#if someone's in trouble i'd be delighted to help

[bellepark]

INUKAI ATSUHIRO in Hitomonchaku nara Yorokonde! (2023)

[bubblegeon]

This heals me.

🍁 IF SOMEONE'S IN TROUBLE I'D BE DELIGHTED TO HELP! (2023)

[storge]

Yahagi Honoka If Someone's in Trouble, I'd Be Delighted to Help! (2023)

[timotey]

I've been watching Hitomonchaku nara Yorokonde! or If Someone's in Trouble, I'd Be Delighted to Help! and it was so great to see Inukai Atsuhiro and Ito Asahi together on screen again, playing parts so very different from their love birds in A Man Who Defies the World of BL.

[ozzgin]

Girl I love Daitou but I'm ngl I need more of Yazuya😭 if you can, can you write headcanons about him please? I'd appreciate it thank you <3

I was wondering if he’d end up mentioned at some point haha. Most definitely I can. I might just turn this into HCs for both of them, since the story parts so far didn’t have much romance.

Yandere!Yakuza x Reader Headcanons

Ultimate dating guide and palate cleanser featuring the gangster boys (Kazuya and Daitou). For those that have been left hanging for proper romance.

Main story: [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Tags: @swagbucksjester @lucienbarkbark @moonieper @nu-vino @vee-love @tamaki-simp @pinkazelma

Kazuya

Kazuya was raised in a brothel, surrounded by women, so he is much more knowledgeable than the average man when it comes to feminine matters. Similar to someone who grew up having sisters, you can talk to him about anything and everything and not only will he be empathetic towards your problems, but he might offer tips and tricks you didn’t even know about. Not too shocking when he’s already heard multiple variations of whatever is bothering you.

The downside to his upbringing is that intercourse has always felt terribly transactional to him. He has a hard time associating it with intimate relationships. He will flirt a lot with you, but despite all the sexual innuendos, he won’t actually do anything until later in the relationship. He struggles with the irrational worry that sex will somehow taint the quality of your bond, making it feel cheap. Dating you has helped him realize that such things can be done out of love as well.

He is extremely affectionate and well mannered when dealing with you. Which may sometimes cause you to forget there’s a reason him and Daitou are good friends. While he isn’t as ill-tempered as his younger self, it doesn’t take much to anger him still. It’s a rare occurrence for you to witness it, but when he has it out for someone, he nearly matches Daitou in ruthlessness. He's very prideful and protective and will not hesitate to crush whoever challenges him or messes with you.

If you have a group of (girl)friends, you can confidently bring him with you with the only risk being that he’ll steal your spotlight. He can charismatically slide his way into any kind of conversation and you can hardly believe that this is the same man cracking gross jokes over his latest murder to his fellow criminal buddies. You might consider him a social chameleon, having no trouble adapting to any environment.

Smokes like a chimney and you have to slap the cigarette out of his hand sometimes because he’ll just light one up anywhere (including your bedroom).

Now this one is for the ones that are into it: God forbid you accidentally call him Daddy because he’ll ride that high until the end of time. He loves the idea and will tease about it with every opportunity. “Terrible weather today. Should Daddy drive you to work instead?”, or “Is that any way to talk to Daddy?” for when you’re out in public.

Daitou

One neat detail about being with Daitou is that you get to see a lot of things you took for granted in a new light. Whatever you assumed was a common experience for everyone, like having a picnic or going to the amusement park, is utterly foreign to him. He was raised by the Yakuza and barely interacted with anyone before meeting Kazuya; civilian past times were never presented to him. So you get to witness his shocked and delighted expression as he tries all these things with you.

Thankfully you don’t have to worry about teaching him the…intimate aspects of a relationship. Kazuya has that covered. And Daitou seems to be a rather fast learner, because he’s incredibly gentle and careful with you. Part of it is due to his own fear of messing it up. He’s only ever been good at breaking and killing people. Despite that, he loves you so much. He has to be the best boyfriend for your sake. Surely these hands of his can do more than just damage.

He might actually be a little too eager to learn the ropes. More than once you’ve walked in on him reading a graphic manga and nearly choked, mumbling an apology for interrupting his…activity. He’ll look at you with a confused expression, completely unbothered and wondering why you’re so embarrassed. He was flipping through the pages for ideas, given he’s never had any kind of experience himself. Ah. That explains the random kinky gestures he’s started doing without shame or doubt. You’ll have to do some tweaking in the near future.

This may come as a surprise, but Daitou is exceptionally good at household chores like cleaning and cooking. Registering with the Yakuza involves a mandatory apprenticeship of several years where you do menial tasks for your higher ups. Additionally, the time he served in jail has left him with a lot of discipline and organization. Somewhere between adorable and comical is how you’d describe the sight of him kneeling on the floor and carefully folding the kitchen towels while waiting for the stew to simmer.

Daitou isn’t exactly what you’d traditionally call jealous. His only frame of reference is Boss, thus he will treat you with the same kind of loyalty and dedication. You wouldn’t expect a mere nobody to walk up to the Head of the Family, so anyone approaching you will, similarly, be violently kept away until their intentions are clear. You are his most prized possession, after all. He’d do anything for you.

[luveline]

i lowkey need to see stripper!reader and spencer again

for you gorgeous ♡ fem

cw adult themes

Hotch and Spencer draw attention at the strip club for the same reason but in varied fonts. They're both reminiscent of your regulars, Hotch the picture of a businessman with a wife to forget and steam to blow, and Spencer the silent sweetheart, pretty but too shy to talk to normal girls. 

He doesn't need a normal girl when he has you. 

You're glad for your cover up clothes as you lean against the dressing room door. One of the bouncers peers at you from the corner of his eye. 

"Trouble?" he asks. 

"Not sure. Probably not." You wave until Agent Hotchner notices you. To your delight, he raises his hand politely. 

You step around the bouncer and bypass the stage to the lighter area of the club where they stand in wait. "Hello. I could've met you outside." 

"Would you?" Agent Hotchner asks. 

You don't need him to explain. It's not the most professional thing, loitering in a club like this. You follow them out of the club and onto the street, cold even in your sweatpants as the wind rails. Spencer lets you squeeze his fingers in greeting, but that's all. 

"It's nice to see you again, Agent Hotchner," you say honestly, giving him a smile. 

He doesn't return the pleasantry, but Spencer swears he's softer than he looks so you choose to run with it as Agent Hotchner says, "We need information on one of your patrons." 

"Tennis Lawley," Spencer adds. 

"Tennis," you repeat. "I thought my pseudonym was bad."

Spencer gives you a quick look. I'd laugh if I weren't at work, it says. "We think he's involved in a string of killings in Washington DC. What do you know about him?" 

It's not an exaggeration to say you've played therapist for Tennis and a ton of guys just like him. Being a stripper, an exotic dancer, whatever anyone wants to call it (though Spencer usually just calls it your work) has pros and cons. You've felt it to be heavier on the con side, but this is a big plus, being able to assist someone you care about with something important. It makes you feel useful for once, like you're more than the froth of the city. "Ask me anything," you say, hiding your cheek from the cold with a deft hand. 

Spencer and Agent Hotchner ask you all sorts of questions, personal to their suspect and less so, and for the most part you're able to answer them. You can tell from the look on Hotchner's face that he's both surprised and extremely satisfied by your knowing, and he emphasises his thankfulness with a touch to your upper arm before he says goodbye. "Your help is invaluable, Y/N, thank you." 

Spencer, your sweetheart, stays for a more thorough farewell. 

