#i love that i can bury this kind of shit in a lot of random posts and you'll still come digging for it

[ohimsummer]

LIFE LESSONS ft. BULLY! SATORU

— minors dni, hair pulling, one mention of biting, slight dumbification, bully! satoru x fem! reader, meandom! satoru, degradation (reader called a slut and a whore), gagging, possessiveness, spanking

wc 1k

Gojo claims a lot of things. That he’s the strongest, the hottest, the smartest, the most sought after, all things you believe are up for debate. He’s annoying is what he is. Loves to poke at you, literally and figuratively, and spout random shit just to get under your skin. So when Gojo’s in the middle of his daily harassment routine, and he growls “You’re mine” before walking away, you don’t take him seriously. You haven’t before, so why should you now?

“Stupid slut.,” Gojo jeers into your neck. “Did you think I was joking?”

You gag again around fingers bullying their way in your mouth, almost touching the back of your throat, the taste of yourself still lingering on them. Salty tears prick the corner of your eyes and spill over your lash line; you can feel the burning redness in your eyes, such a faint sensation compared to the sloppy drags of Gojo’s heavy cock in your cunt. He throws down another blow to your bruised ass, tinted red and decorated with dark blemishes and bite marks. Your pussy spasms around his length which continues to batter your velvety insides; Gojo’s hand jumps from your waist to your hair, grabbing a fistful to snatch your head level with his.

“Answer my fucking question.,” he grunts against your cheek, licking and nibbling at the tear-stained skin. “What, you thought I wasn’t serious?”

Of course you didn’t, who was Gojo to make a claim over you? Calling you his when he knows how much you can’t stand him? His words were mostly forgotten the second he was out of view and, just to be spiteful, you flirted with some random guy right in front of Gojo’s face the next day. You’re his? You’ll show him who you belong to.

A shaky whine dribbles out from your kiss-swollen lips as he rips another orgasm from you, walls convulsing around him as your eyes roll back and your juices sloppily squirt all over his pants. You can’t help admit you’re definitely eating your own words right now. Yeah, you’re really showing Satoru Gojo who you belong to by letting him have his way with you in your own dorm room.

“Wanna tell me who that fucking loser was, hm, princess?,” Gojo demands, low tone in your ear making your dripping walls flutter.

He pulls his fingers back to rest on your tongue; drool pools around the digits and messily leaks from the corners of your mouth.

“I-I don’t know hi–“

He drives forward a hard thrust, cockhead slamming your g-spot and you senselessly wail out a Satoru!

“Oh, so this was some kind of game?” Satoru shoves you into the mattress again. One hand between your shoulder blades and the other digging nails into the fatty flesh of your hips. He forces your back into an arch and readjusts his hips to fuck deliberate, hard strokes into your pussy, new angle allowing him to continue pummeling the sweet spot of your insides. You bury your face in one of your pillows in an effort to muffle the numerous moans tumbling from your lips, clawing at baby pink sheets now soaked with spit and cum. Drool smears against your face, and your tongue hangs over your bottom lip as each thrust propels you forward.

“What part of you’re. Mine,” You cry out as Gojo punctuates the words with two harsh slams of his hips, “did you not understand?”

He rolls his hips against your ass in short, quick thrusts, effectively grinding his cock into the spongy spot of your walls and you whimper in complaint as Gojo reaches around to rub at your clit. Fast, vicious circles on your soaked nub, shooting agonizing pleasure throughout your entire body as you mewl his name again. Shirt caught between his teeth, Gojo watches in awe at the way his dick easily disappears within you. Thin, messy strings of past orgasms coat his cock in a translucent sheen of white. Sticky and wet to form a natural lubricant so he can continue fucking your little hole.

“You think some asshole like that could ever get you to feel this way?” He grunts, pressure on your clit building as he grows even more angry with you. He curses, sinks his fangs into your neck before his lips brush over the mark. “You think I’d ever let them try?”

His voice is strained, thrusts growing uneven and you can tell he’s close. Gojo runs a hand up your sides, grazing the sheets, and laces his fingers with yours next to your head. He squeezes your hand, still thoroughly pounding into your creamy pussy, drinks in the desperate moans and whimpers of his name you can’t help but let out.

“Tell me you’re mine.,” he demands. “Shout it, so everyone can hear.”

“I’m yours.,” you pant immediately between sobs.

Gojo lands a smack on your ass. “Not loud enough.”

“ ‘M yours–!,” you can’t even fully get this one out before he’s slapping your raw behind for the second time.

“Louder.,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

And Gojo does it again, smacks your ass, makes you repeat just who you belong to until you’re screaming it out. Over the sound of his pelvis slamming against you, over the wet squelching of his dick ramming your cunt, over his final, drawn-out groan as you gush on his cock again, pussy milking him as Gojo marks your abused insides with his cum. Your legs go numb, limbs now limp on the bed and he hovers over your exhausted body. The ticklish feeling of featherlight kisses travels up your spine, up to your neck and over your warm, wet cheeks. Gojo gives your hand another firm squeeze, and then takes both hips in his hands to massage your skin under an unfamiliar, soft touch.

“Now, what did we learn?,” he hums and presses another kiss to the corner of your lips.

Your eyelids flutter open to peek at him, and you catch bright flecks of blue in the corner of your vision. Between heaved breaths, you pant out, “I’m…all…yours…”

You tense for a second as Gojo gives you another slap on the rear, though not nearly as rough as before. “That’s my girl.”

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ l went through like a fuck ton of shit [Broke up with my boyfriend of two years, entrance exam, and uh I lost some friends] and 2024’s barely started lol sorry for the late update, i am,,, extremely deep in hurting 👍

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @depresssedcowboy @adorefavv @l0starl @your-girl-mj @nyumeii @iheartamajiki @yoluv-tiannaaa--212 @bakauwu @callsignwidow

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐: 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐎𝐧 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Miles and Eddie make an exchange. A certain nightmare plagues his thoughts. Your insanity unfolds, and so does Miles’ suspicions.

[Warning: Blasphemy, mentioned of fucked up things and crimes, deranged thinking]

MASTERLIST

Previous chapter || Next chapter

“Miles, what would make you hate me?”

The memory was so long ago. Well, to be exact, perhaps it’s been a month or two since it happened. Miles could still so clearly remember the way you leaned your head against the damp wall, your eyes far off into the void of whatever haunted you. At that time, his feelings had been but a spark budding within his chest ever so delicately, a butterfly ripping out of its cocoon in his stomach.

“I don’t know.” Miles whispered into the air. “I don’t think it’s possible to truly hate a person when you know them personally.”

At that moment, you looked at him, with your head half-buried within your hood.

“Why’s that?” You asked, fiddling with the ends of your hoodie.

Miles took a moment to think about how to word his answer.

“When you recognize someone enough to know that they’re not evil people who’d do random shit for shits and giggles, you learn to realize that they’re not really a monster.. At least, not as much as they seem.” His lingering gaze travels towards the ample of your cheek. “I can’t hate you when I know you. You’ve got a name, and you’re somebody’s sister, daughter.. Well, you don’t have to be all that. You just need to be somebody, and you’re somebody to me, and that alone’s the reason why I can never hate you.”

“That’s.. Interesting.” You whispered. “So technically, you humanize your enemies.”

“That’s one weird way to put it, but yeah.”

“But what if it’s a façade?” The words rolled off your tongue seamlessly. “What if.. They’re not exactly the person you thought they were. What if they’ve done more harm than good?”

He thinks about it for a moment.

“It’s not my job to humanize people. People humanize themselves.” Miles answered. “If there’s truly nothing at all about this person that makes them human, or makes me feel like they still have a relatively active conscience inside of them.. I can’t.”

“So you’re saying thay if they’re not human, you’ll hate them?”

“No!” He rapidly shook his head.

“No, ‘cause Miles, I’ll be fair with you. Ion think there’s anything more monstrous than humanity. We are our own enemies. Nothing else causes more pain to a human other than its own body or its own kind, which is why hatred is such a natural thing.”

“Hatred is a natural thing for you, because you grew up only having to think about yourself.”

“Because if not me, then who would?” You spewed. You didn’t mean to sound overtly bitter, but you were. “Unlike you, Miles, my family ain’t the shit. It’s me against the world always— I-If, had I gotten a remote opportunity to care about anyone other than myself, maybe I wouldn’t be this hateful.”

“Well, you got a chance now.”

“How so?”

“You got me.”

You paused, wondering if you’ve heard correctly.

“… I’ve got you?”

Whatever did that statement mean? You’ve heard about a million pick-up lines, but what the hell was this?

“F’course you do. We’re friends.”

Friends.

“Friends?” Just friends?

Miles hums. “Buddies. Amigos.”

Ah, right, that’s how it always starts. Just friends.

Miles snuck his hand into one of his pockets, plucking out something round that you were too lost in your haze to even notice. He seems to fiddle with it for a moment, digging his fingers into its plush before nudging it towards you.

“You want some?”

You turned around and realized he’d peeled you an orange. “.. What.. These are so expensive these days. How’d you even get one?” Your hand reaches out for the fruit, examining its tiny size. You’d heard about the sudden inflation of prices, so fruits inevitably turned into a luxury for most. Miles parts the mandarin and places the larger half on top of your hand.

“.. I stole one from my neighbor’s garden. God did say generous people prosper, so I did him a favor.”

“I’m pretty sure there was a ‘thou shall not steal’ in one of the commandments, Miles.” You laughed, plopping a piece atop your tongue. The tangy, sweet, yet sour flavor bursts right in, making you grimace ever so lightly. “Oh, that’s sour.”

Miles took after you, similarly cringing. “Eugh.”

“It’s probably not all that ripe yet. It’s fine though,” You plopped another into your mouth. “I like oranges— sour things as a whole. They snap me back into life.”

“That sounds sad.” He mumbled, turning to look at you. “Kinda worrying, if you ask me.”

“Well, I wasn’t asking.” You plucked out one of the seeds from your teeth.

“Right, ‘cause you never ask.” Miles took another bite. “You only answer.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know.” Miles shrugged. “I like saying random shit to tick you off.”

You rolled your eyes, trudging your way up from the floor as you staggered from the cold. “Thanks for the orange, Miles.” Running a hand through your hair, you looked out and sighed. He couldn’t help but feel surprised at the lack of your sass.

“You’re welcome, princesa.”

Your brow cringed. “Don’t call me that.”

His finger twitches. He watched as you froze for a moment, turning to look at him. With gentle steps, you approached and leaned down— tufts of your hair brushing against the temple of his forehead. At that moment, he swallows while taking in the scent of your perfume and its ridiculously sweet stench. How could everything about you be so sweet?

You plucked your pen out of his hands. “This is mine.” You reminded of him. Miles didn’t utter a single word til’ your eyes met. Even in the darkness, you saw, but you ignored— well, rather, you tried to ignore it, but it stung.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Miles turned his head, forcibly pushing down the butterflies fluttering like haywire in his stomach.

Hands clammy, heart haywire, eyes unable to meet yours.

“Sure, whatever.”

That day ended there, but Miles knew then. He knew.

Eddie Brock couldn't look past the television store, as his eyes were drawn completely to the news. Not that he couldn't afford a paper, or a gadget of his own— he was simply nervous, figdety, and this ominous pit that holed itself into his stomach unnerved him like a pig carved up for the butcher. He'd known of the news already, honestly, something along the lines of the daily murders and crimes that weren't all too unusual to be fair, and rather than the screen's bright technicolored themes, he was hyper focused entirely on one thing.

The face of Will Barlowe, the almighty senator. Eddie had long been staring at that man's creased, brown skin and slick, blonde hair that was fading into this falsified shade of platinum all because of his whitening strands.

Damn the rich, all of them.

Eddie was no one, like everyone else. A drop of water in the ocean, a needle in a haystack. He was one, like the rest, with the hard workers who carried the economy with their white, blue, pink-collared jobs. He thrived, initially, three years ago. He was an activist then— a journalist in a crisp collared shirt and black dress pants, warning the young about the dangers of climate change, and speaking outwardly in regard to politics.

Now, he was nothing more but a wrinkled jacket-wearing, eccentric and amusing conspiracy theorist scraping the tiniest bits of his dignity to post videos on Facebook or Youtube shorts about how fucked up and dystopian America's grown to become.

When the Prowler, the younger one, decidedly linked him a location allegedly shared by the elites, Eddie wanted to think of it as a chance to shine, to end everything once and for all, and to avenge Anna. For Anna, and for what could’ve been their happy, serene life. But when he arrived, painstakingly clad in plaid while forging the identity of a lost tourist, he was disappointed entirely to find out that the warehouse had been burnt down.

He could still recall the charcoaled crevices of what could’ve been his salvation— that masked boy, the Prowler, promised him salvation in a what-could’ve-been some rich guy’s attempt of a house barbecue.

“Did I make ya wait long?”

A voice reminiscent of a growl. That same shade of neon magenta lingered, popping like a change of color in the melancholy of great Harlem. Eddie tries not to look, but the presence of the boy simmered like fire even as he hung like a spider from the ceiling. He was always like that— the Prowler. The boy was a tall, lanky thing who walked and talked suave. Dominican, he initially assumed. Eddie figured this little vigilante was likely a high schooler with hopes consequently dimmed by the recession.

“Nope.” Eddie attempted to appeal cooly, instead, he only crumbled more. “I’d been watching the news this whole time, tryna check if there was anything about the fire.”

He hears a metal click. “They prolly wouldn’t say nothin’. See, if they didn’t wanna hide it, it’d be all over the television. But it ain’t there, so that means the Chávez’s are hiding the fire from the other families. They prolly paid the witnesses to keep their mouths shut or bribed all the television networks to say it’s some barbecue party gone bad.”

A few passersby couldn’t help but squeak at the sight of the infamous vigilante hanging from a store sign, but they all seemed to know better than approaching him. Trouble was wherever he was, after all, or something the daily bugle said along those lines. They shared glances, sure. Curious, amused glances like how people would marvel at a lion in a zoo.

“It’s,” Eddie finally looked at him. “it’s something ‘bout the Chávez’s?”

With a momentary pause, the Prowler released his grip from the metal poles and dangled down for a second before decidedly letting his feet hit the ground. He was tall— truly, around an inch or two taller than grouchy Eddie. His braids seemed much longer than he’d last seen them. Did he recently get them redone?

