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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 2 days ago

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@podiumackles

Finally getting a chance to read through Chapter 2! 😃

I really like how you did this chapter in Ben's POV. It's always so interesting to see inside his head, especially because the Boys series didn't give us that much of it!

But the 1980s were a far cry from the battlefields of his youth. Superheroes were no longer symbols of patriotism and sacrifice—they were products, controlled by Vought, manipulated into glossy icons for public consumption. Soldier Boy's clean-cut, all-American image had become a brand, slapped onto cereal boxes and comic books. In private, however, he was chafing under the weight of being Vought’s golden boy. He was a symbol, a puppet, but to his father, he was still just a disappointment.

I love this paragraph and how you started this chapter! I really do think that Ben's father just messed him up royally and that Ben has spent his entire life never feeling like he's enough. BUT. This paragraph is so good because Ben is starting to see through what Vought is doing with all the heroes and that it's becoming a joke to him, and I really love the idea that before Ben went to Russia, he was starting to "wake up" a bit from the stardom.

Also, the reader and Ben's first meeting? THE HATE AT FIRST SIGHT? HELLO? ENEMIES TO LOVERS?! YES PLEASE!

“Maybe you do,” you said, your voice a low murmur now. “But this isn't the ‘40s anymore. It’s not about who’s the toughest soldier out there. This world, Vought’s world, is about control. It’s about image and playing the game.” You glanced around the room at the other supes. “And you, with all your medals and war stories, are just another player.”

The reader is just so... catty... and AWESOME. I love that she can see through the smoke and mirrors to what is really going on underneath and that she has such strong opinions! Also I've talked about this with someone else on here, but I really like it when the reader is strong and opinionated and can put Ben in his place when he gets to be well... Ben lol. So I am VERY excited about this reader and this series!

Still, he knew better than to show weakness. He had perfected the art of hiding his inner turmoil, just as his father had taught him. To the world, he was still the unbeatable war hero, the icon of American masculinity. No one would ever see the cracks beneath the surface—the doubt, the frustration, the endless quest to be enough.

Again, the Ben POV is so spot on with his "endless quest to be enough." And oh goodness the "He had perfected the art of hiding his inner turmoil, just as his father had taught him." Is just so good.

You continued, undeterred by his silence. “But you know, maybe that’s the point. We’re all just playing dress-up here, aren’t we? Vought dresses us up, makes us look shiny, and sends us out to wave at the cameras. Nothing heroic about it.”

Amen 👏🏻

This is so good! There is so much TENSION between Ben and the reader and I am LIVING for it. And you can really feel the way Ben is just struggling to hold on to those old values and try to hold tight to the power he has during this time. I can't wait to read more and learn about their story together!

the moments that stay (they turn out all wrong)

In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.

series masterlist

CHAPTER 2

A/N: English isn't my first language!! apologies in advance.

Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.

Warnings: not much in this chapter. mentions of power imbalance, possibly swearing, Soldier Boy's incorrect view of what a man needs to be, mentions of (mental) abuse and manipulation, and possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.

1980s

Soldier Boy had noble intentions to protect and serve his country. He had dignity, honour, and believed every man should grow up to be a “real man”, as his father had repeatedly told him.

Enduring the Second World War wasn’t enough.

Becoming a superhero wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough. Not for his father.

His father’s words echoed in his mind, a constant reminder that no matter what he achieved, it was never sufficient.

A real man builds his own success, with his own two hands. He doesn't cheat his way into power.

Those words shaped him, pushing him to become something greater than just a soldier, more than just a hero in the public eye. But no matter how many enemies he thought he vanquished or how many medals adorned his chest, he couldn't escape the feeling that he was failing his father’s impossible standard of manhood.

The breaking point came when Vought began assembling a new team of supes- as Vought would call them- to form the latest supergroup. Ben, a natural leader in his own eyes, felt a simmering resentment. He wasn’t a team player. He was meant to be the star—the hero who stood above the rest, not one who shared the spotlight. To him, the team would only drag him down, undermine his own success, and ruin the carefully crafted image he had worked so hard to build.

But, despite everything, Vought’s grip would always have been too strong. So, despite his disdain, he reluctantly agreed. They understood him. And he needed them. He had been sure he would be appointed the leader of this new group. When he was, he would ensure control over every aspect of the team so they wouldn’t lead to his downfall. This was his time.

As he stood in Vought’s headquarters, a sense of superiority coursed through him. He was the seasoned war hero, the one who had fought on real battlefields. These supes were nothing more than attention-seeking showboats, eager for fame rather than true service.

You, dressed in an orange-red suit, stood next to him with wide-eyed curiosity. You looked like you were barely out of your teens, your youthful face betraying your lack of experience. "Is it true, then?" you asked, your voice a mix of awe and disbelief. "You killed the president?"

Ben thought the suits Vought had made for the team were ridiculous. He wouldn't need a special suit to be the best version of himself. He wouldn't need anything but himself.

Without looking at you, he growled, “You believe everything you hear?”

You blinked, taken aback by his gruff response, but quickly recovered. “No, I just…” you tore your gaze from him, focusing on the other supes getting in the final pieces of their attire. “Would be a shame to be on the team with a murderer.”

Your words lingered in the tight air between you. He realised you had put up a facade, a mask to hide your wariness of the man next to you. You didn’t idolise him. In fact, you might have been close to despising, if he didn’t know any better.

Ben finally turned his head to face you, his eyes cold and unwavering. Your suit tied around your body, but it seemed loose enough to not reveal too much to the outside. Cloves hugged your delicate hands and reached until well near your elbows. A small cape was fastened onto your wrists, which Ben found all the more ridiculous. Who the fuck needs a cape?

“I’m no murderer,” his words were short, harsh. This woman had no right to speak to him like that. “At least not to people who didn’t deserve it.”

“Did he deserve it?” You started, looking back at the slightly taller man next to you. “The president.”

“I didn’t kill the fucking president.”

Soldier Boy’s glare intensified as he sized you up. Your audacity infuriated him. He had dealt with enough scepticism from his father—he didn’t need it from some rookie in a costume Vought had only designed to sell toys.

The room around you buzzed with activity as the other members of the team prepared for their first group appearance. Ben seethed in silence. These so-called superheroes were nothing like the comrades he fought alongside in the war. They lacked discipline, focus, and the hardened edge that came from seeing real combat. They were actors in a carefully orchestrated performance, and to him, that was a disgrace.

You still stood beside him and seemed to sense his irritation, but you didn’t back down. Instead, you tilted your head and raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to lash out.

“You think you're better than us, don’t you?” you asked, your voice quieter this time, but laced with a subtle challenge.

Soldier Boy scoffed, crossing his arms. “Better? I don’t think, doll. I know.”

Your lips curled into a smirk, and for the first time, Ben noticed a flash of something in your eyes—something darker, more calculating than the wide-eyed naivety you'd shown earlier.

Your words rang through his ears more than he’d like to, and he started to think he thought of you wrongly. You weren't an ordinary trophy girl- you weren't someone to idolise him. You had your own strong opinion, and it wasn't something Ben was sure he could live with.

He clenched his fists, a storm of rage starting to brew inside him, but before he could respond, a booming voice cut through the tension.

“Alright, team!” The commanding voice belonged to Vought’s newest public relations handler, a slick man in an expensive suit. “It’s showtime!”

You shot Soldier Boy a final, knowing glance before you turned away, your cape swishing dramatically as you moved toward the centre of the room. Ben remained where he was, his jaw clenched, watching you. He hated your arrogance, but deep down, he knew you weren't wrong.

This wasn’t the battlefield. This wasn’t about sacrifice, honour, or even survival. This was a new kind of war, one he wasn’t sure he knew how to win.

But win it, he would.

Because failure? That was never an option. Not for him. And certainly not for his father.

As the team assembled for their public debut, Soldier Boy straightened his shoulders and put on his best, most patriotic smile. No one in the crowd would ever know the battle raging inside him, the war he fought against the crushing weight of expectations.

He would play the game, for now. And when the time was right, he would remind them all just how dangerous a man like him could be.

Cameras flashed; eight new heroes to represent America, to supposedly save the residents from upcoming threats, upcoming wars.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the commanding voice rang through their ears again. “May I present to you, your heroes, your idols, your team; Payback.”

Pictures were taken, but Ben paid it no mind. He was used to all the attention, to all the girls swooning over him. He stood front and centre, flashing his most practised, toothy grin. The name Payback echoed in his ears. A team to stand up for their people. But this wasn’t about anything but pride to Ben—it was about staying on top, holding onto the power and prestige he had built over decades.

And the team around him felt like a joke.

You stood a little behind him, a faint smirk still playing on your lips. Your audacity lingered in his mind, taunting him. Despite himself, he couldn’t shake the way you had spoken—calm, deliberate, and entirely sure of yourself. That was rare. Most of the other heroes around him were too obsessed with fame and too concerned with their image. They fell in line because Vought told them to.

Ben clenched his jaw, his father's words echoing in his mind once again.

A real man builds his own success, with his own two hands.

But was this success? Standing here, posing for the cameras, while Vought puppeteered them all? It didn’t feel like the heroism he had once envisioned. The battlefield, the grit, the true sacrifice—it had all been replaced by PR campaigns and flashy photo ops.

As the cameras continued snapping, Soldier Boy’s mind wandered your words. It’s about control. Image. Playing the game. You had said those words so matter-of-factly as if you had already accepted the new rules of this world.

After the press conference, the team dispersed to prepare for their first mission together—a staged event, of course, meant to show the world how “heroic” they were. But Soldier Boy lingered, watching as the others left the room.

One thing was certain: he wasn’t going to let anyone take his place at the top. He would play the game his way, and when the time came, he would show them all—Vought, Payback, his father—that he was still the strongest, still the best.

Because if there was one thing Ben knew, it was that in the end, power didn’t come from suits or smiles. Power came from dominance, from control, and from the ability to crush anyone who dared to stand in your way.

And that was exactly what he intended to do.

As he turned to leave, Soldier Boy caught a glimpse of himself in one of the giant mirrors that lined the hallway. He stared at his reflection—his square jaw, broad shoulders, and the tight-fitting mask over his head. He looked every bit the hero Vought had made him out to be. But simultaneously, he looked ridiculous.

“Suits are cool, huh?” your familiar voice spoke up as he left the previous room and wandered the hallways of the slightly known building. “Kidding. You look awful.”

