#woe to the people who follow his tag

[spw-art]

aaahhh!!! gay pokemon jumpscare!!!! ft my ocs

redraw of an Aaron Paul and Bryan Cranston pic but from memory because I’m so tired (this is not an oc x canon moment, harte is just like that.)

[fluffle-writes]

I wanna. Pick them up in my mouth and shake 'em around like a dog obliterating a squeaky toy

[moondirti]

simon sees a familiar face. (AO3 mirror) tags: darkfic. ghost x nude model! reader. (given a stage name but no discerning characteristics.) violent intrusive thoughts. objectification. rough sex. marking. dacryphilia. possessiveness. dubcon photo sharing.

It's the slip of her skin in his periphery. Moisturised, gold shimmer body glaze. Tucked up against the bar and nursing a negroni in both hands, her dress riding high up on her thigh. Sticks out like a sore thumb in a pub like this, where seedy men come to drink their woes away. Just a little too clean, prim and perfect polish. Pretty enough to make his teeth hurt.

He has to do a double take before he can be sure. Where he would know her calves, those hands and varnished nails, anywhere, he can hardly believe it until she turns a quarter angle and her face comes into full view. Lips he's seen perked up and glossed into erotic O's. Eyes so often half-cast and sultry, lined in kohl, that it's odd to see them wide like this; looking around, searching for something.

Yeah. Simon knows her. Knows her like the grip of a gun, the rip release of a hand grenade, the flat lining of barrack cot mattresses. Knows her so well that his cock chubs up in an almost pavlovian response, fat and heavy and leaking already, like a bloody sixth former seeing a pair of tits for the first time. In all honesty, this might just be the equivalent for a man like himself. Aching jowls, frothy lips. Ageing, dirty beast – thrown the most delectable fucking bone.

Because it's her. Cut straight from the centrefold of his favourite magazine and pasted a mere four feet away. Just as alluring, as provocative as she is in the poster he'd gifted Johnny on a deployment birthday. The object gracing every page not adhered together with dry cum. The one thing that gets him – and frankly, every other mutt on the task force – through long missions.

He throws back the last of his bourbon and slips his mask back over his chin. The haunt is emptier than usual. He assumes the big guy by the doorway is responsible, no doubt hired to follow her around and scare the creeps away. Simon must count as one – if his intentions, latched like filthy claws in his stomach, are anything to go by – but he's also bigger. Bolder. Probably has tattoos that outlast her bodyguard's experience in the field. So he takes his chances as he stretches up and prowls up to where she's sitting.

"Selene Harlow." It's a stage name, of that he's certain. But he has nothing else to call her by, not having fallen short of searching for her true identity. She's good at keeping herself safe from perverts like him. A good fucking girl, if not a little minx.

"Only on the clock." She smiles softly, dipping the orange peel in and out of her drink. It looks untouched, glass sweating onto the bar top. He thinks of holding her head back by her hair and knocking the concoction down her throat. "You don't look like my date."

Simon makes a sound. "No' your usual type, then?"

"I didn't say that." Her dress is low cut, bandage tight. When she breathes in, he devours the way her chest heaves out of the material. Begging to pop free, or else be ripped open right here. He can't imagine she would be opposed to being stripped in public. Not with her breasts plastered on a million different publications, issues displayed in the illicit material case behind every gas station counter.

"Well, he must be soft in th'head."

She shrugs. "Don't sound so surprised." Simon wonders, if he were to press his thumbs down onto each collarbone, how much pressure it would take to snap them in place. He's always liked the delicate arch of her shoulders, the swan-like column of her neck. With how he fixated he is on them now, he can hardly place the dejection in her voice. "Not a lot of people wanna go out with a girl who does what I do. It was only a matter of time before he found out."

"Can' be too pissed at him, a'suppose."

"Hm?"

"His loss is my gain."

"Aha." A flash of teeth. She turns on the bar stool to fully face him, and her knees knock his. Soft fucking legs, plush like a chew toy and he knows– he knows what they look like completely nude and spread open. But nothing could've quite prepared him for how different it is to see them in real life. To see her – real, fleshly, blood full – and not be able to take. Have to hold himself back despite the way he's pumped himself raw to her arse almost a hundred times now. He lost the plot some time ago. His mind must think of her as his. "Is that what this is?"

And what is this? Simon doesn't have a name for it. All he knows is the way his head itches, the tantalisation crawling in his skin. The sheer self-restraint it takes not to pocket her home and chain her to his bed. He wants to dig his teeth into her cheek.

Instead–

"Could be."

"I think that's up to me." She crinkles in a wily little smile and he chuckles because it's funny. Funny because she takes him to be a good man. But with the way her bodyguard is eyeing him from across the room (fucking muppet), he knows that's not the quality he's projecting. There's the urge to crack a sick joke, something about clipping a bird's wings, just to see her pick up on the rot he carries with him. "You military?"

"Tha' obvious?"

"Hm, no. Wild guess." She straightens her back and the vague gesture she makes with her wrist is enough to drive him up a wall. It sets a timer, ticking time bomb, in his brain that'll detonate if he doesn't get his nasty old hands on her waist. Thirty seconds on the clock. He can never be patient when it comes to sweet things. "Your... stature. And I tend to be popular with servicemen, anyway. What's your name?"

"And why do you wan' to know my name, bird?"

She flutters her lashes, pointedly looking down to where he's bulging in his jeans. Bird is right. She shines like one with pretty feathers, begs to be plucked, because why else would mother nature create things like her if not to appease men like him?

"Figure you'd want me to moan it later."

And it's like watching one fly into a cage on its own accord. His blood boils hot and thin, flooding his head until his eyes strain with something ferocious. "Why wait." Simon says. He can't wrap an arm around her waist fast enough, scooping her from her seat and wrapping her tight against his side. Tight enough that, if she changed her mind, she wouldn't be able to flap her way out of it. "Name's Simon, and there's a bathroom 'round back."

It's nasty. Depraved. Graffiti lines all four walls and it's no coincidence that the one he pins her up against looks the filthiest. Something in him craves to see her degraded (the same part that marked a picture of her in black ink, chicken-scratch body writing proclaiming her as his), brought down to the same peg that he occupies. Beasts with too much baggage stored in their marrow. Humans, men, with moral compasses that skew a tad too far left. Animals. Animalistic.

"I don– Don't usually do this..." She breathes, excuse stuttered through little whimpers as he mouths at her jaw. Maybe she's afraid of living up to her name, or whatever image Selene Harlow projects. Not a prostitute, he can almost hear her say. Tastes the fear of misconception, sour on otherwise tart skin. He hums and tugs her breasts free with one, scarred paw.

"Doesn' really matter, bird. Were fuckin' made for it." He squeezes the two mounds, pinches knotted nipples and rolls them between his fingers until she cries. Her voice breaks in little bubbled sobs – starts crying so fast that, christ, it must be some sort of record – and he aches in his trousers. Ready to burst if he doesn't bully his cock into a hole soon, just like she's been ready to be unravelled all night. "Made to be mine, yeah? Bloody 'ell, jus' look at you."

Frayed little tapestry. If he weren't so mad with lust, he'd obsess what drove her to this point. What brought her to some shitty pub in Manchester to meet a good for nothing lemon. Why she mewls and completely melts into him when he slaps her tits, just to see the way they jiggle. He's an ugly bastard, definitely punching just by breathing the same air as her, and yet she's so perfectly willing. Flaying herself open, skinned alive. Gasping selfish gulps of air when he finally pulls off his mask to sink his canines into her shoulder.

He's so used to seeing her posed, perfectly still. To have her like this, a trapped worm underneath him, feels like concentrated lightning on every artery. Overstimulating. Paralysing. He never thought he'd see the day where she exposes herself in motion: folding her dress up over her wide hips, slipping soaked panties down to her ankles.

(In fact, he vividly remembers brooding over an interview her magazine had added to the corner of a cover page, once. Selene Harlow tells all! Answers inquiries on video pornography and more!

I don't think I'm the right person for that sort of scene. Not much of an actress, I'm afraid.)

Not that her feigning was ever a concern. Simon knows the giddy gossamer over her eyes can't be artificially replicated. She's too clumsy, too amateur in the way she readies herself for him. Used to doing all this prep in a frilly dressing room with apathetic staff members directing her. Sways a bit on her heels and holds onto his thick forearms as she widens her stance. He stands until she's steady, then drops to his knees in search of the star of this show.

And the sight is as much a bludgeon to his self control as seeing her for the first time was, trigger for the feral mongrel that barks and chomps on his ribcage. Her cunt is just as perfect up close in this grimy bathroom as it is well lit, professionally oiled, and printed on coated paper. A little fuzzy, swollen enough that it flowers open for him on its own. Shyly inviting him to dig his nose right under her clit and inhale, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the scent of her, undiluted. Salivate blooms around his teeth.

When he flattens his tongue against it, she tries to find purchase in the roots of his shorn hair. Nails scrambling along the buzzcut until she forfeits and clamps her hand behind his ears, head thrown back to knock against the wall. If he were a nice man, he would spend hours buried between her legs. Sated by licking her slick from its source, like a kitten given a bowl of cream. Would make her cum until she forgets how to keep quiet, until she screams his name loud enough for the world knows their muse is off the market now.

But if he were a nice man, he wouldn't be defiling her here. He would've taken her out to the Greek place that never seems to have room for him alone, and then back to her apartment, where he'd drop her off with a chaste kiss and a promise to call her tomorrow.

So Simon combs through her lips once, twice, three times. Coats her in enough spit to be able to shove two fingers with little fuss, and scissors them apart. The little thing stretches to accommodate his ministrations immediately, clutch swallowing him up to the second knuckle and sucking around him when he spreads her hole for his leering eye. It's cute – so fucking cute how she clenches and keens and cries. Neck arched up above him. Apple of eden, blank canvas. His fingers leave her cunt as he rises to bite into it.

(Truthfully, she could've done with more prep. She wasn't lying when she said she doesn't do this often, whatever this is. But the way silver pebbles brim on her lash-line makes his chest twist, the dog rearing on its haunches, ready to pounce – and he thinks he'd like to see her babble in pain as he splits her open on his cock.)

"Gonna take you home after this, y'hear? Fuck you well 'n' good, all proper like. Fold ya over a mattress and print my cock on your guts, birdie. Never let you forget it. "

"S-Si! Simon, please. I n-need..."

Ichor beads in the shape of his teeth, streaking oxygenated red down her throat. He makes a mess of it, smearing it across the marred patch of skin, and brings the fluid up to her face to rub it into her cheek. The type of marking he'd reserve for his third or fourth going with someone – if anyone ever lasts that long – but is absolutely necessary right now. Here, with her. Technically their hundredth something time together, if he were deranged enough to count the various times he'd spent himself over her spreads.

But nothing can supersede the truth of the matter. He streaks blood along her face and licks it off in a show of merciless possession. Pretty things like her get plucked off streets and ruined everyday, despite her cynicism on her value, and he can point to at least three other men by name who would slaughter to be in his place. Best to stake his claim now, clamp a collar on the exotic fowl he pulled down from the sky.

"Need wha', hm?" His tongue laps at her cheek, laving over the contour of her nose and swiping right under her eye to catch the tears that freely fall. She winces when he gets too close, hands faltering along his waistband.

"Your... d-dick. Please, please. Just wanna be fucked, Simon."

He plants a rough kiss onto her mouth, all teeth and tongue, and finally ladles himself free of his jeans.

Just wanna be fucked.

Daft, silly girl.

She should've chosen anyone else.

It takes a bit of pressure to feed himself into her cunt, pinning either leg to the sides of his hips as he guides his cock toward the opening. If she was putty before, she's positively liquid now, boneless rag doll slumped onto him. Dead weight. Letting him take control of this fight. Content to do nothing, slack-jawed and empty eyed as her hot walls come to embrace him completely. Her breath halts, the air recalibrating to just the sound of his ragged grunts, and he considers it an invitation to wrap a fist around her neck.

"I'll do more than jus' fuck you, pretty thing. Won' ever let you out of my sight."

And he means it.

It's impossible to withdraw completely from her – vacuum sealed too tight, too good, around him. So he fucks in short thrusts instead, snapping his pelvis back, only to shove forward once her legs begin to flail about. It's brutal even by his standards, rough in a way that supplants pleasure with pain. A small pity surfaces when her lip trembles, discomfort wringing her darling face up like a dish towel. Wet and pathetic, but he sneaks his free hand down to knead at her swollen clit anyway.

