#i have no idea about what to expect at this point

[cherryyluvs]

Third Wheel Trouble

Mark was supposed to have a romantic skating date with you. But thanks to Debbie, he now has an unexpected plus one, his very nosy little brother (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

Mark had been looking forward to this date for days, just him and you finally. A nice, normal perfect night out where he can give you all his attention instead of you know, saving the world.

Just the two of you, holding hands, maybe even sneaking a few kisses in if he was lucky.

So when he walked into the living room all freshly showered, decently dressed for once and ready to head out.

Of course, Debbie had other plans.

“You're taking Oliver,” Debbie said, completely ignoring the way Mark choked on his own spit. “What!?” Nearly dropping his skates. “Mom, no. No way it's a date!”

“And Oliver's a child who wants to get out the house” She said while ruffling Oliver’s hair. “You'll be responsible. Right Mark?”

Mark’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. Turning around expecting Oliver to protest but nope! The kid was already smiling, shoes on and ready to go.

“But–”

Before another word, Debbie gave him that Mom look.

Mark groaned, pressing his fingers into his eyes before throwing his hands in defeat. “Fine”

It only got worse from there.

When Mark pulled up, you were expecting a cute night out with him. Instead, the first thing you noticed when you slid into the passenger seat was.. “Oliver?”

You looked between the two of them, the way Oliver was happily kicking his feet in the backseat while Mark looked like he wanted to crash into oncoming traffic.

“Oh my god” You beamed. “Your mom made you bring him. Didn't she?”

Mark scowled. “Don't ask.”

But it was too late, you were already giggling.

This was going to be fun.

At first it was just a few minor interruptions, every time Mark tried to subtly hold your hand. Oliver skated right between you two. Mark tries to whisper something cute? Oliver slurps his milkshake obnoxiously loud.

Mark dares to make flirty eye contact? “Why are you staring at her like that?

Mark was losing it, and you? You were loving it. Barely holding it together, biting your lips to keep yourself from laughing as Mark sat there, completely dead inside.

And then?

“Oh!” Oliver's eyes widened. “You're the girl Mark won't shut up about?” Mark choked.

“Oliver!”

“What?” Oliver blinked innocently. “You talk about her all the time”

Your smirk grew, turning to face Mark, resting your chin on your palm. “All the time?”

Mark, red faced and flustered, grabbed a fry and shoved it into Oliver’s mouth.

“Eat.”

“He's adorable” You giggled watching him munch on the fries.

After an hour of skating, Oliver finally gets distracted by the snake bar. Seizing the opportunity, Mark grabbed your hand and pulled you to the edge of the rink, away from the chaos.

“Finally” He muttered, pressing quick kisses to your knuckles.

You smiled. “Desperate, are we?”

Mark exhaled, leaning his forehead against yours. “You have no idea” Your breath hitched , caught up in the warmth of his body and the cool air of the rink. The distant hum of music surrounded you, the twinkling lights above casting a soft shadow over Mark’s face.

He looked at you, like you were the only person in the world. He was just about to lean when–

Thud.

A tray of nachos and cheese hit the ground.

“Aw, come on!” You and Mark turned your heads at the same time. Oliver stood there, arms crossed, and a big frown on his face.

Pointing an accusatory finger at mark.

“I leave for 2 minutes and you guys are already being gross?”

Mark groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oliver”

“What?” he huffed, walking up and standing between you two. “Mom said to make sure you weren't doing anything weird”

You blushed, laughter bubbling up before you could stop it. Mark, however, looked like he wanted to pass out from the secondhand embarrassment. “Dude, you're, like, the worst chaperone ever.”

Mark looked at you helplessly, but you smiled. Grabbing his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze,

“Guess you'll have to be sneakier next time” you teased, bumping his shoulder playfully.

Mark lets out a long, dramatic sigh. “Next time, I'm leaving him at home."

[no-144444]

kind man- o.piastri

summary: the aftermath of the australian grand prix...

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! reader

a/n: ... silence.

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Oscar was sure this was some kind of cruel lesson from the universe. He’d felt strong, ready, and competitive. He knew he could win it, he knew it could get himself up on that podium, to break that stupid fucking curse. 

And then the rain came. And the gravel. And the crowd all gasped. He could hear it all while he was desperately trying to get his stupid fucking McLaren off the grass. He genuinely wanted to scream. Andrea had told him one thing: If you win this, you’re number one. No more papaya rules. No more being Lando’s bitch. Oscar Piastri, Formula One World Champion 2025. 

And he’d pissed it away because of slick fucking tires, and a bad pit strategy. The headache that had been building in his head was throbbing now, he was exhausted, and he wanted- no, needed to be out of the car. 

But he still had a job to do, and he knew he had to at least make it into the points to make up for his mistake. 

He thought about every fan that had come up to him over the past few days, he thought about how his parents and family were watching, how his nation was watching him, and how he’d completely failed. He lost it in a gravel trap like a fucking rookie. 

The return lap was torture. He dutifully waved to the crowd before slotting in behind anyone who’d placed in front of him, and his head hung low as he exited his car. 

“I’m sorry mate,” Alex rushed up beside him. “Stellar drive though, congratulations,” he offered with a sympathetic smile that he returned as best he could. 

“Thanks,” he shrugged as he stood on the scales. He could feel the cameras on him, and the lump in his throat would just have to wait till later. He’d have to wait until he was safely in your arms, and then he could break down. You. 

Your first race, the first race you’d ever been to and he fucked it. 

He couldn’t even face you, or his family. This was so embarrassing. He was so ashamed. 

He looked up at the brightening sky and somehow, you were waiting at the barrier, a sympathetic look on your face. He picked up whatever strength he still had left and walked over. 

You didn’t ask. You didn’t pry. You simply pulled him into your arms and nuzzled into his neck the way he loved. You didn’t pity him. You didn’t need to. You knew his potential, and you knew he’d reach it. You’d always been that way, since the start, you were a steady supporter, never wavering, never confused at a result. Always there for him, through anything. 

“I was so worried,” you admitted. “I thought you were going to flip.” 

He shook his head. “Nothing was stopping me from finishing this race. I owe it to the home fans.”

You looked up at him and smiled. He could see that perfect glint in your eye, the kind that made him weak in the knees. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, yeah? I want you to be Oscar, not a racing robot.”

He chuckled. A real smile. Of course you pulled it out of him. “No promises.”

“Osc,” you whined, slapping his chest playfully. 

“Alright, alright,” he nodded. “I’ll be… nice.”

And of course you believed him, because he never really could lie to you. 

“Want to get out of here? Head home?” you offered. “I can argue with Zak?” 

He shook his head. “Lando won, and he deserves to be celebrated,” he shrugged. “I'll celebrate with the team for a bit and then I’ll head home with you guys.”

You stared at him, cupping his cheek. He had no idea what to expect next. Again, you just smiled and said. “You’re a kind man, Oscar. I hope you realise how wonderful that is.” 

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mclaren masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

[mysteryfawn]

Any forsaken survivors(or killers)with a reader who has a ability when they get hit,they drop random items like medkits or bloxy colas???

hai hai!!! i hope you enjoyed this :3 for future reference, please make sure to specify if you want headcanons, one-shots, if it is platonic, romantic, etc!! i really like your idea -- header by diorjjmn on Pinterest!

In the realm you were all stuck in, mostly called “purgatory”, everyone had their abilities, talents, and skills that they brought to the table… And you may be asking what yours is? Well, it’s not the luckiest one.

Every injury, bruise, hit, sword, stab, and whatever else penetrates your skin until blood is drawn, will drop a random supply to assist others, like medkits, bloxy colas, even pizzas! This, for you, was more of a curse than a gift- Your teammates were more interested in your pain for their survival, but… At least they keep you alive.

Two Time

A psychopathic cult member, one known for making the other survivors uncomfortable with their religious speeches about a divine God who could bring others back to life… You were, somehow, seen as a gift from the Spawn for them;

It all made sense in their head! I mean, your blood produced objects that could bring others to their prime- Whilst you couldn’t bring someone back to life, you made sure they didn’t reach that point as long as your pain was ensured;

For Two Time, you did this by choice… A choice given by the Almighty Spawn to help others! They were oh so happy to become your friend, to speak with you, to be near you… Within purgatory, there lays hope;

Of course, you were the main target for the speeches, theories, glazing, and even sobs and shouts. Two Time saw you as a gift, a vessel for greatness- They weren’t going to let this opportunity slide;

During rounds, Two Time body blocked all the attacks sent your way, with the excuse of “not wanting to abuse their gift”. At the end of the round, they were nowhere to be found, allowing you to get your limbs torn, and slowly stealing the supplies that rested around your body after the killer went to torture another poor soul;

Kind, they were, but they were equally cruel and sociopathic. Around this realm, true friendship isn’t something you should expect, even with those who dedicate their time to worship you alongside their savior.

1×1×1×1

Hatred, rage, disgust, fear, insecurity, sadness, pain, depression, evil- That was the best way to describe 1×1×1×1, and there was no doubt that they felt annoyance with your useless existence. Your blood, filled with kindness, and his, filled with malice;

She might have a thirst for death, but she knew better than immediately killing you. If you die first, others would be able to have supplies the entire round, making them even harder to eliminate;

They made that mistake once and with their loss, the Spectre made sure to punish them for ruining the entertainment, the fun. Targeting your comrades first, 1×1×1×1 makes sure to keep you alive and uninjured until they’re sure there’s no one else you can save;

Don’t mistake his initial mercy as kindness, the moment that you’re vulnerable, 1x will make sure to take his sweet time with your death- Watching supplies fall out, yet none will be able to pick them up, not anymore;

The myth has great disdain for you, just like they would for the other worms. She is a monster, and won’t have your services go unpunished… Ruining her hunt comes with consequences, after all.

[glitch-but-ya]

You write fanfiction— The LADs men

A/N: Just a filler post. It’s kinda annoying to work on two fics where both readers have vastly different personalities. I keep mixing them up so I just gave up and stuck to working on the Caleb fic first. But, good news is, the fic is almost done! I’m at the last act :3

Xavier:

- Your work is one of the few pieces of writing he doesn’t fall asleep while reading.

- No matter how sleepy he was prior to this, he would be wide awake, pondering each poetic sentence and dissecting meanings behind them.

- Would pay attention to every little detail hidden in your work, even when it’s something most overlook.

- Asks you about your recent fanfics when he sees you.

- If you write smut, he probably eats it up like a freak and tries to pick up on the things you desire.

- Your biggest fan. Has a dedicated account (main or alt) to just liking and reblogging your work. Whatever you post. Even if it’s just a casual post or answering a fan’s questions.

- Probably compliments your work in the tags.

- Has multiple accounts just to like your work. Also has a secret account where he argues tooth and nail with every hater you encounter.

- Bonus: Would secretly be jealous of the characters you admire a bit too much.

Rafayel:

- The proudest man on earth.

- Literally. He considers writing (even trivial things like fanfiction) a form of art so he is genuinely so happy you’re an artist like him.

- Would bombard you with random new fanfiction ideas.

- If you write for a new fandom, he would search it up and watch/read it the same day.

- If you include poetic things into your writing, he would bring it up in a conversation and hold discussions on it, offering his thoughts and opinions and helping you both learn.

- Would be more chill than Xavier, but he’d definitely be pouty if you favour a character too much.

- Leaves dramatic comments. Like, “HOW DARE HE >:O” and such. His comments never fail to hype you up.

