#except maybe the chef

[arctic-hands]

I'm having a hard time mustering up sympathy for the type of people who died on one of the world's largest superyachts

[trans-yllz]

lan wangji standing up to jin guangshan to say that he never heard wei wuxian disrespect jiang cheng or insult the jiang sect is so important in the sense that, to everyone present, he is a respected cultivator of high social status known for his righteousness and honesty, with seemingly no stake in this fight, going "no, that didn't happen actually", and by virtue of the very specific relationship they have, I think it means Most to jiang cheng coming from lan wangji. but it is also such a wonderful highlight to the fact that lan wangji's love for wei wuxian is almost always tied to his sense of justice and fairness. he defends wei wuxian because he loves him but also because it is the right thing to do

[odeggy]

arrested development is hard to watch like yes that asshole is the main character and his son wants to fuck hiscousin, his sister wants to cheat on her husband, his brother in law is ruining his family's life in suit of his dreams, his niece is manipulative and cheats for attention, his dad is a felon, his brother has a weird relationship with his mom, and his mom is a horrid alcoholic.

But his brother is a MAGICIAN like I would be am asshole too tbh

[dogzoro]

Congrats! I’m happy for you! 🥹 I was curious if you could draw Kuroobi and/or Chu? Please and thank you!

UWAH TYSM !!!!!! obsessed with the way Chu ate and left no crumbs in Arlong Park honestly i wish he would come back

[obsidiannebula]

I bought ACNH back in 2020 and have never gotten more than a B rating from the HHA. L, not yet 4, just got her third HHA rating and it's an A

Apparently my mistake was not decorating like a preschooler lmao

[piratebay]

one time some friends & i were talking about cooking & what foods we liked/our habits about foods & i was like "haha yeah sometimes i just really like a food a lot & keep making it over & over again until i don't want to anymore haha anybody else do that :)" & everyone just. stared at me.

[liliavalley]

atrocious outfit but i appreciate the crop top. correcting s4's mistakes here

[conquerthenight]

Finally watched a slime of Next To Normal and holy shit Natalie is so Lydia de Winter coded.

[chenfordswopez]

I ship Bolan, but if Talia couldn’t have been with Nolan, then she definitely should’ve had a girlfriend

[livingdeadvamp]

I've been separating the vocals and instrumentals of all the gh songs recently and lemme tell you they are AMAZING!! I'm so obsessed

[beloveds-embrace]

(Arranged marriage to duke john price except it means you married four instead of one 👁️👁️)

Your marriage to Duke Price is one out of necessity: you need a husband before high society begins rumoring you to be a barren woman and too old to be married off, and Duke Price needs a wife who is able to take on Duchess duties of his duchies.

You do not expect love, though you suppose it’d be a nice bonus. You are merely glad that Duke Price is a reasonable handsome man, and he informs you on your wedding night that he will not force himself on you, and there is no need to immediately begin attemtping for an heir.

You take admirably to your new duties, have been raised practically for this purpose though the head butler Kyle is wonderful in helping you as well- actually all the servants have been wonderful towards you. You have regular dinners with John, though they are a bit stilted but at least Chef Johnny’s food is good enough you can easily forget the tense atmosphere. You can tell your husband is hiding something- you are sometimes barred from going to his office to him, certain rooms are not allowed for you, and you are not allowed anywhere near the letters addressed to him- but as long as it isn’t hurting you, why should you bother him? So you never ask, and he seems happy enough that you don’t.

Until you accidentally stumble upon him and Duke Riley exchanging tongues. Very heatedly, hands grasping and tugging on each other’s clothes and Duke Riley sat on your husband’s desk.

It’s hot.

What’s not so hot is the way they both look at you when they realize you are there. You stutter, face a red so fierce it’d put a furnace to shame, and bolt out of the room despite hearing John call your name.

And you also skip out on the dinners for now, pretending you are sick with the help of your maids and their makeup skills.

But suddenly, it’s like your eyes have been opened. It’s not just Duke Riley who seems to hold a part of your husband’s heart; the one time you gather enough courage to maybe go speak with John and address the situation, you see Kyle stumbling out all disheveled and flushed, though he has a very satisfied air around him. He freezes when he sees you, and your jaw drops.

“My lady-“

“I- I’ll just- I’m taking a walk! Alone!”

You go to the kitchens instead, hoping that Johnny would have something delicious you can eat. Maybe something cold enough to wash away the blush on your cheeks.

Johnny is weirdly silent, however, even as he whips up chocolate mousse for you. His silence is not normal, it feels… almost guilty…

You sighs, take in a deep breath, and gather your dress. “Johnny… are you too…-?”

“Aye, m’lady. But-“

You can’t take it anymore. You leave the kitchens, and go straight back to your bedroom to bury your face in your bed. It’s not as if you are upset! It’s just- a rather befuddling situation?

Two nights later, it’s John himself who comes to you. You had assumed it was one of your maids returning with a new jar of oil for your nightly hair routine, but it’s your husband. You are glad it’s winter, and you aren’t simply in a thin nightgown.

