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vincinnamontoast · 1 day ago

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𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 CAITVI X READER SFW & NSFW HCS 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

word count: 3.4k

contains: my random unorganized caitvi x reader hcs. lowercase intended, lightly proofread, nsfw towards the end. sorry this took me forever (</3)

❥ caitlyn is so insistent on you and vi quitting your jobs and just being her cute little housewives

❥ caitlyn keeps track of all of your periods, always making sure you have enough snacks and pads/tampons.

❥ all of you get a bit snippy with each other during your periods—because, unfortunately, they’ve synced up. But no matter how catty things get, you’re always there to take care of each other.

❥ vi loves to cook and caitlyn likes to clean up after. they’ll ask you to do little things like cut the carrots while you all yap

❥ caitlyn sleeps pretty early while you and vi stay up running around together. you try to be quiet for her but you and vi have each other cackling every 5 seconds. eventually you both are kicked out of the bedroom and have to continue your giggly shenanigans in the living room

❥ vi is the most physically affectionate, always wrapping an arm around you or caitlyn, pulling you into her lap, or resting her chin on your shoulder. caitlyn shows her affection in subtle ways—brushing your hair out of your face, fixing vi’s collar absentmindedly, always making sure you’re both taken care of.

❥ they both gang up on you when you’re flustered. If you blush, you’re done for.

❥ if you get cold at night, caitlyn will tuck an extra blanket around you, and vi will just throw herself on top of you like a human furnace.

❥ vi insists on braiding caitlyn’s hair but gets distracted halfway through and just leaves it half-done. caitlyn tries to act like she doesn’t care, but she secretly waits for you to fix it.

❥ caitlyn makes vi fancy cocktails and tea, even though she always complains it’s too strong or not strong enough. but vi always drinks it anyway.

❥ vi hates to admit it but she can’t sleep without either of you and a little night light in the corner (my baby girl ugh)

❥ vi tends to leave her boots and gauntlets lying around. you and caitlyn have tripped over them too many times. And unfortunately for you and caitlyn, vi loves her punishments

❥ vi fidgets constantly. If she’s not cracking her knuckles, she’s bouncing her knee or clicking a pen until caitlyn snatches it away.

❥ vi is always teasing you when she realizes something makes you flustered. she will never let it go.

❥ caitlyn tends to overthink everything. vi and you have to stop her from spiraling into a “logical” breakdown over simple things.

❥ caitlyn gets very particular about how things are arranged—her tea set, books, weapons. vi purposely moves things just to annoy her, which leads to you getting onto vi and caitlyn whining/fussing.

❥ caitlyn is secretly a perfectionist. If she cooks for you, she’ll throw out an entire batch if it doesn’t look right, even if it tastes fine.

❥ vi loves to bake and will randomly come back after a couple hours with a bunch of cookies and pastries for you all to share with a big smile on her face

❥ vi and caitlyn tend to stare at you a lot. caitlyn doesn’t do it nearly as much as vi does, but they are both mutually obsessed.

❥ vi is always humming or singing some song softly when she does like literally anything around the house. she loves when you follow her around to hear it (bc yes this bitch can sing.)

❥ they’re both incredibly protective—sometimes to an intense degree. It’s never their intention to be overbearing, but after everything they’ve lost, losing each other would be unbearable. they’re not willing to take that risk.

❥ vi plays with your hair all the time, whether it’s running her fingers through it or twirling a strand absentmindedly.

❥ vi games a lot and begs you to play with her. If you don’t, she’ll insist you and caitlyn are close. caitlyn will be reading or scrolling through her pinterest, while playing with your hair. (she can be on that app forever.) listening to vi yell and rage quit is just a part of your everyday life.

❥ If you or caitlyn are standing next to vi, she’ll always have a hand on you—your waist, your hip, the back of your neck. It’s like a grounding thing for her. physical touch is a big need of hers.

❥ vi struggles with separation anxiety, though she does her best to hide it and refuses to admit it. still, when you or caitlyn are busy or absent, she catches herself fidgeting—twitching her fingers, bouncing her leg, and blinking back tears she doesn’t want to shed.

❥ vi deliberately calls you the most ridiculous pet names just to see your reaction. “hey, sugar lips.” “vi, please.” she’s shameless, fully aware of how cringe she is—and she loves every second of it.

❥ vi is always trying to sneak kisses when you’re distracted.

❥ caitlyn brings you and vi tea in the mornings, adjusting it exactly how you like it.

❥ vi is better at comforting through actions, hugging, cooking, kissing, cleaning, and caitlyn is better with her words. they will give you both but they are better in certain areas in their own ways.

❥ the advice caitlyn gives is always the best, she loves hearing you rant and complain. vi does too, but she spaces out sometimes.

❥ caitlyn writes little notes for you both, usually sweet but sometimes sarcastic. (“vi, if you leave your boots in the hallway one more time…”) she’ll pack you both lunches with cute little sticky notes.

❥ caitlyn gets really quiet when she’s worried, but she’ll hover around you and vi until you ask what’s wrong.

❥ you and vi secretly love getting scolded by caitlyn.

❥ caitlyn likes to have some space after an argument; vi does not. caitlyn needs time to breathe and collect herself—it never takes too long, but vi wants things fixed immediately. she always caves first, apologizing even when it’s not her fault. and every time, it breaks both of your hearts.

❥ caitlyn will brush her fingers over your knuckles or the inside of your wrist absentmindedly, like she’s memorizing the feeling.

❥ vi tends to lean against walls, arms crossed, looking effortlessly cool—but if you or caitlyn walk by, she immediately straightens up like a puppy looking for attention.

❥ caitlyn carries herself with elegance, but when she’s comfortable, she relaxes—crosses her legs lazily, rests her head on your shoulder, lets herself just be.

❥ vi cannot keep her mouth shut or hide her expressions. baby is naturally expressive, so even when she insists she’s not upset, it’s obvious—the way she pouts, puffs her cheeks, and huffs under her breath gives her away every time.

❥ vi will spam call and triple or more text, while caitlyn will call or text twice at most to get your attention. but you can bet your ass you’ll be getting a mini lecture about not picking up her calls. you know something is wrong if you have more than 3 missed calls from her.

❥ they’re both highly observant, picking up on even the smallest details of your mannerisms.

❥ caitlyn has a very subtle smirk when she’s amused, and you and vi live to make it appear.

❥ caitlyn always bites her lip when she’s thinking, while vi taps her fingers against whatever surface is nearby.

❥ vi would absolutely fight anyone who looks at you wrong. caitlyn, meanwhile, will just ruin them socially. a terrifying duo truly.

❥ vi carries you if you’re tired. no hesitation. “c��mon, baby, you’re walking too slow.” she is a bit of a fast walker.

❥ vi would take a punch for you without thinking. caitlyn would make sure you never get into that situation in the first place.

❥ vi lives to make you laugh. she gets so excited to hear you cackle and giggle. and she knows she’s funny asf too.

❥ late nights when caitlyn has work in the morning (vi does too, but she loves staying up), you and vi roll into each other—kissing, giggling, playing games. you beg caitlyn to stay up, but once it hits 11 PM, she struggles to keep her eyes open.

❥ caitlyn sleeps early and wakes up early. vi, on the other hand, stays up late but still manages to wake up early—a leftover habit from prison. but if caitlyn doesn’t get her full eight hours, you can expect her to be moody and pouty all day.

❥ If you have a bad day, caitlyn will make you tea and quietly listen while vi pulls you into her arms and presses little kisses to your hair until you feel better.

❥ vi loves making caitlyn laugh—really laugh. It’s rare, but when it happens, she looks at caitlyn like she just won the lottery.

❥ caitlyn lets vi be reckless only to a point—then she pulls rank. “vi, no.” vi groans but listens.

❥ vi hates dressing up, but if you or caitlyn ask nicely? yeah, she’ll do it. she’ll grumble the whole time, but she’ll do it.

❥ vi walks on the outside of the sidewalk, keeps an arm around your waist in crowds, subtly but firmly making sure you’re safe at all times.

❥ caitlyn is more of a silent protector. she notices things before they become threats, watches your surroundings like a hawk, and is always one step ahead.

❥ vi has a terrible habit of pulling you onto her lap, no matter where you are. she’ll just grab your waist and plop you down.

❥ caitlyn is more likely to respect your privacy, but if you’re heading to the bathroom, expect vi to be right on your tail—watching you pee. deadass.

❥ vi loves hearing you talk about things you’re passionate about. even if she doesn’t understand half of it, she just grins and watches you like you hung the stars.

❥ vi always finds the stupidest excuses to get your attention. “baby, come here.” “what is it?” “…nothing, just missed you.”

❥ vi is obsessed with forehead kisses, especially when she’s feeling soft. It’s her way of saying, I love you without words. melts when you kiss and squish her cheeks.

❥ she lovesss being babied, which you and caitlyn love doing.

❥ If you’re wearing something cute or whatever? vi wolf-whistles and dramatically fans herself. caitlyn groans in the background. “vi, please.” caitlyn comes behind you to kiss below your ear “mmm so beautiful, sweetheart.”

❥ vi sulks when she’s sick and will only take medicine if you or caitlyn give it to her. “I’ll take it if you kiss me after.” caitlyn is the best caregiver when the both of you are sick, you will feel better in no time.

❥ If vi is feeling needy, she’ll flop down on top of you with zero warning. “what are you doing?” “dunno. just love you.” because you will give her attention. she is very puppy.

❥ caitlyn tucks your hair behind your ear so gently it makes your heart ache. she does it every time—even if it wasn’t in your face.

❥ If you fall asleep somewhere uncomfortable, caitlyn will immediately move to fix it. you wake up to a pillow under your head, a blanket over you, and buried in caitlyn’s arms.

❥ caitlyn is very particular about your tea (as well as vi’s. she knows how you both like it). If she makes it, it’s perfect. If vi makes it? caitlyn tastes it, sighs, and subtly replaces it with a better cup. vi will pout about this. It’s inevitable.

❥ caitlyn keeps an eye out for little things you might need. you offhandedly mentioned needing more hair ties? she has extras in her pocket the next day.

❥ caitlyn is secretly so touch-starved. If you initiate affection, she melts. put your arms around her waist? kiss her temple? she gets so soft.

❥ caitlyn fixes vi’s bandages with the most exasperated look, but you can see the tenderness in her hands. “honestly, violet, do you even try to be careful?”

❥ vi leans against caitlyn or you dramatically whenever she’s bored. you both just sigh and let it happen. she gets bored pretty easy.

❥ vi hyperfixates hard—if she wants something, she needs it now. caitlyn, on the other hand, is patient and willing to wait.

❥ they both compete to see who can make you blush more.

❥ the kisses you all share before parting for work, events, or anything else are downright sickening—it takes forever to break free from their hold.

"when will you be home?"

"do we need to pick you up?"

"you have your location on? I asked you not to turn it off."

"please be home before dinner."

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

NSFW:

❥ caitlyn and vi are lowkey kinky and into some wild shit—behind closed doors, it’s a whole different story.

❥ vi is a big moaner—whimpering, gasping, completely unashamed. caitlyn, on the other hand, has a softer moan but lets out more groans and grunts.

❥ both of them are very vocal and talkative during sex—whispering, teasing, praising, and never letting a moment go by in silence.

❥ this is so random but vi decides she wants to go zip-lining for her birthday, and the way they both effortlessly slip on, adjust, and tighten their waist harnesses has your legs squeezing together. they notice. grinning at each other before tightening your own harness, vi leans in, voice teasing—"you like that, pretty girl?"

❥ vi is best with her mouth and fingers, but she’s a god with the strap regardless—just a little more reckless, rough, completely lost in it. caitlyn, on the other hand, is all precision, focused on hitting every spot and angle with near-perfect accuracy.

❥ vi gets so into making you squirm. she’ll kiss you deep and then pull away just as you’re chasing after her lips.

❥ caitlyn loves whispering in your ear—low, sultry, making promises that send a shiver down your spine. “you’re being so good for me, love.”

❥ vi lives for praise during sex. tell her how good she’s making you feel, moan her name like it’s the only word you know, and she’ll melt—eyes hazy, lips parted, desperate to hear more. She craves it, thrives on it, and if you whimper out a “just like that, baby” or a breathless “you’re so good to me,” she’ll only go harder, more determined to pull every sound from your lips.