Like oil, it slips and hardens, tense enough that he knows she won't last long if he keeps it up.

Simon feels his own release encroaching. Unfurling at the base of his spine to form something cruel and primal. His vision tunnels to fixate on her – not the filthy bathroom or the lewd squelch of her pussy taking him in. Not the banging on the door by a customer desperately needing to piss, or otherwise, her bodyguard concerned at the choked screams carved from her lungs. Just her. Little bird.

The howling in his head doesn't stop, but it sure as hell quiets down when she soaks the coarse hairs at the base of his cock. Squirts, off-white fluid gushing from her and trickling onto the tiled floor. His movements grow stilted, off-rhythm, at the sight. His want grows claws and scales, grows wants that have wants. Beastly. He sees red.

"N-noghonbirfcontraahl." She gasps, suffocated still by the fingers pressing crescent-shaped scars beneath her jaw.

"Don' give a shit." He growls, then cums.

(Really, he doesn't. To see her swell up with his child is just one more added temptation, carrot on a stick. He bucks like a rabid animal and bookmarks that thought away for later.)

His seed doesn't stay put when he pumps her full of it. It gathers and drips out of her, undeterred by the barrage of his softening cock. When he pulls out, it draws milky treks down her legs. There's the instinct to shovel it back into her, tape her lips shut until the spend takes; but as he pockets her panties and helps her readjust her dress (after polishing himself clean on the expensive fabric), he finds he quite likes the thought of parading her around like this.

"C'mon," He nips her earlobe. "let's walk you home."

Simon does end up making good on his promise. They hardly get any sleep that night, sweating on every available surface her flat affords. By the end of it, she's so tuckered out that he has to lift her to bed. Hardly cognisant as he strips to his boxers and sidles up right next to her.

What doesn't escape her notice, however, is when he pulls his phone out to snap a picture of her like this. Fucked to oblivion, puffy pussy oozing about three loads worth of cum.

"W-what are you–" Stuttered. Panicked, like a pet that has at last realised it's been caged.

"Shhhh, birdie. You're my model, ain't you? Let me show you off, yeah? Won' let it get into the wrong hands."

"Promise?" She whimpers, tucking into his broad chest. She isn't in the condition to give her proper assent, but he takes it anyway, kissing both eyes and carding his fingers across her scalp.

"Promise." He mutters, then sends the portrait off. "Jus' to men like me."

Sgt. Garrick: ?! Is that Capt. Price: Christ, Simon. Someone ought to muzzle you. Johnny: I don't believe you. Johnny: Pick up my calls. Johnny: SIMON.

[lucretiaadventurezone]

TAZ Dashboard Simulator 2 (Part 1)

🔥 lup-da-lup Follow

be back soon 💋 im gonna go fight this guy for my relic

🔥 lup-da-lup Follow

Ubmrella

#girl help #im trapped

(7 notes)

In your orbit!

🪩 avi-the-ball-guy

↻ woe-is-johann

🤼 best-fantasy-prowrestler-tournament Follow

Round 4: Semi-Finals

Jeff Angel Propaganda:

from @.ango-mcdango: I <3 JEFF ANGEL HE’S SO COOL AND HE ALWAYS CALLS HIS DAD

Jess the Beheader Propaganda:

from @.bagnus-murnsides: jess literally has a dope ass axe

#jess sweep

(379 notes)

🚀 cap-n-port

↻ you-know-from-tv Follow

┌───────────────────┐

😎 Anonymous asked:

Your captain looks gnc as fuck

└───────────────────┘

👖 lactosewarrior5000

YOU'RE INSANE

#Thank you very much!

(29,399 notes)

🐱 Sponsored by Fantasy Costco

You Don’t Need All of Your Blood; Here’s Why

The Director doesn’t want you to know this…

🎻 woe-is-johann

↻ avi-the-ball-guy

🪩 avi-the-ball-guy

cannonball system liveblog

🪩 avi-the-ball-guy

ball

🪩 avi-the-ball-guy

ball

🪩 avi-the-ball-guy

other. ball

#babe we gotta get you a fidget toy or something #clearly you're getting bored at work

(23 notes)

📔 sheesh-creesh

↻ lup-da-lup Follow

💋 lesbian-orc-lover Follow

lucretia was 18 when the ipre mission left??!? she should've been at the club!!

✨ you-know-from-tv Follow

oh trust me one of the planes we went to was a giant disco and lucy was freakin it sensitive style day and night

🔥 lup-da-lup Follow

real footage of lucretia at the club ↑↑

#I'm actually going to kill both of you #mutuals #queue never know what you'll find #reblogs

(35,095 notes)

❄️ neverwinter-heritage-posts

↻ magic-brian-with-an-i Follow

┌───────────────────┐

🚂 jerreeeeee asked:

is magnus burnsides gay??

└───────────────────┘

📖 dailycalebcleveland

why would you ask us, a caleb cleveland blog, this

#neverwinter heritage posts

(109,837,936 notes)

🧣 weaver-of-fate

↻ raven-queen-official

🐦‍⬛ raven-queen-official

i loev my beaugifyl wife so muchnohmygod

🐦‍⬛ raven-queen-official

where is smy wife i wanst to see herh

🐦‍⬛ raven-queen-official

hiiiiiiiidjiiii omg shge. is here :D

#apologies guys we hung out with pan and she got FUCKED up #you know how poker nights get #wife tag

(74 notes)

🐦 7-bird-watcher

↻ not-a-shitty-wizard Follow

🪄 mage-guy-19274637 Follow

people who actually like bugs are absolute freaks

🕷️ magic-brian-with-an-i Follow

wrong! spider attack

🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️

#sent to me

(6,074 notes)

🌈 lucretiaadventurezone

hi

[waayfo]

EVEN AFTER ALL THIS TIME—it’s still you 𝜗𝜚. CAPITANO

pairs. capitano x fem!reader

tags established relationship, fluff, soft!capitano only js for u :3, comfort, possessiveness, mentions of violence n dead body, ooc, downbad capitano

a/n yeah, as always.. english is not my first language. there will be a looottt of mistakes IM SORRYYYY T__T anw songs that i listen to while writing this. : swimming i was all over her whole wide world dark paradise

‘You— who choose to battle, to earn a glorious name. Embarking on a pilgrimage, for the wishes of the people. Thus, you rekindle in ashes because of a dream.’

What once Capitano enshrined was no longer sacred. He no longer remembers his dream; something that he always protected, something that was a reason for him to move forward, something that was his reason to live.

Perhaps, it’s something childish? Maybe it’s to persevere the dignity of a blade, maybe it’s to foresee a great sword-wielder that’s a match, or even stronger than him, and maybe, maybe, maybe..

With a sigh, Capitano stand. Glancing at his enemy’s body once before leaving it to nature to take care of it. Maybe in a few days, that body will become one with mother nature. Maybe.

That body weighs heavy sin, at least that’s what Capitano’s judgement said. The poor miserable little guy only bad-mouthed you once, saying that only your bewitching look that saved you from your reputation as a low commoner despite being Il Capitano’s wife. And Capitano happens to know it from his subordinates’ reports.

Capitano cannot hold the vexation himself that his sword alone was the only one solution to this problem.

Just the thought of seeing that man’s proud face after saying that makes Capitano’s rage burn again.

Archons, Capitano thought to himself, secretly cursing those who dare to bad-mouthed you. Woe to them! And may the celestial’s curse trail follows them and their next generation.

And Capitano’s cogitation was disturbed by his subordinates’ sudden appearance. He looks at them over his shoulder. “Sir, as your command, we want to remind you that it is time to return.”

Capitano turned around. The sword he held vanished in the air along with the shadow. “Well done,” he said. And he couldn't hide his excitement when the thought about what would greet him when he returned; you, your big warm smile, and your addictive sweltering hugs welcoming him.

Luckily for him, his expressions are hidden beneath the mask. So he didn't have to struggle to hold back his smile.

“Make haste. We shan’t make someone wait any longer.”

“Yes, sir.”

The cold breeze that lingers before was easily replaced by a warm atmosphere as soon as Capitano set foot back into his residence. He waits, and count.

One..

Only silence.

Two..

He could slightly hear a hurried footsteps.

Three..

Someone’s coming.

Capitano turned around. Quickly, he opened his arms wide as you immediately jumped towards him as if he was used to it (yes he is). And it quickly turned into a hug. You nuzzled into his neck, smelling his scent.

“Welcome home.”

“My love, it’s only been a day.”

“Yeah, but still..” you pout.

You looked up to see him. His hand moved to hold yours, and played with each of your fingers like a toy. “Where have you been?”

“.. mere an exasperating matters. Now, shall we spend our time together?”

But now, it seems like Capitano remember all of his reasons— you. Because of you, and after all this time, his dream remains the same; to protect your smile and keep you safe.

end note : i messed up at the ending, but who cares anyway? :D

[jjkamochoso]

In Sickness and Sadism

Not fluff, not angst, but a secret third thing... (it's Feitan from HxH, what can I say)

Feitan Portor x gn!reader with chronic illness

You can't afford your medicine. Feitan won't accept that!

Warnings: cussing, breaking of human bones, mentions of other violence (not toward reader)

"What do you mean the price went up that much?"

You were incredulous. You had been frequenting the same pharmacy in your home town since you could remember and the price for medicine had always been consistent. That's what you liked about shopping there--the owner didn't price gouge like they did in every other store. Now, you didn't know what to do. You needed to buy the damn medicine or else you would be miserable, or probably even dead. It already wasn't easy having to deal with a chronic illness and now you had to face the fact that you definitely didn't have enough money to buy something you needed to live.

"That's just how much it is now, don't cry to me about it," sneered the cashier and you felt your anger bubble up at his lack of empathy. Your life was terribly unfair and you wanted to scream, cry, and punch the smirk off the cashier in that order.

"Please, can I talk to Mr. Greck, the owner, about this? I've been coming here for years, maybe he can get me a discount," you pleaded, but the cashier just laughed at you.

"The owner has a job from which he needs to make money. Not that you would know what it's like to have money in the first place. So no, you can't waste his time begging like the poor person you are. Now get out or I'll throw you out."

You glared at him, hoping he was bluffing, but he seemed the type to follow through with hurting someone like you and you knew your body couldn't take the exhaustion, especially if you were going to be off your medicine for a while. You needed to make sure you were in good condition to work every day of the week, plus overtime, to make enough to buy your month's supply. Feeling defeated and upset, you left the building, tears falling freely.

Feitan prided himself on his distinct lack of empathy. He relished in the fact that the pain of others makes him feel warm inside. There was no better symphony of sounds than people crying and screaming for their pain to stop.

So why the fuck was he finding himself so outraged at some random person's medical predicament?

The raven haired man had stopped in to a local pharmacy to pick up (ahem... steal) some supplies for the Troupe in case anyone managed to get hurt on the latest mission. He wasn't paying attention to his surroundings for the first few minutes of his shopping spree, completely uncaring to someone else's woes of the fragility of the human body. All of a sudden, after stuffing the last roll of gauze in his sleeve, his ears perked up to listen in to the conversation happening at the front register.

"What do you mean the price went up that much?"

His eyebrows furrowed. Not that he cared, because he wasn't paying for any of his things anyway, but he did notice that the price tags here for items displayed significantly lower numbers than previous pharmacies he had visited in other areas around. You had affirmed his findings in your conversation with the cashier and Feitan felt his blood boiling at the brash rudeness coming from the cashier's mouth. Who did that scum think he was, speaking like that to someone for no reason? Feitan certainly wasn't the nicest guy around but even he had the decency to not be a total jerk to random strangers, let alone people in distress about their medical and financial woes. He didn't know why he was giving this ordeal the time of day. Maybe it was because of his upbringing? He saw this type of thing daily in Meteor City. Hell, he lived it himself. There was nothing scarier than seeing a totally healthy person decay rapidly and shrivel into nothingness, all because they were born in unfortunate circumstances. He scoffed when he saw you leaving in tears. Why didn't you just use your brain and brawn and steal it? Were you too weak? He saw your fists clenching earlier and figured you were strong enough to take down that slime ball. If you did end up getting your ass kicked, at least you didn't lie down like a dog and take it, like you were doing now. His eyes followed your frame until you left the building and he watched until your silhouette was no longer visible outside. He didn't know why he was doing this. He wasn't supposed to make a big scene whenever he was out and about, but the events were already set into motion before he could stop himself.

