#One of my favorite artists strikes again

[starriskyy]

Your drawings are always so fun! Thank you for the art!

dont ask where im going (im going insane)

[stardestroyer81]

The silly doodle I drew of Gigi and Gwen a little over a week ago has been getting some traction, so I wanted to draw Gigi in her casual outfit for those who have started following my because of it! 🥪✨

(For those who would like to see more content relating to Gigi, please consider checking out @door2door-official!)

[keeps-ache]

i may be be wanting in physical prowess. but with the weight of 50000 wips i can defeat anyone who dares challenge me!!

[fanaticsnail]

My Favorite

(Image Source: Artist: Inpolariis)

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 5,114

Summary: Sir Crocodile has founded a league of highly trained assassins named "The Choirs" - all coded after the nine choirs of angelic influences. You are his favorite: his prized "Seraphim" who's ferocious brutality is only outmatched by your incredible beauty. Not truly knowing if your affection is all an act to continue being paid a wage in berry, he has not made a move of his own aside from calling upon you to sit on his knee of an evening, and have you utter praises into his ear. It is only when the two other members of the Cross-Guild begin flirting does he find his limit being tested. Will he bend, or will he break?

Themes: Boss!Crocodile x Assassin!Reader, lap princess, Croc is in love with you, begrudgingly in love, mutual pining, “I don’t want to fix him, I want to make him worse”, wealth, Cross-Guild dynamics, partial Buggy x Reader, partial Mihawk x Reader, sign language, afab!reader.

Notes: This fic is dedicated to the wonderful @discordantwritings who wrote a beautiful Benn Beckman fic recently. I had to return the favor with some Cross-Guild content, although it became quickly a Sir Crocodile fic. Based on this prompt, because it has a hold over my very soul.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @feral-artistry @carrotsunshine @cinnbar-bun @writingmysanity @gingernut1314

The broad right hand of the brutish Sir Crocodile massaged his temples beneath his thumb and index finger. He began rotating them in an attempt to rid the swelling migraine caused by the crackled whines pouring from the lips of his clown companion. Barely paying attention to the whinging words strung into messy sentences, his ears pricked and spine tingled at the knowledge there was another presence within the hollow chambers of the Cross-Guild meeting space. 

Bringing his hand away from his temple, his smirk broke the displeased position of his lips, as his eyes rose to meet with the yellow hue of the gaze of the swordsman. Mihawk narrowed his eyes, no longer processing Buggy’s words as he attempted to locate the source responsible for the expression change of the larger gentleman in front of him. 

“-And I wasn’t the one responsible for that screw up, so I shouldn’t be the one paying for it. Really it should go to the one with the most berry. Who was it again? Between the reptile and the hawk, who has the most-.” Buggy’s voice halted as the shadows split to reveal your presence, stalking closer to the largest man in the room with an aura of silent danger. 

Mihawk reached for the hilt of Yoru, ready to strike your approaching silhouette: armored and cloaked in the darkest black to blend within smoke and shadow. Your hood concealed your face, your facial mask shieling all but the intensity of your eyes smeared in darkened war paint. You made no sound; no tap, no whisper as you wordlessly approached Sir Crocodile.

“Returned so soon, my Seraphim,” his voice purred, leaning back in his chair while placing a thick cigar between his teeth, “Did all go according to plan?” You wordlessly bent your knee, bowing your head to the large gentleman to whom you entrusted your implicit loyalty. His smile drew further up his scarred face, the purple hue of his eyes dancing with a dangerous twinkle at your wordless confirmation. 

“Good,” his voice praised you, reaching for his lighter lying atop the table. You rose to your feet, quickly reaching for the golden object, flicking open the lid and igniting the flint to spark its flame. Sir Crocodile leant forward, holding his eyes firmly on yours as your concentration was fixed on the task of lighting the tip of his cigar. 

He narrowed his eyes, noticing a small smear of red atop the darkened warpaint and streaking down your face mask and onto your leather breastplate. He sighed, reaching into his left hand breast pocket and fishing out a silver handkerchief and passed it to you within his index and middle fingers. 

“Is it yours?” he asked, gesturing to the blood congealed and spattered against your uniform. 

“No, sir,” you whispered with no vocal tone depicted within your silence. He hummed in response, narrowing his eyes as he scanned your body further. 

“Are you unharmed and unmarked?” he asked, his left brow raising in question. You stiffened your shoulders, arching your chin within the air and confirmed with a simple utterance of: “Yes, sir.” 

“Very good, my Seraphim,” he complimented further, inhaling a deep lungful of the nicotine laden cigar smoke, exhaling through his nose. Buggy did not know what to make of this interaction, feeling completely and utterly ignored as Mihawk and Sir Crocodile’s eyes and attention remained fixed on your statuesque figure clad in cloak, leather and dark plated armor. 

Leaning forward, Sir Crocodile ushered you to stoop forward to receive the next whisper of a command parting from his lips for your ears alone.

“I have laid out a new uniform for you to wear,” he uttered intimately, reaching up his left hand with his golden hook threatening to touch your shoulder. “See to it you are bathed, perfumed and clad in the ensemble within the hour,” the tip of his hook brushed with the rivets of your shoulder plate, dragging down your bicep to the inner crevice of your elbow, “And I will have you sat as my trophy upon my knee for the evening, my Seraphim.” 

At that final utterance, he withdrew his hook from your arm and focussed once more on your eyes now depicting a darkness within usually withheld for victims beneath your concealed daggers. 

Bowing to your boss, eyes now closed, you rose from your deep and respectful stoop and paid no mind to glance at the other two members of the meeting space. If Sir Crocodile found no reason to introduce you to these men, you did not deem them important enough to care who they were. Silence followed you as you trailed outside of the room, resubmerging yourself within the shadows and hastily making your way to the suite gifted to you by your boss.

“Baroque Works employee, Crocodile?” Mihawk uttered, his eyes fixed on the exit you withdrew from. 

“A thing of the past, Hawk,” His smirk not leaving his face for each deep inhale of his cigar, “I no longer put my faith in an amassment of bounty hunters to get their hands dirty for my berry.” He took the butt of his cigar from his teeth and pushed the ignited end against the glass tray with his thumb. “No, my faith is no longer spread to the many, but to the few.” 

“How many o’ them you got?” Buggy’s nasally voice chimed in, his brow furrowing and lips curling back in an uneasy smile, “Like twenty or thirty?”

“I have nine,” he confessed, eyes now bored with the conversation and lip curling down into an arrogant snarl, “And that one,” he gestured to the door with his chin, “Is my favorite.”

“Why?” Buggy asked, his voice cracking in a small apprehensive whine at the end of his question, “What does that one do that the others don’t?” Sir Crocodile’s lips curled into a darkened grin, his teeth revealed in the light. 

“You will see.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------

After bathing and cleaning yourself of the debris and carnage of the last assignment, you glanced at yourself in your large, ornate mirror. Looking over the new uniform set aside by your boss as it clung to your body, you couldn’t help the pull of a shy smile at the corner of your lips.

Of all of “The Choirs” founded and financed by Sir Crocodile, it was no illusion that you were absolutely and without a doubt his favorite. Your titles held your specialist skills as covert assassins within your roles; each skilled with a unique ability to complete your tasks to the utmost quality. 

Principalitie, Archangel, and Angel were charged with gathering information and relaying it from a great distance. They were to look like civilians; innocent and coy with the ability to blend into a crowd seamlessly. 

The Devil-Fruit users; Dominion, Virtue, and Power, were charged with carrying out tyrannical punishment and wrath without care for the casualties they caused under the utterance of a single command from your hook-handed leader. 

Cherubim and Ophanim, the two of the higher in the chain of command, followed your explicit instruction in covert operations taken either together or separately. They were your trusted confidants, you could even call them your friends if it were not too bold to say so. 

You, his ‘Seraphim’, were silent and embraced by shadows with such flawless success that it was rumored you were born in them. You were lethal with your daggers, your skill with a blade a sight to behold before life was drained from your intended target. The last thing they saw as their breath was claimed by your hand, was the ferocity in your blown pupils and lengthy eyelashes beneath the dark warpaint smeared atop your eyelids. 

Glancing over your features once more, the pale white of the dress held stark contrast to the dark armor you adorned almost an hour prior. While your armor kept all of your features hidden to the world around you, the anonymity shielding you from emphasis on your features; this dress left little to the imagination. 

The deep hook of the backless dress clung low to your hips in an ovular shape, bodice dipping down to above your navel with a thin band of fabric dancing above your cleavage to suture the bust shut with barely any support. The length of the dress halted little below your hip bone on the left-hand side, the right hand side down to the ball of your ankle to allow for the straps of your gold heels to be revealed with each step you took against the floor. 

Your mind begins to wander the longer you stare at yourself in the mirror. This was the most provocative and scandalous item your boss had ever asked you to don. You almost allowed yourself to rush to the conclusion that your boss harbored more than simple favoritism for you, you assumed you were wearing this ensemble to impress a guest with your presence on his lap. 

Silence was nearly impossible with the gold-dipped base of your heeled shoes. Each step you took after exiting your suite echoed in a foreign clack that you were unaccustomed to creating with your foot-falls. 

Immediately upon entering the large celebratory area of Sir Crocodiles casino, you scanned the perimeter of the room for your boss to begin your new role for the night: the princess sitting upon his knee and doting on him with small caresses and whispers of praise within his ear. This was not a role you were exposed to often, but one you did well enough for him to continue asking for you after the first night you played it. 

You would be lying to yourself if you said you did not harbor affection for your boss. Nothing ever transpired between you after you had finished this role for the nights he asked you to fulfill. No brush of lips meeting yours, no writhing while sprawled out beneath him against the green fuzz of the gamblers table. He would bow his head in gratitude to you, his eyes blinking shut out of respect, and dismissing you without a further word. 

Adoration, respect, loyalty, and your wage is what bound you to that man. At each moment he spent with you on his lap, or performing a deadly task for him, your desire grew. You knew, without a semblance of a doubt, that you would cast aside your wage with an instant for the luxury of remaining by his side. You loved him, and it was the only thing that truly frightened you.

After concluding your brief scan of the room, you noticed Sir Crocodile was yet to make an appearance to darken the tables with his brutish figure. However, you smiled upon meeting the eyes of ‘Ophanim’ dressed in a simple waiter's uniform, with her sleeves rolled to her elbows and shaking a steel container filled with ice, syrups and hard liquor. She shot you a wink, gesturing with her chin to wait with her at the bar. 

An honest smile sprung to your lips as you grasped the barstool within your hands, taking a seat atop it and hooking your left knee over your right; the slit of your dress revealing the entirety of your left leg to your thigh. 

Immediately as you began to open your mouth to converse with your fellow “Choir” about her latest mission, your eyes were thrust into an amassment of lengthy cerulean hair. The person seemed to ignore you as their voice informed your friend of his order of a fruit-forward and harsh liquor cocktail with an insane amount of complex ingredients. The products he asked for sounded as if it would split and separate, with the immediate souring of creamy liquid with the acidic elements. 

Grimacing with your lips curled in disgust, the individual turned to meet your disapproving gaze: his eyes widening and breath hitching in his throat. A large, rotund red nose lay central to his features, his dark vest cinching his waist beneath a white shirt and dark trousers. He looked as if he was not comfortable wearing the assortment, as if it was a mask he was given to wear akin to your arrangement set aside by your boss. 

“You are fucking gorgeous,” he stumbled over his words, the syllables falling from his lips quicker than he could silence them within. Immediately your grimace upturned into a smile, forcing a laugh to flee from you at his unbridled compliment. You arched your left brow up, leaning in close to the individual in front of you and tightening his dark tie with your right hand. 

“You are very easy to look at, yourself,” you purred in return, assuming your flirtatious role with ease. You darted your gaze between his two teal eyes, a coy smile now pursing your lips together innocently, “And who might you be, bright eyes?” Your question had his heart swelling, his cheeks filling with a boyish fluster. 

“B-Buggy,” he wheezed, gulping back his words and grunting out a small cough to mask his uneasiness. “Captain Buggy D Clown,” he attempted to meet his elbow atop the bar, missing the polished wood entirely and instead stumbling under the uneven distribution of his weight. As air met his elbow with the heel of his palm capturing his chin, he flew his head down and met it against the wood with a harsh thump. 

Wincing in empathy, you immediately reached forward and claimed his cheeks within your palms and raised him back up to his former stature. You brushed his shoulders, readjusted his collar and checked over the rising swell atop his left temple. 

“Honey, can we get some ice please?” you asked your colleague who attempted to halt her laugh behind her palm, nodding as she retrieved the frosty cubes and placed them within a checkered tea towel. She passed it to you and shook her head, you nodding your thanks at her for the object and immediately reaching for the blunt-force trauma the blue-haired clown brought upon himself. 

“Are you alright Captain Buggy?” You asked him, holding your hand against the towel and pressing it firmly against the rising bruise. He clasped his left hand around your right, leaning into the touch you were providing him and closing his eyes. 

“I like the way your tongue makes my name sound,” he confessed in a breathy gasp. You again found yourself laughing at his words, the melodic ring of your voice stirring something dangerous within the purple hues of Sir Crocodile’s eyes. He continued watching your interaction with Buggy from his place darkening the threshold of the entrance to his casino. 

“What happened, Clown?” A voice called behind him, the curve of a pale shirt clinging to the back of a dark-haired individual you could barely see. Buggy apprehensively turned away from you and lulled his head towards the man with a snarling expression. 

