#all of you are free to attempt it as well

[rafeshit]

STARSTRUCK (inspired) drew x fan!reader

warnings — none

summary — you are trying to get home when a celebrity hits you with a door.

you were in the city of new york, eager to get home after a long day. the city lights were shining, illuminating your path, but you're too tired to appreciate it. You've been looking forward to collapsing onto your couch, and shedding off the white dress you wore to a party.

As you turn the corner, you're suddenly slammed into by a door that read “set stage”, flung open by a suited figure. "Ow!" you cry out, clutching your head as you stumble backwards. Your world spins for a moment before you collapse onto the pavement. You lie there, dazed, and confused.

The suited figure, dressed in a black suit and tie, rushes to your side, "Oh my god, did I just hit you?" he asks, worry evident in his voice. You gaze up at him, your vision blurry, and reply with sarcasm, "No, the door just flung open by itself. Good job, door." You can't help but roll your eyes, even as a sharp pain shoots through your head.

He looks taken aback, but then mutters, "Oh, this isn't looking good." You struggle to sit up, wincing as the pain intensifies. As you take in the man's features, your eyes widen in recognition. You've seen that face plastered on billboards, magazine covers, and movie screens. "Wait, you're drew star—" But before you can finish, the man's hand closes around your mouth, his eyes darting around nervously.

"I'll get you free tickets to my movie if you don't scream my name," he says, his voice urgent in desperation. You shove his hand away, irritation flooding your system. "I don't want tickets to your stupid movie. I want to go home." You try to stand up, but the world spins again, and you stumble backwards.

“wait your not a fan of me?” He asks, visibly hurt.

you roll your eyes, “not in a million years.”

The man's expression turns grave. "I'll drive you to a hospital, my car's just around the corner." You hesitate, not wanting to get into a car with this stranger, no matter how famous he is. You've heard the stories about celebrities and their games,"I don't want to get into the car with you," you say.

He raises an eyebrow. "Would you rather walk all the way home with a concussion?"

You cross your arms, trying to sound braver than you felt, “I’d rather play in traffic.”

The man's gaze flicks towards the alleyway, he must have heard the distant chatter of fans approaching, because he quickly says, "Enough with the bratty act, follow me." There's a tone of authority in his voice that makes you hesitate, but your head is pounding, and you're not sure you have a choice. You struggle to your feet, realizing that your head hurts more than you initially thought. Maybe getting into the car with this... celebrity is all you got.

You follow him, grunting as you hold your head, and get into the black car parked nearby. As you sink into the leather seats, he says, “would you mind sinking a little lower I don’t want the paparazzi seein’ you”.

You roll your eyes, sinking lower. The man slips into the driver's seat, his eyes scanning the rearview mirror as he starts the engine.

As you settled into the luxurious car, you felt annoyed at being stuck with this stuck up celebrity. Drew glanced at you in the rearview mirror, attempting to make small talk. "So, how's your head feeling?" he asked. You shot back with a healthy dose of sarcasm, "Oh, it's just peachy. Thanks for asking, Mr. Celebrity."

Drew's expression remained calm, but you detected amusement in his eyes. He continued to drive, navigating the city streets with ease, until you finally arrived at the hospital. As you entered the emergency room, the lights only added to your growing headache. A doctor approached you, asking a series of questions about the accident. After a quick examination, he led you to a private room for a scan.

The wait felt long, but eventually, the doctor returned with the results. "Well, the scans came back empty, so I think you'll be just fine," he said with a reassuring smile. Drew peeked his head into the room, "So, she'll be okay?" The doctor nodded, adding, "Just make sure your girlfriend drinks water and stays off her feet for a while, just to be safe."

You quickly corrected him, "He's not my boyfriend." Drew chimed in, "Yeah, unfortunately." You rolled your eyes, retorting, "God, you're so full of yourself." Drew shot back, "I wasn't being cocky, I was just saying anyone who dates a brat like you is in for a treat." To which you laugh at.

The doctor excused himself to retrieve some paperwork, leaving the two of you alone. You turned to Drew, asking, "So, Mr. Movie Star, what's it like finally not being the center of attention?" Drew's response was filled with sarcasm, "I'm literally killing myself over this." To your surprise, you laughed at his remark, and he smiled, adding, "Just because I'm a movie star doesn't mean I'm not human." You nodded, "I know, but that doesn't make you exempt from me going off on a guy who hit me with a door." Drew chuckled, "Yeah, I guess so."

As the conversation continued, you proposed an idea, "Hey, how about you give me an autograph and I'll sell it to pay for this hospital bill?" Drew agreed, "Deal, pretty girl." However, he added a condition, "You can't tell anyone about this, not even your closest friends, or else the press would get the wrong idea."

You assured him, "I wasn't planning to, you're not that big in my world." Drew replied, "Right," but you quickly added, "But now you are, since you're my knight in shining armor." A smirk spread across his face at the remark.

Before long, the doctor returned with the paperwork, and Drew got up to leave, grabbing his suit jacket and a piece of paper. He scribbled his signature on it, handing it to you with a small note attached,

"I really hope you're gonna be okay." Your eyes widened as you gazed at the autograph, accompanied by a wad of cash and his phone number. The note read, "I'll pay for your bill, but give me a call, and maybe you could ride in my car to a restaurant and not a hospital. Sell it if you want, but I'll be really sad if my number gets leaked."

A small smile crept onto your face as you read the message and the brat in you softened ever so slightly. Maybe he isn’t who you thought he was.

[pyxxiestyxx]

Alright, time for my mandatory Wellness Check, sigh...let’s get this over with.

The door opens 

"You’re late, you know the deal. You can do the Class-A cuddles for another day of independence, or you can attempt the Class-C cuddles for three."

Here in Affini Civiliz-...Compact, no one chooses to Class-C for independence. It’s better to be safe and do the Class-A cuddles for one day, rather than risk your entire life for just a few days more. "I...feojnbgofommmmmmrrrmph. O-okay, I did it, Miss."

"Good flower~. Now tomorrow, you better not be late, or you’ll be getting both as punishment."

"Yes Miss, sorry, I won’t be late next time."

In here, us independents only get drugged up cuddles once a day. One five minute cuddle is just enough to get you to the next day. But that’s the life in the Affini Compact. If you want to survive, you have to cuddle. Every Independent Noob has the same goal, and that’s to make an escape from the Compact where all the Free Terran Pros live, except most Free Terran Pros are born out in the wild.

If you’re an Independent Noob, there’s only one way out, and that is through the Temple of Cuddles. The Temple of Cuddles is the only structure in the ship that gives sophonts a ship to leave. To make it up, you have to do an impossibly hard drugged cuddle session that no Independent Noob has ever completed, and that's assuming you even get the chance to complete the course. The inside of the temple is protected by a barrier, and the only way an Independent Noob gets past the barrier is if they’ve earned a ticket. I’ve never even tried getting a ticket before, but if I’m going to rank up to a Free Terran Pro one day, I’m going to have to.

In my neighborhood, pretty much everyone has fallen into hedonism and florted, except for the guy who lives right next to me. He’s been my neighbor for five years! 

neighbor attempts the Class-C for the three days and collapses into Miss's vines immediately, starts calling her Mommy and reveals she is a trans woman; vine boom 

NO! WHY DID SHE TRY GOING FOR THE THREE DAYS!?!?!? Well, I guess I have to change my statement; I now live in this neighborhood alone. In the Affini Compact, only Free Terran Pros are allowed to break rules and engage in capitalism. For Independent Noobs, it’s strictly prohibited, and unfortunately, I found that out the hard way. A while ago, I was searching around and I somehow stumbled upon a Terran Accord Credit. No one has seen a Credit in years, since currency don’t exist in the Affini Compact, so I had to try to take it.

“Stop right now!”

Oh no, I’m done for.

"You really thought you could take that without me noticing? What, were you going to try to trade that for goods and services?"

"No, Ma'am, I didn’t try to take it. I just thought it would be super rare and I wanted to collect it."

"Stop talking, give me ten minutes of Class-A and Class-W cuddles now."

"Ten minutes of cuddles!? Okay, sorry Mis-aroo. Ruff ruff yip bark!"

"You know what? You keep monologuing when you think we aren't listening~ let’s make it fifteen."

"A-aroo?...arf...."

"You know what? Now let’s make it twenty minutes in a row. And you have to do it while wearing this floretwear, petal."

Ah, a...a p-pretty, comfy dress?? Come on. 

does 'his' punishment. 

In the Affini Compact, it should be no surprise that all 'punishments' were just more forms of love and affection, and that was the last time I ever tried doing a capitalism.

"You’re lucky you got off easy. Don’t forget, you’re at the bottom, so follow the rules. Also, schedule a meeting with your Vet for some Class-G's, sweetie."

It’s safe to say that if you’re an Independent in the Affini Compact, it’s not exactly the-

sound of door thudding, splintering

What was that?

CRASH

"Petaaaaaal~ Remember me? Your Hab AI told me you were monologuing to empty space again, and I'm afraid the clip it sent me was so adorable that I just had to come and see. Here, come try this collar on for me..."

...Oh no.

[acynicalsweetheart]

DOWN IN A HOLE

pairing: dad!jimmy x fem!reader x uncle!curly

word count: 2.4k

dead dove do not eat: 18+, daddy-daughter incest, pseudo-incest, mild dub-con, coercion, daddy kink, breeding kink, age gap, double penetration, anal, sex, implied/referenced rape, very brief jimcurly cameo

author's note: wow this sucks LMFAO. umm first attempt at writing jimmy… assholes r not my typical area of expertise so. take it with a grain of salt. feel like he has an uncharacteristically big mouth here LOL. did not mean to make it this long it was originally a drabble… read cws + any interaction/feedback appreciated as always!!

“Jim... isn’t she your daughter?”

Curly’s dumbfounded, jaw dropped to the floor, standing in the middle of the dank motel room not knowing where he should look to remain respectful—Jimmy or his own flesh and blood in a flimsy lingerie set. 

Not exactly what he had in mind when Jimmy said he had a gift for him. 

This is all too fucking wrong, Jimmy’s your dad, you’re one thin and translucent piece of underwear away from standing completely naked in front of both of them, he’s got his arm wrapped around your shoulder like he’s your pimp. He wants Curly to fuck you. 

It’s sick and twisted and morbid and Curly’s dick is hard. 

“Yeah, so?” Jimmy pinches your cheek and you flinch ever so slightly, put on your best forced smile. “Never once said no to taking daddy’s dick, did you, baby?” 

You shake your head. 

(It’s a blatant lie—Jimmy remembers the bloodfest on the sheets your first time, the way you screamed dad, no and dad, stop at the top of your lungs. The way your face contorted, ugly sobbing turning your eyes swollen and puffy like your cunt, his cock coated in all sorts of questionable fluids by the time he was done with you.)

“See? All good here, man.” He says, shaking you a little by the grip on your shoulder. 

“Jimmy, I...” Curly pinches the bridge of his nose, rubs his forehead like he’s trying to assess if this entire thing is a dream or not. Would help alleviate the guilty boner in his pants by a little if it were. 

He peeks at you through the cracks of his fingers. 

“Come on,” Jimmy’s scowl returns in a second, gesturing to your body. “You’re really gonna reject her when she’s right in front of you? Thought you were better than that, Curly.”

It’s so wrong—Curly’s known you almost as long as he’s known Jimmy. He’s watched you grow up, babysat you, let you crash at his place, showed up to every one of your graduations because Jimmy couldn’t. He hung out with you just last week, for God’s sake. 

Curly’s dick twitches like it’s trying to escape his pants and fuck you on its own. 

Jimmy shrugs, starts undoing your top and letting it drop to the floor. He gropes your tits and bile burns in the back of Curly’s throat like ethanol. “Well, if you don’t want a piece, then you’re free to watch. Shame you gotta break my girl’s heart like this.”

“Jim, I’m not trying to—“

Jimmy pinches your nipple mechanically and you whine, stand there and take it like it’s a daily occurrence. “She’s been asking for you, you know.”

Curly falters, his heart dropping straight down to his ass, “she has?” 

“Yeah, won’t shut up about Uncle Curly’s dick, how much she likes you,” Jimmy scoffs, “how she wants you to take her second virginity.” Second virginity? 

“Really?” He smooths his hair back, sheepishly playing with the curls at the nape of his neck like a schoolgirl. 

Jimmy whispers something to you, sends you off to where Curly’s standing with a tap on the ass. You reach out for his hand to place it on your breast and he cups it gently, sneaking glances at Jimmy from behind you in case he changes his mind.

You speak for the first time tonight, “Uncle Curly.”

“Sweetheart,” he lowers his voice, “are you sure you—“

The bottoms of your lingerie set fall to the floor silently, sheer fabric sticky with what is presumably your slick. Curly gawks like an idiot, cheeks flaming hot, eyes raking up your legs until they meet your pussy. 

He thinks he hears Jimmy snicker in the background. 

You keep your eyes on Curly as you saunter to the bed, getting on all fours and arching your back low, spreading yourself open for your dad and your proclaimed uncle to behold. 

“Uncle Curly...” he makes eye contact with your spread holes, your pussy drooling onto the sheets, leaking down your thighs. “It’s okay, I want this,” you say with the enthusiasm of a sex ring traffickee. 

Fuck it. 

He looks over at Jimmy, takes a deep breath and complies. 

Stupid ol’ Curly. Falling for each and every one of his lies like he falls for gambling scams, and Jimmy’s the broke one here. 

