#are there any way for you to see them in person?

[gojosprettyprincess]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ CEO KENTO FUCKING HIS WIFE

Tw- reader is his secretary n wife!!! ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ not proofread :p

Thinking about CEO Nanami fucking his hot ribbons of cum further into his secretary wife’s cunt. :3 Your upper half is craning over his polished work desk and your limbs are shaking and strained from being crammed in the same position for so fucking long.

Your once well-ironed pencil skirt is now bunched up around your waist and the pristine buttons of your white blouse struggle to contain the ripe swell of your breasts that's smushed and spilling out onto his important documents— exposing all the purple hickeys and love marks that he imprinted on you earlier for the whole world to see.

His once orderly combed golden blonde hair is now in disarray, matted with damped sweat and his bangs fell across his hazel eyes, hindering his vision as he struggled to keep up his vigorous pace— he teetered on the verge of losing his mind as he feverishly gazed down at the sight of his creamy pool of cum threatening to spill from your stretched-out hole.

Streams of his milky sperm are trailing down your tender thighs, glistening under the ambient light and pooling on the sleek marble floor. As his swollen cockhead nudges the remnants of his release deeper into the depths of your womb and stroking your overstimulated walls to the verge of tears.

You let out a high-pitched whine in response to the overwhelming overstimulation following your blissful and toe-curling orgasm just from a minute ago.

You desperately tried to wiggle your hips to detach yourself from his toned pelvis in an attempt to break free from his harsh hold which only earned you a burly groan from the blonde because of your sudden movements making his sensitive shaft drowning deeper into the tight depths of your drooling cunny. And it was obviously no use because of his unyielding grip on the sides of your ass cheeks that was leaving you trapped in his powerful grasp.

“Kennn…sir! What if someone sees—“You fussed worriedly, your heart racing as you quickly realized the precariousness of the situation. Anyone could open the door at any moment and witness their usually dignified and honorable boss entangled in such a disheveled and scandalous scene— his slacks shamelessly pulled down his ankles while he was slamming his hefty shaft and stretching out his wife's pretty cunt like a possessed madman. He’s like a whole different person this way.

You're seemingly trying your best to hold onto the desk for dear life as he frantically pounds your aching cunt with an intense rhythm, causing your tummy to press hard against the unforgiving surface and making it a challenge to keep your balance and remain upright because of how sore you are.

“Then I’ll fucking fire them, no one is stopping me from breeding my wife’s pretty pussy.” he babbled stupidly. “Can’t wait to have cute little blonde babies with your gorgeous eyes running around, darling”. His voice dripped with possessiveness and was raw with desire as he eagerly expressed his anticipation for starting a family with you. :(

You immediately whimpered at his intriguing words, your body betrays you and somehow you don’t even give a fuck about anyone seeing when you were arching your back deeper against him and pressing your chest further into the cool surface of the desk as you took the rest of his relentless pounding.

The sensation of his heavy balls rubbing against your puffy clit with each forceful thrust was practically sending you spiraling into another orgasm. He leaned over you— pressing his weight into your supple form, showering your back with a trail of fervent kisses. “You’re mine, all mine” he declared with a deep growl, his breath quickening as his throbbing cock pulsated against your slick, tight walls.

And then when you’re approaching your next orgasm, he’s babbling a bunch of shit you never even expected to hear escaping from Kento's lips. Telling you “cum for me again sweetheart, let everyone hear how fucking slutty my sweet submissive wife is”.

You made a split-second decision to glance over your shoulder and caught a glimpse of how fucked out and messy Kento looked with his tie askew, his chiseled face flushed, and beads of sweat glistening everywhere. Maybe your husband is losing his mind after all.

[vampzity]

1-800-hot & fun | BC

★ DAY TWELVE: PHONE SEX WITH BANGCHAN ★

pairing: best friend! bangchan x f! reader

after a long day of studio work, bangchan just wants to relax. except all he can think about is you. he tries to take care of it, only to get a call from you with complaints about the day you had. little did you know how much your voice turned him on.

[warnings]: MDNI 18+ !!!, smut, drabble, phone sex, masturbation, mentioning of circulation play, reader has no idea what chan’s doing, pet names (baby, babygirl)

word count: 1.4k

Bangchan sighed to himself as he leaned back in his chair, head thrown back with his eyes closed. He held his throbbing cock in his hand, jerking it softly as he scrolled through the countless photos he had of you.

They weren’t anything lewd, in fact it was far from that. Simply normal selfies you took and sent to him for his opinion on which to post.

He was beyond exhausted from today’s work in the studio, just wanting to wind down a bit before he took to the road. Though his mind was racing with sensual thoughts of you and it wouldn’t stop.

You two weren’t together— in fact he wasn’t even sure if you liked him, but he knew one thing for sure. Bangchan had the biggest crush on you, he just couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He wasn’t sure if he was being obvious about it, though one may say so with how possessive he was about you when the rest of the boys were around.

He scrolled through every photo of you, landing on a couple of pictures from your modeling gig. You had on light pink lingerie, lace that sat nicely upon your curves. The positions the camera caught you in were vulnerable, unlike anything he’s ever seen before. It was everything he imagined you to be.

Innocent and sexy.

Your doe eyes stared into his as he worked his angry cock, groaning at the thought of your plump lips around his tip. The way it would feel for you to suck him off as cum leaked out of him. How well he would train you to take his size into your mouth, the tears that would run down your cheek from his tip hitting the back of your throat.

He scrolled to the side, seeing a close up of your body in the lace outside. His eyes widened, heart racing as your tits sat nicely in the cupped bra, your cunt making a small pint in the fabric. The way the babydoll casted a slight shadow of your silhouette.

Bangchan was practically in heaven, his hand fastening its pace around his cock. He could feel himself about to burst at any moment, until he felt his phone buzz in his hand. Startled he quickly shoved his member into his pants and answered, clearing his throat to mask his previous situation.

“Hello?”

“Channie! You wouldn’t believe the type of day I’ve been having.”

Chan smiled at hearing your voice, as it’s been a while since you two have talked at all from your mix of busy schedules.

“Hey babygirl, what’s up?”

You scoffed on your side of the phone, rolling your eyes at his personal nickname for you.

“Well I got to the studio for my modeling gig and my coffee just fell!! It tasted perfect too like how upsetting is that,”

He listened to you ramble on, feeling his dick twitch in his pants as his mind started to race with thoughts of you once again. He thought about you in different types of lingerie, imagining how nicely your body must fit into them this time around.

He pulled his member from his pants, his tip leaking as it ached to be touched. He stroked it softly, throwing his head back in pleasure as he tried his best not to be heard.

“And if that wasn’t enough, my makeup is so splotchy. I think i’ll have to redo it too!”

Bangchan tightened his grip on his cock, fastening his strokes as he listened to your complaining whines. He tried his best to focus to what you were saying, but his mind was fogged with dirty thoughts of you. Dirty thoughts of you all over him, of him ripping that little lingerie off of you.

“Mmm, I’m sorry to hear that baby.”

A soft moan escaped him, making him freeze up in hopes that you didn’t hear him.

“Everything ok, Channie? Was it a rough day in the studio?”

He chuckled to himself slightly, his thumb rubbing across his leaky opening. He began stroking his cock again, twisting his hand with the motion.

“Yeah, yeah.” he panted heavily, watching as his cock leaked some more. “But hearing your voice made it better.”

You blushed softly, taking your phone and posing in the mirror. You took a picture of today’s outfit— one of many that you’d be wearing and sent it to Bangchan, eager for his reaction.

“What do you think? Too slutty?”

His jaw practically dropped at seeing you. His ears grew red, feeling as if the room was heating up from seeing you in such an outfit. The black polkadots weren’t nearly enough to cover how see through it was as your nipples still peeked through.

Bangchan stopped himself from groaning outloud, struggling to keep his composure toward you.

“You look beautiful as always.” He leaned over his desk, spotting your hair tie next to his computer.

He grabbed it, closing his eyes as he vowed to never give it back to you again. Especially not after what he was about to do. He placed the hair tie on his cock, a long sigh leaving his lips as it tightened around his length.

“Should model for me, yeah?”

“Huh? What do you mean?” you raised your eyebrow, unaware of what he meant. Chan quickly caught himself, trying to cover up the sultry meaning behind his sentence.

“My company, I mean you should model for my company.”

You laughed, going on a tangent about all the things wrong with his entertainment. As much as he’d like to listen, he just couldn’t. He was too drunk on the thought of you and your body in this newfound picture. Your pussy barely covertly the small piece of fabric, your tits practically spilling out of your bra.

He stroked faster, quicker, not stopping his movement as his cock throbbed in his hand. With every throb, every time it tried to swell, he could feel himself getting closer as your hair tie held him back.

And of course, you were still as oblivious to what was going on.

Bangchan quickly muted himself, setting his phone down as he groaned out in pleasure. His precum drooled down the side of his cock as he thrusted into his hand.

“Fuck, fuck baby.” he admired your picture once more before throwing his head back.

“Gotta cum all over that pretty face of yours one day.”

His groans soon fell into whimpers as he stroked faster. Your hair tie was suffocating him, making it harder for him to hold himself back. He imagined you in his head; thinking of you riding his cock while your tits bounced in front of his eyes.

He imagined how it would feel for your cunt to suffocate his dick in the same way while it pounded your sweet spot. He wondered how your sweet sounds would be, how much you’d beg as his tongue toyed with your swollen clit.

“Fuck, I would stuff you so good.”

That was all it took.

Within seconds his hand was covered in cum, dripping onto the chair as he slowed his strokes. His breath was staggered, heart racing and shaking ad he tried to bring himself back to reality.

“Channie?”

Oh fuck.

He quickly cleaned himself off, picking up the phone to answer you.

“I’m sorry.. I was trying to focus on this track we’ve been working on.”

He heard a small laugh come from the other end of the phone, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion as he tried to figure out what you could be laughing for.

“Yeah, and I bet you didn’t notice you were unmuted either, huh?”

His heart sank and his face flushed red. He froze, unsure of what to say to you as he was beyond embarrassed. You had no idea— maybe not even a thought of Bangchan ever liking you, as you always thought he’d seen you as a close friend.