Ben hadn’t thought he looked awful altogether; the green hugged his features wonderfully, the gold details shining as a representation of his pride. Just the mask was a reject.

“Can’t say any different about you.” Ben said matter-of-factly.

The hallway was dimly lit, and he continued walking with purpose, ignoring the voice behind him. He didn’t need anyone's approval—especially not from the cocky rookie now catching up with him. The smirk he had seen earlier was back, and you walked with a casual confidence that irritated him even more.

You weren't one to shy away from confrontation, clearly. Your snarky comment about his suit wasn’t just meant to jab at him; it was part of the ongoing game you seemed intent on playing. Ben found it annoying, yet there was something about you that stood out. You weren't like the obedient pawns he was used to, always falling in line and praising him without question.

"Aw, don’t be like that," you teased, still walking alongside him. Your cape fluttered with each step, an accessory he couldn’t understand the need for, as if to taunt him for eternity. “Just saying, for someone who’s supposed to be the leader, you sure look like you're heading into a costume party instead of a mission.”

Ben clenched his jaw but kept walking. He wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of a response.

“Speak for yourself,” Ben finally muttered, his voice low. “I’ve seen real combat. I’ve been in the trenches. What have you done, other than talk?”

Your smirk didn’t falter, though your eyes darkened slightly. “You’re right,” you said, a hint of venom in your voice. “I haven’t been in your precious war. But I’m not stupid. I know how things work now. And this… all of this,” you gestured around the hall, “isn’t about being a hero. It’s about staying relevant. It’s about power.”

Ben stopped walking, turning to face you. His eyes narrowed as he looked you up and down, sizing you up again. “Power?” he scoffed. “You think prancing around in that cape gives you power?”

Your smirk faded, replaced with a more serious expression. “No, I think understanding how to use what I’ve got gives me power. You’re strong, Soldier Boy. No one’s doubting that. But strength doesn’t mean anything if you don’t know how to play the game. And that’s where you’re going to lose.”

Ben’s fists clenched. “I don’t lose.”

“We’ll see.” You stepped back, eyes locked with his. There was no fear in them, just a cool, calculated calm. “But you should know, they own you, just like they own all of us.”

Silence fell between them, only the annoying presence of you urging him to keep on walking.

“Name’s Fury by the way. For the public, that is.”

He glanced at you quickly, frowning before letting his eyes fall on the relics on the walls when they continued their way.

“Soldier Boy.”

Ben could’ve sworn he heard you laugh; just the faintest hint of a breath leaving your mouth in a way that angered him.

“I know that,” you spoke, and he grew to feel more frustrated at the feeling you wouldn’t leave him alone. “You got a real name?”

“Yes.”

“Mine is Y/n.”

“I don’t fucking care.”

“Alright, I’ll figure it out eventually." Your words echoed in Ben’s mind as you walked away, pace speeding up to leave him alone in the hallway. He stared after you, his mind racing with a storm of thoughts he wasn’t used to entertaining. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to force his mind back to what mattered: control, power, dominance. But your words lingered like a stubborn itch he couldn’t scratch.

You were audacious, irritating, and worst of all, you had a point.

Ben hated to admit it, but you seemed to understand the game better than most. Vought didn’t care about his war stories or his medals. To them, and to the world they controlled, he was just another pawn in a machine far bigger than the battlefield. For all his strength, for all the wars he had fought and won, Ben was no longer the master of his own destiny. He was trapped in a world of PR stunts and corporate interests. And that gnawed at him, more than he cared to admit.

He had always believed power came from raw strength, from being the toughest, the strongest. But this new world, this world of superheroes-for-hire and manufactured images, was different.

Ben’s jaw tightened as he turned and continued down the hallway, alone with his thoughts. Vought owned him, you had said. That was the part that stung the most. He had spent his life trying to prove to his father that he could succeed on his own terms. But the truth was, his success had always been shaped by someone else. First his father, now Vought.

As he entered the large meeting room, where Payback's first mission briefing was about to take place, he felt a new kind of resolve building inside him. He didn’t like playing games, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Vought—or you—think they had the upper hand. He was still Soldier Boy, the greatest hero America had ever known, and he would prove it.

The team was already gathered, some stretching, some chatting, all waiting for their cue from Vought’s handlers. You werethere too, standing off to the side with your arms crossed, your eyes scanning the room with that same calculated coolness. You caught his gaze for a moment, but there was no smirk this time. Just a flicker of something that almost looked like respect—or perhaps it was just curiosity.

He didn’t care.

Ben straightened his shoulders and strode to the front of the room, where the mission briefing was about to begin. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t need anyone to tell him how to lead.

The lights dimmed, and a large screen flickered to life. A Vought executive appeared, slick and polished as always, ready to guide them through their heroic PR spectacle.

The exec began, his voice oozing with rehearsed enthusiasm. “Your mission today is simple: protect, serve, and show the world why Payback is the team they can trust.”

Ben barely listened. The mission was standard fare—save some politicians from a staged crisis, and make it look good for the cameras. Easy. What he cared about was how he would position himself at the top of the group. This wasn’t just about completing the mission; this was about showing everyone that Soldier Boy wasn’t just another cog in the machine.

After some specifics and unnecesary questions from his lower ranked team, they filed out toward the transport that would take them to the mission site. Ben was the last to leave the room, watching as the others chatted excitedly, eager to get into costume and play the part Vought had crafted for them.

He glanced once more at you, your back to him as you spoke quietly with another member of the team. You were different. You weren't a puppet like the others. That made you dangerous.

But Ben wasn’t worried.

Because at the end of the day, he knew one thing for certain: he didn’t lose.

And when the time came, when he reminded the world just what a real man, a real hero, could do, You—and everyone else—would be forced to recognize that.

He was Soldier Boy. And this? This was just the beginning.

A/N: as always, feedback is appreciated! let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.

thanks for reading! <3

taglist: @demodemo909 @deangirl96 @mostlymarvelgirl @n-o-p-e-never

#guysireadsomething #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy #jensen ackles #soldier boy x female reader #jensen ackles soldier boy #soldier boy/ben #the boys amazon #the boys fanfic #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy fic

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straylightdream · 3 days ago

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getaway car • coming soon

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭: hansol vernon chwe x f.reader

↳ The ties were black, the lies were white. In shades of gray in candlelight. I wanted to leave him. I needed a reason.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: soulmate au??, neighbors to lovers, non idol au

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.8k and counting

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mc boyfriend is a jerk, the mc ex is physically cheating, mc is emotional cheating, protected sex, starting to have sex in the shower, lots of emotions

an: this was inspired by the song getaway car by taylor swift. This another one of my stories inspired by reputation songs. This can be read as a one shot but these guys and there friends are mention in a series of loosely connected stories called all for you

if you would like to be tagged please fill out this form.

PREVIEW

Opening your phone you hit Vernon contact. Holding your phone to your ear it rings about five times before he answers the phone.

“Is everything okay?” It’s rare you call him let alone in the middle of the night.

“Not really. I’m outside, can you let me in,” you start to cry again.

“Yeah.”

Moments later he opens the door quickly. He’s just in a pair of boxer briefs. He must have been in bed already.

“I’m sorry,” you say as tears slide down your cheek.

He doesn’t say anything. He takes your hand leading you into his apartment he shares with Chan and Seokmin.

He shut the door, locking it. He hesitates for a moment before he rests his hand on your cheek and gently wipes away your tears.

“I told him I’m done. He came home after midnight with lipstick stained on his collar. I don’t wanna do this anymore. He doesn’t love me and I can’t love him anymore. I don't love him anymore.” You lean into his touch.

“I’m glad you left him. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. You’re sorry for so many things. You know he cares for you and that he probably has always romantically liked you for a while just like you have. And no matter what you do you hurt him in one way or another.

“Stop saying that. You have nothing to apologize to me for.” He gives you a gentle smile.

“Can we go to your room? I don’t want to bother the boys. It’s already so late and I already woke you up.”

Reaching down he takes your hand in his for the first time and leads you to his room. He shuts the door and releases your hand. “Would you mind if I stayed with you tonight?”

“Of course you can stay here.” You’ve never been so happy you stormed out of the house in your pajamas. “Did you want me to take the couch?”

“No, I was hoping I could sleep in your bed with you. I just really want to hold your hand.”

He can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips. You crawl under the covers and watch as Vernon turns the light on and crawls into bed next to you. You both lay there facing each other. There is a gap between you. Laying your hand there you want to be close to him. You want him to hold you and to kiss you and tell you you’ll be okay. But that is too much to ask of him.

There is always something about Vernon that he’s always been able to read you. He must notice you’re struggling. He reaches out, taking your hand in his.

“I don’t want to go back to my apartment. I don’t want to live in a building that is haunted with memories of him and I.”

He takes a deep breath squeezing your hand. “You don’t have to. I’ll help you pack your things when he’s gone to work.”

READ THE FULL STORY HERE

#seventeen x reader #seventeen reactions #seventeen smut #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen fanfic #vernon chwe smut #vernon chwe x reader #vernon chwe imagine #vernon chwe fanfic #vernon chwe x you #vernon chwe insert reader #chwe hansol smut #chwe hansol #chwe hansol x reader #my writing

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thriftyshark530 · 2 days ago

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Whumper needing to get caretaker off their trail, so they hurt whumpee as an example. Maybe caretaker is investigating whumper's crime scenes, too close to making a big score, so whumper needs to set an example. Whumper tracks caretaker from a crime scene to their home, waiting with their henchmen outside for the right moment to strike. When the time comes, caretaker and whumpee are dragged out of their own home. Two henchmen hold down a struggling caretaker, while another holds down whumpee.

"Whumpee, it's going to be ok, I promise" caretaker desperately calls out to whumpee. Whumpee nods as whumper walks between them.

"Oh, we'll just have to see about that." Whumper scoffs, kneeling in front of caretaker, hooking a finger under their chin. "You have been a naughty little shit, haven't you? Busting my operations left and right, profits going down, trying to find my hideout. No no no, we can't have anymore of that, can we?".

"Please..." Caretaker squeaks out, their lip quivering as they struggle to hold back their tears. "You don't have to do this".

Whumper begins to chuckle, releasing their hold on caretaker's chin as they stand up and begin to approach whumpee.

"You know, they all say that. You don't have to do this" whumper laughs as they motion for henchmen to release whumpee. "WHICH IS WHAT MAKES IT SO MUCH MORE FUN" whumper roars as they slam a kick into whumpee's rib cage.

