#amassing of stock

[aquitainequeen]

Editor: So the manuscript is probably going to be ready by 1st June; I was really hoping we be able to publish it in November, so that we could have copies for [huge academic conference]!

Me: ......

Me, internally: Mate, even if you submitted the manuscript today, we wouldn't be able to publish it by November.

[subconsciousmysteries]

I wrote in one of my poems @ my (5) ex "what were you other than a walking bag of money" because every time my brokeness makes me anxious, I long for him back despite knowing what an abusive POS he is. mostly because he is rich, not because he is his vampire self... but who is he without his money... his money was literally his identity. that was the whole tragedy I felt around him. I wanted to rescue him from identifying with his money and show him a real life. sadly I couldn't.

it's not that he didn't have a real human identity (he did and he diminished it), but that money is the one and only thing he valued about himself... so money became him. really shows you that you become what you value.

my ex was all emo about how women only like his money and stability and secretly long to fuck the "chatas" (this is apparently a spanish word for funny broke obviously 7 dudes who smoke weed and sag their pants and bully the nerds). but what do you expect people to like you for, when money is the one and only thing you give away in abundance? these "chata" dudes are giving everything away in abundance to the people around them, to the point they are so broke and have nothing left to give. meanwhile you, all your energy is consumed in the pursuit of money so that you can have infinite supply to buy people, all because you don't want to put real energy out there. you give away your money to women as a poor substitute for giving your heart energy. of course that's what you're gonna be remembered for. you're the rich stable dude. you're the big money man. we are remembered for what we give out in abundance. and the secrets we keep die with us.

these are some of the many life lessons i learned from the ordeal of knowing my ex.

[mutant-advice]

i do not even wear leggings. what the fuck.

[vivwritesfics]

First Poly!landoscar thought! Reader is OBSESSED with Christmas and super excited to decorate but they’re away at races. Maybe they come home to a super over the top decorated house or something?? And Christmas baking! And movies! And hot chocolate!

Abu Dhabi. The final race of the year. Because of her studies, Y/N wasn't able to join her boyfriends on the last race. She had to stay home, cramming for all of the exams she had before Christmas.

Oscar and Lando kept themselves occupied, though. They called her when they could, but, usually, Y/N was far too busy to stay on the call for long.

Busy doing what, though? The boys thought studying.

Well, that was bullshit.

Over the years Y/N had amassed a great collection of Christmas decorations. She kept them up in the attic, the box completely overflowing. Boxes, I mean. There were several.

She dragged them down in the attic and left them in the hallway. The boxes had been very well organised and labelled from the previous years, so Y/N got right on with it.

She wrapped tinsel around the banister and placed a wreath on the front door. Y/N put lights up in every room, attaching them to mirrors, the kitchen cupboards, around the doorframes. She had three stockings, two with the boys logos and Y/N's with one of her passions.

Cushion covered with swapped to Christmas ones. The coasters, placemats, and kitchenware were swapped to the Christmas ones Y/N had been collecting. She had these mini light up plastic trees that she put in the window and Christmas-y candles that she put on any free surface.

When Y/N was done inside of the house, there was just one box of decorations left. It was the biggest, the one Y/N hadn't been able to close properly.

Pulling on her shoes and her coat, Y/N dragged the box outside with her.

***

It was Oscars first Christmas with Y/N and Lando. Oscar hadn't prepared him for the Christmas season with Y/N, and there was a good reason for it.

Lando drove them from the airport to the house the three of them shared. Their street was pretty much glowing as they drove down it, towards their house. It wasn't the street lights, though.

"Surprise," Lando said as he pulled into their driveway.

Oscar stepped out of the car with his mouth open. "Holy shit," he muttered as he looked at all of the lights on the front of their house. There were lights wrapped around their fence and lights draped over the hedges. Y/N had wrapped it around the little tree they had growing in the front garden.

Y/N had put out the light up reindeer and sleigh; she had individual lights lining the path and a small, plastic tree in the porch.

"Does she do this every year?" Oscar asked as Lando pushed his key into the lock and twisted it.

"It gets worse and worse every year," he answered as they dropped their bags.

Lando pushed the door shut and turned his attention to the rest of the house. "Y/N!" He called as he and Oscar walked through the hallway, heading straight towards the kitchen.

That was where they found Y/N. She was balancing rather precariously on a chair as Y/N attached fake mistletoe to the ceiling.

"Woah," Oscar cried. He rushed over to her as she stepped from the chair onto the counter. Oscar reached up, placed his hand on her waist as she finally managed to get the mistletoe onto the ceiling.

"Hey, Osc!" Y/N called as she stepped down and into arms. "Do you like the house?"

Oscar looked around at the kitchen. It genuinely smelt like pine and cookies. "I... love it. It's really bright," he answered quickly and kissed the top of her head.

"Lan, can you get the cookies out of the oven, please?" She asked as Oscar kept her in his arms. He leaned down, placing his chin on her shoulder as they watched Lando.

"You made cookies?!" He called as he raced over to the oven. Lando used the oven mitts to pull the cookies from the oven. "Oh my god, I love you!"

"Do you two love me enough to bring in the tree?"

The tree in question was out in the garden. It was tiny, only going up to Y/N's waist, but it was far too busy for her to bring in on her own. Y/N had bought it two years before and had been keeping it alive ever since. It was never going to get much bigger, not since Y/N was keeping it in a pot to bring it in the house for Christmas.

Lando and Oscar looked outside of the house, towards the tree in the garden, but they couldn't see anything. It was far too dark, being five in the evening and all. "Can we do it all tomorrow, babe?" Asked Lando as he joined them.

For a moment, Y/N thought about it. The little tree and a big tree was all they needed, but it could wait. "I have conditions."

"Go on."

"We watch movies in matching pyjamas."

Lando's face dropped. "You bought us matching pyjamas?"

"I bought us matching pyjamas."

"Let's fucking go."

[fanaticsnail]

Pretty Bird - Part 2

Masterlist here

Word count: 2,065 Part 1

Synopsis: you nursed back to health and injured raven that was found in the canopy of your cottage. The raven was a shifted Avariel fae, a creature of myth and legend, and the new lord of Kuraigana. He is extremely smitten with you, and doesn't know the adequate customs to court you. All he knows and feels is you are his mate, and he wants you.

Themes: fae!Mihawk x human!reader, raven!Mihawk x f!reader (can be read as gn, no gendered terms used).

Notes: prompts based on this ask by 🪶 Anon. Header picture made by me using OPLA's Yoru and doctored stock images. We're leaning in on a bit of hybrid au stuff. Mihawk is a winged, elf-like creature that can shift into a raven and human form - but he is most comfortable being a winged humanoid with dark feathers and talon-like fingernails.

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @sinning-23 @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @sordidmusings @nerium-lil

It wasn't quite the grandiose hallways and intricate ornamentation you had experienced once upon long ago. The high keep was, for all other words considered, gloomy. The light was dull, the curtains barely parted, and the lengthy leading carpet had begun to fray at the edges from ill-maintenance and neglect over the years.

The single room in the entire manor that caused your heart to flutter was the one you had reminisced with your pretty bird at your inherited cottage. The gallery was in full bloom, the curtains clipped and dusted with a place for everything, and everything in its place.

A large amassment of individuals were wandering and chattering within the halls, eyeglasses drawn up their faces and assessing the finery with criticism in their snarls. The group which were invited to the grand premier of the reopening were some that you had not seen prior, and many local dignitaries you had dealings with in your cottage.

You assumed you were here as a civilian observer, like some of the others, to give the new lord of Kuraigana a reputation of hospitality and humility. Truth be told, you did not care you were to be used as a ruse. All that seemed to matter was finding that one painting you recounted from the days of your youth.

Spotting a long since forgotten painting of your childhood, you felt the wonderment warm and swell in your chest as soon as you laid eyes on it. Your land, your hometown, a field of wildflowers shrouding your familial home with two figures sitting on a hanging swing off on a hollowed willow tree. The figure on the swing was looking up, just as a winged creature with a humanoid face was smiling down.

This was the picture you imagined when you spoke with the wounded raven in your cottage. There was something in the way the two subjects looked at each other, their hearts swelling in their eyes, as joy was depicted on their lips. Two creatures from different worlds just as captivated with the other as the other was with them.

As you leaned in closer to the image, you felt a presence behind you with their dark shadow cascading your form with their silhouette.

“Do you enjoy this one, then?” their vocal cadence was difficult to read, but their presence felt intimidating. You turned to face the figure, and curtseyed low to them with your eyes fallen to the ground.

“This painting holds meaning for me, yes, sir,” you rise from your curtsey, keeping your gaze held firmly to their dark, leather boots as you rose back to full stature. They stepped forward in a single stride, puncturing your border of personal comfort and towering over you.

“Can you explain it to me, so as to grant me a greater understanding of such a piece?” their voice purred down at you. The scent of their cologne felt familiar to you, as did the subtle pattern in their flowing cloak over their shoulders.

Softly floating your gaze to their features, you hovered over their unique, angular facial hair and bit back your nerves.

“The prior lord of this house was known for his admiration and appreciation for the fae-folk,” you spoke, attempting to maintain your calm demeanor while feeling intimidated by the man towering over you, “Many seem to enjoy the fables and tales of old. Hearing the joy of a world far from our own, whether written on written paper or depicted on canvas, is an accessible binding that draws people of all creed and color together.”

You float your eyes up to meet his, the amber hue of his gaze piercing you like a blade and seeming to goad you into speaking more on the subject.

“And the fae?” his challenging tone almost made you recoil, but you held your ground and attempted to avoid his gaze as he spoke down his nose at you, “Do they not frighten you?”

“Truth be told, sir,” you quickly bobbed a polite curtsey as you continued, “I feel I do not have enough experience on the matter to fear them.” You turn back to the painting, focussing on the gaze of the young Avariel beaming down at their human counterpart on the swing, “I appreciate them from afar, but I am yet to truly meet one.” The man hums in deep thought, slowly turning their own attention back to the painting while sitting in silence beside you.

