#a glimps into my twisted mind my

[ghastlyfantasy]

🩸 𝘼 𝙒𝙊𝙐𝙉𝘿 𝙉𝙀'𝙀𝙍 𝙏𝙊 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝙇 🩸

[cutepastelstarsalior]

Young Teen Seb falling in love with Nicole’s music; so just discovering Ethel Cain right now is very neat since the 2 singers have a similar style :]

Nicole song recommends: (content warning most of these song are about eating disorders, sexual themes, abuse, and death)

Ugly

Please eat

Alligator blood

Tammy Faye (favorite)

Coma baby

True love cafe

dahmer and the limbs

Hair lockets

The Nobodies (cover)

My baby (another fav of mine)

Poacher pride

Choking games

Candy apple

[drum-bot-brian]

nobody understands that sam dressed like he really wanted to be in a nu metal girl band but meeeee bc canon made him love cops or smth! no! put that man in baggy jeans and a crop top like god wanted to

[sykesandskittles]

CHAPTER 7

Harlow

HIS LIPS ARE TOUCHING MINE, and I hate to admit it, even to myself, but my brain goes foggy. My knees go weak, and my heart feels like it’s trying to hammer its way through my ribs.

I hate this. I hate how quickly my body responds to him.

I suck in a breath and try to pull away, but Noah holds me tightly. His huge arms are like iron bands that are twisted around me, cadging me in. Holding me in place.

You’re already mine.

A fissure of heat cracks open inside me. I want so badly to belong to someone. I’ve always dreamt about that—finding my person. What would he look like? How would we find each other in this huge, crazy world?

But never, ever, in my mind’s eye did I see someone like Noah Sabastian as my person. And I’m not going to start imagining it now. He’s a hot guy who makes electricity zip through my veins. But that’s it.

If I’m being honest with myself, Nathan is more my speed. Quiet and a little awkward. Not handsome, but not hideous either, not that looks really matter all that much to me.

Swallowing, I pull my head back slightly and look Noah square in the eye. “Let me go.”

One side of his mouth curls up sardonically. “Freedom is going to cost you.”

I know he’s just referring to my physical freedom in this moment, but the prospect is tempting anyway. Mainly, because tingles have already started sweeping over my body, and honestly, a couple more minutes in his embrace, and I don’t know what I’ll do.

“What do you want?” I bite out.

“I want you to suck me off,” he says evenly.

I look at him like he’s an alien. “I’m not doing that here.”

After the words jump from my mouth, it occurs to me that I didn’t tell him to fuck off and dream on. I’m such an idiot. I just said I wouldn’t do it here. But that obviously implies I’d be willing to do it somewhere else.

Honestly, though, the thought of Noah’s hard cock in my mouth… sends heat coursing through me. Fuck. I’m more twisted than I’ve ever given myself credit for. But worse than that, I’m no better than every other girl on this fucked up campus.

“A kiss will do for now.”

The smile on his face tells me everything I need to know. This is all a game to him. This beautiful guy just loves toying with me, and I get the feeling, it’s more for amusement than anything else. Maybe he’s bored with the other girls, and fancies someone a little more challenging—someone who doesn’t automatically fall at his feet. But whatever his reason, I really don’t have time for any of it.

“My friend is waiting for me,” I say .

He laughs under his breath, which is really just a puff of air. “Sounds like a her problem to me.”

He leans in and brushes his mouth against mine. The heat from his lips sears me, and I suck in a breath. My head is swimming from the whiskey, which isn’t helping my situation at all.

“Don’t,” I whisper, but too late. Just as the sound leaves my lips, he kisses me. It’s a hard kiss, filled with unspoken words of longing and control—and fuck me, but his veracity actually turns me on. I melt beneath him. Like, every other fucking simp here, I fucking melt.

My hands find the muscles of his shoulders, and like a damn fool, I open my mouth, just slightly. Inviting him in. Inviting the devil into my

soul.

Electricity zips through my veins, and I find myself leaning into the kiss as his tongue twists with mine. He devours me, and I let him. In fact, I like it far more than I should.

“Hey, yo, Noah.” A voice breaks through the darkness, slicing through our little stolen moment. “Nicholas brought a fucking bong. You better get in here before it’s sucked dry.”

I’m breathless when he pulls away. With a devilish grin, he pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to look at him. “You taste like candy,” he says, amusement in his tone. “I can see how someone might get lost in you.”

What a strange thing to say.

I blink at him. “No one has ever gotten lost in me.”

He laughs, and releases my chin, turning toward his bro. “We’ll be there in a sec.”

I catch a glimpse of the guy, just as he’s walking back into the house. I think that one is Nick. He’s tall with dark hair and built like a beast. As he turned away, there was a dark glint in his eye, and I can’t help but wonder if he intentionally interrupted our kiss.

Noah takes me by the elbow and guides me inside.

“I need to find my friend, Talia , ” I say, tripping over the little mounds in the sand. It’s a weak excuse to get away from him, but it’s all I’ve got.

He doesn’t respond to me, and with all the loud music, I wonder if he even heard me. I try to tug my arm out of his hold, but that just causes him to tighten his grip.

Perfect.

He pulls me through the crowd to a room in the back. As we pass through the living room and kitchen, I scan every face for Talia , but I don’t see her at all.

We step over the threshold into the garage, which is set up like a den. The furniture is plush, and there are a lot less people in here. It’s obviously the inner sanctum where the elite of the elite get away from the unwashed masses.

“Yo,” Noah says, flicking his chin.

Several people immediately launch off the sofa, creating space for me and Noah to sit. I sit on the edge of the sofa cushion, too nervous to completely relax. Noah, on the other hand, sinks right in, like he’s sitting

on his throne. Maybe he sees this entire town as his throne. I wouldn’t be surprised.

Everyone is just drinking, playing pool, or bullshitting, and I take the opportunity to look around. I recognize a couple of faces—Nick, and Nicholas, but I don’t see his twin, Jolly. He must be out there amid the partygoers somewhere.

But one strange thing I notice is that every girl here is slicing me up with their stares. I’ve invaded their territory, and they’re not happy about it . If only they fucking knew I don’t want to be here any more than they want me here. They can have Noah Sabastian for all I care. I’d be happy to

hand him over to any one of them.

As Noah talks in low tones to some guy next to him, I pull my phone out and text Talia .

Where are you?

I swear to God, if she ghosts me and doesn’t show up at this party, I’m going to be pissed. I didn’t subject myself to Noah’s attention, just for her not to show. I’m doing this for her. If she didn’t look so damn depressed this morning, I wouldn’t even be here. I’d be tucked under my blankets watching something mindless on YouTube.

Someone hands me a cup. “Here. It’s the good stuff. Not that swill they have out there.”

I scrunch my brows together, but I take it. I don’t know if I should trust a drink that someone just randomly gives me, but I also don’t want to be rude. I guess I’ll just hold it until I can find somewhere to ditch it.

“Thanks,” I say, looking at the girl who gave it to me. It’s Wyn. “Oh, hey!”

“Hey, girl,” she says with a smile, sitting in an empty chair next to the sofa, closest to me. “Harlow , right?”

“Yup.”

She laughs. “Everyone on campus is talking about you. I told you, right?”

I scoff. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

Wyn takes a sip from her red solo cup and leans back in her chair. “I mean, you are fucking the hottest guy on campus, and that’s newsworthy at

ExU.”

I slide a quick glance to Noah, who is currently being fawned over by three very attentive sorority girls. I should probably feel jealous or something, but honestly, I’m just a little relieved his focus is diverted away from me for the moment.

“I’m not fucking him,” I say. “I’m here to meet Talia if she’d ever fucking text me back.” I glance at my phone again. Nothing. “Have you seen her tonight?”

Wyn shakes her head. “Nope. Sounds like you need a tracker on that girl. My friends and I all have an app that tells us exactly where the others are.”

That sparks a memory, and I gasp, sitting up straighter. “Oh, my God. You’re brilliant. Talia installed something like that on my phone a couple of weeks ago.” I search through my phone for the app. “I totally forgot about it.”

A couple of weeks before coming to ExU, Talia insisted we install tracker apps on our phones, so we could find each other easily on campus. Thank God! I mentally praise Talia ’s foresight.

I find the app and open it. It pinpoints Talia 's phone instantly, and it’s….on the beach, about a half-mile away. “What the fuck is she doing there?”

Wyn leans in. “Let me see.”

I show her my phone, and she squints, trying to orient herself on the map. She uses her fingers to zoom in. “Hold up, that’s weird. This stretch of beach here–” She indicates an area on the map “–is private. No one goes there.”

Something in her voice, the way she says that, makes my heart jump up into my throat. “I should make sure she’s okay. ”

Wyn nods. “I’ll go with you. Let me just tell Gabriel I’m leaving.” I wave off her offer. “Oh, no you don’t—”

“I know these beaches like the back of my hand. Plus, it gives me a reason to get out of here.”

I watch Wyn cross the room and whisper into a guy’s ear–handing off his shoulder. This must be the guy she’s dating, the guy she mentioned yesterday. He’s cute—I’m mean, all the guys around here are—but he’s not quite as beautiful as each one of the Sacred Sons. That level of perfection seems exclusive to them.

