#Wait is it irony if it fits?

[mayakrish08]

Backbiter

Can we take a moment to appreciate the fitting name of the sword Backbiter with regard to its owner? I am reminded of, “The Wand Chooses The Wizard” except with a PJO touch, so it’s like, “The Sword Chooses The Wielder.” I am a Riptide gurl though and though because hey it is practically impossible to misplace it, and let’s not forget how handy of a pen in was in House of Hades! But in another world, I would totally consider Backbiter because THAT SWORD CAN OPEN FRIGGING PORTALS! Not to mention that it can hurt both mortals AND monsters so can you really argue with how it’s not useful in taking just a slight nick at that annoying jerk we have in every classroom? The advantage is that said jerk cannot even see that it’s a sword, and if he cries out loud he would be deemed as the daisy with the petal princess skin so it’s a total win-win to us! I am telling you, ideally, what we need is a Riptide with Backbiter’s add-ons. Because, there is no other way but to go all out when it comes ice creams toppings and swords’ extra effects!

[neotula]

started warhammer: rogue trader and i am already infested with a warp entity help

[yandere-wishes]

⭒ㅤׂ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ʟɪꜰᴇㅤׂ ⭒

⭒⌒★ Yandere! X-Men x Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝓔𝔁𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 ♡ ｡ ゜

˚୨♡୧˚Magneto - Erik Lehnsherr | مگنیتو - اریک لنشر 

Techno graces your body in lieu of veins. Wires coiling like arteries should. You use it to mimic him, embody him, be him. His starry-eyed parody. Erik needs you to be more, to be everything he -and everybody else- could never be. You are synthetic and sacred in every way, you are the future he so desperately craves. 

He can't help seeing them when he looks at you. The reverend wraiths of tortured adoration speak to him through your eyes. He sees a bit of everyone inside you, Charles, Raven, Rogue... their faces flashing like holy ghosts. You have too many constellations inside of you, all on the verge of erupting. It keeps him up at night, especially when you're curled up on your side of the bed, asleep and oblivious. 

"You will save us, little one, you will be the savior we have longed for"

He feels the centuries rolling through him, desperately lost, trying to find his way back to a home he never even knew. Maybe that's why he kneels, brushing his lips across your knuckles tracing each vein in hopes that'll lead him back to a place he's only ever seen in his dreams. I'll stay lost, I'll wait for you to find me. He knows you will, you'll do anything for him. He's sure of it. 

Genosha asks for a queen, demands it really. It's funny how these things work. Funny how those who rule the world are so intent on destroying it. Kingdoms aren't built in a day yet they can so easily be toppled in one. In turn, Magento asks you. Who else? It's his one cardinal tenet, you are the savior he could never be. The one his people, your people, need. Erik rolls your name between his lips, relishing as the syllables melt on his tongue. There's a magnetic pull to 'queen' it tastes like a hallowed prayer. "My queen" he whispers in your ear, his tongue sending sparks up the cartilage shell. Magneto pins you to his lap, keeping you tethered to his strong body. His fingers run lines up your hips indulging in your presence. You don't squirm although he suspects you want to. his lips lower, kissing your jugular and savoring the ungainly moan that slips past your pretty lips. "M-Magneto" He's only now realizing you've never called him by his birthname, maybe cause in some way you find it treacherous that he should bear such a human thing. He may see you as salvation, yet you've always gazed at him with the pietistic eyes of a zealous worshipper. 

"Use your power, feel the magnetic pull flowing through you."

"You're overcomplicating it again, master, I just need to command that which I need lifted."

You've always been a rebellious student. The sardonic irony isn't lost on him, Magneto finds it fitting that he should master such an intricate pupil.

He wonders if you can forgive him for the bodies he's scattered in your name. From this far up he doubts you notice the broken bodies littering the concrete. He'll do it all again, anything to keep your distractions at bay. His kind needs a leader, not another sanctimonious hero.

You will be their savior.

You will be his queen.

♠️🂱♠️Gambit - Remy Lebeau | گمبیت - رمی لیبو

Remy wonders if the king ever longs to be stacked with the queen. Holding his breath every time the cards are shuffled. Praying that this time, this time for sure, he'll be next to her. Gambit's holding his breath too. There's a lively lilt when you giggle, he wonders if you truly grasp how much he means every word. "Mon Cheri, you know you're the only one for me." It sounds so childish, so jejune and Gambit knows he's too old for school-boy crushes. But he can't help it, he's desperate too, just another aspirant king vying for the attention of his red queen. 

You once told him the blacks of his eyes remind you of a starry night sky back home. He thinks about that too much. About the sting of your hand on his shoulder and how good it felt sitting crooked in his bones. So that's why an ace surpasses the king. There is only, one who holds power. Maybe it's never been about the queen or the king or the royal house. It's been the Ace all along. Remy only has one heart, he knows he only has one ace too. There was an ace of hearts on your nightstand this morning, you don't recall how it got there. 

Remy's kisses are too explosive, they hold all the weight of a dying star. Yet the force never ceases, it feeds off the detonations only growing stronger, you think you'll be consumed in this kinetic nova he calls love. 

-`X´- Cyclops - Scott Summers | سیکلوپ - سکات سامرز

There's a shutter of loneliness crawling up his spine. He knows you feel it too. Scott bends and breaks under its crushing weight. You've always been there, tangible, solid. You're the living metaphor for a rock in a raging river. He just can't find the right words yet. You can't see his eyes, you can't withstand his power. But you can be there holding his hand through it all. 

'Is this selfishness'? Scott wonders and he kisses you under a dying moon. He's never had anything to call his own, nothing that stayed for long anyway. He's snuffed out his desires his whole life. His place is with the X-men, playing the no-choice hero of a thankless story. But you, you're still here, you never left. Even now you stand still as his lips taint yours. He feels your fear, undue thing that it is. But he can't let you go not when everything is always marred in endless red monochrome and melancholy. Not when the only blessing the universe had ever given him comes in the shape of you. He's so tired of only ever knowing the life of a perfect toy soldier. 'Stay' he begs you between each kiss, each touch. Please just stay. Ease his pain.

 

☽✭☾ Wolverine - Logan Howlett | ولورین - لوگان هاولت

He's been alive longer than he cares to count. Running from one hell to another. He remembers your ghost, essence weaving between places too blurred to be graced with a name. But he remembers you, he swears he does. It's just that time is so fickle and so few can withstand its crushing tides. 

"How have you been, Logan?" 

"I..ah... fine, just fine." 

When he looks at you he can't believe the changes. There's no trace of the rosy cheecked little girl who used to chase demons in the snowbanks. Playing hide and seek with every stray in the neighborhood. That's good, he thinks, he likes this refined dignitary better, somehow it brings out your eyes. There's a feral gaze when he looks at you, he thought he was over that. He feels the pulsing of his heart reverberate through his claws. It brings back something less than memories, something nostalgic, yet all so distant it may as well have been the sent of his childhood home. It's not right he thinks, as his claws trace your curves trying to feel something he knows is lost. You quiver, trying to make yourself smaller and he knows, he knows he shouldn't do this. But there are just so many pieces missing and he's never tried to look for any of them. Maybe just this once he can delude himself into remembering. 

˚ʚ★ɞ˚ Nightcrawler - Kurt Wagner | شب خزنده - کورت واگنر

Not too long ago this used to be fine. He's always been better within shadows, letting the soft dark weave around his body. Obscurity has always felt like a second home, a haven in everything but consistency. You speak in italics, talking and talking without understanding what he shoulders. If he didn't deem it blasphemy, Kurt would gladly dub himself Eros.

You would be Psyche. Oblivious, sweet Psyche.

Kurt longs to kiss your cheek, he knows it'll only starve him for more. He wonders how soft your hands will feel. If you'll You cradle his face nails tracing the sharp point of his ears, his fangs, the jagged scar he got from dreaming of you in the danger room. Will you grace him with a kiss? Something to relinquish the anguish stirring within. This should be fine, you're talking to him, laughing with him as he remains hidden within the dark. And yet how can he see this as anything less than retribution? You're so close, just a breath away. If only he could reach out and...

۵𓋹۵ Apocalypse - En Sabah Nur | آپآکلپژ- ان صباح نور

Your heartbeat sounds all too familiar. He used to hear it a thousandfold walking down the Bazaar's street. It's dead now, the noise, the rapture, the music. He wonders what went right for your heart to beat to such a lost tune?  He remembers once hearing that pain travels through families until it lands on the right generation. He's glad fate picked you. He's glad you share the same ancient burdens.

He puts the stars in the sky.

You've been warned against worshipping false idols so blindly.

Yet how can one not fall at his feet?

He who makes the earth tremble and mighty cower. 

He who seems to know everything you do not. 

Your fingers thread through his hair. It's too black, like staring at a moonless sky in December. You wonder if the eternal ebony is what gives Apocolypse his cynical edge. He laughs at the comment as he melts into your familiar touch."Thank you" he mutters. His pride laces every word twisting them into something metaphysical. Nur wonders if you catch the true sentiment behind the words. If the sand and stars make it through. 

You're too archaic for this time Nur thinks as he watches you run across the fields. The other mutants are there, persistent in the games you all play. In his time he'd have already declared you his wife. Do you know the ancient ceremonies? Would you have gifted him gold or flesh? The yearning builds in his throat. Maybe he should have stayed dead. 

Apocolypse lingers the days away in your room, plotting, scheming. You keep him hidden like a blood secret. He's the only one who seems to understand where your power comes from, where you come from. " I could win against you...someday" Your fingers glow igniting a forgotten glow, Nur can't help but laugh as he traces the curve of your spine. " I don't doubt you could, beloved." His blue lips are on the length of your neck. Everything about you screams dead nostalgia. You've followed him through lifetimes. Smiling as you dragged him across the sand dunes just to watch the sunset. How he longs to carve you open and feel your heart between his teeth. 

He's choking on sand.

Drowning in stardust.

Nur feels like he's swallowed the sun whole. Devoured Ra and spat out his holy bones. He still feels the sting of its rays seeping through his teeth. He's divinity and desperation are all in the same breath. Apocalypse and Nur are just two sides of the same daric. You stand in front of him, tracing the blues of his face, kissing the reds of his eyes. An excavation into the lost, unearthing that which could collapse the world. You enjoy him, savor him, keeping his gold essence on your tongue locked behind rose-tinted lips. You beg Nur to dig through your bones, open you up, unseal every crypt. He obliges, kissing the hollow of your bones until his teeth graze your unsteady heart.

"And what will you do once you meet the real world?"

"Oh, nothing, the real world will have to meet me first."

There is so much blood, he doesn't remember doing this. You stand beside him watching the sand in the hourglass run out. He is Apocolypse bringer of destruction, the end of worlds, funny how he needed you, frail sweet thing that you are, to remind him of this. It's only when he looks at you, really really looks at you that he realizes how many things are still the same. Twisted deformed yet still they harbor their old shapes. Apocolypse kisses you under the shade of a palm tree hoping it'll mean something in the end.

Hoping everything can just go back. 

[delaware-lemme-smash]

Hii! May i request some headcanons were mt. lady, sir night eye, present mic, eraser and all might react to their s/o wearing their clothes after sex? Like if they didn’t have any clothes with them what weren’t… dirty so they stole some! Sorry if this is boring but I thought it was kinda cute :)

Hope you enjoy these, lovely!

Characters: Takeyama Yuu/Mount Lady, Sasaki Mirai/Sir Nighteye, Yamada Hizashi/Present Mic, Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead, Yagi Toshinori/All Might

Contents: gn!reader, mild nsfw

Takeyama Yuu/Mount Lady

Perhaps it was an impromptu tryst, because you’re at Mount Lady’s apartment and your only clothes are dirty. Perhaps your stuff got torn up in a fight with a villain and now you’ve come back to hers to ‘celebrate’, you find yourself left with nothing but your underwear. Perhaps not even that. 

You could sleep naked, but it’s not the most comfortable situation to be in. So you wander over to Yuu’s wardrobe (really a walk-in closet). She might only be a debut hero, but she’s very popular and spends a lot of time in the limelight. This translates to making absolute bank, and she spends a lot of it on beautiful clothes. Obviously, you’re not going to wear a gala dress to bed, so you grab a t-shirt that looks pretty old, and maybe a pair of yoga pants. 

