#I’m trying to get into see someone in person

[inseobts]

Idk if u do request but can you do Scary reader x One piece men? Law, Shanks, Sabo, Ace, Croc, The monster trio & whoever else you want! Basically the reader is really scary but {{char}} finds their scariness attractive.

Attractive Scariness

a/n: sorry but at some point I got out of ideas lmao

characters: luffy, zoro, sanji, law, ace, shanks, sabo and crocodile

words count: around 0.4k - 0.9k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

─�� .✦ Monkey D. Luffy:

You’re used to fear.

The wide eyes, the shaky hands, the people stumbling over themselves to get away, etc. It’s always the same. Ever since you ate your Devil Fruit, people have called you a monster. Even when you’re not fighting, your presence alone makes people nervous.

So when you land on this island and step into a small village, you already expect the usual reaction.

And you get it.

The streets clear as soon as you walk in. The market stalls empty. Even the shopkeepers pretend not to see you.

You sigh.

“Again?” you mutter “I just want some food…”

You’re about to turn around when someone doesn’t run. A boy in a red vest and a straw hat stands right in front of you, grinning like he doesn’t even notice how scary you are.

No. He notices. He just doesn’t care.

“Whoa!” he exclaims, eyes shining “You’re super strong, huh?”

You blink “What?”

“I can tell!” He nods, completely sure of himself “Strong people have this feeling about them. And you feel really strong!”

You stare at him. That’s… new. No “stay away from me” or “please don’t kill me.” Just pure excitement.

Luffy tilts his head “What’s your power?”

You hesitate. Usually, this is the part where people scream. But he’s looking at you like a kid waiting for a magic trick.

You raise your hand. A shadow swirls around your fingers, shifting like smoke. The air around you grows heavy, dark, unnatural.

Luffy gasps.

“That’s so cool!”

“…Huh?”

“You can control shadows? Or darkness? Or... wait, is it nightmares?” He’s practically bouncing “Can you do giant shadow hands? Or make yourself super big? Or—”

You blink at him “You’re… not scared?”

Luffy grins wider “Why would I be? You’re awesome!”

This has never happened before. Ever. You don’t know what to do.

Then Luffy grabs your wrist “Hey, join my crew!”

Your brain short-circuits “What?”

“I’m Luffy! I’m gonna be King of the Pirates, and I need strong people on my crew. And you’re really strong!”

You open your mouth, then close it. You look at him, at his bright, careless smile, at the way he’s just standing there, holding onto your wrist like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like you’re just a person.

Not a monster.

“…You’re weird” you say.

Luffy laughs “People tell me that a lot.”

You stare at him for a long moment. Then, for the first time in forever, you smile.

“…Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll join you.”

Luffy cheers, throwing his fists in the air “Yes! This is gonna be awesome!”

You have no idea what you’ve just signed up for. But for once, you don’t feel like a nightmare.

You just feel like you.

Years have passed since you met Luffy. Since he grabbed your wrist, called you strong, and changed your life without even trying.

Back then, you weren’t sure what you were getting into. Now, you know.

Being with Luffy means chaos. It means waking up to find him hanging upside down from the ship’s mast, laughing like it’s normal. It means fighting beside him, watching him charge straight at danger without fear—because he trusts you to have his back.

It means love.

A love that is loud and wild, but also simple. Easy. Because Luffy has never been afraid of you. Not then, not now.

Right now, you’re on an island, sitting in the shade while the crew runs around. The villagers are keeping their distance, just like always. Even after all these years, people still fear you.

But it doesn’t matter anymore.

Because across the field, Luffy is waving at you, smiling so wide it makes your chest feel warm. He doesn’t care that people avoid you. He doesn’t care that you’re “scary”, to him, you’re just you.

He runs over, plopping down next to you with a grin “Whatcha doin’?”

You raise an eyebrow “Sitting.”

Luffy gasps dramatically “No way. That’s crazy.”

You snort, shoving his shoulder. He just laughs, leaning against you without a care in the world.

For a while, you sit there together. The sun is warm, the breeze is nice, and Luffy is… Luffy. He hums a little song under his breath, playing with your fingers like he’s fascinated by them.

Then, he says “You know, you’re kinda scary.”

You pause “Oh?”

He nods “Yeah. Like, super scary. When you fight, people freak out. Even Zoro said you’re the last person he’d wanna fight seriously.”

You wait for the usual words to follow. Monster. Freak. Too much.

But instead, Luffy grins and squeezes your hand.

“I love it.”

Your heart stops for a second.

Luffy keeps talking, like he hasn’t just turned your entire world upside down “It’s awesome! You’re so strong, and you do that cool shadowy thing, and when you get serious, even the bad guys look like they’re gonna cry.” He laughs, eyes shining “It’s really cool.”

You don’t answer right away. Because what is there to say?

For so long, your power was a curse. Something that made you different. Something that made you alone.

But here, with Luffy, it’s just another part of you.

“…You’re an idiot” you mumble, looking away.

Luffy laughs “Yeah, but you love me.”

You roll your eyes “Unfortunately.”

He gasps “What?!”

You shove his face away, and he just laughs harder, wrapping his arms around you like an octopus. He clings to you, laughing and warm, and you sigh, pretending to be annoyed.

But the truth is, you wouldn’t trade this for anything.

Because you are strong. And scary. And Luffy loves it.

And that is more than enough.

── .✦ Roronoa Zoro:

Zoro knows strength when he sees it.

He can sense it in the way people move, in the way they breathe. Some fighters hesitate, some carry doubt, but you don’t.

From the moment he meets you, he can tell. You don’t just fight. You hunt. And for some reason, he can’t take his eyes off you.

It starts on an island known for its warriors. The crew stops to rest, but Zoro wants a challenge. A real fight. So when he hears rumors of a swordsfighter so deadly that even bounty hunters avoid them, he doesn’t hesitate.

But when he finds you, it’s not what he expects.

You’re not some old master or a towering brute. You’re just… you. Sitting under a tree, sharpening your blade like you have all the time in the world.

Zoro stops a few feet away, arms crossed “You’re the one they’re all scared of?”

You glance up. Your eyes are sharp, your aura heavy, and for a second, it’s like the temperature drops.

Zoro grins. Oh, yeah. This is gonna be good.

You sigh, standing up “You here to fight me too?”

He smirks “Yeah. Unless you’re scared.”

Something flickers in your gaze, something dark and dangerous. Then you smile, slow and sharp “You’ll regret that.”

And then you move.

It happens fast. One second, you’re standing still. The next, your own blade is inches from his neck. Zoro barely blocks in time, his instincts the only thing keeping his head attached.

His blood rushes.

You don’t fight like normal swordsfighters. Your movements are smooth, calculated, but there’s something more. Something predatory.

Zoro grins “Not bad.”

You tilt your head “Not bad?”

And then you attack for real.

The clash of steel echoes through the trees. Zoro meets each strike, but he can feel the difference in the way you fight. You don’t waste movement. You don’t test him. You go straight for the kill.

Most people would find that terrifying.

Zoro finds it hot as hell.

His smirk widens “You don’t hold back, huh?”

You don’t answer, but there’s something in your eyes... curiosity, maybe. Like you’re testing him.

Good. He likes a challenge.

The fight goes on, fast and brutal, but in the end, neither of you go all out. It’s just a taste, a promise of something more. When you finally lower your blade, Zoro does the same.

You study him for a moment, then nod “You’re not bad either.”

Zoro huffs a laugh “High praise.”

You sheath your sword and turn away “I’m going back to town. You coming or what?”

He watches you go, smirking to himself.

Yeah. He’s definitely interested.

Years Later – Zoro should probably be concerned that his partner is one of the most terrifying people he’s ever met.

But he’s not.

In fact, it just makes him like you more.

Right now, you’re standing on the deck of the Sunny, staring down a group of bounty hunters dumb enough to challenge you. You haven’t even drawn your sword yet, but the way you look at them, sharp, unreadable, deadly, makes them hesitate.

Zoro leans against the railing, watching with amusement. He already knows how this will go.

One of the bounty hunters shifts nervously “Y-you gonna fight or what?”

You tilt your head, smiling faintly “You first.”

There’s a moment of hesitation. Then they charge. Big mistake.

Zoro watches as you dodge effortlessly, your blade a blur. The fight lasts seconds. By the time you sheath your sword, your opponents are on the ground, groaning in pain.

Silence. Then, Luffy cheers from the mast “That was awesome!”

Zoro smirks. Damn right it was.

You turn to him, raising an eyebrow “You just gonna watch?”

He shrugs with a smirk “I was enjoying watching... and didn’t wanna get in your way.”

You walk over, stopping in front of him “You’re getting lazy.”

He scoffs “Oh yeah?”

You lean in, voice low “Yeah. Maybe I should fight you next.”

Zoro feels a familiar rush of excitement. His hand twitches toward his swords “You sure you can keep up?”

You smirk “Try me.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

Lost in you, in the fight, in the thrill of having someone who meets him blow for blow.

You’re terrifying. And beautiful. And stronger than hell.

And he wouldn’t have you any other way.

── .✦ Vinsmoke Sanji:

Sanji has seen all kinds of people. Beautiful women, powerful warriors, even actual monsters. But he’s never met anyone like you.

You meet in a quiet, dimly lit tavern. The crew stops for a meal, and Sanji, always on the lookout for interesting faces, notices you immediately.

You sit in the darkest corner, barely touching your drink. Your posture is relaxed, but there’s something wrong about it, like you could strike at any moment. The air around you feels heavy.

People glance at you and quickly look away. A group of bounty hunters at a nearby table seem tense, whispering among themselves.

Sanji watches as one of them inches toward the door. His hands are shaking.

That’s when he realizes, they’re afraid of you. A lot.

Sanji takes a slow drag of his cigarette. Interesting.

“Hey cook, what are you doing there, standing like an idiot.” Zoro says while they all sit at a table.

He’s about to turn back to his crew and reply to that marimo when the bartender makes a mistake and accidentally spills a drink on your sleeve.

The entire tavern stops breathing.

The bartender goes pale “I—I’m so sorry—”

You say nothing. You don’t even look at him. Just slowly, carefully, you pick up a napkin and wipe your sleeve.

The silence stretches.

Sanji almost laughs at how scared everyone looks. What, do they think you’re gonna kill him for a drink spill?

The bartender swallows “Please, let me—”

“It’s fine” you say.

Your voice is quiet. Smooth. Too calm.

The bartender flinches anyway.

Sanji watches as you set the napkin down, push your drink away, and stand. You turn toward the door, and the crowd parts around you, everyone desperate to get out of your way.

Sanji, curious as hell, does the exact opposite.

He steps into your path, smiling “Leaving so soon?”

You stop and lift your gaze, as everyone there gasps.

Most people can’t meet Sanji’s eyes for long. His confidence, his sharpness, it makes them squirm. But you?

You stare right through him.

For the first time in a long time, Sanji feels his heart skip.

“…Who are you?” he asks.

You tilt your head slightly “Does it matter?”

That voice. Calm. Slow. Like a knife dragging against silk.

Sanji exhales smoke, smirking “I’d like to think so.”

You study him. And for some reason, he feels like he’s the one being hunted.

Then you smile, small, unreadable “See you around… cook.”

And just like that, you’re gone.

Sanji stands there, heart pounding as he thinks, oh, I’m in trouble.

Years Later – Sanji likes to think he doesn’t scare easy. He’s faced warlords, monsters, and the wrath of Nami’s fist.

But nothing terrifies him more than the way you just appear.

“Sanji.”

“GAH—!”

He jumps, nearly dropping the plate he’s holding. You’re suddenly right next to him, quiet as a shadow.

He clutches his chest “How do you do that?!”

You blink “Do what?”

“That!” He gestures at you wildly “I didn’t hear you at all! You just—just materialized!”

You tilt your head, amused “I walked in.”

“No, you haunted in.”

You hum in thought “Maybe you should pay more attention.”

Sanji groans, running a hand through his hair “You’re gonna kill me one day, I swear.”

“Wouldn’t be much fun,” you say, smirking slightly “I’d miss this.”

Sanji pauses. Then, with a slow, dramatic sigh, he pulls you into a hug.

You stiffen at first, but he’s patient. He knows you’re not used to softness.

When you relax, he kisses the top of your head “You’re cruel, y’know that?”

“Am I?”

“You make my heart stop every damn day.”

You smile against his chest “Good.”

── .✦ Trafalgar D. Law:

Law prides himself on being composed. No matter the situation, he never loses control.

But then he meets you, and for the first time in a long time, he feels something close to unease.

It happens on a stormy night. The Heart Pirates dock at a quiet island, and Law sets off alone, drawn by rumors of a dangerous individual hiding in town. Some say you’re a ghost, others call you a demon.

He doesn’t believe in superstition. But he believes in threats.

So when he finds you in the ruins outside of town, standing perfectly still, eyes dark and unreadable, he watches you carefully.

“You’ve been causing trouble” he says, testing your reaction.

You don’t move. Don’t speak. The wind howls through the ruins, but you remain as still as a statue.

Most people shift under his gaze. But you? You don’t even blink.

Law narrows his eyes “Who are you?”

Finally, you tilt your head “You already know, don’t you?”

Your voice is calm. Steady. Wrong.

It reminds him of the quiet before a scalpel slices skin.

Law tightens his grip on Kikoku “What’s your ability?”

You step forward, and the ground cracks beneath your foot. A shadow flickers at the edge of his vision, stretching unnaturally.

“Does it matter?” you ask.

Law doesn’t flinch. But something deep in his chest tightens.

Because he knows that feeling. The quiet hum of danger.

And yet, instead of fear, he feels something else. Intrigue. He's actually really attracted and he can't deny it.

It takes Law a while to notice. To really notice.

Because you’re fearless in battle. You fight like a force of nature, silent and merciless, the kind of presence that makes enemies pray they don’t cross your path. You don’t just win fights, you end them.

And yet, when you’re with the crew, you’re… different.

Law catches it in small moments.

The way you ruffle Bepo’s fur when you think no one’s looking. The way you always make sure Penguin and Shachi get extra food after a long day. The way you quietly fix things around the ship before anyone else notices they’re broken.

And he feels it most with him. Like when you sit beside him in the submarine’s dimly lit halls, comfortable in silence, just existing next to him without expectation. Or when you lean against him after a rough mission, exhaustion making you a little softer, a little less guarded.

Or, most obviously, when you think he’s asleep.

He catches you once, fingers brushing against his hair, barely there, like you’re memorizing the shape of him.

He should say something. Call you out. But he doesn’t.

Because for some reason, the realization that the person who terrifies even seasoned killers, is so unbelievably gentle with him?

It does something to him.

Something dangerous.

Years Later – Being in a relationship with you comes with some complications.

Like right now.

“Sit still, damn it” Law mutters, pressing bandages against your side.

You sigh “It’s just a scratch.”

Law glares at you “It’s a stab wound.”

You shrug “Same thing.”

