#THE DRAWING??? THE SPANISH SPEAKING ATTEMPT?

[evita-shelby]

Blood

for @duckprintspress May Trope Mayhem: "Who did this to you?"

cw: blood, injury, racism, stalking, mentions of attempted sexual assault, pregnancy and mentions of murder

While no one would be idiotic enough to try something on a Shelby, there is always someone who wants to test Tommy’s limits.

Mostly they fuck off after Eva made sure everyone knew she walks armed, but this time it is not enough.

Donal Henry had been bothering her for a while, so she steered clear of him and made sure she never ventured out alone. Then he took it as a challenge and now made sure to try and corner her when he knew Tommy was busy elsewhere or her companions had strayed.

“Did you think I’d stop just ‘cause you bring the darkie with you?” Henry corners her at the market while Rose Jesus is distracted with her children.

Eva is no stranger to steel on her skin, no stranger to men who think she is something to be destroyed both body and soul, and yet it is never a good experience. Her first kill was a drunk captain wanting to rape her, then several soldiers who had heard the rumor that she was only useful to the revolution as long as she remained a virgin and then the American Policemen who arrested her in Texas that first time.

“Do you know you keep breathing because of me?” She learned young that you cannot show fear, fear gets you killed. But she is as terrified as she had been that morning in the dirty nurses’ tent with the man reeking of sweat and aguardiente pinned her to the ground.

“Shelby won’t do a fucking thing. He can’t if he wants to stay alive.” Donal laughs knowing it’s just talk, just Eva trying to keep the mask of untouchable woman as he presses the knife to her tan neck hard enough to draw blood.

He thinks that because Tommy doesn’t know is because she’s afraid. Eva’s not telling her husband because she doesn’t want to make everyone think she can’t handle it when she’s handled worse.

“You are a spy for the Irregulars, and they know. It won’t be Campbell or O'Donnell who gets you. It will be one of my husband's men. In this very alley, your blood will paint the stones.” It would be easy to kill him, but she doesn’t want to carry his blood on her flesh like the rest of them. She came here for peace, and that includes peace of mind. Eva doesn’t want the nightmares or the ghosts of the people she’s killed to grow worse, not now when she nurtures new life inside her.

Children carry the sins of their parents. The witch refuses to add Donal Henry to her boy’s burden when being her son and Tommy’s is more than enough.

“Liar!” The knife slides and the blood stains her white summer blouse. It won’t wash out, a shame, Eva spent almost a month just doing the embroidery on it. Still, after this display of desperation at wanting to make her truly afraid, the traitor lets her go once he hears Rose’s accented voice call out for her.

The Dominican woman offers her a handkerchief with her daughter’s crude stitching and says nothing about it. She has faced many terrible things here and her home island, it is why the Reverend’s wife and the Witch get on so well. Besides she is the only other being here that speaks Spanish and Eva fears she will lose her mother tongue the more she gets accustomed to England.

Will you tell him, her eyes ask.

Eva avoids her eyes the entire way back, so she won’t hear her answer.

The cut won’t scar, as long as she wears high necked things until it is gone no one will see it and ask. No one’s had time to notice her strangeness, Tommy’s takeover of London and the rebuilding of the Garrison has everyone firing on all cylinders, even Tommy hasn’t had time to fuss over her.

She is fighting the urge to smoke when she takes a steaming hot bath with the flowers and scents meant to relax her and keep anyone from knowing something is amiss. Eva rests her head and shuts her eyes knowing it won’t be long before Donal Henry dies in a dirty alley near the Black Lion. She hears Tommy come in, and thinks she’s gotten away with it until he comes to kneel behind the tub and with his unusually cold and rough hands undo the lazy bun she wore to keep her long hair out of her bath.

His fingers massage her head before moving slowly to her neck and the gentle touch causes her to wince. It is not a groan of pleasure that comes from her lips, but a groan of pain that he elicits as he traced the length of the cut that’s still fresh enough to hurt.

“Who did this to you?” Thomas asks quietly, his anger not aimed at her but at the poor bastard who dared touch his wife.

“Donal Henry, but you already knew that.” The witch keeps her eye shut as she tries to relieve the endless fatigue the baby and all the troubles are giving her. She knows he’s aware of Henry’s persistent stalking, she hasn’t even had to tell him because nothing can happen in Small Heath without him knowing it.

Eva told him she didn't want blood on theor hands, and Donal Henry must've been heard repeating her words, so Thomas Shelby had the man strangled to death in the same alley he harassed her in. Too bad he didn't spill his blood, her prediction would have been entirely truthful.

“I can have his head served to you on a silver platter, love.” It is pride and anger that makes him offer her that, something she refuses with a grimace and a shake of her head as his hands moved to massage her shoulders to relieve the weight she’s been caring for so long.

“No, I just… never want to see that man again.” And she will get her wish because Tommy will move heaven and earth for her.

She worries parenthood will change that, she’s seen a dark-haired woman in the cards and a return of the odious blonde seeking to take what was never hers. Eva gave him an ultimatum before they married, that she would never forgive infidelity from him, that the moment she stops being the only person in his heart and bed is the moment she is gone.

Eva has always been a selfish and willful girl, and it won’t change because the world expects women to grin and bear it when men will not do the same if the shoe was on the other foot.

“You won’t, the job’s already been done and tomorrow he’ll feed the wild animals on the rode to London.” His words assuage the fear of losing him just as everything begins to fall into place, but a part of her hopes the blood on their hands doesn’t taint the beautiful future she saw as they made love in that tub in Brighton.

Tommy is close enough to her that she can feel his every breath, his every heart beat as he moved his lips from the shell of her ear to her jaw and then kissed the edge of the cut on her neck as lightly as he could, as if he could heal it with his love.

“Don’t throw him in our spot, Tom.” She murmurs and he chuckled quietly but never stopped his worship of her.

“I won’t, love. Our tree and our flowers on that side of the road is for us to make love every time we go down to London.”

[mrsfancyferrari]

Can you do an imagine about the reader going out with an F1 driver (I imagine Charles or Carlos), where the reader speaks their language, but doesn’t tell them. One day they walk in on the reader talking to someone on the phone in French/ Italian or Spanish respectively, and have a talk about it. Reader was hiding their abilities due to an insecurity about their ability. Alternatively they could be at a restaurant, where the reader is forced to use that language to order something.

Speak Baby

Summary: you are going out with Charles, you can speak his language, but don't tell him. You were hiding your abilities due to an insecurity about your ability.

Song: Heaven and Back · Chase Atlantic

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! Also please follow for more! 🫶

Word count: 3.7k

MASTERLIST - F1

The soft glow of the lamp painted the room in hues of amber and gold, the late afternoon sun already having dipped below the horizon.

You were curled up on the plush armchair, a worn copy of “Les Misérables” resting open in your lap, though your attention was entirely focused on the phone pressed to your ear. The French words flowed effortlessly, a melodic stream of conversation with your cousin, Élise, back in Paris.

Laughter bubbled in your chest as Élise recounted a particularly disastrous attempt to bake macarons, the familiar cadence of your mother tongue a soothing balm to your soul.

"…and then, the oven, mon Dieu, it was like a volcanic eruption of powdered sugar!" Élise’s voice, tinged with dramatic exasperation, crackled through the speaker.

You chuckled, a genuine, unrestrained sound, “You know you should just stick to painting, ma chérie. Baking is not for you.”

"Oh, very funny," she retorted good-naturedly, “But you should have seen it! The cat even had a dusting. Anyway, how is le charmant Charles?"

You paused, a smile playing on your lips. "He's…fine," you said, a soft giggle escaping your throat. "He's been working late again, as usual."

“And still no clue about your… little secret?" Élise teased, the question a whisper of anticipation.

"No," you replied, your voice dropping slightly, a hint of nervousness creeping in. "Absolutely not. It's…it's better this way, Élise. I’m not ready."

You knew that you were holding out on Charles, but the thought of him judging you for your French was an insecurity that had been haunting you for years.

You had always felt like you were not good enough, that your accent was too strong and that your grasp on the language was not as good as it should be, even though you grew up with it.

You always felt the need to hide, to not draw attention to yourself, and so this was how it was with Charles.

It was easier to communicate in English with him, to be safe, even if your heart yearned to speak in the language that made you, you.

"You're being silly, ma belle. He'd be enchanted, I'm sure of it," Élise said, her tone gentle, trying to reassure you.

Just as you were about to respond, a distinct sound reached your ears - the click of the front door. Your heart leaped into your throat. Charles was home.

Panic seized you, and you quickly pressed the “end call” button, the dial tone a sharp, jarring contrast to the lilting French you had been immersed in moments before. You closed the “Les Miserables” book with an audible thud, feigning a casual air.

You straightened yourself in the armchair and tried to look as though you were simply relaxing, a wave of frustration beginning to wash over you for not being able to share this part of yourself with Charles, but also relief because you almost got caught.

"Hey," Charles said, his voice laced with that endearing weariness you had come to adore, as he walked into the room, tossing his keys onto the side table.

He hadn't noticed the phone in your hands and he pulled off his suit jacket and hung it up on the hanger behind the door. He looked exhausted. "Long day."

"Hi," you replied, your voice a little too high-pitched, betraying the sudden jolt of adrenaline still coursing through you.

You tried to act as nonchalant as possible, hoping he wouldn't notice the flush creeping up your neck, or the way your fingers were still tensed against the phone.

He glanced at you, his blue eyes, usually so bright, clouded with fatigue. "Everything alright? You seem…tense." He took a seat on the sofa opposite you, his gaze intense as he looked at you.

You had been with Charles for a year now, and he was always able to suss something out.

You forced a smile, "Just had a long chapter to read, that's all.” You showed him the book, hoping it would be enough distraction. “It’s quite intense, actually." You pointed to the book, gesturing with your hand. "This guy Valjean, he's been through it."

He seemed to accept your explanation, dropping back against the sofa cushions with a sigh. "Well, whatever it is, you should relax. Maybe we could order some food? I'm starving."

You nodded, relieved. The moment had passed, but the unspoken secret hung heavy in the air between you. The rest of the evening unfolded in its usual way, a comfortable rhythm you both had established.

You talked about your day, laughed at a silly movie, and shared a meal under the soft lamplight. Yet, beneath the surface of normalcy, the secret you harboured continued to prick at you.

He kept stealing glances at you, making you wonder if he might suspect something, but he never said anything.

“So you’re telling me he still hasn’t found out yet?” She asked with a teasing lilt in her voice.

“No, and I’ll keep it that way,” you replied, your smile fading. “It’s too risky, Élise. What if he thinks I’m a fraud? What if he thinks I’ve been lying?”

“Oh, come on,” Élise scoffed, “He’s clearly smitten with you, mon amie. I can hear it in your voice!”

You sighed, staring out the window at the grey sky. “You don’t know him, Élise. His native language is French, he knows it like the back of his hand. He’d notice if my French isn’t perfect.”

“And what if it is?” Élise countered.

You were about to reply, when you heard his voice from the kitchen. You jerked, your heart leaping into your throat. “I have to go, Élise. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay, bisous,” Élise said, and the line went dead.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The roar of the Ferrari engines was a constant hum, a background score to the chaotic elegance of the Formula One paddock. You watched Charles, a whirlwind of charm and practiced ease, navigate the PR games with Carlos Sainz.

They were a study in contrasts – Charles, all focused energy and effortless smiles, and Carlos, a more grounded, almost playful foil. You knew this dance well, the mandatory media obligations that came with the territory of being a Ferrari driver.

You were happy to be a spectator today. You knew, with a familiar twist of warmth in your chest, that Charles would find you later.

You had a few hours of freedom, a rare commodity in this world of tight schedules and constant movement. You decided to explore. The paddock was a labyrinth of team trucks, hospitality suites, and workshops, a microcosm of the competitive energy that fueled the sport.

You wandered, absorbing the sights and sounds, the clatter of tools, the clipped conversations in a dozen different languages. You’d always been drawn to the undercurrents of these places, the human stories unfolding beneath the glossy veneer of glamour and speed.

That's when you heard it – a voice, high-pitched with panic, cutting through the general noise.

"Est-ce que quelqu'un parle français?" it called out, the words sharp and rushed. " S'il vous plaît, quelqu'un ?" Does anyone speak French? Please, someone?

The man, standing near a catering area, was clearly distressed. He was middle-aged, his face flushed, hands trembling slightly as he gestured erratically. A small crowd of staff had gathered around him, their faces a mixture of concern and helplessness.

They spoke encouragingly in English, but it was clear that they didn’t understand a word he was saying, which was why he was getting more frantic.

You hesitated. You knew French, fluently after all. It really was an insecurity you'd carried since childhood, a fear that your accent wasn't good enough, that you wouldn't be considered “truly” French.

Charles, in his easy, casual fluency, only amplified that feeling. It was easier to let him be the French one, to navigate that world without your input.

But looking at the man, his distress growing with each passing second, your resolve crumbled. You couldn't stand by and watch him suffer.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed past the people, your voice hesitant but clear, "Excusez-moi, monsieur. Je parle français. Qu'est-ce qui se passe?" Excuse me, sir. I speak French. What's going on?

The man's eyes widened, his face flooded with relief. "Ah, merci mon Dieu!" he exclaimed, his hands coming to clasp yours. "C'est terrible! J'ai perdu mon sac, avec tous mes documents et mes clés. Je dois partir cet après-midi, et je suis complètement coincé."

His words tumbled out in a rush, a torrent of worries and anxieties. This is terrible! I lost my bag, with all my documents and my keys. I have to leave this afternoon, and I'm completely stuck

You listened patiently, your own French flowing effortlessly as you reassured him. You asked him for details about the bag, about where he’d last seen it.

You found out that he was here for a family visit, and he had to catch a train in the next couple of hours. With a mixture of calm questioning and reassuring words, you helped him retrace his steps.

You spoke softly, your voice a calming balm to his panic. The staff around you, previously frustrated, looked on with a mixture of curiosity and gratitude.

You felt a small spark of pride, a quiet satisfaction in using the skill that you have always kept hidden.

After what felt like an eternity, you spotted it – a small black bag tucked behind a stack of boxes in a corner. The man let out a cry of delight, his face cracking into a wide, genuine smile. "Merci, merci mille fois!" he cried, taking the bag and beaming at you. "Vous êtes un ange!" Thank you, thank you a thousand times! You are an angel!

You helped him check through the contents, making sure nothing was missing. You even offered him some water and a seat to calm him. He thanked you profusely again and again. He finally started to relax and calm down.

"Thank you so much. I don't know what I would have done without you." he said again, this time speaking English clearly, even though he had not, before. He smiled warmly at you.

"It's no problem," you replied, smiling back. A small voice interrupted.

"Hey babe, what's going on here? I saw this crowd?" Charles asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. He placed a hand on the small of your back.

"This gentleman lost his bag, and couldn't communicate with anyone here. I was just helping him," you explained.

"Ah, but you were speaking French? I didn't know that you spoke French. Good job ma chérie," Charles said a little surprised.

"Oh, I... I learned some in school," you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. You felt a flush creep onto your cheeks.

You could feel the lie hanging in the air, heavy and uncomfortable.

Charles tilted his head, his eyes searching your face, "That’s really cool." He turned his attention to the man, addressing him in perfect French.

You watched Charles smoothly reassure the man that everything was fine and offer him any help that he needed. The man seemed mesmerized by Charles, thanking him profusely.

You watched them briefly, the ease with which Charles switched between two languages, how comfortable he was in the role of translator. It was a stark contrast to your feelings of self-consciousness.

“So, should we get going?” Charles said to you, turning to you, his hand finding yours.

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. You’d helped someone out, and it felt good. But the lie, that little secret you still held, bothered you. More so than usual now that he knew.

As Charles led you away, you could feel his gaze on you, a silent question in his eyes. You knew you couldn't keep this hidden much longer.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, dancing shadows across the Ferrari base. The air, still warm from the day’s heat, hummed with a quiet energy. You lay nestled in the hammock chair, Charles’s strong back providing a solid anchor as you sat comfortably on his lap.

The gentle rocking motion lulled you both, a peaceful rhythm that seemed to synchronize with the quiet whispers of the wind. You’d been dating Charles for a year now, and these quiet moments were your favorite.

Being alone, intertwined, was bliss.

He nuzzled his face into your shoulder, his breath warm on your skin. You closed your eyes, your own breathing slowing, the world fading away.