“.. That’s right.” Prowler hummed. “.. But we might wanna move some place else to have this conversation, Mr. Brock.”

And where the cat went, curiosity followed down as it made its way to the dark alleyways.

Eddie had a million questions, like any other normal being. The Chávez’s, the Primos, the Barlowes, the Fisks, the Osborns, and all of the other wealthy families connected to one another were all listed down on his kill bill naturally, and he’d been dreaming about the day of crossing out their names with ink made from their blood. Cliché, but a threat either way. Eddie wasn’t a writer, but a journalist anyways. Creativity in terms of wording his hatred was limited and it wasn’t his forte.

“In your past facebook post, you mentioned the Chávez’s briefly,” The boy began, halting by the corner dampened by rain. “I need information about the whole family.”

“… Aren’t you supposed to know the basic information about your enemies?”

“If it were that easy, I wouldn’t be needing your help.” The two white shapes that proxied as his eyes narrowed, grimacing ever so lightly. “There’s little information about them in the black market, and within the scarcity, most of them aren’t factual.”

“They’re rich enough to be able to squander their wealth on silencing people,” Eddie kicked at a can. “Of course no one knows, but I do.”

“How so?”

Picking at something in between his cheek, Eddie sighed a long sigh.

“… My wife worked as their private attorney.”

He watched the boy take a step back. “.. Your wife?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded. “My wife, Anna. She was taught to keep silent about their crimes, and to find a loophole in every case.” A lump formed in his throat.

The Prowler stared. He couldn’t make out whether it was an empathetic or judgmental one. “.. So your wife covered up the Chávez’s crimes?”

“A part of it.” Eddie mumbled. “There’s more to the elite than we know, Anna had to burn her files after every case, so she couldn’t snitch or post them after she quits.”

His head turns. “… I see.”

He sees the boy shift, weirdly, fidgety. He couldn’t particularly describe the unease this young vigilante conveyed. It was almost like he was on the verge of asking something, but his mask made it harder to read what he was desperate to know about.

“.. So can you tell me?”

A simmering silence sunk into the gaps of their conversation.

“What’s in it for me?” Eddie asked, knowing he shouldn’t have, as it was obvious and painstakingly accusatory.

“Why do we have to have transactions when it comes to justice?”

Eddie paced. “Capitalism.”

“Fair point.” The Prowler sighed, rocking on the ends of his neon shoes. “Well, what d’ya want?”

Eddie thinks, and thinks. What could a conspiracy theorist— no, a journalist want? Could he ask for a man’s death? The head of Barlowe? The head of Chávez? Or could that only be achieved after this gamble? He looked at this boy, and Eddie pictured this teenager basking his hands in blood.

What would make him any different from the elites?

“… When you went to the warehouse, you guys.. Took evidence? Even a USB, right?”

He stared. “Yeah, we dug it up and we tried sending it to every news outlet we could find.. All of them rejected the information.”

“Why?” Eddie furrowed his brow. “Was the information incomplete? Did you send the evidence beneath a credible name as a source?”

“Credible name?”

“Yeah, if the information comes from a credible source, they might do something about it. Likewise, if the information is complete, they might take the risk, after all, the Chávez’s are old money, and they have a lot of influence in regard to politics. If they publish anything against them, without complete information, or if you’re just a bunch of trespassers regarded as criminals by the media,” Eddie held out a finger. “Someone will get shot.”

The boy swallowed.

“If not you, if not your partner, it’s the journalist. Always the journalist.”

And Eddie’s seen too much of his co-workers wound up as mere victims in a headline. ‘Journalist shot dead.’

And he didn’t want his name to be reduced to a John Doe in one of the many causes people are too afraid to fight for.

“… I’ll tell you all about the Chávez’s, if you give me the records you stole from the warehouse.”

The Prowler stood, seemingly caught up in his thoughts for a moment. “.. Okay, but I’m telling you, don’t make a large move without consulting me first.”

“I still want my head attached to my head, of course I’ll consult y’all first.” Eddie chuckled, his fingers pouring into his pockets. “Then, what do you want to know about the Chávez’s?”

Without missing a beat, he answered.

“You can give me all you got. Recent scandals, fuck ups.. Perhaps, you got anything from the collapse of the Aureum building three years ago?”

“The Aureum building,” Eddie echoed, reminiscing like a veteran released from war. “That was the messiest thing I’ve ever witnessed in the last ten years. The lawsuits, the bribes, and the social media mayhem—“

“The deaths.” Miles cringed, remembering his father. “Surely, that was the most fucked up thing.”

“Aside from the architecture? Sure.” Eddie pulled out a box of cigars from his pocket, wringing out a single stick. “Weak scaffolding, quick-dry cement.. Put two and two together, and everything collapsed as soon as the opening began.”

Miles wallowed, grimacing at the sight of the habit. “Could it have been planned?”

With a flick of his lighter, Eddie took one breath in and sighed. “Could? There’s no ‘could’, boy, it was planned.”

Planned? Planned by who?

Were the Chávez’s really masters at self-sabotage? Or were their enemies really just each other?

“You see, the Chávez’s specialize in human trafficking, slave trade, and child labor. The people they ship work tirelessly for other businesses without a fee— because we, you and I and the rest of us who had the freedom to earn education, refused to work under hellish circumstances and poor environments. Without us, precisely, without the poor, the rich are nothing.”

“Then the Aureum building?”

“The Aureum building was a cover-up for a bigger scandal.” Eddie tilted his head. “The people inside were likely witnesses, or people who knew about the human trafficking.. And when the building collapsed, they sued the construction companies involved, got the money, but damaged their reputation.. And I don’t see why they’d do all of that just to damage their reputation.”

Miles pondered and pondered.

“.. It was probably someone from inside the family who planned everything.”

“That’s what I think so too.” Eddie added, blowing off another puff of intoxicating smoke. “Someone who won’t suffer from the damaged reputation.. Yet someone who still manages to benefit from it all financially.”

“… Could it be.. Any one of the siblings?”

Eddie takes a step back, likely thinking about it. “.. Well, the other one’s in London, the other one’s too stupid, and the last’s a minor.”

“Minor?” Miles repeated. “How young are we talking?”

“.. Well, the last time I heard about the girl.. She was thirteen, and it’s been three years since then, so she’s probably fifteen to sixteen.”

It’s not as though a thirteen year old could possibly plan out such a meticulous plan… Well maybe, or maybe not, it’s not as though Miles was the only genius capable of great things.

“You know any of their names?”

“Names.” Eddie furrowed his brow. “The last girl’s protected by the law, since it’s illegal to paparazzi minors.. But the first two are Montrell and Anthony.”

Montrell. Mon. Three children. Two older brothers. One girl. Sixteen, sixteen years old just like you.

Miles swallowed.

It’s as though he could feel your hands blocking your vision, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

He falters, alerting Eddie. “What’s wrong?”

“.. My head just hurts.” He mumbled, turning his head. “I think I kinda overworked myself. I still got a date.. Need to.. Rest.”

“Date?” Eddie blew. “That’s right. You’re quite famous, ain’t you?”

Miles rolled his eyes, able to freely express his distaste for the supposed compliment behind his mask. “I try not to be, don’t wanna make her think about it too much. The broad shoulders don’t help as much, though.”

“She know all ‘bout your..” With his cigarette squeezed between his ring, Eddie gestured at him. “Your little vigilante thing?”

Leaning his head against the brick wall, Miles crossed his arms and shrugged. “She better not. Don’t wanna make her daddy even madder.” He lowers his gaze a bit, his mask naturally zooming into the title of Eddie’s cigarette box. It was the same brand as your brother’s, likely a different flavor. Mint or something. Everyone around him smoked too much.

“She from the finer part of York or what?”

“The finest.” He recalls your brother’s luxury car. “.. But I think she’s tryna hide it.”

Eddie plucks the cigar out his teeth, a sort of accusatory yet mundane expression scribbled all over his scruffy face. Eventually, he laughs it off. “That’s all of what’s wrong with our society. The poor pretend to be rich and the rich pretend to be poor. They like romanticizing poverty but likely won’t be able to find comfort if they walked in our shoes for ‘bout a damn mile.”

“She ain’t nun like that.” Miles butted in. “She’s sweet, my girl. Cruel, sometimes, but that’s how ladies gotta be from time to time— seeing as how the world fucks them up every now and then.”

“.. That your first date?” Eddie asked.

“I guess. We’re kissing, but we got no label.”

Eddie scoffed an old man’s scoff. “Your generation’s got me fucked up. Y’all and your situationship bullshittery.”

“It ain’t like that.”

“It’s always like that.” Eddie narrowed his eyes. Miles similarly cringed, wondering how Eddie could be so bitter— having to remind himself seconds later that the man’s poor wife was dead. Dead as hell. As dead as his father. “If she can’t even be upfront about her wealth, she’s likely hiding something from you.”

“My man, I’m lucky she even looked my way. You know nun ‘bout her, don’t be like that.”

“And what if she’s from the oligarchy, huh?” Eddie exaggerated. “What if she’s a Fisk? A Barlowe? Hell, even worse, what if she’s a Chávez?”

Miles didn’t reply.

As the puff of smoke emanated through the damp air, suddenly, Miles pictured you holding a cigarette while grinning at him wickedly— and somehow, that tantalizing air.. Suited you like the slip of a glove.

“I’m just kidding w’ya, man.” Eddie laughed, flicking the cigarette away, crushing it with the sole of his wrinkled boot.

“Ain’t funny, Ed.” Miles grumbled. “People I loved died in Aureum.”

“But she’s still rich, though. You can never be too sure ‘bout the kind of secrets her family’s keeping. If push comes to shove, will you still be able to love her if you do find out that her family’s fucked up?”

“Stop it.” He angrily seethed. “Stop.”

Eddie watched with a certain stank in his eye.

“… Y’know, there’s a rumor that one of the Chávez kids are illegitimate.”

.. Miles left seconds after.

It’d not been his greatest day, and earnestly speaking, his gut’s been clamoring at him to listen, only for him to reject its pleas. He’d thought about listening— to whatever higher being was calling upon him to stray away from you.

His Mama told him to pray throughout his struggles. She’d not been a zealot, his mother. But she was no stranger to the novena, to pray and to call for help in such long days. He’d been subjected to it early on: the novenas, the masses, the lingering of frankincense in the air. Though she never truly coerced him to participate in the church, Miles simply titter-tottered throughout those dull Sunday evenings.

He didn’t want some higher being to stop him from becoming a horrible person; Miles wanted to be good on his own accord.

But you.. You made him question. Not you, but himself.

Though his dad always told him to question everything while he’s young, Miles couldn’t question you. How could ever question you?

An illegitimate child. Which one was it?

Your brothers, who had everything?

Or you, who had nothing?

And although Eddie left the alleyway unscathed, Miles felt that blood had stained his hands.

And you could still taste blood in your mouth.

You could still hear the crunch of that man’s neck echoing in your ears, his tiny pleads of self-preservation before the snap to his death. It rang and rang behind your eyes, between your ears, like a haunting melody you couldn’t help but repeat.

The memory of his fear merely energized your veins, but left you gawking in dauntness even as you worked your way through the hotel— showing Montrell the ropes and tending to the preparations for the upcoming charity event. The snap, the way it snapped— the way his neck snapped was a musical lyric that pulsed and pulsed in your mind.

Snap.

Snap.

ＳＮＡＰ.

The idea of fear intrigued you, cannibalism, however, not so much. The symbiote immensely argued with you, that it wasn’t your body in particular feasting on human flesh, but the symbiote itself. It needed to be fed, and it needed sustenance— but you didn’t know where else to find that sustenance.

“Miss?” Charlotte, the head housekeeper called out to you, snapping you back from the profanities of your mind.

Suddenly, you’re back staring at the new, tall, stained-glass windows— basking you in the glory of pale lights in shades of ethereal yellow and blue. It’s been under construction for quite a while now, but after your father had approved of the idea, you were willing to wait long enough to see its outcome. You’d only gotten the news just a few hours ago in regard to its completion, and now you’ve been staring at it for a while now.

“Yes?” You stifled airily, wallowing in a hundred emotions.

Charlotte bows her head for a moment, unveiling an approaching guest.

Before you could even process to question who it was, Montrell and his gentle eyes appeared before you. He seems to marvel at the windows before you as he takes another step up the stairs.

“Wow,” He huffed. “Is this.. Your design?”

You simply looked at the window with crossed arms and a smile. “I couldn’t forget about the windows when we went to Veronica’s wedding. I liked.. The colors and the drama it endowed.” You smiled, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “.. This was my final project in the hotel.. I’ve done so much to rebrand everything, but we still can’t do much ‘bout what happened in the past.”

The lights dawned upon the both of you.

“Does it hold any special meaning?” He asks.

You shrugged. “It varies on the person, I guess. I think, those who don’t really know me will try to put meaning into all that I do, but those who really know me know that my art is plainly.. Meant for aesthetic.”

Montrell frowned. “How can you make art without passion?”

“.. You pick up a pen.” You carved a smile. “And you just draw.”

You draw, and you draw. Carved it in, like how a knife would pierce a sack of flesh. Murder the canvas with each stroke, and if they ask you ‘why?’, answer with ‘why not?’.

“I think.. Only Miles can place meaning in my art. After all, my passion resides in him.”

“Like a proxy.” Montrell darkly laughed, shaking his head. “.. I wonder how hard you’d break once you lose him.”

You turned your head to look at your brother’s charming face.

“Is that a threat?”

“A warning,” He remarked. “After all, how could he ever love you once he realizes that our family’s responsible for his father’s death?”

You turned your head back to the windows. “… I feel guilty, actually. I don’t really know how to approach Miles if he ever comes to realize my identity.”

“.. Don’t you feel lonely having to constantly push away the people you love?”

You shrugged. “I’m a pretty girl. Pretty girls are never lonely.”

“Sure.”

Montrell looked at you. To be precise, he eyed you, and he looked at the way you casted your eyes downward. From a mile away, one would believe you fostered insecurity and shame in the way you’d stare, but knowing you and the way you were, that downcast gaze of yours imbued disinterest and a heightened sense of.. Superiority.

