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i have to sing this song on a daily basis
#music#akb48#its my emotional support song#that one#ozaki yutakas 15 no yoru#and globes departures#Youtube
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Coffee Shop: III
Simon Riley x Fem!Reader
You work at a small cafe that Simon starts visiting when he’s not deployed.
Coffee Shop Masterlist
Simon became a regular at the cafe, and over the two weeks since he started coming in, you grew more comfortable with him. The small conversations flowed easily, and he often lightened the atmosphere with an awful joke. One of your favorites was about two goldfish in a tank.
As he sat in his usual spot, you heard the familiar tear of the napkin, watching him stick the flimsy little piece between the pages of his book and close it. As he got up from his seat, you couldn't resist questioning him.
“Why don’t you have any bookmarks?” shaking your head slightly as you observed the flimsy napkin flaying up and down with the book.
“Why would I spend money on bookmarks when there are free bookmarks right here,” he replied with a matter-of-fact tone, making you shake your head and laugh. “Right, well, have a nice day.”
After he left, you thought for a moment, looking at your bookmark. The idea struck you – why not bring in some paper, markers, and packing tape tomorrow? During your break, you could make bookmarks for him. It was a small gesture that you hoped would bring a smile to his face.
When you got home, you eagerly packed your bag with small blank pieces of rectangular paper and your high-end markers. The art scissors and clear packing tape joined the mix as you prepared for the creative endeavor. Excitement filled you as you thought about surprising Simon with a proper bookmark.
Walking to work the next day, you felt a giddy anticipation. As he entered the cafe, he couldn't help but notice your extra liveliness, a departure from your usual demeanor. Approaching the register, he found a hot cup of tea already waiting for him.
"You were waiting on me?" he asked, and you responded with a smile and a nod. "Just thought it would be nice if your tea was already ready for you when you walked in," you explained, beaming up at him. Simon, in his typical fashion, decided to tease a bit.
"I actually wanted a green tea today." Your eyebrows raised, lips forming a small "o" of surprise. "I can get you a green tea—" you began, reaching for the cup, but Simon quickly pulled out money from his wallet.
"All jokes, love," he said, and you laughed, taking the bills and putting them in the register, closing it with a soft click. As the time passed slowly during your shift, you occupied yourself with various tasks like cleaning the coffee machine, sanitizing the counters, and refilling the sugar station, hoping to make it to your break sooner. Despite your efforts, only twenty minutes seemed to pass, and you decided to say fuck it since there were no customers coming in.
You grabbed your bag and walked over to Simon, taking the seat across from him at the small table. He looked up from his book, intrigued, as he watched you pull out colorful markers and paper. With bright eyes, you sat up in your chair.
“So what are some things you like?” Simon put his book down and crossed his arms over his chest.
“What’s the paper for?” You pulled out the bookmark from the book in your bag and slid it over to him. He grabbed it, holding it up and fighting back his smile at the small drawings of penguins near an ice globe fighting about communism.
“You want to make me a bookmark?”
“Yeah, it's so depressing looking at the flimsy excuse of a bookmark.” He smiled, looking at the napkin. “So what do you like? Stars? Dogs? Trees? Oh, wait! I have the perfect thing to draw.”
Simon leaned back in the chair, sipping his tea, and watched you draw away, switching the color of the markers every so often. He found it cute the way you were concentrated on what was in front of you.
It only took you about five minutes, but when you were done, you held the bookmark up to Simon with a smile. He couldn't help but laugh as he grabbed it, examining all the little details you drew. It was the joke he had told you a few days ago.
Two goldfish are in a tank, one says to the other, you know how to drive this thing?
You drew two fish coming out of the top of an army tank, having a conversation with each other. You added them underwater and included little battle fish with helmets charging forward.
Your eyes lingered on his smile as he scanned over the drawing. Your heart warmed, knowing he liked it. You extended your hand, and he handed it back to you. Flipping it over, you looked at him, “What should be on the back?”
Simon thought it would be funny to tell you another joke. “What has two legs and bleeds?”
You thought for a moment, slightly humming to yourself. “A gunshot victim?”
“Half a dog.”
You blankly stared at him, then laughed, “You're awful for thinking of that.” He smiled and brought the cup up to his lips, taking a long sip. “You gonna draw it?”
“I’ll draw something better,” you said, smiling and already starting the drawing. You decided to draw a dog shooting a man. Giving the dog a suit and black sunglasses, you added a large assault rifle and made little bullets fly, piercing the man as he fell to the floor. You slid the final product over, and Simon let out an audible laugh. You couldn't hide the way your eyes locked onto his face.
"This is really good, y/n." You had never felt more proud, and you couldn't stop smiling even after he handed the bookmark back to you so you could put packing tape over it. Carefully cutting the extra tape that hung off the sides, you slid it back over to him.
Simon opened his book, took out the napkin, and replaced it with the bookmark, closing the book. "See, look how much better that looks."
"You're right." He looked up at you, holding your gaze, and you couldn't help but smile. The door opened, and you quickly got up, going behind the counter to take an order. After making the person's order, you walked back to Simon, sitting across from him again.
You took out another strip of paper, and you looked up at him, "Skulls." It was all he said, and you smiled, immediately getting to work. You drew little realistic skulls with blood oozing out of the eye sockets. Leaving some space in the middle, you drew a little grim reaper because Reaper and skulls go together, right?
"The reaper’s a nice touch." You smiled, finishing the last little details. "Thought you would like it."
You looked at the clock and cursed under your breath. Your break was over, and you had to get back to work. "Unfortunately, I have to get back to work. I’ll finish this side before you leave."
"Sounds good, love, and thank you for making them." You smiled as you put the markers and supplies back into your bag. "No need to thank me; I had fun drawing them."
As you stood behind the counter, you thought about what to draw on the other side. Glancing up at Simon, who was engrossed in his book, you decided he would be the perfect thing to put on the other side. You took your time drawing him, using different colors and creating a cute, colorful sketch of him sitting by the window, holding the cup to his lips as he looked down at a book. The drawing depicted a very warm scene, with small rays of sunshine through the window and added details on the table.
The small alarm on his watch went off, and he glanced at you doodling away. He pushed the off button and stayed in the seat, continuing to read until you were done drawing. You quickly cut the extra pieces of packing tape and walked over to him.
"Sorry, that took a bit longer than I expected." You handed him the bookmark, and as he took it, you heard your manager call you to the back.
"Shit, I have to go. Walk home safe." You turned and sped walked into the back towards the kitchen.
Simon turned, pushing the door open and flipping over the bookmark. His eyes grew a little wide upon seeing your drawing of him. No one had ever drawn him before, and the way you captured him so at peace with life and the things around him was something he never thought anyone could see. He felt something swirl deep in his chest, a warmth that enveloped his body despite it being winter. You drew in his watch and the torn napkin, even adding the six dollars he tipped you when he first went there. He smiled and couldn't stop staring at all the small details you added during his walk back home.
#call of duty#cod fanfic#cod x reader#cod#cod modern warfare#cod mw2#cod mw3#call of duty modern warfare#writers#cod mwii#cod simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley#simon x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost x you#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost cod#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley fanfiction#call of duty fanfic#fanfic#ghost call of duty#cod fandom#cod fluff#simon fluff#call of duty fandom#call of duty x reader
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EGOIST 21.
PAIRING. Atsumu Miya x f!Reader
CW. angst, hurt with maybe some comfort but you really have to squint, some closure, plot
A/N. it's over isn't it isn't it isn't it over
-> MASTERLIST.
The team you had signed with gave you about a month to make your move. Which was honestly not a burden, considering they paid for everything. They even paid for your housing and other necessities for when you moved to the states.
A month also gives you enough time to hang out with any of your friends or family.
The week that you accept the job offer, you spend it with your family back in your hometown. Spending 7 days with your loved ones before you left across the globe was bittersweet. It was a jam-packed 7 days, but it was still fun. It felt nostalgic to be in the town you were raised in, seeing many familiar faces and buildings.
You cry when you bid your family goodbye.
“You tell me if you ever need anything, ‘kay?” your sister mumbles into your shoulder, her own tears wetting the material.
All you’re able to respond with is a frantic nod of your head. You crash into your parents’ arms as they whisper words of love and praise into your ears. It all reminds you of when you first left for college. You always were a crybaby, huh?
As you got into your car, you gave them all one last wave before letting the sound of the car ambience fill your ears.
You, for the most part, pay no mind to your surroundings, letting the colors of nature and architecture outside blur into one. Until you come to a stop.
Only catching a peek, you realize you’re stopped right next to your old high school. You catch yourself in the midst of a thought, a thought about a certain someone. You instantly crush that thought and throw it to the back of your mind.
Out of sight, out of mind.
———
The rest of your time before the week of your departure is spent with friends or just relaxing. After all, you’d probably get straight to work when you get settled in your new place.
After procrastinating and putting it off for so long, you finally get to packing. It’s not too hard, since you find yourself to be a minimalist and don’t have too much in the first place. The most packing you had to do was taking apart your computer. Second to that is probably your clothes.
When the day before your flight finally came, you wound up tired and lazy on your couch. Part of you was excited, excited to leave the country for a whole new experience. But on the other hand, this country was your home. You were leaving so many people behind. So many memories. But perhaps the latter was for the better.
You could feel yourself dozing off. Your place was dark as the night took over the city. You quickly input 4 different alarms onto your phone before finding yourself relaxing on the comforter.
Knock, knock.
You chalk it up to your imagination or the fact you’re already half asleep. You ignore it.
Knock, knock, knock.
Realizing it’s definitely not your imagination, you think back if you ordered any last minute items. You didn’t. So maybe it’s a burglar. Or they just got the wrong home.
Knock.
Now you definitely need to call the police, because–
“Y/N, it’s me,”
Your eyes shoot open at the familiar voice. Should you go through with calling the police? You did tell him that you would.
“I know you’re in there, I just– I just need to talk to you one more time before you leave, please,”
You sigh and weigh your options. Did you really want to carry the burden of what the conversation with him might hold all the way to California? Or would this one time be alright? Would you finally get closure and be able to forget about him once and for all?
You’re up and heading for the door when you choose. You open it to a disheveled Atsumu. He had eyebags and his eyes were halfway swollen and it makes you pity him. When he looks up at you, you swear his eyes sparkle a little.
“What do you want, Miya?” you start.
The name makes him flinch a bit, but he continues, “I know you don’t want to see me, but I just need to explain everything to you,”
Did you really want to relive the betrayal he put you through in extreme detail? Nonetheless, you felt bad, you didn’t think ending things with him would affect him this badly. You kick yourself mentally in rejoicing in the fact that you’d make him like this.
With a nod of your head, you move to the side, “Come in,”
When he enters your place, he’s looking around frantically. It’s definitely changed since the last time he was here.
“Already packed, I see,” he comments, “Are you excited?”
You’re confused at his words, but give him a response, “Yep,”
You both find seating in your living room across from each other. “Out with it,” you say.
It takes him a moment. He looks into your eyes, then down, then back up at you once again. His fingers are fidgety as he tries to find the courage and the words.
“I’m sorry,” is what he starts with.
“You gave me a chance and I screwed it up, it’s no one’s fault but my own. I never meant for the picture to get out, I promise to you that I never ever sent it to anyone. I even deleted it,”
“Then how did she get it?” you question, desperate for answers. You loved your job, but that whole incident made it basically impossible for you to return to the team with it being how it used to be.
Your voice catches his attention and causes him to pause for a moment, “I– She admitted to going through my recently deleted. I was never going to do anything with it, I took it out of jealousy,”
“But why? You hated me that day you took the picture. You’ve always hated me,”
“Not always, don’t say that,” his voice is desperate, “I don’t know why, but even before we started talking normally, I’d get jealous of you and Omi. I didn’t like the way seeing the two of you together would make me feel,”
Your silence allows him to continue.
“As for Angie, I don’t talk to her anymore. When she texted me that day when you left, that was the first time I’ve talked to her since the last time I met with her. I’ve been ignoring her texts and calls. I ended things with her because I felt myself getting more attached to you as the days went by, and I felt disgusted when I was with Angie,”
He’s quiet for a moment, and you feel like you should say something. You’re not sure what though.
“Why’d you say she was your cousin? Why couldn’t you have told me the truth there and then?”
“Because things had just gotten good with you, Y/N. At first, I never wanted anything to do with you. I did everything to drive you away, yet you were always on my mind, it drove me insane. And even after all of that, you still gave me the time of day. I felt so lucky that you’d really given me a chance, that I felt like if I fumbled in any way, you’d slip away. It happened anyway though,”
His words sadden you. But you were definitely the stupid one for giving him a chance in the first place.
“From the very beginning, I just wanted to avoid you, Atsumu,” his name causes his eyes to widen, “But then you treated me like shit, just like you did in high school. And I absolutely hated you for it. But then everything began to shift, and it scared me. You became nice and it felt like you really cared about me. Everything changed and I felt myself beginning to like you, and you’d finally apologized to me so it felt like you really regretted everything you did to me,”
“I do regret what I’ve done to you–”
“Let me finish,” he nods in defeat, “So I gave you a chance, and it was fun. I thought it’d be different, that you would be,”
“But no matter what, we reached the outcome I truly wanted to avoid. It was inevitable though, I suppose. Whether I had let you in or not, you were always going to hurt me,”
An awkward silence washes over the both of you. You hardly realized you had started to tear up.
“Even now, I still like you, Atsumu,” you finally admit, “But you’ve hurt me so much, I feel like I’ll never be able to trust anyone ever again. Sometimes it feels like I’ll never even love again,”
“I’m sorry, Y/N,” is all he manages.
“Your apologies mean nothing, Atsumu. At the end of the day, what’s done is done, and I don’t think we’ll ever be able to be what we wanted to be,”
He’s crying now, but you don’t move to comfort him. Not when you couldn’t even help yourself.
“I’m moving away tomorrow, away from here, away from you,” you sigh through the tears, “I want to forget everything along with you. I want to be able to live my life without everything reminding me of you,”
“Y/N, please– stay. I’d do anything, just stay,” he’s desperate through his own slowly falling tears. And you can feel it yourself, he’s telling the truth.
“Please don’t,” you cry, his words daunting you, “You need to leave, Atsumu. I’ve heard you out, and you’ve heard me,”
You’re getting up and he’s frozen. You could practically see the thoughts racing through his mind. His eyes close and his head drops before he’s getting up.