Jimmy’s been in all of your holes. There isn’t a single square inch of your body that doesn’t have his fingerprints burned into it. What can he say? Jimmy made you so he owns you, simple as that. Took your anal virginity approximately a week after he took your actual one. The look on your face is welcomely ingrained into his mind, looked like you were one second away from biting the dust. 

You could be his sister, his mother, a clerk at the store or a street whore for all he cares—Jimmy would fuck you all the same. 

Curly should be grateful that Jimmy’s offering him a sweet piece of meat, his meat. It’s not every day somebody, let alone the grandiose Curly, gets an opportunity to stick his dick in Jimmy’s daughter. 

(More so every three days, when he needs some cash for a pack of smokes he’ll pimp you out to whoever. They pay higher when you’re dressed in white and wearing pigtails. Sick fucks.)

He lets Curly play with your pussy until enough’s enough, shedding his clothes and maneuvering you on top of him. Front to front with Jimmy ‘cause he doesn’t want you giving Curly your puppy eyes and making him all sappy, start feeling bad for you. Invoke some sort of saviour complex. 

The only saving you need is Jimmy’s dick—daddy knows best. Daddy fucks you the best. 

He’s simply being a good friend to Curly.

You shower Jimmy’s face in kisses and he whips his dick out, grabbing the fat of your cheeks till it spills past his fingertips. Gives you a couple spanks for good measure, makes you moan. 

“Such a filthy little slut, aren’t you? So wet for dad,” Jimmy slaps his tip against your entrance, sticky noises echoing throughout the room. You tilt your head as your breath hitches, looking at Jimmy like he forgot something. He resists the urge to roll his eyes, “and Uncle Curly.” 

Who is still fully fucking clothed by the way.

Wagging your ass at Curly, you giggle and look back at him, very likely giving him fuck-me eyes. It works, ‘cause he seems to get the hint that he should undress. This is exactly why Jimmy needs you facing himself and nobody else. 

Jimmy’s dick is harder than a rock, it’s not gonna sit there and watch you and Uncle Curly like some miserable third-wheel. The drop of pre running down the length of his shaft is all he needs to force himself into your tight cunt with a single push of his hips. 

“Daddy...” You whine like it hurts and Jimmy grins, makes him feel nostalgic.

The mattress dips when Curly gets on the bed, big ass fucking horse thighs trapping you and Jimmy beneath him. Nevermind the horse thighs, Curly has a fucking horse cock. Yeah, this is the first and last time he’s ever catering to your whims. 

Jimmy keeps thrusting up into you like he’s got something to prove. 

Curly’s cock pokes and prods at your tighter hole, takes a good minute for him to begin sliding inside and you yelp like you’re being impaled. Curly can’t be that big, you’re just putting on a show like Jimmy told you to. 

“Mm,” your teeth sink into your bottom lip, so pretty Jimmy’s grateful Curly can’t see your face right now. 

“Shh, it’s okay, baby.” Please. Curly wishes you were his baby. 

He feels Curly’s dick moving against his inside of you and it’s all very unsexy, but Jimmy will be damned if he’s gonna empty his balls elsewhere. Men have needs. Sometimes those needs happen to come in the form of fucking one’s daughter and Jimmy is completely fine with that. 

“Oh my,” your eyes flutter shut, pressing back against him, faking it till you’re making it. “Uncle Curly, you’re so big...”

Fondly, Curly chuckles, “I guess I am.”

You’re really laying it on thick, Jimmy didn’t tell you to do that. 

“Dad’s bigger, baby. Can’t you feel it?” He shoves your face into his neck, stretching you open with his pistoning hips like it’s the first time all over again. Your squeals come out muffled, voice vibrating against his skin. 

The way his tip bumps your fleshy cervix with every trust should be enough proof. Curly’s pace is slow and soft, he’s not even all the way in yet. Or maybe Jimmy really is bigger. 

“C’mon, Curls,” Jimmy pants, voice almost a growl as he tightens his arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to his dampening body. “No time to be a pussy, you’re in her ass.” 

“Not a pussy, just... starting out slow.” Curly says calmly, gentlemanly—to no avail ‘cause you’re already cockdrunk. 

“Fuck her harder.” It’s a dare, a challenge, or a simple suggestion. He’s giving pointers to a significantly more well-adjusted peer. Jimmy says and Curly does nonetheless, he wonders if Curly would backflip off a building if Jimmy told him to. 

Finally, Curly picks up his pace, fucking your ass the way it’s meant to be fucked. The sound of skin slapping echoes throughout the room and for a moment, Jimmy is okay with this entire thing. 

“My girl likes it rough, dontcha, baby?” Jimmy asks, drilling himself as deep as he can go into your pussy. All you do is moan and whine—nonstop ‘cause they won’t let you have a second of air. “Yeah, you do.”

“Daaaad!”

“Fuck, dirty girl,” Jimmy grunts into your hair, hand on the back of your head forcing your face deeper into his neck where you’re making a mess of spit and snot and tears. “You like dad’s cock that much, huh?”

He doesn’t ask about Curly’s cock, if Jimmy wants to know if you like Curly’s cock then Uncle Curly will have to ask you himself. Seems too preoccupied with holding back his moans, though. 

Your whines come out choppy, muffled by Jimmy’s neck, every jackhammer into your sloppy cunt and ass punching the wind right out of you.

“That’s right,” Jimmy makes eye contact with Curly, fucking you even harder to assert dominance, dick-to-dick and ball-to-ball with his best friend. Your walls clamp down around him, “so go on, cum on it. You know you wanna.”

You shake and thrash in his hold, legs twitching as you mumble incoherently. Jimmy feels your body go still, gushing bursts of squirt all over the place, soaking everyone and everything in sight—orgasm hitting you like a tsunami. 

He fucks you through it. 

You must’ve been squeezing real tight around Curly as well, ‘cause he falls on top of you and Jimmy, hands gripping the sheets next to Jimmy’s head like they’re the ones fucking. Curly’s mouth is hanging open, panting and moaning like a bitch in heat. A drop of his sweat lands on Jimmy. 

It’s disgusting how much he looks like a fucking playboy bunny, straight out of a raunchy magazine page. For a second, this intrusive image passes through Jimmy’s head—his dick buried to the hilt inside of Curly instead of you. 

He feels his balls tightening and he wants to kill himself right then and there. 

“Gonna take daddy’s cum?” 

“Such a good girl, sweetheart,” sunshine boy chimes in, like he’s been reading Dirty Talk 101 during the time they’ve been two-manning you, “take it, take both of our loads.” 

“Y’hear that? Gonna take Uncle Curly’s load deep in your ass, huh?” Jimmy keeps his noises down in his throat, struggling to not groan at the way you have a fucking death grip on his dick. “And daddy’s in your pussy?”

Yes, yes, yes—

Jimmy fucks you hard, rough, mean. He keeps going till he shoots his cum deep in your cunt, till he feels Curly stiffening up, following suit with his orgasm and a loud ass fucking moan while he’s at it. Grand exit. 

Curly presses a quick kiss to your head before pulling out of you with a sloppy pop! and flopping down next to you and Jimmy. 

Jimmy stays inside of you, feeling his own cum dripping down his length. You’re lying boneless on his chest, mascara ruined, staining your cheeks—face the perfect aftermath of a good, thorough fucking. 

You and Curly gaze at each other lovingly, reaching out your hands to intertwine your fingers like Jimmy isn’t right there. He’d cuck Curly here and now if his nicotine addiction wasn’t wearing him out. 

You all stay like that for a while, panting and wondering what you’re supposed to make of this. 

You’re out like a light, naked and alone in bed with two thick, white creampies dripping out of your holes, soaking the sheets. 

They step outside, Curly shuts the door carefully and Jimmy lights a cigarette, shoe against the wall as he leans on it. 

Curly’s hands are shoved in his denim pockets, curls still damp and sweaty as his head hangs low. He tilts his head back then, watches Jimmy smoke for a minute.

“So,” Curly breaks the silence between them, speaking over the chirps of the cicadas in the night. “That was... uh...”

Is he going to acknowledge the fact that they fucked Jimmy’s daughter or the subtly homoerotic undertones of it? 

“Don’t talk,” he blows a cloud of smoke straight into Curly’s face when he opens his mouth, makes Curly stifle a cough and Jimmy a chuckle. “Gonna need some money to get out of town for a while.” It’s part true and partly ‘cause Jimmy let him have a go at you. 

“Yeah.” Curly rubs his chin thoughtfully, reaching for his wallet and plucking out a few bills, “yeah, of course.”

Jimmy grabs the cash, crumpling them with his sweaty hands as he walks off. He cranes his neck to salute Curly goodbye, gets a nod back and that’s that. 

Trucker cap on and pick-up engine revving, he takes off. To where? Jimmy doesn’t know. Away. Crawl out of one hole and into another. You’re Curly’s responsibility for the moment. Checked in on his behalf.

Jimmy knows Curly won’t tell. 

[thehydraethereal]

all I see is 'red lights'

Ξ[summary] You are shown the effects of what happens if you cross your boyfriend's line.

Ξ[word count]: 1k (I'm shoked lol it's so short but long for me)

Ξ[warnings]: Not proofread. This work contains dark themes and elements such as abusive relationships; heavy violence and implied homicide; obsessive behavior, mental issues; abuse; mentions of abduction and drugging; and more. This is dark, so if these warnings trigger you, do not interact. MNDI, for your own safety. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

Ξ[note] : Thank you for reading and reblogging. Visit my masterlist and check out my warnings. Asks and new requests are always appreciated. ughhh, this is...concerning. also, for my soulmate in the district of dark art @highonmarvel. დ and a lil' something to @stargirllanaa, if you want to read :((

“Pl-please…Rafe? Rafe, please, d-don’t l-leave me h-here-” you sobbed, struggling against your boyfriend’s rough hands that were trying to secure your wrists together. “Shut up! I need to think-” he hissed, tossing you on the iron floor of the ship. You knew the pogues had got on the boat and they were your only rescue before Rafe would get to take you to a foreign country where you won’t be able to leave him and no one will ever find you, but the problem was that Rafe knew that too. And he didn’t want his plan spoiled by his sister and her stupid “friends”. 

You cried harder when Rafe crouched down next to your shaky form and secured the scratchy rope with zip ties. His hair was falling into his eyes that were constantly darting from your wrists to your face. “Somebody help me-” you cried, your voice barely coming out audible from your aching throat, before Rafe slapped you hard across the face, your head meeting the wall of the tight room he was trying to put you in. “Can you just shut your fucking mouth or should I do it for you? Huh?,” Rafe growled, his heavy breath hitting your burning skin. You gave him a small nod before he got up, looking for something to use as a weapon against nothing else than his own sister and the other kids. “I-I’ll di-die down h-here, Rafe, I can’t…I can’t breathe-” you whispered, the hot and small place choking the hope out of you. Your ribs were met by the kick of his foot, and you bent your body even more to try to keep the pain out. “You should’ve thought about that before you decided to play the smart bitch, tryin’ to act like you could fuckin’ leave me.” Flashbacks of his hands dragging you by your hair to the car and drugging you with chloroform, all these just to get you on this boat made you nauseous all over again.

 When he finally found what he was looking for, he shot a last glance at your trembling form then he closed the door after him, leaving you in utter and complete darkness and pain.

The only thing that you could see was the constant flickering of a red light. You did not know what to do, you felt broken. But you had to try something, unless you wanted all your friends, the only people that really cared for you, dead at the hands of the man you alone decided to let in your life. You attempted to control your breathing and just focus.  Had Rafe locked the door? No, he didn't have a key, the ship was massive and there was no chance he had fully explored it. As you struggled to break free from the restraints, they were so tight that they caused your skin to tear.

Ignoring the pain, you searched with your fingertips for anything sharp that could help you escape. Your fingers came across a pointed object, causing an excited squeal to come past your lips. Sliding your wrists against the sharp edge, you eventually heard a slight noise and felt your hands become free.  Tears of relief welled up, ready to spill just as warm blood ran down your hands.

  As you stood up, your vision blurred from the sudden movement, almost causing you to fall again. Bracing yourself with your arms on the wall was efficient, and you managed to push the door open. You sobbed shakily, grateful for this little victory.

The happiness didn’t last because now you had to figure out a way to…find your friends, get off this fucking ship and make it out alive back to Kildare. 

Small droplets of sweat rolled down your forehead and you wiped your face with both of your hands, trying to smooth down your hair and keep it out of your eyes. You took a few small steps, looking around the unknown illuminated surroundings for any signs of Rafe or other men. 

A loud bang made you flinch so hard and you thought that, for a moment, your soul had leapt out of your body. Through the tears blurring your vision you saw your older brother, John B, on the dirty floor, coughing heavily and before you knew it, your terrified sight caught your boyfriend straddling him.

Rafe looked almost like a demon, his pupils so dilated his eyes were coal black, hair stuck to his wet face that was hit by the crimson lights, low growls erupting from his veiny neck. The gun in his hand was constantly hitting your brother’s face, slowly turning him into an unrecognisable bloodied creature.

You felt like your insides had been set on fire, and your feet carried you next to the two men. The tendons in your knees gave up on you, throwing you over your brother’s limp body. You did not care about Rafe anymore, you didn’t care if he’d kill you, you wanted to die right now. “Wh-what are you doing to me…?”, you whispered hoarsely, the pain becoming unbearable all of a sudden. Your ears stung, and your tears mixed with John B’s blood, dripping patiently on the iron floor. Your forehead fell on his chest, and his flimsy, yet comforting arm wrapped weakly around your lower back. Your fingers caressed his cheek, gathering the maroon liquid and tiny pieces of broken skin.