No matter how hard you try to appear empathetic, you were always and inevitably still a Chávez. Even in the way you pursed your rouged lips, or spoke with eloquence, or held your head high.. You and your siblings, who were forged to become heartless from the beginning, were never bound to be kind.. Or good.

But could Miles do it?

Could he actually change you? Humanize you?

Make you kind and loving, and normal?

You tightened your grip over your arm. “I.. Was going to escape tonight, originally.. For our date. He wanted us to have a halloween date. It’s so dorky. He’s so dorky.” The way you fawned was genuine, though. He could see it so clearly. “But after daddy mentioned the USB, I didn’t know how to face him without feeling guilty.. I came to meet Miles with the intention of using him to get his dead dad’s stuff but I ended up.. Falling for him. I never knew I was capable of feeling like this.”

“.. When we’re too busy to survive, it feels frustrating to have to care for someone else. That’s why our family doesn’t feel like one.” Montrell whispered.

“We’re not a Greek tragedy.”

“Exactly, which would mean,” He turns to you. “You’re likely still savable, [N/n].”

You lightly winced. “.. I haven’t heard that nickname since I was twelve.”

Your brother chuckles at the reminder. “.. We called you that since you couldn’t pronounce your name when you were three.” Montrell heaved a long breath, as though he were a dreamer reminiscing the times. Ah, he truly is a sucker for what’s long gone, huh? “Antonne and I were so excited to have you. Your first word was my name, actually, Mon. I had to sneak up into your cradle every night just to make you practice say my name. Mama used to hold you in her arms whenever I got home from school, and she used to read out my cards with you in her other hands ‘cause you were one energetic kid.”

Oh, so like a normal family?

We were capable of having that this whole time?

…

“[Y/n]?”

You snapped yourself back to reality, Montrell’s voice leading you out of your internal monologue. “Did you hear my question?” He queried. “You kinda zoned out there.”

“Sorry, I was thinking ‘bout something. You were saying?”

“Once you get the USB.. Are you going to leave him?”

The question seemed far fetched from the previous topic, which caught you off-guard. You turn your head. “.. I don’t know. I’d rather make him hate me, and have him leave me first, because I don’t think I can ever bring it upon myself to leave him.”

Such a romantic.

“Do you think you can handle it?”

“.. It’s not a question of whether I can handle it, it’s a question of whether Miles can handle it.”

Montrell murmured. “.. What if he gets revenge?”

“Revenge?” You repeated, the idea sounding funnily dramatic. “Revenge on me? I didn’t throw that building over his father’s head.”

“Ah, yes, but there’s a thing called karma.” Montrell spoke as thought to remind you. “It’ll be out there to get you, or at least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

You couldn’t help but aimlessly ponder. “… Why do poor people believe in futile things such as karma?”

The way you worded it, and the way it exited your tongue seemed unusually natural. Montrell, who’s been too used to such words, only shrugged. “Cause there’s nothing else to save them. That’s why they have a god, [Y/n]. They can’t save themselves, and so that’s why they believe something otherworldly will.”

Before you could speak, Montrell looked out into the glass windows before turning to you.

“Speaking of which, I think you should use daffodils for the upcoming party.”

“.. Daffodils?” You repeated.

Your brother nods. “Yes. I find them to be quite lovely.”

Since when did he have an interest in flowers? You internally squirmed. “Where the hell am I going to get daffodils in autumn?” You groaned. “We can use other yellow flowers for the golden theme.”

“Well, you’re not in charge anymore.” Was his attempt of a tease. “Surely there are still daffodils here in this season. We’ll have to find the best greenhouse in town.”

“But why?”

“Because I said so.”

You sweetly casted a glance at him, smiling as a thought crowed at you.

A sharp pain shoots through Miles’ head. A pulsing, familiar pain— resembling a bullet, dove straight into his subconscious.

He stumbles back as darkness clouds his vision, a sort of slithering and slimy feeling coursing through his system like a snake seething beneath his skin. His heart was hammering against his chest. It was like that time during the warehouse, where he felt genuinely uneasy and unsettled. The eyes of that figure behind the window, watching him tremulously stare back.

In the cage of his mind, Miles finds himself inside a dark void— where the silence was loud enough to hear the sound of a pin drop.

Then there was this drumming.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The melody was unfamiliar, but the voice nostalgic. Miles crawled amidst the darkness, searching for the voice, only to look up and catch the sight of a pristine, delicately made shoe. It kicked against the front of a desk, making a rhythmic pattern. Thump. Thump. Thump. With each passing moment, his eyes continued to linger upward, from the shoe, to a leg, to a waist, to your pretty face.

You sat there, above the desk, with your pretty hair and your pretty eyes, puckering up your pretty lips along with the song. You were so idly calm, so leisure while singing so softly, he could hardly make out the words exiting your mouth. A dim, green light cascaded against the silhouette of your figure, further accentuating the pink of your lips and the darkening of your gaze.

You smiled, but your eyes held nothing. Like you never knew what kindness was, even in his presence. You never looked at him like that before— like you hated him enough that you wanted him to die.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The thumping was growing faster and faster with each second. Upon seeing his struggle, a stifled laugh laces the lyrics.

Miles tried to move, but his whole body writhed in pain— like he was beaten, defeated. His arms itched in burns and scars. With the sound of your hum, Miles looks up, only to see you cross your arms before your chest, the tip of your shoe gently grazing against the skin of his temple. He feels as though he was being watched, idly, by an audience that had no interest at all in intervening. Like everyone was amused to see him.. Kneeling before you.

Click. Click. Click. The cutter clicked in your palm as the blade rose higher.

It’s like your presence alone was enough to blind him, and his conscience kept crawling back to you no matter how hard it tries to stray.

Really, who are you, [Y/n]?

Why was it whenever you lingered in his dreams, you were the cruelest person to exist?

And why was it that Miles knew that he’d probably still adore you with your hands around his neck?

“.. Miles?”

From a gentle shuffle, Miles awoke to the sound of his mother’s voice.

Miles jolted up, his skin half drenched with cold sweat. Unfortunately enough, his awakening was nothing avian. On the contrary, his awakening felt like a somber chore. The material clung onto him like glue, making him utter a groan. For a while, he helplessly looked around like a child lost between rows of linoleum aisles, his mind hopping from question to question. 'What just happened? What was I dreaming of?'

Like some hungover drunkard, he gently peeled himself away from the sweat-stained sheets and begrudgingly sat upright. Rio’s gentle hand cradled his aching head.

“Rest, mijo, you’re exhausted.”

“Mama, I—“ He broke, running a damp hand over his head. For a moment, he flinches, checking to see if his hands were covered in blood. “What happened?”

His mother’s dark curls lightly brushed against his temple. Her eyes were just as exhausted as he was, with dark circles rimming the doeness of her gaze. “I got home to you taking a nap but you kept squirming. I was so worried. Que paso?”

He looked around, realizing he’d dropped himself unconscious atop the sofa.

“.. Nightmare.”

Night terrors, to put it precisely. It’s been haunting him since the death of his father three years ago. He thought they’d long vanished after meeting you, but after his suspicions arose, his anxiety came crawling back like a dreadful stench.

Rio handed him a glass of water, to which he gulped down to its very last drop— like he’s been thirsting for all his life.

“Mama,” He called out. “… What do I do?”

His loving mother creased her brow, shaking her head. “What is it, mijo? What’s wrong?”

He runs his hand over his face, wondering how to begin. At that moment, Miles recalls your sweetest smiles, your loudest laughs, and your warmest hugs.

You held his hand, dragged him out of that maze, and you vandalized the hotel together. You tore yourself away from the expectations of your family, and went to him.

You chose him.

But could he go so far to assume that you loved him?

Rio shifted comfortably, trying to appear more welcoming to whatever catastrophe Miles was about to unleash. “What’s wrong, Miles?”

Miles couldn’t even admit it to himself, though he’d long noticed, he preferred to remain ignorant ‘til the truth was spilled from your own lips.. But he didn’t know how much longer he could last. Blood runs thicker than water, but both feel the same when your eyes are closed— and that could mean many things.

“A lot, ma.” He buried his head into his hands. “And Ionno if I could deal with it all.”

“You don’t have to deal with everything, Miles.” Rio frowned. “You’re only fifteen. Eres demasiado joven. Con el tiempo todo se arregla.”

“Me duele la cabeza.”

“Ponte vaporub.” Rio stood to grab the small, blue ointment. As she unscrews its green cap, Miles was immediately hit with its loud, minty scent. Digging her fingers into the substance, Rio smears the vaporub all over Miles’ forehead. “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.”

He lightly moved away with a sigh. “I’m not a kid anymore, ma.”

“I’m your mother, you’ll always be my kid.” As the cooling sensation sunk into his skin, he felt his mother’s palm cup his cheek. “And since you’re my kid, I always get worried about you. I know we ain’t got nothing much, but we got each other, Miles. You’re a great kid bound to achieve great things.”

He wasn’t too sure about that. That whole great kid thing. You had your fingers entangled all over his puppet strings, and it made him hesitate.

But what if that was exactly your plan? To ruin him entirely for your benefit?

“.. Ma, what would you do if the person you liked lied to you about their identity?”

Rio sat in silence.

“.. Que?”

Ah, fuck. That’s a stupid question.

“Nothing.” Miles turned his head. “Sorry, that was a stupid question—“

“No, Miles. I didn’t mean to— I just, you like someone? A girl?”

Miles shifted uncomfortably. Rio softened. “A boy?”

“No, ma!” He exclaimed, embarrassed. “I-It’s a girl. I like a girl.. Por los clavos de Cristo.”

“Oh, I was preparing myself.” Rio placed a hand over her heart. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d accept you no matter what, I just didn’t have a long wonderful speech prepared for it.. But what’s wrong with the girl?”

“Well, ma, it’s just..”

“Did she cheat on you!?”

“No! We’re not even together yet, ma. We were gonna have our first date today, but.. But her family’s been treating her horribly, and her older brother picked her up while we were out buying costumes for our halloween date only for him to directly tell me that it ain’t happening.”

“And then?”

“She talked ‘bout her dad throwing a fit, and now she hasn’t replied the whole day.” He slipped his fingers through his hair. “I even woke up at six in the morning just to get my braids redone at Tasha’s… And they invited me to a party at their house on Sunday.”

“Sunday? Then— that’s great!” Rio exclaimed, placing her hands over her son’s shoulders. “That would mean they’re open to getting to know you. Well, I think you can borrow some of your dad’s old clothes for the party, you two look great in suits anyway.”

“W-Well, ma, that ain’t entirely the problem, she’s..” He swallowed. “Ma, I think she comes from a very rich family.”

“Okay, and?” Rio raised a brow. “Did she ever make you feel inferior for having superior wealth?”

“.. No? Well, she’s been trying to keep it on the down low this whole time, but.. Whenever I see her, she acts so.. Proper and polite when she don’t even notice it. And her brother’s British too, and I— Ionno how the hell that happened, but he sound like the type to spit out tap water if I ever brought him to a restaurant.”

“Well, you’re dating the girl, Miles, not her brother.” Rio sighed. He thinks of it for a moment, then shrugs. Only then he notices his mother’s wide smile, her shoulder nearly glued onto his.

“So.. Who’s the girl?”

Miles fiddled awkwardly, unsure how to answer. Rio seemed adamant for an answer, so, after a while of internally mustering up sentences, Miles replied. “Her name.. [Y/n].”

“Mhm.”

“She uh.. Sixteen. I-I met her three months ago.. And we started doing graffiti together since then.”

“Oh, so she’s an artist?”

Miles gaped. “S… Sum like that, yeah.”

Your art varied. Your colors were blander while his, more vibrant. But there was something about the way you drew, that was so meaningfully realistic that it captured entirely how your mind pondered in its darkest moments. An art style that captured entirely the darkest of what life could bring.

He remembers going through your sketchpads, how your dabbles consisted of dull realism. Maybe it was only dull because it was exactly what New York’s become— cold and calloused.

But in contrast, you were able to set his world on fire in a way he’s never seen. Only you could paint over the dullness with scarlet, in a way that had him choking from the smoke emanating from your fire.

But he couldn’t tell his mother the way you’ve worsened him.

His mother wouldn’t let him get too close to someone as bright and dangerous as you.

“Why haven’t you mentioned about her before? I could’ve helped!” Rio tossed her dark curls to the side. They’d always reminded him of the dark sea. “Es puertorriqueña? Puede hablar español?”

“No,” Miles thinks about it for a minute. “I-Ionno, actually. She never told me anythin’ bout it, but she can’t speak Spanish so I ain’t sure.”

Rio attempted, no she really did try to attempt— to hide her disappointment. Were her grandkids bound to forever be free of her culture? How saddening.

“Pero creo que ella está estudiando español.”

“Oh?”

“Sí.” Mile seemed to lightened up. “She’s so cute. She can’t even pronounce ‘roja’.”

“But she’s trying.” Rio could not be any happier. “She’s trying! Eso es bueno! Ella ya me gusta. Not everyone tries these days, you know.”

He wondered if his mother was faking her enthusiasm just to ease him. He’d expected her to be more.. Angry about it.

“.. I’m surprised you’re not upset, ma.”

“Upset?” Rio furrowed her brows. “Miles, how could I get upset? You’re experiencing what every other teenager experiences, that’s great!.. I know you’ve been trying to act like an adult to help us, and you’ve given up so much just to keep us afloat. I’ve been getting worried that you’ve been focusing too much with adult responsibilities that you’re forgetting that you’re just a kid. You’re allowed to go around and be a kid. You’re allowed to like a girl— so long as she’s not a bad influence.”

Miles pushes back the thought of you being a smoker.

“She’s not a bad influence. She’s.. Just going through a lot.. She makes me happy, ma.”

Rio looked at him proudly. Only then, she wondered if her dearest husband ever brooded like this too upon realizing his feelings for her. She wondered if Jeff ever pouted the way Miles did, and looked out into the world with such admiration in his eyes as though he were shaping the void into an image of her.

Jeff loved, and thus, Miles could love too.

“If she makes you happy, then I’m happy.” She beamed. “So long as she’s not a brat or an alcoholic, or a racist, or any of those bad people, I’ll accept her.”

The mother shared a loving glimpse of her son, making out an image of her late husband in the way he smiled. Suddenly, she pats her lap and stands up. “Bueno, I’m making adobo.”