❥ vi has a thing for spit—messy, unrestrained, completely shameless. she loves the way it glistens on your lips after a kiss, the way it drips down your chin when she pulls away just to admire you. and when she presses two fingers against your tongue, eyes dark and teasing, voice thick with want—"c'mon, pretty girl, let me see,"—you don’t even hesitate.

❥ vi is a mess between you both—panting, whining, completely unraveling. caitlyn keeps her steady, fucking into her with slow, precise thrusts, while you cradle her face, kissing her deep, swallowing every gasp and moan. she tries to keep up, tries to kiss you back, but she’s losing herself fast—her body trembling, fingers digging into your waist as she chokes out a desperate, “fuck, baby—” before her words melt into nothing but needy whimpers.

❥ you never stand a chance against them. vi is relentless, all hands and teasing remarks, while caitlyn makes sure you’re completely overwhelmed.

❥ caitlyn and vi love ganging up on you. one whispering filth into your ear while the other makes sure you feel every word.

❥ vi is all passion and need, caitlyn is slow and deliberate.

❥ vi bites. hard. jawline, neck, thighs—she wants to leave marks, wants people to see them and know you’re hers.

❥ vi has a filthy mouth. whispering in your ear, voice low and husky, telling you exactly what she’s going to do to you.

❥ If you’re in public, vi will lean in, press her lips just below your ear, and murmur something filthy—acting completely normal while you try to keep your composure.

❥ caitlyn has a thing for control. she’ll make you wait, make you beg, smirking as she keeps her touch just out of reach. “patience, love. I’ll give you what you need—when I decide you deserve it.”

❥ vi loves whispering dirty things in caitlyn’s ear while she is teasing you—grinning as caitlyn’s composure finally cracks.

❥ If vi is feeling extra possessive, she’ll wrap an arm around your waist, nipping at your neck while caitlyn smirks and watches. “damn, cupcake, she looks so pretty like this, huh?”

❥ the moment vi realizes she actually loves you taking control, she’s gone—gripping your hips, looking up at you with blown pupils, breathing all heavy. scratching at your back and whimpering in your ear. to see her undone is heavenly.

❥ she loves when you grab her by the jaw, forcing her to look at you while you shove your fingers inside her, curling them into her. If you’re feeling mean, you can even whisper, “what’s wrong, vi? thought you were tough?” and watch her whimper.

❥ eye contact is their thing during sex—intense, unwavering, drowning you in it. Vi’s is raw, desperate, like she’s trying to etch the sight of you into her memory, needing to see every reaction. caitlyn’s is calculated, focused, like she’s studying every twitch, every shiver, just to use it against you. It’s so intimate it makes your chest ache, so intimidating it has you squirming, but they don’t let you look away. not for a second.

❥ vi is loud. she groans, pants, grits her teeth like she’s trying to hold back, but the second you really start working her up? she loses it.

❥ If you drag your nails down her abs, tracing every ridge of her muscles, she shudders—grabbing at your thighs, fingers twitching like she doesn’t know whether to fight back or let you have your way.

❥ pull vi’s hair. grab her by the roots, tug her head back, and she moans—not even trying to hide how much she likes it.

❥ she’s obsessed with your confidence. If you lean in, teasing against her lips, voice all sultry, “you’re so desperate, vi,” she growls—trying to flip the script, but her grip is weak, and you’re already pinning her back down.

❥ if you take your time, dragging things out, teasing her just enough to make her beg? she hates it—but she’s also so into it. “please, baby, don’t be mean—need you, fuck.”

❥ caitlyn is a quiet mess when she’s being topped—breath hitching, lips parting, biting her lip like she’s trying to hold back. It’s absolutely gorgeous.

❥ caitlyn has a weak spot for when you talk her through it. “you feel good, cait? you’re so beautiful like this.” her head tilts back, her breath shuddering, and she completely submits.

❥ vi gets so soft when you take your time. kissing her shoulders, whispering her name, telling her how beautiful she is. “fuck, baby, I—” her voice cracks, and you feel her clench around your fingers.

❥ when vi is strapping you, she’ll dip down, lips brushing your ear, voice low and wrecked—"I wish I could feel what it’s like to be inside of you." there’s something desperate in the way she says it, in the way her hips stutter for just a second, like the thought alone is enough to drive her crazy. and then she’s fucking into you harder, chasing the next sound you’ll make, needing to feel you in every way she can.

❥ when vi is topping caitlyn, you can’t help but just watch—completely mesmerized, warmth blooming in your chest at the sight of them tangled together, loving on each other so deeply. It’s something intimate, something raw, and you adore them for it. but then, as if they can feel your gaze, they both turn to look at you—eyes soft, full of something even deeper. caitlyn reaches for you, vi smirks, breathless, and then comes the invitation, low and tender—"come here, baby."

❥ they love you so much, and they love each other just as fiercely. being in a relationship with them is like having a force of nature on your side—wild, protective, and all-consuming in the best way.

a/n: they’re so cat and puppy omg, hope you like <3!

#vi arcane #cinmntstwrites✮⋆˙#vi x reader #arcane #arcane vi #vi x you #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #vi x caitlyn #caitvi #caitvi x reader #vi smut #wlw #lesbian #caitlyn smut #caitlyn kiramman smut #caitlyn kiramman x reader #I love them sm sigh

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antivillain · 3 days ago

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This is accurate but I think his persona is still "billionaire playboy" because he *could* be a billionaire if he wanted to be and the Bruce he pretends to be probably would. Like, if he stopped paying every single worker down to the janitors and factory workers an excellent salary and benefits package. If he stopped donating so much money to orphanages and other important causes. If he, yes, stopped spending so much money on bat-themed gadgets, let's be honest, that may not alone keep him out of billionaire status but it sure doesn't get him any closer to it. But none of that is common knowledge so most people assume of course he's a billionaire he's the CEO of Wayne Enterprises. And while Bruce doesn't actually tell people he's a billionaire, he doesn't do anything to correct the impression either since it serves his purposes for people to assume he's another rich asshole.

Every now and then someone actually sees his net worth in a list somewhere and a whole "holy shit did you know Bruce Wayne isn't a billionaire??" type post makes the rounds and people chime in with how he doesn't mistreat his workers and pays them fairly etc etc and everyone's like wow I want to go work for Wayne Enterprises dang and Bruce ends up being asked about it on a talk show. Then he makes some stupid rich person comment like "I want all of my employees to be able to afford their own yachts!!" And people are like wow he's out of touch he doesn't pay them *that* well and it blows over. Or discourse comes up about how many supervillains come out of Wayne Enterprises or something. And people go back to just casually assuming he's a billionaire.

But he keeps paying his workers fair (not yacht level) wages. And he keeps being a millionaire. And he keeps dressing up like a bat at night and punching crime in the face.

okay, controversial batman opinion time! it ruins the character for him to be a billionaire, and he’s only a billionaire because too many people think ‘billionaire’ just means ‘millionaire but cooler’. bruce wayne should just be a millionaire.

a millionaire has enough money to buy a batcave, a fancy batmobile, a supercomputer, a bunch of esoteric custom-made tools and toys, a couple companies that make enough money to fund a playboy lifestyle and a bunch of high-tech vigilante superheroes. millionaires today, even with inflation, can commission the creation of pretty much any physical item short of their own spaceship, and some of them can even do that.

a billionaire has enough money to own entire cities and write their own laws and do whatever the fuck they want basically all the time, anywhere. look at disney, tesla, amazon, nestle, walmart. these guys are playing on an almost inconceivable global scale and they are not your friend. these are lex luthor motherfuckers.

the question keeps being asked, ‘if bruce wayne is so rich, it’s ridiculous that he’s using all that money to run around in a bat costume punching mentally ill people’, and that’s correct if he’s got money on a billionaire’s scale. it’s absurdly irresponsible to have the kind of power that could change how a nation operates, much less local government, and just play night time punch guy with it. batman is the bad guy there.

but say batman’s ‘just’ a millionaire. he’s the heir of a couple old money families, he’s got a mansion and some land and a private jet, he’s in with the elite of gotham, he can put some pressure on the mayor and the city council and the police– but he’s still on a level with half a dozen other families who have their own millions to throw around, their own ambitions. he can’t actually fix gotham just by throwing money at it, because he will run out of money before all the other rich guys do.

in this situation, batman does make sense for bruce wayne to invent: a secret guy no one can pin on wayne industries, who can run around taking on organized crime and supervillains at the same time, who isn’t beholden to the social or legal conventions that the superwealthy also flout to play their fucked up games with each other. batman can actually do what a single millionaire can’t.

batman gets written by batman fanboys to be a power fantasy, but with great power comes great responsibility, etc. at a certain level of wealth his power far outstrips his purpose, and being batman is actually irresponsible for bruce wayne. a hero’s limitations make for better stories. stop writing batman as a billionaire, already.

#batman #batfam

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yandere-writer-momo · 1 day ago

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Yandere Head Canons: Now You See Me, Now You Don’t

Yandere Conman x Rich Married Fem Reader x Yandere ‘Neglectful Tycoon’ Husband

TW: Yandere themes, a man trying to get you to cheat, manipulation, neglectful husband, dark themes, and unhealthy relationship dynamics that should not be romanticized

Glen Magenta had always been a conniving individual since childhood. A natural born flirt who always got his way. Hell, he hardly ever heard the word no.

He was charismatic and romantic so it was easy for him to scam rich, lonely women trapped in loveless marriages. All he had to do was say pretty words and keep them company and he was able to drink the sweet nectar of their riches…

This time, he set his sights on the wife of a wealthy business tycoon named (your name). A delicate young woman with such sad eyes. She would be such easy prey… or so he thought

He introduced himself to her as Magnus Markley, a starving artist who has been utterly bewitched by her… but rather than fall instantaneously for his charms, she simply glanced at him like he was nothing. Was she not flattered by his good looks? By his sweet words and charming smile? How? She was known to be neglected by her husband in social circles.

(Your name) was the beautiful wife of Salvatore Urso. The wife Sal hardly gave any time to and yet she had no interest in an affair.

“I’m flattered, but I’m married.” Her soft voice replied to him as she showed that expensive ring that bordered on being gaudy. Magnus thought it was hideous… he never understood why the upper class had such awful taste, but at least Mister Urso had decent taste in his woman. (Your name) was going to be more difficult to catch than he thought… but he’d make the effort. After all, he enjoyed the hunt.

Glen truly committed to the character of Magnus Markley he created. He was a romantic and easily charmed (your name)’s closest friends in her social group. They were far easier to charm like his many conquests before (your name) yet she was the big fish he wanted… she would be the richest of any woman he’s seduced over the years. If Glen was able to capture her heart, he’d be set for life! He’d never have to work again… plus her husband was never around!

All Glen needed to do was work his way into her heart… even if he had to go through other women in order to do it. His greed had no bounds

Magnus was now often in the same circles (your name) ran with. She now saw him at every social gathering as he slowly wormed his way past her defenses by getting into her friend group to find out her hobbies. She enjoyed book club? He just joined to try to find inspiration for his art! She adored bird watching with the girls? Well, he was there to find an idea to paint!

Months went by into his plan. Hours of work went into his attempts to chip away at the walls around her heart and he finally made a crack… it seemed (your name) enjoyed having a genuine friend. Not that he was truly genuine.

(Your name) sat with him as they discussed books and music. Her sad face lit up warmly as she’d shyly talk of her interests. He’s never met a victim of his that was so cute.

He could see himself genuinely being with her. She was so sweet! How could someone be so sweet? Her husband was a fool for not being with her all the time!

The more he learned about her the more he began to falter with his goal. She was once a waitress at a restaurant before Sal married her? He never knew that… he had always thought she came from money since she was so prim and proper. Sal often bought her extravagant gifts? He had assumed her husband didn’t care much for her… but it seemed he did care. Sal cared far too much for his wife to the point it was terrifying.

(Your name) shared how most of her friends went missing after a while and that it was lonely, but her husband always cheered her up. That he’d take her to the best Italian restaurants each time and then he’d take her out on their balcony and make her limoncello to sip with him as they watched fireworks together.

It seemed he stumbled across a rabbit hole he should have never went down the more he learned. This young woman wasn’t a simple business tycoon’s wife… her husband was a part of the mob.

Glen couldn’t help but want to save her. She had no idea she was associated with the mob… that she was in danger!

For the first time in his life, he didn’t want to be selfish. He had enough to be able to relocate them to another country, he just had to convince her to flee… but he didn’t cover his tracks fast enough. Sal already caught wind of him.