“Wife.” He says, voice steady yet strained.

“John.”

You can’t call him husband. You’ve spent the last two days thinking and you were… rather sad. You were in the way of whatever they had (you saw Kyle and Johnny kissing, Johnny specifically sending food addressed to Duke Riley), weren’t you?

John sighs, sitting down on the settee while you remain on your vanity. After a moment of awkward silence, he opens his eyes and looks at you. “…what do you want to remain silent about this?”

You blink, raising an eyebrow. “…huh?”

John’s fists clench. “How much do you want in return for your silence?”

Frowning, you set your brush down and fully turn to him even if you feel exposed despite your thicker nightgown. “Is this about your… partners?” You say the word delicately, then shake your head. “I want nothing, John. If you are worried about me starting anything, I won’t. I just… hope this doesn’t mean you will divorce me?”

Being a divorced woman might as well be a death sentence on its own.

He looks at you, shocked into silence, and you quickly explain; his relationships have nothing to do with you and you aren’t a petty woman, who are you to come between what he and they have? You only hope this won’t take away the protection this marriage gave you.

That night, thus, you and John reach an agreement you are sure both of you are satisfied with.

Except, months later, John is no longer satisfied.

With the ice broken between the two of you. The dinners have become so much more… relaxing and comfortable, far less than they had been. No secrecy was needed when you were around anymore, and you only giggle and look away, feigning innocence when they share tender kisses between one another… and the less polite kisses.

John can’t remain satisfied with this arrangement. You are such a sweet thing, now that he’s become to know you far better. He can see the way his men are looking at you now, something between fondness and hunger and want; Kyle helps you far more often now, despite your insistence that you can do it yourself. Even when you do it yourself, he stays by you and ensures you are comfortable.

And he joins your evening walks, arms looped as the two of you speak, laughing and giggling.

It’s similar to your late night chats with Johnny, where he plies your full of sweets and desserts until even your dreams are full of sweeter kisses you are sure will never be for you. Johnny, who cooks your favorites on hard days and who you heard from Kyle is even more serious about only having the best of the best in vegetables and meats and seasonings.

And Duke Riley… for all his stoicism, he is gentle with you. Even when he’d stared at you with doubt and mistrust, no doubt believing you to be lying to John and simply waiting for the shoe to drop and for you to ruin them. Yet it never happens, and now, during the galas you attend all dolled up on John’s arm and ignoring all murmurs about still having no children, you even dance with him and giggle at his terribly dry jokes, even share a few of your own with him.

Steadily, slowly, obliviously, John has watched each of his men fall for you. This, obviously, made you theirs. It made you his, more and more than you already were.

It’s why your current request is making him clench his glass in his hand, with Kyle looking on in displeasure as well, giving him subtle glances.

“-So that’s why I was asking, John,” you remain sweetly oblivious, adorned in a pretty dress Simon had gotten for you recently. “He will not spread any rumors, I’ll personally make sure of that-”

Your cheeks darken then, and you glance away. “I- I am… merely a bit- unsatisfied, if you understand my point. And the stable man is loyal to you, he wouldn’t say anything.”

It’s clear he needs to keep a better watch over you. Where and when did you even interact with his stable boy, Graves? Though he focused on your words.

Unsatisfied.

Well, he can’t have that, can he? You’ve done your wifely duties so admirably, it’s about time he took care of you as well… and maybe dealt with the baseless barren rumors as well. A baby would keep you nice and content and focused on them alone, wouldn’t it?

Oh yes. Yes, it would.

dukedom au masterlist

Part two

[luveline]

Hi Jade ! I loove your sunshine!readers, could I request one for Carmy ? Maybe someone calls her to get to the restaurant when hes feeling anxious to calm him down idk if thats good lol love ya !

ty for requesting <3 fem, 1.4k

Is it The Beef or The Bear? In your head, despite the wishes of everyone who works there (except for Ebra, who seems to have mixed opinions), you always call it The Beef. But the sign brags otherwise, and when you push open the doors, nothing inside is left to remind you of the old restaurant. It was a total gut. 

“Hi, gorgeous,” says a familiar, warm voice. 

You almost walk straight into her table, distracted looking for brown curls through the kitchen door’s little window. “Hey, Tina.” You grin at your second favourite chef. Your most favourite Sous. “You taking a break?” 

She offers you a round butter cookie from a sleeve of them. Her cup of coffee billows with steam. “Uh-huh.” 

“Hiding from a meltdown?” you ask, taking a cookie, fingers oily with butter, sugar grains falling to the floor. 

“It’s not like that,” she says. 

Well, what is it like? you think. 

Richie’s text wasn’t exactly descriptive. Need ur help with the little Bitch, he’d said. Then, when you didn’t answer, ASAP!!!!