“It’s her fault,” he gestured to you with his thumb, “She was sittin’ on that chair all innocent-like, as if she doesn’t look like walking sex.” 

“Hardly walking if she’s sitting,” the man called over in a bored and disinterested tone, without sparing so much as a glance in your direction. You found him intriguing, but you decided to match his energy and remain aloof to his comments yourself. 

Turning away from the two men beside you, you began moving your hands in a flurry of wordless gestures to your coworker as discreetly as you could.

‘Where is he?” you asked her, watching her hands flicker in response as she continued to attempt to uphold her own persona as bartender.

“Approaching slowly,” she managed to signal to you, before she placed a glass of wine in front of the broody aloof gentleman beside the clown. The corner of his lips ticked at the corner, a whisper of gratitude depicted on his face as he turned to face you with the crystal glass rising upwards. 

The small widening of his honey-coloured eyes told you all you needed to know within his gaze. Your head cocked to the side, your eyes wide and feigning innocence to the best of your abilities. 

“My, my,” he commented, shamelessly raking his eyes over your body from your decorated toes to the follicles of your styled hair, “I do see why you would be the cause for such a stumble.” He expertly brushed the blue-haired man away from you, extending his right hand forward to seek out your own and collecting your four fingers within his grip. 

He raised your hand to his lips, his mustache tickling the knobbed joints of your knuckles before his lips brushed against your flesh. Your eyes turned sultry, not once either of you breaking your eye contact against one another. 

Unable to control the rapidity of the thump within his chest and the dry lump forming in his throat, Sir Crocodile began a stalking approach towards you. How dare they fawn over you. You: his favorite of his Choirs. His angelic muse and harbinger of brutality. 

He knew you would make heads turn with the uniform he laid out for you, but he did not anticipate the primal urge swelling beneath him to pull you into himself and shield you away from their eyes. He wanted you all for himself, in any capacity you were willing to give it to him. He didn’t care that you were paid berry to serve him, it felt real enough for him.

“Dracule Mihawk,” he uttered against your flesh, withdrawing from his stoop and arching his back to puff his barely shielded chest to you, “And you are, my darling?” Before you could answer with your name, you felt a warm graze dancing up your spine. His breath tickled against your skin, tingling your spine beneath his lips as they pressed intent and longing to your flesh. 

On any other occasion, you may have been alarmed by such attention from an individual without seeing their face. The cologne dancing with the whisper of his last cigar floated with each kiss against your skin, informing you exactly who was giving you such a touch. 

He had never offered you this unbridled affection in the past, not allowing himself to give into his craving for you, and you not willing to test your place serving under him. This touch felt natural, his lips continuing to press into you, as you continued to hold your gaze on the eyes of the dark-haired man in front of you. 

Sir Crocodile’s lips found your left shoulder, his purple eyes pulling the swordsman’s attention away from you to meet with your boss as he continued to map his lips up your neck to your jaw. His left forearm circled around your front, the golden hook firmly secured against his wrist collecting your chin beneath the smooth surface. He turned your attention away from Mihawk to look into his eyes through lowered eyelashes. 

He leant forward, drawing your lips against his by the gentle tilt of his hook against your chin. Darting his tongue out to stroke yours, his nose brushed against your own as he circled his jaw to deepen the embrace. Your hands clutched the base of the stool you were sat atop to anchor yourself down for fear of floating to the roof. The hum of his lips in joy had a small moan pull from your lips the longer he was joined against you. 

You felt his right hand brush against your bicep, curling his firm grip around it as he pushed his chest flush with your own with a gentle turn of your body. He pulled away from the kiss, his eyes immediately falling to your rapidly swelling and kiss-bruised lips, slightly smudged paint falling below the perimeter of your bottom lip. Tapping your chin with his hook, your eyes darted from your own gaze against his lips to meet with his purple eyes. 

“My Seraphim,” the rumble of his voice and the small smirk of his lips had your attention hyper fixed and hanging on his every word. You held your gaze firmly affixed to his, watching as he turned away from you and greeted the men in front of you with the nod of his head and the small utterance of their names.

“Mihawk,” the rumble of his voice rubbing within his throat had your spine tingle with anticipation, “Buggy.” He turned back to meet your orbs that had not yet broken from his face, but raked your gaze over his face with half-lidded lashes. Your eyes continued to float in a daze against his lips and flittering back up to meet his gaze. 

He extended his right hand in a gesture for you to take it, you reacting immediately by placing your hand within his larger palm to encircle his digits around it. You allowed him to pull you away from your former position atop the barstool, your heels clicking against the floor as he escorted you to the desired table for the night. Now in the shroud of seclusion, he leaned down and uttered a small apology in your ear. 

“Forgive me,” he began, taking his seat within the plush armchair and patting his left knee with his right. Without hesitation, you gracefully placed yourself atop his thigh with the small flick of your hair, crossing your left knee over your right and arching your back. 

“What sins am I forgiving, sir?” you asked him, feeling the dangerous caress of his hook brushing against your spine and collecting a small portion of your hair within its curvature. Your boss took in a deep breath through his nose, expanding his broad chest beneath his suit jacket. His exhale had a small quake to it, his eyes closing as he basked under your attention.

You reached your hands and began to dance your fingertips against the hem of his collar. Although this was a routine you had practiced with him over man a night on his lap, this touch felt almost forbidden as his brows furrowed. 

“I should not have kissed you like that,” he uttered in a voice below a hushed whisper, “You deserve better than something so public. I desire you-... -for you to be treated as a seraphim I know you to be.” His vocal catch had your attention completely focussed on every word, your body leaning itself further as your hands halted their movement. 

“I am not a seraphim, sir,” your lips were now almost brushing with the shell of his ear, your hypnotic perfume, intoxicating and mesmerizing the larger gentleman the longer your presence remained atop his lap. He angled his head away from you, exposing the side of his neck to reveal the rapidity of his heartbeat displayed against his pulse. 

“And what are you, if not a seraphim,” he whispered darkly, allowing to be disarmed by your presence as he leant into your touch, yet away from the descent of your lips upon his ear. 

“I am your seraphim,” you confessed as your lips grazed against the sensitive flesh of his cheek, his dark hair tickling against your eyes. 

Sir Crocodile was glad he had withdrawn you to a secluded portion of his casino at this moment. He truly did not desire for the other two members of the Cross-Guild to notice how much of a grip you truly had around his heart, but refused to break away from your display of unrestrained physical affection. He knit his brows together, furthering their descent down his face as he processed your words.

“Because I pay you to be,” he uttered, leaning away from your touch and forcing the mask of his arrogance back onto his features. He dropped the hook from your hair, reaching his right hand into his left breast pocket to locate a thick cigar and his golden lighter. Placing the bitten end between his teeth and clamping down on it, he drew the flame up to his lips and attempted to ignite the end. 

“I will return my wage to you,” you uttered quietly after swiping the golden lighter from his hand and reigniting the flame, “I have no need for it when you take care of me so well.” His eyes held an aloof boredom to his expression, refusing to meet with your face as you lit his cigar for him. 

“And if my wealth was taken from me?” He questioned before inhaling the smoke from his cigar, exhaling it away from your face, “If I was to go to prison once more, what then?” Your eyes narrowed, your lip curling up to reveal your displeasure at the question.

“I would claw tooth and nail to free you from your confinement, sir,” you confessed, reaching your left hand forward and collecting his chin beneath your thumb and index finger, turning his jaw for his eyes to meet with yours once more, “And although living in luxury is a welcome experience, I would stand by you regardless.” His eyes depicted his craving for your words to be true, although not believing it yourself. 

He began to open his mouth to speak, silenced by your words cutting through the air like your daggers meeting with the jugular of your foe. 

“You have my loyalty, my blades, and my body at your disposal,” you leant forward further, darting your eyes between focusing on each of his. “Should you order me to jump, I will ask how high. Should you ask me to kneel, I will fall to my knees,” you continued, your grip holding more firmly against his chin, “Should you wordlessly aim your finger at an enemy, I would be a channel of your wrath as I claim their lives for you.” 

Allowing a few moments of thick silence to swell between you, you felt the scrape of his hook trailing itself against your spine, hovering over the soft point of your rib and pressing his point firmly into your flesh. 

“While your words are as beautiful as you are,” he whispered, looking down at the plunging neck of your dress and back up into your eyes, “They are as decorated by the impact of my wealth as your body is in that dress.” You narrowed your eyes at his comment, taking the expression as a challenge. 

Shrugging away from the point of his hook, you rose to your feet between his legs and slowly drew your hands up to the thin straps on your shoulders. You hooked your thumbs beneath the material and began to slowly slip the material over your shoulders and down your biceps. Sir Crocodile’s eyes widened, immediately reaching his right hand and left forearm to halt your hands from revealing more of your flesh to him. 

“What are you doing?” His growl should’ve had your actions stuttering in any other setting, but his rasp had your heart beating in desire in place of fear. 

“I have already informed you that I will be returning my wage to you,” you cocked your head to the side, arching your back towards him and looking down at him under your lustful expression, “Why not start with the dress you claim to despise so much.” The rise of his fluster depicted in his eyes at your words had a smirk drawing up to decorate your lips. 

“What has someone like me done to deserve such devotion from you, my seraphim?” he whispered, his right hand elevating the strap of your left shoulder and securing it firmly in its prior place. You followed suit with your right strap, securing it firmly against your shoulder and leaning further into his welcome embrace. 

He leant his torso closer to you, his broad forearms circling over your own with his fingertips brushing against your skin. You began to open your mouth, confessing your adoration for your boss further upon the tip of your tongue before crudely interrupted by the presence of the blue-haired clown followed behind by the broody gentleman from earlier.

“Are we playin’ cards yet, Croco?” Buggy’s voice hitched as he met with an intimate moment shared between you and Sir Crocodile. Your boss’ hands caressed your skin, pulling you against his torso as he aimed his disapproving gaze over your right shoulder. 

He growled at the interruption, his voice holding more feral animosity than he felt he should. You drew your hand up to claim his cheek in the palm of your right hand, looking down at him with your eyes holding your unspoken answer of lustful adoration at him. His breath hitched as his gaze met with yours, prompting his right hand to grasp the flesh of your back firmer within his spread fingertips. 

“I recall you having barely enough berry to survive the last time we played, Clown,” Mihawk’s aloof tone called from beside him. Neither you nor Sir Crocodile paid either man any mind, too wrapped up in the intimate moment you were sharing holding one another. 

You removed the cigar from Crocodile’s teeth in your left hand, stooping forward and claiming his lips beneath your own. Your nose brushed against his, the kiss as hastily departing in severance of the connection as it did in its descent. He arched his chin up, chasing your retreat with his eyes closed. 

“Shall I get the table ready, sir?” You asked him in a subtle whisper, relishing in the small hum of pleasure falling from the lips of your boss. His eyes split slowly open, remaining half-lidded as he lulled his head on his neck to glance at you. The silver mark splitting his face danced in the illuminance of the soft bar light, his striking features appearing more chiseled under its glow. 

“Please,” he spoke slowly, his tongue darting out and danced as the ‘L’ passed his lips. You raked his hair back over his scalp, replacing the fallen strands in their rightful place, while leaning down once more with a smirk.

“Right away, sir,” you purred at him while returning his cigar to his teeth, watching as he bit the tip with a small snarl. Turning and walking away to collect several items to place atop the green felt for your boss to engage in a game of cards with his two unlikely colleagues, eyes fixed on your back as you exited the secluded area.

“Who is she?” Buggy’s shocked voice cracked out the stuttered question also plaguing Mihawk’s mind. Sir Crocodile relaxed in his chair, inhaling the cigar smoke deeply into his lungs and holding it. Upon it exiting from his lungs, he confessed the place you held within his heart with the utterance of two words.

“My favorite.”

[bizbat]

your jason todd hcs are sooooo good omg!!! do you have any hcs specifically for when he has a crush on the reader, like how he might act, specifically if the reader is oblivious and really doesn’t think that she’s his type / thinks he’s joking if he says anything flirty?

When They're In Love - Jason Todd (Crush Edition)

🕸️Spiderverse Masterlist🕸️

🐼JJK Masterlist🐼

~ Fem terms + Pet names used for reader.

~ You can find part one of these hcs here, and part two here.

~ You can find more of my works here.

~ These can be read as a sort of part three/prequel kinda.

~Fic at the end.

~ Tw for : Blood, Knives, Needles, Vomit. (All slight)

~Thank you for asking! Hope you enjoy, sorry this took so long :(

You would never know that Jason has a crush on you.

For the most part, he wont talk to you any differently than he will anyone else.

Maybe he won't jokingly insult you, or be super sarcastic around you, but I think that's kind of as far as he'd go.

Unless you're a close friend or family member, you'd probably have no clue he had a crush based on the way he talks to you.

But the little actions and things he does for you are so obvious.

He's the type to hold open doors for you, all the while staring other people dead in the eye as it shuts in their face.

He somehow always just "randomly" has your favorite snack on hand, or a whole collection of books by your favorite author.

I think he'd be touchy, unless he knows you don't like being touched.

If you like or don't mind it, he'd have his arm constantly thrown over your shoulder, always be leaning against you, always resting a hand on your hip.

If you're shorter than him, he does that super annoying thing where he rests his elbow on your head.

He is so lame omg.

But bc he's kinda like this with everyone, no one would fault you for not understanding his hints.

He's like the opposite though.

You said hi to him this morning? You must be in love with him.

You smiled at him today instead of Dick? He's already planning the wedding.

What's that? You said he smells nice? Have his babies. (If you can/want to)

Our delusional king.

He doesn't think you don't get his flirting.