You’d almost drifted off, the line between sleep and wakefulness blurring, when a voice sliced through the tranquil silence.

“Monsieur Leclerc, le débriefing commence bientôt!” a young voice called out, the French words sharp and clear. Mr. Leclerc, the debriefing begins soon!

You blinked your eyes open, startled, and looked around for the source of the sound.

A young woman, her face etched with a mixture of frustration and relief, stood a short distance away. She was clearly a member of the Ferrari staff, her uniform a stark contrast to the relaxed atmosphere you and Charles had created.

“Mademoiselle, je vais bientôt réveiller Charles, alors ne vous inquiétez pas,” you said, the words flowing easily, a comfortingly familiar cadence in your mind. Miss, I'll wake Charles up soon, so don't worry.

You watched her face register surprise, then a wave of relief.

“Merci beaucoup mademoiselle Y/N, je vous laisse faire,” she replied, her voice softening. Thank you very much Miss Y/N, I'll leave you to it.

“De rien, je suis désolé de t'avoir fait le chercher,” you said, a slight blush creeping up your neck. You felt a pang of guilt for making her search for Charles. You're welcome, I'm sorry I made you look for it.

She gave you a small, thankful nod before turning and heading back towards the base.

You were about to nudge Charles awake when you felt a movement in your lap. His eyes, a startling shade of blue, were already fixed on you, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"That didn't sound like 'school French' ma chérie," he muttered, a playful yet probing tone to his voice. Your heart lurched, and a cold dread settled in your stomach.

You could feel your cheeks flush, the blood rushing to your head. This was it. Your little secret, the one you'd guarded for so long, was about to unravel.

"What are you talking about?" you asked, your voice coming out a little higher and breathier than you intended. You tried to play it off, hoping your denial would be convincing enough. "I learned some French phrases, that's all."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, his gaze unwavering. "Some phrases? You just held an entire conversation with Nathalie, in perfect, effortless French. Where did you learn that?"

You fidgeted, your fingers toying with the drawstring of his sweatpants. "Uh...well...you know, it's just...I've always been a good language learner." The explanation sounded weak even to your own ears.

Charles gently tilted your chin up so that your eyes meet. His touch was soft, but his gaze was intense. “Y/N,” he said, his voice lower now. “You’re fluent. Why have you been hiding this from me?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of your unspoken secret. And you knew you couldn’t lie to him any longer. “It’s stupid, really,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I was always just…insecure about it. My native language is English, and I'm fairly average. When I started learning French, which was young, it just came naturally to me. I didn't think I was actually... good. I thought if I spoke it around you, you'd think I sound awful, like those tourists that always try and speak French to you.” You looked down, unable to meet his eyes.

He took your hands in his, his thumbs stroking your knuckles. “Ma chérie, that’s ridiculous. I’m fascinated by languages. I spent so much time learning other languages for the sport, plus how could I ever think you sound awful. You could never sound bad.”

His words were soothing, a balm to your wounded pride. You looked up, your eyes searching his face. “Really?” you whispered, still a little unsure.

He chuckled, a warm, comforting sound. “Bien sûr, Y/N. You’re amazing, in every language. And I am so incredibly curious. When did you learn it? How good are you even?” He had a teasing glint in his eyes now, and the tension that had been plaguing you started to dissipate.

“Since I was a kid. My grandmother was half-French and she taught me, always using French. She wanted me to have another language to use. She wanted me to have something special, so I never told anyone in school or anything.” you admitted.

“And you kept this hidden from me? For all this time?” Charles asked, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

You nodded sheepishly. “I thought you would think I was trying to show off, I guess, and I was honestly just scared I’d be awful.”

He squeezed your hands, his thumb drawing small circles on your skin. “You are far from awful, Y/N, and I promise I never would have thought that, ever. But,” he added, a mischievous smile playing on his lips, “I do have a few questions. And you're going to have to answer them… in French.”

“bébé, il faut que tu fasses le point avec l'équipe!” you said, the words slipping out naturally in French. Baby, you need to check in on the team!

Charles only grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this from me, ma chérie,” he said, his tone warm and affectionate and full of love.

“I know I’m so sorry.” you said, putting your head in your hands, feeling a flush of embarrassment wash over you. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I was just so scared.”

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. “Don’t be sorry, mon amour,” he murmured, his voice husky. “It’s incredibly endearing, and it's one more thing I love about you. You have to tell me everything though from now on okay?”

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “I promise.”

He smiled, then his eyes glinted with a new mischievousness. “So, you’ve been keeping secrets from me, have you?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Only this one, I swear.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, leaning in closer. “I think that deserves a punishment.”

“Oh yeah?” you said, raising an eyebrow, excitement coursing through you.

His lips found yours and he deepened the kiss, pushing you gently back on the hammock. The language barrier was forgotten as his hands moved to the hem of your shirt.

You could feel the passion in him, the soft moaning as he kissed your neck. You could feel yourself falling further and further into him, completely and utterly in love.

It was a long time before you pulled away for air, your cheeks flushed and your heart racing.

“What was I saying about meetings?” you breathlessly said, putting a hand on your chest, hoping your heart would slow down.

Charles chuckled, running his hand through his slightly dishevelled hair. “They can wait,” he murmured, his eyes locking with yours, “There’s something much more urgent that we need to deal with, my petite française.”

You laughed then, and pulled him in for another kiss, knowing that your hidden language was now just another way to connect with the man you loved.

The rain outside continued to fall, a soft and gentle melody to the start of another chapter in your love story.

And you knew, with absolute certainty, that this new language you had shared with each other would only bring you closer, in ways you could never have imagined. . . .

[outlanderskin]

In 2017, I came across this text about fandom and since then it has been an illustration of this crazy and magical universe of fan life, which I call fan experience. Even though I've been going to Outlander Cons since 2015, it was when I met my Spanish friends that I started to not feel alone even when surrounded by people at these events. And at this LandCon, in addition to my dear Spanish friends, I was able to meet other friends from Tumblr. For years we've been following, reblogging, commenting, laughing, protesting and, above all, supporting each other. And suddenly, there's that "Tumblr username" in front of you and you can finally look the person in the eyes and tell them how much you admire them and thank them for walking alongside you in this fandom, which is so toxic in many ways, but where true friendships can create an oasis. Thank you for everything, girls.❤️

"Fandom is focus. Fandom is obsession. Fandom is insatiable consumption. Fandom is sitting for hours in front of a TV screen a movie screen a computer screen with a comic book a novel on your lap. Fandom is eyestrain and carpal tunnel syndrome and not enough exercise and staying up way, way past your bedtime.

Fandom is people you don't tell your mother you're meeting. Fandom is people in the closet, people out and proud, people in costumes, people in T-shirts with slogans only fifty others would understand. Fandom is a loud dinner conversation scaring the waiter and every table nearby.

Fandom is you in Germany and me in the US and him in Australia and her in Japan. Fandom is a sofabed in New York, a roadtrip to Oxnard, a friend behind a face in London. Fandom talks past timezones and accents and backgrounds. Fandom is conversation. Communication. Contact.

Fandom is drama. Fandom is melodrama. Fandom is high school. Fandom is Snacky's law and Godwin's law and Murphy's law. Fandom is smarter than you. Fandom is stupider than you. Fandom is five arguments over and over and over again. Fandom is the first time you've ever had them.

Fandom is female. Fandom is male. Fandom lets female play at being male. Fandom bends gender, straight, gay, prude, promiscuous. Fandom is fantasy. Fandom doesn't care about norms or taboos or boundaries. Fandom cares too much about norms and taboos and boundaries. Fandom is not real life. Fandom is closer than real life. Fandom knows what you're really like in the bedroom. Fandom is how you would never, could never be in the bedroom.

Fandom is shipping, never shipping, het, slash, gen, none of the above, more than the above. Fandom is love for characters you didn't create. Fandom is recreating the characters you didn't create. Fandom is appropriation, subversion, dissention. Fandom is adoration, extrapolation, imitation. Fandom is dissection, criticism, interpretation. Fandom is changing, experimenting, attempting.

Fandom is creating. Fandom is drawing, painting, vidding: nine seasons in four minutes of love. Fandom is words, language, authoring. Fandom is essays, stories, betas, parodies, filks, zines, usenet posts, blog posts, message board posts, emails, chats, petitions, wank, concrit, feedback, recs. Fandom is writing for the first time since you were twelve. Fandom is finally calling yourself a writer.

Fandom is signal and response. Fandom is a stranger moving you to tears, anger, laughter. Fandom is you moving a stranger to speak.

Fandom is distraction. Fandom is endangering your job, your grades, your relationships, your bank account. Fandom gets no work done. Fandom is too much work. Fandom was/is just a phase. Fandom could never be just a phase. Fandom is where you found a friend, a sister, a kindred spirit. Fandom is where you found a talent, a love, a reason.

Fandom is where you found yourself"

[alisblackgf]

YO ZAC WELCOME BACKKKKK,

But yk I got a request 🤞🏽

Earth-42!Miles with fem!spider-reader

Like reader was from 1610!miles universe but when he went to earth-42 she went with him and maybe like there was a prowler!reader in 42!miles universe but she died and hes like “look at the power you had here…with me”

(The rest up to you…yk how I like it zacy 😏)

YEAH OFC <3

𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: earth-42!miles x fem!spider!reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst(?)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in his universe, you’re dead. it’s not fair that some inferior version of him gets to have you alive and well while he’s stuck grieving you. he makes it his number one priority to show you what you could have with him. what you had.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: inhales exhales i don’t like this and idk if i did him justice but HOPEFULLY I DID. it’s a little messy idk if i did this right HELO i hope you like it anyway (shout out to rae for helping me with the spanish 🫶)

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬: hermosa - beautiful; tú eras mi vida y mi mundo - you were my life and my world; mi amor - my love

you woke up in a daze.

your surroundings were dark with only a little illumination coming from a small window. you tried to get up, but you were quickly dragged back down to notice you were tied to a pole. the more you pulled against it (to no avail), the more you lost hope.

you took a shaky breath and looked around the room to find miles tied up on a punching bag. he didn’t look conscious. his head is hung low and you could barely see his closed eyes. your heart dropped and made it your mission to get his attention.

“miles? miles!”

then, your spidey-sense goes off.

you hear footsteps drawing closer and closer to you, and you desperately try to break free from the pole.

“i wouldn’t wake him just yet, hermosa.”

your eyes widened as you looked back at miles, who was still knocked out. you were extremely confused at who was talking to you. they sounded just like your miles, but it wasn’t. you were about to speak, but then the mystery person came out of the shadows and kneeled down to see you.

it was..miles? but not your miles for sure. this miles had braids, and judging from the term of endearment he called you earlier, he could for sure roll his r’s. he gently took your face in his hands and scanned you for any sign of injury. when he makes sure you’re fine, he smiles at you.

“you’re just as beautiful as i remember,” he says.

“i’m sorry?” you ask, seeing as you’ve never met him in your life.

he sighed at your words and untied you from the pole. when your hands are free, you rub your wrists in an attempt to ease the soreness that enveloped them. you tried to shoot a web, but you soon notice that your web-shooters are gone.

“c’mon, mami, you don’t think i’m dumb, do you?” he chuckles at your attempt before untying your feet, and you stretched your legs in response. once he’s up, he holds out his hand to you. you hesitantly accept. he helps pull you up from the floor and you dust yourself off.

he looks at you before asking, “i’m assuming your name is (y/n)?”

you nod in response, looking a little concerned before saying, “how’d you know?”

“because that’s what my girl’s name was, and you look and sound just like her.”

“your girl?” you ask curiously. he nods and shows you a polaroid picture of him and a girl. he was right, she looked exactly like you. “why isn’t she here?”

his facial expression went from relaxed to serious. he sighed before speaking, “she’s dead.”

your eyes widen. you know you’re not his (y/n), but hearing that a version of you is dead sends shivers down your spine.

“tú eras mi vida y mi mundo, (y/n). you were taken from me for the same reason you save people now.”

“and what’s that?”

“your compassion,” he says with a slight bitterness to his tone. “you cared so much for people. too much. i shouldn’t have let you out of my sight.”

you listened eagerly. even if she wasn’t you necessarily, you were still curious to hear how a variant of you died.

you put your hand on his shoulder and nodded, and he took it as a sign to continue.

“we were handling business. two guys had crossed us. i was taking care of one, you were with the other. he was begging for his life, and you showed him kindness and spared him. then, he..”

you could hear his breathing getting shaky, and you began to rub his shoulder.

“you don’t have to finish, i— i get the gist of it,” you assure him.

he nods and pulls you into a hug. you hesitantly hug him back, feeling bad for him. once you wrap your arms around him, he whispers to you, “i’m never letting you out of my sight again, mi amor.”

your breath hitches and your eyes widen.

“i’m so, so sorry for your loss, miles. but i’m not her. i don’t belong here,” you try to reason. you hear shuffling on the punching bag and you can see miles—your miles—stirring awake.

“miles! you’re okay!” you gently move the other miles off of you and run to your miles.

“for the most part,” he tries to joke.

“i don’t think you get it,” earth-42 miles begins to speak. you turn away from your miles to look at the other one. “you had so much power with me, (y/n).”

“what’s this dude on about?” earth-1610 miles whisper-asks you, but all you can do is shrug in response to him.

“look, i’m sorry that your girlfriend died, but i’m not her, and i never will be,” you spat, getting annoyed.

“i’ll give you two options,” the other miles begins. “you can die with bug-boy here, or you can come rule the streets with me.”

your eyes widen as he walks over to you guys, now in a prowler suit. he puts his gauntlet on and shoves you out of the way, putting his hand around your miles’ neck, choking him.

“pick your poison, mami. let’s hope you make the right choice.”

I REALLY HOPE I DID HIM JUSTICE OMG

tags: @pr0wlerpunk

[stellaaarree]

thinking of jacking miguel o’hara off while he tries to keep his pride 😇.

handjob, degrading, sub!miguel. G/N!reader

sat on his lap, lips attached to his already abused neck as you whisper shameless things to him. being greeted with a look or grunt full of disdain. as you continue your tactics of breaking him down the lightest sigh departs from his plush lips.his cheeks instantly turning pink as he forcefully scrunches his eyes and lips shut, gauging the endless teasing from his slip up.

“what was that, baby?” your voice coos, thumb coming up to put pleasurable pressure on his throbbing neck. getting him to speak. “d…don’t call me that.” he groans, unexpectedly getting the blissful feeling of miguel’s hips jerking up into yours by instinct. his lips drop open into an ‘o’ full of shame and need. you’d successfully broken him. not like he was gonna still fully submit though.

your thumb leaves the throbbing mark on his neck to the crotch of his suit. the digital hologram faltering as his fully erect cock and all of its girth goes straight against his stomach. so he does go commando, lyla had mentioned that once or twice. as miguel hears your snicker his hand comes to grip your hip. “don’t.” he warns sternly, a part of his pride joining him again. completely disintegrating as your thumb circles his pink mushroomy tip. “fuckkkkk..” his words strained. you had barely touched the man and he was already trying to push himself through an inexistent hole in your hand.

your hand ever so slowly sinks down, feeling every hard inch of him. finger pads feeling through the neediest veins. “don’t fuck around.” he chides replied with a snarky, “thought you didn’t want this? you’re waayy too proud for some pleasure. got a multiverse to save, right?” your words shameless. as soon as he composes himself to gather some words your hand jerks him fully. balls to tip. trying to purse his lips, fangs sinking in drawing a trickle of blood he has to moan. pushing his hips up for more friction he’s met with a grip around his tip that can only get him to melt backwards and let you continue.

“fuckin’ needy. you know that? what would people think if they saw you like this. getting your needy cock stroked by your assistant. bet you do this with everyone who gives you the chance huh?” your degrading words just getting him to moan and attempt to buck further. he had a thing for that to i guess. your other hand comes up to his abdomen, circling around his base and balls. “you like this?” you ask rhetorically, being greeted with no answer just more moans your hands both wrap around him. one stroking him harshly upwards while the other circled and pressed on his leaking tip. “sí, sí joder me gusta.” he pleas in spanish. poor little head not being able to comprehend english while he was being pleasured so good :(

“i’ve barely even touched you.” you scold. “gonna cum ,you slut?” this was the one time you had control of him. it was being used to the advantage clearly with all the degrading words. not knowing if it was your words or your actions, maybe both he comes. the substance dripping onto your fingers as you jack him through his high. while his mouth was temporarily open in bliss your cum-coated fingers stuff his mouth full. without thinking miguel’s tongue instantly slipping around and sucking your fingers. collecting his own pleasure as he swallowed harshly. a sour taste throughout him. it was nasty. nobody would have expected this from their set on professional boss.