- PUBLICLY argues with your haters.

- Treasures your work as if it was the finest piece of literature ever penned. Wouldn’t be surprised if he rewrites it on a canvas with ink and frames it on his wall.

- Bonus: Secretly is the one making 90% of the requests. And usually it’s those vulgar, insane ones. He’s just a girl 🎀

Zayne:

- Subtle about his adoration. Would silently like every single one of your posts, but he wouldn’t really comment or reblog them.

- With that being said, he will never forget to compliment your work when he sees you, though.

- Would analyze every letter and syllable to the point where he can somehow decipher how or what you were feeling or thinking from your writing alone.

- He would never admit it, though. He’d only silently know and if he thinks you need a hug, he will try and be there for you more often.

- On top of compliments, he provides you with genuine constructive criticism without overwhelming you or making you feel insecure about your work.

- But he’s not too good with parts of the writing that include emotions. I imagine it to go somewhat like… “But the phrasing is a little confusing. Could you explain the reasoning behind it?” “It’s for emotional depth, Zayne…” “Ah… I see.”

- Don’t be mistaken!! Even though he is scare with his compliments, he doesn’t admire your work any less than the other LIs!

- Believes that a person’s art is a reflection of their self, so he tries to see you in your work.

Sylus:

- Like all, he is the biggest fan of your work.

- Probably has a thousand secret accounts he uses to like and reblog your posts.

- Spends alot of money (which is, of course, insignificant to him) blazing your posts and promoting them.

- But, if you prefer a quieter fanbase, he would respect that as well.

- Nonetheless, expect him to like your work on all his accounts the moment it’s released.

- Suddenly you’re wondering how your post garnered 1000 likes in the first hour.

- If you’re writing a series, he would ask you when the next chapter is coming out.

- You won’t have a single hater as long as Sylus is around. If anyone does so much as dare to comment a single vulgar word aimed towards you or your work, they get a message in their inbox listing their address and personal info.

- And then, the next day, their comment is gone. You wonder what could’ve happened.

- Like Zayne, he’d give you his advice and some constructive criticism whilst somehow uplifting your work at the same time when asked.

- If you include any philosophies in your work, he’d bring it up and discuss it with you. He loves hearing your thoughts, whether it be complex or casual.

- Memorises the quotes he likes from your fanfics and actively uses them irl.

- Your work would probably be the first and only one to elicit an emotional reaction from him.

- If you have any dreams as an author, he would definitely offer to find you a publisher and pay for all costs. He just wants to see you fulfil your dreams, even if you’d abandoned them.

Caleb:

- A LOUD fan of your work.

- Probably sends it to all his friends (poor Gideon) and boasts about how his partner is such a talented writer.

- Reblogs with captions and tags, comments on, and likes each one of your work.

- Like Rafayel, his comments are dramatic and encouraging. He doesn’t just compliment your work. He SHOWS that he’s read it.

- Avid, shameless smut reader. Would EAT those fics up. Especially if they were penned by you.

- Probably sends those to his friends too (poor Gideon).

- Blazes each of your posts. Even the stupid ones. Manages to increase your fanbase by a bunch. The month you revealed your acc to him, you suddenly gained a hundred new followers.

- If you want a smaller fanbase, he’d be content with that as well. He loves the idea of being one of the few people to read such a masterpiece.

- Definitely knew about your acc even before you revealed it to him. If you had previous accounts growing up on either tumblr or AO3, he’d be secretly reading your work via an alt account.

- Don’t ask how he found your acc.

- Would definitely engrave all the things you want in a partner into his brain and work on them secretly.

- Probably has a diary dedicated to analyzing and complimenting your work.

[moonstruckme]

Hiya love, I’ve got a little Carmy idea? If it makes it out the gulag, then brilliant. If not, then at least it’s a nice little thought for us, eh? So I was thinking, maybe it’s set in season one and the reader worked at the bear back when it was the beef. So when Carmy joins, the reader could be on holiday leave or time off to grieve Mikey or something, and when Carmy’s changing everything up Richie can be all ‘big dog won’t like this’ and everyone, even Tina keeps making comments about big dog (the reader). Then! Like a week later or something, the reader comes back to work and she’s all meek and mellow and lovely, and Carmy’s just petrified of her because she’s ’the big dog’ but it turns out everyone just calls her that because she quite literally just has a big dog? Feel absolutely free to ignore the ramble, but if it sparks any creative flow at all, I’d be barking like dog for ya (pun intended this time lol). Hope you’re well, love you lots, have a great day :)

Thank you angel, hope you have a great day too! <3

cw: mention of past death, grief kinda skimmed over but there

Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ♡ 932 words

Carmy is ready for a fight. He’s had to be ready every day since he started running The Beef, really, a fight always crops up whether he’s ready or not, but today he’s extra prepared. He hears the back door open as he’s doing inventory, and he gets all geared up. 

This is his restaurant now. His shitshow. Carmy can run it into the ground if he wants to—and he doesn’t want to, but he could, that’s basically what was happening anyway, and the point is that now it’s his. No matter what anybody fucking says, no matter how the back of the house rags on him, he’s—

“Oh. Hi.” 

You look surprised to see him. And Carmy thought he was ready for you, but he’s surprised too. You don’t…maybe he’s about to eat his words, but you don’t look like a Big Dog. You’re not what he was expecting. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“You must be Carmy.” He can see your eyes roving his face, looking for Mikey. A lot of people have been doing that lately. 

Carmy never thought they looked much like brothers. Some people said it was in their mouths, though Mikey’s smiled more. Some people said they sounded the exact same, but only when they were angry. Whatever you find, you offer a faint smile at the end. It’s confusing. 

“Yeah,” Carmy says awkwardly. “You’re early.” 

“I like to come in a little early,” you say by way of explanation. Feet taking you to your station as if by muscle memory, your eyes still on Carmy’s. “Used to be the only one. Is there anything I can help with?” 

“Uh, sure. Four cups of cheese.” 

“Oh it, chef.” You salute, heading towards the pantry. 

Carmy eyes you as you walk back to your station and start shredding. He was ready for a fight, but he doesn’t know what he’s getting into now. Is this some kind of fucking psychological warfare? 

All week, it’s been ooh, Big Dog won’t like that. Just wait ‘til Big Dog gets back. You really wanna fuck with Big Dog’s system? Digging your own grave, Jeff. Big Dog, Big Dog, Big Dog. Carmy doesn’t know exactly what he was anticipating, but it wasn’t you. He guesses appearances don’t mean everything. Tina can be fucking terrifying when she wants to, too. 

“So,” you say, shredding calmly, “how are you?” 

Carmy frowns. “Huh?” 

You look up. Something in his expression puts a worried pinch between your brows. “Sorry, was that too personal?” you ask, and though Carmy waits for the mocking tone he doesn’t hear it. “I just mean, with everything with your brother, and then taking on this place, and the total restructuring, it has to be a lot. I’m sure…” You look at him again, biting your tongue. “But, sorry, we don’t even know each other. I don’t mean to pry.” 

“It’s fine,” he finds himself saying. Which, it’s not really, but you keep fucking apologizing. It’s making him squirm. “Yeah, it’s…it’s been a fucking trip.” 

You nod compassionately. “I’m sure. Listen, I know it’s not the same, but Mikey was like family to a lot of us.” It’s something Carmy’s heard a lot recently. Sometimes in accusatory tones, usually making jealousy rise like bile in his throat, but something about the way you say it sounds different. It’s sincere, like an offering. Like company. 

“If there’s anything you need,” you go on, “you can let me know. I mean, it seems like you’ve already got this place running better than it ever did.” You look around the room appreciatively. Admiring the clean kitchen, which used to be spotted everywhere with rust stains and globs of old food. “But I’m always happy to take on more if you’ve got stuff.” 

Carmy looks at you. Your lips are curved in a faint smile, eyes soft and warm. He can’t find one thing about you that looks insincere. 

He’s about to say sure, the s a breath on his tongue, when the door bangs open. 

“Big Dog!” Richie shouts. 

“Hey!” Your grin widens. You allow yourself to be pulled roughly into a side hug. “Good to see you, Rich. How’re you holding up?” 

“Eh.” Richie shrugs, false insouciance twisting his expression. But his eyes are tender for you. “You know.” 

“Yeah.” You bump his shoulder lightly, careful to keep your hands clean. “I get it.” 

“Why Big Dog?” Carmy blurts. 

You and Richie both look at him in confusion. 

“What?” Richie asks. 

“Why…” Carmy shakes his head, baffled. “Why does everyone call you Big Dog?” 

“Oh.” You laugh. It’s maybe the best thing Carmy’s heard all week, which is just fucking disorienting. “You mean because of Gladys?” 

“Gladys?” Carmy echoes. 

“Fucking rottweiler, cousin,” says Richie. “Big fucking dog.” 

“I know what a rottweiler is,” Carmy nearly snaps. His gaze whips to you. It’s a common enough tone for him—Richie always brings it out—but he finds he doesn’t want to raise his voice so much with you around to hear. If you notice, though, you don’t seem to think much of it. “You aren’t a rottweiler.” 

“But she has a rottweiler, man.” Richie slaps him on the shoulder, scoffing. “Get over it. It’s a nickname!” 

“It’s a fucking stupid nickname.” Carmy does snap this time, regretting it when your eyebrows raise. 

He’s about to backtrack—you’re not stupid, obviously you’re not stupid, but Richie is the stupidest motherfucker Carmy ever had the misfortune of meeting—when he sees the smile playing on your lips. 

You shrug, light as anything. “Guess you’ll have to give me a new one then.”

[velvetvexations]

The problem is, I think, that having a boogeyman is a really really tempting idea to a lot of people. And I get that desire, I'm not above above it, I'm not immune to propaganda etc etc. But what inexorably drags the discourse down to shit like "would you rather be in a forest with a man or a bear" is people refusing to accept that they're offloading all their baggage onto a boogeyman and then taking potshots at it, instead of working to actually change what caused them the baggage.

The boogeyman of "the Man or the Bear" is built out of a lifetime of different people's shitty exes and violent fathers and creeps at work, everything from active sexual abusers to just some asshole making rude comments about women's weight. People pick the bear because they have offloaded all their gendered trauma and baggage onto that Boogeyman and called that offloading praxis.

They're resistant to being told that what they're doing is making an enemy out of straw, because it feels good, feels like progress, to have an enemy they can point to. An enemy they could conceivably *hurt*, if not physically then emotionally. An enemy that feels cathartic to dunk on because he might be upset by it. The man they have built in their heads is a million times worse than any bear because his face matches every man who has ever hurt them.

But it's not getting us anywhere. We can't rally against the vague concept of men having loud voices or being angry or gross and sweaty and staring too long or making comments that make your skin crawl, because these are not the actual foundation of the patriarchy. They're often symptoms, sure, but they're not the root cause, and it's so easy to categorise entire swathes of people as threats when you believe that a threat is the same as being uncomfortable, and you are uncomfortable with anything that reminds you of a threat.

But it's so hard to convince people otherwise, because at the end of the day, what feels better to hate? An amorphous structure of power forged out of unjust social contracts and enforced expectations? Or the figure in your head who resembles the men that hurt you?

No notes, perfect ask, thank you for sending in.

[shopwitchvamp]

Despairing frustrated rage about tariffs, and only having bad choices ahead:

I've been avoiding making this post for some time now, but today in the latest tariff threats we're staring down the barrel of an additional 25% tariff being put in place on April 2nd for any country that imports Venezuelan oil. If it actually happens that'll put tariffs on Chinese made goods up to 45% (as far as I understand it at least..) and with that, we will have certainly passed the point that I can continue to just eat costs and hope to hold on until things calm down again someday maybe.