"Have you eaten yet today?" he asks, the hand you'd squeezed earlier leaping for yours. "You look tired." 

"It's getting close to midnight, Spence. I'm alright. You and Agent Hotchner should head home and rest yourselves…" You bring your hand to his cheek but think better of yourself, pushing your arm over his shoulder instead for a hug. His own arms contract around you immediately. "I miss you lately, where have you been?" 

"Everywhere. I miss you too," he says. Despite the months of knowing one another, and the many states he's seen you in, you know without looking that Spencer is blushing profusely. 

You kiss his cheek as your heels return to safe ground. "Come and see me again soon, okay? And bring your rich friends. The older one, Rossi, is he really a millionaire? A divorced one?" 

"Yes, he is," Spencer says with a laugh, his voice climbing higher, "but I don't think he's looking for another wife right now, sorry." 

"Maybe Agent Hotchner–" 

"Stop calling him that." 

You look Spencer straight in the eye, nearly caught off guard by how sweet and soft they meld at your touch where your hands linger in his. 

You often think that you and Spencer aren't meant to be. Your life, whether willing or unwilling, by choice or design, is entirely focused around your body, and Spencer's world revolves around his mind. You know that what you do for work isn't anything to be ashamed of, but you have the same doubts as anyone else. You know what people think of you. You wouldn't blame Spencer for thinking the same things. And you wouldn't expect him to want to be with you in any aspect that wasn't physical. 

But when he holds your hands in his like this, as though they're made of something delicate, something he wants to map every detail or by fingertip alone, you wish things were different. 

You clear your throat. "I really do miss you when you're away," you confess. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Don't be." Your hands miss his the millisecond you pull them away. "I guess I shouldn't keep you. Your boss will be wondering where you are." 

"Are you okay?" 

You can't even pretend it's a strange question; you're acting strange. "I'm fine, Dr. Reid. My nice new boss knows I know the feds, and all the girls are jealous of me when you guys come to visit. They think I'm on your payroll." 

Spencer quirks a puzzled frown, brows pulled together tightly. "You're harder to read than most people. Have I ever told you that?" 

"I guess it's 'cos I spend so much time pretending I'm a different person," you say, smiling to prompt him into smiling back. 

"Maybe." He pulls his bag from where it rests against his hip and opens it, rummaging through the contents with a confused murmur until he pulls out the shape he'd been looking for. "Here. Don't go to bed hungry, okay?" 

Spencer puts a protein bar in your hand. 

He steals a quick hug and leaves not long after that, crossing the dark parking lot to the mass of the dark SUV he arrives in. With one hand, you clutch the protein bar until it takes a new shape, and with the other you blow two sweet kisses, a cheesy, gaudy gesture that never fails to make your favourite special Agent blush. 

[dreamlandcreations]

Promises, promises

Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader

Summary: When you were children he made you a promise but after all the years and everything that happened since, you didn't think he would still want to go through with it...

based on this post of @lavuchiha

Warnings: no reader description (I think) so might be read as a Strong/Velaryon/Targaryen/Cole reader although the rumours of her brother's parentage did not spare her so she is often referred to as a Strong bastard too, canon typical stuff, bit more angsty than I intended and way too long for a one shot, soooo... sorry for the ending?

Aemond often thought of the promise he made you, sometimes with yearning, sometimes with resentment but the closer your nameday got, the more trouble he had chasing away that memory. The news of your visit to the Keep was certainly no help in trying to ignore his feelings.

On the day of your arrival, it seemed he practically lived in that moment that was engraved in his heart and soul to this very day. For the umpteenth time, his body moved on its own as his mind was far away from the training yard where you and your brothers would find him later. His promise haunting him in unrelenting repetition.

"If you do not find a love match until then, I will take you as my bride."

The prospect of being married off for a political alliance scared you beyond reason, even at that age. No matter that your mother promised you would have time to find a good match, you knew eventually you would have to take a husband whether you liked the idea or not.

Aemond, being the good friend you could always count on, made an oath that he will not let you face that fate, to be given to a stranger who would not care for you. And when you giggled and asked how he planned to do that, he blurted out that he would marry you instead.

Your answering frown broke his foolishly infatuated heart but your question of what if he would already love someone else by then soothed the hurt as you showed care for his happiness, possibly at the expense of your own.

That thought, the thought that you cared, kept him sane through the pain of losing his eye and the following years of misery. He was determined to prove himself to be worthy as your king, although he would never admit it, not even to himself but that is what kept him going through the pain and the gossip and the mockery he was subjected to for all these years.

And now he feels like all his efforts paid off as he catches your brother's stunned and frightened expression while training but nothing could prepare him for the subtle wonder he sees from you as you are unable to look away from him, even as your brother's drag you away. The words repeat in his mind with a renewed fury.

"I will take you as my bride."

Aemond feels conflicted at the gathering in the throne room. On one hand, he couldn't deny if he tried that he immensely enjoys as Vaemond berates your mother and shames your brothers, on the other hand, he is ready to kill the man for implying the same accusation to you. In the end, he didn't have to, Daemon took care of it much to his delight and it seems to yours as well.

The dinner is awkward but he doesn't care, he can only focus on you, barely able to tear his gaze away as he deals with Aegon's foolishness and tries to keep an eye on your brothers as well. The second-born prince is thoroughly entertained though. With your flustered expression whenever your gazes lock and with the obvious fear his intimidating behaviour is causing to his nephews.

His good mood is gone as soon as the little bastard who took his eye starts to laugh at his expense. Aemond hesitates before the last word, his eye finding yours once more and you would swear you could see a hint of regret or dare say apology flicker over him for a second.

Doesn't matter though, his revenge is short-lived because as soon as your brothers would react you stand and raise your cup to him.

"I'd like to thank you for your kind words, uncle. Although I must say I feel a little left out, might even be offended if I didn't know better that your praises apply to me as well." You smirk in a way that tells him he managed to hurt you with his words after all but before he could say anything you continue. "In the spirit of that, I'd like to return the favour on the behalf of my siblings and I."

You hear your mother hiss your name in warning but out of the corner of your eye you can tell Daemon is delighted and that gives you the strength to go on.

"I raise my cup to my uncles, the finest examples of Westerosi nobility." You finish the simple praise and take a sip of your wine while you still smirk at him, this time in victory and with a hint of condescension.

Although you can tell at least half of the table doesn't understand the insult, not even the Hand, who was more often referred to as cunt by the Rogue Prince than by his name or title. Oh, but the person you aimed it at definitely gets it. Denying the proud prince his Valyrian heredity is perhaps a bigger insult than anything you could come up with about his childhood or his injury. Which, to be honest, was a sore subject to you too, so you couldn't even go there if you wanted to.

The dinner goes on, and you watch as Aemond tries to breathe through his anger while you bask in your triumph and the silent affection of Daemon's approval. But your smug smile hinders as his own lips start to mirror yours.

You are speechless when he stalks over you and even more so when he asks you for a dance. You are too stunned to do anything but accept.

"Breathe." He whispers into your ear as he leans down while he pulls you closer.

You didn't even realise you were holding your breath until then. The almost frightened look you give him as he guides you to the tune makes him smile even more but he says nothing else as long as you dance.

With the song ending, there's still a bit of a murmuring conversation going on at the table but Aemond's voice cuts through it easily, gaining the attention of your extended family.

"It is your nameday in a week. Tell me, Princess, have you found a love match yet, as you wished? Are you betrothed to any lord?"

