#I just need to start getting help with the struggles part

[mettasing]

maybe it's linked with society in general. people need to brag and pull through, put on a "pulling yourself by your bootstraps" facade to justify their pain and pass as deserving of compassion and help (and it can backfire). still, this game is unfair. it makes you sick in the head, it makes you part of this world-view where ordinary people with chronic illnesses and neurodivergencies who cannot "make up" for their supposed "inadequacy" with savant-like shit, or who cannot just come through and show unmatched resilience, are seen as unworthy, as weak, as whiny.

i myself cannot even start to explain my shortcomings in this world not accommodated for me to other people, because from the get-go i know that they will put on this dreaded facade of successful, wise, unbothered, fuckass annoying bootstrappers, and i will "bother" them with "excuses". my classmate needs to take their pills debilitating them, making them skip lessons, but managing their condition that won't go away. i get that uni teachers aren't your wise mentors, and bureaucracy is a vile beast, but my classmate is not being treated nicely at all because of this fact (i know that "uni" part may make me sound like a fucking hypocrite, but higher education seems like almost a must in my country; it goes away slowly, but i saw abled people getting panic attacks and needing help there). if the person is deemed "annoying", "flawed" then they can't be empathised with at all and they don't deserve understanding and accomodations. when you try to advocate for yourself, you are annoying. when you're just experiencing shit and god forbid if it's not private, you are annoying. when people cannot find anything worthy in you, be it your intelligence, beauty, charisma or some fucking sort of "quirkiness" i guess – and be it in a reasonable amount, you are annoying. and if you are annoying, no one cares. you're annoying them with your stupidity, with your weirdness, with your excuses, you're bothering them, you're abusing their emotional resources by being someone who's having a hard time in any way and could really use some compassion and help, by being your struggling self. to them, you're ignoring their asinine advices that, also to them, are wise just because they said it, you don't want to be good.

and – voilà – you're not a person anymore.

Kinda fucked up that we all coo and sympathize with "former gifted kids" but never talk about the students who had to stay late after school or over the summer for remedial classes/clubs, who struggled to get above a C, who were given up on or punished. Who tried so hard to understand or just couldn't. Who were grouped with the "stupid kids" (a classmate called us that in remedial math btw)

Autistic kids and adhders who can't relate to their gifted peers and are constantly alienated by them. Kids who struggled in school due to dealing with a chronic or mental illness or physical/learning/developmental disability. Those of us who have had to drop out of highschool or college. Kids who worked so hard and wanted to be seen as smart, but never were. Who watched as their peers seem to fly by them in school, while they were left behind. Who were bullied and put down by those in the gifted and honors classes. Whose confidence was absolutely destroyed by education.

I love you all and I'm so sorry the school system failed you. I'm sorry you weren't properly accommodated and given the education you deserved. I'm sorry people put you down for something that they never had to fight for.

[yapileon]

@TacklersCulers: The Chaotic Teen Serie pt. 4

fcb femení x chaoticteen!reader 3569w pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3

phew! that's a long one, but i'm really proud of it, i've tried to get more comfortable in my pacing, hope u guys like it<3

The grass still smelled the same, bringing back unwanted memories of yesterday’s humiliation. Sweat ran down your forehead as you used your shirt to wipe it off; Ona would be proud of that move. The exhaustion got the best of you and you let yourself flop on the turf, breathing heavily and rolling on your back. Every coach who had ever trained you had told you to walk it off, but there wasn't any scientific evidence of that, and more importantly, there were no coaches around you.

The Barcelona sky was bright blue, though you could spot a few clouds here and there. If you were in a better mood, you’d have tried to guess what object their shape matched. The gentle wind caressed your face and you couldn’t contain a shiver. When you had arrived earlier in the morning, it was still dark, and you had witnessed the sun rise. Yesterday’s mistake pushed you to come to the field early to train. You needed to plunge your head back in the game, and quickly. The taste of humiliation still bitter in your mouth.

You had pushed yourself through multiple sets of drills, though none that would really improve your timing as you were training alone. But still, you knew you needed to run off the embarrassment, so you tackled shadow opponents, working on quickly going up and down. You sprinted until it felt like your legs would fall off. You did so many ball control exercises with intricate cones patterns it made your head spin. The previously pristine pitch now scattered with proofs of your training while you lay sprawled on the ground.

A voice shut up behind you, startling you in the process. “You do know what recovery day means, right?” The blonde had a disapproving tone matching the look on her face. “You’re not supposed to sneak in extra practice.” she finishes sternly. You gave your capitain a sheepish look.

“Running never hurt anyone?” you tried, but it seemed like Alexia wasn’t having any of it. So you followed up, “Why are you here anyways, are you not supposed to be in the recovery room?”

The older woman was not impressed.

“Part of the recovery plan today is to have an activation session.” she glared at you and you felt your body shrink in the dirt. At that, her voice softened when she added “Now stop being snarky and tell me what’s wrong, Cariño.” Her gaze felt heavy on you, like she was trying to see right through you. Maybe she did.

You open your mouth to speak but words are caught in your throat, no sounds leaving the tip of your tongue. Your hands are clenched and you can’t help but stare at them, or really anything but Alexia standing in front of you. The blonde sighed, and gently came to lay with you on the pitch.

Alexia isn’t sure of what to do. For the few days she has known you, you were always such a cheerful and energetic person. You managed to coax smiles out of the most serious players, all because your chaotic aura was incredibly endearing. She guessed your personality might have fooled them all, you’re still only a child after all. Seventeen and so much pressure on your shoulders.

“You’re doing great you know” she starts her voice warm, but you look up at her, frowning.

“I tackled a cone yesterday.” you whisper, words spilling out of your mouth before you could really think about it.

She frowns. “…That’s what it’s about?” her head tilts, giving away her confusion.

“Well, I mean, It’s just…” you struggle to piece together a correct phrase. You look up to see Alexia giving you a gentle, encouraging smile, and somehow it’s enough to send you in a ramble.

“Because, I’m trying really hard! But then I messed up that tackle. And, and! The Mapi cardboard, it was just to be funny, since we had talked about it during team bonding.” You rattled, gesturing without making much sense.

“But fans aren’t happy with me, and they’re right! I’m here to play football, because it’s my job! You guys shouldn’t have to deal with this, we’re not here to have fun, It’s not- I shouldn’t-” Your distress was cut off by Alexia, pulling you in her arms, but you can’t stop yourself. “I just, I should not be making everyone’s life harder,” your voice breaks and you clutch at your captain like your life depends on it.

The blonde gently caresses you back, shushing you and you feel yourself sink into her.

“Why are you apologizing? You have done nothing wrong, I promise you no one is mad at you, for anything. You’ve made us laugh so much in so little time, and we can see you’re working hard,” her voice is full of gentleness, and you can tell she really means it. She gently wipes away some of your tears with her sleeve.

“The cone!” you half sob on her shoulder.

A chuckle escaped Alexia’s lips and she slapped a hand on her mouth, you recoiled, audibly gasping and looking at her with wide eyes.

And the absurdity of the situation hit you like a freight train.

You were somewhere between a laugh and a cry now, “It’s not funny!” you whined, pushing her shoulder with your hand.

“Perdón, Cariño” the blonde chuckled, “It’s just, all this for a cone?”

You pouted, and the captain shook your shoulder slightly, giving them a squeeze.

“You’ve just been promoted to one of the best clubs in the world, you’re fitting in really well, you’ve got potential and Mapi is basically your mentor already, but you’re worried about one failed tackle?” she questioned with a smirk.

You hid your face in your hands. It seemed so stupid said like that, and you felt so embarrassed and vulnerable. Alexia got up, clutching your hand in hers to pull you with her.

“Come on, Diablilla, let’s go get changed before activation begins, sí? ” she awkwardly patted your head and started dragging you toward the locker room. “Oh and, I think Mapi is going to want to see your cardboard soon again, apparently she has many ideas for pictures” she said, her voice mixed with amusement and disapproval while you chuckled.

Alexia really did find you very endearing, and she knew the whole team felt the same way. They just needed to make you understand. It seemed really well timed when Mapi saw you walking in the tunnel and pulled you into her arms.

Her arms squish you into her body, and you give her a weak laugh. When Mapi pulls back and sees traces of tears on your face, she frowns. “¿Est��s bien?” she asks you, her face full of concern.

“Better now,” you answer truthfully.

“Actually, Mapi,” you begin, “I wanted to say, thank you. For what you wrote, on the cardboard…You know.” you voice is low and when your eyes meet, you shy away.

When you look back to her though, she’s got a smile going up to her ears, her eyes sparkling. The brunette pinches your cheeks, surprising you.

“Well, look at you being all emotional?” Her voice is full of playfulness and you can tell she’s not going to spot annoying you.

“Mapi! Stop!” you squeal. You two bicker the whole way to the locker room, pushing each other.

She puts her arm over your shoulder and pinches the back of your neck with her thumb and index. “I’m just doing mentor duty, Cariño,” she smirks.

“You’re supposed to be the mature one!” you whine after she tickles you for the third time.

Alexia smiles profoundly seeing you two walking in front of her. You looked so shaken up when she had seen you on the field, she wasn’t sure anything she might tell you would help.

You made your way to the door entry, almost running to escape from Mapi’s rough love. You spotted Ingrid and ran to hide behind her.

“Ingrid! Mapi is annoying me!” you fake a pout.

The Norwegian looks surprised at the forward love you show both Mapi and her. But still, she plays into your game, throwing her arms up to take a more protective role.

“María, leave Skrulla alone.” she says sternly.

Mapi sighs, giving up and going to her place, grumbling bad words at the both of you. You just stick your tongue out at the tattooed woman, earning yourself a disapproving look from Irene. But Vicky’s voice shoots up before you can say anything else.

“Oh Mapi, looks like you’re going to sleep on the couch because of the new kid!” Her voice is teasing, making the whole team bark out a laugh.

You made your way to your locker, still snickering from the scene that had just happened. It felt a bit crazy to you, the way your teammates had managed to get you to calm down from your self deprecating state so quickly. Normally, it would take you days of very rough training to get over a mistake like the one you had done yesterday. Yet, Alexia alone had managed to take so much of the weight off of your shoulders. If the captain of the team, one of the most hardworking people you knew, did not see any trouble with what happened yesterday, then you’d trust her.

You reached for your locker, wanting to get changed in some jogging before going to the activation session, as you won’t be playing football. They mainly consisted of cardio and active stretches.

As you turned the lock open, an avalanche of neon orange and yellow fell in your arms. What felt like close to one hundred cones were spilling from your locker, getting everywhere on you and bouncing off the floor as you tried to catch them.

The whole team laughs as you turn around, mouth wide open and still clutching some of the cones against yourself.

“WHO?!” you scream, still shocked.

“Thought you needed extra tackling practice!” Pina manages to say in between wheezes which sends the team crackling even more. You can feel your cheeks heat up.

“That’s karma for making Ingrid tell off Mapi,” Jana adds, not helping your case.

Then it’s Ona who chimes in, “Looks like Diablilla got tricked,” but you hardly hear them, your eyes get caught into Pina's eyes and she bolts.

“She’s so dead!” you yell as you start chasing Pina, who runs away, still clutching at her ribs from laughing too much.

Pina almost manages to run away until she reaches a dead end in the maze of hallways the stadium is. Instead of letting herself be caught, she simply traces back her steps, feinting you so you can’t trap her, and making a beeline for the locker room, again. You chase her, smirking when you realize her mistake, in the locker room, you’ll be able to trap her.

When Pina bursts through the door of the room where most of your teammates are, quickly followed by yourself, you can hear Caro and Irene telling the both of you off.

But your brain doesn’t register it, you’re too focused on wanting to catch the forward. Pina had spotted Alexia and decided to mirror the situation you were previously in with Mapi and Ingrid, except she literally gripped Alexia and threw her at you, using her like some kind of shield. The look on your captain face is laughable, a mix of shock and bewilderment

“¡Madre mía! Pina, Y/n, Para!” the blonde screams in frustration, trying to separate you like two children fighting.

Except the harsh scolding is enough to distract Pina, giving you time to throw yourself at her, wrestling her to the floor.

Neon colors near you grab your attention, so you pick up one of the flat disks and drop it on top of Pina’s head.

“You got cone-ed!” you squeal, your body vibrating with laughter. You step back and look around the room, everybody is wheezing at your banter. Mapi is absolutely dying from the look on Alexia’s face (who still hasn’t recovered from Pina almost sacrificing her to save her skin) and you’re sure the tattooed woman will never let the captain forget.

Salma and Vicky are snickering while filming the both of you. You’re certain it’s going to be posted on the official fcb account, but you’re laughing so much you can’t bring yourself to be bothered.

Irene shakes her head, “Dios Mío, these kids are more tiring than Mateo.” But the smile tugging at her lips tells you she doesn’t really mean it.

“So, you are all going to inhale for 5 seconds, hold it in for 5 seconds, and then exhale for 5 seconds, we’re going to do it together. Remember to keep your eyes closed.” The yoga teacher said with what she probably thought was a soothing voice.

Apparently, in the weekly recovery session, yoga classes were mandatory. They happened after the activation training, which the coaches probably hoped would help the team settle before yoga. You had gotten through the actual yoga positions well enough. But they were followed by a few minutes of meditation, much to your dismay. Staying still and keeping your mouth close was not something you had ever been good at. Especially not while trying to “clear your thoughts away”. You were sitting in the lotus position, looking around, fully aware you were disrespecting what the instructor had said mere seconds ago.

You audibly sighed when you realized all the women had their eyes closed, deeply uninterested in doing anything else than the breathing exercise. Unfortunately for you, your sigh was heard by Alexia, who opened one eye to shoot daggers at you. You quickly turned your head and shut your eyes. You’d have never guessed the Catalan woman to be so into meditation.

“We’ll redo the same thing, but now, you are going to release all the tension in your body when you exhale,” the teacher continued to dictate.

The collective noise of inhaling was loud in the room full of tranquility.

Suddenly, a piercing screech broke the peacefulness.

“AAAAAAAAAH” you just couldn’t help it, the tension had escaped your body, without meaning to, in a very dramatic way. You froze, not daring to open your eyes and the whole team stilled.

“What was that?!” Mapi exclaimed herself, her voice breaking the silence quickly followed by a snort.

“Did someone just exorcise a demon?” Jana said, faking being scared.

“Someone isn’t feeling very zen,” said Ingrid with an amused voice as she elbowed you in the ribs barely holding in her laughter.

You opened your eyes to see the whole team staring at you, the teacher looked bewildered. You felt yourself sink in the mushy mat, “I didn’t mean to!” you mumbled weakly.

“It’s called the scream it out method! Very trendy,” Pina said, leaning against Patri stile cracking up and you shot her a glare. She was pushing her luck today, and the smirk she gave you confirmed it. The prank war was on.

Even Alexia couldn’t help herself, “That’s certainly not in a yoga manual.”

You let yourself flop back on the mat as you heavily groaned.

“Though I’m sure the tension did leave her body,” replied Frido. You stared at her trying to look annoyed, but the Swedish woman just shrugged, still laughing.

Mapi had apparently managed to calm herself. She had gotten up to plop down next to you. Her eyes were mischievous when said “Why would you just release tension when you can traumatize the entire team by screaming?” and even you couldn’t hold back a chuckle with how proud she looked about her joke.

The “traumatized” team seemed in a very nice mood, all cracking up more as the team continued to pile their jokes on you. You covered your face with your hand, still slightly embarrassed but the chuckle of the whole team made you feel better.

Alexia got up, clapping to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, we’ll stretch out a bit more and then we’re done for the day. And no more screaming, Cariño” she said with a stare. You nodded, giving her an embarrassed smile.

“Wait, that’s all she gets? Last time I did something like that, you made me run 10 laps!” Pina added, looking astonished.

“Only one of us can be the favourite!” you replied. Irene, who was walking behind you, gave you a soft tap on the back of the head making you wince.

“That’s child abuse,” you deadpanned and Irene choked back a snort, giving you a judgmental look.

Mapi and you were exchanging about various defending strategies while you rolled your calves on the foam, frowning when it hit a particular tense spot. The Spaniard was leaning into Ingrid while the Norwegian was chatting with Frido.

The team was scattered into multiple different friend groups and you couldn’t quite believe you had lucked out in the middle of defender heaven. You would have spent more time fangirling about it in your head if you hadn’t been struck with the smartest plan ever.