“good boy.” you praise for the first time. other hand working through his still hard cock as you took him through his second orgasm, hips bucking as his thighs shook. if this was what he was like over a simple handjob, blowjobs and cowgirl would certainly fry his now needy brain as he panted for more.

a/n, omd sorry i dipped for like a week haha, i really jus wasn’t feeling it. but i’m back and horny as ever😚😚!!

[samkerrworshipper]

massage therapy | mapi leon x reader

mapi gets injured… reader tries to resolve some of the tension in her body

warnings: injury, hurt/comfort, smut, cunnilingus, fingering

“Maps, baby, I swear to dios just let me massage your knee, I have to, hermosa.”

Mar��a just glares at you from her position sitting on the couch.

She’s been next to unbearable ever since her meniscus injury, rightfully so, you would be two if you had no choice but to stop playing the sport that you loved for months.

But the whining, the wayward glares, the constant anger and tension is beginning to get to you, beyond it making you annoyed at your lover, you were worried about her more than anything.

Mapí had her fair share of mental health problems in the past, the two of you had gotten through them together, but whenever something like an injury arose it always seemed to signify the start of a rougher patch in her mental health.

So that had been your main focus, making sure that María’s mental health stayed intact, you thought you’d done a fairly good job, mentally she was doing well, but attitude wise she was acting like a little bitch.

Always snappy and critical, always annoyed about her lack of mobility, always refusing your help.

Alexia had attempted multiple times to reign her in on your behalf, the Catalan woman had practically moved in as soon as the news of the injury had come in, insistent on being a support system for her best friend, but it worked to no prevail, Mapí was angry with the world, with her knee, with everything that moved or breathed.

“Estoy bien.” I’m fine

Her words are forced out, gruff and croaky from her spot on the couch.

You’re pretty sure there is a half permanent Mapí shaped dent in the pillows that your girlfriend had been living in the last week or so, ever since her surgery.

“María, when are you going to stop being so stubborn and just accept my help?”

For a person who had some fairly serious surgery just over a week ago, Mapi was a menace, trying to do everything on her own, which was fairly hard when you were hopped up on pain meds and hardly mobile.

“Estoy bien, ni siquiera estoy adolorida.” I’m fine, I’m not even sore.

It’s a complete lie, Mapí’s been moaning and groaning for the last half hour as she tried to find a comfortable position amongst the pillows and blankets.

She’s practically crafted a nest on the couch, a big pile of blankets absorbing her completely.

“María, por favor.” Maria, please

Your use of Spanish seems to draw her attention, it’s not your first, or second language, you don’t speak it very often.

Both you and María understand each other's languages, just find it harder to speak them, so it just works that you normally speak in English and she normally speaks in Spanish, it saves either of you from having to awkwardly translate all of your words every time you want to talk with your girlfriend.

“Pequeña, estoy bien.” little one, I’m fine

Estoy bien seems to be at the forefront of Mapí’s vocabulary recently, it’s always I’m fine, even when she’s lying through gritted teeth and teary eyes.

You stand up from your spot sitting at the kitchen table, tiptoeing towards Mapí slowly, a deep frown set on your face.

Mapí’s watching some Spanish soap opera, something you're unfamiliar with, which makes it seem like it's more background noise for her than anything of interest.

You walk around the couch, until you’re standing in front of her, blocking her view of the tv so she’s forced to look at you.

“You can’t tell me your knee isn’t killing, the physio said it needed to be stimulated daily, let me help you, love.”

Mapí bites down on her lip, there is so much frustration playing across her face, so much anguish.

“Estoy bien.” i’m fine

It’s like being repetitively punched in the face, hearing the same two words fall from her lips, it’s incredibly aggravating, all consuming.

“María, you aren’t fine, hate me all you want, push me away, but give me the respect of not lying blatantly to my face over and over again.”

Mapi’s whole body tenses, her face scrunching up at your brutally honest words.

“Princesa, no es así.” princess, it’s not like that

You don’t give up, not when you know that this might just be your opportunity to get something back, anything at all.

“Maps, just a massage, we’ll go at your pace, your muscles need to be strengthened and that starts with loosening them up, por favor.”

María’s face is stubborn, unmoving.

She’s fairly good about recovery, doesn’t need any reminders to do her exercises or move her knee as often as it needs to, the massaging is the only thing she can’t do by herself, and because its Mapí that you’re talking about, she’d never ask you to help her with it, or accept a offer from you to help her.

You take her recovery seriously though, and you’ll be damned if she misses out on a crucial part of her recovery just because she is too bullheaded to ask for some goddamn help.

“No necesito ayuda.” I don’t need help

You scoff, it’s the biggest lie ever, Mapí can’t walk without crutches, can’t stand for much longer than a minute, she needs help with almost everything.

“Maps, I love you so much, no matter what, but this whole independence thing is just getting annoying. I’ll make you prawn paella for dinner if you let me give you a massage, how’s that for a deal?”

It’s Mapí’s weakness, you know it, it’s one of her mothers oldest recipes that she taught you when she was still alive, whenever Mapí’s having a particularly hard day it’s always your go to, it’s her comfort food.

“Promesa?” promise?

You nod your head, smiling to yourself as you realise that you’ve managed to somehow convince Mapí.

“I promise, I’m going to go and get the massage oil, can you try and take off your sweatpants for me, please, love?”

Mapí nods at you, a little smile teasing at the corners of her lips as she watches you walk off into the direction of the cupboard where the both of you keep all of your recovery related items.

You were quick to find the oil and creams that you required, returning back to Mapí to find her sitting on the couch, her sweatpants pushed to the side leaving her in just her boxer shorts.

Her knee was the only part of her legs that weren’t visible to you, hidden by a brace and plethora of bandages and gauze.

You perched yourself down on the pillows beside her knee, ditching the items in your hands and gently reaching for Mapí’s brace.

She flinched away from the contact, her knee jerking at the feeling.

“Maps, baby, just relax for me, yeah?”

She nodded, her teeth gritted, her eyes watching your every move around her knee, trying to gulp down her worries and discomfort that originated from places beyond her knee.

Once she’d relaxed a little bit more, you reached for her brace again, she still flinched, but it wasn’t as major, and you decided to continue, reaching for the velcro, exaggerating your movements so Mapí had a clear view of everything you were doing.

Once you’d managed to undo the velcro straps you gently un tightened it and then slid it down her leg, leaving gauze and bandages as the only thing covering it.

“Deep breaths Maps, if anything hurts or feels uncomfortable just tell me, sí?”

Mapi nodded at you, she looked like a woman who had just run a marathon, her face all scrunched up and red.

“Sí, gentil, por favor.” Yes, gentle, please

You smiled at her, nodding, like you’d ever be anything else.

“Sí, I’ll be gentle, how about I tell you what I’m going to do before I do it, just so you have some warning, would that make you feel a bit better, love?”

Mapi nods like your words are her saving grace.

“Okay, I’m just going to unwrap the bandages now, just let me know if anything hurts.”

Mapí nods her head, so you continue on, finding the tucked in part of the bandages and beginning to unwrap them, your touch and movements feather soft.

You flex her knee a little bit and notice how her face crunches up a little bit, you hate that she’s in pain, that something that should be so simple and basic for her has become a struggle.

She doesn’t tell you to stop though, so you continue, slowly unravelling the gauze and bandages until you are met with the sight of her bruised and swollen knee.

The stitches had been removed two days ago, so the scar is risen and red, but luckily, not infected.

You notice how Mapí’s eyes suddenly drift from her knee, you know she’s been struggling to come to terms with her injury, that she’s been denying it as much as one could.

“Maps, I’m going to apply some oil, I’m just going to start with your lower leg, nothing near your incision, just tell me if anything is uncomfortable, okay?”

Mapí nods, so you reach for the oil bottle and a towel, gently lifting her knee to slide the towel under her near and then dripping some of the oil onto your hands and then gently pressing them to Mapi’s shin, snaking your hands behind to her calf and working your fingers into her muscles.

The only thing you know is that she’s extremely tight, her calf and achilles practically pushing against you as you lightly apply pressure to the skin.

It takes a generous amount of time working up her calf, working out all the kinks and knots, María is lenient enough though, she looks like she’s in a different place, normally you’d probe her, check if she was okay, but you know that you’re winning right now by having her allow your to do this, so you count your wins and not your losses.

“Maps, baby, I’m working up to your knee and incision now, I know it's going to be uncomfy but the muscles need to be jostled, tell me if anything hurts, okay.”

María’s eyes are glossed over, but she nods absentmindedly.

So, you daintily and carefully begin the trek up to Maria’s knee, your fingers dancing around her non incision side, gently giving the tissue and muscle a rub before moving your fingers to the other side.

You start by just hovering your fingers over her scar, something that seems to capture her attention, and has her throat bobbing as she looks down at you with wide eyes.

“Maps, honey, talk to me.”

It’s clear there are words waiting on the tip of her tongue, and if you can get her to voice them that you will.

“Por favor.” please

It breaks your heart how vulnerable Mapí sounds, it truly does.

“Please, what, love? I’m going to need more than that.”

Mapí pushes her tongue out against her front lip, a fairly clear tell that something is turning the cogs in her head.

“Por favor, no me hagas daño.” Please, don’t hurt me

Your heart clenches at her words, your fingers removing themselves from the scar and gently resting down on her thigh, your palm flat and open against Mapí’s skin.

“María, I’m not going to hurt you, and definitely not on purpose, I’m trying to help you. I know it might not seem that way, but if you relax for me it’s definitely going to feel better.”

Mapí scoffs, sarcasm seemingly ready on the top of her tongue.

“Maps, you need to relax honey.”

Mapí’s face scrunches up, her nose and eyebrows furrowing together.

“No puedo.” I can’t

You don’t doubt Mapí, which makes it so much harder for you to reply to her, because she genuinely looks like she’s struggling, and somehow frustrated.

“Maps, honey, why so tense?”

There’s an inkling of an idea beginning to form in your head, but you don’t want to read this wrong, and a part of you wants to hear what Mapí has to say.

“Tus manos están en mi muslo.” Your hands on my thigh

You snort a little bit, but then reign yourself in when you see the unfamiliar hopelessness on María’s face.

“Yes it is, what’s your point?”

You're toying with her a little bit, for your own fun and genuine curiosity.

“No puedes poner tu mano ahí.” You can’t put your hand there.

If Mapi wasn’t whining at you, you would remove your hand, but there’s neediness hiding behind her tone, that leaves your hand exactly where it is.

“Why not?”

You cock your head at her, pushing down into her thigh a bit and choking on air when an almost breathy moan leaves her mouth.

“No cuando no puedes terminar lo que estás empezando.” Not when you can’t finish what you are starting.

You smirked up at her from your spot hovering between her sore knee resting on the couch and her good leg which is resting off the couch.

“Why can’t I finish it?”

This is uncharted waters with injured María, ever since her knee injury all bedroom activities had been abruptly stopped, you were terrified of hurting your lover and Mapí was always tired or grumpy so it hadn’t really been an issues.

It was clear though, that the both of you were apparently desperate, and as fearful you were of hurting Mapi, you also knew she had given a lot of herself to be this vulnerable with you, so she probably deserved some kind of reward.

“Princesa.”

Mapi’s whining again and all you can do is smile up at her.

“Usted no quieres?” You do not want?

Mapi shook her head, her deep brown eyes sparkling down at you.

“Por favor.” please

You knew that was permission enough, but you were enjoying seeing her slightly vulnerable.

“Please, what?”

María’s almost glaring, a little twinkle in the corner of her eye.

“Por favor, ayúdame.” Please, help me

You would have probed further, if her eyes hadn't fallen down to the centre of her boxers, her hand resting on her hip gently tugging at the waistband of her boyshorts.

“You want this?”

Mapí nodded frantically, making you giddy on the inside.

“Pull your boxers down for me baby, I think it’s time I massage more than your leg.”

Mapi moaned again, her hands falling directly to the waistband and tugging it off with as much force a crippled individual could.

“So eager baby girl, how long have you been needing me?”

Mapí doesn’t reply to you, just continues to tug her black boxer shorts down her ass and carefully over her knee and ankle before tossing them somewhere.

When you look up, you're rewarded with the view of María’s dripping sex, her clit poking out of it’s good and her hole clenching around nothing, her hips canting up to you desperately.

“Look at that, you're all wet for me and I haven’t even touched you where it matters.”

The noises that leave Mapí’s mouth are completely sinful, her head leaning back against the couch, little pleas leaving her mouth.

You trail your fingers up from her thigh, gently grazing against the inside of her thigh until they finally make it to her lips.

You do the same with her lips, trailing wet and sloppy kisses up the inside of her knee and thigh, until your lips come into contact with her dripping and throbbing clit.

You don’t waste any time, trailing a single finger down to Mapí’s hole and swiping up some of the wetness before gently beginning to push it into her eager hole.

Mapí’s pussy practically sucked your finger in, you fell into a fairly easy pace, your mouth suckling gently on her clit whilst your singular finger worked in and out of Maria.

When there was absolutely zero resistance or stretch you began to ease a second finger in, slowly increasing your pace and your pressure on her nub.

Normally, in situations like these, when you and Mapí hadn’t been with each other intimately for so long you’d take your time, show her just how much you loved and appreciated her, but this wasn’t the moment for that.

Mapí needed love, she needed to be worshipped, but in this moment you were acting as nothing more than a relaxant for her, a tension reliever, which you were completely fine with, if it made her feel better than you would do anything for her.

You found her sweet spot, the little pad inside of her and began to target it directly, simultaneously sucking on her clit and caressing her g-spot.

It was a combination that never failed to work during a quickie, sending her directly over the edge in a matter of minutes.

This time was no different, you could feel Mapí tightening around you, her hands finding home in your roots and tugging you up eagerly into her.

Her moans all of a sudden stopped and her hands relaxed, not a second after that she tightened around your fingers and her thighs spasmed on both sides of your head.

You gently worked her through her aftershocks, only removing your fingers when all of the post orgasm shakes had left her body you moved you reached your hand up to her mouth, allowing her to suck her own taste off of your dexterous fingers whilst you lapped up any of her leftover juices and cum that was dripping out of her.

Once Mapí had sucked every last drop off your fingers and you’d salvaged every last bit of her pussy juices you lifted your head out of the apex between her legs, to be rewarded with the sight of a far less tense looking María León.

“Feeling a little bit more relaxed now, bebé?”

Mapu just gave you a little post orgasm grin, her eyes glassy in a completely different way as how she had been a few minutes ago.

“Si, muy relajada.” Yes, very relaxed.

[honimello]

As You Wish

Princess Bride AU: Cardinal Copia x Princess!reader

Summary: As an impending forced marriage looms over your head, you are suddenly (and aggressively) reunited with a man you thought you’d lost long ago, though you are at first unaware that it’s him. (7.4k words)

A/N: This is only maybe a third of the movie’s worth of story (ends just before the fire swamp), so if y’all would like me to continue it with the rest of the movie, I would love to! I’m also thinking of writing copias pov as this is from the readers pov and we miss the inigo and fezzik fight scenes lol. this is also probably one of the longest fics i’ve ever written lol. (I was going to draw something for this but i wanted to get the fic out soon)

tags: @kaleidos-copia and @foxybouquet for the au idea and help with italian respectively!

———

The memory is bittersweet, drifting through your head as you sit atop your horse. The forest is still and calm, nerves from your recent public engagement still bubbling in your veins. Despite the Princes reassurances, you’re sure you could never love again. Not when you had loved him.

“Farm boy, fetch me that bucket of water.” This was how it always went, you ordered and he obeyed, but yet as you give your demand there is always a hint of mischief in his mismatched eyes. His big, straight nose would twitch in just a way that looked as if he were fighting off the most love-sick of smiles.

And again, just as he always did, he replied:

“As you wish.”

Now, with the sense of hindsight, it is easy to see how often “As you wish,” truly meant “I love you.” The wind whistles past swaying trees as your horse ambles along the path, thoughts of him have not stopped swirling around your mind since you had received the news of his passing. Pirates. How could your sweet farm boy get involved with pirates?