“Thank you for everything, Atsumu,” you tell him, words caught between sniffles, “I wish you the best in the future,”
As he walks through the door frame he gives you a solemn look back, “Thank you for everything Y/N, thank you for giving me a chance,”
There’s a pause in time as the two of you look at each other, caught in the moment. You force yourself to shut the door, feeling like if you looked at him any longer, you’d fold all over again. You take a few deep breaths before wiping the tears at your eyes. Walking over to your couch, you resume the position you were in earlier.
You had a long day ahead of you tomorrow, but for some reason you were calm. It felt like the clouds that had surrounded your heart for the past months had finally dissipated. For the first time in a while, it felt like you could breathe clearly. Your mind was finally clear.
As you fell asleep in this place you’ve called home for nearly a year for the last time, you’re finally able to let go of everything.
Goodbye Atsumu.
© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.
#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu angst#atsumu x reader#atsumu angst#haikyuu series#haikyuu atsumu series#atsumu x reader angst#haikyuu x reader angst#raeworks#atsumu fanfic
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Imagine waiting months for that one long holiday, finally youre able to go back home to your family...only to be kidnapped by doa on the day of your departure...how unfortunate
yandere content, kidnapping
manga spoilers about doa + kamui's identity. featuring all 5 doa members. there's a 'route' for each character. unedited, and much longer than i expected.
the least they could have done was be a little gentler going about it.
but of course, you had to suffer through being wrapped up into a coat and tossed into a portal like you were simply a bag of flesh and bone. the humiliation of needing someone to help you in your disorientated state once you tumbled out somewhere else and the nonchalant attitude of your kidnappers only made you more angrier.
any escape attempts didn't get you far; though the windows weren't barred, one look outside the huge ones behind sigma's desk told you all you needed to know—you were suspended mid-air, and it didn't help that there were armed guards constantly surveilling the building, and cameras in every corner. (and, you wouldn't admit it, but your kidnappers really frightened you. they were all ability users, and more importantly, all completely insane).
after multiple failed attempts at sneaking out through the door or hiding between customer's bags, threatening a guard to escort you out and even trying to hijack one of the cars, you decide to change up your methods. maybe instead of running away now, you could try and exploit your kidnappers and leave when they're finally trusting of you...?
CHOICE #1: SIGMA
you don't like any of your kidnappers, but the only one you could stand was sigma, who was probably the most 'normal' out of them. though you mostly came to that conclusion because he had yet to threaten you for trying to run, his lack of an offensive ability, too, was a huge factor in it.
and sigma was...kinder, in a way, easier to dissect and play into the arms of. you didn't have to say anything to keep him from using his ability on you, in fact, he confessed to you that he feared his ability would make you trust him less, and so he held back from touching you altogether. despite it being a non-offensive type ability, if he used it on you, he'd have immediately found out about your plans, so it was for the best.
it's not as hard to pretend to like sigma, because you found him sort of endearing. it's not difficult to let out a few chuckles when he comes running over to you with a book about jokes that nikolai was reading, trying to make you laugh with them. it comes almost naturally when you sit beside him into the late hours of the night, watching him do his managerial duties and study his customers, and you almost forget you're supposed to be using him. it's easier than you'd expect to confide in him your fears of fyodor and the jerk who threw you into his coat, admitting to him that you can't bring it in yourself to be around without being filled with a sense of fear. he reciprocates it all greatly, wrapping an arm around you (and by now, you realize, he doesn't even consider using his ability on you anymore. if there's anything he wants to know, mundane things like what you like to eat and how you like your coffee, he just observes you and finds out himself, or asks you) when you're drowning in your own sorrows, teaching you card tricks in his spare time and bringing you presents that he thought you'd like; little snow globes and records that remind him of you, things of that sort.
you have to remind yourself that your kindness is an act and not genuine. after all, this man was part of the group that brought you here to satisfy their own sick desires. sometimes though, you find yourself hoping that sigma wasn't as bad, that he would understand your feelings.
clearly, he doesn't.
"i can't believe you," his voice comes out as a choked whisper, his eyes fixated on your cornered figure, "you were going to leave?!"
sigma's back was to the door, effectively blocking your escape route. he was trembling all over, clearly overwhelmed and crestfallen by everything that had just taken place. you had tried to sneak away while on a shopping trip with sigma, only the second time that you were allowed to go out, but he had caught on pretty quickly, and now you were trapped.
"let me go," you plead, hoping to appeal to his sympathetic side, "please, sigma."
he shakes his head, still glued to the door, "no. i can't. you can't leave me."
"out of everyone else, i hoped you would understand. i thought you knew how i felt, trapped with dostoevsky."
sigma's eyes widen, confusion clear on his face before he exhales sharply and straightens himself out, seemingly deciding on something, "i'm sorry, [name], but i won't let you go. this is the only way i can have you."
"you're so cruel," he whispers, watching your devastated expression, "why did you make me believe you loved me?"
CHOICE #2: KAMUI
the hooded figure of kamui never failed to invoke a sudden sense of eeriness he made an appearance.
he didn't come by very often, but whenever he did, fukuchi always took a moment to come check up on you. at least when he's not donning his mask and cloak, he looks a lot less...frightening. you're not sure if he has anything to do with your kidnapping, because his interest in you rarely went past a curious glance and the occasional, hearty laugh when he comes across you shrieking at nikolai's attempts to drag you away from the open door.
you're not sure to make of him, with his fake public persona and his involvement with the doa, but he isn't as much of a threat to you as the rest, at least not directly. at the very least, when he comes over, nikolai is so much on edge that he doesn't try to torment you as much as he usually does.
fukuchi regards you as something to serve as entertainment; dostoevsky's newest toy, as you hear him say in passing. he watches you like you're something novel, like he hasn't figured you out yet. since he wasn't as involved as the others inside the casino, you thought he would be your best option to try and exploit.
your attempt at getting to know him starts by offering small greetings.
"captain," you say, waving at him as he walks into your room, where sigma is asleep on your shoulder.
he observes the two of you with an oddly soft look in his eyes, a stark contrast to his usual hardened gaze that stays even with a large smile on his face. then, he nods at you before walking away, gently closing the door behind him.
you try to open up around him more, even if it's not through conversing directly with him. even though you know he's watching you from the corner when nikolai is trying to coax you out of your new hiding spot with little treats, you don't shy away as you usually would. you loudly proclaim to nikolai that you'd only come out when fyodor stops being so mean, which is received with a exuberant laugh from the older man. huh, was that all it would take?
and it works, oddly enough—fukuchi starts asking about you, whenever he sees you after that, in between hushed conversations with fyodor, ("and how are you, [name]? is dostoevsky still being mean to you?" you force yourself to ignore fyodor's pointed glare and instead offer a meek smile). he makes more conversation, and you quickly realize he likes your honest comments, even if it was all just criticizing his subordinates. you think he must find you amusing, like a spiteful pet that doesn't give up an opportunity to attack, especially when he places a large hand on your head to stroke your hair, unexpectedly tender despite his ruthless exterior.
"why do you keep trying to run?" he asks you one day, after nikolai had dropped your bound figure back into the room.
you huff, "what do you mean, why? why would anyone want to stay here? any longer and i might go insane."
"oh? that isn't good," he smiles, but it's not the warm ones he gives you. this was...unnerving, "dostoevsky will have no use for you then."
your eyes light up, immediately considering a new plan to have fyodor throw you out himself, but you're interrupted by fukuchi's low chuckle, a dark gleam in his eyes, "worry not! even if he doesn't want you anymore, i'll gladly keep you. if i had known that dostoevsky had picked up such a curious little thing, i would have taken you before he had...well, what do you say?"
CHOICE #3: BRAM
to be honest, you felt for bram.
in a way, he was living just as miserably as you, locked up in a coffin and taken out only when he's needed, and without most of his body. it must be awfully disorientating to be shaken about by the stake through him, and he's always looked so...unhappy.
you're not sure how much help he could be in your plan to escape, except maybe provide emotional support, but who's to say he wasn't a resentful old vampire who wanted you to stay and suffer with him?
you soon learn, through awkward, stilted conversation and silent periods that bram is...not really as angry or scornful as you thought. he is bitter, and extremely uninterested in most things, but as long as you listen to his stories and provide your wholehearted support, he's surprisingly kind to you.
he doesn't even bother trying to offer any hope of escape, though. he tells you that you, like him, should just go to sleep and wait for the others to decide what they'll do with you. he reminds you that there's no escape from a heavily guarded, heavily surveilled casino suspended in the sky, and there's no escape from dostoevsky's cunning words or kamui's wicked plans. you're stuck here, just like him, left to lament the past.
when you suggest him using his ability on you, hoping that by being turned into a vampire under bram's control, he could find a way for you to escape, he looks horrified by the very thought. ("it's too much work for me now," he remarks, looking visibly irked, "to be turning humans. besides, what kind of foolish plan is that? and right after i informed you that i myself am not aware of the casino's layout.")
at least you have a friend here, even if he's constantly discouraging your escape attempts and convincing you to accept your fate. life would be terribly bleak if you were entirely alone.
CHOICE #4: NIKOLAI
out of the five, you hate nikolai the most.
your increased anger towards him stemmed from him being the one to actually kidnap you, as well as his daily attempts to get you to 'open up', which included him dragging you out of your room and annoying you incessantly until your patience snaps, relishing in your furious expressions. the most infuriating part of it all is that nikolai was never put off by your silent rage or your clear disdain, instead finding it all great fun. he thinks your frustrated words and attempts at hiding away should serve as his entertainment. nikolai laughs when you try to run, and he's always the one that whisks you back into the casino, no matter how far you've gotten. he never stops your escapes, though, almost as though he knows you'll end up back here, like he knows he'll catch up with you in the end.
but he's also unpredictable; for as much as he claims to love his job, he also tells you he hates it, and for every word of praise he has for fyodor and sigma, there are just as many potential murder plots. he's near impossible to read, but you think that maybe, he won't kill you unless you start boring him.
so if your escape served as entertainment for him, wouldn't he be more receptive about helping you?
you start off by seeking some civil conversation with him, but it's not working very well. nikolai tends to send any casual conversation spiraling into...odd directions, half of which you can't understand at all. and you almost start to feel like he doesn't want you to get to know him...still, you've got nothing else to lose now, so you keep it up. you entertain his ideas and go along with his pranks (even if it earns you an exhausted glance from sigma and thinly veiled anger from bram), you read the books he reads and watch the things he does at a mostly useless attempt to figure out his angle, and you even put in more effort in your escape plots, just so he doesn't get bored of you. but it's all in vain, however, because nikolai isn't someone you can just figure out. he's someone you're not sure you can even come close to understanding, let alone manipulating.
in the end, you decide the best approach is being forward with him.
"are you really asking me to make a deal for your life?" nikolai throws his head back in laughter, "this is why i like you! i was worried you were starting to lose your spark."
"i suppose we could come to an agreement" you should have known, really, that nothing good was going to come out of this when you caught sight of the malicious grin on his face and the wicked glint in his uncovered eye, "how about a game?"
"a game?" you don't bother hiding the skepticism in your tone.
"it's very simple! i'll give you an hour to leave the casino. all you have to do is step out of the building entrance, and i'll let you free. in fact, i'll even make sure that none of the others come after you after your victory!"
"but if you fail," his grin widens, "then you'll be leaving your fate in my hands."
the vague threat, combined with his unsettling expression fills you with a overwhelming fear. as if noticing this, he laughs. but now that you've put the idea in his head, you're not sure if he'll ever let it go.
"don't worry! either way, i'm sure we'll be having lots of fun!"
CHOICE #5: FYODOR
something was terribly off with the way fyodor looked at you.
despite the gentle smile on his face and the lovely way he said your name, all soft and gentle, there was an oddly distant look in his eyes. he observed you closely and made conversation—revolving around surprisingly mundane questions like have you read this book and what do you think of this movie, and are you familiar with this dish and this composer? and his tone is curious, a charming turn of his lips accompanying his careful probing, making for quite the lovely picture. but there was something meticulously crafted about it, almost like his words were practised and his reactions stilted. there was nothing genuine about the fond smiles or the barely-there touches. you wondered if perhaps, he was waiting for you to do something.
but you have to admit, you'll take the dread creeping over your shoulder over the blatant terror you're faced with when you talk to kamui, or nikolai. apart from his unsettling exterior, fyodor makes for decent company. he's quiet, but not the awkward silence that envelopes you when sigma runs out of things to say, and his questions never feel too invasive. he has a certain charm about him, you think, that makes him somewhat likeable, despite you knowing that he actively plays a part in whatever evil the doa performed.
these days, you spend more time with him. you find that the books he gives you are interesting, although not your usual taste, and that you look forward to seeing what he would lend you next. and the more you're around him, the more curious you get. why was he so...detached from you? why did he feel so disinterested despite being the one to initiate conversation? you try to listen for any indication of interest, and you think you find a trace when sigma tells him about preparations being complete, or when nikolai brings in some papers. later, you hear the same change in tone when you ask him why you've been brought here.
"why?" he smiles at you, and it's as beautiful as it is frightening, "i thought you may be of use to me."
"am i? all i do is sit around and...wait for something to happen."
"patience, [name]. i'm sure you'll figure it out on your own, you're quite smart, aren't you?" though his smile is still on his face, the hint of condescension in his tone doesn't escape you. you don't expect anything else from him, anyway.
one day, after you manage to evade nikolai long enough to sneak off to the lobby of the casino, fyodor stops by your crouched figure in a corner, still upset after nikolai's threats.
the ever present smile is still there, "caught again?"
you sigh, and look away.
then, he leans in closer, until his cold lips brush against the tip of your ear, "you might want to try the staff exit next time, or explore for other exits. there are many ways to come in and out the casino." you shiver, but his words spark a new flame of resolve in you. you've never seen fyodor come in through the main entrance, and he leaves quite often. if you insisted on seeing him out next time, you might have a better chance at escaping...
he doesn't look the slightest bit surprised when you walk with him as he's leaving a few days after, only glancing at you as he slipped on his coat. sigma frowns at you from the corner of the room, but noticing fyodor beside you, he goes back to his papers immediately. it must be nice having such an effect on people.
he's silent throughout most the walk, but right before he leaves through a door you've never noticed before, fyodor spares a few words to you.
"stay back a while and explore the building. not too long—someone will worry—but you should be able to find something helpful."
how strange it is that you found an ally in fyodor, out of everyone else. a part of you is convinced he must be playing a cruel trick on you, but you're willing to take any chances that you can find. when you're back for breakfast, you're grinning to yourself as you recount the two exists you've found, one hidden below a winding staircase, and the other at the opposite side of where the five gather with you. both representing hope that you can make it out.
both ways were failures. nikolai's grip around your wrists is painful as he guides you back to your room, goading you by belittling your attempts. fyodor is already waiting there, skimming through your current read, lingering on the pages where you've scribbled down your thoughts (the idea courtesy of fyodor). he puts down the book to look at you as you're embarrassingly being ushered back to your cell. at least nikolai leaves after sharing a few words with the other man—the humiliation of him having to hear how you'd been mislead would have been too much to bear.
your weak glare does nothing to perturb him, "you knew it wouldn't work, right?"