He clenches his jaw, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him “I swear, you are the worst patient I’ve ever had.”

You smirk “And yet, I’m still your favorite.”

Law groans, but he doesn’t deny it.

Because despite everything, your terrifying strength, your eerie presence, your complete disregard for injuries, he can’t help but be drawn to you.

You are the only person who unsettles him. And somehow, you’ve also become the one person he trusts the most.

He huffs, finishing the bandages “Try not to die.”

You grin, leaning in “Worried about me, doctor?”

“Tch” He flicks your forehead “Shut up.”

And despite himself, he smiles.

The next time you get hurt, Law doesn’t even bother hiding his frustration.

“You’re reckless,” he mutters, tightening the bandage around your arm “One of these days, you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

You watch him, amused “Would you miss me?”

He scowls “Shut up”

You smirk “You would.”

Law clicks his tongue, looking away. He hates how smug you sound. Hates it even more because you’re right.

Instead of answering, he sighs, finishing the bandage. Then, before he can talk himself out of it, he presses a hand against your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.

“You’re lucky I like you” he mutters.

For the first time, you freeze.

Then, slowly, you smile. And Law knows he’s in so much trouble.

── .✦ Portgas D. Ace:

On a nameless island, a pit stop for pirates and criminals alike, Ace hears the rumors first, stories about a lone warrior, someone so deadly that even bounty hunters won’t go near them.

He thinks it sounds like fun.

So when he walks into a bar and sees everyone stiffening at the mere sight of someone sitting in the corner, he knows he’s found you.

You sit alone, idly spinning a knife between your fingers. Your expression is calm, unreadable, but the tension in the room is thick.

Ace grins, making his way over “Mind if I sit?”

You don’t look up “Do what you want.”

He plops down across from you, resting his chin in his hand “Y’know, people are real scared of you.”

Silence.

Ace watches you carefully. You don’t move like a normal fighter. There’s something off about the way you breathe, the way your presence lingers like a shadow stretching too far.

It should probably freak him out.

Instead, it makes his blood rush.

“So,” he continues, smirking “What’s your deal? You a bounty hunter? Are you here to fight?”

You finally meet his eyes. Your gaze is sharp, calculating, like you’re dissecting him without lifting a finger.

"I was just curious who everyone was talking about, turns out it was you."

“…You’re not scared of me?”

Ace grins wider “Should I be?”

The knife in your hand stops spinning and or a split second, the air feels heavy.

Then, slowly, you smirk “Maybe? You tell me. That's what you came here for, isn't it?”

Ace laughs. Loud, bright, genuine.

And just like that, he decides that he actually finds you very attractive, and isn't letting you go so easily.

Years Later – Ace still remembers the first time he saw you fight.

He has always been the kind of guy who laughs in the face of danger.

He doesn’t hesitate to charge into battle, doesn’t flinch at the thought of death. He’s faced warlords, marines, even entire armies.

But when he saw you fighting? For the first time in his life, he felt like prey, even if you weren't fighting him.

How you moved like a phantom, striking fast, silent, merciless. How your enemies barely had time to scream before they hit the ground.

Everyone calls you terrifying. A monster. A nightmare in a human form.

And yet, right now, curled up against him, grumbling sleepily as he wraps his arms around you Ace can’t help but laugh.

You groan “What? You going crazy now?”

“You,” he teases, resting his chin on top of your head “You’re supposed to be the scariest person alive, but look at you.”

You swat at his chest “Shut up.”

Ace just grins, pulling you closer “Nah. I like reminding you.”

"You're always so annoying..." you say turning to not let him see you blush.

Because despite the way you fight, despite the way you terrify your enemies, Ace has seen what no one else has.

How you tuck into his blankets when you're alone. How you always make sure the crew eats before you do. How you fuss over him when he pretends his injuries don’t hurt.

You act all tough, all sharp edges and killing intent.

But Ace knows the truth.

You’re soft. At least, with him.

And that makes him fall for you even more.

He turn your head so that he can see you and with a smirk he says "Don't worry you're hot both ways, I don't mind your soft side at all"

Then he kiss your forehead and you try to hide again, making him laugh softly.

── .✦ Shanks:

Shanks has seen a lot in his life.

He’s fought warlords, crossed paths with the most dangerous men on the seas, and stared death in the face with a grin.

But when he meets you, he realizes he’s never met someone who could scare him and turn him on at the same time.

It happens in a crowded port town, where pirates and mercenaries walk side by side, tension thick in the air. Shanks and his crew are enjoying a round of drinks when Benn nudges him, nodding toward a shadowed corner of the bar.

“Oi, I found out that one’s got quite the reputation.”

Shanks follows his gaze and sees you.

You sit alone, posture relaxed but too still. There’s something about you... something in the way the people around you refuse to meet your eyes, in the way the bartender serves you with hands that tremble, scared to even do his own job.

The crew isn’t easily shaken, but even they seem wary.

Shanks just grins. Because if there’s one thing he can’t resist, it’s a challenge.

“Think I’ll go say hi.”

Benn sighs “Of course you will. Never doubted it.”

Shanks strolls over, drink in hand, and slides into the seat across from you without asking.

You don’t react. Just lift your gaze and meet his like you’re peering into his soul.

He whistles “You’ve got quite the stare.”

“You’ve got quite the nerve...” you reply smoothly.

Shanks chuckles “I get that a lot, actually.”

Silence stretches between you. He expects you to get annoyed, to tell him to leave, but surprisingly you don’t.

You just watch him. Measuring. Calculating. And damn if it doesn’t send a thrill up his spine.

Finally, you speak “You’re not scared of me.”

Shanks smirks, tipping his drink toward you “Should I be?”

Your eyes glint with something sharp. Dangerous. Interested.

“Maybe not, but who knows.”

Shanks leans forward, grinning “I like my odds.”

"I can see it..."

Years Later - “You’re doing it again” Benn mutters.

Shanks blinks “Doing what?”

Benn nods toward you. You’re across the deck, casually sharpening a blade, the crew giving you a very wide berth.

“You’re staring like a love-struck idiot” Benn sighs.

Shanks laughs “Can you blame me?”

Because despite years of being with you, despite knowing exactly how terrifying you can be, Shanks still finds himself completely captivated whenever you're fighting or not.

He’s seen you end fights with a single strike, watched entire battlefields fall silent at your presence. You are ruthless when necessary, the kind of person who doesn’t waste time with threats, just action.

And yet when you think no one’s watching, he sees the little things.

How you make sure the younger crew members eat first. How you adjust someone’s coat when they’re not paying attention. How, late at night, when exhaustion weighs heavy, you let yourself lean into him.

And Shanks?

He eats it up.

Because out of everyone in the world, you choose to be soft only with him.

Later that night, as you both sit on the deck watching the waves, Shanks stretches, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

You roll your eyes but don’t push him away.

He grins “Y’know, for someone so scary, you’re kinda sweet.”

You turn, raising a brow “Wanna say that again?”

Shanks chuckles “Not if I value my life, and I do.”

You smirk, leaning against him just a little.

And that small, rare gesture is worth more to him than any treasure. He's totally in your hands, can you believe it? Because even he something looks at himself and shake his own head at the thought, but at the end who cares? He's with the most attractive person out there.

── .✦ Sabo:

Sabo isn’t the type to scare easily.

He has fought world nobles, infiltrated enemy territory, and stared death in the face more times than he can count. Fear isn’t something he entertains, it’s something he’s learned to push aside, to control.

But when he meets you?

For the first time in a long while, he actually hesitates.

It happens in a revolution-friendly town, the kind of place where people whisper about rebellion but fear retaliation too much to act. Sabo’s here on business, but what he doesn’t expect is to hear a name spoken in hushed, almost fearful tones.

A name that isn’t a government official or a bounty hunter, but yours.

“Who are they?” he asks a local, intrigued.

The man pales “Someone you don’t want to cross.”

Sabo just smirks “Is that so?”

He should probably be cautious. Should probably listen to the fear in the man’s voice.

But instead, he just wants to meet you more.

You’re exactly as the rumors say. You're cold, calculating and dangerous.

When Sabo finds you, you don’t attack him. You just watch him. Still. Silent. Your presence alone feels heavy, like the weight of an unseen blade resting against his throat, daring him to make a wrong move.

Most people would crack under it.

Sabo just grins “Heard a lot about you.”

You don’t react “Likewise.”

He hums, studying you. Most would be unnerved by your unwavering stare, the cold calculation in your eyes. But Sabo finds it fascinating. Finds you fascinating.

He hums, studying you “And? What’s your verdict?”

Your eyes narrow slightly, assessing him like he’s prey “Too early to tell. I don't judge based on rumors.”

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, a quiet tension settling between you. Sabo knows he should be cautious, he knows he’s facing someone whose strength is being feared even among revolutionaries.

But all he can think is — Damn. They’re kinda hot.

Years Later – It’s funny.

Everyone fears you. The Revolutionary Army sees you as a force of nature, one of their strongest, deadliest members. You’re efficient in battle, merciless when necessary. People whisper about you in the same breath as high-ranking officers, speaking of you like a phantom, something to be respected, but never approached.

But Sabo sees more than just the deadly aura that makes people tread lightly.

He sees the way your eyes gleam with amusement when a mission goes exactly as planned. He sees the way you tilt your head in interest, studying your enemies as if they’re puzzles to be solved before being discarded. He sees the way you move, every motion precise, effortless, a dance with death that you never lose.

And he loves it.

Loves the sharp edges, the lethal grace, the way you make his heart race, not with fear, but with something far more intoxicating.

And yet, he also sees the moments no one else does.

You, sitting beside him late at night, absentmindedly tracing circles against his palm.

You, making sure Koala doesn’t overwork herself, leaving her favorite snacks on her desk without a word.

You, rolling your eyes but still letting Sabo pull you into a hug after a long mission, even though your reputation could probably shatter just from being seen indulging him.

“You know,” he teases one night, tilting his head, “for someone so scary, you’re kind of a softie.”

You give him a flat look “Take that back.”

Sabo laughs, eyes gleaming with challenge “Nope. Never gonna happen.”

You grumble something under your breath but don’t pull away, and he counts that as a win.

Because out of everyone in the world, he knows you’re only ever like this with him.

And as much as he adores every part of you, it’s that razor-sharp danger in your eyes, that power in your every movement, that makes his blood sing.

It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating.

And damn, does he love you for it.

── .✦ Crocodile:

Crocodile has met aaaall kinds of people.

Cowards who grovel at his feet. Fools who think they can challenge him. Liars who smile while plotting his downfall.

But you? You don’t fit into any category.

Because when he first meets you, standing over the broken bodies of bounty hunters, face calm, eyes cold, he doesn’t see fear. He doesn’t see arrogance.

He sees power.

And for the first time in a long while, he’s interested.

When in Rainbase, long after the fall of Baroque Works, Crocodile has been rebuilding, regaining influence, cutting down anyone foolish enough to think he’s lost his edge.

And then you show up.

A ghost in the desert, they call you. A storm without warning. The kind of person who doesn’t make threats, just leaves bodies in their wake.

Crocodile hears the whispers. He almost ignores them.

Until one of his men ends up dead.

Then it's when he decides it’s time to meet you himself.

He finds you in a back alley, wiping blood from your blade.

You don’t look surprised to see him.

“You’ve been causing many problems” he says, exhaling smoke.

You tilt your head, unconcerned “That depends on who you ask.”

Crocodile’s lips curl into something amused. He’s used to people trembling in his presence. But you? You just stand there, watching him with the same detached intensity one might give a corpse.

It should irritate him.

Instead, it makes his blood thrill.

“I don’t like loose ends,” he says “So tell me, why shouldn’t I kill you?”

For the first time, you smile.

Not kind. Not warm.

Just sharp. Cold. Dangerous.

“You could try, I'm happy if you try.”

The air shifts.

Crocodile’s grip on his cigar tightens. His instincts, honed from years of surviving the worst of the worst, tell him that fighting you would not be easy.

And he likes that.

Years Later – Most people don’t look him in the eye.

Most people don’t speak without permission, don’t challenge his decisions, don’t dare to stand too close.

You do all of that.

And Crocodile lets you.

Because unlike the weaklings who grovel before him, you don’t need protection. You don’t need his power to survive.

You’re strong. Cold. Unshaken by blood or war.

And that makes you the only person truly worth his time.

One night, you’re both on the balcony of his hideout, looking down at the city below.

Crocodile exhales smoke, glancing at you “Most people would rather die than be in my company.”

You don’t even blink “Most people are weak.”

He chuckles, low and dark “That so?”

You finally meet his gaze, and in your eyes, he sees something sharp. Something dangerous.

Something that matches him.

He smirks.

Because finally, after years of dealing with fools, liars, and cowards, he’s found someone who is exactly his kind of monster.

[mourndust]

⋆｡𖦹°‧ safe heaven.

side notes — basically after she's injured she has nowhere to go but your place. ex!girlfriend sevika, i always see fics where she's is a psycho ex but i actually think sevika is a lone wolf turned puppy when her heart melts, take it or leave it.

masterlist! // requests open ! // 2.5k

18+ mdni, men go away, thigh grinding, titty love, fingering, dirty talk, pet names, slight degradation/dumbification blink and miss it, ass play, spit, there are descriptions of a 'wound', but i'm no doctor sorry if you are.

it’s not fair she’s so into you.

makes her weak cause she has to surrender to you in the end, no choices allowed cause she knows, deep down, it's not going to stop as much as she'd like it to. not when you're grinding on her leg like that, when you're coating her skin with your arousal so deliberately, you make her look down just to find out the wet splotch in your underwear getting bigger and bigger with each roll of your hips, the moans filling the air of your living room — sevika has no use but to let you get off from something so simple as riding her thigh, mainly ‘cause it's a personal need too.

"you're takin' good care of me, aren't you sweet girl?" now usually, she does a better work staying away from you, avoiding you as much as it's possible; but it gets difficult when she knocks on your door at three in the morning, bleeding out and capable of tossing her pride aside in no time, whatever cost it may bring. "lift up your shirt and let me see those pretty tits, i deserve to see more of my girl."

well fuck, when did it get so personal?

must be when you have told her not to come near your street several times, a non-spoken rule she respects until she has nowhere to go, opening the door so damn mad she thought you were going to kick her out for a second cause she can help but be a damn flirt around you, leaning into the wall even when she's bleeding — seeking for your attention.

it's always like that when she gets too attached to someone, as much as she tries to avoid it she ends ups carrying them too close to her heart: silco in the moment, crazy ass jinx, that damn kid who’s always following, she gives loyalty like dog, so it's suffocating. cause you don't kick her out like she secretly wishes to, but instead, you push her inside, helping her walk to your sofa as you kneel between her legs, bitching about not being a doctor, about not being able to help her as you look at the cut closely.

and sevika knows she shouldn't have come to see you cause you look so damn inviting it's annoying, alluring with those big eyes you give as you look up to her, the concentrated face as your fingers shake over her skin, helping her out like she asks you to, shivering under her words of encouragement when you're sewing her skin back together after five minutes of pure whining.

it’s safe to say it slowly consumes her, your breathing against her sore skin. does things for her, half delirious for the amount of times she's been trying to excuse herself by saying she's dizzy from blood loss, a fucking lie you can tell already — “stay there for a while” she asks when you finish, cupping your face in the palm of her flesh hand, thumb rubbing against your cheek, tracing the outline of your lips afterwards "there's not a single thing you do wrong huh? not even stitch me up on a lonely friday night."