The thought is cut short as your horse halts to stop. Three men are stood in front of you. They ask where the nearest village is, and you diplomatically answer. “There is nothing nearby, not for miles.”

The smallest of them cracks a sinister smile, his hands wrung together, he forces down a cackle. “Then there will be no one to hear you scream.”

There is no time to panic before the largest one subdues you.

You feel as though you are swaying, lost in a sea of shouting. You have hazy dreams of men arguing, discussing what sounds like royal matters. It is a long time before the haze of swaying becomes a reality and you wake to find yourself on a boat.

The man of average size, who looks of possibly Spanish origin, is staring off behind the boat. Looking as if he is waiting for something to appear out of the dark night sky, sailing just behind you. Waiting for their daft ploy to be sullied.

“Why are you doing that?” The smallest man says, his shrill voice like a cheese grater to your ears. The Spanish man looks wary as he responds.

“Are you sure nobody’s following us?” His hand rests nervously over the handle of his sword, shifting back and forth, anxiously waiting to be drawn. The smaller man practically scoffs, his arms outstretched not far from where you’re sitting.

“That would be inconceivable.” His voice is smug, assured, cocky. This lights a fire in you. Despite your attempts to be as quiet as possible, you are suddenly spurred to speak out of anger.

“Despite what you think, you will be caught. The Prince will see to it that you are hanged.” Your head is held high, there is an air of false confidence around you. You couldn’t actually be sure of what you were saying, you had only really spoken with the Prince a few times. Maybe he wasn’t the type to save a woman he could replace, but you weren’t going to let your doubts show in front of these scoundrels.

“The only neck you should be worried about is your own, Princess.” The small man’s lips peel back in an uncomfortable smile. His words make your blood boil, and your hands run cold.

There is an uneasy silence as the Spanish man looks back out to sea once more. He looks to be becoming more unrestful as time goes on. It starts to make you nervous as well.

“Stop doing that!” The shrill man shouts. “We can all relax. It’s almost over.” He says like he shouldn’t have to even reassure anyone.

“You are sure no one is following us?” The Spanish man says once more. The small man rolls his eyes.

“As I told you, it would be absolutely, totally, and in all other ways, inconceivable!” His hands are raised to his sides, his face is beginning to go red with frustration. His lackadaisical position is slowly becoming stiffer, more on edge. “No one in Guilder knows what we’ve done, and no one in Florin could have gotten here so fast.”

He has sit back, his arms crossed over his chest. Trying to retain his air of composure, until he goes still and looks up at the Spanish man. “Out of curiosity, why do you ask?”

“No reason.” The Spanish man makes a noncommittal gesture with his hand, glancing back once more. “Suddenly, I just happen to look behind us and something is there.”

The shrill man jumps to his feet with a hoarse, “What?” He trots over quickly to look out, standing next to the other man. He must see something for he tries to reason it away. “Possibly some local fisherman out for a pleasure cruise at night through… eel-infested waters.”

There is only one thought going through your head. They have not bound you, and the other ship could not possibly be too far off. You will chance the water.

The smack of your body as you hit the water alerts the men on the boat, one begins shouting at the others. The water stings your eyes and mouth, you gasp and try to stay afloat. You are a strong swimmer but you have never had to do something like this before. You push past the ache in your arms and swim forward as fast as you can.

“Left! Left!” Is all you hear, until it isn’t. A high pitched, sonorous sound begins to echo all around you. The water laps at your face as you feel the fear creeping up your back.

“Do you know what that sound is, Highness?” The shrill man laughs. “Those are the shrieking eels!”

It couldn’t possibly.

“Don’t believe me? Just wait! They always grow louder when they’re about to feed on human flesh!” You stare up at him with poorly contained terror, something caresses your leg in the depths. You think you are paralyzed til you are proven wrong as the largest eel you’ve ever encountered slips past your shoulder. You let out a shriek as you try your best to swim away. It ducks down into the depths of the crashing water. There’s no telling how many there are.

“If you swim back now, I promise no harm will come to you.” The small man offers, and continues contemptibly. “I doubt you’ll get such an offer from the eels.”

Another whips around you, its teeth sharp as razors. Your ribs begin to seize and burn with the force of the waves crashing into them as you hyperventilate. There’s only one option. Just as you’ve made up your mind, one begins to make a beeline for you. It opens its jaw as wide as your head.

A large hand comes striking down on the head of the eel with a loud thump. Suddenly, you are pulled out of the water with such a force that you are dazed after. You gaze up at the largest man, he looks almost regretful to have to bring you back into their capture. The smallest of the men has learned his lesson and is quickly making work of tying you up.

“I think he’s getting closer.” The Spanish man says nonchalantly, almost like the anxiety of the looming ship has left him. This infuriates the small man.

“He’s no concern of ours! Sail on!” He shouts. The cold is seeping into your bones as your wet, freezing dress clings to your body. He looks at you with contempt. “I suppose you think you’re brave, don’t you?”

There is a wash of levelheaded-ness over you. You reply in kind.

“Only compared to some.”

The morning breeze tickles your face, the sky a deep orange fading into yellow. The Spanish man is hoisting the sail, pulling with all his might. “Look! He is right on top of us.”

You are all looking out at the ship tailing behind.

“Whoever he is, he’s too late. See!” The small man points out aggressively, seething. Your ship approaches the most impending of cliffs. It is possibly the most harrowing of sights you’ve ever seen. The cliff ascends higher than you can see. “The Cliffs of Insanity!”

The small man begins barking unspecific orders to hurry, urging the Spanish man to guide the ship through the watery path. They halt next to the side of the cliff, the large man pulls the ship closer.

“We’re safe. Only Fezzik is strong enough to go up our way.” The small man says as they all grab bags and situate the ship. He motions over to the ship tailing behind. “He’ll have to sail around for hours til he finds a harbor!”

The ship sails closer as you are forced to follow your captors onto a rocky ledge as they ready Fezzik for the climb. There is an ominous black figure standing atop the rival ship. The Spanish man straps you to Fezzik with a sort of strange harness, you are hoisted up at his side. The two others begin to strap themselves to him as well.

The sight of the ever-stretching cliff is daunting. They couldn’t possibly think this is going to go well. You had never dealt with a fear of heights before but you have a feeling you are going to develop one after this. You clutch onto Fezzik for dear life as he hoists himself up the climbing rope.

Birds caw from all around your head, you can only imagine what the feeling of your nails clinging to him is like. You almost feel bad for him, if only he weren’t climbing so easily. You are around a third of the way up when the Spanish man looks down.

“He is climbing the rope,” he says calmly, like he is more intrigued than anything. “And he’s gaining on us.”

The smaller man’s face drains of color. “Inconceivable.”

Sure enough, as you glance down at the ever expanding height between you and the ground, there is a figure dressed all in black. He is climbing the rope, and he is doing it quite fast. The smaller man demands Fezzik to go faster.

“I thought I was going faster!” His deep voice reverberates through your rib cage.

The small man begins to complain now. Gritting his teeth he shouts: “You were supposed to be this colossus! This great legendary thing. And yet! He gains!”

“Well! I’m carrying three people, and he’s only got himself!” The giant Fezzik tries to explain through huffs of breath as he continues to pull the lot of you up the rope. It is only futile as the smaller man continues he’s tirade.

“I do not accept excuses. I’m just going to have to find myself a new giant, that’s all!” He looks off, brows furrowed and twitching. If he were not attached to the front of Fezzik, you could imagine him crossing his arms and scuttling off like a frustrated rabbit thumping its leg.

“Don’t say that Vizzini. Please?” The giant Fezzik sounds horribly dejected. You try to ignore the display, and push down the creeping sympathy for the larger of your captors.

The man in black is still pulling himself up at an impressive rate, Vizzini looks down in fear. You hope this man in black is a savior and not another scoundrel out to steal you.

“Did I make it clear your job is at stake?” Vizzini shrieks, not unlike the eels you had gotten to know the night before.

As you begin to near the edge of the cliff, the man in black speeds up just a little more. He is not more than twenty feet farther down than you. You think you may have seen something, a glint of white in his left eye. Something feels so strange, yet familiar about the figure but you can’t quite place it. He is too far to recognize completely, and even so, his black mask covers the entirety of his face except for his lips and jaw.

Fezzik pulls the Spanish man up onto the ledge, and he in turn pulls you up as well. The rocks jab into your side but it is a small price to pay to finally be on land and not suspended in the air. The Spanish man sets you down on a nearby rock, the air is stale and cold this high up. He hurries to help the other two off of the rope and out of the harness. You can only imagine how close the man in black is getting now.

As Vizzini is lifted up, he hurries over to where the rope is coiled around a very large rock. He pulls a small blade out and begins to saw back and forth over the rope. Fear bubbles up your throat as you watch on in horror, if Fezzik can’t get up in time the man in black is not the only one that will die. Vizzini does not seem to care as he continues his onslaught of the rope, it’s separate entwined pieces snapping one by one.

The Spanish man has helped Fezzik up just in time to stand to the side and watch the rope zip off the edge of the cliff. There is no sound of a body hitting the cold, unforgiving water. They hurry over to look over the ledge. The Spanish man almost looks impressed, while Fezzik looks on in strange horror. It appears the man in black has clung to the side of the cliff.

“He’s got very good arms.” Fezzik comments as Vizzini rushes over to look as well. His face is beet red and scrunched up with a fury so petulant.

“He didn’t fall? Inconceivable!” He wails as the Spanish man looks down at him in confusion. Fezzik looks on at the pair with an air of humor about him.

“You keep using that word,” the Spanish man tilts his head. “I do not think it means what you think it means.”

They’re silent as all three turn their heads to watch after the man in black as he scales the side of the cliff with surprising agility. “My God, he’s climbing.” The Spanish man mutters in bewilderment.

“Whoever he is, he’s obviously seen us with the Princess,” Vizzini turns his head back towards you strewn about the rocks at their side. “And must, therefore, die.”

He clutches his dagger between his ruddy fingers, and jabs it in Fezzik direction, then backwards in yours. “You, carry her.” He turns then to the Spanish man. “We’ll head straight for the Guilder frontier. Catch up when he’s dead. If he falls, fine. If not, the sword.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you watch the men walk towards you. The Spanish man looks disgruntled as he speaks once more.

“I’m going to duel him left handed.” He says determinedly. It’s a strange declaration you think as Vizzini begins to sweat even more.

“You know what a hurry we’re in!” Vizzini growls like a rabid dog, the Spanish man only looks at him with resolution. There is a small smile about to grace his face.

“It is the only way I can be satisfied. I use my right, over too quickly.” He says smugly, but with an aura of conspiracy about him as well. Vizzini gives in and walks away with a noncommittal gesture. Fezzik has walked over to you and taken hold of your much smaller hands, both of which fit inside just his one fist. He leans over to the Spanish man with you in tow.

“Be careful,” he says lowly, shaking his head, obviously concerned for the Spanish man. “People in masks cannot be trusted.”

The Spanish man looks down, there are scars across his cheeks more apparent than they had been before. He seems sorrowful to be splitting ways from the giant. Vizzini’s shrill, howling voice calls out his impatience. Fezzik leads you towards Vizzini as he walks away, you look back and watch as the Spanish man practices sword fighting moves very briefly and then turns to call over the edge of the cliff. “Hello there!”

You hear a faint voice respond but it is unintelligible as you are being guided away from the scene. The journey is a slow and quiet one, with Fezzik not feeling as confident with his Spanish companion by his side. His hand envelopes yours and it is surprisingly quite comforting. The longer you go on, Fezzik decides to carry you.

Just as you have all crested the top of a big green hill, the man in black emerges from the rocky terrain rendering Vizzini irreparably enraged. “Inconceivable!” He shouts. “Give her to me.”

Fezzik sets you down with care and Vizzini grabs you by the arms violently. He gives orders to Fezzik to catch up quickly, in the hopes that he might stop this man in black. “What do I do?” Fezzik asks bewildered.

“Finish him. Finish him your way!” He shrieks and pulls you along the path up past a large rocky over hang. You can hear Fezzik say something to himself like he’s not quite sure what he’s supposed to do regardless of Vizzini’s order.

“Oh, good. My way. Thank you, Vizzini.” He looks down in confusion, any confidence lost. “Which ones my way?”

Vizzini rolls his eyes, his grip on your arm becoming more and more unbearable. He gestures aggressively towards a large rock. “Pick up one of those rocks.” He is speaking through gritted teeth again. “Get behind a boulder. In a few minutes, the man in black will come running around the bend. The minute his head is in view, hit him with the rock!”

His voice grows louder until the last sentence he is screaming. He storms off with you in tow, tripping to keep up with the small man. You can hear a disgruntled Fezzik mutter under his breath: “My ways not very sportsmanlike.”

As you come upon a clearing above the rocky path, Vizzini pulls some things out of the satchel he’s been carrying. Two goblets, a blindfold, and a large wine bottle. He forces you down onto the ground and blindfolds you despite your struggling. You can hear him shuffle around til he is sat beside you, presumably having set up some sort of last stand. The tip of his dagger presses into your jugular. It’s difficult for you to find fear in the action when all you can think about is how if your farm boy had stayed, maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation. Maybe the Prince wouldn’t have chosen you.

There is a rustle in the grass, the crunch of twigs beneath heavy feet. The man in black is approaching, you feel Vizzini seize up in poorly contained terror. He tries to keep his voice and his hand steady as he speaks up to the figure.

“So, it is down to you and it is down to me.” You can hear him reach for a goblet before he backs off as the figure draws closer. “If you wish her dead, by all means keep moving forward.”

His dagger is cold and haunting against your jaw, the quiver in his wrist has it leaving tiny imperceptible cuts. The figure has a smirk in his accented voice when he says: “Let me explain.”

He draws near.

“There is nothing to explain,” Vizzini exclaims. “You’re trying to kidnap what I’ve rightfully stolen.”

“Perhaps an arrangement can be reached?” The man in black counters, his steps careful and precise. Vizzini reaches for your arm once more, his tight hold searing your skin like a sinful mark.

“There will be no arrangement, and you’re killing her.” He presses his dagger further into your jaw, just barely drawing blood, a gasp falls through your lips before you can stop it. The man in black halts, something in him becoming more wary as the ordeal goes on. You vaguely recall hearing his specific accent before. Such a unique voice.

“Well, if there can be no arrangement, then we are at an impasse.” Still, a smirk present in his tone, he seems to have the upper hand as Vizzini begins to sweat.

“I’m afraid so. I can’t compete with you physically, and you’re no match for my brains.” Vizzini states, self assured but a creeping sense of doubt bubbles just under his skin.

“You’re that smart?” The man in black prods, a chuckle lacing his words. Yes, you’ve heard that tone before but you just can’t place it. Maybe someone from your old village? No, it couldn’t be. This was probably some pirate scoundrel.

“Let me put it this way,” Vizzini grunts, his voice uncharacteristically low. Though his next words are so self centered you have to hold back bile from rising up your throat. “Have you ever heard of Plato, Aristotle, Socrates?”

“Yes.” The man in black answers unamused.

“Morons.”

“Really?” The man asks, sounding on the verge of great laughter. This is quite possibly the most embarrassing kidnapping in the history of kidnappings. “In that case, I challenge you to a battle of wits.”

“For the Princess?” Vizzini asks, sounding absolutely tickled with curiosity. This is all getting so childish, you can’t help but think.

The man must do something because Vizzini corrects himself.

“To the death?” There is horrible glee in his voice. The man must nod because Vizzini agrees to this new turn of events. The dagger pulls away from your jaw, leaving only a small cut in its place. He must stash it away somewhere because you cannot feel it anywhere near you now.

“Good. Pour the wine.” The man in black orders before coming to sit down opposite from you. The wind picks up and the scent of what must be his cologne comes over you, everything still so very familiar but impossible to place. It is all so cruel, his eyes, his voice, his scent, like some sort of ghost mocking you. Vizzini pours the wine.

The man shuffles across from you, you hear him pull something out of his pocket. He holds it out for Vizzini and says: “Inhale this, but do not touch.”

Vizzini, trying to seem carefree, grabs it gladly and sniffs what must be a vial of some sort. “I smell nothing.” He declares.

“What you do not smell is called iocane powder.” The man in black declares, voice laden with that familiar mischief. “It is odorless, tasteless, dissolves instantly in liquid, and is among the more deadly poisons known to man.”