"nikolai is very determined when it concerns keeping you," he says, "perhaps you underestimated him."
"i thought you were going to help me leave," you groan, "i'm so stupid."
"now, my dear," fyodor's amused smile sends shivers down your spine, "why would i ever do that? were you not aware that it was me who asked for nikolai to bring you here?"
"but you told me about the other exists—"
"only to keep you busy," he interrupts, "so you wouldn't do something rash in a desperate attempt to leave."
"i thought you didn't want me...like how they do." because fyodor has never shown interest in you, not like nikolai's constant need to be around you, or sigma's shy way of sitting next to you when he's off work, but perhaps it meant something different, because it was him.
"no," he says, "i don't need to want you like they do, because you are already mine," he leans in closer, a hand on your cheek, "you are mine before you are any of theirs, and you'll do well not to forget that."
#yandere bsd x reader#yandere bungo stray dogs x reader#yandere bungo stray dogs#yandere bungou stray dogs#yandere bsd#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungou stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs#bungou stray dogs#yandere fyodor dostoevsky#yandere fyodor x reader#yandere fyodor#fyodor dostoyevsky x reader#sigma x reader#sigma bsd#yandere sigma x reader#yandere nikolai gogol x reader#yandere nikolai#yandere nikolai gogol#yandere nikolai x reader#nikolai gogol x reader#nikolai x reader#kamui x reader#kamui bsd x reader#bram x reader#yandere bram stoker#yandere kamui bsd#doa x reader#yandere doa#decay of angels
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Nice Little Chat (Padawan Anakin x MasterFemReader)
Summary: You don’t know when, but somewhere along the line…Obi-Wan’s precious padawan has become the object of your desire. He’s so cute and fuckable and you just want to spoil Anakin rotten…like the sweet baby boy that his is.
Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because of all the lovely smut. Tit fucking, mommy kink, and Ani’s big dick. Padawan Ani is of age (18).
Notes: This is a little different than what I normally write for Ani! So...input for it would very much be appreciated, if I should write more fics like this for him!
Thank you! Follow up fic: Can't Sleep! ❤️
“It’s over!” Anakin boldly announced, going in for what he thought was the finishing move.
“Not quite,” Obi-Wan said with a smirk. Sidestepping at the last minute, he used a gentle nudge of the force. Which sent Ani crashing to the floor, landing right in front of you.
You tried your best to stifle a laugh, not wanting to add insult to injury. But as you watched him clamber to his feet, that cute little pout on his face; you couldn’t help yourself. “You okay, Ani?”
“Fine,” he mumbled, refusing to look you in the eye. The slightest dusting of pink on his cheeks.
You don’t know when, but somewhere along the line…Obi’s precious padawan had become the object of your desire. From those plump lips to those big eyes, even that cocky smile. Everything about him made your body grow flush and a dampness pool between your legs.
Despite it being oh so very wrong…considering you were fifteen years older and one of his master’s dearest friends…you just couldn’t help but want him all to yourself. To spoil the sweet baby like he so deserved.
And from the way Anakin had been acting around you lately, it appeared that your feelings weren’t just one-sided. Although…
“Are you sure?” You cooed up at him, placing a hand on his bicep. “That was a bit of a nasty fall. Maybe I-”
“Said I was fine!” He growled, shaking you off. Grabbing his lightsaber, he then began to storm out of the training room. But not before shooting you one last yearning look.
…at times like this, it seemed like Ani was still fighting with his own.
“I’m so sorry!” Obi-Wan immediately started apologizing, while making to follow after Anakin. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him! Let me go talk-”
Taking hold of his arm, you stopped his departure. “No, I’ll go,” you said gently. “I think Ani and I need to have a nice, little chat.”
You didn’t give Obi the chance to protest or object to your offer, you just gave him a reassuring squeeze. “It will be all right; I promise.” And proceeded to make your swift leave, heading towards the one place you knew Anakin would go…especially with the tent he was sporting.
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Loosening your tunic, you shifted your breasts around a little. Making sure they were on full display, you then slipped inside Obi-Wan’s and his shared quarters.
Quietly you approached Anakin’s room. Pressing your ear to the door, you listened and waited for the right moment…that came when you heard soft, desperate whimpers and a very distinct fapping sound.
“Annni,” you called out sweetly. “Ani baby, may I come in?”
Not waiting for a reply, you quickly tinkered with the keypad. Unlocking the door and letting it slide open to reveal…
A very shocked…very red faced…VERY naked padawan sitting on his sleep couch.
“What the… Why didn’t you knock first?!” Ani shouted, his voice cracking a bit as he frantically scrambled to cover himself.
You licked your lips in anticipation. “Oh, I did,” you replied innocently. “You must not have heard over all those lovely noises you were making.”
“I… I…” His blush deepened and he began to squirm under your lust filled gaze. So cute…so fuckable.
“Baby,” you cooed. “Don’t try to deny it; I know perfectly well what you want.”
Sitting beside him, you placed your hand over his. Leaning forward just enough, so your plushy globes were practically about to spill out. “Now we both know you’re harder than a rock under this pillow. So why don’t you be a good boy and let mommy help you.”
“I’m… I mean…” There it was again, fighting with his feelings. Such a stubborn little padawan.
Using your free hand, you loosened your tunic a bit more. Letting him get a better view of your ample bust. “It’s okay. I just want to take care of you…make you feel real good.”
You watched as his eyes wandered down to your tits, they were blown so wide that you could barely see the blue in them. He swallowed hard, adam’s apple bobbing enticingly. “Please… Please, take care of me, mommy.”
His voice was barely above a whisper but hearing him call you that had your pussy absolutely dripping. “Say it again,” you muttered. “Louder this time.”
“Please,” he begged, shyly removing the pillow. “Please, take care of me…. mommy.”
“Oh, Ani.” You grinned at the sight before you. He was painfully hard, tip already leaking pre and, most importantly, he was a VERY big baby boy.
Biting your lip, you got up on your knees. Stripping off your clothes, you squeezed your breasts. Moaning softly and rubbing your legs together as you watched his cock twitch with interest.
“On your back, baby,” you purred, lips brushing across his.
“Yes, mommy,” he whimpered, obediently doing so…letting you mount him.
Taking a moment to enjoy the view, you bent down. Capturing his lips in a fiery kiss, muttering soft praises. “Good boy…such a good good good boy.”
Anakin melted into the kiss. Tongue licking shyly at your lips, asking for entrance. Not wanting to deny your sweet baby, you allowed him to do so. Surprised when he grabbed you with his big hands, pulling your hips to meet his.
You moaned softly into his lips, aching cunt rubbing against his cock. Needing more, you took his hands. Placing them on your chest, silently begging for him to touch you…to make his mommy feel good too.
Following your lead, he began to tweak your nipples. Rolling them between his lightly calloused fingers, making you whimper and shamelessly grind into him.
Breaking the kiss, Anii had let out a small whine. “More! Mommy, I need more!” He pleaded, thrusting up into you. Hoping you’d give him some kind of relief.
“More?” You teased, grinding against him harder. “You want more, baby? Tell me what you want, and I’ll happily give it to you.”
He squirmed underneath you, panting softly. “Your tits… Please let me fuck your juicy titties…”
You were surprised by his request. Your breasts, he really wanted to fuck your breasts? Well, if that’s what your sweet boy desired…
“You want to cum all over my juicy titties?” You purred, pulling away from Anakin. Your breasts nearly brushing his nose.
“Y-Yes,” he stuttered. Staring right at your chest, that adorable hint of pink on his cheeks. “P-Please let me f-fuck your tits.”
“Of course, whatever you wish,” you whispered softly.
Motioning for him to switch places with you, you lay on your back. Propped up on your elbows, beckoning him with your finger.
Ani happily crawled on top of you. Straddling your waist, he leans down to lap at your breast. His tongue running over your nipples and valley, thoroughly coating you with his saliva. All the while shivers ran up and down your spine. “Oh, baby,” you moaned.
Satisfied with his work, he sat back and stroked his dick. Lubing himself up with his own pre, he pushed your breasts together. And, with a cocky little smile on his face, he slid himself between your plushy globes. Causing you both to moan and groan.
His cock felt like heaven, so silky and warm against your skin. His thumbs, they skillfully played with your nipples as he steadily thrusted into your tits. “So good, mommy… They feel so good…”
“That’s it, baby, keep going,” you cooed lovingly up at him. “You’re doing such a great job. Making me feel sooo good.”
Your words spurred him on. His pace picked up and he began to snap his hips against you. Your tits bouncing in sync with his wild thrusts.
Looking up at Anakin, your eyes met. His face was flushed, bottom lip between his teeth. You can tell he’s trying to hold back his fast-approaching orgasm; the twitching of his cock gave it away.
“Ani,” you purred. Placing your hands over his, squeezing him tighter. “Be a good boy and cum for me. Paint my titties so prettily. Cover them with your creamy, hot cum.”
Throwing his head back, he let out a high-pitched whine. Movements becoming jerky and uncontrolled. Until finally, with one last sloppy thrust, hot globs of cum landed on your chest. Some on your neck and a bit on your chin.
You loved seeing the look of pure bliss on his face. They way his cum warmed your skin, it made pleasant shivers run up and down your spine. What a wonderful way to end your nice, little chat.
“Thank you, mommy,” Anakin muttered. Grinning proudly down at you as he admired the job he had done.
Rubbing his cum all over and into your skin, you couldn’t help but grin yourself. “You’re welcome, baby… Maybe next time you can cum in mommy’s tight, little pussy… But only if you’re good…”
#hayden christensen#hayden christensen x reader#hayden christensen fanfiction#hayden christensen smut#anakin skywalker#anakin#anakin skywalker x reader#anakin x reader#star wars anakin#sw anakin#anakin skywalker fanfiction#anakin fanfiction#anakin smut#star wars#star wars prequels#star wars fanfiction#star wars smut#darth vader#darth vader x reader#dart vader fanfiction#darth vader smut
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So this whole update reminded me of my Y/N Cookie and Burning Spice Cookie absolutely hating on one another, and yet I never thought about why. But now I have, and I'ma tell you about it.
I like to think that Burning Spice Cookie sees Sugar Globe Cookie as a complete and total LOSER. A scrawny, sniveling coward who never deserved the title of Primordial. This was likely amplified tenfold after the other Beasts got sealed while Sugar Globe was allowed to walk free, the otherwise mere annoyance turning into pure, genuine resentment and vitriol. While this has caused... tension between him and Eternal Sugar, Burning Spice still firmly believes that Sugar Globe is an absolute coward.
Likewise, Sugar Globe sees Burning Spice as nothing but an arrogant and vindictive bully, one that he had to constantly babysit in order to keep him in check. Like how his departure fueled Burning Spice's resentment, Sugar Globe's anger and frustration stemmed from the Beast falling for the same corruption, breaking his heart as he figured at least one or two of them could resist the temptation.
So just imagine Burning Spice pulling up on Golden Cheese for her Soul Jam only for Sugar Globe, the man he has very unfinished beef with to come rushing in like "YOU THOUGHT HER MAJESTY WORKED ALONE!?"
Oh God No, the unfinished beef is getting finished and it’s going to be well done.
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Summaries under the cut
Stardust by Neil Gaiman
Young Tristran Thorn will do anything to win the cold heart of beautiful Victoria—even fetch her the star they watch fall from the night sky. But to do so, he must enter the unexplored lands on the other side of the ancient wall that gives their tiny village its name. Beyond that old stone wall, Tristran learns, lies Faerie—where nothing not even a fallen star, is what he imagined.
Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls
Billy, Old Dan, and Little Ann—a boy and his two dogs...
A loving threesome, they ranged the dark hills and river bottoms of Cherokee County. Old Dan had the brawn, Little Ann had the brains—and Billy had the will to train them to be the finest hunting team in the valley. Glory and victory were coming to them, but sadness waited too. And close by was the strange and wonderful power that's only found...
The Witches by Roald Dahl
This is not a fairy-tale. This is about real witches. Real witches don't ride around on broomsticks. They don't even wear black cloaks and hats. They are vile, cunning, detestable creatures who disguise themselves as nice, ordinary ladies. So how can you tell when you're face to face with one? Well, if you don't know yet you'd better find out quickly-because there's nothing a witch loathes quite as much as children and she'll wield all kinds of terrifying powers to get rid of them.
The Kane Chronicles by Rick Riordan
Since his mother's death six years ago, Carter Kane has been living out of a suitcase, traveling the globe with his father, the brilliant Egyptologist, Dr. Julius Kane. But while Carter's been homeschooled, his younger sister, Sadie, has been living with their grandparents in London. Sadie has just what Carter wants—school friends and a chance at a "normal" life. But Carter has just what Sadie longs for—time with their father. After six years of living apart, the siblings have almost nothing in common. Until now.
On Christmas Eve, Sadie and Carter are reunited when their father brings them to the British Museum, with a promise that he's going to "make things right." But all does not go according to plan: Carter and Sadie watch as Julius summons a mysterious figure, who quickly banishes their father and causes a fiery explosion.
Soon Carter and Sadie discover that the gods of Ancient Egypt are waking, and the worst of them—Set—has a frightening scheme. To save their father, they must embark on a dangerous journey—a quest that brings them ever closer to the truth about their family and its links to the House of Life, a secret order that has existed since the time of the pharaohs.
Hatchet by Gary Paulsen
Brian is on his way to Canada to visit his estranged father when the pilot of his small prop plane suffers a heart attack. Brian is forced to crash-land the plane in a lake--and finds himself stranded in the remote Canadian wilderness with only his clothing and the hatchet his mother gave him as a present before his departure.
Brian had been distraught over his parents' impending divorce and the secret he carries about his mother, but now he is truly desolate and alone. Exhausted, terrified, and hungry, Brian struggles to find food and make a shelter for himself. He has no special knowledge of the woods, and he must find a new kind of awareness and patience as he meets each day's challenges. Is the water safe to drink? Are the berries he finds poisonous?
Slowly, Brian learns to turn adversity to his advantage--an invading porcupine unexpectedly shows him how to make fire, a devastating tornado shows him how to retrieve supplies from the submerged airplane. Most of all, Brian leaves behind the self-pity he has felt about his predicament as he summons the courage to stay alive.