Before he knew it, he was gagged and bound in a metal chair on the back of a ship on the sea. Cinder blocks were tied around each of his legs with heavy metal chains. Sal stood above him with a cigar in hand.

“I looked into you, Magnus or should I say… Glen.” Sal told the conman as he exhaled his cigar smoke. “Real piece of work, you are. Did you think I would let you try to take my wife?”

Glen gulped as Sal held up a pistol to him.

“I-I had no idea you cared so much for your wife-“

“Care for her?” Sal chuckled as his heavy accent dripped with venom, “I’m obsessed with her. She’s my darling wife and I’ll be damned if I let some schmuck get his greasy little fingers on her.”

Glen felt tears well up in his eyes. “Please, Sal. I’ll skip town, I’ll never talk to her again-“

“Yeah right, I found your little diary filled with love notes and your plan to convince her to run away with you.” Sal stood up with the gun still pointed. “Like hell I’d let you live. Rats like you need to be exterminated early.”

Glen felt tears roll down his face as Sal shoved the barrel into his mouth.

“Such a shame I have to get rid of another one of her friends, but she’ll be okay. I’m all amore mio needs.”

A gunshot rang out in the empty sea before a loud splash followed.

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booboopadoops · 2 days ago

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YOUR BEST FRIEND HAMZAH

NSFW * MDNI - smut , dry humping , dirty talk , moan , whimper , alcohol , weed , friends to lovers

you and hamzah met 5 summers ago. you followed each other even longer on every platform before you guys met that faithful summer 5 years ago. you were so close. texting every single second of everyday since.

every morning and every night, there he was. blurting mundane details about your days to each other. repeatedly telling each other how much you miss the other. constantly sending each other memes and selfies throughout the day. facetiming every night to play games, or talk until you both fell asleep on the phone.

but thats just what best friends do right? every close male and female friendships had an undertone of a romantic attraction right?

its normal that his sleepy voice rang in your head throughout your day

“goodnighttt pretty girl”

“wait set up your camera so i can see you…hah just kidding… ahem”

“you think youre sooo funny huh?”

“just wait until we’re finally together in person”

if there was truly something going on with him, surely something would’ve happened by now. every year you two would save up for your summer vacations together. nothing happened year after year. that was just our humor.

but youve heard if you repeated joke about something…you slowly begin to believe it.

but surely. surely, that isnt the case here. you couldnt ruin this strong friendship you had with him. he meant too much to you to allow your connection to dwindle to a relationship, that would eventually end and leave you with a hole in your heart, and too free much time to spend.

you knew this, but it wasnt enough to stop the way your heart would pound against your skin. the way your face would light on fire everytime you saw his name on your phone.

the way your heart would drop everytime he said something tooth decayingly sweet. a jokingly sultry voice whenever he said something flirty.

but no. you refuse to allow your selfishness wreck the way you both gravitated to each other. and you knew deep down, if it were romantic attraction, it would end at some point. platonically, you could be friends for life…

like a mantra you would repeat to yourself to protect your cherished friendship. no matter how hard it is.

so here you were. the first night of many you knew were you going to spend with him now that youre practically going to live with him for 3 more months under the sunburning summer in cali.

this year you guys had decided you both needed to be beach bums this year in a beach house airbnb. that you both agreed to split the payment of.

you two had a long day of relishing in each others presence. the hours spent on the cramped jet from just that same early morning seemed to wash away the second you saw his face light up at the sight of you.

“AYEEE THERE SHE IS”

he exclaims as he practically runs over and scoops you up, dropping his luggage to properly embrace you.

laughing hard and holding him tight you say into his shoulder

“i cant believe its finally here”

“what? it? im an it now?”

hamzah says with a playful tone

“NOOO, i mean our year long planned summer”

“i know, its about time i see my girl”

he says as he slides you back down to your feet, to look you in your eyes in a serious but lovingly manner.

“my girl? alright buddy im happy to see you too”

you laugh.

hamzah drops his “act” and laughs with you. while draping his arm around you, he directs the both of you out of the airport.

everytime you finally meet its like there was no time in between. maybe its because neither of you can go longer than an hour without talking to each other, but thats besides the point.

laying back on the couch you watch hamzah as he snifs hard after hitting the joint.

you burst out laughing when he, once again, fails to inhale the smoke.

“URG, why is this shit so fucking hard”

he says while gritting his teeth, then suddently erupting in a fit of rough coughs from the hit.

“alright, I’LL SHOW YOU ONE MORE TIME BECAUSE NOW I’M GETTING TOO FUCKED UP”

you cackle while grabbing the joint out of his fingers.

“how do you think i feel? i just chief-ed that bitch like 20 times trying to do a damn french inhale”

he choked out while his eyes water up, glossing over his red and heavy eyes.

you simply giggle whilst inhaling the smoke effortlessly through your nose, holding eye contact with his teary eyes.

he animatedly throws his hands up and covers his eyes with his hands.

you snort while twisting the roach in the ashtray you both just bought from the dispensary 5 minutes away from your airbnb.

“well, lucky for you, you have time and plenty of bud to get it down”

you say while snuggling your back into the corner of the huge couch in the even larger living room of the beach house.

“yeah yeahhh”

he retorts while doing the same, screwing his eyes shut.

“don’t tell me your going to crash out on me so early? its the first night you ass”

hamzah sits up, making his back completely straight and looks at you in the eyes.

“oh shit that reminds me…”

he blurts, while suddenly getting up and half jogs down the hallway.

“WOW, GOING TO SLEEP IN YOUR ROOM THEN”

“noooo”

you can hear him say distantly, while you hear some commotion from his room. he reenters the living room holding something behind his back.

“oh my god what did you get me?”

“hmm? i dont have anything”

he responds jokingly looking around the room, while approaching you. he grins while looking down at you, suddenly, proudly, whipping out a dvd.

you look away from his face to examine it. you read “smile 2”

you look back up at him and laugh while shaking your head.

“oh my god, PUT THAT SHIT IN RIGHT NOW”

you say enthusiastically, not intending the volume you said it. silently cringing at yourself.

he raises his eyebrows and nods, while putting his hand in front of your first

“theres a catch though…”

“oh god what” you smile calmer this time

“i may have brought a big ass bottle of grey goose…”

he drags on while pressing his lips into a thin smile.

“okay…?” you respond curiously.

“and i thought we could take a shot every time one of us jump”

he explains while pulling the other hand behind his back with the vodka.

you laugh and say “oh you little genius i love you”

the movie finally came to end. your entire body is buzzing and you can feel hamzah’s eyes on you.

“youd think this not being our first time watching this…we wouldnt be this fucked up right now”

you slur while sliding your arms behind you to rest on them.

“well, we’re also crossfaded right now so..i mean- i’d be fine if i werent also faded than a ho right now”

you lean your head back, looking at him

“yeah thats true”

you both look into each others dazed eyes for a moment

“im shaking im so cold right now…”

hamzah blinks and says

“damn..who asked? hah”

he says while pushing out a fake and obnoxious laugh. you groan while pushing his shoulder. he simply laughs and responds seriously

“do you want to go lay down then? are you sleepy?”

you hum while nodding your head.

“okayyy, lets go”

hamzah sits up straight and slaps his knees as he abruptly stands up

you attempt to do the same you catch your balance far less gracefully as hamzah did.

“woah woahh, i got you light weight”

“ughh i cant walk hamzah..oh noo, what do i do?”

you say seriously while holding onto his now closest shoulder as his arms are stretched out holding you up, under your shoulders

“its okay pretty..ill just have to carry you to bed”

he says plainly while crookedly smiling at you.

“like a princess?” you say quietly, your voice sounding higher than usual

hamzahs heart flutters while bending down to hook his strong arm behind your knees

“yup, like a princess”

he grunts while carefully making his way to your room.

finding your bed, he leans over it, gently placing you on your pillow.

“hmm, hamzah?”

you hum out, while grabbing his forearm as he was about to walk out.

“yeah princess?”

he whispers back

“can you sleep by me?”

hamzah laughs out of his nose and responds a bit louder

“sure i can”

hamzah climbs over you and plops himself besides you closer to the wall. he sighs contently

“mmm, thats the stuff”

“hamzah, i have the spins”

you mumble

“oh shoot”

“can you hold me?”

theres only silence after you say it. hamzah simply hums yes, while reaching over to bring you atop of him

“how does that feel?”

you respond by hum contently whilst nuzzling into his embrace

“yeah? good?”

he responds, in that sleepy voice you know so well

“yeah” you say, again higher than your usual voice

you can feel hamzahs heart beat faster against your chest.

he mindlessly runs his fingers lightly up and down your spine. your body instinctively shudders from the light tickle-ly sensation rippling throughout your whole body. reminding you of your inebriated state.

“you like that?” hamzah breathes almost inaudibly

youre only capable of squeaking out a feeble “mhm”

“yeah?” he repeats, slightly more confident this time

“yeah” you push out with a whine, while scooting you legs up higher up his torso, pushing your core against him harder than you intended.

immediately, but slightly hamzah lifts his hips into yours. hardly containing the groan he puts directly into your ear.

it feels like your heart is beating a million beats a minute. your whole body is scorching and your have zero thoughts. your bodies are moving by themselves. neither of you can contain the desire rushing south.

you whine again pushing your pussy harder onto his hardening bulge.

hamzah moans into your ear again slowly thrusting his dick back, attempting to find your slow rhythm.

the both of you are quietly panting at this point as you rub onto each other, the drugs absolutely distracting you to care to conceal your noises more carefully.

“mmph. just like that baby” hamzah whimpers louder this time

you move your hands to each side of his head to look at him. hamzah opens his half lidded eyes, and moves his hands from your back, to your jaw and finally pulls you in to kiss.

you moan into his mouth, keeping the same pace at your hips.

it was a rough kiss. it was passionate and messy. both of you are eating your moans desperately clinging to each other. contrasting the slow and sensual pace of your cunt dragging on his hard dick.

you fully sit up pulling away from his lips

“hamzah…” you whimper out dragging your hands down his stomach. hamzah sits up quickly with you, to desperately crash into your lips again.

“mmph” hamzah breathes out, breathing hard out of his nose while impatiently moving his hands to grope the softness of your ass. pressing and guiding you slightly quicker and harder onto his still clothed dick.

you whine louder while pulling on the waistband of his sweats. trying to pull just his pants off, he obliges by lifting his hips up high, shocking your clit with the quick and intense pressure.

your lips tear away from him and you gasp loudly, quickly grabbing his shoulders. hamzah groans clearly this time while dragging his sweats halfway down his thighs. he drops his hips back onto the mattress, whilst pulling your pajama pants as far as he can.

“takes these off” he gulps slightly muffling his order

you lift one knee at a time as he helps pull them fully off of your legs.

“there you go” he pants, pulling your cunt back into his lap.

you immediately start grinding on his now hot and sticky bulge just behind the thin material of his boxers.

“m’you feel so good” you whine while throwing your head back

hamzah moans with every quick breath, as he slides his rather cold hands up your shirt to grope your tits.

“hah-“ you pant as he molests your nipples

“god youre so sexy baby”

“hah- ah-”

“that feel good baby?”

“yeah” you whine

“yeah? fuck youre so wet” he grunts as his dick get wetter the more he talks

“that all for me baby?”

you bite your lip attempting to muffle your incessant whines and moans “yes hamzah”

“i need to hear you baby”

you let go of your bottom lip and repeat “all for you hamzah”

“all mine. no one else yeah?”

“no- no one else”

“yeah..youre mine-” hamzah repeats, almost as if hes talking to himself. he lifts his hand off of your tits to slap his hand hard against the plush of your ass.

“right pretty girl?”

you gasp and your voice quivers as you respond “y- yeah- yes”

youre grinding on his dick faster than what he was making you, making him throw his head back to groan.

“fuck just like that”

you’re panting and whimpering as hamzah breathes faster

“fu-fuck”

“god yes baby..”

“hamz’hamzah…im gunna-“ you cry out

“go ahead cum on me baby” hamzah pathetically whines out

the pleasure washes over your whole body, making the top of your head tingle. you jump at hamzah twitching under neath you as your cunt gets sopping wet from him cumming right in his boxers.

you cry out as he rides out the both of your climaxes. your uncovered tits press against his panting chest as you fall onto him. he grabs the small of your back impossibly tight. as if hes trying to ground himself from his climax.

your both breathing out of your mouth. he laughs tiredly and you sigh and laugh shortly after.