“what are you doing?”

“you know damn well what i’m doing, bunny. i miss you," everything's so fast after that, her voice is husky as she speaks, playing with the strands of your hair, twirling it in her index finger, relishing the sensation of you close to her once again — "i miss you. fuck i miss you so much it's burning me alive."

it's an old habit, it's enough to make you crumble cause you're allowing her to make you sit on her leg, gasping as the cold metal of her mechanic arm holds you down while the other caress your side without a rush: she has nowhere to be but there, with you on her lap.

you'd like to be difficult now, play hard to get even, but it's so right in the moment, like you've been craving it for weeks you don’t dare to say a single word — "you're going to pull out your stitches like that" you mutter instead, voice raspy when she's moving your hair to the side, sucking on the skin of your neck until she's sure it will leave a mark behind, reminders of all being real. "sev-"

"i can handle pain, i don't care" sevika fully believes it, squeezing the skin of your waist. she missed having you like that — "don’t make up excuses, just tell me to stop. tell me if you want me to leave, cause i won’t do it on my own."

it’s tempting, yet you cannot say it as you stare at her, at her gray eyes, the new haircut and the blueish scar in her cheek: you want her there. "you’re injured, you’re not going anywhere like that."

“no,” she shakes her head in denial, not quite the answer she expected to hear — “tell me you want me to stay cause you want me to, not because of a wound. because you miss me too.”

greedy bitch. she’s enjoying every second of it, knowing damn well she got you under her skin already, that she can get out a response from you every time she puts a finger on your skin. “you know i miss you."

fuck her pride. fuck anything else but the taste of your lips, the sounds you make when you enjoy something too much muffled against sevika’s hungry cavity. it’s almost feverish as her tongue rolls inside your mouth, squeezing your cheeks as she stoles the air from your lungs, your heart racing by the seconds.

that’s how you got to that point at least, cause she's kissing you dumb for a moment and the next one she's holding your ass with a tight grip, pushing you against her just to make you remind her about her stitches, her recent wounded state, but in all honesty she's not really listening to any bitching, no; sevika's deeply lost in her senses, the sight of you getting messier with each one of her kisses, the scent of the bubble-gum induced taste in your mouth mixing up with her own saliva — the engulfed moans that somehow makes you look needier than you already are.

and you're not telling her to leave, not receiving any complain as her flesh hand tugs on the fabric of your shirt like a fair warning that you already know what it means, you're not being rational cause you miss her deeply, so much time needing her you cannot help but give in, even when you'd call yourself insane sooner or later.

"i miss you," it's like a poem sevika wishes to hear over and over again, how you, very much like her, are being thrown at a constant state of aching. "i miss you a lot, and it's not fair. keeping me around like this-"

your hand rest over the stitches you covered with gauze, and fuck, she must be damn tripping, cause you're straddling her lap, shirt riding over your stomach giving her the damn royal treatment and you have the decency of being careful with her, gentle.

no. she does not want to be in love, not ever again, but she's betrayed once again as her silent big heart is choking because she's seeing you again, falling apart like you used to, taking the privilege of something so private for herself, surrendering to an act of pure war and love cause that's what she came for in the first place, you.

"don't move. i can do it for us both," do you have any idea of how difficult it gets for her? with you speaking like that? "please. don't bleed out on my couch. need you alive tomorrow, don't move much."

"you're takin' good care of me, aren't you sweet girl?" — your hips began to move against her tight and it's like you want to show her how much you love grinding on her leg like a fucking puppy, how you missed the pleasure she can only bring, how you been missing her."lift up your shirt and let me see those pretty tits, i deserve to see more of my girl."

she lights the cigarette you were smoking cause she don't want to piss you off, enjoying the simple pleasures of life cause she loves it when you take control, giving you space to remove your shirt only to let her see you fully, the sweat going down your skin, the movements in your waist as you try to ride her better.

hell of a show.

and even as you try to muffle your moans, it's pretty impossible when your underwear sticks to your pussy cause of the stupid amount of arousal that now stains the fabric, the constant contact with her pants that being so sensitive makes you docile, compliant to any of her wishes, the hungry look she gives you comfortably seated, the weight of sevika's gaze traveling from your half lidded eyes down your chest until between your legs, a triumph half-smile on her lips as as the smell of your apple tobacco fills the air.

"you're dripping in my pants baby, can't wait f'me to take them off?" she asks, and her fingers create this line as they touch from your neck to your mount, stopping over your breasts, kneading them in her whole hand — "can't be this wet just for riding me bunny, i haven't even touched you yet. do you miss me that much ma'? miss being my pretty whore?"

she knows where to touch, where to kiss as if she forgot about the damn pain in her sore muscles, like the entire world narrows down to you. the cigarette consumes on the ashtray as she leans to suck on your already hard nipples, tongue roaming from one to another, tugging and biting at her will before you make her breathing hitch on her throat — "stay with me tonight."

it's a bad idea, but your hand guides hers down to your cunt and it's physically impossible for sevika to say no to you, deny your wishes cause she's so down to give you whatever you need, an invitation that makes her chest full of pride as she makes your underwear to the side, quickly coating them with clear gush as they slide between your soaked folds.

"vika-" whatever you might say dies in your tongue, gets lost in the air as two fingers come up to your swollen clit, sensitive already against her touches that do not go past the necessary, a back and forth motion that pushes you tantalizingly close to the edge — "baby."

"want to you feel you through my pants," your hole is clenching around nothing, forcing you to move as her mechanic hand shoves you against her leg. "be good and cum all over your pretty underwear."

your body shakes involuntarily, cause it only takes her muscular thigh, dirty words and her fingers on your clit to make you act up all desperate, a loud moan escaping your lips when finally reach your much desired peak, watching in awe how you disintegrate for a moment and everything seems to become meaningless.

"i cannot touch you with these on," sevika mutters seconds after, not close to having enough as she pulls on the string of your soaked underwear, unusable now as she makes you stand between her legs before she's all over you, struggling to keep the hands to herself as she hugs you, gripping the curve of your ass to pull you against her, face resting right over your waist as your hand caress the black strands of her recently trimmed hair.

you’ve heard it before, the advice you tend to ignore: she’s no good for you, she's no good for you as she makes you turn around, coaxing you with praises only to have you bend right over the waist, when she makes your underwear fall to the ground and you're leaning to bare yourself to her eyes only.

and it makes sevika salivate, needy at it's worst when she can notice your wet folds, the way you're dripping down, creamy white right in your untouched hole, messy and asking for more. your clit’s already puffy, pushing her to just touch, make you beg for more so she's weak, weak as keeps you there, showing your ass like it was all her's to take, warm and pliant as she plunges two fingers inside your needy cunt, slowly making room for her thick digits until she’s stretching you open.

your legs shake as sevika's fingers sink inside, and she's so eager to see, the zaunite finds herself moving to have a better view of the traces of your already wet cunt sticking to her hand, of your pussy already twitching, sucking her back in.

"look at this" the woman trails off, drunk on the sight of you spread in front of her eyes, the bliss when you're looking at her from over your shoulder with a cheeky smile that will stick on her memory — "makin' space for me s'good bunny, can you hear that? the sounds of your cunt taking me perfectly?"

there's no time for answering cause sevika's taking, too high on you, on the reactions of your body as she spreads you open, kissing on your ass cheeks before her face's there and her tongue is pushing against your pucker hole, gathering a good amount of saliva to spit on it.

"mmf-please," you loudly whine "m'gonna cum-"

sevika wants the moment to linger, make you cum over and over again but she cannot stop when she's seeing the transparent color of her saliva mix up with your arousal as her fingers fucked you at a much faster pace now. her nose darts against your skin, and she has to help you stand when she's licking your rear so eagerly, circling the ring, teasing you with focused licks, pushing dangerously against your tight hole.

and the sight of it is nasty, blush creeps upon your neck as her mechanic arm grabs your hand to place it in your back, the slam of her own fingers almost irritating her as they make you move forward with each thrust, far from her mouth.

sevika’s oblivious for a second. it's not her fault either way, cause you cum right in her fingers, panting out your ex-girlfriend's name as your body goes limp and she has to take you right in her arms cause you cannot seem to hold your own weight.

it’s imposible to think about the stitches, and more importantly — about the fact that she cannot stay by any means. no when you're always better off without her in the picture.

could it get any better in her safe heaven?

[fear-is-truth]

hello! i’ve been reading your work for a while and i just adore it. this is a bit of an odd request, but i was wondering if you could do some head cannons of funny/embarrassing stuff that happened while reader and jason were doing the deed? i think that would be hilarious

content warning : p in v. backshots. oral (f!receiving). very smutty in general

a/n : a couple of these were based on a comment section on instagram reels

that one time . . . jason lost all respect for you when you made motorcycle noises while he was hitting it from the back. you were both fully in the zone��until you suddenly went, “vroom vrrrmmm,” right as he bottomed out. jason froze. you, however, were losing it, body trembling with laughter. “are you fuckin’ kidding me?” he groaned, dropping his chin against your shoulder. you doubled down with “brrrrm brrrrm.” he immediately pulled out, lightly smacked your ass. “heyyy! what was that for, jay?”

that one time . . . he fell asleep while eating you out. five minutes in, right as you were tugging his hair and moaning his name, the rhythmic laps of his tongue started slowing, before stopping altogether. and… was that a snore? when you look down blearily to find that he was fast asleep between your legs, cheek smushed against your inner thigh like a pillow. you poke at his cheek, trying to wake him, and he just groaned and nuzzled deeper, his big arms are still locked tightly around you. “jay… what the hell?” his response was an unintelligible mumble, followed by a soft snore.

that one time . . . he tried to rip your panties off in one go, but the fabric held strong, and he just ended up yoinking you toward him instead. you yelped as you nearly face-planted onto his chest, and he just sat there, looking betrayed by physics. “goddamnit,” he muttered. “that was supposed to be hot.” he eventually just took them off like a normal person, but he was so bitter about it the entire time.

that one time . . . you’d completely forgotten to lock your pet kitten out before jason bent you over the kitchen counter. mid thrust, he stiffened behind you, his whole body going rigid as your kitten, whiskers twitching with curiosity, trotted up right beside him. a soft meow. then she started to climb up his jeans. he carefully scoped up the tiny intruder with both hands—his cock still pulsating inside you—and passed her to you with the gravitas of someone disarming a bomb. “hold her. she doesn’t need to see this,” he grunted before getting right back to business.

that one time . . . jason got too into it that the bedframe collapsed beneath you both like the wrath of god. awkward silence. a beat. then finally, “i meant to do that.”

that one time . . . his life and death briefly flashed before his eyes when you passed out post-orgasm. he had worked you over thoroughly, and as a result, you came harder than ever. apparently, a little too hard. the moment you came, your body seized up, you let out a tiny gasp, and then—completely limp. jason panicked. he shook you gently, pressed a hand to your forehead, checked your pulse. when he was sure you were alive, he weighed the pros and cons of reviving you with cold water. luckily, you woke up thirty seconds later to him hovering over you like a concerned mother hen.

that one time . . . he accidentally sent an audio file to the family group chat. the two of you were still basking in the afterglow when jason’s phone suddenly exploded with notifications. you watched a myriad of emotions cross his face—annoyance, confusion, and horror. a solid four seconds of pure filth play before he pauses the audio and you both realise what he’s done. he goes pale. you’re staring back at him in horror.

──────────────────────────

Tim: this put an itch on the roof of my mouth that only a shotgun could scratch

Damian: I am blocking you two degenerates.

Dick: ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!

Babs: I’m pretty sure it’s y/n 🤷‍♀️

Alfred: Master Jason, please kindly remove me from this conversation

Bruce left the group

──────────────────────────

that one time . . . he got a note from alfred that said : “master jason, if you two must defile the furniture, i request that you at least clean it afterward.” jason still hasn’t recovered from that one.

 fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[potterhead0taku]

Alright I need help my thoughts just took a REALLY WEIRD TURN.

So for context, I’m a native Spanish speaker (proud mexican right here) so the original post being in spanish got me thinking about rock bands and music in spanish

And by rock in spanish I mean bands like Maná, Soda Stereo, Hombres G, Café Tacvba, y’know just classics (or maybe you don’t know, I’ll leave some links at the end if you guys are curious).

So there I was, vibing and having a laugh picturing Tim and Kon playing “Las Piedras Rodantes” ‘cause they’re teens and sappy in my head, when all of a sudden it wasn’t “El Tri” music playing anymore.

It was Jazz. Spanish Jazz of course, and out of all the songs it had to be “Alguien como tú”. And guys that was a rabbit hole I WAS NOT READY to get into. It got me balling, just crying my eyes out and not caring if my neighbors heard me.

Why did I have such a reaction, you ask?? (Other than being a very dramatic person) The reason is simple, and can be found in the lyrics of the previous song:

Tú te vas (You leave)

No volverás (You’re not coming back)

¿Y yo que haré? (What am I going to do?)

No moriré (I won’t die)

AND THAT’S JUST THE FIRST FOUR VERSES OF THE SONG.

I don’t know if your heads took the same wild jump mine did, but I immediately remembered that time Kon died and Tim went off the rails for a while…

Anyways song goes on:

¿De casualidad será que tú conocerás (Do you perhaps happen to know)

Alguien con tu cara linda y tu personalidad? (Someone with your pretty face, and your personality?)

Que le guste el cine y los libros que lees tú (Someone who likes the movies and the books you read)

Que sea independiente y tan inteligente como tú (Someone independent and intelligent like you)

Que sea franca y que su pelo huela a tu champú (Someone honest and whose hairs smells your shampoo)

Pues si no puedo estar contigo quiero estar con alguien como (Because if I can’t be with you I want to be with someone like you)

You see where I’m going with this, don’t you??

Oh god I was so happy before, picturing Tim and Kon having fun playing some spanish rock and then there was that song and Tim was falling apart after Kon’s death and trying to make a clone of him because he missed Kon so much and no one was like him and-

Yeah. Apparently I can’t have a fun lighthearted thought about a head canon without finding some way to make it angst. Good job brain.