He knows you are not, although he wouldn't admit that out loud either, that he was willing to endure the mockery of the court ladies if he could keep up with the gossip about your engagement, or lack of it fortunately.

To your surprise, it's the still entertained Rogue Prince who answers on your behalf with laughter in his voice as he says "No."

If you would be less shocked, you would spare him a glare but an almost forgotten memory comes back to torment you at that moment.

"If you do not find a love match until then, I will take you as my bride."

Aemond just humms at your widening eyes and lets you hanging for a long moment.

"In that case, I have a promise to keep, my Princess." He is equally entertained as his uncle as you are still frozen in place, gaping at Aemond in disbelief. The palpable dread of most of the people at the table only adds to his good mood as he seals your fate. "I will make you my wife."

He doesn't seem concerned as all hell breaks loose. His mother and grandfather objecting loudly, Aegon and Daemon sharing Aemond's odd cheerfulness at the chaos while your soon-to-be good sisters are trying to hold back your brothers. You can't tell how your mother or Heleana is reacting in the midst of all the noise and eventual fight.

It takes punching your apparent betrothed to snap you out of the paralysed state but Aemond's pleased, smug and nonchalant reaction to the hit makes you pause again for a second so when you react, Jace is already down, Luke is held by Aegon and Rhaena is trying to restrain Baela before your brothers are being held back by the guards.

"Enough!" you yell as loud as you can and it makes everyone stop and turn back to you. Before you have a chance to say anything else, your brothers try to attack again but this time Daemon finally steps up, commanding them to stop before turning to Aemond with a positively amused but still challenging demeanour.

You roll your eyes at them and turn to search for your mother to make sure she is okay. Rheanyra steps closer to you taking your hands in hers, a thousand questions in her eyes as she tries to provide some calmness. When a silent agreement is made to talk later, you shift your attention back to the two princes.

The staring match just ends as you face them again. with another humm from Aemond before, for the first time, he acknowledges the presence of his half-sister. The grin he greets her with cannot be described as anything other than evil as he digs your grave even further.

"I see no reason to prolong this any longer. The wedding will be held in a fortnight."

With that, he exits the room without sparing you a glance and you are left to direct your frustration at a still-amused Daemon.

You hit him in the arm and he feigns hurt mockingly before pulling you into a hug, promising it will be alright.

[pengujoon]

DRUNK-DAZED

content. gojo x drunk!reader, fluff, lots of fluff and domesticity! reader gets hit on in the bar, protective gojo. teacher!reader au (NOT to be mistaken as a student x teacher relationship). NOT established relationship au, but things get well at the end

a/n. I love this one so much. honestly who wouldn’t want to wake up to a beauty like gojo right next to them? 

The night was alive with energy as the city's neon lights painted the streets in a vibrant palette. You found yourself seated at the bar of a trendy establishment, laughter and conversations merging into a symphony of shared moments. The bartender was a familiar face, and the ambiance felt like a comforting embrace.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, Satoru Gojo — the charismatic and enigmatic jujutsu sorcerer — had decided to explore the city's nightlife. Fate had guided him to the very bar where you had become a regular presence.

As he entered, the atmosphere shifted. Gojo's presence was magnetic, drawing attention from all corners of the room. His gaze scanned the crowd before landing on you at the bar. A glint of recognition crossed his eyes, and he approached with his signature charisma.

"Isn't this a pleasant surprise?" Gojo's smooth voice carried a hint of amusement as he took the seat beside you.

You turned, a mixture of surprise and delight evident on your face. "Gojo, what brings you here?"

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "Just thought I'd see what the nightlife has to offer. And it seems I've stumbled upon a familiar face."

A blush tinted your cheeks, and you couldn't suppress a smile. "Well, welcome to my little corner of the night."

As the hours passed, conversation flowed with an easy familiarity. You shared stories, laughed at each other's jokes, and navigated the evening with the kind of companionship that felt both comforting and thrilling.

"Okay, but imagine if our curses had a karaoke night," you exclaimed, your voice punctuated by laughter.

Gojo's eyes sparkled with amusement. "I can already picture Todo belting out power ballads."

Laughter echoed around you, and as the night deepened, the bar seemed to come alive with its own energy. The bartender, who had become a friend, served your drinks with a knowing smile.

Just as the shroud of midnight enveloped the sky, a shadow fell over the bar. A stranger had approached, his intentions unclear but his demeanour unsettling. His gaze lingered on you, and a shiver ran down your spine.

Gojo's posture subtly shifted, a protective edge entering his expression. His presence radiated authority, sending a clear signal that he was not to be trifled with.

The stranger's smile was anything but reassuring. "Well, well, what do we have here? A lovely lady and her handsome companion."

Your heart raced as Gojo's grip on his glass tightened. His voice was calm but laced with a warning edge. "Can we help you with something?"

The stranger's eyes flickered between you and Gojo, and a smirk tugged at his lips. "Just thought I'd offer the lady some company. She seems like she could use a real man by her side."

Before you could react, Gojo's presence intensified. His voice was a low growl, his eyes locked onto the stranger's with unwavering intensity. "She's perfectly capable of choosing her own company. Now, I suggest you leave."

The tension in the air was palpable, and the stranger seemed to think better of his words. With a mocking grin, he backed away, disappearing into the early morning haze.

You let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding, and your gaze met Gojo's. His expression had softened, the edge of protectiveness replaced by genuine concern.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded, a mixture of emotions swirling within you. "Yeah, thanks to you."

Gojo's lips curved into a small smile. "You know, I've got a reputation to uphold. Can't have anyone causing trouble for someone under my watch."

As the clock neared 2 a.m., the world outside was shrouded in darkness. The drinks had flowed generously, and a warm buzz enveloped you. You felt carefree, as if the weight of the world had momentarily lifted.

"Gojo-sensei," you slurred playfully, "you're really something else, you know?"

He grinned, his own words slightly slurred. "Oh? And what makes you say that?"

You leaned in conspiratorially, your voice hushed. "You've got that enigma thing going on. Like, who even are you, really?"

Gojo's laughter was infectious, filling the air as he leaned closer. "Ah, the mystery deepens."

As the night progressed, you found yourself drifting into a haze of warmth and laughter. Time became fluid, and the line between reality and the intoxicating atmosphere of the bar blurred.

At some point, the bar's lights seemed to shimmer with an ethereal glow. The laughter continued, but you were cocooned in a bubble of your own, your eyelids growing heavier by the moment.

"Hey, are you okay?" Gojo's voice broke through the fog, his concern evident.

You managed a drowsy smile. "I'm good, just... cozy."

Gojo chuckled, and before you knew it, strong arms were wrapped around you. His warmth was reassuring, and as you leaned against him, you felt a sense of safety and protection you hadn't experienced before.

"Time to head back," he murmured, his voice a soothing melody.

Your surroundings blurred as Gojo guided you, the city's lights a soft glow in the background. The night was still young, and while the world continued its dance, you were wrapped in the arms of a protector, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

And as you succumbed to the embrace of sleep, you couldn't help but think that sometimes, the night could bring surprises that left you with a sense of wonder and warmth.

Your body felt weightless, cradled in a protective embrace. Your head rested against a solid chest, the rhythmic sound of a heartbeat reverberating through you. As consciousness gradually returned, you became aware of the gentle swaying motion and the soft footfalls beneath you.

You were being carried.

Your eyes fluttered open, your vision hazy as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. The city lights blurred into streaks of colour, and the cool night air brushed against your skin.