You knew you wanted to take vengeance for Pina’s prank, but Alexia and Irene, as good captains, were keeping a close eye on you, apparently feeling your prankster aura. But they underestimated your brain, and what you were capable of, really. What was better than being able to mess with someone without them knowing you’d be the one doing it? Ok, tackling an opponent was better. But still, your idea was pretty cool.

A mischievous smile took over your lips as you opened your phone, logging into your fan account to start editing a meme. Once satisfied, you set a timer so it would publish in 10 minutes.

You raised your eyes from the screen to see Mapi staring at you, she was squinting and her head was tilted.

“What is our little Diablilla planning again?” she said with a smirk, loud enough for the two Scandinavians to look at you, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re imagining things, Mapi.” you tried to secure your voice as much as possible. You realized using the fan account and posting while surrounded by the team was risky. But you knew nobody has seen you, and with the delayed post? They wouldn’t figure it out. So you placed your phone on the ground, and joined Frido’s and Ingrid’s conversation. You knew both women (all three of them, really) loved coffee, so you couldn’t help yourself when you heard they were speaking about coffee shops.

“Oh! Do you guys know that one place around the corner? I used to go there before practice when I was at La Masia,” you started rambling.

It didn’t seem to bother them though, instead, the women were listening attentively to your story about what you called “the best coffee in the world”. They were so interested in fact, that you all decided you’d go there together tomorrow, and you couldn’t hide the gigantic smile on your face.

The coffee talk was interrupted by Frido’s phone pinging, she picked up the phone, eyes sparkling with interest.

“New post from the TacklerCulers account!” she announced and Ingrid quickly leaned over her shoulder to be able to see the screen.

tacklerculers

posted 36 seconds ago… liked by 259 others.

TacklerCulers: Everybody hold their boots! Pinagoal or, should I say, Spongeboal?

Both women burst out laughing and threw the phone at Mapi so the both of you could have a look too.

“You have to see this!” Ingrid had blurted out between chuckles.

Mapi had looked at them with a curious expression, until her face had changed into one of pure happiness, her eyes crinkling.

“Pina! You’ve been turned into a meme now!” Mapi called out, making the small spanish come running toward you. You gave a knowing chuckle. God, this was even better than you had planned.

“…I don’t know if I should be flattered or annoyed?” she said after being blessed by the sight of that meme.

“Definitely flattered,” you said as innocently as possible, “This is a work of art.”

“This feels like a hate crime.” she shot back, frowning at you.

Frido is laughing harder when she chimes in “It’s already trending, wait till people start showing up to matches with posters of this.” Her statement made Pina frown, putting her hand on her forehead dramatically.

“Actually Pina, that’s really what you looked like,” you add quickly with a smirk.

“Who even runs this account?” the forward shriek, and her eyes narrow at you.

“I’m not brilliant enough I fear,” you reply trying to seem sincere, but you can’t help feeling a cold sweat running down your neck, making the hair stand up, alert.

A few other players had seen the commotion and had come to check it out, eyes full of curiosity. Patri was laughing hard when Frido had tilted the phone to show her.

“The resemblance is uncanny,” she observed.

“I hate you all.” Pina blurted out, sending the whole group gasping for air.

You clutch at your belly from how painful it is to laugh so much. You’re not even trying to hide the fact you’re full on snorting in a loud, uncontrollable way. The joy is warm in your body, filling it delightfully. You’re overwhelmed by a sense of freedom you hadn’t felt in a while, and maybe everything would be ok, after all.

[cultlix]

𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

pair. soft dom! chris x sub/virgin! fem reader | genre. established relationship, power imbalance, slight angst, smut| warnings. use of pet names, dirty talking, profanity, penetrative/unprotected sex.

synopsis. "You've ruined me, I'm destroyed. How could any other girl be good, be enough for me after you?"

author's note. i wished it was him...

➽──────────────❥

"Scared?"

"Should I be, oppa?"

He shook his head. "You'll never be in danger with me. Unless you like it."

"I didn't know what I liked until I saw you."

Chris loved the pressure of your body on top of him while you were kissing, on his unmade bed, the silken cascade of your long strands tickling his nose, his cheeks, the delicate perfume of your skin burning everytime you met his faintly elusive gaze, under his daintily skilled touch, and the hesitant swinging of your tiny waist against his prominent lenght, a foretaste of what would have defiled you ceaselessly all night.

"Baby doll, beware, if you let me be the first to fuck you the only way I know how to fuck pretty cunts like yours, I swear, you'll be cursed forever."

He raised his lower back, flaunting his hardness, his thickness, making your mouth hang open when your still coated sex rubbed casually against his stirred, throbbing protuberance.

"Please," you said, voice incredibly clear, limpid to his ears, like a sudden rainfall of crystals shattering on the floor, "d-don't make me w-wait, oppa. C-can't wait to see w-what you'll do o-of me."

Sweet, rotten angel, can't even finish a sentence without miserably stumbling at the thought of getting fucked for the first time ,like she deserves, like the surreal, reckless, unaware temptress she is.

You flipped your hair, the long, disheveled cascade now falling wildly on your naked shoulders as you unhooked the front closure of your bra, taking his hands in yours, quivering, guiding them on your fair, flawless breasts, making him tighten his grasp to indulge in their tempting round shape.

So desirable, and still so inexplicably insecure, he thought, tracing with his thumbs your already turgid nipples, making you close your eyes and call his name like a fervent prayer in breathy sighs, does she even notices, imagines the effect she has on men?

He moistened his full lips, tired of anticipating, and lifted up just enough to put his hungry mouth on your extremely sensitive, rosy nub, sucking avidly on it, making you cry and tilt your head back.

"You want oppa to go slow?"

He pulled up your skirt and pushed aside your panties, circling unhurriedly your clit, making you so pathetically wet that you couldn't help but blush seeing how your honey-like essence irreparably soiled the fabric of his black jeans.

"You need oppa to make sure if you can really take his massive cock inside this untouched, sacred pussy of yours?"

He let two long fingers slid inside your crevice, going so harshly deep that you thought you would pass out. Chris started moving, in and out, carefully at first, then with a certain eagerness when he felt your hips instinctly following the agonizing rhythm of his movements.

"Goddamn, your smell, so intense…You really want me to fuck you so bad, angel? Shit, you look amazing while struggling with all your strenghts to keep my fingers in like this, in this thight, little paradise you call cunt, but will you handle the roughest part of me? Tell me, do you think you can really hold it there? Because once you'll let me penetrate you, deflower you, I know I won't be able to stop. I'll spoil you, baby doll. I'm gonna wreck all your precious doll parts, you know this?"

You whimpered, biting your lower lip, nodding. "The good girl you are," Chris praised you, slithering gently a third digit and curling it languidly, simultaneously with the others, watching you hissing, taking a fistful of his hair to fight the pain. "See, you can barely take another one, and we're not even close to what your body is going to experience."

Teardrops glistening on your eyelashes like morning dew on velvety rose petals.

"Am I not enough for you, Chris?" you asked him, dropping the honorific for the first time since you've met him, holding back the sadness, rejecting the thought of being nothing to him. "Am I not good like the other girls you had before?"

Chris watched your eyes become teary for the first time, and he felt like a part of him died the moment he knew he was somehow responsable for that. He couldn't tolerate it, he won't ever be able to endure it no more. He gently pulled his fingers out of you, letting the rapture wait, his desire arrest a little bit longer.

"Is it me who makes you believe you're not the prettiest I've ever seen? The only purest, perfect creature my tired eyes have truly met? Then punish me baby doll," he whispered sincerely with apprehension, grabbing your tiny wrist and using your clenched fist to attempt hitting his sculpted chest, "hit me. I don't deserve to be your first, to call you mine, if I can't make you see how much of a real man only you can make me feel. Look what you do to me."

He unzipped his jeans, letting his aching erection darting free from any constriction, then guided your hand on it. "Shit, do you even imagine how much self control I needed to forbid my instict to fuck you like an animal to prevail everytime you were sleeping next to me? Every single time you accidentally rubbed against my cock when I cuddled you from behind? You've ruined me, I'm destroyed. How could any other girl be good, be enough for me after you?"

Chris slapped himself aggressively in the face, his cheek turning ruby red. "I'm fucking bad, baby. I've been the worst if I ever made you doubt of me. Hit me."

"Oppa, please."

He took off his shirt and did it again, even more violently then before, then clutched his grasp around your wrist again. Your tears now flowing copiously, blurring your vision, hazing your mind.

"Come on baby, right here, on my heart, do it, hurt me like I've hurt you."

"Oppa, no. I don't want this," you cried frustrated, trying to fight against his will, but he was stronger, so much stronger and determined to suffer.

"Why?" he asked, mad at himself more than ever.

"Chris, stop," you cried, voice breaking and shaking.

"Why?" he insisted, his tone too peremptory to be ignored.

"Because I fucking love you."

You screamed at the top of your lungs, words still floating in the room, echoing in the narcotic stillness of the night, the only remedy to placate his fury, the only antidote to cure his pain, his torn soul.

"Let me be yours. I wanna be the only girl who can have you. I wanna turn into everything you've ever dreamed of, into everything you've ever needed."

He smiled, caressing your chin fondly.

"I didn't know what I needed until I saw you."

You kissed him, and it felt like drifting, like losing a part of yourself forever in that sublime exchange of minds and souls when you captured his lips in yours, stealing his breath, devouring his spirit.

Chris grabbed you firmly and pushed you against the mattress, onto his sheets, pulling down your skirt, making your panties slide down to your ankles, throwing them somewhere at the foot of the bed. He got up, taking off his pants alongside with his underwear. He positioned himself between your legs, unmoving, just admiring how breathtaking you were like this, with nothing on, exposed, frail underneath his ravenous gaze.

You grabbed his cock, so huge in your little palm, and massaged the tip delicately with your thumb, sprinkling it in his white, pearlescent fluid.

"Fuck honey, don't tease if you still want me to be gentle with you," he panted, not doing anything to make you stop though.

You giggled silently, secretly amused by his uncontrolled reaction.

"Does oppa like it like this?" you whispered.

"Oppa loves it."

You pushed the tip against your soft folds, rubbing it against your clit and the edge of your entrance. Chris cursed, shuddering, almost losing his balance, all the weight of his body risking to crash over yours.

"And like this? Does oppa like it better like this?"

"Fuck yes, so much better."

He pulled your body closer to his and spread your legs the widest he could.

"God, you're a fucking vision. So soaking wet, so open. Like this baby, rain for me, I'm so thirsty I'm gonna drain you, I'm gonna suck you dry," he warned, bending down to reach your sex glistening in your arousal, inhaling its forbidden scent deeply, making you flush, making you whine in ecstasy when he rubbed his upper lip against your swollen clit.

"Oppa wants a taste, will you let him?"

You nodded, incapable of articulating anything similar to a consent.

"Let me hear it coming from those lovely lips."

"Oppa?" you said, gulping, his nose already stroking your sensitive slit.

"Yes, baby doll?"

"I need your mouth on me, oppa, wanna feel your tongue, but please, please, let me cum on you, with you, let it happen when you're inside me."

"Is that what you want?"

"More than anything else."

"Then you don't need to ask."

Chris could feel your body writhing convulsively underneath his voracious wet muscle as he licked with extreme accuracy every inch, every soft ripple of your slippery folds, letting your flavor invade his cavity, permeating his palate, and your inebriating perfume dulling his senses like the finest of drugs.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair, moaning, as he sucked on your clit, flattening his tongue, using the tip to violate your immaculate fissure. He groaned satisfied, drinking greedily from that inexhaustible source of pleasure, the guttural sounds coming from his throat vibrating against it, sending fiery, violent frissons down your spine.

You arched your back and he helped you raise your waist to have full access on each perfect, most secret part of you, but you suddenly tried to stop him, gripping gently the long strands brushing against the nape of his neck, rebelling to his feral appetite, wanting to escape from that immeasurable delight.

"C-Chris…w-what…" you mumbled, too weak to protest, to withstand any longer.

"Oppa lied, sweetheart. He's such a demanding bastard. How is he even supposed to resist when your cunt tastes like fucking heaven? Tell me. I told you I wouldn't be able to stop, that I would have fucking spoiled you so bad."

His licking, still so precise, became quicker, feverish, his sucking vehement, avid, the tip of his tongue hitting persistently your yielding cleft, going everytime a little bit further.

You whined, cursing, crying desperate at the sensation, every limb spasming. "Y-you p-promised…"

"Never been a man of value," he confessed under his breath, looking at you through his long eyelashes, "I'm a son of a bitch, baby doll, not fucking prince charming."

You pulled his hair, without even noticing that you were rocking your hips towards his mouth to feel it moving again on you, but he stood still, remaining impassive.

"Beg me," he teased provocatively, "do it properly, and I'll stop."

You attempted to speak, to formulate any kind of plea, of request, but your words came out like nothing more but feeble, breathy sounds, confused truncated gasps.

"Fuck, C-Chris…"

His lips still cruelly consuming you, busy torturing you. "You can't do better than this, can you?"

"Please," you implored, breathless, exhausted, but in a surprisingly clear, firm voice.

Chris gazed into your eyes with defiance.

"Sorry honey," he purred, "I can't hear you."

One more deliberate twist, one last measured swirl around your irresistibly slick core, then Chris' tongue flicked inside your inviting slit, repeatedly, obsessively, so in to the hilt that he perceived a storm of irrepressible jolts coming from your body, shaking, screaming to let go. Cum, he finally granted, groaning, cum now, and you did, finally surrendering to him, jerking, cursing, crying, gushing so much, so shamelessly that you painted his chin, his lips, his mouth in your dense, snow-white nectar.

Chris drank every single drop of your orgasm, then got on his knees again on the bed. He lay his body over yours, so willowy, so fragile underneath his imposing one, and tried to kiss you, but you turned the other way.

He smiled, patiently. "You mad at me?"

You did not answer.

He pressed his lips on your temple gently, leaving a long trail of kisses on your cheek, on your neck, on your collarbone, going down to your breast where he sucked on your nipple, biting it, making you moan again, whine like he loved so much.

"I wanted you," you complained.

"And you'll have me," he said, taking your hand to guide it on his bulging, pulsing hardness. "Can't you see how much I want to see you cum with my cock buried inside you? But trust me, you weren't ready. I know what's best, you would have just hurt yourself, and I don't want this."

His hand dangerously slid to your overstimulated sex, fingers slowly sinking in your walls and coming out. "Fuck, still so thight baby, a bundle of nerves down there, and you don't even know you haven't felt anything yet."

You took his face in your hands, your piercing eyes meeting his, blurred by urge and lust.

"Fuck me, oppa. Do it till it pleases you, till it hurts me, till nobody will ever take me, will ever want me again, till I'd be nothing but doll parts scattered on your bed. I'm fucking yours, I don't care about the rest. Fuck me, please, fuck me now, fuck me hard, I need you, I love you."

Chris suddenly wrapped one arm around your hips to pull you closer to his frame, to trap you entirely under his weight, then grabbed your thighs and made your legs clasp around his waist solidly.

"Damn baby, the things you do to me when you talk like this. You're so docile and persuasive. I really wanted to go slow, doing it as it should be done, but God, you make it so difficult, you're not really bringing out the best of me right now."

You caressed his lenght in his entirety, from the head to the base, so rigid, impressive, veins popping out, pre-cum spilling gently in a long, thin stream. "I couldn't agree less," you stated, smiling maliciously.

He suddenly gripped your wrists and pinned both your hands over your head, making you giggle, watching you totally captivated.

"What?" you asked curious.

"I wanna remember you like this forever."

He entered you fully, heatedly, incapable of controlling himself, of resisting you, of waiting any longer and hushing his impatience, his impulsive exigency to fill your cunt for the first time, completely, to the extreme. He stared spellbound at how his huge cock disappeared under your sparkling skin, and how your pussy, so smooth, so delicate, took it in with absolute composure. He bent down, stealing a long, soothing kiss from your parted lips to try softening your pain, to help your body calm, relax, gradually and naturally adjust to his presence.