"STOP" Caretaker cries out, beginning to struggle against whumpers henchmen. Whumpee starts violently coughing as they cover up their body, waiting for more blows.

Whumper begins stomping down on whumpee, breaking ribs and crushing whumpee's hands under their boot, enjoying the sight of the broken whumpee before them. Whumper's henchmen forcing caretaker to watch every blow that whumpee takes. Whumper then drops to their knees over whumpee, moving whumpee's arms, revealing whumpee's bruised face.

"Aw, look at you, already such a mess, aren't you?" Whumper whispers, raising their fist and slamming it into whumpees face, repeating over and over. Whumper ignores caretakers pleads to stop as they keep pounding into whumpee's face. Whumper only stops when their hand is covered in whumpee's blood.

"well, I got a bit too excited there" whumper exclaims before standing up, rolling the unconscious whumpee to their side to face caretaker. Caretaker gasps at the sight of whumpee, not able to hold back their tears anymore as they begin calling whumpee's name.

"So much more beautiful now, wouldn't you agree, caretaker?" Whumper says with a devilish grin as they close the gap to caretaker. Forcefully grabbing some of caretakers hair and making them look up. "This is what happens when you fuck with me" whumper growls. "You'll leave this all in the past, and never interfere with my business again, do you understand?"

Caretaker nods, desperately agreeing to whumper's terms.

"Great, so glad we have an understanding. Well, we're off, hope we get to do this again sometime, right caretaker?"

Whumper motions for henchmen to let go of caretaker. Before whumper and their men get far, caretaker is already over whumpee. Peeling their broken body off the ground, sobbing into whumpee's neck as they hold them tightly.

Bonus points if caretaker does give up the case. And after whumpee recovers, they try to convince caretaker to take down whumper. Caretaker refusing, not wanting whumpee to get hurt again, but whumpee is adamant that caretaker continues their work.

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lovelyshu · 2 days ago

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HOW CAN I WRITE LOVE INTO REALITY? — with jeongin

description. who knew that a study session could lead to love confessions.

tags. gn!reader, best friends!reader and jeongin, not proofread, short(?)

comments. hii, had this idea from these pictures so uhhh, enjoy??

You and Jeongin have been friend for years now. Ever since middle school, you two never separated from each other.

And some people even went to the point of shipping you two. I mean, he's always looking for you and vice versa. It's not hard to think that you're dating him.

Well, maybe you even enjoyed it.

Not that anyone else needs to know that. Especially Jeongin.

The more you spent time with him, more those feelings would get harder and harder to ignore.

And lucky for you, today was going to be one of your studies sessions with him.

You were waiting for him to arrive, already reading some of the content so you have an idea on what to do.

Not even a few moments later, you heard knocking, and you felt a bit embarrassed from how quick you got up to open the door, even daring to stop in front of it so it didn't sound like you were desperate for him to come.

I mean, you obviously weren't.

“Hey, come in.”

There wasn't a need for extended or formal greetings anymore, so you usually just say the same thing and he nods with a smile.

You two walked to your room, which was a bit messier than usual from all the intense studying from the last days.

“Please excuse the mess, I have been focusing too much on these tests and a clean room isn't my top priority right now.”

The only reason you stopped talking was because you heard him laugh, already making himself comfortable on your bed.

“It's fine. You don't need to die from nervousness. We're friends, in case you've forgotten.”

You know he meant that in a way that you're not strangers.

But his words still made you sad for a moment, that you sure as hell hoped he didn't noticed.

“Yeah yeah, let's just start this please. I feel like I'm going to fail even my name on this subject.”

That only made him laugh even more, which eventually, made you laugh as well.

After an hour or two studying non stop, you started to get tired. Which Jeongin noticed right away.

“Let's have a break. You look like you're going to sleep on top of those books.” — he was trying to make a joke, but what he said was true. You were looking very tired.

“No, let's continue. I think I'm starting to understand this.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, and before your brain could process it, Jeongin was standing right in front of you.

“There's no 'no'. We're taking a break now.”

There was no reason to try to protest, your body might be okay, but your mind was basically shutting itself down and refusing to read anything.

Jeongin sat down next to you, hesitantly moving your head to his shoulder.

Which surprised you, and honestly, even himself.

It's not like you haven't been in this position before, but this time it felt different. It felt more..

Intimate.

And you're pretty sure he thinks the same, since he's been pretty quiet and that's a rare occurrence between you two.

The half awkward silence stayed for a little longer, until he poked your side, getting your attention.

Jeongin didn't say a word, only putting something on your lap and looking away.

You saw what he had handed you - a letter. Listen, you were by no means someone too delusional or anything, but you were almost sure this was a love letter.

Your eyes were focused solely on the paper, carefully opening it and slowly reading what was written.

With each word you felt your heart beating faster, a soft, but noticeable tint of red creeping on your cheeks.

You were about to say something, but Jeongin was faster.

“I know this isn't the best moment and all, but I'm not sure when will I have the courage to give this to you again.”

Looking at him, you couldn't help but smile. This was one of the rare moments where he was truly embarrassed and even flustered. Because of you, nonetheless.

“Before we do anything about this, just know that.. I love you too.”

Now, it was a shock he didn't broke his neck from how fast he turned around to face you.

You two stared at each other, not sure on what to do or what to say. Well, until you pulled him for a kiss.

It wasn't by any means a long kiss or anything, but it was enough to pass the message.

He smiled at you and you mirrored his smile, feeling zero interest in going back to study.

Wanting to only enjoy this moment.

#೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 single ⠀ᰋ #jeongin x reader #jeongin #skz #skz x reader #gn reader #stray kids #stray kids x reader #i.n x reader #i.n

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daisymbin · 4 hours ago

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vernon angst 46 please! any ending is fine 🫶

will do!!! thank you for requesting 🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist!

angst prompt #46: "we can't keep doing this."

it’s late, too late, but you’re here again. the soft knock on the door was all it took for hansol to let you in, like he always does. his heart is a traitor; it betrays him every time, even when his mind knows better.

you’re standing in his living room now, avoiding his gaze, and he doesn’t know if he’s relieved or angry about it. the air is heavy, thick with unspoken words, the kind that choke him when he tries to sleep.

“you didn’t have to come,” he says, voice quiet but strained, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets. he doesn’t mean it, not really, but it’s the kind of thing he thinks he should say.

“i wanted to,” you reply, just as softly, but you’re looking at your hands, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your jacket. you’re always like this—distant but close enough to ruin him.

he takes a deep breath, the weight of everything between you pressing on his chest. “we can’t keep doing this,” he says suddenly, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. his voice cracks, just slightly, and it feels like he’s tearing himself apart.

your head snaps up, eyes wide, like you didn’t see this coming. maybe you didn’t, or maybe you just didn’t want to. “what are you talking about?”

he laughs, bitter and short, like the kind of laugh you give when there’s nothing left to say but too much to feel. “you know what i’m talking about. this. us. whatever this is.”

you flinch, and it hurts him more than it should. but he presses on, because if he doesn’t say it now, he never will. “you show up when it’s convenient, when you’re sad, when you’re lonely, but then what? you leave. every time.” his voice rises, not loud but enough to echo in the silence.

“it’s not like that,” you protest, but it’s weak, and you both know it.

“then what is it?” he snaps, the frustration finally boiling over. “what are we? because i can’t keep pretending this doesn’t hurt.”

your lips part, like you’re about to say something, but nothing comes out. your silence is louder than any excuse, any half-hearted apology you could give.

“do you even care?” he asks, quieter now, the fight draining out of him. “or am i just... someone you run to because it’s easy?”

“hansol, that’s not fair,” you whisper, but your voice wavers, and it’s all the answer he needs.

he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “no, what’s not fair is the way you look at me like i mean something, only to disappear the second i think i can believe it.”

you take a step closer, and he backs away instinctively, the space between you feeling both too much and not enough. “i didn’t mean to—”

“but you did,” he cuts you off, voice sharper than he wants it to be. “you always do.”

the tears in your eyes are the final blow, because he knows he’s hurting you, and he hates it. but he also hates the way you’ve been hurting him, over and over, with every fleeting moment you give him only to take it all away.

“maybe you don’t know what you’re doing,” he says, softer now, almost like he’s talking to himself. “but i do. i know what it feels like to hope, to think maybe this time it’ll be different, only to be wrong again.”

you’re crying now, silent tears streaming down your face, and he looks away because if he doesn’t, he’ll break.

“i can’t do this anymore,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “i can’t keep letting you in, knowing you’ll leave. it’s killing me.”

“hansol, please,” you choke out, but there’s nothing left to say.

he looks at you one last time, taking in the way you’re falling apart in front of him. it’s ironic, he thinks, how the person breaking him is the same one he wants to hold together.

“go,” he says, barely audible, but the weight in his voice makes it feel final. “just... go.”

you hesitate, like you want to fight, but then you turn and walk toward the door. the soft click of it closing behind you feels like the end of everything, and maybe it is.

hansol sinks onto the couch, head in his hands, as the silence wraps around him like a suffocating blanket. he knows he did the right thing, but it doesn’t feel like it.

it feels like losing, like ripping out a piece of himself and leaving it in your hands, knowing you’ll never give it back.

and as the minutes stretch into hours, he sits there, drowning in the quiet, wondering if you’ll ever come back—and knowing, deep down, that he hopes you don’t.