After several moments of studying the painting, you turn to your guest and curtsey once more to the individual with a shy smile tugging at your lips.

“I fear it's getting rather late for me, sir. I best be getting home and tending to my homestead,” you nod to the sun beginning to fall behind the swirling landscape of curling mountains, “It is a lengthy trek home.”

“You arrived here on foot?” his voice seemed to be taken aback, “Do you not have horses, or some mule to pull a carriage? A cart with two goats, a saddle for a swine-?” You broke his train of thought with a soft, melodical giggle. He halted his words, listening to your laugh and slowly offering his own alongside it.

“Forgive me, sir,” you stifle your soft laugh, slowly biting back any further humor in your tone, “Some of us more common people can not afford the luxury to own such things. This is the furthest I've ventured of late, and I do wish to make it back before nightfall.”

Before you had the opportunity to flee from his sights, he swooped down and claimed your arm in the crook of his left elbow and held you there while slowly whispering down at you.

“You will allow me to escort you from the gallery and towards the door,” he was firm in his tone, but his poised elegance seemed to put you at ease. As he began to take a step to walk with you, he froze in place as you spoke to him.

“I feel like there should be a ‘please’ in there somewhere,” you offer him a nervous giggle and gently nod your head to him, “I don't think you have a right to lord over me like some cruel tyrant, sir…?” you trailed off, attempting to meet his gaze.

He looked at you from the corner of his eye, a look that seemed somewhat familiar to you, but foreign atop his features. His amber eyes seemed to hold a challenge within them as the corner of his lip ticked up.

“Lord Dracule Mihawk,” he offered you freely, raising his right hand to circle over your knuckles clasping his left elbow, “And, would you please allow me to escort you from the gallery towards the door?”

Something between a squeak and a gasp caught itself within your throat as you failed to find the words to respond to him with. The man at your side was the mysterious host you were curious about, and you had been conversing with him so openly you didn't spare a thought as to whom he was.

As he lead you silently through the quiet halls towards the door, he gently coaxed you through the threshold and gracefully spun you to face him within the archway. He stooped down towards you, and gently reached up to preen at a fallen strand of your hair to tuck it behind your ear.

“Should you need to borrow a horse, I would gladly provide you with one from my stables,” he uttered, gently caressing the crown of your head and scanning over your features without meeting your eyes. “I have a few to choose from, alongside a personal carriage or cart should you ever need one.” He finally met your eyes, looking down at you as your gaze was intense with eyes wide and in shock.

The lord of Kuraigana was shuffling your hair with such familiarity, it immediately drew up and rose every alarm in your mind. Why was he doing this? What motivation would he have to press his hands into you, and toy with you in such a way? You were a commoner amongst a den of lords and ladies, why you?

“I have no formal training in cart rearing, my lord,” you nodded your head to bob your hair from his clutches, “Nor do I desire to have you part with a horse on my behalf.” Stepping away, his hand hovers where contact was priorly met against your skin and hair. “Thank you for your hospitality, this is where I take my leave from you, my lord.”

Bowing in a low curtsey, you chose to walk from him without waiting a further dismissal from him due to the fluster his intimidating aura rose to you. As soon as you were out of sight, you breathed out a sigh of relief and gazed up into the first light of purple stars greeting the pastel purples and pinks over Kuraigana.

“I am such a fool.”

Both yours and Mihawk’s lips shared the same sentiment, feeling truly imbicilic in the interaction you had with one another not moments ago. For you, your embarrassment came from speaking so freely about childhood fantasies to the man who lords over you. For Mihawk, it was another aspect entirely.

“My mate hates me,” he whispered to the walls of his keep, “My mate fears me and recoils from my touch.” He gazed down at his hands, witnessing the first release of talons protruding from his fingertips in response to holding a human-passing form for so long.

As soon as he left your cottage once he was healed, he was attempting to find a way to welcome you into his home. While he understood that humans have kindness for one another in times of need, and compassion for injured animals, at the first offence of aid from you in his raven form, he knew it was you. You were his, and he was yours.

He needed you, craved you to know how desperately he wanted you in his high keep. The understanding on the intricacies of human clourtships was sadly lacking in his regard, but he knew he needed to try to win you over.

If you were an avarial, a changeling, or a shifter of the fae folk like he was, he knew he could express his desires and make his wanting known by preening and grooming you. He would nest for you, fill it with your scent matched with his, and welcome you into it while nestled against one another. Should he wish to make the match permanent, which he considered the notion the moment you began to converse with him as a man, he would dance for you to showcase his skills as a reveered fighter and exceptional provider.

Witnessing the fluster on your face at the moment he attempted to groom you left him feeling deflated and dejected. The rejection of his mate, the one he sorely wanted for himself, had him frustrated and desiring to know if you truly were rejecting him, or if this was an action lost in the courtship discorse of fae folk and humans.

He would never be able to get close to you as the lord of Kuraigana, your lord and ruler over your land. He would absolutely not desire for you to see him in his radiant glory, as half-shifted into his more comfortable form as a winged humanoid. He was assured you would turn from him in fear.

But as a raven? You liked him as a raven. You praised him as a raven. You scratched his chin, offered him meat, and spoke to him as a raven. He could listen to you as a raven. As your raven: your pretty bird.

Giving his shoulders a gentle shimmy, his cloak sprung to life and revealed his darkened wings as his form began to shrink into his smaller avarian form. The golden hue of his watchful eyes remained as intense as they searched for you on the pathway leading to your cottage.

He needed to know. Were you interested in such a courtship with a beast like him, or were you simply one of the kinder varieties of mortals? He shook his wings to take flight, his intense gaze was fixed on your form as the soft sunset became a gentle dusk and faded into a blue, cloudless night.

[waywardsou2]

Logan x Trans!MaleReader

Reblogged from my writing blog

Summary: Being a mutant was hard enough as it is, but being on trans on top of that. Well, you might as well be cursed. Luckily Logan has your back when it counts the most.

Word Count: 2.1k

Tags: misgendering, dysphoria, transphobia, comforting, fluff, slurs

You were in charge of the supply run for the school this week. It was always strange carrying around Charles’ credit card, over the years he had been able to invest in stocks- knowing when they would dip and rise, he had amassed money from government funding and social projects, as well as working many jobs over the decades he has been alive so he had more than enough money to provide for all of the children at his school, but still the sum baffled you.

But if it meant that the school could stay stocked and at the highest capacity to care for the children, and the teachers living in the school then you didn’t think on it too hard.

You went about grabbing what you needed by the handful and stocking your trolley. Even grabbing a few extra things for you and Logan. Any time you had been on shift to go for the supply run you made sure to grab some extra snacks for Logan and you to keep in your room. You grabbed a bag of Skittles for yourself and some Recess cups for Logan (you had no idea how he could stand eating those).

As you were grabbing some breakfast cereals to stock the cabinet with you overheard a group of people whispering behind you. You turned and out of the corner of you eye saw them pointing at you as they continued to talk

“Why does she look like that? She looks like some cringe teenager?”

“Who does she think she’s fooling with that hair cut?”

“She was probably in prison and is growing it out”

Their voices were hushed but sounded like thunderclaps in your ears

She

She

She

You dropped the box of cereal you were holding, it made a skittering sound as it crunched on the floor. Your heart rate increased as their words reverberated around your mind, your chest tightening and not from your binder. Why today?

“Young miss? You dropped this” A middle-aged lady come into your view as you stared at the box on the floor, its bright logo staring you in the face. It’s mascot smiling gleefully. Her hand came into view as she picked up the box and handed it back to you. Trying to snap your self out of your downwards spiral you smiled sheepishly at her but the smile didn’t meet your eyes.

“Thank you” you took the box and shoved it into your cart. She smiled back at you and continued with her own shopping

The group from before were now snickering at you, before you could grab the last box you needed and head to the checkout the tallest boy in the group threw a packet of biscuits at you and said “Hey tranny, shouldn’t you be in the circus or something?”

The whole group laughed but you just stared. You turned around to face them, glaring them down with as much hate you could muster. All of it was controlled like a grenade ready to explode, the blast steadily building with each second passing as the chemical reaction grew inside the chamber.

Right now, it was anger, bubbling and building but never exploding. All the rage being pent up as you walked towards the checkout. Your feet felt heavy, your footsteps echoing more than last time as you stomped down the isles. Your heart beat fiercely but you looked on blankly, your eyes seeing but not processing what was in front of you. You just wanted to get out of here and get home. Go back to the school and hide away.

Deep down you just wanted to be seen. Being a mutant was hard enough as it was, having to keep a secret from the world and everyone who would ever know you outside of the school. And now, no matter how hard you tried the world still didn’t see you how you were. As a young boy, just like any other human.

But you weren’t, you weren’t and you would never be. Because society decided to define you based on your internal organs and bone structure. Just thinking about it made you irritated. That notion occupied your thoughts quite often and it angered you, all this hate and bigotry towards a group of people because they were simply different. Why did everyone else get to decide your fate? Why did they get to decide who you were and who you were supposed to be? It was bullshit.

As you drove back to the school you anger leaked out. It showed in the whites of your knuckles as you gripped the steering wheel. In the crease at the top of your nose in between your two brows. In the speedometer on your car screaming higher and higher as you broke the speed limit two times over, your foot flat to the floor on the pedal.

As you pulled into the gravel driveway the car screeched to a stop as you cut the ignition and yanked of your seat belt, opening the door with more force than necessary and slamming it shut with equal strength.

You began grabbing bags out of the trunk and bringing them to the kitchen. Leaving them with a few of the kids who smiled and thanked you as they began unpacking the bags you placed on the bench. Their smiles were genuine and warm as they helped you put the items away. You went back for the last bag and as you shut the boot and took a step away from your car you turned and came face to face with Logan. Almost bumping directly into him. You jumped and almost dropped the bag

“Jesus Logan, we need to get you a bell or something”

He chuckled but looked playfully disgusted by the idea.