“you feel better now baby?”

you sit up looking at his face realizing your spins are gone.

#hamzahthefantastic #hamzah x reader #hamzah smut #hamzah fic #hamzah imagines #hamzahsmut

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softtdaisy · 2 days ago

Text

in the meantime / Aaron Hotchner

summary. when hotch gets hurt, you're called as his emergency contact. thing is, nobody knows you're not together anymore.

words count. 2 336

what to expect. a little angst I guess but fluff too, Jack is mentioned but he's a teen

a/n. I first imagined this very funny and light and I ended up adding more angst??? but it's still sweet and cute and hotch is a lover boy

F1 masterlist | general masterlist| request

When you got called at school, at first, you didn’t think it could be that moment you’ve been scared of for months finally happening.

Being a kindergarten teacher, it was easy to leave your class and ask for a colleague to take care of your children. They were all occupied with creating a new poster with their names and wouldn't even notice your absence. Well, you imagine they wouldn’t because you weren’t supposed to leave for too long.

“Do you know who’s asking for me?” you asked the principal’s assistant who came for you. He was one of your friends here, so you knew how to analyze his gesture. And from how fast he was walking right now, you could tell this was more serious than you first thought.

“Well, she’s a brunette, dressed in black.” He stopped in the middle of the hallway to think for a second. Trying hard to remember what her name could be. Thing was, you didn’t know that many brunettes, dressed in black that could authorize herself to come here. “I think her name is Emily or something like that.”

You stopped in the middle of the hallway, freezing.

You appreciated Emily. You would even call her a friend, even if you only knew her through Hotch. But you barely talked outside of the moment you spent together.

Getting a call from her would have been weird. Having her come to your school wasn’t normal at all.

Yet, here she was. Waiting in the principal’s office. Indeed, she was wearing an all-black outfit but mostly wearing a concerned expression on her face.

When you opened the door, she rushed to you, interrupting her conversation. Her hand was soon on your shoulder and her eyes were locked on yours. You found some comfort in it. The problem was, you had no idea why you needed it.

“What are you doing here, Emily?” you asked, whispering like it was some secret the rest of your colleagues or your superior didn’t need to know. Which was true, somehow. “Is everything alright?”

But you knew it wasn’t. And the three words that followed were the proof. “It’s Hotch.”

Your heart dropped, and the whole world went silent.

You’ve spent months afraid of hearing these words one day. Checking your phone multiple times a day, waiting for his text to make sure he was doing fine. There were moments when you would have the same nightmares of coming home to an empty house, sometimes with more graphic images you wished you could forget.

When Emily noticed you seemed to disconnect from reality, she put her other hand on your shoulder. “He’s ok,” she added.

“I don’t know how, but the unsub managed to stab him in the stomach. He lost a lot of blood and went to surgery, but he should be fine. Spencer told me he was waking up when he arrived here, you heard Emily explain, but her voice seemed like a distant melody.

You tried to focus on the good news, that Hotch was fine. As fine as he can be after an attack that probably woke up some trauma, but fine. Not dead. Not in danger. Fine.

You took a breath and nodded to accept the information you just got. And showing Emily that you listened, that you understood what she said.

It wasn’t until you managed to keep your stress as low as possible that the question popped up in your head. “You came all the way here to tell me?”

Emily looked at you with confusion.

“Well, you’re his girlfriend and his emergency contact. And you weren’t answering your phone. I thought it would be better to bring you to the hospital myself than let you learn about that later by yourself.”

That was the moment you understood why Emily chose to drive all the way here.

Hotch didn’t tell anyone you weren’t together anymore.

Dating Hotch was easy, more than people thought it was.

He was a great listener. He loved to hear you speak about everything in your life just as much as he loved paying attention to small details. Offering your favorite flowers, having your favorite artist in his car, and sending a text about important events at your job even when he was miles and miles away.

You could tell Hotch was working on the experience he got from his past relationship and all that he still had to learn to be a good partner for you. And he was doing a wonderful job on it.

This relationship did a lot of good for him too. With Jack being a teen and less with his dad, he finally felt like he had a new purpose to come back home. Hotch learned to love opening his door again. This time not being met by the silence. But by you, with some kind of reality TV on, reading a book on a sofa he almost forgot about before seeing you on it—not to mention the memories the both of you created on it. You made him feel loved. At his place but at every place in his life too.

For a year, you two have been the happiest and did everything to make this relationship work. Even the team noticed the change in Hotch’s personality. And after multiple drinks together, you started to call them friends too. You both loved the routine you created together.

But even with the brightest sun shining on your relationship, the truth was the stress was still there. His job was anxious, to you, but to him too. Having someone to care about in his life once again made Hotch concerned about losing you. He tended to be more protective after rough cases, sometimes leaning to some controlling behavior he hated as much as you did.

The disputes became more and more recurrent. And after another fight, you both decided that maybe you needed a moment away from each other to wonder if this was really worth it. You wanted Aaron Hotchner to be the love of your life; you really did. Just as he wanted to. But was it really the life you both wanted?

It was a hard month away from him; you won’t lie.

And knowing you almost lost him was even hard.

“Let’s go,” you finally replied. And the ride to the hospital was surprisingly calm.

The few times you saw Emily, you both kept chatting for hours to the point Hotch even laughed one day about fearing she might steal you from him. But this time, there were no words. Not only because of the stress, but also because you realized you were lying to your friend because of Hotch. You haven’t seen him in a month, having no idea about what his life might have been these past thirty days. And she was great at worming information out of you. So you would rather not say a thing instead of spilling a secret.

The whole drive to the hospital felt like a fever dream. And nothing could have prepared you for the overwhelming feeling you got when you opened the door. A mix of relief and stress.

Hotch was there, indeed. Underneath a white sheet that made his skin look even paler, with dark circles bigger than the last time you saw him and a tired expression that made you wish you could do anything to let him relax and rest for at least a month.

He was facing the window and only turned his head when he heard you coming in. And the confusion replaced the tiredness on his face. Yet, you still noticed the short smile that drew on his lips when he saw you. “What are you doing here?”

His tone was sweet. Sweeter than usual. No matter how down he was, Hotch took everything in him to make you feel welcome. He didn’t want you to question your presence here or to think he was questioning it. He was glad to see your face after the awful day he had. Yet, he was still wondering why you came. After a month apart, he thought you put him aside.

Deep down, Hotch had the feeling he was easy to forget. But you weren’t. You never felt his head or his heart.

You didn’t answer his question. You couldn’t even talk. You were just focused on the silhouette of the man that shared your life these past months, lying on this hospital bed, looking so fragile.

You walked to him, as close as you could. So close that your knees bumped in the bed without you realizing it. You couldn’t resist the need to brush his hair, putting away some strands that were on his forehead. His confused and drained eyes follow each one of your moves.

“Honey?” he asked again, reaching for your hand.

When you were together, not a day went by—except for those when he was away—where you wouldn’t hold hands. In the morning, when he was getting up, you tried to keep him with you a little longer. During breakfast, while he was drinking his coffee. When he said goodbye, kissing you before putting a kiss on your entangled hands. Or when you went to sleep, cuddling, with your hands on your stomach—or his, when he needed it after a rough day.

“You didn’t tell them we broke up,” you said in a low voice. It was the first time you said it out loud but also realized what it meant. And having Hotch in front of you, calling you by the nickname that followed you your whole relationship and caressing your hand with his thumb softly, helped see the truth behind that. “Emily came and picked me up because I’m your emergency contact, and I wasn’t answering my phone, and as your girlfriend, she assumed I needed to know. Because you didn’t tell anyone we weren’t together anymore.”

You finally landed your eyes on his, losing yourself in his baffled puppy look. “You’re right, I didn’t.” Hotch said. It was the first time since you came in that you noticed his voice was a little raspy. “And I’m glad it led you here.”

You could hear the sincerity in his voice, not that you doubted he meant it. Over a year, you’ve learned to recognize Hotch’s expression. Especially the way his face was always softer when he was with you. Or how his very stoic and linear mouth always curled up in a smile around you.

Still, you had one question on your tongue. “Why?”

“Why am I glad?” he replied with a giggle. One that was sadly followed by a grimace. You watched as Hotch brought his other hand to his stomach to ease the pain. The doctor told him that even with the medicine, it would take him multiple days to get better. And until the stitches were gone, he wasn’t allowed to go back on the field.

But suddenly, the idea of being stuck at his office or at home wasn’t as awful as it was when he first thought about it.

You sighed, focusing on his face rather than the wound he was clearly keeping hidden from you. “Why haven’t you told them?”

Hotch took a second to look at you. The answer was obvious to him, to the point that there wasn’t a question to begin with. Over this past month, there was not a moment where he thought he had to make things clearer about your situation. Sure, he was a very private man, yet he never lied about you. He just kept things as they were. “Because I didn’t want it to be over.”

Hotch sat up against the headboard and motioned to you to sit on the bed with him. He moved his legs to give you space. And the heat you felt when he held your hand tighter to help you reminded you of the obvious attraction you had for him. Even after he had a terrible day.

“Listen,” he started again with a tone that imposed on listening to him. That's not to say you weren't paying attention in the first place. “I know we made this decision together, and I respect it. And this month apart gave me the time to think about us.”

The first night coming home to an empty and silent house wasn’t easy for Hotch. He felt like he had failed again at keeping someone in his life. He hated that he lied to Jack, saying you had family obligations to explain your absence. He didn’t want his son to be disappointed about his dad's inability to maintain a great relationship.

And one day, Jack told him about a girl at school he had a crush on and everything he did to prove to her it was worth trying rather than giving up.

“I want to make things right with you.” Hotch pursued, bringing your hands to his chest. “Maybe I need to work on my perception of danger when it comes to you. And if so, I will do it. Because I want you.”

You always found it fascinating how his eyes often spoke louder than his words. And the look he was giving you right now was the best argument he could have found to prove you he meant it. Hotch loved you. And so did you.

When a smile started to grow on your lips, also a silent answer to his silent confession, you noticed his lips curved too. Hotch let go of your hand to bring his own to your neck and move your face closer to him. But you stopped right before your lips touched.

“Maybe you should just consider not getting hurt the next time we argue.” You whispered, which made him laugh.

“Right, I’ll think about that.” He replied before finally guiding you to his lips.

Hotch never stopped believing he would get you back. So maybe he was right about not telling anyone about the breakup.

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theeldritchdarling · 2 days ago

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Going to go into more detail on these than last time:

1/2. Most places don’t have currency; bartering is everything. Taking a note from Cas3yart. Trade and taxes is all done via bartering goods or bartering services (skills/crafts). Taxes are essentially the amount of materials or goods that are stored/given out to the local shops and eateries. Collected from the local clans of an area; think the Minoan “castles” that were actually storage centers. The local clans hunt/harvest from the area and a portion, or tax, is given to the temple as payment. It also acts as a library and separate storage for times of famine, droughts, or other natural disasters.

3. Areians use a lunar calendar. Daylight is shorter than that of Earth thanks to their three moons. That’s all I have right now.

4. Still 4 seasons. lol. That rare long though; the equivalent of 5 Earth years/season (~20 earth years for a year)

5. Weather is more erratic and extreme. Most flora and fauna have adapted methodologies to survive these more harsh conditions (more pine-like plants and fewer flowering plants; animals have either thick fur/hides or built-in armor).

6. Three Moons!

7. No rings

8. Not sure if they exist yet (this isn’t my area of expertise).

9. The desserts near the equator use a quartz-sand mixture that causes roads to shimmer silver under moon lights.

10. Jewelry, as with tools/weapons, is primarily made from bones, volcanic glass, or stonework. Silver-type metals are used almost exclusively for courting jewelry. It is believed to have been parts of the “beast” itself, and so holds magical properties. Gold and its ilk are feared and considered dangerous.Most Areians experience some form of uv sensitivity and Areians are either crepuscular (settler) or nocturnal (nomadic). So the Sun, sunlight, and daytime are feared phenomena with anything having a connection to it to be taken with caution as well. Hence, gold being feared and never used. Also most jewelry is in some form practical. As hunters, most don’t want to risk their jewelry getting caught, risking harm or slowing them down. So jewels are rarely used.

11. Courting jewelry can be anything from rings, necklaces, bands or bracelets/anklets, to brooches or piercings. As written previously, pragmatism plays a factor into the appearance of some pieces. Jewelry is earned and can only be worn by courting or married peoples. It also can’t be hand-me-downs. Courting jewelry is a show of craft, which, along with skills, are one of the two attributes valued by Areian cultures. So one has to make the courting jewelry they plan to give to potential mates/partners.