You figured it must’ve been another rant. He’s prone to these… episodes of anger where he doesn’t realise he’s spinning out and hurting people who really care about him. You try to bring him out of it, but he’s a Berzatto. They’re all the same, sort of. Everything that’s wrong with them has been stamped into them a long, long time ago. 

He’s been better since Nat steel armed him into AA, but still. You tilt your head to one side, sugar cookie between your fingers, listening for the goings on in the kitchen. “Sydney’s here?” you ask. “I thought she was sick.” 

“Sydney gets sick, but she doesn’t take sick days,” Tina says with a loving shrug. 

You smile at her in brief goodbye for now and make your way to the kitchen, where you push in quietly. All their ‘Behind!’ and ‘Corner!’ and ‘Hands!’ makes you laugh, and you can’t take it seriously so you don’t, but you’re not trying to be dangerous in there either. 

“Hello?” you ask. 

Sydney and Richie look up from a cramped notebook at the table nearest to the door. There are employees you're unsure of prepping vegetables along the wall, but Carmy isn’t anywhere to be seen. 

“Fucking finally,” Richie says, before rubbing his face regretfully. “I’m sorry, it’s just– I texted you an hour ago, babe, you’re letting me down.” 

You laugh. “Sorry, babe,” you tease. “I have a job, just like you.” Your hands are cold where you tuck them under each armpit, crossing your arms. “Hi, Sydney. You feeling okay?” 

“No. He’s stressing me out.” 

“Which one?” 

“Both of them.” She looks like she might rub her face too. “I need him to be in here right now, he should be doing this, but he keeps walking away and– and not saying where he’s going.” 

“He is stressful,” you agree, though usually Carmy’s stress tends to bounce right off of you, “I’m gonna find him and strap him down for you.” 

Sydney just frowns. 

“I’ll see what’s up,” you say more seriously. “In the office?” 

“Out the back,” Richie says. “Smoking like his mother. He’s a fucking steam train lately.” 

It’s like they want to worry you. You give them grateful nods, sorry nods, and start to make your way out of the main kitchen, past the dishwashers and the dessert station to one of the back doors. Carmy isn’t your responsibility. You don’t have to apologise for him, you don’t have to mother him, he should commit to his responsibilities all on his own, but… it’s hard. You like apologising for him because his behaviour isn’t always on purpose, and he struggles with commitment for similar reasons. There’s this aching, stagnated grief in him that’s reawakening, there’s the stress of the restaurant, his business, the scars of the last ten years, and before that. You know it isn’t your job to come here and make him feel better, but isn’t it? When you love someone, it’s half the deal. 

Carmy shouldn’t yell at his friends, or employees. He shouldn’t chain smoke, and he shouldn’t be sitting on the low wall by the dumpsters shaking so hard with his head so low that you can see the first notch of his spine in his shirt. 

“Carmy?” you ask. 

His head ducks further down. You can hear him breathing, not too hard as to alarm you, and yet unrelaxed. 

You smile without thinking. You hate seeing him like this, but looking after him is a pleasure. “Hey, Carmen. Can I sit with you?” 

He forces his face up. “What are you doing here?” he asks. 

Trying to make sure he doesn’t tear another chunk out of Richie. “It’s my lunch break.” 

You perch on the wall beside him and snap your nearly forgotten cookie into two pieces, one side bigger than the other, which you offer him. 

Carmy takes it. Looks at it without expression, though that slowly turns to a dry ire you’ve felt directed your way a hundred times. “What the fuck is this?” 

“Cookie.” 

“I don’t want this.” 

“Could you just eat it?” You put your own half in your mouth in its entirety, all aligned to your teeth. It shatters into sweet, soft crumbs between your teeth. You talk with a hand over your mouth, “It’s not gonna kill you.” 

Carmy looks at it for a long time before he eats it. 

You watch him. He’s more tan than you’d think, that Italian gene kicking in, skin clinging to whatever sunshine it finds. He spends enough time inside that you’re surprised it can muster the energy. He looks better with it though, his curls look gold toned under the sun, and his clenched jaw doesn’t seem so harsh. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask eventually. Almost conversationally. 

“Nothing.” His hand shakes on his thigh. He turns his palm down to clasp his knee. 

“You sure?” 

“No.” 

“That one’s my favourite.” 

“What?” 

You poke toward a tattoo on his hand. It’s a simple flower, same style as most of his tattoos. “I like it ‘cos it’s just a flower.” 

“My least pretentious,” he guesses. 

“Something like that.” 

He tips his head back. 

“Richie texted me. He thinks I’m gonna… like, I’m gonna calm you down, I guess.” 

“You always do,” he says. 

You give him a long, smiley look. “So you’re in love with me?” you ask warmly, pushing up into a knee to wrap your arm behind him, hugging him before he can move away. “You’re totally fucked for me, Berzatto, that’s fucking crazy.” 

“Fuck off,” he laughs. 

You rub his arm, his skin hot in your hold. He touches your waist very, very lightly. “What am I supposed to do, anyway? I can’t cook. You and Syd are on your own.” 

