#so many questions and so little time to answer them!

[y2kstarr]

— ᥫ᭡ won't bite . . . chris sturniolo

where . . . "just one more round" chris keeps telling you, but you just can't wait any longer, so you decide to get his attention in a way he absolutely cannot ignore

contains . . . smut, blowjob, semi-public sex activities? (idk how you'd label getting sucked off on stream-), slight brat!reader, mean!chris, usage of "whore" and "slut", degradation and praise.

credits to @delilahsturniolo for the marathon concept

HOT PINK WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #2

"dude– dude! c'mon!" Chris shouts out enthusiastically whilst leaning forward in his chair, playing yet another round of Fortnite on his twitch stream, groaning and leaning back in his chair as he's killed once more, a chuckle leaving him as he tries not to hit his keyboard. "cheap shot– cheap fuckin' shot! you saw that, right chat? fuckin' stupid."

You, on the other hand, had been lying on Chris's bed, scrolling on your phone for god-knows how long, waiting for him to call it quits for the night. You'd rolled over onto your stomach, letting your phone fall to the bed as you propped yourself up on your crossed forearms.

"Are you done yet?" You asked Chris in a near whiny tone, this now being your fifth time asking — or was it your sixth? you've lost count at this point.

"Yeah, yeah just, one more round?" Chris replied with the same damn answer as before, not even turning his head to glance back at you as he got ready for a new round before you could further whine about him not keeping his previous however many promises.

You rolled your eyes and groaned quietly, huffing and pouting like a kid who wasn't getting their treat. But as you looked at his desk and noticed the spacious area underneath, an idea struck you like it was made of pure gold. You picked yourself up and slipped off of his bed, walking up to him in his chair and pressing a kiss to his cheek that he halfly returned.

"Gonna go downstairs, don't be up too much longer," You cooed, a simple deceit to get no questions out of him as he nodded and gave a little "mhm" and a glanced over "love you." Oh he had no idea what was fucking coming to him.

You walked over to the bedroom door, opening it and closing it to mimic you leaving, his head turned to the side enough to not be able to see you, and his shouting covered up you getting down to crawl underneath his desk, comfortably — or at least, as comfortable as you could get under a desk — situating yourself between his open legs. Perfect.

"Woah woah– Are you fucking kidding me?!" Chris shouted at his game whilst you rolled your eyes, before bringing your hands up to his legs, sliding your palms up his inner thighs that had him tensing up and practically jumping instantly as he looked down.

"Jesus—! fuck— scared the shit outta me..." Chris cursed before whispering under his breath, huffing as you just quietly giggled and let your hands trail up further, tugging at the waistband of his sweats and slowly pulling them down.

"Fucking crazy..." He muttered at you, huffing out a half chuckle though before he returned back to his game, making you pout as he still wasn't giving you his full attention. You palmed his cock through his boxers, feeling him twitch and slowly harden, your eyes glancing up and watching the way he bit at his bottom lip to withhold any reactions.

Slowly, you hooked your finger in the waistband of his boxers before tugging it down enough to free his cock, watching it spring up, heavy and thick, that familiar, prominent vein that ran up the underside of his cock making you lick your lips in hungry desire. You leaned forward and slowly dragged your tongue up the underside of his dick, your hand gripping the base to hold him in place.

"Fuck—" Chris muttered through gritted teeth, trying not to show on camera just how much you were affecting him, especially not wanting any of his fans to put two and two together that he was getting his dick sucked under his desk on stream. That'd be so much worse than the jacking off clip..

You smirked as you swirled your tongue around his tip, your lips wrapping around as you suckled on the head of his cock, slowly taking more and more of him into your mouth. You could hear the way his fingers tapped keys and his mouse harder from trying to collect himself, before you felt his hand come down to push your face away.

"Stop that.." He muttered under his breath, eyes glancing down at you as your lips released his cock, giggling quietly up at him before mouthing "what?" with far too much attitude, especially showing through the way you pouted playfully, making his teeth clench as his hand came back up, his head shaking.

"'S just my fuckin' cat, chat," Chris explained, huffing out a chuckle to sound convincing, praying to god the fans wouldn't dig too deep into that to find his lie. But his chuckle fell short from a grunt leaving his lips involuntarily, feeling as you took as much of his cock into your mouth as you could, his tip pressed against the back of your throat in a way that had him nearly losing it.

"Shhii— Ok, chat. I, uh, think I'm gonna call it a night. Gettin' sleepy 'n shit," He kept himself as composed as he could as he felt you swallow around him, before bobbing your head, making his fists clenched and his eyes nearly flutter shut before he waved at the camera with a quick bye. "Night!"

The moment he turned his camera off and ended the stream, you pulled your lips off of his cock once more, laughing at how pissed yet flustered he looked right now, his body now leaning back in his chair as he looked down at you.

"What the fuck? Tryna get me fuckin' caught with you sucking my dick on stream like some whore?" He hissed through his teeth, narrowing his eyes at how you just smiled up at him like you didn't just have his whole cock down your throat. He knew how bratty you could get, how much attitude you wielded with him sometimes, but right now, you were really pulling an attention whore move and he let his already teased lust fuel his actions.

"That's fuckin' it—" He muttered, his hand reaching to the back of your head and pushing your mouth further down his cock in one swift move, watching the way your eyes widened at the action before moaning around his cock due to him getting handsy with you.

"Fuckin' interrupting my game.. can't wait one more goddamn round.." He muttered out under his breath, a groan spilling from his lips as you bobbed your head up and down, his head lolling back as his fingers flexed against the back of your head, before his moved them under to your nape. Gathering up your hair into his palm, he wrapped his hand around it, gripping it tight as he started to rock his hips forward.

Chris let teeth clenched moans spill from his lips, his hips picking up speed as he watched you obediently take it, the vibrations from your moans around his cock sending shivers up his spine. He couldn't help himself as he held your head down as far as it could take, groaning loudly at the way your nose pressed into his happy trail, before he rutted his hips into your mouth.

"This what you wanted? Huh? This why you wanted my attention so bad? So you could choke on my cock?" He grunted, his eyes fluttering at the sight of you, mascara already running down your cheeks as you took his cock like you were meant for it, your little gags and moans making him twitch in your mouth.

His hand finally tugged at your hair to pull you from his cock, a curse falling from his lips as you panted and let out a slurred giggle, rubbing your cheek against the side of his cock. Spit resided on your lips from sucking on his dick before you pressed your lips against his shaft, follow by your tongue, smearing it with cock drunk eyes glancing up at him.

"Fuckin' hell, baby— so fuckin' slutty for me, yeah? You like this dick that much?" He chuckled as you nodded your head, feeling as he hooked a finger under your chin to lift it up a little, his eyes looking over your face once more before humming softly, the pad of his thumb tapping on your bottom lip.

You obedient parted your lips for him, feeling as he slowly pushed his cock back into your willing mouth, groaning at the warm, wet sensation once more. He let his head loll back against the backing of his gaming chair again, his hand resting on top of your head as he let you suck him off, your mouth working him in ways no other girl in his life could ever.

The way your tongue slurped at the underside of his cock and swirled around his tip, the way you couldn't take him fully on your own, having to wrap your hand around the base to help, the way you looked like the hottest fucking thing to ever grace his eyes, hotter than any pornstar he'd ever seen. It made him nearly bust right on the spot.

"Fuck— y're gonna make me cum, baby—" Chris groaned out, feeling that tightening knot in his abdomen burning hot, making his chest rise and fall faster as he glanced down at you, his cock twitching in your mouth at the sight. "Jesus— sh-shit ma—" He breathed out, his hand sliding down to tap his thumb against your cheek, signaling to stop.

You reluctantly slipped his cock out of you mouth, a string of saliva connecting it to your lips before it broke as he wrapped his hand around his dick, stroking himself fast, his lips parting as he let out breathless, shaky curses, almost whining at how good it felt as he climbed and climbed to ecstasy.

"Open up baby, fuck— that's it, shiiitt—" He gasped out before moaning loudly, his eyes fluttering and his body trembling in pleasure as he finally hit his peak, watching as warm, pearly ropes of cum spurted from his cock, landing on your stuck out tongue and your cheeks, groaning at the way you giggled and your breath felt hot against his aching tip.

His hand continued to stroke his now spent cock, riding out his high before finally stilling his trembling hand and letting his body lay back in his chair, admiring the sight of you cleaning up his mess. He watched as you climbed up into his lap, a hiss leaving his clenched teeth at feeling you pressed against his weak cock, before chuckling breathlessly.

"There... did that make up for making you wait so long?" He huffed out, his hand sliding up your thigh and squeezing the plush skin there.

"Mhmmm," You giggled, leaning in to kiss his lips, biting at his bottom lip to earn one more groan from him before he playfully glared at you, shaking his head.

"You little fuckin' minx."

☆ : this is deadass my favorite song on this album, only rivaled by talk dirty and addiction 😝 this was fr one of the top three I was most excited to write 😭 still hope you guys enjoy <33

taglist 🏷️

[crepezinhos]

hey, so i did reath BOTH of those before i requested these hehe they were really good omggg (highkey fulfilled my desires….)

idk.. im just REALLY craving a yanderer scara bc i jst love the way u write him,, when u write one ill be super happy like biting the edge of the desk happy, so pleek PLEASE keep this in the back of ur mind i beg of

Number 1 Fan

(REQUEST #14) POV: After the failed dinner with your family, things in your life started to suddenly feel eerier than usual. Scaramouche felt extremely awkward to talk to and even your secret lifestyle seems to have changed with the arrival of a new premium viewer called ‘Balladeer’.

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is a NSFW Yandere work

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— Contains: Sex work, masturbation, dirty talk, threats and lots of insults

— Stalker!Yandere!Scaramouche x SexWorker!Reader

— AU is: Modern

— Reading of previous part is advised

Makeup? Ready.

Toys? Ready.

Lingerie? Ready.

Ok, here we go.

Another day, another livestream.

Three, two, one, and...

Click

The little camera at the top of your computer brightened in red, signaling it was turned on. Then you breathed in and out as you begun to wait for viewers to join before you could start today's performance. Since most of your watchers were already aware of the time you start your livestreams, quickly, the viewer numbers popped from 0 to 17, to 39, and so on...

You like to wait until you reached 100 at minimum before beginning to say ‘Hi’ to them, and 500 to begin the actual performance. Thankfully, reaching 100 viewers was a matter of seconds now.

"Good night, sweeties!" You cutely spoke to your computer’s screen, welcoming all of them warmly as you watched many messages in the chat begin to pop up.

Iloveasianhotties334: You look hot

garrykafka0275: Show your boobs

11037kuwata: Can I request something?

As always, the messages made you feel a bit disgusted and disappointed at humanity, but you held back your aggressiveness and just kept smiling at them.

“‘Can I request something?' Not yet! I'm still going to wait a few minutes..." You answered to ‘11037kuwata' while drinking a quick sip of coffee from the cup you left laying by your computer.

kittylover123456: Beautiful 😻

theballadeer6: Hi

11037kuwata: When are we starting?

lolisonmydee: r u cosplaying

"I'm not cosplaying, but you can pretend I am!" You answered with honesty while winking at him, ignoring the other comments above that last question.

You didn't even realize you had already reached 323 viewers while reading those initial messages.

"Oh, wow! We reached 300 viewers in less than 2 minutes!" You clapped your palms together gently, trying to act excited but cute at the same time.

Men absolutely love women who act cute. No matter what's their type, if they act cute, they'll love it.

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Hello, my queen! 😍

lolisonmydee: You should cosplay tho

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Looking absolutely gorgeous tonight 🤤

The orange username caught your eye.

Ah, yes... 'I love Y/N's lives’… Probably the only man in the chat that restores your faith in the men using this site. You don’t know how he looks behind the computer screen, but he’s unrealistically kind and considerate to you.

"Oh, hello there! Thank you for the compliments!" You waved at the screen, trying to communicate with him. "Also, what characters would you recommend me to cosplay as... 'Lolis on my dee'?" You answered to the guy's message, struggling a little bit with his username, although you'd probably never cosplay in your lives anyway.

11037kuwata: Mikan Tsumiki

(👑) ilovey/nslives: l'd say Jessica Rabbit

theballadeer6: You don't need to cosplay

theballadeer6: You look beautiful like this

lolisonmydee: Kana from Dragon Maid or any lolis

Since you didn't get any of references rather than Jessica Rabbit, the only message that caught your eye were from this 'Balladeer' guy.

"You think this is enough, Balladeer?" You jokingly leaned upwards and squeezed your boobs together in a teasing way, cackling in your own afterwards since you didn’t take yourself seriously.

theballadeer6: Absolutely

user38291646: Do that again but with a dildo between them

"Thank you! I'll even start earlier because of that!" You winked at the screen and got up with your laptop in hands, placing it down in the floor.

You then walked back to your table and grabbed some materials on top of it before going back and kneeling down at the floor, angling the screen of your computer to read what happened in the chat meanwhile. Some emoji particles were already beginning to pop in the corner of the screen, meaning that people were interacting.

theballadeer6: You're welcome

cr7thegoat: put that dildo in that beautiful pussy of yours

(👑) ilovey/nslives: So kind!!

vladmirputin2028: сними свою одежду

(👑) mrdaddy900030: Am I late?

"Nope! Not at all, Mr. Daddy!" You shrugged your shoulders while beginning to undo the hooks of your bra and let it slowly slide away from your body.

You got very lucky this time because that move was executed perfect, which made the grin your face grow a few inches. To see if you’d really been successful, you decided to take another peek at the chat in the corner of your screen, wanting to see everyone’s reaction.

doinggodswork: Repent for your sins. ✝️✝️✝️✝️

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Woooohooooo! 😍

user10297373: 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

user38291646: Get fully naked already

lolisonmydee: dayum

Aside from the annoying unrequested preacher, you smiled at the other compliments you received. At the same time they made you a bit happy, deep down it still made you feel dirty to be doing this kind of work.

“‘Repent for your sins’? Sins? What sins?” You joked with the preacher, trying to gain your chat’s support to get him out of the live. “If anything, the only one sinning here is you. What is God’s messenger himself doing in this site? Watching this kind of livestream? How sinful of you…” You crossed your arms together, watching how the chat immediately turned aggressive towards him.

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Yeah!!!

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Shame on you! 🍅🍅🍅

theballadeer6: gtfo no one cares about god

(👑) mrdaddy900030: Just ignore them baby

You didn’t even know if you could call these guys that watch you human beings or living puppets. They quite literally do whatever you tell them to do as long as they get to see you naked. But at the same time you don’t have a lot of power over them either. If you ever decide you won’t be streaming anymore, none of them would ever keep supporting you. They are your providers, not yourself.

“Thank you, sweeties… I think I’ll give you guys an extra for helping me out.” You launched closer to your computer, wanting to get rid of the annoyance in the chat already.

doinggodswork: CORINTHIANS 12:21: I am afraid that when I come again my God will humble me before you, and I will be grieved over many who have sinned earlier and have not repented of the impurity, sexual sin and debauchery in which they have indulged.

doinggodswork: CORINTHIANS 12:21: I am afraid that when I come again my God will humble me before you, and I will be grieved over many who have sinned earlier and have not repented of the impurity, sexual sin and debauchery in which they have indulged.

doinggodswork: CORINTHIANS 12:21: I am afraid that when I come again my God will humble me before you, and I will be grieved over many who have sinned earlier and have not repented of the impurity, sexual sin and debauchery in which they have indulged.

theballadeer6: sthu bro

doinggodswork: CORINTHIANS 12:21: I am afraid that when I come again my God will humble me before you, and I will be grieved over many who have sinned earlier and have not repented of the impurity, sexual sin and debauchery in which they have indulged.

And… banned!

Now this guy won’t ever disrupt your lives ever again unless you choose to pity him.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, sweeties!” You scratched the back of your neck, trying to act cute again to regain their interest in you and today’s show.

(👑) ilovey/nslives: So annoying…

theballadeer6: hope he dies

user38291646: Start

This unnamed user was also a bit annoying with his impatience and rudeness, but at least you’d rather read that than some religious guy spilling nonsense just to degrade you.

“Ok.. Shall we..?” You crawled backwards towards your spot, positioning your whole body in front of the camera again while opening your arms, trying to invite and embrace all men in the chat indirectly.

You couldn’t read the chat anymore, though, meaning you’d have to guess that the chat was ready for your show.

“Alright then!” You said after a few seconds in silence, just watching new messages from new people pop in the chat faster and faster the more nudity you showed to them.

You stood up, slowly taking off your panties in a way that would certainly brick up some men if they were not hard already. Then you looked at the side and grabbed the dildo sitting in the floor, positioning it under you.

“Time to breed this pussy again…” You talked dirty to yourself, trying to replicate what they probably would want to say to you since they weren’t there in your room to do it right to your face.

And with the assistance of your hand opening your labia, you finally slid the dildo inside you, the plastic fitting around your tightness easily.

You were quick to start hopping on it since you were used to the feeling of fucking dick-like objects inside you. Both your hands were holding you back from the floor behind you so you could expose yourself erotically the most you could while being comfortable.

“Oh, it feels so good…” You moaned to yourself while pretending you were sitting the best dick in your life.

But unfortunately, your role-play was shortly cut by a sudden notification coming from your computer that you immediately recognized. The donation notification.

“User ‘@mrdaddy900030’ donated 25$!”

The artificial voice spoke out and paused for a moment, the same way you did.

“Baby, it would be a crime for you to do this like that… wasting the beautiful view we could have of your ass… I’d like to request you to turn around.”

The artificial voice spoke again, and you giggled at the message.

“Thank you for the 25 dollars, Daddy! Your wish is my command!” You smiled to the camera excitedly, using both your hands to do the peace sign before abruptly turning around, not wanting to make those precious 25 dollars feel like a waste in the slightest.

The rules of your donations were simple:

5 dollars to set your vibrator to a medium strength for 3 minutes, 10 dollars to set it the highest strength for 3 minutes too to influence the buyers to keep buying that asset over and over, 15 or above to send you a message along a vibrator command, 25 dollars to make you do something such as changing a position, taking off a layer of clothing or the camera angle and 50 dollars to command you to do whatever they wish to see you do.

Yes, you might be a little greedy with your prices and conditions, but it works. Don’t fix what’s not broken.

You were quick to unpause your hopping, beginning to moan in a high pitch to make yourself sound as good as possible to them. You also chose to singularly move your ass and legs instead of your full body, making it the most attractive thing of the screen they could see. You were also occasionally grinding on the dildo and swaying your hips to make it extra seductive, perfectly recreating the reverse cowgirl position.

And that’s how you’d continue acting for the next minutes until you either orgasmed or someone donated enough for you change your position under their command.

.

It’s hilarious, really.

She has no idea.

I can’t really blame her, I chose an unrecognizable name on purpose so she’ll never know one of her work colleagues is watching these special livestreams of hers, and that’s funny.

But now there is nothing she can do about it. I already know enough. I know how you look naked, how you moan, how you talk dirty, how your pussy stretches at the presence of a cock inside it, even if it’s not mine.

You l should be glad I don’t feel like using this little secret of yours for my advantage. Really glad.

The only advantage I’ll take from this is actually sitting back and watch these lives as much as I desire to. In fact, I can even command her to do whatever I want if I give her some money. How greedy of you, Y/N… I thought you were the kindest woman in the world but deep down you’re a leech for porn addicts… I don’t know whether I should or should not feel glad that I’m not your victim. But I won’t interfere much anyway. The less I interact with her, the less she is aware of met presence in this chat.

So that’s exactly what I do. I slowly leaned back against my chair, stretching my arms in the way and relaxing them on chair’s arms right after, eyes never leaving the screen.