“I’m not a cat” he laughs at you

“Well you already have the ears and the claws” you say pointing at the curls in his hair.

He laughs and gives you a punch in the arm as he reaches forward to take the bag from your hand. But you don’t let him take it. Usually you would have let him help you but today you didn’t.

It was stupid really, the reason you held onto he bag. The masculine clique of being strong and being able to provide had entered your mind on the way home, all the overcompensating masculine cliques imaginable had played out in your mind as you tried to combat the dysphoria that was consuming your brain.

He tilted his head at you when you pulled away from him but he didn’t press you any further. He walked along side you as you took the last of the groceries to the kitchen and put them away with the help of the few kids that were still unpacking the bags. You moved through the kitchen in a whir, putting things in their place at record time and then depositing the bags back into your car before walking back inside.

Now with nothing to do you felt to wired, to unoccupied. You didn’t want to talk about what was on your mind. You were to mad about. But slowly that anger began to dissolve. The feeling hollowing out your chest, taking up space and crushing your organs.

You had managed to evade Logan in your flurry around the kitchen, not that you meant to but you just weren’t thinking. Your mind was so full but blank. Like TV screen playing static. Numbly you walked to your shared room with Logan, you pulled off your shirt and looked at yourself in the mirror with your binder on. There was a slight pudge out the arm holes from the extra weight your binder couldn’t hold. You didn’t get it. You looked like a boy, like any other man you might have seen on the street. So how did they know? How were you still being misgendered? The thought made you angry again and you glared at yourself in the mirror, getting mad at your own face for betraying you. You pulled your binder up over your head. But because you hadn’t been careful to pull up from the arms first it got stuck, with your arms caught at an awkward angle

You tried to grab at the binder but couldn’t pull it up and over your head. You heard a knock on the door, and you ducked out of view, turning around so that your back faced the door as Logan’s voice accompanied the previous knocking. “Hey, you good?”

You sigh frustratedly, how was this the third time this week you had been caught like this “No…I’m stuck, again”

The door opened and clicked shut quickly as you heard Logan walk up behind you.

“Trying to get it off, or back on?”

You contemplated telling him you were putting it back on, but you had been wearing it for 6 hours already and you ribs were hurting, you knew you were pushing your limits. You sighed and told him to help you take it off.

Gently he grabbed onto the fabric and pulled it over your head, making sure to keep his hands away from your skin as much as possible as he freed you from your predicament.

You snatched your hoodie off the end of your bed and pulled it back on. Adjusting it so your body underneath was hidden, and your curved figure became blocked out and flatter.

He looked at you as you adjusted you hoodie with a sad and now knowing smile on his face.

“What happened” he asked softly

You stopped fussing with your shirt and you looked at him. All the anger from before was completely gone, and instead, the was replaced with the sting of sadness and the feeling of tears welling up behind your eyes.

You bit the inside of your cheek hoping that it would deter the tears in your eyes, but it didn’t. You didn’t know how to explain it, you didn’t want to say it to him. You felt pathic and you were embarrassed, but your heart ached.

It shouldn’t have bothered you but it did, and you didn’t know how to tell him

“Why don’t they see me” you couldn’t explain what had happened but you didn’t need to. He got the gist of it.

He pulled you forward into him softly, holding you against him and locking his arms around your back. Keeping you pressed closed to his chest. Your head resting right over his heart. The organ beating rhythmically and acting as a metronome that was grounding you.

The sound of his life brought you calmly back to earth, bringing you here into the moment, pulling you out of the hole you had been spiralling down. His deep long breaths added to the grounding atmosphere that he had created between the two of you. Those negative feelings were slowly fading away from you, the same way that mud and filth dripped down your fingers as you washed your hands clean of it.

It fell away from you and left you feeling clearer, lighter and calmer.

You closed your eyes and breathed deeply following the rhythm he set naturally and took it in, leaving behind the past hour and reveling in the comfort of this moment. Appreciating every moment you could take with him, basking in the glow that radiated from him whenever the two of you were together.

And in this moment, everything faded away except the two of you. And all of that pain and anger and fear melted away.

He placed a kiss on the strands of your hair and then rested his chin on your head.

“You will always be one of the strongest, most capable men I’ve ever met. And anyone who doesn’t see that is a joke”

You pulled away so you could look at him, and your eyes softened, you could see the pure unbridled love in his face as he looked at you. He cupped your face and pulled you in for a kiss, and that last bit of negativity slipped away from you.

Who cared about what other thoughts of you, they didn’t know you and they didn’t matter. Logan knew you, and he loved you however you were. He would never let you forget that because when he had met you at Charles’ school there was no doubt in his mind that you were the most beautiful man he had ever seen.

And that feeling never changed, each time he saw you no matter what state you were in or what you were wearing, each and every time, you would always be beautiful.

It didn’t matter what your body looked like under your clothes; it didn’t matter what society said you were supposed to be. All that you were, in its truest form, was more than he could have ever asked for in a partner. It didn’t matter to him that you were transgender because you were you. And that was enough for him, he hoped one day that you would be enough for you too.

This one goes out to all of my trans brothers out there, keep fighting boys. You've made it this far you can keep going!

And once again, I take requests. If you would like a one shot like this one or any of my other works then send me an ask!

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Flu Season.

Pairing: Yandere!Chrollo x Reader (HxH).

Word Count: 1.6k.

TW: Kidnapping, Mentions of Guns, and Imprisonment.

[I have a fever. Excuse the self-indulgence.]

It should’ve been enough that you’d just been kidnapped.

Dragged into the storage closet of an art gallery you could barely afford to visit, bound and gagged and blindfolded, the barrel of a gun shoved into the notch underneath your diaphragm as a man with slicked-back hair and a woman in a wine-red suit walked you out of an obscured backdoor and into a windowless van, already stocked with haphazardly packaged paintings and sculptures. It was just business as usual, the woman had explained, as if that would make you feel any better. They’d keep you as a hostage until attention died down, sell off the stolen artwork, and drop you off on the outskirts of the nearest city, alive and unharmed. As long as you didn’t put up a fight or get on anyone’s nerves, you’d walk away just fine.

Or, mostly fine, at least. Really, you had to be the unluckiest person in the world.

It wasn’t enough that you’d just been kidnapped by some shady, hyper-violent gang of thieves.

You had to get kidnapped, then come down with a cold.

Or the flu. It might’ve been the flu. You definitely had a fever. You couldn’t take your temperature, but you could feel those tell-tale chills, the splitting headaches, the constant pull of an exhaustion no amount of sleep would’ve been able to sedate. Your throat was raw from coughing, your head pounding and your tongue permanently dry, but you’d resigned yourself to nursing the lukewarm glass of stale water you’d gathered the strength to get for yourself more than a few hours ago. You barely had the energy to stand, but it wasn’t as if you could ask your kidnappers to wait on you. They seemed begrudgingly tolerant of your presence – vaguely amused at best, mildly annoyed at worst. It was safer not to draw any attention to yourself, even if that meant suffering alone for another few days.

Another sudden chill, another knot of ache in the back of your skull. You shuddered, pulling the small pile of blankets and quilts you’d amassed that much closer. The abandoned mansion they’d chosen as their temporary lair was an awful, drafty structure – all rotting wood and dirt-caked windows and thin walls that did nothing to keep out the winter air. You’d holed yourself up in one of the countless decaying bedrooms, but even the surprisingly clean king-sized mattress offered little consolation. That, paired with the holes in the walls, the layer of dust coated over every surface, didn’t make you feel very—

Your bleary thoughts were cut off by the sound of your bedroom door creaking open, of quiet footsteps approaching the spot where you laid. You shot up on reflex, but that immediately proved to be a mistake – a jolt of pure agony racing from the nape of your neck to your temples and settling in the space just behind your eyes. Cursing under your breath, you buried your face in your hands, doing your best to block out the light and soothe the sudden pain, but you didn’t have much time to console yourself. The intruder had already reached your bedside, the plush mattress dipping under their weight as they settled into your space. You spared them a withering glance, but once again, that only seemed to make things worse.

For whatever reason, the thieves’ leader himself – Chrollo, if memory served – had seen fit to pay you a visit.

And just when you thought your day couldn’t get any worse.

You stiffened, pressed your back into the dilapidated headboard, did what you could to make yourself look small and unremarkable without giving him the impression that you were meek enough to go down without a fight (despite the fact that, if worst came to worst, you probably would). For what it was worth, he didn’t seem hostile. If anything, the expression written across his face was one of pleasant neutrality – a slight smirk paired with a distant look in his eyes, like he had a million things to do and whatever he’d come to you for barely ranked on his list of concerns. When he noticed you were looking at him, he didn’t move, didn’t say anything. Rather, he only lifted the hand furthest from you, bringing a nondescript plastic bag into your line of sight and placing it in front of you gingerly, as if he was leaving a hunk of raw meat in front of some exotic beast.

It was only when you failed to react that he started to explain himself. “I heard you were sick.”

Fuck. And you thought you’d managed to fly under his radar.

“I… I think it’s just a cold.” Because colds were safer than flus, easier to recover from and only half as contagious. Because they were less likely to decide you weren’t worth the effort it’d take to keep you around if you just had a cold. “I should be alright in a couple of days, but if you think we’ll need to move before that—”

“Oh, no, it’ll be another week or so before we move on. You'll have plenty of time to recover.” He spoke casually, as if they weren’t wanted fugitives. As if you weren’t a bargaining chip for them to flaunt in front of the police if things went south. He gestured towards the bag, his grin growing just a little wider. “Let me know if I missed something. I tried for variety, but I can make a second trip if you find that your needs haven’t been met.”

