#i wish i was a better artist. i would love to make money from that. not a whole living but yknow. something extra

[supersecretnerd]

Ok so these designs are cute as hell, the Internet is just mean

I have too many thoughts about a game I still need to watch

[be-good-to-bugs]

i hope i go somewhere nice when i die

[gr1mstar]

Zayne x reader x Rafayel? Love triangle, jealousy.....

I wish you could be mine

notes: i hope you like it, and i’m sorry for the wait :) i didn’t know for sure which one should be the jealous one so i made them both jealous.

contains: zayne x reader x rafayel, love triangle, jealousy, sfw.

Zayne has never considered himself a jealous person. He believed that jealousy is something temporary, which makes you waste time worrying, while you could solve that problem.

That is until, for the first time in his life, Zayne became jealous.

It all started with a conversation, you telling Zayne about the time you spent at Rafayel's house while he was painting. About his fabulous paintings and about the talent the man had.

Talent? Didn't he have talent? He was very talented with his hands, doing many difficult operations. Maybe it wasn't enough...

Jealousy is born from insecurities. Hearing about the time you spent with the other man in your life, Zayne wondered if he gave you too little time to make you fall in love with him. The hours spent at the hospital now seemed too long, and the desire to spend more time with you grew.

‘If I spend time with her, he won't have time to meet her,’ he asked himself.

But that was almost impossible for a renowned surgeon. Operations upon operations, emergencies upon emergencies and many other cases, Zayne was forced to take his mind off the burning desire to be in your presence 24/7.

However, this did not stop him from fighting to win your heart. He invited you to dates more often, he left work faster than usual, and his gestures were sweeter, made with more love.

Late night dinners, candles, compliments. All this made you wonder if you were interpreting the situation correctly or if your mind had gone crazy. You knew Zayne wasn't good with words, his personality being much colder than other people's. However, you liked the warm feeling that dates with him give you.

“We can stop by after work, what do you say? I heard that a new product was added to the menu.” he asked you on the phone, heart beating fast. 

“Yeah, of course. Let me finish here with Rafayel and I’m coming.”

However, after so many attempts, this Rafayel did not disappear from the story. Who was he, so important to you?

Zayne saw him a few times on TV, the man was a well-known and rich artist. He was not so wow. Zayne could recognize, the man was handsome and had money, he was tall with an enviable physique. But he? He also had money, an enviable physique and was tall. And he was attractive, according to many of his colleagues. He was also smart and knew you much better than Rafayel did.

So why not him?

‘So why not me?’ Rafayel asked himself, after hearing your conversation with Zayne.

He was hurt by your words. Now you were with him, why were you talking to someone else? Why were you planning to leave him and go to another one? Rafayel could not explain himself.

"Who was it?" he asked, looking at you, who was sitting on the couch with the phone in your hand.

"Zayne. He asked me out."

"Like a date?"

You didn't give him an answer. That made Rafayel lose his cool. The man was jealous of another man, both fighting for your affection. Is it worth it? 100%

Rafayel saw the doctor several times when he accompanied you for some tests at the hospital. He was tall, handsome and calm. It gave off a cold, robotic vibe.

Did you like this? A heart of ice?

He certainly didn't have it, his personality being the exact opposite of Zayne's, but he didn't feel like he was behind in the race to win your heart. You spent a lot of time with him, giving your opinion on the works he made, many being dedicated to you without knowing it.

Jealousy was a whore. He felt terrible, but if in the end it meant she would be his, he could resist. He promised himself that no matter what, the years spent waiting for the love of his life would not be in vain, so that he will win your love.

Without knowing it, Zayne made the same promise.

But well... When two fight, the third wins, right?

[smusherina]

bridges burnt - chapter 3 [epilogue series] (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: When an invitation to Gretchen Wieners' wedding ended up in your mailbox, you'd been sure it was a mistake. Only, it read your name in neat, swoopy calligraphy. It was addressed to you. And Regina George, whom you hadn't spoken to in years.

additional clarification: This is set in the universe of yard work, a series of mine that can be found on my page! Reading this one might be a bit challenging without the context of the series :)

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 4

You were leaning against the wall, an unlit cigarette in your mouth. Nicotine was the only substance you hadn't been able to cut off entirely. You smoked less now and were trying to quit, but it wasn't quite so easy. You had made a promise to smoke only once a day. This would be your third if you lit up.

"Need a light?" Janis rounded the corner, already inhaling. The scent of the smoke solved your dilemma. Fuck it. She exhaled as she extended her lighter to you. An old zippo. It was gold-ish in colour, engraved with shapes that were wearing away. You were pretty sure if she were to sell it, she'd get several hundred for it.

"Thanks." Maybe this was the universe telling you that it'd be okay. Just today. Just today, you could smoke all the goddamned cigarettes you wanted.

"When'd you and Regina get back together?" Janis leaned against the porch railing across from you. Behind her was a pretty hillside that led down into a thick forest. The sky was grey and not much light penetrated the dense clouds, making the woods look that much grimmer. You'd rather be there than here.

"A while ago." You might've not seen her in years but you knew when she was plotting something. That kiss out in the open like that was a clue, a wordless message she trusted you to get on your own. You were together. You didn't know what she was playing at or why you were going along with it. Probably old habits.

Janis snorted. "Romantic. Mia would kill me if I said we've been together for a while."

"Get off my dick, Janis," You snapped unnecessarily. You didn't want to be on the spot like this. You couldn't give many details and risk contradicting Regina.

(Why couldn't you? Why didn't you say, "Oh, hey, actually we're not together" instead of, once more, following her example like a good dog.)

"Jeez, I was just asking. Trouble in paradise? Sure didn't seem that way." She wiggled her eyebrows at you. You wished you hadn't lit up the cig so you could just walk away.

"We're fine. Why's your Mia not here?" You assumed that was her partner.

"I didn't get a plus one." She shrugged. "Besides, not sure she could've gotten out of work. They're doing a merger, or something."

"She's the breadwinner then and you're what? A tortured artist?"

"What you don't realize, my friend, is that I'm winning here. I have a beautiful wife who makes money like a printer, has a 401k and air-tight insurance, and works nine to five while I get to paint my little paintings all day." Janis took a drag. "And she fucks me good."

You groaned. "Janis, please."

"Meanwhile you act like you're better than me when, in fact, I'm happy and you're miserable." She finished off with a snarky smile.

Once upon a time, you'd fantasized about staying in the garage all day, fixing old cars as a hobby, and greeting Regina when she got home from her Real Adult Job, wearing a sexy pantsuit and carrying a mysterious briefcase.

Not anymore. You wore the suits, you carried the briefcase, and you did not fix old cars as a hobby.

"You should give motivational speeches. Think Northshore would love to have you back." You took a deep drag. Deflecting with sarcasm was cheap but effective.

"You think?" Her smile softens. "Seriously, though, how've you been?"

"It's been... Good." It had been good recently. You knew, though, that Janis was asking about the last ten years and not just your week. If you were to compile a list of all the good and bad things from that long a time period, one would be perhaps a page and the other a several-foot scroll. Respectively.

"Wow. I forgot how close-lipped you are." Janis said. You could tell she was disappointed. You'd never been friends, not really, not ever like her and Damian, but there was an understanding between you.

You let up.

"We got back together after college." You swallowed, trodding on eggshells, being as vague as possible. "I was cleaning up my act, trying to get away from it all. Moved back into town and met Regina coincidentally. Rest is history, I suppose." You eyed the hills. The view turned into misty nothingness before you could tell if it was the ocean there or more land.

"I heard your dad passed," Janis said, blunt but not mean. "Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, I guess." You rubbed your forehead. It wasn't tactful to tell a near-stranger that you weren't actually all that upset about it. "To be honest, it was a long time coming. He was in bad shape."

He'd gotten ill when you were in college. At first, all the business stuff was being handled by his team but as more and more time passed and he showed no signs of getting better, he started nagging you to do more for the company.

What the fuck you were gonna do? You didn't know shit about business and, besides, were high out of your mind half the time. You didn't want any of it, didn't want his blood money and shady practices. But you were gonna get it.

Now, you could say you had things under control. Somewhat. You sold some locations, passed them off to people better suited, and sure, lost some money in the process but you weren't ambitious like your dad had been.

If it was up to you, you'd keep the one shop you'd always worked at and make an honest, humble living the remainder of your days. Start a project you could work on for the next several years and be content.

"Sorry to hear that." Janis stumped her cigarette on the ground. You did the same, dropping the stub and snuffing it out with your shoe.

"Well." You sighed. "I'm not."

With that, you turned and walked back towards the doors leading into the hall. Janis followed behind you.

People were still mingling around the place, the bride and groom yet to make an entrance. Your table was somewhere in the middle, not one of the important ones but with a clear view of the stage and where the important people were meant to be sitting.

The mother of the bride was eyeing the room like a hawk scanning for prey. Her eyes didn't catch yours but you could tell she was keen on Janis. The all-black ensemble stood out almost as much as Regina's white stole.

Speaking of her. She was sitting and chatting with Shane, seeming cool and casual. Damian was there too, engaged and laughing at the right parts.

You approached deliberately slowly, trying to hear what they were talking about before you sat down.

"-came back to town after college and we hit it off." She turned her head slightly and made eye contact with you. "Baby," She greeted you.

You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling warm. "Reg," You sat down and, as casually as you could, draped an arm over the back of her chair.

"I was just telling Shane how we met." Her sharp eyes met yours. "What'd you tell Janis?"

You needed to get your stories straight. Act natural. It was sheer luck you'd both set the same timeline.

"I was just telling her how we met up after college. If I remember correctly, wasn't it, uh, at uh..." You fumbled. "The grocery store?"

"Yes, mom saw you and I'm sure she didn't let you leave without a date set for when you'd come to dinner." Regina finished for you. Shane was buying it, slowly crawling out of his shell. You were quickly realizing that the gay people had all been shoved to one table. Hopefully, that didn't bode anything.

"That's Mrs George for you." You knew it was Ms now but old habits die hard.

Regina smiled at you, hand coming to rest on your knee. You shivered. It scared you how genuine she seemed. She could be awarded an Oscar for this shit.

You watched her, really looked at her. She was still so beautiful. She'd always been pretty beyond belief, gorgeous like a movie star, but the confidence she carried with herself now made it all a stunning, deadly combination.

Even so, you couldn't help feeling melancholy. You hadn't seen any of it, certainly were not the reason for it, and chances were this little scheme she was cooking up was at your expense. She had every right to seek vengeance against you.

You wondered if it was worth it to try and enjoy it. Would it hurt to dream a little? You could use a break from practicality.

You closed your eyes for a moment.

"Baby?" Your eyes fluttered open as her hand came to caress your cheek. You leaned into the touch.

"Yeah?" You asked and tilted forward, closer to her. Regina mirrored you, putting a hand on your knee and leaning some of her weight on it as her lips neared yours.

"Just focus on me," She grinned and you resisted the urge to steal a kiss. "Trust me."

"Always." You whispered, reverent in just the same way you used to be. You'd known it for a long time, the irresistible fate you'd sworn yourself to, that you'd go back to her every time.

"Ehem," Someone cleared their throat behind you. You went to look but Regina kept a hold on you. She placed a languid kiss on your lips, sending your mind into orbit, before turning towards the person so rudely invading your bubble.

"Yes?" She almost hissed, smiling in a way that was more like a threat. All teeth and sharp edges.

"The bride and groom are about to enter, so it would be really, really nice if you two could can it for a few moments, 'kay? Thanks!" The maid of honour chirped, voice so high pitched you had to wonder if she was inhaling helium on her off-time.

Regina watched her scurry away, eyes going up and down her retreating back in a manner that surely should've made you jealous. You knew, though, that for one, Regina didn't like girls that wore dresses and, secondly, that she was up to something. She wasn't checking out the maid of honour—she wished—but evaluating her.

"What a bitch, right?" Regina turned to the rest of the table with a sneer on her face.

You bit your cheek to hide a smile as everybody agreed. This was going to be utter shit. Total, absolute chaos with a side of heartbreak and, potentially, a ruined wedding.

You dreaded it. You anticipated it. Both could be true at once.

Notes: Hello all! Been some time! I've been in my summer groove, having a proper vacation. It's been liberating. Hopefully there's some interested readers for this series :) Taglist posted separately! If you want to be added, comment on that post please.

[redheadspark]

may i have Benedict x reader from bridgerton with prompt #25

A/N - So cute for Benedict! Thanks for the request, anon!

Overflowed

Summary - Benedict knows how to make you smile

Warnings - Angst and fluff rolled into one :)

If there was one thing you loved about your life being a Bridgerton, it was how it was never boring or mundane.

It all started when you met your future husband, Benedict.  You both were attending art class at one of the most prestigious schools in the area, sitting side by side during one of the night classes and going through one of the lectures.  Benedict came from a wealthy family, prestigious family, which that had a major reputation for being well-loved and compassionate in charities and amongst other families.  You heard about his family for some time, though your family was not part of that circle since you were not well off.  In fact, you were attending the art school on a full-ride scholarship, not wanting to take it for granted and keeping your nose in your books and canvas.  But that night as Benedict plopped down next to you with his laptop out and ready to try, he looked over at you as you were handwriting your notes instead of typing it out.

He smiled, leaning over and saying in a low tone, “I like your handwriting.  It’s lovely,”

It was safe to say you are smitten with him from then on out.

You both sat together for the rest of the semester, learning about each other and becoming friends.  All of those rumors and stories that you hear about his family both seemed true and untrue.  He was kind, and humble in his upbringing and just wishing to be a better artist but not afraid to talk about his family and all of their endeavors.  He showed interest in you and what you liked about art, which pieces you liked and hated.  Although you were hesitant and wanted to keep your guard up when it came to letting in someone new in your life, Benedict snuck in always. 

Your first date was actually at the local county fair, Benedict asked you out after several months of building a friendship. It was surprising that he took you to a county fair, some of your other friends were already spewing theories about him taking you to a luxury restaurant or even on a yacht since his older brother Anthony did that with his now wife Kate. But not with Benedict, he would prefer to laugh with you and eat fried fair food and look at the street vendors.  

He made you laugh while attempting to win you a stuffed animal at the games, though you tried to warn him that they were rigged.  Benedict threw one baseball a bit too hard and almost broke the tent wall behind the plate that he was attempting to smash.  You laughed, the vendor scowling at him as Benedict took your hand and you both bolted before you were caught.  Benedict loved the sound of your laugh, he mentally would remember that moment for the rest of his life.  Throughout the night, you felt your walls coming down slowly with him and how he made you smile and giggle without you realizing what he was doing. Benedict was more down to earth than anything that night, then taking you to the local art show that was placed in the back of the fair.  

“I thought you would rather see something like this than at a fancy gallery,” He explained, you grinning from ear to ear as you both were gazing at the paintings and sketches from local painters and artist that were selling their art.  To think that he had all the money he would ever need, the reputation to be put in the pockets of people with power, but he simply wanted to be with you.

You shared your first kiss that night, his lips tasting of popcorn and soda pop.

Dating Benedict was both thrilling and intimidating at the same time. You were taken into his world, filled with wealthy relatives and charities that would sell dinner seats for thousands of dollars.  You barely had 1000 dollars to your name, let alone in your savings, but Benedict never minded it.  His own family was insanely sweet and kind to you, seeing how you made the artist in the family so happy and filled with joy.  Of course, they would tease you about his aloofness and his quirky nature, but you saw the same compassion and authenticity that was in Benedict in each of his siblings and his kind mother.  

However, you were a fish out of water with those dinners and events that you attended on Benedict’s arm.  The small talk with the fellow guests seemed forced and almost dry, Most of them were grilling you with questions about your own life, if you came from a rich family, or if you had any investments.  The pressure was a bit much at times, Benedict sensing it when you sat side by side during the dinners.  But the great thing about Benedict was that he would attempt to make you laugh during those tense moments, by any means necessary.  Comments under his breath, jokes that he knew were not great dinner conversation, his sense of humor was once again winning and making you come out of your shell a bit more.

Anthony could have sworn he saw you giggling and hiding your smile behind your napkin as Benedict whispered in your ear.  Anthony knew it then, you two were meant to be together.

Not everything was happy and positive with you two when it came to your love for one another. Because of your more humbled upbringing, your family bought of Benedict as dragging you along to use you.  It was hard to hear that from them, they all thought it was some kind of ruse and not real.  No matter how many times you defended your love for Benedict and told them constantly that you both were insanely happy together.  Even your ex was spewing hate on your relationship, which hurt a bit more since you and your ex were a bit sour together.  

But in the end, Benedict always came through by comforting you and making you feel safe.  He would constantly hug you and remind you that you were strong and adored, that you’d come so far in earning your degree and working at a gallery, fighting tooth and nail with your advantages and no leg up.  He admired you for that, and to see you feel defeated by others and their words broke his heart.  Plenty of nights were shared holding each other and talking through those bitter moments, it felt better to talk to him about it and get it off your chest than to hold it in.

And every time, Benedict would end up making you laugh and bringing you joy.  

“I think I found mummy!”  You looked up from your spot on the loveseat, holding an important letter in your fingers as your husband waltzed into the room with your 3-year-old daughter on his back and squealing in joy.  You beamed, watching your husband act like a horse and neighing as he was galloping around the small living room and your daughter laughing her head off with her ringlets dancing behind her.  