You look so beautiful tonight, Y/N… If only that stupid McDonalds didn’t force us to wear those stupid hair caps so I could see this mesmerizing hair of yours every night… At least I’m glad I get to see it when you most work on it…

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Mamma Mia! 😍

user38291646: 💦💦💦

harbinger2: Hottie 🔥🔥🔥🔥

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Keep doing that for us! 🥰

funnyjokesguy: You’re as hot as fire!!

funnyjokesguy: Get it?

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Waaaaa~~ I feel blessed!!!

vladmirputin2028: Я эякулирую

Oh. My. Goodness.

Who the fuck is this guy and why the fuck does he talk like he’s a 16 year-old anime chick? Does he not realize he sounds cringe as fuck?

This must be the mother fucker who keeps stalking Y/N’s Instagram DMs. He can’t be genuinely serious with the way he types… This must be a cute facade he puts on so that Y/N can build trust with him… Too bad he’s horrible at it… and that he won’t ever beat my relationship with her.

(👑) mrdaddy900030: Shitttt I want to cum on you so bad

(👑) ilovey/nslives: If you keep riding it like that I’m gonna cum too soon!!! 😩😩

cr7thegoat: what happens if I donate you 100 dollars?

cr7thegoat: do you do this irl too?

(👑) ladyguujiyae: How late am I gentlemen?

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Later than me as expected 😎

winnerslovewinning: use your fingersssss

This guy surely knows how to ruin a party…

You know what? Sometimes bullying is the only way to fix people.

theballadeer6: bro

theballadeer6: can u sthu

theballadeer6: who tf types like that in the big 2025

(👑) ilovey/nslives: ?

(👑) ladyguujiyae: Oop-

theballadeer6: “L-Later than me as expected! Heh, these fake fans…” 🤓🤓🤓

(👑) ilovey/nslives: ???

(👑) ilovey/nslives: What’s wrong with the way I type? I’m just being kind to Y/N…

theballadeer6: everything???

(👑) ilovey/nslives: What’s everything? 😂

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Who even are you?

theballadeer6: just listen to yourself and you’ll know exactly what im talking about 💀

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Okay, tourist…

Tourist? Me?

Oh, this guy also zero notion of who I am, right?

If I’m a tourist, than he’s a random cockroach.

theballadeer6: tourist?

theballadeer6: u calling me a tourist?

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Yeah

(👑) ilovey/nslives: What’s wrong? Did I annoy you? 🥺

Annoy me? This loser really thinks he is annoying me by typing like this? The only thing he’s annoying is his mother who has to force herself to accept her middle-aged son living in her basement all day because he can’t fucking afford to live alone.

theballadeer6: no

theballadeer6: u r the annoying everyone here

theballadeer6: u r ruining a mood

harbinger2: I gotta agree I can’t beat my meat properly here

cr7thegoat: yup

(👑) ladyguujiyae: One man against the world…

Yeah, this guy is almost done for. Because, as always, I’m right.

(👑) ilovey/nslives: I really wish I would care about what you guys have to say

(👑) ilovey/nslives: But then I remembered that Y/N would rather choose a premium fan like me over 5 of you randoms that can’t afford to pay 20 dollars monthly 🤷‍♀️

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Fake fans 😂

theballadeer6: fake fan?

theballadeer6: u calling me a fake fan?

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Begone, tourists!

theballadeer6: im y/n’s number 1 fan buddy

garrykafka0275: You. Look beautiful..

angelofdawn: Can y’all sthu

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Of course I’m calling you a fake fan

(👑) ilovey/nslives: After all, you ARE one 🫵😂

theballadeer6: who do u think u are? 💀

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Y/N’s ACTUAL number 1 fan, duh

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Cuz if you really were all that, why don’t you have premium, hmmmm?

theballadeer6: that ain’t any of your business

(👑) ilovey/nslives: So you really are a tourist 🫵😂

theballadeer6: shut the fuck up

theballadeer6: u know nothing about me

(👑) ilovey/nslives: I surely know you are a tourist

(👑) mrdaddy900030: Can you two kids stop?

(👑) ladyguujiyae: Clock it!

theballadeer6: oh yeah?

theballadeer6: u really think you are all that?

theballadeer6: lemme show you smth really fun

(👑) ilovey/nslives: T-O-U-R-I-S-T

(👑) ladyguujiyae: And he went off…

lolisonmydee: finally bruh

lolisonmydee: y’all annoying asf

(👑) mrdaddy900030: This generation…

.

Jesus, vibrators really lost their charm to you, haven’t they? Thank God you were forced to turn backwards because this would be extra boring if you’d have to force yourself to express a pleasure you weren’t feeling. At least, in the position you were, all you had to do was open your mouth to occasionally moan or talk dirty to yourself, then you could just zone out.

Maybe this demotivation is affecting your performance… All donations your computer alerted you about yet were about were all the cheaper ones of 5 to 10 dollars. Maybe you should really just start overacting if that’ll get new people to buy your products or to convince your consumers like Mr. Daddy to buy more things aga—

“(Ding, ding, ding!) User ‘theballadeer6’ has become a premium viewer of the channel!”

Your head abruptly turned to the computer as soon as you heard those dings. When you saw the colorful announcement popping up in the screen and shining with multiple particles, especially crown emojis, your eyes shone in happiness.

“Aaaah! Thank you so much, Balladeer!” You said while turning around to make cute gestures such as putting your palms together and slightly clapping your fingers repeatedly. “I hope you have a lot of fun with my premium content and that you stay tuned for more!” You purposefully made your voice sound cuter than usual while saying that.

After all, you have to make good impressions to keep these men paying you monthly. But the show couldn’t stop, so you spun around your spot again and faced the same white wall you previously were. You breathed in and out. You only have about an hour left to perform… You can do it.

(👑) theballadeer6: AM I A FAKE FAN NOW HUH????

(👑) theballadeer6: WHERE R U

(👑) theballadeer6: FUCKING PUSSY

(👑) ladyguujiyae: Oh lord here we go…

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Oh wow you did the bare minimum…

winnerslovewinning: Men ☕️

(👑) ladyguujiyae: Real

(👑) ladyguujiyae: I feel like a female bull watching two male bulls fighting for me rn

(👑) theballadeer6: BARE MINIMUM?

(👑) theballadeer6: YOU’RE THE ONE DOING THE BARE MINIMUM

(👑) theballadeer6: R U FUCKING MENTAL??

lolisonmydee: y’all should just kys

winnerslovewinning: They should kiss

justalittleponyboy: I can’t believe I’m forcing myself to come here rn but

justalittleponyboy: For fuck’s sake just take it to DMs

justalittleponyboy: We all just want to watch some porn

justalittleponyboy: So like

justalittleponyboy: SHUTTTTTTT UPPPPPPP

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Lmao

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Do you think this is all I have?

(👑) ilovey/nslives: If only I could send screenshots of my DMs with Y/N here…

(👑) ilovey/nslives: It’s safe to say we’re dating at this point

(👑) ilovey/nslives: And that’s because I’m not counting all the money I’ve spent

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Wowwwww you spent 20 dollars on her!!! I’ve probably spent more than 500 bucks on her 😂

(👑) mrdaddy900030: Then you’re technically not the biggest spender. I am.

(👑) theballadeer6: STFU

(👑) theballadeer6: NO ONE CALLED YOU HERE OLD FUCKING HAG

garrykafka0275: These. kids…

justalittleponyboy: Y’all are just taking advantage of Y/N

justalittleponyboy: She will mute the both of you in the end.

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Ownnnnn… Look at him! He’s hurt! 🥺

(👑) theballadeer6: IM NOT HURT YOU FUCKING STUPID

(👑) theballadeer6: IM JUST TELLING YOU THE FUCKING TRUTH

(👑) theballadeer6: Y/N DOESN’T LIKE YOU

(👑) theballadeer6: U R NOTHING COMPARED TO ME

(👑) theballadeer6: NOTHING

(👑) theballadeer6: NONE OF Y’ALL ARE “REAL FANS”

justalittleponyboy: 🙄

(👑) ilovey/nslives: If Y/N ever starts doing these service irl you know who to thank

(👑) theballadeer6: SHE WOULD NEVER DO IRL SERVICES

winnerslovewinning: Have y’all ever stopped to think that maybe Y/N isn’t even straight in the first place

(👑) ladyguujiyae: Yeah no Y/N isn’t for the women…

(👑) ladyguujiyae: But I am

winnerslovewinning: Oh?

winnerslovewinning: DMs?

(👑) ladyguujiyae: After this live 😉

lolisonmydee: Get out of here yuritards

(👑) ladyguujiyae: Says the lolicon

winnerslovewinning: Shut up male

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Maybe she would start it because some people ACTUALLY give her all the money she wants for it unlike some people…

(👑) theballadeer6: OHHHHHHH YOU REALLY THINK YOURE ALL THAT JUST BECAUSE OF SOME BUCKS

(👑) theballadeer6: DO YOU THINK SHE’D EVER LAY DOWN WITH A DISGUSTING 40 YEAR OLD CHRONICALLY ONLINE CREEP LIKE YOU?

(��) ladyguujiyae: Oh wow

(👑) theballadeer6: EVEN IF SHE DID START DOING IRL SERVICES I’D BE TEN TIMES AHEAD OF U IN THE LINE

(👑) theballadeer6: FUCKING LOSER

(👑) theballadeer6: IF MONEY MATTERS TO U THIS MUCH THEN THAT’S HOW WE WILL FUCKING PLAY

.

Scaramouche, fuming and grunting in pure stress, closed the chat tab to not get annoyed anymore and went directly to the “Donate” button in your screen, almost breaking his mouse when he clicked it. He was so mad with this guy that not even the view of you could calm him down. So mad he was barely holding himself from either destroying his own computer or beat himself up.

.

Meanwhile, you still bounced up and down on the dildo with a bored face, trying to calculate how much you’ve gained yet tonight to distract yourself from the shallowness of your performance. You believe you’ve gotten three 5-dollar donations and 2 10-dollar donations, which eventually add up to 35 dollars. Adding this up with the singular donations of 25 dollars from of your premium viewers, you get 60 dollars in total.

Damn. For an unpopular streamer that didn’t even get to cum once yet, you’d done quite some bucks… You know what? It’s not better not to think so positively about it, or else you might jinx—

“User ‘@theballadeer6’ donated 200$!”

Huh?

Two… hundred?

No, you must be hearing things.

You looked backwards immediately, meeting the decorated pop-up that alarmed the donation telling you what exactly you heard. Two-hundred dollars. A number two and two perfect zeroes sided to each other with no comma in between. Even if you were witnessing it, you still didn’t want to believe your own eyes. So you blinked once, then twice, then another time, but the number wouldn’t lose any of its zeroes.

“Two… Two hundred?! Oh, my God! Thank you so much, Balladeer! This really means a lot to—!”

“THERE YOU FUCKING GO YOU FUCKING WORM. IS THIS ENOUGH FOR YOU?! NOW DO YOU SEE WHO IS THE REAL FAN BETWEEN US OR DO YOU WANT MORE FUCKING PROOF?! BECAUSE I CAN GIVE YOU MORE. I KNOW Y/N’s NAME, HER FULL NAME, WHO HER PARENTS ARE, WHO HER SISTER IS, WHERE SHE WORKS, HER HOME ADDRESS AND EVEN THE NAME OF HER FUCKING CAT.”

…

…

…

…

…

What..?

Your smile died, not understanding at all what the message meant. You looked to the chat, meeting many caps-locked messages from the Balladeer guy and from other people too.

(👑) ladyguujiyae: What the fuck

(👑) ilovey/nslives: Ew?

(👑) mrdaddy900030: Y/N, I think you should end the stream.

winnerslovewinning: Men 🤦‍♀️

(👑) theballadeer6: IS THIS ENOUGH FOR YOU? DO YOU SEE THE TRUTH NOW?

Was this guy… talking to you?

“I…” You tried answering him but you just simply couldn’t form any phrase that made sense.

Your right hand reached your mouse and started scrolling up, meeting much more caps-locked texts that gave you better context of that message. It was a fight, one they’ve done while you weren’t looking. How naive of you. Your heart slowly twisted in disgust and fear for your life, your throat trying to push something out of it… vomit.

What is this? Who is this guy? Why is he doing this? Is his message true? Does he know who you are? Is this that Instagram stalker that always finds a way to contact you over and over again? Has he made this much progress?

You didn’t know how you looked to the people seeing you, but you knew it wasn’t pretty. You knew you were giving an ugly image of yourself almost panicking like that.

justalittleponyboy: Yeah Y/N just ban these weirdos from your chat

This guy was smart. He was thinking the same thing as you. Your “biggest fan” apparently was a victim of this Balladeer guy’s rage, meaning it’d only be fair to ban the Balladeer and perhaps mute your “biggest fan” to make sure this isn’t brought up to the stream anymore.

But should you really ban this guy? He just gave you 200 dollars, and this was his first stream of you. He’s creepy, he’s one of the most bizarre men you’ve ever seen yet, but reading the fight that happened in your absence, all he seemed to be was to be a bit too possessive of you.

Remember how he praised you in the beginning of the livestream? He wasn’t rude or aggressive to you, only them. Was he really a stalker? Specifically the one in your Instagram? Or just a really dedicated fan? In the chat he seemed to still be trying to convince your “biggest fan” that the title belongs to him instead while indirectly apologizing to you. Maybe… it isn’t worth to lose those monthly 20 dollars… Not when you need that money so much.

Your life isn’t cheap. Even if you can handle your conditions the way they are, you still desire more money. You want to have a comfortable life after retirement and you want to especially show your family you aren’t little. You aren’t worthless despite this second job of yours. You want them to have zero false pity for you.

So… you won’t ban him. If he suddenly becomes a less prominent spender, then you’ll definitely ban him, but if he keeps spending this much money on you… you can’t ban him. The sacrifice might be worth it.

But, you don’t even want to be naked anymore. You want to stop. You want to put on your favorite pijamas, lock your doors and windows and go to sleep. So, you quickly messed with the moderation tools in your chat and muted them both. Your “biggest fan” was muted for an hour while the Balladeer was muted for a day.

“I-I’m sorry, guys… I don’t feel comfortable continuing today’s livestream.” You quickly stated, too embarrassed to face the camera, before abruptly pulling up another tab to stream to the viewers, your ‘pause tab’.

It was a picture with a big pink-aesthetic text saying “Be right back!” with another cute and sexy picture of you in the back of it to entertain the viewers while they waited. You pulled up this screen before closing the live so you could read the last comforting messages from your normal audience while you dressed your underwear again.

(👑) ladyguujiyae: Rest well :(

lolisonmydee: bruhhh don’t let them affect you

(👑) mrdaddy900030: Stay safe Y/N

justalittleponyboy: they’re just random douchebags Y/N ignore them

harbinger2: 👋👋👋

“Thank you, guys.” You quietly spoke, trying to hold back the shake of your mouth and voice.

And finally, you clicked the red “End Livestream” button, and your viewers ceased.

.

FUCK!!!!!

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!!!

This guy..! THIS GUY!!!

What have I done?! What the fuck was I thinking?! I fucked it up! No, no, HE fucked me up! He orchestrated me to do this! He baited me to rage to a screen and make myself look bad to Y/N!

“Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid..!” I slapped my own face over and over as I repeated those degrading words to myself.

It’s been a while since I’ve last freaked out like this and I’m surprised this triggered me to react like this. But I just can’t handle it. My Y/N working in this industry… having this kind of men following her… It’s too much. I fucking hate it. I hate it bad.

So much that my anger finally boiled up enough for me to scream. It was once and brutal, letting most of it out. It also forced my hands to move up to my head and grab my locks as if I wanted to rip them off, and I almost did. The pain of pulling my own scalp this hard made me scream harder, but it was the only way I could get rid of this itching anger without harming my materials.

I need to know Y/N’s relationship with this man. I can’t let him too close to her at all. He’s a danger to me and her and he knows it.

I’ll show him what a real fan truly is.

Taglist: @shy-ent @the-stinky-winky @bigmantiddys @goofy-ego @sasuri123 @gaboplaydespacito @thegriffinbird @alatusorrow @luminieee @toobytub @wandereryumee

Anon, I know you probably weren’t expecting a part 2 of another fic for your request but… unfortunately my Scaramouche battery is seriously running out right now and I took advantage of the fact that you said the original fic did please you a lot, so I hope this serves you too! Sorry for not making a whole new original prompt! 🙏

Don’t forget to like and comment if you liked it <3

[mischief-and-the-big-bad-wolf]

Paige was excited. She finally had a chance to be alone with Derek, without the losers that usually hung around him, and she could finally make a move. She had liked Derek ever since they had met in the dorms on move in day when his annoying friend Stiles had run her over and Derek had so graciously helped her up. She knew Derek liked her too but he was shy, painfully shy. Whenever he came to visit Stiles on campus, they were holed up in his room together, only coming out for food.

But now, tonight, Paige had been stranded outside the theatre room after band practice, her car making wierd, croaking noises before giving out on her. And Derek had just happened to drive by.

"Thank you so much, Derek. You're a lifesaver," Paige preened as he walked her over to the passenger side.

"No problem, god knows how many times I have had to pick up Stiles because he refuses to stop driving that truck of his," Derek joked, a fond smile on his face. He opened the door and stopped Paige before she could sit, saying, "Let me just get this stuff out of the way."

Paige peered in and saw Derek throwing a pillow and some blankets to the backseat. She waited until they were both in the car and then asked, "Do you sleep in your car often?"

"Huh? Oh, the blankets?" Derek said, "No, no, they're Stiles'. He gets really sleepy during car rides so I wanted to make sure he was as comfortable as possible."

"Oh, you're a nice friend," Paige giggled, leaning towards Derek.

Derek subtly leaned away and with a confused smile, replied, "Thank you."

"Anyways, um, did you see the new sci-fi movie that came out?" Paige asked. "Would you like to go with me? To watch it?" Paige cringed as she fumbled with her words.

"Stiles and I already have tickets for the weekend," Derek said, tone apologetic. "But you could tag along, if you want."

"Hmm, maybe," Paige replied, annoyed. Why did Stiles have to butt into everything? "Um, I saw on your instagram the cookies that you had baked."

"Oh no, the ones that I burnt?" Derek chuckled.

"Yeah," Paige giggled, "I could teach you how to make some, my grandma taught me how to make the best chocolate chip cookies."

"That sounds fun, Stiles loves baking," Derek said. He giggled, adding, "His reaction when I showed up at his door with burnt cookies was hilarious. He ate every single one though, even when I protested."

"How about next Friday?" Paige asked, giddy about finally getting a date with him.

"Uh, I don't think Friday works for Stiles, but he'll text you to figure out another day," Derek answered.

"Oh, um, yeah, sure," Paige mumbled. Did he think she had invited the both of them? He probably did, Paige thought, he was just so shy and adorable that he didn't realize Paige was asking him out. In a brighter tone, she then asked, "Would you like me to give you my number? So you can pass it along?"

"Doesn't Stiles already have your number?" Derek questioned, a confused frown on his face.

"Right, he does, guess I forgot," Paige said, grumbling a little.

When they parked in front of the dorm, Derek reached back and pulled out a gift bag from the back seat.

Paige perked up, looking hopefully at Derek, "Is that a gift?"

"Yeah," Derek said, smiling fondly at the bag.

"Who is it for?" Paige asked, drumming her fingers on her thigh in excitement. Finally, she knew Derek liked her.

"Stiles," Derek replied, looking at her weirdly. Paige's face fell as he continued, "Today was the day I first met him."

"Oh, that's nice. I didn't know you guys were such good friends."

"He has been my everything since he was 16," Derek said, chest puffing out.

They walked inside the building silently, Paige's mind running with doubt. Had she misread everything?

She startled when Stiles' dorm room banged open and he came running out, jumping into Derek's arms. Derek caught him with a huff as Stiles' legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his shoulder.

Derek was holding him up with one hand, the other still holding the gift bag. Paige drooled over his bulging bicep but snapped out of it when Stiles said, "Missed you, Sourwolf." Paige frowned, they had such wierd nicknames for each other.