Chris moaned tilting his head back lost in the rapture of your thightness enwrapping him so hungrily, squeezing him so forcefully, then started moving his hips leisurely, his thrusts rhythmic and regular, constant and sustained. More, harder, please oppa, faster, he heard you crying, so eager, insatiable, desperately raising your waist to try fastening his phlegmatic pace, so his shoves got quicker, wilder, as he shortened the duration of his hammering movements and intensified their force, their steadiness.

He could feel distinctly your legs jerking, your muscles contracting, your walls constricting, fluttering erratically around him, suffocating his shaft in that furious, chaotic whirlwind of tremors and convulsions. He was well aware he was also irrevocably close to his own verge.

"Shit, p-princess, oppa wants to f-fill you with his c-cum, w-will you let him?" he panted, visibly struggling to articulate that coherent phrase as he kept on shoving himself into you relentlessly, hastily, ruthlessly.

"Yes, fuck, yes…" you allowed, and then, there was nothing left to do but abandoning to the gripping power of ecstasy.

You both orgasmed, collapsing enfolded in the warmth of your embrace, blatantly entranced, unbridled, floating blissfully in that heavenly, idyllic vortex of carnal and spiritual junction, ruled by that strong, passionate but contradictory feeling of coming to life and dying at the same time, you coating his golden skin in your honeyed juices and he releasing his hot fluid emprisoned in your trembling body, calling your name, no terms of endearment this time, no nicknames, just your real name forming sensually on his lips as he reached the culmination of his own pleasure, making you feel for once more than just his little girl, but his woman.

Chris fell down on his back, weary, sated, trying hard to catch his breath again as his chest moved up and down rhythmically.

"What?" he asked seeing you smiling.

You shrugged. "Nothing. I just wanna remember you like this forever."

He laughed wholeheartedly. "Come here."

And he kissed you, in the only way he could, he knew, leaving you wishing on bittersweet illusions, on the stupidly romantic dream that he wouldn't be just your first, but maybe even your last.

© cultlix, 2024. all rights reserved.

[yourfatherlucifer]

| 𝒮𝑒𝓁𝒻𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 | Chapter One

Mafia!Ot8!Ateez x Female!Reader

Summary: After losing everything through gambling, your father's debts to the Ateez Mafia have resulted in you becoming their property. With no other family left, you are now at the mercy of these dangerous criminals due to your father's reckless actions.

Warnings for this chapter: Slight Parental Abuse, kidnapping, mental breakdown, MDNI

My Thankful Help: @potatomountain @kitten4sannie @rems-writing

WC: 1.7k

AU: Mafia

Nets: @othersideoutlawsnetwork

AN: This chapter is under 2k because as I said, the first chapter would be short.

Tags: @xomakara @jedi-dreea @beabatiny @ateezaddict24 @spenceatiny18 @18fernanda @prodsh00ky @evercodeee @yizhou-time @smally97 @eshia-16 @daniela-f-uwu @peachyy-joonie @butterfliesinthenightsky @dassmyname @unlikelysublimekryptonite @dollinno @stay-tiny-things @joongscheese @misskarynie @monstacheol @yeosangcutie0615 @mariaa @pinuspot @amphiroxx

@hyukssunflower @witchbxtch0701 If I cannot tag you, please fix your settings.

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“Dad, please, this is all I have left!” Y/N’s dad didn’t care, he snatched the few bills she clenched in her palms, then shoved her to the floor.

“I don’t care. I need it more, you brat.”

Her father left her on the cold hard floor without another thought as he exited her home.

This all started five years ago, when her mother died and her father became a huge gambling addict. Every bit of death insurance money that was left for their daughter was stolen by the father for excessive spending.

Whatever, his ass can forget it.

Y/N had to return to work if she wanted to keep her home, rent and bills were definitely no joke. With a sigh and groan, she grabbed her apron and hat. As much as she hated her customers, she had a good job. It paid well and gave her a nice home: small, but nice. The best part is that it’s away from her fathers run down house.

Oh the family home..it used to be so beautiful. Y/N’s mother always kept it so extravagant and beautiful, her father actually built it for her mother. Alas, once she died, Y/N’s dad let it fall into disrepair. Holes in the floor, broken windows, no working appliances. It truly was just, not hospitable in any way shape or form.

The walk to the car was miserable, with her pockets robbed of the last cash she had, her bank account stripped clean of its currency. Y/N hated her father in these final minutes to her car, “Piece of shit, hate his ass.”

Her car struggled to start, pissing her off even more. Her hands smacked against the steering wheel and she let out an agonizing scream. Tears streamed down her face that signified her further frustration. Why? Why not was her life like this? Y/N stepped out of her car with a slam of the door. Bus transposition it is. She could only count on the money she made tonight to make it back home. Her bus card only had enough for one ride.

Y/N grabbed her coat before heading back outside to the bus station, it better not be packed. Her day was already shitty and she didn’t need to be jostled around by people on the way to work.

The moment she stepped onto the bus and scanned her card, only then could she breathe a sigh of relief. There was no one on the bus which gave her momentary tranquility. A peaceful silence if you must.

After the jostling bus ride and arriving to work, Y/N prepared for a long day ahead of her. Hopefully having no shitty customers and ending the day with a good pay.

She needs it.

About six hours later, she was clocked out of work with some cash in her pocket, she had made about one hundred and twenty four dollars. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get her home and maybe something ordered to eat. Tomorrow's payment would have to go to rent no matter what. She absolutely cannot afford to be homeless.

It had turned dark outside on the way home which she didn’t mind but alas, men. She never had to worry about that but she still worried regardless.

With her home in sight, she let out another sigh of relief and stepped inside. Why was it so dark? She knows she left the lights on. She was sure she left them on. Y/N was about to bolt when hands grabbed her and the lights turned on.

Three men resided in her home entrance and she panicked, “Who the hell are you people and why are you in my home?” She tried her hardest to break away from the man’s hold, she couldn’t see what they looked like and that scared her.

A short one with orange hair pushed himself off the couch with a frown, “You’re not Mark..” His face grew cold, “Might I ask who you are instead?”

Y/N could only scowl before giving in, “I’m his daughter. What do you want with my father?”

“Well, you see, he owes us a hefty bit of money. He listed this place as his home but he’s not here. Do you know where he is?” He came face to face with the girl as he scanned her body up and down. Quite the specimen indeed, he thought.

Y/N shook her head, “Why the hell would I know where that deadbeat is? He’s nothing but trouble and continues to steal my money.”

This made the man laugh, the others stiffening.

“Oh, yeah, sounds just like him.” He thought for a moment before nodding to himself, “Well, guess we’re gonna have to take you instead! Maybe we can lure him out with you.”

Before she could protest and scream for help, something was bashed against her head and she fell to the floor in a blackout.

Time flew by quickly.

The moment she woke up, she realized she was in a cell, her body wrapped in a tight rope and her legs barred together tightly.

Y/N began to cry, of course her father would get her in this situation. What a dickweed.

A light quickly flashed into the dark room, someone stepped in.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” The voice was monotone, “Captain wants to see you.” The sounds of keys jingling rattled her ears, swearing she had a concussion.

She was quickly yanked up and taken outside of the cell, “Do not attempt to flee, I will just shove you back in there with nothing to eat.”

Y/N gave in and let him take her upstairs. She was astonished by his beauty once they reached the light. No, no, do not think that way, she thought to herself. She was kidnapped.

She was taken to a room that was secluded from the rest, chandeliers lining the hallway as she walked, well, was forced down. Still, a beautiful place that astonished her.

Once she was shoved into the room and the door slammed behind her, only then could she look up from where she fell.

The other man stood up from his seat and helped her stand up, “I told you to be gentle, Jongho. Follow my orders next time or you know damn well what happens.”

“Yes, Hongjoong, sir, I’m sorry.” The voice spoke from behind the girl.

This guy was the boss?

“I’m Hongjoong, I’m the leader of ateez and you’re in our home. You can thank your father for that.” Hongjoong gently brought Y/N to a seat and sat her down, sending shivers down her spine.

“What do I have to do with my father? He’s not going to rescue me. He only cares about his money.” He didn’t like those words but quickly gathered his cool.

“No matter, fathers always come back if they want to escape our wrath.” Hongjoong cleared his throat before he stood up once more, “You’ll be staying with us until he makes an appearance or pays us back.”

She knew neither was going to happen. She’d be stuck here forever until the day she died.

Tears lined her eyes as she tried to fight them back, “Then you should just kill me.”

Hongjoong laughed in such a maniacal way that it scared Y/N, “I won’t be doing that either, you’re too pretty to kill. I like you.” He wasn’t sending any red flags but still, he scared Y/N.

“Fine.”

“Good girl. Jongho, take her to the room I had prepared and have the maids clean her up and feed her.” With a wave of his hand, Y/N was back to being yanked around, “Be gentle, dammit!” His fist smacked against the desk and Jongho was frightened once more, being more careful than he had before.

When the two of them were out of sight, Jongho was harsh once again, “I don’t like you. I don’t see why Captain has such an interest in you, I would’ve just killed you if I was in his position.”

Y/N couldn’t say anything, she was too scared, too afraid to die in all honesty. She could only wonder what would happen to her home, her job, everything she had. Would she just be reported as missing? What would happen? Would anyone even care?

“You’ll be staying in here.” She was shoved into a room once again but maids rushed to her this time, helping her to the bed, almost as if they were also afraid of Hongjoong.

She didn’t blame them.

Y/N didn’t even fight back, she let them undress her, too hollow of shell at the moment. They led her to a prepared bath, it was..big. Too big.

They helped her inside and began washing her body before she shouted, “I can do it myself, thank you.” The maids didn’t scamper off unfortunately.

“We’re so sorry, but Mr Kim wants us doing this. We have to.” They spoke with such a frightening tone, almost as if they were gonna get their heads chopped off on a stand.

They scrubbed her body with such ease and care, not wanting to hurt the girl. Too scared to do so. Then again, they haven’t had another girl in the house in so long. It was nice.

Once they were done, they had her step out, drying and dressing her in a gown. Something she normally would never wear, alas she has no choice unfortunately. If this is what the man wanted her to wear then so be it.

The several maids took their leave for a moment and Y/N took that as her chance to escape. She bolted out of the bathroom, out of the room, then into the hallway. Her heavy breaths carried her in a panic, but what she didn’t expect was to run in a hard chest.

Y/N screamed in defeat as they grabbed her tight. She recognized the hold as the person who captured her home.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” The voice snickered in such a mimicking tone, “Mm, captain is gonna love to hear about this.”

Y/N stared up into his eyes, yet another beautiful man and this one was definitely tall.

“You do look delicious.” However, he shrugged and dragged her back into the room, “I’m Mingi, though, next time you try to escape, I won’t be so lenient.” The door was slammed as Mingi left her in the cold and dark room once more.

Y/N could only cry as she came to the conclusion she was never leaving this place.

Ever.

[notsodailycake]

Ok, this was originally done as an apology for my angsty drabble about Shockwave controlling Prowl then straight up killing Jazz at the end lmao.

Now, with the added fic made from it, I feel like we fans will be needing some fluff, so i bestow yall with this little drabble.

This was based off of a little something that me and my sister have talked about few times. Laughter, and how much that can spiral out of control heh.

Hope this makes yall laugh as much as it made us while writing this (seriously, we ended up going on our own spiral of laughter while trying to get the ideas out to write).

To give the very deserved credits to my sister @saltynsassy31 who wrote down some of the parts of this fic herself, so give your praises to her as well for it!

Mecha pilot au belongs to @keferon

Now onto the fic:

------

"Human laughter scares me"

It had been a normal and quiet afternoon, how did it escalate to this?! That's all Prowl could think of when trying to rationalise this situation, currently holding a wheezing human on his palm.

...

Jazz was out of his suit, needing a break, by Prowl's insistance, to eat something. Despite not being an organic himself, he seems the one most concerned about the condition of his partner. Humans were so fragile, yet somehow very much not, it baffled the mech.

So many things worked against the survival of a human, their own bodies sometimes, the more he learned about it, yet somehow they prevailed.

But he was not about to take any chances, so, in turn, he made sure Jazz would be taken care properly, if not by himself, then by Prowl.

Jazz was sitting down on Prowl's desk, just telling a story from his home planet while the mech listened, the little human insisting that if he needed a break, so did Prowl, and his leader was not opposed to the idea.

As he went on about a random story of his childhood, the human seemed to remember something branching from that train of thought and when he tried to get to the point of the story, something odd happaned.

He snorted a little. That, Prowl has seen the human do a few times, even heard him do this strange noise when he was just seen as the mecha suit itself. He learned quickly that was simply how humans sometimes held their laughter, to try and compose themselves.

But that only seemed to be the start of it. As little by little, Jazz struggled to utter out a single word as he snorted and wheezed slightly the at words.

"Did you- heheh- Did you- Hahaha-"

And as Jazz attempted to say whatever it was he wanted to say, it was as if his body refused and rejected the word, air being sucked in hard with a wheeze before being pushed out even harder that it made a gutteral noise rip out of the human's throat. And if Prowl thought that was all he needed to push out the words he wanted, he was sorely mistaken, as this was only the start.

Jazz suddenly got up from his previous sitted position, wheezing a little as he lifted a trembling hand up to point at the mech, seeming to think that could help with his inability to speak out his thoughts. Instead that just caused him to let out a audial piercing screech. He moved his hands around more, trying to somehow convey whatever it was that caused this reaction, but the way they frantically moved did little to help and actually made whatever was happening to Jazz worse, if that was even possible.

And it was, because suddenly Jazz was clutching at his stomach and throwing himself backward as his voice became a cacophony of scratchy noises and incoherent mumbling, and what alarmed Prowl the most was how Jazz seemed to start getting dizzy and stumbling around, throwing one hand to try and catch anything as he stumbled forward but only swatted at air. Which, Prowl may add, seemed to be something that the human was struggling to take in.

And, if his memory serves him right, he needed that.

Quickly Prowl moved his servo over to Jazz, looming over him to catch him if he were to fall, or even just to serve as support. Jazz seemed to have taken on the offer, leaning a hand over the palm while his other hand clutched at his stomach.

That didn't last long though, as quickly as he made move to look at Prowl's servo, something clicked in his head, and quickly he stumbled back, letting out more uncomfortable and uncontrolled wheezed laughter.

Prowl got intensely more worried at his partner's condition, now deciding to call him out on it. "Jazz, what's wrong? Is everything alright??"

That seemed to have been the wrong move, as although the other had momentarily stopped to look at the mech with tear filled eyes and a strained smile, it quickly devolved to even more incomprehensible laughter and struggle to convey any words. Jazz tried his very best to form any words that would explain the situation, but it only came out as puffed wheezes following a rhythm that Prowl could only guess were the vowls of what he wanted to say, but he could distinguish none of them as he was not all that familiar with the language.

The human quickly fell to his knees, his hands clutched into fits as his knuckles turned white from the pressure and he slammed them on the desk's surface, as yet another strange attempt to bring air into his lungs.

Before Prowl could try and resson any sort of an appropriate action to this, Jazz let out a scream. Much less screechy than before, and much more like a war cry. Prowl wouldn't be surprised if somebot came in questioning what all the commotion was for.

"Jazz!!" Prowl called out exasperated and yet again, that was another wrong move, causing the human to start rolling on the surface of the table as maniacal laughter dripped from his intake, hands flailing around and slamming hard against the table as if that would somehow force his body to breath properly.

Jazz began to stutter, and sometimes his mouth would stay open yet not a single noise would cone out of it, neither did he seem to be taking in or exhaling any air, like he was frozen in the moment before an audial peircing noise ripped from the human's throat after a big gasp of air.

He had flipped over to his side before trying to lift himself up, body trembling with strain, before he suddenly dropped his head and slammed his forehead against the table and reached to place his hands over right behind his audials ears and shakily exclaim "it hurts!" While still smiling. It sent Prowl mixed signals.

The mech sat there in abstant horror as he processed what was being desplayed infront of him. In delayed reaction, Prowl could only mutter one word.

"What?"

And for the third time that was, once again, the wrong  reaction as Jazz let out a howling screech at that with more breathless laughter.

Prowl was left clueless as to what he should try and do to help his partner, simply reaching out and gently picking up the tiny, breathless  human to see if he could do something to ease the possible pain.

He moved his cupped servo close to his face to try and analyse Jazz's condition. Maybe he should take him to one of the medics who had been helping them so far with organic knowledge, but as far as he knew, this wasn't supposed to be harmful, it was simple human laughter! To express joy or humour to something, and clearly there was a lot of it to cause Jazz to get like this. But he was clearly struggling to breath with this, so it has to be something serious.

