#<- he is not worth this passionate defense

[kraniumet]

had to physically hold myself back from defending strindbergs interior design sense yesterday btw

[3416]

I really love equally 16-34-88.

It’s interesting the interchanging of the attitude of the fans and media towards William and Mitch.

For years, William was criticized over and over again. His relaxed and laid back attitude. His game. And his contract year back in 2018, he was in those trenches. And anyone who said anything positive about him was called crazy. And also, Don Cherry and his low key like discriminatory remarks due to the fact that he was Swedish and not the tough goon kind of playing style. He was also kind of the « guinea pig » (always changing line mates, and lines—and last year we saw that too, he’s always moving and they always throw new stuff) and he was , out of the core, the punching bag.

Now, Mitchy has always been criticized because of the toxic hyper masculine mindset of many hockey fans: he’s boyish and not buff and tough and all that jazz. But, he never got the hate and disrespect that he is getting at the end of last season and right now. He was however still well liked and respected and was often associated to Auston and scene in a more favorable light. He was second to Auston in the « it » boy factor. If this NHL documentary was made 2-3 years ago, Mitch would have been considered.

If you would have told that the Toronto fans and media would be all over William two seasons ago, I would have laughed. Like never would I have thought that I would see the day where people would actually give him credit and actually respect him and see the great things he adds. I love seeing that , but at what cost? For Mitch to become the punching bag of the team?

Fans are now saying how amazing Willy is and now figuring out that he is a good player and cool. But those same fans, a couple years ago were dragging him through the mud saying how useless he was and how he needed to get traded. And they liked Mitch. And they respected him. But now, you’ve « always hated Mitch Marner », « He should be traded ».

And I fear that it will always be this: once Mitch will be in the public’s good graces, something with William will happen and back to Mitch. It’s always been like this and will always stay this way. I don’t know why, I guess that’s the dynamic the city chose.

Even when it came to the core’s contracts: Willy and Mitchy always get this EXTRA je ne sais quoi. Like this extra negative energy and they can never satisfy anyone. They are greedy weaklings or whatever.

Also, I was thinking about Auston captaincy and it reminded me about how he was heavily considered in 2019 but the whole allegations and the story about him harassing this woman when he was drunk ruined that chance. And, people did criticize him and he got scrutinized. But, it kind of, I think, it fizzled away pretty quickly within the Toronto scene considering how heavy that story was. It doesn’t haunt him.

Now, if it was Mitch or William, people would bring it up and it would tarnish them way more. They could not escape it.

Sorry for the long ass rant, it’s just so funny and frustrating: if one gains recognition, the other one has to go down.

gonna start out by saying i don't think mitch/auston/other ppl weren't asked about the doc. i think they're way more private esp in a time that was gearing up for the playoffs, lol. and i think anyone with a brain right now knows mitch is still the second best player on the leafs. everyone just gets high off point totals alone from the prior seasons.. like i seriously saw ppl claiming matthew tkachuk would be drafted higher than auston after the 22-23 season, lolll.

i agree there's a divide about them in the coverage and i have a lot of thoughts of my own about this too. i'm not a longterm leafs fan beyond the past couple of years so i can't speak to how willy or mitch were treated before 2022 beyond old headlines/stuff i've seen but not lived through, but i've definitely been here for the shift about mitch lately and well...

i think some of it is by virtue of them playing the same position. everyone 'has an issue' with the core 4 (ive never understood who the fuck the core 4 even refers to.. sometimes its about the forwards, sometimes its about the leadership group flkdjsklf... whatever fits the current narrative ig) being all forwards and taking up the cap bc that's not 'proven', but it's such a bullshit excuse. i think if you look at their contract situations of the past, willy did a lot of things mitch is getting shit for now, lol. he did hold out into the season for money while mitch gets lambasted for using that as a negotiation tactic (which again.. i wasnt around for those negotiations and i get it was ugly to ... leak or use public perception or whatever but) on those first contracts. willy's father was also involved in his holding out in the most recent negotiations but that's not smth i see thrown around at him despite every comment under every post about mitch including paul's name without him so much as uttering the word contract, lol. it's frustrating to me to see the double standards at this point. i understand longtime fans have lived through shit about willy, but i have a hard time imagining the vitriol levels of right now being topped. it's just every single day about every single thing compounded by the fact that leafs fans have even less hope than they used to bc of how many years in a row they've lost.

i admittedly don't love them equally at all, and if anything, the fanfare about willy the past year has made me like him less. it's not really his fault but i do think he's slightly overpaid now (and watching ppl now claim mitch has to take willys deal or less is hilarious) and overhyped for what he actually brings. his playoff stats are being overrated too. since it all comes at a cost to mitch in the media, it's been way worse to watch for me and unavoidable that i come away feeling negative about him, lol.

i'd be interested to see if the tides ever do turn back toward willy now that he's bulked up, grown facial hair, proven he can score with an up-to-this-point useless clutchness. i doubt they will, but i have a hard time envisioning what's gonna happen after mitch signs an extension and who will become the scapegoat w players locked up for more years. the constant hate has to get exhausting at some point, right? like jflkjdsklf... but not with leaf fans so who knows what will happen. i can't really say what would have happened if mitch or willy were ever involved in scandal like that, but i think if it happened right now, ppl would be ready to forgive willy for anything and sentence mitch to death over nothing so. some people were blaming him for his own carjacking when it happened like.. lol. i can't see into the future but all i know is i'm VERY fed up with the way coverage and reaction is right now. and i don't even think the media is an accurate depiction of how a lot of fans feel about any of it, but if it's hammered home enough... idk.

[hahaifolded]

141 x POC!GN Intelligence Operative - The Beginning of the End (Long Drabble) Author's Notes: I got so many thoughts on this so bear with me. I didn't have the brain power to write this as a full fic so accept the various drabbles that will come out of this concept. Also If anyone has done this before, please let me know! I would love to read that! Warnings: MDNI, Sexual Themes, Slight Violence, Angst

You're currently on a probationary period to be the permanent Intelligence Operative for Task Force 141. Despite being trained and recommended by Kate Laswell herself, Laswell found a hard time finding a team that would treat you with the level of respect you were warranted as many saw you as a glorified assistant.

Frustrated by the blatant disrespect, Laswell calls Price, despite knowing that he doesn't like to work with strangers. After singing your praises and promising him that he would not be disappointed, Price concedes and decides to give you a chance. If after a year you managed to prove your worth, you would earn yourself a permanent position on his team.

But by the 3-month mark, Price and the rest of the team knew you were here to stay. They honestly couldn't believe that no one wanted to work with you. You were exactly everything that Laswell promised... heck, even more if you asked any of the 141.

You were always on top of your work as well as the boys', even jumping in when it got too much. Your attention to detail was impeccable as you managed to save the team both time and resources from faulty intel or bad leads. But, what really cemented your place on the team was the way you managed to worm yourself in each of their hearts. 

Before Soap even had a chance to pursue you, you sought him out first. Whenever you had a problem, instead of calling the Captain, or the Lieutenant, or even the older Sergeant, you always called him first, the Sergeant that still feels like he has a lot to prove. And when Johnny asks why, you say that he's already proven himself, which makes his heart soar. So of course, the Scotsman thinks of you when he's thinking of strategies to suggest or jokes to pull out during the next meeting. 

And when Kyle asked for your attention, you gave it without hesitation. While everyone else on base focuses on Soap's jokes, Price's wisdom, or Ghost's commands, you eagerly wait for Gaz' input, conscious of what it feels like to be talking while no one listens. You are enamored by everything he has to say, giving him your utmost attention, a rare thing for the Sergeant. Even when he pushes back on orders, you're the first one to listen and ask the rest of the team to just consider. So of course, Kyle looks for you whenever his mind begins to race.

And when Price falters, you're there to pick him up, never with an ounce of judgement. You're the first in his office, with a coffee or snack in hand (since you know he's probably forgotten to eat), and the last to leave it, putting as much time and heart in strategizing as he does. You remind him that he deserves to rest as much as his boys and that you'll never see him as less when his Captain persona cracks. So of course, when John finally has a chance to unwind, he thinks of you and your warm smile.

And finally, when Ghost tries to intimidate you, you stand your ground. You were aware of his reputation, but it didn't really phase you. He wasn't the first person that's tried to unnerve you. But instead of scaring you off, you managed to intimidate him after he catches you chewing out two rookies for bad-mouthing him. When he confronts you and asks why the passionate defense, you just shrug, reasoning that that's what teammates do. He has your back and you have his. So of course, Ghost becomes your shadow, jumping for the chance to protect you.

That's why when you're all at a bar, celebrating your 4 months with the team, the guys are loving by the fact that you drank more than usual. You've become much more bold in your affection for each of them. And they won't lie and say that they didn't like the heavy-handed compliments or even the intimate touches. However, it's when you start talking about a future with them that their patience nearly snaps.