"I missed you too, Mischief," Derek replied, then leaned closer and pressed his lips against Stiles' in a searing kiss.

Paiged gaped, stumbling back a bit. No way, no way.

Derek pulled back after a few minutes and set Stiles on his feet. "I have something for you, baby," he said, a bashful grin on his face.

"Gimme, gimme," Stiles said, bouncing on his feet a little as Derek handed him the bag. He ripped out the stuffing from the bag, hands trembling as he pulled out a little wolf plushie. "Der," he murmured, eyes filling with tears.

"Do you like it, my love?" Derek asked, thumbing the tears off Stiles' face.

"Mhm, Der, bubba," Stiles whimpered, burrowing himself into Derek's chest.

Derek grinned, "There's more, baby." He pulled away a little and unhooked the necklace wrapped around the wolf. He spun Stiles' around and gently placed it around his neck. He leaned down to whisper into Stiles' ear, "The charm has mountain ash inside."

Stiles turned around and with a garbled sob, threw himself at Derek again. Derek chuckled fondly, scooping him up into his arms. "You are so cute, Mischief."

"Love you, I love you, bubba," Stiles cried, voice muffled as his face was smushed into Derek's neck.

"I love you too, so much, baby," Derek cooed. Then, he looked at Paige and said, "Better take him to his room and take care of him, see you later."

Paige stood in the hallway for a while, the sounds of Derek growling and moaning praises and Stiles whining and whimpering pinning her to the spot.

[charlesslut16]

Hiyaaa, thank you for answering my question!

I was wondering if you could do autistic!reader stiming when meeting Arthur and Lorenzo for the first time and Charles helping her and them looking confused?

Also maybe autistic!reader at a race?

I hope this makes sense!

-you will always be my first concern-

summary : moments where charles helps and supports you while you are stimming....

PAIRINGS : charles leclerc x fem!autistic!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : I hope that you will like this! If you have a problem with the fic, please talk to me so i can change it. I hope that i converted it right...

masterlist

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were sitting on Charles’s couch, gently twisting the fabric of your sleeve between your fingers — one of your favorite stimming methods. The motion was quiet, rhythmic, and grounding.

“Hey,” Charles said softly, sitting next to you and nudging your knee with his. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, then gave a smaller nod — your real yes. “Just a little nervous.”

He knew what that meant.

His brothers — Arthur and Lorenzo — were on their way over. And while Charles had told you a hundred times they were sweet and would love you, the thought of meeting new people made your stomach twist in that familiar, buzzing way. New voices, new energy, new dynamics. A social script you hadn’t practiced.

Charles reached for your hand, slowly, always giving you space to meet him halfway. You let your fingers tangle with his.

“You can stim as much as you want. You don’t have to hide anything, okay?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “If you need a break, just tap my wrist twice.”

You nodded again. You had your signal. Furthermore, you're out.

The knock came not long after — a short rhythm and the sound of a key in the door. Arthur’s voice was the first one you heard, louder than you expected, full of casual brotherly energy.

You immediately shrunk in a little. Charles felt it.

“Breathe,” he whispered. “One step at a time.”

They entered the room, grinning, full of ease. Arthur’s energy was like static — not bad, just big. Lorenzo was calmer, more composed, but still moved fast in that way neurotypical people often did when they were trying to be friendly.

“You must be the girl,” Arthur grinned, holding out a hand. “The famous one.”

You stared at his hand.

You weren’t sure what to do — shake it? Smile? Say something?

Charles saw you hesitate and spoke up without skipping a beat. “She doesn’t do handshakes — sensory stuff. But you’re lucky; she is the famous one.”

Arthur blinked, his hand hovering in the air before awkwardly tucking it behind his back. “Oh. Sorry — I didn’t know. That’s cool. No worries.”

You didn’t say anything. You just resumed twisting your sleeve — faster now, your fingers flicking the hem a little. It calmed you. Kept the buzz down.

Lorenzo’s eyes flicked to your hand, then to Charles’s, then to yours again. “Is that… something that helps?”

Charles smiled. “Yeah. It’s called stimming. It’s normal for her. Helps with regulating when stuff gets loud or overwhelming.”

Arthur nodded slowly, clearly trying to keep up. “Oh. Okay. That’s… actually kind of smart.”

“Not ‘kind of,’” Charles said calmly. “It is smart.”

You met his eyes then — soft hazel, unwavering. You gave him the smallest smile.

He smiled back, and that was enough to help you stay.

Later, at a Race

You wore your headphones. Not the discreet ones — the big, over-ear noise-canceling ones that made your world smaller and safer. The paddock was overwhelming. Too many people moving, too many smells — gasoline, sunscreen, rubber — and the sound of engines rattling inside your chest.

But you’d wanted to be there.

You wanted to see him.

You stood off to the side of the Ferrari hospitality tent, hands gently flapping at your sides. Your version of clapping. Your comfort motion. Your joy stim.

Someone stared — a stranger. You felt it.

You pulled your arms in, fingers now tapping against your thighs instead. Quieter. Smaller.

But Charles saw you.

He always saw you.

After the race, sweaty and sun-kissed, he found you before he found anyone else. His arms wrapped around you gently, forehead pressed to yours for a second.

“You stayed,” he whispered.

“I wanted to.”

He looked at you for a long second. “Did it get too loud?”You shrugged, a noncommittal wobble of your hand. “A bit.”

“I’m proud of you.”

You looked up at him, and your hands flapped again — this time without hesitation. A happy stim. A good one. He smiled wide.

And when someone nearby gave a weird look, Charles didn’t ignore it. He stepped slightly in front of you, still holding your hand.

“Don't look at her that way,” he said evenly. “She’s expressing joy. You should try it sometime.”

You didn’t think you could love him more.

Later, back at the hotel, Charles curled behind you in bed, one hand resting on your side. You tapped the inside of his wrist once, then again.

He knew what that meant.

“Want pressure?” he asked. You nodded.

He gently pressed down, slow and even, giving your body the deep input it needed to relax. It helped settle everything — the leftover buzz, the spiraling thoughts, the leftover nervousness from earlier.

“You did really well today,” he whispered.

“I flapped in public,” you said quietly.

“I know. It was beautiful.”

And when you stimmed again — this time by softly tapping your fingertips against his — he smiled and tapped back. No shame. No masking.

Just you. Fully. And him, loving you exactly as you are.

[abbysdollie]

The blackest day. Misogynistic Abby x fem reader.

Hi Angels !! Here’s the misogynistic Abby fic ! Writing this was definitely something, please mind the warnings because this one is pretty dark. There is no smut !! I love you guys and please take care of yourselves ! 𓆩♡𓆪

CW: misogynistic Abby duh. Slapping, punching, hair grabbing. Degrading names used. Abuse is the norm for people. Just lots of abuse. Abby is so mean. Huge warning for domestic violence !!

DARK CONTENT AHEAD YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED !! MINORS AND MEN DNI !!

When you and Abby first got together, you thought you had found the love of your life, your soulmate, but as time went on, you started to realize maybe you were blinded. You ignored all the red flags in the beginning, and there were quite a few. You started noticing them towards that one-year anniversary mark with her, the videos she would send you on Instagram or TikTok. The photos she would like to send you.

They all had a common theme, it was all tradwife content where it was obvious that the woman was not happy with her 10 kids and her husband who looks abusive as fuck. Or those videos of women who would live as 1950s housewives—it was all odd, yet you never questioned it. After the wedding with Abby, you notice so many changes in her. She was always making super misogynistic comments. Things like

‘Women belong at home.’

‘Women obey their partners.’

Always something along those lines, the comments angered you to no end. Abby seemed to forget that those apply to her too. So you fought with her over them, telling her to watch it, but you soon would figure out that Abby’s plan was to break you.

Abby comes home from work, that day in particular you didn’t really do anything cause you didn’t have the energy. when she gets back her demeanor is different, the air feels thick, suffocating, it's not comfortable. Her footsteps echo loudly as she makes her way towards you. Abby had a mean look on her face, looking around she found nothing.

“What did you do all day?” Abby's voice is loud and it echoes around the room. Looking at her you look confused, what does she mean? You woke up, got ready, ate, cleaned a bit and then relaxed. What more did she want?

“What do you mean?” she didn't let you finish before her hand grips your forearm, yanking you up she drags you to the bedroom and opens the closet. Abby throws all your clothes on the bed except the ones she got for you—all your pants, leggings, tops, all of it gine. The dresses, skirts and shirts Abby got you are staying. “Abby what the fuck are you doing? Are you insane?” Ignoring you, she takes them all, throws them in a bag, and drags you and the bag out to the backyard, to the bonfire pit.

“Wait Abby, no—what are-” All of your clothes are dumped, and Abby throws a match in before you can stop it. You watch in shock and horror as your clothes are burning. You scream at her but she gets sick and backhands you hard. Yanking your arm she drags you back inside to the kitchen where she throws you against the counter. “Youre a married woman know your fucking place, from now on there are rules, rember them or face the consequences.” You're still shaking and crying from the clothes and slap. It takes you a little bit to recover from the events that played out but when you do it’s all hell from there.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you Abby?! What was that for?” Screaming at her pushing at her chest, Abby’s hand grabs your wrist squeezing tightly. Harshly she shoves you against the wall knocking the wind out of you. Gasping, you try to wiggle out but she’s way stronger than you.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that woman, you understand me? Come on answer” the way she said that added more fuel to the flame inside of you; what you do next catches Abby off guard. You spit in her face and push at her chest. Running to the living room you grab your keys and grab your keys, and Abby follows you out. As you got coser to your car you see all four of your fucking tires slashed, what the fuck?? You can't dwell on it for too long before Abby grabs you by the arm and tries to drag you back, seeing you are not letting her win easily, so you give her hell.

Screaming, kicking her leg, flailing your arms in all directions trying to hit her, unfortunately she overpowers you and gets you inside, where she throws you over her shoulder, making her way to the bedroom. Abby throws you on the bed, but you quickly get up.

“Abby what the fuck ! what the fuck is wrong with you ? I will not let myself be disrespected like this.” It's like talking to a brick wall. Abby's back is turned to you the whole time. After a while of hurling insults at her, she finally turns around, but you don't expect her to backhand you across the face, not giving you time to recover before landing another slap to your cheek. Her hands cradle your face, but not in a gentle, caring way, no. It's a harsh grip, one that hurts and will leave your jaw aching.

“Things are going to be run differently from now on, okay? I expect you to be up every morning at 6am sharp, help me get ready for work, get breakfast ready and my lunch should be ready too. I want you to dress in whatever I choose for you every day now, no more whorish clothes. I expect this house to be clean everyday and dinner on the table when I come home, you better start acting like a proper woman because we will be having dinner at my parents house in two weeks. understood ?”

You felt sick to your stomach. Was this really the woman you married? No, it couldn't be. No, no, you had to change her. I mean, could you? Would she give up these misogynist traditional ways? You don't know actually, and the chances of Abby agreeing to a divorce were so slim. Feeling tired and defeated you just agree.

“Yes abby” abby looks at you and releases your face, giving both of your cheeks kisses. The night goes by normally as if nothing happened but the sting on your cheeks were the reminder of what's to come.

A week goes by and you feel exhausted and completely hopeless. Abby is relentless in her ways not letting you have any breaks except for when you sleep, this is the definition of hell to you. Everything had to get through Abby first which made it so hard to do anything, you wanted that outfit, she had to approve first. You want to go out with them; Abby has to say yes and know your exact location. It was just Abby centered everything; you soon found that fighting against Abby was futile because she was not afraid to put you back into your place. The slaps, punches, kicks, punches, hair pulling, burns ,was all that she used. Your body was broken and beaten, bruises everywhere, cuts all over you, and it had only been a week. Abby was not the woman you once knew.

Talking to the other women in the neighborhood did you no good, because they were envious and jealous that you had gotten to marry Abby and be her wife. To them, the abuse and you begging them for help were dramatic, and every marriage has a bit of abuse in it. Quickly you put the pieces together and came to the conclusion that these women were equally as brainwashed as Abby.

You saw how they covered up the bruises, the eye bags from barely getting sleep. Discussing the best concealer and foundation out there for those bruises and eyebags and burn marks. This was the norm for them and it killed you. How do you get away from this? I mean could you?

The family dinner was a disaster. Abby gave you absolute hell that day; she came home from work earlier, and she was pissed to see that her suit wasn't ironed. You desperately tried to explain to her that you had ironed it but the hanger probably left a small crease, the answer pissed her off because next thing you know her fist comes swinging at you face full force. You get knocked back into your vanity, where your bottle of perfume falls over, landing right on you. Tears well up in your eyes as Abby crouches down in front of you, grabbing your jaw in her strong grip, forcing you to look at her even though your eye is in pain.

“Do not give me backtalk, ever. Now get up and make yourself look decent, dont fucking embarass me infront of my family, okay?” Abby lets you go and you just sit there reflecting and crying. What is this life? Quilt, you get up and see that there is a big black bruise on your eye now. Sighing heavily, you just get your dress on and do your makeup and hair. After an hour you go and meet Abby downstairs; she sees you and smiles, “My beautiful girl, let's go now.”

The drive is hell for you. Lets just say when you get there it's known that they hate you, the comments about your appearances, needing to lose weight, maybe investing in plastic surgery. Or how you're not a good housewife and that Abby needs to “keep you on a leash” or “train you better” as if you were a fucking dog. You kept your mouth shut because you were afraid of Abby, her icy cold glare daring you to say something. The night goes on and by the end when you and Abby finally leave its like a fresh breath of air on the drive abby is silent the whole way home which is kinda nice but the silence is super eerie. When she gets home she goes straight to the couch, her legs spread, she lets out a big sigh and loosens her tie. You plop down on the couch opposite to her and talk.

“Your family is kinda crazy, i mean wow your mother -” You didn't even see her get up before you felt a slap on your face. You hold your cheek and look at her, she was undoing her belt, rolling up her sleeves she brings the belt down onto your back. Getting up you try to run away but she grabs your hair and throws you on the ground, your legs start swinging trying to kick her legs. You scream and cry, but she doesn't let up.

“Who gave you the right to talk about my family that way, you whore? I own you okay, you're mine.” her belt swings down on your legs and back, your throat hurts everythings sore. At the end when she's down she tells you to clean yourself up and goes to bed, leaving you all alone sobbing on the cold floor.

Tags 𓆩♡𓆪 @bvtchbait @sleepinginherbed @sleeplessbunni @abbysluckycharm @meowiu @elsroseytoy @elswhore @tqlepatia @messybruises @graciedollie @h2pinky @tiffys-posts + let me know if I missed you or if you wanna be tagged !!

[sometimeslwish]

Adore You

Would you look at that, @blessdunrest got me to write the fic. Who would've thunk?

Anyways, just like Sweet, this one is a bit of a self-insert written as a reader-insert. I was out, adulting like one does, when I made this post, then I got yelled at by Emmy (lov ya Em&ms) and decided to write it cause I was fucking bored of waiting.

I'm gonna admit it, I lost my way at some point after the snacks and I didn't know how to continue. If the ending feels a bit weird, it's because I changed it like 5 times before I found something that felt close to right.

Word count: 1,707 words

Tags: Sylus x gn!reader, foodie reader, could be mc or non-mc, established relationship, fluff, domestic bliss, grocery shopping with the one and only Mister Sylus, bit of an ADHD coded reader (I might have undiagnosed ADHD, but who knows) snacks, food, not for the ones with peanut allergies (sorry not sorry)

You hum softly as you walk beside him. 

His hand doesn't take long to find yours, and you don't take long to balance them with the energy of a child. He finds this one habit of yours adorable, and he can't help the way he softness under your touch. 

He mourns the loss of your warmth, when you let go to get a cart and waits for you by the entrance. He doesn't complain much, seeing the childlike glee in your face as you hop on the back of the cart and push it towards him with one foot warms his chest with adoration.

You swerve the cart to avoid running him over with it, imitating the screech of tires skidding on the road as you pass him by. It pulls a chuckle from him, and he follows along with a smile. He lets you man the cart for a little bit more, guiding you through aisles and picking the necessities. 

You help with getting some produce, humming to the song playing in the background and shimmying to the beat. He takes over the cart after the third aisle, when you can no longer push it as far because of the added weight and that's when your energy starts to pick up. Since it can no longer be expended on following him with the cart, you start focusing on other things.

Acting like a little assistant– his little assistant– by organizing everything in the cart with each new thing he picks up. 

Wandering a few feet away to read the content labels of random products that caught your attention while he was stuck comparing products. He can picture your confused frown as you put it back in place and then the little shrug you do before walking back to him and forgetting everything about what you just read.

The first question always comes after you’ve done that a few times:  

“Can I have your phone? I want to see something.”

You always ask. No matter how many times he's said yes and reassured you that you could just grab it without explanation. You always ask and wait for his answer before grabbing it. 

His phone is the most organized one out of the two of you, for better or for worse, so you know you can find every single thing you've mentioned to him in there. Recipes, tutorials, things you wanted to try, things you wanted to buy, all listed there and grouped. 

He already knows what you're going to check and what you're going to do. He can already see you checking what's on the cart to tick it off on the list, can see the gears in your head turning as you look at what comes after. And he knows what you'll ask after organizing the new things he added while you were away.

“Do you think those will be enough? There's a recipe I want to try that has that.”

“It's alright, dear heart, we can just come back to buy some more.”

And then you'll put his phone back in his pocket and walk away, coming back with ingredients in your arms that weren't previously on the list. He never asks what you plan on doing, as much as he itches to. He could guess from the ingredients, but he's learnt that you like keeping it a surprise. 

Then you'll pop in and out of his orbit, come back with something from the list– not because you're in a hurry, but because it was a specific thing that you wanted to get– or some random treat in your hands with a hopeful look in your eyes. 

“Can we try it together? Please?”

When it's something new, or:

“I used to have these when I was younger, it's been a while.”

“I’ve never tried these,” he'll say, catching the nostalgic tint to your face and taking the item from your hands, looking at it with interest. It's never fake, never feigned, he's like a sponge when it comes to things about you, absorbing every piece of information, every detail, anything that could get him to know you more. “Let's get them.”

“Really?”

As if he would ever say no to creating more memories with you, to spoiling you rotten, to seeing that hopeful glint turn into excitement as you put it in the cart with the other things.

His favorite part, however, will always be catching up to you in the snack aisle. 

When you disappear and don't pop back up when he moves on to the next one– or when he picks something else, or when he sneaks in something you picked up and clearly wanted but didn't ask for– that's when he knows. He always takes his time getting there, in no hurry to catch up when he knows your indecisive mind will keep you in place. 

Sometimes you move around and he stands aside, watching you with a fond look on his face as you mutter to yourself about cravings and what you want.

This time, however, you're standing still, staring at the shelves with a frown on your face and a subtle pout on your lips. 

He refrains from kissing it away when he approaches you, leaving the cart a few feet behind so it's not in the way. His arms wrap around you and his body sings when you lean into his hold, when you angle into him as he leans to kiss your temple. 

“What's on that pretty head of yours?” His arms wrap around your shoulders.

“I don't know if I want the sugared donuts, cookies or chocolates,” you turn to wrap your arms around his waist “or gummies. And then, I don't know if I want choco-chip cookies, fudge stripes or nutter butter’s.” 

“Why not buy them all?” 

“All the cookies?”

“And the gummies and sugared donuts.” 

“No, we already have chips on the cart, plus whatever else you might've sneaked in–” you tilt your head to try and catch any rogue snacks he might've slipped in– “and I'm also craving ice cream.–” leave his hold when you can't find anything in plain sight to shift through a few things.

You catch a box of your favorite pop tarts and a bag of the old assorted ice pops you used to eat as a kid. You try not to let it soften you as you continue, “Give me too many snacks and I'll eat them all within a week instead of making them last a few months." 