"5 month supply of whatever that person needed." Feitan ordered, pointing to the boxes behind the cashier's head.

The cashier just laughed at him. "You too, huh? What are you, their boyfriend or somethin'? Maybe their kid? Scrawny little thing."

Oh, he'll wish he never had a tongue to speak those words.

Feitan kept his cool, procuring a velvet bag from his person and set it on the counter with a clank emitting from the contents of inside. "I have money."

The cashier's mouth opened in a greedy smile. He quickly retrieved the 5 month supply Feitan requested and put it in a bag.

"That'll be 100,000 Jenny."

Feitan smirked under his cowl. He reached into the bag, seemingly to pull out money, but instead of coins, the cashier's outstretched hand was met with a mini hammer. The sickening crunch of bones could be heard as the man howled in pain.

"Oh? Big man can't handle small hammer?" Feitan taunted, his eyes crinkled in delight at the man's suffering. The cashier tried to reach for a gun he had stashed behind the counter but Feitan was much too fast, grabbing his wrist and turning his arm the wrong way so that, too, was broken. The cashier couldn't get a word out, instead crying out with tears running down his face.

"Don't cry to me about it." Feitan mocked the worker by using his own words against him. The shorter man hummed a bit, thinking of what to do next. He needed to finish up quickly or else he'd lose track of you and end up having done this all for nothing.

Well, this wasn't all for nothing either way. He needs to make sure he practices his methods often so he doesn't lose his edge.

Feitan grabbed the bag containing the medicine and cleaned up his own bag of tools while the cashier was lying on the floor, writhing in pain and ready to pass out. He gave him a strong kick before turning toward the door.

"Good luck getting all that fixed at hospital. If you can afford it."

You were walking down the street, dejected and unsure of what to do when you felt a nauseating presence appear behind you. You turned around to face a short man with a skull face covering offering you a bag. Naturally, you were hesitant to take it, but he nudged it to you again.

"Medicine. For you."

Your eyes widened in surprise. Did you hear the soft spoken man correctly? You tore open the bag and saw multitudes of your medicine within.

"5 months. Go get better job or learn to steal."

You went to thank him but he was already gone, disappearing like a ghost. You were thoroughly confused but at the same time, extremely grateful. You stood on the street corner in a daze until the sound of screaming could be heard somewhere close to you.

"Someone please help! This cashier's been seriously injured!"

You whipped around to see a woman running out from... the pharmacy? What exactly had that man done to get you what you needed? You were ready to run away from the scene so you weren't questioned as a suspect when you caught a glimpse of your savior once more, watching you like a hawk from the rooftop of the building next to you. He put his finger to where his lips resided under his mask, a signal to stay quiet about what happened, as he let out a short maniacal laugh and disappeared from your sight.

Feitan finally realized why he decided to help you that one day. There were many people in this world he'd gladly see rot to death and then rot even further after that.

But not you.

No, you were much too attractive to be a corpse so soon.

[coopigeoncoo]

Meat Cute, Chapter 5

Chapter Links: First, Previous <- Chapter 5 ->Next

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature (rating may change)

Tags: Canon-typical violence, Cannibalism, Reader is a cannibal, Fake/pretend relationship, Puns, Raccoon Reader, Tags may change, Swearing

---

In a bid to appear more approachable to the denizens of the Hazbin Hotel, Alastor enlists the help of his favorite butcher to step into the roll of an (after)lifetime: pretending to be his paramour!

---

“You can't deny we have so much in common,” Alastor's grinned, his smile somehow, impossibly, widening even farther as he leaned down on the counter on a single elbow; his nose nearly touching yours as you stood frozen in place. “I'm somewhat of a Butcher myself, you know.”

–--

A story where one thing is certain: the steaks are never bigger than when love is on the line.

---

Continue reading below, or follow the link to A03!

Most days, Charlie's incessant prattling amused Alastor.  It was one of the few traits they both shared after all; the ability to pick up the threads of dropped conversations and weave them into something new.  Usually a pithy quip on his part while Charlie would provide some long-winded tirade about friendship and optimism; nonsensical sorts of things that Alastor didn’t spare much thought towards. 

Generally, it was an effortless feat for Alastor to redirect Charlie's attention and energy onto something or someone else; goodness knows that the residents of their hotel could generously be described as an absolute mess most of the time.  There was always some sort of disaster brewing that the little Princess couldn't help but insert herself into.  A lovers tiff here, a genocide there, another new guest with an uninspired tale of woe that required comfort and a supportive embrace or two.

But there was a stubborn streak in Charlie today that kept her focus fully on the Overlord.  And while he usually never shied away from being the center of attention, Alastor had to admit that he was beginning to grow increasingly weary of her present line of questioning.

“-so what do you think?  Are you willing to give it a shot?”  Charlie asked, her entire body practically quivering in anticipation for his answer.  

“Hmm?  I'm sorry, I must have drifted off for a moment there. What were you saying?” Alastor apologized, his eyes alight with false sincerity.  

“Oh, come on!  There was no way you tuned out that entire musical number!” Charlie groaned in frustration.  “I hit like, three super high notes!  There was confetti-”

“I was dancin’,” a passing sanitation worker interjected, unceremoniously dumping a bin full of used hypodermic needles into the back of an idling trash truck.  

“-the garbageman was dancing, Alastor!”

“I’m sure it was a most spectacular sight!” Alastor assured him.

“Damn right it was,” the garbage man grumbled under his breath as he hefted a heavily stained mattress into his arms.  

“Okay, just- ugh!” Charlie sighed, dragging a hand down her face in exasperation. “Forget the song-”

“Way ahead of you, my dear!” Alastor grinned, spinning his staff merrily as he set off down the sidewalk, Charlie quickly catching up despite his longer stride.  

“I'm just worried, Alastor.  You haven't really made any effort to open up to anyone at the hotel.”

“Haven't you ever heard the saying about mixing business and pleasure?  I'm merely maintaining a professional demeanor.  I would hate for the sterling reputation of our fine establishment to be tarnished by unprofessionalism!” Alastor explained, wiggling his fingers at a passing sinner who cowered under the oppressive weight of Alastor's fleeting glance.

“See, this is exactly what I mean!” Charlie shouted, frantically waving at all the pedestrians ducking down alleys and darting recklessly into oncoming traffic to avoid having to cross paths with the Radio Demon.  “People are afraid of you, Alastor.”

“As well they should be!  I am an Overlord after all, my dear.  Being terrifying is part of the job description.”

“Yes, I know that!  But the problem is that everyone is afraid of you.”

“Are they now?  I guess most people must be smarter than they look!” Alastor laughed in delight as Charlie's consternation grew. 

“I'm being serious here!  Even the people at the hotel are still…uncomfortable with you,” Charlie offered diplomatically.  “Which isn't what the hotel is supposed to be about.  It's supposed to be a place of friendship and comradery- where people can feel safe enough to open up and be vulnerable.”

Charlie paused in her explanation to gesture to the palpable air of malevolence that radiated from her hotelier.

“And you come off as everything but safe.”

“Oh, stop it!  You're making me blush!” Alastor cooed, lifting a coy hand to cradle his pale cheek.  

“Alastor,” Charlie sighed, quickly shuffling around him on the sidewalk so she could place herself directly in his path, forcing him to come to an abrupt halt and look into her pleading eyes.  “Please.  I need the hotel to be a success.  And I think that's what you want, too.  For whatever reason.”

Alastor was quiet as he examined the determined jut of Charlie's chin, his head tilting slightly to the side in consideration.  “What exactly is it that you require of me?”

“To be friendly.  To honestly try and connect with someone.”

“Shall I braid your hair then?  Gossip with the Effeminate Fellow about boys?”

“Those are both great ideas!  But they…don't really seem like your thing,” Charlie hesitantly admitted.  “Why don't you start out with something you're good at?”

“Torture?” 

“Talking.”

“If you insist,” Alastor sighed.  “But my suggestion would be considerably more entertaining.”

“Hey, you never know where a good conversation might lead!  Just look at me and Vaggie!,” the Princess chirped excitedly, her eyes sparkling in delight at the mere thought of her taciturn partner. “She would barely say two words to me when we met and now we tell each other everything!”

“Ahhh,” Alastor narrowed his eyes in suspicion.  “Is that your angle?  To find me a partner?  A paramour?  To try to soften me up with affection?”

“What?  No, that's not it at all!” Charlie rushed to assure him, her hands flapping wildly in front of her body as though she could physically waft away the misunderstanding.  “I mean, it would be great if you could find someone like that, you know, if- if you wanted to!  It's nice to have someone to care about- to care about you , in that way.”

“Please, do elaborate,” Alastor said, gesturing in front of himself with an exaggerated wave of his hand, encouraging Charlie to continue down the hopelessly cracked and pitted sidewalk towards Cannibal Town. 

“Oh- uhhh,” Charlie sputtered, stumbling over her own legs slightly as she moved to fall into step beside Alastor, her fingers nervously twiddling around each other as she struggled to find the words to explain herself.  “Partners are, well- it's sort of like being friends, but more?  Better, I guess?  You talk with them and spend time with them like friends, but they just-”

Charlie paused, heaving in a deep sigh as she imagined her girlfriend in her mind's eye, and tried to verbalize all the wonderful feelings that Vaggie cultivated in her heart.

“When you see someone you love, your day just instantly brightens.  You get excited thinking about the next time you see them- it feels like a bunch of moths are fluttering around inside of your belly.”

Alastor's upper lip curled up in revulsion.  “And that's a desirable feeling?  Intestinal insects?”

“Well, not when you put it that way,” Charlie huffed, crossing her arms across her chest in frustration.  “It's something you can't really explain unless you've experienced it.”

Alastor was unusually quiet, the ambient humming that surrounded him barely audible as they continued on their way.  For a moment, Charlie worried that she had maybe gone too far; that she had drawn an exclusive circle around herself and her experiences that painted Alastor as even more of an outsider than he already was.  An apology sat perched on her tongue, ready to assure him that it was okay to never have felt these things, when Alastor spoke up.  

“It doesn’t feel like fluttering,” Alastor drawled, his free hand pressed against his abdomen pensively.  “It’s more akin to a gnawing sensation.”  

“Wait-,” Charlie gasped, quickly sucking in a lungful of the humid Hellish air.  “Alastor, is there- is there someone you have feelings for?”

“Upon reflection I do believe there might be, based on your exceptionally vivid description of the experience,” Alastor informed her with an excited grin, pushing open the reinforced glass door of a building and ushering Charlie over the threshold ahead of him with a courteous incline of his head.  

“Ooooohhhhh, Alastor!” Charlie squealed, bouncing on her toes in barely suppressed jubilation as she queued up in the short line in front of the register.  “Who is it?  How long have you known them? Can I meet them?  Do you think they like you back?  Wait- that's too many questions!  I'm sorry!  But I'm just so excited for you!”

“It's fine, my dear!  Perfectly understandable,” Alastor reassured her with an indulgent laugh.  “And of course you can meet them, if that's what you'd like.”

“YES!” Charlie yelled, only realizing how loud she was once all the numerous eyes of both the customers and the walls of the store quickly shifted their focus onto her.  She coughed into her fist and straightened her lapels in embarrassment as she waited for the other customers to lose interest and turn away. “I mean- that is to say, it would be lovely to meet them at your earliest convenience.”

“But of course!” Alastor agreed readily as he stepped with Charlie to the front of the line.  “Here she comes now!”

“Now?” Charlie squawked, spinning around frantically in quick circles to try and catch a glimpse of who in the store Alastor might be referring to.

“Here you are, Alastor, Sir,” you announced with a nervous grin, sliding a large, paper-wrapped parcel across the counter.  “One whole venison round, as requested.”

“Thank you, my dear!” Alastor said as he took hold of the meat, vanishing it to locations unknown with a quick snap of his fingers.  “I was wondering if I might trouble you for a moment longer, though?”

Sweat immediately began to gather at your hairline as you tried to swallow down the bile creeping up your throat.  “Is- is there a problem with your order?”

“No, no, nothing like that!” Alastor assured you with a sharp grin that did little to settle your nerves.  “It has recently been brought to my attention that I am enamored with you.”