With that said we'll be facing a number of pretty much only bad choices in figuring out how to survive this.

A look at those and what might have to change soon under the cut-

I'll be at a decision point on April 2nd, if +25% tariffs happen on top of the 20% that's already in place. Here's the potential actions I'll have to take to keep the shop from crashing & burning within a few months:

1) Raising prices. Well it's obvious that this would be one way to deal with costs going up. Even if my costs are going up 45%, I can't exactly raise prices by 45% and expect anyone to want (or be able) to buy our clothes though. But price increases of 10-20% would have to happen to keep the business sustainable. This would look like mini/skater skirts going from $49.99 to $59.99 (+20%), midis/joggers going from $64.99 to $74.99 (+15%), and maxis going from $69.99 to $79.99 (+14%). I don't want to do this, I will not be making more profit from this (profit would still be down compared to pre-tariffs), and I don't expect it to be received well, but if tariffs are in fact that high.. I don't see any way around a price increase.

2) Not keeping D Size on hand / Additionally raising the price on D Size. So the first part of this, not keeping D Size on hand, already happens at times because certain designs sell so rarely in that size that I can't justify ordering D Size anymore. I always make it available during preorders though, and if any preorders come in for D Size then I'll always get at least a little extra of them (if nothing else than because I usually have to order more than what comes in for preorders to hit the order minimum). I will need to consider making this the way things work deliberately and all of the time because I can't afford the higher cost of D Size only to have it end up sitting in our inventory and not selling when it's on hand. To give an example, D Size skater skirts cost me nearly twice as much as A or B Size. I've been relying on things averaging out alright since I sell so many more A/B/C than D, but with the potential of +45% costs in tariffs it will make D Size so much more expensive that this no longer works. I'll be approching a point of losing money on D Size, and unfortunately the quickest way to lower my average cost is to not order D Size as often. For part two of this one, I could consider raising the price for D Size in the shop so that it's not affecting the overall cost average as much. It may come to that, but I don't think it's the best or most useful idea because I know it will not only upset people- it will also drive down D Size demand even lower, and when it's already the size that sells the least it makes it make even less sense to keep D Size on hand most of the time. So we circle back around to probably just making D Size available mainly during preorder & not keeping them on hand.

3) Purposefully scaling down. There's three parts to this one. One has to do with guest artists, one has to do with my partner, and one is just the scale of the business altogether. For guest artists- with tariffs cutting into profit margins I may end up at a point of not having much to pay them (profits are split 50/50) for their art or to pay me & my partner for our work. We were starting to plan another large collection including guests artists for this summer, but I'm having to rethink if it will be possible or if it makes any sense now. Projects like that might need to be put off until the situation changes. For my partner- my partner was able to quit his job in 2022 and since then he's worked with me full time on the business. If things start looking rocky enough, he would be looking at job hunting for at least part time IT work and pulling back on how involved he is with the business. For the business as a whole- I had a lot of plans in the works for new designs, new collabs, new collections, new types of clothing, etc etc. and all of that could have to be put off, slowed down, or not happen at all. Especially if my partner ends up going back to a "regular" job, I'd be looking at returning the shop to something more like how it was in the 2020-2021 era. Far less new releases, less restocks, keeping less inventory on hand, and so on. Because money/tariffs aside, I would have to go back to handling most things on my own and I can't operate at our current scale solo.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading and I hope I haven't instilled too much fear & panic. We are doing ok right now. We can keep doing ok for at least a few more months even if the tariffs happen. But I want to keep you all informed about what things my look like further down the line. It really sucks to have been doing so well and grown so much over the past few years and to have it all crushed seeminly overnight, but that's what we might be facing. I'll do my best to keep Witch Vamp alive even if it means going backwards to where it's more of a hobby level project and not a livelihood sustaining kind of thing. Then maybe in the future we can power back up when conditions are better..

And who knows, since things are so chaotic and uncertain there's always the chance we luck out and don't get hit with a bunch of this stuff. Right now chances are sounding slim.. but it's possible.

I'll let you all know how things are looking when we maybe know more on April 2nd. See ya then 🖤

[aquaaquila]

If said conversation with the love of her life would end up in him having a mental breakdown that could lead to akumatization then he might as well wait for better timing than less of a year from the death of his abuser. It's literally not about her, it's about Adrien's happiness and well-being, and telling him the truth would absolutely destroy him.

Marinette herself is already used to fixing the mistakes of others and making things right, but there's no right way to handle Gabriel. After all, if you tell the truth, you doom pretty much everybody because everybody would face the consequences of Gabriel's actions but Gabriel. The lie isn't here the correct and most moral option but with how this show works, it's literally the only option as any other leads to an even bigger disaster.

While I agree Alya should be more than a black best friend, it's really too late to make such complaints now. That's the basis of her character and her role. Whenever she did act outside of it, people either didn't like it or it was also disastrous. In the end, Marinette is the main character so of course everything revolves around her even if it shouldn't always be like that. Alya was upset with Marinette but she's also ride or die BFF and that's incredible of her, however, Adrien is her bestie too hence she wouldn't be able to lie to him in the long run like that as well as it goes against her own ideals, but once again she AGREED to this.

Oh boo hoo, a teenage girl who is clearly not equipped to deal with such issues like abuse makes a wrong call, how selfish of her 🙄. Not like she feels responsible for everything that happened and tried her best to do the damage control as she thought it would be okay while having virtually nobody properly help her out on this. Marinette literally shouldn't be the one to make such a call and yet she's still forced by everyone to do so anyway. She's literally not acting out of selfish malice, she literally just has no idea how to handle this issue but still tries the best option possible, even though all options she's given are shit.

Like how vile you are as a person to still go around and blame Marinette for the way she's written? You say you hate how the writers made the show an abuse apologist show, and yet you hold Marinette accountable, though arguably she's one of the bigger victims of said abuse in question. Of course, what the writers did was bad, I'm not denying that, I'm not denying they indeed made it an abuse apologism, but Marinette is not the one to blame here.

Lying to your boyfriend about his abuser is bad, but somehow breaking down a harsh truth that everyone knows would utterly destroy him is somehow better. Adrien might as well off himself after learning all the horrible stuff, or you know, turn into a villain maybe even worse than Chat Blanc for all Marinette knows.

My whole point is not about Marinette NOT BEING WRONG, my whole point is that Marinette is not to blame for everything wrong happening. Any option Marinette would take, she would be in the wrong. I bet that if she did come clean right away, people would hate her for "ruining Adrien's life" because obviously once he learned the truth there would never be any real normalcy for him, something he already expressed he craves.

Like, tell me moral justice warrior how do you expect the conversation to go without it ending up in a disaster. The conversation about Gabriel being good was already disastrous as it was.

Said man emotionally manipulated 200 people and plenty of them also didn't know him personally. And it's not like she doesn't have any personal connections to him either, he is her father-in-law. She doesn't need to like him to have a connection with him. He still made HER responsible for his actions so whether Marinette likes it or not, she's still screwed by him.

Marinette's stalking is a completely different issue here so don't change the subject. Nobody approves of Marinette's stalking and you know it so don't turn this thing around. Pretending to be akumatized was pathetic but ultimately harmless. Sublime literally didn't feel threatened by it or take it even seriously. And it's not like Marinette did episode didn't admit to making a mistake and taking full accountability for it. Like seriously stop expecting Marinette to be perfect and not make mistakes, this girl is a wreck and she has every right to be a wreck after 6 seasons of this BS.

"Sneak" is generous considering both Nathalie and Adrien let her in willingly. And I'm sorry but what the fuck was she supposed to do with the Amok. The Akuma was inside, was she supposed to let Adrien be in that giant trophy forever, and for his grandparents to be supervillains forever? She literally didn't want to break the rings but once again, no choice or control for that matter.

And even if Adrien knew about the Amok, the situation would still unfold. Besides, are you really this shortsighted to not take into consideration that Adrien absolutely would have an existential crisis over him being a sentimonster? Like do you actually care about what's best for Adrien or are you just trying to hate on Marinette? Because last time I checked, Kagami, Felix, Nathalie, and Alix also know everything and yet they do nothing.

Marinette literally does everything in her power so her boyfriend can in fact make decisions for himself, but the truth won't suddenly make Adrien able to make decisions for himself. More than anything the truth in question might as well motivate him further to actually not take control over his life because as far as he's aware: he's not a real person, merely a magical being without its own true will, his father designed everything so Adrien would be his trophy, his girlfriend lost and got screwed over because of it and did everything she could on her own when she shouldn't have been on her own, everyone in his family went along with the lies, so please tell me, how can Adrien somehow be liberated by knowing all this? Like "I'm so free because I know my entire life is shit, hurray!".

Maybe Marinette should actually have a support system to help with her issues. Maybe ADRIEN should have a support system to help with his issues that isn't just his girlfriend. Maybe the kids shouldn't be in charge of such big secrets.

Marinette is not a terrible person for making wrong calls, the wrong calls she regrets and would rather not do. The universe literally forced Marinette to Gaslight, Gatekeep, and Girlboss, starting with Tikki, then Fu, then Bunnyx, then Nathalie, and the entire universe for that matter. But nooooo, let's blame a teen girl for everything, how progressive. The miraculous fandom would rather engage in sexism and misogyny than hold the actual abusers accountable

Honestly, in my opinion, Marinette saying she doesn't trust Chat Noir for THIS reason did nothing but VALIDATE Alya in her anger.

Cause all that Marinette actually says to Alya here is that Marinette doesn't want Chat Noir to know because she thinks it's way too likely that Chat wouldn't stand for that lie either and not knowing who the boy underneath Chat's mask is would leave Marinette helpless if Chat were to flip her off and just decide to tell Adrien the truth as civilian behind her back.

Like, that's literally all Marinette said to Alya here. Even if she probably didn't even realize it, it nothing but VALIDATED Alya in her opinion that telling Adrien is the right thing to do because now she being told by Marinette that Chat would side with her, ALYA, and not Ladybug if he knew.

So from Alya's perspective, it's Marinette vs both of her partners who she deliberately keeps in the dark BECAUSE she suspects they wouldn't agree with her.

Which is ironic cause Alya started this conversations asking if this is a Ladybug and Chat Noir vs Rena Rouge situation, only to find out it's Chat Noir and Rena Rouge vs Ladybug.