Island of the Blue Dolphins by Scott O'Dell
On San Nicolas Island, dolphins flash in the surrounding blue waters, sea otter play in the vast kelp beds, and sea elephants loll on the stony beaches. Here, in the early 1800s, a girl named Karana spent eighteen years alone.
Karana had to contend with the ferocious pack of wild dogs that killed her younger brother, constantly guard against Aleutian sea otter hunters, and maintain a precarious food supply. Her courage, self-reliance, and grit has inspired millions of readers in this breathtaking adventure.
Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli
Leo Borlock follows the unspoken rule at Mica Area High School: don't stand out--under any circumstances! Then Stargirl arrives at Mica High and everything changes--for Leo and for the entire school. After 15 years of home schooling, Stargirl bursts into tenth grade in an explosion of color and a clatter of ukulele music, enchanting the Mica student body.
But the delicate scales of popularity suddenly shift, and Stargirl is shunned for everything that makes her different. Somewhere in the midst of Stargirl's arrival and rise and fall, normal Leo Borlock has tumbled into love with her.
The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster
For Milo, everything’s a bore. When a tollbooth mysteriously appears in his room, he drives through only because he’s got nothing better to do. But on the other side, things seem different. Milo visits the Island of Conclusions (you get there by jumping), learns about time from a ticking watchdog named Tock, and even embarks on a quest to rescue Rhyme and Reason! Somewhere along the way, Milo realizes something astonishing. Life is far from dull. In fact, it’s exciting beyond his wildest dreams. . . .
Black Beauty by Anna Sewell
As a young horse, Black Beauty is well-loved and happy. But when his owner is forced to sell him, his life changes drastically. He has many new owners—some of them cruel and some of them kind. All he needs is someone to love him again....
Whether pulling an elegant carriage or a ramshackle cab, Black Beauty tries to live as best he can. This is his amazing story, told as only he could tell it.
Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt
Doomed to - or blessed with - eternal life after drinking from a magic spring, the Tuck family wanders about trying to live as inconspicuously and comfortably as they can. When ten-year-old Winnie Foster stumbles on their secret, the Tucks take her home and explain why living forever at one age is less a blessing that it might seem. Complications arise when Winnie is followed by a stranger who wants to market the spring water for a fortune.
#stardust#where the red fern grows#the witches#the kane chronicles#hatchet#island of the blue dolphins#stargirl#the phantom tollbooth#black beauty#tuck everlasting
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Aaron Rupar and Stephen Robinson at Public Notice:
Between President Biden announcing he’s stepping aside, his endorsement of VP Kamala Harris, the Democratic Party turning the presidential race on its head by quickly rallying around her, and JD Vance immediately crashing and burning as Trump’s VP pick, this week has been a historic one in American politics — so much so that last week’s RNC feels like a distant memory.
But it’s worth devoting some attention to how the press did Trump’s work for him by portraying the aspiring authoritarian exactly how he wants to be seen — as a heroic strongman and newfound champion of political unity. Trump accepted the Republican presidential nomination for a third time on July 17 with a rambling, incoherent mess of a speech that offered a terrifying vision for America during its rare moments of coherence. His performance was widely regarded as a disaster. But a range of major newspapers didn’t cover it that way. More than a few headlines actually raved about it. The Boston Globe: “In a departure, Trump calls for unity, healing in America.” The Atlanta Journal-Constitution: “Trump urges unity after assassination attempt while proposing sweeping populist agenda.” Baltimore Sun: “Subdued Trump describes assassination try, accepts nomination.” As media critic Parker Molloy pointed out, these papers seemingly reported on Trump’s speech based on the prepared remarks, not the speech as he actually delivered it.
[...]
Trump will never pivot to unity because his whole brand is divisiveness
Not long after Trump’s attempted assassination at a Pennsylvania rally on July 13, mainstream outlets went along with the Trump campaign’s narrative: The shocking event had changed him for the better. When Trump made his first appearance at the RNC on July 15, the New York Times described him as “subdued” and claimed he showed a “glimpse of vulnerability.” But Trump had already demonstrated he was unchanged earlier that day when he posted on Truth Social that his idea of “Uniting our Nation” was the dismissal of all criminal charges against him.
Trump spewed his usual invective against his political foes throughout the week. The media, nonetheless, continued to take seriously the idea that he was a new man. Axios reported on July 15 that Trump “plans to seize the his moment by toning down his Trumpiness” and MSNBC’s Katy Tur described his first appearance at the RNC as “serene.” But the most egregious instance of this genre was a piece from Politico’s Natalie Allison, who wrote on July 17 that “there appears to be a new softness to Donald Trump, with people who’ve talked to him describing him with words like ‘existential,’ ‘serene,’ ‘emotional’ and even ‘spiritual.’”
[...] Largely left out of the coverage of the assassination attempt on Trump is the fact he not only has glorified political violence in the past but continues to do so — one of his central campaign promises is to pardon January 6 insurrectionists convicted of crimes. And he also wants to make it easier for people to obtain weapons of war like the one that shot at him and killed a man in the process.
The press sold a faulty narrative that Donald Trump is a ��changed man” and a “unifier” in the wake of the assassination attempt, but in reality Trump was the same old unhinged turd that he always was.
#Donald Trump#Media Bias#J.D. Vance#Kamala Harris#2024 RNC#2024 Trump Assassination Attempt#2024 Presidential Election#2024 Elections
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I love your platonic yandere vampire story!! One of the best that I have ever read ❤
So I'm just wondering what time period did the reader turn? If not modernt times, how would they react with the modern world (like in the 2000's)? Would the keep up with new technology, would they just not care, or would they be against it? And if they care, what would be their favorite thing about the modern world?
Once again, amazing work and i enjoy all of your stories <3
𝓝𝓮𝔀 𝓦𝓸𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓼 (Ask)
When Night Comes asks Platonic Yandere Vampire Story Chapter list
Hi, thx for the ask and sorry if it took some time! Btw, (Y/n) was turned during the Victorian Era. :)
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"You want what?" Her father's disbelief dripped slowly from his lips, his brows furrowed in confusion as he tried to comprehend his daughter's request.
Undeterred by his reaction, the girl nodded excitedly, her eyes sparkling with anticipation as she pointed at her phone, a strange and amusing contraption she had only received a year ago after years of pestering her parents.
"A tablet and a digital pencil," she explained, her voice filled with excitement as she gestured towards the screen of her phone.
"Is that another of those things you saw on that clock application of yours?" He guessed with a roll of his eyes. She huffed in response, feeling insulted by his dismissive attitude.
"TikTok," she corrected him, her voice laced with exasperation. "And I don't see why that would matter."
He raised an eyebrow and answered, "Oh it does not."
She calmed down slightly at his words, relieved, but then she watched as his eyes landed once again on the book he was reading before she entered the living room. She awaited his decision with bated breath until she grew impatient. With each passing minute of silence punctuated only by the sound of pages turning, her anticipation grew.
"Well?" she finally interjected, unable to contain her impatience any longer.
He lifted his head once again, feigning innocence. "Well, what?"
Her glare intensified, and she snapped, "What do you say? Can I have it?"
His eyebrows rose, then he laughed; "Oh, of course not.”
"Why?" she demanded, her voice sharp with indignation, visibly bristled by his categorical answer. The dismissal of her desires stung.
"Why would you want such a thing?" He asked a question of his own, his tone laced with condescension, while pointedly ignoring hers. "I taught you how to draw and paint," he continued, his emphasis on the word 'taught' dripping with arrogance. "These silly things are nothing compared to good, traditional academic art," he declared.
His words carried the weight of superiority, as if her aspirations were frivolous and unworthy of consideration and she clenched her fists at that.
She now understood his reticence to it; her father prided himself as a connoisseur in fine arts. It was true that he had an appreciation for the arts, but only when they adhered to the strict confines of academic, structured, and figurative compositions. She still vividly remembered the first time he had encountered abstract art; the fury and disgust that flickered in his eyes had been unmistakable.
Her father's disdain for anything outside the realm of traditional art became painfully apparent when he abruptly ceased sponsoring any museum or gallery that dared to exhibit the works of artists like Wassily Kandinsky and those who followed in his footsteps. The ripple effect was significant; it sent shockwaves through the art community and made headlines across the globe. For generations, his ancestors, from Dorian I to Dorian IV — who were, in fact, all him — had been the most influential patrons of the finest museums, but his sudden withdrawal of support was unprecedented.
The abrupt departure from his ‘familial legacy’ left many puzzled and others outraged, but her father remained resolute in his disdain for what he deemed as 'frivolous experimentation' in the art world.
(Y/n), on the other hand, did not hate abstract art; she just didn’t really understand the meaning of it most of the time. It mostly looked like a mess of forms to her. She didn’t even particularly want to depict abstract things; she just wished to do art using a new medium, but she couldn't help but feel the weight of his disapproval pressing down upon her.
"It doesn’t have to be abstract. Digital art can be as good as anything we have in this house," she insisted, her voice laced with determination. But at his dubious look, she sputtered, the words tumbling out in a rush, "And I'll prove it to you!”
He chuckled dismissively, waving a hand in her direction before turning back to his book once again. “Of course, you shall do that," he agreed, his tone dripping with condescension, a clear dismissal of her ambitions.
She felt a surge of frustration bubble up within her, puffing her cheeks in defiance as she stormed off. She was not one to back down from a challenge, especially not when it came to proving her father wrong.
#platonic yandere#yandere platonic#yandere vampire#yandere father#yandere#vampire#platonic#x reader#reader insert#child reader#yandere x reader#fanfic#stockholm syndrome#(y/n)#female reader
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Picture - A Pedrotober Drabble
Day Twenty-One of Pedrotober: Curls Pedrotober Hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag. View the full prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober drabble catalog HERE.
Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader
Rating: Generally this is just angst with a heavy dose of fluff. Mentions of pregnancy.
Word Count: 1510
a/n: @alyssamariag made me do it.
You'd asked him not to go. Pleaded with him as you tried to reason that he didn't need to. That you needed him here, not somewhere halfway across the globe. But Frankie was nothing if not committed to those he loved most, something you loved most about him, and ultimately there would be no argument. Not when he wasn't going for the money, but rather for them. To keep them safe. The same way he'd protect you.
The two weeks that followed his departure felt like the longest of your life. The first few days had brought quick phone calls with his reassuring voice and a wealth of texts reminding you he was safe. That everything was fine.
Until it wasn't.
Until he stopped answering. Until your texts vastly outnumbered the replies. It sent you into a downward spiral that left you spending most of your time on the cold hard tile of the bathroom floor, sick in more ways than one.
It feels familiar now, the little corner of the room you'd tried to make cozy by dragging pillows and blankets in. A feeble attempt at making the floor more comfortable. Half-empty glasses of water are scattered about, and an empty box of tissues sits abandoned on the edge of the tub. A modest meal, nothing more than plain table crackers, sits atop the counter, ignored and uneaten.
Your phone lights up with a notification, distracting you with a reminder that your screen time was up 34% last week. The evidence of the constant calls, multitudes of texts, and continuous searches for any sign of his name in the news. The screen goes dark and you wonder if this is what it's going to be like from here on out. If you're going to have to face everything the way you're facing this moment right now: alone.
Well, not alone, you remind yourself, placing a light hand on your aching stomach. You're barely showing. Most wouldn't even notice if they didn't know, and you're still adjusting to the thought. The knowledge that the product of the love you share with Frankie rests beneath your fingertips, completely unaware of the emptiness you feel.
He'd been so excited when you'd told him. The night he'd lifted you into his arms and swirled you about the kitchen the second you'd handed him the test results. Kissed you within an inch of your life, because finally, after all the hell you'd been through together, you could see the future taking shape.
Now, with the bathroom wall at your back, the images race through your mind again, pictures of the future that could very well be lost. You will yourself to breathe, trying to calm the nausea and the constant anxiety that strains your chest.
Thoughts of every single moment he'll be missing. Every first, every birthday, every morning, and noon and night. He'll miss marking her height on the frame of her bedroom door and learning what foods she absolutely cannot stand. He won't be there for her when storms scare her in the night or to comfort her through her first breakup. It swirls in a clouded haze, overwhelming your senses until you feel like you're drowning.
It's the click of the front door that brings you back to the present. There's a moment of panic because a murderer showing up on your doorstep would be your luck right now, but then reason takes over and reminds you that there's only one other person with a key to that door.
You scramble to get up, your exhausted body screaming in protest as you hurry from the bathroom and down the hall. Your socks cause you to slide along the hardwood floor when you turn toward the entry, but you don't make it to the door because your body slams into a firm, familiar figure first. One that smells faintly of jet fuel and mahogany.
His lips meet yours within seconds.
Frankie is holding you tight before you can process what's happening, but you return the kiss with eager intensity. You wind yourself around his body, holding him against you as you breathe him in. When he hoists you up so your legs can clasp around his waist, it crosses your mind that maybe you're dreaming. That maybe he isn't truly here. It's only when he presses you back against the nearest wall that you accept that he is. That this is.
A whimper rises in your lungs, and he takes it as a signal to come up for air, pulling his lips from yours as you touch every part of him you can reach. You've started crying, your cheeks wet with tears that he brushes away with his thumb, even as they continue to spill across your skin. "Are you really here?" you whisper with a raspy voice.
Frankie leans in again, pressing his lips to yours in another light, lingering kiss. "I'm here," he returns wearily, "and I'm never leaving either of you again."
The tone of his voice is unnerving, and you scan him for injuries, taking in the nasty cut on one cheek that's already been treated with stitches and the variety of cuts and bruises that line his face. But it's the haunted look in his eyes that worries you the most. You don't even have to ask to know that something is wrong. Something terrible happened in Columbia. That the very mission he set out to complete, to keep them safe, had been a failure.
And yet, here, in this moment, you can only cling to him, burying your head against his neck as he carries you back to the bedroom. He sets you on your feet and pulls the disheveled comforter back for you to burrow beneath as he slips off his worn boots, but you reach for him instead. He groans slightly when you ease the fabric from his shoulders, revealing bruises that run beneath the t-shirt he still wears. You cringe when you see the second deep cut that runs along his thigh, just below his boxers, and you're careful to avoid it when you drag him into bed with you.
He initially moves to rest against the headboard, his arms already pulling you toward him when you slowly shake your head. He lets you guide him so his head rests against your chest, his ear over your steady heartbeat. A reminder that you're here. That he's here. That he's alive and he's safe.
And then he breaks.