Funny, since he had thought the same.

“You don’t have to apologize Channie.” you looked at the time on your phone, realizing you had to start your shoot soon.

“Maybe when I’m done here,” You bit your lip, thinking of the lewd sounds you heard coming from his end of the phone.

“I can stop by your place and give you what you want.”

Bangchan instantly agreed, his cock itching at the thought of being able to feel you, be in you. You giggled, sending him a farewell and hanging up the phone. His phone lit up with the precious picture of you in your lingerie, a small smile creeping onto his face.

He was about to see you dressed like this in person, right before his eyes and it would take everything in him not to rip it off of you.

back to valentine’s masterlist

a/n: day 12, this is a short one! if you haven’t noticed a change in the masterlist…. i’m planning some bonus days as a thank you to those who showed so much support to my series! :3

taglist: @dvrktvnnel @h4untedgrl @rvereri @scarfac3 @jjongibears @kittykat-25 @yyaurii @hwasddeongbyeoli @tiredlittlevirgo @joonezra @honeyhwaaa @evidive @potentialgay @dollywoo @losrpark @motherseonghwa23 @inniesfanblog @stephanieeeyang @galaxy4489 @nickgurl4life @fangirljas929 @desirehorizon @channiesluvrclub @bluesungology @katsukis1wife @unbel1ve4ble

★ comment to be added to the taglist or fill the detailed form here!

[azullumi]

"to your never, to my nothings" ; phainon

premise— he had never known the extent of his affection, of his adoration, until he had looked for you everywhere he went, searching for a semblance of you in a crowd. an unfortunate thing, however, as everyone knows that he likes you, except you.  content tags & warnings — pairing: phainon x gn!reader | one-sided pining (somehow), fluff, v3.0 trailblaze mission mentioned and used, lovesick phainon i advocate, reader is a normal citizen, phainon worries about reader, not proofread | wc: 1.4k | tagging: @felibrary

"jellyfish" — i hit my shin against the edge of the table while i was writing this and i nearly died

Not a single person is unaware of the affections a certain Chrysos Heir holds towards you.

The three children who bear different smiles were the first to notice—subtle, fleeting glimpses that betrayed PHAINON's carefully composed facade. They see the gleam in his eyes, talking—or gossiping—it among themselves even as he stands right there, lips pressed into a thin line, unable to protest without confirming their suspicions. The heat creeping up his neck is answer enough.

He can’t say anything against it, but only asking them to not tell anyone about it, albeit they tease him further. However, nothing can escape the golden threads of a certain demigod as the man found himself conversing in a topic about the weight of his feelings and the weight of his responsibility.

Then guess what happens after? Yes, news travels fast—like wildfire carried by the idle breeze—reaching Mydei because how come he also has something to say?

And of course; “Lord Phainon, your ears are red.” The lady, adorned with flowers, would say as they walked away from your store after the man himself insisted that he had to check on something, on you. Phainon brushes it off, muttering something about the weather being unusually warm. Albeit his deflection is as transparent as glass and the only thing helping him is the fact that he's a step ahead and Castorice couldn’t see the red that dusts his cheek.

He knows he adores you, and perhaps it is a terrible thing that he loves you more than he loves himself, because your name itself reverberates through the hollow chambers of a heart that beats only for you, his thoughts composing a fine melody that yearns for you to feel the same. And when the Titan of Strife had come to strike the city, the tremble of his fingers and the falter of his composure disturbed the calm waters of his gaze. 

“The city is under attack!”

The sound of rubble crashing down, a cloud of dust and thick smoke consuming the place, chaos and screams everywhere filling all of his senses. His eyes flick over from one place to another, his feet never stopping as he runs, brandishing his blade against titankins who stand in his way. His gaze searched for you amidst the fire and debris but you were nowhere to be found; he had asked citizens for any sights of you and got nothing at the same.

Fear seeps into his skin, violently clawing and numbing him, an icy grip tightening around his chest. But before he could let the feeling consume him, a fragile, desperate voice pierces through the haze of destruction.

“Phainon!” His head whips around so quickly you fear it could have snapped in half. A blur of smoke and shattered concrete, and then, you’re there. Relief washed over him like a violent wave and he nearly dropped his claymore at once; the heavy weight that dragged his footsteps against pavement became light, his legs moving before his mind could catch up, and before you could even comprehend it, you’re pulled in a tight embrace.

“You’re alright.” He says, low and breathless, his voice trembling as words stumble out, scratched with exhaustion and raw relief. You feel him relax as you pat his back, comforting him as the warmth of his own spill into yours. 

Phainon releases you moments after, his hands lingering as he checks up on you for any wounds you might have. His expression doesn’t relent and you have to reassure him that you’re fine—but he doesn’t believe you, not until he’s certain with his own eyes. However, his fingers brush against a spot on your arm, and before you can stifle it, a wince slips past your lips.

Thus, he sees it—a gash that begins from your forearm, extending to near your elbow, and his face tightens with a grimace. You jerk your arm away instinctively, turning from him to hide the wound, and the gesture cuts deeper than you intend. His lips part, trembling slightly, trying to find the words to say.

His hand tries to reach for you but it simply hangs in the air, hesitation lingering in his bones, and it falls away to his side.

“Phainon,” You say firmly, your gaze stilling on him, laced with conviction as if nothing he will say will move you. “ I’m okay, but there are others who are not.”

“But—”

“You must go.”

He is reminded of his responsibility once more, of the constant voice of his duty whispering against his ear, of the weight of the prophecy and his title—it draws a blatant line between you and him, making him fearful to cross it.

A bitter smile crosses your lips when you see his reluctance, your voice taking on a gentler tone when you speak: “It’s alright, I’ll be fine, so don’t worry about me.” Your words don't scour the tension on his shoulders but it managed to carve away the sharp edges of his worry. Not entirely, but enough. He exhales a slow, weary sigh—a quiet surrender—and steps closer. 

Without a word, Phainon tears a strip of fabric from his cape, the sound of ripping cloth sharp against the quiet between you. The chaos, the sound of destruction around you seem to have faded into nothing as the world holds its breath for the two of you. 

His hands move with practiced care, fingers steady despite the storm lingering behind his eyes. He wraps the makeshift bandage around your wound, his touch feather-light, as if afraid you might shatter under the weight of it. His brows furrowed with concentration, but there’s a softness there too, woven into the way he avoids pressing too hard, the way his thumb brushes over your skin like an apology he can’t speak aloud. All the while, you watch him, listening as he tells you to look for the High Priest, Tribios, for safety.

You don’t say a word, instead, you just nod, because it’s easier than admitting the fear clawing at your ribs. His hand hovers near yours, as if he wants to say more, do more—but instead, he steps back, leaving a hollow space where his warmth had just been.

And he leaves.

But you, the recipient of these affections, however, is oblivious. The very person who mistakes every small gesture, every stolen glance, every carefully chosen word, as nothing more than the courtesy of a Chrysos Heir fulfilling his duty. You dismiss his offers of assistance with casual gratitude, his thoughtful gifts as tokens of mere friendship. You brush off the moments when his gaze lingers too long, the way his voice softens when it’s your name on his lips.

“You’re a great friend, Phainon.” You’ve told him once. Friend. Friend. The word itself echoes, clinging to the corners of his mind, a bittersweet anthem that both comforts and torments. He wears the title with a quiet resignation, even as his soul yearns for more.

But who was he to expect more? After all, he’s not pursuing you with grand gestures or bold confessions, the way love stories are. Yet, it’s the small things that betray him—the quiet, unnoticed acts that slip through the cracks of his careful restraint.  Like how he willingly takes the longest routes, detours woven into his path with the fragile hope of glimpsing you by chance. Like how his hands seem to find trinkets and gifts that remind him of you, delicate offerings tucked into his pockets until he can gather the courage to present them, just to see that fleeting smile bloom on your lips.

And it is never for the hope of you liking him back. But surely, surely you should notice.

Maybe it’s the way his voice falters slightly when he says your name, or how his gaze softens in a crowd when he finds you, like a lighthouse catching sight of home. Maybe it’s the silence between his words, filled with everything he wishes he could say but can't because his feelings are messy, irrational things—and yet, here he is, drowning in them.

Maybe it’s the way he stands a little too close, but not close enough, like the distance is both a comfort and a curse. 

But you don’t notice. And perhaps you never will.

Yet, even if his words remain unheard, even if his gestures remain unseen, even if you’ll never know, he finds solace in being able to adore you from afar. The fire consumes him quietly, burning bright and unseen, tucked beneath the layers of his being. And he carries it quietly, like a secret melody only he can hear—serene, enduring, and his alone, etched not in words, but in the spaces between.

© AZULLUMI. plagiarism of any form and type, stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is NOT permitted.

[reidsbookclub]

An Accidental Marriage

Spencer Reid x fem! reader fluffy fluffy fluffy

Spencer Reid never thought he'd start his morning by nearly choking to death on his beloved coffee. But, then again, he also never thought he’d get accidentally married and find out about it at the same time the rest of the 6th floor at the FBI.

Yet here he was—standing in the BAU’s bullpen, coughing and sputtering as the one person he never expected to see in Virginia stormed into the room and screamed:

"DID YOU KNOW THE MARRIAGE WAS REAL?!"

Everyone seemed to freeze. The usual hum of the FBI’s elite profiling unit went completely silent as every single agent turned to stare at the scene unfolding before them.

Emily Prentiss slowly set down her mug. Luke Alvez raised an eyebrow. Tara Lewis and JJ exchanged glances. Penelope Garcia, the BAU’s self appointed gossip queen, visibly perked up like a cat spotting a canary. And Spencer? Spencer was still choking.

“Marriage?” JJ echoed, tilting her head. “Spence, is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

His childhood best friend—you—stood in front of him, arms crossed, expression half exasperated, half completely bewildered. What were you doing in Virginia? You wen't supposed to finalize your move until next month. Did he get the months wrong? He never got the months wrong but then again thinking about you always did something to his brain, he thought.

“I went to get my license updated, Spencer. My license. And do you know what I found out?” You didn’t wait for him to answer, waving an official-looking paper in front of his face. “I have been legally married for ten years and nobody thought to tell me?”