[4doras]

LONG LIST OF MY LOVE ౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆

you never meant to end up on your boyfriend’s notes app ⊹♡

genre. fluff, est. relationship

wc. 0.9k

req. “hii! i recently stumbled upon this prompt "using your partner's phone and discovering a note that has all of your likes/dislikes/food orders etc. written." and i think this is soo woonhak-coded, could i please request a woonhak fic with this prompt ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ”

a/n. hi annonieeee!! thank u sosososooo much for this req ITS SO CUTEEE (｡>▽<｡)

“woonhak!” you yelled from your seat on the sofa to your boyfriend, who was, as per usual, playing games. his headphones blasted with the voices of his friends, and you knew that just calling him just once wouldn’t make a difference. “woon.” you walked up behind him, rapidly tapping him on the shoulder. finally, he turned his head around, sliding one side of his headset behind his ear. “hm?” his face was innocent and sweet, very unlike how he was acting just moments before. “can i use your phone? mine just died.” promptly shoving your phone's blank screen in front of woonhak’s face. “yeah, sure, baby. it’s on the table over there.” he smiled before pointing at the coffee table in the middle of your apartment. “thanks.” you kissed him on the cheek before scurrying to take his phone and charge yours.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ✩˚ ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

more under the cut!

it really wasn’t your intention to be sneaking around on woonhak’s phone; hiding the screen from him (even though he was meters away, eyes glued onto his computer) discreetly scrolling through his never ending camera roll wasn’t what you imagined you’d be doing when you asked to use his phone.

a breach of privacy? yes, it was. entertaining to see the cute pictures he’d taken of him, you and his friends? yes, too.

you only planned to use his phone to watch videos on youtube and then you’d return it once your phone had fully charged, but if you would check your phone now, it’d be at 101%. your boyfriend’s phone had become more interesting.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ✩˚ ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

games? looked through. calendar? seen. camera roll? you’d seen every picture he’d taken. you hadn’t a clue what to do next.

woonhak was still busying himself at the computer, shouting into the small microphone that stuck out from the headphones.

what would woonhak do if he was on your phone?

it was hard to think about, considering if he was on your phone he’d probably just be playing the millions of games you had installed on it.

but that’s when it hit you.

his notes app.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ✩˚ ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

you weren’t sure if he had the same sort of stuff you did on your notes app; a wish list, quick grocery lists, the spontaneous vent of anger, the yearning for a man who you already had. woonhak most definitely had the opposite of yours. it might’ve even been empty, still asking him to sign in with his apple id.

except what you had in mind was the complete flip side of what he did have.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ✩˚ ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

in the start, it was everything you had expected — a list of everyone’s birthdays, followed by another full of gifts he could get them. song ideas, song titles, short snippets of lyrics. it didn’t really matter to you.

until you scrolled to the bottom of them all.

“hjakeojskqmsl”

what?

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ✩˚ ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

you hesitantly clicked on it, somewhat scared of what you would see.

then, you saw it. a long paragraph full of things you liked and disliked.

woonhak — the boy who never seemed put together, wasn’t very neat, and was always clumsy — had written all of this… about you?

of course, you were his girlfriend. that was no question and he took his boyfriend responsibilities very seriously. but you never thought he would write every single detail about your likes and dislikes.

the more you read, the more you saw how detailed he was about everything you said or told him. it looked as if he had written every single word you said and copied it down.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ✩˚ ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

you were so lost in reading his “self written long list of y/n” as he called it in the subheading, that you didn’t notice him ending the call with his friends, shutting down his computer, or his voice calling you.

“y/n? your phone’s done charging.” he unplugged it, walking towards you to pass it over in exchange for his.

“wait! i’m not done rea— watching!” you slammed his phone onto the bed, protecting the screen from his eyes.

“rea? what were you gonna say, y/n?” he attempted to snatch his phone back, but you quickly pulled it away from him. you couldn’t let him see that you were sneaking about on his phone, he wouldn’t let you on his phone ever again!

“nothing! i’m watching a video, woon, let me finish it.” you pleaded, hoping he’d get off your tail. “fine, but i’ll watch with you.” he sat right beside you, reaching over to the other side to get his phone from you. “woonhak!” but it was too late, he already had a hold on his phone.

“you were on my notes app?” he would never believe you. about how it wasn’t your intention to invade his privacy and be checking through his apps unbeknowingly to him. for all you knew, he could just break up with you on the spot.

“i’m sorry, woonhak. i really was watching videos, but i got bored and went through your apps and—” he cut you off. “how much did you read?” he didn’t seem to care that you were going through his apps, it felt more like he cared about his dignity. “i mean, i didn’t finish reading it since you took it… but until the part where you said ‘y/n likes sunsets. i like them too because she looks extra beautiful when it shines on her face.’ but that’s about it.” you recalled his exact words, memorising it like a script.

“ugh!” he tackled you to the bed, hiding his face in your chest. “it’s so embarrassing…” he mumbled into your shirt. “what? it’s not embarrassing at all, woonhak. i think it’s kinda cute, y’know.” you held him in your arms, giggling as he whined. “whatever…” he played with the ends of your hair, pouting his lips.

woonhak could forgive you for anything you’ve done, but this? woonhak would never forgive you for this.

[cosmowgyral]

Villain's Festival 2025

This is a fan translation so please don't expect it to be 100% accurate. Creative liberties have been taken. All content belongs to Cybird. Reblogs are appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

⊹▸ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒

In the midst of the ongoing chaos in the training grounds, Darius, having brushed against Nica, foresaw a ‘worst-case future’.

Nica: Haha, a fool huh? I’m kinda curious to see how that’s gonna play out.

Jude: If yer that keen, I’ll knock ya flat and let the whole lot watch ya make a right show of yerself.

Jude swung his sword at Nica.

The powerful strike would be devastating if it landed, but its movement was straightforward and easy to predict.

Nica easily dodged the first strike—but the moment he evaded, the next swing was already in motion.

Jude: I ain’t lettin’ ya slip away that easy.

Jude’s relentless onslaught drove Nica further into a corner.

His only weapon was his gun. Without a blade to block with, he had no opening to counterattack.

Realizing he couldn’t dodge any longer, Nica leapt backward.

Darius: Aah, Nica. You’ve done it now.

Nica: Huh…? What..is this….

Nica looked back and noticed that Elbert had stepped on his shadow.

Elbert: …Sorry. I was trying to avoid stepping on anyone’s shadows.

Elbert: But I couldn’t quite handle someone coming at me so suddenly.

Nica: This…is the worst….

The gun slipped from Nica’s hand, and he sank to the ground as if dragged down by gravity.

Nica: No, I don’t believe that…I won’t accept this, no way..!

Nica: Only I…

Nica: This can’t be….I’m the only one….who ended up like this..!

Ring: Nica!

Ring clasped Nica’s outstretched hand, as if answering his silent plea for help.

Nica: …..!

After taking his hand, the pallor on Nica’s face gradually gave way to a healthier flush.

Roger: Elbert’s ability got overwritten by Ring’s, huh.

Elbert: I’m glad…you didn’t have to suffer for long.

While the others talked, Ring peered anxiously into Nica’s face.

Ring: …Are you okay?

Nica: Shouldn’t you be worrying about yourself, Ring?

Freed from Elbert’s ability, Nica picked up his gun and pointed it at Ring.

A gunshot echoed—but his target wasn’t Ring. It was Ellis, standing behind him.

Ellis: …gh

Ellis, who was about to attack Ring from behind, quickly pulled back to dodge Nica’s bullet.

Ellis: What a shame…I thought I could take Ring down just now.

Nica: Playing dirty, huh? And with that innocent looking face too.

Ellis: When everyone’s this strong, I can’t be too picky about playing fair.

As time passed… the sound of clashing steel and gunfire in the training ground was joined by the heavy panting of exhausted fighters.

William adjusted his grip on his longsword, his shoulders rising and falling slightly as he fixed his gaze on Victor.

Victor: Will, you know…it’s alright to take a break now.

William: I’m okay. No need to worry.

The two were evenly matched, and the deadlock showed no signs of breaking.

Victor: We used to spar together so many times back in the day, didn’t we?

Victor: Back then, I couldn’t believe there was someone out there as strong as you.

Victor: Even now, it’s the same. Your sword has only grown sharper—more refined and powerful.

William: I should be the one saying that.

William: When we first started training, I meant to hold back so I wouldn’t hurt you, but now…

William: …You didn’t leave me a choice, forcing me to draw my sword in earnest for the first time.

Even as they reminisced about the past, neither of them eased their relentless attacks.

While they spoke, both kept a keen eye out, waiting for the slightest opening to strike.

It was precisely because they knew each other so well that William and Victor’s battle dragged on.

Meanwhile, Roger was starting to feel the strain as well.

Harrison: …What’s wrong, Roger? Already tired?

With a defiant grin, Harrison brought his sword down on Roger.

He raised his gun vertically, using the barrel to block the attack.

Roger: Look who’s talking. What’s the big idea, not using your gun?

Harrison, who usually relied on his gun, was wielding a sword today.

Because of that, Roger was finding it harder to predict his moves.

Harrison: I just figured a sword would give me the upper hand here… so I left my gun behind.

Harrison: Honestly, it’s stranger that you’re sticking to that rifle of yours.

Roger: As long as I can keep you on your toes with this rifle, that’s all I need.

Roger: I’m only interested in measuring the physical abilities of the cursed.

In that instant, Harrison’s sword movement shifted—from a sweeping slash to a sudden thrust.

To respond to the sudden change, Roger adjusted his gaze… and met Harrison’s eyes.

Harrison: That bit about just wanting ‘to measure physical abilities’—that was a lie, wasn’t it?

With a sly grin, his sword slashed against Roger’s barrel, only to be pushed back.

Roger: Well, well... I thought I was being careful not to meet your eyes, but I guess I couldn’t fool you after all.

A dark shadow suddenly darted between the two.

Ellis: So, Roger… you want to become the strongest man and make Kate happy too, don’t you?

Ellis mercilessly brought his knife down on Roger, forcing him to instinctively block the strike that came from his blind spot.

Roger only managed to pull it off because he barely caught the rustle of Ellis’ clothes.

Ellis: If you’re not just here for data, then I’ll come at you seriously.

He aimed his knife at Roger’s rifle.

Ellis: Hah…!

His attack sent the rifle flying, landing in the corner of the training hall.

Ellis: ….Now you’re out of the fight.

With that, Ellis closed in on Roger, ready to deliver the finishing blow.

However—

Roger: Too naïve.

Roger’s fist struck Ellis squarely on the underside of his jaw.

Ellis: ….gh!

Ellis leaned back with the punch to lessen the impact, but he still took the full force of Roger’s powerful uppercut.

Roger: Come at me. I’ll take you down with these fists alone.

Harrison: …That’s more like it.

Harrison steadied his breathing and aimed his gun at Roger.

Roger: …What the hell? Didn’t you say you left it behind? So you had a gun all along..

Harrison: You know I’m a liar, don’t you?

The men will keep fighting as long as they remain standing—until only one is left.

[Chapter 3] [Masterlist] [Chapter 5]

➽──────────────❥

Nicaaa! 😭💔

[kitkatorin]

RAAAAAA FIRST PART OF THE TARN FIC IS DONE

I think I'll post it in about 3 parts. Full thing will be on AO3 at some point. Just hoping I can get these random ideas I have into a cohesive storyline.

Also I hope I wrote the Cybertronian reader bit ok ;;;; never really done it in a published work before

「ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴜɴɪsʜᴍᴇɴᴛ」

ᴛᴀʀɴ x ᴄʏʙᴇʀᴛʀᴏɴɪᴀɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Part 1/?

Word Count: 2.8k

SFW (for now 👀)

Cybertronian GN Reader, Decepticon aligned

CW: Violence, mentions of death, torture, coercion/subjugation, mind control if you squint, Tarn monologuing

---

A lot can happen in a couple million years, especially when it's primarily occupied by war. Some things you can recall as if they happened in the last cycle, others were filtered out by your central processor as trivial information that wasn't even worth the effort of digging back up. Sure, you may not have always operated impeccably to all of the Decepticon ideals to the nanobyte in all that span of time, but you at least considered yourself generally loyal to the cause since Declaration Day.

So Primus only knows how you ended up on The List. Well, Primus and the Decepticon Justice Division, of course.