Could humans die from something as simple and supposedly joyful as laughter?

Before Prowl could open his intake, Jazz had seemed to have sensed his partner's internal struggle and need to understand it, and quickly placed a tiny hand on his dermas. Although it might have been quite aggressive, and hurt the regular human with its strength, it felt nothing but a pinch to Prowl.

"Don't-" he wheezed out, barely audible to Prowl, the second word lost to another wheezed breath, mouth only mimicking the movement it was supposed to take. Though, this time, the mech understood quite well what he ment.

So he did as instructed, and didn't utter a single word, hoping his optics did the job to deliver his thoughts.

That was the fouth time, and counting, the mech did something wrong, because it seems like his worried glance were funny to the little human. That his concerns for his health were humorous to him. And honestly, Prowl wasn't sure if he should take offence to that or not.

At this point, Prowl could do nothing else other than to sit there, dumbfounded, which was not a situation he felt pleased being in (and didn’t find himself often in, until this human came crashing into his life), as his partner laughed off uncontrollably, slamming his hands over his own knees, or sometimes at the palm of the servo holding him, while clutching his stomach in what seemed to be strained pain.

Prowl made move to get up now, thoroughly done with this and ready to deliver the troubled human to a medic. He was losing too much air at this point and it could very much fatal.

But just as he did, before he could even fully stand from his seat, the mech caught a glance over to Jazz who, despite his struggles with breathing at the moment, waved over an arm in signal for Prowl to stop moving. Prowl raised a questioning brow, which was the fifth wrong move (he might as well just assume everything he does that expresses concern will be a wrong move at this point), as Jazz quickly fell into more laugher, but the exhaustion was clear to any bot as he gasped far more aggressively for air in attempt to stop his uncontrolled laugh.

"Sit." He breathed out, gagging a little at the word before attempting to speak once more. "Don't- haha- move." After more strained giggles, he uttered one more word he deemed necessary; "please."

So Prowl sat down, and watched as Jazz let out whatever was left in his system. To his relief, it seemed like that had been the first correct move Prowl has done over the past joor, as Jazz was finally starting to calm down, fallen flat on his back by now, as he let out exhausted breaths.

It was quiet for a moment, Prowl wasn't sure how long, but slowly Jazz started to move himself from his fallen position to sit back up, using trembling hands to hold himself from the back. It took a little more of breathing before the human decided to speak again, hesitantly, as if to test for himself if it was safe to speak.

"S-sorry about....that"

Prowl was unsure if he should speak up himself, but deemed appropriate enough by now. "Care to....explain, all of that?"

Jazz let out another snort at that, which caused the mech to panic that he might have caused the human to spiral down once more. But he just shook his head while bitting down on his bottom lip, as if to hold his smile from growing.

"I just....lost control."

"Lost control?" Prowl raised a questioning brow, Jazz just kept looking away as if he knew just looking at the mech would cause trouble once more.

"Y-yeah."

Prowl had so many questions about how that was even possible, one such question being whether there could be a system override for such an occasion, but his processor quickly screamed back in reminder that that was not possible.

They sat in silence once more as Jazz caught up with all the air he missed out during his fit, and Prowl contemplated on what or if  he should ask something. Finally, after maybe a klik or so, Prowl finally inquired on something.

"Jazz, you looked like you were about to die-"

"Sure felt like it" the human chuckled, Prowl did not find humour on that.

"I'm serious Jazz, could such a simple thing as laughter really kill you?" The most demanding question on his processors, slipping out without a second to stop it. That seemed to have caught his partner off guard, and, thank Primus, such concern was not left for the human's humour as he looked genuinely guilty and possibly conflicted over the question.

"Weeellll..." As he made move to rotate one of his hands, as if to try and roll out a proper answer, the answer itself seemed to click for Prowl.

"Oh my Primus it can." The mech looked utterly horrified at the revelation. "You could have died Jazz-"

"NO! Wait Prowl, stop!" Jazz panicked, quickly trying to console his giant partner. "I would have been fine! It would take alot more to kill me!" That did not seem to comfort the mech.

"How much?!"

"Uhm, ok, 'm honestly not sure." Prowl raised his brows, looking very much not pleased with that answer, but Jazz continued before Prowl could, "but I know that worse case scenario I would've just passed out, but would be able to breath normally again. You'd just have to wait till I woke up again!"

The mech seemed to contemplate whether that was a satisfactory answer or not. He seemed to have landed in the middle.

"You seemed to be in genuine pain though, so pardon my concerns about it."

"'S cuz I was."

"Then why didn't you stop?"

"I just couldn't, 'nd I don't have the answer as to why honestly, so sorry to disappoint. Sometimes we humans just start laughing and it gets out of control, to the point where everything's funny, even a pencil drop could cause the spiral to worsen."

"Or a concerned partner's face?" Prowl mused

Jazz chuckled, "yeah."

After a few seconds, Prowl decided to muse a bit on something. "So, what was it that you wanted to try and tell me earlier?" He smirked down at his partner.

The human just shook his head, chuckling slightly, but not falling down exasperated laughter. "I'm not even gonna try that again."

-----

Final notes. I added a little moment of Jazz pressing the back area of the ears, idk what they're called, while exclaiming he's hurt, and it's from my own personal experience of laughing so much that area would start to hurt from smiling so much, and I'd have to scream out "it hurts!" To try and stop it.

Not sure if anyone else experienced that, so yeah. Either way, thought it be funny to have this happen with Jazz, as I dont think cybertronians can necessarily go through the same issue of laughing so much in insanity because of lack of air. And also, yeah, it can be deadly, but it would take alot for that...as far as I know-

[flemingology]

Hi !! :D Following your most recent post I wanted to request smth for Jessie . Basically reader is not used to celebrating Christmas since she had problems with her family growing up which lead to them never celebrating it in their household . Cue to now where Jessie and her are spending their first ever Christmas as a couple , Jessie invites reader to her parents’s for Christmas and it becomes the first time reader gets to celebrate it ? Just really fluffy mostly (idk if what I wrote made sense English is not my first language 😭)

home for the holidays ─ jessie fleming x reader

part of my christmas series. full masterlist here!

in which: jessie and her family are determined to change your mind about celebrating christmas

warnings: talks of a poor youth, poverty, financial issues, dysfunctional family dynamic but also lots of fluff, i promise

wc: 4.6k

a/n: first part of the christmas series! combined a couple drafts of jessie taking reader to celebrate christmas with her family. hope you enjoy!

Growing up, you missed out on a lot of things due to the precarious financial situation of your family. Your dad had incurred a work-related accident when you were three years old, leaving him bedridden with permanent spinal cord injury. Your mum worked 12 hours a day, 6 days a week, trying her hardest to muster up the money to take care of both you and your father. Nonetheless, your family struggled. You never experienced any of the traditional things that most kids did; no birthday parties, no holidays, no trips to the zoo or an amusement park, and certainly not Christmas. You dreaded the Christmas holidays. It confronted you with the dysfunctional family dynamic, never having the money to buy presents, let alone decorate the house.

The longer you found yourself in the terrible conditions in which you grew up, the more you promised yourself that you would try and break that vicious cycle. From the age of 16, you started looking for a job. You struggled, a lot of employers judging you based off your background, but eventually you managed to get a job at a local supermarket on the corner of your street. When you weren't at school, you were working, and when you weren't working, you were helping your mum with household chores. You didn't have any free time at all, but you kept reassuring yourself it would all be worth it in the end.

By the age of 20, you finally felt like you could look forward a little. You had finished school at 18, and now had been working full-time in the supermarket for 2 years, still helping your mum out with the household and even giving a big part of your income to her to help out with dad's care. Besides that, you opened a savings account for yourself, where you put the remainder of the money you made every month. You felt like you were slowly but surely creeping out the vicious cycle, paving the way for yourself to have a more positive looking future. You didn't have to take things day-to-day anymore. You started doing some charity work for OHOH: Oregon's Harbor of Hope – an institution caring for the homeless people of Portland. When you weren't on the clock in the supermarket, you went out there to help the volunteers. OHOH worked on giving homeless people a safe space, a community, and the essential services they needed to stabilize their lives.

You stumbled across the organization while browsing on the internet on a library computer, and you'd felt the fire in your belly to help them. You wrote down the address on your hand and went to check it out the following day, opening up about your past experiences and about how you thought you could aid OHOH. They took you in, welcomed you with open arms, and you had been one of the main volunteers there for the past three years now. But if anyone had told you that you'd meet the love of your life at one of their fundraisers, you would've never believed them.

OHOH organized fundraisers on every first Friday of the month. They were open for everyone who wanted to come check out the institution and help out – whether that be financially or actual engagement. That's where you met Jessie. Jessie, who also stumbled across the organization while scrolling through her socials. Jessie, who was so eager to help the local community. Jessie, who you bonded with the first time she came around and then she just kept coming. Every first Friday of the month she'd be there, claiming she was just there to help out, but she knew deep down that there was more to it than just helpfulness.

Jessie and you got talking on her first time visiting OHOH. You took it upon yourself to show her around the place, explaining her the ins and outs about the services you offered, Jessie listening to you with care and intent. Before you even realized, you started opening up about yourself to the Canadian. Conversation flowed easily between the two of you and you felt at ease, Jessie not judging you for any of the things you opened up to her about. It was late into the night when you two wrapped up, the only two people still hanging around at the fundraiser. You had an early shift in the supermarket the next day and you already knew you'd curse yourself for staying up late today. Jessie lingered a little while you locked up, and you caught yourself stealing a glance of her every now and then. You said your goodbyes then, parting ways with Jessie's promise that she'd be back next month.

And she was. And then again the next month. Jessie and you had grown closer over her past couple visits. You felt something warm and fuzzy coursing through your body every time you talked to her, a foreign feeling you'd never experienced before and you didn't really know what to do with it. Things with Jessie were easy. It felt like a fresh start, like a blank page ready to be written on. Jessie, on the other hand, cursed herself every time she left the fundraiser without asking for your number. She was in her head about it, thinking she might just be reading in to things, but she couldn't deny her feelings for you anymore. Not when your touch seemed to linger a little bit too long after she pulled you into a hug, not when you memorized the way she drinks her coffee after only making her one once, not when the way you said her name would make her stomach flutter in ways she'd never felt before. So she promised herself that next month, she'd ask for your number. And if you then didn't seem to be on the same page, well then at least she tried.

When next month came around, Jessie found herself trying to make an extra effort to look good on Friday. She usually wasn't really one to be very bothered about her outfits, but she caught herself standing in front of her wardrobe a little too long for what was just a fundraiser she'd been at multiple times. After a quick shower and freshening up a little, she made her way over to Portland's city centre, expertly navigating the roads to a place she'd visited frequently enough to know the way by heart. She noticed you from a little while away, talking to some of the other volunteers by the entrance. You spotted her too, giving her a small wave from across the street, which Jessie readily reciprocated. She scolded herself over how excited she got over the little gesture. She quickly made her way over, greeting everyone before eventually finding herself opposite you. You engulfed her in a hug, the embrace a welcome barrier against the cold Portland wind that nipped at Jessie's skin. "Hey. Thank you for coming," you mumbled against her, slowly pulling back from the hug. "Always."

You went through the motions, as you did every month. Talked to newcomers, caught up with old visitors, gave tours and explanations on what you did at OHOH. Jessie busied herself, talking to people here and there, sharing experiences with the people of Oregon. It was a welcome change for her, being somewhere where nobody really knew who she was. To be taken as herself, as Jess, not so much as Jessie Fleming – the Thorns and Canada midfielder that everyone seemed so eager to get a piece of. That's one of the main reasons she was so fond of you. You didn't know who she was. You hadn't found out yet either, or you were just very good at hiding it. It never came up in conversations, either. The only time Jessie spoke about football was the first time you met each other; when you asked her what her hobbies were. Football. A hobby. If only you knew. Jessie realized that she'd have to tell you at some point, but she liked the calm for now. The comfort.

As the night furthered, you two started gravitating towards each other more and more. From fleeting glances whenever you passed her with a new group to guide around the building, to quick conversations in between catch-ups, to full on spending the last hour of the fundraiser tucked away in a slightly more quiet corner, talking to each other like it was the easiest thing in the world. Neither you could deny the feelings that were starting to build inside you anymore. The fuzzy feeling remained, and now your skin felt tingly whenever Jessie's touch was on you. It excited you, really, but it made you oh so nervous. Scared, even. You'd never felt this way, not in your 24 years of doing life had you ever felt like this about someone. You didn't know what love was. Your mum loved your dad, you could see that, but that got lost in the dysfunctional dynamic of the family. Platonic love isn't something you experienced either throughout your youth, your peers had never been fond of you. You'd gotten used to that, grown accustomed to being alone. Not lonely, though, you didn't mind being alone. But this was different. Jessie made you feel all kinds of things and she made being alone feel like the worst thing in the world. You wanted to be around her, be alongside her, be with her.

You'd noticed a nervous touch in Jessie's behaviors that night. A little more restless than usual, a little more jumpy, much less controlled. Controlled. Jessie was always controlled. Although, that's what she thought. She liked being in control. In control over her thoughts, emotions, her behaviors. But the way she was fiddling with her fingers, the way she kept tapping her feet and how she seemed to stumble over her otherwise so composed words, you knew something was off.

"Are you okay, Jess?" You'd just locked up the building as the fundraiser came to an end, another successful evening wrapped up. You'd been building up the courage to ask her the question all evening, much as she had been trying to build up the courage to ask for your number – unbeknownst to you. You glanced at her over your shoulder when she didn't give you a reply. "Jess?" You raised your voice a little bit, seemingly startling the freckled Canadian. "Hmm?" She cocked her eyebrows, a nervous glint in her eye. You chuckled and made your way over to her, stalling opposite of her. "I asked whether you were okay. You've been a little... off tonight, or something? I don't know. I just wanna make sure, you know." You carefully approached the subject, not knowing if you were just overthinking things or if something was genuinely up.

Jessie cleared her throat. "Uhm, yeah. Yeah, I don't know. Bit off, I guess," she said distractedly. "You sure?" You decided to pry a little, inching closer towards her, your fingers nearly brushing hers. She chuckled, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips before she met her gaze again. "Yeah, it's fine, I promise. I think- I've just been in my head a bit this evening, I'm fine." A frown painted your face as you listened to her words. "Mhm, okay. You wanna tell me what it is? I hope I didn't do anything to upset you." You wracked your brain trying to think of a moment in the past couple hours that could've possibly upset the Canadian, but you blanked.

"No, no, God, no, it's not that. Please, don't worry about that," Jessie chuckled before continuing, "it's not you. It's me, I swear." You cocked an eyebrow at her. "'It's not you, it's me'? Really, Jess?" You couldn't contain the uneasy feeling that started to grow inside you as the conversation progressed. It seemed like Jessie didn't want to talk about what was bothering her, but she gave you just enough of an insight to keep you on your toes – it was almost annoying you. "No, fuck- I'm making it worse." Jessie rubbed her hands down her face and lifted a hand when she saw you were going to speak again, ordering you to wait. "I've been in my head tonight, yeah. But it's nothing to do with you. Well- in fact, maybe it does. But, not like that. You know? I'm just-" "Jessie Fleming, what are you trying to say? Get it over with."

Jessie took in a deep breath, trying to compose herself, before she opened her eyes and a waterfall of words left her mouth. "Wouldyoumaybewanttogivemeyournumber?" You slightly tilted your head and gave her an amused look, cocking an eyebrow when her gaze fluttered down. "Jess, I couldn't make much of that, I'm sorry." You couldn't help the chuckle that crept up your throat, you'd never seen the Canadian this unsure. "Would you maybe want to give me your number?" Your eyebrows raised in surprise as you took a moment to process her words, but Jessie assumed your silence was your way of denying her request. "I mean, you don't have to, really, I was just asking because- uhm, because, you know, things for the fundraisers and stuff. It's okay, honestly-" You cut Jessie off by a placing a hand on her chest and searching for her gaze that was flicking everywhere but to your face. "Hey, take it easy. Take a breath, okay?" Jessie's eyes were filled with concern but she did as you asked, feeling her chest expanding and deflating a couple times underneath your hand. "I'd love to give you my number."