As Vizzini listens on, probably scoffing to himself out of disbelief, you hope that they may poison each other in some sort of hilariously stupid turn of events. The day has grown horribly uncomfortable, and right now all you really want to do is go back to your own bed and be left alone from all these foolish men.

The man in black grabs both goblets and turns away from Vizzini, presumably putting poison into one of the goblets. Though, you think to yourself, maybe it would be smartest to put it in both? Ah, but how would the man in black survive?

You can feel Vizzini shake with uncertainty as the man sets both goblets back down. He must switch them around, because Vizzini lets out a cocky laugh, like he has figured it all out already without really understanding his reasoning.

“Alright. Where is the poison?” The man in black gestures with open arms to the goblets, his voice unwavering and stoic, yet laced with that twinge of roguishness. “The battle of wits has begun. It ends when you decide, and we both drink and find out who is right and who is dead.”

Yes, he must have put it in both. Why else would he leave it up to Vizzini to choose, and still be so self assured? Vizzini scoffs next to you.

“But it’s so simple.” Vizzini says. “All I have to do is divine from what I know of you. Are you the sort of man who would put poison into his own goblet or his enemy’s?” He pretends to ponder, and you think he is doing well to hide the shake in his voice.

“Now, a clever man would put the poison into his own goblet because he would know that only a great fool would reach for what he was given.” His voice is growing higher in octave. “I am not a great fool, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you.”

“But,” Vizzini declares erratically, the masked man not having said a single word so far. “You must have known I was not a great fool. You would’ve counted on it, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”

The masked man speaks up.

“You’ve made your decision, then?”

“Not remotely!” Vizzini squaks. “Because iocane comes from Australia, as everyone knows, and Australia is entirely peopled with criminals, and criminals are used to having people not trust them, as you are not trusted by me,” Vizzini has begun to spit now with the vitriol of his words. “So, I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you.”

“Truly, you have a dizzying intellect.” The man in black says with forced awe, which in turn forces you to hold back a laugh. He seems pleased with this by the sound he makes after, a sort of hum.

“Wait til I get going!” Vizzini spits. “Where was I?”

“Australia.” You and the man in black reply in unison, leaving both Vizzini and the man stunned but only for a second.

“Yes, Australia.” Vizzini continues with fervor. “And you must have suspected I would have known the powders origin, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”

“You’re just stalling now.” The man interjects.

“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you!” Vizzini shouts. “You’ve beaten my giant, which means you’re exceptionally strong, so you could’ve put the poison in your own goblet, trusting on your strength to save you, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you!”

“But you’ve also bested my Spaniard,” Vizzini continues, his words becoming hurried. “Which means you’ve studied, and in studying you must’ve learned that man is mortal, so you would’ve put the poison as far from yourself as possible, so I can CLEARLY not choose the wine in front of me!”

“You’re trying to trick me into giving away something.” The man in black laughs, the sound of his leather glove rubbing against itself is almost deafening. “It won’t work.”

“It has worked! You’ve given everything away. I know where the poison is!” Vizzini sounds exasperated, hyperventilating next to you.

“Then make your choice.” The man in black pushes.

“I will! And I choose— What in the world could that be?” Vizzini interrupts himself and points off into the distance, the man in black looks behind himself in confusion. You can hear Vizzini move the goblets around behind the man’s turned back.

“I don’t see anything.” The man says.

“I could’ve sworn I saw something.” Vizzini says nonchalantly. “Ah, no matter.”

The little idiot cannot stop himself from giggling in triumph like he has bested the man in this battle.

“What’s so funny?” The man asks.

“I-I’ll tell you in a minute.” Vizzini says, pulling on his collar in a nervous gesture. “First, let’s drink! Me from my glass and you from yours.”

They both reach for the goblets and bring them to their mouths, Vizzini positively vibrating with glee while the man in black acts aloof. Vizzini lets the man drink first, and then they both drink. The man in black speaks now in a softer voice, like there is something Vizzini doesn’t know.

“You guessed wrong.”

“You only think I guessed wrong! That’s what’s so funny, I switched glasses while your back was turned!” Vizzini yells, cackling at the man’s expense. You shift uncomfortably in your spot beside him, feeling something shift in the air like words unspoken. “You fool, you fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous is never get involved in a land war in Asia, but only slightly less well known is this! Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line!”

His laughing has grown uncontrollable now, like something evil has come over him and the only thing he can do is gloat. He howls like a hyena for a few more seconds before going deadly silent. Then you hear the sound of his lifeless body thumping onto the soft grass below. It makes you jump in fear.

The masked man shifts around, coming to the side of you. His gloved hands reach for the blindfold around your eyes and he pulls it off gently. Seeing him up close is strange, the white eye glows unlike anything you’ve seen before, but the even stranger thing is, you are sure that you have seen it. A fond look overcomes his face before it is pushed away and only a stoic man sits before you, untying your wrists. He has a thin mustache above plump lips, and freckles dance across his straight nose and full cheeks. Again, there is that familiarity there, settling in your chest. You cannot sit in mystery any longer.

“Who are you?” You demand, voice soft but low. He looks up at you then, his eyes piercing your very soul. If he was someone dear to you at one time, it is obvious he is a different man now.

“No one to be trifled with, fiorellino.” He grunts, the word reminds you of someone. “That is all you will ever need to know.”

You try to forget that feeling in your chest and look down at the situation at hand. Vizzini’s body lay still beside your feet. You wonder just how he did it, if it really was his cup that was poisoned. So you ask.

“So, it was your cup that was poisoned?” You whisper, looking at him from the side he continues undoing your restraints til he stops to look up at you once more with a rambunctious look.

“They were both poisoned.” The man says, confirming your earlier belief. His gloved hands envelop yours and he helps pull you to your feet, he looks at you almost like a conspirator. Like there is something there he wants you to find impressive. “I spent the last few years building up an immunity to iocane powder.”

He leads you off down the opposite path that you came, there is something about him that tells you he is not kidnapping you but saving you. You worry the Prince may not be too far away, hot on your tails. You worry you may have to actually marry him.

He leads you through a rocky path, running fast with his hand entwined with yours. You begin to lose your breath, and as you come to a decline in the path he lets go of your hand letting you fall against a rock. For a split second he looks worried to have hurt you, but he quickly covers it up by turning away from you.

“Catch your breath, fiorellino.” He demands. You decide maybe it would do you good to reason with him, or at the very least negotiate.

“If you’ll release me, whatever you ask for ransom, you’ll get it, I promise you.” Your voice has grown hoarse over the coarse of the day, but your diplomatic tone stays true. He laughs regardless, but it is a strange laugh, like he is forcing it to leave his throat.

“And what is that worth? The promise of a woman? You are very funny, Principessa.” There is so much bitterness in his voice, like he is not quite talking about a ransom but something else entirely. It fills you with contempt.

“I was giving you a chance. It doesn’t matter where you take me. There is no greater hunter than Prince Humperdinck. He can track a falcon on a cloudy day. He can find you.” You state, your composure in tact. He looks forlorn as a disbelieving smirk crosses his face.

“You think your dearest love will save you, il mio fiorellino?” He spits, possibly thinking you a fool. Though his last words hold a long lost meaning you cannot seem to grasp. This only works to infuriate you more, that man will never hold your love in any lifetime. There is only one you could ever love, one who slipped from you so long ago.

“I never said he was my dearest love!” You counter. “And yes, he will save me. That I know.”

He pushes away from the rock he had been leaning on and he stalks towards you. His face, even though it is partially obscured, is so easy to read. He is almost at a loss for words, he looks so taken aback at your admission, and it is so hard not to see just how much hope is in his eyes. His eyes, there is something about his eyes but it is such a foggy memory.

“You admit to me you do not love your fiancé?” His voice is soft as he comes to stand in front of you, leaning down to listen better and perhaps look at you closer.

“He knows I do not love him.” You say dejectedly. He seems to steel up once more, trying to hide something he seems to want to forget.

“Are not capable of love, is what you mean, fiorellino.” He says smugly, looking at you like he hopes his words may dig under your skin.

A cool resolute feeling overcomes you. You stand to look up at him, his piercing eye doing nothing to dissuade you. You will not let some scoundrel disrespect your fading bittersweet memories.

“I have loved more deeply than a killer like yourself could ever dream!” You seethe, though as he raises his hand in a show of his power you realize you have made a mistake. You do not feel the blow of his hand as you cower away from him, and when you look up he looks almost as terrified as you are. But he becomes cold again and speaks to you in a tone only a cold blooded killer could possess.

“That was a warning, Principessa.” He grunts, his voice gruff and low, filled with so obviously deep seated betrayal. “The next time my hand flies on its own, for where I come from, there are penalties when a woman lies.”

He grabs you by the hand and pulls you along roughly, on whatever path he has deemed worth stealing a Princess over. The trek is long and there is no giant to carry you anymore, and after about an hour of walking with this horrible man he lets you sit against a fallen tree on a large hill.

“Rest, Principessa.” He says, and suddenly you are aware of where you have seen him before. Yes, the wanted posters! The man who stole your whole life away!

“I know who you are!” You declare. “You’re cruelty reveals everything. You’re the Dread Pirate Emeritus. Admit it!”

The Dread Pirate Emeritus is the worst pirate there is, one who kills without remorse. The one who took your lovely farm boy away.

“With pride,” he takes a cocky bow. “What can I do for you, fiorellino?”

There is no place in your heart that holds any sort of sympathy for this man. The fire that has been building up for years has only festered to its boiling point. There is no place he can run from the fate you so wish upon him.

“You can die slowly, cut into a thousand pieces.” Your voice is steady but he only looks slightly surprised by your words. He tsks at you, wagging his gloved finger back and forth.

“Hardly complimentary, Principessa.” His eyes squint in the light of the setting sun. “Why loose your venom on me?”

The wind gently blows through your hair, it is cold on your cheeks and for a second you feel almost as if you’ve been dead just as long as your lover.

“You killed my love.”

He looks at you hesitantly, gauging your condition. He decides he could prod just a little more.

“It’s possible. I kill a lot of people.” He steps beside you, residing just at the top of the hill. The pit in your stomach only grows and you do your best to contain any thoughts of hurting him. A curious expression crosses his face. “Who was this love of yours, fiorellino? Another prince like this one?”

“Ugly, rich and scabby?” He continues. His tone is one of pain, prodding at you like it will give him an answer hes long searched for.

“No.” You are furious, but the memory of him soothes you for just a little longer. “A farm boy. Poor.”

He looks at you wistfully, and it is easy for it to go unnoticed by you as he sits down with a nervous gulp. There is sadness in his eyes and you have to look away, because theres something there that you can’t admit to yourself.

“Poor and perfect… With eyes like the sea after a storm.” You whisper, hoping he can’t see the tears pilling at the edge of your eyes. You snap yourself out of it, and bring your attention back to him. “On the high seas your ship attacked, and the Dread Pirate Emeritus never takes prisoners.”

Your confrontation pulls him out of his reverie.

“I can’t afford to make exceptions, fiorellino.” He says as what seems to be his facade creeps back in. He leans back with his hands behind his head, like there is nothing in the world that could possibly scare him. Especially, not some wistful little Princess. “I mean, once word leaks out that a pirate has gone soft, people begin to disobey you, and then it’s nothing but work, work, work, all the time.”

He is laughing like there is a joke for you to get, like he is doing some large, elaborate bit.

“You mock my pain!” You cry.

“Life is pain, Principessa.” He says with his steely gaze locked onto your own. “Anyone who says differently is selling something.”

You can’t look at him anymore, there is so much seething beneath the service and as he stands there is only one thing on your mind. Then he begins speaking once more, and all it does is makes it worse.

“I remember this farm boy of yours, I think, fiorellino.” He says, and ponders. “This would be what, five years ago?”

There are tears threatening to spill now. You can’t answer him.

“Does it bother you to hear?” He whispers, but still there is that venom.

“Nothing you can say will upset me.” You whisper back.

He walks forward just a little more, his arms crossed and he does his best not to look you in the eye. “He died well. That should please you. No bribe attempts or blubbering.”

You look at him as he stands at the crest of the hill.

“He simply said ‘Please. Please, I need to live.’” He mutters, remembering some hazy far off memory. He looks towards you know. “It was the ‘please’ that caught my memory. I asked him what was so important for him. ‘True love’ he replied.”

There is a look you share together, and it is again that he looks at you like he wants you to know something that he cannot tell. There is no energy left in you to care, there is only pain.

“And then he spoke of a girl of surpassing beauty and faithfulness. His fiorellino. I can only assume he meant you.” He gestures towards you as he ambles closer. He shouldn’t get to use that name for you, and it makes you seethe with rage. The bitterness reeks in his voice as he continues. “You should bless me for destroying him before he found out what you truly are.”

You are pulled along now by your fury as you stand to look him dead in the eye.

“And what am I?” You demand to know. His white eye almost looks like it’s burning brighter.

“Faithfulness he talked of, il mio fiorellino. Your enduring faithfulness.” He spits his words like venom in his mouth. “Now tell me truly. When you found out he was gone, did you get engaged to a prince that same hour, or did you wait a whole week out of respect for the dead?”

“You mocked me once. Never do it again!” You scream at him, your blood pumping in your ears, tears spilling down your cheeks. Your fingers itch to reach out. “I died that day!”

His eyes have widened and he looks almost sorrowful. Though, the sound of hooves hitting the ground turn both your heads to the farlands. There you can only assume is Prince Humperdinck and his group of men looking for you. You look back at the man in front of you, who stands facing away. The blood is boiling in your veins, there is only one thing on your mind now and you cannot stop your arms from reaching out.

“You can die too, for all I care!” You scream as you push against his back, sending him head first down the hill.

And as he thumps against the grass over and over again he says: “As you wish!”

Like a cold bucket of water splashing you in the face you realize, you do recognize him. How could you have forgotten? His unique eyes, his tender voice, his sweet face? Your hands come up to cup your mouth as you sob, it was him. Your long lost lover, your farm boy.

“Oh, my sweet Copia! What have I done?” You shriek and propel yourself forward to fall down the hill just behind him. The feeling of the rocks and sticks smashing into your soft arms and legs is only a small amount of what you deserve for having forgotten your love.

As you both roll to a stop, you lay on the ground in defeat. He has lost his mask and suddenly you feel so foolish. Copia looks over to you and his eyes betray him once again, love and sorrow swirl in his gaze and you wonder how could he ever think you would move on from him so fast? He looks bashful, and worried, as he crawls towards you. His skin is flushed and his freckles look more apparent than ever.

He pulls you close and asks if you can move, but the sentence barely registers in your brain for a ghost is lain above you. “Move? You’re alive.” You whisper, voice filled with wonder. He pulls back a lock of your hair and you are overcome. “If you want, I can fly.”

You pull him down into an embrace, he buries his face into your neck. Deft hands caressing your back and sides, ghosting above like he is afraid he is not allowed to touch. He pulls back just enough to slot your noses together and whisper: “I told you I would always come for you, fiorellino. Why didn’t you wait for me?”

It is his turn to tear up now as he continues to brush his fingers through your hair. You are beyond confused, you had been told he was dead. How could he come back from that?

“Well, you were dead.” You say, mystified. He looks back at you as if you are silly, but there is a deep fondness there too.

“Death cannot stop true love.” He whispers. “All it can do is delay it for a while.”

You look up in amazement. “I will never doubt again.”

He brings his forehead to yours and he looks at you with such gentleness, it is obviously hard for him to contain it.

“There will never be a need.” He says softly, his lips graze over yours for just a second but it is enough to send you both reeling into each other.

As you kiss him, it is like every painful thought and weeping sorrow over the years melts away and you are finally home again. His lips are soft and his body atop you feels like a warm blanket on a cold winters night.

———

[oddballwriter]

Personal Nurses

Summary: You get sick with something and need to stay home, and so your lovely boyfriends take up the job of nursing you back to health.

Warnings: Mentions of being sick (sore throat, stuffy nose, and fever). Taking medicine. Half Google translated Spanish, my high school Spanish is really rusty the grammar may be weird. Other wise a nice wholesome sick comfort fic.

Author’s Snip: Fun fact, this was originally going to be a fic where it was about Abi (the reader and system’s daughter that have a bit of an unofficial series with) getting sick. But I decided to make it about the boys taking care of you because I got a nasty cold a while ago and wanted to see this.