The lonely outpost you were surviving out of with your ragtag group of fellow 'Cons was overrun first with sheer panic at the sight of the Peaceful Tyranny on the short range scanners. There was no talk of fighting back, no negotiating. Maybe running, hiding, or escaping if that was even possible. But those desperate prospects quickly dissipated when the ruthless enforcers were first sighted treading down the halls.

You were forced to experience the horrors you only heard as hushed rumors. You watched your comrades - one by one - slashed, gutted, and mutilated in unimaginable fashions. How many did Megatron's posse victimize to learn just how far they can go with their creative, tortuous theatrics? One was savagely stripped of their plating and kept conscious enough to witness the evisceration of their own inner components. Another had their servos shredded like junkyard scrap in the bladed chest cavity of the one called Tesarus. One was left to convulse in agony as their faceplate was gouged by the deathmask belonging to another named Vos. The last was incinerated in a furnace interred in Helex's torso, leaving barely a pile of smelted slag in their memory.

The sheer intensity of the experience skewed your chronosense, confusing moments for eternities watching your friends suffer until their sparks were eventually extinguished and what little was left of their bodies littered the room. By some obscure methodology or maybe a cruel twist of fate, you were the last one to remain barely functional, though you didn't expect that to last much longer. You laid with your faceplate pressed against the cool floor while searing electrical burns pervaded your frame. Somewhere in your peripherals, heavy pedes treaded around you in a slow, calculated pace. Your systems were long since exhausted to even bother identifying the source, but they eventually crossed into view.

"Such a pitiful state you find yourself in." It was Tarn who spoke as he stood over you. You figured this was his personalized monologue to you before your own demise, as even your spark seemed to shudder within its chamber just at the sound of his slate-smooth voice. "Self-preservation is such a capricious thing. It is undeniable, of course, that we possess the innate drive to mitigate any threats to our life. But what place does it serve in the struggle of morality? One may think that fleeing to fight another day grants the future prospect of redemption, that they can somehow still prove themselves valuable to the cause in another way." Tarn paced meditatively before stopping directly in front of you. He took a moment to scan your weakened frame through malicious crimson optics.

"When we align ourselves with the Decepticon cause, do we not commit our usefulness to Megatron's will? We aim to put our faith in his decrees without fallacy, for doing so ensures that our service in life or our sacrifice in honorable death in a defining moment of loyalty furthers the Decepticon creed."

Your spark increasingly resonated to a precarious frequency as he spoke; panic quickly flooded over you, but your body could do little to rectify it. Tarn clasped his servos behind his back and languidly approached you, taking in the fear that permeated your electromagnetic field.

"You would let existential fears override your determination to serve a cause greater than yourself. Your undirected retreat - your cowardly act of self-preservation - was a foolish exhibition of defiance. And look where that defiance brought you now. True, it may have provided you the opportunity to fight again under the Decepticon name. But since then, could you claim that your spark was truly devoted to the cause if you were able to selfishly defy those direct orders?"

Your spark now felt like it was on the verge of combustion. What started as a buzzing hum grew to a deafening ringing in your audials. It burned so viciously in your thoraxal cavity that you wished you could rip your spark out from its own casing. Through all of the brutal torture for however long it lasted, your final undoing would seem to come through Tarn's vicious sermon.

Through the warnings of imminent termination that crowded your visual displays, you saw Tarn stoop on one knee in front of you. The Decepticon insignia mask that he sported was mere centihics from your faceplate, and the glaring optics that peered from within locked with your faltering gaze. He paused with an unsettling silence, perhaps deciding what words he would use to finalize your execution. He had your dwindling spark within his clutches, and at any moment, he could decide to snuff it out. Throughout all these cycles and everything you experienced within them, you never envisioned your end would be a slow and excruciating torture at the hands of someone who wore the same symbol you had proudly branded on your chassis as their face. Regardless, your fate felt sealed as your spark seized with a terminal finality from Tarn's influence, like his digits were closing its grasp on your very life force.

"Though... perhaps your efforts of self preservation has afforded you a second chance at proving your usefulness." Clawed digits delicately grazed beneath your mandibular plate before clasping the sides your chin and angling your helm just enough to force what little focus you had left to conjure solely on him. "After all, redefining one's function beyond their perceived form is a cornerstone to the foundation of all that we fight for."

The noose on your life eased, though it still loomed over you with Tarn's intimidating presence. He removed his hand from where he was holding your faceplate, letting your helm fall back to the floor.

"Immobilize this miscreant and prep them for transport." Tarn stood up to his full height as he issued the command. He cast his gaze down to you and the pathetic state he left you in at his pedes before turning and walking away without another word.

It didn't take long for you to come to the regrettable conclusion that termination might have been better than whatever new plans Tarn now had in store for you. But those thoughts were quickly cut short as cackles of electricity erupted around you and almost instantly followed by overwhelming energy burning through circuits. The image of Tarn striding away was the last thing you saw before your overcharged systems went dark.

---

Indistinct monophonic noise first filtered through your audial feed before gradually recalibrating to stereo fields. What was first nondesrcipt noise was actually a mixture of the lulling hum of running engines and... music? Yes, it was some kind of vaguely recognizable music that was playing, but your processing power was more focused on rebooting your systems than identifying the melody.

As the sounds droned on, your internal visual display became more organized, and external spectrums sharpened to a coherent view. You were on the floor of a fairly lit room, appearing to be an office or personal quarters judging by the furnishings that were immediately visible. There was a moderately sized desk directly ahead of you, and while your optics continued to adjust from the reset, you were slowly able to identify neat stacks of data pad volumes and other memorabilia.

There were several badges of varying sizes - mostly Decepticon, but you saw a few red Autobot insignias in some places - and trophies of a more personal design. Empty sockets of a cranial chamber perched on the edge of the desk met your gaze, and when you recognized what was staring back at you, you jolted in shock. Your awakening tactile sensors alerted you to unexpected resistance - your servos were restrained in front of you by inhibitors.

"Ah, you're back online." The sound of that hauntingly familiar voice sent a wave of dread through your reawakening circuits. Before that, you could have tried to convince yourself that this was all a terrible nightmare, but the undeniable reality was that you were still functional and helplessly bound in Tarn's presence.

"I was beginning to think that Kaon went a little overboard with the voltage." Tarn sat behind the desk, data pad in one hand as he casually propped his helm with the other. Dull pain washed over you as you tried to readjust yourself to see him better. His optics rose from the slate's contents to watch you struggle.

"I had a chance to go through your personnel file, and I must say, you have quite the record." Tarn placed the pad upon one of the orderly stacks and then pushed it slightly by its side to align it near perfectly among the others. His demeanor was ominously relaxed as he had apparently waited patiently for you to reactivate. "If not for a few instances of poor judgment, you would have made an exemplary Decepticon among your ranks."

You didn't want this overly casual conversation with someone who had brought you to death's door. It just further puzzled you as to why he would even keep you alive. The question of "why" and the need to know what he had planned for you formed in your processor, but only distorted static, barely recognizable as any comprehensible words, came stumbling out as you tried to speak them. You still forced yourself to talk despite the initial embarrassment, thinking the lingering malfunction would clear up so you could eventually voice your concerned confusion. Tarn observed your pitiful attempts with an unwavering stare, almost seeming amused by your efforts.

"What's wrong, little dissident? Glitches in your vocalizer?" He chuckled as he leisurely rose from his chair. "It should pass in time, though I do hope you realize that nothing you could possibly say can change your current circumstances." He passively let his digits glide along the desk's surface as he moved before you.

"You should feel honored - as your old companions lay as little more than rusting piles of scrap in a crumbling outpost, you were allowed to remain functional for just a bit longer." With a fluent sweep of his arm, Tarn gestured to the rest of the room you had yet to visualize. "And to be among relics of our celebrated legacy despite your tainted reputation... truly an act of undeserved clemency."

Your stiff actuators were slow to respond, but you managed to turn your head to observe the other sides of the room. Various campaign banners lined one wall, some in pristine condition, others tattered and torn from use on the front lines. You recognized most, but a handful were unknown to you. Beneath them, requisitioned weapons and tools - some still attached to the severed limbs of their previous owners - were displayed on pedestals and in glass cases. Your optics tentatively gazed over the rest of the room that was adorned like a disturbing museum. Even whole lifeless frames were suspended on the walls like any other decorative piece. All the while, soft, decietfully soothing music continued to play in the background. It served as an apathetic attempt at counteracting the horrors you saw, only to further compound your growing unease. It was somewhat of a relief when Tarn resumed so that your attention was drawn away from the morbid furnishings, but that was extremely short-lived.

"Do not think that you are pardoned. You were specifically ordered to hold the line in that critical operation, but you choosing instead to retreat out of fear cost precious time and energy thay could have been focused elsewhere. Your transgression is inexcusable."

He passed in front of you and stood before a large window to your left. The cold, dark expanse of space was displayed beyond, but the glass reflected Tarn's form within it. Though his gaze was directed outward, the angle of the reflection made it seem like he never lost sight of you.

"But I saw fit to reinculcate your understanding of the Decepticon ideology prior to your exacting your sentence." Tarn turned his helm toward you so that his gaze pierced you from the side of his optics. "After all, it does no good if a sinner does not truly understand the gravity of the sin for which they are punished."

Tarn moved away from the window and paced back toward his desk, passing in front of you again. "The ruthlessness that the Decepticons have become known for is ultimately rooted in a focal aspiration - achieving progressive change through decisive action." He stopped for a moment, pedes fixed in place with an upright, dignified posture that gave the impression that he was directing a philosophical discussion among academy students instead of sociopathically preaching a doctrine to an audience of one.

"Think of how society would have been without Megatron's revolution - stagnant, oppressive, self-destructive. Without his call for change, a call for action, we would be suffocating ourselves in a broken system."

As he continued, you were helplessly inclined to listen. But instead of filling you with the fear that your spark would be extinguished in a mere moment, a numbing daze washed over you that made your lingering anxieties virtually irrelevant. It was like being infused with a sedative prior to an operation, except that your life was not in the hands of a trusted medical professional - you could be subjected to untold machinations of Tarn's design. You were powerless to do anything, and as he carried on in a tone that seemed to effortlessly harmonize with the persisting music, the less you cared.

"Megatron's influence has called many to the cause over the millennia, resonating with those who felt dissatisfied and victimized by blatant injustice." Tarn shifted his optics to the stack of data pads again. "So many individuals, rallied behind the ambition of one..." He let the thought fade with silence, then his gaze suddenly snapped back to you, his frame following as he turned to face you directly.

"I'm willing to think that despite your grevious shortcomings, you still have the capacity to understand loyalty and obedience."

Tarn began moving towards you in an unhurried pace, and you instinctively stiffened like cornered prey as he drew closer.

"Your traitorous legacy could have ended along with your compatriots. But that would have been too fleeting, a viable opportunity would have been wasted."

He lowered himself to kneel over you, as if he were studying you like some fascinating specimen. He was just above eye level as you timorously shrunk back from him in apprehension. Perhaps he was studying you - with those glaring crimson optics burning straight through you - maybe he was able to see the parts of you that weren't publicized in a service record. Maybe he could discern the secrets you thought were locked and hidden away. And as your dorsal plates pressed flush against the wall you shrunk back to, that overwhelming helplessness flooded your systems again. It felt like everything was laid bare for Tarn to exploit; no matter how much armor you had, you felt entirely stripped down to the point where he could see the cables and wires lacing through your protoform. With nowhere to retreat to, Tarn minimized what little space remained between the two of you, bringing his upper half so dangerously close that his subtle passive venting swept across your dermal receptors.