Depending on your size compared to her, they might be fine, or they might be a tight fit. When she comes back into the bedroom, her skin gleaming from her nightly skincare routine, she stops in the doorway and pouts at you.

“If you stretch those out, you’re going to have to replace them.”

“...says the woman who turns into a titan?” The irony is too much for you.

“Only my hero costume stretches with me, duh.” A pause. “Your butt does look good in those yoga pants, though.”

Sasaki Mirai/Sir Nighteye

It would seem that if you’re dating Sir Nighteye, you’ve at least got some sense of planning and responsibility. But you’re only human, and sometimes you’re going to find yourself caught short. Short on clothes, in this case. Even if your clothes are clean, you couldn’t fathom sleeping in your work clothes.

You wait until Sir Nighteye is in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, before sneaking open one of his drawers and grabbing something at random. You end up with…

A pair of boxers and a vintage All Might t-shirt.

It’s hardly the sexiest of nightwear, but you make it work. He leans back into the doorway to tell you to borrow some clothing, and you’re lounging on his bed, all “Paint me like one of your French girls”. 

“I’ve been waiting for you~” you purr.

He nearly spits out his mouthwash, and disappears back into the bathroom to gather himself. You distinctly hear him chuckle under his breath, then clear his throat.

“If you want to entice me, darling, don’t wear the face of my former boss on your torso.”

Yamada Hizashi/Present Mic

Hizashi’s always trying to get you to wear his clothes, anyway! He drapes his little moto jacket (the casual one, not the studded one he wears as part of his costume) over your shoulders a lot and tells you how great you look. 

Seeing his partner wear his clothes just gives him this little kick and makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. 

You’ve got a variety of options in Mic’s wardrobe. In the t-shirt section, you’ve got a lot of band t-shirts, weird, bright coloured ones covered in fruit or English slogans, a few rare Eraserhead merch t-shirts he got done to piss off Aizawa, and if you want to borrow some boxers, you’ll be hard pressed to find some that don’t have a loud, zany pattern on them. 

If you want to be (moderately) sexy, grab a vintage band t-shirt and a pair of his black boxer briefs. If you want to make him laugh, grab the stupidest t-shirt you can find and pair it with an eye watering set of boxer shorts, especially if they have bananas on them. 

Hizashi grins wide enough to split his face in half at the sight of you in his clothes. It doesn’t matter if you went for sexy or stupid, really, because he’ll just try to get you out of them again, if you know what I mean~

Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead

This is one of those things that Aizawa doesn’t know he likes until he sees it for the first time. He’s probably dragged himself out of your post-coital snooze to get you both some water or feed the stray cat on his balcony, leaving you to ponder your clothing situation. 

When you open Aizawa’s wardrobe, it’s 75% loose black shirts and pants, with a few non-black items crammed at one end, including those infamous pink sweatpants. 

It seems he’s not totally averse to colour, just not when he’s working. He has a few t-shirts (gifts from Hizashi) covered in cats (as opposed to just covered in cat hair, like the rest). 

If you’ve cuddled him at all, which you have, thoroughly, you know that all his clothes are surprisingly soft and comfortable. He tends to end up with raggedy cuffs on his sleeves, but even so, the shirt has that soft texture clothing gets when it’s been washed many times. You dig out some random black shorts he has, though you’ve never seen him expose his pasty legs in public, so they must be old.

Shouta shuffles back into the room to find you asleep, curled up in your borrowed finery. There’s something about the sight of you lying in his bed, wearing his clothes, looking so warm and comfortable. It’s like a little gut punch of domesticity. 

“You’re meant to ask, you brat,” he says fondly, flopping onto the bed next to you. 

Still, he reflects, as he pulls you closer, that shirt’s gonna smell like you now. Maybe he should make you wear it every time you sleep over.

Yagi Toshinori/All Might

All Might’s still pretty nervous about being in a relationship so he’s not 100% sure of the protocol, especially when you’re at his place and you don’t have any clean clothes to wear to bed. He gets flustered and goes to see if he can quickly wash your clothes, forgetting the entire wardrobe of clean clothes right there.

All Might or Small Might, his clothes are going to absolutely drown you no matter what size you are. Toshi’s a titan. Any t-shirt you try to borrow is basically a giant nightshirt. 

Toshinori splutters a little at the sight of you swimming in the fabric of one of his shirts. Once he’s done coughing into his elbow, he offers you a toothy grin, his eyes crinkled up.

“That…might be a little big on you,” he says, tugging playfully on all the excess fabric. “Are you sure it’s going to be comfortable?”

You tell him that you like the feeling of the soft, loose fabric, and the fact that it smells a little like his cologne, even after being washed. He’s chuckles at that, wrapping his large hands around your waist, the fabric cinching in against you.

“Well, never thought one of my old shirts could look so adorable.”

[harrysfolklore]

driving lessons - op81

summary: oscar piastri teaches his girlfriend how to drive for the first time

MASTERLIST | JOIN MY PATREON

Life is full or ironies, and the fact that your boyfriend is an F1 driver and you don't even know how to drive is definitely one of them.

You always found it funny how someone who could navigate the most challenging race circuits with ease was dating someone who couldn't even navigate a parking lot, and was utterly terrified of being behind the wheel.

"I just can't believe you don't know how to drive," Oscar said while you were having dinner at his place one night.

"Excuse me, mister. Not all of us dreamed of driving cars for a living since we were kids," you teased, making him chuckle.

"Well, I guess I'll have to teach you how to drive, since that's what I do for a living."

You laughed at his enthusiasm, shaking your head. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm a lost cause when it comes to driving. I get anxious just thinking about it."

"Oh come on," he threw his head back, "I'll be a great teacher. We'll start slow, maybe in an empty parking lot. If it doesn't work out, we can stop anytime."

You thought about it for a second, you were at an age that it was downright embarrassing to not know how to drive, and maybe Oscar could actually help you face your fear of being behind the wheel.

"Okay," you agreed, "But you have to promise not to laugh at me, and we're not using a one of your McLaren luxury cars."

Oscar's eyes lit up with excitement. "Deal! We'll use something more… beginner-friendly."

"Beginner-friendly?" you raised an eyebrow, "Like what? A go-kart?"

"Hey, don't knock it till you try it," he laughed, "But no, I was thinking more along the lines of a nice, safe, regular car."

"Fine, but you have to be patient with me," you warned, pointing a finger at him, "I mean it, Oscar. One hint of frustration and I’m out."

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "I promise. Scout's honor."

"You were never a scout," you narrowed your eyes playfully.

"Minor detail," he waved off your accusation, making you laugh, "Seriously though, I think you'll surprise yourself. You're tougher than you give yourself credit for."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," you retorted, but you couldn't help but smile.

"Maybe not, but it might get me dessert," he shrugged, leaning closer, "And maybe a makeout session before we head to bed."

You threw your head back in laughter, grabbing his cheeks playfully and pecking his lips a couple of times.

"You're a teenager," you said, shaking your head. "But fine, you get dessert, and you snogging session. Just remember, no racing techniques, I don't need to learn how to drift around corners."

"Drifting? In your first lesson?" he placed a hand on his chest in mock offense, "I'm hurt you think so little of me."

"When are we doing this again?" you said, moving to place your empty plates in the dishwasher.

"How about this weekend?" Oscar hoped off his stool, helping you clean around the kitchen, "I'll find us a nice, empty parking lot, and we can take it from there."

"Oscar Piastri, F1 driver with podiums to his name will teach his girlfriend how to drive in a parking lot," you said as you shook your head, "How ironic."

Saturday morning arrived and it was time for your first driving lesson. After breakfast, you and Oscar headed to the empty parking lot in a small, compact car for the lesson. It was far less intimidating than one of his sleek, luxurious cars.

"Alright, let's get started," he said, opening the driver's side door for you. You took a deep breath and slid into the seat, adjusting it to fit your height, Oscar got in the passenger seat and handed you the keys.

"First things first," he began, his voice calm and steady, "Let's go over the basics. Adjust your mirrors so you can see clearly, and get comfortable with the controls."

You nodded, following his instructions. Once you were settled, he guided you through starting the car and putting it into gear.

"Wait," you said before starting the car, "You're teaching your dummy of a girlfriend how to drive a regular car, okay? Don't expect some professional Formula 1 driver stuff from me."

"I promise, just the basics," Oscar chuckled, shaking his head, "We won't be racing anyone today."

"Okay, here goes nothing," you took a deep breath and turned the key in the ignition, the engine coming to life with a low hum.

"Great job," Oscar said with a small smile, "Now, put the car in drive and slowly take your foot off the brake."

You hesitated, feeling a wave of anxiety wash over you. "What if I mess up?"

"You won't," he said confidently, "And even if you do, it's all part of the learning process. Just take it slow."

You took a deep breath and lifted your foot off the brake. The car began to roll forward and for a moment, everything seemed fine until you pressed the gas pedal a bit too hard. The car jerked forward, causing you to panic and slam on the brakes.

"Whoa, easy there," Oscar said, "You're not at Silverstone, remember?"

"This is so much harder than it looks," you huffed, feeling your frustration bubble up, "How do you make it seem so effortless?"

"Years of practice and maybe a little natural talent," he winked, "But seriously, you're doing fine. It's all about getting a feel for the car, let's try it again."

Taking a deep breath, you eased off the brake and gently pressed the gas pedal. This time, the car moved forward smoothly, and you couldn't help but smile at the small victory.

"See? You're getting it!" Oscar encouraged. "Now, let's try a gentle turn. Just steer to the right."

You gripped the steering wheel tightly, turning it slowly to the right. The car responded, and you managed to navigate the turn without any major issues. But as you straightened out, you accidentally hit the windshield wiper lever, causing them to whip back and forth at full speed.

Oscar burst out laughing, and you couldn't help but join in, despite your embarrassment.

"Well, at least we know the wipers work!" he joked.

"Ugh, I feel stupid," you groaned, fumbling to turn off the wipers.

"It's okay, baby," he leaned in to peck your cheek quickly.

"Stop kissing me, I'll get distracted," you teased.

"Okay, okay," he said, composing himself, "Let's try another lap around the parking lot. This time, no wiper incidents."

You nodded, determined to get the hang of it. You practiced driving around the empty lot, getting more comfortable with each turn and stop.

As the lesson continued, you found yourself improving bit by bit, though there were still moments of frustration.

"Ugh, why won't this stupid thing go where I want it to?" you groaned, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

"Hey, it's okay," Oscar said soothingly. "You're doing great. Just remember to relax your grip a bit. The car will respond better if you're not strangling the wheel."

You did as he said, and you found yourself driving more comfortably around the parking lot, improving with your turns and stops.

"You know," he said at one point, "If you keep this up, you'll be ready to join the grid next season."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Yeah, right. I'll leave the racing to you, thank you very much."

"Fair enough," he said, grinning, "It would be really hard to fight with my girlfriend for the championship."

"Is your girlfriend Max Verstappen and I'm just finding out?" you teased, making him laugh.

"That's a secret I'll never tell," he joked, causing you both to burst into laughter.

After a few more laps around the parking lot, you were feeling more confident behind the wheel. Until the final challenge of the day approached: parking the car.

"Let’s try parking," he suggested after a while, "Find a spot and take it slow."

You spotted an empty space and carefully guided the car into it, but misjudged the angle and ended up crooked. You groaned in frustration. "Why is parking so hard?"

Oscar laughed, shaking his head. "Well, parking an F1 car in the garage is definitely easier, no tight spaces to worry about."

"Ha-ha, very funny," you retorted, but couldn't help but laugh along with him, "Alright, let me try again."

You pulled out and tried parking again, failing to get the car neatly within the lines. "How was that?"

"Okay, so maybe parking isn't your strong suit yet," he teases, "Good thing you're not in a pit stop competition."

"Fine, I had enough for today," you said, unbuckling your seat belt, "I'm ready to go back to being your passenger princess."

Oscar laughed, getting out of the passenger seat and switching positions with you.

"You did great, really," Oscar said once he settled in the drivers seat, leaning over to kiss you, "I'm proud of you, you know. You really pushed through your fear today."

"And we're both still alive so that's a good thing," you joked, making him laugh, "Thank you for being a great teacher, baby."

"All I did was sit here and provide moral support, it's not like I know anything about driving or cars," he teased, "You did all the hard work."

You rolled your eyes with affection, leaning in to kiss him again.

"Maybe next time we'll try an actual road," he suggested.