He'd think you're fully aware and are flirting back.

Again, our delusional king.

You probably won't get it until something really serious happens and he comes to you instead of Bruce or Roy.

He'd probably try to get into things you're interested in.

Listens to all your favorite songs, reads your favorite books, etc.

And he's not subtle about it bc he is in fact, a loser.

He'll recommend a song by your favorite artist and then be like "idk why but this just reminded me of you lol"

LOSER. Can you guys tell i'm a big believer in the "jason todd is secretly a massive loser" agenda? Cuz I am. :|

And then he listens when you go on rambles about how great the things you like are and how much they mean to you.

I said he'll do things just to hear you talk about them, and I think he'd do that when he has a crush on you too.

He just loves your voice and likes hearing you talk.

He smiles at you so softly when he thinks you aren't looking.

You could be bumming out and he'll look at you with heart eyes like yeah, future spouse right there.

I don't think he'd be a big user of social media, but if you were, he'd get a whole account just to like and comment of your pictures.

user94820860038466 commented: You look very pretty in this picture.

Comments like an old man bc he has very little understanding of the internet.

He'd probably help you take pictures and fight with other people in your comment section if they're too down bad or creepy.

He doesn't strike me as the jealous type bc once again, he's so delusional he pretty much already thinks you're dating.

Nicknames nicknames nicknames.

Calls you so, so many nicknames.

Angel, doll, sweetheart, maybe even babe.

He constantly talks about you when you aren't there.

Lian and Roy know so much about you before they even meet you.

He'd do anything for you.

The store is actually about a mile in the other direction, but yeah he can get you your favorite drink.

He does not like that food at all and the owner of the store despises him, but he will not return to you empty handed best believe.

He was actually going to wear that hoodie today, but it looks so much better on you you should keep it!

~ Drabble Starts Here. ~

It's just like every other night in Gotham City. It's cold, and wet, and it smells like smoke and garbage that's been left out in the sun.

The only barrier between you and the chilled, musty air outside is a single sheet of glass; the fire escape window of your fifth floor apartment. It's comforting. The glass is, of course, bulletproof, and the seal around the sill is tight, so no gases ever manage seep in. It pays to have a decent landlord, especially in Gotham.

It's funny, but you really never think about that window. You mostly keep it shut and locked, except in the summer, when you can smell your neighbor in the building next door cooking all types of delicious aromatic dishes, or when it's just too hot and you decide the risk of heatstroke is greater than the risk of airborne psychosis. It never occurs to you just how well it keeps you safe, just how well it keeps things out.

It occurs to Jason, though. In fact, it's the only thing on his mind as he's gripping his side, frantically trying to prevent too much blood from seeping out of his body.

He'll probably chastise himself later for not being more gentle or respectful, but he's lost too much blood to be thinking straight. With his free hand, he bangs on your window, praying that you're A) at home, and B) not listening to music. He's not too worried about the first one, he knows you never leave your lights on when you're away, but the second one, he's not too sure about.

He bangs, and bangs, and bangs on the glass, a loud, thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk that immediately rouses your from your sleep. You jump up from your spot on the couch, an open book falling from your lap as you dart into your room to grab the knife Jay gave you for protection, before returning to your living room, keeping your back to the wall.

You hold the blade in front of you, nervously gripping the hilt as you listen to the banging, making sure to stay just out of sight as you cautiously creep closer and closer to the noise. It isn't until the banging dies down that you finally get close enough to see the cause.

You gasp at the sight, dropping the knife and trying to tug the window open, before mentally yelling at yourself to unlock it. You drag the weakened behemoth of a man into your apartment, carefully placing his upper body on the floor in front of your window and removing his helmet. Your hand moves to his side, firmly pressing down on his wound, as you stare at him, mouth agape and eyes flooding with concern.

He laughs, a dry chuckle that just sounds like it hurts. "What took ya' doll?" You wanna smack him, but you can do that when he's not bleeding all over your hardwood floors. You tell him to wait, as if he could go anywhere in the state he's in, before rushing to grab the emergency kit he forced you to keep.

"Let-ngh- let me do it." He groans as he attempts to sit up, trying and failing to pull the tweezers from your hand. He doesn't even have the strength to sit back up when you gently push him back down. You clean his wound, all while he holds back winces and groans. You don't hold back, focusing on cutting and cleaning and stitching and wrapping, berating Jason for coming to you of all people.

"What d'ya mean? Of course I'd come to you?" Jason manages between harsh breaths. "Who else would I go to?" He seems genuinely confused, you're his girlfriend, you always come to him when you need help. Why wouldn't he come to you?

"Oh, I don't know, Jason, maybe Bruce, or Roy, or literally anyone else with training to handle this kind of thing!?" It comes out mean, but through his pain he can tell it's coming from a place of true care. You're worried. One of the strongest, most skilled people you know is bleeding out on your floor and you're panicking. Of course you are, you've never had to sew someone up, or dig a bullet out of someone, or try to hold down bile from the heavy smell of blood.

Your hands are shaking like crazy. This isn't a slight graze you can put a bandaid over and seal with a kiss, this is a life threatening wound on someone you care about, and all they've been doing since they came to you is make stupid fucking jokes and try to take things from your hands.

Jason can tell it's getting to you.

It should be the other way around, what with him bleeding out in your living room, but he quiets down, gripping your wrist with his non-blood covered hand. "Hey," He gently strokes your skin with his thumb, repeating himself when you don't move your eyes from his wound. "Hey, look at me Y/n." It's just stern enough to make you obey, without sounding like he's mad at you. "It'll be okay. I'm in good hands." Jason smiles at you, tired and reassuring. It calms your nerves just enough for you to finish sewing his wound shut.

You sit back when you're done, taking in your work once you wrap his stomach with gauze. Jason turns just enough to catch a glimpse, smiling up at you with his stupid, charming smirk. "Not bad, doll. Told ya you had it covered." He lays back, smiling up at you as he lays his head on his arm, the one on his non-injured side. Though he doesn't seem to bothered by the end of it all, you can't say the same.

He takes in your features, your tired, glossy eyes and your pouting lips. It makes his smile drop. You look away, your sad eyes not meeting his own. "I . . . what? What's wrong Y/n?" Jason winces, moving to rest on his elbows to get a better look at your face. "Was it the blood? Or the- was it the window? I'm sorry about that, by the way." You shake your head no at all of his suggestions, taking a breath before turning back to face him.

He can feel his heart hurt at the sight of unshed tears in your eyes. "I . . . I was scared Jay." He pushes himself all the way up when you take your lip into your mouth. He ignores the pain shooting through his side when he pulls you into his arms. "Hey, hey, hey, scared of what? I'm okay. You did good." Those tears finally spill when your arms wrap around his waist, loose as to not further irritate his wound.

"You could've died Jay, a-and I wouldn't be able to-to help you! I can't help you!" You sob into his shoulder. He holds you tightly, pressing his lips to your head as he rubs your back. "Please, please don't cry. I'm okay now, you helped me. I'm all better now." He rocks you both gently, trying to console you. "Sides, if I was gonna die, I'd be happy if it was with my girl."

What?

You freeze in his arms, and he knows he said something wrong. He just doesn't know what. His brain moves a mile a minute as he tries to figure out what it was before you get even more upset. Though, his brain completely shuts down when you stare up at him with those cute, confused eyes. The tears have slowed down, and he's at least thankful for that. "Your . . . girl?" Now he's confused too. "What-what do you mean by that?"

He has to do a double take. "What do you mean? You're my girl, like . . . girlfriend, you know?" Every second that passes only confuses the two of you more. "I'm your girlfriend?" "Ar-aren't you?" You blink at him. Were you? Are you? "Am I?" Somewhere there was cognitive dissonance, Jason just doesn't know for who. "Yeah, we're dating, I thought?" Though, he doesn't feel so confident about that now.

"Oh," You feel your ears grow warm, for the second time now your eyes don't meet his own. "I . . . I didn't know that." You wish you could hide right now, but he's still got his arms wrapped around you. "I mean, unless you don't want to, then-then I'm sorry-" Jason feels maybe even more embarrassed than you as he finally drops his arms, grabbing his helmet and moving to crawl back out the window he came in through. His bullet wound is completely forgotten by now.

He stops when you grip his jacket, shyly staring at the floor as you speak. "No! I w-want to." Your eyes darty up to his, before losing confidence and dropping back to the floor. "I want to be your girlfriend," It comes out a whisper, and when he's silent for a beat too long you worry he's suddenly changed his mind.

"Good. Great. Yeah." He drops back to the floor, sitting cross legged beside you. Internally, he's doing backflips in his mind. "Cool." Later on, he'll ask more questions, but for now, he's satisfied. "Yeah." You shyly play with your clothes, twiddling your thumbs as you sit in silence. You feel like a little girl who just admitted to her crush that she likes him. "Are you-" "I didn't-" You interrupt each other, both of you gesturing for the other to continue. It's a bit of a fight, but Jason makes you go first.

"I was gonna ask if you were hungry. I have some, um, pretzels and stuff. If you want." Jason nods. He follows you into your kitchen, where the two of you quietly and contently eat the iron rich foods you looked up. "What were you going to say, by the way?"

Jason looks up from his plate, the haphazardly prepared meal helping him feel better, though his heart feels pretty good right now anyways. "I didn't know that you didn't know. I thought," he laughs nervously. "I thought, we were dating this whole time." He laughs again when you shake your head. "I didn't know! I thought . . . I don't know, that I wasn't your type, or something."

That's probably the most surprising thing he's heard you say today. Okay it's not, but it's the thing that most catches him off guard.

"Of course you are! You're so sweet, and cute, and nice, and pretty, and you smell really good, and you're funny, and I like your voice, and the way you d-do things . . . and . . . other stuff." Jason stops himself before he can ramble for hours about every single things he loves about you. You wouldn't mind if he did, though. You hide your pleased expression with your hand.

"Me too." It's quiet, but no longer shy. "I like all that "stuff" about you too."

[marzipanandminutiae]

Hi, I want to talk to you abou this image:

This illustration is titled "black slave women of different african nations". I find the combination of traditional African elements such as face-paint, necklaces and what appears to be ritual scarification and Western fashion worn by these women incredibly striking, but what made my jaw drop is the idea that these women are slaves.

While I am aware that maids and other lower-class women were sometimes able to access fancy clothing hand-me-downs from their employers, I had expected the nature of slavery in the Americas to make it impossible for enslaved black women to do the same.

So, this is a drawing. Whether it's drawn from life or not, I don't know, but the artist could easily have staged these women in fashionable (early 19th century) dresses or made the outfits up from their imagination. That being said, enslaved women absolutely did attempt to have "best" clothing and follow the fashions when they became aware of them.

Humans are human, no matter the circumstances. You can't crush that drive for beauty out of people, however you oppress them.

I know a bit more about fashion and later generations of Black women enslaved in the southeastern US, after scarification and such had been stripped out of their culture, but that certainly bears out this idea of treasuring beauty and trying to make space for fine clothing in their lives. Church services, weddings, and holidays like Christmas were often occasions for enslaved women to wear the best outfits they had, along with any jewelry or other finery they had managed to make or inherit. Some enslavers did give "favorite" people they held in bondage cloth, castoff clothes, cheap jewelry, lace, etc. At other times, the enslaved people cleverly made things themselves- one WPA Former Slave Interview in the 1930s, which I cannot find again for the life of me, featured an elderly man recalling that he once made hoop skirts from dried grapevine with an enterprising friend, selling them to the women in his community for a nickel (many enslaved people earned small amounts of money taking side jobs outside of their punishing work schedule).

Obviously such clothes could not be worn while working, but like I said, there WERE occasions of joy and celebration even in the harshness of slavery. The tradition of Black women wearing elaborate hats to church may in part originate from enslaved women (and their free but economically disempowered sisters) taking advantage of a rare chance for self-expression and elegance.

(Of course there were also less positive instances in which an enslaved woman might have fine clothing, namely sex trafficking, or habitual rape by an enslaver who then attempted to compensate her for this heinous crime with presents. New Orleans' infamous "fancy girl" market is enough to turn your stomach if you look it up.)

After the Civil War, some white commentators were incensed to see Black women in fashionable attire walking the streets where they'd once been enslaved. For these women, it acted as a visible and tangible way of asserting their freedom- as their ancestors despite wringing what happiness they could from life -had been unable to.

If anyone has more to add on this, please chime in! Enslaved women's fashion specifically is not my area of research, so I welcome input from people who study this more extensively. Cheyney McKnight is a wonderful source on enslaved people's lives in general, and a historical costumer herself.

[jarofstyles]

Indigo- Sapphire

Hello my loves, here they are! Your favorite tattoo artist and his girlie. Let me know what you think plz plz plz

Series Masterlist

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Warnings- tattooing, mention of anxiety and needles etc

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Y/N had a lot of thoughts. 

The first one was that tattoos hurt, yes, but in a different way than she had originally thought. Harry had been right in telling her it was more so uncomfortable than anything else, because while it wasn’t a sharp, blazing pain, it was dull. Throbbing. Like she was being scratched by her cat in the same spot. It was bearable, though. Way less discomfort than she had thought. It was nice to feel capable, to not worry that she was going to embarrass herself in front of Harry.

Which brought her to thought number two.

Harry was stupidly, ridiculously, infuriatingly gorgeous. 