Safe to say that you and Jessie struggled to find your way with one another. You, not used to romantic love, or love in general, you struggled with accepting Jessie's affection. But in the end, you made compromises, communicated with one another about what worked and what didn't, and you had been in a relationship that you could only describe as perfect for the past 8 months. Jessie and you complimented each other. You fit together. She got you up when you were down, and vice versa. You learned very quickly about her career in football, something that took you completely by surprise when she told you. You adjusted, you compromised, and it worked. You were happier than you'd ever been.

Your first big argument with your Jessie didn't come until December, near Christmas time. Jessie insisted that you came with her back to Canada to celebrate the holidays with her and her family, but you insisted on staying home. You didn't want to be a bother, and as much as your girlfriend had tried to convince you that you wouldn't be, the thought remained firmly planted at the forefront of your mind – whatever Jessie did, not helping to get rid of it.

You'd told Jessie about your upbringing. How it hadn't been the best, how you'd missed out on all the traditional things. You never went into much detail, not wanting to relive your past, preferably living in the now, but Jessie knew. That's the reason why she always treaded very carefully when approaching the subject, not wanting to pry or ask too much leading to you closing yourself off. It wasn't until after one particularly rough night with your girlfriend – the both of you spending the best part of 30 minutes fighting about the whole ordeal – that you thought it was best to just get it over with and tell Jessie why you were so reluctant.

You told her about how you spent most Christmases at home. No Christmas tree or Christmas lights because they would cost too much, no Christmas films because renting one was way out of the budget, never any fancy meals as the holidays were just another period of trying to survive off stale bread and canned vegetables. You told her how you'd felt jealous in school, embarrassed even, your peers gushing about the presents they received or the family dinners they went to, while you had nothing to bring to the conversation. Not that they wanted you to be part of it, anyway. You explained to Jessie that you just didn't know how to celebrate Christmas, and that you didn't want to be a burden to your family and to herself. You didn't know how to replace those feelings of resentment with new ones, forever feeling guilty at how much better you had it now than then.

The Canadian assured you that she understood, but she also saw an opportunity that she was ready to take with both hands. She tried convincing you one more time to come with her, how she would make sure to take care of you and be gentle with introducing you to all the Christmas traditions. That you didn't have to worry about her family, who always seemed to think 'the more, the merrier' when it came to these types of days. You'd met them before, twice, when you accompanied Jessie on her occasional weekend going back home, and you knew they liked you. It wasn't that that you were worried about, it was more so that you just didn't know how to act during these types of days. What do you do? Say? What do you wear? Should you get something nice or do they prefer you to just wear something cozy? How do you behave? What presents do they want? Many questions and so very little answers.

Eventually, after some more raised voices and a lot of frustration, you agreed. Agreed on accompanying your girlfriend to Canada, the prospect of being with her and her family much more enticing than having to be on your own in your shared apartment for 3 weeks. When you finally, albeit reluctantly agreed, Jessie couldn't wipe the grin off her face even if she tried. She gently cupped your cheeks and leant her forehead against yours, pressing a soft kiss against your nose. "I promise it'll be good. It'll be so much fun and we'll take everything slow. Your pace, hmm?" She pressed a couple more kisses against your nose, before leaning down and pressing a gentle, fleeting kiss against your lips. You exhaled deeply and closed your eyes, leaning your forehead on her shoulder. "Yeah," you sighed, "yeah. We'll be fine. It'll be fun." Jessie sensed the hesitance in your voice, and promised herself then and there that she'd do everything in her power to make the holidays a fun time for you.

Traveling to Ontario wasn't that bad. No delays, no abundance of traffic, no problems with baggage, your 3-week getaway had gotten off to a perfect start and it did wonders to relieve you from some of the stress you'd been dealing with the past couple weeks leading up to this trip. Jessie and you had hired a car to drive yourself from the airport to her childhood home. You could've taken a cab, but figured it would be easy to have an extra car at home for if you wanted to go somewhere, just the two of you. You'd been in London before, but Jessie was adamant to reintroduce you to all the spots she'd shown you around before, insisting that it would be a completely different vibe now that everything was decorated for Christmas. The drive went smoothly, your plane arriving a little past 8 meaning you just about dodged the flurry of evening traffic. Your eyelids were growing heavy in the car, exhausted from the long plane journey, and with the low hum of the engine and Jessie's fingers tracing soft patterns on your thigh, it didn't take long for you to doze off against the car window.

You didn't wake until a few hours later, when Jessie put a hand on your shoulder and lightly shook you to try and wake you from what had seemed quite a deep sleep. "We're here baby, wake up," she whispered, putting a couple strands of hair behind your ear that had fallen across your face. You grunted, eyes still closed but you stretched, sitting up straight and leaning into Jessie's touch. "Tired," you grumbled. "I know, baby, it's late. We can sleep when we're inside, yeah?" You opened your eyes and looked at your girlfriend, who was sporting a small smile on her face. "You're cute when you snore." She gave you a small wink and pressed a kiss on your nose, unbuckling your seatbelt and leaning across you to open your door. Any protests that were forming in your head about how you were not a snorer died in your throat as you felt the cold wind coming from outside nipping at your skin. You hurried outside, any propositions to help your girlfriend with the bags waved away as she carried all three of them comfortably to the front door. You rang the bell, not allowed any time to complain about the weather as it took no longer than a couple seconds for Jessie's mum to open the door.

Michaele sported a beaming smile and her eyes were brimming with unshed tears as she pulled her daughter in a heartfelt embrace. It'd been a while since they saw each other. Jessie opted to stay in Portland after her domestic season had ended, the environment motivating her more to stick to her training plans than if she'd gone home early. She also still had a couple Canada camps to attend to, so she needed to stay on top of her fitness if she wanted to perform. It'd been close to 4 months since she'd been home, and you could tell that it had been weighing on her. Jessie had always been very family-oriented, so her excitement to come back home for the holidays was second to none. Especially since she managed to convince you to come too.

Ever since Jessie introduced you to her family, they took you in as part of the family. Her parents never questioned anything, loved you as one of their own and you managed to bond quite well with Tristan and Elysse. You truly felt at home with the Fleming's, a feeling you never managed to experience within your own family. It lead to a lot of uncomfortable feelings at first, when you realized that you felt more comfortable with strangers than with your own mother, but Jessie reassured you that it was okay. That it was okay to feel those things, to be upset, but that you'd never have to worry about experiencing such love ever again. She'd make sure of that.

Safe to say that Jessie kept her promise of making sure the holidays went by smoothly for the two of you. Your first week in Ontario went by quickly, the two of you re-exploring the city in which Jessie had grown up so many years ago. You visited coffee spots, strolled around her elementary school, went for dinner at her favorite burger restaurant and spent a lot of time with her family. Game nights, movie nights, going out for walks together, you name it. Jessie's family dynamic was so different to what yours had been, it was a breath of fresh air. It was healthy.

Your getaway went by quick and before you knew it, you were reaching the final week of the year. You woke up on Christmas morning with a weird feeling in your stomach. You knew everything would be fine – Jessie assured you it would, but you couldn't help the nerves that were settling in your stomach the moment you stirred from your sleep. You'd bought everyone a present, it wasn't much, but you hoped it would suffice. You didn't want to come empty handed, especially not when Jessie's family let you stay with them for the best part of a month. The feeling of being an intruder in their house had long faded, a heartfelt conversation with Jessie's mother aiding to you feeling at home within their house.

Your girlfriend must've sensed your restlessness that morning and woke up not long after you, pulling you down in a warm cuddle before agreeing to get up together. You made your way downstairs and were pleasantly surprised to see you were the first ones up. Jessie made you and her a steaming warm mug of coffee, before cuddling up with each other on the couch. You looked out across the garden, snow wrapping the town in an icy blanket of cold.

"You wanna make cookies?" Jessie's voice pulled you out of your thoughts. "Cookies?" You weren't opposed to the idea. It was nice to be alone for a moment, doing something together – just the two of you. "Yeah, cookies. I can't say it's a tradition, we don't do it every year, but sometimes my mum makes these Christmas cookies. Her own recipe. They're really good." Jessie raked her fingers through your long strands of hair from her position behind you on the couch, your back resting tight against her front. You craned your neck towards her. "Yeah, that'd be nice."

You and Jessie got to work in the kitchen, combining your forces to try and make sure the cookies would be as good as when Michaele would make them. You followed the recipe step by step, measuring and mixing the ingredients that would soon come together in small, bite-size, Christmas sugar cookies. It made you feel at ease, to have a little moment with just Jessie, before the prospect of what would surely be a busy day. Just the two of you, cuddling up to each other in the kitchen while making something that reminded Jessie of her childhood. It felt good, it felt right, it felt like home. A minute or 20 later, you put the cookies in the oven. 18 of them, 3 each.

Elysse and Tristan had already made their way downstairs, with Jessie's parents following suit only a couple minutes later. You all made some small talk, Jessie now also providing coffee for the rest of her family members. Before long, you all gathered in the living room where the presents would be given out.

"We've got the stockings first, as always," Michaele announced. She opened a bag that was sitting near the edge of the sofa and started giving them round, everyone receiving a stocking with the letter of their first name. What you didn't expect, though, was you to get one yourself. So when everyone had gotten their stocking and Michaele reached back into the bag to get one for you, it was hard to swallow the lump that had formed in your throat. Jessie noticed this, placing a comforting hand on the small of your back as you thanked and hugged her mom. You'd never felt more loved, more part of something than in that moment. You were part of their family, part of their home and everyone wanted to make sure you knew that.

The rest of the day went by so much better than you could've imagined. The Christmas cookies turned out perfect, some more family members came over for lunch, you went out for an afternoon stroll and then you all watched a Christmas movie on the sofa together late at night. You were feeling apprehensive about many things before you both took off to Oregon, but it's safe to say that Jessie kept her promise of trying to turn Christmas into something joyous for you.

Ever since that year, you hadn't missed a holiday season with the Flemings ever again. And you wouldn't want to have it differently anyway. Because after all, they were your family.

[bandsofmarv]

What’s Your Favourite Horror Movie Pogue?

Rafe Cameron, consumed by an obsessive love for you, becomes Ghostface, murdering anyone he sees as a threat to his claim on you.

TW- murder, obsessive behaviour.

The Outer Banks was known for its beauty: golden sunsets, endless beaches, and the salty air that whispered promises of freedom. But lately, that promise felt like a lie. The town was gripped with fear, whispers of a masked killer spreading like wildfire. They called him Ghostface, a name plucked from horror movies but now real, haunting your life in ways you couldn’t escape.

What no one knew—what you didn’t know—was that the killer wasn’t some faceless stranger. It was Rafe Cameron.

And his obsession with you was the reason the killings had begun.

The first time you noticed something strange, it had been subtle. Rafe was always intense, his gaze lingering on you a little too long, his presence suffocating in a way that should have made you uncomfortable. But Rafe was also charming, magnetic even. You found yourself drawn to him despite the warnings in your head.

But as the days passed, his intensity deepened. He started showing up unannounced—at your work, outside your house, even at the places you went to clear your mind.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he’d say, flashing that disarming smile. “With everything going on, you can’t be too careful.”

At first, it felt sweet. Protective. But soon, it felt suffocating.

The murders began with strangers—people you didn’t know well enough to connect the dots. A lifeguard at the beach, a couple tourists who had wandered into the wrong part of town. The pattern was erratic at first, but then it started to hit closer to home.

You were with Sarah Cameron when she got the call about her boyfriend, Topper. The cops had found him in the woods, gutted like an animal. Sarah broke down in your arms, sobbing uncontrollably, and you couldn’t help but notice Rafe watching from the corner of the room.

His expression wasn’t one of grief. It was satisfaction.

The night it all came crashing down, you were alone in your house. The power had gone out during a storm, and you were sitting in the living room with a flashlight and your phone, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling settling over you.

That’s when you heard the knock at the door.

It wasn’t loud—just three soft taps, deliberate and slow.

“Who is it?” you called, your voice shaking.

No response.

You grabbed a kitchen knife and crept toward the door, your heart pounding. When you peeked through the peephole, all you saw was darkness.

Then your phone buzzed.

A text from an unknown number: You shouldn’t be alone.

Your blood ran cold.

Before you could react, the window behind you shattered, and a figure in black vaulted into the room. The scream caught in your throat as the figure lunged at you, pinning you to the floor.

The knife clattered from your hand as you struggled, but it was no use. The figure was too strong, too quick.

“Stop fighting,” the distorted voice said, low and mechanical through the voice modulator. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

The masked figure pulled out a knife, holding it to your throat, but he didn’t press down. Instead, he leaned closer, tilting his head as if studying you.

Then, slowly, he removed the mask.

“Rafe,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

His eyes were wild, his lips curved into a twisted smile. “I told you I’d protect you,” he said, his voice soft but laced with something dark. “I just needed to get rid of the distractions.”

“Distractions?” you echoed, your mind racing as realization hit.

“Topper. JJ. Sarah. They were all in the way. You couldn’t see it, but I did. They didn’t deserve to be near you.”

Tears streamed down your face as you stared at him in horror. “You killed them? All of them?”

“I did it for you,” he said, his tone almost tender. “Don’t you see? You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

You shook your head, trying to inch away, but he grabbed your wrists, his grip bruising.

The room was suffocating, the walls closing in as Rafe knelt over you, the Ghostface mask discarded at his side. His wild blue eyes locked onto yours, his breath uneven with exhilaration.

“Let me explain,” he said, his voice soft but tinged with madness. “You don’t understand now, but you will.”

You didn’t want to understand. Every instinct told you to fight, to scream, to do something, but his weight pinned you to the floor, and his manic gaze froze you in place.

“It started with Topper,” Rafe said, as if you’d asked for the story. “That guy was such an idiot, thinking he could push you around at parties, making those crude comments. I hated the way he looked at you.”

Your mind flashed to that night at the beach bonfire, when Topper had made some drunk joke about you being “the hottest Pogue.” You’d brushed it off, but Rafe had been furious, storming off without a word.

“I followed him that night,” Rafe continued, his tone calm, like he was recounting a mundane event. “He didn’t even hear me coming. One quick cut across the throat, and he went down like the pathetic little worm he was.”

You gagged, bile rising in your throat, but Rafe didn’t stop.

“And Sarah,” he said, his lips curling into a sneer. “She was always trying to play the big sister, telling me to leave you alone. She didn’t get it. She thought she could warn you, but she didn’t realize how serious I was.”

Tears blurred your vision as you thought of Sarah—her kind smile, the way she’d pulled you aside to warn you about Rafe’s behavior.

“I didn’t want to kill her,” he said, his voice softening, almost regretful. “But she wouldn’t shut up. She was going to ruin everything. So, I took her out by the marsh. She fought hard, you know? Almost made me rethink it. Almost.”

He paused, studying your face as if gauging your reaction. “I made it quick. For her.”

“You’re a monster,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

His eyes darkened, and he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t say that,” he hissed. “I did this for you. For us. You think I wanted to hurt you? To scare you? I had to. They were all trying to take you away from me.”

“JJ…” you started, your voice trembling.

Rafe grinned, leaning back slightly. “Oh, JJ was fun. He was always so cocky, always acting like he could protect you. I wanted to see him break.”

You remembered the day JJ’s body was found under the pier, the jagged “X” carved into his chest. The image would haunt you forever.

“He begged,” Rafe said, his tone almost giddy now. “He said, ‘Please, don’t do this.’ As if I’d ever listen to him. He didn’t deserve to be near you, Y/N. None of them did.”

“And Kie?” you choked out, tears streaming down your face.

Rafe’s expression hardened. “Kie was the worst. She thought she was better than everyone, always pretending she was the voice of reason. She was a bad influence on you.”

You felt like you might vomit as he continued.

“She went down easy,” he said with a shrug. “I cornered her after you two said goodbye that night. She didn’t even see it coming. She was so distracted, thinking she could keep you safe. But she didn’t stand a chance.”

Your sobs grew louder, and Rafe’s demeanor shifted. He reached out, brushing a tear from your cheek, his touch gentle despite the horrors he was describing.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured. “It’s over now. It’s just us. No one else will ever hurt you, or distract you, or take you away from me.”

“You’re insane,” you spat, your voice shaking with equal parts fear and fury.

Rafe chuckled, leaning closer. “Maybe. But I’m also the only one who truly loves you. Don’t you see that? I did all of this for you.”