Hesitantly, you took up the bag, dragging it into your lap and pulling it open. The contents consisted of what a friend might’ve brought over after you’d missed a morning lecture to a particularly bad hangover. Mineral water, tissues, brand-name painkillers and generic cough medicine. There were a few sporadic add-ons, too – chocolate bars, two bracelets with matching broken clasps and a silver wedding band, a miniature teddy bear that’d clearly been plucked off of a Valentine’s Day clearance rack, but you choose not to linger on those any longer than you had to. Honestly, you were just glad not to find any bullet casings or disembodied extremities. “One of nen’s many silver linings. Once your body surpasses a certain point, illness tends to be more of a peripheral hazard than a daily inconvenience,” he went on, as you rummaged through the bag. “I’m a little out of practice, but hopefully, this will suffice.”

You weren’t exactly sure what he was talking about, but you did your best to nod along, only letting a small portion of your confusion shine through. None of this made sense, none of this was anything you’d ever thought to prepare yourself for, but when he finished, you scrambled to respond, as eager to please as he seemed to be to soak in your praise. “Thank you. It’s perfect, I—” The air hitched in your throat, and anything you might’ve said broke down into a violent coughing fit, only somewhat stifled by the back of your hand. He was still staring at you, when you found the strength to look toward him again, still wearing that fucking smile. Something quirked inside of your chest, and you turned away from him sharply. “I appreciate it, I really do, b-but I’m not sure what’s going on, and I don’t want to disrespect the— your—”

“The Phantom Troupe,” he finished. “My Spiders.”

“Right. That. I don't know how to deal with that.” You shook your head, letting out a slight sigh. “I’m sorry, I don’t really keep up with the world of high-class art theft.”

“Oh, we steal all sorts of things. Art, antiques, the occasional organ.” He paused, then seemed to brighten, his tone taking on a kind of childlike eagerness. “A few years ago, a buyer I’m closely acquainted with was interested in amassing a collection of teeth from notable living figures. It was a dull job, but it paid well enough, and my group made the most of it. We're very versatile.”

There was another chill, this time with a source other than your smoldering fever. You wrapped your arms over your chest, shrinking into yourself, but if Chrollo cared about how reflexively you pulled away from him, he didn’t seem to think of it as a mistake that couldn’t be corrected with a breath of a laugh, a slight tap to his knee. “Come here.”

It wasn’t a question, a request, but you considered refusing for one brief, delusional second before ignoring your better judgment and moving towards him – gradually, at first, as slowly as you were able to, until you’d gotten just a little too close and he was able to lash out, to snake an arm around your waist and pull you against his chest. There was a low chuckle, a hand brought to your cheek before it was used to brush the hair away from your face. He held you like that for a long moment – tucked against him, fingers tangled in your hair, his lips ghosting over your forehead – before his grip slackened and his hand fell back to your waist, his face soon buried in the crook of your neck. “Poor thing,” he muttered, his voice muffled by your skin. “You’re burning up.”

He let you go as quickly as he’d taken you up, unraveling himself from you and rising to his feet. There was a click of his tongue, a new lilt to his smile, and when he spoke, he did so with a certain lightness – as if he was playing a role he’d spent just a little too long preparing for. “I’ll make tea. Try to get some rest while I’m gone.”

You waited for him to leave, but he didn’t move, didn't look away from you. With no small amount of trepidation, you turned your back to him, lying on your side and drawing the tussled blankets over yourself.  That earned a hum of approval, but you didn’t let yourself so much as breathe until you heard his light footsteps, until the bedroom door groaned closed and you were left alone with only the impending knowledge that you wouldn’t be, for very long.

At least things couldn’t get any worse, right?

[ectoplasmfear]

Honestly, the way that the cast and the fandom remembers Kalvaxus is really funny to me because... he was not that guy. Kalvaxus was strict but never quite mean. He had a very no nonsense approach to his job, but had to do a lot of the more stable parts of administration considering the other person involved with the day to day running of the school was Arthur Aguefort, a deeply unpredictable hubristic cokehead with all the power in the world.

The Bad Kids - more specifically Adaine - said that she really liked the school and thought he was a really good vice principal - the episode where it was revealed he was evil. When he saw Fabian randomly hit Gorgug, he told Gorgug that he shouldn't apologize for being randomly assaulted. When he handed a ticket to Adaine, he hesitated because Adaine was clearly on the verge of a panic attack. He gave Jawbone a job. He was genuinely trying to help the Bad Kids after Aguefort did some typical Aguefort shit and killed himself in front of them. He absolutely presented himself as a very helpful adult authority figure who maybe wasn't nice but he came off as trustworthy and largely fair.

Is any of that his true "deep down" personality? Obviously not. He's a banker, a libertarian, and an imperialist conqueror. He'll allow a few select students to be influenced onto this path. He can't say he approves of the Harvestmen being at his school but they're a good expendable workforce that he can discard afterwards to prove that despite being fiscally conservative, he is an ally and he is trans inclusive. He takes his little pleasures. Murdering Riz's father. Poisoning Aguefort, making him too stupid to see what his right hand is doing. Conspiring with his horrible capitalist bank that doesn't give out pens or lollipops. Investing in stocks, consorting with gangs of creepy tieflings. And when the mask is off he lets forth a storm of viciousness, hate, malice, verbal cruelty. Which is pretty par for the course for being stuck with teenagers for five hundred years, tbh.

But again, he has been doing this song and dance for five hundred-ish years, playing the role of the helpful authority figure. Dragons - particularly chromatic dragons like Kalvaxus - are infected with an absolutely massive ego, a destructive sense of pride that compels them to dominate, collect, amass, always amass wealth. It's baked into their immortal souls. They go to places, they commit violence on things there, and then they collect their rewards. It's a vicious cycle, and not dissimilar to the violent destructive cycle that adventuring tends to follow.

So when you take his ability to ever conquer, destroy, rule, devour, amass wealth.

Being good. At this stupid fucking JOB. That he HATES. Teaching teenagers. That he HATES. At a school. That he HATES. With only one man who knew what he was really like, the real him, only one man he didn't have to deceive, and it's the INSANE COKE SNORTING MOTHERFUCKER KEEPING HIM HERE.

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 68 | Part 69

Lmao nice.

Side note- I know I’ve been more active on Tumblr as of recently, though I haven’t been posting more of this fic. I think I needed that hiatus more than I thought I did. Trying to keep up the posting schedule I had was draining me too much, and I was overwhelmed. So I’m going to do things a little different after this fic. For starters, if you’re not following #starambles, please do if you want to keep up with what I’m writing. That’s my writing tag. I also link everything in my masterlist. I’ll have separate fic tags for each multi-chapter fic, but I will no longer be doing taglists. This does not apply to IISS: I will complete this fic with the taglist it’s amassed. However, I will no longer be adhering to my previous schedule. Instead I will post whenever I’m ready to. It may take a while, but I figure if it’s this or no more IISS, the answer would be this. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, that’s completely fine; just let me know! Also someone please confirm this tagged you in the correct way. Thank you for understanding.

Steve takes stock of himself, smiles a little as he says, “I am, yeah.” He’s a little surprised, but only a little. Eddie’s proven himself great at getting Steve out of his head. “Thank you.”

Eddie gently squeezes his hand. “Wanna stay up here a little longer, before we face the circus downstairs?”

Steve hums. “You can go back down, if you want.”

“You do that a lot.”

Steve blinks. “What?”

“You do that a lot. You put everyone else’s comfort before your own.”

Steve shrugs. “I’m good at going without. I don’t need a lot.”

Eddie leans his head back with a sigh. “I’ve got a feeling going back in time will change that. Now you’ve got me and Alli to tell you when you’re being a self-sacrificing idiot.”

Steve winces. Covers it up with a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Eddie looks at him, brows furrowed. “What?”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not. Steve.”

Steve tilts his head back, squeezes his eyes shut. “Just. It won’t make sense, in this time, because half of it hasn’t happened yet, but you’ve known Dustin for all of a day and I’m willing to bet you already know how he’d act when I don’t know something he does. And-” he takes a breath. It only stutters a little. “Nancy. It was- she meant it in a sweet way, y’know? But she’d tell me, you’re an idiot, Steve Harrington. And… I know I’m not the smartest. I know there’s obvious things that I miss all the time. And I can only blame so much of it on the concussions, y’know? But at the same time… I’m not actually stupid. Impulsive, maybe, sometimes, but I do have a brain that actually works most of the time. So.” He shrugs. “I dunno. I just don’t like being called an idiot.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Sorry, Stevie.”

“‘S okay. You didn’t know.”

“No, but I should know better than to call people stupid. Wayne would box my ears for that. In fact, I think I’ll go downstairs right now, ask him to remind me.” He makes to get up, but Steve, laughing, pulls him back down.

“Don’t you dare,” Steve chuckles. “I like your ears un-boxed, thank you.”

“Okay,” Eddie agrees. “I’m not gonna call you that again. How’s asshole sound? Self-sacrificing asshole has a nice ring to it.”

Steve collapses in giggles. “I guess if I deserve it.”

“You do,” Eddie promises him, then grumbles to himself. “Trying to get me to go downstairs, I swear.”

Steve giggles some more. “Okay, I get it,” he swears. “I’d like to stay up here for a few more minutes, then we can go back downstairs.”

“Okay.” Eddie grins at him. “I’ve got a couple ideas on how we could spend a few more minutes.”

“Oh?” Steve asks, leaning closer. “And what would that be?”

“I think you know,” Eddie murmurs, close enough to Steve that he’s practically speaking into Steve’s mouth.

Neither of them mind, clearly, because in the next second they’re kissing, Steve’s hands on Eddie’s shoulders for stability, Eddie’s hands gently stroking Steve’s back, up and down, up and down. He moves out a little and grabs at Steve’s hips, and Steve hums into his mouth. Eddie grins into the kiss, so in retaliation Steve twines a hand into Eddie’s hair.

Eddie gently bites Steve’s tongue, and Steve holds in the noise that wants to come out. He gently pulls back instead. “Eddie,” he murmurs. “We should stop.”

Eddie sighs and rests his forehead on Steve’s collarbone. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Steve snorts. “I’m not. I like what we just did. But I also know we should get back downstairs soon.”