And there it was — the subtle, inviting scent that had greeted you, like a whisper in the air. It was a fragrance that mingled with the night, an aroma that made your senses come alive.

"Easy there," a voice murmured, its tone both comforting and amused.

Your colleague was carrying you. The Satoru Gojo was carrying you, his arms securely around you as he navigated the darkened streets. Your initial surprise gave way to a mixture of gratitude and confusion.

"Gojo-sensei?" you managed to mumble, your words slurred from the lingering effects of the alcohol.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling against your cheek. "That's right. Just relax, I've got you.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest, a sense of safety that was both unexpected and oddly comforting. The night's events seemed surreal, a blend of laughter, drinks, and now this — being carried by the very person you had shared the night with.

As you rested against him, your thoughts began to drift, and your eyelids grew heavy once more. The sensation of being in his arms, his heartbeat as your lullaby, carried you into the embrace of sleep.

As the morning sun filtered through the curtains, painting the room in a soft glow, you shifted in your sleep, your senses gradually awakening. The first thing you felt was warmth — a cocoon of comfort and security that enveloped you.

Your eyes fluttered open, and there he was — Satoru Gojo, still beside you, his arms wrapped around you in an embrace that felt both protective and intimate. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, his expression peaceful in sleep.

The events of the previous night flooded back — the laughter, the shared stories, being carried by him — and now, waking up in his embrace. It was a moment of vulnerability and connection that left your heart racing.

For a few moments, you simply watched him, taking in the details — the tousled hair, the relaxed features, the way his arms held you close as if unwilling to let go.

But it was when your gaze shifted to his face that you were truly captivated. The soft morning light cast a gentle glow upon his features, accentuating the curve of his lips and the peaceful expression that graced his features in slumber.

The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest was mesmerising, a reminder that even the most powerful could find solace in the embrace of dreams. His lips, which had quirked into countless smiles and sly grins, now held an air of serenity, their subtle curve almost poetic against the canvas of his face.

And as you continued to watch him, a rush of tenderness swept over you. It was a rare privilege, to witness the vulnerability of a man who often wore his strength like armour. In this moment, there was no grandeur, no pretence — just Satoru Gojo, as he truly was.

You couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for the man who held your heart, even in his unconscious state. His beauty was not just in his striking appearance, but in the way he made you feel — safe, cherished, and utterly alive.

As if sensing your gaze, Satoru stirred, his eyes slowly opening. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he met your gaze, his hold on you never wavering.

"Good morning," he whispered, his voice a husky murmur.

"Good morning," you replied, your voice soft and filled with a mixture of emotions.

He shifted slightly, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he leaned in. His lips met yours in a gentle kiss, a sweet affirmation of the connection that had formed between you.

When he pulled back, his gaze held a warmth that reached deep into your heart. "How did you sleep?"

You smiled, your heart fluttering in response to the tenderness in his gaze. "Better than I've slept in a while."

His smile deepened, and he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "I'm glad to hear that."

As you settled back against him, his embrace felt like home — a place of comfort and safety, of shared laughter and whispered promises. And as you closed your eyes, feeling his steady heartbeat against your cheek, you couldn't help but think that sometimes, the most cherished moments were the ones that took you by surprise, leading you to a connection that felt both extraordinary and right.

I’m in such a brainrot for this man. the power he holds over my thoughts even if he's fictional is just immaculate

[cineresis]

Angels in America

It's amazing how fast an evening at your favorite club can be ruined by someone keeling over and frothing at the mouth. The band never quite gets back into the swing of things afterwards.

"Angel," sighed one of the men, or nearest approximants, at the table next to mine, "why is it that I can never go anywhere with you without stumbling across a body?"

"Oh, come now," said his partner, a soft, fluffy confection in caramel and cream, rising hastily to make his way toward the source of the commotion. The first gentleman, dark, lanky, and excruciatingly chic, got up to follow him. "It's hardly every time."

I stayed where I was for now, casting my gaze around the room as I went over my memory of the past twenty or thirty minutes. Too many people passing close enough to slip something into the victim's drink, too many others to watch at the same time, too many more opportunities to poison him outside my field of view. I was a detective, not God.

"Stumbling upon, once. Literally. Do you know what it's like to have to clean up after that sort of thing? It takes a personal toll."

"Hush, Crowley," chided "Angel". "People can hear you, and you know how queer they get about these things. Ooh, yes, that's strychnine, all right," he added cheerfully, pulling a small vial from his vest pocket and tipping it into his handkerchief. "Nasty stuff."

I got up. As I approached, I caught the faint, unmistakable chemical sweetness of ether fumes and gave them a wide berth, choosing instead to inspect the victim's plate and glass before turning to scan the room from this perspective.

"Now, just what might you be doing?" drawled Crowley.

I looked him over, too, while I was at it. In Crowley's case, this involved a lot of looking and not much over; he was easily more than six feet tall, even while slouching rakishly. The snake tattoo on his right temple suggested certain things about him. The dark glasses that he hadn't removed since he'd entered just suggested questions, since I highly doubted he was blind. "I'm a detective," I said, leaving the obviously at the end of that sentence to implication. "What are you doing?"

This response seemed to delight him. "So are we," Crowley answered, and grinned. "But if you want to get specific about it, I'm keeping you distracted while my friend saves this man's life. Let's see your license, then."

As I took it out, keeping at least one eye on him and his partner, Angel called out to the rubbernecking crowd around us, "I need someone here to run and call the nearest hospital, and a couple of strong men to help get this poor fellow someplace dark and quiet to rest. Best use one of the tablecloths for a stretcher," he added to the first volunteer who stepped forward.

Crowley leaned in closer to study my license. "Drake Silas Donovan," he read off. "'Silas', really?"

"What about it?"

"I've just always wondered what kind of parent would name their kid Silas."

"The kind who had a grandfather named Silas," I replied coolly, snagging my license back. "Your turn."

He obliged. Anthony J. Crowley, it read, licensed in London since 1905, the year before mine. I wondered how long he'd been at this; he looked too young for his apparent age, but then I looked too old for mine. "A. J. Crowley," I read his signature aloud. "Get asked if you're any relation every time, or just most?"

There's a certain motion a person's head makes when they roll their eyes. Crowley's was making it. "The man's an embarrassment to the side," he griped. "I made my name legitimately."

"And your friend?" It wasn't as if I couldn't put two and two together. There's a certain type of person who's got both a nose for trouble and the brains to prepare for it; if it walks, talks, and thinks like a dick, it probably is one. It was just that I wasn't in the habit of trusting people, and I'd be a real schmuck to neglect basic due diligence on the guy purportedly surrounded by bodies. 

Detectives are no better or worse than any other person. They just think it's usually more interesting to solve crimes than commit them.

"Oh, he's as legitimate as it gets." Crowley turned to his companion, who was getting to his feet, brushing his clothes off fussily. Beside him, the two volunteers hoisted the unconscious victim onto a tablecloth spread across the floor, momentarily dislodging the ether-soaked cloth before Angel caught it and laid it carefully back in place over the victim's nose and mouth. "Aren't you, Aziraphale?"

Angel — "Aziraphale"? — looked up, startled. "Pardon?"

"Mr. Donovan here wants to see your detective's license," Crowley explained, enunciating his words with malice aforethought.

"Oh! Yes. Of course I always have that with me. Now just where did I..." He started patting down his pockets, stopped suddenly, and took a lovely calfskin card holder out of his coat. "Ah. Here it is."

Beaming, he passed it to Crowley, who passed it to me with the comment, "You'll find everything in order, I'm sure."