#seventeen imagine #seventeen #svt #svt x reader #svt angst #seventeen x reader #seventeen angst #vernon seventeen #seventeen vernon #vernon angst #angst vernon #vernon fanfic #vernon imagines #hansol vernon chwe #hansol #vernon chwe x reader #chwe hansol x reader #hansol x reader #daisymbin: reqs

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dollyonm0lly · 18 hours ago

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babe that is H.O.T, please give us more???

i literally can‘t decide if i like shared slave!reader or poly wife!reader more with these two ginger freaks

but just imagining being trapped between them on the imperial bed, literally bodies pressed so tithtly together because they both want to be as close as possible to you,

one underneath you, deep inside you, arms wrapped around your waist and pulling you down, the other above you, chest pressed to your back, also deeep inside you, his hands pinning yours to the bed below, his face buried in the crook of your neck and they just thrust in and out 🥵

and this is a nightly occurrence because you are married to them both and this is how they try to make an heir for the throne

"Stop... Fucking moving..." You can hear Geta hissing in a whisper between panting breaths, one of his hands pinning both of yours to the fluffy cushions of the huge bed, fit for three to occupy. His other hand rests on your hip, near one of your buttocks and a little below one of his brother's hands, Caracalla keeping both of his firmly on your waist. There's a minute of silence, Geta trying to get used to the suffocatingly, pleasurable sensation of being inside your ass today, you can't see it, but you feel that he has his eyes closed, trying to hold himself back from cumming right on the spot, giving this the reason for his insistence that everyone stop their movements for a minute. It's hot, being between them, sweaty, you can feel Geta's chest against your back, his head resting in the area between your shoulder and neck, the soft texture of his belly, his happy trail that runs down to his pubic mound tickling against your skin. His chest rises and falls against you with each breath, not that you're in a different predicament, given the friction of your breasts against Caracalla's chest, your nipples rubbing deliciously against his sweaty skin, making you have to bite your lower lip tightly to contain your excitement, the nipples of your breasts harden more and more with each small touch against Caracalla's chest hair, and just as much as he can see your expression of pure anticipation, he can feel it, the way you throb and tighten your vaginal walls even more on his cock, your slick running down his balls and falling to the mattress, making him let out a faint moan in reaction. His tongue licks over his golden tooth, letting out an impatient click.

"I said... FUCK!" Geta proclaims in complaint when, lacking patience, Caracalla uses his firm hold on your waist to push you up and then brutally down his length, making Geta's cock also slightly move inside of your ass. The action results in Caracalla laughing in disdain at his brother's irritation, and Geta's nails digging impulsively into the soft skin of your butt, earning them both a moan of a great mix of pleasure and pain coming from you, who is always the ragdoll in all of their stupid little fight, you wouldn't say you are complaining though.

"Stop being a wimp, she's basically begging for it already" Caracalla says with a little smile that could have been an attempt to comfort you, one of his hands leaving its place on your waist and going to your hair, pulling it hard to remove your head that until then was resting on one of your outstretched arms, the act allows him to finally look you in the eyes, your eyes drooping, your chin now soaked in your own saliva, you didn't even realize you had drooled, Caracalla makes sure to clean it, his tongue running from your chin to your lips, capturing them in a hungry kiss. You're not sure how Geta took Caracalla's comment, but certainly not so well, since the only thing you can remember is the merciless rhythm of both of them and your moans muffled each time by one of the brothers' lips, your legs that trembled in ecstasy, how your body was moved the way they wanted, too fucked out of your own mind to know what even was happening anymore.

#emperor geta x reader #emperor caracalla x reader

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daryltwdixon · 3 days ago

Text

The Heart of Us: Chapter 12

warnings!!! this chapter contains smut!!!

wanted to give it a try and see how everyone liked this, but I'm also thinking of taking it out and keeping it clean as usual. lmk your thoughts please!

Daryl

Daryl walks with Y/N along the wall of Alexandria into the early evening, the shadows of the massive steel panels stretching long across the ground. The quiet hum of the community buzzes faintly behind them— people chatting on their porches, working in the gardens, kids running around and dogs barking. The noise still feels weird, but between the two of them, it’s just asphalt under their boots as he tries to steady your breathing.

He feels her cast a glance at him, his shoulders hunched slightly, his crossbow slung lazily across his back. His hair falls in messy strands that catch the last bits of light as he trudges alongside her, every step radiating irritation. He can tell that she's not much better off—her hands flexing and curling into fists at her sides as if trying to physically wring out the tension still humming through your veins.

“You gonna tell me what the hell happened out there?” Daryl asks suddenly, his voice low and gravelly, cutting through the thick silence. His eyes dart to Y/N, sharp and searching.

She exhales heavily, her jaw tightening as she pushes your hair back from her face. “It was stupid,” she mutters, not quite meeting his gaze. “Aiden and Nicholas thought it’d be a good idea to tie up walkers. As some kind of... ritual. A ‘pregame,’ they called it. Then they lost control of one.”

His pace slows slightly, his head tilting as his expression darkens. “They what?”

“They tried to tie it up again,” she snaps, irritation lacing her voice. “And when it broke loose, the asshole practically threw it at me. Glenn backed me up,”

Daryl stops walking, turning to face her fully. His mouth opens as if to say something, but instead, his hands flex at his sides, his jaw working as he grinds his teeth. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, dangerous as he looks back in the direction they came from, “Should’ve broken their damn arms.”

She sighs, shaking her head. “It’s not worth it,” you say, though the words feel hollow. “I don’t want to deal with them. But... Glenn, Tara, Noah—they’re stuck with those idiots if I’m not there. I don’t want to leave them hanging.”

Daryl narrows his eyes at her, his irritation shifting to something sharper. “You think I care ‘bout them bein’ stuck with those pricks? I care ‘bout you, alright?” He takes a step closer, his voice rising slightly. “You almost got killed. That ain’t happenin’ again.”

Her lips press into a thin line, the annoyance bubbling back up. “Daryl—”

“No,” he cuts her off, shaking his head. “You ain’t goin’ out on those runs anymore. Not with them.”

She crosses her arms, glaring at him. “So what, I just sit here? Watch everyone else deal with their shit while I hide behind these walls?”

“You ain’t hidin’,” he growls, his gaze locking on hers. “You’re keepin’ alive.”

She exhales harshly, the fight in her dampened slightly by the look in his eyes. It’s not just anger—it’s fear, the kind that ties knots in stomachs. He doesn’t back down, though, his stance firm and unyielding. She rubs at the back of your neck, glancing at the ground. Maybe she's realizing she'd feel the same way if it happened to him.

“Fine,” she finally mutters reluctantly, “But you better believe I’m not happy about it.”

“Didn’t think ya would be,” he says, his voice softening just slightly. “But I ain’t losin’ you ‘cause of some damn fools who don’t know what they’re doin’.”

The silence stretches between them, heavy but not entirely uncomfortable. After a moment, Y/N glances toward the gate, then back at Daryl, “Let's go hunt.” she offers, and his eyes find you again, “Clear our heads–it felt good to be out there, despite everything.”

He nods, his lips twitching in what might’ve been the start of a smirk. “’Bout time.”

Together, they make your way to the gate. Sasha stands nearby, leaning against the wall with her rifle slung across her chest. She glances at the two of them, her expression sharp and unreadable, but she doesn’t say a word. Instead, she just gives a slight nod, her gaze lingering as they slip through the opening and into the woods beyond.

The quiet of the trees greets him like an old friend, the tension in his chest easing slightly as the forest wraps around them. Daryl walks ahead, his steps lighter now, more deliberate. She follows close behind, the sounds of Alexandria fading with every step, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds. For the first time since stepping back inside those walls, he starts to feel like himself again.

➳

The woods stretch out, quiet and still, as Daryl keeps his pace steady. The golden light from the setting sun filters through the canopy, dappling the ground in warm hues. The air feels different out here—cleaner, freer—and the irritation that had been simmering in his chest since the scene at the gate begins to fade, little by little. The crunch of leaves under his boots and the faint dampness in the air feel familiar, grounding, like slipping back into an old habit.

He glances over his shoulder, just to check. She’s there, walking a few steps behind him, her movements lighter, more measured now that the tension of Alexandria is behind her. The sight of her out here—away from those walls, those people—makes something in his chest ease. She belongs in the woods, same as him.

Daryl keeps moving, scanning the ground and the edges of the trees for any sign of game. It’s not just about the hunt—it’s about shaking off the day, the frustration still buzzing low in his blood.

“Y’think you’ll get anything?” she asks after a while, her voice soft enough not to disturb the quiet.

He doesn’t look back this time, his eyes sweeping the forest floor. “Dunno,” he mutters, keeping his tone low. “‘Least I ain’t stuck in there listenin’ to their bullshit.”

She huffs a quiet laugh, and he catches it, faint but sharp enough to pull at the corner of his mouth. His pace slows as he spots a clearing up ahead, and he veers toward it, scanning for signs of movement or fresh tracks.

The ground tells the story first. Daryl stops and crouches, his fingers brushing over a faint trail in the dirt. Hoofprints. He studies them, tracing the edges with his fingertips, feeling the soft crumble of the soil. Fresh. He frowns slightly, piecing together the direction and size as he gauges how far the deer might’ve gone. It’s a good trail—something to focus on, something to quiet the irritation still simmering low in his gut.

But then he glances up, and the thought disappears like smoke.

She’s leaning casually against a tree, her arms crossed over her chest, more comfortable than he’s seen her the past few days. Except she’s not wearing the flannel he’d made her throw on earlier—the one he’d pulled from her hips when she’d said goodbye to him before her run. No, now it’s just her damn tank top, damp from the heat of the evening and clinging in all the wrong—no, all the right—places.

His jaw tightens as his gaze flicks over her quickly, like he’s trying to look without actually looking. But it’s damn near impossible not to notice the way the sweat beads lightly on her collarbone, catching the fading sunlight. Or the way the fabric molds to her chest, perfectly outlining what he’s trying so hard not to think about. Braless. As fucking always.

She’d be the death of him.

Daryl curses under his breath, looking back down at the tracks like they’ve got the answer to his problems. They don’t. Not even close. He shifts his weight, adjusting his crossbow on his shoulder and trying to get a grip on himself.

“Find somethin’?” she asks softly from behind him, her voice cutting through the quiet and slicing through his thoughts.

“Yeah,” he mutters, not looking up this time. “Tracks. Fresh.” He stands, brushing his hand on his pants and glancing to the side, deliberately avoiding her gaze. But when she steps closer, right into his space, his breath catches despite himself. He should be used to this by now—the way she affects him so deeply, how just a little skin showing has his pulse hammering in his ears.

He can feel her eyes on him, curious and unbothered, like she doesn’t have the faintest idea what she’s doing to him just by standing there. His fingers twitch at his sides, his jaw tightening as he swallows hard, forcing himself to focus.

“You okay?” she asks, her tone dipping just slightly, and it sends a ripple through him he’s not prepared for.

“’M fine,” he grunts, his voice harsher than he means it to be. But he can’t help it—can’t help the way her presence makes his pulse race, the way the heat from her skin seems to reach him even though she’s not touching.

“You sure?” she presses, stepping even closer now, her brows furrowed slightly, like she’s trying to read his thoughts.

He doesn’t answer, just looks at her finally—really looks—and it’s a mistake. Her cheeks are flushed from the heat, a few strands of hair sticking to her neck. And that damn tank top. His eyes flicker down to her chest again, just for a second, and the sight sends a jolt through him, making his heart thunder and his body tighten in ways he can’t ignore.