Spencer finally managed to recover, rubbing his throat before he pushed his glasses up his nose, his mind whirring. “Wait, wait, wait—how is that even possible?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Crash maybe it’s because we signed a legal document at that stupid fair years ago thinking it was a joke when it was actually real!” The moment you called him Crash, the way you had since you were kids (a nickname born from his clumsy nature and his inability to stay upright for long), something clicked in his brain.

The fair. The marriage booth.

The backup plan.

“Oh my God,” Spencer whispered.

“Oh my God is right!” you cried

Penelope practically vibrated in her seat. “Wait, wait, wait—did I just hear correctly? My favorite boy genius has been secretly married for ten years and didn’t know it?! This is better than any rom-com I’ve ever seen!”

Luke smirked. “And you never thought to check?”

“Why would I check? It's Spencer!” Penelope cried

Rossi, who had been listening with an amused expression, leaned back in his chair. “Alright, kids, humor the old man. Start from the beginning.” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, and plopped into the nearest chair. Spencer sat beside you, running a hand through his hair.

“Okay,” you started. “Spencer and I grew up together in Vegas. We were best friends. Like, inseparable. Hi, by the way names Y/N and I probably know a lot about all of you.” Spencer nodded. “We met when we were six years old. Statistically, most childhood friendships don’t last into adulthood, but we were an anomaly.”

Emily waved a hand. “Cute, but get to the part where you got married.”

You rolled your eyes, not liking that people didn't like Spencers facts. “When we were kids, we made a pact. If we weren’t married by forty, we’d marry each other. You know, as a backup plan.”

JJ let out a small aw before covering her mouth.

“Then,” Spencer continued, “when we were twenty, we ran into each other while I was visiting my mom in Vegas, Y/N was supposed to be visiting her sister in California but missed her plane. There was a fair at the local community college, and we thought it would be fun to relive our childhood for a day and spend the whole day together like we used to.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “And that’s when we saw it. The stupid marriage booth.”

Luke frowned. “Marriage booth?”

Spencer nodded. “It was part of the fair attractions. A fake wedding setup where couples could take pictures, sign a certificate, and get one of those novelty ‘marriage’ papers. We thought it was funny—like a way to get a head start on our backup plan.”

“Turns out,” you grumbled, “since we were in Vegas, it wasn’t fake at all.” The room went silent. And then Penelope excitedly screamed.

“Oh. My. God.” Penelope clutched her chest like she was about to faint. “That is the most romantic accidental love story I have ever heard.”

Spencer shook his head. “It’s not romantic! It was a mistake.”

“I don’t know, kid,” Rossi said with a smirk. “Sounds a lot like fate to me.”

You groaned, throwing your hands in the air. “That’s exactly what the lady at the DMV said when she showed me the proof!”

Tara leaned forward. “And now what?”

You glanced at Spencer. “I guess we get it annulled.”

For some reason, the thought sent an odd pang through Spencer’s chest. Annulled? Why did the thought of getting it annulled make him want to through up?

Emily leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. “Or—” she drawled, eyes gleaming mischievously, “you could just stay married.”

“What?” you and Spencer said in unison.

Tara shrugged. “You were childhood best friends. You made a pact to marry each other if you didn’t find anyone else. Maybe this was fate stepping in early.”

“Fate,” Spencer repeated blankly.

“Oh, you cannot annul this,” Penelope gasped. “This is the most romantic accidental love story ever. Think of the story you’ll have for your grandchildren!”

Just as you were beginning to protest, agent Grant Anderson strolled into the bullpen, carrying a stack of case files. His gaze landed on you, and a charming smile spread across his face.

“Well, hello,” he said smoothly. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

You blinked at him. “Uh, no, I guess we haven’t.”

Anderson’s smile widened. “You must be new. Are you visiting, or is this a permanent thing?”

Spencer, who had been silent for a moment too long, suddenly stood up so fast his chair nearly toppled over. His jaw clenched, his normally gentle brown eyes darkening with something sharp and territorial. His hand curled around your wrist, firm but not forceful, and then—“My wife,” he said.

And before you could react, before you could process what he just said Spencer Reid—your childhood best friend, the genius who was accidentally your husband, the man you have been in love with since you knew what love was—grabbed your face and kissed you.

The bullpen erupted in cheers. Penelope squealed. JJ gasped. Emily shouted, “Go Reid!” Rossi laughed like this was the best thing he'd seen in years.

Anderson took a step back, holding up his hands. “Well. That answers that question.” When Spencer finally pulled away, you could only stare at him, breathless, heart pounding, lips tingling. “What—what was that?!” you managed. Spencer swallowed, adjusting his tie. “A leap,” he said simply. You blinked. And then, before you could stop yourself, you kissed him back. Tagging some friends because for some reason I can't find my taglist

@samuel-de-champagne-problems @boldlyvoid @milla984 @reidsaurora @reiding-and-writing

[madlori]

Since I just rewatched it, this is what immediately sprung to mind.

There are two episodes in season 1 of "Outlander," the final two, in fact, that are notoriously difficult to watch. Jamie Fraser, the male protagonist, is imprisoned at the mercy of Black Jack Randall, a sadist who is sexually and emotionally obsessed with Jamie (Randall is not presented as particular gay or straight - his sexuality is cruelty, basically) and has been for years.

Randall tortures Jamie and rapes him repeatedly. Neither the book nor the show pull any punches with this. You see it, in visceral intensity. When he is rescued by his comrades and Claire, the female protagonist (his wife), he withdraws and becomes suicidal, until she all but forces him to talk about his experience and begin to heal from it. It's on ongoing plot thread for some time, his recovery from this trauma. We see echoes of it even recently in season 7, when over 30 years have passed since this incident.

Many viewers of the show find these scenes too upsetting to watch, and skip them. This is 100% valid and I definitely understand having that reaction.

These scenes are among some of my favorites.

Not because I enjoy the thought of someone being hurt in very deep, personal ways, or because I'm the kind of person who thinks that's great (I am not). If this were real, I'd have a very different reaction. But it's not real.

It's because I find the exploration of depravity, of what makes someone carry it out and how the victim responds to it, interesting. The performances are absolutely stunning. The brutality is difficult, but I am not bothered by difficult. I find these scenes emotionally affecting, but they don't disturb me on a personal level. I enjoy content that is difficult.

I am not alone in this. Humans want to touch the abyss. It's normal. Fiction allows us to do this in a safe way where no one is being harmed.

I think some people forget that some literature and some media is meant to be deeply uncomfortable and unsettling. It's meant to make you have a very visceral reaction to it. If you genuinely can't handle these stories then you are under no obligation to consume them but acting as if they have no purpose or as if people don't have a right to tell these stories, stories that often relate to the darkest or most disturbing parts of life, then you should do some introspection.

[yoomiwrites]

Not like you

Summary: Every three years, Shanks and his crew return to a small island, where Y/N—reserved, wary of the sea, and utterly uninterested in his antics—somehow always becomes the center of his attention.

Notes: Yes, I am still alive. I just fell into a writer-hole and heck, I'm still kinda stuck in it. I can not confirm anything or give any promises, but I'll try to update my other works soon. This here is just a Oneshot I texted a lil while ago. Much love to you.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The wind carried the scent of salt and celebration long before the ship came into view. It always did. A strange kind of omen, warning the islanders of what was to come.

Y/N stood at the farthest edge of the harbor, arms crossed over her chest as she watched the great black sails unfurl against the sky. The ship loomed closer, cutting through the waves with effortless ease, its Jolly Roger—a grinning skull crowned with three scars—flapping proudly in the breeze.

Three years had passed since the last time they came. Three years of peace. Three years of routine. And now, just like that, it was over.

The Red-Haired Pirates had returned.

The town was already stirring, voices rising in excitement as the massive vessel docked. Children darted ahead, laughing, eager for the stories, the gifts, the chaos that would soon follow. Y/N stayed put, her fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeves.

She should have gone home when she had the chance.

The gangplank hit the wood with a heavy thud, and there he was—Shanks, the devil himself, striding onto the dock like he owned it.

His red hair was windswept, his coat lazily slung over his shoulders, and that damned grin—wide, confident, entirely too pleased with itself—was already fixed in place.

Her stomach twisted.

She turned to leave, but—

“Oi, Y/N!”

Too late.

The crowd barely had time to clear before a heavy arm landed around her shoulders, pulling her in as if they were old friends. As if he hadn’t spent years making her life miserable every time he set foot on this island.

“What a welcome!” he laughed, leaning in closer, and she could already smell the faint traces of rum on him. “Did you miss me?”

Her nails dug into her palms. “Not in the slightest.”

That only made his grin widen.

“She’s lying,” he announced, loud enough for half the harbor to hear. “You see how she’s shaking? That’s excitement, folks!”

A roar of laughter followed, and her face burned. She shoved his arm off her and stepped back, glaring.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re as charming as ever,” he shot back. “Been waiting for me all this time, haven’t you?”

The audacity.

She scoffed, turned on her heel, and stormed away, ignoring the way his laughter chased after her.

She hated him.

She hated his stupid grin, his stupid charm, the way he always singled her out. She hated that no matter how much she tried to disappear, he never let her.

And most of all, she hated that she didn’t understand why.

From the moment the Red-Haired Pirates arrived, the streets were no longer hers. They belonged to them—their voices, their laughter, their music spilling into every alleyway. Taverns would be filled to bursting, barrels of rum cracked open, and for a whole month, the island would forget itself in their presence.

She should have been used to it by now. But there was no getting used to Shanks.

The man had made it his personal mission to make her life hell.

Their first meeting had been a disaster—she had just wanted to buy bread. That was it. But somehow, he had decided she was “too quiet,” and within minutes, she had been pulled onto a table, forced into the center of a drinking song, and made to dance under the amused eyes of half his crew. She had fled the moment she could, humiliated, furious.

Every visit since had been more of the same.

He always found her.

Always turned every situation into a spectacle.

And the worst part?

No one else seemed to mind.