"Or maybe you can teach me how to do a proper donut," you said, making him throw his head back in laughter.

"Only if you promise not to tell the team."

[luludeluluramblings]

dream team duo rambling again (our bad 4 tha spam but we luvvvvv ur stuff!!)

gyaru or influencer reader or even normal reader who intentionally has a specific way of speaking (valley girl, southern accent, Cajun accent, etc.) and then completely drops it to go off the grid??? that just seems so cool

Neglected!Influencer!Reader x Yandere!Batfam

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Okay, buckle up! Cause y'all are adding the spin to my spiraling and I'm living for it!

A/N: Adding this to the concept list because I got carried away with this and will probably want to add to it at some point. Calling this Influencer!Reader.

Warnings: GN!Reader, subtle yandere themes

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Neglected!Reader that starts filming Youtube videos or streaming in their room in the manor to cope with the loneliness. Only, rather than putting on a persona or costume, they just act like their genuine self.

They wear a certain style that they love and feel their best in. They have a distinct accent that they don't bother to hide when filming. They talk as loud or as soft as they want. They ramble and rave about their favorite things. And, people adore them for it.

Including the Bat Family.

But, no one makes the connection.

Outside of streaming, they were typical ordinary clothes that they don't feel like themselves in and try to hide their accent to sound more normal. All in the hopes of fitting in with the family and the Gotham.

The irony of trying so hard to make people like you only for you to fail to realize they already like you. Just not when you hide who you are.

Being blown off by members of the family, only because you have a video scheduled to post and for them to literally cut out time from their day just to watch it and be the first to comment.

Watching the usernames send you donations for your running away fund, only for them to be from the very people you want to run from.

It's not like the Bats realize who you are. They never spend time with you. They never notice you when you try to fit in with them. They've never even been in your room before. How could they know that their favorite person was literally right down the hall.

It isn't until you take a hiatus, telling your followers your finally moving and getting out of your hell hole that the pieces click.

Lets say, Tim gets itchy. (Going back to the idea of him using your videos to fall asleep.) He wants your voice back to soothe him. He needs his fix. And, lets face it, the others would only encourage it when they find out he's trying to track you down.

Imagine their horror when the puzzle comes together. That your their sibling. The one they've ignored. You live in the manor with them. But, wait. You said in your last video your moving? Wait! NO!

The rush down the hall to your empty room. Realizing they had seen the inside of it so many times, but had never actually been in it. Finding some of your old things left behind that had been in previous videos that you didn't bother to take. (They fight over them. They're sacred now.)

The had you. They had you right there in arms reach and they didn't hold you.

And, then you finally post another video. Thanking your fans for loving you when they couldn't. (But, their your fans too.)

They're gonna get you back though. Their you're biggest fans after all.

[somereaderinblue]

Warrior!Penelope God Games

After writing Odysseus's Challenge, I was still on a creative high & decided to do this too. NOTE: The swaps between gods were taken from @too-much-flynnolium’s art.

[ARES]

Mother, God Queen, rarely do I ask for favours

Now, I'm kneeling on your floor

With hopes to save a friendship

With one who's a prisoner far from home

Penelope

[HERA]

Divine intervention, so that is your wish?

To untie apprehensions that were placed on that Greek?

You are braving such dangers for a girl full of shame

But if she's worth the risk of going under

Why not make it a game?

Convince each of them that she ought to be released

And I'll release her

[ARES]

Who's them?

[HERA]

Artemis! Hestia!

Dionysus! Athena!

Demeter! Or me

What do you say?

[ARTEMIS]

Sure.

[HESTIA]

Very well.

[DIONYSUS]

Hic!

[ATHENA]

Alright.

[DEMETER]

Interesting.

[ARES]

Bring it.

[ARTEMIS]

You all know I'm a fan of nature and all

So with so many sirens gone

I think Penny's in the wrong

[ARES]

They had planned to do their worst

All she did was reimburse them

Now they'll tread with caution first

To live another day and sing even more verse!

[ARTEMIS]

Good point, release her.

[HESTIA]

Trust is not wasted, it’s forged

Why should I give her my support?

She turned her back on her cohort

[ARES]

Did you forget they failed to listen?

She was betrayed and now imprisoned

But if you make the right decision

She can still have a future with those who miss her!

[HESTIA]

Fine, release her.

[DIONYSUS]

Your little high and mighty Penelope

Claims to love another, but keeps him chained to a broken heart

[ARES]

She was busy fighting

[DIONYSUS]

More like busy spiting the cyclops

Let her feel the pain that the others feel and rot

[ARES]

Wait!

You must reconsider this!

[ATHENA]

Really now, Ares, no new tricks?

[ARES]

Athena!

[ATHENA]

What kind of so-called fighter holds back her power

Just lets her friends get devoured?

She couldn’t fight Scylla, but didn’t even try to outwit her

Hides with naught but a sword to get the job done

Tries to handle things upfront

Dim-witted and weak like her son

[ARES]

Hold your tongue now, her son's my friend!

And tell that drunkard that all kinds of hurts can mend

You want more mind games? Then set her free

To get back to her homestead, she'll make everyone’s brains bleed!

[ATHENA & DIONYSUS]

Then release her.

[DEMETER]

So many talents, so many tales

Give me one good reason why yours should prevail

[ARES]

She's got the hands of a weaver!

[DEMETER]

Dig deeper

[ARES]

She's pretty skilled with words!

[DEMETER]

You can do better than that!

[ARES]

She's very sassy…?

[DEMETER]

Eh

[ARES]

Never once does she give up on her child.

[DEMETER]

Release her.

[ARES]

I’ve played your game and won! Release her.

[HERA]

You dare to defy me? To give me more shame?

No one beats me, no one wins my game!

Marriage, bring her through the wringer

Show her I'm the judgement call

The one who makes the final call!

.

.

.

.

[ATHENA]

Is he dead?

.

.

.

Penelope had told Ares that for mothers, childbirth in itself was a difficult battle and the parenthood that came after a race with no finish line in sight. Personally, Ares would’ve likened it to war. If family had truly been something as linear as a race then surely Hermes would be on their father’s throne by now.

She placed her spawn in his arms. Said spawn miraculously didn’t squirm or squall against his battle-hardened muscles and cold gauntlets. 

“His name is Telemachus.” Far from battle. The irony wasn’t lost on anyone. Then again, considering how eerily squishy the infant was, perhaps the name was fitting.

Ares blinked as tiny fingers gripped his, the pudgy digits unable to full wrap around it. Yet, the grip was strong. No, it was simply alive. He’s bathed in blood so often that he’s forgotten even the tiniest of hearts can still beat.

“Telemachus.”  Penelope and Odysseus smiled. Smiled at him, smiled because of him. They were happy. He was happy.

.

.

.

[ARES]

Let her go…..please

Let her go……

[inkedcerulean]

an alliance in waiting | chapter one

jacaerys velaryon x fem!frey reader

summary: when jacaerys arrives to treat with the freys, forrest and sabitha frey propose a betrothal between you and him— a betrothal you are not aware of.

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of war & death

notes: i based the reader partially off of myself. (projection time!)

jace taglist: @hotdhoe @chimmysoftpaws chocotorta2027 @drvcosstuff @emilly-adopted-mcmann @charlottelaffin @suniika @princessofthereach @twilightzone24 @ghizlana @yohanseyebrowmole @fairyjuhak22 @francislovergirl @viserraslawyer @ackerman0-0

Jacaerys set down his goblet and looked at Forrest and Sabitha Frey. Negotiations of Harrenhal were set; the Freys would take the castle at the war’s end. He could not help but feel a little proud of himself, for he had improved his mother’s standing alone.

Lord Frey took a bite of his provisions. “There is one more thing.”

Jace looked at him. “What is it?”

“My Prince, you are a man grown. And word has it that you have not secured a betrothal as of yet.”

Jace knew, if only in the back of his mind, that talk would soon arise about this; he would not let future whispers begin, calling him The Heirless King or Jacaerys the Unbetrothed. His mother would be pleased with the Frey’s allyship, but this implication dove into complexities. To secure an alliance was one thing, but to have his feet in another negotiation was another. Vigilance was key.

“That is correct.”

“One of our daughters is eight and ten, two years my Prince’s senior,” Lord Frey said, then pursed his lips and looked down at his feet. “She has not secured a marriage either. After the war is won and Her Grace sits upon the throne, we would like to propose a betrothal between you and our lady daughter.”

A Frey Queen Consort… it was certainly an audacious prospect. Jace had been thankful that his mother had not pestered him about the idea of marriage yet. He had a claim to uphold, not a betrothal to secure. Or so he thought.

Jace knew that he had to choose his next steps carefully. The war was not won yet, and his family were to be dependent on the Freys’ honor until the end. If he refused, they could deny their crossing and obiscience. Looking at their faces made the decision more pressing. He knew that he could not let his reservations show. That would be a weakness.

“I will send word to my mother. I cannot guarantee that she will send her approval, but there is no need to fear the mood of her response.”

“See to it that she hears the advantage of this.”

You were glad that you were not in the midst of the war between the Hightowers and the Targaryens. The Twins was more than a shelter from the war that only suffocated you into loneliness and mundanity. This was the fate of so many ladies of the realm, to keep themselves in one place and never have the agency of motion. It was a fate you wished to resist.

“You plotted my marriage without my consent?” you spat.

“I know that you wished to get married.”

“To get married, yes, but only if the suitor is mine to choose!”

“The wedding would be in weeks of his arrival, there is plenty of time for courting.”

“Then we have a different perception of time, perhaps.”

The Prince was said to be quite comely, but great beauties are only made so by truly knowing them. He could be the most handsome young man in the seven kingdoms, but if he was not fit to be your companion for life, you would have been swept away into a life of misery. Routinely, you spent your days pacing from the West Tower to the East praying that this kind of misery would not find you. And now you feared it did.

“Sweetling, do not be angry with me. You know the difficulties of being a woman and how the lords of the realm perceive us. Having the Targaryens as an ally, and one bound in blood at that, will help us greatly. Your father and I took action at the first moment.”

Briefly, you thought of Queen Rhaenyra. You both shared a similar plight, only the irony was that her son will invoke your own even more. But it could not be denied that you had wanted a romance in your life. You had experienced the bare bones of suitors; they would smile and look at you at feasts, then their attention would be occupied with another lady.

The war had brought another tear upon your life. Your friends, the ladies Roesaynne, Leona, and Gertrude, were frequent guests at your keep, as you were at theirs.  But recently, you had been given word that their lord fathers had sequestered them within their castles. You had not seen them since. You understood the reason; dragons were fearsome creatures that may descend from the sky at any time. It was best to keep the nobles safe from that prospect. As safe as they could be, and left for misery to strike them as you suspected it did.

You fidgeted with the velvet sleeve of your dress. “What could you perceive of him?” you asked, your tone much quieter. “His character?”

“He was quite even-tempered.”

You shook your head minutely. Even an hour’s worth of conversation would not be enough. The Prince had not laid waste to the Crossing with his dragon, true, but you knew that the greatest conflicts of the Realm were from disagreements amongst the nobles. There was nothing saying that this would not be the same. And there was the obvious fact: the Prince of Dragonstone was a dragon rider. Wise as you tried to be, you feared him for this. Would your own lord father instruct you to stay inside your castle like your friends were?

There was no place for you here for much longer. One of your brothers, Gunther, three years your elder, would inherit the Crossing, and your sister would soon be married. On paper, marrying the Prince was a miracle.

The door bursted open with a loud thunk. Both you and your mother turn your heads toward it. It was your little sister, Marsella, enthusiasm ripe on her face.

“Mother! I saw him,” she giggled.

“Not now, Marsella.”

Marsella’s face was flush as spring. “I saw the Prince and Vermax, though the others were too stupid to look for him before they went away. He was—”

“Please, leave us,” your mother commanded.

Marsella’s face fell, and your eyes saddened when they found hers. She then turned and left, shoulders caving in. You would see to her afterwards.

“Where, might I ask, will the wedding take place?” Being a lady of the realm meant that you could never be comfortable anywhere. You were told by your mother’s friends not to get attached to any setting, since men, hungry for power and status, often brought in a new environment.

“At the Red Keep, as will your courting.”

“It will not,” you said.

“Do not meddle with the plans that have been so carefully forethought!” Her voice broke midway, and she clasped a hand around her mouth and turned her head to the side. “I am sorry. I have a great stress on me. What is it that you wish to be changed?”