“Ya shouldn’t’ve taken off that flannel,” he mutters, his voice rough and uneven as he looks away again, his ears burning.

She raises an eyebrow, and he can see the faint smirk pulling at her lips. “Why not? It’s hot.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, shifting uncomfortably, “you’re gonna get scratched up or somethin’. Ain’t safe.” He’s rambling now, and he knows it, but it’s better than admitting the real reason.

She doesn’t let him off that easy. “Pretty sure I’ll survive,” she teases, her voice soft but pointed, and she takes another step closer.

Daryl tenses, every muscle in his body coiling tight. She’s so damn close now, close enough that he can smell the faint salt of her sweat mixed with the woods around her. He clenches his fists at his sides, the effort of keeping his hands to himself almost painful.

“Y/N…” he growls low, a warning he doesn’t even know how to finish.

Her smirk widens, and she tilts her head, like she’s daring him to finish the thought. “What, Dixon?” she asks, her voice dipping into something that sends his restraint snapping like a twig underfoot.

He catches the glimmer of her wedding ring on her finger in the fading light peeking through the trees. His wife. His.

Without thinking, he stands and closes the gap between them, his hands finding her waist and pinning her back against the tree behind her. He makes sure to keep her head from ricocheting against the harsh bark, one hand cupping the back of her head as he leans her back. She lets out a soft gasp, her eyes going wide for a split second before they darken, her lips parting in a way that damn near ruins him.

“You,” he mutters, his voice rough as gravel, “You drive me fuckin’ crazy.”

Daryl’s hands then grip her waist tightly, his calloused fingers rough against the bare skin peeking out beneath her tank top. His body presses her firmly against the tree, chest pressing against his, and he feels her hardening nipples against the fabric of his shirt, making him groan against your lips as he catches them with his own. He’s near desperate and unrelenting– kissing Y/N like he’s been starving for it, even if he’d had her all to himself just yesterday. Her fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and a low, guttural sound rumbles in his throat. His hips press into hers, the hard line of him against her hips and stomach, causing her to gasp against his lips.

But as his lips trail down her neck, his stubble scraping against her soft and trembling skin, he hears her whimper, her voice coming out breathless, “Daryl... we can’t. Not out here.”

His head snaps up, and his eyes find hers, dark and almost feral, “Why the hell not?” he mutters, his voice low and gravelly as his thumb brushes her hip bone, dipping just under the waistband of her pants.

She glances around the woods, her breaths coming quick. “We’re out in the open,” she hisses, your voice wavering, his mouth returns to your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “What if someone, what if walkers—”

“Then you better keep quiet,” he growls into her ear, his voice rough and commanding, and he feels her shiver against him.

Before she can even argue, his lips claim hers again, silencing whatever protest she might’ve had. His hands move with purpose, sliding under her tank top, fingers brushing over the bare skin that’s been driving him crazy all damn day. When he cups her breasts, his thumb and forefinger twisting hardened nipples, and a low groan escapes him. He kneads and grips at her, rough but deliberate, as if he’s been holding himself back for too long.

Her back arches into him, and her mouth parts instinctively, letting him push his tongue between her lips, exploring and tasting. Spearmint. The flavor hits him, sharp and unexpected—a change from the days on the road when brushing your teeth was a luxury. It’s new, fresh, and he ravages the taste of it as his hands keep working her, his rough palms skimming the soft, plump curves of her chest.

The way she presses into him, her body moving perfectly with his, sends heat rushing through him, and his lips move to her neck, his teeth scraping along your skin before his tongue soothes the marks. Her hands fall to his belt, fumbling with the buckle as his hips grind into hers, the rough bark of the tree biting into her back, only amplifying the heat of his body against hers.

His breath is hot against her collarbone, and he mutters, voice thick with want, “C’mon…” His hands slide lower, gripping the backs of Y/N's thighs and hoisting her up slightly. She clings to him, her legs tightening instinctively as he pins her more firmly against the tree. “Ain’t no one out here but us.”

Her head falls back, exposing more of her neck to him, and he takes full advantage, his mouth trailing lower. His teeth nipping just below her collarbone before his tongue sweeps over the skin, soothing the sting. Her breath hitches, and when she bites your lip to stifle a moan, it nearly undoes him.

“Daryl…” she groans, your fingers digging into his shoulders, her voice shaky and strained. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he mutters into her skin, his lips quirking into a smirk as he pushes the tank top higher. It was the second time she'd said it to him today, and he was starting to think she might only be saying it to feign your reluctance. His mouth trails along the curve of her chest, taking a nipple between his lips, tongue lapping at the hard bud, leaving heat in its wake. “And you love it.”

She doesn't bother denying it, and he doesn’t need to hear it. The way her nails pull at his hair, scraping his scalp enough that the tug makes him groan, and the way she presses into him, needy and desperate, tell him everything he needs to know.

Every touch, every kiss, snaps the tension between them like a live wire. His head comes back up, eyes wild as he looks at her, his breath ragged as he growls low in her ear, his voice dripping with arousal. “You gonna stay quiet for me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, “or do I need to remind you how?”

She whimpers, nodding frantically, her lips parting as she tries to catch her breath. The look on her face—needy, pleading—nearly makes him crumble, but he holds it together, driven by the way her body arches into him, asking—begging— for more. His pants fall to the forest floor, his rough hands letting go of her perfectly taut and heavy breasts to push her shorts down next. His hands move to her waistband, yanking her pants lower with a roughness that makes her gasp, his calloused fingers brushing her skin, leaving trails of heat that seem to burn right through her. He doesn’t bother with finesse, taking only one leg out of the pant legs before hoisting it up around his waist.

Daryl’s hand moves down, his thick fingers brushing against her slick center, and he groans, low and guttural, when he feels how wet she is for him. The sound comes from deep in his throat, more animal than man, and his head drops to her shoulder for a moment as he savors the feeling of her arousal coating his fingertips.

“All this fer me?” he rasps, his voice low and gravelly, barely audible through the heat and tension thrumming between them. His words are almost a growl, the disbelief and desire in his tone making her body tremble. She clings to him, panting as she nods, her nails biting into his shoulders now, silently pleading for more.

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice shaking, and the word pushes him closer to the edge of control.

He pulls his hand back, his fingers curling around himself, fisting a few times as his forehead presses against hers again. He lines himself up with her, the tip teasing at her entrance, and then he pushes in, slow and steady, letting out a ragged breath as he feels her take him in, inch by inch. Her head falls back against the tree, jaw slackening as a soft, stifled cry escapes her lips. The tight, wet heat of her around him nearly undoes him, and it takes everything in him not to lose himself right then.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice strained as his hands grip her hips, holding her steady. “You feel so fuckin’ good, girl.”

She bites your lip, her hands gripping tighter at his shoulders as he starts to move, his hips rolling into her slow and deliberate. The friction sends sparks through both of them, every thrust drawing a muffled gasp from her lips as her nails dig into him again. He fights the urge to speed up, to let go completely. He knows the woods aren’t safe enough for him to let her scream the way he loves to hear when they're alone, but it’s hard to hold back when she feels this good.

Daryl leans in, his lips brushing against her neck, his teeth grazing your skin. “Gotta keep quiet, remember?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing as his hips grind against her a little harder, making her shudder against him. “Can’t have the dead hearin’ how good I’m makin’ ya feel.”

Her breath hitches, and she nods again, her thighs tightening around him as he thrusts into her deeper, harder now, his control fraying with every muffled sound she makes. His lips trail down to her collarbone, sucking and biting lightly, leaving marks he knows he'll see later. Marks that’ll remind everyone that she's his and no one else’s. His grip tightens on her hips, his fingers digging into her skin as he drives into her with a rough, deliberate rhythm, every thrust making her body press harder against the bark of the tree. His lips brush against the curve of her ear again, his voice a low, gravelly growl.

“Ain’t no one ever gonna touch you but me,” he mutters, her hair tickling his lips. He feels her clench around him at his hot breath against her skin, the words he growls, “Those fuckin’ pricks think they can control you, swing at you… they try anything like that again, I’ll break every damn bone in their bodies.”

He takes her soft earlobe between his teeth, his words laced with raw possession and need. “You hear me? You’re mine. Always been mine.”

Her nails dig into his shoulders, sharp enough to sting, but it only pushes him further. The way she clings to him, her breath coming in soft gasps against his neck, makes his chest tighten and his hips slam into her harder. The sound of her voice—breathless, desperate—is a damn drug, and he’s too far gone to hold back.

“They don’t get to touch what’s mine,” he growls, his lips now traveling down her jaw, “Don’t even get to fuckin’ think about it.” His words come out rough, thick with everything he’s feeling—anger, possession, need.

He pulls back just enough to look at her, his forehead pressed against hers, his breath coming in short, hot bursts. Her eyes meet his, hooded and hazy with arousal, and it drives him insane, “I’ll make sure they never forget it.”

He slams into her harder, his hands rough as he holds her hips, his lips crashing into hers again. It’s messy and all-consuming, and his words keep tumbling out between ragged breaths and kisses.

The way she shudders against him, the way she whimpers in response, almost brings him to the edge once again, but he's not done. His hands grip her even tighter, his thumbs pressing into her skin hard enough that he knows it’ll leave marks. The thought of it—his marks on you, his claim—elicits another growl from his chest.

Her lips part, and the sound of his name falls from her mouth like a prayer. “I’m yours, Daryl,” she pants, hanging onto him with desperation. “All yours.”

She cling to him, your her arching as he can feel her nearing close and closer to her finish. His growls mix with her muffled cries, the two of them moving together in a rhythm that feels as natural as breathing.

“My wife ,” he breathes, his voice breaking, and he presses his lips to hers again, rough and hungry. She's his, and he’ll do anything—hurt, kill anyone—to keep it that way.

His hand slides down to the back of her knee, lifting her higher, adjusting the angle just enough to make her gasp sharply into his mouth. He takes advantage of the sound, swallowing it with another deep kiss as he thrusts into her harder, deeper. The friction between them is electric, every roll of his hips drawing a muffled cry from her lips that makes him burn hotter.

“That’s right, baby,” he mutters against her lips, his voice rough and raw as his hips snap into her again. “Take it. Take all of me.”

She clings tighter to him, her body arching and moving with his in perfect rhythm, every inch of her responding to him like she was made for this—made for him. The tension in his gut builds sharp and fast, coiling tighter with every muffled sound she makes, every time her nails rake over his skin.