Dampness seeps into your shirt as he fastens his arms around you, whispering something you can't quite make out. Nausea wells in your stomach again, but you try your best to push it from your mind. "It's okay, baby. It's okay. I'm here," you remind him again and again and again for as long as it takes. Until, finally, his breathing calms and he relaxes against you.
Frankie's hand gently strokes the curve of your stomach. "I thought about her," he tells you, breaking the quiet that lingers in the room. "And you. Every second I was in that jungle, I..." his voice cracks, "I thought about everything I'd be missing."
And then they're back, the thoughts of the future you're both aware you almost lost.
"You won't, though," you calm him as the images become more intense now that you know he's safe.
The picture of a little girl in your arms, Frankie holding you both as you squeeze tight into the tiny hospital bed. You let your eyes drift across the bedroom to where you know the crib will sit, where you'll watch as he rises to calm her in the night.
The thought of him holding tight to her small hands as she takes her first steps, reassuring her with the same gentle patience he shows you every day. Her first day of school, when he cries more than you do as she races off to her new friends.
The flashes of him learning to braid her hair, the way you've already been teaching him, and of her painting his nails the brightest shade of purple. Of the scraped knees he'll tend to and the late-night movies you'll insist aren't good for her but join in on anyway and the dog she'll beg for that he'll bring home on a summer afternoon.
The images of him teaching her how to fix a car before she can even drive one, and watching from the porch as he carefully instructs her out of the driveway. The way you know he'll threaten the first boyfriend or girlfriend she brings home and of him walking her down the aisle someday.
Every single moment that only hours ago felt impossible. The ones that felt like a dying dream. The memories you don't have yet but now know you will.
"She's going to have your curls," you tell him as you trace your fingers through his hair. "I know she will."
Frankie nuzzles closer. "And your eyes," he adds.
Because he can picture her too.
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Talking to my husband about One Piece theories (as you do in a Healthy Adult Relationship ©). He said Mihawk vs Sengoku would be an interesting showdown. We've only seen the extent of Sengoku's powers once at Marineford, and that may or may not be the full picture. But that got me thinking.
Mihawk currently has no named attacks, whereas even the most powerful pirates we've seen have named attacks. The implications here are either 1) Mihawk simply DGAF about doing things the way others do (which tracks and I love that for him), or 2) all the Mihawk attacks we've seen thus far are such a teeny tiny fraction of his power that they're not even worth naming.
So let's say the second one is accurate. What level of power does Mihawk have to display in order for it to warrant a named attack? We've seen this bad bitch cut a damn ship in half but also scale his power low enough to cut Zoro without literally slicing him in two. The control he has over his power is insane.
We've seen what Zoro can do. We've watched him level up so far from when we met him. But we don't really see Mihawk in action very much. What displays of power we've seen are just a tiny fraction of what he's capable of because we simply haven't seen him have a real need to fully display his power. This is a guy who does just what he wants to do as much as possible, and only does anything else begrudgingly. We saw him at Baratie facing off against this 19 year old moron who thought he was ready to take on the World's Strongest Swordsman, and wasn't. We saw him at Marineford, but let's be honest, he had no reason to do more than the bare minimum. He doesn't care about the World Government, he probably doesn't care about the conflict between them and Whitebeard. He shows up, puts on a show, and peaces out so he can keep living his relatively quiet life. The World Government can say "you could have done more!" all they want, but at the end of the day, he did what he was required to do, and no more.
It's vital to Zoro's character not just that we see him defeat Mihawk, but that we fully understand how strong Mihawk is so that we can understand just how strong Zoro has to be to defeat him.
So, how can Oda do this? How can he possibly show how very strong this untouchable character is in a way where we can appreciate it before his inevitable downfall? Because I feel like if we see him give his first real attack in the middle of his final duel with Zoro, it's not gonna hit as hard. It'll be like "Oh, that was cool, aaaaaaaand he's dead now."
Mihawk not only needs but deserves a scene independent of his final fight with Zoro where he can truly show off what he can do. I want to see this man EXHAUSTED. I want to see something that completely takes it out of him, that shows us he's not untouchable, that it's possible to wear him down, that beneath his strength he's just a guy who gets tired and winded with the right amount of exertion just like the rest of us. Mihawk was one of the OG antagonists of One Piece, he deserves his own version of Galaxy Impact or Divine Departure.
Okay, so hear me out. Outside of his fight with Zoro, what could Mihawk possibly do to display the true extent of his power? What is a feat so massive that it would be exceptional for even a man of his power?
Perhaps it would be something that avenges a man who was (per SBS) betrayed by a Marine, an agent of the World Government. Something so impossible and insane it was only alluded to in a relatively minor character.
So....what if Oars the Continent-Puller created the Red Line 800-900 years ago, and Mihawk will become the Continent Destroyer by taking it down, destroying Marie Geoise and at least symbolically everything the World Government represents? And furthermore, what if he and Zoro do this together? We've seen them both cut enormous things..... combined, at their full power, what if they just slice a 10k meter wall that encircles the globe to bits? What if they create the All Blue?
This is a mishmash of various theories, but tbh..... I'm happy to give Oda an enormous amount of leeway. He's the artist here and I have my wants and hopes and ideas, but there is very little in One Piece that I think could truly and deeply disappoint me because things not going the way I want /= things are bad. I'm just along for the ride, ya know?
But this is a must-have. Oda has been setting this up for more than 20 years now. This rivalry between Mihawk and Zoro needs to be concluded in a way that does both characters justice. And this would be a pretty cool one.
#dracule mihawk#hawkeye mihawk#mihawk#roronoa zoro#zoro#one piece#one piece theory#one piece thoughts#eiichiro oda
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Full draft for Book Two: Unity | Firsts to Grow Up
May or may not change the outline.
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1 – Happy Birthdays: Celebrations
The Malto Terrans have been training for months to prepare themselves to travel the globe. Before the day of departure, the family and town celebrate Twitch & Thrash’s first birthday. But the party is being targeted by a mysterious new Terran who has a shard of the Emberstone as his spark.
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2 – Happy Birthdays: Farewells
Suspecting Meridian is well and active again, Hashtag changes her mind about travelling. She gets unexpected help from Skyfire while her siblings meet their travel guides, Powerglide and Inferno.
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3 – Kindle & Ember of Sunlight
Twitch flies to Peru with Powerglide, an Autobot who is on the fence in joining G.H.O.S.T for years. They meet a tribe who cares for twin Terrans name Kindle and Ember with the help of Slingshot – who supposedly to have died in the war.
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4 – Kite Flying
Nightshade and Bumblebee travel to the freezing deserts of Mongolia. The Terran who resides there have trouble speaking after nearly getting taken by “monsters” if it were not for Clobber, a Decepticon outcast.
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5 – Icy Shields
Jawbreaker braves a vicious snowstorm to confront the giant ram Terran who had attacked their G.H.O.S.T guide, Inferno, and stole Thrash’s shield.
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6 – The Math on Spitting Fire
Back home in Witwicky, Hashtag messes around with Twitch’s modified drone only for it to be scanned as an alt-mode for the new Meridian Terran. Meridian does not drink enough coffee to handle the mess caused by ... his Terrans. Ugh!
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7 – Hiding in the Dark
Agent Bagheri faces familiar troubles with her new station when a man-sized leaf mantis kept playing with the computers. Surprisingly, the troubles point a lead to a strange object hiding on the Earth’s orbit.
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8 – Hiding in Plain Sight
While trying to convince Aftermath and Spitfire to leave Meridian, Hashtag and Mo stumble upon a strange creature lingering at the destroyed Emberstone cave. Terratronus feels threatened by it.
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9 – Irony of the Creator: The First Terrans
The Terrans gather at Terratronus’ Core and learn about the early generations of Terrans born thousands of years ago that was wiped out by their “cousins”, the Quintessons.
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10 – Irony of the Creator: Quintesson
Conflicted over Terratronus’ wish, the Terrans split into two groups: one wants to keep the Emberstones intact while the other respects Terratronus’ wish to destroy them. Meridian and his Terrans cease the opportunity to steal the relics. Unbeknownst to the three, they are being observed...
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11 – Conjoining
In meaning & literally. Twitch faces a reflection of herself through Kindle after Ember’s injury, Thrash eases Ice Mirror’s wildness, Hashtag and Nightshade help Kites with her speech, and Jawbreaker accidentally unleashed a freaky ability on Aftermath. Spitfire wishes she can drink alcohol, driving the Megatron crazy.
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12 – Not a Happy Birthday
The Malto farm and their guests prepare to celebrate the triplets’ first birthday before Hashtag’s departure. Terrible heatwaves kept changing the party’s plan, and Ice Mirror’s erratic behaviour causes Jawbreaker’s patience to snap.
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13 – As Dark as a Starlit Sky
Hashtag, Twitch, and Skyfire head for the island of Borneo to meet the mantis Terran and the Terran who swims with the Bajau Tribe. Stardeep shows Hashtag the beauty of underwater to ease her anxiety. Back home, a guilt-ridden Jawbreaker accepts the Meridians’ offer.
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14 – A Family Team
The town searches for Jawbreaker who is spending time in the Meridian Lair, realising that despite their rough behaviour towards each other, Meridian, Aftermath and Spitfire truly care for each other and only wanted to save Earth.
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15 – Float & Sting like a Mantis
Twitch, Leaflet and Ember sneak into the Meridian Lair to rescue Jawbreaker. They then discover the Quintessons are targeting the Meridians with the help of Croft.
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16 – Planet Traitor
At G.H.O.S.T Prison Base, Schloder is alarmed by the prisoners that his men were suddenly, mysteriously replaced by droids without his knowledge. Croft has betrayed G.H.O.S.T and has bargained with the Quintessons to wipe out every Transformer-kind on Earth by whatever means necessary.
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17 – Choices
At Terratronus’ Core, the remaining Terrans and doctors from Witwicky discover the possible cure to energon poisoning via Emberstone freshwater. Not wanting a chance for humanity to perceive the Terrans in a good light, Croft takes the town doctors hostage, forcing the Terrans to choose them or the Emberstones.
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18 – Arriving Threat
G.H.O.S.T Autobots discover a functioning Spacebridge beneath the memorial, swarmed by the Quintesson legion led by the Executioner who had taken over Meridian’s body along with his formulas to mind control and eradicate energon-based lives.
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19 – Battle for the Emberstone – Part 1
The Quintesson ship crashes in Wiwicky’s mountains, preventing any life from leaving or entering its dome. Having captured Aftermath and Spitfire, using the shards in their chests as a beacon, they mind-control G.H.O.S.T Autobots to hunt down the remaining Terrans and the last Emberstone. The Terrans and humans turn to the closest available yet most distrusting people for help: the imprisoned Decepticons.
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20 – Battle for the Emberstone – Part 2
The Terrans join hands to save every life on Earth, energon-powered and tainted, to foil the Quintesson’s plan for conquest forever.
(Twitch and Thrash die as they are at the point of the blast; AM and SF are barely alive from spark strain | The Terrans gather round the combined Emberstone and powers it up | Emberstone power infused with the rain, reviving the dead bots, heal every injury and cured people with energon poisoning. | Twitch & Thrash revives and they got upgrade, twice the size than their original bodies)
#transformers#earthspark#transformers earthspark#tfes#firsts to grow up au#tf malto#tf terrans#terran oc#transformers fanfiction#macaddam
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"CHAPTER ONE: Activating Love Languague" || kim hongjoong || [a mini-series]
| genre: non!idol hongjoong. ceo! reader. angst. fluff. slice of life | mentions: different language. Korean (Hangul). Tagalog. unfair treatment. love language list
Life is going smoothly, and work is manageable. You, twenty- eight years old—the youngest business woman to ever build her empire from scratch. Earning from four digits to having at least eight digits in the span of two years. Investment after investment, partnership to partnership, blood sweat and tears of climbing to the top of your ranking is her witness and part of her character development.
All of these works are lightweight jobs especially with the help of your secretary, a woman and a mother, working with her for more than four years. Her experience and efficiency make handling papers and documents seem like second nature to her. She's not just a secretary; she looks after you, humbles you, and acts like a mother figure, all while excelling in her professional duties.
However, things change when she decides to retire after eight consecutive years of being on your side. Being fourteen years older than you, it's understandable why she has to move on, having worked with you while taking care of her family, it must be a hustle for her since she is needed inside the office all the time. Most especially, there were times you had to travel across the globe for conferences and company partnerships.
So, her departure leaves a significant gap, as her presence made your life much easier. Growing up without any mother (technically casting you out when you took business) meant you were gravely attached to her, as she is the only person who understood, known you for as long as you grew in this company. You were left traumatised and paralyzed from your mother’s action, you felt as if the world was on your back when you heard those words left her lips as if they were bottled inside her that one action triggered her and spilled all those to you and flowed nonstop.
You turn away. Hide your feelings. Avoid any form of love as it only brings you pain and misery. Too traumatized and paralayze to be in. Except for your secretary, of course. She is an exception though it took a while for you to open up to her nevertheless, it was easy on her part since she had encountered yours similar to her children. She had no problem opening you up so easily.
As you hover your newly painted manicured nails on your keyboard, a gentle knock on the door brings you out of your train of thoughts. Your head raises to glimpse at the newcomer, only to make your heart ache once again. Stood by the door, is your secretary. Holding her box of personal items from inside of her office. With a tight aching smile and your nose burning from the tears threatening to spill, you stood up from your recliner seat and moved towards her. She moved towards your make-shift living room and placed her things above.
"ma' ... do you really have to go?" calling by her nickname one last time hits you harder. Her eyes were a shade of red, a sign that she cried, and her lips parted in a soft chuckle, "I have to ma'am. I'm getting old now ..."
You gave her a playful stink eye to which she chuckles, it also made you chuckle. Everything seems to be on a smooth sail, but little you know, things have to hit the storm to get to the better side of the ocean.
As the laughter died down, so did your smile. It falters as you wrap your arms around her, squeezing her gently, "Thank you … so much." Her hand ran down smoothly on your back, patting them, "I should be thanking you. For seeing beyond what I can only do, furnishing them with your help."
You pulled away, smiling at her, tears were in the corner of your eyes, “Because I want you to keep working for me and stay with me. I can only be like this with you."
She gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, her eyes filled with concern. "Oh, my dear. You hold on so tightly, even with all those walls you've built around yourself. But sometimes, you need to learn how to let go. Clinging too tightly can be suffocating, not just for you, but for those you care about as well."
You frown slightly yet your heart and mind were a tandem and agreed with what she said. Your secretary—former—smiles at you gently, “Please do not take it to heart of what I said. It will save and heal you.”
You shake your head, hugging her again, sighing as this is really the last time you will be able to be close to her like this. There might be a chance you will bump into her in this big city but the chances will be low as she stays in her province house.