“You already… already did enough.” He grabs your waist where you wobble on the brick wall, grit biting your knees, his hand comparatively soft. 

“Such a crush on me,” you tease in a whisper, his hair crushed under your cheek. 

You’re tempted to kiss his temple, but affection with Carmy is like oil and water sometimes. You give him a last protective squeeze and sit yourself down again. 

“Carm,” you say, “you know you can call me, right? Like, if you don’t feel okay.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” 

“Or text me. If that’s easier. It’s hard to say hard things out loud.” 

He laughs again. “Sorry.” 

“I know, I don’t– I don’t seem like I know what you’re talking about, I get it, but I do understand. N’ even if I didn’t, I don’t mind listening. Or laughing at you.” 

“What’s that about?” 

“The laughing?” you ask. “You tell me.” 

His hand slides behind your back in half a hug. “Guess it’s funny.” 

“Can I change my mind about the tattoo?” 

“The flowers not your favourite?” 

“No. You know which one I like best?” 

His thumb rubs into your back. “The snail.” 

“Absolutely the snail. You’re so fucking silly sometimes, I’m supposed to take you seriously when you’re yelling and red in the face with a snail on your arm?” 

You can’t see his face with your cheek to his shoulder, won’t know that he’s smiling at you with a rare aura of peace. Can’t see the wanting, either. 

[imnotinlovemp3]

why are so called classic horror movies…………not very good

[brownornaterugs]

like i really try to be always thinking about Mental Health Reasons for everything but yesterday the way my work friends almost fought this dude for talking to me like that. the way i was willingly ready to learn how to fight somebody.

like part of me feels like hypocritical bc i know i will totally shut down when i'm angry and need space bc i quickly fall into shame-anger and will spiral. but genuinely i can't fuck w people esp men who slam doors slam objects around me in their own anger. go outside and punch the air stay tf away from me.

i think what particularly makes me angry ab what happened at work is that i've consistently been understanding of Why Someone Behaves How They Do and try to navigate around it. and vocalize that and reassure that they don't need to be perfect at the job and that theres no shame no anxiety no Perfectionist Parent whos gonna scream at you. but when he behaves differently and apologetically in front of white and male chefs and comes back to me and my pastry coworkers who are women/nonbinary of color its like ah ok. gotchu gotchu. consistently.

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

If you are up for it could write more Justice League x Assistant reader?

That scenario did things to me honestly, and I can't find anything similar 😭

Maybe reader calls in sick and the each JL member goes to check on them unanounced (reader never told them were they lived but of course they'd know *sideeyes batman*) which end up on all the members questioning and pointing at each other *cue spider man meme*, because why are you at my darling's- I mean our Assistant's house!

Reader kicks everyone out except the gourmet chef batman brought to cook reader some chicken soup.

A Day in Life: In Health and Sickness

Synopsis: A day in life were you, the Justice League's assistant, find out that sickness and a bunch of obsessed superheroes are just too much to bear all at once.

Pairing: Yandere!Justice League X Assistant!Gn!Reader; Platonic!Alfred Pennyworth

Tw: Nonconsensual (not sexual) touching; A single mention of obscene acts; Kinda breaking and entering; Reader gets physically restrained; Kinda forced infantilization? But not really, just humiliation; Some members of the League might be out of character bc I don't know them well enough; I was sleepy while revising and editing this so I might fix any mistakes I didn’t see later; English is not my 1st language.

Word count: 2,6k

Requested? Yes.

Extra notes: Thank you so much for your compliments and the request!! Your suggestion really gave me inspiration to write as soon as I saw it. It's not exactly what you asked for but I hope it's the same vibe and you like it!! Also I’ve seen all the requests for a part 2 of “He's My Collar”, but as stated here, I didn't answer bc I’m working on it! I just didn't have any ideas yet!

General masterlist | A Day in Life - Series masterlist

Whatever hit you today, it sucks. Yesterday, in the afternoon, you had a mild throbbing in your head, but not exactly a headache, at night, fever hit you, alongside a cough. Medicine helped enough but today you still felt a little warm, your head hurt, your nose was somehow stuffed and leaking at the same time. You've been awake for an hour and still just couldn't get yourself to care for your basic needs like showering and eating, let alone go to work, so you called in sick. At least you would have some piece for a day.

Or that's what you thought, until you heard some tapping on your window, scaring the shit out of you, and saw Superman outside with a sympathetic smile and holding a pharmacy bag, a crate of water bottles and food.

Ugh, of course you couldn't actually have some peace.

You took a deep breath to prepare yourself and got up, walking towards you bedroom window, and tried sticking your head outside, hoping he wouldn't enter your home if you kicked him out before, but before you could do anything else, he supersped inside and suddenly was at your side, making you dizzier.

— Hey! I heard what happened. How’re you feeling? — The alien’s face showcased his concern on his furrowed brows and he took a step too close (any step in your direction taken by one of the heroes was already too close for you), extending his arm forward to place the back of his hand in your forehead. You took a step back but he didn't seem to mind.