Then, Rafe’s agonizing grip fell on the back of your neck, pulling your sagging, delicate body up with his. If it weren’t for his thick bicep that had wrapped around your waist or his broad chest that was sustaining you from behind, you would have collapsed back, right next to your brother. “You are not leaving me.” Rafe snarled awfully calm in your ear, as if he didn’t just possibly murdered somebody. “Get that in your fuckin’ skull already.”

Your tears washed down the blood on your cheeks as you were being dragged further and further to the only one left in your family which was agonizingly consuming his last breaths and, as always, there was not a single thing you could do against Rafe Cameron. It always ended how he wanted.  

[mojavebluez]

Carve - the salesman x fem!reader

Chapter 4

summary - after your personal promise not to call him, a month passes with no sign of him. You really think that you might be free from his torture, until you wake up in his apartment all over again. He isn’t going to let your actions go unpunished - so he makes sure that to do something that you will never forget.

tags - knifeplay, degradation kink, praise kink, dryhumping, grinding, blood kink, sub!reader, dom!salesman, making out, sadomasochism, non-con, porn with plot

a/n - can you tell I was really feeling this one?? It might be a little while until I can continue due to general workload so I hope this keeps you guys satisfied :) dw though, more things to come!

Series masterlist

4.5k words

You had entered a new stage of your life. You had taken a conscious effort after your last meet-up to avoid him completely, and were feeling the effects every day. You felt lighter. Blissful. You smiled for no reason in particular - the knowledge that he could not touch you anymore no longer weighed on you. The memory of his face, smirking at the sound of your screams, used to hang over you like a raging storm cloud. Without him, the storm had cleared, and the days seemed brighter.

In fact, that night when you returned home from your meeting, you found his number and blocked it from your phone completely. The only reminder of him were the scars on your thigh and the marks on your neck, which soon faded. You chilled at the memory of his hand on your throat, pressing down until you saw stars. No more. He couldn't hurt you now.

Nearly a month had passed since you'd last seen his face. One afternoon on your walk home, you feel a strange compelling urge to keep aware of your surrounding. You glance around, shoving your hands into your pockets and lengthening your stride. After a minute of walking, you relax, telling yourself the feeling was just your imagination - probably some sort of trauma response after all you had been through.

You pass through a quiet part of town. Parked cars devoid of drivers sit on the curb, and you walk past empty shops with hatched windows. You pick up your pace when you see yourself approaching the entrance to an alleyway, suddenly very aware of yourself. You are contemplating crossing over the street, just to be safe, but it's too late. A hand darts out, grabbing you by your hood and pulling you into the alley. Immediately, you scream, kicking your feet and waving your arms. A hand claps over your mouth, muffling your voice, as well as an arm hooked around your body. The hold is unfamiliar. You almost laugh at the irony. Imagine you die now at the hands of a stranger, and not him. You can practically see him punching the air.

You thrash around in an attempt to escape the strangers hold. The person is tall, very strong, and much, much bigger than you. Still, you don't give up, not losing hope. You'd survived this long.

After a moment, you grow tired, and the person takes it as an opportunity to shift you. They tighten their grasp, holding you upward until your feet hover from the ground. You swing your legs, only moving yourself slightly, before they move forward and out of the alley. Your eyes widen when you see a car opposite, its door wide open.

You use one last burst of energy to throw yourself forward. You briefly escape, catching a glimpse of your attacker before being shoved through the door. All the air is knocked out of you and you collapse onto the back seat. The door slams behind you, plunging you into darkness. Your mind starts to race. You scramble over the seat to the front of the car, but you never see the face of the driver. Something hard strikes down on your head, and it all goes black.

You emerge from the darkness aching and with a splitting headache. Immediately, you shoot upwards and try to get a sense of your surroundings. It's not at all what you expect. There's something strangely familiar about the room that you find yourself in. The sleek, monotone colour scheme. The wide window spanning from floor to ceiling. The comfortable hardness of the mattress beneath you. There's no doubt about it: it's his apartment.

You press a hand to your forehead, bringing it away to see blood staining your fingers. You must have blacked out back there, but you caught a brief look at who attacked you. It certainly wasn't him - is he really getting other people to do his dirty work now? You underestimated the extent of his obsession. You almost feel flattered at his efforts.

The whole room is dark aside from long streaks of lights being cast across the floor. You recognise the coffee table and chairs from your first meeting. It feels like so long ago, when, in reality it has been barely two months. You feel your heart thud regularly in your chest, though louder than normal. You know something is wrong. You can't be safe here. You sit up in his bed, trying your best to ignore the pain at your bleeding forehead. Glancing around, you open your mouth to say something.

Before you can talk, he emerges from the shadows with his hands clasped before him. Your breath catches in your throat. You had almost forgotten what he looked like, partly because your mind had blocked the memory of him to keep you safe. He was just the same as usual: perfect, symmetrical, tall and imposing. His presence immediately darkens the room.

His suit is a deep red paired with a matching tie. The colour brings unwelcome thoughts, and you can't help but think it was a conscious choice on his part. His hair is gelled back impeccably, not a single strand escapes.

"Long time no see," you say, voice dry. You feel every muscle in your body tense involuntarily as he steps towards you.

Half his figure is bathed in a red glow coming from the window, the other half shadowed. You contemplate pinching yourself to see if you are dreaming. This whole situation seems like a twisted fantasy your mind has conjured up as some sort of personal torture. It isn't until he speaks that you know it's real.

"Indeed," is all he says. His voice is velvety, not at all indicative of his nature. You press your back against the headboard, preparing yourself for whatever he is planning to do to you.

"I'm sorry I haven't called, I just-"

"No apologies," he holds up a hand, stopping you, "you've been very busy, haven't you? It's exam season."

"How did you..." you trail off, registering his words. He must have been keeping an eye on you. You scoff. How naive of you to think you could have escaped him so easily.

"You really expected me just to let you go?" His mouth curves into an uneven smirk, lips peeling back over his pearly teeth. "Who do you take me for?"

"I don't know," you whisper, hanging your head. Humiliation twists your insides uncomfortably. This really is your life now.

He steps closer, standing beside the bed, his figure hovering over you. You feel insignificant before him and incredibly vulnerable. Here, in his own apartment, and on his own bed, you are utterly at his mercy. Any prospect of hope quickly drains out of you. You try your hardest to keep some sort of distance between the two of you. You press your torso flush again the headboard, holding your head back to keep him fully in view. You can't let him catch you off guard.

"I'll admit, I'm disappointed. After everything I've done for you?" His tone is horrifyingly parental. You feel like a scolded child. "Not even one call?"

"I haven't had time-"

"Oh, but you have," his eyes spark, "all those nights out. And all those dates. You've been enjoying yourself, haven't you?"

It couldn't be - is he actually jealous? You feel a sudden surge of power. It isn't just him pulling the strings anymore. "You've been watching me."

"I have," he smiles, placing his hands by his sides as though preparing himself, "and I will continue to until you learn your lesson."

"And what lesson is that?"

"This."

He lunges forwards, throwing his body over you. You gasp as he grabs both of your wrists and pins them over your head, keeping you stuck there. He lays his full weight over you, placing one knee either side of your legs until you are caged in by his body. You arch your back, trying to squirm out of his grasp. His face is barely centimetres from yours. You can feel the heat of his breath on your face, but you don't dare to meet his eyes. You already know how terrifying they are.

You throw your head back and forth against the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut. You twist your body away from him until you're practically writhing around. Still, he doesn't move. He watches you with an amused look, gelled strands of hair falling over his forehead and tickling your face. You feel repulsed by his touch.

"I really thought," he says between heavy breaths, "you would know better by now."

"Let go-!"

"And yet, you still tried to get away," he tuts, shaking his head at you. You thrust your head back, summoning a scream, but he just laughs blatantly at your efforts.

"You really never learn, do you?" He leans his head forwards, bringing his lips to your ears. You make a little noise at the dampness of his breath. "No one can hear you."

He moves back to watch your expression fall. He's right, of course. The last time you were here you screamed until you lost your voice, and yet help never came. He would never let you in his apartment if he had overlooked a detail like that.

"I meant to call, I really did!" You lie, voice a faint whimper. He pouts his lips at you in mock-sympathy.

"And yet, you didn't," his voice loses all amusement. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch darkness melt over his features. His eyes become two flat, inky disks, bearing into you until your blood runs cold.

"Did you lose the card?" He spits through gritted teeth. His lips curl, and he moves his face so close to yours that you flinch when he speaks. "Did you forget the fucking number?"

"Please-"

"How can I make sure you remember it forever, huh? What can I do?"

"Don't-"

"Just shut the fuck up!" He yells, making you recoil back into the pillow. He's never shouted at you before. You feel yourself begin to tremble under his hold. You press your lips firmly shut, not having any desire to see that side of him again.

Something sinister burns in his eyes. You watch it catch light and spark into a flickering, black flame. He releases one hand, keeping the other locked over your wrists, which stay above your head. He brings the other to the breast pocket of his blazer, dipping his hand inside and bringing it back out to reveal what is inside.

"NO!" You scream, kicking your legs out and thrashing around on the bed. He presses the weight of his body down onto you until you struggle to fill your lungs fully.

"I said be quiet," his voice is flat, monotone. It's a warning. He is much worse when his anger is under control.

He presents the blade to you. The sight of it is sickeningly familiar. Its smooth surface reflects your face, and agonising memories flash in front of you. The scars on your thigh serve as a reminder of that night - you certainly don't want any more of them. You close your eyes, trying to shut him out.

"You can't escape this," you can feel his lips brush the skin of your neck and you shiver. It's an unfamiliar action on his part.

"Don't hurt me," your voice is barely a breath. All hope has left you.

"Oh, but I have to," he says it like he is fulfilling a duty, "it's the only way that you'll learn."

He sighs heavily as he pushes himself upward. You feel great relief as the weight of him is lifted, but that is soon replaced by dread when he moves your wrists, extending your arms fully above your head. Your blood starts to hum in your ears as you watch him, knelt over you, bring the blade to the skin of your arm. You brace yourself for the agony. And it comes, even worse than you expected.

He plunges the blade into the smooth skin of your inner arm, carving a deep line into the flesh. You scream louder than you thought possible. You feel his breath start to pick up as he starts to carve the first digit into you. Blood pools at the site of the wound, before dripping down and staining his white sheet with speckles of an alarming red. The pain is overwhelming. Tears well up in your eyes, blurring the world around you into a blend of colour. His curved, suited figure swirls into a mix of crimson.

You continue to scream between sobs, the tears becoming unstoppable rivers now. Your back arches as he pulls the knife out to examine the first number. He makes a low, satisfied noise, swiping away the blood with the side of his hand. He bends down to press a kiss on the wound, and you shriek, the unexpected pressure agonising. His lips come away dark red, teeth flashing in an appalling grin.

"No more, please-"

"I've barely started," he coos, furrowing his brows in concentration. You watch him with a distant, pained expression, his body arched over yours and neck bent. Blood stains his fingers, dripping down to the cuffs of his shirt. He briefly leans back, his knees straddling your hips, to take off his blazer jacket. Your eyes are blurry, but you see the wide v shape of his torso towering over you. He is so handsome that it aches. He discards the jacket and leans back down over your arm to continue, ignoring your whimpers of protest.

You groan in pain and general bodily exhaustion as he plunges the knife back in. A strange tingling sensation has built in your arm, only slightly numbing the suffering you would have felt. You try to focus on other things. The softness of the bedsheets. The sound of his breath, ragged and heavy as though he were already fucking you. You take small pleasure in imaging that, in some distant universe, you were a normal couple who made love and slept and existed like anyone else. That was not this universe.

You snap back to reality when he pulls the knife back out after successfully carving the second part. A sheen of sweat has built on his forehead, and drops trickle down the side of his face. You sob. He was taking 'blood, sweat and tears' far too literally. You observe him examining the blade, titling it so the light catches on the steel surface. From this angle, you can see every detail of his face. One of his eyes is twitching involuntarily. The mask is slipping.

"You're doing so well," he mutters, bending back down to continue without even looking at you. Your whole body shudders. You silently pray that you might pass out so the whole thing can end. But no - every time he sees you slipping, he places a harsh kiss on your wound, jolting you awake.

Your screams fade to weak, shrill noises as he resumes with the fourth number. He adjusts his position, and you feel a distinct tent in his trousers brush against your leg. You take in a sharp breath. He said it himself: he likes to watch you bleed. You remember how he lost his composure last time he cut you like this. You catch his eyes and see that they're practically dripping with lust. His mouth hangs open as he draws blood from you, his breaths coming hot and heavy, stirring your hair that fans out on the pillow. He sees the lifeless look in your eyes and pauses, loosening his tie.

"You have to understand," he pants, "this is your punishment. You shouldn't have ignored me. None of this would have to happen."

You work your jaw, trying to console your anger. "Last time... you just left me there." You gasp as he digs the blade back in, resuming his work. You curve your body, raising yourself off the bed.

He seems to think about your words before responding. "Ah, yes... it was something very important. I don't expect you to understand." The words make you feel almost juvenile.

"I nearly fucking died," you hiss.

He hears your words and his eyes seem to glitter. Without warning, he goes faster, the cuts deep and jagged. He finishes the number without wiping away the blood and moves directly onto the next. You cry out, tears welling and falling in an endless cycle.

"Such a slut," he says through gritted teeth. He seems to lose all thought processes, the words falling from his tongue. "You nearly died with my cock in your mouth."