"I don't see how that's a bad thing. Food is meant to be eaten.” There's some rustling coming from behind you. You turn to find him already grabbing all three of the cookies you mentioned.

“Do you not want me to eat an actual meal?” 

The question makes him pause.

He's seen you eat a tub of ice cream with a whole pack of cookies in one sitting without breaking a sweat; finish an entire large bag of chips because you were too lost in what you were reading to realize how much you'd eaten, and witnessed the same thing happen all over again with different treats.

And on all of those times, you did not eat anything else for hours on end. He had to coax you into eating something by only ordering for himself (read: secretly ordering both your meals and pretending that all of it was only for him) and giving you his food (which was actually yours. Again, he was just pretending). All three times, the trick was successful.

“Point taken.” He drawls before sighing, like it physically pains him to not spoil you beyond measure, “Do you want some help, sweetheart?” He offers, catching the overwhelmed glint in your eyes.

“Please.” 

And look at you, so well mannered for him.

He nods– in that infuriatingly hot and adorable way of his– and you spend the next 10 minutes choosing what to bring and what to leave behind. 

The donuts come with you, along with the gummies. There's ingredients for you to make as many cookies at home as you'd like, so you can literally get home and bake whatever you want. 

After that, you don't wander anymore, curiosity satiated and wandering quota fulfilled. 

You stick beside him. Go back to being his little assistant, ticking things off the list and organizing everything so it doesn't fall off. 

You don't keep as quiet as you did in the beginning, you talk his ear off. Joke, banter, tease, vent, make plans. Say almost everything that comes to mind and anything you forgot to say before, it always comes out then. 

Your slowing energy redirects into him and he gets to enjoy the sound of your voice, the feel of your warmth next to his– or against his, when you start clinging without a care– and the sight of your beautiful face as you walk beside him.

He gets to hear you grumble and huff during check-out, as you pack things up in backs and organize them into the cart. Gets to hear more of your thoughts as you pack them up in the car together, and he gets to see the way you melt into the car seat once the day is all done.

Like all of the other things, he also knows what you'll do after that bone-deep sigh that signals you're tired of being out.

You'll ask what's next, hum in response and start the music once he starts driving, and you'll sing with him like it's a random karaoke night.

See, his favorite part of catching up to you was the changes that came after. Because food was the one thing you always confidently asked for without needing reassurance or gentle coaxing. Snacks, drinks, meals or appetizers, it didn't matter as long as it was food. Food was the one thing that got you to open up the fastest.

And he'd be damned if he looked at a gifted horse in the mouth and missed the opportunity to spoil you with the one thing you had grown to ask for.

If he kept being patient, there would come a day where food wouldn't be the only thing you spent his money on.

[donvampiro]

hello! I was wondering if you could write something with the monster trio+law with a clairvoyant reader where she can’t tell ghosts from real people and she sees ghosts on there ships and just starts freaking out cause they still retain the look of when they died. Please and thank u!

hii Anon! hope you’re doing well :) this is a very interesting concept! i really enjoyed writing these HCs. careful though because, as stated in my rules post, it’s max 3 chars when it comes to requests. but maybe you’re new to my blog so it’s totally fine Anon, don’t worry ❤️ i still added Law because i feel like this request really fits him indeed hehe. in any case, hope this post will meet your expectations! Love <3

MASTERLIST - Welcome

***

'Shadows of the past'

Monster trio & Law x (clairvoyant) fem!reader

Warning: mention of death & mourning, physical injuries & blood. contains some spoilers (Marineford ; Dressrosa) as well btw

Monkey D. Luffy

tbh i think Luffy would find your powers kinda cool at first, like he wouldn’t immediately get the measure of your concerns and the harm that your visions might cause you, particularly in their tragic, even traumatic nature

every time he'd hear you scream or saw you shudder, seized by fear because you thought you were meeting a “real” person whose body was more or less in good condition, he’d quickly comfort you, offering you a big smile and patting your back or your shoulder with a gentleness that is always reserved for you.

‘c’mon, (y/n), no need to be afraid! think about saying hello to those people instead. oh! say hello to them from me too!’

Luffy’s carefreeness about your natural gifts wouldn’t last forever though. it would only be after a very concrete event that he’d realize the weight on your shoulders that your power can be on a daily basis. in short, he would need a kind of trigger.

maybe it would happen while you’re both sitting on the deck of the Sunny, taking some time for yourselves and stargazing after a nice meal, a little celebration, who knows. smiling, Luffy seems somewhat lost in thought though. his hand is soft yet slightly calloused as it envelops yours in a comfortable silence; but as you’d turn to him, you couldn’t hold back a gasp, more vocal than you’d have liked, and Luffy would instantly turn to you, alerted.

‘(y/n)? what’s up with ya? everything’s okay?’

it was the first time you saw that while looking at your captain for some reason. you saw him, yes, next to Luffy — this bloodstained individual, covered in wounds, and whose cheekbones, although magnificently freckled, could not, however, soften the sight of his fiercely pierced abdomen. his mouth is dripping with blood but his smile is peaceful as he looks at Luffy, before your eyes meet.

your own heart drums facing his stopped one. you know who he is. of course you do. how could you not know? Luffy has told you about him so many times, in that voice that now made you question whether to answer, tell your captain what you're seeing or not. but your ragged breath, bulging eyes, and the light film of sweat coating your face leave you little room for hesitation as Luffy grabs your shoulder and shakes it lightly.

‘hey (y/n). are you seeing things again? tell me.’

reveal the truth in a low voice and you’ll see Luffy’s eyebrows furrow, in an expression that mixes all the emotions in existence. his eyes are lost in the void of his thoughts for a second before looking all around him, searching and calling his brother, finding you.

‘he’s here?! like, where? behind me? can you talk to him? wait, do you think he can still eat like, real food? or ghost food? i’m sure Sanji knows how to make ghost food anyway. i mean, we could have another meal so he can be with us! oh, and tell him that i—’

he talks a lot and his eyes are glassy, ​​with a tearful glint that doesn’t escape your gaze despite his huge smile. you stifle your own sobs, feeling the weight of Luffy’s grief as you see Ace’s ghost disappear into the starry night, in a painfully soft gaze. you shake your head in a sorry sigh, and your captain almost automatically stops speaking. his smile fades away — there’s no need to say more. he contemplates you for a moment, before lowering his head slightly and caging you in a long, silent hug.

that night, Luffy understood the weight of your powers, understood your fears. the ashes of the past were indeed frightening.

Roronoa Zoro

really, Zoro can’t help but be puzzled every time he sees you freaking out like this, shouting about how there’s such and such corpses wandering on the deck of the ship or the streets of some island where you and the crew made a stopover. the swordsman would never delve too deeply into your emotions when they’re negative; not that he’s not interested, but that he prefers to keep things simple between you two and avoid making you overthink.

still, he would always try to reassure you, and he’d do so assertively — without digressions or innuendos — but always wanting to make things easier for you and so that you’d no longer have to worry about seeing these deceased people, more alive than ever in your eyes though.

‘there’s no reason to be so scared, (y/n). these guys are no longer among us, they won’t hurt you. i wouldn’t let them anyway.’

his tone was gruff, but you knew better. Zoro was always protective of you, and you were grateful, but it wasn’t that simple. meeting lifeless gazes, looking at bloodied, weakened, sick or whatever bodies — you were seeing bereavement and pain personified all around you, almost every day, and you couldn’t shake your fears, despite your best efforts and the swordsman’s reassuring words.

this is why your sleep would be regularly stolen by these bloodstained specters wandering around, and today would be no exception, even if you’re snuggled up to Zoro — who seems deeply asleep. it was he who had suggested a nap together, to calm you down, but obviously the task was more difficult than expected.

despite your eyes being firmly closed, sealed so as not to see these presences you were feeling, you couldn't help but fidget, scared. in order to calm yourself down, you decided to get up and go get a glass of water in the kitchen. you stepped out of the cabin and the air was mild. everything was (very) surprisingly peaceful, and you took the time to enjoy the moment as you filled your glass, before slowly heading back to the cabin.

but as you open the door, you’re greeted not by Zoro’s sleeping figure, but by a bloodstained and destroyed body, which finally passes through you to continue on its way. terror makes you drop your glass and it crashes right into the cabin entrance as you scream.

the swordsman is jolted from his sleep and instantly turns to you, his gaze alert as he reaches for his swords — but you stop him, pointing at the broken glass dotting the floor; and your shaky voice immediately makes him understand what happened.

Zoro sighs and leaves the bed for a moment to come and get you, dodging the shards of glass before finally picking you up and carrying you, so that you both collapse on the bed, never breaking your embrace. he can feel your heart pounding in your chest as he whispers in your ear.

‘saw sordid stuff again?’

his voice is calm as your respective eyes meet. his gaze is stern, focused, attentive. you nod, and it’s in a — sweet, only for you — whisper that he concedes that it can’t be easy every day. maybe you need to talk about it more than he thought, after all. Zoro tightens his embrace around you, petting your hair as he lets a comfortable silence settle, before questioning you in a solemn yet uncertain tone.

‘hey, by any chance… have you ever seen, like, in your visions… a young girl with a sword?’

Vinsmoke Sanji

Sanji would be a great listener and always there to reassure you when your visions frighten you. he would empathize and understand the weight your powers can represent; so you can count on him to give you all the affection and consideration you need.

he is supportive. his goal would be to make sure that you don’t feel alone in the middle of all these more or less bloodstained ghosts, so that, whenever fear seizes you, he can be there to comfort you and bring you back to the world of the living.

in that sense, it would probably lead you to be more comfortable with your powers and to be able to talk about them more openly. you would be less afraid. and it’s sitting in the kitchen while Sanji is busy at his stove that you’d talk about this and that, your voice a sweet melody for the attentive ears of the cook.

‘you know, i’ve already seen ghosts around you.’

– ‘ah? they should be more interested in you, (y/n)-chwan, you’re so much prettier.’, he’d reply, and you could hear the smile on his face.

you couldn’t stifle a laugh. with Sanji, things always seemed less dramatic, less scary. it was as if you could face all the troubles in this world but you could always get back up.

your laughter was nevertheless cut short by the presence you felt. you couldn’t help but shudder slightly and your eyes, riveted on the cook’s busy hands so far, eventually lifted towards a ghost behind him. this very ghost was also watching with great interest the recipe being prepared, all the while smiling tenderly.

‘there's one behind you right now, by the way.’

– ‘really?’, he chuckled, without taking his eyes off the vegetable he was cutting. ‘and what do they look like? not too… damaged, i hope.’

– ‘it’s a lady. a very beautiful lady.’

Sanji slowed down his cutting, his mind troubled for a moment. he certainly knew how to appreciate women, all women, but something inside him told him that this woman was different. what interest could the ghost of a dead woman possibly have in him? Unless…

‘(y/n), could you please… describe her?’

he had put down his knife, and the uncertain tone of his voice encouraged you to respond positively to his request; nodding then describing as best you could the woman standing next to him, looking at him with a soft smile.

as you spoke, the cook’s features tensed up, and you could see that he was holding back just about everything that came up to him. words, tears, everything. so you ventured to ask a few questions.

‘do you know this person?’, you’d ask timidly.

and maybe it was now up to you to lend an ear to Sanji’s sensitivity.

bonus:

Trafalgar D. Water Law

talking to Law about your powers would be complicated at first. in fact, he would have a hard time understanding why you would be so moved by every vision you have when it’s “just” part of your abilities. he would have a hard time understanding why you would continue to be afraid even though you’re aware of these powers of yours. everything would seem so… irrational to him.

You were coping with the situation as best you could — if he couldn’t understand, you weren’t going to force him. still, that was before you noticed this person. an individual that, as usual, you had taken for a living person, before noticing their bruised appearance and their spectral nature. this person who followed Law almost everywhere.

it was embarrassing, frightening at times, because this ghost’s presence was unpredictable and random, so you often found yourself jumping out of your skin and screaming in the middle of a conversation when they appeared, with Law looking at you in perplexity.

so you had decided to avoid Law a little, just to spare yourself a little, and to avoid having to broach this subject which you already had the feeling he wouldn’t be very receptive to.

however, Law, for his part, was actually very receptive to the fact that you were avoiding him. he saw it perfectly, and also felt that there was something you wanted to tell him, but didn’t dare to, or something like that. he felt lost about it: you knew you could tell him anything, right? or, had he done something that made you no longer feel comfortable talking to him?...

Law would confront you directly about it, not wanting to beat around the bush; and his heart was beating a little faster than he anticipated as he saw you searching for words.

‘well, i… i see… i often see a tall man around you, his face made up, with a large black coat, he’s very injured, with blood all over his face and… so… it makes me…’

– ‘“it makes you” what? what am i supposed to do?’

something snapped in his mind and his reply came out on its own, in a way harsher tone than he would have liked. Law’s grip on his nodachi tightens as he frowns. he looks hurt by this information over which you actually have no control. you shake your head — you knew he wouldn’t understand anyway, that he would only see your visions and fears as irrational, as always. you look away.

‘... nevermind.’

you start walking away, and Law runs his hand over his face with a heavy sigh, trying to process what just happened, and realizing his words were far too harsh. facing the loss of those who matter to us is already a trial. but seeing death walking around every day, even in moments that should give us rest… yeah, he too would freak out facing those kinds of visions eventually.

‘(y/n), wait’, he calls, catching up with you quickly. his voice remains monotonous, but you still hear the softness he always reserves for you. ‘i worded my question poorly. i… yeah, i think we should indeed discuss all this.’

you turn to him, your respective gazes seeking each other, and in his eyes lay torment as well as the apologies he can’t seem to voice. you nod, and he mutters.

‘i will try to understand.’

[lunavaeeee]

Thinking about self-righteous, arrogant, F1!Katsuki Bakugo who knows he’s ‘all that’.

He’s good looking. He’s smart. He’s the definition of the devil on the track. No one could match his lap time, for all the five years he’s been racing so far. Starting out as a rookie for Ferrari, he quickly made his way to first driver after a stunning showcase when he filled in for the first driver. He was quick to surpass his peers, not only in lap times, but pure skill.

He went for everything. He committed to every pass. He felt as if the car was on train tracks, like he was the controller of the track. He was, and he still is.

So yeah. He’s cocky, and he’s arrogant, and his press skills were far beyond training, but he had every right to be.

Did I mention he was good looking?

Toothy smile, cocky grin, blazing red eyes, so firey against his spiky blond hair.

So everyone found him hot. Some of his fan base were guys who truly appreciated his skill— but 90% of it, was fangirls.

You weren’t much different. Of course you would find him hot— who wouldn’t? Fuck types, fuck preferences, anyone would break their rules for Katsuki Bakugo.

But atleast you had a genuine care and drive for racing, and did appreciate his skills beyond his looks.

So there you stood. In line for his autograph, as people scurried over to him after a big win during the pre-season races. Interviewers shoved microphones in his face, asking him questions about his race, his personal life.

He answered with a gruff, “None of your fucking business”, his face contorting in annoyance. His crew-members quickly shooed them off so fans could have a chance to talk to him.

You tapped your hand on the back of the glossed picture in your hand, a red, glittery pen for him to sign with. You’d never physically gone to a race before— this was your first time, and experiencing the rush of watching them, seeing how fast those cars went besides off television, seeing it in real time? It made shivers go down your spine.

And seeing him in real life was surreal. You were his biggest fan— following him through his rookie days. Hell, he even followed you back for a little while when his popularity was low, and had some conversations with you when you’d message him about his pre-season races when he’d fill in.

But, they soon made him unfollow everyone. You still remembered it though— but he’d never remember you.

You were nervous. Of course you were.

You slowly made your way up the line, and he didn’t look to happy about the giant line in front of him, still breathing heavily from his race, still sweating from the heat in the car.

And then you found yourself in front of him.

You blinked. It was silent between you two for a long while, looking at eachother.

Then, his brows furrowed. “Do you want me to sign that?” He said gruffly, gesturing to the picture with an annoyed look.

You quickly snapped out of your trance. “Oh! Um, yeah, sorry..” you muttered, handing him the picture and the pen. He opened it with his teeth, quickly scribbling over the paper with a messy signature.

He glanced up at you, cap still between his teeth, eyes trained on you as he finished his last name of his signature.

He looked you over. His face was still contorted with annoyance, but his eyes said a different story.

“So, are you really into racing, or just here to ogle guys?” He said with a gruff voice, closing the cap in the pen and handing you back the picture.

You blinked, taken back. “.. For the racing. I’ve always been into it. But I can’t ever race professionally, so.. I just follow it.” You muttered, avoiding his piercing gaze for a second. “I am going to school for race car engineering, though. I’m hoping to work the pits.”

“The pits, huh?” He said with furrowed brows, looking you over. “Not many woman in the pits.”

“Yeah, well.. I want to show other woman that it’s possible to still be involved in racing if your not a man.” You shrugged.

“Woman can race.”

“Yeah, but do you see any woman in F1? Hell, even F2 and F3.. it’s a male dominated sport.”

“Okay? Doesn’t mean they can’t. You could, too.”

“There’s no point in trying that.” You said with furrowed brows. “Like I said, male dominated. I’d just get undermined, even if I was skilled.”

“So you’re saying you’re scared?”

“No.” You said, “that’s not it at all. That’s like saying—“

You stopped as you realized he was smiling. That famous toothy grin. He was messing with you.

And you also remembered this was Katsuki Bakugo. Why were you arguing? Why was he so annoying? Why’d you let yourself get riled up so fast?

He narrowed his eyes. He picked up that glittery pen, yanking your wrist slightly. You gasped, taken aback by the movement before he scribbled something on your wrist.

When he let go, you realized it was a number.

He leaned close, so close. His voice dropped an octave.

“Y/N L/N, right?.” He said lowly, deeply. “I like you. Call me.”

So he did remember you.

Your brows furrowed, a deep blush settling in.

“Move it before they make rumours.” He said, standing straight again.

You blinked at him for a second. Looked down at your wrist, as he placed the pen in your palm and handed you the photo.

You processed it for a second.

“Wait, what?”

“Bakugo! Bakugo, can I get a photo, please?!”

“Yeah, whatever.” He said, his voice an entirely different one to the low, honey-glazed voice he just whispered in your ear.

I like you. Call me.

You stared at him for a second. But then, a shoulder clashed with yours, and you remembered you were still standing there like an idiot.

You shuffled to the side, returning to your friends, not without taking out your phone, and putting his number in your contacts with a deep, ruby blush.

[tarnishedxknight]

Caelen listened to all of "Lamont's" questions, smiling more and more as additional questions were piled on. Finally he put up his hand, "Woah, woah... one at a time, young man," he said with a good-natured chuckle. "Give me a chance to catch up." With that said, he began to think about the answers to all of the boy's burning questions.

"The sound of a struck blade might not always tell you where it is from, but it could very well tell you something about how it was made," he began. "Damascus steel, for example, that which is made by layering different types of steel onto themselves, sounds a great deal different than single alloy steel. Thicker blades will sound different than thinner ones. And sometimes, learning how a blade is made might tell you the culture it is from, though other aesthetics will surely do that as well."

On to the next question. "Oh, I flinch plenty well when I am burned, be sure of that. And I dare say that I burned myself often while apprenticing in my trade. Less so, now. But I am able to stand closer to fire and molten metal and for longer periods of time than those who are not used to such things. I have always been used to extreme heat. I grew up with it." He should not have said that, but it slipped out.

"Hmm... There could be many reasons for one to have callouses on the backs of one's knuckles. Certain professions may have them. Carpet layers, tailors, masons... Anyone who wears abrasive gloves and have an occupation where they are preforming manual labor for hours each day may have them. Opening and closing one's hand constantly within abrasive gloves can cause callousing there the fabric pulls taut." Caelen slipped on one of his thick gloves and opened and closed his hand a few times, showing how the fabric stretched over the knuckles. "Do that several hundred times a day and you too would have callouses."