All sounds inside the butcher shop abruptly halted, like the entire store had been sucked into a vacuum; customer's jaws hanging slack in shock at the unexpected confession. 

“You're what?” You squeak in obvious distress, casting pleading glances at your coworkers who were quietly peeking in  through a slim crack through the backroom door, eager to spy on the unfolding drama.

“Enamored, my dear!  Beguiled!  Infatuated!  Smitten, if you will.”

“You… like me?” You muttered dumbly as your brain struggled to process the bizarre scene you had found yourself thrust into the middle of.  

“Apparently!” Alastor laughed, reaching behind himself to tug his companion to his side.  “See, I was chatting with my associate here, Charlie, the Princess of Hell-”

“Your Grace,” you croak dryly, dropping into what was hopefully a passable curtsy.

“Hey, uh- nice to meet you!” Charlie greeted with a stiff wave and an even stiffer smile. 

“-and she made me realize what my true feelings for you were!  How you make my day better, how I look forward to the next time I see you, how you make my stomach rumble,” Alastor growled lowly, his already towering form seeming to elongate as he loomed over you.

“...It ah- it sounds like maybe you're just… hungry whenever you see me?”

“Perhaps!” Alastor cackled, his staticy laugh even more distorted up close.  “But one man's passion is another man's hunger, as they say!”

“Do they say that?  Is that a thing people say?!” You whispered manically towards Charlie, her shoulders jumping up towards her ears in a helpless shrug.

“Gastrointestinal palpitations aside, you can't deny we have so much in common,” Alastor's grinned, his smile somehow, impossibly, widening even farther as he leaned down on the counter on a single elbow, his nose nearly touching yours as you stood frozen in place; afraid that any sudden movement might somehow cause him to pounce. “I'm somewhat of a Butcher myself, you know.”

“RIGHT, okay!” Charlie interrupted with a nervous laugh, slamming a handful of bills down onto the counter as she managed to mercifully push herself between the Radio Demon and the meat counter.  “So sorry, but we have to go- there's important hotel business we need to get back to!  It was lovely meeting you, have a nice day, BYE!”

You were still staring at the door minutes after Charlie had frantically pulled Alastor out of the store, only snapping out of your daze when your manager shuffled up beside you, nose buried in the employee handbook.  

“I've triple checked and experiencing sudden romantic overtones isn't grounds for taking personal leave,” he explained, pointing to the exact passage in the well-worn guide.  “You're gonna’ have to finish out your shift.”

“Of course,” you replied distantly, unable to meaningfully focus on anything other than your racing thoughts and the strange, muffled ringing in your ears.  “What about if I pass out?”

“Says here you'll get a fifteen minute break and a strong cup of tea.”

“Better put the kettle on then,” you mumbled as your knees buckled, vision going black as you plummeted towards the floor.  Your manager looked down at your crumpled body and sighed, nudging you out of the way with his foot and stepping up to the register.  

“Next in line!”

[utilitycaster]

Saw a post in the tags; did exandria historically have a thing abt persecuting ruidusborn? The post mind you was largely lambasting the gods along the lines of "these gods should shut the fuck up abt their extermination when their followers in modern day are going after ruidusborn" which... Doesn't seem like the same thing for a number of reasons but also I wanted to ask a wiki person because i didn't think that anyone was actually doing that

Hi anon,

I don't know if I've seen that post precisely - there's a very good chance it's from someone who I have blocked and haven't thought to check to see what wild stabs in the dark they're making now, to be blunt about it - but this is pretty much entirely incorrect and/or deliberately leaving out crucial context.

Exandria historically had a stigma about Ruidusborn. There has been no evidence of widespread persecution specifically for being Ruidusborn. What little negative responses we have seen and have evidence of has either not actually been specifically "this person is Ruidusborn" but rather "this person has uncontrolled and invasive psychic powers that are negatively impacting me specifically and so I am, understandably, put off"; or has been a mere acknowledgement that a stigma exists. Notably, this has not specifically come from followers of the gods. We haven't seen any information about the presence of religion in Gelvaan and Laura herself as Imogen has alternately said once that she did pray to the gods and multiple times that she didn't, so anything here is entirely presumptive. (We also know that Imogen literally didn't know what Ruidusborn were until it was told to her, so I think we can pretty safely say that prejudice against Ruidusborn simply for being born under the moon, rather than like, the invasive psychic powers, was not the issue there). Alma, Orym's mother, mentioned that the Ashari attempt to avoid having Ruidusborn by delaying birth simply because of that stigma (episode 3x66) and the Ashari aren't affiliated with a deity.

The Ruidusborn page on the wiki is here, and you can cross-check with the citations (I am flattered that you ask me as a wiki person, but a wiki is a public document anyone can edit - if you are wondering, and especially if you are trying to debunk something, please cross check citations for the source of truth). I cover the key ones below.

Per Call of the Netherdeep, page 6, the widespread superstition about Ruidusborn themselves is that they are "destined to bring suffering to others, or to experience great tragedy in their own lives". This is actually less harsh than the superstition about those who study Ruidus, who are believed to be "compelled to cause misfortune and woe". Estani, in Episode 3x19 states the following: "Many important, whether for honor or great sorrow, individuals of history have been claimed to have been born under such a ruddy light." We also know, from Call of the Netherdeep, that Alyxian the Apotheon was both Ruidusborn and a devotee of the Prime Deities, receiving blessings from three of them. Obviously Fearne lived a weird and sheltered life, but we didn't find out she was Ruidusborn until we met Birdie, and she never experienced any prejudice about it during EXU or early C3 or really after that, unless you count the fact that people attuned to the conflict on either side (see next two paragraphs) like Otohan and Groon noticed it. In short: the lore about Ruidusborn and the responses to Ruidusborn in history are varied and complicated.

Finally, just from watching the show: people who do not know Imogen is Ruidusborn nor related to Liliana and whom she does not use her psychic powers on tend to respond pretty positively to her now that those powers are largely under control. I've talked before but there is a certain type of fan of Imogen that leans heavily on the "stripped of choice" narrative in which she has never done anything wrong in her entire life and has always been a victim of cruel circumstance (and more generally tends to abdicate all responsibility for their blorbos - and, frankly, themselves - not realizing that people who squirm out of their obligations are loathed for good reason and they're only worsening the response to both their blorbos and themselves). Anyway, the idea that she was persecuted simply for the circumstances of her birth and not that those circumstances led her to do things that are genuinely extremely offputting, even if done involuntarily, is a relic of that "stripped of choice victim" false narrative.

Now: it is technically true that followers of the gods in Exandria in 843 PD are going after a large number of Ruidusborn. If you have been watching Campaign 3 of Critical Role and are not absolutely fucking stupid you may have noticed this is because the Ruby Vanguard, which heavily recruited from Ruidusborn, have instigated widespread unrest and are actively trying to kill the gods by unleashing Predathos. They are not going after all Ruidusborn; in fact, they've worked with several Ruidusborn prior to Imogen and Fearne and their main reason for suspicion was "you are literally the children of generals for our enemies, and also all other Ruidusborn we previously worked with ended up leaving to join the other side", not "you are Ruidusborn and so you are bad." They are going after the army that recruited Ruidusborn to kill the gods. The Ruby Vanguard shot first.

Really, it's the same nonsensical circular logic being put forth re Aeor and Ruidusborn. The people who specifically plotted annihilation of the gods first were Aeor (with the Factorum Malleus) and Ludinus and the Ruby Vanguard (with the Malleus Keys and the intended unleashing of Predathos). To be clear: I am not denying people may have had negative experiences with the gods, but in both cases, their response wasn't to spite them: it was to attempt total annihilation. It was to create something with the intent of destroying every single god. We do have a word for that, and people keep solely using it about Aeor while ignoring it was the instigator. The gods (and their followers) are in both the case of Aeor and the Vanguard responding to an attempt at their extermination, and then these people are like "um, why won't the gods just sit still and let themselves be executed? Figures that these horrible entities are trying to stop the firing squad that has their guns pointed at them. This is just more proof that they should die - what kind of terrible person doesn't lie down and let themselves be killed!"

For what it's worth, I do not think that if Bells Hells and the Exandrian Accord foil Ludinus and the Vanguard's plans they will then proceed to exterminate all Ruidusborn, because their intent is stopping people from unleashing an existential threat that would kill all the gods, not murdering people because they were born during Ruidus flares. The goal here is not extermination; the goal is their own continued survival which requires the painful and difficult choice of sometimes killing those who are dedicated to trying to kill them. This isn't like, a novel concept in fantasy, history, nor ethics, but we are not dealing with the brightest stars in the fandom firmament here.

I mentioned before that I have yet to see a post that posits all the gods should die or that sides with Aeor entirely that isn't riddled with factual inaccuracies from the lore, and that I wish we had "readers added context" options on Tumblr; sadly, we do not. I am happy to answer questions like these, but I do want to encourage people to check the actual text. If anything seems off? You can definitely ask me (and I do have all the CR sourcebooks so if you don't, I get it) but also we've got searchable transcripts that I highly recommend using. Don't take any posts - mine included - at face value if it doesn't line up with what you personally understand. But also make sure what you personally understand is supported by the text.

[vodika-vibes]

okay this follower event is intriguing so I’mma try something👀 okay so. I’m thinkin about an Apocalypse AU with Fox. romance for the genre because you know it gotta be romance with Foxy, & girl you can go WILD with the plot, I give you free reign. unless you don’t want free reign, I can just send another ask. but for now BE FREE🦅

Woe To The People

Summary: According to everything you read as a child, the end of the world was supposed to be the end of the story. It’s a shame that none of the stories tell what happens to the people left behind.

Pairing: Commander Fox x F!Reader

Word Count: 2230

Prompt: Apocalypse AU

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: You said be free, and so I was free. You know how in some farming sims, the end of the world happened, and then people have to recover. That's what this is. I could have gone with apocalypse heavy, but I wanted to do apocalypse light. Please let me know if you don't like it. The title came from a CamiCat song called Woe To The People Of The Order. Also, I'm limited on how long I can sit at the computer right now. I...hurt my foot pretty badly and I can't elevate it properly from the computer, lol.

You were a child when the world ended.

You were barely 9 summers old on the day that the blue sky burned red, and acid fell from the sky. You managed to find shelter in a skyscraper, climbing higher and higher up the building as the acid water flooded the rivers and the streets.

And you refused to leave, even when the other people you were seeking shelter with did.

It took almost a week for the flood waters to recede. A week where you survived off of snacks and soda from the vending machines. A week where you didn’t have anyone to talk to, where all you could do is watch the burning sky through darkened windows and watch the flood waters slowly recede.

There was no internet, no TV, and your only source of information came from a small battery powered radio you found in the janitor’s closet. And it was from there that you learned what was going on.

You learned about the natural disasters that ravaged the world. Massive wildfires that raged for days, floods powerful enough to wash away buildings, sinkholes opening in places where it shouldn’t be possible, earthquakes destroying entire cities, storm systems creating tornadoes in countries that have never had one before.

And when the flood waters receded enough for you to leave the building, you ran home. Though you already knew what you were going to find when you arrived. Your home destroyed, completely flooded out, and your family, like every other family in your neighborhood, lay dead.

Burned almost beyond recognition.

At barely 9 years old, this should have been the end of your story. You were not big enough to fend for yourself, haven’t learned enough about the way the world works to even consider it.

But you’ve always been lucky.

Several days later, after returning to the sky scraper because where else could you go, a survivor found you.

A firefighter, to be specific.

His name was Jango Fett, and he told you about the safe haven that his family set up, where they have food, clean water, and doctors. He praised you for surviving as long as you did on your own, calling you clever and resourceful as he scooped you into his strong arms and carried you down the stairs and to the massive fire engine that somehow survived the floods.

He passed you up to another man, who settled you on top of the engine and offered you a proper sandwich while he covered you with a reflective blanket, and murmured assurances that you’re going to be fine, that everything’s going to be okay.

There were fewer survivors than you expected, as men and women trek out of the nearby buildings in groups of two or three.

And then you heard Jango call out that that’s everyone, and the truck started to move, slowly pushing through the debris covering the roads. Miles, the firefighter looking after you, adjusted the blanket so you couldn’t see the bodies strewn across the road.