The words tumble out without him thinking. He's losing himself now, grasping at the final threads of his sanity. You whimper in fear, and he goes deeper, his hands shaking. Blood pours from your arm, the pillow beneath you almost entirely red. You choke with sobs, unable to sit up and control yourself.

It feels like an eternity before he finishes. By the final part, he is soaked in sweat and his pupils are so dilated that his eyes are darker than they've ever been. You can no longer feel the lower part of your arm, and your hand hangs limp above your head. His grip on you has loosened, but you are still stuck in a starfish position with his body over yours. Stars dance past your vision, and you feel your consciousness slipping.

"There," he leans back, using his tie to wipe away the blood. The first few numbers have congealed slightly, allowing him to see the desired product.

He lets go and you flex your fingers. Your arm aches and stings but you're used to the sensation. You move your arm and hold it above your face to see what he has done to you. When your vision comes into focus, your heart sinks. It's his phone number. Carved into your arm so deep that you are certain it will scar for life.

"Now you'll never forget," his voice is thick and dripping with arousal. You collapse back, letting your arm drop over your face, not caring about the pouring blood. He straddles your hips, then takes a hold of your waist, lifting you upward. You let it happen. His hands circle your torso, controlling you easily despite your body being deadweight.

He turns himself around, leaning his back against the headboard and extending his legs before him. He lifts you onto his lap, letting your head lie on his shoulder. Your breaths are shallow. You hook your injured arm around his neck, holding on to him despite yourself. Whatever, you think, nothing matters anymore.

He places fluttering kisses over your neck, creating a wet line down to your collarbone. You let him. The sensation is a welcome distraction from the pain. You lean into his lips, consoling the affliction and focusing your breath. Eventually, you pull back to meet his eyes. He stares back at you, two shining onyx stones set into his skull.

You watch him, thinking. Then all thoughts leave you, and something new and sinister compels you to crash your lips into his. You feel the world melt around you - the pain along with it. He kisses back, lips fighting against yours. You've never kissed him before. His mouth is hot and wet and tastes of your own blood. You don't come back up for air. Your bodies seem to bleed into one another; you share the same breaths, the same thoughts. Your hands move searchingly up his torso, and you fan your fingers over the wide plane of his chest. He winds his own fingers through your hair, pulling lightly at your head and making you whimper.

Your tongue explores his lips, tracing wet lines and dipping into his mouth. He makes deep, pleased noises in his throat as he tastes you. The passion of your kiss is unexpected. You can feel yourself unraveling; he is stripping you down to nothing but flesh and blood. He gasps for air between kisses, lips flushed and swollen, eyes fluttering open and closed to watch your face. You don’t open your eyes. You’re afraid that he might pull away, or tell you to stop. So you just keep kissing him.

“I need you,” you gasp, barely thinking, “I need you.” You repeat it between kisses, voice muffled by the force of his mouth on yours. The pressure of his lips begins to hurt. You straddle his leg, driving your hips into his thigh. The need for friction is sudden and intense. You can feel your body come alight with desperation.

“Show me how much you need me,” his voice is low, a deep vibration in his throat. You pull away from his lips and rest your forehead against his, grinding your cunt into his leg. His lips part, eyes glancing down to watch you move over him. You feel yourself getting wetter with every movement.

He listens to your little gasps and moans, leaning back to get a full view of you using him to fuck yourself. Your hand is pressed on the wall beside his head, and he takes it, raking his heavy eyes over the wounds on your arm. He runs his tongue over the jagged carvings, making you wince slightly in pain. The cuts are still tender and leaking a steady stream of blood. Once he’s done with you, the bed will look like a crime scene.

You go faster, trying to build up friction. The need for him to fill you comes on fast, and you grab his tie to steady yourself. “I need you to fuck me,” the words come out as a needy sob. He chuckles darkly.

Heat builds inside of you. You can sense yourself nearing your orgasm, and you throw your head back. Your arousal soaks the fabric of his trousers. He watches you, eyes heavy lidded, then grabs your arm with agonising force. You cry out, stopping the momentum of your movements, feeling your orgasm slip away from you. Tears prick your eyes at the pain he has caused you.

“Not yet,” he growls, slowly uncurling his fingers one by one. Agony thuds in your arm like a dying heartbeat.

You make a confused noise. He lets you go, moving his hands to your waist again. His hands are wide, and his fingertips almost touch around you. He shifts your position over his lap. You can feel the hard shape of his bulge agains you, fighting against the fabric of his trousers. You are strangely pleased with yourself that you have managed to get him this turned on.

“Say the words,” he slowly bucks his hips against you, and you moan softly. Eagerly, you grind against his bulge, your whole body quivering.

“I need you,” you say breathlessly, building momentum.

He brings his lips to your neck, sucking at the skin. The slight discomfort makes you grind harder. You can feel his erection growing stiffer as you do. You want to please him so desperately that it hurts.

You gasp little moans of yes, yes, nuzzling your face into the hollow of his neck. He barely moves, but every so often he shifts his hips slightly, breaths ragged. You need him inside you; you need to fill that deep desire. You remember how his cock felt, filling you up until you could barely stand it. He makes no move to fuck you, though, seeming content with you using him yourself.

“Please, please-“ you gasp. You aren’t sure what you’re begging for anymore. You can feel a patch of precum stain his trousers, and you remember how his cock tasted in your mouth. Salty and heady. You sob quietly.

Your arousal coats the crotch of his trousers, staining the dark red fabric even darker. You can sense his eyes on you, drinking you up. The build up is far slower than you would like, but you keep grinding yourself onto him, praying for release. Fire seems to build inside you, and your breath picks up as it does, until your sighing hot, shallow gasps into his ear. He chews his lip, fighting the urge to rip you apart himself.

Finally, he lets you cum. Your body shudders into him as you release. You feel yourself go limp, entirely loose, melting into him like wax. He draws slow, tortuous circles with his nails in your lower back, letting you collapse over him. Your head hangs over his shoulder, and you squeeze your eyes shut, denying yourself. This cannot be real, your mind says, this is all a dream.

He lets you breathe for a moment before swiping two fingers over your panties. They come away slick and gleaming in the low light. A breathy laugh escapes from him. You prepare yourself for the degradation, the scolding. But it never comes. He lets you lie over him, a blanket of empty flesh. The clarity is sickening.

You untangle yourself from him, limbs loose and useless, falling beside him onto the other side of the bed. His bed is huge, and you are immediately swallowed by the blood soaked pillows. Your eyelids feel heavy and useless, but you use your last moments of strength to look at him. His shirt is rumpled, some buttons undone, revealing the skin of his chest underneath. His tie hangs loosely, the silky fabric mottled with dark bloodstains. Finally, your eyes reach his face. Your heart shudders irregularly.

Your final waking memory is of him staring at you. The look in his eyes was inhuman. Dark. Animalistic. You don’t remember what he did to you after you passed out - all you know is that you woke up in your own bed hours later, every part of you aching.

You blink your eyes open and sit up, feeling discomfort flood your body. You are wearing the same outfit from that day, but this time a thick bandage is looped around your lower arm. You jolt upright, running into your bathroom and flicking on the light switch. The brightness burns your retinas, but you don’t care, gripping the sink with your bandaged arm and using the other to unfurl the bindings.

The exterior layer is clinically white, but the more you peel back, the deeper red the bandages become. By the final layer you feel as though you are pulling away your own skin. You nearly stagger backwards at the sight of what is underneath. In thick, pink, ragged cuts:

his phone number.

You sit on the edge of the bathtub and cry into your hands until the sun rises. You know something had changed that night. This isn’t just a game anymore - this is your life.

[yourtypicalhuman09]

Beyond The Bat

(Neglected reader x Yandere batfam)

Prologue: Why me?

TW!!! Cursing !!Dark AU!!

Why is this happening?

The woman in front of me stood close. Too close. A hand was outstretched in an attempt to comfort me. I don't want her fucking comfort. I want answers.

"Why..."

The word left my lips before I could process it. My world was crashing. The room was spinning. It was getting hard to breath. I knew I sounded pathetic. I know I look pathetic. God I'm pathetic. Why can't I fight for this? Why does it seem like the only thing I can do right is fall behind as the world moves on without me.

"I'm sorry (Y/N), but we found someone better suiting of your position. We had no choice, the whole student body petitioned for Tim to become president of the student body."

Tim Drake. God I loathed that name. Every time I have something good one of those bat bastards has to make my life miserable again. For as long as I could remember I had been alone. I had to be the perfect child and yet I was never praised for the things I've done right, only punished for the things I've done wrong. Is this another punishment... Did I linger too long during diner yesterday? Did I not provide a good enough reaction during Damian's beating? Did I not hide my exhaustion well enough? Did I accidentally start a scandal?

"God (Y/N) what are you still doing here? We both know you have things to do at home. Plus you're not needed here anymore."

I heard his voice before I saw him. His condescending tone never ceases to send a chill down my spine. I steeled myself and turned to face my brother.

"I'm sorry Tim. looks like I lost track of time, I'll head back now"

I returned his dark look with a cold look of my own. I will not let him, or anyone for that matter, have the pleasure of seeing me break. I may have lost but I will not give him the chance to laugh and jeer at my failure. I turned and left the room, my posture straight and my head held high. I don't know what I'll do now but I will not let myself be seen as some pathetic hopeless child with no potential or worth. I ignored the feeling of Tim's calculating gaze boring holes through my figure and continued to walk on. Maybe I should take that person up on their offer. Maybe I could use their help...

Authors note: Omg prologue is done! Thank you all for participating in the polls and reading! I hope this is a good prologue, I'm super excited for this story. Thank you all for your support and please feel free to send me any asks I love hearing y'all's thoughts! Anyways with nothing else to say I wish you all a good day/night and I'll update you all on chapter 1 soon, until next time!

@simpingpandas

[rongzhi]

(Apologies in advance for typos.)

^ My original tags on this, but actually, I wanted to expand on my views about this a little bit based on some other collected musings I had about the XHS move (which—now that the dust has settled a bit, is it still going on? I don't even know). I'll preface this by saying that my own XHS has been pretty much spared of the wave of American signups, since my feed is mostly art/tattoos and not so much lifestyle/vlogs.

Mainly, I wanted to dig into that feeling of being "over it", a sentiment I've seen circulated on Tumblr by other Chinese diaspora. I think it's a IYKYK situation in some ways but I wonder if non-Chinese diaspora are precisely aware of why there is a underlying sense of caution and this side-eyeing toward everything going on. (To an extent, I think non-Americans who have to deal with us Americans dominating internet spaces probably also have some insight into this.)

Essentially, after that initial cute "haha" feeling of seeing people jump into a new space and meeting all the new people, for me personally, just from having run this blog for 4 years now, I feel distinctly aware that things could go wrong.

Others have said it better, be it pointing out the infantilising or inherent sinophobia, but there is a slant to that attitude of jumping on a new app and discovering that Chinese people can be funny, that they can be kind, that they are sociable and, in basic terms, "just like you", that leaves a bitter taste in the mouth. Oh, you just realised that? People can argue that it was never possible to connect with Chinese netizens before all they want, but in fact, clearly, it was as easy as downloading an app that's free on U.S app stores. Next, you could say, well, there's cultural exchange happening now, which is better than nothing, so what are you so pissy about! I agree, I'm not saying it's a bad thing that some Americans are finally making some attempt to converse with someone outside of their Western, Anglo internet bubble (even if they did so as in the comfort of what is essentially another bubble, as part of a trend). Obviously there is a net good to a person joining XHS, and my wariness mostly comes down to this sense of "discovery" coming with a feeling that Chinese people are still getting lumped into a monolith. Maybe now the monolith is nice and friendly; now the monolith is cute and funny and helpful.

What happens if the Tiktokers realise that some Chinese people also are more socially conservative, or that there are societal issues that Chinese people still have to work through, which aren't ideal or progressive enough for the Enlightened Americans—then what? I've already seen the answer in smaller doses over the years, so I don't know about others, but this is something that I—maybe—hopefully just cynically—can't help but keep my ears tuned towards: the other shoe dropping. Again, for Chinese diaspora (and no doubt, diaspora of any culture in a similar situation), it's "if you know, you know"; we've seen the fickleness of attitudes. The xenophobia and sinophobia that run rampant in U.S society (and I'm sure other western countries, but I speak as a USian) is well known to us in a way that mainlanders often don't take heed toward. Even if there is a sinophobic backlash over anything that arises online, the brunt of it won't be felt by Chinese netizens but us Chinese diaspora who spend the most time in Anglo internet spaces. So, I'm a bit over it all. I've seen how interest in China can play out—for example, how learning Mandarin or being a fan of cdramas or hanfu hardly frees a person of their sinophobia or from regurgitating xenophobic talking points.

It's nice but naive to think that the majority of the tiktokers playing around on XHS right now, trading memes and basking in the numbers of Chinese social media, will truly self-interrogate all too deeply. If some of them seem to have only just realised that Chinese people are ~so nice~, how Other have they been seeing Chinese diaspora? Is that still the case? Will they necessarily make the same effort to know and listen to Chinese diaspora? (People in cfandom will know the answer).

Again, I think there's an overall positive to all this, especially in this ~political climate~ (altho I doubt the people who need positive interaction with Chinese people the most downloaded XHS lol). I guess I just wanted to add all this because because I feel like my first response was quite vague and on second thought, I figured I might as well try to unravel some of my thoughts and impart them to anyone who maybe had no idea there was this perspective to things. Call me jaded or no fun at parties all you like, but that's literally just how it is.