— Uh, I'm fine. You didn't need to come here. — Superman shook his head.

— I wanted to help. Here, I brought som- — Doorbell. The hero looked in the direction the sound came from, most likely using his X-Ray vision to look through the walls and doors, and squinted his eyes. Oh boy. — You called someone? — His voice is weirdly calm, contrasting with the way he abruptly starts marching out of your room and to the door.

Earlier you thought the fast exertion of movements would be too great for you, but apparently adrenaline was on your side, enough to follow him around as if you were the visitor inside your own place.

— I didn't. — You respond flatly and holding back a groan from annoyance, since you also didn't invite him.

Superman immediately opens the door as soon as it's within his reach and what's on the other side surprises you more than when you got the job at the watchtower.

— Superman. — Batman didn't seem surprised, but he also never showed emotions other than anger. — (Y/N). This is Penny-One. — He is surely referencing the old man well dressed on his side. — He is here to take care of you. — You raise an eyebrow, almost speechless.

— T-Take care of me? — You helplessly watch them invading your residency, painfully aware there's nothing you can do. Superman crossed his arms.

— This is not necessary, I came here to do just that. — Superman’s protest unfortunately doesn't give you any hint of how this will all turn out, nor does it scare Batman and his friend away..

— You have your own responsibilities. — Batman simply states. — You should go.

Penny-One simply turns to you.

— It's a pleasure, Miss/Master/Mx (Y/N), even in your condition. Master Batman talks a lot about you. — You don't know what to stay and it probably shows, since no one waits much for your reaction before Penny-One is moving towards your kitchen and Batman and Superman continue with their argument.

You just go and sit down on your couch, questioning your life decisions and escape plans, which will have to wait until this damned curse leaves your body (and your home).

Your hands raise to rub your face and maybe give you some clearance, maybe wake you up from this nightmare, but keeping your eyes closed and sitting down only remind you of your condition. You feel worse or is it just your spirits? Either way, you let your body slide down until your side rests on the couch cushions, arms hugging your own body to try to have some warmth back. When did it become so cold?

At least their voices were low, as if trying not to bother you, it's a little soothing, especially with the promise of having food. Your eyes hurt just from staying open so you don't. At some point, some type of fabric is thrown over your body and a hand combs through your hair. You are too weak to do anything.

Next time you open your eyes, it's due to disturbing noises, your head is no longer on the arm of the couch and instead is laying on someone’s bare thighs. A pair of hands is running through your locks, and a really nice smell is in the air.

Did you fall asleep?

That would explain why your head is on fucking Wonder Woman's lap and she is looking at you lovingly. Also the fabric from before is Superman's cape.

You quickly shoot up, although just as fast, four or five pairs of hands, coming from seemingly out of nowhere — startling you even more — push you back down, you don't go without struggle, and soon, all hands disappear, green lights catch your attention and you can't move your body a single inch anymore. Somehow, you ended up restrained by a green and bright cocoon, as if you were soon to be a butterfly, only your face is free. Green Lantern’s construct.

— Hey, hey, calm down, hot stuff. I know she’s scary and you would never want to be close to anyone else but me, but you still need rest. — You're turned to the ceiling against your wishes. For some reason the fact that your whole body is covered doesn't give you the comfort nor the protection it should give you, instead, it reminds you of how vulnerable you are.

Your wide and paranoid eyes try to search for anything, since your head is being held in place. You can see Wonder Woman above you, glaring at something outside your line of vision, you are still in her lap. A bit of Aquaman’s blond hair on the bottom of your vision. And Batman, towering over you and the amazon, just observing as always.

— You can release them now, Green Lantern. — It's Superman's voice.

— He is not going to. — You see Batman saying at the same time another voice speaks the same sentence, making all of them turn in the direction of the sound, somewhere you can't see, but you recognize the voice. — He thinks they're weak and incapable of making decisions. — I'm sorry, who is weak and incapable of making decisions here? — He also wants to prove he is the only one capable of protecting and taking care of (Y/N), and impress them so they will fall right into his arms, call him a hero and give him a kiss… And other obscene things. — Batman smirks. Wonder Woman and another new and deep voice loudly laugh, the masculine voice being more obnoxious. Someone scoffs indignantly.

— Okay. Get out of my fucking head or I will make you. — The Lantern's voice sounds angry and you hear hurried footsteps. They wouldn't fight right here, right?! Right beside your sick body and in the middle of your crumpled apartament… It would make such a mess…

— I wasn't inside your head. Your thoughts were too loud, it's like you are screaming in my ear.

— I will make you scream! — You hear Superman superspeeding, probably getting in between the fighting duo.

— Ha- Green Lantern, calm down. No one will make anyone do anything here.

The agonizing feeling of restriction grows.

— WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE? — You scream in a husky voice, panting right after. Everyone is silent and the next second, the construct moves you around until you're sitting up, back to the back of the couch. You are still being held and manhandled, but at least you're not in someone's lap and you can see something other than your ceiling.