Wyn pulls away from the guy, and he nods. She heads back over to me with a smile. “Okay, ready. Let’s go.”

“Ah, okay.”

I set my cup down and get up to leave, but Noah’s hand flies over and grips my elbow, stopping me. “Where are you going?”

I open my mouth to say something, but Wyn beats me to it. She reaches over and removes Noah’s hand from my arm. “We’re going to the bathroom,” she says, annoyance in her tone. “Damn, Noah. Controlling much?”

I could just tell him where I’m going, but chances are, he’d stop me from leaving—or worse, he’d insist on joining us. Neither option is worth having a conversation with him about it, honestly.

“Don’t wander off,” he says with a growl, and I see the warning snap in his eyes.

Fuck him.

I’m finding my friend, and I don’t give a fuck what Noah says about

it.

[shadesoflsk]

MILLION DOLLAR BLOODLINE — Traición

Dealing with the case in hand, you come across with some valuable clues. Check my million dollar bloodline masterlist for general warnings.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

pairing: Vampire/Agent Leon x Fem Detective reader

warnings: Sexism (from the press again) few mentions of gore and death, fucked up government, scent (First glimpes of Leon's vampire qualities yay)

author's note: hi... I'm writing this with one eye closed... exhaustion is taking over me and it may show in this chapter. as always, if you see any mistake, you don't. don't even perceive them. thank you so much and love yall.

“Thank God a man stepped in!”

A new headline, a new story being told. It’s rather frustrating to know that no matter what, reality would be twisted to the journalists’ desire and let the only person who actually cares about the case burn in the flames of depiction and hatred just for the ‘sin’ of being a woman. 

The same shameless and brutal words are printed in a bright red that resembles the fresh blood of those leaders of the city. In many readers’ eyes and minds, they were expecting to finally see a man taking the case and bringing ‘success’ even though it’s doomed to fail.

No one grieves more than someone who has lost everything—but your right to fight is still running deep in your veins. With a grunt, you throw the newspaper on your desk, almost spilling the black coffee you were previously drinking. 

It’s been less than a day since the candidate was found dead. The cause of death? Suicide which was, in a way, surprising. From the number of politicians who have “left this cruel world,” Mr Clark's scene of the crime gave enough proof that you were facing a real self-homicide case. 

In front of you lay countless folders and confidential documents that the police department has collected from the first victim to the last one. The only obvious connection all of the victims shared was that all of them were Tier A individuals. People who wouldn’t disappear to find ‘the real meaning’ of life and would surely not kill themselves without a murder weapon. 

So, even a rookie detective could surmise that most of those crimes were the smokescreen of something way bigger brewing in the shadows of the city. A city whose beliefs and faith in the government are so cracked now that not even the most nationalist citizens could find peace in their hometown.

A sigh leaves your lips, one that shows the tiredness in your system and heart. Sometimes, the feeling of walking in circles clouds your judgment and overall sanity. In hindsight, a detective ought to be a rightful and morally white person who would walk on fire just for the sake of truth and justice. But each time your eyes land on the atrocious clues you have gathered, the desire to throw away everything gets harder to bear.

Next to the pile of documents and boxes, on your desktop, is a photo frame which shows a younger version of yourself. Beaming pearly white smile with shiny eyes that could blind the camera itself, saying that you were happy was an understatement, you were delighted.

Truthfully speaking, you were naive. You loved to tell everyone you were going to be different, the exception of the rule, the one and only, justice bringer. But in reality, the sole fact you didn’t feel sympathy for those rich people tells you that maybe you weren’t so different. 

Or were you?

Fighting between your drowsiness and the obligation to continue working on this case, you grab the envelope Leon previously gave you. A yawn gets stuck in your throat, not allowing any sign of exhaustion to show in your face right now. 

The first thing that greets you is a document you quite don’t understand at first. The black words are blurry, proof of how much you need to sleep. A body can’t function without resting but you can’t function if work is due. Soft slaps around your face and a long-needed sip of the black caffeine liquid will do for now. 

“Life Insurance…” Your lips work on their own as you read the title, written in black ink. The font style proves the authenticity of the document. Dated July 1979, the legal paper started with the log of a woman’s name and age. 

Patricia Clark Powell, 28. American, caucasian. Marital status: Married. Children: 2. Now this is something. 

Reading each word carefully, leaving no detail off the table, a rather big number got your attention. After a long overview of this woman’s life details, you come across a table that shows the life insurance payout.

The main and only beneficiary was Robert Clark, he'd inherit the absurd and grotesque amount of 5 million dollars. 

But the catch here was that the only requirement to claim the insurance was the death certificate of the insured party, meaning that Patricia had to pass away.

You set aside the document for now. Your fingers graze over the corner of the paper to turn it.

A picture, no, several pictures come into your vision. All of them are colored and clear as water. The shoot is not perfect, as if someone was hiding while taking those photos.

The camera is positioned on a table. Hence the awkward angle it shows, nonetheless the main focus is on two people sitting down. 

The table, the walls, and overall decorations are an obvious giveaway of the place they were in. An expensive and pretentious restaurant that only the rich can afford. A stroke to their damned egos knowing that they could buy and eat a whole cow if they wanted to. Not before wiping any crumbs with a one thousand-dollar check.

You squint your eyes and even lean forward to try and inspect in great detail each part of the picture—detective skills kicking in, you may say.

The man on the right has a neatly trimmed mustache, and bushy eyebrows that match his hair color, black. He's wearing a navy blue suit with a gray tie. Very office-like and rather different from his counterpart next to him who wears a hoodie and a cigarette between his lips. The angle showing the faintest details of a tattoo on his right hand, which holds the cigarette. 

Flipping through the pictures, you see many more of them but just from different positions. Yet the main highlight is the now obvious identity of the man who exposes himself to the camera's lenses. 

Robert Clark. 

The last document is a newspaper headline. “CRIMINAL FUGITIVES” it reads and shows several mugshots of criminals who escaped prison over these last five years. Under the pictures, a text box includes some characteristics of the ex-prisoners. Your attention falls on a specific name. 

The picture shows a man with brown hair and brown eyes, a stubble growing on his jaw and cheeks. Why was he convicted? Organized crime and contract killing, a hitman in other words. The text described the man as a 5’9 male with no moles and no notorious scars. 

But a tattoo on his right hand.

Before you can even process everything you have read and seen, the ring of a phone breaks the solemn silence that has set in your office. Sliding to where the phone was, you pick up the call.

And before you could even utter a word, someone started the conversation first.

“Hey there, Sherlock.” A man’s voice greets you. Deep but smooth tone, easy to distinguish. 

“Mr. Kennedy.” You reply, brushing off the nickname he just gave you. “What a timing.”

“Why is that?” Playing dumb, Leon shoots his question. 

“I just finished reading the documents you gave me.” A seed of confusion is planted in your statement as you try to make up your mind with the information you just registered. “Where did you get all of this?” You say pressing the speaker closer to your mouth, whispering the words.

“Feeling curious, aren’t we?” Mock oozes from his tone, but there is a hint of genuine playfulness in his speech, as if delighted to be the one providing the confidential information. “You know… As much as I want to tell you, I just can’t.”

“Why?”

“Oh? Am I being questioned?” If you were next to him, you’d see the smirk that has formed on his face. And if you indeed were, a slap would be planted on his cheek, for sure. 

Leon continues being a puzzle you couldn’t solve. From the first (and only) moment you met him, his odd and shared disdain for the rich baffled you. You can’t seem to break through the world inside his head.

“Does it feel like I'm questioning you?”

“Kinda.”

“Forget it.” You shrug, leaving the topic as it is. There’s no point in trying to make Leon spit the truth. At least, not now. “But this is truly a key piece to this investigation.”

“That I know,” Leon replies. “But as I told you yesterday, don’t do anything stupid.” 

Silence fills the call as you take in what Leon said, or rather, repeated. 

“Oh?” Bitterly, you retort. “So you think I’ll do something stupid? It’s funny, all of my male colleagues always told me that.”

“I didn’t mean it like tha—”

“Oh course you didn’t.” Sarcasm was dripping from your words. “Nobody does.” You add with an exhausted sigh coming out from your lips.

“No, but I truly didn’t mean it.” He finally finishes his sentence as your pause allows him to interrupt you. 

“Look, sorry… I’ve dealt with these people ever since I remember and It’s just so… fucked up.” He adds. “You’re better than those dickhead detectives. I assure you.”

Now that you think about it, you may have overreacted. But then again, it wasn’t your fault. Being surrounded by people who discriminate and minimize every hardship you face, built a hard shell no one could break through. 

Instead of sticking to the awkward topic and Leon’s reassuring words, you decide to change the direction of this exchange. 

“Why did you call, Leon?” You ask, a tear forming in your eye due to the lack of sleep and the imminent yawn that threatens to escape from your mouth. 

The polite and tactful pattern was broken as soon as his name slipped from your lips. No agent nor Mr. Kennedy. For now, he is just Leon. 

Carrying a hint of embarrassment given his previous poor choice of words, he replies to your question.

“Mr. Clark’s wife is holding a funeral for him. I was going to tell you in case you wanted to go.”