"I intend to impress upon you the very essence of servitude, so you will understand clearly just how gravely you've disgraced Lord Megatron." Tarn's voice couldn't have been louder than a hushed murmur, but it echoed within your own mind like a persistent thought, reverberating with an undeniable intensity that drowned out all other possible notions.

The words "obedience," "loyalty," and "servitude" in Tarn's entrancing voice ricocheted in your cortex to the point that you perceived nothing else beyond that. Or simply because the only other source of sound had automatically deactivated.

"Ah, it seems we've reached the end of the suite." Tarn just barely turned his face in the vague direction of his desk, referring to the now silenced device that was playing his choice musical pieces throughout his discourse.

"How timely." He returned his icy attention to you. "I was thinking it was about time to indulge in a different musical number."

---

To be continued...

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Do you have any advice on how to write creepy villains who are also classy? I know that's rather specific, but I have trouble writing them because I creep myself out and I'm also worried I'm being too cheesy!

Writing Ideas: Creepy Villains

"Creepy" Characters

When you get creeped out by someone, that means that there is something about them that is making you (consciously or unconsciously) perceive them as a threat to your personal safety.

It is your brain’s way of warning you that there is something:

unpredictable,

unsettling, or

dangerous

...about that person, and it is unable to decide if that person should be feared.

This typically manifests in awkwardness, confusion, or unsettlement, and you typically resolve it by getting as far away from the creepy person as possible.

Kinds of "Creeps"

Creeps come in all shapes and sizes, and their reasons for their creepy behavior could be sinister or entirely accidental.

In addition to that, many factors that people perceive as creepy are things that people cannot help, such as appearance or gender.

For example, men are far more likely to be considered creepy than women, and physical attractiveness plays a large role as well.

People can even disagree about what they consider to be creepy.

Depending on the character, the setting, and the story you are writing, being a “creep” could have wildly different connotations.

In one story, a creep might be a suspect in a murder case, while in another, a woman could feel threatened by her creepy blind date.

Or, the creep in question could simply be a teenage boy trying to fit in at high school.

Creepiness can even be a good thing!

Some of the most beloved characters in media come across as creepy characters, such as Stein from Soul Eater or the entirety of the Addams Family.

Misunderstandings can also work in your favor, as your protagonists can experience character development as they learn to accept and befriend those who appear different from themselves.

To make a character a bit more unsettling and potentially reveal more about their creepy nature, consider giving them some of these traits and behaviors:

Erratic and unpredictable emotions 

Unapologetic non-conformance to societal norms

A careless appearance (e.g., messy or greasy hair)

A habit of standing too close to people or not respecting personal boundaries

Weird or inappropriate expressions

Always appearing too tired or too energetic

Repeated quirks (e.g., fidgeting or licking their lips)

Obsessing over a single idea, person, group, or topic; usually of a taboo nature, such as sex or death, though it doesn’t always have to be (e.g., teenage girls can be creepy in the way they obsess over musical idols or bands.)

Avoiding eye contact

Conversational awkwardness, or an inability to pick up on social cues

Oversharing in conversation, especially about really personal topics

Showing too much or too little emotion (or the wrong emotion in a situation, such as finding humor in a funeral)

Collecting things, especially things that are usually deemed inappropriate to keep, such as fingernails, animal skulls, or other people’s trash (bonus points if the creep brags about their collection in conversation)

Having a hobby that involves watching something, such as bird watching (binoculars are an inherently creepy image)

Having unrealistic expectations for, or even idealizing, other people (often to the point of obsession)

Knowing too much about something or someone, and remembering way too many details

Staring, either into space, at animals, people, their own hands, etc.; staring is often creepy

This is in no way an exhaustive list. Remember that these traits alone are not enough to make a person creepy—they are only part of the strategy. One way of generating ideas is to think about real "creepy" people from your own life, from the news, or even other fictional stories. Think about the behaviors that, if you saw in real life, would make you keep your distance from someone. Think about the behaviors that frighten you, and use those. 

Here are a couple of tamer ideas for behaviors to keep your creeps realistic and subtle:

Acting too calm under pressure

Having too much knowledge regarding a particular topic

Smiling at inappropriate times

Giving off the impression of knowing more than they let on

Being too friendly

Having a nonchalant attitude towards death and suffering

Phrasing things in a way that seems unnatural for a native speaker

Being insistent about getting what they want

Having or showing a lack of sympathy or emotion

Not taking anyone seriously, or taking people way too seriously

Evidence of trauma or a mysterious event in their past

Any peculiarities in attitude, attire, and hobbies

If you keep things in moderation, you might not have the same immediate effect on readers, but you have the opportunity to slowly build the creepiness up over time.

But remember: Just because someone is different does not mean they are creepy or dangerous.

Some Writing Tips:

Add details slowly

Find a balance between creepiness and humanization

Let the readers do the imagining

Show, don’t tell

Use strong verbs

"Classy" Characters

Some tropes that show a character is "classy":

Classy Cane: Stylish and sophisticated characters often have canes. Either because they actually need it due to a disability or just want to show off how classy they are.

Classy Cravat: A cravat is a strip of cloth originating from Croatia that is wrapped and tied around the neck, sometimes embellished with lace or other decals. It's a predecessor to the necktie, and a common accessory in 17th to 19th century men's fashion. It's also excellent shorthand to show your audience that a character is rich and classy. If a character in the modern era wants to show their status, but doesn't want to look like they popped out of a time machine, they will often wear a toned down Ascot. These have the similar connotations, just with a more modern touch.

Tea is Classy: The very practice of tea drinking is presented as a sign of wealth and privilege. In China, where Tea and Tea Culture originates, high-quality tea was often used by the nobility as a symbol of status. When tea eventually made its way to Britain in the 17th century, it was six to ten times more expensive than coffee, making it a luxurious commodity associated with aristocracy. Even as tea becomes more widespread and "common", and with diners selling "to go" paper cups of tea, the connotation of tea drinking as a sign of sophistication and wealth still persists.

Wine is Classy: Whenever a character is shown drinking wine, it's usually a good sign that person is high class or sophisticated (or trying to come off as such), especially if the wine comes from their special private stock. The connotations of this can vary depending on the person. This trope varies widely by culture. In most of Western and Southern Europe, particularly in countries with a strong wine-making tradition like France, Germany, Spain, and Italy, wine is viewed as a fairly mundane and commonplace beverage (to the point where wine is served in some McDonald's), though prestigious vintages and appellations still fit this trope and tend to be expensive. It's also (in France) almost only drunk during meals, not between, and binge drinking is met with more social disapproval than with beer cultures. This may be an artifact of Roman times when drinking full-strength wine was considered barbaric and it was thus often watered down.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Writing a Villain

Villain Archetypes ⚜ Writing Notes: Villains

An Unforgettable Villain ⚜ Anti-Villain

Sympathetic Villain ⚜ Your Villain's Evil Plan

Here are some writing tips and references from different sources. Since both creepiness and class are quite subjective, choose which elements you would like to incorporate in your story to create your creepy but classy villain, considering your own perception of both characteristics, your plot etc. (On the same note, what's "cheesy" is also quite subjective. Some writers aim for realistic/believable depiction to avoid this, but then there's also that old writing advice: Write what you want). Hope this helps with your writing!

[jojaxcola]

So I, like a lot of people, love your mockumentary series. And this is a stretch and probably won't get done for ages but could I use your mockumentaries to write a fanfic? It won't be long or complex, more of an extension to the scenes you've drawn. I'll give credits, don't worry but yeah.

But if I do, I'd love if you answered a few characterisation questions.

I know the farmer filmed some but is any of it not farmer filmed?

Why is the farmer doing this?

Are there any fanon or hcs you used to create characters that I should use too?

Expect more soon + updates

Thank you so much!! I had this in my inbox for a while and I've been thinking for a while about how to answer, because I'm not sure how much I want to give away at this point in the series hehe 👀 but I hope these answers are helpful

I consider the farmer/producer to be the project lead and to be present for everything that's being filmed. While they take on some of their own filming, they have a small crew to handle things like camera work and sound. During the talking head segments, the farmer is the one prompting them with questions as needed

The farmer is still a Joja employee like in the beginning of the game, but not with the same office desk job. Their team has been tasked with filming a documentary series highlighting the happenings of a JojaMart location, and the farmer was the one to propose the relatively new Pelican Town location due to their grandfather's love of Stardew Valley. So they're still a newcomer to the town, but they don't have the farm. I might stay a bit quiet about the farmer's ultimate motivations for this project, though... :)

This one's a bit tricky since I'm not totally sure how to narrow it down hehe. One thing I'll say here is that I altered Sam's work schedule to have him appear in the store more often (since in the game he's only there like six hours a week). I'll also say a little bit about how I like to characterize the main players in the series:

Sam is someone whose cheeriness is partly genuine, but also partly because he needs to be the guy who keeps everyone positive in tough times. It's important to him to make sure everyone feels included and not forgotten. Sam isn't dumb—he's actually very creative and resourceful—but he does tend to rush his thinking and follow bizarre trains of logic. He doesn't like to slow himself down, and when he dwells too much on his thoughts he tends to reach uncomfortable conclusions.

Shane has an extremely low opinion of himself, but keeps himself going at work to provide for Jas and to not be a burden to Marnie. He's easily annoyed and has a tendency to push people away, but he's not completely shut off. He'll accept gifts and other gestures of kindness but doesn't totally understand why he's getting them, or why he even deserves them. He needs significant and repetitive convincing to believe any friendship with him is genuine. Shane believes that life is harsh, and he tends to fixate on difficult truths. Sam's optimism frustrates him, and he sees Sam as a naive little boy who will be eaten alive by the cruelty of reality.

I don't like depicting Morris as cartoonishly evil. I think it's more fun to make him "corporate evil", where his villainy comes from a "socially-acceptable" disregard for the little guy. He'll go on about how the JojaMart personnel are one big family, but he can't even call his employees by their names. He thinks he's above his staff, and he's satisfied by the idea of getting to look down on someone; he views higher-ups as having earned their power, and that looking down on others is just part of that package. Morris loves to project the image of human connection, not because he genuinely believes in it, but because that's what appeals to customers. And he'll do everything he can to convince Pelican Town that Joja is the answer to all of their problems.