“Look, mummy!  Daddy’s a horsey!” She shrieked as Benedict was going in circles around your loveseat, you placing the letter on the coffee table and standing up with your hands on your hips.

“Quite the handsome horse too!” You teased, Benedict, slowing down and laughing as he stood in front of you.  Your daughter, Emma Violet Bridgerton, poked her head over his shoulder and you saw the same shade of green that her father had in her eyes.  She reached out to you with grabby hands, to which you scooped her in your arms to hug her tight, breathing in her sweet scent and feeling her arms around you.

5 years of marriage was no easy feat, but it was rewarding.  You both got married in the spring, then found a decent apartment in the downtown area that was close to the gallery you were now running and Benedict sold some of his work to get some money in your pockets. He would rather make money not by his name but by his art, using an alias with his art and not giving out his true identity.  It worked in his favor, his work being sold globally and making his alias a household name.  Your net worth grew, though tedious at times, but it grew nonetheless.  

So the news that you were pregnant two years into your marriage was a surprise, but the best kind since Benedict was over the moon at the thought of being a father.  Sure, he never thought about being a father so soon, but he didn't despise the thought of it.   Yet you were the one who was afraid of parenthood, mostly because of your own experience with your parents and how they were with you.  They were harsh, far too realistic, and at times brutal.  Did you want to inflict that on your own child?

“You are not your mum and dad,” Benedict reminded you one night as you two were lying in bed, you telling him what was festering in your mind and what you were fearing.  He had one arm around your shoulders, and his other hand was resting on your lower stomach while he was staring at you lovingly, “We are gonna love this baby and make sure that there is nothing but happiness in this home.  Plus, I bet you we’ll make mistakes here and there.  Especially me, I bet you I’m gonna put the diaper on the wrong way,”

You smiled softly, “More than once?” You asked to ask sheepishly, Benedict’s smile got wide.

“Are you kidding, over a dozen times at least!” He explained, you laughing as he went on, “And I’ll be singing to our baby with my horrible singing voice, you’re gonna hate it!”

As soon as Emma Violet Bridgerton was born, Benedict was over the moon in love with her.

“We were looking for you in hopes you were wanting to come get ice cream with us!” Benedict explained to you as Emma perked up and looked at you with her father’s eyes she inherited.

“Can we, mum?” She asked with hope in her voice, you eyeing her and then her father.

“Before dinner?” You asked in a joking tone, Emma giggling glee as you tickled her sides, “The scandal of it all!  What will the neighbors say!  We must get ice cream then since I have been craving chocolate!”

“Hooray!” Emma said in victory, the there of you walking out of the living room together as a happy family.  You left the letter behind, another disappointing letter from your parents who were reprimanding you for shielding your daughter from her grandparents.  But you were having none of it, you may have before when things were still tender with them. Yet not now, not with this life that was overflowing with happiness.  

The overflowing will never end, not if Benedict had anything to do with it.

The End.

May Prompt Session

[sheluvslani]

Good Luck, Babe!

Pairing: Mabel x fem!reader

Warnings: angsty, implied hookup, toxic marriage with Charlie, Mabel going back to r because she misses them

A/n: havenʻt written in forever omg, also I never watched finestkind and pretty much looked up the summary on wikipedia so… yeah donʻt get mad at me if i made shit up

Being a drug dealer wasnʻt Mabelʻs first option. An easy one, sure. But not her ideal one.

She always wanted to be an artist, her teachers in high school told her sheʻd go far. She applied for art school, but couldnʻt get in due to the amount of applicants. Never would anyone believe she was in this position now. She would drive to sketchy places, earning her a couple scratches and a couple bruises, but damn, the money was worth it.

When she met you, god was she the happiest sheʻd ever been. She still sold drugs on the side to make extra cash, but took a job at a bar downtown for her primary income, just to make you happy. The both of you even rented an apartment and moved in together, the relationship moved quite quickly but she didnʻt mind because she knew you were the one.

After what seemed like the best 6 months of your life, you noticed Mabelʻs behavior had started to change. She was much more violent than before. She would yell, pick fights for a reason as small as not picking up a sock you dropped on the floor the day before. It honestly made you rethink your entire relationship with her. She had admitted that she didnʻt want a relationship anymore, that she wasnʻt going to commit to someone she had 0 chemistry with, not knowing the impact of her words on you. You didnʻt call it off though, being scared at the thought of being with somebody else that wasnʻt her.

One night, there was a huge fight at the bar. She tried to break it up but ended up with a bloody nose and a black eye. She came home that night with an ice pack pressed to the side of her face. When she opened the door, she expected to see you there but was met with the realization that you had left.

All your stuff was packed up. Your clothes that she often wore, your jewelry that she thought looked so amazing on you, your scent that reminded her of you that once filled the space was gone. Replaced with the stench of stale coffee from a pot that she forgot to empty out this morning. The whole apartment felt so empty compared to when you were there, filling the space with the life that Mabel wished for ever since she was little.

That was over a year ago.

Since then, Mabel quit her job and started selling drugs again out of spite. She was miserable without you. She tried to forget you, she really did. She tried filling the hole you left in her with alcohol, but the warmth in her chest was nothing to the warmth she felt when she was with you.

But thatʻs also when she met Charlie, an older guy that somehow took an early interest in her when he came down to Massachusetts to pay a visit to his older brother. She met him in the bar, eventually taking him back to her place and hooking up with him. Both of them were drunk, neither knew any better. He was a great guy, sure. But nothing compared to you

But Charlie eventually fell in love with Mabel. And since Mabel knew she couldnʻt win you back because of what she did, she gave in. They got married and he moved into her apartment.

She would come home at night to Charlie passed out on the couch, beer bottles scattered on the coffee table in front of him, half-smoked cigarettes laying in dirty ashtray, and the TV on to some boring fishing program. She hated that every night she would have to clean up after him. You never did that, she thought. It was always the small things that you did that pestered her, and she wished she could take it all back.

Was this her life now, she thought. Cleaning up after some drunk, disgusting man-baby every night? Doing all the housework as he gets to sit down and watch TV all day without a care in the world?

That night, she laid down on her back, staring up at the ceiling with Charlie sound asleep next to her. Her mind was plagued with thoughts of you and what the both of you couldʻve been. Would you two be married? Moved to a different state? Have kids? God, she missed you.

She sat up, head in her hands as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She wished she could take it all back. Every argument, every time she made you feel like shit, every time she said something that she shouldnʻt have. You were perfect, too good for her, in fact. She quietly wiped her tears away, her eyes becoming red and puffy.

She looked down at Charlieʻs sleeping form, regret washing over her face. She was nothing more than his wife. She carefully got up out of her bed and grabbed her phone, dialing your number that sheʻd memorized all those years ago.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You sat in your bedroom painting your nails and watching a rerun of Friends as a vanilla candle burned on your bedside table next to you, causing a warm glow on your features.

Your ringtone on your phone started going off, so you reached over and grabbed it, answering the unknown number.

“Hello?” You spoke into the speaker as you rested the phone between your head and shoulder.

A quiet voice replied on the other line, one that you knew all too well. “Hey…” She mumbled. “I messed up…”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mabel was quick to your doorstep soon after, ringing the doorbell as she nervously waited on the welcome mat, playing with the wedding ring on her finger before slipping it off and putting it inside her pocket.

You answered the door after a while, your soft gaze that she missed so much meeting her own as you stood in front of her.

A smirk tugged at your lips as you let her in. “You know I hate to say it… But I told you so.” But before she could call you out on your antics, your lips met hers, warm and inviting as she melted into your embrace.

[beatleskinkmeme]

Summer of Love Fanworks-a-thon Master Post

Please check out these fanworks and leave a comment!

Grateful for him by @johangeorghohman

5 + 1 things, 5 times George wished that Paul never met John (because George has a big fat schoolboy crush on Paul) + 1 time he was grateful that they did met

everything to be discovered by @backbenttulips

John and Paul exploring a romantic relationship with each other during the 2000s-2010s, and navigating life as famous old people and grandparents.

the size of a loneliness by @backbenttulips

Brian survives his overdose in 1967. John and Paul come stay to make sure he gets better, taking care of him in their own emotionally inept way.

Knocking at Your Door by @eveepe

5+1 fic. When they’re kids George learns that an easy way to calm Paul down when he’s getting the horrors is to give him a quick little kiss on the mouth. It becomes his go to method to soothe Paul when he needs to.

I Fancy Me Chances With You by @hootiepgh

Paul participates in a charity auction during the 70s. “Bid on a date with Paul McCartney” John pays an absurd amount of money to win. Paul is shocked. They go on the date and they’re both very awkward, neither are sure why John paid so much and what it entails.

I'll Never Do You No Harm by @hootiepgh

Aftermath of the "I want a divorce meeting," when Mal drives Paul home. Paul is broken and crying. Mal calls John and tells him how upset Paul is. John comes over. All the angst please!

But as the words are leaving his lips, a noise comes from behind by @hootiepgh

Mid-1969, Allen Klein and the Beatles are having a private meeting with Allen still trying to convince them to have him be their manager. He gets really frustrated and lashes out at one or all of them, and in an act of self defense Paul, Ringo, George, and John end up accidentally killing him. Afraid of what might happen if anyone finds out, they all agree to cover up their involvement in the crime. Their personal lives/ marriages start to crumble as they're forced to rely on each other as the only people they trust. Would like the inclusion of McLennon and George X Ringo

If I Needed Someone by @hootiepgh

Paul gets shot during the 1966 Memphis concert. John (doesn't) deals with the angst and the guilt.

Taking Trophies by @m1ssunderstanding

AU where John and Paul see each other sooner, forced into confrontation around 1971 when things were at their worst with John spewing his anger to the public and Paul taken aback by it. Of course this leads to some post-breakup, angsty, possessive sex.

Everybody Loves Somebody by @bewareofdarkness

Soulmark AU, the four of them are soulmates

invisible string by @scurator

McHarrison boat vibes on the Queen Mary for the Venus and Mars release party. Um, bonus points for George showing off that he won Bob Dylan in the divorce

deeper than oceans you run by @timrothencrantz

AU where they went through with doing Beatle island and establish their commune (?) or whatever the plan was. Polyamory ensues. This either fixes everything or makes everything worse (or somehow both)

yellow, orange, and blue, i love you by @menlove

Soulmates au where one sees colour for the first time when you touch your soulmate. I believe it would be fun to see how this would play out. This one could be a fic, a comic page or even an illustration where the boys realise what happened when they introduce themselves, whatever the artist prefers!

take it away by @monkberryfields

Younger John meets an older Paul at a record shop. Paul offers to teach John how to tune his guitar and play a few chords but at a price...

Posy by @ohjohnnysblog

Mclennon does a roleplay where they pretend John is a shy virgin groupie. Bottom! John

Banana Milkshakes and Armpit Hair by @crepesuzette2023

Will someone finally come on Paul's eyelashes?

I ain't no fool, and I don't take what I don't want by @crepesuzette2023

Mal and Paul make love al fresco during one of their trips. Paul wears nothing but the flimsy scarf he's seen wearing here.

all by design by @forthlin

the classic “john and paul do increasingly sexual things with each other while coming up with increasingly elaborate justifications for why it’s not gay” scenario, except they both DO know that it’s gay, they just each think they’re pulling a fast one by convincing the other one that this is normal guys-being-dudes behavior.

I've Just Seen a Face by @javelinbk

when John met Paul

Meeting on the Turret Stairs by @sleeper9

a John/Paul moment backstage (Hamburg/touring years/rooftop/artist's choice) based on the piece, Hellelil and Hildebrand, the Meeting on the Turret Stairs by Frederic William Burton.

Oh no, he's beautiful by @sleeper9

The first time John wears his glasses around Paul he finally gets to actually see Paul's face and oh no, he's beautiful

Run For Your Life by @pie-of-flames

A recut of any footage into some kind of Beatles horror movie trailer (maybe Paul is dead?)

**This will be updated as we get more fanworks!!

[jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear]

A humble request

I'm reaching out to the community for what may seem like a selfish reason, but something in my heart says that I gotta try. Asking for help is better than wallowing in sorrow.

My birthday is coming up next month, July 15. With the way things are going, this will probably be my first birthday spent alone, or at least, without mom (Unless things change radically, she won't be home by then or likely any time within the next few months) Now you gotta understand, I was born a year after my mom lost a child due to a deformity that is so severe and so rare, the baby never survives or makes it to birth. She wanted me badly, and while I struggle with that some days....I know I mean a lot to her.

Mom cared so much that she ALWAYS made Christmas and birthday special. She would fulfill my lists if she had the money (as I got older I grew guilty, and would often ask for less as years went on) and she always made sure I got something I wanted. Many times she would surprise me with gifts I didn't even know I wanted. Last Christmas, it was a beautiful coyote pelt. Do ya'll remember the btas scarecrow cake, or the handmade cupcakes with the fear symbol? She made those happen. She even paid to fly my brother (my hero) from Seattle to Kansas City for an event while I was taking classes at KCAI

I...don't think, unless dad gets me something, which he hinted he would but....I wont have that "special" surprise gift from mom. I could live without my amazon wish list, that's whatever. it's the way she always made that day matter that I'm going to miss. I'm crying typing this...

So, that's why I'd like to ask something of the rogues fandom

Could the artists, writers, crafters, creatives....come together and make sure that day isn't miserable? I'm not lying when I say I can count on my finger the days I've gone without crying or breaking down in someway since March. To put it bluntly and selfishly, I'm asking for some art, maybe a doodle of jon (or dm me for other characters I like!) or a little drabble about a headcanon I like. I wanna wake up on the 15th with my inbox full of love. I'm not asking for you to slave over photoshop for hours, but just something simple to make the day less depressing. When I told ya'll about my bad day and asked for positive messages, I woke up the next day with 20+ of them. That meant so much.

And all I want is to spend my birthday happy, and not in tears.

I'm sorry to sound so greedy....but y'all have shown me many times over, that internet strangers can show the most amazing amount love and care. And honestly, gift art would matter way more than physical things. Every single time you guys make me something, I save it to a gift art folder on my computer. I save every single thing.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for calling a (now ex-) mutual a stingy asshole?

So to start, I (NB20) am in a pretty rough situation, I'm facing homelessness soon, transphobia at home and work and my hours have been getting cut resulting in me making even less money that can sustain me. I have a toyhou.se forum post up stating I have emergency commissions open to help me out and to please support me if you can. This is where the situation begins. I have a mutual on toyhou.se who I'll call Apple (MTF22) I talk to sometimes to the point I'd say we are friends, not super close but friends nonetheless. She made a bulletin telling people about my commissions and to please comm me if they could which I'm very grateful for since I did get a few customers from her because of that. The thing is, a few weeks later, she made a bulletin talking about how happy she was so many commissions she bought were finished around the same time and posted all of them with the artists tagged in the post. It was honestly... quite a few, I'm talking like 9 pieces of art of her fursona and even a custom vtuber model she got of her sona. I was going to reply all happy for her, but it made me think... how much did she spend on those commissions?? So I went through all the artists socials to find their commission prices and came to a total of fucking $385!!! More than half of my current goal I'm trying to make through commissions to stay out of homelessness!! So I messaged Apple saying since I saw she bought a few commissions if she was interested in buying a comm from me. She replies saying "Ohh! I'd love to <333 but im just not in a place to buy any more comms right now :< sorry >.<!!" So I casually reply really? because it seems like your in the perfect place to help me out after already spending over $300 in commissions. She tells me she's sorry and really wishes someone would be able to help me out but she just wasn't that interested in my art or a custom to which I tell her she could've easily donated to my ko-fi which I have always had since she clearly has money to spend? To this, she straight up IP blocks me. So still fucking annoyed, I vented in a discord server I share with a few friends from being in a few shared CS together, saying how annoying it is rich assholes like her would drop half a thousand for a picture of their fursona but don't even blink twice at their so called friends. anyway, one of my friends takes a look at Apples th profile and notices she has a new bulletin up and sends me a screenshot, but anways the bulletin reads like "hey!! just saying, but please dont come into my dms acting like you know my financial situation better than i do, just because i buy a lot of commissions doesnt mean im made of money! and please dont think that me commisioning artist 1 means i hate artist 2? thats so weird, thanks!!!!!" and seeing all their subscribers just kissing her ass pissed me off so i made my own bulletin that just stated "i thought it was pretty fucking weird to know how bad ur friend's situation was and to go buy a bunch of comms instead of buying a comm from or even throwing a buck to help me out? like yeah im gonna think i know ur situation better than u, you stingy fuck!!!" Anyway, she mustve been block evading (which I reported her for) since she unblocked me, took a screenshot of my bulletin, then went on about how she lived in an abusive household; her dad had thrown her into a sink and chipped her tooth, bruised half her face and scarred it pretty badly. She bought a bunch of commissions immediately afterwards in a panic to make herself feel better, paying everything with her savings. Which to me.. isn't an excuse. Ive been hit and abused and still found scraps of money to pull together to give to mutuals who need it and Ive been bumping my own post like crazy and she had literal weeks to donate or comm me. Not to mention Ive had exmutuals of hers come to me saying that shes never donated anything to them either despite advertising their posts but always had money for plushies, comms and other crap, meaning Im not alone in thinking shes a stingy asshole. This is getting long, so here, tumblr AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[someghostwriter]

VOICE

shoto todoroki x fem idol!reader

tags: slowburn, singer!reader, pre-ua for a bit, angst, pining, complex family dynamics

a/n: i havent written todoroki before, actually ive only ever written bakugo but that was in 2018 so this may not be good!! Im bad at writing, but i feel like im slowly getting better! please let me know if you want more of this!!

prolouge // 1

PROLOUGE

You wish you could have become a hero. Instead, here you were, stuck in a different career path: to become a teen idol.