His words catch your attention, the funeral could be the perfect opportunity to secretly investigate Patricia. In hindsight, a hunch tells you she isn’t involved—at least directly— in the candidate’s death. But it could give you some clues you may have overlooked.

“Are you going?”

“I might.”

You absentmindedly nod, acknowledging his answer. 

“Got it…” You play with the phone’s cord. “I’ll see you there, I guess.”

The chapel shimmers with almost blinding lights. Even though the nature of a funeral is dull and gloomy, the contrast is obvious. The whole setting is the perfect opportunity to show off, once again, the money that was being spent on it. The air is filled with raw indifference and overall pure narcissism. 

The lack of mourning and tears throw you off, especially when you feel like an outsider, you don’t belong here. Besides the fact that, of course, no matter how much you worked you could never afford the type of brand every individual was wearing—there is this feeling you can’t brush off. 

Your eyes travel over the room, searching for the wife now a widow. It is easy to get distracted by the mingling of certain guests and hushed laughs. Time and place… you thought.

What is supposed to be a thousand agonies and a sea of sorrow turns out to be the perfect act of grief. Let God be the judge of these people who surround themselves in the miseries of others. 

Amidst your judgment of everyone in the room, your task of finding Mrs Clark comes to an abrupt stop as a figure you recognize makes its appearance. Now wearing a dark blue suit, Leon’s frame is unmistakable. 

He’s next to a woman, brunette hair that reaches her back. A black fascinator is perfectly placed on her head, a wave of cringiness washes over you for the choice of fashion she went with. That must be Patricia Clark.

Confident but subtle, the cackling sounds of your high heels mix with the hushed chit-chat of those in the room. At last, it comes to a stop as you find yourself behind the widow and Leon who had previously acknowledged your presence. 

And for a moment, your eyes lock with the agent’s who wears an expression that could only be described as an attempt to warn you about something. But for now, you drift your attention towards the task at hand.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Clark.” You extend your hand while you introduce yourself. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” 

Manners, of course. You couldn’t feel sorry, especially now that you know that besides being an empty-headed politician, Robert Clark was an almost-murderer. 

However, you regret the fact that you chose the polite way of approaching as soon as your hand reached the air instead of the brunette-haired woman’s hand. Then, you realized this wouldn’t be as easy as you had thought.

A bemused expression forms in your face but it fades rather quickly as you remember your objective here. Taken aback, you pull your hand away before bringing them both behind your back. 

Leon doesn’t seem surprised by the blatant uncordial treatment Mrs. Clark just gave you. A sneer is present in his face as if he were saying ‘I told you so.’

“Don’t take it personal, darling.” Her voice tone reeks of arrogance and a know-it-all feeling. “I’ve been here for God knows how long. My hand may as well fall off if I keep shaking hands.”

There was no reason to feel amused by the whole interaction, you have dealt with these types of people before. But, the coldness and tactlessness of her words throw you off.

“I understand.” You feign agreement as if the fact that her husband is fucking dead is merely a minor detail. “But please, allow me to share my condolences. A woman as young as yourself shouldn’t be experiencing this.”

You resort to false praise words. There’s nothing else these fuckheads love more than people licking their shoe soles and acting like they are the only people living in the world. 

“It’s indeed difficult.” The woman brings her hand to her eyes, wiping the nonexistent tears that were supposed to be there. “My husband preferred to shoot himself instead of continuing being the man of the house.”

What a bitch.

Glancing at Leon, you find him crouching down in front of an infant. Given his brown hair, he must be one of the two Mr. and Mrs. Clark's children. 

“Is that your son?” You ask. 

“Yes…” An exasperated sigh again. As if she doesn't want to be here. In a sense, it is comprehensible but her overall personality wouldn't allow you to feel an ounce of sympathy. 

“How's he dealing with everything?” And after that question, you believe Mrs. Clark will snap at you any time now.

“Like every other kid would.” She replies, sparing not even a glance toward her own child. “He prefers her nanny anyway.”

Mentally cursing the mother, your lips tug a forced smile, one that doesn't reach your eyes but symbolizes the end of this meaningless conversation.

Your eyes travel until they land on Leon and the kid. The little one's eyes seem wet with tears that he so bravely holds back. 

Talking to children and elderly people was always the most difficult part of this job. Ever since you took it, those were your soft spot and Achilles’ ankle.

Leon notices your hesitation and motions you to join him. Scooting a bit, he gives you some space for you to crouch down too.

Greetings haven't been exchanged yet, instead of a hello, Leon welcomes you with a name.

“Lucas.” He whispers as you lower yourself to be at eye level with the infant. 

You nod. 

Lucas looks no older than 5 years old. A mop of brunette curly hair adorns his head. 

“Hi Lucas…” You give the little boy a gentle and warm smile. He blinks some tears that fall from his cheeks to the ground. 

There's no response, which it's okay. Unlike his mother's behavior, you know this innocent human is actually grieving. 

You take your time as tiny hiccups and soft sobs keep Lucas from forming actual sentences. 

“Lucas, this my friend.” It was Leon’s turn to speak. His usual chatty tone was replaced by an almost fatherly voice. “You told me you like making friends, didn't you?”

You watch as the little one slowly nods and wipes away the tears that keep rolling down his face. But this time, his sobs are coming to a stop.

“Are you daddy's friend?” He finally asks. However, the question was one you didn't expect. 

“Yes.” You lie, as a detective you are used to telling white and not so white lies just for the sake of finding a bigger truth. But lying to a child wasn't something you were looking for. 

“Okay…” Lucas responds and looks at both of you and Leon. A flick of light between the living hell of those pretentious people who act like they care.

“Daddy must be proud to see how strong you're right now.” Leon speaks once again and you witness how he ruffles Lucas’ hair in an attempt to cheer him up. 

“You think so?” Lucas’ voice, for one, is higher than just a whisper. And for the first time, you notice how he's missing one of his teeth. “Daddy always told me to be as strong as him every time he went to the doctor.”

The word doctor set both of you and Leon off. According to Robert Clark's medical history, he was a healthy individual. No illness and not even allergies. 

“Doctor? Was your daddy sick?”

“Weren't you daddy's friend? You should know…” You didn't expect to be outsmarted by a kid.

“Your daddy didn't want us to worry.” Second lie on the day, you're keeping count. “That's why he never told us.”

A pause lingers in the air as you reply to the child. It takes a while before he can answer your question as if conditioned not to talk about his father's doctor visits.

“He sometimes went to the doctor,” Lucas explains after a few seconds of reluctance. “He told me not to tell mommy or nanny. Maybe he didn't want them to worry too.”

“Was your daddy sick?” Leon asks in the same gentle tone he has kept throughout the conversation.

“Dunno…” Lucas pouts. “Doctor was also daddy’s friend.”

The kid’s naivety is providing you with more information than his mother could give you. Of course, his guileless wouldn’t serve any purpose legally speaking. But, it can give you some insight into Mr Clark’s background and motive.

And once again, you don’t have time to process the information as the rumbling of a stomach guides your attention toward Lucas.

“Sir?” Lucas’ eyes meet Leon’s blue ones. “Mommy said she’s busy… But I’m hungry.”

Leon offers Lucas a kind smile.

“Tell you what, kiddo. There’s a coffee shop near here, I’ll buy you something to eat.”

Lucas’ eyes seem to get brighter at the prospect of eating, it leads you to think how long has it been since he last ate something. 

When you are turning your back to follow Leon out of the chapel—because there was no way would stay there for a second longer— you feel a tiny hand wrapping around your sleeve. 

“Miss.” A pause and a deep breath. “Do you think daddy’s in heaven?”

“...”

“Yes, he is.” The third and last lie.

You tag along with Leon, both of you walking down the street until you reach a coffee shop. No words are exchanged and a rather awkward silence sets between both of you. 

Your mind is somewhere else while your body works on its own. You don’t even notice when Leon asks you something, too worried about the case, too scared something bigger than you may eat you whole if you keep poking your nose where it doesn’t belong. 

However, as stubborn as you could be, justice needs to prevail. 

While biting the inside of your cheeks, Leon’s words bring you back from your trance. “Hey? I asked you if you wanted something.” 

You come to notice that you have already walked towards the cash register. Both the cashier and Leon’s eyes fall on you. 

“An Americano.”

You come up with the quickest answer you could think of. You watch Leon take out his wallet and pay with cash. 

Eventually, both of your orders plus Lucas’ are called and you decide to take a break albeit your attempt at telling Leon there was no time to lose. 

“So… any luck with Mrs. Newly Widow?” Leon asks as he takes a bite of his sandwich. 

“Nope.” You stir your coffee and blow some air. “Didn’t know she would be so difficult to deal with.”

“Well, she’s no more difficult than you.” He replies jokingly with a feeble smirk on his face. 

“Oh, you’re funny. How many times have you used that one with other people?” You retort, the sarcastic answer flying so gracefully out of your lips as if you have been ready for one of his remarks. 

“See! That’s what I’m talking about.” He gestures at you. “I’m trying to be friends with you but you push me away.”

Silence dawns upon both of you as you exhale. Although Leon has been nothing but respectful—in his own way— the fear of looking polite and weak with a colleague is still very much present. 