“Not the location of the wedding, that is a logical place for it to be held,” you said. “But the courtship, please, mother, let him come here instead. if you truly want this to be a success, he must know me, and where my roots are from.” You saw the opportunity for this small agency: the Prince, learning about your home from you… you hoped that it would spark a subtle intimacy. You knew it was a foolish thought, but if the war was to be won by the rightful queen, such comfort could be afforded. Or so you hoped.

“Very well, my dear.”

[koishua]

★. 𝐄𝐍— and the orange peel theory.

! © 𝗞𝗢𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗨𝗔 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰, 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗦 𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗩𝗘𝗗.

starring hee, jay, jake. + their version of the orange peel theory

━━━━━━━━━━━ 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆

he doesn't think anything of it when he snaps your chopsticks in two for you from where he is positioned across you. the plastic chairs in front of the convenience store upon which you're seated on aren't the most comfortable, the sharp edges digging into your skin on occasions when you fidget around trying to find a way to strike up a conversation with the man you can't bare to label as your friend now.

the bamboo sticks now rest on top of the lid of your bowl of instant ramen, currently waiting to be fully cooked within the three minute time frame the instructions had given you. you notice how they hadn't split equally, one having snapped away a small portion of the other side with it. the irony of it all feels comical when you detach yourself from the situation you're currently trying not to run away from.

heeseung doesn't say much as you hesitantly take the broken utensil. he can only pretend to awkwardly observe the engravings in the table, occasionally glancing at the dainty chain of the necklace hiding under your collar. it had been his fingers to graze against the skin of your neck to clasp it together for you. he wonders what hurts more; remembering, or having to force himself to forget about it all?

━━━━━━━━━━━ 𝐉𝐀𝐘

the house is quiet, had been for hours now, except for your frantic breaths and hurried stomps while darting from room to room, trying to find your bearings as the time ticks by much too quickly for your liking. the alarms you'd set for your lecture hadn't rung (they had, actually— no one would dare to disagree, however), which had naturally resulted in you running late for it yet again.

your lips lift lopsidedly moments after the neatly framed picture of the happiest moment of your life catches your eye as you try to put on the stubborn socks you'd fished out from the drawer on your side of the bed. jay had always been beautiful, even back when he still had that boyish smirk constantly plastered over his face, hair a mess.

you make a mental note to wipe away the dust that had started to form a thin sheet over the wooden frame, though that too is quickly forgotten when you realize that he'd very kindly filled up your bottle with water and placed it next to the most comfortable shoes you owned he'd laid nearly on the floor by the door, certain of your forgetful habits.

━━━━━━━━━━━ 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄

layla's tail wags excitedly at the sight of the treat in your hands that you leave for her to enjoy. smoothing over the gingham sheet before laying back on the lap of your favourite person in this universe and the next, from where you look up at him, the sun blazing in the sky makes it look like he's emitting a heavenly glow. fitting for someone like sim jake.

days like this don't come by often for either of you, so having you right by him, the weather as beautiful as it could ever get. this is what he'd describe heaven to feel like. every part of his body beats with the insatiable desire to always have you as close to him as possible, day and night.

the cool breeze is a constant visitor to your little spot by the beach, a welcome addition to the already magical day. realising that he'd gotten lost in his thoughts, he looks down at your serene expression, off somewhere in dreamland, most likely. his thumb gently traces under your eyes, a ghostly touch afraid of waking you up from your deserved rest. he unclips the hair accessories he can see tugging and digging into your skin before adjusting the shade to cover your eyes.

this is his dreamland.

notes from vie: couldn't help it with the hee angst y'all im sorry it's a koishua must. it was very mild tho so yeah enjoy please i haven't exercised my enha writing skills in ages and as always pls reblog muah muah ignore any errors i haven't got the energy to correct them myself 🍊🍊

[diejager]

The writing where reader died, what happens if they were revived as a wraith like Ghost? There's probs going to have a lot of fluff and a small angst here and there. But I mostly wanna read your writings!! It's cus' I can't get enough, and kept rereading it all the time

Cw: pain, death, turning, cannibalism, implied torture, implied blood and gore, angst, fluff, hunger, tell me if I missed any. We’re going to forget how you previously died, cuz @bluegiragi gave us more info about wraiths and I just love where the comic is going.

What a cruel joke, irony hitting him in the face the same way his abrupt shift hurt him, an apathetic slap to the face that left him bloody and in shock the way he left Roba on his dying breath. Simon didn’t know what was crueler, the knowledge that you were tortured and buried alive, left to die alone for the sins of his own making and the wrath of another, or that you were left to die a slow and excruciating death after being beaten half to death, expected to lose your resolve solely on the fact that you were a medic, and turned into the monster he was.

Neither your captor nor death had been merciful, much less the reaper, a collector of wandering souls and lost ghosts, waiting their turn to cross the river with a small token for the afterlife. Be it Hermes, the messenger and the carrier of souls, Thanatos the reaper and collector, Anubis - or Inpu, however people called him - the guide, Ankou the shadow, Sgàthach the warrior, or Freyja and Fólkvangr; you weren’t granted the soft embrace of a calm death, but the cruel rejection of it, forced back into life and abandoned by sweet sleep.

He remembered his own, the painful pull of his back, the crazed smoke that filled his mind with a thirst for blood and revenge, the crack and ugly break of his bode, reshaping his body and organs dyed dark, dying and pained. He remembered well the pain of it like it was yesterday, having to crawl out of the shallow grave on his own and discover the carnage he left behind, stained in his and Price’s blood. He was reborn.

And so were you, crying and sobbing, your skin scarred beyond thinking and mind in shambles of broken faith and abandoned affection. He knew first hand how it felt, the burn and agony of it, the hunger and ache that plagued you like an undying pestilence, darker than the one that ripped through Europe in the fourteenth century and more devastating than the Justinian’s. He’d been too late, too slow to help you through the first ripple of shock and fear once you’d quenched your thirst, staunching it like you would a wound. He let you fester in your sorrow and hunger, left you without a guide or caretaker until you ravaged the area, leaving only blood and rubble in your devastation. 

But he’s here now, picking you up from the mess you found yourself in, a storm of smoke and thick black that you hid yourself in, to hide the monster you had become. He might not be proud of who he’s become - much like you - but he grew into it, lived his life as one, and he would be here to help you through the process of it. Where he wished he had a helping hand, you would have his. He would help you with your hunger, the famine that grew the more you left it alone, filling your being with bodies he’d gather up for you to absorb. He would teach you how to control the smoke - the sinews of your being, the consistence of it forming your figure - and build from it, stopping yourself from phasing to and from it, staying as a physical manifestation of it rather than darkness itself. 

Where he felt lost and confused, alone and wishing for a swift end, you wouldn’t, he made sure to stay, to be the pillar of support for you whenever you crashed, his body covering yours to stop you from vanishing in a fit of tears. Where he spent time hating himself, demeaning the cannibalism he became, you wouldn’t, he’d rather send himself to hell than let you think you were the lowest of the low, a human eating another. And where he was cruel to himself when death had renounced him, you wouldn’t, he’d whisper the sweetest words, praises, compliments, affection and guidance, he would make sure you wouldn’t drown alone like he did years ago. He loved you too much to let that happen.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce @sobbingnshtting

[littlejuicebox]

The wish spell worked.

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader/Tav

Summary/Setting: 10 years post BG3. Follows my HC for spawn Astarion arc. See my other fics for more information, but otherwise the title speaks for itself. :)

Rating/Warnings: PG / allusions to sexual behaviors / fluff / in-game spoilers / lightest bit of angst if you squint but not really / this is self-indulgent af and idc / so sweet it will rot your teeth

Word Count: 2.2 K

A/N: HAPPY 400 FOLLOWERS POST! Thank you to everyone who likes my stories and provides encouragement. I love you all! I originally wanted to post this as a New Years Eve/Day special, but I couldn't get it quite right by then. After several reiterations, this is what we finally have! Hope it was worth the wait and multiple edits for you guys! :)

-----

If anyone had told Astarion Ancunin a decade ago that he would one day hold Gale Dekarios on a pedestal nearly as high as the one on which he held his darling Tav, the immortal elf might have actually died from laughter. The strange irony and wicked life lessons of fate were not lost on the retired rogue. Unbelievably and annoyingly, Astarion eventually found himself indebted to the wizard in a way he could never repay. 

The wish spell worked.

It had taken years for Gale to feel absolutely ready to cast the spell. Astarion waited — exasperated, impatient, and impetuous — for what felt like the longest ten years of his ageless lifetime to be given the gift of mortality. 

More than once, in the pale elf’s tearful fits of frustration, he accused the wizard of intentionally stringing him along or simply not having the skills to perform such a spell and not wanting to admit it. More than once, you had to calmly remind your husband of the great lengths Gale had gone to find information regarding the act and the even greater risk to both the vampire and the wizard if the spell was not cast perfectly and mindfully. 

It had been a long decade, waiting for that impossible possibility, but the wait had been more than worth it.

Just over ten years after you met that silver-haired rake on the beach, Astarion was miraculously returned to his living, breathing, heart beating, mortal elven form. Surprisingly, not much changed about his appearance. Most notably, his eyes turned a gold-flecked green, and his complexion took on a constant soft pink undertone, permanently tinged by the circulation of his own blood by his own heart. That beautiful undertone caused a delightful blush to creep across his cheeks and ears whenever you teased or aroused him, and you took an even more significant liking to both these behaviors, just to watch that gorgeous rosiness creep across his skin. 

And while you dearly loved that blush, your favorite part of the change had certainly been the steady beating of his heart. You would rest your head on your lover’s chest for hours to savor the sound if he let you, wrapped tightly in the new found warmth of his long limbs.

While you became obsessed with Astarion’s steadily thrumming heart, he’d become obsessed with his reflection. As soon as he’d been able to see himself, your husband had taken to having you sit on his lap while you primped and preened. He would stare into the looking glass with you for long lengths of time, his limbs coiled around your waist and chin often resting on your shoulder as he studied the mirror with a besotted, hazy smile on his face. 

After a few weeks of this, you finally asked your silver-haired husband why he seemed positively obsessed with this new behavior. Astarion’s response had floored you.

“Darling, in my over 200 years, I never imagined I would have a love of my own, nor did I ever imagine what we would look like together. I couldn’t have envisioned such a thing even if I thought it a possibility or wanted to. I simply couldn’t envision myself at all. But now seeing it? I want to commit everything to memory exactly as it is… because it’s the most precious vision in the world to me.”

And really how else could you respond to that apart from kissing your sappy, bleeding heart of a husband and allowing him to continue the practice?

Of course, the two of you behaving as innocent love birds hadn’t been the only thing Astarion wanted to see in the mirror. On more than one occasion, he’d easily charmed you into the throes of passion in perfect view of a reflective surface. Your husband’s darker, more carnal half had become obsessed with watching you two in the act and it certainly thrilled you to know he was trying to commit those sensual sights to memory. You were quite happy to oblige. 

As such, you’d soon found yourself carrying the byproduct of one of your many erotic couplings.

“That was a big one.” Astarion murmurs, and you see a smile creeping across the reflection of his face in the mirror as he glances down and runs his long fingers across the swell of your abdomen. His arms are looped around you as you sit front of the vanity mirror, placing the final touches on your appearance. 

You agree with a gentle hum, moving a hand to your pregnant belly and rubbing circles on the stretch of skin, hoping to calm the young life stirring within. You coo softly to the rolling babe as you finish your primping, “Surely you aren’t thinking about breaking out of there yet, my little love. You have a few more months to go.”

Astarion’s now-warm hands cover yours as the little one seems to do somersaults in response to your voice, causing you to wince slightly as they jolt against your ribs. He presses a tender kiss into your shoulder and chuckles, “This one is strong like their mother and impatient like their father… we may be in for a spot of trouble in a few years, my love.”

You laugh in response as you stand with a pitiable amount of effort and quite a bit of assistance from the supportive arm of your husband. “I believe you’re right… but surely we’ve taken on scarier and more difficult things than a stubborn babe.”

Astarion hums in agreement before pressing a kiss to your swollen stomach, which is hovering just in front of him now, “Surely, darling. Now let us all go say hi to Uncle and Auntie Ravengard. I’m positively famished.”