12. I haven’t figured out if they have last names/if last names exist.

13. Virginity and bastardry aren’t important concepts for the vast majority of cultures. The most important aspects of sex and marriage culture is to have the most descendants/breed the best descendants and have the most partners as sign of strength, power, and vitality. Partnership is also about creating/gaining political power, share assets/gain access to resources, and breeding.

14. Five genders and no concept of sexes. Genders are based on fertility; the number of pups in a single litter/over their breeding seasons. Yañe/child, Alano/Elder, Sayalarr/Extremely Fertile (5/6 pups/litter), Salarr (3-4 pups/litter), and Twote/Infertile (0-1 if lucky). Sex is only defined as the act of intercourse itself.

15. Most religions are a mixture of animism, Shintoism, and paganism. Clans will have familial tribes that give tribute/connect energies of the spirits/energies of nature. And, individuals can have personal alters that do the same to similar or different spirits/energies.

16. The only “god”, the beast, have a more eldritch appearance. It is a collective convergent genetic memory of the atrocities that the Qu did to the Star People to create the Predators (Ancestors of the Areians/Killer Folk).

17. Many creatures, even domesticated ones, appear similar to mythical or folklore creatures (sphinxes, unicorns, or chupacabras). Also, Areians would count as the reskinned dogs and cats of the planet.😜

18. Abandoned AI hubs that are coveted and secreted away by the Conventry. Hold the history knowledge, and forgotten tools of the Star People, Humans, and Martians.

19. Areians are farsighted. Most information is kept via the Corvids, acting as the memory banks of culture and society (see Cas3yart’s video on the topic). Most information is passed verbally from generation to generation. Any “written” works are in the form of knots or raised embroidery. Tactile methodologies for information storage.

20. Hunter’s Sign. A form of Areian sign language that’s reliant on hand and ear movements. With added chirps and calls as well. Sight isn’t as important since their eyesight is adapted for night and long distance.

21. Areians/Killer Folk are obligate carnivores. The only plant matter they can digest are fungal, root, or squash-based plants. But these are only short term solutions. Areians also suffer from a variant of Auto-Brewery Syndrome; grain-based carbohydrates and fruit/plant-based sugars are fermented in their systems, making them drunk from consuming foodstuffs made from these materials.

@kjagasanpijrtu you inspired to go and reduce this

Small fantasy worldbuilding elements you might want to think about:

A currency that isn’t gold-standard/having gold be as valuable as tin

A currency that runs entirely on a perishable resource, like cocoa beans

A clock that isn’t 24-hours

More or less than four seasons/seasons other than the ones we know

Fantastical weather patterns like irregular cloud formations, iridescent rain

Multiple moons/no moon

Planetary rings

A northern lights effect, but near the equator

Roads that aren’t brown or grey/black, like San Juan’s blue bricks

Jewelry beyond precious gems and metals

Marriage signifiers other than wedding bands

The husband taking the wife's name / newlyweds inventing a new surname upon marriage

No concept of virginity or bastardry

More than 2 genders/no concept of gender

Monotheism, but not creationism

Gods that don’t look like people

Domesticated pets that aren’t re-skinned dogs and cats

Some normalized supernatural element that has nothing to do with the plot

Magical communication that isn’t Fantasy Zoom

“Books” that aren’t bound or scrolls

A nonverbal means of communicating, like sign language

A race of people who are obligate carnivores/ vegetarians/ vegans/ pescatarians (not religious, biological imperative)

I’ve done about half of these myself in one WIP or another and a little detail here or there goes a long way in reminding the audience that this isn’t Kansas anymore.

#woo!#did it #feels good getting some lore down #man this was complicated #worth it #some things need to be thought out more #but this is good for now #cm kosemen #all tomorrows #killer folk #AU #speculative worldbuilding #world building #worldbuilding #worldbuilding culture #speculative culture #conworld

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modernquackfare · 2 days ago

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How about Simon having a wife that is a toymaker and makes plushies. Wife!reader comes to the base and gives each of the tf 141 a plushie that looks like them. All of them gets one… except Ghost

Needles to say, he’s very upset, all day, that he didn’t get one.

Only when he gets home, he sees plushies of himself and the reader on the bed

A/N: okay omg i'm so so sorry this has taken forever but I've lost my draft three times 😭 luckily i wasn't TOO far along writing/had it copied but HERE U GO <33

Ghost x Fem!Reader - Toymaker Wife

For such a special day, you come prepared. It's the first time you're setting foot on Spec Gru's European base, thanks to your husband's insistence on security and containment—whatever that means. After much begging and many strategically missed video calls, Simon finally extends an invitation.

It's a cold, concrete world, Simon tells you. Nothing like you, love, or so he says. Does he think being a toymaker for work is synonymous with an inability to handle a few more military men than you already have? It's hard to believe that anyone on base could be more threatening or deadly than Simon himself.

Or Ghost, as they call him here. It's a little funny—reminiscent of middle schoolers that roleplay wolves named Luna or Rebel, but he'd have your head if you ever say such a thing, regardless of how true it might be. You've considered making him a wolf-ear headband just to prove a point and laugh at his furrowed expression. You're sure that his friends, those large men and women in the photo he let you keep, would find it equally funny.

"Sergeant Gaz, Captain Price, Sergeant Soap…” You count, knocking each handheld plush into your bag. It feels just a little childish, showing up to a military base with a pack full of toys-but in your defense, they're the product of your profession and adorable. Each is handmade to recreate the likeness of every member of Task Force 141. They'll probably like the gifts, if Simon's description of each's personality is accurate. Soap's boyish charm, Gaz's calm demeanor, and Price's warm, but dry sense of humor—that's something you can work with.

***

"It's—is this a mini me? This is braw, you've nailed it, lass." Soap lifts his plush into the air, as if holding a newborn babe to the sun. "Down to the scars. I'll be."

You can't help the ripple of a laugh when beside him, Gaz similarly examines his miniature self. "Not bad," he breathes, wiggling the doll's arms as if to make it dance. "Not bad at all. What a handsome fellow."

Soap lifts his doll, moving its head as if it were speaking for him in a poor attempt at ventriloquism "Finely crafted, maybe. Handsome? Well, that's up for—"

"Well, pass yours on over then, let's see that Yule log you call a mohawk," Gaz sneers back, matching Soap's doll's movements with his own.

It's a successful introduction, you think! Simon watches on in silence, loving warmth evident in his eyes as he does. He's not dragging you away and shipping you back home, so things must be going well—as silent and distant as he's being.

"Do you like them?” You ask, hands folded in your lap.

Price fidgets with his, admiring the tiny boonie hat that you've included, small strips of Velcro lining the bottom to adhere the hat to the head. "Never thought I'd ever be the owner of my own doll," he murmurs. "Got the hat just right, didn't you? Spot on."

"Aye, but don't leave it lying about," Soap grins, making his doll trot on over and speak in pitched up tones. “That hat of yours might just disappear. I've got hair too, Cap'."

"Yeah, hair that needs covering."

"Oh, bolt, ya dobber."

Amidst the light chatter of your newfound friends in Simon's comrades, you glance over at the man. There your husband stands, arms crossed tight against his chest. He's got that look—definitely pouting under that mask of his, as much as he protests, saying that it isn't pouting, it's brooding. The others seem to take notice of your wandering gaze, though, and suddenly all eyes are on Simon and his very obvious lack of a personalized doll.

"Don't look so solemn, Ghost," Gaz grins cheekily. "You've almost got me feeling bad for you. You're the one with the dollmaker for a wife, mate.

Simon doesn't respond. His dark gaze, gentle brown eyes hardened into rocks, finds Gaz. Shut it, he seems to say without even opening his mouth.

That grey cloud seems to follow him throughout the day. Convivial conversation with his other friends on base falls flat when the spotlight falls on him, his responses limited to a scant "Hmm," or "Uh-huh," or even a quiet look that verges on a glare. He'll pull away when you reach for his hand, casually enough to pass off as an accident or fault of imperceptibility. As if you didn't know him better—that his reflexes and peripheral vision weren't as sharp as blades.

"Stupid anyway," he mumbles to himself, catching your ears. "Stupid toys."

You frown. He knows better than to speak this way—you've discussed it before, about how much you treasured your work and hated having it dismissed by words like stupid and childish. “I don't think they're stupid," you interrupt, never too intimidated to speak up against him.

Simon immediately softens upon realizing that you've heard him. “It's not—that's not what I meant. You know I don't think they're stupid."

Right, but he's acting strange all day. Still, you can't find it within yourself to probe. "Something is, though. Right?"

"The way they play with them,” Simon immediately speaks, shoulders stiff. "Just…grown men, playing like children."

"Ah," you hum. Somehow, you can't bring yourself to believe it—but you don't ask. It's not as if it's even remotely big enough of an issue to need addressing, after all. You just hate to see Simon so withdrawn. At least, more so than usual.

***

Simon is absent from dinner in the mess hall later on, after giving you an extensive tour and dropping you off at one of the on-base cafes. That's how you know something's off. He would never normally give up an opportunity to share a meal with you, even in a noisy, crowded cafeteria like the one on base.

"Wasn't hungry," he only shrugs when you find him in his on-base unit, boots kicked up as he nurses a neat whiskey. Oh, he's pouting.

You can't help yourself. "Aww, baby," you coo, lingering closer. "Are you feeling alright? You've been gloomy all day…"

"Mmph," he shrugs, gaze flickering up to yours—and he can't help how he all but melts at the love in your eyes. "Just…tired. Go'n and get your shower done. Wanna snuggle."

And how could you say no to that? Your growing suspicion had been that Simon was feeling left out, or forgotten, not receiving a doll of his own. Little does he know, you giggle to yourself.

***

You're in the shower when Simon emerges from his brooding, lurching off the couch and trudging towards the room, where he'd made his bed with clean sheets and set up fluffy pillows for his wife's arrival. The bitterness of being left out of her sweet benevolence has largely faded. She is his wife, after all.

He nudges open his bedroom door, set on his dresser to shed the heavy layers of the day, the mask, and finally exist as Simon for the rest of the night. With you. No doll could ever distract him from you.

He's pulling a hoodie over his head when tiny figures catch in the corner of his vision. A hallucination? No. Dolls.

You and him, smiling and snuggled together. You in your favorite sundress, rosy cheeks and cute face. Him in his mask—which is removable, he discovers on closer inspection. Simon gently tugs off the cloth skull mask, curious to see his own likeness rendered in doll form.

"Handsome bugger," he mutters, thumb brushing over his doll's small face. Blond with stern brown eyes, but smiling. Soap was right about the scars—each placed with perfect accuracy. The one extending from the left corner of his lip up his cheek. The one across his eyebrow. You even got the one under his chin, tucked under the plushie's soft, round face.

On the right hands of both dolls, he realizes, there is a hidden circle of Velcro. So they can hold hands in any orientation. It's such a you thing to do that it hurts.

When you emerge from your shower, all three are gathered in the living room, watching TV. Simon with his legs up on the coffee table, and your miniatures holding hands in his lap. It's hard to help the beam that curls up on your lips—and why would you want to?

"Looks like someone's found the kids," you coo, swaying over and plopping down beside him. “I'm glad you like 'em. Did I do you justice?"

"More than," Simon rasps, scooting close, flush against your side. "They're better than that git, Soap's, that's for sure."

His words coax laughter out of you as you press your head to his chest and scoop up the two little toys into your arms. "Careful, Si. They might hear what you said and tell him.”

"They can go on and tell the whole base, for all I care. Your skill went as far as it could go, it's his face that's the problem." Simon snorts, tugging you close and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Better believe I'm showing this one off tomorrow. Might have to keep it in here, though. I'm not risking a theft."

"You say that every time," you laugh, snuggling close and shutting your eyes for the night as he wraps an arm around you—warm, solid, and safely his.

Request Archive

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thedaddycomplex · 22 hours ago

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My dad has written and illustrated a book about geodes and how they are formed. It’s a bit whimsical but science based and the art is pretty good, watercolors, but it is such a niche subject I don’t know how to locate a publisher. Thoughts? Vanity publish?

Vanity publishing is always an option, though I have a whole diatribe about the expectation vs. reality of vanity- and self-publishing.