The townspeople loved him. Children ran after him, wide-eyed and eager for stories of the sea. Merchants welcomed him like an old friend, knowing his crew would leave their pockets lighter by the end of the month. Even the mayor, a man who rarely showed favor to outsiders, seemed more relaxed in his presence.

But Y/N?

No.

She wanted nothing to do with him.

And yet, despite her best efforts, she knew she wouldn’t escape him for long.

As if summoned by the mere thought of him, a familiar voice rang out, closer than she would have liked.

“There you are.”

Her heart sank.

Slowly, she turned her head.

Shanks leaned casually against the wooden fence bordering her small garden, looking entirely too pleased with himself. The dim lantern light caught the sharp angles of his face, the playful gleam in his eye.

Y/N crossed her arms. “Are you lost?”

“Nah,” he said easily. “Just wondering why my favorite islander isn’t out celebrating.”

She scoffed. “Maybe because I don’t want to.”

“That can’t be it,” he mused, tapping a finger to his chin. “Maybe you’re waiting for the right invitation.”

She stared at him. “You are unbelievable.”

“I try.”

He moved closer, and she tensed, resisting the urge to step back.

“What do you want, Shanks?” she sighed, tired already.

He tilted his head, as if considering. “I could say I’m here because I just enjoy your company.”

“I wouldn’t believe you.”

“That hurts, Y/N.” His grin was all mischief. “Truly.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response.

Instead, she turned, reaching for the door handle—

And of course he was faster.

With an ease that should have been illegal, he shifted in front of her, blocking her path.

“Move.”

“Hear me out.”

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard what I’m asking.”

“I don’t need to,” she snapped. “I already know it involves me, a crowd, and some grand display of humiliation.”

Shanks clutched his chest as if she had struck him. “You wound me.”

She just glared.

“Alright, alright,” he relented, holding up his hands. “No public humiliation. I swear on my honor as a pirate.”

“That means nothing.”

“Fair point.”

Y/N exhaled sharply. “Just say what you want so I can say no and go to bed.”

His grin softened into something quieter, and for a moment, she felt herself tense for an entirely different reason.

“Just one drink,” he said, and for once, his voice wasn’t loud or teasing. “No crowds, no tricks. Just you and me.”

She frowned.

That was new.

No grand spectacle? No dragging her into some absurd situation?

Just… a drink?

She should say no.

She would say no.

And yet—

Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the sheer audacity of the man standing in front of her. Or maybe, just maybe, she was tired of running.

“…Fine.”

Shanks blinked. Then, his grin stretched wide, like a cat who had finally caught the canary.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he teased. “I knew you secretly liked me.”

She groaned. “I already regret this.”

He only laughed, stepping aside with a sweeping gesture. “Come on, then. Your chariot awaits.”

It wasn’t until she followed him down to the docks that she realized—

They weren’t heading to a tavern.

They were going to his ship.

Y/N stopped in her tracks. “Wait—”

Too late.

He was already walking up the gangplank, moving like a man completely at ease in his domain. He paused at the top, glancing over his shoulder.

“You coming?”

She scowled. “Why here?”

“Would you rather be crammed between a bunch of sweaty drunks?” he asked, tilting his head. “Figured this would be more… personal.”

That word sent a prickle of unease down her spine.

Shanks, personal?

Something about that felt dangerous.

Still, she wasn’t about to back down now.

With a resigned sigh, she stepped onto the wooden boards, following him into the belly of the beast.

The ship was eerily quiet.

Y/N had expected noise, crew members, something. But as she stepped onto the deck, there was no one in sight.

It was strange.

Shanks thrived in chaos. He was always in the middle of it, the heart of the storm. And yet, here he was, leading her into the dimly lit captain’s quarters, far away from the revelry.

He gestured toward a small table, where a bottle of dark liquor and two glasses waited. “Have a seat.”

She did, eyeing him warily as he poured.

Her gaze flickered—unintentionally—over him.

It was different seeing him like this, away from the noise and the laughter.

Here, under the lantern light, she could see the details she had always ignored. The deep scars running over his eye. The way his coat, as grand as it seemed at first glance, was frayed at the edges, weathered by years at sea. The sleeve of his missing arm, loosely pinned, the fabric worn.

For all his confidence, for all his presence—he was just a man.

Shanks noticed.

His smirk curled.

“Careful,” he drawled. “Stare at me like that any longer, and I’ll start thinking you’re interested.”

Her face heated. “I wasn’t—!”

“Oh, no need to explain,” he cut in smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “I get it. Happens all the time.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Does it?”

“Oh, sure.” He gestured grandly with his one arm. “The tragic but dashing pirate, battle-worn but still impossibly charming—”

She snorted. “Impossibly is the right word.”

“—and of course,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “there’s always a lovely island girl who can’t help but fall for my roguish good looks.”

She rolled her eyes. “I should have known you’d make this unbearable.”

Shanks grinned. “You make it too easy.”

He reached for his drink, and for a brief moment, she caught it again—that flash of something beneath the bravado. Something older. He caught her staring, and his smirk softened into something different.

“Does it bother you?” he asked suddenly.

She frowned. “What?”

“The arm.”

Her eyes flickered to the empty sleeve, then back to his face.

Did it?

“No,” she said honestly. “It doesn’t.”

He hummed, swirling the liquor in his glass. “Most people try not to look.”

“I’m not most people.”

He chuckled. “That, Y/N, is painfully obvious.”

She huffed. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Shanks leaned forward, elbows on the table, his grin downright lazy. “You’re different.”

She snorted. “Oh, is that your grand observation?”

“Mhmm.” He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “You don’t drink. You don’t party. You don’t fall for my charm—”

“That’s debatable.”

“—and yet,” he continued smoothly, ignoring her interruption, “you’re here. Alone. With me.”

Y/N suddenly became very aware of how small the room was.

She scoffed, taking a sip of her drink just to have something to do. The burn of it settled in her chest. “Only because you tricked me.”

Shanks grinned. “Oh, sweetheart. If I had tricked you, we wouldn’t be sitting at this table.”

She nearly choked on her drink.

His laughter rang through the cabin, rich and warm, and she knew— She was in trouble.

For a moment, silence stretched between them, the teasing grin still lingering on Shanks’ lips.

Then, his expression shifted.

It was subtle—barely more than a flicker—but Y/N noticed.

His fingers drummed absently against the side of his glass, his gaze lowering to the amber liquid inside. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.

“The world is changing.”

Y/N frowned, caught off guard by the sudden weight in his tone. “What?”

Shanks exhaled, tipping his head back slightly as if looking at something far beyond the wooden walls of his cabin.

“The sea is restless,” he murmured. “The young are getting bolder. They want their piece of the world, and they’re willing to fight for it.” He chuckled, but there was no real amusement in it. “Sooner or later, the balance will break. And when that happens… everything will shift.”

She stared at him.

This wasn’t the Shanks she knew—the one who laughed too loudly, who never seemed to take anything seriously.

This was a captain speaking. A man who had seen the tides change before.

She tried to shake the unease creeping up her spine.

“So what?” she said, attempting nonchalance. “You always say you’re the strongest, don’t you?”

His lips quirked. “I say a lot of things.”

That shouldn’t have bothered her. But for some reason, it did.

She studied him. He had lived a life of war, of battles and losses, but she had never seen him like this—so aware of the cost of it all.

“Are you saying you won’t come back?” she asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Shanks didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he tilted his glass slightly, watching the liquid swirl.

“Not as soon as usual,” he admitted. “Maybe not at all.”

Y/N stiffened.

For years, she had resented his arrivals, cursed his teasing, his ability to turn her into the center of attention. And yet, the thought of him never returning settled heavily in her chest in a way she didn’t like.

She scowled, shoving the feeling aside. “You’re messing with me.”

Shanks met her gaze, and for once, there was no laughter in his eyes.

“I’m not.”

Something about the way he said it made her stomach twist.

Her fingers tightened around her glass.

“…So why tell me?” she asked, unsure why her voice felt smaller.

Shanks leaned forward, the space between them shrinking. His expression was unreadable, the usual mischief replaced with something quieter. Something more real.

“Because I need to know,” he said softly, “if you trust me.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

His gaze held hers, unwavering. “Do you trust me?”

She swallowed.

Did she?

For years, she had told herself she hated him—his recklessness, his carefree arrogance, the way he never let her fade into the background.

But she had never once feared him.

Never once doubted that, if she were to fall, he would catch her.

“…Yes.”

The second the word left her lips, Shanks moved.

It happened so fast she barely had time to react—his hand tilting her chin up, his breath warm against her skin. Then, his lips met hers, firm yet unhurried, as if he were trying to tell her something without words.

Y/N froze.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her thoughts scattering.

Shanks—kissing her.

And worse?

She wasn’t stopping him.

His fingers curled against her jaw, holding her in place as if afraid she might slip away. There was no drunken recklessness in the way he kissed her—no teasing, no games. Just heat. Just intention.

Just him.

By the time he pulled away, her breath was uneven, her face burning.

He studied her for a moment, searching, before his lips curved into something softer than his usual grin.

“There,” he murmured, his thumb brushing her skin. “Now you know.”

Her mind was still reeling. “K-Know what?”

Shanks chuckled, the sound low. “How I feel.”

Y/N could still feel the warmth of his lips on hers, even as her mind struggled to make sense of what had just happened.

Shanks had kissed her.

And he had meant it.

She wasn’t sure what unsettled her more—the act itself or the realization that she hadn’t wanted him to stop.

Shanks exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen…”

His voice was lower than usual, lacking its usual ease. Almost hesitant.

“I know this is a lot,” he continued, choosing his words carefully. “And I’m not trying to rush anything or—or expect anything. I just…” He sighed, shaking his head. “Hell, this is harder than I thought.”

She blinked. Was he—the great Red-Haired Shanks—nervous?

He met her gaze again, more serious this time.

“Stay,” he said simply.

Her breath caught.

His mouth quirked slightly at her expression, but there was something uncertain in it. “Not like that,” he clarified quickly. “I just—I want to spend more time with you. Just tonight.”

Y/N hesitated.

Everything about this—about him—felt overwhelming. But at the same time…

She didn’t want to leave.