Notes: Again, the grammar in Jake’s Spanish speaking might be not so good because my Spanish is rusty as hell.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Word Count: 692

Being sick wasn’t that great. Sure, it got you out of needing to do things, but you also had to deal with actually being sick. And that’s never great.

You went to bed last night with a tickle in your throat and runny nose that you thought would pass in the morning, but then you woke up dying for water, barely able to breathe through your nose, and now you were burning up like a whore in church.

When Steven eventually woke up and found you in the kitchen you could tell he knew. You made an attempt to brush it off by saying “I’ll just drink some tea and sit under an air conditioner today.” but you could see Steven and the rest of them in that brain vote no on even letting you get out into your work clothes.

So now you get to wallow in bed and have three personal nurses.

Since Steven was the one who woke up with the body, so he was the one who set everything up. He politely shooed you back into bed, placed extra pillows, called your work for you, made you your tea and breakfast, and brought all that to you in bed with a cold rag and medicine. He also checked your temperature which, of course earned an “Oh, love. That’s no good.” that seemed more like him thinking out loud.

Steven was the one mostly in charge of your comfort and doing things for you when you’re sick. If you wanted an extra blanket, you got one. If your fever rag got lukewarm, he made it cool again. Do you want more water or tea? You got it. Is it too bright? He’ll draw the curtains for you. If anything he was more of a bell boy than a nurse. But it still made him blush a little when you called him that.

Marc was the one in charge of making sure you got your medicine in, and he was on top of it. Apparently, when you were taking a nap after eating breakfast, Marc took the body to go to the pharmacy and get new medicine and vitamins because “The one we have isn’t strong enough.” as if he was able to tell just by looking at you. When he came back, he had you eat some bread, saying “So that it doesn’t mess with your stomach if it's empty already.” and also “It helps it stay down. It has something to stick to.”.

“How do you know all this?” you questioned, to which Marc simply said “Trial and error,”, “Now take the vitamins. It helps your immune system fight it off.” Marc orders. You just shrug and comment “Whatever you say, Nurse Spector.”.

Jake was dead set on making food for you, making Marc go to a whole different market while he was out, just to buy ingredients for the soup he wanted to make you.

“Qué no, Marc. No puedes compras los sopas enlatadas.” Jake said to himself with a laugh. “Mind letting me in on the joke?” Marc asked as he watched Jake cut up the ingredients from the reflection in the soup. “You couldn’t buy them canned soup, Marc. Canned soup doesn’t do it. You gotta make it.” Jake explained, clearly referring to the whole ‘make it with love’ thing. “Well, that’s what we would have,” Marc mentioned. “Because that’s all we got.” Jake said back, “But not for them.” he added as to pointed to where you were resting. “They’d do the same for us.” Jake stated confidently.

When the soup was settled and done, and cooled down enough, Jake brought the bowl straight to you in bed. You thought he was going to bring a little table like Steven and Marc did, but it was clear when Jake kept holding the bowl and took up a spoonful of it and held it towards your mouth. You say his name with a scoff and he smiles. “Come on, mi amor. Steven and Marc got to play nurse today.” Jake teased. You roll your eyes and decide to humor him and let him feed you.

[what-even-is-thiss]

What do you think gay men are attracted to in men that they can’t be attracted to in women?

It can’t be anything about femininity or masculinity obviously. That’s both sexist, and cultural so can’t be what drives men-only attraction.

It can’t be anything about stated identity because someone could lie just as easily as they could tell the truth in such a statement, and it makes no sense because homosexuality and heterosexuality exists in other species with no stated identities. It’s not like other animals without gender are all pan.

Saying idk it’s the vibes or some indescribable trait men have that women can’t but “I can’t explain” is a nonanswer.

Soooooooo what is it? Or do you think any sexuality but bi/pan is just cultural performance or an identity rather than an inborn orientation?

- [ ]

There’s whole subsets of philosophy and science dedicated to this sort of thing, dude. If you’re looking for one particular answer that applies universally to all gay men or all of one orientation or gender etc that’s not useful and if you insist upon getting that one particular answer you come across as dangerously ignorant.

Asking what it is that makes someone gay is a bit like asking “What’s an American?” or “What’s a country?”

At first they seem like straightforward questions but once you dig even a bit below the surface you’ll find that everyone and every place and every situation has a different answer. Is the EU a country? Is India? Is Idaho? Why? Why is a Mexican an American in Spanish but not in English? Spanish speakers will be insulted if you say they’re not American but Canadians will be insulted if you say they are. And Americans as in persons and from the United States of America aren’t as clear cut a group as that quick little definition I gave you would suggest. Why would someone living in the US for over a decade not consider themselves an American? Why would someone who just moved here insist they are American? Is it citizenship that makes you American? The continent you live on? How do you draw lines between continents? At what point do you identify more with your adopted country than the one you were born in?

Being gay is similarly complicated. What makes you gay? Your gender? Your attraction? Who you’d prefer to marry? Who you’d prefer to have sex with? Is gay a political position? Does it mean you’re happy? Is it a girl’s name? A surname? Is it only for men? Is it also for women? Is it a slur? Is it a reclaimed slur? Is it just a word? Where are you in time? What language are you speaking? Are you personally more attracted to genitals or hands or smells or the whole package? Can you sometimes fall for someone not typically your type? Is it a personality thing? How much of your attraction is influenced by your genetics, the balance of hormones in your parent’s womb, your society, your upbringing, your friends?

The only available answer is a non-answer because sexual orientation isn’t an arithmetic question. There’s no A+B=C that can be applied universally to all people who identify with a certain term. Any more than one singular definition can be given to a country, a gender, a continent. There’s some things that just don’t have one solid iron clad definition and anyone attempting to give them one typically has an agenda.

Anon, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and hope that you’re not here attempting to cause trouble and that you’re genuinely curious. But if you’re here attempting to set up bait, please reconsider how you think about definitions and queer identities and identity more broadly.

[pr0blematic-h0unds]

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↺ ᴿᴱᴾᴱᴬᵀ ‖ ᴾᴬᵁˢᴱ ≫ ᴺᴱˣᵀ ˢᴼᴺᴳˢ ∞ ↺

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╚══《✧ABOUT US✧》══╝

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《✧Last updated : 04/26/2025✧》

《 please do not follow me if you're under 14; 13 is thin ice. I don't censor myself at all and have no filter with what I say. Despite the fact I don't exactly plan to post 18+ content here i might post suggestive content on rare occasions. That, and also I just generally do not like dealing with kids under the demographic I've said. Liking and following my content is not the same, if you're under the demographic ive set you are allowed to like and scroll through my content, but I ask you do not try to contact me or follow me untill you're older. 》

✶≫ ❝ [ Our Main/Preferred prns are: Xe/He/Pup/Bark/Snarl/Growl/Hound/Bone/It/etc] please refer to us w/ these pronouns; they/them is kindly asked not to be used for us.] ❞

✶≫ ❝ [ We are an adult, we are bodily 18 ] ❞

✶≫ ❝ [You may adress us as relatively anything you wish, but we prefer: Hound, or Mutt. Mutuals and friends may call me Pup or anything else of their choosing <3 ] ❞

✶≫ ❝ [ We are Proship, Comship, & Darkship! We are Prokink, & Propara but Anticontact! ] ❞

✶≫ ❝ [ We are a Fictive heavy, Traumagenic + Stressgenic DID system of 100+ alters! This is our Pronouns.cc for our main system and our subsystems are also linked within our prns.cc so feel free to check those out if interested on getting to know us <3 ] ❞

✶≫ ❝ [ I have now have a strawpage!!! ] ❞

✶≫ ❝ [ I have a discord, however I ask that only close moots or friends ask for it. If you're someone I've just met or someone random asking for my discord and I don't know you, I will not be handing that out freely.] ❞

✶≫ ❝ [ We are disabled and have Major Depression (MDD), Autism, Psychosis, PTSD, DID, OLD, BPD, NPD, ADHD, Anxiety, Alexithymia, and MaDD. Were also a sociopath but uh we don't bring that up shhhh-] ❞

✶≫ ❝ [ We are a Satanist / Atheist ! And a proud member of The Satanic Temple! ] ❞

✶≫ ❝ [ Our special interest is UTMV / Undertale!! We've been in the fandom for 9 years now!!! ] ❞

✶≫ ❝ [ I speak English as my main language, but I can also speak German and Spanish!] ❞

✶≫ ❝ [ We are proud furries and nonhuman shapeshifting entities. We are also polymorph/polykin therians, in which we are Vulturekin, Dragonkin, Crocodilekin, Succubiskin, BiblicalAngelkin, Faunkin, (+more kins) our other theriotypes are Coyote, Spotted Hyena, Cottonmouth snake, Avian Siren, Rüppell's Vulture, Griffin, etc ] ❞

✶≫ ❝ [ We are IRL + Fictionkin! Our biggest fictionkins/IRLs are Alfred Alfer, ENA dream BBQ, Pest, Shadow Milk Cookie, Infected, and most specifically Ink Sans and Bluudude!!] ❞

✶≫ ❝ [ We petre sometimes, oftentimes we are a Dog, Cat, Vulture, or Hyena ] ❞

✶≫ ❝ [ We are Bi Poly Fictorose Aro/Ace-spike] ❞

✶≫ ❝ [ Please do not attempt to court us. I have a partner.] ❞

✶≫ ❝ [We are trans F->M who still comfortably identifies as a Persagirl ButchBoy and also as Agender, Xenogender!] ❞

✶≫ ❝ [ We have a skelesona! We will draw ourselves as it often and will link its ref once it has been fully set up! We also have a Sparkledogsona in which is basically the mascot of this whole blog, however we most likely won't draw ourselves as it unless for silly little emotes (simply too much work to constantly draw with all those sparkles tbf). However, we do have a main fursona we will draw ourselves as, in which we will link the finished ref once ready! ] ❞

✶≫ ❝ [ We are very friendly!!! Please talk to us!!!! We love making new friends and talking to people so genuinely please do not be afraid to talk to us, we dont bite that hard <:3 (yes that means u can even DM us were totally fine with that! Or if u want just staying on anon in our inbox is 1000% okay too <:) ) ] ❞

✶≫ ❝ [ Ask box for general chatting is always open, be as silly as you want there's no limit to how silly you can be here!!! My art requests are always open as well! It might take me a bit to do them as I take awhile to get motivated for art, but I will get to them eventually!!! ] ❞

┌─────═━┈REST OF INTRO UNDER THE CUT!┈━═─────┐

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➻❥ Some of our other hyperfixations! : Forsaken, ENA dream BBQ, Garn 47, Camp Camp, One Wheat Mark, Pumpkin Panic, Objectified, BTTWNS, Blocktales, Let Him Go. The Roblixa: Untill Dawn, Kaleidoscope, Cookie Run Kingdom, Epic: The Musical, Regretavator, Hellsing Ultimate Abridged, Qsmp, Fpe, Class of 09, TBHK, Trigun, Highcard, Pressure, Phighting!, Jim's Computer, Presentable Liberty, GASA4, Cult Of The Lamb, Alfred's Playhouse, Fe, Dungeon Meshi, TBHK, FnF, CoS, ROTTMNT, DHMIS, FPE, Indigo Park, The D!ckheads, Souris, Ramshackle, PinePoint, Bojack Horsemen, LMK, Wendell & Wild, Tuca & Birdie, Dandys World, Shelter, Welcome Home, The Last Guardian, Owls Of Ga'Hoole, Deltarune, Catching Up, HH & HB, Lackadaisy, etc!!

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➻❥ Some of our fav Bands/Artists! : Mindless Self Indulgence, Suicidal Rap Orgy, MC BUSHPIG , Sodikken, Lemon Demon, Femtanyl, Rio Romeo, Alex G, Pompey, Will Wood/Will Wood and the Tapeworms, Fish in a birdcage, Tally Hall, Tv girl, Salv the Dog, MAILPUP, Mother Mother, Jack Stauber, Bogio, Jazmin Bean, The Dresden Dolls, That Handsome Devil, Odetari, Penelope Scott, Cave Town, BoyWithUke, Baby Bugs, Ryan Mack, Epic: The Musical, Etc!!

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➻❥ Some of our fav songs! : Fuck The Supreme Court, You're my stump, Redmageddon, Ghost Boys, I Am a Poseur, Get In The Water, Wouldn't you like, God Games, I'm So Sorry, WEBKINZLID NYA NYA DANCE, CyberDance, LOVESICK CANNIBAL!, Amygdala's Rag Doll, Hole Dwelling, Rockstar, Nosedive, P3t, HARDER DADDY, Plus Boy, Femboy, Seriously?, I/Me/Myself, Charlie's Inferno, Your Graduation, Choke It Out!, PUPPYPLAY!, Hypersexuality and Dilfs, Obsessive Cumpulsive Disorder, Wet, I Deserve To Bleed, I'm so crazy for youuu </3, GOOD LOYAL THOTS, NARCISSISTIC PERSONALITY DISORDER, GMFU, My Alcoholic Friends, Butch 4 Butch, Fish In A Birdcage, Stalkers Tango, Stupid MF, Spy?, Dogmatica, Shut Me Up, Lights Out, THIS HURTS, Get It Up, Devil Town, This Is Home, Etc!!!

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➻❥ Some Fandoms were in! : Undertale, UTMV, Forsaken, Garn 47, Camp Camp, Happy Tree Friends, ENA / Ena Dream BBQ, One Wheat Mark, Pumpkin Panic, Phighting!, Blocktales, BTTWNS, Let Him Go., The Roblixa: Untill Dawn, Kaleidoscope, Jim's Computer, Presentable Liberty, Epic : The Musical, Deltarune, Objectified, QSMP, WoF, WC, FPE, Indigo Park, Bojack Horsemen, Tuca & Birdie, Fpe, Dandys World, Class of 09, TBHK, Trigun, FnF, DHMIS, Horrid Henry, Alfred's Playhouse, Lackadaisy, Tmnt/Rottmnt, COTL, TSATWON, TOH, Sweet Tooth, Ramshackle, Pinepoint, Dungeon Meshi, Demon Slayer, BBU, MD, TADAC, Owls Of Ga'Hoole, Welcome Home, Poppy Playtime, Hellsing, Bee & Puppycat, Wednesday, Wendell & Wild, HH & HB, Pokémon, Monkey Wrench, LMK, BSD, Sarah & Duck. FNAF, Animaniacs, Invader Zim, etc!!!!

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✦❘༻BYI + Boundaries༺❘✦

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‣ Please do not refer to us as humans in any sort of way. We physically and mentally identify as Bluudude / Ink Sans and a canid/vulture.

‣ Do not call us a women. Only we are comfortable with calling ourselves those things we will block you if you do this.

‣ Please do not EVER send us any sort of harassment, if you do not like our content block and move on. Harassing us will solve nothing and will not create any solution to your problem with us, and in fact will make us giggle with flattery at the fact you're wasting time on us.

‣ DO NOT send us any sort of gore and sexual images, gifs, or videos. If you do these things you will be blocked and reported on sight.

‣ Please be patient with us, we struggle to understand/feel emotions and we have extremely low empathy, it is not our fault for being this way. We also apologize if we ever say or do anything that can be offensive or makes you upset, we have a very hard time picking up on if we have hurt someone or done something we shouldn't have.

‣ We struggle with being very obsessive, clingy, and jealous over the people we are extremely close to, were sorry if this is irritating in anyway but this isn't something we can just stop.

‣ We have Disassociative Amnesia, we often will forget things as soon as it has been told to us. Please be patient with us in this topic, and please provide us with reminders if we are in a conversation and we forget something.

‣ please use tone tags when talking to us, we are tone deaf half of the time and will start to p a n i c if we take something the wrong way or misread something.

‣ do fucking not send us any Errorberry, Error X Swap or Swap X Error content. We fucking hate that ship with a burning passion and WILL block you if you try to talk to us about it or send us content about it.

‣ do fucking not talk to us about object shows or spooky month. If you do as well as send us that type of content we WILL block you. Object shows and spooky month are a massive trigger for us due to a horrible person ruining both of those fandoms for us. Only sort of object show we accept to be sent or spoken to about is Objectified, TFMI, and Hfjone. Other than those three do not try to speak to us about other object shows and what not.

‣ Just because our system is almost completely made from fictives doesn't mean you have the right to treat us any differently. We are still living separate beings in our own rights and we will not stand for any sort of discrimination against us. This also goes for sources, we are not all our sources and some of us are even quite uncomfortable/distressed with mentions of source or being compared to source. Just because we may be from that source, doesn't mean we are exactly like it, and we are CERTAINLY not a roleplay opportunity just because of it.