You might try going to a bookstore to see what other whimsical science books have been published in the past year and reach out to those publishers. (And it doesn’t have to be a publisher that already has other geode books. On the contrary, you want to find one that has sciencey books, but a geode deficit.)

While you may find many examples in the library, it only helps if the books are recent. A store can tell you or show you which new ones are selling now, which will give you some info on the market, which you can then fold into your pitch

For the record, one speed bump you may hit is that you already have art for the book. Most publishers like to have a say—if not outright control—over who does the art for their books. So, if that’s a dealbreaker for you, just be prepared. If not, consider pitching just the text of his book and see if more doors open for you.

#writblr #writing advice #publishing #books

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goatgoesmbe · 1 day ago

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f!reader

Reader who always wear a mask, and was more secretive than Ghost who had no problem showing his face to the team once in a while.

And just like with Ghost, the others joked about you being ugly, which you similarly replied with confidence that's not the case.

When you were tired of keep getting questions about the mask, you'd respond with a joke.

Putting on your best act, you sighed with a solemn look, telling a story about how you used to be obsessed with Shrek and had him tattooed on your face, which you were ashamed of now.

"..Are you serious?" Kyle asked.

You simply shrugged "I guess you'll never know".

And they could never guess whether you were lying or not, being known as the master of psychological warfare and often sent for espionage because of your skill with people, manipulation.

And acting.

What they didn't know is that, you gained that skill from your previous job, when you were a big deal in the entertainment industry. A professional actress that started in many movies and got into a really big scandal that got you hiding.

And somehow ended up here.

That was the reason as to why you needed to hide your face, your identity. Not even your captain knows about it, only Laswell who knew a bit of your story.

Lounging around in the recroom, you silently observed the others arguing about a certain movie to watch before it somehow ended with them fanboying for a certain actress who played the main character.

You.

"Ah swear, Ah saw this porn where the lass looked just like her. Had folk arguin’ if it was really her or just a doppelganger… haud on, where is it—" You heard Johnny rambled as he fumbled with his phone.

You shifted in your seat and hid a smille.

Oh yeah, that side gig you took a long time ago.. almost forgot about that

Dropping this idea before class so i wont forget abt it

#call of duty #cod #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #cod 141 #tf 141 #task force 141 #tf 141 x you

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softness-and-shattering · 1 day ago

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My family did a nice party with reasonable food and borrowed decorations. None of my friends had anything resembling those tens of thousands of dollar glitzy themed fancy DJ 500 guest extravaganzas. They were usually in a synagogue hall. The guys had a nice sponsored kiddush after shule the week they read from the Torah, maybe a price tag of a couple hundred dollars max. The girls in my community didnt read from the Torah but did have a party that was mostly like an elevated birthday party. The food was more Shabbos food than hot dogs, sometimes catered sometimes homemade. The decorations were a little nicer, one of my friends had a chocolate fountain and that was super fancy. I think one person rented....like a fancy hall you might have a small wedding in? And there were waiters and the food was quite fancy, not michelin star but more like wedding food? And everyone dressed up a little, Shabbos clothes or similar.

The smaller ones had guests limited to close friends and immediate family, larger ones include the synagogue community, parents friends, maybe grandparents friends, some more distant relatives.

And like, I was aware of who had the bigger fancier parties and who had the smaller more intimate parties, and sometimes the intimate ones were a nicer experience, and I dont remember any bitching about whose parents could afford what. I do remember some parents feeling pressure, actually, that I was sideways aware of, yknow when youre on your way out the door and youve already said your goodbyes and them your parent stops to talk to all the other parents for 20 minutes before you leave? And I do remember adults congratulating each other not doing any big blowout nonsense, affirming that its ok to be keeping it very appropriate for the occasion.

Cause it is a big deal, but its not a wedding or idk what else rich people have overblown parties about. Every kid has one. Especially bigger families cant afford to spend a fortune on each kid. It doesnt need to be about showing off. Really its a community event, its about marking ones transition into Jewishly legal adulthood and proper responsibility for oneself, its about marking ones new responsibility and privilege of counting in a minyan and being able to read the Torah and lead services. Its very definitely not nothing. The celebrant is a teenager. All these things are true. Most people do whatever fanciness they can reasonably afford, and for most people that looks nothing like the handful of examples Ive seen in media.

And on the other side, people do gift money, but that doesnt mean every kid walks away with thousands. Its traditional to gift in multiples of 18 which is the number for life, so maybe you got a lot of $18's and maybe you got more $320's. Cause the other trope Ive seen is "Im loaded with all my bar/bat/bnei mitzvah money". Imho I got a decent amount for how I old I was, my parents allocated some I was allowed to spend and the rest I had to save, which I genuinely appreciate. I know some people got a lot more and some got a lot less. Its super variable. I think some peoples parents took the money to pay for the party and like, groceries, because that was their financial situation, which imo is unfair to the kid, but if its that or not eating I also understand the parents decision.

Point being, most people arent fabulously wealthy and many are actually quite poor. People do what they can within their means. It varies a lot. Id love to see more Jewish rep that isnt wealthy new yorkers and $20k bar mitzvahs.

I'm just gonna say something, Bar/Bat/B'nai mitzvahs are a celebration, they often but not always come with an after party and depending on the means of the parents of the lucky 13 year old they can be over the top sometimes. Much like rich kids with sweet 16s or Quinceañera.

okay thats out of the way, what I wanted to say is, I'm SICK of every media depiction of a Bar/Bat Mitzvah as a 100 million dollar, biggest party on the planet celebration of conspicuous consumption. Almost ALWAYS missing the you know Bar Mitzvah itself, and again depicting Jews over and over again as INSANELY wealthy. Like not everyone, hell not MOST people's Bar Mitzvah was huge and expensive.

another thing, I know by definition no 13 year old is cool, by definition they are greasy and annoying and cringe. But EVERY depiction of a Bar/Bat Mitzvah where the boy or girl of the hour is both an awkward loser and (particularly the boys) sleazy little creeps who are trying WAY too hard to impressive with their garishly massive (and expensive) party (and how often they quote how much something costs as if a 13 year old would know or care) it just seem a little close to the old antisemitic stereotype of Jews as crass and uncouth social climbers desperately trying to use their money to buy their way into classy society and forever failing.

#comment #judaism #jewish life

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valeriapryanikova · 8 hours ago

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ominous

(itsy-bitsy fanfic concept/idea/? under the cut)

[A page ripped out of a journal; the owner’s handwriting is messy and barely legible.]

february, 29th

i'm surprised i'm not dead now.

yesterday, in the late evening, as i was painting, it started storming. suddenly and hard. one second the dark sky is clear from any clouds, and the next moment the droplets are pelting me with a surprising force. i rapidly abandoned my easel and canvas (not like there would be anything lost—the piece was dull and not working out the way i desired) in favor of seeking cover.

i was still near the village, on its outskirts, but just a bit too far from my house to reach it quickly before my whole being was drenched through and through. so i ducked into one of the huts, all of which stand empty, desolate… or so i thought, at least.

only once inside did i spot the dim, ominous, red glow of the overhead lamp; the sound of a muted conversation; the overwhelming sense of “wrong”, like i was not meant to be here. abruptly silence fell and two sets of bright eyes stared me down.

terror froze my body. i felt like a prey caught in between two predators, i could practically feel their jaws snapping around my neck.

the dredger slowly smirked at me, barring her sharp, sharp teeth. (since when are they sharp? i may not have crossed path with her often, but i swear i would’ve noticed if she had shark teeth before.) i did not stay to see if the fisherman would further react to my presence too. the control of my body returned, allowing me to let out a panicked apology for interruption and bolt out of the hut, running home at full speed.

it’s been hours since then. i couldn’t fall asleep. i’ve been up the whole night, haunted by fear. the scene of those two beasts in the darkness, ready to snap me like a twig for overhearing something (i don’t remember what exactly, all the horror of the situation evaporated all my thoughts), got stuck in my mind’s eyes. so i’ve been doing what i know how to do best—painting.

[Attached to the diary entry is a typewritten note.]

That painter fellow is an impressionable and imaginative type. Needless to say, the actual interaction with the two fish merchants was likely a lot less… Dramatic.

The painter was reluctant to show me the painting mentioned in the last paragraph, but after some convincing I did manage to take a quick look on their recollection of the witnessed scene: it seems mostly useless for my research, but I noted down some details that might be of use in the future (refer to “AudioLog#143” transcript for more information).

Collecting data on “The Fisherman” continues to prove itself annoying. The subject is allusive: there’s not many sources mentioning him, and folk around here rarely witness him out and about. Currently the only lead I have is finding that one old newspaper article about the docks that, if I recall correctly, mentions him in an interview with workers. Perhaps, when I have time, I’ll try asking the collector from the other side of the river if he has a copy of that newspaper issue.

However, for now, I’m significantly more interested in “The Dredger” subject. There’s more than plenty info about her—I would actually say there’s too much info about her, all inconveniently inconsistent. In an attempt to get more reliable data I’m getting in contact with Mined since they have done scientific observation of this area and the people of interest. My request for access to their data has gone unanswered so far and, if shoving my anthropology degree in the faces of those bumbling idiots won’t work, I’m sure that that city nearby has enough hackers willing to do some dirty work for a pretty diamond.

I will get the data I want, one way or another.

#i need someone who isn't me and has more interest+skill in creative writing than me to write a whole epistolary fic ab these two freaks #so feel free to steal the idea. please steal the idea. and lmk if someone already has written smth like that. thank you #geminitay #grian #hermitcraft #mcyt #fanart #eyestrain cw

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messenger-of-babel · 1 day ago

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Could you write about the sweetheart grips? Soldiers in ww2 used to put photos of their lovers on the grips of their guns and I think that would be cute with Jason.

Eye for An Eye

Summary: Jason keeps a photo of you in his gun to keep you close to him, even in his hardest moments. (Jason Todd x reader)

Word Count: 2.7K

Notes: dear anon I really, really wanted to make this sweet. But then I got an angst idea and- I tried to do it justice without too many tears. Forehead kisses for you because as soon as you sent this in I legit thought about this idea for like three days straight I fell in love with the concept. I might use it again for other Jason fics you got me hooked (I was a MASSIVE military history nerd). Warnings for description of violence and injury, character death, some choppy writing. Back onto my angst train, I'm so sorry y'all (I'll write this concept sweeter sometime, I SWEAR).

ALSO HAPPY 100 POSTS. It's crazy when I remember I'm still a baby blog. <3

Enjoy~! RiRi xoxo <3

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Bruce had never been one for guns, and while Jason was Robin, he hadn't either.

He didn't consider himself a particularly violent child or had any real craving to use weapons. After all, he never really hit anyone who didn't deserve it, and he got great satisfaction of getting back at people who thought they could hurt innocent civilians just because they were bigger and older than him.

That was until he was taken by Joker and showed just how much hurt someone older and bigger than could inflict.

April 27th, the date that the Joker killed Jason Todd.

Now, he couldn’t imagine his hands without the comforting grip of his pistol. The grips were designed just for him, slotting into the contours of his fingers and worn away in the areas he instinctually rubbed. They were wide so they sat snug in his large palms, with a coarse texture in the areas he habitually flexed. The grip allowed it to stick to his gloves for a steadier shot while it would simply irritate anyone else who tried to hold them.

Everyone knew that those guns were Jasons, but nothing said it quite like the new addition of the faded photo tucked into the grips. The colt's had originally come with wooden handgrips, which were quickly removed while he made his modifications.

"You know the Bat isn't gonna be happy with you getting another set of guns." Dick calls out, approaching his worktable in the cave. Jason just grunts at him over his shoulder, making sure he keeps the screws where he can see them.

"Bruce can honestly suck it up." he huffs, the mention of the Bat souring his demeanour immediately. Jason had wanted to do this in his apartment for this exact same reason. He knew Stephanie would annoy him with questions if she caught sight of him, and that Tim would interject constantly with 'improvements' he deemed necessary. Duke he could deal with, and Cass would leave him well enough alone.

Dick and Damian just managed to piss him off simply existing sometimes.

Mostly when he was already in a bad mood.

His older brother trots down the stairs, a frown forming on his face as he puts his hands on his hips to observe.

"Quiet." Jason mumbles flatly, knowing the older vigilante was giving him a disapproving stare. Dick ignores him, eyeing the photo tucked up near his water bottle.

"Jason," he says, voice a warning tone.