"You know I'd gladly marry any of you." You admit as you finish your 7th beer. With your laughter in the background, they all still as they imagine what that would be like. Dressing up and waiting for you at the altar, his breath held in anticipation for you to bless the place and his life with your presence. Going to your now-shared home and taking you over, and over, and over, and over again until your body is leaking with his spent. Willingly giving you his mind, body, and soul for as long as the world allows him as a sign of gratitude for choosing him when you could have picked anyone else. They all stare at you as they all realize how badly they wanted to snatch you up and make this a reality.

You're so drunk, you fail to notice your teammates' hungry stares. But, they don't. Jealousy seeps in their bones as they realize that their captain, their lieutenant, their sergeant, and their fellow sergeant were all thinking the same thing.

So obviously, infighting starts. They still manage to get their work done but now it's a competition to see who can earn your praise. Now, the Captain's orders become suggestions. The Lieutenant's bark is just that. The sergeants' playful snips turn into snarls. The growing need to put the other in their place festers in each and every one of them. It's not great, but it's manageable... until it's not.

While Price and Ghost are arguing over the plans for the next mission, they get called into the gym. On entrance, they find Soap and Kyle lunging at the other's throat. Price grabs Kyle and Ghost grabs Johnny, pulling the two SAS soldiers off from one another. The damage isn't serious, but it's there: Kyle's lip is torn and the corner of Soap's eyes is bleeding. It's clear they're not done yet as Kyle snarls at the Scotsman, telling him that you would never go for a fool like him. Soap retaliates and barks that you wouldn't go for a wimp like Gaz.

Realizing what's happening to his team, Price calls an emergency meeting in his office. With all men inside, the room is tense. No one speaks.

"We need to put a stop to this," admits Price with a heavy weight in his heart. As captain, he knows that for the sake of the task force, tough decisions have to be made. They were soldiers first before men. The men shrink under his gaze, realizing what has to be done.

"So from here on out, they're off limits. Whatever relationship you have with them, end it." Kyle and Soap open their mouths to argue, but Price quickly silences them.

"And if you can't control yourself, I'll have them transferred. Understood?" John felt his stomach lurch with his statement. He couldn't imagine kicking you off the team, but he had to push that feeling aside right now. If him and his men didn't get their shit together, innocent people would suffer.

"Yes sir," grunts out Ghost. He slowly makes his way to the door.

Soap nods his head, eyes sharp and jaw tense. He's right behind the Lieutenant.

Gaz waits a bit and stares Price down. "You sure about this?" he spits at his captain.

Returning the stare, Price stands firm on his decision. "Positive. It's what best for the team." Gaz just nods and walks out, slamming the door behind him.

You're not entirely sure what happened in that emergency meeting, but with the way the guys walked out of Price's office, you knew it wasn't good. Ghost walks past you, completely ignoring you. Soap looks at you but quickly turns his head when your eyes meet his. And Gaz shoots you a grimace, but doesn't say a word.

Despite not knowing what happened that day, you quickly feel its consequences.

Word Count: 1310

More Thoughts - Next Thought

[entitled-fangirl]

War.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Summary: Cregan returns back to Winterfell after the Dance of the Dragons, eager to see his wife once more.

Warnings: talks of death, fighting, blood, talk of sex

Masterlist

……………………………….

Cregan rode his horse as close to the doors of Winterfell as he possibly could, intent on getting in as fast as possible.

He had been at war for months now, almost a year, and he was ready to see his wife once more.

The nights spent by campfire in the cold would be worth every moment.

But when she was not outside waiting for him, he was confused.

He jumped from his horse, throwing the reigns to anyone who would take them and ran inside.

He was instantly met with the maester.

"Welcome back, my lord."

Cregan have a victorious smile, "Good morrow. The battle has been won. I'm curious why my wife was not awaiting my arrival? I sent a raven ahead of me."

The maester nodded, "Ah, yes. The raven. The message was received, my lord."

He completely paused, thrown off, "Then? Where is she?"

"Let us walk, my lord."

Cregan became defensive, "Where is she? I won't ask again."

"Please, walk with me."

He felt a pain in his chest but he nodded and moved alongside the maester back outside.

The maester sighed, "I was asked to be the one to tell you, and this information is not easy to tell, I'm afraid."

Cregan nodded as he took in every word fervently.

"Lady Stark found herself with child not long after you left."

He had considered this. Their last night together was a passionate one, and he often spent his nights after under the stars, imagining her swollen with his seed.

"Why did I not receive news of this?"

"I advised her against doing such a thing. You needed to remain focused on the task ahead."

He scoffed, "My wife was with child! I deserved to know!" He paused in his step with a worried gaze. "Where… where is it now? What happened to it?"

"It's a healthy boy, my lord."

Cregan let out a relieved breath, "Thank the gods. I was frightened."

The maester took a long breath in thought, "The pregnancy went quite well. She did all the right things."

"…But?"

"But…" The maester grimaced, "She was not equipped well for giving birth. We had to make a choice."

Cregan felt ringing in his ears. Like his throat had been slit from behind. No breath moved in or out of his body. "W… What?"

"I'm sorry, my lord. She did not make it."

Cregan's knees buckled and he fell to the ground.

"I understand this is hard to hear, but you have a son. An heir! You must celebrate!"

"CELEBRATE?" He roared as he looked up to the maester with teary eyes. "CELEBRATE DEATH AT MY DOORSTEP WITHOUT MY KNOWLEDGE?"

"My lord, please calm yourself."

Cregan slammed his fist into the ground, "My wife is dead." A look came over his face, "You said… You said you chose."

"Aye, my lord. We did."

"Who?" He growled. "Who exactly chose a child over my wife?"

"I made the final say. I considered listening to her pleas, but once I saw it was a boy, I knew it would be worth it."

She had tried to survive. To live.

"What did she say?" He asked lowly.

"That…" the maester paused. "Perhaps it is too soon to speak of these things."

He stood on shaky knees in anger. His voice was low and predatory, "You marred her perfect skin. You hurt her. You MURDERED HER!"

He rushed forward and threw a punch to the man's jaw, watching him fall to the ground.

But that did not stop Cregan.

He straddled the man, throwing punch and punch, "SHE'S DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!"

Eventually, a few men pulled Cregan away despite his fighting back.

But he quickly collapsed from grief.

…

He rocked the sleeping boy back and forth in his arms, cursing every time the babe looked up at him with the same eyes as his dead mother.

He had fought endlessly for a war that wasn't his, not knowing a war had been fought in his own house without him.

…………………………….

Cregan Stark taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @callsignwidow, @8812-342, @nyxbranwenn, @thorins-queen-of-erebor

[twistyfish]

Rest

Zayne x MC

The door slammed behind you and you tried to kick your boots off before realizing you couldn’t, because they were zipped and buckled on. With a huff, you bent down and yanked on the short ribbons of belt around your ankles, ripping the metal apart and unceremoniously unzipping your boots before throwing them in the corner.

After scrubbing your hands, you practically threw yourself onto the couch next to Zayne.

“I’m going to kill myself.”

Zayne gave you that disapproving doctoral look. “I told you to stop saying that.”

“I’m going to kill somebody.”

He sighed, reaching out to rub your shoulder. “What happened?”

“All of this week’s reports got deleted and now I look incompetent. Tara and Xavier are trying to help me rewrite them, but it’s hard to do it from scratch. Bethany told me she would report me to Captain Jenna, as if it’s my fault the reports disappeared.”

He grimaced. “All of them?”

“All of them.”

The hand that was massaging your shoulder wrapped around to your other shoulder and pulled you in to rest on his. “I’m sorry. That sounds frustrating,” came his soft voice.

“Has something like this ever happened to you?”

He thought for a minute. “Yes. I once had all of a patient’s files get misplaced. Thankfully, I was able to print new ones, but my notes were all gone. Since then, I take notes electronically. Is there something similar you could do to ensure this doesn’t happen again in the future?”

“I wasn’t careless. There’s nothing I could have done differently,” you said a tad defensively.

“I understand. But perhaps you could make copies of such documents next time?”

You sat up and looked at him incredulously. “Why are you making this out to be my fault? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I did no such thing. All I did was suggest you take preventative measures later. I would advise you to take a chill pill.”

You exhaled and rubbed your forehead. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just really tired.” Your eyes were stinging; you didn’t know if it was with sleep or with tears.

“I’m just really sick of feeling like a scapegoat when things go wrong, you know?” You said with a scratchy voice. “I swear I’m doing the best I can and it’s never enough.”

“I know, darling. You always put everything into the things you care about. I would be the last to doubt your passion for your work.”

Zayne gently pulled you into his embrace, cupping your head in his large hand and guiding it to rest against his collarbone. His fingers tangled in your hair and massaged your scalp soothingly.

“You are enough. You are more than enough. Your teammates value your tenacity and hard work, and I value your every decision. You are worth more than your work.”