Her thighs tighten around him, and he knows she's close, feels it in the way her body shakes and clenches around him. He buries his face in her neck, his lips dragging along her skin, his breath hot and uneven.

“C’mon,” he growls into her ear, his voice breaking as he thrusts harder, faster, losing himself completely. “Cum with me. Let me feel you, baby. Let me fuckin’ feel it.”

Y/N's body responds, tensing and arching into him as she cries out his name, her release hitting her hard. He clamps a hand over her mouth to muffle the cries, but he can hardly control himself. The way she flutters around him, the way her nails dig into him as she falls apart, is all it takes to send him over the edge. His hips stutter, and he buries himself deep one last time, his own release crashing through him like a tidal wave.

He groans low in her ear, his arms wrapping tightly around her as he holds her against the tree, both of them shaking and breathless. For a moment, the world is quiet except for the sound of her ragged breathing and the steady thrum of his heartbeat pounding in his chest. His forehead presses against hers again, his eyes slipping shut.

“You good?” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, his hands still gripping her thighs, letting both of them catch their breath together, intertwined in more ways than one.

She nods, fingers brushing lightly through his damp hair, and he lets out a breathy laugh, rough and low in his chest. “M’sorry,” he breathes, his lips ghosting over your skin as he opens his eyes. “Get a little…”

“I loved it,” she chuckles softly, cutting him off, her voice filled with warmth. “I’m yours. I love you.” Her breath wafts over his face, and his eyes darken at the admission, as if it’s the first time he’s hearing it. “But you know I can handle those pricks, don’t ya?”

His lips twitch, curving into a faint smile as he gently sets her back down, his hands steadying until her legs find balance. He lingers, his thumb brushing her waist before he lets go, watching as she readjusts her clothes. “Yeah,” he says finally, tugging his pants back up and fastening them. “But I ain’t gonna stand and watch ‘em try to throw punches at you, neither.”

She huffs out a soft laugh, grabbing the flannel she'd tossed aside earlier and shrugging it back on. As she buttons it, his fingers catch her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. The lazy, hooded smile on her face makes his heart skip, and the heat in her eyes stirs a flicker of something that hasn’t quite settled yet.

His lips brush hers again, this time soft and unhurried, savoring the moment, drawing it out. When he pulls back, his rough fingers linger on her jaw for just a second longer than necessary. “‘nd I love ya too,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm.

Releasing her face, he steps back and adjusts his crossbow back onto his shoulder. “Now,” he says, the familiar gruffness returning to his tone, “let’s find dinner.”

She smirks, smoothing down her flannel as she glances around the quiet woods. “Sure we didn’t scare it off?”

He huffs out a dry laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching. “If we did,” he mutters, his eyes trailing over her one last time, “reckon it was worth it.”

#the heart of us #daryl dixon #the walking dead #twd daryl #daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #daryl twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction

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lonenime · 24 hours ago

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This is what I thought of Dream and Nightmare how they start to hate each other... After Nightmare eating all the negative apples ( idk what's it called, i don't have the knowledge of the real story of DreamTale ok!... No hates please! For the love of...)

---------------------------

Nightmare: There, there, Now you Rest... I'll take care of everything for you stead, I'll make them pay for it.

Nightmare embracing Passive Nightmare after all the suffering he's been through before totally becoming (Goopy Squishy Noot Noot >:3) Corrupted Nightmare.

Then out of nowhere a familiar voice. Somewhat he can sense how scared and shocked, denial they are as he vividly called him.

Dream: Br-brother...

Nightmare thought that Dream would understand him no matter what, but after seeing how Dream look at him with fear. He can't help but let out a eerie smile that made Dream step back after giving too much negativity.

Nightmare: It's me, Dream... I've solved the problem, brother. What they all wanted me to do for a very long time.

As if Nightmare is celebrating in joy now that his finally free from being contained, cursed, bullied and tortured by the villagers for just they're own enjoyment/satisfaction. Dream can't help but be worried for his brother. But no words came out from him like something is stopping him to help his brother.

Nightmare put his hand on the trunk of Tree of feelings, a very fresh cut tree. Before going back his glanced into a terrified Dream.

Nightmare: They won't bother me anymore with this so much magic. (Grinning before proceeding) I must say Mother really doesn't want us taking these apples huh... With how much we could do with it. Think about it brother with the world in grasp of our hands.

Nightmare showing his hands grasping in Dream direction like his crushing Dream on his hands. This made Dream stiffened like he can't move, so many questions going through his head that he want to speak out to Nightmare but only one word came out of his mouth.

Dream: Why...

Nightmare can't help but to chuckled for Dream still questioning and confusion for all of this.

Nightmare: Oh.... Dream. You pitiful, pathetic insolent Idiot fool. Can't you see this is ME now! (Putting his hand into his chest. Clenching his shirt as a dark goop drip to his hand and the tentacles aggressively move in his back) I should have done this from the very beginning yet something or someone is holding me back.

Glaring at Dream like any minute his going to kill him but he managed to calm his self as he thought he had so much time to do it later.

Nightmare: Dream join me let's rule the whole world, with you by my side I'm sure we can conquer it all.

Nightmare reaching his hand into Dream. Dream can't help but cry with this much of sadness and agony. How he put the villagers first before his brother and putting him aside, forgot that Nightmare needed him.

Dream: You're not my Brother...

Dream didn't expect those words came out of his mouth. He got a glimpsed of passive Nightmare as Nightmare heard him said those word from him. Anger burst and Nightmare menacingly glared at Dream how disappointed he is.

Nightmare: I thought you'll understand me, but I guess you'll never changed. This is why I grow to hate you, Dream.

As Nightmare prepared to attack Dream with his tentacles. On the last second before Nightmare tentacles managed to hit Dream he was turned into stone an unbreakable one even Nightmare can't break through it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(=∆=)// I'm sick cause of my cold, feverish and Procastinating i can't finish a comics that supposed to be post this week POPSICLES!¡!! So here you can have this instead. Bare with me I tried to make it more readable and express how I thought of this... Huehuehue T_T English is not my First language ok.

#undertale #undertale au #utmv #dreamtale #nightmare sans #dream sans #What I thought #In my head this is what happened #Hatred along Brothers

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thesaart · 3 days ago

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The concept of a Fool

(this is basically a fanfiction so I have fun with writing it. I didn't really have a full plan when I started to write this but it's about Sampo so I wrote a lot anyways)

Going through this world I realized one thing and that is, that no matter what, who I am is of no importance to the story. What is important is to know what you want, regardless if you know the ending of the story or not. If you know what you want you can steer the story into that direction. You don't need to be the protagonist, if anything it's better if you're not. You can ask yourself questions of my origin and please tell me those questions. I will answer them. Because everyone knows, someone who says they are a bad liar can spin the most magnificent of tales. What planet did you come from? Do you have a family? Any siblings? Did they die? Did you kill them? Are you human or a worm? A corpse or a puppet? I came from a pebble. My father was a needle, my mother was a leaf and my sister was a tax machine. The leaf was crushed by the tax machine and the needle broke after avenging the leaf and I was the one who smashed the tax machine. I neither leave footprints nor grooves in mud. I can take your money and I can dig a hole. So if someone gave me a mouth and taught me how to speak, tell me what would be the difference? I can walk, I can dance, I breathe and blink but if you take my hand you yourself would freeze.

When I was younger I listened to storytellers, well that wasn't their job but regardless they were good at telling them. Wonderful little tales based on what those people themself went through. To be honest whenever I listened to them I never believed a word they said. However then I realized it was never about if they happened like this or not. Because truly who cares? What does it change if the people lied or not, if those stories truly happened the way they described? I knew that with all those workers, I would take their name, listen to their tales and then they would leave and I would never see them again. So after that realization, I remembered their tales and I started to build myself with these stories as a starting point.

I made the clothes I'm wearing. Build tools based on blueprints I drew myself. I created weapons and gave them to the people that needed them. I made them specifically based on the people I would give them to. All who used my creations praised my talent as a craftsman.

There were articles written by me. They always told the truth, exposed the evil and praised the good. My word was law and could shift opinions as quickly as new trends could be created. Politicians paid me millions to praise them in my articles. And all believed my words. For I was known as the people's most trusted journalist. A new theater play started just a few weeks ago and have you heard, I'm the main attraction. The stage lights follow every step I take, the music dancing to my whims.

The audience, so focused on my every word. Applauding every note I sing. Maybe you're lucky and you can catch one of my performances.

One day I found a letter and a package in front of my door. The package had only one thing inside of it, a uniform. The letter spoke of a war and that I don't have a choice but to join it. I walked into the camp, scared but determined to defend my home land. I was handed a weapon, a gun, that was clearly used. Who knows who had used it before. I entered the battlefield, screams were the first thing I heard.

I fought and killed, defended myself from the enemies. I saw comrades die. I held them, hugging them till I could not feel the beating of their hearts anymore. I sat behind the walls of broken buildings hoping that I would come out alive.

In all my time I had seen so much. I saw how people were exploited and their worries and needs stayed forever ignored. The governments whose only purpose it was to stand with its people, spitting on the ones who they were supposed to protect and aid. I hated them so much, I hated the hypocrisy behind their actions. I joint group after group to tear it all to the ground. I helped liberate nations and become an enemy of the ones who tried to stop me. I fought for freedom.

I grew up as an orphan with no coin to my name, no one ever gave me aid. They saw a sad little boy destined to starve on the streets. The only thing that was thrown my way were looks of pity. so I hid and observed. I saw what the ones around me were doing to earn money. The shop owners lied to every customer, inflating the prices of their goods. Street performers would make the audience gamble away all they had. Other children would beg and use the looks of pity to their advantage. I observed and learnt. I took from people what was precious to them and changed the appearance of what I stole. Then I went to the ones it once belonged to and sold it back to them. I build a name of a salesman who knew exactly what others wanted. A trusted man with quality goods and the price, always fair. It wasn't my fault if the goods quickly broke or if the material never fully matched all the way through.