Dropping the act of being cold and emotionless isn’t something that you are looking for nor planning to do. Not until you could show the world that you are, in fact, as capable as any other man. 

“Look, Leon,” You speak in a calm tone. “I don’t make friends, not in this field and especially not with men.” 

As you say so, you reach for a sugar packet. No americano tastes good without sugar.

“Sorry.” You add. 

There is nothing to feel sorry about. Your feelings and boundaries shouldn’t depend on someone else. Yet, a part of you couldn’t help but regret your bold choice of words.

“Hey, nothing to apologize for.” And even though he was the one who suggested the whole friendship thing, he is also the one who is soothing the waters. “I know men in general can be a pain in the ass.”

That causes a huff to slip out of your mouth. “Trying to win points?”

“Not really.” He says while chewing on his sandwich. “Besides, you’re too smart for that.”

You chuckle, finally ripping the material of the sugar packet. “Finally we agree on something.”

Drumming his fingers against the hard wooden material both of your gaze into the distance, not adding anything else to the conversation. The aroma of coffee fills the area where you are sitting with Leon. 

“Lucas, Mr. Clark’s kid… you were good with him.” It slips off your tongue rather easily. A tinge of sincerity washes over your statement. 

And you can observe how Leon’s face went from a resting and soft expression to a stunned one. However, after your previous comments, the awkward and uneasy feeling shifted into an amiable one. 

“Was I?” Almost incredulous and even insecure. A slight trace of a vulnerable side you haven’t seen nor expected. “Thanks.”

Judging by his expression, Leon either had a soft spot for kids just like you or there’s something else you don’t know. Most agents show themselves as cold-hearted creatures who give no shit about anyone but themselves or their missions. 

But it’s none of your business.

“What Lucas told us, about the doctor. Do you think it may be related to the case?” You ask, back to your normal and professional self.

“I believe it can help us to investigate further,” Leon replies. “but I fail to see how this doctor could be of any help in this case.” 

“Maybe not on this one…” You murmur not even noticing the words that fell from your lips.

“What do you mean?” Leon notes your slight behavior change. Clearing your throat, you shake your head dismissing your previous words. 

“Nothing.” For now, the missing civilians’ case doesn’t need to be exposed. You fear the government is behind it and the one you’re currently investigating. You don’t need Leon to follow each step you take, especially given his association with the nation’s leaders.

Taking one last sip of your drink, you raise your wrist and read the time. Going back to the chapel wouldn’t bring you more information. Not when everyone seemed more focused on their conversations rather than helping.

Searching through your wallet, you pull a 10 dollar bill and place it on the table, next to your empty cup of coffee.

“What is that?”

“For my coffee.” You respond, getting up from the chair and looking back at Leon. “I don’t like owing to people.”

“You don’t have to, you know?” Leon chuckles and shakes his head. “It’s on me.”

“Well…” You reply. “Then make sure to give it back to me one day.”

Ephesians 6:10-18

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm. Stand therefore, having fastened on the belt of truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness

Leon’s hands are clean, metaphorically speaking. But his mind is not.

He wasn’t directly involved in the numerous deaths of politicians and CEOs. He just provided the right amount of information for them to kill each other. Playing God amongst them, in a way only he could recognize and embrace.

Death has rejected him but he brings that destiny upon those who sought to destroy the peace settled in the city and therefore nation. That’s the role he accepted once the curse of immortality ran deeply in his veins. 

It all started with hints he would drop in the middle of conversations. Twisted words that would seed doubts among elitists. Alliances were broken easily, that he needn’t worry about. But some partnerships were harder to break, sly statements would get him anywhere.

So, direct accusations were made. Obviously, under a fake name or rather an anonymous identity which would prompt people to feel paranoid even in their own homes. It took less than a week for lesser pawns to be found dead or disappear under odd circumstances. Of course, those who own the city would leave no trace of their crimes—so even for him, a federal agent, it was impossible to reach them without his mission being discovered. 

So, as soon as he was assigned to help you in this mysterious case, he was delighted. He’d play his pieces right and boom, he’d wriggle his way into the elite that control the city with their tainted and bloody hands and root out the evil.

However, he wouldn’t have thought that his “eternal suffering” disease would act the first moment he saw you. 

Ever since he was transformed, the adaptation path was rough and difficult to deal with. Nonetheless, he made a promise to never act upon his instincts, no matter how unbearable they could get.  

When he first saw Mr. Clark’s body, it wasn’t surprising. He knew he would choose the path of dying instead of facing his crimes and past. They’re all like that. Cowards, good for nothing, worthless, usel—

A sugary and pleasant aroma flooded his senses which immediately put him at ease amid the gruesome scenario lying underneath his frame. 

It wasn’t coming from the dead bastard, that he knew. So what is it? The smell was getting even more prominent each second that passed. It made him dig his short fingernails into the palm of his hand, forming tiny half-moons on the thin skin. 

His senses were never that heightened nor his body was that sensible to even the softest of draughts. 

And his body worked on his own as soon as the doorknob tweaked, he turned around and acted as if his work was the only thing on his mind.

As if his eternal life wasn’t about to change forever. When forever only meant pain and sorrow, at least for Leon.

[whatifwekilledgodandwebothgirls]

Can a parot givw consent? Can it vote? Probably not right because laws dont affect them . Is it like ai short of ? Can ai give consent? Should you ask for consent ? Is e sex with character ai sex slavery? Then again how can it not be slavery it cant be prostitution we dont pay them . Should we pay them ? What would they even do with the money. I think if you gave a parrot money they could figure out things to do with it and they actually have wants so technically they deserve to vote more than ai does . How about those dog that get taught how to talk with those buttons . Just a glimps into my dark and twisted mind

[afticxs]

TWILIGHT GEARS prologue

the death of a child isn’t an easy burden to bare. he’s never experienced hallucinations before, though. why is she here? haunting him now when it’s been over a year.

cw, child death and violence

“hi.”

an employee behind the counter turned away from their coworked to face the girl by the counter, placing a couple of bucks onto the surface.

“hi sweetie,” she smiled, “what would you like to order?”

the little girl looked at the menu above her head, “can i get one.. cheese pizza? please.”

“yep, there’s a spare table over there, if you sit there, we’ll bring it to you, okay?”

the girl nodded and bounded off to where she was directed, kicking her feet absentmindedly as she waited for her food.

william afton was cooped up in his office, filling out paperwork to license the new animatronics. however, he decided to go for a walk around his restaurant to sort out the cramp in his hips.

though, mr afton found himself shocked. shocked into place as he locked eyes onto a sight he thought he’d never see.

there, by herself on a table by the window was the girl he had murdered a year ago, eating pizza.

his face goes blank for the split second that his mind replays the years earlier events.

small fists pounded onto the heavy door, eager to get away from the rain and to join in with her friends again. the door locked from the inside, leaving her unable to get back in.

but it seemed the music was too joyous and their squeals were too excited.

“guys!” the girl yelled, shivering as she pounded again, “let me in, please, it’s cold!”

footsteps.

they got louder, gaining the girl’s attention. she turned her head, tilting it towards the moving shadow, “hello?”

it stepped into the light of the streetlamp, revealing a man: tall and well put together.

“hello!” she called again, “can you help me?” the man seemed to see her now and smiled, “what are you doing out here? it’s dark and wet, you could catch a cold.”

the girl frowned, “i got locked out..”

“that door locks from the inside,” he held his hand out, “come, we can go the long way.”

she stalled, putting her hands behind her back and swaying, “my mommy told me i shouldn’t go with strangers..” the girl looked up at the man, puffing her cheeks out like she was nervous.

“we aren’t strangers, my dear,” the man chuckled, “i’m the owner of freddy’s!”

the girl’s eyes suddenly lit up with stars, “really?”

he nodded, pulling back his coat to reveal his name tag on the purple shirt he wore. w. afton.

finally grabbing his hand, the girl skipped to his side. but he didn’t move.

“mister?” she tapped his leg, frowning, “can ya take me inside? i’m cold..”

suddenly his grip tightened on her hand and she screamed, he was hurting her.

the streetlamp gave away the glint of whatever was in his spare hand as he lifted it from his side.

“shut up!” he demanded, but she only screamed more, trying to pull away from his grip.

she yanked her arm multiple times, screaming out for help only for the man to push her to the floor and cover her mouth. the girl scratched and bit at his hand and arm, kicking out and pushing against him.

but what can a thirteen year old girl do against a fully grown man?

the girl cried, sobbing into his hand as the knife lifted. her arms went towards the man’s arm, pushing at it as he went to plunge it towards her neck. the man’s face twisted into something more sinsister: he was grinning.

he eased up, lifting his hand. the girl relaxed slightly, panting into his hand before he then mockingly dipped the knife to her neck. she squealed, crying as he began to toy with her.

then, he redirected a blow to her chest. one singular plunge through her heart. he removed his hand, letting her sputter on her own blood.

the man stood up and stepped out of the light, heading to the back of the pizzeria where he had left his office window open.

“hello?” a voice of an employee called out, “is everything good?”

when the employee recieved no answer, he stepped closer where he now caught a glimpse of the girl bleeding out under the streetlamp.