You curled into his embrace, and he picked up a blanket from the pouf in front of you and draped it over you.

“Just rest.”

And you did.

[zablife]

I'll Never Learn

Benny Cross x gf reader

Benny Cross Masterlist

Summary: Benny's always taking off without warning so Kathy advises you to break up with him and move on with your life. When he returns from his latest trip, you have a decision to make.

Warnings: physical argument (Benny would never hurt you, don't worry), angst with a fluffy ending

The evening shadows were creeping over the houses along your quiet street, reminding you another day had passed without a word from Benny. You stubbed out your cigarette before turning to face another dinner for one in front of the television. By now the familiarity of the routine had almost numbed you to the aching loneliness, but not quite.

Just when you thought you'd forgotten him, there were always little reminders of Benny somewhere, like the back of the kitchen drawer when you searched for a spatula this morning. You'd sobbed over a matchbox from the bar where you'd met Benny, fingertips lingering over the raised print as Kathy passed you the mixing bowl along with some well-meaning advice.

"I hate to say it, honey, but he's not worth it. I mean, he's out there doin' God knows what. Should be here with you once in awhile, right? With all you do for him," she shook her head, indicating toward the pots and pans.

"Find a man who's gonna treat ya right. It's the least ya deserve after puttin' up with this nonsense for a year," she said, patting your hand sympathetically.

You allowed the memory to float away with the lingering smoke, fingers closing around the edge of the front door when you heard it. The unmistakable rumble of an engine rattling the glass in the windows and the fragile heart you were trying so desperately to heal. Taking a deep breath to quell the ache in your chest, you found a flame of rage catching fire instead of the passion that you used to feel upon his return.

Whipping around to face your boyfriend, you found him at the steps, staring up at you with a sheepish grin.

"I'm home, baby," he announced softly, waiting for you to fall into his arms. Those faded baby blues trained on you in hopes of forgiveness you'd given so many times before, but this time you couldn't, the words Kathy had said hours earlier ringing in your ears.

"Benny, don't," you warned him, holding up your hand to stop him from giving whatever bullshit excuse was going to tumble from his lips next. Leaving him standing on the porch with a look of confusion creasing his brow, you stormed inside to gather your things.

His hesitation only lasted a moment before taking the stairs two at a time to run after you into the house. As his foot collided with your suitcase, his voice swelled with urgency, your name echoing off the walls. Bewildered at the sight, he uttered, "You're leavin'?"

"I can't do this anymore Benny," you informed him, hands crossed over your chest as you stared blankly at the floor.

"Do what?" he asked mindlessly, only catching on when your gaze shifted to the door. "You're mad cause I took a ride?" he asked incredulously. "Johnny asked me to--" he began defensively, but you weren't in the mood.

"While I'm here?" you shouted, the frustration building inside you as he stepped closer.

"Where else would you be, darlin'?" he asked with a nervous laugh, never having seen you like this before. He was on edge, unsure how to take this sudden turn in your behavior.

Blood now boiling after his flippant response, you looked up at him with fire in your eyes.

"I'm always here waiting for you to come back" you fumed, throwing up your hands as you added "....or not." Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you willed them not to fall as you explained, "I need somethin' more. I want you home from now on."

There it was, the ultimatum you'd been afraid to give before. After all, you weren't married, but if he wanted you in his life, this was how it would have to be.

Benny stood so still, you could scarcely tell if he was breathing. He blinked back at you slowly, nostrils flaring as he growled, "You can't tell a man somethin' like that. Look at Betty. She don't tell Johnny what to do!"

"Well I'm not Betty!" you retorted.

"You sure ain't," he seemed to agree, breathing out a heavy sigh as he turned away.

"You're an asshole," you seethed, pacing to the kitchen. "Kathy was right, you don't appreciate me and you never have."

Catching sight of the chocolate cake you decorated with little cherries on top, something inside you snapped.

"You don't care about anything!" Without another word, you reached for the cake plate at your elbow and threw it against the wall. Flinching as it shattered, Benny's hands grasped your shoulders to keep your arm from reaching the stack of plates next to it.

As you struggled, you fell to your knees, dangerously close to the broken shards that glistened under the fluorescent lighting. Benny pulled you up as you hissed out a warning.

"Get off me," you spat through clenched teeth, a look of fury in your eyes, but his muscular arms had already encircled you. Thrashing against him, you bucked and kicked at him, but he was too strong for you.

"Stop fightin' me," he barked, backing you away from the shattered glass to the adjacent wall. You couldn't hear anything except the sound of rushing blood in your ears and your own labored breathing as he pinned you against the peeling wallpaper. His right knee wedged between your legs and his hip dug into yours as he brought your arms above your head to immobilize you.

Your heart slammed against your ribcage, close enough for the reverberations to carry through to Benny. It was then he truly saw the pain beneath your eyes as hot, heavy tears collected along your lash line.

"Baby...baby, please, don't," he pleaded, face pinched in anguish. For a moment you thought a tear might trickle down his cheek as well.

"Is this wh-what we are now?" you asked with quivering lip. "Two people who can't even talk to each other without a fight?"

He drew in a deep breath to steady himself, head shaking softly before he could find the words to reassure you. Then his voice rumbled up from his chest in the soothing way you knew and loved.

"We're not like that and we never will be," he promised, eyes piercing into your soul with such earnestness, you ceased all movement under him.

Relinquishing the tight grasp he held on your wrists, he rocked back, allowing you to drop your hands to your sides as he cast his eyes downward.

"Kathy was right, you know, I don't deserve you," he said, voice dripping with guilt. He reached out slowly for your left hand, sliding his fingers between yours as he admitted, "You're too precious for a man like me."

"Oh, Benny," you sighed, chin tilted toward the ceiling tiles. He could be charming when he wanted to be and that had always been your downfall.

"But Kathy don't know anything about the way I love you." He murmured, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand reverently. "You mean everything to me and I'm gonna show you." His touch was so gentle, you could have closed your eyes and slumbered there in peace, forgetful of all the days before, yet something deep inside still tugged at you.

"I want to believe you, but you make it so hard sometimes," you admitted, chewing your bottom lip nervously. He tilted his head to listen carefully as you poured your heart out to him.

"You don't know what it's like to worry day and night if I'm ever gonna see you again. And I don't know if it's because you're hurt or in jail or..." you stopped to swallow the lump in your throat "or if you just don't love me anymore."

He ran a hand through your hair, large palm resting at the nape of your neck as he nodded in understanding. "M so sorry I ever made you think that."

You fidgeted with the zipper on his jacket as he said something you hadn't expected to hear. "That's over now, alright? No more."

"What did you say?" you exclaimed, eyes shooting up to meet his.

"No more takin' off. I want to be here with you. If you'll stay too?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at your suitcase with trepidation.

Your eyes followed his to the bag, staring for a long moment as you considered your decision. However, if you were honest with yourself, you'd already made up your mind. "I'll never learn," you muttered under your breath.

"Is that a yes?" he asked hopefully, leaning into your gentle nod to steal a kiss.

[yanoverload]

Yandere Serial Killer

Here everyone! Again sorry for the mess with changing the order of release, but it is what it is, anyway *punching yandere serial killer into a pulp cutely*

I love detective x serial killer, but I always wanted to see a defense lawyer x serial killer, you two have the same principle, but took different paths you know? 

Also the hate from one and obsession from the other. Yummy.

Being a defense attorney was a herculean task sometimes.

Accusing people of anything is the easiest part, you thought, but to defend someone you just met a few weeks ago? Exhausting.

But you never got into law school to have an easy job. You made it so far, so you could bring justice to the crooked system.

Your father was accused of a crime he never committed, put on death row when you were still a babe. Never will your family forget the looks of disgust received. It's easy to frame a poor family. Imagine the anguish the rich guy, your dad's boss, the one that actually did the deed, must feel.

As if. He is probably snickering at how his attorney was worth every corrupted dime.

Never should anyone go through the tears your grandparents did when they had to say goodbye to their only son. Never again will your mom be ostracized for being a single mother, the wife of a criminal.

Defending the injusticed was your life goal, to bring the actual monsters to their own consequences was your pride and joy, and damn were you good at your job.

But things got a bit mixed when corpses started to show up.

Before the culprits you helped sentence could pay for their deeds, they would be found dead, put in a twisted artistic display by the freak that did it.

Exhausting.

Thank fuck you had strong alibis and a great reputation amongst the public, because if not, you figured you would be suspect number 0.

Whoever did it, was apparently playing vigilante with your own life. And you hated it.

But people talk. And they were starting to love it.

It's funny how public justice works sometimes. That was never your intent. It started as a form of revenge sure, but it was first and foremost to help the disgraced.

When your dad's old boss was found mushed beyond recognition is when your mind decided enough was enough.

You tell the people closest to you, your police colleagues, other lawyers you respect, the forensic doctors you spent nights with, that you plan to resign.