Maybe it was the heat of the moment. Maybe it was the storm he claimed was coming. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because a part of her liked him more than she thought.

“…Alright,” she said softly.

His shoulders relaxed, as if he had been bracing for her rejection.

Shanks grinned then—not his usual teasing smirk, but something warmer. Something real.

“Good,” he murmured.

She looked down at her glass, at the golden liquid swirling inside. “Just tonight.”

“Just tonight,” he echoed.

But as the ship swayed gently beneath them, as the night stretched on with quiet conversation and lingering glances, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder—

Hadn’t it always been more than that?

And when he left—whenever that would be—wouldn’t some part of him stay behind?

Wouldn’t some part of her go with him?

[witherby]

Wait I kinda wanna see mousy’s blow up 🤭

You can absolutely see the blow up 😏

The Littlest Wayne: Boiling Point

The post that inspired this response is Here!

Masterlist is Here!

You can't remember what started the argument. An errant comment, some joke in poor taste, an accusatory question — it could have been anything. All you know is that you said something you felt was important, Damian ignored it, Tim dismissed it, and Dick acted like you hadn't said it to begin with, and now you're livid and don't want to finish your dinner.

"May I be excused," you say to Alfred, already pushing your chair back from the table before he can respond. Your grandfather gives you a concerned look, but nods.

"Shall I bring something up to you later, young master?" He asks. You don't know if you'll have any appetite by then, but you agree anyway to spare his feelings.

"Where are you going?" Bruce asks, frowning as you stand to leave. "I haven't seen you in a week, honey. Even if you're not hungry, can you sit a while?"

"Whose fault is that," you snap. The room gets real quiet after that, a mixture of surprise and incredulity painting your father's face.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not making you go anywhere, dad," you scowl, "if you missed me then you'd find the time to see me."

"Hold on. I don't think that's very fair," Hal speaks up, reaching for your hand. You pull it away from him. "Mouse —"

"It's fine," you say, "the needs of the many outweigh the needs of one. I'm well aware. It's fine. We'll spend time together some other day. Go stop a robbery or rescue some damsels or something."

"What's with the 'tude, Flitty?" Dick pipes up, standing to block the door. "Pump the brakes for a sec. Talk to us."

"Talk to you? What, so when you inevitably forget this conversation happened you can pretend we never had it to begin with?" You sneer at your brother, looking him up and down. "No thanks. I'm not interested in being gaslit today."

"Gaslit?" Dick balks, looking like you struck him. "I've never —"

"Let them go, Dick," Tim says, twirling a bite of pasta around his fork. "It's just hormones. They'll go back to normal by tomorrow."

"Oh, of course it's just hormones," you scoff, whirling around to point a finger at Tim. "If it's got a logical explanation it's not worth dwelling on. Isn't that right? I can't be upset because I'm just going through puberty! There's no way it's acceptable for me to be upset over anything! My feelings don't matter, so they should be swept under the rug, just like your parents did to you!"

Tim drops his fork in surprise. A bit of pasta sauce hits Damian's check, and he grabs his napkin with an irritated grumble.

"This is such nonsense," the boy mutters.

"Everything that doesn't interest you personally is nonsense," you hiss at your youngest brother. "God forbid someone try to share their love for a hobby that's outside of what you find enjoyable. If the Blood Son doesn't give it his seal of approval, it's not worth the effort! Honestly, I should feel grateful you've blessed us with your presence at all! Surely your inferior siblings are barely worth your invaluable time!"

Your heart's racing. All the little, irritating things about your family that's been piling up inside you are spilling out. Your anger turns the internal hurt into external jabs and low blows, the darkest part of you wanting them to feel just a fraction of your pain at how flippantly they treat you sometimes.

"Sorry, did that upset you, Dami? Aww, it's okay! Like Tim says, it's just an emotional response brought on by some underlying factor! It won't last so it's not worth devoting your time to! And if you're like Dicky, you can just wave it away and say it never happened, no matter what you show him to prove it did! Maybe if you hadn't had the time to make it to dinner and spent weeks or months rushing off to do something more important at the start, you wouldn't have to sit through this conversation at all! Hope that helps!"

A hand comes down on your shoulder, silencing your rant. You whip around to find Jason staring down at you with a heartbroken frown. He looks so genuinely upset that any remaining anger dissipates immediately.

"Mousey," he whispers, "stop. Take a breath."

He looks so blurry. You blink a couple times and realize your panting and crying. No one will look you directly in the eyes except for Alfred, who's visibly tired. There's pity in his eyes.

It stings. God. Everything stings. Your face flushes with color as you realize what you've said and done. You want the earth to open up and swallow you.

It doesn't have to be the earth.

Before anyone can protest, your shadow wraps around your ankles and drags you down, then dissipates.

"Mouse, don't —" Jason kneels on the floor, just a hair too slow. "Fuck."

[seewetter]

They are making admissions, but it's a different set.

They:

Get involved in other people's business whose lives they don't understand. They have no evidence to think this person is hired for any reason, including this reason.

Are prone to gossip and backstabbing.

Believe that they are to be treated as an authority on the lives of strangers.

Disbelieve a stranger's qualifications without evidence.

Are prone to a form of gossip and backstabbing that only affects potential diversity hires, which means they are prone to a form of gossip and backstabbing that they and people like them are unaffected by. Which means they are likely self-serving people.

Use their opinions about DEI as a shield to go after individuals whom they don't want working in a place. This shows us its not really about DEI, its about controlling this one place that they work at or shop at.

Have no bad conscious about exerting control in a way that only people not like them might be affected by.

The reason the first 3 statements are not guaranteed is:

Unless you know (with evidence) that the white whiner is reliably going after all black and brown people, accusing as many as they can of being a diversity hire, they are not necessarily going after all who occupy positions of significance. In fact, the "diversity hire" gossip is often particularly effective as a form of racism because those who employ it (A) exert direct control on black and brown individuals whom they don't like or want power over, rather than on all black and brown people, which would be far more noticeable (B) does not target all black and brown people by default, instead creating strategic vulnerabilities for specific people -- the default assumption is that black and brown people are "just like you and me" but that "some" are people who gain unfair advantages. This is commonly coupled with implicit racist assumptions about (unchangeable, legitimate) factors that hold back black and brown people as a community, thus allowing racists to maintain a "inclusive hierarchy" where specific individuals are treated (more-or-less) as equals, but the majority of those communities are treated as illegitimate if they attain certain positions (C) people who buy into this racist narrative are sometimes genuinely not even trying to exert control over black and brown people (and may even be black and brown themselves) because DEI programs often appear (superficially) unfair (D) some DEI programs are genuinely unfair, because some of them are designed with an anti-union, anti-solidarity pattern in mind -- this does not justify assumptions about individuals who receive aid through any DEI program, but it unfortunately contributes to gullible people (i.e. Joe Rogan fans or whatever) drawing on real experiences (and propaganda) to become unwitting agents of racism

See above. People that whine about "diversity hires" often think their bad customer service experience or work difficulty with a colleague is explained by DEI. Quite a few (not all, some are propagating intentional racism) of these people would welcome a person of Colour whom they perceive as "more qualified". But note the double standard! A person of Colour f*s up at their job? It's a DEI thing. White person f*s up? People pull out humanizing explanations about how difficult work is or what must be going on at home in their personal lives. Gullible people that propagate DEI witch hunts are often drawing on "progressive" neoliberal policies the dysfunction of which they personally witnessed or on Joe Rogan-style misinformation. They don't think white people are more qualified, but they are using a shorthand to think about the situation which relies on this double standard.

"Believe that sharing power disadvantages them, which is an unconscious acknowledgement that they currently hold it all". The person who whines about DEI at the workplace is also at risk of being fired, just as the individual they gossip about. "They hold all the power" mystifies what is going on. It treats our society as one of white overlords who even at the very bottom of an organization determine the fate of non-white people, rather than a society where powerful ideologies like progressive neoliberalism and right-wing populism are employed to pit people against each other.

"Progressive" neoliberals never see complaints about lack of educational resources in South Side Chicago and think "wow, we should put political pressure so that all schools receive a standard minimum of educational resources". Instead they think "wow, lets turn this into a DEI issue and demand that specifically black communities get more books. Lets use the ongoing history of racial injustice as the only possible angle for this injustice." Thus they can fulfill their neoliberal program (keep denying funding to school that aren't their concern, keep narrowing down the scope of people eligible for funding: downsize privatize gatekeep girlboss!) and give themselves a progressive appearance (they are helping communities in need).

Right-wing populism wouldn't be populism if it didn't achieve popularity. It doesn't do so by preaching racial hierarchy. It does so by sowing suspicion. Progressive neoliberalism is everywhere: it's in the rainbow capitalist progress flags on storefronts (even if in the US they're quickly scraping this stuff off to appease the current administration), its in corporate promises of DEI and in the art exhibits or film festivals sponsored by large banks or corporate interests. A lot of discrimination would become impractical if people didn't live in a cutthroat world where removing someone else's job opens that position up for you. If everyone has guaranteed education, healthcare, employment (if they want it) and a enshrined immovable right to not be deported, then racists can't use the institutions that make these guarantees to their ends without trying to affect notable changes.