Anyways, about the bands I mentioned at the begging and the songs Tim and Kon were playing in my head:

Also I’m pretty sure this is the song that the lyrics on the fanart came from:

De aquel amor de música ligera

[angelyuji]

yandere mark grayson

might be a little ooc lowkey... sorry.

tw // stalking, nolan is an enabler, yandere behavior, emotional manipulation, honestly nothing too crazy compared to what ive written in the past

mark grayson x reader

im gonna talk mostly about story mark and not the variants but ill add a couple cutesy little remarks at the end

markie poo is very intense as a yandere, not in the kidnapping sort of sense but like emotionally

you’d probably meet him in college and start off as friends

he’s def the type to fall in love at first sight tho like he sees you and its like some angelic light bathed you

he was in awe

he def uses his powers to stalk you and figure out everything about you

william lowkey encourages it too cause…. he seems like the type to stalk his crushes (he’s a normal person so its like kinda a normal amount)

anyway he doesn’t really realize how he’s following you or watching you until someone points it out (eve) and he’s like “omg im so evil im so bad and evil and i should die”

and he confesses it to his parents cuz who knows better than him? mama y papa!!

“im so sorry, i know i shouldn’t use my powers to stalk (y/n). i know what im doing is wrong. i just like them… so so much.” mark buries his head in his hands, too ashamed to look at his parents.

he hears his mom sigh, “mark what you’ve been doing is-” she stops. mark looks up to see his dad whisper into her ear. she bites her lip before nodding. debbie pulls him into a hug before leaving the room to go upstairs. mark feels tears well up in his eyes, seeing the disappointment in his mom’s eyes.

“mark.” he looks over at his dad. “come here, son.” nolan pats the space next to him on the couch. mark hesitantly, moves to sit next to his father. “i sent your mother away because i needed to explain something to you. something she would never understand.” his father’s voice was low. mark swallows, trepidation building. “when i first met your mother, she had rejected me.” he sits back, “and i loved her more for it. everyday i would watch her, where she worked, where she lived, who she spent time with, everything, mark. i needed to know more about her, i wanted for her to be mine… i was-” nolan barks out a laugh, “i was willing to take her away from everything if she would’ve rejected me again.” he looks over at mark, “fortunately for all of us, your mom agreed for a date and now… here we are.” nolan smiles, wistfully. mark stays silent, processing everything. nolan pats his son on the knee, “what i’m trying to say, son, is that what you’re doing is normal. you are my son, of course you could love like i do.” nolan ruffles mark’s hair before standing up.

“but mom-”

“what your mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her, mark. and what (y/n) doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”

i made up that nolan did all that, but like…. who would be surprised if he actually did lol

anyway, nolan highkey made mark worse becuz why would u say all that, man… (i made him say it but that’s beside the point)

mark doesn’t even have his own place yet, so kidnapping is off the table and with papa nolan in space, he knows debbie won’t be down for him bringing back a gagged you lol

if ur single, he’ll just push and push and push until you’re like omg fine ill go on a date with you

he’ll do everything right just so you won’t think about not dating him

he doesn’t want to tell you that he’s invincible but if it means you’ll trust him to protect you, he’ll do tell u

he’s very very very overprotective

if you’re in danger… everybodys dying he does not gaf

if ur in a relationship, ur partner’s going missing… sorry to them but mark will swoop in while you’re grieving and then bam somehow you guys are dating

he would never hurt you, but he would hurt other people to get to you/make you realize you’ll never escape him

like father like son as they say

anyway some quickie thoughts about invincible war before we move on

the moment those unhinged freaks stepped foot into this universe, they’re gonna find you

similar to that moment in the show where the burned looking mark when home to fake-cry to kill debbie, smth like that except they show up and take you with them

anyway i have similar thoughts but mostly about omni-mark and the other freaked up mark #needthatbad

they’re sooo obsessed with u but its hard to give a generalized behavior headcanon cuz each of my freaks are so different

also before i go, i wanna go back to when i said he’s very emotionally intense

he’ll twist your words and make you feel bad for rejecting him/not listening to him

mark would def use his fears to make you do what he wants

“mark, i need to get to class.” you try to pull yourself out of his grasp, but his hands go back around your waist. the two of you lay naked next to each other in your dorm after he had come back from patrol, you can see his suit peeking out from under the bed as you try to pull yourself away once more.

“(y/n), please don’t go.” you turn to look at your boyfriend, he pouts as he pulls you closer. he buries his head into your chest and you feel your face get hot.

“mark, i have to go to class. i’ve already missed 3 lectures because of you.” you push yourself away and off the bed. you feel his hand clasp onto yours. “mark.” you frown and look back, annoyed, when you see his tears. “oh my god, mark,” you immediately fold, holding him close.

“i just… i’m sorry i know you have to go to class, but i was so worried with everything that’s happening. i had- i had a nightmare i lost you.” his voice was thick as he held back his tears. he presses his lips against yours, rough and needy. you let him; your heart heavy as you feel the weight on his shoulders. “i can’t lose you, (y/n). you’re my… you’re my everything, i can’t survive without you.” you let him kiss you once more, letting him pour his love into you. soon, you find yourself wrapped up in his touch. his lips against every part of you, his hands caressing your skin, his voice whispering sweetly into your ears. you missed your classes once more as mark held you tight. “i won’t survive without you, (y/n)…” his voice lulls you back to sleep, “and i won’t let you leave me.”

[wordsofwhimsy]

♥ A Jealous Heart ♥

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

【Ａ/Ｎ】⦂ I’m working on the next, possibly final part of “Echoes of You” but had this idea and just needed to get it out

【ＰＡＩＲＩＮＧ】⦂ Variant!Mark Grayson x Reader

【ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧＳ】⦂ Mild violence, possessiveness

【ＩＮＳＰＩＲＡＴＩＯＮ】⦂ None

【Ｓｙｎｏｐｓｉｓ】⦂ This is based in a reality where these Variants are being allowed to stay in the Main Universe under the pretense that they start acting like real superheroes.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The park was peaceful, the hum of everyday life swirling around you as you leaned against a tree, relishing in the calm of the day. A warm breeze brushed against your skin, the sun beginning to dip lower in the sky. In your lap was a sketch pad, a half-drawn vision of the scene displayed before you reflected on the page.

A man who looked close enough to your age suddenly stepped into your view, his eyes landing on you as if he had a reason to smile. You’d barely registered his presence before he struck up a conversation. His voice was easy, warm, his tone light as he made small talk, asking about your drawing.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. After all, it was just a conversation, right? But as you glanced up, you couldn’t help but notice the way the guy smiled—like he was trying just a bit too hard to impress you.  

→ Viltrumite!Mark ←

Abruptly you became aware of a presence behind you, cold and unnerving, like the temperature had suddenly dropped. You didn’t need to look to know who it was. The calm sense of the park evaporating in an instant.

Mark’s voice, deep and almost too calm, cut through the soft noise around you. "Are you done with your little chat, or are you planning to make a day of it?"

The guy, caught off guard, paused mid-sentence and turned. His smile faltered at the sight of Mark standing there like a storm that had just rolled in. An uncomfortable tension fell over the area as the man’s posture stiffened, clearly unnerved by Mark’s piercing gaze.

“Who are you?” Mark’s voice was low, his words deliberate, each one carrying a weight that seemed to crush the air between you.

The guy stammered slightly, clearly not knowing what to make of the situation. "Uh... J-Jeff? I was just saying hi—"

"I heard," Mark interrupted, his tone sharp, almost predatory. “I didn’t realize you needed someone else to keep you company." His stare shifted to you now as he drifted closer, his eyes narrowing, no hint of humor in them. The guy shifted nervously, realizing he wasn’t welcome anymore, and gave a quick, awkward wave before backing away.

Mark didn’t even glance at him as he left. His eyes were fixed on you now—laser-focused, the fire of jealousy burning behind them.

“What were you talking about?” His question wasn’t one of curiosity, but a demand. A test.

You could see the storm in his eyes, the subtle tension in his jaw. The air around him was sweltering with something dark, something possessive. His usual calm, cool demeanor had cracked just enough to reveal that he wasn’t used to sharing, and certainly not when it came to you.

"It... was nothing," you started, unsure of how to respond. Mark wasn’t exactly the type of person to share. You’d seen his darker side before, but this? This was different. He was clearly struggling with something he wasn’t ready to admit.

He continued to move closer, his presence surrounding you, as if he wanted to make sure no one else could even get near you again. “No one gets to talk to you like that. Ever.” he muttered, the possessiveness behind his words was undeniable. Despite his attempt at maintaining a stoic façade, you couldn’t ignore the fact that you could see in him a need to control, to protect, to claim.

Mark was many things, but this jealousy—this possessiveness—was a staple to his personality. You weren’t sure if you should be scared, or if you should understand that for him, this was how he cared.

“Next time,” he said, his voice quiet, “let me know before you make friends with anyone else.”

→ No Goggles!Mark ←

Mark’s voice was abrupt and dripping with amusement, ringing through the air with a hint of something darker lurking beneath his words.

“Oh this is hilarious.” He was hovered behind the man just so, blocking all the sun from your eyes and casting him in a dark silhouette. “Look at this guy! He thinks he can just talk to you?” His tone was playful, but the smile on his face—if it could even be called a smile—was anything but kind. The guy you’d been talking to froze, a small bead of sweat forming on his forehead.

“Oh it is so cute,” Mark continued, his voice almost sing-song. “You really think you’re special! Ha-ha! That she would want to waste her time with you?” In a blink he was in front of the man, his head cocked to the side quizzically with a wide grin splayed across his face.

The guy shifted uneasily, trying to back off, but Mark followed him every centimeter he moved, his shadow casting a long, dark presence.

Mark tilted his head in the opposite direction, his eyes gleaming with something sickeningly playful, almost like a child toying with an animal it had trapped. “You know what I find amusing?” he said, his lips curling into a wicked smirk. “How weak you are! I mean, look at this—” Mark snatched the man by his arm, yanking him effortlessly into the air like a ragdoll. He laughed heartily, his free arm wrapping around his stomach as if he were going to bust from the humor. “Hilarious! You’re pathetic!”

“Mark!” you shouted, jumping to your feet. “Put him down!” Your voice made him falter in his actions, just for a moment, as he looked back at you. But then the man, whose hands were scrabbling against Mark’s vice-like grip, suddenly chimed in with,

“I—I didn’t mean anything by it! I was just—”

“Shut up.” Mark’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air like glass breaking. His eyes locked onto the man’s with a cruel, unblinking gaze. His grip tightened around his wrist, causing the man to cry out in pain. Without thinking you ran behind Mark and started pounding your fists into his back.

“I said put. Him. Down!”

Mark laughed, his eyes sparking with some type of twisted joy. “Wow! Maybe you are special!” he said, his tone laced with mocking sweetness. Yanking him towards him so their faces were only inches apart, he smiled wildly at him. “You hear her? Isn’t she such an angel? She’s your saving grace!” He paused, staring evenly at the stranger waiting to see if he would respond. After a few seconds of silence Mark’s grin faltered into a hard line, a hint of fury building behind his eyes.

Mark flung the man to the ground carelessly, commanding, “Don’t be ungrateful. Say thank you.” Clamoring to get himself to his knees, the man’s eyes glanced between Mark and you. Before you could get another word out in the man’s defense, Mark commanded, “Do it. Kiss her feet! She just saved your life.”

The guy’s face went pale, tears he probably didn’t even realize he was crying falling freely from his eyes. “T-Thank you!” he stuttered, bending forward to kiss rapidly at your toes. Despite this being what he asked for, something about the sight infuriated Mark. Noticing his shift in demeanor you quickly leaned forward and grabbed the man by his arms, urging him to his feet.

“Just get out of here, okay?!” He looked into your eyes for a second before glancing over to Mark. “Go!” you barked, and thank god he listened, turning and running shakily in the same direction he’d came.

Mark's gaze locked on you now, his smile of cruel satisfaction back in place. He leaned in, his voice low, dripping with playful menace. “You know I like what you did back there.” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing towards his back. His eyes were wide with excitement as he said, “Think you can hit me harder next time?” You shook your head at him incredulously.

“You are such a freak Mark.”

“Ha! You think so?” Abruptly he had you gripped by your jaw, tilting your face up towards his. "I’ll be a lot worse than that over you.” You swallowed, knowing full well how true that statement was.

→ Mohawk!Mark ←

A sudden sonic boom made you gasp in shock as the man was snatched into the air, Mark having appeared seemingly from thin air and grabbing him by the collar. Mark’s voice cut like a knife, high-pitched with mockery, but with a dark undertone. “Oh, this is rich,” he drawled. “A pathetic little worm thinking he can talk to you.”

The stranger’s eyes widened in panic as he scrambled against Mark’s grip, his voice breaking. “P-Please, I-I didn’t know—”

Mark laughed—a harsh, cruel sound. “Do you think I care?” He tilted his head, the mockery in his eyes growing as he stared the man down. The man’s eyes began to tear up, his face flushing red with embarrassment and fear. His breath became rapid, his hands trembling as he tried to beg Mark to let him go.

And Mark? He reveled in it. The tears. The fear. The weakness.

“Oh my god,” Mark cackled, his grip tightening slightly just to make the man squirm. “Look at you! Look at you crying like a little baby.” His voice was high and mocking, filled with cruel amusement. “Did you really think she’d even look at you? You’re not even worth the dirt beneath her shoes, you sad little thing.”

The man, unable to hold it in any longer, sobbed out loud, his hands clawing at Mark’s arm as he tried to free himself, his tears streaming down his face.

Mark’s laughter grew louder, more unhinged. “Oh my god,” he repeated, his eyes sparkling with dark delight. “I can't believe it. You're actually crying.” He leaned in close to the man, his breath cold against his face. “You’re so weak it’s almost funny. I could break you with one hand and you’d still be begging for mercy.”

“That’s enough,” you spoke sternly, fists clenched tightly in annoyance around your pencil.

He dropped the man to the ground with a rough shove, the stranger falling to his knees, gasping for breath as tears continued to fall. Mark looked down at the sobbing mess of a man, his eyes gleaming with delight as he took in the scene. His lips twisted into a cruel smile as he let out a laugh, almost like an apology as he glanced at you. "Sorry! I just can’t help myself," he chuckled, his voice dripping with wicked amusement. “But I mean, look at him! He’s crying like a little baby. It’s too good!”

He turned to you, that same predatory gleam still alive in his eyes. His smile softened just enough to look like he was making a concession, but the enjoyment didn’t leave his face. You stared evenly back at him, the irritation evident on your features. "You’re supposed to be a good guy now, remember?"

Mark let out another laugh, this time a little louder, and shrugged with mock sincerity. "I know, I know," he said, tossing his hands up in admission. "I should be better. But when it comes to you?" He leaned in closer, his voice low and dark with unyielding confidence. "Things are always going to be different."

His eyes gleamed with a twisted possessiveness as he studied you, as if daring you to argue. “Isn't it a man's job to protect what's his?”

The man on the ground was still sniffling, tears streaking down his face, but Mark didn’t even spare him another glance. He was already lost to him, just another insignificant speck of dust.

Mark’s fingers brushed your cheek, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I might play the hero for the world, but for you? I’m something else entirely. Don’t forget that."