-----

You are almost out of breath as you walk the final steps toward the entry of the Duke’s home. Astarion had practically begged you to take the carriage all the way through Wyll’s estate, but you waved him off, adamant that a bit light exercise would be good for the baby. The walkway was fully paved, how hard could it be?

As it turned out, you’d severely overestimated your abilities. Though it was just under a quarter mile to the front doors of the manor when you’d decided to exit the carriage, you were no longer the young, lithe woman that traversed the wilds with a petulant vampire a decade ago. The weight of your belly slowed you down more than you would admit. Astarion implored you, more than once and with growing concern and exasperation, to return to carriage. You refused each time, forcing the driver to follow behind at a snail’s pace.

“Gods, I hope this child does not take on your stubborn streak. I will be constantly overrun in my own home.” Astarion huffs, dabbing at the few beads of sweat on your brow with a silken handkerchief as he helps you climb the small flight of stairs at the entryway of Wyll’s home. He rolls his eyes as you laugh, breathlessly, and lean into him for support as he presses a kiss at the meeting point between your cheek and ear. “But, my sweet, as much as I would have preferred we stayed in the coach, you know I adore the way you look with your cheeks all flushed after a bit of… exertion.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes at your husband as he traces his hand over your flushed cheek, his expression practically brimming with desire. The flush on the tips of his ears is a telltale sign of his salacious thoughts. If he had it his way, he’d be dragging you into the carriage right there for a quickie. But, he knew you two were nearly running late for dinner with the Duke and forced himself to push all desires aside. For now.

Wyll and his beautiful wife, Euphemia, greet you with a flurry of excitement and hugs. Their two twin toddlers run around in the entryway, a nursemaid trailing behind them.

Wyll wears a kind, soft smile as he addresses the both of you, “Dinner should be just about ready… shall we make our way there? I hope you two don’t mind. We are having work done in the dining room — my beautiful flower insisted upon remodeling — so dinner will have to be served in the Great Hall.”

As the four of you head towards the larger of the two dining areas in the Duke’s estate, Astarion wraps his arm around your waist and runs his hand along the side of your nearly bursting belly once again. There is a subtle pause at the doors of the Great Hall, and your husband’s eyebrows crinkle in a silent question before you gently press a kiss into his cheek and whisper, “Happy Rebirth Day, my love.”

Today marked one year since Gale successfully cast the Wish Spell. 

The oak doors burst open to reveal the faces of everyone you hold dear, all of them shouting, “Surprise!” in unison. Wyll and Euphemia are laughing with delight as the four of you enter the room. Astarion is obviously shocked and overwhelmed as he takes the scene in, but a toothy smile is plastered across his face nonetheless. The elf could not believe that the significance of the date had slipped his mind, nor could he believe that you all went through such great lengths to plan a spectacle on his behalf. 

Everyone showered your husband with a plethora of well-wishes and congratulations. The food was heavenly, and the silver-haired elf dined to his heart’s content. Just as Astarion loved to watch you both in the mirror, you adored seeing him eat and savor real food. You’d pursued cooking as a new hobby in the past few months, just to watch the delight on his face as he tasted any number of delectable things you placed in front of him.

“Have you thought of any names for the baby?” Karlach asks through a mouthful of food as she continues to tear into the lamb shank in front of her.

You smile knowingly. This topic has piqued everyone’s interest and they all turn their gazes in your direction, “Yes, actually… Astarion picked it out. It works well for a boy or a girl, and I think it’s an excellent choice.”

The elf smiles shyly, that subtle flush of his cheeks and ears crawling across his face as you turn your gaze to him and urge him on, “Go on, my love, and tell them the gorgeous name you picked.”

“I… I decided we should name the baby Gale.” Astarion reveals, his hand immediately moving to graze against your swollen stomach as he meets the flabbergasted expression of the wizard sitting across the table with a round-eyed, nervous gaze, “If… that’s okay by you.”

Gale coughs in surprise, nearly choking on the wine he’d just sipped from a goblet. For a moment, you watch as he blinks away tears. You are beginning to truly believe he might leap across the table and tackle your husband in a hug when he rapidly nods instead.

The wizard’s voice cracks with emotion as he speaks, “Y-yes. Thank you, Astarion. That is such an honor.”

Ten years of friendship between two men that once seemed entirely at odds with one another, honored by a namesake given to a precious babe. Fate was a truly remarkable thing.

“It’s an honor you are quite deserving of, Gale.” You respond, reaching your hand across the table to give the wizard’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “May our child have just as much heart, wit, and skill as their namesake. We will be truly blessed.”

A cake with candles is brought about at the end of the meal and placed in front of Astarion as everyone sings an off-key birthday tune. While your husband always seemed to thrive on being held at the center of attention, you noticed with a bit of amusement that his ears and cheeks were flushed pink as everyone focused their eyes upon him. 

While the others continue to sing, you lean closer to your husband and whisper, “I know we will never surpass the wish you made last time, my Star. But go on and make one anyway.”

Astarion’s gaze roams around the room, taking in all the friends he collected this past decade. Then he turns to you and grins, pausing to etch every bit of this moment into his memory before closing his eyes and blowing the candles out to a cacophony of inebriated cheers and whoops.

The elf wished for the only thing he could: a healthy child and a long life with his little love. Fate had already gifted him with more than he could have imagined for himself back in those dark, dank dungeons he once called home. Astarion found himself in want of nothing but the health and happiness of the woman beside him and the safety of their offspring. 

Though he knew it was another selfish ask, and he’d been blessed far more than he had ever expected, Astarion prayed to the gods that he once never thought would answer to grant him this last wish. And just in case they did not hear him the first time, he would be sure to make the same wish every year, until his very last. 

[starlitmelanin]

ᡣ𐭩ྀི make-believe; j.bellingham

pairing - jude x fem!reader

word count - 3k

warnings - none

summary - you and jude had broken up, decided to go your separate ways, but now you're both forced to play nice for an adidas ad.

you knew this day was coming.

the email landed in your inbox a week ago, the subject line so innocent, so unassuming: adidas shoot - schedule update.

you almost deleted it out of reflex, your heart dropping the moment you recognised the sender. but you clicked it anyway, because you knew better than to ignore reality.

"we've got an exciting shoot coming up with some of our top athletes," the message read, all corporate cheerfulness, "including you and jude bellingham! can't wait to see the magic you two create together."

magic. right.

you hadn't seen jude since it happened, since the two of you had ended things with a mutual understanding that felt more like mutual devastation. the kind of breakup where there's no yelling, no slamming doors, just a quiet acceptance that what you had was too complicated, too much for either of you to carry any longer.

but it wasn't any easier for that. in fact, it might've been harder. because you couldn't even hate him. you couldn't even scream or cry or blame him for anything. you were just... sad. sad in a way that sat heavy in your chest, that didn't go away no matter how many times you told yourself it was for the best.

and now, here you are, standing in the studio with the lights too bright and the air too cool, dressed head-to-toe in adidas gear, waiting for jude to show up.

you can feel the tension building in your shoulders, the nerves twisting in your stomach. you're trying to remind yourself that it's just another day at work, just another shoot, but it's not. not when he's involved.

you hear him before you see him, the familiar sound of his voice as he greets someone at the entrance, that same tone that used to make your heart skip a beat. you don't turn around right away, too busy pretending to adjust the fit of your jacket, but when you finally look up, there he is.

jude's standing there, just a few feet away, looking as good as ever, and it's like air is being sucked right out of your lungs. you thought you were prepared for this, thought you'd built up enough of a wall around your heart to keep it together, but the moment you see him, that wall cracks, just a little.

he looks... different. maybe it's just the distance, the time that's passed, or maybe it's the way he's holding himself, more reserved, more cautious. but his eyes still find yours, and for a split second, everything else fades away. it's just the two of you, caught in that familiar yet unspoken connection that never really went away.

"hey," he says, his voice softer than you remember, almost hesitant.

"hey," you reply, and it's too casual, too normal for what this moment really is. but you don't know what else to say, how else to greet the person who used to be your everything.

before either of you can say more, the director claps his hands, drawing everyone's attention. "all right, let's get started! y/n, jude, we're going to start with some paired shots, just the two of you. we want to capture that chemistry, that connection you both have as madrid's star players."

you almost laugh at the irony, but it sticks in your throat, coming out as a forced smile instead. you nod, falling into step with jude as the crew starts directing you both, positioning you in front of the camera.

the first pose isn't too bad. you're standing side by side, arms crossed, the standard tough athlete look. it's easy enough to slip into character, to pretend like everything's fine. but then the director starts asking for more.

"can you two get a little closer? jude, put your arm around y/n's shoulders, like you're celebrating a win together."

it's such a simple request, something you've done a hundred times before, but now it feels like the hardest thing in the world. still, you nod, forcing your body to move as jude steps closer, his arm brushing against yours before he rests it on your shoulders.

the contact sends a shiver through you, a reminder of all the times you used to lean into him, used to find comfort in his touch. but now, it feels different. awkward, forced, like a ghost of something that used to be real.

you keep your smile plastered on, staring straight ahead at the camera, but you can feel jude's tension too, the way his grip on your shoulder isn't as relaxed as it used to be, how he's holding back. and it makes everything worse because it's a reminder that he's just as affected by this as you are.

"perfect, perfect!" the director calls out, oblivious to the silent struggle happening between you. "now, y/n, turn towards jude, like you're about to high-five him, but stop just before your hands meet. we want to capture that anticipation, that energy."

you don't even know what that means, but you do as you're told, turning to face jude, your hand hovering in the air between you. he mirrors your movement, and now you're standing so close that you can see every detail of his face, the lines of stress around his eyes, the way his lips are pressed into a thin line.

the silence stretches between you, and for a moment, it feels like the whole world has shrunk down to just this, just the space between your hands, the weight of everything unsaid. your heart is pounding in your chest, your breath coming a little faster, and you're terrified that he can hear it, that he knows how much this is affecting you.

"great, hold that! now, jude, how about you pull y/n in for a side hug, like you're celebrating together again?"

you blink, your smile faltering for just a second before you catch yourself. this is too much, too close, too soon. but you don't have much of a choice, so you force yourself to move, stepping into jude's space as he wraps an arm around you.

it's stiff, weird, nothing like the way it used to be. and you can tell he feels it too, the way his body is tense, how his touch is light, as if he's afraid to hold on too tight, afraid of what might happen if he does.

you try to relax, try to let yourself sink into the moment, but it's impossible. because all you can think about is how wrong this feels, how much it hurts to be this close to him and yet so far away.

"beautiful! now, y/n, lean your head on jude's shoulder, like you're sharing a moment after a big win."

the director's voice feels like nails on a chalkboard, and you have to fight the urge to tell him to stop, to leave you alone. but you don't. instead, you follow his instructions, tilting your head to rest on jude's shoulder, your heart in your throat.

the scent of him hits you, familiar and comforting, and it takes everything in you not to let your eyes close, not to let yourself get lost in the memories that flood your mind. you can feel jude's breath hitch, just for a second, and you wonder if he's feeling the same thing, if the weight of this moment is crushing him too.

"and... got it! that's a wrap on this setup!"

the words are a relief, but also a disappointment. because even though this is torture, part of you doesn't want it to end, doesn't want to step away from him and go back to pretending like everything's fine, like you're over it.

but you have to. so you pull away, stepping back as jude's arm drops from your shoulders, the distance between you growing again. you glance up at him, catching his eyes for just a moment, and the look there makes your chest ache.

"you okay?" he asks, his voice low, just for you.

you nod, but it's a lie, and you both know it. "yeah. you?"

"yeah." another lie.

the director is already moving on, calling for the next setup, oblivious to the tension that hangs in the air like a storm cloud. you and jude follow along, moving like you're on autopilot, but it's clear that the magic they were hoping for isn't there. not really.

the next few poses are just as bad, each one requiring you to get close, to touch, to pretend like everything's fine when it's not. and with each one, the facade gets harder to maintain, the cracks in your armor growing wider.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, the director calls for a break, and you all but collapse onto a nearby bench, your head in your hands. you can feel jude's presence next to you, but you can't bring yourself to look at him, not now, not when you're so close to breaking.

"y/n," he says softly, and you can hear the concern in his voice, the guilt.