They tell you not to, that you should keep doing what you love. But you can't handle the guilt anymore. 

Saying goodbye to the police chief after your conversation about the retirement, you find a letter at your doorstep. It smells like fancy perfume. You are certain it is only a family member of one of your clients, but how would they know where you live?

The letter was like those with cut magazine letters, and you feel a shiver down your spine. While you read, you feel like you're being watched.

"Why would you retire? I did for you silly. To see your work, you defend the innocent. You don't understand how we are one in the same.

How would you feel if an innocent was convicted and you did nothing, because you left the law? Because it CAN happen."

You feel your blood rising, and you crumpled the letter full of hate

This motherfucker. They are worse than hell on earth.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Some more facts about him! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Heo Dae-ho (name is Dae-ho, surname is Heo) is a prodigy law student, he has everything, money, looks, and an influential family. 

His mom is a heart surgeon, his dad a forensic doctor.

His parents are strict but loving. They would do anything for their baby boy.

At first they were worried that Dae-ho would be a bum, since even though at school he was captain of the swimming team, had multiple trophies in whatever you could imagine, he had no passion in his steps.

They knew their child was different. But what else could they do apart from loving him and raising him? They also had an image to maintain.

That was until he mentioned wanting to go to law school. Dad was happy, it wasn't medical school, but it was still a great choice.

Mom thanked the gods her son wouldn't touch those in need of medical care, but she would never say that.

His parents are Korean immigrants. He can speak English and Korean, a bit of French.

Never had any flings at college. He is saving himself for you.

Probably has a fanclub of people that love him at college, and one for his.... Other persona.

Has been in your trials before to "learn".

Height: 181 cm (5'11 feet)

[risuola]

Ever felt like there’s a hint of… evil inside you? That spark of darkness that burns bright within your soul, that tries to tear through your mind and get out to the world? This month is about each and every one of you — the strong and the snappy, the mean and the confident but also about you, who wish to be on top every once in a while. We will be taming the brats, asserting dominance and making the strongest — weak. ⋯ reader discretion is advised

a/n: there is no schedule, though I hope and plan to post once a week for the duration of the month; the details of the fics might change a little and i will add content warnings soon. please be patient with me and enjoy!

HANDCUFFS AND ALIBIS || GOJO SATORU

Usually, you know the houses that are worth your time and the ones that are a big no-no. Sometimes though, mistakes happen and to your defense, that 27 really did look like 77. || policeman!satoru x burglar!reader, wc. 5k

FEELIN' LUCKY || GETO SUGURU

He’s known for changing girls like socks, mocking the broken hearts and playing around. That’s until he gets a little sample of what it’s like to be on the other side of the equation. || frat boy!suguru x nerd!reader, wc. 9k

RUSH || SUKUNA RYOMEN

He’s undeniably the strongest cowboy in the wild coast. He holds the reigns, his reputation speaks for itself – he’s violent, he’s rowdy, he’s dominant. That’s until he entered the saloon and you put him in his place. || cowboy!sukuna x bartender!reader

ROSE, SCENT, KISS || FUSHIGURO TOJI

The story of the highest levels of sexual tension. The unbridled passion that’s bubbling under the thin layer of professionalism and authority, a fruit that is as forbidden as it is sweet. || secretary!toji x ceo!reader

[evertomorrowart]

Best of YouTube 2023

Yes, I did spend the first week and change of January on this. I wish I could have had it done for New Years, but too many people came out with incredible work in December, so waiting turned out for the best.

What these creators do are a huge influence on my life, I would honestly have difficulty doing what I do without them. That isn't to say that my favorites of the year are *only* on this image--It was almost impossible to narrow down my favorites. Many creators I wanted to include couldn't fit on a single page, and too many of them made more than one video I wished I could draw too!

But, to all of you, thank you for what you do. You're an inspiration.

For those who don't know, further is an explanation.

At the bottom center is an artistic masterpiece by Defunctland: "Journey to EPCOT Center: A Symphonic History." Over the last several years, Defunctland has risen from delightfully-entertaining commentary on decommissioned theme park attractions to occasionally dropping profound statements on the creation of art itself. "Journey to EPCOT Center: A Symphonic History" is worth treating like the cinematic experience it is: No second screen, you sit your ass down in front of a TV, set down the phone, and then you *watch it.* Any Disney, theme park, or independent film fan needs to pay attention to this one.

Bottom left is Caelan Conrad with their piece "Drop the T - The Deadly Consequences of Gay Respectability Politics." While I do think they've done more visually or artistically-daring pieces before, "Drop the T" is one of the most important videos released on YouTube in today's current climate of hate. We as queer folk (and our allies) need to understand how integral every identity of the queer experience has been since the start of the Civil Rights movement (and before!). While we are not identical, we *are* inseparable, and we deserve having our real history easily accessible.

TERFs and other conservative mouthpieces need not reply. Your opinions are trash. 😘

I cannot stop watching and rewatching this video by @patricia-taxxon, "On the Ethics of Boinking Animal People." It's not just a defense of furry fandom and its eccentricities, it's a thoughtful and passionate analysis of what the artform achieves that purely human representation can't. Patricia goes outside of her usual essay format to directly speak to the viewer about the elements that define furry media (the most succinct definition I've ever heard) and just how *human* an act loving animal cartoons really is.

As an artist who can draw furry characters, but never really got into erotic furry art, this video is a treasure. Why did I choose to have her drawn as a Ghibli character, hanging out with one of the tanukis from "Pom Poko?" Guess you'll have to watch, bruh.

Philosophy Tube continuously puts out videos that I would put on this list--I'm not even sure that "A Man Plagiarised my Work: Women, Money, and the Nation" is the best work she released in 2023. However, this video got many conversations going between myself and my partner, and the twist on the tail end of the video shocked us both to such a degree that I had no choice.

At the very tail end of the year, Big Joel released "Fear of Death." On his Little Joel channel, he described it as the singularly best video he's ever done, and I'm inclined to agree. However, for this illustration, I ended up repeatedly going back to a mini-series he did earlier in the year: "Three Stories at the End of the World." All three videos are deeply moving and haunting, and I was brought to tears by "We Must Destroy What the Bomb Cannot." While it may be relatively-common knowledge that the original Gojira (Godzilla) film is horror grappling with the devastation America's rush to atomic dominance inflicted on Japan, Big Joel still manages to bring new words to the discussion. Please watch all three of the videos, but if, for some reason, you must have only one, let it be "We Must Destroy What the Bomb Cannot."

Y'all. Let me confess something. I hate football. I hate watching it, I associate seeing it from the stadiums with some of my worst childhood experiences, I despise collegiate and professional football (as institutions that destroy bodies and offer up children at the feet of its alter as a pillar of American culture)--

I. L o a t h e. Football.

But.

F.D. Signifier could get me to watch an entire hour-plus essay on why I should at least give a passing care. AND HE DID IT. I might think "F*ck the Police," the two-parter on Black conservatism, or his essay on Black men's connection to anime might be "better" videos, but this writer did the impossible and held my limited attention span towards football long enough to make a sincere case for NFL players--and reminds us that millionaires can *in fact* be workers. That alone is testament to his skill.

Sit down and watch "The REAL Reason NFL Running Backs Aren't Getting Paid." Any good anti-capitalist owes it to themselves.

CJ the X continuously puts out stunning, emotional videos, and can do it with the most seemingly-inconsequential starting points. A 30 second song? An incestuous commercial? Five minutes of Tangled? Sure, why not. Go destroy yourself emotionally by watching them. I'm serious. Do it.

Their video Stranger Things and the Meaning of Life manages to to remind us all why the way we react to media does, in fact, matter. Yes, even nostalgia-driven, mass-media schlock. Yes, how we interact with media matters, what it says about us matters, and we all deserve to seek out the whys.

Folding Ideas has spent the last few years articulating exactly why so much of our modern world feels broken, and because of that his voice continuously lives rent-free in my brain. While the tricks that scam artists and grifters use to try to swindle us are never new, the advancement of technology changes the aesthetics of their performances. Portions of Folding Ideas' explanations might seem dry when going into detail of how stocks work in This is Financial Advice, but every bit of it is necessary to peel back the layers of techno-babble and jargon and make sense of the results of "Meme Stocks."

Jessie Gender puts out nothing but bangers, her absolute unit of a video about Star Wars might be my new favorite thing ever, but none of her work hit so profoundly in 2023 than the two-parter "The Myth of 'Male Socialization'" and "The Trauma of Masculinity." There's so much about modern life that isolates and traumatizes us, and so much of it is just shrugged off as "normal." We owe it to ourselves to see the world in more vivid a color palette than we're initially given.

Panels drawn after Kate Beaton and "Ducks: Two Years in the Oil Sands."

"This is Not a Video Essay" is one of the most intense and beautiful pieces of art I've ever put into my eyeballs. Why do we create? What drives us to connect?