I glanced down at the card, then back up at Angel. "Am I supposed to call you A. Z. Fell or Aziraphale?" I asked, pronouncing the Z correctly as zed.

"A. Z. Fell is how 'Aziraphale' is pronounced in the King's English," said Crowley blandly, affecting a cut-glass Oxford accent on the last phrase. His partner seemed pleased by this comment, rather than annoyed.

"I'm afraid my progenitor bestowed me with a rather unwieldy given name," Fell admitted, raising fascinating questions about just how many syllables the British peerage could fit on a birth certificate when they really tried. "Aziraphale just sounds so much more euphonious, don't you think?" Crowley was right; I couldn't tell whether Fell had meant to say A. Z. Fell or the de-accented gloss. He'd lengthened the half-syllable between zed and Fell to a full vowel, but some people said zetta.

"I wouldn't know," I replied, handing the license back to Crowley, who was nearest. When Fell didn't take my bait, I added, "Lucky that you happened to have ether handy. I wouldn't like to imagine what might've happened if you'd decided to stay in tonight." I also lied when I said sorry, and when I swore to tell the whole truth and nothing but. Little white lies are the oil in the gears of civilization.

"Oh, I always carry that, too," Fell explained earnestly. "One gets into the habit after one's first run-in with strychnine, and of course ether has so many useful applica—"

"I wouldn't, angel," Crowley interrupted, sounding very amused. "Mr. Donovan thinks you're the one behind this."

"Oh," said Fell, nonplussed. "Gosh. Well, I — I suppose I can't blame him. He doesn't know me from Adam, after all, and has no reason to trust me — I did warn you about giving people funny ideas, Crowley, honestly. Of course," Fell turned to me, laying an elegant hand across his chest, "if you were to search me, you would find only a small collection of antidotes — oh, but a habitual poisoner would probably carry those, too, especially if he were the sort of voyeur with a penchant for playing the hero. I certainly wouldn't be convinced of my innocence. Yes, I can certainly understand whatever suspicion you might feel towards me, however misplaced it may be."

Crowley watched this thought process with an expression somewhere between fascination and agony. "Well, at least now he probably thinks that if you'd done it, you'd have been caught by now," he remarked, presumably because he was thinking the same thing. "You'll have to excuse my friend," Crowley added to me. "He still believes that the innocent have nothing to fear. Somehow."

"First time visiting?" I guessed.

Fell's bemusement answered my question before he did. "Pardon?"

"Never mind."

[l-lend]

a/n - Okay it's been a minute but another one for @clonexreaderbingo. This was a bit of a challenge since I've never written for Wolffe and Plo Koon so any feedback would be great.

Eager eyes watched from her perch on the sofa. Florescent costume jewelry encircled her tiny fingers as she gripped the back of the furniture. Her vigil quietly observed by her parents from the kitchen.

“How long has she been like this?” The clone commander asked.

The woman by his side exhaled an amused breath, “Since I told her you and I were going out.”

She turned to study his face as he regarded their daughter. Commander Wolffe was not the most outwardly expressive man, but with time spent together she had grown adept at discerning his mood. The spark in his left eye, the subtle curl of his lip. He saved his smiles for special occasions.

An amused huff blew from his nose as the child sprang from her post with a delighted squeal.

“He's here!”

With a squeeze of his hand from his lover, Wolffe ventured into the living room while his little one sprinted towards the door.

“He'shereHe'shereHe'shereHe'shereHe'shereHe'shereHe'shere!”

As soon as the front door slid open, the child pounced.

“Uncle Plo!”

The guest in question crouched down to the child's level.

“Hello, little pup.”

The two exchanged a brief hug before the Kel Dor's gaze traveled to lock onto the clone. Plo raised a hand in greeting.

“Apologies, I was kept later than usual.”

“It's no problem,” the woman replied emerging from the kitchen, “Selene's been busy setting up.”

“Uh huh, Mom helped me with the snacks.”

“Oh,” Plo turned his attention back to Selene, “another of your tea parties? I seem to remember Sinker enjoying them.”

Selene nodded enthusiastically, “Yeah! Wanna see?”

“I'd love to. If you give me a moment, I'll join you shortly.”

Wolffe's pup shot off. The sound of footfalls echoed down the hall.The adults sat in a moment of silence.

“Thank you for watching her.” Wolffe began.

The jedi's features crinkled, tinged with mirth, “It's no trouble. She's a welcomed break from the galaxy.”

A pair of hands grasped onto the clone's arm before he felt a familiar weight against his shoulder.

“We shouldn't be long.”

“Take all the time you need. However, I need to see about this tea party.”

“Wolffe?”

The commander's thoughts returned to his wife. Her features twisted in concern.

“Sorry, just...”

Her hand folded over his as if to bolster him.

“Work thoughts still going?”

He sighed in hopes of lifting the invisible weight off his chest.

“Selene was almost glad to see us go.”

Her features softened, “She doesn't get to see Plo too often.”

His flat gaze brushed away her attempts to cushion the blow.

“The war was easier, mesh'la. I could handle clankers.”

Her delicate fingers graced the underside of his chin, bringing his face back to her.

“She sees you trying,” She offered a smile, “just give her time.”

The clone commander chewed on her advice through the rest of their outing.

Selene frowned from her place at the head of her plastoid table.

“Something troubling you?”

The child's eyes remained on the brightly colored tea set.

“You've known my daddy a long time.”

The jedi master shifted on the seat he was perched on.

“I have. He and I helped a lot of people.”

“Do you think he likes me?”

Silence the span of a heart beat seemed to stretch for eternity. She fidgeted under his gaze. Plo took a breath as he meticulously picked his words.

“Do you know the name of your father's battalion?”

She nodded, “The wolf pack. There's a picture of a loth-wolf. Daddy has one.” Her fingers tapped her shoulder where a pauldron would sit.

Plo smiled, “You're right. Did he tell you the story about the loth-wolves?”

At the shake of her head, Plo began his tale.

“Loth-wolves are protectors. They scare off anything that would wish them harm, but all the loth-wolves come together to protect someone most precious.”

He glanced at her enraptured expression. Her body leaned forward as if to urge him on.

“One who was brave. She would feed them and care for them, and they vowed to defend her until the end.”

“Who was she?”

Plo tilted his head upward as if to ponder, “Princess Selene of the Cynthus moon.”

Her tiny jaw hit the floor. After a few moments, the child glanced from her plastoid table to a section of shelving that housed a variety of paper.

“Uncle Plo, can you help me with something?”

The commander and his wife soon shuffled in. However, something was amiss as Selene rocked back and forth on her heels.

“Daddy, I got something for you.”

At his piqued curiosity, he noticed both of her hands were hidden behind her back. She pursed her lips before she loosed a roll of her eyes. She was definitely his daughter.

“You gotta close your eyes first.”

A glance to his wife and a reassuring gesture from her, and his eyes slid closed. A ruffle of thick paper met his ears.

“Okay, you can look.”

His eyes immediately met the colorful paper that had seemingly suffered a glitter assault with a drawing that was similar to the artwork that was displayed in their kitchen. Selene held the paper aloft with a grin. The words 'You're Invited' penned in purple as well managed as her little hands could be.

@locitapurplepink, @rain-on-kamino @starrylothcat @writing-positivelyexisting @burningfieldof-clover @padawancat97 @ahsokastechie

[bellepark]

Hitomonchaku nara Yorokonde! (2023) —ep.1

[alexcutecolly]

A Game of Fear and Shrinking: Rewritten

Hello everyone! As promised, here's another, improved take on my first vore story from 2017!