Y/N had been peeping at him as they spoke, his eyes glued to the piece as he spoke which gave her more of a sense of comfort. Like she was getting away with staring. It would be hard not to with him up so close to her, his warmth radiating through the plastic-y gloves. The first thing she had noticed was how nice his hair was. A warm chestnut hue with some natural caramel highlights- at least, she was pretty sure they were natural. It was longer and curled, little ringlets near his ears making her fingers itch to tuck it back for him. It was clipped up in the front, and that made sense considering he had a habit of running his hand through his hair, but she wanted to see it down again. The full effect. 

In another way, she was happy that it was pulled out of the way because she could really get a good look at him. His jaw was sharp, but not so much that it was necessarily stone like. He looked like a statue, but one that was carved with the human likeness that made people feel uneasy. His cheeks were high and his brows were straight, not a ton of arch to them, but he kept himself well groomed. There was a tiny hint of stubble on his upper lip along with a cute little birthmark that she hadn’t noticed before. That had brought her attention to his mouth.

It was almost embarrassing, how distracted she had gotten watching his lips move while he talked. They were a raspberry pink, slightly wet from his habit of occasionally licking over the bottom one before starting a sentence. A pronounced cupid’s bow dipped in the middle of the top, making her want to trace it. They were a little bigger than she had normally noticed, but then again- she didn’t typically spend this much time observing a man in such detail. 

He had a few blemishes, a few cuts that looked like he may have gotten himself while shaving, but it just made him human. Reminded her that he was just like her in that way. Just… gorgeous. His eyelashes were something she was incredibly jealous of, the irritating trait of men getting the good eyelashes striking yet again. She had to wonder how they’d look if he used her lengthening mascara? A wandering thought to think about later. 

They’d been chatting about this and that, a bit of gossip about Niall and his new girlfriend who he had recently introduced to the group, some about her work, some about his. What really caught her off guard though, was how easy it was to talk to him.

Silences aren't awkward. Sometimes they fell into them and it stayed that way for a moment before moving on naturally and she didn’t feel like crawling out of her skin. Y/N had a bad habit of wanting to fill those silences so she would babble, and considering she still had a decent amount of nerves because her crush on Harry was growing in size by the minute, she really liked this detail. He was being sweet and inquisitive without prying all that much, asking the basic friend questions- and some odd ones. 

What’s your favorite color? His was Yellow, he responded.

Did she have any pets? No, her old roommate did and she catsits sometimes. He didn’t, but he wanted one. 

What was her favorite gift she got as a kid? A knock off barbie dreamhouse. She hadn’t cared that it wasn’t the same as the rest of her friends, her mom had been so happy to give it to her that it had become the most cherished thing. She had it in her attic to this day for her future kids, should she choose to have any. His was a high quality art set. 

Did she believe in the paranormal? Yes, she did. He was undecided. A healthy skeptic, he’d said.

It was lighthearted but also not necessarily small talk, which usually made Harry itch. He’d confessed that earlier to her, making her see a bit further into him. It was obvious that he was curious about some of the things about her and considering what had happened the night before, she had to wonder what the intention was. 

He had said he got nervous around her because she was so pretty it intimidated him. That he said and did stupid things when he was around a girl like her. Insinuating maybe a returned crush? Confirming it? She didn’t know. She also didn’t know what he wanted out of this. Was it going to turn into a nice friendship where they laugh about his crush on her later on down the line, or would this develop into something more?

Y/N didn’t want to get ahead of herself. They’d just started talking, but having been repressed from allowing herself to feel that attraction to him, it had just hit her like a truck. He was so sweet, so gentle with her. The opposite of what people may assume about his exterior. When they went out, despite how charming he was, he was quiet most of the time. Outside their friend group, she had seen him revert back into a cool mask, stony and giving the impression that people shouldn’t come up to him. Not quite as intense as the one he had worn with her but enough for her to see that his resting face definitely gave him the reputation he had. Sometimes she wished she had that ability, considering all sorts of people came up to her to talk when she didn’t even know them.

If this was the real him, the one who had theorized with her if ghosts were real, she wanted to know more about him. 

“How are you doing?” He had stopped to wipe some excess ink, looking up at her from the stool. 

Harry had felt her staring. It had become increasingly harder to keep his cool when he’d thought about it, so he had tried his best to focus on the piece. It was easier said than done. He could feel her eyes scanning him, seeing it from the corner of his eye. It intimidated him. Him out of all people! That’s how he knew this was actually deep for him. Sure, he had crushes before. It was just- Y/N made him feel a lot of new things to him, and that’s why he had fumbled so hard early on.

This was her first tattoo and she had entrusted him with it. His art was currently inked on to her skin and the linework was done, finally moving on to shading. She’d taken it like a champ, sitting better than a lot of other people did. There had been no squirming, no complaining, just a request to move her arm a bit which he had happily done. Her skin took the ink well, the lines standing out against the tone of it. Still, he wanted to check in again.

“I’m good.” Her tiny smile came up again. It flipped his stomach. “Great, actually. I expected it to hurt a lot worse. I mean, it isn’t great but I wasn’t sure how my pain tolerance was going to hold up. It was just like you said, the scratches!” There was a bit of babbling from her, making his own lip quirk up. Too fucking cute. 

“Great. You’re doing fantastic. I’ve had veterans sit in my chair and bitch about it hurting, so you’ve got them beat.” He knocked her knee with his hand before moving to switch out the needles. “M’gonna switch to doing a bit of shading now. This is going to feel a tiny bit different but let me know if you need a break again.” Eyes looked towards her water bottle he had given her sitting between her legs. “And take a sip of that, please.”

Y/N gave a little salute, nodding to him and doing as asked as he switched the things out. It was little cute things like that salute that made him want to cuddle into her. She was just stupidly fucking adorable and he had now gotten to a point where he was seeing deeper parts of her personality. It drove him mad. He had to pace himself, aware that not even 24 hours ago she had been nervous around him for a completely different reason. 

The new set was finished being set up, Harry turning back towards her when he heard the water bottle crinkle again. Holding it up, she shook it slightly to show that she had drank down to another divet in the bottle, making him chuckle quietly. “Good job, sweetheart.” He praised, gloving up. “Thank you for listening t’me. Now we have to get started so we can get proper food in your stomach.”

Y/N was happy he couldn’t read thoughts because hers were going wild. 

Sweetheart? Good job? The fact that he was going to feed her after? 

Her thighs subtly pressed together. The words had gone straight to a hot, gooey, sticky place in her stomach and jolted right down between her thighs. It was depraved on her part really, considering it had all been chaste. He had praised her for listening, for drinking water. He’d only used a nickname… and that smooth voice that had her toes curling in her shoes. Heat burned her ears as he turned back to her with the buzzing gun in hand. Yeah, he would definitely have some thoughts if he could see how much just a simple praise affected her.

Sure, she knew she had a praise kink. It wasn’t a shock to her, but the ease of Harry being able to trigger it was a real problem. It had always been something that she melted with, being called a good girl, doing a good job, taking it so well. Praise kink 101, beginner stuff. Adding in the strikingly handsome and mysterious to her man with a semi admitted crush on her, his hands on her body and his willingness to take care of her? She was a goddamn goner. Finished. All he had to do was continue to stroke her ego a little bit and she would slide down to her knees. Pathetic? Perhaps. She never claimed to be anything otherwise. 

His hands were warm through the gloves, holding her arm in place as the needles stippled her skin. Eyes went back to his face, his septum piercing corrected from being out of place earlier. Only this time, she caught him licking over his lip and swore she saw a flash of… something. Did he….? 

Her mouth opened before her brain could tell her not to ask because it would be a blatant admittance to staring, but it was too late. 

“You- Do you have a tongue piercing?” 

Y/N winced slightly at her own tone. It sounded incredulous, but it was more so shocking that it had taken her a bit to notice that had her so surprised. More than judgemental, she was curious. “Sorry, sorry. That was a weird tone. M’not judging you! I swear. I just didn’t notice it and I thought I would have.” In her head, she facepalmed severely. Probably would have physically if it wouldn't have jostled her arm that was tattooed. “God, ignore me. I just didn’t know you had one and for some reason it surprised me.”

Her flustered nature made Harry grin. It was fucking cute. He hadn’t even remembered that he had one because he’d had it for a while but he had changed it recently. “Hey- It’s cool.” He let himself laugh, squeezing over her arm as he shot her a look. “I do. I know you aren’t judgin’ me. I changed it recently. It used to be pink, so not as noticable, I don’t blame you for not noticing. I wanted to go back to silver though.” He poked his tongue out a bit so she could see as he wiped away some ink, watching in amusement as her eyes widened. 

“Oh. I feel like I keep rambling at you.” She laughed, her own embarrassment evident on her face. “That’s so cool. I thought about getting my nose pierced at some point but I don’t think it would suit me.” It still did sit in the back of her mind sometimes, though. It looked good on Harry, his occasional hoop and the stud he had most of the time always having been attractive to her. “I’m going to ask the overasked question- Did it hurt?”

Her curiosity was only natural. If anything, it made him feel nice to know she actually had an interest in that sort of thing. He hadn’t been hiding his piercing on purpose, but if he had realized she would be so interested in it earlier then maybe he would have switched a while back. “Eh, not that bad. It swelled up a bit so I had to be careful for a bit but luckily mouth stuff tends to heal seemingly quicker. I stuck with a soft food diet for a bit- got one of those punch cards at the smoothie place down the block, had 2 free ones by the time I was done.” He laughed at the memory. It was still a place he frequented every week. “Couldn’t do anything with it and had to be careful so I didn’t bite my tongue. It swells a bit and it’s partially why it’s recommended not to eat hard or spicy foods.” 

Harry had given plenty of piercings before and the tongue wasn’t the worst, but the healing was defintely one of the more annoying ones. You couldn’t really forget about the swelling in your mouth, and the iron taste stuck around for a few days. Luckily for him, he wasn’t a chatterbox and people barely knew he had even had it done. 

“Wow. I think you have a bigger pain tolerance than me.” Y/N laughed, feeling her cheeks cool down slightly. Harry hadn’t seemed offput by the questions, rather eager to answer it. But one more remained. “So is there a reason you got it? Y’know, the aesthetics and stuff like that? I’d be worried about a tooth chipping or something.” Y/N babied her teeth so any piercing in the mouth 24/7 would worry her. 

“No, no. It’s far back enough that it doesn’t rest on the teeth, the roof of my mouth. There is a piercing I refuse to do that is a bar through the tip of the tongue. If you do it incorrectly you can cause severe nerve damage, and it’s known to chip teeth. But a regular piercing on your tongue isn’t much of a risk. Not in my experience.” He hummed. Again, he felt a little flustered at this one because the reason for the piercing was for aesthetics, yes… but. “Real talk? I thought it looked cool and there are… benefits to having one.”  At her raised brow he knew she wanted the proper answer, making him exhale deeply. “Uh- It’s like… It enhances oral sex. Some people think it feels better.” 

Harry was a self proclaimed pussy lover. He liked dicks just fine too, he didn’t limit himself, but there was just something about licking up a pretty cunt that had gotten dripping just for him. His hookups were short but there was always a longing to give more of that. It was something that plagued his fantasies, as shameful as he felt, thinking about the girl sitting right in front of him. 

Sitting between her thighs with his arm locked around her hips, keeping her nice and still despite the twitches she would give off involuntarily as his tongue swiped up her folds, nose bumping her clit as he greedily lapped her up. He could beg for the chance to have her sprawled out for him and her thighs locked around his head as he took his time tasting her. He had been very respectful and wasn’t planning on doing anything to make her uncomfortable, but she had asked. He wouldnt lie to her. 

“Oh!” She squeaked. “Damn it. See… I looked up tons of stuff about tattoos and nose piercings but I’m showing my lack of knowledge here.” A nervous giggle erupted, Harry noticing as she squeezed her thighs together. It was subtle- if he hadn’t been paying attention he wouldn’t have seen it. It was caught and he felt downright smug. She was thinking about it and obviously, she didn’t hate the idea. 

“S’alright, pet.” He replied, looking up to give her a smile. “You’re sweet. Not a problem to ask me things you want to know. You don’t have to know it all, m’happt yo teach you anything.” 

There was a slight shift, a heavier more charged energy in the room as Y/N sat quietly. She found Harry exceedingly handsome, his sex appeal not only oozing from his pores but his heart. She was trying very hard not to get ahead of herself here, knowing she definitely could fall into it if she allowed herself to do the thing she actually wanted. Shyness was her savior, at this point. 

They continued talking until he was finished, helping Y/N up and standing with her a moment to make sure she was steady. One too may clients passed out after standing up after a session and he didn’t want that to be her experience. Once she was all clear, he led her over to the mirror to look at her tattoo reflected in the glass. How it looked on her body. She looked it over with a wide smile, flexing her arm to mimic the movement he had told her about before to see the stem did indeed stay where it was supposed to be.

“Harry.. I can’t even thank you enough.” Her words were raspy, awe showing through as she let him wrap it up. He had given her the lecture, the talk about keeping it from the sun, the moisturizing it, not itching, the whole nine yards. She knew most of what he said, but she had still managed to be surprised at how much he seemed to care about the integrity of the tattoo. “It’s incredible. Everything I could have hoped for, both in the tattoo and the experience. I’m so happy with it.” Big eyes were shining up at him, giving him the most awed glint to them. Without warning, she tossed herself into his arms, wrapping them around hus shoulders to take him in for a hug. 

He froze for a moment, their embrace catching him off guard. She hadn’t seemed to initiate much touch except for last night when she was tipsy and leaning into him, so he had been surprised at her willingness to do so- but he wasn’t about to waste this. Arms wrapped around her torso, a chuckle leaving his throat as she squeezed herself to him all while being mindful of her tattoo.