“I can help—“

“No, sit down, you’re tired.” Rio held out a finger. “Take a rest, Miles.”

“But Ma—“

“Rest.”

And he did.

Well, he tried. It was a subtle attempt. A poor one, at that. He sat upright by the sofa, listening to his mother chop up the potatoes. He tries to discreetly look into your messages, only to find you’ve finally texted back.

her ♡ || two minutes ago.

sorry i haven’t texted!! 😭😭

remember the party this sunday? my dad is making me help with the preparations so i couldn’t go to our date

i’m really sorry 🥺 don’t get mad

if you want, we can do it tomorrow.

Miles pouted. He didn’t want to reply immediately. He didn’t want to look desperate.

So he waited for another five minutes.

.. Even though you made him wait for six hours.

He switches the television on in attempt to distract himself from your message.

‘Last night, a horrific murder happened within Brooklyn, as the body of a beheaded man was discovered outside of a local bodega. Witnesses claim that an alien disguised as a teenage girl had ripped off, and eaten the man’s head.’

“The hell?” Miles burrowed his brows upon being greeted with the news on television. “An alien?”

He watches as the screen switches over towards one of the witnesses, a scruffy man with reddened eyes— evidently too lost in whatever he was taking to speak too calmly.

“.. They’re prolly high as hell.”

‘I’m ain’t even [censored] with y’all— some [censored] ripped off Kyle’s head— it was a horrific looking piece of [censored] made out of black goo or whatever the [censored]. The government’s [censored] making alien [censored]!

‘So far, there have been no records of the scene, as the cameras had been blacked out.’

“What the f—“ Miles grew mindful of his language upon realizing his mother was in the other room. “How the hell did that even happen!? Blacked out my ass.”

It was more or less, likely a murder related to the elites. One of their kids must’ve been hanging out with those junkies and killed a man for fun.

A phone begins to ring. Miles turns his head.

“Miles, can you get that for me?” He heard his mother, who was too busy chopping up something, call out.

He turns off the television, hops out of the sofa and heads straight into his mother’s room. As he flicks the light open, a king-sized bed greets him with its gray, large glory. He used to jump on that bed too much when he was a kid. Now, it looked.. Desolate, and almost deserted. With how large the bed was, he couldn’t help but ponder how lonely his mother must’ve felt, sleeping in a bed less warmer than three years ago.

Miles passes by the closet, and after foraging for a bit, he manages to find his mother’s phone atop a drawer— swiftly grabbing the gadget before turning to leave.

As he turns, his foot accidentally nudges against a box.

He peers through it, before kicking it away.

Making his way back to the kitchen, he hands the ringing phone over to his mother before curtly returning to the room to close the lights.

But as his hands reached out towards the switch, his eyes were drawn back to the sight of the box.

It looked like it’d been cast aside beside the closet.

Hearing his mother speak over the phone lightheartedly, something about something. Miles trudges towards the orange, cardboard box, kneeling by the floor with a single knee down on the wood. His hand curiously glazes over the top, feeling a pile of dust collect over his fingers.

Hesitantly, he takes off the lid, finding a familiar white, collared shirt. He pulls it up to the ceiling light and watches as it unfolds into a larger sheet.

This belonged to his father’s.

He looks right back into the box, finding a pair of black, dress pants neatly folded into a square. Meekly, he tugs on it, hoping he wouldn’t uncover anything sinister like a severed hand or an eyeball. After pulling the whole thing out, a longer line of black unravels.

A strange array of emotions lingered inside him.

Nostalgia. Wrath. Happiness.

It smelled like dust, and it was forever devoid of its owner’s scent and warmth.

“Miles, do you want juice?”

“Huh? Y-yeah.” He stammered. “Grape juice would be nice.”

His mother’s comment slips past his ears. For a moment, he pondered about wearing this to the Sunday party, but he couldn’t help but think how it likely wouldn’t fit him. His father was a giant, and he was quite lanky.

Upon hearing his mother’s footsteps, Miles hurriedly and clumsily attempts to refold the clothes, only then hearing a soft clatter. He pivots his head to the side.

There was a USB.

“For the florals, I think daffodils would be great.”

Your hands skimmed across the air in attempt of drafting an idea. From afar, you manage to earn a wider view of the banquet hall. Workers left and right helped with tidying up the refectory, scrubbing up windows and mopping up the floors. “It would match the golden theme, don’t you think?” You asked of Charlotte, who nodded wobbly with her dire age.

As of that moment, you’d been preparing for the layout of the party. As much as you didn’t want to listen to Montrell’s suggestion, you figured getting on his bad side would be a bad move.

The fundraiser, originally hosted by your aunt, was planned out to gather enough money to support Senator Barlowe’s projects. Your family was to auction off high-priced materials such as clothes, jewelry, paintings, and even estates for the sake of meeting the goal. Which would also mean that the highest of the elite would be attending the party.

And you were less than thrilled to be its co-host.

Charlotte marvels at your suggestion, taking it with a smile but a pique. “However, daffodils can’t usually be placed with other flowers, so I’ll have to make a special request to the florist to do the preparations extensively.”

You raised a brow. “Why can’t they be placed together with other flowers?”

One of the maids carrying a porcelain vase walk past you, making you gently remind her to put it aside.

Charlotte parts her palms. “They secrete toxins into the water. So whenever it’s placed among other flowers, the rest die.”

“Oh,” You widened your gaze, processing this newly found information. “How did you know that?”

Charlotte blinked, trying to think back. “.. Well, daffodils were used for your mother and father’s wedding. It was a struggle, since the day of the wedding, half of the bouquet had already wilted.”

You stood back in surprise, crossing your arms before your chest. “Mama must’ve been furious.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Your father plucked flowers out from the gardens and made her a bouquet himself.”

Wait. What? WHAT?

Wow, who knew your daddy was quite the romantic?

I’m just as shocked as every other person.

“M-My father?” You dumbly repeated. “My father plucked out the flowers himself? Or was it Mr. Nigel?”

“Your father, himself, Miss.” Charlotte laughed, finding your shock to be quite amusing. “He’s quite great at it too— flower arrangement. Your grandmother taught him from an early age.”

“My father truly arranged the bouquet for him and mama’s wedding?” You couldn’t believe your ears. “He has that sort of talent?”

“Why, of course!” She beamed a warm beam. “Like you, he used to oversee the interior of the hotel. He has great taste when it comes to color, and you’ve inherited that side of him.”

You tried to think about it, your father— who was now an old man with a permanent sneer on his wrinkled lip— arranging flowers in his youth, picking out pastel and cream curtains for the parties, and overseeing the menu. It didn’t seem like something he’d do, at all. Then again, your mother used to describe him in a way that made it tragic.

A good man, never a good father. Torn between yearning to be held in arms that never welcomed him and finding his worth beyond the standard of his own father.

You tried to sympathize with him. Your father.

Though he was who he was, he cared about you, in a twisted, fucked-up way. Your engagement with Richard Fisk was privately decided after the hotel went near-bankrupt had it not been for the Fisks and their mystical talent for cover-ups— and your father simply took most of your managing rights away just so the family you’d marry into wouldn’t use you for their own greed.

The fate wasn’t entirely horrible either. You’d marry into new money, sure, but their wealth would most definitely preserve the comfortable life you’re living right now.

It was your own greed that was worsening you.

Your desire to have a tantamount of power.

But what if you never needed it?

“Miss!”

What if all you needed was a peaceful life? Marry into the Fisks, host parties, and care no more about anything?

“Miss [Y/n]!”

.. But what about Miles?

He hadn’t answered any of your texts yet.

“Miss [Y/n], a call.” One of your secretaries came crashing through the doors with his phone. How you hated that word. Call. A signal of what would definitely exhaust you. Where was Montrell? Why weren’t they calling out for him? Were you really the only one able to handle all the messes in here? Workers left and right stopped as he trudged up the stairs, nearly tossing the phone over to you. You slip it close to your ear, making your way down with each click of your heel.

Charlotte watches as you listen to the caller with such intent. Silently, you eyed your surroundings before heading out.

As you reached the patio, you looked out into the dimming violet evening that was fading out along with the scarlet of the sun. The caller rambles on, something along about the recent incident.

“I’ve bribed the higher-ups to rush the investigation and to arrest the witnesses. We’ll release the story that they had murdered their friend after taking drugs.”

“Good.” You plucked out your vape from your pockets. “Report to me immediately once you find all the records about their families and their identities.”

“Understood.” You hear the sound of Morrison’s computer typing. Likely writing up a list. “I’ve also halted the investigation of the fire. I’ve told your father the information was tracked from an accidental leak after a delivery of the samples to one of the families had the address exposed. Sir Anthony will have to take up the blame since it was his idea.”

You took a long huff. “Good job. You did well.”

The smoke lingers, and you close your eyes.

Sorry, Antonne. You’ll live, I guess.

“Morrison,” You called out to him. “.. How’s Miles?”

The typing comes to a halt. For a moment, the two of you shared a moment of silence. You picture him pushing his glasses up higher off the bridge of his nose.

“.. I’ve spent most of my attention on other things, so I haven’t been able to check up on him yet.”

“Ah, is that so?” You mumbled. “Never mind then, just continue on with halting the investigation. I’ll take care of the rest, and remember, if any of the witnesses start describing my face—“

Clack.

You turned your head.

What was that?

ＳＯＭＥＯＮＥ‘Ｓ　ＨＥＲＥ

No shit.

Beyond the gardens, the skies were beginning to dim. That familiar shade of magenta, it lingered like a ghost and it haunted you like your past. There was a click that set your mind off, and suddenly you couldn’t help but feel like the world was integrating itself into a technicolor, dotted comic.

Then and there, spying on you from the top of the six Corinthian columns of the garden, sat the young Prowler.

“Miss [Y/n]? You were saying?” Morrison pried from you.

You parted your phone from you ear, a side of your grin heightening into a catty smirk.

“… If any of them start describing my face, take care of it.”

Then and there, you ended the call with one light tap. You remained stubborn with your posture, seemingly amused and befuddled by it all while keeping your head high. The boy watched you curiously but stiffly, as if he were unsure of what to do. You were mutually frozen, but you couldn’t allow any sort of weakness to seep through the cracks of your confidence.

You took a step close, and he tenses. The sound of your heel clicking against the tiles sends an echo into the garden.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You greeted of him with sincere politeness, placing a hand over your hip. Was it an attempt to appear idle or what? “… It’s quite an honor to have you here as a guest.”

“Who are you?” The boy growled, voice delved baritones deep. “Really.”

You tilted your head.

“Who would you like me to be?”

His gauntlet unfolds, and suddenly, he launches himself at you, grabbing you by the neck.

[A/n: I PASSED MY FUCKING ENTRANCE EXAM GUYS]

[freakingxloser]

Mickey Altieri - nsfw alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Mickey will definitely help you to get clean and cuddle with you afterwards. Will talk about it for sure, ask you if you are okay and if you enjoyed it as well. But that’s gonna happen only if you guys are actually dating and he cares about you. If you are a random one night stand just for his pleasure, he would just get dressed and leave, not giving a damn about how you feel. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite body part on himself is definitely gonna be his arms. He is aware of his strength (we all saw how he yeeted the girl out of the balcony lmao). Knows how to use it while killing and in his love life as well, holding you in place, or grabbing you by your hips and pulling you closer, wrapping his arms around your body…All about them. 

When it comes to you, I can definitely see that Mickey is a fan of thighs. Loves to see them jiggle, while your whole legs are shaking after a rough session of yours. Mickey loves to play with them, grab on them…or having his head buried in-between them…

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Mickey loves to cum inside you, doesn’t matter if it’s your mouth or your pussy…but actually prefers more to cum in your mouth. It’s the best way to avoid any kind of pregnancy scares plus he absolutely loves when you swallow his load, praises you for it afterwords. He enjoys the view of having his cum spilled all over your tongue. He 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Mickey is extremely jealous and possessive. He hates when other guys even look at you. Doesn’t hesitate to even kill them if they dare to talk to you or even worse…touch you. That drives him absolutely crazy, so he just kills them. Then he may or may not use the same knife during your knife play sessions. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I mean…Mickey is on college. I don’t think he has a lots of experience, but definitely slept with some girls before…so I would just day that he definitely knows what he’s doing. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy for sure. Mickey loves to pound you from behind, the sound when his hips hit your ass, loves to slap your ass or grabbing you by your hair while he mercilessly thrusts into you. Or even surprise you with fingering your ass while already destroying your pussy…you’ll never know. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He definitely doesn’t crack jokes, but will definitely mock you if you cannot even form a proper words during your session. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Mickey definitely keeps himself trimmed down there. But not shaved completely. If you make him do it, be prepared for lots of bitching about it being itchy and uncomfortable. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Don’t expect any rose petals or candles, that’s not his thing. Mickey will shower you praises, having a slow sensual missionary with you, having an eye contact with you or his lips never leaving yours, but not any stereotypical romantic shit. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t jack off when he has you. Why would he? He simply grabs you and fucks you whenever he wants to. Even when he needs you immediately. He will drag you into an empty classroom and bend you over the desk if he really needs it. No needs to masturbate if it’s that easy, right? 

K = Kinks

My man is definitely into blood and knife play. None can tell me otherwise. Consensual non consent is on his mind really often as well. Would absolutely love to just sneak into your room and take you there without saying a word. Mickey is also for sure into somnophilia, it only makes sense imo. And I think Mickey is really into menophilia, he likes period sex and it absolutely drives him crazy, when he can go down on you during your period. Even when you protest, the little sparkle in his eyes when he suggests so makes you allow it to him. He goes really wild down there, licking all of the blood, sucking on your clit, fingering you…licking his fingers clean afterwards, yep…that definitely sounds like Mickey. 

L =  Location (favorite places to do the do)

He definitely prefers your or his bedroom, doesn’t like public places with a risk of getting caught. Mickey doesn’t want anyone to see your beautiful body, that’s why. When he really needs to fuck you during classes, he makes sure all the door are secured and none can actually get in. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Basically anything you wear, that at least a little reveals your thighs turns him on. Or when you walk around your room just in your shirt and underwear when he visits you…yep honey, you won’t get him off of you for hours. Also when he sees that you are needy, he is immediately ready to take you…of course you won’t avoid any teasing, of course he would mock you, tease your clit for ages, not allowing you to cum at first, but no worries, he would make you cum several times after he is done with teasing and mocking. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Mickey is okay with blood, cum or saliva. But other body fluids? Hell no. That’s a big no for him. 