Once I organized a heist, determined to clean out every last bit of valuables that place had. First it was an attempt to right the wrongs of others. I stole, yes, but only so I could share it with the ones that actually needed the money. I told myself that for a few times but after the fifth heist I struggled to continue to tell myself that. The hostages in front of me, cowering, fear radiating in their eyes, knowing as well as I did, that all that was a lie. I didn't care about the civilians or the ones who were forgotten by society. I just liked the thrill. I never wanted the laws to change. If anything, I wanted more of them so I could break them over and over again. Then one day I realized, I was older now. Those stories, entering to tell others and myself. Now both, wrong, just tales, stories of workers I listened to as a child and also true, having earned experiences, I found myself in all those roles. I fought in wars, killed others, and experienced starvation. I built the shell of bombs and brewed poisons to fill them. I forged the blades I use to hunt and defend myself with. I wrote articles to influence the public. Played with how easy it was to point fingers and declare something to be good or bad. I infiltrated organizations and lied to friends and the ones who trusted me. Selling the good will of others and betraying them without looking back. And between all of this I was invited to perform, to be an actor. However the stage I was destined for had no adoring audience, just a crowd that knew, as well as I did, that we were laughing into the abyss. We knew how futile all this was but we still laughed because it just was so funny. I never thought about a clear line that I wouldn't cross. Stealing was fine, ruining people's lives was alright, destroying and tearing apart order and seeing places burn, was just part of who I was. But then I found that line and stopped for just a moment. It didn't change my world view, didn't make me a better person, just gave me a new perspective. So I gave my mask to a person I knew would never give it back to me for free. Only if I would do something for her, if I would dance to her whims. So if I ever decided to go back I could be sure that it was no quick decision based on longing or boredom. After I was free of the mask, of the tavern and the laughter, I traveled. It was the same as with the fools. Truly it felt like nothing had changed. I made friends that I quickly betrayed and I joined different factions just to see how those behaved. I found myself in different taverns. The only change was just the color of the curtains.

This next bit is hazy even for me. I went to a planet I shouldn't even have known of. But I went anyway, typing in unknown and forgotten coordinates. Maybe one of the workers told me a tale about that planet or maybe someone told it to another, while a little orphan boy was listening. Regardless, when I left my ship and was greeted with the cold winds of a frozen planet, it felt like I was entering an ancient theater.

Those winds let me deeper into those ancient halls. No walls, just ice and snow. Mountains covered in a thick layer of snow, reflecting the few rays of sunshine that were able to escape the heavy blanket of clouds. Like the spotlights above a stage. After walking in the freezing cold for what felt like an eternity, with the noises of my heavy breathing as my only companion, I found myself on a cliff looking down towards a city.

Sneaking into the city was a lot easier than I thought. It felt like I was walking next to invisible footsteps, leading or suggesting a way. I observed the townspeople and listened to them. Finding out about the name of the little city and its history. Well as much history as I could glean from peoples discussions and daily gossip. One thing that was clear to me was that those people were dying. They knew their time was running out but they just went on with their lives because there was nothing else they could do.

From my perspective, I just, I don't know exactly how I felt. If anything, I think I felt disappointed. When I entered this theater's halls I thought it was a story about a place of tragedy but determination. Believing that they will come out alive that everything will be fine. All the factions I went to had at least a version of that determination but especially Qliphoths people tended to have that blind faith.

I'm not sure why, I could have left, but I didn't. This time I stayed and I stayed for a lot longer than I thought. I got to know the people of the overworld and played with their perception of me. They thought I came from the Underworld, an intriguing sounding place I was sure to visit as well. I quickly became a merchant and for some more direct and may I say ruder citizens, a scammer. Finding out what those people needed or craved was exhilarating. I played with what they wanted and seeing what they would do for just a simple distraction was fascinating. Being chased by the silver main guards was also just fun. I found myself excited by just the anticipation of what will come next? What do those people want? Where will I run and hide to today? But even though the Overworld was fun, the Underworld gave me a feeling I struggled to describe to myself for many years. The Underworld was a warm place, its people so busy running around, no time to lose. Working, providing both places with energy, mining all day. Kids running around playing, yelling at each other and laughing. The sounds of their voices and the noises of picks hitting rock and mining cards grinding on iron tracks, created a melody that was so vivid and clear to my ears, that I could almost dance to it. I let myself be carried by this atmosphere, following in the footsteps of the busy workers, offering my help and just being. I never had this much fun.

Then one day the atmosphere shifted. The gates and entry between the two places were cut off, the Silvermane Guards stationed in the Underworld were ordered to get back above ground, leaving the people alone. Priority will change opinions and perspectives but still for me and a lot of other Underworlders it felt like the Overworld decided we weren't worth their protection. With no explanation given they left them all to rot. Hoverwever surviving was a thing I was always good at and like me the Underwolders were similarly gifted in that regard. So they went back to work, now they needed to provide energy only for themselves so there was at least that. Still the places exchanged more than just energy. The underworld powered machines, providing energy for cars, for heaters, for gears to keep both cities turning. However the Overworld aided the people with food and medicine. So like at the beginning, I knew the people of the city were going to die but the way how, was now a lot clearer, a lot more vivid and I was lost. I didn't know what to do. Like everyone else in the Underworld I was stuck. I searched for ways to reach the Overworld to do something. But every time I thought I found a path, Svarog, an ancient robot that, at least judging with how stubborn the tin box was felt more human to me than robot, would find those paths as quickly as I did and destroy them. I was at my wits end, I didn't know what to do. I never was at my wits end, I always had a plan or a concept or just a spark of inspiration but at that moment my head was empty. Now, what to do when you don't know what the next step should be? I did the only thing I could think of.

I took a walk.

I kept walking blindly into any direction. The warmth around me was still there. The people were still so busy but now that warmth was fueled with something else, an undertone to that captivating melody. If it was frustration or anger or hurt I could never figure out but now the atmosphere felt like a steam engine with broken glass and dented metal.

Cracked but still moving.

Regardless of what will happen next, they will keep moving and so I will keep walking, for now, following in their steps, moving to their rhythm. I vouched that I would help them. This planet's tragedy and its people's situation and the underworld's whole existence sang to me in a way I both loved and hated. How dare they, how dare those people resonate with him? What does he have to do with they're shitty situation? Why should he even care and why doesn't he care at all about those questions right now? Does this really matter? The why or questions of how a planet, a city, people can be this unlucky. Finding a reason won't fix their situation and I don't know if answers to those questions would explain why I cared so much about those people. Especially for the people of the Underworld.

While my thoughts were powering my steps I found the ground underneath my feet change. The rock and gravel dirtying my shoes changed slowly to a soft but still slightly dirtied white. The noise of my feet sinking into the thick layer of snow and the cold winds whipping around me was the next thing that greeted me.

I smiled and spoke out loud,

“Found it.”

The moment I found this little path I made sure no one else knew of it and somehow they didn't, not even Svarog knew of its existence. The path wasn't a simple straight line either. That would have been too easy. It was more like a winding array of lines all interlinking, melting together. Traversing through it felt like I was a wild gust of wind ripping through the delegate little lines, dancing through its halls with steps somehow only I knew.

This path was all I needed because now I could be a link between the two cities.

The Overworld needed heaters? Or oh no, their fuel source is running out. Who could help them? I made my money, built my reputation and made the Silvermane Guards fairly angry at me.

A scammer who somehow seems like he can teleport, so fast and undetectable, footprints lost in snow. Come on run and try to catch me. This will keep you warm, the unpredictability and distraction of a little chaos, who could deny its effectiveness?

The things I stole? the materials I traded for? The food I could buy? Why, all of it was too much for me alone. So I gave it to the Underworld but not through my hands. My face would not greet those hungry and determined eyes. They wouldn't take it from me. They would never take it from someone who can't be trusted.

I understood the concept of trust better than most others I met, so I knew how both, fragile and also how utterly useless it was to me in this situation. The people didn't need to trust me. They needed to know me. I needed to play with their expectations so I needed to create a character that could act in ways so predictable that I could steer people into situations and places that would help me. To be able to ensure their survival for just another day. Wildfire was perfect for what I wanted to do. Like with the Silvermane Guards above ground, Wildfire was all about justice and helping the people however they could and similar to the Silvermanes, Wildfire also had a leader. However their leader was a lot easier to talk to and far less complicated in her ways of thinking as the leader of the Silvermanes.

Natasha was a truly kind person and to my annoyance a pretty smart and observant person too. One of the first times I met her I just happened to have some rations with me so when I gave them to her. Simply because a doctor would know far better how to handle those things then me and that I could give her more for a bit of info on wildfire and its members. She smiled at me, looked me in the eyes and took the supplies with her, with only a “See you later” as her answer.

I knew from her look, those eyes that read you like a book, that I need to be careful around her. I don't think she ever fully figured me out, however, she, from all the people I interacted with on that planet, came the closest to seeing through me and I would lie if I would say that that thought didn't worry me. I met other members of Wildfire and most of them reminded me of people I’ve met on my travels. A strong and straightforward but oh so rude and brash warrior, a shining light of hope and protection keeping the will and spirits of all that are around him up and running. An old general molded by fights and bureaucracy and a child so full of fire and life, making her run in chaotic and huge lines, brightening the streets wherever she goes. I aided them and the rest of Wildfire with what they needed, to help the Underworld to survive as long as they could.

The longer I stayed the more I didn't want to leave. I knew I couldn't leave at that time anyway but I knew that there would come a point where I couldn't deny that my time here would run out. So I just kept up with what I was doing anyway. The merchant and scammer become more well known. The helping hand of Wildfire was both an annoyance to the group but also, you could sometimes hear a sigh of relief coming from its members when they saw little old me.

Then one day I heard the metallic sound of an ancient and imaginary whistle ringing through the cold winds of the snow plains. Whispers of old tales hit me once again and I felt my excitement grow. Oh what a wonder, the train stops here too.

As I said before, you don't need to know how the story will end, you just need to know what you want. Because the moment you know what you want, you have the power to push the story into that direction. When I got here I didn't know why, didn't care for why.

Now I know a part of me wanted to be here to feel this type of connection once again.

Stepping out of the dirty and cracked halls of the ancient theater, being greeted by the few rays of sunlight that could escape the heavy clouds. I felt again like an actor but this time taking on the same role that I also played for the townspeople. My part isn't over yet so gather around members of this ancient train and let me, your friendly merchant, Sampo Koski, tell you a tale of a doomed city and please,

help us all.