“I know what you meant ‘ma.”
Adjusting to the absence of your retired secretary feels like navigating a familiar road suddenly shrouded in fog. The once vibrant energy in your office now feels hollow, and the silence is deafening. The absence of her warm presence is palpable, a void that echoes with the memories of her laughter, the rustle of papers she efficiently sorted, and the gentle reminders she offered when you were lost in the whirlwind of work.
Every corner of your office, every piece of furniture, holds a memory of her. The coffee mug she insisted on refilling herself, the chair she would settle into during long meetings, even the scent of her favourite lavender perfume that still lingers faintly in the air—all serve as constant reminders of what you’ve lost.
It all now started to feel like before. The heaviness on your shoulder returns as the thought of the ones you love are now out of reach and it is making you weak and tired on the inside. You find yourself reaching for the phone to call her, only to stop midway, realizing that she's no longer just a call away. The ache in your chest is persistent, a dull pain that comes with the understanding that the one person who knew you inside out, who could read your mood with a single glance, is no longer there to lean on as you do not want to be a burden, an added on her shoulders and responsibilities. The weight of it all presses down on you, making you feel like a child lost in a crowd, searching for a familiar face.
It’s during one of these quiet, lonely moments that a memory surfaces, unbidden, drawing you back to one of your last conversations with her.
The two of you were seated in your office, the sun casting a warm, golden light across the room. She had a serene expression on her face as she looked at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of pride and concern.
"I know this won’t be easy for you," she began softly, her hands clasped together on her lap. "But I’ve thought long and hard about who could possibly fill my shoes, and there’s someone I’d like you to meet."
You frowned slightly, the idea of someone else stepping into her role feeling almost sacrilegious. "I don’t know, ‘ma. You’re irreplaceable."
She smiled, a hint of sadness in her eyes, but also a glimmer of hope. "No one can replace me, dear. But I believe this person can bring something new to the table. He’s young, around your age, and very capable. I’ve seen his work ethic first hand—he’s diligent, intelligent, and has a natural knack for understanding people’s needs, just like you."
You hesitated, the thought of trusting someone else with such an intimate role in your life making you uneasy. But her gentle persistence broke through your resistance."Please, just meet him. I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think he was up to the task. Besides," she added with a wink, "he’s quite charming. I think you’ll find him a refreshing change."
Your face reddens. You waved her off, patting your cheek as it burned from embarrassment. Despite your reservations, you eventually agreed, more out of your respect and trust in her judgement than anything else. She had always been right before, after all.
Before she leaves, her hand reaches over to grab yours. Looking deeply in your eyes with such fondness like how she looks at her children, so soft, “Please open your heart to all possibilities and consequences, learn to give and receive and most of all …” she pointed on your chest, above where your heart is, “Learn to love.”
SIghing, the midnight sky glares at your one-light lamp on your desk as you eyed the post-it note stuck to your computer screen. It is a difficult decision for you to consider her offer about hiring this person that seems to fit the role of secretary hence having to be excellent in some works and achievements based on working from their previous companies.
Although the thought of replacing her so soon was too much for you, business runs, and you will be needing a new one to help you out. You puff a breath, your bangs flying to the side as you took your phone to leave a message first since it would be rude to interrupt someone in their sleep and in the middle of the night just for a phone call for an interview.
“I guess it’s not bad.”
THE DIFFERENT [LOVE] LANGUAGE M.LIST
#ateez#ateez x reader#ateez imagines#ateez scenarios#ateez fanfic#ateez fluff#ateez fanfiction#ateez angst#ateez atiny#ateez au#ateez fic#ateez fics#ateez hongjoong#ateez imagine#ateez kim hongjoong#ateez masterlist#ateez series#atz#atiny#kim hongjoong#kim hongjoong x reader#hongjoong#hongjoong ateez#hongjoong scenarios#hongjoong x reader#hongjoong x y/n#hongjoong x you
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Vices & Virtues - Ethan Ramsey x MC
Dr. Ramsey's weaknesses don’t disturb his everyday life often, but when they do, a certain intern happens to always be involved.
Book: Open Heart, Intern Year (between Chapters 5 & 6)
Warnings: language, my rusty writing, a truckload of pining
Rating/Category: Teen+ / fluffy angst
Author’s note: [insert the ‘surprise, bitch’ & 'it's been 84 years' reaction GIFs]
I’m eternally grateful for the very few angels still waiting for new E&T content—this one’s for you 🫶🏻 Hope you’ll find a moment to read my word vomit and enjoy the mess (aka my writing). I appreciate every comment and like more than words can convey!
Edenbrook is indigestible on Mondays. Though Ethan Ramsey doesn’t believe in whatever ‘curse’ humankind attributed to an absolutely random day, he cannot deny the madness that usually ensues upon the beginning of each week. An inexplicable air of post-weekend malaise does tend to envelop the globe, and Boston is no lucky exception.
“Mondays suck!”
Striding across the hustly-bustly pediatric ward, Doctor Ramsey overhears an agitated boy explicitly expressing his annoyance.
Ethan’s Monday has been a doozy of a day as well, but he’d rather keep his troubles six feet under, preferably in concrete. Nevertheless, a drop of sympathy implores him to stop near the patient’s room and watch the scene unfold at a safe distance.
The child blows a raspberry at the nurse preparing him for a corridor-long wheelchair ride, clearly upset about the surgery he’s being taken to.
A heavy sigh followed by the unmistakable giggle of a certain copper-haired radiologist interrupts Ethan’s first break during today’s demanding shift.
“It’s not Monday, kid. It’s just your life.” Doctor Herbert whispers into Ethan’s ear, a large cup of raspberry tea in her hand. “But at least it’s going to be all rainbows and candy again in three weeks.”
Meanwhile, the situation has escalated quickly: a river of tears streams down the young Monday-hater's cheeks now, his concerned mother shooting pleading looks between her shuddering offspring and the strict nurse trying to efficiently finish the task so she could move on with her hectic schedule.
A pang of dejection pierces Ethan all of a sudden when a long-forgotten fragment of the past he buried flashes through his mind. Before its splinters reopen old wounds, he swiftly pushes the unwanted memory back to the unexplored depths of his psyche.
“I don’t think he’s heard you.”
“Gee, Doctor Ramsey, share some of that cheerful attitude with the rest of us!” Liz nudges his side, almost spilling her hot beverage on his foot. She mouths an apology, but his unimpressed gaze falls elsewhere.
“You wouldn’t even know what to do with it.”
“Thank God your interns still haven’t caught that grumpiness you’re suffering from.”
“No need to worry, it’s not contagious.” He gives a dismissive wave of his hand, partially to announce his departure, then continues the journey to his primary destination: the harmonious sanctuary of his private office.
As soon as the elevator door closes behind Ethan, the confined space becomes his temporary resort. He takes a deep breath, rubbing his sunken, aweary eyes to relieve the tension—an aching remnant of the sleepless night. The exhaustion begins to mess with his senses, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary; permanent fatigue has been his steadfast companion for more than a decade of his career as a doctor.
There’s a crack in that orderly, borderline clinical life of his, as big as a closed fist, and he’s slowly beginning to realize its detrimental consequences.
But none of that matters now.
What matters is that his desperate efforts to bend Naveen’s stubbornness weren’t in vain; there’s still hope—a notion Ethan isn’t exactly on board with, but he puts his trust in science, and beyond any doubt science will point him in the right direction. As long as there’s time, he’ll do whatever it takes to save his mentor, his friend. He’s confident he can do it, he’s capable of diagnosing and curing whichever mysterious illness keeps Naveen captive.
He’s the only one who can do it.
A double shot of deep roasted espresso shall help this cause. Or, at the very least, make his Monday slightly more endurable.
Loud metallic thud followed by a streak of bright fluorescent lighting annunciates the arrival. Empty, windowless corridor welcomes his nostrils with the odious mixture of staleness and antiseptic, typical of the office wing on the sixth floor. He operates on autopilot, mindlessly trudging ahead, marginally consoled by the aura of eerie quietude. Blissfully oblivious to what the so-called Manic Monday has prepared for him next.
All his rational thought and peerless logic evaporate into thin air the second his drowsy gaze zooms in on the old waiting room under renovation currently withheld by the recent budget cuts. Within its hoary walls, a familiar sylphlike figure catches his eye, unwittingly staking her claim to his undivided attention.
Ethan’s dire need of coffee has vanished as well; he’s wide awake now.
Smiling to herself, a sense of pride evident in the alluring dimples carved into her cheeks, Doctor Addams arranges a stack of papers atop a massive couch protected by thin plastic sheet.
Ethan acknowledges that he must ignore the tempest raging inside his chest, but he’s unable to focus on anything else other than the energy she exudes, luring him in like a siren’s song.
This isn’t the first time the infamous Doctor Terminator is utterly powerless in the face of her—the most intriguing mystery he’s tempted to unravel for some godforsaken, unfathomable reason.
Everything he knows about Tiffany Addams has been collateral damage from their close proximity and the isolating nature of their work. Against better judgment, Ethan has stored every single crumb of information thrown at him, like it’s a treasure guarded in the vault of his mind, acquiring new pieces and adding them to this clandestine collection.
With certainty, there’s a new element behind that glass wall, ready to be studied in secret.
As though pulled by a magnet, his feet carry him towards the room while Ethan shuffles through a myriad of excuses plausible enough to start a conversation. A good excuse, however, requires an elaborate background story, supported by a carefully planned follow-up—both of which clearly out of his reach at the moment.
Fully aware of the possible disaster awaiting inside, Ethan steps into the room quietly, leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed over his chest. A sophisticated scent of sultry vanilla wrapped with notes of luminous lavender pervades the space, handily smothering the musty odor of the old hospital furniture stored here for at least a year.
Heedless of his presence, Tiffany remains locked in her own bubble. She’s seated on the couch, browsing through a large leather bag with a lot of noise.
Long onyx locks neatly tamed in a sleek bun reveal the exquisitely sculpted contour of her features, its sharp edges so far removed from the overpowering warmth hiding in her sparkling emeralds and tenacious kindness dripping from the corners of her full mouth.
That stark contrast surely must be a part of her allure, he reckons. Not that there’s any evidence at his disposal—he’s her boss, for fuck’s sake. But the set of cardinal rules applying to the situation doesn’t stop him from looking, nor does it dilute the poison seeping from that singular contaminated thought…
Loud, treacherous voice snarls inside his mind like a beast at the gates of his sanity.
This isn’t staring, this is a comprehensive risk assessment.
Regardless of the pretext, watching her feels almost perverse, but he’s too transfixed to listen to his voice of reason hopelessly trying to redirect him to the path of impeccable propriety.
He can’t look away. Can’t move either. She'll notice him…Eventually.
Is that all he’s become? A disappointment, a fraud. One of the best diagnosticians of the generation, the esteemed Dr. Ethan Ramsey is consistently failing to do his job. His own mind appalls him—once the most treasured asset, his pride and joy, now compromised, useless, struggling to cut through the veil of his inappropriate longing.
Perhaps instead of triggering a spiral of destruction, he should address a more pressing matter: why is there a splotch of purple paint on her cheek?
Better late than never, his focus switches from Tiffany to the negligible surroundings. On her left, spread across the polythene-covered couch, lie a couple of ridiculously abstract drawings, colorful and confusing, each of them made with the skill and precision equal to a six-year-old if he has to guess.
Suddenly, it all clicks.
Along with his tongue.
The short clack doesn’t make her flinch, though she straightens immediately, a glimmer of surprise shining in her riveting eyes when she looks up at the intruder and deems him worthy of a smile. Her lush, rosy lips curl up generously, greeting him with a beam so dazzling his body heats up like bare skin kissed by the blazing midday sun in the middle of summer.
The older doctor doesn’t return the cordial gesture—he has a reputation to uphold and his bruised dignity to save. He quickly takes refuge in the shadow of his perfect decorum, dexterously covering the unjustifiable act of treason committed by his very own carnality.
Tiffany, however, is undeterred in her mission to melt his callous indifference with the disarming sincerity of her vivacious spirit.
“Before you drop your sarcastic grenades on me: no, I have not found my true calling elsewhere. I have not been slacking up either. These aren’t even mine, so insulting someone else’s artistic skills would be totally inappropriate.” Her hand waves over the drawings.
“I wouldn’t dare to insult a respected artist and credit you with their art.” He retorts flatly, then spills the aforementioned sarcasm like the Lord intended. “Early Pollock must cost a fortune or two. How come such rare artworks ended up in your possession?”
His comment inspires a peal of infectious laughter; the powerful melody of Tiffany’s unadulterated amusement conquers the room, all but obliterating the chronic sternness of Ethan’s face.
He cannot help but bask in the glory of this unexpected outcome: he’s the reason behind the glorious, velvety sound; she’s laughing because of him.
“You made a pretty solid assumption, Doctor Ramsey, but I have to disappoint you: early Pollock had an affair with surrealism and his style was way more compositional than this.” She points at the glittery mess splashed in the center of one of the pieces, not so subtly suppressing another wave of laughter.
Miss Addams and her irreplaceable wit painfully remind him of the golden rule he often pretends doesn’t concern his giant ego: do not speak on the topics your knowledge of is insufficient.
Lustrous vivid-green eyes fixed on him and the urgency he’s facing at the moment leave him no choice but to quickly shake off the embarrassment and adapt his reaction accordingly.
Reluctantly, Ethan clings to brutal honesty. “I’m not an art connoisseur, so I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”
“Oh, trust me, you would.”
A smudge of amethyst retrieves the diagnostician’s attention for one split second, demanding a seamless change of topic.
“I presume you spent your lunch break on the pediatric ward again, trying to start a new art movement.”
Doctor Addams gasps theatrically and presses her slender fingers to her mouth, lowering her head slightly. “What gave me away?”
Ethan considers revealing the truth through another shot of bluntly delivered sarcasm (something he would have done in any other case), but his body betrays him, subconsciously drawing near Tiffany.
“Apart from the excited chatter on the second floor? Nothing.” He replies, straining to keep his impeccable composure just as she bites into her lower lip tantalizingly in what appears to be keen anticipation.
A few risky steps later she’s at his arm’s length, and he decides to measure that dangerously short distance; akin to an audience member of some ludicrous soap opera, the diagnostician observes his hand move towards the intern’s face in slow motion, as if that bloody limb wasn’t his and the falsely innocent intention swarming inside his incisive, virtuous mind filled him with repulsion.
Except he wants this. He needs to feel her.