He laughed at the next set of questions, nodding. "I have indeed had many strange requests, usually from more affluent patrons who can afford something whimsical and less functional to mount on their walls as mere decoration. It is funny you should mention a fish. Come here, I've something to show you," he said, waving at Larsa to join him on one side of the shop. He lifted a wrapped bundle off one of the shelves and laid it on a nearby table, unfolding the fabric to reveal two swords the blades of which were shaped... like sharks. "This client travels often, and he loves the sea. He asked me to make him a set of swords with a shark motif. These are not yet finished, and the designs need refinement, but this is the sort of whimsical request I sometimes get. He'll be picking them up the end of this week." He wrapped the blades again and put them back on the shelf.

Caelen was a bit saddened to hear the boy say he was the first adult who ever let him ask questions. "Surely that cannot be true...?" he asked. "Do you not have a mentor of some kind? I had one growing up. He encouraged me to ask questions. Children must learn to think for themselves, after all." His gaze unfocused a little just then. "I miss him..." he said with a hint of sadness before he shook his head. "Well, come inside if you still want something to eat. You too, Shadow."

The cat, upon hearing his name, stood from his reclined position and meowed enthusiastically. He knew that when the human spoke in that tone, food was imminent. The cat ran through a door in the back of the shop leading to Caelen's home.

Larsa did not expect to be unfrozen at all, let alone in the future. When he had snuck upon Gabranth's ship set for Pharos he did it to ensure the peace would be possible. The last thing he remembered was running towards fallen Gabranth and then... Light. (Marvel AU) - tarnishedxjudgement

@tarnishedxjudgement

Noah didn't have the same abilities and resources in this time period with which to inform himself of anything and everything that was going on around him. He was in the dark, most of the time, unless directly informed of things, a condition he hated. Being at the mercy of others he neither knew nor trusted for information was not a position he usually found himself in.

It was the reason he hadn't known about Drace being found after him until she was brought one day to the training compound. Inexplicably, after executing her in his own timeline, here she was again, seemingly from another. The entire experience was wholly jarring, but not nearly as jarring as losing his only son.

So often had Noah thought of Larsa in the months following his revival in this strange time. Thoughts invaded his peace, his sleep, his ability to function, until he found himself so erratic and unhinged that he did not recognize himself anymore. Even Drace found it difficult to comfort him, and she had always been a master of that feat. There was no closure to be had, no second chances, no going back... and that knowledge was eating Noah alive from the inside out.

But once again, information had been kept from him, and yet another arrival from Ivalice to the Avengers compound was neither expected nor necessarily wanted. Would it be another Dalmascan? Gods forbid a Rozarrian. And the way the people of this time seemed to think that all Ivalicians got along and would be happy to see each other was beyond irritating to him. Nevertheless, when he was specifically summoned to greet this newcomer, Noah begrudgingly left his quarters to do so.

What he saw... stopped him dead in his tracks. Within seconds, his expression betrayed him, and within a few more, he was on his knees, his legs giving way in disbelief of the sight that lay before him. It was little Lord Larsa, looking just as he did when last Noah laid eyes on him, perfect as can be.

He knew he should say something, but words betrayed him as well as his own legs had. Instead, he merely stared, the absence of his helm serving to display to the boy all the shock, confusion, and relief at seeing him standing there. Finally, he forced out the only two words he felt he could say without falling apart.

"My lord..."

[rensficreblogs]

Anaxagoras x gn! Reader. Reader is a dromas keeper in Okhema.

A/N: ngl ive been procrastinating this one a bit but I finally finished it so yay

Working as a dromas keeper was tough but satisfying work. Day in and day out, you ran around feeding, caring for, and loving all of them under your supervision. You liked to think that the tall creatures appreciated your efforts, maybe even as much as Okhema’s citizens appreciated them and their work.

One day, as you were saddling one of your dromas’, you noticed a strange man loitering nearby. You’d never seen him before. He seemed rather suspicious, to say the least.

He didn’t seem to notice you staring when he started approaching one of the herd's younger members. Quickly, you moved to stop him, fearing the worst.

“Hold on, he won’t cause any harm,” you heard from behind you. When you turned, arms still full of gear, you were met with one of the older keepers. From what you’ve heard, he had been taking care of this herd for almost forty years now.

“But sir-“ you began, “I can’t just let some strange man handle the dromas’-“ you argued.

At this, your senior only laughed. “You don’t have to worry, us older folk know him well enough. See, they like him,” he gestured to where the stranger was being licked by the young animal, the entire side of his face and some of his pale green hair getting covered in saliva. Still, he didn’t seem particularly bothered as he kept stroking the creature's face.

“But…” you trailed off. In all honesty, you were more concerned for the dromas’ well-being than anything else, yet he seemed to know how to handle them well. Since your coworker trusted him, you’d let it slide. Just for today. 

The next time you saw the stranger with the eye patch and green hair was a little over a month later. Just like on his previous visit, he just sauntered over to one of the dromas’ and began gently petting while quietly speaking to them. This time, he had chosen one of the largest adults of the herd. 

You set down what you were working on and briskly walked over to him. “Sir, you can’t just waltz in here like that,” you started, “you could get seriously injured,” you tried to reason. Again, you cared much more for the dromas’ safety, but you knew you shouldn’t say that aloud.

“It is alright,” he sighed, “I am familiar with how to handle them.” He spoke bluntly in a cold tone.

“Just who even are you?” You asked, feeling frustration start to bubble up within you.

He turned to look you up and down, as if judging whether to answer your question or not. His single eye then locked directly onto yours as he spoke, “I am Anaxagoras, I am nearly visiting from my position at the grove,” he explained half heartedly.

“Anaxa!” Someone called out. Soon enough, your senior strode up to where you and ‘Anaxa’ stood. “How long are you visiting for this time?” He asked cheerfully- a stark contrast to the frail-looking man in front of you.

“How many times must I tell you, my name is Anaxagoras. An-ax-a-gor-as.” 

“Whatever you say Anaxa,” your coworker said, to which Anaxagoras scoffed.

“(Y/n), you might not know since you’re relatively new, but this guy here is a big shot over at the grove,” he slung a heavy arm around Anaxa’s shoulder. “One of the sages, even. He stops by whenever he’s in town- really fond of dromas’. Says they’re what makes having to visit Okhema bearable.” He explains enthusiastically.

“Yes,” Anaxa clears his throat. “They are truly wonderful creatures…”

Shortly after that encounter, he wandered off back into the city, not to be seen by you until two weeks later. This time, it seemed he had brought treats for the dromas’.

Seeing him try to lug around a large basket of fruits was rather entertaining, but ultimately, you decided to help the poor guy out.

“Need some help with that?” You asked with a barely concealed laugh.

He scoffed. “No, I require no assistance.” He said flatly, despite being nearly out of breath. 

And so, you stood back and let him haul the basket closer to the stables, eventually dropping it with a huff right outside the stable door. The nearby dromas looked at his exhausted figure in concern.

After taking a moment to collect himself, he reached into the basket and pulled out a large fruit, which he then held out to the dromas. Without so much as a single cautious sniff, the dromas ate it all in one bite, causing some juice to go flying, right onto the professor’s expensive-looking clothes. You couldn’t help but giggle at that. 

“And what do you find so funny?” He asked in an annoyed tone, turning to look at you with a single piercing eye. The dromas began to lick at his outermost layer of clothing. 

That made you laugh even harder. “Oh- it’s nothing-“ but you couldn’t stop. He merely groaned at you and turned to continue his fruity gifting spree.

About twenty minutes later, he emerged from the stables, empty basket in hand, even more covered in sticky fruit than before.

Somehow, you managed to approach him without laughing. “Come on, let’s clean you up before it stains,” you said, pointing to the small drinking pool across the yard.

“I can do that myself.”

“Then think of it as an apology for laughing at you,” you insisted with a giggle. He just rolled his eyes before stomping over to the water like a petulant child. You followed a few steps behind him.

Once close to the pool, he immediately began stripping the top layers of his intricate clothes off before dunking them in the water.

“Here,” you offered, holding out your hand. He hesitated for a moment before handing you his coat for you to scrub clean with a rag.

You tried to make small talk while you worked. “So, what drew you to dromas’?” You asked.

“Grew up with them.” He said curtly.

“I’m guessing you’re not much of a talker, huh?”

To that, he just glanced at you before going right back to what he was doing. You had a lot more you wanted to ask him, but you’d save those questions for a different time. 

The next time you saw the professor, it was outside Okhema. You and a few others had been tasked with delivering various goods to the grove- with the help of dromas’, of course. 

There was a small crowd awaiting your group's arrival at the main gate, but you only recognized one face among them.

Dismounting your steed, you began to unpack what was being delivered. According to the invoice, the packages surrounding you were books. When checking the recipient, it was, of course, none other than Professor Anaxagoras.

As you walked into his field of vision, he just stood there, arms crossed over his chest, looking unamused.

You put on a small smile. “Hello again, professor,” you greeted. “Looks like I have some books for you.” You held up the slip of paper with his name and order on it.

“Yes. You will help me carry them in.” He said in that characteristic monotone voice of his. It wasn’t a request, it was a demand.

Your already forced smile faded quickly.

“Do you not have students or something to help you with that?” 

He merely stared at you, as if he really expected you to just immediately agree to assist in bringing gods know how many books to his lab.

Before you knew it, you were hauling a large, heavy box up the never-ending steps in the grove. Your annoyance was only heightened by the fact that Anaxagoras carried only about five books, plucked from the top of the pile you carried.

After what seemed like hours, you finally set down the hefty parcel on the floor next to one of the many bookshelves lining the walls of his lab.

You let out a tired huff. “And why couldn’t you get anyone else to help you?” You asked, hand on your hip.

“My students are a bunch of imbeciles, I wouldn’t trust them with a rock.”

That certainly wasn’t the answer you had expected from the man standing across from you, but, you couldn’t say you were displeased to hear that he- a renowned academic- trusted you, a lowly dromas keeper.

[problemnyatic]

I think a major obstacle many many people face when learning new things, building skills, or trying to change themselves is literally just panicking too much. Especially americans; all that shit our schools don't teach us is replaced with being taught to fear authoritarian and social punishment for ever being wrong or even thinking wrong.

There's a widespread impulse to want to "get things over with" that leads to people making wild guesses and stabs in the dark when trying to grasp something new, and only building their sense of fear and panic whenever they miss. Which becomes a very powerful feedback loop, because this approach is a very good way to fuck up many times in many ways with little to show for it.

Learning itself is a skill, and apparently the schools in the US are actually teaching even worse approaches for learning how to learn than when even I was a kid, which really, really was not that long ago.

Kids are taught, not necessarily in school, but by how society treats them and their actions, that not knowing is a failure, and that there are "objectively correct" ways to view everything, with pretty nasty consequences for deviating from that viewpoint. It leaves peolle desperate to find the "correct" framing of everything, discarding everything "less correct" as dangerous and wrong and bad.

Not only does this lead to a horrifically damaged sense of curiosity and capacity to learn and synthesize new information, but it leads to an incredibly powerful sense of second-hand doom whenever other people or the world around them does not also conform to the Correct thing. I'm sure I don't have to outline how that can lead to just, so much trouble.

Not only does this lead to thought-terminating panic and a desperation for easy answers, it means that most people, even when given good information, actively seek to derive as little as they can about it, because they're taught to believe that knowing more than they're "supposed to," especially if it contradicts what authority wants from them, is contemptable and likely to be met with punishment.

The challenge the youth of today, and all of us face, is learning how to sense panicked thought, that wild guessing and strong urgency, and slowing it down enough that we leave ourselves room to think carefully about all angles of something. What do we know? What don't we know? What can we learn from these differences? What questions do you have about this thing? Lets try to answer some of those questions with research (not chatgpt. no.) and experimentation.

It is normal not to know things. The default amount of knowledge to have on anything is 0. It is not a moral failing to be wrong or ignorant. It only becomes a moral failing when you try to hide or excuse your ignorance when you could be learning instead.

[wide-nose-and-wonderful]

SINNERS.

Pairing: Sammie x Pearline!

Warnings/Type: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff & Stuff, A Smooth Talking Preacher Boy In Another Decade. It's Early 2000's, ONE SHOT!

Summary: Young Boy Sammie Moore has finally turned twenty one! He decides to spend pre birthday at the mall with his family for some early birthday gifts. Who knew a quick break off to the food court would be so eventful.

Word count: 6,624 / Whomever comes across this work, enjoy.

It was Wednesday. The air inside the Guitar Center thrummed with the low hum of amps and the sporadic twang of hopeful guitarists. Guitars of every shape, size and pedigree, amid a lingering scent of aged wood and polished brass. Sammie held the blues like a well-worn record, already dissecting the acoustic sections across the other side of the store, thoughtfully tapping on soundboards of various models. By that time, the thought of his father found him. He recalled the very last conversation. A couple days spread out into a few months, but the words remained as clear as the day they were spoken.  

“Listen Sammie. The bottom line. Either you cut out all the nonsense. Get yourself back to going to church, or I'm gonna have to ask you to leave ma’ house. I won’t have people talking.Calling my son a Sinner. You know what kind of impact that would have on the church. My livelihood and legacy. Everything I've built so you and your brothers and sisters could make something of yourselves…” 

“But that’s your life. I’m entitled to live my own. Maybe your legacy just isn’t ma’ legacy anymore.” 

He wondered what type of state he was in. Different emotions had him undecided. Was it some sense of longing? Regret, maybe relief, some kind of fear? He bet he could write a song that would express it all, tell it better. That’s all Blues was. Express of the emotions that were a little hard to say out loud and straight out. Some emotions required a beat, a melody and a tune. 

Twenty one years today. Old enough to drink legally, as Stack reminded him. Old enough to really be out on his own with no excuses. Do his own thing, with no one to answer to. A man. The point he’d made sure his father knew. 

“We gon’ throw you a party like no other lil cousin, just you wait till this weekend…”

Sammie grinned, feeling the weight of the instrument in his grip. Stack seemed more eager then he did. Like he was in some strange way getting to relieve his early twenties. Boy, did he have some stories to tell. The things he’d done and saw. Sammie’s mind on the other hand was far from drinking and dancing. Attention from loose women. He didn’t want the party. A quiet night inside almost suited him better. He still hadn’t heard from his father. That bothered him.

Jedidiah Moore, epitome of stubbornness despite his sermons on pride and unforgiveness at Sunday service. Grudges could stay and wayne like the summer heat, and boy was he particular. In front of his congregation he presented as a wholesome man. Caring, considerate, a good listener and confidant. Behind closed doors was different. Sammie may have had too many examples to count, but his image as both pastor and father beat against one another with little equality. 

Sammie’s mother, Geraline Moore called two days prior, although loyal to his father's will, she'd been a bit more understanding in her nature as a woman, but a mother would always be curious about their child when they weren't with them. Sammie knew she'd been eager to hear just how he’d been doing since going to stay with Annie and Smoke. Questions like, was he eating, being respectful. Her voice stayed thick during their conversation, riddled with a sadness she tried to hide. Sammie regretted that the most. She’d been the last person he wanted to hurt. 

By the time Sammie sighed that fact away, Stack veered straight toward a wall full of electric guitars with a glint of mischief in his eye. The candy-apple red Ibanez  launched into a series of wildly uncoordinated power cords. Only thing to break Sammie from all his thinking. 

Elianna covered her ears at the broken melody, but there remained a particular sense of awe in her face. She’d walked off from Annie who’d been eyeing one of the instruments, following her uncle in a childlike curiosity. She’d done that ever since she could walk. Sammie often wondered if she thought Stack was her daddy, and did it instinctively. Or could she tell the twins apart just by looking.   

“Uncle,” She cried amidst the atrocious noise. ”Stop it!” 

Smoke threw a glare in the direction of his daughter's protest. He’d been busy at the front desk talking to one of the men that worked there. A sheet of paper laid out nicely on the table, separated the two like a business transaction taking place unbeknownst.

“Stack! Cut it out,” he hissed. “You gon’ break something and I'm not tryna hear they mouth.”  

The man on the other side of the table had his eye on Stack the moment he picked up the expensive instrument. Smoke noticed too, which was why when the man finally locked eyes with him, Smoke gave him a subtle but serious flash of a glare as if to say in so few words, don't say shit to my brother, I got it.

Although identical, Smoke never seemed to let anyone, including Stack forget that he was the oldest twin. Sammie confirmed that difference, almost immediately. They looked every much alike but were very different men. Stack embraced it, and lived boldly in his thirst for freedom. He had a very do whatever you want attitude. Sammie always wondered if being a twin meant that type of thing was unavoidable; the desire to break away and form a separate identity. To be one’s own person. 

As expected, Stack laughed through his noise making, even beyond Smoke’s threat. 

“You don’t like ma’ song baby niece?” 

Elianna shook her head. little hands still firmly over her ears. A giggle did manage to leave her. Annie pursed her lips when she walked over. Not entirely displeased, but not entirely amused. She’d probably gotten used to it, as long as she’d been around the twins. Stack could test Smoke’s patience.Sammie had been witness a few times when the brothers had their heated arguments. Most of the time it had to do with Smoke not liking the type of women Stack brought around. Only one Smoke ever went completely soft for was his baby girl.

To Sammie, five year old Elianna Moore was the cutest thing walking. She had equal bits of Smoke and Annie in her, but she looked more like her daddy, or at least Sammie thought so. She’d been declared a miracle child by the midwife, Annie took about a month to recover fully. A hard birth, Smoke managed to breath out one time when someone asked him. Ever since then he’d been a devoted father. Maybe a little over protective, but Sammie assumed he’d gotten the life he wanted. Annie was a good woman. She could cook and the house was always clean and smelling good. More than that, she was his comfort. Since staying with them, Sammie had walked in on at least two instances where Annie was standing cradling and holding Smokes head close to her chest. Like her heartbeat energized him.  

Another death glare by Smoke had Stack finally off his antics. He put the guitar back with that chuckle that pissed Smoke off, and moved in one swift motion to swoop up Elianna and kiss her on the cheek. She giggled, high up in his arms and hugged his neck. He gave her this sad face and pressed his forehead on hers.

“How you gon’ say ya’ uncle was bad. You spose ta be ma’ number one fan out here baby girl.” 

Elianna provided a couple pats to the shoulder. A little of Stack’s personality had no doubt rubbed off on her too.  

“You wasn’t that bad uncle Elias, but you was baaaaad.” 

She scrunched her face like she'd tasted a sour candy. Stack smacked his teeth, but smiled. 

“Why you have to elongate the word? See. You lucky you cute and you ma’ baby.” 

He kissed her forehead and put her down. 

“Big cousin Sammie, now he's gooooood,” she said, head tilted and smiling. 

A laugh escaped Annie. Stack grinned and shrugged, before he laughed himself. 

“Well. I can't even argue that. He got some talent, no doubt. Which is why we gon’ get him hooked up. Make him a big star. Then we can watch him on TV. Playing all them blues songs.” 

Sammie sighed. Stack brought it up numerous times before, even managing to convince Smoke to help get him signed to a label, and it was hard to get Smoke to agree on anything, depending on what it was. But, hesitation remained, the thought of being famous. He loved music. Loved playing the strings, sure. Learned the Guitar on his own with months of strenuous practice whenever he got the opportunity, but, recognition didn't matter too much. Humble beginnings stayed on him, even after his father's Church gained popularity. Best part about the Blues was the way it made a person feel. He’d had a few instances where people cried, said they needed that, that his voice was powerful, that the world somehow got brighter. He never felt that way at his father’s church. The music, the Gospel to Sammie, was strangely constrained in the way of freedom. Maybe not the same freedom Stack looked for in experiences, or how family presented for Smoke, but the type of freedom a bird might need to not just fly, but to soar. At least under his fathers eye, things felt like that. Contained and cadged. He had a chance at glory, and turned from it. Then like clock work, Sammie got back to thinking about Jedidiah. If he did become famous, that would seal the deal on their relationship.