Jango brought the survivors to the Mereel Compound, a massive group of buildings set up on top of, and around, a dam. The reservoir was empty, and Miles explained that the reservoir had been emptied before the flood, so you had nothing to worry about.

After that, you were sent to a creche, a place for young children to receive the care and education they needed to be productive members of society. Of course, the education was a bit different than what you were used to. But at the same time, you realized that you probably didn’t need to know what a noun was in this new reality of yours.

So you settled yourself in to learn what you needed to survive in this new world.

It’s been over a decade since the day the world ended, and very little has changed. Oh, sure, there haven’t been any other massive storms since the original ones, but it’s still a struggle to survive.

Enough of a struggle, that you had to move out of the Mereel Compound. You ended up in a building that used to be a mall. And, with help from other young people, you managed to turn it into something like an apartment complex.

Your job in the complex is to ensure that the water wheel, which provides electricity to the homes here, remains in working order.

It’s not a hard job, but it is a very physical job.

In fact, that’s what you’re currently working on. With a thick pair of gloves to protect you from the acid that lingers in the water. The filters do a good job in making sure that most of the acid doesn’t make it this far, but they’re not perfect.

The water needs to go through a seven point treatment before it can be ingested safely. Luckily, over the last decade, the survivors did manage to perfect that technology.

You look up as the door to the water room clicks open, “How’s are the water wheels?” A voice asks from the door. It’s a voice you’re intimately familiar with, seeing as it belongs to your boyfriend.

“In perfect working order,” You reply as you straighten, and stretch your arms over your head to work the knots out of your back, “I’m probably going to have to take water wheel 3 out of commission for a couple of hours to replace a part, but I want to have all of the parts on hand before I start.”

You turn to face Commander Fox properly.

Commander Fox is one of Jango’s many children, and is the man responsible for this complex. He’s a fine leader, you think, quick thinking and decisive. Not to mention protective of the people under his care.

He’s also the love of your life, so you might be biased.

“It’s not like you to check on the water wheels personally,” You note lightly as you pull your gloves off and set them in the solution that keeps the acid from eating through them, “Something wrong?”

“Thorn is ill, so I took his route.”

“That’s unfortunate,” You murmur, “Nothing serious, I hope?”

“Just a stomach bug, but better to isolate him rather than risk everyone else getting sick.” Fox allows, he moves to the side as you step out of the room, before he follows you and waits for you to lock the door behind you, “You haven’t seen anything unusual lately, have you?”

“In what way?”

He folds his arms over his broad chest, “I got a message from Wolffe-”

“From the forest compound?” You ask, after thinking a moment.

“Yeah, apparently there have been raids on the compound, and I’m...concerned.”

“Raids? All of the Compounds from the desert to the mountains belong to the Mereel/Fett clan.”

“Hence my concern.” Fox rolls his shoulders and for a moment you see just how exhausted he is, “Cody’s putting together a group to investigate, but if there are raiders out there-” He exhales sharply through his teeth.

He doesn’t need to put word to his worry.

You’re hardly stupid, your expertise with water and the filtration system makes you valuable. And a target for anyone with malignant motives.

“I’m giving you a guard detail.” Fox says, “And restricting your movements to within the compound.” He drops his hand from the back of his neck, “Your apartment is on a wall, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

He sighs heavily, and you feel guilty for a moment. But then, you didn’t ask for a wall apartment, you were assigned it. “It’s fine, you can crash in my room.”

“That’s hardly proper, Commander.” You tease lightly.

“Your safety is more important to me than propriety.” Fox counters, completely serious, “The alternative is sending you back to the Mereel Compound.”

“Please don’t.”

He chuckles, “That’s what I thought.” He motions for you to follow him, and you easily fall into step next to him, and he glances at you out of the corner of his eye, “Besides, it’s not like you’ve never crashed in my apartment before. Or even in my bed.”

You elbow him, “This situation is a bit different, Fox. There isn’t a small difference between me sleeping with you because your my boyfriend, and me sleeping in your apartment because I need a protective detail.”

He leads you through the bustling halls, and you feel a soft surge of delight when you see that the market is bustling with activity. Only a few years ago, this scene would have been impossible.

How far you’ve all come since the world ended.

Fox’s hand on your elbow encourages you to keep moving, as he guides you through the winding streets, until he unlocks the door to his apartment.

Fox’s apartment is bigger than all of the other apartments in the compound, with good reason, as a whole quarter of the room is filled with the computers that connect him with his brothers, and father. Not to mention the dozens of outposts that dot the country.

He shuts the door on the working half of his apartment and leads you to the living half of his apartment.

And you immediately head to the window, peering out at the red sky and over the wall that separated the compound from the wildlife. You hear some movement behind you and you turn to watch Fox remove his armor.

It’s leather mostly, reminding you of the old westerns your dad used to watch when he was still alive. Still, it offers a fair amount of protection against anyone who might want to hurt him, so you’re happy he has it.

He focuses his gaze on you, and a smile, soft and warm, graces his tired face. “Do you have any idea how stunning you look when you’re framed by the sky?”

Your face heats, and you turn away from him, “You’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

He laughs softly and walks over to you, his arms sliding around your waist, “Then I clearly need to tell you more often.”

You face him again, your hands settling lightly against his chest and smoothing the thin shirt he wears under his uniform, “I know you think it, Foxy.” You tease, “I know you, after all.”

Slowly he leans in and presses his forehead against yours, his gaze locked with your own. “You know, you could just move in with me. That would make everything easier.”

“We’ve had this conversation-”

“And you never think I’m serious, but I am. I want you to move in with me.”

“Ask me again after this crisis.” You counter.

Fox sighs and lifts his hands to cup your face, “We’re not guaranteed tomorrow, angel. Especially with the way the world is. We need to take what happiness we can when we can.”

“And what if you change your mind-” You start.

“Never. I will never change my mind. I love you. I’ve loved you since we were kids in the creche and you were that bossy little girl who told me that I was wearing my jacket wrong. I loved you when we were teenagers and you had your heart broken by my brother and I was your shoulder to cry on. I’m not going to stop loving you. Ever.”

You’re quiet for a moment, and then you huff, “I was not a bossy little girl.”

“You were so bossy. It was adorable. It’s why I went along with it.”

You pout at him, and he grins at you, looking young and boyish in his delighted amusement, “Fine. I’ll move in with you, but only because you’re being pathetic about it.”

“I can live with that.” He agrees, before ducking his head just enough to catch your lips with his.

You lean into the kiss, intent to deepening it, to fan the flames of passion, when there’s a loud chime from the other room, and he breaks the kiss with a sigh. He tilts his head to the bed, and murmurs an instruction to get comfortable, before he releases you.

A giggle falls from your lips as you sit on his bed to wait for him. You watch him walk into the next room and you watch, through the open doors, as he reads something on the computer.

And you watch as tension lances through his body.

“Fox? What’s wrong?”

“Cody found the raiders,” Fox replies from his work room, you get to your feet and walk over to him, “Apparently they’re not raiders. They were informed that you, and several other people who are in charge of food, water, and power were being held against your will.”

“Who are they?” You ask, offended that anyone would think something so poorly of the men who saved you.

“They call themselves Jedi. They’re demanding to meet you and the others.” Fox scowls, “Cody doesn’t think we should do it, he says it stinks like a trap. Dad says that we should, but we should meet in a neutral place. He says that survivors need to stick together.”

“And...what do you think?”

“I think I want you to stay safe, but if this is the best option…” He trails off and then turns and pulls you into a kiss.

You sigh into the kiss, melting under his skilled touch.

“I promise,” He breathes against your lips, “No one will ever hurt you.”

[mlm-writer]

Home (Peter Parker x GN!Reader)

Pairing:  Peter Parker (TASM) x Gender Neutral Reader Rating: General Audiences (except for one swear word) Words: 1652 POV: Second Summary: The Big Tober Day 2 - Love Confession Tags: college AU, you're both studying mechanical engineering, Peter is a genius, you're just ken, fluff, kinda cheesy and kissing

It’s always something. You can never have a normal exam week, where you just spend your days in the library surrounded by fellow students, mutually fuelled by caffeine and stress. Supervillain of the week literally burned down the public library and there was an alien spacecraft that crashed into your favourite café. It felt like you still had a million chapters to read and another five thousand words to write for an essay and not to forget that your stupid project partner still has not even opened the Google Slides link you sent them. 

A long sigh, mixed with a frustrated growl left you as you once again couldn’t find a single spot on campus to sit down and study. It was always crowded like this during exam week. If you wanted a good spot, you better come to campus at 6:30am, but who had the energy for that? Fortunately for you, there was a small pebble on the road that led through the fields of yellowed grass between the main building and the main gate. You kicked it as hard as you could, letting all your woes leave you through your foot and into that little rock. It flew forward and - unexpectedly - up. “Oh shit!” You exclaimed as you followed its trajectory with your eyes. It was going straight for someone’s head, but before you could tell the brunet to watch out, he turned around and caught the pebble midair. 

When he was turned around, you recognised him. Out of all people for that pebble to almost hit, it just had to be your crush. “Peter!” You called out to him as you jogged over. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to kick it your way… good catch by the way.” 

Peter held the pebble in his fist and smiled at you; he was so cute when he did that. “Oh hey!” He beamed at you. When you complimented his catch, he hid his hands behind him and avoided eye contact. “Thanks, I got uh… good reflexes.” He cleared his throat and then looked at you. “Already done with studying for the day?”

You let out another frustrated sigh. “Ha! I wish. I came here to study, but it is fuller than a Blackpink concert stadium here. Guess I’ll have to settle for my tiny desk in my shoe-box dorm room.” 

Peter snorted at your comparison. He seemed to want to say something, but he was hesitant about it. “Uh…” You raised your brows at him, awaiting his words. “I just uh… finished my final presentation for the thermodynamics course-”

“Oh how did that go?” “Got an A, but that’s not important-”

“Not important? Bro, you’re kidding, that's great!”

Peter was getting a little red. You liked how humble he was in spite of how smart he was. He was a little awkward, but during presentations, he often had his own flavour of charisma that made you listen instantly. He was good on the eyes too…

“Uhm, thank you… what I wanted to say is uh… I’m going home now to study. My aunt won’t be home until late and you’re free to join me at my dinner table - to study, I mean, but you’re welcome to join for dinner too of course!” 

You kept forgetting Peter still doesn’t live on his own. Sometimes you envied him, sometimes you were happy with your freedom. “Are you sure? That’d be really cool. Studying together is way more fun than on my own anyway. Oh, do you maybe have notes for our material science course that I could borrow?” 

A little later those notes were in front of you as you were seated at Peter’s dinner table. You had never been in his home before, but the Earthy tones and natural lights just made it feel like a home. There was love in the pictures that decorated the place, there was personality in the old books that scattered the house, one of a shelf on the wall, another one next to a vase with flowers, another on the side table by the couch… 

“Here you go!” Peter put a glass of juice next to you. You thanked him with a smile. You did not realise how your warm smile fit right in that room, how it made Peter’s heart leap and his stomach flip upside down. He just sat down across from you like there was nothing going on. 

You managed to concentrate for a good half hour, but after that your eyes drifted up and caught onto a sight that was way better than a schematic drawing of how tension affects different materials. Peter had this cute frown of concentration on his face, a pencil balancing between his lips as he typed something up on his laptop. He abruptly paused and looked straight at you. The change was so sudden; your eyes widened, before you forced them back onto Peter’s notes. Your face felt hot. Peter definitely caught you staring and you had no idea what he thought of it. Did he suspect you fantasised about kissing him whenever he info-dumped on you? Did he know how his smile could light up your whole day? Did he have a clue or was he just that oblivious? Most smart people were.

Suddenly, Peter let his head fall onto the dinner table. “I can’t do this anymore!” He exclaimed. You gave him a worried look, not that he saw it with his face planted in his notes. 

“Wow, I didn’t know even the genius Peter Parker suffered from exam breakdown,” you commented. You genuinely thought Peter thought exams were a breeze. His grades were all exemplary, except that one time he was down with the flu so bad, you didn’t see him for three weeks. 

“That’s not it! I’m-” he lifted his head. He was clearly upset, but as he rose from his seat to walk back and forth along the kitchen counters, he couldn’t put a single sentence together. He had paced the length of his kitchen at least five times, before he spoke up again. “This is so not how I envisioned this going, but I feel like I am gonna burst if I don’t say this now!” He walked over to you and, in an incredible display of strength, turned your chair with you on it to face away from the table. His arms were caging you, holding the back of the old, wooden furniture. “I’m so in love with you and…” He seemed to realise what he said and physically backed up until his back was against the wall. 