I don't even know what else to say about the Leftist Cooks' work, it repeatedly transcends the medium and platform. Watch every single one of their videos, but especially this one.

The likelihood you are terminally online and yet haven't heard of Hbomberguy's yearly forrays into destroying the careers of awful people is pretty slim. Just because it has millions of views doesn't mean that Hbomberguy's "Plagiarism and You(Tube)" isn't worth the hype. Too long? Shut up, it has chapters and YouTube holds your place, anyway. You think a deep dive into a handful of creators is only meaningless drama? Well, you're wrong, you wrong-opinion-haver. Plagiarism is an *everyone* problem because of the actual harm it creates--the history it erases, the labor it devalues, the art it marginalizes--which you would know if you watched "Plagiarism and You(Tube)".

Watch. The damn. Video.

In fact, watch all of them!

Thanks for reading this if you did.

[ddarker-dreams]

mini love report — blade

relationship health diagnosis — 65%*

symptom one — fiercely protective

someone could accidentally bump into you and he'd be willing to kill them. they'd better hope it was on accident, or they'll receive a visit later that night, regardless of your de-escalation. ever since his flesh merged with an abomination, he's held nothing sacred. orders are wordlessly received and executed. so when you stumbled along, knocking him off his equilibrium in the process, he had to latch onto something. you ended up being that 'something.'

he isn't confident in his abilities as a romantic partner. he considers himself unsightly, a blight upon the universe itself. then there's you... doing whatever it is you do... like complimenting a house plant that's been growing well recently. how did he ever catch your attention? it's baffling. nonetheless, this self-perceived gap in value has him eager to prove his worth the one way he can — bloodshed.

kafka's taken to calling him your guard dog, much to his chagrin (he doesn't deny the claim). despite how it reduces him to little more than a weapon, he prides himself on his ability to keep you safe. he won't ever come outright and admit it, though; he knows it'd sadden you.

symptom two — OMS (old man syndrome)

two pop references in a single sentence is enough to make your elderly bf stare at you as if you've spoken another language. go easy on him, he isn't hip with the times. it isn't that he's ignorant to technology, he navigates it just fine. the social media aspect and the trends that come with it are another story. he's never cared for it. should silver wolf broach the topic in his vicinity, he tunes her out.

you, however, have been given the rare privilege of never being ignored. not even if you're explaining why you enjoy a game where you've indebted to a raccoon. you might think he's uninterested, given his poker face, but don't be fooled. he's quietly absorbing your every word. one night, you'll find a plush raccoon sitting on your bed. you have to give him points for effort.

symptom three — acquiescent

blade will do just about anything you ask. he defaults to your preferences on everything from activities together to your meals. for the longest time, you mistook this for apathy on his part. why doesn't he take the initiative to plan your dates? are you boring him? what if he's going along but not enjoying himself? these doubts are a permanent fixture on your mind. voicing these concerns will be one of the few times you've ever caught him off guard. he thought he was amassing Boyfriend Points (he didn't word it this way, but the interpretation is accurate enough). the news that his boyfriend point currency is in the negative comes as a surprise (once again, not his wording).

you won't receive an in-depth monologue detailing his feelings. perhaps that's for the best, since if that was the reaction you received, you'd think he was replaced by a doppelganger. instead, he tells you that he prioritizes your happiness above all else. you look back on it as a sweet moment. the remarkably candid confession stuns you into silence. it seems so obvious in retrospect. in your defense, your intergalactically wanted boyfriend is notoriously difficult to read.

primary area of concern

some moral gymnastics are required. there's no way you haven't seen the wanted posters — he won't sugarcoat the truth either. he's a stellaron hunter responsible for innumerable crimes. the same coarse hands that hold your face when he leans down to kiss you have ended lives. your views on the value of life are bound to diverge. it wouldn't be a passionate debate either, you're not changing his mind on the subject. the only life he values is yours and that's that.

additionally, there's the issue of encroaching madness. minor detail. you're an odd ingredient in the mara mix. there are occasions when you pacify it... but there are also instances where you ignite it. in the event of the latter, he absolutely refuses to be around you. fear is an emotion long lost to him, yet its faint echoes reverberate throughout at the thought of hurting you. you'll get updates from an unknown number (thanks kafka). nonetheless, that doesn't change the fact that your boyfriend will be radio silent for periods lasting from weeks to months.

prognosis

it's complicated. blade treats you like you're a doll made of porcelain, handling you with the utmost care. that doesn't the carnage he's left (and will continue to leave) in his wake. you bring out a tender side in him that withers the instant he leaves your side. his involvement in your life would be far from traditional, he isn't the type you bring him to meet your parents. still, whatever part you want from him, he'll give. whether it be his heart in a literal or a metaphorical sense.

he's loyal to a fault and would have a difficult time should you ever call the relationship quits. you'd have this faint feeling of eyes following you when you're out and about. additionally, when you get back in the dating scene, you'll find yourself frequently stood up. it'd be wise to handle his affection with care.

*the universe has tried (and failed) to wrench you apart (0-20) your friends are praying that you'll break up (21-40) 'well it could/has be worse' bargaining mindset (41-60) a lil messiness as a treat (61-80) pure and wholesome (81-100)

[prettynice8]

Kinkmas Day 7: Mirror Sex

Kim Seungmin x male reader

This guy

Stuff: Mirror sex DUH, kissing, groping, full nelson, reach-around, established relationship, kinda dommy Seungmin.

Word Count: 739

Notes: Sorry for the late work, but in my defense... shit give me time to think of one.

You and Seungmin were casually making out in the bathroom, as one does. You two were actually just about to shower together after having hard core queer sex, awe.

His lips moved along well with yours, both still naked. They felt so soft and loving, until they didn't.

The kiss changes from one of aftercare and love... into foreplay and passion. Here we go again.

His hands move to tightly grip your ass, pulling you closer into the kiss, deepening the embrace between you two, also making you moan into his mouth. He takes that as his opportunity to roughly shove his tongue down your throat, making you moan even louder into the muscle.

Seungmin roughly turns you around and bends you over, forcing you to face yourself in the mirror. Your face is flushed; your neck is littered with hickeys from the two of your past sessions, and your exposed cock is clearly very hard again. The main thing you notice is your boyfriend standing above you, nearly dwarfing your hunched over state.

He teases his hard cock on your bare hole, rubbing the tip against the sensitive muscle.

"Hey, make sure to look at me, slut." He demanded roughly, holding your face and forcing you to make eye contact with him through the mirror.

You see the intensity, hunger, and lust evident in his face, even though you two just fucked it's clear he wants a round two.

"Time to go, Y/n." Is all he said before picking you up by the knees, surprising you greatly.

He's able to easily hold you in this position, slowly lowering you down onto his hard cock with no prep necessary, his previous creampie making good lubricant. You see yourself go down his cock, locking eyes with him in the mirror. You're able to catch every single twitch and view of pleasure that his face makes, while he's able to see every slight movement indicating pain and pleasure on yours.

As he fully bottoms out, you can see in the reflective surface his cock in your ass, buried deep in your insides.

"Fuck..." You lightly moan out, the view of his cock buried within you is definitely not a terrible sight.

Seungmin wastes no time, thrusting into you almost right away, making your light moans from before much louder as his thrusts become much louder, filling the echoey bathroom as he quickly rams into your hole.

You can see the concentrated but pleasurable expression. More importantly, you can see every single thrust going into you, every single twitch his veiny cock makes, every single shove of his thick cock stretching out your tight hole. It's practically a sight to die for.

"Like that slut? Like seeing your whore ass suck me in?" He asked rhetorically, knowing the answer all too well, as he can see the already fucked expression on your face.

The full nelson position makes his cock go so deep in, feeling amazing, and since you two have been dating for a decently long time at this point, he knows exactly where your prostate and how to hit it perfectly, making sex all the more amazing.

Your face only melts in pleasure more as Seungmin skillfully wraps his hand around your leaking cock, using the pre cum as lubricant so he can jerk you off while still fucking into you. All the while holding your knees up, so he doesn't drop you.

As you look into the mirror, the image of Seungmin's man meat going into your ass, fucking up your insides while his hand pumps your achingly hard member is shown back, making the pleasure all the sweeter. It's like watching porn, but of yourself and in real time.

You burst into his hand, your jizz going all over the bathroom, much in fact going on the mirror as he continues to thrust up into you. You see every single moment, his hand pumping your cock for all it's worth as your load sprays all throughout the once clean bathroom.

He fucks you even harder, his movements getting faster, more aggressive, and shaky as he tries to reach his own orgasm.

"Fuck yeah bitch, take my load!" He soon reaches completion, filling your ass with his warm seed.

He sets your gently back down onto the ground, holding you up so you don't fall down on the hard tile before saying, "Weren't we here to do something?"

THE END

[iiseult]

Hello, I was wondering what the life of the female reader would be like when King Baldwin was not a leper. I mean, what would their life be like together as a married couple?