You stared into his eyes, the weight of his obsession crashing down on you. There was no reasoning with him, no appealing to his humanity. Rafe Cameron wasn’t just insane—he was utterly and completely lost to his delusion.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You don’t have to fight this. I’ve already won.”

His arrogance was your opening. Summoning every ounce of courage you had left, you drove your knee upward, catching him off-guard. He grunted, the knife slipping from his hand and skidding across the floor.

You didn’t think—you just moved. Scrambling to your feet, you bolted for the door, your heart pounding like a war drum.

“Y/N!” Rafe roared, his voice filled with both fury and disbelief.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

Your bare feet slapped against the hardwood as you sprinted out into the stormy night, rain pelting your face and blurring your vision. The wind howled around you, carrying Rafe’s voice as he shouted your name.

You stumbled into the woods, branches clawing at your skin as you pushed deeper into the darkness. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your lungs burning, but you couldn’t stop. Not now. Not ever.

Behind you, you could hear him crashing through the underbrush, relentless in his pursuit.

“You can’t run from me!” he called, his voice cutting through the rain like a blade. “You’re mine, Y/N! You’ll always be mine!”

————————————————————————

You didn’t know how long you ran, but eventually, you found yourself near the old marina. The boats swayed violently in the storm, their masts creaking like eerie sentinels. Desperation drove you forward as you searched for a hiding place, somewhere—anywhere—to catch your breath.

You spotted an abandoned boathouse and darted inside, slamming the door behind you. The smell of salt and damp wood filled your nostrils as you collapsed against the wall, your chest heaving.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then came the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps.

“You’re making this harder than it has to be,” Rafe’s voice called out, eerily calm now.

Your heart plummeted as you realized he was inside.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle your breathing as you pressed yourself deeper into the shadows.

“I know you’re here,” he said, his footsteps echoing in the empty space. “You think you can hide from me? After everything I’ve done for you?”

He was closer now. Too close.

You glanced around frantically, your eyes landing on a rusted wrench lying on the floor nearby. Gripping it tightly, you prepared yourself. You had no choice.

The moment his shadow appeared in the doorway, you swung. The wrench connected with his shoulder, and he let out a furious snarl, staggering back.

“You really think you can get away from me?” he growled, his eyes blazing with fury.

“I have to try,” you said, your voice shaking but firm.

He lunged, and you ducked, slipping past him and back out into the storm. Your legs screamed in protest, your lungs on fire, but you didn’t stop. Not until you saw the headlights.

A car was coming down the old dirt road, its beams cutting through the darkness like a beacon of hope. You stumbled into the road, waving your arms frantically.

“Help!” you screamed. “Please, help me!”

The car screeched to a halt, and the driver—a local you vaguely recognized—jumped out.

“What the hell’s going on?” he asked, but before you could answer, Rafe emerged from the woods, his face twisted in rage.

“Don’t listen to her!” Rafe shouted, his tone switching to something almost pleading. “She’s confused—she doesn’t know what she’s saying!”

The driver hesitated, looking between the two of you.

“Please,” you begged, grabbing his arm. “He’s going to kill me!”

That was all it took. The man stepped between you and Rafe, his stance protective.

But Rafe didn’t flinch. He simply smiled.

“Wrong move,” Rafe muttered before pulling a knife from his belt and plunging it into the man’s side.

You screamed as the man crumpled to the ground, his blood mixing with the rain-soaked dirt.

“You see?” Rafe said, turning back to you, his knife dripping red. “There’s no one who can save you. No one who understands you like I do.”

————————————————————————

Days later, you woke up in a strange room, the faint scent of sea air filling your nose. Your wrists were bound, the rope digging into your skin.

Rafe sat in a chair nearby, his gaze soft but unwavering.

“You’re safe now,” he said, his voice tender. “No one’s going to take you away from me ever again.”

The reality settled over you like a shroud. You had escaped, but only briefly.

And now, there was no escape. Not from him. Not ever.

[simplyraeblue]

King and Captive

(Hunter and Hunted Spin-Off) read here

a chance meeting with Sukuna quickly turns into a nightly routine you can't escape. as the lines between game and something more blur, you start to wonder—how long can you keep playing, or will Sukuna make you his next conquest? !Sukuna x !femreader

chapter warnings/tags: swearing, drinking, use of "princess", not much of anything this part tbh. eventual smut warning tho of course ( • ᴗ - ) A/N: THE SPIN OFF IS FINALLY HERE! of course, because I'm obsessive I've already written 3 full parts... I suck at writing beginnings though, so bear with me as things are a lil slow in my opinion! I hope you all enjoy it as much as you enjoyed Hunter and Hunted; and be prepared for MORE smut cause its SUKUNA OF COURSE.

index part one | part two

part one word count: 2,762

Christmas had come and gone, and you had stepped into the new year with an even angrier outlook on life than you’d had before. sure, last year had been rough; you’d been cheated on and promptly dumped for someone else, and the bittersweet icing on the cake was when you found out your ex had gotten engaged over the holiday season. you’d done what any sane person would do – drank away your feelings.

the past few weeks, your friends could often find you at the bottom of a mug, angry eyes watching as you toyed with the coaster at any bar you’d walked into. you need – no, wanted – vengeance. you imagined the look on your ex’s face if you ran into him with another, maybe hotter, guy on your arm. men these days were only looking to get their dicks wet, how hard could it be to snag one?

you came to realize it was incredibly hard.

any man that gave you the time of day seemed to be scraping the bottom of the barrel, consistently sleezy and looking like they hadn’t showered in days. or worse, still lived in their mother’s basement. the men you worked with were no better. constantly watching your ass as you walked by, attempting to slyly cop a feel in the break room, and so on.

so, here you were, walking down the street to a pub around the corner from your job to grab a drink. you had a one-track mind for this sort of thing, oblivious to your surroundings until two men stepped into your path to stop you.

“excuse me.” you muttered as you took a step to the side, trying to go around them. before you could get back to your mission one of their hands reached out and snagged your wrist. ugh, more disgusting pigs. “I’ll ask you once to kindly let go off me.”

“c’mon pretty, we just wanna talk t’ ya.” the bigger, burlier one gave you a sly grin that made your skin crawl.

“yea, walking around with a skirt that short we couldn’t help but notice ya.” the one holding your wrist tightened his grip slightly. your frown stretched down your face as you took a moment to assess the situation. what was it your friends always said? right – be loud, draw attention, scream fire and whatnot.

“oi, get your fucking hands off me!” you shouted, tugging your wrist against the firm hold.

“what do ya expect when ya dress like a whore?” one of them snapped as they stepped closer. you were only dressed for work; skirt that came down mid-thigh, button up blouse that covered every inch of your skin, so how was this outfit whorish?

“she’s got a mouth on her, huh?” they nudged each other as you struggled to get free. with your free hand, you made a fist and pulled it back. you wouldn’t be able to seriously injure them, that was for sure, but you could at least distract and get away.

“I said leave me the hell alone, twatbags!” you shouted, fist shaking but staying firm in a pulled-back position. if they made one more move, you’d muster up the courage and hit one of them.

suddenly, both men went wide-eyed in front of you and your wrist was released from it’s prison. hah, so my scare tactics worked, you thought. you’d have to pat yourself on the back later for this achievement. “aw, little ole me got you boys scared? looks like you’re about to wet your pants.” you smirked, crossing your arms in triumph.

until their eyes traveled from you, to over your head.

“these guys bothering you?”

your body tensed at the deep, baritone voice from behind you. so that’s what had the men backing off – but that scared? whoever was behind you had to be huge, like a wrestler or something. you imagine big, bulging muscles and a towering figure, and you gulped.

“I believe she asked you to leave her alone.” whoever was behind you continued, and with each word you almost shivered. his voice exuded strength, even something like anger laced in his tone. or was it just annoyance? “oh, forgot to add the twatbags part. that was a good descriptor.”

the two men stepped back and the other man stepped forward, now standing slightly in front of you. you dared to scan his figure – not a body builder, but definitely not small. he wore a black compression tee that showed off his muscles, and you could see the tattoos running all across his skin, intertwined and connected everywhere you looked. your eyes caught on his light pink hair, slicked back but disheveled on the sides as if he’d been running a hand through the strands.

“while I’d love the entertainment of watching her take a swing at you, I don’t think you want to see what happens if you retaliated.” the man merely crossed his arms before looking down at you. he did in fact tower, maybe just over you but he was still above average height. something flickered in his eyes as they met yours, and you could only stare at him speechlessly.

he hadn’t even had to do anything before the men scoffed and walked away, albeit hurriedly like a fire had been lit under their asses. you and the man watched as they scurried down the sidewalk, and you finally let out a sigh when they disappeared from sight.

“thanks for that. although I’m pretty sure I had it covered.” you felt him look at you as you watched the distance – double checking that they were in fact gone before you left the protection of the stranger.

he chuckled lowly as he shook his head. “looks like you did. but, I thought I’d provide backup just in case.”

but before he could continue, you were already walking away in the opposite direction of the two men. all you had wanted was a damn drink, and by god you were going to get one.

you could hear the faint echo of footsteps behind you, but you tried to push it out of your mind, focusing instead on the door to the bar in front of you. with a swift motion, you yanked it open, stepping inside and hoping to lose the stranger following you.

but when you heard those same footsteps following you in, your patience snapped. you turned around, irritation bubbling to the surface. “are you following me?” you demanded, locking eyes with the man who had been trailing behind you. “do I need to be worried about you too?”

he just chuckled, his casual demeanor only adding to your annoyance. “do you think I owe you something now?” you shot back, trying to keep your tone serious, though it was clear he didn’t take you seriously at all.

his laughter echoed in the small space; a mocking sound that only made your frustration grow. “actually,” he said, his voice steady, “I came back to finish the beer I left to save your ass.” he gestured nonchalantly at a knocked-over bar stool and the half-empty drink sitting nearby, the remnants of the drink he’d been enjoying before the whole mess began.

the heat of embarrassment crept up your neck as you processed his words. “oh.” you mumbled, feeling the awkwardness seep into your skin. "sorry. considering the kind of men I’ve just dealt with, I didn’t know if you were some sleazeball too.”

he raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “sleazeball? you sound like my little brother,” he said with a smirk, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

you couldn't help but throw a jab back. “then he has good taste in vocabulary.”

the man’s grin only grew wider, clearly amused by the bite in your tone. his eyes glinted with something like genuine entertainment as he took a step closer. “my name’s Ryomen Sukuna, by the way,” he said, his voice dripping with casual confidence.

you narrowed your eyes, studying him with suspicion. there was something about the way he carried himself that set your nerves on edge. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable giving my full name to a complete stranger,” you replied, your tone a mix of caution and defiance.

Sukuna simply shrugged, as though your response didn’t faze him in the least. “but I just introduced myself, after acting as your knight in shining armor, I might add.” he gave a lazy stretch, his posture relaxed as he leaned against the bar, his gaze fixed on you as if daring you to challenge him further.

you didn’t back down. “that doesn’t mean I know you now,” you said, your eyes still narrowed. you turned away from him, flagging down the bartender who had just started to clean the counter. “a drink. whiskey, neat,” you said, your voice firm as you slid a few bills across the bar.

normally, you wouldn’t dare drink hard liquor on a weekday at five o’clock, but goddamn you needed it now. your nerves were on edge, but a stronger feeling had settled within you since the start of this particular conversation.

he was unbelievably attractive. pierced ears, tattooed skin, and a smile reminiscent of the devil across his lips. so so not your usual type. but then again, your type had cheated on you. Sukuna’s presence was almost overwhelming – strength, confidence or cockiness – the air stilled around him like it was intruding his space.

Sukuna watched you with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “then get to know me,” he said, his voice low and almost coaxing, as if the idea of you refusing was an amusing thought to him.

you didn’t hesitate in your response. “buy me a drink and I’ll consider it,” you shot back, your tone playful but laced with a challenge. you’d be damned if you’d make it that easy for him, knowing all to well the type of men that seem to flirt with you always turn out to be disgusting.

he raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your boldness, but said nothing as the bartender set your drink down in front of you. it was clear you weren’t going to make things easy for him, but that only seemed to fuel his curiosity.

you were already fascinating him. from Sukuna’s first look at you, ready to stand your ground against two grown men, to now acting defiant against him even as he could see the tension in your shoulders with every sentence you spoke. were you feigning confidence or was it real? he liked the way you talked back to him; it made the conversation more entertaining, and he eased into it with pleasure.

Sukuna’s eyes never left you as you took your drink from the bartender, the smooth amber liquid catching the dim light of the bar. he didn't immediately respond, just leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, a thoughtful expression playing across his features. for a moment, you wondered if he was going to let the challenge slide.

then, to your surprise, he pushed off the bar with a slow, deliberate movement and took a step toward you. his presence felt heavier now, more intense. heat rolled off of him and over you, his cologne drowned your senses. “a drink, huh?” he mused, his voice taking on a playful edge, like he was toying with you. “that’s all it takes to get you to talk to me?”

you took a sip of your whiskey, cringing at the burn as you met his gaze head-on. “depends on the drink,” you replied, the hint of a smirk curling at your lips. you had no intention of giving in that quickly, not when he still felt like a puzzle you weren’t sure you wanted to solve.

Sukuna chuckled softly, the sound deep and almost predatory, like he was enjoying the chase. “I think I can handle that,” he said, raising a hand to signal the bartender. his attention briefly shifted to the man behind the counter, but when it returned to you, his expression had softened, just a fraction, though the amusement never fully left his eyes. “is whiskey your usual, then?” he asked, his tone suddenly more casual, almost conversational.

you tilted your head, considering him for a moment. “I’m not sure it’s the drink I’m worried about,” you said, leaning in just slightly, your voice quieter now. “it’s the company.”

he gave you a look that said he wasn’t fazed by your words, not in the slightest. "trust me," he replied smoothly, "I’m better company than most people you'd find in this place."

he wasn't wrong. there was something undeniably magnetic about him, an energy that drew you in despite your better judgment. you could sense there was more to him than what he was showing, and a part of you couldn’t help but wonder what he was really after.

the bartender placed a fresh drink in front of Sukuna — a glass of something darker, likely whiskey as well, and more expensive than the one you had just ordered. Sukuna didn’t touch it immediately, instead shifting his stance so he was fully facing you, his eyes now narrowing just slightly, as if sizing you up. like you were a snack he wanted to take a bite out of.

"alright, I’ll bite," he said, his voice a low murmur as he watched you closely. “what’s your story?”

you took another sip of your drink, your gaze never leaving his. “maybe I’ll tell you,” you said slowly, deliberately, “but it’s going to cost you more than just a drink.”

Sukuna’s lips curled into another half-smile, his confidence never wavering. “I’m up for the challenge. what’s the price?” his tone had shifted again, all business now, but there was still an edge of that playful intensity behind it.

for the briefest moment, you almost felt like you were playing a game with him, something neither of you had agreed on but that you both instinctively understood. you hesitated, eyes scanning his face for any hint of vulnerability — but there was none.

“get me another round, and we’ll talk,” you finally said, giving him a sly smile that matched the gleam in your eyes.

Sukuna didn’t need another word. he turned away, reaching for the glass, a quiet satisfaction in his movements. he knew the game was far from over, but there was no doubt in his mind that he’d be the one to win it.

you lifted your eyes to meet his, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and caution. he was still an enigma, his expression unreadable, his posture relaxed but with an edge that hinted at something more dangerous beneath.

“you’re a man of few words,” you observed, your voice playful but with an undercurrent of challenge. “or is it that you’re waiting for me to spill my life story?”

he raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your attempt to provoke him. “I’ve got all the time in the world,” he replied smoothly, voice low and even. you could feel his eyes on you, studying you in a way that made you want to pull back, but also something else—a curiosity, maybe even an unspoken challenge.

you took another sip, avoiding his gaze for a moment. “and what’s in it for me?” you asked, your voice steady but carrying a hint of sarcasm. “why should I bother getting to know you?”

Sukuna’s smile deepened, almost like he was savoring the moment. “because,” he said, his voice now tinged with something a little darker, “I’m not just any stranger. and I think you’ll find out, sooner or later, that I’m worth your time.”

his confidence was almost infuriating, but you couldn’t deny that something about him intrigued you. maybe it was his audacity, or maybe it was the mystery that clung to him like a second skin. or possibly, that he could be the hottest man you’d ever laid eyes on. either way, you weren’t ready to walk away just yet.