But neoliberals can't make racists lives that difficult, because these policies are not all compatible with neoliberalism (some might be, as a compromise, but not all). And so neoliberals who do progressive politics do a muted form of it: which is what DEI hires are. When people detect discimination in affirmative action in a certain sense they are right. Under neoliberal conditions, where the goal is to cut down on jobs to make businesses more money... jobs are artificially scarce and any program that gives person A a foot in the door does so at expense of person B. We don't live in an ideal world where we can fully guarantee that every recipient of affirmative action is "deserving" (everyone is deserving, affirmative action should not be necessary, I only use the word "deserving" in scare quotes to indicate that some DEI recipients might genuinely could be, from a corporate perspective "not the ideal candidate"). Thus people start having discussions about the racism of anti-DEI opinions, discussions which only happen in the broader context where DEI is offered as the consolation prize for living with and accepting neoliberalism. In my experience, job applications and interviews that involve DEI usually involve hilariously extreme anti-minority biases. With people even for government jobs that don't even write back if you acknowledge you have any "weakness" (belong to a marginalized group). So I would agree that black and brown people who are DEI hires are probably excellent fits for their jobs in most cases and accusations of incompetence seem, where I'm coming from, hilariously misplaced. But I also know that some DEI hires are expected to tow the party line, to institute neoliberal reforms (examples can be found in the writings of Nancy Fraser) . And that some DEI hires basically just have that role and do nothing else. This is where some of the animus comes from. When the entire investigative team for a sports event gets fired by the people they are investigating for corruption and replaced because of "diversity" or when a prestigious art school board erupts into a panic because the black candidate they hired is just black...and not, which they had assumed was implicit in hiring a black candidate, a person willing to do cost-cutting and downsizing within their institution... when "diversity" or "anti-racism" or "inclusion" is used as the reason for outsourcing labour, there will be people, who never once considered black and brown people inherently inferior, who become receptive to simple DEI myths or nasty DEI gossip. Yes it requires ignorance. Yes it has a racial angle. Yes its an exercise in normativity and power. Yes its awful. Yes it has a human cost. Yes it maintains a white supremacist status quo. But no, it's not always based on assumptions about what kind of people should be occupying the positions of significance. And the people who fall for this crap do not hold all the power. Presenting them as all-powerful is precisely how "progressive" neoliberals manage to justify their ignoring of some of the most basic injustices of society. Gentrification and lack of healthcare and bad education and being forced to live in exploitative environmental conditions are rephrased as racial issues ("environmental racism" etc.) and thus even the majority of their victims can be erased (~20% of the victims of gentrification and police violence are black).

[circeyoru]

Love Trial _ Part 4

[Sung Jinwoo x High School Ex-Lover!Reader]

Part 1 ― Part 2 ― Part 3 ― Part 4 (here) ― Part 5

“They’re together again.”

“I say they make a good couple.”

“Aren’t they just so cute together?”

“Wish I had a boyfriend too…”

“They’re lucky to have much other~”

You and Jinwoo were the talk of the school whenever the two of you walked together on school grounds, whether it was going to school together cause you two lived close or walking through the hallways together to head to the cafeteria for lunch. Both of you brushed off the rumours in the beginning, you two were close friends, nothing else.

Then one day, Jinwoo asked, “What are we exactly?”

“Humans.” You answered without missing a beat, even though you were reading your favourite novels instead of studying for finals.

“I don’t mean that!” Jinwoo exclaimed, but caught himself by the evident redden face from his outburst. He cleared his throat and elaborated, “I mean, our relationship. We’re close, but are we just best friends?”

“Excuse you,” You glared at him after leaning down your book, “We are childhood best friends. Mind you, my friendship is one you can’t just get off the streets, mister.”

That seemed to make Jinwoo chuckle, momentarily averting from the serious topic. You tend to do that, but humour was something he liked about you. Oh. “I think I like you.” 

“I like you too, if I didn’t we wouldn’t be friends.”

“As more than a friend, I mean.” Jinwoo shyly corrected you, “What I want to say is I love you.”

You blinked at him and squinted your eyes. “That’s so random, you’re not doing it by the steps.” You showed him your novel, “See, if you truly love someone the way I see it, you need to time the perfect moment and set the mood.”

“Oh…”

“Always.” It was your turn to clear your throat, you raised your book upright to continue reading it. “Back to studying.”

“You’re not even reading the textbook or reference books…”

“Hush! Mind your own business.” While Jinwoo did so, your mind went elsewhere. Being in love and being loved was something you wanted, but you questioned whether you were actually in love with Jinwoo in that way. Novels and films wrote love to be so clear and obvious, but in reality, it never was that easy.

Since that day, you began to subtly look at Jinwoo differently. His little quirks, his little flaws, his little joys. Everything. You knew then when your heart was always at peace with him and you longed for him by your side, that was love. Though, you didn’t know how Jinwoo saw you after that conversation. You assumed he saw you the same way since he learned from his mistake and popped you that question to move onto the next step in your relationship.

How naive.

Following your confrontation with Jinwoo, your picture of him as the stone-faced, strongest, and most impenetrable Hunter somehow changed to that of an abandoned puppy―if that made any sense. 

If someone were to ask you to name the most desperate person in your life, you’d pick this guy who snuck into your lecture hall and boldly sat next to you, even innocently writing down short sentences in a notepad before ripping the pages and passed them to you. You were a diligent student, so you were paying attention in your studies and marked down notes. Needless to say, you were using learning as an excuse to ignore Jinwoo.

To the point that one side of your arm was covered in pieces of paper from Jinwoo. Luckily, it was not your dominant side, else you would have called off Jinwoo ages ago. The messages ranged from mundane ’are you free after this lecture’ to ’can I get you a drink’. Now why weren’t you doing anything like an outburst or trying the usual tricks?

It was mostly due to the aftermath of your rooftop conversation. Yes, you did draw an obvious bolded thick line between the two of you and told him you want nothing to do with him. Yes, you did say you’re leaving things in the past and opted to enjoy your present life than wallow in anguish. However! Jinwoo took it as an opportunity to start over.

Just as you were leaving, he confidently and boldly proclaimed, “Give me some time! I’ll prove I’m serious about you. I know I have no excuse for what I did to you and I know nothing can wash away this slate. But. I want to show you I have seen the error in my ways and want to change.” His voice shook in a way that made your heart ache for it reminded you of the old days when you two were your real carefree selves with each other. “Please, give me a chance and don’t push me away.”

And guess what, you caved and gave him a chance. The only thing you never accounted for was Jinwoo approaching you at any given opportunity. He was almost around you for 27/4, wait you got that wrong, 24/7. Yes, that’s right. See how he has affected you… You can’t even get the time right because he was just always there. Respectfully keeping his distance when you had company, but there all the same.

“I brought you something to drink.” Jinwoo popped up out of nowhere when you were just sitting in the lecture hall waiting for the class to start.

“Can I sit here?” A stray Jinwoo just approached you while you were on the bench resting.

“It’s going to rain and you don’t seem to have- Oh, I thought you didn’t have an umbrella and waited for you…” Jinwoo awkwardly chuckled when you gave him the deadpanned face and opened an umbrella right before his eyes, you went first into the rain but then Jinwoo soon joined your side, “Let’s walk together to the station then.”

There were so many more that you can’t even remember it all… 

“He’s at it again…” Jong-In chuckled as he sat next to you, “When are you going to announce our break-up? I feel like I’m third wheeling when he’s around.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing in frustration and annoyance. “We can ‘break up’ only if it’s what you want. Not for that insufferable guy…”

“I never seen you this mad and indifferent to someone… What exactly did he do to you?” Jong-In questioned half-heartedly, knowing you wouldn’t enlighten him with your answer or story. He added when you had that look in your eyes, “Hey, we’ve been together―as friends―for a long time and I know how your moods are. Whatever he’s done wrong to you, I think you’re trying to forgive him too.” He chuckled as he commented, “Well, more like you’re putting him through trials of love. You know, to prove himself?”

“...”

“You don’t want to be hurt again, don’t you?”

You weakly nodded―mentally at least. All of this was so exhausting to you. If only Jinwoo had went for Cha Hae-In like he did in his past life… Then everything would been perfect and you could move on with time. 

You glanced over to the door, particularly the glass that gave you a peek of the outside, Jinwoo’s arm was there in view. Even after you told him you didn’t want to see him. You heard Jong-In’s remark, “At least our professor banned him from the lecture hall, no disturbance for the prized student and you get some time and space away from him.”

You turned back to your lecture notes, a tiny―very tiny―upward curl at the corner of your lips. “Stupid dummy…”

Note: The last part will be uploaded tomorrow on Valentine's Day~ My treat to you since this one is quite short~ Spoiler, there's a bit of angst, but it's a fluff end. No worries. Not breaking any hearts.

𝕮𝖎𝖗𝖈𝖊 𝖄.

My Works: MASTERLIST *(regarding requests, check the Masterlist to see if it’s opened or not and other info related before sending one. Thanks.)

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[nottswitch]

⋆˙⟡♡ VENUS IN TAURUS

venus in taurus enjoys indulging in extravagances and luxury. this placement values loyalty and a partner who’s equally as interested in pursuing pleasure. in bed, a taurus venus commits and keeps going until they reach a point of personal satisfaction.

cult leader!theo nott x reader

warnings: 18+ mdni, intox kink, dubcon, unprotected p in v, choking, breath play, praise

nav // event / more

it’s a true wonder how you ended up in teacher theodore’s room so quickly after joining the commune. you haven’t been here for long, just a couple of weeks, and you’re already here, straddling his lap; his hand rests lazily on your hip, rubbing circles into your skin – his warmth seeps through the fabric of your thin white robe, making your lower body tingle with pleasure. your eyes are fixed on his beautiful face, though it’s hard for them to stay all the way open – the wine he’s feeding you makes your head spin more and more with each sip you obediently take.

"you’re enjoying that?" he asks, his voice smooth and low, like a big cat’s purr. you nod as you swallow another little portion – the wine is really good, tart and sweet, no doubt expensive, as is the silver goblet theodore’s holding up at your lips. he hums in approval of your answer, nudging your lips with the cold metallic edge once again.

you take a sip again, a bigger one this time, and cough – the alcohol is pretty strong, too, tickling your throat from the inside. theodore smirks, but you barely see it – your vision is already blurry, his features growing less and less defined. you fail to notice the way his hand creeps down to your thigh, rolling up the hem of your robe. then, you’re suddenly aware of your naked state when his fingers slide through your folds, wet and welcoming. theodore raises an eyebrow, taking in the fact that you’re not wearing any underwear.

"were you expecting this?"

your cheeks are flushed from embarrassment, or it’s just the effect of this amazing wine – you’re not sure anymore.

"i’m sorry," you mumble, slurring the words out; your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, every syllable taking too much effort to get out. and yet, the haze of your mind tells you there’s nothing to be embarrassed about – the teacher is enjoying this, so naturally, his pleasure is yours too.