𝐵𝒶𝓁𝒹𝓌𝒾𝓃 𝐼𝒱 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓃𝓈: 𝒩𝑜𝓃-𝓁𝑒𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝐸𝒹𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃

CWs → fluff, smut, probable historical inaccuracies, she/her pronouns, afab reader, mentions of religion, childbirth

Note: I know this took like over a month to get to, but in my defense I was working on completing the first arc of my multichapter Baldwin x reader fic. Also, if anyone’s interested, I started posting an alternate version of that on ao3 that’s in third person and from the perspective of a girl named Semele. As far as actual writing goes I think it’s much better quality simply because I don’t have to do all that corny second person bullshit or use the words “Y/N.” That’s a real pain in my ass. Anyway! 

Wordcount: 852

King Baldwin’s standards are high. He is a gorgeous young man with the world at his fingertips and he wants a woman, not a girl, to explore it with him. 

She must be good. She does not need to be rich or noble, but she needs to be selfless and kind and bold. And he needs someone who can match him in intellect so he doesn’t get bored. 

His hair frames his face in charming golden waves that fall to about his chin. His eyes are a deep cerulean, lined by long lashes, and his lips are pink and shapely, if a bit on the thin side. The nose is strong and straight, the jaw is square and sharp, the cheekbones are high and structured, and the skin covering it all is smooth and healthy. A light smattering of tiny freckles paint his nose and cheeks. His body is strong, with substantial broad shoulders, and what muscle he has is subtle but genuine. 

Sometimes his movements are awkward, a little different from other well-bred boys his age, and perhaps that’s what makes him so appealing. So mysterious. And, by the way, he certainly is appealing. 

Every woman that lays eyes on him, and even some that have never had that honor and know of him only from word of mouth, want him. Every woman thinks she can somehow be good enough for him. Of course, maybe one in one thousand of them actually is. 

When a lady finally catches his eye, it would be for her wit or her bravery. Perhaps she would beat him in a game of chess, or speak out against what she thinks is wrong. The more cruelty in her smile, the more attractive she becomes. 

When he proposes, it’s very romantic, very personal, and above all, very private. Though he surely makes the experience memorable for his future wife, he doesn’t do anything over-the-top. It does not involve other people, and perhaps it doesn’t even take place at a particular spot. The most important part of the proposal, after all, is the words he is speaking, the vow he is making. He puts his silver tongue to good use, so that saying no isn’t even an option anymore. How could she possibly turn him down? 

 He can’t wait to get his hands on her. The wedding night is something he has long been looking forward to, knowing that it would be worth it to wait for the right woman, and of course, it exceeds his expectations. How could he have guessed how soft, how supple her flesh would feel beneath him? How sweet and yielding? There was nothing that could have prepared him for the feeling of warmth that wholly enveloped him the first time they made love. It was something that could never be recreated by his own hand. It could only ever occur by the soft hand, or the cruel, relentless lips of his young wife. 

His body is young and robust, as is hers, and they are both brimming with passion and want. The first month of the marriage is spent mostly alone together, trapped in an endless cycle of tiring each other out, sleeping, waking, and doing the whole damned thing all over again. It would take no time at all for the seed to be planted in her fertile womb and a baby to begin to grow. 

Seeing his wife pregnant would only make him fall in love with her more, if such a thing were even possible. Now she is carrying a little miracle inside her, and to him, the world around her positively glows. He is, in a word, infatuated. So proud. He takes her into town and practically parades her around, the curve of her swollen belly growing more and more obvious under the fabric of her gown. Isn’t she beautiful, he would say to Raymond, and to Sybilla, and to anyone else who was unlucky enough to engage him in conversation. 

During the birth, he stayed by her side. He was the one to wipe the sweat from her forehead with damp towels, to hold her hand and cry softly from seeing her in such pain. He loves her so much, and he was going to love that baby, too. He was going to positively spoil it. That is, if it didn’t kill her! He cries more than she does during the birth, and though he does everything he can to ease her pain and help the midwife speed along the process, mostly he can do nothing but stand around and wring his hands and look helplessly at his love, his eyes swimming with wild fear and affection and awe. She’s so strong, how is she doing it? 

Once the baby is born, though the sheets of her bed are soiled with various fluids, he lays down next to his wife and holds her in his arms and she holds their baby in her arms, and they all sleep, a perfect family. The baby is going to look just like her, he thinks, and he will love it. 

[inkspiredwriting]

The Defense of the Hargreeves

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: Sir Reginald Hargreeves is an asshole. I just had to write a little story about it.

Warnings: None

Y/N had always heard stories about Sir Reginald Hargreeves, but she had never met the man. Today, however, fate had different plans. She found herself standing in the grandiose living room of the mansion, face to face with the infamous patriarch of the Hargreeves family.

Reginald's cold eyes assessed her with the same indifference he likely showed everyone. "You must be Y/N," he said, his tone devoid of warmth. "I've heard about you."

"Yes, sir," Y/N replied, trying to remain polite despite the chill in his demeanor. "It's nice to meet you."

Reginald ignored her attempt at pleasantries and launched into a critical monologue about his children. "You must understand, my 'children'—if one can even call them that—are highly flawed individuals. They lack discipline, focus, and a clear understanding of their purpose. Especially Number Five. A brilliant mind, wasted on trivial pursuits."

Y/N felt her blood begin to boil. "Excuse me, but I think you’re wrong," she interjected, her voice steady but firm.

Reginald's eyebrow arched slightly, the only indication that he was taken aback by her boldness. "Oh? And what insight do you believe you have that I, their father, do not?"

Y/N took a deep breath, determined to stand her ground. "Five and his siblings are wonderful people. They’ve faced more challenges and endured more pain than most people could imagine, all because of you. Despite everything, they’ve grown into strong, resilient, and compassionate individuals. They might have their flaws, but they are good people."

Reginald remained silent, his expression unreadable, as Y/N continued.

"Five is incredibly smart and resourceful. He’s saved the world more times than you probably know. Luther is strong and has a heart of gold. Diego is passionate and fiercely protective. Allison is kind and uses her powers to help others. Klaus is empathetic and more powerful than you realize. And Viktor, he’s brave and incredibly talented. They all stick together, no matter what. That’s something you should be proud of."

Her voice trembled slightly with emotion. "They are so much more than the sum of their powers or their mistakes. They are your children, and they deserve your pride and love, not your disdain."

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Five and his siblings had entered the room, drawn by the sound of her impassioned speech. They stood just outside the doorway, listening intently, their hearts swelling with gratitude and emotion.

Reginald’s face remained a mask of cold detachment, but something flickered in his eyes. "You seem quite convinced of their worth," he said slowly.

"I am," Y/N replied without hesitation. "Because I see the good in them every day. They are extraordinary, not just because of their abilities, but because of who they are as people. And if you can’t see that, then you’re the one who’s flawed."

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, Reginald nodded curtly. "I see. Well, you’re entitled to your opinion."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Y/N standing there, her heart pounding in her chest.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Five and his siblings rushed into the room, their expressions a mix of surprise and admiration.

"Y/N," Diego said, his voice soft with emotion, "that was... incredible."

"Yeah, you really told him," Klaus added, his usual cheeky demeanor giving way to genuine appreciation.

Luther placed a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. "Thank you. For standing up for us."

Y/N smiled, tears of relief and happiness in her eyes. "You all deserve to be seen for who you really are. I’m just glad I could help."

Viktor nodded, his eyes shining. "We’re lucky to have you with us, Y/N."

Five pulled Y/N into a tight embrace, his voice filled with gratitude. "I love you, Y/N. Thank you for defending us."

Y/N hugged him back, feeling the warmth and love of the family around her. "I love you too, Five. Always."

In that moment, surrounded by the people she had come to love and cherish, Y/N knew that they would always have each other. And that was something truly worth fighting for.

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Singapore GP

Masterlist

It had only been a few days since my outburst after the Azerbaijan GP, but it felt like an eternity. The media was ravenous, tearing apart every word I’d said and dissecting it for all it was worth. Some outlets offered sympathy, sending condolences to my family and dismissing the biases against me. For a fleeting moment, it seemed like maybe—just maybe—things would finally start to shift in my favor.

But, as always, there were others. The kind who clung to outdated ideas and used my grief-fueled reaction as ammunition. A woman can’t handle the pressure of Formula 1, they claimed. She’s too emotional, too volatile, too fragile. Never mind that nearly every driver on the grid had snapped at the media at some point. Those moments were chalked up to “passion” or “fierce determination,” but mine? Mine was treated like a personal weakness—a reason to question my very right to be here.

The hypocrisy stung more than I wanted to admit. I thought about Max’s defense in the media pen, about the way Franco, Charles, and Lewis had all rallied around me afterward. Their support had meant the world, but it didn’t erase the sting of those words or the way they lingered in the paddock air, just waiting to suffocate me all over again.