[creatingblackcharacters]

hello! i’m kind of looking for some advice from you or anyone who might have dealt with the same thing. i’ve always been outspoken about racism that i’ve faced irl and online and i’ve had some non-black friends that have always supported me in messages and listened or were open to hearing me when i talked about things they’ve done or said that have made me uncomfortable. but i’ve taken a step back and noticed that i’ve been saying the same things over and over to them with no real change in behavior. a particular instance was after several times of mentioning a specific author and their racism made me uncomfortable, they were still laughing and promoting and fawning over said author with a vague “i know some people don’t like this.” and when i mentioned it, and being tired of feeling like a resource more than a friend at times, i was ghosted.

i see them sometimes on here or insta or wherever else and they’re always boasting about being so progressive and standing on business and how they can’t be friends with people who don’t support BLM or Palestine. and i wonder if they care or ever really cared about these issues or if it’s all performative. i think they think they care but then if they do then why wouldn’t they care when it came to me? or they’ll make posts about how white shouldn’t be the default in fandom, and get tons of praise and people flock to it but when i said the same, nobody said anything.

it feels like i’m only good to privately teach non-black people how to not be racist so they can post about it and be applauded. and it feels lonely, like i have to wait and sus out everyone’s intentions when they talk to me to see if they actually care about me or these issues. and even then, there were people that i really thought did care and they didn’t. or maybe it’s me and the way i’m approaching things but there’s only so many ways i can politely say this thing is racist and it hurts to see people i thought cared about me praise it in front of me. and i shouldn’t have to be polite about it after several times but then i’m a bitch if i’m stern about it. it’s like i can never win, there’s nothing i can do, and i don’t ever want to stop trying or not say something but it feels so lonely. and obv i know they aren’t worth getting upset over but at the same time i felt close to some of these people and was vulnerable with them and it sucks that i’ve lost what i thought were real, in some cases years long, friendships while they just continue on like nothing’s changed.

and it’s like how do you come to terms with that? that you’ll never be friends with those people again? that you never were friends with them? how do you get over the anger at seeing them come here and get thousands of likes for saying a basic “white isn’t the default” when you get called slurs and threatened for the saying the same thing?

I feel bad that I don't have any uplifting words to give you, because I go through the same thing. Just did, yesterday, that lil painful reminder that some people that you were once or want to be close with... Will pick antiblackness for the sake of entertainment over you. Or will support someone else for saying or doing the SAME thing you did (from fandom to politics!), because it's safer to support them doing those things than it is to support a Black person doing them. It's annoying ASF.

Unfortunately, I've grown jaded, recognizing that I don't have the ability to have as many friends as I'd like on this website because supporting actual Black people is far harder than just reblogging posts that look progressive from safe nonblack people who- like them- understand the safety net of being able to back out at any time, that there is always Something that will be worth more than their support for you.

And so I go into this basically expecting that you simply cannot trust that most people will not find that thing, and move accordingly. Protect your heart. My rule is that if I see you reblogging nonblack people (fandom or politics) on Black topics or Black images and characters, but you are never around Real Black People (except when you want something), you are probably not to be trusted as an ally, and I won't be disappointed nor invested when you inevitably aren't. You have not shown to me that you actually care about me as a real person, but as a concept, a Barbie doll, that makes you look and feel "better". I am not your Negro!

It helps that I've (mostly) surrounded myself with people who DO reach that (basic, imo!) standard of being able to stand up for their own rights, but also standing up for mine at the same time. These are people I've seen in the trenches with me and mine, building that solidarity and actually platforming Black voices and activists and bloggers even though they know that being pro-Black often inspires anger and disgust within their own community. I also surround myself with other Black people; it's far less lonely and more empowering to know you're not alone or making it up.

And for me, dare I say it- and I know it's hard- but I think that anger is good. You should be angry. You have every right to be angry. I'm not sure I ever want to become complacent with such a feeling, because that means I've stopped fighting. But I wouldn't let that anger be all there is. You see they're on bullshit, why should they be allowed to also be comfortable within it? Keep shaking the walls. 👍🏾

[fluentmoviequoter]

The People You Deserve

Pairing: father figure!Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader (found family/platonic)

Summary: While training as a rookie, you have a devastating argument with your parents. Tim realizes that you need someone - someone you deserve - and sets out to become that person for you.

Warnings: familial angst, verbal/emotional abuse, fluff and comfort, Smitty

Word Count: 3.9k+ words

A/N: heyyyy @nevereclipse I finally wrote another one of your marvelous Tim ideas🤭

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

Lucy gasps as Tim wraps his hand around her arm and yanks her around a corner.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice raised from surprise.

“Did she tell you anything?” he demands.

Lucy’s brows raise as she exclaims, “Who?!”

“My rookie!”

Tim releases Lucy’s arm before he steps back.

“No, she hasn’t said anything. What’s going on?”

Shaking his head, Tim answers, “I don’t know. She’s off, though.”

Tim’s eyes lift, and Lucy turns to follow his line of sight. You have your bag on one shoulder, and Tim’s on the other, talking to a fellow rookie as you walk toward the shops.

“She seems fine,” Lucy says.

Tim doesn’t reply, but he’s not convinced. He knows you better than Lucy does and he can tell that something is wrong. You’re tense; your shoulders are pulled toward your ears like you’re ready to either fight or flee. That isn’t your usual state, unlike Nolan’s new rookie, who has fought and fled while on patrol. Usually, you are the calm and prepared one, ready for anything. You’re distracted today, even if no one else sees it.

“Sorry for grabbing you,” Tim tells Lucy.

“No worries,” she replies. “You’re worried about your rookie, I get it. Although, I never got worried about by TO Bradford.”

Tim returns his eyes to her face to glare at her. “Don’t you have a job to do?”

“I was trying to before hashtag grumpy cop assaulted me.”

“Keep your voice down,” Tim hisses. “I apologized.”

“And I’ll never let you forget it.”

Lucy waves over her shoulder as she walks away. Tim thinks about you while he walks to the shop. You were wringing your fingers together when he first saw you this morning, and he did not miss your nearly invisible flinch when he first spoke to you. Whatever it is you’re bottling up inside has the potential to turn explosive, and Tim doesn’t want the blowout to impact himself or you. So, despite his usual approach and reputation for being a hard, unforgiving TO, Tim climbs into the driver’s seat and prepares to talk to you.

He fails almost immediately, however. Instead of starting a conversation, he sits in the driver’s seat and stares straight ahead. You run your finger along a stitch in your uniform pants, as silent as him.

“What’s going on?” he asks as the other shop pulls forward in the garage.

“Dispatch alerted to an active alarm on Wilshire,” you answer. “The map also shows heavy congestion-”

“No,” Tim interrupts. “What’s wrong? You’re off, and we’re not going out until I know you’re stable enough to do this job.”

You shift in the passenger seat, looking at the dashboard rather than your TO. “Nothing,” you lie.

“Not gonna cut it,” he replies. “Not today, not any day you put on that uniform.”

“Sir,” you begin.

He shakes his head, and you immediately silence.

“You know what happens when cops bottle up their emotions?” he asks.

“They explode,” you answer softly. “Almost always in the wrong place and on the wrong people.”

“Right. But it also slows their reaction times, clouds their judgement. If I got shot right now, boot, would you be able to save my life and catch the shooter?”

“Yes.”

Tim scoffs. Yet, he doesn’t argue. He believes you. Despite your distracted state and the clear signs that something is bothering you, you’re a good cop.

“Look, you need to talk to someone, get some of that weight off yourself,” Tim explains. “If not me, there’s a dozen certified therapists the department will pay for.”

“I don’t need a shrink,” you argue. “I’m fine.”

Tim turns in his seat, resting his left forearm on the steering wheel as he looks at you. You sigh, aware that Tim will keep you from patrolling until he knows you are okay.

“I’m just… My parents came over last night,” you explain. “It didn’t end well.”

His posture relaxes slightly, but Tim doesn’t respond or start acting like a cop again. He stays open toward you, inviting you to keep talking. On your first day at the LAPD, you never would have imagined you’d be having a heart-to-heart with Tim ‘break their spirits’ Bradford. You’ve mentioned your parents maybe twice in the time you’ve been a rookie, and every time, you could tell that Tim not only listened but that he understood.

“We were just supposed to have dinner and catch up,” you begin.

The Night Before

“Hey!” you greet, smiling as you open the door. “Come on in. It’s so good to see you both.”

“You too,” your mother replies, looking around your apartment.

“We could have met somewhere closer to home,” your father complains.

“This is my home,” you point out. Your brows pinch as you add, “And I had to work late, so I wanted to make sure I wasn’t keeping you waiting.”

“Work late writing tickets?” your mother scoffs. “Sounds like a miserable existence.”

“That’s not all I do. I really like my job.”

“Why are we here?” your father asks. “I know we didn’t just drive to this hood to hear about how great your job is. What do you need? Money?”

Your eyes widen in shock. Neither of your parents has ever been overly supportive. Still, you didn’t anticipate your invitation to have dinner together would lead to this.

“Money wouldn’t be a problem if you’d simply done as I asked,” your mother sighs, opening the fridge. She frowns and closes the door, then shudders.

“I don’t need anything,” you say. “I just wanted to have dinner, catch up, be a family.”

“You moved out, you’re an adult,” your father argues. “We don’t have to keep up this appearance.”

“Appearance?” you repeat incredulously. “I’m your daughter, we are a family. You’re supposed to come over because you love me, not because I’m an obligation to make you look like a good family man at the country club!”

“We’ve never been country club people,” your mother interjects. “Maybe if we hadn’t had a child to pay for.”

“That’s all I am to you? A bill? Something you have to pay for and travel fifteen apparently excruciating miles to see?”

“Maybe if you’d moved to Brentwood and gotten a real job,” your father begins. He trails off, leaving the insinuation hanging.

“Okay,” you murmur, clenching your hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “You don’t like my job, that’s fine. Let’s just have dinner and talk about something else.”

“Like your family?” your mother suggests. “Oh, wait.”

You swallow harshly, fighting to keep yourself from lashing out at them. “You’re right. This was a bad idea; you should just go.”

“You made us drive over here for nothing?” your father asks, his voice rising.

“You didn’t even want to come,” you point out.

“And you wonder why we’re so disappointed,” your mother muses.

“You’re disappointed because nothing makes you happy,” you defend. “You are miserable people, and you try to push it onto everyone around you!”

“We’re only miserable because of you!” your father yells.

He stands from the barstool at your kitchen island, pointing at you as you step back from him.

“You are a disgrace to our name and yet you insist on wearing it on a meaningless badge! So desperate to feel wanted that you ran to a job that takes anyone, no matter how underqualified or worthless.”

You clench your jaw, swallowing the tears threatening to spill. “Get out.”

“We’ll see who’s miserable when you don’t have our pocketbook to fall back on,” your mother says, failing to hide her smirk.

“Go,” you demand.

“Oh, yes!” your father yells as he opens the door. “Pretend to have the authority you want. Whatever makes you feel seen, just remember that sooner or later everyone will see the walking disappointment hiding beneath your façade of self-confidence.”

You slam the door behind him, pressing your hand against your stomach as your emotions fight within you.

You shrug as you conclude your story. “They left. I stayed up most of the night wondering if anything they said was true.”

Tim lets your statement hang between you for a moment. “They don’t deserve you,” he says.

You shake your head. “Not how it works.”

“It is,” Tim assures you. “You deserve more. You need people who support you, who understand you and why you do what you do. What you love– who you love matters and settling for people who don’t care enough to see that is not good for you.”

“Not good for me as a cop,” you agree, nodding. “Because my personal life affects my job performance.”

“Your parents are miserable people,” Tim says, agreeing with your point from last night. “They are terrible people who don’t deserve to be around you or see everything that you accomplish in life.”

Finally, you look up at Tim. He says it like someone who has had to cut someone off as if he has kept people from seeing him at his best because of how they treated him at his worst. You have some idea of his past, but the fact that Tim has lived through something similar makes you faster to trust him.

“And if I don’t have anybody?”

Tim shifts into Drive before he answers, “You’ll always have your TO.”

“That was stupid,” Tim chides as you return to the shop.

“He was getting away,” you reply.

“And you could have seriously injured yourself by stopping him like that.”

“But I didn’t.”

“Not this time.”

You nod and accept Tim’s correction. His teaching style has changed since he learned of your strained relationship with your parents. He still pushes you daily, teaches you in a way that works for you, and lets you apply everything he says and demonstrates, but he shows you that he supports you. His praises are few and far between, but they matter, and you never forget what he says when the praise does come.

Nearly a month after falling out with your parents, your phone chimes with a new message. It’s from your dad, and you delete it without reading it. Over the next few days, you get messages, emails, voicemails, and even a physical letter from the people who consider you a disappointment and an obligation. You ignore all of them, and because of Tim’s advice and support, you find that you don’t even care.

“You look tired,” he says after roll call.

“My phone rang around midnight and woke me up,” you admit. “Took a while to go back to sleep, but I got a few more hours.”

“Who called?”

“My dad.”

Tim tips his head to the side, and you shrug.

“I didn’t answer. I should probably just block his number, since he can’t seem to take the hint.”

“He’s called before?” Tim asks.

“He and my mom have both been trying to reach me for about a week. I don’t know why; I delete everything without looking at it. Shredded the letter they mailed… I hope there wasn’t cash in it.”

“Doubtful,” Tim replies. “Keep your phone on today.”

“Why?”

“TO’s orders.”

You roll your eyes and ignore Tim’s displeased hum. He’s become more than a TO over the last few weeks: he’s someone who supports you and understands you. Finding a father figure in Tim Bradford was the last thing you expected to happen as a rookie. The closer you get to graduation, the more thankful you are for it and for him.

After your third call of the day – a robbery gone wrong – your phone rings. Your dad's name flashes onto the screen, and Tim snatches it from your hand and answers it.

“Sergeant Tim Bradford speaking,” he says. “Yeah, she can’t talk right now… Because she doesn’t want to…”

He turns away from you so you don’t hear him say, “Stop trying to mend this bridge just to burn it again, because we both know that’s what you’re going to do. You can contact her, but if I hear one word about you stepping out of line again, I will throw you in jail, is that clear?”

Returning your phone, Tim says, “He should stop calling.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmur.

“You’re right. But someone needed to remind him that you’re not alone, and he can’t walk all over you.”

“Thank you.”

Tim nods, then remembers that you’re still on duty. “Get in the shop, boot.”

“Congratulations,” Tim says, passing you an unmarked envelope. “And with the highest score.”

“I owe you most of the credit,” you reply, smiling as you hold the letter to your chest. “I couldn’t have passed my exam without you, and everything you’ve done for me.”

“Yeah, you could have.”

“Ready?” Angela asks.

“For what?” you inquire.

“We’re taking you out to celebrate,” Tim replies. “Graduating from long sleeves is a big deal, and you deserve it.”