Martian Manhunter is standing a few meters away from you, Superman by his side. Wonder Woman was still sitting beside you and doesn't look like getting up any time soon, Green Lantern makes his way to sit down on your other side, placing his arm around you, gladly you can't even feel it. Batman is still standing on the side of the couch, his cape covering his body. Aquaman is sitting in your armchair, his face laid on his hand, watching amused, if not a bit annoyed.

It's so weird seeing all of them, suited up, in the middle of your living room, and in plain daylight.

— We came here to nurse you back to health. — Wonder Woman speaks.

— Uhh, don't you think this is a little too much? — The heroes look at each other as if looking for the issue.

— I mean, yeah. I could do it alone, but for some reason when I got here, these freaks had already broken into your house. — Freak Lantern says, pointing an accusing finger at the other freaks in question, the trinity, Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman. — Those two came in later. — He nodded at Martian Manhunter and Aquaman, not giving them a single look, his eyes solely on you. Like everytime he insists on overly making eye contact with you, it's a bit uncanny. — Worry not, beautiful. I will kick them out for you. — Superman and Wonder Woman snort at his arrogance.

— You could go with them. I'm fine, I don't need help. I’ve been taking care of myself for years and can still do it. — You've been nice long enough, they crossed the line, they invaded your apartment, which is so unprofessional, and you need to set limits. They just look at you with pity.

— I am are aware of my neglect. — Neglect? — But it's going to be different now that we are reunited… — Uh? What is Manhunter talking about?

— Exactly. History has proven how men are unreliable and indifferent to others. I'm the only one you need, darling. — Wonder Woman caresses your face. — I don't even know what they think they are doing here…

— What are you doing here, princess? Don't you have mommy issues to fix or a guy named Steve Trevor to talk to? — The amazon furrowed her eyebrows and glared at the one sitting on your other side.

— Don't listen to him, (Y/N). I left Steve a long time ago, when I met you. — Girl, why? Go back to your man! Leave me alone! — What about Aquaman? Doesn't he have a kingdom to rule? — The man in question dismissed her answer with a hand movement.

— I’m protecting Atlantis’s future by making sure none of you get any ideas and (Y/N) survives their illness. — Batman shook his head.

— I’ve already made sure they're taken care of. You shouldn't be here. There's more important matters for us out there.

— Then why aren't you there?

Their battle of egos is just too fast for your slowed down brain to process and try to formulate any form of strategy. Before their banter gets worse, the older man from before reappears.

— Your soup is ready, Miss/Master/Mx (Y/N). — Penny-One seems unbothered by the commotion around you, walking in with the source of the heavenly smell. Your mouth waters.

— Let me do it, Penny-One. — Wonder Woman gently offers and takes the bowl from him, along with the spoon. The Justice League makes sounds of disgust when they start watching her spoon feeding you (they wanted to be in her place).

You groan, complain, try to wiggle out of the construct but nothing works, especially with your fatigued and sick state. If you weren't claustrophobic before you might be from now on. You are clearly uncomfortable and practically begging to get out but for some reason they just won't listen. It gets to the point where as soon as you finish your soup — after realizing, again, that with those people it's just easier to surrender —, and take your medicine, Green Lantern’s temper apparently gets done with your whining and resistance, and he simply makes another construct. Now you have a pacifier in your mouth. It's your limit.

They start fighting again because some of them find it degrading, some like to hear your voice even if they know how close to cussing them out you are, and some think it's cute and prefer your quietness over your cries.

You can't move. You can't spit it out. You can't bite it off. You can't ask for help.

Green Lantern is rubbing your cheek while — slightly — mocking you. Wonder Woman is cooing at you, while trying to convince the Lantern to stop with his antics. Aquaman is clearly expressing he is on the Lantern’s side. Batman, Superman and Martian Manhunter are threatening him.

Frustration gets the better of you and the dam breaks loose. Now you are wrapped, with a pacifier and crying. Like a baby. In front of your bosses. In front of people who think you are vulnerable and need them. They're practically keeping you hostage. You didn't want them here. You told them no, countless times, and they just blatantly ignored your boundaries.

You have a pa-ci-fi-er. In. Your. Mouth.

And they are talking. They are ignoring you. They're been doing it for hours. No. Months. That's abuse.

This is the most emotion they ever got out of you and it immediately quiets everyone down. They're just staring at you, shocked. This whole thing is just a shitshow. A disaster. They're a curse. You are cursed.

It's so distracting that it makes Green Lantern lose his concentration, which is what fuels his ring’s power, and the constructs start dissipating.

You immediately get up and put as much distance between you and the team, who all have wide eyes and maybe had just now realized the gravity of the situation, while thinking about control damage.

You are searching desperately for how you could effectively kick them out, while also experiencing just the aftereffects of a new trauma, when it looks like it will get even worse. Flash zooms into the apartment.