Eddie hums in agreement. “Yeah. Lemme just sit here for a minute and think about, like, grandmas with dentures, or something.”

Steve laughs. “That’s probably a good idea,” he admits. He shifts, rests his back against the bed again, sighs. Smiles when Eddie grabs his hand again. “I’m glad you’re here with me.” He pauses, just long enough for Eddie to start to fidget, before finishing with a smile. “Here at the end of all things, Eds.”

Eddie groans and flops over on top of Steve. “And you know Lord of the Rings? Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Fly?” Steve asks, which causes Eddie to laugh.

“Nah,” he says, rolling so his head is pillowed on Steve’s lap. “I think you could just ask gravity not to work and it would let you fly.”

Steve snorts and cards his fingers through Eddie’s hair. “I think you’re biased.”

“I can be biased and right.”

Steve just hums. “Your hair is surprisingly soft.”

Eddie blinks. “Um. Thanks?”

Steve chuckles. “I just mean it’s surprising because of how frizzy it is.

Eddie snickers. “You want to take care of it, don’t you?”

“So bad,” Steve agrees, also laughing. “Your choice, though.”

Eddie smiles. “Maybe once the chaos has calmed down?”

“Sure.” Steve sighs. “Ready to go downstairs?”

“I’m ready whenever you are.”

Steve smiles. “Then let’s go.”

Eddie rolls off of him so Steve can stand. He then offers Eddie a hand up.

“Wait,” Steve requests, right as Eddie’s reaching for the doorknob.

Eddie pulls back, turns to Steve. “Yeah?”

“Kiss first?”

“Kiss always,” Eddie agrees, and happily leans in.

After they pull apart, there’s a knock at the door, and a tentative voice. “Steve? Eddie?”

It’s Dustin.

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@l0st-strawberry

[wri0thesley]

cw: fantasising, reader is afab, non-consensual . . . drawing??? haz said to me 'do you think welt would draw you if he had a crush on you? draw hentai of you?' and, alas. this occurred.

"Mr Yang?" Your voice is a soft little thing; Welt barely hears it over the sound of his pencil scratching on the paper. Eyes focused on the lines as they take shape. You pause after calling, and timidly knock twice on the door of the cabin. "May I open the door?"

"Mm?" He calls, still not moving his eyes from the paper before him. "Is something wrong?" He's so close to finishing this one; just a few more lines, a little shading here, a shine to the strings of arousal dripping down your thighs from where you're being stretched open on his cock--

You take that as assent. His door creaks open slowly - and there you are, in the flesh.

It's then that he realises exactly what he's doing, and panics.

His sketch is right there, on his desk - you, in all of your beautiful glory, lovingly rendered down to the last detail. That wouldn't be so bad, he supposes, if it were just a portrait; a snatched moment of one of your smiles. Heaven knows you've seen him draw the others - both seriously, for practise, and in little caricatures that make you laugh and shift closer to him until he can smell your perfume sticking to your skin and his cock twitches in his trousers in interest.

He tries to shove it to one side as you walk towards him, unsure if he heard you the first time. You're saying something about Himeko and the Express's next stop.

Welt's movements are too clumsy. Beneath this sketch are others of you - ones he would never work on in common areas. You, mouth open, tears beading in your eyes as your mouth struggles to hold his length. Him, you in his lap, hands running all over you - some dialogue or other about 'being happy to instruct', you calling him 'Mr Yang' . . .

He never wanted to be caught like this. He hadn't meant to! But every image of you that he conjured was so delicious, his imagination overactive, and before he'd even realised it he'd amassed a portfolio of . . . He doesn't even know what to call it. Hentai? Erotica? Self-indulgent fantasy art?

He sweeps most of it into a pile as you stop by his desk and give him a smile so sweet that it makes his teeth ache - but the final sketch, the one he's been working on today, doesn't quite make it. It floats down to the ground as Welt's heart plummets into his chest, and you - lovely you, so helpful, so eager to win Welt's favour (that eagerness has been displayed time and time again in his art) - bend down to retrieve it.

You sneak a glance at what he's been working on, expecting to see some fun robot design (you know he likes robot characters), perhaps a sketch from life of the other passengers, a few simplified Pom Poms like Welt has been character designing for a children's cartoon.

A part of you hopes you see a sketch of yourself. Every time Welt draws you with a smile on his face and his voice soft, you melt inside - and seeing the way Welt sees you, sometimes you even feel beautiful.

You have your mouth all open ready to give a heartfelt compliment when you notice what it is on the paper, and your mouth goes dry.

This is certainly a drawing of you.

This is a drawing of you utterly bare save for a pair of thigh high stockings digging in to your legs, being vigorously and thoroughly fucked by a man who is just out of frame.

"I . . ." You don't know what to do, your hand still holding the sketch. You're trembling, but your mouth has opened just a little, your pupils blown wide. He can see your pulse point fluttering wildly in your throat, and not for the first time he thinks about his lips brushing over it. Teeth worrying into the soft skin of your neck. Biting you, kissing you, sucking his marks into you-- "Do you want me to c-come back later? I'm sure Himeko wouldn't mind postponing the meeting, if you're busy--"

Your voice cracks on the words, your eyes once more flickering down to the sketch. Every curve of you has been drawn with such precision. The curve of your bare ass, the way that the hand of the out of view man sinks into the plush curve of your hip, lines denoting the way your skin indents under the fingertips.

How long has Welt looked at you, to be able to recreate you from memory so easily? He's wrong about how you keep yourself down there, missed out a few markings of your inner thighs and chest that he's never had reason to see . . . but everything else?

Welt looks at you; eyes behind his glasses flashing. You've always thought him handsome. He looks at you now and notices the way you tremble on the edge of not quite knowing what to do, at war with your own desires. The stars outside the cabin play prettily on your face, reflected in your eyes - and oh, it is hard for him not to think of how you'd look on his bed, face turned towards the great expanse of space. Stars in your eyes and his cock inside of you and your body trembling and shaking under his ministrations.

You notice something else in the sketch; the other hand, on your head to pull you back and onto the man's cock . . . gloved. Much like Welt's own.

"I-is this supposed to be . . ." Your words shake and shudder, not only from nervousness but from a sudden bolt of arousal that makes your knees feel weak. "Me?"

Us?, goes the unvoiced second question.

"Close the door," he says, his voice somehow managing to be even. "I'm sorry, my dear. This was . . . horribly inappropriate of me. I'll be out in a moment."

He wonders if you'll ask Himeko to let you off at the Express's next stop, not wanting to be alone with him - or if you'll give in to the feelings warring within you. Your eyes flash. Teeth bite into your bottom lip.

"Is this what you think I'd look like?" You ask him, eventually, in no more than a whisper. You're still looking down at the sketch.

The longer you look at it, the more you can see the passion that he's put into it. The lines denoting the movement of his hips - the peek of his shirt cuffs at the wrist, his cane half-in frame. The puff of breath coming from where you can just see the silhouette of his mouth.

The meticulous attention to detail in your face - your mouth perfectly shaped, your hair exact. Every mole and every freckle and every scar visible in your everyday clothes has a match on the you that Welt has so lovingly rendered. This is a man who has studied you. Learnt you by heart.

"No," Welt says. "I think you'd be prettier."

You swallow. You look up from the sketch.

". . . Do you want to see for real?"

[the-web-syndicate]

Something I find really neat (and sometimes really annoying) about being a system is the realization that a small part of why I've amassed so many hobbies is because I actually haven't

I used to hate painting until earlier this year, and suddenly, I loved it? Huh, silly

I sometimes hate a specific video game and then find myself playing it? Maybe I don't hate the video game I guess

I had a fashion hyper fixation that was so intense that I'd spend hours playing with outfits, and now I often grab the first thing I think works when I'm getting dressed. Except sometimes I still toil over the choice for way too long when I thought I didn’t care anymore? Okay, I guess it could be a special interest

I used to suddenly have a deep interest in Wicca to the point I thought I was recognizing a delusion even though it wasn't consistent, and that's not how any of my actual delusions have worked? Weird, I guess I just don't fully understand my likes

And then The Awakening (syscovery) and its like OHHHHHHHHH Jasper loves to paint!!! Kitt and Max love this video game!!! Serrai and Bix really care about our appearance!!! Hecate has a deep spiritual tie to nature, and I'm just science inclined!!!

And all of that is okay!! I love that we all have different hobbies, and I do my best to make sure we have access to them. I keep us stocked on painting supplies, I keep others favorite video games downloaded, I don't get rid of clothes that I personally wouldn't wear, I make sure Hecate has a way to journal about her spirituality, etc etc

I think it's really silly, and also really cool, as much as it can be annoying to want to do one thing and suddenly feel the urge to be doing something I don't personally find that interesting, or to realize that 90% of my likes and interests actually aren't mine /pf

And sometimes I share interests with others, which is both extra fun and extra confusing. Like when I suddenly have the urge to completely belt my heart out, is it still me, or is Zeph appearing? Or when I want to buy everything Spider-Man related, is that me, or is Parker nearby?

Anyway, this post doesn't really have a point, I just wanted to brain dump LMAO

.•°○-> Crimson

[andypantsx3]

fingerprints | 7 | todoroki x reader

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 4k of est. 35k words | 7th of 9 chapters

summary: When you’re outed as pro hero Shouto’s soulmate on national television, there are really only two sensible things for you to do: blame someone else and run.  

tags/warnings: romance, soulmate au, fluff, pining, not actually unrequited love, aged up characters, eventual smut

It was worse than you could have ever imagined.

Almost as soon as you’d gotten inside, your neighborhood had begun crawling with unfamiliar people. Your phone had started ringing incessantly, your texts and twitter notifications suddenly exploding.

From the brief flashes of the messages you could see, it all had to do with Shouto. Text whizzed past–hiii i saw your handle posted in a thread, are you really running girl? and Is it true?? Are you Shouto’s soulmate???? and worst of all, die in a ditch bitch you’re too ugly for him.