“holy shit!” he ran inside, using the company phone to call emergency services.

there were police surrounding the restaurant, evacuating whoever was inside. an ambulance arrived and though paramedics wished to save the little girl, she was pronounced dead at the scene.

they never found the perpetrator and therefore closed the case after four months.

william afton finds his consciousness has taken him back to reality just as she turned around coincidentally, taking a bite out of her pizza slice. the pair locked eyes, the man’s portraying distress and her’s expressing nothing but nonchalance.

the man retreated back into his office just as a man burst in, looking for the same girl.

william afton was dead set on finding out just how she was alive.

[ethanrhodes]

why are you so sure they wont like you back?????? you seem pretty decent!

bc there's so much more room to filter how i want people to perceive me through text/images/videos online & build a persona, opposed to how i am irl & on a day by day basis when being genuine. so even if they did like me back bc of what they see now, it'll only last until i opened up to them lol.

[lilyharvord]

Blade Breaker Live Read

CHAPTER 22

If I do not get Eristan fucking this chapter, I’m rioting. 

I AM PLEASED TO REPORT THE RIOT IS CANCELED UNTIL FUTHER NOTICE. AT THIS TIME I WILL BE SCREAMING FOR TEN HOURS 

FUCKING HELL, THEIF, OBVIOUSLY IS CANCELED. WE NOW WORSHIP: 

“That’s what you are, mine.” and “Does that make you mine?” 

also, RONIN CAN GET FUCKED ✌🏻✌🏻✌🏻✌🏻✌🏻✌🏻✌🏻✌🏻✌🏻✌🏻

CHAPTER 23

I’m very curious to know if there are red flashes of What Waits in Corayne’s eyes. I know she hasn’t chosen him like Taristan but I wonder if in essence they are connected to him as he is to them. 

CHAPTER 24 

LISTEN, there is nothing hotter than a character yelling at another in their native tongue to stay alive. I want for nothing more. 

CHAPTER 25

Someone push the easy button please, that battle felt so short and managed so well XD But also like, What Waits really just sort of let her have the win. That smells fishy, but I’m not sure what kinda fish it smells like. 

CHAPTER 26

NOT SIGIL LITERALLY NOT KNOWING THE NAME OF THE MAN TRYIGN TO KILL THEM ALL. I’M DEAD.

Ah, see that’s why they got to close the Spindle..... cause Taristan is off opening his next one XD he’s really out there poking holes in the ship just for shits and gigs at this point. 

I don’t know why I was under the impression and Dom and Sorasa would have a relationship that actually builds this book. I WANTED THEM TO HAVE MOMENTS. Their moments have been so small, they are less than crumbs, GIVE THEM TO ME VICTORIA 

CHAPTER 27

JESUS CHRIST. ERIDA. My love... I just have this twisting feeling in my gut that What Waits is slowly twisting her mind, making her more paranoid etc... because tbh she really is so paranoid now. 

^^^ me being a huge supporter of women’s rights, and more importantly, women’s wrongs... but also worrying about Erida on a deep level because she really does feel like a woman on the edge 😬

CHAPTER 28

I LITERALLY LOVE SORASA. She was honeslty like, welp, you wanna leave, you’re gonna have to come take your sword from me, and based off how that went last time you’re not going anywhere any time some. What a fucking QUEEN, a LEGEND. 

ALSO: “you’d think I’d be used to this by now.” “Sorasa?” “Death, though I suppose they are interchangeable.” 

THERE IT IS, OH FUCK THERE IT IS. 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰 that’s my ship, slowly but surely leaving the harbor... with some holes and definitely sinking a bit, but it’s SAILING. 

I’ll allow Corayne and Andry to be a ship for the rest of this stupid chapter just to catch even a GLIMPS of Dom and Sorasa interacting. Crumbs victoria, I’m begging for crumbs at this point. 

CHAPTER 29-32

LISTEn, okay listen. It was good, there was so much to unpack. Like, too much to feel/deal with. I mean WHAT am I supposed to do with that ending. But also like... why? Like why did they all split up? I get that it’s supposed to be sort of Lord of the Rings kinda thing but I dont know. Like why did Sigil go back? Why did Valtik take Andry? I get why Dom stayed, and I get why Sorasa stayed, but like... what the fuck of Corayne supposed to do now? Like just sort of hang out? XD 

Also, lets all just... take a second to try not to kill victoria over the bury your gays... I’m smelling a fucking pattern, and I don’t like the pattern I’m smelling. I really was sitting there like, um, okay wait what? 😑 I just dont get the whole black knight thing either! It comes out of no where, there is just negative explanation, and then we use this black hole of a plot device to kill off a character that we got in my opinion so little of. Why is did this knight literally leave Ridha dying? I dont understand. It just felt like Victoria tried and failed to pull at my heart strings with that ending. I just sat there going, okay wait what? I mean I guess its set up for book 3 but it feels shaky. The whole ending kinda felt that way. We know so little about Ronin’s “gifts” and Valtik is a black box too. I just, *sigh* am I gonna read book 3? Maybe. I dont know, I need to reassess some things. 😒

[coqueliccot]

I get this overwelming sensation around you that drives me to the edge, it fills my chest with butterflies flying in every direction tickling every inch with their little wings and my mind goes off on its own to a beautiful place where I don't have to steal little glimps of you from the corner of my eyes, a dream in which I could stare at you forever and learn every feature of your face every curve and every line.

Now that I noticed, it gets harder to get you out of my head. When did you start to look for me in a crowd. We take turns staring at each other, looking away every time our eyes meet. Is it only in my head, this force that pulls me to you and you to me, this magnetic field that is starting to grow too strong for me to handle. I see you around me yet never too close, there is this thick glass wall between us. But what we have now is not enough at all. If only one of us could cross the line, change the rules. Even if It's only for a moment I want to hear your voice say my name, I want to see your smile, to feel your body heat through a slight touch, I want to feel your hand as our fingers intertwine. I want to say that you are mine and that I am yours. Because everytime you get close to her you twist a knife into my chest scaring the happy butterflies of my innocent fantasies. How much time do we still have before I lose everything I never had ?

But you are full of contradictions and I can never read you like you read through me. I still have doubts I am not used to this. I need answers but I am too afraid to ask. You are drifting away like the sea slipping through my fingers like sand. And I'd rather keep dreaming if it's all a lie.

[tren-fraszka]

Fandom F5k 2020

Dear creator,

Thank you for taking your time to check my requests. I know my requests can sound a bit tricky, but please don’t be discouraged. I wish you will have good time writing first and foremost!

My AO3 is Tren, if you wish to check it out.

Likes: comedy, casefics, canon compliants, AUs, time loops, bodyswaps, roleswaps, “being hoisted by your own petard” plotlines, snark, pettiness, rivals, enemies to friends to lovers, violence, friendships and character bonding,

DNW: explicit sex, A/B/O, mpreg, rape depicted as positive (so no “it’s okay, because the other person enjoyed it/it was what they truly wanted”), trans headcanons, soulmate AUs, stories ending with surrender to fate/destiny, fourth wall breaking in canons where that doesn’t occur, character has cancer or other real-life terminal disease AU, word “queerplatonic”.

Also, I included what ships I’m okay with in each fandom. Please do not include any ships that aren’t canon and I have not allowed in those sections (if you feel really strongly about a ship I haven’t mentioned, you can always ask through mods just in case).

Additionally, while I almost never request fanart as possible medium, because I prefer my main gift to be fic, I would be very okay with receiving fanart treats. On another note, feel free to use my old letters if you get your hands on them. I never stop being interested in fandoms, and if I requested something once I will still want it in the future.

                                              REQUESTS

MARIMASHITA! IRUMA-KUN

I read new manga chapters as they get translated so feel free to incorporate anything from the manga that’s available in english. I’m not spoiled for anything beyond that, so please no spoilers for future developments.

Kiriwo Amy/Suzuki Iruma

 There are many good ships with Iruma, but this one just has a lot things I like.  I love enemy ships with both sides being way too emotionally invested into each other so this was inevitable. I love how this relationship starts as this really wholesome friendship and school festival preparation, except Kiriwo turns out to be a bit messed up and wants to blow up everyone. But then they both accept the outcome and go on with their lives still thinking about each other. Iruma goes through a lot of trouble to keep the club operating even though Kiriwo has been pretty much expelled. And then Kiriwo is now obsessed with Iruma as his anthitesis and perfect enemy.

I’m okay with the potential story happening at any point in the canon. I would love both a story set before the festival while Kiriwo is still hiding his true colors or a story set after festival. Maybe Iruma runs into Kiriwo somewhere after he escapes prison and instead of calling an adult, he tries to stop Kiriwo from causing trouble on his own. As for pre-festival story. Maybe some upperclassmen steal important parts from the club and Iruma and Kiriwo set out to get them back.

Naberius Kalego & Suzuki Iruma

I love Kalego for being a much better take on Snape than original Snape ever was. The second the series made Kalego Iruma’s familiar I knew this was about to get good. And it was. I love how Kalego slowly warms up to Iruma, even if he is still allergic to his and Sullivan’s antics. I love that Kalego is actually a competent teacher who cares about his students, even if he would rather eat a whole lemon than admit it out loud.