‣ Please do not personally speak to us about topics of Rape, SA/CSA, Grooming, Animal Mutilation/Murder, Underaged Substance Taking, Drinking, Smoking, Waterboarding, Dehumanizing, Neglect, Starvation, Forced consumption of animal food, Self Harm, Mental and Physical Abuse, Parental abuse, Parental Incest, Overdose, Plushophilla, Religious abuse, etc. These are very triggering topics to us because these are the things we had to go through as a child. Fictional topics of these things are 100% fine as we cope that way, but reality wise do not bring these up.

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Quick tag rundown as we close this off ^^

#Hound Barks -> yapping and just random posts by me that aren't reblogs or art

#Hounds art -> kinda self explanatory but yeah its art

#Hounds reblog -> also pretty self explanatory its just reblogs

#Hounds Tail Wag Moments -> inbox/interaction through inbox

#Hound 'n the pack! -> Friend interactions!

#An Alter Barks -> the tag that will be used by our alters/headmates for whatever they post/reblog/say/etc ^^

#Wah continued reblog -> a reblog that ended up becoming continued, most likely from talking to someone through that reblog. Block this tag if you don't wanna see these lmao

#Hounds buried bones -> a vent tag / a tag for posts that are made when im distressed atm

(Our intro is very inspired by other blog intro layouts, if it looks similar to a blog you may be familiar with thats why. Bc it most likely could be our intro inspo!)

[crazylittlejester]

YAY THANK YOU FOR ANSWERING CNSJKFA

round 2 lets gooooooo

LU wars

Please tell me more about the hair dye. Is it magical? does he just carry an ungodly amount of it in his bag just to be safe? Do the others know? Does modern wars dye his hair?

Modern au

Speaking of hair dye, have the others dyed their hair at all? Have sky and twi experimented with crazy colours? Have they helped wars with his? (If he does )

Modern au

Does wars speak another language here too?

LU wars

What are his opinions of the others from your perspective?

Modern au

Is Sky the sleepy boi of the trio? has he fallen asleep on someone? Did they draw silly cats on him for it? Or did Wars cats just get to nap with him?

Modern au

When Sky is epileptic sleepy does Wars let the cats in with him?

I have so many questions jes - but all of them are very random from here and just shows how my brain works.

Hehehe im having fun i hope your having fun :D

________________

OFC OFC, im in a very yappy mood today and this has been fun for me :) literally ask whatever you want I am having a blast

It IS magical in the sense that it doesn't work like actual bleach, but that's basically what it is. He just has to rub it on his hair until the brown disappears and then wash it off and he's good. He DOES still need toner, or it will be Yellow, but he doesn't have to worry about bleaching his hair off or sit around for a half hour. He DOES have an ungodly amount of it in his bag, and he buys more whenever they're in his era alsjhlkhfl. At THIS point the others all know (Wind was the only one War had fooled). He does attempt to bleach his eyebrows but like. His natural color is DARK brown. The hairs on his arms are dark brown, he shaves frequently to avoid the, in his opinion, 'atrocious combo of dark facial hair while blond'. Modern AU War ALSO dyes his hair, he too has naturally very dark brown hair. And both of them straighten it too

Twi no, but Sky a few times a year dyes his red. He doesn't bleach it, he just has Legend put red dye on his naturally dark hair, and it leaves him with a cool dark red that can still professionally look somewhat brown but in the light is very clearly red. They have not helped War, they offered once and they learned their lesson because War can get a lil snappy if things dont follow his routine

He does! Regular War and my Modern AU War both have portuguese (or the hyrulian equivalent of it) as a native language. They also both know a bit of spanish from having spanish speaking friends, but my regular War knows significantly more languages than Modern AU War

Kissing you on the forehead for asking this Major I've had thoughts about it for a WHILE

Twi: Initially he thought he was cold and distant and he wasn't a fan of how he'd just disappear into the woods, then he came to respect him as a fighter and thought he was just a bit fucking weird, but as they got close and he started to respect him War came to think VERY highly of him. He's the closest to War in age, and War really appreciates that he feels like he can lean on Twi

Sky: Sky has such an aura about him that any magic user (and sometimes even those who aren't sensitive to magic) can feel, and Warriors did NOT trust him at first. He didn't like that Sky felt DANGEROUS but was so calm and happy seeming. He very quickly came to understand that Sky wakes up every day and CHOOSES kindness, and he's come to respect him as a fighter, a medic, a fellow knight, and he loves him like a brother

Hyrule: He thought he was skittish and weird, which is true, but after getting to know him War has a great respect for his ability to heal and respects how powerful the kid is

Legend: He still thinks he's a snarky asshole, but now he thinks that way with love. He admires that Legend is true to himself and doesn't people please, because Warriors CAN'T be like that. He trusts Legend's experience

Wild: It was like a slap to the face, seeing this kid and realizing how similar they were. And it drives him MAD that Wild is so reckless. He really really cares about him, but he's learning that Wild is not somebody he can control, Wild doesn't need a fellow soldier, Wild needs a friend. He needs a buddy, he needs love

Four: Immediately thought he was the smartest one in the room, has yet to be proven wrong. He admires Four's dedication to the blade, and he's careful with his own weapons out of respect for all Four does to sharpen their blades for them

Wind is weird because War knew Tune first, and Tune was to baby War what Twi is to him now: a peer, someone to confide in, a trusted friend and brother. It's weird to him, seeing Wind and knowing who he becomes, but he's proud of the kid and he loves him a lot

Time is.... complicated. When War first met Mask he was in a weird place mentally, but he took that kid in, legally adopted him, and cared for him for three years. He can't describe in words what his relationship with Mask is because while yeah thats so clearly his baby brother, part of his brain considers Mask his kid. Seeing Time all grown up and finding out he's doing well and has a WIFE was somethin' else for War. He'd never felt so proud in his entire life. He can recognize that Time is a grown man now who doesn't need his protection, but Warriors is still always at his bad side. He's always right behind Time watching his blind side, he always keeps an eye on him in battle, he will never stop watching over him. He offers his advice when Time asks for it, and respects his decisions, but Time is and always will be his little brother

5. Thats a tie between him and War because yeah, Sky's meds make him exhausted a lot of the time, but War will run around until he crashes and then he'll crash HARD. BOTH of them have fallen asleep on people (mostly Twi, or Athena/Sun)

6. It depends on how Sky is feeling right before his post seizure nap. If he's a bit overstimulated, War will keep the cats out on purpose, but for the most part the cats are allowed to roam free when all the boys are home so unless a door is shut intentionally to keep them out, they'll be there

[oddlydying]

Slides in nervously I really like Vanilla and Crispin and I think they’re really cool and silly and I’d like to know more about them if you’d like to ramble :3

Wahh yea sure I took a small break but I can talk about them. (Huge ramble in read more)

Have a cute album redraw with Crispin on it as a treat too

In the scp timeline for the pyras there’s generally a few phases they go through and I pick and choose which timeframe I wanna draw.

Phase 1: Meetings

• Vanilla enters the foundation after being caught sleeping in his van in the middle of the woods

• Vanilla is initially uncooperative with all staff and tends to speak Spanish to those who can’t speak it and just stays quiet for those who can

• Eventually his file falls onto Gear’s desk and he’s tasked to interview him, Iceberg joins too. Vanilla is immediately intrigued by Iceberg’s lameness but it’s not romantic feelings atp just general wants for a one night stand.

• Vanilla does his usual schtick but notices that Iceberg can understand him so he teases him subtlety. Iceberg doesn’t know how to speak Spanish and is embarrassed by Vanilla making fun of him.

Phase 2: The other one comes in

• Vanilla’s analysis falls onto Iceberg after Gears noted that Vanilla is only cooperating under Iceberg’s presence and direction.

• Their relationship starts to grow during this time and Vanilla doesn’t mind being contained at this point as Iceberg visits him semi often when he can.

• Vanilla eventually nervously tells Iceberg that he’s got a brother who’s also a reality bender and has been chasing after him for a year now. He also warns Iceberg that he might die too if his brother were to see his first boyfriend is some lame chump.

• Crispin comes in after willingly letting himself get captured and then starts fucking shit up. Recently sober with a grudge for answers and justice for the victims of his brother’s crimes Crispin is extremely short tempered and causes as much damage he can until he can find Vanilla.

• He gets recaptured by Clef and immediately sent to containment with reality anchors keeping him mostly weak. He’s still violent to staff who try to make contact with him and eventually they decide to let him meet Vanilla. Crispin beats Vanilla up but he’s mostly happy he’s not dead or hurt. Vanilla gives Crispin the main rundown and that he’s got a boyfriend which enrages him again.

• Crispin is a lot more difficult to contain as he hates containment and being dehumanized. Multiple attempted breaches leave staff wondering if he’s even worth keeping. Iceberg nearly dies to an angry Crispin who finds out that not only his brother has a boyfriend but it’s one of the staff keeping them locked up.

• After pleads by Vanilla for Iceberg to find a solution to not kill Crispin he suggests Crispin join the MTF ranks and work as an agent. Crispin rejects it initially but then sort of gets forced into it by Clef who’s been dealing with Crispin the whole time. The Pyras barely interact in this timeframe.

Phase 3: Team rocket ass siblings.

• Crispin becomes Agent Sulfur now and it’s reflected in his more feminine appearance. It’s easier to do his job when seduction is a card he can play.

• Crispin has an apartment in the foundation and is still monitored and evaluated but a lot more chill about it since he can see the outside world again.

• Crispin still disapproves of the power imbalance in Vanilla and Iceberg’s relationship but takes it out on Iceberg more.

• After a few missions that needed Vanilla to come out of containment Crispin realizes that he’s going to need Vanilla to be at his side more reliably than (making Iceberg process) paperwork constantly.

• Vanilla is more forced to into his agent job than Crispin was but went through normal training since he’s more compliant and less of a threat reality bender wise.

• Vanilla goes by Agent Calcium or Cal for short. He and Crispin turn into agents of chaos together but manage to get the job done one way or another.

• Vanilla gets out of containment and moves in with Iceberg. They sometimes act like a married couple despite never getting married.

[muzt4ng]

☆!!☆

. . .

INTRO POST

. . .

HIII! ⁠♡

I'm Ana, I go by she/her.

I speak both Spanish and English fluently.

I play guitar and bass and I draw too :3

____________________________________________________

Things I might post abt!

Fav bands: Megadeth, Avenged Sevenfold, Metallica, Dream Theater, Slipknot, TOOL, Opeth...

Art: My drawings/doodles, art reposts (?), feedback, anatomy studies, attempted poems/stories...

Extra hyperfixations/interests: South Park, contemporary history & wars -mainly-, philosophy, debates?, music -theory-, guitars...

A bunch of dumb shi in general >_<

. . .

I will take art requests as long as they aren't NSFW.

✧ I take ships, people n stuff in general related to bands but, again, no NSFW pls (U can ofc ask if you're not sure, ik it's a bit unclear here) ✧

. . .

Feel free to ask anything u wish abt me or stuff in general! I'm generally pretty open minded and always trying to understand everyone's points of views! But pls try n be respectful n keep this a safe, nice place for everyone including urself <3

. . .

my insta art acc

:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3:3

[maccreadysbaby]

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: character death, blood & gore

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

did anyone order a sad blue haired brazilian?

part fifteen

❝ UNWELCOME MEMORIES ❞

SATURDAY — AUGUST 8 — 8:29AM

WHEN BENTLEY OPENED HIS EYES, HE WAS STANDING ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD, STARING AT A SEMI-TRUCK WHOSE FRONT HAD BEEN TERRIBLY DENTED AND CRUSHED ON THE PASSENGER’S SIDE. It was raining torrentially, and dark now, obscuring his vision and making it tough to see what was going on behind the one still-working headlight aimed right at his face. He couldn’t really hear anything over the downpour.

He could vaguely make out the silhouette of a man beside the truck, maybe on the phone? He couldn’t tell. Was that Bruce? And when had it gotten dark? Wasn’t it just morning?

He glanced down at himself. He was still wearing his red shoes, t-shirt, and red jacket, the same ones he’d been wearing when they went to pick up Nico. But he wasn’t in a fancy Gotham Heights neighborhood anymore — he was on a street that cut through big trees, and despite the rain, it was warm. It hadn’t been warm earlier. Where was he?

He took a few tentative steps forward, toward the man. As he grew closer, he could hear him speaking — not English, definitely not, but it was a language Bentley had heard before. Spanish? It sounded like Spanish. He had tan skin and dark hair and was wearing a shirt that matched the logo Bentley could see on the hood of his truck. So definitely not Bruce.

Where was he? What was going on?

Once Bentley realized he was very much in the man’s line of sight, he cleared his throat in an attempt to not be awkward. “Uh… excuse me?”

The man didn’t look at him. It seemed like he looked… through him? Past him? Like he wasn’t really there. He just kept talking on his phone, frantically, and Bentley could see a little blood on various places around his body. There didn’t seem to be anyone in the passenger’s side of the big truck, and that was good — it was totally crushed.

With another glance around, Bentley verified that Bruce’s car was nowhere to be found. Had the Secret Keeper taken him somewhere?

He stepped forward again, exhaling lightly and running a hand through his wet, red hair. “Excuse me?”

The man didn’t notice him. Didn’t look down, didn’t brush him off, didn’t startle at his presence, just… nothing. He legitimately didn’t know Bentley was there, standing right next to him, in bright red clothes with bright red hair.

Bentley guessed the adrenaline of being in a crash, like it seemed this guy had, could take a toll on you.

A deafening crack of thunder shook the ground beneath them, and Bentley made a noise akin to a squeak, drawing nearer to the man who didn’t know he was there. The lightning illuminated the dark forest for only a split second, but Bentley saw something. On the left side of the road, there was a hill, a steep drop off, and sitting upside down at the bottom of the hill was…

A car. Wheels in the air, still spinning, making faint noises over the downpour.

The fact that it was dark enough to look black was all Bentley saw, and Bruce’s car was black.

So, despite the terrible storm, Bentley pushed himself forward, toward the edge of the road. Another crack of thunder sounded, and he flinched. It hadn’t been storming this badly earlier. The lightning came again, and allowed him to see something he hadn’t seen before. On the ground beside the car. Something that shot fear through him like a poison arrow, seeping into his bones and threatening to destroy him completely.

A mop of blue hair.

Asten had blue hair, and Asten had been in Bruce’s car.

At once, he started down the hill. How had he ended up on the road when Bruce crashed? And he wasn’t hurt at all? He felt fine, actually, despite the slight headache that was forming at the base of his skull. He did another once-over in his mind, and he didn’t feel any pain anywhere but his head. Leaves and sticks crunched under his shoes as he padded ever-closer to-

“Asten!” He shouted over the rain, drawing nearer to the vague shape of his friend he could see. The Brazilian was facing away from him, on his knees on the ground. “What happened? Are you okay? Where’s Bruce?”

When he got within a few feet of him, he could hear him talking.

“Mãe... Mãe, por favor, acorde. Você-você pode me ouvir?” 

“Asten?” Bentley tried again. He stepped up to his left, and another faint gasp left his lips.

Asten was cradling a woman on his lap. Not Bruce, not Nico, a woman. A woman that, when illuminated by the occasional lightning, looked just like him. Same tan skin, same eyes, same rich dark hair. Asten was crying, sobbing, actually, and his forehead was bleeding all over his face and clothes. Bentley noticed that one of his hands was drenched in blood that seemed to be pouring from the inside of his sleeve. And he looked… younger, maybe?

Bentley glanced inside the car, quickly looking away when he saw the crimson and mangled body of a man. A man he assumed was… Asten’s father, maybe? It definitely wasn’t Bruce. He double checked the crushed car for signs of Bruce or Nico, and there were none. Where was Bruce? Where was Bentley? What was happening?

“Asten?” He asked softly, kneeling down beside him. Bentley could see a huge crimson stain on the woman’s light-colored shirt, and he wasn’t exactly sure her legs were facing the right way. Her stark, emerald green eyes — the same ones that sat on Asten’s face — were open but staring at nothing, reflecting no more than the headlights in the distance and the occasional moon when the clouds shifted. That meant she was…

“Mãe, por favor, não me deixe. Não adormeça. Eu não quero ficar sozinho,” Asten sobbed, tugging his mother closer, pressing her lifeless head into his shirt to close the distance between them as tightly as he could. His bloody and trembling hands were around her shoulders, one laced in her crimson-stained hair, and he was rocking slightly, like he was trying to get a baby to sleep.