You didn’t know what to say. It was hard to believe your ears. You just stared at him in shock as Peter did that thing you adored so much – rattling on like someone who did not prepare enough text to fill up their 30-minutes presentation. “And I don’t need you to feel the same, sorry, that was coming off a little strong, but I mean it. It’s like I’m in pain when I’m around you and I can’t hold you. Wait no that’s cheesy. Is it? I don’t even know, you make me wanna say cheesy stuff!” Peter was suddenly very interested in the couch in the living room, his eyes never leaving it as more words poured uncontrollably from his mouth. “When you look at me all my instincts are telling me you feel the same, but it could be wishful thinking, but I am so sure, but what if I’m wrong, I mean if I AM wrong, then that’s fine, I just…” 

You stood up. Peter immediately shut up, eyes shifting to the floor. He looked like a child caught with his fingers in the cookie jar. You took a deep breath to settle your nerves and then closed the distance quickly, putting one hand on the wall behind Peter. Your classmate froze up and you wanted to relieve him of his nerves, but you had your own that clogged up your throat and wound your vocal cords tight like a scrunchie holding a very heavy ponytail. “Whenever you talk, I never want you to shut up, but when I look at your lips moving, I cannot think about anything but making you shut up with my own.” 

Peter looked up, glistening eyes pulling you in. You were scanning each other’s faces, both scared this was all just some prank or a dream. “I’m going to ruin this moment by talking about material science if you don’t shut me up right now,” he almost whispered. You chuckled and put an arm around him, pulling him against you until your lips met. It was like coming home, like hot chocolate in winter, like a cosy blanket by the window on a rainy day. 

Your lips touched like they were meant to do so from day one. It was your first kiss together and yet it felt like you had been doing this for ages. Your whole body felt like it was going haywire and the look in Peter’s eyes when you parted did not help. Neither of you said anything, kissing in the kitchen over and over again, as if you were memorising each other’s taste, while you should be memorising that schematic you still had open on your laptop. 

When you finally found it in you to take a step back from Peter, you were both smiling giddily at each other. You broke the silence between you two, before Peter did. “All jokes aside, I actually do need you to talk to me about material science. I think I’ll be much more concentrated when you explain it.” 

Peter let out a chuckle. “Ok, but when exams are over, you are buying me dinner.” 

You slowly walked back to your chair. “I’ll even throw in a movie as well,” you replied, suddenly feeling a lot better about your exams. 

—————

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR FANFIC WRITERS

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[ashamed-aries]

Hello dear.. Please don't skip my message My name is Mohammed, from the afflicted and destroyed Gaza Strip, where life has become impossible and tragic, and where we see death and pain every moment and every day. Our children suffer from hunger, pain, deprivation and lack of medicine. The war deprived them of playing, school, and their most basic rights. They are now suffering from woes and tragedies. 😭😭 During the war, my wife gave birth to a child and I could not find any milk for him Our conditions are tragic, and we live in a shelter that lacks the minimum requirements for life and is plagued by diseases and epidemics Please help me save my children from the hell of the Gaza Strip and provide them with a decent life 😔 Your assistance, no matter how simple, is enough to ease the burden on us and help us overcome our crisis. Please sympathize with me and donate to me or contribute to sharing the campaign and spreading it widely

Vetted by 90-ghost

Hey there, Mohammed,

It breaks my heart that you have been driven to this. There is not a day that has passed since the current conflict started that I have not thought of the pain my country (The United States of America) has helped inflict upon you and your people. I have felt so much shame in not being able to contribute with more than my eyes and my own words in my daily life, but my own shame does not matter what so ever and making this visible is literally the very least I can do for you.

If you reading this are one of my few followers and are comfortable with reblogging this for me, I know I would really appreciate it. But, again, this is not about me, and it is not I who needs true help here. Mohammed was willing to reach out to me, and I am *not* big here, so anything is worth something. Even tagging a big account that is actively working on this stuff, if you know of anyone. I will tag this post as best as I can, but I do not use this site to seek engagement so I could very easily end up lacking on that front. If you are a non-follower seeing this, I ask that it, at the very least, be reblogged with additional tags and such. Potentially even better would be reblogging his original posts. PLEASE DONATE IF YOU CAN.

And, Mohammed, truly, if you know anyone else who is using Tumblr for aid in the same way you are, please send them here. I will be more than happy to make a post for them, too. There is always a light at the end of the tunnel, and I hope you will see that for yourself. May Allah protect you if you believe in him. 🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

[pigeonwhumps]

Rules

Pets of the Silver Screen masterlist

Taglist: @maracujatangerine @clairelsonao3 @whumplr-reader @whumpinggrounds @bbu-on-the-side

Multiple times over the years, Agatha learns the rules.

2.1k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, kidnapping, collar, beating, stress positions, dehumanisation, non-con nudity (non sexual)

Agatha juts her chin out, poise perfect despite the tip-toe position she's been forced into.

"My name is Miss Agatha Stanbury, daughter of Lord Kenneth Stanbury. Let me go and you may get out of this alive."

Foster Montgomery smirks, pressing his knife into her neck, blood beading along its edge.

"I think I'd rather keep you. Nobody's going to find you, certainly not after I'm finished with you." He drags his knife down her front, slitting her clothes. They mostly stay on, but it must be a very sharp knife to manage that. "Take them off."

"No."

He holds up the knife, reminding her. "What did you say?"

Agatha swallows but keeps her poise. She's going to be an actress, she can pretend she has nothing to fear.

"I said no. You have given me nothing to wear afterwards and I will not follow your disgusting commands."

"I have more suitable clothing for you later, if you earn it. But if you won't obey willingly I'll have to do it for you."

Agatha's barely had a chance to process the statement when she's slammed to the ground. All her bones are jarred and her nose explodes with agony. A boot seems to grind her into the floor as Montgomery removes her clothing piece by piece.

She hates herself for thinking it, but at least he lets her keep her knickers.

He grunts in satisfaction, and hauls her to her knees. She shoves his hands away and stands, but is back on her knees in less than a second.

"Stay." He reaches behind him and picks up a leather collar complete with tag.

Agatha doesn't move when he reaches out and buckles the suffocating leather around her throat, but not out of obedience. She just doesn't think she can.

She reaches up to touch it, but Montgomery smacks away her hand before she can.

"Don't even think about it. I'll only ever remove it if you need a punishment that might interfere with the collar somehow, so if you do so yourself I'll assume that's what you're after. But you do still deserve a punishment. Bend over."

Agatha swallows hard, the soft leather and cold metal buckle pressing against her throat. She doesn't move. She only came down for the season, she's not going to obey a kidnapper who's apparently obsessed with turning her into a pet.

He couldn't find a volunteer? There's enough of them.

She pitches forward onto her hands and knees as he pushes her over, pulling her knickers down.

"Bare flesh is best for this. Pets obey. They don't say no. They don't talk back. You need to learn this."

Agatha has never had such a thrashing in her life as she receives then. No-one's ever drawn blood before. She's not passed out enough by the end to receive a reprieve though – he orders her to clean the house, and woe betide her if he finds a speck of dust or blood.

She experiences it all as if from miles away. As if from the gathering she's supposed to be at right now, with entirely different rules. She's not in her body, most of the time, and that's probably for the best.

That day and the next, she learns the rules of being Foster Montgomery's captive.

1) Don't say no.

2) Only speak when spoken to.

3) Don't talk back.

4) Address other people as sir or ma'am.

5) Always obey immediately.

6) Don't remove your collar.

7) Punishments are always deserved, always hard, and given at the slightest provocation.

She adds an extra one from herself, too, which she knows is true. Montgomery giving her a collar is not just him being a sick bastard, it's theatre, another part of the pretense. Because even if he were to parade her in front of those she loves, everyone knows that only pets wear collars.

8) No-one's coming to my rescue. I'm not getting out of here unless I do it myself.

Over the next few months, the rules don't change. The chores are hard, and the punishments harsh, and a lot more of her is scarred now. Very little of what Montgomery does has any logic to it.

But she still can't find an escape. She fears she's sinking into it.

_

When she's hired by Hayes Fletcher, more rules are added to the list.

9) Don't talk to the other pet.

10) If you disobey, it won't just be you who's punished.

Eloise won't receive whippings, of course, and no canings during the shoot, but she can be put in stress positions, or starved, or have a bucket of water dumped over her head before being left in the unheated studio overnight. And Agatha has absolutely no desire to subject her to anything other than a good hot meal and somewhere better to sleep.

_

Rule 7 is underlined dramatically by the inspector's visit. In the aftermath, Agatha's arm and back throbbing, blood pooling on the frozen stone floor that her toes are just able to touch, Eloise whimpering from her own position, Agatha makes sure to add another two rules to herself (though the second is altered after Eloise's angry objections).

11) Don't talk about the situation to outsiders. It will only make things worse.

12) Don't break the rules. Even Only if Eloise agrees to do so.

_

Agatha could possibly escape during the transatlantic crossing. She thinks about it. Even jumping overboard might be better. But she needs to see Eloise again. Be sure that she's alive and physically unhurt (from the sinking at least, Agatha has no doubt she'll have been hurt since). Tell her that she's brave, and a hero, because if it had been anyone but fellow pets she'd saved, if she was anyone but a pet herself, her actions would've been lauded, but instead it's Hayes Fletcher who's being praised for having such a good pet. Which isn't right, it isn't fair, and Agatha can't leave Eloise on her own.

That's when Agatha solidifies the last rule for herself, that's been brewing since she first met Eloise but she's never stopped to think about it before.

13) Her and Eloise only have each other, and will always have each other.

_

Then the Great War comes.

Foster Montgomery signs up to fight. He leaves Agatha in Hayes Fletcher's care, who lends her to the munitions factory, for good publicity and probably money (money for Fletcher? Money for Montgomery? She doesn't know. But neither man is big into philanthropy). Eloise isn't there. Agatha follows the rules Montgomery has already given her, hating the fact that they keep her alive.

Another few rules are added.

14) Don't become emotional.

15) Never make a sound.

16) Just because you're working alongside people, doesn't mean you are one.

That last is... profoundly obvious, at times. When the rest of the workers get to go home at the end of their shifts and she is kept working, or if there's no-one else at all, locked in the breakroom until morning. When she's fed less than the others, or when she's beaten, or–

It's so obvious, even more so than when she was hired by Hayes Fletcher. She hates it. And she's so alone here.

The war will be over by Christmas, right?

_

1915. Foster Montgomery is dead, and Agatha desperately wishes she could thank his killer, if anybody even knows. She gets a new tattoo, signifying her ownership by Hayes Fletcher (luckily, she knows his rules, there's no new ones to learn there). The Munitions Act comes into force, and the regular bombing raids start.

Monkey's paw. She's not alone anymore, but it means that Eloise, and several other pets, have joined her in the munitions factory.

She teaches Eloise what she's learned about staying out of trouble where possible. They have a dedicated bunkroom now, pets crammed in on old bedding on the floors of the worst-maintained rooms. They learn that only a few owners have paid for their pets to be taken to air raid shelters.

Hayes Fletcher hasn't.

Night after night they spend, trying to stay calm as bombs rain down around them. Occasionally they're still chained or tied up at night, for punishments, and when that happens Agatha worries the most.

She learns one more rule.

17) Sometimes all you can do is pray.

_

The war ends. By a miracle, her and Eloise are both still alive. Hayes Fletcher goes back to producing films, albeit with less success. Agatha watches as pet liberation campaigns grow, and the next decade approaches with force. The world seems a little more hopeful, things seem to be changing.

Except for her and Eloise. Stuck with the horrible, spiteful little man, punishments getting worse as he gets more frustrated and blames them for it (or maybe he simply has nowhere else to put his anger). The world's moving on, votes for women are coming, and she can't help but think of what her life might be like if she hadn't been kidnapped all those years ago.

She remembers rule 7. And the last time was dreadful, and another attempt could get them both killed, but she mentions her rule to Eloise one night and Eloise agrees. They have to try, don't they? Sometimes, it's the only thing you can do.

A week later, the film studio burns down in the middle of the night. Arson, probably. By the time the fire brigade arrive to the burnt out husk Agatha and Eloise are already sneaking onto a train to London.