You step toward Tim, then hesitate. He seems to understand what you’re thinking. He sighs but raises his arms anyway. You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him tightly as you thank him again. Tim grunts dramatically when you collide with him, but he pats your back, and you suddenly understand what it’s like to be loved and cared about. You’re worth something, and Tim Bradford took it upon himself to show you.

“Alright, let’s go,” Angela urges, smiling at you. “If you want to invite anyone, we made reservations with extra room.”

“Can I invite my boyfriend?” you ask.

Angela looks past you to Tim, whose jaw drops. She recovers quickly and tells you they’d love to meet him, but Tim is still caught on the revelation that you have a boyfriend.

Looking over your shoulder, you ask, “Are you coming?”

Tim murmurs, “Yeah, yeah,” as he tries to think of every man you’ve ever mentioned or had an encounter with while he was nearby. “You said boyfriend?” he asks. “That’s new.”

“New-ish,” you admit.

Tim holds the door for you and Lucy, laughing together as you enter the restaurant. Your boyfriend replies with a text that he’s stuck at work and a promise to celebrate with you the following weekend.

“What’s his name?” Lucy inquires.

“Fin,” you answer.

“You’ve never mentioned him before,” Tim says, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

“Yes, I have. When we watched Lord of the Rings, I told you that the scene where Gandalf releases Theoden from Saruman’s control is his favorite.”

“Tim Bradford watched Lord of the Rings?” Angela asks. “With you?”

Pressing your lips together, you look at Tim with an apologetic grimace. He waves at you, dismissing the attention. Your movie nights aren’t a new occurrence, but they were meant to stay between you. Tim has become your family, and the time you spend with him outside work is incredibly special and dear to you. What you won’t tell Lucy or Angela, or anyone else, is that Tim is the father you always wanted. A man who can show you that you matter and you’re loved, even if it’s hard for him to express.

Over the last few months, you’ve become incredibly close with Tim, and you wouldn’t trade it for the world. He smiles at you when Aaron arrives, bearing a congratulations bouquet and a gift card to your favorite store.

“Thank you,” you whisper across the table. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Tim.”

He nods, but as your celebration continues, Tim mentally plans the following morning to include running a background check on this Fin you claim to love.

Tim exits Wade’s office with a sigh. The fugitive he’s been tasked with finding seems to be an expert at hiding. Your first week riding alone is going well, and Tim didn’t anticipate missing you quite so much.

“Timothy,” Angela calls. He looks up, and she waves him over. “I figured out why you couldn’t find your future son-in-law.”

“Excuse me?” Tim asks.

“Your rookie’s boyfriend,” she amends. “You didn’t know his full name. Fin is short for Fingon; apparently his dad also likes Lord of the Rings.”

Tim hesitates, then walks to her desk. “What’d you find?”

“He seems great,” she replies, smiling. “And get this: James knows his dad. He did some construction work around the community center a while back and they became friends. The whole family… they’re good people, Tim.”

“You know this for sure?” Tim asks.

“Nyla invited them over to dinner last night, we talked to him-"

“What?!” Tim demands.

“Kidding. But if James can vouch for the dad, and your rookie – who has great character judgement – for the son, then I’d say, yeah, they’re good people.”

Tim taps his knuckles against Angela’s desk, then sighs again. “Thanks, Lopez.”

“No problem. I hope I get to meet him first, though. If you scare away her boyfriend, you can kiss those movie nights goodbye and I for one would love an invite.”

Tim ignores Angela’s smile as he rolls his eyes. Walking away, he thinks only of you. Pulling his radio from his belt, he asks dispatch for your location.

Your boyfriend Fin knocks on Tim's door two months after meeting Tim and nearly nine months after he began dating you. You’re at your apartment, getting ready for your date, and unaware of your boyfriend’s plan or current location.

“Fin,” Tim says as he opens the door. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Fin assures him. “I’m here to talk to you, if you have a few minutes.”

Tim narrows his eyes but nods and lets him in regardless. Angela was (unfortunately) correct about Fin and his family. They are good people, and his parents treat you better than your own ever did. But not as well as Tim, you once confided in Lucy.

“Can I get you a drink or anything?” Tim asks, closing the door.

“No, thank you. I won’t take up too much of your time. I… I’m pretty old fashioned.”

Tim nods, and Fin slides his hand into his pocket. After pulling out a small, square box, he rests it on his palm and shows it to Tim.

“I want to propose,” Fin explains. “But I want your blessing. You are one of the most important people in her life; you care about her, and I do too. So, I want to know that you are okay with this before I do anything.”

Tim is a man of few words, but he’s rendered speechless by Fin’s words and the ring box before him.

“You love her?” Tim asks after a moment.

“More than anything.”

“And you know that if anything happened to her-”

“I would answer to you,” Fin finishes, beginning to smile. “Yes, sir.”

Tim sighs, then shakes his head. “Let me see the ring, since you’re proposing.”

Fin steps forward, raising his arms to hug Tim before he reconsiders. He stops and offers his hand, which Tim shakes firmly.

“I assume you have a plan to make it memorable,” Tim says. “I’d warn against boats of any kind.”

“I do have a plan. Maybe you’d be willing to spare a minute to go over it with me?”

Tim nods, welcoming Fin to have a seat. As he begins speaking, he says your name, and Kojo runs from the hallway, looking around.

“She’s not here, Kojo,” Tim calls. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Fin raises his brows as he reaches forward to pet Kojo. “I’m in the market for a ring bearer,” he tells Tim.

“I feel like half of the LAPD is out there,” you murmur, smoothing your hands over your dress.

“There’s no more than a third,” Tim says.

You smile but continue fidgeting. Tim stands, walks to your side, and pulls your hands into his.

“Breathe,” he encourages. “It’s your wedding day. It’s about you and Fin, not what Lucy or Angela or Smitty think.”

“Smitty came?” you ask, finally loosening up. “That’s amazing.”

“We all care about you. We want to see you happy.”

You open your mouth to thank Tim but instead, you wrap your arms tightly around him. He chuckles, then returns the hug, his hold warm and safe.

“It’s almost time,” Lucy says, knocking as she looks inside the door. “You ready?”

You nod. Stepping back, you loop your arm through Tim’s elbow and smile at him.

“I wouldn’t be here without you,” you confess as you walk toward the venue.

“Neither would I,” he admits. “And you look beautiful, if I forgot to say it before.”

“You did,” you reply playfully. “But Kojo told me, so it’s okay.”

Standing at the end of the aisle, you watch Kojo trot alongside Lucy. Having your friends in your wedding party, being surrounded by the people who mean the most to you – the people you deserve – is perfect. You don’t even realize your parents are absent as Tim leads you down the flower-petal-covered aisle and toward your forever.

You smile at Fin as you gently remove your arm from Tim’s. He inhales sharply when you turn toward him to thank him once more.

“Don’t,” you warn softly.

He smiles, but you can see tears welling in his eyes.

“No, no, no,” you urge. “If you cry, I’m going to lose it and nobody wants to see that.”

“I’m proud of you,” Tim says. “Everything that you’ve done, everything you’ve become, and all that you’ll accomplish in the future… You’re amazing.” He brushes his thumb under his eye, then smiles. “I never thought I’d love a boot.”

Your surprised laugh is silenced by Tim’s shoulder as you wrap your arms around him. The off-duty police officers behind you break into an excited round of applause, and you can hear Angela and Lucy yelling above everyone else.

Stepping back, you whisper, “I love you too.”

Tim looks at Fin and levels his expression. “I know where you live,” he says before he turns and takes his place on the front row.

“Are you crying?” Wesley asks under his breath.

“No,” Tim answers. “We’re outside, there’s dust.”

“Just reign in the waterworks for the first dance,” James interjects from behind Wesley.

“Shut up,” Tim says over his shoulder.

“Congratulations,” Wade says, catching you between dances at the reception. He slips you an envelope and explains, “Special delivery from your Mid-Wilshire family.”

Before you can reply, Smitty calls, “But I also got you a fondue maker, so if you’re picking favorites or a name for any future kids..,” he trails off, gesturing to himself before he returns to the dance floor.

You turn to watch him as he does the electric slide to a song that does not fit the dance, then laugh and return your attention to Wade.

“A fondue maker will be pretty hard to beat,” you muse. “Thank you. I owe so much to you. Thank you for giving me a family, and a job I love.”

“You deserve it all and more,” Wade assures you, laying his hand on your shoulder. “But Tim is glaring at me, so I’m going to go.”

You turn, but Tim is smiling when you meet his eyes.

“Your parents didn’t show,” he says.

“I didn’t invite them,” you murmur. “I sent the announcement, but not an invitation. My real family is here; you’re here.”

“Tell me they at least sent a gift.”

“A $2,000 Visa card in an unsigned Hallmark card that said Congratulations over a wedding cake.”

“Smitty can beat that,” Tim scoffs.

“He did. Fondue maker,” you reply, nodding.

“We got a fondue maker?” Fin asks, returning from a dance battle with Aaron.

You wrap your arm around him but look at Tim as you say, “We got a lot more than that.”

“You did good,” Tim responds. “Boot.”

[0wlettie]

sfw, dogboy!caleb thoughts cont. (pt. I, II), reader pov, gege usage, wc 1.4k

you were dumb to just leave like that. you knew that it was a bad idea to not say anything to caleb, but you just couldn’t take it anymore! the rolling pit of jealousy and anger in your gut forced you to act in the only way you knew how. by retreating into yourself; finding a quiet, calm spot for you to just be. there was a park nearby the school that you would occasionally sneak off to in the past, so you figured that spot was as good as any. and, when caleb inevitably noticed your absence, it would be easy for him to find you there. if you didn’t run into him on the way back home.

except, you didn’t expect there to be someone already there when you hopped over the short rail separating the park from the street. you freeze in your tracks when you notice someone hunched over at the bottom of the slide.

it’s a boy. wearing a high school uniform that’s slightly messy looking, tie missing and the first buttons of his shirt undone. he’s holding a cigarette in his hands, and his eyes flick over to you as he takes a drag of it. nerves settle heavy in your belly and you look at the ground rather than meet his gaze. you…this wasn’t apart of your plan. should you just, leave? it’s the smarter idea, considering the fact that you don’t know this person and you’re just a tiny little girl. but your feet are frozen to the ground, and you can feel the boy’s stare on you as the ambient noises filter in from the street.

‘what’s a little kid like you doing out here alone?’

you flinch when the boy speaks to you, and you struggle to say anything. when it’s clear that you won’t, you hear the boy let out a breathy laugh. you can’t help but compare it to caleb’s, in your mind. how the boy’s nasally chuckle doesn’t sound as nice to listen to as your gege’s.

‘cat got your tongue? aw, don’t be so scared. i don’t bite.’

you glance at the boy, blinking when you see the smile on his face. it’s not a forced expression, judging by the laugh lines you can just barely notice around the curve of his mouth and eyes. but still. there’s something ringing in your head, warning you against getting any closer. so you keep your eyes on him, tensing your body in case you need to make a break for it.

‘…you could. i don’t really know you.’ is all you end up saying, and despite how clipped your words come out, it seems to amuse the other boy. his smile grows wider, and the gleam in his eyes turn a bit more contemplative as he flicks ash to the ground. you flinch when he suddenly stands up, and that warning in your head gets louder when you realize how tall he is.

‘but you could get to know me, right? maybe we can be friends? i’m kai, by the way.’ you watch as the boy—kai—drops his cigarette on the ground, stomping on it absently as he keeps up that same smile. again. there’s nothing outwardly wrong with him. his eyes aren’t mean, the smile on his face is natural and even though he is smoking on a playground, there’s nothing menacing about him that should set you off. but, you still feel uneasy.

you’ve never really been around older boys before. after moving in with your grandma and being essentially shut out by other kids your age, you usually spent your time alone in your room. the only people you interacted with were adults—your grandma, the nice man who owns the bakery down the street, your teachers and the occasional cashier or passer by who nods hello to you and your grandma. so maybe being in the presence of someone other than that was making you nervous?

‘friends…?’ you ask, dubiously.

‘yea, i even introduced myself to you! we’re not complete strangers now, right?’

you nod slowly. well, he did have a point. you quietly tell him your own name, biting your lip when he repeats it back to you. grandma always calls you something sweet like ‘honey’ or ‘dearie’. caleb’s gotten it in his head to call you ‘pipsqueak’, as well as a whole bunch of other silly little nicknames when he’s trying to be playful. you’re not entirely sure if you like hearing kai use your full name like that, it’s honestly kind of weird.

‘okay then, since we’ve got our introductions outta the way, will you mind telling me what you’re doing here by yourself. you aren’t lost, are you?’

you purse your lips. it’s not like kai is trying to intimidate information out of you. neither is he being overtly strange or creepy. maybe you can tell him a little of the truth?

‘no, i’m not lost. just wanted to be alone, s’all.’ you mumble, eyes darting to the swing set you were initially going to hop on. it’s fun, being that high in the air. and the sky is always nice to look at when you just want to forget about things for a little while.

‘hm, i see. don’t you think it’s dangerous for you to be alone here, though?’

you shrug, looking back at the slightly worried set to kai’s face. you relax your tense shoulders after you look. it seems like a genuine expression, and maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to trust others when both caleb and grandma have done their best to warn you about strangers, but kai doesn’t seem like a bad person at all. you’re just, nervous, you guess. about being alone with someone other than your grandma or caleb. it’s only natural that you’re nerves would come off as suspicion. you think so, at least.

‘it’s not that big a deal, i don’t live very far so i’ll head back before it gets too dark.’ ‘or when gege inevitably finds me.’ you think.

‘well, how about i just sit here until you’re ready to leave. it’s not dangerous at this time of day, but i wouldn’t feel like a good guy just leaving a little girl by herself here.’ you blush at the smile he sends you, shyly returning it with a nod. you think the smile sits nicely on his face, but again, you can’t help but compare it to caleb’s. kai is clearly a few years older than caleb, but you still prefer his bright smile rather than the subdued one pointed towards you now. they’re both very nice to look at, though.

‘you can do whatever you want.’ you shrug, trying to ignore the heat rushing to your cheeks and keep your cool. you don’t think you come off as nonchalant as you think when kai laughs, but you pretend you don’t hear it as you get ready to head over to the swings. your eyes widen, however, when you catch sight of a familiar face rushing towards you. before you can say anything—maybe shout something to assure caleb that you’re fine and that he doesn’t need to look like that—he’s suddenly there. stepping in between you and kai, you get a quick glimpse of the tight almost painful looking smile on his face before he deliberately blocks the entirety of your body with his own. all you can see is his back, tail stiff and raised, his ears sharp and trained on kai ahead of him.

‘and who might you be, mister?’ caleb asks, though he sounds…off. like he’s trying to be friendly, but the notes fall flat. you swallow, but you shuffle forward to press against his back anyway. caleb is upset, you can see that, but he’d never turn you away…right? if you just explain, then maybe he can relax? maybe he can remove that awful expression on his face if you just tell him that kai isn’t a bad person or anything like that.