“Nah Stack. It's all good.” He said, a particle smile to hide the inner battle. “I don't need all that. Y'all like ma’ music. That's enough.” 

Stack smacked his teeth. “Mind what I say. Big cousin got you. Twenty one, can't even believe it. Growing up right before our eyes.” 

Stack walked over, threw an arm which resulted in a partial head lock and hug all rolled into one gesture. He had a heaviness to his arm, weighted, but a comfort all at once. Stack faked sniffing, dapping at his own eyes in some form of dramatics with his knuckle. There were no tears to dry away. His smirk betrayed him anyway. Sammie knew he was on bullshit. Stack knew it himself, but went on talking.

“Seems like just yesterday you were that nappy head lil boy running round toothless following after us. Everywhere too. Couldn't seem to shake ya. Guess much ain't changed but this new line up you sportin’ huh.” 

Sammie gave a crooked smile before moving from under his arm. “Man. Whatever. You ain't never remember me like that.” the tone might have come off unconvinced, but he let off a chuckle afterward. Stack would always be Stack, fabricating stories with how he thought they’d played out, no matter what, but Sammie was fine with that. He took him for what he was. 

Annie stepped up, bag in one hand as she placed the other on Elianna’s shoulder. Elianna pouted just slightly. While talking to Stack, there had been a missed conversation happening between mother and daughter. That familiar dimple expressed itself on one of her little cheeks. Identical to her father's, and Stack’s.

“Mama, please get this…this one is the best.”

Sammie couldn't help but grin. Elianna Moore did have an eye, and she'd found a lovely make and model he’d overlooked. 

“I like it mama,” her dark brown hues traveled up and down the guitar. “You don't like this one, big cousin?” 

Sammie stepped forward and bent down on one knee. Doing so had him at Elianna’s eye level and in the area dedicated to vintage electronics. He ran a hand reverently over the smooth neck of a honey-blonde telecaster before his eyes landed on the charcoal-grey Gibson Es-335, perched on a stand. Elianna’s choice. 

“I do. I really like this color and pattern design too. Good pick.” 

Her eyes lit up like street lamps at the approval, and her little dimple surfaced for a second time. Her smile warmed him, but also reminded him of home. The brothers and sisters he’d left behind often looked at him in that same way. 

“Can you try it?” 

That meant she wanted a song played. Her favorite one. Oddly enough, a song Sammie took a liking to when she was months old, frustrated with his father, and ready to run away to prove him and everyone else wrong. Like a dandelion seed, Sammie envisioned himself countless times scattering away from the South, catching the wind towards something more. Muddy Waters, Mannish Boy. Sammie would never understand how she was wise enough to remember it. Maybe, it had nothing to do with the particular song at all, only that he was singing it, and made it personal that she grew a liking to the way he did it. Whatever the reason, whenever his baby cousin asked, and if a guitar was nearby somewhere, he'd play it for her. He provided a gentle pinch to her cheek, grabbed the guitar, put the band over his head and got into a good position as he stood to his feet. 

“Okay, tell me lil’ bit. What song ya’ want cousin Sammie to play for ya’?” 

Elianna tilted her head from one side to the other before she tugged at his shoulder sleeve. 

“Whaaaaat. You don’t member it?” 

Her eyes grew big.

“Course I do,” He said, and chuckled.

 He would never forget.  

This time he wouldn’t coax a mournful melody. That could only be played on the one back home where Jedidiah was. 

“You leave out here, Sammie. You not taken that Guitar wit’ ya.” 

So he left it behind. Been in mourning ever sense. Peering down at the price tag on this one he didn't own, Sammie took a breath, and promised himself he’d be careful while playing. His part time job didn’t make enough should something happen in the process of the song. He didn't want to cause trouble for Smoke and Annie. They’d been so generous. 

“Excuse me,” he said, catching the attention of one of the employees. “Y'all mind if I try this out?”

“Yeah, sure dude. I can plug it up.” 

Sammies gaze traveled. They’d hid it away beneath the counter. Smart. The amp crackled to life, filling the shop with a warm, inviting glow of sound that hummed a quiet power once plugged. Elianna brought her hands together in anticipation. Not something done for Stacks performance. Annie smiled and even Smoke paid attention. 

“Oh, daaaaaaamn. Aye, everybody come watch ma’ lil’ cousin. He bout to blow this shit up!” Stack called, with the same elongation of words he’d scolded his niece for as he waved over unsuspecting onlookers.

Whatever opinions anyone had about Elias Mooore, he was the biggest hype man and support anyone could ask for. Sammie always appreciated that about him.   

“Blow it up?” 

The man's face went pale in color. More red patches showing on areas of the skin. Smoke unfazed, shook his head. Another great supporter, just in a different way.  

“Nah. Not like that. Just an expression. Means he bout’ ta put on a show for y’all. So pay attention.” 

Sammie closed his eyes a moment, breathed deep, and let his fingers find their way to the familiar cords of Mannish Boy.

“Oooooooh, Yeah. Oh Yeaaaaaah. Everything, everything, everything gon’ be alright this moooorning…Oooooh yeah….Whooooooo!”

At the ripe age of seven, he’d gotten the opportunity to hear a studio recording of the song. He would shut his eyes and try to imagine what it was like being in that space at that exact time. Muddy there, maybe Howling wolf, little Walter for sure, the band of course, and that guitar amped and ready.

“Come on dere now preacher Boy, you gon’ sang this song…Or are you gon’ sanaaag this song…”   

Slow, a tentative rumble, built into the iconic riff, each note a drop of sweat and hard earned wisdom of all the greats that came before him. His voice joined the guitar, a raw soulful cry that seemed to emanate from somewhere deep within. Stack hollered off a loud Yeaaaaaah’ In the background. 

“Now, when I was a young boy…At the age of five…My mother said I was gonna be…The greatest man alive…But now I'm a man…I'm age twenty-one…I want you to believe me, honey…We having lots of fun…I'm a man…”

He played with a passion and skill that belied his age, and others felt it. Stack with his hootin’ and hollerin’, Smoke with the tapping of his feet, Annie’s subtle swaying, and Elianna’s innocence, off beat but happy in her own personal dance to the tune she loved.

“I spell M…A, child…N…that represent man…No B…O, child…Y…that spell mannish boy…I'm a man…I'm a full-grown man…I'm a man…I'm a rollin' stone…I'm a man…I'm a hoochie-coochie man…”

The music grew louder, the mood more festive, and pretty soon others outside of the Moore’s joined in. A crowd began to gather. Tourists paused, drawn in by the authentic sound. Children stood mesmerized. Different people, singing along, clapping hands. The air changed, thick with the raw soulful energy of the blues.

“Sittin' on the outside…Just me and my mate…I'm made to move…Come up two hours late…Wasn't that a man?...I spell M…A, child…N…that represeent man…No B…O, child…Y…That spell mannish boy…”

No telling how many new customers would arise from this performance. From behind Sammie caught a different instrument joining in. Drums. Then another, the harmonica of all things. A mournful counterpart to the Guitar. He wasn’t aiming for perfection, just connection. That’s why he never looked back to see exactly where the oncoming sounds came from, the sheer exhilaration of being alive and in the moment mattered most.  

Instead he poured his youthful heart into it, fingers dancing over the fretboard. His voice, though a little rough around the edges in his opinion, resonated with genuine feeling, catching the melody and riding it. A lively, upbeat tune filled with joy. A song born from the newfound lightness in his soul. It wasn’t quite the same, but familiar. Not home, but close to it. He’d missed the sensation of the vibrating strings. Getting lost in the music. How he’d imagine his fingers painting the air. Each note, this brush stroke of emotion.  

Then he saw her.  

At the edge of the crowd. A woman bathed in the late afternoon light. He’d swore he’d never seen hair so dark. Coiled, full, in a medium high afro of tight curls. Deep brown complexion complemented wide eyes, mysterious and endlessly captivating. She wasn’t smiling, he noticed, but her expression was one of quiet attentiveness, like she absorbed every note, every nuance of the song. 

Sammie stumbled slightly on a chord. The carefully constructed composure cracking momentarily. 

As the last chord faded away, this appreciative ripple traveled within the crowd who hadn’t noticed the slip up. Any doubt flew away with the applause. He stood and only gave a partial bow. 

“Thank y'all. Appreciate it. My lil’ cousin likes this song. Played it especially for her.” 

A look around. No Elianna in sight. No Annie, or Smoke or Stack either. Then with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, a man dressed in a tailored suit pushed through the crowd and offered his hand. 

“Magnificent! Absolutely magnificent! Heard you playing all the way down the hall. Lotta people heard ya. But me personally, said to myself what raw unpolished potential. You gotta a gleam in ya’ eye. Talent. Such that I ain't heard in a good long while, least round here in Mississippi. I’m Johnathan Remmick. Remmick Talent Agency. You, young man, have a gift..” 

Buzzing from the performance, Sammie shook his hand, a subtle half grin playing on his lips. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “Just playing around.”  

“Playing around?” Remmick chuckled, a low oily sound. “Nonsense. You’re a star waiting to be discovered. I can make it happen. I’m thinking you got the it factor. Got some big names I know would be excited to have you open for um.” He pulled out a business card. “Let's talk contract. I have connections, studios, the whole nine yards.” 

This sudden sense of uncertainty filled him up. Sammie looked out at the faces in the large pool of people. None belonging to his cousins, or Annie. This might be the right opportunity Stack always talked about, he thought, but the hype of it all had them swallowed up in different sections. He was alone with no clue what to do next. Flattered, stammered, almost unable to think logically, he grinned. 

“Wow, okay uh, yeah Mr. Remmick, That’s amazing.” 

“Amazing is an understatement!” 

Remmick clapped him on the shoulder, a little too hard, for Sammie’s liking. Something about him carried an air of doubt. Maybe the overt eagerness, or the smile, just a little off. 

“I’m talking stadium tours, record deals, the whole shaBang!” But first, we need to, shall we say, formalize our partnership.” 

“Hold up a minute,” his voice low and even. “I can’t rush this. I actually have a lot on my plate right now.” By a lot, Sammie considered his father and what that reaction would look like if he did sign with some big company to make music.  

Remmicks' smile faltered, just a fraction. 

“Ofcourse, of course. Just a preliminary chat. But I wouldn't want anyone else to snatch you up while you're still thinking about it. Time is of the essence, ya know.” 

A flimsy looking document surfaced from the briefcase, Sammie didn’t even notice he had one at first. A hastily prepared Contract of Representation. Papers that looked intimidatingly thick.

“Pretty standard artist management agreement. Take a look.” 

“You just carry these round wit ya.” 

It seemed a little too calculated.

“Always be prepared. You never can really know, can you.” 

Sammie reached for the contract, but a hand intercepted it. 

“Hold on there, Slick.” 

Stack emerged from the crowd. Broad shoulders, and even broader grin. A stark contrast to Remmick’s polished demeanor. Smoke came from the opposite direction, Annie not far behind carrying Elianna in her arms.

What’s this all about?” Smoke asked, tone deceptively mild as he took the contract from Remmick’s hand.

Stack, meanwhile, positioned himself subtly between Sammie and the white man. Remmick’s smile faltered. 

“Just a standard contract, gentlemen. Helping this young man achieve his dreams.” 

Annie, who had been quietly observing, moved beside Smoke. Eyes, sharp and intelligent as they scanned the document. “This seems a little unbalanced, Mr. Remmick,” she said, her voice polite but firm. 

“Standard for someone just starting out,” He insisted, voice a little sharper. “This is an investment in his future. He’ll be rolling in it!” 

Smoke flipped through the pages, his brow furrowing. “Forty percent commission? Control over all his music? Perpetual exclusivity? Sounds like a dream alright…for you.” He looked at Remmick, eyes narrowed. “This highway robbery, damn near.” 

“Now, see here,” Remmick sputtered, “This is how the business works! I’m offering him an opportunity!”

“Yeaaaaah. An opportunity to get screwed over,” Stack rumbled, his voice a low growl. “My cousin ain’t stupid. He just gets a little starstruck.” 

Smoke handed the contract back to Remmick. “Think you’ll find my cousin’s gonna need to consult with some professionals.” He emphasized the word ‘Professionals’ with a meaningful glance at Stack. 

“Look, I’m just trying to help. I see the potential here.” 

“We see it too,” Stack chimed in, “And we’re gonna make sure he gets his fair shake.” He placed a protective arm around Sammie like a guard. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have some celebrating to do.” 

Remmick backed away. Shot the twins a resentful look before disappearing out the door. 

Sammie looked at both his cousins with an assumed gratitude and released the breath he'd been holding in the entire exchange. For all of it he’d froze, unable to think, or find the right things to say. It reminded him of the little Mermaid. The movie Elianna loved and wanted to watch with him every time he came over. One particular scene got him thinking. The one where the evil sea witch had the mermaid sign her name on a contract. Damn near sell her soul. Sammie thought this situation might be a lot like that.

“Glad y'all came when you did. He got ta’ talkin’ so fast, didn't have time to think.” 

“Don’t worry bout’ it,” Stack said, providing him a few hearty pats on the back. “You just focus on the music. We’ll handle the sharks.” 

“And we’ll get you good representation when the time is right if you really serious bout’ this music thing. Someone who actually cares about your music, not just your potential to make them a quick buck,” Smoke added.  

“Your talent is real Sammie. Shouldn’t be exploited.” 

Annie kissed his cheek leaning a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

He wished his father saw it that way. He finally understood the underlying feeling he carried ever since he woke up that day. He missed him. That's what the unease was. Hoping Annie didn't notice, he focused on Elianna, still in her arms. 

“So, lil baby. Have yourself a good time. Big cousin do good?”

She laid her head on Annie's shoulder, but nodded with a smile that grew more and more. 

“Sooooo good Sammie. Everybody gon’ like that song now. But, that’s still our song.” 

“Sho’ is. And you was right about the guitar. It's a good one.” 

“So that the one you want?” 

He diverted his attention. 

“How you mean Smoke? You know my job won’t pay for this. Might be bout’ a year before I could even think about it.”

“Damn Preacher Boy,” Stack bellowed. “You ever hear anything I say or does it just go in one ear and out the other. For the hundredth time. I told you, ya’ big cousins was gon’ look out.” 

Smoke’s grin leveled out. “Been without your guitar for a while. Thought you might like another one. One of your own. Harder to part from it when it’s ya’ own.” 

“Y’all serious right now?” 

“Hell yeah,” Stack replied with a smile. “Pick whatever one you want. We buying.” 

But Sammie couldn't bring himself to speak. He just stood there, clutching the guitar like a lifeline. 

Elianna lifted her head in surprise, her smile disappearing as she stretched out her hand. 

“Cousin Sammie, no. Don’t cry…”

“Thank y'all….thank y'all so much.” 

… 

Sammie left the Strum Studio Guitar Center, chest full and heavy. Pulled in by the smell of Auntie Anne’s pretzels, he b-lined toward the food court. It loomed ahead. Its wide expansion of patrons on pause from their personal shopping excursions littered the area as pockets of people filled up most of the seats. The newly purchased guitar rested on his back, complements to Stack and Smoke. 

He’d become overtaken by the inevitable pull of nostalgia. Something familiar, comforting.

Miss Ruby’s Sweet Tea.

Singing always managed to make him thirsty.

He found it tucked away in the food court, a tiny unassuming counter nestled between Svarro and orange Julius. Miss Ruby herself was still there. A member of his father’s church. Devoted, religious, but with whiter hair. A shade browner. No doubt spending early mornings tending to her garden of poppies. Had it really been that long, Sammie thought. Even her hands were slightly more gnarled with age, but the warmth in her smile hadn’t changed. 

“Preacher Boy. Honey that you!” She exclaimed, her voice as sweet as the tea she made. “Lord have mercy child. Seems like a long time since I seen you. You haven’t been to service.” 

“No Ma’am. Not for a while. I moved quite far. Getting there’s been kind of a challenge.” 

“Oh Honey. There’s no excuse for missing out on the word of the lord. Pastor couldn’t help you none?”

“No ma’am. But I still make time. Say my prayers.” 

“Alright honey. I won’t go on nagging. Just tell your father I said hello when you do see him.” 

“Yes Ma’am Miss Ruby,” he said, feeling a lump form in his throat. “I will.” 

“Well. What you come here for. Sweet Tea. I’m guessing.” 

“The only kind besides ma’ mama’s that I like. So. Yes please.” 

She filled the glass with the amber liquid, a constellation of ice swirling within along with added lemon slices. Those weren't regularly added, Sammie had to add those, separately. What he referred to as the extra kick. Sweetness accompanied by a slightly sour finish. He paid her. The dead presidents, a tiny prince for such a taste only found in Mississippi. 

Sammie took a sip. Perfect. Sweet, but not cloying. Exactly as he remembered. Tangy, with a hint of lemon. Cold. Refreshing. Sunshine and honeysuckle in a glass like the catching of fireflies on a hot summer night with whispers of secrets and first loves. Best in the Delta.

The elderly woman’s words were not lost on him by the time he’d finished his Sweet Tea, and departed. He’d held on to his cellphone a solid five minutes before he decided to dial his fathers number. Found a bench to sit on in order to talk. The anxiety, though, swelled up in his legs, something terrible. One kept bouncing, before the other joined in, prompting him to get up. At least that way the tingling wouldn’t be consistent.

Sammie couldn’t understand why he was so uneased. Not even a full hour had gone by since he’d confidently performed in front of numbers of people. Strangers just passing by. All of a sudden, when it came to talking to his father, he was at a crossroads of nerves. But between the time it took to settle the debate going on in his head, he’d decided that not calling would be worse. 

Sammie found a relatively quiet corner near a bubbling fountain. He’d been avoiding this afraid of what he might hear, or worse, not hear. But guilt was a relentless tide, pulling him under. He glared at his phone, thumb hovering over his father’s contact. 

Ring. Ring. Ring. 

Each unanswered ring was a beat against his conscience. The call clicked over to voicemail. Sammie swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “Uh. Hey. It’s me. Just wanted ta’...I was thinking I should call to say uh…Uh, hope your havin’ a good day.” He ended the call abruptly, a hollowness settling in his chest. 

He slumped onto a nearby bench, the fountain’s cheerful gurgle mocking his mood. 

“…I’m so sorry to call you while you're at work, but I didn’t know what else to do….yeah….I stepped away. Said I was going to the ladies room, buy Gloria I-.” 

A female's voice broke, this kinda sob escaping her lips. 

Sammie felt a strange connection, a shared hurt.The situations were different, but that underlying emotion stung the same. That yearning for reconciliation was the same. 

Her voice, muffled by tears, continued, “I feel like they're staring me down. Both of them. He said he wanted to meet up to talk about the separation. I wasn’t expecting him to bring her…” 

Sammie shifted uncomfortably. He shouldn't have eavesdropped, but he couldn’t help it. The woman’s pain was palpable. Raw ache that resonated with the unresolved tension that was squeezing the cell phone, waiting for Jedidiah’s call back. Her conversation, like tiny needles, pricked at his attention. She sat on a bench about ten feet away, her back to him. Voice tight, laced with frantic edge.

It was her. The woman from before. 

Something in that gaze, something profound and undeniable, electrified him. When he finished Mannish Boy, he looked for her, but she was gone. Stack called these types of encounters, once in a lifetime occurrences. Sammie watched her stand to her feet. She stood a second, took a deep breath before pushing her shoulders back, proceeding to walk to the table where a man and woman sat.

She looked trapped with that pretend confidence, a bird with clipped wings. 

“You walk down this road. Better be prepared for what comes…” 

Sammie settled his resolve and made his way towards the table. This was one of those, once in a lifetimes. Heart pounding against his ribcage like a frantic drummer. He stood beside the woman, placing a hand on the back of her chair. “Hey, Babe,” he said, voice surprisingly steady.  