"don’t be," theodore murmurs, placing the goblet on the table next to the couch you’re seated on. his gaze, calm yet unmistakably heated, roams over your body, lingering on your nipples, hard underneath the fabric. "you’re very pretty like that."

he lifts up your hips just a little, to slide off his pants, and you can’t help looking down – he isn’t wearing any underwear too, which only means that he wanted to have you from the very beginning. his cock is hard, throbbing against your heat as he grabs it at the base, rubbing the tip against your aching clit. a moan erupts from your throat, a bit louder than the situation calls for, but the alcohol does all sorts of things to your self-control; more specifically, completely demolishes the last remnants of it.

theodore drags the tip of his cock to your entrance, spreading it open. the hand on your hip tightens just a little as he pushes you down onto him, his hips lifting up to fill you to the very brim. your lips part as another moan escapes them, your hands fumbling, struggling to keep your body upright against theodore’s shoulders. he watches intently as your eyes droop with pleasure and increasing intoxication, the wine doing wonders to relax your muscles and heighten the state of your arousal. he starts thrusting into you, each movement slow and deep, and his hand maps out the curves of your body as it travels up, up, up…

your bottom lip trembles as his fingers wrap around your throat, pressing at your pulse point – your hearts beats quickly, wildly, just for him. he holds you up by your neck, and you can feel your body going limp in his grip, which only makes the pressure on your throat stronger. your mind is perfectly clouded with the lack of air and the alcohol running through your veins, and your moans grow breathier, hoarser. you give up trying to keep your eyes on theodore, your eyelids closing, the veil of darkness falling around you. the only sense still intact is your hearing, but it gets muffled more and more each time theodore’s cock plunges deeper, hitting your cervix with firm, precise thrusts.

"that’s it, darling, that’s it." his voice is a low hum, soft like silk in the heated atmosphere of the room; his thumb gently strokes the side of your throat, pressing in from time to time, as if to remind who’s in control. your nails dig into his shirt, and if you were fully conscious, you’d be embarrassed for rumpling his perfectly smooth clothes – yet right now, you can’t find it in yourself to care. he feels too good, too out of this world moving inside of you, and it’s not long before you let go. the orgasm crashes in waves, carrying you up to the very heavens, and you feel that if you died at this very moment, you’d die the happiest you’ve ever been.

"such a good girl," theodore murmurs as he slows down, his hips stilling after he feels your body growing even heavier. he lets go of your throat, and you almost whine from the disappointment of losing this delicious pressure. oxygen rushes rapidly back into your brain, only making you dizzier, so you barely register theodore’s hands tugging you down from his lap, onto the floor in front of him.

"you’re gonna make me feel good now, won’t you, darling?" he murmurs, dragging the warm, slick tip of his cock along you lips. you mindlessly nod, your eyes still half-lidded with wine and pleasure – of course, you will. and you quickly realize that you always will.

[lustlovehart]

Modern Monster!Twst... mmm (I need to stop making different variations of the same au LMAO)

Warnings: Human Eating, Blood, influencer!Reader (who is the opposite of MH!Reader in terms of personality. You'll see how 😭), Breaking and Entering, Zombies in your bed

Maybe rather than a monster hunter, you’re an influencer who fakes monster sightings. You record yourself sifting through abandoned places, searching every place, and without fail, something always seems to appear from the shadows, your poor self only narrowly escaping...

Most of your audience knows its, but there are always many who believe its real simply from the sheer horror! It looks so real!

With your camera in hand, you walk into the abandoned asylum, famed in history for its treatments. When patients go mad, they lock their necks with tight collars, old studies believing it would stop the illness from spreading to their heads... Heartslaybul "hospital".

Maybe it's a special live stream. While you're talking the chat begins to explode with worries, their fear seeping into you.

Your friend didn't tell you they were gonna set off the fake that early... You're ready to turn off your camera and search for them, only to be met with a glowing, transparent light. It's similar to the ghost fake you've used a few times before, but... since when was it red?

Realization finally hits you when you turn to the side; pale blue hair holds what looks like your friend's camera, curiously gazing at the contraption splattered with crimson liquid. He carries it above and lets the scarlet drip into his mouth.

You drop your stream onto the floor, not daring to look at the chat, nor your back before you sprint as far as you can. You don't even make it five feet before you're met with decaying limbs wrapping around you, orange hair invading your vision, and a heart-shaped wound on your captors face.

"You like monsters a lot, don't you?" his smile is cocky as his arms envelop your waist, "you wouldn't mind letting one take a bite, yeah?" He's about to take a chunk out of you with his canines before another rotting man appears, except with more stitches than wounds and a height that towers over everything. He's swift to hoist you over his shoulder, out of the gluttonous beast's range.

"You have to share, Ace. It's harder to find food than it was a while ago." You would jump out of his hold, but being eight feet in the air is horrifying.

Any shouts are caught in your throat, especially when another person comes into frame, except... He looks the most normal out of all them, albeit the slight wisp in his body... and the way his mouth is delayed like it doesn't belong there.

"They're kinda cute! Can't believe this frail thing is the one I've been watching!" his bright personality contrasts the dark background, as well as the stifling atmosphere. The corpse holding your friend's camera walks over. His face looks sorry, but the way he licks his lips clean of blood tells a different one.

Your lips tremble; you may not have seen it first hand, but you'd be a fool to believe they survived that. Survive...

You have to...! You really wish you had a gun right now, or maybe even a knife you don't know! Anything!

"Here's you friends... weapon, I think. They were kinda hitting me with it so."

...

"Please don't eat me!!! I've been eating junk for the last few weeks. I promise I probably taste like grease and sugar!" Maybe they're the brain-eating type... "Ah, I'm... stupid! Yeah, my brain doesn't taste good at all!" You continue your blabbering, begging them not to take a bite out of you as you flail. Your legs kick the giant you're on, and each hit has him awkwardly smiling, yet it doesn't stop him from holding you. he doesn't seem phased at all...

If you can somehow get out, the exit to the forest isn't far... In fact! Your apartment isn't far at all!

The red glow you saw first float in front of you, the stitched corners of his mouth twitching into a devious smile.

"No one's broken the rules of coming here in awhile. Even humans have gone as far to make rules themself about entering, yet you disobeyed them too." he leans closer, dark hollow eyes staring into yours. "You broke them; what is your reason?"

"I saw a picture of you online and thought you were really cute so I came to find you!"

That, is what seems to shock everyone into paralysis.

You quickly flip yourself over, your back hitting the floor before running towards your exit. You can hear them all running after you, yet when you turn, the one that catches your attention is the scarlet ghost. His eyes are distant, yet they seem fixated entirely on you.

...

Your breath is heavy as you fall down your door, processing what just happened. How... How do you explain your friends disappearance? If anything... You'll be the first suspect.

What do you, what do you do, what do you??

The stress has you passing out on your floor, your whole body trembling in fear at the reality that you have almost lost your life.

In your slumber, you fail to realize the five figures that stare at you through your window.

...

You shift in your covers, the alarm on your clock waking you up. Slowly, you lean up, your mattress creaking from the movement. A dream, a horrible dream... Your worries lift off your chest at the prospect. It was so realistic...

The sight of a bloody camera and cracked phone makes your initial relief disappear.

"Man, I didn't realize how comfy beds were now...!" the voice has you look to your left a rotten moving corpse under your sheets with you, the heart-wounded monster smiling at your shock. The shift of a different zombie has you looking to your right, pale blue emerging from under the blankets.

"He made me sleep here, i'm so sorry-"

"I did not; you came in here on your own Deuce-!"

You jump out of your bed, your body hitting the wall as photos fall to the floor. "How... How...? How the hell-?!" You reach for a fork you had lying around on your desk, an unfortunately familiar large hand gently grabbing your wrist and guiding the utensil away from the zombies.

"Sorry, silver works better on vampires." A spark of electricity leaves him when he exchanges this fact, the shock barely caressing your skin. You leap at the sensation, metal sounding off the floor. The corpse complied of different flesh, smiles at you as if you were simply jumpy, not absolutely horrified.

Those exist too?!

The curtains to your room are closed, minimal light seeping through. It might be cause for your current predicament. You swear, as they talk to you, a pair of green irises stare you down, and right when you're about to direct attention to the entity, shadows wave you goodbye.

It's as if you've given up your drive when they watch you sit on the floor, blankly staring at their rose tyrant.

"Can you at least kill me painlessly before you eat me...?" They all stare at the sudden willingness you have for their hunger... Their shock subsides when they notice the way you have a far-away camera recording them. It's no worry to them though; it's not live.

Riddle's apparitional form floats forward, the first one to break the stalemate. You shut your eyes tight, sticking your arm out for him like he was a vampire rather than a ghost.

as long as someone, anyone really, finds the footage...

You can go out famous for your mysterious death!

"Don't be foolish." Riddles cold wispy hand suddenly solidifies, his warm palm taking your hand. "the only way to truly stop a rule-breakers transgressions, is to make sure they can never do them again." They're gonna kill you. They're gonna-

"We're staying right here." Wait, is he saying...

Are they gonna live with you!?

A/n: I was actually gonna do all the dorms for this but realized i need to stop doing long posts for really small stuff 😔

It's not clear, but all of them actually know who you are solely from the phone Riddle got Cater when he went out as a human. he found you and then showed you all to them, collectively agreeing you'd be a good meal.

Riddle thought you were pretty on sight, but knows it's in his best interest to stay rule-abiding and just stick to consuming you. It must be destiny, the influencer they've all been secretly crushing on watching, said they thought he was pretty.

Cue the rest of Modern! Monster Twst about a fake monster investigator and the very real monsters who start living with them solely out of affection <3

[originalleftist]

Easier said than done.

People have tried blocking Musk and his goons from accessing stuff. They've had mixed success. But then they respond by firing the people in question, and sending armed goons in to back Musk up.

Arrest the Orange One? Okay. What happens if a court or prosecutor issues a warrant for him?

Well, realistically, the Supreme Court immediately rules that a sitting President can't be prosecuted (right now IIRC this is technically only a DOJ policy, but you can count on it becoming legal precedent real fast if anyone tried it). Meanwhile, whoever had the guts to try it would face retaliation, including potential revenge prosecutions and doxxing of themselves and their family (now that Musk has everyone's private information- he literally just doxxed a judge's daughter).