I'd like to thank my awesome sweetheart @bluepriestess for betareading, providing great support and suggesting wonderful ideas for the characters! She's the best bestie! 💕

Although the vore scene described is non-sexual and there's no explicit content in the story, it is best suited for 17+ readers, as it contains themes for a more mature audience. Still, please don't reblog it on exclusively-NSFW/kink blogs. Actually, DNI if you host these kinds of blogs.

Reader is gender neutral in the story.

I hope you enjoy my fic everyone!

CW: unwilling vore, unwilling prey, sadistic/cruel pred, weakened/poisoned prey, fearplay.

Words: 1,435

Ao3 version

~°~

Thump thump. Thump thump.

This is the only noise you're able to hear right now. Your own heartbeat. It bumps so hard in your chest that it’s like it wants to break free and flee far, far away.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

Your head hurts, you can barely focus on what’s happening. The only thing you know is that you're running away from someone dangerous. And that someone is chasing you in this very moment, you can feel it in your veins. Your adreline levels are off the charts.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

A sudden headache blinds your sight for a second, forcing you to stop and take some deep breaths.

W-what is happening? He must not reach me, or else-

And that's when you hear it. A dark chuckle erupts from behind you, slowly approaching your weakening body.

"Oooh, what do we have here~? Looks like my delightful snack has escaped. What a shame" the voice says, getting closer. Footsteps reverbate as he gets closer, thumping in the silent void between the two of you. Your eyes don't want to meet his, the latter fixated on you with a familiar hunger.

'You're not a meal to him and you will never be', you’ve kept saying to yourself for the last few days. What he did to you is beyond anyone’s mind, even trying to talk about it with someone is difficult. It hurts. And it doesn’t help that your energies are quickly abandoning you, for some reason.

"Why did you stop running, darling~? Is the poison starting to take effect your cute, scrumptious body~?" he asks, grinning as he keeps walking towards you. You start to feel limp, barely able to stand.

“W-what’s this?? Why would you do this???” is all you can blurt out in panic. He just chuckles in response.

“Excuse me~ I couldn't wait to eat ya so I decided to add something different to your last meal~ You just look too damn delicious when you sleep" he continues, now only some feet away from you.

You try to scream, but nothing but whimpers and sobs come out of your mouth. He snickers again at your pitiful attempt to cry out.

"Awwww!~ You seem in trouble~ How fortunate of me to pop here just to help you out!~~", his voice echoing in the abandoned factory as he takes some more steps forwards.

Curse you, sicko! You and you sickening humor, you think, gritting your teeth in an attempt not to lose focus.

The mad man is now before you, breathing just some inches away from your face. With a smirk, he then proceeds to firmly pin you against the closest wall, giving you a lick on your trembling cheek. "Now now, let's have some fun, shall we~?"

Your eyes immediately open wide as you realize his intensions and begin to struggle more, your efforts useless against his strength. Oh, if only you could smack his face! But he has the upper hand right now, and he seems to quite enjoy your squirming.

"Oh~ We didn’t even get started and you’re already fighting back! It’ll please us both, don’t worry” he says, chuckling as he then pulls out his usual small remote control.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

Nononono!

Before you could even shriek he presses the button, breaking the silence with a deep chuckle. Suddenly a known stinging pain bursts behind your left ear and hastily spreads everywhere, from head to toe. You only have the time to close your eyes and hiss in pain.

When you open them again everything around is huge now compared to you, just like him.

To your purest disgust you look up, realizing he’s staring in awe at your shrunken figure, currently the size of a pinky finger. And as if things couldn’t get worse, your limbs feel numb and you can’t move any longer. The poison must have taken full control now.

N-not again! Please, I don’t want to!

"Aw, you look so cute I could just eat you up~” he taunts, easily grabbing you in his fist, admiring you like a child with a brand new toy. You’ve never liked that glare, you can’t bear it. Though despite your weak state, you finally managed to spit something out.

“You jerk, I’ve heard you say that so often I know you’re actually gonna do it” you snarl, making your best try at squirming away at that same moment.

He stares at you puzzled, raising an eyebrow. But that confusion disappears as soon as he starts to cackle, taking away your unique occasion of satisfaction against him.

“Someone’s being funny here~ But time’s running out, gotta hurry y’know?” he says, approaching you to his lips before you could even blink.

That’s where the nightmare begins. Snapping his teeth before you, breathing on your face or licking it are his favourite ways to send shivers down your spine, your struggles the best part of the show. It’s always just a game to him anyway, so why shouldn’t he have his own fun?

Weirdly enough he already gets tired of it, so without warning he swiftly opens his mouth and tosses you inside, shutting it immediately afterwards.

He did it on purpose, the bastard.

All the light has disappeared now and you can feel something spongy, slimy and warm under you. It can be only one thing. Some drips of saliva fall on your already moist face and you suddenly find yourself pinned against the roof of his mouth.

So fucking gross…

He doesn’t even spare some sucking, as you get moved around to taste every inch of your body. Luckily your clothes have shrunk with you... Hell seems the best place to you when he slowly tilts his head back, causing you to inevitably slide towards the back of his mouth, without the time to react and fight back.

Oh no-

GULP~

It all happens so fast. Your limp body being pushed in his tight throat. His faint groans, his fingers caressing a familiar bulge in the neck. The peristalsis pulling you deeper into him, the beating of his heart and the calm breathing.

You just decide to close your eyes once again, letting the esophagus drop you in your churning prison. Inside, it’s almost pitch black. A small pond of acids and a cacophony of gurgles welcome you, with a loud rumble that makes the whole chamber vibrate.

Urp~

Wonderful.

"Hehe, pardon me pet. You really are such an unique delicacy~~ this is why no one else must have you." he says, wiping some drool away from his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Mmmmm~ in fact, you do belong in my gut, stewing away from everything and everyone else~~ I doubt anyone else would be able to enjoy this as much as I am now~~”

You feel his hand rubbing his belly from outside, giving it a couple of pats too. If it's either a way to comfort you or to simply express his smugness, you can't say.

Definitely more of the latter, though.

...

Thankfully he made you indigestible, when he brought you here who knows how long ago. A simple injection, and now he can eat you as many times as he pleases. No lack of oxygen whatsoever, and the stomach acids barely run down your skin and clothes just like water.

He wouldn't want to hurt you in that kind of way, to be fair; he's been at least a little considerate in that regard. So despite everything, you're actually glad he's removed the painful parts of being inside someone else's belly.

The walls around you continue to churn away at your now tiny figure. Pushing them away proves to be of little to no effect to him, and the surroundings merely slosh loudly all around you.

"Since it’s all being settled, let's go back to the lab now, I'll let you out there" he exclaims, the stomach around you shaking a little as he starts heading back to his secret hideout.

"However, because of this futile stunt of yours, you're going to stay inside for as long as I see fit~ which could be hours, or a couple of days, maybe a whole week as well! We have aaaall the time in the world after all, don't we?". He snickers, his booming steps neverending.

With the remaining energy, you manage to lay down against one of the fleshy walls, your arms bringing your knees close to your chest in an attempt to curl up.

He won again.

...

You let out a sigh in defeat.

He always wins.

[noblest-roman-of-them-all]

Plushie Trouble

Based on this prompt by @sleepyvirgilprompts

Roman frowned when he saw that the light in the kitchen was already on. It was the middle of the night; the whole house should have been dark. Had someone else gotten up for a glass of water too, or...?