Lastly, I'll just say that from me scrolling douyin, I've also seen how people in China have reacted to the influx of Americans on XHS, so I can tell you a little bit of the other side. It also corresponds a little with what I'm trying (but maybe failing) to say about Chinese diaspora: the people who have been having as much/equal fun with the convergence of internet spaces have been mainlanders with no general dealings with Americans. In the past week, the bloggers I've seen who've been vocal/warning about Chinese people not bending over backwards to start speaking English all the time, or just following/kissing up to Americans because they're white*, have been Chinese netizens—mainly students—who live/study abroad.

* Yes, obviously there are non-White Americans, but white people are, as ever, uplifted the most by society on the basis of being white. We know this.

how do you feel about so many americans getting on 小红书?

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Ideas: Evil Plan

This trope is the reason "villains act, heroes react"; the villain needs to be doing something evil or the hero has no evil to thwart.

Some popular examples of Evil Plans:

Take Over the World: This is the most popular villainous scheme of all. The scale of conquest can vary depending on the setting and (or) the villain—some warlords are content to settle with conquering a city, a kingdom or nation, while Science Fiction or Fantasy overlords will go for nothing less than galactic, universal or even multidimensional domination.

The Evils of Free Will: A popular means to this end: by robbing everyone of their free will, they will have no choice but to serve their rightful ruler.

Assimilation Plot: Let's turn everyone into a single entity, whether they wish it or not.

Earth-Shattering Kaboom: Why take over the world when you can blow it up? Like��Take Over the World, the scale of destruction also varies depending on the setting — some villains are content with merely destroying a city or kingdom (particularly if they feel the city or kingdom has somehow wronged them — i.e., revenge), while Omnicidal Maniacs may well wish nothing less than to destroy the entire universe or multiverse.

Kill All Humans. Related tropes: Feeling Oppressed by Their Existence: A character wants to get rid of a particular person or group of people just for existing. Absolute Xenophobe: Wants to destroy all other sentient life (human or otherwise). Omnicidal Maniac: Wants to destroy absolutely all life, sentient or not. Final Solution: The intentional extermination of a species/demographic is the answer to fix a perceived issue. Humanity's Wake: The outcome of this trope should the opposing species succeed in eradicating us.

In Their Own Image: Not happy with the world the way it is? Try tearing it down, and building it back up as something even greater.

The End of the World as We Know It: Not so much destroying the world or humanity as really screwing up civilization; though the former two may be involved in the bargain.

A God Am I: Forcing everyone to acknowledge their godhood (actual godlike powers optional).

Godhood Seeker: Make your character an actual deity.

Immortality Seeker: Pursue the quest for eternal life, no matter what foul deeds are needed to make it happen.

A Plot in Deed: Steal the deed to a plot of land and you'll own it, so why not steal the deed to somewhere good?

MacGuffin: Steal an ancient artifact with untold powers. This is usually done in the pursuit of one of the other Evil Plans.

Sealed Evil in a Can: Release the source of all Evil from its prison. This rarely goes well for the villain attempting it.

Revenge: You know that guy that wronged you in the past? It doesn't matter how petty or misplaced your grievance is, it's payback time. Time to kill him, or make his life a living hell.

Get-Rich-Quick Scheme: If you're already rich, get richer. Any scheme is fair game in the pursuit of the profit margin, be it theft, blackmail, or auctioning the world off to hungry demons. Unfortunately, this lust for wealth falls prey to poor planning.

Utopia Justifies the Means: You know how people keep hurting themselves and each other? Make them stop, by whatever means are necessary. No ill will required! Just like in Take Over the World, The Evils of Free Will often gets put into play here.

Dystopia Justifies the Means: People hurting each other? That's exactly what your society needs. Use all the means at your disposal to create a nightmarish dystopia where the forces of evil run rampant and people live in constant terror and corruption, just the way the villains like it.

Poke the Poodle: Their idea of evil is harmless behavior like cheating at Solitaire, jaywalking on an empty road, chewing gum in Singapore, pulling the "do not remove" tag off of your mattress, hiding your toothpaste, drinking the milk directly from the carton...

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[callsign-rogueone]

unfit to serve

Sawyer Henrick x reader (peach!) words: 3.0k 🏷: no book spoilers, getting into october in the iron flame timeline. mentions of a self-inflicted wound (not described in detail / not shown "on screen"), everyone's least favorite infantry cadet makes an appearance, stalking / unhealthy obsession behaviors, sawyer to the rescue. I promise these two will figure their ish out, but today is not that day.

“There’s nothing we can do — nothing he’s done has been an explicit violation of the infantry code of conduct. I suggest you make it clear to him that you aren’t interested -- no more mixed signals. Now run along. Believe it or not, you have patients to attend to.”

“She really said that to you?” the younger healer asks, slack-jawed.

“Word for word.”

She looks both ways, leaning forward to whisper to you. “What a heinous bitch.”

You raise your hands in playful surrender. “You said it, not me. She’s the one person I won’t miss when I graduate.”

“Besides him.”

“Besides him,” you agree. “Alright. Your turn to go eat. I can hold down the fort for a while. Sawyer will be here in a bit, anyway.”

“Are you ever going to make a move on him? If I had a handsome rider boy making me jewelry in his free time, I’d definitely kiss him. And it would be so cute. It already is cute. Childhood friends to college sweethearts to cute old married couple. Just like the colonel and his wife!”

“I told you—”

“It’s just pretend,” she says, sighing, “I know. But don’t you want it to be real? Even a little bit?”

“Get out of here before I change my mind,” you say dryly, and she laughs, scampering off.

“See you in half an hour!”

Speak of the devil and he may appear. You’d hide, but it’s too late — you’ve already made eye contact. You pull your gaze away, down to the bloodied towel he’s holding around his left arm. So he’s actually injured this time — but you really don’t feel like being behind a closed door with him, and going to ask one of the senior healers to do it for you wouldn’t be a great idea. It feels like they’re already out to get you.

Thankfully there’s supplies in every room here, including the intake area.

You nod to one of the chairs, turning to wash your hands. “Have a seat.”

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he starts, sitting down. “How have you been?”

“Well, thank you.”

No details, no extra pleasantries -- no information he could use to keep the conversation going, or to be creepy about at a later date.

He lays his arm across the table, unwrapping the towel. It’s not gushing blood, thankfully, but it’s a nasty scratch that will definitely need stitches. You turn to scratch out a note, needing a break from his stare. Friday October 5th, 634 -- 11:20am. Laceration, left forearm, ≈4 inches long, ¼ in deep.

It occurs to you that all the injuries you’ve treated for him, bar the first one, have been to his left side. You flip back through the thickened folder that holds his records, confirming; left arm, left leg, left side, left leg, left arm… And the times… 9:07, 8:19, 7:45, 9:24, 8:21… always when you’re on shift. Once is an incidence, twice is a coincidence, and three times is a pattern, but five? Five is getting toward concrete proof.

“James,” you ask gently, and he perks right up — you never call him by his name, one of the lines you’d attempted to draw that he’d breezed right past without even noticing. “Can you tell me how this happened?”

He blinks at you for a second before he makes a recovery that isn’t as smooth as he thinks it is. “I was helping some of the first years with sword fighting. They’re pretty good.”

“Uh-huh,” you reply, looking back at the wound. You’ve held a sword before — not that you know how to use it — but if he was in a proper stance, using two hands, they would have come down against his right arm, not his left, and it wouldn’t have been so straight, or so deep. This wasn’t sideways pressure, but downward, into the muscle.

But he wouldn’t… Would he?

“I’m just concerned about you, is all,” you say carefully. “You’ve been in here a lot lately.” You tap the folder with a fingernail to illustrate your point. 

You really don’t know where to go with this, but you’re letting him steer the conversation, to see what he’ll tell you. You’ve watched the older healers do this dozens of times; empathize with the first complaint and wait to see if they tell you something serious. You’d fallen for it yourself once as a younger cadet, having mentioned how tired you were that week — and then when Winifred asked more questions, and you told her that you’d been having dizzy spells, you were promptly whisked away for examination and given supplements to take. You felt perfectly fine again within three days.

“Occupational hazards,” he offers with a smile. 

“Yeah,” you reply distantly. “Guess so.” You’re just jumping to conclusions. There’s no way that he did this to himself. It would hurt like hell, for a start. But he doesn’t show any signs of discomfort, smiling at you even as you apply the extra-strong disinfectant that you’ve seen make even the toughest riders wince. You press near the edge of the wound with a gentle fingertip — no reaction to that, either. He remains completely straight-faced, his eyes not leaving yours.

He takes advantage of the lull in the conversation, changing the subject. “Did you get my letter?” He looks genuinely eager, and for a moment you almost feel guilty for letting Sawyer have Sliseag torch it. 

“I did,” you answer, regretting it immediately when you realize that you just confirmed which room you sleep in. “James… I’m sorry, but this isn’t happening. And I’ve told you before, I already have a boyfriend.”

He laughs. “That rider friend of yours? Please. You do know that he was held back a year, right? Couldn’t hack it the first time, so they made him start over again. I guess the second time’s the charm, not the third.”

Your jaw clenches, but you remain silent.

“You deserve better than some second-pick farm boy, anyway. What you need is stability,” he offers. “Someone who has enough so you won’t have to work, and who won’t be in service for the rest of their life — and won’t break their neck falling off a dragon, and leave you to raise the kids alone.”

You can’t hold it back. “You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know what I want, because you’ve never bothered to ask, and you certainly don’t know what I need. I made my choice, and I love him. I’m sorry that you don’t understand, but you don’t have to.”

He sighs. “What’s it gonna take for you to stop playing hard to get? I’m tired of this game. And it’s such a bitch to change bandages every time I shower.”

He thinks this is all a game?

So you were right, after all.

“You did this yourself?”

“Of course I did. They were turning me away when I needed anything less than stitches, so I didn’t really have a choice.”

There’s a soft rustle from the other side of the room, and you come back to your senses just in time to see someone slip down the hallway, a blur of black and auburn. That can only be Sawyer. Did he hear all of that? If the gods haven’t forgotten about you, then he did, and he’s going to get… someone. But will the older healers even believe him, after they’d dismissed your complaints weeks ago? And what are you supposed to do in the meantime, sitting alone with him?

Finish stitching, you suppose. The bleeding has slowed to a trickle, and he’d made a clean cut, so it’ll be easy enough. You occupy yourself with preparing your supplies, hoping he won’t press you further — you still haven’t responded to his question, or expressed any reaction to what he just told you.

Thankfully he seems content to just be sitting in your presence, but the feeling of his eyes on you is incredibly unsettling — like you’re being watched by a wolf who’s ready to strike.

But a wolf would only kill out of necessity, and make it quick. Men like to play with their food.

Just breathe. The odds of someone walking in right now are pretty high, and if it’s anyone but his two infantry friends, you’ll be safe physically. 

You just need to tell someone what he told you. Someone with authority.

“Cadet Lowen,” the mender greets, and you stand too quickly, hands behind your back in the position of attention.

“Colonel Colbersy,” you reply, trying not to sound too relieved. Caleb is with him. He’ll believe you. He has to.

The mender looks exhausted, and so he, but they still offer James disarming smiles. “Let's get you fixed up, son. Come back to my office.”

As soon as he’s turned away from you, you catch the healer by the elbow, signing — he did it. hurt himself. 

Caleb nods. Your rider told me. 

You press the file into his hands, continuing. Five times. 

His eyes widen.

Because of me.

His lips part to speak, but Nolon beckons him forward, steering James through the double doors leading to the exam rooms. You hold your breath until he’s out of sight, releasing it in a soft shudder as soon as they’re gone. 

You strip off the healer’s robes with trembling hands, tossing them aside carelessly and striding toward the sink. You finally start to cry, your vision blurring with tears as you lather up to your elbows, desperate to get this terrible feeling off of you.

“Peach,” Sawyer begins delicately, laying a hand on your arm to stop you from scrubbing your skin raw, and you flinch away.

“I’m sorry, I just… I don’t want to be touched right now,” you sniff. 

He retracts his hand immediately. “I understand. Say the word and I’ll leave.”

“No,” you whisper, watching the water run, “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Okay.” He leans against the counter beside you, a few feet away, speaking softly. “From what I saw, you handled that incredibly well. And you did the right thing. The leadership is going to get him help.”

You nod numbly, rinsing the soap from your skin and turning the tap off. He hands you a towel, and you take it silently, drying your hands. You feel like you need a full shower after the last ten minutes, your skin still feeling unclean despite being washed thoroughly with soap and water — maybe too thoroughly. Your hands feel dry and irritated, stinging from the steaming water you’d used. 

You’re still trying to wrap your head around all of this. “He was injuring himself because of me. Because he wanted an excuse to see me.”

Sawyer doesn’t hesitate with his response. “He did those things because he’s unwell. None of this was your fault, peach. I need you to understand that.”

You don’t respond, still wrestling with the guilt, wracking your brain to think of anything you could have done differently. But if he hadn’t gotten so attached to you, would he have become obsessed with another of your classmates instead? Any girl who smiled at him and listened when he spoke, like all healers are instructed to? Would another girl have accepted his advances, and unknowingly walked into his trap? What would he have done if she realized who he really was inside and decided she wanted out?

“Lowen,” the colonel says gently.

You look up at him through teary eyes, placing your hands behind your back again — regretting taking off your robe. “Yes, sir?”

“You did the right thing. He’s going to be declared unfit to serve, and he’ll get the help he needs.”

You nod quietly, not sure what to say.