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” you replied, a small challenge in your voice, but this time, there was a flicker of curiosity in your gaze too.

Sukuna met your challenge with a steady, unwavering stare, his smirk never fading. “then I guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out, won’t you?”

it wasn’t an offer. it wasn’t even a question. it was a promise. and whether you liked it or not, you were beginning to realize that you might just be caught up in his game—whether you wanted to be or not.

it wasn’t an offer, or even a question. it was a damn promise. whether you realized it, you were beginning to get caught up in his game – it was inevitable.

⊹. ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . taglist: @mangiswig @aldebrana @ravester @marie-is-in-the-dark @makingtimemine @sorahatake @osohchoso @csolya I tagged some people that interacted A TON with Hunter and Hunted who I appreciate so so much ; so if you were tagged and would like to be removed just let me know! ♡ I hope this fic is as loved as Hunter and Hunted! . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

[tino-i-guess]

Need some opinions/help

TLDR; In October, in a somewhat impulsive decision, I started worshipping Athena and Hermes. I am having doubts and feelings of inadequacy due to not being as invested as some other people. Does all of this mean I should leave the religion or stop for the time being?

I am quite new to hellenic polytheism. I've always had an interest in polytheistic religions, occasionally doing some research but never really doing it heavily. I knew the very very basics of hellenic polytheism, since a friend of mine practices. In the beginning of October, I had a slight breakdown. I have been struggling with school a lot and was feeling completely lost and abandoned by most people in my life, so I did what looking back on it was a rush decision. I made an altar for Athena and prayed (more like begged, I'll be honest) for some kind of help. I made a small offering based on what I knew and that was that. It wasn't a completely unexpected decision, since I had been thinking about it for a while.

Well, it worked. I did quite well on my upcoming test and felt calmer in general. I decided to make a small altar for Hermes too and do more research. For the past few months, I have thus been trying to do as much research as I can, pray and make offerings based on what I know the best I can. However, recently I've been having some doubts.

I feel out of my depth and overwhelmed. I've never been religious, nor has my family ever been religious. Every time I try to research more, I feel overwhelmed and tear up with all the new facts and seeming rules. Things are contradicting each other and I have no one to check with because my friend is also pretty new and we're not very close. I feel as if I'm constantly messing up. A lot of the practices relies on instinct and reading between the lines. I have anxiety and I'm autistic so these two places are my weaknesses, in some cases even impossible for me without direct guidance. I'm confused on so many concepts that everybody else seems to find obvious.

I feel inadequate. Everybody I have seen talking about the religion seems really fully into it and devoted to it (something that I think is amazing and wonderful) but I feel like that cannot be applied to me. I feel like I somehow don't believe/love the Gods as much as others. I don't want religion to take up a big part of my life, at least not as I am currently. Additionally, I don't have much free time or energy in general, so I am not able to make offerings and pray properly every day. I also struggle with intrusive thoughts, which makes prayer and worship extra hard. However, I do love the Gods and the thought of taking down their altars and just stopping makes my heart squeeze. But then again, I don't feel as close to them as a lot of people I have seen, tho that might be a time issue. Part of me is definitely stopping me from getting closer to them by constantly saying how ridiculous I look trying to 'bond' with them. I want religion to be a casual facet of my life, to be able to make a weekly offering and pray once a day maybe without much worry or anxiety, to learn about the religion and Gods more and more.

I feel upset and stressed about this whole situation. I don't want to stop but part of me feels like I am being constantly disrespectful. A small part of me also feels like I have somehow offended Athena specifically. I also am hesitating stepping back, lest I upset kharis, if somehow I've managed to establish it with my flaky track record. I want honest, hard opinions and advice. Am I simply not cut out for this? Is this just a beginners rut sort of deal I need to power through? Did anybody else feel like this? How did you deal with it?

I am sorry if anything is unclear. Writing this made me quite emotional and my thoughts are all over the place. If I haven't mentioned a crucial detail or something, please ask and I'll happily respond and give more details on some things. Thank you in advance, χαίρε.

[justgivemethephd]

29.11.2024

Another week over, another week closer to the holidays!

I have had... such a messy week. I struggled to focus throughout but still got some very good work done. I've finished the part of my upgrade report I started a few days ago and I'm ready to move on to my results section next week. I still don't have all the data I need, so I'll get as far as I can with that and then move on to editing what I already have because we all know just how messy a first draft can be. I also got 100% stuck on my coding exercises. On Monday I'm going to give myself a proper few hours to go through it but if I still don't make progress I'll have to ask my friend for some help. No shame in that, of course, but I really want to push myself and try to complete it alone first.

My experiments were interesting this week to say the list. I spent 7 hours on my ex vivo assay because everything kept going wrong and in the end, right as I was about to put my plate into the incubator and go home for the evening... I dropped it face down onto the floor. All my work just splattered all over the dusty ground. Did I want to cry? Yes absolutely. Did I cry? No. I closed my eyes, took 10 deep breaths, and reminded myself things like this happen all the time, that it's not important, and that getting angry won't change it. I still had to go sit outside to chill for a bit, but I was able to start fresh the next day and I now have a new plate waiting for a media change tomorrow.

My boyfriend also surprised me this week. He took me out to this new restaurant for dinner and bought me this beautiful bracelet. I don't know what I did to deserve this but I feel so unbelievably grateful.

I'm also starting to focus more on myself and my inner peace again! I've started to work out, I'm taking it very slowly but it feels good to be moving again. And I'm going out way more! Actually this weekend I'm going to a Christmas market with my friend, so maybe I can take some cute pictures!

I hope everyone has a lovely weekend.

Make sure to rest and take care of yourselves!

_____

🎧 - YAFA by Lana Lubany

🎮 - Animal Crossing

📖 - Different Seasons by Stephen King

[letteredlettered]

Hey! I really enjoyed reading your comments on feedback and fanfic this week and would love to get your input on something similar-ish I’ve been struggling with. I’m recently back on Tumblr (lurking) and writing fanfic (secretly) after quite a few years away from fandom spaces. I’ve never posted my work on AO3 before but I’ve been considering pulling that trigger lately. I’d love to share my writing with anyone else who might enjoy it and admittedly I do dream of finding some community by putting myself out there like that. However, so intimidating to put myself out there like that. Do you have any advice for someone thinking of posting their fics for the first time? Anything you wish you knew before posting yours? Truly any perspective you can share would be very much appreciated :)

I posted my first fanfic probably about 24 years ago, so I don’t know if I’m the best person for these questions, but I’ll address what you’ve asked. At length, it seems.

1. I guess the first thing I’d say is search elsewhere than AO3 to fulfill your dream of finding community. As I said in this post, AO3 was built as an archive for community that already existed, and it doesn’t have robust community-building tools.

2. I’ve tried. I have literally posted fics partly to ask where the discord was, a question I have put in the A/N that was eventually answered but not without numerous follow-ups. I have often posted my tumblr handle in A/Ns, asking people to come scream with me about a fandom. While a flattering number of folks over the years have sent me asks and chats saying they really liked my fic, there have been striking few who have come to scream at me about the canon.

This is my fault, not theirs. I’m bad at starting conversations; I’m of an unsocial, taciturn disposition unwilling to speak unless to say something that will impress the whole room. But I am also a pretty popular writer, and I have made precious few connections this way; I think it should tell you something.

3. To fulfill your dream of finding community, as I said in the above-linked post, I don’t actually have great solutions. Since discord is basically hidden, the only way I know of to actually find community is to start cold-messaging people you vibe with through asks and chat on places like tumblr.

4. Re finding community through writing fic, @reads8hoursperday made an interesting addition to that above-linked post here, pointing out that in the journaling days of fandom, it was very common to write fics in the comments or even on your journal. They didn’t get archived and in that way were effectively ephemeral. While it’s nice to have a permanent archive, they were pointing out that the permanent nature of AO3 contributes to the feeling that there is some kind of status associated with fic.

One way to a) deal with nerves posting fic for the first time, b) shatter the feeling that your first fic must accrue beaucoup stats, would be to post on one of the other platforms first. If you post somewhere like discord, it feels less like a presentation and more just like part of a conversation you want to have: hey, what do you think about this fic? Is it good? Does it need work? Should I post to AO3? The folks there can help encourage and cheerlead you to post somewhere more intimidating, like AO3.

But okay, you also said you wanted to share your fics, and AO3 is an excellent place for that, and imo, the best, so here are some further ideas about how to post fic on AO3 without feeling like you might die of stage fright:

5. Title your fic something you would want to read. Write a summary for your fic that would make you want to click on it. Do not title your fic something you think the most people will click on. Do not write a summary you think will entice the most people. Giving your fic the title and summary that would attract you is setting up the expectation, for yourself, that this fic is for you, and maybe, a little bit, readers like you—instead of for a big audience that will accrue the most stats.

I say this as someone whose fic summaries have been endlessly mocked and derided. I’ve literally had people come into my comments angry at me because my summary wasn’t “eloquent” enough to let them know my fic was “good” and so they “missed out” on reading it for far “too long.” It’s a wild world out there, let me tell you.

But my summaries have also been complimented. They have been what made someone click. In the end I’m putting this out there for someone who likes what I do, and it’s been really liberating to say to myself, “You know what? I would read this. And the people who wouldn’t? Maybe they’re not the readers I’m interested in.”

6. I think setting both hopes and also setting expectations around that kind of audience—an audience who wants to hear what you have to say—rather than stats, is important. Ultimately, if you’re writing to be popular, or to attain a certain number of comments or kudos, you’re going to be disappointed. But if you’re sharing what you’ve written because you want to reach people who like what you have to say, if you don’t get comments and kudos, then the problem is that those people haven’t found you, not that what you have to say is worthless.

And I think bearing that in mind can soothe a lot of the heartache around posting a fic that doesn’t do well.

I posted a fic in a fandom that was new for me two years ago. It was the juggernaut pairing in a megafandom, the kind of fandom where even new authors get over a hundred kudos and a decent number of comments. But my fic was a little darker than what seemed to be the norm for the pairing on AO3; it didn’t have porn, and it didn’t have a very strong plot with an ending.

This fic tanked, stats-wise. But my conclusion is that the people who would’ve liked this fic didn’t see it, or even that the people who would’ve liked this fic aren’t even in the fandom, because they saw how much fluff there was on AO3, or the canon is too light-hearted for them. I didn’t conclude my writing sucked or that it was a bad story. Some people might think that! But what I told myself was I just didn’t find my audience.

You might say it’s easy for me to say that because I am a pretty popular author who does have an audience with most other things I write. I would agree I am a very confident writer, but I do think, even if you don’t have my kind of confidence, going into it knowing that not everyone’s going to love it can really help.

7. Relatedly, I think that loving what you’ve written, working on it and editing it and creating something that you care about and adore, something that is exactly what you want, can help with feeling proud no matter what. You might think that if, then, you don’t get a lot of comments and kudos also adoring it, it can feel demoralizing, and it can. It can definitely feel that way.

But there is something really liberating in creating a thing that makes you happy. And if you honest-to-god wrote something that you love, I guarantee someone else will love it. They might not find you on AO3, which can be really disappointing. But think of how many times you’ve loved something strange or unusual you thought no one had ever even thought about before, and then you read a book or saw a post or a video and realized there was a whole world out there that loved it too. There is a whole world out there, and they’re there for you. You’re sending a signal out there to the world. Maybe it can really touch someone.

8. Since I’m suggesting that the trick is really “finding your audience” some people conclude that what they really need to do is market their fic, really sell it to people, link it every chance they get, beg authors they like to read it, etc. I really recommend against this. People will think it looks gauche, but who gives a fuck what they think. What’s really detrimental about it is that if you go hawking your wares like that and you’re still not getting the attention and validation you’re craving, you’re going to be even more disappointed, and it’s going to feel really bad.

I’m not saying “let the universe do its work,” or anything mystic. Fic does require a certain amount of signal-boosting so people know what’s out there. Certainly, post a link to your fic on tumblr, mention it in discord, tweet it on bluesky, or wherever. My wife even tells me I have to reblog my fic posts on tumblr a few times so people don’t miss it in their feed. All of that is fine. But if you are giving your whole self to “finding your audience” and you don’t find it, it’s going to leave you raw and unwanted.

9. All right, so you’ve written the fic you love and you’ve prepped yourself for the idea that you’re just looking for readers to love what you love—and yet, somehow, you’re still concerned about stats. Don’t beat yourself up about it. Almost everyone is concerned about stats. It’s impossible not to fret over it in this economy environment.

People think I must never be concerned about getting a little kudos because I get a lot. I really think people think there’s some kind of popularity threshold where people must feel they have “arrived,” where they no longer care about being popular. I’m not sure where they are getting this idea. It’s just not true. Everyone wants praise and attention; they don’t stop because they get it.

So yes, I think about stats. I think about them a lot, and you probably do, too. That’s okay. Here are some more things you can do:

10. Set expectations around this too, and set them very, very low. One thing that people don’t understand about expectation-setting is that it requires some real time and imagination. Don’t just tell yourself, “I’m going to get two kudos” and that’s all. Imagine your timeline. Imagine looking at your fic’s stats. And imagine how you’re going to feel when you see that stat.

For instance, if I imagine two kudos is all the attention my fic will ever get, I don’t imagine that one minute after I post, I’ll see it got two kudos. I imagine that a week later, I will be looking at my fic, and I will see that it has two kudos. I check in with myself--how does it feel? A little disappointing, maybe. I thought more people would read it. What will I do next? Maybe I’ll go out for a fun coffee with my wife. Ah, it’s not that bad, really. It’s too bad only two people kudos’ed it—but in the end, it wasn’t the end of the world.

Now, imagine I set my expectations at two and I got three kudos—well, that feels spectacular! And if I get my two kudos, well, okay, maybe it feels a little worse than I imagined, but it’s still not that bad. But imagine if I was expecting five and only got two—I think I would be crushed.

11. I will make this a separate point because I think it’s important—really, imagine how your email will look. There’s a thing we do with our phones, where we get hopeful someone has messaged us, or we get hopeful that there will be something new for us, that someone will have paid attention to us in some way. Then we look at our phone and there’s nothing for us. It’s crushing. The chemicals in your body cause your whole being to plummet. And then the next time you look at your phone they cause you to anticipate, to get tense and stress again, and then when your phone has nothing for you, you’re that much more depleted.

You are putting your body through a roller coaster. Many people’s solution is not to look at their phone, but I don’t actually think this is a great idea for many people, because they will fail. They will fail, be crushed by whatever attention they didn’t receive on their phone, AND they will feel bad that they failed to stay away from their phone.

Meanwhile, if you say to yourself: what am I hoping to see when I look at my phone? What can I realistically expect from my phone at this moment? How will I feel when I see it? What will I do after that? Then you can manage these expectations much more easily.

12. Relatedly, I would suggest you have an activity planned that will start the moment after you post your fic—an activity that takes you away from your computer and, if possible, your phone for four to eight hours. Going to the cinema is a great idea for a few of those hours, because most people are really able to keep their phone off for the duration. I like to go out with friends after I post a fic, but I am not someone who really looks at her phone during social engagements.

I remember once I posted a fic and went directly to an anti-Dobbs protest; the friend who had informed me about the protest and met me there was a fandom friend. She said, “Did you really just post porn and then come to a demonstration about the right of a woman to choose?”

I said yes. This is the best way to do it. So here is my final advice: post on AO3 and then allow people with a uterus the right to choose.

[akq96618]

[ king ohger oc ]

my bugnarak daughter!!!

Phadora Revau Na

-She's based from Black witch moth (Ascalapha Odorata), and her family name is from an extinct genus, Levuana moth (Levuana iridescens)

-Phadora have similar physiology like human because she came from the same timeline as nephila

-She can't recall how old is she, but she's (technically) older than jeramie, and far younger than nephila

-her family used to be a loyal servants to nephila's bloodline, idmonarak ne, for generations

-even among her own family, she's feared of her ability to know when someone will die ( based from one of black witch moth myths) and her uncontrollable furious form, but nephila always kind to her and didn't care what people think of her.