_

"If the both of you want rules, I can give you some," says Ira, clearly reluctant, "as long as we can go through the ones you already have first. Is that all right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Ira nods. "Why don't you write me a list then? We can go through them while Eloise is busy."

Agatha takes the paper and pen she offers, wincing as she sits down, heart skipping a beat. She's still not used to it.

At the end of the session, her list reads:

1) Don't say no.

2) Only speak when spoken to.

3) Don't talk back.

4) Address people as sir or ma'am.

5) Always obey immediately.

6) Don't remove your collar.

7) Punishments are always deserved, always hard, and given at the slightest provocation.

8) No-one's coming to my rescue. I'm not getting out of here unless I do it myself.

9) Don't talk to the other pets.

10) If you disobey, it won't be just you who's punished.

11) Don't talk about the situation to outsiders. It will only make things worse.

12) Don't break the rules. Only if Eloise agrees to do so.

13) You and Eloise only have each other, and will always have each other. (Ira says she can get rid of this one partially too, but she's not so sure. Not yet)

14) Don't become emotional.

15) Never make a sound.

16) Just because you're working alongside people, doesn't mean you are one.

17) Sometimes all you can do is pray.

The new rules are easy, and straightforward, and Agatha doesn't entirely trust them. The list now reads:

1) You belong to yourself.

2) You will never be punished, no matter what you do.

3) You and Eloise only have each other, and will always have each other.

4) Sometimes all you can do is pray.

_

Agatha kneels on the floorboards, trembling. It's her turn today, Ira asked her to clean and she said yes, she's not sure why except she's so used to not being allowed to say no.

She hopes she's done well. She hopes she's done well. She hopes she won't be punished.

Ira doesn't do punishments. But all the same, she hopes she won't be punished.

There's footsteps, then they stop.

"Agatha?"

"I've finished cleaning, ma'am."

A hand on her shoulder. "Agatha, please look at me. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. Come on, look up."

Agatha obeys hesitantly. And gasps. Ira's eyes are dark and warm and how could Agatha ever have thought otherwise? Ira gets down to her level as Agatha grasps her hands tightly, pulling her into a rare hug.

"Rules one and two, Agatha."

"I belong to myself," whispers Agatha, still clutching Ira tightly, "and I will not be punished."

Ira's two rules. The only two she'll ever make.

1) I belong to myself.

2) I will never be punished, no matter what I do.

And there's a third, that Agatha has added herself, that she thinks she probably can after so long. Rule number 5, now Ira has been proven correct and number 3 has been partially removed (Agatha does not only have Eloise now).

5) Ira keeps her promises.

[mileycyprus-hill]

To Have and to Hold, Tenderly

Based off @gondorimagines post about Boromir cradling you in his arms after a bad day. I took a creative turn with it. This is also my first Boromir fic I've written, so I hope it's good. (Not gonna lie, it was a f***ing struggle to alter my writing style to mirror that of Tolkien when I've only ever written cowboy stuff. Did I need to? Prolly not. But I'm an idiot who does things the hard way.)

Summary: You're a Lady of Dol Amroth and have been married to Boromir for a few years. You're postpartum from a long and painful delivery of your firstborn child while Boromir was gone to protect the borders of Gondor. When he returns, he offers you consolation during your difficult time.

Tags/Warnings: postpartum depression, fluff.

It has been a week.

A week and the pain still lingers. It has spread through your body and evolved from its physical form to infect your mind. The pain of labor had left you frail and weary, your once vibrant spirit now subdued by the weight of motherhood's trials. As you lie in your bedchamber, weighed down underneath the furs and silk sheets, you hear the argument between guilt and apathy loud in your thoughts.

The guilt shouts at you, ordering you to get up. It tells you to be stronger than this; that a Lady of Dol Amroth and wife of a high-ranking captain does not laze about in her bed. She never accepts defeat, but stands up and soldiers on. For her child. For her people.

Apathy however, whispers that you have already failed and you'll never be strong enough for yourself, your child, or your captain again. Your body is ruined. Boromir may not ever return to Minas Tirith. How will you find the strength again?

The silence in the room feeds your inner thoughts. The grand walls and high ceiling loom over you, making it feel less of a comforting place of rest and more of an entrapping cave of white stone. The heavy, blue velvet curtains draping your tall, arched windows shut out the warm sunlight.

You wish to hold her, your newborn babe. That's all you can care for, to feel her warmth against you so you can feel something. Alas, she remains with your nursemaid in another room at the request of the midwife. To give you rest, she told. She witnessed your pain and anguish firsthand, as she stayed with you during those prolonged hours of pushing, screaming, crying, and praying for it all to end. You were near hysterics, anxious that your baby was trapped inside you. You feared as if you had to split yourself in half to get her out.

The midwife recognized your melancholy which lingered after your daughter's birth. She said to you this feeling will pass in time, or was it she hoped it would?

As you drift in and out of an emotional slumber, a gentle knock echoes through the wooden door, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps crossing the threshold. You open your eyes to see the familiar dark, yet golden hair of Boromir, your stalwart husband. He enters your shared bedchamber, his countenance etched with lines of concern and weariness from the battles fought at Gondor's borders.

"My dear (Y/N)," he whispers, his voice a soothing balm to your troubled mind.

You can hardly contain the tears in your weary eyes at the sight of his towering figure. The sound of his voice sends a wave of relief. It washes over you, threatening to spill the emotions you've held so tightly in your heart.

"You've returned!" You sputter and look to him as he crosses the room with purpose, his arms outstretched to embrace you. With such tender care, he gathers you in his arms, his strong frame a shield against the woes outside your door.

"I have, as swiftly as my steed could carry me...I feared I had lost you," he murmurs, soft and low, pressing a kiss to your brow. "But here you are, safe as I hoped you both would be."

You nestled against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your ear. It's a comforting cadence amidst the chaos of your thoughts. The warmth of his cheek against your crown permeates your cold and weakened body and you breathe in his scent, detecting his musk that you've always found so alluring.

Lavender and cream from his shave, leather from his clothing, and the earth and air from his travels.

"How are you feeling?" He queries with a gentle hush, "I had heard it was...quite difficult."

Tears began flowing down your cheeks like a trickling stream after a spring rain. You mutter a sarcastic answer to mask the pain, albeit pathetically, "Difficult is how I would describe your temper. This was..." you pause to reconsider burdening him with your woes, "...something far beyond my imagination."

Boromir's warm hold around you tightens and he presses an apologetic kiss to your forehead. As the fire crackles softly in the hearth, he begins to weave a tale of excitement upon learning the news of your daughter's birth.

"When I received word that our child was a girl," he began, a fond smile gracing his lips, "my heart swelled with joy beyond measure. I thought, a blessing has been bestowed upon us by the Valar themselves, to cherish and protect for all the days of our lives."

Your heart sank.

"But what of your father? He did not appear pleased to discover her," You worry, remembering the controlling nature of the steward towards all things in his city. "Tradition demands a male heir."

Boromir replies, his expression turning solemn as he considers your question, "He may harbor...disappointment at first. He does cling to the ways of old, but he is a man of wisdom and honor." He pauses, a flicker of sadness crossing his features before resolve settled in his eyes. "I have faith that in time he will come to see the light and beauty that our daughter brings to our house, and he will welcome her into the fold with open arms, as a cherished member of our noble lineage."

He recounted how he had ridden with haste through the rolling hills of Gondor, his heart buoyed by the thought of returning to your side, to share in the wonder of new life.

"As I rode through the streets, I heard talk of you and our daughter." He smiles a breathless laugh at that final word, "They spoke with such gleeful joy, 'Finally, a girl is born in the Citadel!' It gave them hope, (Y/N). Countless people requested I send word of your good health to them. They love you, (Y/N). They are here for you just as I am. You are...you're their princess."

Suddenly, a drop of moisture splashes onto your hair. Bringing yourself up from beneath his chin, you look into his grey-blue eyes. They're brimming with tears and he makes no effort to slow his weeping, for he is so overjoyed he can no longer contain them.

"My journey was long and arduous," he continued, his voice a low rumble in the quiet chamber. "But fear not, my love, for I am here now. Together, we shall weather this storm."

And so, in the solace of each other's arms, you found a sanctuary from the trials of the world outside. For in the embrace of love, even the darkest night could be pierced by the light of hope, shining bright as the morning sun upon the walls of Gondor.

The soft creak of the doorknob echoes through the bedchamber, heralding the arrival of another into the sanctum of your solace. Both of your gazes, intertwined with longing and curiosity, turn to behold the newcomer being carried across the threshold.

"And now, here she is," says Boromir, his gaze softening as he looks upon the babe being welcomed into your arms. "When I look upon her, I see the promise of a future adorned with beauty and grace. A beacon of hope to light our path ahead."

As he spoke, you felt a warmth suffuse your weary frame, a renewed sense of purpose blooming within your heart. For in Boromir's words, you find strength to face the challenges that lay ahead, knowing that together, you would overcome every obstacle, guided by the light of love's enduring flame.

[britishassistant]

The collectivel group of Yuus (an Exasperation of Yuus?) have been put through the wringer lately, might I suggest pranks at the expense of villainous embarrassment?

(Corvid Prompts is a writing prompt blog that has a lot of Hero/Villain/Vigilante story ideas. Many of which encourage writers to break out of a typical plot for such genres. I got this idea from them.)

Since they all work under the same League, what petty pranks would the villainous groups pull on each other for the hell of it?

Who would send a goat (or other farm animal) to another hide out to as a reminder to an unfortunate (but funny) goat related incident that happened in the past?

Another incident where during another League thing out of town/country where a pair (from different groups) had to pretend to be married to get out of a mess? What jokes are made for the lack of "wedding" and subsequent "divorce"?

Who fills the entire lair of a villain with plastic balls as disproportionate retribution for taking the last muffin?

You don't need to write anything, but just imagine the insanity? Can you imagine Yuu in any form just exasperated?

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

Well, Poison Queen’s already pulled the “prank” of attempted love potioning, though that did backfire rather spectacularly on him. Epel would like to say he’s good at pulling them, but Vil’s usually easily able to avoid them. He’s had much more luck with the other rookie minions though!

Rook pulls a prank every time he says he’ll fight White Neige.

Royal Flush would never be caught dead indulging in something as puerile as a prank!… But if he makes the appropriate suggestions to his minions and just so happens to leave plans for them around? Well. He can hardly control everything they do, now can he?

Ace and Deuce are the best at following those and tag teaming to ensure they work, while Trey and Cater specialize in innovating to cover any potential pitfalls. Ace also pulls pranks on Deuce and the rest of Heartslabyul regularly, but woe betide him when his seniors decide that he’s had enough fun, and team up with Deuce for some payback.

Leona loves stealing whatever he can get his hands on from his rival supervillains. If they have it, he wants it, for no other reason than ruining their day when they realize it’s missing. Unsurprisingly, “whatever he can get his hands on” usually ends up being “Yuu the Reporter”.

Ruggie has a very similar mindset, in that he’ll only pull a prank if there’s something physical he gets out of it in return. Usually food.

Jack will not mastermind pranks, because he is a Good Boi. Doesn’t mean he won’t join in on one someone else has thought up.

Azul considers himself too professional to “pull a prank” as the kids say, but he will gladly point Jade and Floyd at his inconveniences dear colleagues and watch the sparks fly.

Floyd has an abiding fondness for large quantities of anything small, plastic, and loud. Jade prefers noxious, brightly colored substances that are a pain to wash out of clothing or architecture.

Kalim is the master of accidental pranks! He genuinely doesn’t mean to get people soaking wet or make their food too spicy or tea too sweet! But if everyone is laughing, he’ll laugh with them!

Jamil doesn’t do pranks. Jamil does retaliation.

One of the small joys of Idia’s life is getting one over on these Luddite normies. If he just wants a quick pick me up, a virus that constantly plays an annoying song on loop or hides files is always a fun way to spend the day. If he’s feeling vindictive, mass ordering insects or livestock to be sent to their lairs is an old favorite.

Ortho will also gleefully participate in his Nii-san’s pranks!! They’re so fun!! However, if Idia hasn’t gotten enough nutrients or fresh air recently, Ortho’s not above pulling a prank or two of his own…

Malleus once tried to prank a NRC conference by balancing a bucket of water on the doorframe. He had no way of knowing that Yuu was going to be sneaking in to eavesdrop and would end up getting drenched.