When your family found out your quirk had no real potential to be a hero, they chose to turn you into a star. Your quirk allowed your voice to hypnotize. Not to an insanely high degree, it just made anyone who heard your voice obsessed with it- You called it Voice, to make things simple. It came from your mom's siren quirk- one she used to become a hero. Your dad's quirk was to make people crazy, so that's probably where you got the obsessive part of your voice.

It didn't mean much. It just meant that since you were young, your parents forced you to take many voice lessons. To teach you how to sing, even if your quirk was activated constantly with no off switch. Just to make sure that one day, when you became a star, there would be no way that people wouldn't love you. 

You were 15, sitting on a park bench, realizing that your dream of being a hero would never come true. That your only realistic option was to be a star.

You waited there. as if someone was to come along, give you a better quirk, and tell you that you could be a hero. Someone to scoop you up and free you, not from being an idol, from being disappointed that you would never be able to save someone's life. not directly.

Tears welled up, and you were quick to look at the sky. You couldn't ruin your makeup, no way, your father would get on you for it. That you need to keep appearances proper and fresh. They loved you, that you knew. But they couldn't help but be harsh on you sometimes, to the point that it hurt your hopes. Especially with the idea of becoming a hero.

They were so quick to say that you'd never be a hero, why?

You sighed, knowing that this second-best option wasn't horrible. No, it was pretty awesome. You loved singing, and you knew you enjoyed your performances. But you could never get over your first dream. Someday you'd adjust to singing, and you'd be famous. You were sure of it.

Opening your phone camera to check and see that there was no makeup running down your face, you stood and began walking towards the studio that you were expected to be at soon. It might have been the middle of summer, but now that you got taken out of school to focus on becoming a teen idol, you were busy- a lot. The 15 minutes you sat in that park, debating your life choices was probably the most free time you had. The rest of it was spent recording songs and doing things with the public to increase your following. You were slowly but steadily gaining more followers and listeners since your first performance, which you hyped up a lot.

Your end goal was to become #1, which was going to be a challenge knowing that you were aiming that before high school even started you'd be high-ranked as an artist, but you didn't mind too much. It was ambitious, sure, but you had confidence in your voice. Even if it meant wearing outfits that you had no real opinion on but it wasn't your vibe. Even if it meant singing on a stage with eyes on you, so many eyes watching your every move. You could make enough money to have a stable life, you hoped. You hoped that you would have the break through every artist had.

if you didn't embarrass yourself first.

You sighed, picking up the pace to your studio, hoping that you wouldn't end up being late again. It was just around the corner, sure, but you knew there was a lot of leg traffic in this specific area. It made everything a lot harder, especially if one person ended up recognizing you. While good for publicity, it was awkward to be confronted- something you were yet to get use to.

Except, running into some guy in the less crowded area wasn't on your bucket list. You were too in your own world to see the guy in front of you, on the wrong side of the pathway and staring at the ground, and ran right into him. Embarrassing. You immediately backed up, spilling apologies that probably made zero sense with how quickly you were saying it. You looked at the boy in front of you, spurring one last apology before you realized how pretty this boy was.

Half red, half white hair. It wasn't a combo you usually saw, but you were curious about the idea of what quirk it might be related to, as it wasn't very normal to have dual-colored hair. Or maybe he dyed his hair. He was staring at you, too, but with more of a worried yet cold expression. It was intimidating, how pretty yet stone-cold he was. 

"Uh, hello?" 

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you realized you were staring for a little bit too long. Where did the time go? No idea. You sputtered more apologies, awkwardly fidgeting with your hands as you did.

"It's- I'm sorry I ran into you. Are you hurt?" He spoke with some kind of sincerity, but a lot more confusion than anything. Were you speaking that fast? You chuckled, fidgeting with your outfit a little.

"I'm okay, just caught off guard. Sorry, I didn't mean to run into you." You bowed your head a little, just to show that you were sorry. You looked back at the boy, swaying side to side, awkward silence ensuing, only showing the awkwardness between you two.

"Um, I need to go, but uh, nice meeting you?? Have a good day!" You spoke quickly, ducking around him and moving forward, leaving the boy confused in the middle of the walkway. That was embarrassing. You continued towards your studio, finally making it inside. You ushered yourself towards the lady at the front desk, checking yourself in before moving towards the back where the recording studio that you and your father were renting out for you.

Opening the door, you readied yourself for the sting of your father scolding you for being late- and the performance of the song you recently wrote. 

[thefrogman]

Recently I took a panorama of the Pittsburgh skyline at night that got a positive response. That was done on the spur of the moment with an iPhone. I want to do that again and more, but this time with a dedicated camera setup. It's been years since I've had one, so I'm basically starting over again. I'm mostly interested in getting day and night cityscapes, and maybe the carryings-on at this year's Anthrocon. Would you have any particular knowledge to pass on as I set off on this journey?

Since you didn't specify a budget I'm going to assume it is in the $10K range.

And you're probably thinking I'm going to suggest a Leica. Every dentist and his brother (who is also a dentist) gets a Leica. But I just can't take a camera brand seriously when they charge you an extra $2200 for the privilege of not being able to shoot in color.

Sure, you can hit a single button in Lightroom to get B&W and save some money, but then you won't be able to brag about how limiting yourself to only shades of gray has opened up new artistic pathways in your brain while a clueless person responds in mumbles during their root canal.

What you really want for your landscapes is a Hassie.

They were the first camera on the moon! How could you *not* want a Hasselblad? That is some camera gorgeousness right there. And it's so reasonably priced*!

*compared to their previous $40,000 camera systems.

And if you are doing landscapes with the Hassie you'll need a nice wide angle lens to go with it. This one is actually quite affordable*!

*compared to their previous $8000 lenses.

Can we all agree that is a work of art? They even use their H logo as the knurling.

That is just so... extra. And I love it.

Out of the entire alphabet I've heard Hs give you the best grip.

Man, I almost wish I was a dentist just so I could buy a fancy camera.

Sorry... I was just having a little fun.

I never get to recommend the super cool expensive cameras. Because, ya know, the economy and the fact that only dentists have Hasselblad money.

You probably think I'm being silly but there actually is an entire community of dentist photographers keeping the high end camera market alive.

Okay, let's get started...

Landscape Buying Guide

Opening Thoughts

For landscapes I would highly suggest a full frame camera and a high quality wide angle lens.

Full frame has several advantages but it is not necessary. You can go with a smaller sensor like APS-C and get great images. Personally I would not go any smaller, but there have been some great landscapes taken on micro 4/3 and even smartphones. Technique, knowledge, experience, and composition will usually win the day over a camera, but having a nice camera makes things a lot easier.

At this point, with full frame options being very affordable now, the main reason to get a smaller sensor is if you want a smaller system that is easier to carry for extended periods and easier to pack when traveling. Or if you aren't sure you want to take on photography as a hobby, you can get an old APS-C DSLR for under $200 to learn with and test out.

So if you need a very cheap OR very compact system, APS-C and Micro 4/3 might be worth considering, but a bigger sensor will cause less frustration most of the time.

Froggie Note: The expensive Micro 4/3 and APS-C systems are the compact ones. The cheap systems are about as bulky as full frame.

The biggest advantages to full frame are low light shooting, lens selection, and field of view. Full frame cameras have many, many more lenses to choose from. And since the sensor is bigger, it is much easier to get a wider field of view that is often needed for landscapes. And the high ISO noise performance tends to be better on full frame.

However, you can use full frame lenses on APS-C camera bodies within the same ecosystem. They just get a little... zoomier. Roughly 1.5x zoomier. A 35mm acts like a 50mm, for example. So if you want to spend a little less now you can get an APS-C camera with a full frame lens and then upgrade to full frame later on without having to buy a new lens. Full frame lenses work on APS-C bodies but not the other way around.

Most landscapists have a really solid 16-35mm lens and that covers almost all of their needs. So I would suggest something comparable. Please don't get suckered into some crazy 18-300mm superzoom. Just get the focal range you need for the photos you want to achieve.

A purpose-built lens always outperforms one that was made to do everything.

As far as where to get used gear, I highly recommend using KEH or MPB when buying used camera bodies. They check every device and offer between 3 and 6 months warranty to make sure the device won't crap out on you. Lenses are typically a lot more robust and a safer thing to buy on eBay or Facebook Marketplace if you can find a better deal. But the security of having a warranty and a return apparatus if something goes wrong might be worth the extra price when using these two sites.

I am going to recommend Canon, Nikon, and Sony systems. I feel they have the most complete ecosystems with gear that spans all budget ranges. I'm not saying there aren't good cameras from other brands, but you have to remember every camera has an ecosystem surrounding it. There are accessories and upgrade paths and niche lenses that may not be available with other brands. I think Fuji has some tempting options and if you like the look of vintage film photography, their emulation options are quite stunning. Their cameras are also quite attractive and have very satisfying knobs. But I still can't recommend them unless you have a specific reason for wanting their gear.

Just remember that for every Canon DSLR I recommend there is a comparable Nikon option available as well. There are more lenses for a Canon full frame DSLR body than any other brand with Nikon coming in a close second.

So if you choose not to go mirrorless yet, the Canon and Nikon DSLR camera ecosystems are immense and have tons of gear and accessories available to go with them. And since used gear holds up really well, those ecosystems will survive for decades.

Should you buy a mirrorless camera or a DSLR?

Mirrorless cameras are the latest camera technology for interchangeable lens camera systems. At this point they are superior in every aspect and they continue to improve year by year. Because of that, used DSLRs have plummeted in price. This allows people greater access to a starter ILC (interchangeable lens camera) without a significant investment. You can get professional quality images on either format, but mirrorless has a shallower learning curve and much better automatic modes.

The in-body image stabilization (IBIS) stabilizes *every* lens and the eye tracking autofocus make "focus and re-compose" extinct. These are huge selling points for a lot of people. With IBIS you can take photos with up to 2-4 second shutter speeds without a tripod. And never missing focus on a human or animal or bird is pretty cool too.

DSLR camera bodies are no longer being designed by most of the major manufacturers. Thankfully Canon and Nikon developed plenty of bodies and lenses, so you will always have options and upgrade paths. But you will not be able to upgrade to systems with the latest advanced features.

The best DSLRs available are probably the Nikon D850 and the Canon 5D Mark IV. That is as good as it will ever get. The technology ends there. So if you want to enter an active camera ecosystem then you will have to get a mirrorless camera.

DSLR Camera Systems

Full Frame DSLR Camera Bodies

Canon

If you buy a used DSLR, there are some very affordable full frame options. In fact, the classic much-praised budget full frame Canon 6D can be had for under $300 right now.

This is an old camera. It has no fancy features. It only has 20 megapixels. It just does what it says on the tin. But it has a big sensor and a *ton* of really cool lenses available for it.

If you are specifically looking to create really high resolution panos, you could also look at the 50 megapixel 5DS R for around $1000.

There is a community of landscape pano-maniacs that love to create "gigapans" that have endless amounts of detail where you can zoom in and find new details in every photo. I was only able to create a 120 megapixel photo, but you can still find things like people starting a campfire and a dude fishing and a truck on a far off bridge. So even though this seems expensive for a DSLR, you are looking at another thousand bucks to find anything with more megapixels than this bad boy, so it is quite a good deal relatively speaking.

Nikon

Probably the best DSLRs ever made were the Nikon D800 series and you can get the Nikon D800 for $464.

This is a newer camera than the 6D with more megapixels (36) and a better sensor. It also has a more modern autofocus system and about 3 more stops of dynamic range which can come in handy for landscapes. This is an incredible camera for this price.

APS-C DSLR Camera Bodies

If you aren't sure you want to commit to this hobby, you can look into a Canon APS-C sensor body like the Canon Rebels and Canon 60D through 90D models and get good results.

And there are many Nikon DX APS-C bodies that would be great starter cameras as well. If you get a Nikon, you'd have an upgrade path to the D800 if you get hooked by the photography bug. I would miss a few very special Canon lenses like the 100mm f/2.8L macro and the 400mm f/5.6 telephoto but I'm sure I could figure out some reasonable Nikon alternatives that would do roughly the same thing.

Canon APS-C

There is a Canon 60D for $139 right now that would be perfectly adequate for landscape work on a tripod.

That was my first camera and I took some very nice photos with it. Only 18 megapixels but it has a very convenient flippy screen which was really helpful for a disabled photographer trying to get low angles.

This was in 2014 and I didn't know what I was doing but that is a pretty stellar-looking sunset for a (now) $140 camera.

Nikon APS-C

And the Nikon D3400 would be a great option as well at around $184.

You get some extra megapixels (24) and it is a bit newer than the Canon. I get the sense that used Nikon DSLRs give you more value for your money right now but I don't have a large enough sample size to confirm that.

Full Frame DSLR Lenses

Froggie Note: I am recommending full frame lenses even if you choose an APS-C DSLR body so you have an upgrade path. But also very few purpose-built APS-C lenses had superior glass. Just remember, crop sensor APS-C cameras add ~1.5x to your focal length. So a 16-35mm will have the equivalent field of view of a 24-50mm lens. Still quite acceptable for landscapes, but you may benefit from doing panoramas more often. And if you upgrade to full frame down the road, you'll already have the ideal lens.

Canon DSLR Lenses

If you get the 6D or another Canon you could pair it with the beloved-by-landscapists Canon 16-35mm f/4L.

Honestly, it is blowing my mind you can get that combo for under $600. Me from 12 years ago is super jealous right now.

If you are worried you might need something to work in lower light and still want a zoom, the f/2.8L starts at around $434.

This might be the most famous landscape lens of all time. Kinda boggles the mind how many gorgeous vistas this thing has captured the light of.

If you can live without the zoom, you could get a much sharper prime lens that can also be used in even lower light. A used Sigma 24mm f/1.4 Art lens is $439 would be a fantastic option.

24mm is still a very good focal length for landscapes and the sharpness of this lens lends well to panoramic stitches. Seriously, these art lens are so freaking sharp. Although 35mm is typically preferred for most street photography, I think this would do great for that purpose as well. It couldn't do close up portraits, but 3/4 and full body portraits would look great. I also love this focal length for doggos. It enlarges their heads a bit which enhances adorable-ness.

Though I probably wouldn't recommend the 24mm on APS-C for landscapes as it would put you near a 40mm full frame equivalent field of view.

Nikon DSLR Lenses

And on the Nikon side of things you could get the Nikkor 16-35mm f/4 for $399.

This is a great lens too. Very comparable to the Canon L glass. And paired with that D800 you would have a better shooting experience than with the 6D if it fits within your budget.

It's a little harder to find, but you can also get that same Sigma 24mm f/1.4 Art lens for Nikon at around $528 used on Amazon and in the $400 range on KEH and MPB when it is available.

The older and softer Nikkor 28mm f/1.8 is a little more affordable and easier to find.

What if you are not a dentist but are willing to save up for something a little nicer?

Enter the world of...

Mirrorless Camera Systems

Sony currently has my favorite ecosystem of mirrorless cameras and lenses and they are consistently ahead of the other brands as far as technology and features. In fact, many other manufacturers use Sony sensors. They literally supply their competition with their own tech. They are also pretty good about updating firmware—even with older models. So I feel like Sony has a lot of future-proofing advantages over other brands. Sony has a great selection of 3rd party lenses like Sigma, Tamron, Viltrox, Laowa, Samyang, etc. These lenses often have nearly the same optical quality as Sony's G Master lenses at a fraction of the price.

Full Frame Mirrorless

Currently, I think the best value full frame mirrorless camera for landscapes would be the Sony a7R III.

This is very nearly a top-of-the-line landscape camera for a little over $1200.

That might sound like a lot, but I want to be clear...

This isn't just decent. This isn't "good enough." This is a spectacular professional grade full frame camera.

10 years ago you could spend $6500 for a *worse* camera. 5 years ago you could spend $3000 for a *worse* camera.

It can do every genre of photography except for maybe fast paced sports/action. It has an amazing 42 megapixels—which are not necessary but they do make editing and printing a lot less of a headache. The file sizes can get a little big, but storage is a lot cheaper than it used to be.

Oh, and it can be used for professional quality 4K video work too.

The a7R III comes with all of the modern bells and whistles including in-body stabilization (IBIS) so you can handhold at very slow shutter speeds. It has one of the best autofocus systems—complete with eye tracking. But not just human eyes! Dog eyes. Cat eyes. Bird eyes. If it has an eye, the Sony can probably lock focus on it. And it has an admirable 10 fps burst shooting mode.

APS-C Mirrorless

If you want to enter the Sony ecosystem but can't afford full frame quite yet, you could do the a6400 for about $600.