"I said quiet." he cuts off, wiping the area down with a damp cloth. Dick just sighs behind him as Jason gingerly picks up the photo, rubbing his calloused thumbs over it. Dick wants to say something as he eyes the photo but can't bring himself to speak above the block in his chest. He watches the tension ease from his brother’s shoulders, the muscles that had been stiffly held by his ears for weeks. The scowl he wore softened slightly, and he could actually hear him exhale for once instead of wondering if his chest actually was moving or not. Instead, Dick sighs in reluctance, giving in. Dick watches him with sad eyes, clapping a hand on his shoulder with a slight squeeze. "Don't forget to, you know," he leans forward slightly and draws a circle with his finger on a certain point of the photo. Jason's face ripples with a flash of pain, but he watches his younger brother grit his teeth and nod.

"Look after yourself, Jay." he murmurs, pulling back. "Don't do anything stupid."

Jason waits a little bit before turning back the photo, ensuring that Dick had left the cave. A still silence settled over the dim space once more. It didn't help the hum in his head, making his fingers and muscles shake, the white noise refusing to settle in his conscious. He gently drew on the photo of you with pencil, tracing the shape that he needed for the grip and ensuring that you weren't cut out by accident.

It was a favourite photo of his, taken at one of Bruce's galas. He hadn't wanted to go, hardly showing to the events in the first place. "Full of rich idiots trying to get even richer." he had told you, tossing a look over his shoulder to you. You were standing at the door, holding the invite that had been slipped through the mail slot. You waved the thick cardstock, a small smile on your face. "Aw, but I was kinda looking forward to going." you say, looking over the details. "I think it'll be fun."

"The only one who thinks those things are fun are Dick and Steph if she's around. Tim will get bored and probably turn into a loan shark if left unattended too long. So yeah, fun." he grumbled.

"What about Dami?"

Her turns around, eyebrows raised.

"I’m sorry?" he asks. "When did we start calling the demon child, Dami? We're on nickname level now?"

He hates how his heart flutters in his chest when he hears you laugh, melting away his annoyance.

"He's sweet, just a little prickly. like you." you grin, coming to wrap your arms around his neck, pecking him on the lips.

"Yeah, he's sweet to you, he's a little shit to everyone else." he grumbles.

"Sounds like someone else I know." you tease.

He can't help but grin, sighing out through his nose softly. "Fine. we can go." he grumbles, knowing he won’t be able to stay mad at you for long.

The photo he traces was from that night, you tucked into his side. You're staring at the camera with a sparkle in your eye, lips pulled back into a wide grin. You're wearing black to fit the theme of the ball, with red accents, matching him. He’s got his arm around your shoulder, taking the photo with you pressed up against him. He thinks you look stunning, eyes twinkling at him from the page.

He takes the exacto knife and gently runs it over the image, cutting himself out so that he can focus on you. The piece pops free, and he trims the edges. His heart thrums as he slides you onto the handle, fluttering with a tame delight.

"Don't forget to, you know..."

Dick’s voice floats back into his mind, and the corners of his lips twitch downwards once more. Reluctantly he pulls your photo from the handle and reaches for a screwdriver to his left, bringing it above the paper. He feels like he's about to stab you, the way the metal tip hovers above the image smiling back at him.

But he does it, heart clenching with each scrape across your eyes, slowly erasing the twinkle he loved so much. There's something sickening about the feeling of scratching your face out, the gritty sound of the photo tearing and leaving white streaks in its wake making his stomach flip. Finally, it's done, stark white lines blotting out your gaze. All that's left is the upturn of your lips, and the soft smile you wore.

With a heavy sigh Jason slots it back onto the handle, placing the clear protector over you. At least nothing could damage you more than he already had. He told himself it was for the better, as he cleaned his hands on a nearby rag and bit the inside of his cheek. You weren't the most supportive of his guns, but you liked that they kept him safe. You had had a few conversations with him about it but never an argument. He wanted to keep you close, but he knew he wasn't going to be an idiot about it. He wanted to protect you, hide your identity from any eagle-eyed thugs.

"Besides," he thought to himself. "Don't want em seeing what I'm about to do."

Maybe it was for the best that he covered your face for this.

His body hums with adrenaline, still alone in the Batcave. With scarred fingers he screws the cover onto the grip, clear cover sitting flush and keeping your photo secure. Jasons tosses it a few times in his hand, getting used to the feeling of the new colt pistols and making sure you weren't going to shake loose. When he was content, he looked over his shoulder, scanning the shadows for movement.

He knew that Bruce would condemn his actions, he didn’t even need to ask on that front. Dick would be understanding but try to hold him back, and Tim would try to talk him out of it. The only person he felt that silently agreed with him was Damian, the pair of them fostering an unlikely bond in the last few weeks.

Everyone in the manor knew what Jason was thinking.

What Jason was doing spending his nights in the Batcave, the one place he had grown to hate ever since coming back.

What he contemplated as he haunted the halls of the manor, the place he often traded in for the comfort of his downtown apartment.

Everyone knew what Jason was going to do tonight, yet none of them were game enough to say it out loud or stop him.

Therefore, Jason took their silence as compliance because he knew somewhere deep down, they wanted him to do it.

Or was he deluding himself?

He shook the thought from his head, holstering the newly decorated pistol. He was already dressed and strapped for this mission, no turning back now. With heavy hands he donned his helmet, taking a deep breath as he pushed Jason aside to become Red Hood. The air was still, as if the Batcave was filled with spirits watching him in silence as he mounted the bike and pressed the key for the garage door, speeding out.

He was already haunted by too many ghosts.

The streets of Gotham were relatively quiet, the usual alleys he stalked devoid of the thugs he would have expected. It seemed that even the city was holding its breath, civilians tucked safely inside. He knew where he was going.

He had been receiving mocking invites in the mail for the last week, notes attached to crime scenes in a gory fashion just to mock him. So really, it was no surprise when he arrived at Gotham cemetery, parking outside and not even bothering to kill the engine. He wasn’t going to be long anyways.

Just past the cemetery was the crumbling shell of Arkham, ivy covering the brickwork and roof caving in. His boots crushed broken panes of glass as he entered the decaying mental hospital, leaves scattered through the building from wrinkled trees that had cracked through the floors. He slowly made his way to the upper floor, where he had seen the lights.

Instinctually he reached for his gun, and he felt his heart calm sliding his hand over your picture secured into his sweetheart grip. He hadn't felt this anxious fighting in a while, unused to the way that his pulse thudded against his neck or the dryness that crept into his mouth. The corridor felt like it stretched on forever, making his vision swim trying to reach the light at the end.

Candlelight flickered weakly at the end of the hall, luring him in like a moth. As he stepped in he took note of it, hand tightening. Jason knew he was going to play with him, taunt and torture him. The images of you taped up on the peeling walls were enough. Photos that spanned back months, photos of you on dates, at work, in his car, in your apartment, blurry photos of you and him in his bed. His thumb instinctually placed itself over your eyes, despite them already being scratched out.

He didn't need you seeing the messy patchwork of your life.

Jason didn't even mind the photos, knowing the sadist would be doing something like that. What he did mind though were the images of you from three weeks ago, the same images that Dick had refused to let him see, that Tim wiped off the Batcomputer hard drive and Babs had removed from the GCPD database. The ones displaying the blood, the bone, the bruising.

Your eyes, unseeing.

Everything that was so familiar to him, but so foreign on you.

Everything that that one curved piece of metal had caused way back when, stained a dark brown. The same piece of metal that was sitting in the middle of the desk at the centre of the crude shrine, drying with a fresher coat of oxidised red.

He felt his heart rise to his throat, but he wasn’t sure if it was bile in his throat or the taste of blood from his bitten lip. His grip turned white, muscles flexing under the skin and pressing unnaturally hard. He felt the green tinged mania inside him rear its head, threatening to take over his mind and act purely on instinct. The Lazarus pit clawed and pulled at his soul harder that it had in years, gasping at him like a beggar, screaming for a shred of violence to feed it.

He knew the game. He knew all of this was to provoke him, try to get Jason to release the rage inside him. The monster wanted to see him squirm, see him struggle to keep himself in check. He wanted to watch Jason Todd fight against the Red Hood, watch the Bats moral code play out on his face.

Well, Jason wasn't Batman. He wasn't Bruce.

As soon as a skinny figure moved from the shadows to his right, his pistol was out in a flash. His free hand ripped the mask from his face, jaw tight and eyebrows furrowed, but he felt more relaxed than he had been in ages.

He was no Batman. He was Jason Todd.

And Jason was going to do the one thing Bruce had always been too much of a coward to do.

With one crisp bang the clown couldn’t get a single word out before he was splayed on the floor. As Jason stepped over the body he regarded it apathetically, barely biting down the urge to step on it. The bastards’ lips were pulled back in a wide smile, even in death. Maybe he had expected Jason to do this, maybe it was his last hurrah as an asshole, but Jason didn't care.

He didn’t even feel scared at the idea of the aftermath as a retraced his steps out of the abandoned building, mounting his still-running bike.

There hadn't been a single gloat before the gun cracked through the night, not a single joke or pun or taunt to leave the devil’s mouth. Bruce might have entertained it, let him play it out, but not Jason.

For Jason, everything that needed to be said had been said in actions.

The air was strangely cool, devoid of the humidity that nomrally hung in the streets. The city itself seemed to be sighing, taking a breath like the chord holding the city on a leash had been cut. He relished the feeling of it on his skin, the cracks in his suit letting the breeze run across his knuckles and where his mask met his neck. He imagined the cool fingers were you, cradling his face and whispering for him to take a rest, and he let his eyes flutter closed briefly.

As he hit a red light he took a pause, reaching his hand down to pat where you were, tucked tightly under his hip. He didn't care what the reaction was going to be when he reached the manor, or the screaming match that was likely going to destroy what was left of his relationship with his pseudo father. All that matters is that he had done right by you, that he had done what he wished someone had done for him.

April 17th, the night Jason Todd killed the Joker.

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wainawtmai · 1 day ago

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18+!, yandere!satoru, dark themes, somnophilia

i love the duality in yandere!satoru

to you, he’s nothing but smiles and playful snark, attempting to charm you with a flash of those baby blues and a hushed flirt from his pretty pink lips. but you’d shrugged off all of his attempts, perceiving them as just jokes.

but to anyone he’d seen even remotely interested in you, he became more of the overpowered monster that the higher ups couldn't contain. There was still a chilling smile on his lips when he hunted them down, his face shrouded by darkness, blue eyes aglow as he slaughtered each and every person who dared to touch and covet what was his.

you were none the wiser, lamenting to him with a sigh that none of your dates seemed to stick. Satoru gave that pretty little smirk, telling you that maybe you should just give up. Despite the fact that he couldn't stop picturing their tortured faces and screams of agony. The way their flesh seemed to easily cave away beneath his hands as their blood splattered across his pristine skin.

sometimes you felt like you could feel the chill of an icy gaze whenever you changed within your bedroom, shuffling quickly to the open window and shutting it with a shiver, knowing there were tons of creeps and pervs around town that were probably waiting hungrily for you to take your clothes off.

little did you know that one of those creeps was your closest friend, who waited for you to fall asleep and watched you, brushing fingers across your bare skin, relishing goosebumps rising on the supple flesh. blue eyes glaring at you ravenously as he stripped back your covers to reveal your half naked body, your breasts barely confined by the flimsiness of your t-shirt, and never any underwear.

he liked to fantasize that maybe you knew he watched you nightly and wanted to put on a show. He imagined sinking into your wet heat, he could do it now, your pussy bare and just begging to be filled. He wanted to so badly but more than that he wanted you to be awake for when it did happen, needed you to watch as he buried his cock inside of you.

for now, he'd fist his cock over your plush lips, splattering his cum across your sleeping face with a whimper, then using his blushing red cock head to smear his cum across your mouth, and nearly coming again to the sight of his seed splattered across the soft skin of your face. He’d made such a mess out of you.

he always tried cleaning you up the best he could, but you still wake up in the morning with the taste of him on your lips. You're too delirious with exhaustion to question it or your missing underwear. There were so many more important things you had to worry about.

other nights he stood over you until you stirred and woke up, startled by his blue eyed silhouette looming over you. you screamed and scrambled for your lamp light—but your room was empty. satoru watched the panic overtake your face as you struggled to fall asleep, rutting into your underwear to a quick finish at the sight of your quaking eyes and the way you buried yourself under your covers, wracked with paranoia.

on those nights you dream of lingering blue eyes and a shadow coming at you with bloody hands. you anxiously recount the night to him, his eyebrows furrowing with sympathy as he places a hand on yours.

a part of you suspects him, those startling blue eyes somewhat reminded you of him. But then he smiles at you, places a hand over yours, and tells you everything will be alright. And all of a sudden your doubts of him dissipate. They're replaced with a slight guilt at suspecting one of your closest friends of something so heinous. He would never do that to you.

right?