Even though the mere ghost of an idea may bring his demise, he cannot break free, imprisoned by the torturous vision of her vanilla-scented skin gliding smoothly against his.
Much to his bewilderment, her breath quickens just as much as his; the evergreen forest in her eyes bursts into flames when their gazes meet, burning his hesitation down.
She wants this too.
Nothing could convince him to refrain from acting on this forbidden desire now, not a single reasonable thought seems to be charged with a cogent argument.
So he lets his thumb brush down her right cheek, down the lick of wet paint smeared across her warm skin, taking most of the dark purple off the silken canvas along the way.
The sky didn’t tear in half, there was no divine retribution exacted upon a sinner like him, no sign of punishment fit for his appalling misdeed.
“Nothing. At. All.”
Nothing but the silky smoothness of her face, rapid rise and fall of her shapely chest, and fiery heat searing through his veins…
Inevitably, the unbearable tension crackling between them dissipates in a flash when Tiffany snorts at the sight of his acrylic-stained thumb, a soundless ‘fuck’ escapes her mouth as she sprints to find a prompt solution for the paintmergency, stripping him of time to ponder on what the living hell just happened.
He takes advantage of the moment, immediately scolding himself, forcing his thoughts to flee from the crime scene concocted by his newly depraved brain.
“Must be your enviable instinct of an outstanding diagnostician then.” Cheeky as ever, she casts a playful eye over Ethan while rummaging through the drawers, summoning him to focus on her.
Within a long minute, she scuttles back to him, stretched arm offering one of the two pieces of paper towel sprayed with hand sanitizer. They use it to rub the paint off their skin. As soon as they’re done, Ethan quips back. Sort of.
“The balance between mockery and flattery is a bit too delicate to be used in a professional environment, don’t you agree, Addams?”
Unintimidated by the tricky question, Tiffany lifts her shoulder in a half shrug. “It all depends on the intelligence of the person you’re speaking with. You’re ultrawealthy in that department, so I assumed you wouldn’t mind some harmless friendly banter.”
“We’re not friends.” The speed with which he retaliates might have just sealed his fate. Deep down, he doesn’t quite believe those words himself, but there are rules to be followed unconditionally, rules that cannot be broken under any circumstances.
Dark, noble brows accentuating the breadth of her radiance crease together in sheer bewilderment. He can almost hear the scoff she’s choking back when she sees right through the cone-shaped hole in the thick wall separating them.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
“We’re getting there.” She nods vigorously, openly mocking his well-meaning mendacity with lips pursed into a thin line and narrowed eyes surveying him diligently.
„An attending befriending his intern? I can’t see that happening.”
A winning grin lights Tiffany’s features up. „It’s already happening, whether you like it or not.”
The more she pushes forward, infuriatingly so, the more he resists, fortifying his helpless defense.
„Would you be kind enough to explain why on Earth would I let it happen?”
“It’s beyond your control.” She shakes her head. „There’s nothing you can do now.”
He frowns at her, takes her fierce expression in, feigning utter disinterest in the mesmerizing spatter of freckles adorning her glowy skin.
Is the intensity of his glare too revealing? Can there be a flash of ardent curiosity swimming in his eyes and acting up against him?
„You’re awfully confident about all the wrong things, Rookie.”
She mimics the military salute, right hand raised sharply, touching her forehead, fingers and thumb extended and joined, palm facing down. „The colossal pain in your ass reporting for duty, sir.”
This display of her goofiness, derived from the smidgeon of irreverence he’s found himself covertly fond of, successfully penetrates his ruptured facade.
At last, Doctor Terminator’s perpetually grim face blooms with an ear-to-ear smile, so wide and genuine that Tiffany blinks once, twice, most probably questioning whether the exceptionally unusual scene in front of her is real.
The way she gapes at his mouth almost drills a hole in him—she’s that awestruck, like a pious believer who stumbled upon irrefutable evidence confirming the foundation of her faith.
“You should smile more. You…” Her plush lips part when she trails off, then sucks in a breath, as if to stop the profanation of their professional relationship jumping on the tip of her tongue from slipping out recklessly.
She wants this too.
“It suits you.”
Ethan’s cheeks erupt with disgraceful heat, resembling an awkward teenager attracting his crush’s attention for the very first time—the feeling almost as mortifying and inexcusable as the unprecedented lack of any snarky response.
As if the worst was yet to come, Tiffany keeps on staring at him with such exhilarating wonder and sureness he doesn’t quite know how to proceed with such abundance of emotion meddling with his stoic approach.
She wants this too.
For a fleeting moment, the abyss of his solitude shrinks significantly, purple paint filling the crack on the illusory contentment with the life he’s chosen, just as her piercing gaze invites him further into the impossible fantasy.
Then, a jolt of sobering guilt runs along his spine in a rude awakening, at the same time when Tiffany realizes the gravity of her daring statement and its perilous implications.
“I, erm…”
“Uhm, my…”
Ethan smashes the uncharacteristic uneasiness descending on them, a benign half-smile and barely perceptible nod encourage her to continue. “Go on.”
Her gaze flickers towards the hall, a tinge of crimson reddening freckled porcelain. “My break is almost over. I should head back to the ER.”
Hell must have frozen over: his fearless protégée, strong-willed and sharp-tongued at all times, befuddles him with this uncommonly demure armor plate she has put on. The most challenging obstacles and cases fail to break her down, stress and pressure never threaten her admirable strength, and yet there she is—bleeding from her own sword.
This supremely fascinating token of hidden vulnerability sheds new light on the beguiling collection of contradictions making her whole.
He examines the younger doctor pacing around the room as she gathers her belongings up, stuffing her capacious bag with them. Half-way, she spins to address him directly and points at her cheek.
“Am I…Still…?”
“No, you’re alright. The paint is gone.”
“Splendid.”
As she goes forward, assembling her patients’ drawings into a neat pile, and—rather intentionally—ignoring Ethan, he readjusts his tie and dives headfirst into the pool of her discomfort.
“Addams?”
“Hm?”
“You don’t have to dedicate such a vast portion of your free time to helping others.”
She freezes, visibly offended, but still intent on avoiding his gaze. “I know. I want to.”
“What I meant...Is that you need to add yourself to the equation, Tiffany.”
“I’m doing just fine, thank you.” She scoffs, the barely noticeable defensive undertone reverberating in her firm answer not entirely convincing for the diagnostics virtuoso.
His evaluation is disrupted by the abominably loud beeping of Tiffany’s pager. Their eyes finally clash for a brief shootout with no winner before she shuts the damn thing up.
“Well then. See you later, Doctor Ramsey.” She blurts out hastily without giving him a second glance and turns round to rush out of the room, but stops in her tracks near the door.
Something sparks inside that brilliant mind of hers, reigniting her boldness. Dense curtain of long lashes flutters at him over her shoulder, inky-black and luxurious akin to the finest lace, the signature magnetic smile dancing on her lips again—this time infused with genuine concern. She inspects his countenance for a still moment, inch by inch, crease by crease, until her head falls to the side like she has just uncovered his biggest secret.
“Consider locking the door in your office and getting some rest.”
“Giving me advice isn’t included in your job description.” He sneers, the unnecessarily harsh huff of his disapproval concealing the alien sentiment spilling inside his chest.
Somehow it’s still not enough to antagonize her.
Her eyes bore into his audaciously; the gentleness gleaming from elusive emerald green, reminiscent of safety, offers shelter he despairingly seeks, but cannot take. “But it’s nice to have someone watching out for you, isn’t it?”
Somehow they might have more in common than one would think.
Careful not to expose the motley collection of feelings stirring his blood, Ethan draws in a long breath and slips his hands into the pockets of pristine white coat, perfecting his posture, with tense body standing even taller, as though to appear completely unaffected by her undeniable appeal, more unrelenting.
He’s been looked at countless times, yes, but this must be the first instance where he feels truly seen.
It is indeed nice.
The attending doesn’t say a word, for he would have to agree with the intern. She smirks triumphantly, accepting the tacit disbelief etched on his face as conclusive proof of her diagnosis.
Instead of claiming victory through verbal manifestation of her sass, Doctor Addams attacks him using a different weapon: a provocative wink. “Just think about it.”
With a graceful twirl indicating goodbye, his Rookie struts out, leaving a dizzying mist of her divine scent behind.
Wasting no time, Ethan scoots to the exact place where she stood prior to this moment, soaking up the delicious cloud of fragrance, unable to resist sniffing the air like some sort of disgustingly pathetic creep.
Thankfully, there are no witnesses to this particularly revolting descent into madness.
No witnesses to the beginning of his fall.
Mind over heart has never sounded more delusional than now, that his hard-won empire of spotless reason stands on the verge of crumbling. But he’s not giving up—he can’t give up. There’s too much at stake.
Beyond dispute, Ethan Ramsey is not an easy man to defeat. The King of Quiet Desperation wears his broken crown with arrogance, each burnished gem representing his sins, though the ultimate one hasn’t brought him down yet.
Having put the mask of nonchalance back on, Doctor Ramsey turns off the lights and stomps into the empty corridor—his hand still carrying the heavenly softness of Tiffany’s skin like a fingerprint, like a sin, shaky fingers curling at the very thought of the contact—then begins a seemingly casual stroll to his office.
He doesn’t have many vices—she is all of them.
_____
A/N2: Hope you enjoyed this bad boy ❤️ Sorry (not sorry) if it's too long and repetitive...I literally can't shut up when it comes to these two fsksjdkfjs Plus it felt really good to find my writing mojo after such a long time!
PS. If there are any typos and/or mistakes...No, there aren't lol I'm fighting COVID at the moment, so my brain's a little foggy. I had this fic sitting in my drafts and decided to just go with the flow while I'm feverish and can't see any faults sjfskfkjf I'll get back to everyone waiting for a reply when I'm more coherent. Stay safe, lovelies!
#ethan ramsey#open heart#ethan x mc#ethan ramsey x mc#playchoices#fluffy angst#choices open heart#open heart fanfiction
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In door no.4 we go on a journey of discovery and see what surprises the Nao Victoria has for us...
Nao Victoria
More about her here:
The Victoria was one of five ships in Ferdinand Magellan's Armada, which set sail on behalf of the Spanish crown in 1519 to find a western sea route to the Moluccas. In 1522, the Victoria was the only ship in the Armada to return to Spain from East Asia on its way through the Indian Ocean and around the Cape of Good Hope, thus completing the first historically documented circumnavigation of the globe.
She was originally named Santa María and belonged to a shipping family from the Basque harbour town of Ondarroa. In September 1518, the Spanish government had the ship, which was moored in the harbour of Cádiz and already loaded for a voyage to London, confiscated for Magellan's Moluccan expedition and compensated the previous owners with 800 ducats. A contract about the expropriation is preserved in the archives of the notaries of Seville. In it, one of the previous owners, a certain Pedro de Arismendi, declares that the ship was taken from him against his will and that the sum paid in compensation was too low. After the expropriation, the ship was renamed Santa María de la Victoria in honour of an image of a saint that was venerated in the convent of the same name of the Pauline Order in Triana and which is now in the Carmelite convent of Santa Ana, also in Triana. Since its renaming, the ship is usually referred to by its short form Vitoria or Victoria.
On 20 September 1519, the squadron sailed from Sanlúcar de Barrameda in Spain. Luis de Mendoza was the captain of the Victoria. Mendoza was killed in a mutiny in Puerto San Julián on 1 April 1520. After Magellan's violent death on 27 April 1521 on the Philippine island of Mactán, the former profos of the Armada, Gonzálo Gómez de Espinosa, initially took command of the Victoria. At the northern tip of Borneo, command was transferred to the boatswain Juan Sebastián Elcano, who held it until the return to Spain. Shortly before the end of the voyage, the Portuguese captured part of the crew on Santiago (Cape Verde). Hunger and scurvy decimated the crew, the ship was in a wretched condition and had to be bilged around the clock in the end. On 6 September 1522, the Victoria reached Sanlúcar de Barrameda, its port of departure at the mouth of the Guadalquivir. Of the original 237 members of the expedition, only 18 Europeans and four Asians reached their home port. The first circumnavigation was complete. It had taken two years, 11 months and two weeks and brought home 25 tonnes of spices. Contrary to what is often claimed, the proceeds from their sale were not enough to cover the costs of the endeavour.
After her return from the Moluccas, the Victoria was auctioned off to the highest bidder in Seville in February 1523. The winning bid was placed by a merchant from Genoa, who had the ship refloated and fitted out for an Atlantic crossing to Santo Domingo in 1525. From then on, she sailed for almost fifty years before she was lost with all hands around 1570 on the voyage from the Antilles to Seville.
#naval history#tall ship#nao victoria#spanish#16th century#age of discovery#age of sail#advent calendar#day 4
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The Failure of Ted Lasso's Unconventional Politics
SOCIAL CONDITIONING:
According to Brendan Hunt, shippers interested in a second chance, mature-age romance between Ted and Rebecca were being blindly, un-self-reflexively led about by their “social conditioning”. Presumably, however, the writers who wrote Ted returning to his heteronormative family unit – as well as all the viewers who enjoyed this ending and have defended it since – are completely free of social conditioning? No social conditioning is involved in reifying the white heterosexual family unit? No social conditioning is involved in deifying parenthood, fatherhood and patriarchy at the cost of all else? There is no social conditioning involved in a conclusion that values good ole working class Americana while rejecting the big, queer, complicated, multicultural world?
KISS (Keep It Simple Stupid):
If the creators wanted to gesture to “Cheers” as a classic American sitcom, then at least learn from its example. This show worked best when it worked with familiar, beloved characters in a familiar, beloved, but confined setting. "Ted Lasso" had a near-perfect first act, doing a simple thing well. But from s2 onward, the show started straying out of bounds. The cast of characters kept expanding and contracting: people were in, people were out, characters were coming and going and changing (what was the point of that whole Zava plotline?). We had multiple workplaces and workplace dramas (grew to like Barbara tho). Episodes got long and unwieldy. Themes got convoluted as the show took a long trip, imo, up its own arse. The folksy wisdom of s1 became grating self-indulgence and cliched “moment” manufacturing.
SUPERFICIAL UNCONVENTIONALITY:
TL employed a familiar 3-part structure but ultimately its supposedly radical, unconventional politics was not reflected in the show’s structure. Since the first act started with Ted's arrival, you could see his departure coming from a mile off. Some folks are acting like returning Ted home constitutes some super brave move by the writers that we've never seen before. But if you want to talk social conditioning expressed through narrative expectation then you really couldn't get anything more conventional than this ending.