I clenched my jaw as I scrolled through headlines that morning, each one angrier than the last. I wasn’t mad at myself for standing up or for revealing the truth about my mom—I knew she would’ve wanted me to fight for myself—but I was mad that this sport, the one I’d worked so hard to be a part of, could still be so ruthless. How many battles did I have to win off-track before people would focus on what I was doing on it?

I set my phone down with a sharp exhale, staring out the window of my hotel room. The next race was just days away, and I couldn’t afford to let the noise distract me. I needed to perform again—to show them all why I deserve this seat.

Suddenly, a knock echoed through the quiet of my room. Startled, I crossed the floor quickly, not even bothering to check the peephole. When I swung the door open, I froze. Standing there was Franco, his usual easygoing smile in place, and beside him—looking more like he’d rather be anywhere else—was Lando.

Franco leaned casually against the doorframe, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “Hermosa, you’ve been hiding away too long. Thought I’d come check on you,” he said lightly. Then he gestured toward Lando. “And I brought company.”

Lando shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and he avoided my gaze for a moment before finally looking up, his expression uncertain. “Hi,” he said awkwardly, his voice quieter than I’d ever heard it.

I blinked, caught completely off guard. Of all people, Lando was the last person I expected to show up at my door. “Uh, hey,” I said hesitantly, my grip tightening slightly on the door handle. “What’s going on?”

Franco gave me a knowing look, his grin widening. “Don’t look at me. This one asked to come along.”

Lando shot him a glare but quickly turned back to me, clearing his throat. “Can we talk? I—uh—I owe you an apology.”

I raised an eyebrow, suspicion flickering in my chest. “You’re here to apologize?”

He nodded, his gaze earnest now. “Yeah. I’ve... I’ve been an ass. And I shouldn’t have been. Can we come in? Please?”

I hesitated, my instincts screaming to keep the door firmly shut. But then I glanced at Franco, whose encouraging nod gave me just enough of a push. With a reluctant sigh, I stepped aside, opening the door wider to let them in.

“Fine,” I said, crossing my arms as I closed the door behind them. “You’ve got five minutes. Make it count.”

Lando stepped into the room cautiously, his eyes darting around as if he were stepping into enemy territory. Franco, on the other hand, strolled in like he owned the place, dropping into the chair by the desk with an easy smile.

Lando hesitated in the middle of the room, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. So, uh...” He glanced at Franco, clearly hoping for a lifeline. When none came, he sighed, finally meeting my gaze. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. For... well, everything.”

I crossed my arms tighter over my chest, leaning against the wall. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Norris. What exactly are you sorry for?” My tone wasn’t harsh, but I wasn’t going to make this easy for him either.

Lando’s cheeks flushed, and he shifted on his feet, looking down for a moment before forcing himself to hold my gaze. “For believing the rumors. For judging you before I even knew you. For being a... jerk.”

Franco snorted from his spot, earning a glare from Lando. “That’s putting it mildly,” Franco muttered, his grin never faltering.

“Franco,” I warned, though I couldn’t help the small twitch of amusement that pulled at my lips. Turning my attention back to Lando, I raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

Lando sighed, clearly uncomfortable but determined to get through this. “Look, I’m not proud of how I acted. I was an idiot. I listened to all the crap people were saying, and I let it cloud my judgment. I didn’t even give you a chance, and that’s on me.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. “But after what you said in Azerbaijan... and everything that came out... I realized how wrong I was.”

I stared at him, trying to gauge his sincerity. His expression was open, genuine, and there was a nervous energy about him that told me this wasn’t easy for him to admit. Still, I wasn’t ready to let him off the hook just yet.

“So, let me get this straight,” I said, my voice calm but sharp. “You only realized you were wrong because the truth came out? Not because you actually got to know me or thought for yourself?”

Lando flinched, and I could see the guilt flash in his eyes. “No, that’s not... I mean, maybe at first, yeah. But it’s not just that.” He took a deep breath, his hands clenching at his sides. “It’s... I realized I’ve been a hypocrite. People judged me when I first got into F1, you know? Said I didn’t deserve to be here, that I was just a spoiled kid who got lucky. I hated it. And yet, I turned around and did the same thing to you.”

His words hit a nerve, and I felt my stance soften slightly, though I kept my guard up. “So, what changed?” I asked quietly.

Lando hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I saw how strong you were. How you handled everything, even when the media was tearing you apart. I realized... I was wrong about you. And I hate that I contributed to making things harder for you. You didn’t deserve that.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of his words settling between us. I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the vulnerability in his expression. He wasn’t just saying this to save face—he meant it.

Franco, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke up. “You know, Hermosa, not everyone has the guts to admit when they’ve screwed up. Especially not this guy.” He gestured toward Lando with a smirk. “Maybe you should cut him a little slack.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. “You’re not off the hook, Norris,” I said, my tone lighter now. “But... I appreciate the apology.”

Lando’s shoulders sagged in relief, and he gave me a small, grateful smile. “Thank you. I promise, I’ll do better. I want to make things right.”

I nodded, feeling a sense of closure I hadn’t expected. “Good. Because if you don’t, I’ll make sure Franco here never lets you live it down.”

Franco laughed, throwing an arm around Lando’s shoulders. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll keep him in line.”

As the tension in the room eased, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. Maybe things wouldn’t change overnight, but this was a start. And for now, that was enough.

Franco stretched his arms behind his head, breaking the momentary silence with a loud sigh. “Well, now that we’ve handled all this heavy emotional stuff, how about we grab some food? I’m starving.” He patted his stomach for dramatic effect. “Plus, I’m pretty sure Lando owes us lunch after all that.”

Lando’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “What? How do I owe—”

“You just do,” Franco interrupted with a grin. “Consider it part of your apology tour.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head at their antics. “Fine. But if you’re buying, Norris, we’re not going to settle for some cheap takeaway.”

“Of course not,” Franco added, already halfway out the door. “I’ve got my heart set on something fancy. Maybe a steakhouse.”

“Steakhouse?” Lando groaned, following us reluctantly. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

Franco threw an arm around his shoulders, steering him down the hallway. “Too late, mate. You’re stuck with us now.”

We ended up at a quaint little restaurant just outside the hotel. It wasn’t a steakhouse, but it had a cozy charm that none of us could resist. The smell of fresh bread and soup filled the air as we slid into a booth by the window.

Franco didn’t waste any time grabbing the menu and announcing, “Okay, I’m ordering at least three appetizers. Don’t judge me.”

“I’m definitely judging you,” I said, smirking as I grabbed my own menu.

Lando leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, a playful glint in his eye. “You can judge him all you want, but I’m judging you both for making me pay.”

“Oh, stop whining,” Franco shot back. “You’re the one trying to redeem yourself. This is part of the process.”

I chuckled, shaking my head at their bickering. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a sense of normalcy, like I could just be myself without the weight of the rumors or the pressure of the media hanging over me.

As we waited for our food, Franco leaned in with a mischievous grin. “So, Hermosa, since we’re celebrating your P6, what’s the first thing you’re going to do with your newfound fame?”

I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t win, Franco. It’s just P6.”

“Still better than my finish,” Franco said with a grin, pointing a finger at himself. “P8 feels like crumbs compared to what you pulled off. Don’t let it go to your head, though.”

Lando smirked, tossing a napkin at him. “Careful, Franco. Keep talking like that, and I might ‘accidentally’ forget my wallet.”

“Then I guess you’ll be washing dishes,” I quipped, earning a laugh from both of them.

For the next hour, the three of us talked and laughed like old friends. The heavy conversation from earlier felt like a distant memory, replaced by lighthearted jokes and stories. It wasn’t lost on me how much I needed this—a moment to just breathe, to forget about the noise and the chaos of the paddock, and to remember why I loved being here in the first place.

As we left the café, Franco threw an arm around my shoulders, his grin as wide as ever. “See? This is why you need me around, Hermosa. I make everything better—even if you did outdo me on track today.”

Lando shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” I said, laughing as we walked back toward the paddock. For the first time in days, I felt lighter, like maybe—just maybe—I was finally turning a corner.

The next day was media day for the Singapore GP, and Marcus had picked me up from the hotel. The drive to the track was quiet, save for the faint hum of the car’s engine. I stared out the window, watching the scenery blur past, but my mind was elsewhere.

I could already imagine the chaos waiting for me at the paddock—journalists with their microphones shoved forward, their voices louder and more relentless than ever. Some of them would be asking invasive questions, spinning my story to fit their own narratives. Others would act like they cared, offering empty condolences just to lure me into saying something headline-worthy.

And then there were the fans. Half of them were incredible—supportive, holding signs with messages of encouragement, and calling out words of solidarity. But the other half? They were the ones who believed the rumors, who thought I didn’t belong here, who shouted things I didn’t want to hear. The mixture of love and hatred was overwhelming, and it left me feeling pulled in every direction at once.

Marcus glanced over at me, his expression unreadable. “You okay?” he asked, breaking the silence.