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru x you #gojo x y/n #gojou satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #satoru smut #yandere gojo #yandere smut #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

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faemytho · 2 days ago

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At the Peak of Truth, Despair Not

story analysis of the Diverged Paths costume set story with pure vanilla's truthless recluse and shadow milk's sage of truth, chunk by fucking chunk because i am INSANE and the parallels keep stacking up. they are the same in every universe. even this one.

this is an essay post and it is long. i am rambling a lot. i dissect certain lines in the story and talk about word choice. i also talk about how many parallels there are in this story to beast-yeast ep 7-8. i swear to god it makes sense. i am a writer by the way. fuck. anyways enjoy my insanity.

"Quiet, quiet! Our lecture will resume shortly! Please take your seats in a timely fashion!" A sonorous voice filled the old, quaint square. The voice belonged to a peculiar Cookie dressed in white and gold. Surrounded by a crowd of spectators, this mysterious Cookie now stood in the center of the square. He had just finished reciting an epic poem and was now explaining a convoluted philosophical concept to a freshly-baked flock, wide-eyed with wonder. "The Sage of Truth," they called him.

Setting the scene here, this is an "old, quaint square". The Sage is described here as "peculiar" and "mysterious", indicating that the cookies around him think he's odd. I'll return to the word "mysterious" later.

The word "flock" used here is also an interesting choice; a "flock of sheep". It's a backhanded way to call these cookies "sheep", which is used often in a derogatory way to indicate someone is unable to think for themself or unable to think critically at all, and just plays follow the leader instead of forging their own beliefs.

What's also an interesting thing to note is that the cookies call him "the Sage of Truth". The way this is phrased implies he didn't come up with that name, that he let the cookies name him. That, or he was waiting to be asked his name and was never asked, which I believe is also likely.

It almost seemed as if the Sage of Truth had always stood in that spot, sharing truths and teachings with anyone interested. With time, more and more Cookies came to listen to the Sage. Some said he was a professor of magic, others claimed he was an archivist, until an eager disciple decided to put an end to this dispute with a question. As always, the Sage welcomed the query with a graceful gesture. Pointing upwards, he uttered, "I hail from a peak so tall and narrow, it pierced the firmament itself!" His confounding reply caught everyone by surprise. Only then did the disciples realize that never once had the Sage spoken about himself. Yet, they wished for the lectures to continue and chose never to pry again.

The phrase here, "always stood in that spot", makes him seem more like an object, and less like a person with his own thoughts and feelings. The fact that the cookies begin to come up with things to say about him, that being that he's "a professor of magic", or that he's "an archivist", instead of asking him directly further lends to this line of thinking of him as an object.

This next part, where he is finally asked a question about himself, he exhibits two pieces of body language that show up later in the story at crucial moments. First, when he "welcomes" the query, he is being truthful about it; he wants more of these types of questions about himself. Second, when he "points upwards", he is lying; he claims to "hail from a peak so tall and narrow, it pierced the firmament itself!"

It is an exaggerated fib about the truth. This statement is immediately described as "confounding", meaning surprising or confusing especially in the context of not aligning with the inquirer's expected answer. The disciples then immediately realize that the Sage had never spoken about himself. Paired with such a confusing statement, one might think that such a realization would prompt more questions about the Sage himself, but instead, the disciples decide to focus on the knowledge he gives instead of wanting to learn about him, and so, never ask him another question about himself again.

This is why the Sage is described as "mysterious". They have never asked, and he has never told. The one time he was asked about himself, he said something exaggerated and outlandish; one can only assume he was trying to bait more questions of that nature, only for them to never come.

Another day, another fascinating lecture came to a close. The sky above began to tinge with red and Cookies headed back to their homes when a stranger entered the square. The visitor was draped in a dark cloak and donned an enormous hat that cast a shadow over his face. The Cookie stood there without saying a word and watched the Sage. The silence was broken by the Sage’s courteous greeting, his eyes having already discerned the shadow of despair hanging over the guest. "I don't believe I've seen you here before, my friend…! Alas, today's lecture is over. Care to come back on the morrow?" Yet, the dark visitor paid no heed to his words. "Stop teaching about the Truth." "Why must I?" inquired the Sage.

Setting the scene again for the debut of the Truthless Recluse. He approaches the square when the sun is setting and the sky is turning red, which is a nice bit of contrasting symbolism to Pure Vanilla representing the sun itself.

The Sage takes initiative to greet the Recluse, and immediately defaults to letting the Recluse know that he's done lecturing for the day instead of asking the Recluse about himself (not even a "How are you doing?"). One could speculate that this is a learned behavior; he is used to being used by the cookies who want knowledge from him, is never asked about himself, and as such, never asks personal questions of anybody else either.

But next, the Recluse addresses him directly, talks to him directly about the nature of what he does instead of asking for knowledge or treating him like something to wring answers from. This is probably the first time he's been talked to like this. It's a command, and he answers with a question of his own; the holder of the virtue of knowledge... answers with a question. "Why must I?"

The guest only grinned in reply and stepped closer. For the first time, a ray of light illuminated his face, and the Sage of Truth exclaimed delightedly. "Aaahh, if it isn't the Truthless Recluse himself. To what do I owe such a pleasure?" His monocle glistened with genuine curiosity. "It is said that the Truthless Recluse never descends from the Peak of Truth… How may this humble scholar be of service to you?"

It's interesting that the Sage recognizes the Recluse as soon as his face is revealed. It might indicate that they've met before, especially considering the Sage previously claimed to hail from what we can assume is the same peak the Truthless Recluse has stationed himself at.

The Sage is delighted to see the Recluse, and finally asks the Recluse a personal question, but phrases the question in an interesting way. "How may this humble scholar be of service to you?".

Calling himself humble could mean two things; that he is really a prideful person and is lying by calling himself humble to hide this fact, or, that, in choosing a passive adjective to describe himself with, he is attempting to deflect any aggression he might receive by asking a personal question. It could be both.

He also takes care to point out that he is "being of service".

The Recluse's eyes brimmed with sorrow. "Stop pretending. You know all too well that there is nothing at the Peak of Truth." The Sage clapped his hands. "Eureka! At last, the answer to the age-old question is found! Why the Recluse never leaves his beloved peak vacant! Why every Cookie who neared true enlightenment was inevitably pushed back from the ascension they so craved!"

The Recluse directly calls him a liar. "Stop pretending". The Sage of Truth is a liar! He tells lies and the Recluse can see right through them! But at least he has one thing going for him; he didn't name himself the Sage of Truth. The cookies did. They assumed he would never lie, and because nobody questions him, he has never been caught lying.

Cross referencing to canon Shadow Milk, we know that he holds resentment towards other cookies for just believing every word he said was truthful; being called out on a lie is probably something that's never happened before, especially not to the Sage of Truth.

On top of that, the Recluse is previously described as "a stranger", and the Sage mentions never having "seen him before" in the square where this takes place. All of that tied together means that the Recluse never heard the Sage's exaggerated fib about being from the Peak of Truth, and yet, somehow knows that the Sage is from the Peak of Truth. This is further evidence that the Sage and the Recluse have met before.

Upon being called a liar, the Sage of Truth reacts with delight, only to immediately deflect and deceive again. He turns the subject away from himself.

He tilted his head, expecting a confirmation. "All this time, my best hypothesis was that the Peak of Truth had been seized for good by some petty curmudgeon. Do you mean to say you sought only to protect seekers from disappointment?" The Recluse did not bother to deny the Sage's words for he loathed the Sage for guiding Cookies right into the maw of the cruel Truth. "I, too, once made the same mistake, and for that, faced despair upon the Peak… There was no Truth expecting me. No Truth to save us all. And I cursed myself hundreds, thousands of times over for my folly." And all his sorrow and despair surged forth in a single question. "Why do you persist?!"

"... seized for good by some petty curmudgeon". There's so much going on in this sentence.

If the Sage really does hail from the Peak of Truth, saying it was "seized" puts himself into a "helpless" position. If he cared about the Peak of Truth, what's stopping him from going to take it back? He is, after all, the holder of the virtue of knowledge, a godly power in his own right. Saying it was "seized" puts him in a helpless position and absolves him of any blame for anything that happens to it. Holding the power that he does at his fingertips also implies he doesn't care about the Peak of Truth at all, and is content to let it fall.

He says he'd thought the Truthless Recluse was a "petty curmudgeon"; I'll admit I had to look this word up, but it means a stubborn, ill-tempered person, typically an old man. Really funny actually, but he's negating this insult.

The Sage asks if the Recluse is turning cookies away from the truth to protect them from disappointment. The Recluse doesn't deny it; he "loaths" the Sage for guiding cookies towards the truth. Inverting that sentiment would imply that the Recluse turns cookies away from the truth to avoid disappointment, and uses deceit out of compassion for them. This is to prevent them from getting hurt, because "he too made the same mistake" of ascending to the truth, finding only despair instead.

The truth being described as a "cruel" "maw" is also such interesting imagery. It reminds me of Shadow Milk's snake that devours the sheep on the loading screen of the Awakened Pure Vanilla update. I'll also point out the fact again that the Sage's listeners were explicitly referred to as a "flock".

And finally, the question the Truthless Recluse asks the Sage of Truth. "Why do you persist?"

Because as far as the Recluse is concerned, he just got done explaining why the truth isn't worth it, so why should the Sage continue to preach it? Why do you persist?

It's a question asked out of a genuine, haunting, need to know why the Sage continues to send cookies into the hungry, crushing maw of Truth. It's asked out of desperate compassion for those cookies.

To that, the Sage only pointed upwards and said, "Alas, the Truth is imperfect by design… and yet, one must not turn away from the light of one's own Truth." And with a welcoming gesture, he added, "Not unlike yourself whose Truth is to protect others from anguish." The Recluse never answered. The Sage knew the answer anyway.

Here, the Sage points upwards; a previous indication that he's being deceptive. The statement he gives, "One must not turn away from the light of one's own Truth", seems to imply that he wants anyone listening to him to think that he thinks the truth is a good for cookies, of course, why wouldn't it be? However, throughout the entire story, the truth is regarded by the Sage as something negative, something that's been used to hurt, used to treat him like an object. So to truly answer the Recluse's question, what he's really implying here is that he guides cookies towards the truth because he's hurting, and he wants them to hurt too.

Next, he welcomes; a previous indication that he's being truthful. A welcoming gesture; spreading his arms wide, inviting the Recluse in. He truthfully wants the Recluse to call him out on this lie. He truthfully wants the Recluse to continue to speak with him. He sees an equal, a companion in the Recluse. Someone who understands.

This is such a blatant parallel to Compassionate Pure Vanilla offering friendship to Shadow Milk in episode 8, I would just like to point that out.

The Recluse never answers, but the Sage knows the answer anyway. Whether or not that "answer" is an agreement of companionship or a rejection of it is unclear, and is probably meant to be left ambiguous.

A long night passed and a new day dawned. Yesterday's guest was long gone, and the square was as peaceful as it could be… But the Sage could hear them. The footsteps of many seekers, stepping forth towards the Truth.

"The square was peaceful... But... the Sage could hear them."

This ending is very painful. The cycle of hurt continues. It would imply the Recluse rejected the Sage's offer of companionship, which is probably more likely here. However, the nature of the ambiguity means the Recluse could have accepted, and the seekers of truth may be what links the Sage and the Recluse now that they are apart. It's less likely.

Either way, they are the same in every universe. Even this one.

As I put it in a previous post, the difference between Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk, no matter which path either of them are on, is their compassion.

The Truthless Recluse pushes cookies away from the cruel truth, while the Sage of Truth encourages them to seek out what he knows will hurt them.

Because even on diverged paths, Pure Vanilla will always care, and Shadow Milk can't ever find a reason to.

#cookie run kingdom #shadow milk cookie #pure vanilla cookie #truthless recluse #sage of truth #cookie run #maedia analysis #now if you'll excuse me.#there's a trout population to fuck up and drywall to eat.

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