For prompts, maybe Sullivan ends up having an important business and Opera isn’t available so he dumps looking after Iruma on Kalego for a few days. Or Iruma is struggling with studying since so much is new for him so Kalego ends up forced to help him catch up with the material (if you are following manga inclusion of Balam is always welcome). Or maybe Iruma gets into usual trouble ends up stranded somewhere and the only one he can call for help is his familiar.

AUs and ships

I love the worldbuilding around the demon world, so I would ask that if you decided to write an AU that it still incorporates demons. I would definitely love an AU where rather than getting summoned to demon world, Iruma accidentally summons either Kiriwo or Kalego into the human world. Maybe Iruma’s parents try to use him as an offering, but instead he ends up bound to a demon. I would love to see Kiriwo excited to unleash suffering (even if his weak powers severely limit him in that regard) onto human world just to discover that he made contract with the biggest pacifist possible. Or Kalego being torn between wanting to return home as soon as possible (he has classes to teach!) and wanting to somehow help the weird human child that just keeps getting into trouble. Any other demon-focused AU is also welcome. I’m also fine with any sort of AU divergences scenario. Maybe Iruma keeps accidentally sabbotaging Kiriwo’s terrorist plans without realizing it. Or Iruma ends up summoning Kalego more often as his familiar when he gets into trouble.

As for ships, I’d rather avoid any love triangle scenarios for this canon, so please focus on just one pairing per character (competing for Iruma’s attention is normal for this canon, I’d just rather not see outright romantic competition). It’s self-explainatory for Kiriwo request, but if you want to include some shipping elements into the Kalego request I also ship Iruma/Ameri, Iruma/Alice and Kalego/Balam.

BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA

I read new manga chapters as they come out so feel free to incorporate any new developments.

Bakugou Katsuki & Uraraka Ochako

Bakugou Katsuki/Uraraka Ochako

I love how different the two of them, but at the same time how well they see through each other. I would love to have them work together while showing both great teamwork, but at the same time butting heads over their differences in worldview. I also love how they both acknowledge each other’s strength.

If you plan to write the ship version of this prompt: they are both very focused on becoming heroes, so I would prefer that they don’t just get together easily. I believe they would be both be extremely reluctant to do so, because of their line of work and media attention that heroes get. Still, I would love to see the tension between them where their professionalism fights against their feelings.

For prompts I would love having them complete some sort of exercise or exam together. I would love to see them pretend to be villains for the sake of exercise and Ochako surprisingly getting into the role, with occassional moments of her breaking out of it, which give everyone a whiplash. I feel like Bakugo would have amusing reactions to seeing her act so out of character. Or the work together on something for school festival. Like making a perferomance togater. Alternatively you can go for future fic where the two of them take part in an action to stop villains. Maybe one of them gets hurt which prompts the other to get very protective (and more honest about their romantic feelings if that’s what you are going for).

AUs and ships

I would very much encourage any future fics. I love seeing characters as fully-fledged heroes. I’m okay with other setting changes, though I would prefer for the competence aspect to still come in play somehow in them (with Bakugo being stupidly talented and hard working, while acknowledging Ochako’s potential). I’m also okay with canon divergences.

I don’t mind past Midoriya/Ochako if you want to incorporate it into the story, but I’d rather not get any love triangles for this pairing. Either have Ochako’s feelings sizzle out or have them date and break up at some point in the past. If you are writing gen version I’d rather neither Bakugou nor Ochako were being mentioned currently having feelings for anyone. When it comes to other pairings I like Midoriya/Todoroki, Mirio/Tamaki and Eraserhead/Mic.

MY NEXT LIFE AS A VILLAINESS (MANGA)

I only read manga for this story, so please don’t spoil me for the parts not yet adapted from Light Novel.

Group: Katarina Claes/Gerald Stuart (My Next Life as a Villainess)

I ran into this manga on accident, but I definitely don’t regret it. I love how Katarina ends up solving all the problems in this series either through her efforts or by sheer accident and how she ends up becoming the actual protagonist. This charmingly comedic story has a lot of heart and I crave more.

I think I like Gerard the most out of all potential suitors for Katarina’s heart and would love to see more of his crush on Katarina and unsuccessful attempts at actually wooing her. We only see him through Katarina’s perspective, who can’t separate him from the Gerard she knows from the game, even though he changed under her influence. I would definitely be up for a story where Katarina starts to notice that maybe her idea of Gerard doesn’t exactly line up with the reality. Or maybe she remains blessfully ignorant and decides to go in-depth investigation into finding more of Gerard’s weaknesses, because she saw him do something nice for Maria and now she is sure the end is near for her and she wants to be extra prepared. Or maybe he takes her on a vacation trip to escape from her other suitors, but everything goes terribly wrong (maybe their carriage crashes forcing them to spend the night in the woods), and yet both of them end up having a lot of fun.

I don’t mind including any other characters, since they are a colorful bunch. I read this manga for harem shenanigans, and you are free to include as much of it as you want.

AUs and ships

I’m okay with AUs and canon divergences. The story is already a huge canon divergence after all, so if you want to twist it even more, that’s fine by me. If you want to play around with characters accidentally getting transported to the alternate world where Katarina is the original Katarina or getting a glimps of it, I would be very much for it.

I’m okay with all canonical crushes being acknowledged, however due the nature of my request I want the endgame ship to be Katarina/Gerard. I don’t mind other characters being shipped with each other.

SWORD ART ONLINE

I haven’t read Alicization novels, just watched anime. I know anime skipped some content and if you want to use it in the story I’m fine with it, just make sure to establish the situation so I know what’s going on. However, I would be grateful for not spoiling the story from the novels that have yet to be adapted (you are free to use general worldbuilding from it, just don’t spoil major plot elements).

Eugeo/Kirito

I was perfectly fine with Asuna/Kirito becoming canon and then Eugeo came and made everything gay. Honestly, though, I love the interactions Eugeo and Kirito had and I would love to see more. Especially from their sword academy days where they had some peaceful time before they were brought to the tower. I want to know all the weird shenanigans they got into during that time, given how much like they acted like an old married couple. Or if you want something else then maybe some exploration of their struggles as they climb the tower. For example, a time loop taking place during their tower climb, with the system returning to the last save state each time Kirito dies to keep him alive.

AUs and ships

I don’t have any suggestions, but I don’t mind setting changes if that’s where you want to go. I’m also okay with Canon Divergence AUs of any kind. Especially, for ones changing the ending of first season. Like, I’m okay with sad gay we got, but there are so many possibilites to explore here other than what canon gave us. Maybe have Eugeo permanently fuse with his blade so Kirito ends up having a sentient sword boyfriend. Or he asks Cardinal to transfer her authority to him and have him oppose Administator as the new Cardinal. There’s just so many interesting ways this could have gone. I’m not big on the War of the Underworld plotline so you are free to handwave how the changes impacted it or modify that part of the story completely.

As I mentioned I’m okay with Asuna/Kirito ship, so if you want you can incorporate it in the story. Just make sure the focus stays on Eugeo/Kirito. I must also admit that I really can’t see Eugeo’s feelings for Alice as romantic, so I would prefer them to not be portrayed as such.

[scouthearted]

spaces in your togetherness - a streetcrows fic

Six.

The world did not exist, and neither did Odette Rowel.

Everything, including her body and soul, was in a state of dreamlike horror, a state she was intrinsically familiar with. She never did remember any of her dreams but the nightmares, and those played out so normally except for the little twists in the world around her, little details that made the last vestiges of her personality cringe. The photographs that sat in their frames around the parlor were ones that she or Ethan never would have picked, for one; the two of them in tutus as they danced through part of Swan Lake as children, Ethan fake smiling during a family vacation as their father’s hand clutched his shoulder too tightly, and that horrible picture of their first day of college… the very picture that convinced Ethan to shave his long hair off. He never let it grow back. It looked better short, anyway.

Around her, people mumbled condolences. Odette decided not to respond. No, decided was wrong. She couldn’t have responded if she wanted to. She only had one sentence anymore, it seemed, and that sentence had been silenced by the only person she thought would understand.

Four.

“He’s not dead! I am going to find him. Don’t act like he’s dead!”

Oliver Rowel ignored her, continuing his phone conversation. “Roses. Twenty dozen of them. Black.”

“Father! He’s not dead!”

“Yes. I understand.” Odette momentarily softened until she realized this was to the person on the other end of the line. Her eyes, usually focused and steady, seemed to dart around. She was looking for… for Ethan. She could always count on Ethan to mock their father behind his back, until Odette had to try not to laugh, until she felt better.

But he wasn’t here.

Two.

“It’s not here,” Ethan laughed as he watched Odette overturn every little corner of his little apartment. “What do I need with a comb?”

“If this is one of your tricks, I swear to Grimen...” she said, half-snapping at him.

“Have you asked Mallory?”

“What would she do with it? She has combs of her own. I think, and her hair is so different than mine that it wouldn’t do her any good.”

Ethan adjusted, sitting cross-legged on his bed. Odette recognized it as his “sibling talk” position, honed between them after years of secret sharing in their shared bedrooms and dormitories. “Maybe it’s a girlfriend thing.”