I hesitated, not wanting to dump everything I was feeling onto him, but I nodded anyway. “Yeah. Just… thinking about what today’s going to be like.”

He didn’t press further, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Don’t let them get to you. You’ve got a job to do, and you’re damn good at it. That’s what matters.”

His words were kind, but they didn’t stop the knot in my stomach from tightening as we approached the track. The car rolled to a stop near the paddock entrance, and I could already hear the buzz of activity. The moment I stepped out, it hit me like a tidal wave.

Cameras flashed, voices shouted over one another, and I couldn’t even make out what was being said. It was a cacophony of opinions, questions, and judgments—some supportive, others downright cruel. I kept my head down, walking briskly as Marcus stayed close, acting as a barrier between me and the frenzy.

“Keep moving,” he murmured. “You don’t owe anyone anything right now.”

I nodded, focusing on my steps. But the weight of it all pressed down on me—the rumors, the expectations, the opinions of people who didn’t even know me. It was exhausting. Yet, somewhere in the chaos, I spotted a fan holding up a sign that read, “You’re stronger than the hate—keep fighting!”

A small, bittersweet smile tugged at my lips. It was a reminder that not everyone was against me, but the noise around it made it hard to hold onto that thought for long.

By the time we reached the safety of the garage, I felt like I’d run a marathon. Taking a deep breath, I tried to push it all aside. Today was about racing. That’s what mattered. I had to remind myself why I was here—why I fought so hard to stay. 

After a quick debrief with Marcus, I made my way toward the press area, my steps steady but my heart beating just a little faster than I’d like. I knew the routine by now—smile, stay composed, and avoid giving too much away. Especially about my family.

The first round of interviews started with a smaller group of journalists. They fired off the usual questions: plans for FP1, my goals for the weekend, how I was handling the increased scrutiny. I kept my answers light but confident, redirecting whenever someone tried to veer too close to personal territory.

“Your performance in Azerbaijan was phenomenal,” one reporter said, their voice tinged with surprise, as if they hadn’t expected me to do well. “Do you think P6 is a sign of what’s to come?”

I smiled, holding back a sharp retort. “Absolutely. It felt great to show what I’m capable of. I’ve been working hard with my team, and we’re making steady progress. My focus is on consistency—building on each race and aiming higher every time.”

Another journalist chimed in, less subtle. “You’ve been in the headlines a lot lately, and not just for your racing. How are you dealing with the pressure, especially considering the personal challenges you’ve alluded to?”

I kept my smile in place, even as I felt the familiar pang in my chest. “Racing has always been my focus. It’s what I love, and it’s what I’m here to do. Pressure comes with the territory in Formula 1, and I’m learning to handle it like any other driver. At the end of the day, it’s about what happens on track.”

The questions kept coming, some more probing than others, but I managed to steer the conversation back to my racing. I highlighted my achievements—my steady climb through the junior categories, the challenges I’d overcome to earn my seat, and my determination to keep improving.

“I know I still have a lot to prove,” I said, meeting the gaze of the reporters. “But I’m not afraid of hard work. Every race is a chance to learn and grow, and that’s what I’m focusing on. I want to be a driver that earns respect on track, not just for what people say off it.”

One reporter pressed further, his tone almost condescending. “Do you think the recent attention is overshadowing your talent? Some might say it’s hard to separate the drama from the driver.”

I held his gaze, keeping my voice calm but firm. “I think my results speak for themselves. P6 in Baku, qualifying consistently in the top ten, and building strong relationships with my team—that’s what I care about. The rest? It’s just noise.”

By the time I moved on to the next group, I felt a mix of exhaustion and pride. I had kept my composure, redirecting every attempt to pry into my personal life back toward my career. It wasn’t easy, but I reminded myself why I was here.

As I finished the last interview of the day, I exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. I’d made it through without faltering, holding my head high even when they tried to bring me down. And in the back of my mind, I knew that this, too, was part of the fight—to prove that I belonged here, not just as a driver, but as a force to be reckoned with.

[simonsomeriley]

fwb with arthur morgan..

arthur morgan is not your boyfriend, yet every time you come around, he feels his heart hammer in his chest and his face gets all red

arthur morgan is not your boyfriend, yet he holds you like you'll disappear whenever you get hurt or you've been away for a long time

arthur morgan is not your boyfriend, yet the way he kisses you at night by a bonfire, sitting all alone with him and your hands gripping his neck keeps you awake for nights after

arthur morgan is not your boyfriend, yet he keeps you tucked under his arm the nights you're together, feeling his breath in your hair and his arm around your waist with your legs tangled with his

arthur morgan is not your boyfriend, yet the way he kisses you like it's the last time makes you feel like he is. every kiss is so passionate, you'll tangle your hands in his hair and he keeps you close, his hands

arthur morgan is not your boyfriend, yet he always requests your cooking, you make him all the food he wants, he gathers you fresh ingredients and you cook him up something to keep him fuelled for the day, he'll eat up everything you cook

arthur morgan is not your boyfriend, yet you yearn for him when he's away. every hour without him you'll sit anxiously wondering if he's okay, if anything's happened or when he'll come back to you. the reuniting kiss always makes it worth it, longing for his scent after it slowly and eventually fades from his pillow

arthur morgan is not your boyfriend, yet he keeps coming back to you. you watch the ladies leave his room by the morning time, always wondering if one day he wanted to keep one for himself. he never meets those ladies again, considering it a one-time thing, yet you keep making your way back to him over and over again

arthur morgan is not your boyfriend, yet he's so defensive when your name gets mentioned. talking to a group of gals who happen to have noticed how close you are with arthur? if they even THINK about talking dirt to your name or calling you a whore for it, he'll never ever let anyone make up false accusations about you

arthur morgan is not your boyfriend, yet you wish he was. you wish and you wish every night, yet all you do is keep each other on your toes and hold each other tighter at night than friends do

i do apologize if this seems a little rushed bc it was 🥲 i'll always make time for arthur tho🫶

[colourstreakgryffin]

Maybe some headcanons with Blitz having an S/O who's a big volleyball fan? :o Like imagine Blitz, his S/O, Moxxie and Millie having a volleyball match for fun

(I saw in your pinned post that you wrote for Haikyuu and Helluva Boss so I combined the two :3)

Oooh! Yaaayy! Let’s gooo. I love Blitzø so much! He is my favourite from Helluva! Thank you so much!

Blitz- Guns & Volleyballs

Blitz is a very troubled one. Having a lot of problems on the inside whilst establishing himself as a pure prick on the outside but when he finally willingly let you in, he dropped most of his self-defensive behaviours… around you

Blitz actually finds your little passion adorable. You’re a demon, you can do ANYTHING you want but yet, you chose a human sport? How precious

Blitz always falls on his face when it comes to your volleyball games as a result of him playing with you to cheer you up or to bond or to help you. He may dislike this but hearing your joy through those cute laughs makes the embarrassment change to worth

Blitz legit has a volleyball snuck away in his office so when you want to practice with him or practice in general, he’ll get it and toss it to you

Blitz is that type of boyfriend. Trust me, he may seem like the very cold and harsh type who wouldn’t be included in his partner’s hobbies but he is, even if he doesn’t get it

Blitz is already arranging a holiday for I.M.P and not even so they can enjoy a day off work, just so you five can go to the Envy Ring, go to the Beach in order for you and him can kick the M&M’s ass in a Beach Volleyball match

Blitz considers you, his lover and his daughter, Loona on the same level of importance to him, so he tries his darn best to make sure you and Loona get along. He even encourages Loona to try play volleyball with you. You’re her step-parent, you need to be liked by her

Blitz happily listens to you ramble on about all the volleyball facts you love and have memorised whilst you’re both alone and spending time together, and I swear to Satan, this man has never looked more in love in his entire life

Blitz believes himself as a good opposite hitter but he’s actually a real good libero. His childhood gymnastics and circus skills make him really flexible and let him cross long distances quickly so he can do digs effectively. His circus skills is the main reason you and him win volleyball games

Blitz will buy or make you cute little volleyball outfits. Your jersey, your professional volleyball outfit and you know it that he puts his name in a specific but noticeable corner on the inside so everybody knows you’re his

Blitz is naturally protective of you so when you accidentally collide with your teammates and it ends with you briefly concussed or when you’re genuinely accidentally hurt during the game. He is pointing his gun at your teammates to fend them off and carrying you off the court to look after you

Blitz will sneak you out to Earth, with his Asmodean Crystal wristwatch and disguise both of you, so you can play on Earth and try out human Volleyball. He’ll either play, as he honed his skills, or he’ll play your manager and take care of you after the match

Yeah. Blitz goes inbetween your partner teammate and your manager but he somewhat more prefers being the manager so you can shine in your favourite hobby

“Hey, Bae. How did the volley tournament go? Yes, of course, I went to it but I want to hear your view, ‘kay?”