I also like to pepper little personal headcanons into the different entries (I like to think Sam is left-handed, so I wrote his notes on his right wrist in no. 5) but I think listing them here would bloat this post :o

Please feel free to ask anything else about the series (or individual scenes), this was really fun to write up! And I can't wait to see what you come up with!! :D

===============

Follow ups to this post (I might make a separate FAQs post if needed):

What has become of the community center? (@happycomputertimetravel): It's still dilapidated. I consider the jojamart series to have the town in the same state as it is at the start of the game (so Kent is still overseas, the bus is still broken, etc.) unless depicted otherwise

[utilitycaster]

stopping a little pre-break to go to the gym, and this is also a little salty and in response to the ask I deleted but once again the idea that the Mighty Nein didn't follow plot hooks and meandered and whatever is just instant "oh you're stupid." like, I think they followed weirder plot hooks, but they did in fact consistently follow plot hooks or organically ended up via dice rolls:

from Trostenwald, headed to Zadash, which was a pretty natural progression given how many of them had interests leading to an urban center; Alfield detour because it was literally on fire

followed the mail that Beau stole to Zadash

Took TONS of opportunities in Zadash, eventually deciding to get out of town as they (understandably) didn't want to get involved in the war; took a job with the Gentleman who was part of the hook from the mail Beau stole and tied into Jester's backstory, though that wasn't something they knew at the time (but was a person one would want the party to meet so that the payoff would hit right...consider how flat all the Apex War stuff fell in C3 because no one followed any sidequests/investigation about it)

Did the jobs for the Gentleman and a few things that popped up en route; Molly's death

Found the letter from Avantika at the Sour Nest and it served as an opportunity to see Jester's family; followed that hook

accidentally stole a pirate ship, pirates arc, Fjord's plot becomes relevant, followed that to a reasonable point of stoppage given that Fjord didn't want to unleash Uk'otoa and Avantika was dead

Returned, in part because Felderwin had been attacked which was of relevance to Nott; stopped by Yussa's out of curiosity re: cool shit in the world [doing interesting things on a thursday! what a concept]

The discovery that Yeza had been taken leads them to Xhorhas and drives their plot from there up to and including giving the beacon over to the Bright Queen

I will admit the episodes in the 60s get a little "what do we do next" but they still serve a vital purpose of showing them the perspective of The Other (the Kryn) after a strongly Empire (and coast) perspective that quickly picks up once they start following the start of the angel of irons plot, which carries them through Yasha being taken

Follow Caduceus's visions and Fjord's pact-breaking (70-76) and then return to chasing Yasha

Upon multiple failures, seek out Yussa, masterfully DM-ed introduction of Allura and the return of the Happy Fun Ball to not only provide more information on an antagonist (Laughing Hand) but also renew the party's spirits

Get a lead on Yasha, find and free her only to be immediately tasked with ending the war

Follow that lead with a few opportunities to check on some long-running personal quests (Caduceus and the grove, Veth being turned back into a halfling, both of which are the characters' goals at the time of their introduction and have had recurring attention throughout) in the meantime

Attend peace talks, learn about Essek, get hook for Aeor from Vess DeRogna

Go to Rumblecusp, part of Jester's story that has been previously seeded

Get a vision of The End Plot (Vokodo fleeing Cognouza), return to talk to Vess, realize they could resurrect Molly perhaps given the power they had amassed

Aeor plot and endgame kicked off; honestly that alone covers more things but I do want to get to the gym.

Like...the characters all had stories very much driven by the mechanics and structure of D&D, which is inherently about gaining power, and all were given significant attention throughout, but also, while they didn't always follow the hooks Matt expected, they either were following hooks he had nonetheless provided, or making their own interesting decisions.

If this isn't for you, that is fine, truly. But I think that Reddit - especially during C2 - was mostly people mad that it wasn't still Vox Machina's story, and the idea that C3 is a response to Reddit is not a defense of C3 but a condemnation, ie, the correct response would be flipping off Reddit and saying "I do what I want." And again: "not for me" = totally fine. "avoidant/plotless"= you are abysmal at narratology and this means your analysis is not worth my time.

[bitchinbarzal]

Easy | M Kesselring

You weren’t supposed to be here.

You had told yourself that all week—don’t go to the party, don’t make it weird, don’t give him the satisfaction. But then your friend begged you to come, promised it would be low-key. That “he might not even show.” And even if he did, it’s not like you owed him anything, right?

Still, walking into the bar and immediately seeing Michael Kesselring with his arm stretched across the back of a booth, a beer in one hand and a blonde in the other, made your stomach twist. Not with heartbreak. With disappointment. Because you knew exactly what he was doing.

It hadn’t even been a week since your last fight—the one where he told you he “didn’t know what he wanted” and you told him you weren’t going to wait around for him to figure it out.

You had expected distance. Silence. Maybe even regret.

You hadn’t expected this: him clearly putting on a show.

She was laughing at something he said, her body leaning into his like it was second nature. You knew her type. Pretty, polished, loud enough to be noticed but not too much to scare him off. You weren’t even mad at her—she probably had no idea she was part of a performance.

You didn’t stare. You didn’t sulk. You ordered a drink, smiled at the guy next to you, and made a point of having a good time. But Michael kept glancing over. Watching. Waiting.

And finally, you got tired of the game.

You walked across the bar, casual and calm, like you weren’t about to deliver a line that would leave him gutted.

“Hey,” you said smoothly as you reached them. He straightened like you’d caught him cheating on a test. “This her?”

“Uh—yeah,” he started, scrambling. “This is—”

You cut him off with a shrug and a soft smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

“If you’re that easy to take,” you said, voice calm but cutting, “she can have you.”

The girl blinked, confused, and Michael opened his mouth, but you were already walking away, not sparing either of them another glance.

You made it all the way outside before the weight of it hit him.

⸻

He found you out back a few minutes later, arms crossed, your phone in your hand, pretending not to care even as your heart beat like a war drum.

“Y/N—wait.” His voice was soft, breathless like he’d run to catch you.

You didn’t look up. “Go back inside, Michael. She’s probably wondering where her trophy went.”

He winced. “I was being stupid.”

“Yeah,” you said flatly. “You were.”

“I thought if I made you jealous, you’d… I don’t know. Feel something.”

Now you looked at him. “I did feel something, Michael. I felt embarrassed for you. And then I felt done.”

That hit. Hard.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You shook your head. “You didn’t. Because I’m not going to let you. I know what I’m worth. And I’m not going to play games with someone who doesn’t.”

He was silent for a beat, then: “Can I fix this?”

You studied him for a long moment. “That depends. Are you just chasing me now because I walked away? Or because you actually want me?”

“I want you,” he said immediately. “I just… messed it up.”

“You did,” you said. “And if you want another shot, you’re going to have to prove that you know what to do with it.”

Then you walked past him, back into the bar—not to play hard to get, but because you refused to let a man like Michael Kesselring forget what it felt like to lose you.

And that night, as he stood there watching you walk away a second time, he swore to himself there wouldn’t be a third.

Michael didn’t go back inside.

He stood outside that bar long after you walked away, playing your words on repeat in his head. If you’re that easy to take, she can have you. He hadn’t expected it to sting so badly—he thought you’d snap, get angry, make a scene. That would’ve been easier to deal with than your complete composure.

You weren’t jealous. You were done.

And now he was the idiot who realized too late that pushing you away didn’t protect him—it just proved he didn’t deserve you in the first place.

Still, he wasn’t about to give up. Not on you.

⸻

The next day, a knock at your door made your stomach flip. You weren’t expecting anyone, and you sure as hell weren’t ready to see him on your doorstep, hands in his pockets, looking like a man with something to prove.

You opened the door halfway. “You lost?”

“I know I’m probably the last person you want to see,” he said. “But I need to talk to you. Please.”

You didn’t say anything. But you didn’t close the door, either.

He took that as permission.

“I panicked,” he said. “You pulled away, and I thought maybe… if you saw me with someone else, it would snap you out of it. But that was selfish. Manipulative. And really fucking immature.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

He nodded. “I deserved that.”

You stepped back, arms crossed. “Michael, I’m not going to be with someone who needs to test me to feel wanted. I’m not interested in games. I need something real.”

“I know,” he said. “And I want to give you that. I just—” He paused, swallowed hard. “I get scared. Scared that I’m not enough, that you’ll wake up one day and realize you deserve better.”

You softened, just slightly. “Michael, I already know I deserve better than what you gave me last night.”

He winced. “Yeah. Yeah, you do.”

There was a long silence. Then he held something out to you: a worn notebook.

“What’s this?”

“I wrote everything I didn’t say,” he said. “Everything I should’ve told you before I let my pride get in the way.”

You hesitated, then took it slowly. The cover was creased, pages filled with his messy scrawl. You flipped it open. The first page was dated the night of your last fight.

I miss her. And I’m still so in love with her. I just don’t know how to be enough for someone like that.

Your throat tightened. “You wrote all this?”

“Every night,” he said. “Even when I didn’t deserve you.”

You held his gaze. “And now?”

“I’m not asking for everything back at once. I just want the chance to be better. To show up the right way. No games, no pushing you away, no bullshit.”

You stared at him, every instinct telling you to protect your heart.

But the truth was—you never stopped loving him either.

“I’m not going to forget what you did,” you said. “It hurt.”

“I know,” he whispered.

“But if you’re serious,” you added, voice a little steadier now, “you can start by taking me to dinner. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere we can talk. No performances.”

His shoulders sagged with relief. “I’ll plan it. No distractions. Just us.”

You gave him the tiniest smile. “Good. And for the record…”

“Yeah?”

“If you ever try to make me jealous again, I will key your car.”

He laughed, full and warm. “Fair.”

[paulyenvol6]

Meant To Be

Daemon x female reader (OS)

Based on this request. Enjoy :)

Contains: mentions of incest, kidnapping, arranged marriages, jealousy, choking, fear and panic

Wordcount: 3,210

Masterlist

Daemon patted your head carefully cradling you as your glossy eyes looked up to him.

"I'm scared, brother."

He chuckled lowly sounding a lot more calm than he truthfully was but he couldn't make you see that. "There's no need for you to worry, sister."

"But grandfather looked so serious. I fear that he is angry with me because I broke the vase."

Daemon shook his head pursing his lips as he took in the pretty view in front of him.

"That was months ago, sweetling. Why would he come up with this now, mhm?"

To that you had nothing to say so you remained silent doubfully staring at your folded hands.

"Cheer up, will you? Thinking about it won't change anything."

It almost looked like you hadn't heard him because suddenly your eyes darted at him as if you had just had an idea. "Will you accompany me?"

Daemon sighed thoughtfully biting his lip and then tilted his head at you.

"I don't know. He asked for your presence."

Seeing you draw your face in disappointment brought little stitches to his heart and so the older brother reached for your wrists running his thumb over the back of your small hands.

"Fine. I'll come with you. But if grandfather doesn't want me there, I won't have a choice."

That seemingly was enough for you because your eyes lit up with a fresh optimism and when you wrapped your arms around him Daemon had to laugh and every last doubt about it vanished into the air.

"Thank you brother," you whispered in his ear and when you pulled back there was this softness in your brother's face that you loved so much and that you secretly believed only belonged to you. He was a fierce and dangerous knight, violant and merciless on the battle field but when he played with you, laughing and teasing you, he was another person. He was gentle, playful and kind.

It was a couple of minutes later when a guard sent by Jaehaerys demanded you to come with him and Daemon didn't hesitate and walked up to the door as well. The guard gave him a confused glance but to your relief didn't dare to intervene when your brother stepped to your side.

The walk was silent and tense, sweat relentlessly gathering on your forehead and you wished for a cold rain to soak your flushed face. The worst part about this was that you didn't know why your grandsire wished to speak to you in such a formal setting. Your eyes narrowed once you entered the throne room because you hadn't expected to meet your brother Viserys there as well.

"Brother?" you asked more surprised than suspicious but Daemon grabbed his shoulder forcefully tilting his head.

"What are you doing here, Viserys?" he hissed but before he could answer, Jaehaerys rose from his throne opening his arms in a welcoming manner.

"Step closer, my grandchildren," he requested a friendly smile on his face which made you think that you might actually not be in trouble after all.

"I'm surprised to see you here Daemon, but perhaps it is better that way."

You bit down on your bottom lip trying to find a reason for this gathering but frankly, couldn't come up with anything. The three of you bowed your heads and then you carefully raised your gaze again expecting him to finally clear the fog.

"I asked you" – he pointed to Viserys and you – "here today because I have something to discuss with you."