His frown deepened when he entered the kitchen and found Virgil sitting on the table, staring blankly into space. He was wearing pajamas, but judging by how exhausted he looked, he hadn't slept. Roman wasn't sure Virgil had even noticed him-- he hadn't reacted at all.

"Uh, Virgil?" he said. "You okay?"

"I can't find it," Virgil said. "I can't find it, and I'm so tired."

Roman slid onto to the table next Virgil, gently wrapping an arm around him. Virgil slumped tiredly against his side with a small sniffle.

"Can't find what, stormcloud?" He asked gently and lightly thumbed Virgil's arm.

Virgil laughed tearfully. "You're gonna laugh at me."

"I won't," Roman promised. "Maybe I can help you find it."

"Promise you won't get mad either?"

Roman frowned. "I'm not sure why I'd be mad over something you lost."

"'Cause Remus gave it to me."

The Prince nodded with a sigh. That made sense. "I promise I'm not mad at you. I've kept things he gave me too. Can you tell me what it looks like so I can help you find it?"

Virgil sniffed again and wiped his cheek with the sleeve of his hoodie. "My Shelob plushie," he croaked.

Roman went still. "The...giant man-eating spider from Lord of the Rings?"

Virgil nodded. "Remus made me a weighted one that's almost as big as me to lie on my chest so I won't move around as much, especially on bad nights. Actually get some restful sleep."

"Tonight's been a bad night, hasn't it?" He asked gently.

"I don't know, I can't sleep!" Virgil laughed bitterly. "Last night was though."

Roman squeezed Virgil a little tighter. "You know if you ever need-"

Virgil shook his head. "I don't wanna be a bother. I'm already doing that!"

"You're not. My door is always open to you, Virgil. Now. Let's find your Shelob, hm? Do you remember where you last saw her?"

"My room? But I looked, Ro, she's not there," Virgil’s voice edged on a whine.

"You're also very tired. So how about this. Since we're down stairs we'll look around here first-"

"I already did. What if she's gone, Ro?"

"Take a deep breath, Virge. You're really tired and you might have missed her-"

"She's huge-"

"And imaginary. Rules of physics don't apply to her, especially if Remus made her. Considering Remus made her, she's probably designed to respawn in random places that she shouldn't fit or would be funny if one us found her randomly and would be startled by it. Like...I dunno, the microwave!"

Roman hoped off the table and moved to the microwave. He pressed the button and the door swung open faster than he expected and a massive black shape shot out at him.

If he hadn't been so caught off guard he might have given a most undignified scream indeed.

"It worked!" Virgil cried out in delight. He hoisted the giant plushie off Roman, who sat pale and startled on the floor, and hugged it closely. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "Princey?"

The Prince of Creativity, sat still stunned on the floor. Virgil snickered and set his beloved plush on the table and offered a hand to Roman. "C'mon, Princey."

Roman took the proffered hand and was once more caught off guard when Virgil pulled him to his feet and directly into his arms.

"Thank you."

Roman finally recovered and gave a soft smile, returning the embrace and resting his cheek against Virgil's head. "You're welcome, Virgil. Think you can sleep now?"

Virgil nodded with a smile. "Yeah."

"Good. Cause I won't!" He teased. "Let's get to bed."

[silentcrowsilentravens]

Heya Raven! If you're still doing requests I'd love to see the the resident evil ladies (and maybe magnet man) with a fem!S/O who's basically Himiko Toga from My Hero Academia? Like drinking blood and becoming someone else and if they have powers being able to use them... I had a hell of a night last night. Power was out, no sleep, huge storm, sirens everywhere... I'd appreciate the comfort if that's ok

Hope everything's okay where you are. <3

I'm assuming you're talking about the RE 8 ladies, but if not, feel free to drop another message in my inbox. Cut Mia from this one since my character limit is 8, and she's technically a RE 7 lady anyway. Sorry, Mia.

Daniela Dimitrescu, Cassandra Dimitrescu, Mother Miranda, Bela Dimitrescu, Alcina Dimitrescu, Donna Beneviento, Elena Lupu, and Karl Heisenberg with a s/o who takes the appearance and powers of others after drinking their blood.

(Fem reader).

Warnings: blood, mentions of violence. 

Masterlists here!

Daniela Dimitrescu

So... If Daniela grabs a bottle of vintage and you drink a glass, you'll turn into the maiden whose blood was used to make it, right?

That's so cool!

The things the two of you could get up to together... The chaos!

What would happen if you drank the blood of multiple people mixed together? Will you only turn into one? Will you turn into one, then another? Will you become an amalgamation of them? Do you want to test it?

...Do you want to drink Daniela’s blood? Wouldn’t it be romantic if you both drank each other’s blood?!

(Everyone in the castle dreads days when there appears to be two Daniela Dimitrescus running around). 

(You can’t help it if being able to dissolve into insects is a fun time). (And Daniela can’t help it if her energy level is always cranked up to eleven). 

Cassandra Dimitrescu

Ooh, Cassandra's never been with a woman that drinks blood. She’s fairly excited when you tell her. 

I feel as though Cass isn’t usually into the idea of her partner drinking her blood, but if it’s you...? Go ahead.

Occasionally, she’ll try to bribe you to turn into a particular person because wants to screw with someone. 

The two of you do this thing where you borrow somebody else’s face and Cass tries to track you down. 

She gives you one of her knives. That way you always have a way to spill blood. : )

She won’t lie, there’s something particularly attractive about you when your face and clothes are smeared with red. 

Mother Miranda

Miranda deduced what your whole schtick is before you even told her, piecing together subtle accidental hints you dropped here and there.

Also, one time, she literally walked in on you downing one of the blood units she keeps in her lab.

You turned around, having taken on the appearance of a villager that’s now deceased. Your eyes are wide with surprise, explanations about to spill forth. 

But Miranda simply greeted you with a “hello, dear”, an unamused look, and directed you to a different drawer, filled with units closer to expiring. You can dip into those. Hands off the fresher stuff. 

As a woman of science, Miranda is mildly fascinated by your ability. She’s going to ask you loads of questions. 

Would you allow her to run a few tests on you? 

Bela Dimitrescu

As expected, Bela is delighted to hear about your love of blood.

She asks a decent amount of questions about your power. She thinks it's interesting, and she wants to fully understand!

Unlike her sisters, Bela doesn't encourage you to cause loads of trouble with your power.

...For the most part, that is. Hunts can be so much more fun when you're added to the mix!

Alcina Dimitrescu

Ah, another woman with a palate similar to Alcina’s.

It never stops catching her slightly off guard when you steal a sip of her wine, and she turns back around to find someone else in the spot you were once occupying.

Your power never fools her, though. She always knows when it’s you.

Donna Beneviento

When you tell Donna, she seems entirely unfazed by the information. 

(A part of her is jealous of your ability to change your appearance, to be honest).

She thanks you for trusting her with the knowledge, asks a few questions, and that’s mostly it. 

No, wait. Donna asks one thing of you. If you’re going to approach her while wearing someone else’s face, please tell her that it’s you. She doesn’t want to assume and end up being wrong. That'd be mortifying!

Angie is endlessly entertained and interested in your shapeshifting antics.

Elena Lupu

You don’t tell Elena until after the two of you have been dating for a while.

You were planning on telling her sooner, but when you saw how she got when the Lords came up in discussion? Specifically Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters? ...You couldn’t do it. You didn’t want to scare her off.