Your stomach churned.

You didn’t dare open your laptop or turn the television on, for fear of how far the speculation had spread, and what people were saying about you. You tried to ignore the murmur of the crowd amassing outside your apartment building, and opened a random book with shaky hands, trying to focus on something else.

You were not quite successful.

Your apartment building was old and thin-walled enough that you could never fully block out the drone of dozens of voices, the shutter click of cameras, and the loud, authoritative tones of someone ordering people back—likely Shinsou’s aforementioned partner, Real Steel. It all coalesced into an unsettling undertone that kept you on edge for hours.

It wasn’t until that evening, a hundred unread pages later, that conditions changed. The sounds of a muffled argument came through the wood of your front door, and you couldn’t help but peer out the peephole, to find Shinsou looming over your roommate Ami, clearly blocking the entry to your apartment.

“It’s my friggin’ house!” she was saying when you poked your head out.

At the sound of the door, Shinsou turned to eye you. “Stay right there. I need to put her under before she can come in, in case she’s using an appearance altering quirk.”

Your roommate did not look thrilled by this prospect. But Shinsou did not look like he was going anywhere.

Intrigued by whatever Shinsou’s quirk might be, you watched as your roommate gave up, letting him do what he wanted. He murmured a question, and your roommate’s eyes suddenly went vacant with her response.

“Drop your quirk,” Shinsou ordered her. You didn’t know what was supposed to happen–but when nothing did, he looked satisfied.

He gestured her inside, giving you a significant look over the top of her head. “Todoroki says don’t look at anything online.”

You nodded. “I–yeah, I uh–it doesn’t look kind out there. I guessed I shouldn’t…”

Shinsou watched you for a minute, violet eyes sliding over you in some kind of assessment. “Whatever shit they’re saying, disregard it. They just want a piece of Todoroki’s flat ass.”

You blinked, a shocked laugh spilling out of you. “I don’t–-it’s not flat!”

One of Shinsou’s eyebrows lifted, that smirk touching his mouth again, and you whirled around, yanking your roommate through the door with a strangled, “Anyway thanks!” You slammed it behind you before you could say anything else embarrassingly revealing of the stock you’d taken of Shouto’s…assets.

Your roommate gaped at you, immediately demanding the details of how you of all people had gotten caught up in the biggest romantic scandal in hero history. You summarized it as best you could, trying to ignore her slack-jawed look.

“But you’re so normal,” she said when you finished. “You’re just–-you.”

You hid a wince, but had to agree. The last couple of months had been a giddy blur, but you still were just some girl with an hourly wage, working in an animal shelter and living in a squashed little apartment with zero merit to your name.

“Yeah, it’s…It doesn’t feel real,” you said. “Maybe we’re dreaming this.” You thought back to the time you thought you’d hallucinated Shouto in the doorway of the shelter. “Maybe we’re all just experiencing some mass hallucination…”

Ami nodded seriously, like this was an option. She floated off to her room, where you heard her answer a call from another of her friends—“It’s true, you are never gonna believe what she told me!”—and you quickly retreated to your own room, trying not to think about the shock she’d exhibited, or any of the unsettling messages that had flashed past before you put down your own phone.

It made you rethink the events of earlier in the day, frowning as you went over lunch with Shouto’s mom, your wild shopping spree–events that felt light years away now. You could have even sworn that Shouto had been waiting for something as he left you outside your apartment–lingering, watching your face, standing so close like he’d been expecting you to lean up and—and—-

But no.

That was crazy. And Ami’s reaction, plus the reaction of thousands of other people online underlined that.

You’d let your mind run away with you just because Shouto had made you feel like someone. Someone special to him—but that was fucking unhinged. Delusional. Deranged.

As if drawn by your need to remind yourself who you were, you opened your phone again. Hundreds of texts from friends clogged your message app, and your twitter notifications numbered in the thousands.

Hey it’s Mari, one text from your coworker said. I’m covering your shifts for the next couple days, management is asking you not to come in or the crowds will agitate the animals.

Your heart sank. You loved the pets at the shelter, and they were possibly the only beings in your orbit who wouldn’t know or care about your newfound notoriety. You suddenly wanted nothing more than to snuggle into the patchy fur of shelter cat, run off your anxieties with the dogs on the track out back. You would settle for Princess giving you her smug little stink eye over Shouto’s shoulder, even.

And how were you ever supposed to achieve your dream of opening your own rescue if you were suddenly being denied shifts? You hoped they didn’t have to let you go over this—you didn’t want to dip into your tiny pile of hard-earned savings to cover your rent and food, didn’t want to backslide on months and months of progress all because people couldn’t be chill over a man who didn’t even like you like that.

As if to torture yourself further, you let yourself flick through your twitter notifications. Some bordered on kind, things like omg i’m soooo jealous of you and this girl’s first reaction to finding out she was shouto’s soulmate was to RUN AWAY?? queen of relatability but there were many more that were just as you had feared.

Guys relax, it's obviously not real, someone had tweeted. Look at Shouto and then look at her. Another had posted, it’s not even that he’s in a different league, they’re not even playing the same sport.

When a glance at the sidebar showed you that #shoulmatehoax was the highest trending topic in your area, your stomach twisted. You quickly clicked out of the app, retreating into your own room to hide under the covers.

Part of you blazed in rage that people were being so awful about you—you were just a normal fucking person! You never asked for any of this, you had tried your best to mind your own business, and you weren’t a supermodel by any means but that didn’t give people the right to be assholes!

But another part of you knew you’d gotten too big a head over Shouto and needed to be brought down. Spending his money, meeting his mother, thinking he was going to kiss you? You were playing a different sport altogether, and you needed to remember that.

You tossed and turned, rolling around under your blankets, feeling hot and cold and ashamed and embarrassed. No matter how much you tried to put it out of your mind, you couldn’t.

You lay awake for a long while, thoughts roiling, until eventually, when dawn had finally started to creep under the gaps in your curtains, you slipped into an uneasy sleep.

In the morning, you were awoken by your roommate pounding on your door, her voice high and strangled.

“Y/N!” she screeched. “Y/N you’re gonna wanna get out here right now!”

Her fist pounded with urgency, heavy staccato beats. She sounded panicked.

Your eyes shot open and you fell out of bed, clumsy with sleep. You tore the door open, heart in your throat, only to find Ami on the other side, flanked by a tall, handsome silhouette you knew only too well.

“Sh–Shouto!” you garbled out, fuzzy with shock and the clinging threads of slumber. “Why are you–? What are you–?”

He peered at you calmly over Ami’s head, eyes trailing slowly down your form. A white eyebrow went up. You realized with horror that you were still in your sleep clothes, an old tee shirt and the world’s tiniest pair of shorts that clung unflatteringly to the swell of your thigh. Your hair had to be a bird’s nest, your face puffy and pillow-creased.

And here Shouto was, perfect and put together, looking like he’d just stepped right out of the pages of like, a Ralph Lauren catalog. Damn him.

“You were not answering your phone,” he said. You watched, mortified, as his eyes dipped back down to your bare leg and pinned there, like he couldn’t help himself. Your face heated in shame.

He probably couldn’t believe the nerve of you to show yourself like this to him.

“Sorry, sorry,” you said, trying to angle yourself in front of Ami to hide, but he was tall enough that his eyes followed you right over the top of her head.

“Ami, please entertain Shouto for a minute while I, um, put clothes on,” you pleaded, then threw the door shut in both of their faces before either could respond.

You raced to your closet and frantically dug out the first sweater you saw, then tripped over to your dresser and unearthed your pants, bra, and panties. You yanked it all on at the speed of light, and then frantically did your hair, cursing as your fingers tangled in it. You ran into the bathroom and hurriedly washed your face, power washing your teeth with all the speed and force of a carwash.

You spilled out a few minutes later, to find Shouto looking out of place on your couch, shamelessly looking through the collection of things on your coffee table–Ami’s incense burner, a pile of your books, a well-watered succulent in a tiny pot, and a few sheets of what looked like one of Ami’s nursing assignments.

Ami pulled on her coat to head to work, looking almost relieved that she was about to be out of the same room as someone as hauntingly beautiful as Shouto.

“He’s real,” she hissed as you passed one another in the hall. “And he looks like that!”

And then she was out the door, Shinsou’s drawl greeting her as she stepped into the hall.

The door clicked shut, leaving you alone with Shouto. Your heartbeat spiked.

Shouto watched you for a long moment, those pretty, heterochromatic eyes sliding back down to your now-clothed legs as if to affirm you were properly attired now. You watched a tiny smile tease at the corner of his mouth as he eyed your slippers, before his eyes flicked back up to your face. Your skin went weirdly warm.

“Um, sorry I wasn’t dressed,” you said, cheeks heating. “I didn’t expect, um, company. Or to leave the house, really, for the next few days–-”

Shouto interrupted you by getting to his feet, and in two long strides he had reached you, pulling you close to him with an arm around your back. He was so tall and warm against you, and that faint cologne of his lingered at his pulsepoint. Your blood went molten in your veins, your brain suddenly blue screening.

“Shouto–?” you asked, muffled into his shoulder.

A large, calloused hand came up to cup the back of your head, pressing you more firmly into his shoulder. Almost automatically, your hands went around his back, fisting in the material of his coat. Every inch of him felt like relief against you, and you had to fight not to slump bonelessly into him, not to curl up and hide in him.

“You were not answering your phone,” Shouto said, finally, his voice a low murmur against the side of your head. “I had thought…” he trailed off, like he was unwilling to finish the thought.

The soft, concerned tone of his voice, and the way he was holding you too him made a weird, shivery sort of feeling well up inside of you. He had seen—he knew what some of the people had been saying about you online. You suddenly wanted to hide your face in his neck, something horrifyingly like tears prickling at your waterline.