O =  Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) 

He enjoys both, giving and receiving. Of course he enjoys having you on your knees, seeing you playing with his tip in your mouth and sucking on him…and once he has enough of you just playing around forcing his cock deeper in your mouth and making you gag on it, making your eyes all teary is something he could do 24/7. But going down on you, sucking on your clit, licking you, making you cum numerous times just with his mouth is something that brings him pleasure as well. (Especially during your period, but loves to do it even when you’re not.) 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

As we read many times above, Mickey loves it rough and merciless. But our man gets that it’s not just about the speed, but also about the force. He can also have a slow, sensual session with you, but that doesn’t happen often, it’s really rare. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Mickey likes to take his time with you, but if you both are under a time pressure, he is up to it. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

If he has some interesting fantasy, he will for sure include it in your sex life, at least for once. When it comes to taking risk then no, he definitely doesn’t want you to get caught, he doesn’t want anyone else to see your beautiful body. And when it comes to pregnancy risks, also no. He makes sure that you are on the pill or has a plan b ready for you…but spilling his cum all over your tongue is just as satisfying, so he tends to do that more to avoid the risk. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Mickey is a college dude, of course he can fuck like a rabbit. All the time and each round gets longer and longer. He can fuck you for hours, until you feel tired and cannot take it anymore. But he would definitely continue after you falling asleep (with your consent, if he loves/likes you…if you are just a random girl, well…he won’t bother with consent).

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I cannot see Mickey using a big variety of them, but ropes, handcuffs or anal toys that he would use on you? Hell yeah. But from what he could deduce from the movie…I can positively say that his fav “toy“ is a knife…

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh, Mickey would tease the shit out of you…especially if you were teasing him whole day at school. He won’t stop until you beg him to finally do something. But this motherfucker loves to hear you beg, so…it’s gonna take you a lot of begging until he actually gives you what you want. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Mickey is not really loud, just when he gets closer and closer to his orgasm. Of course there is a lot of heavy breathing going on, but more he focuses on those lovely noises you make. Mickey absolutely loves to hear you moan or whimper, or hearing your little sobs while you are overstimulated and cannot take it anymore…oh he would die for those. 

W =  Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Mickey wants to know everyone that you are his. He is for sure obsessed with you. So because of that, he leaves marks on you. Sometimes its just random bites or hickeys on you neck, other days it’s bruises…or his name craved into your skin. Loves to just carve his name into your thighs or ass and lick your bloody wounds clean, since his obsession with blood is slightly getting out of hand too. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I think Mickey is slightly above average, definitely thicker… definitely pleasurable. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Mickey has a HIGH sex drive, okay? Probably not higher than desire to go on a killing spree, but still…Mickey would fuck whole day every day if he could. Sometimes during weekends he just refuses to let you leave the bed. When you get up after one round of lazy morning sex, thinking that you’re gonna have as shower and then do something productive, but Mickey is already behind you, making sure you have the right company in the shower, playing with your pussy, gently rubbing your clit, before pushing you against the shower wall and pounding into you again…I do not need to tell you what happens after shower, right?

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

As I said before…If he cares about you, he will make sure that you’re okay, cuddle with you, talk to you and then fall asleep. But If he doesn’t, he just passes out or leaves you immediately. 

[inoreuct]

I'm loving your drabbles and headcanons so much, esp the hurt/comforty things, thank u for blessing my dash😭❤ if you felt like it, zoro and Sanji x how they would help the other through having a panic attack

aaaaaaa thank you anon! hurt/comfort all day every day 😔🤌🏼LESGO

sanji definitely has them more i think, considering the fuckton of things he’s gone through; not that zoro hasn’t been through some shit but you get my point. sanji had panic attacks as a kid back when he was in the cells in germa. to a certain extent i would say he's used to his body breaking down, so much so that he's learned to hide it very well. a slight increase in breathing, a little more twitchy with his gaze, maybe a very slightly bouncing leg; imperceptible to the normal person.

BUT. zoro is so attuned to him that he notices almost immediately, especially after they get together and he's paying even more attention. the first time, he's confused; sanji seems stressed. those are subtle signs of distress, but... there's no immediate threat around them that zoro can see. nevertheless he takes the cook's wrist and pulls him through a random door with one thumb ready on wado's hilt, asks him what's wrong—

and sanji breaks down. they're in the dark, quiet stockroom of some apothecary; if it had been anyone other than zoro with him he would have tried to hold it together, but zoro is fine. zoro is safe. he slides to the ground and curls up into a ball, hugging his legs to his chest and burying his face in his kneecaps even as he hears the swordsman's noise of concern. he's trembling all over, breath spiralling out of control and fuck, he doesn't even know what set him off— just that he'd started feeling smothered, cold sweat beading on the back of his neck, and then zoro had pulled him back here.

zoro's brain stalls a little. he'd seen some of the older kids at the orphanage struggle with this; panic attacks, shimotsuki sensei had told him, were not uncommon in people who had endured long periods of stress or trauma. but he'll think about the semantics later.

zoro has to ask three times, each increasingly desperate, if he can touch before sanji gives him a jerky nod; the cook's shoulders are hunched up to his ears, nails biting into his arms in a bid to ground himself, and zoro can't stand the thought of him hurting more than he already is— so he gently takes sanji's wrists as he crouches down, unwrapping his arms and sitting properly so that he can pull sanji close.

the cook shudders as he clambers into zoro's lap, graceless and hurried, hands slipping under zoro's arms to grip at his shoulders and zoro lets him cling, presses a hand to sanji's nape and the other to his spine, shifts so that his own back is against the wall.

they sit there for a long time on the stockroom floor. zoro isn't good at this, he thinks. at comfort. he tries anyway, sifts his hands through sanji's flaxen hair as he talks about everything and nothing at all, mindless murmurs as he feels tears dampen the side of his throat where sanji has decided to hide. sanji lets out a shaky breath, fingertips digging into zoro's muscle, and zoro can feel the cook's heart beating out a slowing tattoo against his own chest. his slacks are twisted around the ankle, rucked up above his stupid fancy loafers. zoro smooths them down as sanji pulls back and curls up sideways.

he is loathe to break the silence, but he asks anyway. "everything okay, cook?"

"...yeah," sanji breathes, seeming to deflate as zoro presses a kiss to his crown. "yeah, i'm good." he leans into the arm around his back and tucks his nose against zoro's collarbone, closing his eyes. zoro doesn't move and he won't until sanji wants to leave.

after that first time, zoro kind of gets it down to a routine. when sanji's about to have a panic attack he gets the cook to a quiet, dark space, sits down and talks him through it; it helps sanji to know where he is, who he is, who he's with. a lot of the times he gets set off because something tripped a memory from his past, and it rockets him right back into his childhood. sanji hates it; hates the hold that it all still has on him, but zoro is VERY insistent that his getting through it all, unscathed or otherwise, is something to be proud of.

sanji's always shaken after panic attacks, no matter how much he brushes it off. when they get back to the ship zoro bundles him up in blankets and brings him hot tea; it's a direct opposite of how he was treated back in germa. it helps. they already share a bunk most nights anyway, but on these nights especially zoro makes sure to really hold sanji close, lets the cook arrange him however he wants before they fall asleep because it's the least he can do.

it irks him. the fact that he can't fight something that's in sanji's own head, that he isn't the best at handling these types of situations— but sanji refuses to have anyone other than him for the time being, so he does what he can.

(to sanji, it's more than enough.)

now, zoro. i don't think he gets panic attacks often, but only because his body's kind of in a constant state of alert; he is so focused on being ready to fight, so high-strung, that he doesn't even have the chance to slack and slip into one.

however i think a breaking point would be if the crew was in any sort of perilous situation and he couldn't do anything to help. shit goes down and everybody's alive but he gets back to the ship and it all hits him at once.

sanji finds him sitting eerily still on the bench in the crow's nest. his leg would be bouncing but he's always had incredible awareness of and control over his body, and right now he has himself in an iron grip. his breathing is fast and laboured and his gaze is burning a hole into a spot on the wall— and sanji hovers for a second because it looks like zoro would fly apart at a single poke.

he recognises the symptoms even if they're locked down tighter than a sprung mousetrap. he climbs up gently but obviously enough that he knows zoro will notice, keeps his footsteps soft but lets his soles brush across the floor. zoro inhales sharply when sanji lays a tentative hand on his shoulder and the cook nearly pulls back, but he gives zoro a firm squeeze and sits down next to him.

they don't do much, just sitting there with their shoulders and knees pressed together, and sanji waits because he knows he can't push this no matter how much he wants to and god does he want to. his fingers twist discreetly into the covers on his free side. he wants to pull zoro to his chest and rub his back and show him that everything's alright. he needs zoro to show something other than stone-faced calm, about as convincing as a plaster mask. he needs zoro to not bottle everything in but he will not push, he won't, so he sits there and bites at the inside of his cheek.

eventually the weight on his shoulder slowly grows heavier. zoro reaches for his hand, tentative, trembling, and sanji nearly yells a prayer to whatever god he doesn't believe in. he leans over to pull zoro down and lies on his back on the bench, letting the swordsman curl around him and smoothing his palm over zoro's tense spine.

zoro's exhale is shaky. his fingers grip at sanji's shirt so tightly that the threads strain, his torso laying across sanji's stomach like a shield. sanji shifts down a little when he realises zoro's trying to get to his heartbeat; he sighs when the swordsman's palms bracket his ribcage, ear pressed above his sternum, earrings warming from being pressed against skin.

sanji rubs a thumb over zoro's hairline, kneading into his tense temples. "wanna come down for dinner?" he asks quietly, face soft as tired grey eyes peer up at him. "bet they're all waiting for you."

he knows that zoro needs proof that they're all alright. a night in the galley with gentle hands and bandages and soft laughter would do him some good. cake, if their nakama want, and spiked hot chocolate all around.

zoro grunts, burying his face back into sanji's stomach, and sanji takes that as a later. maybe a soon, if he's lucky; he needs to talk franky into giving this bench seat cushions. a soft huff ruffles zoro's hair, and sanji smooths it back into place.

they go down much, much later. sanji's spine is aching and he knows zoro feels bad about it from the palm that kneads at his lower back, but he doesn't really mind. luffy's indignance at missing dinner is mollified when sanji bakes a massive red velvet cake. nobody notices when he slips zoro an extra slice and gets a soft squeeze around the waist as thanks.

[hannahssimblr]

“Can I tell you something?” Alison whispers as we lay side by side on a bed, some nameless person’s bed in Dollymount. The sounds of electronic club beats are muffled through the floor from the kitchen beneath us.

“Yeah of course.”

“Don’t take it the wrong way though.”

“I won’t.”

She smiles, “I really, really like the stupid faces you make.”

“Stupid faces?” I have to look at her, so I prop myself up on my elbow, “What stupid faces?”

She giggles sleepily, all soft and relaxed after I made her come. I don’t know how I did it, by the way, it’s something that seemed to have happened by divine chance, leaving me with no solid idea of how it can be repeated, but now I have to pretend that I did it on purpose. “You just pull these really expressive faces, like,” she tries to imitate me, tugging her lip between her teeth and rolling her eyes back, “like you’re enjoying yourself so much, it’s so cute.”

I kiss her shoulder, “I am enjoying myself. It’s nice. Do you want me to be all serious? I can do that, I can be really stoic and manly if you like,” I set my jaw and stare right at her when I roll on top of her, “Alison,” I say in a deep, unemotive Terminator voice, “copulating with you is enjoyable to me, let us continue.”

“Stop,” she laughs weakly and squirms away, “and by the way, if you were a real manly man you wouldn’t even speak or make any noise. You’d just wheeze out these really heavy, ominous breaths.”

And would I look you in the eye like this?” I demonstrate, unblinking, “And would I be concentrating so much that I’d look like I was doing a shit?”

“God, no, in my experience guys don’t even look me in the eye. They bury their face into the pillow and then get embarrassed and start apologising when they come like they’ve just realised they’ve done something disgusting.”

I drop back to her side, “Oh, God. That sounds miserable.”

“Yeah that’s why I like your stupid faces, actually, and the way you look at me. Sometimes you even say nice things. It’s always pleasant with you and I never regret it.”

“I’m just blurting out random shit, it’s not exactly romance novel worthy stuff.”

“You said a few minutes ago, and I quote, ‘Oh Jesus, fuck, Alison you’re so fucking hot.’ Do you know how good it feels for me to hear that?”

“i can't be held accountable for the things I say when I'm about to come,” I say with a shrug, “and anyway, you are. I was just sharing the facts.”

She reaches up to touch my cheek, stroking the back of her fingers affectionately over my skin, “That’s the thing though, you’re never embarrassed about sex. You make me feel kind of special, or something. You’re a lovely boy, you know that? You’re just about the loveliest one I know.”

“Why does that make you sound so sad?”

She looks up at me with her big blue eyes and I can’t help but touch her too, brushing my fingertips up the side of her face while she lies there, still, red hair fanned out over the pillow like some kind of beautiful painting. 

“I’m not sad,” She whispers, “We’re just being vulnerable.”

“Hm, how are you holding up?”

“I don’t mind.”

It takes me a moment to realise that I, in fact, am the one that is sad, and perhaps it’s because I’ve been drinking, which is never really that good for me or the image I try to uphold, but an unexpected type of sorrow takes me over in a surge and I only realise I am about to say something very stupid when it is far too late. I am already saying it.

“Why don’t you want to be with me, Alison?”

She sighs and breaks eye contact, “Because that would be ridiculous. You don’t want that.”

“I think that I do. I don’t understand all of this casual stuff, I’m sorry, I just don’t know how to do it.”

“But you’re doing it, you’re fine.”

“No, I think I need more.”

“Jude,” she drags a frustrated hand across her forehead. I think I put her through this type of thing a lot, “you don’t want to be my boyfriend, you just think that you do.”

“I love you.”

She snorts with derision, “No you don’t, come on, you’re just lonely.”

“You’re right,” I hesitate, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, that was stupid.”

“I think that deep inside you’re just a sad little boy who wants someone to look after him, and now you’re searching for some poor, naive girl to do it. Right?”