You still get the eye-tracking and the in-body stabilization, but you will lose some image quality at higher ISOs due to the smaller sensor size. However, you can get the same full frame E-mount lenses for it and upgrade to a bigger sensor later on and not have to buy new lenses.

Mirrorless Landscape Lenses

I think a good value landscape lens would be the very impressive Tamron 20-40mm f/2.8.

This is a newer lens so there aren't many deals on used options yet. But this is still a great price for the quality and versatility you get. You will never regret spending a little more on glass.

The 20mm range can fit an entire cityscape in the frame without needing to do a panorama. But if you zoom to 40mm and mount the camera vertically, you could stitch together several photos to get well over the 100 megapixel range.

Also, the 40mm focal range is long enough to do street photography and even head & shoulder portraits. The wide f/2.8 aperture combined with the high-ISO friendly full frame sensor and in-body stabilization means you can shoot in very low light without a tripod. You can also get some great pictures of stars if you travel to someplace with minimal light pollution.

The cheapest landscape zoom lens I could find was the Sony 16-35mm f/4 at $384.

It's one of Sony's older lenses and may not take advantage of all of the a7R III's pixels, but it would be a good option to get you started in this system and upgrade the lens later on.

Mirrorless Prime Lenses

Zoom lenses are great but you have to spend more to get tolerable quality. Kit zooms can be softer than even the tiny plastic lenses on your phone. So a great way to stretch your budget is to get multiple fixed focal length "prime" lenses. Primes can be built inexpensively while still having good low light performance and decent sharpness.

For instance, you could start with something like the Tamron 20mm f/2.8 for $175. And if you want to do more than landscapes you could add the Sony 50mm f/1.8 for $170 later on. Cheap primes will outperform any of those mediocre kit zoom lenses in that same price range. You lose some versatility and have to deal with the pain of changing lenses or zooming with your feet, but sometimes a tight budget demands a little pain.

There is also a higher quality 3rd party wide angle prime lens that is very popular right now. The Viltrox 16mm f/1.8 is only $549 and the reviews say it has similar quality to lenses 3 times its price.

If you have to choose between a better camera body or a better lens, a good lens will help your photos more than a fancy camera body.

Froggie Note: These are examples. You should always do your own research before making a major technological purchase. This post could be a year old by the time you see it and there could be new stuff that is better. But all of the principles I tried to convey should hopefully guide you to a good decision. Also, feel free to message me if you want to ask about specific gear you are considering purchasing.

More Resources

This is my Encyclopedia of Lens Terms which is a helpful primer in understanding all of the wonderful and different lens options available on ILCs.

This is my buying guide for low budget used DSLRs. Similar to this post but less geared toward landscapes.

And this guide for getting decent landscape photos with any camera.

This is a free tutorial that teaches you everything you need to get started with an ILC system.

And this free tutorial by Karl Taylor is quite good as well.

[ataraxiaspainting]

Hier Encore II.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

[Hier Encore I.]

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), forced tattooing, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, mentions of starvation, some minor Hunter x Hunter spoilers, violence, Hisoka showing up sorry about that in advance, minor character death, and stalking.

Word Count: 13.7k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez 

“She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

ii. “I would not wish any companion in the world but you.”

You’re happy here.

You’re happy here, picking pumpkins and apples to make decorations and cook into pies. You’re happy here, harvesting sunflowers to put into glass vases around your cottage. You’re happy here, going into the farmer’s market and smelling freshly roasted corn and baked goods.

You’re happy here with Sebaste.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, who is always carrying gifts for you–lovingly ignoring your pleas to better learn how to budget his money–cookies, fried mushrooms, glazed yams, eggplant parmesan… your favorites. His too.

You hope he’s happy here with you too.

He says he does.

*~*~*~*

“Where do you want it? The neck, the leg? Lower, higher?” a voice, still trying to be cordial but exhaustion and annoyance overtook it halfway. 

The faux leather furniture squeaks slightly as it is pushed down a bit by you sitting on it. You try to adjust yourself as you lay on your stomach, the plastic beneath you crinkling. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me is playing from the small radio, the audio slightly too quiet for you to make out what part the song was at, and also because of how loud the tattoo artist was as she asked Chrollo a few questions.

“The lower back.” he touches it with his cold finger, almost making you jump and run out of that parlor. “Somewhere around here.”

You try to close your eyes and imagine you are anywhere else in the world. Even a sketchy bar would be better than this tattoo parlor because at least then you could leave with no pain in your body. 

“Okay.”

“Thirty thousand Jenny, along with a million for keeping silent about this.” You hear a large bag filled with coins being placed on the table. The same bag that made the owner of this place go on his knees and kept repeating that there was no appointment necessary anymore. While the sound of money jingling would make anyone feel happy, it sounds like nails on a chalkboard to you. No one will ever know though, because you keep your mouth shut unless you have to say something sweet. “Feel free to count it if you wish. I will not stop you.”

“Nah. I’ll pass.”

“Alright then. Are you going to use a stencil first to show me what it would look like? I think that would be best.”

You hear a tired sigh. “If that’s what you want. I’ll take it out.”

Your legs want to run. Your heart wants to burst out of your chest. Your eyes want tears to come out in rivers. But you can’t.

You can’t because it’s useless and all of your progress would be ruined.

“Here we are.”

You feel thermal paper going on the spot just above where your butt is. 

“Looks good.” Chrollo hums, pleased. “Behave. I’ll be back soon.”

His voice is soft but still firm. He steps toward you and squeezes your hand lightly, his thumb rubbing circles around it. He hums again. You can only see his shoes from this angle, but you know he is smiling. You want to scream, but you can’t.

You nod, still not talking. You hear a praise leave his lips, but you’re too scared to pay attention. He thanks the tattoo artist and leaves. The door shuts behind him quietly. For a brief moment, you sigh with relief.

The tattoo artist also sighs. There is a nervous chuckle that escapes both of your mouths, the type where both of you know what would happen if either of you were to step out of line. You try to move your neck upwards to look at the posters on the wall. Most are Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell, with a few of Audrey Hepburn. The largest poster is of the 1953 film Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, with Monroe and Russell dancing above the title in revealing magician outfits.

The tattoo artist turns the dial on the radio, putting on I Put A Spell On You instead, which you'd rather listen to. 

The tattoo artist leans in closer and talks to you in a whisper. "I'm so sorry about this. I had to do it."

Your eyes are wide, but you manage to keep your calm. Your fingers are shaking. Chrollo's voice is in your head, telling you to be still or he'll know. You do your best to ignore it as the tattoo needle stabs your back, sending shivers down your spine.

The entire process takes five hours, with you zoning out after about twenty minutes. 

The tattoo artist lets out a heavy sigh and leans back in her chair. "We're done, darling. I hope you're satisfied with your new tattoo."

You're exhausted. Your back feels numb. You have zero interest in looking at your new tattoo. You just want to leave.

Chrollo walks through the door with an even bigger smile on his face. "Ah, she's done, is she? Let me take a look."

He walks closer and sees the spider web tattoo, the number zero being on top of it.

"Beautiful. Your tattoo looks amazing, darling." Chrollo stares deeply into your eyes. "Now, would you mind standing up so I can see you in full?"

His eyes wander around your body. Your heart drops as you stand up.

Chrollo looks from your head to your feet as you stand. With every inch of your body, he smiles more deeply. "You look amazing, my dear. Stunning." He runs his smooth fingers across your skin, tracing the design of your tattoo. "Well, I'm satisfied with your new tattoo." He grabs your hand and pulls you towards the door. "Now, let's head back to the room. Don't you need to sleep? It's been a tiring day."

He stares at your tattoo one last time before reaching out and touching your back, tracing the black spiderweb pattern. You want to cry, but you can’t. You feel both the physical and mental pain silencing you. So, all you do is nod. 

Nothing is worth the risk.

The tattoo artist doesn’t look at either of you because of the intense guilt she feels.

The December weather outside only makes you want to shiver more.

Life is death. Death is a blessing that allows the weak to rest. Death is life. Life is a curse that allows only the strong to reap the rewards.

*~*~*~*

Even after all this time since the incident happened, your lower back still hurts. 

It burns whenever you touch it–like your skin is on fire–but it may be more mental than physical.

There is no scarring, thankfully, and because it is on your lower back, it can easily be hidden. Perhaps that was the point of the placement, for only if you do not have a long shirt or high-waisted pants would anyone see it; and only Chrollo was the only one you were allowed to be nude with, not that you had any choice.

It is the 21st of October, 1998. Sebaste now sleeps in the same bed as you. He talks in his sleep sometimes, about celebrating Halloween with you or his mother. It’s cute, you think. The photo frame beside the bed has a Polaroid photo of you and him, both smiling brightly. It’s a gift from his mother to you in more ways than one. Whenever your paranoia is set off, you hold it in your arms until you have calmed down. 

You loved Robin like you would your mother, and aside from Sebaste, she was the only one you would regularly talk to. She is kind to you, and once gave you hand-carved furniture as a gift when Sebaste first introduced you to her as his girlfriend. On colder days she brings you a pot of her homemade pumpkin soup and chatters away as soon as she sets foot in your home. She was talkative, very talkative, which funnily enough contrasts with Sebastian's introversion.

*~*~*~*

“What will you do to stop people from knowing I am still alive?” 

The question you asked, mere days into your kidnapping, came when you were lying down, restrained. You did not mean to sound aggressive, but you think you did by accident. Your nervousness is making you lose your touch, it seems. 

“If you would like to know, my dear, I shall tell you.” Your captor responds, sitting on a chair beside the bed. 

You want to scream for help. You want to demand him to take the silk binds off of you and run for the hills. But you can’t, because you know it would be useless. You have to wait for the right moment.

“I want to know.”

A book covers the lower part of his face, but his eyes still look down on you from your helpless position. The Brothers Karamazov. How fitting.

“We will request more money for your release.” Even though you cannot see half of his face, you know he is smiling from how pleased his voice sounds. “So much money that the authorities will simply give up on you, money that simply cannot be paid.”

Here you are, with a silk scarf tied around your wrists, not too tight but not too loose, and another binding your legs. He got rid of the handcuffs when he returned with you to a penthouse, wanting in some sense to make sure you were at least partially comfortable. Perhaps the handcuffs were just to ensure the public thought that you were a hostage taken for ransom. 

“Four million, sixteen million, perhaps twenty million for just a cut of your hair, maybe fifty million for a photo of you in your presumed last moments.” There is a pause, with you finally being able to hear your rapid heartbeat hidden behind a mask of calmness. “They will give up on you eventually, and the world will continue to go on as it always has.”

You silently wish that you could turn your hearing off like a light. There is such depravity, devotion, and greediness in his tone. 

“Maybe they won’t.” Your eyes keep moving around the room to avoid his intense stare from above. “Maybe they’ll know whatever body you plant is fake. Maybe they’ll locate me. Maybe they’ll… they’ll pay everything off.”

“That does not seem plausible, my sweet.”

You are holding back a sea of tears.

“Even though you think so, there is quite a small chance that will happen. That chance will only dwindle as the price increases, I am afraid. Money is far more important to governments than human lives in all cases. You know that, don’t you?” Chrollo says, his voice slightly teasing, turning a page of his book. “Perhaps it is for the best that they think you are dead though, angel, with all of the… dealings you have done when you thought no one was watching. You are quite resourceful. It’s something we have in common, you know.” 

You know that you’ll only make this situation worse if you try to fight back anymore.

You just look up at the ceiling and count the tiles, waiting for the moment he unties you.

One, two, three, four, five, six…

*~*~*~*

You liked gardening before your capture, and still do. As a hobby, you grow plants that are suitable for the fall setting. You cook with them when they have matured enough, or give them to Robin if you have too much of them. You especially like yams because they can be cooked into both sweet and savory dishes. A duplex trait you love.

It keeps your mind off of Chrollo.

You got yourself a new watering can recently. It can hold more water for your plants and it is prettier than your old one. It is a metal one, the spout rose freshly cleaned from rust by your gloved hands scrubbing for what felt like a millennium. It was worth it. The water compartment has purple lilies and white jasmine flowers on its bottom half. There are also a few butterflies, bees, and praying mantises among them. It’s cute and comforting to you.

This new life is also just as cute and comforting to you. You feel a sense of stability now that you aren’t forced to go from place to place by your captor or in fear of being caught by him. There is a sweetness and simplicity to it all. You get better sleep now that you share a bed with someone you love rather than someone you hate with all your being. You wear sweaters and sweatpants instead of those revealing shirts and short skirts, being free to dress warmly for once. Even when you were given tights as a reward for good behavior, they always were not nearly enough to make you stop shivering. Whenever you go to a clothing store in the town you avoid the section with clothes that are meant to show off collarbones or thighs. You’d rather die than wear them, even in the scorching heat of the summer months, bearing the rolls of sweat that appear on your face and your back.

*~*~*~*

The clothes are too tight. It’s hard to walk like this.

Everything itches. 

You would love nothing more than to take your clothes off right here.

One of your hands goes to the upper part of your back while the other goes near your spine, your arms almost hugging you from how odd their placements are. As much as you fidget, you cannot seem to get that one spot, until you feel someone else scratch it gently.

“Here?”

You sigh, relieved as Jean’s nails move up and down, subduing your discomfort. 

“The bodice is almost strangling me, and they gave me ballet slippers twice my size.” You groan as you sweep your bangs to the side so you can see what is in front of you. You start walking with Jean away from the stage and into the darkness of the hallway where the dressing rooms are.

“Don’t you think you can buy a new pair?” A well-meaning question, but their tone doesn’t stop you from dryly laughing.

“I’m not the one who had the lead role.” You walk to the door with the number four on it, twisting the handle and pushing it backward. “This is just a sideshow, anyway. As soon as I get that promotion, I’m getting out of here and moving to a different Yorknew district. One with a name that does not claim to be a saint.” Upon entering the dressing room, you raise your arms towards the ceiling and emit a low, discontented sound. “Hilland or Kingstown, hopefully. Those have the highest crime rates, after all.”

“Saintshore isn’t that bad.” Jean leans on the door and begins to take off their shoes, their quality much higher than yours. Your eyes go back between your vanity and theirs, both of which have bouquets piled on top of each other, along with other gifts. “The audience loves you, you know.”

“Then why was I the deuteragonist yet again?” Your hands shift through your mound, separating the flowers from everything else. Some chocolates, makeup, perfume, confessional love letters… nothing to pay much attention to, as usual. Frustration overtakes you, but you don’t let it show. 

“I mean it. Everyone loves you. You rival my popularity most of the time.”

Another dry laugh from you. “Then my dog days should be over by now.”

“Perhaps they will soon.” You don’t need to look in the mirror to know that Jean is smiling, trying to comfort you as they always do. “I think you’ll be okay. You have plenty of potential and you are admired by many here, from the patrons to the staff.”

“If those people loved me as much as they say they do, then I wouldn’t be in this dress and instead be living in a penthouse, living a life of luxury without working a single hour.”

“Maybe that will happen someday. You never know.” A hug from behind. “Maybe you’ll be swept off your feet tomorrow by some charming, tall stranger. Like those meet cutes from those movies you like watching.”

“If only, Jean. If only.”

*~*~*~*

Robin took you to the library today because you had mentioned that the few books you had were getting boring. She told you that she had never taken for an answer when you said you didn’t want to bother her. She then grabbed your hand and pulled you all the way here, repeating that you were never an inconvenience to her and that she loved you. She accompanied you to the horror section, remembering your fondness for the genre as you had mentioned a few days ago. That and Halloween were just around the corner.

You were glad to have someone to talk to while Sebaste was busy working in his office, at least.

Robin was chattering away, talking about random stuff that she remembered or events that happened when she was younger. A few weeks ago, she went on a tangent about the history of execution methods and how it related to racial segregation, and if you were being honest it was interesting to listen to. You learn a lot from Robin this way, even things like carving you learn more from her words and less from her movements. 

As much as her interests are varied and odd, you cannot deny that Robin is very knowledgeable. Whenever Robin is present, it's as if you're engaged in a conversation with an old buddy or a younger sibling passionately discussing their interests, even though Robin is significantly older than you. If it wasn’t for the fact that there are many small sections of white hair amongst her ginger locks and her wrinkles, a stranger would probably have assumed that she is your little sister.

You love her and trust her.

“What about this one?” Robin asks, holding out a book with the title We Have Always Lived In The Castle on its monochrome front. 

If you recall correctly, it’s a Shirley Jackson work. Someone recommended it to you a long time ago, you think. You can’t remember who exactly, though. It was not Chrollo as he was not the most interested in horror to begin with. All that was on his bookshelves were books relating to philosophy or something else in that vein.

At present, the library houses a mere handful of people. The librarian, the village teacher with two visibly tired children. A girl about your age with bright purple hair and a black leather jacket with tiny spikes on its cuffs and a white skull on the back of it. A man who looked a bit older than you was reading a book with his other hand on his chin looking zoned out in a way. 

*~*~*~*

There is a pleased, wanting moan coming from behind you on the bed. 