If by some miracle SCOTUS allowed it to go forward- who's going to arrest him? AT MINIMUM it would likely require an armed standoff between US Marshals or whoever they sent and his Secret Service detail, and let's be real, if he was actually detained he/his supporters would order the military and/or his mob to free him.

So, unless a state AG is the bravest fucking person on the planet, and willing to fight a civil war, AND has an army willing to back them up, it's a non-starter.

So how do we stop this?

Honestly, I can see only three ways it happens in the foreseeable future:

He gets us into a major world war which America loses. This was how Hitler was stopped, but in the modern world this involves nukes, a large majority of the human population is dead, and he's out of power because there is no more America, or basically anyone living where it used to be. Obviously not a good outcome.

He loses a civil war or military coup. Also immensely destructive, could involve nukes. A quick military coup MIGHT work, but unless it was just replacing one fascist with another, probably MAGAs would rebel, including potentially state governments. Also, the military does not seem interested in doing this right now (about two thirds of current and former armed services members voted for him).

Economic shutdown of the country via a general strike and other forms of economic warfare. This seems to me to be the only actually remotely viable road forward for removing the regime from power. Non-compliance by officials, especially in Blue states, may limit the damage, but won't remove the regime from power. All efforts should be focused on these things.

I discount removing him via a normal election because who are we kidding, he didn't accept the 2020 results and they'll be way more prepared to overturn any election they lose (or rig it beforehand) next time. However an election they lose and refuse to recognize, or obviously rig, could trigger an uprising, potentially.

"He can't do that!"

"That's illegal!"

"He is violating the constitution!"

Then fucking stop him! Arrest him, throw Musk out, bar them from entering when they try to access shit.

Because guess fucking what, laws only have meaning when they are enforced. They only matter when someone fucking does something about it.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

MY BIG SISTER GLOWS!!!

How Damians obsession with Weird neglected black!Reader started

To the average untrained eye, you look regular—nothing too special about your looks or facial features. But to the eye of an artist like Damian, you seem unearthly, and to Damian, you glow like the North Star. Your light could dim any constellation and put them to shame. But you’re not the only one in the house that glows; to Damian, Dick's glow is aqua green—it's cool and calm, and it fills the whole room, drowning out anybody else's glow. Jason's glow is bright red; people may think it's because of his anger, but it’s more about his passion and how it fills anything he touches. Tim's glow is a cool cerulean blue—calm and calculated—but it can shine brightly but also remain subtle. However, Damian hadn’t seen your glow for quite some time. He had seen Bruce's and Alfred's, heck, even Steph's, but he had just never managed to see you glow. Your light was never seen in the manor, but outside the manor was a whole other can of worms. As the little weasel walked to his next class, he heard giggling from a group of girls. He ignored it at first; still, he heard a small snort.

"[Name], was that a snort?" a girl said, her mouth wide open like an alligator. Damian's ears perked up at your name; he swiftly turned around to a bright light, so bright it rivaled the sun. It was your light; it was a soft yellow and sparkled as if tiny little stars surrounded you. Damian never knew you could glow, especially in that color, and he never knew you could laugh like that. Your laughs were always small giggles or snickers that lasted a second or more, but this laugh was coming from your very soul, and it lasted much longer.

"Shut up, Zuri, it's not a snort." You denied it quickly, but your snort still came out, and you covered your mouth while laughing. Your glow outshined all the girls, and it seemed to fill the room. He had never seen you like this—never. You were always so brash or closed off, and your glow was usually dim. But at school, it was a whole other thing. Now that Damian saw you like this, he began to sketch every moment you glowed, and sketch he did. There would be pages upon pages dedicated to you and your star-like glow. He committed to memory the way your nose scrunched up, how your eyes squinted, and how your full lips parted into the biggest smile. You would throw your head back making your dreads fall over your shoulders. He knew it by heart; he could close his eyes and paint a picture just with the memory of your smile. But these brief moments of laughter at school weren't enough; he needed to see up close and personal. Deep down, he wanted to be the one who made you glow, but you wouldn't let him. It was like forcing a bird to sing; it only happened naturally. Your glow around him was dim and dark, reminding him of his old glow before even going to the manor. But the young prince felt entitled to your glow, to your shine. He was the grandson of the demon head and the blood son of the bat. How dare you deny him something he so deserved! Sure, he could be cruel at times and rude; sure, his words could break you into a thousand pieces, but he's sorry—he really is. So let him see you shine. Let him paint you and make that glow immortal. Let him see it, after all, you both come from the same blood. It's only fair you let those peasants see your glow, but not him, there beneath you! You know that, right!? So why let these fools see your glow when he is so much more worthy?!

[impish-baby]

More dad survivor x zombie reader + an old friend :) (tw: dead animal, guns, emetophobia, threats of harm)

"Aw, sugar.." The dead bird is the farthest thing from appetizing but you look so darn happy offering it to him, how's he supposed to say no?

"You're the sweetest, daddy will eat it later, ok?" That at least seems to be satisfactory enough for now, as you drop the poor thing down onto the park table.

The playground has long been abandoned, left in disarray since the apocalypse hit, that doesnt stop Hank from finding it absolutely adorable when you try to climb up a slide. Nearly gives him a heart attack though.

"Baby, come on, you're gonna hurt yourself." He wonders if you remember being little and playing here, your memory isn't the best when it comes to some things but you sure seem to recall what it takes to give him gray hairs. "I know you think it's fun, but your old man really couldn't handle it if you got scratched up while you're messing around."

You get hurt so easily now a days, he's basically toddler proofed the house all over again and yet you still find a way to bang yourself up when he's not around, that's why he's taken to tying you up when he can't keep an eye on you.

When you do finally decide to slide back down, Hank immediately sweeps you up into his arms with a soft chuckle. "Alright, alright, I think you've had enough outside time for today, we should be headin' home."

It would've been a good day, a great one even, if he didn't catch the glittering of a silver barrel from the corner of his eye.

"Shit-" Hank has never been more greatful that he was holding you, because you lunge automatically for the stranger and likewise closer to the gun. "No, sweetheart, shhh..shh..calm down.." God, he'd love it if you listened, it's hard to pull out his own pistol while trying to wrangle you into staying put.

Other survivors aren't very common in town, most people left after the first few months.

"You gonna let that thing go so I can shoot it?" He recognizes that voice, and it makes Hank's heart sink into a pit in his stomach. "I ain't.. Hank?" A familiar face is rare, a friendly familiar face is nearly unheard of.

"Don't shoot, don't shoot, just step back for a minute, alright?" When Hank glances over, he wasn't expecting Bo to be emptying his stomach onto the cement.

"I- Fuck-" The man retches again, dryheaving. "You.. God, the kid.." An honorary uncle, Bo knew you since the day you where born, he didn't see the day that was meant to be your last.

"I know," You stopped struggling once you heard his voice, eyes wide as you simply whine to be let down. "You're gonna have to wait, be patient, hun." That never was your strong suit. "The grown ups need to talk."

"Hank.. man, you gotta let them go.." There's tears in Bo's eyes as he takes a cautious step forward. "They're dead. There aren't any ifs or buts, that's a corpse. You can't-"

"That is my child," He's been a sinner for a long time, if it comes down to it, shooting his brother will be one of his worst. "My baby, what kind of father am I to hurt them?"

"A merciful one!" There are days you wake up confused and scared, you cry for hours or at least your body tries to. "They aren't a person anymore, Hank, they aren't themselves. You're fucking lucky they haven't bitten you yet!"

"I'd welcome it if they did." He's thought about it, that first night when you went cold in his arms and many more after that. "You pull that trigger and that's it, a life without my kid isn't worth living."

"Dammit," Hank almost collapses in relief as the gun is holstered, putting his away as well. "You're still an idiot, huh? Figures.."

Bo approaches slowly, never taking his eyes off your still form. All you do is smile and try to reach out for a hug, but he cringes away with a look of disgust.

Hank's heart breaks as you tuck your teary face against his neck. He doesn't know how to explain in a way you'd still understand, all he can is press a kiss to your forehead and shush your sniffles.

[stayyya]

@kjack89 Congrats on the amazing 10 years!!!

I'm late and that's because I've just finished my final and finally had enough time to do something!

so here are 3 pieces of works of my calligraphy practice (if the mess are qualified to be called calligraphy) and the contents are excerpts from your fics!

the first is the letter Courfeyrac wrote to Marius in Dreams Mingled with Happiness, but only a little part of the original letter due to the limited space and my free time :( but hopefully one day I'll manage to do the complete version if you permit it!

2nd the sweet and cute fluff in Conference

and 3rd a contrastion about Grantaire's story with the reality (that hurts😭）

hope you can forgive me for writing them without permission and like it! though I'm not very good at the calligraphy and especially bad at photography, which leads to the most heartbreaking part that after finishing the writing, I found it impossible to present what it really looks like with my poor phone camera, and please believe that it looks thousands of times better than the photo😭 but I just could let you see it in person through the Internet🥺

Actually I've just met you for not a long time, but how the world can be changed with just one burst of light but you and your fics have brought a lot for me! it's not something crashing through but feels like some tiny but mighty comfort and company that always lies there, whenever I want. The feeling of having you in the fandom or at least in my world, is somewhat similar to the feeling of thinking of the warm bed in freezing winters——even thinking about it make everything around me suddenly bearable and even pleasant. Your fics have literally lit up many of my days and weeks and months and more than words can convey.

and a little thing in addition, I've been planning on do some translation to Chinese on some of your fics and have actually started to try a little (sorry without permission again!!) but haven't posted any yet because translation, to some extent, is just like the photography, in which I can never get the point I want and make myself satisfied :( and a bad translation may be irresponsible cuz it may even cause misunderstanding for the original author so I'll just keep practice and maybe one day when I'm at last satisfied I will post it (of course with the proper credit and link!) the coincidence is that I'm also preparing for the test of certificate on English-Chinese translation! so I wonder if it'll be ok for me to do the translation after I'm qualified enough:P

that's all! thanks for your patience about my blathering and congratulations on your achievements again! wish you a good day! <3

[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.