Elena won't lie, it does freak her out a little bit at first. The blood-drinking part, that is.

The whole thing takes her some getting used to.

One day, she cuts herself while cooking and decides to let you try her blood.

Seeing herself standing in front of her is certainly a bizarre experience for Elena. Especially when the second her stands like you, talks like you, and looks at her the way you do. She isn’t sure how to feel.

Karl Heisenberg

When he first met you, Karl thought he was gonna have to essentially deal with another Dimitrescu.

But he ends up finding himself fond of you. Very, very fond.

Although you aren’t a vampire, Karl does manage to find plenty of vampire-esque nicknames for you. 

He builds you a lil’ something to make the whole blood extracting/drinking process quicker. 

[cottonundiestf]

You know what, Layla? Let's give you your break. We're going to give you a delightful life and you are going to be aware of every change I make!

Let's start with your Charisma, I think a small boost to this would be lovely for your career and social life, so let's bump that up to a 16.

In this new life I'm giving you I don't think you'll need much strength, so we can drop that to a dainty 9. I'm sure you'll easily find strong ladies and gentlemen to help you when needed.

Let's drop your intelligence down to a solide 7, not to dumb you down, but to brighten you up! Can't overthink yourself into a depressive state if you can't overthink! It is clearly a favor.

Next, we are actually going to give you a solid bump in Wisdom to a big 18. This bump isn't in everything, though. You aren't going to be streetwise, or home remedy wise, no. You are wise when it comes to people, whether that is cheering them up or, if you are feeling malicious, manipulating them into doing or feeling what you want.

We are also going to generally increase you ibero-american beauty. You are going to be putting Sofia Vergara to shame when I'm done with you. Silken, jet-black hair; glowing, bronzed skin; glistening caramel eyes; and a body to die for! Hourglass curves with grippable hips, a waspy waist, and the most perfect tits a girl could ask for; all atop sculpted legs that go on forever.

All of this adds up to your new career as a world-renowned escort for only the wealthiest of clients. They don't hire you for ensure of a carnal variety, no, they enlist your services to elevate their emotional well-being to a higher state. Through your new satin accent and charming personality, all you have to do to satisfy a client is be in their company for an amount of time. You are now an emotional support human for the rich and famous. Enjoy.

It was a change I felt overnight. One day, I woke up and all my social interactions just smoothed out. Baristas were flirting with me and bosses gave me plenty of leeway. I felt the softening of muscles, but it wasn't like I was getting into fights; I'd just talk my way out of trouble if worst came to worst.

Even when it hit me how much my thoughts had slowed down and knowledge seemed to just vanish, I didn't stress. Something assured me I'd be just fine, dummy or not. Life was about understanding people, and I was suddenly so insightful with others, it felt like cheating. It was like being a mind reader who could see the feelings in someone's face.

It was the next day when I woke up, looked in the mirror, and saw an ideal version of myself. Everything my Portuguese roots offered, I had unlocked overnight. My pale skin was perfectly tanned and taught, pairing with this new stunning hourglass figure. I ran my hands over my chest, full and almost unnaturally perky. When I spoke, I even heard the familiar accent of my overseas family on my tongue.

Between my looks and my charms, it wasn't long before I started my new career, body doubling with wealthy clients in emotional turmoil. I was right; I didn't need brains for a wonderful life. I just needed to listen.

And an amazing pair of tits didn't hurt.

[giantkillerjack]

Uh-oh! You are like, SOOO awkward!!

You're so awkward that it is occasionally mildly uncomfortable for people!

You're so awkward that sometimes people are confused by you and then there are awkward silences!

You're so awkward ...... that ultimately no one is harmed!!

Oh damn!!! What a vile crime you have committed! What an unforgivable thing it is to make a fellow human briefly confused!

Why, if *I* were ever briefly confused and kind of uncomfortable as a result, I'd be devastated.... by the absolute net zero change in my happiness and health! - From which I might never recover!! Yes indeed! No punishment can ever be enough for you!!

So you better absolutely hate yourself for it.

Better be SO MEAN to yourself about every single missed social cue so you don't forget your horrible crime! Meaner than you'd ever dream of being to someone else for the same thing! This is YOUR responsibility!

You need to show the world that you KNOW you are bad by punishing yourself constantly! After all, think of all the people who BENEFIT from you punishing yourself! - No, really! Think about it! Think about who benefits from your pain.

Think of alllllll the definitely-good people that your definitely-necessary self-torment definitely helps! I mean, you can't just cut off their definitely-life-sustaining supply of your suffering, right?? Sure, everyone else has a breaking point, but you're probably the only person in human history who doesn't, right? Best not to question it probably. Sure, it's a symptom that billions of people with trauma have had, but who knows? You could be a one-in-seven-billion exception. Anything's possible!

Instead, better just accept that idea that bullies carry like guns in holsters - the idea that people who have trouble with social cues deserve to suffer. Better carry on the burden they placed on you until you drop. Aid the cause of the callous by enforcing shame and suffering upon yourself extra hard; try your best to do their work for them. They're very busy.

Better not recognize that you need patience and kindness to heal from your trauma. Better not find out that it was trauma rather than personal weakness filling your head with self-hating thoughts. Better not find out it wasn't your fault.

Better not find out that awkwardness is not inherently harmful or unkind, and, in fact, the people who act like it is *are the ones enacting harm and being cruel.*

Better not get righteously angry when you realize just how much unnecessary damage this has done to you. After all, if you get mad, you might realize you deserve better. You might even feel brave enough to DEMAND better! You might build boundaries that keep you safe! You might make other people think they deserve to feel safe too! And we obviously can't be having that, so...

Better not show yourself even a little kindness a little bit at a time.

Better not make a habit out of it after all that practice.

Better not get confident.

Especially if you can't first wipe out every trace of awkward. (And you probably never will. Because people who experience absolute social certainty at all times tend to be insufferable assholes that enforce the status quo. And you just don't have the stock portfolio for that.)

Better not be confident and awkward because then you might confuse and delight people

- you might accidentally end up making other people feel less shame for their social difficulties

- you might make isolated, traumatized, and shy people feel like they deserve to be included in social situations

- you might even make them feel they can be themselves around you

- you might start loving the effect you have on a room

- you might enjoy conversations more

- you might forgive yourself and bounce back from shame more easily and frequently

- you might come to enjoy some of those moments of harmless confusion you cause because NOBODY expects the Confident Awkward, and that can genuinely be an advantage in social situations

- you might stop apologizing so much.

- you might find that socializing is like a video game: it requires practice but also a safe space for it to be fun and positive.

Or if you can't become assertive and confident, better not remain awkward and shy and quiet, and then love and forgive yourself anyway!

Why, it would be carnage!!

In either scenario, you run the risk of finding out that it's not your fault that safe spaces full of kind people can be really hard to find, create, and nurture. You could end up building a skillset that helps you do those things if you're not careful!

If you start giving yourself even the tiniest amount of grace at a time, you will find that you've accessed a gateway drug with extreme long-term side effects:

- You might realize that it was never your fault that it took so long to like yourself.

- You might realize that you were always worth talking to, even when you didn't like yourself and communication felt impossibly difficult.

- You might realize that you'll still be worth talking to even if communication becomes harder as you age and/or experience disability.

- You might come to know that you deserve to be heard even on bad days when words come slow and blurry.

You might discover that you were always deserving of kindness, first and foremost from yourself.

So. As you can see, it's FAR too much of a risk to start granting your awkward self free pardons for your many heinous and harmless crimes. Better to just leave it there.