“We’re finally alone, baby…” 

Don Dario lays on his bed, large enough to be used by at least five people. The frame is made of agarwood, and the headboard is crested with what you assume is pure gold, considering how rich the Don is. The pillows are encased with wine red and medallion yellow silk. So are the curtains of the canopy. The blanket is doused in similar shades, but slightly darker than you think. If you choose to lie down, you could see the painted inside of the marquee, but you don’t want to. You do not want to sleep with this slimeball. So you simply sit at the corner hoping the Don would just give up and let you go.

“Don’t be shy, baby.” His knees are stabbing into the mattress and he is quickly unbuckling the belt of his crimson velvet robe, moaning and chuckling with excitement. “Come on, pussycat. Come to Daddy.” Even though you refuse to face him, you can envision how he is licking his lips as you hear his mantle being thrown to the floor. “No need to keep playing hard to get. Nobody’s here aside from you and me. I know you want me, darling.” 

Click, click, click.

He crawls on all fours to your backside and then to your right side, still cooing and cawing. You finally look at his eyes, and you see the direction they are facing; downwards. After a slight scoff from you, though, he looks upwards towards your face. “You’re so cute, you know. I feel like I will never get tired of looking at you.”

Click, click, click.

“You like me too, don’t you?” There is a smirk on his face, making his double chin even larger and making you in turn narrow your eyes. “You must, at least a little bit, right? Everyone wants a piece of me. But I don’t mind if such a pretty girl like you wants to get a bit more than you were told that you would get. You will, if you promise to come back, that is. For another round.”

There is a whisper of a glare in your eyes, and when Don Dario notices this he simply laughs haughtily. 

“Now, now, sweetie.” He puts a hand on your shoulder. “I always keep my word. You just have to do your part and everything will be fine.”

“I never said I would do this, you forced me to be here.”

The grip tightens and you wince. “When I saw you on that stage, I knew I had to have you. I was feeling generous. I still am.” His voice is now cold and demanding, the opposite of how it was just a few seconds ago. “I’ll pay off your debts and have a word with your boss, I promise, if you do as you are told.”

“Asshole.”

Click, click, click.

There is a murmur of fondness from Don Dario’s mouth, but you don’t care enough to make out what he said. 

“You know no sane woman would sleep with you willingly, and so you order your lackeys to grab one by the hair and drag her to your room. Quite pathetic, wouldn’t you say?”

Don Dario rolls onto his back and cackles like he is being tickled. “This kitten is trying to use her claws to fight a lion! How adorable.” You want to throw up.

Click, click, click.

A flash.

“What was that?” You ask, irate. 

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Your neck turns to see him start to unbutton his shirt, the golden letters and medals of the many necklaces around his neck smashing against one another. “Just a few mementos, and also to make sure you don’t say anything… crummy.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Call me whatever you like, but one way or another you’ll do what I want.” There is a sudden grab of your hair as you are forced to lay on the mattress roughly. The touch of the velvet beneath you, despite being soft, also feels like molasses on your skin and makes you feel slow and heavy. “Let us not wait a second longer, my bride for today. Be good for me and maybe I’ll even send more money your way in the future.”

You want to cry out for help, but his henchmen are right outside his bedroom door in case you try to run. It would be useless. You wouldn’t be let go and all that would result from it is you being pushed and shoved back into Don Dario’s arms eventually. He would find you if you ran. 

You decide not to fight anymore. You’re exhausted and there would be no point in the long run. You nod and the genuine smile that appears on Don Dario’s face is a terrifying sight to you. At least you would get that promotion and the money to pay off your debts, even if it hurts to walk in the morning.

“Give daddy some sugar, baby.”

Every hair on your body stands on end as you nod.

You are nothing now but a Mignonne who is forced to be swept off her feet.

“Lay all your love on me.”

*~*~*~*

The newspaper today had an odd headline, to say the least. Especially because this town is so far away from the Saintshore district of Yorknew. It would take forever to get to it, not that you would ever want to return to that place that should be categorized as a nuclear dump if anything. The food was greasy. There was always a whiff of smoke, either from the smokers or the many, many cars, and rusty needles on the ground below you if you set foot outside. Not that there would be a point in going for a walk as Saintshore was practically unwalkable except for a few suburban areas and a small portion of the poorly taken care of parks. 

Mobster Don Dario Niccolo Found Beheaded In Alleyway was not a title you had ever thought would be read or even seen by you or anyone for that matter, but it makes sense. Dario was not short of enemies who would do anything to kill him or at the very least sabotage his business affairs with other criminals. He always had the limelight on him, whether his deeds were good or bad. That gave him the nickname of the uncrowned king of Saintshore. You don’t feel bad for his family or his ‘friends’ in the slightest. That is one person who is part of your unwanted past gone, after all, and someone will be there to get the blood-soaked inheritance and probably continue the Niccolo legacy to take more money.

You’re happy to be far away from that district and from the Phantom Troupe, almost enough to get you on your knees and worship the stars above you. 

*~*~*~*

His movements are always silent, never betraying his presence with the sound of footsteps. You never hear them coming.

He does it on purpose, you think, to keep you on edge and to catch you in any act of escaping he suspects you will do.

He’s right if he does expect you will try something, though.

His earrings glimmer in the moonlight, hypnotizing you with their beauty. His eyes glimmer too, his irises reminding you of the pitch-black sky that is above you two and this picnic blanket. His teeth remind you of pearls sold in unpurchasable jewelry shops. At least you feel hypnotized, because you do nothing as he takes your hand, not even flinching. Like the devil, Chrollo is beautiful. But the beauty is only hiding what lurks beneath the surface; a monster.

“Open wide, dearest.” The chocolate-covered strawberry leans closer, pale fingertips holding onto its dark green leaves. “This is romantic, is it not?”

Maybe you can blur out his words for a bit longer to again remove the bitter taste in your mouth. Then only the sweetness of the scenery in front of you would remain, hypnotizing you yet again.

*~*~*~*

When you step out of your house’s door, it is like you are instantly transported back to four years ago; the last time you celebrated Halloween.

All the houses on every block have decorations of some kind, whether going all out with animatronics supposed to resemble monsters like the popular Bays’ house or a measly jack-o-lantern standing out amongst a poorly taken care of front yard like the lone Mr. Hyde’s house. Perhaps the weeds only increased the scariness for the children and were done on purpose. Ah, weeds. How horrifying. All of the houses also have candy to give out to the trick-or-treaters, from Ms. Alson’s house down the street to the unpopular Blissetts’, your neighbors. In Ms. Alson’s case, she is giving out handmade gift bags to everyone who passes by, even adults. However, the Blissetts only put out a smaller-than-life basket of candy corn with a ‘take one’ sign next to it. Terrifying.

“Trick or treat. Give me something good to eat!” The kids chanted, running around in circles as they all wore costumes.

*~*~*~*

As you ponder the origins of this situation, you diligently search for any missteps on your part. Chrollo, in his typical fashion, remains silent about the expression on your face as your mind races. He always waits for you to speak first, yet you are certain he is aware of your thoughts. Together on the balcony, he feigns interest in his book, his sunglasses serving as a disguise to conceal the gaze fixated upon you. What could you have possibly done to cause such a high-ranking criminal to be romantically interested in you? Did you meet somewhere before? Did he see you from afar and become obsessed with you that way?

“You look rather nice with only my shirt on.” A hand is placed on your bare thigh, squeezing the meaty flesh gently.

“When did you first start liking me?” Your vocal tone emerges with a softer and huskier quality than initially intended. You discreetly clear your throat, contemplating whether a repetition of your words is necessary. Chrollo's gaze is fixated upon you, yet you avoid meeting his eyes, instead directing your attention towards the captivating spectacle of the sunset. The hues of yellow seamlessly blend into orange, which seamlessly blends into red, the colors melding together without complete separation. He affectionately applies more pressure to your thigh, emitting a gentle hum. This shirt serves two purposes: to allure him, ultimately facilitating your escape, and to maintain a facade of modesty, despite it being the most conservative garment available in the hotel room. Your loathing for him burns fiercely within, yet you must never allow it to manifest outwardly.

When you fixate on the sunset, you wonder to yourself if you perhaps can distract yourself from the sensation of his hand caressing your thigh.

Placing his book on the table near the outdoor couch, he leans in your direction and gently draws you onto his lap. You make no resistance, acknowledging the potential advantage this holds for your scheme. After all, even if you tried, he wouldn't allow you to escape.

“I mean if you don’t mind. If you don’t want to tell me, I won’t get mad.” You lean in, Chrollo’s hair slightly tickling your nostrils. “It’s your choice.”

“You’re right in that aspect. It is my choice.” He hums and you can picture his eyes behind his sunglasses shifting upwards in reminiscence. The arm around you pulls you in closer so that your nose is right next to his neck. “But I’ll tell you if that is what you want. I was in Saintshore and saw you dancing in a ballet.”

“Which one?” You mumble, not even surprised that he knew your side job before you were promoted. You can smell his cologne; musk, sandalwood, rum, and vanilla. He always sprays just a bit too much, not enough to make you cough but enough for you to smell it whenever he is close. Not that you would ever tell him that, as that would ruin your plan and he is self-aware enough to know what he is doing. 

“Swan Lake. You played an excellent Odile, beloved.” His hand brushes your arm while the other dances on your thigh still. The queen of the black swans.

“That’s it?” You ask, and Chrollo responds by having his hand over upward from your thigh to your bangs, brushing them to the side. 

“You were just so graceful. You still are just as beautiful, you know.” He kisses your forehead and you try your hardest to not flinch. As you gaze at the sunset, you make a conscious effort to divert your attention from the affectionate tone in his voice. He passionately shares his journey of falling in love with you, while his hand gently rests beneath your shirt, and you sense something hard beneath you. It’s best not to think about it too much, you tell yourself.

*~*~*~*

Two years, five months, twenty-two days, twenty-three hours, and five minutes.

That is the duration of time that had passed since your triumphant escape, about half the duration accounting for the time it took for you to reach a considerably distant location from the place where you were held prisoner.

Tickets to films, musical adaptations, ballets, stage adaptations, and operas. Piles upon piles of novels, fashionable clothes, and delicious food that were more expensive than anything you had ever bought before your capture. Everything was given to you in the blink of an eye, all aside from freedom. 

Memorabilia like heart-shaped sunglasses, flared sundresses, lingerie made with lace and silk, violas, violins, cellos, croissants, cream puffs, macaroons, rings, necklaces, chokers, thigh highs, garter belts, short skirts, sheer tights, and hotpants were all given to you without you even asking. You only wore them and played them and ate them when it would help you with your escape plan, which you guessed was all the time. You became the archetype known as the temptress, a symbol of lust and desirability. Unethical, a Queen Bee, mysterious, wanting, and seductive. But you also had to become Chrollo’s sweetheart at the same time. A princess from a fairytale, a coquette, gentle, sweet, and alluring. 

*~*~*~*

The bedroom is suffocating to you. It was too clean, too pristine, the walls having all furniture mounted on it tidy with not a speck of dust or dirt. There is a low hum of the air conditioner that is above hung paintings that were both stolen and bought legally. A pendulum clock above the bed with its hand swinging from side to side with a constant tick-tocking sound. The blanket restraining your wrists was tied to the headboard, the half that was all things considered a piece of your part of the bed. He doesn’t restrain your legs anymore, a reward you suppose for good behavior, for not trying to kick him whenever he touches you or at the very least within your range. Similarly, he doesn’t gag you anymore for not screaming and crying and demanding to be let go.

He sometimes feeds you and sometimes lets you feed yourself. He brings you whatever you want to eat whenever you want to eat. Pastries, cheese, bread, pasta, all of it you have access to, all you have to do is ask for it. If you don’t request anything, the meal will be something nutritious and balanced, like steamed rice and broccoli with tofu and miso soup. One time you refused to eat, clamping your mouth shut like a toddler as he gently tried to guide a metal spoon to your lips. 

You tired your neck out that way and gave in about an hour later, though the food was ice cold by then.

You don’t refuse to eat anymore. You don’t do a lot of things you want to do anymore. You are scheduled as to when you can and cannot walk within the penthouse like you are his dog. The only room you have privacy in is the bathroom, when the silk restraints come off and you can walk around freely, as small as the room is. Though it is windowless, and there would be nowhere to hide if Chrollo ever decided to open the lockless bathroom door. 

If you are good, he lets you watch movies or shows on the television, he’ll read to you, one time he even gave you some of your old things from your apartment, putting them on the table beside you. If you are bad… On days that you are bad, he ignores you, aside from when you ask to go to the bathroom, he describes the brutalness of the murders he has committed in great detail as you squirm, or he will tickle you for an hour straight until your face is red with tears and you can hardly breathe.

“I’m willing to wait.” 

He repeats this every time you try to tear the blanket off of your wrists and ankles, every time after you cry and scream your lungs out, every time you refuse to look at him and at yourself in a desperate attempt to control at least one thing; your imagination. He wants you to break and leave only your vulnerable, core self. You could never resist the pull of rebellion forever, your thread of patience always eventually snapping and forcing yourself to tie it back together. You could never resist what lays dormant in the deepest crevices of your heart; a chained-up beast. 

“With time, all pain fades.”

*~*~*~*

Maybe he is right in that aspect. As much as you want to deny it, with every passing month you were held captive, what Chrollo does then surprised you less and less. You sort of became comfortably numb to it all, only focusing on escape and not how much he touched you everywhere and told you sweet nothings both in and out of bed.

*~*~*~*

“The bathroom is well stocked with all sorts of soaps and shampoos and creams, as well as any other necessities you will need for this.” Chrollo says as he presses one of the mirrors above the sink, the mirror opening and revealing more products than are at the rim of the bathtub already. As always, his voice is calm. 

You have never heard him angry before, or sad before, and you don’t want to. You don’t know what he would do if you pushed him to that point. That is why when Chrollo had told you that he wanted you to bathe him as a reward for you being so good these past few weeks, you agreed. You had just graduated from being restrained from the bed to being able to walk around the penthouse freely, and you don’t want that taken away from you, especially so soon.

“And I expect you to do a good job.” He adds, bringing your focus back on him and not on the restraints he had tucked away in his closet a few days ago. “There might be other rewards for you if you do so.”

“I know.” You mutter and pull the handle above the bathtub. Water starts to flow and warm up. You want to ask him if those rewards would be for you or him, but you can’t bring yourself to. Rewards from Chrollo are always a gamble, ranging from making bread to him bringing you a spider lily plant home to gifting you clothes that showed off your collarbone to you sitting on his lap as he read. 

“Good girl,” Chrollo says, watching as the tub begins to fill with water and he closes the mirror with a soft click. “And if you’re a very good girl,” He pauses for a moment as the edges of his lips bend into a smirk from what you can see in the foggy mirror. “Who knows what kind of reward I might just give you.” He turns to you, his face still covered by a sly smile. “That is, of course, if you’re a very good girl.”

As much as you try to stop it, your eyebrows furrow slightly at his statement, unsure of what to think. All he does is chuckle.

“Why don’t I make this as fun for you as possible?” In his hands are narrow glass vials, each a different color. From the grainy appearance you can see from each bottle, you can safely assume that they are bath salts. You are right as Chrollo puts them each on the area around the sink one by one. “After all, you’re going to be taking a bath with me.” He pauses for a moment, allowing his words to hang in the air. “I hope you’re excited, darling.” He leans in close and presses a kiss on your forehead. “You’re going to enjoy this very, very much, I promise.”

“I know.” You mutter again as you step forward toward the sink, and Chrollo steps back a bit for you to see the options of bath salts. As you expected, there is a wide variety of scents. Floral aromas such as lavender, rose, cherry blossom, and vanilla. There is also a selection of sweet scents, like strawberry and apple, while at the same time, there are some muskier, darker scents, like cinnamon and sandalwood.

You have no say in your hell. You don’t want a say in your hell.

You pick up the narrow periwinkle flask labeled as lavender with shaking hands. As the warm water in the tub fills your bathroom with the sweet smell of lavender, you hear Chrollo speak up from behind you. 

“Good choice, love.” He says, his voice filled with anticipation as he speaks. “Now then, I think it is about time for you to give me that bath.”

You hate how you automatically nod, and how Chorollo coos as he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

*~*~*~*

You still have trouble having baths in the village bathhouse because of him. You have trouble doing a lot of things you had no problem doing before. You sometimes wake up and because of Sebaste’s dark hair and white skin, you mistake him for Chrollo for a few moments of drowsiness and almost cry and scream. When you are brushing your hair, you style it the way you like it but almost consider putting it in a style Chrollo likes, just in case you see him that day out of pure chance and bad luck. Whenever you see a book that used to be on Chrollo’s shelves, you almost buy it or borrow it so you can burn it later.

*~*~*~*

“What are you looking for, dollface? Treasure? Get rich quick schemes, history?” a voice, still trying to be cordial but curiosity and wandering eyes overtook it halfway. 

The faux leather furniture squeaks slightly as it is pushed down a bit by you sitting on it. You try to adjust yourself as you sit down on your butt, crossing your legs. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me is playing from the small radio, the audio is slightly too quiet for you to make out what part the song is at, and also because of how loud the construction is outside.

“You are a Hunter, aren’t you?” You lean in slightly and make direct eye contact with him, putting on a slight smile. “I would like to know more about a certain Spider if you catch what I am saying.”