“No, of course not. I just… don’t like being on my own.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I don’t like how it feels.”

“You’re making a great case for us being together, by the way. Who wouldn’t want to go out with a guy who is depressed and gets really weird whenever he’s alone? Wow, he doesn’t sound clingy at all.”

“But you’re not making any decent case for not being together.”

“Being with me would probably ruin your whole reputation. You don’t want to be the guy who’s going out with the bloody village bicycle of fifth year.”

“Who calls you that?”

She scoffs, “Um, everyone, come on. You think I don’t know? I bet the stuff those rugby boys say about me is foul.”

It's true that the conversation in the changing rooms is so pornographic that it used to stun me, but I've been on that team for two years now and have realised that the conversation is always about the the same things, like whose arse cheeks were visible under the hem of her skirt, what they wish they could do to random girls in the hallway, big tits and blow job lips, invented scenarios with girls they will never have the courage to actually talk to. It's boring.

“I don't think I've ever heard them mention you.”

“Well then you’re just not listening.”

“Alison, yeah, the shit they say is gross, but even if they did talk about you, they definitely wouldn't be saying that you're the village bicycle of fifth year, come on.”

“Of course they do. But that’s what I get for being this way. I should just keep my legs closed, right?”

“C’mere,” I tilt her face gently to mine, “If they're saying that then it's not in front of me.”

I can't read the series of emotions that flash across her face, but her silences makes me begin begin to question if any of this is comforting at all. I continue, “and I swear if I ever do hear anyone talking shit about you in that dressing room I’ll shut it down straight away.”

There is a pounding on the bedroom door. 

“Hey!” Some girl yells, “Who’s in there? This is my room. Nobody better be having sex or something in there!”

Alison and I stare at one another. 

“Hello? Can you open up please? You can’t just come into someone’s house and start locking the doors as you like!”

“Hey! Piss off!” Alison yells back, which only increases the ferocity of the door rattling, “What should we do?” she murmurs.

“Probably get a move on, you think?”

“Yeah, might as well,” she lies spread out on the mattress staring at the ceiling as she tries to gather the strength to move. Finally she relents, “Okay, throw me over my jeans.” 

I pluck them off the chair that I flung them onto earlier and then start retrieving some of my discarded clothes too. “Should we fix up the room or something? Like, I dunno, take the sheets off? I feel a bit bad.”

Alison scoffs, “Why, so you can have them dry cleaned for her? Or do you want to go downstairs and put the washing machine on? No, you can put your condom in the bin but that’s all she gets. What does she expect? We are at a house party, and there is a bloody bed. Does she seriously think that people aren’t going to fuck in it?”

“You’re right,” I chuckle, “Get a grip, huh?”

“Right!”

“Loser.”

“Loser.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[amaliabalash]

Legally Blonde at the Oregon Cabaret Theatre

Just got back from seeing the Cabaret's Legally Blonde and so naturally I have to make a text post with every thought and feeling. Bullet pointed stream of consciousness ahead! And I'll be seeing this uh like six more times so I will likely add on to mention other little things I notice and like over time. 😂

This Bruiser was a miniature poodle and very cute.

When Margot is talking to Bruiser, she just held his head and looked into his eyes like she was doing a mind meld and I loved that.

Also, like seven years ago or something, the actress playing Margot played Elle in a youth production of LB that I saw, and it was fun to see her back in the show. She understudies Elle and I hope she goes on one of the times I've there, it'd be a fun full circle thing.

During Blood in the Water, when the students start echoing the phrase, Emmett started and like tried to cue them to do the same? I don't know how to word it lol but it worked for me.

When Elle asks, "who assigns reading on the first day of class?" Emmett across the room starts like reaching out towards her and mouthing "no no no" before grimacing.

Enid throws a beer on Vivienne at the party, which I haven't seen before and was fun as Vivienne runs off stage going "I'm all sticky!"

OG IRELAND LYRICS FTW

During the Christmas part of Chip, Emmett comes in with a reindeer horn headband and I just thought that was very cute.

This Emmett did a lot of like, voices when saying certain lines and it worked for me? I know the actor from many local productions and always enjoy him but he's usually playing character roles, and I enjoyed seeing little bits of that goofiness brought into Emmett.

Major height difference between Elle and Emmett. Most of the time I'm like "yeah height differences are fine" but it made it so if they hugged she's like buried in this chest and yes good I approve.

At the end of Chip right after Elle has her classroom success, Elle and Emmett like lock eyes and walk towards each other and it just felt like a magnetic pull thing until Callahan walks between them, I dug it.

And then when Paulette goes to get Rufus (she goes offstage, because they did not have a dog to play Rufus), again, Elle and Emmett just fucking gaze at each other for a moment before she goes into "is this law?" and I am so here for it.

Holy SHIT Whipped Into Shape. Always impressive to see people hold their own with singing while jump roping, but the first freeze? Forgive the random cheerleader picture for illustration, but the actress playing Brooke held this pose (without the other arm out) for the entire pause on "meet our brand new client Brooke..." through until the hit play again. I've never seen people burst into applause mid-Whipped, but like, you could feel the shock and awe just ripple through the room the longer she held it.

Take It Like a Man: okay first of all they actually put him in a good suit thank the lord, so often it's like "and he looks the same, just in black" but this was a well fitted suit so, A+ costuming, you actually did the job. And Emmett did a clear sort of lean in before Elle hugs him, which isn't anything new, but always great in my book. And when she hugs him, she just buries her face in his chest, I love it.

When Callahan makes the move on Elle, and audience member loudly hissed. 😂

Sadly. There was no Door. However, they DID make it clear that "what about love?" was an aside and not directly to Elle. There was a line change, I don't remember exactly what, so it's not "if you can hear" but something else. But when he's singing about wanting her to stay TO her, she's carrying a bag she's packed and they both reach for the handles and just kind of clasp hands for a moment. ALSO she packs the 2-in-1 shampoo after like hesitating for a moment over it, and that got me right in the heart. Well done.

During the reprise when Elle walks into the supply closet, Vivienne turned to Enid and said "she still hates me, doesn't she?" or something like that and god any little extra bit of Vivienne insight we get I looooove.

After Elle proposes and puts the ring on Emmett's finger, she jumps into his arms and just WRAPS her legs around him, full on star fish cling, I love it. No real end kiss though, which seemed weird? Like they were about to and then went into more singing. I'm not as much bothered by it as confused by the choice but oh well.

Emmett comes out in a hot pink suit for bows.

Okay that's all I got for now. I fucking love Legally Blonde.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes.

ATLA

Boomerangs and Rainbows by Mindbending (+ podfic)

At Sokka’s behest, the Gaang skips rescuing Zuko during the Siege at the North Pole. Instead they leave him, unconscious, buried in the snow.

In completely unrelated news, Sokka’s haunted by a ghost now.

For Hearth And Home by Haicrescendo

[There’s a child underneath Fire Lord Zuko’s desk.

He doesn’t realize this until he sits down and tiny hands wrap themselves around his ankles, and Fire Lord Zuko definitely does not shriek and backpedal away at the unexpected touch.

He definitely does do that but Gou, the single guard he’s agreed to let shadow him, is kind enough not to mention it.]

Or: In which Fire Lord Zuko is a total mess and somehow people manage to love him for it anyway.

DC

For All The Just Alike Birds by SilverSkiesAtMidnight

It starts the stupidest way anything has ever gone wrong in Tim’s life.

It starts when he falls asleep in the shower.

Stranger Things

should i keep it on display, or redecorate? by RejectsCanon

The first thing Steve removes from his room is the random framed photograph of a car.

Before Steve realizes what he’s doing, he’s snatched that photo off the wall. It comes off easily, the only thing holding it in place is a nail haphazardly hammered into the wall. Picture in hand, Steve doesn’t pause to think, letting his body take over as he rushes down the stairs.

Steve stalks downstairs, wrenches open the back door, and smashes that obnoxious picture to the ground.

Or, Steve hates his room. He decides to change that.

The Sandman

the past, the future, the doorway by Chrome, stardreamertwo

thedreaming_comm writes:

Welcome to thedreaming_comm, a space for fans of Morpheus Endless’s The Dreaming series!

(A year after going missing, fantasy author Morpheus Endless is found alive. The internet has a lot to say.)

only the register by Chrome

As much as Hob likes this job, will be sorry to lose it, he’s not sorry for the punch.

Worlds collide at the British Museum. Hob Gadling gives into old instincts. Paul McGuire has regrets.

Shadowhunters

What's in a Name by Carmenlire

The dichotomy of Alec is endlessly fascinating to Magnus. He knows-- was confronted once upon a time-- that Alec is surly and can be downright brutal, his temper running hot or icy depending on the situation. He can be rude and standoffish and frighteningly cold to whomever hasn’t earned his respect. He’s a consummate professional, a brilliant leader and tactician, but there’s no denying that his boyfriend can be a bit of a dick.

But he's also soft and soaks affection up like a sponge, physically demonstrative in a way that Magnus could never have predicted.

A typical day in the life of Alec Lightwood.

Tell me I'm perfect (but tell me the truth) by SquaresAreNotCircles

"Totally whipped,” Jace says, even as he slings an arm over Alec’s shoulders to keep him steady on the way outside.

“Like cream,” Alec sighs.

Or: 5 times Alec tells his siblings how amazing Magnus is + 1 time Magnus finds out.

The Shadiest Thing by starkraving

Magnus is High Warlock, yeah, but he’s just a little bit gangster sometimes. Alec tags along on an errand and gets a real look at warlock culture, what it takes to be High Warlock, and the details of a ‘warlock duel’. Magnus can’t believe the stupid shit people leave on his voicemail. Between Season 2 & 3.

[world0fmadness]

BE MINE

୨୧ i am so damn sorry but i’m having thoughts about kind of dark! vegard baby trapping you… i landed on vegard because i think he is the most likely to have a serious breeding kink and want for a family, if you guys think anyone else would baby trap or do any other kind of dark shit, send it to my ask box! i’ve been missing your guys’ thoughts so much ^w^

you guys are both so youthful, dumb young adults who really do not have a whole lot of money but you have enough to live comfortably with it being just the two of you in a small, simple one bedroom apartment but vegard… well, vegard does not want it to just be the two of you, oh no…

vegard has a major breeding kink, yes, but it runs even deeper than that! vegard wants children with you, wants a family with you, wants to have so many little mini versions of you and him, the perfect spoils of your love represented in children that you’ll raise together, the perfect connection that will make you fall even more in love with him, the perfect way to secure a forever future with you… the thought of how your body will change and adjust to grow his child, how your tits will fill with milk that will soon feed his child and the pregnancy glow that will make your skin glisten is just a major bonus to him

he brings up children so often, constantly talking to you about how he thinks you’ll make an amazing mother, about how you guys should have a child now, when you’re still so young and have so much free time… but you always shut it down, taking it lightheartedly and telling him you can have children later down the line if he really wants them but right now he should focus on his band before you move on with the conversation and forget all about children, you never realise just how serious he is about wanting them, you never see how his eyes darken slightly when you shut the idea down down and forget about it! you never take his talks about children seriously, you never even take his breeding kink seriously, always just looking at it as a simple sex thing, something that gets him off and something he forgets about the second he cums… oh how far from the truth that is…

you always let vegard fuck you raw, both of you prefer to fuck raw and he knows you’re on birth control to prevent pregnancy! and he knows exactly where you keep your three month supply of the pills that prevent him from having what he wants, prevents you from having what he knows you will want with him, when you just accept it and see how much better life will be when you have a child with him, when you have his child…

whilst you rest, fast asleep in your shared bed after a round of raw sex with him, vegard is wide awake in the bathroom, busy removing your birth control from your little plastic pill container, shoving all of the extra and unopened boxes into a small trash bag before replacing all of them with some random, useless and ineffective pills, simple sugar pills that mirror the appearance of your birth control pills… he knows you barely ever look down at them when you swallow them every morning, you would never notice the small differences on the white pills… his hands are shaky with excitement as he switches the pills, or maybe they’re shaky with nervousness, shaky with the fear of being caught… but vegard doesn’t care, he knows this will all be worth it when you fall pregnant within the next couple of months, when you both have what you want, because he knows you will want it… you will want his baby… and after he replaces all of the pills, tying the small trash bag filled with your old birth control before throwing it in the trash can? he just comes right back to bed, his head rushing with excitement for the future as he climbs back into bed next to you, throwing an arm around your body and pulling you into him, kissing your head when you bury your head into his chest, his hand coming down to gently stroke your sleeping face, trailing his finger across your soft cheek and whispering oh so quietly into your hair about how lucky his child will be to have a mother like you!

and you never do notice the difference in your pills, you never take note of the slight tingle they give to your tongue and the difference in taste… even if you do notice a difference one day, you just assume they changed the recipe! but when you fall pregnant within a month? a month of having raw sex with vegard nearly three times a weeks, believing that your body was still being protected against pregnancy? not knowing what he had done to your birth control pills? well, when it all goes downhill, for you anyways…

but vegard knew you would fall pregnant quickly, how could you not? the two of you fuck like rabbits, like any young adults with free time and a lot of love between them… and you fuck raw! with him constantly emptying his thick loads inside on you, filling you to the brim with his cum over and over again, fucking you in positions he specifically read about in books about how to get pregnant and dealing with pregnancies! he was pulling every trick in the book to make sure you would be with his child in no time

you wake up one morning and immediately rush to the bathroom, lightheaded and overwhelmed with the need to empty your stomach into the toilet which only causes vegard to wake up too as he hears your fast steps running from the bed and the retching echoing from the small bathroom… he has to resist smiling as he gets out of bed to come and comfort you, to ask you if you ate anything bad, as if he doesn’t already know exactly why this is happening, his hand coming to stroke your back as your eyes water, looking up at him with big doe eyes as you ask him to go to the nearby store and grab a pregnancy test… just in case… because even you know there is that slim chance, even when on birth control! vegard feigns a surprised face before clearing his throat and placing a soft kiss to your messy hair, telling you he’ll be right back with a pregnancy test for you, smirking the whole short walk to and from the store, making sure to grab two pregnancy tests just for good measure, so that you cannot even try to claim the one he knows will come back positive is an error, so that you have to accept that this is happening

he sits with you in the cramped bathroom as you wait on the test results, his soft spoken voice talking to you as you remain silent and bounce your knee nervously, taking to you about when the tests are done, you can go right back to bed… the mother of his child needs the best rest but of course, he doesn’t say that part! ihsahn has to resist already breaking out into a spew of how happy he is, holding off until you pick up the tests and he sees your beautiful eyes fill with tears before you cover your mouth and hand them to him, his eyes immediately landing on the two little lines… the two little lines that have you in his arms forever now, the two little lines that will give him exactly what he wants…

it isn’t like vegard enjoys seeing you so upset though! especially not when it’s something he knows you’ll soon be so happy about and he quickly crouches down to wipe some of your tears from your wet cheeks and take you into his arms, letting you bury your head into his shoulder as his frizzy hair tickles your cheek, his gentle voice whispering in your ear about how everything will be okay… he’ll take such good care of you and his baby, he’ll look into moving into a bigger apartment or maybe even a house when the baby needs their own room, he’ll pick up another job to buy food and whatever else they’ll need… but everything will be okay and even more so, you’ll just make the most wonderful mother, don’t you know that? and he says it all with a smirk is painted across his face, a smirk that you fail to see with your head tucked into his shoulder, simply seeking his comfort, love and reassurance as you slowly accept your newly discovered future <3

[silviakundera]

Joy of Life S1 Ep 42 liveblogging

watching for the 1st time, so don't tell me secrets ;)

Fan Xian seems really sure he's the emperor's son. Hmmmm Do I feel confident the emperor likes him, as much as a selfish schemer of his kind can like anyone? Sure. Do I feel confident at this point that the emperor thinks FX is his illegitimate kid? IDK because this could be another cover and he was actually helping her hide something. I'm just not at the place yet where I am taking that as an irrefutable fact.