Obviously he’d known, already, that you weren’t compatible in the way that soulmates usually were, as evidenced by the fact that he hadn’t made a move on you and was most probably seeing someone already. But hot shame twisted in your gut at the idea that he would have to be confronted with it all over again, for it to really be driven home that with the kind of soulmate he deserved, he’d been given you instead.

You blinked quickly, trying to fight the sudden wave of emotion back. How embarrassing.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, hoping you sounded normal. Really, you could handle a couple of assholes online. It’s not even like they were wrong, necessarily. “Really it’s fine.”

“It can be…overwhelming,” Shouto said, his mouth in your hair. He made no move to pull away from you, just stood there holding you, like it didn’t bother him at all. “You do not have to be fine.”

The care in his voice almost undid you. You clutched harder at his jacket, trying to breathe slowly.

“Shouto–”

“Y/N,” he said quietly. “You do not have to be fine. You did not ask for this.”

You quickly shoved your face into his shoulder as a pair of hot tears finally spilled over, embarrassment curling in your belly. It was just a couple of kind of rude tweets! Shouto was a pro hero and had been subjected to so much worse over the years–-especially given his relation to a notorious war criminal, and the still-widely-condemned former number one hero. It was horrifying that all it took was a couple of asshole tweets to drive you to this, especially when they weren’t even incorrect.

You struggled against the rest of your tears but they kept coming, slipping out and wetting the fabric at Shouto’s collar.

“The agency was able to get the book delayed, and Yoshizuki Ayumi’s next few interviews suspended. She has recanted her speculations in a tweet, but I do not anticipate that the news will be suppressed forever,” Shouto said.

His hand petted over your hair softly, and you wondered, half-crazed, if this is what Princess got to feel like all the time.

“It’s fine,” you said. “It’s fine.”

“There is…something else,” Shouto said. You were too embarrassed to turn and look at him inquisitively, so you made a questioning noise into his coat.

“I regret that…you will not be able to return to the shelter,” Shouto said. “It won’t be safe for you there.”

Your heartbeat stopped, hammering to a halt in your ribcage.

The shelter. Your job. Your dream—

If you couldn’t go back to the shelter, then you couldn’t go back to your job. Couldn’t make rent. Couldn’t put away funds for a rescue.

And if you couldn’t work at the shelter, where else could you go? Was it only that kind of job that was unsafe? Was any public-facing job unsafe? How were you supposed to work anywhere and not show your face—unless…you could get a job washing dishes in the back somewhere. Or maybe unloading trucks or something?

Your breath came fast and you strained in Shouto’s grip, trying to keep collected. You wouldn’t cry over this too–you could find something else. People lost jobs all the time…

“Oh, I—” you fumbled. “I. Yes, right. Um, I’ll look for—something else. You will have to advise me—”

You cut off, horrified when your voice began to creep up into something high and reedy with upset.

Shouto suddenly stepped back from you, and you had a wild moment of terror and disorientation, before he leaned back in, cupping your face in his hands. He tipped your chin up to him, looking grimly handsome and horribly, horribly regretful.

Your tears came harder and you stared at him wide-eyed, not knowing what to do or say.

“I am sorry, love,” he said. “I did not mean for this, when I came and found you.”

You swallowed, conscious of his fingers where the tips brushed your throat, then shook your head. “No, no. I’m so happy that you did. Of course I am—you’ve been so unbelievably kind. Shouto, don’t ever think that.”

Shouto’s mouth was a hard, serious line. “It’s where I met you properly, for the first time. I do not like to see you leave the shelter under these conditions.”

You wished you could stop crying, to be even a modicum of more reassuring. “It’s fine. People have to leave jobs all the time. I have a couple months of savings, and I’m sure like, washing dishes doesn’t need too many creds, or–you’ll have to tell me what else you think could be safe…”

Shouto’s brows knit, and his mouth twisted into a frown. “Washing dishes?” he echoed.

You watched his eyes trace down your face uncertainly. “That’s a bit dramatic. Obviously there’s other stuff. I just thought…out of the public eye…”

Like, unless you had developed a quirk in the last five minutes, there was no way that you could defend yourself against someone who came looking for Todoroki Shouto’s soulmate, regardless of the fact that you weren’t his romantic partner or anything.

“I had wanted to tell you some other way,” Shouto said, his thumbs brushing away stray tears. “But I suppose now would be best.”

You watched him curiously through watery eyes as he let go of your face, hand sliding into his pocket for his phone.

He pulled something up quickly, then turned his phone to face you. You blinked as a shop front came into view, a few lingering tears squeezing themselves out with the motion. It was a kind of charming, free-standing brick building, surrounded by a neat little parking lot. It looked to be a picture on some property portfolio–a map at the side of the page showed a red dot not far in location from Shouto’s apartment, sandwiched between his home and his agency.

It didn’t look like it was open, whatever it was, and you looked at Shouto doubtfully.

“Are they…hiring…?” you asked, mystified.

Shouto’s mouth twitched. “Unless you planned to rescue all the animals by yourself,” he said.

It took a minute to register what he’d said, but when you did, it felt like the floor had opened up underneath you. You took a dizzy step back.

“An animal rescue? My animal rescue?” You asked, thoughts reeling. There was no way. There was no way.

Shouto nodded seriously. “If you like the location. I’ve put an offer in, but if another location suits better, it is changeable. And you’ll need to tell me where you want things—it’s feasible to put a run in, where the parking lot is, they’ve said. And it will be taken apart to install the proper security measures, layer by layer, so it may take some time…”

He trailed off, peering at you somewhat anxiously, you thought, eyes widening when he noticed an embarrassingly fresh stream of tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Do you not like it?” he asked.

You grabbed his forearm, panicked. “No!” you shouted, wincing with your own volume. “No, I love it. Shouto—I—but you can’t—I don’t have the money to pay you back right now. I don’t even have the full funding plan yet, I haven’t—”

One of Shouto’s hands came up to take you by the chin again, thumb stroking just under your eye, smearing the tears there. You thought you’d never been touched so terribly gently.

“I should like to be your funding plan,” he said. “I do not want money from you. You can collect other donations, if you like. But I will fund you fully. And my mother has asked to be included—there is a significant family fortune that needs spending, she says.”

You didn’t know what to do with your face, or where to put your hands, or how to stop crying. You didn’t know anything, except that all you could do was throw your arms around Shouto again, and muffle a hoarse "Thank you," and a sudden sob into the collar of his jacket.

His arms came around you, clutching you to him tightly.

Wave after wave of emotion hit you–anxiety, confusion, happiness, anticipation. It was all a jumble, a wild tangle of things you could do nothing but stand there, holding Shouto like a lifeline.

He held you there for a long time—an embarrassingly long time, actually, while you cried out all your feelings from the last twenty-four hours. You liked that he didn’t prompt you, just stood there silently, tall and strong and warm against you, letting you figure yourself out.

When you were finally able to pull away, Shouto peered down at you, those heterochromatic eyes curious. He murmured something quiet, a query on your feelings.

You took slow stock of yourself, registering a slight caffeine headache and a bone-deep dryness, as though you were a sponge that had been wrung out. You thought you should probably feel other things, too, but those two sensations were the most overwhelming.

“I think…First I need water and also a coffee,” you told him. “I will have to figure out a repayment plan later, when I’m not a mess–”

Shouto opened his mouth but you put a hand over it, heart beating hard with how daring you were being, touching him this much.

“--We can talk about it later,” you said. “Right now, I’m thinking coffees for both of us. Does that…sound okay?”

Reluctantly, he nodded. “I am sorry to have woken you,” he said around your hand.

You glanced at the clock, eyebrows raising when you realized it had already passed lunch time. As if on cue, your stomach growled, and you felt Shouto’s mouth quirk against your hand. You quickly drew your palm away, your whole arm tingling with the feeling of his mouth. Your fingers had left little smudges of color at the side of his mouth, almost like you had kissed him, had left an imprint of your lipgloss on him…

“I had also thought we might cook together, if you like,” Shouto said, interrupting that embarrassing train of thought. You followed his gaze over to your door where a tote of what were clearly recently-purchased groceries lay to the side of your door. You spied leafy greens and a bag of rice crowning the top.

“There is a lunch recipe Fuyumi sent me that I would like to try,” he said.

Your heart warmed with the idea, and the knowledge that Shouto had definitely brought food as a means of distracting you from the things people were saying on twitter–to give you something else to do and to focus on. He was so unbearably good.

You could feel your heart ballooning with helpless affection for him as he watched you expectantly–as though there was ever any way you could say no to him.

“Lunch sounds amazing,” you told him. You padded over and scooped up the groceries, then led the way into your cramped little kitchen.

Shouto followed after, his face so carefully still, finally, that you could tell he was trying not to look too smug. You smiled, so full of emotion that you couldn’t even bring yourself to be self-conscious about the state of your kitchen or Shouto’s tear-soaked coat or the thousand other things you should probably be remembering.

And in that small moment, you thought things might actually, unexpectedly, turn out okay.

[mikasasrippedtoenail]

The average woman spends -

• $28 on makeup

• $34 on haircuts

• $15 on hair products

• $11 on hair removal

• $23 on moisturizing skincare

•$17 on anti-aging products

• $ 5 on eyebrow threading

• $85 on teeth whitening

■The cost of common cosmetic surgeries:

• Breast augmentation: $6,450

• Liposuction: $6,000

• Nose reshaping: $5,046

• Eyelid surgery: $4,525

• Tummy tuck: $5,798

● The yearly cost of getting a botox : $1200 ● The yearly cost of getting lip fillers : $800

□Yearly cost without Botox/fillers/surgery: $2616

□ Yearly cost with Botox/fillers/surgery $4891

In a study by Advanced Dermatology, it was revealed that the average woman spends $285 more than men on grooming services. While men spend more on gym membership, supplements and haircuts, women spend on skincare, hair products and colour.