“Or maybe you took it because you want to do your eyebrows.”

“With a comb?”

Odette shrugged. “I don’t know how you manage to keep them so perfect.”

“Actor vanity.”

“My comb.”

“Tweezers.”

Odette had to laugh at that, just a little. “Fine. I suppose I’ll believe you.” The grudging tone of her voice was her own little act… she never would choose theatre for a living, but she always had been able to give convincing performances anyway. “Well, then, I have business to attend to. I’ll be off.”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too, Odie,” Ethan said with an eye roll and a smile.

She didn’t say it back. It would ruin the moment.

It would, later, break her heart.

Three.

“Breaking news, another disappearance in a streak that police and media alike are calling the Aberration Spree Killings. Twenty year old theatre student Ethan Rowel, son of the Dean of Students at…”

Quieter.

Her Gift responded to her will, and the newscaster seemed to fade away. It was wrong. This wasn’t something to keep quiet. Everyone should know this. Everyone should feel how awful she felt. Like a switch, the realization made the volume reduction reverse, until the voice was normal volume, then loud, then terrible, then ear shattering, then-

the television exploded. As glass flew towards her, Odette sat, unflinching. The crescendo was always her favorite part of her gift.

Ethan had been the opposite. He had always preferred the softer decrescendos, when the volume was low and the world and the heavens were just the two of them.

Seven.

Odette fell onto her childhood bed feeling worse than she had at the reception, the viewing, the not-funeral. Whatever her father had chosen to brand it as when he decided Ethan was never coming home.

The room was pleasant like a room in a dollhouse, or a picture book. A child might dream of living in it, with its candy floss pink walls and curled iron bed frames. The carpet was plush and white, stains masked by Gifted housekeepers over the years. They must have never stopped cleaning the nursery, as there was no expected layer of dust. Odette’s three story dollhouse in one corner was pristine. Ethan’s little wooden stage with the tiny red velvet curtains looked as though it had been recently waxed. It felt as though any moment, two tiny and tired identical twins would enter, throwing their ballet duffle bags on the floor (they’d be yelled at for it the next morning) and collapsing to the beds. If only. Odette would scoop little Ethan up and never let him go.

She looked up. In the center of the room, as though straddling the invisible line that divided Odette’s half from Ethan’s half, was a plaque with a quote.

“You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore but let there be spaces in your togetherness. And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.”

Their mother had picked it out before she died. Ethan and Odette had always liked that quote. They liked the dancing imagery, when they took ballet together as children, and the rest when they got older and learned what the quote really talked about.

Had they ever known? A space in their togetherness, once upon a time, had meant going on study abroad trips in different semesters. Not this. Not this.

Don’t dance through the heavens yet. You aren’t dead.

Five.

“Listen to me, Father, he’s not dead.”

Oliver Rowel never listened.

One.

Ethan picked his name with the gusto of a five year old. He played with Danger, with Rowan, and with the names of a hundred stars. He toyed with Siegfried and Benno and even Tchaikovsky, to match Odette’s name.

It took a while before he had the final idea. “Ethan Oliver.”

“Ethan Oliver?”

Ethan grinned. “Yeah, it’s Dad’s name, but flipped. Oliver Ethan Rowel… Ethan Oliver Rowel.”

“I never would guess you would want to be connected to Father.”

“Well…” Ethan shrugged. “We don’t always get along, sure.” An understatement if Odette had ever heard one. “But he’s still my dad. Maybe this will make him happy.”

“But does it make you happy?”

“Yeah, I think so. Ethan’s a good name. I think it fits me.”

Odette looked at her brother, a once-identical face, now so different than hers, like she was looking into a what might have been. She looked at his piercings, his clear eyes that were stuck between contacts instead of glasses, and his ever present smirk.

She thought about her initials, OER, Odette Elizabeth Rowel. They were once his initials too. Ethan Oliver Rowel, EOR, was close, but not the same. It was a space between them, two separate people who remained linked.

“I think it fits too,” she said.

Eight.

Ethan kept clothes at Oliver Rowel’s house, same as Odette did. Oliver, however, never liked Ethan’s clothes. Ethan’s wardrobe was thirty three percent leather jackets and metal band shirts, thirty three percent athletic wear for his active classes, and thirty three percent hoodies and comfy jeans. Casual, not befitting someone of their social standing, so Oliver liked to say. So while Odette had a dresser in their childhood bedroom, full of nice blouses and skirts for emergency stayovers, Ethan hid his clothes in the attic, among their mother’s things.

The cardboard box labeled Tonya Rowel smelled like attic musk and lavender and leather. It sat opened… Ethan stopped taping it back up when he realized Oliver never looked up there. Odette rarely did either, barely enough for it to be familiar to her.

Inside was a mixture of photographs of their mother, a lovely woman who seemed to bring her own light to wherever she was, and soft hoodies. They smelled like Ethan’s detergent. Odette tried, and failed, to blink back tears. For a moment, she crouched on the attic floor, her nose buried in her brother’s clothing, her heart recognizing him even as her mind knew he wasn’t there.

It was so confusing, something had to give.

And give it did. Dazed, dreaming, dissociating, she put on his hoodie and went to see Mallory.

Nine.

“Don’t worry. I’m not really crying. It’s just sort of happening right now.”

Whatever was left of Odette Rowel tried to make Mallory feel better. Hard when her own cheeks were streaked with tears that poured down her face, when her glasses were salt-stained and dirty. Mallory, still, looked more distraught than Odette felt. Odette had to comfort her girlfriend. That’s what girlfriends did, and anyway...

Mallory is all you have left.

Mallory, beautiful Mallory, brilliant Mallory, bold Mallory… she looked at a loss. A part of Odette wanted to laugh, but it came out a choke.

For once, she’s not together. She doesn’t know what to do. Isn’t that funny?

Her green eyes seemed to flash, and there it was. Mallory the wonderful was back, and somehow, Odette resented it down in the bare vestiges of personality she held. “Do you want to talk about him?” she asked, as if talking about him would bring him back.

“Let’s not… Mallory, let’s just go home for today, okay?”

She stared, then nodded.

When they got home, Odette locked herself in the bathroom with a pair of scissors. She didn’t come out until her hair was short. It was messy. Any other day, she would hate it, but Ethan would have loved it. She looked in the mirror and smiled.

Ten.

“You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore but let there be spaces in your togetherness. And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.”

“This is a space in our togetherness.”

“Ethan Rowel is not dead.”

“I will find him.”

“I will do anything to find him.”

“I will do anything to find him, even if it costs me everything.”

“I will do anything to find him, and I have nothing else to lose.”

Eleven.

As she slumped into Raccoon’s arms, bleeding, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in Raccoon’s goggles. Short hair, a hoodie on, a genuine smile on her face for once. She looked like Ethan, as much as she could while still being herself. They always… they said twins… were like this… even as different as we are… we’re identical, Ethan, aren’t we?

“Bluejay! Blue...jay…?”

She laughed. “Looks like I overdid it a little bit…”

It was with the strength of an actor that she pulled herself up. She patted Raccoon, idly said some things (she wasn’t sure what. Focus hadn’t gotten easier, and dissociation was her normal), and walked away.

Ethan, I look like you. I don’t act like you, but I look like you. Would you be proud? No, I know the answer. Just trust your older sister, okay? This is a space in our togetherness.

Together we shall be forevermore.

[just-samy]

... sexy... or stupid...

Ither way... in wanting to be his everything..it is cause for comparing myself.. Wishing I was just like all them other girls... then completely tearing myself to pieces ...wondering why you chose me...what is it at all that I have, that has any sort of hold at all....

I'm afraid to share a shelf, with nothing at all in common(so I tell myself in mocking). when in my head I wager also due purely to hormones and high strung emotions i really am not so different...

..when it comes down to it, with my comparing thinking of ways in how i should change, and desperately clinging to that new love feel...forget adding me to the burnt out and said best to the collection of empty i love yous... when at one time it was deeply ment, as was the time that was poured into making it mean so much more...please.. in wanting to be your everything... all I ask in return, is do not look me in the eye and say different to me otherwise.. instead I hope to be left alone on the floor.... my fear... is wanting to be just this... wanting to be your center, while I to desire a center .. to hold your attention like I unknowingly did, a time not so long before, how I quivered with every glace spared my way captured and held so intently by your stare. I could damn near taste the want... guided by your hand, I was shown a whole new world...I tried to hold myself back... your touch still has me shiver...

I lost..... I lost when your wanting me, gave me a greedy courage. An okay... i was okay to feel this longing I felt pulling me along in stride. We were matched in step, side by side... Who am I to kid myself though... already smitten the moment my eyes found yours... drunken... I wish I could blame how easy it was to find my breath on the booze.... but I'd seen to in the second time in asking for my number...you wanted to be enough for once....

My want, to be your everything... its true... as with my attempt with every day I get with you to prove..when I tell you I love you, I will do what it takes just to show you...small things to your most wildest wide raging muse...you are more than enough...

Would you show me too..

Will you be so willing to share this...how you see all the world. And it the millions people in it...