"don't," you whisper, shaking your head. "not here."

he doesn't push, but you can feel his frustration, his helplessness. and it's almost worse than if he had tried to talk to you, because it means he's feeling it too, the weight of this, the impossibility of pretending like nothing's changed.

the break doesn't last long enough.

before you've even caught your breath, the director is calling you back, his voice echoing through the studio like a bad dream. you don't want to get up, don't want to face jude again, but you don't have a choice. this is your job, your life, and sometimes that means swallowing the pain and pushing through it.

when you stand, jude's already on his feet, watching you with that same look he had earlier—like he wants to say something, like he's waiting for the right moment. but there's no right moment, and there won’t be. so you just walk past him, heading back to the set, feeling his eyes on your back the entire way.

"alright, now we're thinking something dynamic," the director explains, too excited for his own good. "like jude lifting y/n off the ground, both of you laughing, like you've just won a big tournament or something."

you almost laugh at the absurdity of it. the idea of jude lifting you, holding you close, laughing like nothing's wrong—it feels like a cruel joke. but you nod anyway, because what else can you do?

you take your position, standing in front of jude. the director is giving more instructions, telling jude how to wrap his arms around your waist, how to make it look effortless, but you can't focus on any of it. all you can think about is how this is going to hurt in ways you can't even begin to prepare for.

when jude's hands settle on your waist, it's like a jolt of electricity shoots through you, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. his touch is gentle, almost too gentle, but it's the tenderness that cuts the deepest.

"on three," the director says, his voice distant, like it's coming from underwater. "one, two, three!"

jude lifts you, just like he's supposed to, and you feel the ground disappear beneath your feet. for a split second, it's almost like it used to be—before everything fell apart. the way he used to hold you like you were the most precious thing in the world, like you were worth protecting.

you're supposed to laugh, supposed to act like this is fun, but the sound that comes out of your mouth is hollow, forced. you don't know how jude manages to smile, how he keeps up the act, because all you want to do is scream, to tell everyone to stop, that this is too much, too painful.

but you don't. you just hang there, suspended in jude's arms, pretending like this is just another day, like you're not dying inside.

"perfect, perfect! that's exactly what we needed!" the director's voice is too loud, too cheerful, and it grates against your nerves. you want to tell him that this isn't perfect, that nothing about this is perfect, but the words stick in your throat.

when jude finally sets you down, you're unsteady on your feet, your legs shaky. you take a step back, putting distance between you, but it's not enough. the damage is done. the wound has been ripped open.

you glance at jude, and the look in his eyes tells you everything. he's hurting too, more than he's letting on. but he's also resigned, like he knows there's nothing either of you can do to fix this, like he's accepted that this is just the way it has to be.

"we'll take five," the director announces, already moving on to the next setup, oblivious to the emotional minefield he's just dragged you both through.

you nod, barely acknowledging him, and walk off the set, needing to be alone, needing to breathe. jude doesn't follow you this time, and you're grateful for it. you don't know what you'd say if he did. you don't know how to explain the mess of emotions swirling inside you, the pain of being so close to him and yet so far away.

you find a quiet corner of the studio, out of sight of the crew, and lean against the wall, your head tilted back as you try to keep it together. but the tears are already welling up, and you hate yourself for it, for being this vulnerable, this broken.

it wasn't supposed to be like this. you and jude were supposed to be the ones who made it, who figured it out. but life had other plans, and now you're stuck here, pretending like everything's fine when it's anything but.

you wipe at your eyes, trying to compose yourself, but it's no use. the emotions are too raw, too fresh. you can still feel jude's touch on your skin, still hear his voice in your head, and it's all too much.

you're so lost in your thoughts that you don't hear him approach. it's only when he speaks that you realise he's standing right in front of you.

"y/n..."

you look up, and there he is, his expression a mix of concern and something else. you want to tell him to leave, to go back to the set and let you deal with this on your own, but the words won't come.

"i'm sorry," he says, and the sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten. "i didn't think it'd be this hard."

"me neither," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

he takes a step closer, hesitating like he's not sure if he should, like he's afraid of crossing a line that's already been blurred too many times today. "i... i still care about you. that hasn't changed."

his words hit you like a heavy blow, and you have to look away, your eyes focusing on the floor because you can't bear to look at him right now.

"jude, don't," you manage to say, your voice shaky. "please, just... don't."

he sighs, running a hand through his hair, frustration etched in every line of his body. "i don't know what to do, y/n. i don't know how to make this better."

you wish you had an answer for him, but you don't. because there isn't one. some things just can't be fixed, no matter how much you want them to be.

"maybe it's not supposed to be better," you say, your voice barely holding steady. "maybe this is just... how it has to be."

the words hang in the air, final and unchangeable, and you know they're true, even if you don't want them to be. whatever you and jude had, it's gone now, and no amount of pretending is going to bring it back.

he nods, his eyes dropping to the floor, and you can see the defeat in his posture, the way he's finally accepted that this is the end.

"we should get back," you say, needing to put distance between you, needing to end this conversation before it destroys you completely.

he doesn't argue, just follows your lead as you both make your way back to the set, the silence between you deafening.

the rest of the shoot goes by in a blur. you're going through the motions, doing what's asked of you without really thinking, without really feeling. it's easier that way, easier to disconnect, to shut down.

and jude... jude is the same. distant, reserved, like he's put up his own walls to protect himself from the hurt. you don't blame him. you've done the same.

when it's finally over, when the director calls it a wrap and the crew starts packing up, you feel a wave of relief wash over you. it's done. you survived. but that relief is tinged with sadness, with the knowledge that nothing's really changed. the pain is still there, still as fresh as it was when you first saw him this morning.

you grab your things, eager to get out of there. but as you're about to leave, he catches your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

"y/n," he says, and there's something in his voice, something that makes you pause.

you turn to look at him, and for a moment, you see the boy you fell in love with, the one who made you believe in forever.

"take care of yourself," he says, his voice soft, almost tender.

you nod, not trusting yourself to speak. because there's no closure here, no neat ending, no goodbye that makes everything okay. there's just this—this messy, painful, complicated thing that you and jude have become.

"you too," you finally manage to say.

he gives you a small, sad smile, and then he lets you go.

and just like that, it's over. you walk away, your heart heavy, your mind racing with everything you wanted to say but couldn't.

because this isn't a movie, and there's no script to follow.

it's just... done.

[solar-wing]

⚣ It's Not A Competition 🥇

⚣👊🏻 A/N → SURPRISE! double post today! I've been wanting to do a Clark Kent post forever but never had any good ideas. Then, this popped into my mind. Also, I'm really trying to clear out my drafts and any old requests. WARNINGS: Canon-Typical Violence | Jealousy | Established Relationship

⚣👊🏻 Summary → Dark Knight this and Dark Knight that. What about Superman?! He's also a great hero! Better than Batman, at least. The guy doesn't even have powers. But that's what makes him more interesting and cool, according to Y/N. And frankly, Clark has had quite enough and intends to show him why Superman is way better than Batman.

⚣👊🏻 Words → 4.7K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 👊🏻

Clark just didn’t get it.

Why was it that Y/N was so obsessed with Batman and not Superman? All the young reporter ever talked about was the Dark Knight and how he was so cool and mysterious. Going on and on about his awesome gadgets and the fact that he had no powers, which made him so interesting.

Clark very much would beg to differ.

“You know, Superman can shoot lasers out of his eyes, and I heard he can move faster than the speed of sound,” Clark pointed out while walking with Y/N down the sidewalk. They decided to go out for lunch and since the Daily Planet was so close to one of Y/N's favorite restaurants downtown, he figured, why not just walk together?

“Clark, not this again,” Y/N chuckled while sipping his drink.

“I’m sorry, you just always talk about how great Batman is, and I’m not saying he’s bad, but I don’t get how he’s better than Superman?”

“You know, you’re starting to sound like Lois with all your Superman praise and comparison.”

“Well, she’s not wrong. I mean, come on. What can Batman do that Superman can’t?” Clark asked, looking down at his boyfriend while waiting for an answer.

“Batman’s quicker on his feet. He thinks of solutions faster and more creatively than what I’ve seen from Superman. Plus, he’s resourceful. The guy’s got a freaking jet. The only people I could think of that own jets and planes and all the crazy gadgets he has would probably be Lex Luthor or Bruce Wayne.”

Clark tried not to react to the irony of that statement, rather focusing on how he could combat that logic even though it was true. He had to admit that his comrade, whether in the field or in practice, was very good at analyzing a situation and using whatever he had around him to his advantage.

Still, it didn’t mean he was better than him.

“Well, Superman can also fly, and as many have witnessed, is crazy strong.”

“Yes, he is. But if Batman can afford a jet, I’m pretty sure he can afford a jetpack, too. Plus, we all know how strong Superman is, some more than others. Their insurance claims can definitely speak to how strong he is.”

That last line Y/N said was more so to himself than as a statement to Clark. However, it didn’t take away the slight sting from his words, considering how true they were.

“So you’re saying Superman is reckless and bad at his job or something?” Clark accused.

“What? No, I’m not saying that at all. Why are you getting so defensive about this? You’re acting as if you know the guy. Wait, do you know him?” Y/N asked, now looking up at his giant of a boyfriend.

Sometimes, he wondered what kind of genes ran in Clark’s family. It was a bit of a puzzle to Y/N why the six-foot-something man was in journalism rather than something that seemed more his speed, like fitness or athletics.

“No, of course not. I just don’t think it’s fair or even logical to compare Superman to someone like Batman, considering what each of them has respectfully achieved, not to mention the state of their cities and everything. I mean, have you ever been to Gotham before?” Clark asked, doing his best to not draw any more curiosity or suspicion out of the younger male.

Not that he was doing a good job of that in the first place.

Clark just wished he could’ve shown Y/N why Superman was better than Batman. They’d only been dating for a few months so it wasn’t reasonable or even smart for the Kryptonian to consider revealing his identity to him, no matter how much he wanted to.

“Clark, it’s not a competition. You know that, right?” Y/N said, placing his hand on Clark’s arm.

They paused in their steps, Clark looking down at the gentle hand lying across his forearm before looking up into the eyes that always put him under a spell. He smiled to himself, thinking of the fact that even if Y/N favored Batman over Superman, Clark was still the real winner, because he had him.

He took his hand in his own, doing his best to contain his excitement pulse at the feeling of his larger hand surrounding the smaller one in his grip. Y/N was still a male, so his hand wasn’t dainty or small by any means, but compared to Clark’s, it might as well have been.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry, I got a little bit crazy.” Clark apologized with a small kiss on the shorter man’s hand causing a slight blush to appear on the smaller male’s cheeks.

“It’s ok. Besides, I like a little bit of crazy. Keeps things interesting.” Y/N said before continuing their walk towards Clark’s place of work.

‘You have no idea,’ Clark thought to himself as he followed behind, letting himself be tugged along.

They returned to the Daily Planet to find everywhere in a buzz, chattering excitedly with each other as various individuals were either running to the bathroom with pouches of makeup and skincare and others at their desks touching up their hair and clothes.

“What’s going on?” Clark asked aloud as he strode into the office while still holding Y/N’s hand.

“Was it like this when we left?” His boyfriend asked, chuckling at the comical movements and gestures of the rushing to get re-ready for whatever was happening.

“No, it was actually the opposite,” The reporter stated before eventually spotting Lois at her desk, who was also touching up her makeup and hair. He made his way over to the desk area, narrowly avoiding multiple people rushing while pulling Y/N closer to him to keep him from getting bumped into.

“Lois, what’s going on?”

“Oh, hey, Smallville. Hello, Y/N. Didn’t you both get the emergency email Perry sent to everyone earlier?” She said in her usual fast-paced, business tone while curling her eyelashes.

“No, We were at lunch. What was the email about?”

“Oh, Clark. Must I always have to save your butt?” Lois said before handing her phone over to the man, Y/N chuckling behind him at the comment.

Clark threw him a look while Y/N did his best to keep a neutral face before reading over the email.

“Bruce Wayne is coming to the Daily Planet?”

Y/N's eyes went comically large at the mention, immediately jumping to read the email for himself, “No way!”

Lois smirked to herself before grabbing her phone back from the man, while Clark just stared at his boyfriend in jealous shock from his excited outburst. “Yep. Wayne Enterprises has announced its support of various major liberal movements and is donating large proceeds to different organizations calling for massive change in the nation. And with this being an election year, many political figures and business entities are feeling a little uneasy at this sudden new support from the tech giant. And yours truly, landed the exclusive interview with him to get all the nitty and gritty details .”