The woman’s head snapped up, her eyes widening in surprise. The man frowned as he gripped the other woman's hand on the opposite end of the table. The man, Sammie would assume was the ex husband and his new lover beside him. 

“Aye, anit you the one that was in the guitar center earlier? Negro put on a whole concert.” 

The man chuckled, but his voice was laced with irritation too. Good, Sammie thought. His focus never faltered. He leaned down, looking into the woman’s eyes. A silent plea passed between them. 

“You okay?” he whispered. 

She hesitated, throwing looks between him and her ex husband. Then, a subtle nod. 

That was all Sammie needed. 

He bent down and, without a moment’s hesitation, captured her lips in a kiss. Not some chaste peck. Passionate, this kind of desperate kiss. One that spoke of longing and protection, defiance and hope. He poured all his suppressed emotions into it, like how his fingers danced over the strings of the guitar, or how his voice married the melody when he sang. Just to taste the faint salt of tears... 

Sammie broke the kiss, hands still on either side of her face. His gaze locked with hers. “I missed you,” he said. “Let’s get outta here…”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Didn’t stay to examine reactions. Instead, he led her away. They walked. He could feel her trembling hand in his, a silent acknowledgement of the absurdity and bravery of what he had just done. When Sammie was sure they were out of sight he let her go. Her back pressed against one of the walls and she moved to cover her face. Embarrassed, stunned, relieved, Sammie wasn't sure.

A minute went by, maybe two before she dropped her hands and stared at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. 

The silence stretched. And then, it happened. She’d finally found the words. 

“My God. What were you thinking? That was.” 

“Outta line,” he finished for her. “Yeah I know. But you looked like you could use a hand back there so…” 

Sammie couldn’t read her. What would she do to rectify his actions? Slap him, scream and shout. Surprisingly, she did neither. A single tear escaped tracing a path down her cheek. She wiped at it impatiently, but another followed, and another.

He reached across, his hand hovering hesitantly. 

“Hey…”

She flinched away. 

“It's okay. You don't have to. I'm just a little overwhelmed.” 

Sammie dropped his hand. 

“Understandable.”  

Her face shifted with an air of concern. 

“How old are you anyway? You look young.” 

Sammie snorted, avoiding the question in its entirety. 

“Come on, don't do me like that.” 

She wasn’t easily swayed with the dismissal. 

“No. Really.”

Sammie lifted his chin. Lids automatically providing a low shade to his already gaze. Tongue running over his lower lip. 

“Old enough to get you out of that situation back there.”

She shut her eyes momentarily before she exhaled. 

“Right. But you just kissed me. Like…”

“Worked though, didn’t it?” 

“It was unexpected, is what I'm getting at, out of the blue. I had no time to think.”

“...But you didn’t pull away,” Sammie said to cut her off. 

He watched her countenance fall. Took note of her reaction. The way her body tensed, how she sucked her cheeks in.

“That's his loss,” he added. “Any man can see that.”

She took a second wiping a tear that slipped. 

“I'm old enough.” He peered down, then back at her. “Old enough even, to maybe take you out sometime…” 

The words slipped before he could catch them and swallow them back down, but if he didn’t ask now, the opportunity would pass by. Stack would be proud. 

“Take me out sometime?” She sounded shocked at the gesture, but not overly taken aback. 

A little grin played on him. 

“Yeah. I don't know...”

“How come you don’t know,” Sammie asked.

She took a deep breath. 

“I'm going to be going through a divorce here soon. Not sure if I got time for that kinda of thing, right now.”

“Well. While you're figuring it out, let me give you my number…”

He patted, reaching inside and pulling out a pen from his jacket pocket. Another pat, and he took out the receipt he’d gotten from Ruby’s. He used the wall as a writing board and scribbled off his phone number.  

She hesitated, but took it. 

“It don’t gotta be a date. Maybe… you might just need someone ta’ talk to.”

Her eyes scanned over the purchase on the receipt showing through by way of the dark ink. 

“Ruby's Sweet Tea. Hm. You know I never had one of those….”

“Names Sammie by the way. Most people call me Preacher Boy though.”

She looked up. “Preacher Boy?” 

“Yeah. Ma’ daddy own a church. Used to sing there. Got a lil’ popularity doin’ that for a few years. Started callin’ me Preacher Boy.” 

All of a sudden her expression changed. That light bulb moment. 

“Pastor Jedidiah, down there at New Hope Revival. You his son?” 

“Yeah. His oldest son. Anyway. You gotta name?”

“Pearline.”

He straightened his shoulders, met her gaze. The delicate lines around her eyes, the way she held herself, with a quiet strength made him glad he didn’t hesitate, the kiss still had his heart burning, but he managed not to let her know that. 

“Hm. Well nice to meet you officially, Miss Pearline.” 

“That was beautiful, what you did early,” she said, her voice a low, melodic murmur. “Muddy Water. I like him. Ma’ Grandpa played his records a lot before he passed.” 

“Great artist. Think he conveyed the feeling of being confined, breaking away from that.” 

She nodded slowly. 

“I could hear that when you sang. You have a lot of feelings in your music.” 

She let her back press against the wall. Shoulders dropping with a delicate grin on her lips. 

“And even though what you did just now was totally outta line. I mean buttin’ in people's business, well. Thanks, Sammie. Preacher Boy.”

“Mmmhmmm.”

He looked toward the path in which he’d taken to get to Miss Ruby’s. The food court had slowed, afternoon veering off into later hours of the day. The Twins and Annie were probably waiting. He promised he’d meet them back at the arcade, maybe with time enough to beat Stack in a game of Mortal Kombat. 

“You know. Best way to get over something old is to try something new. First things first. Should get yourself one of them Sweet Teas before you leave outta here.” 

Sammie would rest on that statement. He didn’t have control over anything. Knowing that surprisingly eased his mind. He reached out, took her hand and kissed the top of soft brown skin.  

“Have yourself a good day, Miss Pearline.”

Of course he couldn’t be certain when he turned to walk away that she’d ever use the number. After all, he wasn’t a mind reader in the slightest, but Sammie concluded that the pleasant look on her face at the very least, would consider it. 

END.

A/N: Oh, you think I forgot about our girl Peraline? Nope Nope, not that beautiful melanated sista’, you know I had to write something for her and Sammie! Come on now. I’ve always loved exploring canon characters if they have chemistry from their respective mediums. Plus, I feel like I owed Annie and Smoke a happy ending. They deserved to have their little girl with them. So, for whomever watched the movie and felt the same, hope her addition to this fic made you all smile. Until next time, thanks for reading!  

PLEASE DO NOT COPY OR CLAIM ANY OF MY WRITING. -Wide Nose And Wonderful /Mrs. Saint Writes.

[millerillusions]

★ May Fic Recommendations ★

| ★ | hi! I’m going to (hopefully) try to make one of these each month, and include as many fics as I can that I’ve read during that time. just because.. why not?

| ★ | be sure to check out each of the authors and their incredible work, they’re all extremely talented and deserve all the love!

| ★ | most pieces are Joel Miller because he’s my main hubby (no regrets)

🪡 angst, 💋 smut, 🪷 fluff, 🪶 darker themes

| Joel Miller |

★ | Erotica by @whoevenisjavier | 💋

The plan was to finish your thesis. You didn’t actually want to meet a neighbor with a past you can google and a history caught on tape. Or did you?

★ | New Therapist by @adelliet | 💋

Joel’s therapist is very sick, and you’re new in town — since you’re licensed, you decided to step in as a replacement. Joel was hesitant at first, not one to open up to strangers easily, but when he finally gave it a try, he didn’t regret it.

★ | The Buyer by @visionsofyouandme | 🪷

Joel sells an item on Facebook Marketplace, and meets you in the process.

★ | Squirming/Restraint by @frannyzooey | 💋

★ | Family Matters by @daryltwdixon | 💋

You and Tommy had been trying for a baby for years. When a trip to the gyno answers questions you didn’t even know to ask, your husband enlists the help of his one and only brother.

★ | Sweet nothin' by @maroonpascal | 🪷

nights are never easy for Joel, his mind being flooded with memories, but luckily he doesn't have to fight them alone anymore

★ | STITCHES by @pedgito | 🪷

You've patched up Joel countless times before, but this is different.

★ | quietly alive by @majestyeverlasting | 🪷, 💋

when the winds of change scatter the buds of a new, forbidden love, they bloom anew after the end of the world

★ | Peck on the Cheek by @yxtkiwiyxt | 💋

Joel hasn't touched you in weeks.

★ | Forbidden Fruit by @tommysversion | 💋

he's been watching you for longer than he can remember, thinking he's too old for you, too dangerous. It's easier to keep people at arm's length, and he isn't the roughened lover he used to be. Turns out you don't care much for what he used to be.

★ | Everytime by @junojoel | 💋

Joel needs to use you sometimes. Sometimes.

★ | Braveheart by @nathanbatemanfucker | 🪷, 🪡

joel helps you in the middle of a panic attack.

★ | as it always was by @mirrormauve | 🪡, 🪷

Joel wants you to come live in Jackson. With him, maybe. But you are stubborn.

★ | Rainy Days, Greedy Eyes by @saturnyo | 🪷, 💋

request

★ | polaroid hearts by @sweetlovepascal | 🪷

during a quiet patrol, you and joel find a working polaroid camera at a gas station. later, you discover he’s been secretly taking pictures of you.

★ | thoroughfare version 2 by @lowrisemiller | 💋

Joel Miller never planned to take her with him. she was just a hitch in the road, twenty years younger and all bright eyes and soft questions. but somewhere between truck stops, cheap motels, and stolen glances, she became something more. now, a motel bed and a moment of weakness threaten to unravel everything he's been trying not to feel. just two lonely people trying to outrun their pasts—and maybe, finally, running toward something that feels like forever.

★ | Mess of a man. by @bluetimeombre | 💋

Joel didn’t know why he’d let his little brother convince him a night at the bar was what he needed. But he might need to listen to him more.

★ | are you ready for it? by @itgetsdark-x | 💋

in a couple of days, you would be gone from this town; across the country with your dad. so what if you sent a risky text to his best friend during a round of truth or dare. it didn’t matter, right?

★ | Run Away by @cinnxmxngxrl | 🪡, 💋

When your controlling and religious parents forbid you from being with Joel, he offers you the chance to run away with him.

★ | Through hell by @fic-girlie | 🪡, 🪷

Joel risks everything to rescue you from raiders, then stays by your side as you both fight to heal—together.

| Clint Flood |

★ | clint eats it from the back by @almostempty | 💋

clint comes home to find you half-naked and half-asleep and eats it from the back and then gives you that dick (as he should)

| ★ | dividers by @/saradika-graphics

| ★ | my Masterlist, if you're interested <3

[somuchforahobby]

interrupted (part 7)

Summary: you get caught, sort of, a little bit (sorry not sorry!) this happens immediately after part 6 Warnings: anakin’s terrible timing; that’s it that’s the warning Word count: 1.5 k Read on AO3 Did I say I was taking a break? Like being absolutely deranged over this is something I can control???!!!

“Raise your hand a little more,” you said to the padawan, then continued checking their forms with a smile. “Bend your knees to create more stability,” your hand pointed at another child’s legs.

You wandered the room, examining their movements closely when you heard your name called. You turned to find Master Windu with a frown.

“I wanted to see you this morning,” he guided you away from the children to the entrance of the room.

“How could I be of service, Master?”

Your relationship with your former master had been respectful and clearly hierarchical. Even after you were knighted, you still answered to him as if you were still a padawan.

“I have a question,” he began in his usual grim tone. “Why did Skywalker call your name last night in the Master’s wing?”

You tried to hide your embarrassment with a smile. “Did he?”

His dark eyes examined you with expertise. “Yes, he did. And I would like to know why.”

“Well, I did tutor the kid while Obi-Wan was away. Maybe he called for me during one of his nightmares?”

“He was awake,” his Force signature brushed yours in search of any distress; you maintained a fortress. “Giggling, actually.”

That smile you couldn’t hide. “Well, I couldn’t hear him. I was asleep in my rooms.”

“And of course, Aayla was going to confirm that information.” Windu scoffed. “I don’t like how this is looking. If you’re sleeping around to reach the Council—”

You didn’t let him finish that sentence. “Excuse me?”

He raised both hands in a dismissive apology. “I’m merely saying I’ll nominate you to the Council when the time is right. Do not search for it elsewhere. Is it Quinlan?”

You bursted out laughing. “What?”

“I never liked you hanging with them—”

“Them?”

“Quin and Aayla. They’re undisciplined, sloppy; they prioritize their personal well-being above the Order’s rules. So I wouldn’t put it past Quin to have an affair with a fellow knight.” You saw Windu’s eyebrows crease with concern. “And I also wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“What does that have to do with Anakin giggling my name?” you asked before thinking straight.

“I figured he saw you while walking to his master’s room.” He shrugged. “Speaking of!” Your master’s demeanor changed instantly. As if your situation couldn’t get any better, Obi-Wan walked by with a smile.

“Master Windu,” he bowed his head to him and repeated the gesture to you.

“This is the kind of company I’d like you to keep.” Your master laid a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Master Kenobi is one focused and responsible Jedi. Despite his young age, I’m certain there are many things you can learn from him and become a valuable ally for him.”

Obi-Wan nodded in gratitude. “Please, Master, be certain that it will always be my pleasure to join your former padawan in whatever activities she may require me.” His silver tongue earned him a smirk from you.

“Understood, Master. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my class.” You turned your back on them, but a strong hand stopped you on your tracks.

“Master Kenobi, would you please join my padawan in her class? I’m sure she can learn much from your discipline.” Master Windu sank the knife deeper.

As amusing as it was, it still hurt you that your former master didn’t trust you.

“I’d be honored.” Obi-Wan smiled.

You sighed as you both walked into the classroom, Master Windu stayed behind, leaning against the threshold.

“So… about your discipline,” Obi-Wan murmured with a smirk.

You bent to your knees to move one of your students' hands to perfect their defense.

“Don’t you dare,” you responded as you returned to his side.

He ignored your remark and continued, “I volunteer to extend our last night session to further explore and work on your discipline as well as your behavior.”

You faked a cough to hide your laughter. “Shut the fuck up,” you whispered with a blushed smile.

Obi-Wan raised both eyebrows, feigning offense. “Don’t speak like that to a master.”

Your eyes squinted. “You already know my answer to that.”

“Perhaps I’d like to hear it again.”

You leaned toward his shoulder, your lips almost gracing his ear. “Master my ass.”

Before he could say anything, you stood in front of your class, raising your voice. “Everyone, please put on your helmets and turn your simulators to level 1.” Your students all began moving as the simulators sent fake blaster shots at them. Your eyes wandered over their reactions.

“In order for me to do so, I’m afraid I’ll need a few more of our sessions,” his voice was warm in your ear.

“My apologies, Master. Apparently, I’m too busy sleeping with Quin.” You teased him, and oh, did it wake animalistic reactions in him.

He only allowed himself to show a raised eyebrow at you. “Pardon me?”

Your eyes were focused on your students. “Windu thinks I’m having an affair with Quin.”

The poor man next to you swallowed a lump in his throat. “And are you?”

Your gaze returned to him, though a bit offended, you decided to extend the ruse. “Oh yeah, I spent the most splendid night in his arms last night.”

He squinted, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Which is the only logical explanation for why Master Windu heard Anakin calling my name last night in the Master’s dorms, because I was leaving Quin’s quarters.”

His forehead relaxed in slow motion as his mouth shaped an O.

“That would be all for today, kids.” With a flick of your wrist, all the trainer simulators turned off and fell. “Relax and see you tomorrow.” You smiled at them before turning back to Obi-Wan.

“You definitely are impossible.”

“Of course.” You smirked. “That’s why only Quin can handle me.”

“Not for long.”

You turned over your shoulder to spot your Master lecturing Quinlan Voss, who was just entering the room to teach the class after you. Your six-year-old students were leaving, clearing the place for the ten-year-olds.

“Oh, fuck me,” you muttered.

“Over that exactly,” your companion muttered with a laugh.

You slapped his arm as you watched Quinlan walking over.

“How are you doing today?” Obi-Wan’s question came out tense.

Quinlan smirked in his regular relaxed demeanor. “Great, especially because I got laid last night, right?” He wiggled his eyebrows at you.

Both of you stood shocked to the bone, faces pale and silent.

“Oh, Maker!” Quin laughed hysterically as he seemed to have put two and two together. “Really?!!”

“Shut up, we are not about to make the announcement,” you hissed.

“Well, you better do it soon. I won’t be side-eyed for a fling I don’t have while the poster boy gets praised for his discipline hiding an affair.”

None of you answered. Instead, your eyes searched for Obi-Wan’s. His blue irises were as doubtful as yours.

“Don’t tell me it’s not an affair,” Quinlan’s tone was suddenly much less teasing.

Your gaze landed on his, a silent plea to keep it secret.

“I’ll be damned.” His tone, though serious, had a joyfulness that accompanied the glint in his eyes. An undeniable cheerfulness that could only come from the happiness of a loved one.

“We’ll figure it out.” Obi-Wan extended a hand to his friend, who shook it as a promise.

You and Obi-Wan moved to leave the room, planning your next steps on how to relieve Quin of the burden of your secret.

“Should we stop for a while?” you asked.

“No. We just have to find a way for Windu to stop thinking it’s Quin.”

“Move the spot to you, then?” You smirked.

“No!” Obi-Wan huffed. “Remove the spot altogether.”

You nodded. “But how?”

“We must be more discreet.” The last word was barely above a whisper as you spotted your Master in the hallway.

His face was stoic as always.

You were a good ten steps away from him when you spotted Anakin running your way with a smile, calling your name.

The acoustics of the place made his voice much more powerful, echoing through the entire hall.

“Ani!” You kneeled to embrace him.

“I didn’t see you in the morning. Where did you go?”

The stress in your body found its way out through laughter. Your face was crimson from embarrassment and the lack of air due to your laugh. You hid yourself in his little shoulder as Obi-Wan turned away from you, hands on the wall like he had just been arrested.

“Indeed,” Mace Windu’s voice echoed nearby, forcing you to raise your eyes. “Where did you go?” He was looking down on you with a raised eyebrow, then his piercing gaze moved to Kenobi.

Without another word, he walked in the opposite direction. The years of training and growing up with him told you he was disappointed, surprised, but not necessarily everything he was feeling was negative.

“What?” Anakin asked, confused.

Obi-wan muffled his hair, the kid turned to him, upset.

“Hey!” His brows knitted in anger.

“Go to your class” Obi-wan ordered with a smirk.

Once the kid was out of sight, you laughed again.

“Guess Quin can rest now” Obi-wan laughed before pulling you in and placing a kiss on your temple.

[takeholdofthesun]

Hi so I made a MoShang thing inspired a little by these two other prompts that I'm just gonna leave here pls enjoy

In which SQH is given a hair pin: + In Which SQH is bride napped:

Equal This: looking to update more chapters soon. Also posted below the cut for those who don't want to leave the site.

Shang Qinghua wanted to throw his head through the wall for the... fourth, fifth... ninth time this evening. The overwhelming number of guests pouring into the Welcoming Hall that he had to greet continued, and he had no clue how many more may arrive. He was certain that the hall had not seen a gathering like this in many generations. Even Mobei-Jun had only recounted one time in his youth that this great guest welcoming hall was full of warm bodies, instead of the frigged ice demons that usually wandered through.

Tonight though, it was brimming with demons. Shockingly. Shang Qinghua was pretty certain that the most of them were here for the spectacle of the event. The Northern Palace had been closed to outsiders for quite some time after all.

It was like this that Shang Qinghua's worst nightmare, one he had never even dreamed possible, came true; a large-scale event in which he had no hand in planning, and no right to object to. When he was told a few months ago that he would not have to lift a finger in preparation for the Winter Festival, he sighed in relief. He washed his hands of it and felt like a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

At that time, something should have lit the alarms in his head, but he was just so happy to not have to bother with it. The Winter Festival was a yearly event throughout the demon realm, it's just that Mobei-Jun never really bothered to host any celebrations for it, so likewise, Shang Qinghua did not have it on his radar. When his king first mentioned that the Northern Palace would be hosting for the event this year, a cold sweat broke out on his back.