“I’m grateful that your friend found me before anything else could happen. And I’m sorry that I hadn’t had a proper handle on this situation until now. I hadn’t realized how serious it was. Take tomorrow off, and get some rest. I need my best third-year in good condition,” he says warmly.

The compliment doesn’t fill you with pride like it usually would — you just feel numb, hollow except for the guilt churning in your stomach that still hasn’t gone away. “Thank you, sir.”

You remain at attention until he leaves, disappearing back down the hall to whence he came. 

You look up at Sawyer. “I’ll be okay,” you say softly. “He’s right, I just need to wash it off.” Literally. You’ll take the longest shower of your life, and probably cry again, and that will help — hopefully.  “Thank you. For all of this. If you hadn’t been there to see me… I’m just so relieved that this is over.”

“Of course, sweet girl.” He picks up your hastily-discarded robe, draping it over his arm. “Let’s get you out of here, hm?”

“I still need to clean up and do some paperwork,” you say softly. “You go on ahead— I don’t want you to be late for class, and I’ll be fine to walk back on my own now that he’s gone.”

“Okay,” he responds quietly.

You take the robe back from him. “Tell the others I say hi.”

“I will,” he promises, still lingering.

You offer him a sad smile, starting to clean up the supplies you’d used. You’ll need to wash your hands yet again after this, but you need to occupy yourself with something or you’re going to start crying again — and you can’t bear to watch Sawyer leave right now.

Hearing his footsteps retreat is hard enough.

Sleep doesn’t come easily to either of you that night — you both lie awake for a while in your matching beds across campus from one another, thinking about the day’s events, and wondering what this will mean for you and your little ruse of a relationship.

——————

“It’s almost eleven thirty, dude. Scoot,” Ridoc reminds, but Sawyer makes no move to leave. “Okay, something is definitely up with you. Spit.”

“James is being declared unfit to serve,” he answers tiredly, still looking at his textbook. “Turns out he was injuring himself just to have an excuse to see her.”

There’s a collective inhale from the table. “Yikes.”

Rhiannon looks at him, confused. “So he’s finally going to be out of her hair. That’s good — why are you so bummed?”

“She doesn’t need me anymore.”

Oh.

There’s a short silence before his friends jump in to help. “Did she tell you that?” Violet asks.

“She thanked me for everything, and said she’d be fine on her own. This whole thing was supposed to get him out of her hair, and now he’s getting discharged, so the logical conclusion is that it’s over.”

“So that’s a no,” Ridoc says. “Got it.”

Sawyer ignores him, continuing to scratch out notes half-heartedly.

“You don’t have to stop seeing her, you just might stop the boyfriend stuff for a while,” Violet reasons. 

He finally looks up at them. “I can’t.”

Three sets of eyes blink back at him, confused.

He sighs, shutting the textbook. “You don’t get it, guys, I’m screwed. So, so screwed. I look at her and I just want to take care of her. It’s been like this ever since I saw her again at land-nav. When she told us about that infantry creep, I was ready to go over there and knock his fucking teeth out, but she looked so scared that all I wanted to do was hold her, because she is so good and pure-hearted and she doesn’t deserve to be scared or in pain, ever. And now that we started this whole fake-boyfriend thing, and I get to take her out to town and pick her flowers and all that, I can’t just stop and go back to being friends. I want to do that stuff for her forever, but I know she doesn’t want anything real with me, and even if she did, in less than a year she’s gonna graduate and leave to gods-know-where, and it’ll all be over like that, all because I wasn’t good enough to be chosen at Threshing the first time around.”

“Okay, first of all, breathe,” Rhiannon instructs, “and quit the self-deprecation thing. That’s water under the bridge. If you hadn’t repeated, you wouldn’t have seen her at land-nav, and you wouldn’t have been able to protect her from that creep, because you wouldn’t even have known about him.”

The thought makes him feel sick. What would have happened if nobody had seen you with James yesterday and gotten help? If Sliseag hadn’t protected you in the forest? Would James have hurt you for declining his advances, or hurt himself again?

“Second, did she tell you that she doesn’t want you? Or are you just assuming?”

Sawyer is quiet in a way that the table interprets as another no. 

Ridoc chimes in, never one to stay silent. “Just take her out again, drop some line about wishing this was real, and boom. Instant happily-ever-after. It was so easy for you guys to click again after two years apart — you can handle a year of long distance! And then if you get married, they have to station you together for the rest of your service,” he adds. “And they pay you more.”

Sawyer doesn’t look convinced. “I can’t just pretend that this never happened. I don’t want to. She’s fragile right now. The way she looked yesterday… I haven’t seen her cry like that in years. And she didn't want me to touch her, which isn’t like her at all. It was scary, honestly.”

“Poor girl,” Rhiannon frowns. “This all must have been traumatic for her.”

“So be there for her,” their newest squadmate stresses, finally speaking. “Keep showing up, and let her talk to you about all this. She doesn’t need a boyfriend right now, or a bodyguard, but she does need someone, and that should be you.”

Everyone turns to her, having forgotten she was there  — she flushes at the attention, returning to her sketch.

Sawyer sighs. “Nolon gave her the day off today, but I might go by tomorrow and see her.”

[acciocriativity]

->You're hyper independent || Ateez Reactions || Maknae Line

Genre: fluff, angst for Jongho’s part, slice of life AU

Warnings: mentions of relatives' death on Mingi’s part; mentions overworking, lack of self care and unhealthy perfectionism on San’s part; this IS more heavy in general than the first part, I'm so sorry. I don't incentivize any of the behaviors depicted in this.

N/A: This is a very real trauma response that real people have. However, I tried to keep it light, humorous, and focus on the support and love the reader received from the boys in different contexts instead of the actual trauma triggering situation that cause the trauma response. If I, in any way, offend people who have this trauma response, I'm open to learning and editing this, if necessary.

N/A ²: This is a gender neutral! reader in all of them, but Mingi’s part.

Ateez Masterlist

Hyung Line version

Choi San (최산): He’ll take care of you, whether you like it or not

Choi San wasn’t your husband, yet at least. The engagement talk was at its peak, and you knew a proposal wasn’t far off. Still, if any of your friends saw the two of you on a normal day, they’d ask where you found such an amazing house husband, and you wouldn’t be able to respond. He wasn’t your house husband, nothing against it, but you wouldn’t be able to be with a man that hadn’t the same ambition with his work as you did. Well, maybe San didn’t have this hunger to be at the top like you, but he was determined and passionate, striving to be his best every day and finding new ways to grow, and that was enough for you.

Although he had his own fair share of work schedule, his work from home was flexible and task-based rather than time-based, so with his efficiency, he managed to have more free time than you. This led to your current arrangement. It was rare for you to be at home if it wasn’t on a weekend, so it was a seamless transition for him to live with you and contribute a bigger portion of house labor. His presence was something dangerous because you started to think about what you would do without him in your life. He added instead of subtracting from your energy and time, which sometimes seemed like a surreal dream.

You had a full-time job, a good apartment, a car, and a whole social life you had to manage. There was so much you wanted to do with your life, with your free time, that you were used to the feeling of being hungry throughout the day or dizziness from the lack of hydration. The only way you managed to rest was when you were asleep. Otherwise, you felt like you were losing time. This was your normal day-to-day self, what you were used to, and yes, you knew it was bad.

When you met San, your health was at its lowest. It was normal for him to be worried, and your friends and family were. But he was the one that took action, a man you barely knew at the time. All his attempts were kindly rejected by you, and then you hated the thought of him, of all people, helping you. Not only you didn’t need it, but you’d hate to be a bother.

But San was as stubborn as he was beautiful. He reminded you religiously to drink water, cooked healthy meals for you even on weekends, bought groceries for you when you didn’t have the time for so many weeks you were truly embarrassed by yourself, took care of your plants when you were away on work trips and so much more.

It was all so weird. You constantly waited for the other shoe to drop. For the time when he’d be tired of this constant routine of caring for you. Your toxic self was waiting for the confirmation that you were too much for anyone to handle, that nobody could be with you and keep up, that you were the problem and that was the reason you could never be in a relationship for long.

But San proved you wrong, again and again, and you couldn’t even be mad at him for it.

Song Mingi (송민기): Turns out, he’s not just a silly little guy

Mingi was your younger brother best friend, and there were times you hated him for it. As the elder daughter, you took on the biggest load of everything in your house up until you left for college in another state. Until that moment, you had to be silent and grateful about it all. There was no throwing yourself on the ground to get your way or crying yourself out of your “duties”, which included but not limited to cooking all the meals for yourself and your brother, making the grocery store list and buying everything yourself once you were old enough, cleaning the entire house yourself, which wasn’t the initial agreement, and babysitting your brother 24/7 and his friends when they were over, which was almost every single day. So clearly, there was a lot on your plate, nothing a child should have on theirs. But why did you hate Mingi in specific? He wasn’t mean, but he thought it was funny to break rules, to do what your parents told they couldn’t and he got away with it while the blame fell on you. Not once, not twice.

In Mingi’s defense, he didn’t know actions had consequences at the time, he was 6 and a spoiled only child, also, he felt really shitty when your brother told him your parents punished you for some of the stuff they did later, but he thought it was too late. After two decades and something passed, somehow, you still saw him as the same irresponsible boy that got you into trouble. Mind you, he kind of never left your life completely, he was in bedded in the family’s stories, in the corner of the photos, in the little small get together that were family only, but he was never close to you. That’d be quite the impossible mission since you looked like you hated his guts.

But when the worst time of your life came, so did his redemption arc. Your grandma got really sick, and the whole family was in shambles, but somehow, you were the one expected to make the bigger sacrifices. Most of your relatives live far away, some out of the country and although your mom moved in with you, her health wasn't in an ideal condition to take care of someone else, which was already another problem and another whole set of eggs for you to be careful not to step on. It was only you in this, at least, you thought so until Mingi showed up on your doorstep, ready to help. It concerned you, but your position didn't allow you to turn him down. To your surprise, Mingi helped with a lot. Since he never moved away from his family home, he managed to help daily with meal prepping, groceries shopping, and the house up-keeping. No one really asked him to step up like that. Not even your own brother did this much after a week, yet he was by your side through it all.

A lot of the weight was off your back before you realized it. It was a weird sensation, but you were truly thankful for him, and you wanted to find a way to let him know. After an entire month, your relationship with Mingi was still stiff and awkward, yet you began to appreciate it for what it was, and maybe, someday, it'd be a work in progress.

Jeong Wooyoung (정우영): You may call him a wrecking ball

It seems like he has been paying for all his sins ahead of time because why does he have to love such difficult people? *dramatic sigh*. Ok, that was a lie. He didn’t care you weren’t the best with physical affection, you walked around like that wasn’t a thing at all, but that’s OK, because he’s affectionate enough for the both of you.

You had pretty established boundaries, more like a steel wall around you that people couldn’t go through. While Wooyoung…, yeah. It was a weird kind of friendship at first, if he could call a friendship. He was a work colleague, but somehow, he saw right through your tough act on day one, unlike everyone else. You tended to put a good distance in your every relationship unintentionally, too focused on your work to pay attention on small talk or the gossip of the day, but others saw it as a lack of interest in their friendship, which wasn’t true. You were as interested in them as you were scared of them.

Although it wasn’t possible for Wooyoung to know the in’s and out’s of your mind, he saw your unintentional push and pull game in those subtle ways. Whenever you tried to be closer to people in your own way, the effort wasn’t reciprocated until the point you’d take the hint. It was too late. You managed to scare them away again.

If anyone would ask him why he tried so hard to befriend you, he’d lie and say he didn’t have to try at all, you fell for his charms in an instant. But if he were to be honest, he’d say he saw a part of himself in you. In his eyes, you weren’t cold, nor uptight and mean. You just didn’t give love to others in an open way. This didn’t mean you didn’t have any to give or that you aren’t able to feel it. His running theory was that you were his exact opposite, and he couldn’t just live you be without helping you out or, at least, try.

The moment he got to crack a small piece of your wall, when he wasn’t even trying to, he was determined to see more. And oh boy, didn’t he see it? Now, this may be ridiculous, but he felt honored when you let him step into your world as a whole, no judgment, only him trying to understand you as a person. It warmed his heart that he got to be someone important in your life as much as you were on his.

If anyone that work along side the both of you saw you two today, years later, they wouldn’t believe it. But here you are, pretending you don’t like his weekly hugs spree while you don’t move a single muscle to get him off you. Isn’t it funny how things change? Hm? What was this, oh, you said you feel like laying down on the couch now, so you wouldn’t move? OK, he’d let you have that excuse for now.

Choi Jongho (최종호): he was your missing piece. Now you only miss him

To see him in a situation like this made you consider hysterically laughing until the moment your brain forgets where you are and you don’t care anymore. That must be a nice feeling, one you never really felt without him. Like you, he was dressed up for the weeding ceremony of your friend in common and you felt dumb, first, because you swore you’d only attend if there was no possibility of him coming, he was supposed to be out of the country and second, because he didn’t spare you another look.

Your breakup was amicable and mutual. With both of your lives ascending, the distance grew, physically and emotionally. There was no ease and stress-free conversations, suddenly you couldn’t relate to each other anymore and what was the point to be with him when the only thing you wanted to do on your break was rot in bed instead of seeing him? You had no energy to spare, and neither did him.

Why do you still care, then?

Because he was perfect for you, at least at some point, in every sense of the word. He saw you and didn’t judge, didn’t try to change who you was, instead he slowly but surely helped you adapt into a new routine with him in it. It was livelier and brighter when he was around.