— Hey, (Y/N)! Sorry I took so long! Busy Day. N-Not that I wouldn't quit anything and everything just to help you. I just now saw the notification that you took a day off today! W-What… W-What are you guys doing here…? — The speedster noticed after his rambles the he is not the only one in the middle of your living room, and points at the whole team, who is on the complete opposite side of you. They also point at him.

— You’re late. — Batman states.

— Slowest man alive. — Green Lantern calls out his friend.

Flash looks around as if gathering his thoughts and notices your distressed state. He turns completely to them, his back to you and him being between you and his team.

— What did you do to them? — At his demand, all of them start pointing at each other and giving some sort of explanation or their side of the story at the same time, turning it into unintelligible sounds, until your yell interrupts them.

— GET. OUT!

— But-

— OUT!

— But, (Y/N)-

— NOW! GET OUT NOW!

They grumble but comply. Penny-One, who was totally unfazed during the while ordeal, just sighs, and starts making his way with them. Until you take a timid step toward him and stop him.

— N-Not you… I-I mean the soup was really good and I don't think I will have the energy to cook later… I-If it's n-not bothering you… — The older man smiles placantinly at you.

— Of course, dear. I'm getting paid either way, might as well just finish my job here.

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@wandalfnation

[dollerin]

VOICE OF AN 𝓐𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑳 stack moore.

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝑳𝐔𝐃𝐄 ─── you’ve got one hell of a talent, everyone knows that except for the notorious, stack. but he may be the one to get you your very first gig when he finds out. he says you shouldn’t let your gift go to waste, you’ve got the voice of an angel.

elias ‘stack’ moore x f. reader romance strangers to lovers physical touch 𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝗐𝖼. 𝟣.𝟩𝗄 ─── 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒

The old restaurant smelled of tobacco smoke and the pork chops that were being made in the kitchen, the aged wood scent lingering with it. It was crowded, per usual, but you didn’t mind—it meant you and your mother were getting business.

Fridays were usually the busiest anyway, people getting off of work, needing a good meal and a drink to wash down their rough week. Some work all day in the field and want to run away from the trouble of the other folks out to get them. And then there were others who just wanted to dance.

No matter where they were from, you served them anyway, a smile always on your face. Though working and serving for your mama wasn’t ideal, it was a start—a start to your dreams. And you were okay with that.

You weaved through the tables and small crowds of dancing elders, placing plates in front of people and collecting the empty ones. This was nothing new to you, so it came like second nature.

The music in your mama’s joint wasn’t slow, but it wasn’t fast, either. It was the perfect tempo for people to groove along and for you to begin humming to yourself as you cleaned off empty tables. The band that played were a few good family friends that agreed to play there every night, no pay required. Every once in a while, you join them. Sometimes they played popular blues songs, other times they played the songs that you wrote yourself, and knew all the lyrics to. Now, of course, the audience didn’t know the songs but they didn’t have to. Your voice was what captivated them.

By now, it was a regular thing for someone to come up to you and request a song—or just ask you to go on stage so they could hear you. All you could ever do was nod your head and bashfully agree as you walked up.

But tonight, it didn't happen. Not yet, anyway.

Maybe it was because your mama needed some extra help, with the amount of folks that piled into her restaurant. Your cousin—the only chef that she had at the moment, was sick so she was forced to do all the cooking by herself, instead of helping you serve.

As you continued to hum to yourself, the music still echoing throughout the restaurant, the bell on the door jingled. Your back was turned, but you heard footsteps as another customer came in. They didn’t ask to be seated, though.

You glanced behind you to see that they’d taken a seat at the bar, but then you did a double take once you saw who it was.

Some people whispered to each other, but they didn’t dare make eye contact with the person.

Stack.

One of the famous Delta twins. Dressed in that red hat that sat low, hiding his eyes a bit.

You turned back to the task at hand, not wanting your staring to be too obvious—though it probably already was. You could hear him shuffling in his seat at the bar, the sound of his lighter flicking and him inhaling a bit.

You continued working as if he weren’t there, humming along to the music. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes boring into the back of your head.

Soon, the music ended on the stage, leading everyone to applaud before the band started their next song. Some of them walked off the stage, taking a bathroom break or a sip of water. You continued humming to yourself, even as the music was gone.

“Y/N! Hey!” Someone called out to you.

Your head popped up, seeing one of the band members headed right toward you.

“Hey,” you smiled.

“You wanna c’mon for our next number? It’s your favorite,” he said.

“What? ‘Down Hearted Blues’?” You asked, quirking your eyebrow.

The man chuckled, “You know it.”

You thought about it for a moment, his constant ‘c’mon’ had made you want to go up there and grab that microphone. But you weren’t so sure if you’d do that tonight.

“Oh, I don’t know, sir—“

“Go on up there! You know everybody love yo’ voice!”

You shook your head, hiding the bashfulness on your face.

He turned around to the rest of the restaurant, raising his voice for everyone to hear, “Aye, y’all, don’t y’all love lil’ Y/N’s voice? Don’t ya’ love when she sing for us?”