Y/N’s eyes were almost bugging out of his head, before he ran to the bathroom himself, snatching his hand from Clark’s who looked desperately after him.

“Dammit, Bruce.” The reporter growled under his breath.

“You say something?” Lois asked while powdering her nose.

“No,” Clark responded gruffly, an irritated glint in his eye before walking to his own desk.

After everyone has ridiculously made themselves extra presentable, including Y/N much to Clark’s annoyance, the pair stand outside the room with a few others, watching through the glass pane walls as the interview is broadcast live to the entire nation. Lois asked Mr. Wayne various questions, ranging from his real intentions behind his charitable donations to whether he was looking to begin any political endeavors and win the favor of the public.

Bruce answers every question with confidence and suaveness, leaving no room for questions about his actions, and denies any political motivations. Y/N watched impressed from the other end while Clark just looked around with a grim and irritated look, his arms crossed as he listened to the interview and watched his boyfriend fanboy over his secret comrade.

“Well, you certainly seem like the charming and noble benefactor, Mr. Wayne. I can see why you're known as ‘Gotham’s Favorite Son.’ I have to ask though, even if you truly have no political ambitions, aren’t you worried that these donations and announcements along with the unwavering stance you’ve taken on these political topics will inevitably place a target on you?” Lois asked, notepad and pen sitting with poise and precision, ready to take down every little thing the billionaire said.

“Wow, I can see why she’s so respected. She’s nailing this interview.” Y/N commented.

Clark nodded to that. Even if he wasn’t feeling the most agreeable at the moment, he’d always give hats off to Lois’ skills. The woman was a powerhouse when it came to this stuff.

“Well, first off, thank you for your earlier comment. I don’t think of myself as anyone’s favorite, but even I can’t control what the public says or does,” Bruce responded with his ever-so-billion-dollar smile, earning a laugh from Lois and probably every other American tuning into this broadcast, including Y/N.

Clark, however, wasn’t impressed. He’d heard funnier.

“But, to answer your question,” Bruce continued, “...any move in the business or even the political world I imagine can be considered a risky one. I’m not going to pretend that my decisions have made some very happy, and others very unhappy. That’s life. You can’t please everyone. But, to sit and accept things as the way they are for fear of retaliation or backlash is misery in itself. I believe anyone who doesn’t speak up for what they truly believe or want for fear of ‘rocking the boat’ is just content with living in their own misery. And, let me be clear before I’m canceled—I know the meaning behind that now thanks to my kids, particularly my two youngest sons—I’m not saying someone who’s genuinely content and happy with where they are is included in this. I’m specifically talking to those who want change, and want to create a better world, but are waiting for others to do it for them.”

Despite its clichéness, many in the hall gave a small clap to the CEO’s words, Y/N looking thoroughly impressed himself.

“Wow, he really is an inspiring man,” Y/N commented.

“He’s alright,” Clark said in response.

Y/N gave the taller man a suspicious side look, “Alright, what’s going on with you? You’ve been standing there pouting

since this interview started. What, do you not like Bruce Wayne or something?"

Clark sighed before looking down at his boyfriend. It was true, he wasn't really liking the guy at the moment. But, it was just because he was so jealous. He didn’t like how Y/N was looking at him, or how he was talking about him.

It wasn't fair.

The reporter wanted Y/N to be looking at him and only him like that, and he wanted his attention and affection, and he wanted him to only talk about him like that. It was petty, and it was selfish, but Clark didn’t care.

He just wanted Y/N to only admire Clark Kent. not Bruce Wayne.

Only Superman, not Batman.

Despite Y/N's earlier words about it not being a competition, Clark knew the truth. It was a competition, one he was not planning on losing.

"No, I don't not like him. I'm just not that impressed, is all. He's not a superhero." Clark said.

"Neither is Lex Luthor. But, that doesn't stop the public from making him the villain in his story. I'm sure there's a lot more to Bruce Wayne than the media is letting on."

"Oh, trust me. There's more to him than what meets the eye," Clark mumbled to himself as the interview was getting ready to wrap up.

"Well, on behalf of the Daily Planet, I'd like to thank you for joining us today. Your words are certainly ones that will not go unheard by many. I look forward to—"

Before Lois could finish speaking, the lights in the building suddenly went out, leaving the office pitch black. A few people in the hall gasp, Y/N instinctively grabbing Clark's arm, who in turn places his hand over the smaller man's own.

"What's going on?" Someone asks.

"I don't know. It's almost like a blackout, but it can't be because we have backup generators. They should've turned it on by now." Another responded.

"Clark, what's going on?" Y/N asked toward his boyfriend, who was holding the smaller male closer to him out of instinct.

"I'm not exactly sure..."

Just as he said that, the lights came back on, and everyone was looking around confused as to what the source of the blackout was.

"Oh my god!" One of the people in the hall screamed suddenly as everyone turned back towards the interview room. Inside the room, some members of the crew suddenly had masks with insignias covering their faces on them. One of them was behind Lois holding a dagger to her neck while another stood to the side, pointing a gun directly at Bruce's head.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt, Ms. Lane," The individual in the middle of the room said, "But, this interview isn't over just yet."

"Who the hell are you people?!" Lois asked, fear and anger in her eyes as the blade was held to her neck.

"Wouldn't you like to know? As for Mr. Wayne, we're going to have a little chat. I suggest you and your friends don't follow or intervene. Otherwise, this broadcast won't be the only thing getting cut" The masked individual threatened, nodding to Lois.

"Don't you dare touch her," Bruce warned, his expression serious, as he got ready to stand.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mr. Wayne. We wouldn't want anything bad to happen, now would we? Especially with all of America watching right now."

Bruce sat back down, knowing that his opponent was right. He couldn't let them hurt Lois, and he certainly couldn't risk any lives in this room.

"Don't worry, Mr. Wayne. We'll make this quick," The leader said as one of the other masked goons went to lock the door that led inside the interview room.

"Clark, we have to do something," Y/N said, his heart racing a mile a minute.

"I know. Stay here. I'll be back." Clark said before running off, leaving the smaller male alone.

"What? Clark, wait! Where are you going?" Y/N called after him, but the taller man didn't hear him, already too far away.

'What the hell is he doing?' Y/N thought to himself before turning his attention back towards the situation in front of him.

As Clark rounded the corner and made his way down the hallway, he made sure no one was watching him before he ran as fast as he could into the supply closet. Once inside, he quickly changed into his suit before taking off through the backdoor.

"So, how does it feel knowing that you're on the side of the wrong? How does it feel knowing that no matter what you do, you'll never be able to fix the mess you made? All the lives lost because of you," The masked man asked Bruce, who was sitting calmly in his chair, his eyes not showing an ounce of fear.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't. None of you wealthy elites do. You don't know the pain and suffering your companies and your products cause to others. You don't know the misery you cause. Well, allow us to show you." The man said before signaling his partners.

One of them immediately moved and grabbed a hold of the camera, pointing it directly at the masked man in the center.

"Hello, Metropolis. And hello, America. If you're watching this, that means you're just as much a part of this as we are. if you've been sitting here listening to the lies and promises of a better world by this man and his kind, you are as much a part of his schemes as he is. It is because of people like him that we have the world we live in. It's because of people like him that so many of us suffer. It's because of people like him that the world will only continue to rot and decay until there is nothing left but a pile of ashes. But, we will not be the ones who burn. We will not be the ones who lose. We will not be the ones who suffer, not anymore. Today, we fight back. Today, we will show the world that we will not be silenced, we will not be oppressed. We will not allow the likes of him and his kind to continue to control us anymore with false promises of a better tomorrow while lining their own pockets. Today, we say enough is enough. Today, we rise. Today, we will take back what is rightfully ours. Today, we take back our freedom and our lives from the rich and corrupt." The man spoke, his words filled with conviction and determination, but also hatred and poison as he stared deep into the camera.

"And if any of you try to stop us, then you will be considered just as guilty as the rest of them. We will not be silenced. We will not be ignored. And if you think that the likes of Batman and Superman will save you, I wouldn't be too sure of that..."

As soon as the leader was done with his speech, the sound of the glass shattering was heard as Superman broke through the windows, flying into the room before stopping directly in front of the man holding the camera.

"But, I am..." The Man of Steel said, shooting a laser beam at the dagger being held by the goon threatening Lois. He immediately dropped the blade as it became too hot, giving the Daily Planet reporter the opportunity she needed to escape his hold.

"Bastards," She cursed, turning around and delivering a kick to the masked man's groin.

He groaned out in pain, falling to the floor before Lois punched him in the face, knocking him out.

Superman turned his attention back toward the masked man standing in the center, "I believe it's time for you to take a hike."

"Not yet. We still have unfinished business," The man said before signaling his other henchman. The man immediately aimed his gun at the Kryptonian, firing shot after shot into him.

Superman stood his ground as the bullets hit him, before eventually, the gun ran out.

"You're right. This is definitely the end," Superman said as he flew toward the man, knocking him out before he could reload his gun.

As Superman finished off the last of the henchmen, the leader turned back towards the camera, "Sorry, Superman. But, the damage has already been done. I hope you enjoyed this little taste of what's to come."

Before the Kryptonian could stop him, the man took out a smoke bomb, throwing it onto the ground and covering the room in a cloud of smoke.

"Crap," Superman cursed, unable to see as the man escaped.

As the smoke began to clear, Bruce took out his phone, "Alfred, I need you to track this signal."

"Understood, sir. I've also informed the police and they're on their way," Alfred responded.

"Good," Bruce said before turning back towards the room.

The actual camera crew was not out in the hall, hugging their co-workers who were all relieved at their safety. The broadcast was cut from the air, but there was no doubt every TV station from here to San Francisco was talking about it. Y/N was standing nearby, his eyes filled with awe and admiration as he stared up at Superman.

There was something oddly familiar about him.

...

Nah.

"That was incredible, Mr. Wayne," Lois said.

"I could say the same thing about you. I'm glad you're ok."

Lois smiled at him, "You were worried about me?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" Bruce asked, a small smile forming on his lips.

Lois blushed slightly before turning back to look at Superman, who was now standing right in front of the two.

"Thank you for the save, Superman," Lois said, extending her hand out to the Kryptonian.

"My pleasure," Superman said, shaking the woman's hand before his attention was drawn toward Bruce who just gave him an appreciative nod. Though the look in his eyes signaled they would definitely be communicating about things later.

As Bruce and Lois moved towards the hallway, Lois spotted Y/N who was standing close to the door peeking inside.

"Oh Y/N, there you are! Thank goodness, you're alright." Lois said, walking over to him and hugging him.

"Yeah, I'm ok. Are you?" He asked, looking up at the woman.

"I'm fine. I'm tougher than I look."

"That's good to hear. And, it's good to see you’re okay as well Mr. Wayne. That was scary." Y/N said, turning his attention to the billionaire.

"Yes, I'm glad I'm alright, too," Bruce said, his attention on Y/N.

"Oh, Bruce Wayne, this is Y/N L/N. He's one of our upcoming new reporters along with Clark Kent, who you've met before." Lois said, introducing the two.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne," Y/N said, extending his hand out.

Bruce took it, giving the younger man a firm handshake, "The pleasure is all mine."

As the two looked at each other, Clark was standing nearby, his gaze focused on the two, his fists clenched.

'I swear to Rao...' He thought to himself, jealousy coursing through his body as he watched the two interact.

"So, Mr. Wayne, what do you think that was all about?" Y/N asked.

Bruce turned to look at the woman, an amused eyebrow raised, "He must be getting trained by you," He said, sparking a laugh from Lois and another eye roll from the Kryptonian before flying off, "And please, call me Bruce. Mr. Wayne makes me feel old."

"Bruce, then. What do you think that was all about?" Y/N asked again.

"Well, I can't be certain, but based on their words and their actions, I'd say they were a group of anarchists."

"Anarchists?"

"Yes. They're not an uncommon group. Many people are growing tired of the way things are in this country. With the state of the economy and the government, it's only a matter of time before things begin to boil over."

"So, you think this is going to happen more often?"

"I'm not sure. But, I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of them."

Y/N nodded his thoughts on the events that had transpired earlier.

"Y/N!" Clark called, interrupting the conversation.

"Clark, there you are! You had me worried sick," The smaller male said while hugging his boyfriend, missing the sharp look the taller man was throwing at the billionaire.