Lilia isn’t allowed to prank anyone anymore. Not when his pranks verge on the level of psychological warfare.

It’s very, very rare, but Silver occasionally pulls pranks by falling asleep somewhere inconspicuous and summoning inconvenient wildlife to his location. No one ever suspects he can do it on purpose.

Sebek has tried to pull pranks before. He gets too impatient and always accidentally spoils it before the payoff.

Jade and Trey have had to fake getting engaged at least once in order to avoid getting found out as minions during a Fae Incorporated(TM) sponsored gala.

Trey has also had to pretend he was married to Rook in order to maintain cover at another, completely separate event.

Jade and Rook like to tease poor Trey about his “infidelity”. Floyd once tried to beat up Trey for his brother’s honor.

Trey still isn���t quite sure whether he was serious or not.

[myheartalivewrites]

WIP Wednesday

Hi everyone, happy Wednesday! Thanks for the tags @indestructibleheart @kiwiana-writes @suseagull04

Earlier I posted the first chapter of my Victorian AU, Foxden Park, so here's a longer snippet from it, featuring Alex trying to be polite to Philip (aka the Duke of Windsor) and Martha (the Duchess, obvs), while secretly wishing he could blow the whole place up:

The duke abandons his game of checkers and crosses the room over to them.

“Howard, bless the man, was trained in my grandmother’s household,” he says, leaning over the low table and pouring his own cup of tea. “She is incredibly strict. I’m not sure we’ll ever be able to make the man loosen up, and so the rest of the household staff follows his lead, I’m afraid.”

Alex knows less than zero about running a house like this one. He offers up what he thinks is a polite, sympathetic smile in response to the duke’s woes with household staff and the severe difficulties of his aristocratic upbringing, and chances a glance over to June and Nora in case one of them fancies coming to his rescue.

“That must be difficult, your grace.”

“Oh, no, it’s Philip, please. Like Martha said. This is not a formal occasion and to be honest there’s just too many your graces around here, and I often get confused if people are talking to me or my wife.”

The duchess giggles next to him and takes up the conversation.

“Now, I have to apologise, Mr. Claremont-Diaz, as the house party is rather female-heavy at the moment. We are expecting two more guests: my brother-in-law, who should have already been here to welcome you, but seems to be awfully late, and another family friend. You must know how hard it is to find suitable bachelors to make up a balanced party in the countryside.”

Must he? Alex has not a single fucking clue what she’s on about. Is he suitable?

“Oh, yes. I’m sure it is.” He’s going to pull a muscle trying to be on the level with these people.

Read the rest of Chapter 1 on ao3!

Tagging @onetwistedmiracle @thesleepyskipper @sparklepocalypse @cha-melodius @tintagel-or-cockleshells

@14carrotghoul @welcometololaland @stereopticons @cricketnationrise @rmd-writes

@celaestis1 @historicallysam and @firenati0n to share too, but only if you feel like it ❤️

[cinnabunhwa]

i just recently read your ateez fic and i loved it! i saw that you were ok with writing for the boyz, so is it ok for me to request a sangyeon one? this recent comeback has got me on a chokehold i’m afraid and he’s not even my bias to begin with lol ;_; but if you could write a summery fic for him i would be thrilled! <3

Say All I Want Is You

pairing: sangyeon x gn!reader

genre: fluff, childhood friends to lovers

summary: you're on summer break from university and decided to go home. reunited with your brother jacob and his best friend sangyeon, you make some plans to go to the beach. you grew up with the two of them and have so many memories together, could one day change that?

warnings: slight suggestiveness (reader checks out sangyeon), use of "little one" as a term of endearment

words: 1.849k

masterlist | taglist

tags: @kflixnet

“Aaaand that’s the last of it,” Sangyeon huffed, placing down the heavy bags you brought home.

“Why are you acting like you carried the sun?” You laughed, playfully smacking his arm.

He fell to the floor with a thud and wailed dramatically, “MY ARM IS FALLING OFF WOE IS ME WHATEVER WILL I DOOOoo OW-“

“Can your arm maybe fall off when you’re not in the middle of the doorway? It’s seriously too hot for this.” Jacob asked, nudging Sangyeon with his leg while he stepped over him.

Grinning, Sangyeon flew to his feet and he and Jacob began bickering as they usually did. Giggling to yourself you brought your bags the rest of the way in, placing them down in your childhood room. It was your last summer break before you graduated with your degree and you decided to spend this one back at home since you were thinking about applying to jobs in other cities. Other people suggested doing internships, but you had been doing them since you began your undergraduate studies. One summer to yourself before another major life change wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Looking around the room there was evidence of the three of you hanging out. It was always Sangyeon, the boy who lived across the street, Jacob, and you, Jacob’s younger sibling. No matter where they went, you were sure to follow. As you walked through your childhood room you couldn’t help but be amazed at how many memories had been laid out by your parents before they went on their cruise. So many years of the dumbest things: mainly you all getting into trouble.

“Ah! I never thought I’d see that mud picture again,” Sangyeon said, startling you.

“Sorry,” Jacob smiled sympathetically, “I could only take so much of his jokes.”

Sangyeon offered you a wink and you caught on.

“Well that’s not the only thing you mmFH-“ your brother’s hand was over your mouth silencing you immediately, but it was too late.

“Whaaat is that what happened with that one-“ Sangyeon laughed before Jacob was covering his mouth next.

“Whoa Cobie I don’t know if I’m the right person for this move,” Sangyeon joked after removing Jacob’s hand from his mouth.

During their playfight Jacob had accidentally covered Sangyeon’s mouth as his back hit the wall. Rolling his eyes, Jacob removed his hand.

“Love you guys, but I really need to unpack and I don’t want to be part of,” you gestured to them, “whatever is happening here.”

“Alright, alright,” ruffling your hair, Jacob nodded at the door and began to leave your room.

“We still on for tomorrow?” Sangyeon asked.

“What’s happening tomorrow?” You questioned, never one to be left out of their plans even if you had literally just gotten back.

“We’re going paddle boarding! I was going to ask if you wanted to come with at dinner,” Jacob replied.

Nodding, you gave them a thumbs up before turning back to your bags full of clothes. As they left you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. This is going to be a great summer.

--

You wake to sounds of rummaging coming from across the hall. Looking at the time, it was 9am and the paddle boarding trip wasn’t until 11 so there was no reason for the rummaging to be so frantic. Sleepily you walked over to Jacob’s room, knocking loud enough for him to hear.

“Everything ok in there?”

A thud hits the door before Jacob appears before you in his work clothes grimacing.

“That’s a weird paddle board suit but I’ll give you a C for the effort,” you mused.

“The boss called me in today,” Jacob said, pushing past you to put his shoes on, “she said that we had a meeting that needed everyone present but forgot to tell me when approving the day off.”

You crossed your arms at this news; your brother’s boss was known for doing this often (at least that’s what Sangyeon told you). He hadn’t been able to hang out much and he requested in advance that he had this day off to spend with you since you were finally in town again, but unfortunately it was a meeting with the upper bosses. Definitely one that couldn’t be missed.

“So what am I supposed to tell Sangyeon?” You frowned, it was only your second day back and you were already going to be the bearer of less than optimal news.

“Tell him I’m so sorry and that Angela forgot that today had an important meeting I couldn’t miss,” he said while ruffling your bedhead.

Swatting at him you gestured towards the front door, “go on, being late is the last thing you’d need after all that.”

“I’ll make it up to you two, I swear,” Jacob said, and you believed him. Jacob always did his best to keep his word and was someone that you knew you could always rely on in troubling times.

Your eyes followed his car out of the driveway, sighing a bit before they landed on a figure who was walking your way. Sangyeon scratched his head as he watched the car pull off before crossing the street to get to you.

“Please don’t tell me-“ he started.

“Angela forgot about an important meeting and he had to go,” you reiterated, frowning slightly. “He said he’d make it up to us, so maybe we should wait for him before we-“

“No way, we should definitely still go,” Sangyeon said, “I already got all my paddle boarding things out and it’s been forever since I’ve seen you..”

He whispered the last part, but it had caught your ear. You had always been fond of Sangyeon. He had been a constant in your life for so long, and the way he was pouting as he looked at you just made you want to wipe it off his face.

“Okay,” you smiled, “but I get the red board.”

“Fiiiiine,” he said with a smile.

“And ice cream”

“Okay now you’re pushing it,” he joked, shoving you with his shoulder.

--

As you both headed to the beach, the topics were overflowing. What you’ve been up to, what your friends were like, if there were any clubs you’d joined other than the ones you were already part of. It struck you as a bit odd since you thought he would have known the answers to these questions but you tell him anyway. He just really enjoys seeing the sparkle in your eyes when you talk about the things you like and he wished, no, hoped that you talked about him like that when your friends talk about home.

Growing up across the street from you was one of the best and worst things that happened to him. One of the best because he never had to look far if he ever missed you, but one of the worst because he fell for his best friend’s sibling and they had no idea. But Jacob wasn’t blind, and he could definitely see the way Sangyeon would quietly care for you when you weren’t paying attention. Adding food to your plate when you would serve everyone else, always making sure you got the comfy seats when the three of you would hang out, suggesting places he knew you’d love because it’s like he had a list in his brain, but most of all he could see the way he hung onto your words, even when he was trying to hide it. Sangyeon always made sure that you felt heard, and that your opinion had weight. Jacob wasn’t sure if you noticed it and didn’t say anything for his sake, but he felt that maybe this meeting was a blessing in disguise.

--

“YA,” you shouted, blocking the wave created by Sangyeon’s paddle with your hands.

Smirking, he began to paddle away, seated comfortably with his legs hanging on either side of the board. You were laying belly down, and he had argued that today was a day for paddle boarding, not for surfing, but you couldn’t be bothered to move. But Sangyeon knew just how to rile you up. He paddled himself in slow circles around you, “accidentally” splashing you with the full force of his paddle, but “I’m just trying to paddleboard here!”

You glared at him, “oh yeah? We should try it standing up. Last one standing has to buy the ice cream.”

You were not giving up on the ice cream.

“If you think you can handle it, let’s go little one,” he said, overconfident and underestimating the power of ice cream.

Sitting up on your board, you slowly get to your feet. It’s a bit shaky considering while you were in school you didn’t have time to surf much less paddleboard, but you find a way. After being firmly planted and balanced, you looked up to acknowledge your childhood friend but what you saw nearly made you fall over and lose immediately. Out of his own sheer determination to win, Sangyeon removed his swim shirt, and began to stand. You shook your head, determined to focus on balancing and definitely not your best friend who looked like he did nothing but work out seven days a week and probably twice a day some days.

“Oh? Don’t mind me, it was just getting hot out here under all this sun,” he grinned, watching you attempt to school your expression.

You snapped your head down to your paddle and after a few seconds of deliberation began to paddle toward him.

“Yknow I knew you missed me but, wait no you can’t that’s-“

You jumped directly on him, his body breaking the water followed by yours. Instead of holding on, you kicked your legs in order to reach the surface faster. You were laughing so hard your lungs hurt. The incredulous look on his face paired with seeing his larger form try so hard to use his little paddle to get away was too much for you to handle. You held onto his board and laid your head on it, trying to catch your breath before he surfaced. You always felt like a kid around him. He brought out a piece of you that allowed your inner child to shine and be happy. You knew in life you would always have your brother, but along with him, you would always have your Sangyeon. The waves shifted, and you felt two arms cage your form.

“That was SUCH a cheap move,” he whispered, his breath fanning your ear. He wasn’t touching you, but the proximity was making your head spin. He rested his chin on your left shoulder, feigning a pout.

Drawing in a shaky breath to steady yourself, you turned to face him.

“There weren’t any rules, so I guess you’re buying ice cream,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at him just like when you were kids.

He chuckled lowly, absolutely able to see that he was affecting you just as much as you affected him.

“On one condition”

“Depends”

“It’s a date”

a/n: WHEW this was brewing in my brain all week but I wasn't able to get to my laptop much. i made sangyeon a bit goofier here but i feel like his cute goofy side does shine when he's with less people or even just that one person he's got his eye on ;) i hope i did him some justice 💗 thank you so much for loving the ateez fic, i hope u have a wonderful day ^^

--

creds: divider 1, divider 2

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