She smelled really fucking good. A hint of sweet but defintely something floral. Her cheek pressed against his shoulder as she whispered thanks to him again, pulling back much too soon for his liking. She was beaming, a beam he had put on her face and a picture he wanted to photograph in his mind forever. He had made her smile like that. It had altered his breathing a little bit, watching as she gave him the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

Yeah, he was effectively fucked. 

“You don’t have t’thank me, Y/N. I’m really happy you chose me to do it. It makes me feel good that you trusted me enough even before we cleared things up.” He knew he would be making up for that for a long time. Not because she would hold it against him, but becaus he hated that his awkwardness had caused any sort of negative feeling for the sweet girl. 

“Of course I did. If anything, I knew you’d be professional.” There was a pause before she lightly nudged his foot with her own. “I do prefer us like this, though. I had a lot of fun talking to you.” He had interesting stories, despite being quieter than her, and his voice was utterly delectable. She would eat it up anytime. 

“Me as well.” He returned the shy smile to her, walking back towards his office. All her stuff was in there along with his own. Their hands bumped as they walked side by side, his heart rattling in it’s ribbed caged, the slight hook of her pinky as they entered the room making it pause before it was dropped. He had a lump in his throat, one that was begging him to ask for more from her, but it wasn’t the right time. 

The right time didn’t come until after they’d grabbed some food down the street. Playing a slight game of knocking feet under the table and gentle flirations, both of them having hated cheeks and in harry’s case, heated ears as they spoke softly to one another the entire time. It was far different than being out with their friends, his attention solely focused on her and the quieter atmosphere allowing her to hear his quieter chuckles and little hums he made in the middle of her sentences as a reply. He let her talk his ear off about her hunt for a certain eyeliner brand at the shops lately and how she’d made friends with employees who text her when it came in, she was only missing the Sapphire and Indigo variations. 

Harry sat and responded appropriately, even adding in some things, but he wa content to hear her sweet recalling of the baby penguins she wanted to go see at the museum desperately, her nosy next door neighbor, anything really. It was one of the best meals he’d ever had and he hated that it even had to end. 

He could see himself more than happy listening to her rambling every night as they ate. It was a bit shocking considering how much Harry loved his solitude and quiet, but Y/N just tickled a part of him that had never been open for access before. There was no way he could fumble this, no way he could waste an opportunity to take a chance on this. He had to man up and simply ask. 

The walk back to the shop was similar to the hallway, their hands knocking until Harry took initiative this time and let their pinkies link. Y/N continued talking, stumbling over her words once as she felt their fingers connect but her pace in words only increased. The smile wider. He took it as a good sign. The journey had been far too short for his liking, the fact he had to take his hand away from hers as she unlocked her car making him frown. Hands stuffed themselves in his pockets to keep from reaching from her again, watching her toss her bag to the passenger seat before turning to him. 

“Thank you for-” “Go on a date with me.” Harry’s words tumbled from his lips without being able to stop them, interrupting her mid sentence. Working up the nerve to ask her not allowing him to wait a second more or he would lose the confidence. “Shit- sorry. I meant, would you? Want to go om a date with me?” He watched as she blinked up at him, those pretty eyes rounded and shocked as her mouth opened and closed. It was his turn to ramble. “I had a really good time with you today, and I like you. I know I probably hurt your feelings in the past but I will make it up to you. I took you out tonight but this wasn’t a date- I just…” 

Oh, god. This was why he tended to stay the quiet and mysterious type. 

“Harry.” Y/N’s hands braced on his forearms, squeezing as she laughed through the utter of his name. “Harry. Relax. It’s okay. I… I would really, really like that.” She watched him deflate slightly from his tense stance, head tilting to the right. “I had an amazing time with you. You don’t have to make anything up to me at all. It was an accident. I’m sensitive. But I like you too.” The admittance was quieter than the rest of her words, shyer. A grown woman feeling like a kid all over again. He liked her. 

Liked liked her. 

“Yeah?” He asked again, “I’m really happy t’hear that. I wanted to ask you before we went to dinner but I got nervous.” His hand returned to anxiously rub the back of his neck, shooting her his own relieved smile. “I won’t let you regret it. I promise..”

He stepped forward, holding her car door open for her while getting closer to her. It was getting dark and she had stuff to fo tomorrow which she had told him about, her whole itinerary actually. It was- you guessed it- fucking cute. “Need you to get home safe, so text me when you walk in the door, and then we can plan our date. Sound like a plan?” 

Y/N nodded, not hesitating before wrapping her arms around his shoulders. This hug wasn less awkward, Harry’s hand falling to her back to rub gently a few times before she pulled back. He’d dwell on how nice she felt pressed against him later. Again, the girl decided to shock him, reaching up on her toes and pressing a kiss to his cheek before sitting down in her driver’s seat. 

“Bye Harry. I can’t wait to talk to you again.” 

His cheek burned with the heat of her kiss the entire time he watched her drink off. It was cool but very much there as he drove home. The lipgloss stain burned yet again as soon as he got a text once he got inside his own place, shoes kicked off and arm over his head trying to relive the feeling of her lips on his skin yet again.

Y/N: I’m home, inkmaster :-) 

H: All in one piece, I hope.

He wasn’t. Surely, a tiny bit of his heart was still stuck in her palm. 

 Y/N: Yep, lost my sunglasses though. Think they’re in your office. Good thing I’ll be seeing you soon 

Y/N: So… our date?

[syn4k]

a series of events

on May 5th, 2024, Pulitzer Prize winner and nationally acclaimed hip hop artist Kendrick Lamar Duckworth releases Not Like Us, the last in a series of scathing diss tracks against fellow artist Drake. fans of rap and hip hop immediately clock the track as Lamar's victory lap, so to speak, which. is absolutely deserved.

the song immediately becomes the biggest rap hit of the year and the definitive song of the summer. it's bumped worldwide at countless parties and the consensus is that Drake got so thoroughly demolished during this entire saga that he's never going to recover from this ever again

you see, not only does Lamar accuse Drake of being a pedophile several times during the track (which we have evidence for), he also literally calls him a colonizer. the standout lines in the track include "certified lover boy [name of one of Drake's albums], certified pedophile", "no you not a colleague, you a fuckin' colonizer" and my personal favorite, "tryna strike a chord and it's probably a minorrrrrrrr".

the song fucking slaps

kendrick has the entire world singing along to the Drake Is A Pedophile track

i cannot emphasize enough that this is so big that it escaped rap/hip hop containment and went worldwide. literally everyone is listening to this. it's crazy. (it probably doesn't help that kendrick took all copyright off the song.)

ANYWAYS so all that's going on. skip forwards a few months to today

i walk into my school's front office to look for something, as you do

while i'm waiting to talk to the lady at the front desk i notice a t-shirt hung up behind the counter

my school is selling official merch with the text "They Not Like Us" on the front for 25 bucks a pop

this is absolutely intentional.

the school is majority black (80%).

the people who designed this shirt knew exactly what they were doing when they made it.

drake is so THOROUGHLY OVER, apparently, that public schools in the U.S are selling OFFICIAL MERCHANDISE with lines from the hit song about how he's a racist pedophile on them

(this is fully legal, by the way. there are no copyright restrictions on the song for a reason.)

i am losing my entire shit.

[costkappen]

Her composer - CLxsinger!reader

Summary....Charles girlfriend just dropped her new album and she announces that some of her songs contains some of Charles works too

Warnings....none,very fluffy and sweet

Fc....Olivia Rodrigo (ik very basic but I honestly had no idea who to use🥲)

INSTAGRAM

Yourusername

Yourusername so happy to announce that my album Guts!(spilled) is out now!!! I am so immensely happy about what I have achieved and I couldn't have done this without all of you amazing fans listening to my songs🫶🏻 one special thank you goes to my lovely boyfriend @charlesleclerc that actually composed some of my songs!!! Ty sm baby I love you ❤️

Charlesleclerc love you too baby, I'm super proud !!❤️

| yourusername 🫶🏻❤️

User omg I'm so happy!! I've been waiting for this!!

User AAAAAA EVERYONE GO STREAM GUTS!!!

User omg guys🥹charles helped her compose the songs??? I might cry

| user right??? They are so cute togheter

| user my fave couple strikes again

User get yourself a boyfriend that composes songs for your album🥲

| user is this too much to ask for???😭

Taylorswift in a world of boys he's a gentleman 🫶🏻

| yourusername ly🫶🏻🫶🏻🤍

STORIES

Yourusername

Charlesleclerc

Charlesleclerc hello everyone! My beautiful girlfriend finally released her new album! We've been working on it so long and I'm so proud of her and of how it came out🫶🏻 I've never composed a song but I did my best for her❤️ stream Guts! @yourusername

Yourusername omg baby🥹🥹tysm I couldn't have done it without you!!

| charlesleclerc my talented queen❤️

User oooh they're being sickeningly sweet on main😭 love them but this makes me feel so lonely

| user agreed!! I want a boyfriend now

| user ok but who could ever compare to charles??

Landonorris what he said!!! Stream Guts! Also congrats @yourusername

| yourusername ty Lando!! Super happy you're enjoying Guts!

User omg guys I went to the paddock yesterday and they were blasting Guts!😭 everyone is so supportive of her i love it

| user definitely living for this yourname x F1 era!

| user literally my 2 favorite things combined...if they ever break up its over for me

STORIES

Yourusername

Yourusername

Yourusername omg guys...Guts has reached over 1.5M streams in a week....I'm speechless thank you so much to everyone that enjoyed my music!! I would've never imagined receiving all of this support, again thank you so so much! And a special thank you for the F1 girlies...I know you're here for my boyfriend but I hope you'll stay!

Charlesleclerc pretty as always❤️ 1.5M more than deserved

| yourusername might have you compose all of my songs if this is the result!😘

| user omg yes please!!! Need more yn x charles songs!

User I definitely got here because of charles but I couldn't be more happy because now i have a new fave artist🫶🏻

| user me too! I didn't know her before charles but now I'm definitely not letting her go

Francisca.cgomes loved the album babe🫶🏻 looking forward to see you more on the paddock tho I miss you!

| yourusername I miss you too pretty! I'll try my best

User ok but can we appreciate how she tanked the f1 girlies too? She's so sweet

STORIES

Yourusername

[enden-k]

btw sry to the ppl who came for fanart and get blasted w all the oc stuff LMAOOO

its nothing new but i fell out of a few fandoms, gnshn mainly. due to all the ongoing drama w hoyogames caused by the fandom over the stupidest things (im not involved or get involved in any of that but it always happened i saw stuff here and there on my tl and its just wow), then all the stupid shit hyv pulled in the past months and get away with constantly, then how extremely time consuming and demanding and repetitive everything became etcetcetc i kinda have issues with playing their games. theres jsut no energy or interest left bc all this above is kinda outweighing anything that made me enjoy it before?

(i still adore a bunch of characters and might draw some again but i really am not sure if i will get into the game itself again. im just tired and nothing keeps me there anymore tbh)

zzz is enjoyable as its v chill on time and the team behind it is a new one so the game is sm more different it rlly doesnt feel like a hoyo game anymore. hsr is also ok tho i dont always keep track w it lately, sometimes i just get a bit bored of it when theres nothing interesting baiting me into finishing story stuff lol

whaaat i mean to say is thats kinda why im not rlly doing much fanart lately??? since there was no major thing that had my constant attention and kept me drawing 1000 things at a time lately. i jump from interest to interest rn when it comes to fandom stuff and draw whenever inspo strikes i guess

rn im going back to old fandoms again and rewatching/rereading/replaying all my most favorite things for some happiness. im currently hyperfixating real bad on my fav animanga once again so i might post some doodles of that or other shows i rlly enjoyed and rewatched, maybe even fate or FF stuff again

i rlly have to say since i stopped actively playing gnshn/spending so much time with keeping up with hoyogames and do all my stuff there every single day, i feel mentally SO MUCH better and suddenly have sm good time to use for other things (also ngl i feel like having to keep up daily w those type of games/playing sm gacha turned me really stupid and impatient over the years)

i even got back to draw OCs and create a new comic again after almost 6 YEARSSSSS of not working on my own stories. im feeling really happy rn, drawing stuff that is not gnshn/hyv related be it my OCs or other things i rlly enjoy like alnst etc (its prolly also another reason why im going back to old, favorite things rn bc i wanna create for everything that is dear to me and i didnt do before bc i didnt have my artblog back then yet)

anw sorry for rambling sm LMAO i guess you can consider this some kind of an update/explanation!! OC art and mixture of hyperfixations, favorite things and whatever im into atm, NOT a gnshn only artist

[psicheanima]

i got intrigued by the fact that you did a senior paper on the witches from madoka - can you please tell us some more about that? i love when academic work ties to personal interests.

I can do you one better. You can just read it. Screenshots as it’s from a website. This is the actual final. I can’t include my analysis portion in an image because there’s a ten image limit on mobile. So it’s under the cut. And please be gentle, because I wrote this when I was 18.

Icebox Cake

Icebox Cake is the alternate name for the pastry Charlotte. This is of course a reference to the witch Charlotte, who the poem is about. This story is a direct adaptation of Charlotte’s canon backstory as revealed in the Magia Record Game. Charlotte is the only witch in this collection with a concrete backstory, and the only one who we know the real name of — Nagisa Momoe.