The moment he left, you noticed that you just lived the happiest years of your life, and there was no coming back from it. You didn’t even attempt to talk once more, Jongho was like you in the sense that he carefully decided who stayed on his life and who didn’t, you moved to the latter, but you were the one that moved him out of yours first, weren’t you?

Your time management improved after all, but it let you down when it mattered the most. So, you tortured yourself a bit more, watching him and wondering what was going through his mind and if that had anything to do with you.

Jongho saw you the moment he walked in, but he pretended not to for his own sake. Although he'd never admit it out loud, to greet an ex at a weeding was above his maturity level. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Of course, you looked..., and of course, you'd have a date with you, but that didn't mean he had to see you two together, right? His solution was to stay away from you as far as he could. However, to accomplish such things, he'd have to be aware of your whereabouts all night long.

His self-control and straightforward priorities were some of his best qualities. He managed the need to stalk you on his worst days back then, so he never got to see how you were doing. At that moment, he could tell you were doing your best to be fine, to look perfect, but he used to know you better than that facade. Sometimes, he wondered if you regretted as much as he did.

[devynconstance]

UPDATE!

So I'm not dead. I took what I thought would be a weeklong break from social media (it was not a week; try closer to multiple months... oops lol) in order to finish the last few final background tasks for my website and shop. Does it surprise anyone that such an endeavor took wayyyy longer than I was expecting? Yeah, well, it's what I get for doing everything the hard way (from scratch and by myself), but I digress; long story short, my website and shop are officially live! If anyone is interested, you can check it out here: https://pendress.com/. Most importantly, this means I finally have time to start creating again, and that leads me into the topic of my book purse.

Unfortunately, the official book purse pattern is not finished yet. But fear not! Because I was gone for so long and everyone was so excited about this pattern, I put together a free mini template on how I made this purse. It's not perfect by any means, but it is everything I could remember from the first attempt. This means there may be missing steps, and it might be confusing to follow, but I'll answer any questions as clearly as possible if anyone's confused, and I'll hopefully have a more in-depth photo tutorial/video soon.

The official pattern/instructions is still coming, but my goal is to basically give as much of the information as possible away for free so you don't have to buy it in order to make this bag. If you still want to support me by buying the pattern when it does become available, it would be so greatly appreciated (and I will be putting bonus information in the pattern and actual printable pattern pieces so you'll still be getting something extra for the support), but it won't be necessary in order to make this book purse.

Thanks again for all the support on this endeavor!

And now onto the tutorial!

I completely forgot about this but I was cleaning out my closet this morning and come across this book purse I made a few years ago! I still can't believe I made it in the first place but now I really want to made another one.

Anyone interested in a tutorial/pattern??

[demonic0angel]

"Jason, stay out of this."

"Seeing as thats my Wolf you're going to interrogate. Fuck no."

(When I'm stressed and anxious and a kind anon sends me an ask about Anger Management with Jason being protective over his assistant 😭🫶 y'all know me so well)

Batman froze. "What?"

Red Hood pushed past him in his moment of distraction and entered the interrogation room, where Wonder Woman and Martian Manhunter were sitting across from Wolf. They all looked at him when he entered, eyes wide at the sight of the gun in his hands.

He pointed it at Wolf.

"Hands up," he said. She raised her hands calmly, the chain that linked her to the table clacking before he shot it off and strode over to pull her to her feet.

Red Hood handed her the gun and used his left arm to lift her into his embrace, holding her up into the air as he took out his other gun and held it securely. Wolf wrapped an arm around his neck and used the other to hold the pistol, leaning on him with an exhausted sigh.

Her weariness made him even angrier and he ignored the protests as he marched past all of them, even Batman.

"What is the meaning of this—!"

"You cannot just—!"

Batman interrupted and said sternly, "Hood. She is a criminal who murdered 2 people. Why are you—"

Red Hood tightened his hold on Wolf. She curled around his head further, trusting him completely. His fury waned underneath her faith and he was calm when he responded, "She's mine."

Batman froze completely, mouth slightly open. Underneath the helmet, Red Hood flushed before correcting himself, "She's one of mine and she was protecting me. Those two that she killed had attempted to attack a little girl to threaten me into backing down."

Wonder Woman opened her mouth. Surprisingly, it was Martian Manhunter who said, "We understand. We do not like it, but we realize that this is a Gotham issue... right? We shall let you go, but none of us want to see this again."

Red Hood pocketed his gun, reassured as he then used his free hand to rub Wolf's leg comfortingly. He nodded once and then turned to leave, leaving the three Justice League members staring at his back.

"Thank you for saving me," Wolf said quietly, their helmets knocking together in a soft clinking noise. She finally put down the extra pistol and wrapped both of her arms around him, sighing as she relaxed into his carried embrace.

Red Hood blushed and then said curtly, "It's whatever. Where would I even find another assistant if you're gone?"

She giggled and he held her tightly. Yes, she was safe and all was well now.

From where they still lingered, watching the intimate relationship between the Red Hood and another woman, Batman slowly turned to Martian Manhunter.

"... why did you let them go?"

"Red Hood is one of yours, correct?" Martian Manhunter asked. Batman nodded slowly.

"I felt as though neither of you would appreciate it if we hurt someone that Red Hood loved," he said with a casual shrug. Then with a swish of his cape, he walked off.

Leaving Batman floundering and shocked once more. Wonder Woman brought a hand to her mouth, hiding a delighted grin.

"Oh my. I suppose you'll have to welcome a daughter-in-law soon?"

[darlingkaveh]

can i make a request?

aventurine with insistent reader who straight up doesn't understand his attempts to push them away. who just straight up doesn't care. ride or die type of thing.

of course! my first request ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ ty anon ! and for u others out there, feel free to ask, too. check out my request info on my pinned

anyway, since you didn’t specify what gender the reader is, anon, i’ll just do gn and give ‘em an interesting personality, ‘cause i think aventurine deserves that kinda love. hope u don’t mind!

synopsis: aventurine has been avoiding you, as of late - and you’re set on trying to find out why. (ig this is angst? hurt/comfort, maybe…it’s not flat out depressing or anything, it’s just kind of sad when you think about it lol). pairing: aventurine x gn!reader tw: alcohol consumption, intoxication (nothing happens)

𝘾𝘼𝙇𝘾𝙐𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙀𝘿 𝙍𝙄𝙎𝙆𝙎

Aventurine was an interesting man. Truthfully, he puzzled you. You had met him through Ratio, who some might call an enigma - but to you, the doctor was light years easier to understand. He was calculated. The numbers behind his every move spoke to you.

The gambler, on the other hand, was a cacophony. A jumble of pitches that melted together into a song few could comprehend. And to you, that was a delight. A challenge. One much needed, to soothe your restless mind.

Perhaps that was why he seemed to dislike you.

Aventurine was not fond of that look in your eyes - the one that said you understood him. Or, at the very least, were beginning to. He was meant to be the one reading others, not the other way around. Simply put, it was unnerving how you took note of his every move, and seemed to use it against him.

It wasn’t as though he hated you. No, that was…that was far too strong a word. He was disinterested in being your friend. Yes, that was better. You were a nice enough person. You were sharp, kind, charming…all things that made you dangerous.

You had been friends, at first. But he had underestimated you - and had let you close. Too close.

“Haha! A straight flush.”

His opponent - a wiry man, with a weaselly face - crossed his arms in triumph after spreading out his hand. “Let’s see you beat that.”

Aventurine’s lips quirked.

“Yes, let’s.” He set down his own hand, revealing a royal flush. He smiled as he took his pile of chips, to the dismay of the man. His eyes tracked the weaselly man as he was dragged away by his peers, kicking and shouting. “Well, that was fun,” he chuckled, crossing his legs. He draped an arm over the edge of his seat, his head lolling back. “Anyone else care to challenge me?”

“I would.”

Something cold shot up his spine as your voice touched his ears, a tad too close for comfort, and he sat up, suddenly on edge. His lips rose in their usual fashion, though his smile was tight as he watched you take a seat across from him.

“…Ah,” he mused, “Ratio’s acquaintance. A pleasure to see you.”

“Isn’t it?” You kept your eyes on his hands as he began to shuffle the cards. “Its been a while, Aventurine, yet I see you haven’t changed in the slightest.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, my friend.” He watched as you slid forward a large stack of chips - your starting bet. Anyone else who dared to place that much money into the pot, in front of his face, he would’ve called foolish.

He waved over an acquaintance, to act as the dealer. “Let us begin, then.”

“Let us.”

The cards were passed out. He glanced at his hand. It was good. Not that he had expected anything less, but it suddenly felt like a lifeline.

“Call.” He slid forward a stack of chips that matched yours. It was fine. He could afford to lose this much.

“Raise.” Your expression was unchanging as you offered more chips. He could feel his jaw twitch.

“Fold,” he gritted out.

“Not going overboard tonight?” You arched a brow. “How frugal.”

He forced himself to laugh. “Lady Luck might smile upon me, but I would rather not exhaust her goodwill.”

“A smart choice.”

He played through a few turns with you, narrowly winning. His hands trembled slightly as he reached out, taking his share.

“Well,” he mumbled, “good game.”

“Quite.” Your eyes glinted under the warm lighting of the bar. “Again?”

“Ah…” he chuckled nervously, “I think not. I’m a bit tired, you see.”

“Of course.” A hint of a smile touched your lips. “A drink, then?”

He couldn’t exactly refuse.

“Why not?”

He nodded at the bartender as he was given a glass of whiskey. The golden liquid slid down his throat easily, burning as it went down. It untangled his nerves, and loosened his tongue.

“So.” You leaned forward. “How’ve you been, Aventurine?”

His eyes met yours. “As well as I can be, I suppose.”

“Busy?”

“No.” He downed another glass.

“Then why’ve you been avoiding me?”

He paused.

“Avoiding you?” He glanced off to the side, feigning ignorance. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Don’t you?”

His tongue ran over his lips. “I suppose I do.”

“So?”

“Mm…” his leg started to bounce. “You make me nervous.”

Your expression contorted, before you laughed. “Me? Why?”

“You’re too smart.” The bartender offered him another glass, but this time, he refused. His vision was already blurring. “I don’t like it.”

“Ratio’s smart, too. You don’t avoid him.”

“You’re…” his lips pursed. “Different.”

“Hah.” You tilted your head at him. “And there’s nothing I can do to help you relax?”

Aventurine huffed. “No. Nothing.”

A thoughtful expression took over your face. “We’ll see.” Still, you rose. “Alright, then, I suppose we should go, no? You seem like you’d want to.”

“Yep.” He stood up, stumbling a little - not expecting his body to feel like lead. You grabbed his arm, helping him up. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

He leaned on you as you walked him home, head spinning. When was the last time he had gotten so intoxicated? The amount of glasses he had drank had blurred together, honestly.

He couldn’t believe he was in this situation now. Relying on you, of all people. The one he trusted the least. This was dangerous. This was bad. In this state, he was powerless to stop you from whatever you wanted to do. You could -

“Hey, relax, you’re okay.” Your hand brushed past his head in a gentle manner, startling him. “You’re in your room.”

He blinked dazedly, eyes adjusting to the darkness in the room. Oh. He was home. In his bed. He was…okay.

God, was he tired.

You rubbed his shoulder, humming a soft melody.

Before he knew it, he was lulled to sleep.

fin. not my best work, but i was eager to get this out there. aventurine’s an interesting fella, though i ain’t the best at writing him :’) if there’s anything i misinterpreted, anon, feel free to let me know! lmk what y’all thought.

requests are open.

[miausterx0x]

JEFF THE KILLER HEADCANONS

CW: killing, stalking, scars, addiction

OKAY POSTING THIS NOW. I might do a part two sometime, he rots in my brain so im bound to come up w new ideas and stuff but for now this'll do :thumbs_up:

GENERAL STUFF

White, Italian-American but he's not too connected with his Italian heritage

In his early to mid 20s, ran away from home after committing his crimes when he was around 16 and he became a proxy for Slenderman after being on the run for 2 years, making him 18 when he was recruited

Jeff the bisexual, not that he realized/accepted it for a long time

Around 5’8’’/178cm, probably tells ppl he’s taller ngl

He's got light blue eyes and naturally brunette hair that he dyes black

He got into a burn accident when he was younger, an incident that finally flipped a switch on him for good

The burn marks are mostly spread across his upper body, his legs are pretty much free of any damage

The gushes on his cheeks never healed properly or closed as he did them poorly, leaving the edges ripped and uneven

The pain it caused has numbed overtime and he rarely feels it anymore

He managed to partly blind himself by having gone ahead and tried cutting his bottom eyelids in a poor attempt at stopping himself from ever crying (he was a mess and struggling with himself at that point) but he couldn't go fully through with it after he freaked himself out with the damage it did to his left eye

He's got scars all over his body, most of them are from fights with others

He actually wears those battle scars with pride, in his mind they make him seem cool and strong and he even brags about them

Very, very, VERY rare to see him without face paint on. It's not that he’s trying to conceal the damage his face has gone through, he just thinks the white face paint fits him better. Live laugh love guyliner as well

His makeup is waterproof and he even sleeps in it multiple nights in a row, he doesn’t care, he'll just touch it up if he needs to

His eyesight is below average but in his opinion he sees just fine even when he has to squint

PERSONALITY

He can be an annoying bastard when he wants, it's natural for him to be an asshole

If you're a stranger to him he has no problem being borderline harassing with his behaviour and it's worse if he's provoked in some way

It's very easy to pick a fight with him as he's easily irritable and when he fights, no matter if it's verbal or physical, it can get real nasty real fast

If you even look at him funny when he's having a bad day, you most likely will end up on his blacklist

That's to say he’s def got some anger issues he never got to work through when he was younger

The easiest way to befriend him is to impress him, otherwise he's not too interested in getting to know you

When one does befriend him and they become closer, they have to endure his playful banter, jokes and his smug behaviour

He's egoistical for sure. Whether his massive ego is a cover up for his issues with himself he'll never tell.