“Asten?” Bentley whispered, scanning his friend’s features. Asten didn’t seem to notice him, either. He was just crying, the same hopeless, lost, empty look in his eyes that had been in them when he thought he lost Nico, but magnified and multiplied.

He sucked in a breath, hardly getting any air before he dissolved into more loud, desperate sobs. “Por favor, por favor, não me deixe. Por favor não me deixe sozinho.”

Asten was soaking wet and shivering from the rain, clinging to his mother’s body like he’d die if he let go. He was crying so hard Bentley thought he might throw up. Where was Bruce?

“Mãe! Por favor, não me deixe com eles! Você disse que nunca me deixaria!” 

Bentley watched as he grew more and more frantic, his voice growing louder, more desperate, like the weight of the situation was crashing down harder than it had been.

��Mom!” Bentley startled when Asten changed to English. “Mom, please, don’t… don’t, they… please, wake up. Mom, please. Please! Get up!”

He pulled her close and hid his face away in the jacket she was wearing.

“Please wake up,”

Bentley blinked away the burn in his eyes, dismissing it as raindrops.

“Mom,” Asten hiccuped lightly, hand moving in her hair, trying to stimulate any kind of response. Anything that might suggest she was still alive. “Please don’t leave me here by myself. You promised... You promised! You… you… Please… please, please, please, no.”

Everything started to spin a little, and Bentley sat down on the wet ground. Black dots started floating in from one side of his vision to the other.

“Please, Wake up! I don’t want to be alone!”

The throbbing at the back of his head got more prominent, and he brought a hand up to rest on his skull. The forest started teetering and swirling. Where was Bruce?

“Wake up!”

Pain. Stabbing pain, like his skull was cracking, like someone was stabbing needles into his ears. He doubled over with a soft whine, hands scouring his own head for injuries. They came back with nothing. Where was Bruce? He wanted Bruce.

“Wake up!”

He couldn’t see, but he felt like he was vibrating. Like his head was a balloon being pumped with so much helium it was about to explode. Someone touched his forehead.

“Bruce?” He forced out, quiet and desperate.

“Bentley, wake up!”

He startled back into consciousness with a jerk and a gasp. He could feel his heart beating a million miles per hour, and he blinked rapidly, sucking in air like he’d never breathed in his life. His head was spinning like he’d gotten off of a carousel.

“Oh my God,” 

He finally comprehended what he was seeing. It was the ceiling of Bruce’s car. And Asten’s face was staring down at him, grim and worried.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Asten mumbled, and removed his hand from where it was resting on Bentley’s forehead.

Bentley said nothing, but pushed himself upright with a grunt. He felt Asten’s hands gently supporting his shoulders and back.

“What happened?” Bentley whispered, rubbing at his eyes with a small groan as pain blossomed across his skull again, though not as intense. He felt wrong. Invaded. Like someone had shoved their hands in his brain without asking first, and left it in a mess.

Asten’s green eyes bounced from the Rockefeller’s front door, to Bentley, to the car seat. Bentley suddenly remembered what they were doing, but now, the doorway was empty. “You acted like your head was hurting really bad all of a sudden. You were out cold, for, like, thirty seconds.”

Thirty seconds? That felt like thirty minutes, thirty hours, thirty years.

But yeah, his head did hurt pretty bad.

“What did she do to you?” Asten muttered, his hand still resting lightly against Bentley’s shoulder. Maybe incase he fell over again.

“I saw…” Your mother die? You covered in blood after a car crash? How was he supposed to talk about it? He winced when his head throbbed.

Was this what Dick meant when he said he was seeing other people’s memories?

“… something scary,” He concluded. Reminding Asten of what he’d lost, and telling him that his new friend had literally seen it without his consent wasn’t really something Bentley wanted to tackle right then. The throb in his skull was blossoming into the got-hit-by-a-shovel kind of pain that made even his eyeballs hurt. He kind of just wanted to go back to bed. “My head hurts, bad. I… don’t feel right.”

It took all of his willpower not to cry right then, for some reason. “I want Bruce.”

Asten winced in sympathy, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “You can lay back down. If she comes back, I’ll kill her.”

Asten sounded so absolutely sure about it that Bentley nearly believed him. 

Just as he was contemplating laying back down like Asten said, or maybe crying, a quiet thump from outside of the vehicle caught his attention.

Both he and Asten looked up, and Bruce was coming out the front door of the Rockefeller’s house, carrying Nico like he carried Bentley when he was really upset. There wasn’t any blood, and he was definitely breathing. (hyperventilating so badly Bentley could see it from the car, actually.) Bruce looked fine, too.

“She just… left them alone?” Asten muttered, scooting over into the middle seat as Bruce approached the left door. “What the hell is she trying to do, play us like a game?”

Bentley said nothing. If this was a game, it was one sick, terrible game. Mind games, but for real, playing with their minds and fiddling around just enough to leave them feeling violated, invaded, wrong.

Bruce opened the back door and ever-so-gently put Nico in the leftmost backseat, sending a few glances to Bentley and Asten.

Nico was an absolute wreck. He was shaking like a leaf, trembling, and crying so hard he couldn’t seem to breathe. He was still in a hoodie and sweats, most likely what he’d slept in. Bentley and Asten both shared pitiful glances.

“He was asking for you, Asten,” Bruce stated, closing the door and getting back in the driver’s seat, probably to get out of the open. There was a click as he engaged the locks, turning in his seat to face the three of them.

“Jesus, dude,” Asten muttered, turning in his seat toward Nico, who was wheezing like an old smoker. Bentley saw him dig the little inhaler out of Nico’s hoodie pocket and shake it for him. He simply frowned. He might’ve felt useless if he wasn’t too busy feeling wrong.

“Bentley,”

He glanced forward at Bruce, whose gray irises lingered on his face for a few moments, a slightly concerned expression on his face. “What’s wrong?”

Bentley glanced over at Nico and Asten, who were very preoccupied by getting his lungs to work again. So Bentley stood up, climbing up and over the center console to plop in the passenger’s seat next to Bruce, who was watching him dutifully.

How was he supposed to explain that feeling to him? The feeling of your mind, your head being boggled by someone else, every thought read, rearranged, scoured.

He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around himself, a bad attempt at supplying comfort. “The Secret Keeper… came outside when you were inside,” He explained in hushed tones, quiet enough Asten and Nico probably wouldn’t hear. His head throbbed spectacularly, and he winced. “She didn’t come to the car or anything, only to the house door, but…”

“But?” Bruce inquired gently.

“But when I tried to call and tell you, she…” Bentley paused, then pointed at his head. “It felt like someone stabbed me in the head. Then I saw something.”

Bruce hummed lightly. “What was it?”

Bentley glanced back at Asten and Nico, satisfied that the Brazilian was getting Nico to use the inhaler as opposed to listening.

“It was like… something that happened to Asten. Like I was really there,” He muttered quietly, glancing back up at Bruce, then down at his hands. “He said I got knocked out for a minute. And now my head hurts.”

He heard Bruce sigh lightly, but didn’t look up.

“And now I feel all wrong. My head, it… it feels wrong. I don’t know how to tell you…” He muttered, resting his chin on his knees, batting away tears that were stinging in his eyes. “Like it’s been all messed up and unraveled. I don’t… I... I don’t know…”

He didn’t look up until he felt Bruce’s hand delicately land on the side of his head, the warm sensation warding off the strange emptiness that had been hovering over his skull, his brain. He couldn’t help but lean into it like some sort of sad little kitten, a nearly silent cry forcing its way from between his lips.

“Let’s get you three back to the Manor, okay?” Bruce said softly. Bentley nodded in response, wiping at his leaky eyes, though the thought of Bruce moving his hand to drive the car was nearly unfathomable.

The hand in question only moved enough to stroke Bentley’s hair as the car started up in the background. “You’re going to be okay, chum.”

He wanted to believe that, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how fast the Secret Keeper took him down… how fast she took Dick down. She didn’t even have to touch them. Didn’t even have to see them to influence their dreams.

How were they supposed to fight against something like that?

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @cademygod

[sarcastictissy]

Hi, Tissy. I want to thank you for the positivity you bring to this community. It's something that is in short supply around here, and it's greatly appreciated. You have also been fair and objective, which is also appreciated. That is why I feel it is safe to send this message to you.

The past and present QSMP admins deserve support, but only to an extent. There have been instances of them displaying terrible behavior, and the QSMP community needs to stop ignoring/excusing it. The xenophobic remarks made by Lea and Lumi. Lea's baseless speculation on Twitter that Quackity's brother was working for the QSMP is what caused people to dox Quackity. Lea showing no remorse for leaking Quackity's information and causing his safety to be threatened. Some of the admins were very insensitive about the doxxing. Quackity's safety was actually threatened, and they were saying/agreeing with someone saying "womp womp" about the stream where he spoke about how he felt physically unsafe. And now we have the actions of Puella and other admins defending them.

The QSMP community's continued parasocial behavior toward the admins is just very frustrating for me to witness.

🥺🥺 I really, really appreciate your kind words!! Thank you so much, they mean a lot, genuinely. Hearing I help people stay positive, or even enjoy my posts, on qsmp makes my day, honestly. I'm so glad I get to cheer people up and help them. It inspires me to keep doing just that! :D

Onto what you said, I don't know who needs to read this, but you ARE allowed to respect someone/ support them AND be annoyed by their words or actions. You are allowed to like someone, and dislike some of their actions. You can support the admins, be annoyed by how they were treated by QStudios, and also be disappointed by what they have said or done.

Personally, I'm disappointed by Lea's xenophobia in her interview that was strictly about her experience with the studios. She used this as an opportunity (whether it was intentional or not) to say xenophobic remarks towards the Spanish speaking community. Nevermind, the fact she never apologised for, and, even tried to justify, doxxing Quackity. She said that her doxxing Quackity was no where near as bad as what she went through during her time working with QStudios. Doxxing is NEVER the answer. I'm severely disappointed by her ignorance and xenophobia. That does not take away from the fact that she did suffer. I respect she was under poor working conditions and I support her in getting treated correctly and paid fairly. Absolutely I do. But I cannot support and will not support how she treated Quackity or the Spanish speaking community.

You can draw your own conclusions and do your own research on the matter. I am not here to tell you what to think. Those are just my thoughts.

In terms of Pomme, I'm not aware of much she's done. I know her support to Otipep and I read somewhere that she did not translate her statement leaving Qsmp into Spanish, but did so for all Portuguese and English. To be perfectly honest, if she had only posted it in French, I would not have cared or been mad. We can translate it ourselves or use an accommodation to do so. She should not have to do that for us, but she did and proceeded to and leave out Spanish as part of the transition, and, again, i dont know if that was intentional or not. But she didnt make an attempt to fix it. (Korean speakers were not yet added at this point).

I want to say one last thing about the admins:

You cannot fight xenophobia with xenophobia. It's inexcusable and unjustifiable. Support the workers rights and conditions, but under no circumstances, does that allow for xenophobia to go unnoticed. You can do both.

[evanjan2]

𝐈 𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍, 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐈? - Sae Itoshi

I'M STILL ALIVE!!! Sorry for my inactivity (I forgot I was supposed to post here) Here's one from Sae, originated on Wattpad (it's in Spanish there) So you can go follow me on Wattpad, Instagram, and Tik Tok!!

Wattpad: Evanjan2

Instagram: Miss_.mei

Tik Tok: Evanjan_

As always, as usual, like every day, your super amazing boyfriend was upset with you because you were with his younger brother, Rin.

Every day in the world, since you became a couple, he repeats over and over again that you should not get close to Rin because... He hates it, and well, Sae is super annoyed when you hang out with Rin like a normal and civilized person, and just today, you were with the black haired guy for a while, talking about... Normal things I guess, and when he realized it, your dear boyfriend Sae got angry and jealous, but decided not to say anything to you, literally.

When you got home, Sae didn't speak to you at all, he was ignoring you and even moved away from you when you tried to hug him!! This was unacceptable to you.

- Let's see, Sae Itoshi, what the hell is wrong with you today?

You said with your arms crossed, looking at the maroon-haired man with a frown, who only gave you a cold look and looked at his cell phone again, without even paying attention to you, which made you so offended that you decided to take your own phone and call Rin, arousing curiosity in Sae.

- What are you doing?

Sae asked, looking at you seriously, which is why you smiled maliciously and shrugged.

- Nothing... I was just calling Rin...

You said, turning your back completely to an angry Sae, who raised an eyebrow, looking at you in disbelief.

- I see... And may I know who gave you permission?

Sae said, which is why you turned around, facing the Itoshi and crossing your arms.

- And why would I need permission to call Rin?

You said, annoying Sae so much that he stood up from his seat and walked over to where you were, looking at you with a frown.

- Why do I say that, and I'm your boyfriend, do you understand brat?

Sae said already quite annoyed, you simply shrugged and continued dialing Rin's number on your cell phone, making Sae finally lose it and take the phone from your hands.

- Hey!!

You said trying to take your cell phone back, but due to the height difference, you couldn't do it.

- I told you, didn't I? Now, I'm going to punish you for disobeying me

Sae said, easily carrying you in his arms and taking you directly to the shared room while you tried to get out of his grip.

- P-put me down Sae! P-put me down now!

You said, trying to get away but Sae didn't let you and when they got to his room, he gently threw you on the bed, getting on top of you and a few inches from your face.

- 𝗜 𝘁𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗼 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻, 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻'𝘁 𝗶?

Itoshi exclaimed, starting to kiss you passionately and wildly, intertwining his hands with yours, and you, as it could not be otherwise, gladly responded to his kiss.

Sae's hands traveled to your hips and began to caress them softly while he continued kissing you and discreetly, one of his hands reached your butt, squeezing it tightly, drawing a muffled moan from you in the attempt, which made you break the kiss.

- H-hey!

You said blushing and embarrassed while the pink-haired boy looked at you with his typical serious look

- What? Any problem?

Sae said, looking at you like that and getting closer to your face, being centimeters away from it again

- I hope not... I'm going to teach you to behave well, brat...

Itoshi said to finally unbutton the buttons of your pants and remove them roughly along with your underwear, admiring your private parts with a very slight smile, making you blush a lot

- W-wait!... D-don't do that!

Sae looked at you somewhat curious about your reaction but didn't pay attention to it and began to slowly caress your pussy, starting to make circles on your clitoris, getting one or two moans out of you

- Rin will never make you feel like this... Not Rin, not anyone... Just me

He said, finally inserting two fingers into your entrance, reaching as deep as they could go, and without warning, he began to move his fingers quickly in and out of you, eliciting moans from you, showing how excited you were.

Sae continued making his movements until he felt your walls begin to contract as a sign that you were ready, noticing this, Sae pulled his fingers out of you, receiving a growl in complaint from you.

- W-why did you do that?!

You said, upset by what Sae had done when you were about to cum, making the pink-haired girl smile a little

- As far as I know, I'm going to give you a punishment... Not a reward, brat

He said, separating from her for a few moments to take off his shorts along with his underwear, showing his girlfriend his erection, which was hard as a rock

- And your punishment will be that you won't be able to cum... Not until I do it inside you, understood?

With that said, Sae didn't wait another second to carelessly attack you, he began to move quickly and deeply, making you moan loud and uncontrolled.

Sae growled lightly and bit your neck as he continued to thrust into you hard and fast. Feeling how you were about to cum once again, Sae stopped suddenly and pulled out of you, looking at you maliciously

- S-stop doing that!

You exclaimed, looking at Sae, who was looking at you in a wicked way

- What if I don't want to? I already said what your punishment will be, didn't I?

Sae said to fuck you again in the same way, fast, deep and hard, aggressively attacking you while you could only moan and scream, begging for mercy

- S-sae! S-slower! Please!

You screamed and moaned as you began to tear up, and Sae didn't make you wait long, because he finally came inside you, letting you reach orgasm too and then giving you a sweet kiss on the lips

- Did you learn your lesson, honey?

He said softly as he lay down next to you and caressed your hair tenderly, making you blush and frown slightly

- Y-you're the worst...

You said as you felt your legs weak and sore, it would be better not to get together with Rin again

- You've been warned for next time...