We've seen it all before:
Act I: Fish-out-of-Water character arrives and begins winning over a dubious, dysfunctional community Act II: Bonding, hijinks, missteps, complications and development Act III: Revelations of growth. Community sadly waves goodbye to teacher they love but no longer need. Cue credits with moving song choice.
It's as cliche, conventional and predictable as it gets. And I could condescendingly accuse every viewer who enjoyed this ending as being blindly and un-self-reflexively led around by their social conditioning. But even if I'm not one of the showrunners who also played a beloved character and who is speaking on a public forum, that would be a pretty fucking shitty move. What I am saying is that the disagreement over this ending speaks to some core ideological differences currently playing out across the globe around patriarchy, feminism, queerness and privilege. There is an opportunity here to examine what we socioculturally view as “good’ and “right” and “happy”. These ideas of good, right and happy are not necessarily benign and will be inevitably reflected in and reproduced by our art.
PATRIARCHY:
In the end, “Ted Lasso” literally chose patriarchy (but what kind is the question). Just because this show was working with a familiar 3-part structure, that doesn't mean it didn't need to justify Ted's inevitable departure. For many people, his son is enough. That's it. End of conversation. Henry trumps all. And yes, this was always going to be the justification used by the series. But I think this disagreement highlights changing attitudes to modern parenting. Everyone agrees that parenting requires sacrifice: large and small, everyday and lifelong. But how much sacrifice is too much?
For some people, this was too much sacrifice. Others seem to think it was Ted's duty to sacrifice for his son his own sense of family and community, his continued health and growth, his professional fulfilment. Imo, he could have shared all of this with him but chose old-school parental sacrifice instead. I consider this kind of sacrifice to be something that culturally we’re coming to recognise as unhealthy, for both parent and child. In reality, parents are more than one thing. Parents have jobs, interests, relationships, needs, limitations and struggles. Parents are people.
In the series, Ted was established as a person: a person with a sad past, a tortured inner world, a strong desire to connect with others and, potentially, a brighter future than his past. From the beginning, his relationship with Michelle was established (and often reinforced) as over, dead, absolutely no route back in. But his relationship with his son was loving and important to him. Of course it was. He’d be a bad man and unlikeable character if it wasn’t. Even so, Henry isn’t a major or fully realised character in this show. We care about him, relate to him through Ted. He matters to us because he matters to Ted. But frankly, we are far more attached to Ted’s other adopted “children”, the relationships we have watched him develop over 3 years, than the relationship we only saw glimpses of. That’s just narrative reality. In reality, yes, Henry would and should be Ted’s first priority. This is only right. In fiction, the team at Richmond should have been the first priority of Jason and the rest of the writing team. They are the ones we want to see and want to see happy and settled.
As many frustrated viewers have stated, it's not Ted's departure that is so disheartening but how it was done. If the TL team wanted to make this choice seem like a healthy one for Ted then they needed to establish other things waiting for him in Kansas: friends, community, employment, fulfillment. As it was, literally nothing tipped the scales in favour of Kansas. There were no romantic, community or larger familial relationships to get back to. Far too much was just left to inference or imagination. Yes, we can assume that Ted has community in Kansas, that he will probably get a great job after his success in Richmond. But all the people and opportunities we would like to infer/imagine will never tip the balance towards Kansas when we consider all we KNOW is already established for him in Richmond. The homeworld and beloved characters of a show will always hold more emotional weight than anything undefined and hypothetical. If viewers were to be happy with Ted’s exit then the writers needed to take the time to lovingly define his future away from the club.
Instead, it seems like a deliberate choice to shut Ted down and perform (and I do mean “perform”) this marvelous sacrifice for his son that so many think is admirable. It’s this shutdown that is so inconsistent and confusing. Because at any time in the hour, Ted could have said to Rebecca, the Diamond Dogs and/or his team:
“Look y'all this ain't the end. We’re family now. I'll be back. I'll show y'all round Kansas anytime you wanna visit. My mom will cook a dinner that will clog your arteries. And every so often, what say we do a long-distance movie night, huh? I'll miss you all but I’ll be watching every game and I can't wait to come back and see you win the whole fucking thing!!”
Ted could have been a model of honest, expressive, emotionally forthcoming, relationship-maintaining masculinity. But nope. Not a word. Just brave male sacrifice. It's straight up patriarchal propaganda. And truth is, fathers sacrifice way less than mothers do in heterosexual parenting relationships. Mothers are generally the ones making those small, everyday sacrifices that our society rarely acknowledges or admires. But I bet this ending makes all those lazy husbands and boyfriends feel real good about themselves. I bet it makes many female partners feel all warm and fuzzy to know that even though their kids’ father won't share half the labour that goes into raising a child, when it comes time for him to perform a massive manly sacrifice for his family, he toootttaaally will. I'm sorry, what were you saying about social conditioning Mr. Hunt?
FATHER GOD or WHITE SAVIOUR?:
Patriarchy needs its Father Gods and its Mother Gods to play certain roles (tho, to paraphrase Angela Carter, both are as silly as each other.) These magical figures materialise at pivotal times then dematerialise when the narrative is over, the pivotal lessons learned. They never themselves learn or alter. Think Mary Poppins or Nanny McPhee. These figures are not entirely human, they possess an element of the supernatural. They serve others, serve a higher purpose. Nanny McPhee's appearance changes only as a reflection of her charges’ growth. Mary Poppins – the figure to whom Ted is most likened – learns to care about her kids but she doesn't engage in any self-introspection. Her duty and trajectory remains unchanged. When she arrives at her next job, she will do so exactly the same as she was.
These otherworldly mother deities are not unproblematic feminist figures themselves. But creating a male, fatherhood deity becomes even more problematic when he is white, cis-het and pretty able. Ted arrives to teach all the black and brown lost boys, to unite the disconnected women, liberate the closeted gays and to update the bumbling English gentlemen (there is, I feel, a special relish in these American bros educating their former colonisers on modern manhood). Here, we start to stray into white saviour territory. Frighteningly, this kind of patriarchal demi-god implies that white men are the most progressive figures in a society, they are in the political vanguard, championing the needs of the disconnected and downtrodden. White men are the ultimate source of wisdom, kindness and progress. It represents them as a group as progressive, when in reality the attitudes and politics of this group represent conservative politics and regressive values that impede the progress of every other marginalised group. If we buy this myth about white men, then we are more likely to accept what they say to us from their positions of power and privilege as right, wise, kind and progressive, even when it is the opposite.
So, if you are going to put forward a white man as a model of progressive politics, then you need to embrace unconventionality, not just superficially but down to your bones. “Ted Lasso” tried to structure s2 and s3 differently but just ended up making a mess of allusions and ideologies that did not connect, cohere, develop or conclude. In fact, sometimes they straight-up contradicted. Employing a magical 3-part structure and making a bunch of meaningless allusions to well-known classics does not another classic make. They did not engage with any of these classics (“Cheers”, “Mary Poppins”, “The Wizard of Oz”) in any deep or critical way. Classics may be loved but they are not faultless. If you simply repeat what has already been done, even in celebrated classics, you may just end up repeating mistakes someone already made for you to learn from. TL repeats the central feminist problem of parental deities in “Mary Poppins”, just as it repeats the irreconcilable ending of “The Wizard of Oz”.
LIMINALITY:
Both “The Wizard of Oz” and “Mary Poppins” take us into strange liminal worlds. “Ted Lasso” could be read similarly, except that Ted doesn't take any magic home with him. In fact, he seems to actively forget it, reverting to the Ted he was before leaving. No queerness or feminism follows him home, no traces of the various cultures he's come into contact with. The liminal remain liminal with no indication that these two worlds will communicate or can integrate. The non-white, female, queer and otherwise bizarre are left outside of Ted’s squeaky clean hometown heteronormativity. And I really don’t think I have to explain why that is so deeply irresponsible. Because again, this is a writing choice.
That epilogue at the end was brief but imagine if it included more detail: Ted texting with Rebecca, or facetiming with Roy, Jamie giving Henry advice. They didn't take the time to honour and continue these relationships or integrate these two worlds. They didn't suggest that responsible fatherhood could entail many things, could look different. “Sacrifice,” they said profoundly. “Fatherhood,” they murmured mistily. “Patriarchy” was their final word to which this feminist says, “Bullshit.”
PRIVILEGE:
I only did one film unit at uni but it really doesn't take much to deconstruct the absurdly inconsistent ending of “The Wizard of Oz”. It was 1939, the end of the Great Depression and the start of another devastating world war. People needed to be convinced that their small ramshackle b/w lives surrounded by loved ones were stable, noble even. They already had everything they needed. They didn't need Oz. They didn't need bright futures, big adventures or exciting opportunities. Monochrome Kansas was all a good American should ever hope for. There was danger in difference, safety at home.
Well, here we are in late-stage capitalistic hell, having come through (???) a pandemic and it takes a special sort of privilege to say to an audience: you don't need money or opportunity or community, they won't make your life any better than before. Be happy with the muddy and mundane. Be happy with what you've got. Turn away from larger community, greater knowledge, continued stability, and isolate yourself in a bubble of you and yours. Look, it's not a sweet or familiar narrative conclusion but the truth is, Ted’s, Henry’s and Michelle’s lives would have all been better if they'd relocated to London. Do these dolts have any idea what teachers (in the USA esp) are currently going through? How overworked and underpaid and undervalued these people are? The burnout rates?? Ted didn't have to take the highest salary Rebecca offered but, had the writers been willing to put in the effort, a more unconventional, more modern ending to this series could have been crafted.
Not that I'm surprised they took the easy road to glory. All indications from the beginning of s3 suggested that this would be the rather predictable conclusion. Indications do not, however, constitute development. This team had the opportunity to write a new ending to an old story, one that incorporated queer, feminist and anti-capitalist values. One that defined a different, new version of patriarchy. They didn't even think to. In their white boi hubris, they just assumed that they and tradition knew best. Considering how many viewers would be struggling right now for food, housing, employment and opportunity, an ending in which Ted turns down an opportunity like this hits a false, rather virtue-signally note. Literally, nobody would have come out worse. Everybody would have benefitted from Ted staying in Richmond. Which means this decision was made purely to manufacture a “moment” that celebrates patriarchy.
ANTICAPITALISM: There’s a reason they had Rebecca offer Ted the biggest salary in his industry. They wanted to make it NotAboutTheMoney! Ted doesn’t say so (doesn’t say anything) but, because this narrative idea is so fucking familiar, we can assume the thoughts behind his oh-so-sage expression are: “Well, shucks now, boss, I rightly do appreciate the kindly offer but that there kid o’ mine is more important to me than any cash you could put in my silly lil handy-hands.” Good Lord. The cringe is real. I really, really can’t with this mighty, manly silence and sacrifice. My problem isn’t that Ted values his son over money (not that it has to be a choice because that money could benefit Henry and his mother, who is owed a heck of a lot of child support esp since she’s been raising their son solo for 3 years). Again, that is how it should be. My problem is that the show actively established Richmond as an anticapitalist landscape, then suddenly at the eleventh hour, tried to walk that back and imply it was actually a capitalistic landscape (in contrast to homey ole Kansas).
Capitalism teaches us to sniff at money. We've been told by the monied and privileged that it won't buy happiness. (This is of course, utter bullshit because money can buy you a hell of a lot of wellbeing, security and opportunity). At the beginning of the series, Rebecca Welton stands for this principle. And by the end, she has found a way to use her extreme wealth and privilege in an ethical way. She gives it away. She supports others. She lets Sam out of a promotional contract, she funds Keeley’s business, she sells half the club to fans. The most obvious example of Rebecca’s anticapitalist politics is her confrontation with all the richy riches who want to take soccer away from the people. Here, she becomes an anticapitalist leader, one who has been positively influenced by the anticapitalistic politics of The Lasso Way.
The Lasso Way is anticapitalistic in that it stresses that winning isn’t everything. You try but you try together. You play hard, not in order to beat the other guy, but to be the best (player, teammate, man) you can be. There are no individual stars, only collaborative team players. You give due credit to others, the team, the support staff. The club functions well when it functions as a unit. Over the course of the series, it becomes a commune that protects and nurtures its citizens. A socialist haven that values people over profits, prizes and meaningless acquisition. The Greyhounds don’t want to win the league for the money or the top spot. Winning the whole fucking thing is an expression of their regard for each other, the game and the new, kinder ethos they all now live by.
Because they spent 3 years establishing all of this (during a time when we really needed to hear it), there is something v disingenuous about them then having Rebecca offer to go to extremes to pay Ted more money than any man should have. It is not consistent with the show’s themes, the ethos of the club, Rebecca’s attitude or what she knows of Ted. She knows it’s not about the money for Ted. It never was. It’s an act of desperation on her part, but why did they need to make her ridiculous, desperate, so inept in this moment? Hannah plays it beautifully but I can’t help but feel this is part of them diminishing Richmond, (re)casting it as excessively capitalistic in relation to Kansas so that they can turn Ted’s decision into a simple Money < Son choice. Because if it is a Money < Son choice then he has no dilemma. There is no other choice. He goes home to his son. The problem is, they’ve just spent 3 years proving that it is not a simple Money < Son dilemma. Money was never actually part of this equation. Ted left to give Michelle space, to find himself, to find a new life and community, to extend himself beyond what he knew as normal. As such, there is now far more than just money for Ted in Richmond (which tbf, Rebecca also points out, but I still think this point stands).
The other major problem is that, here in the real world, middle-class America (which btw does not exist) is far from being a haven of peace and prosperity comparable to nowhere in the world. This is a lazy cliché than any amount of travel should quickly disabuse you of. And yet in Kansas, we are supposed to believe, despite everything happening in America (referenced by Henry in ep 3.01), Ted will find community, opportunity and stability. To pull off this ending, they needed to establish a Kansas unlike the one currently in existence. This is what they did with Richmond. The UK is no better than the US currently, but they nevertheless established an ideal society, one with values very contrary to the world we now live in. Is it any wonder that people saw the desertion of this world as a rejection of feminist, queer and anticapitalist values? Right now, more than ever, people want to believe in a society that isn't all about triumph, success, competition, acquisition, individualism and aggression. They want to believe in a society that emphasises community, values people, shares wealth, offers opportunity, encourages difference, improves lives and moves onward, forward, in circumspect but ethical steps. These themes were all there in the series. They just weren't utilised when it came time to shape its conclusion.
#ted lasso#ted lasso finale#ted x rebecca#jason sudeikis#brendan hunt#istg i'm done#i'm a ridiculous person#long post#did anyone read this?#fuck i overthink#dumb show#rebecca welton#rebecca welton deserved better#feminist queer anticapitalist rant#i'm here to tell you that if you like ted lasso you're probly a socialist
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