‘gege, it’s fine, he’s not trying to—‘ you attempt to peek around his arm, but he moves along with you; reaching a hand back to gently keep you behind him.

‘just let me handle this, okay?’ you press your lips together, wilting a little at the firmness to his voice. you mumble out your agreement, leaning against his back to hide your hot face. you feel stupid. you shouldn’t have left the library like you did. or maybe, you should’ve stayed somewhere closer to the school. caleb is clearly upset, and you hate that you caused him to be that way.

you just hope that he’s not too mad at you. you don’t know what you’d do with yourself if he was.

alright, that's the end of part three ! a bit of a different style to this, adding the reader's pov, but i think it's flows decently despite being a lil short. i won't put a time frame on part four, as unfortunately i'm gonna be juggling some other stuff along with this series, so until next time !!

as for those who wanted to be pinged! @thigh-o-saur, @asrasmysoulmate

feel free to lemme know if you also want to be tagged for this series i don't mind making it easier to keep up with updates !

edit: if you want to keep up with this story, i have no issues tagging ! but if you do follow me and you don’t have an age in your bio i will block you, i’m sorry but im an 18+ blog despite the fluff and i don’t want minors following me; adding this because i’ve seen an influx of people and i guess they didn’t realize i’ve got rules ;;; so please, have an age in bio or you will be blocked !!

[ariannabananasstuff]

okay yeah i know i said im taking some time off tumblr but i have a couple things to say, and no, im not a trans person. but i am someone who has been disheartened and shamed for who i am and stuff i cannot control.

what the actual hell is wrong with some people. in a fandom that prides itself with ‘inclusivity’ and all that this space is feeling more and more unlike that. people are becoming too comfortable saying things about others that they should NOT be saying and is so unbelievably MESSED UP? like do some people even think before they do things and relize how much it can effect a person?? do they stop and think ‘hey, wait a second, this could actually have some negative consequences and maybe i should keep this to myself?’ because what the HELL.

i’ve been seeing so many more pro jkr posts and are people really that oblivious to how much wrong she has done or do they genuinely not care?? because i personally can’t imagine that. don’t people understand ethical participation in fandom?? no ai??? don’t hate on ff authors?? i thought this was all COMMON KNOWLEDGE

but yeah, people wonder why so many trans creators are stepping down or taking time away from the marauders fandom. think about it. if you were someone trying to spread awareness and actually HELP MAKE A DIFFERENCE only for people to get so upset with you that they leak your fucking deadname,,, i don’t think you’d feel great either.

i hope you all know i have so many more words to fucking say but if i keep going im going to get aggressive (oh em gee if this upsets you are you going to leak my home address or something !! shut up. honestly.)

i’m not angry FOR you, i’m angry WITH you.

it will always be, and always has been, protect trans lives as robyn (ROBYN.) said.

[alphajocklover]

I loved the story you did the other day about making a deal with a devil. Could I make a deal with him? You see I’m a huge fan of Zeb Atlas and I want to be just like him. A huge muscular alpha gay male porn star. You think he’d be interested in doing that for me?

Oh thank god. I don’t want to be unprofessional but I’m really glad someone asked about this. Since my last post with Nick, the one where he helped me turn one guy into five by splitting his soul, Nick has been in a bit of trouble. Technically speaking a lot of what Nick does, hanging out with mortals, dating my Uncle, helping me with my work, is kind of frowned upon by the forces of Hell. Hell is not as strict as you might think, since their entire thing is sin and doing what they’re not supposed to, but there are some things that a devil isn’t supposed to do, and using their powers during anything but a deal is a big one. I think making another deal could definitely help smooth things over, especially since he's been so busy with helping me and has kind of neglected his work lately. There is a little problem with your request though. I, personally, try to avoid anything with celebrities in them, not because they don’t use magic or tf stuff, but since reporting on them can draw a little too much attention. However, you said you want to be LIKE Zeb Atlas, not that you wanted to be him or transform him in some way. Plus he is extremely hot, and he isn’t a super big mainstream celebrity, so I think I can get away with it. Let's turn you into a Zeb Atlas look alike!

See, my friend Nick isn’t just going to turn you into someone kind of like Zeb Atlas. For the price you’re paying, you’re going to be turned into an exact copy of Zeb Atlas. From the manly jawline and cocky smirk, to the huge biceps and sexy, almost shockingly wide shoulders, you’re going to practically be his twin. To be clear, you aren’t actually going to be his twin, you’re going to be his doppelganger. I know that sounds weird, but it’s actually weirdly common. A lot of people have doppelgangers, and while both doppelgangers being bodybuilding pornstars is a little unlikely, it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to ever happen. You won’t have a tattoo like he does, so you’ll have a few differences, but besides that the two of you are going to be almost identical. Even your personalities will be similar, and the same cocky, confident swagger he has will be in every move you make. The best part? You’ll actually get to meet Zeb! Two alpha males who work in porn, it only makes sense for you guys to do some scenes together. People love the ‘getting fucked by twins’ fantasy afterall. Even more, because of your similar personalities, you’ll spend time together outside of work. Soon Zeb Atlas and Zack Titan (thats your porn name) will be fucking inseparable. 

Of course there is a price to pay, and in this case it's going to be a pretty hefty one. You won’t have to give up your soul or anything, since Nick usually gets his souls indirectly, but you will still have to give him something. Two things actually. The first thing Nick wants is your original selves apartment. I can’t be sure why, but I assume it has to do with some sort of long game he’s playing. The second thing he wants? Your and Zeb’s autographs. It’s not everyday you meet the two greatest porn stars of all time.

**I don't usually do TFs that involve real people, even slightly, but I couldn't resist something this hot. Hope you guys like it (and that I dont have to take it down lol)**

[rivereverie]

Astarion and learned cruelty (spoilers)

As always, this is all just my interpretation of the character. Feel free to disagree. 

I love the writing choice to make Astarion genuinely immoral at first. They could have easily pulled the overdone trope of "I only pretend to be evil because I'm traumatized. I'm really just a sad little guy who wouldn’t hurt anyone". Now I do believe his behavior is a direct result of his trauma, but I'll get to that in a minute. The point is that he does genuinely relish in violence, although his actions will be swayed by whichever moral direction the player decides to go. But he does enjoy combat, spilling blood, and even some more cruel and unusual things. However, what makes this so compelling and narratively rich is that this is a learned mindset.

I think that a lot of people don't acknowledge that going into act 1, Astarion has just come out of a situation where he was quite literally forced to participate in horrific crimes, with severe consequences if he refused. That absolutely does not excuse the fact that he's okay with if not outright enthusiastic about murder, but we do see that he was not always this way (e.g., he tried at least once to let a target go because he couldn't bring himself to take them to Cazador). I just think it's worth acknowledging that that mindset was the product of centuries of torment and active overt and covert conditioning. He became who Cazador wanted him to be; who he had to be in order to survive. Astarion and Karlach are two sides of a coin in this regard, in that they represent opposite responses to trauma and loss of autonomy. Karlach was forced into martial servitude, which in my opinion explains why she's still kind of bloodthirsty even though she's such a good and kind person bent on protecting others. She's shaped by the role she was forced into, and it's the same with Astarion. Again, not to say he isn't morally dubious, but there's a big difference between someone evil and someone who was never allowed to be "good" suddenly being thrust back into freedom and forced to figure things out.

To a degree, I do also think that his over-the-top declarations of his love for violence are another piece of his mask. Just like with his feigned hedonism and sexual forwardness, he's trying to hold power over people by controlling their perception of him (as well as his own self-perception). He's holding a big sign that says "I'm selfish and evil, and you shouldn't like me unless you are too", when really he's not anywhere near as selfish and evil as he pretends to be. He does this in part to keep people at arm's length, but also to convince himself; to craft his own reality wherein he is the person he needs to be to get through this situation. His worldview has been warped to see domination and control as synonymous with strength, and so he's being strong in the way he knows how. As the story progresses with a good player on his side, he's beginning to learn how to be something better. And that's why it takes time: because he's unlearning 200 years of conditioning and survival instincts.

It's worth talking about that it's not unheard of for abusers to force victims to participate in the abuse of others. I think that representing that experience in this game is important and valuable. We should all walk the line between holding these kinds of survivors accountable for what is appropriate, and to offer them oceans of understanding and empathy for them over what they were forced into. Even if Astarion weren't magically forced to do Cazador's bidding, I hope that we all could still understand the power that abusers hold over their victims, empathize with him, and see that those actions were an extension of Cazador, not himself.

Official D&D definitions of "evil" aside, I don't think he's ever truly evil unless he goes down the evil route with the player and/or ascends (Ascended Astarion is a whole other can of worms I’m not going to get into in this post). By the end of the spawn storyline, Astarion does have a lot more concern and care for others, and most importantly, he takes responsibility. To me, that shows profound strength and goodness. He's never a saint, but in my opinion he's never really evil, either. He's still learning how to live in a world where he doesn't need to be cruel in order to survive. 

Concerning the early access backstory about him being a "corrupt magistrate", it's up to the individual how to headcanon that information. Personally, I think he was probably a little self-interested, but not evil by any means. I think he was probably just a pretty normal person before Cazador, not predisposed to cruelty.

In summary, I think it’s important to talk about what makes people “bad”, especially in the context of the cycle of abuse and victimization. In Astarion’s case, much of his taste for cruelty came from implicit conditioning over his years of being forced to hurt others. There are a number of lines from him during the dungeon/crypt sequence where he keeps insisting, defensively and desperately, that he didn’t have a choice in bringing victims back to Cazador. That it was all on his orders and he couldn’t say no. This might come across to some as him trying to shirk blame, but the thing is… he’s right. He didn't have a choice, other than death, but I think Cazador would deny him even that. He wanted to make his spawn into obedient tools, but also to break them. To make them an extension of his own monstrous cruelty. But in the end, Astarion takes responsibility as best he can, and begins to forgive himself for being a part of Cazador’s evil. This is part of what makes the line “I am so much more than what you made me” so powerful.

[ssentimentals]

hi baby! i’m a new follower here and i don’t know if you’re still doing the prompt game but i would absolutely loveeee 17 and 25 with seungcheol please :)

hi love! welcome-welcome :') prompt game is still ongoing, thank you for requesting, hopefully you will like it!💜

prompt: 'tending to an injury/wound/illness' + showing up injured at the enemy's house'

'what the fuck?' you mumble when someone starts banging at your door at - you squint at numbers on your laptop screen - at two freaking am.

there are lots of things you expected to see when you open that door. maybe some neighbor kids pulling a joke, a delivery guy who got here by mistake - not seungcheol, who's clutching at his left side, trying to stop the bleeding. your grip on the knife that you managed to grab on your way tightens and you repeat again, louder this time: 'what the fuck?'

seungcheol glances at the knife in your hands and weakly chuckles: 'you're late for that,' he mutters and lets presses harder on the wound. 'already got stabbed.'

you squint at him. there are millions questions on the tip of your tongue but what comes out first is: 'what the fuck are you doing here?' and it's a valid question, because you and cheol are enemies. you work for different people, you gather data on one another, you set up traps for his team and he tries to gain the upperhand on yours.

'i just need-' he pauses, wincing at the pain. he looks pale and worn out and his voice shakes a little as he continues: 'just- twenty minutes. that's all i need. rest up and i'll go. they won't find me here.'

accepting a guy in your house who is a) your enemy, b) has people looking for him and c) is injured, is not a smart move. but the more he stands there, the higher is the risk of someone else noticing and you doubt that he can go back on his own legs, so: 'get in, asshole.'

you push him towards the bathroom, cringing at the metallic smell of blood that fills your nose as soon as he takes off his coat and gets rid of his t-shirt. the cut is not very deep to be extremely risk for his health, but it's still a cut deep enough for- 'you're staining my carpet with your blood.'

seungcheol looks down and huffs, rolling his eyes. 'i'll buy you new one.'

you hand him soap and point towards the bath: 'get undressed and wash that wound in the bathtub. i'll come back with bandages and antiseptic.' you look him over and add: 'don't die in my bathtub.'

'bossy,' seungcheol notes but it's clear how he's barely holding himself upright. 'gonna stay here while i'm undressing?'

you should've never let him in. but people say that best defense is attack, so: 'why? do you want me to?'

seungcheol reaches for his belt, pauses and looks up at you. 'yeah. maybe then you'll like me.'

you both freeze. the way he said it - the tone - was different. not the usual teasing or rude comments, but something serious, something.. sincere. 'i won't like you,' you mutter, puzzled.

'won't? or can't?' seungcheol asks in a quiet whisper.

it's too much. an unknown territory for you that you're afraid to breach. without saying anything you walk out to get bandages and antiseptic, not noticing how seungcheol looks at you with longing that only a person who loves someone he can't have feels. and he knows it's complicated; it's the story as old as time itself - star crossed lovers who are doomed for tragedy. but when he climbs into the bathtub and tries his best to wash the wound carefully, he can't help but hope. because you let him - that has to mean something, right? you help him - that has to mean something. and maybe with enough effort seungcheol can make that turn into something beautiful, not tragic.

a/n: cheollie is so popular for requests lately, i hope i'm managing to keep up with everyone's expectations :/ hope you liked it! - nini

request your own here

my other seventeen work is here

[itsabouttimex2]

Do you think that Tang Sanzang was abusive? I see it in the fandom a lot and it’s pretty contentious

The reason people think that LMK!Sanzang is abusive is because the circlet makes no sense outside the context of Sun Wukong being a borderline supervillain, and using a heavenly restraining bolt (That’s putting it kindly, of course. There’s been comparisons to shock collars, which are unflattering but not entirely unfair. Still, let’s be fair to the intention and not simply the execution of the circlet- it was to keep Wukong from murdering people/running away from the journey.) on someone who has already been punished for his wrongdoings for five full centuries is excessive as best, viciously petty at worst.

Outside of the context of Sun Wukong being a borderline supervillain, I’ll repeat.

I’m going to level right here- I think that in the book, the circlet was entirely justified, and that calling Sanzang an abuser for that is silly. But LMK is not the book, and I think it’s also silly to try and use JTTW-specific writing when people are talking about LMK. What Book!Sun Wukong is not what Show!Sun Wukong did, because the two of them are different characters in different stories. Not only that, but the tone and genre of those stories are wildly different, and I’m so tired of people being willfully ignorant to the fact that LMK is a divergent adaptation.

To start: Sun Wukong did nothing to earn the circlet.

Not in the form of “Sun Wukong has never done anything wrong ever in his life!” but really more so in the form of “Does anything in that picture up above seem wrong to you?”

And if there is something that seems off… good job! You’ve noticed a critical change from book to show!

Among the LMK fandom there’s this misconception that Wukong got the circlet because he assaulted Heaven and tried to take it over, but… no. His punishment for that was being locked under Five Phases Mountain, and then when he was released under the premise of guiding Sanzang, that was it. Punishment over. So, what did Wukong do to “earn” his collaring?