Nivelles Charaxinae

Nivelles Charaxinae is a reference to both this witch’s namesake and her design. The witch this story is about is Gertrud, named after the saint of gardens, Gertrud of Nivelles. Charaxinae is a reference to the type of butterfly that is in Gertrud’s witch form. The names of her roses in her diary entries are names of saints. I wanted to give her roses human names to show they are the true ‘humans’ to her, but also maintain a degree of disconnect. I think like Gertrud’s namesake, saints are the least human human you can be.

In case your words are all that’s left of me…

In case your words are all that’s left of me… is the only poem with a completely made up title. Though I want the ending of what happened to HN Elly, the witch of this story, to be up to reader interpretation, her feelings of having no real presence besides her online one was something I wanted to make very clear, so that’s why I chose this title.

The usernames are all references to songs sung by Marguerite in Faust. Faust is a work with immense impact on Madoka, having numerous references both visually and story wise. Most notably, quotes from it are littered in every witch labyrinth. Keeping with the theme of this poem being the odd one out name wise, HN Elly actually has another name— Kirsten. This is after Dorothy Kirsten, who famously portrayed Marguerite, which is why I paid tribute to her role.

POESIE SCHMECKT GUT

I based most of my references off the real life women the witches are named after. It shows most in POESIE SCHMECKT GUT. The namesake of this story’s witch, Elsa Maria, is Elsa Asenijeff. POESIE SCHMECKT GUT was a publishing firm for one of Elsa’s books. The base storyline is based off of Elsa’s unhappy arranged marriage, and the religious and star theme was already there in Elsa Maria’s labyrinth.

Guernica

This poem is all about visual art from the point of view of a girl who doesn’t really understand it, so I was a perfect person to write this. All the references were surface level, sort of awkwardly shoved in ones to famous pieces and artists. The title is reference to one of Piccaso’s most famous pieces, an extremely meaningful and striking abstract about war. For this witch, who is named Izabel, who does nothing but copy others, I couldn’t think of anything better to name her story, because I knew she herself could never find value in Guernica.

It’s raining again today. How long will I continue to be unlucky for?

There’s not a lot to say about this one, but I think the witch that it’s about, Patricia, would like that. The story is pretty self explanatory, but it’s one of my favorites because of that. The title is reference to a line in her labyrinth.

2 parts Absinthe 1 part Brandy 1/2 part Gin 3 parts Vodka 1 part Crème de Mûres

This witch, Roberta, is pretty special. First off, she’s an adult witch, the only in the series. She’s said to be fond of alcohol, which I tried to portray in the lack of grammar and punctuation, like you’re listening to the incoherent thought stream of the intoxicated. The title is the ingredients to her namesake, the Aunt Roberta cocktail, which is the strongest drink in the world.

Source Title: Puella Magi Madoka Magica

Source Creators: Atsuhiro Shinbo & Gen Urobuchi & Shaft Productions

Year Published/Produced: 2011

Setting: The series mainly takes place in the fictional city of Mikakihara Japan, 2011. The rest of the series takes places in the otherworldly “Labyrinths”, dark mental landscapes based on the inner feelings of the witch they belong to.

Plot Summary: The series follows a middle school girl named Madoka Kaname, who is approached by a creature named Kyuubey to grant her any wish in exchange for becoming a “magical girl” and fighting against witches— supernatural creatures that kill humans. Eventually, it is revealed witches are fallen magical girls who fall into despair and that Kyuubey purposefully creates this magical girl to witch cycle to feed off their sadness, as his species uses said emotion like energy to fight otherworldly creatures far away, to prevent the destruction of the universe.

In the end, Madoka becomes a magical girl to wish for all magical girls to get happy endings— which erases witches from existence, including herself, as all Magical Girls eventually become witches. This creates a paradox through which no one remembers her anymore, except one person, the girl who had wished for her not to live a normal life more than anyone.

Key Character Descriptions

Charlotte— The witch of sweets, it is her nature to be tenacious. Charlotte used to be a ten year old girl named Momoe, who became a witch after falling in despair at the death of her mother.

H.N. Elly— The box witch, it is her nature to be covetous. Her labrynth and cards all imply that she was an internet addicted shut-in turned internet-famous idol, who cracked under the pressure of constant performance.

Elsa Maria— The shadow witch, it is her nature to be self-righteous. Due to her religious imagery, many theorize she was driven to despair after finding out the witches she slayed as a magical girl used to be fellow humans. However, I based my story on her on the life of her namesake, Elsa Asenijeff.

Gertrud— The rose garden witch, it is her nature to be distrustful. Nothing is known about her backstory, so I constructed my adaptation for her based on the info we do know about her, such as the fact that “she holds roses dearer than anything else” and that, “she loathes the thought of humans trampling her labyrinth”.

Patricia— The class representative witch, it is her nature to be an onlooker. It has been said she used to be a normal, serious girl who was overlooked by her classmates. In the show, her wish is for her school life routine to go on forever, which is what I based my adaptation for her on.

Izabel— The artist witch, it is her nature to be vain. In her prior life, she was an artist suffering from a creative block who yearned for others to notice her. It is said that every art piece she produced was something “that you have probably seen somewhere before”.

Roberta— The birdcage witch, it is her nature to rage. Before she became a witch, she was a party girl living a life of surface level relationships, specifically with men, but secretly, she was disgusted by all of them. Her wish was for friends who wouldn’t dislike her.

Cultural Themes

The fear of being alone is a major theme in Madoka Magica, as depicted through the struggles of various characters. Sayaka Miki's desire to win the affections of her crush, Kyousuke, despite his lack of care for her efforts, highlights her fear of being unloved. She becomes obsessed with trying to gain his love, ultimately leading to her downfall.

In a more subtle way, Mami Tomoe's yearning for companionship also highlights the theme of fear of being alone. Despite her cheerful and big sister-like front, Mami is revealed to be deeply lonely and craves companionship. She reaches out to other magical girls in an attempt to alleviate her loneliness, but her efforts are paid in dust.

And of course, the biggest example of this is Homura Akemi's refusal to let Madoka die. Homura goes to great lengths to protect Madoka, trapping herself in a time loop to prevent Madoka from becoming a victim of the magical girl system. Her actions are driven by her fear of losing Madoka and being left alone in a world without her, to the point where she would even let the universe itself be destroyed to save her love.

Through these characters, the series explores the visceral human need for connection, and the disastrous consequences that arise from the lengths we will go to to obtain it.

The central message I want to explore in my adaptation is the prior lives of monsters. Through these stories of monsters before they "became" monsters, I want to delve into the idea of how the creatures of Madoka Magica, framed as so inhumane the literal art style changes for them, used to lead extremely human, flawed lives before the show portrayed them. Using a simple, fairytale-like style of writing and multiple types of writing, like receipts, reviews, and diary entries, I want to portray the mundaneness of their lives, and just how involved in the world they were. That they were real little girls, with real lives that impacted the things around them.

Motifs

The most common motif in Madoka Magica is fairytale motifs, specifically Eastern European fairytales. Witches, little girls tempted by strange creatures, candy houses. One character, Sayaka Miki, even has her entire story based on the little mermaid. She loves a boy, he doesn’t love her, she sacrifices everything for him anyways and then turns into a huge, mermaid monster. I aim to invoke this through my style of writing, taking a simple yet whimsical approach.

Why Madoka?

I like almost everything about this anime. The characters, the love they have for one another, the Czech fairytale-like art style, and that despite the dark themes, the story never supports falling into the darkness yourself. One thing I dislike is that the short 12 episode length, while making the series very “complete” also serves to stunt the potential of a majority of the characters. As the series relies on the connections these characters have, it would have benefited very extremely from a longer run-time to show us the chemistry between the girls and their loved ones, as the lack of screen time can make these deep bonds seem rushed and superficial. I want to try to convey the importance of those deep bonds in my work, but like I said, it’s a matter of time, not passion, so my adaptation can’t fix this issue.

Adding sequels and prequels has, in my opinion, sullied the impact of the original work. Madoka Magica is an intensely popular brand, and thus, is extremely profitable. Making spin-offs for the short series seems obvious from a business point of view. But a majority of these spin-offs are just made simply from this business point of view, and nothing else. One example of this is the most popular spin-off series for Madoka, "Magia Record," which takes place in the same universe with a new, expansive cast of characters. The show feels like a cheap imitation of the original series. Instead of trying to explore new interesting themes or go into depth on the topics brought up in Madoka, it’s just trying to recapture what made it so special without truly understanding why it was so special in the first place.

One of the primary cultural fears explored in Madoka Magica is the fear of death, specifically the death of the ones you love. At the end of the series, it is revealed that Madoka’s aloof best friend, Homura, is actually in love with her and has been stuck in a time loop trying to prevent Madoka’s death, which proves unavoidable. The finale deals with Homura stopping the time loop and accepting her crush’s death, and that the world will move on without her, and so should she. The series tells us death is natural, it happens to all of us, and we cannot stop it. But we can honor the ones we loved and lost and step into the future as they would want.

[sreyaya]

Just One Night

Idol AU | Norton Campbell x F!Reader NSFW

Content warning: creampie, rough sex, sex for a favor, light latino Norton headcanon, dick describing, 2K words, MDNI

(A/n: my masterpiece, i'm so proud of this,,,I LOVE NORTON ARGH)

smut under the cut!

Ah yes, the infamous City Dome Concert, held only once every four years, making it one of the most prestigious events for upcoming and rising artists. As the saying goes, if you make it to the Dome, you'll be known. Everyone wanted to be there, including you, yourself.

Being the leader of a devoted band for so long has taken its toll on you. Endless nights spent songwriting and recording, vocal practices, and band meet-ups have become your daily routine, but oh well, it was all expected, you signed up for this and the Dome Concert is everything you need, the last step to your dreams, an important stepping stone before making it big. When your band landed at the top of the pending list, everything seemed to fall apart so suddenly.

And of course, as usual, Norton Campbell, one of the more globally famed band members, and his band stood at the top, just like at every event. It's not like they needed the Dome Concert anymore, you initially thought. With his pleasantly endearing face and fresh set of skills, he could go anywhere, even on the front page of your favorite monthly fashion magazine. It was truly unfair.

It was also unfair that the two of you happened to start at the same spot, same school, same class, being musical rivals for the lead roles. It always ended with you as the lead vocalist and him as the guitarist, but honestly, he just had to flourish more than you did, signing a contract with that stupid well-off idol company and branched out from there. Unfair, you thought again, slamming the magazine with his face on the cover onto the table.

With the upcoming Dome Concert, a preliminary briefing was held, inviting all members from both the approved and pending lists. This made you feel slightly salty, but who knows? Someone might give up their position for the concert tonight, you slightly hoping someone will. With Flashing cameras, paparazzi, and screaming fans waited outside right in front of the hall entrance, Norton's wave of voices being the loudest among them. Clicking your tongue in response, you headed in with the rest of your band members, dispersing once inside the eminent party.

You reached for a glass of white wine, savoring its flavor, refreshing taste as you took frequent sips. Above you, the crystal chandeliers glistened, casting a warm, elegant glow over the room. The venue was blessed like a grand banquet hall, with luxurious decorations and lavish details. You wore your favorite bodycon dress, its design perfectly incinuating your figure and revealing your striking back. Every aspect of the evening, from the wine to your attire, conveying your refined taste and style.

In the midst of the crowd, the laughs and chats of other artists or celebrities, Campbell stood out, already eyeing you with a glass of red wine in hand, a sharp contrast towards your own preference for white. His approach was slow and unhurried, each and every step of his was intended on his black-leather loafers, his well-tailored suit impeccably matched to your elegant garment.

"Why, hello," he chimed, a smirk playing on his lips. "Someone didn't make it to the Dome again this year~", he continued, his grin widening with each word. The tone was all too familiar, one you had come to despise over the years you spent with him.

"Well, I worked my way up here. I can wait for next time," you huffed, a sullen look crossing your face as you placed your glass down with a bit more force than intended.

"Tell you what, I'll give you my spot," he said lightly, another grin following his words. You knew him too well, he wouldn’t give up such a coveted position without wanting something in return.

"What are you implying, Campbell?" Your tone sharpened, suspicion and annoyance mixed in your words as you stared him down, cautious of any tricks up his sleves.

"One night," he said, holding up one finger in front of your face, "One night with me, hermosa."

The world around you seemed to fade away, the noise of the crowd becoming distant. His proposition wasn’t anything new, he had done this a couple of times to you but he never forced you into it, and you weren’t inexperienced either. But Norton? Your childhood friend? It felt strange, but not wrong, the gears in your mind turned rapidly. You needed this position, and he wasn’t the worst anyways.

As you weighed his proposal, your thoughts raced back to your shared history. Norton had always been the golden boy, effortlessly charming and talented, while you had fought for every bit of recognition. His flirtatious remarks, though frequent, had never carried this much weight before. He watched you intently, waiting for your response. The stakes were high, and he knew it. The opportunity to perform at the Dome was a dream, a career-defining moment. Could you set aside your pride, for one night?

Norton leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Think about it. This could be your only chance."

You took a deep breath, your resolve hardening. "Alright, Norton. One night. And i'll get your spot? How can i trust you on this?"

A triumphant smile spread across his face. "Here~" he said, a small envelope, filled with the official invitation inside, to the Dome.

And as promised, that night, you found yourself walking into the mentioned five-star hotel, clutching the keycard Norton had slipped into your hand before disappearing into the crowd. Damn it, Norton, you cursed silently, taking a deep breath before heading inside. As you approached his door, you hesitated, your heart pounding, opening the door there stood Norton in a bathrobe, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

"Welcome," he said, opening the door fully and gesturing for you to enter his private room. The room was offly neat, different from the boy you grew up with, who never bothered to pick up his laundry or tidy his space, it was trully a surprising improvement.