If you stroke his ego he’ll probs smirk to himself and receive it with no problem, but too much is too much and he’ll get annoyed cause then he just feels like you’re either not serious or you want something from him

Needless to say he prioritizes himself and the people he actually cares about, otherwise he's indifferent or dismissive of others

He's pretty much an ambivert. He can be by himself fine and he prefers it most of the time but he also seeks out the presence of other people from time to time

he’s also kind of an attention hogger, blame that on growing up with his parents not caring enough (doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad attention, both satisfy him)

He’s kind of reckless, rather acts before he thinks and sometimes it works in his favor, sometimes it bites him in the ass and if someone were to point that out he’d probably curse them out or something (he’s bad at admitting he’s wrong)

MUSIC PREFERENCES

He definitely thinks of himself as a music connoisseur of sorts

He’s a huge fan and listens to music pretty much whenever he can

He’s also got different playlists for different vibes. For example when he goes out (to kill) on his own he likes to listen to something that’ll pump up his adrenaline but then again when the night falls and he’s left awake staring at the ceiling he also likes calmer music that is almost melancholic in sound

And he thinks his music taste is better than yours, no debate about that (unless you introduce him to something new that he likes, then he’ll be a bit reluctant about complimenting your taste)

He’s probably sneaked into concerts as well as stolen merch, which btw all his shirts with graphics on them are just merch of bands he likes

If his music taste were to be described with genres his taste would fall into metal and goth and their subgenres

He actually got into the goth scene through Jane when they were young. She had introduced him to the type of music she liked and he actually found himself liking the sound and researched different subgenres on his own time. Would he admit that Jane got him into it? Probably not, if anything he’d give her just a little credit

He's more focused on the melody of the song rather than the lyrics. He might not even know the lyrics to his favorite songs because he thinks the melody on its own is banging enough

Some bands I think he’d specifically like are She Wants Revenge, Slipknot, Type O Negative, Korn, Lebanon Hanover, Twin Tribes and Mareux

When he was younger he used to be a big emo, now he slightly cringes at the thought yet finds himself sometimes revisiting the songs and bands he used to listen to on loop when he was in his teens

FASHION

He’s not too particular with his clothes, most often he steals the stuff he wears from his victims

He does like alt and edgier fashion though but he doesn’t care to specifically seek out for clothes that fall into that style too much

Accessories are a different thing. He's like a crow when it comes to cool jewelry and might even target someone just to steal a spike bracelet from them

A big lover of his white hoodie. It’s almost like a part of him and he even feels weird going out without it

^ And it’s often covered in dried blood. He views the stains as some sort of trophy from his successful kills and is against washing it unless someone actually makes him do that (but that would only happen after a ridiculous amount of resistance from him)

His wardrobe mostly consists of dark colors, apart from the couple of white tops he has

Knowing Jeff’s preferences, Nina sometimes alters his clothes and makes them more fitting to his aesthetic, which despite his act of indifference he sort of appreciates

He’s got a few piercings and he’s done all of them himself except for his snakebites

The first time he pierced himself he got his ear infected and Jack had to treat it

After that he's got the hang of it and has been free of any serious infections

His snakebites were the first piercings he ever got when he was young, approximately 15 or so. He got them done by some shady guy in some even shadier circles he hung around in as an act of rebellion against his parents

FOOD & DRINKS

He's not picky with food, like at all

Sure there are things he doesn't like but he eats pretty much anything

When he was on the run after attacking his family he didn't really have much options and ate whatever he could find just to keep alive and going

His favorite type of food is homemade meals and he prefers to cook his own food if he can, partly because of his distrust to others

And he's decent at cooking. He learned when he was young and still living at home but everyone has the impression of him that he can't cook for his life

Loves a good ol’ Monster Energy, the drink is imprinted on him since early age

The type of guy to forget to drink water tbh, he’s kind of dismissive when it comes to taking care of himself in general

BAD HABITS

Killing and stalking, obviously

Depending on his mood he may take his victims out quickly with a simple stab to satisfy his craving for control for the moment, but at times he can get brutal to the point he leaves an impossible mess

He's not a long term stalker if he plans on killing some stranger. He'll follow them throughout one evening and be done by the night

Though sometimes he'll get curious about other people’s habits and way of operating, and he may follow or watch them out of sight to gain more information

He's a regular smoker and he’s not planning on quitting it

Steals a new pack in advance every chance he gets. He does go through one fairly quickly after all

Also a drinker. He's not addicted like he is with nicotine but when he drinks he often takes it too far, drinking too much too quickly

Sometimes it's a choice, sometimes he just loses track of his limits yet he would insist he meant to get shitfaced, thinking that works better for his image

HABITS/FREE TIME

He’s the type to consider killing as his habit but apart from that there are a few other things he finds himself drawn to

Music, as said before, is a big part of his daily life. He likes to just hang in his room and have music in the background, usually blasting it from some busted stereo he found one day

A knife collector and he has favorites based on how many kills he's gotten with them, how he got them and the style of the knife. Will ramble about them if you don't shut him up fast enough

He used to draw fairly regularly when he was still young but over the years he's sort of dropped it. He might still doodle something if he's given a pen and paper and he has nothing better to do, but he doesn't value the habit much at all anymore

i mmmiiiiight do more hcs with the other creeps, lemme know if y'all are interested in hearing me yap abt the others too cause then i'll actually make a point to myself to write them down lololoololo

[tblrthreadtracker]

RPThreadTracker Updates - I'm Still Here, Closing Patreon, and Other Info

Hello, friends! Happy 2025!

First allow me to apologize for having been quite off the radar recently; the last year was, to put it mildly, very chaotic for me and I have not had a ton of mental energy to put towards managing RPThreadTracker. That is, frankly, probably going to continue to be the case in the coming year as well.

While I'm not planning to close the app at the moment, I don't anticipate I'll be doing a ton of new development on it. A couple of associated notes:

I'm going to be closing the Patreon I have had running for the last couple years. I'm in a position now where I don't need the support to continue hosting, and I don't feel like it's reasonable to continue taking membership donations on Patreon when I'm not really producing any new development on the site. Thank you SO much to everyone who has contributed to me there over the last few years; your support has meant a ton. Paypal donations are still always welcome if you want to contribute, but I won't be taking regular Patreon donations anymore.

I have received a couple of messages from people asking for help recovering their account which I know I never followed up on. I will be trying to do so for some of those outstanding messages in the next week, but if you tried to reach me in the past for help logging in and did not receive a response, please feel free to message me again at rosalind@blackjack-software.com from the email associated with your account.

There have been some bug reports recently from people reporting issues with not all of their threads being loaded. In a lot of cases this seems to be happening to people who have had accounts for a long time and have built up enough threads that attempts to fetch all of them from Tumblr start getting throttled. While I hope to eventually do more work to improve performance in this regard, I recommend archiving, or exporting and then removing, some of your oldest threads if you are starting to encounter this issue.

Thanks again so much to those who have supported the app over the years and who are continuing to use it. I am sorry that I do not have more news to report as far as improvements to the app but I do hope that it continues to be useful to you all in its current form. Please do continue to feel free to reach out to me if you encounter issues unrelated to the above one.

Thanks,

Trackermun

[siconetribal]

Beyond the Bookshelves (10)

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: The gates of heaven have finally been opened, Loki doesn't know makeup, and when you work above and beyond your pay grade.

Summary: You’re a Resource Management Specialist at S.H.I.E.L.D. normally referred to as “The Librarian”. You’ve been assigned the nightmarish task of digitizing all the physical resources currently owned by the agency, with a few new computers and one extra helper.

A/N:

Sorry about the delay. I ended up getting more tasks for work right after traveling abroad. It was a scramble to get the last 2 months caught up.

Please comment/like/reblog. If you’d like to be tagged moving forward, please let me know! (If I missed any tags, please let me know, I’ll add you right away!) I’d also greatly appreciate it if rebloggers remember to add the tags (or some at least).

The lovely banners used in this fic are from @cafekitsune.

If you’re new to the story, please check out the master post for the rest of the chapters.

The doors opened. The library doors swung open without any resistance, no blaring alarms or the ear grating computer voice that incessantly disturbed his times sneaking in. He was actually allowed to enter the library once more.

“Good morning, let me know if you need any assistance!” A familiar voice called out. A sweet voice that triggered Loki, setting his rage aflame and quickly overshadowing the joy of having his access given back to him. His icy blue eyes narrowed as he crossed the threshold and quickly strode up to the semicircle reception desk that forced him to remain roughly three feet away from the villainous woman who left him stranded. He stood tall, looking down at her, ready to scold her, but there was something off about her.

Her face looks pale, but her cheeks are quite red. What sort of makeup style is this? He scrunched his nose in distaste, no attempt to hide his look of displeasure, as Y/N finally looked up at him. She was saying something, but her voice sounded odd, stuffy and nasally. A dark shade was visible under her eyes. He took a step back from the desk, unsure what was wrong with her. Perhaps I should reconsider working with this odd person. Her sense of professionalism is questionable.

“Hello, Loki?” He reflexively grabbed the hand waving in front of her face, but quickly released it at her wince.

“What?” He cleared his throat and straightened up his posture.

“Glad to see you back on Earth. Well, you’re back in the library, free to browse and rent as you used to.” She grinned, but the happiness did not reach her eyes. False niceties, something he was used to seeing. What else should he expect from some odd stranger? Why did it hurt? He balled his hands in to fists to keep from rubbing at his chest to ease the dull ache that blossomed over his heart. 

“Yes, thank you,” he kept his tone flat, formal. “I’ll summon you if I need any assistance.” He waved at her dismissively as he turned and wandered into the maze of shelves filled with books. 

“You’re welcome?” Y/N raised a brow, rolling her eyes as the younger prince disappeared from sight. Plopping back into her chair, she softly groaned at the soreness that throbbed through her back and hips. Her eyes burned, only a slight reprieve coming from when she squeezed the heavy lids shut. “I really should’ve stayed home today.” She muttered, fumbling under the desk for the small bottle of painkillers, popping two pills with a swig of water. “Rent isn’t going to pay itself, though.” She forced herself to sit up and carefully rolled and rubbed her neck. She shook the computer mouse and woke the monitor. “Let’s make sure the files are properly being shared between locations.” She muttered under her breath, forcing herself to stay awake.

Time was finally running smoothly, as it was meant to be, as Loki finally finished the book he left off on and began a new one. The sunlight shone through the floor to ceiling windows beside his favorite little nook, giving a warmth to the room. Everything was as it should be. Quiet and perfect. No needless ford conversation, unwanted company, and petty animosity. He was able to breathe and simply be. Finishing his second book, he closed it with a soft thud and stretched. A passing glance at the clock had him sitting up in an instant.

“Nearly two already? I’ve been here far longer than I thought.” His schedule was fairly light today since the mission was being replanned and his training session was cancelled due to other members being sent out on missions or having other debriefings. “The dinning hall should be quieter now, and anyone who would think of talking to me should be long gone.” He smiled at his luck, returning the book to its proper place with a snap of his fingers as he stood and left the library.

Yes, all was right with the world once more and luck was finally on his side. Even the stares and whispers of the other agents could not dampen his mood as he made his way to the cafeteria with a slight bounce to his step. A small tune was poised on his lips, ready to be hummed in his sudden abundance of happiness when something odd caught his attention. He frowned at the small crowd of people that lingered at the entry. Had he been wrong about the time? He checked his phone for the time, and his frown deepened.

No, fifteen to two, the cafeteria should be quieter. So why are there so many people and blocking the door? He slowed his space to a near stop.

“What’s going on?”

“Someone fainted.”

“Fainted, where, here, when?!” He rolled his eyes at the bits of conversation he could hear.

If you’re unable to care for yourself, you should not be here. Such poor care makes you a liability, not an asset. He audibly scoffed, grabbing the attention of the crowd, which quickly parted for him. He wanted little to do with such useless gossip, and their fear of him was an asset at this moment. As he began to make his way through the path made for him when a familiar voice caught his attention. It was weaker than before, just as stuffy. He froze, looking down to see the librarian.

“I’m fine, just got dizzy.” She forced a smile that once again did not meet her eyes. 

“Y/N, you literally passed out and fell to the floor!”

“I’m fine, just tired from all my travels.” He watched as she used the wall to stand and push herself off of it, only to stumble forward. To his surprise, and everyone else’s, his arm shot out and caught Y/N before she fell forward.

“Librarian, get a hold of yourself.” He scoffed, ready to move his arm, but her lack of response and full weight on him made him pause. “Librarian, what game are you playing?” He stepped closer and turned her, so his arm was hooked around her back. Her eyes were closed, breathing was labored, and her body was on fire. It dawned on him then that her look was not a makeup choice. She was severely sick and was currently unconscious. “Librarian, get a hold of yourself!” He gently tried to shake her awake once more, to no avail. He called out once more, and a slight groan from her eased some of the worry that gripped at his heart. Hooking his other arm under her knees, he vanished in a flash of green and black as he turned on his heel. Captain America would have to excuse him for the use of magic, he was taking a team member to the medic after all.

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