You hate how the man looks at you, confusion clear on his face. You knew it would be risky coming here, but you have no other options.

“Why them?”

You place a large bag filled with coins on the table. “The thirty thousand Jenny fee to talk to you, along with a million for keeping silent about this.” You now see the man’s eyes glitter with greed as he smirks. Some people were just too easy. This feels like child’s play compared to Chrollo with the lengths you would have to go to manipulate him. “Feel free to count it if you wish. I will not stop you.”

“Nah. I want to get straight to business if you don’t mind.”

“Alright then. What do you know about them? Tell me everything.”

The man leans back and looks at the cracked ceiling. “Just be warned, pretty little lady, if they come after you it’s not my fault. You’re asking for trouble.”

You’re annoyed at him keep calling you pet names. You want to slap him. You want to say you would rather not be here at all. But you can’t.

You can’t because it’s useless and all of your progress would be ruined.

“Just one sec.”

He takes another drag of his cigar and exhales, the smoke erupting from his nose onto your face and almost making you loudly cough.

“I’ll tell you.” He smiles, the cigar still wedged between his two golden teeth. “You young ones are so dumb. You aren’t even a Hunter, dollface.”

His grimy voice is like nails on a chalkboard to you. He takes the cigar out of his mouth and his finger taps on it, making some of the burnt parts fall onto the ashtray. He hums again. You just want your information so you can go. You don’t want to do small talk, especially with this prick.

You nod, still not talking. His grin widens at that. He raises one of his hands and a man in a suit and sunglasses comes out of the shadows and hands him a folder, leaving straight afterward without making a sound. So you have unwanted company.

You almost let out a sigh then. The man whistles a tune unfamiliar to you as he looks through the file. He then throws it in an uncaring way towards your side of the table, the folder letting out a slight thump as the paper makes contact with the wood. He whistles a bit more and puts one of his legs over the other. He sighs and your disdain for him only increases by then.

He leans toward and taps on the document inside, some of his cigar ashes staining it.

He grabs the bottle of liqueur beside him and pours some into his shot glass, his many golden rings shining underneath the dimmed lights. "Here is all the information we have on them. It is troublesome how little we know about them."

Your eyes are full of annoyance, but you manage to keep your calm. You lean forward and read through the paper in front of you. You have to do this. You have to do this to make sure that your freedom is everlasting.

To read the entire page took only a few minutes at most, the man being truthful in the fact that no Hunter knows them very well despite the Phantom Troupe being much more than infamous.

The man lets out a heavy sigh and leans back in his chair. "Sorry, miss. We know hardly more than you do, but I’ll try to tell you anything else we found out recently."

You want to let out a sigh again. The paper is littered with stains and leaves residue on your fingertips. This is necessary, you tell yourself. Though you just want to leave.

The man clears his throat to get your attention and holds up one of his fingers. "According to my resources, the Spider has recently lost a leg. They quickly gained another to replace it, unfortunately."

It indeed should not be surprising considering how many enemies the Phantom Troupe has, but it is a bit to you.

"We don’t know which one. That’s the most we know of the situation." He stares deeply into your eyes. "I don’t have any other information to give you, I’m afraid."

His eyes wander around your body. Your heart drops slightly as he grabs the folder and closes it.

You don’t stand up, instead briefly gazing at the liqueur bottle. The man smiles more deeply then, and you feel like you are about to throw up. "You know, you’re very pretty, miss. Just beautiful." His hand moves toward you in one brief motion, to which you respond by leaning away, "I don’t bite, no need to be scared." You stand up. "Now, now, dollface. We should talk a bit more, don’t you think? Maybe I can even drive you back to your place later, or mine."

You scrunch your nose in disgust and begin to walk out of the room. He does not physically stop you, but he mumbles insults under his breath. Slut, whore, the more unoriginal ones. You just ignore them and leave.

That guy was an asshole, but at least you got something out of it.

You wonder which Spider has died.

You hope that it was Chrollo, but that would be near impossible.

Chrollo is hardly known about, after all. There was hardly any information about him anywhere; from the news to the people you question and bribe. You don’t know anything about him either, despite being previously a captive of his. Perhaps even Chrollo does not know much about himself, or at least that is what you theorize.

To entirely free oneself from his clutches, one would need to strike a pact with the devil.

*~*~*~*

Sometimes you think you are an escaped ballerina from her music box. You were always in the same position and only did what you were told.

All you have were the walls of the orchestrina and Chrollo. Without him with you in those many penthouses and hotel rooms, you had no one and could speak to no one. Even when you had escaped by shattering your silk-clad, bleeding feet, some small scattered porcelain pieces of you are left behind for him to find.

If you ever told Sebaste the truth, it would all be for nothing, wouldn’t it?

You would be back to being on the run, trying to pick up whatever ceramic drops from you to avoid leaving a path of breadcrumbs that would lead him directly to you. Just one mistake is all it takes, and it would all be over in a flash. You would try to fix it as quickly as you can, but it wouldn’t be enough, because one day his grabbing hands will grab the soles of your feet, and there you will stay forevermore, attached back onto them, never being able to leave his palms.

A few breaths would kick the door down. The windows would rattle. Weeds would sprout in your garden. You would smell cigarette smoke because the palm of your hand would be back to being used as his ashtray. Everything would burn to the ground. 

You don’t want that. God, you do not want that. More than anything in this world.

*~*~*~*

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and you don’t think they are here to kill you.

There is someone in your home, and although you don’t think they are here to kill you, they do not come with the best of intentions either, though.

You think they are in love with you. Love may not be the best to describe it, you think, maybe obsessed or infatuated instead.

Whoever breaks into your home regularly leaves you gifts; flowers, cards, clothes, and other things they know you like. They must have been stalking you for quite a while before doing this because hardly anyone you know knows what your favorite instrument or candle scent is.

Sometimes they go on rants in the letters they send to you once or twice a week. Sometimes they bring you trinkets, usually hairpins or porcelain figurines. One morning you woke to find a bag of coffee grounds, your favorite brand but also quite an expensive one. When you used them that very morning, they praised you greatly with a long note the next day. However, when you refused to eat the slice of strawberry shortcake that was put on your kitchen table and threw it away in your bin, there was no note whatsoever.

You don’t think they cared, or at least didn’t want to let you know they cared. The amount of gifts put in your apartment only increased every time you ignored the last present. They kept getting more and more expensive, too. Whoever is in your home is either filthy rich or does not know how to budget their money well. 

Sometimes you hear the lightest of breaths when your back is turned and you are sitting on the sofa, watching a comforting movie. They are fast and good at hiding because whenever you try to catch them in the act there is nothing behind you. 

Every time you try to tell someone, they say to just install more security, more locks, cameras, and invest in self-defense lessons and tasers and alarms. You have tried that, and nothing works, the gifts and trinkets keep coming.

No one believes you and your stalker knows it. Every time you try to report it and get shut down, there is a mocking chuckle from behind you when you come back home.

You aren’t alone, you’re with them, but you wish you were because then you would at least be able to rest. You wish you were alone in the dark.

…

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and you think they want you.

There is someone in your home, and you know you don’t want them.

…

You’re tired. You don’t know how to express it.

It’s nearly midnight and you just want to take out your resentment on something. You just want to be alright. You lock your apartment door behind you and walk from the entrance to your small sitting area. You sit on the couch, ignoring the large box on the table beside it. Instead, you grab the basket of VHS tapes on the floor, shuffling through them with both your hands.

Billy Madison. Perfect. You take it out.

Your fingers tap against the front of the tape, your other hand scratches the back of your head and rubs the back of your neck, and your feet shake.

Your stalker must have turned your lamp on when you were out working, maybe for you to see the gift, because you know you didn’t. You don’t care to address the box or them right now, as you are used to it by now.

You snap the VHS tape in half with both of your hands.

All this world does is hurt you, so who can blame you for wanting to hurt it back?

It was a shitty movie anyway. A horribly written plot. Horribly written characters. You were never really a fan of comedies, especially those with a spoiled rich kid as the protagonist. You were going to throw it out even if you didn’t break the tape. You want to demote that assistant who gave you that as a joke.

But that would be petty, and it was a joke. You just wish he got you Gone with the Wind or The Princess Bride or Romeo and Juliet or something like that instead. You could go for a romance movie right about now, especially one with a forehead kiss. You love forehead kisses.

You throw the smashed VHS tape in the garbage.

You could swear that you heard a chuckle as you did so.

…

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and they put a gift beside your bed as you sleep.

There is someone in your home, and they put an unused VHS tape with the title ‘Romeo and Juliet' on your bedside table before you could wake up.

There is someone in your home, and they give you a forehead kiss before slithering off again into the dark.

You know they won’t stay there for long, but you foolishly hope that they will.

Dark goldenrod, rich black, gray, baby powder, blood red.

*~*~*~*

There is someone in your home. You are sure of it.

The placement of everything is slightly off.

The perfume bottles and makeup products in your bedroom are slightly tilted, and your figurines are placed in places where you know you didn't put them, like finding your cat music box on your vanity when it is always by your bedside table, and your bed is slightly unmade. You feel a gaze whenever you are at home and when you are just about to fall asleep, you hear the soft clicking of a camera. You hear the floorboards creak, too loud to be your dog’s. You know Sebaste would never do those things because he is in his office all day working, even when you are in bed already.

Your kitchen is dirtier than usual. There are always some fallen, dried leaves on the floor even when neither you nor Sebaste had gone outside that day. Some of your food is missing, like the leftover pancakes you planned on eating. Sebaste claims to have not eaten them, and you know he is telling the truth. 

It is not just your paranoia. There is someone in your home, watching you.

That same person is most likely watching you outside your home too. You feel a gaze wherever you are.

Whenever you go to the library to read something, you always feel someone looking at you whenever you are paying attention to the books, turning their gaze away the moment you look around. Whenever you pick up takeout from the local saloon, you feel someone staring at you in the corner, blending in with the rest of the dancing, friendly villagers. Whenever you are at the farmer’s market, you feel a gawker behind you, hiding behind one of the stalls, one filled to the brim with boxes and boxes of produce. Whenever you turn your head as you are walking to your cottage, you hear quickening footsteps, running farther and farther away. Whenever you are in the town’s museum, you can sense someone near you in the same exhibit, pretending to pay attention to the artifacts and not you.

Their eyes feel intense like you are made of gold. Something sellable at an auction or something to be stuffed into a penthouse and never see the light of day again. Within your blood flows aureate brilliance to them. You are something to be used, to be fed to the wolves.

You found a few muddy footprints in the bathroom coming from the window above it a few days ago. They are too big and too misshapen to be your dog’s, and they don’t look like the footprints that Sebastian's sneakers leave behind. You clean it up with a mop and some spray. As much as you want to be, you cannot say you are exactly afraid, but a few tiers below that.

You are cautious, sure. You make sure your doors and windows are locked before going to sleep now as well as double checking them in the middle of the night. You cannot say you are afraid, though. You are plotting to catch them in the act, and you don’t think someone afraid would confront their stalker.

You keep doing your usual routine. Wake up, boil water for coffee, wash your face and brush your teeth, make coffee and breakfast, and eat said breakfast. You prefer this life to the one you ran away from by a landslide, still, even though your stalker is somewhat ruining it. Chrollo would treat you like a glorified dog.

Sit, stay, and roll over.

Good girl.

Here is a treat.

You think Sebaste is the only one keeping you from snapping and hunting down your gawker with a bow and ax. Ironically, he still doesn’t know about them. But that’s alright with you. You prefer it.

His routine mirrors yours. He makes coffee for you some days. He eats with you. He walks the dog with you. Then he goes to his office to work.

This is a life you are happy with. You aren’t going to let your stalker ruin that for you.

You are not going to tell Sebaste either. It is much better if you handle this problem on your own. Solving problems on your own is what you are used to, after all. Sebaste could be in danger if you tell him. You’re in danger, and you don’t want him to share your fate more than he already is.

Sebaste is the one person in this world you can trust wholeheartedly. You want to protect him, and you would give up everything if it meant he would be happy and safe. So, you buy a taser, some pepper spray, and a pullable alarm, and learn how to hold your keys in just the right way so you could be able to use them as weapons in case your confrontation with your stalker goes sour.

You have planned what to do with your stalker if things do go as you intended. An abandoned shed, a chair, zip ties, and some… equipment if they do not tell you everything they know right away. 

*~*~*~*

Once upon a time, there was a princess who had a terrible curse placed upon her by a witch when she was an infant. Everything she touched would die in but a few moments. One day, she got tired of living alone on the outskirts of her kingdom, banished when she was near adulthood, and set out into the woods to search for someone to be her first-ever friend. 

However, what she discovered was a malevolent man exuding an overwhelming aura of greed. 

She hated him. She hated him with all her being, from how he looked to how he spoke to how he treated her; everything he did she disliked. 

So, a few days after meeting him in the forest behind her cottage, the princess asked him to touch her face. He did, gently caressing her cheek with his palm and fingers. As his hand made contact with her delicate visage, the princess gently shut her eyes and silently counted to five. But when the princess opened her eyes, she was horrified by the sight in front of her. 

The stranger was still there, alive.

…

The unexpected visitor revealed himself as King Death, who is in relentless pursuit of a bride who embodies purity and possesses a power comparable to his own. 

"To discover an angel as calm and radiant as the morning doves and dew is an immense stroke of fortune." 

Uttering these words, he ensnared her with a gaze as binding as a wedding vow, his eyes devoid of light and depth, unlike anything the princess had witnessed in her secluded little forest. Without delay, he then accomplished his task with an air of satisfaction.

…

Princess Blossom bemoans her unfortunate circumstance, trapped in a desolate garden devoid of life and sunshine. “Do you have not an ounce of mercy for me or anyone?" 

Across from her, King Death relishes in the corpse beneath his feet, a lifeless dove's remains, its once pristine white feathers now drenched in crimson, reminiscent of cherry wine. “If you think a bird is beautiful, just wait until you find it dead, dearly beloved by life itself until its last breath.”

…

In the palm of King Death rests a delicate flower in bloom. In a casket adorned with white wisterias lies his cherished bride, eternally his. "A blossom as lovely as you, my rose, should not wither away so easily." Her eyes exude a captivating beauty, a reflection of innocence mingled with fear. "What troubles you, causing such tremors? It cannot be the chill in the air." Though she trembles with fear, he hungrily consumes her terror as the flowers around her wilt.

…

“The nearer you are, the more I break! Have you always been this cruel to us mortals?” Princess Blossom bangs on the wood above her, the coffin sealed shut and buried six feet underneath the beautiful grass, stars, and flowers. She hears someone coming to dig her out, but that hope is replaced with fear as soon as she realizes the sound is coming from beneath her. This is King Death’s reply to her question; to take her to the underworld where only his eyes will see his radiant queen forevermore.

*~*~*~*

It’s necessary, you tell yourself. If there was any other path you could follow, you would have taken it. At least, you think you would have.

Your stalker follows you everywhere. You know it, they know it, but Sebaste doesn’t know it. They probably have seen you in the abandoned shed preparing everything, and either are preparing themselves for confrontation or not taking you seriously. 

You hope, for their sake, that they are doing the former. You hope, for their sake, that they will simply tell you all they know without you even bringing them to the shed. You hope, for their sake, that they will simply do that. But you know it won’t be that easy. Either this person is obsessed with you or was paid to follow you.

If your stalker indeed fits into the latter category, they are certainly in for an unpleasant surprise. You won’t let them get away. You won’t let them do anything other than cry, say what they know, and beg for mercy. Eventually, they will have no voice box to scream with, and only blood will come out of their mouth instead of any sound. 

You will make sure of it.

You made a vow with yourself to make sure of it.

You have no choice other than to be cruel. You know that, and you hope your follower knows it too. It would be far less trouble for either of you that way.

You have to protect yourself and Sebaste, no matter the cost. You love him too much to lose him. He is in the house and you are outside, defending him. You will do anything to make sure he is alright.

So, you wait. You wait for hours.

There is someone outside your home. 

You are sure of it.

You are going to confront them here and now.

You aren’t afraid. You are merely cautious. You don’t want Sebaste to hear any struggling or cries.

Through the window, you smell warm, fresh coffee being brewed in the French press. Sebaste has always had a bad habit of drinking coffee late at night. But it’s alright, he most likely has to work a bit more anyway.

You wait until your thoughts go numb with a lack of sleep. You slap yourself in the face, hard, to keep yourself awake.

*~*~*~*

If one were to compare, this penthouse resembles a work of art in a museum.

It is untouched by dirt and if the small flames of the candles on the table where the television is placed didn’t move from side to side, you would forget anything aside from you and Chrollo could move. Everything shares the same color palette, and there are no warm hues aside from the roses on the vanity in the bedroom and modest fires. Rose ebony, gunmetal, reseda green, silver, periwinkle. Black. Black, black, black, like one day someone decided to cover the counters, walls, and chairs in soot or charcoal. 

It is like whoever designed this had won a lifetime supply of ink paint and decided to use it in different concentrations. Rich on the desks and the vanity, but lighter in some areas like the walls, showing designs of olive roses. The farthest you can go here is to the balcony or lean on the door of the entrance like you could pass through it like a portal if you wished hard enough. You cannot jump from the porch, if you remember correctly the room number is 20008. You are twenty floors off the ground, and you know that you cannot survive a plunge from that high up. 