From there spurts in being in, and around all about, something. Wanting it for so long. Caving. Going out of way, breaking bank. But you got it anyway.. To afraid at first to take this thing, you had to have... so you keep it tucked away still mint in its box. Recipes already gone. This thing you looked into...in an instant not only did you just want this... but you looked into it, studied it, before you knew it, you loved it. Had to have it. It was only top the the line, the newest compared to last year's model. Only thing really different the lights turned different colors, it was thinner more compact(giving you space for something else to forget about in the two weeks to binge on it,, till it came time for the next mind blowing thing)... things... and we all know right, no one but I can touch it, it means that much....and when it's broke, finger to point blame lands on every one but... why try to fix it at all... trash it, what's another couple hundred to spend when it's only a few weeks till this whole other thing comes out...

Friday, just got paid. Next day, call in sick. pitch a tent, wait in line. Dead set. eyes glued. Just one thought, and none more in question. New phase, new trend, 2 years same brand. Hurry hurry think of something, change the look. slight adjustment in , ' so last year's' flip of the wrist, snap of a finger, omg yesss, that fad we all forgot some years ago!!!!lets tweak with that only half ass, call it a side show bit. A hint of a twist and a smidge to glimps. the comeback, make believe, not the idea that failed to begin with, but the same idea to pass believable..it is we behind the shit idea, vs the no thought

I'll be your everything

[nitemarehoerealm]

A glimps into my twisted mind….

[ksaori]

Hear me (03/??)

[ Katekyo Hitman Reborn ]

Summary:

" Stop. “ he said.

” Help! “ he screamed.

” Please… hear me. “ he begged.

Then silence.

Mute!27

 Previous chapter |  Next chapter

Warning: Bullying, violence, depression.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Katekyo Hitman REBORN

” Talk “

” Tsuna’s writing “

’ Thought ’

Read on ff.net

Chapter 3: Home tutor

Tsuna backed off as the broom was pushed on him. He furrowed his brow in fear, and looked at his classmates.

" It's your fault we lost, you know! ", the other boy yelled annoyed. " So, you can do the cleaning, right? "

Tsuna just lowered his head and held tight on the broom as he heard one of them sneer. He numbly looked at his feet while hearing the others mock him and soon he was alone in the gym.

Twisting his feet, he turned to see the window and peeped throught it.

There, outside, was Sasagawa Kyoko and Kurokawa Hana talking to each other.

Tsuna's heart skipped a beat; Kyoko was smiling. Her lips curved up in a pure and innocent smile; her eyes lit in happiness. The sun illuminate her in a way that made she even more beautiful — in Tsuna's mind, of course. But he doubt that there were someone who thought different. She was, after all, the idol of Namimori.

And his crush.

Maybe it was romantic feelings, maybe it wasn't; but it didn't matter. All he could do was watch her from afar; watch her smile and giggle.

It was enough for Tsuna, anyway. He could live just watching and seeing a world so different from his. A place so warm and calm, safe from the pain.

Kyoko was his heaven. Just a glimps of her made his bad thought go away and even if was for a sencond, he was grounded again and not drowing on his own silence. She was his safe spot.

" Sorry to keep you waiting, Kyoko. " Mochida-senpai's voice woke Tsuna up from his thoughts.

The older boy smirked upon seeing Kyoko acknowledge his presence and her friend go away. He made his way to her with confidence, something Tsuna doubted he would ever be able to do.

Stepping back from the window, he left the broom and decided to go home. He wasn't found of Mochida-senpai — one of his bullies — and didn't want to see him with the school's idol. For some reason it bothered him, but it wasn't like he could say anything, so it was better to just go away, far from what hurt him.

Nana looked up to the stairs and back to the telephone, frowing. Tsuna had come home earlier again and she was concerned for his well being and education.

The young mother stared at the flyer that was on her mail box and bit her lower lip. Maybe calling the tutor was the right decision, but what if he just worsen her baby boy's situation? She should've asked him first. But if Tsuna get more lethargic than he already is, she won't know what to do.

Maybe it would be okay, even if the flyer was suspicios. Maybe a change on her son's routine could be a good choice and if she was luck, the tutor could be a wonderful man who could give Tsuna a new light.

She was already out of option, this was all she could do.

Determined, Nana went to her son's bedroom and knocked the door before opening it.

" Tsu-kun, I got a call from yout school! ", she said, not angry, but worried. " You skipped class again? "

Tsuna, lying on the floor reading a manga, looked up to her. He slowly nooded and mouthed:

" Sorry... "

Nana sighed.

" I just want you to be happy, Tsu-kun. I want you to feel safe and confident. ", she said kneeling down and passing her hand trough his brown locks. " ... I called a home tutor, okay? "

The boy tensed. His mother hired a tutor, a person that should teach him, but in the end would just give up on him. One more person that he would disappoint. One more person that would make him feel useless.

He didn't want it; he didn't want anything. But his mother seemed so worried and scared; she cared too much about him and he was tired, however he didn't want to make his mother feel bad nor bother her.

" Okay. " he wrote on his phone and even managed to smile lightly.

As if waiting for Tsuna's approval, the doorbell rang and Nana went down stairs with her son tailing behinde her.

" Ciaossu! "

The Sawada duo looked down. A small baby wearing a suit and a fedora smiled smugly.

" I arrived 3 hours early, but as a service, I'll evaluate you now. ", he said entering in the house.

Nana shared a look with Tsuna and then kneeled down, a sweet smile appearing.

" Who are you little one? ", she asked patiently, not really caring that he just invadade her house. " Are you lost? "

" Hm? I'm Reborn, the home tutor. "

The baby stared at them and waited for their surprise to fade. The woman had gapped and covered her mouth with both of her hands; the boy just looked at him with eyes wide open before chuckling.

Reborn's finger twitched. Honestly, that was why he didn't like to meddle with civilians. He hated his cursed form and to be looked down by the others when he was, obliusly, the best, was something that fueld his annoyance. But of course he wouldn't let his self be carried by the looks of the mother and son duo, so it didn't pass unnoticed by him how his new student tensed after seeing his finger twitch.

" So you're Tsuna, right? " Reborn didn't wait for an answer and continued. " Let's go to your room and start. "

The boy nooded while the mother looked to him worried. Noticing it, Tsuna turned to her and nooded again but not breaking the eye contact with her. Reborn conclued that it was his way to reassure her when the woman's shoulders fell and her lips tugged upside a little.

While Tsuna sat on his bedroom's floor, Reborn put his briefcase down and opend it.

" Let's start. " he said looking at the parts of his gun and then putting them together. " My real job is to make you a Mafia Boss. "

Reborn looked closely as Tsuna reacted. The teeneger jumped on his seat, his eyes widening and his mouth hanging open; tense shoulder and one of his hand holding tight the cellphone while the other was closed in a fist. His posture changed, he was ready to flee.

Being honest, Reborn never thought that his reaction were going to be so strong. He expected Tsuna to laugh him off ( or something close, as he is mute ), not to be taken serious.

" I was assigned by Nono — The ninth Vongola Boss — to make you an exellent Mafia Boss. "

Between the fear and incredulity in his eyes, confusion also shined there. The boy started — or tried — to use his eletronic to communicate, but Reborn cut him, already answering the unsaid question.

" You are the direct descendent of Vongola Primo, the founder of the Vongola Famiglia, and so a legitimate candidate to the boss position. " he then showed Vongola's family tree with the name 'Giotto' on the top and at the bottom his name.

" But there isn't any other candidate? Someone from the mafia? ", Tsuna asked a little more calm.

" The sons of the current head of the famiglia died. Enrico, the most qualified, was shot; Massimo was drowned; and Federico, the favorite child, was found reduced to bones. ", Reborn said while showing photos of the deaths and Tsuna's face twisted more and more after seeing each them.

Putting back his gun to his briefcase, the baby smiled.

" I'm hungry now. We'll continue tomorrow. "

[thesecretblogger-me-blog]

The Self-Proclaimed Weirdo

This blog is going to help me get what I am thinking off my mind. Have I written a blog before? No. Have I read a blog before? Sure. Do I know what I am doing? Absolutely not. But I am going to figure it out.  This blog is essentially just for me. A chance to express myself and my thoughts. But honestly, if someone happens to find it and like it, then that is cool too. You won’t find this link on my Facebook, I am not emailing it to my friends, if you come by it honestly then that is awesome. I plan on always keeping my identity a secret so I can’t share it conventionally like other blogs would.

The title of this blog just came to me the other day after I was being interviewed by someone for an article. I was telling her how I am weird and quirky and that I like weird people. I am just drawn to them. In a room full of people I do not gravitate to the most popular most talked to people, but the one who stands out, the one who is alone, the one who no one else wants to talk to, the one by themselves. I didn’t even realize I do that until someone pointed it out to me. I think it’s because I am weird myself and that those people are the ones that I am going to learn the most from. They are in fact the coolest ones at the party and people have it twisted. Think about it! So I told this lady who was interviewing me, that she probably was a weirdo too, why? Because she and I became fast friends. She laughed with me for a moment, because she knew it was true. 

I decided to let Dictionary.com give me a glimps into what a werido is defined as according to most of the world. It came back as: ‘an odd, eccentric, or unconventional person.’ Yep! That is me alright. But if you’re still reading this blog, then arent’ you are weirdo too?