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy

#honkai star rail #hsr sampo #honkai star rail sampo #sampo koski #hsr masked fools #honkai sampo #samposting #sampo charachter study

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seasonofprophecy · 2 months ago

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Briefly, here are families who have contacted me for help:

Márah Baalou: $25,815 / $50,000 (vetted by Samar) (USD)

Maha Ibrahim: £12,478 / £81,000 (vetted, #163)

Abeer Ibrahim: $24,839 / $70,000 (vetted, #157)

Intisar Abushammaleh (Bshaer): $24,773 / $40,000 (vetted, #231) (USD)

Abdallah Mousa: $2,007 / $30,000 (vetted, #315) (USD) (Last donation made 3 days ago)

Malak Al-Habil: €1,996 / €60,000 (vetted by Samar)

Katia, Nabil, Linda: £1,117 / £50,000 (vetted, #102)

Maram Ashour: £1,945 / £25,000 (vetted by Samar) (Last donation made 7 days ago)

Sahar Shehab: €63,130 / €85,000 (vetted by El Shab)

Noor Ashour: £4,587 / £80,000 (vetted by Samar)

Whadi Qanoo: £3,929 / £100,000 (vetted, #11) (Last donation made 1 day ago)

Khalwa: $13,275 / $20,000 (vetted by Mohi)

Muhammad Al-Habail: €2,000 / €20,000 (vetted by Noha)

I will try to update the amounts of money achieved every day. Last update: October 14, 2024

Donate to a campaign I highlighted with orange (Maha, Abeer, Bshaer, or Muhammad), save the proof, and receive art from me. Read further.

Spotlight: Maha Ibrahim

Maha's father-in-law has been injured and needs medical attention, risking amputation if he doesn't receive the necessary procedures for his wounds. He needs at least $1,600 USD (approximately £1,225).

New concern. Maha and her family currently have no option but to take shelter at the Al-Aqsa hospital, the one that was bombed. It is the only place that will not charge rent. It is still dangerous there. They need $1,500 USD (approximately £1,115).

My commissions are open now. Contact me through Tumblr direct messages. We can also discuss other platforms for further communication.

Second characters 75% of original price. Proof and currency conversions under read more.

(Vetted, #163)

#palestine #free palestine #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #free gaza #gaza genocide #messages from mars #i apologize for not having more art to reference i have only been drawing again very recently #and only then to build something of an updated portfolio for donation commissions #but there's not much time anymore. please give what you can #OLD PINNED

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xxplastic-cubexx · 17 days ago

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waiting for marvel to take you up as their comic artist so that we can have amazing art with cherik official storyline

marvel hire me to draw professor x and magneto making out sloppy style for forty issues straight you will get a BAJILLION dollars i promise

#fave #snap chats #'professor x' what are you a cop. moving on #vjeLKVJEALKV thank you much my friend one can only dream .....#you know whats so funny tho this just reminds me how like. My Number One Cheerleader was my highschool english teacher #she also ran the comic club in case thats relevant. because i was a part of that club OBVIOUSLY #i used to want to be a comic book artist but now i dont but anyway as a part of this club we'd have to draw comics sometimes #and alllll the time my teach would be so happy to get my stuff and she'd always be like #'[Snap] please promise me you'll never give up comics i want to read a comic from you one day' and stuff like that #i think id throw up laughing if i got to email her one day like 'omg hey teach 1.) im not a moody teenager anymore #2.) i got to work for marvel check it out <3' and i have to send her old man yaoi JLVKEJLKAEVJE #FUNNIEST TIMELINE IN THE WORLD I'D ACTUALLY DIE LIKE PLEAAAASSEE THATS ALL I COULD EVER WANT IN LIFE #on the realest note tho i didnt appreciate her enthusiasm enough. i wish i could tell her thank you someday #i think of her a lot whenever im in the dumps about my work she really is one of my biggest motivators #like i guess i COULD just shoot an email. maybe if i actually do something cool with comics or something #i dont even know if she remembers me so it'd just be bizarre wouldnt it #ANYWAYS. sappy story time's over theres a matcha crepe cake with my name on it BYYYYYEEEEE

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reel-fear · 6 months ago

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Genuinely so curious who Mike thinks is gonna be buying The Cage or the new DCTL GN bc with the way he tweets as far as he's concerned, it's not gonna be:

The queer people he has actively admitted he will never show any representation of in the games.

2. The POC he has actively fought against representing in his franchise. [Who he also mocked for thinking they would be represented in his franchise]

3. The Bendy fandom which has always been concerned with topics of diversity esp in the sense of queer people since its creation. Who he has responded to really poorly esp in regards to the GN.

4. The fans who critique him. [He blocked me for doing so lol]

5. His fans in general who he tweets about like this currently. [He's being vague about why people were mad at him or sent him 'nasty messages' because if you actually looked into why you'd see he was in the wrong. Either way, a very hateful way to speak abt ur own fanbase.]

Reminder while Mike is trash talking his fans he has always treated them rather poorly. The fans who won the fanart contest for Chapter 5 never got their posters actually in game due to it being rushed. Not only was chapter 5 a big slap to the face story wise, but it was literally so rushed he couldn't be bothered to add in the art his fans gave him for his game FOR FREE. [Meatly blames this on a crazy timeline, reminder him and Mike are the literal ceos of this company. The proposal of future updates here is also pretty cruel considering Mike nowadays happily admits he corrupted Chapter 5's source code and therefore literally can't update it At All currently. Because he is a moron]

At least they got to be in Boris and the dark survival, and by that I mean that was the Only game they got to be in so far, isn't that just treating your fans like you love them? Shoving their hard work into a spin off game almost nobody has played or addresses much. [Hell, who knows if with the Lone Wolf rebrand they'll even stay there. In which case they'll be in None of the games, only in the credits of BATIM]

6. The Bendy fans who just generally disagree with him on stuff. Like the new ink demon design where there is literally a public poll showing people generally prefer the old one.

7. The Bendy fans who can see he is actively lying to them. To their fucking faces.

He says this has always been the case, but screenshots and links to tweets regarding the books being canon prove it was not. Does he really think bendy fans are stupid or something? [Unless he's admitting here he lied to Kress when he told her the books were canon which sounds worse!]

8. Anyone who doesn't like the idea of giving money to a guy who laid off tons of employees then afterwards thought it was a great idea to express his anti-union views! Also brag about how good of an employer he was, according to his employees, he was not!

So in summary; Mike is an awful person who has not learned anything from the awful things he did. I will not be purchasing The Cage because, combined with this and his absolute refusal to take any kind of critique or see any differing interpretation of his franchise, I have no reason to think my problems with the franchise will ever be addressed or fixed. I probably will pirate The Cage along with any future Bendy Products [Including the movie] and will do my best to avoid giving it any kind of monetary support. Unless this changes any time soon, I can't see myself making anymore positive Bendy posts soon.

Mike has just managed to make it so hard to speak positively or optimistically of this franchise when he's so willing to broadcast how little he cares about it or its fans. I'm at the point where I refuse to pull any of my punches with my problems with it. What's the point of trying to play nice with my critique when either way the people creating it don't care?

So with this post, I want to invite anyone who feels similarly about the franchise to tell me, make a post or send an ask talking about how all of this makes you feel. It may not change how things are, but genuinely seeing other people share my feelings of anger makes me feel better. It feels nice to see when other people share our same concerns and worries. I'd also love to know if anyone else thinks they'll be avoiding purchasing Bendy products over this.

I'm not forcing anyone to participate in it nor trying to say anyone who doesn't supports mike but genuinely maybe if we can collectively decide to boycott things like the movie, graphic novel and The Cage... It might at least make the bendy devs acknowledge how much they have destroyed their own fandom's faith and trust in them.

The way Mike tweets about his actions like he had no control over why people were mad at him at least proves to me he takes NONE of it back nor regrets it. If you didn't know about his actions and only went off his tweets, you would be led to believe Mike has been needlessly picked apart by fans over things he couldn't control [or in his own words, had his words twisted and taken out of context]. That is not how you speak about your actions if you have actually learned better from them.

anyway, that has been my bendy dev callout post. This is an open invitation to anyone feeling similarly upset about the way the franchise is going to talk about it. It's genuinely nice to see how people feel about this and the more we talk about the more it's likely the bendy devs are forced to address our concerns. I don't think they will but hey, that's why I'm not gonna support them with my money anymore nor am I gonna be nice to them in any content I make critiquing Bendy. I mean I'm also basically making this post just in case anyone asks me Why I feel this way towards to bendy devs/as a way to respond to anyone who thinks I am too harsh in my critique in the future.

As always, it seems the best part of Bendy isn't actually anything about canon but about what the fan's are creating with the ideas Bendy failed to do anything interesting with.

Also the books, the books slap.

#batim #batdr #bendy and the ink machine #bendy and the dark revival #ramblez #bendy and the silent city #bendy the cage #for the record another reason Im making this post is bc some of the only good resources to learn abt why the bendy devs suck are some old #very longer videos and this is a very long post but I thought it was important to document the recent shit theyve been doing alongside some #of the worst past things theyve done bc Mike has been trying to misinform people on what happened but those videos are still great resource #if you want more info n such #long post #mike D #for anyone who doesnt wanna hear abt him since he doesnt go by mood anymore #sorry if this is rambley or emotional Im just so sick of these guys fr dskjhgskdfjghskdjhgkjhsd #I miss when I didnt spend my days stressed about the awful shit mike is gonna say next and how I would have to disprove it in a post later #or explain why its bad to have a cast of nothing but cishet white guys n constantly fight back against any push for diversity in said cast #genuinely its just tiring esp when u see other bendy fans give ignorant or very silly defenses/takes on those things #n then u lose a lot of respect for them bc they are speaking on stuff they dont know much abt so confidently and therefore misinforming #people or even encouraging very bad views on stuff like diversity n its importance #Im not saying people like that are bad people but it is stressful n upsetting when u see someone u thought knew better do that sort of thin #it makes it hard to trust them again on other issues bc u now dont trust they know what they r talking abt!!#like please think twice before telling young artists making norman white was a tough and complicated decision it was fucking not the bendy #devs just think all their humans are white by default and dont wanna change that its been proven time n time again thats all it is #and defending them just bc u like a franchise they made is very very bad!! They are not ur friends!! they suck and we seriously need to #stop pretending they dont!! toxic positivity is only gonna make the fandom an absolute nightmare its not gonna make ANYTHING better #it just means people will be forced to PRETEND they never have negative thoughts abt the franchise n therefore make them burned out #just look at other similar fandoms please lets not make those same mistakes!!#sorry can u tell Ive been having just. A time recently #anyways back to making my queer ass bendy fan game full of so much diversity mike will prolly shit when he sees it DKFJGHKSDJHGKJHSD

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