-still struggle to trust human, but slowly jera and selen taught her that bugnarak and human now living side by side

her lore will be quite long so i'll just put it below-

She's actually the next hakaa baaka messenger after debonica, when she's about to get caught by human who tricked her family, the messenger before debonica brought her to hakaa baaka, and put her into long sleep for thousand years. And then debonica brought her back to earth so she can stay there till her time comes.

Jeramie and teenage Selen found her at deeper part of bugnarak cave, she didn't believe that Jeramie is nephila's son at first, but after seeing his and selen's hand, and his story, she trust him.

She and Selen is a complete opposite but still undertstands each other just like Gira and Jeramie, as they grow up, Phadora can see through Selen's smile when he's not okay and Selen always comfort her when she struggles with her new life after put on hibernate for thousand years. I don't intend to make their dynamics romantic, but rather platonic, like.... they're more like a soul mate kind of best friend....it doesn't have to be romantic right??

Selen's also one of the reason of she started to trust human other than Jeramie and Selen (still hold a small grudge to gira bcs she thought jera could get a better man than him///well she's wrong///j)

She helps a lot at hazama no kuni with jobs that needed brain, sometimes taught the sanegims too with Selen. Phadora mostly helps gerojim's work as an aide when jeramie is not around. She also helps yanma and jeramie with their research when it comes to ancient language, linguistic, or history.

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

okay here's part 6! this literally was not meant to be as long as it is, but i got carried away while doing some archery research... and here we are.

hope you guys enjoy! part 7 will be uploaded tomorrow!

(p.s if you're an archer/know archery and i get stuff wrong please don't yell at me, google can only give me so much info hdshdshdh)

the post/thread that started this whole au

dinner scene: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

there's a masterlist now!

*athena had left not long after midday, but not before saying she’d see them all later at dinner*

*telemachus, odysseus & penelope are all together in the palace gardens*

*penelope is sitting on a bench, with odysseus also laying on it & his head in her lap as they watch telemachus practice using a bow and arrow* 

telemachus: *trying to aim for the centre of the target in front of him*

telemachus: *struggling but wants to show his parents what his training with athena is doing for him*

telemachus: *lets the bowstring go*

*the arrow flies through the air, but misses the centre of the target completely and hits the edge of the target*

telemachus: *drops the arm holding his bow to his side and sighs in disappointment*

penelope: *looks at her son and then looks down at odysseus*

odysseus: *looks up from his son to meet penelope’s eyes*

*both seem to have a conversation through their eyes*

odysseus: *smiles and nods at penelope*

odysseus: *gets up from penelope’s lap and walks over to telemachus*

penelope: *smiles while watching odysseus head over to their son*

odysseus: don’t be disappointed son, go ahead and nock another arrow

telemachus: *does as his father says*

odysseus: now draw and anchor, as you normally would

telemachus: *again does what odysseus asks*

odysseus: *looks at his son’s pose* ah i see some of the problem

odysseus: *gently takes hold of telemachus’ drawn back elbow* 

odysseus: ok your elbow needs to be a bit higher, and just straighten your back a little…

telemachus: *follows odysseus’ instructions*

odysseus: *stepping back so he’s not in the way* that's perfect! now breathe in as you would, but not to the point it hurts! 

odysseus: and then as you go to let the string go breathe out but not all the way, about only half way

telemachus: *breathes in as he aims for the centre of the target again*

telemachus: *steadily breathes out and releases the string*

*the arrow flies through the air again… and hits just slightly off the centre of of the target*

telemachus: *looks at the target in disbelief but in also joy*

odysseus: *cheers in happiness for his son* you did it!

penelope: *clapping and calling out to her son* well done telemachus! 

telemachus: *drops his bow and turns to his father*

telemachus: *gives odysseus a hug* thank you father!

odysseus: *hugging his son back* no need to thank me, i’m happy to be able to help teach you!

telemachus: *lets odysseus go while smiling*

odysseus: *looks down at telemachus’ bow then picks up it up and grabs an arrow*

odysseus: *nocks it with ease and shoots it in the blink of an eye*

*the arrow hits the dead centre of the target* 

odysseus: *turns and hands the bow back to telemachus*

odysseus: now, how about you keep practising? once you have this completely down i’ll teach you other things you can do with a bow

odysseus: *hand under his chin in thought* i’ll have to get an archer’s ring commissioned for you

telemachus: *stares at his father in shock at how easy he made that look* i didn't know you knew so much about archery- i mean…

telemachus: *thinks back to when odysseus shot an arrow through 12 axe heads*

penelope: *giggles to herself as she realises even their son doesn’t know about his father’s mastery & skill with a bow*

odysseus: *looks over at penelope, and then he understands just why she's giggling*

odysseus: *now looks at telemachus with an amused expression*

telemachus: *sees his father’s expression*

telemachus: *holds his hands (with the bow still in one of them) up hoping he hasn’t offended his father*

telemachus: not saying you didn’t know how to use one! 

telemachus: i thought you just knew the basics and that ‘trick’ you did to prove yourself, was originally just to impress mother?

telemachus: *puts his arms down and then looks down towards his father’s hands* besides, that ring you wear on your thumb is just a normal one like the other’s you wear isn’t it? 

telemachus: it certainly doesn’t look like any archer ring i've seen before at the markets…

odysseus: *laughs to himself and holds up his hand* oh this? you’re right it doesn’t look like an archer ring.

odysseus: *rubs his thumb along his index finger* that's because it isn’t a normal one

telemachus: *looks again at his father’s ring to see it now has a point to it like any standard archer ring*

telemachus: *looks up at odysseus’ face, then back down to his hand and then back up to his face again* 

telemachus: but- you- it- hOW?

odysseus: *rubs his thumb against his index finger again and the ring is back to looking like any standard ring* 

odysseus: *looks from telemachus to penelope* ask your mother, it was a gift from her

telemachus: *immediately swivels to face her*

penelope: well, as you’ve now found out…your father isn't one to let people know he’s a skilled archer, so i ‘commissioned’ an archer ring to be made for him that could hide as a normal ring when not needed. 

telemachus: wow! the jeweller who made this certainly is skilled then

penelope: *thinks back to asking athena if she could try to get hephaestus to make one*

penelope: yeah skilled indeed 

telemachus: *turns back to odysseus* so why didn’t you want people to know? about your skills as an archer i mean.

odysseus: sometimes it's best to not reveal all your strengths

odysseus: *grins while shrugging* keeping people guessing is also fun

odysseus: *walks to telemachus and ruffles his hair* anyway, back to practising! i’m going to head back over to your mother, but call me if you want me to assist with anything ok?

telemachus: ok!

*time passes as telemachus keeps on practising, odysseus is back to laying in penelope’s lap while she caresses his hair*

*odysseus wants to keep watching his son but is struggling to not fall asleep from penelope's motions*

*telemachus notices so decides to discuss some final dinner plans with his mother*

telemachus: so the cooks have everything they need for tonight, right? are you sure you don’t need me to quickly run down to the market for anything? 

penelope: *smiles reassuringly at telemachus* they do, and if on the off chance they don’t i'm sure one of them will go to the market themselves. no need to worry yourself my son.

telemachus: *nods while getting another arrow ready* 

telemachus: *starts pulling the string back when he has another thought*

telemachus: oh what about the seating plan? i should probably tell fathe-

penelope: *who knows about athena’s seating plan, and also knows that odysseus doesn’t (hey she wants to have some fun too ok?)*

penelope: *forgetting about her husband peacefully half-asleep in her lap*

penelope: *jumping up from the bench* NO-

telemachus: *not expecting his mother’s outburst*

telemachus: *lets the string go accidentally and also having lost his aim*

odysseus: *falls off penelope’s lap and the bench with a startled yelp*

*meanwhile the loose arrow now wizzes straight past the target, through the garden trees and over the palace cliffs, heading into what looks to be its final destination of…. the sea*

telemachus: *turns to face his parents* mother, are you ok? why did you yell no?

penelope: oh um… i’m sorry for shouting telemachus 

penelope: what i meant to say was, there's no need to spoil anything. we’ll keep it as a surprise!

telemachus: uh ok…

odysseus: *face down on the ground and groaning from the sudden series of events*

odysseus: *pushes himself up and looks at his wife*

odysseus: penelope why?

penelope: *laughs a little at odysseus’ rumpled state* 

penelope: *helps him up* 

penelope: i’m sorry my love *kisses him on the cheek*

odysseus: *smiles at the kiss and then brushes his clothing free of dust*

odysseus: what were you two talking about anyway?

telemachus: uhh-

penelope: -the final bits for dinner! speaking of which, we should all go and start getting ready!

penelope: *points at the sun starting to set* helios is not long from being done for the day, and i'm sure when selene takes to the skies, our dinner guests won't be long!

penelope: *starts to head inside* come along you two!

telemachus: *to odysseus* what about the archery equipment?

odysseus: *shrugs* we’ll deal with it later

*telemachus & odysseus follow penelope back into the palace*

[an-au-blog]

zoro and sanji draft I don't remember when I wrote this:

WARNING! This is "a bit" fucked up. - warning for suicide/suicide attempts, flirting as a very bad coping mechanism/aversion from serious topics.

modern zosan, where Sanji is still with his abusive family but they sometimes go to these luxurious long trips abroad and leave him behind because he would "just ruin the mood". He loves it when they do, because it's one of not many times that he feels like he could live free and go to the kitchen, be openly nice to the staff, feed the squirrels in the gardens etc. But as everything has its downside, when they come back, the abuse and mistreatment worsens for a week after their return. It's so bad that he starts getting panic attacks and starts getting suicidal thoughts when he sees his days as a "free man" are coming to an end. One time, it's so bad that he feels himself slipping. He calls a suicide hotline.

Zoro, a part-time kendo teacher and a broke man in the big city, has a few vandalism and petty theft charges under his name, mostly courtesy of his long years of friendship with Luffy. So most white-collared jobs don't want to hire him or treat him like a delinquent. So he starts a job at a suicide hotline center. He's always been told he was observant and could understand people quickly, plus he would help people. It's emotionally draining but it's honest work.

And then a guy calls.

He sounds hysterical and hard to understand, crying like it's the end of the world. When Zoro manages to calm him down, the man tells him his name is Sanji, but refuses to tell Zoro his address, saying his family would never forgive him if word comes out that the failure was embarrassing them like that.

Odd mindset... but okay.

But what shocked Zoro more, was when Sanji started flirting with him. It started with a compliment about his "deep and calming voice". It was an obvious excuse to make Zoro not ask more questions and for a bit, Zoro went along with it, not reciprocating but not shutting his down either. Keeping him on the line long enough to track down the signal. One could never be too cautious.

It was one of those rich neighborhoods where all the snobs lived. Zoro managed to make Sanji promise that he'd try holding on and if he felt like doing anything stupid to call again. And Sanji told him he didn't want to talk to other operators but him. It could have been a bad attempt at flirting, but Zoro wouldn't risk it. He asked his colleagues if the same phone or address calls again and he's in and available to redirect the call to him. He even gave his cell in case it was an emergency.

After a few months there was another call. This time Sanji was calling from the bathroom, he sounded drowsy. The operator had said Sanji was about to hang up because Zoro wasn't on shift, so they redirected the call in a desperate attempt. He was in the middle of a workout across town, but he immediately dropped everything.

Rushing to the place, Zoro tried his hardest to keep Sanji awake and on the line, that damned idiot never stopped flirting while Zoro was fighting to keep him awake. His lungs were aching and his legs struggled to keep up. He kept telling him "Just keep talking to me, Sanji, keep talking!" With all the urgency and desperation of his constricting lungs.

"Yeah, you like hearing me that much?" That idiot tried brushing it off again.

"Yes, love to hear it." Because it meant you're still alive. "Just keep talking, please!" He knew there was probably an ambulance on the way, but he needed to get there. Just in case... just...

[riggedbones]

ok now that chapter 2 of my fic is out I can finally share nearly everything consequence related I've been drawing over the last two months. so let's start with my design process!

it's probably pretty obvious, but I wanted consequence's design to pretty closely mirror loop's. I don't want to go into all of the reasoning behind what I decided to keep similar and what I decided should be distinct (some of it is spoilers for my fic), but generally I kept a lot of the more general design elements that seem to be a result of whatever the fuck wish craft did to make loop Like That. loop is naked? consequence is naked. loop has an objecthead? consequence has an objecthead. loop has a shape on their chest? consequence has a shape on its chest.

this all being said, I did also want to make sure that consequence was distinct. of course. my initial focus was pretty resolutely on the objecthead, as you can see in my first page of concept sketches, but I did explore some other elements early on as well!

you can also see my first concept sketch for odile's death screen, and just a smidge for the looping animation that is something i might also animate for a chapter, who knows.

more drawings and discussion under the cut, i'm realizing this is getting a bit long.

i had the node object head concept on that first page, but it was definitely something that needed iteration. which is where this page came in. i settled on the diamond shaped geode at around this point too, but was still struggling a tad on what to do with the general body texture. this was also, clearly, WAY too many squares. my beta kris told me as much.

i may be an animator but by god i love making my designs as animation unfriendly as possible sometimes. still wouldn't call consequence animation friendly at all, but i've done a lot since to cut back on the sheer volume of squares.

this was my second pass in an attempt to cut down on the complexity, still way too many squares, but this is when i started drawing the head as a foreground later of nodes with a more abstract cloud of squares behind. for the most part, just shading behind the foreground layer is still how i draw the head traditionally.

aaand then i started playing around digitally and i realized i did not like how that looked digitally. these are both doodles i did via mouse (for the second one i traced an odile sprite to help with proportions), so they're a bit looser in general, but this exercise generally let me know that i needed to slightly rethink how i was going to express the idea digitally.

because this, the final talksprite design i landed on, looks more complicated, but between the smaller amount of foreground squares and the fact that the ones in the background were just made with the rectangle tool, it's honestly not that bad. a pain to replicate? sure! but id5 reused loop's head shape for all of their art in the game, so i can do that too.

i think i solidified the idea of its body having strata before the talksprite (not sure which doodles that would be), but doing the talksprite really helped solidify the idea of a gradient in my mind, and also is where i decided on the textural element. i also decided to look at a reference image for the geode. that helped a Lot.

...i still do like drawing a more simplified consequence though. the key in my eyes is to just get the general shape of the head down, make sure you get a few of the squares floating in the air, and emphasize the nodes around its eyes. also make sure the eyes are offset vertically, it REALLY helps with the character of the design, sometimes i'll doodle a connie quence and think it looks a bit mid, move the eye on its left up, and then boom it's fine.

or you can just not do that because you drew it 2 crumbs big lol

[someonebeatyoutothisuser]

Hi dear donors ! ❤️

I would like to extend my thank and gratitude for the support you have been offering over the last eleven months. ❤️☺️

My family and I have been suffering and going through the hardest days we have ever experienced in our life . Things are very hard to get and and sometimes unattainable.😭😓

Our sufferings and hardship started on the first days of the war when all our possessions were completely destroyed and burned. We have become displaced and homeless , finding ourselves in a small tent in streets with no means of life. We lack every single necessary thing of life; food, water, hygiene essentials, and other necessities have become scarce and rare.

A photo taken to show how incredibly harsh our life has become after the war. We are struggling and facing lots of barriers to obtain the simplest necessities for living. Everything single thing is a complete story.

You can't imagine what difficulties we have been going through all these days of war. No cooking gas , nor cooking tools exist . We struggle to prepare a small meal of food.

No bakeries are available. Everything seems a miracle and unbelievable.😭 The war has stolen our joy and smile, leaving us busy thinking only of staying safe and alive. Our future has gone with the wind and our kids lost their dreams and ambitions.

This is a part of burying the dead. We also face some problems in the process of buying our dead people as no place is there for the family. Tombs aren't enough for the number of people living on a small spot of land.

A photo taken for the morning queue of filling our gallons with drink water. We wait hours to get some water for drink. Our life is full of tragedy and sadness.

All what we need is to survive the war and be safe. We are trying to secure the daily basic living necessities and this can come true with your contribution and support. Please don't spare this moment of supporting the people in need in Gaza in this tough and dire time. You can help us by either donating however small it is or sharing my posts. Your support makes a big difference for families in need

https://gofund.me/0dc0aa34

PLEASE PLEASE DONATE! OR SPREAD THE WORD IF YOU CAN'T, REBLOG THIS POST, DO NOT JUST LIKE! IT WILL NOT HELP!