If you compound the aboves costs, women spend - $156,960 and $450,420 respectively on unnecessary beauty procedures in their lifetime. Some women might even spend millions of dollars in their lifetime on their appearance. This extra expenditure feeds pockets of (male) CEOs of beauty companies who thrive off of women's insecurities. The more women fall into these traps, the more unrealistic the beauty standards will become.

● Meadian House cost - $227,000

● Average car cost - $48,000

● Average Overseas Vacation cost - $3250

● Cost of a nice hobby in a lifetime - $72,000

●Cost of a book collection(150 books) - $1800

Making women waste money on useless items allows men to hoard capital. Moreover, there is a huge gender gap in trading. Men are much more likely to invest extra income into the stock market than women, however, when women do invest they tend to perform much better when it comes to trading owing to their diligence and loss assessment.Female ownership of monetary property and real estate is paramount to their liberation. Society has created an ecosystem that dissuades women from possessing capital. What's worse is that when crisis hits, it's women that have to give up their savings for their need of money is disregarded as they rely on their husbands for financial support. Women amassing wealth and knowledge is the key for their freedom.

[angelbaby-fics]

Halloween Decorations

Word Count: 800

A/N: This is just a little something I wrote because I’m so excited for Halloween!! Oh, the things I would do with decorations if I had Avenger money…… hehehe 🎃

“Alright, here’s what we’re working with.” Bucky said as he lowered a big plastic tub onto the ground in front of you and Steve. The three of you were standing in the grass of your expansive front yard, and Bucky had just returned from the garage with the bin of his and his husband’s Halloween decorations they’d each amassed over the years. Except, as he lifted off the lid, you all realized at the same time that it wasn’t all that much.

Two, maybe three strings of orange lights were tangled together in an incomprehensible mass. There was a white cloth ghost on a string, a few half-used orange candles, and a single plastic bone underneath the lights, and that was about it. Maybe it was enough for two adults in an apartment, but now that they had a little and a great big house, Steve and Bucky knew they needed to step up their game.

You tried to hide your disappointment at the lack of decorations, not wanting to seem ungrateful, but it was hard to act excited over this pitiful pile. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust, and you were sure the lights had more busted bulbs than working ones. It didn’t matter, your daddies were just as unimpressed as you were. Of course they had high hopes for their first Halloween with their little angel and they were already failing at it.

“Well this just won’t do, will it?” Steve broke the tense silence with a smile.

“Not at all, honey.” Bucky replied to his husband before turning to you. “What do you think, cupcake? Wanna go to the store and help us pick some new decorations?”

Your eyes lit up and you nodded eagerly. Your daddies spoiled you every time you went shopping as a family, and you knew this trip would be no exception. Your mind began to race with thoughts of the incredible display you’d be able to put on this year - with your daddies’ help of course!

When you reached the store, Steve pushed you along in the cart, talking to you and pointing out everything you passed by. Bucky kept up alongside the two of you, grabbing anything that even slightly made your face perk up and tossing it into the basket of the cart. You stocked up on strings of lights in all sorts of spooky shapes and colors for the outside of the house, as well as lights on stakes to line the sidewalk leading to your driveway. You couldn’t decide between all the options of silly-faced scarecrows, so Bucky went ahead and loaded all of them into the cart, barely able to make room amongst a parade of toy spiders, ghosts, and creepy crawlies. A whole colony of fake bats sat up in the front of the cart with you, and you pet their little plastic heads as Steve steered you between the endless aisles.

And then you saw it.

As you turned the corner into the next aisle, a massive figure loomed over you, dark and menacing. The sleeves of its long black cloak threatened to stroke your hair as you passed by, and your eyes widened in fear as its horrifying face smiled down at you with an evil grin. Your face twisted up as you began to cry, the sobs escalating with each panicked breath. Steve couldn’t push you away from the figure fast enough it seemed, the creature's villainous eyes following you as he hurried you along, but Bucky was trailing behind and hadn’t noticed your fear. Completely oblivious, he strolled right up to the animatronic and hit the activation button. You were still within earshot when it spoke.

“Trick or treat! Hehehe…” Its deep voice echoed through the store.

And your crying stops.

You looked back up at the animatronic. How actually evil could it be with such a sweet little giggle? Bucky hit the button again.

“Happy Halloween, you creepy little cutie!” It said, followed by another laugh.

You clapped with joy. It called you a cutie, just like your daddies did!

“Again! Again!” You cheered, no longer afraid, but rather enamored with the figure.

“How about we take him home, and then you can listen to him whenever you want?” Bucky offered, picking up one of the heavy boxes with ease.

“Would you like that, angel?” Steve asked, making sure you weren’t still scared.

“Yes pwease! I love him!!” You squealed as Bucky put the box in the cart.

That joy stayed with you as the three of you checked out, and you even asked specially to have the animatronic’s box strapped into the backseat next to you. You couldn’t wait to go home and help your daddies decorate, already sure you were going to have the most spectacularly spooky house on the entire block.

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Entirely mu AU and self indulgent:

Noldo elf: so how did the silvans and avari stay out of the war with morgoth.

Legolas: hm? Oh, we brokered a truce.

Noldo: so? We did too, that didn’t stop him.

Legolas: yeah, but, unlike you, we actually had ✨power✨ backing us up that forced him to back off untill further notice.

Legolas: also, our diplomats made it very clear that if he didn’t comply, he would not like the outcome. Very agressive, 10/10.

Noldo: ok, well, how did it go, because Maedhros didn’t even get to morgoth, he was ambushed.

Legolas: weeelllll-

*flashback to beginning of the first age*

The silvan ambassadors *shows up at morgoth’s throne room without notice* we’re here make sure you don’t do something stupid like declare war on our people.

Morgoth, amused: oh, and how are you going to do that? For that matter, what’s stopping me from killing you here and now.

Ambassadors: what’s stopping you is the fact that, if we do not come back within the next hour to where we have to check in, the silvans will assume that you killed us and thus has made a declerarion of war. If it is assumed you have declaired war on the silvans, the long standing alliance between all the avari and silvan nations, pertaining to the terrorism and violance commited by a member of the ainur, will go into affect, and all our international grievances will be put on hold untill we’ve dealt with you-

Morgoth:

Ambassadors: to put this into context: not only will you have attracted the attention and wrath of the silvans, elves who are masters of espionage and assassination and magically above average and a people who’s known for their warrior culture which has amassed over a total of 4000 years with a fully stocked and experienced army, but you will also have the might of the Arctic Empire, who’s succesfully taken over the world, the Okrean kingdom, who’s become completely independent from all things magic, the Agtep Nation, ruled by an elleth known as the God of War, the Bali’tsa Empire, home to the largest army of all the avari nations, the Qitian Empire, who produce some of the deadliest weapons known to this realm, and the Fawneli Tribes, who have the strongest elves in existence, bearing down on you like a rabid dog. And unlike the Noldo and the Sinda you so love to bully, each one of these Nations have a full 4000 years of military history that they will not hesitate to unleash on you like a dam that finally broke. Mind you, that’s before we even take into considerarion the many other smaller elven societies who won’t hesitate to join the slaughter, hell, even the Edireths have thrown their hat in the ring, and they’re particularly known for eating ainur for breakfast. Literally.

Ambassadors: so what will it be? Time is ticking, and you’re almost out.

Morgoth: fuckin- fine. But i won’t lay off forever.

Ambassadors: oh we know. And we’ll be preparing our armies for when that time comes. I suggest you do the same.

*back in the present*

Legolas: yeah, let’s just say they really went in there with a “fuck all” attitude.

[venusvity]

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮  WELCOME TO THE WORLD VENUS !

It's 2018. Angelico hasn't had an active girl group in four years. The boy group checks are getting smaller every month; their newest boy group just flopped. The bank is calling about overdue payments, and they're desperate for a hit. With what was left in their ever-shrinking business bank account, they debuted their saving grace: VENUS.

The five-member piece comprised popular trainees from their Angellies program and former I.O.I member Chloe Lee. Baebi, Bliss, and Jiah consistently ranked in the top four during the Angellies' weekly rankings alongside Chloe. The only outsider was Sena Kim, who ranked reasonably well but consistently ranked in the top ten instead of the top five like the other girls.

VENUS IN 2018 AT THEIR DEBUT SHOWCASE: Bliss (20), Baebi (19), Chloe (18), Sena (16), and Jiah (15).

SHE DEVIL, originally a digital single that later became a physical single, was a commercial success in South Korea. The song entered the Gaon Digital Chart at number five the week of its release. 

It was certified platinum by the Korea Music Content Association (KMCA) for 100 million streams just two months after its release. "She Devil" ranked 11th on the year-end Gaon Digital Chart, making it the best-performing girl group song and second-best-performing group song of 2018 in South Korea.

"She Devil" amassed the top spot on various music programs; it achieved 9 wins, including a "triple crown" (or three wins) on Inkigayo.

Next would come KISSENUS, the group's first mini-album, and come back, "Kisseus," pronounced "KISS-EE-US," which was a move to establish the Venus branding. There were so many "-eus" gimmicks during this time. Some landed, some didn't, but Kissenus landed!

Know what didn't land? Their outfits. Oh my god, it was clear Angelico was broke! Truly, one of the last groups to debut looking like losers, they had these girls looking a mess on music shows! Fans still bring up the wardrobe choices when discussing Kissenus.

Kissenus would receive 7 music show awards across various music programs, including another "triple crown" on Inkigayo.

Their final comeback of the year would be another mini album titled "Tasteus" and a title track of the same name. While the song was a banger and performed well on the charts and at music shows, securing 6 wins and retaining their "triple crowned" winner status at Inkigayo, fans began to worry if the girls were being overworked due to their constant promotion of a new release.

Their run at the 2018 MAMA Awards caused mass discourse amongst K-pop fans. The barely-year-old group won Best Female Group, Best New Artist—Female, and Best Dance Performance—Female Group for She-Devil.

Venus saw undeniable and unheard-of success for Angelico in 2018, skyrocketing their company's stocks, becoming the faces of "Monster Rookies," and being the blueprint for what a good debut year should look like.