You feel like a canary in a hanging birdcage. 

You can only tweet and look pretty. You cannot leave unless your captor is there with you every step of the way. You are only allowed to do what you are told to do and not what you want to do.

This is an impeccable, foolproof, ideal enclosure for any imprisoner.

All is flawlessly pristine, to the point of nausea for anyone trapped inside.

You can only chitter and peep like the baby bird you are forced to be. You can only be cradled within suffocatingly loving arms. Chrollo is like your shadow, following you to every part of this place, treating you like a porcelain doll or a pet. You don’t dare act outside of the role you were given because then you know your detainer won’t be pleased with you and your chances of escape will be even lower than they already are.

“Dearest?”

There is that sickeningly sweet voice again, from beside you. He does not know how to shut up, not that you would bother telling him such. You are here, in his domain and his clothes and eating his food. You have no say here, and he knows it.

“Yes?”

You try your best to replicate the tone of a doting, little lover. You don’t fiddle with the skirt of the short dress you were given. According to your kidnapper, your solitary pair of jeans and single hoodie has ‘vanished under enigmatic circumstances’ and thus gave you this attire as compensation. Asshole.

You are waltzing whether you like it or not.

It is how you act that chooses whether you are pulled with puppet strings or not, though.

“You look beautiful.” His tone is so sincere that it almost induces a nauseating urge to vomit directly onto him. “So beautiful.”

You feel like a statue only brought here to be gawked at. He is always touching you in some way, most of the time it is your thighs that are held captive by being caressed with hands akin to velvet. You let him because what else can you do? You would want nothing more than to push him away and run out the door but you simply cannot. You are trapped here, and using Chrollo with honeyed words and passionate kisses is your only key out. You cannot stay in this consolidated coop any longer or you will break.

If you falter, you will never get out of here.

If he catches you in the act of escaping, you will never be free. The silk restraints will be replaced with shackles. A mile of running only means an inch of a chance of escaping. You don’t want to die here. You don’t want to die with rotting, choking hands around your neck.

As you expected, Chrollo’s hand squeezes your inner thigh. “Thank you, Chrollo.”

From the look in his eyes, you can tell he wants so much more than just those words.

*~*~*~*

Footsteps. Calm, poised ones. There is no sound of stray branches snapping or dead leaves crunching. Footsteps of one who knows what you plan to do. 

You do not recognize him. His eyes are as bright as gold yet as hungry as a wolf’s, unblinking. If he was a word, it would be dangerous, in bold, yellow, large, lit letters.

His hair is as pink as bubblegum. His nails are quite long, pointed, and painted black. He has a teal star on one of his cheeks and a yellow teardrop on the other. With his mere presence, he towers over you in height and strength and everything else possible. He is as odd-looking as a clown, you note to yourself. 

“I had heard the Spider had lost and gained a leg.” You say as the grip on your knife gets much stronger than before. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Correct, my dear.”

“Which one did you replace?”

“Fourth.”

“So Omokage then.”

“I think. Can’t recall right now.”

You scoff at that. “Can’t recall, huh?” The stranger’s grin stays on like a sticker of a smile that was placed on his face where his actual one would be.

“It doesn’t matter who died, I defeated them and that is all that matters. There is no use in remembering the name of a rotting corpse.” 

“I would thank you, but you have the same mission as he probably did.”

“Whether you like me or not does not matter either, I am here either way.” One, two steps closer. “I am here either way and there is nothing you can do about it, my dear.”

“I never liked Omokage, anyway. He always treated Luna so poorly.”

“Who?”

“The captive that was forced to be his doll of some sort. Though I assume she is dead by now, right?”

The man shrugs his shoulders and laughs. “Probably.”

“Was wherever you all buried her marked if somebody even buried her at all?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I do remember something about a body being put in a dug-out hole by Machi.”

At least she was given that, you guess. “How did she look?”

“There was hardly a body to bury if I remember correctly. It looked like someone took a skeleton and put leather over it.” Another amused chuckle.

“So she starved to death then. Slow and painful and probably chained up. He always restrained and gagged her before he left, after all.”

The man yawns, disinterested. He is not even paying attention, is he? 

“If you ever find out where her grave is, please put a jasmine flower on it for me. Jasmines were her favorite.”

“If I remember. Why are you asking so much about her anyway?”

*~*~*~*

Luna is kind to you, so kind. Despite being taken by such a monster that treats her so horribly, she still manages to smile whenever she talks to you, albeit how rare those times were. You remember one time she wore a turtleneck, the only one she was allowed to wear according to Chrollo, to cover the bruises on her neck, arms, and collarbone. Another time she wore a surgical mask, though because of how bright the teal color was it did the opposite of what Luna wanted it to do; not attract more attention to her face. Omokage only let her wear it because he thought it would “humble her”, whatever that fucking meant. Luna never hit him or at the very least tried not to, even when he broke two of her fingers in front of you. It was a punishment for asking for five more minutes to chat with you. 

“It will all be okay.” It is a repeated saying of hers.

“I know it will.” She would always answer that when you asked how she knew that things would get better. She repeats the saying and her answer both to you and to herself when the times get tougher than they usually are for her. She looked out for you and tried to make your situation better by telling Chrollo how good you were to her. Omokage only ignored and glared at you when you tried to do the same for her. You hate Omokage. You do, with all your being. You hated him more than you did all the other Troupe members.

You hated Omokage more than Chrollo even, which is quite the accomplishment if you say so yourself.

Chrollo thinks it is funny. At least you think he does. Maybe that is why you see Luna more than you do the other “Webs”, as you captives are named.

“It’s okay if he hurts me, I won’t hit him back. Violence is not the answer, it only creates more.” She grinned as she said that, one of her front teeth missing. “He’ll die one day and then I will be free.” It is clear to you that if she continues to think that way, she will break. “You’ll be there to tell Number Zero to free me, right? Then I can go home.” 

She is always such an optimist. It’s a trait you wish you had. You almost wish you could trade places with her because at least Chrollo does not treat you as his punching bag, though you suppose being his plaything isn’t much better. 

“I’ll do the same for you if Number Zero dies. At least then one of us would be free, either way, the ball rolls.” Her light is fading, you can tell by how she looks at you, how her blue eyes don’t shine as much as they used to. “I’ll do anything to make sure he listens.” She is going to break soon. You want so badly to stop it. You want to save her. But you can’t. “I mean it. I’ll do anything if it means you’ll be free.” 

You know she means it, and it brings you so much more pain than if she didn’t. She unintentionally twists her knife further into your heart

“It will all be okay. I want you all to be happy. You all deserve it.” You want to tell her that she does, more than you do. She deserves a good life, a normal life. “We are friends, aren’t we?” You can’t bear to tell her the truth of what will happen if either Omokage or Chrollo dies. “Friends look out for each other.” 

She placed a kiss on your forehead then, before Omokage could stop her. She was dragged back by him pulling on her long sable hair as she cried out in pain. He called her a whore and pulled her out of the room. Neither she nor Omokage came back to the room that day. 

*~*~*~*

“She was so sweet. She didn’t deserve to die like that at all.”

“I am Hisoka, by the way.” He bows, the smirk still being plastered on his face without faltering.

You take a few steps back as he approaches further, trying to remain some distance apart from him. “Stay back.” Hisoka hums and merely comes closer.

“If the description I was given and what you know checks out, you must be [First]. At least, I hope that’s who you are, for your sake.” He smiles and he moves forward. “You have certainly been going on a few little adventures, haven’t you?” 

“...Yes.” He stares down at you. You know that to him; you are a mere rubber toy to twist until your head pops off. 

His gaze shifts to your house, behind you. “You certainly are resourceful; I’ll give you that. The life you have built for yourself was made from nothing. Quite admirable.”

“Do you mean that?” You ask, your voice both cold and inquiring as to why one of the members of the Phantom Troupe is here, in front of you and your house. But you already knew the answer.

“I do.” His voice seems somewhat truthful, but you can tell he wants more.

“Why are you here, Number Four?”

“Now, now. No need to be so aggressive.” He puts his hands up in a mockery of surrendering as he goes back to looking down on you. With the dying trees and debris behind him, he sticks out like a sore thumb. “I have a favor to ask of you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The way he looks at you, a look of one that is about to skin a poor, defenseless doe.

“What kind?”

“Simple. Tell me all you know about the boss.”

“What would I get in exchange for telling you such information?”

“I will not tell the other Troupe members of your location.”

“Is that a threat, Number Four?”

“Oh, no, it is not a threat. It is a potential promise if you don’t listen. While you are at it, you can also tell me about yourself. I believe we haven’t had an actual conversation before if the boss told me the truth that you have been on the run from him for more than two years.”

“Don’t be greedy, Number Four.”

“Oh, no.” Hisoka grins with a proud smile. “I believe you are the one being greedy, my dear.”

“...you’re not the first person to tell me that.”

“You ran away from a life of luxury and comfort. Surely you feel at least somewhat foolish for doing such a thing?”

“Perhaps.”

“The boss is quite displeased with you, though I assume you know that by now. He has been searching high and low all over for you.”

“I’m quite aware, Number Four. We both know I don’t intend to go back.”

He nods and hums. “I know. That is why if you still want to play house with your precious boy toy, you’ll do what I say.” 

You scoff and look to the side. “He is not… just a plaything. He is different.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He looks off to the woods. “Plus, I believe there is a rat in your midst. I am sure you have noticed. If you tell me what you know, I’ll trap him for you.”

“You mean you’re not…” Your posture slightly relaxes, but soon firms up once again when you realize that you have two people following you now; Hisoka and your mysterious stalker.

“No. I’m not. So, will you accept my offer, darling?”

“Why does such information matter to you?”

Hisoka shakes his head, still smiling. “That doesn’t concern you, my dear. Now, tell me what you know if you don’t want the rest of the Troupe being here in a matter of mere hours.”

You’re happy here.

You’re happy here, being independent once again. You’re happy here, having stability and not fearing a sudden, gruesome death where you die alone with no one but your captor. You’re happy here, being able to find some humanity within yourself.

You’re happy here with Sebaste.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, who is in the house, blissfully unaware of the laurel crown placed on your head, its thorns digging deep into your skull and dying the tips of it crimson red. He doesn’t know of the invisible scars that mark your body, a gift from the very pits of hell’s flames.

He will remain in that place, never knowing of anything you have buried underground.

He will stay, no matter the cost you will have to pay.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, and you’re not going to let anyone take it away from you.

“Do we have a deal?”

The moment your lips part, the words that escape your mouth are the ones Hisoka longs to hear.

[gabessquishytum]

Mob Families AU

Dream is the sheltered princess of his mobbed up family - he vaguely understands what his family's business is, he knows they have money, and he he has security when he goes out (and around his apartment) but he's not a part of any of that. He's an artist, and for him it's really just a way for him to do his art and be left alone.

Hob is one of the non-family business heads, he moved up from guard/protective detail, and while he never directly guarded Dream he noticed him (could help himself really). Moreover, Hob really likes Dream's art, he who's all busted knuckles and rough business.

When the rival Burgess family grab Dream, no one but Hob notices he's missing - and it takes Hob too long (in his own estimation) to realize it's a problem and mount a rescue for Dream.

Dream bears the scars from his time with Burgess and hasn't created art since his return, because Dream is now all about the family business. He comes back and takes over, with Hob as his most trusted 2nd - no one will ever have the opportunity to hurt him again.

Hob wishes he could help Dream find his creativity again or just that Dream would let Hob touch him with the reverence and softness he feels for him.

Ohhh this is so sad! And so good!

I love the idea of Dream going from delicate artist to hard, monosyllabic mob boss. In the days after Hob rescued him and brought him home, Dream trashed all of his art supplies and moved his canvases to a basement. No one is to talk about it ever again. Dream is scarred and strong, now. He doesn't want to think about the time when he was weak and vulnerable.

He and Hob grow close enough that Dream proposes a sexual relationship. Just as way to let off steam, knowing that they can trust each other. When Hob undresses Dream the first time, he tries to be gentle and to worship him as he deserves. Dream slaps him in the face and tells him to man up. Its rough, or its nothing at all. And Hob quickly complies, not willing to lose Dream now he's got him.

A few years pass and they're more or less equal partners in the business and trust each other utterly. But it comes crashing down when Hob is taken by the remaining dregs of Burgess's men. They torture him brutally and fully mean to kill him in a reprisal for what happened to Burgess. Dream is only just in time to rescue him from certain death, and Hob is a total mess.

For the first time in years, Dream is gentle. He cares for Hob personally, dresses his wounds, soothes his nightmares, whispers sweet love to him while Hob suffers. At last he starts to get better, and he comes around to full and complete consciousness.

There's Dream at his bedside. There's a sketchbook balanced on his knee and charcoal smudges on his hands. There are bright canvases hanging from the walls. And as Hob recovers enough for them to be intimate again, the rough sex from before is replaced with... making love. Dream is so soft and gentle with him, and so beautiful. Its like a balm for the mental and physical scars of the torture Hob went through.

"Love is never weak." Is all Dream will say on the matter, but Hob thinks that he understands. He watches as Dream paints his newest masterpiece and knows that their love is stronger than ever.

[stromuprisahat]

Beware! Potential growth's peaking out!

Siege and Storm- Chapter 11

LOL

Alina doesn't know anything the Darkling himself didn't tell her.

Forget artist!

Modern!Alina would be a member of doomsday cult!

Just... what does she built her hypotheses on? Baghra's words about Aleksander and her own fatalism?!

Frodo, halfway to Mordor:

Yeah, I shouldn't talk much about the Ring. Sam doesn't want to go to Mount Doom already. What if he turns around and bails on me? I'd have to abandon my quest alongside him...

For a person certain the world's about to end, unless she "stops" the Darkling, Alina sure lacks determination.

No, you only wanted her to inform her rapist about Darkles' plans... I'm sure that would result into heartfelt apology and her promotion from a cocksleeve to respected member of household.

Alina, repeat after me: There's nothing wrong with becoming flushed, when an attractive man touches your bare skin, especially on parts not used for casual contact. It doesn't make you a wanton whore or fallen peasant girl, and it doesn't mean you're provoking further intimacies.

Gods! I so wish to shake her or at least watch her overcome her prudish upbringing.

Thought 1- Genya might be in trouble.

Thought 2- ... and what about poor lonely Alina?!

Subtle, but I'd more appreciate spiralling due to Genya's possible fate. Alina believes the Darkling to be heartless monster and theoretically understands mechanics of offence and punishment. Yet Genya's situations is a possiblity, Alina's feelings regarding herself certainty.

Alina's sense of duty's quite something. Especially for a lowly peasant. Instead of learning, she's learning new excuses she can use to get away with bare minimum.

I don't think actually poor person with no real status (lineage AND money) would attempt such thing. She constantly treats her "betters" as nuisances, equals at best. While not perhaps actively insulting, she's hardly behaving properly. Exactly in a way that cannot be ascribed to her origin.

Perhaps Nikolai should try acting like a Royal Prince towards her sometime. Remind her of their priorities, instead of tactfully insinuating she's forgetting to be discreet about her preferences of company.

Darling, uniforms have their purpose. And it's not only to make people hate you. Sure, a lovely LITTLE pin will make it obvious, who belongs to your retinue...

I didn't want uniforms.

The uniform in itself distinguishes members of the military from civilians, but also from one another (infantry, artillery, navy, and later air force).

I've read "they" and immediately went back, because that didn't sound like Alina at all. It seems too little sleep might conjure caring heroine, yet not even that's enough for the rest of the brain to believe it.

Oh dear, how shall Tolya cope?!

Look! A place for character development! Now's the time to set up for realization the Darkling was right to require his subordinates' obedience. Yes, that incudes you, Alina...

It's shocking to see Alina act as the voice of reason. If only her perception remained at all times.

Surprisingly sound logic on Alina's part.

Sleeping under the same roof as potential assassins?!

What's the point of all these parallels or at least similar situations offering them, if Alina won't connect the dots and change her worldview?

Why should I admire Alina's courage to accept and offer protection to possible traitors without granting the same courtesy to Aleksander?

Because she's the MC? Because she's the Sun Summoner, therefore a greater target?

Yeah, and Sasha's The Black General, the most powerful Grisha alive AND a living amplifier...

She ain't completely stupid! I'm officially rooting for THIS Alina to stick around!

[howdoesagrapewrites]

Hii! I really liked you Pavitr poly so I wanted to make a request, could you do one where Reader is able to escape and go and star a new life in another country (or city) and they see each other after year's of them gone (bonus if reader became a hero)

𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙖 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙤 (𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙧)

CW: yandere things, escaping, spiders?, reader experiences mental health issues surrounding everything, fem!reader x lovesick!Pavitr Prabhakar x lovesick!Gayatri Singh, but it's reader-centric, I love MJ

Notes: This follows the events of Bound by Webs but reader's escape was successful

You stare at they sky as if it'll give you any answers, any references for what you should feel. You wish there was starts to wish upon, however, Mumbattan is a polluted city, filled with lights, sounds, polluted hearts. Everything's mesmerizing and oh so overwhelming, it fills your senses and distracts you from the truth, from the stars, maybe if you paid attention to them, they would've guide you through a path with a better ending, and path much sweeter than this. But at the absence of the divine guide, obnoxiously blocked by human intervention, you willingly fell into the spider webs, caressed them like one would find peace in silk sheets, delicate, singular, crafted with the finest kind of expertise and care: love. But as you allowed yourself to be enveloped by it, you lackadaisically forgot spider silk has one use: to trap a victim.