The look on FX's face when Xiao En says as long as he knows he's a Xiao. Good acting! You can see the compassion FX has for him. He's not only ruthless and vicious.

"Don't bury me. I don't want to be underground anymore." 😢😔

"I am sorry I am not your grandson. Sit tight. You won't be bothered anymore." All of his dialogue in this scene is simple but full of sincere feeling. FX is not as wholly dark as he thinks he is. What a fantastic, complex character. I really like him.

That secret was indeed underwhelming for me but Xiao En had a fantastic arc.

Chen Pingping always has like 5 reasons for anything he does. Love that about him.

LMAO Chen Pingping even set up things so evil Princess' plot ended up giving FX a chivalrous bestie. (He reminds me a lot of Korn, the mafia kingpin from Kinnporsche. Can't predict everything but makes great bets based on all the variables he can control and his understanding of people's hearts. Willing to risk it all for the reward.)

Hi Gao Baokun! Ohhhhhhhh now FX is on the trail of Chen Pingping's 5th Reason. Teng Zijing was set up to be in that village! Hand selected to be positioned into FX's life. Just a pawn.

Gao Baokun is just a random loser who got dragged into the mud (but wait--we already knew he didn't try to kill Teng Xijing's fam in the end, and that part was the Bureau? Or at least I thought we knew that.)

It's touching that after all FX still trusts Teng Zijing. His one true friend! ❤

ahhhhhhhh Fan Xian is super pissed at his uncles. Guys you may have miscalculated this. Like my beloved Korn from Kinnporsche, Chen Pingping & Emperor want it all and are betting big that they can have their power AND their chosen people. Or at least the Emperor really wants both. Korn won the day in that drama (tho fandom keeps punishing him in fanfic). We'll see if FX can eventually forgive.

His Majesty is actually calling it out that they say to each other & perhaps even to themselves that they see Fan Xian as their baby boy and yet.... I like the emperor for his self awareness and inner conflict about his hypocrisy

Does Fan Jian truly think of FX wholeheartedly as his foster son? Are Chen Pingping and His Majesty actually having real trust issues..? Remains to be seen.

We're back with Yan Bingyuan and FX admitting this was a test for him.

Who's Xiao En's real grandson? Yan Bingyuan? ....... LMAO that took the drama like 3 min to answer. Yep it's probably him.

nah don't tell Bingyuan any disabling shit before you are out of the country 🙈 this man is already like an anxious chihuahua

I believe the emperor sees what I do: that a fealty to Qing & determination to make it the most powerful does not necessarily = fealty to the current emperor. Saying Chen Pingping is dedicated to the best for the country does NOT read like perfect loyalty to His Majesty. It's not that he's against the emperor or FX and doesn't gaf, it's just that his obsession for the bigger goal is what it is. A common fear that cdrama royalty has to grapple with. They both hunger for personal loyalty & can't trust it.

oh is it Shen sister? She's way more fun than her erstwhile boyfriend, let her in!

lol that's right Bingyuan, give us nothing

FX just watching the drama because Bingyuan is too obvious

So..... Now Fan Xian wants to be the Investigations Bureau head and a top official.... to find out how mom really died and get revenge? 🤔

[chaoticallyfragmentary]

Dabi X Reader

Here’s a little Dabi fluff because he deserves to be loved. Drops mic, walks off stage

Walks back, whispers  “contains kissing and making out. Do not read if that is not your cup of tea.” Scurries back. 

Dabi didn’t merely have bruises. He was eviscerated and then stapled up with everything misaligned, held together by threads of grief and rage. The more he lets you see of him, the little shit with deep, wary ocean eyes, mind like a lightning strike and a wit to match, the deeper you fall. He was a tragedy in making. An unfinished thought. An abandoned book. Here’s the awful thing about people like you daring to love, it gave you something to live for.

You both’ve outrun your demons for now. So, tonight he is here, a blush faint on his cheeks, as a battered old radio played to itself, a romantic tune, wavering in and out beneath a gentle pall of static. His eyes are unguarded and open, revealing the fragility underneath. He is the Dabi with his arms around your waist and your head against his chest. The Dabi whose smirk wavers into something a little soft, a little lovesick. He is the familiar swell in your chest as he twirls you in the abandoned factory, moonlight your stage, voice a little husky as he hums under his breath. You reach up, peppering soft kisses along his jaw and for the first time in what feels like a millennium, Touya laughs. It is warm and golden, like slow dripping honey. Dabi made ice look good but now you know, he makes warmth look even better. “I love you.” the confession slips out, like it was meant to. Dabi halts, looking at you, agony on the brink. He drops to his knees as you hear a breath, a rough strangled sound and then he bursts into tears. Blood coating his hands as he buries his face in them.

“I’m sorry—Touya, hey, Look at me love, please. It’s okay, I-” He practically pulls you into his lap, crushing you against him like he wants to hide you in the hollow of his chest. Your breath stutters as you realize he was blubbering confessions of love into your skin. You take his face in your hands, thumbing across the apples of his cheeks, the staples cool against his warmth. All the moments before this, all the errant impulses to touch and taste and kiss him pale in comparison to the want and need barreling through you. It shreds every ounce of self control that you might have left.

“Can I kiss you, Touya?”

Dabi could taste his heartbeat, thudding against the back of his throat as your hand slides along the side of his neck, into the back of his hair. He nods, an equally near-reverent yes breathed straight through you.

His eyes slide shut as you whisper his name and place a barely there peck at the corner of his mouth. His eyes whip open with impatience as you drop a kiss at the other corner of his mouth. A greedy want of him clawed against your ribs as you finally pull his bottom lip between your teeth, your nails dragging against his hair, his groans and your whimpers leading towards a spiraling loss of control. He knew he was going to experience spontaneous combustion as both of you delve in deeper, harder and more frantic, your chest burning, lungs on fire. He nibbled and sucked, the bruises bubbling underneath your skin, your hands dragging him even closer as you are nearly debilitated by the force of your desire. The kiss slows, with gentle nips and breathless sighs. He looks at you with something akin to hope, a lot like your undoing, at ease in a way you’d only ever seen him with you. Dropping his voice to a low whisper, finally a smirk tugging at his mouth, he whispers “I love you too doll,” the sound brushing up against you, making its home in sinew and bone.

Falling in love with him was tangled bedsheets and smudged make-up, like a quiet sigh that slips out concessionary and pleading. It is the stillness in the air before a storm, the knowing smirks and the late nights out, fishnets and leather jackets, forest fire and smoke. It is the random acts of kindness and the glow of city lights, the soft whispers and the faded photographs. It is the eye-rolls and lips dripping sarcasm, the silver moonbeams and the empty ballrooms, the slow kisses, warmth that rages like hellfire and arms that feel like home.

[shrimpngritcakes]

Just a few random Timber based prompts I don't have time to write up myself so I'm tossing them out.

Bruce p.o.v.

Bruce goes to officially meet Bernard's parents at some event WE is hosting.

Bernard's parents don't realize he's behind them when they make a few "choice comments" about Tim (and Bernard) despite the person they're speaking with trying to signal them to stop talking.

"Brucie" Wayne proceeds to kill them with "kindness" before banning them from all things WE related.

After escorting them out to the parking lot, the act drops and "Bruce" lets them really have it. He has the means to destroy them, so leave Tim's name out of their mouths. "No, he's a legal adult. You have no say. None. You can't force him to do what you want anymore. If you won't support him, I will."

(Bernard in his head, "Am I a Robin now?")

-----

A massive Arkham breakout causes the Bats to focus on their capture. Someone uses the distraction to up their own plans. Oracle contacts Bernard, who ends up running around in a combination of Spoiler and Robin uniforms kept at Tim's with Barbara in his ear. "You know I already knew, right?" "No, but you're explaining that later."

Bonus if he captures one of the Arkham villians. "I don't have time for your shit."

Stephanie has no clue what they're talking about when she returns to Gotham. Barbara can't "find" any clue to their identity.

-----

Bernard convinces the Waynes to play frisbee golf during a picnic. They all play dumb except Dick who uses his circus experience as an explanation. Bruce is suspicious after Bernard says, "Oh for... I know you can do better than this!"

Later, the Bats get into a heated game using their weapons after someone makes an offhand comment about winning by a landslide if they had played earlier.

-----

Tim doesn't realize Bernard has been kidnapped again until video pops up showing Gotham citizens "the identity of Batman." Oracle is searching for them while Bernard makes shit up and being his conspiracy theory self ("Some people think its *random name* online, but..."). While the villain is ranting at the camera, Bernard looks away and mumbles under his breath for "flyboy" to come rescue him before he's coerced into "telling the truth about BW."

But it's not Kon who shows up. "He knows, Tim." "Huh?" "He had to have said something big to get Clark to answer him."

Clark "flukes" his way into freeing Bernard. "Oh, sorry!" after hitting one of the goons upside the head with his tablet. "Accidentally" slipping in water, etc. Bruce, "Do you and Lois rehearse these situations?"

"Yo, Gotham. Listen. I don't know who they are. I just work in a restaurant where they stop for food every so often. That's it. The deli down the street gives them free stuff, too. The coffeeshop gives them drinks! Just because we give them things doesn't mean we know who they are! So all you villians who want to capture us can piss right the fuck off."

-----

Bernard reluctantly goes on a "working" ski vacation with his parents to "keep up appearances." An avalanche buries him. Yelling out for any super to get him out begins the secret that everyone, except the bats, knows Bernard knows. Hijinks ensue until Bruce figures it out.

-----

Bernard says he'll wait for Tim to tell him on his own.

Until he's left in the presence of Brucie Wayne for too long while waiting for Tim to get something from his old room.

"Okay. I'm done. This is just too disturbing. Mr. Wayne, for the love of... Please drop the act. I can't take it anymore."

[moonlight-tmd]

Saw your rebolg on the warbuild bee post : D

I was wondering what your take would be on WF!Bee? Like before everything happens and he’s sent to boot camp. I kind of imagined a more street smart version of him that’s rough around the edges but still has a sense of humor, even if it’s a bit darker. He basically built himself from nothing on his colony and had to learn quickly before it had a chance to suffocate him. Through his experience he’s been humbled a bit, but when he’s talking about his speed and skills, he’ll still brag and say he’s the fastest mech/greatest weapons engineer to ever be sparked.

As for his whole relationship with Blitz, I liked to imagine them being physically affectionate with each other. They practically have a long distance relationship due to Blitzwings work, and when they finally get to see each other again, they stick to together like superglue, whether it be lightly caressing the others (door)wing or clinging to each other like koalas (with Bee being Blitzwings size, they have a much easier time cuddling). And of course there’s Bee’s gift giving love language; Blitzwing is practically armed to the derma with finest quality weaponry the galaxy can offer, courtesy of his sweet mechfriend who want to make sure he can beat the autobots good and swiftly. That’s not mentioning every upgrade Bee has preformed on every piece of equipment he could get his servos on, he’s practically given Blitz’s ship a full makeover by now.

That is really cool! I like that idea a lot too!

I thought about how'd he look like as a warframe and i got an idea-

Like what if he magically got his original frame back but with some tweaks to fit earth? They fight over Allspark Shard, he got buried in a mountian of scrap, then some weird glowing shit happens and molten metal pours over and a freshly forged Warframe emerges from the pile. In this he has a monster truck alt mode; I was imagining sorta viking warrior vibe to it, he's got in-build swords that can electrocute ya, his tires are on the back rather than on the shoulders, no doorwings. Also some bronze detailing on top of shiny yellow. Here's a quick sketch of the general look cuz i suck at drawing detailed art from my head-

Yes he got yellow optics cuz they are cool and he's not autobot so no blue. Also i thought he'd have like, an emblem of something like a hammer on his chassis instead of the faction insignia, like a mark that he leaved on everything he forges to sell so everyone knows it was him that made it. Also fun fact- he has retractable claws, except they're thinner and also work as welding tool. An easy way to work with tiny details and parts.

I like the idea that he was considered the greatest engineer/smith/forgemaster that ever existed, therefore Megatron has high respect for the guy. He was nicknamed 'The Architect' and the rumour of the rising legend spread before mysteriously disappearing [aka Bee getting taken and reformatted].

Before he got reformatted tho... hmmm. Yeah his love language would defo be giving gifts, be it weapons or just small sentimental things like jewelry or statuettes made of metal. He is kinda good with engraving, not on the same level as Blitz but it's still nice. Surely he was great at giving bear hugs, really keen on physical contact. My bet is that he was stronger than Blitzwing and could easily pick him up and carry around- having to carry all the heavy materials for the forge n all. I think Blitz was just a seeker back then and then got upgraded to triple-changer. And then they got conjuxed- ah you probably read the other reply so i won't repeat.