Without further idle chatter, Norton gently grabbed your chin, leaning in for a kiss by the room door, his eyes searching yours for permission as you responded by pushing your head slightly forward, meeting his lips.

As you kissed, you couldn't help but wonder if this was all about that sudden deal or what you had wanted all along. Why'd you reply to the kiss so soon? Your train of thought was soon stopped as he lifted you effortlessly, his hands gripping your thighs as your legs wrapped around his waist. The kiss deepened, the scent of your shampoo filling his senses, making everything feel hazy.

He carried you to the king-sized bed, laying you down gently. Continuing the kiss, each one was long and deep, filled with unspoken desires. "I've been waiting for you, cariño," he muttered between kisses, his hands roaming over your body, removing your garments one by one.

"Looks like someone's more prepared than I thought," he remarked, eyeing your matching set of black lingerie, his favorite color. Maybe, subconsciously, you DID want this too.

"Ah, cariño, you're going to be the end of me," he gasped out as he removed the last pieces of your clothing, revealing your body to him. Your plump breasts, with blushed nipples bouncing as it grasped away from your upper undergarment, and your soft thighs, meticulously cared for, seemed to drive him insane each following second.

Norton had anticipated this more than you realized. Ever since your debut, he had attended every one of your concerts, silently watching from the VIP row, watching you grow each time. You had never noticed him, but he had always wanted you, waiting patiently for this moment. Now, with you finally in his grasp, he was determined to make you his.

"I would do foreplay, but you just look so captivating in front of me, mami. Let's skip it, shall we?" Norton suggested, his voice thick with lust.

Heat rose to your core as he pulled down his boxers, his member growing at the sight of your naked body. Norton was... well-endowed, his length and girth impressive, veins prominent along the shaft, the tip flushing a deep maroon, not forgetting how well-groomed he is, making him even more irresistible.

Seeing your state, he moved closer, placing both palms on your knees. "Open your legs for me, baby," he murmured, kissing each of your kneecaps tenderly. You surrendered immediately, your tense muscles relaxing as you spread your legs for him. Both his dominance and gentleness was overwhelming for your heart, messing with your thoughts and making you more eager for what was to come.

As Norton positioned himself between your legs, tension crept back in regardless of how experiened you were. The reality of the situation made you anxious by the second, nerve-wrecked. Fucking your childhood friend? But as Norton leaned in for another kiss, you decided to let go of your doubts and bask in the moment, forgetting all about your worries.

He pushed his girth in, feeling every gushy wall of yours warmly wrapped around him. His erection stretched your tight walls, making you bubble up a moan ever so loudly, it was music to his ears. Everything was a haze for him, overstimulation taking over. It didn’t take long before he started moving, your ass slapping against his pelvis, releasing lewd noises that filled you up.

Norton couldn't take his eyes off you. He was impatient, desperate for you. "Tighter—fuck, you're so amazing. You feel amazing," he whimpered out while fucking you senseless. Norton didn’t want to take this one night for granted and used it all to its fullest, pouring his heart into every thrust. Your pussy clamped down on his length, making him shudder each time he pulled it out and slammed back in, his heavy balls slapped against your puffy folds.

"Ay, I'm so crazy for you, corazón," he gasped as you rode him, your breasts bouncing in front of his eyes, you could even feel his member growing even bigger inside you. The air was thick with moans and groans. His hands were firm on your hips, occasionally swaying them outwards and pulling them back in. Your hands caressed his abs, feeling the every chiseled ones as you bounced on his cock. Just how many times have you came tonight?

As the clock had finally hit 3 o'clock, the two of you were in the bathroom, telling yourself it's "cleanup time" but you both ended up asking for more, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he pushed himself in deeper than before. Norton loves to mutter small compliments, mesmerized by how beautiful you looked under him. Your throat was dry from the sounds you’d made all night, and your legs weakened with each passing second.

Everything soon came to an end, the mixture of your juices dripping down from your pussy, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead, making him just more attractive each passing second. He plunged in one last thrust, trying to pull out to release outside. But you, being the cheeky woman that you are, locked your legs around his hips, pushing him back in with the last of your energy. Norton couldn't hold himself back, the tight knot around his abdomen soon all came lose as he released deep inside you. His warm semen smearing all over your puffy walls as he can finally pull out.

"Cheeky much, you're gonna pay for that," he muttered with a giggle soon following. Planting a light kiss on your forehead before lifting you into the bathtub. The water was cold from when you both had left them, but the moment was enough to melt your heart. Was it really about the deal, or was it the unnoticed feelings you had for your childhood friend all these passing years?

Norton carefully cleaned every part of your body, constantly asking if anything hurt. You could only laughed, charmed by his caring side.

"I love you, mi vida."

The whole world seemed to stop for both of you. The water suddenly stilled down, and the dim bathroom lights cast a soft glow on the scene. Your heartbeat quickened, and you swore he could hear it too. He was cradling you from behind, his head resting on your shoulder as he whispered those words out.

"Be mine? Por favor?"

[jmdbjk]

Cultural reset...

These are just my own opinions and I think it's time I address this.

I had to google "cultural reset" to make sure I was using the term properly. New Google AI Overview says:

A cultural reset is when something significant in popular culture changes or is added, causing people to change the way they view things or to have a lot of people hop on the trend. For example, in K-pop, a cultural reset is a song that is very influential, usually one that gets pretty popular and many people love. It has a lot of influence over the K-pop fandom, and gets a lot of attention.

I did not ask Google AI Overview to specifically give me an example in K-pop. That's just my browsing history telling Google AI Overview that this bitch is obsessed... scary right?

(But I'm a little miffed that Google AI Overview generalized my BTS browsing history as K-pop because I don't look at or search up other K-pop artists. I am BTS only.)

Anyway, thank you Google AI Overview. Actually, I was more interested in styling concepts that are a cultural reset.

Let's stop stalling and just get into it.

I know none of us knew what to do with this Jimin when the photo folios dropped:

Definitely a cultural reset in my opinion.

We had never seen a Jimin like that before. Only in our fanfic-AI generated images imaginations had we ever thought...I don't think AI images was even a thing when this Jimin dropped on us.

Does anyone else have the urge to smooth the wrinkles and creases out of those pants for him? No? Just me? Ok.

Photo folio-black lace up leather gloved-patent leather panted-big chain belted-horny mask Jimin was a cultural reset for me and for many of us. The gloves really put it over the top. We'll never go back. He's covered from neck to foot except for a few slivers of skin. It's wild. It's just a smooth arm pit. Ok, before I run off the rails here... what was I saying? Oh yeah.

Also a cultural reset for me:

Every time I see this come up on my Youtube I watch it because it deserves all the views. Even the soundtrack was perfect.

I know Dora-the-Explorer haired Jungkook is not the favorite of some but I absolutely adore it... wait... sorry. There's a word there that I'm striking from my regular vocabulary from now on. Reasons.

This Jungkook was a cultural reset for me. He's never looked like this before and hasn't since in any concept photos. This was brilliant styling, I don't know if it was JK's regular stylist or if a Calvin Klein stylist did it but it was pure art.

He played that camera until the camera wilted, I just know it. I hope he grows his hair out long again when he's back with us.

And no shoulder booboo. I wonder when the shoulder booboo incident happened and I wonder if we'll ever hear the details.

While I'm talking about cultural resets, I have an honorable mention:

Not just this visual but the song too. PJM2 is coming. I feel another cultural reset coming.

Talking to my partner in crime the other day and I think a meeting DID occur where they detailed out a timeline for Project Naked Bangtan. Because they weren't going to go full frontal on us cold turkey. (Somehow all those words together sound hideous but you get my meaning.)

Regardless of Tae and his proclamation that "Chapter 2 isn't about us taking off our shirts" it is about showing a more mature side of themselves which inevitably is going to lead to showing some skin and some cuss words. Little did we know.

I can imagine how it went down in the brainstorm meeting of them trying to come up with content to fill in the time until they are all discharged...on a whiteboard possibly... because some of us are visual learners... someone drew a timeline of nakedness, possibly for each member.

I can hear it now:

RM: "We have to ease them into it. Who's first?"

Jin: "Hyung will do it." LMAO

What's been your Jimin and Jungkook cultural resets?

[tobiasdrake]

One of my favorite bits of Dragonball trivia is that Yajirobe canonically sounds exactly like Krillin (because Toriyama wanted to make sure Krillin's VA still had a steady job while he was dead). so in honor of that, what are your thoughts on Yajirobe?

I support the commander and general of Yajirobe's Special Forces.

...okay, that probably needs some explaining. A bit the anime liked to do for their filler was to have news cameras and reporters swarm the action to report on everything that's happening. This became very awkward later in the series when it was a plot point that nobody remembered Goku more than ten years after Piccolo's defeat.

One of these bits has reporters interviewing Yajirobe while the Saiyan battle was going on. Yajirobe claims that his elite team are out there engaging the Saiyans. So this became a running joke on another site I was on. Dragon Team? Z Warriors? Nah. Yajirobe's Special Forces.

But in seriousness, let's talk Yajirobe.

As noted, this is a character who only exists because, for a brief period, Krillin didn't. Toriyama killed off Krillin but didn't want his V.A. to go without work, so he purposely and explicitly notes in the manga that Yajirobe conveniently sounds just like Krillin.

"Oh wow, you sound just like someone who would be played by Mayumi Tanaka in the anime adaptation of my adventures!" ~Goku

Yajirobe is pretty unique in Dragon Ball for being a weapon-based fighter. The only other character who relies on a sword is Trunks, and he loses his sword pretty early in the Android arc.

Due to his function as a surrogate character for Krillin, Yajirobe is pretty underdeveloped. He's a wandering ronin wildman Goku happens to run into who's tough enough to hang with 22nd Tenkaichi Budokai top contenders.

Somewhere, Tenshinhan doesn't know why but he's incredibly offended right now.

Though when he does get a chance to attend the tournament, it doesn't go well. Then again, he's pit against God in the qualifiers so that's bad luck.

Don't worry, Yajirobe. Yamcha feels your pain.

God came to defeat Piccolo but he figures, as long as he's here, he might as well humiliate martial artists for lulz. This whole drunken boxing-esque "Whoopsy did I win?" shtick must be so demoralizing to lose to.

As a fighter, Yajirobe leans on his katana. This is what makes him so distinctive, compared to other martial artists. He does fight hand-to-hand when he isn't taking things seriously.

But for Yajirobe, getting serious means going for his sword. He practices iaijutsu, a form of kenjutsu revolving around rapid drawing, striking, and sheathing of one's blade. 90's anime fans may recognize iaijutsu or its older name battojutsu as the basis for Kenshin Himura's style in the samurai anime Rurouni Kenshin.

This kill was brought to you by iaijutsu, a popular art for anime swordsmanship because it's fucking cool. Vegeta would later fall victim to Yajirobe's iaijutsu as well.

Imagine being the second-most powerful being the universe literally on the cusp of annihilating the last line of defense that this pitiful world has to offer, with the only truly dangerous opponent broken in your hand....

And then suddenly you lose everything to Krillin's stunt double. This is worse. This is definitely worse than having God Whoopsy Doodle Headbutt you in the balls. 100%, this is worse.

This was both the first and last time Yajirobe had any meaningful impact on a fight. I don't count killing Cymbal up there because Goku would have done it if he hadn't. That was an establishing moment to show off Yajirobe's abilities.

Rather, despite his abilities and standoffish demeanor, Yajirobe is primarily the party healer. It's super weird. Right from the start, his first contribution is a fish Goku swipes from him to get his strength back.

Goku had no idea that this was stealing. He thought fish just... happen like that sometimes.

Goku's bad at life.

But then everything changes for him, after. Uh. Piccolo kills Goku and then Goku... inexplicably springs back to life for no clear reason at all.

Yeah, this beat-for-beat copy/paste of the Taopaipai fight has some jank to it. But that means Yajirobe's next order of business is to serve as a mode of transportation to bring Goku to healz.

And then he moved in. Now he just. Lives there. Obnoxious college roommate to the God of Martial Arts, running errands in the world below. Karin's personal gofer.

Hey, God wants to see us all for fight practice and also your weird island house is dumb and obnoxious.

Here are your Senzu; Bean Daddy out.

The best thing about Yajirobe is the total lack of fucks he gives about whatever this is. Any time he's onscreen, you can feel his resentment over having to earn his rent by continuing to be a character in this manga.

(And the second best thing is that somehow, Wildman With Sword is the party healer.)

[maniculum]

Maniculum Bestiaryposting Results: Miscellaneous Snakes

We have snakes!

Surely y'all know the deal by now, but in case you don't, here's a link: https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting.

To see the entry on which these pictures are based, click here:

To see the one on which next week's will be based, so that you can participate if you like, click here:

Now, art below the cut:

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) decided to draw these four snakes. I think they all turned out pretty interesting -- the Kramlengga looks rather elegant, and I think the Mlegtugwam is kind of cute.

@citrvsdrake (link to post here) has done five separate drawings for five separate snakes. All of them are quite good, actually, but I do think the Mlegtugwam hiding in its cave up at the top there is particularly delightful.

@cheapsweets (link to post here) has drawn all of them. I like them a lot -- the Zriggwanto continues to be very funny visually, and the Krefemklog strikes me as particularly well-rendered here. My favorite, however, is the Thagolgrom entirely because he's in a mazer and I'm fascinated by those. They're a deep research dive waiting to happen to me. (Also, thank you for providing alt text.)