Now, every thing that marveled you seems to be darkly stained with ink,like a ruined painting, like something made to be a masterpiece, utterly disgraced by the growing obsession of the artists behind it, forever ruined in a fit of desperation. Now you look through the train window and contemplate what used to lay behind the nigritude of the canvas, you watch the colors, the oils, the beautiful narration of a story, corrupted but beautifully beholding the remainings of what it could have become. You're now on a train going far away from Mumbattan, with barely any money, no other clothes than what you're wearing, and leaving (more than) half of your heart behind, your lovers, your family, your friends, the sense of familiarity, the idea of what home means to you. If home is where the heart is, what kind of home exists for such a bruised, lost one like yours? You simply ran without allowing yourself any sort of goodbye, you didn't look wistfully to the horizon, to the rooftop where you saw the sunrise once, the police station, the streets, no poetic tear-inducing lingering around, you ran. It was the best decision, honestly, you didn't allow yourself to be trapped while lost in your own mind. But now all these complicated knots in your head start to twist further, play around like someone braiding hair, unraveling and disarraying around, all the memories spill messily, you lose sense of time, of space, and the only coherent thought you can recognize is "I shouldn't cry or someone could suspect". So you let the blot of feeling slowly eat you, gnawing, biting, tasting, slow to devour, but so quick to cloak one completely.

You don't even realize when the train gets to its final station. Gayatri found you, cold sweat covers your forehead and the hairs in your nape spike. Wait, that's not Gayatri, that's the kind lady from the train letting you know you must exit the vehicle, you nod and profusely apologize. You could've muttered a half excuse with something like "sorry, long day" but you're far too strayed from social conventions in your current shock state. You lay your feet on the ground and let your body guide you to the platform outside from the train, the air that should smell like freedom, feels unbreathable. You should look for a shelter tomorrow, you should sleep. Your tired brain just demand for the warmth of your mattress, your feather duvet, and the other miriad of shallow items that would be brought to you, in order to get any reaction. It's funny, they would present you with a gift like they were trying to gain the favor of an emperor, a master, but in reality, they were bringing caviar to a prison cell.

When you sit down, you feel the physical tax of everything coming down to you, it feels foreign, you're about to pass out, but you can't feel your toes. You want to scream, and break things, and do a victory dance, and crawl back to them, and you feel like throwing yourself off a roof to see if you can fly. Your body doesn't respond to you when you want to get up, you feel dizzy and lost consciousness.

You're woken up by spiced and sweet incense, feeling terrified to open you eyes, you wonder if this is heaven. Or on the contrary, if they found you, and this is hell.

Soft, honeyed voice tingles your ears, you don't even register the words, a beautiful woman appears before you, vaporous like an apparition, like an angel. Brown radiant skin, thick eyelashes, a long hooked nose and between her eyebrows lays a perfectly traced burgundy bindi. You wish your commotioned head had the words to attempt to describe such belle, instead, you content in basking in the worry invading her piercing brown eyes before starting to actually understand the words her lips spill.

"How do you feel? I'm Meera Jain, I found you on the subway station, did someone drug your cup?"

"Cup?" You feel physically tired by simply furrowing your eyebrows in disconcertment

"Yes, at a party? I mean, where were you before? All I know is that you passed out in a bench and I brought you home."

"Do you know who I am?" You question, fearing this beacon of hope might be quick to go off. Why would someone help this stranger? If she knew who you were, you're sure she'll get you back where you started.

For a question that would make some roll their eyes, she gave a kind smile and light laugh. "I don't, that's what I'm trying to figure out."

"If you don't know, why am I" you look around, this is definitely no hospital "Why am I in your house?"

"Well, you needed help. And I'm a girl's girl" she shrugged her elbows, the smile never leaving her lips. "So, may I know your name?"

"My name is Y/N... L/N. I don't really want to talk about what happened"

She didn't asked. For the three months Meera Jain nursed you back to health, she didn't ask a single question, even with the sassy and gossipy personality you would later discover, she seemed to have no problem helping someone she didn't now a single thing about, you didn't even have a document to prove your identity, you could've lied, you would get paranoid and think you should've lied, even your name, as unique or common, is a tie to the past, a lead for spiderman to follow.

MJ was a university student in her last year, and you were. You were complicated, you couldn't enroll on school without documents, and you would sit in front of the computer for hours, cry, overwhelmed by simply writing a CV, all you could think was Pavitr and Gayatri storming in your part-time job at s grocery store or food chain, looking you in the eyes and pulling the invisible leash still tightly suffocating your neck, even kilometers away, you were under their control. You hated it, you hated them, hated the thing that took your life away, but what you hated the most right now, is that you'd throw all of MJ's efforts down the drain without saying thank you, if you were promised a life where the three of you could be happy again. The past chased you, and it weighted like an anchor.

Days kept passing and you found a job at a local flower shop, the man who worked there simply gave you a job when you asked (begged) for one, he didn't request any more information, you learned a lot about flowers from a dusty enciclopedia forgotten in MJ's house, reading helped calm down your thoughts.

You were arranging some pink camelias and dahlias for an offer you received earlier that week. When you finished you closed the shop, and headed to "your" house, like usual, there was a "usual" now.

MJ still doesn't ask any questions, it's a relief, but it makes you feel isolated. You wished there was a way to simply pass the information over to her head from yours, without having to talk about it ever again, words stopped and crashed with each other when you tried to talk about that.

"What happened there? Angry flower?" Meera Jain asked when she saw your hand while stirring the chai. "A spider bit me, it was hiding in the flowers and I froze so I couldn't kill her. It'll go in a couple days" you brush off. Meera Jain thought you were scared of spiders, it was a very common phobia, after all. And you were, sort of, you were frightened by a spider in particular.

A very lovesick, strong, completely unreasonable spider. You visibly cringed at the kids wearing Spider-Man masks, the billboards and merch, a constant reminder of the dangers. But it slowly disappeared, you didn't know why all of India seemed to be forgetting about the great honorable hero Spider-Man, but it was no sorrowful loss for you.

You were ignorant, but word was on the street that Spider-Man was getting violent.

Life like this didn't agree with you, there was so many things that didn't sit right with you, that didn't make you feel secure or comfortable, but it was better than what you ran from, right? You prayed in your dreams that something would change, something that would make you feel less alone, that would make you stick to this routine willingly. The kind of "stuck" you meant, however, never included sticking to walls.

Becoming a spider-person was hard, you hated it, all you wanted was to remain anonymous and escape from Spider-Man and his girlfriend. Yes, him wearing the mask felt wrong after knowing all, why should he protect people when he's a threat himself? But you wanted literally anyone else to take on the duty. Why you, why did this happen to you?! You tried to simply ignore the powers, but your spidey sense was disrupting everything in your life, you knew crime was rising, and you sat on the couch to cry about a life you lost, instead of doing something for the hundreds of civilians in need of help.

But with unwanted power comes great responsibility. You avoided the calling emeging in your insides boiling hot, burning you, with guilt and angst. It wasn't really until it hit you closer than you'd like, that you understood why Pavitr, like many others, had decided to put the mask on. It was late at night, you were walking home with MJ after accompanying her to a party, you didn't mingle or danced a lot, and were fairly sober, MJ wasn't back out drunk, just alittle tipsy, and she was very aware of her surroundings, despite everyone having a pre-conceived idea of an airheaded party girl, she was intelligent and sensible. So she didn't make a great fuss, neither attracted attention, aside from the sounds of both your steps and little laughs here and there, but apparently that was enough to get noticed by the more unpleasant individuals around there. She always carried a pepper spray, skillfully uncapping it, she blinded the guy, but there was other two goons behind you, both larger and probably armed. Your spidey senses were driving you absolutely insane, you felt like your head was being squished and your veins carried caffeine. Time stopped when you saw a gun being pointed at Meera Jain, an impulse took over your body like nothing had ever done it, and you body slammed the man into the wall, making him drop the pistol. At superhuman speed, you disarmed the other one, who ran away as soon as he had the chance. You looked at her facewaiting for the imminent reject, but she just looked you, wide eyed, mouthing "that was freaking awesome". You had to tell her how you had been feeling, and that you were mostly sure of what was it, since you were acquaintanced* with Spider-Man from Mumbattan. This lead to a big revelation with little words, you partially told her how Spider-Man wasn't a great guy under the mask, and you were sorta running away from him and someone else, you omitted details of what exact relationship you had with the two, and as much as curiosity itched, she didn't question further.

"I just feel so sick of causing you trouble, you saved me that day, and I'm just a mess" you admitted

"I didn't save you, I helped you out, told ya that." She looked at you with sincerity "Just like you helped me out before, if you can help someone stay alive and all that, you just do it, no one's gonna save you " she chuckled at your confused face "You gotta save yourself."

You look at the wall, a mirror hanging, Meera Jain used it for late minute makeup when she was late and away from the bathroom. You look at your face like you did moments before escaping last time, and you notice your expression, full of doubt, full of fear. Do you look like spider-man? You question, but then it hits you. Spider-man doesn't look like anything, it's a mask. Anyone can wear it.

And it wasn't that day in the street, or the day you got your suit, or the first time you put the mask, it was in that instant, that you became Philadelhi's one and only Spider-Man.

Being Spider-Man was so easy. But as you rose, you saw eye to eye with the only person on the same level as you in your universe, and even though you were stronger than you've ever been in your whole life, your knees get weak. Not in the head over heels nervous kind of way, in the "I'm injured before a predator" way.

You swinged desperately, sometimes breaking your webs by how unstable your pulse was, Pavitr's voice made you feel light-headed, nauseous.

"Can you stop there bro?" He swinged, chasing you "I just need to talk". Bro? He never would call you that, he probably didn't know who you are, you intend to keep it that way. His moves were now more aggressive and faster "I said stop! C'mon!" You knew Pavitr sometimes had moments like this, where he was scary, but as far as you knew, Spider-Man was still safe, he wouldn't use his powers wrong, or so you thought before remembering everything that went down, and forgot whatever notion about his morality you had left. You wanted to scream until your throat was raw when you felt his webs restricting you. But you were left speechless, he brought you to a rooftop, and did a series of number combinations that activated an hologram in his watch. "Sorry to do this, but I kinda got to lock you up, or more like bring you to be examined to know if you'll get locked up or not. There can't be two Spider-Man in one universe, less in the same country, you know? Rules and all... You probably want to breathe, right? Let me help you out" He tried to pull your mask, but you flinched and moved your face away. What would he do if he saw you? It had been two years after all, had they forgotten about you? Had they renounced, deciding you were a traitor and simply abandoned the idea of finding you again? Or on the contrary, they wanted to find you for revenge purposes? What does Pavitr think of you now? He was always so delusional, so sure you loved him, is he still lost in this fantasy? Or has he finally accepted the truth? Maybe it's neither. All this thinking makes your blood rush, your heightened senses pick up in your rapid heartbeat, and you notice that his' do too, it's normal though, you are being held captive, of course you're nervous, he still toys around with the goober in his wrist. "You know, they'll take it off anyway when we go to HQ, and I know you wouldn't understand this, but your heartbeat... It makes me feel- it reminds me of someone, so sorry, but I need to steal the big reveal." He comes for your mask again, you wiggle around in an effort to avoid it, but it's futile when he grabs your shoulders and keeps you in place. You feel your world crashing down when he sees your bare face once again, his reaction is nowhere near what you expect. He starts laughing, not like he was told a joke, but like he can't contain his excitement, he laughs and laughs, like a hyena. You just stay there, still, stunned, after a few minutes, Pavitr speaks again. "Of course! Of course it's you! It had to be this way, after all. See, Y/N, there's this thing called a "canon event" that every Spider-Man has to undergo, and there's patterns, like things that always go a certain way, like, Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy falling in love. I'm a variant of Peter, Gayatri is a variant of Gwen, and when that happens, things always go wrong, and I saved you and Gayatri that day on the bus, remember? So canon has to go into place, and you had to escape so canon wouldn't be interrupted, it all makes sense now! You being Spider-Man too can cancel out the whole tragedy thing around this!" You can't move, even if you wanted too, so you can't do much when he kneels down to the floor to kiss your cheek and call you sweet names. "Peter Parker always falls in love with Gwen Stacy, and even when bad things happen, he never regrets it. I get it now, I don't regret falling for you." But you do, you regret it more than anything.

[2h3llandb4ck]

Finally took on Blitz!

I took some notes from the Helluva Boss critical community and tried to tweak his lore to make him a bit better (this includes a huge overhaul on the shxtshow that is Stolitz. Stolas defenders, pack it up.). So here we go, here’s my take on Blitz Bucko!

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In the late 90’s, a family of imps scraped together enough money to open their own circus for the underworld-born to enjoy. Was it small? Quite so. Was the family passionate about it? Absolutely. But the ones who were the most passionate about the Bucko Circus was Blitzo Bucko and his mother Jewel Bucko. Blitzo and his brother Fizzarolli weee the circus’ most popular clowns, with their sister Barbie Wire being the best trapeze artist. The circus was doing great…

Until the fateful day they put on a performance for the glorified meteorologist Stolas Goetia.

The young owl, who had just turned 13, fell in lust with Blitzo. He decided to purchase Blitzo for a last-minute “play date”, which discomforted the young imp. But AWWW! The poor little owl caught feelings…

The two didn’t talk again after that.

The next morning, Blitz’s birthday came around. While Fizzarolli put on a special performance for Blitz, the circus staff focused solely on Fizz. Blitzo was knocked back, accidentally stumbling into a few torches for an upcoming show. It set fire to the tent, and ended up burning most of the family. While Blitz tried to save Barbie and Fizz, he heard his mother cry out for help. Wanting to save his mother, Blitz gave an apology to his siblings before running to Jewel.

It was too late. She was only able to use the last minute of her life to hand Blitzo her prized skull amulet, and give him a warm departure with a smile.

It was all Blitz’s fault.

For the last few days of his teen hood, Blitz conceptualized a unique business idea; what if he was hired to assassinate someone who wronged a damned soul? It was groundbreaking, it was an amazing concept… but to achieve it now with how poor he was? It would be difficult. He garnered the help of his college friend Moxxie, and soon the duo set out to start up the basics of their business; renting an office space, setting up prices, getting weapons, hiring another assassin and a receptionist… it all went well until they realized.

How are they going to get to the living world?!

Blitz sought the help of a succubus named Verosika. The two got along well and she allowed them to use her Asmodean Crystal to gain access to the living world. They were going well until Verosika fell in love with Blitz. Blitz was hesitant to pursue this relationship, and harshly turned her down. They broke up, and she released a hit diss track dedicated to the horrible, non-reciprocal imp. Moxxie and his girlfriend Millie suggested they go visit the Goetia and ask to borrow the grimmoire, a magic book that can access the living world. Should be easy, right?

If Blitz could count being forced to give in to Stolas’s clingy, twisted delusion that they were childhood friends and then strike a disgusting affair/deal to let Blitz keep the book for business, then sure. It’s easy.

And finally, the Immediate Murder Professionals were ready to get out into the living world and take care of client’s targets. Happy ending!

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But wait. Blitz NEEDS to fall in love with Stolas! It needs to happen! It’s all in the textbook plan for Stolas’s perfect romance story! If Blitz stood up for himself, he’s an ASSHOLE. A grimy, disgusting imp who has to let poor Stolas love him!

Let’s try this again.

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And that’s my take on Blitz! In my au/rewrite of HB, he’s trying to wake up from a Wandavision-like phenomena where Stolas is in control (and the reality he creates is basically what the canon HB show is). Not wanting any of that and wishing to get his justice, Blitz seeks the help of a human demonologist who is also able to see through Stolas’s thick veil of lies. This former circus performer, adoptive father, and businessman wants to save his employees and daughter before they are lost to the owl’s lies.

And here are some headcanons + tweaks to his character!

- Blitz is a pretty closed-off introvert who wants to make it to another day. He is absolutely determined to free the people he cares about from the twisted world that the Goetia owl prince has built. Also he’s not creepy or a huge dxckwad.

- Despite what Stolas tries to paint him as, Blitz isn’t a huge jerk. He’s really not very confrontational and would rather have someone resolve their issues first before taking it out on him.

- He and Verosika are on good speaking terms after she is freed from the control. She gives him some assistance at times to help him carry on in the twisted reality he’s in.

- The target-like symbol on his forehead is meant to represent how Stolas has turned Blitz into a target, a creature to be preyed upon just because he said one wrong word to someone.

- He’s genuinely trying to reconnect with his siblings and puts his energy into his found family. Although Barbie needs more time, Blitz and Fizz are on okay terms, with the latter even helping him in his mission.

- He isn’t as vulgar as his canon self, although he can let his emotions get the better of him, leading to some raw outbursts. He is quick to apologize and take accountability for them afterwards.

- Follow up to that, if he did meet his canon self, he’d probably need ibuprofen afterwards.

That’s all! Goodnight tri state area!