your feminist baby murder propoganda? Why do you try to project your brainwashed,indoctrinated whore behaviour on characters as great as Edward and Winry? An abortion is NOT your decision. It is NOT your body and no amount of feminist screaming will change that. It is the fathers child too and your opinion is irrelevant. Abortion is murder, that's a fact. And no, I'm not religious. This entire story and your propoganda is utter TRASH. Rejected."]

[ID: another screenshot, also from anon: "NOT her body,NOT her choice. Different human being altogether. Keep wishing. Men will fully stop this practice of infanticide." Posted: 2023-06-18 05:09:47 UTC]

[ID: a third anon message that reads: Anonymous responded: "NOT her body,NOT her choice. That's a different, innocent human being altogether. And Ed is a strong,free man with a working brain. He's not your idea of "supportive husband" (aka spineless beta) who will support infanticide. This is not Edward and mlst definitely not Winry. She knows the value of life and exactly how hollow abortion arguments are. It is NOT a womans choice ever. NOBODY gets to decide to murder an innocent baby." Posted: 2023-06-18 05:08:24 UTC]

The fact that you should never send someone these kind of messages non-withstanding, this showcases a lack of respect and understanding that is simply baffling. There is so much hate in these comments. So much ire at women and people capable of having children in these words... it's frightening.

And I don't want to lock these stories behind moderated comments and limited access, because let me tell you something... these stories are for the people who need them most, the people who need positive and loving stories about making a hard choice and sticking with it. And often these people will only tell me about their own journey, their own struggle while on Anon themselves. And looking at the kind of response I've garnered... for a good reason.

Because it still isn't safe to openly talk about abortion.

Apparently not even on a website like ao3, which is generally assumed to be pretty liberal considering the general nature of online fandom.

Abortion is still seen as a taboo topic - in fiction and in real life. And this fear of openly discussing abortion makes people who visibly do vulnerable for attack. Be it authors like me who want to explore the bodily autonomy inherit in a fight for abortion, or the women and people who've had an abortion and are still frightened to talk about it.

If writing fiction dealing with abortion has taught me anything--- it's that people need and WANT these stories. Because no one else is writing them, but I really think some of us should.

The perfect world in which no one needs an abortion is useless, if people in the real world get hate mail for contemplating having one.

The next time your character has an unwanted pregnancy or is already surrounded by six kids or is very focused on wanting success and a career... think about why abortion isn't an option in your story.

Is it because it wouldn't make sense in your perfect fantasy? Is it because actually wanting kids is very inherent to this character? Or is it because deep down some part of you still thinks that having an abortion is some sort of sin?

It's no moral judgement I am making here - but you can only deal with an unconscious bias by examining it.

#fanfic #writing #abortion #ao3 #anon hate #discourse #fma #pro-choice #TERFs Fuck Off #fiction vs reality

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Have you ever heard anything concrete or substantial about what happened in Jamaica? Their body language is so so so bizarre and off, and he definitely did not look happy to see her. I never heard that they officially broke up like people speculate, but I do think it seems like she was there out of utter desperation and to claim dominance over Harry. I do wonder if Meghan actually crashed the wedding to throw a Hail Mary to trap him? I would not put anything past her and Harry was never going to be able to get rid of a leech like her, IMO.

I will never understand how it went from that cringeworthy and humiliating picture (especially for her) of Harry standing there like a hostage not wanting anything to do with her to getting engaged not too long after. I would not be surprised if Meghan pushed and pushed and pestered him into it knowing how she is. Nothing about them makes ANY sense at all, particularly that he couldn’t ever get rid of her. Obviously she was never going to go away without a fight because of how shameless and pathetic she is, but he is a Prince of the realm and she was always a dodgy chancer who puts the common in commoner and came from low rent trash at best. Beggars belief she pulled it off assuming he was never keen on marrying her, which I bet is closer to the truth.

Nothing confirmed and official, but Tom Bower is pretty confident that Harry and Meghan were broken up when Skippy's wedding came around. Harry received the invitation while they were hooking up, said she could come with him, they broke up, then she showed up with Jess and Ben in tow.

I don't think we'll find out what really happened with Jamaica.

As for how she got the ring, well, allegedly she claimed she was pregnant.

And I'm not sure if you were around in 2018 in the run-up to the wedding, but Meghan kept putting out all this PR about her net worth and how much money she had. It was determined by more PR-savvy people than I was that those stories were her hinting and leaking to the BRF what her price was to call of the wedding and leave Harry.

There was some speculation at the time that she was shocked the BRF didn't take her up on it and the reason why the wedding was as messy as it was is because she didn't expect them to force her and Harry to go through with it and when she realized they weren't letting her out, she turned into a massive bridezilla to make them rue the day. (I don't particularly believe this one. It sounds nice but Meghan was in this from Day One to get a Princess title and the Spencer tiara.)

#ask #brf #sussexes #theories #rumors

[dreamingsnowflake2013]

Do Guk is such an utter GONER, imagining and tracing the feeling and shape of her lips on his own without ever kissing her, while she barely remembers it! That's seriously a completely new level of gone.

Also, him becoming insecure and asking for dating advice from his secretary/brother-in-law because he fears he got dumped because Yi Joo found him lacking as a prospective husband material. LOL.

Poor chaebol puppy, he must have already started planning her plump-up diet plan, only to learn the wedding might be off.

It's such a positive change compared to Yi Joo's "family" and ex, who have always taken her for granted and ignored her, considering her as someone to be used and disposed of like trash because they consider her beneath them and expect her to always cave in and crawl back, begging for scraps of attention like she had always done, while Do Guk truly fears he might not be good enough for her somehow and becomes gutted when she doesn't call him, once again, compared to her ex, who never bothered to pick up her calls, he looks forward to them.

#perfect marriage revenge #sung hoon #jung yoo min #kdrama