One- Smash a non-threatening tiger’s head into pulp and skin it right in front of Sanzang, then string the fur around himself.

Two- round up six people who are currently not a threat to him and beat them all to death in front of his new master.

Three- admit to his master’s face that he honestly doesn’t even remember how many people he’s killed through his life, without a speck of shame or remorse.

Four: Throw a fit and run away to sulk. I’m not fucking with you- it takes being lectured of all ONE time before he quits and gives up on self-betterment, and has to be talked into rejoining by a draconic king.

In Journey To The West, the Monkey King, well- he’s not that great of a person. In fact, he’s pretty damn bad. And he’s quite blunt about it, too. Old Sun really likes to talk in great detail about how many people he’s killed, eaten, and in general just been an absolute menace to. JTTW!Sun Wukong saw that he needed to convince his master that the girl (actually the White Bone Spirit) he killed was a demon in disguise and decided that the best way to do it was… to level out how many times he had murdered people by transforming into enticing forms.

(Source for content and translation.)

Not a good look for you, buddy.

Under the context of Sun Wukong being able, willing, and quick to murder indiscriminately, oftentimes without explanation or even giving a second thought to alternative options, the circlet as a safeguard makes sense, and Sanzang seems rational to turn to using it because not only is there not really anything else he can do, but because we get to see the Monkey King acting like someone who needs a torture circlet to keep him in check, we give him more slack for doing it.

That’s important!

If (Char A) is going to string (Char B) up with a divine shock collar but still be someone we sympathize and agree with, then (Char A) needs to have a very good reason to do it.

JTTW!Sun Wukong has that reason.

He kills people. He kills people for fun, for food, for pissing him off, for causing him trouble.

But LMK!Sun Wukong is not a killer, he’s not a cannibal, and he’s certainly not the threat that his book counterpart ever was.

When this doesn’t earn you a collar?

When butchering and serving up mortals to a horde of hungry demons more than a mile long doesn’t get you the collar, but leading a bloodless siege on Heaven does?

And speaking of blood!

Here is only one shot of the literal mountains of death that Sha Wujing built! He murdered hundreds, maybe thousands of people! And he was still going for more!

When this doesn’t get you a collar? When murder and butchery and the eating of mortals doesn’t get you a collar? When mountains of death don’t get you a collar?

But this does?

Well. That makes Heaven seem a little less reasonable.

Now, this isn’t me saying Wukong should’ve been let off the hook for trying to take over an entire realm, nor be given an immediate pass for ransacking the heavens! He caused trouble, stole things, and made a mess of the whole place! And then he led a siege against it!

No, this is me saying that the writing has accidentally predisposed the audience to think of the Celestial Realm as sort of. Well. Biased to themselves. And that could work, if the show was willing to explore it!

Is a realm’s first duty to itself, regardless of how bad things are down below? It is just incredibly hard to maintain protection of a mortal realm when it’s so much wider and more expansive than their own? Do they question if deities should even be expected to involve themselves in the lives of mortals? Do they think it’s wrong to interfere in mortal affairs? Is there a vague non-interference clause to prevent both good and evil from tipping the scales? Do they literally just not have time to help more than by the bare minimum because their heavenly duties keep them busy?

That sort of exploration could easily lean to people sympathizing with them; and thus by extension the very monk who carries out their will by journeying with his disciples, but they don’t.

In general the Celestial Realm is entirely predisposed to their own (mostly) idyllic happenings, and every time we go there it’s populated with generic armored jobbers or copy-pasted background NPCs… when it’s not gapingly empty and bare.

When the Celestial Realm legitimately is incompetent, faceless, empty, and weak? It accidentally lends sympathy to the Azure Lion’s cause by kind of… proving him right?

So not only does the Brotherhood’s act of rebellion seem less bad by manner of nearly emptying the Celestial Realm of competent/sympathetic figures, it also seems almost justified. All we ever see these guys do is stuff their faces, lose their fights, stand around doing nothing, or fuck around in heavenly leisure while the realm below is inundated with demonic threats that they never interfere to help with!

If it hadn’t been for the “Actually Azure was delusional all along and also the Jade Emperor’s power isn’t made for him!!” twist then really, what exactly is so bad about someone saying “This realm has lounged in luxury long enough!” and then deciding to take it over to help the little guys who are getting eaten by the dozens?

(I mean, just take Azure and replace him with someone like MK, with the same justification and goal, and you can imagine a lot of the fanbase agreeing, right?)

(Even Nezha, much as I adore him, only gets involved when his realm is involved first, not out of the desire to protect innocent life!)

So, when you cut away almost all of the bad things that Sun Wukong has done, accidentally make the rebellion he was partaking in seem legitimately fair by making the target incompetent, strip away the methods by which Wukong establishes his character to Sanzang that justify his willingness to use a divine implement of torture, make two of his brothers worse in comparison without giving them equal methods of restraint?

Well. The intention might not have been for him to be abusive, and I think intentions are important to keep in mind!

This is clearly not meant to be a victim of abuse. Sun Wukong’s love for his master and brothers is played entirely straight. He’s supposed to be uplifted and bettered by his relationship with them. He adores and loves and misses them.

But it’s not wrong to feel iffy about the execution, either.

Because the writers did take out all the justification behind Wukong getting his circlet. They did have Sanzang snap the circlet onto Wukong before the monkey got a chance to make any mistakes, essentially stringing him from one punishment into the next without giving him a chance to see that the first punishment has changed or helped him grow. They did make his brothers far more violent and deadly than him and not address that.

And it’s not wrong to have a worse view of Tang Sanzang as a result of that! It’s not wrong to have a negative perspective of the monk when you look at his actions from an LMK perspective, because LMK!Sanzang is NOT the same as JTTW!Sanzang, and he simply does not have the same justifications behind his actions that the book version does.

I don’t think he was abusive, at least. But I also wouldn’t blame someone for having a negative view of him.

TLDR: Intentions good, execution somewhat iffy.

[tenessee-walker]

Hi, I love your writing!!

Could we get some hc of Arthur and a reader who is trying to join the women’s suffrage movement?

WAITTT I LOVE THIS

feminist!arthur who, when you tell him you want to be a suffragette, just nods real slow and goes, “Well, reckon that makes sense. Ain’t no reason you oughta be treated lesser just ‘cause you’re a woman.”

feminist!arthur who listens real close when you talk about women’s rights, arms crossed, nodding along, asking questions like, “So they just ain’t lettin’ y’all vote? That’s damn stupid.”

feminist!arthur who absolutely marches with you because “Well, if it’s important to ya, then it’s important to me.” He doesn’t even hesitate—just throws on his hat, adjusts his gun belt, and mutters, “Alright, let’s go raise some hell.”

feminist!arthur who somehow ends up leading a whole group of little girls marching for education rights. Like, he’s just walking along, and suddenly these kids start following him, holding little signs, chanting, “We want schools!” and Arthur’s just going with it.

feminist!arthur who has the tiniest girl holding his hand as she marches beside him, looking up at him like he’s her personal hero. And he just looks down at her, gives her a little nod, and murmurs, “You’re doin’ real good, sweetheart.”

feminist!arthur who lowkey tears up when he sees all these women and girls standing up for themselves. He’s watching you hold your sign high, shouting with all your might, and he just smiles real soft, muttering, “Damn proud of ya, darlin’.”

feminist!arthur who absolutely decks a guy when some drunk idiot starts harassing you and the other suffragettes. He tries to be civil at first, but when the guy spits out, “Women belong at home!” Arthur punches him so hard he hits the ground. (GOODNIGHT, SIR.)

feminist!arthur who gets so many compliments from the ladies at the march. You hear whispers like, “Now, that’s a real man,” and Arthur just grins, tipping his hat all polite, but later he leans down to murmur in your ear, “You hear that, sweetheart? I’m a real man.”

feminist!arthur who, after the march, sits down with all the little girls, helping them with their protest signs, listening real close as they talk about what they wanna be when they grow up. One says she wants to be a doctor, and Arthur just nods and goes, “Yeah, reckon you’d be real good at that.”

feminist!arthur who, when you tease him about being the toughest cowboy in a sea of suffragettes and little girls, just smirks and goes, “Well, someone’s gotta keep y’all safe while you’re out here causin’ trouble.” (HE LOVES IT AND YOU KNOW IT.)

feminist!arthur who, at the end of the day, just pulls you close, presses a kiss to your forehead, and murmurs, “Ain’t nobody in this world braver than you, darlin’. Proud to stand by ya.” 

[cece693]

Here goes out the finest dilf of all time (or at least in the twilight universe)—Charlie swan!!! I couldn't stop thinking about writing something for him and this idea came suddenly to me. Never was a Renee fan so this is going to bash her character immensely. Hope you enjoy!

Day Before the Wedding

pairing: charlie swan x gender neutral reader tags: Renee is a dick, Bella and Charlie are awesome, you're a cullen, not specified if you're human or a vampire, but in my head you are a vamp, green doesn't look good on Renee, Charlie getting his happily ever after :)

It happens at twilight, that slow drift of evening light stretching across the sky as you linger in the living room of the Swan household. The final touches for tomorrow’s wedding are in place—flowers tucked into vases, rows of chairs set out in the backyard, and the delicate swirl of ribbons hanging from the porch. You’d expected a hush of satisfaction to fill the house, a sense of calm before the celebration. Instead, a quiet tension hangs in the air.

The source is no mystery: Renee.

She’d arrived in Forks only a few days prior. Though your instincts bristled at the idea—her history with Charlie is…complicated—you encouraged him to extend an invitation anyway. After all, she’s still Bella’s mother, and you wanted to show good will and maturity. We’re all family in some sense, you told yourself.

But over the last few days, you’ve seen that courtesy returned with thinly veiled resentment. Jealousy. She’s not only upset that Charlie found happiness without her; it stings her pride to see him with someone better, someone from the Cullen family—a name practically synonymous with wealth, good looks, and that uncanny aura of perfection. Bella’s acceptance of you (not minding the fact she was also dating one certain Cullen boy) only poured salt in the wound.

Now, on the last evening before your wedding, it’s come to a head.

You’re in the living room, adjusting a loose piece of ribbon on one of the floral arrangements, when you hear raised voices in the kitchen. “You just can’t wait to rub this in my face, can you? Inviting me here, of all places. Picturing me watching while you marry someone from that Cullen family—Bella’s been practically adopted by them!”

“Renee,” Charlie warned, trying to keep his voice calm. “I invited you here because you’re Bella’s mother and because, once long ago, I loved you. I want to share my happiness—”

“Oh, you’re happy, all right. Happier than you ever were with me! And I’m supposed to just smile?”

Bella’s voice, tense but controlled: “Mom, this is ridiculous.”

Renee’s voice, pitched higher: “You don’t get it, Bella. You never do.”

A muffled response, then the sound of something bumping—a chair or a cabinet. Concern prickles at your chest. Setting the ribbons aside, you hurry into the kitchen to find Charlie, his face drawn tight with worry, standing between Bella and Renee. The two women glare at each other as if the slightest spark would set them off. When Renee sees you in the doorway, her expression sours further, eyes flicking to the ring on your finger. “And here they come. Perfect.”

“Mom, stop acting like Dad meeting them”—Bella jerks her head toward you—“is some personal insult to you. It’s not. He’s happy. I’m happy for him.”

Renee’s mouth twists. “Yes, I see how happy you all are,” she says bitterly. “With your perfect house”—her gaze sweeps over the tastefully decorated living room—“and your perfect wedding. How wonderful that Charlie finally managed to find someone to spend his days with.”

Charlie stiffens, and Bella’s face contorts with anger, but you don’t let the words affect you. It’s clear Renee’s lashing out from a place of jealousy—her ex-husband is moving on, and her daughter is slipping further away from the role of caretaker she once played in Renee’s life. You pity the woman, but you also know stirring the pot will accomplish nothing. So, with a calm only a Cullen could possess, you step forward.

“Renee,” you say gently, “I’m sorry you’re upset. We wanted you here for Charlie’s sake, and for Bella’s. But if being here is hurting you—”

Renee cuts you off with a sharp laugh, though her eyes shine with something that looks far too raw to be mere anger. “Hurting me? The only thing hurting me is watching you all pretend I’m the bad guy for feeling left behind. I was his wife, I’m Bella’s mother—am I not allowed to be upset that I’ve been replaced?”

Bella bristles. “You haven’t been replaced,” she fires back, trying to keep her voice level. “You have a place in my life, Mom. No one’s trying to take that away from you. But you can’t expect Dad to stay single and miserable just to spare your feelings.”

Charlie steps in then, his voice quieter but full of resolve. “Renee, we’ve both moved on. It didn’t have to be ugly. I wanted you here because you’re still family—Bella’s family. But if you can’t be happy for us, maybe it’s best you go.”

A tension-filled silence takes hold for a moment. Renee’s eyes flick over each of you—lingering on you, with the ring on your finger and the subtle but elegant engagement band that Charlie gave you. There’s bitterness in her gaze, but you also sense her pain. She scoffs softly, turning away. “Fine,” she mutters. “I’ll go. I’m sure the Cullens can give Charlie everything I never could. Congratulations.”

“Mom,” Bella tries one more time, a tremor in her voice. “Please don’t be like this.”

Renee snatches her jacket from the back of a chair. “I’m heading back to the motel, and I’ll be on the first flight out in the morning.” She strides out, the front door slamming behind her. The echo of it reverberates through the house, leaving the three of you standing in silence. Outside, rain begins to patter against the windows, a soft drumming that underscores the hollow ache left behind.

Charlie exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, looking at you. “She didn’t have to speak to you that way.”

Bella’s eyes brim with frustration and sorrow. “If I’d known she was going to act like that, I wouldn’t have—” She cuts off, sighing deeply. “I’m sorry too. This was supposed to be a happy time.”

You let out a soft breath and wave your hand in dismissal, stepping forward to take each of their hands. “Don’t apologize. You wanted to include her because you care—and it was the right thing to do. It’s not your fault she decided to be upset instead of supportive.”

Bella’s lips tremble into a small, thankful smile. “Thanks for understanding,” she says, voice hushed.

Charlie squeezes your hand, gratitude shining in his eyes. “You could have fought back. She was practically begging for an argument.”

You shrug gently. “I won’t let her anger spoil tomorrow for us.” You pause, voice gentle but firm. “We love each other. Bella’s on our side. We have our family—Cullen and Swan both. That’s enough for me.” A wistful look crosses Charlie’s face, but he nods. He pulls you into an embrace, resting his chin atop your head. Bella steps closer, joining in—no words needed as the three of you stand together, finding warmth in each other’s presence. In twenty-four hours, you’ll be at the altar with Charlie, Bella by your side, and the Cullens in attendance—ready to begin a life built on love, acceptance, and hope. If Renee can’t be part of it…that’s her choice to bear.