They all paused what they were doing to agree, the area erupting with applause and cheers. That didn’t make your case any better, if you were one of them white folks, you would’ve looked like a tomato by now.

Your smile grew as the people’s focus was now on you, encouraging you to head up on that stage.

“C’mon, Y/N, sing for us!”

“I wanna hear some good ol’ blues tonight!”

“Girl, if you don’t get up there—!”

After a moment of them all trying to persuade you at once, you drop the cleaning towel on the table you were standing at. You walked through the crowd again, walking toward the stage with loud cheers behind you.

The smile on your face never dropped, even as you got to the center of the wooden platform.

Stack was tucked into the back of the restaurant still, remaining in his seat at the bar. He took another drag of his cigarette, waiting to see what all the ruckus was about—what the big deal was about one voice.

People took their places at their tables and some stood around as the instrumental of your favorite song began to play. You took in a deep breath, closing your eyes as the lyrics began to flow out of you.

Were there folks watching you all around the restaurant? Yes.

But you could feel a certain pair glued to you. Like they couldn’t move. Like they didn’t want to move.

You sang out, your voice drifting throughout the restaurant like a harp played in the moonlight. You clutched your chest, reciting the lyrics as if you had lived by them.

Stack looked up at the platform from beneath his hat, the cigarette sitting between his plump lips. They curled up at the corners, a smirk playing on his face as he listened to you. He could’ve sworn he died and came back when he heard, nodding his head slowly in approval and enjoyment.

You twirled to the side of the stage, your long work dress flowing with you as you fell in love with the music all over again. People not only loved you for your voice, but for your performance. How you let the chords flow through your veins. The music was you.

As the band began to reach the end of the song, you smiled out to your little crowd, seeing all them send cheers your way.

You made your way off of the stage, hugging some of them, others kissing you on the cheek.

“Alright, y’all, I gotta get back to work now,” you laughed, cheeks burning from your wide grin.

They all let you get back to your duties, still cheering you on from afar, but not wanting to hear any fuss from your Mama.

You walked back to the table you were at before, grabbing the dirty towel to place in the basket full of other used cloth.

“‘Scuse me, miss,” a voice said from behind you.

You turned to see Stack grinning at you, sly look plastered on his face, per usual.

“Um, hi?”

“Hi,” he repeated. “I don’t mean to bother, but… that was you singing up there?”

You nodded.

“Mhm.”

He smiled, gold pieces on display. His eyes scanned you for a moment before speaking again.

“Just wanted to let you know I enjoyed it. Sounded like an angel sent from heaven.”

You raised your brow, slightly, “Thanks.”

He moved a hair closer to you, eyes never moving from yours.

“I’m offerin’ you a spot down at this here Juke Joint.. You know the SmokeStack twins?” He asked, eyes shimmering in the restaurant’s dim lighting.

“Yeah, I heard of em’. What that gotta do with a Juke Joint?”

“We openin’ one. Right here in the Delta.” He said proudly.

You folded your arms, not responding.

“So? What you say, huh?” His voice lowered, his words only heard between you both.

You narrowed your eyes up at him, “I don’t know.. I don’t understand what I would be gettin’ outta this.”

“Well,” he ran his tongue over his lip. “Thirty cents an hour. And a front-row seat to this here pretty face. Can’t beat that.”

Something about his little comment made your stomach tumble, but you straightened your stance.

“Still not hearin’ what this’ll do for me.”

He sighed, looking around for a moment before turning back to you.

“I meant it when I said you got a voice on ya, pea. Voice like that don’t come ‘round often. Why don’t you come on out? Show folks what the blues s’posed to feel like?”

You kept your eyes on him, thinking for a moment. You didn’t know if this was just a way for him to keep persuading you to come so he could try and take you home—or what. But he had a point. How would you ever get to where you wanna be in life, with your gift, if you don’t show it to folks outside the restaurant?

You tapped your foot, trying to make a decision.

“I…” you started, looking down at your scuffed shoes.

He hummed, waiting for your response, leaning down to follow your gaze.

“You in or what?”

“Lemme talk to my Mama. See what she says, she might—“

“You a grown-ass woman, what you talkin’ bout’, askin’ your mama?” His eyes scanned you again, lips twitching like he was holding back a grin.

“She might need my help,” you finish your sentence, cutting your eyes at him. “It ain’t easy runnin’ a restaurant all by yourself, now.”

Stack gave a short nod, hand coming to his pocket, shifting around it. He pulled out some cash—real dollars, not just coins. He grabbed your hand from your side, placing the paper right in your palm.

“That gon’ cover one night for y’all?” He asked, already knowing the answer as you stared down at the money, mouth agape.

“I— You—“

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow night, then? Bring some of your mama’s platters, hear?”

And with that, he tipped his hat, showing off the gold in his mouth before turning to the door.

꒰ ≧ ̫ ≦ ꒱ྀི : decided to split this in two parts !! :) first sinners fic.. kinda nervy tho.