And way earlier- he was kind but also rough, he was kinda like Ratchet when repairing his upgrades on others- complaining and judging them for whatever they did that broke the thing. He was playful and didn't really take into account if the fella he spoke with was a high placed individual or just a random street bot, he treated all his customers equally. I like to think he got taken off the streets by a smith that taught him all he knows and then Bee took over the workshop once he was old enough. Then one day an out-of-ordinary mech came into his workshop and tadah, we got a love story.

Even tho he was a Warframe he didn't like to fight, he preferred to spend time in his workshop tinkering away to his Spark's desire. Once he got on the autobot team and on earth, he surely did some small things for the group to help them recover- new med tools for Ratchet, maybe some shurikens for Prowl, little upgrades to make their weapons or stuff more durable and so on. Besides Bulkhead, he never shared anything from his past to anyone, all his team knows is that he's outstanding with tinkering. He doesn't like to dwell on what he lost because of some autobots that forced him into this new life.

Geez that was chaotic to write, hope you can get around in this. Thanks for listening to my ted talk.

[aeymii]

It was like a little bonding moment for Protag!Nagito. The survivors all had a big communal bath, split between boys and girls. And it just felt weirdly nice for him to be hanging out with Kaz and Gundham there, since it made him feel included.

Honestly I imagine lots of moments like that for their AU. Like I've got this one idea where they're actually not immediately saved by the Future Foundation after getting out of the school. And so they go on a little roadtrip with one of Hope's Peak's leftover vans (which they fit as many supplies in as they could). Deciding to stop off at Nagito's house first. Mainly to give him about a week or so to properly heal from the lost arm. But also because it occurs to him that in the post-Apocalypse, money probably isn't as useful for trade as items to barter. And assuming that his house hasn't been ransacked, there's still his dad's old wine cellar that they can use for currency. They think perhaps they might try to find some kind of boat after that, to head to Novoselic in Europe.

It's just like a really quiet "calm before the storm" period. Where they lay him down in his bedroom, while the girls share his parents' old room and the boys share the guestroom. And take turns keeping him company (with Mikan as his main nurse). Just lots of tender FTEs with his classmates, who slowly get a bit more of an idea of what his life was like when they look around his house. Like imagine Mahiru getting a bit of a shock when she sees a photo of a happy kid Nagito, and realizing he didn't always have white hair. He makes a special request that if he doesn't make it, that they please bury him in the spot out back right next to where his dog is buried. They assure him it won't come to that, but promise that they would if it did.

...Also on a less serious, and more morbidly hilarious note, I did have this one funny idea for how Junko potentially died in the AU. Nagito accidentally killed her in a scene reminiscent of Pulp Fiction's bit with Marvin. Carelessly waving around a handgun he believes is empty, with his finger on the trigger while the two get into a big finale debate. Only for the gun to go off and hit her directly in the head, bringing an anticlimactic end to things. Everyone panicking for a moment, Nagito most of all, with him being like "Oh shit, I thought it wasn't loaded!" This whole thing of course being televised.

Hrjsjaiaksnks bonding moment ehehhehehehe, the protage and the bonding<3 AHHH HE FELT INCULDED FOR ONCEE MY BOY!! 💖��� give him love everyone!!!! Includeee himmmm

OH!! OMG OMG THIS SI AKAZINAG AGHH I LOVE SEEING MOMENTS IN THE APOCALYPSE, The red sky aesthetic and the wastelandd- Oooo an abandoned van!!!! My guy lost his arm yep let em heal, haha money ain't gonna work at the end of the world OHHHHH A TRIP TO NOVOSELIC AHHHH AGRESSIVELY EATS YOUR IDEAS LIKE A DOG WITH RABIES

TAKEN CARE OF BY MIKAN, HE'S IN HEAVEN MIKAN MY ANGEL I LOVE HER SO MUCH<33 ✨✨ And they start to understand him better lemme go sob in the corner this sheet giving me emotional damage- HAPPY NAGIBOY WAHHH THAT'S SO.. beside the dog.. WAHHH THAT'S SO SADDD NOT THE DOGGGG

AHAHAHAHAH HE WAVED AROUND HIS GUN AND WHISTLED UNTIL HE KILLED A RANDOM TEEN AND WENT :0 PFFT, and y'all panicking understandably, and the audience too lol, but bro saved the universe with that!! He did them more good than bad because it's "The Junko" bro deserves some medals and a crown or something ahahah this is so crazy I love every part of it

[iwonderwh0]

how frequently do you read fan fiction? and do you have any dbh fanfics to recommend? please do share!!

Rarely. I'm sure there are amazing fics I've been recommended that I still haven't read, because yeah, I rarely have a mood to read them and I'm a slow reader. Also I have this annoying tendency to abandon fics after a few paragraphs or chapters for quite random reasons.

Anyways, here's a list of things I've read and I think I can recommend:

A Ghost by Midnight -THE BEST ONE I'VE EVER READ. Just painfully amazing, it honestly blew my mind that a fiction can make me feel SO MUCH, because no other media EVER hurt me like this fanfiction did, just holy fuck, there is one sentence that just breaks my heart every time I remember it even now. This is a piece of art, a masterpiece. Every damn sentence is perfect and feels like a punch in the gut. Read it if you want text to physically hurt you. There is technically a second part, but I'm not going to recommend it because it was abandoned on a cliff-hanger and honestly this (technically first) part is perfect the way it is on its own.

Cast & Sugar - one shot, really cute one (the only non-hurt thing in this whole list, lol), centres around PM700. Really poetically well written. If you'll like this one, I also recommend another PM700 centric fic by the same author You can't kill me

ALSO from this author there's an amazing comics ZENO that technically isn't a fic, but I feel like it belongs here ZENO - it's not finished, but hopefully some day it will

You are enough - fun fact, it was the first fanfiction I've read in my life and in dbh fandom specifically. It's reed900, and even though it's not my cup of tea NOW, back then I really liked it, so if you like hurt/comfort and reed900, you'll probably like this one.

Detroit Become Nothing - another 'technically not a fic', but I must mention it. It's a text-based game that has different outcomes depending on how you play it. It has a fic attached to it, yes, but go play it first. Once again, it's quite heavy stuff. Honestly I am scared to play it again, so I still don't know all the outcomes. But give it some love, this is amazing.

Next two ones are Hankcon with lots of hurt

Eternal Winter - this one is written in a really addictive way that gave me shit ton on emotions, but it is REALLY Connor-centric. Author did what we all dream about and just tortured the shit out of him both mentally and physically. I imagine, it must've been really fun to write. Beware of tags, but this one isn't graphic, unlike the next one

Buried Beneath the Snow - MIND THE FUCKING TAGS, this one is really dead dove kind of situation. I'm honestly not sure if I should recommend it, because this thing is really graphic, cruel and well, it is fucked up. I probably wouldn't read it if I knew how graphic shit gets (I'm pretty sure I didn't check the tags AT ALL when I started reading it), but the writing in is absolutely fantastic, so when I realised how vile this thing is, it was too late to stop. Also it'll make you hate Gavin so fucking much you won't be able to see him the fanon way again. So, beware. This thing is brutal, so really think twice before reading it if you end up deciding to try.

[pearblossommina]

ToG Read-A-Long, Kingdom of Ash, Day 10

So - it’s come, today’s the day, in reality, the read-a-long is finished!

(But I’m still just barely starting part two - Gods and Gates)

I have no intention to stop now

It’s a delayed read-a-long, but I’ll keep reading

Ch 68

Dorian bird - to Dorian mouse! He’s really getting the hang of this shapeshifting thing

HE BURIED THE WYRDKEYS IN SHALE ROCK Dorian, baby, I love you, but what the fuck. If you weren’t gonna bring them with you, why didn’t you just leave them with Manon and the others?!?

(What if you die - literally - what are you going to do if you die)

(I swear to god if you die I’m going to throw this book at the wall)

Oh no. Maeve is here.

Ch 69

I still think Darrow is a piece of shit, and it’s kind of amazing that he has so little respect for Aelin after all that she’s managed to accomplish. I think Lysandra didn’t do her any favors pulling the shapeshifter decoy game, but she has a point. The army, the whole armada, and all of these warriors, are here to serve Aelin, not some dusty old man from a random court in her kingdom. He better learn soon to start affording her some respect. What more can she possibly do to prove herself?

Ch 70

Oh god damn it. I love how Maeve and Erawan knew Dorian was hiding there the whole time and STILL decided to have their casual conversation and catch him up on the plot. Now he knows Aelin is safe and that Chaol is probably safe - and all about Maeve and her valg heritage.

But also, uh oh, he was found

(Shit)

(Okay)

(You better learn fire power real quick)

(Unleash flames and fuck this Valg queen up)

Ch 71

Um? Uhhh.

Of the two evils, I would definitely describe Maeve as the lesser, since she spent centuries just playing Fae Queen, compared to Erawan who actually wants to take over the world - it’s possible that she could be bargained with and allowed to stay in this realm. They both do want the same things - in a way - to shut the doors and bar all other valg from ever entering. I find it very interesting that Dorian is willing to ally with her. But I do think offering her an alliance through marriage is a bit much, Lmao. If anything I’d let her help with the key quest, wield them to seal off the Valg realm and send Erawan back, and then tell her to fuck off back to her own continent, never to darken their doorway again.

Dorian’s really interesting right now. He’s right here in the thick of it. I don’t want the scene to change to another character but I get the feeling it’s going to real quick here.

Ch 72

Yep, lol

Aw, but that scene between Gavriel and Chaol was so sweet. Maybe you can let him father your kid; too. Or he can be like, sort of a grandfather. Since your kid probably won’t get to know their own grandfather.

Did the Ironteeth witches leave because Manon summoned every witch to her legion? Or are they still here to make life worse for everyone?

I mean - they’re not HERE - so, hopefully they’re doing the cool thing and joining forces with Manon.

But the air is stagnant, and maybe something horrible is about to happen.

Ch 73

MAEVE. I want to believe that you are our friend, that you just came from a spooky, shitty planet and you truly do like this world and want to stay here. I want to believe that after Erawan is destroyed, you’ll behave yourself, and won’t try to bring about the end of life as we know it. But I don’t trust you? You kind of tortured the main character - viscously - and you psychologically tortured Rowan by making him believe that his first mate died pregnant with their child. Like, listen, I think people can come back from the dark side, but you’re pretty deep in it, Maeve. You have got a LOT to atone for, and if you think befriending Dorian is gonna make up for everything then you’re fucking wrong.

Ch 74

Gross

Super uncomfy.

Good thing Erawan didn’t want it

I hated watching her shapeshift into Aelin. how dare you use her likeness - after what you did to her! You disgust me, Maeve

Ch 75

(You guys got this)

(Don’t give up)

100,000 is a lot but you guys got this

Ch 76

“Not all Valg are evil.”

This is so bizarre. Is this really the same book where Maeve was torturing Aelin? Are we really gonna brush that off? In theory - I love this idea - a villain redemption - sure - I’m stupid and I love that trope - but what the actual heck?

In the same book?

In the same book with Aelin over here suffering lingering trauma and wishing for it all to be over? Wishing herself dead?

I’m not saying I don’t believe in the ability for a person to change

It’s just!

Maeve?

It is so sudden? And it is so jarring?

Ch 77

Shit

So do we trust her, or is she just as bad as we remember?

(Ugh I’m so tangled up inside)

(I felt like she was trying to open up, trying to be his friend)

(If she cares about spiders she can care for the other creatures of this earth)

(Maeve - we don’t use dark mind control magic on our friends)

(So if you’re really friends….)

(Stop)

(Let him go)

Ch 78

Wow

Ok

Hell yeah

Not bad, Dorian. Holy shit. You actually did it. You actually got away. With your life, and all three keys.

And you didn’t kill Maeve, even though she tried to double cross you

Wow

Hell yeah

[phoenixkaptain]

Was unceremoniously reminded of my affection for Total Drama, specifically Island, which I watched a lot of as a kid, and World Tour, which I watched like three episodes of.

I really liked the show as a kid. I was so upset when Leshawna lost. I got actually physically ill at some points. I thought Cody was the worst because the secondhand embarrassment from him made me want to curl up in a deep hole and bury myself. I thought Noah was gay.

I don’t remember much from World Tour. I remember a few commercials. And Tyler taking a guy’s sock off with his teeth. And that. Is it.

As an adult, I have an even weaker stomach (seriously, I tried to watch a video and they showed one clip and I actually almost threw up. I had to turn the whole thing off. My younger self had an iron stomach, honestly) and my sense of humour has evolved so that I find all of the jokes I found funny as a kid even funnier. And now I can appreciate the psychological manipulation. And the sarcasm. I didn’t really understand sarcasm as a kid.

(I still don’t know if Alejandro really actually fell on purpose, or if he was just lying in the confessional. Like, I feel like I should know? But I just don’t? I kind of believe him when he said it was on purpose.. Am I falling for his manipulations too? What is this?)

Anyway I also feel like the oldest fan of this series on the entire site. I’m almost 23. I feel like the humour is targeted more towards people my age, especially since it came out in my childhood when those types of jokes were prevalent, but I don’t know anymore?? I can’t go into the tags without feeling ancient. I can’t go into the tags without seeing a bunch of ship hate the likes of 2012 Tumblr, like, guys, c’mon. It’s an animated reality show. At least two characters are engulfed in magma/lava and are just fine. Why are you complaining about ships??

I feel like I’m fifteen again and seeing people tell others to kill themselves over their blorbos. I just can’t take this show all that seriously, you know? Noah literally is the picture of a stereotypical gay man, and they still gave him a girlfriend. That shit is hilarious. The two finalists for the first season were the absolute unlikeliest choices. Heather and Courtney both somehow managed to stay on the show for more than one episode. The show is a train wreck, I love it but I just can’t take any of it serious enough to send people death threats over.

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’ve become a tired old woman. I just don’t have the energy to hate on random people because they have different opinions than mine. I wish I had the energy of some of these whippersnappers. I wish someone would come out and reassure me that they also like the show and are over 20 years old. I feel like the only adult in a daycare, someone please give these children some adult supervision. I came on this website to swear like a fucking sailor and have a damn good time, not to babysit a bunch of people who can’t even tell reality from fiction.