@coolest-capybara (link to post here) had the excellent idea to borrow the concept of the "wound man" diagram for this, so we can see all the dangers of the snakes at once. All of this is fantastic, but I think my favorite is the Samgleshti which has somehow burrowed into the gold-foil background as if it were sand.

@wendievergreen (link to post here) has done this really cool-looking thing with black paper. I love it. the Thagolgrom and Kramlengga look especially striking. For information about the real-life snakes that inspired all these different depictions, check out the linked post. (Also, thank you for providing alt text.)

All right, let's take a look at the Aberdeen Bestiary.

Mlegtugwam

... so that's not a snake. That is our Default Medieval Wyvern Thing. I think anything serpent-adjacent has a habit of turning into these when our artist is bored.

Anyway, it's an asp. Looks just like one, too. Note that it's plugging its ears, but I'm not sure that defends against being Hit With Stick.

Girtranaeg

Come on. I know we keep finding out new layers of England's shocking lack of animal species, but I know you know what a snake is. I'm 100% sure England has snakes. Adders, at least.

I have to hand this one to the artist, though, they did a good job making the scales look visually interesting.

On the other hand, this is the scitalis, which is not a real snake, so maybe it does look like this. What do I know.

(I'm glossing over a lot of these not just because there are a lot, but also because there really isn't that much more written about them than what we've already read.)

Hrukgolklo

I'm sure at least one of y'all clocked this one, and if nobody did, someone probably just realized when they saw the illustration. This is the amphisbaena, and the above is possibly the most famous illustration of one -- seriously, I see it everywhere.

Which is kind of annoying actually, because again that is not a picture of a snake. There's also this thing going on here, which CheapSweets seemed to reach on their own from first principles -- it's really easy to read the description of the amphisbaena moving in a circle as it rolling along like a hoop snake. You can even see that kind of happening in the illustration, with the head gripping the tail. It comes up in multiple illustrations of the thing.

Now, I've always read it as... when the amphisbaena is crawling along, the heads are right next to each other and moving in the same direction, so the body forms almost a complete circle. I have no idea if a snake could actually do that, but bestiary authors aren't anatomists. Because, like, okay: of all the snakes, the amphisbaena is the least equipped to do the hoop snake thing, because if it grips its tail with its mouth, it's also gripping its other head, which should be more difficult and less comfortable, right?

Sorry, this is something that's bothered me for years.

Oh, also, the amphisbaena is of course fictitious, as is the hoop snake.

Thagolgrom

No illustration for this one, because it's "a kind of asp", so it's rolled into that entry. This is the (as far as I know not real) dissa.

Shabalrang

As above, except this is the appropriately named ypnalis.

Tafmiwukri

This type of asp is called emorrosis. Which... also has a familiar ring to it. I'm tempted to start looking stuff up to see if all of these asps are named after the effects of their venom, but it's past 11pm and I don't have the time.

Krefemklog

This asp is called a prester, and rules over a country of obscene riches far to the east... wait, no, that's a different thing. This kind of prester is just a cool snake.

Kraehozdim

This is the boa. Which threw me, because I thought those were New World snakes. Turns out, though, the genus Eryx is found around the Mediterranean and in various parts of Africa and Asia, so okay then.

Nrogklongo

Another asp with no illustration! This one is called spectaficus, which sounds cool.

Samgleshti

For some reason this one also doesn't have an illustration, which makes me feel cheated. It's the cerastis, which also makes an appearance in the Wonders of the East, though I think they call it corsia or something. Not a real snake, in case anyone wasn't sure about the horns.

Zriggwanto

... huh. Well, okay, that does look like a javelin snake. This one is the jaculus, which I was ready to dismiss as another imaginary thing, but apparently there might be a grain of truth to it? It seems that the boa species Eryx jaculus is so named because of a claim that the ancient Greeks used to throw them at enemy ships during naval battles to cause fear and confusion among the opposing crew. Maybe. I don't have the time to look into the veracity of that one right now.

But how 'bout that, huh?

Kramlengga

You'd think that one of these snakes being distinguished by having wings would have discouraged the artist from putting wings on the rest of them, but... well. See, now they don't have anything neat to do with the illustration for the winged snake.

Anyway, this is the siren. No, not that one, those are separate and turn up in other bestiaries. This is the snake kind of siren. It's also not real, which is a trend in snakes apparently.

Galwinglik

This is the closest to "snake", even if it has a fox head. It is the seps, which is also not real.

Yeakrindra

No illustration for this one. It also didn't get a header; the text just segued right from "seps" to dipsa. Might have been a scribal error somewhere maybe? Anyway, the dipsa is also fictitious.

And... that's all of them.

Goodnight; dream of danger noodles.

[nats-revival]

𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙞𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝙗𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 / 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙚 𝙗𝙤𝙩𝙝 𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙪𝙥 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙨𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙨 | 𝙚. 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙢𝙨

pairing: ellie williams x afab!black!reader

tags: told from readers pov and ellies pov, alternates between third person and first person, sorta angsty, fluff at the start, basically ur dina lol, jj isnt here tho, one use of y/n, one description of reader (just hair?? i think that’s it), ellie has ALOT of inner turmoil, reader lowkey knows that tho, great music/artists (not to toot my own horn but the songs and artists mentioned are BANGERS!!!!), sorta canon typical universe, mentions of abby and tommy (not really any actual involvement in the story.. well, sorta ig), ellie refers to reader as ‘she’, and i think thats it!!

a/n: lowkey thinking abt making a part two but everytime i start a series i always end up stopping at the second chapter. 😭 anyways, ill get to finishing those other requests diligently! 😇🙏 also ignore the fact i added hella tags, its prolly like random stuff but just trust me bro its in here!!!

Ellie was acting weird. Like, really weird. After Tommy had come and gone, something shifted inside of her. Like he’d altered her brain chemistry in some strange way. She was much quieter and she was biting her nails — a habit she’d picked up whenever she was thinking or nervous. You stand in the kitchen cleaning up some dishes as a Lauryn Hill vinyl plays softly. Ellie didn’t know much about your music taste but god, did she love it. She loved lots of things about you, your cooking, learning about your culture, how you helped her broaden her outlook on the world with the lessons instilled into you by your parents and grandparents. It was something she valued above all else. You found yourself humming along to the tune of the music and occasionally mumbling the lyrics. The stairs creaked as she walked down them rather slowly. The sound of the record player being on made her wonder what you were up to. She picks up the sleeve the vinyl had been in and she reads it. “‘The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill’? You’re always listenin’ to this record. It must be your favorite then, I presume.”

She walked over to you while you were drying off a plate. “It’s a classic, Ellie. Who doesn’t like this album?” You ask as a small smile creeps onto your face. She’d always made you smile, but it now just seemed like she was trying to deter you from the fact that something had obviously been going on in her mind. She leans against the counter, looking over her shoulder at the setting sun. She hadn’t said anything as she alternates between looking at the sunset, you washing the dishes and nodding her head to the beat of the songs playing. Once the dishes have been washed, you rummage through the cabinets for a small candle. It was one Ellie liked. It smelled like some sweet citrus scent and the label had been rubbed off. You reach into a drawer and pull out a box of matches. You strike it until it burns and you light each wick, then putting the match out. 

   Then, you stop the record and put it back in its sleeve. “I should get you another vinyl. Who else do you listen to?” Ellie asks as she steps behind you. You shrug. “In the old world, I listened to a lot of music. I had a Walkman but yknow, someone stole it.” “That sucks. I had a Walkman aswell at some point. Never saw it again.” She pushes her hands into the pockets of her worn jeans and you nod in response. You let out a little yawn. “I think I’ll go to sleep soon.” You mumble to yourself as you turn to Ellie. “Yknow, for my birthday, you could get me like a.. New Edition one if you could find it.” You suggest with a smile. “You got it, babe. I’ll search as hard as I can.” She smiled softly and kissed your cheek. You return the kiss and begin walking up the stairs.

    You head for the bathroom to shower. The water never got as hot as you preferred but you couldn’t complain. At least you’d been getting some water. The water was lukewarm. Your clothes had been discarded on the floor. You step into the shower and your mind begins racing. You were there the entire time Tommy had been talking to Ellie. You’d opened the door to him. You watched him limp into the dining room. You let him in! You were starting to think that wasn’t a good idea as you washed your body. Ellie tended to rethink her actions and doubt herself a lot. You couldnt like, literally see inside of her mind, but you knew she had lots of inner turmoil. Killing people and the undead coupled with trauma definitely wasn’t an easy task to balance. You could see it in her. But she was addicted to that sense of justice. She felt compelled to protect the ones she loved even if it meant it was self destructive. 

   As you exited the shower, you found Ellie sitting on your shared bed awake. “Ellie, are you not tired?” You ask softly as you dress yourself. “No, well, yeah. I was just.. waitin’ for you.” You nod in response. You wore a pair of shorts and a shirt with some faded graphic that appeared to be from some Mortal Kombat game. You sat next to her and you grabbed her hand gently. Your thumb runs over her knuckles. “Yknow you can talk to me. I’ll listen, Ellie. I’m here for you.” She mumbled a soft ‘I know’ before she leaned her head against your shoulder. The moonlight shines through the windows, gently illuminating your features and Ellie’s. You could hear the windchimes outside swaying with the wind. “Cmon, let’s get some rest.” You suggested as you walked over to your side of the bed. You knew Ellie had a hard time sleeping most nights, and some days it was visible on her face. You just wanted her to sleep for one night. In a way, you knew why she couldn’t sleep. Maybe because she wanted to protect you from whatever may stumble in here while you’re in your most vulnerable state, or maybe because her self-decapitating thoughts were  eating her alive. You laid in the bed, facing Ellie as she settled in the bed. 

    In one hand held her switchblade (she went to sleep holding it most nights.) She looks at you with a tired smile as one of her hands comes up to gently caress your face. “When this is all over, ‘m gonna give you the whole goddamn world.” She mumbled as she leaned forward to give you a soft peck. “I’d do the same for you. I’d get you everything you could possibly ever want.” Moments like these were your favorite moments to have with Ellie. Her words of affirmation, love and even her promises were all you could ever think about whenever you couldn’t sleep. You knew she meant everything she said because of the sincerity in her voice. You smiled to yourself. Ellie saw you and she smiled too. You turn to her. “Ellie?” “Yeah?” “Don’t leave me. Not ever. I can’t lose you, I still have so much to show you.” There was this kind of.. expression on her face. Uncertainty. Worry. Compassion. Her response was small, as if she wasn’t sure if she’d ever abide by this unspoken promise to you. “I won’t.” You smiled softly before you got a little closer to her, holding her in your arms as you drift off into sleep. 

(Ellie’s POV now lol)

She was so close. Holding me as if she’d never let go. Thoughts were too much. My mind is racing. I keep seeing him. Tommy did something to me. I couldn’t just.. leave my girlfriend. The one who’s been with me through thick and thin. A woman like this wasn’t easy to come by, especially during an apocalypse. The moonlight was always my favorite light to see her under. She’d been glowing, god, she was beautiful, ethereal even. The way her braids sprawl over the pillow, her soft breathing, the soft thumps of her heart were all I would’ve needed in a perfect world. The draft coming through the window gave my goosebumps. We’d been laying here for a few minutes. It was amazing how fast she could fall asleep. The switchblade I hold has a reflection from the moons light. I see myself in the blades reflection. I look away.

  Something inside of me screams ‘Go get her. Go kill Abby. Finish the job like Tommy suggested.’ Slowly, I slide out of the bed. Standing in the middle of the room, I realize that there are some windows open. Shuddering, I go to close them. I made sure to keep my footsteps light so the floor didn’t creak. After closing the windows upstairs, I go into the room my art was stationed in. There was a box under my desk containing my journal. I know she never looked through it because I didn’t want her to and she respected that. I flip through the pages of it, looking back at my entries. There’s an entry in my journal. ‘Sometimes, I hear people talking. They tell me to do bad things. I know I shouldn’t. But how do I ignore a voice so loud? I should tell (Y/N). I can’t tell her. I don’t want to ruin this for her. She seems.. happier when she’s not constantly running for her life.’ The note was next to a few sketches of her and moths I’d roughly sketched. I was tired of the voices. I return the journal and walk downstairs to close the rest of the windows downstairs. I stop infront of my guitar. 

  I sit down, strumming a few cords before I stop. ‘Go get her. Go kill Abby. Kill Abby. Show her what pain feels like. She killed Joel. Finish the job.’ The voice was repeating. It was driving me insane. The voices came after we left Seattle. I want the cycle to end. Nothing ends if I just ask it to. That’s in some.. nonexistent world. My skin crawls with this need. Not the kind I feel when I look at her and her beautiful face and body. It was bloodlust. A vicious cycle never ends, that’s what makes it so vicious. This is the continuation of a cycle I can't break. “I have to do this.” I mumble. I move mindlessly as I gather my things and get ready. I have to kill Abby. I feel like my only purpose in life is to protect, sacrifice, and suffer in silence. Killing Abby seems like.. my magnum opus right now. She tells me that ‘violence isn’t the answer’ and to ‘control my urges’ but I can’t.      As I stand in the kitchen, putting the last of my things into my backpack, the stairs creak. She’s awake. Fuck. She wasn’t supposed to wake up. God, don’t look at me. Don’t do this to me, I need to do this— “Ellie? What’re you doing?” Her voice makes me freeze in place. I don’t move. I stare at her. Her tired eyes. The longing in her eyes for some sorta.. normality in her life. Our life isn’t normal and has never been normal. Was anything normal in this life? Who knows. Nobody knows. Matter of fact, I don’t know.