"I just went to alert the building security and the police. Seems everything turned alright though since Superman showed up," Clark said, wrapping an arm around the younger man's waist while still giving a side eye to Bruce who was watching with amusement.

"Yes, thank goodness he did. I'm sure we all owe him a huge thanks for his services."

"Yes, indeed we do. But, unfortunately, I must be going now. It was a pleasure meeting you, Y/N." Bruce said, extending his hand once more to the younger man, who took it, shaking it gently.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, too."

Bruce smiled at him before turning back to Lois, "And it was a pleasure seeing you again, Lois."

"Likewise, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce smirked, "I do believe we're a bit past the formalities now, Lois. Please, call me Bruce."

"Of course. Bruce." The woman replied, her tone flirty and her expression coy.

Y/N noticed this and turned to look at Clark, whose expression was blank as he looked on.

"Will do, Lois. I look forward to our next meeting," Bruce said before stopping in front of Clark.

"Good seeing you as well Clark, as short-lived as it was," Bruce said, extending his hand out for a handshake.

Clark reluctantly took it, the handshake lasting longer than was necessary.

"Likewise," Clark replied.

Bruce nodded, his eyes giving the reporter a knowing look before he was escorted out by security.

Once the billionaire was out of sight, Clark and Y/N decided to leave as well, making their way towards the elevator.

"Well, that was a crazy day," Y/N said.

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"Do you think Bruce Wayne knows Batman?"

Clark stopped mid-step, a shocked expression on his face as he looked down at his boyfriend.

"Are you serious right now? You can't be serious?" The taller man said with an indignant expression.

"What?"

"You're still thinking of Batman after Superman just came and saved everyone?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, he's a hero too. They both are. Besides, Superman is always getting most of the credit, don't you think? It would make sense if they were working together. You know, the world's greatest detective and the world's greatest hero, solving crime and catching the bad guys. Wouldn't that be so cool?" Y/N asked, his eyes gleaming with excitement at the thought.

"No, not really. I don't see why that would be a good idea," Clark said, rolling his eyes.

Y/N sighed, "Clark, remember what we talked about earlier about it not being a competition?"

Clark looked down at the smaller man, his eyes filled with frustration, "Yeah, but it doesn't mean you have to obsess over Batman. Superman is just as obsessed-worthy!"

"Clark, seriously, what is up with you? It's not like I want to marry him or something."

"You're acting like you want to," Clark mumbled under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Look, Clark. I'm not going to say I'm not a fan of Batman. I mean, I think he's cool. But, that doesn't mean that I'm not a fan of Superman either. I'm a fan of both of them. I think they're both great heroes, and I think they both do good work."

"But, you don't think that Batman is cooler, or that he's better than Superman?" Clark asked, his expression pleading.

"I mean, I guess. But, why does that matter? Why are you so hung up about this?"

"Because, I—" Clark started before stopping, knowing he was about to give away his identity.

"You what?"

"I just want you to think of me, is all," Clark said, looking down at the ground, feeling a bit embarrassed.

Y/N's heart softened at the confession, the older man looking like a little kid who just got his favorite toy taken away. He stepped forward, cupping the taller man's face in his hands, causing him to look up.

"Clark, I do think about you. I think about you all the time and I love how protective you are of me. Whether I like Batman or Superman more isn't going to change that" Y/N said, trying his best to ease his boyfriend's fears.

"Promise?" Clark asked.

Y/N chuckled, "I promise."

"Good," Clark smiled while leaning down to place a kiss against his boyfriend's lips, "You should still like Superman more."

Y/N rolled his eyes, "Sure thing, Clark. I'll work on that."

"Thank you."

"Whatever. Now come on, we now have a celebratory date to go on." Y/N said as he grabbed Clark's hand.

"What are we celebrating?" Clark asked with a laugh as he was pulled towards the elevator.

It was always adorable watching the smaller male pull Clark around like it was nothing.

"Surviving our first criminal encounter together," Y/N said while hitting the first-floor button.

"First?"

"Honey, we live in a city with sky-high insurance because a superhero lives here. You really think this will be the last?"

He definitely doesn't.

☀️ | Clark Kent/Superman | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[allykabbet]

Sneezing dynamics I like 3

Sneezing into cupped hands, with slightly hunched shoulders, small sneezes. So cute.

"I need to sneeze." Not I have to. Or I’m going to. I NEED to.

Sneezing into the elbow, holding the elbow with the other hand.

Quiets, lots of desperate, breathy hitching "HH-hha…h'hha-h-" Then, a stifled sneeze full of congestion that leaves them completely exhausted, almost dizzy.

Sneezing into someone’s neck while hugging them. STIFLING the sneeze in their neck, followed by an exhausted and breathless "Sorry…" Who hasn’t dreamt of something like this happening?

Rapid-fire sneezes, with barely any breath between them. Desperate, small and soft, slightly wet sneezes. They come one after another, never knowing when they will stop.

A sneezing fit that begins with very frequent sneezes, one or two every 30 seconds or so, then the sneezes gradually space out until, unexpectedly, a sneeze comes with less strength and leaves the person more exhausted than the previous one. "I can’t stop…"

*After a prolonged sneezing fit* "It’s allergies, sorry." Someone feels the need to explain their sneezing even though no one asked, out of fear of bothering others.

Holding a tissue to someone’s mouth so they can sneeze into it, since their hands are occupied.

Someone is handing a cup of coffee/tea/whatever to another person. "Do you want sugar?" "H-H… W-wait I’m about to s-… HIT-GSH-u!" Sneezes into their elbow, turning away from the other person, almost with their back to them. "Sorry. Bo." They mean the sugar. "Bless you".

Men. In suits. Sneezing. 😳

A usually sneezes in threes or fours. B is preparing dinner, and from the kitchen, hears A sneezing in the living room. After the second sneeze, B bless them with a playful "Bless you". They wait for the third sneeze, which comes a few seconds later. "Bless you!" "Than-h-h'KTTtshu!" The fourth. B was expecting it. However, a few seconds later, a fifth sneeze arrives. A is surprised and worried. Five? Five sneezes are a lot. "Atsch-chu!" A sneezes a sixth time, tiny, almost out of energy. "Are you okay?"

Burying their face in the sheets before sneezing in bed.

An "Are you okay?" asked properly. Not after the first or second sneeze (sneezing once or twice is normal, everyday stuff), but after a concern that has built up over a period of observation

"You’re catching a cold/ You're getting sick". "Such an appreciated observation, thank you." With irony

A raspy, congested, and slightly dry voice during a cold. Every sneeze seems to tear at the throat.

Pulling the sleeve down to the wrist and using it to muffle a sneeze.

The slight crackling sound of a congested nose when someone rubs it repeatedly after several sneezes, and you hear that soft skin-on-skin sound.

The certainty that someone is sick or sneezing a lot when you notice the flush on their nose and cheeks.

The soft panting after a powerful sneeze. After a particularly strong sneeze, the person takes a deep breath, as if they’ve just run a small race, needing a moment to catch their breath.

Someone, in the middle of winter, sneezing into their scarf.

Someone with light-colored eyes is wearing sunglasses. They meet another person and take them off. Not even two minutes go by before they have an overwhelming need to sneeze because of the sunlight.

Someone very congested, wrapped in a blanket. The other person approaches with a steaming cup, and just as they are about to hand it over, the first person sneezes softly, quickly covering their mouth with their hand, while the other person patiently waits to give them the cup once they’re done.

Sneezing in a car, when the sneezer is in the passenger seat, turning toward the window each time they sneeze, stifling to avoid disturbing the silence. The driver tries not to get too distracted, but blesses them and offers small comforts like, "There are tissues in the glove box," "Should we turn on the heat?" or "Do you want to stop for a bit?"

On the couch, watching a movie, someone is leaning on the other’s chest. The other feels the need to sneeze but stifles it to avoid disturbing the moment. The other person feels their body tremble, how their stomach contracts and shakes slightly from the force of the stifled sneeze. They hear a quiet "sorry" whispered very close to their ear, and then the hand they used to pinch their nose returns to the other’s back.

There’s something extremely attractive, polite, elegant and soft about rubbing nose with their knuckles. 😳

Sneezing from the cold or from getting soaked in the rain. "Did you seriously catch a cold from the cold? You’re such a child." (said sweetly) "Shut up," still trembling. The other person ends up putting their jacket over their shoulders.

"Bless you, dear/Bless you, darling" ✨

[meazalykov]

dress to impress

sydney lohmann x reader

summary: asking your silly girlfriend to play a game with you will turn into a mistake

short chapter, syd trolling her girlfriend, based off of roblox game "dress to impress"

your little sister had only been back home for a few days, but the silence in your apartment still felt strange without her constant chatter.

during her week-long visit in munich, she introduced you to “dress to impress,” some game on roblox that she was obsessed with. 

at first, you pretended it wasn’t interesting—laughing it off, calling it childish, and rolling your eyes as she begged you to play with her. 

yet now, alone and with nothing on your schedule due to your hamstring injury, you found yourself logging in every chance you got, piecing together outfits as if you were on some virtual runway.

the game was addicting. the validation you got from putting on outfits and following the theme was exciting.

tonight, sydney walked into your shared living room, spotting you hunched over your macbook. 

“wait… is that dress to impress?” she asked, her eyebrows raised. 

“i thought you told your sister that it was too childish for you.”

you grinned, not even trying to hide it. 

“it is. but… i guess it’s kind of fun,” you admitted, laughing as you leaned back in your chair. 

“come on, grab the other laptop and join me.”

sydney’s curiosity got the better of her, and soon enough, she was setting up her account on the second macbook. 

“what’s the theme?” she asked, her competitive side immediately showing as she clicked around.

she joined with three minutes left on the round, you were positive that sydney wouldn’t get on the podium.

“‘athletes,’” you replied, trying not to smirk at the irony. 

you both played football at bayern munich—this theme couldn’t have been more perfect.

when the outfits were revealed, you burst out laughing at sydney’s avatar as she clicked on random poses.

you weren’t going to tell sydney about pose 28..

“are you joking?” you asked between laughs. 

“you dressed up as me?”

the avatar wore red burgundy shorts, and a cream colored top. it had your skin tone and your typical hairstyle you wore during games.

sydney gave you a smug smile. “i think i captured your essence perfectly.” 

meanwhile, you had decided to dress your avatar as simone biles, complete with a purple leotard and medals.

the results came in, and sydney took first place on her very first try. 

you gave her a playful side-eye. “oh, i’m so jealous,” you teased, pretending to pout.

but she only grinned wider, clearly enjoying her little victory. “don’t worry, i am a pro— maybe you will get it next round.”

the next theme was “villains,” and you couldn’t wait to see what sydney would come up with. 

when her avatar appeared on the screen, she was dressed in the most ridiculous, over-the-top outfit—nothing villainous about it, just plain chaotic. 

yet somehow, she won first place again.

“this game is rigged,” you laughed, clutching your stomach as the both of you collapsed into a fit of giggles. 

sydney started trolling around the game, jumping from theme to theme with no rhyme or reason, and yet she kept winning. 

the room was filled with laughter, your faces flushed from the joy of just being silly together. 

for that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of you, the ridiculousness of the game, and the shared love that filled the space between you.

my masterlist is here if you want to read more!

[swapsrus]

I wake up, rub my eyes, and catch a glimpse in the mirror-wait, this isn't me. This is... wow. Tall, built, tan, and that moustache? I run my hands through my hair... whoever this guy is, he takes care of himself, and I have to admit, I look good.

Like, really good.

As I keep looking at myself in the mirror, admiring how well this body fits, a strange feeling creeps in. It’s like I’m wearing someone else’s life, and not just their skin. I start going through his phone…my phone now, I guess…and the messages, the social media… they tell a story I didn’t expect.

This guy wasn’t just anyone. He was the kind of guy who would’ve hated the original me. Homophobic jokes, harsh comments, liking posts that made my stomach turn. A life lived in judgment of people like me. The irony hits hard, here I am, living in the skin of someone who would’ve spat at who I am, maybe even at who I’ll become now that I’m wearing his face.

But I’m not him. This body, as perfect as it is, doesn’t define who I am. Maybe that’s the real karmic twist: now I get to live freely in the shell of someone who never would. Feels like a poetic kind of justice. I’m going to live the life he never would, the way I’ve always wanted to.