Jaehaerys walked down the steps so he was on the same level as you letting his eyes wander between your oldest brother and you.

"You are 16 now, granddaughter, and Viserys has just celebrated his twenty-first nameday. I believe it is time for the two of you to finally be wed under the eyes of the gods."

There was a loud noise like glass was shattering on the stoney ground although it might have happened in your mind. The blood in your veins froze, your knees became weak and the air was knocked out of your lungs. You couldn't even ask your grandfather if you mayhaps had misunderstood him and probably looked very strange for a observer right now with your wide eyes and open mouth. Viserys seemed to take the announcement a lot calmer bowing his head again and then proudly raising his chin.

"Of course, your grace. It will be my honour."

Quickly, but still utterly overwhelmed you bowed as well though much less elegant than before and then stuttered a "Yes, your grace."

You couldn't look up though too focused on collecting your chaotic thoughts and calming your rapidly pounding heart to meet the intense eyes of your grandsire. Faster than you would have wished the conversation was over with Jaehaerys saying a few more words that didn't reach your ears and then the hall was quiet the only audible sound being the heavy breathing of your brother Daemon.

Daemon. You hadn't seen his reaction to the announcement but now looked at his profile for the first time. His beautiful profile. His jaw was clenched and his nostrils flared as he stared ahead as though he hadn't noticed that Jaehaerys was gone yet. Viserys on the other hand exhaled loudly turning to you with a crooked smirk and then resting his hands on his hips.

"Well… We knew that this day would come, didn't we?"

It was true. You had been a young child, still a babe actually when Jaehaerys had betrothed Viserys as the eldest son to you, Baelon's only daughter. It had always been that way and you had had your entire life preparing yourself to wed your brother and in some way you felt ready for it but still… these news had come out of the blue knocking you over like it was the work of a heavy blow of the wind.

And then there was Daemon. Your sweet protective Daemon who you secretly thought of as your favourite brother.

"Yes, we did," you eventually answered Viserys but avoided eye contact.

"This is not going to happen," a quiet threatening voice suddenly cut through the air making the thin hair on your arms rise.

"Excuse me?" Viserys asked chuckling quietly.

"You're not going to marry her," Daemon repeated the content of his words, looking more than calm as he examined his older brother.

"Did you hear what grandfather just said?" Viserys laughed looking at Daemon as if he believed him to have a stroke or had blacked out during the announcement.

"I don't care what he said. She's not going to wed you. She's mine."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words and your big eyes flickered over his face as you tried to search for his gaze.

"Daemon?" you whispered but he ignored you solely focused on gritting his teeth at the sight of Viserys.

"Yours? If I recall correctly Jaehaerys betrothed her to me when I was 8 years old. I don't know why you're so angry, what did you expect to happen?"

Daemon took a powerful step towards his brother who looked frightened for a moment before squeezing his eyes and clenching his fists.

"Careful, Daemon. Perhaps you should leave now before you're gonna do something you're gonna regret later."

And that was exactly what happened. Daemon scoffed and you had expected him to say something else and hiss out another threat but he seemed to change his mind flashing his eyes once more before turning around and marching out of the hall. You deeply exhaled your brain working so hard your head started to painfully throb as you worriedly glared at Viserys hoping to receive some explanation from him.

"V-Viserys?" you asked on the verge of crying but felt a comforting warmth spread throughout your body when you saw the crease between his brows fade and being replaced by a gentleness in his expression.

"Don't worry. Mayhaps he just feels a little ruled out. But this is not for you to be concerned about. We have been meant to marry since we were litte children and so it will be. Daemon will calm himself in a matter of days, I'm sure."

He stroked over your hair then leaning down to kiss your forehead which was meant to be a soothing gesture but somehow it didn't quite do the job.

"He looked so angry," you breathed feeling a hole in your heart that achingly yearned for your brother to come back and hold you while telling you that he wasn't mad at you but unfortunately you didn't share these magical powers with Daemon and so all you could do was snuggle up against your other brother's chest who had pulled you into a hug.

"I know, I know. But give it time. You know him, he tends to let his emotions guide him but just as quickly as he gets enraged, he will calm down. I promise you, everything will be fine."

You sniffed a few times and then blinked when Viserys carefully lifted your head from his chest.

"Go to your chambers now and get some rest. Tomorrow everything will look different already."

You obediently nodded, rubbed with your hand over your tired eyes and then made your way out of the throne room, Viserys looking after you a lot more worried than he had portrayed himself to be.

~~~~~~~~~~

A gasp escaped your mouth your pupils dilating when a hand was pressed to your mouth and you coughed a few times squirming to free yourself from the gag.

"Shhh," a voice made and that was when you recognized the man sitting on the edge of your bed towering over your lying figure.

Daemon took one finger to his mouth and gestured you to be quiet while loosening his hand over your mouth as if to test whether you would be good.

"Shh," he made again and the corner of his mouth curled when he saw you nodding with your head. "Good girl."

Then he took his hand away from your face so you were able to inhale deeply and instead placed his hands in his lap.

"What are you doing here, Daemon?" you whispered quietly slightly sitting up in your bed.

"I came to see you, sweetling," he answered his eyes running down your face to your lips that were twisted in a pout.

"You were mean today," you claimed crossing your arms in front of your chest.

"Why was I mean?"

Your forehead furrowed eyes darting at him in disbelief.

"You were so mad for no reason. And you didn't talk or look at me for once."

Your brother chuckled which didn't quite fit the conversation in your opinion but when his hand reached to your face to caress your cheek you couldn't surpress a light smile and pressed yourself against his big hand.

"I wasn't mad at you, little flower. My anger was directed at Viserys and mayhaps our grandsire but I could never be mad at you, sweetling."

These were exactly the kinds of words you wanted to hear out of Daemon's mouth so your eyes brightened up leaving no room for your previous despair. Still you had to make sure that everything would be fine and that your brother would be willing to bury this ugly fight with Viserys so you put your hand above Daemon's.

"But the two of you are going to make up, right? I hate it when you're fighting."

"That depends, my sweet flower." You frowned at the mischievious expression of him.

"Depends on what?"

"It depends on his behaviour in the coming weeks."

If Daemon had hoped to give you some answers with his words it didn't work because your eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean by that, Daemon?"

Your brother didn't answer instead releasing your cheek to grab your hand and pulling back your blanket.

"Come with me."

Your hands tried to grasp the blanket in an attempt to cover your barely covered body but you failed and just open-mouthedly observed Daemon.

"But not in the middle of the night! And what do you even want to do?"

"Shut up," he hissed and suddenly a cold shiver ran down your spine.

"Daemon," you tried to get his attention but he brought his hand to your face once more looking at you with a new coldness in his eyes that certainly wasn't there before.

"Do as I say, little flower. I don't wanna have to make you. Be good."

The pet name that you usually adored so much stood in contrast to the harshness of his words and yet you didn't even dare thinking about disobeying him. You climbed off the bed taking a coat from the table and putting it on all under the eyes of Daemon.

"Good girl," he commented and stepped in front of you. "We're gonna make a little trip together now. Just you and me."

Something was flickering in his eyes and it scared you which was why you felt your hands began to shiver slightly.

"Where are we going, Daemon?" you asked him gasping when his hand came up to wrap around your throat.

"I thought I told you to be fucking good. All you have to do is do as I say and keep that little mouth shut. S'not that fucking hard, is it?"

You were fighting with yourself weighing whether to speak up again but you knew how angry and cold your brother could get and he seemed unpatient right now so you chose submissiveness nodding and letting him take you by your upper arm.

He didn't look at you for once while dragging you outside the keep and neither did he speak. You had barely inhaled the fresh cold air when you already regretted to have come with him because Daemon treated you so roughly that you wondered if you had done something to offend him. But the wind shifted when the two of you approached Caraxes and your brother glared at you from the side.

"Are you cold, sweetling?" he asked bringing a hand to your lower back.

"No," you answered shortly still disturbed by his outburst earlier.

Daemon didn't have to be a genius to figure out the source of your fear and quickly pulled you in for a hug which made you inhale his familiar scent.

"Forgive me. I didn't mean to scare you. I just needed you to obey me and mayhaps I've been a little to rough with you."

Your eyes fluttered with uncertainty receiving comfort by his soft voice but at the same time the memory of his narrowed eyes was still too fresh. But when he kissed your forehead hands cradling your face every last resistance was gone, vanished in the air and your hands clutched his coat.

"It's fine. I'm sorry that I was bad, brother."

You felt him trace your skin with his thumb before pulling back and gently pushing you towards his majestic dragon.

"Come closer. I'll help you climb him."

And so he did. Daemon lifted you in the air like you weighed nothing and made you sit behind him in the saddle. You had done this a thousand times, flying with Daemon who enjoyed being on dragon back a lot more than your eldest brother and spending hours in the air. It was a homely gesture, wrapping your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his shoulder and pressing yourself close to him while he commanded Caraxes to lift into the sky.

You still didn't know what was happening and what your brother intended to do but weren't you supposed to trust him? He had never done anything to get you in danger but protected and cared for you all your life. No matter how frightening or fearsome he seemed to his enemys, to you he was a kind man who cherished the ones that were dear to him. And so you were silent on the way closing your eyes and listening to the wind roaring in your ears.

You were at calm and didn't immediately notice when you were close to your destination a beautiful island spread out before your eyes. It was dragonstone, your ancestral seat.

"Why are we going to dragonstone?" you dared to ask once again and this time your brother didn't answer at all which you perhaps should feel grateful for.

Caraxes landed, a jerk going through your body and then Daemon helped you off the dragon and lifted you to the ground. Once there you had expected him to continue his rushed journey dragging you with him once again but instead he towered over you, hand cupping your face.

"Sweet flower…," he mumbled looking at you with a mixture of love and smug. "We are going to have reason to celebrate."

Before you could wonder what he meant by that Daemon suddenly leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss which instantly made your eyes widen and your body tense. You mumbled phrases of rejection but they were muffled by his mouth. He sucked and massaged your bottom lip with his mouth humming against you in satisfaction and when he pulled back you jolted backwards only just being held back by him.

"Ugh uh," he made. "Where are you going, my little love. As I said, we have reason to celebrate. I brought you here, sweet sister, to bind us for all time. You belong to me and tonight, before the sun rises on the sky we're going to be man and wife."

He gave you a smile that was so geniune you choked on your breath but Daemon cut off the words that you were about to say.

"Once it's done nothing will reverse it and you'll be mine for the rest of your life. This is how it's always been meant to be and we both know it."

You shook your head in disbelief, your trembling hands clenching in fists around the fabric of your cloak and a little cry leaving your mouth.

"No, Daemon, we can't. I am to wed Viserys. We've been promised to each other since we were children."

It was like a switch was flipped because suddenly his face twisted in anger teeth grinding as he took another step towards you and took hold of your shoulders.

"I don't care what my grandsire wants. I told you, you were meant for me. I'm not gonna let you go just because Jaehaerys wants you to marry Viserys. And once we're married nothing will ever separate us." He sighed leaning down a little and his eyes softened.

"Don't you want that as well? Don't you desire to be with me? You don't have to lie to me, little flower."

"I don't know what I want," you said the panic clearly showing in your shaky voice.

"Oh but I do."

Daemon chuckled wrapping an arm around your shoulders and moving you up the path that would lead you to the castle.

"Just trust me, sweetling. Trust me and we will all get what we want. You're going to live a happy life by my side, because it's meant to be that way. We're meant to be."