Shang Qinghua spent the evening after that announcement at his desk, fervently pushing aside work and scheduling time to plan for this event between peak lord duties and Northern Kingdom affairs, when Mobei-Jun appeared at his side like a ghost. With a firm hand, Shang Qinghua was forbidden from looking any further into the planning of the event. Since Mobei-Jun said so, Qinghua figured he could just spend his time on An Ding Peak, since he had no reason to be present to oversee it. Maybe try to catch up on Peak Lord duties since it was basically taboo for the Northern Kingdom to do anything during the celebration.

Now, Qinghua's shoulders were taught, his head spinning, and his fingertips itching with all the possibilities of everything that could go wrong. When was the next set of sides coming out, they were already running so low. And the guests, exactly how many of them were still coming in? Could this room hold them all? was there enough food prepared? Did anyone think about the toiletries needed for these many guests?! Ah! Shang Qinghua could scream!

He very much felt the urge to pinch some cheeks and get some answers. But Since Mobei-Jun forbade him from becoming involved, he didn't even know who had planned it, so there was no one he could chew out. And Mobei-Jun had disappeared long before the event began, so Shang Qinghua was left loitering around this full demon infested hall fighting off wave after wave of overzealous guests with lofty request and probing questions, worrying about every aspect of this event that he had no interest in even attending.

That was how Shang Qinghua found himself trying his best to avoid his fourth encounter with the strange demon general from the Western Plains.

"My lord, your offer is very generous, but I must defer any further decisions on this matter to My King." Shang Qinghua held his hands up and maintained the cordial smile on his face. The urge to step on this General's toes and runway was strong, but he held out if only to save face for his King.

"I know, I know. You have been so diligent in your deference to the King. I just wonder if you have had a moment to see the King this evening. It seems to be getting very late, and I only wonder where he could be off to?"

Shang Qinghua's smile strained, and he did not answer. Though Shang Qinghua was very familiar with this General's attendants, due to past arrangements he has fostered between the North and West, this was his first time actually meeting the Demon general.

He didn't like it.

It seemed like he was up to something. And no one would know that better than Shang Qinghua. His life used to depend on understanding the hidden motives of adversaries. Now he could see all of that was training for this encounter with a Demon General that, due to his lofty career, was bestowed Land to rule over. Land that, for the better part of Shang Qinghua's night, he had been pestering Qinghua about until the unfortunate brain in his skull was jumping ship. He would come and go, come and go. Asking first about the King, reminding Qinghua of his request, then starting some off-hand conversation about hell knows what until distractedly being pulled away.

"Remind me once more, your role under the King?" the General's voice came out soothingly. As if he fully understood his charm (relative to demon standards, Qinghua thought bemusedly) and was willing to use it to get his way.

"I am his trusted Advisor." It had only been a few hours ago that they were introduced, Qinghua thought, he can't be so dull?

"And you do your job very well. I have been eagerly watching the new Northern King's ascension for some time. I'm certain it's no small amount of his success that can be attributed to you."

"Not at all, my lord. This humble one wouldn't dare take any credit for the great decisions My King has made." Though his mouth was humble, but pride surged in Shang Qinghua's chest. Hell yeah, it was all him! His king was astonishing in many ways, but diplomacy was not one of them. Why use diplomacy when hitting people and winning proves your point faster? Finally, someone recognized Qinghua's brilliance!

"Nonsense! Rumors of the Northern King's lone advisor have been circulating for quite some time. I am very pleased to make the acquaintance of such a figure."

Shang Qinghua fought to keep his peacock feathers smooth and unruffled.

"It's no wonder..." The general trailed off.

"There is nothing mysterious about me. What is there to wonder?" Shang Qinghua wave a hand in front of his face. The massive sleeves of the Northern tribe formal attire he was made to wear billowed and swished with the movement, attracting the General's gaze.

"Oh, forgive me. it's nothing really. I was only admiring this advisor's apparent skill and remembered something my servant's reported after concluding talks between our land and the Northern Kingdom."

"If my lord is willing, please share."

"Certainly. They only reported that The Northern King's advisor was a strong adversary. That you alone were enough to secure a favorable outcome for his Majesty in the agreement. 'Such a sharp mind, cunning and coy" they told me."

Shang Qinghua allowed his tail feathers to fan just a bit. basking in the feeling of being praised. How many years had he been Peak lord of the number one Logistics and analytics cultivation peak? How many years had he served Mobei-Jun? It was about time someone saw his great mind in the background. Cang Qiong Mountain sect would have tumbled to the ground without him! Mobei-Jun's kingdom a scattered mess without his careful guidance!

"My lord is too kind to this lowly advisor. My King made all of the worthwhile decisions. I only presented my King's offers, and we reached an agreement."

"Surely." The General nodded in agreement.

Well, that was anticlimactic. But it's not like he could dis the intelligence of the host of the event he was attending, patriarch of the Palace he was standing in, and Ruler of the kingdom who's soil he was on. Shang Qinghua couldn't really expect him to keep singing his praise after so long.

"I mean only the best when I say this, but are you really just an advisor to the King?"

"I'm Sorry." Shang Qinghua force out a strange chuckle. "I am afraid this lowly one is too slow and doesn't understand."

"Well... Advisor Shang Qinghua seems to have many appealing qualities that could be useful for more than just advising." For a moment the General's eyes languidly drifted back over the excessive sleeves, delicately embroidered and laced with fine jewels and patterns. It was a bit much for Shang Qinghua. More expressive than he had ever been in his peak lord robes. And suddenly he felt like he was too over dressed and attracting too much attention. He was a Peak Lord after all, an well-known one to many of these demons, but still a lone cultivator, dressed extremely well in the traditional attire of a well establish demonic tribe.

Actually, if Shang Qinghua really started to think about it, the comment made a sweat break out across his back.

He wasn't certain what his relationship to Mobei-Jun was at this point. He was still Mobei-Jun's most trusted advisor, but some things had muddied the waters a bit. What was mostly getting to Qinghua's head was how... gentle Mobei-Jun had become. Before, Shang Qinghua also had a reputation for being Mobei-Jun's punching bag and had become used to minding the distance between him and the king for fear of activating some rage that he would be the sole subject of enduring. Lately however, Qinghua had been caught off guard on more than one occasion with Mobei-Jun at a distance previously deemed unacceptable. The first few times it happened, Qinghua had flung himself across the room, fearing he had been pacing mindlessly too close to the demon king and fearing retribution. Instead of retaliating though, Mobei-Jun stood in place and continued on like nothing had happened.

At some point, the knee jerk reaction to launch himself into the sun subsided and Shang Qinghua began to notice something else. In those moments when Mobei-Jun got close, He would spend what felt like an eternity just staring. On a few occasions, he even tried to get the king's attention with no luck. Qinghua would just be trapped, swimming in his own heartbeat, his own breath becoming the only thing he could hear as everything else.... He was left waiting for that aloof expression to change, move, do anything other than stare!

The amount of work Qinghua did as an advisor had also dropped pretty drastically as Mobei-Jun started to delegate tasks to other workers around the palace. And, if Qinghua was being honest with himself, he liked it. More rested, more relaxed, less beaten. Actually, every aspect of Qinghua's life in the Northern Kingdom had become increasingly comfortable. So much so that he caught himself looking forward to his time in the Northern Palace with Mobei-Jun these days.

Hello strange and uncomfortable feeling, goodbye strange and uncomfortable feeling!

Before Shang Qinghua could say anything further, a chill suddenly appeared across his back. A familiar chill.

"Ah, Your Majesty." The General bowed and smiled towards the imposing figure behind Shang Qinghua. At the same time Qinghua himself turned to bow to the figure.

"My King."

Mobei-Jun stood silently before him. Just staring. Silently. Upset? It would have been more concerning if he wasn't already so used to such strange behavior from the emotionally constipated demon King he pledged his life to.

Mobei-Jun Finally directed his gaze towards the Demon General and exchanged cordial greetings with him.

Shang Qinghua stood by quietly and let his mind wander away a bit. Mobei-Jun had been more earnest in his role recently and had taken up the mantel as king. Also, Qinghua already knew what they were talking about, so he felt comfortable with letting himself become distracted with other things.

Things like Mobei-Jun.

Wow.

Just....

Wow.

He remembered the almost tender way that deep, cool voice called his name from just over his shoulder, jerking Qinghua out of his work. In that perpetually messy room, at that desk he called his workspace, Mobei-Jun leaned over him in a way that invaded Qinghua's space unnecessarily and placed that Northern Tribe attire in front of him. His King was picturesque and did not dawdle. Qinghua barely picked his senses up off the floor when Mobei-Jun left. Only asking that Qinghua wear that specific outfit for the first Day of the Winter Festival before leaving.

And Shang Qinghua wore it. How could he say no? The only thing he couldn't figure out how to wear was the head dress that Mobei-Jun left behind. Since it was a formal outfit, or so he had been told, it wasn't common to see demons walking around with it on. The end result? He was not able to figure it out. In the end, he left it behind in favor of his simple hair ribbon. Better for a lowly servant like himself not to stand out too much anyways. Besides, he had not seen any others wearing their headdress tonight either. Even Mobei-Jun's hair wasn't very different from usual. extra braids and beads, but no headdress. So, Shang Qinghua was probably fine. How embarrassing would it have been if he was the only one in the room wearing such a gaudy thing on his head, drawing attention to himself.

Shang Qinghua let himself get a little lost in his imagination for a moment, something he's only been able to do recently with his lightened workload.

"Qinghua."

Mobei-Jun's voice jolted Shang Qinghua out of his own thoughts. He looked up to Mobei-Jun's furrowed brows. Oh no, he looked upset. And that damn demon general was still there, a bemused expression on his face and he looked to Shang Qinghua as well.

"Yes, My King?" Shang Qinghua quickly bowed with his hands pressed over one another in front of him, covered by the giant sleeves.

"After the Winter Festival, arrange time for an official meeting with Western Plains to discuss further on their concerns."

"Yes, My King."

"And I kindly ask that the Western Kingdom follow Winter Festival customs. There will be no further mention of court affairs during this time."

"Yes, we will be aware of this custom in the Future."

The General didn't seem eager to leave but could not argue with Mobei-Jun's dismissal of him. So, he left promptly, and Shang Qinghua was left with Mobei-Jun for the first time that day. Alone was relative; the room was still packed with guests on all sides. But Shang Qinghua suddenly missed the presence of another soul taking Mobei-Jun's attention, because his unrest and upset seemed more obvious now that there was no one else but him on the receiving end of it.

"This lowly one greets his King and begs forgiveness for not having found my King sooner. I hope that you have not been burdened by my absence with unreasonable requests this evening. Please Let this one know what he can do for you. I hope that the celebration is prepared to your liking. If only this lowly one could have been present to learn from the planners of such a magnificent event." Shang Qinghua wasn't sure why, but a sudden urge to ramble hit him with fervor. However, Mobei-Jun cut him off.

"Do you like them?"

"Like them?" Shang Qinghua responded dumbly.

"The clothes."

Oh! how could he forget that this was his first time wearing something so formal and so distinctly Demonic. So unlike his daily attire of peak lord basics and a heavy cape.

"It's very comfortable, and fits perfectly, my King."

"Mn." was the only acknowledgment Mobei-Jun gave.

Then there was more silence. This was becoming too common for them. But somehow this moment felt more taboo with so many demons around.

"If Qinghua likes it, his King wonders why he is not wearing all of it."

Before he could control himself, Shang Qinghua touched his head. "Right, my King, forgive this lowly one. I was not able to understand how it is presented, and so left it off. I did not mean to offend my King."

Qinghua was almost certain he was the only one who heard Mobei-Jun's next words, they were so soft. "But This will not do. Take it out."

That hand on his head pulled at the end of his hair ribbon, letting it all fall lose against his back. The ribbon tightly clutched between his fingers as he waited for Mobei-Jun's next instruction. That instruction came with only a gesture. Mobei-Jun pulled a hair pin out from the front of his robes and held it out to Shang Qinghua. Wordlessly, he took the pin and parted his hair till half of it was secure on top of his head.

Mobei-Jun nodded and, with a seemingly satisfied expression, walked away without another word. On the other hand, Shang Qinghua just stood there for a moment. He moved a little to eagerly before, and the hair on his head was not only uncomfortably wound up, but he scratched his scalp with the pin. Whatever the mess on his head looked like now would have to remain that way. There was no time for him to sneak away and fix it.

"Qinghua." Mobei-Jun's cool voice called out from a few paces away. That command was beckoning him to follow. Like a dog heeding its call Shang Qinghua turned and followed, trying his best to ignore that scratchy, tight feeling on top of his head.

[the-and-sign-anon]

Fire and Smoke: Part 2

Fandom: The Pitt

Word count: 1,490

You were discharged from the ED after four days on oxygen with detailed instructions to assist your recovery. You followed it to the letter, determined to keep things moving and get back to work. 

Every few days, at least one member of the fire department came to see you. It wasn’t just your own crew, but a dozen others who’d worked with you over the years. It was exhausting, if you were completely honest. There were so many people moving in and out of your little apartment, dropping off food you couldn’t tell them would not be eaten by you or offering advice you had no interest in hearing. 

You just sat through it all, practicing your breathing and keeping yourself ready to go back to work. You kept a go bag by the door, packaged all your leftovers for easy access; at a moment’s notice, you could get back into the swing of things. 

The nightmares hadn’t stopped though. Every single time you tried to go to sleep, the flames and screaming returned. You were trapped in an endless maze, you were fighting off attackers, your mask was out of air and suffocating you. 

When you finally got a return-to-work form from your battalion chief, you went to the hospital as quickly as possible. You ended up in the ED waiting room, you knee shaking nonstop, gripping the form that would spell your freedom. Once a nurse called your name, you were led to the back and sat in a chair in one of the exam rooms. 

“Hello, Y/N. I’m Dr. Lawrence, I’ll be your physician today.”

“Just Dex is fine, everyone calls me Dex.”

She nodded and made a note in your chart before looking a little closer. 

“So, it looks like you’re here for a follow up after being admitted a few weeks ago.”

“Correct. I’m a lieutenant with the Pittsburgh Bureau of Fire. My gear had an issue and I was admitted for smoke inhalation. I just need my paperwork signed so I can get back to it. I’ve had more than enough time off my feet.”

Lawrence brushed a stray bit of hair from her face and settled in on her stool. 

“Do you mind if we talk a little about it? I’d love to get you back to work, but we want to be thorough. I don’t need to tell you how serious lung damage can be.”

You had figured this was coming. Everyone wanted you to take things slow. But you’d done that and now you were better. 

“Uh, sure. What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with your breathing.”

She ran you through a laundry list of tests and exercises to gauge your lung capacity and health. You answered all her questions about your habits, your environment, your diet. Then she touched a nerve. 

“And how are you sleeping?”

“Hm?”

“Your sleep? Your incident was more than a simple malfunction in your gear. In your chart, it says you were also assaulted?”

Your eyes locked onto your hands. 

“I, uh…”

“I only ask so we can get this form signed and get you back to work. I don’t need details, I just need to know if you’re getting better. How has your sleep been?”

You shut your eyes tight, trying to force away the overhead lights. A part of you was dimly aware that your hands were shaking. 

“It’s been fine.”

Your tone was firm, your voice clipped. 

Dr. Lawrence clearly didn’t buy it. But she took a beat, waited for your expression to ease just a bit. 

“Your scratches look pretty much healed. How do those feel?”

You nodded, just barely. The words hardly reached your ears. 

“Is it alright if I touch your face, just to get a better look?”

Another slight nod. 

Her hands were gentle and slow, raising your face and turning your head from  side to side. Her fingers felt cool over the edges of the scratches you’d received. It was a relief to your burning skin. 

“Alright. I just have to check on something, but I’ll be right back. Are you okay waiting here while I do that?”

“Yes.”

Once she was gone, your shaking worsened. The flames raced back in, suffocating you. You lost conscious feeling of your limbs, legs dead weight, hands prickling. Your eyes were shut tight again, but the light never stopped, the heat never lessened. 

Air escaped you, your lungs were being crushed. You’d never escaped the fire at all, it had you now and it knew no mercy.

After what felt like an eternity, the world came back to you piece by piece. 

The flames slowly subsided. 

Your vision began to clear, though you were aware there were tears in your eyes again.

Your body was still there, but not exactly as you remembered it. You’d been moved to lay back in the chair, with a cool cloth over your forehead. 

Dr. Lawrence was there with you, along with a face you hadn’t expected to see again. 

“...Dr. Robby…?”

“Hey, Dex. Just take deep breaths for me, okay?”

You attempted a nod and pressed your hands to your chest, putting all your focus into breathing. It made you cough and wheeze, your lungs aching with the effort. At least you could feel everything again. 

Robby looked over the paperwork you’d brought with you. 

“Dex. You’re trying to go back to work?”

You managed a nod this time. 

“I’m ready.”

Lawrence watched the dumbfounded look on her attending’s face. He’d seen plenty in his career, she knew that. But you were showing a complete disregard for your safety and health here. 

“Dr. Lawrence, why don’t you take care of the next patient, I’ve got Dex here.”

You looked so… fragile. Sitting in that chair, your arms wrapped around yourself, your eyes trained on your shoes. Robby was a good doctor, maybe he’d get through to you. 

“Okay.”

Once she was gone, Robby fixed you with a hard look. 

“Dex. What are you doing?”

“Going back to work.”

He shook his head and ran a hand down his face. 

“You know what I’m asking. Why are you pushing yourself so hard here?”

You counted to ten, then back to one before responding. 

“I have a job to do.”

“Not anymore.”

Your eyes snapped up to his. 

“I’m going back. If I’m not better today, then I’ll be better soon.”

“I’m sorry to tell you this Dex, but I’m not signing off on this paperwork, and neither is Lawrence. You aren’t in any condition to go running back into fires.”

“But I will be. I’ll get better.”

Robby took a moment to consider how to explain this to you. It was clear how much your job meant to you and he didn’t want to take that away. You weren’t going to go back though. Your breathing was still too rough and the damage you’d sustained was enough to get you removed from your crew. Not to mention the panic attack you’d just had, which nearly triggered an asthma attack. 

He took it step by step. You nodded along with a blank expression as he explained the potential of an asthma attack and how to treat it if one hit. You took the rescue inhaler he offered. He showed you the test results showing your oxygen levels and your scar tissue. Your stoicism broke when he settled on the point that your future had to change. 

“What?”

“You can’t go back to work for the Bureau. As your doctor, I can’t sign off on this paperwork. I can’t recommend that you go out on any more calls.”

Your gaze hardened. 

“Yes I can. I have an inhaler, fine. I won’t have any more panic attacks. I won’t let my gear get broken again. I can keep working.”

“Not as a firefighter, you can’t. I’m sorry, Dex.”

The rational core of your brain knew he was right. The emotional train just ran straight through that conclusion without stopping. 

“Fuck that. I’m a good lieutenant and I can do my job.”

“No one is trying to say you aren’t a good lieutenant. But with your physical and mental health being what they are-”

“Oh, my mental health. Please.” You stood, your knees still feeling weak. “My mental health is fine. If you won’t sign my paperwork, I’ll just go to a doctor who will.”

“No one will, Dex.”

You glared at him and took the papers back from him. 

“Fuck you.”

You abandoned the hospital without another word. You didn’t look back, didn’t catch Robby’s long suffering sigh. 

He ran his hands through his hair and cleaned up the exam room. Lawrence asked about you later, but received no good news. She assured him he’d done everything right, not that it helped. He just hoped you’d see what kind of danger you were trying to put yourself in before you got hurt any worse.